#idk trash guitar

[zalandercalander]

ROCK ON

[plasticbeeches]

my younger brother has made an instrumental EP for raccoons and the noise that goes on in their minds HES LITERALLY THE BEST t please support him i love my brother

this is my fav song from it but plz check out the whole ep if poss!! thankyou so much::))

[horrorwebs]

good goth stores in greenwich village? specifically looking for boots

[broken-clover]

I really do not want to say it because the kids really are my favorite and I’m so happy to have the back but The Circle is absolute shit and I do not understand anybody who says it’s good. I listened to it three times in a row just to try and see if I’d warm up to it but all it did was make me dislike it more.

[like-i-always-do]

[starlooove]

When will Joseph be back from the war

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Finally got my ukulele mounted to the wall

[trashcreatyre]

Bwuh.... band au.......

[vxsellie]

KINDLY, DARLIN' - 𝐸.𝑊

summary. after seemingly endless days on the road, you find yourself at a random country bar in the middle of nowhere. entering with the sole goal of getting your hands on come kind of alcohol, your attention is soon drawn elsewhere. to a girl and her guitar. notes. ok funny story! this idea came to me from a 5 sec interaction i had with a complete stranger. i went out to a bar, gave ten bucks to the singer, & he said the line that the title is based off of , which the prompted my brain to conjure up an entire love story (he's prob double my age lets be so fr) Also! idk if any of u will like this comparison (if not, just ignore this). but, as i wrote this, i imagined ellie's voice like lucy gray's from the hunger game's. like the slight country drawl, strong vocals, yes yes yes yes Also x2! anyone who follows me should know that im absolute SHITTT at writing smut. but, for some reason, that doesn't seem to stop me from creating works of garbage for my own amusement. anyway, if you reach the smut & realize that it's literal trash, i won't blame u for clicking off of this. just a warning! warnings. brief mention of creepy old men at the bar, depictions of alcohol, public flirting ???, eventual smut, drunk sex in a bathroom LMAO, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r!receiving) wc. 5.1k

𝓕uck your back hurts. Well, if you're being honest, everything hurts. Your neck, back, stomach, legs, hands. Everything that's capable of aching, does.

However, rather unfortunately, you suppose that's to be expected after driving for nigh two days straight in your shitty truck. It's a 90s pickup, the white paint peeling and the tires in desperate need of care. The beige seats are worn and stained, evidence of age having taken its toll on your poor vehicle.

In spite of your truck's needs, you're far more interested in your own ⎯ getting a damn drink.

You're currently coasting through the backroads of some small western town, streets made of dirt and buildings all decrepit. You've never heard of this place before, the name having already slipped your mind due to how utterly foreign it'd been to your mind.

Your headlights cast a yellow glow onto the dirt before you, your tires crunching against fallen leaves and loose rocks. You pass gas stations, wooden homes, dollar stores, an immeasurable amount of churches, and no liquor store. Most shop signs are staked into the dirt, the few billboards all dilapidated in some way ⎯ broken letters, flickering lights, or completely torn from the ground somehow.

Then, by either the grace of God or a wondrous turn of fate, your eyes stutter on a certain sign. A broken wooden one advertising a bar. Your interest is instantly piqued, wheel turning toward the building without hesitation.

You don't give yourself the chance to even think before you're hopping out of your truck and walking into the bar.

The moment you push open the wooden double doors, the sound of boisterous laughter and heavy cowboy boots meet your ears. Perfect.

You stand in place for a moment, craning your neck with narrowed eyes are you examine the atmosphere. To the left, there's a bar with almost every stool occupied by an overweight old man. To the right, there's a pair of barn doors with the word 'restrooms' carved into the wood. In the center of the space, there's bucking machine ⎯ a drunk teenage boy holding on for dear life while his group of friends cackle at him from the sidelines.

Then, on the side of the building opposite you, there's a small stage. It's only elevated a foot or so, wood rotting a bit on the edges. But you hardly care for the conditions of the stage itself. What you find yourself drawn to is the person on it.

In the center is a stool, an auburn haired woman perched atop it with an old guitar situated on her lap. She strums the instrument in an upbeat tempo, leaned forward slightly as she sings into the microphone before her. There's a small crowd in front of the stage, girls admiring and boys whistling.

Considering how run-down this town is, you hadn't expected to stumble across a bar that's so fucking packed. There's barely any open stools at the bar, the bathroom doors are rarely sitting still as people continue to pass through them, the mechanical bull being gifted coins non-stop. But you can't complain.

After so long alone on the road, it's nice to be in such an active atmosphere. It's not calming, of course, but you welcome it lovingly nonetheless.

Watching the auburn for a few moments longer, you then turn on your heel and saunter over to the bar. You're forced to sit beside someone as the lack of stools forbids you from not having a neighbor.

"What can I get'cha, hon'?" The bartender asks you with a tip of his cowboy hat. In his other hand, he wipes the outside of an octagonal glass cup.

"Got any whiskey?" You inquire, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Mhm," He hums, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelves behind the bar. He sets the glass onto the counter with a light clink, popping the bottle open. "'N' how would ya like it?"

"Neat."

He nods once more, pouring the liquid into the glass with a flourish before sliding it across the wood toward you. The moment you grab it, he's turning away to tend to another patron. You drink it quickly, downing the glass in one large swig.

As you place the glass back onto the counter, you feel eyes boring into you. Hoping it's someone of interest to you, you turn only to find a duo of old men chuckling at you. Their cheeks are rosy, bellies full ⎯ therefore likely drunk. You roll your eyes as the bartender refills your glass without a word.

Now with an entirely new bit of determination, you down that glass even faster. Another refill. Another singular gulp. Another refill. Another gulp. Another. Another. Another.

You're now swaying a bit atop your stool, feeling pretty good all things considered. The men continue to gossip among themselves, pointing at your ass. You feel disgusted ⎯ not at yourself, but at them for their fucking audacity. Part of you wants to knock their teeth out. But you're not that drunk.

