#scruffy old men <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[cutieclangen]

Moon 17, Part 1

A big moon this time! I love all the graduates so much and enjoyed making their adult designs <3 Don't worry, you'll see Rowanpaw's full adult design soon!

As always I will post the refs in the next couple days. :3 Let me know what you think of their names :D

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Moon 12 Allegiances

[your-local-uwu-artist]

drawing for a fren :3c @notalex3

i know litterally next to nothing about this guy so I hope it turned out alright uwu

[opossumface]

said “would” when House was on-screen and now whenever he does something awful my roommate looks at me and shakes his head disapprovingly

[slvthrs]

can you do a vinnie x fem reader smut where she (reader) is stressed out and vinnie fucks her good on the balcony and they didn’t care anymore if they get caught of what 🙈

ofc my lovesss

BREATHE BABY | v.hacker

— MINORS PLEASE FUCK OFF FOR UR OWN GOOD —

stress never stood a chance against a tall blond with an unyielding love for you.

BSF!VINNIE X FEM!READER

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI, fucking in a pool over the city, vinnie LOVES u, praise kink, hickies n love bites

word count: 2.5k <3

a/n: idfk if vinnie has a pool in his apt, i added one for the plot 😭

Stress was one of the most constant presences in your life. University, friendships, family relationships. It was as if stress was an obsessive ex that you couldn’t get rid of creeping back into your life once it got good. 

The only thing that could keep it a bay was Vinnie, your best friend of 12 years, ever since you were nine years old the boy was like a walking calmer for you. His presence made you relax and he always reminded you when you needed to take a break.

Ever since he moved out to LA at 18 the stress slowly crept back into your life, and you had to adapt again. More friends in uni and new found appreciation of swimming. 

If you weren't studying or with your friends, you were swimming. Sometimes the water made you calm down, it felt as if all your stress floated away as the water touched your skin.

That’s where you were again, the pool attached to Vinnie's apartment. 

It was so odd, the lanky scruffy boy who you became friends with grew into the type of men you would see modeling- and you did.

Everything was so much more intimidating about the boy. His height, the tattoos littering his skin which make your skin turn hot. 

His new found fame which made your head dizzy the longer you thought about it. The idea of the boy you first became friends with turning into this man who had girls falling over him left in right made your stomach flip and you had no idea if it was good or bad. 

You had kept an eye on what he was up to in LA, his friends, his business, that one fight that made you nearly throw up out of fear. 

And of course who he was dating.

It always said he wasn’t seeing anyone but you were never convinced, no one looks like that and is single, you always thought to yourself.

But it wasn’t just him who had changed. 

Looking back, being stuck to one boy's side for all of elementary, middle, and high school was a hindrance.

Once you branched out in university you flourished.

You grew into a new woman.

Your features were sharper, your curves more defined, your entire face had what your friends called, ‘a glow up’. 

Regular visits to the gym and taking care of yourself made you stand out.

Also being more active in your sex and love life made you more in touch with your body. Your last ex boyfriend taught you so much about what you did and didn’t like, you got better and sex and the burst of confidence helped you in tremendous ways.

You walked with more purpose in your steps and it really did seem like you left Seattle and turned into a different woman.

But this new Vinnie made you feel like a little girl again. Floundering in the big kids pool, kicking your tiny legs for a chance to come up and breathe again.

All of your confidence was for show as when Vinnie walked in you returned into that stressful anxious girl again.

You relaxed lackadaisical at the edge of the pool looking over the edge. 

Everything looked so small, everyone down there had their own lives, your worries seemed miniscule compared to what everyone else down there had to go through. 

An ambulance rushed by and the only thought you had was someone was about to get the most devastating news of your life.

It was like a trance the city of LA put you into.

The city of angels. 

“You look deep in thought.” The velvety voice of the boy who the house belonged to piped in.

You turned and saw Vinnie resting against the sliding door of the balcony. His hands were in the pockets of his swim trunks whilst he had an unbuttoned linen shirt barely converting his ink filled torso. 

“I’m always deep in thought Vinne, you know that.” A small huff left your plump lips as you turned and said that.

“I know but especially today.” He explained whilst walking over to dip his feet in the pool, “Is LA freaking you out? I felt like that for the first year I was here.”

He always did that. Trying to figure out what made you uncomfortable and trying to fix that. He was always kind like that.

“No Vin, it’s everything. It’s so weird. You left Seattle as a scared boy and now you seem like someone I’d see plastered on magazines talking about how many girls he sleeps with in a year.” The crude stereotype aside, Vinnie laughed at your remark.

“I’m still the same guy, you know that.” He said and continued a second later, “Besides, look at you. You're like a different person.”

It was your turn to laugh now, “You can come in you know that? It’s like you're trying to stay away from me.”

He smiled, “Thanks for the invite into my own pool.”

Despite the sarcasm he took his shirt off and entered the pool, walking over to where you were floating. 

He towered over you.

“I don’t think I’ve changed that much.” You toyed with your bikini strap, “I’m still the same anxious girl you met.”

His hands rested on your waist, “Sure, but you're more confident, you're more talkative, plus you look so different.” 

It’s quiet until Vinnie breaks the silence again.

“I kept checking on your Instagram now and again. You seem happier.” You both know what he means when he says that.

“I am. Moving out of Seattle was hard but in the grand scheme of things I couldn’t stay there after you left, it felt empty.” You tell him as he pushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“M’ sorry, I had to leave but my biggest regret is that you couldn’t have come with me.” 

You laugh pulling away from him and turing back around, facing the city again, leaning over the edge of the pool.

“Even if you have asked I wouldn’t have come. I love you Vin, but I was always was gonna go to university. You were the unconventional one out of the 2 of us.” You sigh pulling you hair to one side and playing with the ends, a sort of nervous tick you developed after your first months in university.

“I know.” He breathes out, “That’s why I didn’t ask but a part of me always hoped you would come.” 

He comes closer to you, his hands wrap around your waist and now your back is hitting his chest. His head practically rests on top of yours.

You nearly start crying. 

You don’t know why. 

“You think anyone down there is going through the same thing were going through?” It’s a dumb question on your part but you like talking to the blond.

“Are any of them dealing with 2 friends you love each other and have been apart for so long that they don’t know what to do,” He pauses, “Also one of them if famous and the other is the most amazing person on earth? Nah I don’t think so.”

“Mhm that makes sense.”

It goes quiet again.

The wind rustles against the palm trees and if you really focused your ears you could hear the waves crashing along the shore.

“You keep tabs on my insta?” You ask with a smile creeping up on your face

He smiles him self letting a huff of laughter out, “Yeah, I was hoping you forgot I said that.”

“Why, whatd’ya see on there?” Another dumb question, you know exactly what he saw on there.

“You look happier, also you have new friends, ones I would like to meet,” His heart skips a beat, “Also y’know that guys on there.”

You laugh internally and turn around so you can see his face.

“Their some of my friends, I think you would like them.” You know he wouldn’t.

“What about Tyler?” 

Your ex-boyfriend, the one you meet during finals week of your sophomore year. You had dated for nearly 9 months before you broke it off. 

It wasn’t anything serious, he didn’t cheat, he didn’t lie- your lives were too different and you both knew that.

It was a mutual decision but Vinnie didn’t care. Anyone the broke up with you or even hurt you in anyways was evil in his eyes, how anyone could do that to you, he couldn’t explain to himself. 

