#like. mutuals especially. consider yourselves tagged

[gaepublishinghouse]

Apotheosis [ Wanderer x GN!Reader]

╭ ─┉─!! • !!─┉─ ╮

Tags : implied nsfw, crying (on Wanderer's part), angst with a bit of comfort, friends with benefits to maybe lovers

╰ ─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─ ╯

–

It was by virtue of the day’s bitterness that the two of you found yourselves in this position. Call it blowing off steam or a mutual yearning for the comfort of touch, though the Wanderer would never claim the latter, but you both needed it and you both needed it badly. 

You and your travel companion stifled gasps and moans behind the thin curtain of the tent, still instinctively cautious with each other and the outside looking in despite the nearest civilization being a day’s travel away. His hands were planted on either side of your head, eyes usually dull with boredom or burning with hate now glowing faintly in the shroud of your shelter as his hips rocked in tandem with yours as if the friction and heat between you would burn away the emptiness, the cursed gnawing emptiness that threatened to creep back in. It helped, as much as he liked to think he was a god above the needs and pleasures that were so painfully human.

Your fingers brushed against his cheeks, cold like porcelain but soft and rapidly warming under your touch. His lips looked soft and painted with the pink of a cherry blossom, even when it was pressed in a thin line of irritation, and especially now parted with laboured breaths. He couldn’t answer why he made those noises, why he felt like he needed to breathe when you were in his arms. Everything about how he felt about you was an enigma that he picked at like a healing wound, splitting open and wondering at the ichor that bled forth. The Wanderer always loved how blood looked as much as he detested how it reminded him of mortality.

You can tell he was lost in his thoughts again, stuck in the warring memories of a version of himself that for all intents and purposes never existed. You slid a hand up to his hair and pulled him down to your level. He would have chewed you out for daring to handle him like that if it was not for how he was suddenly much more focused on how your lips felt against his, how they seemed to slot together in a way that was hot and messy and entirely too raw but something he felt like made his hollow chest feel a little less empty. His eyes closed and he pressed closer, aching for more, more warmth, more of you.

Your cheeks felt wet and it took a long moment to realize that they weren’t your tears.

—

Wanderer doesn’t mention it as the two of you get cleaned up at your respective corners of the tent, backs to each other as you both dressed back into your rumpled clothing. In the heat of the moment, it looked like your piles had gotten mixed up and his Vision laid pleasantly cool against your palm. You walked over to him as he absently tied the sashes of his robes and as he saw the Vision in your hand, his eyes went wide and he clasped his hand around it, and in the process around yours. His eyes don’t leave your hands and after a moment of lingering, he took it from your grip and clasped it back to his chest. The tension in his shoulders drained ever so slightly, though he still kept a hand over the shimmering Vision, futile in his attempt to keep the warmth of your hold from fading in the cold night. It was no match for how cold he seemed to treat you after all that. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, and it was hard to tell if it was you or the remnants of the astringent tea you tasted on his lips.

“I’m sorry.” You ended up saying, unable to think of anything else. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I know that wasn’t part of our… deal.”

Wanderer snorted and crossed his arms, refusing to meet your eyes. He was always easier to read than he would like to admit, and you could tell that somehow hurt him. “The audacity to say such a thing. To think I considered you less foolish than the common herd.”

“Kuni–”

“Forget it,” he snapped, eyes flashing in the dark for a completely different reason. “We both want to. You did something stupid and it’s obvious you regret it, so we can both pretend it never happened.”

“But I meant it.” You argue, “I wanted to, for a long time now. I just… I didn’t mean to hurt you because of it.”

His hand came up unconsciously, fingers brushing over where his face was wiped raw to get rid of those tears as soon as he was aware of them. Wanderer sneered and tightened his hand in a fist, anger in his eyes. “I don’t need your pity. That didn’t mean anything, and it doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m weak.”

You took his hands and for a moment, the tension under your touch made you think he would yank himself away once more, but an earnest look from you had him second-guessing. He looked away once more, his expression hard. 

You recall a story shared between sips of bitter ice wine and the warmth of a campfire once upon a quiet night. Something about it made Wanderer looser with his words, and you learn of his past life. How he was born with the image of God and as he wept like any other babe, he was deemed too weak to house the glory of Eternity. How he shed tears of anger and betrayal as his friend broke his promise under no fault of his own, but of the cruelty of mortality and the fragility of life.

"It didn't bring him back." Wanderer murmured past the lip of the bottle, staring impassively into the fire. "Of course it didn't. All that crying has brought me nothing but broken promises and pain on my side alone."

In the present, he had that same rueful expression pointed anywhere but you. And in that moment, you understood why you saw that inkling of fear. That resigned pain.

You shifted your grip on his hands and gently intertwined your fingers, tightening carefully but firmly. Finally his gaze snapped to you.

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, I promise." you murmured, feeling his fingers twitch as they warm under your heat. "Not until you want to get rid of me. And even then, I might fight back a little."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed and he grit his teeth, tears spilling down pale cheeks. "You… promise. You know what that means. If you break it, I'll… I'll kill you. I'll rip you to pieces and the world will forget that anyone with your name ever existed. You hear me?"

As you held him close, his grip tightened painfully, yet you couldn't bring yourself to do anything but squeeze him back just as hard. The promises made that night were kept safely tucked in the quiet twilight and in the morning, Wanderer jeered at you for sleeping in, but his grin was a little softer in his eyes.

[heich0e]

wait if you said that you're gonna stop the oopsy baby series 'for now' are you implying that you're gonna continue it at some point in the future or....? 🤨

I've gotten way more asks about this than I expected, and I won't reply to them all to spare your dash (since they mainly address the same things) but in the interest of transparency here are the highlights:

1. Are you going to continue the mini megumi series? /post any other parenthood fics?

I honestly don't know. I was going to add more to this reply but I've just been staring at the screen for like 10 minutes.

2. Why?

A couple of reasons, but if I'm being really honest I saw a lot of mutuals (who I sincerely like and respect, present tense) posting about how much they dislike parenthood/pregnancy fics and how sick they make them feel and it just didn't feel good.

I want to be really really clear that I TRULY and wholeheartedly believe that everyone is entitled to like what they like, and dislike what they dislike. But the problem is that when you express those opinions while disparaging the people whose opinion are different from yours, or if you choose to be vocal about your dislike of something when you see someone enjoying it, it can be really hurtful. It made me feel uncomfortable about continuing the series if I knew people felt that way and I was possibly upsetting them.

3. Is it because of the "exclusionary" ask?

No! This all happened before I received (or at least saw) that ask. And while I do completely and totally understand where that anon was coming from, and I support them 100% in sharing that very valid criticism with me, the fic probably wouldn't have changed because of it—though I would have started putting a tag in the updates alerting readers to the fact that Kota is described at multiple points throughout the story as being identical to Megumi in case it was sensitizing/alienating/in any way offensive to them.

The inspiration for the fic was that a child who is virtually identical to him shows up at his doorstep, and the entire series is predicated on that idea. I should have made that much clearer at the outset and I really apologize for my oversight and to anyone who I hurt by being careless in that way. I have since gone back and edited each instalment to feature a warning about this in the header, and hope that people who will feel excluded by this plot point can make whatever decision feels best for them in regards to engaging with the fic!

4. I don't like you.

Me neither.

5. I love parenthood fics and I think you should keep writing them.

I also like parenthood fics, and I think they're fun to write! And this is coming from someone who isn't even sure they ever want to have kids themselves. But sort of nodding back to point 2, I don't want to post any kind of fic that people who i consider friends begin vocally posting about disliking. Especially because I really don't follow that many people, so when every third post on my dash is dunking on the trope I'm actively posting about, it just makes me feel kind of sad and unwelcome.

This is absolutely NOT intended to be an indirect/vague about those moots, and if you're reading this I hope you know that I mean that from the BOTTOM of my heart. They are JUST as entitled to this space as I am, and I am in no way at all trying to impose myself and my opinions onto them. I just don't know how to filter anti-trope content from my user experience without inadvertently also filtering the content I DO want to see, and if I'm being honest I just don't think it's not worth losing mutuals who I really like over.

I'm saying all of this with nothing but love, and I hope that no one is too upset about it. I'm sorry if you were enjoying the series and now aren't sure about its future. I'm sorry if me expressing the way I was hurt makes you feel bad too. I'm really logging off now for a bit, and I hope you all take care of yourselves!! Be good, sending love, talk soon <3

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

OH yes I'm tagging a bunch of the the mutuals again for we have suffered greatly in tossing words at the documents. Proof below the cut.

Tagged by the most esteemed @thequeenofthewinter <3

Tagging: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @friend-of-giants, @thana-topsy, @rhiannon1199, @snippetsrus, @tallmatcha, @gilgamish, @archangelsunited, @rainpebble3, @oblivions-dawn, @saltymaplesyrup, @the-storytellers-seer, @airiat, @elfinismsarts, @inquisition-dragonborn, and any others who have not been tagged :> Consider yourselves tagged. TAG ME. And always remember to re-tag mutuals even if they've been tagged, and especially if they've posted. Pile 'em on so we can outrun the notification problems on here and always be aware of each others' work LOL Below the cut we have NEW OC nonsense in a piece of an upcoming chapter 25 of The World on Our Shoulders!

“You have to help me,” the Thalmor said. “I cannot best her. And she will not let me close to my superior without leverage. If you recall, I shot you.”

Teldryn glared at the man, though he’d not be able to see through the chitin. He thought about it for a second. What manner of bullshit was this, anyway? He didn’t refer to himself as Thalmor before, despite the outfit. Despite the battalion and superior nonsense. Something was amiss.

“Yeah, that’s even less reason for me to help you,” Teldryn said, rubbing the inside of his elbow joint in distaste.

“See reason! All of that was for appearances. And, to be honest, my own safety. I saw how you cut down my associates,” the elf said.

“Appearances to who? The dead Thalmor? Sure,” Teldryn snorted. “Fuck you. Go figure it out on your own.” If he annoyed the elf just enough, his story would fall right out. That, or the details about Nyenna.

“Excuse me?” the elf asked, aghast. “And what, pray tell, do you intend to do instead?” His face and neck were slowly going crimson. Teldryn noticed his fists were clenched at his side. He smirked behind his scarf. Perfect.

“Sail this stupid fucking bucket back to Raven Rock. I don’t need a patron who summons dragons and demons,” Teldryn lied and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Not worth the coin. I’ll cut my losses.”

“Mercenaries,” the Thalmor hissed, the word sounding more like a curse than anything Teldryn had managed so far. Of course he wasn’t going to leave Nyenna stranded here. But the elf didn’t need to know that. The Thalmor huffed, drawing attention back to himself. “Fine. Fine, what is your fee? I’ll hire you instead. You speak in coin, right?” He fished around desperately in his robes and produced a coin purse. “They’re at a standstill. They’ve been since before we were sent to retrieve that Skaal bastard. And if my superior doesn’t die, not one of us is going to get out of this alive, even if the consequences take some time to catch up to us.”

So there it was. The superior was evenly matched with Nyenna, or at least held some kind of advantage she couldn’t overcome on her own. But what did he mean about the consequences? And why was he including himself in this problem? Not that Teldryn would normally argue about offing some Thalmor leader, but all of it was bordering on insane. Figures Nyenna would have gotten stuck in the middle of it. He eyed the Thalmor as he sat down across from him and placed the coin purse on the bench.

“Before I take this job, sera, you’ll need to tell me what you mean by consequences,” Teldryn drawled, “as I don’t see how this affects me at the moment.” He didn’t move. The Thalmor sighed and ran his free hand down his face. He swore in Altmeris, but relented, finally. Teldryn smirked behind his scarf. The s’wit didn’t think through much, it seemed.

“Fine. Here’s this, then, if it will sweeten the deal, speaking of fetchers,” the Thalmor said bitterly. “I am and am not Thalmor. I steal secrets from them and pass the information back to a friend. I have a part to play. Only, a scout returning on my own without my contingent will indicate failure. Failure will mean being sent back to Alinor for retraining. And who will keep the information about the Dragonborn out of their hands then, hm?” He interwove his own fingers in a nervous fidget. “I can only survive retraining unchanged so many times.” His voice trailed off as he scrubbed at some of the scars on his head.

