#ignore that you can see the corner of my tv in the image

[stressedjester]

See this is what I meant about him riding with Bats all the time. And that hand placement?? 👀

[littlemochabunni]

1-800-TROUBLE

Serial Killer!Suguru Geto x Bimbo!Fem reader

Content: 18+ MDNI!!! Serial killer Geto, Bimbo bunny girl reader, fuckboy victims, blood and homicide mention, implied roofing, knife play, deepthroat, degrading (slut, whore) + praise kink (princess, baby sweetheart, love), daddy kink, Multiple O’s, & Creampie

A/N: Ahhh sorry for the delay my sweet freaks, but I did it and I must say holy shit I’m nasty 💀; AND UM HELLO?? THANK YOU FOR 1.1K?!?!? I seriously cannot find the words to describe how happy and grateful I am for each and every one of you <3. I love you and enjoooy 🖤

wc: 3.7k

 On your way home from a party you take a few wrong turns, and when you try to call your…. Overprotective boyfriend your phone dies before you get the chance to tell him the cross streets, you’re at. With it being late on Halloween night, most of the house porch lights are off your feet continue to carry you down this foreign neighborhood until you hope to see someone could help you. Tears begin to sting your eyes with each street corner you turn, and the nip fall air strips you of any warmth from your cropped puffer jacket Suguru made you wear before you left. You definitely wish you listened when he warned you repeatedly to charge your phone too… 

Police sirens are blaring in the far distance from where you originally started which means only one thing… “One of the officers can take me home!”  Right… 

Trying to follow the sounds to guide you out of the maze of houses you’re lost in. You find a group of men sitting in an open garage, drinking with the tv on in the background. Although you know Suguru told you not to talk to strangers especially when they’re drunk, what other people were around that could possibly help you?

“Excuse me? Hi, I’m like super lost…Can I borrow your phone or a charger please?” Every one of their eyes grazes over your body before meeting your eyes, and of course the man that looks spot on for a Chad speaks up first, “Ooo a sweet bunny girl like you all alone? Need me to come warm you up?” You glance around the garage spotting the space heater near the couch he’s sitting on and a bright smile appears on your face. “It would be nice to get out of the cold while I charge my phone!” You happily skipping inside the garage to sit near the heater and immediately feel so much better now that you're off your feet… Little did you know that with this little interaction…. you won’t be back on your feet anytime soon. 

All eyes are on you and you're like an innocent hare unaware of the foxes preying in the tall grass. 

“So, you gotta a name sweetheart?” Asked the store-brand version of Derek Shepherd. “Uhh I’m a bunny, duhh?” The men all blink at you before bursting out in a fit of laughter. You don’t understand how that was hilarious, but you’ll take it as a compliment. “Funny and cute… But seriously what’s your real name?” 

  Hearing that emergency number Suguru always tells you to remember if you're lost coming from the braking news announcement about some house party incident. You focus on the tv and ignore Chad’s questions, “Hey can you turn the tv up? I think I know that number.” The extra quiet man, who remains you of your friend's creepy uncle Lester, turns up the tv and it retells the gruesome murders of the house party that just occurred half an hour ago…. 

“The next image we show may disturb some viewers…” 

Grumbles and tsk scatter among the men around you as they get a glance at the gruesome writings on the wall. You squint your eyes as you notice a similar stamp Suguru uses when he writes you love letters…. Your stomach drops at the thought of someone else using that beautiful stamp for something so… horrifying. 

“This message along with a description of the women and the phone number were left at the scene of the crime…” The woman proceeded to describe you from the hair on your head to the holographic boots you’re wearing. The men in the garage are too drunk to realize that you’re exactly what the killer wants, “Please if anyone has any information regarding this woman… please call: 1 (800) 876-8253… That’s 1-800-……TROUBLE… Again, that number is 1-800-876-8253…” 

You begin to feel guilty about making Suguru so worried about you that he had to go to the local news to find out where you were. Tears fill your eyes as you quickly try to turn on your phone only to realize that you forgot to plug it in, “Sorry um… I really need to call that number. Can I use one of your phones please?” Chad looks towards you smirking smugly, “Oh sweetness, I’ll let you use my phone only if you put your number in it too.” Your teary eyes brighten as your request is going to be made possible, “Oh thank you soo much.”  

Chad hands you his unlocked phone and you begin dialing the number with a bright smile on your face as it rings, “I hope he answers... I know he's so worried.” You don’t notice how Chad’s smirk fades nor the other two men grumbling about how long it’s been since either of them have gotten laid... As you mention a ‘he’ Chad scoffs as soon as the phone is answered, “You got some fucking nerve to be using my phone to talk to another dude… you fuckin’ tease.” You pout as Chad lets his blue balls speak for him and off brand Derek Shepherd snorts as he turns the tv off, watching every unfold between the two of you, “Hold on kay’? You don’t have to be so mean...” You hear heavy breathing on the other side of the phone which pulls your attention back towards your initial plan, “Um Hello? I’m the woman that the lady was talking about on TV? Daddy told me to call this number if I got lost? H-Hello?” A familiar growl is heard before a distorted voice rings through your ear, “Where are you.” The rough demanding voice sends tingles down your spine and your frown quickly turns into a smile of relief that you’ll be able to get home safely. “Uhh let me ask them real quick,” You look between store-brand Derek and Chad like you’re so close to winning the lottery, “Uh what’s the address?” Derek gives you uneasy smile before looking away and Chad holds his hand out asking for his phone back, assuming you thought he’s going to tell the person the address for you. “Oh, he’s gonna tell you for me, here ya go!” As you pass the phone back to Chad, and he gets up and walks into the house... 

“Ay don’t bother coming to get the girl or calling this number back. She’s gonna be too busy taking my dick.” Chad says boastfully, “The only dick she’s takes is mine.” The distorted voice says darkly. “Ha not tonight big guy. You can have her back in the morning.” Chad says before ending the conversation… 

A few minutes of awkward silence goes by before creepy uncle Lester gets up to shut the garage. Chad comes back to the garage with two beers in hand before handing one over to you and sits back in his spot of the couch, “So did he tell you his way here?” Chad takes a swig of his beer as he glances between Derek and Lester, then gives you tight smiles and nods. “Yeah yeah… might take him a while, so you should get comfortable sweetheart.”  With the good news you smile brightly and tap your nails against the glass bottle softly, “You know we never got you name little bunny?” Lester speaks to you for the first time, but his eyes don’t meet yours. He’s too busy undressing what little clothes you had on. “Well neither did you silly! I mean it is Halloween. Do names really matter?” Lester tsk at your response and mutters whatever under his breath as he struggles to open another beer in his drunken state. “Aren’t you gonna drink? Don’t need you wasting our beer and our time.” Chad chimes in with his half full beer in hand, although his words are bitter his tone is sickeningly sweet as if he was speaking to a child. 

“Oh! Actually, I don’t drink beer it’s like super gross. You got like a soda or somethin’?” You chuckle as you place the beer on the table. An uncomfortable feeling sets in as the men stare at you. They all exchange looks between each other, but a late night.... An extremely late-night trick or treater knocks at the door before anyone can act or say anything... Derek is the one to get up to answer the door, “Who and the hell let’s their kids out this late...” he grumbles as he walks into the house.  Lester grabs your open beer off the table, but Chad warns him not to, “Now now... You shouldn’t drink the lady’s drink. Have some respect dude.” Lester waves him off, but grungily puts your drink back down on the table. “Sooo is that a no to having any soda?” Both men ignore your question and Lester turns the TV back on. 

A few minutes go by since Derek went to go answer the door, and just as Chad gets ready to go check the situation, his phone begins to ring with the caller ID being Derek himself, “Dude where the hell did you go?”  

“Sorry about your boyfriend, all those muscles didn’t help much.” the distorted voice rings through his ear and chills ran down his spine, and he doesn’t react too kindly to this prank, “Who the hell is this?” Chad spits venomously into the phone. “Why don't you come find out, filthy monkey.” The call ends before he can respond, and Chad being himself isn’t the type to pussy out to any threat... Yet something in the back of his mind is telling him not to go... “Bro let’s go see what’s going on...” Chad taps Lester leg to as he dozes off, “What? Why the hell do I have to go?!” Lester protest, “Don’t be a pussy and get up.” You perk up as they both get up to head inside the house, “Ooo can you get me a soda too!” Lester is the first to head inside the house, and just before Chad follows suit, he turns on his heels towards you with an irritated look, “You’re cute, but dumb as rocks y’know that sweetheart?” You pout and he leaves you in the garage alone.  

Ten minutes go by, and a lot of banging and muffled voices are heard from inside the house, but Suguru always tells you not to go digging your nose into other people's business. So, you reach over to grab your phone... which is still dead because the charge itself wasn’t plugged in, “Goddamn it! Guru is definitely pass pissed off by now...” You bend over the back of the couch to plug the charger into the wall. 

“Your incompetence never fails you does it Princess?” Suguru’s voice startles you, but his appearance is something straight out of a horror movie alone, “Aww Guru, you scared me! Aww, and you did dress up for Halloween after all! I wish you came to the costume party.” As you ramble on and on, Suguru gives you that same smile he always gives you when you’re so oblivious to the dangerous things around you. He sauntered towards you, luring you deeper into a false sense of security.  Not that you would notice any of the rage he was feeling… No, he made sure that you would feel just how angry he was when you’re his good little mindless cock—

“Y/N.” he utters as you continue on about how you wondered about and met the men, he had the pleasure of coming across himself. You’re lost in your own world which isn’t helping you out of the punishment of Suguru’s wrath… only makes it harder and harder for him to fight the need to carve his name into your skin. 

“My poor poor little slut. You have no clue how much trouble you are, do you?” You gasp as he grips your hair at the base of your skull, forcing you to strain your neck to look into his darkened eyes, “I-I ‘m sorry you had to go to the news to find me, Guru… I won’t be so... S-so careless next time…” Suguru chuckled humorlessly at your words and his grip tightened causing you to whimper. “It's always next time with you… Next time I tell you to do something you fucking do it. Do you understand that you brainless brat?” You nod slightly which only angers him further, Suguru press the very same blade that took the lives of the people from the party and those disgusting pricks in the next room, “Use your fucking words or I’ll cut that pretty little voice box of yours from your throat.” Tears well up in your eyes as you swallow the fear in your chest, “Y-yes daddy.”  you mutter timidly. Suguru’s grip loosens slightly, and he gives you a sadistic smile, “That’s my good girl, now stay very still...” He slowly glides the blade down from your throat to the harness of your costume, you keep your eyes on his as he swiftly cuts the leather fabric like it’s nothing. “You have no idea how many people I’ve killed just for looking at you Princess… How many times have I told you to stay out of trouble, hm?” You look around as you think about each time Suguru has told you and you begin to count each moment on your finger, and he laughs mockingly when you do so. “It’s a rhetorical question, dumb bunny.” You pout confused at his statement. “Soooo was I supposed to repeat the question?” He presses the blade against your cheek with light pressure and he smiles as you stiffen at the sensation, “Let me do all the thinking for you,” Suguru unbuckles his belt with his free hand, he pulls out his throbbing cock from its restraints and you gasp softly at the sight of his cock stands a few inches above your lips, “Open your mouth princess.” without hesitation you open your mouth, relaxing your jaw as he slide his cock down your throat with easy. Pushing your face closer to his pelvis “That’s it princess, just relax don’t think.”   

Your eyes roll back as you choke with his thick cock down your throat. You squeeze your thighs together, attempting to gain some sort of friction. Suguru groans out feeling you gag on his cock; he smirks as he glides the blade down the laces holding your corset together cutting away the fabric slowly, causing you to flinch. 

You gasp at the stinging sensation when the blade deeper against your skin, “Now did I tell you to move princess?” Suguru scold you as he pulls you off his cock, “I-I’m sorry daddy I just really like this outfit...” He mentally rolls his eyes while caressing your cheek and smiling at you, “Don’t worry about that love. We can always replace materialistic things, but we can’t replace you, so stay still like a good girl.” He brushes he cock against your lips, and you gleefully take his cock down your throat once more. 

Gaging and moaning at the feeling, he curses under his breath while gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail pushing his cock deeper down your throat, “Fuuuck baby— such a good little slut. My good little slut, yeah?” He cuts you free of the suffocating corset letting your breasts breathe freely, your eyes water while you look up at him. 

 That was just what sent him over the edge of holding back, Suguru sets the blade on the couch and grips the back of your head to pull back slightly leaving the tip his cock resting on your tongue, “Take a deep breath f’me sweetheart, time I fuck your throat properly.” Before you could even take in a complete exhale, Suguru shove his cock back down your throat, fucking it relentlessly without any mercy in sight the sounds of his loud groans fill your ears, “Sh-Shit— y-you fucking attention needing slut. You love pissing me off, don’t you? Showing your ass to all those filthy fuckin’ monkeys.” His harsh words leave a pool of excitement dripping down your thighs and the lack of oxygen you dig your nails into his thighs, desperately needing his cock to fill your cunt.  

Suguru grunts as you do so and roughly pulls out of your throat, and a long web connects your swollen lips to his tip. You cough roughly whilst finally taking in a deep inhale, “Daddy please? Please fuck me! Can’t wait anymore please? Ple—” Suguru grabs you by the neck pulling you up to your feet, and your bodysuit falls to the floor. He growls into your ear, and more tears fill your eyes as you squeeze your thighs together tightly, “You’re already crying, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” Suguru chuckles darkly while caressing your wet cheek, “If you’re this much of a mess just from sucking my cock, I can’t wait to ruin your cunt.” You let out a choked moan as his grip slightly tightens around your throat, “P-Please?” Begging him to ruin you just how he wants... With those wet red eyes, tears-stained cheeks, swollen lips... 

 Suguru’s grip tightens as he pulls you closer to whisper in your ear, “Bend over now.” He releases his grip and picks up the blade once more. You step out the bodysuit completely, placing your knees on the couch with your ass in the air then lowering your upper body down to rest on your forearms. “All soaked just from sucking me off? Or did those monkeys get my slut excited, huh?” Suguru glides the blunt side of the blade against your thigh and hip while spreading your slick slowly with his fingers. Shuddering at his touch and the blade against your skin, “O-Only you daddy! Can only get this wet from your tou— mmn!” You whimper softly as the tips of his fingers tease your clit, deepening the arch in your and his cock twitches at the sight. “Such an eager little bunny aren’t you sweetheart?” Suguru places his knee on the couch behind you while keeping the other on the floor. 

