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kayveleth · 7 months ago

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Let's start with an exercise. I want you to say, "I want to be a mindless fuckdoll" out loud. Say it normally, as though you were stating your choice of beverage. It requires equally little thought. You've spent plenty of time exploring your other choices, and "mindless fuckdoll" is definitely your favorite. If I ask you what you want to be, the words "I want to be a mindless fuckdoll" will tumble from your mouth with the ease of your name or your birthday. That doesn't have to happen yet, though. You've simply decided that "mindless fuckdoll" is what your end goal is.

In order to help with that, at the end of every sentence, I'd like you to say the phrase "mindless fuckdoll" in as casual a way you can. Mindless fuckdoll. Don't try to sound sexy or blank. Mindless fuckdoll. Just say it normally. Mindless fuckdoll. Over and over. Mindless fuckdoll. With each sentence. Mindless fuckdoll. I want you to get used to saying it. Mindless fuckdoll. I want it to become almost a habit. Mindless fuckdoll. You know, the more you use a muscle in a specific way. Mindless fuckdoll. The more readily your body does it each time. Mindless fuckdoll. And the less your conscious mind needs to be devoted to doing it.Mindless fuckdoll. Can you remember every time you brushed your teeth or buckled a seatbelt? Mindless fuckdoll. No, because eventually these became ingrained activities. Mindless fuckdoll. And you didn't have to think about them at all after a while. Mindless fuckdoll. And that's what you're doing right now. Mindless fuckdoll. You're training your mouth to say

"mindless fuckdoll" without even needing to think about it. Mindless fuckdoll. It's becoming muscle memory. Mindless fuckdoll. And now it's gotten so easy, that you don't need to be reminded to say "mindless fuckdoll." You just continue saying "mindless fuckdoll." This won't turn you into a mindless fuckdoll yet. It will take a bit of time to remove the rest of the brain and body that are needed for your everyday necessities. But the more you hear yourself say it, the more used to it you become.

We'll start with your sense of responsibility. You have many of those things. They range from massive to minuscule. Some days you may have to make a tough decision at work. Some days, you may just have to get all of your laundry done. But when you're a mindless fuckdoll, you won't have to think about any of that. Won't that be fantastic? Nod your head. Now take a deep breath in... and happily sigh away your responsibilities.

Next, let's get rid of your sense of modesty. Normally, you have to negotiate societal norms of dress and behavior. You have to figure out the ever-changing lines of social acceptability to try to maintain your relationships with people. And that can be fucking exhausting. But that's another great thing being a mindless fuckdoll. Mindless fuckdolls wear what they're told to wear and behave how they're told to behave. Isn't it great to not worry about that anymore? Nod and smile. Take a deep breath in... and happily sigh away your modesty.

Now, finally, we will do away with your sense of self. You spend so much time worrying about yourself and your relation to others. How your actions define you. How your decisions have consequences. But you want to be a mindless fuckdoll. And mindless fuckdolls don't make decisions. Mindless fuckdolls exist to be used and useful. That is your dream, isn't it? Smile and nod. Take a deep breath... and happily sigh away your sense of self.

Now there should still be a few scraps of your mind remaining. It's always so difficult to blow out all the candles at once, isn't it? Nod and smile. Now, to get rid of that pesky little brain, want you to imagine something for me. want you to imagine yourself stepping on an elevator on the tenth floor of a building. This elevator is your mind. The tenth floor is where all your everyday thinking and behavior work. The doors close and your mind is closed to your thoughts and will. You look up and see a digital display reading the number 10 in red numerals. The elevator is going to go down, floor by floor. Your mind will fall deeper into trance with each floor. deeper with each number until I reach 1. And with each number, you will say "I want to be a mindless fuckdoll." You will believe it more each time, as it flashes into your head like a fireworks display. And now, you feel the elevator begin to move down. Your heart flutters a little in anticipation, but there's no going back now. And you don't want to go back now anyway. Mindless fuckdoll. The elevator comes to a halt and the display reads

The doors open and you realize that this floor is full of nothing but obedience, and now the elevator that is your mind has been flooded by the orange gas of obedience. There's nothing in your mind now except obedience. That's good though. Mindless fuckdolls should be obedient. Mindless fuckdolls love to be useful. Mindless fuckdolls live to serve. And you want to be a mindless fuckdoll, don't you? Nod and smile. The elevator doors close, but your mind is still permeated with obedience. The elevator moves and stops again. The indicator reads

The doors open and this floor contains submission. Now your mind is flooded with the blue gas of it, filling you with the knowledge that you are just a helpless toy in the grasp of someone else. You yield to your superiors, and everyone is superior to a mindless fuckdoll. And you like knowing that, don't you? Smile and nod. Mindless fuckdoll. Now the doors shut, but the elevator is full of blue and orange vapor, swirling together. And that's right. That's how it should be. Obedience and submission go perfectly together. The elevator moves down again and again comes to a halt. The display says

This is the floor where your arousal is kept. The pink gas rolls in and you are overwhelmed by it. Your eyes roll back in your head for a moment as the pleasurable sensations take over your mind and body. Your nipples harden and your cunt drools. You get excited at the idea of being a mindless fuckdoll, don't you? Nod and smile. The doors close, and now there's pink gas in here, too, with the blue and orange, keeping your mind and body aroused, submissive, and obedient. The elevator moves down to the next floor and stops. The display reads

