#so this is probably getting into like the later part of the year when he's ready to invite people

[whateveriwant]

Ok ok ok hear me out for a second. What if Simon has dimples?

I know that in reality, even if he did have dimples, the chances of you knowing is probably slim to none. I mean, it’s not like that man is exactly forthcoming when it comes to sharing his identity with others, right? For Christ’s sake, his own teammates have likely seen his bare face only a handful of times. I doubt the number of times they’ve seen him visibly express any kind of emotion is much better.

But just imagine that you do get a chance to see his dimples; that you’re one of the lucky few that can say you’ve had a glimpse of the real man beneath the mask. Imagine you’re sitting in a dingy pub one night, shooting the shit with your mates, trying to slyly admire the rare peep you have of your Lieutenant’s unmasked face. Maybe Johnny or Kyle or whomever tells some dumb joke that gets the whole group laughing, and as you instinctively look over to catch Simon’s reaction, imagine the awe that would overtake you upon spotting his lopsided grin.

In all the time you’ve worked with Simon, you must’ve imagined what his smile looks like a thousand times. In your mind’s eye, you’ve conjured up a hundred different variations – how his lips would part, his nose would crinkle, his cheeks would round with gentle amusement. But in all those fantasies, all those hours spent daydreaming, you never, not once in your life, imagined he could have dimples. And now that you’re quite literally face to face with the evidence, you wonder how you could have ever been so daft to exclude them.

And it’s amazing, really, how much those two little indentations seem to instantly transform Simon’s face. They shave about 10, even 15 years off his age, imbuing him with this sort of boyishness that offsets his otherwise grisly appearance. To most people, the sight before you would be nothing remarkable – a smile no different than any other. But to you, this cheek-splitting grin reveals so much more. It shows you that beneath the scars and the marks and the brutal reminders of his past lies a handsome, benign man just begging to be noticed.

Of course, with the way you’re admiring him like he’s a block of marble carved by Michelangelo himself, sooner or later Simon is bound to feel the weight of your gaze pressing into him. So when he turns to look at you with that quizzical notch to his brow, you’re quick to swivel your head in the opposite direction, but not before meeting his eye for a second or two.

Shame heats the back of your neck for having been caught staring at your Lieutenant, burning a hole in the side of your head from where he now peers at you. And yet, despite your sense of embarrassment, there’s another feeling boiling away in your belly. It’s a curious sensation, tingly almost, like how you imagine a child feels the first time they witness a magnificent fireworks display.

In all honesty, you feel like you could float out of your seat right now, not stopping until you reach the Earth’s upper atmosphere. It’s like one look at Simon’s infectious smile has fundamentally rewired your brain. Though by the time you risk another glance at him his dimples have totally vanished, that doesn’t stop that giddy feeling from churning inside you, nor does it stop your mind from racing.

And so for the rest of the night, as you sit in that dark pub only half listening to conversations going on around you, you make a silent vow to yourself. You swear to do everything in your power to make Simon smile again and to keep him smiling for as long as physically possible, because, in your eyes, there’s not a prettier sight in this world to behold.

[vi-tamine]

Heyyyyy!!!

If you are up for it, I'd love to see you write a Silco x Reader Story🙏🏻

Reader was like an older Sibling to Powder, Vi, Mylo and Clagger, making sure the kids were always okay. So that day, when almost everyone died and Silco took in Powder/Jinx, Reader went with them to keep an eye on Jinx. They turn more into a Parental Figure over time for her. Reader and Silco hated each other at first but tried to remain civil for Jinx. Over time feelings developed and both are in denial. So basically Enemies to Lovers.

Also Reader takes care of like the Bar, since they have already worked there when Vander was still alive. [Either behind the counter as a Bartender or as like Security]

Idc if its Fluffy or Angsty or smutty or smth!

I just need more Silco x Reader🙏🏻😭

at home (silco x reader)

words: 1517

genre(s): fluff, angst (i think..)

warnings: none

n/a: im sooo happy!!! thank u so much for requesting me!! this is my first request and i'm kinda nervous about it! i hope you like it and enjoy it a little!! i did my best!! want to remember that english isn't my first language, so im sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes, but this also helps me to improve :]

You were twenty years old when it all happened. When Mylo and Claggor died and Vi ran away after all the tragedy trying to rescue Vander from Silco's hands. You were the oldest of the three sisters, always under your care, even though you allowed them some freedom for their “missions” you always kept an eye on your sisters, in case it was necessary to get them out of some trouble. 

That day, you went to help your brothers get Vander back, making Powder promise not to move from the basement. When the whole mess happened, you were barely aware of whatever was going on. One of your arms had been trapped under the rubble and you heard Powder's distant cries for Vi to come back for her. As best you could, you pulled yourself together, pushed away the debris over your arm and made your way to find the youngest of your sisters, the one that sounded closest. The crying seemed to be weaker, and when you looked up Silco had his arms around her as she hugged him, right next to Vander's lifeless body. You approached cautiously, brow furrowed at the whole unfamiliar situation. 

“Stay away from her” you addressed Silco with a firm voice and furrowed brows. He did so without complaint, looking at you, keeping his composure and probably waiting for a move on your part that never came.  Powder turned to look at you, her blue eyes brimming with tears. She hugged your legs, and before you knew it, you were both leaving with Silco and his people. 

Seven years later you decided to take Vander's place in “The Last Drop”. Silco “signed it over” to you while he took one of the rooms to be his office. You were a little grateful that he would let you carry on the legacy of the one he once considered his brother. 

You poured one last drink before Jinx sat down on one of the stools and rolled your eyes as you watched her turn in on herself. “Get your feet off the stool if you're going to be sitting here” you scolded her as you cleaned one of the glasses and poured her the juice she always asked for. “Thank you~” she thanked taking a sip from the straw. “I've been working on one of those grenades I showed you, and even though it explodes poorly, it's getting more and more powerful!” she explained somewhat excitedly as she looked at you with a slight smile. During all these years your sister had grown more than you would have liked. Sometimes nostalgia hit you, and all you could think about was how much older she had gotten and how rebellious and uncontrollable she had become.

 Mylo and Claggor's death and Vi's abandonment left some aftereffects on your sister. Jinx was the name she had decided to adopt after Vi called her that name before abandoning her to her fate without even knowing if you were alive. Together with Silco you had raised her, and although you always tried to take her on a healthy and untroubled path, she ended up paying more attention to Silco than to you. 

During all these years your vision of Silco was changing, and all the resentment and anger you had towards him, had been loosening when you saw the love and effort he put in wanting to take care of your sister. Your attitude towards him became more passive, and his attitude towards you became sweeter and more protective. You both had your sister, Jinx, as your priority. 

“Be careful with those gadgets or someday your finger will explode.” you joked with your sister as you leaned your elbows on the bar to look at her. “I do know how to build inventions, sis, not like you” she joked with you before getting a tap on her shoulder from you. You rolled your eyes letting out a light chuckle. “By the way, Silco wants to see you” he spoke as he rubbed his shoulder with a pout. You frowned and sighed. “You take care of the drinks for a while then” you stepped out from behind the bar, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Jinx hopped over the bar to tend to the customers and scolded her for it before walking up to Silco's office.

You felt your heart beating stronger and stronger as you got closer to Silco's office. Since a few days ago your vision of the man who had given (somehow) shelter to you and your sister, apart from starting to respect him, perhaps your feelings towards him had taken a different direction, a more romantic one. Every night you told yourself that it was wrong, if you thought about it, it was against your morals and principles to like Silco, so you tried to hold back that feeling as much as you could. 

You knocked on the door, and after hearing a low “Come in”, you entered the room, allowing you to see Silco in his chair as usual and Sevika next to him. They both looked at you, and with a slight gesture, Silco had Sevika leave the room, closing the door behind her. You sat down in the chair in front of the table, sighing and making yourself comfortable as you noticed how her gaze was fixed on you. 

“What is it this time, what has Jinx done to what-” you couldn't finish formulating the sentence Silco cut you off. “Your sister is out of jail” your back and your whole body started to bristle. “With the help of a Piltover enforcer.” You discovered that Vi had been arrested and sent to Stillwater. Seven years later she seemed to have gotten out. A confused feeling invaded your body. You were happy, your sister had been released. And at the same time you were filled with rage, she had abandoned you and your sister. Then came the feeling of guilt, you were the oldest, much older than them, and you had let your sister be arrested, you had not fought for her. You swallowed and immediately got up from the couch. “Don't let Jinx know. Not yet, at least.” you left the room without even looking or listening to what Silco would have to tell you.

. . . . . . 

Later that night, having just closed the bar and with only the music to keep you company, you finished putting the last chairs back on the tables and mopping the floor. Before you even went to sleep you decided to pour yourself a shot of whiskey. You sat on the freshly cleaned bar and, with your mother's favorite song playing in the background, you thought about everything. Your parents, your sisters, brothers, Vander, Silco, everything. The alcohol scratched your throat as you thought about how you were going to confront Vi at some point, what you would say to her, how she would be, how she would react to seeing who you were with. Maybe she would understand you if she realized you were doing it all for Jinx. Maybe she would martyr you if she knew about your feelings for Silco. 

“May I have some?” a voice from behind you shuddered. Turning slightly to grab a glass, you saw Silco planted behind you. You nodded wordlessly, pouring for him as well and watching as he took a long sip. He looked back at you. “Why the long face?” he asked. You laughed wryly. “As if you didn't know” you replied clicking your tongue. You didn't want to talk down to him, but your feelings at that moment were what they were. He seemed to understand, he didn't add a word.

 He set the glass down on the bar and one of your hands rested on your shoulder, lightly trailing down your arm. “She's going to understand.” he simply said. You shook your head, also dropping the glass and looking sideways at him. “She's not going to understand. She can't. I don't blame her. I'm a horrible sister.” you sighed. You felt like your eyes were going to release tears at any moment. You noticed Silco's rough hand touch yours, embrace yours with his fingers and with his thumb caress the back of your hand. You let yourself be touched. “We should have left, Silco. We don't belong here. It's not our place. I should have taken Pow-” you couldn't finish your sentence Silco had crashed his lips to yours. You couldn't even react when he broke away. You looked at him still dumbfounded. 

“If she doesn't understand, we're going to make her understand. But don't you ever, ever, ever say again that you don't belong here. You do. You belong by my side,” and when he finished speaking you couldn't help but kiss his lips back. Your heart had just exploded like a bomb, and Silco had detonated it. There were probably going to be repercussions, surely none of this was going to go well, but for the first time, when you were dancing in his arms, you felt at home again.

