#his campaign fucking crumbled

[carsonjonesfiance]

The single biggest problem with “Bernie would have won” posters is that they will continually fail to see that the most obvious retort is “well why didn’t he? Why didn’t he win the Primaries” and they will never reflect on that.

[mxstellatayte]

Would a one shot abt Charles and the vibrator panties be a possibility. Asking for a friend😸

it most certainly would, dear nonnie!

hope you enjoy :)

nsfw below the cut <3 minors please do not interact!

warnings: she/her pronouns used for reader, exhibitionism, boring white men yapping on a catastrophic level, dom!charles, sub!reader, vibrator use!, oral (f receiving), charles leclerc eats pussy for his own pleasure argue with the wall, charles leclerc speaking french MMMM, EXHIBITIONISM, carlos makes a cameo

you’ve been walking around the ferrari event all night and you can’t think of any place you want to be less than this blasted gala. it’s a marketing event, so you have to maintain a certain level of composure throughout the evening, but it’s difficult when charles’ eyes meet yours across the hall and his right hand is in his pocket, fingers dancing just over the button to the remote that’s connected to the vibrator nestled in your cunt. the anxiety of him potentially pressing the button all night is almost worse than when he actually does. your fingers tightly grip the cocktail glass in your hand, sipping the drink in an attempt to soothe your nerves. the smooth burn of the expensive whiskey does nothing to calm the boiling feeling in your core, and you nearly jump when you feel his left arm wrap around your waist. 

“good evening, mr. leclerc,” the executive of some social media marketing company says. you haven’t been paying attention to the conversation for the past twenty minutes, the slickness in your core overpowering your will to pay attention to the conversation at hand.

“good evening. i see you’ve been speaking to my partner, haven’t you? i hope you haven’t been boring her too much.” he says it so smoothly, so carelessly, that it makes you want to scream. how dare he have fun when you’re feeling such sexual torture. 

“if i have, she’s been hiding it quite well,” the executive responds. “i was just explaining to her our ideal plan for working with scuderia ferrari in terms of social media marketing. she had some incredible ideas for potential campaigns if our deal goes through.”

“yes, that sounds like her,” and you nearly spill your drink on yourself when the vibrator inside of you turns on, a quiet yelp pulling its way from your throat. “oh, no, love, are you okay?”

“yes, i’m okay, thank you. if you’ll excuse me a moment, gentlemen.” your drink finds its way into charles’ hand and you try your best to walk in a straight line and keep your legs from quivering. charles does his best at putting on a façade of pure ignorance and confusion as he excuses himself from the conversation as well, utilizing the excuse of unusual behavior on your part to easily leave the conversation. 

you barge through the heavy door to the bathroom and barely have the sense to check the smaller stall that contains the toilet before leaning against the cool tile wall and exhaling a heavy breath, cupping a hand over your cunt in an attempt to relieve the pressure building. After taking a few breaths, you jump when the door opens, but you’re glad to see charles’ face when the door opens. you nearly crumble when his hand retreats from his pocket and only increases the pressure of the vibrations, but his strong arms catch you, your hands scrabbling at the expensive fabric of his suit. “charles, please.”

“please what, mon cher?” you pout, moaning when the intensity is increased again.

“please, just fuck me. feels so good, just need you. need you inside of me.”

“there you go, beautiful. i knew you could ask nicely.” charles’s voice is smoother than honey to your ears, and when he helps you back up against the wall and pushes your legs around his shoulders, his knees gently hitting the floor, you feel yourself get impossibly wetter. 

“charles, please. just-” your pleas are silenced when he runs his fingers along your panty-covered slit, a keening breath making you throw your head back. 

“so wet for me, cherie. have you been like this all night?” his eyes flick up to your face and you can't help the whimper that crawls its way out of your throat. 

“yes, all night. now, please, just let me cum.”

“such pretty words. i really should, huh?” with this, he pulls your soaked panties down your legs and slips them off your ankles and stuffs them into his pocket. as gently as he can, he pulls the vibe out of you and cleans it off with one of the soft white towels rolled into cylinders on the countertop next to him. “hold this for me?” he offers you the toy wrapped in the towel, which you accept with shaking hands. as soon as the toy is in your hands, he dives into your heat, his tongue expertly navigating you like the back of his hand. you immediately fight the moan that almost wrenches its way from your throat, but despite your best efforts, a whine escapes. 

“fuck, feels so good, baby, please, don’t stop,” you moan, suddenly not caring about your noise level or the fact that several of ferrari’s sponsors for the upcoming racing season are just outside the bathroom door. despite your lack of mind for your reputation, charles pulls away, making you whine at the loss of contact, but his mouth is quickly replaced by his fingers gently pressing at your entrance, coating them with as much of your slick as he can before pressing them into you. the sudden intrusion makes your back arch and a gasp fill your lungs, but charles quickly tuts at you. 

“gotta stay quiet for me, baby. don’t want everybody out there hearing how good i’m making you feel.” when your walls flutter around him, a movement so miniscule it could be passed off as his imagination, the corners of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “or,” he continues, pressing a delicate kiss to your clit, to which your hand not holding your vibrator to card through his hair and pull, “is that exactly what you want? for every single person outside that door to know who’s making you scream in the bathroom of a black tie event? for them to know that i’m the only person who can make you feel like this? make you sound like this?”

“i’ll stay quiet, baby, now please-” you cut yourself off with another whine because charles has leaned forward again, captured your clit between his lips, and sucks. “oh, fuck, charles. please, please don’t stop. feels so good.” you’re embarrassingly close to cumming from the short time he’s been eating you out and fucking his fingers into you, but you could care less. after being on the edge all night, you whine as you tighten and your back arches off of the wall, your right leg still propped up on charles’ shoulder. “charles, ‘m close. ‘m so close.” your fingers tighten in his hair, the pain on his scalp making him moan into your cunt, and the vibrations from his voice are the last thing you need before you’re sent over the edge, clapping a hand over your own mouth to stop your breathy moans from echoing too loudly off of the tile walls of the bathroom. he continues eating you out through your orgasm, and you almost have to push him off before he’s satisfied. “holy…”

“fuck,” he finishes, making you laugh. when you look down, charles looks absolutely wrecked. his hair is a mess from where your fingers ran through it, his eyes are droopy, pupils wide with lust, and his face from his nose down is covered in a mixture of your cum and his saliva. you almost take out your phone to take a photo of him, but you’re snapped out of your afterglow when someone pounds at the door. 

your stomach drops, and charles blanches. you mouth a silent “fuck” to him, but somehow relief fills your body when you hear a familiar voice on the other side of the door. “oi, cabrón, open the door. it’s time you make even on that bet.”

HEEEEHEHEHEHE this one was so fun to write! let me know if i should do a part two!

[katyawriteswhump]

Steddie Wiggly Wednesday🪱🐛🪱🐛

Thanks for the tag @wheneverfeasible and @medusapelagia and possibly some other lovely moots. Sorry, I move in ice ages!

CW for original character death. Don't worry, Steddie and all canon characters are safe.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Steve has an older brother, Cal, less than two years older than him. He loves his brother and hates his guts because Cal is stupidly perfect.

Not just grade A student perfect and state championship tennis finals perfect. Cal is so ridiculously, effortlessly nice. He floats above the High School popularity monster on some cotton-candy cloud of perfection—so high above all the shit that he can play Dungeons and Dragons with Eddie ‘freakshow’ Munson every week and walk away untarnished.

Steve’s pretty popular too, but he’s laboring for it the hard way— hanging with the ‘right’ crowd, dating the ‘mean’ girls. He’s sweating it out on the basketball court, barely scraping through the classes that Cal aced. Of course, his parents are pissed, and he knows he’ll never emerge from Cal’s perfect shadow.  Cal secretly gave Steve all his old class notes to copy and offered to coach him, but Jesus, who’s gotten time for that shit?

So yeah, Steve hates Cal, and he loves him too. When Steve figures he might be bi, he’s in need of his brother like never before, though can’t find the right words. He’s got a dumb crush on Tommy H and… Ugh, it’s not like he can tell Tommy, and even when Steve gets over his crush, nobody in Hawkins is gonna accept that kind of shit.

Naturally, his perfect brother sees when Steve stops hanging with Tommy and the others. Sees when Steve stops dating. On that spring night, when it’s only the two of them and a sixpack at home by the pool, Cal knows. Even before Steve starts to inarticulately explain how confused and screwed up he is. Even before Steve tells Cal he’s over Tommy, but he’s definitely queer, and faking being the Steve Harrington the world wants to see is killing him. He’s failing his classes, and Hargrove is humiliating him on the basketball court. Steve’s got a totally messed up crush on Billy too, even though the guy treats him like dirt. Steve is scared Billy knows, and… Crap, why is his life such a mess?

He cries. He hates himself for it, but he cries, and it’s okay, because he’s got his brother, and he hates how perfect Cal is. But Cal is always gonna be there, and he’ll always have his back.

Cal is off to MIT in the fall. So yeah, that’s gonna suck, until… Cal doesn’t go. Instead, he gets sick.

Really sick. Steve’s worried, but this is Cal, he’s perfect. Everyone says that Cal is gonna ‘beat it.’ As if, because he’s a good person, he’s going to somehow exert his magic over whatever fucked-up biology is destroying his body.

Cal has three months to live.

Eddie is devastated. It was supposed to be Cal’s final campaign before he ascended to the higher plane of an Ivy League school. Now it’s simply final.

Suddenly, Eddie is moving Hellfire Club to Hawkins General Hospital, and then hosting it at the fucking Harrington’s. Nobody is shrieking or dousing him in Holy Water, and it would be hilarious, if it wasn’t so horrible.  Obviously, Eddie is determined to make it the greatest, most metal campaign he’s ever conducted. He’s crumbling inside. They all are. These are the last days he gets to share with the guy from the ‘right’ side of the rails who looked at Eddie and saw Eddie, rather than the con-supremo-spawn of Al Munson.

Cal’s a-hole kid brother, Steve, starts hovering around when they’re playing. For obvious reasons. He needs to cling to every last moment with Cal, too. Lurking in dark corners, Steve starts staring at Eddie so hard it gets creepy. Eddie knows he’s pretty magnetic when he’s in full-on DM mode, but this is weird. Obviously, Steve must want ‘in,’ so Eddie reluctantly offers to help him draw up a character card, and… shock horror.

Steve Harrington isn’t that much of an a-hole. Now, it’s just the two of them, laughing and sketching and conjuring with D and D ideas, and Steve’s oddly jumpy. He doesn’t seem to be able to look Eddie in the eye, keeps staring at Eddie’s mouth, then touching his own, licking his lips. Eddie is… confused. Steve Harrington is cute. He is also supposed to be a repellent jock—not this guy who swerves maniacally between hilariously bitchy sniping and self-effacing over-apologies.

Once Eddie gets Steve going in Hellfire, Steve is stupidly over-confident, almost back to dumbass-Steve-the-jock. Eddie has a billion chances to slaughter him, and he refrains. For Cal.

Oh, and because, Eddie’s got a stupid crush on his friend’s kid brother. He figures out there is barely a year age gap between him and Steve, though. Cal was old in his year group, and Eddie one of the younger ones.

Still irrelevant. Steve is straight. Eddie’s 100% sure. Well, he would be, if Steve would stop blushing and glancing away whenever Eddie seeks eye contact.

Then Cal calls Eddie one night, asks him to come over. Cal’s getting sicker, so he detonates the bombshell.

You’d be perfect for my brother, man.

What the fuck?

Okay, so he doesn’t press Cal for details. It’s implied that Steve is into guys, but… Woah! Too much! His sick friend wants him to date his younger brother? Like, a dying wish? Yeah, Eddie likes Steve, and now he’s starting to read Steve’s feelings into the way Steve acts around him. But no way are they perfect for each other.

He gives it a shot.

On their first date, Eddie takes Steve to a dive bar Cal used to love more that it deserved, and where Eddie sometimes performs with Corroded Coffin. They make out around the back, against some dingy brick wall. They’re slightly drunk, and the kiss is wet and messy, and they’re stupid happy and then both so stupid sad that they stop trying not to be. They can’t kiss away the pain, but they can kiss. They cry so hard.

Eddie has found another Harrington brother who actually sees him. It occurs to him, more gradually, that he’s the only person in the world, other than Cal, who actually sees Steve.

What the fuck AGAIN?

And then he’s the only person left in the world who sees Steve, and besides Wayne, Steve is the only person left who really sees Eddie.

Steve loves Cal so much, and he hates him. He was so fucking perfect that he couldn’t possibly ditch his little brother without setting him up with a soulmate.

🪱🐛🪱🐛

My ST fic on AO3

no pressure tags: @mugloversonly @tea42 @fuctacles @queenie-ofthe-void

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Following Friday’s events, Eddie Munson was on a mission to apologize to you, though everything fell short when your life began to crumble in a matter of hours.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, self-deprecating thoughts, violence, experienced anxiety and panic attack, mentions of childhood abuse and neglect, and brief mentions of blood, body shaming, and non consensual touching.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | For the sake of my sanity, I'm going to need all of you to ignore the blatantly unrealistic process of making a book in this story, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡

Whatever mantra of the Munson Doctrine Eddie had been feeding himself to believe about the highest of the social hierarchy embedded within Hawkins High was really starting to fall short, specifically when your pretty face started monopolizing every one of his thoughts imaginable. 

As much as he’d like to admit otherwise, Eddie Munson liked staring at your face, and it was really starting to piss him off just how much he really liked doing it. And the situation only became worse when he steadily watched your wonted bewitching smile fade into a disheartened look of dejection, because that following weekend after your impromptu photo shoot with Hellfire, became the worst week of your life.

And Eddie Munson watched it entirely unravel right in front of him.

It never really occurred to Eddie just how much he’d casually gawk at you prior to said photo shoot. I mean, you were the face of the school, of course, you were hard to miss when you practically lit up the halls with your smile. And that’s merely what Eddie had chalked it up to; your popularity involuntarily placed you at the forefront of his attention. It wasn’t the small strands of baby hairs that perfectly framed your face, whether you decided to keep your hair natural, or styled it for the fun of it; it wasn’t your enthralling eyes that seemed to almost squint close because your cheeks became so full of delight with your spellbinding laugh; and it definitely wasn’t your apologetic reassurance that everything was okay to the kid from the drama club who accidentally bumped into you, causing you to drop your books, and you gave Andy McAvoy a stern talking to when he tried to defend your honor with violence against the poor kid. 