“Tyler’s Tyler it doesn’t matter.” 

He blinks at you.

“What you want me to bring up all the girls your rumored to be dating?”

“Fuck off you know that isn’t the same thing. Half of those girls I only follow on tiktok and I haven’t been in a single committed relationship with any of them… Why the fuck did I find out about your long term relationship over fucking INSTAGRAM, I’m your best friend what hell?”

He steps back, with his hands in the air like he’s being accused of something.

“I don’t know Vin I just didn’t know how to tell you, everything was too much. I was so worried what you were gonna think and then it got to late. I felt like there was no point in telling you-” 

You ramble and he cuts you off.

“It’s fine, breathe pretty girl, just relax, I’m right here.” 

He pulls you closer to him and the moment you look into his eyes that calming effect he has on you just corses through your body.

Something just clicks inside the both of you and he’s kissing you so gently it’s like hes afraid of breaking you. 

His lips slot perfectly into your’s, it’s like you were made for him, his hands fall onto your ass as he pulls you closer, his eyebrows are knitted together in focus and he’s holding you as if he’s afraid to lose you.

It feels so fucking right. 

You the one that pulls him harder into you, your hands tangle into his hair, deepening the kiss.

Your nails rake the back of his neck and he hums in content. 

Your the one that pulls back, a trail of saliva linking the 2 of you and he looks at you so intently as if he’s studying you.

“Your so beautiful. I don’t think I tell you that enough.” And his lips are back on yours.

Your the one who pulls the strings of your bikini of and his lifting you up so your flush against his body, most likely so he can feel your tits pressed up against his chest. 

He’s grining in the kiss, as his hands grope your thighs and ass trailing up towards your hips. His hands are all over you and your ecstatic they are.

“More” you whisper into the kiss like it’s a secret only the two of you can share or else yoru lives would ruin.

“Please Vinnie I’m begging you.” You know your not telling him what you wnat but you pray he’ll save some of the embarrassment for you.

“Tell me what you want, I’ll do anything for you.” It’s like a prayer or promise of worship.

“Fuck me please, do whatever you want, I just need you.” It’s desperate and it turns Vinnie on so much more.

His fingers link around the straps of your bottoms and he pulls the down, your fully nude under him as he fiddles with his own shorts.

Your legs link around him as he slowly slides his dick in letting you get used to the size if anything. 

You head falls onto his shoulders as you sigh out, your eyebrows knit and you nearly loose your shit. 

He feels so much bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had sex with and your entire body feels like its getting shocked.

The sensation to crynearly hits you before you pull your self together, latching you lips onto Vinnie’s neck as he starts to move you.

It’sa rhythmic pace and it’s a kind one faring his size but you want more. You’ve waited years for this and you want more than him just being kind. 

“Vinnieee,” It comes out as a needy whine as you cry out his name, “More, harder, anything just please needa feel you everywhere.” 

You ramble but he knows what you want. He knows your body, he knows you better than you know yourself. 

His pace speeds up and he tries to keep kissing your but you keep writhing. He finds it adorable but your trying not to cum as quick to draw this out. 

You wanna feel him everywhere, you wanna be able to only see him.

“Vin,” You words are loosing power as he keeps thrusting into you, your thighs are sore and your mind is clouded with the thought of yoru impending orgasm. 

“Choke me please, need to feel you.” His pace falters as he tries to grapple with what you just admitted to him.

The look on your face proves your not joking but he swears he nearly came just by the sentence alone. 

His dick twitches inside you as his hands wrap around the base of your neck, he pulls yoru face up and you look into his eyes. 

You look drunk and delrious and he wants you to have his kids right there on the spot. 

He can’t even tell you what it is, he’s just so much more in love with you.

As his hands add pressure your hands comes to weakly wrap around his, not realy doing anything, just an unorthodox way of holding hands.

Your sense are flooded with just, Vinnie. 

The same boy practically trained to teach you how to breathe when your mind rabbles, cutting your breathe off, and the way he looks while doing it.

His pupils are blown out and his face looks like a mix of lust and love. The whole scene out of a porno but even his eyes can’t hide how deeply he’s in love with you.

When he lets your neck go you inhale so deeply you nearly start coughing and he pulls you closer to him as his thrusts become sporadic. 

Your forehead rests against his as you both cum, nearly blacking out as your vision goes white.

Your panting as he puts you down on the edge of the pool as he finds you a towl and the rest of your clothes floating around in the pool. 

You end up in the bath making sure the get the chlorine off and the residues of sex off the both of you.

Your lying ontop of his as his hands rake through your hair.

“Just breathe baby we’ll take about it tomorrow.” And thats what you do, breathing to the sund of his heartbeats. 

[thinkinonsense]

I CAN SEE YOU✰

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: curing, slightly nsfw, tiniest mention of blood

*mdni

wc: 900+

a/n: another one shot inspired by a song lmao. this time it is i can see you by taylor swift. thank you for all the love on my last one! this one is short n sweet too so i hope you enjoy <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It had been three years since you graduated from the school. Everyone was excited about your return. Storm and Scott picked you up from the train station downtown. It was an unexpected surprise when Professor Xavier reached out, asking you to teach for a semester. He has always been an important influence in your life; having brought you in as a troubled teenager. Being an X-Men changed your life for the better.

"You are going to love all the new students!" Storm smiles, helping Scott and you carry in your bags.

"I can't wait to meet them!"

Once everything was inside, you headed upstairs to your old room with a suitcase in hand. The room was located on the farthest end of the mansion, which was secluded and quiet; away from all the chaos. You never would've guessed what was on the other side of the door.

"Do you mind?"

There, lying in your old bed, a scruffy, annoyed, attractive man who looked double your age, smoking a cigar on his back. You freeze drinking in his appearance.

Who the hell was this man in your room?

"This is my room." You question if you opened the wrong door or took a left instead of a right. Nope, that was your old bookshelf and bedframe.

"I'm pretty sure this is my room." He replies, cocking his head to the side.

"No, you're in my bed." You bite back, growing more irritated with the stranger.

"This is my bed, sweetheart." He glares at you while his eyes linger down your figure.

He found your angered expression adorable. The way your nose scrunched a little and your hand found its way onto your hip. Your pretty short black skirt captivated him. If it wasn't for the stick up your ass, he would've been more than willing to let you stay in his bedroom.

"That's my bookshelf!" You pointed out. "And that is my bedframe!"

"Well, if that's the case, you need a new bedframe." His voice drops in a way that makes your stomach turn in a dangerous yet delicious way.

A small gasp leaves your mouth before you can catch yourself. Not wanting to see that stupid smirk on his face, you whip your head around and stomp downstairs to Professor Xaviers' office.

✰

It's been weeks since your first encounter with Logan. Ever since you had to move to a new room, you've avoided him at all costs. If what Scott has told you is any truth of Logan's character, then you knew he was trouble.

Despite your attempts to stay far away from him, Logan had other plans. Caught in every corner; stuck at every turn, he managed to capture you. He would go out of his way to brush past you in hallways. Even in crowded rooms, his eyes shamelessly burned holes into you.

The worst of it was when he would sit in during your lectures. Half of your mind focused on the lesson while the other half ran wild with the thought of him watching you.

If you weren't careful, you would cave.

Which was exactly what Logan wanted. He knew it was wrong to need you as badly as he did. You were so much younger than him yet you pranced around the mansion like you knew everything. He didn't want Charles to know about the feelings string inside of him. You had barely been gone three years, there's so much you hadn't experienced yet. The last thing anyone wanted was for Logan to taint you.

