#idk how tumblr works except that they fuck up a lot

[iamstuckinthevoid]

Da Luffy Tab is visible to everyone and is most likely advertising for a netflix show that's coming out on Thursday and (I hypothesize) tumblr fucked up and probably realeased the tab too early, that's the why there are only like 5 posts in there because that Tab most likely isn't supposed to be out yet

Ohhhhh thanks mate

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer Epilogue - Part Two

Masterlist - Part One - Part Two

pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+) minors DNI (you guys they go the fuck off idk what to tell you, gird your loins), pregnancy, mentions of sickness and vomiting, traumatic flashbacks, angst, swearing (please let me know if I missed anything, there's a lot going on here)

word count: 10k (still a beast but come on tumblr)

a/n: you guys don't look at me I am not kidding when I tell you this is NOTHING but filthy rabid smut

“Please,” you cry, “Please, please, please–”

“Good girl,”

You barely have time to register the way those words cause your walls to flutter and clench before he catches you in a tight, wet seal of heat, and goes to work with the soft warmth of that worship you’ve been waiting for. 

Your eyes slide shut, and your head drops back into the pillows. Somewhere in the distance, your mixtape has changed tracks again, and Heart is playing a heady soundtrack of commiseration as Eddie makes a meal out of you.  

Ohhh, he’s a magic man, Mama… and you can’t help but agree. 

The sweet warmth of concentrated attention fills your senses and makes your insides feel heavy — tongue, lips, gentle suction, bright burst of pleasure, rinse and repeat. 

A single direct graze, the stuttered rise and fall of your chest quivering on the beginnings of a needy whimper.

Christ, you always forget how good he is at this. You don’t know why, except that maybe the reverent finesse with which he applies the perfect combination of tongue and teeth and lips is enough to completely wipe your memory.

Eddie has always had a knack at turning that good head atop your shoulders into a useless piece of wanting, whorish meat, and part of you is certain that is never going to change. 

Your knees drift impossibly wider, allowing him the space to do all that he has to, and with every confident swipe of that lithe muscle, you feel yourself growing a little stupider in the best possible way. 

He teases your drooling center with the tip of his tongue, drawing a tight circle ‘round and ‘round and gently probing until your jaw goes slack on a moan that you swallow before it can escape. 

You set your teeth, breathe in through your nose – steal half a dozen pregnancy tests and go all the way across town to drop your jeans and pee on the stick and wait wait wait – 

“Eddie—” you whine. 

“That’s it. Keep talking, Baby…” Eddie hums, you flinch against the fanning of his breath against your slick folds, “Wanna hear that sweet voice of yours…” 

Shit — fuck, oh fuck… should you keep trying to tell him? Where did you leave off? 

Thankfully, your man is nothing if not a gentleman and is more than happy to prompt you. 

“Something good but…?”

“B-but…” You stutter, gasp, “But it's-it’s kind of –ahh, hmm– kind of … s-s-scary.” 

Your fingers drifting instinctually down to knot themselves in the tangled halo of still-damp curls set snuggly between your trembling thighs. You’d intended to use your grip to ease him back — because you’re going to need the use of your brain if you expect to get anywhere with this confession— but you suddenly don’t know which way is up and end up pulling him closer rather than edging him away. 

You rake your nails over his scalp and tense against the way he hums in encouragement, bucking your hips forward and grinding against his face in search of more more more… 

Eddie hooks his hands under your hips and pulls you closer. Closer, closer, he always needs you closer, and you’re nothing if not happy to oblige him. 

A vulgar wet smack rings out a little too loudly through the room and your stomach clenches, cheeks burning with the lewdness of it. 

For a time that seems to stretch on and on and on indefinitely, the pair of you simply exist like that, sealed together by one lewd point of slurping, sopping, writhing connection. You’ve lost complete track of yourself, where you end and Eddie begins, and suddenly there is nothing and no one but you and him and this moment of mounting ecstasy. 

If you had any functional use of your brain at that moment, you might have tried to reign yourself in a little, because you’ve suddenly become exceedingly vocal – vocal in the way your neighbors are bound to complain about later on – but what's a girl to do when her head has gone so empty?

You’re aching inside, moaning so loud that you’re practically howling with ecstasy, and you can barely hear the music, imploring you to come on home girl – you’ll be there before you know it if he keeps up like this.

“So good to me,” Eddie moans when he breaks for air, “Always so good to me – let me be good to you, huh? Let me treat you right…” 

Pussy drunk is perhaps the best way to describe the slurring, heady timbre he’s suddenly adopted, and the notion would have made you laugh if you weren’t feeling its effects too. You can barely think through the fog of impending orgasm.

You lick your lips and nod your head — yes, he’s so good, it’s so so good and you’re so close– 

“Huah fuck! Jesus Christ—!” You yelp, hips bucking up at the sudden and startling intrusion of the two thick fingers you were not prepared to receive, stretching you and crooking up to tease the coil in your belly tighter and tighter. 

“Nope, still me,” he says — Jackass — and you can feel his teeth on your pussy as he smiles.

“Fuck you” you’d meant to say, but with your wires so hopelessly crossed, you get lost along the way and forget just who the sentiment is meant for.

“Fuck me,” you gasp, head lolling back again into the pillows as it swells and becomes suddenly much too heavy to lift.

“Be patient, Sweetheart,”

Oh, he’s the worst – he’s the absolute worst.    

The rational part of your brain that wants so badly to be heard might usually suggest that a fella ought to warn a girl before he goes doing something like that, but it has gone suddenly very quiet under the muffled howling of your animal brain when Eddie turns his attention to that swollen bundle of nerves, so woefully unattended to.

You curl your hands into fists in his hair and you pull. Harder than you’d meant to, but there are no small measures when he’s sucking and fucking you like a drowning man fighting for air.   

A particularly sharp burst of pleasure has you yanking hard enough on his hair to jerk him up ever so slightly, and Eddie makes a noise that nearly sends you over the edge. It’s the kind of noise that is going to haunt you later in the most inopportune moment, and he grips your thigh so tightly, you know it’s going to bruise. 

You don’t care. That useless slab of meat occupying space in your skull is more concerned with canting your hips forward and back in a stuttering rhythm, trying so desperately to match time with Eddie’s fingers, all while he’s still got your clit trapped in the tight seal of his lips — sucking, sucking, fucking hell, you’re so close.

Tragically, before you can let him in on that secret, he releases you with an unbearably loud slurp that sends a chill rocketing up your spine. A man’s got to breathe, sure, but you still whine out your disappointment in the sudden absence of that sinful mouth. 

Eddie leans heavily against the trembling flesh of your inner thigh as he fills his lungs. He rubs his face against you to wipe away the slickness coating his lips and chin before evidently changing his mind about that, and lapping it back up with gentle kitten licks. Each shy swipe of his tongue brings with it a hungry sound of ecstasy, rumbling up from his chest.

You shudder and clench almost painfully around his probing fingers, and you can feel him smiling against you again — God, he’s the worst — working you in the way he knows best and getting off to it. 

You can’t see him doing it, but you can feel the bed moving independently of you, and the haggard uneven cadence of his breath fanning your folds and drying the sweat in the crook of your thigh tacky. You can hear him tugging on his cock, using your slick to ease the friction, and it’s entirely too much. 

The sound is already halfway out of your mouth before you realize you’re even making it. You’d only meant to try and breathe out, but the raunchy schlick schlick schlick of skin on skin as he fucks his fist forces a strange, guttural sound out of you. One that Eddie quickly mimics.

“Yeah?” He pants, “Getting close, Sweetness?”

Close is a gross understatement – you’re right fucking there.

He curls the fingers inside of you in a come hither motion, pressing firmly into that coveted spot on your inner wall – the one you can never reach on your own – and your body lights up like a live wire. 

You pull your lower lip tight between your teeth but quickly release it as you cry out, nodding emphatically as tears suddenly prick at your lashes.

“So close,” you mewl, “God — I’m so close—“

“Don’t cry, Baby,” he says, slipping his fingers from the quivering, clenching walls of your pussy and reaching up to stroke your cheek fondly – wetly – the unabashed raunchiness of the gesture has you clenching tragically on nothing, gasping — sobbing. “Don’t worry – Daddy’s coming…” 

Ugh, God… 

He’s lucky you’re so hot for him because it just about kills the mood entirely. 

“You’re the fucking worst–” you moan, and he cackles villainously in a way that sends an electric shock right down to the base of your spine.

Eddie wipes his hand crudely on the mattress beside you, then inexplicably, he untangles himself from your legs and retreats. 

What the fuck?

In the moments it has been since he stopped finger fucking you, the coil in your belly that had been so tight, so close to snapping only moments before, begins to lose tension.

You shift up to look at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes and are devastatingly confused to find him just sitting there, sphinxlike, and watching you with immeasurable patience.  

He’s not even touching himself anymore, he’s just got that shitty little mischievous smirk on his face, and you know whatever it is he’s about to do, it’s going to be unbearable. 

Oh, it’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair. You were right there.

You squirm, trying to catch the climax that is so steadily slipping through your fingers, but every time you move your hips to try and entice him once more, he shifts backward a little further and denies you your prize. 

The coil continues to unravel, losing slack at a devastating pace. This time when you try to reach him, Eddie pushes your legs up to pin your knees against your chest, and he holds you there, bearing down on you with all his weight. 

“Eddie–” you whine. “Come on–” 

“Take it back,” he says, and you almost don’t believe you heard him correctly.

“...Huh?” you gasp, blinking stupidly up at him as he looms over you in a way that might be misconstrued as menacing on anyone else. “Take what…?”

“Tell me I’m the fucking best,” He demands, shifting off the mattress and slowly easing out of his boxers. 

“W-what?” you stammer, trying not to get caught on the way his cock bounces up to slap audibly against the taught line of his stomach. 

He kneels back on the bed, never taking his eyes off of you as he moves with a glacial, calculated stoicism.

“Who’s the fucking best?” he calls in a gentle sing-song, spreading your legs and pushing them flat against the mattress, splaying you open and taking a good long look at what you’ve suddenly got on display – his gaze is blown dark and wide when his eyes flit back up to your face, “And who’s the best at fucking?”

You groan. 

“Jesus – you and that fucking ego—” 

You bite your sentence off with a startled yelp as, with both hands on your hips, he yanks you further down the bed and slots himself in place between your legs.

You watch him watching you as he takes himself in hand and begins teasing you with a raunchy, painfully slow-up and down. He nudges the domed tip of his uncut cock through the dripping slick of your folds, only just barely there and not enough to actually do anything useful. 

“Take. It. Back.” He says slowly, emphasizing the words with each agonizing pass through your wetness. 

You grind out a deeply frustrated groan and push up on your elbows, shifting uncomfortably as the waterbed rocks beneath you – stupid waterbed – and opening your mouth to give him a piece of your mind.

“What makes you think you can–ah!” He snaps his hips into place with all the grace and finesse of a cowboy holstering his gun.

Eddie slides in all the way to the base and is seated firmly in your guts before you feel the press of his hips on your ass. 

Your mind turns to meat again – giddyup.

“Say it.” He says, thrusting into you and setting an agonizingly slow pace – fucking you the way he’d lay fucking the bed – and it already has you coming apart at the seams. 

You suppose that’s what you get for teasing him earlier.  

“Hah–!–fucking shit! I take— Jesus Christ — I take it back!” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

You feel every inch as he pulls back and almost all the way out before snapping back again, each hungry thrust slamming home with enough force to make you see stars. Your arms tremble and fail under your weight, and you drop back into the pillows.

He’s punishing you for something, you know it. Maybe for being mean, for yelling at him, or maybe for making him wait around all afternoon and refusing to tell him where you went, but it’s punishment all the same. 

Eddie’s not cruel, but he likes to take his time as he dismantles you. He likes it painfully slow and hard enough to knock the headboard against the wall, and you are nothing if not the impatient recipient of his love.

“...you’re so… hah – s-so…” You try to say, but he drives the words right out of you with a sharp snap of his hips.

“So what?”

He knows exactly how stupid he’s making you. 

“So f-fuckingg mean…”

You can feel the vibration of his laughter buzzing into you through his cock and it’s nearly enough to make you seize.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” he pants, “Tell me how much you like it,”

You try to answer, to tell him to fuck off and stop bossing you around, but you’ve been rendered understandably mute as you fist your hands in the sheets and do your best to push back against him and meet his every thrust. It’s difficult with the waterbed roiling beneath you, but you try all the same because you know at this pace he isn’t going to last long and you’ll be damned if he runs out of steam before you cum. 

And then, almost as if he’d anticipated the thought, Eddie puts a hand on your hip and forces you down, holding you pinned so you can’t do more than take what he has to give.   

It is only enough to keep you teetering on the torturous edge, never enough to send you over, never too little to draw you back, but it feels so fucking good.

This is why you really let him fuck you into oblivion every night. Not because he needs it or because it’s one of the only things that stirs the embers of his old personality. 

It’s because he’s really, really fucking good at it.

You can feel the litany of whorish noises flowing from your lips more than you can hear them over the vulgar sounds that fill the air with every pass of his cock through your aching hole. 

You’re painfully tuned into it all: the harsh slap of skin on skin, his soft grunting and moaning fills the room as he moves, and the slick mess dripping down the backs of your thighs, making for a smooth glide in and out of you and helping him to sustain his quickening pace. 

You’re suddenly so wet. You can feel it making a sopping wet mess of him as well as yourself, and it’s enough to make your toes curl and your walls flutter. You clench over the length of him, drawing a low rattling moan from deep within his chest, and feel a bright burst of warm satisfaction flood your veins.

Good to know you’re not the only one so affected by this. 

You’re only vaguely aware of all the things Eddie has begun to say as he fucks you. The raunchy little questions and affirmations to which you can only nod along in consent, too drunk on the delicious sensation of being so perfectly stretched to form any kind of coherent response.