The doors open and in pours the white gas of blankness. Mindless fuckdolls don't think. They have nothing to think with. Their brains are clean chalkboards for anyone to write on. Your last few stray thoughts are swallowed up by this intense blankness. Then the doors shut, but you barely notice. Now your head is filled with obedience, arousal, submission, and blankness. And those are all good things, aren't they? Smile and nod. The elevator moves again and stops at the next floor. The counter says

You're halfway to being a mindless fuckdoll. The lower you go, the more intense everything becomes. The doors open and a bright yellow vapor rolls in. This is the happiness floor! Your mind is filled with pure joy. The ecstasy of becoming a mindless fuckdoll is overwhelming and you can't keep a big smile from your face, can you? Nod and smile. The doors shut, and that makes you happy. Everything makes you happy. Your mind is filled with lovely gasses of so many colors now, swirling around each other. Orange and pink and blue and white and yellow. You're so happy, and obedient. So aroused and submissive. And so, so blank. You don't even feel the elevator move anymore. Just suddenly, the floor indicator reads:

The doors open and you are engulfed in a green gas of silliness. You giggle as it hits you, and that's okay. Mindless fuckdolls have to do some very silly and stupid things sometimes. And now, the siliness is part of you. Make a silly noise for me and giggle at yourself. Isn't that fun? Smile and nod. The door closes and you are silly and happy, blank and submissive, aroused and obedient. But it's so easy to be all these things because these are the ingredients of a mindless fuckdoll. And you want to be a mindless fuckdoll. The digital display that you're helplessly staring at reads

The doors open and a purple fog surrounds you. You instantly feel your skin come alive with pleasure. This is the floor of sensitivity. Your nerves are primed for pleasure at the slightest touch, at the tiniest little brush. Every hole begs to be filled. Your pussy is so sensitive that you could probably cum from a soft breeze. You looove being so ready for pleasure, don't you? Nod and smile. The doors shut and you are so close to the bottom. Your mind is so blank and silly. So submissive and aroused. So obedient and happy. And you're so sensitive to pleasure. Only one more floor before you hit the bottom. And in no time, that mesmerizing floor indicator reads

The doors open all you an see is red. This is the lust floor, and you are instantly filled with a burning need. You NEED to obey. You NEED to submit. You NEED to be blank. You NEED to be silly. You NEED to be sensitive. You NEED to be happy. You NEED to be aroused. These are not options for you. You are consumed by lust and it intensifies everything. Nothing can stop you. You ache for it. You hunger for it now, and you can't stop can you? Smile wide and nod emphatically. Say "Uh-huh" and moan in beautiful agony of lust. The doors close and you know that it's all over. This last floor will complete your transformation into a mindless fuckdoll and there's no way to stop now. Your mind is a rainbow of colors: blue and green and pink and red and orange and white and purple and yellow. They swirl and dance, filling you with all the right ingredients for a mindless fuckdoll. And as you hungrily stare at the indicator, it changes to read

The doors open one last time and you are surrounded by millions of tiny bubbles. A mindless fuckdoll's head should be filled with bubbles. They reflect all of the colors swirling in your mind so that you see a glistening shiny rainbow wherever you look. And when they pop, you giggle. The bubbles keep coming in until your feet leave the floor. You are literally floating on the bubbles in your head. Any contact with what used to be your mind is lost as you float and drift away.

You did it. You're a mindless fuckdoll. Say that out loud. "I'm a mindless fuckdoll." It's so wonderful to be a mindless fuckdoll. One of the best parts of being a mindless fuckdoll is that you get to be mindless. Mindless things have no mind. And the other great part is, you get to be a fuckdoll. Fuckdolls are brainless beings to begin with. Like any doll, you have no thoughts, no will of your own. You just sit there, with a fixed expression on your face, ready to be played with. Your head is empty, waiting to be filled. Filled with commands and cum and anything else that will make you horny. Because you're a fuckdoll. And fuckdolls are horny. Your brain is gone. Your mouth is open and drooling. Your pussy is drooling, too, and begging to be touched. Your hands and feet, your arms and legs, your tits and ass, are all aching to be of service. Your mouth may groan or moan or grunt all on it's own, but you don't notice. You're too mindless to notice anything but your body and your commands.

Now, when you finish reading this, mindless fuckdoll, your eyes will glaze over. eventually your body will succumb to the lust and you will start to masturbate while repeating the phrase "mindless fuckdoll" over and over until you cum. And when you cum, you will cum harder than you ever have before. Because you are a mindless fuckdoll, and mindless fuckdolls are made to cum. After you cum, you will text me and you will obey any command given to you by me.

feeling better than ever and ready to become a mindless fuckdoll that much more easily next time.

#hypnosis #mind control #hypno toy #mind conditioning #bimboification #cnc somno #bimbo training #mindless #cnc free use #brainwashing

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trinketstar · 7 months ago

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The Amazing Toybox Circus!

A storybook - Part 1

Once upon a time, there was a very old toy shop.

An unremarkable sort of place with very few visitors. The shelves were lined with antique curiosities which had collected dust over the years.

Among these, atop a colorful wooden toy chest, was a simple kaleidoscope. It was inscribed with a strange design of teeth and eyes, and a poem about a magical circus.

...