So, instead, you take the mature approach and simply pick up your glass and exit the scene. As you walk away, you hear their chuckles increase and you suddenly regret not punching them.

Your heavy boots thud against the wooden flooring as you walk aimlessly around the bar. You push through an amass of bodies, everyone too drunk to care for your harsh shoving. Then, before you know it, you find yourself situated in the very front of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand.

The woman's voice is laced with a slight country drawl, her boot tapping against the leg of her stool to count the beats of the song. She nods her head as she sings, a small grin lighting her features.

The dim lighting of the bar doesn't do her justice. But you still manage to notice the freckles that dot her face, the cupids bow to her upper lip, the small scar on her right eyebrow. Or maybe you're just drunk and enamored by her. God, what if she finds you creepy? What if she thinks you're some fucking creep? What if she⎯

She looks at you and you swear your heart gives out right then and there. And, if that weren't enough, she winks. You feel your cheeks heat up and you blame it on the alcohol. You down the rest of your whiskey, suddenly feeling very hot. A light chuckle shakes her chest, ringing throughout the space. Nobody else thinks anything of it, of course, all too drunk and preoccupied to give a shit. But you find yourself fantasizing about all the other ways you could make this woman laugh like that again. Oh fuck you are a creep.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the residual bits of dignity you have left, you pull twenty bucks from your back pocket and step forward to drop it into her open guitar case.

She raises a brow, tipping her cowgirl hat in your direction with a smirk. "Thank ya kindly, darlin'."

Somehow, she'd managed to thank you in tune with the song, keeping the beat going without missing a second. It's almost impressive. Okay, it's super impressive. In fact, you feel your heart speeding up again, mind playing on loop the sound of her addressing you. Her country drawl, her smirk, her long fingers grabbing the bridge of her hat. Fuck.

Impulsively, you end up turning on your heel and heading right back to that damn bar. The bartender just grins as he pours you another serving, likely having noticed the flush to your cheeks and the desperation of which you placed the glass down.

"Mind if I give y' some advice?" He asks, leaning forward a bit.

In an act of self pity, you don't have the energy to deny him. "Why the hell not?"

"I ain't gotta clue who you're blushin' over, but my advice is that." He nods toward something behind you. You cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes landing on the bucking machine. You almost laugh, turning back to him with an unimpressed expression. "Listen, y' ain't gotta be good. Y' jus' gotta move your hips right n' I swear he's all yours. Trust me. I've seen it work hundreds of times."

You don't dare to correct him on the gender of your current infatuation, instead deciding to take a few more drinks for a bit of liquid courage. I mean, seriously. How else will you get this woman's attention? Plus, what do you have to lose? You'll never see her again after tonight. The least you could do is try.

After another few drinks, you're staggering over to the mechanical bull with a few coins clutched tight in the palm of your hand. The wait for the stupid thing is way longer than necessary, everyone competing for the longest time lasted on the machine.

You lean your empty hand on the frame of the wooden fence that encircles the rider, watching with reddened eyes as yet another person is flung onto the ground with a heavy thud. He rubs his head with a groan, though his sounds of pain quickly fade into laughter as he brushes off his jeans and stands upright, returning to his boisterous friends with a crooked grin.

Unease begins to lick up your spine, the logical part of your brain wondering why the fuck you're doing this for some country chick you don't even know the name of. You're strong, sure, but your luck would lead you to breaking your neck.

You look over your shoulder casting a glance in the direction of the bar. The bartender gives you two thumbs up, flashing you a grin with missing teeth. As encouraging as that is, what really pushes you to continue is seeing those two old men. They're sitting side-by-side, lustrous smirks on their face as they stare at you, leaning over every few seconds to mutter something in the other's ear. Yeah. Fuck them. You're doing this.

As you make it to the front of the line, you're overcome with naught but confidence. Whether that be due to the sound of the woman's singing growing nearer or the sight of the gross old men, you don't know. Though, honestly, it's likely because of the sheer amount of whiskey you've downed in the past hour.

"Coins." The blonde woman demands, palm of her hand facing you like a bill you've been avoiding. You place the coins into her hand and she opens the gate, hinges squealing as the prior rider stumbles out with a streak of dirt under her eye.

You walk into the ring, feet staggering a bit already from your drunkenness. You hoist yourself onto the bull, situating yourself until you feel a bit less awkward atop the back of the metal animal.

It begins rocking slowly back and forth. You find it easy at first, not really needing to use your hands. You still do, though, not much trusting the machine to not throw you off the moment you let your guard down. It picks up the speed, more. More. More. More. And, before you know it, it's thrashing back and forth. You hold onto the saddle, a dazed smile spreading across your face as you find yourself having fun.

It spins in a circle, your eyes suddenly catching on the woman on stage. She has the perfect view of you from her pedestal, her stool bringing her higher than the crowd just as the bull brings you.

She's still singing into the mic, her voice drowned out by the sound of chatter and cheers ⎯ though you're not sure if they're directed toward you or her at this point.

You've stayed on longer than you anticipated, the ache in your back returning as the bull yanks and dives under you. But you hold on, suddenly remembering the bartender's advice. You don't want to switch up whatever tactic you accidentally built into habit, but the point of this is to get the woman's attention.

So you wait until it spins back around. Then, while her eyes are pinned to yours, you shift a bit, back moving more fluidly as you roll your hips against it. Nobody else would think anything of it, the act so subtle that you simply appear to have altered your position. But she noticed. You know she did. Because her voice caught in her throat, causing her to have to take a sip from her water and apologize into the mic before resuming.

Your confidence spikes at this, suddenly feeling much more egoistical than you did when she was a complete stranger you made eye contact with once. Now you know you have an effect on her.

So you do it again, maintaining eye contact as you roll your hips against the bull suggestively.

