#the little one is Hendrix

[baconandvibrators]

Y’all my bestie’s partner is a vet tech and they have 3 dogs and now 2 cats and this summer has been just so many animal cuddle puddles and I could not be living my best life anymore than this

[dizzybizz]

mostly jrwi riptide but also @bardace's oc forts is here

[mickdalena]

i like to think peter tork had a crush on every man he ever spoke to

[ickypuppi3]

i like to imagine billy’s mom in that childhood au to be someone who wears colorful clothes and has every room in her house be a bright color because it makes her happy, who dresses billy in colorful clothes too and encourages him to express and stand up for himself, who has a garden full of flowers and paints in her spare time, who has pictures of her and billy strewn throughout the house, who smokes marlboro reds and dances with billy in the living room while her records play, who loves her kid so so much and would do anything for him

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Book Haul: Consolation Prizes Edition.

So I did Not make it to the finalist round for that first page contest I submitted to last month, but I did get boba and two (2) books about it, so who's the real winner here?? These both came VERY highly recommended, and I'm excited to read them one day that's not any time soon!

[scorpiosbite]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── INTRODUCING POUGE!READER

POUGE!READER grew up on the cut, spent basically all her time at the chateau before it burnt down because she was neighbours with john b, her parents died when she was 13, so the pouges are her only family and big john became her legal guardian, but when big john died she and the pouges all moved in together into the maybank house turned pougelandia. she has a lot of trauma and sadness that she buries deep below. unable to deal with her heavy emotions.

POUGE!READER is an earthy girl, she loves the beach and is often wearing a bikini under her long skirts and tiny tops. she has dainty tattoos littered all over her body, whether it be song lyrics down her spine or star like symbols on her sternum or flowers on her hip. more often than not she’s done them on herself and the pouges. she works at the local tattoo place on the cut.

POUGE!READER loves art, she paints pieces for the house and is always drawing in her sketchbook. she is a ride or die kinda girl, and she’s so sweet, so easy to fall in love with. but don’t ever cross her or come after her friends or family, cause then she has no problem getting her hands dirty.

POUGE!READER loves music, specifically sade, erykah badu, ms lauren hill, the paragons, led zeppelin, frank ocean and jimi hendrix, but she gets down to all kinds of music, she is constantly blasting music in her bust down car that she inherited from her mechanic dad or at home while cooking or painting. loves going on long drives with the top of the car down.

POUGE!READER loves smoking weed and occasionally drinks at parties, but she doesn’t have the best tolerance so weed and alcohol make her super giggly and horny. often leading to the pouges taking care of her.

POUGE!READER is everyone’s parents favourite pouge due to her sweet disposition. heyward often tells her that she’s too sweet to be dragged into the pouge’s bullshit, but don’t think that her sweetness is all she is, more often than not she’s the one getting her hands dirty or talking shit to the kooks.

POUGE!READER who has never had a boyfriend because she’s waiting for the right guy, many have tried their hand time and time again, pouges and kooks alike, but she doesn’t give them the time of day.

POUGE!READER is the prettiest girl on kildare, with her pretty plump lips and big almond shaped eyes, she oozes natural sex appeal but is completely unaware of the hunger she causes, especially in a specific kook. being the youngest in the group, the pouges are extremely protective of her especially the boys who see her as their little sister, but the girls know how dirty minded she really is.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ fics coming soon

about time i wrote for rafe, let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list for these fics!! and let me know what you think of pouge!reader!!

[angelsforthenight]

take care of me…

ellie williams x fem! reader

cw: mdni, modern AU, sub! ellie, dom! reader, loser!ellie, established relationship, use of vibrator, cunnilingus, slight degrading, overstimulation, bush! ellie 🤑, begging, crying, cursing, sub-space, aftercare + some fluff at the end :3

WHAT IS SUB-SPACE? sub-space is an altered state of consciousness that can happen during BDSM play. typically it’s when the bottom gets all high and floaty. subs in subspace may have a higher pain tolerance, have difficulty speaking, and lose all sense of time.

“nn—nnhhh… i can’t— i can’t, y/n, please.” ellie gasps out, on the cusp of release. she feels too much, too overwhelmed by the plethora of different sensations. grabbing your hair for some sort of anchor, her jaw falls slack: pathetic whines and pleasured sobs tumbling from her lips as they melt against the loud humming of the vibrator nudged against her clit. and your mouth only keeps moving.

hold on, run that back. wanna know how you got here?

“babe, i’m not even kidding, i think i ripped out a tastebud.” ellie’s been complaining about this for the entire day, but doing nothing about it. to be frank, it’s been pissing you off a little. ellie could just as well get up and take a look in the mirror for herself, but for some reason she insists on you checking it out.

this isn’t the first time you’ve had to play doctor. don’t get it twisted, it’s cute! having to take care of your girlfriend is a gift you want to keep safe in an enclosed haven. but only when something has actually happened.

when false alarms happen one too many times, it’s only natural you get at least a little annoyed, and you’re very positive that this moment is another one of that case, yet you never seem to get enough. you set the book you were reading down, sitting up on your bed.

“let me see.” you sigh, placing your fingers on her chin, tilting her head up. ellie sticks her tongue out and to no surprise at all, there’s nothing.

“you’re kidding me, right?”

“what? no! i just hurt my tongue so bad trying to shred the guitar!” ellie says defensively.

“well then you’re stupid.” you laugh, “who the hell does that?”

“jimi hendrix does…” she mumbles sullenly, hanging her head low and so very clearly trying to make you pity her and give in. and alas, it’s working.

“stop pouting and come here.” you roll your eyes, even if there’s a hint of a smile on your lips. ellie lights up too, shuffling closer and opening her mouth again.

you scrutinise your stare. it’s a little red, yes, but that’s the entire tip of her tongue. if ellie ripped out a tastebud like she claims she did, she would have at least been bleeding a little bit.

meanwhile, ellie keeps her eyes trained on you. it’s so quiet in the room apart from the whirring fan noises and the sounds of cars driving past every now and then. she likes seeing you all focused, with your attention on nothing else but her. secretly, that’s why she’s always pestering you about meaningless injuries.

“you didn’t tell me where…” you murmur, but you leave no space for her to respond when you clamp her tongue down with your thumb and forefinger; pulling her tongue down a little further so you can get a closer look. the pad of your thumb drags across it to feel something, even if you don’t know what it is you’re really looking for. ellie’s caught off guard by this move. in fact, it projects her into this sudden state of being very aware of what you two are doing, the feel of your fingers in her mouth, on her tongue. she can’t help but fidget, getting distracted.

