#this ones for all the people who do not have normal feelings about being | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a1ecmcdowell · 2 days ago

Text

alec mcdowell & transgenic!user - a million kisses ㅤ ┊ ㅤ (18+!)

i want someone to promise me a million kisses and more . . . or, he's your first everything; first, and second, and fifth, and tenth.

includes, MDNI. ㅤ explicit sexual content ㅤ (light ) breeding kink ㅤ unprotected p in v ㅤ first times! ㅤ fluffy smut ㅤ like genuinely sickly sweet ㅤ soft dom!alec ㅤ best friend!reader ㅤ dirty talk ㅤ talks you through it creampie (hate this word sm sorrY)

req by @foxylady493 hehe thank u for giving me an excuse to write ab rawdoggin alec mcdowell HAHA

word count: 6.2k and for what like genuinely.

★ ˚⋆

somewhere, in one of the books that joshua had stolen for you, with a well worn cover and soft pages, with faded ink painting the front cardstock, you'd read something that stuck with you. i want someone to promise me a million kisses.

it was one of those passing thoughts that embeds itself into your psyche, a physical thing lodged between the folds of your brain, making itself evident every time you tried to forget it. a million kisses... and you'd never had one.

hell, you'd never even wanted to. you were everything manticore wanted you to be; loyal to the greatest extent, dedicated to your training, dominating the rest of the x5 series by a long shot — well, alongside your best friend alec.

alec, who really kept you motivated and on your toes, because he was so effortlessly good. he could sprint the entire forest on the grounds' base three times while you'd be on your second. he could pick you up with ease, and often did, urging you to work on your strength that little bit more so that you could do the same to him.

he was lifting you with one arm, actually, when you'd both been called back to your cells abruptly. it was awkward, in a way, moreso than it would have been for any normal human being, because of how unfamiliar you were with awkward situations. having to be sat down so you could properly address the guard in front of you, the same one who'd just been watching the both of you try and lift each other like barbells?

it only managed to get worse, somehow, when you were both ushered into your cell, followed by one of the directors, a woman with short blonde hair and a fierce stare.

something about this felt like a punishment, or a bad omen. how could you know, then, what a turning point this was going to be for you? the both of you?

"stand down, 494, 490." her lips are quirked with knowledge she isn't sharing, her hands folded neatly behind her back. "no need for formalities. not... for this."

you know better than to say a word out of turn, and so does alec, but you feel his confusion radiating off of him, a mirror image of your own, in the way his shoulders tense back.

her lips curl higher, a tight lipped smile that looks almost sinister in the dull lighting of your cell. "you are both aware of the situation with our labs, i imagine," she continues, slowly, like she's waiting for one of you to piece it together. "all of our genetic data, up in flames, and no way to continue creating soldiers to uphold the legacy the two of you are sure to bring."

directors do not ever come in with compliments, especially so strong, without something up their sleeves. "unless..."

it's one word, but it hits you and alec like a wave. him first, as he draws in a sharp breath, and then you, your stoic expression faltering at once. unless they use their current x5s to make those soldiers.

"it's only natural to pair you two off, what with how... close, you've gotten, over these years." there was a shared trauma that rooted the two of you to each other. him, being a clone of x5-493, and you, of 491.

something was off in their coding, a mixture of genetics and dna that didn't mesh. people were tightlipped about 493 and the seemingly endless amount of death he left in his wake, but they were sure to remind you about 491, the only one who, seemingly, kept his head screwed on straight the rare times that it was.

i want someone to promise me a million kisses... did she feel the same way? did he manage a million before his life was taken? you couldn't help but wonder it, especially with how many times the words killer kisser were thrown in your face. maybe that was why you were so attached to the idea of being kissed. you were stuck on the outside of a secret, wondering how kisses could render a troubled man's mind silent for a little while.

you had zoned out without realizing, stuck in a past that didn't belong to you. "are we clear?" the woman asks, her eyes lingering particularly long on you.

your face flushes with shame. shame for not listening, for missing the entire purpose of this conversation because you'd been daydreaming about an obscene amount of kisses for one person to receive.

alec speaks up for you, saving you from a potential reprimand or punishment, as he often did. "all clear."