✰

On Friday nights you would stay in your classroom grading papers until the early morning hours. This Friday was no exception. It was almost two am when you scribbled a B+ on the final stack of papers. You stood up, leaving all your belongings in the classroom until Monday morning; desperately wanting to be in bed. Once you locked the door and turned down the hallway, you saw him coming up the stairs.

"What do you want, Mister. Howlett?" You glare at him. Logan's eyes darkened at the way you addressed him.

For such a mouthy girl, you did have some manners.

"You've been avoiding me." He states, following closely behind you. The clothing you wore drove him insane. Tight tops, unbelievably short skirts, and dresses. If Logan could die, he's sure it would've been at your hands.

"You've noticed? I figured you would have been too busy getting rejected by Jean to care."

The comment was supposed to sting painfully for him; instead, it backfired on you.

Of course, you noticed the way he shamelessly flirted with the redhead. It plagued your mind ever since you saw it happen with your own eyes. The way he gawked at her unapologetically, even with her boyfriend present. You would never admit it but it made you bitter, to say the least.

"Oh, I see..." Logan smirks.

"See what?"

"I can see you." His words make you freeze up. "You're jealous."

You roll your head back and laugh at his accusation; despite the truth it held.

Without hesitation, Logan grabs your hips and pins you up against the wall. You whine as your back makes contact with the cold grey wall. His grip tightens at the noise you let out.

"Not only can I see the effect I have on you..." Logan's voice is rough against the shell of your ear. "I can hear and smell it, sweetheart."

A flush of red creeps its way up your pretty face in the low light. Logan groans when he pulls back and sees it for himself. The second you are face-to-face, you pull him. A rush of teeth clashing into each other messily. One of your hands rests on his jaw while the other knotted itself in his hair. Logan's right hand slides up your thigh and under your skirt as he picks you up. You bite and tug on his lower lip; until you can taste the tiniest bit of blood. Both of you were desperate for each other.

"My room." You mumble against his lips. Logan chuckles, knowing that the only room on this side of the mansion is his current bedroom.

This will have to be your little secret.

[bettyfrommars]

Touch my cheek before you leave me, baby

gigolo!Eddie x virgin!older!Reader

(part 2) (part 3)

18+Only, mature themes, intimacy smut, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), paid sex, pet names, insecurities, reader is wearing a skirt, f & m orgasm. WC: 2.8k

Summary: Reader is a 29 year old virgin introvert in need of a confidence boost. Eddie is hired to make our first time a good one. Eddie catches some feelings that he wasn't expecting. Tummy rolls are briefly mentioned, but not in a disparaging way.

A/N: I had this idea last night about him needing the intimacy as much as reader. And then my head started running with all of his possible other clients and the debauchery they could get into together, but this one is just sweet.

Today is your 29th birthday, and your friends pooled their money together to get you the one thing you desperately wanted: to not be a virgin anymore.

You hadn’t been holding onto your virginity for any particular reason, but there had been several factors at play.  First of all, you didn’t like to leave the house much, aside from going to work and the rare meetup with friends, and so the chance of bumping into a promising sexual partner in your hallway was remote.  Secondly, you considered yourself to be fairly plain; you weren't one of the babes that men drooled over or tripped over themselves in the street for.  The crushes you’d had thus far were never reciprocated.  No one had openly pinned over you or held a boombox over their head outside your window, and on the occasion that someone did show interest, they often did not earn your affections. 

Your friends decided, and you agreed, that your first time should be with a professional, a guy who could give you the best first time that money could buy.  

Enter, Eddie Munson.

Covered in tattoos, he played in a band, and  had a reputation around town for being a favorite sexual companion for bored housewives and curious young women alike.  He was notorious for being particular about the clients he took on, though, and he didn’t just advertise in the paper—you had to be referred by a friend.  

That friend came in the form Robin Buckley, one of the baristas your friend Nellie worked with at the coffee shop.

“He’ll treat her right,” Robin assured her, jotting the number down.  “Now, I’ve never needed his services, personally, but I’ve never met an unsatisfied customer.  He makes women feel…desired.  As they should.”

So, there you were, two glasses of wine later, perched at the edge of the sofa in the lobby of the hotel where you’d been told to meet him.  Your friends knew exactly where you were, and there had been paperwork to fill out and sign—you didn’t know gigolos needed official signatures, but all the same, it stripped it down to a business transaction which is basically what it was. There were a few boxes to check off regarding things that turned you on and, conversely, triggers that he should avoid saying or doing during your time together. Did you have a praise kink or a daddy kink? Did you enjoy the use of pet names within intimacy, or was that something he should avoid? Hair pulling, choking, spitting, ass play, all of it was available for a check mark and you felt like you had the potential to compile one seriously huge fuckfest ice cream Sunday.  

He knew you were a virgin, and that you might not even know if you’d like some of the things offered, and he promised to take that into consideration to enhance your experience on the whole. 

Once he had accepted you as a client, he gave Nellie a safety list of things that would make your experience more enjoyable, and one of them had been not to drink too much, because he didn’t want you to engage in any activity you might regret.  Another one was to dress comfortably; there was no need to try and impress him—he was the one who needed to impress you.  

And impress you, he did.

He showed up earlier than expected, beard stubble grown in and a little scruffy (because you said you liked it that way), long hair tied back, button down black shirt cuffed at the elbows exposing his tattoos, and black jeans.  He also had a bouquet of yellow daffodils clutched in his fist, wrapped in cellophane.

His eyes locked onto you immediately and you watched them light up; a smile breaking the sigh that hitched in his chest.  He put the palm of his free hand over his heart as he walked toward you.

“Damn, baby, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he was beaming genuinely, as if he really meant it.  “Even better in person.”  Your friends had shown him a photo of you so that he would know what you looked like, but you had no idea which photo it was.

You didn't feel like you looked good, though, so you lowered your eyes as you got to your feet on wobbly legs, feeling frumpy and bloated, taking in the sharp reminder that he was being paid to lie to you.  You were so nervous, your palms were sweating, and the wine was churning sour in your stomach from the swarm of butterflies in there.

“Hey,” he got close enough to crook his finger under your chin and tilt your head up; his golden flecked, rye bread eyes were serious.  “You know how beautiful you are, right?”

All you could do was nod under the kind assessment of his stare, and it made a smile stretch across his lips. “That’s my girl,” he said, introducing himself properly, handing you the daffodils.

He knew that daffodils were your favorite flower, because of the paperwork you filled out, but you never expected to receive any, since they weren’t even in season.  There must’ve been a flower shop somewhere that had them, and Eddie had found it.  He offered his elbow for you to take.

There were two other people in the elevator, and he pulled you back flush against him, possessively holding you by your hips.

Eddie had a key to the room, and once he pushed the door open, you could tell he’d already been there.  The lights were all off, but for a lamp on the opposite side of the bed near the window, and two candles lit on the desk near the TV.  What you assumed was his leather jacket was the only thing hanging in the closet.  You even spotted Magnum condoms and a fresh bottle of lube on the nightstand.

“How’s the lighting, sweetheart? You want me to turn that lamp off?” 

You specified that you wanted the room to be dark, maybe just enough light to see what each other was doing, but you didn’t want him to see you in full brightness.  This whole time, you’d been too nervous to say more than one or two words.  