[landososcar]

tacky tree ; MV1

pairing(s) ; dad!max verstappen x leclerc!reader

summary ; in which it’s the most wonderful time of the year and the house is almost completely decorated – except for the most important part.

warnings ; probably incorrect translations, tacky christmas tree because they’re more fun! no use of y/n. not edited.

note ; it’s christmas season 🎉this is the first fic in my 12 days of christmas series! the masterlist with more details on the upcoming stuff will be out later (when i plan it all out lollll) enjoyyyy

“papa, when do we get to decorate the tree?” his son’s voice grabbed max’s attention and he immediately set down the fairy lights he was desperately trying to untangle.

max was trying his hardest to unravel the ball of string lights but it proved to be a harder task than what he had initially thought. his son stood in front of where he was sitting on the couch, impatiently waiting for the ‘go ahead’ to start putting his favourite ornaments on the tree, and max had to explain that “we can’t decorate the tree until we put the lights on, jules”.

a groan left the six-year-old boy’s mouth, he had been looking forward to decorating the tree the most of all. “grand-mère would have had the lights ready ages ago!” jules loved complaining – max often said he got his love for it from his uncle charles, and there was no real argument to the statement.

max chuckled softly at jules’ exclamation. “grand-mère also doesn’t have to deal with your sister trying to eat the lights,” he replied, glancing toward the corner of the living room where his four-year-old daughter was crouched. she held a tangled string of lights in her tiny hands, inspecting them with great curiosity.

“not eating, papa! i’m testing!” sophia chirped, her cheeks flushed pink with the excitement of the holiday season.

jules groaned again, this time dramatically collapsing onto the couch beside his father. “but we’ll never finish in time for santa to see it!”

“santa doesn’t come to check the tree, jules. he comes for the cookies and milk,” max reminded him with a smirk, “and to give boys and girls their presents.” max raised his eyebrows towards his son before continuing, “but only good boys who are patient,” he paused before getting up to save sophia from being engulfed by fairy lights, picking her up and putting her on his hip, “and good girls who don’t eat the lights for the christmas tree.”

before jules could fire back a sassy remark that would have reminded his father far too much of the boy’s uncle, a soft voice interrupted them from the kitchen. “have the two verstappen boys fixed the lights, or should i send in reinforcements?”

max turned to see you leaning against the doorframe, a tray of freshly baked cookies balanced in your hands. your warm smile was framed by loose strands of hair that escaped your festive headband. before you could continue to tease your boys, the six-year-old yelped, “mama! tell papa to hurry!” jules pleaded, scrambling to your side.

you laughed and ruffled his hair, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “let’s see if mama can work her magic.”

handing jules a cookie to keep him occupied, you sat where max was previously attempting to fix the mess of lights, and reached for the tangled lights. your fingers moved easily through the wires as you worked to untangle the mess, the cozy christmas scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air.

“mama is so clever, isn’t she?” max murmured to the girl on his hip, watching your nimble hands make quick work of the lights. sophia nodded quickly before leaning towards the plate of cookies as best as she could. 

max noticed her attempt at thieving a cookie and endorsed it by leaning down, her body still flushed with hers as she reached with both her hands, snatching a cookie. before the girl could begin eating her cookie, max caused her to gasp as he took a small bite from the cookie in her tiny hands.

“mama’s like grand-mère!” jules shouted back, his eyes wide with admiration, “they can both do anything ‘cause they’re the best!” jules declared, his face lighting up with pride.

“careful, jules, if you keep saying things like that, you might just end up on the extra good list this year,” you teased, winking at him as he beamed.

within minutes, the lights were untangled, and you handed them back to max with a triumphant grin, scooping sophia into your arms in exchange. “voilà. now, get to it, boys,” you said, tickling sophia’s tummy to make her giggle before continuing, “while they do the lights, soph, let’s go find your favourite ornaments!”

sophia clapped her hands excitedly. “the sparkly star! and the reindeer!” she squealed, pointing toward the box of decorations.

before the two of you could walk off, max wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, “i’ll admit, we’d be lost without you.” he left a kiss on your lips and both children protested.

“eww!” jules groaned, covering his eyes with both of his hands, while sophia, in dramatic fashion, pushed max’s face away with her tiny palms. “no kissies!”

laughing, you pried sophia’s hands off max’s face and carried her toward the decorations. “alright, no more kissies—let’s get this tree looking like a christmas masterpiece.”

while max and jules worked on stringing the lights around the tree (with jules shouting instructions that max tried valiantly to follow), you and sophia rummaged through the box of ornaments. “look, mama! it’s papa’s car!” sophia said, holding up an f1 car ornament painted in red bull’s signature colours.

you chuckled, taking the ornament from her little hands. “that’s right! should we put it somewhere special so everyone sees it?”

sophia nodded enthusiastically, and you carried her over to the tree. “papa drives that car!” she announced proudly before making ‘vroom vroom’ noises, earning both a loud chuckle and an approving grin from her father.

“do you think santa will like it?” jules asked as he passed max another strand of lights.

“i think santa will love it,” max replied. “it’s not every day you see a christmas tree with an f1 car on it.”

once the lights were up – though slightly uneven, thanks to jules’ ‘supervising’ – it was time for the ornaments. sophia insisted on placing all the sparkliest ones together in one spot, while jules picked the funniest ones, like a snowman with sunglasses and a gingerbread man with only one arm.

“you know,” max began as he hung a cat ornament that similarly resembled one of their three fur children, “some people call this a tacky tree, but i call it... creative.” jules passed the other two cat ornaments to max, insisting that they need to be next to each other so they don’t get sad.

“it’s festive!” you chimed in, balancing sophia on your hip as she placed a glittery unicorn near the top of the tree. you watched as your son stepped back like an artist proudly admiring their masterpiece.

after the tree was completely covered in colourful decorations, max hoisted jules onto his shoulders so he could place the star at the top. “steady, buddy... okay, now!” the moment the star clicked into place, sophia clapped wildly, and jules raised his arms in triumph.

“we did it!” jules cheered, and max carefully set him down before pulling you and the kids into a warm group hug in front of the brightly glowing tree.

“best christmas tree ever,” max echoed, his voice soft as he kissed the top of jules’ head, then sophia’s, before looking at you with a laugh, “no kissies for you, sorry”. you couldn’t help but laugh and agree with your husband’s statement, feeling the warmth of your little family wrapped up in the magic of the season.

“best christmas ever.”

[howtofightwrite]

Hey! I'm writing a series with a character who is a sniper. She is a private hire and ends up meeting someone who works with shorter ranged guns and weapons.

I'm just wondering how they would differ when killing someone and what are the tells of each weapon. I want to make it clear that the weapons are different but I'm not sure what those differences are

So, something that stuck out to me originally, when reading this is, most snipers are going to have a close range PDW. Whether that's just their sidearm or something more substantial, they'd need to be proficient with something in close quarters if it comes to that.

Now, the hard part about answering this question in the abstract is that, almost everything associated with firearms is extremely date sensitive.

For example, if your CQB/CQC character was originally trained sometime in the late 90s to late 2000s (in a Western country), they'd have likely encountered Center Axis Re-lock. Outside of those 20 years, then that style hadn't seen widespread adoption, or had fallen out of favor.

For some specific film examples, Vincent (Tom Cruise) from Collateral (2004) would have been working as an assassin for at least a decade by the time we see him in the film. We can make this assessment based on the way he handles the USP, and then compare to CQC training. His one-handed disarm and execute he uses in the alley puts his training sometime in the 80s to 90s at the earliest, while his lack of CAR in close quarters tells you he didn't have Western military or law enforcement training after the mid-90s.

Another film example that might surprise you is John Wick (Keanu Reeves). In those films he exhibits CQC training that suggests he still in the military less than 15 years before the events of the first film. Except his CAR stances are actually a little sloppy (which is unusual for Reeves), which suggests that Wick may have observed others using the stance, and then improvised a version of it for his own use. Meaning you can't really estimate when his combat training occurred. (This might also might explain why he's a bit sloppy about when he switches between Weaver and CAR.) By the way, it is quite difficult to pick this out. It took a few experts dinging on the first Wick film before I really started picking up on the issues with Reeves' technique. And I haven't seen anyone else draw the conclusion that Wick is probably self-taught in CAR. (This was corrected for the later films, as Reeves did get proper training in CAR in preparation for the second film.)

In particular, this is a singular example, but there are a lot of things someone can do that will inform you about their background and training. This starts with weapon selection. Things like their preferred sidearm and primary can be very insightful. People tend to go in one of two directions with firearms. Either, they're very willing to adapt and experiment, or they'll find something they're comfortable with and hone in with that specific firearm.

For example, is your sniper carrying around a Remington 700, or something like an MSR or AWM? Both are legitimate answers, but they say very different things about how your character approaches their area of expertise. Similarly, are they carrying a 1911 pattern pistol, or something more modern, like an HK USP or FN P45?

If your sniper is carrying around an AMT Hardballer, and your CQC specialist is carrying around a P45t, your CQC specialist has twice the magazine capacity. They can afford to dump rounds into someone until they stop twitching. Where as a Hardballer is “just” an extremely well made 1911. Their kills are going to look different, but it's a function of the weapon they chose.

Without knowing what they're carrying, it's very hard to answer definitively how their kills will look.

If it was me, kitting out for CQC in a situation where I'd need to hide the weapon under a jacket, I'd seriously consider an AAC Honey Badger hidden under a sport coat. (I know, I trash talked the Honey Badger a few years ago, before getting a good look at one and seeing just how tiny they are. Mea Culpa. I should know better than to shit on a gun I'm unfamiliar with by now. That's a toxic element of gun culture I've been trying to get away from. It still clings a bit sometimes.) Similarly, the Mk18 and Colt 733 are also pretty good options. That's a little bit of an M4a1 bias, but it's a decent platform. There are other valid options, those are just the first that come to mind for me.

If your character was kitting for CQC, and wanted Warsaw pact weapons, the Groza is a bit exotic, but that's what it was designed for. The SR-3M Vikhr is an update of the Val, and a pretty legitimate choice. They're both 9x39mm rifles, so long range accuracy isn't happening, but in close quarters they still hit stupidly hard. Granted, any Krinkov would work in that role. (So, mostly AKS-74Us.) (I think there were some 7.62x39mm Krinkovs, but I can't remember the name.)

So, ultimately, identifying the differences between the weapons, starts with knowing what the weapons are. Having a basic idea of how they handle (even if that's not first hand), and then being able to see how they differ from one another. This is made even harder in the sense that modern firearms have become extremely modular. Given the option to fully kit out the same gun for you CQC specialist, it's a pretty good bet you and I would walk away with distinctly different end results. Even if the base model was the same. (For the record, I'm not saying my configuration would be better. I have biases and preferences that aren't necessarily the best option available.)

The best place to start, is looking at the kinds of weapons your character would use. Your sniper's going to want a long range precision rifle and a sidearm. She might also go for a small machine pistol/SMG. Your CQC specialist would probably prioritize an actual primary. That might be an SMG, a carbine, or even a shotgun (because nothing says hello quite like three or four 12 gauge shells pumped out of a fully automatic Saiga. (And before someone corrects me, yes, I know, there are no production full-auto Saigas, however they can be illegally modified for full-auto.)