 He taunts your cunt with his tip making you wiggle and moan, “Keep. Still.” His icy voice kept you still as a statue and from making another sound all together. You’d forgotten about the blade against your skin all together, too excited for his cock being deep in your guts…. He’s still pissed off and he’s not letting you off that easily… 

 Without warning he bottoms you out, pushing every atom of oxygen from your lungs, “You really thought I’m gonna fuck you because you deserve a treat? Oh no princess.. I’m taking away your privilege of being able to walk freely without every step remaining you that you.. belong… to me..” Suguru bullies your cervix with a few more deep thrusts before pulling out, giving just a few seconds to fill your lungs with air again and he slips back into your cunt while gripping you hair to keep you from running away. “Su-Su!— D-Daddy! Wa— fuuuck!” His cock keeps your brain from calling out any mercy you think he’ll have on you, without realizing you cum around his cock and only broken words and screams can be heard. Suguru pulls you up from the couch and bites on your neck harshly, marking you in the most mundane way he can. Fighting his sadistic needs, “Don’t try to talk your way out of this now Princess. Remember you begged for this, so take it.” He growls in your ear while dancing the blade up from your hip to your navel. Fear and pleasure overwhelms your senses as he continues to fuck you like he absolutely despises you, and taunts you with the sharp object against your skin. “D-Daddy pleeease! Ah a— ‘m sorry!” You cry out while panting heavily and drool begins falling from your lips, yet Suguru ignores your pleas and opts for you muffled screams instead. “Bite.” He brings the handle of the blade to your lips and without question you bite on the handle, muffling your sounds. Suguru stops his movements all together leaving you to throb around his twitching cock buried inside of you, “So you listen when you want to and not when you need to, is that right y/n? Or is it because I fucked the remaining brain cells you have outta ya, you can’t complain now?” Hearing him say your name your rolled back eyes start to focus, and your breathing becomes heavier as he only speaks your name when you’re in the type of trouble where no one and nothing could save you from him… 

“Oh don’t worry precious. I’m not gonna hurt you… You’re gonna feel real good. I can promise you that, but you don’t get to stop cumming on my cock until I say you’ve learned your lesson.” Suguru takes his free hand and grabs both your wrist, placing them behind your back, giving your neck a kiss before thrusting inside your cunt at an animalistic speed. Your mind short circuits causing your eyes to roll back and muffled screams to leave your lips, “S-Shit you like when I fuck you like this, don’t you? You love being my little brainless whore.” Suguru’s words are confirmed when you scream as your second orgasm hits you harder than the last, and your body trembles uncontrollably.  Suguru groans as you tighten and cream around his cock, leading him to chase his high and he tightens his grip on your neck, pulling your body back against his like you’re his personal fuck toy. “Be a good doll and milk my cock, yeah? I just might forgive you for the trouble you caused.”  

In your fucked out state, you do as you’re told and bounce back on Suguru cock, trying to match his pace. “That’s it princess. That’s it— Fuuck~” Suguru shoots his load deep inside your cunt, triggering another orgasm of your own. Drool runs down your chin as you tremble and moan out, Suguru groans in your ear and takes the blade from your lips to kiss you passionately. “D-Do you f-forgive me daddy?” You croak out as you look at him with heavy eyes. His raven hair brushes against your cheek as he whispers, “Oh.. Oh princess….. Not even a little.” 

A/N: Somewhere along the way during my….. research I ended listening to Badjhur annnnd I haven’t been the same since.. But anyways! Thank you so much for reading!!! 🖤

tags: @fuyuaika @ykimobessed @smolbeanzzz @bontensbabygirl @euvwia @etherealmaya @macsimagines @hoshigray @biscuitsngravie @tojisbutterfly @bunz-lover also!!! If you don’t see your tag it’s because tumblr wouldn’t let me 😭😭 I promise I haven’t forgotten about you 🥺🖤

[oddaesthetin]

simping over him — lee jooyeon

fluff

—

jooyeon sits next to you on the couch, all long legs and that dumb grin that makes your brain short-circuit. you don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he’s wearing that particular hoodie you like on him or the way his neck is just there.

like, WHO gave him permission? his hair is still damp from the shower. he looks wrecked, judging by his toned down loudness. three days of nonstop performing would do that to anyone, but here he is, lounging like it’s no big deal.

“you good?” he asks, glancing at you from where he’s propped up against the couch. he’s tired, you can see it in the way his shoulders sag a little and how his usual energy is dialed down to a lazy grin. but there’s still something mischievous in his tone, like he knows you’re one heartbeat away from blowing up.

he’s right, by the way.

you’re trying to focus on literally anything else—the pile of laundry you’ve been ignoring, the weird stain on the carpet, the meaning of life—but no, your brain’s like jooyeon’s neck, jooyeon’s neck, jooyeon’s—

you shift uncomfortably, trying to focus on the TV instead of, well, him. the way his hoodie hangs loose around his collarbones is driving you insane. you’ve been doing so well all weekend, keeping your thoughts appropriate, but now? now, the universe has you cornered.

“could you please get your neck away from me?” you blurt out, crossing your arms and leaning as far away as the couch allows. “i’ve fought so hard to remove that image of your neck i saw from pinterest on my mind, and i don’t think i can go through that again.”

jooyeon blinks at you, caught off guard. he freezes. did you just say you’ve been thinking about his neck?

suddenly, the fatigue that had been weighing him down for days? gone. vanished. wiped from existence. he feels alive.

his eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, you think he didn’t hear you. then, he bursts out laughing, the kind of laugh that makes his voice high-pitched, shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle, and okay, now this is worse.

“my neck?” he wheezes, clutching his stomach like you’ve just delivered the punchline of the century.

“yes, your neck!” you glare at him, but it’s hard to stay mad when he’s laughing like that. “someone posted that stupid picture of yours looking all worked up with your head thrown back and your veins showing— and oh my god, describing it is so weird but now i can’t look at you without thinking about it. so move. away.”

instead of moving away, he leans in closer, his face way too close to yours. “you’re saying you’re obsessed with my neck?”

“jooyeon, i swear to god—”

“no, no, go on,” he says, grinning like the menace he is. “tell me more about how my neck haunts your dreams.”

he’s losing it inside—but the way you’re burying your face in your hands makes his chest feel lighter, like he could run another concert right now, fueled entirely by your flustered energy.

“this is why i don’t tell you things,” you mumble, voice muffled.

“but you did,” he teases, poking your arm. “and now i’m never gonna let you forget it.”

you peek at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you’re obsessed with my neck.”

“oh my god, shut up.”

he laughs again, softer this time, and when you finally pull your hands away from your face, he’s looking at you with that stupidly fond expression that makes your chest feel all warm and weird.

“don’t worry,” he says, tilting his head with a smirk that should be illegal. “my neck’s all yours. if you want, you can even mark it up.”

your brain short-circuits so hard you can barely process his words. he tries stifling a laugh after he see you pause and your jaw literally drop. this’ll be worth it, he thought.

“what—who says that?!” you choke, smacking his shoulder like it’ll erase the memory.

he shrugs, all casual, like his insides aren’t doing somersaults. “i’m just saying, if you’re this obsessed, we might as well make it official.”

you grab a pillow and smack him square in the face. he yelps, laughing as he tries to shield himself, but you’re relentless, fueled by sheer embarrassment and the need to wipe that smirk off his stupidly handsome face.

“ow—hey! violence?!” he yelps, laughing as he tries to shield himself. his cheeks hurt from smiling, and his heart’s doing that weird thing again, the one it always does around you.

when you finally stop, breathless and red-faced, he leans back on the couch, watching you with the kind of quiet confidence that makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” he says, voice soft and teasing, “you’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

you groan, flopping back against the couch and covering your face again. and your boyfriend?

he just grins like an idiot, feeling more energized than he has in days.

you can have his neck.

you already have the rest of him, anyway.

—

© oddaesthetin 2024

[ashwhowrites]

HII can I request a dom Robin buckley x fem reader.

Robin is at work, but comes to users house, an hour earlier because she got Steve to cover for her so she could see reader but when she comes into readers house after users mom let her in, she hears really small moans, and we are humping a pillow >_< and Robin opened the door, quickly shutting it, and then RAILING reader 😩 If its possible, could u do it so reader sits on Robins face, and a strap in it too, OR pick one, I dont mind!! Thank you 😊 💓

I LOVE your fics sm, I would comment, and praise your work but I'm too scared my mutuals will see what smutt i read!! 😓

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Punish

Y/N had been sexually frustrated all day. She tried her best to wait for Robin, staring at the clock. Her girlfriend was at work and still had two more hours to wait.

She tried everything to distract herself from the pulsing between her legs, but it became the only thing she could think about. She turned the TV up louder in hopes it would drown out her sexual thoughts.

After thirty minutes she accepted that her plan wasn't working, she sighed and closed her eyes. She hoped she could sleep it off, but the images in her head became clearer. She clenched her thighs as she pictured Robin's fingers tracing shapes on her thighs, a teasing smirk on her face. She groaned and tried to shake the image out of her head but it flashed to another scene.

Y/N opened her eyes, but the ache between her thighs was too hard to ignore. She admitted defeat and grabbed her pillow. She stripped out of her pants and threw her underwear to the floor. She placed it on the bed and moved to straddle it. She shivered in bliss as she lined her cunt up to the corner of the pillow.

She slowly began to move her hips back and forth, the pleasure felt powerful from how desperate she was.

~

Robin skipped up her girlfriend's driveway, excited that Steve showed up early so she got to leave. She walked up to the front door and gave it a soft knock. She greeted Y/N's mom with a smile as she opened the door. Robin walked in and headed for Y/N's bedroom. As she got closer she started hearing soft whimpers and moans.

Robin couldn't help but smirk as she got closer. She put her ear against the door, and the moans and whimpers became clearer. She cracked open the door as quietly as she could, peaking inside.

Robin felt a tingle run down her body as her girlfriend came into view. Y/N was on her bed, desperately rubbing against her pillow. Robin snuck in and closed the door. Y/N jumped away from her pillow as she heard the door.

She looked at Robin like a deer in headlights, Robin smirked at her as she walked towards the bed.

"You couldn't wait, sweet girl?" Robin cooed, tracing Y/N's jaw with her fingertips.

"I tried but I got so desperate," Y/N whined.

"I know, but I'm here to help you now," Robin smiled. She leaned down and pressed her lips against Y/N's. Y/N moaned against her mouth as she kissed her back.

The kiss didn't last long, Robin pulled away and moved to settle on the bed. She put her back against the mattress and called Y/N over.

"Come straddle me, pretty girl," Robin directed.

Y/N smiled and happily swung her legs over Robin's lap.

"Up here," Robin smirked, pointing to her lips. Y/N shivered and moved up Robin's body. Y/N placed kisses up Robin's stomach and up her chest.

Y/N centered herself over Robin's mouth, slowly easing herself down. Robin wrapped her arms around Y/N's body and smashed her down against her mouth.

Y/N moaned as Robin teased her clit with her tongue. Y/N dug her hands in Robin's hair as she moved her hips, riding Robin's face.

Robin happily ate Y/N's cunt, not caring to be slow or neat. Her head shook back and forth as she touched everywhere she could with her tongue. Pulling all sorts of sounds from Y/N's mouth.

Y/N gripped her headboard when Robin sucked her clit, she was already near orgasm before Robin showed up and she could feel it building again. Robin took no mercy, sucking and flicking her tongue as fast as she could. Y/N could hear how wet she was against Robin's face, making her skin burn.

Robin pushed Y/N down so she couldn't escape as the orgasm ripped through her. Y/N threw a hand over her mouth as she rode out her high, her thighs shaking around Robin's head.

Robin took her time to clean her up before she allowed Y/N to move. Y/N tried to catch her breath when Robin let go of her body, rolling to the side. Robin used her shirt to wipe off her mouth, then turned her attention to Y/N.

"Hello to you too," Y/N laughed breathlessly, leaning over to press a kiss against her lips.

Robin smiled against her lips and kissed her back.

"Don't think you won't get punished for being impatient," Robin whispered, a dark look in her eyes.

Y/N whimpered as Robin's hands began to work down her body.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : idol!Choi Jongho x F!Reader TW : angst ; reader doubts about the relationship ; fluffy at the end ; Word Count : 2.4k

“I know that you’ve all seen the images online of me with the girl, and I don’t want anyone to speculate or make rumors…” You listened to the words that your boyfriend of 2 years was saying, your heart beating faster as you waited for him to finally drop the news. Hiding the relationship had taken a toll on not only you, but the relationship in general. It was hard to do anything when your boyfriend was under the watchful eye of the entire world, and it seemed like reporters were always waiting around the corner for new pictures to post of him. Maybe if he finally told everyone everything it would make things more simple for the both of you in the long run. “The girl that I was seen with…” Here it comes. Now’s the time. It was finally going to go public, you’d be able to take casual walks down the street without having to see your face trending on twitter as the mystery girl. “She’s an old friend from school. There’s nothing there. I promise. The reports and the pictures and everything can stop. Please.” 

You stared blankly at your laptop screen, unable to even fully process what had happened just yet. He had the perfect opportunity, it was the opening that he’d need, but he blew it. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and now you realized, it surely wouldn’t be the last time. He was at the office, it’s not even like you could talk to him about it either. You’d have to wait for him to come home, and by then he was so tired that he usually just wanted to go to bed. He always got to ignore it or avoid it or deflect. It was what he did with every problem when it came to you and the relationship. He didn’t care enough about it, and maybe you shouldn’t either.

“I’ll be home in like… 20 minutes or so.” Jongho said, his voice coming in through your phone speaker as you sat at the table eating your dinner. “Do you want me to grab something on my way home when I’m done at the office?” He asked, and you could hear the voices of the other guys in the background. The guys that didn’t really know much of you or about you, only the same thing that the rest of the world knew. You were simply Jonghos friend that he occasionally hung out with. You definitely weren’t the girl that he claimed to be deeply in love with, definitely not the girl that he had moved in with after only 6 months of dating. Nope, that surely wasn’t you. 

“Nah, I’m good.” You mumbled in between chewing, quickly dabbing your lips with the napkin beside you before grabbing your phone. “Take your time at work, I’ve got things to do.” You added, and the silence on his end almost made it seem like the call had ended, but you knew better. He was thinking, and he was thinking hard. You had never told him to take his time, you’d never want him to get home later than what he planned. You loved when he came home, and you’d usually run over to hug him or kiss him or both when he came through the door. 

When the silence lasted longer than you were used to, you were about to hang up the phone, but then you heard him clear his throat, the sound of fabric rustling picking up through the speaker. “I talked to Hongjoong and the guys, I’m coming home now.” He sounded like he was on edge, and you were sure it was because of your strange responses, but then again, he was the reason you were acting like this in the first place. 

The call ended quickly after your hum of disinterest, your thumb pressing the red button before you moved from the kitchen into the living room, dropping down onto the couch and flicking on the tv. It was just another thing that you normally wouldn’t do. Most of the time you’d stay on the phone with him until he walked through the door, only ending the call once you could hear your voice through his phone and your own. 

It’s not that you hated him, and it’s not that you even wanted to break up. You loved him, but you were tired of being in the shadows. It’s not like the company wasn’t okay with the guys being in relationships, most of the others had already come out about their own. You didn’t know the reason behind him hiding the relationship, but if he wanted to keep saying that you were just a friend, then that’s exactly what you’d be. 

He walked through the front door, pausing at the landing to look around for a second, and the sigh he let out sounded more like relief than anything else. You were sure that he probably thought you were cheating, and you would have probably thought the same thing if he had randomly changed the way he was acting. “Hey, babe…” He murmured, shimmying out of his coat and draping it over the back of the couch as he walked over to you. 

“Sup.” You responded dryly, allowing yourself to sink further into the couch which was, once again, unlike you. Where was the hug? Where was the kiss? It was like he was in the twilight zone, and he moved in front of you, standing between your eyes and the tv screen. “Do you need something?” 