“Because, if I’m being honest,” he slid his hand up the side of your neck, palm warm against your skin.  “I really want to see you.”

“It’s fine,” you choked out, unable to hold eye contact with him for too long.  God, you bet he was already regretting taking you on as a client.  What a waste of a boring evening for him; but, at least he was getting paid.  

Yet, not even a flicker of his enthusiasm for you left his eyes.  He took the daffodils from you and put them on the dresser at the foot of the bed.  

When he turned back around, he cupped both hands around the sides of your throat, thumbs at your jawline.  “You can trust me baby.  If things start moving too fast, you let me know okay?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

You bit your lip and then, “a couple times. I had a boyfriend once, but it was long distance and it—”

But then Eddie’s hands slipped up to cup either side of your jaw, fingers slotting at your ears.  He nudged your nose with his, then then he kissed your top lip, parting them with his tongue.  

You closed your eyes, letting him move your head from side to side, and you couldn’t help the moan that squeaked out of your throat as arousal built between your legs.  He smiled against your mouth, nuzzling your nose.  “You’re a good kisser, baby.”

Deciding you liked it when he lied, you allowed yourself to become an active participant and slid your hands up his ribs, clutching him, pulling him closer.  He kissed you softly a few more times, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, and your hand found the courage to travel down yonder and see what was below his belt.  

What you found made your eyes fly open: not only was it huge, but it was hard.  

Eddie chuckled.  “See what you do to me?”

The one thing you had done several times was given a few blow jobs here and there, and so you were working his belt open and dropping to your knees at the same time when he stopped you, catching you at your ribs to pull you back up.

“Tonight is all about you, angel,” he assured, urging you back to drop down to take a seat on the bed.  You stared up at him while he straddled your legs and unbuttoned his shirt.  Once the defined muscles of his chest and scattered tattoos were exposed, he helped you take your shirt off, pulling it over your head, and then he knelt before you.  

You braced your hands behind you as he pushed your skirt up  your thighs, maintaining eye contact.  He caught a glimpse of the lacy underwear you had on and he lifted an approving eyebrow.  

You swallowed hard, and then he was sliding the underwear down your legs and off, kissing your knees as he went.  He came closer, arms nudging your legs wider, taking a glimpse at the glistening gift you had for him underneath.  

Eddie bit his bottom lip, making a hungry groan.  “You gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?”

“I think so, um, yes?” your hips twitched forward a bit, begging.  Normally, you were too shy to let others go down on you, but you were determined to get all you could out of this night, knowing it was a rare opportunity.  

He brushed his lips along your thigh as his hands worked your skirt up higher.  You shivered when you felt the warm breath on your swollen lower lips, and then he was watching you as his tongue flicked out in a few kitten licks.  After a taste, enjoying the way you writhed, he buried his mouth, moaning, fingers clutching your thighs.

“Grab my hair, baby,” he said.  “Tell me how much you like it.”

So, you did just that.  His ponytail tie was off, so his hair was around his shoulders, and you slid your fingers in to hold on as he took you in his mouth and rolled your bundle of nerves around with breathtaking accuracy.  

He'd only intended to tease you a bit, but once he tasted you, he couldn't stop. He had his tongue buried inside as soon as he was able, feeling the tip of his cock leak at the gift of your arousal.

It wasn’t long before you could feel yourself beginning to unravel, at it was the first time another person had brought you to that peak. The tension mounted in your belly, going taunt, before it sprang loose and a fizzy warmth gushed through your nerve endings. “just…like that,” you told him.  “I think you might make me…”

You held his head as you were cumming, leg jerking, head falling back, pining his ears wth your thighs.  

He wanted you to kiss him right then and there so that you could taste your release on his mouth, and you obliged, holding his face as you did so, melting into the moment.

For the next minute, you helped each other undress, and it was all happening so organically—it felt so real—that you could almost imagine he was actually your boyfriend, or someone who at the very least, wanted to be. 

Both naked now, he held you close as you stood next to the bed, tracing a finger down the side of your face.  “Are you ready, baby?”

Truly, you’d been ready your whole adult life, and you were glad you had waited for Eddie, even if this was a paid arrangement and you’d probably never see him again.

His lips tended to your neck and your breasts while he worked the condom on, making the educated decision that you were so soaking wet, he wouldn’t need any extra lubrication.  

It was the intimacy that you’d specified wanting to feel; like he was no stranger to you and this moment was something special between two people who felt deeply about each other.  So, he came down close and gave you exactly that, putting his forehead to yours.  “I’m gonna go slow at first, okay?” He breathed.  “You tell me if it’s too much?”

“I will, baby.”

He smiled at the way you returned the use of the pet name, feeling your body open up beneath him as anxiety and doubt morphed into trust.

“Shit,” Eddie broke character for a second as the tip sank in, caught off guard at how tight you were, and he had to pull out again for a second to catch his bearings.  

It was the closeness that he loved, too---he craved it.  He’d never had a client who wanted it this way, and it was the main reason he’d taken you on.  It wasn’t the virgin aspect—surprisingly enough, he’d been a first-time experience for a good handful of his customers.  It was the opportunity to pretend he was someone’s boyfriend for the night—a role he hadn’t played in real life for far too long.  The chance to pretend that you both cared deeply for each other and no one else in the world existed.  

He sank in this time a little further than the tip, and you cursed, but then nodded for him to keep going.  “All of it, baby,” you urged, leaning into your role.

Your core was rippling around his length, aching for more.

He went half in and dipped it back and forth a few times, pausing to watch your face.  

“I’m worried that I–” he started, but then he realized he was breaking character again, and the vulnerability made him stiffen.

“What are you worried about?” You whimpered as he stretched you out a bit more.  Your legs were wide, bottoms of your feet planted on the bed.

He thrust in with a shudder, both of you gasping.  “I’m worried I might like this too much.”

Inside, there were party streamers exploding in your soul at the mutual yearning that ebbed between you.  As you gave yourself over to him, there was a feeling that he was also giving himself over to you, and it felt so real, that you rode the wave with every fiber of your being, wrapping your legs around him, kissing him deep.

The kissing and the endearing moans were about to make him cum, so he sat back, shaking his head, and hooked your knees over his elbows.  

He took you in from under hooded eyes as he made long, slow thrusts inside.  “You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart."

You were so deep in it, you actually believed him this time.

“Harder, baby,” you coaxed. 

That elicited a coy smile and an eyebrow wiggle from him.  “Oh, that's my girl,” he breathed, and then he was fucking you so hard your tits bounced, as did your belly rolls, and you could tell he was getting off at the sight.  His thumb found your nub and worked there, making you expose your throat with a whine, enjoying the wet slap of your arousal as your bodies met.

The connection and intensity between the two of you was palpable, and you couldn’t tell if it was manufactured or real, but regardless, you could feel another velvet bomb inside of you about to explode.  

His eyebrows were pinched when you found his eyes.  “I’m close, I’m close, I think I’m…”

The closest you’d ever been to knowing the sweet pull of a mounting orgasm be gore that night was from those moments alone with your vibrator, and having your hole satiated by Eddie thick cock enhanced it in a way you could’ve only imagined.

“Fuck, me too,” he grabbed your thighs with both hands and buried himself over and over.

It never happened this way.  In fact, there had been several times when he had never cum at all: he was always very content to make it about the other person.  He fully intended to wait for your second orgasm before he even tried to relieve himself, but this time it felt too good; he wanted it too fucking bad.  

