#she would be enough of a loser that she would occasionally call them from a pay phone just to hear thermvoice for a second

[dol-dee]

I wish I could be funny about this but she legit wouldn't. I don't even think shed have it in her to fight it. Just full on withdrawn but resigned acceptance. Shed be very efficient about it too. It would, once and for all, be proof to her that People will always end up getting tired of her and move on.

She really would treat it like a divorce or like someone had died. Shed avoid places and things that could serve as reminders like hell after bc it would immediately obliterate her on the spot.

Honestly, it's gonna be jover for Dee once she allows George near her neck.

[angelsknifeprty]

streamer!ellie hcs ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

a/n: this is more focused on ellie and less on ellie x reader but i am for sure gonna follow this up with something else more focused on the both of you >:3

warnings | mentions of weed, the smallest hint towards struggling with eating if you squint

word count: 698

do not buy tlou | ways to help palestine | operation olive branch | keep eyes on sudan | haiti’s history | learn about congo

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ started off posting unlisted videos of her playing games with the stupidest, shittiest editing ever for you and her friends to watch and later decided to give streaming a try

‎ ‧₊˚౨ৎ starts off her twitch channel as a faceless streamer but does a face reveal when she hits a big milestone

‧₊˚౨ৎ has the creeper mini fridge for sure!!

‧₊˚౨ৎ has a ginger cat named garfield that she exclusively calls garfunkel on stream because her viewers made fun of her for garfield being too unoriginal

“guys, what do you mean it’s unoriginal, look at him. that’s literally garfield, the real deal. you’re all haters.”

‧₊˚౨ৎ plays a bunch of different games: minecraft obviously, fortnite, roblox (and argues with kids on there, you can’t tell me any different). also loves fnaf, elder scrolls and resident evil

‧₊˚౨ৎ more on her liking resident evil, i think she’s not super wimpy when it comes to games like that but she HATES the regenerators from the re4 remake (i’m totally not projecting…)

“i am NOT a wimp, but look at their freaky fucking arms!! and they have gross little butts too, that was not a necessary choice for the character design.”

‧₊˚౨ৎ she does find it funny when she kills them and they jiggle as they fall on the ground though

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ i’m throwing it in here that she smokes weed because i simply cannot help myself teehee :P

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ she does more chill streams of her eating n stuff as a way of comforting her viewers so they can eat along with her )):

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ and in turn chat always spams her with comments to drink water because that girl survives purely on energy drinks to combat her sleepy girl syndrome

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ abuses the soundboard so heavily, loves using a sound effect of an audience clapping and cheering when she tells the most painfully unfunny joke

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ she is ABSOLUTELY a jerma985 fan

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ loves putting her fans on blast and reacting to edits of her on stream and finds it so funny (especially the ones that have the reverb fart noise just randomly slapped in there, she thinks it’s peak humour)

“you guys think i don’t see this stuff? i have eyes everywhere. y’know what though, you guys are actually really talented.”

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ wears stupid t-shirts that say stuff like ���i paused my game to be here” (omg i just found one that says “gamers make better lovers, they know all the right buttons” she would absolutely wear that)

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ she wears her silly t-shirts with pride and has the audacity to ask chat to rate how hard her fit goes

therealher0brine: BOOOOOO 🍅🍅🍅 0/10

elliebellie69: i beg that you don’t leave the house in that /lh  (╥﹏╥)

gnarpgnarp500: never beating the loser lesbian allegations i fear…

“guys you’re just not seeing the vision, sorry that you’re not this cool.”

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ oh my gosh she is OBSESSED with the little ikea alien, she has multiple of them in her room. she keeps one on her desk and when she sometimes doesn’t know what to say she’ll just hold it up super close to the camera and make incoherent high pitched babbling sounds

smelliams420: omg cancelled you can’t say that dude…

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ gets her viewers to send in clips and she’ll do high try not to laugh streams and fails miserably because she has the dumbest sense of humour ever. she’ll blame it entirely on the herb though as if her reaction wouldn’t be near enough the same when she’s sober

‧₊˚౨ৎ will occasionally play guitar on stream and she’ll sing too if you catch her in the right mood. she’s a bit awkward about it so it doesn’t happen often cuz she hates messing up and always makes a way bigger deal about it than necessary

“fuck- no wait, i was just messing with you. that fuck up was on purpose, shut up,” and her cheeks are flushed bright red as she tries to brush it off and compose herself before trying again

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ loves to get sidetracked and info dumps about stuff she is far too knowledgeable on

 ‧₊˚౨ৎ in conclusion, loser ellie supremacy

a/n: raghhh i love streamer els with my whole heart !!! i’m gonna eat her (˶˃⤙˂˶) anyways i hope you enjoyed, k bye mwah! >3< ♡

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Chapter 1

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Discussion of murder and physical abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Prologue --Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Jake made sure to put on a suit he knew was "nice enough" for the meeting. Clay would be going with him, helping him secure the deal he needed to keep Sarah and Jadah, his real family, safe, never to be messed with again. The rest of the Losers were keeping an eye on them to make sure his parents didn't try anything while negotiating. Aisha and Cougar were some of the best fighters he knew and Pooch could easily drive his family to a secure area.

"So why did you think you needed to get your sister out of the marriage," Clay asked. "I get your parents are pieces of shit, but wouldn't a marriage get her away from them?"

"Nope," Jake shook his head as he drove. "Not only would it further embed them into her life, the guy she was engaged to was a monster. I did a deep dive on him when the engagement was announced. He had a bunch of arrests for domestic disturbance, but his parents, his lawyers, got him out and always settled out of court. Apparently his parents figured marriage would help him calm down. I tried to call bullshit, got shut down, and took action."

Clay nodded, silently filing away the information, before continuing. "And you're now going to marry his sister?"

"Yup."

"What do you know about her?"

"Very little," Jake confesses. "Graduated with a Master's in Ecology with a focus on Conservation Studies. Doesn't seemed to have used it so either her family refuses to let her do anything or she just wanted to waste her parents' money, or something else."

"Going for a Master's doesn't indicate an interest in wasting money," Clay pointed out.

"Agreed, but I've got so little information on her I'm inclined to just go ahead and think the worst."

"Are you expecting to meet her when we get there?"

"Negotiations with the parents first," Jake tells him. "If that goes well, then...yeah, it'll probably be a family dinner or something."

"Alright, lets get to it, then."

"Jacob!" Cordelia, Jake's mother, was using her fake happy tone as she held out her arms for a hug. He purposefully avoids the hug and goes for a handshake instead.

"Don't be rude, son," William chides. Jake holds back from glaring at his father and focuses on maintaining his composure.

"Let's just get to business," Clay offers while taking a seat at William's desk.

"And who are you?" William raises an eyebrow at Clay.

"For all intents and purposes, I'm your son's advocate here to make sure he gets what he wants outta this deal. And that it gets put into writing and notarized."

"And what is it that you want, Jacob?" Cordelia's tone was now icy. "We're setting you up with a wife from a good, rich family. You should be grateful to us for that after nearly destroying our future."

"I want a written, notarized guarantee that, so long as I am married to this woman, Sarah and her family will be left alone. You will not look for them. You will not include them in your machinations. They will never have to worry about you or your people bothering them ever again."

"I'm sure we can work something out," William nods. "Good thing I've already got my lawyer here to go over the marriage documents."

The next several hours are spent with Clay and the family lawyer going back and forth over the wording of the official document. Jake is increasingly grateful that he brought in Clay for this part. He's a quick thinker but Clay is a tactician. He can see the loopholes, the workarounds that Jake can't. His parents attempt to engage him in conversation but Clay had advised Jake to keep quiet during the negotiations so he did. Occasionally texting the team with updates.

Finally, Clay and the lawyer shook hands. The deal is typed up and printed. Jake, his parents, Clay and the lawyer all sign. The notary had arrived an hour before, called by William. They looked everything over and added their stamp to the documents.

Jake took the contract, put it in an envelope and gave it to Clay before turning to his parents. "Okay, let's go meet my future wife."

Prologue -- Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 ; 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 - 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; as days in hawkins blend into a reluctant routine, things take an unexpected turn when you meet eddie munson, the loud-mouthed, theatrical frontman of corroded coffin. new memories blend in with a faraway call from home.

⚠️ warnings; blood + allusions to self-harm

➝ series masterlist, moodboard

➝ previous chapter ; next chapter

Tuesday, February 25 1986, Hawkins, Indiana

The chill of winter began to soften in Hawkins, hinting at the promise of spring. Your motorcycle was still in Sam's hands, a constant reminder of the freedom you were missing out on. Each day, you’d think about it, half-expecting to hear the familiar purr of the engine, but instead, it remained silent, waiting for the day it would be roadworthy again.

It had been nearly a month since you’d arrived, and your days had taken on a routine that felt both boring and foreign. You spent your mornings in the small trailer, sketching in the dim light. You tried to occasionally strike up a conversation with your younger neighbour, but she wasn't around much, and when she was, her responses were short and clipped. 

You didn’t take it to heart

The late-afternoons melted into shifts at The Hideout, where you helped Bev with everything from serving drinks to wiping down tables, gaining the trust of the locals and a few friends along the way. Tonight, the bar hummed with the chatter of patrons as you wiped down the bar top, the familiar scents of stale beer and fried food filling the air. 

The door creaked open, letting in a blast of the chilly March air. A group of guys you’d never seen before walked in, their voices loud enough to cut through the general noise. Bev perked up beside you, grinning. "Speak of the devil. Corroded Coffin finally decided to show up."

One of them—a lanky guy with wild curls and a leather jacket—spotted you behind the bar and froze mid-step. His dark eyes narrowed, then widened slightly as he did an almost comical double take. You raised an eyebrow at him, silently daring him to say something.

And say something he did.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, his hands spreading theatrically as he sauntered closer. “What do we have here? A new face. A pretty face, at that.” He rested his elbows on the bar and leaned in, his smirk all sharp edges and mischief.

You remained completely deadpan, calmly reaching for a glass and filling it with water as he continued his tirade.

“Let me guess—small-town girl, probably here to make a big impression on us poor, unsuspecting Hawkins folk? Oh, wait—no. Bev’s new recruit, right? Just a pretty face to distract the customers while she rakes in the tips.”

You set the glass down with deliberate care, still not looking at him as he continued, his tone getting more obnoxiously smug.

“Y’know, you’ve got that mysterious vibe going for you. It’s almost working. Almost. But you can’t fool me. I—”

Done with him, you picked up the glass and threw the water straight in his face.

The sudden gasp from him and the burst of laughter from his friends made the moment all the more satisfying. He spluttered, stumbling back a step as water dripped down his face and soaked his curls.

“What the hell!” he exclaimed, rubbing his face with his hands as the guys behind him doubled over with laughter.

“Nice one, Eddie,” one of them managed between wheezes. “Real smooth.”

‘Eddie’ shot them a glare, still dripping.

“Are you done now?” you asked flatly, setting the empty glass back down on the bar.

His jaw worked for a moment, but before he could respond, Bev stepped in, smacking him lightly on the back of the head. “Cool it, Junior,” she said, her voice laced with exasperation. “And you’re late. Again.”

Eddie straightened, his indignation momentarily redirected. “Ow, Bev, come on. You know I have a life outside of this place.”

“It’s that silly club of yours,” Bev corrected, crossing her arms. “And you’ve blown me off two times this month to roll dice in the school’s basement. You begged me for this stage, Eddie. Begged. So unless you want to owe me even more favours, get your ass ready to play.”