Once you know how different the weapons are, you can start digging into how the characters themselves approach combat, and how their respective styles differ.

-Starke

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[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 18

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 1.9k

Note : This is the last chapter (an epilogue of sorts). Thank you so much for everyone who has read this story and make this such a wonderful journey! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“My Heart Will Never Let You Go”

Two years later... 

Two years felt like both a lifetime and a blink of an eye. You stood at the threshold of your new home, boxes and furniture stacked behind you, with a view that stretched over a quiet, tree-lined street. The house wasn’t huge huge, but it was spacious enough and had tall ceilings and windows, with dark-stained hardwood floors that creaked gently as you moved through each room. It was perfect—comfortable, cosy— it was a place that felt like it was yours and Bucky’s from the moment you’d first stepped inside.

You watched as Yelena wrestled with a particularly awkward piece of furniture— a bookshelf that had somehow ended up at a wonky angle in the back of the moving van. She had a focused look on her face, her brow furrowed as she attempted to pull it free.

“Yelena, you good there?” Sam called out, grinning as he hauled two large boxes under each arm with what looked like minimal effort.

Yelena shot him a glare. “If Bruce was here, this would already be inside and probably assembled, Sam,” she snapped, wiping her forehead as she took a breather.

Clint chuckled, pausing beside Sam to lend a hand with the boxes. “I don’t think Bruce would fit in this house with his size,” he teased. “But he’s definitely missing out on this free labor.”

Alex, meanwhile, was just minding her own business, carrying little trinkets, because “she’s not a superhero” and isn't used to “doing the heavy lifting” which is utter bullshit— you’ve seen her carry crates of ancient tablets without breaking a sweat. You’d say something if not for the fact that Yelena is determined to let her “sit there and be pretty”— her words, not yours.

It was just the right balance of chaos and laughter, mixed without the friendly banter of people who had come to feel like your very own little family. All of them had given up a Saturday off to help you and Bucky settle into your new home.

Though you’d all been at it for hours, spirits remained high. The jokes were still tossed back and forth, handling the stress with an ease that people who had faced far bigger challenges could.

Inside, Bucky popped out with a grin, taking one look at the disheveled pile of boxes and furniture in the yard. He shook his head. “Are we sure we’re doing this right?” he asked skeptically as he made his way over to you, brushing a gentle hand over the dip in your waist.

“Have some faith in them,” you laughed, leaning into him slightly. It was strange, sometimes, how normal this all felt now— after all the ups and downs, the years of history between you, ones you remembered and ones you were reminded of— after all the doubts and fears that had once made a moment like this seem impossible.

As Yelena, Clint, Alex, and Sam worked their way inside, carrying boxes and arguing about whose arrangement strategy was best, you watched the growing pile of belongings grow and grow. It had taken time to get to this place— not just physically, but emotionally (who knew getting a property was hard? Bucky didn’t. Back then, houses cost next to nothing.)

There had been moments when you thought you might never get here, when doubts had grown too large. But Bucky had been patient. He had earned your trust, and little by little, you’d both found ways to rebuild.

Yelena finally made it into the living room with the bookshelf with a triumphant glee as she wedged it into place beside the fireplace. “See?” she announced proudly. “Teamwork.” She gave Clint a high five, nudging Sam out of the way to start helping Alex arrange the boxes currently stacked in a vaguely organised pile.

Clint set down the coffee table he and Sam had carried in, smiling as he looked around the room. “Well, I guess you’re officially grown-ups now,” he joked. “A house in the suburbs, boxes stacked to the ceiling…next thing you know, you’ll be mowing the lawn every Saturday and taking Alpine to the vet for check-ups monthly.”

Alpine, your white cat who’d stolen both yours and Bucky’s hearts, sat curled up on the carpet near the door, watching the activity with mild disinterest. Her tail flicked occasionally, and you smiled at her, remembering when Bucky had first brought her home one rainy night not long after you’d first moved in together. She’d been a little ball of fluff— shy and skittish and hated human touch, but over time she’d come to love affection and crave attention, much like the two of you had done with each other.

“Alpine’s probably relieved to be out of our cramped apartment,” Bucky said, moving to scratch her behind the ears. She looked up at him, unfazed by the chaos around her.

Sam plopped down on the sofa, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “So we’ve done the heavy lifting,” he said, stretching out his arms dramatically. “Time for pizza.”

Alex rolled her eyes but smiled, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a stack of pizzas she’d ordered on her way over. “Bird man wouldn’t shut up about food the whole way here,” she said, passing out plates.

As everyone settled around the small coffee table, pizza slices in hand, everything felt… right. You started telling stories again, with Yelena recounting the time he’d accidentally shot himself in the foot during a mission—“It was supposed to be a warning shot, okay?”—and Clint giving you a hard time about his tendency to get into mischief on missions. 

Bucky caught your eye across the room, his eyebrows softening as he watched you laugh with the others. You could see it all in his eyes—the shared memories, the nights you’d spent patching each other up after long missions, the sunny mornings filled with intense conversations and coffee, the slow rebuilding of trust that had led you both here. You smiled back at him, a word less thank you for everything that had come before this.

When the others started discussing the best way to hang your artwork and where the photos should go (Alex would know best), Bucky nudged you gently, nodding toward the front porch. You stepped outside together, leaving the laughter behind for a few quiet minutes.

The sun was setting, blanketing a golden glow over your suburban neighborhood.

You leaned against the railing, watching your new street— the sound of distant lawnmowers and birdsong filling the evening air, kids playing with their bikes. When Bucky joined you, his arm brushed against yours, he kissed your temple briefly.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he said softly, his eyes fixed on the trees that lined the street, the leaves beginning to turn orange with the start of fall.

“Yeah,” you replied, letting the breeze move your hair, “It’s more than nice. It’s…it’s everything I didn’t think we’d ever have.”

He nodded, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “I never thought we’d have it, either,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Two years ago… I didn’t think I deserved it. But you… you made me believe I could. You’ve been so patient with me.”

You squeezed his hand, your eyes soft as you looked at him. “You earned it, Bucky. We both did,” you told him, “It hasn’t been easy, but you never gave up, even when things got… bad.”

He smiled, a bit of the old hesitation still there, but not much. It had been tempered by comfort and confidence, the kind that had to come with time and healing. “It was worth it,” He gestured to the house behind you, the cosy life you’d built together, “because it got us here.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, appreciating the gentle sway of the trees in the breeze and the laughter drifting from inside as Yelena and Clint argued over whether the bookshelf belonged against the far wall or by the window.

“You know, getting was the last thing I imagined for us back then,” you said, an amused laugh escaping as you remembered. “I was scared we wouldn’t make it a few more months, at one point.”

“I didn’t make it easy, did I?” Bucky chuckled, nodding. “But you kept giving me chances, and…I— I just couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his shoulder against your cheek. “I don’t regret any of it.” You whispered, “We’re here, together, and that’s all that matters.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. For what felt like a long time, you just stood there, taking it all in— the subtle chirps of life around you, the distant sound of voices and laughter inside, and the steady arms of then love if your life beside you.

Eventually, the front door swung open, and Alex appeared, hands on her hips, grinning at the sight of you both. “Come on, lovebirds,” she beckoned you both in, “We’re not done in here yet!”

With a laugh, you pulled away from Bucky, looking up at him with a sparkling smile. “Let’s get back to work.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand before letting you lead him back inside. The others had cleared more space in the living room, arranging the furniture and unpacking boxes. As you joined in, the rest of the afternoon passed quickly in a happy blur of new memories. Suddenly, the ones you’ve lost seem insignificant.

As the evening wore on, your friends began to pour out, each one leaving with a hug and a promise to visit soon. By the time the last of the boxes were unpacked and the furniture finally found its place, the house was almost dead silent, save for Alpine’s adorable purrs as she claimed her new favorite spot by the window.

Bucky draped an arm around you, then lines on his face tired but content. He looked around the room, processing the cosy, lived-in feel of the space you’d created together. “Well,” he said softly, “looks like we’re officially moved in.”

You leaned into him, nuzzling into his shoulders, a smile spreading across your face. “We did it.”

Later that night, after the last box had been stashed in the closet and the house had settled into a peaceful rhythm, Bucky found himself standing by the small dresser in the bedroom. His hand hovered over the top drawer, his heart picking up speed as he slowly pulled it open. Nestled in the back, hidden under a stack of socks, was a small, tiny velvet box.

He carefully lifted it out. He’d picked the ring out months ago with help from Alex and Yelena. Now, he was just waiting for the right time. And tonight, standing in your new home together, he felt closer than ever to the moment when he’d finally be able to give it to you.

He tucked it back into the drawer with a sheepish private, feeling an electric anticipation racing on his veins. Soon. 

Very soon.

So made his way back to you.

You were curled up on the couch, half-asleep but smiling when you felt him dip the couch beside you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. As you drifted to sleep in his arms, he held you close, knowing that in this home, he’d found everything he’d ever been searching for.

-end.

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[planetpedri]

i need need NEED pau cubarsi x reader based on efecto by bad bunny especially the “en tus ojos veo el mar” lyric like GIRL i need this BAD 🙇🏻‍♀️

i love your writing sm ty if you do this 🥰

Efecto — Pau Cubarsí.

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pau had never felt so strongly about someone before. He was fortunately, in deep for you.

Word count: 490+

Disclaimer/s: Allllll fluff ^_^

A/N: i probably didn’t fully follow this through im so sorry for that i just didn’t know what to write so so sorry anon its lowk badookie…

Every second Pau was around you made him feel like he was on drugs. You were an endless high, an endless euphoria injected into him just by your smile. So simple, but it made the boys knees buckle every time.

There he stood, only a few feet away—watching you interact with his friends, your bright smile lighting up your face. Pau could feel every other noise fall deaf on his ears when your laughter flooded his brain.

Pure adoration was evident on the boys face as he watched. It wasn’t simply adoration, it was love. He was in love with you so much so, it consumed him.

He still remembers the first night he met you. You’d been at a mutual friend’s birthday party and he hadn’t been able to look at anyone but you the whole night. When you finally looked in his direction, offering him the sweetest smile, he would never forget the way his stomach churned and he felt sweat trickle down his forehead. Just by a smile you already had his nerves running rampant.

Even a year later, when you were finally his, the feeling was just as strong, possibly stronger.

His gaze followed you as you excused yourself and turned in his direction. Your lips pulled into a smile the closer you got. “Why are you so emo?” You teased, which drove Pau crazy just seeing the slight smirk on your lips.

“I’m not emo, i’m observing.” He rolls his eyes, amusement clear in his tone.

Wrapping your arms around his waist, Pau does just the same, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips. “Are you enjoying the party?” He asks when his lips part from yours.

You nod slightly, tilting your head up to him. Whatever you were saying, Pau wasn’t picking up on. He found himself lost in your eyes, the colors that swirled and tangled together, disappearing into your dilated pupils.