Your head snapped to the side as you came, babbling his name, walls clenching around his cock in a way that sent his hips jerking, pounding against you, pretending his seed was filling you up instead of a condom.  

Eddie bit his lip as you both chased the high, and then his sweaty forehead was on yours again, long hair grazing your cheeks.  He needed to kiss you when he was done, and that was how you liked it, too.

Your friends had only been able to pay for two hours' worth of Eddie’s time, but you ended up staying for much longer than that, at his urging.  He coaxed you over to lay all of your body weight on him, and the two of you stayed like that, listening to each other breathe. You called to give them this update, and the confusion in Nellie’s voice was priceless.  

When you were both getting dressed, Eddie started buttoning his shirt while you sat down to put your shoes on.

“Hey, so, if you ever want to do this again,” he swallowed, thinking of his words while you waited, head turned to look at him.  He couldn’t meet your eyes, he just kept fumbling at a button.  “You wouldn’t have to be a client.  I mean, I wouldn’t charge you.”

Part 2

[strewwwberry]

I need a binggeyuan fic where it's post bingge vs bingmei, and it's the classic bingge goes searching for a sqq of his own finds sy yada yada

BUT

First of all, Time in this world isn't lagged behind or something

And second of all, The ONLY and BIGGEST difference between the sqq sy and china sy is that china sy IS STILL ALIVE

and we know that shen yuan died early 20's I like to headcanon he's around 21-22 when he died, it was like 3 years before immortal alliance conference and I think bingmei spent 3 years in the abyss so sy would be 27-28 and then plant coma happens for 5 years so svsss sy is still in like 27-28 mentally but technically is around 32-33

Soooo

STILL ALIVE SY WOULD BE 33 ISH

NOT OLD AND LIKE PEOPLE CAN OBSESS FOR YEARS BUT IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY IF SY THINKS OF PIDW AS A PHASE

LIKE THAT WOULD BE AMAZING (and honestly pretty in character like obsessing over something until it's squeezed dry and then moving on, sounds pretty sy to me, at least in my headcanons lmao)

oh yeah and the bingge shows up like

"I want you, love me"

And sy, with eyebags, scruffy but in like a "messy bun" way (not bad scruffy like serving cunt scruffy), maybe he has a job coz his parents threatened to cut him off if he continues to just leech off them past 25,

Is just sat there, on his laptop probably reading another webnivel like

"Wtf, why did some xianxia demon style guy show up in my room, you remind me of that guy from a novel phase I had 🤔ᴴᴹᴹᴹ"

Better again if he's like half way there to realizing he's gay, maybe he goes around and if someone asks he's like "pretty sure I'm bisexual? Is that what it's called? Yeah? Yeah okay"

You know, 13 years of obsessing over sexy men on the internet and having a younger sister who's in the know, and the addition of 2 older brothers who his meimei definitely coerced into nagging at sy, will probably get at least a little cog going ykyk

So yeah I need it.

I'mma just a spiral into my corner about this

I can't write so I'm just drawing my shitty little drawings of my little scrubklys

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father.  The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst. 

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him. 

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could. 

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity. 

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now. 

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar. 

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy. 

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain. 

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink. 

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him. 

��Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.  

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals. 

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?” 

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.” 

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you���re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss. 

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch. 

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know. 

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control. 

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised. 

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

--

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[calamaroo]

OCTO-DADS REDESIGNS !!!

John "Calico Jack" Rackham Design Elements :

Rule of 3 (all streaks of color in hair and whiskers must be in patches of three)

Spiky, straight, and sharp features

Hair split in half, black and orange (to resemble his cat form's fur pattern)

^ melasma, skin split in half two shades (also to resemble fur pattern)

Scruffy and unkempt (worst of the octo-dads in terms of cleanliness and personal hygiene) (bro is stinky)

Missing left eye - scars from general day to day and time in Amazon

Broken and bent whiskers

Pete, the beloved emotional support bird (I love him)

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

Ranger Marsh Rabbitson Design Elements :

Pointed, but kinda round features

Scars from work

^ Missing left ear from work (a gator ripped it off) but he can still hear really well

Dirty and generally scruffy, but better kept than Calico Jack

Lil whiskers <3

Thousand yard, full of wisdom, rabbit glare. Bro has seen some stuff (he looks like he lived through Watership Down /j)

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Professor Sergei Vladimir Natquik Design Elements :

Sharp features turn into rounded and fluffy features

Albinism - very pale, eyes have no color (the red is the blood vessels beneath) --- can not see very well, and usually keeps his eyes closed, relying on his hearing and other senses

Long hair, kept in bun most of the time

Most wrinkled of the octo-dads

Kinda fluffy but keeps himself well groomed

Furry nose to show off more animalistic behaviors/tendencies (he acts more like an animal than a person most of the time)

[May change this design, I don't know if I like it]

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OCTO-DADS OCTO-DADS OCTO-DADS OCT-

I love the old gay men.

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Reference Guide to Seb's Hair(Long post w lots of pics):

I would rate these but I love every version of him too much so I cannot pick 🤭, I'll add some commentary though. This took a horrible amount of time but it was also a great excuse to download and show off a truly terrible amnt of Seb pics(I was in tears half the time bcs of cuteness agression)

0. Testing(Jerez)(February 10th-12th):

Honestly such perfect Seb hair, I find this soooo cute!!! His hair is honestly always so perfect at Jerez testing every season. I love the length and style, he looks so incredibly pretty &lt;3

1. Australia(March 26th-29th):

And now he is...bald. I actually kinda love this hair, he's my little kiwi fruit!! But I also can't help but mourn the Jerez hair. I'm just like: why did you feel the need to go bald, Seb??? It makes him look so young!

2. Malaysia(April 2nd-5th):

3. China(April 16th-19th):

I think the highlight of his bald era is how much he embodies the nickname "sunshine." Like the way his hair and eylashes glow in the sun??? Literally sunshine. Also it's cute to see his hair grow more fluffy

4. Bahrain(April 23rd-26th):

The texture differences are so interesting, I think this length looks its best when it's more fluffy like in the top right pic.

5. Spain(May 7th-10th):

It's funny how his hairline does that point in the middle, again: looks better when he looks unkempt

6. Monaco(May 21st-24th):

Weirdly shocked at how much his hair grew in-between Spain and Monaco??? Also I forgot that those fashion pics were from this weekend, and I was jumpscared by his mohawk look. I think he should keep away from hair product hahaha

7. Turkey(June 4th-7th):

Lego hair looking ass. Kidding kidding, just think his hair looks best all natural

8. Silverstone(June 18th-21st):

Lowkey kinda baffling to me how different his hair looks at different stages of the weekend. The podium hair especially is just soooo different, its very cute but yeah idk

9. Germany(July 9th-12th):

I did not realize he cut his hair again during this season?? Seeing these was very surprising to me, I had thought he grew it out for the entire season but I guess not! But I guess if he hadn't gotten a haircut the entire season, he'd probably have his angelic curls of 2010 by the end

10. Hungary(July 23rd-26th):

Kinda love the looks he was serving this weekend, it's just very spikey and cute(also the cunty sunglasses!!