The way his eyes blankly stared at you for a moment was almost comical, but then he started laughing, running his hand through his hair as he shook his head. “You’re funny. Come’ere.” He opened his arms for you, and you wanted so badly to jump off the couch and be embraced by him, but you knew that if you did, nothing would ever change. You quickly high fived both of his hands before leaning to the side to watch the tv around him, leaving him dumbstruck. “Hey… Come on, you can watch the tv after you give me my hug and my kiss.” 

He grabbed the remote off the arm of the sofa and quickly turned it off, his arms crossed as he stared at you expectantly. Jongho wasn’t one to really pout at you like this, and he’d never pry for physical attention from you either. As long as you told him you loved him, that was what truly mattered… But you hadn’t even said that yet. “Awh, come on dude. The show was just getting good.” You groaned, rolling your eyes as you pushed yourself up off the couch. 

Before you could even walk away though, his arms were wrapped around your waist, his face mere inches from your own. “It’s not funny anymore, Y/N.” His voice was stern and you hated the effect that it had on you right now, but you held your ground, your nose scrunching up as you leaned away from him when he tried to kiss you. “What are you… Is there someone here right now? Are you cheating on me?” He was furious, but through that anger was also sadness. You hated hurting him like this, but if this is what it took to get your point across, then this is what you had to do. 

“No.” You said flatly, your expression one of fake disgust as you lightly pushed against his shoulders to make him back up. “You can’t actually cheat on a friend, that’s ridiculous.” His hands dropped to his sides as his head cocked, confusion written across his features as he looked you over. “And you can’t really go around trying to smooch up on all of your friends, kinda weird buddy. Your other friends might not handle it as well as I did.” 

You sat back down on the couch, and he was still standing, frozen there in the middle of the floor. If you could see his brain, it was probably smoking, working hard to figure out what the hell was going on right now. “What!!?” He screeched, finally speaking the one single word as his body whipped in your direction. “You can’t just put me in the friendzone! We’re dating! You’re my girlfriend! Stop being silly.” 

“Actually…” You started, folding your hands in your lap, finally being serious for the first time since he walked through the door. “According to you, and the rest of the world… I’m just an old friend from school. So… You put me in the friendzone. I’m just acting accordingly.” 

His mouth opened momentarily, but it was like he didn’t know what to say. He knew exactly what you were talking about, he just didn’t know how to back out of it. He had dug the hole and put himself in it, and now he doesn’t know how to get out. “You watched the live stream?” He questioned, and you could only give him a look of disbelief. 

“I watch all of your live streams. I guess you could say I’m a pretty good old friend.” You emphasized the words, pushing yourself up off the couch to stand in front of him. “Anyway, I’m gonna go to bed now. Goodnight buddy.” You patted his shoulder before walking off toward the guest bedroom, and he had been frozen in the middle of the room still until you reached the door of the guest room. 

“What… What are you doing? Why are you going in there?” He hurried over to you, his hands wrapping around your wrists to pull you away from the room. “You know I love you, right? I might not be the best at showing it, but I do…” 

You scoffed lightly, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you while standing in front of him. “Oh no, you’re wonderful at showing it inside the house. Outside though, you suck. Now I know why you don’t hold my hand in public and you don’t look at me the same. Are you embarrassed of me? Or do you just love the attention that you get from your fans so much that you don’t want to risk losing it by saying that you actually have someone?” 

“What?!” He gasped, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Where did that… Babe, you know it’s not like that.” His thumbs brushed along your cheek bones, maybe he thought he’d catch some tears, but there was nothing. Obviously you were hurt, you wanted him to be proud to be with you, you wanted him to show you off, but it’s not like crying would make that happen. He needed to want to do it himself. 

“Jongho, seriously…” You breathed out the words, your hands slowly moving up to grab his just to pull them away. “I’m not going to be exactly what you want me to be behind closed doors just so that you can treat me like nothing more than a friend outside. Maybe you’re not embarrassed or ashamed of me… But you’re not proud enough to put me before your fame. Clearly acceptance from the fans takes priority over loving me.” 

Incoherent words flew through his lips in a rush, he was stumbling over them, unable to speak fast enough. “You are my friend though… You’re my best friend…” He shook his head, his fingers combing through his hair. “You’re also the love of my life, I want to spend my life with you. You mean so much to me, and I’m not prioritizing anything over you. The guys… when they came out about their relationships… they got so much backlash, their partners said they’d leave… some of them did leave for a bit. The fans get crazy and I didn’t want you to deal with that. I was just trying to protect you, to protect us. I don’t want you to be miserable or unhappy, I don’t want you to be stalked whenever you go to the store or even just leave the house… I love you and that’s why I hide you. I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want it to become too much for you.” 

Damn if his reasoning didn’t make sense, but it did, he knew first hand through experience just how hard it was for the guys and their girlfriends to deal with the publicity. Most of them couldn’t even go out anymore, and if they did they were constantly surrounded by bodyguards. They had no privacy, they could never enjoy a normal relationship. “It wouldn’t become too much for me…” You whispered, your head lowering as you slumped against the doorframe. “I would never leave you for anything. I just… I want to be with you… I want to be able to be with you outside. I want to hold your hand, I want to be more than an old friend…” 

His bottom lip jutted out slightly as he grabbed your hands, his thumb brushed along your knuckles sadly. “You are more than that… I just don’t want you to get hurt…” One small tug of your hands had you stumbling forward, falling against his chest, and it was only then that you allowed yourself to cry. “You’re my top priority, over everything else, you are the most important thing in my life. That’s why I need to protect you.” His hands slid up your arms and over your shoulders, his finger slipping under your chin to tilt your head up. “I promise that one day, the world will know how lucky I am, they’ll know that I’m in love with my best friend, and you love me…” 

You swallowed thickly, your nose twitching as you sniffled softly. “Promise promise? Pinky promise?” You whispered, and a small smile tugged at his lips as his eyes glanced down at your hands, his free hand moving to latch his pinky around yours, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your finger. 

“I pinky promise.” He murmured, letting your hands drop and leaning in to kiss you, his lips lingering against your own, having awaited that feeling since he stepped foot through the front door. “Do you wanna join me for dinner? And then we can cuddle in bed for the rest of the night. Would you like that?” Your head nodded quickly as you pushed yourself up to kiss him once more, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, need and desire filling you completely as your lips moved against his. He hummed softly, his own hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. “Babe…” He breathlessly said the pet name, his cheeks slightly flushed as he looked at you. “We can continue that after I’ve eaten too. Don’t forget where we left off.” 

[arting-block]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝟏.𝟓) | Eleventh Doctor x MCU!Sorcerer Reader

❝𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦.❞

Summary: Wong mourns the deaths of his friends.

Genre: Romance, AU/Crossover

Warnings: Death, Angst

Words: 1.1K

Reader: POC friendly, she/her, 24 y/o.

A/N: All of my half chapters would follow the events of the characters within the MCU. No reader or Doctor here today but they will appear shortly! It's sad Wong hours now :(

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“Amidst the attack upon New York as well as Scotland, all of it culminated upon Wakandian soil as what sources say, a large alien attack,” the reporter’s voice catches in her throat. Her eyes closed, gathering a moment to compose before continuing, “Earth’s mightiest heroes tried to fend off the attackers…But ultimately failed.”

Silence envelops the dark living room. Wong’s face is highlighted harshly against the TV’s blue lighting. Dull eyes stare into the pixelated image of the shaken reporter, one of many that Wong had cycled through. Hours spent clicking the remote, seeing the same headlines, the same recordings of people decaying into dust. Each reporting of the same matter made the hole in Wong’s chest grow exponentially. 

Tears were seen falling down the reporter’s cheek, “Our city is left vulnerable as sources say that New York’s very own heroes—” a shuddering breath catches the end of her sentence. 

Wong’s body is made still, hanging onto the reporter’s every word. Hoping against hope that she doesn’t finish her sentence; that if she withholds the information this nightmare would surely end. 

Heart beating painfully beneath his ribs, Wong felt the overwhelming urge to reach beyond the screen and muffle the reporter. With each second that passed, the tension in his body threatened to snap.

The reporter fully breaks down, covering her mouth in a fruitless effort to stop the sobbing overtaking her body. Hands appear beside her, ready to pull her back out of frame before the network turns off completely. 

Darkness overtakes Wong’s eyes, yet he makes no move to turn on the lights. There is no thought flickering in his eyes, only the bottomless feeling of despair. It pulls him down into the couch, spiraling in his chest until his eyes feel the familiar burn of tears. Closing his eyes, his last memory of you and Stephen earlier that day shone bright. 

Stephen’s cocky grin, openly taunting the alien with telekinetic abilities.

You in your signature red robes, opening a portal to Scotland with a determined expression.

It was the last moment—that flicker of a second before you left where you turned back to Wong. The soft yellow glow of magic highlighting the side of your face and smell of dewdrops and fire coming from beyond the portal. A small smile blooms on your face. Did you always look so tired? 

“I’ll be back,” you call softly, your voice cutting through the silence of his memory, “You’re in charge while I’m gone.”

You left before he could utter a reply. 

“She could handle herself,” Stephen said, sensing his unease, “She’s been at this longer than us.”

Of course he knew that. 

Gripping the arm of the sofa, he tries to keep his emotions from bursting. He knew that even if one tear manages to escape, everything would become real. 

In this moment of time, sitting in darkness, he can pretend just for a moment longer. Rewind a few hours to the point where he wasn’t aware of yours or Stephen’s absence. Wong could relive his memories where he was guarding the Sanctum, waiting for the swirl of magic. With only the will of his mind, Wong can exist in a paradox. Simultaneously knowing the truth whilst living in ignorance. 

Maybe, if his mind permits, he can exist in the pockets of memories. Just for a moment. A simple time that he took for granted; Stephen tucked away in the far left corner of the library reading an old Vedic text, Wong in the center of the room filing away rustic scrolls and grimoires. Once in a while Stephen would break out of his reading to join Wong in the enchanting of papers so that they could have a free afternoon. If Wong concentrated hard enough, he could smell the thousand year old leathers and black coffee. Sunlight kissing his face, warming up his now cold chest. 

Maybe, just maybe, if your busy schedule allowed it, you could join them in their free afternoon. The two men portaling to the inside of your office to not-so-subtly ask if you could spare time to come back to New York. “Peter is wondering where you were”, “We need help restoring this relic, but it seems we left it back at the Sanctum”, “Do you have the recipe for your chicken because Stephen burned down the kitchen”. 

You would roll your eyes, scoff, tell them they’re grown adults; “All the magic in the world and yet you need a girl half your age to fix your mess”. But your words have no bite. 

More often than not, you wouldn’t need their questions to visit them. You would appear under the guise of routine inspection. Sometimes you come to get a book knowing damn well you’ve already mastered all of its pages. Although Wong and Stephen don’t speak of it, they know the most you visit is when they’re not there. After a grueling mission, two of them would come home to tidy offices, a restocked fridge, and a new layer of runes along the entrance of the Sanctum.

Wong would rather be caught blue in the face before ever admitting that he would strain his ears to hear your portal. Instead of a subtle crackling of sparks, he waits for the sounds of the air being seared through. 

Opening his eyes, the endless void welcomes him back. Warm memories trickle out, and the grief blooms into his chest once more. Reality comes to remind him of his duties.

The Sorcerer Supreme is gone. Only Wong being the only Sanctum keeper alive out of the three in the world. Sooner or later the remaining masters would hold yet another conference. The deaths of the strongest sorcerers in the world would spread to every corner of the multiverse. 

Wong’s eyes darted to the place where the coffee table should be. It’s shrouded in darkness, but he knows where the crumpled newspaper is.

A muted image of you being surrounded by monstrous aliens. Snapping teeth and sharp claws inches away from doing damage. Blood trickled down, your face permanently snarling while your hands had a trail of fire. Carnage piled in the background to the bottoms of your feet. Wong could tell that the picture was taken moments before you’d unleashed the pent up energy in your body. Glowing veins in your neck bulged, the markings along your sleeve glowed a bright orange. The tell-tale sign of a signature move; one that became your moniker. 

Below the picture was a headline that sent all the sorcerers of the world into a frenzy: 

EARTH’S GUARDIAN ANGEL, SERAPH, GONE AFTER BATTLE OF WAKANDA. WHO WILL PROTECT US NOW?

taglist:

@angelxx7 @namenotimportant1373 @mxacegrey @krokietino @kanemxyoo @talia-the-gemini @floyd-le @fandom-lover-4

[ash5monster01]

Perfect To Love Part 17

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, angst, trust issues, language.

Summary: Beth Walker was used to living in the shadows. She had only one friend and anyone else who paid her mind usually bullied her for her size. So she learned to keep her mouth shut, her head down, and her heart closed because she had to accept the fact that she would be nothing more than the fat girl to people. That is until Robin decides Beth needs more in life and that might just include a boy who she never would’ve thought could see her for who she truly was.

word count: 2,631

Part 16 ←→ Part 18

Masterlist

Beth loved her birthday. Being a Christmas baby was a different sort of magic. The only thing was she had never had anybody to spend it with before. That was until this year. This year she actually got to throw a party, one that everyone actually said yes to coming too. That was a first for her. Especially her parents who were shocked by the crowd Beth had brought in, and how different they all were from one another. Everyone had come. Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Max.

Everyone except for Steve.

She couldn’t help but be disappointed but after all she didn’t invite him. She had planned this after making up with Robin and Steve hadn’t reached out until two days ago. She did see a glimpse of his car in the driveway when he dropped Dustin off and that thought alone made her heart lurch. Yet she couldn’t think about it for too long because for the first time her living room was full of people she loved, laughing as Dustin beat Lucas at another Atari game. The Christmas tree sparkling in the corner and all her birthday presents scattered under it.

“This cake is amazing” Eddie said, his mouth full of the chocolate cake with pink frosting her mother had made. Beth chuckled lightly at him before handing him a napkin.

“I’ll tell my Mom you said so” she told him and he just smiled wide because Beth’s Mom was her, just older, and he had no issue shamelessly flirting with them both.

“Oh I’ll make sure she knows” he said and then Beth was launching a pillow across the living room, hitting him square in the head, and Robin fell into a fit of giggles as this happened.

“You asked for it” Nancy said as she pulled the cake from his lap to avoid further damage of smearing it on any furniture.

“Nance, are you going to see Johnathon for the Holidays?” Beth asked as if she didn’t just attack her other friend and Nancy smiled softly.

“Yeah he flies in the day after Christmas. I’ll have him till New Year’s day” she smiled softly, a warm blush on her cheeks and Beth vaguely wondered what it would be like to be so far away from the one she loved. Then she realized in a sense she knew, Steve being a far away thought for a while now.

“Me and El call the basement” Mike called out from the floor in front of the TV and Nancy rolled her eyes.

“You’re fifteen Mike, you do not need to be alone with your girlfriend” Nancy bickered back and Mike shot daggers her way.

“Yes I do” and then the two of them were arguing, clearly pent up for time alone with significant others.

“Will is coming home too, I can’t wait” Dustin piped in, eyes glued to the screen as he yet again beat Lucas at whichever game they had moved onto playing.