"good." her eyes stay on yours for a beat too long, like she's daring you to break, before she nods once. "you've got one hour."

and with that, she stalks out of the room, the guards waiting on either side of your open door stepping out of line to trail behind her. the door hisses shut, and then it's just you and alec. you should know why. if you'd listened—

"you could have been less obvious, you know," alec says with a scoff of laughter, as he breaks his straight-backed stance and crosses to your bed in the corner. he sinks down on it, strong enough that his weight bounces on the springy mattress, legs spread open as he made himself right at home.

you blink once, twice. "less obvious with what?"

"oh, i don't know," his lips twist in mock thought, before they tilt into a dazzling smile, "starin' off like you don't even know where you are."

"i was just—"

"not listening. yeah, established, nelly." alec's eyebrows raise in his amusement, strong arms folded nearly over his chest. "you're gonna be confused as hell when i start taking my clothes off, then."

you splutter, wordless sounds falling out in a flustered heap. "what?"

his head falls back in a fit of laughter, loud enough that it echoes off of the walls. "god, you really weren't listening!"

"just spit it out! what are you talking about?"

slowly, the smile tapers away, his laughter trails off, and you're just looking at each other. "gonna have to copulate, you and i."

your expression drops. any trace of amusement dissipates, a cold, icy feeling of dread flooding your veins. no. no. you couldn't. not with him. not when it would ruin—

a million kisses, a million kisses, a million kisses.

it always came back to that, didn't it? "no," you say aloud firmly, like your rejection can somehow reverse the fact that it has to happen. has to, because you would never betray a direct order. this was something being entrusted to you. "alec..."

"relax," he says, his hands up in surrender. "i'm not gonna just... force you to, nelly, c'mon." his hands fall into his lap again, a sigh leaving his mouth. "s'not easy for me either, this. i mean, you're my best friend."

was he suggesting that things would change once this started? that thought made your blood feel cold in your veins, ice crystallizing in the sinew, making your bones feel heavy and stiff.

"nelly." alec snaps his fingers, drawing your attention back to him and not the dread in your stomach. it always works, when he calls you the name he'd not-so-affectionately given you during training, once. negative nelly & smart alec. "c'mon, it's not— it's not gonna be that bad. kinda bruisin' my ego that you're this torn up about it."

you choke on a laugh, your fingers lifting to run through your hair. "shut up, alec."

"'shut up, alec,'" he mimics back at you, one corner of his mouth lifting higher in a softer grin. "has that ever worked, nell?"

you shake your head, in exasperation and answer, finally crossing the small expanse of the room to drop down onto the edge of your bed next to him. his thigh is pressed up against yours, a warm, familiar comfort when everything feels uncertain.

it's loaded now, this silence that falls between you. heavy like a weight and thick like fog. his eyes are on you —you can feel them, too— and it's jarring, how one direct order can flip an entire world on its axis.

you turn to meet those green eyes of his, and then alec's leaning in, suddenly, and it takes a blink for you to realize it. you startle, feeling hot and icy and flustered all at once. "i’ve never done this,” you blurt out, and how fucking embarrassing is that, confessing it like a sin?

“in what world do you think i have?” alec shoots back, his eyebrows raising in punctuation to the question. “i’d rather it be with you than someone else.”

your heart is racing uncomfortably quick, an unfamiliar flutter against your ribcage. “okay.”