11. Valencia(August 20th-23rd):

12. Belgium(August 27th-30th):

That garage lighting makes his hair look soooo much more yellow rather than his fair blond in the sunlight

13. Italy(September 10th-13th):

This transitional growing period is not my fav, just the way his hair sweeps in is funny

14. Singapore(September 24th-27th):

Looking particularly blond this weekend!! His hair is just very light and pretty

15. Japan(October 1st-4th):

I think most of these are from post-quali and for good reason; I love the way it looks like he has highlights in all the bottom pics

16. Brazil(October 15th-18th):

I love his scruffiness from this weekend!!! The scruffy stubble is sooooooo!!!

17. Abu Dhabi(October 29th-November 1st):

Pretty cute I think but yeah like nothing can really compete with his hair length in 2010 for me so I look at these and I'm like, ooooo growing longer!!

Conclusion: I think it's fun to get to see the process of someone's hair growing out. I've noticed that a lot of men with short hair get very consistent haircuts to keep their hair generally the same length, and I think that's so boring!! I think it's great to grow out your hair for a few months time because you get to see yourself at all the different stages and experiment with all kinds of different looks! So yeah, props to Seb for serving all kinds of looks this season!!

Also it's always interesting to me how much hair length/style and facial hair can change a person's look, but particularly how old/young they look. Like when he shaved his his head, it made him look so young. But in Brazil for example, with the longer hair and scruffy facial hair, he def looks older!

And of course, let me know which you like the best :D My favorite is Jerez <3

[libraryofneith]

Old Dog, New Tricks - Chapter 3 (Sandor Clegane x Female Reader)

@ladysandorclegane1968 @broadsdrinkwhisky

Series Masterlist

Summary: As Sandor settles in, he wonders what is next for him, what to do with his life.

Tags/Warnings: none really, whole fic is 18+ but this is a very chill chapter. Enjoy it while it lasts, cos it won't, OC has mutism.

Thanks to everyone who's liked, reblogged or left a note. The response to this has been amazing.

When we found her, she was wandering the countryside, filthy and covered in blood. And her eyes – there was a look in her eyes of someone who’d seen something truly terrible.

Weeks past and with them, Sandor found himself healing. With the help of some other friends of Septon Ray’s, he found himself beginning to walk a bit more with each passing day. First across his room, then he ventured outside. That was when he learned where he was. He was with a small settlement of people who appeared to have set up camp in the middle of nowhere and had started building a sept.

They were people from all over: the North, Riverlands, Westerlands, and people from all walks of life and backgrounds. All these people brought together by religion to start their own way of life, a bit like the Brotherhood Without Banners only not so stuck up their arses and with a lot less fire and a lot more sanity.

Once he was able to walk, stretch and lift weights without fainting like a maiden at the sight of blood, Ray set him to work helping with the building. He said they could use a man with the Hound’s infamous strength on their mission. Sandor had given up his identity when Ray told him he already knew who he was.

“Your reputation proceeds you; huge man, and even through all that mess I could see those infamous scars.” Sandor growled, irritated.

He then asked if he’d seen a scruffy looking girl of about 13, might’ve looked like a peasant boy. The septon shook his head and said they’d found him alone. That didn’t surprise him. If he remembered right, the girl had left him on a mountainside to die then left, looking to be heading towards Saltpans.

“Why the fuck did you bother asking my name then?” The man smiled and shrugged.

“Formality, I guess.”

When Sandor wasn’t chopping wood or carrying heavy planks, he spent most of his time alone. The people here weren’t unkind, some of them could even look him in the eye, but they were all happy and decent folk who seemed to be completely un-phased by the horrors in the world around them. He had no place among such folk. Well, except for Septon Ray, he always took time in the day to visit him.

Truth be told, he was growing quite fond of the holy man. He wasn’t like the other septons he’d met, he wasn’t all solemnity and false piety, acting all holier-than-thou. He was happy and he was human, always greeting people with a smile and a joke. He even knew jokes bawdy enough to make Sandor snigger. The man was also completely unpretentious, a trait Sandor rarely found in anyone.

Sandor had snorted and said “You’re in the wrong line of work.” At least he was honest, which was more than could be said for most holy men.

Other septons liked to pretend that they knew the answer to all of the world’s mysteries and that if you just kept quiet and prayed then everything would turn out right. When Sandor challenged him with another man’s beliefs about the Lord of Light, he simply said

“Well maybe he was right, I don’t know much about the gods.”

But then there was the girl, Kyra. He didn’t know what to make of her. A young girl who he’d seen every day while he was bed-ridden, and most days once he was up. When she wasn’t nursing him, he noticed her about the camp cooking, planting vegetables or doing whatever chores needed to be done. She was small for her age and moved so quietly he mostly wouldn’t realise she was there until she was upon him.

He’d approached her one day, to thank her for her skills in nursing him. He'd been unsure of what to say, it'd been a long time since he'd thanked anyone for anything and he wasn't sure what she would say, but she said nothing. She just smiled, nodded, then walked away. He thought that odd but when he thought about it, he realised he’d ever heard Kyra speak. She wasn’t deaf or foreign; he saw her reacting to what people said, but she never spoke back.

“Good girl that.” Septon Ray said, approaching him where he stood. “Should’ve seen her when you were still out of it, most of the men wanted to slit your throat as an act of mercy but the look she gave them would’ve made the bloody Mountain shit his pants” Sandor smiled at that thought.

“Aye she’s a good lass. Why doesn’t she speak?” The septon’s face seemed to sadden at that.

“Fear, I think. When we found her, she was wandering the countryside, filthy and covered in blood. And her eyes – there was a look in her eyes of someone who’d seen something truly terrible. She screamed bloody murder when we tried to bring her back to the village but even when we eventually managed to calm her, she never spoke a word, and hasn’t in all the time I’ve known her.”

“Then how do you know her name, or get her to do anything?”

“She writes things down, or motions them, or sometimes just a look is enough.” Sandor could understand that – the girl had the most expressive eyes he’d ever seen. They’d been the first things he’d noticed about her when he woke up.

The bell rang out, meaning a break for a meal.

“Come, sit with me for dinner” Septon Ray said.

“Nah that’s alright; I don’t want to scare your men.” The man just chuckled.

“If they’re scared of you that’s their problem, I’d have my friend join me for a meal.” That took Sandor aback. Ray was kind to him, but he was kind to everyone. He didn’t think that the man thought of him as a particular friend. He didn’t know if he really wanted a friend.

That got him going.

“If you come now there might be some ale waiting.”

[icarusredwings]

The Temple-Noble household is a MESS

You have Donna, a supermom red-headed numbers genuis with a heart of gold but WILL infact throw hands.

Rosie, an inspiring entrepreneur and activist who also is so genuis that she too works for the same high-tech alien company as her mum.

Her dad Shaun who is the most PATIANT man in the world because his wife keeps bringing home weird alien men

Her grandmother, whos JUST as firey as her daughter, if not more, and will infact slap your hand if you try to take a cookie from the sheet before they are ready.

And then you have 3 old (supposed to be) retired goofs who all act defenitly NOT retired.

It's like having three senior rescues in one house, except they're all different.

One's an old scruffy terrier who's seen better days and gets along with every single person he meets. Cats and all.

One's a big ol skinny clumsy dane who thinks he's a chihuahua and is afraid of other dogs (and is reactive because of it), but otherwise ADORES the dog he lives with and is OBSESSED with cats.

Ans then there's the yellowish cream colored chonky lazy tom who hisses at everyone then purrs, swats at the dane one minute and is curled up with him the next.