“It’s been so long since the original party has been together. Mike has been planning a campaign all week” Lucas grinned as he set down the remote, now tired of Dustin destroying him at every game. Max crossed her arms and instantly glared his way.

“So you can spend 19 hours in a dusty basement that smells while ignoring me?” she asked and Lucas instantly got nervous under her stare.

“You’ll have El” he offered and she just rolled her eyes before standing to sit beside Beth on the couch.

“Boys” she muttered and Beth just chuckled at the fiery red head, in awe of how she had put up with all of them for so long.

“All right let’s stop bickering and let’s do presents” Robin clapped her hands together and instant footsteps came from the kitchen.

“Ooh presents! Wait for us” Allie cooed as she joined the kids in the living room and Alan grumbled from behind her, following at a much slower and less eager pace.

“Alright let’s get this over with” Alan said but Beth knew he didn’t mean it in a mean way. That was just her Dad, and she loved him dearly for it.

Presents got handed her way, the first from Robin. She had bought her a new book she had been wanting. Nancy then gave her a new dress, very similar to the one she got on her first date with Steve and Beth could only smile. Eddie had gifted her a homemade Corroded Coffin shirt and she chuckled before telling him she loved it. The kids had all pitched in to buy her a necklace, it was dainty and silver, and held a tiny charm that said 84. The year her car was built. It was extremely thoughtful. Then her parents had gifted her a copy of Back to The Future on VHS, knowing her love for Micheal J. Fox. After all of that there was still one gift left, neatly wrapped with a beautiful yellow bow around it.

“It’s from Steve” Robin muttered, unsure of Beth’s reaction and she felt a bit of shock wash over her before seeing Dustin who sat nervously avoiding eye contact. She knew he had brought it for him and he was very kind to do so.

“I’ll open it later” Beth told her softly and Robin nodded as she placed it back under the tree, an awkward and quiet lull now filling the living room.

“Do you all want to hear me practice Metallica?” Eddie asked and the room instantly erupted in groans and Beth could only chuckle as she smiled at Eddie. Thankful he had lightened the mood.

The rest of the night went perfectly. The group even warming up to her father who could only laugh at their antics. He was glad Beth had found a group of good people and that they were willing to come here on a Sunday. Yet they couldn’t stay forever so Beth slowly said goodbye to them, one by one as they left to go home and celebrate Christmas time with their families. Soon it was just Robin left and even she had given Beth a big hug before going home to her parents. It was a beautiful winter night, snow falling softly on the ground, and the houses outside all had Christmas lights that lit up the earth. She couldn’t help but let her mind wander to the gift, feeling it stare her down as she looked outside, curled in a blanket with hot cocoa in her hands. Finally she realized she’d just have to do something about it.

“Mom, Dad, I’ll be back in a little while” and then she was snatching her coat, the present, and a letter from her room, before rushing out the door to her car. She reminisced on the first time she took this route, annoyed with Robin she even got tricked into driving this way and now suddenly she wanted to do this drive a hundred times over if it meant getting to see him every time. Just the thought of him all alone in the big empty house with no decorations, sugar cookies, hot cocoa, stockings, presents, a Christmas tree, loved ones, was heart breaking.

Beth stood under his porch light, watching the snowflakes flutter down, she could feel them getting caught in her lashes, and she knew the tip of her nose was pink. If she waited any longer she’d be the color of Steve’s door, and then she remembered he was all alone behind it and that was partly her fault. She had taken all his friends for her birthday and hadn’t included him. So she removed one hand from the present she had clutched to her chest and softly knocked on the door.

“B” he looked surprised and Beth just shook with a chill as she offered up a soft smile. “What’re you doing here?”

“Well it’s my birthday and I realized the only person I wanted to spend it with wasn’t there” she told him and Steve was smiling before ushering her in from the cold.

“You didn’t open my present” he noticed and Beth shrugged as his hands rubbed up and down her arms to warm her.

“Didn’t feel right to open it without you, and I had a present for you too” she smiled at him and he could only chuckle, somewhat relieved and over the moon that she was here.

“Come on and warm up, then you can open your present” Steve said and Beth nodded as she slipped off her shoes and went the familiar direction of his living room. Once she was sat on the couch, keeping her coat on for warmth, he was covering her lap with a blanket.

“Sit with me?” she asked softly and Steve smiled as she lifted a side of the blanket and allowed him beside her.

“Go on, open it” he grinned at her and Beth laughed as she delicately removed the bow before ripping the paper. Who would’ve thought Steve was so good at wrapping gifts.

Inside was a frame, gold with a beautiful engraving along it, and inside the frame was three pressed flowers. Beth was almost confused until she saw his handwriting underneath. October 12th 1985. The day of their first date. That was when she realized he had saved some of the flowers he had brought her and made this himself with the intention of giving it to her later on. If she hadn’t believed the letter before she had believed it now and her stomach did one full swoop as she looked at him.

“Steve, it’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say” and he just blushed, a nervous hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“I just figured it was something you’d want to remember” he told her and she smiled before reaching into her pocket. The letter she had grabbed was not the one he had written her but in fact one she had written in response.

“Here, for you” she told him and Steve nervously glanced at her as she gave him a letter with his own name written in cursive across the front. “Go on and read it”

Dear Steve,

I have always wanted a love letter but I have always wanted someone to love more. I pulled back because I was afraid I would always love you more than you loved me, if you even loved me at all. Now I know that isn’t true. In fact Steve Harrington, after reading your beautifully written letter I’m pretty sure you love me just as much, if not more than I love you. Isn’t that such a beautiful thought? To be loved and know love even if it’s once in a life time. It was more than I ever imagined it being and now I know I’m worthy of it. You did that for me Steve, you made me see that I’m more than just my size. I’m well appreciated in this ugly and often times lonely world and I’m probably the luckiest girl in the world to be loved by you. I’m glad Robin had asked you to meet me because if you never did I’m afraid I still would be to scared to put myself out there. I held myself back and if we had never met I would still be hiding and the thing about loving someone is allowing yourself to be loved. There is no use thinking you’re unworthy without seeing if you really are. Keeping yourself sheltered from it, safe from heart break, keeps you from enjoying it in the first place. So even if I only get to love you for a little while or forever, at least I got to love somebody as much as they loved me.

Yours, Beth ♡

“You forgive me?” he nervously asked, trying desperately to keep his eyes from watering because all he ever wanted was to be loved back by somebody. He always felt like he gave more with Nancy and his parents never stuck around long enough to care. But now he had someone who loved him just the same.

“I think I did a while ago, I was just scared” she told him earnestly and he smiled before darting towards her. His lips met her own in a haste, kissing her for all she was worth, because Beth Walker was worth the entire world.

“You are perfect to love Beth Walker, don’t forget that” he told her once he pulled away, heavy breaths puffing out, and Beth had found herself completely warmed over now as she accepted this response from him. Accepted taking the risk of loving another even if it meant in the end she could be heartbroken.

“You are too Steve Harrington” and he was grinning before pressing his smile back to her own. The two of them too caught up in each other. Steve relishing in the feeling of her fingers tugging lightly at his hair and he gave her hips a squeeze, thankful his empty home was now so warm. Warm with the welcoming presence of the girl he couldn’t help but fall in love with.

“Were you planning on sticking around for a while?” he asked, longing for her to stay and Beth looked to see what time it was. 8:15pm. She still had four hours of birthday left.

“Well I still have a little birthday left and I’d love to spend it with you” she told him, a warm hand curling around his bicep and she felt it flex lightly under her fingers.

“So I can keep you until midnight Cinderella?” he told her, lopsided smile tugging at his lips and she matched it before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Yes, and you get to be with me for the best part too” she told him and Steve snuggled closer to her, hands finding the skin under her sweater and Beth didn’t find herself as scared of it as she thought she would be.

“And what might be the best part?” he asked and Beth just hummed gleefully as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“The time I was born. 11:45 at night, my exact birthday” she told him and Steve watched as he delicately laced his fingers through her own, holding their hands over their shared blanket.

“Fifteen minutes later and you would’ve been born on the 23rd” he told her and Beth just shrugged against him.

“True but I like the 22nd. Something about the two’s, my angel number” she told him and Steve pressed a kiss to her hair.

“How does the number two relate to us?” he asked and Beth leaned her head up to look at him, her hand leaving his own to push same fallen hair back.

“Because you did it right the second time we met” and Steve was smiling something fierce at that before pressing a hundred kisses to her face. Beth erupted in giggles and when Steve finally ceased his attack he pulled her as close as he could.

“I guess that counts for you giving me a second chance too” and Beth giggled lightly, pressing a small kiss to his neck.

“I guess so, don’t make it a third. I’m not as lucky with three’s” and Steve was laughing and for the first time in a while everything was right. Everything felt as it should be and Steve could only bask in the feeling of getting to hold the person he loved during the Holidays. Getting to love a person no matter their faults because that’s how he always wanted to be loved. To be loved in spite of it all. No one is perfect, but everybody can be perfect to love.

Taglist: @kindablackenedsuperhero @rinarecommends @starryeyedpoet17 @crustless-toast @loverofmarsss @dilflover-3 @bethanysnow @middle-of-the-earth @princessadriana4-blog @mochminnie @legendaryhumandiplomatgoop @a-lil-bit-nuts @i-came-as-bostonian @krazyk99 @thunderstomp-and-tequila @cumslutforaemond @futuristicbirdtraveler @unholyhuntress @crushculture03 @jenniferpendragon

Only one more chapter left my friends <3

[yallwildinrn]

Snake in the Grass: Chapter 1

For @ckhalloween23's catch-all prompt: An Empty Grave

This is a horror fic I've been working on since May or June. Given my current pace, it probably won't be out until the latter half of next year, butttt since I have this first chapter done (and I wanted it to be done in time for Halloween of this year), I figured I'd go ahead and post this as a preview and a treat! Well, treat for you guys and me haha.

Content warning for alcohol, bars, and general spookiness.

Pool balls whizz & clack against one another, but the sound is mostly drowned out. The bar, while not packed, is bustling with life, as is typical for a Friday evening; the sounds of yelling, laughter, and glasses clinking fill the already cramped space. It’s the victory cry of men who have been itching for the work week to finally, finally, end.

Dim, warm lights mask dirty floors and mysterious stains of unknown origin that seem to infect any and every upholstered seat. The single TV crammed into the back corner behind the bar top has caught the attention of several men, all shouting and celebrating – or complaining – at every pitch of the game with gnashing teeth. The bartender scrambles to sling out drink after drink of who-knows-what for the night’s customers.

Johnny himself is seated at a round, wooden table shoved near the back of the room. It’s almost uncomfortably close to the billiards tables, and each shrill hit against the pool balls becomes harder to ignore as the night wears on. He’s got some good distraction, though.

He lounges in his chair with a Coors in hand, surrounded by his friends. Bobby sits at his right, sipping his bourbon, while counterclockwise from there are Jimmy, Dutch, and Tommy. It’s tight, mostly because they had to steal a seat for Jimmy, but Johnny doesn’t mind. Not a damn bit.

He takes a long, slow sip from his drink. He still can’t believe they graduated from West Valley six whole years ago, and yet here they are, still thick as thieves. It’s not the same as it was back in high school (images of late-night, high-speed rides on their Hondas and getting plastered on the beach come to mind), but given how damn busy they all are, it’s an impressive amount of effort to keep traditions & meet-ups alive – like these monthly get-togethers at the bar, for example.

Johnny half-listens to a light-hearted argument between Tommy & Jimmy about baseball players he doesn’t give a shit about. Dutch, caught in the middle, has decided to antagonize the two of them by playing devil’s advocate for both sides. Things are getting heated, but it’s nothing Johnny finds worth worrying about. A nudge to Johnny’s arm snatches his attention away, and he turns to see Bobby with an expectant gaze and a soft, tipsy smile on his lips. Johnny reciprocates the smile without even thinking; he can thank the fact that he’s at least a few drinks in for that.

Bobby’s eyes sparkle as he leans towards Johnny. His cheeks are flushed, and his breath is rich and yeasty, laced with just a hint of sweetness. He smirks at Johnny and says, “I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s your back doing, old man?”

Anddd there it is. Johnny rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he answers, “Well, I’m no longer bed-ridden, so there’s that. I think I’ll be good to go back in a week or two once Dr. Gates gives me the green-light. I’m not supposed to see her for another two weeks, but if I feel better before then, I’m gonna see if she can squeeze me in, see if I can get back to work sooner.”

Bobby raises his brows in a look of mock shock, but it’s accompanied by a wry smile. “Did I just hear Johnny Lawrence say he’s trying to get back to work sooner? Thought you had worker’s comp to fall back on?”

“I do,” Johnny explains, snatching the neck of his Coors. The glass is smothered with wet drops of condensation that leave watery rings on the tabletop. “Just turns out that worker’s comp isn’t nearly as good as a roofing job. Pays the bills, but man.”

Johnny shakes his head and takes a swig of his beer. The icy cold liquid feels like a blessing, and he sighs as the bottle leaves his lips.

Bobby shrugs a little awkwardly. He tries to reassure Johnny as best he can by reminding him, “Hey, at least you’re getting comp this time.”

Johnny frowns harshly and shuts his eyes for a moment like he’s trying to will away a headache. He sets his beer down with a soft thunk, and the moisture clinging to the glass is already dripping back onto the table. He glares at a nearby wall and mutters, “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m just saying,” Bobby starts with a warm smile, swishing the alcohol in his glass with one hand. “Not working under the table has its perks.”

Another round of loud cheers fills the room. Sounds like someone finally hit the damn ball. “Yeah, but the government also takes half my damn paycheck. Jimmy still hasn’t helped me figure out how to deduct all my taxes yet,” Johnny says, loudly pulling Jimmy into the conversation.

Jimmy turns away from his own conversation with Tommy & Dutch. He leans onto an elbow and smiles at Johnny, but it’s certainly not genuine; if anything, there’s a bite to it. He answers, “Just because I’m an accountant doesn’t mean I can magically fix your taxes, Johnny. Become a business, then we can talk.”

Johnny flips him off, earning a round of chuckles around the table as Jimmy rolls his eyes and relaxes back into his seat. Dutch points at Jimmy with his beer bottle and asks the accountant, “Speaking of, have you finally been let out of your cage? First time we’ve seen you in, what? Months?”

Jimmy sighs, and Johnny realizes that the polo Jimmy’s wearing is probably the most casual thing he’s worn out and about in a while. “Tax season is finally over. Thank god for that,” Jimmy trails off, and he takes a long swig from his glass.

Tommy eyes his friends and pipes up, “Too late for another round of shots?”

Another round sounds fucking amazing. Johnny instead answers, “I’d love to, but my wallet says no.”

Bobby chimes in, “My liver also says no. That first round was enough for me.”

Dutch’s face crinkles into disappointment as he boos Bobby from across the table. His chair tips back an almost dangerous amount while he does. He shakes his head and laments, “Ya think you know a guy, but then he goes to priest school and becomes a damn prude.”

Bobby glares at him as his grip tightens on his glass. “It’s called seminary, and I’m becoming a pastor, not a priest.”

Tommy snickers & nudges Dutch, giving him a mischievous look. He points out, “Didn’t say he wasn’t a prude.”

