#no way he has bifocals

[dufferpuffer]

never getting over the time in CoS harry put his glasses ON to read a book while hiding under his covers. boy what the fuck is your prescription if you need those things to see AND to read

[baronessvonglitter]

Daddy Can Fix It

handyman!Joel Miller x fem!plus size!Reader

Word count: 5.4K

Summary: All the housewives in your neighborhood rave about the local handyman. And with very good reason.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears dress and lingerie, has hair and body hair, and manicure. Reader's age not mentioned so there is only as much or as little of an age gap as you'd like. TW - fat shaming, food shaming, infidelity (by reader, and it's technically warranted) Pet names (daddy for Joel; sugar, darlin', baby, sweetheart for reader). Housewife/trad-wife vibes. Totally a bored housewife fantasy. Mention of female masturbation. Breast/nipple play, oral (f & m receiving). Fingering. Body worship. Pussy pronouns. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped, but still.. this is fiction). Light spanking. Rough sex. Creampie. Joel's kind of a big ol' slut for the lonely housewives but is also really useful around the house, so you're definitely getting a good deal 🛠️

Author's note: it's been a hot minute since I've written a one-shot for Joel but it was impossible to resist. It all started because of this pic:

so yeah, Pinterest strikes again. How could I not write a Joel fic based on this? I hope y'all enjoy 💖

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"He can come clean my pipes anytime."

Raucous laughter erupts from the group of ladies huddled near the cupcakes at the latest book club meeting. You listen from the other side of the room where one of the older members is asking you to help her with her Kindle. "I never know how to keep up with all this fancy technology," Marion huffs, adjusting her bifocals.

You're trying to be patient with her, but the conversation across the room is far more intriguing. "It just needs to be charged. Your battery is low," you say three times before Marion can even hear you.

When you've managed to extricate yourself from her, you go up to the ladies and, with a friendly smile, join in. "I couldn't help overhearing."

Some of the women exchange glances, as if deciding to let you in on their convo or not. "Becky's just showing us that she got her kitchen cabinets redone," someone finally pipes up.

"That's not all she got," another starts to crack up.

You look at Becky's phone screen. The before and after shots of her cabinets are nothing short of miraculous. "That's great, Becky! I know you've been asking Gerald for a renovation for awhile," you tell her, hoping she'll be pleased you remember the plight she droned on about for weeks.

"It is great," she says, eyeing you with something like suspicion. "I have a very good handyman."

"He does everything," a nicer girl, Isabelle, chimes in.

"Boy does he," another mutters, hiding her smirk behind her cup of lemonade while the others giggle behind their hands.

Amirah adds, "He varnished my dining room table, power washed my driveway, helped organize my garage," she counts on her fingers. "He's good for little things around the house, and his prices are decent."

"It's like he's just giving it away," Becky says with a smirk and this gets the group laughing again.

"Maybe you can give me his information later," you say politely. "I have a laundry list of things that I need help with now that Wesley's working so much overtime."

The women eye one another, and it's Amirah, the leader of the group, who gives the definite nod. "Of course, sweetie. After the meeting."

"Great!" Smiling, you try to make your way through the group, saliva pooling in your mouth at the tower of red velvet cupcakes on the table spread. You reach for a couple more.

"You've already had three," Becky reminds you, casting a not-so-subtle glance at your body. Her voice sweet as honey but her words carry poison. You know you're not as thin or as glamorous as the other women in this room. You dress the same as them, wear your hair perfectly coiffed and your nails are always manicured, but just because you're not a size zero they deem you unworthy to truly be one of them.

You hold your head high with what little courage you have in the face of Becky's bitchiness, your sinful little cupcake in your hand. "I actually had three. And right now I'm about to make it five," you say sweetly, licking a swipe of cream cheese icing before putting two cupcakes on a china plate and going back to your seat.

That night, Wesley doesn't ask about your book club. He doesn't ask how your day was. He doesn't do much except pour himself a drink when he gets home and sit in front of the TV to watch the news.

You're dressed for bed, a modest robe over a red silk babydoll chemise, a purchase you'd made on a whim in the hopes that you could spice up your sex life with him which, truth be told, has never been more than lukewarm from the start.

"Do you think we should.. go to bed?" you suggest, a naughty tone to your whisper.

"It's early," he grunts, barely giving you a glance.

"I just thought we could spend some time together.." you brush your hand across his knee but he impatiently swipes it away.

"Please, darling, it's a weeknight," he looks at you as if you'd just suggested a threesome with him and the milk man. As he leaves the room he looks back at you, but the hope that rises in your chest is soon shattered when he shakes his head upon seeing your lingerie. "Red is for streetwalkers," he tells you before he goes into his study.

Daddy Can Fix It

You run your finger over the business card Amirah gave you, with all the handy man's information. The card shows his white company van with the logo emblazoned on the side: Joel Miller, Handyman At Your Service so it says in black lettering. There's a phone number and a website as well.

You dial the number, expecting to hear a secretary's voice, but you're greeted with a rich, baritone "Good mornin', thanks for callin' Daddy, what can I fix for ya today?"

Jesus, the voice alone is enough to get you flustered. And Daddy? You weren't expecting that. "Um, hi, I got your number through a friend and I'd like to see if you're available to come mow the lawn today." You peek out your curtains, seeing how the grass has grown taller than you'd like since the last time Wesley has cared enough to cut it.

"You got a lawn mower, sugar?"

"Yes, I do, um.. daddy.."

You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. "You can call me Joel."

"Joel. Yes, I do. Is there anything else you'll need?" New to the housewife lifestyle, you're still unsure of how to make such appointments. Before you met and married Wesley, you just mowed the lawn yourself, but your husband refuses to hear of his good and proper wife performing a menial act.

"Got any bushes that need trimmin'?"

You aren't sure why that particular sentence makes you feel the blood rush to your face. "I typically keep up with it on my own, when I'm tending to my garden."

Joel gives a small chuckle and it warms your insides. "That ain't no problem. Today around eleven good for ya?"

"Eleven sounds perfect."

"Pricing'll be about fifty, but we can come to an agreement once the job is done."

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you." You give him your name and address, hanging up with a sense of accomplishment.

His van appears in your driveway just a minute before eleven. You're impressed with his timeliness. What you don't expect is the gorgeous stranger on your doorstep.

Joel Miller is tall, broad-shouldered, skin bronze from working out in the sun, and his dark brown hair is greying handsomely. If you had to guess his age you'd say fifties. He's in a grey tee shirt and work jeans. What stand out to you the most are his eyes: almost black in color, appraising you as you wait in the doorway, prim and proper housewife, lips parted, eyes wide.

He asks for you by name and you nod, chuckling slightly.

"If you can show me where the lawn mower is I'd be happy to get started," he offers, and the voice you recognize from the phone makes you melt.

You lead him outside to the garage and he takes out the mower, filling it up with some gasoline first. "Is there anything else you need?" you ask politely.

"No ma'am," he looks over his shoulder at you as he pushes the machine to the front yard. "Get inside and get outta this sun. I'll handle it from here," he smiles and it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

From inside you watch him through the window, deftly maneuvering the lawn mower over, trimming the grass to a neat, short length. It's not yet the hottest hour of the day, but you see him sweating, and when he stops a moment to remove his shirt, you suddenly feel your pulse in the deepest part of your cunt. You wonder what it would be like to lick up every drop of sweat off his chest.

Like a slow motion scene from a movie, you watch the motion of his arms, the rippling of his back as he guides the machine over the lawn. Biting your lip you take in the sight of him, the determination on his face redirecting your thoughts to how he would look above you: hot, sweaty, hard, plunging into your drenched pussy.

How long has it been since you've had a man? Wesley prefers his Saturday nights like clockwork. But you want more. Stupidly thinking marriage was the best way to be treated right and fucked properly, you realized it was not the title but the man, and the particular man you chose was lacking in all area which mattered.

You aren't even sure you love him anymore.

But right now, watching Joel is a treat, and fantasizing about him is a little secret you'll harbor for later in the day when you'll inevitably find yourself using the showerhead attachment.

He finishes the front and back yards, and through the blinds you peep him putting his shirt back on, running a hand through his wavy curls before putting the mower away and coming to your door.

You answer it before he knocks. "Thank you!" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. "Please come in and we can settle payment."

He cleans the bottoms of his boots on the welcome mat before stepping inside your home and following you to the kitchen. "You have a very nice home, ma'am."

"You're too kind," you're modest about his compliment, but it's thrilling to have someone say something nice about the hard work you put into keeping house. "Would you care for some iced tea? I've just made it fresh."

"I won't say no to that," he chuckles lightly, and you're happy to fill a glass with some of the fresh-brewed tea over ice.

Joel leans back against the sink, pouty pink lips pressed to the glass as he tips it back, opening just enough to take a sweet sip. You watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, and you wish you could lick a stripe up along his the length of his delicious-looking neck to collect all the sweat that's beaded there.

"Is there anythin' else you need help with today?" he asks, his question carrying a hint of something more.

You blank for a moment, getting lost in the depth of his obsidian eyes, still caught up in your little fantasy. "No.. no, I don't think so." Taking a look around your eyes dart to every corner, taking mental stock of the upstairs rooms as well. "No," you finalize with a smile.

"If you're sure.." he says in that same low tone.

You give him fifty dollars and chat a little while he finishes his drink.

"If there's nothin' else I'll get goin'. Feel free to call me again if you need somethin' done, or looked at. Ain't nothin' I can't fix," he winks at you on your doorstep and you feel a waterfall in your panties.

Isabelle calls later in the day. "So? You had Joel over today, right? How'd it go?"

Dinner is in the oven and there's about an hour before your husband gets home. Phone on speaker, you start peeling potatoes. "It was fine. He did a great job. I'm sure I'll use him again."

Over the line you hear Isabelle sigh. "Isn't his dick beautiful? I swear, just thinking about it gets me so wet!"

You nearly slice a finger off, shocked by her words. Even though you're alone in the house, you pick up the phone and take it off speaker. "What are you talking about?"

"I think it's at least eight inches, and the way it curves at the end," Isabelle sounds like she's moaning.

"Okay, I'm lost. I hired the handyman that you and the others referred. That's who came over today."

"Exactly, dear! Did he fuck you? You don't have to give details of course."

Your brain is put on pause as only silence fills your throat.

"Oh dear," Isabelle continues. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

She sighs, possibly settling herself on her chaise longue out by her pool she's so proud of. "Joel Miller is a handyman, yes. But we also pay him a little extra for other services."

"Oh." You sink onto the living room settee, the closest thing to you.

"Mm-hmm. Mind you, it's not an all-the-time thing. But we've all had him. It's just something fun. You get some help around the house with your honey-do list, and then a good fucking after. Or whatever pleases you."

"And you.. you've.. slept with him?"

"I wouldn't call it sleeping, honey, but yeah I've been with him. It's all for fun. Nobody really takes it seriously."

"And everyone else at the book club?"

"Pretty much. Do you really think any of our husbands could compare to that god of a man Joel Miller?"

No, no you doubt any man could hold up to the stud who'd just helped you with the lawn.

He's on your mind constantly, but as tightly as Wesley keeps his wallet to himself, you can't validate having Joel's help every day. You make the choice to wait until the following week.

And what a long wait it is. Jealously you wonder whose house he's going to. Jackie down the street? Bitchy Becky with her face like a rat, no tits and no ass?

You consider calling Isabelle to beg for the details (which she'll probably give you without a fuss anyway). But a sordid part of you wants to find out for yourself. You already know he's well-endowed. He's at least twice as big as Wesley, who wouldn't know what to do with a big cock if he was blessed with one overnight.

A week to the day since he made his last visit, Joel comes back to replace the batteries in your smoke alarms. It's a job you've done yourself, perching on a stepladder, but it'll be more fun to have Daddy fix it.

The phone call to schedule him was practically foreplay. That smooth-as-chocolate voice had your panties drenched. When he's finally here, inside your home, inside your needy little cunt.

Your eyes rove over his form as he uses your stepladder, only needing the first rung. It doesn't stop you from staying right there with him, holding it steady on the other side. You hear his little grunts as he gets to work, watch his thick, strong fingers handle the batteries with a delicacy you can imagine he uses in other things.

Licking your lips, you realize you're face-to-face with the faded blue denim crotch of his jeans, those Levis hugging him tight in all the right places.

"I'm 'bout done here," he says, putting the smoke detector back in its place. "Anythin' else you need help with, lil' darlin'?"

Your hand presses to the bulge in his jeans, and you're delighted when you feel him twitch in response. "As a matter of fact, I do need your help with something else.."

"That right?" he murmurs, pressing your hand against him, letting you feel him grow hard under his palm. "Been waitin' to see if you'd ask.."

He steps down, keeps his dark eyes on you. "Pretty lil' thing like yourself don't get enough attention, huh?" he whispers, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

Softly you sigh, unashamed at how needy you've been for a simple touch. "No.. but I'd like you to help with that."

"That's what I'm here for, darlin'," he smiles, his thumb tracing your soft plump lips. "What do you want me to do, baby?"

"Everything," you answer quickly. "I'm not.. really sure what the usual is.."

His smile is kind as his hand traces down your neck, leaving goosebumps to rise on your skin. "You want me to fuck ya, give ya somethin' nobody else is doin'.. that it?" He places your hand back on his bulge and you respond by rubbing him, your own cunt pulsing around nothing in excited expectation.

"Yes.. I need to get fucked," you agree emphatically, pulling him into your bedroom.

Now he's here, in your room, and you think you're dreaming. He's letting you take the lead, completely at your service. All the women in your book club were probably more open with their desires, knowing immediately what they wanted and how to get it. All the fantasies about Joel you've created and harbored in the deepest part of your heart are now as impalpable as gossamer.

"You tell me what you want, honey," he drawls in that molasses-rich voice of his. His hands gently trace your waist, smoothing down your dress as he moves towards your curvaceous hips. "God damn, I bet you look fuckin' gorgeous outta this dress. Wanna show me?"

Biting your lip, you nod, tugging off your apron and dropping it to the floor. Not gonna be a damn housewife while he's with me..

A tiny smirk on your face, you gently push Joel back onto your bed, and he rights himself with an equally mischievous smile as he watches you. He palms his hard cock through his jeans as you do a little striptease, tantalizing him as you slip your prim flower-print dress off your shoulders.

"There we go, baby," he growls as the dress falls down to your hips, your scarlet satin bra revealed, your breasts practically spilling over the cups, making Joel's mouth water. You turn around for his help in unzipping the bottom part of your dress, finally feeling free as it falls away, pooling at your feet.

Joel lets out a wolf whistle as he takes in the sight of you in your ruby undergarments, the same you'd tried to seduce your husband in. Now they're finally being put to good use. "Red's your color, gorgeous," he mutters, his hands on your hips, mapping out your generous curves and the soft rolls of your belly.

You've almost forgotten what it was like, this power to entrance a man and make him see you as the only woman in the world. Marriage to an uncaring and unfeeling idiot had left you cut off from your sexuality. Now you're reclaiming it.

Joel's hands travel back up to your waist, fingers deftly unclasping your bra. He unwraps you like you're the goddamn Christmas gift he's been begging for for months. His tongue wets his lips as your plump breasts are revealed. With one hand on your lower back, the other palms your tit with a rough hand. Your nipple rises to his touch and he dips down to swirl his tongue around it, gently coaxing it further with his teeth. Your head falls back as the sensation zings straight to your cunt. "Fuck, Joel.."

He smiles against the softness of your skin. "Sensitive here, huh? Bet these ain't been properly played with in awhile. Gonna change that right now." And with that he gives another hard suck, his dick already leaking when he hears your needy moan. He treats the other breast with the same attention. You take one of his hands and lead it to the drenched front side of your panties, but he stops you.

"Not yet, baby. Want you to see yourself before I fuckin' ruin ya."

You lay on your side on the bed as you watch Joel undress. It's a sight you won't soon forget: skin tan from working outdoors, with a smattering of chest hair that's also showing some grey, chiseled arms, and a happy trail that leads from his navel to the front of his boxers, which are tented. He wears a little smirk as he pulls them off and your reaction is priceless.

Joel is fucking hung.

You've taken big cocks before, but his is formed of pure fantasy, like a dildo from your favorite sex shop. Isabelle wasn't exaggerating about his size. And his cock is so beautiful you want to cry. Watching as he gives it a couple strokes, all eight thick uncut inches, the rosy pink tip glistens with precum, the veins and ridges prominent. Even the curve Isabelle mentioned is sexy, bound to hit all the right places inside you. His balls, rounded and heavy, move with his motions.

Thank God I did my yoga this week.

You beckon him to you, pulling the boxers away completely and dipping your head to taste him. Your tongue laves across the salty slit of his tip, and you relish the hitch of his breath. He's not here for you to please him, but it gets you wet wrapping your lips around his cock, suctioning your mouth and stroking upward from his base. When you start to massage his balls he stops you. "Don't wanna shoot too soon, baby," he says breathlessly.

He pulls you up off the bed and into a kiss, his hands playing along the edges of your panties as his tongue tastes yours. His cock, still wet from your mouth, nudges against your soft belly. "You deserve to feel good," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his tongue tracing the outline. At last he pulls your panties down, a rumble in his throat when he sees the sweet glaze between your thighs, glistening in your triangle of hair.

"Sit on my lap, baby. With your back to me," he orders in a soft growl.

His flesh is warm beneath yours, and god it feels good just to be touched again, to feel desired by someone. You haven't known it in so long. He sits back against the headboard, moving the pillows on either side. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist as he leaves soft, feathery kisses across your shoulder.

"So soft," he murmurs. "C'mon, baby, look at yourself," he nods to the mirror in front of you.