Oh, and sometimes they get out the gate and reak havoc on the neighborhood <3

[neptunescore]

Ship ask- mark and seb

Anonnnn.

Suddenly hating this template bc why is there not ONE option that fits them??? What is THIS??? (Thays why everything other than the 'reades fic about it' is crossed out, bc I do, in fact, read fanfic abt them😛). Anyway here are MY options 😚.

1. Rancid.

2. Soulbonded ENEMIES.

3. Dont ship, but do ship but don't ship but-

4. So toxic but so perfect

HOWEVER, this only applies if we're talking abt their teammates era. Now, if we're talking abt reporter! Mark and ferrari/AM! Seb...

LIKE??? THEYRE SO YES! LOK AT THESE OLD MEN WHO UNDER WENT MAJOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND REALISED THE GUY THEY TRIED TO COMMIT MMURDER AGAINST IS ACC SOMEONE THEY LIKE NOW???

They're such old scruffy repressed gays I love them😩

Nav

[housethemd]

Inlet

(House/Wilson, pre-relationship, loosely set in S2. This will be cross posted to my AO3, where I am WhiskeyRose1)

There are very few physical activities House can still do. After the infarction they had to trade golf weekends for movie marathons, tennis night for bowling night, and lunch break runs for a seat in the cafeteria.

Except for one Tuesday every month. On the third Tuesday of the month the local YMCA pool has a free swim from 2-3:30pm. Lord only knows why, because by that time the housewives and their toddlers have left for nap time, it’s too late in the afternoon for the usual lunch break crowd, and the after school rush hasn’t started yet. It means that the pool is practically deserted.

That’s how Wilson talked House into going. Never mind the plethora of benefits that being in water has for House. While he would never say it, Wilson knows that floating in the tepid water eases the ache in his ruined thigh as well as the aches he never talks about. His hips, his back, his shoulder, all take additional strain due to his disability and the weightlessness of the pool eases the pressure.

They have the changing room to themselves, and they strip down in front of one another with the ease that over a decade of friendship brings. Wilson’s swimsuit is a simple pair of black swim shorts, while House’s are neon yellow with black flames up the legs. House’s are also board shorts, instead of falling just below mid-thigh like Wilson’s, House’s bathing suit touches his knees.

Wilson remembers going to the beach together in the early days of their friendship. House always wore these bright red, 6 inch inseam trunks. They came well above mid-thigh, showing off his muscular legs. Back then House was incredibly physically active and his years of lacrosse, rowing, cheerleading, and running showed on his physique. Wilson was no slump physically, but the looks he got were nothing compared to the number of heads House turned - female and male alike.

They hose off in the provided showers, getting themselves nice and wet before entering the pool area. Wilson watches the water sluice down House’s bare chest and wishes he could make House see how attractive he still is. Sure his body is more lithe than it used to be, but he’s still well put together with broad shoulders giving way to a slim waist and narrow hips. He’s no less attractive at 46 than he was at 33 when they met. House wears his age well. The salt and pepper of his hair distinguishes him, his scruffy look giving him a care free air, and of course he still has those huge bright blue eyes that threaten to steal your soul if you stare into them for too long.

Once they are sufficiently soaked Wilson offers his arm to House. He takes it, let’s Wilson take some of his weight as they make the slow walk from the men’s change room to the pool. The floors are wet and slick and even though House’s blue water shoes give him a little traction they still take their time, lest either of them slip. He still can’t quite believe he talked House into wearing the water shoes. House had balked against them when Wilson first bought them for him after their first pool trip, citing that only old people and toddlers wore water shoes at a pool. After some very blunt words about how like it or not House was a fall risk due to uneven balance, he’d slipped them on wordlessly the next month.

They walk until they are at the edge of the deep end. House finds it easier to walk poolside until they hit the deep end, then slide off the edge into the water, as opposed to trying to walk through the shallower water until it’s deep enough for swimming. Wilson supports House as he lowers himself to sit at the edge, feet dangling into the water.

Wilson retrieves a pool noodle from the bin near the lifeguard station and tosses it in the water before diving in himself.

When he surfaces he shakes the water from his face and hair like a dog, making House laugh from where he is still perched on the edge. Wilson always expects more of a shock when he hits the water, but the pool is kept at a comfortable 85 degrees. Once he’s stopped laughing House pushes himself off the ledge and into the water, momentarily disappearing beneath its surface. When he bobs back up Wilson passes him the pool noodle. House slides it underneath his waist and lays back. House is heavy enough that his body still sinks beneath the water but provides enough buoyancy that he can float without having to move his limbs to much.

Wilson swims laps for a while, as House floats leisurely. Wilson pauses periodically to observe him. His eyes are closed as he lets the ripples of water push him around. Every few minutes he checks his surroundings and if he is nearing a wall or the shallow end he’ll kick his good leg and use his arms to gain enough momentum to float in a different direction.

When Wilson is satisfied with the number of laps he’s done he’ll climb out to grab his own pool noodle and he and House will float side by side. They talk about nothing in the way only old friends can. House says something rude and Wilson splashes him in the face. This evolves into more and more aggressive splashing until the lifeguard has to tell them to settle down. Wilson looks appropriately chastised but House just smirks.

Nearing the end of their extended lunch break, they make their way out of the pool. House stands on his good leg on the ladder out of the pool and uses his arms to push himself back onto the tile floor outside. Wilson scurries out after him to help him stand. They make their way back into the change room and go through the same motions as when they arrived but in reverse.

When they make their way back out to Wilson’s Volvo, both with hair still damp, Wilson can’t help but notice how House moves a little easier. He always does after an hour in the pool. Wilson wishes he could get House to do this more regularly. The university campus has a gym with a pool, and faculty gets in for free. There is no reason why House couldn’t be swimming a few times a week, but Wilson knows being seen by his peers needing support is what keeps him from going.

So Wilson will keep bringing him to the deserted free swim at the YMCA, where he can lean on Wilson’s arm and wear his water shoes without fear of his colleagues losing respect for him.

[miraclewoozi]

congrats on 500 followers! 🥳🥳🥳 may i request seungkwan & angst prompt «am i supposed to just let you go?»

TIL DEATH DO US PART. -b.sk

500 follower party <3 ( accepting until 14th March ! )

pair : bsk x gn!reader. prompt : " am i supposed to just let you go? " wc : ~900. warnings : zombie apocalypse au. implied character death/'turning' and mentions of death by being bitten and also slightest implications of murder. blood. gore/body horror. angst. please drop me a line if i've forgotten anything.

You’ve never known pain like this.

From the middle of your bicep all the way down your left arm, every inch of flesh is burning. Your hand is a dead-weight, anchored to the metal floor beneath you with the thrum of the infection working its way through your veins. Seeping into your muscles, pulsing through to your erratic heart, already winding into the depths of your brain. Dust and grit scratch your eyes every time you blink and the tears welling up in them do nothing to soothe your abraded corneas. You’re weak. Fading. Clammy, feverish…

But Seungkwan, beaten and bruised yet somehow otherwise okay — most importantly, unbitten —, begging on his knees in front of you? 

