#create your own dollar bill

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's the most fucking frustrating for me about arguing with climate change deniers is the sheer fucking scope of how much it matters. sweating in my father's car, thinking about how it's the "hottest summer so far," every summer. and there's this deep, roiling rage that comes over me, every time.

the stakes are wrong, is the thing. that's part of what makes it not an actual debate: the other side isn't coming to the table with anything to fucking lose.

like okay. i am obviously pro gun control. but there is a basic human part of me that can understand and empathize with someone who says, "i'm worried that would lead to the law-abiding citizens being punished while criminals now essentially have a superpower." i don't agree, but i can tell the stakes for them are also very high.

but let's say the science is wrong and i'm wrong and the visible reality is wrong and every climate disaster refugee is wrong. let's say you're right, humans aren't causing it or it's not happening or whatever else. let's just say that, for fun.

so we spend hundreds of millions of dollars making the earth cleaner, and then it turns out we didn't need to do that. oops! we cleaned the earth. our children grow up with skies full of more butterflies and bees. lawns are taken over with rich local biodiversity. we don't cry over our electric bills anymore. and, if you're staunchly capitalist and i need to speak ROI with you - we've created so many jobs in developing sectors and we have exciting new investment opportunities.

i am reminded of kodak, and how they did not make "the switch" to digital photography; how within 20 years kodak was no longer a household brand. do we, as a nation, feel comfortable watching as the world makes "the switch" while we ride the laurels of oil? this boggles me. i have heard so much propaganda about how america cannot "fall behind" other countries, but in this crucial sector - the one that could actually influence our own monopolies - suddenly we turn the other cheek. but maybe you're right! maybe it will collapse like just another silicone valley dream. but isn't that the crux of capitalism? that some economies will peter out eventually?

but let's say you're right, and i'm wrong, and we stopped fracking for no good reason. that they re-seed quarries. that we tear down unused corporate-owned buildings or at least repurpose them for communities. that we make an effort, and that effort doesn't really help. what happens then? what are the stakes. what have we lost, and what have we gained?

sometimes we take our cars through a car wash and then later, it rains. "oh," we laugh to ourselves. we gripe about it over coffee with our coworkers. what a shame! but we are also aware: the car is cleaner. is that what you are worried about? that you'll make the effort but things will resolve naturally? that it will just be "a waste"?

and what i'm right. what if we're already seeing people lose their houses and their lives. what if it is happening everywhere, not just in coastal towns or equatorial countries you don't care about. what if i'm right and you're wrong but you're yelling and rich and powerful. so we ignore all of the bellwethers and all of the indicators and all of the sirens. what if we say - well, if it happens, it's fate.

nevermind. you wouldn't even wear a mask, anyway. i know what happens when you see disaster. you think the disaster will flinch if you just shout louder. that you can toss enough lives into the storm for the storm to recognize your sacrifice and balk. you argue because it feels good to stand up against "the liberals" even when the situation should not be political. you are busy crying for jesus with a bullhorn while i am trying to usher people into a shelter. you've already locked the doors, even on the church.

the stakes are skewed. you think this is some intellectual "debate" to win, some funny banter. you fuel up your huge unmuddied truck and say suck it to every citizen of that shitbird state california. serves them right for voting blue!

and the rest of us are terrified of the entire fucking environment collapsing.

[scoopsahoy]

whale tail

ぺ  word count ⋰ 1.8k

✰  tw ⋰ none :)

❍  cw ⋰ swearing, sex + fingering, oral (female receiving)

✐  masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

Eddie was convinced you had to be teasing him at this point. The way you swayed your hips when you walked, those too-tight jeans, and the way you touched him nonchalantly when you spoke. It was like you wanted him to jump your bones.

But there was one day in particular that he couldn't get out of his head. He had mentioned wanting to sell some vinyls he didn't listen to, and they just happened to be the bands you loved most. So you begged to come look at what he was discarding, him enthusiastically agreeing — what, with the crush he had on you.

But when you squatted down to dig through the box of records, your underwear poked out above your jeans. The only reason it caught his eye was because they weren't just any regular underwear.

You were wearing a thong.

It wasn't intentional, they just happened to be the only clean underwear you had at the moment.

Eddie didn't breathe for probably a good ten seconds, his eyes locked on the Y shape they created. They were a deep red and had lacy trim, and he wondered how they could possibly be comfortable. He wondered if you wore them for him, if you walked around every day with those panties on.

And the thought of that turned him on a ridiculous amount. Picturing you going to school every single day with the hottest underwear hidden beneath those clothes could've made him bust on its own, but he had to control himself while you were in his room.

You gasped, finding a copy of Rock a Little by Stevie Nicks. You stood up and turned to face him, your whale tail disappearing under your shirt.

"Where did you get this?" you asked, staring at the album cover.

"What, that? A thrift store, I think."

"Do you have any idea how hard I've searched for this?" He shook his head. "I have every single other Stevie album, but I've never been able to find this. It's always sold out." You looked up at him. "And you found it at a thrift store!" He chuckled a bit. "You lucky fucker. How much?"

"It's yours."

"What?"

"Take it. It's yours."

"Come on. I brought money."

"Seriously, just take it. I don't want your money."

You rolled your eyes. "Eddie, don't be ridiculous. The whole point of this was because you wanted to sell these. Let me buy it." You pulled the five dollar bill out of your pocket and stepped over to him, shoving it in his front pants pocket.

He instinctively jerked back a bit after realizing he had a partial boner. You noticed as soon as your fingers went in, and you looked up at him.

"Sorry," he said immediately, walking quickly into the living room. You two were the only ones home, Eddie having said something about him working.

Your eyes were wide and you swallowed the spit in your mouth, following him after a few seconds.

"It's okay," you reassured. "I shouldn't have done that."

"No, it's not your fault."

"I mean, isn't it, kind of?" He furrowed his brows a bit. "I'm not an idiot, Eddie. I could feel you staring at my ass when I was squatting."

"I-I wasn't staring at your ass."

"Then what were you staring at?"

"Uh... I could see your underwear."

"My underwear?" That's when you realized what you were wearing and your cheeks went red. "Oh. Shit, I... I didn't even realize I was wearing those."

"They're pretty," he said awkwardly.

"Uh... thanks. I should, uh, get going." He reached into his pocket and pulled the money back out and tried handing it to you. "For the last time, Munson. Keep it. That's how selling things works." He still looked annoyed, but agreed and laid it down on the coffee table. "I'll see you around school, yeah?"

"Yeah."

And with that, you slipped out of his door and practically sprinted to your car.

—

The next day at school, you were putting your books in your locker when you heard footsteps stop on the other side of the door. You closed it a bit to see Eddie standing there with his arms crossed.

"Hey," you greeted warmly.

"Hi."

"What's up?"

He held your jacket out and you sighed. "You left this at my place."

"Oh, thank you. I completely forgot about it."

"Yeah."

He didn't move after you threw the jacket into your locker.

"Is there something else?"

"I... Yeah, kinda."

"Okay, what is it?"

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about last night."

"What about last night?"

"You know."

You remembered the whale tail, mentally punching yourself.

"Oh. That."

"Yeah. That."

"So what are you asking?"

He looked at you for a minute before choking out, "Come by again tonight." He leaned closer to you, his lips just inches from your ear. "And wear them again."

Without another word, he turned and walked away. You were in a bit of shock, your eyes wide and mouth agape.

So when you found yourself standing outside his trailer, your fist in the air waiting to knock and the same thong underwear on as yesterday, you took a deep breath before connecting your hand with the door.

You didn't even finish knocking before the door whipped open. There stood a smiling Eddie with a beer bottle in his hand.

"Hey," he smirked.

"Hi."

"Come on in." You walked up the few stairs and into the living room, where he came up behind you with another bottle in hand. "Want one?" He put them down on the counter after he asked.

"Oh, no thanks. I don't really drink-"

You were interrupted by his lips against yours. He was gentle but dominant, his hands on your sides. You kissed back and braced yourself on his shoulders.

He turned you around and sat you on the small table to your left, his hips between your thighs.

"This okay?" he asked into your mouth.

"Yes," you breathed.

As you kissed, he reached down and unbuttoned your jeans, looking down to see the thong. He smirked, making eye contact with you.

"You wore 'em."

"You told me to."

"Mm. Good girl. Lift your hips up."

You did as told and leaned back on your hands, lifting your hips into the air to allow him to pull your pants off. He couldn't take his eyes off your body, the thong really complimenting your figure.

You pulled his lips back to yours and felt his fingers creep up your thigh. Once his pointer finger started lightly pressing to your underwear, you broke the kiss.

"Take 'em off me," you commanded, to which he followed. He pulled them off of you with such speed that you couldn't even lift your hips all the way.

Once you were exposed, he dropped to his knees and began kissing your thighs, making sure to look at your face. You bit your lip and whimpered as you watched his mouth inch towards their destination.

And when he buried his face in your pussy, you threw your head back and moaned. You laid back so you were flat against the table, your head hanging off.

He propped your legs on his shoulders and held the tops of your thighs, his tongue working wonders.

"Shit," you whispered, unable to stay still.

Getting you off seemed to be his only objective, watching your body writhe as he ate you out. One of your hands was tangled in his hair, the other hand on his.

Sloppy sounds filled the trailer, and it didn't take long for you to feel yourself going over the edge. But when you finally did, he didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He continued exactly what he was doing, desperate to give you at least two or three orgasms before his pants even came off.

And when he succeeded the third time, you had to physically push him away. You'd never had more than two at a time, so the third one was almost too much for you.

When you looked down at him, his grinning face was soaked. You couldn't help but giggle as he wiped his chin with his shirt. He stood up and leaned over you, kissing your neck a few times before moving to your mouth.

"Do you have condoms?" you asked a moment later.

He immediately pulled one out of his pocket before undoing his own pants and dropping them to his ankles.

He was thick, and you could tell he was going to stretch you out. He tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth and put it on with ease, his fingers tracing circles around your clit. Your body jerked at the sensation, both of you chuckling.

He pressed the tip of his dick against your entrance, teasing you for a moment.

"Eddie, please."

And with that, he was pushing into you. The sound of your moans filled the room, your back arching.

"That okay?" he asked, looking at you for approval.

"So good."

That was his cue to bottom out, your eyebrows furrowing at his size. He started out thrusting slowly, giving you time to adjust. But his speed soon increased, involuntary moans tumbling from your mouth.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whined, his grip on your hips only tightening.

"Kiss me, Eddie," you begged, him leaning down and connecting your lips. You could tell this was uncomfortable for him, so he picked you up, still inside of you, and carried you over to the counter. He sat you down and held your head in place to kiss you, continuing to thrust into you.

This position was even more pleasurable, your body flush against his as he fucked you. The hand not on your face was pressed against your lower back, keeping you still.

He was close. He was never this quick to finish. But something about your pussy was magical. You were easily the best fuck he'd had. But he was good at holding off his orgasms for longer sex. And he wanted to please you.

So when he could tell you might be close to another orgasm, he reached down between you two and with his thumb started fingering you.

You couldn't even speak before another one ripped through you, unable to keep yourself from moaning loudly. To quiet you, he kissed you deeply, engulfing every sound that came from your mouth. And feeling you cum around him made him fill the condom, both of you grunting and moaning into each other's mouths.

When he finally stilled his movements, the only sound in the room was that of your out of sync breathing. Your foreheads together, neither of you could move for a moment. He kissed you, you returning it lazily.

"Jesus," he said.

"That was good," you whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. You're good at that."

"I know." His sarcastic cockiness could only make you chuckle.

Neither of you spoke while you got redressed. You decided to take another look at his records, your thong poking out of your pants again.

"We should do this again sometime," he said as he opened your car door for you.

You leaned against the inside of the door, propping your elbows on it.

"You want to?"

"Absolutely. Do you?"

You smiled. "Absolutely. I'll be back tomorrow."

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: Rafe Cameron. Your toxic ex boyfriend who can’t seem to let you go. Even your best attempt at fighting him off, telling him no, he comes back. He won’t let you go.

— CW: 18+ only! toxic!ex bf!rafe, dark!rafe, violence, kidnapping, strong language, cocaine use, fingering, choking, marking, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

— a/n: this is a work of fiction. i do not condone anything written. this will all be in rafe’s pov. enjoy🖤

likes, comments and reblogs aren’t expected but are very appreciated <3

❥ toxic — r.c

I always knew something was wrong with me. It started when my mom died. My mind just went… Dark.

My life had started taking a really dark turn. And for a while, I could control my dark tendencies, I could control the darkness that ate away at my mind. But, the older I got, the harder it became to control that darkness inside me.

For as long as I could remember, my dad always hated me. He fucking hated me, and there was nothing I could do to change that. He only cared about Sarah, my younger sister. From the moment she was born, all of his love and attention went to her. Like she was something fucking special, like she hung the fucking moon. I was left to care for myself, pick myself back up when I fell. My dad still financially supported me, — even though he wished he didn’t have too — so at least I still had that going for me.

But he didn’t love me. No, he wished I had been a stain on the bedsheets, wished I had been wiped away with a fucking warm washcloth after the deed was done. But that wasn’t the case, obviously. I was born. And I was here. And he fucking hated that.

I stopped believing in love at a very young age. Fucked up, right? What kid doesn’t believe in love? What kid doesn’t believe that someone is capable of loving him? If you didn’t already know the answer to that, it’s me. At least, it was me.

The idea of loving someone and being loved crept back into my life when I was eighteen. When she came into my life. I loved her the best I knew how, which, wasn’t really saying anything. I didn’t know how to fucking love someone, so… I hurt her. I hurt her in every way possible…

… And when she finally walked away from me, telling me that she “deserved better”, I fucking lost it. I lost the only fucking person in this world who mattered to me. The only person who tried to love even the darkest parts of me. I fucking lost her.

But her walking away from me. From us. Wasn’t going to stop me. No, she was fucking mine. And I was going to get her back, even if I had to force my way back into her life, she would come back to me.

“Rafe, are you sure about this?” Topper asks, pulling me from my own mind.

I shake my head, dragging my eyes up to find Topper’s intense stare. His eyes narrow into small slits, eyebrows raising as he tries to read my face. I blink. Once. Twice. “What?” I ask, completely confused.

“Are you sure you wanna do this shit, man? Y/N will never fucking forgive you, and you know…”

“I don’t fucking care, Top! She’s mine, and she needs to be fucking reminded of that!” I snap. My fists are now balled up at my sides, chest heaving up and down and nostrils flared as thoughts of her begin to fill my mind.

Topper throws his hands up in surrender. “Whatever, bro. Not my problem.”

I smile, but it holds no amusement. No happiness. It’s a cold smile. “Exactly. Not your problem. Now cut that shit up, I need one more line before I head out.”

Topper sighs, but does as I ask. He leans forward, grabbing my black Amex off the glass table and begins cutting a new set of lines for the two of us. I chew at the skin around my thumb nail as I watch him create four perfectly straight lines out of the white powdery substance.

Once he finishes, I shove his shoulder to the side, allowing me access to the table. I snatch the already rolled hundred dollar bill off of the glass, rolling it a little tighter and placing one end to my right nostril. I lean forward, sticking the other end of the bill onto one of the four lines and snort the powder up into my nose. I quickly do my second line before tossing the bill back onto the table and falling back into the couch, squeezing my eyes shut and letting out a loud sigh. The drug burns my nose and throat, but the numbing sensation that comes from the cocaine quickly replaces that burn. My nose, throat, and tongue are numb, but my entire body feels like it’s on fire, a new surge of adrenaline pumping into my veins and making me ready to do what I must do tonight.

I stand from my spot on the couch, glancing down at Topper once more before heading for the door. His concerned voice stops me in my tracks. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, man. She’s going to hate you after tonight”

I snort. I don’t give a fuck if she hates me. She’s mine, and she needs to be reminded of that. She can’t hate me more than she already does. Or maybe she can, I don’t know. If I have anything to say about it though, she won’t hate me. No, she’ll love me again. I’ll make sure she loves me.

“Maybe. But she can’t hate me forever. She will love me again.”

I walk out the door, slamming it shut behind me before Topper can even open his mouth to ramble off anymore bullshit. I didn’t care to hear it. I didn’t care about his opinion. I was doing this.

I sit outside of her work. Watching. Waiting. I know she’ll be off any minute now, I used to pick her up every night when we were together. My girl doesn’t have a car, so I already know she’ll probably be leaving with one of her coworkers, but that won’t stray my plan. It’ll only make it more interesting. More fun.

My phone goes off in my pocket, letting me know I have a text. Pulling it out, I glare down at the words on the screen.

Ward: Where the fuck are you Rafe? Tonight was fucking important and you’re fucking everything up. I don’t even know why i’m surprised, you’re nothing but a walking fuck up.

I growl, angrily tossing my phone into the passenger side floorboard. Fuck my dad. And fuck the business deal that he so badly needed me at tonight. He doesn’t give a fuck about anything other than money and Sarah. So naturally, I’m putting what I want first. And what I want is Y/N. I don’t give a fuck about anything else.

The sound of her laughter filters in through my cracked window, making me sit up straight in my seat. One glance out the windshield and I see her. She looks as gorgeous as I remember. And her laugh, fuck, it has my cock growing in my pants, straining against the harsh fabric of my boxers and jeans. I adjust myself, and shake my head a few times. I need to focus. My eyes travel to the left of her. My fists automatically ball themselves by my sides when I see her walking and talking with Pope. I fucking hate that pogue. I hate all pogues. Except for her. She will always be the exception.

He stands too close to her for my liking, and it makes my blood boil. Tossing a part of my plan out the window, I shove my door open and march my way toward them. She’s in the middle of talking when Pope’s wide eyes have her audibly clamping her mouth shut.

