#granted it was MOSTLY just two guys

[doctorwhoisadhd]

hi. so not a single woman wrote for the sarah jane adventures

[mikkouille]

wait actually connecting the dots was the guy telling us the fight would go well when we were half a party of first timers also the one who forgot to lb3 us like bro was a tank one of em. jffjjssn he forgor.

[fictionadventurer]

One of the best parts of the Lincoln book is the bromance between Lincoln and Grant.

When Grant comes into Washington, he shows up at a White House reception day. Lincoln sees him come in and just lights up with a grin, announcing, "Here is General Grant!" as he strides across the room to shake his hand.

Lincoln is 6'4". Grant is 5'8". Please envision what that handshake must have looked like.

Grant, the rugged Western general, is super uncomfortable being the center of attention. Lincoln hands him off to Seward, the resident extrovert, knowing that he can use his decades of experience to help Grant navigate Washington society.

Seward convinces Grant to stand on a couch so everyone can see him.

When Grant takes over command of the army, he starts going after the enemy instead of lollygagging the way previous commanders did. When he sends a message to Lincoln saying that he plans to continue pursuing a battle at all costs, Lincoln hugs and kisses the messenger. He later tells an anecdote celebrating the fact that at last the army is being led by a man.

Near the end of the war, Grant's wife is like, "We should invite Lincoln to come stay with us at camp. He looks really stressed and could use a break." Grant's like, "We can't just invite the president over. It'll look weird, because he's technically allowed to come whenever he wants." Julia's like, "But he looks really stressed." Grant sends the invitation. Lincoln accepts, and gets his longest vacation from Washington since before the war started.

After Lincoln dies, Grant is like, "That is a huge loss for the South. Lincoln would have been kind and magnanimous, and now they'll have to deal with less noble politicians."

[exopelagic]

List of my curses:

• Cassandra

• straight boys keep happening to me

[krysmcscience]

It’s finally done, guys – five whole pages of Narilamb AU comic AND MORE be upon you! (If you have trouble reading any of the text, view the full-size! These pages are huge!)

Yeesh, this took forever. <:)

There’s probably a ton of inconsistencies and anatomy/perspective wonkeries, but this was mostly just comic practice, so Oh Hekkin Well, Lol <:D

(Yes, I am aware the Gateway’s door isn’t present in the Afterlife, and the actual way in is just a pentagram portal. Yes, I put the door in there anyway because Artistic License, i.e. it felt more impactful for there to be a prison door of sorts to walk through to freedom, rather than just a bland boring portal on the ground. 😠)

anyway, i hate backgrounds so much lmao

Alternate ending and a buttload of bonus art under the cut, followed by goofy AU rambles and headcanon stuff:

I’m calling it the Revival AU. It’s not all that creative a title, and someone else has probably used it already, but I am too lazy to really care, LOL

Alternate ending page, which you will Definitely need to view the full-size for, Whoopsie Daisy:

The alternate ending was actually the first ending I finished things off with, because I had a brief badbrain moment where I forgot the emotional beat I initially wanted the comic to end on, and I tend to write comedy, anyway. I later remembered and drew out the proper ending, but I preserved and finished this one, too, because it still makes me giggle.

They had to go back for the followers off-screen in the AU’s real ending. And by ‘they’ I mean just the Lamb, because they weren’t about to ask three newly freed cats to go back into what used to be their prison. The Lamb DID spend some time watching Narinder and the bois enjoying the outdoors first, though:

In other news, here’s the Lamb and me making fun of my anatomy-drawing ‘skills’:

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering why the Lamb is just a-okay with how things went down vis a vis Their Murder, this bonus comic should answer at least some of your questions:

Ah, yes, also this is how they get engaged outside of the alternate ending. Forgot to mention that bit. XD (I already refuse to believe that Narinder is capable of flirting normally, so why would his initial marriage proposal be any better???)

Oh, and before any of them get a chance to actually head back to the cult grounds, there is one potential problem:

And by ‘problem’ I mean something Narinder intends to ignore for At Minimum a thousand years. Cuz he’s a petty bitch like that. :D

what do you mean i drew the lamb too tall compared to the background? clearly they’re standing on top of baal and aym lmao, why else would you think those two aren’t in this one??? (aym and baal got way too excited about finally being outside, you see, and their silly modes are nothing to sneeze at)

And, speaking of heading back to the cult grounds, I’m sure y’all would love to know how the Lamb’s followers felt about the brand new change in management:

It all went better than expected. <:D Tiny ramble now, feel free to skip down to the next comic.

Before you ask, no, the Lamb does not have any actual powers anymore, other than the immortality Narinder definitely grants them. The Red Crown just thinks it’s funny to suggest otherwise, and Narinder does nothing to discourage this. Also, the Lamb and Narinder aren’t actually married here yet, but, uh. Pretty safe to say that particular ritual directly follows the events of this comic. XD

Given how quickly he mellows out in canon, Narinder probably chills out a lot in this AU once he’s in charge of the cult, too, if only because 1.) He’s finally free, and 2.) He’s equally smitten with and distracted by the Lamb. He’s definitely in charge at least 95% of the time, though, because the Lamb never actually wanted to be a cult leader and, now that their time as a vessel is done, they just want to be a normal(ish) sheep who’s wholly devoted to their hot new divine husband.

Some followers do still have some valid concerns about these two being together, though, which I’m sure at least a few of you might share…

Unfortunately for any such concerns, the Lamb is a bonafide masochist in this AU. :D

They’re also 100% a sub, obviously

Anyone at all: Your relationship is problematic and potentially toxic

The Lamb: fuck yeah it is, it’s so hot~ OuO

Here’s just the last panel, made transparent for whatever nefarious purposes y’all might have for it:

Additional exchange Narinder and the Lamb have at some point, probably after the Lamb does a fatal whoopsie while out on a mission trip or in response to things getting a little too sadistic in the bedroom, ahaha:

Look, there is a very important distinction between life and death, and if you don’t understand that, then you’re probably not worthy of being the God of Death, anyway. (At least, according to Narinder, and ONLY Narinder.)

Last but not least, have these shittens:

~Such creative naming conventions I have utilized, lololol~ :D Anyway, there's a few deets on them in the rambles down below.

The rest is all ramble, so before I get to that, I’ll just say – likes and especially reblogs are very much appreciated!!! :D If you happen to really really REALLY like my stuff, meanwhile, I do have a link in my bio to my ko-fi page, where I’m accepting commissions and donations if you’re especially generous… ÓuÒ

Now, BE FREE IF YOU AIN’T DOWN FOR READING MY GOOFY RAMBLES

First ramble is re: Baal’s question of ‘Did it really work?’, since I didn’t feel like expanding on it in the comic proper, and it’s arguably pretty vague? He doesn’t ask because he doubts Narinder or his capabilities, exactly, but because neither Baal nor Aym have ever actually seen their god at full power before (he’s still technically not at full power here, either). It’s not expressly stated how soon the brothers were brought to Narinder after his imprisonment, but whether it was early on or after a length of time for Shamura to (somewhat) recover from his attack, he must have already been weakened, since I have no doubts that there was a huge battle that accompanied the Bishops working together to trap him. So, between that fight with all four of his siblings, sharing his power with a variety of vessels over time, and being chained immobile for a thousand years, he must have been severely weakened by the time he lent the Red Crown out to the Lamb, which would have only weakened him further.

I like to think this is how the Lamb is able to defeat him if they refuse to be sacrificed, despite how it took all four Bishops working together to subdue and chain Narinder in the first place.

All that aside, the three cats have been trapped in the Afterlife for so long that Baal also wanted verbal reassurance that they are all, indeed, actually able to leave it now – something that I headcanon isn’t possible without a significant amount of power (i.e. the Red Crown’s cooperation with its bearer/vessel).

(On a semi-related note, I don’t headcanon Aym and Baal as twins. I like sweetheart big bro Baal and snarky little goth bro Aym too much to have them be that close in age.)

Ah, teeny thing: If you noticed I switched up the art style for Narinder on the second page, that was intentional. It's sort of a visual indicator that there has been a Big Change for him - that being, how much power he has after sacrificing the Lamb. As for why I changed up his arms in the grass rollin' pic, I don't really subscribe to the notion that his arms are spooky bones because they're horrifically injured (beyond chain-chafing scars, that is), but rather just because he's the Bishop of Death, so he can change how normal-to-spooky they look at will. At some point I might doodle out how I imagine his appearance to range between least to most eldritch... 🤔

Next ramble, regarding Narinder’s feelings towards the Lamb...he was initially too focused on being freed from his imprisonment to form any real attachment to them. They were a tool for his use, first and foremost, but he did notice their intense devotion towards him. It was impossible not to notice, because the Lamb was always very happy to see him, even if it was because they died during a crusade (yet again). He wasn’t originally planning to revive them once he was freed, either, because he saw no real point to it – after all, they were already dead when they first met him, just as any other mortal would be when meeting him in the Afterlife, so death has very little real consequence in his eyes. But, once the chains were off, and it really sank in that he stood to lose the most devoted follower he’s ever had, he decided…why put their soul to rest for good or leave them stuck in the Afterlife when he could just as easily revive them again? And why not reward them for their hard work, anyway? Not only would it cost him nothing by comparison, but the future devotion that could come of it would surely make up for his (bare minimum) effort in reviving them.

He wasn’t expecting to get a full dose of that devotion and a smiling face so soon after killing them, though~ :3c (because the Lamb is a bonafide freak, and not-so-secretly into the fucked up power dynamics going on here, lol)

I should mention here that I am firmly of the belief that any non-god/vessel who crosses through the Gateway and into the Afterlife just straight up dies. So, Aym and Baal? Also straight up dead, from the second Shamura brought them through. Their souls were just never put to rest so that Narinder could have some company – if only according to Shamura. Narinder kept the two around mostly out of bewilderment, because honestly, who are these kittens, and what is Shamura’s game here, anyway??? They never even explained anything, they just tossed these kittens into the Afterlife and LEFT!!! At any rate, Aym and Baal being dead is how I explain why their souls apparently become lost in the void if they’re killed, along with the added complications required to revive the two because of it.

So, with those deets in mind, and given a bit of time, if Narinder hadn’t chosen to revive the Lamb, and also hadn’t chosen to put their soul to rest, they still would have woken up at some point, despite being as straight up dead as Aym and Baal. Who, don’t worry, were also properly revived while Narinder was waiting for the Lamb to wake up. Because I am also firmly of the belief that, first, the dead cannot leave the Afterlife without the use of a ritual/relic (and can't stay in the living world for long regardless), and second, dead followers’ devotion isn’t anywhere near as potent as that of the living, given how much more the living stand to lose.