His favorite feature of yours was certainly your eyes. He could get lost in them for hours. They were like a riptide, and he was not about to fight it—sinking deeper and deeper into the water until he was suffocating within you. And every moment of it, God, he loved it.

“Pau?” You drawl out and he could hear the grin in your voice.

“Mhm?” He hums, not bothering to speak—his eye’s still trained in the depths of yours.

Your arms unlatch from his waist and Pau’s mouth forms a deep frown. “You didn’t hear a thing I said! Do you want to go get food or not?”

Blinking, Pau pulls himself from the daze you’d put him in. “Yeah, sure.” He swallows hard, his hands sliding away from your hips so you could tug him in the direction of the food table.

It was clear to Pau that you were oblivious to the affect you had on him and the only made him love you all the more.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pau posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @unx100to @n0vazsq @spidybaby

[mattsturnioloz]

I found you again: Pt 3.

Summary: Sequel of 'Then I lost you', A year after a devastating break up, Y/n finds herself reuniting with the love of her life, Matt Sturniolo, at a mutual friends birthday party. Will they rekindle their love?

Pairings: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Warnings: UTI, cussing,

A/N: (honestly i’ve been so lazy to work on this part but I gathered the motivation to write it since you guys love it so i hope you guys enjoy 💚)

I slump myself on the ground, still crying. The night air getting colder by the minute. I look up at Matt who’s taking deep breaths, trying to compose himself.

“Look Y/n, let’s get you home okay? You’re drunk, you’re not taking an uber and i’m not letting you stay here so come on, get up.” He says, calmer, a little bit of guilt in his tone. He takes a step forward holding his hand out but I don’t take it. I try to balance myself as I stand up and I stumble back to my original spot in the car, opening the door and getting in next to Chris again.

I buckle myself in, crossing my arms as Matt opens the drivers door and gets in. I wipe my tears when I look over and see Nancy staring at me with a smug look on her face and it pisses me off even more. “What the fuck are you looking at bitch?!” I spit out, aggressively, my voice still shaky from crying.

“HEY! ENOUGH!!” He yells, turning his whole body around to look at me with disbelief written all over his face as her jaw drops, smiling as she scoffs. I roll my eyes and look over at Chris and Nick who are waking up from all the yelling. “Matt, don’t fucking yell at her like that.” Chris slurs, sternly, his voice groggy from waking up.

“Chris go back to fucking sleep kid. You guys need to shut up and relax, i’m tired of it!” He replies, in the same stern tone. “Can you just drive?!” I yell. “Fine!” He starts the car and starts driving. Finally the car is moving.

A few minutes later Matt starts playing music to cover up the silence in the car and Chris looks over at me empathetically and he can see I was crying. “Are you okay?” He says putting his arm around my shoulder pulling me to his chest and I nod. Surprisingly he’s already starting to sound pretty sober, considering that I still feel like I JUST got drunk.

I fall asleep for what feels like a few minutes but I wake up when I feel the car coming to a complete stop, thinking I was home. I lift my head from Chris’s chest to see but we were just dropping his girlfriend off at her house first. She goes in for a kiss but he moves his face dodging it. Probably to make up for making out with her in front of me earlier. She scoffs and gets out slamming the door.

Matt sighs before starting the car, driving off again. A few minutes pass and I still feel empty, my chest feeling like there’s a big metal ball in it. “H-hey you passed my street!” I say leaning forward to talk to Matt. “You’re not staying home alone, Y/n. You’re drunk.” I know he was right so I don’t protest.

We get to the triplets house and I open the door, stumbling out and I fall. I feel dizzy when I look up and see the world spinning and everything feels lighter as I feel myself pass out.

I wake up in the middle of the night in Matt’s bed covered in blankets, the smell of fresh sheets and candles filling my nostrils. I take a look around and take in the familiar feeling of the room since it was once mine too. I felt a massive hangover coming from the slight headache that was starting to throb.

I get up and leave the room to get some water and pain killers from the kitchen and I see Matt at the couch. Feeling the need to talk to him, so I look for an excuse. “What time is it?” I ask him.

“3:47” He says not even looking at me. “Why are you still up?” I ask, I don’t even know why I did. “Why do you care?” He snaps, turning his gaze to the tv, watching gravity falls. He always loved that show, especially when we were together he would put it on almost every night before bed.

“There’s no need to get snappy, it was just a question.” I reply, with a frustrated tone and all he does is scoff. I roll my eyes and taking some pain killers and I feel hungry all of a sudden.

“Can we go to Mcdonald’s?” I ask, quietly. I’m surprised he even heard me. “It’s almost 4 am and you want Mcdonald’s?” He gives me a baffled look.

“I’m already feeling the hangover and i’m hungry.. please?” I put my hands together, pleading him. He lets out a sigh and gets up. “Fine, go get my keys.” He answers with an attitude. I don’t know what his issue is all of a sudden but it’s starting to get to me.

I go get his keys and hand them to him. “Can I borrow a sweater?” I ask, shivering a bit. “No.” He simply replies. “What’s your issue?” I almost yell. “Nothing, now do you want Mcdonald’s or what??” He raises his voice tilting his head with an annoyed expression.

“No, just take me home.” I reply, looking away. “Come on don’t be like that. I swear you’re so difficult Y/n.” He walks towards the front door opening it and waiting for me to follow so I do.

I leave the house, the cold air hitting me as soon as I do and I get whole body chills. We make our way to his car and I get in buckling myself in before crossing my arms, looking out the window.

He buckles in and pulls out of the driveway and I notice that he’s driving to Mcdonald’s. “What are you doing? I said I wanna go home.” I look at him waiting for a response. “I’ll get you home after we get Mcdonald’s, relax.” He sighs and looks back at the road.

The car goes silent the rest of the way before we go though the drive-thru and we get our food and park in the parking lot to eat. The only sounds being us eating our food.

“Thank you..” I give a slight smile. “You’re welcome.” He says with the same smug face. We finish eating and he starts driving to my place. It all felt so wrong. The silence was so fucking awkward, so quiet that I might go crazy.

We arrive at my place and I unlock the door to leave but before I could open it he locks it again. I look at him confused and when I look at him he opens his mouth before closing it, like he wants to say something. “What are you doing?” I ask, super confused.

“L-listen.. can we talk?” He says with a vulnerable expression but I honestly don’t even want to hear it. “There’s nothing to talk about Ma-“ He cuts me off all of a sudden and grabs my hand.

“I still love you, Y/n..” He says, looking at me dead in the eye. I freeze up and I feel myself start to shake. I’m so confused, was was just so rude to me and now he’s saying he loves me? no! He’s staring at me and I feel overwhelmed, not knowing what to say as I grow nauseas.

I open the door not saying anything and I get out closing the door a little too quick and I run inside my house slamming the door behind me. I slide down my front door after locking it and I feel my eyes fill with tears. I left him hanging. I shouldn’t have done that. I know I have to apologize. I just can’t right now.

1,286 words.

A/N: (I hate this so much, i’m so sorry for the delay guys, I haven’t been able to write at my full potential, it’s been a rough time for me but i have like 50 anons asking for this chapter so here you go 🫶🏼)

Taglist: @watercolorskyy @chrissfleshlight @realuvrrr @stonermattsgf @pvssychicken @venusbabysblog @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @endereies @starzinasblog @urfavstromboli @sturniqloo @star-yawnznn @h3arts4harry @asherrisrandom @tsturniolo4 @urmom69lol @luzsturniolo @ncm9696 @valkatriee @sturnslut1 @annielolz @sturnlover4eva @luzsturniolo @anyaa2s @sturnzpro @tpwktahlz @nataliesturn @openurbocaputitonmyballsbitch

[fictionismyreality3]

your fics are so yummehh. can i request ex to enemies to lovers with ghost pretty please?

Fuck you? Fuck Me! 18+

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, oh god.. it’s smut with feelings 😩mentions of cheating 😡😡

Notes: I’m actually so sorry this took so long I’m a lazy bitch 😀

"Oh, you know what? Fuck you, Simon."

Slamming the door behind you and stomping down the hall of Simon's apartment building, you bit back the tears, ignoring the looks from the doorman you'd made friends with after many late nights of Simon coaxing you into his bed

That was two years ago now.

You'd moved on, really you had. It had taken probably around 100 shots of vodka during the first few months, the sour, offending taste forcing you to focus on the burn in your throat rather than the burn in your chest. A shitty bullet vibrator, sitting offendingly in your beside drawer, the hot pink piece of plastic and motorized pleasure offering you partial relief when you missed the feeling of your boyfriend— ex-boyfriend— splitting you open on his cock.

You'd gotten over Simon, filling your days with friends, family, the dead-end receptionist job where the coffee was stale and the small-talk was frightning. The pit he left in your chest was stuffed with whatever you could find, and slowly, after many sleepless nights, you forgot it was there at all.

Slamming back the strawberry daiquiri, you let the liquid warm your throat, the sugary-sweet taste making your toes curl and your lips draw into a cheshire like grin. The music was pounding in your ears, and you were sure your head would be ringing when you stumbled your way out onto the pavement.

"Y'still drink those?"

Heart stuttering in your chest, the air suddenly buzzing with a familiar presence you recognized so well.

“Simon.” Short, curt, you offered little to the man who had taken so much of you.

When he’d left you to fend for yourself on so many quiet nights, the flat empty as he went and fought in some country that wasn’t his, there was no worry in his mind about having something to come home to.

You could handle it. You told him you could handle it.

Eyes hardened by violence, hands toughened by the hours of holding a gun and not another person. He didn’t notice. You were always there. Ready to greet him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“Y’look different, luv. I.. Y’look good.” Tartness filled his mouth, his bottom lip between his teeth where it was hidden underneath his mask.

Simon didn’t know how to take care of his things, much less his girl. One night at the bar turned to to two, and his returns got later and later in the wee hours of the morning. He shouldn’t have been shocked enough to feel his stomach churn when you suggested that he was cheating on you.

But that was two years ago.

A mirthless laugh sounded from your lips. “I’m not doing this.”

Fuckin’ stubborn thing.

The crowd of the club parted as Simon stalked after you, a looming figure of anger and bitter frustration that sent lesser men scurrying in the other direction. It was a wonder the door didn’t fly off the hinges when he followed you outside. But, Simon could be careful. He could be patient. Even if the only thing he wanted to do was push you up against the alley wall and-

“Could you just leave me alone?” That was more pathetic sounding that you’d wanted, your face screwing up in displeasure at the way your voice came out warbled.

A frown pulled at his lips, hidden underneath the fabric of his black surgical mask.

“Didn’t cheat on ya, luvie.”

He just had to touch you. If he could just touch you, fuck, even get you to look at him, you would see. He would make you see. But you were all teeth, hissing and snapping at him when he tried to reach out and grab at your wrist— keep fighting, puppy— shying away from his touch like it burnt you.

“Could y’just calm down?” Shackled, arms pinned at your side, he kept you in place. “I’d never fuckin’ look a’ another bird, yeah?”