“So you’re a double agent?” Teldryn asked, dropping just a fraction of his attitude. He tucked away the man’s apprehension in the back of his mind for later. “Why? Why not just escape?”

The elf was taken aback by the question, blinking as if the sentiment hadn’t occurred to him before. He sighed and twisted his fingers together for a moment before finding the answer.

“It’s not as simple as one would think to get out from under their control,” he said. “So I threw my lot in with — well, that part doesn’t matter. Suffice to say, our goals probably align closer than you’d think.”

“But you shot me,” Teldryn pointed out, “and poisoned me, no less. Then, you sit there and have the gall to ask for my help.”

“It was risk management and nothing more,” the Thalmor quipped. “Do not take it personally.”

“Then why did you not poison the Dragonborn?” Teldryn ventured. He’d already taken the coin purse from the bench next to the Thalmor without being noticed. He grinned as the man’s face twisted through several different emotions until he buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, please. At this point, you must know I never did claim to be a good double agent,” the Thalmor lamented. Teldryn let out a loud cackle.

“You can say that again,” he laughed and stood up with a stretch. The Thalmor peered up at him. “Let’s just go get my friend out of trouble.” He offered his hand. “Teldryn Sero, best swordsman in all of Morrowind.”

“Varlais,” the elf said miserably. He shook Teldryn’s hand. All in all, this one looked tougher than he was. He’d been a decent actor at first until the confidence melted away. There was an explosion from not far off, tearing Teldryn from his thoughts. He spun around in surprise looking for the source. Varlais sighed heavily next to him. “Yes, that’ll be the Dragonborn.”

[oodlyenough]

anyway here's some power of the doctor thoughts from someone who phased in and out of thirteen's era very casually and only saw like a cumulative 10 episodes of it, maybe

honestly i enjoyed it more-or-less/more than i expected, lol, maybe because i had no particular expectations riding on it i just wanted to see what would happen. i don't think it was the tightest or most coherent script but no showrunner's finale ever has been LMAO so... it is what it is.

the master's entire plan seemed overly convoluted and i don't entirely follow why we had half the plot elements we had, but i'm also always willing to accept the master doing fuckshit for reasons that don't really go beyond wanting to ruin the doctor's day and get their attention. so like. sure. i can roll w that lmfao. the daleks and cyberman stuff seemed totally superfluous too but... whatever idc

dhawan's master isn't my fave master but he's enjoyable to watch, imo. the most bonkers one of the 3 modern i think? which considering the competition is a high bar, lol.

i think a bigger crit, for me, of 13-era master is more on jodie's end, where i don't get as much conflict and whatnot from her, which in turn makes it a less interesting dynamic than the other modern master+doctor combos. the push-pull mutual obsession is what makes them fun! i don't believe 13 would cradle his body sobbing and begging him to regenerate after he tortured her for a year, so really, what's the point

it was nice seeing ace and tegan. i think i maybe once saw a serial with each but it was so long ago, so i won't pretend any kind of authority in terms of how they were written. but i liked having them around lol

i think it was a bit of an odd choice to have dhawan 'take over' the doctor's body or ...whatever... in jodie's very last episode. it would've been a better showcase for jodie whittaker, and accomplished the same basic plan, if somehow HE regenerated into HER, and jodie got to play both the doctor and the master. ah well, because...

i really liked the old doctor cameos! I was not spoiled for it at all and i thought it was very sweet, especially giving five+tegan and seven+ace their moments together.i'm sure the actors appreciated a chance to be together too. just nice :) and i love my man eight lmao... king

also the mishmash outfit of all the past doctor outfits was cute

i thought the "tag you're it" line was a cute ending line! (although it would've been better if she regenerated into ncuti ...lol. i'm sure it was written and acted long before they settled on the 60th plans so i guess it can't be helped.)

the big downside to me was: yaz and thasmin

thasmin isn't a ship i'm invested in personally but i did start watching again after they canonized yaz's feelings in EOTD because i was like oh, how far will the show go with this? and the answer is apparently "nowhere". LOTSD felt totally unresolved and then we just never brought it up again. i can live without a kiss or a happily ever after, but when you've spent nearly a year patting yourselves on the back for a queer doctor/companion relationship, only to not do the barest minimum to address it, that's fucked up. why canonize your accidental-by-admission subtext if you're not going to DO ANYTHING? sorry to the shippers who really got jerked around by this show for no reason.

and then, even setting aside that irritation, the most egregious thing of all...

yaz's exit. just absolutely flabbergasted they did yaz/mandip so dirty that they didn't even TRY to come up with and articulate a reason for her to leave. ludicrous!!! she spends her whole time swallowing her feelings for the doctor's comfort and that extends all the way to leaving because the doctor kicked her out with nary a hug? what the fuck? one of the longest running companions ever and this is the sendoff she gets, kicked out because the doctor decides, sans explanation, she "needs to be alone" to regenerate despite having regenerated with many companions prior? lmao... yaz sweetie i'm so sorry. she doesn't even get to give the speech to the companion support group. my god. martha jones you need to call her up immediately

[portokali]

@raqhaelia tagged me to share some albums ive been listening to a lot lately and ill admit i havent really been listening to a lot of albums but rather playlists random songs etc but here!!

hivill by HERD - it's an ep actually, my friend had send me one of the songs (starlight) a long time ago thinking i might like it, and i did! i actually liked the whole ep! recently i stumbled on it again and was listening, it's beautiful n atmospheric indie rock w gorgeous gorgeous instrumental solos

homecoming by beyoncé - LIVE PERFORMANCE TO END ALL LIVE PERFOMANCES!!! looove how every song sounds live the band her vocals everything!!! listening to it is more than yr average energy boost, it's a litany against stagnation, exhaustion, melancholy, the sin of sloth etc.!!!

so much (for) stardust by fall out boy - ayo!!! listened to it for the first time yesterday but several times since, so many of the songs are here to stay as house classics damn!!!

the record by boygenius - another EP/not a full album but wowww i love every song in there especially emily im sorry and not strong enough i could cry!!!! i loove their voices and lyrical storytelling and ofc their sapphic swag 🧡

tagging some mutuals that i somehow associate w those artists/songs: @catboyhammerandsickle u introduced me to starlight love u & you & @catboyparrish we were all listening to fob yesterday 🤸🤸‍♀️🤸‍♂️ @diarygirls u r my leading beyonce mutual!!! @catboykacchan @catboyjosten @transcatboymegumi you're fob besties too @matchas @pinklatte444 u r my boygenius mutuals!!!

no pressure to anyone present and sorry 2 everyone im forgetting (i know i am) please consider yourselves tagged 🧡

[unnonexistence]

Tagged by @lilolilyr

The rules 1. always post the rules 2. Answer the new questions given by the previous person 3. Write 11 new questions 4. Tag 11 people

——————————

1. Do you have a favourite word? If yes, what and why? - Not really? For the most part I like metaphors & figures of speech more than individual words.

2. That one fandom you can always return to: - Sherlock Holmes (not any specific adaptation, just Holmes in general)

3. The Hobby you lowkey wish you had: - Climbing trees

4. What’s your aesthetic? - For clothes? “Indecisive, but likes patterns.” Also kind of nerdy? I wear a lot of sweaters and button-ups, so make of that what you will.

5. The ship you can fangirl about/ read fics of at all times : - Newmann, I guess? At least at the moment. It usually changes with my special interests.

6. Nature person, city person, or both? - Kind of both.

7. Ever questioned your gender identity? - I’m trans lol

8. Any advice on how to be happy? - Be gentle with yourself. Take time to do things just because they make you happy. Give yourself permission to not do things sometimes, and try to accept your limitations instead of hating yourself for them.

9. Sporty person/ Couch potato or both? - Couch potato 90% of the time. I get kind of intense about fencing though.

10. Favourite nonfamous film? - Real Genius. Mostly for the character of Chris Knight, if I’m being honest, but all the characters are pretty interesting. I think it would be better without the romantic subplot, but that doesn’t play a very big role anyway.

11. Your hogwarts hous(es)? - Ravenclaw.

——————————

New questions:

1. Do you have a favourite podcast?

2. Best comfort food?

3. Do you consider yourself introverted or extroverted?

4. Can you think of a well-written fictional romance? What did you like about it?

5. Do you like rainy days?

6. How do you feel about personality quizzes?

7. What’s something you wish more people knew about?

8. What’s the weirdest compliment you’ve ever received?

9. A place you’d like to visit someday:

10. Something that makes you happy:

11. Who’s your favourite fictional character?

I tag: @missawkwardconversation, @exobiologist, @sang-savoir, @therearenohooksinme, @averypolitedog, @mrbingley, @yogdad, @badsnowfo, @spitting-up-fake-blood, @sherlockwatson, @spacewifespock, @gwo, and anyone else who wants to do this!! 

[namcelestial]

tags on the idol rapper post are FASCINATING

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

hi! for the eddie prompts, 27 + 49 + 45 pls uwu

Meshing two requests together on this one, and it's... beefy. I think I managed to squeeze all the prompts into this, but, well, you'll just have to read to find out, I guess. Also, huge thanks to @butterbabyflapjack for her beta skills. <3

💕 The prompt list is HERE for anyone else interested. 💕

Title: The End of the World and the Bed Frame

Words: 7k+

Tags: mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, vaginal penetration, thigh riding, humping, one bed trope, magical powers, DnD logic, overstimulation, edging, unsafe sex, creampies, slight breeding kink (sorta), smut, dirty talk, fix-it fic, season 4 part 2 spoilers, and lovey-dovey shit <3

Summary: 27. being forced to share a bed and 49. mutual masturbation and 45. bed breaking sex and 31. "Say my name."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It’s midnight, according to the shitty, nicotine-stained alarm clock with burnt-out digital numbers and one of those attached quarter vibrators adjacent. Steve and Nancy have been gone for over an hour, and Robin is, as far as you know, on the other side of the motel. Hawkins is smoldering, but you’re both still alive—Eddie especially is still alive. 

‘Naw, baby… not gonna make it. Just, tell Henderson he’s got-‘

‘Don’t, Eddie. You’re not dying because of a few stupid fucking bats,’ you snort up tears and snot and watch his eyes shed a few tears—watch his lips bleed another river of blood-lace spit, ‘and… besides, I’m a bard, remember?’

You stare at your finger in the golden light from the floor lamp in the corner, mixed with the blue tinge of Hawkins' night-blue sky. It’s bright with distant fires, casting your digits in an ethereal color that only makes them seem more unnatural. It’s strange to think there’s something within this flesh, these bones, and veins that gave Eddie enough life to haul him back through the gateway. Wild, you think, wiggling your fingers until they just seem like ordinary ones, not magical in the slightest.

“I wonder if the lake house is even standing, what with the portal in Lover’s Lake…”

You’re talking to yourself, not expecting the metal head in bed behind you to respond, though you wonder if he’s worried about the state of his trailer considering the portal on his ceiling…

From the bed, Eddie mumbles, “Only saving grace is my Uncle had to work a double tonight. Pretty sure everything I own is hot lava by now.”

“… Gonna miss the way you looked in that flannel,” you joke, but not really. Something about the stark red beneath his leather jacket turned his brown eyes into deep pools of pyrope. 

“Shit was scratchy. Won’t miss it.”

You step away from the long, waist-high window by the motel door, fingers free from the blinds where you’ve been standing the past ten minutes in jittery paranoia. Eddie shifts stiffly back on the sole double bed and changes the channel on the static-heavy television set. 

Your eyes roam the destruction of Eddie Munson from a safe distance as he snorts derisively at late-night cable game shows. 

It’s been no less than twelve hours since you, Dustin and Eddie pulled yourselves back through the Upside Down into his dilapidated trailer and even less time since the portals dissected Hawkins into volcanic, fiery snot. And, after all that, Eddie’s still a wanted man, and the wounds he suffered thanks to those heavy metal-loving demo bats needed a place to heal. Your fingers throb with the memory of pinching his gashes together… pads pruned from his blood and the vigorous washings between spell-knitting his muscle and fat layers together… then wrapping them up with convenience-store gauze.

