#only to be surrounded by hot goths and punks

[penisovac]

continuing off of my last post...heres amy

in terms of music i’d say she’d be the alt rock type (maybe even new wave but i believe that wasn’t as prominent anymore in the late 80s). i imagine her parents were very restrictive with what she could listen to.

she discovered gary’s club when she had snuck with a group of friends (mostly as an act of rebellion) and began frequenting it!

[tyrantisterror]

Wherefore Art Thou Clownfucker?

A while back I made a post explaining why vampires appeal to me, and while it was mostly in a more general sense, there was a specific focus on why I find them, you know, hot. And it was that was in part because I had recently discovered that I'm apparently surrounded by Werewolf fuckers on here, much to my dismay as a Vampire fucker. It's like being the only goth kid at a rockabilly concert or something. I felt defensive, is the point! I needed to go to bat (heh) for my pale ladies (and Astarion.... and Spike)!

And now, because Muncher compels me to do so, I'm doing the same for Clowns. My other pale ladies.

Now, keep in mind the fact that I'm a monsterfucker first and foremost, and that my clownfuckery is really more derived from my monsterfuckery. I imagine the middle section of the Clownfucker/Monsterfucker diagram is pretty big, but I also know there are some clownfuckers who are very much NOT monsterfuckers, and vice versa. This is not the case for vampirefuckers, who are nestled firmly within the monsterfucker circle, because while all vampires are monsters, not all clowns are monsters. I bring this up because while I'm gonna try to explain clownfuckery on its own terms, there is likely going to be some monsterfucker bias in my explanations and defense. That's just how it is on this bitch of an earth!

I'm gonna get real pretentious here and talk about the historic role of clowns for a moment. From Comedia del Arte harlequins to medieval court Jesters, the clown's role has always been that of Comic Relief. They are, simply put, here to be tonally dissonant - when everyone else is serious and dramatic, a clown comes in as this weird, silly, incongruously hilarious element that contrasts the gravity of everything around them. "Relief" is really the key word here - a clown's job is to provide levity when otherwise there would be none. When everything is dark, they provide a little light.

That's the core emotional appeal of clownfucking - a clown is/should be someone who can make you smile when you need it the most. Kingdom's at war, family's fighting, your life's in shambles? The clown will make you laugh. Everything feels dark and gloomy and depressing? Here comes a silly little goofball wearing bright, clashing colors and jingling with each step because they're covered in bells, and all they want to do is tell jokes until you start laughing. Clowns are, by intent, that sweet sweet hit of dopamine personified.

Clowns are here to make you smile.

Another important historical detail about clowns is their unique place in the hierarchy of society - namely, being entirely outside of it. A jester was in some respects the lowest person on the totem pole, a fool that had power over no one and nothing, living to be laughed at. Yet, because they had no power over anyone, it was generally poor taste to take offense to anything a jester said, which meant they could talk more freely than anyone else - when everyone else acts like a butt-kissing sycophant, a jester is free to talk shit and speak their mind.

The traditional attire and appearance of clowns plays into both of these traits: the bright, gaudy clothing and makeup is silly, yes, but it's also a sign that the clown does not give a single shit about fashion and other social norms. A clown is, by nature, an anomaly, a misfit, a rebel.

Nowadays we have another word for people with that attitude. Clowns are punk.

Weird makeup, crayola red hair, patchwork clothes...

I would say the very fact that "normal" people look at clownfucking as some sort of inexplicable fetish is, in fact, part of the appeal. It's a form of xenophilia, of attraction to things that are different and othered, a love for outsiders and misfits and oddballs. To fuck a clown is to show love and adoration for something outside of the realm of what is socially acceptable - something silly, goofy, and weird, yet also often harmless. After all, a clown's main purpose is to make you smile.

That's not to say that clowns have to be harmless to be attractive, mind you. Tons of people, many much smarter than I, have talked about the cultural shift of our perception of clowns that began somewhere in the 1980's. Clowns went from being viewed as genuinely fun and cute to primarily being figures of fear and terror - if a clown shows up in modern media, even if it's innocuous, there will always be at least one character who vocally talks about how creepy they think clowns are.

That may in part be due to the fact that clowns have such a benign mission statement - a lot of people, especially nowadays, do not trust a person who claims they just want to make others happy. Anyone who acts like that MUST be up to something - there must be something nefarious going on, some evil plan, some lurking danger.

Which is where you REALLY bring the monsterfuckers in.

You really don't need to do that much with a clown's design to push it firmly into monster territory - "a pale person with sharp teeth" is the bare minimum it takes to make a vampire, after all (and even the pale part can be downplayed).

And a clown's dedication to making things "funny" can make for a very enjoyably-scary persona for a monster - hell, half the appeal of the Addams Family is that they're a bunch of freakish inhuman monsters who react to a bunch of scary shit with absolute delight and adoration. Again, the tonal dissonance element is at play here, albeit in a different way - even when Clowns are the darkness in your world, they still bring light in the sense that they view it that darkness as funny in of itself.

(hell, the word "harlequin" means "five horns," and may be rooted in folkloric monsters like Herne the Hunter depending on who you ask, so in a way clowns have always been monster-coded)

I think all of this is pretty well exemplified in the current Patron Saint of Clownfuckers, the goddess of Clownfuckery if you will, Harley Quinn. Hailing from a story whose main setting is such a Gothic Horror-inspired nightmarish shithole of a city that it's literally called Gotham, surrounded by characters who are at least 60% gothic horror archetypes by volume, opposed by a hero who literally dresses like a Dracula, it is inarguable that Harley Quinn is surrounded by darkness that's both literal and figurative.

But she's always smiling, and not in an ironic way.

Harley Quinn suffers intense abuse, she's drawn into wicked schemes, and in the way of most modern clowns, she causes no small amount of mayhem and suffering herself. But even at her darkest, she's always smiling, always trying to find the bright side.

She's a rebel, she's a punk. Almost everyone thinks she's beneath them. Almost all of those people get proven they're wrong. In a world full of tyrannical hierarchies, she steps outside of them.

She's an outsider, a misfit, an oddball. And she wants to make you smile.

I think you can probably see the appeal of that.

[theunmarkedtombstone]

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

People who are NOT teenage dirtbags:

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

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

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

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

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

People who ARE teenage dirtbags:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unclear:

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

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

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

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

[prairietrashdotcom]

eee i got tagged to do a tag game by @mrcrepsley thank you :)

im tagging: @stitchedgrave @laceandgore @r0ttdweller @cherubgore @cannibaldotcom @unfading-scrutiny but if you've already been tagged in this one or dont feel like it its cool. n if i didnt tag u please do it if you want to also.

Do you make your bed? if by make you mean pull down the duvet so it can air out, then yes. dont worry about why that is.

What's your favorite number? 3, 9, 13, 27

What is your job? i have been a sporadically employed hermit for the last four years :( i am starting college again next week though (media focused program) and theres a lot of production-like activity where i live so hopefully in the future that works out.

If you could go back to school, would you? See above, but i do sometimes wish i could go back to my uni in canada, but only if i was single so i could at least try n fuck my history prof at least once

Can you parallel park? no :(

A job you had that would surprise people? i have no idea how i am perceived on here so i dont know if it would surprise people that i've ghostwritten a book and worked as an actor in a haunted house. those were probably the least surprising answers but other than that its just bartending and baking.

Do you think aliens are real? duh.

Can you drive a manual car? i cannot drive any car but im working on it, although public transport here is just decent enough that it isnt, like, urgent.

What's your guilty pleasure? i honestly feel less ashamed of my various sexual proclivities than i do about living for TLC's Sister Wives. watching that chode get left in the dust not once, not twice, but thrice was especially delicious.

Tattoos? i have four. both of the ones on my right arm are bird themed but that was unintentional. theres a little bird on my forearm from The Garden of Earthly Delights' middle panel, and then a lawn flamingo on my right shoulder. the lawn flamingo is heavily associated in Winnipeg culture with the Transcona neighbourhood, where my mom's from and where i lived for a few years. everyone else in Winnipeg clowns on Transcona for being white trash, which is not technically incorrect but its my favourite place. On my left wrist ive got a hand with an eye in it, and then a crescent moon surrounded by clouds on my left shoulder.

Favorite color? pink, black, light blues, ive been really into brown this year.

Favorite type of music? i love music in general, any type can be good as long as the people making it care about it but 80s alternative/new wave/punk will always hit so so good for me. and vintage or alternative country. and 90s alt.

Do you like puzzles? i love doing the nyt puzzles stoned every night but i will die before i give them any money to play them.

Any phobias? someone with prior knowledge of my phobias using them to torture me

Favorite childhood sport? i did kickboxing in my teens for a lil bit n it was really fun :)

Do you talk to yourself? chronically, but only out loud if im home alone or out in public alone.

What movies do you adore? to the surprise of no one; horror, especially trashy b-horror/horror comedy. also whatever The Butcher Boy (1997) dir. Neil Jordan (i will never stop evangelizing this movie please watch it sinead o'connor plays the virgin mary) is.

Coffee or Tea? coffee 100%. i live in tea country however. sometimes its nice but objectively the 'tea' people are talking about here (Barrys vs Lyons) tastes like a hot wet paper bag unless you put 3 teaspoons of sugar in it.

First thing you wanted to be when you grew up? either a palaeontologist or a goth, its hard to tell which came first. ironically my mom was much more supportive of my desire to be goth. this is the cognitive dissonance that came with being an early 2000s evangelical christian who listens to Rob Zombie and Evanescence. she eventually relaxed about jesus.

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 25

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.3k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: We're in the endgame now! There'll probably be one or two more chapters and an epilogue after this. 🖤 I'll compile and post a masterlist for this fic soon, too!

25

Your heels pounded on the pavement. The pressure patch bounced against your chest. Bitter wind dried your eyes. Ash swirled in the air, creating incomprehensible patterns. It contrasted the dark wall of smoke curtaining the street ahead. You skidded to a stop.

Why were you running towards a fissure? What the hell were you thinking?

You looked over your shoulder. Eddie stepped onto the street, shirt streaked with blood. You couldn’t run in his direction. He was too fast. He’d catch you, take you to Vecna.

Shit, you’d nearly done that yourself.

A roar like a tornado boomed in front of you.

You turned to the fissure. A massive arachnoid shape moved inside the smoke. You stepped back. The blacktop surrounding the fissure cracked further, making you retreat. Vines you’d only seen through the tumbler or in visions snaked into the air.

You couldn’t fight a thing made of smoke. You couldn’t beat back the vines.

Chittering and howls echoed from the fissure, reminding you of a wolf pack. Demodogs, according to Dustin. You’d heard them months ago. The primitive part of your brain had known then they were predators.

There was nowhere to hide. Eddie had already seen you, anyway. However, you couldn’t give up.

With a scan of the street, the only practical option was an alley on your left. You raced into it. Dumpsters, blocky AC units, and dented trashcans blurred as you ran.

A wood pallet soared on your right. It hit the brick wall and exploded into shrapnel.

You shielded your face in your elbow. A board smacked your side. Pain bloomed, muscles cramped. You twisted and gasped, stumbling over shattered pieces of wood.

Eddie stood yards away. From the street, the chittering increased in volume. Your shoulder knocked into a parked box-truck. He stepped forward, relentless and silent. You cursed as you bounced into the wall.

You had to keep moving, had to keep him away from Max.

You jogged into the narrow gap between truck and wall. It was a clear shot to the next street. Unfortunately, the fissure crossed the alley on the other side. Vines slithered up the broken buildings.

To your left, police barricades spanned the street. You couldn’t go right because that would lead you to the nexus. You ran left and realized you were drawing closer to the hospital. At the next intersection, you went left again.

Humvees, camo-painted trucks, and police cruisers rolled away. Plumes of ash spun in their wake. You ran onto the street and yelled for them to stop, but an attack helicopter whooshed overhead. It charged towards the nexus. You had to get out of here. The helicopter launched one of its missiles. A great, monstrous shriek answered. You covered your ears at the cacophony. The ground shook, and you bent your knees to keep your balance. A second later, the report from a blast rattled windows.

You looked back. Eddie steadied himself on the side of a parked car less than twenty feet away. With eyes on you, he pushed off.

You murmured, “Come and get me, baby,” before sprinting down the street.

You passed the police and fire stations, squinting against the falling ash. While you could seek shelter in either place, you didn’t know what Eddie would do to those who got in his way. And you didn’t want to think of what they’d do to Eddie if they saw him.

You needed him to pursue you — and only you.

The nearest fissure cutting through the street stopped you short. Vines zigzagged over the ground. Another monstrous shriek bellowed, and it reverberated in your heaving chest. A neighborhood of older homes sat across the way. You ran between two houses, certain no one was inside — not with how close the houses stood to the fissure.

You hid behind a large oak in the backyard and leaned on the trunk. In the distance, demodogs chittered and gunfire resounded. The hit to your side made itself known as you panted for air. You pressed your palm over it. Muscles spasmed. With a grimace, you repeated the healing spell under your breath. Heat sparked under your skin. Sweat prickled above your lip and at your hairline.

It took a small eternity for the heat to dissipate. You lifted your shoulder to stretch it out. The muscles complained, but it wasn’t a stitch in your side. That was good enough.

Glancing around, it was difficult to find your bearings. You weren’t sure it mattered where you were. Your primary concern was keeping Eddie occupied until you figured out what to do.

A twig snapped.

You whipped to the side to peek around the trunk. Nothing was out of place. No sign of Eddie, either.

Shit.

Had he given up?

No, making the hunted think they were safe was a horror-movie cliché.

You weren’t safe.

You turned to face the other backyards. Still no sign of Eddie. He was hiding and watching. You felt it. He would lose patience soon enough, though.

Instead of running, like your hind brain wanted you to, you walked away from the oak. He wasn’t going to kill you. Vecna didn’t want you dead yet. You marched farther into the neighborhood, navigating fences and darting between houses.

A wooded area bordered the neighborhood. That was a prime place to play hide-and-seek with your undead, psycho-controlled puppet of a boyfriend. Jesus Christ, what was your life? You paused on the curb at the end of a cul-de-sac. The woods lay beyond the arc of houses.

A fence gate clanged before Eddie walked around the corner of a house and stopped in the front yard. He’d smeared the blood from his chin up his sharp jaw. The blood on his scrubs had oxidized to a rust brown. From this distance and through the ash-fall, his cursed eyes could be mistaken for pale ones. It didn’t suit his face. He looked best with brown sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. He looked best smiling. He looked best when he’d been yours.

But he wasn’t yours anymore — and you didn’t know if he’d ever be again.

The edges of your vision blurred. You took a stuttering breath. There had to be a way to get him back. If Vecna could animate him, you could restore him.

You stepped onto the grass, heading for the woods. Eddie matched your pace stride for stride. At the edge of the yard where manicured turned wild, he quickened his steps.

He wasn’t toying with you any longer.

You ran, graceless and bumbling, into the woods. The real fight started now. Under the canopy of ash-covered foliage, shadows deepened. Your heart pounded rabbit-fast. Branches and twigs snagged your sleeves and hair, scratched your exposed skin. You couldn’t hear anything beyond the sound of your panting breath.

After jumping the third log, your thighs almost gave out. You staggered to a thick tree and lay against it. Your temples throbbed with your forceful heartbeat. Sweat beaded down your face.

Sudden weight pressed you against the tree. The musty scent of dried blood filled your nose. Hands grabbed your hips.

“Got you.”

You gasped and tripped sideways. Eddie held the back of your jeans until you pushed him away. He caught your forearm until you wheeled it out of his grasp. You spun and bolted deeper into the woods.

He clawed at your shirt with every step, fingers scraping down your back. You lunged to the side. Arms hooked around you before lifting you off the ground. You kicked out and writhed. He swayed with you to expel your momentum. He then brought your upper body close and dragged his sharp teeth over the side of your neck.

You stiffened, thinking of the MP he’d killed.

This couldn’t be it. Eddie wouldn’t kill you. This couldn’t be what Vecna had planned. It made no sense. You had magic, for fuck’s sake.

“No, let me go!”

“Or what?”

He didn’t even sound out of breath.

