#this little insomniac lives in my head constantly

[crow-with-a-pencil]

So. Tell me a story about your OC. (please)

hehehe hhahaeheha I'm bout to ramble about the doggo

(so context, higher forms of kelpies are like powerful animal forms that are highly individual [see the other ten or so members of the au])

Anyways, Beetle's higher form is a wolf! A really big wolf, like around 5ft tall and 15ft nose to tail tip due to the giant freaking kelp tail.

Approximation:

In this form, they are well suited to combat (strong fangs, big claws, etc), have an incredible sense of smell, and run real fast. On the other hand, though, they only have partial control over that state. In a high stress situation, they tend to act more like a particularly smart guard dog, and yes that includes accepting pets and occasionally napping in cat beds.

Shifting into doggo form is relatively easy. Shifting out is the problem.

You see, Beetle has a teeny tiny definitely not overwhelming problem with anxiety [/sarcasm] that makes it difficult to control form changes when there is anything to worry about (there's usually something to worry about). So... this results in being stuck as a big leafy hound for hours or days at a time.

The other other complication is the fact that speaking is kinda difficult, and the hound's voice is very low, scratchy, and some might say cursed. The howling is an entirely different beast. Nonverbal communication is preferred, but short sentences are ok.

So, you'd think with how often I like to draw this beast that it'd be a common occurance, right?

Nope :D

Beetle, quite frankly, does not like their higher form and only shifts into it when necessary. If the hound is present, you can assume that something bad happened. It's like an Absol. There's a reason it earned the nickname 'bloodhound' ANYWAY-

They dislike it for a few of the reasons above, but mostly because of what I like to call the Werewolf Incident (won't get into that now hehe)

In conclusion: doggo

[sminiac]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡ Bad Miracle | Day 24 of Piwontober !

⋆ Ex Bf!Choi Jiung x Reader

Event hosted by my beloved @kisseobie & @sxfterhearts <3

Prompts — Seduction, Against a wall, Somnophilia.

Contains — Alcohol consumption, saliva consumption, slight exhibitionism, oral, porn with plot, sex in a vehicle, very heavily ‘Nope’ referenced, Jiung being kind of pathetic.

💌 — This is quite a lengthy read which is genuinely my bad, I got so carried away, I just love Jordan Peeles brain. If there’s any consistencies pretend there isn’t, I’ll be making tweaks here and there to this even though it’s already posted, I was just worried abt getting it out haha, thanks :b

“So…slutty Jean Jacket it is?”

Of course Jongseob happens to string together his most unpleasant sounding set of words and absentmindedly spews them out at you, precisely summing up your biggest internal struggle.

It’s like he’s petulantly flicking salt into the gaping deep seated wound of guilt that hollows you out.

Despite your torment, it still eats at what’s left of you for subjecting him to even more of your off-putting behaviour that’s only worsened over the past few weeks leading up to the party. Unknown by him, you’ve been fighting with the same question the entire ride out, it’s been sitting in your mouth, warm and heavy like a bad bite you just can’t swallow.

Maybe you deserve it. Fortunately Seob’s tolerance for your fret without a readily available solution to wash it down, disinfect you of the bile, is astounding—gold medal deserving, even though your plastic display case now feeling more like cardboard box because of your ex’s absence.

Seob is already frequently withdrawn because of his jobs demanding schedule, leaving him socially deprived, added an unhealthy addiction to energy drinks that only makes his screen induced migraines worse.

Funnily enough, with the proclivity for being a cloistered insomniac he possesses the biggest hatred for being alone. Impromptu hangouts are a norm, or—were a norm, especially the late voluntary hours you spent with him watching over the dingy looking bookstore that smells heavily of dried glue and mildewed paper. You haven’t been there in a while, but you didn’t mind how often you were staring at the same ‘Employees favourites!’ end cap that have held the same boring books for the past handful of months that he’s been collecting the same boring bi-weekly cheques.

It’s a different kind of bonding, what the two of you do, one where you don’t feel pressured to constantly entertain the other, which is why there’s a remarkable lack of awkward tension now.

It’s normal for Seob to be spacey once trapped in that busy head of his, full of silent yearning for a position in the lively music store that’s just down the street from his, even with what little room his discontent leaves up there, he doesn’t lack the critical thinking skills that it takes to figure out the foundation of your ulterior motive, which he assumes was the very thing that led to your sudden call for a ride after being so steadfast in your refusal to attend a party that you know fully well he’ll be at.

The fact that Seob grudgingly agreed to your company for the ride here doesn’t mollify your stacking inhibitions anymore than the culpability thats balling up in your throat, keeping your tongue tangled and barred in its enclosure, a strange thing he implicitly feels inclined to shoulder too.

A finger adjusts the strap of your wings that uncomfortably dig into the soft part of your underarm, its already a struggle conducting the sexy inwardly it doesn’t help that he sounds so dejected talking about your version of the large horse hunting saucer.

Flowing light with each sway of your hips the white mini skirt you hunted for is hugging nicely at your hips, while silently you endure the tedious task of having to pull up the thin cheap-feeling socks every few meters you walk, which isn’t something you have to explicitly express your loathing for anyways, he could already tell by the third yank.

But, you look good, even with the excessive effort and inconveniences, you know you do.

All of your details, even down to the pair of red lace panties that shape you in just the right places, is for the sole purpose of what you’re walking into now—your secretive plan, which, if you outright ask Seob, is inherently a horrible idea, but even in all of its horrid glory you still pursue it tirelessly for the sake of having the smooth voiced male to yourself for just another night.

Dead set on getting your turn one last time, the intemperate lengths you went to for your costume would make sure of it. You’d make yourself a spectacle if thats what it takes to have him back in your optics.

Indiscriminately walking out from the shallow line of trees that taper off in thickness the further you come from the main road while actively sexualizing angels of all things, right in front of your squeamish, personification of virginity looking friend is the most anticlimactic, shameful culmination of what is —notably one of your more desperate attempts yet— made to somehow, some way, successfully seduce someone, and subsequently not how Seob envisioned his night out. Never has he ever seen you in something so indecent, so vile in the most watered down, gentle of words.

All of this, for what? Closure? He doesn’t get it, your intentions, the enervating process of breaking up only to then come back? Yeah, all of that and still somehow having the profound drive to do whatever it is you’re up to. He doesn’t fucking get it.

Fictitious or not you believe that somewhere past his denial and shaping of resentment there’s a sliver of him that supports you, in a: it’s just dick, do it! Way.

Besides, you could always do much worse than sleeping with your ex.

Your eyes are still focused on his location and nothing but. Zooming in, flicking out and refreshing the map that Jiung’s idle avatar sits on like some psycho stalker. You’ve been like this, acutely anxious and insufferably inquisitive ever since he parked his mom’s vehicle off the side of the dark secluded road when your map had suddenly gave out and stopped working due to the abrupt cutoff from service, it was in Jongseob’s opinion undeniably foreboding to how the rest of your evening was going to play out, but keeping a handle on his lips would probably be for the best.

With two vodka seltzers already settling into his system that you bravely shotgunned together in the front seat of the silver mini van, he’s already so dreadfully bored that not even his oncoming buzz is enough to make this enjoyable. He sighs a loud antagonizing breath, looking off his shoulder to see the small scattered twinkling mix of orange and purple hues starting to leak through the bushes, a muddled, faint sound of music and drunk laughter following.

Usually he’d be anxious to get to your destination but all he can think about is being home—getting plastered in the safety of his own cluttered room, with you, in comfy pyjamas and within the range of expensive fast-food delivery services instead of having to worry if some asshole with beer induced confidence is enough to get you to strip of that tiny fucking skirt, because when you’re drunk he’s convinced you were a track star in your past life, he hates sports, and he hates a floating drunk just as much as the talkative ones.

“You hear me?” He tsks, pinching at the cheap pair of wings on your back and tugging on it. His fresh bi-coloured hair that you did by hand sweeps with the motion of his suddenly weighted head, falling to the side of the dirt path that you walk, studying your face in the cool toned glow of your screen.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of Jiung, you’re too focused on tapping through the few stories people have posted to care for the small feathers he accidently rips out, leaving a bald spot on your right wing.

You swat his hand away, still cradling your phone. “Slutty…bad, yeah i know, you despise me. But it’s…fitting, isn’t it?”

God, he thinks, if only it were that easy.

He watches as you slide up out of the app, and then promptly tap it back open again, eyes rolling for the umpteenth time tonight “What? The sexualization of a territorial slaughtering alien? You can’t be serious.” Hands stuff further into the pockets of the baggy denim that hangs at hips, a thick braided chain hung off the loops of his waistband, clanking with the dramatic rise.

Who does he think he is? Acting all high and mighty. “You’re the one who speculated that Jean Jacket found OJ worthy of mating with, this is all your doing, boy. And, arguably, your costume isn’t even really a costume but I’m not saying anything about that.”

If you were to ask the rest of the friend group who has all taken a sudden, unexpected interest in the 2022 sci-fi thriller movie —that in your opinion is more of a psychological-thriller than horror— they’d make quite the defensive argument about it, the same way you expect Seob to with his half-assed take on Angel Torres.

“That’s insane, so you want to mate with Intak? ‘Cause that’s what I’m hearing. If you’re so interested I can go grab him for you, or…would you rather take a ride on the cowboy?” He says it to be annoying, he didn’t mean it literally, but whatever he intended or didn’t the offer catches your attention.

Big unsure eyes peer over at him as you hug your phone close to your chest, which he already knows is your only source of heat that’s preventing stiff fingers and chattering teeth. Another thing to roll his eyes about.

“If it saves a horse. You wouldn’t mind finding him from me?” The question comes with an abrupt pause, your feet just as uncertain as your tongue. “I- well shouldn’t we, i mean, how do you think he’d feel if i showed up with you? He was never fond of how close we are, so, should I walk up by myself?” If only you knew of how badly Jongseob wants to call you out for your stupidity right now, to slap your pretty face with both the flat surface of his palm and the back of his hand like they do in the cartoons. Before his lips can even move with the ghost of an insult, an unexpected laugh beats him to the sheer hilarity of your unnecessary complexities. “Wow- no? Thats fuckin’ pathetic, Y/N, I was being sarcastic. You seriously need’ta calm down, you’re not even a virgin and you’re acting like this.” A heavy hand of his reaches out, grinning in a way that makes his tooth poke out from behind his lip as he pats heavily against your shoulder, causing your winged frame to shake.

“No ‘m sorry, that was really harsh. Oh, you feelin’ it yet? ‘Cause I think i am..” At the same time he asks you both come to a sudden stop at the expansive clearing. The lights brighter, the music louder, a blazing fire maintained hot and tall to the left of you.

How did you not realize you were already here? How long ago did the effects of the two cans you knocked back start to kick in? Or, did it kick in?

“Y/N, Seob, you made iiit!” Shit.

Intak, the not-so-chalant ‘OJ’ tries to scoop you up in an awkward three-way hug, just barely do you manage to step back in time to not get lassoed in by his long orange sleeved arms. Obviously a few shots deep he doesn’t seem to notice that he’s only cradling one of you as he sways back and forth, babbling loudly—something along the lines of being glad he has other people to drink with all while leaning his entire weight from one foot to the other and nuzzling the the top of his forehead against Seob’s.

Keeho and Taeyang, a very well decided fit for ‘Emerald’ and ‘Antlers’ are a few paces back, red solo cups in hand, sharing an unfaltering run of giggles over what you assume is Intak’s tendency for being overly affectionate and Jongseob’s constant susceptibility to it. You break off from the two emotional idiots, finding company with the other two who are at least not swaying and going on drunken tangents about how much they love each-other.

Keeho announces loudly, “Y/N, sexy Jean Jacket! I like it.” While wrapping an arm around your shoulder, unhesitant about inviting you in as he’s always done, sticking you right between him and Taeyang who shuffles away a little with a genial smile, allowing you more wiggle room.

The three of you make short conversation, bonding over detailed stories of the two in front of you that were actively wrestling; trying to see who would hit the ground first by aimlessly swiping at ankles. They went at it for a while, Intak’s boyish laughter and Seob’s shrill cackle entertaining you until you started getting so cold that it became a struggle for the sound to come naturally. By the time they calmed down, dry mouthed and winded, you’d finished off the last of Taeyang’s drink that he offered somewhere between Seob doing this and Intak doing that. Unsurprisingly you were the first to offer grabbing sodas and a special refill in thanks for Taeyang’s generosity, it was an unsuspecting card that you pulled, but Jongseob knows you aren’t that considerate, you haven’t even seen Shota yet, a presumed highlight of your night, your personal paparazzi.

You don’t hear the slurred, sputtered out complaints as you quickly make your escape under the poorly strung Halloween themed lights that dangle from one low branch to another along the perimeter of the barren landscape, especially by how quickly the bonfire draws you in like a moth, your motionless body gone cold from standing for so long—you figure that’s where it makes the most sense to be, plus, better scoping ground.

The boys wouldn’t mind a few forgotten minutes as you settle on top of a tree stump. Surely they could wait for you to warm up before returning.

This isn’t a place you’d typically be comfortable by yourself, it only sinks in as you settle. Couples aggressively make out across from you with their tongues and cheeks contorted by the heat, an uncomfortably loud game of beer pong on an unlevelled table that happens just a few feet away, and the boring’s who are only lively when there’s pictures being taken, bright and fast.

Beyond the fires hot flickering light, there’s an old barn, big and dark—much too big to be overtaken by the fire, notably ominous looking from the distance it sits at, something about its unwelcoming nature intrigues you.

We are a creature of habit, even the unforgiving ones, aren’t we? You lean forward, letting your cold cheeks warm in its embrace, squinting, trying to make out any little detail you can from being this far out.

“Y/N?” A masculine voice calls. It should be disgraceful the way you know exactly who it is as soon as the first syllable of your name is pronounced, but you don’t have the spare time to linger on it.

He doesn’t wait to see your face before he proceeds to silently crouch down at your side, coolly granting himself the pleasure of your company without the need of clarity, it almost makes you question how he’s so comfortable and certain of himself for doing it, granted that of in itself is quite the rabbithole.

A colourful can occupies his hand as he bends in his red blazing-like suit, floral embellishments decorating the blazer, sporting a smile under his cowboy hat, white hot teeth the glint of your very demise. “i knew it was you.” He finishes suavely, body planting in your direction but his chin rests on his shoulder, only allowing you the right side of his cheek and jaw.

Spot on, you think. He couldn’t be more like Jupe even if he tried.

An arm is propped to the side of your thigh to keep his rocking weight stable. Eyeing what little he’s lent to your field of view, theres a lingering smile of your own, wondering if he’d also move it closer without a word.

“God. ‘Knew it was you’ don’t tell me you’re a stalker now, Jiung.” It’s endearing, really, your wit smoking off your tongue and he’s only spoken a few words, he loves how you don’t cower under his towering height because of its persistence. “Are you?” Seems your skin has thickened in his absence, too.

It’s sharp, the sensation of his teeth digging into the delicate internal flesh of his lips, pursing them tight as his defined adams apple bobs in his throat. He’s humoured by you. “Mmh not quite. I, can be though, if that’s the kind of thing you’re into now.” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker towards you under the bone white suede of his ridiculous hat, brows raised in a subtle sign of expectance on your end, then again, you can’t see it.

“Is it?”

Your head shakes, an airy almost bashful laugh filling in your wordless mouth, its a different timbre in comparison to the girls he’s encountered previous to your arrival who were fervently nodding as if he had just asked if they wanted a treat when he was dropping vague hints to the unraveling of their revealing costumes. Your wet lips glisten in the available light, smiling that pretty fucking smile he can trace in the cold wrinkles of his pillowcase. “Like.. roleplay? Never thought about it, pervert. What’ve you been getting up to since I’ve been away?” His laugh is fuller than yours as it abruptly escapes, but it’s a shared emotion nonetheless, even if you loathe the way he shares it with you so easily.

“Man, you wouldn’t even believe. Speaking of, do you…aghh, no- never mind.”

You twist, but his position only hardens. A sour ringing in your gut at the implications of his activities. “No, oh my god, no, you can’t do that? Do…i, do i what?”

Out of habit he start toying the silver ring that sits on his ring finger, a swipe of his pink tongue running against the corner of his mouth. It’s stupid, even he’s wondering where the overbearing amount of confidence came from that prompted him to even think of asking you such a thing. But he never learns. Does he? “Do you- i mean, are you into…that kind of stuff?”

A chill crawls up your back, dispersing over your skin, dancing on your spine. “Well, i mean- that’s an awfully personal question, considering we aren’t…” Jiung backs up a little bit, his arm shifting away from your thigh as if he didn’t expect for you to remember that you aren’t dating anymore. “—No yeah, it is isn’t it? You’re right I shouldn’t uh- you shouldn’t answer that, i mean, you don’t need to. Obviously.”

The drinks you’ve kocked back are really starting to build off of one another, so much that you don’t even try to hide the entertainment you consume at his expanse. A laugh makes him feel lighter. “Obviously…I was joking, you already know what makes me tick, right? Don’t get your incredibly red suit all dirty about it.” Panicked, Jiung lifts his arm, looking along his elbow to see a few smudges of tree pitch dragging along his sleeve. “Shit,” he murmurs, desperately attempting to rub it off with dry fingers. “was expensive too.”

The curved brim of his hat is full in your vision, a desperate shake to his frame as he fruitlessly tries to lessen the stain. “Spit on it.” You thoughtlessly suggest while crossing your leg over your other, attention fully diverted from his panic, because thats the pleasure you have of doing now.

Jiung stops suddenly, the top half of his face that’s still well hidden from the angle lowers further from your sight. Utterly clueless he eyes at what little skin you’ve exposed to him. Generally speaking the expanse of your soft looking legs isn’t a lot, but with a sex drive as high and responsive as his, Jiung already feels the switch of pressure in his lower region flip.

‘Spit on it’ he thinks, trying to subtly adjust his waist out of view. Do you know how insane you have to be to say that around him and not mean what he now so badly wants it to mean? His short nails drag over the sticky spots along his arm, redirecting his attention to the ground, for your own sake, for his. “I don’t think that’ll work.” He utters.