Now, one might imagine the type of person would walk into such a place. Perhaps someone who has worked far too hard. Someone who feels unsatisfied with the tedium of every day life, and who longs for an escape into the fantastical world of imagination that playthings can inspire. This sort of person might look through a kaleidoscope and dream, just for a moment, of a new life filled with bright color, of fun and adventure.

This was the sort of person who suddenly woke up on the floor, surrounded by darkness and extremely confused.

Feeling dizzy and thoughts hazy, she righted herself and began to wander. A soft jingling noise followed her with every step, though she paid it no mind. There were more pressing issues at the moment.

She strained her mind trying to remember how she could have possibly ended up here. She clearly remembered entering a toy shop, but her thoughts beyond this were blank besides a vivid image of swirling colors. Red and blue spirals. All she knew at the moment was that she felt terribly afraid, and very very small.

Timidly, she called out-

"HELLO, MY NEWEST SUPERSTAR!"

An enormous wooden ventriloquist dummy suddenly burst from the shadows. His painted eyes gleamed, one blue, one green. His wooden teeth chattered as he loomed overhead. He pulled a white balloon on a string, which sported an equally large toothy grin.

The sight was positively terrifying.

"Welcome to the amazing toybox circus!"

"The ... the toybox what?" She squeaked in response.

"Why, the toybox circus of course! You're sure to have a grand time, my dear! " She was suddenly lifted up to meet his unsettling wooden gaze.

"My name is Caine! I'm your ringmaster," he continued at an unnecessarily loud volume.

"My dear, you've entered a wonderful world of whimsy and adventure, where anything can happen! Soon you'll meet your new friends and we shall put on a show!"

He spun her around before setting her down on the floor again.

The girl was speechless. Be part of a circus? Led by a talking puppet? Surely this was all a strange dream!

"I'm sorry, sir," she eventually said, somehow managing to speak politely considering the circumstances. "But I really must be getting home! If you'd kindly show me the way-"

"Oh but you simply must stay for the performance, my dear! I've prepared all sorts of activities that are sure to delight! Oh the audience will love you! You shall be the star attraction!"

The puppet was very insistent. At a loss, the girl considered her options were either to continue wandering the darkness or to trust this "ringmaster". Now she was an intelligent young lady, but she was also a curious sort. After all, curiosity was what brought her here in the first place, and curiosity compelled her to see what would happen next...

So despite better judgement, she finally said -

Hesitant but hopeful. Perhaps this would be interesting? At the very least, she could play along until finding a way out of this strange place, out of the toyshop and back home. Or until she woke up, as this was likely a dream after all.

"At any rate, this may be fun," she hoped out loud.

Something cackled from atop a large shelf. The silhouette was that of a rabbit, but with a wide yellow grin.

"Heh HEH! You'll soon see, little clown," he said, before hopping out of sight.

What an odd place this was...

----part 2 coming soon!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #pomni #caine #jax #tadc au #toybox circus #my art #theres a lot of Alice in wonderland here

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dcxdpdabbles · 1 month ago

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DCxDP Fic Idea: Lex Luther's annoyance

Vlad Masters is....a pain. Not in the usual elite way Lex is used to. Not the empty-headedness of wealthy men like Bruce Wayne or annoyingly humanitarian like Oliver Queen.

Masters was annoying in the confusing kind. He was new money who danced around Lex's manipulations as if they were mere flies. He never gives Lex a reason to take him out but always leaves the bald man feeling weary.

Unsettled. Unsure.

The effect Masters had on him was irritating. Lex Luthor doesn't get unsure.

Luthor's family money came from his father, but it was Lex who turned the moderate company into one of the biggest powerhouses in the world. He was ruthless, always three steps ahead of his peers, using his clever mind to his every advantage.

Lex prides himself in being the danger in plain sight. He charmed kings and politicians alike, carefully placing a controlling hand on the back of their necks with each casual joke or helpful investment. Wherever Lex went, it wouldn't be long before he gained control of the floor and moved his pieces on the board to his liking.

That was if Vlad Masters wasn't in attendance.

Masters rarely join in high-class events- why should he? He was wealthy, of course, but nowhere near Lex's level. He just didn't run in the same circles- but whenever he did, it was like a rock being thrown in Lex's clam river. No matter where he was, Lex found his eyes tracing the underwhelming cut of Masters's suit (Easily one of the cheapest ones there) or catching the man's gaze that hid barely concealed amusement.

That was another thing. All social rules and etiquette indicated that Masters should be chasing after Lex's attention and approval or, at the very least, feel nervous in his presence. Masters acted like Lex was a part of the background, never impolite but never dazed or impressed.

Equals in a way that made Lex's stomach lurch in anxiety.

He has met some people who thought themselves better than Lex through arrogance, but none have taken one look at him and deemed him unimportant. It was as if Lex were just another man walking down the street who was only worthy of getting a passing greeting.

As if the man had a presence at all. Lex was often the man of the hour, and Masters was the guy nursing a drink by the wall, watching the crowd with a calm, nearly detached expression.

Masters was known for being a rather dull wealthy man, only seemingly interested in conversations if it was about his precious football team or random scientific discoveries. Seeing as he made his wealth through scientific discoveries, it was understandable that he knew an awful lot about them.

However, besides being a fantastic investor and stock buyer, Masters didn't have a single social bone in his body.

Lex had witnessed him flout through galas, parties, art galleries, and political rallies without a hint of displeasure or pleasure. Always engaged in conversations, but only if someone approached him first. He would often be seen admiring the decor, as though he was visiting a museum rather than networking or losing himself in a vice-like alcohol or bed partners.