“yeah?” he asks, and his large hand lifts, too, to rest his warm palm on the side of your cheek. his fingertips graze behind your ear, tangling in your soft hair. “yeah, okay, nelly.”

his thumb grazes gently over your cheekbone, like a final reassurance before you’re no longer dipping your toes into this idea but diving fully into its depths. his fingers on the back of your neck guide you toward him, until your breaths are mingling and getting to know each other.

your lips meet. the world stops.

it makes sense, now, how 491 could leash 493 with nothing but the press of her lips. it also makes sense why she stayed, despite all of the warning signs he must have given off, if alec’s lips were any indicator of how ben’s were.

the kiss is tentative at best, at first. he’s not coming any closer, and you’re sat ramrod straight on the bouncy mattress, and the only thing connecting you besides your mouths is the hand he keeps on your cheek. you imagine that this is how first kisses always feel; awkward and uncertain, as this new kind of trust builds itself from the ground up.

one kiss out of a million. how were you supposed to kiss anyone else, now, when this one felt so special?

he pulls back first, but his hand stays on your face, the other sneaking its way across the space between you and landing on yours in lap.

“not so bad, was it?” alec asks, a reassuring smile gracing his face. his thumb returns the gentle strokes over your cheek, his eyes sweeping over the expression you wear.

no, it wasn’t that bad. but your mind isn’t on the kiss but what’s supposed to come next. “how long are we supposed to… um…”

you’d never been the shy type around alec, but suddenly now, it feels like every word is lodged tightly in your throat. suddenly, he feels like a stranger instead of your best friend, this territory unfamiliar and scary, in its own way.

“until you’re pregnant,” he says easily — and of course it’s easy for him, he’s not the one that has to carry a genetically enhanced baby to term. “but—”

“no,” you say, raising a hand to cut him off. “no, i heard you.”

“but, we don’t have to start now, nelly,” he slows his words down, like delivering the blow more gently will somehow lessen the sting. “we don’t. it’s… it’s an order, yes, but you’re still my best friend, and i want you comfortable.”

that did reassure you. you’d have to commit to the orders given eventually, but for now? this was just… a prolonged break in the courtyard, where you could hang out without precaution.

“kinda like this new development, though,” he adds, that wicked grin of his tugging up onto his mouth, as he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up. you barely manage to squeak out the noise of surprise caught in your throat, before you’re settled in his lap. alec’s always been strong, but it’s so different, having him use that strength with you. “could get used to it.”

“shut up,” you grumble half-heartedly.

he grasps the collar of his shirt to drag you in. “order received.” and his mouth closes around yours once again; your second kiss of a million.

★ ˚⋆

“stop it, that’s not—” you huff out a hard, frustrated breath, your fingers closing around alec’s wrist. “that’s not what where your hands are supposed to go.”

alec had you sat comfortably in his lap again, after the day prior, you both learned that, despite the circumstances, it was a nice place to be. you were close enough that you could smack him if you had to, and clearly, you did.

“s’not my fault that you’re being a tease,” he grumbles in your ear, his lips so close to the sensitive skin that shivers trail down your spine. “sittin’ all pretty in my lap, not letting me follow orders.”

“oh, bite me,” you shoot back at him, your grip on alec’s wrist tightening as you yank it away from your ass. you can feel the heat of his skin even through the thick fabric of your camo cargos, and it’s completely distracting.

his free hand’s finger comes up to jab you firmly in the sternum. “you won’t let me.”

“i thought this was hard for you, too,” you argue, reaching up to grab his other hand now, the former still tightly in between your fingers. you knew the second you let it go, he’d not-so-subtly slide it right back down to your ass all over again, and where would you be? a rock — you — a hard place.

alec snatches his hand back quickly before you can grab that one, his eyebrows bouncing once in his amusement. “trust me, nelly, it’s very hard.”

you stare at him, unblinking for a long few seconds, before it clicks in your mind — and the feel of what was very hard presses against the core of you. your hand releases his, and you smack him once with the left, twice with the right. “alec!”

alec cackles, head falling back with his laughter. his hand, always so much quicker than you, catches one wrist, and then the other, in his lithe fingers. his other arm snakes around your waist and there’s a blink before you’re suddenly flipped on your back.

on your back, and he’s hovered above you, your pinned wrist firmly above your head and pressed lightly into the mattress. “you’re getting soft on me,” he pants, settled in between your legs, knees nudging them further apart. “you used to beat my ass when we’d spar.”