Final ramble, regarding the Lamb’s feelings towards Narinder, and why they’re so devoted to him…

Well, you don’t spend most of your life on the run with your steadily-dwindling herd, trying to evade the ongoing genocide of your species, without becoming a little fucked up in the head. Maybe a lot fucked up in the head. Life is suffering, so might as well have fun with it, right? Maybe start finding death and pain to be kind of hilarious, even a little bit hot, once everyone you know and love is dead and gone, leaving you all alone? And maybe after that, there’s something comforting in how, despite the cold, cruel uncertainties of life, at least you can always count on the inevitability of death, patiently waiting for you until your very last breath? Who knows. Either way, as soon as the Lamb was killed, and they learned that the literal God of Death was offering them a second chance at life and vengeance via effective immortality, they were 100% ride-or-die-devoted all at once. Turns out death is kinder than life – go figure. (Of course, it helps that Narinder is 100% their type.)

They weren’t put off by Narinder’s thinly-veiled sadism or manipulations, either – they’re not too different in those regards, albeit opting for vastly different methods. It’s a very ‘two sides of the same coin’ sort of deal. In order to stay alive once they were made the last of their kind, the Lamb had no qualms with using others to their advantage, and that did not change once they were revived and expected to run a cult. They didn’t care for the position of authority, though – being a sheep and all, they’re much more of a follower than a leader, and thus greatly appreciated Narinder’s need for control. With how they had to keep on their toes for so long, the Lamb was also pretty good at reading people by the time they died, so they could recognize that a lot of Narinder’s posturing was just that – posturing. Dude’s 95% bluster and only 5% bite. He could obviously be vicious when he wanted or needed to (the Bishops' injuries were clear proof of that), but underneath his outer layer of cruelty was a generous layer of tsundere, and underneath all THAT was a soft squishy middle sibling velcro cat in desperate need of attention and affection.

(Which, for the record, he Did Not feel comfortable getting from Aym and Baal – Narinder still has no idea why the fuck Shamura sent them to him, beyond acting as keepers at best or trying to sabotage his attempts to escape at worst. Which, he thought HE sabotaged in turn, by guiding the kittens into being his devoted disciples instead. He thought he was very clever for it. ‘I outsmarted Shamura!’ he thought, despite that there was never anything there to outsmart. ‘What do you mean, Shamura sent your kittens to me for company?’ he demands of Forneus later. It may or may not lead him to pull Shamura out of Purgatory just so he can shake them and scream about how they should have Fucking Explained that!!!)

But, getting back on track as to why the Lamb was so willing to be sacrificed, I cannot stress this enough – if you pay even a minimal amount of attention to what he’s saying, Narinder is REALLY NOT SUBTLE about his intentions. ‘Death is of little consequence.’ ‘Followers are for you to use to your advantage.’ ‘Sacrifice a follower to absorb more power.’ So, yeah, the Lamb knew exactly what would be expected of them once the other Bishops were dead. They knew Narinder would expect them to die for him one last time. But, after all, death is of little consequence (not to mention hot), so when the time came, they wanted to see him freed, even if it meant oblivion for them in the end.

He’d given them a second life, and the ability to avenge their kin, and they felt indebted to him for that – so, while they were still pretty glum about the possibility that they might not get to see him free of his chains, nothing beyond their devotion and debt to him mattered. They never wanted all the drama and expectations that came with the Red Crown’s power, anyway, so, better for Narinder to have it back so that he could deal with it. What he did with the Lamb afterward would be up to him, and seeing as he was their god, they’d accept his decision gladly.

Were they in love with him by that point? Oh, obsessively so, but only in the devotional sense – romance was nowhere on their mind nor radar. That is, until he unexpectedly revived them again, told them he still needed them, and then offered down his hand to help them up.

The Lamb fell HARD for him in that moment. :3c

And now, a tiny shitten ramble. Lu and Li are twins, because sheep tend to have those a lot, and are conceived not long after the Lamb and Narinder’s marriage ceremony. Lu is the minutes older one, but Li is much more mature. I have put no further thought into these two, other than that they are utter menaces, birthed by the Lamb, cling hard to both their parents but especially Narinder (who spoils them rotten), and they are both genderfluid, using whichever pronouns/names they feel like at any given time. They are also both intersex, same as the Lamb, who was initially infertile up until Something Something Vague Magic, which I have also put no further thought into ¯\_(シ)_/¯

oh, and before anyone tries to suggest i headcanon this AU’s lamb as trending more female due to them giving birth or whatever, no, no, a thousand times no, they might have a vag, but they've also got a dick, and even if it's not as big as they'd like, they still know how to use it

Finally, the very tentative name for the Lamb in this AU is Yazdi, which is really just another name for the Baluchi breed of sheep XD (Not that the Lamb is this specific breed, I just didn’t like any of the other sheep-related names I found, ahaha...)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW (collapses into an exhausted pile of goopy limbs)

[murdrdocs]

she’s driving me crazy

description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted

includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance

wc. 6k+

a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.

Stiles knows he fucked up. 

He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation. 

He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere. 

You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him. 

“What’re you staring at?” 

Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)

Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is. 

Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs. 

“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”

It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes. 

Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips. 

Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?” 

Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow. 

“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.” 

“We are!” 

“Then why do you care so much?” 

Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse. 

Then Scott interrupts. 

“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision. 

It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former. 

He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies. 

When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway. 

“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him. 

Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this. 

“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin. 

The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead. 

Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched. 

He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention. 

He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line. 

You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back. 

“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.  

He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority. 

You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)

He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist. 

“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes. 

In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible. 

“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.” 

You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”

That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret. 

This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.

You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’. 

There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)

Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together. 

You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’re drunk,” he reminds you. 

You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you. 

“I’m not drunk.” 

He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks. 

He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world. 

“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.” 

Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.” 

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.” 

Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself. 

“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.” 

“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.” 

You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk. 

“Walk in a straight line towards me.” 

You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you. 

It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can. 

Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk. 

Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates. 

You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours. 

Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum. 

The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too. 

It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side. 

The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn. 

While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate. 

Get the fuck out of here. 

Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else. 

“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him. 

The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you. 

The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy. 

If he could just get to his Jeep. 

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator. 

The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead. 

It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful. 

In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens. 

He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.” 

Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you. 

He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it. 

“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)

Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes. 

The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him. 

As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience. 

Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him. 

“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?” 

Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.” 

You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.” 

As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you. 

“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says. 

He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before. 

It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him. 

Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too. 

You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip. 

Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful. 

He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?” 

You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it. 

Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?” 

It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?” 

You shrug again. 

“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two. 

A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod. 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once. 

“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life. 

Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost. 

He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you. 

“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?” 

Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself. 

“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband. 

In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him. 

It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you. 

It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization. 

He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time. 

Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you. 

You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former. 

Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?

There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly. 

You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern. 

You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.” 

Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head.  At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.” 

You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable. 

This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again. 

He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly. 

He might do both. One after the other. 

You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric. 

He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin. 

Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly. 

Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed. 

He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.” 

It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly. 

You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead. 

Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over. 

He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this. 

Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’. 

You call his name, low and breathy. 

He hums. 

“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told. 

Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.” 

He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else. 

“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin. 

“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!” 

He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop. 

So he doesn’t. 

Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him. 

“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.” 

The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage. 

It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after. 

The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower. 

But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity. 

You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?” 

You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.” 

Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body. 

“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later. 

Later. Will there be a ‘later’? 

“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?” 

Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later. 

[1pepsiboy]

Car video with Matt Sturniolo - Fluff! (request)

Matt Sturniolo x reader!

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: swearing, a little kissing

A/N: This one got away from me and I had to reign it back in because it's not supposed to be smutty lmaooo But here it is!

***

It’s close to midnight as Matt parks the van in a random spot at the favorite lot. The two of you got fries, chicken nuggets with sweet n’ sour sauce (mostly for him), and a large milkshake to share. You plan to do a car video to post on his individual channel.

You have no idea what you were going to talk about. Matt had fans submit their own questions for you two to answer.

After setting up the camera, which included Matt going out to check it, you start recording and picking at the food.

Matt starts the video off. "Hey everyone, (y/n) and I are here. Uhm... basically we're going to do our own car video without Nick and Chris. We don't really have a topic, but you guys submitted questions on instagram. Babe, have anything to start us off?"

Now, he looks at you as you’re mid fry. You chew quickly as possible, wiping your hands on a napkin, as he giggles under his breath.

"Thanks for the warning," you remark with a laugh. "Uhm, not really... I'm just here for the vibes."

"For the vibes?" Matt crooks a brow and looks you up and down. Then he takes a nugget and dips in the sauce.

You roll your eyes. "Don't yuck my yum."

Matt stuffs the nugget in his mouth. "Okay, Chris."

All you do is flip him off and take a sip of the milkshake.

"Just ask the questions."

"Okay, okay." He laughs as he readjusts in his seat after grabbing his phone. It's quiet for a couple minutes while he gathers them. "Oh, let's start with this one. What's our favorite thing about each other?"

"Well-"

"Oh, quick disclaimer, sorry babe." Matt shoots you a nervous smile. "I will edit screenshots of the questions onto the screen so you can see who they're from. And uh.. if you'd like to get featured in videos, follow us on instagram to see the next time I ask for questions. I'll put the @s on the screen and in the description below."

You slowly chew on your straw after taking another sip, patiently waiting for him to be done. It's already been fifteen minutes and you are almost positive Matt forgot the extra battery pack. Granted, you could've asked Nick where it was and brought it; too late.

"Okay, what were you going to say?" Matt prompts.

You think about making another snarky remark in how it'd been so long since he asked the question that you don't remember it.

Tapping the straw on your pursed lips, you pretend to think. "Well... I have many favorite things so it's an unfair question."

Matt lightly rolls his eyes. "Look, I know you love everything about me, but what's your favorite?"

"Oh, everything?" You laugh. "You think so highly of yourself, don't you, Matty B? Let's go the different route then." You look directly into the camera. "Guys, this kid will not accept anything sort of unorganized or clean. Not for more than five minutes if he can help it."

Matt's jaw drops and he snatches the cup out of your hand. "Your least favorite thing is how organized I am?"

"Yeah, live a little! You won't die if there's like a wrapper or two on your desk, or if the toothbrush isn't in the holder."

"You are an absolute monster, (y/n)!" Matt cracks. He points between you and the camera. "Don't believe a single word she says. She leaves more than a wrapper or two, and her skincare is all over my bathroom counter after she does her morning routine."

You shrug. "I don't see a problem with that, and I don't think the fans will either."

"Guys, leave a comment if you're more like me or (y/n)." He barely scoffs under his breath, eating another fry. "You're lucky you have other amazing qualities that I overlook the messiness."

Now, you couldn't help blushing. “Such as?”

Matt shakes his head, a smile spreading on his lips. “You’re understanding about a lot going on, you know, like the channels, life, and stuff. So it’s easy to talk to you about it, like if I’m ever anxious or something.”

“Top fucking notch quality right there,” you say. “Anything else? I love the praise.”

“I thought this was reserved for in private, babe.”

Your eyes go wide and you almost spit out the fry you just put in your mouth. “Matthew! Stop!”

Matt giggles under his breath. “Sorry. Uhm… You can rock a men’s polo and make the best playlists for me… Obviously you have such a vibrant personality.” 