“don’t move.” you mutter, oblivious to the way ellie’s feeling. that firm command stirs her up even more, her breathing uncontrollably growing heavier. she tries to lock in, but with the way she’s suddenly conscious? horny? fuuuck, it’s difficult. you feel her hot breath fan against your knuckles.

“if you ripped out a tastebud then you would’ve been bleed—“ you trail off in the middle of your sentence when you glance up at ellie. her cheeks are a light shade of pink, prominent even under the warm amber glow of your bedroom lamp lights. her eyebrows are arched upwards, staring at you with this helpless look on her face. she looks so, undeniably pathetic. surprised, you let go of her tongue.

ellie looks away, wiping her mouth with her fist. you realise she’s very faintly trembling.

“ellie…” you murmur softly.

“what are we gonna have for dinner, by the way? you cooked yesterday but i’m very shit at cooking so we could order door-dash but at the same time we did door-dash the day before yesterday and the day before-before so..” she begins to ramble, clearly flustered and embarrassed. you smile.

“ellie.” you say again, taking her hands in yours. she pauses, staring at you. her chest heaves, eyes all big and yielding.

“let’s do this again, ‘kay? wanna tell me what you really want?” you say slowly, and the way your tone is soft makes ellie’s head feel foggy. she takes a deep breath, which almost sounds like a whine.

“i… um…” ellie’s always had trouble communicating what she wants. she avoids your gaze, trying to find the right words to say. she feels like a glop of slime, slowly melting. you give her an encouraging smile, brushing your thumb against the back of her palm in repeated back and forth motions.

“i want you… to, um— i need you to take care of me.” her voice crackles with neediness, urgency laced in her tone. her lips are quivering. you can tell how bad she wants this, but you can’t help but prod her some more.

“take care of you how? lots of ways i can do that.” your voice is consistently soft, almost cooing. ellie’s mind keeps on slipping into this hazy state, lips quivering and eyes half-slits.

“y-you know. i don’t have to tell you…”

“damn right you do.” you tut. “you’re gonna use your words and tell me what you want. i’m not inside your brain now, am i?” the slight change in tone makes ellie flinch, as she’d quite frankly die before disappointing you. you can literally see the cogs in her head moving, calculating what to say so that you’re able to give her what she wants and simultaneously not being bad.

her eyebrows arch again, subtly scooting even closer to you so that her knees are pressed directly against yours.

“can we… uh… like, have sex? like you touching me and stuff?” she whispers, as if somebody else could hear. you initially try to stifle in your laughter, but it slips out.

“oh yeah? how do you want it?” you giggle, amused by the way ellie’s fumbling over her words and constructing her sentences in this weird, adorable way. ellie scowls, not finding this the least bit funny.

“stop laughing at me.”

“how do you want it?” you repeat, grinning.

“i don’t know, you can do anything you want… just… please. i need to cum.” ellie groans, but it sounds more like a helpless mewl. you stare at her whilst ellie fidgets in her seat, eyes repeatedly flicking between your eyes, your lips and your lap. you can’t help but ‘awww’ in pity.

“anything, yeah? don’t hold your word against me, okay?” you raise your brows, expecting a response. ellie shudders in excitement.

“okay.”

so next thing you know, you two are kissing whilst ellie’s propped up on your lap. you’re aware of how she's grinding on you; trying to give herself flickers of stimulation. you let it happen, occasionally teasing her by bucking your own hips up. whenever you do so, ellie has a hard time kissing you back, losing composure and moaning in your mouth. it’s the hottest thing.

you pull away so you can marvel at the look on ellie’s face; quietly panting for breath whilst she stares at you with the most pliant look. so malleable it’s as if you could bend her into anything you wanted with just a command.

you smush your lips against hers again, only you’re more greedy this time: pushing forwards so you both drop onto the bed. you intertwine your fingers with hers, peppering wet kisses on her neck. the way your lips tug on her skin compiles ellie into mush, with no thoughts running through her head. she whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as her back arches, chest against chest. you continue to administer neck-kisses, leaving a few selfish marks whilst your free hand slowly inches it’s way towards ellie’s pants, tugging it down. ellie’s in her own world: wriggling free from the confines of her sweatpants as her head lolls against the pillow. next, your hand quietly reaches for the drawer. ellie’s eyes are closed, so she doesn’t realise when you pull out a vibrator with the head of a cute bear. you bite your lip, stifling in your amused excitement when you press the machine against ellie’s clothed cunt. ellie harshly gasps, eyes flying open before groaning.

“oh, i fucking hate you…” she laughs, head plopping back down, “you just had… to go for the— stupid bear one…” her words keep on getting broken up by moans slipping out.

“do you like this?” you grin. a wet spot slowly fades in the centre of ellie’s underwear. ellie whines when you heighten the setting. “yes or no?”

“yes….” ellie squeaks. “can we… t-take… aaah…” ellie’s having a hard time speaking with the vibrator flush against her. her underwear is growing wetter and wetter, outlining her vulva clearly. her stomach tightens.

“hmmmm?” ellie’s thighs twitch in delight at the sensation, back arching as she seeks out for more.

“my underwear… take it off, please.” she gasps out, her entire body buzzing. you turn the vibrator off so she has time to breathe, deciding to be nice for now: serving as a prior make-up for how much you’re going to ruin the poor girl. that’s why you do what she’s asked of you, slowly pulling off her undies. ellie shivers at the way it rolls down her legs, twitching at the air fanning her now bare cunt. your place your hand at the top of her mound, fingers spreading through her pubes as your thumb grazes against her folds, slightly opening it and watching as the juices eagerly flow out. you unconsciously lick your lips, pupils darkening. ellie watches you and blushes.

“you’re this needy? just ‘cuz of the tongue thing?” you taunt whilst ellie whines in response. you dip your head in between her legs, tongue flicking out to get a taste. “ohhhh my god, yesyesyesyes…” ellie whispers. you’re hungry, munching on her pussy like you’ve been starving for damn near weeks. ellie’s back flies off the bed, her hands desperately gripping the sheets.

“pathetic…” you mumble, and ellie moans at the way the word thrums against her pussy, sending vibrations in her entire body. her moans unabashedly rip out of her lips at the way you kiss and suck her heat. the frenzy consumes her, as her body jerks uncontrollably. to induce the cruelty, you suddenly pause: an idea flicking through your head like a light bulb.