“Pope, what is- Rafe.” She says softly, her breathing picking up now that I’m right in front of her.

“Baby girl.” I reply, a slow smile spreading across my face.

“Don’t- Don’t call me that, Rafe. We’re not together anymore.”

My jaw tightens at her words, nostrils flaring as I try and keep my composure. I don’t need to lash out just yet. I need to keep my calm, for now.

I ignore her and turn my attention toward Pope. “Heyward. Get the fuck out of here.” I say simply. It’s as simple as that. He can leave, or I can beat the shit out of him. The choice is his.

He glares at me, his eyes narrowed into slits and his breathing calm. Seems like the kid grew a pair of balls in the last thirty seconds. He opens his mouth to speak, but my fist connecting with his nose cuts off whatever bullshit he was about to say.

“Rafe! What the fuck?!” Y/N shouts, dropping to her knees and checking on the boy that’s now laid out on the ground, blood pouring from his probably broken nose.

“Get up, Y/N. We’re leaving”

Her neck snaps in my direction so fast, eyes narrowed. “I’m not fucking going anywhere with you! Fucking leave me alone, Rafe!”

I roll my neck from side to side before taking a step toward her. “You can either come with me willingly, or I can make you come with me. Your call, baby girl.”

The look in her eyes has me straining in my jeans. She’s so fucking sexy when she’s mad. She looks down at Pope, he’s groaning and holding his nose as blood continues to pour from it.

“Y/N! Now!” I shout. My patience is growing thin. And she’s not going to like it if I have to force her to come with me. I want her to make at least one choice on her own tonight.

She slowly stands, but Pope grabbing at her hand has her stopping halfway up. I fist my hands, ready to fucking hit him again if needed.

“Y/N… Don’t go with him…” Pope says softly. I chuckle at that. He thinks she has a choice in the matter. The only choice she has is to willingly come. And even now, I have a feeling she’s going to opt out of that choice.

She glances between him and me, and I can see the gears turning in her head. She’s thinking of running. Go for it, baby. I’ve planned for her running. As if she can read my thoughts, she yanks her hand from his grip and turns as fast as she can. She takes off running down the empty street, but I’m right on her heels.

“Keep running baby, you know I love it when you run!”

She looks behind her shoulder, a look of pure fear in her eyes. When she puts her focus back on what’s in front of her I pick up my speed. Once I’m directly behind her, I wrap my right arm around her waist and yank her back into my front. She begins kicking and screaming, her nails clawing into my arm. “Rafe! Put me down!” She shouts, and I just laugh.

“Baby girl, you know I can’t do that.”

I carry her back to my truck, opening the back door and tossing her inside. I jog around to the driver side, glancing over to where she and Pope walked out of and noticing he’s gone. Oh well. Not my problem. My dad will get me out of whatever he tries to throw my way. I climb inside the truck, locking the doors and bringing the engine to life. I glance into the back seat to find her sitting up right, and she’s seething. Anger flashes through her beautiful eyes, her chest is heaving up and down and nostrils flaring as she glares at me.

“Fuck you, Rafe! What the fuck do you want?!”

I smirk. “You.” I answer simply, and her eyes go wide.

It’s as simple as that. I want her. And she is going to want me again, even if it takes days, months, years. She will want me again.

“Rafe, put me the fuck down! I can fucking walk!” She shouts. Her small fists are pounding into my back. I have her tossed over my shoulder, walking up the stairs of the porch and into the front door of Tannyhill.

Once inside, I finally set her down on her feet and she scrambles away from me. I laugh, she thinks she can escape me, but she can’t. She never will. She’s mine to own. To fuck. To control. She’s mine.

“You know, it hurts my feelings how scared of me you are, baby girl.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you fucking serious? You just basically kidnapped me, Rafe! You’re fucking insane!”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I am insane. But only for you. Because of you. I fucking love you, Y/N. Why can’t you see that?”

She scoffs. “You don’t love me. You want to fucking own me, like I’m your fucking property or some shit. I’m not! I’m a human fucking being, Rafe!”

I love the fight she has in her. I always have. Just not when she’s fighting me. Against me. She’ll learn soon enough that I am the scariest part of her life. I’m her biggest threat. But I will also protect her. She needs to be protected from everyone but me. She fucking needs me.

“This can go one of two ways, sweetheart. One. You can willingly come upstairs with me, and let me fuck that attitude out of you, let me remind you who the fuck you belong to. Or two. I can drag your ass up those stairs by your hair and remind you who the fuck you belong to. Either way, you’re going to be begging for my cock by the end of the night.”

I don’t miss how her nipples harden at my words. She still wants me. When she notices my eyes on her now hard nipples she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest, causing me to smirk in amusement and arch a brow.

“I don’t fucking belong to you, Rafe! God, you’re fucking crazy! Go to hell!”

A smile spreads across my face at her words. “Sweetheart, I am hell.”

Her breath hitches in her throat and her arms drop to her sides. I take a step toward her, causing her to take one back. I roll my eyes, taking one long step toward her and closing the distance between us. I wrap my right arm around her waist, pulling her flush into my body. I lean my head down, breathing in her intoxicating scent before my lips brush against the shell of her ear, I whisper, “You wanna do things my way? I’ll take you right here. Right now. Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I’m not against letting anyone see me claim what’s mine.”

I feel her body tense in my hold, and it only makes my smile grow. She’s scared of me. But that’s expected. For now. After I’m done with her, she’ll be begging for more. She won’t want to let me go. She’ll be mine, just like I am hers.

“Rafe-” She breathes out, but I cut her off. I smash my lips against hers in a breathtaking, aggressive kiss. She involuntarily moans against my mouth, allowing me to force my tongue into her mouth. She melts into me, her body going slack in my hold as she allows my tongue to explore her mouth, brushing against hers. God I fucking missed her. The taste of her.

She snaps her eyes open, pushing me back, and I’m so fucking weak from the kiss that I don’t fight it. I stumble back a little before straightening myself. She has her eyes narrowed and her tiny fists balled at her sides.

“Fuck you, Rafe! Stop trying to get into my head! I- I fucking can’t keep doing this with you!”

She tries to make her way past me, but I grip the back of her neck. I pull her backward, angling her head up so her eyes are on mine. She tries to pull herself from my grip, but I tighten my hand on her neck, making her whine out in pain.

“Is my soul too dark for you, baby girl? What is it? Can you not love me for who I am?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but I release her neck, tossing her onto the ground in the process. She lands on her ass, her hands flying behind her to keep her upright. I slowly make my way toward her, letting out a deep exhale.

“You see, I tried to be better for you. But I can’t change who I am. Not for you. Not for anyone. But, one thing did change. You wanna know what that is?”

Her eyes begin to fill with tears, one slipping past her lower lashes. “W-What?”

“I learned how to love. How to accept love into my life. I love you, Y/N. And you left me. Left me like I didn’t mean anything to you. That should have been enough for me to let you go. You know? I’ve always been rejected. My own dad fucking hates me. I’ve never known love. But you. You came into my fucking life and wrecked everything. I fell in love with you, and I know you loved me. So I can’t just let that go. I fucking need you. And you need me. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

I kneel in front of her, reaching my right hand out and running it down the side of her pretty face. She flinches back and I grip her cheeks between my fingers, squeezing tightly. “Now. Let me remind you of who the fuck you belong to.”

She whimpers, more tears spilling past her lower lashes. I lay her onto her back, crawling on top of her and caging her in with my arms. She doesn’t fight. Sobs rack her chest, and she rolls her head to the side, trying to avoid my stare. I press my hips into hers, groaning when my hard dick presses against her clothed pussy.

“You feel that, Y/N? That’s what you do to me. You own me. Are you going to let me own you?”

She rolls her head back toward me. Her bloodshot eyes and mascara stained cheeks make me groan. Fuck, I’m in love with this girl. Even if she’s terrified of me right now, I fucking need her.

I chuckle at her silence. My hands go to the hem of her work shirt, sliding it up and exposing her smooth stomach. I take my left hand and run my fingers over the expanse of her skin, pulling a shudder from her. “You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart. And you’re all mine.”

She chokes out a sob, squeezing her eyes shut as my fingers trail up her stomach and to the underside of her bra. I cup one of her breasts in my hand, firmly squeezing at it. She whimpers, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth to try and silence her cries of pleasure.

I slip her shirt up and over her head, leaving her in her pink lace bra. I snake my hand underneath her back, finding the clasps that hold the bra in place and pop them. My fingers find the straps, slowly sliding them down her arms and exposing her chest to me. Her nipples are hard, perfectly pointed peaks. My mouth waters, wanting to suck on them. I lean my head down, wrapping my lips around one of her nipples and sucking at it lightly before bringing it between my teeth and lightly biting. She moans loudly when I pull back with her nipple in my teeth. I let the pebbled bud fall from my mouth and smirk down at her.

“Are you wet f’me, sweetheart?”

She rolls her eyes. “No”

I chuckle. She’s lying. I know her better than she thinks I do. And I know she’s fucking lying. She’s ashamed. She doesn’t want to be wet for me, but she is.

I run my fingers down to the waistband of her jeans, popping the button on them and slowly pulling the zipper down. She squirms underneath my touch, trying to get away but I press my weight into her, keeping her pressed onto the cold tile of the entryway of Tannyhill.

I slide the rough fabric down her legs just enough to expose her matching pink thong. I bought her this set. And fuck, she looks good wearing it. I slide my hand between us again, running my hand up her inner thighs until I reach her clothed center. Even from here, I can feel how soaked she is. I slide her panties to the side, baring her cunt and running my index finger through her arousal slick folds.

“You’re right, you’re not wet. You’re fucking soaked, princess. Your body misses me.”

I shove my index finger inside of her soaked pussy, pulling a moan from her. I add another, curling them slightly and working them in and out of her slowly. I press my palm firmly against her clit as I continue to fuck my fingers in and out of her. The sounds her pussy makes while my fingers are buried inside her have me straining harshly against my jeans. She begins to roll her hips, fucking herself against my hand.

I bury my face into her neck, sinking my teeth into her flesh and sucking a bruise into her otherwise flawless skin. I release her skin, looking at the deep purple bruise that adorns her neck before I lick the bruise and up to her ear. I nip at the lobe of her ear before whispering, “That’s it baby, ride my hand. Good fucking girl”

She whimpers, her hips picking up the pace as she rides my fingers and hand. Her pussy clenches around my fingers, letting me know she’s close to her release. I quickly pull my fingers from her, and she whines at the loss.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll cum. But it’ll be all over my cock. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to fuck this pretty pussy, and you’re going to love it”

I push myself off of her and quickly kick my shoes off before pulling my shirt over my head. I work on my jeans next, pulling them and my boxers down in one swift motion. Her eyes go wide when she sees my throbbing cock, precum already leaking from the tip. I drop to my knees and pull her jeans down the rest of the way. I rip her thong from her hips, making her gasp in surprise. “Rafe, I liked those!” I smirk. I can buy her a thousand more where that came from.

Ignoring her anger over the flimsy fabric I ripped from her body, I place my left hand on the ground, baring my weight while grasping my hard cock in my right hand and line it with her weeping entrance. My blue eyes find hers. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t fucking want this, because if you don’t, I’m not sorry for what’s to come. I will fucking hurt you. I will not be gentle.”

She doesnt respond, and I take her silence as my okay. I shove myself inside her in one harsh push. I groan when my swollen head hits that spongey sweet spot inside of her and she gasps loudly. Her hands fly around my neck, nails digging into my shoulders. I stay still for a minute, needing to focus on not busting inside of her right now. I want to enjoy this. I want to fucking feel her wrapped around me for longer than a few fucking minutes, but she feels so fucking good. I feel like a teenage boy discovering women for the first time all over again.

“Fuck baby girl, so fucking right and wet. And all for me.” I rasp.

“Rafe… Please?” She begs.

“Please what, baby girl. Tell me what you want”

She whimpers and it makes my dick jerk inside her. “Please… Fuck me Rafe. I- I need you.”

I smirk. She admitted that she needs me. She fucking needs me.

I ignore the small victory for now and slowly pull myself from inside her, slamming myself back inside her warm cunt before she can even think of saying anything.

My hips find a pace, quick and harsh. I slam myself in and out of her. Her sweat slick body slides on the tile, and I wrap and arm around her waist, keeping her in place. I still myself inside her, quickly grabbing her right leg and placing it around my hips, allowing me better access to her pussy. I begin pounding my hips into hers again, pulling the sweetest moans from her lips.

“Tell me you’re fucking mine. Tell me you won’t ever fucking leave me again.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing but whines and moans come out. I slow my hips, completely stilling myself inside her once more. My right hand wraps around her throat, squeezing and cutting off her air. Her wide, tear filled eyes stare up at me. “Fucking say it! Tell me you fucking need me! Tell me you fucking love me!”

She tries to speak, but my grip on her throat tightened, making her beautiful face turn a bright shade of red. Her lips begin to turn blue and I release her neck. She sucks in a deep breath of air, gasping as tears pour from her eyes.

“Tell me baby. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m yours, Rafe. Only yours. I need you. I love you. I’ll never leave you again.”

I smile at her words. They make a warmth flood through my body. A warmth i’ve only ever felt with her. She may be lying for her own pleasure right now, but she will love me again, and she will mean it.

Satisfied with her answer I begin thrusting into her again, slow and sensual thrusts that have her softly moaning. I dip my head down, burying it into her neck again. I sink my teeth into her shoulder, biting on the skin harshly before moving to the other side and repeating the action. She will be completely marked by me by the end of the night. Reminders of this night, reminders of who she belongs to marked into her skin.

Her pussy clenches around me, tightly gripping at my cock and sucking me in deeper. I groan, my lips kissing over all the bruises and teeth marks i’ve left on her skin. “Come f’me, princess. Come all over my cock, s’kay. Let me have it”

She whimpers, her pussy pulsing and body stiffening as her release rushes through her. Her body shakes, tears spill from her eyes as she screams my name. I smash my lips with hers, silencing her cries. Our tongues clash together, heavy breathing and the sounds of our skin slapping bounce off the walls. I break the kiss, my eyes finding hers. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty pussy baby. I wanna see you swollen with my child. Do you want that? You can’t escape me if you’re pregnant with my child.”

She whines, squeezing her eyes shut as she nears another orgasm. I feel her pussy clench around me again, squeezing me tightly like it’s trying to milk me for every last drop of my cum.

My hips stutter, dick twitching inside her warm and wet cunt as I explode deep inside her pussy. “That’s it baby, take it all. I wanna see you pregnant with my baby. You’re mine. Forever”

I push deep inside her one more time, shoving my cum deep into her abused cunt before I slowly pull myself out. I fall to the floor beside her, rolling onto my side and kissing her sweat slick forehead. “All mine baby. You’re never leaving me again.”

rafe cameron masterlist | taglist form

[zedecksiew]

Monument vs Shrine

In "Replica, Aura, and Late Nationalist Imaginings", the political scientist Benedict Anderson (most famous for his Southeast Asia scholarship and that definitive critique of nationalism, Imagined Communities) muses on the Lincoln memorial:

Within a temple explicitly mimicking "the religious edifices of a safely pagan Greece";

Mazda Corp floodlights designed "to ward off unnatural, indifferent sunlight";

The abstract enshrinements of "Lincoln's memory" in the "hearts of the people", while neither Lincoln's actual remains or any rites for people to perform are present;

The sense that ultimately the most reverential thing to do there is to take photographs.

+

The Lincoln Memorial; the Jefferson memorial next to it; both figures repeated again on Mt Rushmore; both figures repeated ad nauseum on dollar bills.

These monuments are designed to proliferate. Not only must they create a sober, stately experience for the visitor---but they must also do so consistently, because they are built for visitors: the mass audience of the national population.

Otherwise they must be physically replicable: a memorial to a particular national hero, erected in every city.

The very format of monument-building get copied:

Post-colonial countries, in need of new myths, choose to manufacture national cenotaphs of their own, in imitation of Western models.

Malaysia has Putrajaya, a federal capital sprung ex nihilo from palm-oil agricultural land, its buildings all arches and onion domes and imitation arc de triomphes in inhuman scale, its avenues broad and utterly unwalkable in the tropical heat.

+

At such monuments the citizen is cast as tourist.

Of this state-sanctioned object of devotion you are encouraged to take photographs, sell merchandise---ie: continue the process of replication. With every copy nationalism is reified.

God forbid you tweak the official monument with your own meanings, though! While writing this post, I found the following story, from December 2023:

"Lincoln Memorial temporarily closed after being vandalized with 'Free Gaza' graffiti"

+

Anderson's essay cites instances where the personal and irreproducible sneak back into, or leak out from, or vandalise, national monuments:

"Early in the 1910s,"---in Manila's Cementerio del Norte, a municipal cemetery planned by an American urban designer---"a small pantheon was constructed for the interment of Filipino national heroes."

This monument was to emulate the Pantheon in Paris, where "great Frenchmen" of the national canon are memorialised.

But the Filipino version failed.

"Today, hardly anyone in the Philippines is aware of this dilapidated pantheon's existence ... What has happened is that the Filipino Voltaire and Rousseau have managed to escape, summoning devoted, often familial bodysnatchers, to convey them to home-town shrines."

+

Not that the municipal cemetery itself is deserted. Custodians and their families live in the very mausoleums they care for.

Further, Anderson describes All Saints' Eve in the Cementerio del Norte, when thousands pour into its precincts.

But these multitudes adjourn to their own myriad family graves and small ancestral shrines: spending the day with immediate loved ones, "drinking, praying, gambling, making offerings ..."

Most of the Philippines' presidents have mausoleums in Norte, "but no one pays attention to them ... and only their separate descendants come to attend them."

"There is something exhilarating here that one rarely sees in national celebrations, maybe because the structure of the ceremonial is not serial, but entirely cellular."