This is humiliating, he’s the one dressed as a cowboy yet here you are doing the wrangling, and you don’t even know how good of an arm you have.

His thighs tense under the tightening fabric, fighting the sudden urge to move in a way that’ll satisfy his stirring cock. He can’t fuck his ex-girlfriend, thats not something he does, that would be…deplorable, he’d be despised by your shared mix of friends, but fuck, he’s never wanted to see what those buttons on your shirt would reveal if he were to rip them free, would Seob, the more protective of them all even notice if he took you right in front of the orange light? Would he keep watching if Jiung made you messily fuck yourself on his cock? Your finger taps on the crown of his hat, “Your mouth dry?” You ask.

Jiung’s lips part, but then decidedly shut again as he nods. “Yeah, uhm, really dry, is there any water? ‘m not feeling good.”

Honestly, you should’ve known that the host of the party would’ve had it somewhere you’re not even supposed to be, and that all of the drinks were hidden in the barn so it wouldn’t look suspicious coming to the property with heavy coolers and kegs. The water was left behind thinking it wouldn’t be important enough, nor worth the struggle of trudging through sharp dead grass to retrieve it.

You set out towards the ominous building, a quieter volume than you assumed is shared in the passing stroll, the few words that you do exchange are fluid, amiable in short, and enough for you to successfully rock your weight into every divot in the hard-to-see ground. Your ankles have a much easier time when Jiung intently takes your arm around his, making you hold onto him with an assertive hand, you feel the way it effectively causes your dilapidated barrier to crumble under his touch, the frail support beams of your silence that you’ve been silently trying to uphold comes crashing down just as fast as he links into you.

He knows just as well as you that it’ll only lead to more of your mutually fruitless efforts to be squashed underfoot, but neither of you speak on it, instead you step a little harder and you hope a little less that your backup walls manage to persevere through his wrath. Unsure of if this is right, if you’re allowed to cling to him like this, any lick of your self restraint being wrapped up by a frail splitting string, intent on squeezing you in two halves. The small unfurling existence thats been covertly living somewhere inside of him starts to crack when your attention evolves into something vast, the same one that bloomed in the heat of his bed, seeking to be bathed in your pouring praises.

There’s always been something about you, something infuriating, something nauseatingly enticing about the way you patiently tend to his almost-aching cock with such a weightless attention compared to the borderline fret that others may have felt about getting him to reach his peak.

But tonight, he would leave different.

Even as you’re smoothing his pre-cum down the curve of his erection, his unopened bottle of freezing cold water discarded at his feet, your eyes find other things to admire.

Your head is in the clouds and he’s losing to what’s above.

Struggling with the knowledge that the space you occupy is unrestricted area, Jiung fights with the unimpeded sounds of soft fuss that burst from his mouth.

You don’t notice. Or, maybe you just don’t care. “It’s pretty tonight…clear, you notice?” The slightest amount of pressure is appended to your already taut fist as you wetly stroke him down to his base, pace notably far too lackadaisical for his taste, however he still finds some form of joy in this, almost exciting in a way, how you build back into the motion of things, running a finger over his tip ever few returns you make to the head. Despite his prior grievance you do manage to press slightly against his balls with the established speed of your milky glide, a guttural sound initiated by both the coursing zip of twitching pressure and the lack of increase in speed.

After having made a sticky mess of your palm it comes up to circle at his tip, grooving so sensitively against his continuously drooling slit that it admits an additional series of whimpers to escape, some he manages to catch before they drawl out, others he has to physically stop himself from letting free by digging his teeth into his red swollen lip. “Shit, been too fo-fuck! Focussed ‘n you.” Normally, he can pull out a minuscule reaction with that one, but it’s as if his piteous response drifts right past your ears. Continuing to drag long boring strokes absentmindedly you mutter back, “That’s sweet Ji’.” dismissive of his tactics, you look like you’re speaking more to the air and not to his face as you deftly slip the small silver hooks from the top of your corset. “‘s not!” He cries, emotion tightening in his face, trying to evoke some sense of empathy into you, any little sliver you have to offer.

Unsuccessful, you hum to yourself in a hairsbreadth of contemplation, “I don’t feel like putting you in my mouth tonight, y’know. ‘m sorry if that’s what you were waiting for.” It isn’t sincere, he knows you don’t mean it when you take your attention away from him to briefly peak your head out from behind the shed. “Aren’t listening to me…spent s’long, so much ‘f my- fuck, time. Hn’ you wont even pay attention t’me.”

Being on the furthest side from the lights makes for quite the struggle to scan the field, to see if anyone has managed to stray away from the group, you worry for your reclusiveness. Before you can get a good thorough look Jiung weakly rests an unsteady hand on your cheek, curling along the structure of your face as he silently pleas for a minute—just another minute added to his time spent with you, its all he needs.

Narrowed in confusion your eyes find him before the rest of your body cares to follow. “What?” You coax, bland of confusion, or even a genuine interest at all. Still he’s persistent as ever about his goal tonight. To get a word out of you at the very least was successful but nothing to feel exultant about, there’s still a large nagging part of you thats unvanquished, and there’s not a chance he’s backing out now when he’s so, so close.

He swallows, an expression on his face that would be poignant to anyone, except you. “Listen please. Just want you to make me forget where we are, or- shit, who i am to you- if i matter or not. I’ll take it.” He looks pained as your slowing motions come to a gradual halt, letting out a strenuous needy groan, but you can tell in some sick way that he’s savouring every bit of his torture, like he’s ready to spew the words ‘thank you’ any second now as you run your thumb against his sore slit.

His cock stands upright, so wet and heavy that it bobs a little even with the scant movement of his hips and no support of your hand. He’s so pretty, so much that you could chant it in a never ending string until your words blur together and no longer sound real, so pretty and so stupid. The pressure is ripped away, only returned so you drag the pad of your index finger up the side of him so painfully slow.

“You will, huh?” You ask,continuing to trace him. “Whatever i give you?”

Greedier than time, firm in his belief he confirms “Everything.” via burnt throat. “Give yourself to me, need you t’use me if thats what you need.”

“You’ll be quiet?” It’s a gentle ask, as soft as the breeze that makes him shiver just the same when he feels it.

A nod once slowly, twice, and then it becomes so fast. “Everything?” You ask again, bold—unsure of if that’s the kind of question he’ll willingly answer a second time, if it’s something he thought critically about the first, but the feeling of hearing him say it is so satisfying you can’t help wanting it a second time.

It’s funny, someone like you not expecting someone like him to drop everything for just a strum of your time. He has nothing, absolutely and completely nothing to lose. Jiung’s been looking for a pleasant sounding being all his life, and this whole time a symphony was right under his nose.

With not even a waver in his voice Jiung replies, steadfast on his decision for a second time: “Everything.” With equally as much conviction on his tongue.

Fingers work fast at your panties, tugging them down and off. Jiung watches, choked with words, his desire, feeling whiplashed by your pace and the contrast of lace. He’s overwhelmed, but fuck does he enjoy it. The underwear is as good as forgotten when he drags a large tantalizing hand along his stomach, a habit of his that’s known of, he likes the way his nerves tingle, how the feeling goes straight to his cock, it reminds him of the time you made him explain to you in thorough and jaw achingly explicit detail how he likes to fuck himself when you’re away, the way you squeezed your thighs tight when he mentioned the parts that weren’t inherently sexual, but were a habit of teasing. Is it bad to wonder if he stills does it the way he told you? Even though the underwear is an extremely flattering cut and colour, you couldn’t possibly care any less when his fingers reveal the set of butterflies underneath his crisp button down, finger tips dragging over the sensitive lines.

The light touch of your own fingers quickly guide his cock between your plush thighs, “Pretty, whadda’ they mean again?” he can feel the heat you put off before the both of your faces are screwing up at the sudden feel of each others differing temperatures. You don’t really care, he knows you don’t. “Being pretty isn’t enough?” Jiung can feel the brittle air dispel from his body as you reach a hand down to better separate your sticky folds over his dick in addition to a soft rocking motion. Immediately catching at your sopping hole when he shoves forward, you catch the way his chest squeezes in with a depriving inhale of air.

It feels like he’s just been punched in the gut, hands dropping to your waist to keep himself held back against the wood wall, a deep groan unfolds in his chest, shooting up his throat at the haze of pleasurable tingles. “Love that you don’t really care, know you don’t, fuckin’ love it.”

You’re ridiculously soft, and so fucking hot that it almost hurts from the effect of the frigid air, he can’t believe this is what you’ve been keeping from him, that he allowed it to happen. He should not be as gone as he is without even being inside of you yet, but god the thick warmth of your arousal coating over him is so heavenly as you start moving, finding refuge in you from the cold. “Can’t…can’t keep…” he struggles, unknowing of what it is exactly that he can’t do, but what ever it is you’re greatly overestimating him if you continue to keep grinding your slick pussy on him like this.

Mortifying, that’s what it is when his head is thrown back, unable to watch you inconspicuously rub yourself along his length, coupled with getting an ear full of your muffled sounds of pleasure. Taking the opening of his neck you lean in, tongue dragging against his skin before pressing light pecks to the wet area. You move so fervently that he can feel his tip poking out and brushing against your skirt on the other side—dragging along his dick, the stitching in the front soaks up your remaining fluids.

He’s able to catch quick glimpse of his drenched cock with a certain swift bump of his head directly against your clit, but even in his sputtering pleasure he refrains from watching all too closely, even when soft, more audible sighs start billowing out of your pretty mouth. “Y/N, baby plu-please…‘m not as strong willed- fuck, ‘s you think i am.” He tries his best to keep his lower half still, open for you to use—his twitching erection pressed snug under you, between, but the rest of his body unapologetically has a scorching drive of its own.

Not in the softness of his bed but he so badly wishes that he was. He can’t grip at the wrinkled sheets or fist at his pillows, the only surface keeping him held is the damp wall that you can hear the scratch of sewn sequence in the shape of a flying saucer grazing against.

Compared to the wreck of a man pressed in front of you, the pleasure you feel isn’t immense or head spinning-ly good, but, witnessing, feeling the way you have him acting makes up for its lacking amounts. “Ohh, Jiung, already know you aren’t.” The feigned empathetic lilt you speak in comes naturally, your eyes soften, a gloss to them that he’s familiar with being in his own even though his friends swear he has the metabolism of a pig.

He’s so incredibly drunk on you, absolutely wasted—fascinated beyond belief that it’s possible.

Everything feels like its slowed down, he vaguely notices the way your cheeks push your lower eyelids closer to your irises, a sharp devilish smile tensing your muscles as you simultaneously nudge his dick back with the very tip of your index finger, nestling him right under your weeping cunt, your walls tensing with the expectancy of a welcomed stretch.

You’re fucking drenched, fluctuating in excitement as you lift to the tips of your feet, then sink back with a long muted breath as he coasts inside with a huffed “Fuck…”

Nodding his head profusely, in semblance of chanting ‘good, good, good’ as he heels his body forward—out, cold hip bones pressing fluttering kisses against yours. He pauses from the sense of embarrassment augmented by your scrutiny as you sink him deeper, yet it’s still such an addicting feeling to be under, he needs more but can’t bring himself to fall under his orgasm so easily. He spasms, hesitates plenty, all the way until he’s completely bottomed out.

“Please, let me…” your body finds balance with manicured fingers pressed into his shoulders, an aching arch closer to his chest. “Let you what?” You wrangle out through a tight chest, your lips find his, speaking directly against him, into his mouth. “Don’t be coy, jus’ lemme’ fuck you already Y/N.” His head slopes slightly to the left, looking at your lips under his heavy eyelids—already waiting for a kiss that he can only hope you’ll be willing to spare.

He noses at your cheek in waiting, sharing with you his stuttering breaths as he presses a warm peck on the side of your mouth, refusing to kiss where he wants without his call of permission being uttered. “Be good, I will, make you feel- good.” The fasten of your arms around his neck is swift, a further proof of your allowance, “Really good?” You raise, urging his head straight and back.

He feels the hat lift from the back of his warm head, the change in air amplified by the sweat that clings to the roots of his hair. It pops off, but he’s buzzing in delight much too greatly to care. He slides the words out, “Really good.” with a mouth full and wet as you reach for the broad crown of white, fingers hugging as you lift it over to your head.

“Go on then.”

Almost instantaneously he’s grabbing your hips, planting a solid foot and expertly moving from his place to fit you between his chest and the barn. Hushing your small surprised gasp once he’s certain you’re stable, a chaste kiss against your brow bone as a damp palm wraps against your outer thigh, he moves it up, out, opening you so he can press further in as they drive forward, canted in his haste. “Wet—s’fucking wet my girl.” It’s a reflex to bury himself inside of you, as much- as far as you can handle and stilling once he can’t nudge himself any further. Every inch of his figure is effected by small shakes and straining twitches, choppy voice narrowly escaping as he palms at your neck, feeling, covering as much of your skin that his hands are capable of with a tight grasp of your thigh in his other hand, he needs you everywhere. Watches the process of your mouth falling slack, taking everything in, feeling the tender depth he reaches even at such a difficult angle, your fiery brain can’t even begin to comprehend how much more of you he’d be able to reach if you were in a different angle, one more accommodating, and promising of pliability.

“Focus, shut up ‘nd focus!-”

A small significantly heavier jump of his hips has your nerves shot to hell, but you hold yourself tight, even a sliver of composed is enough to be convincing. He works out of you in short, taking a fingers width worth of himself out, then giving you added an additional width of two in each return. The feeling is good, it’s filling after being starved for so long- a hunger strike if you will, but it doesn’t succeed in bringing you any closer to your orgasm. “Thought you said, you’d make me feel good.” You huff in a thin unconvincing voice, frustrated. His head descends to your shoulder, thinking that he’s welcomed when you let the slope of him in, that this is his claim, that there’s no more ground another person could cover that he’s not already been.

Nails sharp and hot scratch at his scalp in the motion of your joints closing around a clump of hair at the back of his head.

“disappointing.” Floats straight to his ear, its invasive, vibrating inside of his head like a frantic bee.

A startling moan rips from his hold, the kind where you know it was large and full of bass to start with but not strong enough to uphold up its weight, like helium spewing from the volatile confines of latex. Whining frantically, his eyes snap shut as he digs his face further into you, damp flesh pressing into damp flesh, the wet sticky sound of his cock repeatedly plunging into you from the rutting at such a loose impatient pace. The sight is indescribable, the rocking of two bodies, moving as one, feeling as one, yet the brains that keep you moving are so incredibly different from each-other, disconnected in emotion by light years, steps, miles, planes apart, but physically the closest you’d ever come to be.

His jaw is wrung slack, drool pooling out with his tongue lax over the edge of his bottom teeth. Globs of the tepid liquid drip as his thrusts flatten out into timed punches, it leaks down your clavicle, sticking to the curvature of your collarbones. His meek sounds jointly purged by your body as he slips the opening of the corset further apart, impetuously tugging further so he can get a proper hand on the soft skin.

Small unintelligible sounds are made in the back of his throat as he presses the centre of his palm to your breast, squishing the tense of your nipple into it. “Ji’,” he hears, restlessness distinct in your voice, coaxing, hoping for something more. Heedlessly Jiung’s arm, fingers that you’re so desperate to feel under your skirt, disappear from your sight, feeling as he brigs it to the side of your ass, resulting in an even greater awkward position for him to be in with his height, but he can ignore the strain he feels in certain pints of his neck and back for the way you start pressing into his hand, a struggled whine leaving your mouth with the offer of your chest to his touch. “Oh, you like that.” A squeeze to the supple round of your ass evokes a heaved sigh as he presses a cold wet kiss to the base of your neck.

The meek stimulation to your nipples isn’t as effective as your clit being played with, a vitalization, but not a slake to your insatiable thirst. A dry swallow, the pleasure all fizzles and intertwines the same even in its marginal amounts, you can’t bleat about it, the intentional squeezing around him becomes close to incessant because of it, begging that he continues with the teasing pinches as his hips oscillate with a steady reoccurring flow into yours.

From the sole feel of your body confidence daringly creeps up over his shoulder, pink tongue drawing the essence of it back in.

A silent indecipherable moment shared as he looks to you before leaning in, eyes flitting as he laves against the neglected bud, further covering you in him as the muscle retreats, curls back, cradling the secretion of saliva into the bend of his tongue before his lips pucker, letting gravity take over as it dribbles it out across your tit.

Brushing back his tussled hair, wanting a look of the glassy liquid as it departs from the warmth of his mouth, your body moves without the need for communication, fruitlessly drying to grind against his pelvis, but he’s got so much more ground. Your hand moves rashly against his mouth, index finger accepted gracefully by his tongue, an unhesitant thing—dancing against the digit.

Jiung—already so dazed, retracts back outside of you, leaving a few inches of himself in for a fleeting moment. The empty space he leaves behind aches for his return, but the sight of him readily taking a second finger to join your other mitigates any measly discomfort.

“Tell you i like it, ‘s that mean you wont touch on my clit for me?”

His lips tighten, tongue licking up against the appendages, trying to shake his head, lidded glossy eyes stare intently at your face.

“You know I’ll touch you all you want, just tell me.”

“Shut the fuck up, keep moving.” A tempting beckon for him to return back to the heat between your legs is made, small barely noticeable spots of dark over the thigh of his red slacks, how could he resist knowing of the mess you’ve made? He reaches down, skirt bunching around his wrist as his middle finger straightens out from its curve, running directly against the spot that has your entire body tensing.

A continuous slide is maintained as his thrusts quicken, full, unceasing.

The deep all consuming indication of his approaching orgasm falls into the unwonted rhythm of yours, frantic muttering and endearing whines that you try and fail to retain behind those pretty lips of yours.

It’s predictable, he thinks, the reckless abandon of your body trying to meet the movement of his own, craving for the throttling nudge of his cock to hit that special place you’ve been dreaming of.

Shallow breaths shared in a silent race. Jiung can feel your arousal starting to cover more of his finger, the dwindle in volume of your noises and the succumbing weakness in your legs. “Hol’ on pretty, mmnh—‘m gettin’ there,” he pants, your hip is far past the point of discomfort but the pain only punches your orgasm closer. “wait f’me, you can wait, huh? Know you fuckin’ can.”