“you’re playing dirty.”

“am not,” he huffs out like a petulant child, “you’re just not playing. too worried up in that head about all of the logistics here.”

“aren’t you?” you ask him, and it’s genuine; how had 24 hours passed, and suddenly this was something he could just accept? you and him, engaging in things that best friends didn’t do. did they? “aren’t you afraid of…” your face reddens, your turn now to feel like a little kid. “doing it?”

alec’s shoulders lift. “not when it’s with you.”

he says it so genuinely that you know it’s true, the confidence of the words enough to take your breath away.

you’d never thought of it like that. sure, it’s intimidating, breaching this gap of things you’d done and things you hadn’t, but… with him, surely it couldn’t be anywhere near as bad as you were thinking.

“plus,” he adds as an afterthought, “we already agreed it wasn’t going to change a thing, didn’t we? s’just work.”

just work. it didn’t feel like just work, but you were always reading too much into things, anyways. that’s why you and alec just worked. he was the laidback to your on edge.

you sigh. he’s getting to you. he’s unnaturally good at reading all of your fears written in your eyes and unpacking each of them, explaining them to you so they weren’t so scary anymore. “just tell me what to do. we can lie to the directors again, if we have to, if you just wanna… i dunno, chill out. could kiss again.”

“alec.”

“suggestion!” he raises his free hand in defense, before he lets it drop down to your thigh. “just a suggestion.”

it was a good suggestion, too. unfortunately for you, fortunately for him. you didn’t want to get too comfortable in these uncharted territories, out of fear it’d all get muddled and then where would you be? too uncomfortable to be friends, too familiar not to be.

“kiss me.” your mouth moves before you’ve even realized the words are out, floating between the two of you like a declaration.

he moves his hand from your wrists and lets it fall in the open expanse of your neck. his fingers are cold this time, even though your blood is hot. “yeah?” it feels achingly familiar to the gentle way he’d said it the day prior. “alright.”

“alright.”

is it supposed to be this awkward? firsts were always awkward. this had to be normal. if you started to think about how maybe it wasn’t normal, and you were embarrassing yourself, and he was embarrassing himself, and everything was about to be ruined, you’d—

alec leans in again, but he doesn’t kiss you on the lips, like you expected. instead, his mouth finds your jaw, teeth grazing the skin lightly, lips pressing reverently on the bone as he sucks the little mouthful of skin between them.

you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, eyelashes as soft as butterfly wings on your cheekbone. “relax,” he breathes, hot breath on hot skin making you squirm beneath him, “i know what i’m doin’.”

“oh, do you?” you smile, a bit dazed as his tongue traces along the line of your jaw until he reaches the space beneath your ear.

“mhm.” he leaves a trail of wet, warm kisses down the side of your neck, then back up your throat. “thought about this all night. know what i’m doin’.”

oh. no wonder he’d been pretty accepting of their circumstances. alec spent all of night prior thinking about you, and how he’d pick you apart.

the thought makes another shiver run down your spine, a warm pool in your lower stomach. “alec—”

“here,” he interrupts, halting your train of thought before it delves again. “put your hand here,” he pants softly into your sensitive skin, his fingers finding yours and guiding them underneath the gray fabric of his shirt. you feel every muscle on his abdomen, feel each flex beneath the cold touch of your fingers. “yeah, that’s it.”

alec straightens up a little so that he can curl his own hands beneath his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. it falls in a heap at his feet, and he’s on you again a second later, his lips marking a wet trail of kisses up your throat. once he reaches your chin, he continues the onslaught, capturing your lips in a firm kiss.

this one is different than the one the night prior. it’s more confident, sure of himself. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and in your surprised gasp, he tucks it between your lips. that part of the kiss is tentative, like enacting the things he’d thought about was more nerve wracking than he’d let on.