“That I do.” You nod in agreement. You reach out to brush back some of his hair, causing some pinkness to rouge on his cheeks. “I love how cautious you are about decisions, keeps me from letting impulsive thoughts win.”

“Which is a lot,” he shoots a look at the camera.

You can only roll your eyes in response. “Anyway… You’re the most caring person I know that will drop anything to help someone you love. The only time you won’t ask a lot of questions… Oh! You’re actually the best big spoon ever.”

He bites his bottom lip, failing to hold back a cheesy grin. “Really, babe?”

“Absolutely.” 

You close the space between you, and Matt instinctively rests his hand in the crook of your neck. You crawl over the center console onto his lap when you realize it wouldn’t be just a few kisses.

Time gets away and you sort of forget that you are filming. Your hands roam each other’s bodies over and under clothes. Both of you leave butterfly kisses on the other’s neck.

The lights in the van suddenly dim away.

“Shit. Fuck,” Matt says, his lips pink from yours and hair tousled more than usual. “I think the camera died.”

“And we technically only answered one question.” You bite your lip with a laugh. 

He laughs with you, running a hand through his hair. He lays back and looks you in the eyes. “I should’ve known not to start with that question.”

“Should we try doing this again on a different night?”

Matt sighs heavily. “Probably… It would suck to scrap all the footage though.”

A smirk rises on your lips as you move back to the passenger seat. “You want to include clips of us making out?”

“Obviously no.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s just keep going then. Use my phone to record.”

Matt kisses the crook of your neck. “You’re the best, babe.”

You shoot him a look. “Be careful, Matthew.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He throws his hands up in defense. (He really wasn’t that sorry.)

*You can request others from this list or send me new ones!*

[silver-tangent]

You know… the bait and switch of Scott Pilgrim takes off was needed.

Scott Pilgrim was meant to be a subversion of tropes, and it got picked up by a bunch of nice guys, myself included at one point, who turned it into their anthem.

The original comic was about Everyman Scott Pilgrim having to win a woman by fighting her evil exes, and on the surface that’s what it was. Between the fanbase and the movie, that’s as shallow as anyone goes…

Except that Scott didn’t win her by defeating her evil exes. Scott was troubled and problematic. In the end he wasn’t abusive but he was neglectful and took Ramona for granted to the point that her abusive and manipulative ex managed to convince her to go back to him… mostly out of fear of what would happen to dumb, hapless, Scott.

Scott was an exceptional fighter in his videogame world… he beat like… one of the seven. The rest of the time he was saved by complete dumb luck, by his friends, and by Ramona.

The entire point was slowly realizing how silly the situation was, and how he wasn’t a white knight… he was set up to be a white knight only to knock that idea down and have Ramona and friends help him.

They learned, they grew, they were both toxic and broken people for different reasons, Scott through ignorance and a lack of experience and Ramona through trauma and abusive relationships…

And in the comic… they don’t exactly break up but she ghosts him. Horribly… and he ends up fighting Gideon anyway, and rescuing her… by gaining the Power of Understanding. That’s right, not self-respect. Understanding…

And the last page they decide to try again, but we don’t know what that means… everyone moves on to a better place in their lives, a lot of them move on from Scott and Ramona romantically… and Scott and Ramona get to just… see where this goes…

and that’s a sweet note to end on. Two people who didn’t know how to be healthy partners growing up, and timidly trying it all over, with no confirmation of how it works.

Movie? Movie came out before book 6, audiences didn’t like the ending where Scott chases after Ramona (differently from the books like he literally chases after her) so Scott earns the power of self respect, and gets back with Knives…

And intended or not, it just sets up this idea that Ramona was the bad guy. Ramona, the abuse victim, was friend-zoning Scott; the nice guy…

And for a decade, the fandom has kinda devolved into that mentality; Scott Pilgrim is the savior of the nice guys. Ramona is the unobtainable girl. Knives is the victim…

O’Malley’s original point, that relationships are hard and trauma is hard, and nobody can do it alone… lost.

To the point that we are so deep in this nice guy culture that making a sequel disguised as a reboot (will not spoil more) was necessary. He had to make the point more obvious, that the story was always about Ramona working through her relationship trauma… Scott was the house husband. He was always meant to be.

Everyone I see complaining about the twist… does not get the point of the comics… and I’ve been bitching about the movie for more than a decade so I’m sorry… it’s not a *bad* movie… but it’s clear most of the fanbase only watched the movie. And it’s clear most of the people complaining are Gideon in denial… no… Future Scott in denial… which is in fact the point.

[fict1onallyobsessed]

Sevika as your work wife🤭

ohhhh yesss

With the amount of time you spend together you might as well have gotten married

Say you work for Silco too, you'd be hired as another second hand when shimmer sales were booming just to maximize profit

You and her didn't even get a proper introduction, you just...started working together

She didn't mind you, you kept to yourself and didn't need babying (unlike a certain blue-head lol) so you were mostly partnered up with her

She worked better with you than Jinx so why not?

Even at the beginning, you wouldn't speak to each other, maybe a

"Pass me the vials?"

"Here."

But for what seemed like ages, she seemed to only be interested in getting the job done

That was fine, because all you cared about was the pay check waiting for you afterwards

That was up until she started nodding at you when she passed you, so subtle that you'd miss it if you blinked

Then she started saying a quiet "hey."

During jobs you'd chit chat about the smallest of things...until that turned into deep conversations about life beyond zaun

"You regret doing this, Sevika?"

"I regret a lot of things."

She'd actually sit next to you when Silco called you into meetings to the point he'd even gone as far as call you her friend

You kept getting closer

and closer

and even closer

Granted, it took almost a year but you were happy to not have a shitty and stuck up co-worker like everyone warned you about

It got to a point where she'd let you sit in when she was doing paperwork in her office

Especially after a tough job, where going back to your apartment sounded like the loneliest hell on earth

You found out her favourite pastime at the last drop, gambling and smoking cigars and she asked if you wanted to come with one day

one day turned into two

then you went with her almost everyday

She found it odd to admit she trusted you, with your uncharacteristically calm demeanour for someone who lived in the undercity, she found herself subconsciously doing things for you when you worked.

"Where's all of barrels Silco wanted me to move?"

"Already done, sweetness."

Sevika found out about this specific drink you liked that the last drop stopped serving when you were talking to her one day in the office, her head down, focused on the paperwork.

You didn't even think she was listening

But she walked into Silco's office with a bag, walked towards where you were sitting, handed it to you silently then sat next to you as Silco started explaining the next job he had for both of you.

"What is this for-"

"Don't mention it."

Mutual trust was a massive thing in this little endeavour you guys had

There were things Sevika would tell you and vice versa, that were never to be mentioned to anyone and somehow that always stuck

She felt almost good working with you.

Someone at the last drop made a bold joke about her being your work wife, since you were always together and seemed so close yet so far at the same time

"You their work wife or something?"

She looked from above her cards onto the man, blowing out her cigar smoke out her nose and scoffing.

"Guess so."

[rottenaero]

Ao3

Part 1

Part 3

Part two to the roommates idea

Whenever the mall ‘burns down’, Eddie is just chilling at home; not doing anything special.

Actually, thats a complete lie. He hadn't seen Steve since he left for his shift the day before, and currently has his band+Wayne scattered in the living room as he paces.

“He may as well be dead, he always calls before staying the night somewhere, and he totally despises that place, so why would he stay after hours?” He comes to a halt infront of Jeff who looks considering. “What?!"

“Maybe, consider, he just forgot to call you." Eddie scoffed, “ ‘Maybe he just forgot’, except you don't know him, Jeff. Steve doesn't forget, tell ‘em Wayne."

Wayne nods from his spot on the lazyboy, “ ‘S true, he'd rather call at 2am than have us worrying.”

Gareth rolls his eyes, “Look Edmund, I get your worried about you boyfriend and all but why did we have to get dragged into this?" He complained, and Eddie began pacing again.

“ Not,my boyfriend, yet, and you’re getting-”

A ringing interrupts him.

The pacing stopped almost as soon as it began, and he darts to the phone. “ Y’hello, it's Eddie talking.” A sharp breath drew from the other end of the line.

“Hey Eds."

Eddie smiled, “Holy shit, Stevie. I thought you died. Wayne and the guys are literally gathered in the living room.” Upon hearing the name, Wayne visibly relaxed, going from hunched over to leaning backwards in seconds.

“Yeah I'm- Well shit not okay but I'm not dead.”In the background there was a noise, barely noticeable but-

“Wait, what? Are those sirens? Are you hurt? What the hell-” Wayne leaned forward again.

“I'm at the mall, there's been, uh, an accident? I don't- they took my keys, I need a ride back home.”

“Who took your keys? Steve you can't just be all ominous and-” The phone line shut off. "Fuck!”

Grant, who hasn't been helpful at all, stood up. "What did he do?”

Eddie groans, running a hand through his greasy hair, “Needs us to pick him up, might be hurt. He's such a- Wayne we're taking my van, you guys coming?”

Turns out the answer is yes.

-

They arrive at the mall five minutes later, mostly because Eddie was driving like a bat outta hell, to every emergency vehicle you can think of, plus thirty more, surrounding the place.

Eddie roles his window down when a cop signals him. “What are you doing over here?"

The metalhead bites his lip, what the hell, “Uh, I'm here to pick up Steve Harrington? He got involved in whatever's happening.”

The cops nods, "Alright, park your vehicle over there, and go get him.”

He does as he's told, a surprising feat showing just how scared he was, because Steve being hurt could mean so many things.

They get out the car, Wayne being the leading man, and head to where the commotion is.

The mall was totally destroyed, a couple kids he didn't know were sitting around, surrounded by their parents, there's a couple teens too, Nancy Wheeler, Johnny Byers, a girl in a sailor costume, and-

Eddie’s heart stopped and he fucking sped forward. “ Holy shit, what the fuck man." Steve looked like hell, understatement of the century but-

His face was bruised and bloody, his hands wrapped in casts, his hair was flat and gross and he was still in his damn sailor costume.

“Hey Munsons, Gareth, Jeff, Grant. It's the whole Scooby gang, or Smurfs, whoever you prefer.” Eddie grabbed his shoulders, and stared him dead in the eye. “ What. The. Fuck. Are you high too?!”

“Just what the hell did you get yourself into. " Wayne said more than asked, shaking his head.

Steve buzzed his lips, his eyebrows furrowed and he brought a hand to them and-

God they were split, and bleeding now. He looked back up at the long haired man infront of him, ignoring Wayne's question-not-question.

“Nah, just recovering from being drugged. Hey this is rivveting conversation and shit, but like, I wanna go home and sleep in your bed, man. Or the couch, or the floor.”

He let out a loud laugh, “Fuck I am not picky right now, I'll even take the back of the van.”

“Christ."

-

They don't talk about it, not after Hellfire goes home, not the next morning, not after Steve heals. They just don't, because the news told them all they need to know, that there was a fire. Eddie just assumed when they said he was drugged, that he meant medically.

(He didn't)

[oddballwriter]

You and the Moon Boys' "Your" Couple Thing

Summary: A list of the activities and things that you and the boys do that are special to each and every one of you.