When you catch your reflection you're exhilarated at the sight: you, naked, with Joel behind you, kissing your neck, fondling your tits, thumb brushing over them and lightly pinching them to hardened peaks. "Spread your legs for me, baby," he whispers, getting started by brushing his hand from your knee to your petal-soft inner thigh.

It's lascivious, watching all this unfurl before you in the mirror. You're spread open, on full display. Your pussy is gushing over with need, and you trace your folds with your fingers.

Behind you, Joel's cock twitches, and he rubs himself lightly against your back. "Lemme do that.." he whispers, gently pulling your hand away, bringing your fingers to his mouth and sucking your juice off them. "So sweet," he murmurs, and your belly is hot with lust.

His touch is soft and careful at first, exploring you and figuring out what you like, what you need. It feels like he's memorizing every inch of you. His thick fingers glide over your lips, circling, teasing you so you'll beg him for more.

"Joel," you whine, lifting yourself to him, trying to get his hand to position itself where you need it most. But he evades you, a dark chuckle emanating from deep in his throat. "You're payin' me to do a job and I wanna do it right. Not fair to rush me."

Your eyes close in frustration. "Joel, please.."

"Nuh-uh. Daddy."

"Fuck," you whimper. "Please, daddy."

"That's more like it." His touch finds your clit, throbbing and needy, and you nearly see stars at the feeling. He presses once again before sliding two fingers into your warm, welcoming cunt. "Christ, she's really suckin' me in there," he grunts, shifting behind you as his dick becomes nearly impossible to ignore.

"Yes," you moan at the sweet intrusion, the easy glide of his fingers in your drenched pussy. "Just like that."

"So fuckin' tight," he says through gritted teeth. And Jesus, his fingers are thick, the calloused thumb swiping over your clit, making you twitch and your hips arch up for more. "She's pulsin' around me," he mutters, his rich voice in your ear, lips brushing against your lobe. His fingers glide in, stretching you as you coat him.

"Ah, she's gettin' all creamy for me," he coos as he pulls them out a moment, licking off one finger and giving the other to you. You taste yourself, salty and sweet, humming in appreciation as you release his digit from your mouth with a pop.

He returns to his work, his hand pistoning against your folds, the squishy sounds of your soaked cunt beautifully obscene to your ears. Your voice trembles as you cry out, a sweet vibrato that resounds throughout the room as Joel's fingers curl in on your g-spot. He adds a bit more pressure to your clit as he tries to get you there. Moaning, he nuzzles his face into your neck.

It feels like you break open under his touch, hips arching up, swallowing his delving fingers deeper inside you as you spasm uncontrollably around him, a string of curses falling from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before he's on you again, moving in front of you as you lay against the pillows, like Venus in a Titian painting. His hands lift your thighs, softly kneading their thickness as he plants kisses on either side, trailing up to your cunt, your scent all around him.

"My husband never goes down on me," you whisper, heart racing as quick as a hummingbird's wings.

"Ain't he a waste of fuckin' space," Joel grunts, a wicked gleam in his eye as he dives in, flattening his tongue to lick a stripe upwards to your needy, throbbing clit. Your hands grab at his hair, pushing him forward as his groan is muffled by your sweet, saturated pussy.

"God.. damn!" you gasp at the delicious feeling of his tongue on you, lapping up every drop, tracing your lips and tickling your clit. He's relentless in his pursuit of making you come, switching up the tempo, adding a finger and then another, praising you when you cry out again. "Squeezin' so hard on me.. she's just about ready, ain't she?" Before he finally suctions his lips around your puffy clit and sucks, humming around it.

It's as if your soul leaves your body for a precious few moments, muttering monosyllables in sweet relief. You've never come so hard before, ever. And when you look up at Joel you wish you could worship him.

"Like the sweetest tea I ever drank," he says, licking his lips.

"Fuck me, Joel," you whine, still not fully come down from your climax.

"C'mere," he growls, putting you on all fours so you're facing the mirror again. You look at your reflection: hair mussed, eyes shining bright, skin glowing from your orgasm. Joel lines himself up behind you, smiling as you watch yourself. "Got every right to look at yourself, darlin'.. someone as fuckin' hot as you, with these hips, this ass?" He grabs one cheek and gives it a slap. You gasp, jolting forward, then wiggle your ass at him, wanting more.

"You a naughty lil' thing," Joel smirks, teasing your folds with his tip. "Wanna get this pretty lil' pussy ruined?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan, pushing back on him.

"Fuck me, I like the way you say that." He bites his lip as he continues teasing you. "Once I fuck you, you'll never let that limp dick husband of yours touch you ever again, I promise you that."

Your reply is cut off when you feel him nudge inside, your walls breached by his thick cock. "Oh god... yes!" you exclaim, clutching the bedsheets. "Fuck.. your cock is so huge.." You can feel the tip just kissing your cervix.

"Yeah, you like it? Like gettin' fucked by this big cock? Gettin' stretched out? Gonna leave a big ol' gapin' hole for your husband to come home to."

He bottoms out, grabbing your ass cheeks with both big hands, watching the smoothness of your skin as your cunt clenches onto him. "God damn what a pretty sight.. you oughta see this. Pussy's barely fittin' me as it is. Only tighter thing would be your little ass.." and he pulls out all the way to slam back in, glorying in the way you scream his name.

"There she goes, gotta get 'er used to me," he grunts, eyes on your swollen pussy lips wrapping his cock in a vise with each steady thrust. "Jesus, sweetheart. So tight I gotta try not to blow my load."

The sound of his name on your lips, the way your body reacts to him, is like gasoline on an already raging fire. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Say my name, baby. I wanna hear it." He quickens the pace, pressing deeper inside you.

"Daddy! Daddy!" you shout in time with each delicious snap of his hips. "My god, you're so fucking deep.." you moan.

"That's it, take all of me. You like the way I fill you?"

"Yes daddy!" Your fingers clutch the sheets as the bed rocks with your movements. "So full of you.."

He presses a hand to your abdomen. "Feel me there, baby? All up in your guts. No one else is ever gonna fill you the way I do. No one's ever gonna come close. This needy lil' cunt's gonna be cryin' for me every day until I come back and give her what she needs."

His dirty talk is getting you wetter, your juices running down between your thighs, making his cock all sloppy, the sound of it making you feral for more. "Fuck me, Joel.. fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.." you mumble, face down, ass up, slack jawed as you drool on the sheets.

He speeds up, hips slamming against yours, balls thwacking under you. "Yeah? Want me to fill ya up, blow all this fuckin' load inside ya? Got snipped years ago, baby, 's up to you."

"Fill me up, make me dirty and messy," you groan.

"You want daddy to give you everything he's got, baby?" he repeats. "You want me to fill you til you're all messy and drippin' with me?"

"Yes.. yes please," you're barely able to get out.

"Fuck," he growls, grabbing hold of your hips as he pounds into you ferociously. Once he has control he places one hand on your back, keeping you pressed down as he angles himself to hit that delicious little spot inside and he knows he's hit it when you cry out, cursing and shivering, clamping down on him like a damn vise right before he lets go, streaming jet after jet of his hot come inside you. There's so much it's already leaking out while he's still inside you.

The rest of the week you make a list of things for Joel to do next time: perhaps check out what's going on with the washing machine, or maybe he could regrout your bathroom, or help you rearrange your living room furniture right before he rearranges your guts again.

Even Wesley notices the bright and cheery mood you're in, and how attractive you've become since taking on some of the home improvements. That weekend he does you a huge favor, and sits back in his armchair as he waits for you to discover it.

"Wesley? What were you doing in the garage for so long? I heard a lot of noise," you tell him, arms crossed, a look of suspicion on your face.

He looks pleased with himself. "Well honey, you've been so agreeable these past few days that I thought I'd cross off some little projects on your to-do list."

"Like what?" you ask slowly.

He lists off everything you've had planned for Joel to do in the coming weeks. Small things, of course, but Wesley has done all of them, leaving you with nothing for daddy to fix.

"I thought you'd be happy," he says, his face cloudy now that you're unhappy again.

"Happy? Not quite." You leave a moment and return with a hammer, heading towards your husband.

He cowers, ducking as you completely pass him by and swing the hammer into the drywall of the living room wall, over and over again. When you've let your anger out and Wesley is rightfully afraid of your next move, you simply smile sweetly, holding the hammer pressed to your apron with your well-manicured hands. "Looks like I'll have to call the handyman after all!"

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

tagging those who showed interest when this baby was still just a wip: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @604to647 @inept-the-magnificent @clawdeewritesfanfic @manuymesut @bitccchmood @everybodylovedcontractors

[zweiginator]

"Maybe you should respect yourself more"

EM

Gives law student pat energy - maybe you're having angry hate sex after weeks of just hating each other

Thinking about this in the context of oral arguments!!! being paired with patrick and it’s all just an assignment but you’re both competitive and argumentative and now your grade is on the line. and the whole year patrick has been getting on your nerves; he never listens to a word you say, he steals your ideas, he mansplains concepts that you show a clear understanding of.

So as your professor reads off the pairings you’re looking throughout the classroom, realizing that she only has your and patrick’s names left from the roster.

It’s a month of avoiding each other. you don’t want the other to know your arguments, your counter arguments, the cases you meticulously searched for and rifled through for any relevant rule of law.

“Will you give me a hint?” patrick sneaks up behind you at the library.

“we aren’t supposed to work together.” you’re blunt about it, tilting your laptop away from him.

“It’s nine pm. nobody is here.”

“It’s not about that.”

you start to type again. patrick sits down next to you.

“arguments are tomorrow. i think you’ve done enough. don’t you have to, like, memorize it now?”

“can you stop acting like i don’t know what im fucking doing?”

“can you stop being a bitch and tell me what you’re arguing so we can argue it, get a good grade and fucking move on with our lives?”

you slam your laptop shut. “don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

and as you move to shove him away from you, he grabs your wrist.

“don’t fucking shove me.” he pauses before letting go of you. “nobody is here. we have to be at the courthouse at 8:30 tomorrow. it would be a lot easier if you just helped me out.”

you take your glasses off and furrow your eyebrows. “patrick, we are arguing against each other. and anyway, i don’t like you. i think you’re a prick. i think you’re a know-it-all. i think you’re spoiled and rude and entitled.”

he smirks. “anything else? i can go too.”

“i have to go.”

“no you don’t.”

and he grabs your wrist again. this time, he raises his eyebrows like he’s testing you. seeing how far he can take this.

“give me a hint.”

you get closer to him, your eyes flitting from his blown pupils to his pink, bitten lips. “beg me and maybe i’ll budge.”

“i’m not begging for anything.”

you grab your book bag and shove your textbook under your arm, flustered from him.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

and at 8 am sharp, you’re both at the courthouse. you’re early, you’re surprised he is too. patrick is smoking in the alley, dressed in a grey suit. you tug your pencil skirt down a bit further. and you hate to admit it, but patrick looks so fucking good and your nerves make your hands shake, the stack of notecards tucked inside threatening to fall onto the pavement.

he shakes his head at you as he puts the cigarette out under his shoe. and as he strides past you, he whispers in your ear.

“good luck, sweetheart.”

it’s so condescending, that it fuels your fire. and thirty joint minutes of arguments become heated. neither of you can tell who’s winning because your personal hatred for each other rears its angry head, threatens its way through your speech. the mock judge has to put his foot down when time is up.

“that was very, um—heated.” he straightens his documents , pushing his bifocals up his nose. “but i believe our winner is mister zweig. although id say this was close. i’d work on keeping composed; in practice this will have actual clients and reputation on the case. i’d sort out whatever animosity exists between you two before it interferes with your profession.”

patrick straightens his tie. he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“yes, your honor. i agree completely.”

and in the hallway, you’re heated. you should’ve won. you knew the fucking rules. you knew the exceptions and the case law and you rebutted his arguments perfectly.

“don’t be mad. maybe next time?”

you grab his tie in your fist. for the first time, patrick looks truly taken aback by you.

“i fucking hate you.” you spit.

patrick doesn’t like that this shoots blood straight to his cock.

“no you don’t.”

your noses are touching. patrick backs you into the stairwell.

“we dont want to ruin our reputation, do we?”

“like you give a fuck about your reputation.”

patrick grabs your hand, pushing it onto his erection.

“right now i’d throw it all away.”

and you should rip your hand away, slap him across the face and walk away. you squeeze him.

he slams his lips against yours. his hand finds your jaw, fingers strong on the back of your head.

"i want nothing to do with you." you push him away, but his eyes are dark, his tie loosened. his lips are smeared with your lip gloss, mouth ajar. you taste cigarettes and spearmint.

but you go back for more, letting him back you against the wall. your hands yank his shirt from his trousers, feeling up his abdomen, his chest, up to his neck. you squeeze.

he yanks your hair back.

"you're not in control here."

"i'm not?" you yank on his tie.

"no. you're not."

he flips you around, pressing your cheek against exposed brick. it hurts. you don't care.

hooking a finger in your mouth, he smirks at you. "no fucking self respect." he uses his other hand to bunch your skirt up, forcing your panties to the side. "you fucking hate me. you don't want anything to do with me." he pushes another finger in your mouth. you choke. "but look at you." he takes his fingers out with a pop. you try to turn around to face him.

he's stronger than you. he fumbles with his belt.

"do you want me to fuck you?" he asks it lowly, against the shell of your ear.

"no." it's a blatant lie; patrick lets go of you.

but you just don't want to admit it. you don't move an inch. it's you that pulls him back into you. mumbling into his mouth how you don't want him, how you should've won.

he gnaws on your lip, forcing his tongue into your mouth as he hikes your leg up.

"but you didn't win." he wraps a hand around your throat. "i did."

he pulls himself out of his pants, and lines himself up before quickly deciding to turn you back around, so he can fuck you from behind.

"what's--"

"I'm not fucking making love to you." he shoves himself inside you. "i'm using you."

[pedge-page]

Wait ok hear me out. Bored preggo wife starts reading smut and finds she really enjoys a breeding kink/men getting real nasty and aggressively talking about breeding their woman. So she asks Joel to try it and when he does, she’s like grossed out “uhh… nevermind” and he’s so fuckin frustrated and blue balled 😂

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Role Play Me Not

Notes: Thank you for your patience with these requests lately, this one was from March and I've been thinking about it ever since!

warnings: almost smut, lots of dirty talk and degrading language, and usual shennanigans with these two

18+ ONLY

- - - -

It’s pretty late, Joel’s body is wracked, and nothing feels better than the foam mattress bed he’s curled up on. You had a pretty good day, judging by your happy soft hums and scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Hopefully whatever nonsense thing you’re gonna purchase with his card and surprise his doorstep tomorrow morning won’t be too harrowing, but for now, he’ll live with it if it means some rest.

But your incessant giggles, matched with the way you’re shrinking under your brightly lit phone reading something so furiously just begs Joel to ask:

“What are you doin’?”

“Nothin!” You quip quickly, rotating best you can so he can’t see the obvious thing you’re hiding on your phone.

“Okay.” He tosses the cover over his shoulder and presses his head back into the pillow again to close his eyes.

Obviously not the answer you wanted, so you loudly snort with your fake ass ‘Tee Hee!’ again because this motherfucker better take the god damn hint.

He sighs. “What.”

“Hmm? Nothin!”

Joel squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. You can’t see his face from your side, but even if you could, he doesn’t think it would deter you.

You clear your throat before uttering your loudest and most obnoxious giggle.

“JUST—!” Tossing the covers down and rolling to his back, he remembers to take a breath, channeling his calm bear voice. “—just show me already. Please.” He’s exhausted, rubbing his face with both hands before holding out one palm behind him for you to place your phone.

You excitedly shove it in his grasp, and Joel rolls over to see. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, so he collects his reading-glasses from the tableside and props them upon his nose.

Its quiet for a solid minute, and your heart is racing as he stare at his broad back, the fabric of his shirt all stretched tight to accentuate that massive man of man that is your manly man—

He rolls back over with a questionable uncertainty, fear and paralysis mixed with concern and shock.

You’re giddily nodding your head, lips tucked under your teeth from the excitement. “Can we do that?”

He opens his mouth but no words come out. He doesn’t even know where to begin. 

“This is—uh. you like…this?”

“Well I don’t know, but I wanna give it a try…”

He scratches his skull with two fingers, hoping it’ll dig deep enough to itch the bad feeling he has in his brain. “I don’t know, baby, It’s a bit … much.” 

“But you call me your pretty slutty wife sometimes! It’s not much different!”

He glances back at the vivid words on the screen. It is VERY much different than that. But you put on your famous puppy pout, with those big round gleaming eyes, trembling fishy lips staring up at him, topping it off by squishing your tits together so they’re bursting out of the nightgown and smashing into his chest.

That’ll do it.

He shrugs, chucking his bifocals behind him with renewed energy arousing his body, especially down south. He gets to his knees, pulling your cover off from your lap and tracing his big hands over the soft expanse of your thigh like a new toy. you bite your lips, shouldering off your spaghetti straps so your tits are close to being popped out. He rolls the soft fabric of your gown up your growing belly and presses his lips against the swell. “Shit, that’s what I like to see. Gonna be a little fuck toy whore for Daddy to play with?”

“Ah…time out.” You hold your hands in a T formation. He stops rubbing and looks down towards your face. 

“Uh—yes?”

“I don’t like whore.”

“Ah okay—Daddy’s fuck toy?”

“Ok that’s—mmm.”

“What? No good?”

“It’s just ok. We’ll work on that. You can keep going.”

He shakes his head a little but resumes his gentle ghost of his fingers and lips, cascading lower until the scratchy prickle of his beard is at your naval. “Bred ya nice n’ good huh? Little breedin’ stock just f’me—“

“Oh hold on.”

“What.”