You pushed against his arms.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d like to see you try, witch.”

You arched your back, freeing your arms, and slapped your palms on his cold forearm. You concentrated all your energy into them. The air cooled. The temperature dropped so fast, you expected to see your breath fog. You shivered as goosebumps rose along your skin. You pushed the energy as heat into him.

He howled and released you.

You landed hard and fumbled forward. The energy vanished from your hands like it’d never been there. The air heated. Your forehead ached from the quick temperature change. However, you couldn’t let that stop you. Eddie was right behind you.

After lumbering into a tree, you found your balance and pushed off. You ran with the hope it was away from the houses and fissure.

You glanced back. Eddie was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t slow to catch sight of him. Like before, you knew he followed you.

He darted out between two trees and tackled you into another. Your back struck the unyielding trunk. It knocked the breath from your lungs. He pressed his burnt forearm across your upper chest, pinning you to the tree.

You heaved for air and pushed at his elbow and wrist. His other hand went to your hip.

“You will see this through,” he said, leaning his weight on you. “It’s your responsibility.”

You shook your head. At one time, having him against you would’ve been a comfort. You would’ve wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck.

He said, “We should thank you, you know. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t cleared the way.”

You hung your head and held onto his arm. He was right. You’d opened the proverbial door for Vecna.

“I know,” you said. “I thought I understood. I thought… I thought I could heal this place.”

He huffed.

“So arrogant.”

The corner of your mouth quirked.

“Yeah, so fucking arrogant. Just like Vecna.”

“But Source can do what you can’t.”

“Oh?” You met his colorless gaze. “Like make the world worse?” Searching his blank face, you said, “He’s going to kill everything.”

“Sometimes destruction is a means of restoration.”

“That’s not what you believe.”

“What do you know of what I believe?”

“I know you want to create.”

“I am creating — with Source.”

“I thought you wanted to create with me. You wanted to leave this town with me.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. Don’t you remember what you said on New Year’s? You said I inspire you. You want to write songs for me! You said you think about me every day!” You touched his cold cheeks. “You said you’d give me everything.” You inhaled and put weight into your words. “So, give. me. everything.”

The weight of magic overloaded your limbs. You fisted his shirt to stay upright. However, he was no stronger.

Together, you fell to the ground.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “No, I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“For who, huh? You? Me?” You bent closer, taking the risk he wouldn’t choke or bite you. “Don’t you care — about me — at all?”

You wanted to ask if he loved you anymore, but… That was too far, too much. You imagined all the venom Vecna would make him spit.

“I do this because I—” He blinked. “It has to be done.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“What?”

“He killed me. Vecna killed me. He took Max.” You motioned to your head and said, “He killed me,” before motioning to your heart.

“Then you should’ve stayed dead.”

“Well, here I am.” You threw your hands wide. “Just like you.”

“You’re pointless.” He moved in to drive his words home. “You’re a little rich girl slumming it. You have all this power, but you never make anyone’s life easier. You have it easy. You’re spoiled and entitled, and we’re glad we killed you.”

“Fuck you! He killed you, too!”

What he said couldn’t be true. That’s not what Eddie thought. Right? You weren’t… You couldn’t be… It must’ve been a ploy by Vecna to hit where it hurt. He’d pulled some doubt or negativity from your mind months ago.

“It had to be done,” Eddie said.

“And what’s he going to do when he gets what he wants, huh?”

“I…”

“Answer me! What’s he going to do to us?”

“He’ll…”

“He’ll kill us again, Eddie.”

“No, he—” He frowned, looking away. His mouth opened and closed. “No…”

“Yes!”

You grabbed his face and forced him to meet your gaze. You wouldn’t play into Vecna’s hands by abandoning Eddie. Too many people had done that already, and you refused to be another.

“Come back to me.”

He wrenched his head from your hold to hide his face.

“I can’t come back. No, I— I’m where I need to be. I’m whole here. I’m bigger than… Bigger than—”

“Come back, honey.”

He looked to the side, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“You know, I never told you how you feel to me,” you said. “What you feel like. I figured it out in Chicago. At the concert.” You followed the slope of his blood-covered jaw with your eyes. “With all those people around us, you still stood out to me. I couldn’t help but feel you… feel your warmth.” You rested your forehead on his temple and softly said, “You’ve always been a flame in the dark.”

He propped his hands on his knees, sagging.

You softly added, “He can’t make it out of the Upside Down without us. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.”

He pulled away to look at you.

“You and me?”

You nodded.

“However long we got.”

His face became a rictus of pain, eyes going full black. Gray veins wormed under his sallow skin. He shook and wailed. You held his shoulders to keep him upright. He coughed black liquid as his eyes flashed brown. The liquid trickled down his chin to mix with the dry blood. His eyes clouded white.

He listed right. You couldn’t steady him as his weight dropped. You cushioned his head as he fell, your mind racing. Could you use the Eradix spell now? Would it kill Eddie, too? Did you want to gamble with his life? Was the nexus open enough for any spell to get through or not? Would he hate you if you couldn’t do anything?

The whites of his eyes went red — like blood, like lightning. He flailed. The black liquid from his chin smeared your inner forearm. Blistering heat sizzled up your nerves. You pulled away with a curse and a quick draw of breath. Your skin puckered. You needed to get it off you.

The few fallen leaves crumbled in your grasp. You picked at your shirt. If the liquid burned your skin, it would probably burn through clothing. Then you’d be in the same predicament, but this time on your stomach. The only solution was scraping it off.

Leaning over, you bit your lip and dragged your throbbing forearm across the bark of the tree. It abraded the wound like sandpaper. A whine escaped your throat.

Eddie’s yowl eclipsed it. He thrashed to the side. The gray veins darkened. He retched more black liquid. It sprayed over rotting moss.

The entire forest was rotting. The leaden sky became visible as leaves drooped, black and brown and covered in ash. Even the evergreens umbered.

“Eddie,” you said, touching his sallow cheek. “Eddie, don’t leave me.”

He rolled onto his back, coughing a mix of black and red. It splattered his reviving face. The eyes that stared at you were the Bambi brown you adored. Red bloomed across his clothes in blurry slashes and discs.

“No no no no no…”

A pained, distant roar rang through the woods.

You clambered for the side-seam of your shirt. You could use the fabric to wipe the caustic liquid from his skin. Then you had to stop the bleeding. He couldn’t— Not like this. You wouldn’t let him— Not when you could make it right.

His shaking hand made its way to your face, fingers warm on your cheek.

His voice was thick when he said, “Sweetheart…”

You knew what he was going to say, the jerk.

Tearing an uneven strip from your shirt, you said, “Shut up, no.”

His eyelids fluttered and hand dropped to the ground.

“You gotta take ‘im out then.”

“You’re more important.”

He grinned, eyes half-closed and teeth red with blood.

“You flatter me.”

“Quit distracting me.”

You wiped at his chin first, then his cheeks and neck. There had to be a way to get Vecna and heal Eddie at the same time. His bloodstains grew. Time was running out.

“Far be it from…” He panted. “From me…”

“Oh my God, will you be quiet?!”

“Impossible.”

You laughed despite yourself. A sob bubbled out between breaths. Your tears landed on his top. Ignoring them, you threw the soiled fabric and pressed your palms to the biggest bloodstain on his torso. Thick, fresh blood oozed between your fingers. He winced and tensed. You told him to relax.

He breathed, “Fuckin’ bats…”

That was right, the demobats had done this. The bats that had been yours, but taken over by Vecna. They’d become part of the hivemind — and maybe you had, too, until your death. Vecna had sent them. Even if they were dead, they remained a part of him. The hivemind was a loop—

Which meant you could send back what they’d done.

Like a karma spell. What went around came around. You couldn’t recall a full spell, but you remembered enough to focus your intention.

“Stay still,” you said, settling on your calves. “Thought of something.”

He gestured he wouldn’t go anywhere.

You closed your eyes to visualize the vague, shadowy form of Vecna superimposed on Eddie.

“Three times three; Here’s what you’ve bid.” You imagined every bite and every tear pulling out of Eddie’s body. “Own what you did.” You pushed the wounds into Vecna. “Reap what you sowed; A torment you’re owed.”

Eddie twitched under your hands. He choked around broken syllables. One of his hands wrapped around your wrist.

That same pained, distant roar came again.

You met Eddie’s distressed eyes.

“It’s okay,” he croaked. “Keep—”

You nodded, shutting your eyes, and repeated the chant, putting more force behind it. He wheezed as his hold loosened. You bent over him as if to shelter him, but it was too late for that.

You said the spell again. Your fingertips dug into his flesh.

“C’mon, you fucking shit.” You repeated the spell at double speed. “Get out!”

A terrible roar vibrated the very air, resounding from every direction. The ground shuddered. Ash showered from the tree canopy. Eddie’s hand fell from your wrist.

You shoved his shirt up. Your bloody fingerprints joined the blood-rimed scars littering his stomach. Despite the healing, his chest stayed unnaturally still.

If he was healed, why didn’t his chest move?

“Eddie?” You tapped his cheek and put a finger under his nose to check for breath. “Eddie?”

When he didn’t respond, and you couldn’t feel him exhale, you rose onto your knees. You hadn’t cast spell after spell, cried pitchers of tears, and literally died to lose him like this.

Those CPR lessons from middle school had better pay off, you thought as you got into position.

You layered your hands at the center of his chest, hoping you weren’t making a mistake. You used your weight to compress his chest in a fast rhythm. After a few seconds, you tilted his chin back, sealed your lips over his, and breathed air into his lungs.

Cycling through compressions and breathing, you began silently bargaining. If he lived, you’d give up anything — Djarums, wearing black, spellwork. If he lived, you’d do anything — tell your parents about you being a witch, volunteer at an old-folks home, bless every person you interacted with. Anything. Anything to get him back. Whatever higher power out there told you to do, you’d do it.

You puffed into his lungs once, twice. You begged him to breathe. He convulsed, feet kicking the dead leaves. You cried out in relief before resting your forehead on his shoulder. His head flopped to the side as he coughed and sputtered.

His voice was thready as he said, “Ow.”

You straightened and held his cheek. He didn’t pull away from your touch or stiffen, but something in his body language shifted. Like you made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t want you to know you made him uncomfortable.

“Can you breathe okay?” you asked, withdrawing your hand from his cheek. “Any sharp pain?”

“No, just… just sore.”

You nodded, gnawing on your lip, and rubbed your dirty palms on your thighs.

He asked, “Vecna’s alive, isn’t he?”

You nodded again.

With your left eye still cursed, you had to assume so. You’d failed. Sure, you’d injured him. Maybe that would work in El’s favor. Maybe that would be enough.

You glanced at Eddie. He lay in the dead leaves, scrubs bloody and morgue tag around his toe.

Injuring Vecna wasn’t enough. Leaving it to El wasn’t enough.

“I think I can kill him.”

Eddie strained onto an elbow. You reached for him, then stopped short. You didn’t want to make him uneasy. He closed his eyes as he breathed through obvious discomfort.

He asked, “What do you need?” before opening his eyes.

“Nothing.” You swallowed. “I just need to concentrate.”

In the meantime, ash had ceased falling through the withering trees. Chittering from the demodogs had quieted as well. You took that for a good sign. It was time to hit Vecna while he was down.

However, if using magic made Eddie uncomfortable, you wouldn’t do it in front of him.

“Rest here,” you said and scooted back on your knees.

Your gut twisted and muscles quivered. The back of your neck twinged.

“Where—”

“I’ll be over there.” At random, you pointed to your right. “It won’t take long.”

You stood on flimsy legs. The woods spun and became fuzzy. The ground tilted. You caught yourself on aching, tired arms as you collapsed to the side.

Eddie said, “Don’t—”

“No,” you said. “I can do this.”

You shook yourself alert before attempting to stand again. This time, you rose by degrees. Your knees still wobbled, and your fatigued thighs complained, but you stood. You couldn’t give up. Vecna still lived.

Eddie said your name like a question.

You assured him it would be alright. Then, taking deliberate, deep breaths, you heel-toed it to a tree a few yards away. After rounding the trunk, you slumped. The bark caught on your shirtsleeve and flecked away in brittle pieces.

You sank to your knees, skeptical of your ability to stand again. That doubt hardly deterred you. If Vecna died after this spell, you’d sleep off the exhaustion here.

You leaned your shoulder on the trunk and closed your eyes. Even though you had no idea what Vecna looked like, you knew his energy. You threw a silent prayer out to guide the Eradix spell. No one else should be harmed.

Enough people had suffered because of Vecna.

You bowed your head and fisted your hands. “Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma,” flowed from your lips without thought. Thunder boomed nearby. You repeated the incantation, thinking of an arrow nocked. Again, you repeated it. You loosed the arrow. It blazed through the air, its tip glinting sharp and true.

You wet your lips, tasting steel. Each word of the incantation rocked you forward. Your arrow glided through smoke and lightning, a cage of lies, a temple to misery. Dark secrets yielded like the earth to a shovel.

Clouded eyes widened when the arrow struck.

Vines like veins burst to hemorrhage inky bile. It flooded the blood-soaked land in a torrent of black. The red sky turned gray. Screams, mighty and meek, crashed across realities. Pillars housing relics of despair crumbled.

Countless hands rose from the inhospitable depths to flay burnt, corrupted flesh. They whispered his name; your incantation beneath. He attempted to drive them away, but the dead were relentless. They didn’t know pain or exhaustion. There was no torment he could show them to make them cower.

They pulled at his neck, his scalp, his open mouth. He gurgled and choked on decades of his own creation. Pieces of him disintegrated, leaving swirls of gray in the ichor’s black mirror.

The dead dragged him under at last. Then there was silence, like the brief hush after a long exhale.

His inner world fragmented with a bellow of thunder. The last beat of his desiccated heart. Fragments became slices became scraps became splinters became particles — until there was nothing.

Not even your arrow remained.

Cool droplets landed in your hair, slunk down your forehead. You opened your eyes to a murky woodland. Raindrops trickled over trembling leaves. You blinked before bringing your fingers in front of your left eye. You could see them.

The curse had been lifted. Vecna was dead. Was Max awake? There was no reason to think she wasn’t.

With a grin, you called, “Eddie?” and spread your hands on the damp soil.

Only the peaceful tip-tap of drizzle answered.

“Eddie, are you there?”

Using the trunk for balance, you stood. Your rubbery legs held your weight, but you wouldn’t trust them to run a marathon any time soon. You held onto the trunk and inched around it.

Eddie was gone. The used strip of your shirt lay amongst the leaves as evidence he’d been there.

You left the safety of the tree, heading to where you’d left him. You examined the ground to determine where he’d gone, because you couldn’t linger while a storm gathered. Trampled leaves offered some direction. You followed the trail, yet the surrounding woods remained unfamiliar. Of course, you reasoned, you hadn’t exactly been surveying the land as you ran from him.

Step by aching step, minute after barren minute, your heartbeat sped. Your chest constricted. He wouldn’t abandon you. Your shirt dampened with chilly rain and new sweat. He wasn’t callous. The trees all looked alike. You assured yourself you weren’t walking in circles.

Ahead, leaves crunched in uneven strikes. Like tottering footsteps. You opened your mouth to call for Eddie, but you stopped short. That could be anyone. You huddled behind the nearest tree. They could be a soldier or a lone vigilante or an injured demo-creature.

Lord, you hoped it wasn’t a demo-creature.

You put a hand over your mouth and nose to muffle your breathing. Footsteps shuffled past. You stole a quick look, recognizing the dark hair and green scrubs. You slumped and caught yourself before you fell.

“Eddie?”

He spun to face you and winced.

“Hey, I—” He bounced on one foot. “Goddammit…”

He bent and did something at ground-level the leaves obscured. You stood and eased from your hiding spot. He staggered before crowing. He sounded like his old self, which made you smile.

He straightened, holding the morgue tag aloft.

“Fucking thing’s annoying.”

“I bet.” You wiped water from your forehead with the back of your hand. “Where’d you go?”

“Found us a ride.”

“My car’s parked at the hospital.”

“We’ll get it later.” He approached you, tucking the tag in the shirt’s breast-pocket, and held out his hand. “C’mon, our chariot awaits.”