Just as before, nobody else pays any mind, far too focused on the fact that you're stayed on for so long to give a fuck about technique. Honestly, if anyone were to notice, it'd be those creepy old men. And, hopefully, they're aware that it's pointed at this woman and now them. Though you doubt they'd care. Creeps like them rarely do.

The singer, with her eyes now pinned to you ⎯ though, everyone's now are ⎯ switches her tone a bit. Her song alters from an upbeat bar tempo with little meaning to having more directed lyrics to a girl with mesmerizing eyes. Again, nobody else picks up on this. She sings about a random girl with stunning eyes, never digressing past that.

But you know; and she knows. And that's all that matters.

She sings a certain line, something more lustful about the way you look at her. Something suggestive about the way she's imagining you. You instantly falter, your grip slipping.

You fall to the ground with a thud, the entire bar making a sound of disappointment and empathy. You don't care, though, not giving a single damn about the bull riding. All you care for is that fucking singer.

You hit the ground, breath knocked from your lungs. You cough, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Your head spins, the alcohol finally catching up to you. Another cough is yanked from your heaving chest as you groan.

The blonde coin-collecting woman allows the next person into the ring, not waiting for you to give your say. As the next man enters, he offers you his hand. You, desperate for assistance, take it with a grateful smile. He hauls you to your feet, muttering quick compliments on your performance on the bull. You thank him before brushing past him and exiting the ring with staggering steps.

A few people from the crowd compliment you, offering words of encouragement for the 'next time you go up'. You give them half-hearted smiles, chest still aching slightly from your fall.

You shove through the crowd, nearing the restrooms you'd seen at the entrance. You push the doors open and head into the women's side.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, glancing in the mirror for a brief moment ⎯ examining the small cut on your cheekbone and the bruises that are beginning to form on your shoulder and hip. You then lean down, positioning your mouth under the faucet before turning on the water. You drink it, relishing in the taste of cool liquid rather than burning alcohol.

"Mm, look who it is."

You smack your head on the faucet with how quickly you straighten. You groan, rubbing your temple as you turn to face the person standing behind you. The singer. Well fuck, that makes the head smack twenty times more embarrassing.

Somehow, she's even more alluring up close. Her pale green eyes bore into you, lashes lidding them slightly. Her skin is lightly tanned, freckles likely produced from a life spent under the sun. Her forearm has a tattoo covering the rippled skin there, lean muscles adorning the rest of said arm.

You play off your staring by narrowing your eyes at her, "Followin' me, are ya?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, stepping forward to wash her hands in the sink beside yours. She tips her head down, looking at her hands as she scrubs, hat coming to block her face from your view. Unfortunate. "Jus' comin' t' wash the filth off my hands. I wouldn't worry, though, darlin', I'm sure that Smilton boy'll check up on ya."

Your brows furrow at this. "Smillin boy?"

"Smilton." She corrects you rather harshly, looking up to meet your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "Farmer's boy. Rich. Brunette. Helped y' up after the bull."

Realization hits you like a brick. She's jealous. This woman that you've never met, this woman that you stressed over impressing, this woman that you bruised yourself to get the attention of. She's jealous because some farmer's boy helped you stand up. A smirk tugs at your lips, an idea lighting your mind.

"Hmm," You hum lowly, brushing past her to dry your hands on one of the scratchy white towelettes. "He is quite handsome, ain't he?"

"Suppose." She replies shortly.

Your smirk only deepens, drying your hands achingly slow. Because you know she's aware that she has no right to be jealous. And that only serves to make her more pissed off. How interesting.

"What's his first name, if y' don't mind me askin'?" You speak casually, talking with her as though everything that passed between you two prior to this hadn't happened at all. It's driving her insane and you can tell.

"I dunno." She says, turning the faucet off to dry her hands beside you. "Somethin' with a J?"

"Oh, c'mon," you coo, turning to her with those eyes you know she adores. "I know y' know more than jus' his last name."

She looks away, clearing her throat with a set jaw, "you're right. Know his first initial too. It's a J."

You chuckle lightly, releasing the towelette to trace your fingertips along the soft skin of her bicep. "Yeah? And what's your first initial?"

Her entire body seems to tense, breath hitching in reaction to your touch. She looks at you from under the bridge of her hat, green eyes glinting with something informal. Something unfit for a casual conversation between two strangers in the women's rest room. You feel your heart stutter at the sight, having to make an effort not to fall to your knees before her in this very moment.

"E," is all she whispers.

"Last name?" You whisper back, matching her for quietude.

"Williams." She manages.

You hum, eyes following the movements of your hand. Had you not been so drunk, you'd likely never have the balls to be so flirty to her. But, as it turns out, your intoxication is good for something. Well, something aside from staying on some metal bull.

"How pretty," you whisper, leaning forward so your mouth is now right beside her ear. Your breath fans across her skin as you continue. "Now tell me your full name, will ya?"

Her eyes are pinned to your face, pupils tracing your features as your hand traces her arm. She finds herself mesmerized by you, entranced by your every detail ⎯ the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the height of your cheekbones, the line of your jaw. She imagines running her tongue along each of these points, imagines committing your to memory using naught but her mouth.

"Ellie." She replies finally, watching closely as your eyes raise to meet hers. Her heart stutters in her chest at that, as it always does when you make eye contact.

Your gaze flicks between her eyes and lips, hand slowly inching up her arm. "Ellie?"

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a spark of heat to her core. That paired with the way your fingers are lightly tracing up, up, up. You move your hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone, up the side of her neck, and finally rests to cup her cheek in your palm. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," she mutters, voice low as it's weighed down by desire and a deep need to feel your skin on hers.

You ignore her words and move to lean in close enough that your noses brush. Then, with your breath fanning across her skin, you ask, "this okay?"