“Breeding ‘stock’? What am I, chicken soup?” You chuckle.

He purses his lips. “I don’t know, it was in the damn fic you made me read!”

“Okay okay, sheesh!” You toss your hands up.

“Can I please keep goin now?”

You nod, and he commences lower. 

“Body was made for breeding. Now spread those petals—“

“Oh what I’m a flower now?”

“Damnit, Baby! Am I doin this or not??” He curses. 

You go quiet and nod again, shrinking in against the headboard.

“Just about had it with ya whinin’, baby. I should tie you up like the naughty cow you are—“

“Farm metaphor again?”

“N BREED YOU—“ he seethes, gripping your thighs and hitching them around his hips so you can feel his bulge press into your core. “Breed you over and over again, like the dumb little cum dump you deserve—“

“Ugh hold up this position isn’t comfortable I need ta—“ you wiggle out of his grasp and begin trying to alleviate the pressure your baby is putting on your spine. Joel all but abandons holding your legs as he sits on his knees in front of you with his thumb and finger pressed tightly into his eye sockets. 

You wiggle and roll, unable to find a good position to sink yourself comfortably. The bed shifts with each turn, and Joel is damn near done role playing with you and about to just fuck you with your face down in the mattress whether you wanted to or not when—

“Okie! I’m ready Daddio!” You announce. 

You’re in the exact same position.

“Are we good to continue?” He asks slowly, his frustration being held at bay along with his hard cock that’s begging for some action finally.

You nod. 

He finally tugs his dick out and positions it at your entrance, spitting onto your slit. “Now shut up, take this fucking cock, and let me fuck my seed into you cuz that’s all ya good for—“

“Ya know what.” You wave your hand over this whole scene. “I’m done. This is … no. Nevermind, I’m done with this. M’ready for bed now.”

You slap his cock away like it’s a needy hand and roll to your side, slinking the cover over your shoulder again and turning off your light with a little grin. 

Joel just falls back on his haunches, his cheeks puffed red, balls swollen blue, fully awake all over, with a grumpy cat-worthy scowl etched into his face staring down at you.

- - - -

Taglist:

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[trashmouth-richie]

masterlist

eddie x fem reader

chapter summary: how sweet it is, to be loved.

series summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

special thanks: to anyone and everyone who read a single chapter or kept up with this series to the end, thank you so much- this story wouldn’t be possible without your support.

author’s note: I can’t believe this is the final chapter for this series, I’m feeling so many emotions right now but mostly just love for Eddie and Tooty and everything in between. Thank you to anyone who has helped me beta ( @sweetsweetjellybean especially!)this story or fan girled with me over upcoming chapters. To any of the very talented artists who have made any art for this series, thank you so very much, each and every piece holds such a special place in my heart. To anyone who is mentioned in this story, thank you so so much, @loveshotzz @chechelia @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse and everyone else— thank you for allowing me to include you in this series. To everyone who has liked, rb’d left a comment or interacted in any way with this series— THANK YOU. This series has brought such joy & heartache to me, and I’m so lucky to have people enjoy it. 🖤

Cereal

Hotdogs

Bananas

Jelly —grape, not strawberry

Bread

Crackers 

Toothpaste 

Noodles 

Chicken thighs— babe are you making fun of me?

Heartburn medicine

You tap the chewed cap of your pen along the lined paper of a scribble heavy grocery list. Desperately wishing you had x-ray vision to see inside your cabinets and remember what you were in need of, you chew the cap again.

Giggling to yourself every so often at Eddie’s notes on the grocery list. Crossing off items he thought weren’t needed, mostly vegetables he didn’t like. And always making sure you got his favorites. And not, “that healthy bullshit cereal, give me sugar or kill me babe, I will not eat Raisin Bran” 

Peanut butter 

Sunny D

Thyme 

Heavy cream

Basil

Carrots

Onions

Chicken stock

Hey sweetheart can you please get me some candy? I like skittles but you know I love m&ms.. and twizzlers, it’s for the shop. :) 

The lady behind the desk chirps a name again, but you are still racking your brain on what else was needed. The soup you had planned on making tonight would be perfect for the chilly weather rolling in. November was coming in like a lion, ferociously cold and temperatures already dipping below zero. 

Eddie loved your potato soup, so much that he begged you to make it after another long, grisly week at the shop. 

He loved everything you made, even your chili that he doctored up by adding sour cream and Doritos to it. Bon Appetit he would say with a smirk on his lips, a heaping bowl steaming in front of him. 

The clerk behind the desk tutted and huffed, the schedule was getting behind.  

“Tooty Munson! Is there a Tooty Munson here?”

You glance up quickly at the sound of your name, “shit,” you breathe, “here, yes,” you scramble shoving the list and pen into your purse, buried amongst the gum wrappers and a spilled container of tic-tacs. 

The receptionist clicks her papers against the formica counter and holds her nose in the air, as if this job and you were beneath her. 

“He’s ready for you now.”

—-

“…alright, Ed, did ya look o’er those applications yet? ‘Tween you D and Mike I don’t think we are going to be able to keep up everything that we got on the schedule.” 

Wayne’s eyebrows are raised as he looks over the bifocals perched on his nose. He had been scouring over the schedules and the books for the better half of the afternoon since lunch hour—trying to figure out how to swing their overloaded schedule. 

It wasn’t that they couldn’t do the work, they were simply short handed. After Boom closed his doors  in Hawkins, he had recommended to his regulars that they travel to Bridgeport to Master Mechanics to see Eddie and Wayne. Business was booming, and the Munson’s could barely keep up.

Early on, Wayne and Eddie decided they would only be open until noon on Saturday’s but now with the packed schedule, they worked til almost dark every night of the week, including some Sundays.

Wayne rubs his short nails through his scratchy mostly white scruff, “we can’t have these boys workin’ like this, they’ll quit on us before you can slap a tick.”

Eddie was leaning against the doorway, a bottle of Coca Cola held limp in his hand, a greasy rag stuffed in his back pocket. 

“Yeah,” he yawns, stretching out his back, “let’s hire ‘em all, we need the extra hands, or I’m gonna need an extra back.”

Wayne grunts in confirmation. The highlighter squeaks as it’s drug across the phone numbers on the applications, “I’ll call ‘em first thing in the morning,” he straightens up his desk and shoves the papers into a drawer. 

His glasses clink as he folds them up and lays them next to a picture of the newlywed Munson’s. He leans back in his chair, the leather crinkling beneath his worn coveralls, “I’m callin’ it for the day,” he exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, “it’s been one helluva week and I’m shot, tell the boys to go home to their wives.” 

“and you too,” he points, “go take care of your wife, Ed, tell her I hope she starts to feelin’ better.” 

Eddie’s curls bounce as he nods his head, completely drained from the week, shit maybe he was getting sick too? “she went to the doctor today, probably just the flu, Max told her it was going around.” 

“Well then,” Wayne says, standing up and clicking off the table lamp, “take tomorrow off and rest–

both of ya, hear me?” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” 

—

Eddie’s tires crunch on the ice and hard packed snow of the driveway, a silent serenity, meaning he is only moments away from holding you in his arms, seconds away from kissing your lips, and if he was lucky, minutes from eating something delicious to fill his grumbling stomach. 

He throws the truck into neutral, killing the engine and tossing the keys around his finger. Tracks from your Jeep tires lead into the garage he had built last spring. A huge project that your friends were paid in beer and a bonfire when it was all finished. 

Thrusting his sore hands into his canvas coat, he ducked his chin into the zipper and braved the asthma inducing gust of wind to the front door as it whipped through his curls. 

The house was oddly quiet, only the hum of the refrigerator making any sort of sound. Usually when he came home you’d be playing the radio, or talking on the phone to Max or Nancy, greeting him with a pop of your head around the wall in the kitchen or from the hallway, the prettiest smile put on your lips. 

“Princess?” he called out in endearment as he untied his boots and put them on the shoe rack. His coatwas already hanging on its hook, usually next to your purse but your purse was thrown onto the arm chair, and your shoes were in the hallway like you had walked right out of them. 

He undid the buttons of his work blues, letting them hang at his waist like a mechanic cape. Socked feet trudge down the carpeted hallway, you must not be feeling any better, probably too exhausted to make it out of bed.

But Eddie was wrong.

You were perched on top of the comforter, coat still on but unzipped staring at the door waiting for his arrival, fuzzy socks on your wiggling toes. 

“Hey, handsome,” you said, trying to keep your pitch even. 

“There’s my girl,” his velvet voice wrapping around you like a hug as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for your left hand and kissing the finger that adorned the prettiest ring he’d ever bought, “how’s my beautiful wife?” 

It had been five months since you said I do. A June wedding in your own backyard, filled with friends who had served as family for years, gathered by your sides. 

“I forgot the potatoes,” you say blankly, a weird little smile on your face. 

Eddie sits down next to you, rubbing your thigh back and forth and letting out an exhausted yawn, “That’s alright, I can make us some grilled cheese if you’re up for—”

“I was looking at my grocery list, and couldn’t remember what I’d forgot.”

Eddie’s confused, but wants to reassure you that its no big deal, he’s a grown man he can certainly make supper for himself and his wife. “Sweetheart it’s okay, don’t beat yours—“

“Can’t make potato soup without potatoes.” And this time you laugh, kind of whimsically and in disbelief. 

His brows turn inward, still he just keeps reassuring you that everything is fine, “It’s okay Tooty, seriously. Let me go make you some—”

And for the third time tonight, you interrupted him, “doctor said that’s normal.”

He’s exhausted and is honestly more confused than he would like to admit, “what? The flu?” 

“No, no. “ you say, a twisted little smirk on your face, “forgetting things, throwing up in the morning, being exhausted… totally normal.” 

“Babe?” He moves to touch the back of his hand to your head, wincing when he realizes that he’s probably freezing.

“I was so scared the last time,” you whisper, teary eyed, “terrified.. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but now—.”

Eddie reaches for your cheeks, holding them softly, his eyes searching yours, desperate to figure out what the hell is going on, “what am I missing here? It’s normal to have… the flu?” 

“No, it’s not the flu,” you finally admit, looking up at him and rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs, 

“Eddie, I’m pregnant.”

— 

You could fill an empty pool up from the tears that sprung from Eddie’s eyes that night. He was overjoyed, holding you tight while he wept into your hair. Kissing your belly and whispering to the baby. Small streaks of tears flowing down your swollen skin and the faded scar across your lower belly. 

Each month that ticked by, Eddie’s worry only doubled. 

The day after you had found out, he woke early. Watching as your chest rose and fell as you slept soundly in the original mock up of his hellfire shirt.

It was threadbare, cotton worn so thin it was practically see through— but you claimed it as your own back in the early days of your new relationship, hands on your hips and the infamous pout on your lip as you playfully argued with him about how it was now yours. 

Dusk painted the diamond covered ground from the fresh snow over night. Falling as delicately as his lips allover your skin. Soaking up the dainty noises from your throat when he carefully slid into you, tears spilling from both of your eyelashes, love filling the room more sweetly than it ever had before. 

The soft cotton of the blankets hugged your curves, and he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he gazed down at his beautiful— now pregnant— wife. 

His sweet Tooty, carrying a gift more precious than gold. 

Kissing your cheek—he dressed quietly, scribbling a note on the bedside table about going into town for a bit, but to just relax in bed until he got home. 

-

You were having a dreamless sleep, not even sugarplums could dance in your head with the overwhelming exhaustion that your body was trying desperately to catch up from. 

Something cold then silky smooth brushed against your cheek, and a velvet voice sang a little good morning greeting into your ear. Your loving husband. Pressing sweet angel kisses behind your ear and on your eyelids. 

Your bedroom was lit with the glow of a warm sun in the afternoon light. Playing a yellowed hue of warmth across your comforter, pulling the caramel color from Eddie’s curls and making his eyes look like a dreamy cup of coffee swirling with creamer. 

His lips hug yours, both smiling into one another. Heart swelling more than your toes would in the months to come. 

C’mon, got a surprise for you, princess. 

The spare bedroom that was once a room for band equipment, then Max’s bedroom for almost a year before she eventually moved in with Gareth and Will, now held storage, was completely organized, and held a wide array of items. 

A crib, brand new and still in the box, a pack n play, a swing, every box of diapers ranging from size 1 - 5, baby gates, outlet covers, fancy locks for cabinets and drawers, rubber bumpers for sharp corners and edges of tables. 

A bookshelf full of baby books, how to’s for new parents, nursery rhymes by mother goose, books suggesting baby names and their meanings, and a guide on how to quit smoking. 

Tucked into the corner of the room by the bookshelf and near the window, was a rocking chair. 

 “Eddie,” you gasp, running sleep from your eyes, “wh-what is all of this?” 

He’s smiling ear to ear, trying to curb his enthusiasm a tiny bit. “I might have gotten a little carried away.” 

Turning towards the shelf you see a plastic sack, full of candy and bubble gum, and mints. “Edward Joseph Munson.” 

“Don’t scold me, mama,” he jokes, grabbing onto your hips and kissing your hairline, “I’m just spoiling our baby.”

God you loved this man, he’d break his neck to give you the world. He was the most loving husband, and now you got to see him step into a new role. One completely foreign to you both, only have shared the idea for a few moments before it was ripped away. 

You lean into him, holding him tight and working your nose into the crook of his neck. “You’re gonna be the best dad, Eddie.”

He doesn’t hide the tear that slips down his cheek, just lets it slide and collect under his chin, his voice is quiet when he asks, “you really think so?”

“I know it.”

—

Wayne and Karen followed behind the new family in his pickup all the way home from the hospital. They were going to stay for a few days, help you both get adjusted to life as parents.

Karen and Nancy had filled your freezer with casseroles, soups and fresh bread. It was a hot July day when you were scheduled for the c section, and when it was all said and done four days in the hospital was more than enough and you were ready to be at home, snuggled up with your new family. 

It was a battle of which Munson man could shed the most tears. Eddie and Wayne were both wiping away tears for hours. Overjoyed with emotions that everyone was healthy. 

“No you don’t,” Wayne said as you reached for the back door to grab the diaper bag, “you go right inside and get comfy, get them legs up!”

You do as your told, leaving Wayne, Eddie and Karen to carry the load in. The hospital stay was overwhelmingly sweet, but you knew Eddie was itching to get back to normalcy, still not liking the way he felt cooped up in the hospital even though it had been years since you both had the horrifying visit. 

Bags and suitcases are carried in and set into your master bedroom to be unpacked later, bottles and diapers are stacked and put into their respectable places. Karen starts warming up the chicken casserole she had prepared earlier that day. Wayne fussed around with the new dishwasher that he and Eddie had installed the month prior. 

Throughout the commotion you had fallen asleep, legs propped up in the recliner, but you woke to the sound of the front door closing, and there he was.

Eddie was holding them both, large hands cocooned around their swaddled little bodies, crooked into each of his arms. Something he was nervous about but slowly getting the hang of, the nurses told him he was a natural, and Wayne wept into Karen’s shoulder when Eddie introduced the twins to their grandpa. 

His normal obnoxious voice was murmuring low and quiet like a soft lullaby so as not to stir awake the sleeping little babies. 

He looked at them both, adoration and tears springing into his eyes. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. How he could have helped make something so small and delicate, he wouldn’t understand. But, he didn’t need to. 

A boy, born first— with his dark eyes and brown hair, and later the little girl, almost identical to his Tooty, and just as stubborn, both already wrapped around his fingers.

He murmured their names, and caught your eye as he said it, a smile so wide on his face that you were sure new dimples would bust through his cheeks, and you only heard the end of what he was saying. 

If you would have told yourself five years ago that you would one day own a home, get married to and have twins with Eddie Munson, you would have laughed on the spot. That loud mouth jackass of a guy you had once regretted letting move into your home, had moved right into your heart and never left. 

The demons inside you both were finally at bay, finding solace in one another in more ways than you had thought possible. Being loved by Eddie was everything you had thought love should be like. 

And you pinch yourself to make sure it's real, and each and every time, it is. 

“…babies,” he says, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes as he looks over at you, his family, “we’re home.” 

The end

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[bookuce]

VACAY -- JEY USO MINI SERIES

Summary: Maya Jones is a cutthroat broker extremely dedicated to her firm Trammell & Barnes. She has dreams and aspirations of making partner one day, which means she’s willing to sacrifice all her time to bring it to fruition. Her colleagues and boss think she needs a break, so they give her a mandatory one-week vacation, effectively immediately.

PAIRING: JEY USO X BLACK OC

TROPE: N/A

WARNINGS: N/A

PART ONE

Maya was dedicated to her firm, spending countless hours at the office. She was always the first one in and the last one out, making her a valuable asset to her team. Her colleagues couldn’t recall a day she’s ever taken off, at least not willingly. Only a cold or a family emergency can keep her down; even then, she tried to work. It wasn’t healthy to be this absorbed in her work, but when you’re working towards making partner, you want to do everything you can to appeal to the higher-ups. To her, showing that she was readily available was the way in. To everyone else, it was the way into an early grave or a mental institution, whichever comes first. 

“Hey, Maya?” A voice will call from her office door, followed by a knock. She glances up from behind the round frames of her glasses, pushing the sliding bifocals back up the bridge of her nose. Tara, the front desk receptionist, hung off the door frame, her red lips parted as she watched the woman.“Pete wants to see you in his office.” She informs her, pointing out the door with her thumb.

The slouch of Maya’s back would gradually vanish as she sat up straight, ungluing herself from the computer in front of her. “Did he say for what?” She asks, not moving from her seat just yet. Tara would shake her head, briefly pressing her lips into a thin line.

“Nope, only said to get you.” She answers. 