He looks like a patchwork mummy, kinda. All laid out in the middle of the bed with his tangled hair a halo around his head. He’s still in his boxers with a pillow over his lap because of side effects, though you’ve already seen… everything when you and Robin had him in the tub, viciously squeezing interdimensional saliva and inflamed poison from his bites in a numb haze. A few of the deepest gouges sit on his chest and sides, covered with gauze and medical tape, lightly stained through, while the rest of him is a tapestry and fresh scabs, raised welts, and plum-yellowing bruises. There’s only so much your powers could fix in a short time, and while you joked about it before, those fucking bats really did a number of him. 

Eddie looks like living hell… but he finds something stupid on the television and snorts out a laugh.

“Need anything else from your lunch box?” You ask to fill the loud silence of recent memories.

Eddie turns his head, cheek stuffed in a mess of brown curls fanning the fluffed pillow, and licks his lower lip, “I’m good. I’m… shit doesn’t hurt anymore. But, ya know, like… feel free to help yourself to whatever you want in there. Got some pre-rolls in the pencil case. I think...”

While the offer is tempting, there’s too much tension for grass to cut through—too anxious to enjoy it. 

“… umm, thanks, but I’m okay for now. One of us needs to be on alert in case… something happens,” you tell him, tugging close the smokey curtains and double—triple—checking the locks on the thin motel door. It still doesn’t feel all that safe, but Hawkins police have enough on their hands, more than enough to bother wasting precious time hunting down Eddie Munson, who, according to their limited knowledge, may not even be alive.

It was close, though, that whole nearly dying business… too close.

You pick at the fast food baggy on the corner table while the past twenty-four hours finally weigh on your rattled mind. A waft of cheesy oil and stale fries floats out of the paper bag, making your nose wrinkle. Eddie’s already eaten two burgers and slurped down a milkshake, but yours is still sitting there… cold and unappetizing. 

“You want my burger, Eddie?”

From the bed, Eddie groans, “Nice try, but you gotta eat, my fair maiden.”

You twist your lips and ignore his well-intentioned response, shaking off the pet name with a rub of your itchy eyes. You can’t handle the Eddie-made butterflies on top of the tension.

“I think… I’d rather shower first; maybe then my appetite’ll return,“ you say, playing with the filth-heavy hem of your Mayhem shirt with a frown. “Will you be okay on your own for a bit? I just need fifteen minutes… maybe twenty, to scrub all this interdimensional crap off.”

Eddie’s gaze darkens over your figure. The elephant in the room becomes apparent as a blotchy blush paints the apples of his cheeks. 

“Uh, what about your clothes… Harrington and Wheeler were supposed to bring you back some stuff, weren't they?”

“Yeah, but I’m so fucking itchy. I promise I’ll tightly tie the towel around my dirty pillows for your modesty.”

Hawkins’ most famous hellraiser looks back at the television, not voicing that you’ve seen him, so it’s not a big deal if you’re in a towel for an hour or more. For a moment, you think he’s gonna make a joke, but Eddie just bites his lip and changes the channel with a stiff shrug. “Don’t think you need to worry about that. I’ve seen enough tits in my time… besides, I’m too stoned to think about your boobs.”

You smile because the alternative is screaming. 

“Don’t tell me one of those things made you high?”

“Dude, you eat one of those things and try not to pop a boner…”

And, there’s that elephant in the room too, but you're not gonna lose another second over that. Mainly because despite the apocalypse, you can’t stop thinking about crawling between his legs to suck his problem away—mostly, though, aside from that filthy desire, you’re just happy he’s not in any pain, even if hard drugs made you uncomfortable. Always bring with them the childhood trauma and your dependency on downers to get through the anxiety of life as some freak—some terrifying burden…

“Do you need another one?” You ask, crossing your arms, eyes avoiding the pillow over his lap and the redness over his cheeks. 

“Naw, but… if you bestow upon me a spliff and a torch, I will stroke… uh, toke… meant to toke like puff… umm, until this thing is gone.”

It physically hurts not to give in and laugh at his blunder—at his awkward Dungeon Master voice that’s way too endearing for the end of the world. It makes more sense for the adrenaline and relief of actually surviving the shit they just went through to give him wood, though you both know that’s not the culprit, but… far be it for you to argue why Eddie getting more stoned might only make his wood problem worse. At any rate, you fish his lighter and a rolled joint out of his tin lunch pail and place both gently on the pillow covering his, as he called it ‘shame.’

“You’re just lucky Nancy got us a smoking room.”

“Yeah, she’s a real angel throwing you in here with me, my boner, and I. At least Harrington wouldn’t be offended by it.”

“… I’m not offended,” you mumble, ignoring the way he fumbles with the joint before shoving it between his teeth, “just wasn’t expecting it to still be hanging around, is all.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie scrapes the light, igniting the flint and taking a hard drag. On the exhale, he continues, “You saved my ass, baby. The last thing you deserved was my Maiden Slayer poking you in the eye.”

“Please tell me you don’t actually call it the Maiden Slayer.”

Eddie grins, still rosy-cheeked with thick smoke curling out the corner of his mouth, “This is what opioids do to me. Pretty charming, huh?”

“Endlessly,” you deadpan, unable to bite down your smile.

You nudge the remote closer to him and tap the dixie cup of water on the bedside table, silently reminding him to drink it while you’re in the shower. He doesn’t nod, but the smile says he’ll do his best—the one that creases beneath his eyes, dimples his cheeks, and makes you wish you’d met his Maiden Slayer before all this.

Once more, you check the locks, ignoring the urge to do it several more times before passing quickly between the bed and the television, all stiff and full of that tension Eddie has sustained, just like he’s sustained that boner you want to drain… but won’t. 

Eddie’s eyes follow you like hot coals, but your tummy flutters—all knotted with emotion—and you hurry faster, throwing the door shut behind you.

<><><><>

As soon as she slams the bathroom door, Eddie slides up against the headboard, knocking the pillow off his lap to shove all five fingers in the elastic band of his boxers. The lighter clatters to the carpet, an irrelevant concern while he juggles his cock and balls with the wet roach smoldering in his mouth. His eyes hang on the door, swallowing fuzzy nerves, and he gives his aching cock a rough stroke, lashes fluttering at that first sweet hit of relief. He’s been stiff for the past hour, trying his fucking hardest to think about Upside Down slugs and bad grades to bid it back down, but the fair maiden’s touch still burns all over, and any inhibitions are gone with Eddie’s humble rock god origins. He put on the most metal show ever, survived the typhoon of demo bats, and got a slightly unsexy scrub bath from his one and only true savior, the party’s bard. Without her and those superpowers, he’d be demon guano by now…

“Goddamnitt… that’s fucking good.” Eddie holds in a whimper, eyes rolling back as he squeeze-jerks off his base until blood swells in his tip. Fuck… that’s it… only be better if she was doing it… if she was wrapped around him, seesawing in his lap like she wants him…

The vicodin gave him a juicy sense of relief, but it’s her magic fingers that have Eddie rock hard, and the fact that she knows it… and still doesn’t seem to mind sharing the room? Shit… Honestly, Eddie’s not sure how sold he is on the idea… of being stuck in a room with her—the heavy metal queen of his dreams— which has only fed his fantasies—helped the side effects of her healing spell flourish into the rock-hard erection throbbing in his fist.

Eddie hasn’t stopped thinking about what might happen tonight when it’s time to share this bed, and… maybe she has a nightmare? Needs comforting? And then one thing leads to another where Eddie spreads his mouth over her pussy, eating her out like tonguing cream out of a twinkie. She’ll squirm against his lips and moan loud enough to reach across the motel, fists full of his hair, while she tells him how good he is…

‘H-how do you eat pussy so well, Eddie? Oh, my god!’

“… shit,” Eddie exhales, picturing it in that wispy detail only afforded by combined drugs. 

He moans low under his breath and reaches down his other hand to double-fist his cock until he can just pretend the all-encompassing grip is her—her mouth or her wet, eager pussy. It usually takes two joints to make his own callused hand feels this good… but, fuck… there’s something heady about surviving the performance of a lifetime and getting undressed by the hottest chick alive, even if it was to save his sorry ass from bleeding to death. 

With his tongue between his lips, still glaring at the bathroom door, Eddie beats off until his eyes roll back in his head and carefully, silently, starts thrusting his hips into the tube he’s made of his palms… chasing his peak like it’ll be his last nut as a free man.

Well, maybe not silently… it’s hard to bite down a breathy moan here and there, especially when he remembers how her fingers had lingered on his neck, tracing the welt there from one of those razor whip tails… or how she blushed when they both had to work at the second skin of his bloodied jeans, soaking him in six inches of bath water to loosen it all, and then… see her eyes widen coming face to face with the wild, dark curls matted with sweat and blood around his dick.

“… fuck me, baby,” Eddie whispers, barely above an audible octave, “Yeah… that’s it—that’s it. Fuck, you feel so good… so good to me, always.”

His eyes are squeezed shut now, fingers threaded together, palms mashed at the heel, hip slapping his cock between the narrow funnel faster.

She’s in his lap, panties hooked to the side, exposing sweet, slippery pussy lips as they hug and glide over his shaft, raw humping it into his stomach. Eddie’s handcuffed to the bed, dunno why; he’s watching helplessly as his cockhead pops beneath her clit over and over and over… he takes it with a toothy grimace, watching her bare tits bounce… perfectly suckable nipples all hard and stiff beneath the sweat shining over her skin…

‘That’s it, Eddie… feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, after everything you did—that fucking guitar solo—you deserve this.’

“I… ah, deserve this…” He says aloud, feeling his balls pull taut, swollen with a thick load. Everything is getting tighter—the pressure building up.

The damp slap of skin pulses in his ears with the gentle drum of his heartbeat, giving himself over to the all-consuming need in the hopes that he can squeeze one out before his fair maiden returns. At this rate, he just needs a minute or two. Just a bit, and maybe forty-five more seconds.

“S-so close… fuck… fuck, baby. Just a little… more…”

Her fingers dance around the engorged cap of his cock, sweeping all that sweet-scented pussy juice around with her touch, oiling him up to lift, hover, and slide down on his thick shaft. He struggles against the cuffs, arching up, shivering against his bondage as her body swallows him whole. She’s about to crush her ass in his lap—about to bottom out on him, and then-

The bathroom door clicks, and Eddie bites the tip of his tongue hard enough to taste iron. The hinges squeak, releasing a font of motel-soap-scented steam as he scrambles to grab that pillow and stamp it down over his red-raw dick. It twitches meanly… so close… fuck, he was so fucking close.

She steps out in a damp threadbare towel that leaves little to Eddie's well-crafted imagination, and his dick bounces beneath the pillow, weeping precum in a warm sticky stain against his stomach. This is hell… the worst thing since the Upside Down, and yet Eddie’s heart is racing not because he’s about to die but because no one’s ever given him blue balls like she has… right now. Still, if a black hole could open up and swallow him whole, that’d be totally cool.

“You still doing okay there, Eddie?” The fair maiden asks, rubbing a tiny washcloth against the wet tangles on the back of her neck. She’s so soft and dewy looking after that shower, like some ripe stone fruit with the fuzz that’ll just drip sweet syrup down his chin if he takes a bite.

“Good. Good. Yeah. Why, uh… why wouldn’t I be good?”

She gives him an incredulous look and drops the washcloth to the bed, “Well, aside from being mauled by interdimensional bat monsters, you’re also a bit flushed… like you’ve got a…” her eyes widen a bit, “a fever…”

Before Eddie can lurch away in a panic—pillow still white-knuckled in his fingers—she pushes the back of her hand to his damp forehead. Her tits strain against the fragile-looking towel knotted at their center, only further pushing the water-soft globes into his hungry gaze. Really, Eddie berates himself weakly; there’s no time for this shit. Then again… there’s nothing else for them to do but wait and recover… might be the perfect time to just lay back and drool over her for once.

Eddie’s eyes dart up to her face when his dick twitches meanly under the pillow, straining for something it can’t have.