God, you know you sound pathetic when a headlong “mhm!” Is tumbling from your restraint, and he adores the feeling of your body curling in on him, whether it’s subconscious or not, how you grip him so tightly, and beg for him to keep fucking you through your orgasm because once you’re stampeding through the crest of it qyou can’t keep a sensible control of how you sound or the way you move.

The obscuring blanket of fog on the windows collect into small droplets, he’s closer to believing that with each prolonged close of his eyelids that the small action spurs them to spill, allowing what’s left of the outside world a glimpse in through the thin clear streaks.

Hands abandon the secure hold on his flimsy shirt that drapes haphazardly off your backside, once spotless, now defaced by nature and your recklessness.

A lingering smell of sex hangs over your heads in the confined space, it should be repugnant, concerning the way he inhales the balmy scent so greedily, but on his own accord he justifies it in the sense that no matter how much he resents its existence, everything about you is so addicting-ly cruel—sweet with an overthrow of bitter that he yearns to internalize. You’ve always tasted, smelled all the same in compelling amounts.

Jiung can’t bring himself to be worried about his primarily bare frame being seen when his dick sheaths up into you so easily in frail minor strokes. The repetitive movement of his body leads his natural musk to emanate a heavier trace behind on your skin, the softer notes of his amber cologne crushed along the obsessive pull and hold at your back, frantically trying to keep your jelly limbs solid against him.

Stained shirt is gripped tighter in his fist, softening a whine by plunging it into an exhale as he hoists your body further up his thighs. The sheer amount of unpredictability of the situation arouses a flurry of tingles to surge from the bottom of his stomach, resistance starting to dwindle as you steadily crawl out of your hot slumber, thinking of the varying ways Jongseob would react if he conveniently showed up.

Jiung likes that someone could easily peak in and catch the both of any minute now with the recent influx of spilling people that exit from the property.

The paced rut of his cock drives him closer into overstimulation, having forced himself to still the past 2 times the unwelcome pressure of his peak pulled him to the top, you asked of him to wait, the request still vivid in his head, ‘until I wake’.

He’s doing himself absolutely no good, the steer of your weighty hips in his hold revitalize the entirety of the moment you asked him so sweetly to take care of you when your stamina was proved to be inadequate for the stretch of time he’s capable of keeping you busy in the back of the cold vehicle—knocked out with the remnants of your request still drowsily hanging onto your lips not too long after you snagged the keys from Seob’s pocket, your top clasped one hook off from the other.

The sudden flatten of your knees holding out on the seat gives him a better advantage, as well as a little bit of a scare. His clammy palms migrate to your ass, feeling on you as you press up for him, keeping yourself still so he can properly fuck into you from below. “J’…” you hum, voice barren and small, the middle buckle under your leg digging against your bone.

A hand massages at you, drawing light against the expanse of your soft skin. “I know honey, hn’know—shit..”

2:13 was read the last time he checked his phone, the feeble sound of yelling from the party starting to lose it’s vibrancy, to it now being 3:00 am with little to no noise, and his phone battery on the cusp of giving out and plunging the screen into indefinite darkness—something he’d normally be worried about, furthermore, try his best to avoid, but the way your breathing gradually softens on top of his chest as your body wakes to full responsiveness, telling by the squeezes around his length that its just what you asked for, it makes the significance of his trivial concerns so unusually minuscule.

His eyes clamp shut, swallowing down his discomfort from the lack of space he was meant to endure. “S’good, you’ve always felt s’fucking good, sweet girl.” He shifts again, caressing the back of your head, anchoring you through his stammering thrusts.

“Thirsty.” You groggily complain, slithering a slow hand between your bodies, pussy twitching from the praise, aching to be touched. Jiung was fearful of the sore throat that he knows you wordlessly suffer from now, it always does after you drink, your hoarse squeaks evidential as you trace messy circles over your puffy clit. Body far more awake than you feel.

He didn’t think to take any water before the two of you managed to slip by the boys, and there’s sure as hell not any sitting in here. “Poor baby.” Inwardly he takes the flitting time to mull it over, but realistically there’s not many options to begin with. Well, except for one.

He doesn’t hesitate when guiding your head back down to level with him, his flicking his chin up as an indication for a kiss, to which you cluelessly comply. He’s a little stunned that you meet him halfway, the mobility of his lower body unceasing, but that doesn’t hinder the process of his tongue invading your mouth seconds after he’s finally able to properly press his rigid lips against your soft pliable ones.

Expertly he shoves a wad of his spit onto your tongue, another peck left at the corner of your mouth as it disperses over the muscle before he curtly tips back. “Swallow.” He husks, sealing you off, parting from his offering.

He leans back onto his forearms, folded up blazer pushed beneath his shoulders, leaving you leaned over, wet lips holding the additional liquid inside. You let it slide to the back of your throat, gathering, he waits to see the movement in your neck so he knows that you’ve swallowed it.

When you do, the peak of his 2nd orgasm starts breaching his senses almost simultaneously.

The body of the van rocks in his urgency, sweat beading out from his hairline as it squeaks, empty cans at the foot of the front seats rattling. “Good, baby?” His face pinches, struggling to punch the words out. “Good Ji’, so fuckin’ good.”

The feeling of his quickly approaching orgasm is unworldly, yet the nagging palpability of your current circumstances looms equally significant in vitality. “Jongseobie…‘s gonna be so—so mad at us.” He worries aloud, glancing down at the dark outline of your hips that starts straying from the tempo he set, the wet sloshing sound of your cunt recklessly sucking him down intense to his ears. Your sporadic grinding against him is relieving to see. You’re close, within the same nearing distance that he is, aching for the final puncture at your thinning endurance that’ll snap you slack. “Making a mess, all over me ‘n the seats.”

What a time to finally have some consideration for your friend.

Instantly he feels the leverage you use to pitch your upper body upright, holding the top of the headrest as you meet his thighs with short bounces. You can only dream of reaching over to muffle his irrelevant noise with a hand, trying to focus on the creeping sensation that starts strumming at your nerves, one that makes your legs feel fuzzy, and causes sweat to drip down your back, it’s far more pleasant of a feeling when his mouth is shut.

Piqued by the sound of his voice, you huff back an unconvincing “We’ll deal with it-” as your head lulls back, allowing yourself to fall into the dark of your eyelids, letting you forget about what’s on the other side of the van, and exactly how you got here in the first place the faster you rub at your clit. “Jiung,” you whine, spasming and restless.

“Yeah baby” he struggles out.

You shift, hold straining around the headrest, around his cock in the same, slippery finger ruthlessly sliding on your clit.

“Need- shit Jiung, need you to shut the fuck up already, make me come.”

Fuck, it’s ridiculous the way you ask him of any little thing and he’s jumping to get it done. Jiung doesn’t take your demand lightly, a thoughtless account as his foot presses onto the carpet floor, the piston of his hips deepening out with the aid, pressing his length into you as far as he can reach, the unforgivingly lewd mix of your fluids ringing at the plinth of his cock—sticky against what’s managed to leak to the underside of your legs, you feel its thick consistency spread further from the shared pace that has you unraveling overtop of him in the matter of minutes, sinking from the muffled sound of his voice.

“Love—love you, baby, please, please say it back.” He blubbers pathetically, convinced by no one either than himself that you’re just as deep into this as he is, that’s this is just as emotionally charged.

“Come back, come back t’me…missed this pussy s’fucking much- god, fucking miss you.”

He can’t comprehend the second his own climax hits, it’s a blur of flesh and liquid, the stiffening of your body, the aggressive shaking from your waist down.

Your spent body melts down on top of his, a shared exhaustion sinking into your bones.

Fingers rub softly against the small of your back, unwilling to move even if the cramped position makes him ache and numb in certain points of his limbs. You hardly move, and for a fleeting moment he’s able to take it all in, the stillness, the quiet, the ambience that resembles the warmth of your relationship, clumsily fucking in places you shouldn’t, disappearing on weekends and not a singular trace left behind of where you went.

This is us, he thinks, painfully convincing himself into believing it utterly and completely, that this is leeway back into your old affairs. But the truth, it couldn’t be more clear, you’ve known it long before the door slides shut.

Tugging at your skirt, you smooth yourself out as you step away without a spared glance back, keys pressed into your palm, wrapped by your fingers. You’re content, satiated even previously being in the face of your unremitting constraint, you got what you came for, throughout the time it took you to get it, maybe you didn’t succeed in becoming the spectacle you thought yourself to be among everyone else, but with the spoken covet of your presence in his life again, you sure as hell felt like it.

Hefty footsteps thump closer to you at a concerning pace that slows you down. Flashlights swing along the ground, with the lack of it you can’t tell exactly who is running down the path—concerned by the urgency in their pace until the figure comes to a sudden out of breath stop.

Jongseob bends over, his sandpaper tongue striking the roof of his mouth.

“Cops were called, we gotta go.”

[thsc-stuffs]

Hello! I hear you want some bead cannons? I have a few that I think you might like!

Henry can cook as he learn to make meals from scratch when he was younger but due to being broke he had to live off of pre-made meals.

Ellie does yoga to help calm her mind and keep herself focus during stressful situations on missions. Ellie also gossips with all the ladies at her yoga group and has been invited to events.

Charles has bad sleeping habits and is consider an insomniac to many people, in reality he just constantly running thoughts through his head that he forgets to sleep.

I hope you enjoy my little head cannons about the Triple Threat!

:O incredible headcanons!!!

i adore the thought of henry being a good cook, but like. only really knowing how to work with "cheap" ingredients. hand this man pretty much any cheap ingredient or leftovers and he can throw some amazing meals together! i also counter-offer you the headcanon that his comfort food is pasta, usually mac n cheese, with meat mixed into it! leftover hotdogs or ribs or whatever else? pop it in the microwave, mix it into a box of mac n cheese, throw some extra cheese on there and bam. a delicacy.

as for ellie doing yoga? yes. incredible. 10/10. imagine henry and charles trying to join her and getting kicked out for causing chaos.

charles absolutely seems like the type to have so many thoughts he cant sleep. definitely adhd. maybe he uses podcasts to help? if he can focus on someone else's voice telling a story or talking about something, he'll have an easier time quieting his brain?

[midnightmoonkiss]

I know I make pirate Deku out to be this salacious, cruel, horny bastard.. and he is- but.. he has this sweet side to him, you know?

One he’s learned to hide.

You dont survive in his world by being ‘sweet.’

He shows it through merciful acts, sure, but only you really get to see his soft side.

He keeps it closed off for a while, acting like any other sex-craved, lonely sea man. At first, to him, you were just another dame he could graciously use to potentially get his dick wet - you never did allow it, not at first.

Your rejection somehow leads to a small friendship, the wall around his heart weakening with every innocent interaction.

Once you finally crack it?

My god, you swore you were never letting go.

He saves his softest voice, gentlest touches, sweetest kisses and purest love just for you. Only you.

Pirates are known for being unnloyal bastards, but thats never been in his nature. He’d rather take a sword to his stomach than to cause you any sort of emotional pain by batting his eyes at another.

He loves you. He’s devoted to you.

Youve somehow gotten him, one of the most infamous pirate next to Black Beard, wrapped around your finger.

If you told him to walk the plank, hell he’d do it. (Of course you’d never tell him that, but he would do it if asked!!)

This is Deku, after all. It doesnt matter what position he has, he’d drop it all for you.

But.. he’s quite possessive of you. In his mind, he has to be - considering the people he lives with.

He wouldnt ever let them lay a finger on you, but thats not to say you cant be friends with them.

Pirates are just.. yknow.. untrustworthy.

He doesn’t even know how he got you to trust him..

You could easily relax him with a kiss, though. Or multiple kisses. He loves your kisses.

Out in front of others, he’s mean and rough, calculative and a drunkard, but behind closed doors? He’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met.

He’d always listen to you talk, giving you his undivided attention whenever and wherever. He loved to hear your voice.

He was a gentleman to you, helping you jump off the ship or hold open a door for you, getting you food or a drink if you couldn’t get it yourself due to activities the night before.

He’d pay such close attention to you that if something was even slightly wrong, he’d pull you to the side, squat down, caress your cheeks with his hands that nearly covered your whole face, and ask what was wrong with such concern in his voice and in his eyes that it’d always make you feel so loved. Izuku cares so much for you.

He’s an insomniac, too.. its often he’d stay up and mumble to himself while scanning maps, plotting courses, and scribbling in one of his many journals.

When he lays in bed with you, he pulls you flushed against his bare, warm chest, chin resting upon the top of your head.

Sometimes he’d hum to help you sleep, his voice gravely yet sweet like honey whenever he used it for such a purpose. He’d kiss your forehead once he noticed you were asleep, whispering that he loves you against your skin. Sometimes he’d just admire you until he finally managed drift off.

He likes to feel you close to him.. needs to.

In a world where he has to constantly fight to stay alive and live how he wants, you’re his look into a tame life without actually living one. You’re his anchor in open sea.

Just what he needs, you’re the perfect balancing piece.

Never has a man been so in love with someone like Izuku is in love with you.

And he lets you know it every day.. whispers of love and the sweetest kisses..

He’s a completely different person around you...

He likes the person you help him to be.

And if you ever happen to get caught up in a bit of trouble? He’s right by your side and defending you and your honor with his life.

You’ve seen him win multiple sword fights for you, they were all so easily won.

He always got so worked up.. how could you not reward him after?

He’s so sweet, truly, your cute little freckled man.. but as you know.. sweet men aren’t always so sweet when they have you beneath them.

[starkownsmyuwus]

avengers holiday headcanons

I have this idea stuck in my head but im never going to have the time or energy to write a fic so here are my headcanons:

tony ends up renting a lake house (read mansion to fit them all) for two weeks so the avengers can have a 'bonding trip' after everything that's happened.

trying to figure out rooms for everyone ends up being an absolute nightmare as there aren't enough rooms for everyone to have their own. it's even made a little awkward when tony realises he forgot to tell the team that he and stephen were dating;

clint: "tony, why are you so adamant about sharing with strange? what are you in love with him or something?" 

stephen: "I fucking hope so."

nobody knows how, but somehow natasha managed to get a whole room to herself.

steve agreed to take the pull out couch in the living room, seen as he was the earliest to rise. However, he didn't consider the many insomniac avengers getting up in the middle of the night for snacks.

thor, bruce, loki, sylvie, mobius, and valkyrie agree to take the bunk beds in the games room since they are the largest group, but loki constantly complains that sleeping in a single bed is "undignified and unbefitting of a prince of asgard".

clint and scott both drew the short straws and ended up having to share a bed. Scott complains that it's not the fun kind of there was only one-bed scenario "like clint keeps kicking me in the middle of the night, we're gonna have to set up a barrier or something so I stop waking up covered in bruises".

they set up a group roster for cooking meals, but after a mishap by loki and sylvie (mobius tried to stop them from enchanting all the cooking utensils), they end up banning all magic from cooking, and all the groups are changed to pair up avengers that likely don't know each other well. (steve: "it's for group bonding, we need to be able to know and trust every member of the team") loki and sylvie also earn the nickname 'the terror twins' from tony.

peter and harley decide to pretend that the house is haunted and nobody really believes them at first. that's until stephen offhandedly agrees with them (stephen wasn't in on the prank, so peter and harley get worried that it might actually be haunted. it's not. stephen saw through what they were doing and decided to play along)

the prank still carries on though, peter and harley even manage to convince loki to use his magic to pretend to be a ghost. scott, clint, and sam totally aren't scared of the 'ghost' but they do come up with a plan to go full ghostbusters just in case.

every 'fun group bonding activity' that they do always turns into a competition, to the point that one day wanda, vision, natasha, sylvie, and valkyrie end up disappearing to the nearest town for coffee, and they don't end up returning until after dinner.

the team hired kyacks one afternoon and almost everyone spent the entire time trying to capsize each other. nobody could get close to natasha though, because she'd just paddle off anytime anyone got too near.

the best to watch was thor and loki in their tandem kayak as loki just sat in the back reading and completely uninterested while thor spent the entire time paddling at full speed while shouting encouragement at the rest of the avengers.

steve and stephen also ended up sharing a tandem kayak as stephen couldn't paddle with his hands and steve could paddle enough for the both of them. they later agreed never to kayak together again as stephen spent the entire time criticising steve's paddling technique.

tony tends to fiddle with whatever is in his hands, often taking things apart. he does this one afternoon with a lighter, making it shoot out a huge flame. but he then forgot about it and put it back. later its when sam, steve, and bucky's turn to make the bonfire, and they accidentally grab tony's modified lighter. even though it's technically tony's fault, sam still blames bucky for trying to "scar my beautiful face" and "I thought we were over this man, why do you keep trying to kill me?"

while snooping through the house, harley and peter end up finding a projector so they set up outdoor movie nights by the edge of the lake. they watch some classics such as dirty dancing, top gun, and indiana jones, and tony and natasha team up to give every character a rating out of ten (tony: "patrick swayze? absolute 10 out of 10, lift me in the air like that")

loki and mobius finally take a jet ski trip!! but mobius drives over some lake weed and they get stranded. sam and steve end up having to go out and rescue them in the boat.

one day they decide to take a hike along one of the rivers, and about halfway through, peter jokes that maybe his spidey senses would help him to grab a fish out of the water like a bear. this then results in easily half of the team standing in the river trying to do just that, with the other half either complaining or watching in amusement. somehow thor manages to actually grab a fish?

it does actually end up being a pretty enjoyable trip overall, and they decide to turn it into a yearly tradition,

scott: "as long as I don't have to share a bed with clint again."