+

Hometowns re-exerting themselves within the nation; ordinary people scrawling meaning onto the edifices of the uppercase-P People. A multitude of the singular, instead of a single mass.

Despite nationalism's efforts to centralise and clone a national identity, still we mutate, still we bootleg, still we graffiti, becoming once again ourselves.

And---particular to post-colonial societies---in doing so we casually continue the work of liberation, sneaking the idea of freedom away from our own architects and elites and prime ministers, who would seek to seize its meaning for their own purposes.

The churches or mosques or temples to demos that the federal government builds are ours to transform. To take from. To ignore.

"No need. We've got our own shrines at home."

+

National heroes become local saints and slip out of national control.

Does the Filipino government really control the various Rizalista sects? Karpal Singh is now a datuk kong, without his political dynasty's consent.

Across Melaka and Negeri Sembilan there once existed shrines dedicated to Hang Tuah, Malay folk hero, now a powerful figurehead of Malay-Muslim ethno-nationalism.

One such shrine existed at Tanjung Tuan:

With a plain altar---more a porch, really---of poured cement, for folk to leave food offerings;

Sunlight mottled from the surrounding forest, and fluorescent lights from a nearby gazebo;

A large rock, with an indent on its crown, said to be Hang Tuah's actual footprint;

The idea that this was a sacred space, where you could come to ask the spirits of the place for love or children.

The shrine that existed was sited in a forest reserve. It was swept clean of leaves by locals; its adherents belonged to all faiths and ethnicities; following the transactional logic of folk religion, those who had received its blessing would've paid for its maintenance.

+

"Existed".

Because the Religious Department of the State of Melaka destroyed the Hang Tuah shrine sometime in 2022, for the crime of idolatry.

A double heresy. An affront to both orthodox Sunni Islam---

But also to the Malaysian state, that sanctions Sunni Islam as its official religion; whose nationalism requires its mythic hero to have only the attributes and magics the state ulama and historians say he must have---and no others.

Local shrines are destroyed, because the nation-state intuits them to be threats to its exclusive franchise.

+

Image sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_five-dollar_bill https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Putrajaya https://www.facebook.com/PilipinasRetrostalgia https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/984521.shtml https://www.facebook.com/PerakPress https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malays_(ethnic_group)

[aangelinakii]

DREADFUL WINGS.

— why won't he just drop you?

summary : ever since jason todd had gone rogue, your affiliate, batman, hired you to go undercover into his hidden mob ring to find out what he's planning for gotham. you need to seduce him, but when he actually falls, you decide you want out.

not proofread !

note : this fic contains a female reader, but almost all of my other works are gender neutral, so check out those if that's what you're looking for, or send in a request so i can cater closer to what you'd like !!

second much more casual note : i kind of got writers block like halfway through this so i kind of feel like it declined in quality throughout, so soz about that guysssss :P

third note i thought of when i almost finished writing : thiz turned iut to be a crack fic LOL enjoy

you'd been an associate of the batman ever since he'd seen you out on the field; it had been one versus almost eleven, and you'd taken each one down wirh skill, even when two or more tried to tag-team. it was impressive, and so he'd taken you in as a trainee of sorts; not enough to be family, but enough to have earned their respect.

it had been brought to both you and the bat's attention that his gone-rogue son, jason todd, had been spotted after months.

video and photo evidence showed him engaging in suspicious activity with some of gotham's most dangerous cartel leaders, and it didn't appear that he was taking order from them. no, it appeared that he was the one making the orders.

gone for ten months, and jason'd already made his way up the ranks of the crime underworld. he needed to be stopped, but there was no way he would listen to bruce wayne. even in disguise, he knew him too well. so bruce needed you.

going into it, you knew it would be a long-term job. you wouldn't be able to contact friends or family for as long as it took to create a bond with the leader, jason, and to get him to reveal information to you about his plans.

then you would be out and gone far.

for the job, you'd dyed and cut your hair, changed your makeup and clothing style completely, going from relaxed, casual clothes, to professional attire, and darker makeup. you were completely unrecognisable, and excited to go back to normal.

who knew what a real mobster was supposed to look like? the only ones you'd busted had half their face torn off, or wore a black mask.

when you first started, completely a new person, you began to frequent a bar jason was said to favour, and sometimes made deals in the back of. bruce had given you some cash ("some" being an understatement) to spend whilst under this guise, so none of your transactions went to your personal bank account, and you'd begun using a fair sum of it to pay for a drink to nurse each evening for a week.

on the final friday, you were beginning to grow bored. you were sitting in a bar on the other end of town to your apartment – the dodgy side – without a person to talk to, and those who did, were drunk men with missing teeth who tried to buy you a drink.

until the stool beside you squealed against the floor as it was pulled out. from the corner of your eye, you glanced over at them, clutching your whiskey on the rocks closer to you.

black hair, single white streak at the front, cross-shaped scar along his cheekbone. big hands, knuckles bruised, scared forearms on display beneath a rolled-up white button-up. this had to be your guy. there was no way it couldn't be.

when he ordered his drink, a deep-coloured scotch, he pressed a few bills on the counter. "keep the change," he gravelled as the barkeep gave a hum at the extra money.

no men in this area of gotham would let their change be kept behind the bar; each of them would never every bit of those coins to buy even more drinks, or drugs, or whatever they find on the side of the streets here.

this was a man who was confident in the dollars he owned. someone who pressed k in return for money. and now you just had to get in.

lifting your glass to your lips, you turned to him quietly, a glint in your eye. noting your shift, he looked up at you, still nursing his stout glass.

"you doin' all right tonight?" he offered coolly, voice a deep concoction of gotham street accent.

a hummed laugh brushed past your lips, curling them into a soft smile. "you could say that," you replied, insinuating a flirt.

and that was the beginning of it. slowly, after then, you – well, the slightly fabricated version of you – and jason began to form a relationship. at first, it was as simple as coincidentally meeting each other back at that bar, but then him taking you out every few nights.

he questioned you a few times what you did for a day job, so you opted for getting employed at a bookshop in the nicer end of town. when you asked him about his work, he was incredibly vague.

after a few months of meeting up at a restaurant or a bar, or wherever, and learning more about each other – although you'd had to revise your elaborate, false backstory, and you knew he was not telling the whole truth about his – jason finally asked you to stay round his apartment.

it was nerve-wracking, the entire idea of it. you'd faced worse things than this; actually, one time the penguin had shot you in the back, and that was quite bad. surely something like this shouldn't be so scary. for all you knew, you weren't even a real person; you were entirely made-up in this form of yourself. but he didn't know that.

as you showed up on his doorstep, looking nervously up and down the corridor at the other run-down apartments, you gave a light knock on the door, half hoping he wouldn't be home.

on the other hand, jason knew he shouldn't have gotten so attached. for one, it could get you in danger. knowing his line of work, having absolutely any personal connections could give any rivals the upper hand against him. secondly, this whole thing went against his own moral code; keeping himself safe.

he thought he knew better, not adoring the flow of your hair, the quirk of your lip when he said something in an attempt to be funny, the way you didn't let things get to his head, like your down-played aforementioned reaction to his jokes.

he thought, after everything he had experienced leading up to now, that his heart would be heavier chained-up. but you'd managed to unlock it.

tonight, he was going to make it official, despite everything else telling him not to.

when he pulled the door open, you immediately tried to thaw the frigidness of your nerves, and force a smile as genuine as you could. if this was what you had to do in order to get bruce his information, then surely you would. as long as he paid you when you get back.

"hey, i'm glad you made it," he smiled, gravelly voice the most genuine you'd ever heard it, and he pulled you in with one muscular arm into a hug, whilst his other hand closed the door behind you.

"yeah, of course," you chuckled, trying to cloak your unease with a smile as you returned the half-hug. "i wouldn't miss it for the world."

jason pulled away, and stopped for a moment to size you up with a smile. his broad frame had been fitted with a black t-shirt, which hugged him in all the right places. "i made dinner," he hummed as he turned to walk you into his apartment, and, surely, the scent of rich bolognese filled your senses.

his apartment was quaint, if not slightly messy, but you could tell jason'd made at least a little effort to clean it up a bit. but a messy guy is always messy, which you'd learned in a previous almost-relationship.

as the two of you reached his small dining table, he pulled your chair out for you before walking around to sit opposite you. the aromatic plates of spaghetti bolognese had already been laid out before each chair. the effort he'd gone to tonight was sweet... but this wasn't what you wanted.

nerves kicked in.

"this isn't my natural hair colour, you know," you blurted out, fingers curling tightly around the stem of the fork beside your plate. eyes wide, you stared on at jason opposite you, who returned the look with a bemused glint in his eye.

he gave a shrug, twirling his fork in his spaghetti, which wove around the prongs like thread in a spindle. "okay?" he hummed, slight chuckle in his tone. "what does that have to do with dinner?"

perhaps if you just tried to be as off-putting as possible, he would ask you to leave.

a few beats passed, and you lifted your fork into the food with a shake of your head. "dunno, just in case that wasn't something you'd be into."

"doesn't matter," he spoke, food half-full of bolognese.

now, what was something that would put off a literal mob boss? right!

"you know, i swear, too. quite a lot," you piped up again after a moment, shovelling some spaghetti into your mouth. damn, that man could cook. "and i know some guys find that unattractive."

some sort of snort came from the man across the table as he began to twirl a new mountain of spaghetti, and he looked up at you with a bemused glint in his eye. "you do realise i, myself have the mouth of a sailor? that doesn't matter to me."

there had to be something that ticked him off.

a few more beats passed, and you'd already eaten half your plate, the nerves catching up to you quickly.

after swallowing your mouthful, you placed your fork back down against the rim of the plate, and looked back over at jason. "i haven't told you about my past," you abruptly spoke. "i'm not sure you would want me to come back here if i ever told you."

with this, jason gave a deep breath, and put down his fork. with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair to assess you, green eyes piercing and scrutinising.

"there's a lot i haven't told you, either," he breathed after a moment, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. "a lot i've experienced in my life that i'm not proud of, that i wish could have gone... differently. but that doesn't matter to me. whatever happened in your past doesn't change who you are to me now."

for god's sake, why wouldn't he just kick you out of his apartment? each moment you stayed seated at his dinner table, the more you itched to leave, ached to blurt out your true intention.

barely a second had passed when a switch had flipped inside of you entirely, and suddenly you had tears streaming down your face. (that would be another $50 for the hysterics, bruce.) immediately, jason's expression dropped, one of worry and confusion. "what's wrong?"

your face fell into your hands, hiding the crocodile tears spilling from your eyes. "i can't give you children!" you wailed, uttering the first thing you could think of.

jaw cranked open, eyebrows creased, jason gingerly reached out to brush his fingers over your wrist. "i– where did children ever come into the equation? we're just having dinner. i don't care about children right now. not at all!"

and, almost as quickly as they came, your hysterics had halted, and you looked up from your hands, mascara inevitably smeared beneath your eyes. "okay," you stated. "i'll cut the shit."

with one swift movement, you stood to your feet, the chair you'd been sitting on squeaking against the floor. jason pulled away, sitting back in his own chair, eyes peering at you expectantly and curiously.

"i know why you asked me round tonight."

jason nodded slowly. "isn't it obvious?" he quipped, although his tone had grown wary.

"but i can't date you, jason," you stated, fists clenching by your sides. "because i'm not the person you think i am. really. everything i said is untrue, apart from the hair."

as he peered at you, jason's eyes narrowed, as if piecing everything together in his mind.

"i'm here to find out information about your drug ring, which i know all about. i knew about it from the start, from the first moment i saw you, and even before. i just needed to wait for you to trust me."

his mouth had fallen slightly ajar, eyebrows furrowing as he stared on at you. after a moment, the cogs turning in his head, his mouth closed, and he swallowed the dryness away before speaking. "well..." he sighed. "nobody's perfect."

[tvgals]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ I WANT SOME CAKE, AND IM NOT TALKING THE SWEET .

husband! gojo x black! baker! wife! reader x customer! geto

synopsis — when your best customer comes into your shop, your husband feels the need to share, just so your oh so best customer can see what he’s missing out on.

cw; food play, threesome, jealous gojo, ass eating?? awkward/ nervous geto in a way, semi-public sex, fluff to smut to fluff, my smut writing abilities aren’t the best so bare with me!!

you were in the back of the shop when you heard the bell over your shop door ring, signifying someone was here. “i’ll be there in just a second! take a moment to read over our menu if you’d like!” you call from the back. “ahh, i already know what’d i’d like.” you heard geto call from the counter. geto was one of your most loyal customers. he’d been one of your first clients to come to your shop when it first opened. you were a one man show, baking, icing, commercials, you name it. you met your husband gojo just two years after you’d created the shop, ten years in running and seven years of being married.

you basically ran from your spot in the kitchen to the counter. “geto! i haven’t seen you in a while. where ya’ been at?” you ask, crossing your arms on the counter and leaning forward. “y��know, around. met this girl and i’m talkin’ to her i guess.” geto shrugs, looking at the menu as if he didn’t get the same thing every time. “ooo, i see. are you gonna order or just stare like you don’t get the same thing every time?” you laugh, geto blushing at your bubbly smile. “yeah yeah. you know what i get. i’ll get a cinnamon bun with a glass of strawberry lemonade.” geto whispers, almost embarrassed of what he looks like ordering something so girly.

“comin’ right up.” you smile, walking into your kitchen. your husband walks into the shop with his arms open. “hey!” he smiles, everyone in the shop saying their hellos back. “in the back!” you alert your husband, who was making his way to geto. “hey.” gojo mumbles, picking food out his teeth. “hey. y/n’s in the back making my cinnamon roll.” geto replies, stretching. you stand in the back packing up geto’s cinnamon roll in a styrofoam box. you put his strawberry lemonade in a cup, a cute pink straw to compliment it. you walk to the front, looking at your husband and your best friend standing awkwardly next to each other.

“five twenty six.” you smile, handing geto his treat. geto grabs his wallet and hands you a ten dollar bill. “keep the change. i’ll be back later, yeah?” geto smiles, taking his cinnamon roll and drink and walking out. “see you later!” you wave goodbye, putting the 10 dollars in your cash register. “ain’t he the charmer?” gojo mumbles, walking behind the counter with you. “ah, he’s just generous like that.” you shrug. watching five more customers walk up to the counter.

“hello! i’m y/n, what can i get for you?” you smile, discarding of your old gloves and putting on new ones. gojo watched you as your customers ordered, your bright smile never faltering. “want help?” gojo asks, peering down at you. “i would appreciate it.” you grin, walking to the back. gojo washes his hands and puts on his own pair of gloves. your husband watches as you walk around the kitchen, staring at your ass.

“jesus, baby. might have to close shop early. those shorts look too good on you.” gojo teases, grabbing plates and a few styrofoam boxes to put the food in. “gojo! they can hear you y’know.” you roll your eyes playfully. “oh well, let them hear about how hot my wife is.” gojo snickers, smiling at your playful banter. “being hot won’t get any customers.” you say, putting a batch of cookies in the oven. “oh yes it will..” gojo grins, taking a few cups and straws.

“mhm…” you hum, leaning on the sink while the cookies baked. “y’know that geto guy…” gojo started, sighing. you let out a little laugh, grabbing a cup from gojo’s hand. “what about him?” you ask, watching the ice cubes fall into the cup. “uhhh, what’s his deal? is he dating someone orrrr…” gojo asks, turning to you. you shrug your shoulders and sigh. “yeah, he said he’s talking to this girl. i’m proud of him, actually. he’s been stuck on me for a while. i’m glad he can move on.” you smile. you realize gojo’s face falters a bit, him shifting on the balls of his feet.

“hm.” gojo hums. you open up the oven and take the cookie out with a mitten, hissing at the feeling of the heat through the mittens. “what’s wrong now?” you roll your eyes, looking over at him. “it’s just…he had a crush on you and you’re still friends with him?” gojo asks, his face scrunched up. “i mean, it was a while ago. i’m just glad he found someone else.” you shrug your shoulders, placing a few of the cookies into a plastic bag. “i see.” gojo mutters.

you walk out the kitchen to give your customers their orders, then happily taking them and paying you. “well, that’s the last of the day.” you smile to gojo, who was following behind you. “if you help me clean you can get a present afterwards.” you whisper, rubbing your thighs together. “is that so?” gojo whispers back, leaning over you. “mhm.” you hum, pressing a kiss to his lips. “but firssttt, cleaning.” you grin, handing gojo a broom. he groans and then smiles at you, grabbing your face with one hand to press a kiss to your lips one last time. “alright, ma’am.” gojo says, walking into the main entrance and starts sweeping. you grabbed a pair of gloves and started cleaning your counter and washing a few dishes. once you and gojo were both finished, you both plopped into one of the booths.

“hard day, huh sweetheart?” gojo asks, pulling you closer to him. “very. had more customers than usual lately. might have to start hiring…” you reply, fumbling with the hem of gojo’s shirt. “mmm…i can always help you, baby. i can always take some time off.” gojo suggests, rubbing your thigh. “no, no. your job is more important than mine.” gojo’s face scrunched up at this, a disapproving sigh falling from his lips. “nonsense. i am proud to say that my wife has one of the most successful bakeries in the city.” he smiles, pulling you onto his lap. gojo starts to kiss at your collarbone, looking up at you as your head lolls back in ecstasy.

“‘m gonna take you right here, yeah? is that okay with you?” gojo breathes out against your neck. you let out an airily laugh and a barely audible “yeah” and gojo starts to unbutton your shorts, unzipping them. you help gojo by shimmying out of them, your white lacy panties now soaked. “you’re so pretty, sweetheart.” gojo compliments, reaching around under your shirt to unhook your bra. you watch as gojo starts to take your shirt off, you raising your arms to make it easier. gojo sits you on the table, admiring your body. “my wife is so pretty…” gojo whines to himself, letting his hands roam around your body.