Relief washes over her pinched features to find him clammy under her touch, not burning up. “Sorry, I just… Steve didn’t show any signs of infection or anything either, but I wanted to make sure. I can work my magic fingers on the physical stuff, but… but I dunno about the other stuff, ya know.”

“Sure,” Eddie nods, stiff in more places than one.

She can tell he’s uncomfortable, not like she’s stupid or naive. Her eyes drop down to her towel, gaze drifting nervously to the television set where the static is heavy over some talk show host presenting a line of expensive washing machines to the contestants. The fair maiden's fingers go to the knot between her breasts and fiddles there for a moment.

And then she releases the cotton tuck, exposing every water-soft inch of naked skin like unwrapping the only present Eddie ever needs. Her eyes glimmer with promise, roaming over his battered chest to land on the offending pillow in his lap. She tugs it away, revealing his painful erection, only to cuddle up close… right between his legs… and part her lips to-

“This is pretty badly scripted, huh?”

Eddie blinks away his fantasy and glances at the fuzzy set with a swallow. “Late night TV? What’s to be clever about?”

“No,” she glances down at him with a tight smile, “I meant this. Like, you and me, late at night… world’s ending as we know it, and I’m in a towel, and you’ve got a…” the word boner hangs in the air, “unless you don’t have it anymore.”

His eyes must widen, or his pupils blow out, or maybe he blushes so hard it's numb on his cheeks cause she chuckles, tits jiggling soft beneath the towel now clutched in her hand. Eddie’s dick pounds with blood, trying to burn through the cheap cotton pillow to say hello, but he pushes down on the plush fucker and takes a deep breath, “No. I’ve… definitely still got it.”

“You think it’s a side effect of-”

“Pills,” Eddie blurts out randomly, “… yeah, maybe.”

“No, not the pain pills,” she shakes her head and sits down on the bed, legs folded underneath her. There’s an enchanted pathway leading up her smooth, thick thighs that goes straight to what Eddie knows is her bare pussy, but the shadows from the hem of the towel hide her from view… also, he shouldn’t be staring. Not the time to be a fucking perv…

The fair maiden wiggles her fingers between them, looking at the pruney tips with a raised brow, “I kinda noticed it first in the RV when you had that headache—the one from being stuffed under the console when Steve got pulled over.”

Eddie nods—dick starting to drool—remembering the splitting migraine that sent him into the back of the RV, all the lights off, clutching his skull with every rock of the clumsy vehicle.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you had an… erection after I got rid of it for you. It was dark and all, but you bumped against me when Steve took that turn, and-and I felt it.”

Where’s the hole Eddie prayed for earlier? He doesn’t want to be here with a raging hardon hiding under this pillow—a boner he was beating off with her on his mind five minutes ago.

“... and then in the bath, when I cleaning you up, trying to use the powers to knit together the worst stuff, I noticed you… well, get hard,” she pauses, glancing at the pillow in his fists with a frown, “and it looks like you’re still dealing with it. Unless… you took care of it while I was in the shower?”

Eddie shuts his eyes, feeling the humiliation reach a zenith before imploding into a mild form of acceptance. Granted, he’d rather be here, in bed with a hard dick, alive and well, than being feasted on by flying vermin in the Upside Down, but she’s got a way of talking about embarrassing things that could put a guidance counselor to shame.

Finally, letting up on the pillow, at least enough to get blood back into his fingers, Eddie shakes his head and wills himself to just relax—just fucking chill. 

“Oh, I thought… sorry, I should have just taken my sweet ass time in there for you.”

A really sweet ass and perfectly soft, supple tits…

Not even the weed swimming in his head helps when the fair maiden scoots a little closer, dropping a hand on his bare shoulder, just above a patch of medical tape and gauze. “I can totally understand needing to release all this tension, even if it wasn’t my fault… we’ve all been through so much, it’s like… human nature to wanna-”

“You wanna release it too?” Eddie’s not sure where it comes from, but there’s no taking it back now. He peeks up at her through frizzy, unconditioned bangs. She's got an adorable dusting across her cheeks and nose, and that in and of itself is a fucking relief.

“... maybe,” she mutters, pulling her palm off his shoulder, nails dragging deliciously across his skin.

“Well, fuck,” Eddie curses, tapping a nervous melody into the pillow with his fingers, scratching calluses through the abrasive pillowcase, “how are you supposed to do it? Cause someone wise told me I wasn’t allowed to leave this bed until morning.”

“Umm,” her eyes skirt around the room, avoiding Eddie’s like they’ll turn her to stone, “... I was gonna wait until you were asleep and just be really quiet and slow about it.”

The visual of the fair maiden laying in bed next to him while he snored on his back, rubbing herself under the towel—beneath the sheets—maybe teasing her tits with desperate little pinches, biting her lip… trying so hard to not rock the mattress or make a sound. The thought makes Eddie groan, covering it up with a wince as he shifts up against the headboard a bit. Her hand shoots out, skimming his chest with light pressure, trying to keep him from moving too fast… even though Eddie feels fine… all boner-throbbing aside.

“Here’s an idea,” Eddie says carefully, looking up into her beautiful, lash-heavy eyes filled with some unnamed emotion he hopes runs in line with the beating of his heart, “we both close our eyes, settle down and just… release the tension. Doesn’t have to be a big thing, right?” He gives her his Munson grin, hoping it looks convincing despite how his pulse quickens, worried he just fucked shit up thanks to a fake sense of confidence from the vicodin and the joint… and about two hours' worth of stifled brain activity thanks to his blood-lodged cock.

In the silence, all Eddie can hear is the television static and his own heart in his ears.

After an eon of waiting, the fair maiden bites her lip and nods, “Okay… I mean, only if you’re okay with it.”

Holy shit, she said yes. 

Eddie almost tosses the pillow across the room without thinking, half-shouting a frantic, “Yes!” then floundering when she smiles coyly, “I mean, yeah… totally okay with it. Eyes closed. Human nature, and nothing weird.”

“Right…” she agrees, still smiling, “just two friends, releasing tension next to each other… in bed… alone… totally fine.”

Fuck. What did he just fucking agree to??

<><><><>

A few minutes of settling in and getting comfortable lands you in bed beside Eddie, who still has that pillow on his lap. The bath towel rides high, allowing some chilly motel air beneath where it licks at the hot moisture cuddled between your inner thighs. Your heart is racing happily, excited and lusty as Eddie slides back down the headboard, thick, messy curls pillowing his head as he exhales dramatically.

“Ready?” Eddie asks beside you.

Your pussy throbs, suddenly one of the only things on your mind despite the distant sirens racing down the highway adjacent to the motel. Suddenly, you feel like you’re basking in an oasis in the middle of chaos. Nothing can hurt him anymore, at least not right now… not as long as you can keep him in bed until your magical touch has finished healing the wounds littering his body. And, you’re fine too… both safe and sound, too. 

You lower your lashes, recall his shredded, punctured state in the bathtub, right before you caught sight of his cock rising with blood—before terror was replaced with an ache—and cup your stomach.

“Yeah,” you breathe, taking in some air, filling your lungs, then slowly… you close your eyes, “… ready.”

Eddie hums in the back of his throat. Everything is amplified with your eyes shut, especially the slinky shift of the pillow against his skin—against his cock—as he moves it aside. Only when your ears pick up the ragged sound of his breathing and the soft, near-silent palm slide around his dick do you dare draw the thin cotton towel over your hips. As you wiggle into a comfortable position, the bed springs whine. You open your thighs in inching increments, listening intently as Eddie’s hand works himself over a little faster…

“... are you… doing it… right now?” you ask, whispering, knowing he is but wanting to hear him confirm it.

“Mmhm,” Eddie sighs, releasing a throaty groan, “I couldn’t hah… wait any longer.”

Suddenly, the near-soundless drag of skin—rhythmic and dry—goes slick… 

You bite your lip, listening, imaging the rough pads of his fingers swiping precum off his weeping slit, lathering it into his shaft, squeeze-tugging up and down, wringing blood into the swollen head that’s perfectly flared and rounded... if only you could look, just a single peek…

As you take it in—the hazy fantasy behind your eyelids, the subtle shift of the mattress, and the sounds (fuck… those airy, desperate sounds)—your fingers reach down and inward, pressing a single finger to the drenched folds just beneath your clit. 

You whimper in your personal darkness as gentle heat roars to life in your tummy, doused in gasoline. Eddie responds with a loud, uninhibited groan, as if he’s listening just as intently as you. 

Beside you, the bed dips. He’s moved closer, you think, as if he’s turned his head to the side, facing you while his pace quickened… while he jerks off in the same bed, only inches away. Hot breath fans against the side of your face to prove your assumption, seeping into your whole body as a warm shiver.

“W-what,” Eddie pants, more heat flooding down your dewy neck and shoulder, “... what about you? Are you touching yourself yet?”

You nod, worrying your lip, realizing after a few swipes up and down your drooling slit that he can’t see. 

“… yes,” you exhale, feeling a pulsing thrill when he nearly growls.

It’s obscene how wet you are now, feeling the outpour of desire dripping to the bedsheets.

With a whimper lodged in your throat, you turn your head towards him, eyes squeezed shut and open one thigh until your calf slides off the edge of the bed, exposing the entirety of your soaked pussy to the chilly air. 

Elbow shaking, heart racing, you twist your wrist and rub two fingers along your clit in firm, uneven strokes.

“Mnn... fuck,” you whine, a burst of pleasure blossoming thickly. You drop your chin to your shoulder as Eddie whimpers like he did in the tub, back when you had a washcloth scrubbing clean all those open wounds. You see him behind your eyes again, covered in brown-stained gauze, fisting his cherry-tipped cock while turned towards you, lips just as swollen from raking his teeth over every other groan—grunting hot and loud.

Suddenly, the bed springs whine beneath you, your body nearly rolling into the middle as Eddie bucks up. The mattress bounces, your elbow bumps some hot swath of Eddie’s naked skin, and your eyes just… snap open.

Dark, doe-like orbs stare back at you. 

“Eh-eddie!” You gasp.

His eyes are wide open and glassy. His mouth is just as red as you imagined, tongue pressing to the back of his teeth as he breathes through a slack mouth… a little line of drool shining down his chin.

“You-you…” you gasp, sliding a single finger inside the slippery, snug heat between your thighs, “... you weren’t supposed to-“

“Neither were you,” he cuts you off, teeth denting his lower lip.

Your eyes waver in his, then dip downward, tracing the chords protruding around his adam’s apple, the tension in his shoulders and the undulating muscles of his chest and stomach and… and…

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie… that looks-”

“Y-yeah, been edging myself this whole time… I was literally about to ruin these sheets before you… shit,” he groans, lashes fluttering and hips jerking that hard, abused cock into his fist, “… shit. I…” he trails off, big browns sliding over your body, pupils blotting out the woody hue at the sight of your finger crooking inside your soaked hole, making an obscene slurping noise that has you both blushing.

“F-fuck-” he curses, swallowing a whine, “you’re fucking wet… aren’t you?”

His palm tightens around the base of his cock, making the whole thing surge with blood, beating veins bulging in little curls towards the bulbous head. A tiny bead of precum wells along the tip and then slides all gentle-like down the rim of his cockhead. It’s… the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve watched plenty of beaded-curtain tapes from the comfort of your living room… the nasty red-label stuff, though none of that has ever had you finger fucking yourself so furiously.  

“Do… would you like to,” you pause, tugging your hand from between your thighs to place on the bed between you and Eddie, “… I mean… what I meant to say—to ask is…”

You trail off when Eddie gives his cock a slow, almost lazy stroke from base to tip, his hooded, heated orbs running over the loose knot between your breasts. He looks like he wants to rip the towel away and smother himself between them, and honestly… you’re far from opposed to the idea. But, you need to be sure because as sober as he looks, he’s taken pills and smoked a joint and-

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks, all smokey and quiet.

You nod shakily, holding your breath as Eddie lifts himself on an elbow, his wild mop of hair falling over his shoulders until his nose is an inch from yours, fist still strangling his dick. His hot breath rushes down your chin, tickling the tops of your breasts, and with a raw-lipped smile, Eddie leans in and gives you the most tender, softest kiss of your life.