You dried your palms on the sides of your jeans.

“Are you sure?”

He frowned, his hand dropping to the side.

“Sure about what?”

“That you want me touching you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Before… After I…” You sighed and shook your head, too tired to explain. “Nevermind.”

“Hey,” he said, drawing near to cup your cheek with a trembling hand. “We’re—uh… We’re good, alright? I’m… good.”

You put your hand over his and leaned into his touch.

“Me too.” You gave him a wry look. “Under the circumstances.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, your eyes are the same color now.”

You returned the grin.

“Yeah, you’re breathing.”

His grin widened.

“What a pair we make.”

He extracted his hand and offered it for you to take. You curled your hand around his palm. His fingers tightened. That certain touch was enough to keep you going, though neither of you could walk at a brisk pace.

“Sorry if I freaked you out by disappearing back there,” he said as he picked his way through the underbrush. “I wasn’t leaving-leaving, but I knew it was safe. I… I knew you were safe.”

You squeezed his hand in affection before offering your socks to protect his feet. He refused, albeit kindly, explaining he didn’t want to stick around long enough to put them on.

“Are there demo-whatevers out there?” you asked.

“Dead ones.”

“Holy shit.”

“It’s a goddamn mess, but the truck can handle it.”

“Truck?”

“Unlocked. Looked like the owner left in a hurry.”

You didn’t blame them.

He asked, “Where do you want to go?”

With a sigh, you mentally deliberated. Your house was across town. Or at least, you thought it was. His might be closer, but there’d been a gate in its ceiling. No doubt that had turned into the start of a fissure. So that was out. Getting your car from the hospital meant driving close to the nexus — and the heart of the battle.

The underbrush yielded to a carpet of mown grass. Eddie rubbed his feet on it, muttered how much nicer it’d been when he hadn’t felt pain.

The cloudy sky was just a cloudy sky that promised steady rain. The tower of smoke from the nexus had vanished. You’d never experience this level of stillness and quiet. No whoosh of cars, no conversations, no television or radio, no pet noises, no chirping birds. It was like you and Eddie were the last people in Hawkins.

Even so, Eddie hadn’t joked when he said the street was a mess. Demo-creature bodies littered the pavement and yards. Some shaped like canines, others like spindly humanoids, but all their petaled mouths and clawed hands lay limp and bloody.

You whispered, “Holy shit.”

This was what the predators you’d heard months ago looked like. The lamprey-like tooth on your necklace came from them.

The rain started coming faster.

Eddie gave your hand a gentle tug.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

You nodded, letting him lead you across yards, through rusting gates, and around painted sheds. He guided you to the passenger side of a maroon-and-white pickup truck parked in front of a detached garage. The worn interior smelled dusty, but you cracked the window as Eddie slid behind the steering wheel.

He unclipped the steering column and pulled a socket of wires loose. From the bundle, he chose two wires and yanked them from the socket. Using his shirt hem as insulation, he twisted the wires together. The dash lights and radio lit. Static gushed from the speakers. You turned the volume knob until the radio clicked off. He nodded in thanks and pulled another wire loose to graze it with the twisted wires.

Sparks blinked across the exposed metal.

The engine rumbled to life. You hooted in delight and drummed on the dashboard. Eddie beamed at you, revving the engine.

He gave the locked steering wheel a good heave. Metal pinged from inside the steering column. He turned on the windshield wipers and shifted the truck into Reverse.

“Where to, my lady?”

“Well, I’ve been staying at Steve’s, so…”

With a sly look, he asked, “Is there something you wish to tell me?” His eyes widened. “Have I been replaced?”

You chortled.

“It’s not like that.” You poked his upper arm. “I’ll explain on the way there.”

-

Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma = (butchered latin and dutch) By the roots I tear, to flay the body

[waywardrose-archive]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 10

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.5k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​​​​​​​

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Again, heed the tags, y’all. If you need spoilers, please DM me. For previous chapters, check the #em tagd tag below! Thanks for reading!

10

Hands wrenched you awake. Your chest pumped for air like you’d been drowning. You blinked as the dark room swam, then flashed red, gray, settling in the hazy orange from a streetlight. A human-shaped shadow loomed above you. You squeaked and tried to get away, palms skidding across unfamiliar sheets.

The shadow shushed you, voice mellow. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s me.”

It was Eddie.

You were in his bed. He’d picked you up from a convenience store. A spell had gone wrong. You’d been attacked and depleted.

Your attacker was still out there. No salt circle would protect you — or Eddie — or anybody — from it. You couldn’t cast a proper circle now, anyway. You were useless.

“Sorry,” you said, eyes stinging with tears.

“No, don’t be.”

He lay on his side next to you. His hand found yours under the blankets. You laced your fingers between his and focused on the ceiling.

You’d been in that red-lit hellscape again. Instead of a tiled room, a soundless expanse had surrounded you. Fractured pieces you almost recognized floated nearby. Pillars of vines pointed at a sunless sky. Black ichor gathered in puddles on the ragged ground. You’d spun and spun, finding no way out.

Then it had growled your name.

You’d run away, your shoulder banging into a pillar. Mist clogged your senses. You’d run into another pillar, which gave under the pressure to envelope your hands. It sucked one of your arms into it. Inside was warm and soggy. Thick liquid oozed around your fingers, hot like blood.

You’d twisted and yanked at your arm as it growled your name again.

“You shouldn’t be here,” it said.

You agreed. You shouldn’t have been there.

A clock had gonged a few times, each knell echoing through the expanse.

Eddie had freed you by shaking you conscious.

What if someone else was pulled into that hellscape, though? What if it had been Eddie? What if he didn’t have anyone to wake him? What if you weren’t there?

The trailer’s silence offered no peace from the thought. Silence was where your nightmare thrived. It wanted you silent. It wanted suffering.

“Could you turn on the radio or something?” you asked Eddie.

“Sure.”

Eddie eased out of the blankets — a wisp of cool air sneaking underneath — and went to the boombox on the dresser. He messed with a few settings before the boombox crackled to life. The newest song from WASP whispered through the speakers.

“That good?” he asked as he approached the bed.

You nodded, then curled onto your side.

He got into bed, lay on his back, and closed his eyes. You recalled feeling his beautiful energy in Chicago, how he’d been a silver flame. Trying to feel him out now was like punching a bruise. You could touch him, but you couldn’t sense that internal fire. You couldn’t explain that to him, either. He’d never believe you.

You’d lost something only you knew existed.

Eddie’s profile blurred. A heavy tear glided over the bridge of your nose and rolled across your cheek. Another followed, disappearing into the pillowcase.

You suppressed a ragged breath with fingers over your lips. Eddie must’ve felt the movement, because he turned his head towards you. His eyes widened before he gathered you to his side.

“It’s okay, baby.”

You rested your head on his warm chest, wishing that were true. The steady rhythm of his heart calmed you like nothing else could, though. You synced your breath with his until your tears dried.

“Do you want something?” he asked.

Your voice broke as you asked, “What?”

“You want something to help you sleep? I got stuff.”

“Oh...” You bit your bottom lip, thinking of a dreamless night. “Uh, alright?”

“If you’re not into it, it’s cool.”

He put a hand on your arm and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“No,” you said as you pulled away to let him get up once more. “I’d like that.”

He shuffled to his desk to open the lower drawer. His sleep pants hung from his lean hips and obscured most of his pert ass. He pulled an old-fashioned lunch box from the drawer and set it on the crowded desktop.

“Close your eyes. I gotta turn on a light,” he said.

You shielded your eyes with a hand. The wall sconce for the desk clicked on, flooding the room with soft light. A blackened water stain discolored the corner above the sconce. It spread across the ceiling and walls, moldering everything in its path as it undulated towards you. It sprouted into the ceiling fixture to overflow it with writhing black spiders.

Your breath caught in your throat. You pushed yourself against the wall. Your elbow knocked into the chest, which served as a second nightstand. On top, a stack of cassettes toppled and an empty mug teetered. You grabbed the mug to keep it from falling.

When you looked again at the water stain, it had retreated to the corner. The spiders were gone. You sighed and placed the mug where it had been.

“You good?” Eddie asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said and neatened the cassettes. “Just clumsy.”

He didn’t comment further, only muttered he’d be right back with water. As he left the bedroom, you slumped and rubbed at your eyes. You couldn’t have been dreaming. You were awake—

Right?

There was no way of knowing for sure. Your nightmares felt as real as anything else.

You bent to sniff Eddie’s pillow. It smelled of detergent, his products and musk, and a hint of smoke. You rubbed your nose on the thin pillowcase and snuggled under the blankets. It would be impossible to recreate the scent in a dream. This was the first time you’d been in his bed, anyway — and the whole thing smelled of him.

You hugged the pillow with a sigh.

“Was I gone that long, sweetheart?”

You jolted, cheeks heating, and scooted to your side of the bed.

“Sorry.”

Eddie’s grin was all sweet tease as he closed the bedroom door.

“If you want that pillow, you can use it.” He offered a glass of water. “I don’t mind.”

You took it while saying, “I’d rather use you.”

His grin faded, yet his eyes remained warm.

“I’m at your disposal, sweetheart.”

His earnestness caught you off-guard. Before you could reply, he went to the desk and fetched a prescription bottle. He returned, placing a knee on the bed to sit facing you.

“This is k-pin: Klonopin,” he said as he opened the bottle and shook a tablet into his palm. “No real high, but one’ll have you sleeping for the night.”

With a nod, you said, “Sounds good,” and plucked it from his hand.

“You ever take benzos?”

You shook your head and studied the tablet.

He said, “They’re soft-ish. Half a pill takes away pot paranoia.”

“That’s why you have them?”

“Well, not for me. Some customers need it.”

“Gotcha,” you said, then popped the tablet in your mouth and swallowed it with a drink of water.

He closed the bottle and walked it back to the lunch box. You set the half-full glass on the chest before getting comfortable and fluffing your pillow. He asked if you were ready and turned off the sconce when you said you were.

You threw the corner of the blankets down for him. The bed trembled slightly as he flopped beside you and tugged the blankets over his chest. He looked at you and lifted the blanket.

“Your personal pillow awaits, milady.”

“You sure?” you asked.

“Uh, positive.”

You tucked yourself against his side, hugging his torso and crooking a knee over his thigh. He arranged the blankets over you and kissed the top of your head.

Softly, he asked, “Good?”

You hummed in reply, closed your eyes, and breathed deep. Eddie’s heartbeat lulled you into a calm you’d only felt with him.

-

When your eyes opened again, bittersweet-orange light tinged the room. The other side of the bed was empty. Beyond the closed door and radio, male voices talked lowly. You assumed it was Eddie and his uncle, Wayne.

With a stretch and jaw-cracking yawn, you rolled across the bed. The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:49.

Oh, shit.

“Oh, shit,” you said, and scrambled onto your knees.

The room subtly spun as you blinked. How could you have slept that long? Eddie said Klonopin would make you sleep for the night, not for half a day.

You were dead. You were fucked. When you got home, you were going to hear about how you disappointed your father and worried your mother.

A knock on the door added to the dread welling in your gut. You wiped the crust from your eyes and told Eddie to come in. Your voice was rough, and you cleared your throat.

Eddie poked his head between the jamb and the door, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His hair was a wild mop of brown waves.

“Good morning, my little ray of pitch black.”

You groaned and buried your face in a pillow.

The door clicked closed. A second later, the radio went silent. Then the bed dipped beside you. A hand smoothed up and down your back. You rolled onto your side away from Eddie, but he kept petting you. The simple gesture made your throat tighten and eyes burn.

What was wrong with you?

You’d never cried so much in a 24-hour span in your life. You should’ve been cried-out by now — or at least been dehydrated. You were a mess. Your head was a mess. Your life was a mess.

Eddie deserved so much more than taking care of some hysterical person.

He pressed his chest to your shoulder and kissed your temple. His hand spanned the side of your ribs.

You hiccuped a sob and covered your face with your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you said as a few tears escaped.

“What? No, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” You pulled your hands away and looked at him. “I’m a stupid mess. You don’t want to be involved with me.”

“Hey,” he said, tone serious. “You’re my mess.” He cupped your cheek. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m a mess, too.”

You shook your head even as you leaned into his touch.

“Look at my room. You think I got it together?” he asked with a small grin.

You huffed a little laugh and covered his hand with yours. His thumb stroked your cheekbone.

“I’m King Mess, baby. A super senior stuck in this Podunk town.”

“But not forever,” you said, feeling certain to your bones.

He shrugged in a noncommittal way, his face a neutral mask.

“Seriously, Eddie, you won’t be stuck here forever.”

“Neither will you.”

You smiled and said, “We’ll go on another adventure.”

That mask dissolved until he beamed from ear to ear.

“I can get behind that.” He bent to give you a gentle kiss. “You hungry? Want breakfast? Or would you rather go home?”

You groaned as you remembered the time.

“Oh fuck, home. I’m dead.”

“Rather hole up here till the heat dies down?”

With a snort, you said, “No, that’ll only make it worse.”

He nodded.

“I can take you home, then.”

With a nod of agreement, you said you wanted to use the bathroom and brush your teeth. He stood and went to the dresser, saying he’d find you a pair of clean socks to wear. With his back turned, you admired the lines of his silhouette and his pretty hair.

Before you could doubt yourself, you closed the distance to mould against his back and wrapped your arms around his middle.

Cheek resting on his shoulder-blade, you whispered, “Thank you.”

He clasped one of your forearms and pressed it to his stomach.

“You’re welcome.”

You let him go and hobbled to the bathroom as fast as your wounded foot would allow. There, you used the toilet, washed your hands, and threw water on your face. The toothbrush you’d used last night was in the cup with the others, your name written in black marker on the handle.

Eddie had made space for you, given what he could, and took care of you when he didn’t have to.

Did anyone know how generous he was? How kind? Or did everyone assume he was some wastoid loser? Had they written him off as just a freak?

Because he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

This time, tears didn’t prickle as they came. You blinked them away easily and took a deep breath to shake the near-grief away. You knew who Eddie was and what he meant to you. That was what mattered.

You used the mirror to neaten your hair as best you could. At least you didn’t look like something had magically violated you, had an unearthly creature’s tooth yanked from your foot, taken an illicit prescription, and slept for, like, twelve hours. Because you certainly didn’t want another sex-and-drugs talk from your parents.

After brushing your teeth, you returned to the bedroom. Eddie had pushed back the curtains. He’d changed into jeans and a thick hoodie, and now sat at the illuminated desk.

“How’s the foot?” he asked as he faced you.

“Sore.”

He hummed in thought. “Want to wear my sneakers?”

“Sure,” you said. “Just for the ride, of course.”

“Of course.” He nodded at the bed. “Found a pair of decent socks for you.” He’d laid out your sweater and placed a white ball of socks on top. “They’re from middle school, I think. I had a growth spurt before freshman year and couldn’t wear them anymore.”

“And you kept them?” you asked as you sat on the bed.

With a shrug, he said, “I kinda forgot they were in there.”

That made you smile as you stretched a sock over your injured heel. The thick sole of the sock felt nice against the puncture. As you pulled on the other sock, Eddie retrieved his sneakers. Compared to the socks, your feet swam in them. You laced them tight, but they still looked absurd.

You waggled your feet.

“I look like a muppet.”

In a terrible impression of Kermit the Frog, he sang, “It’s not easy bein’ green.”

You laughed and put on your sweater.

“You should do a metal cover of that.”

He barked a laugh before offering you a hand to help you stand, which you took. You still kept most of your weight off the injured foot, though the socks and sneakers offered plenty of cushioning. You lumbered behind Eddie as he led the way to the living room.

It was a touch warmer beyond the hallway. Wayne sat on the couch, reading a section of the Sunday newspaper. He’d stacked the other sections on the coffee table.

“I’m taking her home,” Eddie said as he reached for the front door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Wayne lowered the newspaper with a grunt. Without the barrier of his truck, he looked tough and serious. When his steely gaze turned to you, your first instinct was to apologize for intruding.

“My nephew here said you had a nasty night.”

“Yes, sir.”

To Eddie, he asked, “You offer her breakfast?”

“Yeah, of course.”