You can’t believe you weren’t going to let him fuck you tonight.

Yes, it feels good — so, fucking good. Yes, you like it when he fucks you like this —faster, more! Yes, you’re his good girl, taking him so well — don’t stop — yes, yes yes yes…!

“God–” He grinds out, cutting into the endless tide of your babbling, “—I can feel you squeezing me – Jesus — fuck, you’re so tight…”

The sudden vice Eddie has on your waist is a crushing thing as he forces your knees up and bears down on you with all his weight. He’s suddenly so much deeper than he was before, pressed flat against you and as close as he can possibly get (without slipping beneath your skin). 

He begins a punishingly slow, grind, just the perfect amount of friction against the swollen, needy bundle of your nerves to have you writhing under him.

Now, this? This is exactly how you like it. 

Your eyes roll back and slide shut as you press your head into the pillows and arch beneath him, exposing the tender columns of your throat and mewling at the intensity of this new position.

“Oh— f-f-uh—!” You bite the curse off with a shrill gasp, one hand flying down to grip his wrist as his palm splays over the lowest point of your belly, applying pressure there like he is in danger of bursting through your abdomen and needs to hold himself in, “Fuck! E-Eddie—!”

“I know, Baby,” He grinds out, cupping your cheek with a tender, sweaty hand, “I know…”

You’ve got your lower lip pulled so tightly between your teeth that you half expect to taste blood as the heat in your abdomen quickly begins to bloom and wind itself into the tight, vibrating coil which had eluded you before. Your lips part on a gasp, and he presses the pad of his thumb down into the middle of your tongue. You close your mouth around the digit and suck the lingering salt of your own desire from where it has dried tacky on his skin. 

Eddie moans, and after a moment, you can feel him beginning to tremble. He falls forward to brace a hand on the mattress beside your head, and he keeps fucking you, but with decidedly less gusto than a moment before as his thrusts become sloppy and immeasured.

You heart jumps in anticipation of what is about to happen.

“Are you close?” You ask, curling your fingers around his quivering, sweaty forearm.

He’s breathing so hard over you, you might be surprised to learn he wasn’t teetering on the edge of an earth-shattering orgasm, but only if you didn’t know what you knew about Eddie’s stamina these days.  

“Uh… hah – n-not quite, Sweetheart.” He says, swallowing hard and gasping out a haggard, raspy breath, “Not yet… but I’m getting there.”

Oh, shit – you were afraid he was gonna say that. He’s getting tired, too tired to keep up this pace at least, and that means you’re suddenly on a time limit here. 

The problem with Eddie on top these days is he has, unfortunately, become all bark and no bite. 

He can’t do a lot of things he used to, like sit up straight in a chair for too long, or run faster than a staggering jog, or fuck you like he used to without cramping, stuttering, and losing steam before either of you can finish. 

It’s not his fault, and yet it is, because he quit physical therapy before he could make any real headway, and more specifically because he smoked half a pack of Camels today.

Suddenly faced with the possibility that he might not finish, you take matters into your own hands.

“Come on,” you say, reaching up to hold the back of his neck, pulling him down so you’re nose to nose. You kiss him, “Don’t stop, you’re almost there.”

He nods and does his best to find his rhythm again, and you do all that you can to assist him in that. You hook a leg over his hip when he paws at your knee, feeling only the slightest bit of difference in this new position, lying on your side and facing him. 

“Doing so good,” you say, hoping that a little praise will be as effective on him as it is on you, “Keep going – that’s it, that’s my good boy…”

“Oh, fu– fuck!” he stammers, sweaty fringe sticking to the both of you as you knock foreheads.

Normally, referring to Eddie as your “Good Boy” is just about enough to turn him completely feral, and despite the eagerness it attempts to muster in him, he only manages a short burst of wild thrusting before he stutters and falls off his rhythm altogether. 

It draws a pitiful whine from deep within you as the orgasm you’d been hurdling toward begins to turn gossamer and slip through your fingers.

You try to take as much of the slack as you can and smother him with everything you know drives him crazy. 

“Such a good boy… so good for me,” You moan in a hushed and breathy whisper. “Love you fucking me like this – love you so much. God – don’t stop, Eddie… don’t–”

He tries to oblige you – he really does – picking up the rhythm again and again, but it’s slower every time he falters, and the desperate canting of your hips becomes borderline violent as you attempt to compensate for the way he’s steadily flagging.

He’s burning so hot and shaking badly enough that you have half a mind to put your hand on his forehead and check his temperature, but you know his is a fever of a different kind, and it sends a hot wave of pressure blooming in your stomach. 

You’re almost there, you just need a little longer and you’re almost certain you can get him there too if you can make this last, but after only a few more arrhythmic stops and starts, Eddie makes a harsh sound and hitches as something evidently pulls in his bad side. 

“Ow, shit–!” he yelps, stopping to grasp at the spot where it suddenly hurts, “Ah – Goddammit…”

“What’s wrong?” You ask, but he’s shaking his head, and you know before he says anything that he’s reached the end of his tether.

“I can’t–” he says, fighting for breath between every word, “Baby, I’m sorry … I gotta … I gotta stop,” 

He drops heavily on top of you, crushing you flat, and just like that, he’s finished without either of you managing to cum. 

Goddammit indeed.  

You try not to let him hear the agitated sigh you breathe as he rolls off of you, painting you in his sweat and sliding onto his back with a weighty groan. For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to him try to catch his breath as the euphoric high of your bunnyfucking steadily begins to fade.

“Sorry, Baby,” Eddie’s voice comes lilting up from your right side, bracketed by the charcoally rattle of his labored breathing. 

You pull your shoulders up and cross your arms over your chest, hugging your biceps as you sigh. 

“You tried your best,”

“Don’t say that,” he says, sounding incredibly hurt by the idea that that could be his best.

He didn’t even finish.

“Why not?” you ask, turning over to face him, “Didn’t you?” 

It occurs to you that it sounds a tad too much like an accusation, but before you can rethink your tone, it’s his turn to sigh. It’s a deeply frustrated thing that quickly turns into a loud groan as he throws his arms over his eyes.

“Fuck me,” Eddie growls.

After a moment, you sit up and cross your legs, staring down at the pitiful, sulking form of your boyfriend – another image you would hang with the placard of “man’s mounting shame” – then again, maybe not, considering the indecent little detail of his hard-on is still lying stiffly against his belly. 

Evidently, not every part of his body got the message that the game was over. He may be done, but his dick is not, which means it’s not all bad news.    

He did just ask you to fuck him after all. 

“Lay back,” you say.

Eddie drops his arms to watch as you swing your leg over to straddle him.    

He puts his hands on your hips and gets caught in a volleying back and forth of looking up at you and looking down at where you’re settling over him, like he can’t believe you would do something so generous. 

“You sure?” He asks unevenly, and you shush him.

“Just lay back,”

“...You’re an angel, you know that?” Eddie sighs and does as he’s told, settling back into the pillows and letting you take the reins.   

You resist the urge to tell him you’re only trying to get off, and let him believe it’s a tirelessly selfless act as you lift up onto your knees, carefully taking his tender, twitching cock in hand and guiding it home once more. 

If he knew how self serving the gesture really was, you don’t think he would mind, because at least this way he still gets to cum. 

You do all the work, and you’re still the vessel. 

Eddie breathes out a weighty, relieved sigh, and you shudder as he slips in with only the slightest bit of resistance. You never get used to that initial stretch the pull of gravity gives in this position as you sink down over the broad flare of him. 

You’d been on top the first time you’d ever slept together, and you remember thinking that it was a deeply generous gesture on Eddie’s part, letting you set the pace like that. He’d pulled you so tight against him that night and held you close as he guided you through those first few moments of bright and blinding discomfort. It was the best first time a girl could hope for, and you used to love being on top, but these days, it’s never as good as it used to be. 

With you on top, Eddie is more than likely just going to lie there with his hands on your hips while you do all the work. He’s a considerate lover when he’s not tired, or at least he used to be, but you can’t imagine he’s got much steam left after the earlier pace he’d set. 

What it really means, however, is that you have got to be very careful how you proceed, or the orgasm you’d been hurdling toward moments ago will have a very good chance of wandering off entirely. So, you shut your eyes, and you go to work, with your brows furrowed and your lower lip pulled taught between your teeth in concentration.

At some point over the course of the last few minutes, your mixtape ended, so the room is nearly silent as you bounce and listen to the soft, wet sounds that steadily begin to fill the room again. The much quieter groaning and muttered praise – coming entirely from Eddie’s end this time – your own breathing, the halfhearted creak of the bedframe, and worst of all, the loud slopping of the mattress roiling beneath you.

It’s all suddenly unbearably gross.

You do your best to shut it out and focus on the stretch when you drop, the pull when you lift up again, and how you can feel every ridge and imperfection sliding through your pussy. 

It's not nearly as effective as it was before, but then again, you don’t have nearly as much help this time. Something stirs in the pit of your stomach, and it is tragically not the first inklings of an orgasm. You breathe out slowly to try and banish the sick feeling roiling there, and distantly feel a muted stab of pleasure make an attempt at rising to claim the real estate it vacates. 

It’s middling, at best, but it’s better than nothing.   

Had you been looking, you would have seen Eddie staring, eyes hooded and mesmerized by the joining of your bodies.

You would see him looking so completely lovesick and watching the creamy slick ring dripping down to wet the thatch of coarse hair at the junction of his trembling thighs. It might even be enough to help you skip the prerequisite buildup and jump right to the ecstasy, but you’re not looking. You’re too busy rising up on your knees and dropping back down at a starkly disciplined pace – not so fast that you might bite things off too soon, but not too slow as to lose the steady building of bright sensation, welling in the pit of your stomach for the third time.

You shift, trying to find the perfect angle, to emulate the way he so easily takes you to pieces. Every one of your calculated movements is made with extreme caution as you work to construct that elusive tower of power. You don’t understand how Eddie does it, how he always knows exactly where to touch you, where to find that perfect spot and press on it until you’re a blubbering sloppy mess. 

Maybe if you can just – a slight shift backward. A little to the left … you know it’s there, if only because of how aggressively he’d been pounding on it only a few moments ago – bastard. You grit your teeth and breathe out hard through your nose, searching… searching … getting warmer. 

You jump as you feel the tip of him graze it – that elusive spot – and gasp at the bright sensation darting shyly across your midsection and fight to remember just exactly what you did to get there.

Then, your concentration falters when you feel Eddie reach up to paw at your tits and tug impatiently at the hem of your shirt.

“Take this off,” he says, voice thick with the gravely timbre of arousal.

You swat his hands away.

“Shh, I’m trying to concentrate,” 

It’s suddenly so much harder to pretend that this hasn’t become a completely self serving act – the bloom is officially off the evening’s rose. He makes a put-out sound in the hollow of his throat and answers you with no small amount of sarcasm. 

“Oh, boy, isn’t that sexy?” 

“Eddie – shut up,” you warn him and brace your hands on his stomach, tilting forward ever so slightly to try and change the angle without losing your rhythm.

You’re not trying to be sexy, you’re just trying to get this over with, and if he’s too stupid to realize that, that’s his problem. 

Don’t be unkind – that little nagging voice can shut up too. If Eddie doesn’t let you cum this time, you’re going to kill him.

The rocking of the waterbed is so much worse up here, and suddenly you’re teetering on the edge of seasickness. You drop your chin to your chest as another wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you grab for Eddie’s hand, peeling his fingers away from the fat of your hip and moving them to the point of your connection.

The way you see it, he might as well do something while he’s doing nothing.  

Thankfully, he takes the hint without needing to be asked, and presses his thumb down, drawing tight, firm circles over your clit that sends out an immediate beacon of relief. Waves of ecstasy bleed up into your abdomen, steadily smothering the sick feeling scrambling for purchase there, and you sigh out a wistful moan of pleasure.

And thank God for that.

“Like that–?” He tries – you put your hand over his mouth.

Normally, you like how mouthy he is during sex, but under those circumstances you would have already cum twice by now, so what you need is for him to shut his goddamn mouth and let you do this.

Why can’t he just shut up and let you finish what he started? That fantastic, euphoric thing?      

You need to feel that again, feel him, but you’re not as good as he is at this, and you’re starting to grow numb under the continued up and down, hitting all the wrong spots and hopeless to find the right one again without his help.

You fold under the weight of the conflicting sensations – the middling results of your bouncing and the building pressure of his thumb on your clit – and you fall forward. Forearms braced on the bed, bracketing Eddie’s head, your hips stutter and you fall off your rhythm. 

You drop your head to press your forehead to his and hum out your frustration. 

“Help me,” You say breathlessly, and if there is one thing you can trust in on this good green Earth, it is that Eddie will do anything you ask, no matter what. 

You gasp when he rolls his hips and instantly strikes the spot you’d been working so hard to find. It’s a halfhearted effort because he’s too tired to do much else, but he curls his free arm around your back and pulls you flush to his sweat slicked body.

Your legs drift wider over top of him, and with the gentle rocking added to the dutiful ministrations of his fingers on your clit, you finally start to get somewhere.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck and moan, and the part of you that loves him so badly you feel insane with it sometimes, even when you can’t stand him, urges you to bite him. Not hard, you don’t want to hurt him, but there’s something primal about the need to feel his skin between your teeth.

Something about his neck has always made you hungry, ever since you first met, you’ve always felt the need to sink your teeth in, but the tender, puckered skin beneath your lips as they part reminds you that you are not the only creature who has ever given in to that urge. You want to bite him, to thank him and let him know just how much you love him, but it’s because you love him that you won’t do it (even if he did it to you first).