That’s somehow what hurts the most. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he says for the third time, swallowing back his own tears. You know anger is a symptom and you're consumed with the need to ask him why he’s fighting this, why he's being stupid, why he won't just leave. But even quicker than the frustration was able to build up, it ebbs away: a droplet falls from the corner of his eye and makes a solitary path down the side of his face, distractedly silencing you before the words come out. You watch it cut through the ever-present layer of dirt no one can quite seem to scrub off before it clings to his jawline. Then, it continues to roll down his neck, mixing with the dried blood surrounding a day-old cut and turning from grey to pink, before it finally reaches its destination, disappearing into the shredded collar of his old t-shirt. “I can’t— I can’t do this without you—”

“You have the others,” you tell him with a shudder. Your head feels a thousand tonnes. Even your eyelids are weighing you down. 

He doesn’t have all the others, though. Not like he used to. When you first met Seungkwan he was with twelve other men: his band of unlikely brothers. A found family, navigating their way through hell with a few beat up guitars, a janky old radio and a can-do attitude. Four of them are gone now. Two to the virus. Two… otherwise. 

And now, he’s going to lose you too. Lucky number five. 

“I can’t—”

But as much as this will be hurting him now, he isn’t going to be alone once it happens. He won't believe you if you say it, but even as you fight through the fog you know you need to convince him that it's true.

“You have to,” you grimace. “You know I’m not still going to be me when—”

“Don’t say it,” he snaps, standing up to his feet and pressing his long fingers into his scruffy hair. 

“Seungkwan—”

“What— am I supposed to just let you go?”

You hold your breath as he starts to cry for real. He’s shaking, head to foot, and the scuff of heavy boots just outside the door tells you his friends have heard him raise his voice. You hear the handle start to squeak, but he desperately calls out for them to stop. No one comes in, but you’re sure they’re still waiting out there on their haunches. You can't blame them.

He manages to pace back and forth six times before the next wave of scorching agony crashes through you. You stiffen. Your toes curl. It pulls the fingers of your working hand into a fist and you can hardly even manage to breathe through it. But before you can so much as blink, Seungkwan is right back on your level, crouched with one hand on your cheek and the other curling around your good forearm. It feels like he’s covered in very fine, very hot pins and they’re all piercing your fragile skin, but the gentle pressure gives you something else to focus on: with gritted teeth, you manage a tiny smile.

It's not a good thing that the pain starts to subside, that your extremities start to go numb. You know that. So must he.

“I won’t be the one who hurts you,” you say, chest stuttering every time you try to take a breath even when the stiffness eases and your limbs turn to jelly. “Please — you can’t let me—”

“I love you,” Seungkwan chokes, tears falling freely, snot dribbling from his nose. “I’m going to love you forever. Just— just like we said—”

“I know,” you nod, closing your eyes to the feeling of his cool forehead pressing against your own. His hand travels up your arm, over your shoulder, resting at the curve of your neck. “For better, for worse.”

He laughs weakly, the musk on his breath ten times stronger than usual.

“In… in sickness and in health,” he continues, mumbling through the long kiss he presses to your prickling temple before he forces himself to pull away. Another involuntary spasm from you is apparently the catalyst that brings him to his senses and Seungkwan seems to realise he doesn’t have much time left before it happens. It registers that there really is nothing he can do, not when you no longer even have the strength to pull your lids back open.

You think you hear him say he's sorry, but his heavy, defeated footsteps are the last thing you hear as fear starts to roll in. There’s a creak as the door swings open on its hinges, and a harsh clang that follows: you jump, even as your mind grows cold and distant and everything starts to go dark.

There's a click. The lock. Then a deafening cry: a frustrated, angry sob, and a set of fists slam once against the door that now serves as your prison.

I'll waste away in here, you think.

Maybe that's the virus talking.

Maybe it's not.

[askbensolo]

Ask Ben Solo

What’s up, HoloNet! The name’s Ben. Currently 23 years old. I’m the only son of an Alderaanian princess and a Corellian scoundrel, and I have an adopted sister named Rey.

I started this blog when I was fifteen and afraid of becoming a Jedi. To make things worse, I started hearing voices in my head…voices that turned out to be someone who wanted to control me. Luckily, my friends and family got involved, and Snoke seems to have backed off.

I did make friends with some of Uncle Luke’s Jedi students, but I ended up attending the University of Naboo (Go Shaaks!) and got my degree in Journalism, since I’ve always been interested in writing, history, and politics. (Scroll back enough, and you’ll see my cringe pro-Imperial phase from back in the day. Yikes.)

I stayed on Naboo after graduation, and now I write for The Chommell Sector Daily. In my free time I lift weights, write poetry, and fight with people online.

Ask me a question!

—Ben

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Run by @luke-shywalker Est. 2016

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Amalia’s Blog: @mal-is-tall

(Their blogs are dead because they're lame, but maybe if we bother them enough they'll come back)

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Family

Mom: My mother, also known as Senator Leia Organa, also known as Space Mom, also known as Don't Mess With Her. Tough as nails. Also has nice nails.

Dad: My father, also known as Han Solo (or scruffy-looking nerfherder). Isn’t as cool as you think he is, but makes up for it with heart.

Rey: My adopted sister, also known as "Kid". Ten years younger than me. Originally from Jakku. Eats faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.

Uncle Luke: My uncle, also known as Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. Is a cinnamon roll.

Ren the Bantha of Indeterminate Gender or Origin: My stuffed bantha friend. Not much can be known about this humble beast, but they are fiercely loyal.

Threepio: My mom's protocol droid. Has foregone enough memory wipes to pass as sentient. Best ignored.

Artoo: Luke’s beeping trash can. Extremely rude.

Chewie: My dad’s best pal. Gives great hugs. Don’t play holochess with him.

Lumpy: Chewie’s son. About my age in Wookiee years.

Darth Vader: My grandfather. It's complicated.

Friends

Fannie: One of Luke's Jedi students, who has since graduated. Twi'lek. My bestie when we were teens. Mom friend.

Amalia: One of Luke's Jedi students, who has since dropped out. Massive Togruta girl. Frenemy.

Treeso: My roommate from college. Gungan. Solid dude.

Sweeper: My archnemesis: the cleaning droid at work that keeps eating my paper notes.

Ugly Raisin Men Who Have Invaded My Mind With the Force

Snoke: Enough said.

Story Events

The Long Night: (2/25/16 - 4/2/16) In which I woke up from a nightmare and couldn’t sleep.

Space Braces: (5/16/16 - 12/7/2017) In which I got braces.

Get Out of My Head: (8/4/16 - 8/28/16) In which Mom left for a diplomatic mission and left me at home with my dad, and I was consumed by fear and darkness.

The Visit: (10/6/16 - 11/5/16) In which Uncle Luke came to visit us.

Sixteen!: (12/3/16 - 12/11/16) In which I turned sixteen.

Life Day 21 ABY: (12/25/16 - 12/26/16) Life Day!

The Impending Future: (9/10/17 - 9/29/17) In which I had an existential crisis about Mom wanting me to become a Jedi, and I discovered Snoke.

Seventeen!: (12/3/17 - 12/11/17) In which I turned seventeen.

Life Day 22 ABY: (12/25/17 - 12/26/17) Life Day!

A Week With Luke: (12/21/17 - 1/7/18) In which my mom made me spend a week at Luke’s Jedi school.

An Awkward Situation: (4/26/18 - 7/15/18) In which I thought my best friend Fannie was going to ask me out. Like, on a date.

About Amalia: (7/16/18 - 8/7/18) In which I accidentally started a chain of rumors about Amalia, Luke’s mysterious and hardest-to-get-along-with student.

The New Roommate: (4/24/24 - current) In which my roommate Treeso moves out and I have to find someone to take over his lease.

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