Warnings: none that I know of

Author’s Snip: Proof that I am in fact alive lol

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sergeant102105

Jake Lockley

He's the reason that I'm making this because this thought just came to me

You and Jake's thing is going to a bowling alley every now and then when he's fronting

You guys have a specific place that you go. It's a bit old and run-down, was probably more popular back in the day but now it's just there. But it's yours.

It's actually really fun

You two have fun with the competition of trying to win while also enjoying doing it together

They have cheap and watered-down beer, it's shit and Jake always complains about it but he still orders it for some reason

You guys also have an ongoing thing with the bowling that the loser has to pay for dinner next time you two go out to eat somewhere

You two try to mess each other up all the time, its a nice light-hearted thing that you do that's all in good fun

Overall its a nice and simple date for the two of you that actually holds a lot of meaning for you two

Steven Grant

You guys have this show that you both hate-watch together. It's this really stupid conspiracy theory show that you two discovered one night while having the TV on while washing the dishes after dinner

The episode was about the pyramids and ancient Egypt. It drew in Steven and he was so genuinely pissed about all the stuff that they were saying

You were mostly laughing but some things made you roll your eyes too

You both hate that it's become your thing but its honestly a bonding experience for you two and it's also a conversation starter

Sometimes you guys actually have intellectual talks about it and things that you think

But yeah, every time. On the airing dates and times for new episodes, you two are there watching it and rolling your eyes, cringing, and yelling at the TV

Sometimes you guys quote it to make each other laugh

Marc Spector

Late night walks, like really late night walks

It started with Marc and you not being able to sleep one night for whatever reason, so you decided to go for a stroll. Marc would usually go walk by himself but this time you came along

It sort of evolved after you guys found places and spots that you didn’t know were there until you started walking

Like the 24/7 donut shop that you both get a donut at whenever you do go walking

There’s also a really nice bench that you guys then sit at when you guys want a break

It’s actually weirdly nice when you get the chance to do it

It feels so private and intimate because no one’s around and it mostly seems like it’s just you and him together

And eventually you walk back home and head to bed and sleep for reals

It’s just a nice peaceful experience

[wooahaes]

svt - holding them

pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader

prompt: holding them :)

genre: honestly these are probably mostly hurt/comfort but theres some fluff in here i swear.

warnings: mentions of various stressful situations. comfort for a lot of these. mentioned injury in chan's. mentioned fight + seungkwan being pissed during his (not directed at reader at all). introvert!reader in wonwoo's. alcohol mention in mingyu's. food mentions, often in a vague sense throughout (just mentions of meals--although seokmin's mentions cupcakes for puppies).

daisy's notes: its cozy comfort hours.

choi seungcheol

seungcheol would sometimes just melt into you whenever you held him. you always took it as a sign that he trusted you wholeheartedly, and he meant it in that way and a sign that he loved you with everything that he was.

sometimes he'd be saddled with the brunt of the work in his department, and typically it meant he'd stress over making sure everything was done right. with the addition of a new intern (vernon--you'd met him once when you dropped by to get seungcheol lunch when he was too busy to leave, and he seemed like a nice enough guy), this stress seemed to be two-fold this time around. he'd work later, always telling you to go on and eat dinner without him. he'd always promise that this would be over soon, too: this was one of their busier periods. of course, you knew this by now--you'd been with seungcheol long enough to understand his work--but the honesty was always appreciated.

seungcheol had come home while you were making a cup of tea before bed, and quietly shuffled over to you. without saying anything, he'd already slipped his arms underneath yours to hug you around your chest. your arms curled around his shoulders, and you pulled him in, letting him melt into you again. secure in your arms, he let out a long sigh, face burying into your shoulder--and, for just a moment, you thought he might collapse right then and there. he just stayed there for a few silent minutes longer, before he let go of you, drawing back to look at your face.

you nodded toward your cup of tea. "do you want one?"

and he nodded, already leaning into plant a peck against your lips. "i love you," he mumbled, fully pulling away. you watched the quiet way he disappeared down the hall, the sound of the bedroom door opening a second later.

you'd hold him against once the two of you had finished your tea, and you'd play with his hair the way he liked while he vented whatever frustrations he needed to vent. you always liked holding your love normally, but this?

this felt special. and if he needed you to be a safe haven for him, you were glad to return the favor he always granted you the moment you needed it.

yoon jeonghan

jeonghan always knew that he just had to ask for you to hold him for you to do it. that was why he almost never did: not outright, at least. he'd merely slither his way into your arms, and respond to your soft 'happy?' with a blissful sigh and a 'very.' he liked being held by you sometimes. he knew you found this sense of security in his arms, and he was always happy to say that he found the same with you. curling up in your arms felt like he was home again.

so the first place he wanted to be after exiting his plane was home. as much as he could enjoy getting to see places abroad, he always wished he could bring you along with him. it'd mean that he wouldn't have to share a room with joshua (who he was perfectly fine with: there were few others he'd be so happy to share a room with), and that he could come back from the days of being stuck with other people to see your lovely face before he took you out for sightseeing and dinner. instead he'd just have to do these dates with joshua, always sending you teasing messages about how he was enjoying his time with his 'work boyfriend' (you'd coined it forever ago to tease him, and joshua had found it amusing enough that the two of you jokingly called each other jeonghan's 'other partner'). now he just needed to go through the motions to get home. get his luggage, get a cab, climb the stairs because the elevator was out...

he'd eventually opened the bedroom door to see you asleep. of course you would be: it was late and he told you to not wait up for him due to flight delays. he pulled at his tie, already going through the rest of the motions: suit off (get dry-cleaned later--too tired to care about fucking it up), clothes changed, teeth brushed... collapse into bed next to you.

you'd woken up, jostled by the sudden movement as your sleepy eyes found his in the dark. wordlessly, you opened your arms up to him, and he immediately moved in. welcome home. he pressed kisses against your neck and cheeks, making up for those lost few days for a moment.

"missed you," he mumbled against your skin.

you giggled as you held him tighter. "missed you, too, hannie."

joshua hong

joshua was never afraid to ask you to hold him. tonight was no different.

sometimes it was driven on by that need for physical comfort, but not always. sometimes it would be nights like this: you'd be curled up next to him in bed, talking aimlessly with him about your day since the two of you had barely spoken past a quick meal together before you were getting ready for bed. he'd been drained from work, you had been, too... that left a lot of talk for that melting space between waking and sleep.

"honey?" his eyes found yours in the low light, and you watched the way he stretched an arm back to place his phone back onto the nightstand. "can you just... hold me tonight?"

you obliged with ease. he settled in, shutting his eyes as his arms wrapped around you and squeezed you for just a second--a little 'i love you' without words.

"you can keep talking," he said after a moment. "i'm still listening, i promise."

he relaxed against you as you reached up, playing with his hair as you continued to talk about office drama. nothing too major, thankfully--you were just ready for it to be over and to be coming home at a normal time again. at least the extra pay was nice.

joshua could hear your heart beating. for a moment, he stopped listening to office drama and focused entirely on that. everything would be fine. another long day was just that: a day he managed to get through. everything would be okay if he made it right here, back in your arms and listening to you talk about things that mattered now but might not in a week (that was life, though, wasn't it? a series of moments of caring, even if those moments weren't important in the long run). he played with the hem of your shirt, trying to figure out who you were talking about now.

"hey?" he says quietly. "i love you."

for a moment, you paused. and then he heard you chuckle. "i love you, too, honey."

yeah... things would always be okay if he heard you say that.

wen junhui

jun had settled into your arms maybe twenty minutes ago, and he'd yet to say a word. at this point, you thought he might purr if you kept playing with his hair.

most nights, jun liked holding you. hell, most days jun liked to hold you. he was this soft lovable guy who often found a way to hold you regardless of where the two of you were. in a store? he'd wrap his arms around you from behind, looking at whatever you were looking at (even if you were comparing tomatoes or something). you were cooking because it was your night to cook? well, fine, jun wouldn't help you because you refused it... so he'd simple settle in, arms wrapped around you as he watched you cook. and he'd always pull you into his arms when the two of you settled in to sleep for the night, planting a happy kiss against your neck before snuggling in tight. he was, simply put, a snuggly man.

and you knew that something about his day must have been harder than usual, because he'd settled into your arms first and said nothing. he merely shut his eyes, and held onto you, head resting on your chest while he listened to your heartbeat. you'd seen the way his lips quirked a little when you reached a hand up, playing with his hair as you continued to read a e-book off of your phone. he would talk to you when he was ready to: you knew him well enough.

when you stopped playing with his hair, he looked up. you met his gaze, "you okay?"

he nodded, settling back in. "just missed you today."

and immediately you swore your heart somehow shattered and was put back together within seconds. you sighed. "i thought something was wrong, you goof."

he giggled. "you did? you're so sweet," he planted a tiny peck against your neck. "thank you for worrying, honey."

"yeah, yeah..." you pressed a kiss against the side of his head. "love you, too, you dork."

kwon soonyoung

soonyoung had maybe the worst day of his entire life ever.

he had plans! today was supposed to go well! he didn't have to work, and he was going to meet up with some friends and, y'know, do friend stuff. there was an amusement park that they'd been wanting to go to, and soonyoung had hyped himself up for it... except seungcheol ended up sick (something he'd warned about the night before--something about his partner catching something), and had to drop out. and that had seemed to set off a chain of events. seungkwan ended up having to work because one of his coworkers (the young college kid, seungkwan had said with scorn) called in sick at the last minute (seungkwan said he heard giggling on the other end of the phone--that fucker was absolutely not sick and that fake cough spoke volumes), jeonghan ended up needing to go see his partner about some family issue, jihoon... well. jihoon didn't do anything except point out the weather.

but jihoon had still offered to go out, maybe get lunch with anyone interested in still going. which is why soonyoung was now completely soaked since the two got lunch and parted ways before he was immediately caught in a downpour. plus lunch hadn't even been that good (jihoon's was--he'd let him steal a bite and soonyoung had just powered through his own crummy meal). today was supposed to be fun and now he was standing inside the front door to his apartment, soaked to the bone.

he shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before calling out for you. after a minute, you'd come into the room, stopping before immediately turning on your heel to leave. he could hear the bathroom door open, and then the water being started up. he barely saw your face again before you'd thrown a towel over his head, already working to try and dry him off a little.

"baby, why didn't you take your umbrella?"

because it broke. again: worst day of his life, probably. but soonyoung listened to you when you told him to go take a warm shower, that you'd get him some clean clothes and maybe make soup while he was in there. he'd told you not to worry about soup right now.