You press your tongue to the ruined skin stretched over his jugular and taste the salt of him. The hand pressed to the small of your back comes up to cradle the back of your neck as you lathe and gently suckle the spot, hyper conscious of every wonderful sound it pulls from him, waiting for the slightest hint that it is becoming too much. 

But fucking him like this suddenly feels so unbearably impersonal – he could be anyone laying beneath you. Not truly, because his is the only body you’ve ever known and you know his body as well as you do your own.

You’d know him in the dark with your eyes closed (you have, many times before) but a misplaced, creeping dread building at the base of your spine is suddenly so worried he won’t be there if you look, despite the needy pull of his hands and the gentle fanning of his breath warming you. It’s been too long since you checked to make sure he is still here with you.

You need to be sure, but, if you open your eyes, you’re half afraid you’re going to lose your concentration and all this will have been for nothing – it’s never for nothing, but some nights you need those means at the end of that long and winding road as badly as he does – so you reach out with scrabbling fingers and take a possessive fist of his hair. 

Eddie groans out a pitiful sound, and when you give a sharp tug to his scalp, his hips buck up, driving him deeper into the greedy sucking heat of your pussy. 

You gasp and share the sentiment of “oh, fuck”, which comes tumbling from both your mouths when you spasm around him.   

“Shit—getting close,” Eddie says, and you’re struck with an oddly contrary feeling.

You’re not nearly there yet, so you pull tighter, and you rock your hips back and try to force some kind of a synergy into your conjoined, sloppy movements. No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to manage to get in sync. 

You roll your hips over top of him like he isn’t even there, and fuck him the same way you would fuck a pillow you’d forced into the shape of something. You’re using him to get off rather than working together, and if you were thinking clearly, if you weren’t just trying to cum, you might understand that that was the issue here. 

You feel the muscles in his abdomen tense and release as he makes a high, desperate noise and tries to swallow it down. He starts to squirm and writhe beneath you, and you know he’s reached the edge – he’s about to cum.

You also know that by the way he’s suddenly gone silent, he’s probably fighting tooth and nail to hold on to it until you can get there, and you hate him for being such a gentleman. 

“Fuck-fuck –” he pants after a long moment of squirming, “Baby – tell me-tell me you’re close – I can’t…m’gonna–”

“Don’t–” you gasp, seizing him by the jaw and pushing bolt upright so you can ride him in earnest. “Don’t you dare!” 

You don’t even want to hear him say it. He hums out a pathetic whine, but nods in agreement. He won’t cum until you do, and you’re gonna hold him to it. 

You rock your hips violently back in forth, rising on your knees until he’s almost slipped out of you entirely and dropping with enough force to make him grunt with the effort. You feel almost panicky, heart pounding against your ribs as you desperately try to feel him as deeply as possible in one last ditch effort to beat him to the finish line.

You hadn’t realized that’s what you were aiming for until this moment, but that nasty little competitive streak in you has lit a fire in your belly that doesn’t feel nearly close enough to an orgasm as you need it to.

You know he can go deeper, and yet you can feel his hip bones kissing bruises into the backs of your thighs, and when that math refuses to explain itself, you release your hold on Eddie’s jaw and tilt backward, bracing your hands behind you on his trembling thighs.  

Beneath you, Eddie squirms with the effort of trying to stay above water. Had you been looking – and part of you truly wishes you had – you would have seen how he’s flushed a bright, pretty crimson all the way down to his chest, brows pinched, jaw set, teeth clenched, and upon closer inspection, you would have seen tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he goes to pieces beneath you. 

You can’t see how you’re tearing him to pieces, but you can hear it. Every needy little sound he makes as you ride him to the end of the earth.  

“Oh, God–” he chokes, “Mmmgonna cum… Baby – Sweetheart, please let me–”

“Almost there–” you gasp, reaching down to flick at your clit, “Just– just a little longer…”

“– I can’t I can’t – hnnghfffuck  – please!”

You ignore him in favor of bouncing faster, trying to keep Eddie from going to smoke beneath you, trying to keep him here with you, and he makes a harsh, pitiful noise, something crossed between the agony of ecstasy and a pained yelp.

Almost there, almost…

“Don’t stop,” you say, over and over in a breathless mantra, as if they were the magic words to push you over the edge, “Don’t stop, dont—don’t stop…” 

And then, he braces his feet on the mattress (as best he can, stupid fucking waterbed) and arches as he drives up into you, three sharp thrusts that hammer the elusive spot in your furthest wall with enough bruising force to nearly send you toppling over backward.

You would have done just that if he hadn’t seized you by your forearm to aid in the movement he wasn’t prepared to make, but it’s the last blessed push you needed to get there. 

It hits you like a freight train, without any hint of warning. Fire explodes in your belly in a storm of ecstasy that shoots sparks out to every corner of your body. You tense so hard your bones creak under the duress of your orgasm, and the sound that tears itself from your lungs is loud enough to savage your voice box. 

You’re powerless to resist the way your body seizes under the force of your climax, though distantly, you realize that’s not you – when it struck you and sent you hurdling over the side of that cliff, you pulled Eddie right down with you.

His face is screwed up in that devastated look of agony as he punches his hips up and pulls you down in the same moment. The muscles in his stomach spasm and heave with every beat of his orgasm, painting your inner walls with ropey bursts and filling you to brimming.

It’s just enough to keep the hot bloom in your abdomen undulating for that much longer, and when the initial brightness of climax releases you and finally begins to subside, you continue to tremble under the waning aftershocks of pleasure. 

Eddie sinks bonelessly beneath you, and hisses from the blessed kiss of overstimulation every time you clench over him. You don’t mean to keep doing it, but yours is a hungry pussy, and she never seems to know when enough is enough. 

When it becomes too much and those little noises become distant and pained, you push up on shaking knees. He slips out of you, you slump forward, and you lay your head on his heaving chest to listen to your favorite song as his cock grows soft against his thigh.

Eddie’s heart thumps with the erratic fervor of exhaustion as you lay pressed together, gulping down needy breaths of stagnant, sex tinged air. 

You’re vaguely aware, lying atop Eddie like this and bearing down on him with all your dead weight, that you ought to roll over, so you don’t hurt him, but your body has taken on the consistency of half-set Jell-O and you’re not certain you could move if you tried. 

Suddenly, the heavy up and down of wounded lungs fighting for air is replaced by a mirthful shaking, and you realize that Eddie is laughing. 

“Jesus fuck–” he says, completely spent yet totally satisfied and you can’t help but share the sentiment. 

You pat the side of his face with your open, sweaty palm.

“Good job.” 

“Team effort,” He peels your hand from his face and raises it to clap with a weary high five, “Go team,”

Your body trembles as you begin to snicker, and the bed moves right along with you.

“God, I hate this motherfucking bed.” Eddie sighs, and your insides bloom with residual pleasure. You win. 

You keep the triumph of that to yourself, however, and just pat him gently on the shoulder.

“I know, Eds.” 

As the blissful numbness of the afterglow begins to fade, you start to come back to your senses and realize with no small amount of aggravation that you’re going to have to get back in the shower. 

At least this time it’ll be easier to coax Eddie in with you.

Your palms stick as you brace your hands on his chest and push up, slowly, because you’re still too wobbly to trust that you won’t go toppling over again. 

When you look, there are angry red marks in his skin where you hadn’t realized you’d dug your nails in when you came, and you feel a pang of despair over hurting him.

He follows your eyes down to them, and regards them with a gentle, probing hand.

“Like ‘em?” He asks, “I just got ‘em done.” 

“Did I hurt you?”

He offers you a lopsided shrug.

“I’ve taken worse knocks,” he says, “What about you?”

“I’m okay…” you say, trying not to think about how unpleasant the cooling slickness between your thighs is. 

It suddenly reminds you far too much of sticky blood spurting with every thump of your erratic heart, and your scar throbs with the memory of how badly your hands shook as you fought to tie a tourniquet off at the top of your thigh.

You feel the pinch of fingers at your elbow as Eddie fumbles with putting a hand on you.  

“Hey, you good?” he asks unevenly, lifting his head to peer at you through heavy lidded eyes, “You’re shaking.” 

You banish any lingering feeling of your trauma, attempting to claw it’s way back to the front of your mind and give him a wry smirk.

“Wonder why,” 

He makes a pleased, fucked out sound in the hollow of his throat.

“You ready to say it now?” he asks, and when you give him a puzzled look, his eyebrows jump with innuendo, “Who’s the best at–”

You whip the pillow out from beneath his head before he can finish and hit in in the face with it.

He really is the fucking worst, and you hope he never changes.

This time when you step into the shower, you do it together. You lean heavily against each other as the stream washes away all evidence of your lovemaking – save for the bruises, of which there are many – and after, you let Eddie towel you off.

Neither of you has it in you to change the bedsheets, so you settle on laying a towel down. You’ll do laundry in the morning – it feels oddly hopeful, that there is something waiting for you on the other end of this strange, strange night, even if it’s only laundry. 

Tomorrow well and truly is another day. You settle into bed together, and take great comfort in that – you did you best, and you can try again tomorrow. 

Back to front, knees tucked in behind yours, arms around your midsection pulling you tight against him, you lay against Eddie and feel his heart beating between your shoulder blades.

Forget all your petty grievances and fears and frustrations. Forget anything but this moment and every moment you’ve had like this since you first climbed up into the hospital bed to lay against him. Whatever happens, whatever you lost, this is enough. 

It has to be, because you almost lost this, and you don’t know what you would do without it. You don’t know what you would do without him. 

Laying there in the still dark of four hundred square feet, you begin to feel something drumming on your throat. Not Eddie or anything tangible, but the urge to speak, to spill your guts, to tell the truth. 

Oh, fuck off, you tell the feeling, Alright already.

It’s only when you feel his breathing go slow and deep, and you are almost certain he is asleep do you finally muster your courage.

You’re possessed with a sudden calm. Maybe it’s because you’re certain Eddie isn’t listening, and maybe it’s because secrets are always easier to spill when whispered in the dark, but that hot coal of truth has suddenly become too much to bear. 

Behind you, Eddie shifts in his sleep, readjusts, and pulls you tighter against him so he can rest his head on yours, cheek pressed against your temple. 

You’ll tell him for real tomorrow, but right now you have to say it out loud, if only to make sure it sounds right. 

The words have to be perfect.

“Eddie, I’m pregnant,” you say to no one but the ghosts. 

Your voice bleeds into the room and sounds eerily hollow against your eardrums, but there is a truth to the words that is inarguably relieving. 

Like releasing a breath you’ve been holding too long, the tightness you’ve had in your chest all day begins to dissipate, and you finally feel like you can relax.  

And then Eddie sits up. 

“What did you just say?” He asks, and your heart leaps up into your throat so quickly you’re half afraid it’s going to come flying out of your mouth. 

Every muscle in your body goes tense as you freeze against him. You hold your breath and wait to see what will happen, what he’ll say. Maddeningly, he doesn’t say anything, he just sits there. 

You twist over to face him, and with him leaning over you, you can see the faintest suggestion of his eyes shining in the dark. For a long moment, you just lay there, staring up at him, waiting for him to speak, and suddenly so afraid of all the unknowable things that must be running through his head.

“I’m pregnant.” you say again, a little softer now that it’s the real deal. 

“Oh… okay…” He says, suddenly sounding so painfully boyish it makes your chest ache. “…okay…”

Kids having kids. 

You don’t know what to say to try and ease the shock of it all, because you’ve already been through the rollercoaster of thoughts and feelings and emotions he is bound to be experiencing and you hadn’t done so well with the information yourself.  

After a moment, the silence becomes unbearable.   

“I just… thought you should know…” You say, “…It’s yours.”

“Oh…” he says again, then “...yeah, ’course it is.” almost like he’s assuring himself of that fact rather than agreeing with you.

Whose else would it be? It’s not like you’re opening your legs up for anyone else around here. Still, the way you can’t read any sort of emotion on Eddie makes your chest go tight with panic. You want to shake him and snap him out of the paralysis that seems to have seized him, but you can’t make yourself move. 

“I don’t know what to do.” You say, and it’s finally enough to get him to look at you again.  

“Me neither.” He says. 

It’s a deeply disappointing thing to hear. You hadn’t realized just how much stock you’d put into Eddie telling you exactly how to proceed. How heavily you’d been leaning on that crutch. With it kicked so unceremoniously out from under you, you fall.

Your voice is wet and burbling when you speak, tears are collecting on your lashes and it would be almost startling if they hadn’t been simmering just beneath the surface all day – all month if you were being honest with yourself.  

“What should I do, Eddie?”

Something changes in the dark, a shift in the air, a flicker of something across his face that is gone before you can read it, and he lays his palm on your cheek. 

“...You should go to sleep, Sweetheart.” He says softly, “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

It’s not what you wanted to hear. You wanted him to have all the answers, to solve your problems with a gentle guiding hand, but you conveniently forgot that he doesn’t know any better than you do. 

He is right, though. There’s nothing you can do about it right now. You could stay up talking about it all night, you suppose, but what good would that do?

You’re tired. He’s tired. Even without the rabid session of mindless bunnyfucking, you had yourselves a day and a half, and you can feel it turning to sediment in your bones. 

You need to sleep. You should sleep while you still can.

And then, you're struck between the eyes with the memory of having heard somewhere that most new parents don’t sleep for the first year of their baby’s life. You don’t know which part of that intrusive factoid is more startling: the idea that you’re not going to sleep for a whole year or the concept that you are going to be parents. 

Eddie can’t be somebody’s father, you’re thinking as you cross your hands over your chest and stare up at the ceiling, He can barely take care of himself. 

Don’t sell yourself short, Babycakes, the Eddie part of you chides. You’re not doing so hot yourself. 

Out of the dark, you feel the real Eddie’s hand come down to grip yours and crush your fingers into a fist. 