[thefanficmonster]

Corpse Infested

Corpse Husband & Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of dysfunctional family, Family problems, Swearing

Genre: Humor, Comfort, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When your friend disappears for a long time, seemingly having lost interest in what fueled the most passionate fire in their life, you cannot not worry about them. Even if you wanna give them space, you will reach out, you will offer your help. You will tell them they always have you to rely on and talk to.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post your request, but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and if you do I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

For me, it’s never hard to find things to do. I’ve constantly got things on my mind and tasks to tend to, keeping me occupied and my mind focused at all times. I think that comes with living in a home as dysfunctional as this one. I honestly can’t recall a time when my parents got along nor can I think of a time where there was at least one second of peace while the two are both present in the house. It’s always a warzone up there. I’m saying up there because I tend to live out of the basement of their home. I know living in your parents’ basement is considered a peak loser point, or the bottom of the bottom, but you’d have to believe me when I say - I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I only recently came back to this hell-hole and boy do I regret it. I mean, it was a decision forced upon me by circumstances. Trust me, I tried every other option there was. When my dorm was to be closed down and demolished, we were given a notice to start planning our next move about a month early. You can bet I immediately started looking at places but my very tragic and miserable budget didn’t allow such a purchase. No rent was adequate for me and my near-empty wallet so my second option was moving in with my best friend who was also not in the greatest of situations but I thought I’d give that a shot too.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work out. She lived in a tiny apartment with her boyfriend and his best friend at the time, so four people in one apartment was a nightmare. Still a lesser nightmare than this one but a nightmare nonetheless. Some unwanted and downright traumatizing events chased me out of that place after barely managing to pack my stuff. Therefore, finding myself on the streets again, I had no other option other than the obvious and least liked one: moving back in with my parents.

Making money during my first year of college hasn’t been easy. Working two jobs at once and also streaming video games on the side was what my time was filled with all throughout the first semester but then this damn pandemic started and now ruined everything for me. I had things going for me, I was slowly getting my life together and now it has all fallen apart yet again. The places I worked at closed down due to quarantine and I haven’t been able to steam, not only cause I’d be the victim of my parents’ comments but also cause my terrible home life would be exposed to all my fans and viewers. It’s not like I could cancel out the commotion going on right above my head, it’s a livestream and this house’s walls are cardboard thin meaning all the arguing I hear almost 24/7 will serve as background noise for my streams.

I haven’t reached out to my friends or fans to inform them of this which I feel slightly guilty about but I’m really not looking forward to having to lie to them, just as much as I’m not looking forward to having to tell them the truth so instead I’ve picked silence which is probably either worrying them or driving them insane. Either way, I’ll make my comeback soon.

Well....not very soon by the looks of it...

I have to gather the money, then I have to find a place, then comes the packing, moving out of here, moving into the new place...oh God, there’s so much to it that I don’t even wanna think about. Just that thought that I’ll be inactive for that long makes my stomach turn. Streaming’s where I’ve been channeling all my negative emotions, turning them into something positive and entertaining with the help of my friends.

Speaking of my friends, I should probably put emphasis on how amazing they are. Basically the older siblings I’ve always wished I had. I’m the baby of the group, the eighteen year old freshman in college, powering through life the best they can cause they are constantly getting tripped up by inconvenient occurrences such as this one for example. I tend to have the gang poke fun at me quite frequently - all lighthearted and with good intentions obviously - but they are also the ones to get super defensive if anyone gets the balls to talk shit about me. They’d never allow me to be the victim of any smack talk or online rumors and ‘cancel culture’ or whatever the hell people will come up with to leave others restless and wondering if they did something shady a decade ago. Well, to be fair, I didn’t even know about the concept of social media a decade ago and I’ve never been one to post much but I still have a protection squad in case anyone decides to come after me.

Little do they know the people I need protecting from are the very people that are supposed to protect me - my parents. Luckily, they don’t venture into to basement very often if at all and I have my own exit to the outside world so I don’t have to run into them unless I absolutely have to. The only time I emerge to the surface of the house - aka the ground floor - I do so to leave my share of rent money on the dining table and I usually do it when they aren’t home or when they’re asleep - that happens often with how many bottles they each knock back on the daily.

*sigh*...at least I don’t have to talk to them, right?

Anyhow, remember how I mentioned I always have things to do? Well, right now I’ve tasked myself with rifling through the large boxes containing random stuff I found in one of the basements down here to see if there’s anything I could possibly sell online. For starters, I’d like to hope there aren’t any severed body parts in here because this was one shady-ass basement before I moved in and un-creeped it a bit so I wouldn’t have to become an insomniac due to the paranoia of there being a homeless person down here with me or some paranormal entity. Regardless, old basements tend to be, apart from haunted, also filled with junk no one would find valuable despite it actually being worth something after all. That’s basically what I’m hoping to find at the moment.

As I dig through the contents of the first box, the YouTube playlist I have put on on my phone cuts off causing me to furrow my brows in confusion for a second before my ringtone pierces the silence the lack of music created.

I quickly mute the ringing and take a look at the Caller ID to see a name I never thought would pop up on my screen as an incoming call - Corpse. I, as well as many of our friends, know that he’s not the biggest fan of talking to people on the phone so this is rather surprising. Still, I pick up the call in case it’s not a mistake and an odd chance that it’s somethin urgent cause Lord knows Corpse doesn’t call people willy-nilly. 

Thank God it’s quiet up there at the moment.

“Hello?“ I try my best to cover up the confusion in my voice but I can only assume I didn’t do the best job considering Corpse replies with a slightly awkward chuckle.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?“ He asks, getting my cheeks to redden a bit, “You can’t blame a guy for calling after up and disappearing on him and on the whole internet. Where’ve you been?“

I open my mouth to respond when I hear the sound of glass breaking a shouted curse from upstairs.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

“Um...you know, places?“ I’m aware the answer isn’t only nonsensical but also sounds more like a question, but I can hardly focus on that right now. I’m too buys praying to an entity I don’t fully believe in for the situation above to not escalate.

“Uh, is everything ok over there? Where even are you right now?“ The teasing tone to his voice is all but gone at this point, replaced with deep concern, having obviously heard the commotion that did the exact opposite of what I prayed for - escalated.

“Y-yeah, it’s ok. It’s just another Thursday, you know.“ I attempt a small laugh but it’s blatantly miserable, “I moved back in with my parents when they announced the quarantine so that’s where I’m at now. They’re not the quietest of folks as you can tell so...“

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU DIE“

Oh crap, here we go.

“...So I can’t really stream a lot...or at all.“ I mutter, cringing with all my might, ���But it’s only temporary! I’ll get back in the saddle as soon as I find another place to stay.“ I don’t dare mention how long that’s gonna take me, it’ll be too disappointing and depressing for the both of us. “So yeah...um...thanks for showing concern but there’s really nothing to worry about. I’m ok, everything’s ok, things are just...a bit off the rails, but I’ll fix em no problem. Like I always do!“ I attempt to sound as cheerful as possible with little success due to the overwhelming anger I feel towards those people upstairs and the gut-wrenching nostalgia for the world of streaming I can no longer be a part of because of them. Actually, I put the blame first on the pandemic and second on my parents - if it wasn’t for Covid I’d probably still be in my dorm!

“Hey...um, I think I know an affordable place where you can take up residence. Only if you want to, of course.“ He sounds hesitant but I easily overlook that as excitement bursts throughout my entire being at the sound if an escape being offered to me just like that. Had I known I’d find the solution to my problem in the very people I spent time avoiding because I was afraid of their pity, sympathy and judgement.

“Oh please, it could be a rat and roach infested shoe box and I’d go running to it. How much is rent?“ I ask through a gasp of hurried laughter that’s a result of my inability to contain said excitement. Listen, I’ve been sitting here in Hellsburg for three months now and haven’t gotten a proper shuteye during that whole period, whatever Corpse is offering has to be better than this misery.

“Rent can be discussed once you move in...“ He trails off, “And it’s not rat nor roach infested but there’s a slight issue...“

“Which is?“ I’m honestly expecting the worst: in a bad neighborhood; faulty wiring with a high chance of being electrocuted; faulty piping with a high chance of flooding; people have died there; things get randomly moved around in the middle of the night etc. However, I don’t voice any of them to avoid getting laughed at for my wild imagination.

“Well, uh, it’s corpse infested.“ He says a little awkwardly, causing me to let out an inaudible sigh.

So my ‘people have died there’ guess was on point, huh?

“People have died there, huh? Well, I can turn a blind eye to that as long as I don’t find their bodies in the closet or meet their spirits at 3AM.“ I attempt to joke, now second-guessing my eagerness to accept the offer.

Corpse bursts out laughing his ass off at my statement, getting me to furrow my eyebrows in confusion and wonder what I said was so funny - it was a poor attempt at a joke, it in no way deserves that sort of reaction, barely a chuckle in my opinion.

“You’re golden, Y/N, I swear.“ He says once he forces the laughter to subside, “I meant corpse infested as in Corpse Husband infested.“ He breaks out in another fit as my brain slowly starts connecting the dots.

Oooohh he’s asking me to go live with him

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, hold up for a sec. Are you aware of what you’re offering me? I mean, we’ve never met IRL, you barely know me and....and for all you know I could be the serial killer in this situation!“ I have no idea why I’m pushing my luck, don’t ask. I just don’t want him to make a decision he’ll later regret, I guess. “Like, I could kill you in your sleep!“

“Would you?“ He asks confidently, silently stating he already knows the answer.

I roll my eyes, “Of course not! But...” He cuts me off.

“Great, the offer stands on my end. I’m not a noisy nor nosey roommate so I suggest you start packing. If you choose to live in that hell-hole over living with me, I’m sorry but I’ll be hella offended, just so you know.“

Corpse sounds like he’s about to hang up on me, a decision already made, so I hurry to stop him. “Wait! What about rent?”

“Fuck the rent, pack your bags.“ And just like that, despite my efforts, he hangs up on me.

Well...this is a chance of a lifetime that I know refusing would lead me to not only remain stuck here but also put me in the hugest loser bin. There’s also the fear of being Corpse’s burden which I’ll try my best not to be - I mean, I’m a super independent person and Lord knows that if this offer came any other time or from any other person, I would’ve declined asap, no discussion.

But streaming

But sleeping properly

But having a normal life again

Yeah those are most certainly the reasons I get up and go into the closet in search on my emptied suitcase. Time to fill it up again, I guess. This time with a smile on my face and excitement fueling each and every movement of mine.

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[ginanosakka]

We’re Older Now

Masterlist

I’ll Always Love You | Next

“I am going to kill you,” you hissed lowly as you escorted Katsuki through your lobby after comforting your poor, frightened secretary and giving him a break for the time being.

You had come into the office today to handle paperwork from several business connections you had made through email from overseas companies willing to accept some of your clients, and you were ecstatic to finally find work for your clients with more peculiar quirks, even if it was a hassle to help them settle in a different country. Work was your only break from Mina’s questioning about everything, and Katsuki’s scolding about the way you lived since he had apparently become a parenting expert in a week. You swear if Ryu didn’t love him so much, you would have pulled some strings to get him shipped overseas.

The plan was that you would drop Ryu off at school in the morning, and Katsuki would pick him up after patrol and spend time with him, then when work was finished you would pick him up from Katsuki’s place. It wasn’t a difficult plan, and there was little to no complications to this.

That was what you thought until Katsuki asked for address of your building, and you believing he was just making sure he could get to you in case of emergency, and you gave it to him.

He had took that as an invitation to come visit you at your office without notifying you, leading him to have to talk to your front desk secretary — he was a young man fresh from high school with no idea what he wanted to do until you offered him a position; a soft and kind boy — whom was given the instruction upon hiring to never allow strangers to just waltz in and speak to whoever they wanted. Katsuki didn’t take that very well apparently, and he had began berating the soft boy until he was nearly shaking and calling you down to help.

“He deserved it for talking to me like that, I’m a pro-hero, not a damn robberer.” He grunted, and it took all the self-control you had not to slap him upside the head.

“Whether you’re a hero or an absolute menace to society is debatable, but either way there are rules he has to follow that won’t be broken for the number three hero!” You fussed, dragging him with you to the elevator as fast as you could in your favorite skirt and heels. “No one here knows you’re Ryu’s father, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.”

Katsuki smirked down at you, “so you’ll want to tell them eventually, huh?”

“I’m hoping it’ll accidentally pop up in your obituary after you mysteriously pass away.”

He trailed behind you like a bodyguard when you got to the floor where your office resided, and you shook your head at the curious and amazed looks you got from your assistants who walked by. You couldn’t blame them though, their antisocial boss was dragging a hero into her office. Some of them had even made the mistake of mentioning heroes around you in conversation and knew you weren’t fond of those in said profession.

“Alright, what the hell are you doing here?” You asked as you shut the door behind him, watching him closely as he looked over your office that looked more like Ryu’s room with the toy bin and drawings littering the walls.

“When we met at the restaurant, you told me to ask questions about you instead of assuming.” He reminded you as he leaned against the front of your desk to face you, “and I have some questions.”

“I thought we already did this.” You sighed, but gave him the go to ask what he’d like.

“What happened after your old man kicked you out?”

You almost flinched from the hard question, not expecting him to get straight to the point, but then again he’d never been one to beat around the bush. It wasn’t something you spoke about, and as you tried to bring that time back to you, you realized that you couldn’t recall most of what happened. There were blurry bits and pieces, like memories of your mother, and you didn’t know if that was frustrating and relieving. It was a rough patch where you barely ate or slept, your body was constantly aching from pregnancy, and you had to learn how to work and be self sufficient after growing up pampered.

“I remember using money I had stashed away and lived in hotels until I found a job as a waitress, from there I just know I was working day and night and saving as much as I could until I could get this whole thing started.” You said, giving him most of the bits you could remember.

Katsuki nodded, but he still looked unsatisfied with your answer. He pushed off your desk and walked closer to you until he was invading your personal space, and his eyes were focused on your blouse instead of your face.

“What are you-“

“Lift up your shirt.” He ordered gruffly, his eyes narrowed at your chest and making your breath hitch.

“I’m not lifting up my shirt! What the hell are you doing?” You huffed and tried to back away into the door, but he only stepped closer and his warm hands snaked their way to the hem of your shirt.

With one swift motion he lifted up your shirt to just under your bra, exposing your stomach to him as he took a close look at the scar you had coincidentally not mentioned to him. You weren’t confused on how he knew about it, the time Mina confronted you and you had immediately held that spot like it hurt didn’t go over her head. You just didn’t think she’d tell him.

“Your father did this, didn’t he?” He asked.

“No, some friends of his did,” you answered as you pushed him off of you and pulled your shirt back down. “It was his way of trying to force his help on me. If he terminated my pregnancy, I would be able to come back home and he wouldn’t have a shameful daughter. Too bad for him I watched you train and learned some moves.”

You had seen Katsuki angry before, but you’d never seen him so livid that he looked calm. His red eyes were blazing, muscles flexing in his hero costume subconsciously as he looked down at you with an unreadable expression. Having felt that anger before, you knew it was best to let him release it somewhere else instead of in your office.

“That old bastard tried to kill my kid, and he could have killed you in the process.” He said, lifting one of his gauntlet clad hands up and letting off a small explosion. “I’ll kill him and blow his whole legacy up,” Katsuki finalIzed with a menacing smile.

You rolled your eyes, “you sure are concerned about a spoiled brat who can’t handle getting her way.”

His expression changed completely, the smile fell from his face and the fire left his eyes. It took a lot to calm down an angry Katsuki, but it seemed like that simple teasing comment brought him back to reality. You were slightly concerned that you had broken the hero. Before he could even speak though his phone rang, and you had a feeling he was being called back to work — you yourself needed to get your own work done.

“I have shit to do so I’ll see you at my place later, and you better not be late.” Bakugou said and you waved him off as you brushed past him to get to your desk.

“Yeah, I know better than to leave my baby with you, he’ll come back corrupted.”

“Y/N.”

“Huh?” You looked up from your desk to him as he stood at the door, looking back at you.

“You aren’t a spoiled brat anymore.”

A playful smile fell on your face, and you couldn’t pretend that wasn’t the kindest thing he’s ever said to you — that might sound sad, but this is Katsuki Bakugou we’re talking about. “Then what am I?” You decided to ask, just wanting to see if you could fluster him by trying to force more kind words out of him.

You weren’t expecting him to smirk at you and say, “you’re mine.”

A/N: From friendly co-parenting to pushing boundaries. Anyways, sorry this took so long but my brain was absolutely rotting. Thank you for your patience <3! (Tag list will be Updated when I get home from work so if you aren’t added yet it will happen soon don’t worry, and if you wanted to be added speak now or forever hold your peace.)

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[arvandus]

Hello! Happy 750!!! So I have this OC with a singing quirk. She’s basically like Giselle from enchanted where she can control the people and animals and occasionally plants and wind with just her voice. However she processes everything around her as music so it’s constantly playing in her head and gives her severe insomnia. She’s also a member of the LOV so I was wondering what her interactions with each of the members would be like but mostly Dabi. Would they find her annoying or fun? Up to you

Thank you! It took me a little bit to dwell on this one, because the idea is so interesting! But I finally got hit by the Inspiration Imagination, and here we are! I hope you like it; I've adjusted it to x Reader per your request, and I hope you don't mind I took just a little bit of creative license for the Reader's perspective and how to describe her quirk.  I also kept it very Dabi-focused in the interest of time.

Dabi x F!Reader w/ a singing quirk (SFW)

💙 It would be a rocky start at first. Dabi would have difficulty trusting you, simply because your quirk is so powerful. Anything that could potentially take away his free will would make him mistrustful and want to avoid said threat like the plague - or remove it entirely.

💙 But Shigaraki says you’re off limits, so he settles to keep you at arms length while at the same time keeping a close watch on you. One wrong slip, and he’ll handle you himself (or so he tells himself).

💙 He also mistrusts you because… well… as a fellow insomniac, he knows that you’re up at all hours of the night. He’s not sure why, of course… he never knocks on your door to ask. But he hears you shuffling around in your space, pacing in your room. What could possibly keep you up so late every single night? What’s got you looking so exhausted every day as if you never sleep? He’s convinced that you’re a spy, somehow sending messages to their enemies when everyone is asleep. Except he never hears you leave your room. Never hears you talking to anyone. So there must be something he’s missing.

💙 You’re an enigma to him, and it drives him crazy. Dabi doesn’t like unknowns.