Johnny snorts, earning himself a Bobby-patented glare, which then sends him into a laughing fit. Sometimes it can genuinely be scary to be on the receiving end of that gaze, but most of the time (especially after all these years,) it’s become damn hilarious. There’s another vicious clack of the pool balls; the start of a new game.

“I hate all of you,” Bobby huffs. He crosses his arms and leans back into his chair, dragging his gaze across the figures of his (almost) drunk friends, who are still much more sober than half of the room. “Why do I even hang out with you assholes? What did I do to deserve this?”

Jimmy sips on his glass and looks at Bobby. His lips curl into a wry smile. “Be a prude?”

Johnny thinks he can see a vein bulge in Bobby’s forehead, and he has to stifle another snort. Bobby’s lips pull into a tight, frustrated line across his face. He finishes the last of his bourbon with a small gulp and slaps his palm onto the table so he can push himself out of his chair. “I fucking hate you. All of you. I’m getting another drink.”

He pushes his chair back in with his foot and starts to weave through the maze of people & tables, and Tommy smiles like a Cheshire cat and calls out, “Can you-?”

“No,” Bobby yells back as he crosses the bustling room. Tommy cackles in his seat, and Dutch follows suit, clapping a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and howling beside him. Johnny simply shakes his head and leans onto the table, resting on his forearms.

The wood sticks to his skin. He can only imagine how much dust is trapped under layers of sticky god-knows-what. Probably more than he realizes. It’s kind of gross to think about, but it doesn’t really faze him, especially when everything about this bar fits that bill. Not much about this place is great: the bartender’s a dick, the bowls of pretzels are stale as shit and few & far between, it’s impossible to find a seat without a weird stain on it, and there’s never more than two beers on tap.

That doesn’t mean it’s all bad, though. Johnny never has to worry about them running out of Coors. It’s a pretty good distance between all their places. The prices aren’t half bad, and hell, it doesn’t even come close to gracing their top ten list of “Shittiest Bars This Side of California!” So yeah, really not all bad, at least if you ask him.

Tommy’s hyena-like cackle grabs Johnny’s attention and pulls him back into whatever conversations he’s missed. “No, no,” Tommy starts, smiling wide. “I’m just- can you believe any of us actually graduated?”

Jimmy levies Tommy with a self-satisfied smile. “No, I actually can’t believe any of you guys graduated,” he teases. Tommy rolls his eyes.

Dutch scowls. “Yes, yes, we know. You made an A once and got into a big boy college, keep it in your pants,” He replies gruffly, finishing his statement with a swig.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tommy elaborates dryly while gesturing with his drink. “You’re not wrong, but think about it. Our senior year was such a shitshow.”

Dutch smirks and looks Johnny’s way. “I blame Romeo over here. Had no idea a breakup would lead to all that bullshit with LaRusso.”

Johnny stifles at the comment, and his cheeks flush – now red from more than just the alcohol – as he glares at Dutch. He’s about to bark out a comeback, but Bobby cuts him off when he comes sauntering back, freshly filled glass in hand, and retorts, “Oh please, we’re all to blame. We escalated it when we should’ve just left things alone.”

Bobby slides into his chair a little ungracefully, wood scraping against the floor, while Dutch shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He nods his head down a little sheepishly because… yeah. Bobby’s right, as much Johnny hates to admit it. Back at West Valley, they were all chomping at the bit to put the twerp in his place, but none of that needed to happen or even should have happened. They saw red, and LaRusso got caught in the crossfire. It was like they didn’t even see him. Just a conveniently placed punching bag.

The table’s air stills; the rest of the bar continues to thrum with activity while the atmosphere of their little corner slowly ices over. Johnny purses his lips and sips at his beer. Guilt gnaws his ribcage. Even after all these years, after the apologies and many, many steps to make things right, he’s still stuck with bitter memories that choke him up. He opts to study the many dings & scratches on the table rather than meet any of his friends’ eyes.

Jimmy’s the first to break the tense silence. “You know, if we have anyone to blame, it’s Kreese,” he spits out. It hits Johnny like a jab to the chest. He’s taken aback as Jimmy says this, but the man continues, “He put so much bullshit in our heads! All that punch first, think second nonsense. Like, come on-”

“Wait, wait,” Johnny interrupts while waving his hand to stop Jimmy in his tracks. How can he just say that? “Look, he was a total douchebag – I should fucking know – but we’re the ones who took what he said too far. We were still the ones who fucked with LaRusso. He didn’t tell us to do any of that shit.”

Tommy shifts beside him and stumbles over his words. “Yeah, like- but- Look, okay, you’re right, it’s totally on us for taking shit way too far, but Johnny,” Tommy says, and he turns to Johnny with pleading eyes. “He literally taught us to have no mercy. Literally. That’s not an exaggeration.”

Johnny frowns. “Yeah, but we took it out of context. He obviously meant to not take no for an answer, to- to keep pushing on despite the circumstances,” he explains. Are they seriously saying this shit? Even after all these years? After everything Kreese did for them? For fuck’s sake…

Dutch is next to speak. He throws Johnny an odd look as he adds, “Did we go to the same Cobra Kai? Because the one I went to taught us to do fucking everything to the extreme. Including the no mercy shit. Hell, he even had us do karate to the extreme. All those extra goddamn practices…”

“Yeah, and they were good for us. We needed some discipline!” Johnny snaps back defensively. His blood is starting to boil with every bullshit argument that his friends make.

He starts to bounce his leg. The sounds of laughter pouring out from a nearby table makes him want to snarl. He doesn’t get it, how can his friends just- just pass the blame onto Kreese? The guy at least tried to help them and make them into better people (before his sensei lost his mind, that is.)

Johnny turns to Bobby, who’s worrying his lip and squirming like he’s sitting on an anthill. “Come on,” Johnny says. “Back me up here.”

Bobby looks away from Johnny, jaw tense, but he turns back. He lets out a breath, look Johnny square on with a worrying level of sincerity, and says, “Johnny. Kreese worked us so hard once that you forget it was Ali’s birthday. She broke up with you over that.”

Johnny’s skin buzzes. He’s all too aware of the overpowering noise of the room. Hell, he feels like he can feel the next table over breathing on him. His stomach rolls. “That is not what happened,” Johnny insists with a hard stare. “Practice that day was not that bad. I remember it. It was fine.”

Tommy scoffs, “Then why were you so quick to go out drinking with us?”

Johnny’s more tense than a stretched-out rubber band, and he feels like he’s going to snap like one, too. He scowls and answers, “I forgot because…”

Johnny blinks and turns his gaze down. Sweat collects at the back of his neck while his chest tightens.

“No, I-I forgot because…”

His mouth is a cotton ball. He’s reaching into his mind, searching for the memory, but he just… it’s not right. It’s there, but somehow, it also isn’t. He remembers being brought in for an extra practice with his cobras, Twig being brought in to watch & help, the end of practice, getting ready to leave, and then…

His temples throb as tries harder to remember, but he can’t. There’s a gap, a void where something should be. It’s not like he’s just forgotten the details, god no. He’s actively reaching into his mind, searching and grasping for what should be there, sandwiched between the sparring and the night at the bar, but he just… He can’t. He can’t get there. Every time he thinks he’s brushing against what might be the memory in question, a pulsing throb shakes his skull, and it rattles his train of thought loose.

His eyes dart between his friends. His heart pounds furiously against his vice of a ribcage, and he wipes his sweaty palms against the thighs of his pants. Their faces are a varied array of distress and confusion. Why do they look like that? Are they trying – and failing – to remember, just like him? Shit, why can’t he remember?

A chill threatens to run down his spine. Could he ever remember?

When he was fresh off the breakup with Ali, he would spend hours torturing himself with all the ways he screwed things up; it was his way of trying to nail down exactly what he did wrong. Except… he always left that practice turned night-on-the-town alone. He never touched it, to his knowledge. Is- Is this why? Every time he tried to play the events over in his mind, would he get to this downright anomaly of a gap in his memory, and did it make him feel- well, make him feel like he does now? Sick and shaken?

Is that why he never, never thinks about the inciting incident that led Ali to yell at him and tell him things were done? Did the avoidance become muscle memory at some point so he would never try to recall that night & the memories associated with it?

He knows the answer. He doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t even feel natural. It’s not like he just forgot; no, it’s more like something was ripped out unceremoniously or maybe strangled and hidden in an unreachable corner of his mind. Does it matter what type of wrong it is? He wipes the sweat from his brow; the heat from the crowd of the bar tonight has finally caught up to him, it seems.

His mind circles back. Why can’t he remember? Why is there a gap? How long has it been there? Has- has it always been there? And not just any gap. No, a gap that, when he tries to recall upon what should be there, snaps up & bites him like a cornered animal. His head is throbbing. He fumbles for his beer and takes a long drink.

He looks again to his friends. He can only imagine the expression on his own face given theirs. He takes a chance and says, “Please tell me I-I’m not the only one who…”

Bobby slowly shakes his head, eyebrows knit, but he doesn’t meet Johnny’s gaze. Jimmy and Dutch don’t move; they simply squirm and keep their eyes down. Tommy’s chest is heaving as he sits up straight and looks ahead with a mix of fear and uncertainty. Johnny knows they must be in the same boat as him. They have to be.

Tommy answers with a shaky voice, “Who what?” Johnny almost drops his mouth wide open. Tommy’s asking that even though the man isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes and looks like he wants to run out of the room?

“Who what? What do you mean who what?” Johnny asks incredulously. “Who- who can’t fucking remember what happened that night!”

Tommy’s smiling, but it’s strained. He answers, voice as tight as his lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Johnny grips his Coors so hard he thinks it’s going to shatter in his hands. “What do you mean what I’m-? You know exactly what I mean. Look at us! Look at yourself! Something’s not right.”

“Johnny,” Bobby pleads. At some point he rested his forehead in his hands, elbows on the table. “You’re- you’re not wrong, but Christ-”

Johnny turns to face Bobby with an eager gaze. He cuts him off, saying, “You can’t remember, either. It’s not just me. Something’s wrong.”

Bobby sighs through his nose. He’s getting frustrated; it’s a tell Johnny knows well. “No, Johnny,” Bobby says shortly. “I can’t remember. But I don’t want to. God, I just… I think I can speak for all of us when I say let’s just drop it. Please. I don’t want to think about-”

Bobby’s practically pleading, but Johnny doesn’t care. What’s more fucking important: a little bit of discomfort or the fact none of them remember the same exact damn thing?

Johnny cuts him off again and snarls, “About the fact there’s a fucking gap in our memories? The same gap for all of us, I’m willing to bet? One we’ve probably had since that night?”

Bobby shuts his eyes, and Johnny’s not sure if the man is going to cry or punch him, but given their shared history at Cobra Kai, it’s probably the latter. Dutch speaks up next, snapping, “Johnny! Just drop it! Yes, our memories are fucked, big whoop. I don’t care! I don’t want to think about it either! I don’t know about you, but I don’t like trying to remember and feeling my skin try to crawl off my body.”

Johnny drums his fingers against his bottle. He can’t fight the scowl on his lips. “Seriously? You’re just going to ignore this? Just like that?”

Dutch laughs bitterly. “Seems like we’ve been doing that for years, man,” he says with a shake of the head, but he pauses and looks Johnny straight on. “You know what? Hold on, let me ask you something. Let’s say we do talk about this shit. Have a little pow-wow and Agatha Christie our way through this bullshit. What the hell would we even do? Seriously, how in the fuck would you even recommend we- we try to fix this? Please, share with the class!”

Johnny opens his mouth to answer but shuts it tight in that same instant. His cheeks flush again. He genuinely has no idea where to start, actually. He does know that if they work together, they might have a shot, but Dutch writing him off with that cruel smile makes Johnny want to scream.

“Exactly,” Dutch says like the self-assured bastard he is, gesturing at Johnny with his drink in hand. “We can’t do shit, and since we’ve gone this long without thinking about it, why stop now? Sounds like none of us want to think about it, for christ’s sake.”

Johnny’s throat is tight. He can hardly believe what Dutch is saying. What Tommy and Bobby have been fucking saying. His blood pulses under his skin, and he turns to Jimmy, almost begging, “Jimmy. Come on, back me up. We can’t just pretend this never happened.”

Jimmy doesn’t look him in the eye, and it’s enough to make Johnny’s heart sink. The brunette swallows, lips turned downward ever so slightly, and he hesitantly answers, “Look, I-I’m sorry Johnny. I can’t. Why don’t we just… let sleeping dogs lie? All remembering does is hurt, and we can’t do anything about it, so why can’t we just…”

Johnny screws his eyes shut tight and flexes a hand in and out of a fist a few times. He brings his Coors to his lips, takes a healthy gulp, and slams the bottle back onto the table with enough force to make his friends jump a little. He glares at them all. He can hardly believe all the bullshit he’s heard tonight.

“Why can’t I just what? Drop it? Why aren’t you pussies willing to do anything about this?! It’s not right! Something is fucking wrong, and you just want to act like nothing happened!” Johnny says. His voice is starting to raise, and he’s getting the attention of a few nearby patrons, but quite frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. Fuck ‘em. “What is wrong with you guys? Who gives a fuck if it hurts to think about it! Something is wrong, and it sure as hell wasn’t just forgotten. It’s gone. Or- or it’s there and we just can’t reach it but- Who cares! It’s still weird as shit, and you’re all just pretending like nothing fucking happened like a bunch of pussies!”

Bobby attempts to soothe him by saying, “Johnny, please, I don’t think this is as bad as you’re saying.”

Johnny feels his muscles tense, and he swears to god, he might break a tooth from how hard his jaw is clenched. He gets tunnel vision for a moment, only able to focus on the traitorous words that just came out of Bobby’s mouth, and when his vision clears, everything is suddenly too much again – screeching pool balls, wails & shouts from the crowd around them, the way his body is vibrating under his skin. He has to fight against the urge to throw & shatter his beer bottle on the ground (likely only because he’s not done quite with it yet).

He can’t believe that Bobby of all people would say that to him. Talk down to him like that. That simple sentence rubs him raw like coarse sandpaper dragged his skin. It conjures up painful memories of his mom brushing aside his pleas for help and, on occasion, Kreese asking him through a sneer if he’s a loser. And worst of all, Bobby knows this, better than anyone else. He’s been the one to listen to Johnny rant and rage about being brushed off and ignored. He knows how that phrase sets Johnny’s blood alight.

Johnny chugs the rest of his beer in one fell swoop and steps out of his chair so fast & hard it tumbles. He doesn’t even bother picking it up. He bites out, “Fuck this. I’m going home. I don’t give a fuck what you do. Pretend for all I care! Don’t come crying to me when this shit blows up in all of our faces.”

Johnny ignores Bobby’s protests as he begins to chase after the taller man, trying to get Johnny to talk to him or whatever. Johnny can’t talk to him, won’t. He can’t even look at him right now. He grits his teeth as he weaves between people, and the longer Bobby follows, the more certain Johnny becomes that he really might start swinging.

Johnny has to shoulder his way into an open spot and wait for the bartender to slide by, but flashing some cash is all it takes to grab his attention. He feels like his skin is going to vibrate right off his body, and he snaps at some asshole sitting beside him who tells him to watch it.