He nearly bit his tongue off when your gaze fell to the ground again, looking all dejected like a kitten abandoned out on the curb. He had left you alone too long, hadn’t he?

“Simon, I’m not-” You hated how easy it was to let your neck go lax, to let him guide your vision upwards until there was nothing in your sight but him.

Yeah, that’s it. Stop fightin’ so hard. “God, dove, look at ya.” He cooed, relishing in the way your pretty doe eyes stared up at him hesitantly, like you were waiting for him to bite. “How could I cheat on pretty thing like you, huh?”

No, no god, it was so easy for him to get his hooks in you again, rough hands touching your skin like his palms could reach in and cradle your heart.

“Two years, Simon. Two years.” You hissed. “God, you were never around.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But I-”

“No!” Twisting your wrists out of his grip, you launched your attack, fists hitting against a chest that didn’t bow under the weight of your fury. “You were never around! Never gave me a second of your time even when you were there!”

People were staring now, hushed whispers swarming around you in a torrent. A spectacle of a girl barking up at a man twice her size. Some lady stumbling by offered her own intoxicated words of encouragement— get him, gurl!

Simon let you get it all out. He deserved it, really. He didn’t fight as you pounded your fists down on his chest, beating your anger over his heart. You were talking, hell, you were touching him, and that was more than he’d expected given how he’d driven you away. Darker eyes stared down at your flushed cheeks, rosy from the alcohol and the anger.

“You didn’t want me. You d-didn’t give a shit and you know it!”

But his heart clenched when his saw the tears flowing down them, moving more than it had in two years.

What was that thing Price told him?

You don’t take care of your things, Simon, they’re gonna break eventually.

That’s what it was, the heaviness in your eyes, the way your voice seemed hollow even as you screamed loud enough for the next street over to hear. It clawed at him, guilt twisting deeper and deeper with every curse you threw. This wasn’t the girl he drove away. But then again, he wasn’t the same man, purposely blind to anything good around him.

Simon had tried to replace you at first. Hours spent at the range, hours spent sparring and earning new scars, his knuckles cracked from over use. Time should’ve fixed it, but even as he gave the punching bags a break the blood on his hands didn’t stop. A scab he couldn’t stop picking at, the sting of his self-injury the only thing he could do to remind him that his bed wasn’t empty once.

“I never meant ta hurt ya, luv.” His own regret was threatening to spill over his waterline. “Should’a taken better care o’ya, yeah?” You shook your head vehemently at his coos, as if you could will everything that was happening to disappear.

“Could never leave ya, pretty girl.” In any other moment, Simon would’ve been appalled at the teary tone to his voice, but right now he was more concerned with how the love of his life had gone quiet, eyes glued to the pavement.

“I love ya, sweetheart.”

If you would just look at him to see how he meant it. Just look at him, dovie, just look.

“M’in love with ya. Could never ‘ave anyone else.” He was pleading now, just about ready to get down on his knees in the middle of the sidewalk. “Didn’t know how to.. to show it, yeah? Never done this before. Never loved anyone before.”

“Simon, if you’re lying to me..” You began, breath hitching when he took your eye contact as invitation you hold your face in his hands.

There she is.

“Never.” He swore fiercely. “Never cheated on ya, baby. Haven’t touched a girl since y’left.”

The confession made you falter. The Simon shaped hole in your chest searing with need. The desperation in his eyes, it didn’t even compare to how you felt, and you realized that everything you filled it with was only temporary. You needed permanence. You needed Simon.

It didn’t matter how you fell back into bed with him, stumbling through his apartment while he pawed all over you, keeping a hand on you like he was afraid you’d disappear. In the few seconds you had before he corralled you into his bedroom, you got a chance to see how little he’d changed. The apartment was bare, the spaces on the shelves where your things once sat had been left empty, like some sort of twisted altar he was afraid to fill.

You’d missed him. And he knew it.

There was no time wasted in the moments it took Simon to get you bare, his own clothes discarded in a pathetically short amount of time before his was diving into your pussy.

“S-Simon!”

He couldn’t slow down. After so many nights spent fucking into his own hand, the pair of panties he’d secretly kept pressed to his nose, he needed the real thing.

Like a man starved, he lapped at your cunt, the flat of his tongue lapping against your clit in just the way you liked— because of course he remembered— getting you to soak his face. The taste of you made his eyes flutter shut and groan obscenely into your pussy, the vibration making your thighs start to close.

Digging his fingers into your soft flesh, he parted your legs open so he could get nose deep, trying to bury himself in you. The slick seemed to drip out of you, making it easy to curl two of his fingers into your leaking cunt. The sudden intrusion had you keening, blindly reaching out to grasp at Simon’s hair. It had been so long since someone touched you right.

“S’that how ya need it, mama?” He crooned, voice garbled as he swirled his tongue in fast circles, your clit pulsing in his mouth. “Didn’t ’ave anyone ta fuck her like she needs, huh?” The taunt held no real heat as he curved his fingers inside of you, searching for that spot that got you to make the most delicious noises.

“Uh-huh!” You could almost feel the way he was grinning into your cunt. “Needed you, Si.”

Humming in approval, Simon pumped his fingers in you with a speed you had tried, and failed, to replicate alone in your bed late at night. It didn’t take long for the pleasure to start bubbling to an overwhelming point, leaving you teetering on the edge, like a pot left unattended on a stove.

Sucking hard on your clit was all it took, and suddenly you were gushing all over Simon’s face, back arching with a broken cry. He took it all, lapping it up like it was the sweetest nectar all while crooning praises at you, making your head fuzzy.

There was a sense of urgency in the sex-scented air, his once steady hands shaking as he sat up on his heels, eyes half lidded and drunk with desire.

“You can touch me, Simon.”

Parched, he licked his lips, savouring the taste of you lingering on his tongue while he lined his heavy cock up to your pussy. He could’ve cum just by running his head up and down your folds, but he resisted the temptation.

He had to take care of his girl first.

The stretch was intense, your body trying to cope with acclimating to the girth of Simon after having so many lovers who couldn’t give you what you needed. Your limbs tensed, hands threading themselves into Simon’s hair, trying to pull him closer, closer.

“Just relax, sweethear’. You can- fuck, you can take me.” His hips met yours and he slotted himself where he should’ve been this whole time. Home. Your body cradling him exactly how it was supposed to. “Just need someone ta fuck ya proper, huh?”

He was dangerously close to coming, rutting into you with uneven, eager strokes that left you gasping, heels digging into his ass as you wrapped your legs around him. You were no better, eyes rolling back in your head every time the head of his throbbing cock kissed your cervix, little punched out moans being torn from your throat.

“M’sorry-”

He managed a garbled moan. “Shh, none o’ that, ya hear me?” You were so good, apologizing for the mess he’d made.

Barely hanging on by a thread, Simon rested his forehead on yours.

“Love of my life, dovie.” His hands were brushing the hair out of your face, and the sheer reverence in his eyes knocked the wind out of you. Mewling, you kissed messily at his jaw, hungry, trying to show him how much you felt for him when you were too fucked out to talk.

“Si-” Heat seared in your belly. “M’gonna- oh, god, m’cumming, I-”

Toes curling, you watched the world explode from behind your eyelids, barely registering the choked words Simon was babbling in your ear as he spilled himself inside you with a drawn out groan.

“I love ya. Love ya, love ya, love ya.”

In the quiet of his bedroom, both of you panting and emotionally spent, you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

“I love you too.”

[blackbirdsblackberries]

If Reader is a spider hero like Spiderman, were we bitten by a genetically altered radioactive spider? How did we get in that situation?

Did our dad take us with him on a job, before he had his voice cut out, and we got bitten by a project the villain was making? Did our dad sell us to get cash and we were a human experiment that escaped or was thought to have failed? Did we stumble into a situation where this happened? I'm so curious! (And the flash backs could be great filler.)

On another note, our Spidey Sense only works when we're in danger, right? But it didn't detect Dick and the bucket. Does that mean he had no real intention to hurt us? Only wanted us to go off the wall and hurt him? It'd be interesting if our unease with the Bat Fam is just our Spidey Sense going off. Which would mean we'd feel a spike in our sense when they try to capture us. Probably immediately after telling them we're leaving/quitting, if we do.

On another note, I'm just thinking about what would happen if we got exposed to spider pheromones and turned into a giant arachnid? We aren't destroying buildings or anything. Just trying to hide. I'm just imagining the Bat Fam and the reactions. Maybe it was a new ingredient of Fear Gas? Maybe a new big bad that was trying to mind control spiders?

Either way, it follows canon Spiderman comics. Where he was turned into a spider, the villain found out he was 'pregnant', his spider form dies, and his human body rips out of the corpse. Poor Bat Fam questioning how to turn Aranea back into a human while trying to catch her and calm her down. Finding out she's 'pregnant' and questioning if she even knew by that point. The devastation of her dying, curling in on herself and not moving. Then, hours later, the body ripping apart from the inside out to reveal a human body, face obscured from the cameras by hair and mucus, who escapes before the family come back.

Hi! Oh my god it's been a while!!

The backstory will definitely be a filler/separate chapter from the main story, but until that comes out I will say that Reader has had these powers for years now and had been quite young when the incident happened. This also ties in with the whole Spidey Senses situation, I like to think the Reader is so used to the senses warning of danger that it's just like a gut feeling people get normally (obviously intensified). Dick definitely didn't mean to harm Reader and wasn't trying to be a threat so even though there was some unease it wasn't enough to enact fight or flight.

~

As for the second part of the ask. I might make a separate mini story for it!! That definitely seems fun to write but the main things I think would happen would be:

- Batfam freaking out and trying to look for Aranea

- one of the members finding your new form

- a whole freakout ensues

- Damian believes you are now the new Man-Bat

- You, obviously, runs off and is quickly chased down by Batman and Red Hood (the others are either frozen from shock, in the cave or trying to convince Damian that just because Aranea is a proper spider doesn't mean they're now against them)

- they capture you and take you to the batcave, most would be pretty happy to finally have a reason for you to be here.

- They run tests on you before finding out you're pregnant

- Immediately they freak out once more and you take the moment to run and escape the cave.

- You run into Crime Alley and hide out there for a bit before "dying"

- the family finds you, mourns you, and is about to take you and bury you when Jason snaps and runs off with Damian to kill the villain. The rest of the family follows to try and stop them (Steph actually doesn't care whether the villain dies or not, she just wants to watch it go down)

- When they return you've already gotten out and run off. They don't realize this - thinking it was just an animal or something that caused the hole and such.

- Barbara, Batman and Tim proceed to have a heart attack when they see your comm online and see you in person a couple nights later.