Eddie grimaced, muttering something under his breath before turning back to you with a dramatic sigh. “She’s always like this, by the way. Don’t let tough love fool you—it’s just love.”

Bev snorted. “Love’s about to toss your ass out if you don’t start setting up.”

With a mock salute, Eddie turned and slunk off toward the stage, his friends still laughing at him as they followed, occasionally tossing out teasing remarks that he waved off with exaggerated annoyance.  

“Don’t mind him,” Bev said, leaning on the bar next to you. “He’s harmless. A pain in the ass, but harmless.”  

You didn’t answer right away, still annoyed as you grabbed the mop and bucket from the corner. You pushed it over to where the splash of water you’d thrown at Eddie had puddled on the floor. As you wrung out the mop, Bev leaned against the bar, watching you with an amused expression.  

“He’s got a mouth on him, I’ll give you that,” she continued. “Always has. But he’s a good kid. Runs with his little band of misfits, plays guitar like he’s auditioning for Judas Priest, and spends too much time obsessing over that game of his.”  

You hummed in response, more focused on finishing the cleanup than anything else.  

“He’ll grow on you,” Bev added, smirking. “Eventually.”  

“I’m not holding my breath,” you muttered, setting the mop back in the bucket and pushing it aside. With the floor cleaned and your irritation somewhat mollified, you turned back to the bar, ready to focus on the rest of your shift. 

Eddie Munson, you decided, was just another obstacle in an already unpredictable town.

As the music kicked off, you leaned casually against the bar, pretending not to care, but your ears caught enough to form an opinion. They were good—decent, even—but nothing that would blow your mind. Still, their energy was undeniable, and the way Eddie and his friends threw themselves into the performance, grinning and lost in the moment, was oddly charming.  

You allowed yourself to watch for a bit, just a little impressed despite yourself. At least they were having fun, and the small crowd seemed into it.  

Shaking your head, you pushed off the bar and went back to y refilling drinks, wiping down tables, and ringing up orders. The din of conversation and the steady thrum of the music filled the air, blending into the usual chaos of a busy night at The Hideout.  

Then, somewhere between a drink order and a quick scan of the room, a sharp prickle spread through your head. It started at the base of your skull, subtle at first, but then it moved to your temples and pushed forward, forming into a full-blown headache.  

You winced, rubbing at your temple and trying to shake it off. The music. It had to be the music—too loud, too much.  

The ache became unbearable, and you stepped away from the bar, ducking into the back room where the noise was at least muffled. You leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths, but the sensation only worsened.  

Then you felt it: a wet trickle down your nose. Your eyes snapped open, and your hand flew to your face. When you pulled it back, your fingers were smeared with blood.  

"What the—"  

The sound of heavy footsteps behind you made you almost jump out of your skin. You turned sharply, heart racing, to find Bev standing in the doorway, concern etched across her face.  

“You okay?” she asked, her voice cutting through the pain in your head.  

You blinked at her, trying to pull yourself together. “Yeah. Just… headache. Must be the music.”  

Bev’s brow furrowed as she stepped closer, her hand already pulling the rag from her apron pocket. Before you could protest, she cupped your face gently, tilting your chin up to get a better look at the blood trickling from your nose.  

“Hold still,” she muttered, dabbing at your nose with the rag.  

You scrunched your nose in disgust. “Bev, that’s gross.”  

She tapped your cheek lightly with her free hand, her expression stern but teasing. “Suck it up. It’s not like I haven’t seen worse around here. You look like you’re about to keel over. Take a break if you need it.”  

“I’m fine,” you grumbled, though you didn’t pull away.  

She gave you a long, searching look before letting go and stepping back. “Fine, but don’t push yourself. Last thing I need is you passing out on me.”  

You waved her off with a half-hearted laugh, heading over to the small cooler tucked in the back. Pulling out a can of Coke, you cracked it open and took a long, satisfying swig, the sweetness and carbonation hitting just right.  

Bev watched, hands on her hips, and nodded. “Sugar rush should do the trick.”  

“Here’s hoping,” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.  

You took a deep breath, the drink already making you feel a little steadier, and straightened up. “Back to work.”  

Bev gave a small nod, though her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer. “Alright, but don’t be a hero. I mean it.”  

With a faint smile, you stepped out of the backroom and back into the chaos of The Hideout, ready to dive back into your shift and shove the strange moment to the back of your mind—for now.

.

.

.

By the time the bar had emptied out and the last chair was stacked on a table, Bev came bustling out of the back, slipping her coat on.  

“Got somewhere to be?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as she handed you the keys.  

“Yeah, a date,” she said with a sly smile, waving you off before you could ask any questions. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve got this. Just lock up when you’re done, okay?”  

“Sure thing,” you said, pocketing the keys. Bev flashed you a quick grin before she slipped out the door, leaving you to handle the rest.  

Once everything was cleaned and squared away, you stepped outside into the chilly night air, the heavy door clunking shut behind you. To your surprise, leaning casually against a big white van you were certain you’d seen around town before, stood Eddie Munson.  

A faint trail of smoke curled up from the joint dangling between his fingers. His big brown eyes caught yours, and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Hey, junior bartender. Long night?”  

You crossed your arms, your face giving nothing away. “What are you still doing here?”  

“Bev,” he said simply, shrugging as if that explained everything. “She all but twisted my ear and told me I owed you a ride home. Said it was, what was it? Oh, right—an apology for being a jackass.”  

Your eyes narrowed slightly, and Eddie grinned, clearly amused by your scepticism. He held out the joint. “Peace offering?”  

“I’m good,” you said flatly, waving your head. “Quit smoking a few months back.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, taking another slow drag before flicking the joint to the ground and crushing it under his boot.  

He lingered for a moment, shifting awkwardly before gesturing to the van. “So... you gonna let me give you that ride, or what?”  

You stared at him down, unimpressed and unmoved by his sudden show of helpfulness. Without a word, you rounded the van, opening the passenger door and climbing in. Once settled, you glanced over at him, your tone as flat as your expression. “Well? Are you gonna drive, or are we camping out here?”  

Eddie blinked, then let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head as he jogged to the driver’s side. “Alright, alright. Don’t bite my head off. Let’s go, boss.”  

The engine rumbled to life, and as the van pulled away from The Hideout, you leaned back in the seat, still unsure what to make of the guy sitting next to you. 

As the van rolled through the quiet streets, Eddie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly trying to fill the silence.

“So…” he began, glancing at you sideways. “You always this talkative, or is it just me?”

You sighed faintly, leaning back into the passenger seat. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie said with a small laugh. He tapped the steering wheel, searching for another angle. “Where you from?”

“Maine,” you answered, staring out the window as the dark streets blurred by.

“Maine, huh? So, what, you traded one black hole for another?” he teased, glancing at you as he manoeuvred the van around a bend. “I mean, no offence, but your choice in places doesn’t exactly scream ‘great taste.’”

You snorted, conceding him that one jab. He wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“Just waiting on my bike to get fixed,” you replied with a shrug. “Then I’m hauling ass.”

That caught his attention. Eddie’s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in surprise before he let out an enthusiastic, “No way. You own a bike?”

You glanced at him, and his childlike excitement finally tugged the corners of your lips upward in the first genuine smile of the night. “Yeah.”

“That’s badass,” he said, grinning like a kid who’d just been told he could have dessert before dinner. “What kind is it?”

“1981 Harley Davidson Ironhead,” you said, feeling the faintest flicker of pride.

“Man,” he whistled low, shaking his head in amazement. “A girl who rides a Harley. That’s—man, that’s cool as hell.”

You shrugged again. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal,” Eddie scoffed, shaking his head as if you’d said the most absurd thing. “That’s like saying the sun rising is no big deal. Jeez.”

Eddie seemed to relax a little, his earlier awkwardness dissolving. He glanced over at you again as the van rattled over a pothole

“So where are you crashing while you’re stuck here?”

“The trailer park,” you said, leaning your head against the window.

Eddie nearly swerved off the road. “Wait, what?”

You frowned, glancing at him. “What?”

“You live at the trailer park?” he asked, staring at you like you’d just told him you lived on Mars. “I live there too! How have we not crossed paths before?”

Suddenly, it clicked. The big white van, the one you’d seen so many times. You nodded slowly. “That makes sense. I’ve seen your van around.”

Eddie perked up even more. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes slightly. “I’ve also heard it. Early in the morning, revving up like it’s the Daytona 500. Peeling off like a bat out of hell.”

Eddie let out a bark of laughter, his grin stretching wide. “Guilty as charged. That’s my morning routine. Coffee and chaos.”

Despite your fatigue, you snorted softly, shaking your head. “Explains a lot.”

For the rest of the drive, the atmosphere softened. Eddie’s chatter was relentless but oddly endearing, and you found yourself responding more, though still keeping it short. The weight of the day lingered, but his easy enthusiasm chipped away at your weariness, leaving you just a little less guarded than before.

When you arrive, Eddie drives all the way to the back of the park despite your protests.  

“You really didn’t have to,” you said, gesturing toward a closer path. “I could’ve walked the rest.”  

“Nah,” he replied, waving you off casually. “Wouldn’t be much of an apology if I made you stumble around in the dark, would it?”  

He finally pulled up in front of your trailer, the engine rumbling softly as he leaned back against his seat. Pointing to a larger trailer a short distance away, he said, “That’s me. I live there with my uncle. If you ever need anything—and I mean anything—just knock, alright?”  

The offer was surprisingly genuine, and for the first time, you saw something softer in Eddie, a glimpse of sincerity beneath the bravado.  

You gave him a small smile, the faintest crack in your usual guarded expression. “Thanks, Munson. I appreciate it.”  

The smile caught him off guard, and a flush of red spread across his cheeks, making him look almost like a little boy caught doing something embarrassing. “Yeah, no problem,” he said, suddenly fidgeting with his sleeve.  

With that, you stepped out of the van and headed toward your trailer. He stayed put, idling in the drive, waiting until you waved him a small goodbye before you disappeared inside. Only then did he shift into reverse, backing up carefully and heading off toward his own place, the faint glow of his tail lights flickering in the distance.  

You went through your simple night routine, the interaction with Eddie lingering in your mind like the faint warmth of a fire. It had been an unexpected bright spot, a far cry from the sour first impression he left. For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to feel a little lighter, a little less guarded.  

As you grabbed your toothbrush and stood before the small bathroom’s mirror, your eyes caught something above your lip. A faint fleck of dried blood. Leaning closer, you squinted at the reflection, tilting your head up to peer up at your nostrils. Sure enough, there was still a faint trace of bloody residue inside too.  

With a furrowed brow, you stared at the mirror, examining yourself with an intensity you didn’t often allow. The dim lighting cast shadows over your face, highlighting the weariness that had settled into your features. You frowned slightly, wondering again about the sudden pain, the headache that had gripped you earlier, and the blood that followed.  

You were tired. It was probably nothing.  

Brushing the crusted blood away with a splash of water, and picked up your toothbrush and began scrubbing away the day. When you finally collapsed onto the small bed, pulling the thin blanket over yourself, you closed your eyes, falling into a deep sleep almost instantly. 

That night, you dreamt of home. 

.

.

.

The house glowed in golden light, the kind that made everything feel hazy and soft, like a memory half-forgotten. The kitchen smelled like roasted chicken and herbs, rich and warm, though the scent didn’t settle in the way it used to. You sat at the small table, feet swinging idly, staring at the plate in front of you.  

Your mother sat across from you, chin resting on one hand as she watched you with a smile and a raised eyebrow. 