“i’m really gonna mess you up. sorry, baby…” you murmur but ellie couldn’t care any less, so goddamn needy for release she’ll accept anything you give her. you grab the discarded bear-head and press down against her clit, the setting even higher than last time. it elicits loud reactions from ellie, helpless whimpers tumbling from her lips as she receives thrum after thrums of pleasure.

to make matters (better) worse, you resume your pussy-licking, so ellie can feel both the vibrator and your lips on her mound. ellie cries out, thighs instinctively trying to close themselves up. your hand firmly presses down on her thigh, keeping them open.

“nn—nnhhh… i can’t— i can’t, y/n, please.” ellie gasps out, on the cusp of release. she feels too much, too overwhelmed by the plethora of different sensations. grabbing your hair for some sort of anchor, her jaw falls slack: pathetic whines and pleasured sobs tumbling from her lips as they melt against the loud humming of the vibrator nudged against her clit. and your mouth only keeps moving.

you’re putting the work in, going to town on her and really fucking her up. thick tears stream down her face from how insanely good it all feels, her entire body twitching and jolting. your tongue laps strongly, whilst the vibrator is on the highest setting it can be. ellie’s bordering on becoming animalistic, letting out grunts and loud moans.

“g-gonna cum.. —cumming, i’m cumming..” ellie babbles pathetically, seldom coherent. jolting sharply, she grips your hair tightly, in which you groan from the slight pain, as you feel her warm juices flowing in your mouth. ellie pants as you turn the bear-head off, lifting your head up to glance at ellie.

you did succeed in breaking the hell out of her. there’s a heavy, dazed look written across her face; eyes glazed-over and as if she’s not really here. she looks boneless yet plush. you lift yourself up, gazing at her softly. it’s understandable she’s entered into sub-space after what they’ve just done.

“oh, baby…” you whisper, lifting her up so you two are sitting. ellie complies silently, weakly wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in the crook of your neck. there is no train of thought running through her head, and it’s almost as if she’s unconscious whilst fully awake. you run your fingers through her hair, kissing her head.

“my sweet girl… you did so good. so proud of you.” you whisper in her ear. ellie hums in response, burying her face even more. she’s all blissed out, liking the way the tip of your nails dance across her scalp. it makes her feel safe, but most of all loved.

hours later, when you two do end up ordering door-dash for the third time this week, ellie ends up flatly denying the state she had been in earlier.

“nope. no idea what you’re talking about.” she says, yet unable to hide her sheepish smile.

a/n: my singular contribution to kinktober 🧎‍♀️also i am a suuuuucker for sub! ellie like i was so giggly writing this!!! lmk if u were too (˶˃ᆺ˂˶)!!

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.

Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking

A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.

Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️

Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28

“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”

You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.

A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.

You alone did not fear him.

The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.

To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.

Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“Thanks.” He belched out.

“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.

Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.

“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.

“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”

“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.

“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”

“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.

“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.

“Later. Peace out, man.”

Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Whassamatter?” You asked.

“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.

… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?

“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.

“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”

You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.

Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.

A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.

Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.

You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.

“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”

“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.

“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”

Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.

“Mono…?”

“Yes! Or the syph!”

You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.

His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.

The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.

Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.

With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.

But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.

No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.

You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?

Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.

In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.

You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.

Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.

“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”

“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”

“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.

You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.

“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.

“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.

He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.

“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”

You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.

“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”

“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.

“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.

The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.

“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.

His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.

“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”

“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.

You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: It's Hendrix's first Thanksgiving, and though he's not even one month old, he still manages to be part of a sweet surprise.

TW: Reader is breastfeeding, mention of Grandma, reference to the events of chapter 8

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

November 1999

You had given Eddie one job: buy the items on the shopping list—and only the items on the shopping list. There’s the usual weekly groceries, but now there’s the addition of ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner. 

And, of course, a plethora of diapers and wipes for your nearly three-week-old son. 

Sweet baby Hendrix is the reason why you’re excused from navigating the overcrowded Walmart aisles, and why Eddie and Harris have gone in your place. You gaze down at your infant son, wincing as he latches onto your breast. 

“There you go, little man,” you murmur, smoothing down a wisp of his hair. “We’ve got this.”

The apartment is unnaturally quiet; the only sound coming from the living room radiator kicking on to ward off the early winter chill. It’s the calm before the holiday whirlwind, a slice of silence carved out just for you. 

You savor it, inhaling deeply. Hendrix remains undisturbed by your chest rising and falling, happy to be filling his belly before his next nap. He spends his days eating, sleeping, or crying. As Harris says, he doesn’t do any tricks yet. 

Hendrix finishes nursing as the front door clicks open. Adjusting your shirt, you offer Eddie and Harris a tired smile. 

“Glad to see you two survived.”

“Sure did.” Eddie places the bags on the countertop. “And we stayed within budget.”

Your heart surges when he begins unpacking and pulls out a plastic bag filled with Granny Smith apples. Even though Eddie and Wayne will be doing most of the cooking this year—which means a lot of pre-made and boxed dishes—you had insisted on making Grandma’s applesauce. 

“These the right ones?” Eddie asks, wiping a fake bead of sweat from his brow when you answer in the affirmative. “Thank God. I know how much the applesauce means to you.”

You offer a grateful smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. It reminds you of the very first Thanksgiving you’d spent with him happened before you two were a couple—before he’d even taken you on a date. 

And, no, the drunken hook-up after his show at The Hideout didn’t count. 

Thanksgiving 1996 was spent eating Oreos and snuggling up on the couch, watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with Eddie and Harris. Grandma was still alive, and you even caught a glimpse of her pre-illness self when Eddie played the Sinatra record. It seems like a million years ago, but it’s only been three. 

“Mommy, guess what?” Seven-year-old Harris calls out from where he’s peering into Hendrix’s bassinet. He doesn’t give you time to guess before he blurts out, “we got a surprise!”

You raise your brows. “A surprise? What is it?”

“Can’t tell ya.” He throws you a wink—where did he even learn that?—and makes a beeline for his room. 

Turning to your husband, you put your hands on your hips. “That surprise better not be more candy,” you warn. “He still has so much left from Halloween.”

Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Not candy.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t tell ya.” Eddie mimics the same wink as his oldest son, solving the mystery of its origin, tucking one particular bag underneath his arm. 

If you weren’t still freshly postpartum, you may have chased after him and insisted that he spill the secret. For now, you settle for flipping him off, and he blows you a cheeky kiss in return. 

Thanksgiving begins like any other normal day. Well, normal for the Munson household. 

Hendrix wakes up around the clock, but you get up for the day when his shrill wail jolts you from your sleep at six A.M. Your breasts are heavy with milk; a good thing, considering he sounds hungry. 