She doesn't say anything, instead abandoning the towelette completely and grabbing your face in both her hands. With a sudden sense of ferocity, she presses her lips to yours, pulling your body flush against hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle between kisses.

"Quiet," she murmurs, too needy for your touch to have time for conversation. As much as she loves hearing you talk, shed much rather talk via action rather than actual words.

You giggle against her lips, your arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She hums, hat falling to the tiled floor with a light brush. With each passing second, her actions become more and more desirous, suddenly pushing your back against the nearest wall. You let out a huff of air from the impact, your lips quirking up to form a small smile, regaled by Ellie's sudden desperation for you.

She tilts her head, peppering kisses down your chin and along your jaw. They're harsh and hungry, nipping your skin in some places purely to see your brow furrow at the feel of her teeth.

As she trails down to your neck, you tip your head back against the wall and open your eyes to blink up at the wooden ceiling. Your hands fist Ellie's hair as she leaves bruises down the column of your throat.

Still well and drunk, the room swirls around you. The lights seem to shift with each blink, making this all so much more intoxicating. Your nerves are already on edge due to the alcohol, so the feel of Ellie kissing them is absolutely maddening.

You feel as she presses kisses along your collarbone, tongue grazing the taut skin there. You shift, legs pressing together as she grows more sensual in her act of quick intimacy. This movement doesn't go unnoticed by her, however, her lips quirking into a small smile against your skin as she feels rather proud of how quick she's turned you to putty under her.

She moves across the bare skin of your chest, plump lips taking time to memorize each detail that adorns you. You move again, the heat between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Patience, darlin'." She instructs. "I'll get there when I get there."

You frown at this, "well get there faster."

Her kisses suddenly cease, looking up at you through her lashes. She tilts her head at you innocently, blinking as she waits for you to correct yourself. To reword your restive demand. "Don't be rude, now."

You can feel your dignity push at the back of your throat, pride yearning for a moment to speak. Seeing as you're normally the one making orders, this feels quite stranger. But, after the long journey you've taken, you suppose you've earned a bit of time to sit back and let someone else take the lead.

Ellie draws a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, kneeling before you as her head comes to situate itself in front of your waistband. You can't help but admire how she looks from here, hair in your hands as her eyes are pinned to your denim jeans as though it's a buffet and she's a man starved. After a moment, she lifts her head to look at you.

Eye contact. Sparks shoot through your body. Somehow, something as simplistic as meeting Ellie's gaze can make you feel indescribably nervous. Pale green irises bore into you, waiting for you to utter words of consent. You do so, giving her the go-ahead.

As soon as you do, Ellie wastes no time hooking her fingers through your belt loops and pulling your jeans to your knees. She leans forward, eyes lidded.

"Wait." You pant, tugging on her hair to halt her movements. She seems rather annoyed by your sudden interruption, but looks up at you kindly despite her own irritation. You rolls your eyes at her evident pique. "What if someone walks in?"

She sighs heavily at that. "I locked the door."

"Oh, okay." You nod. Though, just as she's about to lean forward again, you stop her once more. "Wait. How did you know to lock it? You were all pissy when you first came in here."

"I didn't know." She explains hastily. "I simply hoped."

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head fondly at her admittance. Then, finally, you don't stop her when she leans forward.

She traces her tongue along the outside of your underwear, the fabric between you only adding to the pulsing in your pussy. A shiver wracks through you, causing Ellie to grab you by the hips to hold you still. She traces circles into your hips with her thumbs, a gentle motion when compared to the needy movements of her tongue as she draws small circles into your clit.

You tighten your grip on her hair, drawing a grunt from the back of her throat. The vibrations from her mouth against your pussy makes it hard to keep back your own noises.

When she finally shifts your panties to the side, you nearly collapse at the feel of her mouth against you. She licks a long stripe up your vulva, a shaky breath yanking from you. The sound only urges her further, taking one hand and drags her middle finger up your center. You shift, leaning heavily against the wooden walls as standing upright suddenly seems impossible. Then, without warning, two fingers shove right into your hole.

Your hips jolt, moving far more than initially seeing as Ellie is now only holding on with one hand. Whilst thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy pussy, her tongue circles your clit with that same neediness, mirroring you for desperation.

Your head falls back, thudding lightly against then wall. At the sound, Ellie ceases. You almost whine at her sudden stopping.

"My eyes are down here, darlin'." She says lowly. "Let me see you."

Begrudgingly, you oblige, lowering your head to make eye contact with Ellie. She's on her knees, legs folded against tiled flooring as she resumes her lapping. You huff out an airy moan as you have to actively stop yourself from tipping your head back again. She holds your gaze the entire time, adding to the intensity of the feel. Her eyes are lidded, shoulder moving as her fingers recommence.

This all paired with your dizzy head and swimming vision makes for quite the climax, core knotting progressively as Ellie doesn't dare to stop. "Fuck," you pant as you buck your hips against her face, forced to watch as you do so. With another heavy breath and an arching back, you utter, "I'm⎯"

She seems exponentially proud as she hears you say this, regardless of if you finish your sentence or not. She pauses only for a moment to say, "yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, though it comes out more of a moan than anything.

"Do it, darlin'."

And you do, coming undone right atop her face. She, admittedly, relishes in it, hydrated only by what you're able to provide her with. You see stars and they're swimming too, circling your head in a celestial body of pleasure. And Ellie watches, for once allowing your head to fall back as she deems this a one time exception. Because there will be a next time.

You're panting as you lower your head to face her once more, her gaze never having left your expression. She makes out with your pussy sensually as to bring you down from your high. Then, as gently as she can, she situates your panties back on correctly and pulls your jeans to rest as your hips, remaining knelt in front of you as she zips and buttons them just as she'd found them.

You watch with a twinkle of fondness behind your irises, unable to look away from the expression of adoring concentration she wears. She then uses your hips as a support system to haul herself back to her feet, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You can nigh taste yourself on her.