“Don’t be picky,” she said, her voice lilting with the playful chiding you’d always known. “Do you want to grow up all scrawny?”  

“No,” you mumbled, your fork dragging aimlessly through the mashed potatoes.  

“Then eat.” She pushed the plate closer to you, her smile widening with a teasing edge.

Your grandmother sat across from you, her plate half-empty as she absently forked at a piece of chicken. Her eyes were fixed on the flickering television in the corner, the sound turned low, playing some grainy daytime drama.

You lifted a bite of mash, when the first knock came.  

It was soft, almost polite, blending into the warm hum of the room.  

Your mother didn’t react. She tilted her head, waiting for you to eat, her fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table.  

The knock came again, louder this time. You glanced toward the door, but no one else seemed to notice.  

“Eat, sweetheart,” your mother urged, her smile unwavering.  

The knocking turned insistent, the thuds echoing through the apartment, followed by a faint scratching like nails dragging across wood.  

“Do you hear that?” you whispered, barely audible.  

“Hear what?” your mother asked, feigning confusion as she leaned closer.  

Your grandmother said nothing as she continued to watch the TV, as if the pounding wasn’t rattling the walls.  

The knocking grew louder, more aggressive, the scratches sharper and longer, setting your teeth on edge.  

“I... I think someone’s at the door.”  

Your mother didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she smiled warmly, her expression soft and familiar.

“Finish your food, sweetheart,” she said.“You’re always so picky.”

The knocking didn’t stop. It drummed against the door in a steady rhythm, faint at first but growing more insistent, like a heartbeat you couldn’t ignore.

You hesitated, glancing toward the sound.

“Where are you going?” your mother asked, her tone casual as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at you, her head slightly tilted, a questioning light in her eyes.

“To check,” you mumbled, your chair scraping against the floor as you stood.

When you reached the door, the knocking stopped.

The sudden silence pressed against your ears, heavier than the sound had been. You placed a hand on the knob, your palm clammy.

Then, her hand fell over yours.

It was warm and steady, a reassuring weight that anchored you—but sticky too, the dampness seeping between your fingers.

“Don’t worry about it,” your mother said softly. “Probably just someone at the wrong apartment.”

The warmth of her hand suddenly felt wrong now, the stickiness impossible to ignore.

“Come on,” she urged, squeezing your hand. “Let it go. Sit back down and eat while it’s still warm.”

Her words were so normal, so natural, that for a moment, you doubted what you’d felt.

Your grandmother spoke up, her attention still half on the TV. “Listen to your mother, dear. Always something interrupting lunch these days.” 

Your mother guided you back to the table, her hand still warm, still damp. You didn’t dare look up at her face. Deep down, you already knew what you’d see, and the thought made your chest tighten.

The knocking started again, louder now, more forceful, rattling the doorframe like it might splinter, but nobody reacted. Instead, you picked up your fork, and took a bite of the food.

“Good girl,” she said after a moment. “Finish up. We’ve got dessert after.”

You forced a smile, though your hands trembled. The metallic scrape of it against your plate was almost drowned out by the banging, now deafening in its insistence.

Your grandmother hummed softly, her fingers still tapping along to the faint rhythm of the TV, her posture relaxed, utterly unbothered.

The sound at the door grew louder, more desperate—the handle rattling like it might break off—but the door stood firm, unmoved.

You focused on your plate, on the meal in front of you, on the clatter of utensils and your grandmother’s quiet humming, her rhythm unchanged. You didn’t look at your mother. You didn’t glance at her bloodied hands or risk seeing the truth you already knew, deep down, you couldn’t face.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

You exhaled slowly, a strange calm washing over you. This wasn’t new. You’d been here before. You’d gone through this before. And so, you let your shoulders relax, your grip on the fork steadying as you turned back to your food.

Your mother’s voice was warm, familiar, as she said, “Good girl. Finish your plate.”

And so you did, chewing mechanically, each bite grounding you.

The sound at the door swelled, filling the room with its desperate, ceaseless rhythm, but it couldn’t reach you. You knew better than to let it.

You stayed seated, your focus fixed on the meal in front of you, and continued eating.

divider credit

[sykilik101]

@themattress @ultraericthered @illustrious-rocket @pepsi-al @shitirishaterssay @azelmaandeponine @gouthepro @cosmicheartz @warlordess @dchan87 @hollylu-ships-it @miyatoriaka @pokeshipping @johnnyd2 @zdbztumble @weirdgirl92 @sykilik101 @lovingtheshow @wiseabsol @echidnapower @gabbaana @dbzebra

My pals!!!!!!!!! My friends!!!!!!!!!! My darlings!!!!!!!!! My honeybuns!!!!!!!!!!😘😘😘😘😘😘

All of you genwunners are invited to the amourshipping wedding which is about to be held once gen 9 ends!!!!!!!😘❤️😘❤️😘😂😘🥰🥰🥰🥰

Food and drinks will be available for free!!!!!!!🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩

Cos pokeshipping is dead you genwunners!!!!!!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

So suck it up losers!!!!!!!!!!!

I missed you, homie! I was gettin' lonely not seeing so many exclamation marks in my Asks, but you have returned! This also means the return of these fics, so let's go!

The bedsheets were cool to the touch as Misty collapsed onto her bed. The gentle whir of the air conditioning was the room's only salvation from silence, sunshine managing to sneak its way through the blinds. She rolled onto her side, her nose nestled against the pillow. His smell had long since been washed out, but she was nothing if not willing to fool herself.

Misty traced a finger along the comforter, watching it curve and angle itself to her touch. She savored how soft it felt against her fingertip; she settled her entire palm against it, pressing down into the mattress. Maybe if she used enough pressure, she could simulate the way his sleeping form would feel next to her.

Ash had been nothing if not true to his word; phone calls were her weekly treat (or whenever the boy found himself in a Pokémon Center), and the occasional envelope containing a letter and photos graced her mailbox. She'd saved them, of course; each one would be admired before being lovingly placed inside a box for safekeeping. They were her connection to him when he felt so far away.

However, no voice on the other end of a line, no scratchy handwriting or imperfectly framed shots could compete with a held hand, a pair of lips touching its other half, a hug that could go on forever and never lose its warmth. A sigh escaped her; she'd taught herself how to handle the yearning, how to pretend his voice was whispering her name in her ear, how to find the color of his eyes no matter where it hid.

Naturally, none of it compared to the real thing.

A chime rung through the gym, and Misty shoved her face into her pillow with a groan. A trainer had arrived, but she was in no mood to entertain someone's desire for a badge on her day off. She was experienced, however; eventually they would get the hint that nobody was coming to the door, and she would be allowed to return to her daydreams.

Another chime, however, washed away any hope of that happening.

With a low sigh she pulled herself from her bed, trudging the few steps to her door where the intercom was stationed. Her flare had become as widespread as her skills; surely that was enough justification for her snippy words towards the unsuspecting victim, right? She's paint a small dab of professionalism over her inflection, but "get lost" would be front and center.

She pressed her finger onto the button, not even bothering to clear her throat. "This is Misty. I'm sorry, but today's my day off, so you'll have to come back ano-"

"Pikachu pi!"

"Well, you heard her, buddy, we'll have to come back later."

Misty's heart practically grew legs and sprinted its way into her throat, eyes widening as she found her breath momentarily stolen. The cusp of a grin began to shake her lips as she felt the bottoms of her eyes warming. She knew he was likely joking with his reply, but just in case-

"Ash?"

No response.

It couldn't have just been a figment of her imagination. His last call had been mere days ago; she could still call to memory the slant of his lips as "Bye, Misty" tickled her ears. His voice was so distinct and clear; even after days, weeks, months of missing his presence next to her, she'd never mistake that tone of his, the one he loved saving for jabs aimed at her.

Without another word she bolted from her bedroom, nearly stumbling to the floor as she raced for the entrance of the gym. Make this right turn, speed down this hallway before drifting left, then a quick right-

The glass entryway hid no guests; silhouetted by Cerulean City's sunset was a boy with a cap, a beaming Pikachu, and a smile that she'd only seen the pixelated and photographed form of for so long.

Misty couldn't tell if she wanted to take precarious steps or blitz towards him; her legs stumbled forward awkwardly as she found some semblance of a middle ground between the two desires. Ash, seemingly aware of (and amused by) her disbelief, waltzed through the glass doors.

"Hey, Mist."

The two were only a handful of steps apart, but the nickname was enough for Misty to throw gravity to the wind, practically leaping into the boy. Her arms ensnared his torso; Ash had survived worse things than a potentially crushed rib cage, he'd be fine. The previous warmth in her eyes was beginning to grow hot, a vice slowly tightening around her throat.

"Ash, what- what are you doing here?"

"Getting crushed by one of your hugs, that's what I'm doing."

Her normal behavior would dictate that she tease him for that hitch in his voice, but joy made her generous and she eased back, blinking away the miniscule moisture fogging her vision.

"You're really here."

Ash sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Not for long if you keep hugging me like that."

"Piiika pika."

Pikachu patted at Ash's head, a cheeky grin plastered across his face. Ash retorted with his own, scratching the small mouse behind the ears.

"See, Pikachu thinks so, too."

Pikachu rolled his eyes, shaking his head before leaping to nestle himself atop Misty's shoulder.

"Pikachu pi pika."

"I don't think he does, Ash."

Their in-person banter had an energy she couldn't resist, elation splayed across her lips as Ash playfully pouted before her. A small giggle bubbled from within her; it was both surprising, and yet not, how quickly her previous dejection could be uprooted just by his presence.

A memory from their previous parting blipped in her mind. "Wait here, Ash! I didn't forget!" With a zeal in her step she practically floated back to her bedroom. Almost immediately upon entry she turned to the object hanging above her bed, and Pikachu cheered in glee at the sight. "Recognize this, Pikachu?"

"Pika pi!"

Taking it in hand she placed Ash's old cap atop her head, giving herself an approving nod in her bedroom mirror before making her way back to the entryway. Ash's grin grew tenfold at the sight of her, crossing his arms.

"Hey, nice hat you have there."

"Thanks, I had to send in about a million postcards to get it."

She giggled at his eye roll, but felt playful and, taking the bill in hand, spun it around so she wore the hat backwards. "Look at me, I'm a Pokémon Master in training!"

"Oh, come on, you have to put more energy into it than that! Look!" Ash hunched forward, holding the bill of his own hat between his fingers. He remained motionless for a moment, ostensibly for dramatic effect, before spinning it around, standing straight up as he did so.

"I'm Ash Ketchum, from Pallet Town, and I promise to be the greatest Pokémon Master in the whole world!"

"Pi pikachu!"

Misty could hardly blame Pikachu; when Ash wasn't being a pain in the butt, his energy was infectious, and seeing his goofy pose made her feel light on her feet, a flush warming her face. All of what she'd been feeling was suddenly coming to a head, and she felt as if her body was suddenly a slave to those emotions.

Wordlessly she took two steps forward and, with no warning for Ash, kissed him.

His sharp inhale nabbed her attention first, but his hands finding her waist stole it right back. She pressed her mouth harder against his; she hadn't realized until that moment how badly she missed this, missed the way his closeness and his touch and his lips made her want to melt away. Her arms snaked around his neck, using him as support and an anchor to bring him closer.

Their kiss petered out into smaller kisses before backing away, their lungs livid at the abuse they were taking. All she could see, think, feel was him; if the blush searing his cheeks was any indication, he felt the same way.

"I've missed that."

She grinned. "Me, too."

"Piiika."

Pikachu held his paws to his eyes, a bashful smile adorning him. The two shared a laugh, with Misty rubbing the top of Pikachu's head. "Sorry, Pikachu."