To you, he said, “You’re welcome to stay for supper.”

“Oh, thank you, sir, but I should be getting home.”

Wayne nodded in acceptance.

“Well, I hope your next visit is under better circumstances.”

“Me too.”

His eyes softened, a hint of a grin warmed his expression.

“Our door is always open.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

He said to Eddie, “You best give her a coat. It’s cold out there.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Eddie plucked his jacket with a denim vest from the back of a dinette chair and held it open. It settled heavy on your shoulders, surrounding you in his scent.

Wayne nodded again — this time in approval.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Mr. Munson.”

“You too.” He flicked his newspaper to pop the crease straight. “Y’all be careful out there.”

“We will,” said Eddie and ushered you outside.

“Thank you again,” you said to Wayne before Eddie closed the front door.

Wayne had been right: it was cold. The overcast sky didn’t look like rain or snow. It was just a wan shade of gray. A gust of wind pierced the weave of your sweater, making you want to cross your arms and scurry for shelter.

“Need my keys,” Eddie said softly and drew near to block the wind.

You patted the jacket’s pockets, finding the ring of keys.

“You sure you want to go home?”

You offered the keys in your palm.

“I’d rather get the lecture over with, thanks.”

With a sigh, he took the keys. Then he spotted you down the porch stairs. You made it into the van with little fuss. The interior still smelled of old plastic, weed, and boy-funk. The scuffs on the dash and center console were more noticeable in the light of day. He’d retrofitted a tape-player into the dash, too. The surrounding plastic was scratched and jagged.

Eddie plopped into the driver’s seat, making the van sway. He gave you a grin and started the van, which rumbled to life.

“Want some music?”

You nodded with a ‘yeah,’ because anything was better than being alone with your thoughts.

He riffled through a shoebox taped to the floor, produced a Motley Crue tape, and shoved it into the player. It started mid-song, but he didn’t rewind it. He turned the volume up and shifted the van into Reverse.

The drive to your house was quicker than you remembered. The van was in your driveway before you were ready.

Eddie clicked off the tape-player. Teeming silence filled the van. You didn’t know what to say or how to begin. There was too much jumbling together.

“I can come in with you,” he said.

“No, it’s okay.”

“I don’t like this.”

You unlatched the seatbelt.

“I know, but I can handle it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you loosened the laces of his sneakers and toed them off.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I’ll help explain.”

“No, honey, I...” You shook your head. “Not like this, okay? I want you to meet my parents — I do — but not like this.”

He growled to himself as his shoulders slumped. “Fuck.”

You planted a hand on the console and leaned towards him.

“Give me a kiss.”

“Call me later.”

“I will, promise.”

He moved in, wrapped a hand around your nape, and caught your lips in a desperate kiss. You sagged, returning the kiss with equal fervor. He made you not want to leave the van ever — even if it stank.

Yet you had to.

When he finally pulled away, you almost changed your mind. You wanted to tell him to keep kissing you and take you back to his place. You’d eat supper with him and his uncle, sleep in his bed again, and go to school tomorrow. Forget your parents and your car and your stuff.

“You better go before I kidnap you for real.”

You smiled.

“Can’t kidnap the willing.”

He released you with a groan and sank into his seat. His expression was a mixture of frustrated lust and genuine concern.

“I’ll call you tonight,” you said as a peace offering.

“You better.”

You told him not to wait, because you’d be going in through the kitchen door. He nodded and straightened. You climbed out of the van, took off his jacket, and folded it on the passenger seat. You met his eyes and grinned.

“Catch you on the flip side.”

“Not if I catch you first, babe.”

Feeling heat creep into your cheeks, you closed the door and took a few backward steps. The concrete was frigid under your feet. Eddie gave you an encouraging nod. You returned the nod and sped unevenly up the driveway to the path which led to the deck. The van’s brakes squealed as Eddie reversed it onto the road.

You paused on the deck and inhaled a centering breath. You had no magic to mask your presence or influence your parents. This was going to go like it did for any other teenager who’d stayed out all night.

The kitchen was bright through the window over the sink. Mom wasn’t visible. However, she wasn’t one to leave lights on. Your father didn’t hang out in the kitchen, preferring the living room or his office. If he was in the living room, he would’ve seen Eddie’s van.

Well, you thought, let him see.

Through the kitchen’s double doors you saw Mom sitting at the table, reading a paperback romance, the cordless phone by her elbow. Her head snapped up when you opened the door. She rested the book on its face to save her spot. The house was quiet and warm and smelled of roasting chicken.

As you closed the door, you said, “I’m sorry.”

She stood, yet kept hold of the back of her chair.

“Where the hell were you?!”

You grimaced at her volume.

“You’re lucky your father’s at the country club.”

Tension drained from your shoulders.

“Well?” she asked. “Where were you?”

“I was with a friend.”

“What’s this friend’s name?”

“Eddie.”

“I’m assuming Eddie is short for Edward.”

You nodded and averted your gaze, keeping to the other side of the table. You knew how it sounded.

She snorted and stomped to the fridge.

“I went to your room when you didn’t show up for breakfast. The lights were still on and your bed was untouched, but you were gone.” She pulled a bottle of white wine from the door. “No note to tell me where you were or why.”

“Does Dad know?”

“Goddammit, don’t you worry about him.” She pointed the bottle at you. “You’re talking to me right now.” The fridge door clapped shut behind her. “What the hell were you thinking, huh? Going out in the middle of the night to see some boy.”

You came around the table, wincing when you stepped too hard on your heel.

“Are you hurt?” Her eyes went flinty as she left the bottle on the counter and came closer. “Did this Eddie hurt you?”

“No, he didn’t hurt me!” You motioned to your feet. “These are his socks. He patched me up.”

“Where are your shoes?” She examined your sweater. “Where’s your coat?”

“I wasn’t wearing them.”

“So, you left without shoes or a coat when it’s almost freezing at night?”

“I sleepwalked,” you said, because it was the easiest, if inaccurate, explanation.

She gave you a flat look.

“You’ve never sleepwalked in your life.”

“Well, I do now!”

Tears suddenly burned behind your eyes. Their heat suffused your entire face.

Her anger vanished with a sigh, like a candle snuffed.

“Did you actually sleepwalk?”

“I think so? I was walking on the side of the road, and I didn’t know where I was.” You wiped away a fat tear before it rolled down your cheek. “I found enough change in a gas-station parking lot and called Eddie, okay? I didn’t know who else to call!”

“You call home,” she said, and crossed her arms.

“But I didn’t know where I was.” You spread your hands. “He’s lived here his whole life.”

She huffed with a shake of her head.

“How did you hurt yourself?”

“I stepped on something sharp, but Eddie took care of it.”

“Want me to take a look at it?”

“No, it’s fine. Just sore.”

“Are you hungry?”

You shrugged. Your stomach was in a knot, but it had been a long time since dinner. Maybe a little food would help with the emotional rollercoaster you’d been riding.

“I could eat.”

She told you to sit as she went to the pantry. You limped to the table and settled into a chair. The dread that had been building since you woke faded. You wanted to sleep for a million years. But your nightmares lived in silent sleep. Maybe you’d slept long enough.

A plate with a plain ham sandwich slid in front of you. Mom set a glass of wine next to it. You hadn’t heard her uncork the bottle. You must’ve been more out of it than you realized. Or the Klonopin was stronger than Eddie let on.

She sat in her seat, a glass of wine in her hand. You thanked her and took a bite of the sandwich.

“This doesn’t mean you’re not in deep shit. Because you should’ve called me from his place.”

“I know.”

“Do I need to get you a pregnancy test?”

You dropped the sandwich as you coughed around the half-chewed bite. Mom pushed your wine closer. You knocked back half the glass, washing everything down.

Voice a little hoarse, you said, “No.” You patted your chest. “We didn’t— I mean, last night I just slept at his house.”

She hummed like she didn’t quite believe you.

“Trust me, okay?” Your face heated anew. “Doing it was the farthest thing from my mind.”

You remade your sandwich and took another bite — to hide your face, if nothing else.

“Alright, fine. I’ll find a doctor tomorrow and make an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For your sleepwalking, of course.”

You swallowed, and the food landed heavily in your stomach.

“This is the first time...”

“And you left the house. That’s pretty serious.”

“But they’ll put me on meds.”

“Maybe you need medication.”

“I won’t take it.”

She sighed and took a long drink of wine.

“I know it hasn’t been easy: moving to this small town, away from your friends and all you knew.”

“That’s not the problem.”

The problem was fucking Hawkins. No amount of medication would make this place normal.

She said, “It’s been stressful.”

“So you want to drug me?”

“No, I don’t want to drug you. I want a doctor to make sure you’re healthy.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“No, you want a doctor to give me pills so I won’t be a problem for you or Dad.”

“I’m going to overlook that because I know you had a bad night.”

“A bad night?” You scoffed. “Try a bad fucking life.”

“A bad fucking life?” She leaned towards you. “We’ve given you everything we didn’t have.”

“I don’t want everything you never had!”

“Then what, huh? What do you want?”

“I want to be treated like a person, not a problem to manage!”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Maybe you should.” You pushed away from the table and stood. “You’ve never apologized for anything.”

“You sit down right now, young lady. We are not done talking about this.”

“No, screw this. I’m not going to the doctor.”

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead.

“Are you admitting you were lying?”

“I didn’t lie!”

“Go to the doctor, or you’re grounded.”

“Then I guess I’m grounded.”

You marched as fast as you could from the kitchen.

“You’re grounded for two weeks!” Mom called after you. “With no car!”

-

The book stacks soundproofed the school library’s back corner. A row of carrel desks lined the wall. You sat criss-cross applesauce at the last desk, struggling with your Trig homework during lunch. The bubbles in your Dr. Pepper fizzled against the sides of the metal can.

After working out the seventh of ten problems, you dropped your pencil, relaxed in the chair, and drew the open bag of Combos near. Whoever put letters in math needed to be murdered slowly. Or roasted on some demon’s pitchfork.

You ate a few Combos and wiped your hands on your jeans before taking a drink of soda. Not that torturing the father of trigonometry could help — despite the thought being satisfying. And it wasn’t like the threat of fiery doom would hardly persuade Mr. Wessel from collecting your work tomorrow.

With a sigh, you set the can in the far corner and picked up your pencil. Three more to go. You copied the eighth problem — sin3cosx = sin7xcos5x — and glared at it. You wanted to bash your forehead on the desk. Which formula solved this piece-of-shit problem? You paged through the chapter section, looking for a miracle.

A male voice growled, “You can’t eat in here,” as your chair shook.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The nightmare had found you. It had broken through. Your knee banged the underside of the desk as you uncrossed your legs. You had to get away before it overpowered you again.

You pushed away from the desk, textbook plowing into the Combos bag. Your foot caught on your purse you’d dumped beside the chair. It skittered across the low-pile carpet. Normally, you’d chase after it, but not this time. You needed to run.

You surged to your feet. If you didn’t run, it would kill you. Arms wrapped around you, pinning your own to your torso. You stomped with your non-injured foot. Your heel slammed into something soft.

“Ow! Shit, shit, shit!”

You wriggled in the powerful arms to loosen their hold.

“Baby, it’s me. It’s me. It’s Eddie.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Jesus Christ, it’s okay. I’m here.”

You sagged, yet couldn’t catch your breath. It was too hot. Your heart pounded like a prisoner trying to break free. The room spun, the myriad of book spines swirled together. You squeezed your eyes closed and tried to swallow.

In a soothing tone, Eddie said, “Let’s sit down.”

You nodded.

He guided you to your chair. Though it was a step or two away, it felt too distant. Your legs quaked. You collapsed sideways into the chair, gripping the back so hard it hurt.

He crouched in front of you, his warm palms on your thighs. You stared at his hands. They really were well proportioned.

“Hey, you gotta breathe.”

You nodded again, focusing on his rings and counting the skulls on one of them.

“Breathe in,” he said, and counted to four. “And out.”

It was difficult to match him for a minute, but he kept counting until you could. You released the chair back and leaned against it. Your hands shook too badly to do much of anything, anyway.

Slowly, he rose and retrieved the half-full Dr. Pepper can. You cupped it with both hands, one of his under it for insurance. You took little sips, which helped settle your tight stomach.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t think.” He crouched, hands on your thighs once more, and met your eyes. “I was sooo excited to find you.”

You thought you grinned. It was hard to tell with how floaty your head felt.

You kept sipping Dr. Pepper, which was cold and bubbly. It was nice. The can’s condensation wet your fingers. That was nice, too. You concentrated on breathing, then drinking and swallowing, and breathing again.

Little by little, you trickled into your head. Your heartbeat was steady, lungs fully functional. Yes, your hands quivered, but you could manage. The worst was over. Eddie was there.

He gnawed on his bottom lip — probably had been gnawing on it. You touched his lips to draw attention to his actions. He stopped, looking into your eyes. His lip was puffy and flushed a deep pink.

You wrapped your hand around the can and tried to convey with a look you weren’t angry. Because you weren’t angry with him. Or even upset. He wasn’t the one who’d drained your magic.

“Wanna skip the rest of the day?” he asked. “I still have The Last Starfighter at home. We could smoke some weed and heat a couple frozen burritos.”

That sounded great, but you couldn’t.

You shook your head.

“I shouldn’t. My mother’s home all day, and she’ll see you drop me off.”

“I don’t have to take you home. I can drop you off at your bus stop.”

If she discovered you’d skipped school the first Monday after being grounded, you’d never hear the end of it. Most likely, she’d add time to your grounding until you wouldn’t be free until mid-December. You couldn’t imagine only seeing Eddie at school. You couldn’t imagine not having your car until then, either.

“We’ll do movies and burritos after Thanksgiving, okay?”

He nodded, resembling a kicked puppy.

You added, “And I’ll come to your next show.”

“I’m going to miss you tomorrow night.”

“I’ll call you after, and you can tell me all about it.”

He snorted. “I’m sure it’ll be a thrilling tale.”

“It always is with you, Eddie Munson.”

[hommoturttle]

a Fanfic I'll Never Write

(a/n: i don't intend to really finish this, nor do i know where i was going with it. haha)

pairing: TFWS! Bucky x Reader

warnings: sexual content, bdsm aspects, alcohol, mild misogyny (you really have to squint), story starts in a very random place so I'm sorry if at first it doesn't make sense. let me know if I miss anything else also, this has NOT been beta read, i own up to all mistakes and incorrect grammar

"no. no! anyone but her!" bucky yelled at sam and Zemo holding his hands up to further prove his protest.

**********

the bar they walked into was loud. the way it was designed was like someone hadn't grown out of their 12 year old emo phase. black walls, floors and tables. the bar counter was the focal point with thousands of light up skulls that changed color with the music that was playing. fake spiderwebs and Victorian portraits hung on the walls with pictures of someone called BeetleJuice. "he looks like you before coffee" Sam mocked Zemo pointing to those pictures.

the patrons of this bar were also dressed in all black, a few had neon colored hair that Bucky had to remind himself this wasn't the 40's anymore. people had the right to look however they wanted, even if he still found unnatural hair colors weird.

surrounded by a crowd at the bar was the woman they were looking for. but what they saw her doing nearly gave bucky a heart attack. the poor old man that he was.

Y/N Y/L/N was topless laying titts up on the counter while some punk was pouring hot candle wax on her. the crowd was hollering and whistling in excitement. "has she always had her nipples pierced?" Zemo asked noone in particular. Bucky was this close to crushing his windpipe for staring at his girl.

just because he left her so she could live a life without his baggage didn't mean he had stopped thinking of her as his girl.

Y/N arched her back and stuck her tongue out. a different man poured his drink down her throat and tried to touch her without his permission. Bucky saw red, but before he could go play hero Y/N had sat up and started twisting that guy's arm behind him.

"did i give you permission to touch me? last i checked pet, i hadn't. you gonna make it up to me? how bout an apology." Y/N bit his ear and shoved him to the ground.

the man instantly fell to his knees, placing his hands on his thighs with his head facing downward. "forgive me mistress, i need to be punished so badly! let me please you!"

Sam and Bucky looked at each other in confusion. Zemo though looked like he had gotten what he wanted on Christmas morning.