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, the sweet sureness of his tone chasing away the snarling angry doppelganger that lives in your mind’s eye, “We don’t have to worry about it until tomorrow,” 

We.

The relief you feel to have someone shoulder the burden you’ve been struggling with all day is enough to push you back to tears. You swallow hard and breathe out a shaky, wet sigh, and sniffle when Eddie squeezes your hand and tells you once again not to worry about it.

Easy for him to say, he’s not the one who is about to become a human incubator.

But he is right.

There is nothing either of you can do about it in the hours preluding twilight. Tomorrow is another day, and for now, you only have to do exactly what you’ve been wanting to do all evening.

You’ll sleep this weirdness off, and feel better in the morning.

Somehow you don’t believe that for a second.

You roll over, and let your eyes slide shut when Eddie pulls you snug against him again, but you don’t sleep. You just lay there feeling his shallow breathing fan your neck and his fingers flex periodically over the curve of your hip. 

A little while later, he shifts and rolls away from you. He sits up, and you can feel him looking at you, trying to decide if he thinks you’re sleeping, and then the mattress sloshes as he gets out of bed. 

You listen to Eddie padding back and forth across the apartment, moving aimlessly from corner to corner as his mind no doubt spins out with worry. There is the muted rustling of things being moved, the telltale thump of a shoe being dropped and the pawing of searching fingers in the dish by the door. 

He’s putting on his shoes. He’s looking for his keys. He’s leaving.

He's actually fucking leaving. 

The notion is terrifying, but something about the way you left it has you paralyzed.

You’re committed to this charade of sleep, and there is nothing that can rouse you from this bed. Not even if the floor opened up and swallowed you whole.

You don't care what Eddie decides to do. You’re going to sleep, and you’re going to feel better in the morning, even if it kills you.

You hear Eddie call your name softly from the other end of the room, and you do your best to stay perfectly still, feeling his eyes on you in the dark, watching for any sign of movement.

You’re asleep, you’re listening, you’re holding your breath and waiting to see what he will do. 

After a moment that feels like eternity, Eddie breathes an uneven sigh, and you hear the telltale sign of the knob twisting. The door unsticks, swings inward, and he slips out. 

It shuts with a hollow thud, and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and tighter, tight enough to squeeze a salty bead of moisture out from your tear ducts as there is the distant whine and thump of a car door shutting. 

The van’s engine fails to turn over immediately, but the second time he tries, it roars to life with enough gusto to wake your neighbors, had they already been in bed. 

You sit up and watch the door, and listen to Eddie leave. You don’t wonder where he’s going. 

There is only one place he would be going at 10:30 on a Thursday - only one place he can go. 

You drag yourself from the bed and move to the phone, feeling your legs wobble beneath your weight with the residual of your evening activities as much as nerves. 

You punch in the numbers you’ve long since memorized and put the receiver to your ear, feeling an emptiness begin to claw at you as you listen to the line ring. 

Brrzzzbrrzzz. Brrzzzbrrzzz –click —

“Y’ello.”

“Hiya Wayne,” you chirp, your voice cracks. 

“Well, hey there, Sweetheart — wasn’t expecting a call from your neck of the woods ‘til tomorrow.”

Eddie and Wayne have a standing weekly conversation — Fridays at two — and you feel a wave of giddy panic wash over you as you begin to wonder about all the things they’ll have to talk about tomorrow.

“Everything okay?” he asks when a silence you hadn’t meant to allow room for stretches between you. 

“Yeah… yeah everything’s—” you can’t make yourself say it, “I’m sorry, I know it’s late—“

“Nah, don’t you worry about that. What’s up?”

The sudden urge to spill your guts rises violently in you, and you have to clench your teeth to stop it from tumbling out.

I’m pregnant, Eddie’s not coping, nothing is ever going to be the same as it was and we can never go back. 

I don’t know what to do and I’m scared. Help me, help me, help me.

But in a feat of stunning self control, you manage to keep the tide of that existential madness at bay. 

You clear your throat in a futile attempt at keeping your voice steady.

It quavers anyway. 

“Eddie’s on his way over.” You say, trying and failing to sound casual about it.

Wayne doesn’t respond right away.  

Because Eddie hasn’t driven anywhere by himself in fourteen months, let alone to the other end of town in the middle of the night on a random Thursday in June. 

Something is wrong, and he knows it.

“He is, is he?” He deadpans, and you can practically feel the intention to ask why. 

You can’t stand to hear him ask, because you have no idea how to answer. What would you even tell him? The truth? 

You can’t even begin to try explaining that to Wayne, especially when whatever the hell just happened feels entirely too much like you had a fight, and it’s your fault. 

You can’t stand it.

“I just thought you should know,” you mumble into the phone, “He just left.” 

The words stay ringing in your ears far too long and then are quickly followed by a measured silence that stretches before you like the unending march of time. 

He left, he’s leaving, he’s gone – you try to swallow against the way your throat has begun to close and put your back to that door.

You hold against it, the fear, the worries, the impending future and everything else you have no hope of stopping. 

By the time Wayne finally responds, your brain has begun to crawl with spiders and your hands are trembling.  

“Alright then,” he says with no small amount of finality, “You want me to send him back to you after or…?”

You shake your head for no one in particular. 

“No… I think — it might be better if he stays over with you. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I’ll keep him for the night and send him home in the morning — don’t you worry, I’ll set him straight.”

The words are out before you can stop them. 

“… please be gentle with him,” you hate to have to say it, because if there is anyone on this earth who does not need to be reminded how to treat Eddie, it’s Wayne, but you still can’t help yourself, “He … he had a rough day…” 

The hum that comes rattling up from the elder Munson’s throat reverberates through the phone and makes your back teeth buzz. 

“You gonna be okay?” he asks and your heart palpitates.

Suddenly, the urge to tell the wretched truth sits once more balancing on the end of your tongue.

“I will be—” you lie, “...bye, Wayne,”

“G’night, Sweetheart,” 

The line clicks, and on the far side of town, Wayne Munson heaves a sigh that carries the weight of the world. 

He puts the phone back on the receiver and feels that weight settle into his deeply tired bones as he runs through all the possible scenarios laid out before him. A fight, most likely, a real knock down drag out if he knows anything about Munson men and their penchant for hitting the breeze. Then again, that doesn’t fall in line with the call you just put in to warn him of his nephew’s impending arrival, and it’s not as if Eddie can get very far on his own anyway. 

He spends the next few minutes wondering if he ought to go out and try to meet the boy halfway, pick him up and stop him before he can blunder through some terrible mistake that is bound to upset the lives of everyone around him for the foreseeable future.

He wonders if that’s even possible where his nephew is concerned.

He ultimately decides against that kind of tom foolery. He’s got better things to do on a Thursday night than go chasing Eddie around town.

Got to let kids make their own mistakes, he tells himself. 

Anyway, he doesn’t know why the boy is on his way over. You said he was coming, nothing more, nothing less. And yet, Wayne can’t shake the trill of warning raising the hair on the back of his neck. He knows what it looks like when someone is about to cut and run, he’s spent an entire life watching that kind of behavior play out before Eddie was even born.

He swallows that doom saying, and takes small comfort in the fact that at least his nephew has got sense enough to come and ask for help before he runs for his life.

Usually. The previous spring notwithstanding. 

Of course, those were extraordinary circumstances, this is just Thursday, so he tells himself he doesn’t know anything. 

He moves to the kitchen, flicks on the light, and puts a pot of coffee on the stove to boil.

It’s going to be a long night.

[weebsinstash]

I’m sending this again because it might’ve been eaten by tumblr. (this is meant for hazbin but if you wanna write about a different fandom go wild!)

I like the idea of a Reader who is obsessed with not being humanoid. Maybe they purposely get themselves hurt by angelic weapons so they have to replace body parts. They’re so infatuated with being ‘upgraded’ that they don’t even realize someone is in love with them.

idk i just like the idea of it :p

I think I might've briefly covered this idea before but I keep thinking about a computer Reader who is in a relationship with... Jesus I can't decide anymore, any of the applemedia boys individually or just all three lol, where you're a computer/bot person and one day the boys come home and you're just. Completely different

You're all happy and excited to show them how you've changed your body, or maybe you discovered you have new powers all of your own, and the change in your appearance, at least to them, is... significant. Your head might be a completely different shape. Your voice may even sound differently. You might even be taller than before.

Just the idea of you all but racing to the door because you're so happy to show them this thing you think is so cool, or maybe it's a surgery you've saved up money for and worked REALLY hard for, and just... picture their smiles literally falling off of their faces (except Alastor but, it's as close to a grimace as he can manage). They're looking at you with clear shock, and it breaks your heart instantly. This is you, and your body, and who you are, and they... they don't like it? Even if they come around and apologize to you, your trust has been broken, and maybe even for extra drama, they catch you cheating on them, because since you no longer feel comfortable with any of them, you need the approval and touch of someone who DOES find you desirable

I've actually also mostly had the inverse of your idea a lot tbh, where Reader has a very tech-y box-like computer head and is a lot like Vox, but you hate your Sinner body so so so much that you find a way to make a new one. Alastor and the rest meet Fake You which is basically just a significantly more humanoid robot that you got looking shockingly like the old human you via some magical technological knowhow, and your real body is just, intentionally hidden away in your closet, plugged into an outlet or something, and you occasionally have to let your fake body recharge and cool down, which is 'sleeping' in your bed

Like I know I'm mentioning different ideas at once, but can you even imagine it. You're dead and you're getting massive body dysmorphia because you have this giant fucking weird head and all the parts of you that made you YOU are no longer flesh and bone but something else, something entirely different, and you're so incredibly disgusted and disdainful of this change that you can't even look at reflections of yourself? Then you find out how to make this, fake secondary body you can basically just transfer your consciousness into, and it's basically like a game avatar you can customize however you want, and you make it look basically exactly how your human body used to look, maybe with some slight Hell based alterations so you don't draw too much attention like horns and a different skin color, and while all of that is kind of a form of denial, it helps you cope with the trauma of being dead

Now imagine you're now basically living every single second inside of that fake body. It's not designed to eat. It's not designed to sweat. It's not designed to cry. But you're so extremely disgusted by your true form that you do basically everything but the absolute essentials in your new body, being in it basically 18/7 (cause God knows you're not letting yourself sleep and fully recharge either; can't risk anyone finding your secret while you're asleep)

I'm serious. Just imagine what would happen if you were awkwardly forced into this situation where your 3 very pushy soulmates are constantly basically forcing their way into your apartment, and you never want to eat in front of them, you forbid them from entering your bedroom, you don't cry in front of them, and one of them eventually basically completely ignores your boundaries and wanders into your bedroom, which is not only a complete depression cave but then they find the actual you, sleeping in the closet, on the floor, not even on a bed. There's little bags of trash laying around you like this, this living device you have become never leaves this small, cramped room. Maybe you've even cut a hole in the door and installed a slot where you just pass food and trash back and forth and you hate your true body so much you don't even let it leave the closet, even have it locked from the outside or you're pushing a piece of furniture in front of the door or something

Like literally, all three men awkwardly cramming themselves in your small walk in closet to crowd around "your real body" in awe while the fake you is getting upset and telling them they need to leave, you hate them, you don't want to be with them, whatever you think might make them leave, and they're just, looking down at your body that you've been keeping in the closet, sleeping on just some laid out blankets like some kind of shitty futon, and you show signs of being damaged, almost like something has been hitting and kicking your body in fits of rage, even showing outright signs like self harm like scratches or scrapes or cuts on your body with a box cutter from your job still on the floor nearby. This closet is so cramped, with no light sources inside of it besides maybe some candles, and you've moved all your actual clothing into boxes or drawers outside the closet to completely commit the small space to being a depressing, dark prison

and then your tummy growls and, that does it, they're instantly demanding you tell them how to "transfer you" back into your original body so you can get something to eat, and quickly making it pretty clear that they're not very receptive to the fake vessel you now inhabit. You did all of this because you hated being this, this weird fucking robot, going through all these lengths to get this body that made you feel mildly human again, but then your actual soulmates just, want the body you cast aside, and yes while they are technically objectively correct that you shouldnt be coping like this, in your eyes you see them rejecting "the real you", which is the artifical you you've constructed that looks like your old human self, and are instead choosing this, monstrosity you absolutely hate that borderline disgusts you to be, and you're also feeling like they aren't being considerate to your feelings. They're SO UPSET that you treat yourself like this that once they forcibly disconnect you and force your soul and energy back into your true body, they confiscate if not outright DESTROY your little decoy, which ALSO completely breaks your heart, and they're all, weirdly fetishistic and sappy and doe eyed as you sit there on your closet floor crying tears of frustration and grief and anger from your stupid boxy head because 1. They've never seen you cry before and 2. This is the first time they're basically officially truly meeting "their real soulmate" and seeing and hearing you completely unfiltered (hostile cussing and all)

I just really like how Hazbin has a lot of fantasy and magic in it which really expands the possibility for the kinds of stories we can think about and have fun with and all of you are clearly having fun too, sending me asks way more quickly than I can answer them. We're all having fun here for sure

[forever-once-gone]

New Drabble! On The First Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me...

This is a drabble! To read the first part click here! And please I hope you all read this since you guys seem to love this pair.

Pairing: Yandere!Namjoon x Reader x Yandere!Jungkook

Genre: Yandere AU, angst

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Before you had gotten kidnapped by your boss and his fiancé, you had to first meet the Mr. Jeon that you heard so much about. So, how exactly did your first meeting with him go? Well, why not reminisce about the last time you were truly free? When you were not yet locked to your unfortunate future of being added into your boss’ relationship.