Bobby catches up to Johnny as he’s trying to pay the bartender, worthless platitudes tumbling out of his mouth, and Johnny hisses through clenched teeth, “If you don’t lay off, I’m gonna knock your teeth out, I swear to god.”

It works as intended. Bobby steps back, startled and wide-eyed. Johnny knows he looks a little wild right now, but he just does not care. He feels like he’s one wrong word or move away from snapping, from saying & doing shit he’s going to regret. He just wants to get out of this fucking bar and away from his shithead friends.

Johnny breathes a small sigh of relief when Bobby accepts defeat and slinks back to the table stuffed in the back of the room. He always was the smartest of the five of them. He knew when it was time to leave things be before it blew up in their faces. Johnny thinks of Daniel, and he feels a little sick, but it’s replaced with another wave of hot, tepid anger again, the same kind that haunted him all through high school.

With his tab paid, Johnny shoves his way out of the bar, other patrons throwing protests, swears, & a few obscene gestures at him, but Johnny makes himself ignore it and pushes on. If he starts to pay attention and care right now, even a little, he’s probably gonna get the cops called on his ass, and he just- he can’t deal with that on top of everything else tonight.

He opens the bar door with a hard shove, and the chill night air washes over him. While the streets are neither silent nor empty, it’s still much better than the bar, and he feels his chest loosen enough that he can breathe again. He stomps over to his Avanti, and halfway through sticking his key into the door’s lock, he decides that he doesn’t have enough beer at home to deal with this night.

[conazo]

Writing Samples.

Interested in RPing as Vox with my Valentino? Read my RP ad here!

1 - In the Beginning

Vox was interesting. The little man seemed to live inside a world of his own design, meticulously manufactured right down to the last excruciating detail. He controlled his public image with about as tight a fist as he controlled the public broadcasting schedule. It was an impressive way to go about one's afterlife.

With that much practice manipulating the way he was depicted, it was no wonder TV-head knew what he was doing in business. The money was good-- no, the money was great. Working with VoxTek over the last few weeks had facilitated more quality recordings and sales than Valentino had managed to secure in years. Their relationship-- strictly financial, defined in ink on paper-- had proven a boon for them both.

Fucking with profits of that magnitude was a fool's game. But shit if Val didn't still feel that itch under his skin, the kind of hot prickle that made him frustratingly restless. He squirmed as the energy thrummed through his veins, clawing at his rational thought. Vox was too perfectly composed. Val wanted, needed, to peel back the layers of his public persona to see the circuitry underneath, to see what made him tick. There had to be more to Vox than a surface image, and Valentino was compelled to expose it out of selfish, morbid curiosity. Maybe he didn't need to see Vox break, but a bend would suffice. Preferably under the tall heel of his boot.

So, the pimp had invited him to the grand opening of their newest joint venture: Club S3NS3. This is a great chance for you to see your marketing dollars at work, he'd purred into his message, pouring honey into every syllable. And you're so smaaart! You can give me honest feedback about the place, make it better. Creatures like Vox loved to be asked for help, loved the opportunity to flaunt their superiority like a badge. I want this to be good for both of us, Val had whispered, sultry-sweet. He'd left the address, a date, and a time. And now, he waited.

He was slouched low in his throne, tucked neatly into the second-floor VIP balcony with thighs spread about as far as they physically could. Tonight, his oral fixation had not one but two vices to satisfy it: a whiskey sour in one hand, the long stem of his cigarette in another. He alternated sampling them with crumbling patience. The club was alive around him, even well after Angel's first performance had concluded. The lights spun, a mass of bodies continued to writhe on the dance floor, and the pair of succubi that flanked him squirmed and fussed for his attention. Valentino ignored it all. From his perch up high, his eyes were fixed on the door, eager for his guest's arrival.

2 - Valentino's Day

It wasn’t that he disliked Valentine’s Day. It just seemed… slightly pointless. Valentino didn’t need an excuse to stick his tongue down anyone’s throat. He didn’t need an excuse to surround himself with overpriced gifts on someone else’s card. But, hey, the holiday did give him an excuse to charge more for he and Velvette’s love potions. It did give him an excuse to decorate the tower’s lobby in his own colors, draping tacky garlands of red and white hearts from every corner to cheekily obscure the egotistical cardboard cutouts set up in Vox’s image.

Maybe most importantly, it gave him an excuse to demand attention. Well. More attention than usual.

“Ah, I think he’s— he’s in the middle of reviewing the broadcasting lineup for the week,” Vox’s assistant chirped, holding his hands up in a desperate plea. Panic made his mismatched eyes huge and round, shoulders hiked up too high to be comfortable.

Val spared him a sidelong glance as he pushed past, lip curled with a hint of disdain. “That’s nice,” he said flatly, ducking to fold himself into the elevator. The assistant opened his mouth to protest again; Valentino wiggled his fingers in a parting gesture as the doors snapped shut. Vox been busy the entire day, today of all days. As long as he wasn’t broadcasting live, a little break wouldn’t kill him. Probably.

When the platform in Vox’s office-studio-security-room eventually descended, it contained exactly one grinning moth demon, two hands folded neatly beneath the curtain of his wings. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be in here all daaay.” Val sang the last syllable, jutting out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout as he approached. That pout soured the closer he moved, his thin veneer of restraint dissolving quickly. He’d been left to his own devices for too long, clearly. “Nothing on those screens can possibly be that interesting. Come out with me before you rot into that fucking chair. We should be at that new club’s opening.”

[upirium]

The Ghoul Dens: Ghouls and Their Rooms

Below the cut is a fairly large thread of my own headcanons complete with 'illustrations' and descriptions about just where the ghouls stay.

Keep an eye out for any funny tiny little details I've put in my pictures. I recommend looking at the image full size.

The ghoul dens are a sort of vast network beneath the main church, comprised mostly of the same stone and architecture throughout each room. The upper floor of the ghoul dens is reserved for the current band ghouls, and it has a strange aura about it that doesn't quite make sense. The mystery of why a ghoul's room is exactly as large or small as they'd like it has never been revealed.

Ghouls are given the freedom to find what type of style they want for their room in due time.

A majority of their space is in one somewhat long and confusing hallway; a ghoul common room and kitchen is at the center of the ghoul den maze, while a long hallway wraps around in a perfect square to branch off the other ghoul rooms. Suspiciously, it always seems to be the perfect amount. There is a set of stairs that lead to the lower ghoul dens somewhere at the back of this 'maze.

The Common Room

Reserved specifically for the band ghouls, or ghouls of importance. Pretty standard stuff. There's a TV in there, a gaming system, a bookshelf. It leads directly to the kitchen. Ghouls are often found here in piles.

The Kitchen

A largely ignored space for a long while until the Prequelle era. It was mostly used for snacks and storing drinks. While it's still used for this, Mountain sometimes ventures up to the main kitchens to steal ingredients. He likes to cook.

The Flesh Wall

Despite the band having a kitchen they can't subsist on human food alone. This has been remedied by the fact that it wasn't just ghouls summoned from Hell, but other creatures. Somewhere in the lower ghoul dens there is a chilled room crawling with living, self replicating meat. Inedible to humans but has the nutrients ghouls need to stay healthy.

There is a photo that I won't post here because it's quite body horror-esque, but if you want to see it you can click here. It's an old picture that I kind of need to rework but you get the gist.

The Ghoul Rooms

Swiss

From a world draped in excess, Swiss expects no less. He has the largest room and probably the 'fanciest'. Don't let the fancy exterior full you, there's weed hidden in every corner thanks to Mountain.

His bathroom is on the right.

Dew

Dew doesn't care all that much about his room, so he doesn't care about making a mess of it either. The laundry and cleaning ghouls are on high alert with this room and he still manages to throw clothes all over the place before they can get to them. Dew's closet is against the visible wall and his bathroom is on the right.

Dew's Bathroom (a bonus)

The only reason Dew gets a bathroom pic is because I needed it for an RP. The largeness of bedrooms does not really extend to bathrooms and they're usually quite small.

The only reason it's so clean is because of the cleaning ghouls.

Mountain

Mountain is so incredibly large a bed won't do, so he sleeps on a series of pillowy cushions and blankets. The couch is only there for company and he doesn't use it often. Mountain is very into plants and boho aesthetic. His closet is on the left, which leads into his bathroom that sadly does not have a bathtub he can use properly unless he's glamoured.

Aether

Aether likes things clean and neat, so he gravitated to a more modern aesthetic. Having Dew in his room makes his teeth itch because he does not respect the whole cleanliness aspect of it.

If you ever came in here and saw a black tear in space and time and no ghoul, it's because he's trying to be left alone.

He doesn't have a closet, but his bathroom is on the right.

Rain

Rain likes smaller and more enclosed spaces, hence the bed. He also took a page from Mountain's book and really enjoys plants and pretty lights. He reads a lot and can often be found curled up in his bed reading from the shelf that's built into it. His closet is on the right, which leads into his bathroom.

Cumulus

Cumulus fell into the trap of pretty lights as well, but has taken it to a much greater excess. She likes to steal tea from the common room kitchen and curl up with a book in her reading corner.

She occasionally paints and has a surprising knack for it, leading to the paintings that keep appearing on her wall in haphazard states.

Her bathroom is on the back wall. She doesn't have a closet.

Cirrus

Cirrus prefers the dark. She has her light bulb set to purple half the time because it's way easier on the eyes. She enjoys gaming quite often as well as working out in the gym.

She has started collecting pictures and posters, some of them from Cumulus. She has a strange collections of drawings of Dew. It's not that she's collecting them because of him, but because brothers and sisters sometimes like drawing the ghouls. Dew has stated multiple times he wants none of the pictures so Cirrus takes them so they're not thrown away.

The art she has now are from brother Ryuzato, sister Blanche, brother Atlas, and sister Ynlatus.

Other pictures include: a photo of her and Cumulus, a spicy photo of Cumulus, a picture of a celebrity she thinks is kinda weird looking but also kind of hot, a photo of Dew blepping she stole off the internet, and a picture of a cat that fills her with a sense of profound sadness and loss.

The Lower Dens

Though not pictured the lower dens are where the non-band ghouls stay. Retired ghouls that haven't been 'banished' stay here as well, though their rooms are not nearly as nice. Still they're kept to a part of the lower dens that are nicer than that off the staff ghouls and other such beasties. The ghoul laundry room is in the lower dens.

The Lower Lower Dens

There's another set of stairs down in the lower dens that leads to the crypts. The grave ghouls reside down here.

Further still is the dungeons, or the prisons rather. Where bad and naughty ghouls go to have a timeout.

There's also a strange room covered in sigils that every ghoul fears nearing, though many do not know why. But they swear they've heard screaming.

[ravendruid]

Be In My Eyes - Chapter 20

You can read the previous chapters here or on AO3. Summary: After being "forbidden" from going to the bar by the girls, the boys decide to have their own celebration at home, but as the night goes on, conversations change to more serious topics.

Vax’ildan had never been a heavy sleeper, especially during the years since he and his sister Vex’ahlia ran away from their father’s house, so it was surprising that the loud music and cheering in the living room hadn’t woken him up earlier. He had no idea when the other guys had started partying, but the bright light of his lock screen showed him it was past 11 pm, which meant he had been asleep for hours. It was to be expected since he had been exhausted from a chaotic week of midterms, but Vax never thought he would sleep through Scanlan’s lousy rendition of dumb pop songs or what Grog deemed were heavy metal roars. He considered staying in bed for a while longer, ignoring the others. If they weren’t aware that Vax was awake, they wouldn’t try to convince him to join them, but as soon as Vax heard Grog sing the first lines of Bad Blood, he knew his sanity had to be preserved, and if Percy wasn’t going to put a stop to it, then he had to do something. 

Vax had seen a lot of weird things in his life (he had seen a lot of disturbing things, too), but nothing prepared him for the image of Grog standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a spatula as a microphone while singing Taylor Swift in just his underwear—a pair of soft blue boxer briefs with yellow rubber ducks. The music came from the speakers plugged into his laptop on the dining table, where Vax could see a playlist running. Craning his neck into the living room, he saw Scanlan and Percy playing Mario Kart on the TV, each missing a few articles of clothing. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Vax mumbled to himself. 

Just as confusion settled in further, Scanlan screamed victoriously, standing on the couch and screaming at Percy to ditch another layer. Percy, who Vax knew from experience was a bad video game player, rubbed his face in desperation and tried to argue with the short man that he didn’t have much more to remove. In fact, as he got up, Vax noticed Percy was only wearing one sock and his underwear. How Scanlan had let him go by removing just one sock as a layer of clothing was a mystery Vax never wanted to solve.

“Vax!” Grog’s scream brought everyone’s attention to him. 

Fuck. Vax stumbled away from the shadowed corner, obviously not hiding as well as he thought and tried to smile at his roommates.

“Hey, guys. What’s going on?”

“The girls won’t allow us to go to the bar, so we’re partying at home,” Grog explained. 

“Can you believe the audacity?” Scanlan protested.

Vax shook his head, feigning offense with the others. His eyes landed on Percy, sitting behind Scanlan, who looked like he cared just as much as Vax did.

“Sorry if the music was loud,” He apologized.

“That’s alright.” 

“Wanna join us, Vax?” Grog asked, handing him a beer from the fridge. Vax shrugged and took it, crossing the kitchen into the living room.

“I was kicking Percy’s ass at Mario Kart.”

“Excuse me,” Percy interjected. Vax could tell he was tipsy but not incoherent yet. “We kicked each other’s ass.”

“I kicked yours more,” Scanlan pointed at the pale man’s almost naked figure. In comparison with Percy, Scanlan was almost fully dressed. For some reason, he had opted to take out his socks and pants, leaving his shirt on instead. 

“D’ya wanna play, Vax?” Grog asked, sitting on the floor and grabbing the blue controller.

“Sure. Ready to lose?”

“Oh please,” Grog snorted, handing Vax the red controller.

It’s not that Vax was bad at video games—scratch that. Vax was terrible at video games. Even worse than Percy, who was now fully clothed. In his defense, though, Vax didn’t have many opportunities to play during his childhood and, especially, none during his teenage years. 

“Shit,” Vax cursed, looking down at his body. He was only in his underwear after getting his ass repeatedly kicked by Scanlan, Grog, and even Percy twice. 

“We should probably end it here,” Scanlan saved him. 

“Scared of what you might see, Scanman?” Vax teased the shorter man, wiggling his eyebrows. Scanlan shrugged in response. 

“Nah. It’s midnight and I’m tired of this. It’s not as fun without ladies, if you know what I mean.” He looked at Vax up and down before he continued, “Not that you’re not a handsome fella. But we have nothing more to drink and I’m still thirsty.” 

“But the girls–”

“Since when are they our bosses, Grog? The bar is a public place. They cannot decide who goes there.”

“But Pikey–”

“Please don’t tell me you’re afraid of Pike, big guy.” Vax teased. He had no intentions of leaving the house, but he still had fun poking the bear.

“She’s scary sometimes,” Grog replied. 

“You can stay home if you want, you coward,” Scanlan teased, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. The last word seemed to affect Grog, who promptly puffed his chest at the short man. The height difference between them was comical.

“I’m no coward.”