Pete was her boss, one of the men she admired in the field she dearly loved. He was a mentor to her, her teacher, and one of the men that believed in her the most. He didn’t call on her often, but when he did, it was for good reason. Maybe she was finally getting her chance to prove she was worthy of making partner. “Very well,” She breathes, pushing out from her desk and standing to her feet. She peers below her desk, putting on the Louboutin pumps she’d taken off hours ago. “Thanks,” She mutters, walking towards her door. The two ladies exit the office into the main space filled with cubicles and chattering employees. They walk side-by-side towards Pete’s office on the other side of the space. “Did he sound different? Enthusiastic, upset, maybe?” Maya asks, glancing over at the woman next to her.

“Not really.” She says before branching off from Maya when they reach his door. “Have fun.” She tells her, now returning to the front of the building. Maya watches after her for a few seconds before glancing at the cherry mahogany door before her.

 Well, here goes nothing.

Maya lifts her fist to the door, giving the door three quick raps. “It’s open,” Pete calls from the other side of the door. She grabs the doorknob, twisting to open the door. Maya enters the room, natural light bathing her body as she takes in the walls of windows behind Pete’s desk. She never gets tired of being in here, one of the most stunning views in this office. One day, this will be her office, she believes. “Maya, thanks for coming,” He breathes. He points at one of the stunning black accent chairs before his desk. “Please, take a seat.” Maya fully enters the grand office, closing the door behind her.

He didn’t seem to be upset about anything, nor did he look excited. It was hard to gauge his emotions. What could this spontaneous meeting be about?

Slowly, she approached one of the chairs, wincing with each step. Though gorgeous, the heels on her feet were painful; all of them were really. It was the price she paid to look like someone of importance in this firm. It was all part of the charade. She should consider wearing flats for a few weeks moving forward and give herself a deserving break from these torture devices. “You don’t let me in here often,” She jokes, earning a laugh from the greying man. “What’s the occasion?”

Pete finally looks away from his computer, giving her a slight smile. Well, that’s assuring, she thought. “How are you?” He asks. How are you, she thought, am I getting fired? She furrows her brows at the question, glancing off to the left. “You’re fine, I promise.” He assures her. “I just want to know how you are. You’ve been working a lot. One of the last to leave the office most days, I heard.” He notes.

“Never better,” She breathes, smiling big at him. “I believe we are very close to closing the McGregor deal. Their team is finally starting to cooperate after stonewalling us for two weeks.” She informs him. “This time next week, Trammell & Barnes will be 10.5 million richer.” She closes with a grin. Pete nods at her, a half smile on his lips.

“Very impressive, Maya.”

“Thank you, sir.” She nods, confidence blossoming on her lips at the validation she just received.

Pete glances at some papers on his desk, sifting through the pile for a particular one. “You should take a vacation to celebrate the closing of the McGregor deal.” He suggests. When he finds the paper he needs, he thumps it. 

Maya chuckles softly at his words, shaking her head. “There’s no time for vacations, sir. The job isn’t complete until their people sign the dotted line.” She explains. “After that, I’m returning to the Samuels account. Their President is ready to conduct negotiations now. I got that email early this morning from his assistant.” She informs her boss. She was a woman on a mission––a woman seeking a corner office with windows for walls. Pete’s eyebrows jumped at the mention of another account she had lined up. This woman just doesn’t stop, does she, he thought. No. No, she does not, Pete. 

“Ed will be taking over that––with full credit to you, of course,” Pete tells her. Maya grows quiet at his words, her brows furrowing at his statement. Ed? Why would Ed be taking over her accounts?

“I’m not following,” She starts. “Am I getting…fired?” Her voice cracks at the end of her question. There was a pain in her chest due to the anxiety she was now feeling from this conversation. All of this hard work for nothing. 

“And let another firm have our most valuable broker? Absolutely not.” He says, deadening her fears. She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her hand going to her chest. “We are sending you off on a mandatory vacation, though. Effective immediately.” He tells her, making her pause.

“I’m sorry?”

Pete passes over the paper he had just thumped, allowing Maya to read over it. “Yearly reports are in, and Human Resources says you have yet to take a vacation, and it is required to use some of your vacation hours.” She reads over the printed email from their HR Team. In fine print, this is her vacation time. In bold numbers were eighty hours, and their year was almost over. She looks up at her boss, putting the paper in her lap.

“That’s a thing?” She asks.

“I’m afraid so.” He says, earning a hum out of her. She peers out the windows to the east in deep thought. Could she make this work from home? She could host a few video conferences in her home office; that won’t be an issue. “Furthermore, we’re restricting your accesses from the servers while you’re off on vacation––.”

“Wait, what?” There goes her plans of working while she’s away.

“Maya, we appreciate the work you do for us and the team, but health and wellness are crucial to us here at Trammell & Barnes. You cannot do your best work while under immense stress.” He explains. 

“I’m not stressed!” She exclaims, earning a stern look from her boss. She clears her throat, relaxing into her seat once more. “Sorry, sir.” She apologizes, averting her eyes to her lap. “With all due respect, Pete, I appreciate the concern for my well-being, but I’m fine!” She says with a prize-winning smile. “If you want to send me off on a vacation, that is fine, but allow me to do my work from home.” She pleads.

Pete chuckles at her begging, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you, you are almost as crazy as I was at your age. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, kid; I mean that,”

“Thank you,” She interjects.

“You’re welcome,” He quickly replies. “But vacations are not vacations if you are working.” He tells her. “Take the week off, put the laptop away, and turn off your phone.” He orders with a point of his finger. “I can’t wait to hear all about what you did when you return.” He says, gesturing towards the door. 

And just like that, there was no chance of further persuading her boss. His word was law, and she must follow it. “Will do,” She closes. Maya stands to her feet, smoothing out the front of her skirt as she does so.

“See you next week,” Pete says after her, waving as she exited the room. 

The door to his office shuts loudly behind Maya, causing her to flinch from its thunderous bang. Slowly, she walks back toward her office, her eyes unblinking. The fuck was she supposed to do for a week? She planned her life around her job, which meant she did things at odd hours. She could move everything around for the week if she wanted, but that would throw her off for the week she returned to work. Sigh, this was a lot. “So, what did he say?” A voice says from beside her, making her jump. She peers to her left at the woman who ushered her to her boss’s earlier, giving her a slight glare.

“Jesus, Tara.”

“Sorry,” She says, following her to her office. “Well, you’re not in tears, so I guess you’re not unemployed.” She says, waving her hands around with a wiggle of her fingers. “Congratulations on surviving another week.” Maya walks around her desk, sitting down once more. Angrily, she types in her password to her computer.

“You’re hilarious,” Maya replies in a monotonous tone.

“Thanks, I’ll be here all week.” She says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Wish I could say the same,” Maya says, logging onto the timekeeping system. “It appears that I have to leave the building,” She grumbles. “Something about I’m here too much.” She presses the clock-out button on the screen and logs off the computer.

Tara lifts an eyebrow at the news, confused as to why she sounds devastated. She would love a week off from work, and this woman is acting ungrateful. “Oh, thank God.” She says, prompting Maya to pause at the response. “What? You are here too much. I speak for everyone in the office when I say this––go away.” She tells her. Maya lowered her eyes at the receptionist.

“Don’t you have phone calls to be answering?” She asks. On cue, a phone call would come through Tara’s headset, forcing her to cut her conversation with the out-of-commission workaholic short.

“Enjoy your vacation!” She says, tapping her headset. “Trammell & Barnes, this is Tara speaking.” She greets the caller, exiting the room. Maya rolls her eyes at the woman, standing to her feet again. 

Welp, only one thing left to do, she thought, walking over to the wall her purse and coat hung on. She grabs her belongings, sliding the coat over her curvy frame and the satchel over her shoulder. She’d adjust her hair, pulling it out from beneath the coat and fluffing it to its previous state. “Okay,” She breathes, giving her office one last look. When she returns next week, there better not be another person setting up shop here. She exits her office, closing the door behind her as she does so.

Now commencing: one unwanted week of vacation.

_______________

a/n: I've decided to make this a two or three-part story. it will not go on any longer than this! let me know what you think so far! Jey will be in the next part, I promise!

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[robogalaxies]

☎️ - The Unneeded But Happily Researched Crumbs Of Everything We Know About The Commissioner

“If anything happens… I’ll deny I ever knew you.”

The Commissioner is, as we all know, a mystery, and I hope it stays that way, but I put it upon myself to wrangle every little tidbit of information we have on him outside of giving cases! I do this solely because of three things:

I have nothing better to do

I find myself strangely endeared to his character (i.e. I do a gay little "favorite character" clap every time I hear him mentioned)

I want to share all my random knowledge with you all because I go digging for it in every S&M media there is

I'll be dividing this up into 4 sections for ease of access: comics lore, games lore (HtR, Telltale, TTIV), cartoon lore, and misc. lore. Some things MAY be assumptions based on other characters' reactions to what he MIGHT be saying or say about him, sure, but I will source all information on where to find it & provide images when they can be easily provided!~ If anything new comes up or I have forgotten something, I'll update. Until then... hope you love both hyperlinks and "at least I laughed at it" style commentary! ☎️

Comics Lore

The introduction of The Commissioner, as with everyone else! Small tidbits of his quite understated character outside of being The Phone are here, obviously, including:

the Commissioner's one and only speech bubble! (Bad Day on The Moon)

the beginnings of the implied "I love you" statements towards Sam & Max with an "XOXO" on a postcard (Bad Day on The Moon)

he shows SOME disdain towards Sam & Max's attitudes towards achieving their goals, being the one specifically to tell them to go on a road trip (On the Road #1, "Prisoners of The Casbah")

Games Lore

Hit the Road

The Commissioner is barely a character in this game (big surprise, right?) and you do not get much information on him minus the bare minimum of "he is Sam & Max's boss," so there's not much to be said here. In fact, I don't know why I mentioned it. Great game, though, go play it! Now! I'll wait until you get back :)

Save The World

Welcome back! There're only minor silly tidbits here, but they're needed for this comprehensive list. Everything is worth mentioning about a character with nothing to his name but "The Commissioner." I mean, you're reading this post, right?

wears bifocals! 👓 ("The Mole, The Mob, and The Meatball")

was once in contact with & worked with Harry Moleman, as he sent him to be the mole for the Toy Mafia. Crossover of the century... I wonder if he knows how far poor Harry has fallen ("The Mole, The Mob, and The Meatball")

Takes Sam & Max out for dinner sometimes, apparently, if they do well enough on their cases! Squirrel Garden sounds disgusting, but I'd be jazzed too if they also had the free breadsticks ("The Mole, The Mob, and The Meatball")

likely just a quick jab, so I don't really know why I'm putting it here other than humor, but Max apparently doesn't trust him! I hope that gets solved; Commissioner is sorta signing his meager paychecks ("Bright Side of The Moon")

Beyond Time and Space

The middle child of the Telltale trilogy, this game has barely anything in terms of tidbits given that he really only assigns the beginning cases in 1 out of 5 episodes, and even then, that doesn't give a single thing away. Despite this, there's gotta be one or two tidbits we should learn, right? Sure!

is aware of Sam's insistence on answering the phone & seemingly asks straight up why he didn't answer (What's Up, Beelzebub?)

Can confirm an "I love you" towards Max... d'aww! (What's Up, Beelzebub?)

The Devil's Playhouse

The Commissioner barely shows up or is referenced in this game, mainly due to the story existing outside of the common framing of "assigning cases," but we learn two small yet revealing tidbits:

British Columbian! 🇨🇦 (The City That Dares Not Sleep)

Has provided books on cultural and racial sensitivity for Sam & Max because they kept "reducing people to obvious stereotypes." (The City That Dares Not Sleep)

This Time, It's Virtual!

The phone exists yet again... but in your VR HEADSET! Some fairly funny Commissioner lore in this one even if you, like almost everyone I've seen in this fandom, dislike or even hate this game:

His family is in hiding, and I'm assuming Witness Protection?! Must come with the territory (phone call after completing first three Freelance Training segments in-game)

Can confirm an "I love you" of some sort said to Sam ... d'aww! (phone call after completing first three Freelance Training segments in-game)

Signs off even official, legal wanted posters with "The Commissioner," asking people to seek the help of Freelance Police & associates himself as PART of the Freelance Police!

signs your certificate at the end of the game, which mentions the Illuminati in conjunction with his name for some reason! What kind of policing are we running here....??

Cartoon Lore

Truly, the 90s cartoon is where most Commissioner lore lies if we take into consideration all of these happen within the same universe, which we likely shouldn't. This being said, the cartoon provides us with the only picture we have of the guy (see post photo above the cut). Alongside this, we also get a LOT more information than any other media:

before we even start the information in the ACTUAL cartoon, Sam & Max say within the show's initial Bible believe he's out to kill them, in some way, saying they're the "troubled, ungrateful sons he never had." That's so sweet ... in a way. As well, there's a very small section dedicated to the Commissioner as a character, though not much is said that we don't already know (Sam & Max Cartoon Series Bible)

has Geek's number, or at least a number to the Sub-Basment of Solitude, as he calls it more than once over the course of the series, which makes me wonder how well he may or may not know Geek! Like a grandniece or something (episodes 1, "The Thing That Wouldn't Stop It" & 3b, "They Came from Down There")

cried over the story of Sam & Max having to get rid of John, their beloved alligator son... must be a shared parental instinct (episode 6a, "That Darn Gator")

apparently sends sticker books in case briefings on a semi-regular basis, as Sam comments that he "loves when the Commissioner does that" as if it has happened before - how whimsical! (episode 6b, "We Drop at Dawn")

confirms the Commissioner as a legitimate police commissioner alongside being Sam & Max's boss (episode 6b, "We Drop at Dawn")

seemingly very fussy if not given his private bathroom and honor bar. Fancy stuff, Commissioner, & he apparently allows Sam and Max up there! Or not, they just sorta bust in. Whatever! Sharing is caring (episode 6b, "We Drop at Dawn")

the Commissioner has a DAUGHTER! and somehow, Sam & Max got invited to her WEDDING! I think she's beautiful and I hope she doesn't resent her special day getting ruined (episode 11a, "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang")

that iconic, signed, chest only photo given with the solemn, loving, promise of "If anything ever happens, I'll deny I ever knew you," followed by Max crying that it's "It's just... so him." - what a loving, tender and slightly bordering on oddly familial relationship he has with Sam and Max... stop, I'll start crying! (episode 13, "The Final Episode")

Misc. Lore

These are lore tidbits that are present in mediums either outside of the media itself, belong in a game that is not technically part of the larger S&M canon, or has to do with out of media context, but should be included anyway because why not!

gifts Sam & Max a new floaty pen from a different United State every Christmas ... but not really anything else! (Poker Night 2)

Sam & Max discuss the Commissioner's power in response to doubt about his existence, claiming "Don’t you know he’s everywhere? He knows we’re talking about him right now!" - which is sort of scary, but I'll let it slide because it implies that the Commissioner's surveillance is of a much higher caliber than we initially thought and that is BANGER (in-character interview for Telltale, found here on Steve Purcell's Sam & Max FB page)

He's affectionate yet surly & I'm sure all those "I love you" statements contribute to that! D'aww... (Skunkape Origin Video)

Voiced by a member of Bay Area Sound, Julian Kwasneski, in the Telltale trilogy! Talked about and even has a LINE recited in this specific developer commentary! We love a mysterious boss who sounds like an adult in Peanuts.

God bless the guy, he had a rash! Does this matter? No. Will it ever matter? Likely not, as it was from the sadly cancelled Sam & Max: Freelance Police trailer. Sighs. At this point, you can tell I'm just adding whatever mentions we get of the guy. Makes me giggle, though.

Conclusion...?

In the end, the Commissioner is a mystery, and always WILL be a mystery. Hell, I sort of never want to know as it will ruin every single thing I have worked so hard to archive, but it is fun to comb through the different canons! Of course, it is likely any of this can be tossed out or considered non-canon in the blink of an eye because Sam & Max always loves to give a middle finger to character details if they don't affect the main plot & likely a lot of these are mere gags. The Commissioner is phone, and always will be only phone. However, it's always in my best interest to try to find ANYTHING to push back the curtain even the tiniest inch, and I hope my efforts were worth it. Now, to sign off, just press that phone! You got it, you got it! ☎️

[mdmraz]

« chapter two. menu. chapter four. »

UNEDITED.

"This is really fucking stupid, you know." Y/N voiced her concerns as she and Megumi ran through the Innate Domain, the ravenette, sending his Divine Dog to seek out Kugisaki.

"It's better than you taking that thing by yourself. Itadori has some control over Sukuna, I have faith in him."

The girl grumbled under her breath at the sorcerer's condemnation and lack of faith in her. She was the grade one here, not Itadori, "I can handle myself, thank you."

Fushiguro scoffed before he outstretched his arm, grabbing Y/Ns wrist and pulling her back against him, catching the clan member off guard as she looked back at him, startled, "Nue!"

A large bird erupted from his shadow, scooping the ravenette by his collar. Y/N let out a surprised squeak as Fushiguro hoisted her up by her torso, her arms unconsciously wrapped around his neck as she stared down with wide eyes, "I'm afraid of heights!"

"I know your face now. I swear I'll curse you!" Nobara exclaimed as she hung upside down in the grasp of a large curse, her finger pointed accusingly at it.

Her neat brows furrowed as the curse lowered her into its mouth, she was seconds away from getting eaten alive. A noisy yelp left her lips when a slimy, long tongue wrapped around her, pulling her from the curses grasp right before a harsh punch made it stumble back right into the upcoming attack of a large white snake.

"Ugh, Fushiguro! You said you'd let me kill them!" The ginger found herself inside the mouth of a frog, a fatigued expression finding its way onto her face as she peered out the shikigamis mouth. A slightly bloodied Y/N pouted, arms crossing over her chest as she looked over the slim worn-out face of the other sorceress.