"can you just... hold me when i get out?"

you agreed easily enough. and when he left the shower, getting dressed again, he found you in the bedroom, curled up and waiting for him. within minutes, he had folded himself into your arms, holding on as he buried his face in your shoulder. you smelled like his cologne, and yet it seemed to comfort him in a weird way. like it was this little reminder that you were here for him still, even after everything went wrong for a while.

today might have been awful... but things felt right now that you were holding him.

jeon wonwoo

wonwoo knew the routine for post-socialization nights. nightly routine (skincare, changing into comfy clothes), and then he would load up whatever game the two of you were going to play to unwind while you scrounged around for snacks. on rarer nights, wonwoo would be the one who would pull together an assortment of snacks--usually because he'd be too tired to game, but would be happy to keep you company. tonight was one of those nights, where wonwoo listened as you loaded up your game on the PS4. he heard the telltale gentle piano opening to the game (who knew such a silly concept like mixing disney with final fantasy could make a game so impactful? wonwoo liked watching you play, though: he knew how important it was to you, and he saw it as a way of learning more about you), and he found himself smiling a little. he knew you well.

when he returned to the couch, you'd already gathered up a few blankets and pillows so the two of you could get fully comfy. these were the perks of dating a fellow introvert, in wonwoo's opinion: the two of you had decided on some sort of "decomposing" ritual for nights like these. when the two of you were just dating, it was usually ice cream or coffee or a nice walk together before parting ways. later it became playing video games online with one another, and now it was playing them together and cuddling.

with snacks in hand, wonwoo sat down next to you, watching as you curled up at one end of the couch. without saying anything, all you had to do was glance at him before you opened yourself up so that he could lay in your arms. you'd hold the controller out in front of him, adjusting your position as needed so that you could comfortably play (you'd left off somewhere in the aladdin-based world). he would offer up food to you, and sometimes you'd accept.

the two of you made it work. and wonwoo subtly smiled to himself as he cuddled closer to you, only pulling away to put the empty bowl ont he coffee table. he'd turn over, too, and lay atop you, snuggling in happily as he watched you play.

"happy?" you mused aloud, not taking your eyes off the screen.

"mhm." he nuzzled his head against your chest, smiling a little more now. "so... can you explain what we're doing again?"

he heard the way you chuckled. "we're looking for aladdin right now."

"again? i thought that was the first game."

another warm chuckle, deep in your chest. "yeah," you shifted, just to keep wonwoo close to you. "again."

lee jihoon

jihoon wasn't always one for skinship. this was something you knew: it was reserved for people he was close with, and for people who didn't use it as an excuse to baby him in any way. you'd seen the way his friend, seokmin, liked to teasingly (attempt) kiss him on the cheek and the way he'd always lean away, pretending to act grumpy while his smile always broke through a little. and with you, he'd always been open to little things in public like holding your hand or the occasional hug when it was cold out and you were seeking warmth. hell, sometimes he'd keep an arm loosely around you in public when you were in a crowded space. a tiny symbol that the two of you were linked together, but in a way that minimized the space you were taking up as you entered one another's bubble.

at home, though, things were different. jihoon wasn't afraid to ask for a hug or to be held if he needed it. and sometimes, after particularly stressful days, he needed it.

"honey?" his voice was always quiet, as if to keep this moment between the two of you alone. he'd always drop a 'honey' or 'love' too, as if to sweeten the deal (or maybe it was his way of telegraphing it to you: this is a sign i need something more intimate...). "can you hold me?"

he'd always ask, no matter how long the two of you had been dating. it was his way of telling you that his day had been rough without outright saying it. you'd maybe said 'no' once or twice due to awful timing: you'd been sick both times and didn't want to risk him catching whatever you had, but he'd understood easily enough... and you'd later get a picture from his roommate, soonyoung, 'stealing your man' (his way of saying not to worry: he was taking care of him). but your 'yes' came easily, and you'd readjusted in your position on the couch for him to essentially lay on you, cuddling into your arms.

"do you want to talk about it?" you asked once he'd settled in.

he shook his head. "maybe later. just... hold me for a bit first."

and you always would, snuggling together like you were each other's perfect fit.

lee seokmin

seokmin loved holding you... but he loved being held by you, too. never ask him to pick which one, because he would refuse every single time: there's too many pros and cons to both for him to pick between the options. therefore, seokmin just... liked holding. was that weird to say? he wasn't sure: regardless of who was doing said holding, he would always be happy.

which was why he was happy as you wrapped your arms around him from behind while he was on the phone with seungkwan, trying to coordinate a surprise party for another "special" friend. the party planning had been stressful (you told seokmin that bookkeu was a dog, he would be happy regardless of what seungkwan did for him, and then seungkwan stopped talking to you for a week until you apologized and said that you only meant it as a 'please don't let him lose sleep over this' deal), and just being in your arms helped plenty. was it maybe a little silly to get this worked up over coordinating a surprise party for a literal dog? maybe. but seungkwan had been excited over throwing a birthday party for his dog (bookkeu was a beloved member of the family, after all), and seokmin had grown a little excited over making doggy cupcakes... life was simply too short to not embrace things like this.

seokmin looked over his shoulder at you with a quiet "hi, honey," before he went back to talking about saying something about how the paw print mold was on its way so he could decorate the cupcakes with them. before you could draw back, he caught your wrist, pulling you back in so that you were still firmly pressed against his back. he pulled your wrist up so he could press a tiny peck against the inside of it, swaying happily with your arms still firmly around him.

the moment his phone call was over, he shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to face you. "hi," he giggled. "we're excited."

"i can tell," you smiled back, running a hand through his hair. "you sound excited."

"they're pupcakes," he said, pulling you in closer. "aren't you excited?"

for seokmin? you'd be excited over anything just to share in that joy alongside him.

kim mingyu

mingyu dragged himself into your bedroom, each step seemingly heavier than the last. you looked up from your book to see utter exhaustion on his face, and immediately set it aside.

"gyu--"

"drank too much," he mumbled as he all but collapsed onto his side of the bed. "cheol's fault..."

the cute way he was pouting now earned a giggle from you. of course it was him out drinking with seungcheol that ended with your pouty boyfriend all tired and maybe feeling a little sick. you crawled over, pulling at his shoulders. he gave in with ease, rolling onto his back as he rest his head in your lap, eyes falling shut as you began to play with his hair.

"did you drink water?" you asked. he nodded, leaning further into your touch. "i'll get another glass in a few minutes."

he shook his head. "can you... can you hold me first?"

of course you would. he stayed in your lap a little longer, too in love with the way you were playing with his hair until he turned over. rather than letting you move, he just crawled up, resting his head on your chest as he basically crushed you underneath him. you adjusted as best as you could, wrapping your arms around him, fingers still running through his hair. you could feel his smile through the thin fabric of your shirt, his arms wrapping around you after a moment.

"love you," he mumbled, turning his face so that he could press a kiss against your chest. "love you," he mumbled again.

you managed to plant a peck against the side of his head. "love you, too, mingyu."

xu minghao

minghao, simply put, preferred caring for you. there was something tender about being able to dote on his beloved whenever he could. it wasn't as though he hid his bad days from you--the two of you lived together now, that wasn't exactly an option, and not one he was ever fond of except for the very early days of you two dating (and even then, he was always mature enough to say he was having a rough day and he'd talk to you later in a way of asking for space). but from the moment he woke up this morning, something was... off.

so when he finally came home to you after work and meditating in the park, he gave in. "today was hard," he simply said as he was hanging up his jacket. "do you mind holding me for a little while?"

angel that you were, you never minded. minghao always knew he could come home and nuzzle into your open arms whenever he needed to be cared for. he'd always crawl into them, burrowing his face in your neck. he could smell your favorite body spray clinging to your skin, and it felt like home. you, too, felt like home... but that was because you were home.

something within him just... broke. maybe it was stress, or maybe he'd been holding himself together for far too long without relief. one moment he was fine, and the next he was tearing up for reasons he'd never be able to piece together. he buried his face further into your neck, holding onto you tight as he let himself cry (because you would always let him cry if he needed to--you were safe, you were home).

"oh, hao..." your voice was quiet, but he could feel the slight rumble in your chest from how close his body was pressed against yours. "it's okay." you traced circles onto his back. "just let it out, love. i'm here."

you were here. home. and he held onto you tighter, safe to come undone within your loving embrace.

boo seungkwan

seungkwan was mad. very mad. you could hear the front door slam from your curled-up position in bed, and that meant something went very wrong with whatever hang-out he had arranged with his friends. a few seconds later, you heard the bathroom door slam, and then open and close normally a minute later. before you knew it, seungkwan had thrown open the door and immediately apologized--to both you and the door for being so angry. he closed it with a restrained anger, and made his way over to bed.

"seungkwan?" you called to him quietly, watching him curl up tighter. "c'mere."

and he did. without hesitation, he turned over and moved into your arms, because that was one of the places he found calmed him the most. he let you hold him, and he shut his eyes, taking slow breaths as he curled up closer to you.

"you wanna talk about it?"

"in a minute." his fingers dug into your skin, and he pulled himself closer to you. and then he resumed his breathing, willing himself to calm down even further before he even thought about ranting to you.

"did something happen?"

he nodded. "i'll apologize later," he huffed. "after he apologizes first."

oh. ouch. you felt your phone buzz on the mattress beside you. no doubt it was someone trying to give you some kind of heads up (or maybe even an inkling of what had happened--probably vernon or jeonghan). you just started to knead at his back, feeling the way seungkwan further relaxed against you.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled softly. "did i scare you when i came in...?"

"a little, but it's okay," you said. "you're upset. did you guys get to have dinner?"

he shook his head.

"well," you pushed him back by the shoulders, just enough that you could look into his eyes. "let's order dinner and eat together... and then i can hold you again while you tell me what happened."

seungkwan leaned in, pressing a quick peck against your lips. "thank you," he said. "i love you."

"love you, too, kwannie."

chwe vernon

"hey. can you hold me for a bit? i'm kinda cold."

vernon was the king of unsubtle. it was hot out. hell, it was kind of warm in your apartment. the only colder room was your bedroom, and that was because the window A/C unit was in there. he was just watching a movie with you, no blankets because the two of you were warm enough. and now he was looking at you with this cute smile on his face, as if he couldn't just ask you to hold him because he wanted to be held. like he needed to go on some secret mission to get what he wanted.

"dude, you're wearing a hoodie."

never had you seen him strip it off so quickly, turning to you. "can you hold me now?"

ah. he knew this was becoming a little game. "you're already cold?"

"yep. freezing. need ya."

you rolled your eyes, and opened your arms to him. he happily shifted so that he could rest, back against your chest, and you could see that gummy smile as he cuddled in. again: the king of being unsubtle. he'd snuggled in a little further, hands coming up to hold onto your arms as he dragged his thumbs against your skin.

barely ten minutes later, and he peeked up at your face. "babe."

ah. the term of endearment. you knew what was coming next. "nope."

"i forgot you're like your own heater!"

"and now you're stuck here like my teddy bear," you held him a little tighter. "live with it, chwe."

(he would. for the rest of his life, if you'd let him.)

lee chan

"i told you, i'm fine!"

despite the elevated ankle, chan had been trying to convince you of this for the past twenty minutes. it was just a little sprain that the doctor said he needed to stay off of as much as he could. just a little one. he'd be fine by the end of the week, he was positive. even among his bickering with you, you'd moved around your shared bedroom, arranging things so that chan wouldn't have to worry too much. you'd elevated his ankle, made sure that the wrapping was still secure, and kept his crutches within reach in case he needed them.