💙 On your end, Dabi drives you nuts. He’s an asshole, every word that falls from his mouth laced in backhanded compliments and passive-aggressive accusations. You’d come close to using your quirk on him on many occasions, just to make him shut up or leave the room. Fortunately for Dabi, you have a personal code of honor that you abide by, and controlling people through your singing is only reserved for your enemies.

💙 He’s not your enemy… not yet at least.

💙 You know why he doesn’t trust you, and you don’t blame him… and he's certainly not the first person to be suspicious of you. But does he really gotta be such a dick about it? You try to be upfront with him, to explain that you live by a code and he’s safe from your quirk, but it makes little difference. Dabi doesn’t trust easily, and promises mean very little to him.

💙 His trust is finally gained when you use your quirk to save him and the other league members from certain death. There’s nothing quite like the sensation of hearing the beautiful notes of your voice while in freefall and then feeling himself being caught on a strong wind current, only to be set safely on the ground seventy meters below.

💙 After that happens, he begins to take an even greater interest in you, but this time with more curiosity and less mistrust.

💙 He starts poking and prodding, some questions being asked directly, while others are only implied. After all, he loves his little mind games, and even more so, he loves getting under your skin, especially since you refuse to use your quirk on him. It’s basically given him a ‘get out of jail free’ card for being a brat.

💙 He really, really wants you to prank the others using your quirk. And your little miss “I’m a good girl with a special code of ethics” makes the game that much sweeter. After all, you’re just as much a villain as the rest of them. If Toga can go around swinging her knives from her fingertips, then why couldn’t you sing a little song now and then?

💙 But Dabi quickly learns that you’re just as stubborn as he is, if not more so.

💙 Even so, it’s frustrating for you because if it were anyone else you wouldn’t have put up with this level of bullshit. The persuasion, the flirting, the school-yard level dares… the man has no shame and tries every tactic in the book to try to get what he wants from you. What makes it even worse is that a secret part of you enjoys his mischief. His ideas are tempting sometimes. Especially when the other league members annoy you.

💙 On top of all that, he is strangely alluring, even with his scars. And more importantly, the ‘song’ his body gives off is, well, a pleasant one to say the least.

💙 Every person has a ‘musical aura’ more or less, a small symphony of heartbeats, breaths, and something more… ephemeral. It comes through in the way they move through the environment, in the way the air particles are displaced around them and vibrate with their energy.

💙 And for some reason Dabi’s song is practically intoxicating, just like his sharp blue eyes that always seem to pin you down, heavy lids held up by a cocky smirk.

💙 The two of you reach an impasse in your battle of wills, an unspoken stand-off that never wanes. And it’s upon this competitive dance that the two of you begin to build some strange sense of camaraderie.

💙 He’ll eventually give up on his desire for pranking his comrades when he sees you use your quirk on heroes. But not just any hero, of course…

💙 Imagine Dabi’s glee when you use your song quirk to make Endeavor literally dance as the large man’s face flushes red with rage. It was intended to keep him busy while the League made their escape. But it makes it all over the news of course, and becomes viral online for months. The laughter that the two of you share when you get back to the hideout lasts for hours as you watch the news replay the scene over and over it. It really never gets old.

💙 Oh man, does he like you even more now. You’re his new favorite person. And he finally stops harassing you about using your quirk on the League members, instead finding much greater enjoyment in targeting different heroes together.

💙 There will come a time that he’ll catch you on one of your many insomnia-induced nights. It’s a hard one, sleep being kept at bay by the musical cacophony surrounding you, despite your obvious exhaustion. Your strength finally shatters, and you break down into tears in your room in frustration.

💙 Guess who ends up knocking on your door?

💙 Of course Dabi heard you. For months he’s been listening to the pacing of your feet or your frustrated sighs through the thin, old walls. It’s almost become a lullaby to him by this point, a way for him to know that you’re safe and sound… more or less.

💙 “What’s wrong, doll?” he’ll ask, as he stares down at your tear-streaked face. “I can hear ya through the walls, so don’t gimme any of your bullshit excuses.” Anyone else would hear the mockery in his voice, but for you with your quirk, you can hear the song of caring weaved through them, a hidden secret that you’re sure even he doesn’t realize is there.

💙 He won’t wait for an answer as he enters your personal space and makes himself comfortable.

💙 His sudden presence and that comforting familiar song it brings with it soothes more than you’d like to admit.

💙 But you do admit it. You admit to everything. The fatigue you feel, the way your quirk makes you suffer, and how for some reason, the song of him puts you at ease, drowning out the other noise. It’s like your inner radio is tuned just for him. Normally you wouldn’t admit to any of this of course, but you’re well past the point of exhaustion now, and your brain isn’t running as smoothly as it normally would. So what did it matter if you told him everything? You really didn’t have the strength to care anymore.

💙 “Your quirk is fuckin’ weird.” he admits. Then a grin will spread across his face. “You like my ‘song,’ huh? C’mere.”

💙 He’ll have you lay down with him on your bed and hold you close to him, your head on his chest as he rests his chin in your hair. “Does it help?” he’ll ask.

💙 Shockingly, it does. His music surrounds you, and you close your eyes as you let it cover you like a warm blanket. Everything else seems to fall to the wayside, your tired brain only able to focus on one melody - his. Before you can even nod in response, you’re fast asleep.

💙 It’ll become a habit for you two now… On particularly hard nights, he’ll keep you company and hold you. And maybe… maybe he’ll start letting you keep him company when he has hard nights too.

[thevindicativevordan]

You did one for Hulk (incredible btw). Got any thoughts on Spider-Man?

He used to be one of my favorites.

It's easy to see why Spidey took off as Marvel's premiere character, and competitor with Batman for the most popular superhero ever. If you'll indulge my DC bias, Spider-Man sits at the intersection between Superman and Batman. Like Superman, Spider-Man never knew his birth parents, and was instead adopted and raised by an elderly couple. Uncle Ben and Aunt May are the people Peter thinks of as his mom and dad, and it's their lives that help shape Peter. Both Superman and Spider-Man wear colorful red and blue costumes, both have iconic jobs working for newspapers with cantankerous bosses, and both have a lot of Jewish DNA in them because of their creators. Like Batman however, Spider-Man has a tragic parental figure's death to motivate him, he has a very poor reputation with the public, they both style themselves on animals, and both have strong roots in the cities they protect. That Peter's greatest foe, the Green Goblin, also stands at the intersection between Lex Luthor and the Joker makes for a great parallel. Add in that Spider-Man has the second best Rogues Gallery in comics, and it's clear Peter drew on the best attributes from his predecessors as a foundation.

What separates Peter from them though is that he was the first hero with real problems. Neither Superman or Batman had to worry about paying rent regularly like Peter did. Both stood apart from their peers by choice, while Peter wanted to make friends but wasn't able to do it. Krypton and the Waynes died through no fault of Supes or Bats, but Uncle Ben's death was something Peter was at fault for if indirectly. Then you had Gwen Stacy killed as a direct result of Peter's superhero career, introducing the idea of heroes who could fail. Spider-Man was pitched as the flawed hero, the human hero, the guy you could think of yourself as being if you got superpowers. You would screw up and make mistakes, but you'd try your best regardless. Of course the readers would be drawn to, and identify with him, and that's both the secret to his success and what keeps fucking him over. A lot of guys see Peter as their self-insert, so they keep trying to return to their youth through him which keeps derailing him as a character. My entry into Spider-Man fandom came during one of the brief lulls from Marvel trying to reset him to what they see as his "roots".

I remember seeing the Rami Spider-Man movies in the theater and being utterly entranced. I played the first Spider-Man movie tie-in game pretty religiously as a kid (fuck that level where you infiltrate OsCorp, those robots were insane), as well as other Spider-Man games such as Web of Shadows. Can still hear the theme song of the 90s animated Spider-Man show in my head, that show's versions of Green Goblin and Venom are still my favorite takes. All this is a rambling way of saying that "my" Spider-Man was formed during a period where Marvel seemed ok with Peter being more adult, something they've been trying to roll back ever since.

Peter was a college student in the 90s cartoon, the comics had him and MJ married (my first Spidey comic was vol. 1 of JMS' Amazing Spider-Man run, so Peter and MJ being married is the "default" for me), the video games were set in the Ramiverse so he was a college student there as well. It's such a weird era to look back on in retrospect given what's to come and what came before. Peter had problems and was flawed, but he was also so much more mature and thoughtful, intelligent in a way beyond just being a science whiz. He and MJ had a great dynamic as a couple under JMS. They were so clearly in love and also utterly unwilling to take each others shit that it was just a joy to read. That relationship really was something I dearly loved, and of course I took it poorly when Marvel broke the two of them up. Making it a plot where not!Satan comes down and takes their marriage away only rubbed salt in the wound.

Suddenly Peter was a lot more immature and stupid, and Marvel was insisting that this was "how he should be". Marvel was claiming that Spider-Man was all about youth, thus he needed to remain young and marriage free in order to work, which flew in the face of the character as I understood him. To me, Spidey was a character about the opposite, he was about growing up.

More than any other character in the MU, Peter was the guy who embodied character development. In his early years under Lee and Dikto, Peter was an asshole with a chip on his shoulder. Far from being the martyr figure everyone sees him as today, Peter initially just kept trying to make money with his powers. He was constantly moaning and bewailing his lot, because he was a fucking teenager! EVERY teenager treats ANY setback like it's the end of the world. Yet over a period of years, both in universe and out, Peter grew into the great hero everybody sees him as today. He became kinder, more charitable, and made friends with his peers. He acquired a steady stream of super hot girlfriends, ultimately marrying MJ. Peter married MJ before Clark Kent married Lois Lane, that's a huge freaking accomplishment! Totally makes sense that Peter would get married first because while Superman was more or less frozen in place like all DC heroes, Spider-Man was the one who embodied the Marvel trait of growth and change. The world kept throwing shit at him and Peter dealt with it as best he could, and that gave me hope because if he could overcome the forces arrayed against him to find some degree of happiness, so could I.

One More Day completely obliterated all of that. I didn't recognize this character anymore, I didn't care about the shallow relationships they teased him entering, relationships we all knew didn't matter. If Peter couldn't stay married to MJ, he wasn't going to last in a relationship with Carlie Cooper or any of the girls Slott set him up with. Peter being immature worked great when he was actually in high school and college, but Marvel wanted to write him as a high schooler without actually deaging him. The contrast between how he was characterized before and after OMD was just too jarring for me.

Ultimately I left for a while. I read Superior and Spider-Verse, but I was no longer religiously following Amazing Spider-Man any more. Checked out Ultimate Spider-Man which I had never read, and I enjoyed it, but I also held a grudge against it's success. Clearly this was the series that enshrined high school Spider-Man as the "ideal" status quo for a lot of people, and I couldn't help but blame the series for Quesada's successful torching of a more mature Peter Parker. I also read Spider-Girl which took place in an alternate continuity where Peter was still married and he had a daughter with MJ named Mayday. I loved that series a lot, and Mayday became my favorite Marvel superheroine. Eventually I came back to ASM with Spencer because a few of my fellows told me he reminded them of JMS, and I've enjoyed his characterization of Peter. Doubt the marriage will be coming back any time soon but it's nice to read a more adult Peter after how he was characterized under Slott.

Hard to say what the future holds for Peter. Tough to say for certain but with the end of high school Peter in the MCU approaching, it feels like we're on the edge of another shift in status quo for Spider-Man. May be that the creation of Miles is allowing Peter to finally start to mature again since Miles can be the corporate wet dream of an eternally young "diverse" Spidey. The insistence on putting Miles into more and more of Peter's stuff, with Peter mentoring him, makes me hope that Marvel is becoming more ok with Peter growing up. The Insomniac Spider-Man is a college graduate, he feels the closest in tone and character to the Spider-Man I grew up with under JMS and Rami. They even got to kill Aunt May off, something Marvel is still terrified to do in the comics, and the relationship between Peter and MJ is portrayed as crucial to both (as it should), even if MJ is a little too Lois Lane lite for my liking.

Hopefully Spider-Man can shake off Quesada's lingering influence and start being what he was created to be: the guy who moves forward rather than running in place.

[katiea03]

❣︎Order #5~ Chocolate Croissant❣︎

❣︎Menu Here❣︎

❣︎Warnings❣︎: None:)

❣︎A/n❣︎: I feel like the story is starting to pick up here, so more stuff should be happening! Thank you all for the support, hope you enjoy! ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Tsuki was up once again at an ungodly hour, but he didn't mind. He was perched at his desk with his biggest mug of tea and soft lofi music playing in the back as he got a headstart on some stuff for work. The gears constantly turn within his head leaving him unable to power down and go to sleep. Tsukishima was a borderline insomniac so almost every night was like this one. His phone was across the room as he had no need for it but as he typed away on his keyboard, his phone dings. He ignores it but the dings became more and more frequent. It was honestly kinda annoying and with a sigh he goes to check what the hell it was.

Out of all people, he surely wasn’t expecting you.

He regretted not calling you like he promised, and honestly he didn’t have a good excuse as to why he didn’t call other than, he was scared. It was a lame excuse and he was well aware of that, but As much as he liked you, it was easier to keep those who cared about at arms length. But maybe you reaching out first was the push he needed.

He sits down once more and rubs the bridge of his nose before opening your message. To say he was confused was an understatement. He didn’t know you well enough to say that this didn’t sound like you, but he was pretty positive with the fact that something must be up for you to be messaging the way you are. Obviously you were under the influence of something, and Tsukishima didn’t know how to respond. But he was concerned. Were you at least safe?

Sending a quick message of where you were, got him nowhere. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t at least a little amused. Once you managed to say you were home he actually laughed out loud. It was funny, he had to admit. Now what he saw next, he didn’t expect. The revealing photo left his mouth agape and the laughter stopped. It felt wrong to look at the photo especially since it wasn’t intentional, and it didn’t show anything bad. But the dress hugged your figure all the right ways- He shut off his phone and threw it to his bed. Clearing his throat, Tsuki looked back to his screen and attempted to work again. But he would be lying if his mind didn’t wander back to that photo.

————

You were still internally punching yourself into the floorboards of your living room. You were almost in tears from embarrassment. If he didn’t call you before, he certainly wasn’t gonna call you now. And the worst part about it all, is that you had the worst headache of your life and you couldn’t even sulk it off as you had to open up the bakery for the day.

You made a sad attempt of getting ready and after slipping on your apron, you made your way downstairs. Flipping the open sign, and unlocking the doors, you got ready for the day. The Advil’s for your headache hadn’t set in yet, so every noise you made seemed a hundred times louder. You attempt to softly lower the chairs but the screeching noise still made you wince. It was still early and no customers would come in for a while so you rested your head on the counter praying to be rid of the constant pounding in your head.

You start to set up the display by following the plan you had created the week before. Along with its many cakes, pastries, and confections, you decided to make croissants with all sorts of fillings.

Overall, setting up for the morning took well over three hours.

Sighing as you hold your head in your hands still regretting the night before when the bell rings. Grimacing, you softly lift your head off the counter to face the last person you wanted to see. Your stomach felt like it fell out of your ass and to the floor. If mortification could kill, you surely would be dead this very moment. Tsukishima, as put together as ever was right in front of you and you couldn’t even say hello.

Another moment passes by before Tsuki speaks, “You know...for someone who wanted to see me so bad, you sure don’t have a lot to say.”

You instantly start apologizing for your inappropriate behavior and all Tsuki could do is look at you with the slight hint of a smile.

“I am truly so sorry! I haven't been that drunk in a really long time and I am completely unbecoming of me. I totally understand if you don’t want to hang out again. I honestly wouldn’t either.”

The apologies didn’t seem to stop and the longer this ordeal went on, the wider his smile became.

“That’s a shame cause I was really hoping to take you out this week.” A smirk you have never seen from him comes through and you do a double take.

“Now you must be just as crazy as I am.”

“I must be.” His hands slide into his pockets and with a certain smugness he continues,

“How does Friday night sound for you?” Right as you were about to answer you see Kiyoko and Yachi at the bottom of the stairs. Tsuki follows your eyes and you can physically feel his smugness close up and what is left is the cold demeanor you first met him with.

“Who’s this Y/n?” Kiyoko asks innocently. Yachi was behind her just as innocent and you could already imagine strangling them. You put on your fakest smile and as you go to introduce Tsuki.

“This is my uh… new friend Tsukishima.”

Tsuki gives them a curt nod and the girls respond with an introduction of their own.

“Well I have to get going to work, but I just wanted to make sure you were still alive.” His smirk returned only for a moment.

“Ha ha very funny-Oh! Before you go please take one.” You quickly bag one of the many chocolate croissants. He accepted it gratefully and the smallest smile graced his face.

“I'll text you the details for Friday.”

“You better actually text me this time!”

“Or what, drunkenly text me again?” You gasp at his hint to last night and he leaves without giving you a chance to respond.

The bell jingles as the door closes behind him and he takes off.

You all were totally checking out his ass.

Yachi pipes in, “For a skinny guy, he has a really cute ass.”

A slight blush rises to your face as you and Kiyoko hum in agreement.

————————

❣︎Order #4 | Order #6❣︎

————————

❣︎Taglist❣︎: Open! (To be added to the taglist just send me an Ask ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ)

@thechaosoflonging @kawafika @moon-strawberries-and-redwings @nataliahaslosthershit @conquerornova @tsukkisfatsimp @semhal @shoyotime @thumbaelinaa @astrokawas @why-000 @simplyyyy @fivxss @rose-lord of- simps @1-800-simpingcowbaby @pandauniverse @hogwarts-imagines @kuroos-rootsterhead @levylovegood @kac-chowsballs

[atmilliways]

I was channeling exhausted Charles a little hard, because gd is moving tiring... I know I have some messages I should really get to answering, and I promise that will happen soon. 

Anyway, happy belated birthday, @insomniac-pens!

Charles is couch surfing against his will; Emeto mention; Implied/Referenced Drug Use; Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism; Early klok

C'mon, Charlie, Stay

There was, for a brief period, a time when Charles was between apartments due to an unfortunate infestation problem that had allowed him to break his lease early. It allowed him to lease a much better place, closer to both his office and the new band he was managing, but with one catch: it wouldn’t be available for him to move in for another six weeks.