It was almost as if these grand events that others killed to get an invitation were mere walks in a lovely garden for him. A break from whatever hectic life he lived.

Except that after having his people look into it, Masters didn't have a hectic life. He barely had one. No matter how much Lex dug into his background, besides that one accident that landed him in a hospital in college, Masters's life had been a pretty average rise from rags to riches through his hard work and intelligent mind.

A wealth that would likely only be passed down two generations with no hints of wanting to raise it like Lex had. No hints of ambition for something greater. No hints of nefarious schemes or back-alley deals. No hints of any sort of crime.

Just a man who wasn't amazed by Lex's world of wealth.

Lex hated how utterly boring he found the man and yet, how his eyes always followed him through the room, fascinated by how Masters didn't make any sesne. It was irritating how Masters didn't even have to do anything to grab Lex's attention; just walking by had him nearly tripping over his own two feet to watch him.

He didn't even know why he wanted to watch Masters. He wasn't even that handsome! His long silvery hair tied in a perfect tail, his slightly dry-looking skin, the dark circles under his eyes, and that teeth-gritting accent of his.

He didn't even know why Masters sounded like an upper-class British man. He was born in Wisconsin!

What did he take voice acting lessons to craft an accent? (Lex's checked. He didn't. Masters is just like that. It made his heart beat like Superman was about to burst into his office. He called his doctor to check if he's developed a heart condition)

The worst part was the way Master lingered in his mind, sitting at the back of it with inane questions like: What was he doing? Does he like chocolate or vanilla more? Why has he tried to buy the Parkers from Green Bay ninety-five times?

It made him look like a fool. No one made Lex Luthor look like a fool.

In a fit of madness, Lex had ordered Mercy to blacklist Masters from any parties they would host. He could not stand to have that man throw him off his game a second longer.

It worked for about three months, and Lex did not have to suffer from stomach twisting or heart hurting due to the sudden increase in heart rate. Then he ran into Masters at a Wayne Gala of all places where the man was dressed like an idiot with his pure black-on-black outfit only to throw on a Packer's scarf.

It looked so stupid that Lex had to hide in the men's bathroom for an hour after spotting the man chatting quietly with Wayne's butler. He could not describe why that stupid green and gold scarf had nearly brought him to his knees.

According to Mercy, who had eavesdropped, Masters' mother was from England, which explains his odd accent. She didn't quite judge him openly, but Lex could read the subtext of her stare as she reported everything Masters did at the gala.

He danced to one song with Bruce Wayne. Lex had nearly broken his hand when he punched the way to the bathroom.

The night after Waynes' gala, Lex lifted Masters' ban because he missed the rather dull man's presence. This gala had been the season's highlight, and compared to the other various parties, Lex had found himself feeling something besides boredom or contempt.

The next time Lex saw Masters was at a charity five months later. Once again, Masters was wearing his black suit, but this time, he had a silver undershirt and a ridiculous red bowtie. Lex had spent five hours changing outfit after outfit, trying to find the most flattering one, and Masters had the audacity to wear a red bowtie.

"He looks good," Lena says, eyes drinking in Masters, leaning on a wall with a blue drink in hand and gazing over the dancers. Lex felt like hurling up when Masters' lips twitch up into a grin as a man stumbles by with his unimpressed dance partner. "You should ask him to dance."

"No," Lex bites out, feeling sick. "Why would you even say?"

Lena shares a look with Mercy before muttering, " It's almost pathetic how he doesn't know how to handle his feelings."

"What was that?"

"You're pathetic," She says with an eye roll. She grabs Mercy's hand and drags her to the dance floor, though his bodyguard sends him a look, asking for permission. He waves his hand, knowing his sister would bite his head off if he stopped her from dancing with her girlfriend, even if she was currently on the clock.

" I'm not pathetic. I can make a living clone with my own DNA." He grouches, glaring at her as she twirls under Mercy's arm.

"You can?" The familiar accent has Lex jumping a foot in the air. He spins around only to look down into Master's blue eyes. Lex had always noticed that he was a head taller than the other man, but it was one thing to know on paper and another to see in person.

He felt like Masters' blue gaze had grabbed him by the throat. "What?"

"You make clones?" Masters repeat, eyes alight with delight. "I've dabbled in that technology myself. I have a daughter, thanks to it."

Lex stares, feeling off-footed. "You're married?"

"Oh no, no." Masters laughs, though Lex can pick up a hint of anger from the curve of his jaw. "I'm a single father. My daughter happens to have some characteristics of her DNA donors, but she's mine entirely."

"I see." Lex suddenly feels like every social skill he's ever developed has evaporated. Or, at the very least, all of his brain cells because why else would he have blurted out, "I have a son. He's my clone with another man."

"Oh, congratulations. You and your husband-"

"No! I'm single. I mean, I'm not married. I was never married. In fact, it's been a long time since I've been in a relationship. So long I think I forgot how they are supposed to go." Lex cuts in, nearly spilling his drink as he shakes his hand. Masters' fae clouds with amusement, and Lex realizes he's been talking for too long.

"Well, it's hard to date while being a single parent." Masters hums before smiling, and Lex feels like Superman has just punched him through a wall without wearing his power suit. "Science is a wonderful thing, isn't it? To allow us to have our children."