Harris, clad in his blue flannel pajamas, shuffles into your bedroom an hour later. He’s still wiping sleep from his eyes even as he talks. 

“Can we watch the parade?”

You hold your forefinger to your lips, praying that Harris’s entrance doesn’t wake the baby sleeping in Eddie’s arms. 

“It’s not on for another hour, Har Bear,” you whisper, patting the comforter. “But you can hang out with us until then.”

Harris nods, scrambling up onto the bed and plopping down between you and his dad. He glances up at Eddie with a pout. 

“Can I hold Hendrix? Pleeeeeease?”

Never one to shy away from theatrics, his brown eyes are wide as he pleads. 

“Actually,” Eddie says, his gaze flicking over to Harris, “I think we should get the surprise ready?”

Harris wrinkles his nose for a split second before he remembers. “Oh, yeah!” He tugs on Eddie’s undershirt sleeve. “We gotta do the surprise.”

You reach out for the baby, but Eddie shakes his head. “Not so fast, Sweetheart. All of the Munson boys are in on this.”

You’re not quite sure what your three-week-old could possibly contribute, but damn if you’re not intrigued. So you sit back, propped up against the pillows, and wait for them to return. 

Five minutes is long enough for you to doze off again, your body desperate for any scrap of sleep it can get. 

“Dad, she’s sleeping!” It comes from a voice right next to your ear. 

“Gently wake her up.” This voice is a bit farther away. Something shakes you. “I said gently, Har!”

You blink, massaging the back of your stiff neck from the awkward position you assumed during your impromptu nap. 

“I’m up.” You manage a small, tired smile. Harris stands right next to your bedside, but Eddie and Hendrix are nowhere to be found. “Is my surprise ready?”

Harris nods, glancing back at the empty doorway. “So…we just unwrapped the turkey, and it looks a little weird.”

He’s supposed to deliver it like it’s bad news, but his mischievous smile betrays him. 

Still, you play along. “It looks weird? What do you mean?”

That’s apparently Eddie’s cue. He creeps into the room, cradling Hendrix in his arms. Except the baby is no longer wearing his sage green pajamas. Now, he dons a brown onesie, a cartoon turkey face emblazoned on the belly. But the pièce de résistance is a tiny hat, a light brown pom pom puffing out from the top.

“That’s the cutest turkey I’ve ever seen!” Tears spring to your eyes, another sign that you’re still in the throes of postpartum hormones. You wipe them away before they can cause concern for the emotionally intuitive Harris. 

You reach out to take the teeny turkey from your husband. “I could just eat you right up,” you coo, pressing a kiss to Hendrix’s chubby cheek and breathing in his baby powder scent. 

“I found it,” Harris announces with a triumphant grin, “and Dad paid for it.”

“I know my place,” Eddie chuckles. “My wallet and I were ready.”

There’s a beat of silence as you take it all in. Your husband, proudly beaming as you snuggle Hendrix to your chest. Your oldest son, tickling Hendrix’s onesie-clad feet and making himself laugh. And your newborn-turned-turkey, scrunching up and then unfurling his little fist as he relaxes contentedly.

Harris looks up at you expectantly. “Is the parade on now?”

You and Eddie laugh, and Eddie ruffles Harris’s hair. 

There’s certainly plenty to be thankful for this year.

--

[arjudy224]

The Intern: Outreach Gala

Another uneventful day for Gotham's environmental intern...

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Teachers Pet

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

Gotham's public library appears unrecognizable under the cloak of night. Broad leaves shroud the outside exterior of the Gothic pillars while ivy cascades down the large door frames. Harris raises an eyebrow.

"How many forests do you think Wayne destroyed in his quest to save the planet?" He questions with a smirk.

Each grey hair is perfectly gelled out of his face. Ditching his glasses for the occasion, Dr. Harris may actually care about tonight's guests. The bouncer outside the door seemed to think the dress code was not a laughing matter.

Taking his extended arm, I roll my eyes. The security guy nods to the two of us as we walk through the door.

"Professor, if you keep saying things like that Gordon's going to question your stances on Gotham's resident Eco-terrorist. " I whisper with a smile. "....but at least 12."

Thanks to the joint collaboration between Wayne Industries, Goth-corp, and the Gotham Department of Environmental Protection. Gotham City is hosting its first Environmental Outreach Gala for the nearby tri-state area. Unfortunately for me, they saddled the newest intern to do all the heavy lifting. Young joints and all that jazz. At least I got an invite. The invites ran out before the IT guy could get one. Poor Eddie.

My heart flutters a little bit as a realization hits me. I’m actually here… surrounded by giants in clean energy and the scientific community alike. Award-winning journalists... All for the future of our planet. Passing my reflection, I smile thinking of how far I’ve come from that little river rat back at home.

A figure in the corner of my eye draws my thoughts away from the Grandma debrief. Dick Grayson, the Billionaire’s son, charms the group of ladies by his side. I take a mental note to find time to talk to him when there isn’t such a big crowd. It's been a long time since we last spoke.

The walls echo with the idle chatter coming from the rich socialites of Gotham. Waiters in tuxedos maneuver silently with a tray of champagne flutes in each hand. Considering, that most environmental professionals wear cargo pants from the early 2000s to work... the dress code was definitely a choice. I scan the room for familiar faces. Gordon flashes me a smile from across the room. I nod back. The Mayor works his way around the room with a large smile. It must be an election year.

My throat gets tight. I'm not ready for this. Looking to my right, I find that Dr. Harris has vanished into the crowd.

"Y/N L/N?" A voice calls distracting me from my nerves.

A well-dressed man strolls over. Something about him puts me on edge. Maybe it's his wicked smile or the large emerald ring on his outstretched hand. He walks with an easy air of confidence.

"Lex Luthor."

My heart does a little tap dance in my chest. The tight fabric of my rental dress makes it hard to breathe. I shake his hand politely. The party-goers go quiet around us. From the corner of my eye, Lois Lane, an investigative reporter from Metropolis, shoves through the crowd. So much for being a fly on the wall.

"I recently worked with a Professor of yours. She had a lot to say about your graduate proposal."

This cannot be happening. Memories of those long fights in the lab flash in the back of my mind. Mr. Luthor's cat-like gaze observes my reaction curiously.

I cover my face in embarrassment. That woman deserves hate mail. I could have at least been asked to type or spell-check it beforehand.

"To be frank, I originally chose the topic to get a rise outta her. Dr. Hendrix had me doing dishes for 3 weeks straight after I accidentally messed up a sample, so I wrote a proposal I knew she wouldn't like."