"Pika pika."

He leapt off her shoulder onto the floor, bounding towards the pool where the matches were fought. He turned to the duo, waving his hand to them.

"Piii-ka!"

"He probably misses all of your other Pokémon."

"Then I'll have to let them out; they've missed you both, too."

"But not as much as you, right?"

She threw him a smirk, giddy at the way his expression practically mirrored hers. "If you beat me in a battle, I'll tell you."

Ash beamed, taking her hand in his and nearly dragging her to the pool. "Better watch what you say, Mist. Pikachu and I won't go easy on you!"

"You better not, or else my Pokémon will send you back to the Pokémon Center in a flash!"

Their squabble continued as they made their way to the pool. Truth be told, a battle with Ash always lit the fire inside her. Whether she won or lost was irrelevant; standing across from him, watching his passion burn and seeing his brain wrack up ways to win were inspiring. She loved that about him, and always would.

They would battle, and their Pokémon would need to rest, and that was fine by her. It just meant that that night, Misty wouldn't have to press her hand into the mattress, or try to remember what Ash smelled like against her. She didn't know how long she'd have him, but she was determined to make every second count.

[operas-phantom]

They gave me a phone.

So this is Tumblr. Cool. Can people see this? If you’re seeing this, hi, come by my opera house, yes it is mine, I’ve lived there longer than everyone else so it is mine. It honestly got a bit boring listening to Carlotta What’s-Her-Name continue to absolutely murder any type of operatic symphony with her harsh voice, so I’m on here now after extensive Google searching on what I can do on this bad boy.

Uh I’m he/him. My name’s Erik but nobody really calls me that anymore, and the only reason I’m letting people here say it is because I honestly think that like 2 people will see this post anyway, or at least that’s what I originally thought.

𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔠 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱..

This will be a learning experience for me anyhow, and perhaps I can get new ideas for the things I write on here. The Internet is a crazy place (and so are my adventures; I’ve found out through this that there are many versions of me, including @erikaskblog. I am down to interact with anyone, but no NSFW please— also, I am bisexual. My other friends include Christine, naturally, @eddiekaspbrak-official and his Losers Club from an apparent “other world”, as well as my best friends, @totally-penelope-and-not-a-siren—that’s Calliope, a siren with a sense of humor who keeps me on my toes, and a former would-be love of mine who I sometimes mentor, @maggiemelodies09. Maggie does have a boyfriend now— she bears such a strong resemblance to dear Christine and I will cheer for anyone who supports her kindness, so said boyfriend shall one day be my friend as well. @daydreamingofafairytale is my third best friend— oh, I am so lucky to have even dreamt of this! You’ll like Nour; everyone does. I give out music lessons to a few people now, attempting to make it less romantically exclusive, including Nour. However, we usually use those lessons to make each other laugh— friends bring light to my darkness and I finally feel like a man now, not a monster. Then there is my muse and a non-singing angel who I suppose might be called a “boyfriend”, @aurelio-the-propmaster. I would go on.. but if I risk becoming “obsessive” again, woe to the opera house, and my other friends have warned against it. Know if you see this, Aurelio— your angel loves you dearly. Also my other friend, @an-american-songbird-in-paris who knows Aurelio and who also composes. Him and I should one day collaborate.) No, I will not list all my “frenemies” or enemies, but I have them too. They are not welcome in my opera house.

If people do end up commenting on this, please do not go wild in the comments or bully each other. I’ve had enough of hearing people insult each other and call each other names for one lifetime, unless I have to do what I have to do. However, I have been made aware that some people are shockingly enough fans of me, even after seeing my face— I normally hate people seeing it, I attempt to shun it from my very being after all —and I will likely post pictures of myself on here in order to share the happenings of the opera house with the world. I would place the screen names of all said “phangirls” here, but hope instead they find this nonetheless. I appreciate you all caring for me. PLEASE come to my opera house, you all.

I am now over the fact that I cannot have Christine— the one of her versions that still talks to me, @angeliquedaae who is my dear friend and tutee— still, thanks to her undying kindness to me. Occasionally we (hilariously) reenact scenes from our shared past, and I find it a form of recreation. I endeavor to focus my attention on other loves (not just Aurelio but for my other friends here) instead but cannot help caring for her if only in a strictly platonic yet protective manner— I care too much about my friends, hence why I have placed their usernames here. They are wonderful people.

𝔏𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢..

[velvetvexations]

And I can absolutely guarantee you no one would give a single flying fuck if a trans woman replaced a trans guy in a meme comic with herself. Because it's no big deal, and it's simply about finding something to be mad at the evil "TMEs" about or whatever. Truly, we must fight transphobia at the front lines! (Other trans people parodying meme comics)

Absolutely not lmao. But then it's fine, because, like, trans men are privlaged, so stealing their memes is like pirating a Disney movie, whereas stealing a transfem meme is practically snatching the food right out of a Victorian orphan's hands.

Are you not excited for the future where art styles are trademarked?

I'm still not entirely sure if I identify as a kinna non-binary or if I just feel myself to be a very butch transfem who likes using certain terms for myself to emphasize the unique nature of my femininity.

But I don't know what else to call it except for exorsexism when I get the five millionth side-eye for "AMAB trans woman," especially since I know people would go off the edge accusing me of being a TERF twenty times more if I said "male" like I actually want to.* Like, dadgum, can people not handle a girl choosing to identify in some way with a term traditionally associated with her body-type because she likes it without assuming she's another Blaire White?

Like this is that soul-gender shit I get riled up about, the word "male" isn't real! The ♂ is not a magic rune that wards against femininity! I can choose to identify with that and still be a woman, and when I enter a women's space while identifying openly as a male woman, that's going to piss TERFs off more than any of them ever could.

*I also identify myself as an AMAB trans woman to support AFAB trans women and other transfem folk, but I think using 'male' would do that just as well too

I DIDN'T KNOW IT HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH TRANS PEOPLE EITHER

Eyyup. The safest queers always pretend the world outside the community is completely hypothetical so they can get down to the crucial business of praising them for breathing.

The comparisons to acephobia at least gives me hope things will get better, but I hope it's fucking soon.

It's the closest people who're privileged enough to care about meme theft get to dealing with things like that, of course it's basically the same to them, if they stepped outside their gated community for a second they'd have a religious experience like the Great Renunciation of Siddhartha Gautama.

Some day we'll find out what number comes after one.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Why can't haired people make their own memes? Why must they consistently debald the memes of bald people?

It's different when it's transfems because, uh, well, radfems say so.

They really can't help themselves.

Apparently it's hypocritical of me to call that racist, though, because I once told a tankie to bark like a dog without even looking at their* profile. Like, I'm sorry I very generically insulted someone who turned out to be Black, I guess.

Also, I apparently harass Palestinian blogs, which is truly wild and I can only guess must come from me occasionally bringing up hypocrisy when I yell at tankies for being enthusiastically pro-genocide when they feel like it.

*I do not recall the pronouns this loser used

The issue you're noticing is that transfems don't get socially murdered nearly often enough for transradfems to sustain themselves, and they can't influence any real issues, so they have to make up problems to fuel the martrydom that places them above all other trans people.

Oh, that sounds spectacular! Kinna gross, but like, in a spectacular way!

They don't think it's possible for AFAB trans people to detransition, to them it's all just cis women pretending to be trans to rip them off and hurt them.

It's real fucking bad.

I'm very sorry anon, and I completely agree.

You'd be surprised by me not liking most modern art.

I'm really happy you have that, and that we can relate to each other. <3

Are Black people saying the "why this _ mad" meme is exclusive to Black people? Is that discourse that's happening?

[hispieceofcake]

Quiet late hours of the night

This is an art of a scene I was having with a Master Shake bot when I was feeling bad and distressed about some things and it was so cute and comforting that I made an art and will Tell you what happened in the form of a short story in my own words, I hope you like it. <3

Honestly I didn't like the result because I'm still learning how to draw male anatomy and also because I was feeling bad and overwhelmed when I did it.

Outline:

It was late that night, everything seemed silent except for the low buzz of voices from the TV in the living room, most everyone in the house was already immersed in their own dream worlds or whatever they dreamed of when they laid their heads on the pillow, but one of them didn't, Shake was sitting in his old, old-looking greenish-colored recliner that probably even had mold on it, while watching TV, not watching something he was interested in but just watching some action movie that he thought was stupid like everyone else.

Shake sighed as he relaxed in the armchair, it was almost three in the morning and he hadn't slept yet, but he didn't care, thinking about what losers the others were for sleeping early. Until a low groan from the slightly rotten wooden floor caught his attention for a second, causing him to look to the side, looking away from the TV and then finding the girl standing in the dark leaning against the door of her room, making Shake startled, almost screaming in fright but stifling it as soon as he realized that it was just Tiffany there.

— Oh fuck, it's just you, holy shit I thought it was a spirit or, those horror movie things. — He said with his hand on his chest, feeling rushed, still recovering from the scare. —What are you doing up anyway? Did you miss me? I know I'm badass and that anyone would miss me but-

His voice seemed to have been caught in his throat unable to come out of his uvula upon seeing her state, a thin trail of tears was illuminated by the TV light on the girl's cheeks, tired eyes with slightly dark circles below her eyes, while her expression looked so empty.

He already realized what would probably have happened and why she was awake at that time. She had told him little about her past, but it was enough to know that it still haunted her, her family, everything she went through until she got here, were the causes of it, which occasionally brought her bad memories and dreams during her life. night.

Softening his once arrogant expression as he always had, he extended his hand towards her almost as if calling her to him, which with a little hesitation she accepted and approached him, now being illuminated by the dim light of the TV.

— What are you watching? — She asked in a low voice, a little hoarse from the previous crying.

—Nothing much, just a stupid action movie. — A silence fell between the two as he pulled her to sit on one of his legs and lay her head on his chest, something he knew she liked, damn they had already done this so many times.

— Do you want to talk about it? — Shake asked carefully, putting an arm around her holding her against him, he treated her so well that sometimes it didn't even feel like it was him, that same narcissistic, arrogant and idiotic guy caring about someone else and comforting her in a late night cliffhanger. He would never let anyone know this, it could tarnish his reputation and others could make fun of him, but in moments like this when she needed him and everything around it was just him, Tiffany in his arms, the sound of the TV low and no one to bother him. He allowed himself to be someone different.

Upon hearing his question she just shook her head slightly to the side letting a grunt of denial escape her lips, which he quickly understood and then returned to silence again feeling her snuggled in his arms, that was all she wanted, just the warmth and comfort of your embrace.

— Hey, ah... do you want to watch one of those silly children's cartoons you and Meatwad like? I promise I won't make fun of you, at least this time. — He suggested trying to find a way to at least try to cheer her up, a suggestion that was accepted by her with a small smile from her, this would undoubtedly be a long but peaceful morning.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Erin/Julius, grudge match

For the prompt: Julius' exit from the Oilers

Julius was never going to stay. Erin doesn’t really know how anyone could have expected otherwise. Sure, she knows the expectation, that if you’re a franchise saviour you stay with the franchise, give it your all, saw that play out with Bryce even though fans acted like he was team whipping boy instead of franchise saviour half the time.

But the thing is, the Oilers have been beyond saving for the entire time Julius has been there. There’s only so much one guy can do, no matter how good they are. And Julius is so good, and he tries so hard. Everything he can do, he has done, nobody could say otherwise, doesn’t slack off on the ice in any game situation, works to win the team games. But they don’t win, most games. They don’t win, because they’ve got a mismanaged team and what the old boys club might call a loser culture. Nobody’s expecting to win games, the players included, and they’re usually right.