~

I hope that makes a bit of sense!! I love long asks so so much and I'm sorry I've been gone for so long 😔

[cowlings]

warnings for nsfw! implied age gap (it's always age gap when it's older pro heroes), swearing, afab reader, she/her used, fingering, dom! aizawa (?), poorly written smut. this is my birthday gift from me to me! mdni.

shota aizawa and birthdays are not a great mix. he's as emotionally available as a pet rock, so it takes him a while to actually care for such dates.

but when yours comes around, it's an entirely different situation. he somewhat cares, and he's thoughtful enough to consider buying you a gift. key word being consider. it's usually something small like buying you lunch from the cafeteria, or gifting you something practical for your hero suit. and it's very subtle; he gives you his 'gifts' with nobody around so there's no speculation about his bias for your special day.

this year, he made two tiny mistakes.

one, getting noticed by hizashi yamada.

two, buying you something entirely different than before.

so when he's attempting to wrap a small chocolate box in crinkly wrapping paper, he can sense his workmate's eyes lingering on his figure. thinking little of it, he continues.

shota should've known there was something going on the second he stepped foot in the teacher dorms and it was empty. the only sign of life were your huffs and groans coming from the kitchen as you measured flour and some other dry ingredients.

"y/n? where are the others?"

"they said they had to go prepare some stuff at the faculty lounge for my secret party" you laughed, "can you believe i'm stuck baking my own cake?"

shota's eyes slightly widened as he walked towards the elevator, explaining how he had a small present for you. taking advantage of the solitude, it was better for him to deliver his present now than later. a few minutes went by until he returned with a small bag, inside being a box wrapped in crepe paper.

"oh my gosh, you really didn't have to, aizawa" you giggled, your hands steady on the kitchen counter as you jumped to take a seat. you slowly tore away the paper to reveal a simple, black box with golden lettering. they were chocolates, and not the cheap kind. "these look so good, you wanna share?"

he shook his head in response. "they're for you, y'know." you tilted your head to the side, "and if i want to share?"

he scoffed, "alright, but don't be complaining later when i eat the whole—"

there was a loud sound coming from a speaker. shota knew that mic bought it to have ambiance music during dinner or during cooking, but he never knew it could turn on by itself. more importantly...

the speaker wasn't playing pure background noise. it was playing a song.

shota sighed as he recognized the familiar tune, which was one he had heard during his younger years. and he knew that you recognized it too, from the way in which you held in your laugh. "is this your doing, aizawa?" he shook his head as his phone pinged, and to his surprise, it was a text.

Yamada 19:05 AIZAWA BUDDY Hope you like the surprise!!! We won't look at the kitchen cameras for the rest of the night We still want you to be at the lounge for Y/n's party at 9 tho so move along!!

Shota 19:07 Are you fucking serious?

Yamada 19:08 It's her birthday so you know she wanna rii-ii-iiide out Seriously we're gonna be upset if you waste my good music for nothing bro.

"it's mic's doing" he grumbled, to which you laughed. "is this his attempt at setting us up?" he asked. "probably. is it working?"

"i don't know a single person who enjoys this song unironically. do you seriously want to do this with yamada's playlist?"

"something's better than nothing, aizawa" you smiled, "wanna sing along to birthday sex with me?"

shota took the chocolate box from your hand, picking a small tablet and placing it between his teeth. he moved closer, his hands slightly parting your thighs as he positioned himself between them. though his voice came out muffled by the chocolate, it was obvious what he was saying.

"come on. eat."

your fingers grasped the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer as you leaned in to take a bite. before you could, though, shota took the chocolate from his mouth and threw it somewhere on the counter, connecting his lips with yours. your hand cupped his cheek as your back slightly arched, wanting to close the gap even further. shota's hand was on the small of your back as he slowly dragged you to the edge of the counter.

his hand lowered towards your ass, causing you to gasp. shota was quick to slide his tongue inside, earning a whine from you. your lips are intoxicating to shota. they're addictive, and he tries desperately to keep nibbling on what he deemed heaven itself.

but alas, air is not only something he needs, you need it too. you pulled away to catch your breath, your hand moving from his cheek to under his shirt, softly tracing the skin on his lower back. "you do know this is probably mic's sex fantasy, right?"

he stifled a laugh, "something's better than nothing, right?"

shota's fingers ghosted over your thighs. "this okay?" he asked, to which you nodded. his fingers traced the hem of your shorts, sneakily pushing the fabric to the side as the tip of his finger lazily drew circles on your clothed cunt. "y'know, i could just fuck you like this, no prob. the shorts make it easy."

and his touch is enough to give you goosebumps. you trembled as he slowly, and carefully peeled your panties to the side, slipping two digits inside. he chuckled as you gripped his shirt in response. "you're this wet already? but we're just getting started."

the way his fingers thrust inside you made your grip on him tighten. you wondered if he had any previous experiences—he’s old, so he’s had to have some—there’s no way he’s naturally good. his fingers curled up inside your walls, and it was enough to have your hips jerk towards him, your head on his chest as your breath quickened. shota's thumb drew circles on your clit as he leaned in to whisper.

“does it feel good?”

you try to answer as coherently as you can, but it’s no use. “it—aah—s’good, aizawa.”

without warning, he slips in one more digit. the moan that escaped your lips was so raw—so lewd, it was almost enough for shota to cum on the spot. “that’s not my name, it’s shota. try again.”

“fuck—shota—so good.”

“that’s better” he growled, his free hand moving under your shirt. shota aizawa is skilled, because in one swift movement your bra is unclasped, your shirt is lifted, and his lips and nibbling and suckling on your hardened nipples. shota aizawa knows your sensitive spots. he either guessed them first try, or has known you long enough to know.

you were a moaning mess. you clung onto him so hungrily, with so much desperation. the only sounds that left your mouth were incoherent thoughts and screams.

“sho—want you ‘nside—now.”

he let out a low chuckle, “you need to cum for me first. think you can do that, y/n?”

shota didn’t have to tell you twice.

[dadvans]

several sentences sunday monday

tagged by @rcmclachlan, an excerpt of a much longer preg!tommy 10 years later universe bit (will probably go back at a later date to hashtag this universe with "#mary evan universe" when the next two parts are complete, but for now you can find original installments under "#delaney writes" or tbh more easily "#mpreg")

Mary has the option of a bedtime story or an hour reading on her own before lights out. She asks Buck if he’s ever read Holes.

“Holes is one of my favorites,” he says, because he loved it growing up even when he wasn’t necessarily excited about books, and then he rediscovered it two years ago when Jee was reading it and fell in love all over again. He’s been looking forward to her sister being old enough to get into it, so then maybe the next time they’re both up north he can steal the firehouse projector and they'll all watch the movie together in the summer, lit up against the old barn wall.

Mary beams when he tells her so, does her bedtime routine without the regular complaint according to Tommy, if Buck will read to her. She hangs onto every sentence for a chapter and a half before the sleep that’s been chasing her finally overwhelms her. Buck shuffles the jacket of the book to hold the page in place when he notices she’s stopped trying to blink herself awake and has simply conked the fuck out, and leaves it on the bedside table for her.

Tommy, having quietly listened along from the adjacent empty bed, gets up with him. He gives Buck a shoulder squeeze as Buck turns out the light and they exit the room. Buck does his best to close the door to the room without waking her.

“If you want, I’ve got some wine downstairs,” Buck says, at the exact same time that Tommy says, “She loves you.”

“Oh,” Buck says.

“I’d like that,” Tommy says.

[mohntilyet]

i read the wigmaker job recently and there’s an idea that really stuck with me, which may well have been discussed before, but it’s really been itching at me. it came from this exchange near the end –

“i don't want to quit.” / illario sat back. the distance between them suddenly felt much wider than a table. / “even if it kills you,” illario whispered. / “death is my calling,” lucanis stated, matter-of-fact. “just as yours is to become first talon.”

(the bits before and after this give important context, too, but these specific lines are what gnaw at me)

i. really wonder if this conversation – and the long-standing beliefs held by both of them that it’s indicative of – contributed to giving lucanis to zara.

like, illario coming to terms with the fact that lucanis really just will. not. stop. for ANYTHING. his cousin WILL get himself killed doing this and lucanis won’t have any regrets. he’ll leave illario to go this alone. (no one to follow after anymore.) combined with the envy of knowing that lucanis is and always will be caterina’s favorite, and she will likely pick lucanis to be first talon even tho lucanis does not want this At All…

i wonder if he thought that, well, if lucanis is going to die anyway… maybe it’s better to have it happen sooner, rather than later. why put off the inevitable? especially if this is the one thing that could shift caterina’s gaze to illario and give him what he’s wanted – what he’s earned.

lucanis wouldn’t be happy as first talon anyway (honestly, illario seems to see that what lucanis is NOW isn’t so much ‘happy’ as it is ‘obedient and content to accept the scraps that gives him’), and he’s GOING to get himself killed doing this, anyway… and sure, they COULD wait it out. wait for lucanis to do something foolish enough that he can't just walk away from it. maybe he’ll even last long enough to be made first talon (if caterina can ever bear to loosen her grip from the title) and be miserable for a while. years even, maybe. before he, again, does something he can’t walk away from.

OR. or. or illario could cut through all the pointless waiting and get right to the point. go straight to where this was always going to end up.

(and maybe part of it is an extension of anticipated grief, too – the loss will be agony. if illario controls when and how it happens, he can control his grief. …except he hasn’t accepted the inevitability of lucanis’ death quite as well as he’d thought and when he gets sloshed at the wake, real grief seeps through the cracks)

i dunno. something about both of them viewing lucanis’ death as a foregone conclusion and how illario Might have had that shape his decisions.

YEAH . YEAHHHHH. i do also think the “to reason” exchange is what solidifies it in illario’s mind. lucanis is like 'this has been a productive if tense talk with my cousin. surely he sees sense now.' and illario is like ‘what the fuck. i think he wants to die’ <- okay im exaggerating a bit but i do absolutely see the end of wigmaker’s job as the start of lucanis-illario’s downward spiral. there’s a reason that it’s something lucanis is stuck on during inner demons, and the exchange that you have very nicely broken down is what he hears echoes of, this is where he knows it started to go wrong

probably the worst part is lucanis WOULD have worked himself to death and it takes the series of events in veilguard for lucanis to see other options for his life, and still he ends up being shoehorned into first talon by the end of the quest. i thought his quest would parallel iron bull’s, in that rook shows them that living outside and away from crow influence is possible, and that he is much more than the weapon they turned him into, but it ofc doesn’t go through like that. it’s genuinely a bit heartbreaking that lucanis finally has support and like. FRIENDS. but with the way the game ends he’s pulled back into the crows and to a life that will be about protecting a cousin that the organisation he runs hates, and for as long as caterina lives, unable to say no to her. and meanwhile after lucanis has made connections outside of the crows, illario has absolutely nothing left (prison of his own making i get it but i still want to get his ass out of there. 😭) so the codependency that they used to share is gone as well. maybe lucanis has a foot out the door but i genuinely have no idea how illario goes on after this

[dreamwatch]

Part 1 Part 3 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt2 - 3670 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury- please let me know if you think I've missed any.