Content & Warnings: Gender neutral reader, yandere themes, angst, Joon and Kook are in an established relationship, CEO!Joonie, stay-at-home-boyfriend!Kook, assistant!reader, polyamory, reader’s sexuality is nondescript, talks of violence, Jungkook wants to hurt the reader a lot during this, general discomfort, making out, use of pet names, reader being none the wiser to what the two of them are talking about as they continue to type away on their keyboard lol

Author’s Note: Hi hi! It’s been a while. I’ve been swamped with school and just haven’t been able to write anything for you guys lately. But today, I logged into Tumblr and saw some very kind reblogs and asks and I just wanted to write something for you guys! I really appreciate the kind comments and It really does fuel me to write for you guys. So here is a drabble for your guys’ favourite couple! I hope you guys enjoy seeing how Jungkook and the reader’s first encounter went. It’s funny cause Jungkook is like fuming and they’re just like “this guy seems stressed :(” and then they get chosen (kinda) to be pursued by Jungkook and Namjoon lol. I apologize for not having posted part two last Christmas, but I was honestly just really stressed around that time. And then I wanted to have this small inside Easter egg (?) for something in part two but then I realized it was kinda hard to explain without having a previous explanation for it. So this drabble worked out! It was a little incentive to add that little tidbit into this and maybe you’ll have a little “oh!” moment when you read something later on when I post part two (whenever that will be lol, don’t ask me, idk. I’m aiming for this Christmas). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I need to stop writing this author’s note, it’s has gotten too long anyways lol. So yeah, enjoy and let me know what you think!

Jungkook was fuming as he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor of the elevator, seething for the elevator to spit him out on Namjoon’s floor. He was gonna figure out what was going on with his boyfriend one way or another.

His dearest Joonie had refused his daily cup of coffee… again. For the past few weeks, Namjoon, the love of his life, had been eating everything during breakfast that Jungkook woke up oh so graciously to make for him each morning. Joon finished everything except his fucking cup of coffee. Some days he’d be kind enough to take a sip or two before leaving the still very full mug standing in its place on the dining room table beside his empty dishes.

Seeing the mug full of the coffee that Namjoon used to always say Jungkook made better than anyone else left Jungkook feeling insecure. Insecure and just a little bit angry. Okay, maybe a bit more than a little bit, he’ll admit. Okay, fine, he was boiling with fury. He hated to imagine that Namjoon was drinking coffee made by someone else. Because he knew for a fact, if Namjoon wasn’t drinking his coffee, then he was getting it from somewhere else ‘cause Joonie was never able to get anything done without his morning coffee. And knowing Joonie’s disdain for store bought coffee, Jungkook knew it had to be someone making it for him, homemade. And if he was drinking someone else's, that must mean that he was falling out of love with him and falling in love with this awful, boyfriend-stealing, shameless person. And Jungkook was gonna stop at nothing until he found who this fucking person was and got even. He was gonna win Namjoon back one way or another.

The ding-ing of the elevator woke him from his murderous thoughts just in time to see the doors open to the empty space that lead to his boyfriend’s office. Or at least, the once-empty area, because now, unlike the last time he’d come here about a month ago, there was a table placed just before the office doors. And behind that table was a person, who upon hearing the elevators open perked up from their computer screen to smile at him. This person had a sweet smile, kind eyes, and the smoothest voice as they asked him what they could do for him.

He walked up to their table, arms crossed over his chest as he analysed the person sitting below him. The person still smiling up at him even throughout the awkward silence as Jungkook left their question unanswered. The person was dressed nicely and they had a kind aura around them. Their workspace was covered in flowers from the flower shop that Jungkook knew Namjoon frequented. Usually, his Joonie brought home flowers only for him, but here was this new person who was now swimming between countless bouquets covering every free inch of their work table.

When they asked him what he wanted for the second time, he finally graced the person with an answer. “I’m here to see Namjoon.”

The person nodded their head, before prodding for more info. “Alright, and who might you be?” the person asked, turning to scroll through their computer, searching to see if they had accidentally double-booked their boss’ time.

“I’m Jungkook,” he began, back straightening in pride when he saw the worker tense up in their seat. “Joon’s boyfriend,” he concluded, mentally doing a mic drop, hoping that those words etched themselves in the worker's skin, the one who was stealing his Namjoon from him. He hoped it hurt.

What he didn’t expect is for the worker to turn back to him after X-ing out of the calendar that they had been frantically scrolling through, before turning to him with a polite smile.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” the person began, “I think this is the first time we’re actually meeting in person. I’m Y/n L/n, Mr. Kim’s assistant. I just got shifted up to this floor about a month ago from my previous place a few floors down.” You reached your hand out to him for him to shake, just for him to completely ignore it, not even glancing in your hands direction.

“Yes. I’m sure he’s mentioned me before.” Jungkook was gonna make sure that you knew that Namjoon was his, no matter how nice you pretended to be.

“Yes, he has,” you replied pleasantly. “And of course, I’ve spoken with you before too, if you recall?”

When he thought about it, he had spoken with you before. The few times he’d call Namjoon’s assistant when his boyfriend wasn’t picking up. He would pace in this same area, back when it was still empty and call the number for Namjoon’s assistant to know when he’d be free again. The conversations would be semi-mannerly, at best, as he would ask where his boyfriend was before hanging up as soon as he got his answer. He never expected the assistant, that he never spoke more than a few clipped sentences to, being the one who was stealing his love away from him.

That they would have been moved up to be on the same floor as his boyfriend.

The two of them.

Alone.

And when he saw two cups of steaming coffee on your table corner, one half finished and one still untouched, he knew that you were the one making coffee for his man. He felt deep hatred rise in his chest, bubbling up his throat, ready to let out his rage on the home-breaker in front of him.

But he pushed his feelings down before giving you a pursed smile. “Right. You sound different in person. I didn’t even recognize you.” It was true, he wasn’t expecting your voice to be as sweet as it was, though he could tell it was strictly professional. Even when you were so obviously putting on a kind smile for the sake of your job, your voice was so saccharine. He could only imagine how much more saccharine—sinful—your voice must sound when you were using it for your more devious desires.

Jungkook wondered if you’d ever used that syrupy voice on his boyfriend. Walked into his man’s office with your probably sub-par coffee between your hands. You were attractive, that he will give to you, but he hoped that Namjoon wouldn't think the same way that he did. He hoped that any attempts that you’d made on him were met with bitter rejection.

But seeing you surrounded with all the flowers, making your soft features look even more attractive—though he hated to admit it—he knew that Namjoon must feel at least something for you. Why else would Namjoon have gotten you all these flowers? Flowers that Jungkook indignantly noticed were his favourites.

You were perfect and that’s what made his heart hurt more.

In another life, maybe Jungkook would have fallen for you himself, he thought sorely.

You laughed at his remark about your voice. “I guess no one really sounds the same over the phone though, right?” You asked him. “I mean, you sound pretty different yourself.”

Jungkook felt his eye twitch. Was that a dig at him? Were you implying that he was being rude? Were you saying he was anything less than the kindest, best person in the world? He restrained himself from reaching over your desk and pulling your hair out, telling you how Namjoon always told him that he was the best person in the world. He wanted to tell you that you’d never compare to him in Namjoon’s eyes.

Instead of doing any of that, he decided it was better to just ask for his boyfriend. He had a few choice words that he wanted to have with him.

“So will you please tell me if my boyfriend is available?” he asked you, steering the conversation back to the original topic of conversation.

Your eyes widened. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon. In my surprise of meeting you for the first time, I forgot to tell you that he’s in a meeting right now. He should be done in…” You turned to check the clock on the wall. “...in just about ten minutes.”

You turned back to the man in front of you who stood there with a small pout that you were sure he didn’t realize was there and you observed the way his eyebrows scrunched slightly together. It was funny to see how his overly expressive face had changed so many times in the little amount of time that he’d come up to you. Clearly something was bothering this poor guy, so you tried to be as nice to him as you could. Though it only seemed to make him look even worse.

“You can wait for him in the sitting area over there or you could wait for Mr. Kim in his office.” You left it up to Mr. Jeon choose what he’d rather do, only for him to scoff slightly.

“I’ll wait for him in his office,” he answered curtly. He began to walk away and you turned back to your computer only for him to step back up to you. He pointed at the mug sitting beside yours. “Is this for Joonie?”

“Uh yeah.”

“I’ll take this to him.” He gave you another half smile and one last glance at your pretty face before finally entering Mr. Kim’s and taking the suffocating aura that was surrounding him with him. You sighed in relief. You hated having to deal with this job, but the paycheque wasn’t anything to scoff at, and so you settled back into your chair and hoped Mr. Kim would get here soon.

Namjoon found Jungkook sitting in his chair when he returned from his meeting on one of the lower floors of the building. His younger boyfriend sipping on a cup of coffee that he recognized was the one that you usually set out for him. He could see Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed in disgust, as he continuously sipped loudly from his drink.

Namjoon could tell immediately that his beloved was in one of his moods. He knew that he had to get control of the situation, and quickly, especially if he didn’t want you to overhear whatever Kookie was upset about.

“Hi, love. What are you doing here?” Namjoon rounded the table to press a kiss against Jungkook’s temple as he continued to sip from his cup.

“They make some good coffee, huh? I see now why you’ve been rejecting my coffee now.” Jungkook got right to his point. His voice was cold and he refused to look at his boyfriend as he set down the now empty mug.

Namjoon sighed. “Don’t be like that. I was just being kind to them. I didn’t want to upset them by not accepting their coffee.” He pulled Jungkook up from the chair momentarily before sitting down in Jungkook’s place. He then smoothly pulled his boyfriend to sit down sideways on his lap. He rubbed his large hand up and down Jungkook’s back, trying to calm him down.

“Oh really?” Jungkook shoved Namjoon’s arm away from him. “‘Just being kind’? What about all the roses on their desk?! I saw the labels on them, they’re from Sirf Ek Phool! The same place you always get flowers for me!” Jungkook folded his arms against his chest, stopping himself from beating his fists against his boyfriend’s chest like he wanted to.

“Honey, that is just because they take such good care of me—”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Take care of you? Excuse me? Taking better care of you than me? Your boyfriend?! In which way is this assistant taking care of my boyfriend, hmm? Do I need to beat their ass?!” He began to push himself off Namjoon’s lap, eyes locked at the door with a barbaric look in his eyes.

Namjoon swiped a hand over his face, before pulling his boyfriend back into his chest, closer than he was before, his arms locking over his waist. “Love, you know that I love you more than anything else in the world. No other person could ever take your place. They are just very kind, I promise I’m not doing anything that would harm our relationship. I promise you.”

He pressed a kiss against Jungkook’s cheek, before pressing another against his jaw. He pulled a content sigh from Jungkook, and Namjoon knew instantly that he’d deescalated the situation. At least enough for Kookie not to go and murder his assistant. At least not right now.

“Why should I trust you?” Kookie let out softly in between whimpers as Namjoon nipped at his neck.

“When have I ever lied to you?” Namjoon said against his Adam's apple.

“Many, many times,” Jungkook replied.

Namjoon let out a half laugh against Jungkook’s shoulder, letting his forehead rest against him. “I guess I should clarify. When have I ever lied to you in a way that was bad for you?”

“Never.” Jungkook pulled Namjoon’s face to face him. “You always know what’s best, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.”

“Don’t be that way. I’m not asking you to be best friends with them or anything like that. Just give them a chance to be your friend.”

Jungkook thought for a second, thinking back to you sitting at your desk and your friendly nature. You weren’t that bad, and you were rather pretty… Ugh, couldn’t Namjoon just be clear with what he meant? Did he expect… more from you than just an assistant?

Jungkook’s bottom lip was jutted out in sadness, calling out to Namjoon with its plump red appearance. Namjoon was again taken aback by his boyfriend’s beauty and just how amazing he was for him. After all, look at him. Just a second ago, Jungkook was ready to beat up his assistant and now he was clutching Namjoon’s suit jacket’s lapels with a vulnerable look on his face. He looked so worried, waiting for Namjoon’s next words and his next course of action. Fuck, Namjoon loved that man.

He pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss, letting the shorter man melt into his embrace. He could taste your signature coffee on Jungkook’s tongue which only made Namjoon push his tongue more eagerly in his mouth. The taste of your coffee and the love of his life together making his head spin in ecstasy. His brain painted a picture of what could come if he was able to make this whole thing work.

He knew what he wanted, and he knew he’d get it.

Don’t mistake him for being selfish, oh no. He wasn’t doing this just because he wanted you. It’s because he knew that in due time Jungkook will fall for you too. He knew he would. He wouldn’t have to push it, nor would he have to force it. You were perfect for the two of them, he’d figured that out in less than 8 months of you becoming his assistant after the last one quit. You were incredible and he knew that you were just Jungkook’s type. He knew Jungkook and he knew that in less than a month he’d be just as smitten with you as Namjoon was with you now. Actually, Namjoon knows that Jungkook would be even more in love with you than he was now.

And with Jungkook now in his arms, Jungkook’s hands gripping the sides of Namjoon’s neck possessively, his thumbs pushing into Namjoon’s jaw. The way that Jungkook had finished your whole cup of coffee leaving nothing for Namjoon to even get a taste of, and how Jungkook despite his furious expression had the slightest bit of a flush on his face when Namjoon had first walked in, he knew that Jungkook already was falling for you.

Namjoon pressed one final kiss to Jungkook’s lips before pulling away.

Jungkook had a blissed out expression on his face, a soft smile etched on his features as his eyes remained shut in happiness.

“Do you really hate them that much?” Namjoon asked Jungkook, watching him carefully.

Jungkook slowly opened his eyes, a blush slowly making its way up his neck. He turned to look to the side, revealing his bright red ears to Namjoon. Jungkook thought back to your sweet voice, your pretty face, your kind smile, and the coffee you had made that he couldn’t get enough of even as much as he had wanted to hate it. He turned to glance at the empty mug on the table that he wished would refill on its own.

He waited for a minute before: “No.”