No, it was none of that that caught Eddie Munson’s attention to you (he forced himself to believe).

But now, things are different.

He’d actually gotten a chance to talk to you—yes, that cafeteria instance was the first time Eddie Munson had ever actually spoken to you, and he berated you with dehumanizing comments—and he blew it with his rash decision to automate you into a box of prissy cheerleaders that had nothing better to do than gossip with their friends- ah yes, that box, that was formulated by sexist losers who used it to justified their mean actions against innocent teenage girls. Oh, fuck, Eddie cringed to himself at the sudden self-realization. 

He had to fix this. He didn’t even have to confess his feelings—which, he didn’t have *cough* *cough*—he just had to apologize for his mistakes. What he wanted to believe to be patronizing was actually sincere on your part, and you didn’t deserve any of his degrading tirade. And his conscience was letting it be known. Resuming the campaign had been a shit-show that Friday, when all he could focus on was your crying face. It became even worse when he realized that he’d never actually seen you drive—always painfully third-wheeling with Jason Carver and Chrissy Cunningham, or silently pleading to Patrick McKinney to control Andy McAvoy when he felt entitled to nonconsensually feel you up in his convertible when they drove you to school—meaning you were probably left crying alone at night waiting to be picked up, or worse, walking home. And you did it just for him. For his friends. To be included in some stupid fucking yearbook, because he made a big deal out of it in the first place.  

Oh, shit, he was an awful fucking person, Eddie thought.  

So, come Monday morning, he would apologize. He had all weekend to find the right words, rehearse his apology to perfection, and plan when to actually say it to you. 

But Eddie Munson never got to correctly apologize to you on Monday. 

Because aforementioned, Monday was the start of the worst week of your life, and he got scared and simply watched everything happen.

- 

“No running in the halls, young lady.” Mr. Long sternly reminded, as you zoomed past him.

“Sorry, sir.” You weren’t sorry. The second he turned the corner, you picked up the pace and ran to the newspaper room, frantically attempting to shove the slender key into the slot with shaky hands. 

Earlier on Saturday, the Yearbook Committee had worked to finish the final draft of the Hawkins High 1986 Yearbook, and with the team’s effort, you all concluded the first official copy that held the recognition of all staff and students intertwined with a school year’s worth of memorabilia, squished between the glossy green and orange cover that encapsulated Hawkins High. 

And now, you were about to destroy it. 

Sixty minutes. You had sixty minutes. You managed to wake up early that Monday morning, practically running to school, and situating yourself within the newspaper room—sweaty and exhausted—an hour early before the bell rang to commence the school day. In truth, you’d like to say you were a badass, and demolished the yearbook with no regrets, but reality had quite literally sucked, and you were panicking for a solid five minutes before you came to a consensus. 

It had to be destroyed- well, not destroyed, just unbinded. God, you were such a dramatic coward. 

See, that Saturday afternoon with the Yearbook Committee, you had done your part, you really did. You gathered photos, helped have them printed, assisted Nancy Wheeler with the placement of pages, and took over binding the book together when Fred Benson’s scrawny hands cramped into oblivion. You also may have—very discreetly—had Hellfire’s picture printed, created an entirely new page to fit them between the Glee and Math Club, and it was then you realized you didn’t even know half of their names. It had never occurred to you on Friday night that—with the exception of Eddie Munson, Lucas Sinclair, and Mike Wheeler—you never caught the names of the other four members, prompting you to lose precious time after having to locate their stupid names in the student registry for identification—they weren’t stupid, you were just really frustrated at that point.

And now, on this fine Monday morning, you persevered through blistering callouses, contracting muscles, and sore knuckles to unbind and bind back the yearbook with an additional page within the “Hawkins High’s Clubs” recognitional section.

Hellfire’s page.

And it was perfect. 

The pages were still intact with their crisp stiffness of that of a newly unopened book, and you cleaned off any smudges that impaired the quality of work within the creation. You stood back. You couldn’t help the soft giggle that left your lips at the mere sight of Hellfire sticking out like a sore thumb against the formality of the other photos—in true Hellfire fashion. But there it was. Their title, their photo, and their names that gave them the minimal ask to simply be acknowledged in a school that consistently disregarded their beings, and you were happy they finally got it. They deserved it. Even if Friday’s event left you crying alone in your bed feeling awful. It was worth it. Your thumb gently caressed the smooth page of their photo—Eddie’s photo—and reminisced on that night.

Had you actually done something terrible? Was Eddie right to call you out on your actions? You certainly knew you hadn’t caused this entire commotion out of pitiness, though you understood where he may have interpreted it as such. I mean, even though you never did anything, your friends made his life a living hell, villainizing his differences, casting him as a danger to society, affecting his life beyond just a superficial high school social life. It was true torment. 

You understood the facade which Eddie Munson had to put on to protect himself, but what you didn’t understand was the sudden shallowness that appeared when you thought you proved yourself to be more than just a ditzy cheerleader. Why were you even trying to prove yourself to some guy? Eddie Munson was an awful person. Right? He yelled at you, judged you, degraded you, and all for nothing- well, as far as you knew. So yeah, Eddie Munson was an awful person. You may have understood him, but he was still an asshole. You’d done your part, adding Hellfire to the yearbook, and that was that. That was all you needed to do. You no longer had to think about his stupid feelings, his stupid hair—which you totally didn’t want to run your hands through—his stupid brown eyes that made you shutter as they bore into yours, and his stupidly beautiful smile. You also kinda wondered how his hands might feel on your-

“What are you doing here?”

Jesus Christ, how long has Nancy Wheeler been standing there? You didn’t even hear the door open. 

“Uh, um, j-just looking at the, uh, yearbook?” You mumbled. You wished you had better control over your facial expressions, because right now, Nancy Wheeler was eyeing the fuck out of your worried guise. 

“You came to school early just to see the yearbook?” She questioned. 

“W-well, yeah, I mean, isn’t that why you’re here early? …Right?” You prayed.

Nancy blinked. “Yeah, I guess, just had to make sure everything was correct before Fred takes it to make copies.”

“Oh, Fred’s here?” You piqued with interest. 

Fred Benson didn’t actually pique your interest all too much—though, it was quite fascinating seeing how fast his slender fingers would cramp after just a couple minutes of working—but he did give the perfect escape from Nancy Wheeler’s captious glare. 

“Uh, yeah, he’s out front waiting for the book-”

“I’ll hand it to him!” You interjected, watching her face scrunch with confusion. You could only awkwardly laugh, “You know me and Fred,” you zoomed right past her, “just always so, uh… tight.” And you left without further explanation. 

Shoving Mr. Long’s word of chastisement right up his ass, you ran down the empty hall, yearbook held tightly in your tired hands, as you rejected any of Nancy’s calls for you to come back. Reaching the double glass doors, you spotted Fred mindlessly tweaking with his camera in the front seat of his car.

“Fred!” You could visibly make out the bewildered “huh” that fell from his gaping mouth from your sudden appearance. “Fred, here take this and go!” You shoved the yearbook past the small crack of his window. 

“W-wait, didn’t Nancy want to che-”

“No, she sent me to give this to you!” You urged. “And she said go now, or else the copies won’t be done in time!” My god, the entirety of this situation had you lying more than you ever had in your life. 

“But the distributors don’t close until six-”

“Fred, I don’t care!” You whined. “Do you really want to make Nancy upset?!” If your calculations were correct, Nancy Wheeler’s flats were currently speed walking—she was one to follow the rules—past Mrs. Durberry’s science classroom, meaning you had ten more seconds until she appeared. 

“Well, n-no-”

“Then drive! Now, please!” He scrambled to turn his car on, and luckily, the old piece of junk managed to roar alive with a heavy blow of carbon dioxide, and you heaved watching Fred Benson skirt past the incoming wave of students on bikes and cars, leaving tire tracks on the cracked pavements. When he came back, you’d be sure to apologize for demanding him so aggressively.

Nancy Wheeler screamed your name. 

Turning around, she came pummeling towards you with a might of pure irritation. “What the hell was that?! I didn’t even get to check the book!”

You huffed with exhaustion. It was only 8:18 a.m and it had already been a long day. “Nance, come on, I’ve been on the Yearbook Committee for the last three years, don’t you trust me by now?” Admittedly, guilting Nancy probably wasn’t the best option, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I don’t care how long you’ve been in the committee, I have the authority to make final calls, not you!” Gee, you really had an act for getting people to yell in your face. Were you actually the problem?

“Look, I understand, but I promise everything was perfect with the yearbook. I mean, come on, you saw the finished product on Saturday when we completed it.” You reasoned. 

Nancy took a deep breath to regulate herself. “This is your only strike.” She pointed a finger at you like a child. “You pull something like this again, and you're off the committee. Understand?”

You swallowed thickly. The trouble you went through just for Eddie Munson- his friends. Just for his friends. “Yes, I understand.” You submitted quietly. “But I promise, the book was fine, everything is going to be perfectly okay.”

Everything was not perfectly okay.

Because unlike your little white lie of being “tight” with Fred Benson, he actually was with Nancy Wheeler, and, boy, did he rat you out when he paged through the printed copies of the yearbook and found the seven believed satanic cultists mischievously smiling right back at him, tainting the committee’s precious work. 

-

It was in the midst of your A.P U.S History class when the staticy call of your name over the intercom interrupted Mr. Whitney’s lecture of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, and prompted you to the principal’s office at 10:57 a.m. Now, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Principal Higgins to often call you down as you were a valued student representative of Hawkins High, though you quickly knew your visitation had nothing in relation to an honor medal or scholarship award. No, it became quite evident that such subject matter was beyond any congratulations to you, because upon entering, you were faced with a choleric Nancy Wheeler, displeased Principal Higgins, and timid Fred Benson. You were fucking screwed, I mean, Principal Higgins quite literally had a yearbook in his hand. Crazy part of it all is that a good third of your being actually believed you may have gotten away with it, but they managed to find out in a matter of two fucking hours. Who were you kidding?

There was only so much nonchalant-ness you could mask, though your previous revelation of being unable to control your facial expressions was really biting you in the ass, and your insistent cracking under pressure was palpable. 

Your wide eyes flashed between everyone as they stared you down. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t even manage to speak. And they didn’t speak. Why wasn’t anyone speaking?

“Aw, you miss me already, Higgy-”

Everyone’s attention snapped at Eddie’s sneering voice as he strutted his grand entrance, though he was quick to flinch back in surprise when he saw everyone looking at him. And you, shit you were here! You were here looking at him. He’d been searching for you all morning just to apologize, and now you were here… with everyone… why was everyone here?

“Now that I have everyone situated,” Principal Higgins cleared his throat, “I’d like to clear up a matter that has been brought to my attention. I’m sure as you all are well aware of, an unauthorized change has been made to our yearbook and I’m looking to get to the bottom of it.” Higgins turned to you, “Ms. Y/L/N,” he spoke with such care, “this is a safe place for honesty. Did Mr. Munson subject you into making these changes?” With a dramatic slam to his desk, the yearbook was turned open to showcase Hellfire’s designated spot on the page.

“What?!” Both you and Eddie questioned in unison. 

“I didn’t “subject” her to shit!” He was quick to rightfully defend. 

“Language!” Principal Higgins was even quicker to yell back. 

The atmosphere was taut, and it felt like their judgmental stares were swallowing you into an endless blackhole of utter disappointment and failure. You couldn’t even muster up the courage to meet their gaze, simply staring at the old rug beneath your sneakers, wishing it’d come alive and consume you already. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, is that true?” Principal Higgins lectured you.

A part of Eddie actually wished you would have lied and accused him of being the aggressor while you were the helpless victim, because that was the usual reality of Eddie Munson: to be denigrated. It would have justified his previous beratement against you from Friday, it would have supported his initial beliefs about you, it would have cleared him of being an asshole, and most of all, it would have changed the way he viewed you, from a genuinely beautiful person inside and out that took a sincere interest in bringing simple recognition to him and his friends to a cold-hearted superficial bitch that chalked up this elaborate plan as a vendetta with your jock friends.

But Eddie Munson knew you weren’t like that.

Which only made it hurt worse when he watched you pain through the sting of your manicured nails stabbing into your palms and your teeth sinking into your tender lip.

“Y-yes, that’s, uh, true, sir.” Your voice was so delicate, Eddie was ready to jump in and just take the blame. “He didn’t make me do anything, it was, uh, all me. I lied, and made him and his friends take the photo. And, well, I, uh, added the page and told Fred to print it.”

You shuddered at the sudden slap of the book, as Principal Higgins closed it with much despondency against you. “And is there valid reasoning as to why?!” Principal Higgins wasn’t one to be known for his placidness and he was quick to make that apparent. “You are the best student at this establishment, you should not be falling under influence of a hooligan like Mr. Munson! How have you fallen so naive all of a sudden?!”

You were really tugging on Eddie’s heart the way your eyes grew round with panic, completely helpless to the grown man scolding you, just as he did last Friday. And while he may have caused it the initial time, he’d be damned to watch it happen to you again.

“Hey, look, you can insult me all you want, but you don’t have to yell at her like she made some dire mistake!” Eddie lambasted Principal Higgins, far more harsh than any regular tone Eddie used when he was regularly being reprimanded. 

Higgins could only scoff in disbelief. “Vandalizing school property isn’t a mistake to you, Mr. Munson?! Well, given your grotesque track record of uncivilized activities, it seems as though I’ve answered my own question!” He sneered back with intended offense.

“Please, ‘vandalizing school property?!’” Eddie mocked. “She fucking put our picture in the yearbook, and for good reason, too. You’re the one at fault here, excluding students from recognition!”

The thudding sound of your heartbeat was completely muting you from the onslaught of shouts that was suffocating you in the tight room. While Nancy Wheeler was beginning to contemplate if telling Principal Higgins was too far, Fred Benson was merely watching with joy that none of the blame was being casted on him, and you, well, your body was racking with stiffness, as it suddenly felt like your airway was tightening every breath out of you. Your hands began shaking by your side, unable to control the instantaneous wave of trepidation, as everything was beginning to blur around you. 

And no one was noticing. 

“I have rightful reasons to exclude your gang of misfits from my yearbook!” Principal Higgins walked from his desk, standing against Eddie with pure spite in his eyes. “You and your posse of cons and aberrations have done nothing but taint the reputation of our school and town, running around like imbeciles who have nothing better to do than waste their lives away! And I will not stand to have you be associated with the work I’ve done to correct this school from delinquents like yourself!”