“Then let’s go. You two staying?” Scanlan turned to Vax and Percy, who nodded at him. “As you wish.” 

Just as the door closed behind Scanlan, Vax and Percy heard the poor imitation of a chicken clucking, leaving them to chuckle and finish their beers in silence.

—

“Percival,” Vax called to his roommate, returning to the living room from the kitchen with a half-eaten sandwich. It wasn’t until his stomach grumbled louder than a freight train that he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.

“Vax’ildan,” Percy copied his serious tone.

“How’s Keyleth doing?”

Percy scoffed in a combination of disbelief with amusement.

“Really? I didn’t think you cared about her well-being anymore.”

“Of course I do. Things are just… complicated right now.”

“And who made it so?” Percy leaned into his seat, staring Vax straight in the eyes. Ice blue peered through the glass of his round golden spectacles, freezing Vax from the inside out.

“Please, Percival.” Vax didn’t bother trying to hide the desperation in his tone.

“Alright,” Percy leaned back, crossing his legs and his hands on his lap. His gaze was fixed on Vax’s, still cold and angry like he was holding a sharp knife ready to stab him in the heart.

“Keyleth is confused. She is hurt. Deeply hurt. She was already confused about her feelings, and suddenly, you started ignoring her.”

“What do you mean?”

Percy hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to break his best friend’s trust, but this situation had become beyond absurd. Vax and Keyleth’s lack of communication brought them where they stood, and if they were both too stubborn and scared to talk about their feelings for each other, things would only worsen.

“Last weekend, she told me she was confused about her feelings for you. She was scared that you only saw her as a friend, and it would ruin your friendship. And I, the fool I am, told her she had nothing to worry about. That you were head over heels for her,” Percy paused to laugh. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

“You weren’t,” Percy saw more than heard the shame in Vax’s eyes as he spoke. “I’m in love with her. Keyleth doesn’t deserve someone like me, Percy. She deserves someone better. Someone who will treat her well. I’m not that person. I’m… I’m useless. All I do in life is bring pain and darkness to those who love me, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

“Is that why you pulled away from her?” Percy’s voice softened. He related so much to Vax’s feelings. If only his roommate knew that’s how Percy felt about Vex’ahlia…

“It was a mistake.”

“Yes.”

“She’s even more hurt. Did you see how much weight she lost? Fuck. If anything happened to her, I would have never forgiven myself.” Vax rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“There’s no use crying over spilled milk, Vax’ildan. Just do better. You can still fix this.”

“You think so?” A flame of hope ignited in Vax’s eyes.

“If you ask me, I think Keyleth has had feelings for you for a while. I don’t think she was aware of them until recently, and with everything that happened, I think she’s even more scared that you won’t love her back, and that’s why she’s not accepting it. She’s in denial.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Talk to her. Tell her how you feel. Show her how sorry you are for hurting her.” Percy paused to observe Vax. He looked stressed and scared. His chest was rising and falling faster and his eyes darted everywhere, as if Vax was looking for a place to hide or a swift exit. But above all, Percy recognized the curve of his shoulders over his body as Vax tried to make himself as small as possible. “Be patient. It might take her a while to trust you again.”

“I love her. I would wait all my life for her.” Vax brought his knees to his chest and let his head fall between them. Even if he tried to hide it, Percy could still hear the sharp, labored breaths he had learned to associate with an impending panic attack.

“It’s not me who you have to tell that to.” Percy moved on the couch, trying to get closer, and patted Vax’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath now,” he instructed.

Vax raised his head slightly, only enough for Percy to see the scared glint of a brown eye darting back and forth. He took a long breath in and out and gestured for Vax to do the same, but the other just stared at him with the same fear and anxiety. 

“Everything will be alright, Vax.” He tried again, rubbing Vax’s back. This time Vax breathed with him, faster at first, but then slow until his breath became steady and relaxed.

“Good?” Percy asked. Vax nodded, eyes dropping in embarrassment. “First time you have a panic attack?”

“No. Been a while.”

“It’s alright. You’re safe here. Everything will work out well in the end. You’ll see.”

Vax nodded and curled up on himself, falling into silence.

“Percival?” Vax finally broke the silence after ten minutes.

“Yes?”

“What’s the deal between you and Vex’ahlia?”

Percy’s first reaction—much to Vax’s delight—was being taken aback by the sudden question. His second reaction, however, was everything Vax had expected and more. His cheeks turned pink, then a redness that spread to the rest of his face and down to his neck. His eyes bulged wide open in fear for the fate his answer might bring, but overall, the main emotion was embarrassment. 

“I–we’re—” Percy stammered, dragging himself away from Vax. “—just friends.”

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Vax smiled. Percy was shocked to see that it wasn’t a teasing smile. Vax was being sincere.

“It’s complicated.” Percy mirrored his words from earlier, making Vax chuckle.

“You like her,” It wasn’t a question, Percy realized. “Just… don’t hurt her, please? I would hate to break your kneecaps if you did.”

Percy laughed lightheartedly, but there was doubt in his eyes, “Here I was thinking you would do something worse than that.”

“I might.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Vax. She would never be with a guy like me.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Freddy.”

“Freddy?” Percy combed a hand through his messy hair with a cocked smile.

“You are exactly her type. Dangerous, mysterious… I bet you have a tragic past, too.” Vax leaned down on his seat with a burning hatred in his eyes. “You have seen death and pain. Like recognizes like.”

“Yes, I have,” Percy confessed, dropping his hand back onto his lap. 

“Just don’t do something stupid like get my sister pregnant and leave her. If you do, your kneecaps will be the only thing left in one piece. Got it?”

Percy swallowed hard as cold sweat dripped down his spine. He had no reason to believe Vax was serious, but something inside him told him he should heed his words.

“I would never do something like that to her—to anyone, really. I promise.”

“Rich people like you make a lot of promises they can’t keep, de Rolo.”

For the second time that night, Percy was taken aback by Vax’ildan’s words. He took a moment to mull over what his roommate said (had he really threatened to kill him if he got Vex pregnant and left her?) and the message hidden between the lines. Not only did the twins have experience with death and suffering, but from Vax’s tone, they had been at the hands of someone wealthy. Someone bad enough to get a poor woman pregnant and leave. Could it be—?

“Worry not. Even if I were Vex’ahlia’s type, I would never act on my feelings for her. She deserves someone better. Someone who will bring her happiness. I’m not that person, Vax. My life is surrounded by darkness and suffering, and I will not be responsible for adding more pain to her life.”   

Vax stumbled back as if he had been hit in the stomach. Percy’s words rang true in his heart (had he not professed almost the same thing just minutes before, after all?), yet he had trouble believing them to be true. Not in the sense that Percy was lying, but that Vax couldn’t accept there would be someone in the world who would bring his sister more pain and darkness than their father and the bastard who drained her joy for his own ego.

“Look at us… We’re two idiots digging our own graves, aren’t we?” Vax asked, half-jokingly. 

“Yeah,” Percy chuckled. “Yeah, we are.”

[aria-i-adagio]

from the music meme: 4, 8 and 13 for Rhys?

The trouble with anything music related for Rhys is that he has taken up residence in a corner of my head, really likes music, and has opinions.

#4 A song lyric that describes them.

“Playing with prodigal sons / takes a lot of sentimental Valiums / Can’t expect the world to be your Raggedy Andy / while running on empty you little old doll with a frown / you got to keep in the game / retaining mystique while facing forward. / ... / So please be kind if I’m a mess.”

‘Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk,’ Rufus Wainwright

I was tempted to just copy and paste the entire song, rather than just a few lyrics. Rhys is very much a lost little boy who is far, far in over his head and struggling to figure out how to swim. He doesn’t know what he’s doing; he’s running on caffeine and nicotine (and pot to sleep); he has to pretend to be something that he really isn’t in order to survive.

Alternative:

“Hi / huh-i / Hyper / Hyper-media-ocrity / You don’t need to / Emerge from nothing / You don’t need to / tear away”

‘Emerge,’ Fischerspooner

^ Rhys's self-concept when he has gotten 110% frustrated with another day of Josie trying to civilize him. Followed up by Nirvana, ‘All Apologies’ (I have determined that obviously Orzammar has figured out how to record music, because the mental image of Rhys self-regulating by dancing around to music to self-regulate in the top of that tower while watering his plants is just too damn good to not be a thing.)

#8 A song that makes them feel nostalgic.

“Wicked Little Town” from Hedwig and the Angry Inch

#13 A song dedicated to one of their ships.

Rhys/Dorian

“When I fall to my feet / wearing my heart on my sleeve / all I see just don’t make sense / you are the port of my call / you shot and leavin’ me raw / now I know you’re amazing / ‘Cause all I need is the love you breathe / put your lips on me and I can live”

“Underwater,” Mika

But also... Rhys pouting when Dorian is in Tevinter:

‘Los Ageless,’ St. Vincent -and- ‘Happy Idiot’ TV on the Radio

(I would say I only ship Rhys with Dorian, but I think there’s probably something going on with the two of them and Iron Bull as well. Except not romantic between either of them and Bull. idk, ignore that, for now, there are too many fun ways to play that possibility and we don’t have time to unpack that.

Crackship that isn’t quite crack other than it will never be canon, Rhys/Josie would be fucking adorable, because he’s more of a disney princess than Josie, which says something.)

[littlemochabunni]

1-800-TROUBLE

Serial Killer!Suguru Geto x Bimbo!Fem reader

Content: MDNI, WIP, (lowkey... probably highkey..) bimbo reader, blood and homicide mention, fuckboys victims;

smut might include: daddy kink, breeding kink, degrading + praise, c-pies, possibly knife play idk yet.

WC: 644 so far

On your way home from a party you take a few wrong turns, and when you try to call your…. Overprotective boyfriend your phone dies before you get the chance to tell him the cross streets you’re at. With it being late on Halloween night, most of the house porch lights are off your feet continue to carry you down this foreign neighborhood until you hope to see someone could help you. Tear begin to sting your eyes with each street corner you turn, and the nip fall air strips you of any warmth from your cropped puffer jacket Suguru made you wear before you left. You definitely wish you listened when he warned you repeatedly to charge your phone too…

Police sirens are blaring in the far distance from where you originally started which means only one thing… “One of the officers can take me home!” Right…

Trying to follow the sounds to guide you out of the maze of houses you’re lost in. You find a group of men sitting in an open garage, drinking with the tv on in the background. **Although you know Suguru told you not to talk to strangers especially when they’re drunk, what other people were around that could possibly help you?**

“Excuse me? Hi, I’m like super lost…Can I borrow your phone or a charger please?” Every one of their eyes graze over your body before meeting your eyes, and of course the man that looks like the embodiment of a Chad speaks up first, “ooo a sweet bunny girl like you all alone? Need me to come warm you up?” You glance around the garage spotting the space heater near the couch he’s sitting on and a bright smile appears on your face. “It would be nice to get out of the cold while I charge my phone!” You happily skipping inside the garage to sit near the heater and immediately feel so much better now that your off your feet… Little did you know that with this little interaction…. you won’t be back on your feet anytime soon.

All eyes are on you and your like a innocent hare unaware of the foxes preying in the tall grass.

“So you gotta a name sweetheart?” Asked the store-brand version of Derek Shepherd. “Uhh I’m a bunny, duhh?” The men all blink at you before bursting out in a fit of laughter. You don’t understand how that was hilarious, but you’ll take it as a compliment. “Funny and cute… But seriously what’s your real name?”

Hearing that emergency number Suguru always tells you to remember if your lost coming from the braking news announcement about some house party incident. You focus on the tv and ignore ‘Chad’s’ questions, “Hey can you turn the tv up? I think I know that number.” The extra quiet man, who remains you of your friends creepy uncle Lester, turns up the tv and it retells the gruesome murders of the house party that just occurred half an hour ago….

“The next image we show may disturb some viewers…”

Grumbles and tsk scatter among the men around you as they get a glance at the gruesome writings on the wall. You squint your eyes as you notice a simpler stamp Suguru uses when he writes you love letters…. Your stomach drops at the thought of someone using that beautiful stamp for something so… horrifying.

“This message along with a description of the women and the phone number were left at the scene of the crime…” The woman proceeds to describe you from the hair on your head to the holographic boots you’re wearing. The men in the garage are too drunk to realize that you’re exactly what the killers wants, “Please if anyone has any information regarding this women… please call: 1 (800) 876-8253… That’s 1-800-……TROUBLE… Again that number is 1-800-876-8253…”

a/n:Might not be the entire planned posted I wanted but it’s some of it…. it still counts right?🥹

tags: @etherealxmaya @tojisbutterfly @fuyuaika @peachy-dove @hoshigray @bontensbabygirl @tophamhat-kyo @princess-of-fuckup @moonieper @dondake-senpai

[r-ando-m-w-rite-r]

Random Apex Bloopers

im bored so here u go

--------------------------------------

*mirage walks into cryptos apartment*

mirage: hey old man...?

*sees crypto and caustic on the ground playing with toy cars*

*looks up* crypto: oh, uh, hey witt..

--------------------------------------

bloodhound: why is it that attracted you to me?

*fuse hugs bloodhound from behind and nestles his head between their shoulder and their head*

fuse: because, silly, i love you...and your cooking...

--------------------------------------

*loba sees bangalore with valkyrie, theyre talking*

loba: oh, look at my darlings, so cute together

*takes step away from bangalore* valkyrie: ew no!

bangalore: yeah, ew, who would like this ching chong alcoholic?

valkyrie: hey, that was too far

--------------------------------------

crypto: shield cells here

*wattson picks them up*

wattson: t-thanks

crypto: a-anytime

*begin to stare at each other before wattson turns away and blushes*

*wraith standing a little distance away, completely confused about what just happened*

--------------------------------------

seer: what shall we eat tonight, compadre?

*octane jumps on his shoulder, and seer grunts*

octane: oooh, oooh! i know, obi! takeout! takeout!

seer: silvia, down

*octane hops off and hangs his head like a sad puppy*

--------------------------------------

*rampart as she screws in a loose bolt near octanes hip*

rampart: damn kid, what do you do to yourself to get like this?

octane: well, i mean, im all for the danger *pause* and obi is pretty rough

 --------------------------------------

*bang*

lifeline: what the hell?

*more bangs*

horizon: oh, thats just my neighbor maggie, shes actually quite nice once you get to know her-

*there is a smash and then a scream, and lifeline bewilderingly looks to horizon, who has a doubtful look on her face*

horizon: well, i mean, her first name is mad, after all

--------------------------------------

*mirage walking down the hallway with vantage*

*pathfinder suddenly pops around the corner* pathfinder: hello friends!

*vantage jumps slightly and mirage screams like a girl, diving behind vantage*

mirage: get that thing away from me!

*pathfinders monitor portrays a question mark as he approaches vantage and peers behind her* pathfinder: i didnt mean to startle you-

*mirage sees him and screams like a girl again, running off* 

pathfinder: uh...

--------------------------------------

ash: why are you still following me?

revenant: because i can

*ash sighs, annoyed*

ash: i told you awhile ago to get lost

*snickers* revenant: so what? its not like youre gonna do anything-

*in one swift motion, ash has him pinned to the ground, sword pressed to his neck, face inches from his*

*chuckles* revenant: perfect. just the reaction i wanted

*ash blinks twice before growling and standing back up, marching off*

--------------------------------------

gibby: wassup my bruddah?