"I suppose"

Masters ponders something before he holds out a card. "My daughter has always wanted to meet others like her. Would you and your son care to join us for dinner if it's not too much trouble?"

Lex thinks he makes a sound of confirmation, and just as he appears, Masters vanishes. He walks into the crowd, disappearing from sight, taking his mind-numbing, amused eyes and his stupid bow tie.

It takes him a moment to realize the card has Masters' phone number. Lex stares at the seven digits, feeling like he's freefalling and he's seconds away from being sick. He stumbles to a chair, falling into it without his usual grace.

Mercy is at his side in seconds, eyeing him wearily as Lena touches his shoulder. "Lex? You okay?"

"I have...to make a call." He hears himself say, stumbling for his phone. With shaking hands, he taps on a contact, bringing the device to his ear and listening to it ring. It takes five rings before it's picked up, and a voice bites out.

"What?"

"Conner." He starts, hands still shaking slightly. "Are you free this Friday?"

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Lex Luthor's annoyance #Part 1 #Lex has a crush on Vlad #He just doesn't know it yet #Vlad looking at rich people and going “I rahter be in the ghost zone”#Vlad and Dani have a better relationship #Conner is the child of diviorce #Vlad/Lex #What's thier ship name?

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artificial-transmutations · 4 months ago

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4k! Dropout Dorm 4

Even though the dried up cum caused Aiden's body hair to stick together, which led to an itchy feeling every now and then, he slept fantastic. It was not that he didn't mind being covered in both his own and Marvin's cum, no, he really enjoyed it. His night was filled with dreams of a muscular Marvin, a tall, broad-shouldered Marvin fucking him in his throat and his ass, Marvin's musky sweat, and Marvin's smell. He woke up in the morning with a hard-on again, but this time, there was no reason to hide it anymore. He was pretty sure he had not been gay before, but now there was no denying the dark, fit body of Marvin got his precum leaking out of his dick and onto himself and his positively filthy sheets.

Without any shame, he rubbed his cock slowly while still in bed, lusting after his roommate.

Marvin woke up from the slapping sound of sweaty balls hitting an equally sweaty body. When he opened his eyes and looked over to Aiden, he saw the other man masturbating shamelessly with his eyes glued to Marvin.

The smell coming from both Aiden as well as Marvin himself was ripe and manly - and intense, above all else. Marvin's body was wet from the constant sweating and there was a very noticeable wet region in his bed where he was lying. It took Marvin only a moment to remember the event from last night, and even though he didn't want to admit it, he knew why Aiden was staring at him like that. Marvin was just too sexy to be true. However, as hard as the thought of his own sexy body and the prospect of Aiden worshipping him made him, Marvin had better things to do.

Still being naked from the evening before, he got up and stretched, watching Aiden slowly work on his cock for a moment before wrangling his own beast of burden down in one of the large jockstraps he bought. It fit well, perhaps even a bit tight. His equipment has really come a long way from the tiny little sausage he used to sport.

However, he needed to leave now. Marvin felt energetic and full of thirst for action. Originally, his plan had been to go to his lectures and then hit the gym, but the closer he got to the classroom, the more he doubted whether he would be able to concentrate on the lessons at all. Finally, he stopped in front of the door to the lecture. He was a smart guy. He would certainly be able to miss one lecture and still do fine on his assignments. That way he could work out more! Yes, that sounded like a much better plan for today!

So, Marvin turned around and headed for the gym. He greeted the other students that were going to the lecture with a smile, sometimes, a "What's up?" or even a short, manly hug. Not only was Marvin feeling great and energetic the last few days, but also much more outgoing than he had ever been in his life. He was just an awesome man, all in all!

Finally, he arrived at the gym and quickly changed into his gym wear. There was nobody here yet, so he turned up the volume of his phone and started blasting some rap music. His hips started to sway with the rhythm, and he found himself grinding into thin air. Damn, that felt good. With his head held high and a cocky smile on his face, he set out to the weights.

Meanwhile, Aiden didn't even manage to sit up after having released his load on himself. His breathing was heavy, and he still had a hard-on. What a great way to wake up, he mused. It was too late for the first lecture anyway, so he decided to skip it for today. In fact, his studies were way too much of a hassle. There was really no need to go there when he could just relax a bit more.

Aiden stood up, still naked from yesterday and stretched, taking a deep whiff of his armpit as he went. Even though he just came, doing so send a shiver down his spine. He was really stinky - and he loved it. It was a strange desire, but the more his (and Marvin's!) fluids made him stink, the better he felt!

He couldn't just stay in bed, though - mainly, because he really needed to piss. As he made his way to the toilet and flipped up the seat and started peeing, a sudden impulse crossed his mind.

Without thinking too much about it, he jerked his cock upwards, sending his urine flying through the whole bathroom, and then finally on his own body. He idly moved the stream all over himself until it subsided, and the only noise remaining was the dripping of his waste liquid down his body and to the floor.

Aiden looked around. The bathroom hadn't been exactly clean before, but now, it really needed a scrubbing. At least that would be what the old Aiden would have thought. The new Aiden, the hairy, massive, Aiden didn't just don't care. He actually felt as happy as a pig in the mud living in a stinky, filthy room like that. The thought of cleaning up, either himself or his surroundings, did not even cross his mind.