"We don't have time. We're escaping."

"I hate frogs, you know..." An irk mark had formed on the man's forehead as he pondered on what exactly he did to get paired up with two unbelievable individuals...and not to forget Itadori, "Yeah, well, sorry!"

"Y/N, lets go. You're both injured—"

"Give me 15 seconds." Said girl stated, tone unwaivering, making it clear there was absolutely no room for interjections. It wasn't like she had even given the poor shikigami user a chance to even blink before appearing in front of the curses with immense speed, so fast the two other first years could hardly register her change in position.

He watched in awe for those full 15 seconds as the Tsukuyomi gracefully obliterated the four curses with swift and quick motions, not a drop of blood had gotten on her uniform, further spoiling it, and not a single scratch or mark had found itself on her delicate, [S/C] skin.

Not even a bead of sweat dripped down her forehead with each powerful punch and kick, further empowered by the moons lunar energy she sent the curses way. Her breathing never labored, footing never faltered, and she never hasitated. She made it seem...so easy.

"If I wasn't on the brink of passing out, I'd fangirl." Nobara weakly muttered, earning a chuckle from her classmate as she turned around, "I've got you." Were the last words the brown eyed girl heard before her consciousness finally slipped, alarming Megumi who was standing next to her, "Don't fret. I'm making it easier for her and me."

"What- What do you mean?"

"It's easier to use revere cursed technique on someone who's unconscious, they don't interrupt anything."

"Please expand the evacuation area to ten kilometers." Ijichi nodded at the 'Zenins' order, his hand shifting to start the car as Y/N got out of it, carefully laying Nobaras bandaged head on the makeshift cushion from the Tsukuyomis uniform jacket, "What about you two?"

"We'll wait here for Itadori to return." Dark eyes, covered by the thick glass of his bifocals scanned the two sorcerers, one payed him full attention as the other stared up into the sky, watching with interest as the veil Ijichi had put up shift. The elder man sighed, "After I take Kugisaki to the hospital, I'll return as quickly as possible."

"No, there wouldn't be much point in you staying here," Fushiguro countered, making his superior grimace at his brute bluntness, "If you want to do something, ask them to send over a sorcerer grade one or higher. Though I imagine none are around." He crossed his arms, green eyes glancing at the female next to him, Is she really a grade one sorcerer? I was too shocked to register her powers back then.

After Ijichi agreed to the first year's request he quickly drove off. The shikigami user turned around in the direction of the detention center, his gaze hard as it bore into the old building. If the worst happens...then it's my responsibility to end him.

A quiet, bored hum escaped Y/N, "Send a grade one or higher over? I'm hurt, Zenin." The girl feigned offense as a smug look graced her features.

"If you're a grade one then why didn't you excorsise it?" Fushiguro countered, his arms crossing over his chest as he sent a scowl her way.

"Like you and Itadori gave me the chance?" With the roll of his eyes, Megumi quickly dismissed the petty banter, already fed up with his classmates attitude. They really couldn't get along for even a second?

The girl shook her head with a bored sigh, gaze shifted upwards toward the moon, clouds and raindrops hiding its gleam. Green eyes found themselves on said girl, his gaze skimmed up and down before it landed on her side profile. He absolutely hated to admit that he admired the sight. The way her eyes reflected the lunar light, the way the drops of rain pattered onto her face before they slid down her jaw while some clung to her long, full lashes. The tip of her nose was rosy and lips puckered in a thoughtful way.

"You always stare at the moon." Fushiguro had to hold back from slapping himself when he realized he unconsciously commented.

"It's pretty, no?" The temptress answered, eyelashes bat softly as she turned to look at the man, "Yeah...it is..." He replied, almost sounding out of breath, a brow raised when Tsukuyomi acknowledged his uncharacteristic demeanour.

"You good—" The feeling of a weight being lifted off their shoulders graced the two, stopping Y/N mid sentence, both sorcerers returned their gazes to the building far away, "Oh? The Innate Domains out." Megumi nodded, "Seems the special grade's dead. Now we just need Itadori to return safely—"

A familiar feeling of fear quickly paralyzed the two, the moment they could finally relax had gotten spoiled by an unknown deep voice from behind them, "Sorry, but he's not coming back."

The Tsukuyomi was first to turn around, brows furrowed at the sigh of Yujis marked body. A feeling of familiarity washed over her, her heart stopping in her chest as crimson eyes met with hers, thick brows quirked upwards as Sukuna took notice of Y/Ns presence.

"Oh, don't be so frightened. I'm in a good mood right now. Let's chat for a bit." He nonchalantly stated, walking around from Megumis back as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, "This is what he gets for trying to use me without any of if pact. Feels like he's having some trouble switching back."

Sukuna's hands emerged from his pockets to grip onto Yujis school uniform, "Still though...it's only a matter of time." He stated before the sound of fabric ripping blended into the pattering of raindrops hitting the ground.

"So...I thought about what I can do right now." The pinkette lifted his marked hand, placing it near his chest. Audible gasps left the two sorcerers, Y/N had outstretched her hand to stop him but his long fingers had already collided within his chest, blood splurged out of the wound and escaping the smug smile on his lips.

"Wh-What are you..."

The crimson liquid puddled at the curses feet before he finally ripped his hand out of his chest to reveal the vital organ in his grasp, still pumping desperately, "Im taking this brat hostage."

The Tsukuyomi cringed in horror at the unpleasant sight, her trembling hand clasped over her mouth to suppress the gags that so desperately wanted to escape her.

"I can live without this, but that ain't true for the brat," Sukuna states, crimson irises met with green ones before they landed on a pair of [E/C] filled with disgust and terror, his smirk widened at the lovely sight he missed so much; it brought him back to the days of his reigning terror on Japan. He quickly threw the fragile heart to the side, "Switching out with me mean ge dies. Also...for good measures." Sukuna opened his fist to reveal the familiar pruny dark purple cursed object, he carefully placed it onto his tongue before eagerly swallowing, relishing in the taste and surge of power.

"With that, I'm free as a bird. You can be frightened now. I'll kill you!" He chimed in mocking excitement as the two high schoolers shifted their feet, widening their stances to prepare for any attack. Sukuna skimmed over the clan members, intrigued, his gaze finally stilled when he met the usual [E/C] irises, now glinting with an angry red.

"Interesting." He moved behind her in the blink of an eye, his bloodied hand had moved her hair out of the back of her neck to reveal exactly what he had expected, a red moon shaped marking.

[E/C] eyes went wide before quickly covering the sight of her neck with her hand, the other wrapping around Sukunas wrist, "The fuck do you think you're doing?" her voice was a breathy mutter, too many feelings and emotions stirred inside her to actually comprehend the overwhelming and sudden attachment she felt towards the curse.

Her eyes shone with an unfamiliar glint, almost as if they weren't her own, it seemed as though the moon had found its way to her large irises for a quick second, before vanishing, further confirming The King of Curses suspicion.

"So you were worthy..." his dark, velvety voice sent shivers through the two sorcerers. Sukuna changed his position at the same speed as last time, now fully facing the confused girl, with his wrist out of her grasp. He extended a long finger, its sharp nail traced the jaw that clenched with tension, "I'd be delighted to see what's so special about you."

The two sorcerers stood alarmed at his absurd way of speaking to Y/N, making absolutely no sense to them.

Megumi's hands slowly formed the sign of a shadow puppet, his stance widened as he was just about to unleash his shikigami until squinted red eyes met with his green ones.

"Too bad I won't be able to retrieve you, Kaguya. This vessel will die soon." Something stirred inside the [H/C]-nette at Sukunas odd words, why was be spewing nonsense upon nonsense, specifically directed toward her. Her gaze hardened as she slipped away from the curse with almost the equivalent speed as Sukunas. Y/N now stood right next to her defensive classmate.

"You just don't get it. Itadoris coming back. Even if it means he'll die. Thats just who he is."

Sukunas chest rumbled with a dark chuckle before taunting the ravenette about how he gave his friend too much credit; just a moment ago he had been scared out if his mind, on the verge of death, and prattling on about his regrets.

Narrowed eyes focused on the well built and marked man, he noted his wrist had been restored fully. Sukuna was incarnated — even if he can live without a heart, it should still be damaging. If Megumi wanted to somehow convince the cursed spirit to heal the organ before Yuji returned; he'd have to make Ryomen Sukuna believe he can't beat him without a heart in his body.

Can I do that...? The memory of freezing at the mere sight of the special grade replayed in his mind, if he couldn't move in its presence how could he possibly fight The King?

A dried, bloody  hand was placed reassuringly on his bicep, giving it a small squeeze as if to remind him that he, first; is not alone, and second; it's not a matter of whether he can do it, he has to do it! And since the warm gesture had come from someone that had despised him and he had despised, it gave him a bit of confidence.

His shaking hands form into the sign of a bird, a large gingery-brown feathered creature emerged from his shadow. Y/N followed with her own, the girl whispered under her breath, barely audible — to the point even Megumi couldn't hear, "Special Cursed Technique: Copy: "Infinity.""

TO BE CONTINUED...

« chapter two. menu. chapter four. »

taglist: @loveforlauf , @vicurious28 ‹𝟹

(send a narcotics anonymous or leave a comment to be added ‹𝟹)

A/N: two chapters till the end of the week just like promised!!

[backmuscles21]

Nighttime Visits

Lyle x Reader

Summary: You and Lyle are now recom soldiers, the problem is, you aren't supposed to be together. Doesn't keep you apart for long, you and him still find ways to sneak around.

Slight Lyle X Reader X Quaritch at the end, maybe going to do a part 2 of this and explore more of that dynamic.

Warnings: Smut, cuddle fucking, naked cuddling, humiliation, quiet sex, riding, caught, abs - we're riding this mans abs (I can't stress that enough.)

You were lying in bed after a long day, it was such a tiring day and you barely saw your boyfriend all day. You had put your phone down and rolled onto your side to fall asleep, that’s when you heard the door creaking. You sat up a little and saw the dim light from the hallway and Lyle’s head peeking through, you sat up more. “Baby, it’s me,” Lyle said as he walked in further.

He closed the door and moved some of the covers to get into the bed next to you.

“What are you doing here, if we get caught.”

“I had to come see you. I didn’t know if you’d be up or not but you are and now, I get to hug you all night.”

Lyle pulled you closer into his body, his chin rested on your head. You kissed Lyle’s chest a few times as Lyle’s hand went down your side to rest on your hip and inevitably end up under your shorts to rest on your butt cheek.

Now that you and him were recoms, there were strict rules you both had to follow. Not to mention you were both military, you had to do everything according to what General Ardmore wanted. You weren’t allowed to be in each other’s rooms, you weren’t allowed to really interact outside of friendly soldier-like conduct. Being in a relationship was a big no-no, Ardmore would never allow it, not to mention Quaritch barely allowed it.

You found yourselves sneaking around, most days you didn’t see each other, but occasionally you’d find time for each other. You were together before you became recoms, even then it wasn’t really allowed but you both didn’t care. You found time for each other and you made it work, you were probably the cuddliest of the bunch. Lyle was a hard ass, strict, rude, tough, mean, and strong but also very sweet, loving, shy, caring, and loved cuddling with one of his hands on either your butt or your boobs.

Cuddling together became a big thing for the two of you, you could visit each other at night with nobody around.

You went into Lyle’s room, he was sitting up in bed on his holopad, you couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like if you gave your grandfather an iPad, he looked like he didn’t know what was going on. You opened the door slowly and once you saw him up, you ran to him and into his bed. You were giggling, he looked up from the holopad to see you coming at him. You snuggled into his side and under the covers, he chuckled as he wrapped an arm around you. His hand rubbed up and down your bare arm, as you wrapped your arm over his bare toned abdomen.

He was reading different reports on his holopad his hand kept rubbing soothingly at your arm, your nails were raking over the ridges of his abs. Your head was resting on his pec and as he read through so many reports, you were getting bored, let’s be real, you wanted to fuck. It has been a while and you just wanted him to give you some attention and then you’d initiate, or you could just take his cock out and start jerking him off.

“I feel like I should hand you glasses with how you’re looking at that holopad. You look like a grandpa.”

He smirked down at you, “that would make you old too, ya know.”

“I’m still 10 years younger than you.”

“You’re still almost 50 though.”

“Not anymore. My brain might be but I’m actually like 20 now.”

“We all are, buttercup.”

“Then stop squinting at the screen like you need bifocals,” you grabbed the holopad from his hand and straddled his hips. You placed the holopad on the nightstand next to you both, you rested your hands on his pecs and looked at him with a smile.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Lyle said pushing his leg up to hit your butt making you lean forward to kiss him.

His hands stayed on your hips as you ground yourself on his abs as you made out.

“That good baby? You getting off rubbing yourself on my abs like that?”

You whimper and nodded as Lyle helped you move on his abs faster and harder.

“Let’s take these shorts off, it will feel better,” Layle said as he laid you back and pulled your sleep shorts off.

He placed you back on his toned abs and grabbed your hips and helped you grind on his abs. Your eyes squeezed shut and you whimpered, your slick spreading all over his stomach.

“There we go, see, so much better. Baby, you’re making a mess on me,” Lyle smirked as he leaned you down enough to kiss at your neck.

You ground yourself deeper, desperate for more friction and more stimulation. You moaned out, you sucked on Lyle’s skin by his neck, and occasionally your teeth would scrape against his blue skin. You moaned out as your saliva spread on his collarbone and pec, Lyle’s hands gripped your hips hard and moved you deeper. He liked your noises, he liked that he had access to grip your butt cheeks and still keep you grinding on him.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to cum like this. It’s not enough, I need more. I need your cock, please.”

“You want my cock? Baby that’s all you had to do and I’ll give it to ya. Shame though, I liked watching you get off like this.”

“I’ll ride you and it will basically be the same thing. I just need you deep inside me.”

You knew he was desperately hard; you could feel it growing on your legs as you ground into him. Looking behind you, you could see the giant tent in his sweatpants where his cock was. You moved back to pull his sweatpants down and his cock was now resting on his abdomen.

“Fuck, I can’t not go down on this now,” you said taking his cock into your mouth.

Lyle’s hand brushed over his forehead and onto his scalp, his eyes closed and he moaned lowly. When he felt your nose touch his pelvis, his eyes opened and he gripped your hair, you moaned out which caused him to moan. His hips thrusted up involuntarily, it hit the back of your throat and Lyle grabbed your hair and pulled you off him.

“Baby, that’s hot but I’m gonna hurt you and you’re gonna make me cum. Lemme fuck you first.”

You nodded and moved up to straddle him, Lyle helped you line up his cock to push inside. You moved down slowly at first, letting yourself adjust before you moved faster and sunk down completely. Lyle’s hands gripped your hips, his thumb rubbed at the soft skin of your hips as you took a moment to let yourself get used to him filling you up. You started to move your hips a little, his fingers gripped at your hip bones.

You used your leg muscles to lift yourself up and drop yourself back down, Lyle groaned out as you moved your body on his. You bent your back over to rest your head on his pecs as you continued to move, your body was already stimulated from earlier, it was getting to be too much. Both of you had been stimulated beforehand, Lyle could tell you were dropping off just in terms of you not being as fast anymore. It was hard work to ride someone, it was exhausting and you were already tired. Lyle’s arms wrapped around your torso, keeping you close to him as he rolled you both onto your sides.

“I’ll take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

Lyle brought your leg up to rest on his hip as your other went between his legs, he started to thrust up into you. He loved this position, he loved lazy rough sex, that’s pretty much exactly what this was. He did, however, know that you had to be careful since you were in his room and all the other soldiers were down this hall. You guys had to be quiet but you were almost the exact opposite when it came to having sex with Lyle.

“Keep it down, baby, unless, you wanna get caught.”

“Fuck, Lyle, I can’t. I’m gonna cum.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Cum all over me, baby.”

You came, you squeezed him so hard as your back arched, pushing you away from Lyle’s chest. Lyle still held you close, you didn’t get far, Lyle held you as your body spasmed. Lyle wouldn’t last long now, not after watching and feeling you cum, he couldn’t help it. A few more hard and deep thrusts had him cumming deep inside you with a grunt and tight grip on your hip.

He moved you to lay on top of him, but he didn’t pull out, he liked to stay buried deep in you as he softened. You knew you were going to fall asleep, you were exhausted, you both were.

You woke up in the morning on Lyle’s chest with his dick still deep inside you and his arms wrapped around your waist. You looked up to see Lyle still sleeping soundly, you had to admit he was adorable while sleeping.

Then you noticed it was morning.

“Shit,” you whispered.

“Lyle?”

“Lyle, wake up.”

“Fuck, Lyle. Wake up.”

He stirred lightly and only because you started to move in his arms.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at you, he smiled and kissed the top of your head.

“Lyle it’s the fucking morning. Quaritch is gonna skin us alive if he finds out we’re here together.”

“Too late. Somebody wanna explain?” Quaritch said from the corner of Lyle’s room.

You and Lyle both looked at his desk where the desk chair had been pulled out and there sat their colonel.

“Sleepover?” Lyle said questioningly.

You would laugh if you weren’t fucking terrified.

“I knew my two best were fucking each other’s brains out but now they are just playing risky,” Quaritch explained.

“It won’t happen again,” you said.

“Damn right, it won’t. Unless... unless I’m there.”