To his surprise, once the band found out about this they flat out refused to leave him alone until he agreed to crash on their couch. No amount of pointing out that he had the money to just stay in a hotel until his move-in date seemed to sway them. So, he dutifully shelled out his hotel money to pay for Dethklok’s apartment to be professionally cleaned and the couch reupholstered, and that was that. 

Except, dear god, when did these men sleep. 

Charles tried to think of them as men, but frankly it got harder the longer he stayed with them. Murderface had only recently turned twenty-one, and Nathan and Toki were still technically underage; that didn’t stop them or Skwisgaar or Pickles from constantly partying themselves stupid. 

In the very living room (which they also used for band practices) where he was trying to sleep. 

The last straw was when they gave Toki shrooms for the first time and he puked all over the coffee table, including the glasses that Charles had carefully folded and placed there before settling in for the night. Without a word of complaint or reprimand, he was simply up and packed and dressed enough to drive to the nearest hotel, because this was clearly not working.

“Dood dood dood, where’re ya going?” Pickles gabbled, dragging on the manager’s arm as he tried to head out of the front door. 

“To get a hotel room, a hot shower, and a good night’s sleep,” Charles replied, although personally he felt that this should have been obvious. 

“But you can do all that here!”

Charles sighed, resettling his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Thank you, Pickles, but we both know it’s, ah, only a matter of time before I get vomited on, and cleaning my glasses off was unpleasant enough.”

As if on cue, there were more retching sounds from further inside the apartment, followed by shouts and whoops of “He got the couch,” “That’sch twenty points,” and “Directs hits, everiesones does to takes the drink-shots!”

Pickles grimaced. “Okay, so maybe the kid wasn’t ready for caps. That’s my bad, I’m sahrry. But dood, you should still stay. . . .” He trailed off, looking around with a kind of urgent disappointment that Charles had only previously seen when the drummer was trying to find a misplaced stash. Then, with an uncertain grin, he added, “You can, uh, you can stay in my room if ya want.” 

“Ah. . . .” Charles blinked. He was very, very tired, and not entirely sure he’d heard that correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s got a door’n everything,” Pickles continued, obviously warming to the idea as soon as he saw that Charles wasn’t rejecting it outright. “You can even have the bed, I can ride the floor. Which I can actually see again now, thanks again for hirin’ those cleaners, dood! And I think I can even find ya some clean sheets and stuff. C’mon, Charlie, stay.”

So, soon afterward, Charles found himself back in his pajamas. They were just the t-shirt and boxers that he’d thrown a jacket and slacks over to leave, really, which by his temporary housemates’ standards apparently made him a prude. He was also swaddled in clean sheets and blankets on Pickles’ bed, as promised, and Pickles had receded back out to the party with a vague, Sleep tight, dood. Despite the lumpiness of the mattress Charles was actually quite comfortable and, with the door closed and the lights off, fairly well insulated against the noise of the band’s continued revelry. 

He was asleep within seconds. 

Some time later Charles woke not to loud noise or something landing on him, but because he had to pee. Not bothering to find his glasses or slippers in the dark (though he was wearing socks; he wasn’t an animal), he slipped out of bed and shuffled towards the door—

His foot connected with something warm and soft, possibly a stomach, and someone groaned, “Oof.” 

“Shit,” Charles muttered. He groped along the nearby wall for a light switch. “Ah . . . Pickles, is that you?”

The lights snapped on harsh and bright, and it was indeed Pickles curled up on the floor, red dreads spayed out like fireworks against the dingy carpet, without even a pillow or blanket. “Yeeeeeeah?” Pickles replied blearily, squinting up at him. 

Charles sighed. The last thing they needed was Pickles unable to play gigs because he’d tweaked his back or neck sleeping on the floor—although, in the short time he’d known the man, Charles had seen him passed out in worse positions. Still, couldn’t be too careful while Dethklok was still starting out. 

“Get in bed,” Charles told him. 

“Nnnn.” Pickles rubbed clumsily at his eyes and swiped and the drool that had collected on his goatee. “You get the bed, couch’s fucked fer now. . . .”

It was only a twin-sized mattress. Charles squinted back at it, then gave a mental shrug. “We’ll share. Just get in, I’ll, ah, be right back.”

He stepped over Pickles and headed for the bathroom. Both the toilet and sink were splattered liberally with vomit, enough that he doubted it had all come out of Toki. He hadn’t smelled any on the man he’d just invited to bunk with him, which . . . was all Charles had the energy to care about, at the moment. He sighed again and just pissed in the bathtub, because fuck it, he was still half asleep. 

When he returned, Pickles had already burrowed into the blankets in the dead center of the bed. Not in the mood to be deterred, Charles turned the light off and wedged himself into the available free space on the mattress. 

“Mmmhey,” Pickles mumbled drowsily somewhere near his shoulder. 

“Scoot over,” Charles grumbled back, and when he got no response gave another shove with his hip. That seemed to get the message across because Pickles did scoot, squirming over and turning into him, clinging to Charles’ arm. 

“‘S cold over here,” Pickles offered in explanation. He was pressed close all along the other man’s side, mouth closer to his ear in the darkness; his breath smelled of whiskey, cigarettes, and reefer. “‘Mglad you stayed, Charlie. Hotels fuckin’ suck . . . this is better, isn’t it?”

“Hm,” Charles hummed. All he really wanted to do was settle in and go back to sleep—although the warmth of a body next to his was nice. The hint of smoke was nice too, despite it having been years since he’d given it up himself. Lulling. Like a steady surf washing over him, pulling back, washing over him again. His eyes drifted closed and he felt himself relax, sinking into the mattress as far as the uneven springs would allow. 

Then, a warm press of lips against his, so soft and tentative that at first he thought it was a dream—he often dreamed that way, slipping from real to unreal so quickly the change was imperceptible. And if it was a dream, why not kiss back? Charles let his lips part, turning into it, that warmth, placidly enjoying the gentle scratch of facial hair against his own clean shaven face. 

It was the arm suddenly draped over him that gave him pause. That felt real, a solid palm splayed as near to the small of his back as it could get while he still lay mostly flat. A body leaning flush into his, silently crying out for closeness. Pickles. 

Pickles tasted like a shot of Fireball in a dim, crowded bar. 

Charles blinked his eyes open, breaking the kiss with a hand on the man’s shoulder. A client. A boss, if the band ever made it as big as he was determined to ensure they would. This was a huge breach in his personal code of professionalism. 

“Charlie?” Pickles whispered, and it sounded so much like a plea (I want you, I need you, please don’t stop) that Charles gave his shoulder what hopefully came across as a reassuring squeeze. 

“Pickles,” he murmured gently, “you’re drunk. I’m, ah, not sure this is a good—”

“I’m always drunk,” Pickles interrupted, mumbling petulantly. 

True enough. Charles just hoped the fame and fortune would kick in before lover failure, for all the guys. Boys, really, playing around with their music and drugs and anyone they could get into bed with them. . . . Case in point. 

He just wished he wasn’t so damn tired. Or at least that he was awake enough to handle this situation with the delicacy it deserved, because he hesitated, and sensed instinctively that Pickles noticed. 

Still, he said, “Regardless, I don’t, ah, think this is a good idea.”

“So? Make a bad decision fer once, gahd.” Then Pickles kissed him again, throwing a leg over his manager for good measure and crowding into him once more with an urgent but surprisingly slow rhythm. 

Charles had only known Pickles for several months—personally, anyway, but he wasn’t about to admit to being a Snakes N Barrels fan back in the day now—and had seen his usual approach to getting into someone’s pants. It usually involved lots of smiling, suggestive looks, wandering hands, and friendly offers to share whatever drugs he had on hand at the time. 

Not once had he turned those attempts at charm towards Charles. He’d been insistent, stubbornly helpful, and . . . nervous. Even now, there was a fluttery quality to his grip, as though he expected to be pushed away more than anything else. Charles wasn’t very good at reading this sort of thing, and was only catching up on all this in retrospect, but Pickles seemed to be acting as though this actually  mattered  or something. 

And Charles was tired, and it felt nice. Warm and comfortable. Pickles was drunk; maybe he wouldn’t remember by morning. 

He let himself kiss back, and by the time he fell asleep again it was with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. 

[archivedatl]

Old Blogs

Howdy. I’ve noticed some concern over the loss of my old blogs here n’ there so I decided to post all of them in one large, comprehensive blog-a-verse. Hope this brings a smile to a few faces. Our Street Corners Keep Secrets This is me asking for a brick to be thrown through my window,
a message attached that reads, "Why can’t you just wake up?"
I am not a star,
don’t look up to me in hopes of finding something more.
That which is out of reach does not promise anyone a goddamn thing.
Hope arises in possibility,
but possiblity is fragmented and selfish,
so don’t think for a second that I am safe ground to walk on.
I will sink beneath the feet of a thousand travelling companions,
and make ruin of any city’s foundations,
because concrete and steel can never tell a soul how it feels.
Our street corners keep secrets, and our road signs only suggest,
never deciding for us,
never knowing if the destination to which they lead,
is where we truely belong.
Life’s greatest tragedy is not that it will some day end,
but that most of us just live to follow directions,
and many times we end up totally lost. I am a landmine. Sometimes I break down so hard you can hear it, and when I can stand to come near it with means to repair, the chances of walking out unscathed are slim to none.
I know because I’m one; a victim of second-hand breakdowns and bad impressions, made under intoxicated conditions with poorly lit expressions. And I regret not going back, I regret not missing flights, I regret not asking for more and taking chances that I can only hope will not be forgotten. My fingers are crossed.

I-O-U.

Now my telephone’s dead and I can’t stand to hold out like this, but I’m constantly checking myself so as not to be a burden. Anything too heavy eventually gets dropped, no matter the cost. Let me be light as a feather, but valued enough so as to remain in a back pocket, until those jeans need washing and I find my place on a bedside table, to be read aloud on nights when memories and prying needs return to haunt the foundations of this room.

Pick me up,
Read me every now and then,
I won’t disappoint.
*I am* witty and engaging so bless me with attention, because I’m *dying* for attention *without* any means of telling *you*. I’ll talk the talk, you take care of the rest. What up thugs?

I’m alive and well, realizing how eternally grateful I am for everything going on in my life day by day... Its a lot like learning to walk - at least, that’s how I’d like to think of it. We’ve all been there, so I won’t waste your time painting a pretty picture of how it all goes down...
I want to talk about other things...
First and foremost, I’ve come to understand that as of late there have been a lot of people finding this little piece of my life tucked away on the web; moreso than usual, and for that reason, I’d like to extend my proverbial hand to anyone and everyone who may have something - anything to say to me. Thank you for taking an interest in who I am and what I’m attempting to do with my life. I am opening myself up, as much as possible, to anyone who may be interested. All I ask is that whoever you may be, wherever you may be, understand that I am only human - two hands, ten fingers, and a life... I’ve received a few messages from people, upset that I haven’t been able to respond to their previous comments or private messages, and who now probably think less of me for it. I hope this isn’t the case, but its bound to happen. What I’m saying is that I don’t live my life on the internet... I’m sorry if there’s a message I never got around to responding to... I’m just not that good at keeping up with reality, let alone a virtual one. I will, however, try harder from now on... And understand that even if I don’t respond, I probably have read your message. I don’t just clear my inbox and move on. Thats plain rude. :)

To all my good friends,
the ones I should talk to more often,
the ones I left back home,
the ones I will never stop loving,
thank you for still hugging me when I come home...
I know I don’t always show it,
but I’m forever indebted to you all for everything you’ve ever done for me...

That brings me to my second point.
The closest friends you’ll ever have are the ones you’d take a bullet for,
but they’re the ones you constantly feel you could put a bullet in as well. ;)

Think about that one.

That’s it for now. I can’t believe I’m up at 5:14am. Touring has made me an insomniac, but I feel fucking great.

Have a good one y’all,

Me Lawyers and Liars I am a liar.
I am self absorbed.
I am in this for me.
I am seeking recognition.
I am not concerned with politics.
I am attempting to rise to the top.
I am never going to forget my intentions.
I am allowed to worry about my own life above the lives of others.

-------AFTER ALL---------

I am human. Part Deux: Colors, Sounds and Feather-Downs 
Current mood: happy I had a long, goofy conversation several weeks ago with an interesting girl who I haven’t seen since, in a diner I have yet to revisit, but it stirred up some thoughts that I found pretty interesting. Maybe I’m just nuts. Anyhow, the discussion began on a simple basis; I inquired as to what her favorite color might be. She said she didn’t know. I replied, "How can you not know? Its a simple question." -- She paused, looking sort of surprised, as if someone had never pressed her for an answer before, and then replied, "Well... It changes... Today its yellow."

I didn’t know what to say...
I didn’t understand.

How can your favorite color just change?
What happened to yesterday’s favorite color?
If, on a whim, something of such esteem and value can be replaced with another, then on what grounds was it ever of any more value to begin with?
When I was little, my favorite color was green. It stayed that way, no matter what I said to be trendy at the time (IE. 8th grade was my "black is such a raw and expressive pigment" phase, but everyone goes through that shit.) As of late, I’ve become more partial to blue - Light blue in particular, but that’s not that important. My point is that something happened that caused me to send green packing, and to fall absolutely head-over-heels for blue.
(Stay with me on this...)
Now, such a dramatic change in attraction doesn’t just happen - I mean shit, I know we’re only talking about colors here, but this kind of switch-a-roo has only happened ONCE in my entire life. Green ---> Blue. Just like that. Must mean somthing, right?
Pablo Picasso went through a "blue period", at which time he was broke and mourning the loss of a dear friend. There’s a similarity there somewhere.
Please don’t get me wrong, I am by no means depressed, nor do I have any reason to be, but perhaps color - every, individual hue, represents to each of us a state of being, and in turn, helps us to deal with whatever it is we may be going through. I’m not talking mood-ring shit here. What I mean is that there are things - simple things - that without our knowing, mean the world to us and when they change, they change for our own good, because whether we like it or not, we are looking out for ourselves. We do it unconsciously - But we do it. We do it to stay happy and to stay alive... And above all else, that’s what matters.
On this note, I’d like to attempt to make my point - Don’t throw yourself out on another’s whim. People change, as do intentions and as a result, consequences. Live for yourself - love those around you, but realize that they’ve got their own agendas. People will screw you - You will screw people... Green ---> Blue. Get it? I’m not sure I do... Always consider that your life will venture in new directions, but be aware that other’s will do the same, and in accordance, understand that to be happy, people must exist in their own light, cast in and of themselves, not by the light of their peers. Conflict will arise because of this. Conflict is to be expected; conflict is a part of life. Find ways to work through conflict, even if it means picking a new favorite color...


I hope this makes a little sense.


I’m tired and rambling, and perhaps just a misguided fool, but I think there’s something in this - something that I am learning and accepting as my fingers punch these keys to an inviting, hypnotic rhythm. I feel like they’re leading me somewhere, and I’ve decided to follow.

____I’m going to bed. Take from this what you will.

Love,

Alexander William Gaskarth

*I feel fine* The first of many, I hope. 
Current mood: happy So I’ve decided to spill it; the beans, the juice, my guts... Whatever you want to call it, consider it spilled. Up to this point, I feel like I’ve done an excellent job of keeping just about everything true about myself, to myself... and for good reason - what people don’t know, people can’t use against you. I guess that’s my first confession. I fucking despise the way people operate. The way people go out of their way to find things out, only to throw them senselessly (BLINDLY) into conversation later. I don’t know if its intentional, (I guess that sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t,) but frankly, it gets to me. Its the same kind of prying aggravation I feel when someone starts moving shit around in my car, or on my computer table. Stop putting hills in my rugs! Please. Call me OCD but if I put something somewhere, chances are, I wanted it there and it should remain that way. Its the same for anyone else. Let one’s own business remain that way. Anyway. I’ve fallen into a depression lately - not emotionally per say, but I feel like my ability to open up to people has peaked over the past two years. I used to be so ready to say anything, without caring how it affected me, but recently I’ve become so protective of myself, not because I’m afraid of getting hurt by others, but because I might make myself look bad. It’s disgusting. I never used to be so self-absorbed. Its like in every situation, I’m wearing a mask... Not just one mask, in fact, but many masks; Masks to hide masks between people - to hide certain sides of myself from those who disapprove where others don’t. I try so hard to win the approval of everyone. Why? Fucked if I know. I just love being the center of attention I guess. And all this time I thought myself to be humble. No sir. But then, who really is humble? Everyone wants to be loved, right? So am I wrong in looking out for my own well being? Who knows? It makes me sick to my stomach, regardless. I’ve unknowingly stumbled across so many insecurities lately that I feel like a different person at times. It’s like I’ve been born all over again, to a world where I have to carry myself differently. I’m still opinionated, I’m still eagerly in search of answers, but my motives have changed. I do it for myself now; for the praise and admiration I earn as a result of my actions, not for the simple pleasure found in just "doing it". Maybe its all just part of growing up, as they say. Maturing... You know? But does it continue to change? Will I stop acting like such an asshole? Who knows. It worries me. I don’t want to be like this, but its who I’ve become... What’s worse is that I don’t know who or what to blame for the transformation. That would be too easy, right? I digress. I’ve got a lot of things on my plate. My dreams are coming true right before my very eyes - I have a band - We’re going somewhere - This time next year I hope I’m far, far away from this place. I want to see Japan. I’ve wanted to see Japan for a while now; call it a calling. Haha. I don’t know what I want when I get there - I don’t even like the hustle of big cities for too long. Gives me a headache. But there’s something about it. I’ll see it soon enough. The repetition of every day life kills. It ruins the flow of my creative juices. No joke. On days that I sleep in, I go to bed feeling exhausted, and yet, I never sleep on the weekends, when I should want rest. I don’t. It would be a waste of freedom. Why spend time on parole in seclusion, you know? I’m only tired on weekdays - only when I know I have to drag myself out of my fucking room to take a shower and go to school, and then to work. Maybe I’m not tired. Maybe it’s just a natural defense against running myself into the ground with routine. I feel pale, and sick, and run down... For no reason. I eat right. I see the light of day. I breathe fresh air all the time. I love the outdoors. Shit. I love my life. But between Monday and Thursday I feel so transient... My head isn’t in the clouds - My feet aren’t on the ground. Where am I? I don’t know, but frankly, it sucks. I have some good friends. We get hammered sometimes and forget about everything. The occasional dramatic scene is worth it. People naturally don’t get along with one another. It’s all a matter of how tolerant people are. I have some tolerant friends. In turn, I think I put up with my share of bullshit. It’s like a cycle of tough loving. But it works. It keeps me sane. In the end I think we really do love each other. Awww. I also like to kiss people. It gets me into trouble sometimes. Whatever. Certain individuals need to stop looking for love in the wrong places. --I can’t talk. --I’ve found love in the worst places. --Its not an easy thing to deal with. --Doesn’t change the way I feel about them. --Its ok. --As long as I’m happy. There I go being selfish again. ___I’m done confessing for now. Take from this what you will. Love, Alexander William Gaskarth *I feel better.*

[gayenerd]

I have literally no source for this interview, but it’s one of my favorites because Billie seems to be really honest about his songwriting here - this is when Nimrod came out

The day I met Billie Joe Armstrong he flashed me his new tattoo, a Chuck-Jones-perfect cartoon character on his right bicep. Above it was some skull or Celtic armband or something, but below was the name "Joseph," exquisitely lettered, for his firstborn child. It's that image of him that I always keep in my head, and what I think of when I hear his band, Green Day: loopy humor and face-punch riffs and sincere sentiment I tight formation, worn as close to the skin as possible, covered in sweat. From the band's first records on the local Berkeley label Lookout, 39/Smooth and Kerplunk!, through the multi-million selling Warner Brothers releases Dookie, Insomniac, and now Nimrod, Armstrong has written dozens of perfect little punk-rock ditties that are probably the most sincere and playful acts of musical aggression since that first punk wave twenty years ago. 