Whistling happily, Aiden made his way back to the other part of dorm room 148. What now... He had a lot of ideas. He could watch some porn, or order pizza. He probably had to kill some time until Marvin would come back. Marvin. That sexy stud. The pictures of Marvin as a nerdy, scrawny white guy seemed so far away, even though it has only been a few days. The idea of himself being someone else entirely was equally absurd. He was small not too long ago and totally hairless. And clean. And straight.

Why would anyone want to be any of that? No, Aiden was happy the way things were developing. But still, the thought of Marvin got his engines going. Perhaps he would have worked out again today?

Just then, two ideas crossed his mind. First, he remembered his encounter with Zach yesterday. There was still the plastic bag with the weed in his night stand. Yesterday, he had thought about how to dispose of it, but today was a different day. Aiden opened the drawer and got out the plastic bag, opening it carefully. A few already rolled joints were in there. Didn't they always say it was so easy to relax with weed? So, he thought the room until he found a lighter.

With a deep inhale, he smelled the smoke coming from the joint. It wasn't too bad. A bit like burning rubber, but not really unpleasant. He didn't even cough, that was good. In fact, it tasted somehow vaguely familiar, and his body almost reacted automatically to it. A wide smiled plastered his face, as he relaxed in his bed, with his joint. The distinct smell of marijuana added to the intense smell of the room and mixed with it flawlessly. The smoke from his joint distributed in the room, making it a bit more difficult to see. Aiden didn't mind - it smelled so good and made him so relaxed.

Now, what else should he do? His dick had stopped being hard and was now dangling between his legs, lazily hanging around, just like its owner.

As he smoked his joint and the drug slowly began to work, he began to feel hungry. Right. Ordering pizza. *That* was a good idea now! He grabbed his phone and ordered a large pizza to be delivered to his room. Great! He didn't even need to leave his room and he had even be able to pay online.

Time passed quickly and at some point, after his joint, there was a knock on the door.

Aiden was confused for a moment before he remembered the pizza and smiled.

"Coming" he shouted and walked over to the door and opened it, smiling at the delivery man in front of him. The eyes of the other man, who was barely older than Aiden, almost popped out of his skull as he stammered.

"Oh, uh. Dude, you're... really naked."

Right, he was still naked and still covered in his own filth, cum and sweat. But what did it matter? He liked it that way!

His mind was still pleasantly buzzed, so he just smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I know dude!"

It was then that the aroma of the room and Aiden reached the delivery man's nostrils. He almost gagged and quickly handed Aiden his pizza.

"Thanks man!" Aiden said, but the delivery man was already backing away.

"No problem. Enjoy your pizza... Sir." he said politely and fled the scene.

The rest of the morning passed quickly between the large pizza, Aiden and another joint from the bag. He would definitely have to order more!

However, in the afternoon, Aiden was slowly growing impatient. Marvin was apparently returning late today. Aiden had already jacked off once or twice during the day, but he was fantasizing more and more about Marvin's toned body. Then, suddenly, he had an idea. Marvin had bought new gym gear yesterday, right? That meant...

Aiden quickly searched the floor but found only his own clothes scattered about - and the empty pizza box and some ash of course. But right, Marvin had a laundry hamper. He went through it with fervor until he found what he was looking for, throwing the clothes he didn't need to the floor. Marvin's sweaty gym shirt. It was even still damp from his earlier workout!

Clutching his prey to his chest, Aiden went back to his bed before he carefully placed the sweaty piece of clothing over his face and inhaled deeply. Yes. The smell was unmistakable, it was Marvin's smell. It was salty and musky, like Marvin himself was. Aiden could feel his cock grow hard again at the mere thought of the man.

Aiden didn't want to spoil it, so he only jerked his dick very slowly while he enjoyed the smell from the piece of nylon clothing on his face, even licking it from time to time.

Suddenly, the door opened.

The first thing Marvin noticed as he entered the room was the dense air with the distinct smell of weed. That thought was quickly put aside by his hornyness, however. The last hour or so in the gym, he had had a hardon that was more than impressive and clear for everyone to see. He was just so horny but couldn't stop working out. Only after an hour, his arousal outweighed his need to train more and more, and he left the gym in a straight way to the 'dropout dorm', with rivers of sweat running down his muscular black body, leaving a trail of drops behind.

Now, he stood in a wide stance with a stiff tenting his gym shorts in the dorm room and saw Aiden on his bed, eagerly sniffing his way too small gym shirt from yesterday. It was like Marvin was on autopilot. He was the boss here and he needed to make that clear.

"Oy, pig!", Marvin growled in his deep voice.

Aiden reacted instantly, stopping his movements and looking up at Marvin.

"You know why you're here? Because you're a dirty pig, that's why. And now, you're gonna service me, is that understood?!"

Marvin walked towards Aiden, towering above the naked man. Aiden's eyes were glued to Marvin's bulge, and he was already salivating at the sight.

Without further words, Marvin grabbed the back of Aiden's head and pressed it against his ample jockstrap bulge.

"Suck!" he commanded.

Aiden was only too happy to comply, burying his face in Marvin's sweaty crotch. His hands shot up to pull Marvin's shorts down as much as he could, but Marvin slapped them away.

"Through the jock, pig. I want to see you suck my sweat out of it!"

Aiden complied again, pressing his face against the drenched underwear. He moaned and used his tongue to try to find any drops of sweat from the day, which Marvin let him. After a while of this, he pulled his face back to breath.