"Not bad for a stranger at a sketchy bar." You muse, picking her hat from the floor and situating it atop her auburn tufts of hair. She watches you, analyzing your every move.

"I'm not just a stranger." She reminds you as your eyes find hers, your hands coming to drape around her shoulders. "I'm a stranger who wrote a song about you."

"Mm," you hum, "so you're a stalkers stranger?"

"I prefer the term passionate." She says, shooting you a playful scowl.

You chuckle, "passionate for what? Stalking and preying on drunken women?"

"Pfft-" She scoffs. "You're not drunk."

For a moment, you consider agreeing with her. To save her the pain of realizing you hadn't been sober for this. But you know better than to lie to her. So, through lidded eyes ⎯ ones that should have been a rather telltale sign of your intoxication ⎯ you give her a look, not even needing to voice the truth aloud for her to understand.

"Well fuck." She groans, taking a step backward and causing your arms to fall to your sides.

Frankly, you'd expected her to be much more angered than that. Because you know you would be. After writing a song, chasing down, then tongue-fucking someone in the bathroom, the worst news to receive would be that they'd been wasted the entire time.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, for some reason feeling the need to earn her forgiveness.

"How're you planning to get home?" She asks.

"I hadn't thought about that." You admit.

"How about this," she suggests, "I give you a place to stay to apologize for fucking you while drunk and you let me take you to dinner tomorrow to apologize for not telling me beforehand. Deal?"

A smirk works its way to your mouth, "deal."

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[rueclfer]

heyy there can i request some more touya headcannons? i really enjoy your way of picturing him because it’s just so canon and he’s kinda a lovely dick y’know. whatever comes to ur mind. thank u so much!!

weelll since you gave me so much freedom here r some touya as a housemate hcs ANNDD a moodboard bc i enjoy the visualization <3 since we talked abt this the other day too !! (i yapped so hard here sry sry this is so indulgent)

bakugou's and sero's version too hehe

housemates // touya todoroki

touya hates the idea of living with a complete stranger or one of his siblings, so what other option does he have other than forcing his best friend (crush) on a lease with him?

the newfound freedom definitely puts him on his ass for a few weeks. barely sleeps. eats like shit. trash is scattered everywhere. several unpacked boxes. it stays like this until fuyumi comes over to check our the place and gives you two a hard scolding to get your shit together.

more often than not, you'd end up waking up on the couch with your legs sprawled out across his lap and his upper half leaned over the couch arm rest in deep sleep. staying up so late was probably one of his favorite things about living together. being able to talk as loud as you wanted, watch movies late into the night, look over the city from your balcony- he found solitude in existing with you.

if he wasn't already codependent before moving in together, just know his ass will be GLUED TO YOU. you'd be doing work in your room and he'd barge in and flop down on your bed without a word. maybe he'd gotten a bit too comfortable.

if he's feeling extra annoying that day, he'd bring in his guitar and amp and keep asking you to rate his riffs until you entirely give up on work and give him some attention.

is it obvious his love language is quality time? not only that, gift giving too. he's like a fucking crow.

"look what i found. it's a rock. for you."

makes him soooo giddy to see your display of the rocks, feathers, and dried up flowers he picked up for you on his walk. sometimes you'd come home and there'd be a new addition to the ever growing collection.

ofc you'd return the energy in a different way. touya will not cook for himself. ever. he eats like shit as an internal rebellion against the healthy diet he was forced upon as a kid, but you will not allow that boy to rot himself from the inside out!! he can expect several tupperwares of portioned out meals with notes attached to the lids if you know he'd be home all day by himself.

"to t <3. if you don't eat every last bite i'll find out and it'll hurt my feelings and i might combust into flames or something idk don't risk it!"

i can also imagine him holding back tears whenever you ever come into his room to hand him a bowl of cut up fruit. the first time you do it he'd be speechless like jaw dropped taken aback. has he ever felt love like this??? i think not.

despite all of the kind gestures, he's still touya todoroki. hides your keys if you annoyed him that morning by rushing him in the bathroom and makes you a few minutes late to class/work. chronic door slammer. pisses with the door wide open. no sense of privacy and do not gaf to knock. always locking himself out -> i feel strongly about this like imagine coming home after a long day and he's sitting out in the hallway with a pouty face waiting for you hehehe.

i don't think he'd realize this crush until a few months after you've moved in together. how could he when you two practically already act and bicker like an old married couple?

yes- peanut butter belongs in the fridge. no- it doesn't. stop leaving your socks everywhere. you forget to flush again. stop slamming the doors. you ate my chips, didn't you? don't lie. did you really need to put the mugs up that high? (he does it on purpose, and tightens the lid to every jar too.)

it wasn't until one late evening when he comes home to find you frantically mixing a doughy substance in a large metal bowl. you never bake, but you have your own oven now, so why not?

"god, finally. help me, my arms hurt." you groan, shoving the bowl in his hands. "i think i fucked up."

he sees the hurricane aftermath of your kitchen- flour everywhere, egg shells left on the counter, every single jar imaginable opened and scattered around. he could be teasing you about the mess, but god you looked so beautiful with that stupid wrinkle in between your eyebrows as you read over the recipe, and the streaks of flour across your pant leg from wiping your hands, and the way you swipe away the stray pieces of hair falling in your face with the back of your hand- oh fuck.

he thinks he's falling in love with you.

he swallows it, but he starts acting kinda weird around the apartment.

like he's.... avoiding you?

living with his best friend whom he just so happens to develop a crush for, would eat him alive. he locks himself in his room and chain smoke out his window while he's stressing the fuck out. he told you he'd stop smoking, but he's sure you'd understand the need for it right now. he hopes you can't smell it.

i also think he'd be a stress cleaner lmaaoo he cannot sit still with his thoughts for too long, so the headphones are ON and blasting and he'll definitely use that as a scapegoat + the loud ass vacuum for ignoring you if you try to talk to him while he's on this cleaning frenzy.