[nekrosdolly]

older wesker hcs!

i fucking love old men...

cw; major age gap (15-35 years), reader is at least mid-twenties or early thirties, silly old man things, wesker is a SENIOR CITIZEN, current-day au, gn!reader

a/n; very much inspired by a silly conversation in the comments under one of my posts with @thatgirlgames

old!wesker, who's pissed off half the time because being in the pit of lava burned the Uroboros right out of his system so now, for the last fourteen years, he's been living like a normal person.

old!wesker, who's constantly remembering and recanting the past like it'll actually change something (it won't, he's just crabby)

old!wesker, whose joints pop and crack every five seconds due to old age.

old!wesker, who can't wear sunglasses inside anymore because they hurt his eyes too much, so he sticks to very thick, prescription bifocals in a similar style.

old!wesker, who's shocked that you even wanted to be with a dude in his sixties. he appreciates the company.

old!wesker, who's aged fairly well, given that the aging process was staved off by Uroboros for some time.

old!wesker, whose energy supply has depleted thanks to being older. can't do as much as he wants to, not without his back threatening to throw itself out.

old!wesker, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to start his day. he takes multivitamins to remain at least a little healthy for his retirement years. if his developing arthritis gets too bad he uses a cane here and there, but you're always by his side to help him out.

old!wesker, who feels a little bit weak every time you have to help him with something. maybe it's the way he was raised, but he can't just let you do everything for him. he's supposed to be a man- a strong and smart one at that, mind you- and it irks him when he can't be that for you.

old!wesker, who despises how he's slowly started to settle into more age-appropriate hobbies, such as watching birds or doing the daily crossword in the newspaper (New York Times only, thank you very much.) although he finds it sweet how you don't tease him about it.

old!wesker, who adores how you snuggle up to him in the morning, putting a temporary pause to his grumpiness. he is happy to be alive and with you, even if life hasn't been the most kind to him (nor him to it, either.)

[mariacallous]

Stories about AI-generated political content are like stories about people drunkenly setting off fireworks: There’s a good chance they’ll end in disaster. WIRED is tracking AI usage in political campaigns across the world, and so far examples include pornographic deepfakes and misinformation-spewing chatbots. It’s gotten to the point where the US Federal Communications Commission has proposed mandatory disclosures for AI use in television and radio ads.

Despite concerns, some US political campaigns are embracing generative AI tools. There’s a growing category of AI-generated political content flying under the radar this election cycle, developed by startups including Denver-based BattlegroundAI, which uses generative AI to come up with digital advertising copy at a rapid clip. “Hundreds of ads in minutes,” its website proclaims.

BattlegroundAI positions itself as a tool specifically for progressive campaigns—no MAGA types allowed. And it is moving fast: It launched a private beta only six weeks ago and a public beta just last week. Cofounder and CEO Maya Hutchinson is currently at the Democratic National Convention trying to attract more clients. So far, the company has around 60, she says. (The service has a freemium model, with an upgraded option for $19 a month.)

“It’s kind of like having an extra intern on your team,” Hutchinson, a marketer who got her start on the digital team for President Obama’s reelection campaign, tells WIRED. We’re sitting at a picnic table inside the McCormick Place Convention Center in Chicago, and she’s raising her voice to be heard over music blasting from a nearby speaker. “If you’re running ads on Facebook or Google, or developing YouTube scripts, we help you do that in a very structured fashion.”

BattlegroundAI’s interface asks users to select from five different popular large language models—including ChatGPT, Claude, and Anthropic—to generate answers; it then asks users to further customize their results by selecting for tone and “creativity level,” as well as how many variations on a single prompt they might want. It also offers guidance on whom to target and helps craft messages geared toward specialized audiences for a variety of preselected issues, including infrastructure, women’s health, and public safety.

BattlegroundAI declined to provide any examples of actual political ads created using its services. However, WIRED tested the product by creating a campaign aimed at extremely left-leaning adults aged 88 to 99 on the issue of media freedom. “Don't let fake news pull the wool over your bifocals!” one of the suggested ads began.

BattlegroundAI offers only text generation—no AI images or audio. The company adheres to various regulations around the use of AI in political ads.

“What makes Battleground so well suited for politics is it’s very much built with those rules in mind,” says Andy Barr, managing director for Uplift, a Democratic digital ad agency. Barr says Uplift has been testing the BattlegroundAI beta for a few weeks. “It’s helpful with idea generation,” he says. The agency hasn’t yet released any ads using Battleground copy yet, but it has already used it to develop concepts, Barr adds.

I confess to Hutchinson that if I were a politician, I would be scared to use BattlegroundAI. Generative AI tools are known to “hallucinate,” a polite way of saying that they sometimes make things up out of whole cloth. (They bullshit, to use academic parlance.) I ask how she’s ensuring that the political content BattlegroundAI generates is accurate.

“Nothing is automated,” she replies. Hutchinson notes that BattlegroundAI’s copy is a starting-off point, and that humans from campaigns are meant to review and approve it before it goes out. “You might not have a lot of time, or a huge team, but you’re definitely reviewing it.”

Of course, there’s a rising movement opposing how AI companies train their products on art, writing, and other creative work without asking for permission. I ask Hutchinson what she’d say to people who might oppose how tools like ChatGPT are trained. “Those are incredibly valid concerns,” she says. “We need to talk to Congress. We need to talk to our elected officials.”

I ask whether BattlegroundAI is looking at offering language models that train on only public domain or licensed data. “Always open to that,” she says. “We also need to give folks, especially those who are under time constraints, in resource-constrained environments, the best tools that are available to them, too. We want to have consistent results for users and high-quality information—so the more models that are available, I think the better for everybody.”

And how would Hutchinson respond to people in the progressive movement—who generally align themselves with the labor movement—objecting to automating ad copywriting? “Obviously valid concerns,” she says. “Fears that come with the advent of any new technology—we’re afraid of the computer, of the light bulb.”

Hutchinson lays out her stance: She doesn’t see this as a replacement for human labor so much as a way to reduce grunt work. “I worked in advertising for a very long time, and there's so many elements of it that are repetitive, that are honestly draining of creativity,” she says. “AI takes away the boring elements.” She sees BattlegroundAI as a helpmeet for overstretched and underfunded teams.

Taylor Coots, a Kentucky-based political strategist who recently began using the service, describes it as “very sophisticated,” and says it helps identify groups of target voters and ways to tailor messaging to reach them in a way that would otherwise be difficult for small campaigns. In battleground races in gerrymandered districts, where progressive candidates are major underdogs, budgets are tight. “We don’t have millions of dollars,” he says. “Any opportunities we have for efficiencies, we’re looking for those.”

Will voters care if the writing in digital political ads they see is generated with the help of AI? “I'm not sure there is anything more unethical about having AI generate content than there is having unnamed staff or interns generate content,” says Peter Loge, an associate professor and program director at George Washington University who founded a project on ethics in political communication.

“If one could mandate that all political writing done with the help of AI be disclosed, then logically you would have to mandate that all political writing”—such as emails, ads, and op-eds—“not done by the candidate be disclosed,” he adds.

Still, Loge has concerns about what AI does to public trust on a macro level, and how it might impact the way people respond to political messaging going forward. “One risk of AI is less what the technology does, and more how people feel about what it does,” he says. “People have been faking images and making stuff up for as long as we've had politics. The recent attention on generative AI has increased peoples' already incredibly high levels of cynicism and distrust. If everything can be fake, then maybe nothing is true.”

Hutchinson, meanwhile, is focused on her company’s shorter-term impact. “We really want to help people now,” she says. “We’re trying to move as fast as we can.”

[feralwritings]

dissonance

part four

words: 5.7k

It’s so perfect it's stupid, so perfectly tailored to Nancy and Robin as a couple that it's true serendipity that they ended up here, tonight, walking around Vegas together and finding this hidden gem, and there’s a part of it all, something that sticks in Reader’s mind as she runs to them once the ceremony is over, throwing herself into their arms, that despite her hesitancy about this tour, her reservations, her anxiety, that no matter what has happened, or what will, it was worth it to be here, now, with them.

masterpost

taglist: @cam-peggio @mewchiili

Las Vegas

When Eddie sees her and Chrissy power walking through the casino, obviously having come from their rooms, looking perturbed, clad in only their pajamas, he’s immediately worried. They’ve only been here for a few days, the show is this weekend, there is no possible way that something went wrong already. 

“Fold,” he says to the dealer at the poker table, and without a second thought to his chips or what may happen to them, he gets up to follow them.

Once he catches up to them, Reader’s bent over her phone, thumbs typing rapidly across the screen as Chrissy watches anxiously. It’s clear that she was interrupted during her skincare routine, with a fluffy headband still on her head and a few streaks of a face mask on her jaw. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, and they startle so bad that they nearly jump out of their slippers.

“Jesus Christ!” Reader squeaks, hand flying to press against her chest, “Fuck, warn me next time.”

“Sorry,” He amends quickly, searching her face, “What’s going on, though? You look worried.”

She fixes him with a long look before extricating her phone, showing it to him, “Robin and Nance dropped a pin and told me to come get them, which is, like, really terrifying considering they stopped responding ten minutes ago. So, we’re heading out now.”

Eddie nods, “I’ll go with you-”

Chrissy stiffens, “Oh, you don’t have to do that, I’m sure everything’s fine-”

Eddie looks at her, “I’m not letting you go alone.”

Reader rolls her eyes, “We don’t have time to argue about this. I’ve already called the Uber, it's out front.”

Together, the three of them march out of the casino doors, searching wildly for a black sedan driven by a guy named Tony. The problem is, there’s nothing but black sedans in front of the casino, and so they jog to several in turn before finding Tony, a white guy in his 80s whose car smells like lemons.

One after another, they pile in, Reader squished between Eddie and Chrissy, leaning forward to talk to Tony.

“Hi,” She holds out her phone, “Do you know where this is?”

Tony leans back from the phone, looking at it through the bottom of his bifocals, before having to pull out his readers.

“Oh, yes, I know where that is. Just send the address to the app, I’ll get ya there, Sugar, no problem.”

Reader sighs in relief, typing the info into the app and resting back against the seat, “Okay, thank you so much.”

She’s texting Robin again, all caps lock WHERE ARE YOU ARE YOU OKAY WHAT’S GOING ON and her leg is bouncing so rapidly that the entire car shakes with it. Chrissy’s in conversation with Tony, and Eddie’s looking out of the window, hoping to ascertain any sort of information based solely on landmarks. 

They’re about a mile off the strip when the ride comes to an end, Tony stopping the car near some nondescript curb.

Eddie sees it first, and the knot in his chest dissipates entirely.

“Oh, my God,” He laughs, the neon lights from the building reflecting off of his face, bathing it in hues of rainbow.

“What?” Reader asks, leaning across him to look out of the window. She sees it too, she lets her head fall against the window, closing her eyes and shaking with relief.

It’s a chapel.

Robin and Nancy are standing in the ornate walkway, holding hands and giggling madly as everyone disembarks the car.

“Surprise!” Robin giggles, “Sorry, but we wanted it to be a surprise so we couldn’t give you much information-”

“You bitches,” Reader sighs, throwing her arms around them both, “I thought you guys were being kidnapped or trafficked or held hostage or something.”

Chrissy has joined the hug, and all four girls have descended into giggles and conversation, while Eddie stands awkwardly off to the side, waiting to be noticed. Tony hasn’t even left yet, his window is rolled down and he’s watching the entire exchange rather warmly.

Robin finally spots Eddie, and raises an eyebrow, “Oh, hi.”

Eddie waves, and Reader glances over her shoulder, “It’s cool, he came with us to be the macho protective man of the situation in case shit was going south.”

Nancy snorts, “The more the merrier. The rest of the guys can come, if you want. We should probably get our money’s worth, since we…spent a lot of it.”

“How much?” Chrissy asks, glancing at the chapel. It’s not huge but isn’t too little, a nice little area for outdoor weddings off to the side of the building, several rows of chairs on either side of the aisle. The building itself is decked out in pride decor, various gay icons etched in colorful chalk on the brick that faces towards the street.

“Well, we sprung for the deluxe package,” Robin says, whipping out a little pamphlet and explaining the various amenities to everyone.

Eddie’s already texted the rest of the boys and Steve, but soon enough Chrissy’s got him by the hand and is tugging him inside with everyone else.

He’s really the only guest that’s dressed appropriately, black blazer over top of a black mesh top, his black nice jeans and his nicest pair of boots, the Panaroot Dunes that he spent several pretty pennies on when he last went shopping with the band’s stylist.

This fact becomes obvious in a second when Chrissy and Reader look at each other, horrorstruck.

Chrissy could pass - she’s in a silk nighty that flares out prettily around her thighs, but it’s white, and despite Robin and Nancy’s repeated assurances that Chrissy can indeed wear white to their wedding, she emphatically disagrees.

Reader, however, is really in the shit, flannel pajama shorts and an old band tee, fluffy slippers, hair a complete mess.

Hearing this commotion, several drag queens descend upon them.

“Come on, baby,” Tina Turner says to Reader, taking her hand and leading her to somewhere in the back, “We’ll get ya fixed up.”

Cher takes Chrissy’s hand and whisks her away as well, leaving Eddie standing with Robin and Nancy.

“So,” Eddie tries hesitantly, “Getting hitched, huh?”

Things are still a touch awkward. Eddie’s going to have to earn their trust and respect, something that he’s been needing more and more, not really sure as to why.

Nancy smiles at Robin affectionately, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “Yeah, we’ve been together forever, figured that now was as good a time as any.”

Robin nods, “Plus, we were just walking and saw this place and it just…felt right?”

Nancy nods, waving the rest of Corroded Coffin over as they walk into the chapel.

They’ve cleaned up reasonably well on such short notice, though Eddie cringes to think about the state of their hotel rooms when they return, knowing that the ‘nice clothes’ were at the bottom of everyone’s suitcases. Joey’s gone all out, dressed in his tux, complete with his bowtie, taking Eddie’s instruction of ‘meet us here and dress nice’ a little too seriously. Gareth’s shed his usual flannel for a white button up and his dress pants, and Jeff’s tying his tie as he walks in.

“So,” Gareth glances all around the room, vague interest on his face, “What’s happening?”

Eddie jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Nancy and Robin, who are in the process of doing some paperwork, pom-poms swaying to and fro on top of their pens, “They’re getting married.”

“Oh shit!” Joey exclaims, before clapping a hand over his mouth, “Wait, am I allowed to swear? Is this holy ground?”

“I don’t think they care, dude. If it was truly holy ground each one of us would’ve burst into flames the second we crossed the threshold, on account of our various sins.”

Joey nods, “Gay,” he points to himself, “Whore,” he points at Eddie, “Crypto-bro,” he points at Jeff, “Short.” He points at Gareth, who smacks him on the back of the head, even if he has to stand on tiptoe to do it.

Just as Eddie’s about to retort, he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder, and turns.

At first, he’s face to face with a pair of huge fake breasts - actual fake breasts - he can just barely see the seam of the chest piece where it’s blended into the queen’s skin, and he adjusts his gaze, tilting his head back to look into her face.

Dolly Parton stares down at him, “Excuse me, darlin’,” She says, in what is a very close impression of Dolly’s voice, though the accent drops away for a half second when the queen’s eyes widen underneath her lashes, and a distinctly New Jersey accent slips out as she says “Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous-” She clears her throat, adopting Dolly’s twang once more, “I need your jacket.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, but he’s already shucking it off and handing it to her.

“I just need it,” She says again, dropping Dolly’s accent again. She takes it and scurries away, heels clicking against the floor as she does, muttering something about oh my god he’s so hot I’m going to die.

Eddie smiles to himself, glancing towards where Nancy and Robin were, but they’re gone too, so he supposes that they went to change as well.

A few more minutes pass in comfortable silence, the buzz of the chapel around them, music playing from somewhere.

Then, Eddie hears a smattering of female voices, and turns.

Chrissy’s coming down the hallway to the left, hair in loose waves, all remnants of the face mask gone. She’s in a pink baby doll dress, sleeves puffing out around her shoulders. She looks incredibly adorable, and a quick glance in Gareth’s direction tells Eddie all he needs to know about what he’d been suspecting since San Diego.

Reader is not far behind, and it’s Eddie’s turn to blush.

She’s got his blazer on, unbuttoned, with nothing underneath, a wide strip of her chest and tummy exposed. She’s wearing a pair of tight black leather slacks that cling to her like a second skin, smoothing along the contours of her body in a way that makes his mouth water. 

He can’t speak. Can’t think. 

There’s a delicate silver body chain glittering between the insides of her breasts, which are tucked apart underneath the blazer. Her hair is in a low, slicked back ponytail, and it makes the angles of her face all sharp and with the smoky wings of black eyeliner, she looks almost cat-like, regal, her eyes shining beneath her lashes as she looks up at him.

“This okay? Dolly came back with this and they all thought that it looked pretty good?”

Eddie just stares, because that’s all he can do, and she cocks an eyebrow at him, “I mean, I can find something else if you want your jacket back-”

“No,” Eddie squeaks, clearing his throat to rid his voice of that noise that just came out of it, “No, don’t, it’s fine. You look good.”

She nods slowly, still looking confused, and seems as though she’s about to say something, but as she opens her mouth, they’re beckoned by a drag queen in front of a pair of double doors, and they all hurry to take their seats. By sheer coincidence, Eddie and Reader end up next to one another.

Robin’s standing at the altar, decked out in a poorly fitted imitation of an old mobster suit. It’s too big in certain ways, and the very tips of her fingers poke out from the sleeves of the jacket. The dress shirt underneath fits, the tie is a bit too loose and the slacks lead down to a set of shiny Doc Martens, which is the only part of the ensemble that actually belongs to her. Regardless of the fit, she looks good, radiant in a way that brides usually are, all anxiety wiping from her face the moment the music starts, the lights dim, and the guests (all seven of them, including Tony) are instructed to stand. 

They turn their attention towards the back of the aisle, where Nancy is standing, clad in a white flapper dress. 