you smile. he drags his teeth across your puffed bottom lip. “oh, you like that?” he asks against the soft skin of your mouth, arrogance coating every one of his words. “mm, okay.”

his hands run down your sides, hooking beneath your shirt and bunching it up in his fists. “this okay?” he asks, lifting his head enough to search your eyes.

you nod, taken aback, almost, by the flood of black overtaking his irises. “it’s okay.”

his grin is mesmerizing. had he always been so attractive? had he always looked like something sculpted and molded, just for you, and you’d only just noticed? “okay,” he echoes, and he nudges your extended arm with his elbow, “lift your arms for me.”

neither of you really know what you’re doing, but he has a little bit of an upperhand, what with the fantasies he’d created in his head.

“what all did you think about?” you ask him, tracing your eyes over his face to keep from thinking about how he was undressing you, and you were slowly being beared to him fully.

alec’s eyebrows twitch, his eyes lifting from your bare skin up to yours again. “last night?”

“yeah. i wanna know.”

he shakes his head. “no, nelly,” he laughs under his breath, his heavy-lidded eyes raking over your body again. “m’not lettin’ you know. you’re shakin’ in your boots already.”

“well, then what did you do? just lay in bed, thinkin’ about me?” you shoot back, your mouth dropping into a pout at the denial.

alec’s lips quirk. “something like that.”

“alec—” you’re cut off by his lips pressing to yours again. his fingers run reverently down your chest, his touch shuddery as they graze over your breasts. he groans, and the air in your lungs stutters hard in your chest. every thought is shattering to pieces before you can think them, focused instead on the feel of his hands on you in places that you didn’t think anyone would ever touch.

“i know you’re scared,” he mumbles in your mouth, his hand drifting lower, slowly but steadier than before. “so i want you in control. in case—” his touch comes to a stop at the buttons on your camo cargos. alec pauses like he’s dazed, clearing his throat. “in case you want to stop. at any point.”

he’s such an arrogant dickhead most of the time, one that you’ve come to adore in every possible way, but here? now? he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever met.

“here, lift your hips for me,” his nimble fingers have already undone the button, before you’d even blinked, “good girl — see? m’so proud of you, baby.”

baby. he’d never called you baby before. your smile is immediate, even as you feel like you’re being electrocuted with how your skin is buzzing. his knuckles light a fire down you as they brush lightly against your thighs, your calves.

your hand lifts to rest under his chin, tilting his head up to look at you again. how many kisses is this now? you can’t even think, now, not as you drag him in for another kiss. five? six? not enough, is the simple answer.

alec entertains the kiss for a few seconds before he’s pulling back, even taking a step away. your body chills at the loss of his heat, and the self awareness of how you must look to him. mostly naked, sprawled backwards on your bed, looking up at him with big, wide eyes. you open your mouth to say something snarky to him, anything to quell the heavy silence, when he whispers, “you’re so damn beautiful, nelly.”

he undoes the buttons on his pants quickly, shoving them down his muscular thighs and pooling at his ankles. it’s intimidating, staring into the eyes of someone who was your best friend through and through, while neither of you are wearing anything besides undergarments.

this was the guy who’d talked you out of making any rash decisions after you’d had the insult of killer kisser thrown in your face, all because of the girl your dna was cloned from. who squeezed your hands and told you to fuckin’ ignore them. what do they know? who’d been a cell apart from you in your psyops isolation, making sure he wasn’t infected with whatever rotted ben’s mind into darkness, and you weren’t susceptible to falling into hi

alec steps around you to sink onto the mattress beside you, shifting backwards until his back hits the concrete wall, turning so that he’s facing straight forward. his hands pat his thighs, nodding his head in gesture — or maybe to get you to stop ogling him like he was someone new and not your alec.

“lookin’ at me like you don’t know me,” he mumbles, reaching out to snatch your elbow when you don’t move. it’s intimidating. sitting in his lap with so little separating the two of you? of course you were hesitating! “don’t be ridiculous. m’still the guy you pushed down the stairs five years ago.”