*mirage sighs and gibby takes a seat beside him*

gibby: cmon witt, you can tell me anything

mirage: well you see...*hesitates before sighing again* oh fine, i just cant pull 

*gibby snorts and mirage looks over at him angrily as he begins laughing*

*gibby pats mirage on the back hard, wiping away his tears with his other hand* gibby: oh, elliot *chuckling* get used to it

--------------------------------------

rampart: ay, give me a hand, will ya?

*looks away from the image of seer on the screen of the tv nearby* catalyst: oh yeah, sorry, just got into a daze

rampart: is it that seer again? 

*sighs* catalyst: how did you know?

rampart: well one, you were staring at him on the news there. two, dont let him get to your head, hun

*growls* catalyst: how am i supposed to ignore the man who stole my planet from me, stole my freedom, stole my livelihood? 

*she kicks a toolbox, which shakes slightly before settling once more*

*smirks* rampart: well, he sure seems to be harder to ignore for other reasons, too

*blushes* catalyst: i already told you, i dont like him. plus, you know who my real love is, and shes gone

*holds up hands* rampart: ay, i never said you liked him. but im just saying, i have a feeling that someone may be a little attracted..

*scoffs* catalyst: well, your guess is wrong. he is dead to me, and i hope he does end up dead

*catalyst then turns and storms out, blushing madly and unable to say anything further*

rampart: hey, what about helping me out?

--------------------------------------

*newcastle humming as he walks down the hallway*

newcastle: *sings under his breath* good morning usa...

--------------------------------------

*octane impatiantly bouncing up and down outside of the fitting room*

octane: chicaaaa cmon i want to gooooo-

*he whines but then abruptly shuts up as wattson slips out in a tight bikini, almost all skin showing*

*blushing profoundly* wattson: well, what do you think? does it fit?

*pauses, unable to comprehend* octane: y-y-yes chica, lovely...

--------------------------------------

thats all for now, tell me if i should do more

[livingmeatloaf]

[image transcript: tweet thread by John Rogers @/jo rog1, posted Aug 9, 2023.

As we head out to picket for Day 100, there are a lot of positive messages of solidarity out there, true, but for my little corner I want to remind you of two sentences:

"Rejected our proposal. Refused to counter."

There are a lot of punters out there proposing "their solve for the strike", and to a one they're like those tech bro buddies of Musk who lectured us on how Ukraine wasn't going to last a week.

When you see "the WGA is holding firm" on some term or another, that's not us rejecting some middle ground the companies are offering, and being the problem.

We''re holding firm on the radical idea that we want *more than nothing*.

Go back and look at where we left things.

Are we holding firm on minimum staffing for writer's rooms? Hell yeah, because we want MORE THAN NOTHING. Because that's what the companies offered - "Rejected our proposals. Refused to counter."

{Link to WGA Negotiations Status as of May 1, 2023}

View the WGA's proposals and AMPTP offers as of May 1, 2023

https://www.wgacontract2023.org/the-campaign/wga-negotiations-status-as-of-5-1-2023

Are we holding firm on a guaranteed second step and weekly pay for screenwriters? Hell yeah, because what the companies offered NOTHING, and we reasonably want MORE THAN NOTHING. "Rejected our proposal. Refused to counter."

Are we holding firm on viewership based streaming residuals? Hell yes, because the companies offered us NOTHING, and we think what's fair is, insanely, "unreasonably" as we have been called, what's fair is MORE THEN NOTHING.

Rejected our proposal. Refused to counter.

Are we holding firm on minimums for FAST and AVOD, two of the fastest growing and most profitable distributions stream? Hell yes, because what we, incredibly, wildly, believe that's what's fair is MORE THAN NOTHING.

Rejected our proposal. Refused to counter.

Maybe I'm a little salty after 100 days on the line listening to the young writers talk about balancing side jobs with their "lavish Hollywood" screenweiting gigs.

Perhaps I'm a little tetchy after 100 days on the line hearing stories form showrunners, who should be at the peak of their careers, talking about breaking down in exhaustion because they aren't given the minumum staff needed to make a show.

Mayhaps a wee cranky trading stories with other movie screenwriters, trying to top each other with stories of how much free work producers and studios have squeezed out of us over the last decade.

I've certainly been shocked and horrified finding out about the conditions comedy and variety writers are dealing with, as they are openly being driven to day rates (it's in the counter! That's what their COUNTER was!)

Fix this in your minds. We are not the problem. We are not radical.

Will we get all those things? No, that's not how contracts negotiations work. Prepare to be disappointed and pissed off as we give up some things to get others.

But never, never forget that we are in Day 100 of this strike not because we turned our nose up at a reasonable offer, like a disappointed aristocrat.

It's because on points where we were ready to compromise, eager to negotiate -- THEY REFUSED TO COUNTER.

And anyone who frames it as a disagreement between two good faith negotiating partners should not only be ridiculed, but their opinion on anything else can confidently be discarded as value-less.

Now I'll see you there at gorgeous, sunny Gate 4 at the WB for Day 100 of trying to save TV and films and Comedy/Variety from fucking privateers who have no idea what they're destroying.

Remember: we won't get everything. But we're certainly as hell not unreasonable for wanting MORE THAN NOTHING.

Trust each other. Ignore anything in the industry owned press or leaked by access journalists and pundits.

An agent friend of mine said "They'll give you [X] when hell freezes over."

Well, then. Buy a parka.

/fin

End transcription.]

John Rogers, on Day 100 of the WGA Strike.

Never forget: “Rejected our proposal. Refused to counter.”

[lettersfromleslie]

THE MUSK OF THE BUSK / L'ART ET L'ARTISTE / THE BOSS IN THE TROLLEYLOT

Heyo! How's life?

The seasons continue their dizzy pinwhirl. Summer is slowly swellin & the spring was an outrageous bloom here in the Pacific Northwest, especially in Magnolia, our incongruously bougie neighborhood in Seattle. Here the good Magnolians cultivate cascading symphonies of daffodils, bluebells, cherryblossoms, rhodondendrons, magnolias naturally, fragrant bushes of rosemary & lavender, great tufts of wild fennel, and many other sprinkles of delite amongst their finely sculpted blobs of topiary. Many days the only people you see on foot are the landscapers tending this grand spectacle - blessed fortunate fancy neighborhood.

Little do these good people know that amongst them, in their very zip code - in that scary ole house, one of the last rentals remaining in this corner of the neighborhood - lives a busker. What horrors they might shiver if they knew. Tis true, and for over a decade now I've been grubbing at this life, bottomfeeding the rivers of commerce, muskily busking wherever that rare beast the American on Foot can be found. When I say hidy to my neighbors it may well be that only hours before I was yodeling in train stations for pennies n bux like any bum. Imagine!

I've had many questions about it over the years, and for years now I've been meaning to write something about The Lifestyle, but I never got around to it somehow. As it happens I'll be playing at two busker-themed events this summer - June 15th at Buskarama in Seattle and July 14th at the annual New York City Buskerball - so if there was ever a time, eh?

Let's start with the Q&A.

Can you really make a living at it? Aye. Do you?? I have at many points. Currently it's a mix of busking, album sales, venue shows, streaming, Patreon, etc. Sure you don't have a trust fund? O ye of little faith. Do you need a permit? Depends, usually helps, but anyway, it tends to be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. What's it like to Be a Busker? I don't think I've ever met anyone who thinks of themselves as purely a Busker. Aside from out & out bums, most people you'll see playing in public have other avenues of performing & creating outside of busking. Isn't it scary? Not once you realize how completely you'll be ignored if you aren't connecting. Hey, you're not bad, why aren't you playing clubs instead of on the street?

This is the one I wanna dig into. First, & hopefully this goes without saying, both are on the menu. But what you get out of this, you don't get in any club. Busking is public art in its most ancient, elemental form, a type of performance that has existed since before recorded music, pop culture, mass media, or social media. It's the most direct route your art can take: you go to the public square and trade feelins for cash. It's taking part in a tradition that's barely changed over thousands of years. Show me any living culture and I'll show you the buskers. Pity the ignorant bastard who thinks there's anything wrong with it. There are plenty of terrible buskers, tis true, because of the simple fact that there's no barrier for entry. The good and the terrible share the same stage, and the crowd has to actually decide for themselves what is worth supporting. For someone to be performing in public says nothing about them or their work other than that they've decided to give it a go.

What's more - and this is really the relevant point for our moment in time: up to a certain level it pays better than the clubs. It allows you skip the day job. I'm convinced that busking is the last, best way for non-famous musicians to make a living with live performances in this most strange & dissociative of centuries. And I mean without fishing for grants, without money from daddy, without royalties from a TV thing you did years ago, without a sugar partner, without a day job, without an OnlyFans. Some romantic souls might still carry the image of the Passionate Misunderstood Artiste scraping rent for their garret apartment with weekend gigs in lowlit clubs & cocktails on the piano lid… or the band of roving roadsouls keeping the lights on by dragging their hearts & their van thru cactus deserts playing beerjoints and college campuses (granted, this can still work if they're living in the van & have friends' floors to crash on)… But realistically, these artists need to have day jobs now, or at least their housing covered. Occasional gigs don't pay the bills in big cities and tours don't make enough money to sustain both the tours and the home expenses for those on the road unless a certain threshold of fame has been broken… The squeeze is on, we all kno it… But as I say, there's a way: Go Busk. If you're able to achieve communion, the universe will provide you with your living expenses. Go out five or six days a week, play two or three hours a day, get what gigs you can… Take it from this ole wreck, it can be done.

This secret is known only to a select few. It's really a humdinger. What's more, if you manage to get into a good flow - well, you may not be the moneyrealm of a dentist, or a law clerk, but you can beat your local barista for pay & perks, and on certain big days you may do as well as a reasonably good-looking stripper. You'll have absolutely no security, tis true, but on the other hand your potential for serendipity is thru the roof. Gig offers. Strange gifts & talismans, drawings, poems. Old people telling you about their bad young days on the road. Rich kid mega-tips. It's a gambler's rush. You hit a bad streak and you question everything, your appearance, your chops, kids these days, the economy, the zeitgeist. You hit a good streak and it's cloud nine, seamlessness, pure flow. Amazing things can happen. Scarlet Rivera played violin on my last album, for God's sake. The proof is in the lacquer. All of it thru busking. Inserting yourself into a place where people congregate and seeing what happens when you do so loudly & with feelins.

The catch is that it does tend to take an openhearted soul to receive what happens to them by accident with the same sprit as what they seek out deliberately. When someone chooses to go to a concert, especially a big one, it's the high point of a longer relationship with that performer's work: discovering it, likely happening across it a few times, slowly starting to choose to listen to it, learning the lyrics, forming a bond… 20 years after you heard him in college Bruce Springsteen announces a tour date in your town, you spring for tickets, whew, got em, figure out time - take off work, call a babysitter fer god's sake - find parking - stand in line - by the time the curtain goes up, there is a profound anticipation hanging: Was it Worth It? Are We Gonna Get It? Will the Art Give Me Feelins?

This communal longing and openness is the perfect blank canvas for any performer worth their salt. An audience that's focused, invested, with nowhere to go, with a set intention to stay for the duration of the performance.

Now take that all away. It's a busy street. The people are distracted, engaged, going in different directions, with no intention of stopping. There's Bruce Springsteen, but you've never heard of him, no one has. He's banging on his guitar outside the supermarket singing Born in the USA. Sounds good, but your little ones need their potatoes and mustard greens, your phone is ringing, your hair is exploding, no one's stopping, nothing is planned, and this whole vibe is making the guy seem kinda needy, a lil imposing in fact. But no, he does sound pretty good, so he gets a dollar as you pass thru the sliding doors and start to scan for the turnip aisle.

There's yer two extremes. I don't play outside of supermarkets, on the whole I try and catch people where they're at least likely to be relaxed and receptive. Parks, latenight train stations in nightlife areas, outdoor markets, tourist attractions (altho tourists often tend to be so overwhelmed with things that they're as hard to get thru to as any worker on the clock). But even so, it's a fishing expedition. Most people who pass will be elsewhere in their minds, and you'll miss hundreds who might have connected in different circumstances. It's normal. I don't often change course myself. I've passed by many things that looked enormously engaging. You gotta.

Which makes me feel all the more grateful for every person who stopped for even a moment, dropped a dollar or two. To them (you, most likely) I say bless you, you rare beast, you had your antennae out, you let the world speak to you. Those that changed plans, missed trains, brought out picnic blankets, reached out and wrote - you are a miracle, you were really listening.

This is one of the things that makes busking interesting. It's all so very ephemeral. You can play the best set of your life and be completely ignored. You can also be a hungover mess making a bleary fool of yourself because rent's due, and for whatever strange flukey reason the dollars may rain. Signals between strangers tend to be very garbled. But when it clicks - when what is sent out is received perfectly - when communion is achieved - when someone gets it - that's really something. And I think that might be about as rare in Tompkins Square Park as it is in Madison Square Garden, when you look beyond the notion of spectacle to the notion of meaning being transferred.

Which, granted, is only touching on parts of what gives art its power. Performances depend on their context as much or more as they do on the message itself. What a Wonderful World played over Vietnam war footage. I Did It My Way sung by Sid Vicious. It's all a weird miasma, a complicated and extremely social blend of communion and communication… the creator's skill is what we tend to focus on, aye, but more than that it's the place & time, the cultural context, the memories & associations the performer draws on, the flavor & intent it's drawn with, their social standing & authority (or lack thereof), the moment they were there for and spoke for, and also who was there to hear it spoken, and who said it was Great. All subjective. All extremely emotional. All tied in with stories. Who is Van Gogh or Nick Drake without early death & lack of recognition in life? And who is Taylor Swift without fame, without her cult? We have to concede that the song by itself is only a vessel, as is the singer. Vessels for us to pour our feelins in. Beauty isn't objective, thank God, & art communion is a societal ritual- would we have it elsewise?

(Which is why the idea that AI could replace artists is about as meaningless as the idea that AI could replace love.)

When you busk, you can't count as much on context. You know that every day what you give is what you get. The people who stop and listen didn't do it beacuse of the production value of your album or because they heard you on the radio in high school or because someone they're in love with was wearing your band tshirt. They're just there, and so were you, yodelin. Every day you gotta manage that! And then maybe as time goes on you can make yourself part of a context. Your songs become people's memories. You presence starts to thread itself into the great spiderweb. Parts of you go walking off on their own.

To live in this way means existing in a state of communion with the place you live in. Every day you send out energy and the stuff of sustenance flows back. Life sustains itself on thin air. And that's a beautiful thing. Here I am in this creaky wooden house by the sea, cat, gal, piano, guitars, living at the end of the land… Lucky me!

And I was mostly kidding about the Magnolians earlier. This is about the most busker-friendly town I've ever been in, and I'm sure my neighbors would be glad to have me even if they knew of my buskin ways, especially if they could see certain snapshots, if they could peep thru the curtains … even moreso if they heard the nice things Important People have said about me over the years, all the lil milestones along this janky & ephemeral trip … But at the train station, would they listen? Would they stop? Rare souls, those who do! Bless you!!!