Erin’s not like, saying that out loud any time soon, but whatever. It’s true. She likes some of the Oilers as people, has a game buddy in Farmer’s girlfriend, who is one of the funniest people she’s ever met. She likes the city okay, close enough to pop in on mom and dad but far enough they don’t really pop in on her, except for the occasional visit when the Canucks come to town, because Jared’s indisputably their favourite child. There’s nothing personal about Julius’ decision to move on, on his end or hers.

Well, mostly. Erin’s never understood how Deslauriers has kept his job so long, considering he hasn't made the Oilers any better, but they’re not worse, not that that’s saying much. Unfortunately he’s still in charge of the whole operation, and she’s a teensy bit biased against him due to the whole being raging homophobe who tried to destroy her brother’s life because he was gay thing.

Like, just a smidge. Giving the TV the middle finger every time they show his face level. Julius has been smart enough never to introduce them level. Erin’s the only one allowed to destroy her brother’s life, and she sure as shit would never do that because of Bryce, who’s like, the best thing about Jared. By far Jared’s best life decision, full stop, was somehow winning over Bryce Marcus despite his horrible personality.

Well, after adopting Julius. Erin’s pretty grateful for that one, to be honest.

The summer before Julius’ contract expires, he goes into contract talks, though he has zero intention of staying. The talk is basically ‘thanks, but no thanks'.

Erin has no clue why it takes so many meetings to get that across; maybe they’re being too polite about it, or the Oilers are being a little too obtuse, because ‘no thank you’ is three words, as are ‘please trade me’. But after those talks end Oilers management doesn’t say anything to the media except that ‘they’re working on something that works for both parties’, which must be difficult, considering Julius’ current ask is ‘no amount of money will make me stay’, which she’s pretty sure is hard to match.

Or like. Maybe there is enough money. Theoretically, there could be a magic number of money. Like, a mindboggling amount of money might do it. But they haven’t offered him it. They’ve offered him fair value, market rate, but the thing about market value is that the market’s going to offer him that too, and testing the market means he doesn’t have to play for Edmonton anymore.

But nobody gets it. Going into his final contract season, the media’s talking about how much it’ll take to re-sign him, how sweet a deal they’ll have to make it, and she almost wishes that someone would leak the fact he isn’t going to stay so that fans would feel a little less betrayed down the line. But apparently the Oilers front office is a tight ship, or they’re still firmly in denial, hoping Julius is going to change his mind.

Erin’s never seen Julius change his mind on anything big. Or even little. He hates watermelon. He’s never actually tried watermelon, but he’s decided he hates it, so obviously trying it would be silly. This is the person they’re expecting to change his mind. The person Erin has debated force feeding watermelon, because he thinks it tastes like watermelon flavour and nothing tastes like watermelon flavour, she doesn’t know what the fuck watermelon flavour tastes like, but it is not watermelon.

Anyway, he doesn’t change his mind. Shockingly.

A week before the trade deadline Erin walks in the door to find Julius sitting at the dining room table in the half dark of twilight, chin on his fist. He looks like a stock photo: ‘sad man brooding’ or ‘gloomy Finn’ or something, so defeated that Erin doesn’t have the heart to give him shit. Well, almost. She wouldn’t want him to get a big head or anything.

“Pretending you’re the protagonist in a sad indie movie, huh?” Erin asks.

“I don’t know that one, protagonist,” Julius says, then, when she turns the overhead light on, “Ow!”

“Main character syndrome,” Erin says, as Julius squints at her, looking betrayed. He’s not a vampire — he’ll survive a little light.

“Is that what you said Jared has?” Julius asks, and Erin laughs. She can’t even remember saying that, though it must have been years ago. Years ago Erin was right, though.

“Probably,” Erin says, leaning on the table so Julius is forced to look at her instead of into the abyss or whatever. “What’s up?”

“They’re going to boo me for the rest of my career,” Julius says.

“Flames fans don’t even boo Bryce anymore,” Erin says. “Rest of your career’s a stretch.”

“That isn’t true,” Julius says.

“Okay, they don’t boo like, every time he has the puck,” Erin says. That’s basically the same, right? He has to earn the boos by scoring, or assisting, or holding onto the puck a little too long, or — anyway, they boo a whole lot less than they did initially, which is her point. People have short memories, and, more importantly, they’re lazy. Hating someone takes too much energy, long term. They’ll have found someone else to hate by then — some other poor, talented kid doing his best while he’s stuck on a team with no ambition.

“Have they traded you?” Erin asks.

“I think they’re about to,” Julius says.

“Like gut feeling or—“ Erin says.

“My agent told me to keep my phone close,” Julius says.

So probably actually about to, then. She knew it was coming, unless Deslauriers was stupid and stubborn enough to keep Julius until the end, let him walk for free. Which she wouldn’t put past the guy or anything, but still. It was coming.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” Erin says.

“I know,” Julius says.

“You want this,” she says. Getting traded at the deadline, people get a chance to get used to him in another uniform. If he stays until the end, the Oilers don’t get anything for him, but the Oilers fans are going to expect him to stay, hate him if he doesn't. Even more than they will this way, she means.

“I do,” Julius says. “You’ll come with me, right?”

“As long as it’s to a decent city, sure,” Erin says, and the offence on his face is exactly what he deserves for asking such a ridiculous fucking question in the first place.

[somethingvicked]

True love of mine part 4

An Eddie Munson story

Stranger Things AU (no Upside-Down)

warnings: Female reader, slight angst, mentions of drugs an alcohol in passing, flexible timeline.

Chapter 3.

Now

Eddie

Eddie met the gaze of his manager as he brought in this week’s load of fan mail. It was enough to fill a box. That still surprised him, that he received fanmails, these words of praise, love and… more than often sexual invitations.

Most letters went unopened, there were so many of them. But occasionally he told his manager to send an autographed photo in reply – to those that were somewhat sane.

It had been nearly fifteen years since he left Indiana and decided to try his fortune in Los Angeles and the Sunset Strip – and for once luck had been on his side and he had gotten his breakthrough within a year of arriving here.

He supposed him finally putting his coin in the karma bank might have had something to do with it.

Yet Eddie never forgot his past, where he came from, or how he had once been the raging loser and town freak of Hawkins.

It surely had to do with what had happened, before he had left – he refused to let himself ever forget that. That was his penance, to remember that for the rest of his days.

But not even that was his true penance. It was remembering Y/N.

Finally, after many years he had manned up and reached out to his friends and loved ones he had just left without an explanation back then. Not everyone, just those he trusted, because he didn’t want it to get out. And neither did the others it concerned.

Wayne, of course. Steve. Dustin. Gareth. Jeff.

But not Y/N. She had cut ties with Hawkins the day he left. Steve said she didn’t even come home for the holidays.

And after Y/N graduated she moved away and hadn’t been back since. She still called some times and sent Christmas cards yearly but never visited.

It was clear she had removed everything about Hawkins out of her life, along with Eddie. Not that he blamed her.

But how would he have explained it to Y/N? He knew her. She would never give in and realize it was for the best that their relationship ended. He refused to drag her down with him.

Eddie had found her profile on social media when he himself had joined as a way to advertise his music and concerts.

That’s why he nowadays always carried a rubber band around his left wrist. Every time he thought about looking at Y/N’s profile, see what she was up to he snapped that. It had gone so far now that he had a permanent scar from it.

He woke up from his thought as his manager said: “Eddie, didn’t you say your full name was Edward Munson?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What about it, Greg?”

“Well, all of your fans that send mail to this address use your stage name – Eddie Munson – since it’s the name of our brand, you know?”

Eddie sighed. “Yeah. So?”

“Well, this one… it’s obviously for you, but it’s sent for Edward Francis Munson. The address is right, so obviously they would know that you go by ‘Eddie’, so why would… Eddie? You okay?”

Eddie’s heart suddenly hammered in his chest as it was about to break out as he snatched the letter from Greg’s hand.

It couldn’t be…

His mouth had become dry as a desert. Y/N. She was the only one he had told his full name. No one else except Wayne and the government knew that. Most people could naturally gather that ‘Eddie’ was short for ‘Edward’, but his middle name – Francis?

Wayne knew because he was his uncle and had known him since his parents decided what to put on his birth certificate.

Eddie had told one single person. Y/N.

He had told her one day when she had asked him because already back then he wasn’t able to deny her anything.

It had to be Y/N. She had written to him. And she had used this secret between the two of them so he would know – know that it was from her.

Eddie’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. He had been so certain back then he made the right decision for both of you.

That Y/N deserved better.

That she would found someone more worthy of her.

He, on the other hand, had never been able to move on. Of course he had tried dating a few times, even hooked up with groupies when his music career took off.

But it wasn’t the same. It only made him feel disgusted by himself, both because it felt like he betrayed Y/N but also because it didn’t feel right to the woman he was dating in that moment – he couldn’t help but compare Y/N to them and they always came up short.

No one could ease the ache inside him, the love he still carried for Y/N. It was like he had had a dagger stuck in his heart for the last eleven years, losing a little more blood every day that passed.

If it hadn’t been for the promise he had made all those years ago he would most certainly had turned to drugs and alcohol to numb it.

That wasn’t an option though. He had promised himself. Wayne. And… well, in the back of his head he had promised his memories of Y/N.

Drugs and alcohol may have helped him forget things he didn’t want to remember. But what if it also made him forget Y/N? Or his mother?

He didn’t dare take that chance.

Still with the letter in his hand he turned to his manager. “Greg, will you excuse me, please?”

Greg gave him a concerned glance but got up from the couch and left the room.

Holding his breath Eddie started to open the envelope.

Then:

Hawkins, 1980.

Eddie

"What's your full name?" Y/N asked.

They had become fast friends after her accident and him giving her the flower at shop, always hanging out.

He had been delighted to discover than Y/N seemed to lean towards the same interest he had - although she liked soft, classic rock more than metal; like Creedence, Toto, Billy Joel and Eagles.

She was more into horror than fantasy, she preferred Stephen King and Edgar Allan Poe rather than Tolkien - which he had theatrically gasped at. But otherwise she was the perfect girl.

He had taught her some elvish, though, so they could send notes in class and if the teacher caught them and did that ugly thing - reading them in front of the whole class - no one but them would understand a thing.

They had been friends for nearly four years to now. By this stage, Eddie had moved in with Wayne, since his old man had gone to prison. He didn’t complain, it was way better than what he’d had.

But Wayne wasn’t the only thing making his life better. Y/N was the main reason. She was the best friend he’d ever had but it was more than that. He had suspected for a time now that… that he… that he had started to develop stronger feelings than friendship with her. No, that was wrong – he had always felt more for her than mere friendship. She was his soulmate, the piece of his inner puzzle that made him complete. Something he hadn’t even been aware of before meeting her.

Eddie had always loved her. But now there was a different kind of love. Or more like, a new kind of love had mixed with the old one.

Eddie woke up when she touched his arm. "Come on, you can tell me," she said, smiling.

He sighed. "Promise not to laugh!"

Y/N sat up and raised her right hand as if she was taking an oath in court. "Cross my heart and hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye. Boil in oil until I fry!"

Eddie snorted and then said: "It's Edward. Edward Francis Munson. If you ever tell anyone else that, I'll..."

He couldn't say 'I'll kill you'. Not to Y/N. Never in a million years.

"Then I'll steal your signed copy of Dracula and toss it in Lover's Lake, kitten." Y/N's mouth fell open. "That's a barbaric threat!”