When I finally uncover my face, Luthor stares down at me with an amused grin.

"Even so. I'd like to discuss potential funding opportunities in Metropolis. If this is something you would think up out of boredom, I'd love to see what you can do when you put your mind to it."

That brings a smile to my face.

"Really? Everyone who I've brought it up to has been apprehensive about researching Kryptionian radiation.

"We need more scientists to ask questions Ms. L/N. Even the ones, that people don't want to know the answer to. "

The sullen green glow draws my eye once again to Mr. Luthor's ring finger... Wait, that's not an emerald. That's Kryptonite.

"Is this a personal interest of yours?" I ask slowly glancing between his eyes and his ring.

"In some ways."

An unspoken conversation occurs when he notices my acknowledgement of his strange choice of jewelry. The silence only creates more questions. Why would you wear something you know is irradiated?

"I hope to hear from you soon." Mr. Luthor concludes after handing me a business card, "There is always a spot at Lexcorp for a future scientist with your talents."

I stand there in silence watching him leave. The sleek modern design of the card lists only the bare essentials: his name, office address, and contact information in silver lettering.

Four hours ago, I was hauling boxes for the decorating committee. Huh. A nearby waiter offers a champagne flute from the tray. Respectfully, I turn them down. This dress costs more than my rent.

“Oh no. Thank you. I am… working.”

"Does work-life balance not apply to interns?” A voice interrupts.

I try not to roll my eyes at the "intern" comment. The constant reminders of my status are getting old. Starting at his perfectly buffed dress shoes, my gaze drags along the fabric of his black designer suit. Dick Grayson sure does like to make an entrance. With his dark curls and friendly blue eyes, his familiar smile knocks over my defenses. Sipping on his drink, he waits for my response with a teasing grin. His energy is contiguous. I ignore his question to ask my own instead.

“Has anyone told you that you tend to appear out of nowhere?”

His striking eyes light up with a mischievous glint.

“You have no idea.” He laughs, "It's nice to see you back in Gotham. It's been a long time."

"It has. From the rumors, you have been up to quite a bit of trouble." I joke gesturing to the envious eyes from across the room.

He raises a curious eyebrow.

“Good things I hope?”

Glancing around the room, I ignore the dozen eyes staring daggers in my direction. Academia can be such a bitch.

“Nothing too crazy: a few murders, unfounded accusations, and you might be an alien?”

Dick grimaces while tilting his head ever so slightly. He swirls his drink, yet doesn't take a sip.

“Sounds about right. Anything you believe? “

I pause... Do I play coy?

“I’m not sure an alien could do a quadruple summersault.”

Something flashes in his eyes that I don’t quite understand. For a moment, I wonder if I should have held my tongue. His suspicion morphs into the first genuine smile I've seen all evening.

“You’ve kept tabs on me Y/N.”

Before I can respond, a scream causes the ballroom to descend into chaos. Vines shoot out from under the floorboards while the native plants start attacking the guest. A woman with flaming red hair paces the floor. Her vines wrap around each person one by one…. A thorny bush springs out of a fallen leaf snagging my delicate rental dress.

Dammit Pamela. We talked about this.

Glancing at the bartender's horrified expression, I frown.

“I change my mind. I’ll have that drink now.”

[deeswrld]

Random astro observations

Some content is 18+

I’ve noticed people with Sagittarius/9H placements always seem to stand out in the field they pick or in some sort of way become pioneers. E.g. Jimi Hendrix was a Sag stellium and has a reputation of a guitar God for his innovative and crazy good guitar skills. Teena Marie (Sag moon) became a beloved non black R&B singer/artist at Motown. I just feel like Sag placements are just out here breaking barriers lol.

People with trining risings all have a certain similar look!!

E.g Most Air risings tend to have pointy chins and high cheekbones with prominent noses—I’ve noticed they always seem to have a prominent nose bridge even if it’s not that thin but it sorta gives them this Greek god/goddess look with their eyebrows slightly arching.

With water risings I’ve noticed Scorpio risings have a more reserved look in their eyes and all water risings have a somewhat oval shaped face. You can literally tell them by their eyes lol. Cancer risings have bambi eyes and Pisces risings have doll like watery eyes.

Now, I knew I started recognizing earth risings when I found Sarah Paulson to look like Adele.😭 Which further goes to prove the trining risings point I made previously.

I think I’ve stated this before but hear me out! Idk what the connection is but the moon sign also affects how you look!! I fr can’t stop guessing people’s moon signs at first glance.💀

Libra rising with 1H venus & mercury culture is constantly teasing others!! Wanting to be in a relationship yet wanting to be independent and having no problem breaking things off if they feel something’s not right.

Gemini risings with 10H suns have an INSANE bone structure/hot body!!! 😮‍💨🔥 Their arms & legs tend to be long! Legs tend to be skinny and thighs thick meanwhile their collarbones just stand out, overall they just have great bone structure! I’ve noticed this with myself & Irene Cara! 😩

I’d apply it to 10H suns in general but I haven’t looked into it as a collective thing yet.

11H Aries mercuries only speak what they think is true to them regardless of anybody’s opinion and I love how real they keep it, they’re also very humanitarian and speak up for groups/communities!

Pisces and Aquarius in the big 3 HATE boundaries. I’ve noticed this with myself and Axl Rose!😂 Ironically I’m Pisces sun-Aqua moon and he’s Aqua sun-Pisces moon.😛

I’ve noticed a pattern with people that have Aqua venus and mars and being aggressive…🥲

Taurus venus love soul/R&B music?

I’ve noticed some 10H Chiron people have trouble with work like, they might switch jobs often.

8H Chiron and having a phobia of being touched by anybody and for no reason too?

People who’s planets fall in your 9H might be the ones who you rarely see crying but are the first to try and cheer you up! You might also see them as arrogant or too blunt at times too especially if their mercury falls in your 9H!

People who’s planets fall in your 10H, you’ll see them as reserved and hardworking, they might like to give you stuff as a love language like share their food or they might like to invite you to go somewhere. Even though it might feel a little awkward at times, you both might get into deep conversations.