I'm posting in 3 parts, because this is nearly 12k in total, which is a lot. Mods - hope that's ok! I'll link them all together. :)

Part 2

Steve’s learned a lot about himself this past year.

He’s a good friend, for one, an excellent wing man, even if Robin continues to do her best to get in her own way. 

He’s painfully patient with Dustin and the rest of the little assholes that have literally haunted his every waking moment for the last three years. He loves them, and they know it and they abuse that love on a near daily basis. Sadly, he wouldn’t change them for the world.

He doesn’t love Nancy anymore. He doesn’t want to think on that too much.

He’s done with dating. He’s done with the peacocking that comes with it, the effort of it when the person you’re with is just… okay. Nice enough. Inoffensive. He’s at that point in his life where he just needs something real, someone real, someone full of life, who makes him laugh, who wants to share everything with him. He’s done with quick fucks, the empty feeling of grabbing your clothes and sneaking out of bedrooms, of trying to get your pants on in the back of the bimmer. He wants love, and he’s not afraid to go after it now.

Oh, yeah, and he likes guys.

That’s probably not that much of a revelation, to him at least, Robin had been more intense about it.

“Now you tell me? Not when I was covered in piss and puke on the floor of a public bathroom, Steve, when I was sharing my deepest secrets with you, you tell me now, months later, you’ve had literally months, and it’s at this point in time, randomly while I am trying to re-shelve a weekend’s worth of returns, that you choose to drop this bombshell, this life changing moment, that you’ve been carrying around with you for, how long?”

“A few months.”

“A few months. A few months, he says like it’s no big deal. What is wrong with you?”

What was wrong with him was Eddie Munson. He’s still kind of getting his head around it all to be honest.

The guy thing was there for years, a low level thrum of attraction, of slightly too long looks, of grab-assing and horseplay in locker rooms and showers. Easy to pass off as nothing because they were all doing it, to one degree or another. Some, like Tommy Hagan, were less than subtle about it. 

But the Eddie thing hit him like a bolt of lightning. Never saw it coming. One minute he’s a suspected murderer holding a broken bottle against Steve’s throat and the next Steve’s holding his hand while he’s cuffed to a hospital bed scared out of his mind. 

There’s something to be said for seeing someone at their worst, there’s a pride from watching them climb back and knowing you had a part in that, being able to pat yourself on the back for it. But this isn’t the shared trauma that Robin talks of. This is pretty brown eyes and long lashes, this is dimples you want to sink your fingers into. This is hair you want to touch and hands you want to hold, and lips you want to kiss. 

He’s spent so much time with Eddie over the last seven or eight months, and it’s snowballed; as the months roll on, the number of days they spend together has increased. At first it was to be helpful, for as much as the pair of them loved each other there was no way Eddie would feel comfortable with Dustin taking him to and from the bathroom to take a piss, or to hold his hair back when he puked, or to help him get dressed, or a multitude of other easy things that just became hard for him over night. 

Steve could do those things for him. He wanted to do those things for him.

Eddie has other friends, sure, but Steve was there. He still has nights where all he can see imprinted on the back of his eyelids is Eddie’s corpse, can smell the penny scent of blood. His fingers twitch when he remembers how Eddie’s skin felt slippery, the sudden release of his chest as a rib breaks. 

Those are things Eddie’s friends can’t know, and Steve is happy for them. He truly wishes he didn’t know, either.

They know things Steve doesn’t, however, and he needs their help.

Say what you want about Steve, but when he wants something he goes all out.

So dinner didn’t go well, but there’s not much he can do about that now. But just being there and seeing Eddie’s obvious pleasure at the effort at least did something to lift his spirits. And they had a nice evening, watching TV and talking late into the night until Eddie started to fall asleep on the couch and Steve took that as his cue to say goodnight, as much as he wanted to stay.

He nearly fucked up when he asked if Eddie wanted to hang with him and Robin for the day. He was like, ninety seven per cent sure Eddie would say no, the guy barely leaves the house these days, but just for a second he looked as if he was going to say yes. And that would have put a real crimp on Steve’s plans, because they had nothing to do with ferrying Robin around on a joy ride, and everything to do with Eddie.

He wakes early the day after Thanksgiving, despite the late night, which is not unusual for him; he still runs most days, he enjoys the feel of it, running through choice rather than because he’s trying to stay alive. It’s a decision he gets to make for himself, something he can own, and there hasn’t been an awful lot of that over the last few years.

But today he has a mission, and it starts with Dustin.

When he rolls up to the Henderson house it’s barely eight A.M., and there’s a good chance Dustin will still be in bed. So he does what the little shit heads would do. He bangs on Dustin’s bedroom window.

He peers through just in time to see a bundle of blankets tumble to the floor, Dustin smack in the middle of them. Dustin squints back at him before opening the window.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, what the fuck?”

“Your language is shocking, you know that? Is that Eddie? I need to keep you two apart, seriously.”

“I think my language it perfectly reasonable given it’s a holiday and it’s—“ he glances at his watch, “eight! Jesus—“

“—Christ, yeah, yeah I got it. I need help. Where does Gareth live?”

Dustin frowns at him, bleary eyed.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Uh, how about none of your business?” 

“Uh, okay, how about I’m going back to bed now?”

Dustin moves to close the window, Steve reaching to stop him.

“Alright, alright. Jesus,” and for a second Steve thinks he might know where that language is actually coming from. “I’m running an errand for Eddie.”

“What kind of errand?”

This fucking kid.

“The private kind.”

“Why didn’t Eddie give you his address then?”

So, Steve’s tenacious, but maybe he doesn’t always think things through completely.

“Look, I’m trying to do something nice for Eddie, okay? The surprise type of nice, and no offence, but you’re just not that great at keeping your mouth shut.”

Dustin nearly chokes on his indignation. Steve just raises an eyebrow in challenge. The kid hasn’t got a leg to stand on, and he knows it.

“Fine!” Dustin huffs, then wanders into his room to find a pen and some paper. He’s back a second later, thrusting the yellow note paper at Steve.

“Thank you. Now was that so hard?”

Dustin flips him the bird in response.

“Okay, go back to bed you little shit. Call you tomorrow.”

“Make sure you do.”

And with that the window slams shut and Steve can’t help the fond smile as the curtains close.

As it turns out, Gareth doesn’t live all that far from the Hendersons. There’s something off about turning up outside someone’s house that early in the morning when you don’t really know them, and he can’t imagine Gareth is going to appreciate a knock on the door from him at anytime of the day honestly, so he sits in his car a few spots further up the street. He should have got a coffee and a donut, go the full Chief Hopper route.

Steve waits patiently for a little action inside the house, trying to gauge if people are up, had their breakfast, that kind of thing, when there’s a rumble from the opposite end of the street. He checks his rear view mirror and watches as a blue AMC Pacer struggles to climb the hill. He knows that car from the the Hawkins High parking lot, though it usually has music blaring from it. This morning it seems to be respectfully peaceful. He doesn’t get a chance to ponder it much further. It parks up outside Gareth’s place and Jeff climbs out, Matt pouring out behind him. 

Steve waits patiently for them to go in the house, door opened by a bleary eyed Gareth with a nest for hair and blue check boxers fully on display. It takes twenty minutes for them to leave, this time everyone looking a little more awake. He pulls his keys from the ignition and opens the door.

“Hey.”

The three of them turn to face him all at once, glaring at him once they recognise him.

“Can we help you?” asks Gareth with a sneer. 

Steve’s well aware these guys don’t like him, though he has no fucking clue why other than ‘you jock, me nerd’ which is total bullshit. He’s had a lot to work through this last few years, and part of that has been to stop apologising for who he was. Because firstly, he wasn’t that bad. A low key douche, but he wasn’t mean with it (Jonathan Byers being the exception, and he has apologised profusely). So you know, fuck these guys, honestly. 

However, he also kind of needs them today.

“Uh, Henderson mentioned you were headed into Indy today? Shopping?”

“What’s it to you?” asks Matt.

“I need a favour. I have a— cousin? My cousin, yeah, so he’s staying with me at the moment and the guy’s had a tough year and I want to like, get him something nice, but I have no idea what.”

Jeff shakes his head. “We’re not personal shoppers, dude, how the fuck—”

“He’s one of you. He’s like a—” Steve gestures broadly at them, “Like, a metalhead, you know. And he plays guitar.”

“Oh my God,” laughs Matt, “There’s a cool Harrington? This is I have to see.”

And he and Jeff yuck it up, but Gareth isn’t. Gareth is looking at him, really looking and Steve thinks this was a fucking mistake. He feels a little naked out on this street, his insides on the outsides for this one person to scrutinise. 

“Yeah, okay,” says Gareth, eventually. “So what do you want from us?”

He pulls a crumpled up page from the back pocket of his jeans. “This guitar store is having a sale, one day only. Store opens at ten, but like, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Matt grabs the paper from him. “Holy shit, you want to buy him a guitar? Can I be your cousin?”

“He— uh, lost his. And like, it was a big deal to him, you know? I can’t stretch to much, but I thought, maybe with the sale…” He shrugs.

While Jeff and Matt look at the ad, Gareth doesn’t take his eyes off him.

“Why didn’t you ask Eddie?”

It makes the other two pause and makes a little piece of Steve’s stomach drop.

“I was going to but, uh, he mentioned he was staying home. And you know, you guys know just as much about this shit as he does.”

He’s not above a bit of flattery to get what he wants.

“I need new strings, actually,” says Matt, staring at the crumpled paper.

“Shit, theres like fifty per cent off some of this stuff,” Jeff says, snatching the ad. “Time to get a new pedal.”

Gareth continues to try and bore holes through him with his eyes, so he decides to up the ante, offers to drive so they don’t all have to pile into Matt’s piece of shit Pacer, and he’ll buy them lunch, and sure, he’ll take them wherever they want to go in the city, and he’s starting to regret this, until Gareth says the magic word:

“Sure.”

It’s laced with suspicion and confusion, but fuck it, Steve will take it. He only needs them for a few hours.

The drive is uneventful. Jeff and Matt share college stories, telling Gareth about the parties they’re going to, the clubs they’ve joined, and in Matt’s case the pussy he’s getting. Steve nearly chokes on a Twizzler.

“Dude? ‘Pussy’? Really?”

“What? Since when have you been so puritanical? I can’t help it if the ladies flock to me.”

 He’s desperately trying to not upset this particular apple cart, but Jesus they don’t make it easy.

Matt reaches through the back seats, looking to change radio stations, until Gareth slaps his hand and tells him to sit the fuck down.

“What about you, Harrington?” asks Matt.

Steve shoots him a look in the rearview mirror. “What about me?”

“Got any college plans?”