("just a 'little' sprain" your ass--he'd teared up on you for a minute because of how bad it hurt, and even then he kept insisting he'd walk it off.)

"channie," you pouted at him. "i'm gonna take care of you, alright?"

he only pouted at you in return. "i don't need you to take care of me--it's just a sprain. i've been through worse--"

"that doesn't mean you need to neglect yourself this time!" you huffed, and crawled in from the other side of the bed.

before he could complain further, you pulled him over and into your arms, mindful of his ankle. you linked your arms around him, holding onto him tight before he could try to escape again because he noticed that the dishes needed doing and you were the one who cooked this morning, so it was only fair for him to do them. he'd tried to argue that he'd just be leaning against the counter, he could still help.

despite his sulking, you noticed the way he snuggled into your arms. "you're cheating."

"not my fault you love me so much."

"isn't it?" a tinge of amusement lined his voice, and you found yourself smiling a little, too. "you're the one who made me fall for you."

"you're the one who fell for me, you dork."

"literally--"

and among your vocalized complaints, he just laughed again and pulled one of your hands up so he could kiss the back of it. fine. he'd rest... for now.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @gyulbabie

[yoru-no-seiiki]

Shit, I just saw you had different accounts for different genres and I already requested on your main non smut(??) account😭😭 Okay, okay, I have a new totally original idea. What about.. male pervert yandere enemy x gn or female reader? Like enemies to lovers but one is only in on it because of their masochistic tendencies and they just love being dominated. And please add nsfw of him jerking off, finding her sweaty (sweet) gym tshirt and it being mentioned that he has, I don't know, JERKED OFF TO THEM IN FUCKING CLASS. (The oneshot could be in class👀👀)

- I'm 🙈 anon from your main account, you don't have to complete both of the requests, either one I know would make me cum, but please I'm so desperate for cocky ass bakugo katsuki like bitch guys who are so submissive and vulnerable on the inside IM BEGGING YOU.. omg, now I'm like them, fuck.

This got me pissing my pants ngl- but aaaaa yess. This came at a perfect timing! (long story short i got sum good news from my scholarship stuff in Ateneo) Your audience with me has been approved.

(also I don’t think I received your other request unfortunately uhu)

YANDERE! PERVERTED! RIVAL OC x GN! READER

tw/cw: dddne, yandere themes, male masturbation, semi-public masturbation, yun’s trauma with enrollment procedures.

MINORS/AGELESS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU.

University was hell before it even started. Due to complications with your scholarship, you and your parents had to repeatedly go out to get a whole bunch of documents in searing summer heat to ensure you kept the damn thing from falling through.

It was safe to say, you weren’t going to just take all that for granted.

You wanted to be the best student in the history of the institution, no — the whole country. Anything less than perfect would tarnish the effort your family has put into you.

But a certain Ricardo Peralta was making that oh so difficult for you.

Not only was he already a member of the student council and potential president for the following years, he was oh so disgustingly well-rounded and rich. You thought you were a try-hard? Well think again. Ricardo had you beat in many aspects.

But not all of them.

You are a people person by heart. Charismatic, and sociable. You knew how to mingle, how to get a person wrapped around your fingers. Ricardo may have the vantage point with connections now but in the future? It wouldn’t be long before everyone will turn to you instead.

And so began your petty rivalry.

It was subtle at first. Smirking at the one who got a lower score. Congratulating the other for winning second place while having a golden medal dangling from their neck. Scoffing at their rival for having a life outside academics ( pfft imagine having good time management? The two of you can never! )

And then it steadily degenerated into full blown petty fights. Violence at times. Anything aside from murdering each-other was free rein and even then there were days you two took that sort of route. It was mostly you though. For some reason, his parents were quite fond of you and would always let you into their mansion. This gave you plenty of opportunities to drug his ass.

You didn’t know it was because of a deal his parents made with yours to give him access to your room.

Ricardo studied you harder than the academics he worshipped his entire life. He knew you far longer than you did him. You were the reason he strove so much to be perfect. The only reason he wanted to be perfect was for you.

He knew your parents would never think to pay for the outrageous fees the University you (and by extension him) wanted to go to, so he made his parents start a scholarship program for gifted students (Anything to make their son happy). You were already guaranteed to get in from the beginning, and he felt bad for having made you panic from the strings he had to pull so that you’d always have the same classes/schedules.

So he let you win some of the little games you two had. In any case, nothing beats the reward of your smile. And the smug smirk you’d give him as you loomed over the desk, your chest almost resting on his face.

He shook his head, he can save those thought for after he stole another set of used underwear.

He usually came to your locker after P.E. it was when your scent wouldn’t be covered by whatever you sprayed on yourself. Don’t get him wrong, Ricardo was a germaphobe and a half but those cheap perfumes and deodorants you slathered all over yourself so you wouldn’t smell half bad after your exercises couldn’t compare to the scent of your body.

In anycase, today Ricardo got greedy. Impatient. Something his parents were sure to have reprimanded him on. But he couldn’t help it. Could you really blame him? It suddenly started raining out in the field. The way the water made your shirt cling unto your clothes practically made you irresistible.

“Ngh . . . [Y/N]. J-just like that . . . use me . . .” Tears formed at the corner of his eyes as he mumbled in pleasure. If you just walked a little more, perhaps leaned your head around the corner. . . god, he could imagine the disdain on your face. The utter disgust you’d show him.

It didn’t help that you were slandering him just a few feet away.

“That piece of shit, Ricardo. He totally fucking cheated.” You cursed, so unlike your usual polite tone with your fellow batch-mates and the faculty. He hears a resounding thud right after wards.

The movement around his shaft only gets faster. His grip tighter, harsher, as he imagines the way you’d abuse his cock. If he added any more force he’d probably tear himself apart. The thought of disappointing you is the one thing keeping him from harming himself.

His hand only ever stuttered due to the sound of your friend’s voice, ear piercing and grotesque as it is in contrast to yours, “Aray! Nadamay pa talaga yung mukha ko-“

“Shut the fuck up!” You angrily replied, this time slamming the locker behind Ricardo, making him moan stumble forward a little.

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

Streams of white leave the tip of his cock, your threat shoving him off the ledge of pleasure. Your rain and sweat covered shirt now drenched with another type of liquid.

[Notes]:

Aray! Nadamay pa talaga yung mukha ko — Ouch! You really just brought my face into the fray.

[greenglowinspooks]

Gävle Goat v.s. two drunk half-ghosts (DCxDP)

—

Tw: alcohol consumption (no way), one(1) mention of sex

Summary: Jason and Danny accidentally burn down the Gävle goat. You all voted for this, and I delivered. Merry crisis, tis the season and all that.

—

Jason wove through the ever-shifting crowd, an irritated scowl on his face.

Kori and Roy had dragged him here to celebrate a successful mission together, but the two had wandered off together not thirty minutes after they arrived, effectively stranding him in an unfamiliar club in Europe.

Now, his only two options seemed to be stealing someone’s car and getting back to their temporary safehouse himself, or waiting for the two to come back for him.

Still, considering the lecture he’d get from Dick if he hotwired a random guy’s car just because he didn’t want to wait for his friends, option one wasn’t much of an option at all.

It was humiliating. He was a crime lord, not a little kid who’d lost their mom in the store.

Jason sighed, slumping against the wall as he watched the drunken crowd swirl together.

He had never really felt at home in places like this, especially not since his resurrection. It always felt like people were staring at him, like they just intrinsically knew that he was other.

Jason startled when he felt someone tap on his shoulder.

“Sorry!” The stranger said, “I just, um, are you okay?”

Jason blinked. The person talking to him was clearly somewhat tipsy, wearing a blush on his face and a slightly loopy smile. How had he possibly snuck up on him? Was he really that deep in thought?

“My asshole friends ditched me, and now I’m stuck here,” Jason blurted out without thinking. The stranger barked out a laugh, clearly surprised.

“That sucks,” he said, leaning on the wall next to Jason. He hummed in response.

The stranger looked back at the open bar, where quite a few people were frantically miming to him. He motioned back to them, clearly hoping for them to stop, before just flipping them off. Jason chuckled at that.

“Those your friends?”

The stranger blushed brighter, the tips of his ears going red.

“Uh, yeah. We’re here to celebrate some legal stuff that I finally got done with, but, uh, they wanted me to go talk to you.”

Jason hummed again, giving the stranger a quick once-over. He was actually pretty cute; he had messy black hair, icy eyes, and an outfit that screamed “I’ve never been in a club before but my friends dragged me here anyways”.

If he was gonna be waiting for Kori and Roy anyways, why not have some fun?

“Well, I am technically here alone, now that my friends wandered off,” he said, looking at the stranger meaningfully.

The stranger grinned brightly, holding a hand out to him.

“Then, d’you wanna hang out with my friends and I? I promise we’re lot of fun! I’m Danny, by the way.”

Jason took his hand, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“Call me Jason,” he said, following along as the (surprisingly strong) man dragged him over to his friends.

-

Danny was having the time of his life.

The restraining order on Vlad had finally been granted. The abolition of the Infinite Realms’ monarchy had gone through. And, on top of all that, he was on the most incredible club-hopping adventure of his un-life.

And sure, it might not have been the best idea to give ghost alcohol to Jason, the mortal his group had picked up in Germany, but he was taking it like a champ!

He hadn’t thrown up yet, in any case, so clearly it wasn’t that much of an issue.

Danny giggled, leaning up against Jason as they walked along the street, his ghostly friends filling the street.

As the night went along and they all got more and more tipsy, they’d mostly let go of their mortal forms. Despite being surrounded by a bunch of ghosts with death-blows clearly exposed and mythological creatures, Jason didn’t seem to be too bothered. He had an arm wrapped around Danny’s shoulders and was singing along with some of the ghosts in Arabic(?), his lovely baritone voice echoing out amongst the dead and unborn.

Danny just snuggled further into his side, enjoying the novel feeling of human warmth. He’d have to get Jason’s number after this, Danny sluggishly thinks. If he wasn’t freaked out by Danny being dead once he was sober, at least. He found that most people weren’t quite so open to cuddling up to a corpse. Even if that corpse could talk and walk around.

The streetlights around them began to spin as they once again walked into a rip in the veil. Everyone cheered as the lights warped and distorted, the sky becoming neon green and foggy.

Danny stumbled forward on unsteady legs, dragging Jason along with him. He wanted to get to the front of the group, to see where they were going before everyone else!

Jason tripped as Danny continued to drag him along, stumbling off the path and straight off the Realms island they were currently on. Danny, still clinging to him like a lifeline, fell alongside him.

A cheer from the spirits rang out above them, unaware of their mistake, fading as they fell. Before Danny had a chance to call out, though, they fell through another rip in the veil.

-

Jason sat up. He’d fallen face-first into a snowbank, and judging by the pair of legs sticking out of the snow, Danny had a similar fate. He dragged Danny out of the snow by the feet, tumbling over nothing and falling over in a heap.