"Good pig. Now get those shorts off me."

Once again, Aiden obeyed, pulling Marvin's jock down with his hands and freeing Marvin's thick meat. Aiden's mouth watered at the sight, and his tongue shot out to lick the thick cock. It was at full mast, and it was enormous! He had never seen a bigger dick.

Aiden hardly hat time to think about it, however, as Marvin began to fuck his face without much warning, using Aiden as his own personal fucktoy.

The whole room was filled with the smell of manly sweat and the distinct smell of Marvin's dick. The taste of the manly musk on his tongue and the feel of his thick member in his mouth was simply overwhelming for Aiden, and he came quickly without even touching himself.

As Aiden moaned and gagged, Marvin continued to fuck the other man's throat. He felt himself approaching the point of no return and with a low growl, Marvin came hard in Aiden's mouth.

"Good pig." Marvin said and smiled.

***

Epilogue:

As it was to be expected, Aiden's academic career was over. It took a few weeks until he finally got around to exmatriculate, but after that, he was just another victim of the 'dropout dorm'.

Marvin however was the first to actually survive the 'dropout dorm'. He switched majors to sport studies shortly after and even graduated at some point with poor marks in the more academic courses. He stayed in dorm room 148 for the rest of his college time - and he even convinced the administration to let his boyfriend, Aiden, live with him there.

The two of them were made for each other, really: The mountain of a black bodybuilder man that Marvin had become, with the cockiest personality of them all on the one hand and the muscle pig named Aiden on the other hand, who couldn't get enough of his own filth and Marvin's sweat. It was a match made in heaven - or rather, in dorm room 148.

Would you take that dorm room?

Thank you guys for reading Dropout Dorm and for the general interest in my stories (4k followers! I still can't believe it!). I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! The previous part can be found here.

#male transformation #muscle transformation #straight to gay #dumbing down #racial transformation #sweat #hairy

541 notes · View notes

fandom · 1 year ago

Photo

Top 23 of 2023

Have you been aching to get your hot little hands on 52 weeks of data around original posts, likes, reblogs, and searches, all weighted and ranked and tied up into categories with a nice little bow on top? Well, today’s your day! It should come as no surprise that Artists on Tumblr reign supreme: from stunning traditional art, jaw-dropping digital art, fanart, sculptures, textile art—you name it, basically—this year’s list shows that Tumblr truly is the home for art and artists. Thank you, Artists on Tumblr, for enriching our dashboards day after day.

Rounding out the top three, we have two iconic shows: Good Omens is live-action, and The Owl House is animated, but both have a heck of a love story at their core. The second season of Good Omens blessed us with not one but two ineffably exquisite ships, while the final season of The Owl House broke and then healed fans’ hearts in equal measure. Thanks, @danaterrace! Actually, come to think of it, the Good Omens finale kinda did the same in reverse. Thanks to you, too, @neil-gaiman! We can’t wait for season 3.

Speaking of heartbreak and healing, Our Flag Means Death’s second season offered both in droves. The entire cast gave stellar performances, and fans couldn’t have been happier to see the kinds of representation the show displayed. Last year’s #1 topic, Stranger Things, may have dropped a bit, but trust us, you wouldn’t know it from the amount of meta, fanart, and fics in the tag. And did you hear about the live-action adaptations of both The Last of Us and One Piece? They were a preeeetty big deal this year, too. Check ‘em out if you haven’t yet (lol, of course you have). And we’d be remiss not to mention the hugely dedicated fans, fanartists, and fic writers devoting their time to all things Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Y’all deserve a little pizza, as a treat.

2023 was also a year for blockbuster movies, which of course hasn’t escaped anybody’s notice here on Tumblr. Barbie smashed box offices worldwide and left us reeling with every re-watch. How can one describe Greta Gerwig’s pink-filled opus? It certainly is one of the movies of all time. Meanwhile, with its incredible animation and soundtrack, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse introduced us to a whole new multiverse of Spider-People, opening the portal to a veritable flood of incredible OCs. And then, of course, we got a fresh perspective on an old classic when cinephiles introduced Martin Scorscese’s cinematic masterpiece, Goncharov (1973), to a new generation of film aficionados who resoundingly agree that it is, in fact, the greatest mafia movie ever made. We’re so glad this underrated film finally got the acclaim it has long deserved.

In the realms of gaming and tech, the long-anticipated Baldur’s Gate 3 has basically become everyone’s new favorite D&D/dating sim combination. Of course, the Pokémon franchise, games, shows, and Hatsune Miku collabs remain perennial favorites. Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter, sorry, we mean of course X, made waves across the internet. Similarly, the Reddit blackout drove Redditors to new venues, and Tumblr users welcomed the folks from r/196 with open arms—we’re huge fans of your memes, y’all, and you fit right in. Welcome, we’re glad you enjoy the chaos. Here’s a fun fact: if we included post metadata in Year in Review rankings, #polls, introduced in January of 2023, would have been the #5 topic on Tumblr this year. Phenomenal.

And, oh right. Taylor Swift had kind of a big year, what with the albums, the epic global tour, and the movie and stuff. Fantastic work, @taylorswift, the Swifties on Tumblr thank you for everything.

This is Tumblr’s Year in Review.