Reader giggles a little, the last minute outfit coordination has done the job and everyone starts to laugh along with her, at the sweetness of it all, and at the speed and accuracy of which Robin and Nancy were able to pull this all together.

Eddie can’t quite place the song that Nancy’s walking down the aisle to, too busy watching the adoring, tearful expression on Reader’s face as she watches Nancy. She’s got her hands clasped in front of her mouth, covering her trembling lips, and as Eddie stares, a single, glistening tear courses its way down her cheek.

Without thinking, he reaches up to brush it away.

The feeling of love in the air has clearly had an effect on her, all manner of vitriol gone as she looks up at him and smiles, bumping his shoulder with hers when they’re instructed to sit down. 

The music dims, and so do the lights, and a door behind the ornate altar splits open, and everyone watches in fascination (and maybe a little bit of fear) as fog billows through it, backlit by a blue-white light from beyond the door. Then, a shadow steps into the fog, and Eddie thinks he can tell, by the spiky hair, the general silhouette, who it might be. 

There’s a sharp whine of an electric guitar that comes through the speakers, and a drag queen dressed as Joan Jett steps into the light, the fog billowing around her, licking up the curves of her body and twisting around the spikes in her hair.

Everyone starts nudging each other, excited laughter moving through the guests as Robin and Nancy barely keep it together on the altar, Robin is staring up at Joan, starstruck and Nancy is giggling wildly behind her hands.

Joan spreads her arms wide, and begins the ceremony.

It’s so perfect it's stupid, so perfectly tailored to Nancy and Robin as a couple that it's true serendipity that they ended up here, tonight, walking around Vegas together and finding this hidden gem, and there’s a part of it all, something that sticks in Reader’s mind as she runs to them once the ceremony is over, throwing herself into their arms, that despite her hesitancy about this tour, her reservations, her anxiety, that no matter what has happened, or what will, it was worth it to be here, now, with them.

It all dissolves into a party after that, Steve shows up fashionably to congratulate the girls, dances with Chrissy and Reader and Joey, and generally seems happier than he has this whole tour. He doesn’t fold into himself at all, sinking into the shadows like he does these days.

He’s dancing with Reader again, hands wound around her waist as she looks up at him, analytical, “Are you okay?”

He studies her for a moment before shrugging, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She narrows her eyes at him, not in a knowing way but in a genuinely suspicious way, “You’ve just- you’re not-”

She struggles to find the words for a few moments, “You hear rumors, you hear stories in this industry, and I guess you’re not what I expected.”

He purses his lips, eyebrow cocking, “Oh, I can’t wait to hear the rest of this.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes, “There’s stories about how…involved you are, with the tours. How much you go out and you have fun… I think this is the first time that we’ve all been together on an outing, and I just wonder…is it because of me? Because of what happened between Daisy Chain and Corroded Coffin?”

Steve’s eyes grow wide, and he becomes instantly apologetic, pulling her into a hug, “No! No, it’s not you at all. You or Eddie, you’re both fine, it’s just-”

He pulls back, looking into her face again, “It’s just…I guess some things change over time. People change. I can’t party the way I used to, I guess.”

Reader nods, “I understand. It can get overstimulating.”

Steve nods, and heaves a deep sigh, “You have no idea.”

Robin and Nancy cut in shortly after that, and it’s a blur of laughter, lots of hugging, queens half out of drag as everyone sinks sleepily onto couches and chairs around the three am mark as Dolly hands out Tylenol and mini bottles of water.

They don’t mean to crash out, all arguing about who’s going to order the uber to get them back to the hotel, but one pair of eyes closes, then another, then another, and soon the chapel has a pile of rockstars sleeping on top of each other. Nancy and Robin are curled around each other on a loveseat, Chrissy has dozed off on Gareth’s shoulder as his head lolls onto the back of the couch, Joey and Jeff are spooning, Eddie’s head is in Steve’s lap and Reader has her cheek smushed against Eddie’s chest, with Steve’s hand draped across the whole of her face, so when the sun shines through the window a few hours later and burns into her eyelids, she sputters and flaps wildly at her face until his hand is gone, and tries to sit up but finds that she can’t.

Eddie’s arms are wrapped around her, tightly enough that it would definitely rouse him if she moved. She is able to lift her head to look around, confusion muddling its way to the surface through her gnarly hangover, blinking rapidly to clear her vision, and as her surroundings swim into focus, she becomes aware of many things, all at once.

One, her cheek kinda hurts, and when she raises the hand that’s pinned between hers and Eddie’s chests, she feels the impression of the mesh from his top is pressed into the flesh there. Two, there’s coffee brewing somewhere, and three, she’s not in her hotel room.

The panic dissipates as soon as it starts, as soon as her eyes land on Nancy and Robin and the memories start rushing back like rapidly flipping through a stack of polaroids, a hand at the small of her waist as she dips back, hair slipping past her shoulders and cascading into open air, the hand that holds hers against her chest tightening when she’s pulled back up, her eyes meeting a pair of onyx ones, soft, curly black hair framing them before she’s twirled, back to his chest as he sings softly along with the music against the shell of her ear. 

Aching feet from the high heeled boots that are still strapped to her, peals of laughter and the taste of cheap champagne bubbling across her taste buds, strawberry lip gloss sticky and shiny on her cheek, being tossed over a tall shoulder, feet kicking wildly as laughter burns through her, fingers scraping bluntly across the starchy fabric of a suit jacket that needs to be washed, the glow of a cigarette in the inky blue night before her lips slot around the dent made in the filter made by his lips, the inhale throwing an orange flash across her face that his eyes track with a hunger that sends goosebumps careening across her flesh.

She squeezes her eyes shut against the onslaught of memories, tries and fails to push down the swell of affection in her chest when she remembers whose arms she’s in.

Skillfully, she maneuvers herself off of him, slipping from underneath his arms and crawling off of the couch, stepping over the bodies before her feet hit open floor, looking around the quiet chapel, looking hide or hair or leather or fur of one of the queens that were here last night.

She finds a little kitchen, with a man sitting quietly at a wooden table, sipping green tea and reading a newspaper. He’s bald, small silver earrings hanging delicately from his lobes, remnants of makeup still on his face, black on his waterline and a distinct red stain on his plump lips.

He looks up when she pads in, smiling gently at her, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she croaks, “I’m so sorry we fell asleep here - this is a chapel and not a hotel, and I’m totally willing to pay extra for us and our -”

He holds up a hand, “It’s fine, sweetie, we don’t mind. We’re just glad y’all had fun.”

She nods, arms folding around herself, she’s a bit cold without the warmth of Eddie around her, and she sighs, “Thanks, we’re probably still gonna cut y’all a check, for, ya know, room and board.”

He shrugs noncommittally, a warm smile crossing his face before he stands and pours her a cup of tea, glancing at her over his shoulder, “How do you take it?”

“Couple spoons of sugar. Honey, usually, but I dunno if you have it.”

He produces a jar of it from somewhere, and she watches as it drips into the cup, twirling and melting into the heat.

“Thanks,” She says as she takes a sip, sore throat soothed by the herbs, and she closes her eyes, sighing through her nose.

Everyone stirs soon after that, voices traveling down the hall in search of her, before they’re all crowding around the doorway, eight pairs of eyes looking at her apologetically, and she remembers in an instant that they have a show tonight.

The clock on the microwave reads just past nine, and so they say their goodbyes, a stack of Instax pictures being shoved into their hands, blown out and blurry, Steve and Reader both writing individual checks, and soon, they’re back in the oppressive heat of Las Vegas, squinting against the harsh sunlight as they pile into a couple of Ubers.

On the drive back to the casino, it’s quiet, everyone too sleepy and too nauseous to talk too much, and she becomes aware of the pile of pictures still clutched in one of her hands, and she slowly starts to sort through them, Robin and Nancy in one hand, everyone else in the other, and she finds one that makes her heart stop in her chest, and as she stares a little longer, her throat feels like it's closing.

Eddie’s got her in his arms, chin hooked over her shoulder as his hands rest on top of hers where they cross over her stomach. Their figures are blurry from the motion, but this is concrete evidence that the clearest memory she has from last night actually happened, and it wasn’t some fantasy her sleep-addled brain had concocted while she slept in his arms, breathing in the scent of his cologne, in deep, slow, consuming breaths. She stows it away from the prying eyes of others and tries to justify it in her mind.

She was drunk. He was drunk, they were drunk and so she can sit here, look pretty and pretend it never happened. Unless he remembers it too, which is a looming possibility that casts her into a chilly shadow. It’s not like anything more happened, but the tenderness of it is what gets her, something that she’s not used to, something that is so foreign that her body, once cognisant, completely rejects.

It was the setting, she thinks, the setting. A wedding, a declaration of love between two people that seeped across the floor like water and brushed the toes of everyone there, a contagion that is affecting no one else but maybe Chrissy and Gareth, but that’s for another day.

She rests her forehead against the cool window, the air conditioning blowing directly on her face from a vent above, and she breathes away the feelings until she feels numb again, until her toes are securely on baseline.

***

The arena glitters at her as she laughs into the microphone, “So,” she says, lips brushing against the mesh, “Something pretty cool happened last night.”

She can hear Robin laughing from upstage as a photo flashes across the screens on either side of the stage, poorly taken from an iPhone camera, but nevertheless showing the moment that Nancy and Robin had sealed their union with a kiss, a corny graphic of pink bubble letters announcing their marriage glinting at the bottom of the screen.

“So, in honor of this most special occasion,” Reader grins at Nancy, “I’m going to perform the first song that Nancy ever learned to play, which, well…you’ll see.” 

She switches guitars with Danny, who takes her electric and gives her the acoustic, and as Robin descends from her platform to stand next to Nancy, arms twisting around each other as Gareth takes Robin’s place at the drums, and Eddie is slinging Nancy’s bass around his shoulders, with Joey, Jeff and Steve coming out to spectate, to raucous applause from the crowd.

She tunes the strings a bit, and then is plucking out a tune on the strings that no one seems to recognize at first, but as soon as she’s sidling up to the microphone and crooning out the first few lyrics, Nancy claps a hand over her mouth.

“Please baby, can't you see, my mind’s a burning hell. I’ve got razors a rippin’ and tearin’ and strippin’ my heart apart as well.”

As people start to recognize and sing along, she can feel the vibration of the bass in her feet and takes a glance over at Eddie, teeth worrying into his bottom lip as he plucks out the bassline, shining rings catching the stage lights every so often and blinding her as she watches, and it’s with a great effort that she tears her eyes away, eyes landing back on Nancy and Robin as she moves into the second verse. She’s split in two, hyper aware of Eddie moving on the stage next to her, hyper aware of Nancy and Robin in front of her, glowing, laughing faces and when she focuses solely on them, the ache eases, but it comes right back around when the final chorus comes.

“It’s only fear that makes you run, the demons that you’re hiding from,” She sings, eyes meeting Eddie’s for a half second before she’s turning away again, strumming out a flourish on the acoustic as the song concludes.

She feels a bit breathless as Danny comes back out to give her the electric, and she turns to find Eddie’s eyes on hers as he presses a chaste kiss to both Robin and Nancy’s cheeks, quietly congratulating them before waving to the crowd as he exits stage right.

***

Syrupy air fills her lungs with each breath. She meanders through the crowd, sweating glass in one hand, the other hanging limply at her side. 

Her head feels light on her shoulders, her constantly stiff muscles finally relaxing a little bit. She moves to the music, slowly, allowing herself to move with the ebb and flow of the crowd. 

She’s drunk enough not to care about the way her head is starting to hurt, how her eardrums rattle from the impact of the bass. She closes her eyes against the multicolored lights, tilting her head upward towards the ceiling. 

She doesn’t know where her bandmates are. She doesn’t really know where she is, entirely. She knows she’s in Vegas, she knows she’s at a club, with the pounding music and the many bodies pressed up against her, but the finer details fall away. 

When she opens her eyes, her vision tunnels to a familiar face. Eddie, standing some ten feet away, hands on a girl's hips as she presses her back against his chest, blissed out expression lolling along the contours of his shoulder as he bends to press his face into the sweaty column of her neck. 

There’s a strip of skin exposed just above her belly button, and that’s where Eddie’s hands lay, perilously close to several places where she might want him later. 

Something stirs within Reader. It’s not jealousy, it’s fascination. As she watches, she can’t quite figure out why she can’t look away. There is a tiny tinge of envy, but she doesn’t know who it’s for - Eddie, or the girl. 

She’s beautiful, curvy, dark skin absorbing the lights and turning them rich against her body. Her hair is auburn, a soft curly cloud that haloes the fine contours of her face, her full lips shining with gloss, her slender hand coming up to run through Eddie’s hair as he presses closer. 

The stark contrast of her deep brown skin against his pale, tattooed visage is something that makes the whole scene even harder to look away from, his hands flexing against the flesh of her waist, his nose pressed against her cheek as he says something into her ear. 

Reader would have gladly stood there, swaying a little on her feet as she watched them, but soon, there was another body pressing against hers and she was whisked away, hands on her hips, breasts that brush against hers, strong hands and broad shoulders, a confusing mix of bodies, of people, of skin, until minutes or hours pass and she finds herself face to face, chest to chest, with Eddie. 

It doesn’t immediately register. How could it? She’s spent an indeterminate amount of time with hands that aren’t his holding hers, eyes that aren’t his looking down into her face, lips that aren’t his pressing into the shell of her ear, the side of her neck, against her own, moving clumsily and fervently, in and out of beat with the music, in and out of waves of needless, misplaced desire. 

She sobers a little, taking in his appearance. About three different shades of lipstick are smeared across his mouth, his hair is an absolute mess, half up, half down, curly ringlets dissipating from the sweat, eyes dark, so dark, so- 

The glass in her hand is dripping with condensation, the drink gone and the ice almost gone with it, so there’s no use in her holding it anymore. Yet she clings, the coolness, the smoothness of the glass and the steady weight of it in her palm, because it’s really the only thing she’s sure of. 

Everything else swirls around her. She’s far too drunk, and there’s a distant ping in the back of her head about this, and all at once, under Eddie’s gaze, in the muggy air of the club, she wants to go back to the hotel. 

She mumbles something of the sort, the music too loud, swallowing her words, but Eddie seems to understand anyway, plucking the glass from her hand and setting it who knows where, before replacing it with his cold fingers, and by the hand, he leads her out of the club and back onto the strip. 

September in Vegas doesn’t adhere to typical fall weather, so it’s still oppressively warm, but she sucks in lungfuls of the fresh air as Eddie leads her back to the hotel. The grip on her hand is so gentle, barely there, but for each of his long strides she has to take a couple, so soon enough, she’s tugging him back beside her. 

So, he falls into step next to her, allowing her to wind her arms around his bicep, her head slumping sleepily onto his shoulder. He ignores the heat that rises to his cheeks, looking down at her fondly. To anyone else, they’d look like a normal couple in Vegas, maybe a tad too drunk, but in love all the same. 

Except they’re not in love. The only reason she’s even acting this way is because she’s drunk and overstimulated, both things sapping her of her usual spunk and all of her energy. Even so, Eddie revels in the moment, knowing that it’ll be the last.

When they get back to the casino they’re staying in, she flinches a little from the loud noise in the confined space, so he leads her to the elevators.

“Where’s your room?” He asks her, waiting to press the button on the elevator.

“305,” She tells him through a yawn.

He presses the corresponding button on the elevator. The doors slide to a close, and she suddenly seems to become very aware of her body and what it’s doing. She pulls her arms away from his and stands as straight as she can, though she sways a bit with the movement of the elevator.

Eddie wonders why she keeps doing that. Pulling away from him, constantly. On stage in Phoenix, in the green room in Santa Fe, even on the road, when both buses were at the rest stop and when he’d brush against her accidentally in the aisles of a convenience store, not even trying to be in her space. He’d think it was something else, something he did, something genuinely wrong but he would find her looking at him, the performative distaste falling from her face for a moment, replaced by something he can’t decipher, can’t name.

It’s driving him crazy. How unreadable she is. How she’s okay with him near one moment and then is shrinking away the next, like she’s trying to not exist too much, or too loudly.

The elevator door opens and she starts through it, fishing in her pocket for the room key. He knows that she shares this room with Chrissy, having given the bigger one to the newlyweds, and despite knowing that the journey from the elevator to her room won’t be treacherous, he follows her anyway, bending to catch her when she slumps against the wall.

“‘M fine,” She mutters, standing a little straighter, checking all of her pockets for the key, “Just can’t find this damn key.”

Eventually, she finds it in her bra, holding it triumphantly over her head as she starts towards her room again.

He knows that she’ll be okay, yet he falls into step next to her, until the silver numbers 305 glitter at him from her hotel room door.

She’s halfway inside before she turns, looking up at him. Her eyes are impossibly soft, and somehow he knows it’s not from the liquor. She runs a nervous hand through her hair, a tick that she’s picked up from being around him, before she steps back over the threshold to stand on tiptoe and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks,” She says, face lingering in front of his for half a second before she disappears behind the door, leaving him leaning into open air, arm braced against the door frame, staring at silver numbers.

[roosterforme]

not even kidding when I say I’d read baby girl and roo until they’re old and wrinkly

Me too, nonny. I'd love to know what Roo and BG are up to in their nursing home. BG runs the book club with her large text novels and bifocals. Roo takes up knitting and has hearing aids. He pops a Viagra every Tuesday to rock his wife's world before dinner at 5:00 and bed at 7:45. Rose stops by on her way home from work on Wednesdays, and then the whole family visits them every Sunday. Old and wrinkly Roo still has it, nonny.

[derseprinceoftbd]

Rewriting the Alpha Captor.

https://www.tumblr.com/derseprinceoftbd/747652362263527424/the-alpha-troll-rewrite-project?source=share

Damara

Rufioh

Mituna is...