Not Gemini suns with Leo moons out here causing chaos then if somebody else asks them about it they’ll charmingly lie their way out of it and make it seem like it was the other person’s fault.😭😂

Scorpio mars lowkey live for toxic sex. ✋🏽 Some Scorpio mars & Aries mars I know, also secretly have a spanking kink??😛

If you have mars in somebody’s 1H they just won’t be able to contain themselves around you! You might sexually fantasize about them a LOT too. And you’ll find them hot down to the way they talk, their body language!!😮‍💨🔥

And if somebody’s mars falls in your 1H you’re prone to getting horny like 24/7 and it’ll feel like an intense and passionate connection! Sex might be like, ripping each other’s clothes off and one get thrown on the bed while the other dominates them and they both make out while grabbing each other—basically just not being able to keep your hands off of each other lmao. Also, having sex anywhere too and going for multiple rounds during the day!💀🔥

That also applies to Aries mars in composite too!⤴️⤴️

Pisces and Sagittarius suns—when they’re not at each other’s throats—actually make a good pair!❣️

Earth suns with Earth mars are so sensual and sexy😩😩😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨!!!

Having composite mars at Libra degree (7, 19) can indicate compliments and vanilla sex!😮‍💨

If somebody has their mars in your 7H, most likely they’ll be super possessive over you. 😭

If someone has their venus in your 7H then you’ll feel very comfortable with their love language or feel like you’ve found the one!💗

Sagittarius mars in composite is often grabbing thighs, giggles or soft laughter, a somewhat competitive energy and possessive aura.❣️Also, wanting to travel and explore new places together or talking about moving or including each other in future plans! Also, learning new things from each other or talking about subjects like geography/history and genealogy or about different cultures! You both could be from different backgrounds too or similar but one person is mixed, etc…

Also, when looking at appearance not only should we consider the rising but also the 7H! Say if you’re a Gemini rising; You might be able to build muscle easily or have long legs yet thick thighs because Sag falls in your 7H and Libra is also ruled by venus. Just like how Aries risings tend to have charming smiles and great bodies (7H falls in Libra), etc…

[obsidianimagines]

Don't Mention It

The Doctor discovers that the two of you have a shared hobby

Twelve x gn!reader

Warnings: None

You realized it probably wasn't the best idea to touch The Doctor's guitar, but when you got ready for the day and entered the empty console room to find it sitting there unattended, you couldn't resist. After all, sometimes it was simply better to seek forgiveness than to ask for permission. Surely he wouldn't be too upset if he found out, and if he was, you could handle him.

After turning the amp down a bit, you sat on the steps, holding the guitar as you settled into place. Without having to think much about it, you began to play Purple Haze. You were a little out of practice, but it felt nice to strum out a tune.

Before you could move onto another song, you jumped at the sound of The Doctor's voice. "What are you doing?"

When you looked up, his piercing blue eyes and very serious brows were focused right on you. You hadn't even heard him get close.

"Playing guitar. Well, your guitar." You slipped the strap off of your body and handed the instrument to him. "Sorry."

"You never told me you could play." He'd actually been quite surprised at the fact that your playing sounded pleasant, as opposed to the nails on a chalkboard he'd heard when Clara once picked up his guitar.

"I'm sure I have. You probably weren't listening."

"I'm always listening," he said, sounding almost offended.

"You're joking, right?" You stood up from the stairs with a sigh. "Anyway...yes, I play. I just haven't had much time between travelling with you and working whenever I'm back at home. When I hear you playing, it really makes me miss it."

How The Doctor hadn't put the pieces together long ago, he didn't know. When you stopped everything and watched him play, he'd always assumed you were just impressed by his great skills. And maybe it was a little bit of that, but it seemed there had been some longing, too. You were enjoying the music and wishing you could be playing yourself.

The Doctor looked down at the guitar he still held in his hands, and you were caught off guard when he offered it back to you. "I'd better not find even a scratch on it. If I do, I'm dropping you off at home."

You knew he wouldn't do such a thing, but you still intended to respect his request, gingerly taking it from him and putting the strap back over your head.

As The Doctor turned to the console, you sat down once again and played the first thing that came to mind.

It had been a few days since your last trip with The Doctor when he finally showed up again. You weren't sure how long it had been for him—you never were—but he didn't seem any different.

He played his guitar as he pondered something you couldn't even begin to guess, filling the TARDIS with what you recognized as I Will Dare by The Replacements. An odd choice, you thought, yet that didn't stop you from listening intently.

The Doctor abruptly stopped the tune to put the instrument down, and he was gone from the console room before you could say anything. You sighed in disappointment. You quite liked that song after all.

You continued where he'd left off, humming and tapping your fingers against your thigh.

Moments later, The Doctor came back, holding a guitar case in his hand. You frowned at the sight, because even though he probably had several scattered around the TARDIS, he seemed to prefer the Yamaha that still sat in the console room.

It was even more puzzling when he gave you the case.

"Did you...buy me a guitar?"

"No, no. I didn't buy it. I don't buy things." The Doctor walked over to the console, pretending to look at something on the screen and at least attempting to be out of hugging distance. "A friend gave it to me in the 1960's, and it's been sitting around here ever since."

"1960's?" Very carefully, you placed the case on the floor, opening it to find a beautiful vintage Stratocaster. One very much like Jimi Hendrix used to play. Knowing the man who had given it to you, it was the genuine article.

Without noticing the way he'd been watching you, you closed the case back up and practically ran to The Doctor, throwing yourself at him in a hug. The impact and the way you pushed him into the console knocked some of the wind out of him. "Why does there always have to be hugging?!" He struggled to exclaim as you squeezed him tightly.

"I really can't help it right now." You kissed his cheek and gave him one more squeeze before mercifully letting him go. "Thank you, Doctor. Seriously."

"Don't mention it. Really. I only wanted to stop you playing mine so much."

"That won't be a problem. Believe me."

Returning to the case like a giddy little kid, you took the guitar out and hooked it up to the amp. You missed the small smile on his face as you began to play a song for him.

The Doctor didn't plan to tell you that he had only acquired the guitar after your previous trip.

[sirenedeslily]

VIDEO OBSESSION 〻ᯇ # matthew sturniolo

✦ SEARCHING FOR PROFILES… two results found !

result ONE out of TWO — @ChromeHearts

MATTHEW STURNIOLO, marlboro-stained recluse. winter fog. chrome hearts. eyebags? permanent. little big planet. streamer incapable of not raging. body littered in tattoos. opium* meets forgotten ps2 game protagonist. yohji yamamoto. blade runner (1982). 2002. scared of the hoes. relies heavily on sarcasm, dry quips, and saying “bruh” at the most inappropriate times. permanently tired. takes games way too seriously but always clutches the win. vamp anthem by playboi carti. boston › nyc.