Danny rolled over, laying down in the snow next to him with both arms around his waist.

Jason just looked up at the sky in awe.

It was most certainly the alcohol, or maybe the lack of pollution, but the sky looked so much more beautiful than usual.

There were so many stars in his blurry vision, and each one twinkled and shone and spun like they were dancing.

With a tremendous amount of effort, he got to his feet, dragging Danny up with him.

He twirled the man in his arms, his legs unsteady as he tried to waltz. Danny giggled, trying to match his uneven steps.

The arctic wind blew over them, carrying with it the snow and ice of the ages. The wind curled around them, spinning in circles around the pair as they danced. Sprites of fire glimmered in the corners of Jason’s vision, glimmering cheerfully. It seemed that something had caught alight, but nothing was going to distract him from the man in front of him, grinning widely with a blush that covered his entire face.

Jason fell over again, collapsing in the snow, and Danny fell over on top of him.

-

Light shimmered down from the snow-covered trees, falling onto Danny’s face. He scrunched his eyes closed, groaning in agony.

He was so, so hungover.

Served him right for agreeing to go out partying with Johnny of all people.

Danny’s head pounded to the beat of his heart, his core humming in rhythm. He buried his face into the fabric beneath him, trying desperately to block out the light from reaching his sensitive eyes.

Where was he, anyways?

The area around him was definitely snowy; even arctic, maybe, judging by how strongly his core was thrumming. Still, he was perfectly warm, laying on top of…

…a person?

Fuck, he was never partying with Johnny again.

Through great willpower, Danny squirmed off of the stranger and sat up, scrunching up his face as he turned away from the sun. It didn’t make his headache any better, though; the snow reflected the light almost as bright as the sun itself.

Fresh snow can have an albedo of 0.9, Danny remembered, a college lecture popping into his head. It had the highest level of albedo of anything on earth. That’s why it was bouncing the light of the sun directly into his poor sensitive eyes.

Of course Danny would wake up next to a strange man and the first thing that he thought of was science facts.

The man next to him groaned, immediately bringing his arm up to block the sun.

“What the fuck did I do last night?”

“I know, right?”

The man went abruptly still. It took all of Danny’s willpower not to laugh.

“…Do I still have my kidneys at least?”

Now Danny did burst out laughing, bright and cheery. And then he groaned and clutched his head.

“Oh gods my head hurts,” Danny hissed, “does this happen every time you drink?”

“Not unless you hate your liver.”

Danny laughed, and they both fell into silence for a few moments. It wasn’t comfortable silence by any means, though; it was unbearably tense and uncomfortable. Danny almost wished he could die on command, if only to get out of this.

“…Wanna go get breakfast?”

“Fuck yes,” Danny said, getting to his feet before helping the other man up. “Your treat?”

The other man laughed loudly.

“We’ve known each other properly for a total of five minutes, and you’re already bleeding me dry?”

“Come on, I’m a college student, it’s basically my job to ask for free food.”

-

The two of them sat in utter silence as they ate, watching the TV in the corner of the diner with a fascinating flavor of giddy horror.

Someone had burnt down the Gävle goat, and from the footage, it was very clearly them.

It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, luckily; the video had gone so staticky that it was very nearly unwatchable. But when combining the scene on the shitty box TV to Danny’s (very limited) memories of the night before, it was clear that they had done it.

“…Knew I forgot something that happened last night.”

Danny barked out a laugh at Jason’s comment, which earned him a sly grin in return.

“Better or worse than getting laid?”

“Eh,” Jason shrugged. “With most people? Better. With you? Worse.”

Danny laughed harder, wrapping a leg around Jason’s and waggling his eyebrows.

“Hey, arson isn’t the worst end to a first night out.”

Jason snorted.

“By the way, are you a meta? I just assumed, with the fire and all…”

Danny looked at him in surprise.

“Oh, I thought that was you.”

“What?”

Danny summoned a small burst of wind, twirling it around in his hands, creating tiny snowflakes.

“I can do that,” he said, gesturing to the snow, “but, like, fire? Nope.”

To Danny’s utter shock, a core in front of him pulsed in confusion, his own mirroring it.

Jason’s core. Jason was dead.

Jason looked at him, his face pale.

“Did you feel that too, or am I having a heart attack?”

Danny laughed nervously.

“As long as we don’t get arrested, I promise I’ll explain everything on the way back to Germany.”

—

Notes:

If Jason really was alive, he wouldn’t be for long after drinking ghost alcohol.

I brought up albedo because I learned something new in science class. Godbles

The wisps were Jason’s core forming and activating for the first time. That’s also what got the goat

[windvexer]

Hey chicken,

You previously said that you believe even doing simple things in spellwork, like leaving something in a dish of salt, need to be worked over. How would you work over simple things like that? Burning a candle? Just infusing it with some energy?

Even more simple than infusing it with energy, maybe.

This isn't like, set in stone. But I generally believe that the first step of all Witchcraft is permission.

As in, you speak from a place of authority as a Witch, and give permission that reality may become abnormal.

Witchcraft is abnormal, in my opinion. I think it's perfectly nice that people build paradigms based on the idea that magic is altogether completely natural and there is no difference between the magic and normal, but I like the sinister stuff.

So IMO the first, most basic, essential "working over" is to take something (the dish of salt) and, give it permission to become abnormal and begin to effect reality abnormally.

This is the hinge upon which Witchcraft pivots: the Witch going in and taking normal things, and realigning the tracks of fate beneath them, compelling things to start happening which never would have happened if not for that specific intervention.

A dish of salt does not normally just make a space clear of emotions. If it did so, that would not be normal. It would be abnormal. Paranormal, even.

So how do you get salt to stop being normal, and start being a paranormal substance that does abnormal things?

Charging with energy is a later step. You charge with energy to fulfill an intent already set.

The first step is to give reality - the reality of the salt, of the emotions in the room - permission to be a fucked up little guy. It's easy as pie. And it mostly comes down to magical headspace: you seeing reality as something quite permeable, and easy to change, and almost illusory, springing from the web of fate that underpins it; but you can change that fate. Reality likes us. It mimics us to show that it wants to be friends. Put yourself in a state where the world is mutable, and around you the world complies.

So step one is magical headspace.

Step two is telling the salt what to do. "Listen here, you fucked up glorious little guy. Before you were dead, only crystals harvested and mined, sold on a grocery shelf where you've been reduced to nothing but flavor. They chew on your bones and forget to worship your soul. But here, in my house, you are a god. Rise from your grave in this new form, to this new purpose: purify from this room the unwanted, the harmful, and the malignant. By my word and my will, this new fate has been granted to you."

No energy work. No visualization. Just tell it like it is.

Or you could be more corporate about it. "This salt purifies negative energy from the room." It's just setting intent, if you want to be crude.

It's hard for me to do corporate magic. With all apologies to the people who do prefer the very simplified present-tense intentions.

Reality mimics us. If something is stirring inside of you, then something is stirring inside of the salt. No visualizing energy roots required.

A simple sentence may not be enough, or a paragraph. Sometimes it takes a while to find the right words. Maybe the salt isn't really a god. Maybe it's a gnome, a saltwork machine, the dead crest of a long-forgotten ocean wave that preserved a billion amoeba in crystalline purity, ready now to purify your room.

Over time, intuition and experience will both grow and combine to advise exactly what to say.

After all, you're telling it like it is - not making it up.

Go to the place where magic is real and you're doing it.

Assign new fates through words.

These are the simplest steps to working over something.

[tkwrites]

Happy Halloween! - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Title: Happy Halloween!

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (ofc) 

Warnings: None, it's just some silly, kitschy fun. 

Summary: Quinn and Sarah plan for and attend the Canucks team Halloween Party

Word Count: 2,800

Comments: Happy Halloween!

I wasn’t originally planning to write this fic, but an idea lodged itself in my brain after listening to Feed My Frankenstein by Alice Cooper on one of my friends Halloween playlists. It’s kitschy and cheesy, more than a little ridiculous and very, very fanfiction-y. But it turned out so cute and I love it. I hope you do, too!

If you've never heard Feed My Frankenstein before, give it a listen so you can get the vibe.  

If you enjoyed this Snapshot, please consider commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask about it. I love talking with you!

Happy Halloween!

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot 

“So I’ve been thinking,” Sarah said as they were on the phone one night. 

“About what?” Quinn asked. 

“About Halloween.” 

A laugh bubbled out of his chest, “isn’t it a little early for that?” The season hadn’t even started. There were just two short weeks before he’d be back in Vancouver, and three and a half weeks before she’d move into his apartment. His stomach filled with giddy butterflies every time he thought of it. 

“It’s a big deal for you guys, right?” 

“Well, I mean, we have a big party. But, last year, I bought my costume the day before.” He didn’t mention that he’d broken things off with June for good the week before the party and had to scramble to find a costume on his own. 

She made a humming noise. 

“We can do it earlier if you want,” he said. 

“From what Bella told me, people go all out,” she said. “We don’t have to. I just thought I’d throw it out while I have the mental capacity to plan a costume.” 

“No,” he pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, “let’s talk about it. Did you have something in mind?” 

“Nothing I have my heart set on,” she said, “but I had a few ideas.” 

“Okay, shoot.”

“I want to hear yours, too.” 

“I just started thinking about this two minutes ago, so I don’t have any idea, yet, but if I think of one, I’ll let you know,” he said, his smile teasing  

Sarah rolled her eyes. 

“What are your ideas?” he prompted. 

“Well, we could do Captain America and Agent Carter,” she offered, “Or I thought the casual look of him and Black Widow from Winter Soldier, with the baseball hat and glasses, when she’s in the hoodie?” 

“Okay,” he nodded, “I like the second one. We wouldn’t even have to go shopping for that.” 

She giggled. She’d thrown that one in precisely because she knew he’d like it. It was her fallback if none of the others stuck. 

“And then I thought about Zombies. Like, we could have someone do skull makeup.” 

Quinn winced. “I really don’t want to do face paint. Brock did it last year, and he was finding blue paint all over for days.”

She figured that was the case but thought she’d shoot her shot anyway. “Okay. My last idea was to go as Drs. Grant and Stattler from Jurassic Park.” 

“That one wouldn’t be too hard, either.”

“Khaki shorts and button ups,” she agreed. 

“And hiking boots,” he mused. It sounded like the most comfortable outfit to him. “The rookies could wear those blow-up dinosaur costumes,” he said with a snort. 

Sarah barked a laugh, “we could recreate the arrival scene in your jeep.”

“If we do that, I’m renting a Jurassic Park jeep.”

She’d mostly been kidding about the arrival scene. “I mean, if you want to.” 

He beamed over the FaceTime connection. “I think we should do it.” It was a unique costume of something he actually liked, and he could involve some of the guys who didn’t have partners or didn’t want to think about finding costumes. Tanev had done that for him his first year, and it’d been a lifeline he hadn’t known he needed. 

So they got to planning, buying the outfits and accessories. He spent way too much money on some cosplay recreation of Dr. Grant's hat Sarah found on Etsy. 