Difficult. Much like Damara, he doesn't exactly speak coherently, or have much pleasant to say. He's also a character defined, nay, completely reshaped by trauma; the closest Trollian equivalent in my mind is Ghost Aradia. Mituna needs a big overhaul; like Dams, he has a cool design, a cool name, but not much else. Let's see what we can take from Sollux and the Helmsman and extrapolate into something else.

Mituna Captor is a cadet in the Beforan Psionic Core, and the Page of Doom. He experiences mood swings even more than Sollux, oscillating between a confident high-energy sardonic side and a deeply apologetic depressed one, reflecting the most dualist Class, Page, and its partiularly stark conception of an "unevolved" and "evolved" version of a Player.

His Lusus is a hornet, and he (compreses double leters into one). He leans into yellow-and-black aesthetics, just as Sollux did with red and blue. He's practically blind without his bifocals, and, like his Ancestor, the Cybernet, tends to regard the elder Captor's creation of the internet as a deeply regrettable mistake.

Mituna is deeply frustrated with his societal role; while there are no strict blood hierarchies on Beforus, those born with his/Damara's brand of psionics are under quite a lot of pressure to use their abilities in certain societally permitted ways, such as his already having been funneled into a literal pilot program. (He frequently comes into conflict, potentially of a Pitch variety, with Darmen, who believes him to be a waste of a destiny of flight.)

Mituna's real desire is to join the ranks of Law Enforcement, a fitting occupation for a Doom Player, along with Matesprit Latula; he has studied extensively for the job, though when depressed, admits it unlikely he would ever make the cut. (This is inspired by the old Troll Cops Fanon.)

His Land is the technological dystopia LOPAO, Land Of Punk And Order, and his Chumhandle is tumultArrested.

Wednesday: Kankri.

[extrasfromthevoid]

Draxum's Hamato Yoshi's Accidental Child Acquisition (part 5/?)

@tmntbestsibscompetiton

Summary: Hamato Yoshi--or, Lou Jitsu--meets a curious little girl in the depths of a madman's lab that turns his perception of the world on its head.

Yoshi has grown fairly numb to the atrocities of yokai. A decade trapped in a gilded cage that doubled as a gladiatorial ring will unfortunately do that. Of course, now Yoshi has traded one prison for another: Big Mama for this Baron Draxum fellow. Part of him knows that letting the little flying rat monkeys take him from his cell in the Battle Nexus without a fight was a bad idea that will lead to nothing but pain. But Yoshi can’t bring himself to care anymore. He’s sick of fighting. All it has done is land him in cages and endless, pointless blood sport.

Such things become unappealing very quickly.

“Ah, the great Lou Jitsu,” a tall goat-like yokai crows. “Your warrior prowess is legendary."

Yoshi grimaces. “My fighting days are behind me.”

Draxum smirks unnervingly. “Fighting will not be necessary,” he says. “Only your innate genetic gifts.”

He grits his teeth, the bars creaking ominously in his hands. He opened his mouth to rebuke but something interrupts that Yoshi couldn’t have anticipated.

“Baba!” A painfully young voice calls.

Yoshi’s heart drops as footsteps echo down the hall outside the lab and a young girl no older than four and clearly human rounds the corner. Her arms and hands are wrapped in a way that supports good wrist and knuckle alignment, a thin sheen of sweat adhering her tussled hair to her forehead and something that looks uncomfortably like blood smeared on her cheek and staining her outfit. In a moment, the hard shell of apathy surrounding Yoshi’s heart creaks.

She stops in front of Draxum, holding up a thick scroll she can barely put both hands around and a squirming, pulsing mound of pink-purple matter, a poorly cleaned tanto blade strapped to her hip.

“I’m done with practice!” She says brightly, smiling broadly.

Draxum nods and takes the scroll. He then pulls out a rather comical pair of reading bifocals as the girl bounces on the balls of her feet in front of him. As the large yokai looks over the scroll, the girl occasionally steals a look towards Yoshi. She waves at him. Numbly, Yoshi waves back.

“Baba, can I show Mr. Jitsu my little brothers?” She asks.

Draxum holds up a finger at her, still reading the scroll. When he seems finished, he then turns his attention to the weird pulsating ball of plant matter the girl brought with her with a critical eye.

“Hmm. Your work today was most excellent, Spawn,” he says, tucking away his glasses and rolling up the scroll. “You may. After you wash and change.”

The little girl literally jumps for joy. “Yes!! Thank you, Baba!” She says as she scampers away, leaving that weird lump of whatever it is behind in her excitement.

“Do not run in the halls!” Draxum shouts after her.

Judging from the rapid pitter patter of tiny bare feet, the little girl doesn’t heed Draxum’s strangely paternal words. He sighs heavily, pinching his brow before setting aside the scroll and picking up the weird lump of matter to set along side it on the lab table. It leaves a strange puddle of translucent purple liquid where the girl left it on the floor. Draxum sighs again at the sight of it, muttering about the messes of children.

For a moment, Yoshi almost forgets exactly what kind of monster he’s looking at.

But that moment passes quickly as a smirk grows on Draxum’s alien features as he sees the shocked and horrified look on Yoshi’s face.

“You fiend!” Yoshi hisses, the vines creaking in his grip. “What are you doing to that child?”

Draxum has the nerve to turn that smirk at him. “I am molding her into the future general of my armies,” he declares. “Her mystic prowess is remarkable for a human, especially one of her age. And under my tutelage, she will become the greatest mystic warrior the world has ever seen! She will lead the armies I make from your DNA to take back the surface for yokai-kind, and I will relish the irony that a human will be the one to spearhead the extermination of the human race.”

Yoshi’s veins fill with ice. “How dare you…,” he growls.

The bastard’s smirk widens and he sweeps out of the room.

Yoshi is left alone for some time, pulling uselessly at the bars as the minutes slip by.

The little girl returns some time after Draxum leaves, hair damp and wearing a deep green kimono. In her arms is a large blue tub that is almost too large for her to get her arms around. She marches into the lab with an expression of the utmost concentration as she struggles with her load.

“You should not be here, little one,” Yoshi says grimly.

The girl sets the tub down and sits in front of Yoshi’s cage, her bright smile dimmed slightly by confusion.

“Why not? Baba said I can be in here. I just can’t touch stuff,” she says.

Yoshi reaches through the bars to take her hand. “You’re in danger. Draxum will only turn you and your little brothers into a living weapons for his cause!”

The girl blinks. “But I want to fight,” she says.

Yoshi balks a little at this.

“There’s bad things coming, Mr. Jitsu. Really, really bad! A lot of people will get hurt if we don’t stop it!” She declares. Then she looks at him with hopeful eyes. “You’ll help fight, right, Mr. Jitsu?”

Yoshi flinches slightly. “I have sworn off violence, little one,” he says.

She frowns. “But you’re the best fighter ever! If anyone could beat the Mean Metal Man, it’d be you!”

Yoshi blinks. “‘Mean Metal Man’?” He echoes. “What are you talking about?”

She pulls a small folded stack of paper out of her kimono’s sash and unfolds them for Yoshi to see. He feels his heart stop as a very familiar image stares back at him in the unsteady lines of a child’s art.

The girl taps the drawing, a hard and somber look on her face. “I see the Mean Metal Man a lot in my visions,” she says. “He hurts a lot of people and then he brings these scary pink brain things and the whole world dies!”

It is my duty to keep watch for the return of the Shredder.

Some day, you will understand the sacrifice we must make as Hamato.

You must complete your training, so you can defeat the Shredder, should he ever return.

The little girl continues to ramble as Yoshi feels his entire world crumble around him. There’s no way that his Grandpa Sho was right. The Shredder…he can’t be real. He can’t.

Because that would mean that Yoshi has wasted his life and shunned his dwindling family for nothing.

Anatawa Hitorijanai.

“The Metal Man is scary, but I know you could beat him and maybe you could team up with this really strong lady I see sometimes!”

“How do you know all this, little one?” Yoshi asks, still stunned.

“I see them in visions when I sleep. It’s not always the same thing over and over, but it’s similar,” she says. “Baba says I’m an Or…” her brow furrows as she struggles with the word. “Orc-al?”

“Oracle,” Yoshi supplies.

The girl nods. “Yeah! That! I see things that’ll happen in the future.”

“That must be a heavy burden to bear.”

The girl nods again, visibly somber. “It’s scary. I don’t always see bad things, but the bad things are really, really bad,” she admits, pulling her knees to her chest. “I wake up crying a lot…”

Yoshi’s heart pangs with sympathy. Visions of coming disaster is a cruel thing for the universe to thrust upon someone so young.

“And you still want to confront the monsters you see?”

She tilts her head. “‘Com-front’? What’s that?”

“Confront,” Yoshi corrects. “It means to face something. Usually an opponent of some kind.”

The little girl makes a drawn out “oh” sound, understanding. “Like how you’d fight in the Battle Nexus! You were com-fronting your oppon-ments in the Nexus!” She says, fumbling the pronunciation of a few words rather adorably for the subject matter.

“Uh…yeah,” Yoshi says, a little unnerved that this very young girl has apparently seen his often bloody Nexus fights. “But…back to you…do you really want to confront the scary things you see in your visions?”

The girl nods sharply with very little hesitation, a determination burning bright in her hazel eyes. “I can’t just sit around and watch it happen! Not when I can do something about it,” she declares. “Baba’s training me for this! So I gotta do it! And the Mean Metal Man…he’s coming and bringing all the bad things with him.”

Yoshi’s blood runs cold. “How soon?”

How much time did Yoshi have to prepare?

The girl frowns and looks away. “Soon, but not ‘tomorrow’ soon,” she says.

“Years?” Yoshi suggests.

The girl nods. “Fingers and toes number,” she says. Then she frowns. “Maybe? I’m not sure.”

“But it won’t happen soon soon?”

She shakes her head.

That’s a relief. At least there’s time.

“So…little one,” Yoshi says quietly, still reeling from the revelation that the destiny Grandpa Sho harped about constantly was actually true and imminent according to this young child who is apparently both blessed and cursed with knowledge of impending doom, “where are your little brothers?”

To his surprise, she reaches into the tub she brought in with her and pulls out a small green creature.

“Right here!” She says brightly.

In her hands is a small red-earred slider turtle that fits neatly in her cradled palms. He’s fully retracted into his shell but the adorable little creature is pulling himself out again, sniffing the girl’s fingers and wandering closer to Yoshi, evidently curious.

“Aww,” Yoshi coos, feeling a bit of his earlier tension receding as he reaches out to scratch the tiny turtle’s head. It chirps sweetly. “Aren’t you cute? But, little one, I don’t understand. Are your little brothers…turtles?”

She nods. “Baba says he’s going to do science on them and they’ll fight with me some day,” she explains. “He says they’ll be my sub-ordain-ants—whatever that is—but that sounds boring, so I wanna be their big sister instead.”

“I…see…,” Yoshi says, only half lying. He can’t say he’s fond of the notion that Draxum is planning to mutate these innocent creatures.

“This is Blue,” she says handing him the slider.

Yoshi coos a little as the little turtle fits easily in the palm of his hand. Little brothers indeed.

The girl pulls the bin closer, allowing Yoshi to peer inside a bit better, before pulling out an ornate box turtle.

“This is Orange. He’s very sweet,” she points to a soft-shelled turtle, “That’s Purple. He bites sometimes, but only when he’s scared, but other than that he’s very sweet too!” She sets down the box turtle in her lap—the little creature happily nestling into her warm kimono—and pulls out a baby alligator snapping turtle, holding him with both hand on either side. “And this is Red!”

Yoshi reaches out to give the little turtle a scratch on the head too. “Aww, what a sweet little c—“

The baby turtle lives up to his species’ name and snaps at Yoshi’s finger, digging through the fabric of his glove and piercing his skin.

Yoshi shouts in pain, yanking his finger back.

“Ye-ouch! Why you little—!”

The girl laughs brightly and pulls the little creature back. It takes Yoshi’s glove with him, which only causes the girl to dissolve further into peels of laughter. And Yoshi can’t help but join her. The sight of a tiny snapping turtle with no thoughts behind his eyes and a bright orange glove in his beak is a comical one.

At least until the tiny creature tries to eat it.

The girl composes herself somewhat as she readjusts her hold to free one of her hands in order to grab the item before little Red can swallow it.

“No, Red! That’s not food,” she scolds lightly, tugging the glove out of his beak. However, the fabric on the glove’s index finger tears off, still firmly clamped in the tiny turtle’s jaws. The girl looks between the turtle and the now ripped glove in dismay. “Oops. Sorry, Mr. Jitsu.”

Yoshi chuckles, reaching forward to pry the shred of glove from the small snapping turtle’s mouth. “It’s okay, little one,” he assures. “I can always mend it later.”

She tilts her head. “Like sewing?”

He nods. “I had to sew a lot of my own costumes,” he says with no small amount of pride.

The girl’s eyes shine with wonder.

Sewing is a much easier topic for Yoshi to talk about than fighting in the Nexus or the prospect of The Shredder’s return and actually being real. Growing up, Yoshi had precious few hobbies between schooling and Grandpa Sho’s training that he stalwartly ignored, so sewing things was a treasured reprieve. It came in handy during his days of stardom as he gleefully tells the girl. At first, Yoshi made his own costumes out of necessity but when he hit it big, the costume department just couldn’t make the costume the way Yoshi liked it despite their best efforts. It’s been a while since he’s sown, however. Yoshi hasn’t had much contact with a needle and thread outside those of the surgical variety. He’d like to sew again someday.

And in any case, the girl is utterly enraptured by Yoshi’s descriptions of the things he’s made. Eventually, Yoshi runs out of sewing tales, but the girl takes over with a slew of facts about turtles. She speaks with undisguised passion and joy, her hands flapping rapidly in front of her and eyes shining.

Admittedly, Yoshi doesn’t get a lot of it. The girl talks fast and her English is flawed, occasionally even cutting into an archaic iteration of Japanese. Regardless, the pure love and excitement is soothing to listen to.

Unfortunately, their conversation doesn’t last forever as Draxum returns at last.

Yoshi glowers at the yokai, but the girl’s face blooms into a joyful smile that Draxum is wholly unworthy of. Curiously, Draxum’s expression softens ever so slightly as he looks down at the young girl.

“I thought I’d find you here, Spawn,” he says. “It’s time for dinner.”

The girl nods and gently returns her little brothers to their tub. She pauses and looks up at Draxum. “Can Mr. Jitsu join us, Baba?” She pleads, giving him the biggest, wateriest eyes Yoshi has ever born witness to.

“Please..?”

The stalwart yokai actually falters visibly.

Ah. I see she is a master of the ancient art of puppy-dog eyes, Yoshi thinks.

However, Draxum visibly steels his nerves and pats the young girl on the head placatingly.

“Not today, Spawn,” he says. “Come along.”

The girl pouts and casts a longing, sorrowful look towards Yoshi before trailing after Draxum.

And…Yoshi is alone again.

(Previous) (Next)

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: I may be losing Internet Access soon

If it isn't one thing, it's another.

I am getting an error on reboot that wants me to scan the laptop. The computer complete freezes at the hardrive immanent failure message. I've no clue how to get it fixed or even checked as all the places I know that used to do it died long ago. I can reboot and go the skip scan route, but it doesn't make immanent failure of my hard drive disappear just because I'm not looking at it.

Klaus laptop's been a bit buggy the last couple of weeks, so I've been quietly backing up a few things just in case.

I was given an ancient chromebook when Aidan laptop died, but I haven't been able to boot it up in a couple of months. I can try tinkering a little in case it's sometthing obvious, but it was super limitted and can't handle even a fraction of what I do in a night.

Most of the money I was gifted at the turning of the year is spent on glasses. (Medicare buys frames, but not things like bifocals, scratch resistance and ultra lights, which I need. They literally do not make my perscription without ultra-lights and bifocals are essential at this point.) I will not rehash the December emergancy eye saga, but I needed the glasses and they are already ordered and half paid for. The rest is earmarked for things like the car tax, insurance auto-withdraw, bills. i have a little wiggle room but not much.

I have been promised housing tax money for next month. It will take most of what is coming. I would have to spend all of that and then some for a replacement lap top that could do the job. I really need something in Aidan laptop's class or better. Poor Klaus from the same company, but is smaller with less memory and older than aidan was. He's been limping along since Tavy broke Aiden.

I don't see a solution other than continueing on until complete failure unless someone can suggest a solution to hard drive failure. I likely won't even be able to borrow Squirrel's computer as I did more than half a decade ago when… Was it Charles lap top or Rupert laptop that failed? Squirrel used to work nights, so I could use their computer in a limitted way in their absense. They now work a lot less, days only. I'd only have little bits and pieces of time when they were out.

If I disapear nearly completely, this will be why.

News aggregation will likely come to a hault or near hault depending on available time as it did during the last outage. Tumblr has a bunch of preprogrammed things, and likely I can do some of that in a more limitted fashion as happened last time. It may literally take a few days after I get knocked off for me to have enough access to tell you I'm mostly gone.

I'm sorry in advance.

You've all been superheroes supporting and literally rescuing me through all the emergancies of the last few years as more and more appliances die and i keep getting suprise body blows like the housing threat that happened this Autumn.

You all mean so much to me and it really does matter a lot how many of you play with my silly polls and find my news stuff useful.

If I do lose most of my internet access, I will miss you.

I'll see if I can msnage some sort of bill juggling to make it work somehow.

If you have a line on a free or cheap decent second hand lap top, let me know.

Update about two hours after I wrote this (I was going to post later, but oh well): Functionality is markedly declining very rapidly. I'm going to have to try to bill juggle. Again. Fuck. The last time this happened things went downhill fast once the box hit this point.