KAILANI HENDRIX, the quintessential “soft girl” youtuber from nyc. tinted lip gloss. born in pink tulle & lace. doe eyed. small, delicate tattoos peeking from under lace-trimmed sleeves. miu miu. short n sweet. freshly painted nails holding a cup of matcha. directed by sofia coppola. prada candy. deer-themed knickknacks. soft spoken. rhode. leg warmers. dainty gold rings. ‘03 princess. her most cherished possession? her custom made blythe doll that her boyfriend gifted her. bambi by clairo. sandy liang. ballet flats.

CHRIS STURNIOLO, static by lucki. vivienne westwood. 2002. disheveled and clueless. stussy. mario kart aficionado but only chooses donkey kong. pepsi. hot wheels hoarder. timberlands. chronically inebriated but somehow always lucid enough to pull off a quick-witted comeback. dior sauvage. collects old bootleg mixtapes of obscure 90’s memphis rap. french toast crunch. album reaction streamer who plays ssx tricky and gta v when high. custom lighter with his beautiful girlfriend on it. godly at fortnite.

NAO CHUNG, kill bill: vol. 1 (2003). deeply nostalgic for jet set radio future, and can recite every dj professor k line from memory. born in ‘00. yumin ha. soju. aphex twin. sonic adventure 2. co-parents a tamagotchi with his boyfriend nick. korea › nyc. spike spiegel. incapable of thinking before he speaks. ralph lauren polo. self thought producer. ysl l’homme. singer who effortlessly blends the edge of k-rnb with dreamy electronic textures, capturing a raw, nostalgic energy rooted in korean street culture. omen main but exclusively runs knife kills in unranked just to troll his friends.

NICK STURNIOLO, self titled idgaf warrior. vintage olympus om-10. obsessed with collecting bootleg runway tapes and niche comme des garçons accessories—his holy grail is an unreleased cdg tote from their 1998 guerilla pop-up in paris.. gentle monster eyewear. homotron 3000. poison by brent faiyaz. carries a polaroid of nao tucked into the coin slot of his vivienne westwood wallet. ‘02 star. mocha macarons. always in second-hand luxury stores. comme des garçons odeur 53. youtuber known for his meticulous fashion reviews. leather jackets and marlboro reds.

back to profile one @FallenAngels - back to masterlist!

🖥️𓈒ིུ✧꫶᳜᳝͟ᰭ✿⃨ TRENDING NOW ! matt sturniolo was known for many things: his striking looks, his dominance in the gaming world, and his complete inability to keep his cool around beautiful women. so it’s almost poetic—almost—that his fiery temper explodes during an intense fortnite match, broadcasted live to thousands, only to discover later that the player who completely shattered his pride was y/n greenblatt, one of the most beloved streamers in the community—and undeniably beautiful.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ PLS SEND ASK I WANNA KNOW WHAT CHARACTER YOURE MORE DRAWN TO

TAGLIST ( open ) ; @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @waitforyrlove @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @maggot3647 @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @secretlocket @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia @tastesousweet @strnilolover @xoxo4chrisss @ifwdominicfike @emely9274 @fratbrochrisgf @2augustsago @sturn777 @st4rsturns

[luckieduckiie]

im fried | d. dennis

you and your friend are in the club and you spot future… or you think you do.

the lights were dim, a little too dim some may say, but it didnt help that you were drunk either. too drunk, and well maybe a little high too.

“bro, is that future ?” you say to your friend, pulling her close, your eyes wide as you point to the dreaded man standing in the vip section.

“bitch!” she exclaims jumping up and down. “it is oh my god! OH MY GOD!”

a grin finds its way to your face as you look at her.

“im the shit bitch i know.” you say smugly. “ im going to go ask for a picture come one.”

you feel her hand grab your belt loop as she follows you throughout the sea of people, a chorus of excuse me’s and sorry’s stream from your lips as you finally get to the edge of his section. as you are looking up at him you notice the diamond smile he had on his face.

“sir, sir excuse me” you say, well yell. the noise was deafening.

he glances down at you and the smile widens.

“yes gorgeous.” he says, a slight southern drawl playing on his tongue and from the sound of that you should have know that it was indeed not mr hendrix as you had initially anticipated.

“ i love your music!” you say exclaim happily.

“ im sorry, what you say?” he questions leaning down over the edge of the wall that was between you two.

“ i love your music,” you say getting closer to his ear giggling. “ cause i am fried yes fried and very fucked up” you recite the lyrics back to him.

a deep laugh errupts from his as he stands back up causing you to look at him quizzically.

“so, can i get a picture?” you yell, confusion setting in.

“ yeah, yall come on up here sweetheart.” he says the word sending shivers down your spine. he motions for you and your friend to come.

he walks over and meets you at the entrance signaling the man guarding it that you could enter.

you immediately go in for a hug without thinking and your friend who is prepared snaps the picture.

“ oh ok, damn.” he laughs wrapping his arms around you large hands gripping your waist. you cant help but bask in his scent. it exudes sex and masculinity. it smells exactly as he look.

“you smell so good.” you say looking up at him head still resting on his chest.

the look he gives you says it all. “ thank ya.” he says smiling at you then licks his lips.

“ yo friend want one too mama?” he asks lowly eyes still locked on yours.

“oh, shit yeah.” you say pulling away, sighing at the loss of his body against yours.

“here girl.” you say reaching for the phone.

she goes over and just wraps her arm around his waist and his over her shoulder, the other going up into a peace sign. a sense of satisfaction arises in you as you see he didnt embrace her just like he did you but leaves as soon as you see the big smile on her face. she was happy for you and you the same for her, besides he wasnt your man anyway.

you click a few pictures and then she pulls away and thanks him coming back over to you and grabbing the phone to look at them

“yall wanna chill with us for a lil bit?” he asks motioning to the group of guys surrounding him.

“yeah.” you reply without even realizing, looking at your friend and she nods too.

“type shit” he says. you both follow him to the couch and as he sits he leaves room for you both on the side of him.

“so where yall from?” he asks looking between the both of you.

“ texas, but we go to school out here!” your friend answers smiling.

“type shit, what yall studying?” he asks curiosity genuine.

“im working on my masters in business and she is currently working on a phd in biology.” she says motioning to you. “she really smart as hell. tell him bout your research” she says smirking at you and you smile in response, her way of saying he yours girl.

his eyes widens as he look at you and you begin to explain, “ uh yeah my thesis is on the rate of duplication in cancer cells in african americans.”

“oh shit, you gone be a doctor.” he asks.

“thats the goal but i dont know shit is crazy.” you say staring at him. as you look you start to realize he is lacking nose piercings and the signature blond on his dreads.

your eyes widen as you come to the realization. “oh my God youre not future.” you exclaim standing up.

a loud laugh erupts from him and your friend stand up as well when she realizes this and she moves to your side.