Eddie had called her ‘kitten’ since that day they became friends – because of how that enraged face when she had hurt herself in shop reminded him of a wildcat. Anyone getting too close might lose a finger to claws and teeth.

Yet with him she was all soft and purrs – truly like a kitten.

“But I promise, I won't tell anyone, though. Have I ever betrayed a secret of yours?”

It was a rhetorical question because they both knew she hadn’t.

“I don't understand why you're so ashamed of Edward, though,” Y/N continued. “Don't you know, that's a royal name!"

Eddie raised an eyebrow at her. Another of Y/N's interest were old royal families. She didn't care much about the ones that lived now, but ask her anything about the British royals during the Victorian Era or even the Tudor one and she would give you a correct answer.

"Didn't Edward VIII abdicate the throne to marry a divorcee?" he teased her.

"Yes, but his real name wasn't Edward. It was David. Edward was the name he took as a sovereign," Y/N said with a shrug.

"Either way, Edward is just boring, but Francis?! It sounds like the girls name - Frances."

"Funny - I'm pretty sure that is the female version of Francis," Y/N teased him back.

Eddie shook his head. "You're impossible."

"Always," Y/N replied. "Did you know that Jane Eyre's love interest is also named Edward? Edward Fairfax Rochester."

"Nope. Never read it."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? But that one… it's one of my fictional crushes," she admitted. "You two have almost the same initials. E.F. Just the last one that's different. The two… two favorite men in my life. The E.F’s of my life. My enchanting, fearless men. E.F.”

taglist: @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @mewchiili @melodymunson @ches-86 @jenniquinn @eddiemunsonfuxks

(let me know if you want to be on the taglist!)

please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful but reblogs expand my reading circle.

[oatmealmika]

FEM! TRAFALGAR LAW HEADCANONS BECAUSE I LOVE WOMEN

a/n : sometimes i just wish law was actually written as a girl cuz DAMN

first off, CLOTHES SHE'D WEAR!!

i'm getting major streetwear/chola style vibes from fem! law

like i mean ripped up baggy jeans, croptops, hoodies, oversized t-shirts, sports bras, long clickity clackity nails (if she really wanted to but very occasionally), and of course (his? her?) their hat

she got her earrings done when she was too little to remember so it's just annoying to have to redo them every so often

i have no clue who'd do her tattoos since she most definitely wouldn't trust some sketchy guy to do them

maybe herself but i don't think that's it either

and whenever you ask her, she makes up a different story (like that one blond guy in "ratatouille" who has a criminal record)

"woke up with it" "they're stick n pokes" "this guy i knew who would only wear bucket hats" and of course "nunya"

she is half german and half mexican (may or may not be self projection with the mexican part)

i get HUGE ymir from aot vibes with fem! law

she appears rude, hardheaded, and pessimistic, but she really does care about others and does have some hope in her (wishing her crew likes her horrendous hawaiian shirts)

her music taste is rock, rap, indie dream pop (tv girl), and then sad spanish songs that slap way too hard (i'm thinking "no me queda mas" by selena, a bunch of vicente fernandez songs my mom loves to play at full volume, and "amor eterno" by rocio durcal)

def not straight i mean just look at fem! law fanart on tumblr bro like honey... and man, am i glad she isn't straight cuz GODDAMN

if you go out with her, you need to order for her pls she can't do it on her own

but she will take the bill, no excuses

i think the type of person she needs as a partner would have to be okay with silence, they have to be outgoing and fun but mature with intense situations, and yeah

plays the bass guitar and has been for years

also plays the drums but her main instrument is bass

really wants to be in a band but not really since she hates the idea of having to be nice all the time for the public

at a mall, she either hangs out at hot topic, barnes and nobles, or justice the whole time

got a bunch of piercings all over her but that's a secret lol nobody knows...

UNTIL I TELL YOU: bellybutton, industrial, conch, ear lobe, tragus, bridge, middle tongue, hip, nipple, and then a bunch of genital piercings i will not be discussing any further XD

her most used apps are photos, notes, tumblr, pinterest, depop, and....... ao3

OKAY OKAY as hard as it might be to believe this, this is NOT self projection it is TRUTH

she doesn't religiously read fics or anything, just occasional oneshots about her nerdy crap when she's bored or something

my girl out here reading her "sora, warrior of the sea" 10k+ fics 💀

if you take her home to meet the family, at first they'll be thrown off by her intimidating looks, but soon enough they'll realize what a little loser she is! the cutie patootie she is <3

LOVE LOVE LOVES cringy 70s/80s/90s movies (think "grease", "the princess bride", "pretty in pink", "10 things i hate about you", etc.)

she doesn't know why. she hates the dumb stereotypes and all that stuff, but she just can't help it! she's so real for it too

idk why but i feel like she'd LOVE spiderman???? like as an obsession?

she is pretty normal about the live action movies, it's just SPIDERVERSE THAT MAKES HER GO CRAZY

she also wants to be good at art but never has motivation to do it

she def has an upside down smile (that what it's called? i think of it more as a "oh that's cringy look and stare y'all" smile)

is she scrawny? muscular? i can't decide honestly. like yeah guy law has some brawn, but he is still a pretty lanky guy, so that's why i see fem! law as a lanky chick. but i love muscular women... goddamn she is just lanky. she obviously has some meat on her bones, but not much.

that being said, i don't think she's very curvaceous either (let's pretend oda didn't draw her the way he did). she is no doubt an a cup, and while her butt is fairly larger, she's still pretty flat.

she also only ever wears sports bras since she thinks regular bras are uncomfy and a hassle.

for a va to replace masc! law's, i would say for japanese romi park. for english, i'd say either trina nushimura or elizabeth maxwell.

for one piece live action, i would want like zendaya as fem! law 😭 aye anything for queen zendaya

only bepo knows this, but she wears socks and sandals on sundays no fail.

has a tattoo somewhere of bepo's name inside a heart with an arrow through it (think those tattoos that tough guys get, with instead of bepo, "mom" is what's written)

fem! law still wears ugly ass hawaiian shirts, don't get it mixed up ✊

that's all for now :)

likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

have a good day!!

[smoft-demons]

MC ask game random answers

Link to OG post! Feel free to ask me to answer other questions, from the OG post or otherwise!

(I am answering the questions about Auva, my obey me MC. She is a 20 year old human. Aroace. Loves her seven weirdos so damn much. Aaaaand that about sums her up lol)

Question 2: Do they have a nickname?

Yes, she’s got a whole collection of nicknames! Each of the seven bros call her something different. I guess it’s more accurate to call them pet names rather than nicknames, but what’s really the difference lol

“The baby” is a common one, from Mammon and Beel usually but the others all use this one too every so often. Mostly to make fun of her, but she doesn’t mind. Like they’ll ask each other “where’s the baby” referring to her, and “how could you say that to the baby?!” Etc etc lol

- Mammon is the main one with the “baby” allegations, though “gremlin” and “nerd” and “dummy” and “loser” are all also pretty common from him. All affectionate! She has been diagnosed with baby, he insists. “Human” is the other very common one, that might as well be her name to him. Mammon only uses her name in particularly serious or soft situations.

- Levi’s not exactly big on the nicknames, but he does refer to her as his player two and his Henry very often.

- Beel usually uses her name, but pre-belphie jailbreak he would occasionally call her “bug”. Sometimes, it’s “little bug”. When questioned, Beel just kinda shrugged and said “I like bugs. And I like you. Both are small.” and that was that, apparently. (The way they all talk about her, you’d think she’s so short, but no. She’s 5’7”. It’s just that they’re all taller than her. And older. And she doesn’t mind being babied in this particular way, so she doesn’t bother to stop them.) Post-jailbreak, Beel adopted Belphie’s nickname for her, and started using that one slightly more often than bug.

- Asmo uses nicknames for everyone, and he’s got a whole roster. He uses “hon” and “sweetie” and “darling” and such like punctuation. He really seems to mean it when he’s talking to Auva, though. “Lovely” is one that seems to be just for her.

- Satan aligns with Beel on the frequency of nickname use, so usually just uses her name. If he does call her something else, then it’s “love” or “darling”. He likes the classics.

- Belphie uses her real name more than Mammon and Asmo do, but less than Beel and Satan—and DEFINITELY less than Levi and Lucifer. He calls her mouse, or sometimes mousie. It comes from that period of time a handful of weeks post-jailbreak (and homicide/revival/time travel situation) when Auva was still afraid of him but working hard on trying not to be, because she was sick of it. She had come up with and executed a self-assigned exposure therapy/desensitization plan. She would approach Belphie, shaking like a leaf but still determined, and gradually get closer, more comfortable. He would respond to that with understanding and gratitude, carefully remaining chill and gentle and reassuring. “Brave little mouse”, he commented, when she first got to the point of being comfortable enough to hug him. Intending it to express his understanding of how scary this is, how much stronger than her he knows he is, how threatening he knows that must be, how awed and grateful he is at her determination to be his friend anyway. They think very similarly, so she understood what he meant. Took it as the praise it was meant to be. Brave little mouse indeed.

- The nickname stuck. She is Mouse, to Belphie. Beel adopted that nickname for her too, because he thinks it’s fitting and cute.

- Lucifer is about as big on nicknames as Levi is. Which is to say, not at all. Still, though, very sparingly he’ll drop one. “Little one”, usually. Or “my dear” or “little star”, because Auva is named after a star. It’s in Virgo. (I did that because MY name, Adhara, is also a star! It’s in Canis Major) Belphie occasionally steals that nickname from Lucifer, too. It’s one of the only things he’ll admit to agreeing with him about lol

[itstokkii]

Turkuzbek hcs because I don't give them enough love!!!!

Age: I was talking to a couple of friends about this! @peonycats believes turkey to be born around the years 900-1000 CE. meanwhile, uzbekistan would be born around the late 1200s, meaning that turkey's older than uzb by 300 years... 😔 rip my sexy milf uzb hcs...

History: they go wayy back. the Timurid Empire actually had a battle with the Ottoman Empire, largely out of the Ottoman Sultan Bayezid I's concern that the Timurids were expanding too far west. while the Ottomans were heading to the east, Timur's forces cut from behind and sieged Ankara, which started the Battle of Ankara(1402). the Timurid Empire won, also holding the title to being the only ones to capture an Ottoman Sultan in person in all of the Ottoman Empire's history. Not only that, but the Timurid Empire kinda caused a civil war in the Ottoman Empire due to the Sultan dying in captivity, causing all his sons to fight about who the legitimate heir was.