Y/N cocked her head to the side and lifted her foot so it rested on the man's crotch. he whimpered and had a blissed out look on his face. "kiss it."

the man instantly did as she said kissing her foot with the utmost reverence. Y/N held her head up while looking at the man in disgust. she pushed him off her and slapped him across the face. "you're pathetic. a real man wouldn't be a spineless twat like you are now. strip and meet me on the stage pet. i feel like teaching you a lesson."

the crowd around the pair cheered with more hollering and whistles.

"what kind of bar did you say this was?" Zemo asked Sam seeing as how he was the one to bring the trio there.

"i..i was told it was an alternative bar. you know, for goths or something." Sam was stuttering and blushing slightly. Bucky never took his eyes off Y/N. he knew her too well. he could see she was just putting on a show, but wasn't really getting any enjoyment from being this dominant. he knew what kind of submissive she usually was. he had spent hours learning.

was it weird that thought brought him some comfort?

"come on" he told his awkward group as he made his way to the bar. there was a woman behind the bar with only a little more clothing on than Y/N. she had curly brown hair and harsh blue eyes that showed how unkind life had been. "what can i get you?"

she sounded exhausted and more than ready to go home.

"how often does she do this?" Bucky asked the woman, not wanting to waste her time even more so.

the woman gave him a small once over with an eyebrow raised, but didn't say what she was thinking.

"she's one of our regulars. she does this when she's pissed of about something usually. the wax thing is new though. not complaining about it, it's just new." the woman shrugged her shoulders. Bucky nodded.

"so, can i get you anything to drink or are just going to be pervy?"

"i'll have a Vodka Tonic if you would be so kind." Zemo ordered his drink. "and your name so that i don't feel like i'm disrespecting you madam."

the woman chuckled “you wouldn't be the first man. my name is Sami. i'll get that drink going for you." she turned to sam, "anything sound good?"

Sam ordered a beer but wasn't paying much attention to her. he was focused on Bucky wondering what was going through his head. bucky didn't want to see Y/N or bring her onto this mission. last he heard, the pair had a falling out caused by Bucky, but here he was staring at her like all he wants to do is take her in his arms and never let go. Y/N still hadn't noticed the trio, too busy hitting a poor, near naked man with a ridding crop on a stage for the whole bar to see.  Sam just had to laugh at the scene.

just when he thought this was going to be a moment of calm in a world of crazy, Bucky started walking towards the stage and he didn't look happy.

"bucky! don't... you...don't!"

it was too late, the super soldier stood right in front of the dominatrix with a defiant look in his eye and his arms folding across his chest, metal arm shining in the lights. Sami the bartender thought he looked equal parts dangerous and sexy. Sam just thought he looked stupid.

Y/N though....

Y/N thought he looked beautiful. all rough, dark, and commanding. it didn't take away the hurt though and that pissed her off.

Y/N jumped of the stage to stand right in front of him, one had murder in their eyes, the other possession. "what the fuck are you doing here Barnes?" Y/N's voice sounded like pure venom.

Bucky gave a soft, sad smile. "it's good to see you too doll."

*****

after that awkward reunion, everyone sat down in a corner booth of the bar away from prying ears and leering eyes. Y/N still hadn't put a shirt back on. Bucky swore this woman was gonna be the death of him. "so let me get this straight, you break him out of a high security prison,"

Zemo had the nerve to smile.

"you thought you made the right choice in giving up the shield, so now it's in the hands of the human version of moldy blue cheese,"

Sam folded his arms and rolled his eyes.

"and you still can't look me in the eyes, but you want my help with 'terrorists gone wild'."

Bucky stared at the table even harder.

"we understand that we're asking a lot from you Y/N, but we could really use your help." Sam tried pleading with her, though he wasn't happy with what she said.

Y/N sighed and leaned back in her seat, rolled her head side to side to try cracking her neck. it didn't work unfortunately.

"I’m in. but lets get one thing straight,"

she turned to look at Bucky. "after this, don't ever think of pushing me away again to hurt yourself further." Bucky finally met her eye and saw her big (Y/E/C) eyes filled with anger, concern, and love. how a woman like her could ever love a broken shell like him, he'd never understand.

"I promise." those words were barely spoken over a whisper, but they were felt like bombs.

Sam, and even Zemo, felt like they the uninvited 3rd wheel intruding on a moment they weren't supposed to be.

"Sami! mind pouring me a drink to go?" Y/N called out.

Sami rolled her eyes but had a soft caring smile on her face as she grabbed the rum behind her. "you owe me!"

TAGLIST: @buckle-up-buttercups @whovianhalfblood @gideonknave @roulu @itsbobbi

[chevvy-yates]

40, 42 and 49 for Vijay pls <3

asks do come from this post.

40. has your character ever been in love? if so, with who?

already answered here, but since I'm in the mood to tell stuff this weekend also have a spontaneous writing muse, I will answer for the second one now, too :) After he left his Portland days behind and moved to Night City, Vijay of course went to dive into NC's night life. He likes to party, so he'd be nuts if he didn't go exploring the variety of it reaching form gay night clubs such as Dicky's to shady underground shacks. Once he went to a Depeche Mode Party (yes, even in 2077 those were still "in" – let me believe in ittttttt). There he met some dud from Germany named Ryder* - ex-Corpo guy turned merc – with a look that was definitely of Vijay's taste and likes: slight 80s punk/goth look, all wearing black, who had piercing bright glowing eyes and a hint of mystery surrounding him that led to VJ immediately wanting to know more.

Their affair lasted about a year until a situation occured that triggered Vijay once again reminding him of his near death experiance back in Portland. Like Reva Ryder got himself mantis blades installed and there was a delicate situation they unintendly went into action he couldn't control - he didn't even notice it at first. And it probably left ryder nearly as much in shock as VJ. That's all you need to know for the moment. After some long conversations they decided it was better to just stay friends instead. The contact got reduced for a while, so everyone had his own space. A while later VJ suggested Jackie to ask Ryder if he wanted to join the team concernin the merc busisness. They could need an ex-Corpo who is used to close combat especially with mantis blades and Ryder was excellent in that. So, they are team mates now, still hanging out together at the Afterlife or at some other underground Dark Wave/EBM shack somewhere in the city, but Ryder still kinda loves VJ to this date – with VJ knowing that. *I'll create this fucker as a second V some day I promise.

42. do they believe in love at first sight?

Nope. Vijay knows when he feels all over the moon it might be attraction in form of lust mostly what is driving him – he had enough such encounters to know this feeling very well. He does know what love is, too hence he experienced it already and that only comes after a while when he's really interested into getting to know more about the person he's spending time with, forming a deep bond after time and being connected on a deep emotional level.

49. name three of your characters biggest turn ons.

Just the right amount of eye contact. If you manage to lock eyes with VJ the right way, you will get his attention.

Casual kissing hat turns out to get hotter than it was intended to be ending into having some hot sex instead. yep.

Play with his nipples for a while - they're pretty sensitive, so kiss them, roll them between your fingers, suck 'em as well – it turns him on immediately to do/want more (even if he's half asleep).

[chibi-writes]

Hello, welcome to twst wonderland fandom (srry if this awkward). May i request the dorm leaders to their s/o lolita fashion and that is intelligent, elegant, formal and well mannered but is laid back and doesn't show their intelligent, although it slips from time to time. Thx, srry if is long enough..

Thank you for the warm welcome and thank you for requesting! I honestly love this prompt. I am also going to include what kind of lolita fashion I think they would like if that’s ok!

Riddle Rosehearts

- Bro have you SEEN Alice in Wonderland? This boy would be for it!! 

- Especially the elegance? Oof! You got him! 

- Even if you were typically much more laid back, he wouldn’t mind it. 

- To him, you uphold the elegance and mannerisms of a queen

- But when you show your real intelligence level? Hi, yeah Riddle is sent.

- Riddle is all for the intelligent elegant people so no wonder you’re is s/o!

- Alice Lolita is not a real style, but typically the theme of Alice in Wonderland is found in Sweet and Classic style lolita. Plus I feel like Riddle would naturally gravitate towards that anyway, even without the Alice in Wonderland themes.

Leona Kingscholar

- What you wear wouldn’t really affect his opinion of you, because, well, you’re you.

- Although he does respect your choices

- I feel like he’s also the person who would fund some of your clothing (it’s expensive) but he’ll do it like the grumpy tsun that he is

- He himself is an intelligent but laid back person, so he would hold that a high respect.

- But every time he sees your true intellect, I think he falls in love just a bit more. He would never say it though. Not out loud anyway.

- I want to say he’d be fond of country and pirate lolita

Azul Ashengrotto

- Classy, elegant style and the personality to back it up? Sign him up!

- Like Leona, Azul would fund some of your outfits, but not so tsundere. 

- “Do you like it? I figured you would. And I even managed to get a discount for it. Fufufufu…”

- If you told him about those cafes that are really popular in for lolita photo shoots and tea parties, expect Monstro Lounge to become one temporarily. 

- He finds your laid back nature soothing, as he usually stressed same bro, but once he sees some of your real intelligence, I truly believe he grows a little more lovestruck. Octavinelle is known for it’s intelligent students after all! 

- also intelligence is pretty

- His favorites are sailor, gothic, and classic change my mind.

Kalim Al Asim

- Y- 

- You thought everyone else funding only best lolita styles was fun? HAHA

- Kalim takes it to a whole new level.

- From what research I’ve done on lolita, depending on the outfit, it can get really hot really fast. 

- So I feel like there would be a collective effort to make breathable lolita outfits for when you’re in Scarabia with Kalim

- That’s when he get to see the real intelligent part of you. As you’re working, he’s consistently giving compliments.

- 10/10 bby boi. 

- Would be fondest of sweet and casual lolita style

Vil Schoenheit

- 👏This👏Boy👏Loves👏All👏Fashion👏No 👏Matter👏 What👏It👏Is👏 And I stand by that!

- He love love loves the amount of effort you put into your everyday look and would give his opinion if you could change something to make it look cooler!

- He would totally help you invest in only the best dresses, makeup, and wigs/hair stylists. 

- And he would totally have you work with him as a model.

- 10/10 boyfriend for this style. And your elegance? The boy is sent! 

- The formal and well mannered attitude? YES.

 - Even with a laid-back attitude most of the time, Vil would still be 10/10 best boyfriend for this type of s/o.

- He👏Believes👏 Intelligence👏 Is 👏Beautiful👏 

- Make HIM dress in lolita lol

- I feel like his favorite lolita styles are Hime, Classic, and Gothic. 

Idia Shroud

- I- Are you an anime character?!

- Bro he’d deadass think you Celeste from Danganronpa

- Would be the most into the style, as well as knowing where to buy certain things for the best price.

- Cosplay? Cosplay. I can see him having cosplay someone who wheres the lolita style from of his shows or games. If you were comfortable with it of course!

- And when he sees you, oof this man is WEAK. 

- And your intelligence? It has him internally screaming out of ‘hi I love you’. 

- Like, this man is weak for smart pretty people and you can’t change my mind.

- All in all 10/10 nerdy boyfren

- Would like gothic, classic and punk lolita

Malleus Draconia

- I- Hello? Are you fae?????

- He thinks you’re like him. Your formality and elegance seems to hint at such. 

- Intrigued and curious about your style of fashion. Is it a particular country’s? Is there a drawback to it? Why do you dress like that? Can he try it?

- When you explain it makes you happy, he just smiles If you’re happy, he’s happy. 

- You’re laid back nature is new and refreshing to him. He’s usually surrounding by eccentric or high strung people. And your intelligence never ceases to impress him

- His ultimate favorite style would be gothic. Come on, he’s tall goth dragon boyfren what did you expect? But he would also be fond of Classic and Hime. 

Oh my feckin gods I did it! I finished it! Sorry it took so long! I’m just really slow and not used to this thing called Time Management. Thank you for your patience!

[brideofcthulhu10]

Behold another Lost Boys holiday special! It was between this and Valentine’s day, but honestly I love writing Christmas specials, its such a cozy time despite the high suicide rates, but lets not get into that. A BIG SHOUT OUT TO @imlostinsantacarla FOR HELPING ME EDIT MY FINAL DRAFT!

Fun Fact! My husband, David (yes, that is actually his name) actually does have the bah humbug hat I mention in the head canons. He’s a heavy metal goth so when I found it at the store I had to get it for him. And you just know if our David found that, he wouldn’t be able to resist it!

Christmas with the Boys

Alright, so the whole touchy, feely and mushy feelings that surround even the topic of Christmas time is not something any of the boys will ever openly admit to enjoying. After all, they see themselves as these bad ass brutal killers who thrive off of death instead of holding hands and caroling with the goodie goodies of this coastal town. 

Yet, it's challenging for them not to get sucked into the glitz and glam of the holiday season. Everything is a big deal in Santa Carla. Dia De Los Muertos, Halloween, Thanksgiving- everything! But especially Christmas.

Christmas in Santa Carla dwarfs the frenzy craze of Halloween. The entirety of the boardwalk is decked out with red and green lights that are tightly wound around palm trees, red bulbous bows are wrapped tightly around street lamps, the reds and whites of velvety fabric swirl down the posts, creating the effect of candy canes. All the store windows are painted to appear frosted, or covered with painted snowmen whilst several rooftops are covered with white felt in which mimics the texture and sight of snow. Even the boats in the harbour are all extravagantly decorated in a sea of lights that parade around brightly at night in every color imaginable.

Between the dates of the 30th of November all the way to the 24th of December the city of Santa Carla hosts a plethora of wondrous events in it's annual Holiday Festival. Large green, white and red kiosks are erected, selling a wide range of baubles and treats, from delectable chocolate coated rice krispy Santa Clauses, elf candy apples caked in a plethora of dark chocolate and peppermint, to a variety of Holiday hats, masks and even hand made costumes by the many local artists. Even hand carved candles in wondrous scents of pine, mint, or spice.

Currently, David possesses a black fur Santa hat which he acquired on a night out that boasts the words "Bah Humbug" proudly sewn over the front. It's the only holiday attire he'll even humor. Last time Marko attempted to place reindeer antlers on his head, David had set them on fire roasting atop a pan of chestnuts. Now it's not to say that he's a grinch persay. Rather, the complex and intense emotions that come hand in hand with Christmas can leave him perpetually indifferent at best, disdainful at worst. The whole occasion leaves him displeased. After all, he was an orphan who had been almost eagerly abandoned by his hooker mother left to fend for himself from the beginning, and  of course never met his father. Even she could not identify which of her many clients may have been responsible. Most of his mortal life he had lived as a street rat, barely making ends meet by picking the pockets of tourists and Santa Carla citizens oblivious to the true dangers of the lower side of town. The rich and uppity classes who often snubbed their entitled noses his way would never suspect as he lurks between alleyways, leaving them cornered at knife point. It was scarce that he ever did see a kind face in the sea of those who had little interest for anyone that was not themselves. Back then it was rather uncommon for anyone to step outside their own little lives, which led to most interactions, outside of the other boys, having been met with great hostility, thus he had learned to be just as equally hostile in turn. Even the mere thought of anyone suddenly dawning a false kindness due to a certain time of year simply agitated David. It rattled him to the very core in a way very few other things did. Why bother with the lies? Couldn't people just face the very basic fact that they weren't nearly as charitable as they often deemed themselves to be? I mean, the young man had seen firsthand a family having previously snubbed a dirty homeless man with appalled disdain at the sight of his muddied clothes and dirt stained skin, only to then begin volunteering at a soup kitchen to purge whatever guilt they carried on their conscience once the holiday season began. The whole ordeal was pitiful! Nevertheless, - more so for Paul and Marko's sakes than his own -, he did humor these traditions amongst the holiday's festivities. Ruining a good time just wasn't his style. Unless they started fucking singing.

Most traditions David could tolerate, some he even enjoyed slightly; although he would never be caught dead admitting something as embarrassing as that! However, he just couldn't stand Christmas carols! They were the bain to his immortal existence. The repetitive nature of these overly cheery jingles left him covering his ears lest they nest in his brain leaving him humming the same damn melody for weeks. This was the case because the dynamic duo of dumbasses were well aware of his hatred for Rudolph the Red Nosed fuckin' roadkill! Stupid red nosed abomination. 