“thats who you thought i was?” he is able to say between his laugh.

embarrassment burns through your body at this and you begin slightly angry.

“obviously!” you say irritation heavy in your voice.

as he notices this his laugh stops and smile drops.

“yo calm down.” he says reaching a hand out to grab yours and you pull away disgust on your face.

“dont fucking touch me.” you say grabbing your friend. “come on lets go.” you say grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the exit.

“what the fuck.” you hear him say behind you. you dont care, not only did he laugh at you, he lied to you. or at least in your eyes he did and that alone was enough to piss you off and ruin your night- your high too.

yall im really rusty at writing but i got the idea for this when i was high & i think i wanna do another part or two ! let me know what yall think cause there aint enough on here about dada

[simswoon]

New beginnings ⁺⋆📦⋆.˚⁺🫣

Transcript:

Dante: “Hey, new neighbor! Need an extra set of hands?”

Lillian: “Oh, wow, yes! Please, if you don't mind. This is... definitely a bigger job than I thought.”

Dante: “So... big move, huh?”

Lillian: “Long story. I guess. It's a fresh start.”

Lillian: “Are you this helpful to all your new neighbors, or am I just lucky?”

Dante: “I think you're just lucky.”

Lillian: “Alright, kids, this is Mr. Dante, our new neighbor.”

Lennon: (whispers to Hendrix) “I think he's a superhero...”

Dante: “Close, I'm a Firefighter.”

Lillian: “Looks like we're all moved in.”

Dante: “I figured you guys could use a little welcoming gift.”

Lillian: “You really didn't have to, but... wow. Thank you."

Dante: “You two must be my official pizza testers, huh? Think you're up for the job?”

Lennon: “I can eat three slices. Easy."

Hendrix: “Pizza!”

Dante: “Alright, I’ll take your word for it, but let’s save at least one slice for your mom, yeah?”

Lillian: (laughing) “One slice? Generous of you.”

Lillian: "Thank you, Dante. Really. You made this so much easier."

Dante: "Of course, I'm just next door if you ever need anything..."

Bonus Screenie of Lenny and Hen because they are so cute 💕

[maybe-im-dark]

Spinning memories

Based on this post

The afternoon light filtered through the windows of Wade and Logan’s shared apartment, catching on the flecks of dust that danced in the air. Wade was lounging on the couch, his feet kicked up on the armrest, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. Logan sat across from him in his usual chair, sipping a beer and watching the muted sports game on TV.

“Hey, Wolvie,” Wade said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Logan glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“What kinda music do you like?” Wade asked casually, his tone light but his eyes flicking to Logan with a hint of mischief.

Logan furrowed his brow. “Why do you care?”

“Because, darling, I wanna know what makes your little feral heart go pitter-patter,” Wade teased, grinning. “C’mon, spill.”

Logan sighed, setting down his beer. “Blues rock, classic stuff mostly. Bit of country if I’m in the mood. Heavy metal, too, when I’m pissed off. Why?”

Wade ignored the question. “Okay, okay. Blues rock, classy. Who we talking here? Clapton? Hendrix? Zeppelin? Or are you more into the howling-at-the-moon kinda country?”

Logan hesitated for a moment. “Hendrix, yeah. Creedence Clearwater Revival. Johnny Cash. Fleetwood Mac, too. A bit of Lynyrd Skynyrd. Metallica when I feel like punching a hole in something. And yeah, Cash’s howling works for me.”

Wade’s eyes lit up. “Good taste, snookums. Damn good taste.”

Logan narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing!” Wade sang, turning back to his phone with a grin that didn’t ease Logan’s doubts.

---

Weeks passed, and Logan forgot about the conversation. Wade had been unusually busy, spending time in their spare room with the door locked, and whenever Logan asked, Wade would wave it off with a joke or a crude comment. Logan figured it was just another one of Wade’s weird obsessions, and he didn’t press the issue.

Then Logan’s birthday arrived.

He hadn’t mentioned it to Wade, but of course, Wade knew. Logan had expected something loud and ridiculous—maybe Wade jumping out of a cake in a Speedo or some other nonsense. What he didn’t expect was a large, neatly wrapped box sitting in the middle of their living room when he walked in after a run.

“Happy birthday, sugar bear!”

Wade greeted him with a flourish, standing beside the box with his arms spread wide.

Logan stopped in his tracks, staring at the package. “What the hell is this?”

“Open it and find out,” Wade said, rocking on his heels with barely contained excitement.

Logan approached the box cautiously, like it might explode. “If this is another one of your dumb jokes…”

Wade gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “Logan! The lack of faith! You wound me.”

Rolling his eyes, Logan tore the paper off the box. Inside was a wooden record player with a sleek, vintage design. He froze, blinking at it, trying to process what he was seeing.

“Keep going,” Wade urged softly.

Logan pulled the player out of the box and set it aside. Underneath, carefully wrapped in protective sleeves, were stacks of vinyl records. His eyes widened as he saw the names on the covers: Hendrix, CCR, Fleetwood Mac, Johnny Cash, Metallica, and more.

“These…” Logan’s voice faltered. He flipped through the records, his rough hands brushing over the familiar covers. “These are…”

“All the records you used to have back when you lived at the mansion,” Wade said, his voice unusually quiet. “Found some of your favorites, figured you’d like a trip down memory lane.”

Logan stared at the collection, his throat tightening. His life with the X-Men had been a complicated mix of triumph and heartbreak, but the music had been one of the few constants. Seeing these records again, holding them in his hands…it was overwhelming.

“You okay, honey badger?” Wade asked gently, watching him closely.

Logan couldn’t speak. His chest felt too tight, and his vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. Slowly, he turned to Wade and pulled him into a tight hug. Wade stiffened for a moment, surprised, before wrapping his arms around Logan.

“Thank you,” Logan managed to whisper, his voice rough with emotion.

“Hey,” Wade said softly, rubbing Logan’s back. “You’re welcome, bud. You deserve it.”

For a long moment, they stood there, Logan holding onto Wade like a lifeline. When they finally pulled apart,

Wade grinned and wiped at his own eyes. “Alright, enough with the mushy stuff. Let’s set this bad boy up and see if Hendrix still shreds, yeah?”

Logan nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah.”

As the first notes of All Along the Watchtower filled the room, Logan sank into his chair, the sound washing over him like a warm tide. Wade flopped onto the couch, a satisfied smirk on his face. For once, there was no teasing, no jokes—just the two of them, sharing a moment of quiet joy.

And Logan couldn’t imagine a better way to spend his birthday.