… and almost immediately, you want more. 

With a sharp inhale, you cup the back of his neck, fingers threading through fluffy curls, and draw him closer. You lean in, lips slanted, and give his lower lip a swipe of your tongue. Eddie groans, opening up, taking another hot lick against his teeth… and another over the slick tip of his own, then you’re on your back, smothered in naked body heat as Eddie smacks his lips wetly over yours. It’s messy—sloppy—and unforgettable. The motel room echoes with the gentle slide of bedsheets and the damp seal and click of your shared kiss. You break away once your head starts pounding with needed air, gasping and shuddering beneath a smoldering trail of wet kisses that Eddie lavishes down your chin and jaw… until he’s sucking at that sweet spot beneath your ear. 

“You… oh, my god,” you hitch, eyes rolling back as his lips seal over your pulse, pulling blood to the surface with a throaty groan, “… you really shouldn’t be moving around s-so much.”

Eddie releases your neck with a pop, lips sliding down to the tops of your tits, “Oh, yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? Hmm?”

He kisses the swell of one breast, smirking, “Come on, baby… can’t seriously think I’m gonna miss this opportunity. Shit, not when you’re rubbing your pussy against me like this.”

W-what? When did you…

Your hips still against his planted thigh, a flush filling your cheeks. The immediate loss of that rhythmic rowing pleasure against your swollen clit leaves you trembling beneath him. When had you started doing that?

Eddie shakes his head, hair tickling beneath your chin as his breathing comes like summer against your cleavage, “No, no, no… don’t stop. Please, I got you.” 

He presses his thigh against your soaked core, thrusting and grinding firmly to return all that lovely bliss ten-fold, “Shit… how’re you so fucking wet?”

“D-damnitt, Eddie,” you whine, nails scraping against his scalpl, hand gripping his shoulder and both thighs pinching his, “... you’re gonna open up your-ah!” The towel comes loose between you, exposing a tight nipple to the naked skin of his bicep beneath the plastic adhesive of medical tape. It sends a tremor down your belly, right into the slippery beaded nerve rubbing against Eddie’s thigh. 

“T-too much… it’s too much. I’m gonna-“ you gasp, already on the precipice of that cliff face while the world burns.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie susurrates, tongue spearing between your free bouncing breasts, “... that’s it. I got you, just like you got me. Y-yeah… fuck, cum for me.” 

Sticky heat tightens in your tummy. Another moan shivers between your lips, and… clutching yourself to Hawkins’ infamous metal head, you arch and hump yourself into a dense orgasm right there… right against him… All that tension from the past twenty-four hours—no, longer than that… since you saw him on your front porch, needing a place to hide, looking like some water-logged puppy dog—all that prolonged tension just fucking melts.

<><><><>

When she cums, it’s hotter than any weed-assisted fantasy Eddie’s vivid imagination could conjure, and he’s never been lacking in visualization skills, nearly been a curse… until D&D and her and Jesus fucking Christ she’s still shaking against his thigh, dripping moisture into the divot where his knee dents the mattress. Those blotchy-blushed cheeks deepen as her tongue wets her lips, eyes barely open. She’s never looked so serene; all the worry in her face smoothed to nothing. He can’t help but growl, almost monstrous, as her nails dig into his skin, working herself through the last licks of her orgasm on top of his fucking thigh like she needs every drop of pleasure… and Eddie’s more than happy to give it to her. 

Who would have thought he’d have such an effect on the fair maiden, enough to get her cumming just from a bit of skin-on-skin grinding?

“That feel better?” He asks, sliding his knee across the sheets, shoving the damp surface of his thigh hard against her cunt, nearly getting off on the muffled whine it gets him.

“Mmph’hm,” she bites her lower lip and nods, tears edging her lashes, “... b-but what about you?”

“What about it?” Eddie shrugs, nuzzling his nose up her chest against her throat, and presses his face into the crook where she’s bleeding heat and a salty layer of clean sweat against his lips. Yeah, his dick is throbbing, leaking like a busted pipe into the scratchy cotton towel still wrapped around her hips, but he doesn’t wanna push his luck, not when she’s so clearly fucked out and tender and-

“Dude,” she scoffs, all busted and breathy, “... this all started because you’ve had that thing burning a hole through your boxers for hours.”

Eddie chuckles and gives her neck a soft kiss before locking his elbows, hovering over the state of her. She’s all soft tits with stiff nipples, crumpled cotton, a cute tummy with wide hips, and… Eddie’s dick twitches at the sight of her pretty, little pussy all sticky and inflamed from cumming on him. Alright, so he might die of blood loss if he doesn’t drain the Maiden Slayer soon.

Without thinking, Eddie says the first thing on his mind, “Can I eat you out? I mean, I’ve only done it a couple times before, but I’m a fast learner when It counts… and I promise, a few thrusts against this shitty mattress, and I’ll cum without you having to worry about-”

“Eddie,” she says so sweetly it almost tears his heart out, “why don’t you lay back, relax and let me ride you.”

For a long moment, Eddie wonders if he heard her right. She just looks up at him, waiting, carefully detangling the knots in his hair one-handed as his eyebrows slowly rise up into the tension lines of his forehead. Say what now?

“Wait. Did you just-” Eddie gulps, feeling like he’s sixteen again at a show about to lose his virginity in the bathrooms. “You wanna ride me? Like, sit on my dick with your-”

“Stop thinking, Eddie,” she whispers, pressing against the middle of his chest, shifting to her side until he follows her, falling back on his shoulder and then rolling to his back. His heart’s beating a fucking tattoo in his chest, hammering hard as the fair maiden swings a leg over his hips. Holy fucking shit… holy shit…

“Holy fuck,” he wheezes, hands hovering around her until they start shaking, and he can’t help but grip the give of her ass—squeezing the soft swell of her hip where it creases into the top of her thigh. Fuck, how’s she so fucking perfect? Maybe he didn’t really make it… perhaps he’s dead…

“Umm, what about babies and shit?” Eddie says smoothly, nearly cumming the second she lays that burning hot slice of heaven over the underside of his cock, pinning it to his tight stomach with a wet churn.

“I don’t care… the world might end tomorrow.”

“Fuck, fuck… okay. Shit, you know I’m not gonna last long,” he sucks his teeth in a hiss as she thrusts over him, lathering his dick up in slick so molten it’s akin to the fissures dissecting Hawkins, “... like, three strokes and… I’m done for.”

The fair maiden smirks, shifts her hips and rises to her knees. 

She hums Master of Puppets like it’s his own personal anthem, picking his soaked cock off his stomach and sliding his puffy, raw head through her folds. Eddie grunts, feeling the cuddle of her burning center start to suck him in. His fingers curl into her, tugging desperately—yanking her down until he’s letting out a long, pathetic moan as he’s encased in the hottest, tightest pussy he’s ever tasted. Fuck, taste… he can’t wait to go down on her… maybe tonight… when she’s done fucking his brains out. Just, Eddie wants to motorboat her cunt until he’s bathed in it, munching down with lips, tongue, and teeth… finger fucking her drunk.

“… fuuuck-fuck… that’s… that’s fucking tight. Fucking shit,” Eddie feels his legs start to shake, her pussy sinking down and down until those delicate folds are stretched taut around his cock, nestling in the matted curls at the base, “... fuck me. I’m-I’m gonna cum.”

He makes it precisely three seesaws of her hips in before shoving his head back into the pillow, throwing his chin up, and biting his teeth through a lighting strike of liquid hot pleasure. His balls tighten, hugging against his body, sending lava shots through him and into the fair fucking maiden gyrating on him. She doesn’t stop either, just places her palms on his tattered chest, leans in with tickling fingers, and fucks her creamy pussy in his lap, slurping up his cock while injecting that dizzying spell of hers into his soul. Suddenly, Eddie can breathe into every capillary of his lungs—can feel the scabby bite wounds knit together—can count his pulse in his cock as it recharges with rich blood.

Eddie’s moans come in sequence with her thrashing hips. Choking grunts and hisses shoot out of him as the bed springs squeak. He readjusts his grip around her waist, digs his calluses in hard, rings branding her skin and brings her down with every cant of her hips. 

“Th-this okay, Eddie?”

The way she says his name… holy shit, better than his most perverted dreams.

“Fuck me, yes-yes. Keep going,” Eddie whimpers, half-begging as her tits blur over her ribs, bouncing so fast he can barely keep up. 

“You want me to fuck you until you can’t get outta this bed…” she pauses to bite her lip and whine under the battering of his dick, “fuck… uh’until you can’t move… not unless I let you?”

“Yes-ye’hesss… harder,” he pants, “Fuck!” 

He’s snorting out sounds now, fucking up into her as she slashes back and forth—his fists tight, slamming her down. And the fair maiden does just as he asks; she fucks him faster, harder, swallowing his dick up until he can feel the spongey patch nestled deep, just below her cervix. 

She yelps, sobs and keeps going.

“Y-you’re killing me,” and to prove his point, her pussy does this wild dance around his cock, just… strangling it until he feels like a melted icecream cone, “... baby-f’f’fuck!”

“I’m,” the fair maiden pants with a bright, sweaty smile, “bringing you back to life,” she giggles, breathy, tits jiggling—hypnotizing—and rides him all the harder, “gonna fix everything.”

Eddie nods until his chin aches against his sternum, finding himself saying nonsensical shit like prayers and how he wants to give her his babies (wild, pussy-drunk talk), grabbing at her tits as the bed creaks. The headboard starts slamming the wall. Eddie watches, mesmerized as the fair maiden leans forward, holding the noisy panel of wood, using it as leverage to row her pussy… everything going impossibly wet and tight like she’s… oh fuck…

“Fuck, you gonna cum again?!” Please, please… 

She’s nodding, tearing up, eyes watching him with her brows upturned. 

“Say my name… a’hah!—w-when you cum. Sounds so fucking hot…”

Eddie squeezes her breasts, flicks his thumbs over her nipples, and shivers as her pussy contracts sharply. The first gasp of his name ignites a tight, tug of heat. 

“Eddie… fuck, just like that, Eddie!” Frantic energy bursts in her movement, fucking herself on his cock until wood cracks—his eyes snap open, both sharing a worried look but never stopping, not even when the support panel, or whatevers under the mattress, breaks, snapping the shitty motel frame right down the fucking middle.

Shit! 

“Eddie!”

Eddie grapples her waist, keeping her from rolling off while her palms white knuckle the headboard, and… just when he thinks the mood’s ruined and they’re gonna burst into awkward laughter, that hot, suckling heat around his cock turns into a fucking vice. He hisses, bangs plastered to his sweaty forehead and bucks up, yanking her down, fucking her through the convulsions of another orgasm until he’s unloading into the sweetest, hottest metal babe of his dreams for a second, mind-melting time. 

Like… this one’s world ending; fireworks behind his eyes, Metallica riffing in his brain kinda orgasm that blots out the chaotic knocking on the motel door.

“Hmm?”

Eddie’s ears still ring when the fair maiden pulls herself off his dick, unplugging a dense load of creamy, hot cum to ooze down his slippery, red dick. He blinks, releasing her with a whine as she crawls over the bed. The way her ass jiggles makes his brows shoot up, just… taking in the view with his tongue between his lips and his dick twitching happily.

“Uh, not that I’m complaining, but,” Eddie stretches out, feeling all those leftover bruises and scrapes from the demo bats pull against his skin, “... where’re you going?”

“The door, dude!”

Suddenly, Eddie hears the knocking and the sound of Harrington shouting through the thin wood, ‘Come on guys, it's a madhouse out here, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Let’s go!’

‘Hellooo?’ comes Henderson’s egotistical singsong, ‘Eddie… you both awake in there?’

“Henderson…” Eddie groans, then bolts upright as the fair maiden reaches the door in herbirthday suite and nothing else. Eddie shouts, stumbling up in the broken bed and waves his hands dramatically as she starts on the locks, “Towel! Holy shit, baby! Fucking towel.”

“Huh?!” She turns around, stark naked, wearing a few hickeys, finger marks on her waist and hips, and a long shiny line of cum between her inner thighs. For a second, she blinks in confusion, then drops her eyes down her body with a blush.