“gojo…” you mewl, arching your back. “i’m right here, baby…” he responds, pressing kisses down your stomach. “t-this isn’t sanitary…” you mumble, seeing gojo let out a chuckle. “it’s alright. we’ll be sure to clean it real good afterwards.” gojo smirked, pulling your panties aside. gojo pressed open mouthed kisses to your cute pussy, his nose nudging your clit. your hand moves to the back of his head, forcing the lower half of his face into your pussy. “that’s it, baby…fuckkk!” you moan,your thighs clenching against his head. gojo patted the inside of your thighs, signaling for you to open your legs. you whined and open up a little bit more, gojo running his hands along your thigh.

your sighs and moans eventually got louder, taking over you and gojo’s ears. which is why neither of you heard he shop door being opened. “y/n, that cinnamon-“ geto was cut off by the sight of you two, his lips pursing together. he lets out a nervous sigh, him feeling blood rush down to his dick. “shit, baby!” you moan, arching your back. “‘m gonna cum!” you warn gojo, your head falling to where the shop door was. geto’s eyes widened, him choking back a gasp. you eventually came with a groan. “shit, gojo…” you laughed, opening your eyes. your eyes widened at the sight of geto. “shit! hey!” you greeted geto in the least flustered way you could muster.

“uhh, i get it’s a bad time, sorry.” geto apologizes, putting his hands up in defense. geto turns on his heel, about to walk out the door before gojo let out a laugh. “stay. i wouldn’t mind sharing.” gojo laughs, looking at you. “would you mind, sweetheart?” you take a few moments, looking at the two men. “not at all…” you smile. “perfect.” gojo picks you up and walks you into the break room, laying you on the pink couch that you put in there. “cmon in, big boy.” gojo coaxes geto into the room. geto can feel his dick straining against his pants, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of you with your tits out and your legs open wide.

geto stalks closer to you, hovering over you and slotting a knee between your legs. “you’re so pretty…” geto whispers, pressing kisses to your lips. gojo smirks and leaves the room, walking into your little kitchen and opening the fridge door. he grabs the whipped cream and shakes it up a bit, putting a dollop in his mouth and walking back to you and geto. gojo places the whipped cream on the side of the couch, geto pulling away when he saw gojo’s feet. geto looks up at him, his breath getting heavier. “jesus. you’re such a dog, aren’t you?” gojo mocks, forcefully moving geto from on top of you and putting you on all fours on the couch.

gojo sits behind you while geto sat in front of you, geto only in his boxers. “hand me that, yeah?” gojo asks, pointing to the whipped cream. geto grabs it and hands it to gojo. he puts a mound of whipped cream on the small of your back. you let out a little “oh” at the feeling. gojo brings a hand down and smears it along your ass, some of it getting between your ass cheeks. “don’t just stare. shove your dick down her throat.” gojo says to geto. geto’s eyes widen and he takes his boxers off, his dick hitting almost above his bellybutton. you look up at geto, arching your back and grabbing his dick with two hands.

gojo is still behind you eating your ass, the whipped cream making it even more sweet. “shit..” you moaned on geto’s dick. he bucked his hips up at the feeling, mumbling out “sorry”’s. geto’s hand tangled into your hair, pushing you down farther onto his dick. you coughed and sputtered a bit, still taking him in your mouth. “ah shit…” gojo mutters, pulling away from your ass to rub your clit a bit. “that’s it…” gojos smiles. geto cums into your mouth with a groan. “mhmmm…” you moan, rolling your eyes back. you pop off of his dick and smile at him, kissing along his abs. “come get a taste, yeah?” gojo asks, looking at geto. gojo and geto switch places. now you and gojo are facing each other with you sitting on geto’s face.

“you’re so pretty, baby.” gojo smiles, pressing kisses to your lips. you hold onto gojo’s thighs while grinding on geto’s face. “thank you, baby…” you moan, kissing him back. the kisses are sloppy and wet, sounding almost identical to the sound of geto eating you out. “oh my god..” geto moaned into your ass, his hands grabbing at your ass cheeks. “m gonna cum again..” you warn geto, grinding even harder. “cum baby.” gojo whispered in your ear. you came with a loud moan, throwing your head back in pleasure. “oh shitttt…” geto moaned from under you. you rode out your high for a minute, letting out pants and whines. gojo picked you up, you wrapping your legs around his waist.

“you can go now. hope you didn’t think i was gonna let you stay.” gojo smirked. geto pursed his lips together, standing up and scurrying out the shop.

“i really wanna know what he thought about the cinnamon roll.”

TAGLIST ; @looking4chanel @draculara-vonvamp @therealcees-blog @laylasbunbunny @lovelytayy @d7n3 @deadgirlkisses @darkknightpeanutbagel @thecoloredpages @xricly @chinaza444 @baboon-milk333 @marcelineormars @mxspiderman2099 @ts1mp0ne @23victoria @ravereina @stevenknightmarc @laaailuh @diorsbrando @madz-rulez @spiderheartzz @chinieh @asensitivecookie @tourbug @anikaluv @mainvamp @strawberryshortcake143 @spectr3inl0ve @anitatvd @yuckyygutz @janaeby @milesmoralesesposa @lily-pythonz @naijagrl @ninaaaazzzz @sucuretcannelle @captaincyberqueen @cafehyunji @gtsflawless @v1rtu4lsworld

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :3

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Draco malfoy headcannons

flavor: fluffy and smutish but they're separated so you won't get jump scared

Also I'm returning to my roots with this stinky mf okay I have writers block

Sfw

Liked you in the hallway crush type of way yk like when there’s that one person in the halls that you're like “god damn, anyways where’s my next class”

Never even tried to speak to you was just like ” I'll gaze from afar”

The only problem is that he has major resting bitch face so you were sat there racking your brain over what you could’ve possibly done to this random daddy’s money kid (like this isn't set in a private school but LOOK OVER THERE)

Confessed by just standing in front of you and 👁👁 before handing you an outdated birthday card with a 100 dollar bill inside with a note inside that was basically just him like “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLE-“

You did give him a shot and he did actually speak words to you

bitchest bitch ever yall bicker (lovingly of course) 24/7

“did you for real just copy off of me?” “Okay well at least I don’t have daddy issues” “You cannot be talking and you know it”

He gives stick bug vibes yk

does not comprehend normal human life you could be complaining about doing laundry and he is like “Just have one of the elves do it?” and you are like “😶right so-“

just assume you have the answer to everything bc like you’re his partner? tf?

“how far away is Saturn in kilometers?” “They don't measure distance with kilometers, Draco, you dumbass. It’s called lightyears.” ‘right so in lightyears then?” “How tf am I supposed to know?”

he’ll hear a crash and look to you like you know what’s going on and you’ll turn his head back

I'm not one to assume someone’s sexuality but it's very much bisexual for the both of you (he likes guys and you know it)

a hot guy will pass and you both turn to each other like {insert Bratz meme here}

has created mustard gas on accident

laughs at his own jokes unironically (he is the only one laughing)

will try to be relatable and it's just like “yk that moment when your Prada shoes get gourmet chocolate on them”

makes up new names for your stuffed animals bc he thinks all the ones you picked were “lame”

his beauty sleep comes above everything else

Once Theo woke him up (there was a fire they had to evacuate) and the next night you found him hovering a pillow over Theo’s face you tackled him to the ground

Only knows how to play dominoes no card games or anything only dominoes

Bought you guys matching sleep masks

And embroidered PJs

And bunny slippers

PDA hater

He’ll sit next to you at max when you're around lots of people when you're just around his friends he's down with hugs and hand-holding holding maybe a cheek kiss but that's it

Alone is a different story he's attached to you he's actively trying to crawl under your skin as we speak

Terrified of bugs he's standing on a chair and screaming the second he sees one

Pays you in kisses when you take the bug outside (after you wash your hands)

Prefers baths over showers

Hates dogs and growls at them more than they growl at him

Only likes cats in theory bc they leave hair on his clothes

He's a reptile man

has owned a bearded dragon and will own more

Cold mf you wanna look me in the eye and tell me he has good circulation

Presses his cold ass feet against you while you're on the brink of sleep so confused when you swing your hand back to smack him

“I'm just cuddling you?”

“Cuddle somebody else fucking ice cube bitch ass”

Every single night

He sleeps on his back with his hands on his stomach like he's going to get lowered into his casket it's embarrassing

Thinks he knows how to shake ass and then when he tries (and fails) he considers never speaking to anyone ever again

Has gotten flirted with while he was with you and he just stared at them blankly bc he couldn't tell if it was happening

And then he left the room entirely

Walks in on people butt ass naked bc he has not learned how to knock (only child syndrome)

Stares a lot

He has nothing better to do so he’ll just come join you in your dorm and 👁hi👁

You've learned to block him out so he’ll scare the shit out of you

Sure he doesn't know how to flirt but he has money so he makes up for it

If you look at anything longer than three seconds he's following behind you with his card and the other twelve bags you have

This does have you ending up with things you didn't want so your friends love your random gifts

One of them will walk into potions with a luxury purse and one of the other kids will be like “tf Did you get that?” and your friends are like “🫵” And you're like “I didn't want it” So some of the student body does hate your guts just a little

favorite food is plain white rice

Thinks that acrylic nails go under the skin yk like in those videos with the fake hands pushing the nails up the finger yeah he thinks that actually happens to people

Jaw on the floor when you explain to him that's not what happens

Nsfw kinda

Down to three-way and will NOT let you forget

“I met this cute girl at the-” “I'm down. 😐”

“Oh did you see Harry this morning he was-” “Do you think he'd hook up with us?😐” “Babe. We've talked about this” “just once please”

Has asked you to peg him

unless you have a dick then he's asking for one of those two-way things (you're on my blog you know what I'm talking about dude)

Sub SUCK MY DICK DUDE HES A SUB SHUT UP

Actively begging sobbing on his knees “Please baby Please being so good please”

Would be a swinger and he'd have a pineapple on his front porch

Sorry

Has dabbled in the lockerrooms

Will ask you if the boys can watch him hit and you said only if they see him at his lowest begging and pleading for you he is silent as of now (give him two weeks)

Type of bitch to be covered in hickeys and when someone is like “What happened? To your neck?” and he's like “Literally what are you talking about?” will gaslight them into thinking there's nothing on his neck

Prefers cuddling naked but hates not immediately being in the bath after sex so he has to battle himself in his head

Can't dirty talk he's like “You look so nice when you're not in clothes? Do you like my wee wee?” and you're sitting there “bitch your what?”

Have resulted in him not being allowed to talk

Quickies number one hater

Needs his time to get into pussybitchboy mode

Okay bye

[darkenamour]

Platonic Daddy! Yandere! Wilson Fisk x Little! Willing! Reader x Reluctant! Platonic Mommy! Vanessa Fisk

This was messily written. I wrote as it came to me. I will edit this.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Gun Violence, Violence, Human Trafficking, Yandere Behavior, Forced Relationships, Forced Breastfeeding.

KingPin (DareDevil series/comics) inspired.

Summary: You started working in a shady restaurant and met a scary regular. Somehow you ended up kidnapped and with a new set of "parents"

You were just a waiter at a restaurant, nobody really. All you did was wait tables all day at some restaurant that never had a full house since you've worked there. One man was a regular, he would come in four times a week for dinner. He wasn't the only regular, but he was the most memorable regular. With his enormous height, heavyset body, complete bald head, stark white suit, and bright blue eyes, he was utterly noticeable.

The only other waiter, the first time he came, was intimidated by his physique so you had to be the one to take his order. The man looked so tired, as if he just woken up, and it compelled you to give him a cup of coffee on the house. He ordered two different plates and a fountain drink, of which he had three refills. You waited on him like any other person, cracked a few jokes, and wished him a good day. Before he left, his plates and cup empty, he personally gave you a tip and thanked you for the coffee. The tip was a fifty dollar bill.

It wasn't completely unknown to you that more unsavory people would come into the restaurant. Ranging from small-time thugs to ring leaders of criminal organizations. It was a blessing and a curse for the restaurant and its employees. Everyone actually paid for their meals, some would leave big tips like the man, and it kept the business going. There would be times someone would get too much and create a ruckus, once there was a shoot out once, which you thankfully didn't witness. Because of the danger you were able to easily get a job, a job you desperately needed.

Ever since you graduated, you haven't been able to land a job due to inexperience. As the years went by you were desperate to find a way to no longer be a burden on your family. So you decided to walk around the more dangerous parts of the city and found a help wanted sign in the window. Your coworkers were great, the chefs were friendly enough, and your boss, the owner, gave you a decent wage. It was truly a blessing even if the environment was dangerous.

It had been six months of working, two months of knowing your memorable regular ("Call me Wilson."), when you witnessed your first shooting. A customer was complaining about their food, a street thug, and gave your coworker a hard time. Your regular, the large man, was just about to tell you his order when a shot rang out. The thug had just shot your coworker, your friend, and your fight or flight response came in. You were in fight mode.

Grabbing the first empty chair in arms reach, you slammed the chair on the back of the fleeing thug's head. They went down hard, dropping their gun, and cursing you. Their two friends got out their own guns and pointed at you, before they could shoot, a large shadow towered over you.

"Now, that's no way to treat a lovely lady." Wilson, your regular, said in a gravelly voice. The others paled and lowered their guns.

"Lovely lady my ass, she busted my skull open." The thug on the ground shouted, still turning around holding his head. "I'm gonna fucking kill the bitch." As he turned around and saw Wilson, he also paled. "Mr. Fisk, sir, I didn't see you there." He stammered.

Your friend groaned, holding their side, you dropped the chair and went to their side. It looked like they were shot in the leg, you took off your apron and put pressure on the wound.

"Look, I didn't know you came to this joint." The thug continued to stammer. Ambulance and police sirens could be heard outside. "Listen, I'll never come back to this place, I promise."

"That's a promise you can keep behind bars." You heard the guy scramble, a loud wet crunch, and a scream. You looked up to see Wilson stepping the thug's hand, that was reaching for his gun. His friends ran out in a panic, the police came in to take the thug and question everyone. Your friend was taken to the hospital.

When your family heard what happened, they begged you to quit, find another job. You compromised with them, sending your resume to different job openings, only quitting when somewhere else hires you. Wilson still stayed a regular, still giving you large tips, and your coworker came back a month later. Everything went back to normal, but you never received a call back from the places you applied.

When it was your anniversary of working at the restaurant, your coworkers set up a small party after closing. It was dark when everyone started to go home. As you approached your car someone behind you covered your face with a cloth and your world went dark.

Voices shouted around you as you woke up.

"I'm just saying this is a bad idea."

"Please, that Chinese bitch asked for girls, she didn't say from where."

"But, the Kingpin's rules."

"I don't give a shit about his rules. He broke my fucking hand and almost sent me to prison. All over some fat bitch in a shitty joint."

You noticed you were tied up and your mouth was taped shut. You were in the back of a van with two other girls in the same position. One girl started to panic and screamed behind her closed mouth.

"Shut them the fuck up." You look up and notice the thug that shot your coworker and his friends.

The one sitting in the back took out a needle syringe and injected the screaming girl with it. After a while the girl went limp.

"Shot them all up, we're almost there and I don't want any of them struggling." After a sharp pinch the world was no more.

The next time you woke up, you were naked and in a room with other girls. They were either naked like you, or wore plain lingerie that barely covered anything. After a while someone threw a bag filled with plain lingerie, and you noticed you, and other bigger girls, were the only one left without clothes. Later water bottles were thrown in, only enough for half of the girls. Some girls were selfish and hogged a whole bottle, others shared. What felt like a whole day, a few buffer men came in and took a few girls by force. The next day more men came in to take more girls. It kept repeating, after the fifth time you and the other bigger girls got lingerie. More girls were brought in.

After what felt like two weeks, you were nibbling on some stale bread when they took all the bigger girls. You were terrified, wondering what will happen to you. You and girls were lined up in front of a group of people, a girl squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. When you looked around, you were surprised to see Wilson in the group. He also seemed surprised when his eyes landed on you.

"As you can see Mr. Fisk, we in fact respect your wishes." An Asian man in front of an elderly woman said. She was sitting in a chair and said something in her native tongue. "I always make sure to leave your territory alone, never picking from your fields."

"Is that so?" Wilson said. He stepped forward and took out his hand. "Come here, y/n." He called out. You clutched onto the other girl. "It's all right, sweetheart, I'm here to take you home."

The old woman shouted. "I'm sorry, but I think you're mistaking the merchandise for someone else." The man then tried soothing the old woman in their native tongue.

You felt your eyes water at being called merchandise, you were a human, not a thing. Wilson called out your name again. You let go of the girl. He said he would take you home and you wanted to go home.

When you reached him, you threw your arms around his middle and cried into his chest. He patted your head and rubbed your back. "It's alright, it's alright. Now tell me, who brought you here?"

"The guy that shot my friend and his friends." You said between sobs.

"My poor little sunshine, you must have been so scared." He kissed the top of your hair. "Don't worry, everything will be alright now." He used his strength to leave you in his arms. You buried your face in his shoulder, clutching the front of his suit. "You broke our deal."

The woman shouted. "We had no idea she was one of yours. Whoever brought her to us is at fault." The man translated.

"Whoever brought her here was under your orders. " He started to walk away. "I expect compensation for the kidnapping of my daughter." There was a sharp inhale. Daughter, why did he call you his daughter?

He brought you to his limo and settled you in his lap, covering you with his jacket. "It's alright, princess. Once we get home you'll have a nice bath, a warm meal, and I'll tuck you in bed. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Your body felt numb, but nodded. Finally getting clean, real food, and a bed sounded like a dream. You pressed close to him to get warm.