But the songs are more than throwbacks. Armstrong writes from a very personal perspective, the perspective of someone born in the Me Decade, raised in the Me-vs.-You Decade, and trying to cope in the Yet-to-be-Stereotyped Decade. His songs are about the current crises of being alive right now, in a society that's used up and marketed all of its counter-cultures, and has little use for its youth except as consumers. The songs are also about how one reconciles anger and rebellion with love and desire to not be so down all the time. It's less political and more personal than its punk rock predecessors, an angry/crying/shouting/fucking definition of self.

 It made me wonder how you can take bile directed at you and turn it into a song that gets sold at the local Sam Goody. I figured I'd ask, so I called him up at his home in Berkeley. 

Q: Where do you start when writing a song? 

A: Most of the time I'll come up with a melody, and I'll do lyrics, but I'll tackle them at different times and not connect the two, you know? So I'll come up with the riffs, and the melody of the song, like a short ditty. I'll put some lyrics to it and bring it to band practice and then we'll just start to pound it out. And then, as things need to be restructured, sometimes Mike [Dirnt, bassist] will have an idea for something, or Tré [Cool, drummer] will have an idea for something, or sometimes we'll just leave it alone and it's sort of already done. 

Q: Have there been any particular songs that have stayed the same from the original inspiration to recording, or have they all gone through changes in the process? 

A: There's a lot of them that stay the same. "Redundant" really never changed, except we made it a little longer by adding another chorus at the end. And there's this song called "All The Time" that's pretty much exactly the way I had it.

 Q: So how much does a song change then, in producing the record? On Nimrod there are a lot of different arrangements: strings on "Good Riddance," horns on "King For A Day." Did you have the ragtime horns in mind when you were writing? 

A: No, not at all. I actually demo'd that song and played all the instruments myself and showed it to the band and they're like, "oh, that's pretty cool." We fucked around with it and practiced it a couple of times, but we never expected it to go onto the record. Then when we got to the studio, we said whatever, we'll just put it on there. It ended up being pretty good, but the song was just screaming for horns. We got Gabe [McNair] and Steve [Bradley] and it was so funny. They said, "what do you want us to play?" And I said, 'I'm sure you'll think of something.' And they looked at me like, "aw man!" So they basically wrote all the horn parts to that song. 

Q: What's more important, lyrics or the music? 

A: I think lyrics are really important, because there are songs that, musically, I don't think are the greatest in the world but lyrically are amazing. I mean, Johnny Rotten never had the greatest voice in the world but he wrote really good lyrics for the first Sex Pistols record, and that goes for a lot of people. But the thing is, a lot of people tend to -- especially in pop songs -- they tend to take the music and put something sappy to it, and it's just a one-dimensional emotion that the rest of the songs has to carry. I was actually thinking about that yesterday. I went to a friend's house, and they were joking around, putting on the Spice Girls records. And it was blatantly catchy, super catchy, but at the same time it really didn't say anything. You could only hold it at face value, there was no depth behind it, you really couldn't tell anything about the people singing it. But I guess there's a need for that. People want to hear songs that don't say anything, they want to go out to a dance club and shake their booty.

 Q: That's a good question, then: what makes a good song? Depth, a point of view...? 

A: I guess so. I don't know. I know what I like, personally. Like, yesterday I did my top ten favorite songs or something like that. 

Q: What's on there? 

A: Let's see. "Surrender" by Cheap Trick. "In My Life" by the Beatles. A song called "They'll Never Call It Quits" by a band called One Man Army. Generation X, "Kiss Me Deadly." "Outsider" by the Ramones. Hüsker Dü, "Makes No Sense At All." 

Q: How do you deal with writer's block?

 A: I write something else, just for fun. I'm just habitual about it. If I can't come up with the song...the great song that you want to write that will leave your mark forever or something cheesy like that, I'll write a polka number if I can't come up with something. 

Q: Do you put that kind of pressure on yourself? Do you say "this one's gonna be a statement?" 

A: Sometimes I do. Sometimes I'll think way. I just have a really strong work ethic. I have that sort of way about all my songs that, lyrically, every single one of them has to have some subliminal thing going for it. But most people don't really get what you're talking about until 10 years after the fact anyway. That seems to be how people respect songwriters through time. 

Q: Do you have a time of day or a place where you write? You say you have a work ethic, how does that manifest itself? 

A: Anytime, every time. The other night I was dead tired. All I wanted to do was fall asleep, and me and [my wife] Adrienne get in bed, and we're laying there. I was just dozing off a little bit, and all of the sudden this music was popping in my head, going over and over. And I was like, aw man, I have to go downstairs to put this on my guitar and just write it down. But I don't want to. I was so tired. So finally I got up and I go, 'goddammit! I have to get this done.' Otherwise I would forget it.

 Q: When you're writing, do you write with an album in mind or song by song? 

A: Song by song. I can't really conceptualize that far in advance. We knew we wanted to change and bring in new elements on the new record. But we really didn't know how to do it. So I wrote, constantly, all kinds of songs. Fifty or something. And you try to find some sort of natural progression within those songs, and try to capture that on the record. 

Q: So are the songs you write linked by your state of mind, or thematically? 

A: Sometimes if I'll get into a depression, writer's block, where I can't write, I get really bummed out and then I'm not working at all, I'm not doing anything. And then I'll deliberately get myself down to the lowest of the low that I could possibly get down to. And then a song will pop up. And I'll be happy, I'll get ecstatic for like the next month and then all of the sudden another one will pop up. 

Q: So you revel in the dark zone and it's useful. 

A: Yeah...sort of...I kind of...well...definitely. 

Q: But you don't necessarily choose to be there... 

A: Sometimes I'll cause problems just so I can get in touch with that emotional side or whatever, you know. Just to see if something will spark up, start a fight or something (laughs). 

Q: Can you name a song that has come out of something like that? 

A: Umm...a song called "Worry Rock." 

Q: Seems like a really personal song. 

A: Yeah. I think I got drunk and put my fist through a window. Adrienne called me an asshole or something like that and, I don't know. We just got into some meaningless fight like most couples get into, those fights that don't make any sense. A fight for the sake of fighting, which can be destructive to your relationship. That's how that song came about. 

Q: Are you okay with that kind of exposure that comes from investing your personal life and emotions in a song like that? Is your family okay with that? 

A: Yeah, I think so. I guess the only problem would be if, say, Adrienne doesn't have an outlet for herself. That's the kind of thing that I worry about. The things that she could say about me could be pretty horrifying. 

Q: In what way are you a different songwriter now than you were on 39/Smooth and Kerplunk? 

A: It goes in a way of, you know, what kind of person were you at sixteen, and what kind of person are you at twenty? It's almost like two different people in some aspects. I think that most of my stuff is based on infatuations with women. Some are just straight obsession. I mean, nowadays you could call me a stalker (laughs). The quest for that ultimate happiness with another person, which I think started to change, and it changed pretty dramatically with Kerplunk, because I started to talk about other things, like loss of innocence, going out on your own, moving out at the age of seventeen, being a high school dropout, living in west Oakland in a warehouse with fifteen people. Where the first record was more...mushy...the next one you could tell I was going through some pretty dramatic changes. 

Q: So Dookie comes out, and where are you there? 

A: I think I turned more bitter. I started to realize where my true friendships were, the politics of Berkeley were setting in, drug abuse was starting to fuck with me a little bit. I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me, but I couldn't really do it and that had a lot to do with drugs. I started to get a lot more bitter. Life wasn't how it was supposed to be when you're on your own. There's a couple of different songs on there...I mean, the psychoses that went into that record! Songs like "Basket Case" and "Coming Clean" were blatantly neurotic songs. 

Q: That's messed up: amazing success, and it's your bitterness you're being celebrated for. 

A: I don't know. It's funny because I feel that once you write a song, and then record it, and then release it, it doesn't necessarily belong to you anymore. I mean, you can hold that piece of work closer to you than anybody else can, and that was one of the big problems for a while. I felt so misunderstood all the time. Which goes with the territory, anyway, of writing songs. Because nobody really understands what the hell you're talking about. Other people have interpretations of whatever, figure out their own plot, make it fit to the soundtrack of their own lives. It messed with me a little bit, 'cause people didn't know where I came from, people didn't know where I came from, people didn't really know what I stood for. People calling us a throwback to 1977, I guess I got affected by that. Because punk rock is a lifestyle for me, and has nothing to do with 1977 or any particular band, but the relationship that you had with and the amount of work that you put into your local scene. And it gets completely misinterpreted as trying to make a buck. 

Q: It wasn't a fashion statement, it was a lifestyle. 

A: Yeah, a lot of people took it as a fashion statement, even to the point where I think a lot of people thought we were the '90s equivalent of Sha Na Na or something. Some of that's kind of funny, whatever. But now I sort of don't care. No one's gonna understand it anyway. The whole success or fame thing was so new to me at the time, it came so abruptly, and I was like, wow, this is too much. I didn't know all this baggage was connected to all this shit. I thought I'd just have the opportunity to play my songs for people. 

Q: Is that why the new album is as different as it is, because you're just doing what you want to do, you don't have to be what people thought you were, or even what you thought you were? 

A: I think so. That might have something to do with it. I think when you stop caring and worrying about what people think, even stop caring what you think of yourself to a certain extent, and just sort of do it, it's a release to push your past behind you. I think that's when the best stuff comes out. And, of course, when you're forging ahead really hard. I think this time our songs are much more than just things that you can listen to, but actually visualize at the same time. It's like this guy told me the other day, this friend of mine, he goes, you know I was listening to that song "Platypus," and I can totally imagine this big western stampede of horses and cows. And that, for me, is exactly what I was thinking. Not that I was thinking of a stampede, you know, but that kind of quality. 

Q: So you communicated an image and a feeling. 

A: Exactly. 

Q: Of any of your songs, do you have a favorite? 

A: Lately, I like "Walking Alone" and "Uptight" I've been into. My mind changes all the time.

 Q: Let's talk about one of those. What are the circumstances around a song like "Walking Alone?" 

A: I play in this side project band called Pinhead Gunpowder. This guy Aaron Elliot writes all the lyrics and a lot of the music. And he wrote this song called "I Walk Alone," which is about walking at night, the streets, being a street punk. And so I wrote...I don't know what you'd call it -- an alter ego song? -- called "Walking Alone." 

Q: An answer song? 

A: Yeah, cause we always work in that sort of way. I wrote a song called "She," so he wrote an article in his fanzine called "She." It's kind of funny, it's really good to bounce things off of each other. So "Walking Alone" and "I Walk Alone" were sort of the same thing. I think Tom Petty could play that song. It's got that harmonica and the big smashing snare sound on it. But it was the first time I ever played harmonica. I can't play harmonica at all. I had to teach myself how to play that. 

Q: Hey, you did great. 

A: Oh, thanks. We actually tried to get a studio musician to play it, but I think he was a little too hobo for us. 

Q: Smelled bad? 

A: Actually, he had almost too much soul for it. He was too good at what he did. And I wanted it to come across more loosely. Not as good, I guess. So I played it. 

Q: It's not a confident song, or a song about confidence. "Sometimes I need to apologize/sometimes I need to admit that I ain't right." 

A: It's sort of like sticking your foot in your mouth sometimes, and thinking out loud, but the lyric changes. It turns into talking about friends and how they change and your friends either become lawyers or the local town drunks. 

Q: Any advice for people writing who want to be hit songwriters? 

A: Oh God, I don't know. Don't take advice from anybody.

[strings-have-been-cut]

✩

The Ultimate Relationship Tag // accepting

See under the cut for the Regverse;;

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Reg

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Data has physically attempted to leave on a few occasions in the middle of a disagreement, but only if he needs time to process or he believes he is putting Reg in danger.

Who trashes the house? Neither

Do either of them get physical? Nope

How often do they argue/disagree? Not very often at all. The few times it has happened, Data got too anxious almost immediately and could not hold his own argument.

Who is the first to apologise? Data - he usually apologizes right away and during the argument.

Sex:

Who is on top? Usually Reg, although they switch.

Who is on the bottom? Is this a trick question? Usually Data...although they switch.

Who has the strangest desires? Reg has a backlog of fantasies that he thinks about...and several that seem to pop up randomly in different situations. He's very creative.

Any kinks? Data enjoys being tied up.

Who’s dominant in bed? Reg

Is head ever in the equation? Yes, often.

If so, who is better at performing it? They're both enthusiastic, but Data has the advantage of not needing to breathe and not being able to choke, so...

Ever had sex in public? Yep

Who moans the most? Reg

Who leaves the most marks? If Data was human, Reg would have likely torn him to pieces by now.

Who screams the loudest? Reg.

Who is the more experienced of the two? Data, but it's not a positive.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Mmm...both. Both is good.

Rough or soft? It usually starts soft and ends rough. Or starts rough and ends rougher.

How long do they usually last? Not long, but Data can go forever, and Reg has a surprising amount of stamina.

Is protection used? Nope.

Does it ever get boring? Nope.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? The maintenance closet on the Enterprise? Or the beach.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? Yes, two. Rhea and Nikael.

If so, how many children do your muses want/have? Data brings up having a baby at the worst possible times every few years.

Who is the favorite parent? Reg.

Who is the authoritative parent? Data...unless it's Nik and he does that Look.

Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Data

Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Reg - he lives on that stuff himself.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Both!

Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Both!

Who changes the diapers? Data, but Reg will if he needs to

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Data, but Reg gets anxious if they cry, so he usually gets up anyway.

Who spends the most time with the children? They spend the same amount of time, most likely.

Who packs their lunch boxes? Data - he plans and packs them ahead of time.

Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Both, but they need a lot of support from Deanna. In the Nemesis verse, Reg does it by himself.

Who cleans up after the kids? Data cleans constantly. Nik cleans up after himself starting at age two.

Who worries the most? Reg

Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Reg

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Both, but Reg is a master at it

Who is the little spoon? Data

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Reg

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? Reg

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? F o r e v e r

Who gives the most kisses? Reg

What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Probably cuddling. Or bathing together.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle? Bed. Or the bathtub.

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Reg

How often do they get time to themselves? Fairly often before Nik is born and then not as much.

Sleeping:

Who snores? If both do, who snores the loudest? Reg, and it's adorable

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? Share

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? No matter how big the bed is, Reg is glued to Data, usually sprawled out on top of him.

Who talks in their sleep? Reg, and Data did not know what sleeptalking was the first few times. Alarming.

What do they wear to bed? Usually pajamas, at Reg's request, but sometimes nothing. Data prefers nothing - he does not see the point of PJs.

Are either of your muses insomniacs? Reg is not a good sleeper, and sometimes Data will sing him to sleep or drag him to bed and insist he try.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Sometimes a hypo is needed, but Data prefer to simply bombard him with comfort.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? They tangle all up in a complicated manner, usually pressed all up.

Who wakes up with bed hair? Reg

Who wakes up first? Usually Data wakes with his internal chronometer and then spends a ridiculous amount of time trying to wake Reg up.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Data for Reg

What is their favourite sleeping position? This one, with Data on the bottom is Reg's. This is Data's.

Who hogs the sheets? Reg

Do they set an alarm each night? Data has an internal clock that is never ever wrong. He is the alarm.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? There's a viewscreen. Sometimes they watch movies.

Who has nightmares? Reg, more often.

Who has ridiculous dreams? Data

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? Reg

Who makes the bed? Data

What time is bedtime? No set time, but they don't stay up tremendously late.

Any routines/rituals before bed? Once Rhea is activated, there is the 'bedtime' procedure. Bath, brush teeth, put on PJs, read story, sleep. She grows out of it quickly, but Nik continues this long after Reg and Data stop doing it with him.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? REG BARCLAY

Work:

Who is the busiest? They are both very busy, but Reg is more chaotic and involved in dealing with it.

Who rakes in the highest income? Starfleet, baby.

Are any of your muses unemployed? Nope

Who takes the most sick days? Reg - Data doesn't get sick, but he tries to take off to take care of him when he is sick.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Reg has a tremendous amount of trouble getting out of bed in the morning...and then getting out of the shower.

Who sucks up to their boss? Data...and probably Reg too.