“Woah… I nearly open the-“ she points a thumb at the rattling door where Harrington is banging in frustration, “-and he would have… and Dustin… eww…“ 

Eddie bites his tongue. 

‘I swear if you two are cooked out of your minds I’m gonna be… so… just… open the door!’

They both share a ‘holy shit’ kinda look and burst out laughing. Behind the door, Harrington grumbles. 

‘It’s not funny, guys!’ then lower, muffled, he adds, ‘Dustin, tell them it’s not funny, man.’

‘I dunno, it sounds pretty funny. Kinda sounds like they’re having a great time, and I’m stuck with you, Mom of the Year, over here.’

The fair maiden sputters, trying to cover her laugh, only for Eddie to rise up on his knees, his bare, semi-hard, and thoroughly fucked dick on display while putting his hands on his hips in a very Harrington-like impersonation. It gets her laughing out loud again—gets Harrington knocking on the door and gets Eddie a bag of fast food thrown in his face. He falls back on the bed with a wide grin, the mattress sagging sadly beneath him. Everything feels fantastic; even the sweaty, musty sheets are like rich cotton as he rolls himself up in them while watching his fair maiden pull that stained towel around herself, looking flushed and fucked and happy as hell.

Course, Harrington doesn’t seem too amused when she finally opens the door, and the smell of sex hits the man square in the face.

“Seriously? Two hours… you guys couldn’t act like adults for two hours?!”

“Define adult, Harrington,” Eddie pokes his tongue out while the fair maiden pinches her lips to hold in whatever’s on her tongue. 

Henderson curls his nose up, tossing a duffel bag into the room with a frown, “What’s that weird smell.”

Harrington points at the both of them, “Don’t answer that.” His eyes roam over the state of the room, hands on his hips like a true soccer mom and balks at the leaning mattress and rumbles sheets, “Wait… what the hell happened to the bed?!”

You can find me on AO3 and you can read my huge Eddie Munson/Reader fic Fortune Teller too. If ya want. <3

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Don't Get Me Wrong~ Charlie Dalton

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I got to the end of this and considered changing the entire concept to Charlie taking notice of a girl he’d just never paid attention to but I decided not to torture myself and waste all this writing. So I hope you enjoy this just as much!)

- No matter how much you liked to joke about it, the truth of the matter was, Charlie Dalton didn’t actually hate you. He wasn’t fond of you sure, and if asked, he’d probably describe you as a boot licker and a wet blanket, …but he didn’t hate you.

- You weren’t his mortal enemy. You were just some girl he occasionally wished that he didn’t have to be around as much as he was.

- Alas, you were one of the few girls who willingly communed with the poets and he wasn’t going to sabotage that just because he didn’t have a special connection with you. He would just “suffer in silence” and continue to think of you as an unfortunate tag along. A dreadfully boring, rule abiding tag along …sort of like a female version of Cameron.

- And you know what? He was allowed to find you boring, you found him obnoxious. You didn’t have to like each other; that was something the two of you had silently agreed on for years. All you really had to do was tolerate each other enough to enjoy yourselves with your mutual friends.

- But that didn’t mean that you didn’t butt heads on occasion. There were plenty of times where you swapped snarky, passive aggressive comments or rolled your eyes at each other; especially when he instigated said interactions.

- But this night; the night that started it all, you couldn’t pay him to say something bad to or about you. 

- It was the annual school dance. Your usual, frumpy uniform was swapped out for this pretty chiffon dress, one with a modestly low neckline and a pinched in waist. Your hair was smooth and shining, styled perfectly against your exposed neck and shoulders. Your painted face looked fit for the silver screen, the type of makeup that most girls; you included, wouldn’t bother doing unnecessarily for a school day. 

- You looked gorgeous and you were dancing. Charlie almost couldn’t believe his eyes. There you were, smiling and finally letting loose, doing it all with some boy. And not just one who was like you or Cameron, not some geek who dominated the math club or some family friend, but a popular sports player who Charlie didn't even know that you knew; the type of boy who secretly made his confidence do a swan dive. 

- As the night went on, he found himself unable to ignore you. All he could really think about was the fact that you were pretty and that right now …you seemed like fun. 

- No longer were you just this serious girl who didn’t appreciate his raunchy jokes or rebellious behavior. It was like you’d completely transformed. 

- But it was just for that night, right? 

- Sure, you were pretty, he could have told anyone that. You were always attractive but that didn’t change the fact that your personalities clashed horribly regardless of what you were doing. Monday would roll around and you’d be back to how you were before and you’d both go back to disliking each other. 

- Except you didn't, or at least he didn’t. Something about seeing you like that had changed his whole perspective and now he couldn’t stop seeing you, really seeing you. 

- Now that he was paying more attention to you, he was starting to notice all of these little quirks that made you seem more endearing. He was starting to see you as a girl, one who was easy on the eyes and who could have fun when life called for it and who could dance and had a pretty laugh …and who liked all of his friends more than him because he’d acted like an ass the entire time that you knew him. 

- Oh great, now he gets to think about how much closer you are to all of the other poets and probably a bunch of other guys that he doesn't even know about; like that boy you’d been dancing with.

- It took him a while to come to terms with the fact that he’d developed a crush on you. He didn’t want to admit it, but once seeing you with other men started to make him burn, it became sort of hard to ignore. 

- He makes it seem like a bit of a joke when he first starts to act all buddy buddy with you. He also uses your assumptions about him needing a favor to his advantage and tries to get you to help him with his homework; or something similar, in an attempt to spend more time with you without it seeming too out of character. 

- Whenever someone questions his behavior, like why he’s suddenly lagging behind to talk to you, sitting next to you, or walking with you to class, he’ll always make an overexaggerated joke. What do you mean? Me and y/n are best friends. Isn’t that right y/n/n. 

- The rest of the dead poets eventually catch on and as much as he tries to scoff and deny it, they aren’t buying it. He just considers himself lucky that, besides the occasional weird look, you don’t seem to understand; or notice, his newfound interest in you. 

- Although, unbeknownst to him, you do notice some things. 

- Nowadays, Meeks is suddenly “busy” when the boy needs help with something: whether it be needing to borrow notes or questions about homework; even though you’re almost certain he isn’t paying attention to anything you’re saying.

- You catch him staring/glancing over at you now. Whenever you ask why he’s looking at you, he’ll either play it off and say “nothing” or will make some comment about you having something in your hair/on your face, smiling to himself as you move to get it off or as you roll your eyes at his obvious teasing. 

- And suddenly there’s a fondness to his teasing and exasperation with you. It doesn’t seem nearly as serious as it was before and he finds it harder and harder to control his face and stop himself from smiling. 

- The behavior that you’re particularly disgusted by is almost extinct; though he’s still the same old Charlie. It’s like he’s become a more palatable version of himself, or at least decided to “act accordingly”; as his parents would say, in the presence of a lady. 

- And slowly but surely, it begins to work. To you, more than anything, it just seems like Charlie’s maturing, and to him, you’re actually starting to like him. So maybe it was time to confess? 

- He hadn’t actually been planning to confess the night that he did. The two of you just so happened to be in the cave alone together. You’d decided to hang back for a little while after a society meeting and he’d forgotten something that he didn’t feel like waiting until the morning to get; although he may or may not have planted it there when you’d mentioned that you were gonna stay, so he’d doubled back. 

- Once he arrived, the two of you began to go back and forth, making jokes and teasing comments. During a lull in the conversation, as the two of you were laughing about something one of you had said, he’d glanced over at you and just couldn’t help himself.

- Given how close you’d wound up, he didn’t have to go far to get to you and in an instant, he’d pressed his lips to yours. 

- To say you were shocked was an understatement. You couldn’t even manage to kiss him back before he was slowly pulling away and searching your face for a reaction.

- You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out and taking that as rejection, he pulled completely away, leaving the two of you to sit in momentary silence. 

- Just as he was about to apologize, you came to your senses and mirrored his previous actions, kissing him yourself. 

- Prior to this, if someone were to tell you that you’d be kissing Charlie Dalton, you never would have believed them. But now that you were doing it, you couldn’t imagine why you’d never done it before …that is, until the two of you pulled away and he made one of his dumb jokes. 

- …You’d still do it again though, don't get me wrong. 

[hekateinhell]

Hi! I would love to know which of your VC fics you're the most proud of, and can you tell us a little bit about the thought process behind it!!!! Like the DIRECTORS CUT if you will.

KACYYY omg hiiiiiiii 🖤

Oh man, here’s where I get to be more self-indulgent and self-absorbed than usual. Brace yourselves. Alright, let’s roll! For the sake of this ask, I'm going to eliminate AUs simply because they take the vampire out of VC lol.

I want to preface all this with a quote from AR I remember as a young teen (had to dig it up). She was reading from TVA, and she said that book, more than any other, was a metaphor for the vampire as, “A creature who thought he was damned and lost and still had a vision of the world as a beautiful place.” It just speaks to me, both as the person behind the screen writing and as something I try to keep in mind re: my characterizations at this point in the fic process.

Anne also got a lot of credit for being the one to humanize the vampire in the 70s and 80s which, I want to point out, isn’t the same thing as taking the monster out of the vampire and making them human—especially in the moral sense. Just another note re: my personal characterizations.

And now to fics! We get mature under the cut. :)

I couldn't decide between these two, so you get both! Lol or you can stop reading after one! In no particular order:

Shake The Disease (previously Bijoux Box)︱Armand/Daniel ︱Rated: E (more out of caution atm, but she'll soon earn it!)

This isn't even a proper fic lol this is my prompt collection. And I absolutely love it because it's my tiny tribute to the pairing that hooked its claws into my brain fifteen years ago and never really let go. It took about six months of writing fic to get to where I thought that maybe ?? I could ?? do them justice ??

My first time writing human!Daniel and Armand, outside of little flashback scenes in other fics. Given how little material we have to work with (consider the Devil's Minion chapter compared to the rest of the Chronicles), it takes Great Depression era creativity and dedication to get the absolute mileage out of it that this fandom has. And it's tricky, because while I want to nail the cadence and dynamic of canon, I have to acknowledge that my take on D/A will be different in its own way. How we all individually process and analyze lit is such a unique thing, no two takes can (or should be!) identical. So finding a balance is my goal.

Additionally, it's been really nice to actually give something back to the fandom through prompt requests (I didn't even specify Armand/Daniel when I posted the prompt list, but my sweet, wonderful, perfect moots know me ❤️).

Closer ︱Armand/Lestat︱Rated: E ︱this one required the Consensual Sex tag, lord help me.

My third (I think?) fic ever, and imo it kind of shows, but it's special to me because here’s where I started feeling comfortable enough to venture into darker themes. I’ve always enjoyed exploring power dynamics and play.

There's a good dose of D&S (dominance and submission) themes, and something I enjoy with this pairing (just like with human!Daniel/Armand) is the vampiric mindreading ability that can be used to confirm consent. Now, obviously, this is a fictional adaption of already fictional characters, but a reminder for anyone reading since we're on topic—if it's not consensual, it is not BDSM and it is not sex.

Armand and Lestat are just fun to work with because they’re very similar in a lot of ways (abusive childhoods/adolescences, this obsessiveness/neediness in their relationships, a tendency to deflect/unholy tempers, underdeveloped prefrontal cortexes, Mutual Marius Issues, etc.) and there's a lot of good and bad history. Sequel coming very soon, bless my heart.

My fingers have run out of breath, but I did want to share this I posted a while back, half-jokingly, but hopefully marginally helpful for anyone wanting to dip their toes into fic-writing (and if anyone wants an cleaner, updated version lmao I will do it): Hekate’s Tips & Tricks for Not Wanting to Capri Sun a Rat & Sob All Over Your Keyboard

Thank you so much for this Kacy, it was really fun and interesting (for me!) to actually take a beat and think about my own creative process. Rip.