When he carried you out of the limo, you didn't recognize your surroundings. He took you to what looked like a luxury apartment complex. Taking the elevator, he pressed the top floor button. It looked like his private condo took up the whole floor.

He finally sat you down in a chair in the bathroom. He filled the overly large tub with warm water and bubbles. When the tub was full you expected him to leave, but instead he started to take off the lingerie you wore. You shrieked and scooted away from him.

"It's alright, sweetie. I know you're scared, but you should let daddy take care of you." He said.

"I can wash myself." You stammered back.

"I know you're my big girl, but daddy hasn't seen you in days." He grabbed your arm, preventing you from moving away. Taking off the last bit of article that covered you, he picked you up and placed you in the tub. Grabbing a washcloth he started to scrub your body. You jumped at that.

"Please, I can wash myself." You cried.

"No, no," he shook his head, "I said I was going to take care of you. Daddy will make everything better and you'll get to see your friends tomorrow. Doesn't that sound fun?"

It scared you, having a large man handle you. You had no idea why he kept calling himself "daddy", or why he was insistent on treating you like a child. He was just a regular at the restaurant you work at. You decided to comply. If a man could easily carry someone like you around, who knows what else he could do.

When he finished giving you a bath he picked you up from the tub, wrapped in a large towel, and carried you to a bedroom. He placed you on a bed and dressed you in childish looking underwear and soft pajamas with your favorite childhood characters. Not only was it embarrassing, but it had you questioning why the man had such clothing in your exact size. He picked you back up and sat you at a dining table.

"You sit there while daddy gets you your favorite soup." When he left for the kitchen, you debated on whether or not to try to leave. You decided against it, you had no clue where you were and he did say you were going to see your friends tomorrow. Maybe he wasn't that bad of a man, maybe this was his strange way comforting you.

As promised, he came back with a bowl of your favorite soup and a juice box. Before you could grab the spoon yourself, he lifted the spoon to your face. "Open wide." He looked at you expectantly.

"I can feed myself." You stuttered, feeling your cheeks blush. You looked at the ground embarrassed at the situation even more.

He placed a hand on your chin, forcing you to look at him. Looking up, you felt smaller than you ever had, especially with his large stature. "Just let daddy spoil you, ok?" Once again, you wordlessly nodded, afraid of what might happen if you said no.

He fed you like a baby, wiping your face after each spoonful, and occasionally held up the juice box for you to drink from. When the bowl was completely empty, he picked you up again. "It's time for bed."

He took you to the same bedroom as before. You finally looked around and saw what looked like a child's bedroom. Your favorite color painted the walls, shelves filled with children's books, a desk covered in coloring books and crayons, a toy box, childish furniture, and a bed with sheets covered in your favorite childhood characters. It made you bewildered why the man had such a room in the first place.

As he tucked you in bed, he gave your forehead a kiss. "Sleep tight my little princess. Daddy has to take care of business, but if you need anything the nanny will be just outside, ok?"

"Ok." You said automatically.Nanny? So he's keeping a guard on you? There goes your ability to escape and go back home to your family.

Finally laying on a soft bed after days of barely sleeping on the floor, you eventually feel asleep. By morning Wilson was waking you up. He took you to the bathroom to do your business, without leaving, and gave you a brightly colored toothbrush. Today's saving grace was that he allowed you to walk, but held onto your hand. He still changed your clothes, putting on something that you would normally wear. You ate breakfast without help and he took you to work via a chauffeur.

Before you could jump out of the car, Wilson asked for a kiss. So close to freedom, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. He finally let you go after he gave his own kiss and wished you a good day.

When you walked into the restaurant, you were ambushed by your coworkers once they saw you. Apparently Wilson told them he would bring you back, but they didn't believe it. The owner asked if you actually wanted to work today. You told them that you wanted to go home, since you hadn't seen your family yet. They took you home.

Your family was overwhelmed when they saw you, you all cried. They called the police to inform them you returned and they came to question you. You gave them the descriptions of the three men that took you and two people that were behind it. You didn't mention Wilson picking you up, only saying you managed to escape and run into someone who helped you.

After winding down, you had a celebratory lunch with your family for your safe return. No one went to work that day and held onto you tight. When it was a little past your working shift, a knock came from the door. When a knock came from the door, you were surprised to see Wilson at the door when a family member opened it. When he asked for you, your family was suspicious of him. You blurted out that he was the one that helped you, that made the family welcome him in open arms. They insisted he stay for dinner, to show their appreciation.

The women, and few of the men, were in the kitchen preparing traditional dishes for an army. Wilson sat with you on the couch, your family treated him like he was a part of the family. When he placed an arm over your shoulder, some of your family members gave a teasing glance. They were the ones insistenting you should have been married already. If only they knew he didn't see you as a lover, but as a daughter.

You couldn't help but cuddle into his side, enjoying the feeling of being small. You haven't felt small in years, you usually were the biggest person in the room. When dinner was ready, you began insisting that your favorite food was the best. You plated most of the food for Wilson, almost forgetting his strange nature from yesterday. When the day winded down, only your closest family members stayed over. Wilson left as well, you gave him a hug goodbye.

It took two days for you to return to work, you were grateful that you even still had a job. Wilson came in that day for lunch. When no one was looking, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. He seemed surprised by that. When he finished, he gave you your usual tip and a note that asked you to come home with him during the weekend.

You felt nervous and questioned your sanity for actually going to his place. He babies you the whole weekend, treating you like a toddler. You enjoyed cuddling with him on the couch while watching children's movies and shows, when he fed you, when he changed you, when he carried you around, and when he would call you nicknames. Your "nanny" was someone called Hildy, a no nonsense woman that treated you like a child without asking questions. It made you feel carefree, like you had nothing to worry about for about two and a half days.

It was a routine for about a year, your family thought you were dating, your coworkers never questioned Wilson's behavior towards you. You never once imagined that you would be in the situation you found yourself in. One morning, when Wilson left for "business," you groggily got out of bed to ask Hildy for a glass of water. A woman was in the living room with her, demanding where Wilson was. When she looked at you, with your bed hair, she assumed you were sleeping with him. You made a face at that. "Gross, he's my daddy." You told her. Later you were properly introduced to Vanessa.

Vanessa did not accept the type of relationship you had with her boyfriend. Well, not at first. After your third week, she saw everything that Wilson did with you. She was still hesitant, but you guess Wilson told her something because she started to join him for lunch at your workplace. You treated them like normal customers and she seemed nervous the whole time. The next weekend, Wilson had her feed you and read you a bedtime story. The next week he had her change your clothes and cuddle you while watching tv. Then it escalated to her bathing you. She tried to touch you in a sexual manner while bathing you, you screeched and cried like a child. Wilson was angry at her and kicked her out. You didn't see her for two weeks.

The next time you saw her, she apologized and promised to never do that again, you were weary of her. You clung to Wilson whenever she was around, hiding behind him, hiding behind daddy. He kept you safe. But he wanted Vanessa to be your mommy. When it seemed like you weren't getting used to her, something happened.

When you entered the condo after being picked up from work, you noticed Vanessa waiting on the couch. She was wearing a loose button up, and gestured you to her lap. Daddy didn't let you hide behind him, he picked you up and sat you on her lap. You started to cry, wondering what was happening. "She's just being fussy, aren't you princess?" Daddy cooed. "Our poor baby must be hungry. Don't you think so, honey?"

"Yes." Vanessa stammered.

"Well, aren't you going to feed her?" Vanessa started to clumsy unbutton her shirt. You wanted to panic, to pull away from her, but daddy kept you in place. Vanessa exposed one of her breasts.

"Here, eat." She tried to push her breast into your force. Daddy stopped her and scowled.

"Don't force it, let her latch naturally." He patted your head and adjusted you so your head was next to her breast. "Come on sweetheart, aren't you hungry?" He encouraged. "Has daddy ever let you astray?" No, daddy has never let anything, or anyone, hurt you.

Shyly, you latched onto her nipple, she gasped and daddy praised you. As you sucked, you tasted something sweet and warm. You sucked harder and more of the sweet nectar came rushing into your mouth. Vanessa was lactating! "That's a good girl, eating without a fuss." Daddy praised. "And mommy is being so good at feeding our precious baby."

You could hear Vanessa cry, but you didn't let it bother you. You were hungry and she was feeding you yummy milk. When her breast was empty, you whined for more. Daddy took out her other breast since Vanessa was still crying. You drank until you sucked her dry. Happily humming with a full stomach, you nuzzled into your new mommy. She gave you nice warm milk and daddy said she was mommy. Your weekends now included drinking milk from mommy, who cried from happiness at being able to feed her baby.

[calscompositions]

don’t mind me, just putting some of my favorite Failboat quotes here

“…now I’m actually able to broadcast to people in, like, what? Lithuania! And… California! [long silence] …I’ve run out of locations in the world that I’m aware of.”

“Sorry, it’s not ‘Do you’, I’m an idiot. It’s ‘triangle-o-trident-o going through (can’t remember what was said here and the quote I’m copying censored this bit)-u with a lil extra somethin somethin-double t-pi-upside down triangle-square root of Christ.”

“That’s not a boot! It’s the god of death, Grandma!”

“Nice balls. Your life is forfeit.”

“So, yee— and I cannot stress this enough— haw.” *launches self into the air while riding another player disguised as a llama*

“Frosty the Snowman decided that one day / That if you see him approaching, you should pick a god and pray”

“Hello there, your call is very important to us. Thank you for calling Bed Bath and Beyond, you are currently number 289 in cue, estimated time remaining: 14 years. You'll be here forever, we have actually stapled the phone to your ear. That's right, you're here forever, we own you. People always wondered what was in the beyond department. Everyone you love is in the beyond department. Thank you for calling.”

“I’m gonna fire a drill and I’m gonna fire a drill and I’m gonna kill this guy by firing a drill and I’m gonna fire a drill and I’m just gonna kick this guy and guess how you’re gonna die? By firing a drill.”

“Careful Link! It’s an apostrophe!”

“Thank you Goku, for creating the Hatsune Miku gun.”

(talking to chat) “Chat, you don’t sound a lot like denomination right now. Say something a coin would say.” “Father, give us hands so that we can feel something other than pain.” “An official quote from the US dollar bill!” “Rising house prices.” “Ok hold on that sou— that’s very coin-like.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

John Deere's repair fake-out

Last week, a seeming miracle came to pass: John Deere, the Big Ag monopolist that — along with Apple — has led the Axis of Evil that killed, delayed and sabotaged dozens of Right to Repair laws, sued for peace, announcing a Memorandum of Understanding with the American Farm Bureau Federation to make it easier for farmers to fix their own tractors:

https://www.fb.org/files/AFBF_John_Deere_MOU.pdf

This is a move that’s both badly needed and long overdue. Deere abuses copyright law to force farmers to pay for official repairs — even when the farmer does the repair. That’s possible thanks to a practice called VIN locking, in which engine parts come with DRM that prevents the tractor from recognizing them until they pay hundreds of dollars for a John Deere technician to come to their farm and type an unlock code into the tractor’s console:

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

Like all DRM, VIN locks are covered by Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), a 1998 law that criminalizes distributing tools to bypass “access controls,” even if you do so for a lawful purpose (say, to fix your own tractor using a part you paid for). Violations of DMCA 1201 carry a penalty of 5 years in prison and a $500k fine — for a first offense.

This means that Deere owners are locked into using Deere for repairs, which also means that if Deere decides something isn’t broken, a farmer can’t get it fixed. This is very bad news indeed, because John Deere tractors are just computers in a fancy, mobile case, and John Deere is incredibly bad at digital security:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

That’s scary stuff, because John Deere is a monopolist, and a successful attack on the always-connected, networked tractors and other equipment it supplies to the world’s farmers could endanger the global food supply.

Deere doesn’t want to make insecure tractors, but it also doesn’t want to be embarrassed by security researchers who point out that its security is defective. Because security researchers have to bypass Deere tractors’ locks to probe their security, Deere can leverage DMCA1201 into a veto over who gets to warn the public about the mistakes it made.

It’s not just security researchers that Deere gets to gag: the company uses its repair monopoly to threaten farmers who complain about its business practices, holding their million-dollar farm equipment hostage to their silence:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

This all adds up to what Jay Freeman calls “felony contempt of business model,” an abuse of copyright law that allows a monopolistic corporation to reach beyond its own walls and impose its will on it customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

If Deere was finally suing for peace in the Repair Wars, well, that was wonderful news indeed — as I said, a seeming miracle.

But — like all miracles — it was too good to be true.

The MOU that Deere and the Farm Bureau signed is full of poison pills, gotchas, fine-print and mendacity, as Lauren Goode documents in her Wired article, “Right-to-Repair Advocates Question John Deere’s New Promises”:

https://www.wired.com/story/right-to-repair-advocates-question-john-deeres-new-promises/

For starters, the MOU makes the Farm Bureau promise to end its advocacy for state Right to Repair bills, which would create a repair system governed by democratically accountable laws, not corporate fiat. Clearly, Deere has seen the writing on the wall, after the passage in 2002 of Right to Repair laws in New York and Colorado:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/06/when-drm-comes-your-wheelchair

These two bills broke the corporate anti-repair coalition’s winning streak, which saw dozens of state R2R bills defeated:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/26/nixing-the-fix/#r2r

Deere’s deal-with-the-devil is a cynical ploy to brake R2R’s momentum and ensure that any repairs are carried out on Deere’s terms. Now, about those terms…

Deere’s deal offers independent repair shops access to diagnostic tools and parts “on fair and reasonable terms,” a murky phrase that can mean whatever Deere decides it means. Crucially, the deal is silent on whether Deere will supply the tools needed to activate VIN locks, meaning that farmers will still be at Deere’s mercy when they effect their own repairs.

What’s more, the deal itself isn’t legally binding, and Deere can cancel it at any time. Once you dig past the headline, the Deere’s Damascene conversion to repair advocacy starts to look awfully superficial — and deceptive.

One person who wasn’t fooled is sick.codes, the hacker who has done the most important work on reverse-engineering Deere’s computer systems, culminating in last summer’s live, on-stage hack of a John Deere tractor at Defcon:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/15/deere-in-headlights/#doh-a-deere

Shortly after the announcement, Sick.codes tweeted how the fine-print in the MOU would have prevented him from doing the work he’s already done (including “a direct stab at me lol”):

https://twitter.com/sickcodes/status/1612484935495057409

As with other instances of monopolistic, corporate copyfraud — like, say, the deceptive Open Gaming License — the John Deere capitulation is really a bid to take away your rights, dressed up as a gift of more rights:

https://mostlysignssomeportents.tumblr.com/post/706163316598407168/good-riddance-to-the-open-gaming-license

[Image ID: Hieronymus Bosch's painting, 'The Conjurer.' The Conjuror's shell-game table holds a small John Deere tractor that the audience of yokels gawps at. One yokel is wearing a John Deere hat. The conjurer is holding a wrench.]

[writingquestionsanswered]

Prompted by the anon who asked about becoming an author with little writing practice. What are your personal thoughts on writing with a goal to have a paycheck? Including a genuine interest in writing, of course. I've dabbled a little bit in writing, and I always wanted to be published, but I imagined this would happen later on in my life. I'm currently unemployed and have been ghosted and rejected everywhere for over a year now. I'm starting to get a little desperate, and I'm looking at publishing a book as the better option now... but I'm in no way practised enough to be thinking about that. What's your take on it?

The Realities of Making Money with Writing

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but writing--in any capacity--is not a viable solution for when you're unemployed and need a paycheck. It's actually very hard to make a living as a writer, and that's even more true for inexperienced writers...

Writing in a paid position, such as a staff writer for a magazine or newspaper, is the most viable way to make money as a writer. However, paid writing positions are limited in number and highly competitive. You typically need to have the writing experience and credentials to qualify for the position, and if you don't, you're probably not getting a position that pays the bills.

Traditional publishing is not a great goal if you're looking for a paycheck. Not only does it typically take years of writing, querying, and rejection before you get a publishing deal (if ever), once you get that deal it's not the cash cow you may think it is. First, advances for debut authors can be as low as a few thousand dollars and are rarely above $10k. While that may sound like a ton of money, especially when you're unemployed, remember you're paying taxes on that, so what you actually get to keep is significantly less. Then, whatever that amount is will be broken into two to four equal payments. So you're either getting a few grand that has to last you six months or so, or you're getting about $1500 that has to last you a few months or so. In today's economy, neither amount goes very far. It'd be like having a job where you make $500 a month. You'd likely do better with a job at a fast food place. And once you get a book deal, it's going to be at least a year before your book is published and for sale, so it's going to be a while before you're seeing royalties. Even then, most books (even traditionally published ones), don't sell enough copies for the author to make a living wage. Most authors who're able to make a living wage either have a wildly popular book or a backlog of reasonably popular books. Debut authors don't usually make much money.

Self-Publishing is a terrible goal if you're looking for a paycheck. First, self-publishing a book that sells well requires most people to invest a little in their book. Professional cover art, professional editing, and advertising are just a few of the places where self-published authors routinely invest in their own books. While it's possible to self-publish a book for free, you really have to know what you're doing in order to pull it off successfully. Self-published books are hard enough to sell with professional covers, excellent editing, and paid advertising. You won't get far with an amateur cover, bad editing, and inadequate advertising and promo. Self-publishing is also not something you should be considering if you describe yourself as someone who has "dabbled in writing" and "not practiced enough to think about publishing." Self-publishing is a serious industry composed primarily of serious authors who have put in the time, effort, and practice to hone their craft and create quality books. Every time someone half-asses a book in hopes of a windfall, it damages the collective reputation of serious self-published authors.