“But no more ignoring my coffee, you still have to drink mine! And you have to say that mine's better than theirs” Jungkook added.

Namjoon smiled. Perfect, he knew this would be perfect. He knew just how perfectly you’d fit in with his little family. How you’d fit in Jungkook’s heart. He knew the both of you very well. He was proud.

Namjoon forced Jungkook to turn back to him before attacking him with kisses again.

You turned to see Mr. Jeon skipping out of Mr. Kim’s office. You expected him to go directly to the elevator because of his short attitude with you earlier, but he instead turned to stand in front of your table once again. Smiling down at you genuinely for the first time since he first walked into the room.

You waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, you figured you should say something instead. “All done?” you asked.

Mr. Jeon just nodded his head, which only made the newly blossoming marks on his neck more visible to you. “I had a sip of the coffee you made Joonie, it was good.”

“Oh thank you,” you replied, a bit taken aback by his sudden change from his previous conduct from before Mr. Kim had shown up. Mr. Kim had given you a small nod in greeting before entering his office when you’d told him Mr. Jeon was waiting for him. Mr. Jeon must really love Mr. Kim for his personality to do such a 180 after seeing him for just half an hour.

Damn, is that what love does to a person?

“I would like to have a proper cup the next time I come visit Joonie.” Mr. Jeon looked down at you expectantly. He seemed to be looking for something deep within you and when you agreed to make him a cup the next time you saw him, he seemed to have found whatever he was looking for.

He smiled at you though a bit hesitant. He pulled a rose from one of the vases of your bouquets, twirling it between his fingers. He seemed to still be a bit stuck thinking of something, but then he was turning away from you. He pressed the button calling the elevator, before turning back at you. “It was nice meeting you, Y/n. I hope we’re able to get to know each other more in the future.”

“Yes, of course!”

He waved the flower at you in goodbye before stepping into the elevator, flashing you one final bunny smile.

What an odd man.

Does 3k still count as a drabble? I have no clue. Anyway, thanks for reading! 💕💕💕

[scoobydoodean]

i’d like you to know you’ve made me much more of a bitter deangirl when it comes to the trap. like i still love the idea of it, of them reconnecting in purgatory of all places, and i still like the idea of lots of what dean says re: should’ve asked cas to stay and i forgive you and talking *about* his anger, but… dean had a right to be angry, including at cas. and yeah it’s good that dean apologized, for the sake of healthy communication cause that’s what you do when you’ve said hurtful things in an argument regardless of who’s “right”, but cas also should’ve apologized again. in fact, i can’t remember so i could be completely misremembering, but does cas ever actually apologize to dean beyond expressing the sentiment of feeling bad that mary died?

and i’m also thinking about the conversation they have before being separated. i like the angst of cas’s line re: i left but you didn’t stop me, but again, dean was not the only one in that argument. to leave was very much cas’s choice, and it feels kinda unfair to put that on dean, regardless of whether dean saying smth would’ve actually gotten cas to stay (which, to dean, probably would’ve seemed unlikely given cas’s past habits). and also, cas saying dean couldn’t move on, that’s actually fucking heartbreaking and almost… cruel. iirc it’d been at most a couple weeks since his mom (his mom!) had been killed!! plus dean never got to say goodbye, again!! of course he couldn’t just move on!

idk idk… anyway i believe i’ve sent an ask about your opinions on the trap before lol, and sorry about this long ass message, but i recently saw a gifset about that conversation (before being attacked) and all the notes were like ‘yes cas you tell him!’ ‘dean needed to hear that!’ ‘finally got dean’s head out of his ass!’ and it kinda made me annoyed for dean which. brainrot. but whatever. bitter deangirls unite, dean deserves the support 😭😭

context

LMAO sorry for my tumblr arc culminating in me turning full bitter deangirl ig and taking some of you down with me (I'm not sorry actually I'm having a ball in this bitch).

Cas's attempts at apologies are cataloged here. So he does try to apologize. But how many times has Cas been "sorry" only to do the thing he apologized for again? I mean the fact that he keeps "apologizing" for lack of communication and unilateral decisions over things that impact other people besides him and secret deals that blow up in all of their faces over and over and over and over shows that he is... not actually that sorry? Because if you're actually sorry, you actually change your behavior. Except Cas thinks "getting a win" (while actively digging a deeper hole in his relationship with Dean) is the way to "apologize" and make everything better instead of just... changing his behavior. And whatever his latest big plan to fix everything is never works and instead actively makes his relationships and his own self esteem worse. From the outside perspective, what Cas is doing (apologizing then doing the thing he just apologized for again) is just kind of... the ultimate way of telling a person you claim to love that their feelings actually have very little value to you. I mean Cas would be horrified by the idea that he doesn't actually value Dean's feelings, but what conclusion is Dean supposed to come to? Is it any wonder that Dean is perpetually confused about what exactly Cas thinks of their relationship? Is it any wonder that he reached a point where he couldn't stand to hear one more of Cas's meaningless apologies? To maintain any semblance of a relationship with Cas, Dean has to focus on what he feels about Cas's intentions (intentions Dean has always had faith in being good) but that faith and care increasingly forces him to ignore aspects of their relationship that are deeply hurtful because Cas refuses to do his part in addressing their issues in any meaningful way. It's just a vicious cycle of Dean trying to communicate that their lack of communication is upsetting and Cas pretending to listen and apologizing but clearly not actually listening or understanding the gravity of the situation and how it is slowly building a rift between them over years (with perhaps the most striking and hurtful example being The Future) until the secret over soulless Jack becomes "the straw that broke the camel's back" and Dean absolutely explodes at the end of season 14... and then... still... Cas's secrets remain—to the bitter fucking end.

Also yeah tbh Cas's "I left but you didn't stop me" makes my eyes roll so hard. Painfully stupid dialogue with unpleasant (though likely unintentional) implications (as linked in thread above).

[olderthannetfic]

My experiences with DreamWidth fandom spaces are the same as my experiences with DreamWidth RP: a lot of people talk about wanting more people to post, missing the old days, and disliking fandom puritanism, but don't interact with others much and, when someone disagrees with them, decide that this is the end of the world. I've seen people in DWRP angry at other people for disagreements from up to 12 years ago. I've seen people in DW fandom spaces vaguepost about specific people they're mad at for disagreeing with them from up to 8 years ago. Neither reaction makes me go, "Ah, yes, this is where I want to hang out", because I just don't fucking care. When someone confronts me about traumatizing them because I said I didn't find X character as engaging as Y or I think it's possible Character A is bi and not gay/lesbian default and it's been 5 years, my first thought is almost always, "I'm sorry, who?" and not, "OMG I feel so bad let me apologize for this!" Not apologizing doesn't go over well, so it's off to gossip to their friends in DMs and on other sites about how someone else totally said this, that and the other thing too and it was super mean.

IDK, maybe I'm just old (I did just turn 30) but I look at this kind of drama and all I can think is, "I don't care and I don't have the energy to engage with this." It doesn't help that I meet people on DW who are self-identified fandom olds (usually that means they're 40-ish) who complain about yaoi fangirls/"fujoshits" and call female characters who've had multiple sexual partners "cockhops" and assume anyone writing f/f is a "neckbeard". This is still less sensitive than antis are, but there's still a lot of moralizing things you don't like and reading into what someone writes in order to judge them as a person.

Between that and the very low level of overall engagement it kind of feels not worth it? I'm not seeing what the benefit is. Making fandom friends is fairly difficult on DW and when you do, losing them is as easy as not having seen something, not liking a pairing or not caring about something (contentious canons, especially). I'm sure someone's having a great time but to me it's sort of like shouting into the void, except sometimes the void calls you a fujoshit neckbeard and never elaborates on how that'd work.

--

DW's moment as a potential community hub has come and gone, in my opinion. Now, it's just the people who can't hack it on other platforms plus some legacy uses that DW is good for that other sites aren't.

I did make more of an effort to make fetch happen in the past, but it became apparent that a lot of the people who are primarily on DW are not people I want to make that effort for. I've got a couple of old friends still hanging out there because they like very text-based internet stuff, and good for them, but overall... yeah... the vibe just isn't that great a lot of the time.

I used to advocate getting a DW just to have a place to link your other social media in case your tumblr is suddenly deleted due to mysterious tumblr enforcement shenanigans... but honestly, I could probably use my AO3 profile for that just as well.

I'm glad DW is still around, and I hope it continues to be. I don't regret my seed account. But it's just not something I use actively in the 2020s.

[hadesisonlyalad]

yk i dont post a lot on tumblr but we all saw that red flags post so im gonna take a moment of ur time to say something on each merc and the red flags listed for them. im doing a read more incase u havent seen the “mercs red flags” headcanon post and it does not flood ur page

both the medic and engie things with “not wanting to spend time with you/wont make time for you” is SUCH bullshit if that was the case they wouldnt even date you. and then ur telling me engie tf2, DELL CONAGHER, would NEVER want to take you on a date? like ever??? u are INSANE. And then sorry to tackle medic and engie in the same paragraph but they had a lot of common “””””red flags””””” that were listed. why would he yell at you. he hardly even yells in general (based off comics and voice lines) if anything hes just kinda a loud person 💀 AND YOU BRINGING UP ONE THING WONT MAKE HIM SUDDENLY IGNORE YOU FOR DAYS LIKE?? he KNOWS hes committing medical malpractice btw. he would not leave you for bringing that up he is WELL AWARE of what hes doing. and we see him CANONICALLY DISCIPLINE ARCHIMEDES IN MEET THE MEDIC, WHY WOULD HE TOLERATE HIS BIRDS ATTACKING YOU????

also why are we listing an addiction as a “red flag” what the fuck is wrong with you. i get not wanting to date someone with an addiction, its a valid concern, but thats SO much more serious than a “red flag” or “ick”??? LIKE ARE YOU OKAYYYY???????

AND THEN HEAVY’S RED FLAG IS “he has trauma” FUCKING. PACK IT UP GUYS IG IF YOU HAVE TRAUMA YOU CAN NEVER BE IN A RELATIONSHIP. (/s) WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.

i’m fine with the miss pauling ones, at least two of them, because yeah, it’s canon that she doesn’t have the most time and i imagine if ur not a merc or work in that area a relationship might be a bit hard? but shes an honest person, i don’t think she’s gonna lie to you. idk im very neutral about the pauling ones, if anything theyre the most in character of this shithole list.

all i have to say for pyro is like. yk those people who hc pyro as aroace except theyre super weird about it? like theyre either infantilizing them or have weird ableist feelings about pyro? yeah thats the vibes im getting. actually wait where did u pull codependent pyro from actually wtf

i think the “tryna live like hes 20” thing for spy is really fucking funny 💀 like go girl go live through that middle age crisis!!/j no but seriously. hes dating you hes gonna think you’re a 10, and even then YOU’RE SAYING IF YOU AGE AT ALL HE’LL LEAVE YOU??? CANON MILF LOVER SPY. “OFF TO VISIT YOUR MOTHER!” SPY TF2. WILL LEAVE YOU IF YOU GET OLD AND AGE AT ALL…? HE LIKES HIS WOMEN LIKE HE LIKES HIS WINE MOTHERFUCKER: AGED. sorry bad joke lets keep going uh- i think the other hcs are garbage too i just really hate specifically this spy hc. just this one specifically.

im not a sniper connoisseur, my friend will is way better versed in sniper’s characterization, but even i know this isnt sniper. “thinks if he argues long enough he’ll win”…? “cannot support you in anything”?!!?! “IF YOU’RE HIS FRIEND AND YOU TWO GET INTO A BAD ARGUMENT PREPARE TO NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN” IM GENUINELY AT A LOSS FOR WORDS. I JUST. I DONT..? WHAT DO I EVEN SAY. I DONT K N O W WHAT TO SAY. BUT IF I DID KNOW WHAT TO SAY I’D BE SAYING VERY BAD THINGS.

i dont think scout is misogynistic- i see why people think that but me personally i just think he has no game and people mistake it as violent misogyny for some reason. but. listen we know scout is a dick we do okay but he loves women. why would he cheat on you.? bro he’d be glad u picked him 😭 AND THEN THE PERIOD THING?? he was raised by a SINGLE MOM do you REALLY think shes gonna raise him and let him think that way about a natural body function. im speaking entirely from the single mom experience and the answer is NO!!!! also how is loving your mother a red flag. being the youngest child is also a red flag, i guess. and having issues with his dad. (/s) also, second verse same as the first: IF HES DATING YOU HE THINKS YOU’RE A 10 WHAT IS SO HARD TO FUCKING GET ABOUT THISHXWHBVWBWBXvqvsbs?1?2!2’wndjwke

uhhh soldier wasnt. here for some reason. so nothing to say about him.

anyway leave ur opinions below. i rly dont wanna get into any tumblr drama or internet drama at all bc it scares me dearly and im always self conscious about leaving a bad digital footprint especially over something as petty as tf2 drama but i cannot stand for this slander I CANNOT‼️‼️‼️‼️ sorry if u also think im mischaracterizing anyone here i only put hours of studying into my fav mercs and thats. abt it,, listen im silly okay

[yuurivoice]

Alot of big creators having deep lore in thier stories is making your fans over analyze everything and you're just like "nah thats not important" "not that deep" "anything outside of the story isn't important its just for fun" lol

A little bit, I think. There's plenty of things that are fairly deep and lore relevant, and theorizing on that front is good and fun. There's just a clear distinction in what is and is not like that in my work, and some folks who like the more loosely tied together things like Lucien for example, would love it if it was deeper.

But I'm not gonna squeak out a fart if I ain't ready to toot, because that's how you end up shitting your britches, ya feel me?

(Jackie Commentary: "The real Tortured Poets Department...")