Chest heaving and nostrils flared, the Eddie Munson from the cafeteria instance was back, though angrier, and he was two seconds from actually gaining an assault charge from hitting Principal Higgins square in the face. But the older man was quick to turn, and eject his dissonant castigate towards you. 

“And you, missy!” Your eyes were blinking posthaste with fret to control the swell of tears that were burning your eyes, at the clashing outburst being directed against you. “How did you even gain the facilities to take such picture?!” 

Your mouth was dry with consternation, unable to formulate words, and simply quivering your mouth open.

And unlucky for you, Fred Benson spoke for you.

“After our yearbook meeting on Friday,” heads snapped at his gravelly voice, “she said she was going to stay after to work, and that she would lock up herself. She must have taken the key, and stolen a camera.”

Higgins scoffed with great disgust as he judged you, before turning to Nancy. “Ms. Wheeler, as president of the Yearbook Committee, had you permitted her to do so?” 

Nancy looked at you with guilt. She hadn’t anticipated the situation to blow up this much, though she spoke honestly to the authoritative eyes of Higgins. “Uh, no, I didn’t.” She meekly answered. 

“And Mr. Munson,” Eddie rolled his eyes, trying to control his frustrations before doing something he wouldn’t be able to take back. “When did Ms. Y/L/N enforce these photos?”

“Why the hell does that even matter?” Eddie gritted with a clenched jaw of tension.

“Mr. Munson, you choose not to answer me, and I will not hesitate to place you as an accomplice, and you certainly cannot afford another detention or suspension if you’re planning on finally ending this school year as a graduate.” In a perfect world, Eddie Munson would have lied for you and lessened whatever punishment you were about to receive, but Hawkins, Indiana was far from perfect, the threat made him budge under the pressure of his potential future and your distraught eyes.

“It was, uh, after her cheer practice. After school.” He sheepishly murmured with regret.

“Ah,” Principal Higgins turned to your shaking stature. “So, not only did you make unauthorized changes to the school yearbook, but you stole school property, used our equipment prohibitively outside of school hours, and actively unsubordinated my authority. I have to say, I am awfully disappointed in the person you have become, Ms. Y/L/N, and I am ashamed to have valued you so highly when you simply choose to go down the path of delinquency.” Everything about Principal Higgins words were humiliating and slammed you into a vicious cycle of believing the worst about yourself. “Finish the rest of your day,” he sighed, “but you’ll be suspended for the rest of the week for your actions.” Your heart sank at his news, and Eddie stood dumbfounded that he contributed to it. 

Your visions grew blurry under the swell of tears, and your breath was becoming sporadic with panic, and everyone just kept fucking staring at you. “N-no, sir, p-please!” You choked, “I-I have scholarships, a-and acceptances that I-I’m still waiting to hear back from, this could ruin that for me, p-please, sir!”

While your pleads were being disregarded, everyone stood stun watching your fate unfold in front of you. Eddie Munson didn’t know what to do. Nobody did. On top of being berated by him from Friday, you were now facing the worst possible consequence for something so trivial, and he watched it happen. Granted, there was quite literally nothing Eddie could do to fix the situation, but seeing you stand there, panicked about your future and trying to conceal your incoming sobs through the ache of heart palpitations, it was fucking excruciating for him to witness. 

“You should have thought about that before you made your choices. Everything is on you.” His words were ringing in your ear like a loop confirming everything you’ve ever hated about yourself. “I’ll be sure to let your father know of the news, and as for your spot on the committee, it is up to Ms. Wheeler to determine where you stand. Now go, everyone back to class.”

Fred Benson was first to leave, giddy to have been cleared from any trouble. Eddie Munson should have left, but he couldn’t stand to leave, simply watching you turn to Nancy Wheeler in a flash. Your round eyes were pleading to her to let you stay, but her previous words of “This is your only strike,” was tormenting you. She sighed, “I’m sorry,” and the shake of her head answered everything before she could verbalize it. 

You were off. 

You stormed out of the room, bumping shoulders with Eddie, though with no malice intent, just simply needing to get out. The second you reached the clearing of the empty hall, your tears were drowning your cheeks, your sobs so unbearably hard your breathing staggered for release. Suddenly, your little cashmere sweater felt like it was sticking to your skin, giving you hot flashes that brought dizziness to your pounding head. The blood battering your ears cleared out any noise, including Eddie’s calls of your name. He reached out to hold your arm, causing you to severely flinch in hysteria, and he appeared devastatingly concerned for your state of being.

“Sorry! Ar-are you okay?” He winced at the loud sob you choked out, as he felt stupid for even asking you that question. “Look, everything, uh, everything’s gonna be fine.” He rushed to reassure. In truth, Eddie Munson was completely talking out of his ass, he didn’t know if everything was going to be fine, your panicking was just causing him to panic, and all he wanted was for you to be okay. “J-just, uh, breathe for me.” He offered. 

“I-I c-can’t! I’m scared, Eddie, help me!” You pleaded with frightened eyes. 

Your beg hit too close to home. Suddenly, Eddie was a little boy curled up in the corner of his trashed living room, as he watched his parents abuse one another with words and fists. He pleaded the same words to his parents, who merely ignored his shaking little body. Such horrific events disfigured Eddie Munson’s belief of healing. No one cared for his emotions, no one cared for his feelings, and no one cared to make sure he was okay. So, yes, Eddie Munson yelled at you Friday night because he was petrified. Petrified to be hurt, just as everyone else had done, because to Eddie Munson, that was his fate. To be hurt and to be forgotten. Maybe that’s why he cared so much about being excluded from the school yearbook. While anyone would have rightfully been upset, being excluded cemented the notion that Eddie Munson was disposable. His father spoke it, the townspeople spoke, his teachers spoke, and his peers spoke it. But you didn’t, and that fucking scared him. It’s why he yelled, it’s why he panicked, and it’s why he’d try anything to help you right now.

“I-I know, sweetheart, just listen to me, please.” He quietly spoke. “I’m not gonna touch you or anything, I just really need you to listen to me.”

You fervently nodded your head, and he sighed with relief, because though minor, it was progress, and progress was incredible.

“I, uh, I want you to focus on my voice, okay?” His wide eyes connected with your red ones. “I wouldn’t lie to you, and I mean it when I say everything will be okay. I-I’ll make sure of it.” 

Could he physically do that? No. But would he try his damn hardest, putting his being through anything to make it happen? Yes. For you.

“Okay, I want you to-”

“What are you doing to her?!”

Eddie’s eyes screwed shut with disappointment. 

Jessica fucking Lewis.

“Get away from her!” She charged past him to get to your hysterical figure. “Did you do something?!”

“No, no, I’m trying to fucking help her.” Eddie implored. “Stop yelling, she’s having a fucking panic attack.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t fucking come near her ever again, you freak!” Eddie watched as you tried to get your words out, but your shrinking throat made it impossible to get your voice out, and he recoiled, watching the fear in your eyes as Jessica held a tight grip in your arms. 

But before he could stop her, Jessica was dragging you into the girls bathroom, and he stood frozen doing everything in his power to not rip out his hair in frustration. 

-

Aside from her fault-finding comments against Eddie, Jessica Lewis had actually been a fairly good friend to you through the years of cheer, connecting with the girls through the pact of lifelong sisterhood, as she insisted. Though such pact also came with unwarranted advice when she felt one of you was “falling out of line” with a pristine, perfect image. That being said, when she found you panicking at the hands of Eddie Munson, she was actually concerned, impetuous, yes, but concerned, nonetheless. She’d sat with you, decisively skipping the rest of Mrs. Otis’ home economics class, to console you, bitching out any innocent girl to leave as they attempted to alleviate themselves, while you sat heaving with the back of your thighs sticking to cold tiles of the bathroom. When you did finally manage to catch your breath and calm your heart rate to a healthy status, Jessica had petted your hair with care, constantly asking what was wrong and what Eddie had done. Through your tremored voice, you hoarsely clarified that “He didn’t do anything,” and “He was just trying to help.” That revelation had actually baffled Jessica Lewis, honestly, some part of her believing you to be lying, but she gave it a rest when you assiduously shook your head in response to her asking what was actually wrong. By then, the bell had rung to signal the start of third period.

And it was during said third period when your situation only worsened completely unbeknownst to you.

While you were in the middle of trying to focus on your quiz—which proved damn near impossible after today’s events—Fred Benson was seemingly trying to get back at you for nearly inducing him into a heart attack after your actions almost cost him his spot on the Newspaper and Yearbook Committee (In reality, Nancy Wheeler had only yelled at him for not previously checking the books).

See, once Fred had informed the rest of the Yearbook Committee of what you had done and how you were being punished, the news had spread like wildfire; nerds, geeks, punks, jocks, everyone knew one version or another. “Perfect Cheerleader Falls Under Satanic Cultist’s Influence and Vandalizes School Facilities,'' small town high school students sure had a talent to dramatize any given situation. You’d only taken a picture, that’s all it was, but the students of Hawkins High had conspired together to formulate you into a freak slut who allegedly got fucked by the Eddie Munson after cheer practice in exchange for putting his club in the yearbook.

As the students of your class hurtled to mitigate the dreaded boredom of the school day with the clashing laughter and stale food of lunch, you sighed in your seat, head pounded and anxiety still churning in your mind and stomach, slowly packing up your belongings before handing over the quiz—quite literally the worst you’ve ever performed on one. Lunch seemed like the worst possible thing to conquer, right now. Despite the horrid grumbling of your stomach, you felt no need to satiate that hunger, as your appetite was long gone for the afternoon. In addition, you’d known Jessica Lewis long enough to know that she had informed all your friends of your panic attack, and if you chose to call her out on it, you knew you would only be met with a “I’m only trying to help,” as if you needed an intervention. She’d done it to Paige Semore when the girl healthy gained a couple pounds over the summer and got ridiculed by Jess.

But when you entered the cafeteria, you quickly wished you were subjected to Jessica Lewis’ harmful “advice”, rather than the reality you got.  

The sound of the heavy double doors announced your arrival, and suddenly all eyes were on you. No, like quite literally, all eyes were on you. No greeting smiles from acquaintances, no shying-away looks from crushing students, no bright wave hello from Chrissy Cunningham from across the cafeteria, in fact, she was heavily avoiding you, seemingly finding the table more interesting as Jason Carver glared at you. Everyone was staring at you as if, without notice, you had become the town pariah. Because you had. Your perturbation had bombarded you like a missile hit, as quiet whispers flooded your senses. Peering around you caught his eyeline. Eddie. His brows had severely been furrowed with much worry, because he knew. He knew how quickly it went around, and he knew just how bad the news got twisted. Now, he was no stranger to the onslaught of destructive rumors, but you weren’t, and with the day you had, his chest was pounding with dread for you.

Chalking it up to merely being in your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat, and with quick steps, you sped to your usual lunch table. But everyone kept staring- your friends were staring. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” You whispered, as they genuinely looked at you with disgust. 

“Why don’t you tell us?” Jason scowled. “Seems like you’re the one who caused all of this, you desperate slut.”

Your mouth dropped incredulously. “What did you just call me?”

“You fucking heard me!” Jason stood from his chair, rejecting Chrissy’s quiet ask to not cause a scene. “It’s exactly what you are.” He laughed.

Eddie Munson’s residual anger was fueling. Hard. He stood from his chair all the way across the room, metal legs scraping the floor with a deafening screech. But his presence only caught the worst attention. “Oh, would you look at that? Your little freak coming to help you?”

Eddie faltered at your watery eyes, begging for everything to just stop. If he spoke, nothing would help you. “What are you talking about?” Your voice stung with pleads to just understand what was happening to you.

“Stop acting like you don’t fucking know!” Andy’s booming voice startled you. “You wanna choose some gross freak to fuck, then fine by us, go right ahead, but don’t think that you’ll be able to with us!” Andy McAvoy was taking it far more personal. He liked you. That was obvious. But hearing the rumors simply led him to believe you chose Eddie Munson over him.

“What?” Your voice cracked in distress. 

Eddie had had enough. 

“She didn’t fucking do anything!” He marched his way over. All the boys of the basketball team stood in preparation for a fight that Eddie Munson was known to love to finish. Finish, not start. “Your bland lives got that fucking boring you all have to go around making shit up to make things interesting?! She didn’t do anything!”

“Aw, defending your precious little fuck toy, isn’t that cu-”

Chrissy Cunningham's shrilling scream startled the entire cafeteria as Jason Carver’s blood stained her powdery skin. You flinched at the bone-crunching punch that busted Jason’s pretty face, and everything felt heavy in your chest. Your hands were beginning to shake beyond your control, as everything was horrifyingly disfiguring in front of you. It was happening again. Before your mind was about to shut off from the assault of today’s events, your instinct had elicited all rash decisions, and you had to leave. All you could comprehend was the diffusing sounds of students instigating the fight before everything fell silent and you trudged down the hall to escape.

Staff were quick to call Eddie’s name before another detrimental hit was casted upon Jason. It was only then, Eddie’s judgment was left unclouded, and he noticed you were gone. “Did she leave?” He hadn’t necessarily asked anyone in particular, moreso questioning himself, but Chrissy Cunningham had ardently answered him with a swift nod of her head and bulging eyes of fear. 

Eddie broke through the doors with force, catching you near the end of the hall. “Y/N!” You didn’t turn, though. Every repeated call of your name fell with no response, and he chased you down, following you into the zephyr of the afternoon weather outside. “Y/N, c’mon, wait!” He’d grabbed your arm.

“What?!”

Eddie staggered at your biting tone. Not once, in the four years he’d known of you—freshman to senior year—had he ever heard your voice so malicious, yet drowning in urgence to make everything stop. Your inconsolable state devastating him helplessly. 

“I-I’m sorry.” He sighed so softly.

“‘Sorry?’” You affronted. “Now you’re sorry?! After everything that’s happened! Why, is it out of fucking pity?!” Internally, Eddie was begging you to stop, because if you kept yelling at him like this, his defense mechanism was going to lash out, especially when he was already angry from everything that’s just happened. “I don’t want some stupid apology, not when every time you appear, my life gets worse! I just want you away!” You cried.

Eddie scoffed in disbelief. Were you actually blaming him for all this? No, you weren’t. But after the day you just had, you were not looking to be comforted by someone who partially hurt you. But Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. His judgment had a habit of being clouded; his cynicism about anything good happening to him had protected him from a lifetime of hurt, and now, unfortunately, your rightfully pent up polemic about him was believing his suspicions to be true. 