[mrskodzuken]

🎉 NEW GAME: Introduce your mutuals to everyone and what do you think of them? 🎉

@livvyness @mxtcha-tea and @antisocia1-bean @kofeedoggo (also @/roe—i darn forgot their tumblr url—and @/shicchan and our amazing charanons) my homie moots from waaaaay back last year (on my old blogs). They’re chaotic af—well, mostly Liv and Kami, while me and Bean were watching on the sidelines... 👉🏻👈🏻 imy all ESPECIALLY LIV AND KAMI (Oi it’s November now, come back /hj) ♥️ love y’all 😘

@atsuminthe my dear wifey Minty 😘 she looks strong and reliable but is a sweet cookie crumb who’s a bit like me in terms of domestic oddities and stuff imo 🤔 but i love her so so sooooooooo much i wanna cry while typing this /hj ily and don’t stress up too much mwah ♥️

@mitsuyaya @love-amihan and @/arcey (hoy pakigalaw po yung baso /j imy) ang mga moots kong makalat sa dash 😂 another chaotic bunch, they’re my precious babies (kahit nilalaglag namin isa’t-isa charot). I love seeing their loud interactions/reblog and comment threads on every topic na mapagtripan nila—kahit si Sir Chief pa 😂) on my dash 🍿 labyu mwah mwah tsup tsup ♥️

@ugh-tsumu @mirakeul @dakilang @quanxui @nakizumie the people who aren’t afraid of speaking their heart out, taas-noo akong (￣^￣)ゞ ily ♥️

@water-and-grass @danibby and @paradise-creator they’re mostly chill with their interactions with other blogs on the dash, sometimes chaotic too (in both Memo and Helios’ cases imo) sending all my headpats and hugs and kisses to you three ♥️

@mrskurono and @hq-girl-next-door + @melsun and @sunarent they’re a package deal, do not separate. I love reading how they answer asks and interact with them 👌🏻 vv chill unless you mess up with them, they’ll bite your arse off /lh ily all 😘♥️

@shinsoups @lovelytarou @chibishae34 their taste in reblogging stuff (especially art stuff) is 👨🏻‍🍳💋 also supportive too (mostly Shae) so thank you 😘

@rosesandtoshi @omiishii @kentimestwo @haikyuufairy @thesimphouse @laineeey00-ontherun @krystalgaia @meiansmistress (and other Hanaya server members) they’re really darlings and vv sweet and accommodating! MUST. FUCKING. PROTECT. 😤♥️

And other moots that i forgot to mention (or because of Tumblr’s 50-tag limit lol), consider yourselves tagged! I love you all very veeeeeeeery much 🥰

[silverjirachi]

maybe controversial opinion but i saw another post that mentioned it, but it wasn’t the main focus of the post and i think it deserves its own mention-

sometimes you do need to handle your triggers on your own, and it is never the burden or responsibility of any other person on this earth to tag things for you.

im gonna elaborate- in spaces like ao3, where the whole functionality of the website relies on a tag system.. yes, tag content. tag triggering content especially. if someone fails to do those things, you can block them, unfollow them etc. you personally can and should be taking steps to curate your online experience.

however-

with the amount of people i just see throwing a laundry list of triggers on their carrd or bio and asking any mutual to remember to tag them, i feel as if the general attitude is shifting to take the emphasis away from healing and self-improvement.

i went through a good half of my college experience with “weird triggers” that would send me into panic attacks. i could not walk around asking every person on earth to tag “art history” or a whole building on campus. (yes, one of my triggers was the presence of an entire fucking building and i avoided that whole area of campus). i could not ask people to just not talk about ~buildingname~ hall or ~artmakingclass~ because it was a real place that people were yknow having class in every day.

when you have triggers, sometimes you will be triggered. it is impossible and actually very unhealthy to block out every single instance of that triggering thing known to man. that is why finding strategies to cope is important, that is why self care is important, that is why getting help and finding a support system is important.

if you constantly expect others to avoid certain topics around you, or be perfect in remembering your triggers, you are only doing damage to yourself. i was at my worst mental healthwise when my main focus was on avoidance, and while it IS important to reduce exposure for a time and keep yourself from deliberately triggering yourself, sometimes you need to put in the work of managing your triggers on your own.

if you know you will be in an area where that trigger is common, it is okay to want to reduce damage and remove yourself from that situation. it is okay to walk out of a showing or a movie. it is okay that i avoided that end of campus for awhile, but i couldn’t block it out completely, and expecting others to do the same for me was wrong. it is okay to want to reduce acute damage the trigger may cause, but the reality of living with trauma is that you need to have a long term survival plan, and avoidance is not a sustainable strategy.

big common things, like dark subjects, are easy to tag because they can be triggering for a lot of people. thats why some shows and things nowadays *do* have trigger warnings for those kinds of things. but while i can expect to go some places (and be thankful!) when people warn for things like violence, i can’t expect to be warned about every instance of say, the name emma. and i can’t anticipate others even knowing that because it’s such a specific and obscure trigger, and having to deal with so many triggers that were everyday objects taught me a lot about trauma and healing, honestly.

and even with the common and violent triggers, sometimes people aren’t perfect. sometimes people forget. sometimes the threshold for what someone considers triggering is different for someone else, and that is going to vary person to person. sometimes people are huge assholes and want to shock people. and while warning for common triggers is considerate and should be normalized, it isn’t inherently owed. because this isn’t like a “gotcha stay triggered snowflakes” it’s just that it’s literally impossible to filter life. people forget. people mess up. things slip through the cracks and sometimes life is just well.. triggering.

anyways, those are some thoughts. take care of yourselves out there

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

so @ahufflepuffhobbit  tagged me in the First Line game which is great. :D I think I’ll probably end up doing a mix of fic and original writing.

Rules are: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

God this got long: 

Cycles of Song (lotr, boromir/aragorn): Men who dream by daylight with eyes open are the most dangerous, Denethor said. It was after a council meeting and Denethor was wanting for the sun so they were in his favourite courtyard looking southward over the city. 

Hungry Ghosts (original, in progress): The birth chart must be drawn up with care if it’s to be accurate. A city’s history, though, can be as variable as the water’s of the planet. 

Palmdale (original, w/ sinking city review): Ruth wants to clutch entrails. Death is final and lacks decorum. She cannot walk back from this scene with its burnt coffee smell of off-brand hazelnut, its sound of screen door flapping in breeze. Praise Jesus this be a consumptive country; surely it will drown her.

be not afraid of plenty (lotr, grima/eomer): It’s a filthy winter. A filthy, filthy cold winter. Everything that is about to unfold is winter’s fault.

My Land is Bare (lotr, boromir/aragorn): It is in dusk’s purple blanket when Boromir stops running. Hands on knees he calls out, ‘I think I see something.’ This brings the other three to a halt. Aragorn is at his side and they’re being strange and shy so not looking at each other. 

Pale Before the Fall (original, complete & being pitched): Once upon a time, Napoleon saw a dog howling over its master’s body. He looked at it and as he stepped forward his foot went through a man’s face. Half the skull missing from cannon shot.

I’ve been fucking dinosaurs in an effort to reclaim my ability to transform into a velociraptor (original, forthcoming in Humber Literary Review): A velociraptor lives under my bed. His name is Claw and I turn into him if I jump three times. Or he becomes me.

Sweet is the Air (lotr, boromir/aragorn): ‘Did you forget?’ Aragorn asks.  ‘I didn’t,’ Boromir says. 

Naming the World (lotr, boromir/aragorn): North of Minas Tirith there are a series of interconnected ponds, fearsomely ringed in fog, Boromir was taken to them as a child. They were foreign to him, at the time, only eight years old and uncertain. He gripped the pommel of childish sword as his father led him away from men and horses into mist. 

This multiplicity (star wars, Tarkin/Krennic): Krennic falls. He knows moving one part of your body will cause you to flip because trajectory is overly affected by such minutia when in free fall. He twists, slightly, and yes, flips, so he is falling face first towards the planet’s incredibly firm surface.

The Lament of Geography (original, in progress): The Beginning was discovered in an outcropping of chalk at the border of her father’s fields. Bellefry and her sister had been at work digging up tubers to throw at one another when her hand trawl’s wooden spade hit something. 

To-morrow and to-morrow (discworld, vetinari/downey): Every year at the Assassin’s Guild the seventh form is required to put on a play of their teacher’s choosing. Most often, it’s something with a good deal of blood as Guild teachers know what keeps their students’ attention and it’s generally endemic violence, witty one-liners, brutal executions, rolicking brawls, and vile political machinations. 

Every creature responds to light (discworld, vetinari/downey): Downey once saw a man get his head blown off a mishap with fireworks he was ten years old the man was older, twenty or twenty-five, his head became crushed persimmons on cobblestones. His head became overripe strawberries caught in fingers a sticky summer afternoon spent with his grandmother and his mother a ghost in the background washing fine, thin china edges coloured Agatean blue. 

To Conjure a Man (discworld, vetinari/downey): They were loved. This is clear in many burial sites exhumed by archeologists and, occasionally, farmers, carpenters, the Watch. There will be signs that the dead were tended to, cared for, and left with different objects they were understood to need in the afterlife.

Thus, Always  (discworld, vetinari/downey): History is a cyclic poem written by time upon our memories. Take assassination as key example. There was the first assassination on the Disc. The details of it do not matter, only the fact that it happened. All assassinations after all are performances. They are theatered mimicry of the first.

The Mask of the Ordinary (discworld, vetinari/downey): One of life’s unexpected turn-ups was the time I found myself living with Vetinari when we were in our mid-twenties. While the fact that the Patrician attended the Assassins Guild is well known much of his early years are a blank slate for the denizens of this fine city. A state of affairs I believe Vetinari to be rather keen on maintaining. Naturally, I am here to put a small cat amongst the metaphorical pigeons.

A Year Out of Order (discworld, vetinari/downey): August, it always starts here although this is not the new year it ought to be. There should be a celebration like that Small God’s Eve but Small Mercies Eve or Small Miracles Eve. They do not call the days that allowed Vetinari to become Patrician a revolution or a rebellion or a revolt. A man for subtlety it simply was he was not there then he was. If you blink, you missed it.

Propagating Structure (star wars, Tarkin/Krennic): As a child Krennic once read that nothing enjoys the process of entropy, although it is unavoidable and the ultimate fate of everything including the universe. The universe most especially. Of course being hit with a laser from a machine of your own (mostly your own) creation is another level of something-literary-that-he-forgot-along-the-way entirely. Inertia is the end goal. Regardless of the means of getting there. Inertia. Nothing likes that either.

Wrack and Ruin (historical, Napoleon/Wellington): Getting to America wasn't the difficult bit. Which is, perhaps, the most shocking part to both parties involved. That it had taken so little to catapult them across the Atlantic. 

no more a desolate thing (discworld, vetinari/downey): Vetinari is considering language, a hardly unusual occurrence, and he is deep in hazy recollections of ancient Ankh-Morporkian and modern Klatchian and the nature of vernacular languages in their relationship with the State.

I was trying to see themes or patterns and I suppose it’s mostly style. I tend to start with firm statements or action. Also, I think my writing of opening lines could be called muscular. Not all, of course, but it’s enough to be a thread. 

My favourite? Probably Palmdale, Cycles of Song, Mask of the Ordinary and Palmdale. But it’s hard to choose a favourite - I can certainly say which are not my favourites haha (looking at you Propagating Structure and No More a Desolate Thing). 

I’ll tag a few people: @pipuhattar and @becumsh @tatzelwyrm @tauremornalome @squadron-of-damned @suburbanbeatnik 

I have followers & mutuals who may be writers and I’m unaware of it so if you want to do it please consider yourselves tagged!

[levisqueaks]

2020 Creator Favorites Wrap

@kholran tagged me in this - as did @mistresspandorawritesthings Thanks! <3 

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works.

2020 was both my time to shine and the worst year ever. I’ve gotten a lot done, both creatively, and in RL. I started the @outlanderbingo, the @twbingo, and the @gabrielbigbang and I’m continuing to run all three! Outlander Bingo has been extended indefinitely, TW Bingo has been going in starts and stops, and The Gabriel Big Bang is running strong! Teams are created and we’re 3 months from posting!  Personally, I’ve written 38 works in 2020 (adding to the 5 I wrote and published in 2018) bringing my total up to 43. 22 were Supernatural (or crossovers), one was Marvel, and 15 were Outlander/Lord John Grey stories or crossovers. I’ve published 137,272 words and gained a lot of love that definitely motivated me along the way. I collaborated with @mistresspandorawritesthings and @iihappydaysii for a couple of stories and was shamelessly enabled by a bunch of fandom friends I’ve made. 