I think it's partly a symptom of the long wait between big narrative installments like BitterSweet and Auron's stuff, because people want to dig and that's a good thing, but there hasn't been a ton of new stuff to dig into for a while. Or they want to dig elsewhere and then when they come to me with questions I'm just like...idk man I don't even remember what you're referencing because I wrote it at 3am during a manic episode and forced myself to record it when I could hardly function. lol

I'm not that clever or deep, I don't present myself like some super talented writer who has a whole conspiracy board of lore mapped out in my office. I'm a fucking mess of a man who has failed upwards and thankfully people enjoy what I create, when I'm able to create it, and the rest is smut.

We also have a bit of an issue with people who only halfway know what they're talking about speaking like they 100% know what's going on and they're only half right and don't even know why. Like referring to all listeners as "Dreamers" only somewhat right, or thinking that only some characters are "Dreamers" is also not right.

And it's actually spelled out pretty clearly what Dreamers are if you know where to look, but I'm not just going to state it plainly in a random Tumblr post because I have plans on how it'll be addressed in the content itself.

So basically, with a lot of what I'm working on I'm also trying to make shit as clear as I can, tidying up the knowledge and lore for people while also creating some new questions to ponder that at least put people back on the right track.

There are also a lot of folks who have things pretty figured out, but they're...just chilling, I think. LOL

Ultimately, having people really curious and creative about things to the point of theory crafting and going deep is a good thing. I just...don't always have satisfying explanations or answers to some things because I'm not so deeply involved with my characters or some of their less intricate stories that I can just...unload a bunch of random trivia about them.

The speculative part of being a fan of character or story is the fun part, and I worry that having such direct access to me actually fucks that up to an extent. And because of the intimate nature of the content, people get really really really invested in these characters on levels that I don't typically go to. Seth and Alphonse, maybe Auron, are exceptions because they're very personal to me. But otherwise? That doesn't happen very often.

Anywho, we're probably at another juncture where I have to decide if it's healthier for me to take a few steps back and be less involved on this side of things for a while. It can get really exhausting and it doesn't have to be, but for me and for the fandom, probably.

[pouroverpaloma]

yellow and white!! :)

Hey thanks, this was fun!

💛 Yellow: Do you ever alter, highlight, or de-emphasize certain canonical traits in a character? If so, why and describe how.

Oh, god yeah. I feel like I give SO much energy and space to Gale’s trauma—it’s something only touched on in the game that I wanted to see explored narratively, and I felt like I could do it well.

I grew up in a pretty intense, charismatic kind of Christianity that was focused on experiencing the divine as a two-way personal relationship. Gale’s relationship with Mystra reflected a lot of the anxieties and fears I had growing up as an evangelical teenager—what if I was so good, that God chose me for something important? What if it was awful? What if God is cruel, actually, and I don’t find out until it’s too late? How could I escape someone omnipresent and omnipotent? Idk, his story hit me VERY hard as an exvangelical, and I feel like that heavily colors the way I write him. I just want to make him a spicy margarita and play him Ethel Cain’s entire catalog; it would fix him.

Also, I think anyone who’s read my stuff, especially this beauty that pleases too well, has probably guessed that the way I portray his survival of intimate partner violence is born from experience—but this is a tumblr post about a fictional wizard, so I’ll leave it there, except to say that I got my happy ending and it brings me a lot of joy to do that for him too.

Also also: his crow’s feet. If I’m writing him, you WILL see and appreciate the eye crinkles.

🩷 Pink: Do you find a certain character (or characters) easy to write? More difficult -- and if so, do you avoid writing that character (or those characters) when possible?

Shadowheart is so difficult to get right!! Done well, she’s dry and haughty but secretly having a great time fucking with you. It’s so easy to steer too hard into the skid and make her either boring or so snarky she’s unlikeable. You have to write her well enough to get her timing. She’s too much fun to leave out entirely, though, so I’m working on it.

I find Gale extraordinarily easy to write, probably because we’re both terminal nerds who overtalk to fill time. It’s like confronting my fucking Jungian shadow self, but in a horny way that I am in no way prepared to unpack.

I like writing Astarion, but I just never feel like I make him enough of a bitch. He deserves to be full bitch. The height of his powers. I can, should, must, and will find a way to let him be an emotional terrorist (affectionate) moving forward.

[karliahs]

okay just for fun i'm going to compile the garbled knowledge i have about what happens in bnha going forward (so everything after season 5 episode 8/middle of the joint training arc).

this is a few years of passively picking stuff up through tumblr, ao3 and a friend who reads the manga and would periodically upon request tell me how my kids were doing

so...bnha spoilers below the cut, including fairly recent manga spoilers. except they are incomplete, garbled and possibly entirely wrong

upcoming arcs: endeavour internship arc, plf arc, ??? other ones probably, final war arc

bakugou, midoriya & todoroki intern at endeavour's agency. endeavour redemption arc continues to be a thing that is happening

midoriya develops the past OFA users quirks - blackwhip first, then float, and then the others are i think...danger sense, smokescreen, some kind of...healing thing? i have definitely seen them all referenced in fic but i mostly just remember float and blackwhip

touya reveal!! dance with your son in hell!! we stan. i have no idea what the outcome of this is other than that i believe natsuo never gets on board with endeavour redemption but fuyumi does. i think maybe shouto as well...

at some point things about hawks?? and the hero commission's...stuff?? with hawks?? gets revealed publically and contributes to growing unrest about heroes' roles in society. and the touya stuff i think also gets revealed and contributes to this

oh kurogiri obviously. that's season 5 i'm pretty sure. kurogiri is a noumu made from oboro shirakumo, aizawa & mic's (& midnight's?) UA friend who they thought died under some rubble during agency placements. it was actually aizawa they were after but they got oboro instead. aizawa & mic go to confront him and try to get through to him and it initially does not work

while i'm on aizawa knowledge: he gets shot with a quirk destroying bullet in the leg and fucking cuts his own leg off to try and stop it from working. and on what is maybe a separate occasion he loses an eye, i think to shigaraki. idk if eri rewinds one of both of these injuries??

eri does successfully rewind mirio's quirk back. and at some point midoriya loses his goddamn arms?? but eri fixes that. so often when i asked my friend for updates it would end up being about how many limbs my faves currently had

midnight dies. idk how or why. twice i think also dies. again, no context.

aoyama is revealed as the UA traitor. he was born quirkless and was given his quirk by AFO. it was an overall sympathetic he had v few good choices kind of situation i think

at some point everything kind of collapses. i think this is to do with public reaction to hero stuff?? but the whole city seems kind of wrecked and a bunch of people are sheltering on UA's campus i think...and then midoriya for reasons i do not really understand runs off on his own for an iconic yellow scarf of sadness era of going rogue. and 1-a has to track him down and yell a lot about how they love him and he needs to cut it out. this includes a bakugou apology i believe

i think the midoriya run away coincides with OFA reveal?? he writes them letters i think...then he comes back and there's a lot of discussion about baths

climactic midoriya shigaraki fight...we find out shigaraki used to be quirkless. i think AFO gave him the quirk used to kill his family or something equally fucked up. midoriya...throws all his quirks out? to like? achieve something? so he (temporarily) is quirkless...

bakugou dies but they fix it. i think with...shigaraki...somehow. oh and at some point during all this i think kurogiri does do some helpful for the heroes teleporting?? so they maybe did get through to him in the end?

timejump and SHINSOU IS IN 2-A. this is the only thing that matters actually!! my boy!! he did it!!!!! he took aoyama's spot bc aoyama didn't feel like he could come back even tho he'd pretty much been forgiven. so we just missed canonising the iconic 'shinsou hitoshi is in class 1-a' tag bc it's 2-a and fully did not canonise the 'shinsou hitoshi replaces mineta minoru' tag

skjdhfh i'm sure i'm forgetting a bunch that i do actually know and just can't think of rn so i will maybe reblog this if i remember more

[ofliterarynature]

MARCH 2024 WRAP UP

[loved liked ok nope dnf (reread) bookclub*]

Supernova • The Last Unicorn • Cahokia Jazz • (Heartstopper Vol 1)* • The Hero of Ages • Godkiller • Humanly Possible • Traveller’s Joy • The Well of Ascension • Babel-17 • The Final Empire • Loot • The Death I Gave Him

Finished: 11 books (9 audio, 1 print, 1 ebook)

Not many books this month but by god I read THREE Brandson Sandersons, so -

I guess I may as well start with Sanderson while we're here. I promised a mutual years ago (who's sadly left tumblr) that I would read Mistborn and it's probably been at least half a decade but I did it Lourdes! I've read a few one-off Sandersons before, but nothing I fell in love with. The Final Empire definitely had some issues, some things felt a little off, but overall I think I liked it! Except those things did not then improve in the next two books, and by book 3 I was dragging and solidly decided that I wouldn't continue past the original trilogy. I was so mad at that ending y'all, and if the mixed vibes from the copy for the next books wasn't enough that definitely sealed the deal lmao. Happy for the people who like him but it's not really my vibe. (but god, did it remind me how much I love big, grand, epic fantasies. I really need to find a good one). 3 stars

Babel-17 (3 stars) - idk, I think I found this on a rec list for sci-fi about linguistics? Which it sort of was, maybe, ostensibly. It was weird in that old sci-fi way and I kind of wish I'd DNF'd it when I originally considered it.

Traveller's Joy (5 stars)- look I will never say no to more in the Greenwing & Dart series, especially if it's my good good boy Hal. Not to mention more info about the immediate post-college times, and an outside POV on Jemis (Jemis my dude I love you so much but you are not a reliable narrator). Victoria picked a great piece of canon to explore!

Humanly Possible: Seven Hundred Years of Humanist Freethinking, Inquiry, and Hope (4 stars) - I've been wanting to read this since I first heard about it (and Humanist thought in general), and while it was interesting and I'm glad I read it, I found my attention drifting a lot. It spent a lot of time in the early/distant periods of humanist thought, which ended up not really being what I wanted - I think I'm more interested in the modern Humanist movent, but at least I know I'm on the right track!

Godkiller (4.5 stars) - It was great! It was kind of idk, epic fantasy with fairy tale and D&D vibes sort of? My brain is throwing out T Kingfisher and Robin McKinley for comps, but I'm not sure if that's accurate. A great one for fans of less-than-benevolent voices in the back of your head that are nonetheless very concerned for your well being! A solid 4/4.5 stars from me, it switched pov a little to often and didn't stick well in my head as well afterward as I'd have liked. Can't wait to get the next book!

Heartstopper (5 stars) - so cute! at least half the people who have ever come to book club at some point have said they loved this, so since we're in our graphic novel era it just made sense! I read a good chunk of the comic online ages ago and it's still great (and much easier when not fighting my wifi to load pages lol)

Cahokia Jazz (5 stars) - y'all I lost my fucking MIND OVER THIS ONE. Absolutely going to be one of my top books of the year. I'm such such a sucker for books about an outsider trying to find themself, their place, and reconnect with their culture, and hnnnnnng it was so good! Not always easy, but I loved it. I sobbed over that ending so much, I had to get up at work and go hide in the restroom for a bit and couldn't stop tearing up for the next week. Warning that the opening is pretty gory/crime novel/these-cops-are-corrupt vibes that *did* almost make me dnf (GASP), but it gets so much better I promise. Give Joe a chance, he's got hidden depths.

The Last Unicorn (3.5 stars) - It was ok? I didn't really get into it and was glad it was short, but I'm sure if I'd gotten my hands on this as a kid I'd have read it 10x times. I've also never seen the movie. I'm debating if I want to keep my copy for future niblings, but probably not.

Supernova (3 stars) - finally, I am DONE with this series. I admit, the second book almost got me and had me reconsidering if I should keep my copies after all, but this one yanked me back to reality. The undercurrents of ethics/morals/philosophy? to this series are fascinating, but uh, I'm not sure the author is aware of them as much as I was? Because the ending was fine, but all of these questions it felt like the series was raising were just ignored or pushed past. Not a bad series, just don't think about anything too hard.

DNF's

Loot - I was here for the automaton tiger and clockmaking, but that wasn't really the focus? I'm not quite sure what was, actually, I dropped this pretty quick between that, not liking the writing style, or the narrator's voice.

The Death I Gave Him - I was SO sad to give this one up. It's told through excerpts and transcripts and all sorts of things pieced together that hint at events in the future, which is one of my favorite things!!!! Except I don't know shit about Hamlet, and it was giving more psychological-thriller vibes and less murder-mystery, and I wasn't really having fun. It made me want to reread Sarah Gailey's The Echo Wife.

[mysteriousdoll]

I admit I have been stalking your page for a put 30 minutes AND OMG YOUR WORK IS SO COOL I LOVE IT SO MUCH AND I LOVE ALL YOUR ART AND HEADCANONS OMG-

Anyway, I was reading the HCs you and somebody else came up with and I have one but I'm not 100% sure on it. Like my mind is debating it intensely.

In ishimondo which one can cook?

THIS IS A KIND OF LONG ONE SORRY-

My thought:

. Due to official art they can both cook?

. Or one is teaching the other to cook?

. Mondo seems like the guy who can't cook (just based on appearance tbh) but with his backstory he's had to fend for himself, so can he cook???

. And with Ishimaru, he seems like the person who knows how to cook, and maybe his father is out so often that he's self taught?

. But on the other hand he's spent all his time studying he hasnt taught himself those kind of skills.. sure he can make two minute noodles, or cook an egg or make some toast. But nothing fancy?

. Or maybe breakfast is the most important meal of the day to him?!?!?! Maybe it's in his routine to cook every morning?!?! Maybe he makes food for his father when he comes home from late shifts, or has bacon and egg on Sundays???

. Or he's terrible in the kitchen, and mondo taught him.