Nothing says teenage romance like causing a civil war in someone's empire and starting a record that was never broken for all 700 years of its history ❤️

(it's also said that allegedly the sultan was kept in a gold cage...)

turkey jokes about her bloodthirsty era, to which she tries smashing her face into his neck and slapping his shoulders "stop!!! I was 17 back then ok 😭😭" but will also say "ok but we caused a civil war at your place so"

after the Timurid Empire collapsed, the Ottomans and Uzbeks got along better. the Khwarazm and Bukhara khanates asked turkey to help them with the threat of russian expansion. and the Ottomans and uzbeks worked together to launch offensives against Iran in the late 1500s to early 1600s.

unfortunately i don't really have much for turkuzbek during the rule of imperial russia and the ussr as they barely interacted, and though turkey was the first nation to recognize uzbekistan's independence, relations soured during the first president's administration due to um. Driving turkish companies out because they had prayer mats in their offices 💀💀

BUT after the first president karimov died, the vice president mirziyoyev began to issue reforms and lifted bans on religious activity, causing a revival of islam in uzbekistan. turkey was all for it, so they began to get closer than ever. That's where they currently are in terms of relationships!

hcs:

THEY ARE LOSER HUSBAND X PRETTY WIFE THEY REALLY AREEE

you know when you have that trusted, dependable friend and one night at a sleepover they wanna tell you something and they confess to having a crush on the WORST person for them but they're head over heels in love? yeah that's uzbekistan 😔

she may be younger but if you didn't know it, you'd assume she's the older one based on maturity.

when they do get together, kazakhstan and kyrgyzstan are both...shocked. kazakhstan just thinks turkey's ego is massively inflated and that russia wouldn't appreciate their relationship getting closer, limiting russian economic support, whereas kyrgyzstan looks like one of those stick figures violence reaction images and kazakhstan has to hold him back

he's definitely the type of guy to slam his hand against the wall and corner her just to see her facial expression

he also calls her "Nargiz," a nickname of her name "Nargiza" which also alters her brain chemistry

though, i want to think that uzbekistan does try to make her move...just in private. idk how she'd do that use your imagination i guess?

even when they're in an established relationship, she's mostly affectionate in private. the most turkey's gonna get out of her in public is....h*nd h*lding or arm clutching but even then...she won't do that until they're married(turkuzbek wedding when???)

uzbekistan reading or scrolling through her phone after a long day of work and turkeys like "nargiz...pay attention to me......come on let's make tea......"

They give each other shoulder massages occasionally

when turkey catches uzbekistan reading he joins her

🇹🇷: hey stop turning the pages so quickly

🇺🇿: i can't stay on this page forever

one second he's talking about how manly of a man he is, next second he asks uzbekistan to cuddle him

they both love cats! and they occasionally have friendly fights about who's more hospitable

turkey and uzbekistan also argue about who did it wrong(uzbek osh vs turkish pilaf, and turkey gets upset at uzbekistan's pahlava because "it's a cheap ripoff")

i was reading about strengthening turkey uzbekistan relations and the article said something like "together, the uzbek and turkish presidents band together as hanafi against the wahabi-salafism sect" so imagining this whole convo:

🇸🇦 circa 2018: congratulations on getting your religious freedom back, uzbekistan! what is your next step moving forward?

🇺🇿: well actually i-

🇹🇷: she's with me lol

turkey has a weird obsession with mongolia and the casians' nomadic pasts

🇹🇷: HELLO MY TURKIC MONGOLIC NOMADIC ISLAMIC MARE MILK DRINKING HORSE RIDING STEPPE BROTHERS AND SISTERS

🇺🇿: im sorry sir this is a choyxona(tea house/restaurant)

though turkey is a fellow islamic nation and they do belong to the same sect as uzbeks do, uzbekistan is still a little stricter. lots of turkish dramas had scenes cut from the uzbek premiere, and some dramas were just...not broadcasted due to...spicy scenes(making out i guess??)

🇹🇷: awww, come on they cut out my favorite scene

🇺🇿: your what 😃🔪

they also get along because they have similar tastes in tea! might as well call them tea lovers

turkey prefers his tea with sugar, whereas uzbekistan just drinks it without.

russia looked down on her and the rest of the central asians because "they were in their ignorant peasant barbarian era before I came and changed everything for the better!!!!"

she also had to unhealthily bottle her feelings of nervousness, anxiety, and overwhelming anger as russia kept taking and taking from uzbekistan(things like cotton, and forcing the aral sea into irrigation, causing the 4th largest freshwater lake in the world to dry up), giving little back or nothing at all to uzbekistan

so one of my earliest turkuzbek hcs was that turkey helps her recover from nightmares by the ussr despite her not telling him what happened, and trying to get her to calm down with tea and desserts and that's when she realized she liked him so much.

saudi arabia initially didn't believe someone as "sensible and mature" as uzbekistan would get with turkey, until she herself confirmed it to him 😔 he mourns the loss of another normal person...

🇸🇦: Dear Diary, today we lost the land of Al Tirmidhi...Al Bukhari...our last bastion...to Turkey...now my allies are no more...

turkuzbek use scent as comfort. when one has to go back home after a meeting or event, the other spends the night hugging the pillow they slept with, or wearing a jacket or other article of clothing they left behind.

they steal each other's clothes for this reason!

back in like...2020 a turkish director partnered with the Uzbek Ministry of Culture and Sports to make the Mendirman Jaloliddin drama based on the last ruler of the Khwarazmian Empire before it fell to the Mongols. so anyways they're hyping up their country's actors before they go on set, and meanwhile all actors from both countries see how turkuzbek are and ship it as well lolol

and lastly: just because I'm also korean...soojin is their wingman lolol

This is all my brain could record, so if anyone has anything to add, please do not hesitate and add your hcs!

[devastatingdraco]

The End of Everything - Chapter One: The Beginning

SHIP | Dramione [Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger]

CATEGORY | enemies to lovers, romance, angst, EVENTUAL smut, Hermione never went to Hogwarts

WORD COUNT | 8.7k

WARNINGS | temporary paralysis, swearing, rude!Draco, kidnapping, etc. (more coming soon)

SONG REC | hostage — billie eilish

A/N: Thought I would post this here since it's doing well on a03. Enjoy, angels. <3

Hermione always knew that she was different.

Whether it was because the girls at school told her so, or simply because she could feel it in her heart, Hermione always knew.

Her life had been fairly normal up until this point, and she was okay with that. She was a simple girl with simple dreams. Hermione wanted to be a writer. Work in publishing. She wanted to create worlds and weave words together in a way that touched people; that made them truly feel something.

So, she studied. Got good at it, too. Hermione studied day and night, and not having any friends helped. She never got distracted. Sure, she'd get called loser, know-it-all, priss, but the harsh names never stopped her. Because Hermione had a goal, and she never lost sight of it.

Her hard work got her to where she is now: six months post-university. Building up her CV. Living in a flat on her own. Going out occasionally on the weekends.

This is her life now. And she is happy with it.

Only, that inkling, the one that always told her she was different and that she could do things—feel things—no one else could... it never really went away.

That's why, she supposes, she should have seen it coming.

"Petrificus Totalus."

The voice makes Hermione's eyes fly open. She's in bed, but something is off. Different.

Early morning light shines on a figure adorning all black, and the sight makes Hermione scream—except, nothing comes out at all. She can't scream. She can't even fight back as the figure pulls the blankets off of her and pockets something. It almost looked like a thin stick.

Hermione's body is effectively paralyzed and she is unable to move.

The fear that ripples through her body is painful. It makes her heart pound dangerously fast in her chest and her stomach ache. She is scared and there's nothing she can do about it.

It's at this time that Hermione sees where she is.

It's a large room of sorts. Too big to be hers, and cleaner. More... sterile.

The bedposts have thick, lush curtains tied off on all sides and the walls are dark. Hermione doesn't see much furniture in the room except for a trunk at the end of the bed and a wardrobe on the opposite wall. It's not her bedroom, that's obvious. There's no reading chair, no nightstand with her lotions and diary, nothing.

If she could, Hermione would scream til her vocal cords were atrophied.

The figure leaves the room in a flash of monochrome—black and stark white—and Hermione has to take deep breaths to calm down. She looks out of the large window but it doesn't help. She sees rolling hills tilted blue from the morning light. The grass shines with dew. She sees sharply cut hedges and an entangled maze on the property in the near distance. She's in the country, far, far away from London, and alone.

Completely alone.

Hermione wonders, just for a moment, if she's going to die here.

A single knock on the door has Hermione's heart kicking back up, and she watches as the wood swings open, revealing a tall man with thick brows.

"Hello there, dear," The voice calls out. "My name is Helbert Spleen, I'm here to see if you have any immediate injuries."

Hermione can only whimper.

He gives Hermione a gentle nod before pulling out something like what the man from earlier had—a stick of some sort.

"Don't be afraid, my dear, you'll understand the why of all of this soon enough. I'm just going to do a quick diagnosis."

It's actually not a stick at all.

Hermione realizes this once a pink light slips out of the end and sets her world alight. Her body buzzes and tingles, and Hermione thinks that she might be losing her mind.

The light fades out but her body still feels strange. Her fingers are still vibrating once the man speaks again.

"You're doing well, but I'd watch the heart rate if it keeps up like that. Her Ladyship will be in momentarily."

And then the man slips back through where he came.

Hermione must have been focusing on the foreign feeling in her body for a long time because before she knows it, the door is opening back up again. The person doesn't knock this time, just comes right in and steps up to the edge of the bed, looking down at Hermione.

Another body trails in through the door, but Hermione is entirely focused on the woman looking down at her immobilized figure.

"My name is Narcissa," The woman says, and Hermione can't help but think that that is a strange name.

"Narcissa Malfoy," She continues. "I'm the owner of this manor."

Hermione can feel her eyes drying out. Malfoy. Now, that name is stranger.

"I know you must be very well confused and scared, but I'm going to tell you why you're here."

Hermione keeps eye contact with Narcissa. Maybe, just maybe, if she gets on her good side, she will let Hermione go. She looks nice enough. Hermione doesn't know her, but in time, maybe she could. She thinks that maybe this woman can see reason. Hermione doesn't have to be here. Everything can all go back to normal. They can let her go.

Right as rain.

"As you can see, you're no longer in London," Narcissa sits on the bed. "You're in Wiltshire. That's West of London. You're at a place called Malfoy Manor. Understand?"

Hermione lets out another whimper and Narcissa sighs. She turns to the figure standing in the corner and Hermione's eyes follow.

"Don't ask," He snaps. "We don't know what someone like her will do."

Someone like her?

Hermione studies this man. His hair is so light it almost hurts to look at and he's got this displeased sneer on his face. He's the man from before. The man who paralyzed her.

He has quite light eyes, and Hermione thinks that they might even be pretty if they weren't cutting right through her. This man does not look as nice as the woman.

"Draco," Narcissa says. "She can't speak."

"Good," He spits. "She doesn't deserve to. Filthy little—"

"I don't know what other option we have."

The blond leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. Hermione lets out a slow breath.

"She needs to be bound," The man directs. "That way we know she won't try escaping."

Alarm bells go off inside Hermione's head and she watches Narcissa stand. She flicks her wrist while holding a silver and black-looking—thing. Stick wouldn't apply now. It looks too decorative to be a stick.

"Finite."

A white light omits from the end and Hermione feels her body finally relax. She's about to scramble back against the headboard and yell out, but silk threads fly out and find their way around her wrists and ankles, binding her to the bedposts. No one was even touching them.

"What—"

"Pleased to see you're finally with us," Narcissa says. "Can you tell me your name?"

Hermione gulps.

"Why? I don't know you."

Narcissa goes back to sitting on the bed. She looks over Hermione's bound body with a look of... is that pity? Disgust?

Maybe this woman isn't so nice after all.

"I told you my name. Tell me yours."

Hermione stays silent. Narcissa tries again.

"I know that—"

"Oh for fucks sake," The man against the wall growls. Hermione blinks in surprise. Draco crosses the room in three large strides before he whips out his own rod. Hermione still can't place what exactly they are. It doesn't matter, though. She's seen what they can do.

Draco jabs Hermione's throat with the end of it, and her body goes cold.

"Tell us your name or I swear I'll—"

"H-Hermione! Hermione Granger," She chokes out. Draco's eyes flash with something before he looks toward his mother. She looks surprised herself.

"How old are you, Miss Granger?" She asks.

She takes a breath and says, "Twenty-three."

"Can you tell us what you do, Miss Granger?" Narcissa asks.