Furthermore: even if you are an experienced writer who writes an AMAZING professionally edited book with a gorgeous cover, and you put a ton of effort and money into marketing your book, you are still probably not going to make enough on one book to pay the bills. The way to make money via self-publishing is by writing a volume of great books that sell well so you can make money on your backlog. Many authors also do things to diversify their revenue stream, such as offering courses, workbooks, critique and editing services, etc., but these are not things inexperienced writers should be offering.

So, if you're someone who has "dabbled in writing" and are looking for a way to pay the bills right now, writing isn't it.

Instead, you need to look for another job right now and keep writing in your spare time. Read a lot of books, write a lot of stories and novels that will never be published. Hone your craft. Then, when you've got a lot of stories under your belt and have critique partners and beta readers swooning over your fiction--then you can self-publish your debut novel or try querying again. Just remember that, even then--even when you've put in the time to hone your craft--neither traditional publishing or self-publishing is guaranteed to be a windfall that pays the bills. Most authors have a day job.

Best of luck on your journey! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[munson-blurbs]

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 003: We're the Freaks

Summary: You muster up some courage and devise a plan to help Eddie remember the good parts of his life, while the effects of his alternate dimension adventure begin to sink in.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, mention of shock therapy, drug use, the beginnings of mutual pining hehehe

WC: 4.4k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 31, 1984

Eddie sees you before you can even greet him, lips turning upwards in a shy smile. It’s as though he was hoping you’d be at the party, desperate for the opportunity to talk with you. He stops counting the dollar bills clenched in his left hand and casts his eyes down for a second before looking back at you. 

“Hey, uh, hi. What can I do ya for?” He bites the inside of his cheek in a silent berating. You can practically hear his brain chastising him for such an awkward opening: ‘What can I do ya for?’ Christ, am I Eddie Munson or Andy Griffith? 

You hold out the twenty dollars from Carol. “Can I buy some weed?” If Worst Conversational Skills was an Olympic sport, the two of you could easily win the gold medal. Maybe they’d even create a platinum one for your extraordinary contributions. 

Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you cringe at your own question, or he doesn’t care. He only nods, rifling through his tin box. “You want just the flower or pre-rolled?” When he’s met with no answer, he brings his focus to you again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Carol didn’t specify what she wanted; last time, he’d only had flower. Was she happy with that? Did she say anything about wishing it was already neatly rolled into a blunt for her to smoke? Your thumbnail tucks itself between your teeth, a nervous habit. You can practically picture her disdain at your potential mistake. And Heather won’t be able to hide her disappointment; not at your wrong decision, but the way you’re squandering your chance at popularity. 

“You sure?” Eddie props one elbow on the counter and gazes directly into your eyes, concern woven into his kind smile. “So you know, it’s not like cutting the wrong wire. Nothing explodes if you choose one over the other.”

Except whatever semblance of a social life you have left. “Totally fine. I’ll go with flower. Thanks.” You show him the crumpled bill again but he waves it off. 

“It’s on me.” He pulls out a baggie and gives it to you, the scent of marijuana pungent even through the plastic. “This is some good shit, too. Kinda makes me mad it’ll be wasted on Carol and Tommy.” He laughs when you freeze, caught in the act. “C’mon, you think I didn’t realize that you only bought from me when you started hanging out with them?” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans in slightly, pleased with his discovery. “Do you even smoke?”

You shake your head shamefully, not daring to make eye contact. 

“Do you want to?” This grabs your attention. “With me, not them,” he clarifies. 

“I shouldn’t…my parents would kill me if I come home high,” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything,” he says, latching the locks on the tin box. “Just figured we could hang out or something; y’know, maybe try and figure out how Carol manages to lodge such a huge stick up her ass.”

As if on cue, the person in question shouts your name from across the room, tone thick with impatience. Your middle finger itches to flip her off, but your cowardice wins—as usual. “I gotta get this to her,” you mumble, shoving the money back in your bag. “Thanks again.”

You begin to walk away, but his fingertips gently graze your wrist. An electric current flows between you, a spark that could burn bright if only you’d fan the flame. “Look, I’m not sure why someone as nice as you is hanging out with people like them, but if you ever need a friend—a real friend—just say the word.” The smile he offers this time is not one of amusement, but of empathy. I know what it’s like to mold myself into what people want me to be. “You like to read, right?”

His seemingly random question draws your brows skyward. “Yeah…?”

“Use that,” he juts his chin in the direction of your bag, where you’re storing Carol’s money, “to buy yourself a new book. A hardcover; none of that paperback bullshit.” He punctuates the statement with a wink. The gestures have your stomach in knots; all you want is to take his hand and talk with him for hours, leaving behind the pressures of status quo adherence, but you can’t. 

“Um, hello?” Carol’s screeching voice snaps you back into reality, and you shuffle over to her without formally saying good-bye to Eddie. 

You have eight months left until you graduate and can get as far away from Hawkins as you possibly can. But until that day arrives, you’re stuck playing the game. 

March 31, 1986

“Eighty-six.”

The voice is a whisper, an angel beckoning him towards heaven. 

“Eighty-six!” the voice hisses, urgently this time, much more Lucifer than Gabriel. 

Eddie jerks awake, wincing when the handcuff clangs against the gurney’s metal bar and digs into his wrist. He’s become accustomed to it while he’s awake, but it still catches him off-guard as he rejoins the land of the living. “Jesus H. Christ, what?” he grumbles, expecting the sinister stare of a white-coated man.

Instead, he sees you in the doorway: fear seeping from every pore, but not an ounce of malice in your eyes.

“Oh, hi,” he says sleepily, ease flooding his bones when he realizes he isn’t being subjected to more unpleasant memories or poking and prodding–yet. He uses his free hand to scratch at the stubble forming along his jawline. “055, right?”

You nod, lip firmly tucked between your teeth. His grogginess means that he’s moving at a pace far too slow for your liking, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. “Yeah, mhm; that’s me.” You check over your shoulder to ensure no one’s coming, then duck into his room. “The doctors are busy with another patient,” you start, omitting that their busy-ness involves electroconvulsive therapy for “non-compliance,” “so we have a few minutes for me to pull a memory, if you want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, softly but enthusiastically. A smile tugs at his lips. “Can you do another one with Dustin? But, like, a less, um, terrible one?” He can still taste his own blood in his mouth when he thinks about it.

“I’ll do my best,” you promise, standing in front of him. He looks naked without his signature wild mane; there’s no longer anything for him to hide behind. How many times had you seen him in class, carelessly running his hands through his hair, his rings getting snagged on a rogue curl? All of it–the jewelry included–is now gone. You can’t even reassure him that it’ll grow back, because the doctors will ensure that it’s kept closely shaved. 

He assumes the same position as he did the previous day, but with one major difference: he extends his hand, an unmistakable attempt to hold yours.

“Oh, um,” you stammer, simply staring at it. “We don’t…you don’t need to do that for this to work,” you supply.

Eddie withdraws, not only his hand, but his body caves in from the rejection. He gives a quick nod, shoulders gently hunched so he takes up less space. 

Immediately, your heart lurches. “I mean, we can if you…if it’ll help you feel better.” If you want to is too loaded a statement to make. “I just wanted you to know that it isn’t, like, required.”

“I know.” 

With those two words, you reach out and take his palm in yours, sweat-slicked despite the lab’s perpetual chill. The rough calluses on his fingertips scratch against your skin as his lifelines merge with your own.You remember comparing with Heather back in fourth grade, sitting on a bench during recess while the other kids played dodgeball or fought over the playground's sole tire swing. She swore that she could read some hidden meaning behind them. You’d always thought it was mumbo-jumbo, that there was no way she could obtain that information from etches in your hand or the direction of your fingerprint swirls. 

When she’d read her own palm, how long did she say she would live? Was it eighteen years, the age she was on that fateful night?

“You okay?” Eddie’s head is cocked slightly as though examining the gears turning within your skull. “I dunno if this hurts you or anything, but we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I’ll get my memories back another way.” 

You shake your head, well-aware that there aren't any other feasible options, especially for happy memories. The scientists only want to see who was with him in the Nether, and from what you’ve gleaned, no part of that experience was pleasant. 

“It’s fine,” you mutter, embarrassed that he has to comfort you. “It doesn’t hurt me. You’re the one who’ll end up with a headache,” you point out. 

“Fair enough.”

You swallow your nerves, heart beating in your ears. If the doctors find you in here unsupervised and without permission…your mind won’t allow you to consider the consequences. Perhaps you’ll be next in line for Ol’ Shocky. “I need you to think about your friend Dustin. Picture him and bring the image to the forefront of your mind. Try not to let your thoughts wander.”

Eddie nods, mouthing Dustin’s name over and over as you delve deep into his brain, using his sole memory—and your memory of that memory—as guidance. 

After what seems like eons, you latch onto one and tug it to the surface triumphantly. You can feel blood trickling down your nose and over your lips, but you do your best to focus on the task at hand. 

Hawkins High’s cafeteria is buzzing with excited conversation, the phrases “I missed you!” and “how was your summer?” and “did you hear about what happened at Starcourt?” seem to be constants. A banner hung up in the entryway reads ‘WELCOME BACK, TIGERS!’, complete with an illustration that some poor art club sap was probably volunteered to paint. 

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on the tile floor, avoiding anyone and anything. He just needs to get to his table, eat lunch, and repeat every day until—

The sound of a lunch tray clattering to the ground, followed by a cacophony of malicious chuckles, grabs his attention. He watches as a group of seniors gather around a table, laughing hysterically. 

“C’mon, seriously?” A kid—Dustin, you both determine from the earlier memory pull—whines at the ruined pizza slice below him. 

“What’s that?” One of them sneers. “I don’t speak Mushmouth.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and flips off the older kid. “You’re lucky Steve graduated already, or he’d kick your ass!” he shouts.

The second boy hides his face as though hoping he won’t be their next victim, but his vulnerability makes him a prime target. Down, down, down falls his lunch, followed by one belonging to a scrawny kid who looks like a poster boy for The Gap. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to ignore the situation, but his conscience steers him towards the kids. “Show’s over,” he grumbles, using the strength acquired from lugging amps to break it up. He grabs one of the bullies by the collar—a jock, Andy something-or-other, according to his letterman jacket—and snarls, “get the fuck outta here before I tip off your coach to check your piss.” 

Andy just nods, attempting to play it cool, but Eddie can feel him trembling under his grip. He puffs up his chest and walks away, taking his posse with him. 

“Thanks,” Scrawny Kid mumbles, haphazardly brushing chocolate milk residue off his clothes. He refuses to make eye contact, thoroughly humiliated on his first day of high school. 

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie says casually. “Just, uh, it might help your case if you don’t dress like some prep school wannabe.” He grins, and to his delight, the boys smile with him. 

Scrawny Kid shakes his shaggy hair from his eyes. “I’m Mike, and this is Lucas,” he points to the kid who’d tried to make himself invisible, “and Dustin.” The kid branded ‘Mushmouth’ gives a small wave. 

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Weird Al, huh?” he laughs, unable to hide his amusement at Dustin’s choice of t-shirt. “Christ, you three are clueless.” He cocks an inquiring eyebrow. There’s one place he can take them under his wing and keep them safe from the moldy jockstraps known as the Hawkins High basketball team. 

“You little freaks ever play Dungeons and Dragons?”

The sound of approaching footsteps down the hall pulls you from his psyche, and you blink a few times to clear your vision. “Shit, I’m sorry.” You swipe at the blood under your nose, leaving a crimson stain in its wake. “I gotta go, but we can meet up again tomorrow.” You start towards the door, but his uncuffed hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, drawing you back.

“Wait…before you go.” Fear radiates from his deep brown irises. “I know you’ll have to pull more memories–bad ones–for them.” He swallows thickly, trying to stave off tears. “But if they ask you to do it while I’m sleeping, can you wake me up first?” he asks weakly. 

Realization crashes over you; his first returned memory was his near death, watching his friend witness the life draining from his limp body. 

“Yes.” The word is firm, confident, though you’re making a promise you’re unsure you can keep. 

Eddie manages a small smile, but it emanates gratitude, and you return it. You want to stay, to search for every happy moment in his life and allow him to bask in their joy, even if just for a moment. But both of you risk serious punishment if you’re caught, and so you make your escape as inconspicuous as possible.

Eddie lays back, staring at the fluorescent lights until his eyes start to water. Thoughts swirl through his mind, a roller coaster off of its track. In addition to Dustin, there’s Mike and Lucas. And Dustin had mentioned someone named Steve, which rang the faintest of bells. 

It’s a common name, he thinks. Could be anyone. Yet something deep inside nags at him, an instinct that he can’t shake. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

He twists the bed sheet below him until the thin fabric tears with an audible riiiiiip. His life has been reduced to two meager moments: saving three nerds from a jockstrap with an inflated ego, and losing in a battle against some bat-like creatures. Nothing before that, and nothing between. 

The after is right now, imprisoned in this room with no evidence of a crime, let alone anything pinning him as a suspect. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

He wills himself to remember any other details. What was it that he said at the memory’s conclusion? Something about Dungeons and Dragons?

“C’mon,” Eddie mutters, eyelids shut tight in concentration. Maybe it would be better to keep them open, like he does when you’re pulling a memory. Since there’s nowhere else to look, he stares down the broken clock, all three hands frozen in place. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve. 

Dustin Lucas Mike—

The hour hand ticks forward. 

Eddie shoots up, yanking the cuff along with his body. No, he must be hallucinating. When was the last time he ate something? Or perhaps the ancient batteries had a little kick left in them. 

Something implores him to try it again. 

His eyes lock onto the clock, channeling all of his anger and confusion to move the hand another centimeter. 

There’s a gentle splintering noise, so quiet that he’d be unable to hear it if another person in the room was breathing. It gets louder until the glass frame covering the clock face shatters completely, shards clattering to the floor like rain. 

No battery glitch could explain that. And it couldn’t explain his nosebleed, identical to yours when you utilized your powers. 

He can’t even clean his face before dizziness overtakes him, and it all goes black. 

November 9, 1984

It’s been just over a week since Tina’s Halloween party. The talk of the high school is still Steve and Nancy’s bathroom argument—and subsequent breakup—though new developments about two teachers getting frisky in the staff lounge has taken some of the attention away from them. 

“Hey,” Carol says, leaning against the locker next to yours and obnoxiously popping her bubble gum, “that shit you got from The Freak was pretty good.” She raises her eyebrows in amusement and challenge. “If you can score some more, you and Heather should smoke with us.”

Translation: you’ll get more weed, and if you don’t, I’ll tell Heather that you ruined it for everyone. You can picture the look of disappointment on her face, slumped shoulders and dejected frown screaming, you let me down. 

“Yeah, I’ll see if he still has any,” you mumble, grabbing your history textbook and slamming the door. You spin the lock’s dial and give it a tug to ensure it’s closed, giving Carol the chance to leave. 

She doesn’t. 

“Y’know, maybe it’s because Heather’s been vouching for you,” she starts, blowing another watermelon-scented bubble, “but you’re not as much of a drag as I thought you were.” It’s her version of a compliment, and you hesitantly accept it with a nod. “Anyway, eight o’clock. My place.” She flounces off, probably to find and cling to Tommy, leaving you with a churning gut.

The closest you’ve ever been to smoking weed was getting a contact high at the party. Carol and Tommy hadn’t offered to share, and you didn’t certainly volunteer yourself. If you try and end up coughing like a tuberculosis patient, you’ll never live it down. If you decline to smoke with them, you’ll all but solidify your role as the loser, straight-laced outsider and catapult yourself from their inner circle. And if you don’t show up at all? Heather will never forgive you.

You keep your textbook clutched to your chest, making a beeline for class. Goody two-shoes can’t be late. No, she’ll get there early; maybe place a shiny red apple on the teacher’s desk, and sit patiently with her hands folded. Just like she always has; just like she always will.

You’re so intensely focused that you bump into someone, your head snapping up at the sudden collision. The textbook slips from your grip and hits the ground with a thud. 

“What’s the big rush?”

Eddie. 

You shake your head. “Nothing. Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going—”

“No worries,” Eddie says with a small laugh, leaning over and picking up the book. He hands it to you and smiles. “See you around?”

Now’s your chance. “Actually, I was hoping we could meet up after school,” you force out the request, not realizing the implication until he cocks his brow. “To buy some more, um…” You look away, unable to finish the sentence in fear that the wrong person will overhear. 

Eddie grins, eyes alight with anticipation. “Yeah, of course,” he replies. “After school, during lunch, even right now, if you want. Got it all in here.” He gives his tin box a proud slap. 

“After school is fine,” you say hurriedly. There’s that one other favor you need; it hides behind your molars and sticks to your tongue. “Would…could you maybe…show me how?” Your cheeks are so hot that your face may as well be ablaze. “Carol asked me to join them, but I’ve never…and I don’t wanna look like a total moron…” Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

His face briefly shifts expressions, something resembling disappointment, though you can’t pinpoint it before his usual shy smile returns. “Sure. Meet me by the picnic benches right after last period.”

“Thanks.” You give your book a squeeze, fingernails digging into the old newspaper you’d repurposed as a book cover. Eddie gives a quick nod before disappearing into the hallway, packed with students. The whole encounter has your head spinning; you’re going to smoke pot in the woods with Eddie Munson. It’s almost distracting enough to make you late to class. 

Almost. You’re not risking detention for this. 

March 31, 1986

Eddie awakens to the pungent odor of vinegar and something sulphuric, rousing him back to consciousness. His eyes water even after Dr. Snell removes the bundle of smelling salts from under his nose.

“086,” the doctor says stoically, fishing a tiny key from his pocket. His unnerving stare never leaves Eddie as he unlocks the cuff and untangles the chain. “I see you’ve been busy.” He gestures towards the pile of broken glass on the floor, lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

“It was an accident,” Eddie mumbles, flexing his wrist and feeling the blood begin to circulate again.