you think he's sick LMAO imagine the pain he feels when you come knocking on his door and calling out that you're leaving a bowl of soup and cough medicine outside his door for him. he doesn't tell you that yeah he's sick but *not in that way*

lovesick. that boy is lovesick!!!!!!

how do you avoid your housemate while you figure out how to control your feelings?

he confesses via note that he leaves on the kitchen counter. really simple tbh nothing too extravagant, but he signs off by telling you that he's staying crashing at fuyumi's for a couple days.

you text him a string of obscenities to get his ass back home and he does (he's scared of you).

he CAANNOOTT talk about his feelings in an adult way. he is sitting on the complete opposite side of the couch, twiddling his thumbs, and staring down at his feet like a child while you reread his confession note out loud to him. you find his discomfort hilarious but endearing. he finds you unbearably insufferable.

jesus the amount of times in that apartment where he would storm off to his room whenever you two got in an argument or you pissed him off...old habits die hard, you guess, because this isn't the todoroki household anymore and you aren't scared to lose that deposit and kick a door down.

once you corner him and get him to open up about his feelings the air in the room suddenly shift!! the clouds are clearing and the sun is shining woooowww look at what good communication can do.

sharing an apartment with your BOYFRIEND is no different than sharing one with your best friend. i think he'd like to keep your separate bedrooms to have your own space, but you'll rarely sleep apart.

so! many! new! traditions!

helping him dye his hair on the first saturday of every month. biweekly horror movie marathons. counting the communal piggy bank ever couple months. trying new takeout spots until you find THE spot for every category- chinese, pizza, ramen, etc etc.

and finally, an everlasting mark on your first apartment together: a small carved out heart around your initials left on the inner corner of a kitchen cabinet done with his pocket knife on a random weekday evening while you two are cooking dinner together.

-

touya tag: @moonchild701 @kaldurahms-lover @themultifandomgirl @devilslittlehelper @porusuniverse @ratatellie @katbug37 @ggriwm

[bomber-grl]

Percy Jackson x Child of Apollo ☀️

Pairing(s): Percy Jackson x Gn!Reader

Honestly I like the idea of an Apollo kid(aka you) looking down on Percy

Not necessarily with being evil but rather being competitive and having fun

Maybe this is when Percy decides to walk on by, he’s extremely skilled with swords so why not see what others do with their respective weapon?

He’s walking by and that’s when he sees you in particular

You’re shots are extremely accurate and one after another with little hesitation

Just because Percy’s a camp legend doesn’t mean he’s excused from doing chores

And so, he’s paired with you and some other people to clean out the restrooms

That’s when a friendly banter blossoms and you’re going on about how awesome arrows are to use and how his only power is water when you’re throwing out trash

He gasps in feign offense and tries his best to convince you water is just as cool as arrows

Although that may prove to be difficult to argue to an archer, and arrow enthusiast

The talents and impressiveness that Percy feels only doubles when he learns of your other skills

The moment he learns you can draw is when he’s amazed

He was never particularly good in the arts but he loves people who draw and paint or anything really

He may or may not be a little annoying with asking you to draw him but he doesn’t even need to ask

We all know an artists love language is drawing their s/o and just as that was inevitable, as was Percy finding said drawings

Not that they were ever secret

And if you ever do the trend where you draw each other? He’ll keep the portrait you painted of him and hang it on his wall with the rest of your drawings.

Anyway moving on to instruments

He’s also immediately fascinated

Something about Percy is that if it’s not something he can do he’s intrigued and if it is and you’re better then he’s ready to learn

Honestly? I feel like Percy gives drums or guitar vibes

Idk maybe it’s just me 🤷

He’d definitely ask you to teach him though, I don’t make the rules

He’s always wanted to learn but with school and constantly having to prevent wars and save the world he never had enough time

Plus with him you’ve got your own built in audience that’ll cheer and give praise

Even more ways to bond

There are a good amount of campers that belong to the Apollo cabin so when Percy is introduced to the them he’s met with a culture shock

Not exactly but it’d be a comparable idea to what he was feeling

He was alone most times (except for when Tyson was around) so he was used to be alone

But with the Apollo cabin? That was the opposite

It was warm and friendly and honestly was sad

Because although it was tight knit we all know that the cabin used to be tied with the Hermes cabin at camp until the titan war..

On a more happy note, now that I’ve mentioned Tyson let’s talk about how you meeting him went

I mean he was immediately nice to you as you were to him but if you show him your skills and specifically healing

You and Percy were hanging out with him near the lake and a very notable flower on the ground was crushed

Sure, Demeter children handled plants but healing was a universal effect

And so you made the once shriveled dry flower, seem alive again

Tyson is so intrigued and wants you to do it over and over again

Which is eventually stopped with Percy explaining why you can’t

It was sweet, and you even gave the flower to Tyson

Later you found out he kept it with him where he went, although it was delicate as it had already dried

I feel like an Apollo kid that can heal is so helpful for Percy

We all know how often he gets hurt so having a built in hospital is all he could need

Only downside is your constant scolding of course…

[pocket-jack]

Somewhere in their past:

Kid: Killer! Look what I found!

Killer: Oh! It's music instruments!

Kid: Yeah! And the whole storage of them!

Kid: Look! I'm the guitarist! "Proceeds to strum a guitar really badly" C'mon, Kill, get on the drums! Let's make some trash music together!

Killer: Well, idk. I never played

Kid: Yeah, me too, so what!? It's still music! C'mon! For the sake of fun and giggles!

Killer: Sign, okay...

Killer: "Proceeds to beat the soul out of those drums like a God of drumming" Phew... That was actually good!..