“OOOOOOH-,” Paul begins with cheerful mischief.

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” David seethes through tightly clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut in indignance. 

Paul hesitates. He looks at Marko. Marko looks at Paul. Wicked grins of agreement spread wide like wildfire across their faces as their master plan comes into play. Full throttle. What’s more fun than annoying the shit out of David? One on the left, the other on the opposite side of the cave on the right. This was nothing but Divine perfection if you asked the two troublesome vampires.

“OOOOOH DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW!” Paul belted out at full volume.

“IN A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH!” Marko followed in suit, the widest eerie grin plastered on his face.

“OVER THE HILLS WE GOOOO” Paul howled enthusiastically. 

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU BOTH!” David's voice hit a whole new octave it had never in all his life so far. All the while Dwayne had opted to vacate the room lest he be caught in the middle of the escalating madness with Laddie in tow. He loved these guys, but not enough to dive head first into their fuckery.

Paul thrives during the Christmas holidays! How could he not? The food, the punk rock covers of Christmas songs, the absolute babes prancing around the town in Santa hats under mistletoe?! He loved it all! You can find him sneaking under mistletoe with many sweet honeys on a constant basis, regardless of whether or not he's acquainted with them. Most do roll their eyes or laugh it off, but every once in a blue moon the guy will get a little lovin' from a beach babe in the Yuletide mood. What else could he ask for? You can bet he’ll run into the woods December first, and quite literally RIP a pine tree out of the ground to bring home like a wee carrot being plucked from the ground. The bigger the better! He may even drag Dwayne or Marko along with him if it's too big for him to carry himself. And all the boozy drinks he can concoct up? This boy is in his element! Mulled wine, spiked eggnog, candy cane vodka, butterscotch bourbon hot chocolate?! Yes! David straight up refuses to try anything that Paul creates himself (remember the concoction he made in Max's kitchen? Those poor goldfish....) which is also another reason why he has Dwayne help him. Or rather, the other boys insist the most responsible of them monitors the blonde lest he poison them with some sickly brew. That, and the fact that Dwayne's the least likely out of all of them to blow up the damn kitchen!

Dwayne is indeed the designated cook during the holiday rush, albeit a field even he tends to struggle. Avoiding the kitchen catching aflame, perfecting his craft lest he blow up the stove, leaving only a pile of ash in its wake. As previously mentioned, ever since the dreadful chain of events that lead to the unfortunate destruction of Max's kitchen, this raven haired vampire has attempted his hand at learning to use a stove properly: Although he often finds himself forgetting ingredients either in the midst of cooking or after the final product is done and he's taken a big bite. 

“Shit! I forgot the milk and eggs!” Dwayne grumbled with a mouthful of dry crumbs, a true disgrace of a cookie.

Paul always gives him crap for it of course.

“Oooh I just thought you were going for a sandy, dusty dry cookie kinda thing.”

"Yeah man, these taste like ass!" Marko would cough out in midst of choking. 

"And what, like you dumbasses could do any better," Dwayne retorts with a huff. Only Star manages to have any manners when testing his failed baking endeavors.

"Well I mean, the taste isn't that bad. Just a little dry is all."

"At least Marko wouldn't be choking to death." David would mutter from the darkest corner of the room, a little late in the conversation.

In all honesty, Dwayne's biggest motivation when it came to improving his skills was obviously Laddie. The kid never got much of a Christmas whilst living with his mom, so now that he was with the boys, he wanted to ensure that Christmas's were something that Laddie would remember for all eternity. Though granted, it is quite the mess when he was helping in the kitchen. But when the mini vamp grins from ear to ear whilst coated in flour and rapidly stirring an overflowing bowl of chunky cookie dough--the sight is too freaking cute!

Since Laddie joined the boys, they participate in Secret Santa every single year, which definitely includes Paul bursting through the entrance of the hotel as Santa on Christmas day. We won't talk about the fact that each year he almost falls flat on his face and swears, ruining the surprise for the kid. 

"Santa where are your reindeer," he'd question, to which Santa Paul scoffs

"Pff, reindeer, I don't need any fucki- Ow," cut off by a firm and covert kick to the shin from Star, Paul quickly changes his response. "Oh! Ho ho, well, you see little boy, Santa can fly too! On his, uh, uhm… magic motorcycle! Yeah, that!"

But it's okay because Laddie already KNEW (he figured it out a year or two ago after Paul's beard fell off not once, but three times), he just doesn't have the heart to tell any of them because, well Paul really gets into it. And he knows the others are playing along for his sake. But to be fair, Laddie would have to be pretty dumb to believe it was Santa. I mean, the beard Paul's wearing is hanging half off his face by this point! But anyway, just like Paul's style, the entirety of the goody two shoes schpiel is thrown out the window, replaced with sleeves that have been ripped off, muddy boots, spiked bracelets and his Metallica shirt in full view beneath his flared red coat. He calls this BIKER CLAUS!

Laddie is not a squasher of traditions! But there was the one time that David had to intervene when Paul and Dwayne thought it would be great to use Laddie as the star at the top of the tree. David practically had a heart attack. Well, that's impossible but it still felt like he was having one!  

“Ho ho ho! Now, don’t be a bitch, little David or Santa will have to give you coal.” Paul stated mockingly to David, brows furrowed. 

“Well, Santa,” David scolds, a wry smile developing on his face when setting down the eight year old now off to shake his presents beneath their behemoth of a tree. “You best be careful. You never know what's in those milk and cookies, hm?”

Each year Marko buys bird toys for the pigeons in the hotel. Well, buy is probably the wrong word. More like he liberates the stores of their stock. And then for the next six months, David has to hear the agonizing jingle of bells. David almost roasted one pigeon in particular that kept flying over him to drop the ball with a bell in it on his head. That was Paul's entertainment for the next five hours, hell, he'd try to find it if the bird lost it and give it back. Marko defends the pigeon. Between running through stores buying up surprises for his friends, he's helping Paul throw out decorations for the cave. The dollar store has some surprisingly unexpected treasures, allowing him to deck the fucking halls to the max. Tinsel here, ornaments there,  tiny light up trees to hide around the caves, a butt ton of cinnamon pine cones which he ends up throwing back and forth with Paul.

And Paul often steals his gifts or goes dumpster diving for any hidden gems. He forgets to take the tags off of them the majority of the time, which is always an indicator whether or not its new. Any time Star asks where he got them from he refuses to answer. Just gets up and walks away. But for David's gift? Well this lucky bastard has found coal in the dumpster and chucks it to David when he's not looking and he sighs deeply in disappointment because this is the third year Paul has done this. 

 "Huh? What? Who did that? Wasn't me. Somebody's throwing stuff."

Other than that he'll find a fat bag of charcoal and just tape the name David on it. David is certainly not amused. Dwayne will actually try to figure out what the others want, and has the sense to save the money taken from their previous meals. After all, they're dead, they wouldn't have much use for it anyway. He's not about to waste his hypnosis on some poor cashier. That would be a waste of time in his eyes. 

When Christmas did arrive the tree was piled with mysterious boxes crudely mashed and taped together with bows and ribbons underneath it. It's obvious which ones are from Star since those gifts are wrapped in neatly pressed paper, wound tight beneath curled ribbons that remind the boys of her hair. Marko often goes on a food run rather than allow them all to be subjected to a potentially charred turkey, no offense to Dwayne of course. So, with a table covered from end to end with copious bowls of gravy, potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, a beast of a turkey in the center packed to the brim with cornbread stuffing, the boys cram into their chairs knocking back beers and spiked cider. Keeping to their own traditions, after fattening up, they gather around the tree and play card games, just as they had over eighty years ago on that frigid night. David still slays them in poker, and Marko is an utter dark horse when it comes to blackjack. Paul insists they try Go Fish. No one ever wants to play Go Fish. Closer towards the end of the night Dwayne will slip away to Jasper's shrine and bring him a fresh glass of rum as well as unwrapping what he got him that year. While Dwayne is there, the other boys will join him - omitting Star and Laddie left unaware of the Lost Boy they'd never met - in celebrating the last hour or so of the Holiday season with their fallen comrade.

Although Christmas time is often about uncomfortable mushy moments and emotions that create deep, unfamiliar times for David. The entire ordeal becomes that for everyone of the boys and Star. But God forbid anyone who even mentions it! I mean, it's kinda obvious though considering he's spending it with the people he always called family, knee deep in traditions that are sentimental to himself and the boys. There's a fluster of emotions running rampant during this particular Holiday Season, and although the blonde brooding vampire decides to squint at it with skepticism he savors these moments, knowing like Jasper, it could all be swept away with a single ray of light or the foolish hand of a hunter. So as they sit, drunk, full, and laughing beside Jasper's grave he can't help but smile at the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a pain in the ass, but… it's a pain he'll gladly sit through for his brothers.

[carpsurprise]

this isn’t really a request but if you want to do it anyway I think it’s fun:^) so we know sunshine boy sam is one of your favorites but can you rate the bachelors and bachelorettes together from most to least favorite and why?

thank u for sending this in!! its always refreshing to do non-imagine/writing stuff for da ol’ noggin!! dlkskd but truly thank u and im gonna put this under a cut and not tag it bc i can foresee there being some issues with this list <3 i do love all of these characters in their own way ofc

1. sam: like u said a given :^) i think sam is dumb and a lot of fun!! i love super happy/caring guys bc i am super bad w/ second guessing myself so!! a guy thats really straight forward and shows how they feel when they feel it is my dream! also the pop punk aesthetic <3 i like that he’s the direct opposite of me!! why would i want to date a dark/brooding guy when im already like that?? i want someone super happy thats gonna radiate that!!

2. haley: haley’s an angel late game! and she’s pretty! im pretty mean myself so i was never driven away from her but was more like damn we’d be powerful together and then she ended up doing a 180 personality wise and i love her even more!! shes so sweet and so helpful during marriage too love her

3. emily: ok emily is like a dream best friend for me!! i love how creative she is and we have a lot of similar interests. she seems like a good mix of the mom girl at a club taking care of all the drunk girls, the girl that u can easily go up to and talk to if u need a partner in class, and the cool older sister. love love love her

4. harvey: sweetheart... angel man. so shy and sweet!! i dont like mean men so him being outright kind and such a good guy is so heartwarming for me!! i feel like he would be respectful at all times and is not a man i’d need to worry about *intentionally* wronging me with intent to hurt <3 

5. elliott: i did theatre in high school and am a creative writing minor. i more wish i was him bc if i could live by the sea and write all day... yes. and speak like someone that would’ve gotten beaten up by a shakespeare character? yes. once again, a man that wouldn’t be mean to me & would make me feel safe

6. maru: also someone i would love as a friend! she’s so kind and always so welcoming my social anxiety would be nonexistent around her <3 i know she’d tell someone my order was wrong for me despite her also being nonconfrontational. seems like a sleepover queen and someone i could go to for anything without being judged love her to death 

7. penny: i also do love penny!! i think she’s def one of the better people in the game what with her aspirations and motivations but!! we r both too shy but i do love reading so i think we would get along there!! she’s v sweet but also her trope is not my fave!! i see a lot of similarities within us 

8. abigail: i do like abigail but i do not see the hype imo. she’s def got more character to her than some of the other women (once again, mr. ape) but she’s just not my type of girl !! i think we’re.... too alike probably. same thing w/ my thing w/ himboish guys.. i try not to surround myself w/ ppl that remind me of myself very often. still lov her tho i promise

9. leah: i feel like leah couldve had more potential in game imo, i dont really think there’s that much to her (thanks mr. ape) but i KNOW she’d beat someone up for me and i love that for both of us. she seems sooo chill and nonjudgemental. she’d buy me food if i couldn’t pay for it at the time </3 i do love her a lot

10. alex: oh boy hot stupid boy but misogynistic comments. granted! high hearts he’s much better but its the getting past that. i like his character at high hearts (also its just funny to headcanon him reacting to other characters) but.. alex i lov u but jesus christ. wouldn’t feel safe around him early game but later on i kno he’d beat up another guy for me <3

11. sebastian: him pushing the farmer (me) away at any chance is a huge turn off for meeeee and i just dont like!! men that are rude. obvi higher hearts hes not anymore but if not for completion sake i wouldnt have gotten to know him. i dont really like edgy guys bc i feel like there’d be more gaslighting and instability. also pelican town only has room for one goth seb stay in the basement </3 sdlkslkd

12. shane: once again mean if i wanted a man to be mean to me i’d walk outside my house. i don’t even reallyyy like his high hearts character (esp w his drinking after marriage) i just lkdlsdk drinking is a big turn off for me (family issues) and i understand why he’s like this i just. it doesn’t excuse it. i’m not his mother i refuse to cater to him bc of his issues. we all have issues.. u cant just treat people bad bc of them!! 

[luckycloud808]

weird asks that say a lot from @julietgiulia​

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? Coffee mugs

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? Chocolate 

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? Neither

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? Shy, conscientious, perfectionist

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? Glasses

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? All contributors

7. earbuds or headphones? Earbuddies :)

8. movies or tv shows? Movies

9. favourite smell in the summer? Hot soil, flowering plants, fruit and needle trees, post rain, towel after ocean swim, wind through car window driving through forest(ed highway)

10. game you were best at in p.e.? Hockey, soccer, california kickball, high jump and arm hang? 

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? Usually oatmeal or millet with omegas, fruit and oat milk or avocado bagel with black pepper and nutritional yeast

12. name of your favourite playlist? A nice mix for ness

13. lanyard or key ring? Key ring

14. favourite non-chocolate candy? Licorice, candied fennel or anise seeds

15. favourite book you read as a school assignment? Les miserables, The thief lord, The cellist of Sarajevo - off the top

16. most comfortable position to sit in? Slumpy posture, one leg over or under the other, knee tuck or apple sauce

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? Hiking boots or black sambas

18. ideal weather? Sunny after rain a little windy

19. sleeping position? No pillow usually on my left or on my back or front with one leg bent 

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? Notebook or notes app

21. obsession from childhood? Fairies and making homes

22. role model? Opa

23. strange habits? Not sure what qualifies as strange

24. favourite crystal? Not really into them but maybe jade or quartz 

25. first song you remember hearing? I turned out a punk or something by Joe Strummer

26. favourite activity to do in warm weather? Backpacking

27. favourite activity to do in cold weather? Cuddling, snowy adventuring, dancing

28. five songs to describe you? Hazel (bob dylan), Planted a thought (arthur russell), Junie (solange), Corridor of dreams (the cleaners from venus), Even cowgirls get the blues (emmylou harris)

29. best way to bond with you? Quality time, presence, care, spontaneity / silly curiousity

30. places that you find sacred? Oma and Opa’s yard and greenhouse, forest, Veluwe, ocean

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? Floral dress, nice earrings with sambas and sweatshirt or hiking boots, wool socks and over shirt, with shorts and tank top

32. top five favourite vines? Fresh avocado is the only one that comes to mind

33. most used phrase in your phone? Yay sweet and or That’s funny

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? Can’t think of any

35. average time you fall asleep? 2am

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? Probably one of those justgirlythings ones here or Fb I have no idea

37. suitcase or duffel bag? Suitcase

38. lemonade or tea? Tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? Lemon tart

40. weirdest thing to ever happen to you at your school? High school - Maybe bear spray yoe evac? authority figure telling me what I was wearing was inappropriate? psych teacher crying in class? Post sec - Tiktok famous boy makes a tiktok of me knitting in psych class? boy crushing steals my textbook just to get me to go to his car so he can return it to me? 

41. last person you texted? Daisy 🌼

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? BOTH

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? Hoodie

44. favourite scent for soap? Rose, patchouli, rosemary, lavendar, mint, etc.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? Fantasy

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? Naked 

47. favourite type of cheese? Cashew cheese or if I could brie

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? White nectarine but there are so many to try!