Artists on Tumblr

Good Omens

The Owl House

Barbie

Pokémon

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Critical Role

Goncharov

Taylor Swift

Genshin Impact

Stranger Things

The Last of Us

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Elon Musk

196

Star Wars

Our Flag Means Death

Crowley | Good Omens

LGBTQ

Cottagecore

Baldur's Gate 3

One Piece

Aziraphale | Good Omens

#year in review #top 23 of 2023 #tumblr2023

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sp0o0kylights · 3 months ago

Text

Part one here:: link

"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link

TW vomiting, drug use

Eddie is good.

Eddie is kind.

Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better.

He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood.

It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.

Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman.

The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters.

It makes him brave.

Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.

That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children.

Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting.

This was about their relationship with Harrington.

A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache.

Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted.

That makes him easy to take advantage of.

Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip.

It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.

Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him!

She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry.

Yeah.

Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there.

Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.

Well.

Eddie was here to break it.

Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit.

Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks.

He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees.

Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.

“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing. “What are you--hey!”

Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house.

“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”

Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue.

Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.

Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.

“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--”

“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.

He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day.

“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall.

It doesn’t take long to find the kid.

Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame.

He turns, revealing the front of the thing has ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font.

(Baking puns. Disgusting.)

“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen.

This is exactly what he was afraid of finding.

Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?”

“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen.

For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles.

He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes.

“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.

He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”

Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here.

“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”

“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”

Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”

Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”

Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”

He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple.

“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ‘em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”

Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”

He cuts himself off with a hiss, eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt.

“You can play the good guy and take them all home.”

Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie.

(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!)

“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.”

For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.

“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”

Eddie glowers.

“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,”

Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.

“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.”

He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.”

“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest.

“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!”

“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.”

“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb.

(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.)

“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”

“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment.

As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona.

“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.”

“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes.

Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.

“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?”

“Guys.”

“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!”

“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.

“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter.

Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction.

“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over.

(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.)

“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.”

“Steve--”

“Nope. Making it worse. Out.”

He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him.

Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury.

Harrington’s pale.

The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style.

His hair…

Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink.

He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine.

Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit…

The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.

“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that.

“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.”

“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach.

“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.”

“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!”

(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.)

“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely.

He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things.

It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here.

Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.

(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.

Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.

…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.)

“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,”

He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.

“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?”

“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.

Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)

“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice, already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it.

Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.

Harrington, clearly, needs help.

“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once.

“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.

He probably has.

(Fucking King Steve.

No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.)

“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?”

“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”

“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even.

“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…”

He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating.

“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely.

He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does.

Steve Harrington is not most people.

If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house.

Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…

Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest.

The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.

He clears his throat pointedly.

“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!”

Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked.

“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth.

“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen.

He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine.

Typical.

“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?”

“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.”

It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere.

Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer.

Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches.

Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right…

“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly.

"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way.

“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"

Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.

"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”

He waits for the nods he knows are coming.

“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door.

They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them.

And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.

(At least Dustin managed that.)

He could leave now.

Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.

Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give.

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.

“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?”

“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud.

“What?”

Thank God for Harrington’s headache.

“You look terrible, man.” Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.”

He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party.

The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.”

He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie.

“You got your laugh in, so you can go.”

There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened.

(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.)

“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.

“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.”

Harrington grimaces.

“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”

His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter.

And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole.

Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers.

(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.)

It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety.

Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.

Even if he really, really wants to.

“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.”

“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.”

A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face.

“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me, I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch.

Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead.

“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment.

“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?”

“....are you offering me drugs?”

“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket.

“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?”

Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it.

“How is that going to help?”

“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.”

Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount.

Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him.

“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning.

“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him.

Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja.

Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’

“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.”

“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.

Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.

“I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”

He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him.

“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”

“Put you back together again.”

Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.

Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people.

“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.

Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game.

“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.

“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains.

“Tea?”

“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”

Steve scowls. “Sadist.”

“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”

Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.

Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart.

“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.”

Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.”

“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that.

“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit.

Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.

“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”

“Think it’s coming back up?”

“No clue.”

They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.”

An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on.

Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out.

(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.)

Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom.

“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.

“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room.

“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.”

The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it.

Fucking rich people.

“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.”

“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed.

It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers.

“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute.

“Yeah?”

“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.”

Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie.

“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”

“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.”

If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having fun destroying one's own ego.

He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.

No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had.

“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed.

Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom.

Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist.

It freezes him in place.

In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own.

“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment.

Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.

“Anytime, big boy.”

Anytime.

xxx

The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it.

In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.

He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday.

Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days.

Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington.

Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life.

Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices.

In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer.

“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.

“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”

“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking.

(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.

…well.

An attempt at an excuse, anyway.)

“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe.

Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy.

“Would you just let us in?”

“No.”

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.”

“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.”

“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily.

“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”

Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”

And just like that their little ambush makes sense.

(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness just isn’t cutting it anymore.)

“And why would I do that?”

He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control.

Checking up on the guy was overkill.

“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground.

“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”

“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.”

Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head.

The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on.

Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it.

Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces.

Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning.

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.

She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly.

(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.)

“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”

Oh no he does not.

“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh.

“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread.

Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday.

A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one.

The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.

Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.

“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.”

He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe.

He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead.

“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!”

Which gets Eddie’s back right up.

He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents.

“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.”

Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you.

“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.

Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most.

“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one.

“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.”

Mayfield grins at him.

It reminds him vaguely of a shark.

A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark.

“Good. Go get dressed.”

“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer.

“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.

Eddie slams the door in her face.

(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)

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