They have to know he doesn’t, and his skin itches with annoyance. He’s trying to be really nice for lot’s of reasons; right now because he needs them, but also their Eddie’s friends, Dustin and Mike and Lucas’s friends as well come to think of it. Jeff and Matt might not be around, but Gareth very much is. They weren’t around much to begin with, and Steve didn’t ask about that, not really his place and he kind of had bigger problems at the time, what with two friends in the hospital, El in hiding from the army and half the town crumbled to ash. But things seem to be better between them all now; Eddie has letters from them in a sweet little box he made on his desk, and a pennant from Loyola on his wall. Gareth comes over a couple of times a week to hang out with him. So it’s all on the up. But they still piss Steve off, and he’s entitled to that.

“Nope, just living the dream at Family Video.”

It’s a conversation killer, and he’s just pissed off enough not to care. Instead he cranks up the radio, Peter Cetera crooning The Glory of Love blasts from the speakers, though not loud enough to cover the groaning and Matt pretending to be sick.

They make it to Indy just before ten A.M. The store is much bigger than he expected. It also has a queue snaking down the block.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Gareth smirks at him. “It’s a black Friday sale, man. Fifty percent off this stuff is no joke. You thought you could just wander in like it’s a fricking Kroger? Jesus.”

“I want my pedal,” says Jeff as he wanders to the back of the queue.

Matt shakes his head. “Well, I’m not waiting in line for that.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to cross the street. “I’m going to Tower. I’ll meet you back at the King-mobile in an hour. Enjoy getting trampled!”

“King-mobile?” Steve mutters under his breath. “Asshole can walk home.”

He spends an awkward thirty minutes in line, listening to Jeff and Gareth arguing about music and games and a load of other shit Steve doesn’t know anything about, before Jeff tries to include him in the conversation, seemingly to Gareth’s annoyance. Eventually they’re in, and goddamn there are a lot of guitars; floor to ceiling, brand after brand, every colour and finish you can imagine. It’s oddly exciting, despite the fact he can’t play and has no idea what any of this stuff is. He gets a flash of the odd price ticket and his heart sinks. He’s not short of money, sure, but some of these would make an impressive hole in his savings account.

Jeff and Gareth desert him almost immediately, off playing with the toys, so Steve wanders through the store on his own, knocking shoulders occasionally with actual musicians trying out guitars. There’s a hum of activity, snippets of solos and songs he mostly doesn’t recognise filling the space around them. He’s out of his depth, but all the assistants are busy, and he hasn’t got a clue what he’s asking for anyway. So he does laps around the store looking at each guitar trying to size it up.

He stops when he gets to a rainbow wall of B.C. Rich guitars. He knows which one is Eddie’s, a red and black Warlock that was lost to the netherworld when Eddie’s trailer fell into the the void. They don’t have the same one, and his heart sinks a little until he spots a glossy black version He reaches out tentatively.

“Not that one.”

Steve spins, and comes face to face with Gareth. 

“What?”

Gareth looks conflicted, looks around as if he thinks he’s going to be overheard. The hustle and bustle of shoppers continues, the solos and music continue to cycle from song to song. 

“Not the Warlock.”

Steve finds himself mirroring Gareth, eyes fluttering around the store, falling on Jeff as he tries out a pedal.

“I don’t—”

“I don’t know what he went through back in March, but I know it was bad enough for him to sell his guitar. So—”

“Wait,” Steve starts, raising his hand. “He sold it? I thought he lost it in the earthquake?”

Gareth shakes his head. “I was with him, dude. He was so desperate to offload it he let it go for a hundred bucks. So if you’re looking to get him a new one, which I think is a bad idea by the way, then maybe don’t replace the one he just got rid of with the exact same model. I’m guessing there was a reason he didn’t want it anymore.”

“Why are we talking about Eddie? I told you, this is for my—”

“—you’re cousin, right. Well, my advice is don’t buy your cousin a Warlock. He won’t thank you for it.”

And with that he slinks off into the store, joining up with Jeff as he tests out a pedal, leaving Steve standing in front of a wall of guitars with no fucking clue what he’s doing, and feeling horribly seen in a way he doesn’t have the fortitude to unravel in the middle of a guitar store in Indianapolis. 

He goes back to the car, radio playing Duran Duran while he can enjoy it before the three ungrateful shit heads pile in and abuse his good will by mocking literally everything about him. Eddie getting rid of the guitar makes no sense to him, but the more he thinks the more it dawns on him that he’s never heard Eddie play. Like, not ever. Even without the BC Rich there are two other guitars in his room, and Steve has spent a lot of time with Eddie over the last few months, and he’s never touched them once that he knows of. It doesn’t make any sense.

Except… his left hand shakes. A lot. And he rarely uses a knife, just uses a fork in his right hand, which Steve only notices because he notices everything about Eddie. Or he thought he had. He missed the biggest part of him. Eddie lost his music and Steve didn’t even notice. 

Jeff and Gareth are back at the car on time, Matt only twenty minutes late, a record according to Jeff. True to his word Steve takes them to lunch, a diner called Sandy’s they all seem overly excited about. They’re talking among themselves and he finds himself content to listen as they talk about things they got up to with Eddie. Hearing about his escapades from before, back when Eddie was still just the school freak and high school super super senior, makes his chest ache. He wants to know that Eddie, wishes he’d had a chance to meet him and hang out before all the Upside Down crap stole their youth from them. But it hits him all at once that he could have had that, if his head hadn’t been stuck so far up Tommy Hagan’s ass. 

He bites into his hot dog and keeps it to himself.

It’s late afternoon when they get back to Hawkins, and he drops everyone back at Gareth’s where they started this monumental waste of a day. Jeff and Matt thank him as they get out of the car, but Gareth hesitates before putting his hand on the door handle. 

“Blue,” Gareth says, like he doesn’t want to, like Steve grabbed him by the throat and threatened him for it. “He likes blue. He doesn’t tell anyone, says it’s not metal.”

“Uh, okay…” 

“And he gets the chilli dog, with extra onions at Sandy’s. With the cheese fries. And a large peanut butter malt. That’s his order.”

And like, what the fuck? Steve’s head spins with it, with the fact that Gareth knows something, he has seen something in Steve, and just how far does that go? How transparent is he that this kid who he barely knows has managed to just lift the lid on him and take out all his hidden parts? 

“People haven’t been good to him. He likes you for some reason, so just, don’t fuck him up. That’s all I’m asking, man.”

And with that he gets out of the car, leaving Steve in a whirlwind of panic, and with problems still unsolved.

He needs to talk to Wayne.

[jewish-vents]

Was thinking today about how if you'd asked me a year and a half ago if I was a Zionist, I probably would've said no. But the past fourteen or so months have shown me how privileged and naive a mindset that was to have. I still may not agree with all of Israel's actions but I see now how vital it is for us to have a country of our own as the world gets worse and worse.

I don't understand how there are still Jewish people out there who can't see that or worse, actively throw the rest of us under the bus to appease goyim who don't and won't ever care about them.

I grew up in an interfaith household with a Jewish mother and a father who never converted, we weren't overly religious either way. I see now that that was a sacrifice on my mother's part. She didn't want our father forcing his religion on us when he wanted us to go to church or be put in Sunday school, and the only compromise she was able to make was that they'd both get to celebrate big holidays for both religions and we'd be taught a bit of both to decide who we wanted to be later. To keep him from raising us in his religion she had to sacrifice teaching us a lot about hers, even though Judaism is an ethnoreligion and she wasn't particularly religious so much as ethnically connected, because you can't explain that to a Catholic.

And I have no doubt that to some extent the lack of community I had growing up probably did influence me in terms of the fact that I had such a privileged and naive mindset about the necessity of Israel's existence. That even though I was also raised around my Jewish grandparents and had Jewish friends, I still was half in, half out growing up. I still feel like an outsider sometimes.

But I guess my point here is just that I've come around and realized why Israel is important and would call myself a Zionist these days, in spite of my upbringing. How can there be Jewish people who still haven't come around, or worse, actively seek to annihilate our own?

.

[littleclosetofbyler]

I think is important to talk about times and timelines when talking about Stranger Things, and of course byler.

The series are going to have a time jump but the way S4 ended was made in a cliffhanger, which means, usually, that the next series take off from there.

Except this is not what happened, because of real time issue; the strikes, COVID, etc.

Why am I mentioning this? Well, because without all this, many arguments against byler or different lore issues wouldn't be arguments at all.

If we had the normal timeline, this issue of the freaking city completely destroyed would be addressed asap.

But betcause of the time jump, that won't happen, maybe we will get a few things, and we know the excuse of Vecna being weak works only so much, a little convenient fact.

The painting is another important point, because "It's been so long, clearly it doesn´t matter as much", except that if the story had followed the expected times and timeline, it was going to be addressed probably sooner.

There is also the fact of the Evil in the stories, S1 was the demogorgon, S2 the mind flyer, S3 the the mindflyer-kinds-monster, russians; but S4 AND S5 is Vecna. For a story that stands on its own feet in each season, this is not the norm.

I know this seems obvious now, but for a lot of people, this is not that clear. S4 and S5 for me are "Stranger Things Final Season Vol. 1 and Vol. 2". Now, why am I saying all this? BECAUSE, we know a lot of things now, we know we are "going back to the start" and... they have been doing that since S4; we saw the start of it all with 001 and 011, we saw how it all came to be, because it was the first part, and now we know that se "second part" will start EXACTLY how S4 started, in a flashback.

I know my english is basically TRASH, because I am at the office and I write like a toddler, but I think you are able to get what I mean.

Many things that didn't seem to make sense with the time jump, make a lot of sense without the time jump.

Basically we are talking about Max in a coma for over a year, she should look completely different.

We are talking about Will ripping off the band-aid, this is the biggest byler problem, because how did he let it go for so long?

Then the mileven issue with they still being together; if we even want byler to be real, how is it possible for them to be together for so long when it seemed like things weren't so cool?

But then, again, the expected time fram was not the one we are getting.

I don't really know about the real timeline of the story, I listened to a lot of Duffer's interviews to find some more information, and the only thing clear is that during development of S4 they knew about how S5 would end, something that didn't happen in earlier seasons because the plan was just that, a plan for later.

Nothing is clear right now because of this massive time jump in both real life and story line, but, if the time jump was smaller we would be with way more doubts, both GA, bylers and even milevens, because everything would have been so much stronger, real even.

But for now, all we have is our theories, our little info and well, hopes and dreams.

Lots of hopes and dreams.

[triglycercule]

horror has KR dust can't be affected by KR unless it's by another version of himself. horror's (somehow) still a judge dust wants repentance for his wrongdoings,,,, someone must see where i'm going with this

i just wanna imagine like if dust ever feels like he's doing something wrong (like having thoughts about gaining LV again or something,,,,) he'll just ask horror to give him like. a quick little punch. hit him with a bone fragment because he needs to feel his sins crawling on his back from a true judge,,,,

and then horror's more than happy to do it 😁😁😁 he winds that shit up before he bitch slaps dust :33 oh you need to be judged DONT WORRY DUST horror is a totally impartial judge that totally won't find your situation both ridiculous and entertaining 😁😁