Kid: :0

Kid: "Pathetic strum"

[menlove]

the way paul said that he'd wait a lonely lifetime and then he never did🤪

see but he really did :( liiiiike....... the thing is, john went all in with yoko first, and paul has said a few times that he really thought it was just a phase and it took him a while to figure out they were in love. and he's talked a lot about how he felt he couldn't get in the way of love, specifically as he was a man and if he were a girl he could have. which to me just says it was just very much this internalized homophobia of like "i really fucking love this man but he found Actual Normal Love with a woman and getting in the way of that wouldn't be right or okay"

and it was only After john went full in w yoko that paul proceeded to have his spiral (sending people weird post cards and proposing to several people) that wound up in him marrying linda. & him and linda really did build a beautiful and loving life together, but from what they've both said before it doesn't sound like it really started like that. bolstered by the fact that they got in a huge fight before their wedding that nearly ended the relationship, he went to his ex's house and broke down but never explained why or what was going on before leaving, and then spent the next like year deeply depressed drinking and not getting out of bed

i think he very much meant the sentiment of he'd wait a lonely lifetime for john. but the thing is, john really never got it together either. paul, in the 70s, did reach out to him Many Times and a lot of those times was rejected (new orleans, showing up at the dakota w his guitar, even in john's last interview where he said paul was "creatively dead" even after they'd made up). but paul still kept reaching out. that whole time. and yeah, he had linda. but john also had yoko.

like idk i am a John Understander but i am not a john apologist the guy was a cunt and i completely get why paul didn't wait around single & alone for john to get his shit together. the dude cut everyone in his life off, moved to a different country, and trashed paul & the band publicly for like 2 years. that's enough for anyone to cut off a friendship, let alone anything romantic, but paul did still keep trying

and i mean hell, the guy is STILL writing about how much he misses john and loves him & talks about him constantly. he's still waiting that lonely lifetime :(

[dukeofdelirium]

God lord. Imagine her husband Lockwood strumming his guitar behind her while she goes like.🎶 " Oh you made me so high like I never was before. Come to my dream tonight." 🎶

And Lockwood is like: " Paycheck Paycheck. Paycheck"

I saw a comment on a forum during one show she said that the sex was great abt mj.

I also heard that while MJ was still alive during her marriage with Lockwood, she didn't call her husband by his first name because it reminds her of MJ. (same name 🤷)

Anyway in my opinion they didn’t match. She's classless and lacks respect. Evident is also the virginity part in her book which I AM SURE he didn't meant for her to tell the whole world. ( No matter how you slice it you cannot excuse this shit. )

But yeah, i'm not even 100% if i should believe her on that.

You can think and say what you want about their relationship, but I’m not the blogger you should be saying it to if you’re trying to trash Lisa Marie because I don’t agree and I don’t think that of her. I’ve asked multiple times for people not to slander her in my asks, so once again: refrain from putting shit like this in the ask box.

Idk why MJ fans are shocked that MJ didn’t sleep around with women prior to marrying Lisa Marie. The man was raised a devout Jehovah’s Witness and they do not have sex before marriage, and though Michael left the religion some odd years before Lisa Marie, he still clearly struggled with how he’d been raised and continued to practice a lot of things typical of JW’s including not celebrating holidays like Christmas considering he didn’t even have his first Christmas until 1993.

MJ not sleeping around with women isn’t a bad or weird thing at all. If he didn’t want to, who cares? That was his choice. I’m sure it was hard for him to feel comfortable around women to that extent, and I’m sure it was hard for him to find women to date in the first place. MJ said in his own autobiography that it was difficult for him to feel comfortable sexually around women, saying they always tried to move too fast for him and constantly overstepped his boundaries. He was also exposed to way too much sexual shit far too young: performing with strip teases, being told to lift up women’s skirts and shit as part of a music act as a literal child, having porn magazines shown to you on live TV as a child, being forced to listen to your brothers have sex while you’re in or right outside the room. Women constantly sexually harassing you. Madonna herself trying to force herself onto you.

It’s not shocking that Michael was hesitant to have sex with someone given his upbringing and the type of abuse he often suffered… not to mention the fact he was the most famous man on earth.

[whoopeecapclub]

i need my devices to be seized.. idk if this is too niche but here’s a lisa the painful au where this troop of gay little monkies lives in olaithe. below are some quick blurbs abt them so read if youd like to ❤️

Osomatsu:

- oso lives on garbage island. he mostly keeps to himself since he’s scouring the heaps of trash there for groddy magazines he can use and half empty liquor bottles.

- he’s in an odd state of denial mentally, not having changed in the slightest since the flash and since his other brothers splintered off. sort of like how he was in s1ep24.

- oso is a frequent joy user and an alcoholic.

Karamatsu:

- kara is a traveling guitarist who instead of having an actual guitar, he has a makeshift one instead he made himself. it doesn’t sound very good but it doesn’t matter to him. one of the only things that occupies his time/still makes him happy are writing, telling stories, and playing his janky guitar.

- he orbits around trash island, so he’s still in contact with osomatsu. they visit and check in with each other frequently, mostly karamatsu being the one to make sure oso hasn’t drowned in a pile or garbage.

- kara doesnt take joy but smokes and drinks.

Choromatsu:

- choro is the owner of a bar in stone village. he’s abstinent so it doesn’t thrill him, but since he misses normalcy and how society was structured he uses it as a way to feel normal himself once more. that and to sustain himself.

- because he has to deal with drunken idiots all day, it exhausts him and makes it even harder to own a bar but he trudges on.

- he is still in contact with jyushimatsu.

Ichimatsu:

- ichi is the only one of the brothers whose really actively thriving. he spends his time as a fisherman in muddy waters, occasionally catching fishmen by accident.

- he’s having a wonderful time compared to before the flash since he has no obligation to really talk to anyone else.

- even if he’s taking advantage of the situation to be alone, he is still in contact with todomatsu since totty works at the beehive. he still misses his brothers despite everything. i mean the rest of them miss eachother too but yknow.