“This isn’t my fucking fault, you’re the one who wanted to take our picture in the first place!” He shouted, shielding his vulnerability. 

“Because you made a big deal out of it!” You screamed with frustration. “You yelled at me first, you said mean things to me first- why- why were you so mean to me?!” You blubbered through drowning tears.

“Because- be- ugh,” Eddie pained with vexation. “You fucking terrify me, okay?! You terrify the living shit out of me!” Guarding his tearing eyes from your shattered being, he groaned realizing you weren’t going to understand unless he opened up, but he couldn’t bear to, and maybe that was the best solution to move on, run away. “It’s just fucking hard when, you know, you look like that and you’re fucking you, and I’m just me, and you have a great life-”

“‘Great life?!’” You derided through tears. “You know nothing about my life!” You shoved him. “You know nothing about me!” You shoved him again. Eddie was quick to retrain your wrist in a tight grip, preventing you from touching him again, no matter how hard you tried. “Stop acting like you know everything about me when you know absolutely nothing! I’m not going to stand here, and let you say mean things to me, when you know nothing, do you understand?! I have never done anything to you, and I never will, because unlike you, I’m not some sulking asshole who can’t handle their fucking emotions, and uses their sorry life to lash out at people because they’re too pathetic to deal with their own problems!”

And maybe your rash psycho analysis of Eddie Munson was too much, or not harsh enough, but either way, your critical comments derailed him off the edge of sanity. He aggressively dropped your wrist, and got into your face with a full might of fury. “You are such a miserable bitch!” He shouted, invading your space with intent, causing you to wince and step away from him, but he wasn’t relenting. “For once, you got a fucking taste of what your bullshit friends have been doing to me, and now you can’t fucking handle it?! God, just love playing the fucking victim, don’t you?! Maybe they are right, maybe you are just some fucking desperate slut craving fucking attention?! Is that why you did all this shit in the first place?!”

The way your face flashed with sudden dejection had him biting his tongue. Oh, fuck. He regretted it. He fucking immediately regretted it. 

Eddie began furiously shaking his head in denial to what he just uttered, he couldn’t believe it. “No,” he heaved out. “No, I-I didn’t mean it, I’m s-sorry.” He could only muster a whisper.

You didn’t even have the energy to fight back, merely accepting his words as truth with a silent sob that burned your being. “Yeah,” you shakily sighed with a sniffle of sobs. “I’m sorry, too, Eddie. I would have loved being your friend, and now I just want nothing to do with you.” His heart dropped at your calmness. When he first spoke those words to you, demanding you to stay away from him and his friends, he knew a deep part of him didn’t mean it. Why would he, you were fucking perfect? But you, the stillness and tranquility of your words cemented them to be the final verdict. You were done. “So please,” you wiped your drenched face from tears, “just leave me alone and stay away from me.”

No malice, no anger, no fury.

Just pure defeat.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | This is my first time making a tag list, and I got overwhelmed—in a good way—that I simply tagged anyone who commented. If you were not looking to be tagged, I’m so sincerely sorry, and please let me know to respect your wishes and remove you!

(Big, fat kisses to all of you) @televisionboy @batkin028 @lostdreamingwallflower @cevais @myfavoritesareproblematic @btbabyy @married-to-the-music01 @super-nova-03 @deathnote6666 @cherrytc @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @averagestudent03 @freakymunson @princess-eddie @imagine-a-world-blog1 @negativity4you

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@gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

(I’m so sorry, some blogs are not popping up when I try to tag y’all, if it’s an issue on my part, I’ll try my best to fix it as soon as possible)

[polakina]

what they're like in bed

call of duty headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

replayed the mw2 and mw3 campaign...not feeling so happy so here's a happy hc to keep us going :)

rating: explicit

-

doting. loving. a fucking masterpiece

is there anything else i need to say? nah im kidding i have a LOT i could say on this man

loves to undress you, first of all. just taking your clothes off slowly gets him all tiled up before he's even began

is a gentleman at heart. loves to please you before thinking about himself

will spend hours between your thighs, taking his sweet ass time until you're crumbling under his touch

has a thing for teasing until you're too sensitive to be touched anymore. giving undying attention to your clit and then watching you whimper and squirm away from him only makes him smirk

but he does give in eventually, peppering kisses over your body, whispering how good you are for him

his favourite place to fuck you is the bedroom, of course. the man loves comfort more than anything, for the both of you

his second favourite place is his office desk on base. he flies you down to his base every couple of weekends since you don't work those days and neither does he

he's fucked you on that desk in every position you can think, but he loves bending you over it, your face pressed against the solid wooden surface

you've been caught once before, with Ghost knocking on the door to deliver some paperwork sent over by Laswell. Ghost could never make eye contact with you after that, nor Price for a few weeks

you grabbed the hat off his desk once when you were riding him, setting it on top of your head and grinning when his eyes widened

he never actually admitted it, but fuck he loved when you wore his hat. and only his hat

you wear it sometimes when you go out with him, just grabbing it before you leave the house. when he sees you in the bar dancing while wearing it, he can't ignore the throbbing in his pants

not into public sex, but doesn't see it as counting if it's not technically sex

so he'll tease you, edge you, play with you while you're out with friends or out with the 141. his hands will find their way under your dress while you're sat at the bar or at the restaurant table, inching higher up your thigh until he's pushed your panties aside, toying with your cunt while you try and keep composure

this man is filled to the brim with stress and you're more than willing for him to use you to let it all out

sometimes he doesn't even say anything before grabbing you roughly, but somehow tenderly at the same time. you see it in his eyes the second he walks through the door, his mask tossed on the entrance table as he strides to you

loves to manhandle you. picking you up with ease and laying you on the bed, holding your wrists above your head with only one hand keeping them firmly locked against the wall or mattress or wherever he decided to take you

the one thing that turns him on more than anything is hearing your moans. your lips against his ear as he rams into you at an ungodly pace, whimpering and mewling with each thrust, crying out his name in pleasure

favourite position to fuck you in is cowgirl. seeing your face, seeing your mouth fall open as he fucks up into you, your nails digging into his shoulders as your head falls back

into ass play. only found this out accidentally when things got seriously heated one night when you were making out on his couch. his hands drifted to your ass, grabbing at slapping the supple flesh until one of his fingers drifted over the taut sensitive spot between your cheeks

you'd gasped out of surprise, but you let him proceed, and he saw the flicker of excitement glaze over your eyes when he started teasing your hole

since then, he knew how quickly he could make you cum with both your holes filled

loves giving aftercare, but loves it just as much when he's given it

the man needs some care too, he's a fragile soul at heart

after sex, he's cuddly. he likes to lie in bed and wait for you to come over to him, breathing in the scent of your shampoo when you bury your head in his chest

rarely tells you he loves you, but has done it on a few occasions when he's fucked you. usually on the odd time he fucks you slow, passionately

he does this when he knows he's got time on his hands. or when he's not going to see you for a few months at a time

big into cockwarming when you guys take your time. will take a few seconds, or even minutes between thrusts just so he can stay inside you longer, feeling you clench around him

fucks like a rabbit

let me explain

is down for it whenever

text him while he's out grocery shopping saying you miss him, prepare to be doing the other half of the shop tomorrow because he's paying for whatever's in the cart and leaving immediately

he's busy working in his home office and you walk in asking how long he's going to take before he's done, he's immediately saving the half finished reports and running around the desk to you

whenever you stay on base with him, he's never ashamed to stay in bed a little later with you. has been late to morning meetings on more than one occasion

more submissive than you are

loves to be at your every command. listens to you with such direct focus, everything else drowns out in his ears

begs

a lot

begs for you to touch him, to fuck him, to do anything

turns into a mess when you suck him off

mumbling praises and pleads with your mouth around his cock, words escaping him and reducing the man to a whimpering puddle

loves pulling your hair while he grinds into you. whether you're bent over the kitchen counter or on laid flat on the bed or the back of his truck (happened one time and you both agreed it was not the best idea for either of you)

is such a softie when you're in bed together. likes to make it fun, even though it could be a serious moment. makes you laugh when his cock is buried deep inside you

hate sex is how the two of you started dating. you were giving gaz a little too much attention on base for his liking, and when he confronted you about it, your argument concluded with you both tangled in his sheets

so, piss him off, and expect the night to end in the exact same way. he takes control when his emotions take over

such a fucking softie

experienced as hell

was such a playboy when he was younger, and brought that experience to adulthood when he was with you

likes to watch you try and make him jealous, finds it amusing because he knows exactly who you're going home with that night. but make no mistake he's going to make you beg for it once you're in the bedroom. you don't get to cum that easily

obsessed with shower sex

one arm wrapped around your middle as he plows you from behind, your legs shaking as you struggle to hold your own weight up, your body pressed against the tiles

whenever you're on a work call with a shitty manager or even shittier client, he's spun your office chair around on more than one occasion and knelt between your spread legs

likes to take a risk, sees the reward being so much more satisfying when it's during a compromising or risky situation

will eat you out when you're on the phone or in a work meeting on your laptop, loves to see you try and keep composure while he fucks you with his tongue

eating you out is one of his favourite things to do, even in the beginning when you repeatedly told him he didn't have to do it so often because he never got any enjoyment out of it, he always assured you he loved to do it

he did. it turned him on so much to be buried between your thighs at any point during the day, he didn't care

slow and sensual when he fucks

tells you he loves you when he's deep inside you

loves when you mark his back with your nails. feels proud to have those scratches on his back for days to come

pleasures himself when he's away at base, on the phone to you while you're laid in bed, talking him through it

loves to be given direction during sex, wants to better himself any way to make you feel even better

but loves to give you orders

almost came on the spot once when you jokingly called him 'sir'

you brought that into the bedroom after a few months and it turns him almost animalistic

obsessed with marking you. your neck, your tits, your thighs. he leans away when he's done to admire his work, revelling in the bruises and blemishes marked into your skin

[rightpastnowhere]

more thoughts on TLOVM season 3 episode 3. still insane.

PART TWO: that TLOVM perc'ahlia scene, mostly in terms of its TLOVM context, with some campaign 1 comparisons

spoilers below the cut for TLOVM AND campaign one moments that will likely happen this season lol

her initiating this fling is fascinating to me. we all know vex has a fear of commitment and being hurt by relationships right? EXCEPT!! except, i think this is her trying to deal with that. which is insane but it makes sense for her in TLOVM. To Me.

cause like. in the first two episodes we have MULTIPLE close calls with percy, which are technically happening all in the same day?? and you have vex, who's admitted to a creepy fey and herself that her heart is not her own, who takes these, processes these, and says, "thinking i lost him even now was awful; if i start a relationship with him, it will only hurt me 100 times worse in the end. so i'll just fuck him casually and pretend i have no emotions about it whatsoever."

which i think can have TWO possible explanations, yknow beyond the way she's afraid of relationships and considering herself a bad omen - explanations that explain why sex is a line she's willing to cross before emotional confession, almost instead of it, whereas in the campaign she won't cross either.

one: she's trying to convince herself that she can just. make it casual. force it into something different, choke the feelings down until they fade away eventually. i don't have as many thoughts on this idea but it DOES bring me insurmountable pain to think about.

two: she's basically struck a bargain with herself.

after two episodes of multiple close calls with percy, it’s almost like she’s trying to wrestle herself into a deal. she looks at her hungry heart which doesn't belong to her anymore, and is terrified of the decision it wants to make, terrified of the idea of a relationship with percy that will one day crumble, and she says, “okay. one thing. we can have one thing. we can have a casual fling, some friends with benefits, we’ll know what it’s like to kiss him and have sex with him and even wake up next to him but that’s it. we’ll pretend we’re asleep in the morning. we’ll distance ourself from him the next day. we’ll pull back, keep enough of a barrier to not let him any closer, but sex can be casual, right? it doesn’t have to mean anything. it won't mean anything. it's casual.”

and even then it’s only “casual” in the sense that they’ve agreed not to say anything about how they feel. they both know how the other feels, they’ve said it in every way you could without explicitly saying i love you. percy downright admits that he feels something and knows there is something between them and he wants emotional connection. vex says that she cares for him, that she can’t say what he wants to hear, and that everyone she’s ever loved, it ends badly - implying, all but directly saying, that he’s one of those people!! she ends up admitting it even more directly than he does!!!! this is so sad it’s almost hilarious. they’re both admitting and committing to the facade of a casual fling. vex because she’s terrified, and percy because he would do anything for her.

she would rather have a facade of a casual relationship, would rather ask percy to help her lie, help her pretend this means nothing, even as she lies there and admits that it does mean something but she's too scared to let it become anything significant. and even that statement, where she refuses to show vulnerability, is showing so much vulnerability. she's trusting percy with this fear she's kept close to her chest, she's trusting percy with her fear of trust. asking percy to hold that fear and keep it safe, hold it close to his chest, right where his heart sits. where her heart sits, now. the amount of trust it takes to do that. the way those words had to be clawed out of her, only when she was lying down, hurt, and couldn't run anymore. she trusts percy with this thing she's only trusted her brother with, if that - and at the same time, she can't even trust herself with loving and being loved without ruining it all.

it’s like. if she doesn’t get too close, it won’t hurt as much when he eventually, inevitably, leaves. whether he dies or walks away or makes a deal with a demon or a death goddess or whatever, he will leave, because they always leave, and the further she is, the less distance she’ll have to fall from. the softer the landing will be.

and then, if this is going the way i think it is, if we are building up to glintshore and the resurrection, then it won’t be soft at all. percy is going to die, and it is going to hurt vex so fucking horribly, and the distance will have meant nothing. all it will do is give her less memories to hold onto, now that he's gone. she will not hurt for the size of the hole in her heart, but rather for the lack of memory she has to fill it. a hole torn further open by the weight of the breadth of love unspent.

and then they're going to try and bring him back. and she will beg for another chance to do it right this time. she will give him her heart and everything she has, because she tried to do the casual distance, and she's learned that it hadn't done anything but hurt the both of them.

but she's not going to make that same mistake again.