Can they both cook? Have you ever thought about this?! Sorry for the long ramble of options but I've thought about this for a week and have no idea.😭

Uhm yeah I'm going to put this on anon in case it's silly or something, but you probably know who I am based on the notes and notifications and stuff👍

Also idk if shadow banning works on tumblr like it does tiktok but if you want me to stop spam liking your posts I will, I just love your content 😭

One: screaming rn I feel so happy I’ve never had my posts stalked /pos (except for my Ben 10 acct which is bad bc I’m making an ishimondo Ben 10 au)

Two: No need to stop!! Idm!! Tbh the thing that makes me happiest is seeing people go wild in the tags, so I’m v honored.

Three: I agree! I think Mondo isn’t the beeest cook, but if it comes to Italian meals (thanks to my own hc’s and my Oowada mom oc), he’s not that bad! Although he has a bad habit of letting things overcook… he’s the type to burn popcorn and insist it’s better that way.

As for Taka, I think he’s actually quite the skilled cook—but only with more basic options. Taka’s very rigid, so if he is able to cook something more extravagant, he’ll follow it by the book, and maybe even ask Teruteru for his input. (Ignoring comments Teruteru makes and Gundham glaring Teruteru down)

The only issue with Taka cooking is… he forgets to eat a lot. (And thanks to his grandad, he sometimes chooses not to eat because he dare take one extra minute of free time) That, and his food is either bland, or so spicy no one but him can eat it. A hot while back I saw @mickules mention in a post that Taka would be a spice fiend, and I. Live for that.

Also also—regarding system Taka bc I’m always gonna mention system Taka /j, Akira (aka Ishida) is actually an extremely talented baker! They aren’t super big on sweet food ironically, but they can make really good baked goods even with limited ingredients… though they prefer crunchier foods)

Additionally; Mondo can’t fucking make ramen. He just takes someone else’s. Taka can also make insanely good omurice. Proof for Taka bc I can’t find the anthology comic with Mondo:

[angelmelon]

tumblr won’t let me reblog right now I hate you tumblr

@clit-a-cola

Will that work?? I have you blocked idk I just saw this from fluffy’s acc

YOOOO INANIMATE INSANITY MENTION

Now to address some points myself

I have. Way more things made by straight men that I hate about the same amount as Leasebound actually

Making an entire blog dedicated to the problems in Battle For Chicken Nuggets would be the worst possible idea anyone has ever made

FUCK YOU OBJECT TERROR FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU I HATE THIS STUPID WALLET VTUBER THING WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT

FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU

Considering I have severe religious trauma talking about how much I hate fundamentalist institutions all the time would make my life very difficult. At least hating on Leasebound is kind of entertaining?? I don’t have direct trauma with y’all?? (Well. There’s an exception to that 😭😭 not gonna get into that)

okay now for why I focus on Leasebound in particular

Leasebound was like. My first exposure to this kind of unbridled hate. “Joking” on a podcast that all male babies should be aborted, “JoKiNg” on Instagram that all people should bully people who wear makeup and skirts, commenters being facilitated to “jOkE” about a 16 year old child character being locked out of his house, it’s really not just the transphobia. Also, to your point, Rusty could be focusing on way more important issues in the feminist movement with a feminist comic than trans people existing.

oh yeah, I’ve also been talking more about radfems in general now…. Like just the entire movement sucking cause I’ve started getting hyperfixated on it myself. Even talking civilly to more radfems to get info. Shockingly hasn’t made me “peak”, it’s just made me either laugh super hard or feel like throwing up. Like, imagine working with the HERITAGE FOUNDATION to “protect” lesbians. They do NOT realize how bad that’s gonna backfire. To your point again they would not go this hard on cis men cause they’d rather work with the HERITAGE FOUNDATION than talk to a trans woman for 5 seconds in a civil manner 💀🙏 they also accused me with no basis of grooming my trans woman friend after I informed them that the worst thing she has done in her life is do weed underaged after they accused HER of grooming ME with no basis. Like you don’t KNOW this woman and you’re switching your tone that fast

also the term libfem just makes me giggle. Just a couple letters away the radfems would be calling people libtards like Elon Musk 😭😭

and finally, my butch lesbian sister is like the whole reason I came out so I have a whole lot of respect for lesbians. (I also thought I was a nonbinary lesbian for years until the demons (cis men who shower) got to me) Respect enough to know that they can be good people, or bad people, or have good or bad ideologies like anyone the fuck else. I’d actually love to set up a convo with you and her at some point?? If she actually has the energy of course. She’s like 20 she’s old enough to have a not comically ridiculous conversation with most of the millennials that make up the Leasebound fanbase (though, to Rusty’s credit, I thought her and my sister were the same age for abit… oh how wrong I was) she also has her Bachelors at 20, she’s very intelligent. Would probably be more professional than me, huh??

[dani-says-stuff]

I NEED TO COMMIT TO A STORY TO WRITE BC NOW THE FIC IDEA OF A PJO/HADESTOWN REINCARNATION IS BACK TO PLAGUE ME

scatterbrained thoughts so i don’t forget and to see if anyone else out there cares below the cut

like its the hadestown version of the myth bc 1. LOVE and 2. there’s something just so funny about like hermes moonlighting on broadway for a bit w a whole musical ab one of his favorite and heart felt tragedies

also the lyrics “maybe it will turn out this time” and all other ones along the lines of retelling it hoping it ends differently AND THEN IT ALL COMES BACK— LIKE THEY REALLY DO REINCARNATE and it (maybe) works out this time on the road to hell, on the rail road line

the banter between hermes and apollo about how maybe hermes is better at his job and they should switch (he basically wrote a whole award winning musical and starred in it for years and then in a weird way prophesied that the tragic lovers would return)

apollo is not pleased

aphrodite squealing in the corner bc it’s just such an outlandish time-transcending love story, heart break, and reunion

percy just over this bs bc why is this his life

eurydice hermes kid ? like hermes feels bad “she was a hungry young girl” and all that, he does his best to be a good father this time to heal the ancient trauma she has AS WELL as his own for failing luke all those years

orpheus apollo kid? he was a muses’ son after all, and that poor boy’s workin on a soooong

also more hermes/apollo banter

idk godly parent subject to change (does eurydice even need one? what if she’s just a clear-sighted mortal that hermes took under his wing this time)

eurydice is at yancy w percy not a rich kid tho, she’s literally in like the same underdog position he’s in there

the monsters are after her too… but not bc she’s a powerful demigod, she’s supposed to be in hell… how the fck did she get out???

orpheus is at camp ?

eurydice gets beamed up to the underworld with sally

hades is just ??? like hmm… this one seems familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on why

then orpheus shows up later with percy and the gang and bros just like “oh no… fuck me, not this shit again…”

idk all this is subject to change (or it might not happen at all) bc as entertaining as it would be, a lot doesn’t make sense… like why would orpheus care and want to go on the quest bc he doesn’t even know eurydice yet AND where would the story go after the first book??

also the fact this would be oc x oc, i mean i love those stories, but idk how others feel about them

i also thought about au-ing in percy as a orpheus so the would already be friends and stuff… but then that doesn’t make sense bc of how blatant he is about being horrible at singing except when played by chris mccarell in the musical… mans can SING

all that and i also have a list of requests, a tumblr masterlist to fix the links on, the regulus book and the hunger games book to do (and a possible OTHER pjo book that i only really told to wifey @iknowyoureabigfan )

idk lemme know ig if this seems interesting, this thought has been rolling around in my head for years and all the bullet points just randomly came to me today

that’s all ~ byeeee

[mr-bisk]

Fukkkkkk I want to spoil the surprises of my fics but i don't want to ruin them for who follows me on tumblr.... I guess fuk-ich, idk how to format a post, but it cant be that hard, am I Right!?

Spoilers and HC's under the cut:

Also TW: i can't continue w/o advising: if u got a cringe allergy, ingestion might block your throat. I don't want to kill anybody(yet) so maybe skip this one.

CW: Spoilers for the chapter amouts and last chapter; Transphobes DNI lol, I made all of them Queer and I'll die on this lane; Little Vents(more than one, kinda?); Mention of Fan-Childs.

First of all: The ending. The fanwork just will get 4 chaps cuz i can't drag stuff yet. To spoil the ending, Bill will have a panic attack upon not being able to avoid feeling queer at Josh's presence, gets a hold of his mother's whisky, drunkly and pathetically call Josh to come to his house and out of pity he will attend. They end up alone in Bill's room and end up kissing. It doesn't stop Josh from going to college, much for the opposite effect as he gets scared and confused, but plans to come back to Eltingville soon with a clearer mind.

Pete HC: 🅱️ete is transmasc, stealth-trans. His parents saw it coming from a young age and are actually supportive. They help him hide away his deadname and other stuff that would direct hate towards him. His dad loves having a male son that is interested in helping him with brute shit, although he doesn't endorse his interest in horror and nerd stuff, it is the exception.(also Jer knows his deadname as they are childhood frens.)

Jerry HC('s, theres A LOT of stuff): 1st, Jerry is transfem. 2nd, PeteJer is real. 3rd: I made BillJer virtually impossible timeline-wise bc Bill assumes himself as gay a little after Jer's Egg-Hatchin', also he has the fastest but most oblivios gaydar(maybe queer-dar, idk??) and never felt attracted to Jer.(also yeah, i hold a grudge for the flood of billjer we had when eltingville blew up. Like, Frrr? the whitest, most bland ship u cold think off got popular!?! No hate if u like it, theres loads of gr8 stuff under the umbrella, I'm just not kin.)

Vent: I still love eltingville, don't see the end off the brainstorm/interest flood on the horizon yet- ....Buuuuuut I can't hold myself from feeling like I'm making a disservice to the BillJosh tag. I just begun to write again and posted it on AO3 to prevent me from quitting, and The Damn™️, I feel like my work is meh at best. I'm a perfecctionist, and there are plans of it being re-written, so if u like it, hop in the future when i got enough EXP. and writing turned into a pleasure again.

Bacc to the fanfic. There will be at least 3 more projs. after I conclude this one: A continuation where Josh comes back to Eltingville to see Bill and ends up dragging him to Boston; A PeteJer bittersweet tale with two parts in which(as it is in my brain rn, change might come) mirrors the BillJosh plot, you'll have to wait to see; And a Jane-centered story BECAUSE I 💜 HER!!1!!

I.... Okay.... Last one. The cringiest and most personal yet: There will need to be a Miracle, a fucking change of heart of me to not put Fan-Childs at some point.... yeah. Look, I myself plan of becoming a Father/Ba irl and it pours in the way i see relationships. If thats a big ass No-Hell-No! to u, Maybe do not hop into the fishing line of my fanworks, because it is a big factor in the way i view it's development.

[wizardnuke]

im talking about the essay grade again and i got off topic and started talking about the lit analysis potential inthe vast majority of fanfictionbjust. Ignore

i feel like it's such a humblebrag for me to be like "i don't understand how i continually get really good grades in english" because i understand objectively that 1) i am very good at analysis and/or. finding quotes to support whatever the fuck thesis i decided would be easy to support (see: "good at analysis") (i think i honestly just randomly hit the jackpot on "good thesis" but on god i just looked at macbeth and gawain respectively and was like Ah. Women's Wrongs. Easy Peasy) and 2) i know from looking at other people's essays that i am just kind of. marginally-to-a-lot better at grammar and phrasing/understand the very specific madlibs-style layout i have to use and what vocabulary that i need to be putting out. it's madlibs. there's a really technical and specific layout that needs to be followed and i just kind of follow it. it's not hard. it is boring. if i could write academic papers on the shit i'm actually interested in they'd be worthless because it's niche and/or wild tumblr user conjecture. anyone who seriously writes on. hold on i need to generate a thesis. "the cyclic nature of abuse and its direct correlation to homoeroticism in cn's supernatural" could u fucking imagine. that's hilarious. that's some hackjob shit no matter how well i could keep a straight face on the matter because all that people care about is Old Shit. i have no real vested interest in actual literary works beyond "they're important and better than people think". i have extremely strong feelings on a lot of modern works, generally movies and shows and niche dnd webshows, i cannot make a career in that shit, my english prof thinks fanfic is bullshit and i see where he's coming from! i don't think it's bullshit. but. the academic perspective on fanfiction is like "they're not making original work" because the setting/adjacent themes and characters r lifted from another work and there's no real originality in it except that the best fics i've read are like.. an alternate form of literary analysis that is so far from actual essay writing that it's unrecognizable. but people can see the themes and the motifs and rehash them in a way that is absolutely a kind of analysis of the original work, but with flourishes and new ideas and batshit choices that the og media either couldn't make/didn't feel like making/tentacle sex wasn't really thematically fitting but an author decided "hey what if i put themes into this consentacles fic" and like, i want to argue that that's legit. sometimes. but i am not going to do that bc i sound objectively insane and also sometimes it is just not that deep and that will be brought up as an argument and i just don't care enough to explain that it's still an art form even if it's not that deep. is "fun and funky fresh" not a common motivator. if "new interpretations" of works like shakespeare and shit where they plunk the characters into a modern setting and fuck with the phrasing is seen as a viable art form/type of analysis then fanfic is an art form/analysis adjacent to that. not all of it though. some of it is something else that is worse. not that i think that is in itself bad. fanfic is a hobby. can't make a career out of that. but people have made careers out of that by changing the names and setting and publishing books. and that's viable apparently. i just personally am insane and enjoy writing very serious and/or emotionally driven meta on dnd shows. i like themes and motifs and i think that while a quickly written meta post on the tragedy inherent in redemption arcs that hit 50k is absolutely not as academically sound as a cited paper on a similar subject, there's Something To It and there's got to be some kind of potential in it. i like stories. idk if i could make a living out of talking about stories especially from the insane angle that i tend to hit stories at. the possibility of making it a genuine career is driven down below ground after i take into consideration my insanity about modern stories vs my neutrality on older ones. what am i talking abt. bf is yelling for me bye