Jyushimatsu:

- jyushi is also thriving, but in his own worse way than ichi is. he’s a wrestler in the ewc, but it’s consumed his life and he uses it as a distraction from the present moment.

- he uses joy as a performance enhancement drug when wrestling.

- choromatsu is still in contact with him to keep an eye on him and to make sure he’s not hurting himself with his wrestling or joy habits.

Todomatsu:

- missing the attention he’d get before the flash and the need for a structured life, totty chose to work at the beehive in muddy waters. he’s not a fan of it but all he does really is cradle big weepy men so he deals with it. he appreciates the mags he gets at least.

- totty takes joy to dissociate from their career in post-flash olaithe.

- ichimatsu is still in contact with totty.

if you read all of this thank you so so much for being interested in my specific ass au i love yooouu…

[theunmarkedtombstone]

Typing Teenage Dirtbag aesthetic on pinterest is a disgrace, don't ask me why I was at the Devil's Sacrament, I get it, but my God no one actually understands that being a teenage dirtbag is supposed to be abt being a loser and not being a functioning teenager.

People who are NOT teenage dirtbags:

- Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You (hot, and people were afraid of him, which made him popular, even if for the wrong reasons. He scored the most beautiful girl in the world not by luck, but by actually putting in effort even if he was doing it for money. She literally wrote a poem for him. Clearly fucks).

- Effy Stonem from Skins (hot, knows it, has an actual sex life).

- Avril Lavigne (pop punk star who was almost a teenage dirtbag, but was also the consumer version of what a teenage dirtbag is) (I'm With You still fucks severely though).

- Chad Michael Murray in Freaky Friday (I genuinely don't remember his character that much but he fell in love with both Lindsay Lohan and Lindsay Lohan in Jamie Lee Curtis' body and attempted to pull HER, so idk that to me involves a level of confidence a teenage dirtbag shouldn't really possess. Also he's hot).

- Daria Morgendorffer from Daria (absolutely clinically depressed and it's difficult for me to say this, but she manages to out talk everyone too well for her to be an actual loser. She's just absolutely too intelligent to be there and an extremely uptight presence, but not really a dirtbag. She stole her only friend's boyfriend, which is toxic loser behavior, but then she managed to keep said friend and said boyfriend, before breaking up herself. She delivered a speech at the end of the show, and managed to be totally herself and reaffirm her own beliefs in front of her entire class. Her behavior was not a reaction to her surroundings it was who she was. Not a dirtbag).

People who ARE teenage dirtbags:

- Rodrick Heffley (thinks he's hot shit because he has a band, but his entire career came down to playing at the school talent show and his mom was the one who went viral. Also he canonically doesn't know how to spell. Iconic teenage dirtbag behavior).

- Janis Ian (manipulated her own friend to go after her enemy because her enemy destroyed her reputation in front of the whole school so much, she essentially got loserfied. She wears a tux to prom. Her only friend is an openly gay guy in 2004, who btw IS NOT a teenage dirtbag himself cause he's confident and he knows he's the shit).

- Sid from Skins (spends his entire time lusting over his best friend's girlfriend and, from what I remember, fucks her after his friend gets ran over by a bus or right before. Doesn't pull, only by accident and looking like that).

- Jane Lane from Daria (artist, loser, has a smart mouth, but not smart enough. Brother is a stoner who has a band that's gonna 'make it someday, man.' Entire family is a fucked up conglomerate of artists who are 'free thinkers'. Goes to school to see her best friend only. This best friend then fucks up her hair and steals her boyfriend, and she stays friends with her. Almost too cool to be a teenage dirtbag, but she has such an overwhelming vibe of it that looms over her that it makes it impossible for her to outlive it).

- Richie Tozier from It (smoker, trash mouth, constantly chased by bullies, doesn't pull, doesn't give, socially anxious, thinks his dick is bigger than yours (it is not)).

- Needy Lesnicki (I don't even need to explain why she's here, but here we go: Dated a drummer. Wore that to prom. Friends with the weirdo goth kids. Has a "punk rock" outfit to go to a bar. In love with her abusive best friend she can't quit. Constantly called a lesbian by the only girl who's weirder than her in her year).

- Juno MacDuff (talks like she's a constant stand up comedy routine. Pregnant from her best friend who's a bigger loser than her, and whom she loves dearly, at the age of 16. Into weird horror movies and comics. Knows how to play guitar. Threw up in her stepmother's urn and blamed her kid sister. Her only other best friend is a beautiful girl who's in love with her teacher and he is NOT hot. At all. So deprived she was almost sadly groomed. Sits on her car and contemplates the stars).

- Those two girls who are always hanging out in the bathroom in Drop Dead Gorgeous (look at them. Just look. One of them is pregnant and they are the only ones who have the guts to say that it's the popular girl and her mom who are murdering everyone because they know that no one gives a shit about what they have to say. Don't go to the school beauty pageant parade cause one of their waters broke. Still heavy smokers through it all).

Unclear:

- Colin Gray from Jennifer’s Body (Looks like that, but then he tried to pull the literal most beautiful girl in school now that she was socially irrelevant enough to go out with him and that still takes confidence. Also he looks like a MySpace wet dream in 2009, when looking like that was cool. Like I said, unclear).

- Kat Stratford (She is in between. She's a teenage dirtbag that knows she is one and embodies that with confidence, which by default makes her NOT a teenage dirtbag, you know? Difficult).

- Bill Denbrough (stutters, sure, but he also ends up with the only girl in their group, who's canonically chased by all the other loser boys. He's king of the losers, but if he lost the stutter, would he really still be a loser?)

That's it. Please stop sharing pictures of "teenagers" with vodka bottles and huge groups of friends, having fun. Those were the people you wanted to be in high school, therefore not teenage dirtbags. Being a teenage dirtbag is about pain and being a loser. Understand the essence. Thank you.