[anarcowboy]

Boiling it down to any single factor is a mistake when it's a soup of dogshit

--there was substantial decrease in voter turnout between 2020 and 2024. more voters than 2016 tho, and still a popular loss. Woof. 3rd party votes did not make a difference and even if all "other", Stein, AND libertarian votes went to Harris she'd still lose (libertarian pulled from Trump more than Harris)

--running to the right of Trump on various issues normalized conservative policy, so those who they attempted to court could get the same results from Trump without having to vote blue

--those they attempted to court are also, yes, a lot of racists and misogynists. The Black vote was almost unanimously in favor of Harris. Just wildly strong polling. The Latino/Latina vote was split, men leaned Trump and women leaned Harris. The white vote skewed pretty strongly to Trump. Failing to ever address white supremacy and instead court it will never make a woman of color appeal to these people, no matter how "lethal military strong border" fascist you try to be

--Harris's campaign ruthlessly belittled her constituents. They refused to speak with people, canceled meetings, mocked them, and tried to make a fool of people in mourning, scared, devastated, yet still ready to vote for her if she gave them crumbs. She didn't. The campaign turned its back, like Clinton did before, on people willing to vote for her if she put any effort into getting their votes. But like in 2016, Schumer was confident you could replace blue collar dems with suburban republicans. it failed. twice. The whole campaign trail has been littered with contempt for their own base. Harris didn't even speak at her own rally last night and sent everyone home.

--2020 has shifted us into an era of extremism and desperation. People are angry. People are scared. Multiple people have tried to kill trump in the last few months. Many voted for him not because they like him but because they have contempt for Harris, whether reasonable or bigoted varies across the board.

--Even as min wage hikes pass, abortion passes, social security expansion passes, and "radical" politicians like Omar and Tlaib win re-elections in the same exact places Harris loses, anchors blame progressive policy for her downfall. Even now, the marginalized people used as pawns by her campaign are being thrown to the wolves for her loss.

--The dems never learn from a loss. They are a center-right party with substantial hatred for progressive policy even as progressive policy polls as wildly popular among the masses. They loathe their base, while Republicans are willing to kiss the asses of theirs.

--Trump will fail to meet all the expectations placed on him, and his base will become angry. Then rather than ever run a platform to help working class americans, marginalized people in substantial and lasting ways, the dems will court those disillusioned by Trump, until they fail to wow them next time and a new fascist runs.

--The two party system does not work, especially when both are right-wing. Trump is not the sole issue and never was. He's convenient cover. Biden is too weak to do anything, then Trump will be too powerful to stop. It repeats forever. But this dance is crumbling for people. Something is breaking and people are tired of it. We have always been a fascist nation that is rapidly becoming more fascist, and unless something truly radical on the left becomes a possibility for dems that can grab the masses and inspire hope--like say, Bernie Sanders--then we are doomed to slide ever right-ward forever until collapse. But hey, the dems certainly wouldn't sabotage and kill a movement like Bernie's, right?

To sum up: we are in a fucked up time where we refuse to reckon with our past and white supremacy and instead cater to it and then have the nerve to be shocked it bites you once again. In politics and in life you cannot appeal to white supremacy, it is a snake to defeat.

Organize, find solidarity, fight, and god while you need to stop bending over for your enemy, you'd maybe be inclined to learn from them, understand them, and realize the way to defeating them has always been with force and a "fuck you I'm here to stay" attitude.

Electoral politics are never the beginning or end of what politics is. The presidential election is even a very small part of that process. Support community work protecting the people neither party will, support organizations working to undo the harm of these parties, and stop seeing this as a team sport with black and white villains and heroes where one side of a corrupt system represents the good guys and so surely their loss can only come from Evil Forces and not a system performing as designed.

[wroteclassicaly]

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, NSFW, and vaginal sex!

A/N: Idk what this is, but I came up with it last night, so here you go. I miss posting (I’m working on stuff, though), and I figured I’d just go with the flow of this mini drabble idea. Love y’all! ❤️

Eddie sneaking into your window at night, because he’s woken up and he can’t stop squirming, needing to have you now. He usually opts for knocking or using the spare key you’d given him, but he kind of lost it in the mess that is his room (it’s buried under campaign idea sheets), and it’s late. His van is loud as it cruises down your street and finds your residence, his cock already aching in his black sweats. He’s fucking freezing, the only thing keeping him warm beside his sweats is a cut off white crop top with a faded Marlboro label (a shirt of Wayne’s he was given and made his own), his boots are halfway on and unlaced, making him nearly trip as he hobbles to your bedroom window and does his expert lock picking thing. It’s comical to try and clamber through a window with a raging boner.

He hisses when he successfully gains entry, latching the window behind him, then kicking off his boots to warm his toes in the comfort of your rug. Your form is curled around your pillow, your breathing even and steady. You look so fucking soft, so ripe. Eddie wants more than a taste. He slips easily out of his sweats and his shirt, boxers halfway down his hips, too painful to get off.

Eddie’s ring clad hand slides up and down your quilt covered side, sheets rustling as you slowly turn, his voice immediately easing your worried confusion. Those plush lips that taste like fresh cigarettes and cinnamon find your temple, kissing just lightly. “Mhm…? Eddie?” It’s a stifled whimper, an appreciative yawn. “What time s’ it?” You mumble.

With every letter you speak, Eddie is that much closer to losing it, the ache twisting in his gut. He’s beyond desperate, already peeling your layered blankets back and climbing in behind you, rolling his hips into your backside, cold hands finding hovering purchase on your tits beneath your shirt. Still the gentleman, he’s questioning you. “Can I? Need you so fucking bad, sweetheart. Drove over here in the sleet and rain just to have my girl and my sweet little pussy.”

Beyond the cove of your slowly awakening mind, arousal throbs between your thighs, making you arch into Eddie’s hands, whimpering when the wind soaked digits cool against your hot skin. A series of curses die in your throat, a gasp the only thing that escapes. Eddie’s hands pinch your nipples, tugging them into hardened peaks, continuing to rut into you, his boxers damn near sliding off his hips.

“Oh, fuck. You came all this way in shit weather just to do this?” You always sell yourself short, according to Eddie. Aside from the best lover you’ve had, he’s also your hype man/boyfriend.

You can practically feel his frown, his movements briefly halting, lips readying a kiss for your neck. When he speaks, it’s a warm gust of air on your ear, causing you to push your tits further into his palms. “Do what? Do—“ He dips his pelvis and drags his hard dick directly over your ass, making sure you really feel all of him through your sleep pants, before continuing. — “this?”

“Fuck. Help me get my pants and panties off, please.” You’re salivating, feeding off his energy, cock drunk and desperate now too.

Eddie has his boxers down over his ass and your pajama bottoms, complete with your soaked panties— off in seconds flat. His voice is still so raspy, wind bitten, his fingers finding your jaw as one hand leaves your shirt, tilting your mouth to his for a kiss. You help him maneuver your legs together, yours stretched back over his, the hair tickling the backs of your knees. His smell is surrounding you, fresh from his nightly shower, aftershave present, rainwater, and cigarettes from his crumbled pack. He’s breaking away to question you, blown pupils shaving off any remaining color in his irises. “Condom?”

You shake your head, forgoing the box you’d kept in your drawer. “Not tonight.”

Eddie slides inside you with ease, smacking your ass, grateful there’s a silhouette of a snowy sky and nearby street lamps framing your entire set of activities. He’s nosing into your neck, commenting on your request. “This your way of asking me to cum inside you, sweetheart?”

“I want it so fucking bad, Eds. Show me why you woke me up, baby.”

You wouldn’t care if it was sex or not. With how much you love Eddie, he could barge in later than this to show you a potato chip he’d taken a bite out of and you wouldn’t give two fucks, but you would admire, because he’s Eddie. And he’s all yours.

[lennadanvers]

Hi hey hello! I'm still alive! I accidentally took some time off(? Anyway, I miss Ex-husband!Eddie, so here you have some (kinda sad) backstory to the relationship. I present to you *drumroll*...

Ex-husband!Eddie who still has nightmares about your first break-up, many years ago! When you two still lived in Hawkins. When you both left crying. The first time you broke his heart.

You'd been dating for quite some time by then. When he thinks about this, it seems to him you both were really young. That he was very immature.

But, then again, Eddie thinks that about himself now, and it's been years. And he lost you again, somehow.

There had been a disscusion. It was probably about the future. Most things wrong in his life involved that. Planning, hoping, being ready to move on. The only way he's ever been able to plan is when playing DM. The only hope he's ever allowed himself is you being happy with him there to see it. At least that worked out, more or less. About being ready to move on, well...

Of course, Eddie didn't see things this way back then. Then, it felt like you were leaving with or without him. Like you could leave, and he coulnd't. Like you had a life waiting for you, and all he had were impossible dreams and an always lingering fight for survival. Like you were taking all he had- his heart- away from Hawkins.

Eddie knows it was wrong, now, looking back- but his secret is that he knew it was wrong back then too. Still, he allowed himself to hurt you. He laughed sarcastically. He called himself a freak, to save you the effort. Eddie admitted that he knew you were too kind to tell the truth: he was some sort of adventure, a way to feel good about yourself by making someone else happy. He didn't say the word charity- it hit too close to home- but you heard it anyway.

You also heard him calling you a people pleaser. Someone without a backbone. He'd been your safe space- he knew, even if he didn't believe it- and it turned out he saw you like everyone else did.

You didn't yell. Eddie was used to noise. To metal through the speakers, to the cars in the trailer park, to the screams in his parent's kitchen. But he was terrified of silence.

You looked at him. He was used to people avoiding his eyes, to the uncomfortable faces. Yours was just empty. As empty as a face wet with tears can be. And you were looking at him, at his eyes, at his soul.

And you left.

He did the same. Eddie had had many people walk out of his life, and fuck if he was going to let you do that too. No, this time he was leaving. Enough of waiting for the people he loved to come back to him.

It didn't matter, because you didn't go back. You put everything he had left at your house and put it in a box. Your college dorm room wasn't big enough for all the things you loved anyway. You filled the box- even put in his favorite sweets, the ones you had bought for when he went to say goodbye to the bus station- and left it home.

He only found out about it when your mom, after leaving you to your brand new university life, dropped it off by his trailer.

Eddie swears nightmares are box-shaped.

By then, it was too late. He likes to think that the way he had to grovel to get your new phone number was heroic. It may not have saved you- you never needed saving-, but it saved him.

It took him a week to call. He kept lifting the phone and crying. Eddie still has the notebook where he planned, mid campaign, what he was going to say.

It didn't matter. When he finally managed to call, he crumbled. You said "Hello?", and you sounded happy. He practically sobbed a "Hi".

You went silent. Eddie heard you whispering on the other side of the line, and a female voice saying she wasn't expecting any calls.

"Who is this?"

He hung up the phone.

Years later, after you got married, you joked he had a phobia of calling you on the phone. He doesn't think it's a joke. Eddie still wakes up after hearing his nightmares ask him "Who is this?".

[writingdisposal]

Vox is soooo fucking hot dude

Vox as a regular romantic interest is pretty bad already, but as a yandere? He is insufferable. Of course, he will keep an eye on you wherever you go, even before you really meet him. I don't think Vox would use his powers to achieve his goal of pursuing you. It seems more that he would use it as a "last-didge" effort to secure you, but for that to occur Vox would have to be incompetent. He is anything but that.

You will fall for his charisma, his smooth voice that is so addicting to listen to, especially when he compliments you so well every chance he gets. Vox will make sure, whatever you see of him is nothing, but absolute perfection. Any show you watch starring him will be subtly be about how good of a partner he would be. A cook show where Vox creates your favourite meals. Another show talking about famous celebrities' relationships where Vox occasionally sprinkles in a "I don't know about you folks, but I can't imagine doing something like that!" when the relationship has some sort of drama to it.

I also imagine he would force some sort of meeting, assuming there is zero connection he and the other Vees have to you. Maybe he will make some low-life try robbing you and the 'oh-so' charming TV host Hell can't get enough of is there to save you. Maybe he just 'randomly' finds you sleeping in some alleyway, down on your luck, and he graciously offers you a job at his company. Or maybe he does an interview on Hell's population to see what their opinion is on the newest Voxtech.

Either way this man will find a way and have you fall for him. For the first few months he will even act the part of a loving and supportive partner. Over time though, Vox will change.

As usual Vox was monitoring the viewing charts as well as the money generated from the shows. Even though he was focused, he heard the elevator bringing someone up. No need to look, Vox knew who wanted to visit. "Hello babe," he said, still tapping away on the keyboard, "missed me that much, heh?" Giggling you hugged him from behind, "I can't hide anything from you, can I?" "No, you can't," Vox turned to you, kissing up your arm, "Mind helping me out a little here? I'm really tensed up and need some relaxing." You blush, pushing him back a little.

You wanted to tell him no, but he pulled you back with enough force to make you fall on his chair. He kissed your cheek. "Come on sweetheart, I've always been so good to you," Vox reminded you, static echoes scratchng his voice, "You should be more loving, you know." He was right. He was always so sweet to you and its time to repay the kindness. Even though it doesn't feel right, you will give in. You always will until it feels normal.

Once he knows you won't leave anymore, Vox will have outbursts in front of you. And because you are so used to his hot and cold attitude, you will find a weird mix of fear and attractiveness in his screams. Especially outbursts involving Alastor will be scary. Sometimes Vox forgets the position he is in and get rough with you. Of course, in instances like these he will apologise afterwards, but that might be the only times where the picture had so carefully painted crumbles.

If you ever decide to leave, Vox will know and put measurements to prevent it. It will be relatively successful, but once you're gone, Vox uses every available resource to secure you back. He will call everything just regular quarrel between lovers. The only sanctuary you might find is in the Hazbin Hotel, but this will lead to a smear campaign by Vox, so your stay is going to be questioned frequently.

Your chances of getting away from Vox are low and he will make sure, you realise he will forever be the better option in this godforsaken place, so be sweet and go to him willingly before he forces you to go.

[deadpool15]

This is fucking bullshit. All of this is so stupid. I’m gonna kick his fucking ass. Me and Woo-Jin had been kinda on and off for about two years, at first it was fine because I wasn’t ready to settle down so it was all fun and games. But now I’ve been trying to slowly show him I’m ready for the real thing. Full on relationship, our parents had already met, with my parents practically becoming friends for life with his after agreeing to endorse his father’s campaign. His mother constantly telling me how much of a good daughter I am, and how she views me as her own.

Everything was slowly coming together until that fucking teacher arrived. Her nasty disgusting elderly ass decides to fuck my man. It seems like no one in this school realized Woo-Jin belonged to me. Not even him, well not yet. Storming through the school with my shirt slightly unbuttoned from the top leaving my sloppy tie on display just how I like it. It’s a style. Skirts were always a hit or miss for me, seemed no one in Korea understood the struggles of having a fat ass. My knee-high socks had fallen down slightly revealing a few of my tattoos. Shall I say baddest bitch at school for you. Yes, yes indeed.