After scouring the internet and going on fan forums, Quinn found a local guy who had built a few replica jeeps. He also happened to be a huge Canucks fan, so when Quinn got in contact and told him who he was and what they were trying to do, the guy was eager to help and even offered to drive so drop them off at the party to make the scene a little more realistic.

Dane picked them up a block from their apartment. Thankfully, the sky was clear. 

He was all in. He even had the hat and sunglasses the driver wore in the movie. His wife tagged along, sitting in the backseat with Quinn, and they chatted as they drove. He’d tried to pay them, but Dane had refused, saying it was an honor. He slipped Andi an envelope with some rental money and tickets to a home game anyway. 

They were headed to a private event space a ways outside the city for the party, and Quinn had organized for everyone to be outside for their arrival. He’d invited some of the single guys to dress up as the dinosaurs they’d be awed at. Silovs jumped on it, not having much experience with Halloween, and eventually, Hoglander and Aman jumped in, too. 

It wasn’t a whole herd of brontosaurus, but it was better than nothing. And Quinn felt better, making sure those guys felt included in a tradition they didn’t grow up with, especially at an activity that was generally so partner focused.

He’d asked Bella to film it. They were putting so much work into it, he wanted to have some sort of record. Plus, he knew his family would want to see it. His grandpa was the first person Quinn watched Jurassic Park with, and Quinn knew he’d especially enjoy it.

When they pulled up and everyone turned to look at them, Sarah felt an instant fit of giggles overtake her. Forcing herself to look at the large, plastic monstera leaf she was holding, she tried to hold it in. 

Just like he asked, the guys dressed as dinosaurs were at the front of the crowd. All three of them wore different costumes. Hoglander was in a ridiculous fabric dilophosaurus costume, while Aman was in a dinosaur onesie. Silovs was in the inflatable T-Rex costume Quinn had sent them as an example. He wasn’t too surprised. It allowed him a certain amount of anonymity, which Quinn knew the shy goaltender appreciated. 

He was worried he would look incredibly unnatural doing this whole thing, but found it actually came quite easily. It’s not like he was making a fool of himself on national television. These were his teammates. 

The fact that he had a girlfriend nerdy enough to go in on this bit with him made it all that much easier. They were making fools of themselves together. While June would have done this with him, she would have taken it incredibly seriously and had a three person camera crew on location to get the best shots and reactions so she could post it on her socials.

When the Jeep came to a stop, and everyone looked over at them, Quinn threw off his hat and stood on the seat before shakily removing his sunglasses.

The whole team started to laugh, but he could tell most of them were impressed with their commitment to the bit. 

Sarah was prattling on about the fauna in her hand, and he reached over to turn her head. Still trying not to laugh, she tore off her sunglasses and stood up, mouth agape. 

They both scrambled out of the car, walking up to their small herd. 

Quinn turned to her, the hand still holding his sunglasses waving, “It’s…It’s a dinosaur.” 

“Uh hu,” Sarah agreed, barely holding herself together with everyone else laughing and cheering. 

“Welcome — to Jurassic Park!” someone yelled in a very bad British accent.

Sarah lost her composure, laughter peeling out of her mouth in hearty guffaws.  

Quinn turned back to thank Dane, who said it was a pleasure before he saluted and drove away. 

“That was so good!” Meghan exclaimed, gathering Sarah into a hug. She was dressed as a beach-goer with a very realistic bite taken out of her arm. Conor was in a shark onesie. “I can’t believe you got Huggy to do that whole thing.” 

“The arrival bit was actually his idea.”

“Really?”

Sarah nodded, “he’s secretly kind of a nerd.”

She laughed, knowing full well how much of a nerd he was. There was a reason he and Conor got along so well. 

Walking into what Sarah knew must be a ballroom, she was a bit surprised at all the decor. The space was completely transformed. Decorated to look like a spooky forest, there was a fog machine and strobing lights and a bartender aptly dressed as a werewolf. 

“How much did you guys pay for this?” she asked.

Quinn shrugged and pointed out the karaoke stage set up in the corner. “Will we get to hear you sing tonight?” he asked, slipping an arm around Sarah’s waist.

She let the subject drop. It wasn’t the way she’d spend her money, but she didn’t have the excess of it most people in this room did. “Maybe once I get a few drinks in me. I’m way too sober to make a fool of myself in front of your teammates.”

His eyes were alight with the memory of her singing in Nevada. She’d been good. Well, as good as someone tipsily singing Time of the Season can be. Mostly, it had been fun to see that looser side of her. 

The party was fairly chill. An open bar with themed cocktails and lots of dancing. Once everyone was a bit more tipsy, thanks to the jello shots that were passed around, Conor started the karaoke with a horribly off-key rendition of  Ghostbusters. Meghan went next singing, Look What You Made Me Do.

The rookies were encouraged (read: forced) up on stage to perform Everybody (Backstreets Back). Sarah felt bad for them. Most didn’t even speak English as a first language and were now being forced to sing an awful song from an outdated boyband she wasn’t sure any of them had even heard before.

A few more songs were sung as Sarah caught up with Bella. She and Brock were dressed as Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo. It was an excellent fit for them. Bella looked killer in her little purple dress and white go-go boots, and the 70s style fit Brock better than Sarah would have previously thought. Then again, it was pretty difficult to make him look bad. 

“What is this?” Bella asked when a hair metal guitar solo rang through the speakers. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s Feed My Frankenstein by Alice Cooper.”

When Bella gave her a surprised look, Sarah explained, “my dad loved metal and shock rock. We used to sing it together all the time.” 

The intro started again instead of continuing on and Sarah turned, wondering why no one was singing yet. 

Quinn was standing right behind her, a shit eating grin on his face as he held out a microphone. 

Her laugh rang through the karaoke speakers. Shaking her head, she backed up. 

“Oh, come on, you know you want to,” Quinn encouraged, before starting to chant, “Sar-ah! Sar-ah!” 

People immediately joined in. 

“Oh, please?” Bella begged from beside her. “I wanna see you get your metal on!” 

The alcohol singing in her veins transformed her trepidation into courage. Snatching the mic, she sauntered onto stage, feeling a kind of performance alter ego take root. 

Slipping the mic into the stand, she said, “you owe me, Hughes.” 

He laughed. 

The intro started again, and she pulled out her ponytail, flipping her head upside down to shake out her hair. Someone wolf whistled. 

She flipped her hair back up, grabbed the mic stand to pull the mic to her mouth, and yelled, “Feed my Frankenstein.”

Surprised, Quinn’s eyes blew wide. He knew Sarah loved karaoke. She’d told him, as had her best friend Beth. And he’d even seen it first hand in Nevada, but this was different. 

Swinging her hair and hips grinding with the music, she didn’t sing so much as yell in tune. It was obviously a song she knew well. He’d known she would - Beth had sent him a list of some songs she knew Sarah wouldn’t be able to resist. 

Pointing right at him and tilting her head in a sort of predatory way, she sang, 

“Dude!” Conor yelled, clapping Quinn on the shoulder. 

I'm a hungry man

But I don't want pizza

I'll blow down your house

And then I'm gonna eat ya

Bring you to a simmer

Right on time

Run my greasy fingers

Up your greasy spine

He was too stunned to respond. He’d heard the song before, from watching Wayne's World, but hearing the lyrics come out of her mouth gave them a whole different meaning. 

Feed my Frankenstein

Meet my libido

“She's a psycho"

Not that he was complaining. It was incredible to see Sarah let loose like this. 

Feed my Frankenstein

Hungry for love and it's feeding time

It was most surprising to him that her seemingly mild-mannered, engineer father liked music like this and had shared it with his daughter. 

In the interlude, Sarah decided she might as well commit, and making her way off the stage, she walked right to Quinn. The crowd parted, all cheering. If she was going to do it, she was going to do it right. 

Velcro candy, sticky sweet

Make my tattoos melt in the heat

Well, I ain't no veggie

Like my flesh on the bone

Alive and lickin' on your ice cream cone

She was glad to see a few people had their phones out. At least she’d be able to see just how much of an ass she was making of herself later. 

“Yeah, Sarah!” someone yelled from her left, “show him who’s boss!” 

That almost broke her, and she lost her composure for a moment, looking into Quinn's eyes and giggling. It was hard to want to seduce him while he still had that ridiculous hat on. 

She growled that last bit into his ear as she tore off the hat and threw it into the crowd. 

Meet my libido

“She's such a psycho"

He let out a surprised laugh and someone whooped. 

Holding him by the front of the shirt, she pulled him with her as she got back on stage.

Feed my Frankenstein

Hungry for love and it's feeding time

Quinn went willingly, finding his heart pounding a little harder than he expected. 

She finished the last riffs with a few last whips of her hair and lowered the mic. 

Quinn turned her around, and she took a dramatic bow, laughing all the while. It wasn’t until he led her off the stage and the adrenaline rush of being in front of the crowd began to ebb away that she realized exactly what had just happened. 

Resting her forehead on the front of Quinns shoulder, she moaned, “I can’t believe I just did that.” 

He laughed, running his hand up and down her back, “I can’t really either. I had no idea you felt so passionately about Alice Cooper.” 

She was blushing furiously as she pulled away, a  playful glare on her face, “I’ll have you know I used to sing that song in front of my mirror when I was little. Twelve year old me thought it was very scandalous.” 

Laughing, he leaned in to kiss her. “You did good.” 

“Now you have to get up there,” she said. 

“No.” 

“Yes,” she argued. 

“I paid my dues as a rookie. I’m never doing that again.” 

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m lots of fun.” 

She rolled her eyes and turned to the bar. 

Quinns arms snuck around her waist and roughly pulled her against him, “do I need to remind you how much fun I am?” 

“Uh-hu,” she said, twisting in his grip. He grinned and winked. “By singing some karaoke.”

His smile slipped, and he shook his head.

“Then,” she leaned in, “you can remind me of all the other ways you like to have fun on the way home.”

“I really don’t –”

Her mouth came dangerously close to his ear, “I’ll get you off on the Uber ride home if you do.” 

Feeling suddenly breathless, he asked, “if I do - hypothetically -” he added, not quite ready to commit, “do I have to do it on my own?” 

Knowing she was halfway to winning, Sarah smirked. “Of course not. I bet Brock would do it with you,” she said, stopping the tall blonde with a hand on his arm. 

“Oh my god,” Bella squealed, bounding up to them. “Please, please, please? Brock said he won’t unless someone does it with him!” 

Some kind of teammate telepathy was exchanged through a few raised eyebrows that ultimately ended with Quinn turning to the bartender, “can I get another shot?” 

“Of what?” 

“Doesn’t matter.”

They pushed a purple jello shot over the counter before tilting their head at the group of them. Sarah nodded, and they pulled out three more. 

They all cheersed and shot back the slippery, sweet cocktails.

Smacking the shot glass back on the bar, Quinn grimaced. “Let's get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit!” Bella teased.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Sarah said, smacking Quinn’s butt as he followed Brock to the stage.  

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

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