49. what saying or quote do you live by? “She walked with her entire body as if to gain momentum for an event in which her entire body would participate.” - Anaïs Nin (A spy in the house of love)

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? Probably my kid best friend

51. current stresses? Health issues, unstable income

52. favorite font? Freight rn

53. what is the current state of your hands? Coffee shakes

54. what did you learn from your first job? Hundreds of PLU’s, how to pack groceries, how messy and wasteful people are, that everyone should have to do a customer service job in their lifetime, how really great and awful people are, that I shouldn’t let other people’s stresses make me feel like I should be stressed, that quitting is good sometimes

55. favourite fairy tale? The six swans, Vasalisa the wise, Baba yaga, Bluebeard, Rumpelstiltskin, The red shoes, The velvet ribbon, Goldilocks and the three bears, and many many more

56. favourite tradition? Writing letters and cards, dressing up for halloween, celebrating birthdays

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? Eating disorder, depression and heartbreak (although these are things I still need to keep being overcome)

58. four talents you’re proud of having? Writing, taking notes, learning about my body, feeling for what resonates

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? Heyo, how bout that!

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? Nausicaä of the valley of the wind (hayao miyazaki)

61. favourite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? Recently found on my Tumblr feed from a book waiting on my shelf: “I want to believe, walking those aimless nights, that I was praying. For what I’m still not sure. But I always felt it was just ahead of me. That if I walked far enough, long enough, I would find it–perhaps even hold it up, like a tongue at the end of its word.” - Ocean Vuong (On earth we’re briefly gorgeous)

62. seven characters you relate to? In no particular order, not long thought out: 1) Sabina (A spy in the house of love), 2) Elio (Call me by your name), 3) Patti (Just kids), 4) Sally (The ruby in the smoke), 5) Camille (Un amour de jeunesse), 6) Dani (Midsommar), 7) Orla (Derry Girls)

63. five songs that would play in your club? I follow rivers - the magician remix (lykke li), JA! (bizzey), Gasolina (daddy yankee), Nice for what (drake), This must be the place - naive melody (talking heads) / love my way (psychedelic furs)

64. favourite website from your childhood? Myscene, Club penguin - those free gaming websites 

65. any permanent scars? A few on my face from tables and my dog, one on my knee from flip flops on a boat launch, a few burns here and there that probably aren’t permanent

66. favourite flower(s)? Always changing, echinacea and yellow roses rn

67. good luck charms? Change on the ground, nice earrings, well worn shoes, spotting flowers or animals

68. worst flavour of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? Cream of mushroom

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? Popped in my head, maybe not the most fun - the flower bud in the centres of apple tree fruiting spurs make the king fruit (the biggest and best apple from each spur) and if you pick the king blossom then all the surrounding blossoms will be bigger and better 

70. left or right handed? Right

71. least favourite pattern? Galaxy?

72. worst subject? Economics

73. favourite weird flavour combo? Miso and apple, blueberries and coconut curry, orange juice and beer (I don't know if its really possible to find a “weird” combo maybe it’s more like “not found in my culture”)

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? 5 if 0 is no pain (I don't think I’ve been above 8.5)

75. when did you lose your first tooth? No idea

76. what’s your favourite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? Gnocchi or boerenkool

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? Flowering plants

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? Station coffee

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? School id

80. earth tones or jewel tones? Earth

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? I don't think I have much experience with either

82. pc or console? I cannot either way

83. writing or drawing? This is my kryptonite question

84. podcasts or talk radio? Podcasts if I had to choose

84. barbie or polly pocket? Polly pocket

85. fairy tales or mythology? Mythology (stories are linked more)

86. cookies or cupcakes? Cookies

87. your greatest fear? My health issues keep accumulating and getting worse forever

88. your greatest wish? My health issues resolve

89. who would you put before everyone else? Myself, Suzmom or Marleymoon

90. luckiest mistake? Choosing mini school, don't regret it but maybe not the best decision

91. boxes or bags? Bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? Sunlight and rocksalt lamps

93. nicknames? Ness, nessie, nessa, bean, bear, benjamin, kindje, sweet pea

94. favourite season? Late spring or late summer

95. favourite app on your phone? Flo, Spotify, Google maps, notes, weather, find my

96. desktop background? Santa Catalina Island off the coast of Southern California

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? 7+

98. favourite historical era? I love revolutions and renaissances but all of em have hard times and good times

[deputyrhiannonhale]

name a dog. rant. just do it. what’s your coffee order? google the top song from the year you were born. what’s a question do you constantly get asked? describe your blog in 3-5 words. what does home mean to you? describe your aesthetichave. You ever been called down to the principals office?

Ok haha *cracks knuckles* here we go!

Name a dog

Lord Chadwick Van Barksburg

Rant. Just do it

The political divisiveness in America is going to be it's own downfall. Neither side wants to admit when they've something wrong, nor do the want to lift each other up when they're doing something right. Both sides are stubborn and fight against each other like school children. It makes America as a whole seem narrow minded and, frankly, stupid asf. I really hope that more here realize that billionaires need to be taxed out the ass. I'm tired of working my ass off only to exist here and not actually get to live. Unlike the rich, who arent having to worry about if their next paycheck is going to be enough. Politicians work for us and they need to remember that. *tongue pop*

What's your coffee order?

(Before I answer, I'm cackling because I went from a rant, and straight into something wholesome)

My coffee order is nothing special. Hazelnut with cream and sugar, hot not iced!

Google the top song the year you were born

Take My Breath Away by Berlin (1986, yes I'm old asf for this hellsite)

What's a question you constantly get asked?

"Do you do your own hair? Can you do mine?" I couple those together because it's always the follow up to the first one. Other than cutting, I do my own extensions and color haha

Describe your blog in 3-5 words

Gaming, chaotic, confused, dumbassery, fun!

What does home mean to you?

Somewhere I feel safe and comforted. Like no matter what kind of day I've had, home always has that quality to make you feel warm, and tucked away from the troubles of the world. Home also doesn't necessarily mean a building to me. It can be a person, I surround myself with people who I know will always have my back and even call me out on my bullshit.

Describe your aesthetic

Ummmm haha it's a mixture of goth and punk with a sprinkling of dumb humor 😂😂

Have you ever been called down to the principal's office?

Multiple times! I was very outspoken in my youth (like that's changed haha) and I stood up to bullies for other kids as well, so I was in there enough that he got to the point of "ahhhh Chloe, I haven't seen you today. And its before noon!" 😂😂😂

Thank you so much for sending these in! I loved them!!

[vividlybnha]

Birthday Boy

@krbkweek2k19​  Day 7 (April 20) Bakugou’s Birthday/Free Prompt/ Third Day

i know im a whole day late so don’t reblog if you don’t want to

Warning: Fluff and Bakugou being bad at feelings.

Word Count: 2425

Author’s Note: You literally don’t understand how angry I am with myself for getting high and not doing this on Bakugou’s bday. Like it was 420 and i was really out here smoking and not writing for him. Anyway I hope this makes up for all that. Happy late birthday my sweet anger babey, love you <3. 

Bakugou tries his hardest not to be fond of his friends. He is supposed to be the punk angry boy from class 1-A. That is his reputation, that is who he is and he will uphold it. But it’s hard when his friends are complete dumbasses. How is he not supposed to laugh at their dumb conversations or when they end up dogpiled on Kaminari again. It’s not ‘cute’ or ‘funny’ and Bakugou has no idea why he always has to snap his head away from them to smile.

So maybe that’s why he holds an utter distaste for them when he opens his eyes to see a surprise birthday party. It’s that he didn’t have any clue that it was planned that got to him first. This entire week he was met with easy glances and kind smiles, as always. The same stupid jokes and yet here he is in utter surprise. He seems to hate them more every day.

Yet looking at the table centered in the middle of this garden he can’t help but feel fond of them.

The table is covered with dark colors and punk aspects. Things they’d know he’d like and yet it's almost cheesily so. The skull on the napkins looks so goth it seems like something that bird brain would have in his room (and it reminds him of a pirate flag). Not to mention the splash of orange and green, almost the exact same from his hero costume but the green is just slightly off to where it looks almost sickly. It’s by no means perfect but he can see how much work they put into it. The presents off to the side are so delicately wrapped, he knows that it was all Sero and his tape. There are hints of Mina and Kaminari’s terrible fashion taste with hints of leopard print and fur, but they made it work. And lastly the cake. It looks absolutely hideous. The only thing that stands out from the whole set up. It’s leaning and the wording is shakily written, the roses (he assumes) reminds him of a toddlers drawings. He would send it back to the kitchen if he saw it in any other circumstance. But here, in the middle of the garden with his friends bright, blinding smiles he can’t help but love it more than anything in the world.

Bakugou typically likes things with a hint of spice. To where he doesn’t have to make himself softer for the area and where it fits so perfectly with him. Angry and rough. The two things Bakugou is defined as so frequently is what he loves the most. But he admires the beauty here.

Despite it all, it (the black and terribleness of it all) looks so elegant against the backdrop of just woken roses. The colors clash so generously, they couldn’t have possibly done this by themselves. The gentle aura doesn’t fit their agenda, nor his. And yet he loves it.

His friends may not get the best test score or make the smartest jokes, hell Kaminari would probably laugh at a poop joke but they are hardworking, every day in class they put their all into training. They try so hard and it's not always for themselves, sometimes it's for a bet or a test grade or maybe because Bakugou threatened them but in the end, they still tried. And that’s what Bakugou loves the most about them.

The fresh buds from the flowers lean toward the light, swaying in the soft breeze. It couldn’t be more perfect.

“You guys are idiots.” His hand is immediately covering his happy grin, furrowing his eyebrow to try and cover his emotions.

They all take offense to his rude wording. Kaminari is the first to speak up, “Hey man we worked so hard on this! You don’t know how hard it was to get Mina to not say anything about this!” Mina cries out in protest.

“Yeah, we stayed up all night to put this together for you!” Kirishima drags him closer, arm on his shoulder.

“You could at least thank us!” Mina huffs putting two hands on her hips.

Bakugou throws a glare her way, “Look at that cake! It’s not even standing up straight!”

There is a slew of arguments and excuses until Kirishima is laughing loudly and suddenly.

“Wow Bakugou, you think your so smooth huh?” He says in between giggles.

Bakugou can feel the panic running through his body, hand still covering his mouth.

“Here you are smiling and yet you want to pretend you hate it?”

The rest of his friends are then quickly surrounding him pulling at his arms trying to see.

“No! I’m not sm- Let go of me! I’m not! There’s just something on my face!”

Kirishima pulled him into a tight hug, “You love it, huh? We had the help of the whole class!”

Bakugou blanks. The whole class helped? That would explain the elegance of it. But half the class is sure to hate him, so why did they help? He is rude to his own friends, never mind the whole class so why did anyone do this? He is quickly swimming in doubt.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean what do you mean?” Kaminari stupidly asks. Bakugou barely stops himself from hitting him for that one.

“That the whole class helped.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Because we are all classmates and they like being nice? I don’t know what you want me to say. That look on your face makes me feel like I’m saying something wrong.” Kaminari questions, putting his hands up for defense.

Bakugou doesn’t necessarily know how to feel about that. He has been rude and horrible to pretty much everyone from day one and yet he still gets a birthday party. He doesn’t deserve it at all. In the start of this year he wouldn’t have cared but now he can feel the anxiety and doubt pulse through him. This isn’t right.

Kirishima puts a soft hand on his wrist, pulling him close.

“Hey man, you okay?” His eyebrows are furrowed in a pout, searching his face for any signs. Bakugou nods and turns back to the others. He doesn’t miss how Kirishima doesn’t let go and he doesn’t make him.

“They didn’t want to disturb you because they know how you can be sometimes. They said they just wanted you to enjoy your time with your friends rather than a huge thing with people you don’t necessarily like.” Mina smiles at them. “I said you probably wouldn’t mind but they left their presents.”

Bakugou tries to ignore the feeling in his chest, buzzing in his heart.

“They all wish you a happy birthday, they mean it.” Sero gives him a soft smile.

Kirishima’s hand tightens on his wrist. Bakugou knows that he shouldn’t feel bad about this. He barely even likes those extras. But he can’t help but feel he pushed them all away.

Kirishima leans closely and whispers into his ear, “Your fine Bakugou. We are here because you are our friend but that doesn’t mean they hate you. They spent money on you and some of them wanted to be here but they wanted to respect you. No one hates you, okay?”

Bakugou doesn’t want to listen but he knows Kirishima is right. He is always right about these things. Mina pulls on his hand, “Hey let’s open some presents okay?” And Bakugou nods accepting the first gift. A small rectangular box. Sero raises a hand, “That’s mine!” Bakugou wastes no time tearing off the wrapping paper.

Sero’s present is two metal drumsticks. They feel cool and light in his hands, Bakugou doesn’t miss the chance to twirl them in his fingers. There is a small x and his name carved in small cursive letters on the side. It’s a good gift, he did end up breaking his old ones during the cultural festival (along with several others).

“They can withstand your explosions.”      

Bakugou raises his eyebrows in keen interest. Oh? He’s never had drumsticks like that.

“Try it.”

He grips the sticks tightly and lets a few soft explosions off. He opens his hand only to find remnants of smoke. Nothing.

“These are perfect.” He tries to sound angry when he says it, anything to make it sound not as nice but the same smile finds its way onto Sero’s face and he proudly watches as Kaminari hands him the next present.

Kaminari gets him coupons to his favorite restaurants around the city (the ones that serve the best spicy food) and a whole pack of extra spicy noodles that he has in the kitchen. It’s his favorite pack, the still brings tingles to his tongue when he eats it and still holds other flavors that don’t override the spiciness. Bakugou can’t help but love the present, everyone knows food is the way to someone’s heart. Which is a cheap trick on Kaminari’s part but he’ll allow it.

“These are good.”

“Aw give up the act! You love those! I don’t know what you see in them though. They are waaaaay too hot.”

“You’ve eaten them before?” Bakugou eyes him cautiously. Someone did take one, he never found out who though. Kaminari’s demeanor quickly changes and he is sweating and stumbling over his words.

“I mean, hasn’t everyone? At least once right?” Mina and Sero laugh quietly behind him.

“When I first brought them to the dorms you said you never tried them.” Bakugou sets the present down before letting the explosions come off his palms. He’s found the thief.

Kaminari starts to back up and Bakugou readies for a chase before Mina stuffs her present into his arms.

“Nope! Violence is reserved for after presents. You can beat him up then.”

“Mina! Traitor! You could have just said that he couldn’t hit me at all!”

Mina sneers at him, “You knew what would happen if you ate his food. You didn’t even finish it before you started crying.” Bakugou can’t help but laugh at that. He almost wishes he saw it.

Mina gets him the shittiest shirt he has ever seen and mascara. Bakugou takes them and tries his best to look disgruntled. The shirt just happens to be from one of his favorite metal bands, its design coats the front in intricate swirls and details. It’s the one he had been looking to buying it when he had the time but here it is. He sends a heartfelt glare and Mina and she smiles. The mascara is Flirty Minx, Extreme Volume. Bakugou blushes. He didn’t think anyone would notice he wore any but if it was going to be anybody it was going to be Mina who found out. That’s when he also realizes that he is running low.

Kirishima gets him a whole new pack of mountain climbing gear. The whole 9 yards. It’s all fitted nicely into the backpack: a new harness, boots, helmet, rope, everything. Bakugou can’t help but notice that none of the items are matching color wise, Bakugou laughs to himself. But closer to the bottom of the bag Bakugou finally sees them. A pair of orange and green crocs. It’s very distinctly modeled after his hero costume, with the two dots and the X over the tops. Although he loves his costume he absolutely hates these.

“You know I’m never going to wear these, right? They are hideous.”

Kirishima laughs, hand over his chest, “I told you one of these days I’d convert you. Besides, you’ll probably wear them once to be nice.”

Damn, he knows him too well. “No, I won’t.”

Kirishima only smiles back.

They spend the rest of that afternoon opening and talking about the presents. Bakugou can’t wait until it’s their birthdays just so he can show them up. He will be damned if they are better present givers than he is.

It is darker when they finally get to the lopsided cake. The afternoon becoming evening and tiredness starts to plague them all. Bakugou has to yell at them not to sing but they do it anyway. Bakugou has to hide his blush by hiding his face in his hands. God, he absolutely hates them. Mina cuts the cake (giving Bakugou a HUGE slice) and they all find spots to eat in the grass. Kirishima sits beside him once he’s got his slice, criss cross on the grass and chewing happily.