I make my way up to our special classroom where I had told the man himself to meet me. Walking in the room I notice He-ra in there as well. Now before you say it that’s my bitch. Love her to death. But now isn’t the time for her and her constant back talk that I know she will give without explanation. “He-ra I love you so much babe, but I’m about to embarrass the fuck outta your bestie right now so can you please give us a minute. And I mean go to class not wait outside and listen this time.” She turns to me grabbing her things, “I wasn’t gonna listen to your guys speak, last time I tried to ease drop on you two felt like I was listening to unfiltered porn.”

Watching her walk out the room I see him sitting there smirking. “Stop that you make me sick. You piece of shit.” He motions for me to come closer as I was standing up still. Dropping my bag on the floor, I sit in the chair next to him only for him to grab my arm and push me into his lap. “What’s wrong, Cherie? And what are you gonna embarrass me with?” Pushing his hands that had landed on my hips off me, I sit firmly. Feeling the tension in the room. “When where u gonna tell me you are into old broke bitches now, huh? Miss me that much? You have your sluts acting out of order around me.” He tries to speak up but I place my finger on his plump lips. Causing him to slowly wrap his lips around my finger.

Wow can’t believe he is playing dirty right now. Two can play that game. “Guess your skills are getting old, it’s not working for you anymore is that it baby, is that why you are fucking old women now.” He removes his lips from my fingers and starts leaving kisses on my neck. Open-mouthed kisses are my fucking weakness and he knows this. “What did she say to you?” For a minute I couldn’t respond. I was lying through my teeth this entire time his skills always worked but I knew so did mine. “Kept trying to speak to me saying how worried she was about me since she has noticed me and you barely talk. She wanted to offer me a moment to let out my emotional side and show her how impacted I am now that you have moved on to someone new apparently. Messy ass teacher.”

Hearing this he stopped, “aww are you jealous, baby?” Seeing the mischievous smile on his amazing face almost made me crumble until I started to lean in for him to show off something I know would get me victory. “Is that a fucking hickey? Cherie you’re not serious right, no marks we talked about that. You have shitty guys leaving marks on your body to remember them.” He gripped my neck once he realized I was smiling, “Oo I didn’t even notice he was mainly focused on my bottom half when he did that, guess that’s my bad.” Chuckling and making my way to move off of his lap until he gripped my hips keeping me firmly placed glued to him. “No more of that, me and you that’s it. You only need me, how many times do I have to fuck you to prove that huh? Do you hate walking, is that it?”

“You’re sleeping around too, asshole. Get that dog under control and maybe I’ll let you have me. Any way you want it baby.” He smiles at me before unlocking his phone and pressing the camera icon. “What are you doing, sending her photos Woo-Jin? Wow you truly don’t give a fuck about me do you. Such an asshole.” He wipes my tears before leaning in to kiss me softly. “Cherie I like you so much, actually I fucking love you. Everything about you. I’m not sending her pictures, two options ok. I could text her it’s over or I could bend you over this chair and fuck you til you’re begging me to stop and send it to her. But, something tells me you like the second option more.”

Leaning closer to bite his ear, I whisper, “how many rounds can you give me before next class, huh pretty boy?” He grabs my breast, before kissing my ear. “My next course doesn’t start until 4, it’s currently 1. Which means we have to test this theory, are you up for it beautiful?” Unbuttoning his shirt, while spreading my hands across his chest I nod. “Always up for a challenge, pretty boy. But can you handle it. I don’t move at that same pace as you’re used to now. Since you have downgraded to fucking the retirement community. Can you even keep up?” He pulls me closer kissing my hands. “Can I, handle you? Baby you’re not leaving this room til you tap out.”

“Say less, pretty boy.”

[kechiwrites]

not quite heart-shaped

simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader

synopsis: you and simon both have the 14th off, and by god you were going to make the most of it. pt. 4/?

wc: 2.3k

cw: afab + fem!reader, fluff, banter, cunnilingus, fingering, teasing, very light breeding kink, femme pet name (princess), no use of y/n ever.

an: the return of medic reader, special thanks to @weebitofaslag who with a single comment reignited my love for their dynamic. babes all my knowledge of the military comes from romance novels, mw2 campaign and my fleeting contact with the canadian armed forces. so like if i get something wrong…don’t tell me. happy valentines day!

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

"Three." The tense quiet of the bedroom is disrupted by your offer. 

Ghost stands in front of you, and despite his crossed arms his posture is deceptively casual.

He scoffs at your pitch. The standoff is common for the two of you. Basically foreplay at this point. Pretending to be irritated and annoyed with each other until you're basically begging to rip each other's clothes off.

"No way." He grunts, but doesn't provide a number of his own.

You can't keep the disbelief out of your tone.

"Less than three, Simon? You're losing your touch!"

That does get a rise out of him and he stops leaning against the bathroom door frame.

"More than three. Anything less than five is a waste of both of our days off. But you knew that, didn't you, princess?"

"I don't know if I have five in me to give, honestly." You choke out, already tugging off the sweater you wore. 

"If I'm eating you out, I'm spending the day down there." He huffs. 

You're breathless when you finally respond, your cool and collected demeanour crumbling in the wake of his assertion.

"Yeah okay, that's fine, but wanting to fuck me after? I may not even be conscious." When he doesn’t respond, you gasp dramatically, like a soap opera lead discovering a villain’s plot. "Maybe that's what you want! Simon! Who knew you were so depraved?" It’s easy to be silly with him lately, even more so when you’re both free of the oppressive air of the base you’re both stationed at.

"Get on the bed or get out of my house." His shirt’s already off, and it’s oh so hard to stay on the task of mocking him when the cut muscle and little bit of fat on his torso shine under the room’s low light. With the mask still on, and the dark fabric of his pants obscuring his bottom half, he makes quite the sight. The pale, wide expanse of his chest, only broken up by tattoos and healed, pink scars and sandy, blond chest hair makes your mouth water. He steps towards you, hooking the thumb under the mask and pulling it up. It feels as though the cloth is moving in slow motion, your heart beating loud and erratic with anticipation. When he stops so it rests on his nose, you exhale, not quite disappointed, but you sure as hell aren’t relieved. 

“Sex in a bed?” You question facetiously, willing your brain to revert back to being a little shit. You know he can’t stand when you're being a brat, it reminds him of just how easily he’d lost control, just how messily he’d fucked you the first time, but around Simon you just can't seem to stop yourself, “You're spoiling me.” You lay back on the bed as ordered, contorting your arms to shimmy out of your bra, then your bottoms, tugging your underwear along with them. Not a thong this time, a fact that seems to disappoint Simon when he notices your regular boyshort panties entangled in your discarded sweatpants. 

“Yeah, don't get used to it, I'm just tired of the smell of antiseptic.” He mutters, kicking your discarded clothes off to the side.

You snort derisively, spreading your legs so he can lay between them, allowing for him to brush the petal soft skin of his lips against your hip, your thigh, just above your knee. “Ladies and gentlemen, the last true romantic.” You mumble, patting the top of his head, lamenting your inability to card your fingers through his fine blonde hair. 

Your entire body jolts when his tongue comes in contact with your clit, a full body shiver alerting Ghost to just how badly you'd needed this. He hasn't shaved and his stubble scrapes the soft skin of your inner thighs, forcing a jolt up your spine, shuddering breaths escaping your lungs as his mouth gets better acquainted with the lips of your cunt. 

He drags his tongue over you in your entirety, taking special interest in the skin just below your entrance, he stays there, skimming, sucking, licking, until you're worried he'll manage to give you a hickey there, on your fucking taint. He has you dripping with his spit and your own slick, and the sound when he returns to your clit is obscene. He brings both hands up towards your abdomen, but neither continues the course to where you want them, on top of your chest, plucking at your nipples, or even around your throat, obstructing your airway. Instead, Simon's left hand pushes down on your abdomen, and his right gently shifts the hood of your clit up so he can abuse it better. 

All the soldiers in all the world and you had to hook up with the one who eats pussy like that?

"Fuck." You wince, and you twitch away from him as best you can, which only makes him suck harder, like he’s giving you ‘two for flinching’. You groan loud and unashamed, assured by the privacy afforded by not fucking on base for once. Your toes curl and relax over and over, the periodic tremble of your hips against his mouth has him holding you down as best he can, determined to pull more sounds from your wide open mouth. Your whole body tenses and you let out a litany of curses only disrupted by stutters of his name, all while you clench around nothing. He’s mumbling into you as you come, but whatever he’s saying ultimately doesn’t fucking matter when the vibrations of his voice make you want to cry or scream or kick Simon in his stupid masked face.

There's barely any hangtime between your orgasm shuttering through you and Simon circling his arms around your thighs before he tongue fucks you mercilessly, letting the tip of the muscle broach your entrance while he drags the edge of his teeth over the still buzzing flesh of your labia. He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you onto his face, until you get with the program and begin rolling your hips, pressing your clit against the bridge and tip of his nose, allowing his tongue to push deeper within you. 

Your body is already dripping its satisfaction all over his chin, and this time with breath barely in your lungs it takes longer for him to get you into a place of desperation again. But by God, does Simon Riley get you there. This time he takes a break from the constant contact between your cunt and his tongue to slip one of his thumbs into your entrance, fucking you with slow and deliberate strokes, like a promise of what he’ll do to you later when he finally fucks you. Long, greedy swipes of his tongue jar your brain like a hit to the head. You try to struggle away, levering up with your arms before he tugs you down again like a fucking ragdoll, like you trying not to lose your fucking mind is a slight inconvenience to him. He lays wet, panting, open mouth kisses over the pulsing heat of your cunt, and when you you raise your head to - fuck you don’t know - curse his entire bloodline, you can see he’s helplessly grinding his hips into the mattress, seeking some sort of friction while he tongues at your folds, while you soak him to the knuckle. It’s hot, hotter than it has any right to be and you flop back down, turning your head into his pillow to muffle your moans. Old habits and all that. Unfortunately, the pillow is steeped in Simon’s scent, and your eyelids drift closed when you inhale deeply. Your breath stalls and you ride out yet another climax on his tongue, this time very grateful for the way he fingers you through it, even if his thumb isn’t nearly big enough. The bed beneath you bears the brunt of your orgasm this time, damp sheets attesting to your fervent enjoyment. 

“What a mess you’ve made.” He speaks, once you stop huffing, voice disturbingly even, like he didn’t just factory reset your body. Which is…incredibly irritating.

“You know technically as a doctor I outrank you.” You snip, nose in the air. 

“So?” He lifts his head, but his eyes are still locked between your legs, not quite able to decide if he wants to move from where he is so clearly comfortable.

“So…” you mock him, squeezing your thighs around his neck, until his stare is redirected to your face. “you should be fucking nice to me, asshole.” He digs his thumbs into the back of your knees, until you release him. Slowly, he drags himself up, over your body until he can lay on his back next to you. 

“You know, I really should have finished inside you that first time. Knocked you up and had you taken off base.” And wouldn’t that have been a fun conversation for you to have with your CO. ‘I’m so sorry ma’am, he wears a mask and has big hands and knows my kinks. I had no choice, ma’am.’

“Stop talking or I’m gonna sit on your dick.” You whisper, shutting your eyes against the harsh beam of the light overhead. Your heart rate is finally starting to settle, and you’re grateful for the moment of reprieve, the few moments he gives for you to stitch your mind back together, to regain purposeful use of the human language. 

Shoulder to shoulder in his bed, and no longer occupied with singing Simon’s praises, your mind begins to harmlessly wander, unhelpfully cataloguing that you aren’t even halfway through what he’s planned for you. You also start to filter through your responsibilities due in the coming days. It’s automatic at this point, a system you developed during school, when papers and projects and your social life all constantly contradicted each other. You’d come, at the hands of yourself or someone else, and your orgasm cleared brain began building a calendar. Nothing today, of course, you’d cleared your schedule and no one had questioned why. Most people wouldn’t question anyone taking off Valentines.

The “holiday” never really stuck out to you in the past, for one reason or another. Work, med school, family stuff, hell sometimes you just didn’t fucking feel like it. But this year, today, you can’t help yourself. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Simon.” You puff, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling, letting your brain make patterns out of the popcorn ceiling.

“Ah,” he vocalizes, voice gruff. “Right.” he shifts in his bed, and you figure you’ve got about 30 seconds before he gives you the dusty combat boot. Your face burns with embarrassment, why the fuck did you say that? When did he ever give you even the slightest inclination he gave a shit about some overblown, capitalistic, aggrandized-

“Here.” A bag of jellybeans is unceremoniously plopped onto your bare chest, right between your tits. 

“Where were you hiding these?” You gawp, struggling to string together a sentence as you examine the bag of colourful candies. It has a bow on it. You finger the pre-tied ribbon, stuck on with an adhesive pad.

“Under the bed.” He grunts, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose, like he’s fending off a headache, but you think he may just be embarrassed, if the pink tips of his ears are anything to go by. 

“This is sweet.” You choke out, and you have to sink your teeth into your already swollen lower lip to stop from giggling hysterically. “Thank you, Simon.”

“Mng.” He makes the noise in his throat, forgoing the English language for the easy comfort of grunts, watching you tear the bag open and chew on a handful of the brightly coloured beans. All at once, like some kind of animal. The flavours don’t quite go together, strawberry and buttered popcorn and root beer. Others you can’t even begin to pin down. But you're too frazzled to eat them how you usually would, your favourites first, then making combinations with whatever’s left, guided by the suggestions on the back of the bag. And ultimately, it’s not altogether too unpleasant. It works, in a fucked up, saccharine sweet kind of way. Kind of like you and-

“Alright, put it away.” He rasps, turning over to cover you with his weight once more, sliding down to get started on orgasm three. 

He plucks the bag out of your hands and drops it on the nightstand near you, devoid of any knick knacks or photographs, just a beat up 70s style alarm clock that acts as a pedestal for your candy.

“My beans!” You shout, trying in vain to secure the confection for further enjoyment. You give up your fruitless endeavour when Simon sinks his teeth into the flesh of your breast on his way back down to your pussy. 

“I didn’t get you anything.” You moan, pressing the cool palms of your hands to your overheated face, soothing the mix of embarrassment and giddiness stirring in your mind.

“I’ll live.” He grouses, bending your knees, holding your thighs up and together with both palms at the back of your knees. You can’t see his face. Have never seen the whole thing, but you’d bet all the jellybeans in the fucking world, that Simon Riley’s cheeks are pink.

the beans were soap’s idea for sure. poor guy’s definitely heard them fucking more than once. support city girls, reblog what u like. happy valentines.