Dr. Snell chuckles, sending a shiver shooting down Eddie’s spine. “Was it?” He leans over; Eddie hates his confidence that he won’t be attacked. All he wants is to wring the man’s neck like a washcloth, but he recalls your advice to earn their trust. He’ll have to remain calm if he ever wants to learn more about Dustin, Mike, Lucas, or Steve; if he ever wants to learn more about himself. 

Eddie nods pathetically. Technically, he’d only been trying to make the hand move again, to see if it was just a fluke, but he’d ended up with a shattered clock instead. “I don’t understand how…”

“Dr. Moseley would like to conduct some tests.” Dr. Snell selects his words carefully. “See what other new skills you’ve acquired during your little adventure.”

“No…” Eddie starts, catching himself before he can protest further. He swallows, throat sore with aridness. “I mean, I don’t think I have any other, um, skills.”

The doctor sneers. “That’s for us to determine, isn’t it?” He tugs on Eddie’s arm, hoisting him from the cot and guiding him down a long, dimly-lit hallway. His torso aches with each step, but when he tries to stop and breathe, Dr. Snell continues pulling him along.

“G-Gimme a sec,” Eddie finally pleads aloud, and the doctor relents with an irritated huff. It’s not from sympathy–Eddie doubts there’s a selfless bone in the man’s ugly body–but likely because he wants to avoid a ripped stitch or another fainting spell. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful for the small break.

The room he’s brought to is white on white; there’s not a stitch of color. He’s seated at a table while doctors attach adhesive-backed electrodes to his temples and forehead, cold and slimy on his skin. 

Salt-and-Pepper—Dr. Moseley, he surmises—approaches him with a thin-lipped smile. “Good afternoon, 086.” But there’s nothing good about it, and Eddie can’t even be sure it’s truly the afternoon. “I heard you had a bit of an incident today, yes?”

The doctor already knows the answer, so Eddie doesn’t bother to lie. “Yes. I, um, made the clock hand move and then broke the glass. With my mind,” he adds, as though there was any confusion about the means in which it occurred. 

“Excellent.” Dr. Moseley shoos the others out of the room, so he and Eddie are alone. As soon as the door closes, he sits in a chair across from his patient, tapping a pen on a clipboard. 

“I’m going to ask you to complete a series of tasks,” he tells him, somehow already marking notes. “Some tasks will be to assess your existing abilities; others will be to strengthen them.” He motions towards a large monitor. “This will detect any changes in brain wave activity with remarkable accuracy.” 

In other words, don’t phone it in. You will be caught. 

Dr. Moseley grabs a rubber ball off of a shelf, rolling it in between his palms before placing it in front of Eddie. “We’ll start off slow; see where you are.” He clears his throat. “Move this ball–using only your mind–as far as you can manage.” 

Eddie nods, clearing every thought except for move. Move move move. He chants it silently, his lips parting but no sound coming out. Maybe if he does this, they’ll be less stringent about memory accession. Maybe you’ll get him to a point where he can begin to connect the dots and remember on his own. Maybe—

“Focus, 086.”

He makes a strangled noise in response. Move move move. Move for Dustin, for Lucas, for—

The ball rolls slightly—not even a full inch—but it’s noticeable enough to draw approval from the doctor. 

“Well done, 086. And on your first try.” God, Eddie would love to smack the smirk clean off of his face. “Let’s continue with our assessment, shall we?”

There’s a memorization task next; apparently, his short-term recall is above average, Dr. Moseley reports. After this, the doctor makes drawings on a notepad that Eddie must decipher without physically looking at them. It’s by far the most difficult of the activities. He harnesses all of his energy trying to determine what is being sketched, but he comes up blank each time. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, wiping the blood from his nose. “I can’t do it. I want to,” he adds, not wanting his inability to be misconstrued as disobedience, “but I can’t.”

To his utter shock, Dr. Moseley accepts this, likely because the monitor corroborates his admission. “Not yet. But with continued training, you will.” He detaches the electrodes from Eddie’s head snd motions for him to stand with one crooked finger, and Dr. Snell re-enters at the same time. 

“Wait,” Eddie chokes out as the second doctor leads him away, “I noticed something.” He takes a breath, garnering the doctors’ attention. “I was able to break the clock and move the ball when I thought about Dustin—” he stops abruptly, not wanting to give away the secret session you’d had earlier. “I think if 055 finds more memories with them—him—I’ll be able to channel that emotion into doing more tasks.”

The room falls dead silent until Dr. Moseley speaks. “I’ll consider it,” he finally says. 

Not a win but not a loss, Eddie thinks as he shuffles back down the hallway, feet sticking to the tile. But I’m not going down without a fight. No way. 

--

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[tmntxthings]

So basically my friend had a dream that we were in a science room and I was creating these “world destructive” weapons. She said it looked like a mix of a flamethrower and a water gun, specifically saying it looked “funky” and like a “monstrosity”. But anyway, she says that I dropped it cause I was jumping up and down, pretending to be a hero and saving people but I was actually cackling and didn’t look heroic at all🫤 and I dropped it and a red button was almost pressed and everyone knows red button=bad. Thankfully it didn’t get pressed.

But here’s the funny part.

The reason why I was making those weapons is because Donnie (yes. Dontello the fucking turtle) provoked me by saying that my weapons were ass. So i was like, “grrr👹” and he was like, “grrr👹” and we had a deadly nerd duel.

She said we might kill humanity if we were put in a room together and if we were to fight it’d be a tie since we’d be pointing deadly weapons at each other. She ended it by saying, “Moral of the story: You and Donnie would destroy everything.”

Anyways, I was wondering if you could write headcanons or a one shot with this sort of like theme ig with Donnie and just what you get from reading this weird ass dream she sent me🤭😭 (if it inspired you to write something)

Deadly Nerd Duel

author’s note: or alternative title, This Town Ain’t Big Enough for the Both of Us . . . oh c’mon it makes sense.

warnings: crack, fluff, cursing, rlly long one shot, enemies to lovers, unedited

—————————————————————————

“This place is about to blow,” April whispered to Leo. “Yeah, and my bet is on Donnie,” Leo added smugly, holding up a fake five dollar bill. “You’re on, you have no idea how crazy Y/n really is,” April said holding up her own five, yes that one was real.

“Last chance Y/n,” Donnie took a deep breath, calming himself. Y/n rolled their eyes, shifting their weight to one side, then glanced up at the purple clad turtle, “Oh? I was quite certain you were going to back out by now,” a mischievous glint could be seen in your eyes.

Confused? Okay, let’s back it up.

“Donnie, I’d like you to meet, my newest friend,” April gave jazz hands as she presented you, “Y/n!” She beamed and the purple turtle gave you a once over before turning back to his phone. THAT. That right there was his first mistake! “Donnie! C’mon be nice!” April pleaded. Though her voice was sweet, her eyes were raging with a burning fire that was threatening to explode behind closed doors–meaning as soon as you were gone April would be chewing out Donnie’s shell. “Sigh, if I must, greetings April’s friend ‘Y/n’ I am the Othello Von Ryan,” He gave a half-hearted wave with one hand. His gaze lingered purposefully for a second longer, then he looked at April as if to say, see I can be ‘nice.’ Then, his attention promptly went back down to his phone. A smug smile forming on his face, thinking himself cool.

You blinked hard, taking in his enormous ego and trying not to gag. Strike two. “Yes, well April I thought you said you were showing me the cool one,” you said off-handedly, turning back to the lab door that you had just entered through. April sucked in a deep breath, knowing you were pissed off, so instead of trying to force the two of you to get along, she was ready and willing to follow you out of the lab. But it seemed your comment had struck a nerve on Ol’ Donatello. “Only an intellectual individual would understand how cool my lab is, therefore crowning me the coolest person you’ll ever meet. Top side or here in the sewers, darling” he hadn’t looked up from his phone, but he was definitely clenching it a tad harder than before.

You chuckled darkly, darling? He’d regret that. What was the count? Oh yeah, strike three. You were still walking for the door, turning only when you reached it. Glancing around the supposedly ‘cool’ place, and deciding right then and there the two of you were never going to be friends. No, there was a special kind of relationship between the two of you. You assumed it would level up to hate eventually but for now you’d stick him in the dislike pile. Maybe he would realize how stuck up he sounded, especially for a first meeting. Your eyes snagged on a container that had somewhat of a spotlight on it. As if to say, out of all the things in his lab, this was one of his favorites. So you were a little mean when you said, “I don’t know, it’d be a lot cooler if that was genuine uranium instead of a carbon copy fake,” nodding at the said container and then you shoved the door open without giving him a chance to reply. April scurried out, harshly whispering to Donnie that she would have a word with him later.

Donnie hadn’t gotten up from his swivel chair the entire time–you had just soaked up his favorite place in the world, all with the most judgmental eyes. You weren’t just judging his lab though, you were judging him. But he never thought that you would actually know what you were looking at. Much less be able to tell the difference from him forging and putting together a fake piece of uranium. Or just that you even knew it was uranium to begin with?! You surprised him. And you had also dissed him. A mistake that he would make sure you would regret. He quickly removed his feet from his work table, dusting it off. He never put his feet up there, he had done it because you were there. A stranger that April trusted, and he wanted to appear to be the badass he proclaimed himself to be. Donnie felt like doing something illegal, something to obtain real uranium and shove that into your face. Because there was no way he could legally afford such material. He wondered if you were some rich uptown-ie. And immediately he was pushing his swivel chair away from the work table towards his big screen. “Well darling, you’ve got my attention, now, how much science do you actually know?” He muttered to himself as he did a google search. What? He’d start off with the basics. Then he’d dive into the dark web for all your dirty little secrets, if you had any. You looked like the type to hide stuff. But what he came up with was mainly surface information. Perfect grades, perfect family (only child), perfect records, even for attendance. Which then came as no surprise when he saw you had no criminal record. It didn’t add up, no one could be that perfect, he went back, to middle school, to elementary, and still you had perfect grades/attendance/record.

“Hmm,” he spun in his chair. What’s a goody-little-two-shoes running around in the sewers of NYC with his best friend, the April O’Neil. How did the two of you become friends? These were questions that only said best friend could answer and he knew he had surely pissed her off with his antics. Donnie sighed, he’d do a deeper dive in the world wide web before he had to admit he was actually curious to April.

Three hours later and nothing relevant. You didn’t even have a social media he could uncover! Fuckity fuck.

“So what’d you think?” April asked sheepishly. Hoping that you’d just forget about the whole interaction with Donnie and focus on how positive the rest of the brothers had been. April thanked the heavens above that even Leo hadn’t acted so childishly. Sure he was still immature, but he wasn’t blatantly rude! April had come to find out that you had a short fuse and a low tolerance for any and all bullshit.

“Raph was cool, Mikey was sweet, Leo was.. alright?” You said, pondering for a moment. Then your eyes hardened and April grimaced, you hadn’t forgotten.

“But that other fellow, the purple one?” You just shook your head, knowing he was still April’s friend, whether you liked him or not. You wouldn’t go as far as to bad mouth him in front of her. That would put her in an awkward position, so you kept your mouth shut—but April readily spoke up. “I don’t know what his problem was!! Honestly Y/n, he’s a great guy, and I’ll prove it to you. He probably didn’t have any coffee this morning!” She supplied an excuse and you raised an eyebrow. “Next weekend, like Mikey said, come back with me! It’ll be way more fun, and I’ll make sure to have a word with Donnie,” April pleaded.

It was easy to agree, truly the other guys were cool, you just had a bad taste in your mouth from the purple one. “Alright, I’ll be there then,” you gave April a small smile and she instantly relaxed. “Yes!! Awesome, this will be just—“ she looked down at her phone, immediately hiding it from your view in an attempt at being discrete. You did, however, notice how her eyes had hardened just slightly behind her glasses. “I’ve gotta take this. I’ll text you the details, see ya tomorrow?” April asked. You nodded, “Of course, do I ever miss class?” You joked, and April couldn’t help but laugh, thinking of some fond memories of you rushing in, barely making it some days but still there. “True that! Alright, see ya laters!” April waved, taking off towards a different direction than where the both of you had been heading. You noticed it was back towards the alleyway, likely to the manhole—right back down to the sewers.

You shoved your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. You would give the purple turtle credit for one thing, and one thing only, he had given you slight inspiration. You headed to your apartment, to your own lab. The benefits of being a straight A student and having rich parents, was practically getting anything you wanted from them. And yes, especially if you told them it was for school, and to them sure, all the stuff you bought sounded scientific enough. They didn’t know better, truly they were just happy that you did so well in school. That’s really all that mattered to them. Get the grade, and you’ll be rewarded, so get the grade you did. You never disappointed, that wasn’t in your DNA, nope not in your gene code. So as you typed in the code to your front door, passing through the living room and heading straight for the only other door with a keypad lock, you typed in a different set of numbers. Swish, the door slid open before you, and you were hit with a chilly breeze. Ah, home sweet home.

“I’ll give you one chance to offer up a good reason as to why you were acting so—so—so childishly earlier!” April had stormed back to the lair and went straight for Donnie’s lab as soon as she saw him calling. She hadn’t answered his call, no sir, she would much rather face him. “You should’ve seen the face they made as soon as they locked eyes with me,” Donnie started and April scowled, “Are you serious?!” April practically yelled; Donnie continued, “Yes, I am, and not just me—they were eyeing my lab like it was a junkyard. I may get some parts from there, but this is definitely not a repo place.” Donnie threw his arm to the side as if to make his point. His lab was flawless, freshly cleaned (he had done so just for April and her friend, you.) “Donnie, you spoke first. You started that whole bicker back and forth,” April exasperated, “now I’m asking you to put the whole thing aside for me, and get along. Please?!” Donnie grumbled to himself, muttering how he didn’t know if that would be possible if you couldn’t fix your resting bit-

“DONNIE!” April really yelled this time. He closed his mouth, had he been saying that out loud? Sheesh, you had really done a number on him. Though maybe he was just frustrated he hadn’t been able to find anything more interesting about you. Just the fact that you were rich due to your father’s wealth as a political figure. Which only made Donnie even more angry, you definitely had the money to buy materials he couldn’t… that is, if what he was assuming was true and that you were just as big a nerd as him. “Fine, how about you tell me why, or I should say, how the two of you even became friends?” Surely April could shed some light on that unknown fact. “It’s a long story, but I promise, Y/n is legit, just give them another chance, they’ll be back next weekend,” April informed as she stood, obviously planning on heading out. But this wasn’t good, Donnie hadn’t gotten any information at all! He sighed loudly, and April shot him a glare. “Dee,” she sighed, “I thought the two of you would get along.. you have way more in common than you think.” April shook her head, and Donnie softened if only slightly. “Okay okay, for you, and you only” and April beamed brightly. “Awesome, just watch, the two of you will be buds in no time!”

And now you have a bit of context! Still confused?

Well, next week arrived and it had been going all according to April’s plan. Everyone getting along for the most part, though subtle glares were definitely exchanged. You and Donnie were… cordial? Yes, we’ll go with that word. Mikey and April had thrown a pizza party, plenty of boxes to share. Then after a movie night was in order, and after that the board games had begun. This was where things started to go a little haywire. April didn’t know why she had thought it was a good idea to let Leo choose, but she did, and monopoly it was. A long ass game that definitely could break up the fragile peace that April had been trying to cultivate between you and Donnie. As soon as Donnie had landed on one of Y/n’s property, they held out their hand for him to cough up the fake cash. His eyes had turned ablaze. Not because of your hand, but because of your smug little face, more than happy to have had him pay up first. Instead of passing the money, he slid it your way, making you pick it up yourself. Classy Donatello, very classy.

It was war after that. The light blue properties and railroads secured by Y/n, you were on a roll and trying to get the oranges next. Though Mikey had practically called it in the beginning, he hadn’t gotten that lucky with his rolls, instead landing on the pinks and utilities. You had actually traded Mikey the last utility property for the last railroad. (Donnie had seethed, not thinking that was a smart trade on Mikey’s part, but really he just didn’t want you getting another set.) Donnie had the red’s and the dark blues, plotting on everyone’s demise. All it would take would be just one person to land on those expensive ass properties that had him almost broke now, but he was in this for the long run. Long run indeed, one by one the other brothers ended up bankrupt to either you or Donnie’s schemes until it was just April left. It was getting pretty late too, April would say so every time it was her turn, but she would immediately be thwarted by both you and Donnie saying, “It’s almost over!” “Just one more round.”

The competitive nature between the both of you was alive and crackling. It was your turn, and you landed on the chance tile. As you picked up a card, the color from your face drained. “This is bullshit.” You muttered, throwing the card down on the center of the board for everyone to see. “Oh noooooo!” Mikey wailed, he had been rooting for you, much to Donnie’s dismay. Out of all the cards, you picked the one that forced you to move to Boardwalk, aka the dark blue that Donnie had the most hotels built on. It was a sure shot defeat, you knew you would go bankrupt. “It was all part of the plan,” he said as he tapped the side of his head smugly. “Yeah well, make sure to thank the chance card for your victory,” you made sure to say.

April piped up, “I’m still in the game too you know!” You gave her a sheepish smile. While that was true, April didn’t have as much as Donnie now had—with his properties and yours included, it was a sure win. “But let’s call it a night huh?” April asked for a final time and you agreed, getting up and stretching. April didn’t think you were a sore loser but on the off hand that Donnie started to brag, April wanted to get you out of there while the mood was still amiable. The brothers all said their goodbyes, Mikey already asking for future plans. Donnie had walked silently back to his lab after his mumbled sayonara. To which you only hesitated a second before following after him.

Leo nudged April, nonexistent eyebrows waggling and silently telling her to not follow just yet. April’s eyes widened, wondering if the two of you were finally going to become closer! The best buds plan that she had hoped for were now in the foreseeable future?! She smiled brightly now watching as you disappeared around the corner that led to Donnie’s lab.