1. Checkmate - My first Explicit Jamie/John. It was my second (We’re not counting the Power Rangers Nightmare, Ash) Outlander story and the one that made me feel confident about my ability to write these two idiots. I really enjoyed getting to flex my Outlander fingers, especially because it allowed me to start really filling in my bingo square and it helped me make some amazing friends. 

2. Tied in Knots - My most popular story to date, and definitely one of the most fun! I was inspired by @shealynn88‘s sketch she shared on a discord server and my little fandom brain FLEW with it to create 11k of utter debauchery. A Destiel BDSM fic that is pure and utter smut. My first Shibari inspired fic and shamelessly enjoying Dean in Panties!

3. Have your cake (and eat it too) - Inspired by the amazing @iihappydaysii who brought Brian Randall to life! This was the first Non-Ash story written that included Brian as a character and I was honored and delighted to bring it to life. It’s not my most popular fic but I thoroughly enjoyed getting to play with Ash’s baby!

4. Metamorphosis - This is the WIP that will continue to haunt me as I work to tell this story. 1 part AU, 2 parts therapy. This story explores Sam Winchester as a trans man from infancy to Stanford, told through Dean’s eyes. I’ve only completed 4 chapters, and he’s only just turned into a teenager. But it’s something near and dear to my heart. 

5. (This was hard because I had so many fun stories this year!!!!) Bound and Free - Written for @hello-x-sunshine, this was a shibari fic that really dove into Dean’s inner thoughts and need for absolution. *pats Dean gently* A lot of fun playing with the D/s undertones there. 

6 (Screw it, I loved it) Moral Insanity - The Wincest Crack that Broke me. Written for the Wincest Reverse Bang, I wrote this for the amazing art that @midnightsilver made! My first toe-dip into Teen Wolf as I included a few of my favorite assholes as part of the porn crew, This followed Dean and Sam as Sam tried to find a less morally reprehensible way of paying for their day-job... only to land in a world of trouble. When you’re crying laughing at your own story, you know you’ve written a gem. 

Anyway, just a little bit of what I’ve accomplished this year. As Pan said, I’ve completely lost track of which of my mutuals have done this, so if you’d like to play, consider yourself tagged!

[circumstellars]

5 works tag game

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Tagged by: @matuk-art and @kakakuroo, that’s sweet of you guys, really. Thanks! In no particular order, hm:

1. Close ups, S1 vs. S2 (Art gifs)  I just did this all layer by layer and it took me ages and ages to do seven siblings, but it turned out close to what I had in mind, if a little rough. I can see a bunch of mistakes, but overall, I think they came out well enough. :>

2. Five + Axe (Fanart) I only started drawing, and on a tablet, for the first time since joining TUA fandom. This was one of my earliest attempts just a couple months ago. I still like it! But I have a lot of room for improvement. I wish I had more time to practise.

3. Harlan (Art gifs) Now that I’m a couple months into giffing again, some of my muscle memories were returning when I made this exactly one month ago today. Still has some mistakes but especially considering how PS was crashing every hour, and corrupting my layers, I’m pretty happy with how a lot of my animations came out.

4. Aphonia (One-shot) I don’t write very often, another one of those very old, ingrained fandom hobbies I’ve picked up over the years but very rarely indulge in my adulthood. I do enjoy it, when I can actually finish something, and I wrote this with my friend in mind, so I put extra love (and pain) into it. I really love Luther, I just do, and the tragedy of his story. 

5. Klaus, Luther (& Ben) + Saving Eachother (Gifset) Another gifset because that’s what I do, for some reason, a lot. Like it’s my job, but I’m still very broke, definitely unpaid, and yet it makes me a lot happier than schoolwork... anyways, I enjoy how the colours turned out in this quite a bit, but moreover, Luther and Klaus give me a lot of feelings, and Ben too. They love eachother, guys, so much. I wanted to pay homage to that.

I am absolutely *blessed* to be friends/acquaintances/mutuals/friendly neighbours with a ton of amazing, incredible artists and fandom creators. I’m sure no matter who I choose you’ve probably been tagged already! 

@anglophile-rin @chikinan @imrights @mokolat @taakotuesday69 @fivesmargarita @disco-tea (metas definitely count as work too!) @albaharu @vareapix @glitchinthedark @dykefive @kneworder @electric016 ... I could go on! 

[verstappenist]

I Dare You | Ben Hardy

A/n: I just want to say that this is my first time writing for Ben, so I’m sorry if it’s bad... Also, English is not my first language so there could be some mistakes... Constructive criticism is appreciated!

The first part of this is College!Ben, the second part is current Ben! It is based on a prompt I found somewhere on Pinterest and sadly didn’t save...

Big thank you to @anotheronebitestheskye for convincing me to post this ily💗

Word Count: 1,601

Warnings: None!

Your and Ben’s story began nearly a decade ago, when you both went to the Royal Central School of Speech and Drama in London.

You had most classes together and would consider yourselves as good friends. Especially after starring in one of the plays together and spending hours upon hours in each others flats running lines to present the professor the perfect result.

Ben and you have been friends ever since.

Three years later, just before graduating the two of you, as well as some of your mutual friends from school went out to celebrate.

But after a few (well many) rounds of drinks and shots the club turned out to be too boring for your little group, that's why Amy decided it would be best to go back to someone's and spend the rest of the night there. "Maybe play some fun games", as she put it with a mischievous grin directed towards Ben.

The other three members of the group quickly approved, and that's how five (including yourself) completely hammered graduands ended up in the living room of your small flat.

"Now, what kind of games did you have in mind, Ames?", questioned Alfie, ever the responsible, whilst handing everyone a glass of water to at least try to cool you down a bit.

Gulping down her water way too quick, she paused for a second before listing a bunch of party games you'd normally play at a high school party, rather than a 'get together'.

"I mean, truth or dare doesn't sound half bad", added Charlie, "we could put in some twists like if you refuse to tell the truth you have to take a shot, and if you refuse a dare you have to remove an article of clothing?"

"That's brilliant! (y/n) you got any liquor?", called Amy, already halfway in the kitchen. "There should be Jägermeister in the cabinet above the sink!", you yelled back, your head falling against Ben's shoulder. The buzz from earlier slowly wearing off and exhaustion taking over.

Ben was looking down at you, adoration reflecting in his emerald eyes. If someone asked him, he would definitely deny it, but the blonde was madly in love with you since you started to hang out - well run lines together but it's essentially the same, right?

Curling his arm around your shoulders to pull you even just a little bit closer, you all waited for Amy to return with the herbal liquor your sister got you as a souvenir from her germany trip with her fiancé.

The sound of the bottle meeting the dark wood of your coffee table caused you to startle from your doze and you nearly jump into Ben's lap. "Holy - Amy be careful, otherwise you're gonna break the bottle", you groaned, burying your face in your friend's shoulder.

"Right, whatever. Who starts?", she grinned after a brief flash of annoyance crossed her face. Charlie volunteered to ask the first question, and chose Ben to be on the receiving end, who chose dare - since truth apparently is only for weaklings.

"Let's start off easy then, I dare you to let each of us draw something on you with a sharpie!", the brunette proposed, grabbing the pen off your notepad.

"I'm sure there will be worse, so let me be your canvas, dear ladies and gentleman!", Ben chuckled whilst shrugging off his jacket to free his muscular arms.

The drawings ended up only half as bad as he expected them to be, which is why he quickly moved on, asking Alfie.

The game continued for another four to five rounds each, leaving most of you at least shirtless, and the, used to be, full bottle of Jägermeister a good amount emptier.

To be honest if it weren't for the others you probably would've already sent them all home by now, the clock on your wall showing 3:16. 

But not just because of that, but also because Amy's obnoxious flirting attempts on Ben were seriously getting ridiculous. That's why you suggested, it would be better to end your gathering and surprisingly most of them thought it was a good idea. Except for Amy, who over the past hour somehow took in your place at Ben's side.

You never really found out why exactly she was hanging out with you lot, since she wasn't even attending the same school. She was Charlie's flatmate that just ended up tagging along with the four of you about two years ago. That was also when she completely, hopelessly started to fall in love with Ben, and honestly who could blame her? But your probably unrequited feelings for your best friend were nobody's business but yours.

Ben quickly stood up, freeing himself from the blondes tight grip around his arm, “I’m going to help you clean this up later just gotta - real quick!” He called as he hurried down the hall towards the bathroom. Making sure to take his time, it might seem rude to wait out for the others to leave, but he really couldn’t deal with this anymore.

When he returned to the living room, Charlie, Alfie and Amy were gone, leaving you spread out on the couch, half asleep. “(y/n), love? You still with me?”

His question startled you, causing you to sit up straight, “Yes, still here.” Taking in the rest of the room Ben noticed that you already put away the bottle and cleaned up the mess you made.

It might seem stupidly cliché but right then, looking all dishevelled and tired, to him you looked ethereal. And it was all it took for him to make a move, finally.

“I have one last dare for you, (y/n)”, he told you confidently.

“And what would that be?”

Ben hesitated, the bravery he just gained, vanished as soon as you finished your question. The blonde just stood there for a second unable to pronounce a single syllable. Which is why you decided to get up, now standing just inches away from him.

His following words were rushed and quiet, just barely loud enough for you to hear, "I dare you to kiss me."

And that was all it took for you to close the gap between the two of you. 

The kiss was the perfect balance between slow and tender, as well as filled to the brim with lust and need. His soft plump lips felt like heaven on earth connected to your own. It felt right in every way possible.

After your drunken kiss seven years ago, your friendship turned into a loving relationship, with a few minor hiccups along the way but you're still going strong. 

Not too long the two of you got a beagle puppy to complete your little family, and Frankie quickly became the most important thing in both your lives.

Your little friend group from back then sadly didn't last but thanks to Ben landing a starring role in Bohemian Rhapsody his cast mates became your second family in no time.

Even after release of the movie and after press tour ‘the band’ never spent more than a few weeks without seeing each other.

And when coincidentally all of them, including Lucy and you, were in the same city there was no way you won't at least spend one night together.

Which is how you ended up in Joe's living room in New York, drinking wine and catching up on each other.

It took you by surprise when Gwilym, out of all people, suggested to play truth or dare, Lucy was immediately on board. Them being the only ones who knew about Ben's plan.

After very little convincing the rest of your little group agreed as well.

"Okay I'll start! Joe, truth or dare?", Lucy asked the first question the man to her left.

The game was nothing too spectacular, discovering some embarrassing teenage stories, here and there humiliating dares and constantly flowing alcohol.

When it was finally Ben's turn, he decided to ask you next. "Truth or dare, love? Choose wisely", he grinned cheekily.

Pretending to think for a moment you winked at the blonde next to you and answered his question with a confident, "dare!", causing the man to grin even wider. Ben's plan might actually work out.

"Okay, I need you to close your eyes for a second. No peeking!"

"Okay, okay! I promise", you giggled, putting both your hands in front of your closed eyes.

Only a few seconds later the whole group gasped, making you wonder what the actual fuck was happening right now. "Okay, (y/n), open up."

Slowly you put down your hands before opening your eyes, only to be met with the other ones standing in a line behind Ben, each one of them holding a single rose.

Your boyfriend of seven years sank to one knee right in front of you, a tiny velvet box held tightly in both his hands.

"(Y/n) (y/l/n), I dare you to marry me."

His deep, rich voice suddenly sounding so small, emerald eyes wide, waiting for a response.

Your hand that just moments prior covered your eyes, were now keeping you from sobbing.

Trying to collect yourself, you turned away from the others, quickly wiping away the tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.

Taking another deep breath you smiled at the still nervous young man kneeling on the carpet, "Yes, let's do this Benny!"

Your friends, who you really forgot were even there erupted in loud cheers as the blonde scrambled to his feet, eagerly pressing his lips to yours, grinning from ear to ear.