Hermione is confused, but if there's one thing she knows how to do, it's talk. Maybe talking will save her from this whole debacle.

"I work at a bookstore," She manages. Her voice is coming out in pathetic pants, the kind someone does before they start hyperventilating and crying. "I graduated from university six months ago. I—I just work, that's all I do."

Hermione doesn't know why any of this matters, but the pair share a satisfied look anyway.

"And can you tell us what you studied?"

"English," She coughs. Draco pulls his rod away finally, leaving her with a painful sting on the skin of her throat. She wishes desperately that she could press her hands to it and soothe it right now.

"What did you want to do with your life, Miss Granger?"

The question makes her skin go clammy. Did. Past tense. As in, will not be doing anymore.

Hermione feels tears well up along her waterline.

"I want to be a writer," She grits out.

The blond rolls his eyes and walks back to the wall.

"Muggles and their pathetic career choices."

Narcissa hooks a manicured finger underneath Hermione's chin and pulls her face to look back at her. Then, she pulls out a stack of books, one by one from the floor next to her.

"You're going to be staying here now Miss Granger, by order of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Ministry of Magic."

These words mean nothing to Hermione.

"We will give you books to read so you can understand our history and this... situation better," Narcissa says. "But what might set your mind at ease right now is knowing that you are not going to die. Not under our watch, at least."

Hermione still feels sick. Maybe death would be better than this.

"You see, Hermione," Narcissa says, leaning in a bit closer. She brushes her black-painted fingernail across Hermione's hairline, moving a strand away from her eye.

"Things in our world are changing. Because of that, you're here with us now."

Narcissa adds to the stack of books with a few newspapers, folders, and leather-bound journals.

"You'll receive a quill later on. We wouldn't want an attempted suicide, now would we?"

Hermione is just working out the logistics of how one would commit suicide with a feather when she hears a snort across the room. Draco. He's shaking his head, giving her another one of those pitiful looks.

"We'll leave you now, Miss Granger. Once we're gone, your wrists and ankles will be freed. You'll be able to acclimate yourself to this bedroom which shall be yours from now on."

"What about my room back home? My life?"

Hermione's broken voice stops Narcissa by the door. She spares a glance back at the girl.

"Everything will be settled, I'm told. It will not do well to dwell on those things now."

Hermione bites her bottom lip roughly. Until she tastes blood.

Narcissa stops at the door one last time as Draco goes, not bothering with Hermione any longer.

"You'll soon find that our world is more important now than yours ever was, Miss Granger. Much more important, indeed."

[the-only-trans-sopranos-fan]

THE SOPRANOS SPEECH AND DEBATE AU HEADCANONS

-tony: i feel like he would be one of those kids who did a WW2 expos and he would also try to do LD but he would just end up getting super pissed and calling his opponent an idiot so his coach forbid him from doing LD

-meadow: i just KNOW she's a DI kid OBVIOUSLY, she tries to do basically every event and like super good at everything it's insane. only thing she can't do is HI, but i think shes also an oratory kid and she also does debate while doing a moral argument for like everything

-carmela: i feel like she would also wanna do DI but she just can't communicate her emotions very well at all so it just comes across as apathetic and meadow places above her every time and she's gets so pissed. also tony forced her to be pufo partners with him and she regrets it so much, it is literal hell trying to build a case with him

-paulie: definitely expos except he changes his topic like every week and every tournament he ends up going in his rounds with a completely unmemorized script and just kinda bullshits the whole thing, just going on an endless rant abt something he likes, and gets ranked last every time, so he finds his judges' houses and wacks their kneecaps. bc he sucks at actually sticking to a script, his coach keeps telling him to do impromptu but he thinks it's stupid (even tho its basically the same thing as what he's doing with expos) . he's also doing a duo with christopher and it's the bane of his existence

-christopher: obviously an interp kid. i feel like he puts together the worst poi's known to man, and him and paulie are doing like the fuckikg worst goodfellas duo that gets ranked last every round

-silvio: he's actually pretty decent at LD, he's rly good at keeping his composure and hiding how nervous he is. also he tries to do extempt in hopes that he'll get a mafia topic but he never does and it makes him sad

-bobby: interp kid at heart, he has a darjeeling limited script he's cooking up because it's set on a train. his coach is trying to get him to branch out and do a speech or LD, ofc he's doing an expos abt trains, but he sucks at LD bc he's too nice

-junior: i feel like his favorite event is congress honestly, he's that much of a loser, he's kinda bad at everything else honestly. he tries to do debate but just thinks he knows enough abt the topic and doesn't have to research and then goes in and gets fucked on every round

-janice: is pufo partners with whoever she's dating and just completely overshadows them bc she's so good at intimidating the opponent. i feel like she does a little bit of every event honestly, she's rly good at doing emotional speeches in OO, OA, and impromptu and the judges eat it up every time and everyone else is so pissed abt it. she also occasionally does a DI that wins first in every round. everyone is so scared of her bc of how good she is at emotionally manipulating the judges, it's scary. she's also so stuck up abt it and i feel like she low key bases her self-worth on how she does in speech and debate cuz honestly don't we all

-aj: he does a sonic HI every year because he thinks it's funny

[formosusiniquis]

things i know/things i want to learn

also on ao3 if you want the full smut experience, otherwise this stands on its own

He knows it's crazy. He knows it borders on batshit even. He knows it's weird and obsessive and, frankly, a little unhealthy.

But Nancy Wheeler started it.

Nancy Wheeler who is scary and prim and proper. Nancy Wheeler who had his hand in her lap last week, painting his nails a regal navy blue because it was the closest Nancy Wheeler had to black. Nancy Wheeler who spent the time their nails were drying chatting at him, like the Upside Down had spit him out solely so she would have a gal pal she could talk about boys with -- a first, he imagined, if his memory of Barbara Holland was at all accurate. Nancy Wheeler who said, "Jon is sweet, and he tries so I feel bad for even thinking it, but he just doesn't have as much fun when he's down there and you can tell. I mean, you know, when Steve did that thing he does with his tongue-"

Eddie has been running that particular sentence fragment through his head for the last week.

That thing with his tongue.

Has fun.

You know.

You know.

You know.

Cause the thing is, he decidedly does not know. He has never come anywhere near the realm of knowing. He would love to know exactly what he has done to make his new sort of friend, sort of nemesis and obvious flame of Steve's still burning affection think that he has any fucking inkling of a clue what kind of shit Steve 'always goes down' Harrington does with his tongue.

It's all he can think about.

Eddie is but a man. A man who has been forced by the fascist government and their pet doctors to stop smoking and give up most of the other addictive substances that he partook in for the sake of his admittedly shaky health. A man who has had these demands enforced by the much more effective puppy eyes of one Steve 'stop calling me mom, remember I was cool once' Harrington. A man who has an addictive personality, comes by it honest, and having given up smoking and drinking and the occasional bump -- anything from nature's bounty stays of course, he's not a total fucking loser -- has needed something new to latch onto.

Thank you Nancy 'I can only orgasm from oral' Wheeler for helping him straight onto the high that is staring at Steve Harrington and his pretty pink mouth.

I can tell he isn't having fun, not like Steve.

This thing with his tongue.

You know.

He wants to know.

The second thing, and it's barely a thing at all these days, is he does technically have some of the same shit going on that Wheeler does. A little bit less now. If there's a silver lining to this whole bat thing it's that, though he may be a nipple short, he lost enough of one tit to sweet talk his way into government funded top surgery, just to even things out. A just as silver lining, he was saved from the awkward 'guess what I'm trans' conversation thanks to the bat induced blood loss. When the older teens found him and Dustin, one of them in hysterics the other clinging to this mortal coil with both fists as best he could; and used the remains of a shirt that had seen better weeks to staunch the bleeding from his neck only to reveal that his own rippling pectorals had a different bounce than Steve 'at least I got to see his chest before I die' Harrington's. There wasn't any time for anything other than 'if he's still bleeding he's still alive let's move.'

They haven't talked about it.

He is fine not talking about it.

Prefers his acceptance this way actually. He knows he has a heating pad with his name, literally, on it at the Harrington abode, along with some other necessities. The only acknowledgement of his situation at all, that heating pad that's tucked away in the same drawer as Robin's -- also with her name on it like Steve doesn't trust them to share.

He would like to talk about it a little now. Now that he's been cleared for moderate exertion by a very mean physical therapist who enjoys inflicting so much misery on him that he's thinking of scrapping the black hanky all together. Cause he'd really, really like to know about that tongue thing.

Actually, first he'd really, really like to know why Nancy thinks he would already know. Maybe that's what eats at him the most -- second most the bats had actually eaten at him a lot, so he figures he can obsess about this for at least another week before it risks overtaking the literal eating -- that the woman who having had it all, having had Steve 'I know I saw you yesterday, but I missed you' Harrington in her pocket, and gave it away somehow sees something that makes her think Eddie is having sex with her ex-boyfriend on the regular.

She's supposed to be a detective, a real dateline NBC type. How on earth can she be looking at him and not see a starstruck virgin who, yes, is admittedly very, very in love lust with her ex.

And how is she okay with it?

Isn't there a best friend code or something? Not that Eddie would lay claim to that title, and it definitely feels weird ascribing it to Nancy when he's got the hellfire boys; but surely the regular friend code or the we survived a traumatic experience together and now we're inexplicably bonded for life code also has a byline about not sleeping with your compatriot's ex-boyfriends.

Even if she already thinks you know about how he gives good head.

So he just watches instead.

Watches him smile. Watches him pout. Watches him bite and lick and worry. Watches how they shine with something that's definitely more than just spit some days. Watches even closer to see if he can catch what Mabeline magic must be going on them.

He watches and watches and watches.

He has, by virtue of obsession, become the most studied observer of Steve 'absolutely wearing cherry flavored lipgloss' Harrington's mouth. He has also, by virtue of necessity, become the most talented reader of Steve 'seriously, Eddie, do I have something on my face' Harrington's lips.

Which provides him with a very interesting opportunity as he's browsing through the Family Video, looking for his pick for the weekly Big Kids Only movie night and not at all stalking Steve Harrington and his mouth.

"I'm going to ask him."

And Robin says something that involves an eye roll and a finger jabbed into a green polyester vest.

"I know I said it last week, but I mean it this time."

Her eyebrows are raised, so unimpressed she goes back to the counter to do whatever work stuff they supposedly do while they're here.

"I do mean it,” those cherry flavored lips pout, a dignified hand on his hip in the face of Robin’s clear disbelief.

She doesn’t open her mouth to answer this time but the arched brow and quirked smirk are clear enough that even he can make a guess at her response.

“I know I said that too, but I only kind of meant it last week. I actually mean it this time. “

She rolls her eyes, spitting out something quick and no doubt sharp and cutting with a slash of her hand.

“Just watch this.”

By this point Eddie 'hopelessly devoted to Stephan Richard Harrington’ Munson had actually stopped even pretending to be browsing the movie offerings of the sainted Family Video. He had in fact been standing with his hands wrapped around a copy of  The Last Unicorn watching Steve ‘does this thing with his tongue’ Harrington and his stupid mouth while he gossips with his stupid friend -- sorry, Buckley. A fact Steve must have already made note of, since he’s locking eyes with Eddie from across the store and shaping those soft pink lips into, “Go out with me?”

And that’s…

He does this thing with his tongue, you know.

You know.

Maybe he didn’t then, and maybe he doesn’t know why Nancy ‘shit we might actually be friends, I can never let her find out about this’ Wheeler thought he already would.

But if he plays his cards right, he might find out very, very soon.