“Hey wait,” you called out when you saw he was about to shut the lab door. Donnie took a step backwards, head peeking out of the entryway to see you had stopped a couple feet away from his lab. “I just wanted to say, good game.. it was smart to consider the chance cards and their uses,” your hands were in your hoodie pockets. You made sure to keep eye contact, trying to convey your sincerity. Donnie’s full form came into view as he leaned against the lab door. Listening intently, eyes not leaving yours. When you finished he wondered if April had put you up to saying something like this. But the way your eyes immediately went to the floor after you finished, the way your feet were shuffling, he deduced that possibility was less than likely.

“Yeah, it was a good game, mostly because I won,” he grinned, unable to stop from bragging— at least a little! You rolled your eyes. “Right,” you replied, giving up on the sincere tone. “But for a second there, I thought I was in deep trouble, it was uh- fun to play with you,” Donnie remedied, the smugness fading into something more genuine. You raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly as you watched him backtrack a little. Being a little nice in fact. “I was thinking, you’re pretty smart-“

“Not just smart, I’d say I’m on par with Einstein’s level of genius” Donnie interrupted you quickly. You cleared your throat, shooting him a glare as you started to rock back and forth on your heels, “as I was saying, I have some things I’ve been working on for a while, I think they may be more useful to you and your brothers.” You concluded, but it was Donnie’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What things exactly?”

One day later, and you were back in the sewers, specifically in the common area of the lair. The suitcase you had brought down was popped open, and Raph and Mikey were peering inside as you grabbed the first weapon. “So this isn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve built but I’d say freezing people solid is pretty handy when it comes to vigilante work!” You said, pointing the gun up in the air for safe measure. Donnie was on the far side of the room, and the look on his face was close to outrage. You wanted to give his brothers cool weapons??? That was his job! Plus they didn’t need weapons, they already had weapons. Sure they didn’t freeze people, BUT they did not need your things. If anything his brothers should only want—

“Cool! Can I try??” Mikey was making grabby hands for the freeze ray and you readily handed it over. “Just be careful, the safety’s off.” You said and no sooner had you spoken a blast was shot, near poor Leo, who was quick enough to move completely out of the way. “Hey!” Leo screeched, turning his face to see the pizza boxes that had been piling up had turned into ice. “Woah,” Leo breathed out, impressed. Raph took the weapon from Mikey, not trusting him to have another shot accidentally go off. “Heh, whoops!” Mikey said sheepishly as he ran over to the block of iced pizza boxes.

“You guys think that’s cool??” Donnie piped up from across the room. He made a mad dash to his lab, going over to the glass box that read ‘BETA’ and grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on. He was back in the common area in no time, “Feast your eyes on this,” From what you could tell he was holding a weapon much like yours, shaped like a gun. He flicked a switch, aiming in your direction, “Donnie!” Raph warned, but he pulled the trigger anyway. A blast shot past your face, inches away until it landed on the recliner by the projector. On impact it shrunk two times its normal size! “A shrink ray?!” Mikey exclaimed, running to go pick up the mini sized chair. Donnie’s weapon was now directed up in the air, resting on his shoulder, he had a smug smile on his face, daring you to top that.

Game on! It was a battle of who could outshine the other. All inventions were being put on showcase for the brothers and eventually April (who had just gotten out of her last class) to ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ at. Weapon after weapon, prototype after prototype. Until the really dangerous shit was coming out to play. “ALRIGHT,” Donnie said, skidding to a stop for the seventh time. The trip to his lab to the living room was getting to be a bit tiring. He pointed the most dangerous thing he had, directly at you. You did the same, out of your suitcase came a wicked looking weapon, and you clicked the safety off, aiming at Donnie’s face. The two of you were huffing angrily at one another.

“This place is about to blow,” April whispered to Leo. Popcorn had been popped, everyone enjoying the show the two of you were putting on. “Yeah, and my bet is on Donnie,” Leo added smugly, holding up a fake five dollar bill. He had a knack for sneaking monopoly money when no one was paying attention. And for some reason he still had it. April snorted, “You’re on, you have no idea how crazy Y/n really is,” April held up her own five, that one being real.

“Last chance Y/n,” Donnie took a deep breath, calming himself. He was watching you carefully, one finger ready to pull back the trigger. Y/n rolled their eyes, shifting their weight to one side, then glanced up at the purple clad turtle, “Oh? I was quite certain you were going to back out by now,” a mischievous glint could be seen in your eyes. Donnie gritted his teeth, he was not about to get punked by you. “Guyssss how about we call this a tie!” Mikey breathed out nervously. Twiddling his thumbs together as he came to stand between the two of you. “Only if Y/n admits my weapon is better!” Donnie hollered over Mikey and your eyes narrowed, “Not happening,” you said immediately. Raph spoke up then, “what exactly do those guns do?” You and Donnie were talking over one another not making much sense but the gist was, BOOM. The place would go boom.

“Okay,” Raph nodded, “PUT THE WEAPONS DOWN!” He yelled at the both of you. Simultaneously it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room as slowly, the two of you listened, weapons going down to your respective sides. “Mine’s better,” Donnie muttered, and you scoffed. “It was never a competition! I just wanted to—“ and you stopped yourself. You took in a deep breath, stalked forward, you weren’t about to admit this to the entire room. You brushed past the purple turtle. He had expected you to flash out once you reached him but you just kept walking, to his lab he assumed and immediately he was following after you.

“Should we make sure they don’t kill each other in a different room?” April thought aloud. Leo’s hand made a swipe in the air, “Nahhh I’ll bet another $5” he quickly held up another fake, “that everything figures itself out!” Mikey was scurrying over making his own bets and Raph was wondering if this was the smartest thing to do right about now. When just a couple of minutes ago the place could’ve gone boom! But he was quickly being dragged into Leo and April’s betting game.

As soon as Donnie passed the threshold of his lab, you were there, backing him into the door as it shut behind him. “What’re you—?!” Donnie exclaimed not liking the close proximity at all. “That’s what I should be asking you! I thought we were finally getting along?” You accused, waving the weapon around that was still in your hand. “Yeah that was until you decided to showboat and try to take my job!” Donnie surmised angrily. “You got issues because all I was trying to do was help!” You confessed as you threw the weapon to the ground in frustration. “We don’t need your help.” Donnie sneered, wanting to get his point across, he was the tech guy, he was the genius, they didn’t need a second.

You jabbed a finger straight into his plastron. “I knew it. I knew you were just some self-obsessed, ego-maniac, who only cares about himself.” You were met with a hard stare. You waited for him to challenge that, to dare and say you were wrong. “Oh yeah? Well you—“ his own fists clenching, “are the most privileged, prissy, judgmental person I’ve ever met!” You smirked, batting away his insults with a, “and how many people have you met exactly?” Insinuating mutant turtles don’t exactly have much of a social life. “Fuck you,” Donnie glowered. “Fuck you too.” And somewhere along the insults and the arguing the two of you had gotten pressed together. It was silent for a moment as the two of you realized this, your eyes widening if only slightly as Donnie’s breath fanned your face.

He was looking at you carefully, noting your surprise and the way your breath quickened. You saw the way his eyes darted to your lips, and the way he swallowed. Fuck it! You both thought as your heads came crashing to one another. Lips meeting and teeth clacking, it was a brutal kiss. Heated passion that was stoked by the fire of anger and attraction. His hands were pulling you impossibly closer, going around your waist. Your own hands were pressed against his upper plastron. Moments passed until air was needed and your head moved back slightly to gulp down oxygen. “You drive me crazy,” Donnie said, meeting your lips once more, not letting you rest. You kissed him back feverishly, agreeing wholeheartedly, he drove you crazy too. “So is this a truce?” You panted as he drew back to breath. “For now..” he smirked, already enjoying the effect he had on you. You shook your head, was it possible for his ego to get any larger? One of his hands came up and his fingers caught your chin, lifting it and his lips met yours one more time. This kiss was softer, but it took your breath away all the same. “I guess your inventions aren’t half-bad” he murmured against your lips. You smiled smugly, “Damn right!”

[mordaciousmurderer]

Home Safe and Sound

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x gn!reader

A/n: GUYS I THINK IM GONNA MAKE THIS A SERIES!! Please lemme know if you like it because this was fun to write. Long story short, you were in a bar and you go up to Ghost pretending to know him to get him away from a creepy guy. as always asks are open

cw: gn!reader, mentions of alcohol, attempted roofie, implied attempted assault if you look close enough, no use of y/n, and yea i had you call him johnny on purpose, can be read as gender neutral but if this continues on i plan on making the reader fem!

-

The varied sounds of a bar muffled at the back of Simon’s ears. The sun amber glow of lights stretched along tables and chairs. His sharp, steely eyes surveyed the room before he pushed the fabric of his mask up to the bridge of his nose to take a sip from the whiskey class nestled in his grip. The air was thick with the scent of aged whiskey and the low murmur of distant conversations, but Ghost remained in his own world.

As the minutes stretched on, the gentle sounds of chatter and clinking glasses were disrupted by your soft and hurried footsteps. You approached Ghost with an air of urgency, your eyes wild with a mixture of fear and determination. “Excuse me.” She whispered urgently. “Please pretend you know me.”

Ghost's gaze softened as he looked at you recognizing the genuine fear in your eyes. It took him a moment and a half to register what was happening but you wasted to time in creating a character.

“Oh my god Johnny is that you?” You asked excitedly. “Never thought I’d see your balaclava covered mug again!” with an enthusiastic grin you wrapped your arms around him in a hug. Ghost felt his cheeks heat up oil pastel pink and blinked in confusion for a quick second before he snapped out of his daze and hugged you back.

“Yes! Wow it’s lovely to see you!” His gruff voice shocked you ever so slightly. You had picked the biggest guy you could find within 20 feet of you, grateful that he sounded as tough as he looked. You glanced to the side, a slight glimmer of panic flashing through your eyes. He mirrored the path your eyesight took and saw the man you were clearly trying to escape.

The man, clad in tattered leather and exuding an unwelcome persistence, oozed an unsettling aura that made the air around him feel suffocating. He planted himself obviously maybe a few yards away from you, watching closely like a damn private investigator.

Ghost laid a hand on your shoulder to redirect your attention to him. “Are you here for Angelica’s after party?” He asks

“Oh yeah! I didn’t know you and her were still friends.” You respond

“Yeah. Do you need a ride home after?”

“Oh that’d be great! My designated driver had a little too much to drink.” You faked a laugh.

The man shifted in the corner of your eye before stuffing his hands in his pockets and exiting the bar. As soon as the door shuts behind him you exhale and rest against the bar, your head falling heavy in your hands. “Holy fuck. Thank you so much. That guy-“ You came to a sudden halt, every breath you took felt as though it burned your lungs.

“Are you alright?” He asked, offering her a reassuring presence amidst the lingering unease. “Who was that guy?”

You shook your head, still pressed in your hands. “I don’t know he just wouldn’t leave me alone I think he tried to roofie me.”

Magma hot rage boiled up in the back of Ghost’s throat, embarrassed by the level of degeneracy that man reached. He pushed the vile malice back down. “You’re safe now.” He reassured you. “Are you able to get home safely?”

“Yes I just gotta.. call an uber.” Your voice still carrying the edge of residual anxiety. Your DD getting too drunk unfortunately was not part of the bit. You weren’t truly drunk but absolutely not sober enough to drive.

“I’ll wait with you until it arrives.” Ghost slaps a 50 dollar bill on the bar. “I want her tab paid too. Keep the change.”

You quickly shook your head “No no you don’t have to-“

“Don’t worry.” He interjects plainly and you smile in response A mix of gratitude and relief washed over your features as you tapped in your destination to your phone. "Thank you, really. You have no idea how much this means to me." Your gratitude oozed out of you. You gave him your name once the confirmation of your uber had come through.

“I’m Simon.” He responds. The idea of you sitting in an uber with a stranger was definitely disconcerting. “Here, let me give you my number. I want to make sure you get home just fine.” He held his hand out expectantly and you placed your unlocked phone in his hand.

“That’s very kind of you…” A swell of gratitude enveloped you as you looked at him, your eyes filled with a profound appreciation for the stranger who had become your unexpected savior. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your night.”

He shook his head “Do not apologize, it wasn’t your fault. You had the right idea comin’ up to me.”

You looked down at your phone after it pinged then held up up, wiggling it slightly to indicate the arrival of your uber. The two of you stood up and he made a gesture allowing you to go first. He followed you out of the crowded building and you pointed at the car that had come to take you home. The chill in the air pierced through you like a thousand icy needles, causing you to shudder involuntarily as you stepped out into the night. “Thank you again.” You crossed your arms tight to your chest in effort to warm up.

Ghost unslung his jacket, draping it over your shoulders as a shield against the biting cold. A true gentlemanly gesture that had no ulterior motive other than his concern for your well-being. Your cheeks flushed warmly at the gesture and you hoped he would blame the blush on the cold.

“It’s no problem at all. Don’t forget to text me when you’re home safe.” He opens the car door for you and you settle in the back seat.

“It was nice meeting you.” You respond. The two of you exchange a smile and a nod. In that fleeting exchange, an unspoken bond had woven itself between you two, a connection forged in your vulnerability. He shut the door and watched as the car pulled away.

As the Uber drove away from the dimly lit bar, you got settled in the back seat, wrapped in Simon’s jacket. Its familiar warmth a reminder of the stranger who had come to your aid. The events of the evening played out in your mind like a vivid tableau.

The unspoken understanding between the two of you lingered in your thoughts as the Uber drove longer. Your apartment wasn’t too far away from the bar so before you knew it the familiar building came into view. You gripped at the comforting fabric of the jacket, now guilty for leaving him without his own way to combat the chill in the air. As the Uber came to a halt you thanked the driver humbly before hurrying into the apartment complex and up the stairs to your home.

Your mind found itself looping around the thought of Simon and how kind he was to you. Why you felt safe going up to this masked man puzzled you, but regardless you thought you made the right choice. You made sure to lock your door and went around to shut and lock all your windows, still on edge from the previous events. Pulling out your phone, you went to your contacts to find a new one amidst all the others. You pulled up a new text thread titled with his name and you typed up a message:

‘Home safe and sound. Thank you again Simon :)’

-

Masterlist

[mr2swap]

The Great Shift:Another man and in your own body

Few can understand how I feel now, it's very fucked up to have to see how your son marries another man and in your own body.

-And now you can kiss - said the priest and without wasting a second I saw my old face being kissed by another man while everyone watched and celebrated

When all this "Great Shift" happened, I was working in my home office and in a blink of an eye I was now in a classroom surrounded by a bunch of outrageous screaming children, some of whom were in unknown bodies but in my case, I was in the body of my son Johnny.

the cell phones stopped working for a couple of hours and everything was total chaos. It was tough to be able to get home with these short legs and with such a weak body at only 10 years old. In my pocket, I only had 5 dollars and a handful of candy.

It was all huge, I never thought it would feel like this to be a kid again with my bright adult mind, all the adults looked so tall and strong that I couldn't help but shed a couple of tears while using Johnny's little feet, but after a couple of hours walking you can get to my house, I was tired, I was sweaty and confused, however, none of that compared to the surprise I found in my house. somehow Johnny's best friend ended up in the body of our neighbor Mr. Jones?

I was worried about what would happen to Johnny in my body not knowing that he and his best friend were getting acquainted with his new adult bodies, the problem being that they were doing it naked. when I entered the house I found my son using my body to kiss and caress Robert's body -Young man what the hell are you doing with my body?- Jonny and Mr. Jones stopped kissing and masturbating to throw a small smile.

-oh! wow! Dad are you? Is it really you inside my body? am I really that small? Don't worry this is my friend Colt, isn't it cool that he will end up in Mr. Jones's body?, by the way, didn't you meet Mrs. Jones on the way here? she went to look for her husband at school-

All the concern I had about my son's safety was in vain, he seemed to have been having a good time in my body, when I entered my house I found a mess, there were empty beer cans in the kitchen, cigarette ash in the room and of course the naked and sweaty body of Mr. Johnson.

In the end… I never got my body back, I had to get used to this body and my new height, it was very difficult having to see how my son took over all my responsibilities, my friends, and my job but it was worse when I found his friend Colt moving to our house. but what could he do now? It wasn't like I could stop my son now, he was so much stronger, taller and he was the one paying the bills in the house.

I just hope that I can sleep tonight and that my son is not so loud on his wedding night and that they are wearing condoms.

Hey! You can support me to continue creating stories, see similar stories on my patreon, you can also join my discord if you are interested in role-playing about bodyswap, possession and transformation, m2m!

[pancakeke]

another huge issue with the US's for-profit health insurance system that I don't hear complained about enough is that it creates a huge swell of demand with no increase in supply on a yearly basis.

insurance plans renew every January 1, so nearing the end of each year many people have reached their deductible (the dollar limit a person must spend of their own money each plan period before their insurance covers the majority of medical bills, though not 100%. typically insurance covers 80% of bills at this point) or even their max out of pocket (like the deductible but instead it's the maximum someone has to pay of their own money for that plan period, then insurance covers 100% of bills moving forward).

this means that toward the end of the year everyone who has reached this fucked up platinum membership status for health care rushes to book as many desperately needed appointments and procedures as they can while they still qualify for significantly reduced costs.

it becomes a NIGHTMARE to see a doctor at this time. even as early as october, depending what you need you may not find an open appointment with any doctors in your area until January. and by "in your area" I don't mean just your town, I mean a 50 mile (80km) radius from your location. sometimes more.

morons in the US who claim that single payer healthcare will mean that everyone has to wait in huge lines to aee doctors and won't be allowed to see their regular doctor if they want care always ignore that the above scenario plays out every single year.