What are their jobs? They both work on the Enterprise - Data is second officer and Communications officer and Reg is a Systems Analyst. Reg later transfers to work for Starfleet Communications on the Pathfinder Project and then a professor of Engineering at Starfleet Academy. Data becomes a professor of Cybernetics at the Academy after transferring from the Enterprise.

Who stresses the most? Reg

Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? They enjoy them for the most part! Although they leave the Enterprise because there's just too much...trauma.

Are your muses financially stable? Starfleet, baby!

Home:

Who does the washing? Data

Who takes out the trash? Data

Who does the ironing? Data

Who does the cooking? Reg if there's real food, but the replicator usually.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? DATA

Who is messier? Reg

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Reg

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Reg

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Reg is the only one who uses the toilet...

Who is the prankster around the house? Reg

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? If they had a car, probably Reg

Who mows the lawn? If they had a lawn, probably Data

Who answers the telephone? Either Reg would make Data do it

Who does the vacuuming? Data

Who does the groceries? Both?

Who takes the longest to shower? Reg will never leave if he doesn't have a reason to

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Reg has more of a reason to be in there

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Nope

How many cars do they own? Zero

Do they own their home or do they rent? Provided by Starfleet

Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? On Earth, Coast. AU on the colony, countryside.

Do they live in the city or in the country? On Earth, city - San Francisco. AU on the colony, country.

Do they enjoy their surroundings? Depending on the point in the timeline, sure yes.

What’s their song? Their first Valentine's Day, Data sang 'Can't Keep My Eyes Off You' to Reg. He associates that song with him.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Call each other. Data tries to keep busy with things so he does not worry or get too lonely. So many horrible, strange things have happened that he likes it better when they are together. The few weeks (or years depending on verse) when Data is on the Enterprise and Reg is on Earth are hell.

Where did they first meet? They worked together on the Enterprise. Data was second officer when Reg transferred from the Zhukov.

How did they first meet? Data often haunted Engineering because of his friendship with Geordi and his love of the work. He would often comment on things Reg was doing, as he did with most people on the ship, if they interested him. He also found Reg was the only one who was interested in his love of cats.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Data - he likes to buy presents

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Neither

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Reg, probably. It is not often Data trips. Data would just be concerned for his safety.

Any mental issues? They both have anxiety and difficulty managing their emotions.

Who’s terrified of bugs? Neither

Who kills the spiders around the house? Either

Their favourite place? In the house? The bath. In the universe? The bath. Although Risa was nice.

Who pays the bills? Neither

Do they have any fears for their future? They both fret over the fact that Data will not age and die naturally and Reg will. There are several conversations about Reg growing older.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Data surprising Reg. He loves making a fancy date night at home.

Who uses up all of the hot water? Reg

Who’s the tallest? Reg

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both. It is rare they ever shower alone before the kids are around.

Who wanders around in their underwear? Data

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? Reg

What do they tease each other about? Reg teases Data about how absolutely clean and neat everything has to be, and Data teases Reg about how messy he is.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? They both have horrible fashion sense. Data wore exclusively uniforms before Reg taught him what 'comfortable' clothing was, and now they wear horrible geometric sweaters that they share.

Do they have mutual friends? Most of their friends are mutual friends.

Who crushed first? Data

Any alcohol or substance related problems? Nope

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Reg has once or twice by accident. They both hated that.

Who swears the most? Reg on occasion and it turns Data on so fast

[softlilacmoonlight]

Everybody x Reader - Part One (Angst Warning)

Everybody knew what would happen. Everybody knew it would come. Of course, the end would come. The end is inevitable, but they never thought that it would come this fast. The end of the exchange program was here, and it was time for everyone to go home. Here are some background (inner) thoughts and feelings.

Lucifer:

It feels like a dream. The poor guy can't get a break. He feels like it's his duty to... subtly... hold everybody together. Top all of that off with the fact he's overworking himself to keep his mind off of you. Bad situation. His sleep schedule has once more declined, to a point that is even worse than it was before you left. He constantly sees, hears, and relates everything to you. He has always been hyper-vigilant of everything and everybody in the house. It made him feel like he could be in control and protect everybody, and you were no exception to the rules (well, you almost always were but he digresses). "(Y/N)... no... come back. I'm so sorry for everything. Please come back. You're the only one who I can truly love and trust. My pride is nothing when you're around. You are my walking pride, my love. Please come back... come home."

Mammon:

He's absolutely stopped in his tracks. He can't even comprehend that you're gone, and when he finally does it's not pretty. Lots and lots of tears. The house is going to be barren of kleenexes for a while. He goes out almost every day and gambles away what little he does have, but he doesn't care. It's something to do outside of the torture of the House of Lamentations. He also has a habit of getting himself drunk, and subsequently getting himself yelled at by Lucifer. His only comeback was that he couldn't handle the loss, and surprisingly Lucifer put a blanket around his shoulder and gently told him to go and sober up. "Nonononononononono! Stay! There's no need for you to go home! Isn't this your home too? Don'tcha wanna stay? We had so much fun! We can continue to have fun! Just... p-please... don't a-abandon me like everyone e-else."

Leviathan:

Levi's first reaction is to lock himself in his room and go into full denial. Eventually, he lets the cold exterior melt off and his true colors became fully transparent. Much like his brothers, he submerges himself in his activities: video games, comic cons updates, and other otaku-related things. He doesn't leave his room for days on end, and when he does it's only for food and water. He's jealous of every human who even gets to see your beautiful face in the human realm, but his biggest regret is never going out and doing anything with you. Even his precious Ruri-chan can't do anything to ease his heartache. "I-I don't c-care. Y-You're just a n-normie. It d-doesn't m-matter. I have p-plenty of friends o-online. I-I don't n-need y-you. I-I... need you. Please! Please! C-Come h-home! I-I still don't k-know so m-much about you. I-I should have been l-less selfish. I should have t-tried to g-get to know y-you b-better."

Satan:

(Goes into his bedroom and throws a major tantrum.) Basically, this man just lost his anger translator and when that happens... bad things happen. Once more Lucifer finds himself on the receiving end of pranks, but not normal pranks. His pranks become harsher, his anger showing through them. He has also raided the bookstore more times than Beel raided the kitchen fridge in the past year. Which is definitely an impressive feat in and of itself. You'll find that his precious book pages are covered in teardrop stains. You taught him to love, to be truly calm, and so much more. Please, bring back the anger translator for everybody's sake. "Come back, please? You're the eye of the hurricane. The calm. Please... come back. Please? We can do anything you want. Anything! I'll never deny you another walk. We can go wherever you want! Just please, come back."

Asmodeus:

Sad. Break. Up. Songs. So what if the boy didn't break up with her, the same general gist. Girl leaves boy, boy can't see girl, and ta-da it feels like a breakup has occurred. The boy doesn't party. He doesn't do his skin routine (which absolutely no one can tell), and he acts like he is an insomniac (fully evident in his overly sassy behavior). Basically, not like the Asmodeus, everybody knows. He wishes you would come back so he would have his spa, manicure, and pedicure buddy back. "(Y/N) you made me feel beautiful, inside and out. Come back. I promise I'll always tell you how beautiful you are. You are the most gorgeous being alive, even more than myself. Please... come back... I'll treat you like a princess. I p-promise."

Beelzebub:

Poor baby boy isn't hungry. He doesn't eat, except when forced. His workout routines skyrocket from an hour and a half to over three hours. If he's not working out then he's either crying, laying with Belphie to feel some semblance of peace, or at sports practice. Most of all, he misses your sweetness. You always could work out any situation, and even better you kept the peace and happiness of the house alive. "Please (Y/N), come home. Come back to your family. We... I need you. We can hang out just like the good old days. Get food, snuggle with Belphie, fall asleep watching movies, and more. Whatever you want, just name it. Just... come home to us, to me."

Belphie:

He honestly wonders if he kills everybody up there that you know if you'll come back to them. Just a thought. (Might want to text Beel a thank you for saving your family's lives.) He is very annoyed and confrontational about everything and everybody, except Beel. He wants to sleep to escape, but then he dreams about you. Then he wants to stay awake, but he's just so tired and things, places, and certain things constantly remind him of you. Basically, he is losing his precious sleep cause of you, but he isn't annoyed at you. He's just lonesome for you. "Mmmm... Oh, it was just a dream. (Y/N) isn't really here. Please come back. You would scold me for being so harsh, heh. Please come back... starlight."

Diavolo:

Big man = big heart. Almost chose to permanently kidnap you, but decided against it. He knew you were terribly homesick for your own family and friends, and just your world overall, so he let you go. After watching the brothers tearfully leave the meeting room of RAD, he too went home. He ordered Barbatos to leave him be and went into his room. He cries. He never got to tell you how much he cares for you, seeing as the brothers were always around, but now it was by far his greatest regret. He cries so much that he has puked before, and he very guiltily had to ask Barbatos for help with everything. He is a wreck. "Thank you for joining my adventure. I wish I had had the courage to ask you to join me on another. Maybe someday our paths will cross once more, but till then I will spend every waking moment thinking and dreaming of holding you close to me."

Barbatos:

This man is calm on the outside. Internally he is dying. He misses his son. He misses Luke with his whole being, and he misses you with his whole being. Barbatos will be in the kitchen and start talking as if you and Luke were present. He misses the gentle way you talk, or the way your head would pop in no matter what he was doing and ask if he needed help. He can't help but give in to the sadness that he already knew was coming. He tried so hard to prevail through it, but even he isn't indestructible. He dives into cleaning, making the meals, and helping the struggling Young Lord. He asks for more and more tasks, and more and more tasks are granted. He works constantly. On the occasion that he does get some rest, he is so tired that he blacks out and doesn't even dream. Those can only go so far though, and he constantly wakes up with a sense of barely getting any sleep. "Someday. Someday I'll see you again. Till then I will anxiously prepare for your next stay. Please come back soon."

Simeon:

Upon returning to the Celestial Realm, the poor angel was quite conflicted. Part of him deeply missed his original home, but part of him misses his exchange home. More specifically, a certain exchange student. He wishes he could see you once more, and the ache in his heart greatly attests as such. How he wishes to wrap you up in his arms. You would always tell him how great his hugs were, and now he misses the contact and loving warmth that you always radiated and gave. "Be safe (Y/N), for I cannot protect you while we are so greatly separated. Regardless as such, I will keep an eye on you and pray for your safety and well-being. I look forward to the day that I get to hug you close once more, my dear."

Luke:

Luke. Misses. The. Devildom. Phew! There he admitted it. He yearns to be in the kitchen with Barbatos, running through Purgatory Hall, and Beel taste testing his food (even if he ate it all). He, however, would never admit to such out loud, but he has a suspicion that Simeon can relate to how he is currently feeling. He wishes he could have taken you to see the Celestial Realm, but he knew that that is forbidden. Luke is constantly baking, that way he has something to do. Something to distract him from everybody that he is missing. Sometimes he'll start to talk as if you or Barbatos were in the room before remembering that you weren't there. That you were back in the Human Realm, and Barbatos the Devildom, both of which are very far away from him. "(Y/N)! Oh, heh, right. Not here Luke. Don't be stupid. Wait! Don't you worry (Y/N)! I'll practice till my baking is so good that nothing will be better in your eyes! Just wait! You'll love it when you try it!"

Solomon:

Man isn't really that sad. Magic, check. Your address, check. What is there to be sad about? He does miss being so close to Asmodeus and is peeved that he missed his chance at Lucifer's pact, but other than that he is perfectly fine being back in the Human Realm. Ok, so, he maybe misses Simeon and the Chihuahua a little bit, but it wasn't permanent and he was fully aware of that when he signed on. "Hey (Y/N)! I'm outside your door! Let's hang out for a bit! I'll make you some dinner! (Y/N)! What was that scream? Oh, a bee by my ear, I see. Takeout? Sure, save us both the trouble." (You screamed at the thought of his cooking. There never was a bee, to begin with.)

Someday... the thought that keeps them all going. Someday, they'll see you again.

[masterofmaagnetism]

A Monster in the Dark - Chapter 9

[ self ship fanfic about Nightmare Bonnie and my insomniac s/i :) ]

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NightBon’s silence was starting to get suspicious, and Cane was 90% sure that if it could grin, it would.

Even with the underlying fear of what it was planning, he held his ground. Besides, ignoring the monster had been doing wonders for his focus. He’d managed to find out that there was, in fact, a Christopher Afton that had been bitten at Fredbear’s Family diner, so all he needed now was if the nightmares had plagued him before the bite or if they hadn’t haunted Chris at all, instead attacking his brother, who they simply thought was him.

The nightmares couldn’t have possibly happened after the bite- from what Cane could tell, the poor kid’s frontal lobe had been bitten clean off, therefore removing his ability to feel fear or even dream.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” he heard NightBon begin to whine from the living room, rolling his eyes at its ability to underestimate him constantly. It was sad though, how quickly NightBon got bored of staying quiet. He was enjoying the peace.

“I sure can,” he muttered under his breath, perking up at the sound of snickering. He assumed NightBon was sitting on the bed behind him, until he noticed the quiet sound of whispering.

He slowly turned around, both surprised and somehow not when he saw the monstrous bear from his nightmares sitting on his bed, three much smaller bears sitting on various parts of him.

To be honest, Cane had always been rather chill with this one. He’d never seen the inside of Freddy, as far as he remembered, so even the nightmarish version seemed chill enough that he didn’t instill the same fear in him.

“Oh, so you’re finally coming out to play, huh?” he questioned, gaining another chuckle from the bear. He only now noticed that the bed didn’t dip with the weight of the animatronic, despite the fact that he was huge, proving that they couldn’t make themselves solid.

His attention was immediately caught by the bear’s hand (paw?) moving though, and his gaze stayed locked on it as Freddy moved it up to his mouth, holding his index finger up to his maw as a signal to stay quiet.

“We wouldn’t want Bonnie to come charging in, now would we?” he teased, his voice a low rumble and somehow more comforting than horrifying, the exact opposite of Nightbon’s voice.

Wait. If he didn’t want NightBon hearing… “It doesn’t know I can see you, does it?” Cane asked, his voice lowered to a near whisper. He’d learned that NightBon’s hearing was shit, so he didn’t need to make his voice any softer than this.

Freddy shook his head, his cubs noticing and copying the movement in their own frantic little way. “I’m the only other one strong enough to appear, but it’s rather amusing to watch it fumble from afar.”

“I’m guessing y’all aren’t exactly… friends. At least, not anymore?” God was he glad Freddy would answer his questions, NightBon had been less than helpful after it first appeared.

Freddy nodded again, tilting his head slightly when a grin flashed across Cane’s face. “Oh, sorry, I don’t- I’m not happy y’all aren’t friends anymore, it’s just so nice to have someone cooperative instead of that jackass.”

The chuckle that came from Freddy this time was a low, amused rumble, one that almost made Cane feel… safe. Interesting how that worked.

Before either of them could say anything, the alarm on Cane’s phone that he set for leaving to go to work went off, causing the human to jump and the bear to just give it a curious look. 

Cane quickly shut it off, shoving his phone in his pocket and making sure he had everything. “Hey,” he said, catching Freddy’s attention again, “I’m not calling you Freddy. I’ll come up with a name for you when I get back, okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, simply grabbing his bag and darting out the bedroom door. He kissed Cheesy Dip on the head as a goodbye before heading out the front door, not even checking to make sure NightBon was following.

---

He could already tell something was off when he got to the diner that day. Scrap was nowhere to be found, and the animatronics were switched on.

Well, Sequin and Salem were switched on, he hadn’t been to the other two rooms yet.

Sequin was the obvious singer of the two. She was actually the shortest of the four, standing at only 6 foot while the others were 7 foot. Still, she was his second favourite, seeing as snakes were his favourite animal.

She was actually the most ambitious of the animatronics, since she didn’t have legs. No, her lower half was all snake. It wasn’t likely she’d leave the stage because of it, but it was incredible, and the way it moved made her almost seem like a real snake.

She was also the most muted of the group, being made out of a dark brown metal. Her eyes, however, were a bright yellow. Scrap told him it was because it made it look like she had little suns in her eyes. Azriel said it was actually because it made her look more snakelike.

Salem, on the other hand, was the only other mammal, being an opossum and all. Their “fur” was a greyish cream colour, and they did actually have fur, sort of. It felt like fur, but he knew it was just that fake fur that all animatronics got.

Their eyes were a deep brown, bordering on black, but they always had this playful glint to them. They were programmed to move off the stage, according to Azriel, so they had to look approachable.

But at this moment, neither of them looked anywhere near approachable.

And then they looked at him.

Canetheus turned on his heel without hesitation, heading out of the room so fast that it almost looked like he was running. This had to be a prank of some sort, Azriel and Scrap were just messing with him.

That seemed pretty plausible, until he ran into a hard, cold chest. He froze, unable to look up at the animatronic that was now holding him by the arms, making it impossible to move away from the metallic chest.

Cane had never been scared of Spade before, but now he was wishing he’d never even looked at the bat.

“You’re smarter than the nightguard,” he whispered, leaning down closer to Cane. “For that, I’ll give you a headstart. The office is in the back of the building. Let’s see if you can make it.”

The second he was released, Cane took off toward the back, running faster than he even knew he could. He could hear Sequin laughing, probably at how scared he was, and only vaguely noted that it sounded a lot more human than the programmed laugh he was used to.

He made it to the office in record time, glancing around for anything he could defend himself with. No weapons, unfortunately, but he could close the doors on either side of him, and the vent behind him.

And, thank god, there was a camera system. If this was what the nightguard went through every night, he’d have to congratulate them later on surviving literal hell.

That is, if he survived.

---

NightBon was losing it as it watched Cane dash through the halls of the diner towards his only hope of surviving, gaining a harsh glare from Spade.

“What? This is hilarious! He’s gonna WISH he only had to deal with me after this!” it exclaimed, a little disappointed when Spade just rolled his eyes and returned to his stage, getting ready to run for that office too.

It could only assume Spade thought it was going a little too far just for some attention, but it decided to ignore that little fact. After all, Cane had let it in, and it was only fair that he stop trying to block it back out.

So what if it could possibly be making things worse, all it knew is that if he was scared of the monsters in real life, he would be more open to the monsters in his mind, aka NightBon.

Right?