[aidaronan]

Much has been (justly) waxed about re: Steve's potential dice luck at Eddie's table, but I also kind of feel like we were only getting started when it comes to DM Eddie dealing with Erica Sinclair. For those who will get this reference, I think she's prob like Ally Beardsley meets Emily Axford. By which I mean that I think Erica has the most "how even???!!!??" borderline improbable dice luck when it most counts, but she'll also come up with shit Eddie never even considered when strategizing about her characters' items/abilities + the rules. She'll pose scenarios that leave him delighted at the Rule of Cool shenaniganry, and she'll do stuff against his Big Bads or his Giant Mysteries that make him sit back in shock as he works through the existential angst of just how quickly weeks of a planning can crumble in the face of one (1) clever little girl. He adores the absolute fuck out of her. After he leaves Hawkins, he even bites the bullet on more than one fairly large long distance bill just to have her in a campaign via phone. But he also feels like she was put on this Earth just to torment and humble him.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 2.2 - Happenstance

[POV: WILLIAM]

"You can't cast Disintegrate on an entire universe," William grumbles. 

"Of course I can," Vlad scoffs, "I literally just did it."

“No,” William glares, “You didn't. You'd need a magical item. Specifically, the Owl of Undoing and Christopher already said you can't have it." 

Vlad raises his brows, and William understands the look: Why are you defending him? Christopher plays a paladin. You don’t even like him; you’ve been cheating on him for months. 

Or maybe that’s just the guilt talking.

"I know what he said,” Vlad takes a swig of his barley bale. “That's why I pickpocketed him three sessions ago. Check your notes. I think you’ll find you already made the decision when you let me roll for it."

Asshole. Yes, William complains about Christopher. Yes, he feels trapped. But Lairs and Llamas wasn’t the place to sort that out. "Fine," he snaps, crumbling up a page of his notes. "You do it. Your enemies turn to dust, and everything resets to a single, non-magical universe."

"That doesn’t make sense,” Candy purses her lips. "How can we be sure the world has no magic? I mean, isn't that a little like saying there are no aliens? It doesn't make sense. There probably are aliens and magic, too. We just haven't discovered them yet."

Vlad grins. “Yes, William, isn’t it possible that there are more magical fish in the sea?”

William does not dignify this with an answer. Unlike Vlad’s family of loud, co-dependent lunatics, the Reddings operate via refined passive-aggressive avoidance and socially acceptable threats.   

Christopher scoops up the dice and flings it onto the map. It skips and rolls to a stop on the worst possible number. "Natural 20!" he exclaims. "I look for a portal that takes me and my fellow paladins back in time to undo Vladislaus's spell."

"Some things can’t be undone," Vlad chuckles. “Why waste your time?”

"Because you’re wrong," Christopher insists, his gaze sharp, "Natural 20 means I automatically succeed."

“Technically—” Gunther begins.

“Nope,” William holds up a hand. Gunther joined their table after Vlad sent their last player running through the quad in tears. He was exhausting, and they’d had enough of his But the Rules speeches to last a lifetime. “Not technically. We are not doing that tonight.”

“So I succeed?” The hopefulness in Christopher’s voice makes William shift uncomfortably.

But Vlad just laughs and hums a little tune. “Oh, do tell, William. How does the natural 20 work out? Can Christopher go back in time and undo all the damage?” 

William grinds his jaw. “No. There is no such thing as magic, which means even with a natural 20, Christopher’s move doesn’t work.”

Christopher slumps in his seat. 

“So the campaign is over?” Candy asks. 

“Y-yes,” William croaks and then clears his throat. “I just want to know how your characters start their new lives while we wrap up."

"I start a conspiracy theory newspaper about aliens and magic,” Candy smirks.

“Hmmm,” Gunther rubs his chin. “I think my barbarian queen becomes a personal trainer. And then she meets this cool, casual academic with black-framed glasses who—”

“That’s enough,” William interrupts. “Christopher? Are we—er—you alright?” He swallows hard, his resolve weakening. Why is he trying so hard to protect the feelings of someone he doesn’t care about? “The end can be a fresh start. It doesn’t even have to be an end,” he finishes, ignoring Vlad’s dark look. 

Christopher surges to his feet. "Honestly, fuck you, Straud. You ruined this for all of us! Especially for Will, who planned it."

William hates being called Will. He's told his boyfriend this a thousand times. But the guilt over being defended when it's obvious Christopher has no idea what’s going on keeps him from pointing it out. "Sit down, love. You don't want to do this." 

"No, I do. I want Vladislaus to know he's fucked up and selfish!"

"He knows,” William deadpans.

"Yes," Vlad agrees, "I'm quite aware of my faults. Now," he leans forward, resting his elbow on the table to prop up his chin. "Are you defending William because you're fucking him or because you're hoping this might excite him enough to tell you he loves you?"

It's the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it’s the right thing, considering that Vladislaus thrives off of chaos. Christopher charges around the table, dragging him out of his seat. 

“Is this what you want?” he shouts.

Yes. 

No.

No. Christopher doesn’t know what’s at stake, and William doesn’t need a white knight. He needs his boyfriend to have enough common sense to know when he's being goaded. “Don’t!” he shouts. 

But he’s too slow.

Christopher cocks back his fist and punches Vlad straight in the mouth.

(Love this Lairs and Llamas set by @valhallansim! Also, my IRL dnd group is really just a spy v. spy situation where we mostly plot against each other and then sometimes band together to fight a dragon we name after bad ex-boyfriends)

PREV | NEXT

[tamamatango]

“Keroro Gunsgo To The Polls”: The Possible Behind-the-Scenes of the Ad-nime Short Nobody Expected

A much less existentially depressing display of political campaign buffoonery.

Here’s yet another unplanned post from me. The other long-form ones I was talking about before I keep putting off because of work and also another pretty ambitious project I’m putting together taking my attention—I don’t know how or when to talk about it here juuuuust yet, but it exists in public and some of you already know what it is/have seen it, so stay tuned perhaps.

As you can see from the video link/photo, this post is a writeup about a surprise video apparently commissioned by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government that uses the Keroro characters to encourage young people to go out and vote in the upcoming elections for the Governor of Tokyo. It came out about a week ago, but I initially glossed over it because…well, I thought it wasn’t new. After all, the copyright DOES attribute the copyright to 2014 and it looks very similar to the Flash anime at first glance, so…this must be a reupload from the 2014 Tokyo gubernatorial election or something, right?

Upon looking more deeply into it, no. There’s no record of this ever existing before this week, and it was later confirmed to be new via social media channels. Which means this is technically a brand new piece of animated Keroro content, which I pledged I would report on. So here I am. Whoopee.

This post is going to be about the short from a production standpoint, primarily. I’m not going to spend time on the plot (if you want to call it that lol), as it was already pretty succinctly summarized by this post here by @unfo11owmelol , and I can say it’s more or less accurate, so thank you! I will make a comment in that the Dororo ranting about plastic thing seems to just be a running gag he has now—he was always an environmentalist of course, but his hatred of plastic specifically is kind of new; it was even a major punchline in this month’s manga chapter. In fact, this short has the manga’s quirks written all over it. It’s almost as if Yoshizaki himself was heavily involved in it. Oh wait, he was. But we’ll get to that.

The Context

As previously mentioned, this short was commissioned by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government and posted exclusively to their YouTube channel. This is where I was going to have a few sentences about how it was literally exclusively on the YouTube channel because none of the official social media accounts posted about it, but as I was writing the last 40% of the post, Keroro PR and one of the Tokyo government accounts finally mentioned it. So give a pat on the back to ol’ Kirb’s amazing procrastination abilities. Anyways, for the whole week before they finally decided to acknowledge its existence, it literally just dropped on YouTube with no warning and the only reason anybody on social media knew about it is because people whose YT feeds it popped up on were like hey what the fuck is this.

“What the fuck is this” is a pretty good question. While the fact that it’s about the gubernatorial election specifically isn’t directly mentioned in the video, it was pretty obvious given the timing, as it’s set to occur on July 7. I am not the most knowledgeable about Japanese politics as a whole, but this year’s race for governor is apparently particularly competitive, with over 50 candidates running. Here’s a short article giving a rundown of the race so far. The top issue is unsurprisingly the low birthrate, which has been causing panic over the fate of Japan’s economy for a considerably long time now. That’s why the government is very concerned that the voter disparity is incredibly polarizing, with young people voting much less than the elderly.

Well, what better way to fix low youth vote turnout than with anime? After all, the Zillenials want nothing more than to obsess over fictional characters while the world crumbles around them into inevitable disrepair I’m not projecting at all. The irony here is that, when the anime was originally in its prime at least, Keroro’s target audience was elementary schoolers. Indeed, the short definitely has the aura of a PSA they’d show to children, but obviously children are not voting. There’s even a point in the video where Tamama says going to the polling place is an opportunity to visit your childhood school, which is a statement more relatable to young adults. I guess at this point the main audience for Keroro really is considered to be the people who grew up with it in their child/teen years—unless the actual new anime gets a primetime kids’ TV slot, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Considering this is the most viewed PSA about the election on their YouTube channel by far, I guess it worked to an extent? It’s currently hovering just under 20k views, which isn’t really too much in the grand scheme. But now that it’s been officially shared on social media, perhaps that’ll give it a boost. Will most of these viewers actually go out to vote is the question…

Production staff peculiarities

As with any animated Keroro content following the end of the Flash anime—which until the new show airs has basically just been this, the new project announcement trailer, and some anti-piracy ad they were doing in movie theaters that they ironically scrubbed from the internet—BN Pictures is credited as the animation studio (though the studio Sugarless Factory assisted; they pretty much exclusively do production assistance for various projects). This is interesting because it looks completely unlike anything they’ve ever done. Unless I’m missing something, none of the anime they’ve produced before have been done in a similar Flash-like style.

Now, as we Internet addicts all know, Flash has been officially dead for a few years now. However, it might still be used very rarely in lowkey web animations like this, although a friend who knows more about anime production than I do told me even those are more commonly made using Live2D now. The credits for this short are very…short, but the director and a couple of other animators worked on a particular Flash-animated series called Oshiri Kajiri Mushi (“Bottom Biting Bug”) that first aired on the TV channel NHK in 2012. I’m guessing these staff are freelance, as that show was produced by the studio Kinema Citrus (a team founded by ex-members of Production I.G and Bones), and were possibly brought on to this short because they had experience with the software. If it is animated using something like Live2D, the experience still applies, as it’s apparently more similar to Flash than something more commonly used in anime like Clip Studio Paint. The director also has 3D CG credits and there is a credit here for “motion” that includes his name, so maybe a little of that was used as well. (Wouldn’t be able to tell myself—most experience I have with 3D animation is a one semester Maya course I took in high school lol).

Curiously, despite the potentially similar animation software and very similar artstyle + color palette, none of the animation staff, as far as I can tell, worked on the 2014 Flash anime. That is, except for…Mine Yoshizaki.

On all animated Keroro media, Yoshizaki’s primary official credit is “original creator,” of course. As the series creator, he would of course participate to a degree in most things related to the 2004 series, doing stuff like sitting in on some writing and recording sessions, contributing ideas/concept art here and there, and so on. There’s actually a Newtype article from around the announcement of the first movie I dug up that was officially translated into English, in which Yoshizaki talks about the pressure of being in that role. Most mangaka interviews I’ve seen about their involvement in their works’ anime adaptations are pretty overwhelmingly positive, but he was definitely more mixed. This might be a post for another day, since I have some speculations about his relationship to the anime as a whole. Damn, I need to stop coming up with essay ideas that are probably too big for my pea brain.

Anyway, Yoshizaki was quite a bit more involved in the 2014 series. He served as one of two people responsible for series composition (scriptwriting), though that could be because the Flash anime was a much more direct adaptation of the manga than the original anime, which might as well have been an entirely different series. IIRC, some episodes of Flash were literally 1:1 with the manga’s script…so I guess that counts as writing the anime too lol. He also storyboarded a few episodes and wrote the opening theme song’s lyrics. The next Keroro animation after that was the anti-piracy theater ad in 2021, which he storyboarded for. But you’ll notice with all the credits we’ve discussed so far that he was never involved with the animation proper past the storyboarding stage…until now!

Not only was Yoshizaki credited as original creator as usual, he also did directorial supervision, storyboarding, and was a key animator—the only key animator, in fact! I know it’s just a five-minute short, but the Flash series’s episodes were even shorter than that and had multiple key animators per episode, so this is kind of a big deal. It also might explain why the character designs look just a little bit more on-model to the manga designs than Flash’s did, even though they look almost identical at a cursory glance. It’s easiest to tell by looking at the less-rounded head shapes, plus a few minor details like Tamama’s eye highlights and the bridge of Kururu’s glasses. I am very normal, how could you tell?

So yeah, this makes this short the most Yoshizaki has ever been involved with the actual animation process. I can’t say it gives him the most additional credits, as it’s tied with the Flash series for three extra, but it’s something!

Closing out the staff section, some notes about the cast. As you might expect, the usual actors reprise their roles. Most notably, Mamiko Noto is back to play Mois for what I believe (unless I’m missing a random collab or something) is her first time in the role in ten years, and she pretty much didn’t miss a beat! In addition to Fuyuki and Natsumi’s VAs playing them recently at the Keroro expo, that’s three additional voices besides the Keroro Platoon’s that presumably are still going to be able to return for the new anime.

Otherwise, the platoon sounds pretty much like they did in the anniversary trailer and various other small projects like the anti-piracy ad and Tales of the Rays collab from last year (they each had multiple spoken lines there). Keroro sounds a tad deeper; Tamama has some of the Jibanyan nasal now; Giroro didn’t really talk much but sounds mostly the same; Dororo is also a bit deeper and sounds kinda awkward but I think that’s less the voice direction and more Yoshizaki possibly wrote the dialogue and he speaks more assertively in the manga lol; Kururu sounds literally the exact same because Koyasu is a magic man.