“Did you like today?” Kirishima is looking up at the vivid lights in the sky. The clashes of reds and pinks. It casts a perfect hue onto him. Bakugou can’t help but love the sight.

“This was dumb.” He tries to scowl but he really can’t. That’s when he realizing he is angry. There is no trace of anger anywhere in him. He feels calm and peaceful. Kirishima laughs, already knowing he doesn’t mean it.

For the first time that evening it’s quiet and soft.

Despite knowing he shouldn’t and everything in his body telling himself to stop he leans closer to Kirishima. From the corner of his eye, he can see him smile and blush but move closer anyway.

“This cake taste like shit.”

Kirishima chuckles, shoulders jerking slightly. “Yeah, we kept trying over and over last night. This was the best outcome of all the attempts so you’re lucky.”

The sun is pulling to a close in the sky, dripping just to the tops of the roses and resting there. He can feel his tiredness plaguing his eyes. There was so much running around and joking (and his early bedtime) he knows it's not long before he falls asleep.

“Thank you guys, really.” It’s just above a whisper and Kirishima doesn’t say anything. He almost thinks he didn’t hear him, which he is perfectly fine with him. The area gets darker and darker and Bakugou doesn’t know if it’s just him blinking longer and longer of the sun falling from the sky. Either way, he finds himself closing his eyes and keeping them there.

He barely feels it but he knows it happens. Kirishima moves his spiky hair back and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. It’s short and sweet. Bakugou almost wants to wake up so he can return the birthday gift but his limbs don’t move.

“Happy Birthday Bakugou.”

And out of all Bakugou’s birthdays, he has to admit. No matter how much he hates his dumb friends and this dumb party-

This was his favorite one of all.

[noragottem]

Promise Baby, You'll Love Me Forevermore

So uh hi. ive never written a naruto fic before this really so i guess this is a good start. 

word count: 1961

Rating: T i guess 

inspired by this fic right here and my contribution to kiba week. give jaz some love this fic is amazing. also be nice to me maybe idk okay here goes

@princejellychu @ino-buta @for2buns

It’s a fine, nearly spring day when Kiba first lays his eyes on what has to be the finest boy he’s ever seen. 

The dogs are running low on food and Kiba’s been sent to fix that. It’s a good long walk usually canceled out by a car he’s no longer allowed to use. At least til his momma forgives him. He spots Naruto’s bright yellow hair as he enters the store and resists the urge to tackle him. Naruto’s not alone and Kiba has some kinda home training. “Que pasa pendejo?!” He yells across 3 aisles. Home training never included an inside voice. The group turns around and Kiba recognizes the redhead; Gaara, knows how to party, always brings coke but exclusively for Naruto. The tall blonde with the large space puffs that are out of this world he doesn’t recognize but she fits the description of the girl Shika’s so hung up about. Kiba thinks he understand, her legs do go on forever. He doesn’t focus on her for long because last boy, dressed in all black from his beanie, to his fingerless gloves, to his combat boots has his attention in a vice grip. If the outfit wasn’t enough the boy has on dark purple lipstick he’s matched to his eyeshadow. Kiba dubs him “sexy goth” and needs his name immediately. The sudden wave of dehydration makes him trip over his own feet. He doesn’t fall, thank god, his reflexes are usually on point. He smoothly gathers himself making his way over to Naruto. “Gonna scare all the customers with that racket, dog breath.” Naruto says with a smile slinging his arm around Kiba’s neck in a not so gentle hug. “I’m sure Lee wouldn’t mind.” Kiba replies when Naruto releases him. “Who do we have here?” “Well you know Gaara. This his brother and sister.” Naru says pointing to each respectively. “Temari,” the blonde says waving with the bag of chips in her hand. “Kankuro.” Sexy goth says, and offers his hand to Kiba. Kiba takes it with a lopsided grin. “Kiba. My mom owns the kennel, good friend of Naruto’s. Single.” Kankuro raises his brows, impressed. If Kiba takes too long to let go of his hand he doesn’t say. “You didn’t tell me your Suna friends were fine as hell.” Kiba says to Naruto in Spanish. “You never asked.” Naruto says. — Later when everyone gathers at the Namikaze house his friends shake their heads at him. “You ever met a bitch named shame?” Shika asks. He’s propped up against Naruto’s bed nursing a can of beer. “We’re not on speaking terms right now.” Kiba shrugs from the beanbag in the corner. “I cannot believe that worked.” Chouji says. “What can I say? I am a gentleman.” “If you’re a gentleman I’m fucking lawyer.” Naruto says from the edge of his bed. They all crack up and Ms. Kushina yells that they better laughing over that homework. — The next time he sees Kankuro it’s two days later and he’s working his shift at the kennel. He’s mostly waiting for lunch time. The dogs are clean and in their cages waiting to be adopted. Hana’s in the back serving them lunch when Kankuro stomps in donned in another all black outfit. Same boots, same fingerless gloves, but a black hoodie and baggy black jeans. Kiba notes he painted his nails the same purple as his eyeshadow and lipstick. Favorite color. Noted. “Welcome to Inuzuka Kennel,” he drawls and gives that same lopsided grin. “What can we do you for? A dog? A friend? Both?” He’s never been one for subtlety. Kankuro pretends to consider this. “I guess bit of both.” Kankuro matches Kiba’s grin and leans over the counter. Well then. The tension is strong and pulled taught. “I’m heading out for lunch Kiba you want anything?” Hana yells on her way out. Kiba doesn’t break eye contact with Kankuro and answers, “two pork shoulder sandwiches from Akimichis.”  He hears his sister confirm and the door shuts. “Why don’t you step back here and we can see about that?” — Hana comes back in exactly half an hour, ever punctual. Kiba is has his chair tipped back and his feet in the desk which his mom hates and Kankuro sitting on the desk which Hana frowns at. She hands Kiba the bag with the food and he hands Kankuro the other sandwich. “Aight, get back to work before Mom makes you scrub this whole place down.” Hana says. Kankuro takes that as his cue to go. “I think I might come back another time.” “Oh did you see one you liked?” Hana asks. Both boys smile. “Sure did.” — “I hope ya momma busts ya ass for fucking on the clock.” Chouji says throwing a couch cushion at him. “Speaking from experience?” Kiba says catching it easily and sticking his tongue out. He doesn’t tell them Hana slapped him upside the head twice but was merciful enough not to tell his momma. — “You sure you not moving too fast?” Naruto asks one afternoon in detention. Its almost summer. Almost vacation. He wears his mesh shirt to school because it’s just that hot and thinks the detention is worth it. Iruka sensei lets them do whatever for the hour as long as they don’t make too much noise or leave the room. Shika’s there for snoring in trig, Ino for skipping gym, Naruto got into another fight, and Sakura, apparently cussed out the history teacher. “Maybe,” Kiba says. They’ve only been on two dates at this point and yes Kiba is counting that time at work. He hogs the phone every other day just to talk to Kankuro. He never thought of himself as someone who could manage a long distance relationship but here he is. Except- “We’re technically not exclusive yet.” He confesses. Ino practically shouts, “Why the fuck not?” Iruka looks up from his newspaper and gives her a look that says, “Really?” Kiba shrugs and that only makes her more mad. “What’s the hold up? You like him, he likes you, you both are only seeing each other so what’s the problem?” She says waving her perfectly manicured nails around. (The elephant in the room blares but neither her or Sakura hear it) “There ain’t no problem. It’s just never come up.” Kiba doesn’t usually feel insecure but right now he’s uneasy. It’s too soon to say he’s in love, but he’s never had a relationship like this. “You should probably get on that quick then,” Sakura says. “It’s different when you can’t see them everyday.” Kiba doesn’t like the implication at all. His stomach sinks a bit and Iruka sensei dismisses them for the day. — Kiba doesn’t really ask for much for his birthday. He appreciates a good party even when it’s a few days late and loves being surrounded by friends and family. Even when certain friends abandon him for their new boytoys. Fucking typical. “Are you pouting, birthday boy?” Kiba looks up to see Kankuro and to say his face lights up is an understatement. “You came!” He all but tackles him and almost knocks the both them into Shinos table. Kiba can’t see his glare behind his shades but knows it’s there. He doesn’t care. “You’re surprised? Why wouldn’t I?” “Well,” Kiba starts. God since when does he get nervous? “We never really talked about being official or anything-“ “We haven’t? I’ve been telling everyone my boyfriend lives in Konoha.” At this Kiba laughs wholeheartedly. “That answers that.” “Sorry for not being explicitly clear, Scotty.” He presses himself impossibly closer and kisses him longer than ever necessary. “I also came bearing gifts.” “You mean you weren’t my present?” “Well yeah. Consider it my apology for not being able to stay.” Kankuro hands Kiba a tiny bag and smiles. “Only the best for the birthday boy.” “Holy shit I love you.” —

In a month or so momma Inuzuka will let Kiba take his permit test and Kiba will be allowed to borrow the car again. The first thing he plans to do is book it to Suna and spend a week in Kankuro’s bed. It’s just not fair he doesn’t get to go to Suna when Kankuro gets the privilege of travel from being a mayor’s son. Speaking of mayors sons-

“Ya boys are here to spring you.” His mom says as he’s finishing up a mornings worth of dog grooming. Naruto has the bright idea to take Shika to Suna to get him laid. Kiba doubts it will happen but now he owes Naruto big time and wonders if he should ask if he can read minds.

Kankuro’s tracing the scars on Kiba’s arms. They don’t hurt anymore but it’s still an ugly reminder. Kiba had called it “a present from Konoha’s finest,” always defaulting to jokes to keep the mood light.

Kankuro had given Kiba a brief tour of his room; from the various posters of metal and punk bands hung haphazardly to the small woodworking projects he’s accumulated over the years.

(This tour obviously ends with Kiba’s tongue down Kankuro’s throat. While Kiba enjoys hearing his boyfriend enthuse about his projects, that’s not really what his friends drove through a windstorm for)

“D’ya think Shika’s has any luck with Temari?” Kiba says comfortably snuggled up to Kankuro’s side.

“Nope. Which is sad because they’d probably be good together.”

“What’s the holdup?”

“It’s not him. It’s her and the fact that she’s currently into Hinata.”

“Shit, she is hard to compete with.”

“Just hope she doesn’t crush his heart into tiny pieces. That would make things awkward for us wouldn’t it?”

“Meh. Inconvenient more like.”

“Oh yeah I have something for you.” Kankuro suddenly remembers and Kiba pouts when he gets out of the bed.

“Why are you always the one getting me stuff.”

“I just like spoiling you.” He reaches into a drawer on his desk and Kiba hopes he’s not blushing too hard. “Plus, you did come all the way out here and it’s not like Suna weather is nice to you city folk.”

“Said the goth in the desert.”

“I’m committed to my art.” He holds up a chain with a single charm on it. Kankuro continues before Kiba can ask.

“My granny Chiyo gave this charm bracelet a long time ago. Don’t usually wear it because I’m afraid of losing it.”

“And this charm?” Kiba asks placing his hands under it.

“Is my favorite.” It’s a skull, painted a metallic purple with two black gem for eyes. “You gonna turn around so I can put it on you or just stare?”

Kiba’s never been one for jewelry but there’s no way he’s ever taking it off.

—

+

“So this is famous novio.” Tsume says as Kankuro steps out the car.

“Miss Inuzuka-“

“Please call me Tsume. I don’t know what my son has told you but I’m not that old. Is this for me?” She says pointing to the present in Kankuro’s hands.

“That it is. Kiba said you were also a fan of this brand. Thought you would appreciate it.”

“Oh boy you didn’t have to butter me up I already liked you.”

“It’s no problem Miss Tsume.”

“Come on in Hana just made dinner.”

Kankuro slips into the house and Tsume catches Kiba by the back of his collar. “You didn’t defile my car did you?” She asks him in Spanish.

“Who do you take me for?” Kiba asks, scandalized.

She hooks an arm around his neck and rubs her fist against his head. “I take your for my son.”

Kiba groans but he can’t argue. Lying to his momma is useless anyway. The inevitable punishment is worth it.

[ciarancreature]

Pictures of 90s nu metal kids and mallgoths wearing expensive hot topic clothes are not pictures of goths. Those people were considered posers from the start because they had little to do with the subculture - they had their own music and their own subculture and seldom participated in the actual goth subculture or listened to the music, and called themselves goths because they either didn't know better or refused to learn. Cybergoth, mallgoth, emo, nu metal, black metal, etc. are not goth. They're not "kinds" of goths. They're different subcultures with different histories and different music. Goth music isn't edm, emo, or any type of metal, and goths have been complaining about those things being called goth since the 90s because what we listen to (darkwave, post-punk, ethereal wave, coldwave, Gothic rock, deathrock, etc) is completely different from all of that, and it's our music that our subculture is and always has been rooted in. People confusing it with other things do so because they aren't a part of our subculture and don't know enough to tell the difference; they often see anything dark/edgy, or anything marketed as goth (which is done to make money off that confusion and commodification at the direct expense of the subculture btw) and assume that's what goth is.

What goth actually is, is a subculture that evolved directly out of punk (and thus has its roots in the working class, not in the upper class), which is why it's always had a huge DIY element to the fashion and an anticapitalist, anti-conservative attitude that's reflected in not only the music, but the fashion (which always comes secondary to the music btw - plenty of goths do not dress or look goth, they just love the music and engage with the community that surrounds that music). If you want to avoid confusion and learn to spot the difference between goth and things that are mislabeled as goth, the most reliable ways would be either participating in the subculture yourself or learning about its history, because that history has shaped it into what it is today.

Goth has been around for almost 45 years. Do you think goths could just walk into Hot Topic or go to Killstar/Blackcraft Cult (which a lot of goths actually dislike and avoid btw) to spend hundreds of dollars on a fancy pair of Demonias in 1979? Of course not. They made their own clothing, because not only was it all they could often afford, but it was the only way to obtain clothing that didn't otherwise exist. They cut, sewed, dyed, and thrifted pretty much everything, and mixed in black clothes from normal stores when they could find things that worked for them. If you spend time in actual goth spaces (so, usually events that center around goth music, like shows, goth nights, or festivals), you'll find that that's often still the case; the goths I know usually DIY most of their goth clothes (which they usually only wear on special occasions - most of us just wear casual clothes, like black jeans and band shirts with docs, on most days), except for a few special pieces they save for special occasions, which are usually obtained from small goth-owned businesses that specialize in those things, or from costume shops that may also have a rack or two of gothy club wear in the back, or perhaps from the internet if there's something specific they want that they can't otherwise find. My fanciest goth articles of clothing, except some Demonias I splurged on for special occasions, are all hand-me-downs/gifts from an elder goth friend who's been a goth for like 20 years and who gives me things that no longer fit him or his husband anymore. They live together in a tiny apartment in a dangerous neighborhood because that's what they can afford on the combination of unemployment benefits and a manager position at a fast food restaurant. They're not spending hundreds of dollars on clothes, and what they give me was used for special occasions for years before I got it. The one who wears jewelry makes pretty much every piece he owns by hand and regularly spends several hours at a time to make each piece he wears or sells.

Idk how to break it to you, but what influencers of tiktok (and the extremely expensive brands they wear) market as goth is not actually reflective of the subculture as a whole; it's reflective of someone trying to sell you something by presenting a perfect image of a made-to-be-marketable aesthetic. If you want to know how real goths dress and how they obtain their clothes, go to a goth night, befriend the people there (they'll be friendly if they believe you have a genuine interest in the music, even (and sometimes especially) if they read you as a baby bat), and when it's appropriate, compliment them on their gothy clothes and ask where they got them. Because it's not $400 Killstar hauls.

one thing i find interesting is teens online today like to argue (90s influenced) "goth" was for poor people... goth is one of the most middle to upper class subcultures i can think of honestly. still had rebellous elements but like those long gowns were not cheap. and people argue tripp pants were for poor people like have you been under a rock? you're just saying things that sound good to you i guess? like ok grunge and punk i understand arguing it was originally diy and cheap...