Made in [Insert Year]?? (Ft. A lesson in trademarking)

I mentioned this at the beginning of this post, but for a solid few days, I really thought this video was just an ancient (2014 feels ancient now anyway) reupload. After all, the copyright string says 2014, and only media produced during the Flash series era has that copyright year, so I brushed it off. Here, let me show you all the anime copyright strings per the current anime portal:

There’s no 2004 date on the TV series’s copyright, probably because it covers the entire series from 2004–2011, plus now 2024 onward (and possibly the anti-piracy ad from 2021 as well), and also most anime-branded merch and things. But when the show was airing proper, it was attributed to 2004 (you can see this in the opening credits of any season). The 2006–2010 dates are for each individual movie. And there’s the 2014 copyright that’s the exact same as the video’s, though here it is for the Flash anime, as there’s pictures of it on the anime portal site. As an aside, before 2015, Sunrise was listed instead of BNP. At some point all anime rights got retroactively transferred from Sunrise Inc. to BNP—not sure how or when exactly that occurred. For the movies, there were slight shakeups in the production committee as well (you can see my new project trailer analysis for more on that kind of stuff).

As you can see, copyright strings for the series are attributed to the year each individual “product” came out in, for the most part. But now we know that this ad is brand new. So…does this mean this political ad is counted as part of the Flash anime? They obviously didn’t plan to include this specific video ten years ago (unless Kadokawa bought out an oracle or something, wouldn’t surprise me). Maybe they left the door open to more episodes of the Flash anime proper, but that isn’t what this was advertised as.

Well, I have a theory. A theory that might be totally wrong, but a theory nonetheless. Let’s go on a massive tangent about the Japanese trademark system! (Disclaimer: I have no formal training in the legal field. I just have really weird research hobbies.)

I’m going to focus on two basic principles here. First, once trademarks in Japan are officially registered, they are active for ten years before the copyright applicant must reapply to renew ownership of the trademark for another ten years. Second, trademarks have to be filed under certain classifications that basically tell the JPO (Japan Patent Office) what goods and/or services the applicant plans to use the trademark for. This means that sometimes the same trademark will be filed multiple times for different use classes. The classifications are each given a two digit class number, which is further subdivided into five-character group code(s).

You can actually search through all public patents yourself on J-PlatPat, and the site is machine translated into English (though you still have to type the copyright you’re looking for in Japanese). Let’s take a look at the three different filings for ケロロ軍曹 (just the name of the series itself, not the logo).

I’m on my phone so I couldn’t fit the entire window, but the important information is here. Kadokawa Corporation is the filer for all of these, though Yoshizaki’s name is probably also on whatever application documents they sent, which aren’t viewable. The three versions of the trademark were filed on different dates about a year apart. You’ll see that class 16 is there twice. For the first filing, it was class 16 and multiple group codes designating different kinds of goods (class 28 also contains goods-related things); the second filing covers a single group code protecting “printed matter” (presumably this was to cover any physical distributions of the manga).

I’m going to take a closer look at the third filing, which was officially registered in 2004. Class 09 covers a shitload of different goods and services, like way too many to list. What I’m thinking is that the first set of goods trademarks filed in 2001 was just to cover the kind of stuff they’d attach to issues of Shonen Ace and volume releases as giveaways—paper goods, board game-type items, and toys/dolls are all covered under it. Then in 2003, in preparation for the inevitable merchandise and collaboration dump the anime would lead to, they opened the floodgates to literally any Material Thing they could think to cover. Like, I’m pretty sure we never got any Keroro-branded egg candlers, fire alarms, or “cigar lighters for automobiles”, but might as well cover all your bases. Wouldn’t want the local fire department handing out emergency gear with your cartoon frog on it without permission, you know.

Included among these materials are some items that might be a bit more relevant to our case here. There’s a number of clauses related to physical and digital film, photography, and other media: “CD-ROM and DVD and other recording media, electronic publications, downloadable music, downloadable image[s]”. Now, while this doesn’t cover “animation” specifically, it can possibly be stretched to fit that definition. This is especially because, in Japanese, the term the MTL output as “images” is actually eizou, which can refer to both images and video.

So, the version of the trademark registered for the brand in 2004 likely covers certain media-related things. There are other classes that include the word “animation” specifically, but it’s possible that those classes weren’t classified the same way back then as they are now, and maybe anything film-related could’ve been interpreted by the law to include animation. Nowadays, though there are specific classifications for animation, specifically “animation available for download.” This subgroup actually happens to fall under class 09, though other classes contain similar items as well, such as class 41. You can search classes by number or keyword if you’re curious about this.

As I pointed out before I presented this data, all of these particular filings are for specifically ケロロ軍曹, not ケロロ. If ケロロ is to be used in isolation, it would have to be specified as such in the registration data, because what’s actually stopping someone else from coming along and trademarking just ケロロ? Now, remember the name of the Flash anime? That’s right—ケロロ. Just “Keroro”, not “Keroro Gunso.” Incidentally, this video is actually not formally titled under ケロロ軍曹 (despite what the thumbnail says). The only name in the title of the actual video is ケロロ.

So here is my theory. Maybe it’s a hypothetical, but I’m going to treat it like it’s concrete for argument’s sake. In 2014, to prepare for the Flash anime and related branding, Kadokawa filed for the trademark ケロロ—individually, without 軍曹. Because it was the 2010s at that point, it’s possible that downloadable animation was more specifically defined in the group codes filed for, even though the Flash anime did air on TV (again, the strategy to this is about covering as many potential use cases as possible for maximum copyright protection). Maybe it was under class 09, maybe it was another class, or even more than one. For whatever reason, the trademark is not publicly available. But because of what kind of animation/video/whatever that specific trademark covers, this little election video is covered under that 2014 trademark.

You might recall how I said trademarks have to be renewed every ten years. Incidentally, it just so happens that 2014 was ten years ago. Most likely, the (secret?) trademark was recently renewed so that stuff like this would be allowed to be made and can continue to be made in the future, independently from “Keroro Gunso” as defined by the 2004-verse and the manga proper. And because 2014 is the original filing year of that trademark, that is the year that is displayed with this project, even if the trademark was renewed in 2024, or some other recent year. By the way, all the ケロロ軍曹 trademarks I covered were also renewed this decade, so Kadokawa can keep on doing whatever exactly they were doing with those. There’s probably even more hidden-from-public-view trademarks, who knows, there’s a thousand potential asterisks here but you get the picture.

Fascinating, isn’t it? As I said, it’s possible that I’m just talking out of my ass and all of this is either way more simple or way more complicated than I’m making it out to be, in which case I just wasted multiple paragraphs of your time. But hey, at least it was a fun lesson, right? I’m not the only one interested in this, right? RIGHT?!?!?!

Okay, I’m just about done here, but I’m going to tell you something plot twisty. Do you know what actually first clued me in to the fact that this was not made in 2014 before it was confirmed to be the case? Not the upload date. Not the fact that nobody ever talked about it prior to a week ago. Not even all the probably useless copyright shit I just spent a whole other post’s worth of words on.

It was this part of the video:

See, in this screenshot, if you look really closely, you’ll notice that Kururu is using an iPhone parody with three cameras. The first iPhones with three cameras were released in 2019. Therefore, this could not have been made in 2014. This stupid detail is what it took to get me to think about this video for more than thirty seconds.

Thank you, Kururu’s crippling iPhone addiction.

So yeah, go out and vote or whatever, wherever you guys are. Otherwise you’ll have to look Mois in the eyes and tell her no, and that will make her very sad, and she might blow up the planet as consequence. Not that the planet isn’t already being destroyed. Any of my fellow Americans want to join me for a screaming session following the last few days of federal fuckery? I’ll bring chocolate-covered pretzels to snack on and we’ll write the names of corporate lobbyists on them, it’ll be fun.

[sserpente]

After Christmas

“This wasn't the first time you ran from the police, was it?”

Eddie grinned. “Nah.”

Words: 1452 Warnings: fluff and… running from the police I guess?

“What do I do?” Flabbergasted, you stared at the game board before you, blinking as if their position would change on their own accord.

Your party had packed up and left about ten minutes ago and while Eddie was gathering his super-secret DM notes, you made no move to get going as well.

“They’re gonna save you,�� Eddie replied matter-of-factly. “They have to. If you die, they’ll never be able to infiltrate the castle.”

Your character had been abducted by an NPC today, one you had thought you could trust because damn, Eddie was the best Dungeon Master you had ever played D&D with. The way he told the stories, described what was happening, set the scene and acted out the non-player characters… he was incredible, and it was hardly short of a miracle you’d quickly—secretly—developed a crush on him.

And now, one of the sexiest NPCs he had made up for your character to unintentionally drool over had kidnapped them and dragged them to their secret lair. A vampire… eager to turn you into their obedient and pretty little spawn.

“She’s gonna turn into what she hates the most!”

“She might not if your party saves her in time.”

“Eddie, what am I supposed to do in the next session? What’s gonna happen to her?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. She’s not lost yet. Strahd’s obsessed with her. He’s not gonna hurt her, he won’t let her die. He might, uh…” Eddie paused and gave you a timid glance. “He might take her for dinner and then hang out with her at Lover’s Lake, trying to win her over?”

“Are you asking me out right now?”

“Maybe?”

Your heart jumped. “Jesus, I’ve been waiting for you to do that since we first met! I was too shy to ask you…”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

You chuckled. “Yes.”

“A-alright then…” he laughed, cheeks turning red. “What do you fancy?”

“I’m happy with a burger and fries. And then a beer after?”

Eddie nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.” He was beaming. And all of a sudden, his super-secret DM notes were all but forgotten. You were rather proud of that, truth be told.

Heavens, the boy was nervous. Gone was the dominant and confident dungeon master giving your characters a hard time—instead, Eddie tried his utmost best to be a gentleman. He opened the car door for you, insisted on paying for your burger and fries, and Jesus, the little touches he stole had you melt.

“Look what I got,” he said once you’d both finished your meal at Benny’s. He pulled out a small and crumbled plastic bag filled with two pre-rolled cigarettes.

“Is that what I think it is?” you asked, lowering your voice.

“Yep. That shit’s strong as fuck. Rick let me keep two for myself, for a special occasion.”

You smiled, tilting your head at him. “Oh? Am I the special occasion?”

“Yes. You are.” He called you by your character name, putting on his Strahd voice in the process. You giggled as if you were drunk. Drunk on him. God, you probably were.

“Hey, Eddie? What would happen if my character did end up turning into a spawn?” you asked as you walked back to his van and made your way toward Lover’s Lake. It was pitch-black outside by now, the street lanterns doing little to illuminate anything but the road ahead of you which made driving directly into the woods almost a little scary, especially with all the snow around you.

“Well… I’d be able to control her. She’d be bound to obey Strahd which means he could order her to turn on her own friends if he wanted to.”

“It’s starting to sound a little like Beauty and the Beast though. If Strahd takes her out for burgers and then a romantic get-together by the lake, I don’t think she’d mind being his spawn.”

“Oh, you say that now.” Eddie grinned as if he’d already planned the most evil campaign he could possibly think of. “I’ll keep her… I mean he… he’ll keep her all to himself.”

Blushing, you looked out of the window in an attempt to calm your rapid heartbeat. Mere moments later and before you could drown yourselves in silence, the car came to a stop. Eddie parked only a few yards away from the lake and shut off the engine before helping you climb out and then retrieved a picnic blanket from the boot.

“You came prepared.”

“A DM has to be ready for all eventualities.”

“Like kidnapping an elf princess?”

“Like kidnapping an elf princess and seducing her to stay with him until she falls in love with him.”

Soon enough, you were smoking together, cuddling, and watching the surface of the quiet lake glisten under the stars. You talked about D&D, music, dreams, love, and life… until you were pretty certain that you had found the one.

“Hey, Eddie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I never thanked you. When I moved here, I expected to be an outsider all over again. Let’s face it, society doesn’t like people like us. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Thank you. You’re a hero, you know. A rockstar.”

Eddie smiled, his cheeks reddening. He looked absolutely adorable in the pale moonlight. What if you simply… leaned forward and kissed him? It would be so easy… you’d been wanting to do it for so long, and now that you were here, by the lake, in the dark, just the two of us… there was nothing stopping anymore, now was there?

“Munson? Is that you, kid?” Hopper. In other words—police. Damn it. Panicked, you scrambled back to your feet in an attempt to destroy the evidence of weed. But there was no way of course you’d be able to get rid of the smell before he reached you.

“Shit. Come with me. Run.”

Eddie grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him through the forest before you had properly processed his sudden flight instinct. But then again, it probably wasn’t the first time he got in trouble with the chief…

Through the trees you went, running until you were out of breath and giggling all the way until the sweet metalhead beckoned you into what you could only describe as a boathouse. Empty beer cans and tools were lying around, a couple of fishing rods along the side.

“In here, quick!” He pointed at the boat and pulled the tarp back so you could hide inside. You climbed in and watched how he all but jumped into the boat himself and then drew the plastic cover over the both of you.

Silence, heavy breathing. The scent of weed, cigarette smoke, and his leather jacket filling your nostrils…

It was a lot more comfortable than you’d expected. Someone—either Rick or Eddie himself—had loaded a shit ton of blankets in the boat, presumably to hang out in… or to do other activities. Either way, you weren’t going to complain. It was cosy. Cheeky.

“This wasn't the first time you ran from the police, was it?” You shuffled closer, smirking at him.

Eddie grinned. “Nah.”

“He’s gonna find your car eventually.”

“Yeah. I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Rick won’t mind if we hide out here until it’s clear.”

His grin turned downright mischievous—you couldn’t see it properly, of course. But you could certainly feel it instead, especially when he pulled out a green plant-looking object out of the inner pocket of his battle jacket.

“What’s that? More weed? It’s too dark, I can’t tell.”

“It’s a mistletoe. Stole it from our neighbour when she threw out her Christmas tree.”

“Wait… how long has that been in your pocket?”

“A few days. Guess I was, uh… waiting for the right moment.” He didn’t have to say it. That moment was now.

Smiling, you cupped his face in your hands and pulled him close for a kiss. His soft lips moved against yours almost timidly even though it became clear fast he had experience. You wrapped your leg around his hips, a sigh escaping you when he got a little braver and deepened the kiss by teasingly sliding his tongue across your lower lip.

“Damn…” Eddie whispered when you both broke away for air.

“Do you think he gave up?” You whispered. Your lips grazed his, his taste lingering in your mouth.

“Probably. But we should probably stay here… for a while… you know… just to be sure.”

You grinned. “I can think of a few things to pass the time. I hope you brought condoms too.”

“Damn…” Eddie said again. It was the last word either of you spoke for the next hours.

A/N: Damn, how is the year almost over?! Oh well! I've got one last New Year's Imagine planned to post on the 31st, you can vote which character I should write it for if you like! ♥