“that,” you exhale shakily, as you sit down on his thighs, desperately trying to ignore the heat beneath you, and the heat between your legs, “was an accident.”

“bull.” he moves his hands to the clasps of your bra, undoing each hook individually, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “i saw how you looked at me before you did it.”

you bristle, shoving him back by the shoulder until his back presses against the cool concrete. “like i’m looking at you now?”

slowly, he tugs the straps of your bra down your arms, his grin faltering as his eyes drift downward at the same time. “yeah.” he clears his throat. clears it again. “yeah, like you’re lookin’ at me now.”

your eyes follow his, and you suck in a slow, deep breath. somehow, the fucker had talked his way into taking your bra off without you even noticing. kept you distracted long enough to not fuss over it.

how many kisses out of a million could one man give? you hoped all of them. you hoped more than a million.

the silence is heavy but it’s less awkward now. most of the hard parts were over, and you’d already established there was no reason to be nervous, not with alec. never with alec.

“here,” he says, his voice still coming out rasped even through his attempts otherwise to quell it. “hips up again f’me… yeah, just like that.” alec’s fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down until they’re caught where you’re straddling him. “left leg up… perfect, baby, right one… perfect, baby. absolutely perfect.”

the praise makes you feel hot. sure, he’d said things like this before, praising each of your actions when you’d done good at training, or came back from a mission successful. this is different. intimate.

"keep 'em up real quick, alright?" he murmurs, shifting beneath you enough to lift his own hips up, hands pulling down his boxers over his thighs. his hand slips, giving way to the nervousness he had buried deep, as it slaps against your bare thigh. "my bad," he chuckles lowly, kicking them off with the foot closest to the bed's edge. his fingers curl around your leg, kneading at the soft flesh. "you've got me all messed up in my head."

"enough to hit me?" you tease, your smile returning again to your lips. "that's cruel, alec. you said you weren't playing dirty."

"m'not," alec insists, his thumb catching your chin and dragging you down into a kiss, and then another.

you laugh on his lips, trying to shake free from his grip. "are too."

he sits up, chasing your mouth when you start to pull away, swallowing your lips in an onslaught of kisses. "i can show you 'playing dirty'." his hands slide down your sides, fingers brushing your ass as they firmly grasp your thighs, flipping the both of you so that your back is against the mattress.

you're strong enough to flip him back. to tackle him onto the mattress, to wrestle like you used to do when you were younger, and things were easier. you don't.

alec settles between your legs, using his hold on your thighs to lift your hips and align your entrance with the cock you have not looked at, nope, it feels too real to—

your eyes fall anyways when his do, watching him line himself up. all of his nervousness is gone again, like he teeters between it, only ever seeming to get nervous when it comes to addressing you. what you are. what this means.

“still okay?” at your nod, he nods too. “okay, sweet girl. let me just—” his hand comes between the both of you, grasping his cock between his fingers, as he pushes the thick head of it inside of you, his head falling back as your wetness coats it. “jeeeesus.”

“what?” you ask breathlessly, shifting to rest on your palms, glancing from his face to where he’s pulling out of you.

alec shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face. “nothing. nothing at all.” he pushes in again, slowly, deliberately, this time keeping his cock inside of your tight walls. “just thinking about you. always thinking about you.” his free hand goes to your shoulder, pushing you lightly back on the bed. “you just lay back and relax, alright? get out of that head.”

how were you supposed to get out of your head when now, the thing circling around in it is how he so casually declared that he was always—

it’s uncomfortable, as he fills you up. like something is wrong, doesn’t belong. you were definitely wet enough to take him, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of something being off that tingles up your spine.

“fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans, his voice as rough as gravel. alec rubs soothing circles into your skin with his thumb, before he lets his hand fall down to one of yours, grasping it in his. “squeeze if you wanna stop.”

even through the discomfort, you didn’t want to stop. not only had the gap already been bridged, but… you liked it. liked him. more than you ever would have realized on your own. the further he pushes into you, still in that achingly slow pace as he lets your pussy adjust to the feel of him inside of it, the easier that adjustment gets.

your fingers play with his, tracing over his knuckles, as your breaths tumble out in soft little pants. everything feels like its at a boiling point, like it’s seconds from spilling over.

“you asked why i wasn’t scared,” he says under his breath suddenly, eyes lifting to meet yours through the deep dark of his eyelashes, once he’s to the hilt deep inside of you, his pelvis pressed to yours in a sharing of blistering hot skin. “do you want to know why?”

he finishes the sentence, and slowly pulls back until his cock rests halfway inside of your throbbing pussy. the movement makes you whimper in your throat, the sound of it rough already. his fingers clamp around yours in reassurance. “i’ve thought about this a lot. that’s why.”

“liar,” you manage to rasp, a breathless moan of laughter punctuating the words, “y’don’t have to make me feel better anymore. i’m not scared.”

“i always,” alec thrusts into you again, quicker this time, already pulling back out, keeping that slow, leisurely pace until he’s absolutely certain you’re alright with the next part of it all, “always want to make you feel better.”

another thrust in, and something shifts this time. you can feel every inch, and suddenly, a tremor of ecstasy replaces the full discomfort. you gasp, and he surges forward to hover over you properly now, like that one little noise was enough reassurance for him.

“always want to take care of you, always want to make sure you’re happy,” alec continues, soft grunts slipping between his ramblings, “hell, i’ve thought about putting a baby in you before. just not… in this setting.”

the words shoot straight downwards, making your already aching pussy throb, clenching tightly around him. “i’m not gonna break, alec,” you say, forehead pressed to his. you dig your nails into the back of his hand, not squeezing it so he doesn’t stop, but urging him further. “stop acting like you’re gonna snap me in half. i’ve pushed you down the stairs before.”

alec laughs, but it works. he pulls out further with each thrust, slams into you harder, burying himself deeply inside of your wet pussy. “yeah, you have.” the sound of skin slapping together starts to echo around the room with the change in his pace, interrupted only by his throaty groans and your soft moans and, god, isn’t it awkward that there are guards outside? that this is what they’re subjected to hear every day, until you’re—

“you wanted— a baby with me,” you say, not as a question, and through the deep haze your mind is slipping into.

“wanted to do this. wanted to fuck a baby into you. see you full of me,” he answers, and it must get him going, the image he paints for the both of you, because he speeds up further, drives deeper, and you can feel the head of his cock pushing against your cervix, making you groan aloud into his skin. “only at night, when it was just me, and i wished you were there, keeping me company. any time else, i could pretend like it was fine.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head, and then he’s laughing too. “fucked up, schoolboy-manticore crush, huh?” his head falls further into the crook of your neck, pressing gentle kisses to your collarbone. “only this place could get me daydreaming about filling this pussy up with my cum. could get me - wanting to fuck up our whole friendship, just to hear those pretty sounds of yours.”

your face flushes at the filthy words, even as it only stirs your arousal further along. you can feel it in the base of your spine, and suddenly, by their own volition, your hips are pressing against his in tandem, meeting each of his thrusts inside of you. he groans, the sound hot and vibrating on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“look at me, will ya, pretty thing?” he asks, nose nudging your chin up to meet his eyes. blackened pupils swallow up the jade green of his eyes. your lips part as the pleasure builds and builds, each of your noises crescendoing in pace with alec’s relentless thrusts. “god, nelly—”

you tip your head up a little more, enough to catch his mouth in a warm kiss. “it’s okay,” you say against the soft pink of his lips; your turn to comfort him, even if that’s the last thing he probably needs.

“yeah,” he mumbles on your mouth, stealing a fervent amount of quick kisses. it might as well be a million right then, with the way you can’t clear your head enough to count.”s’all okay. more than okay. always okay with you.”

“you don’t even know—” you choke out, interrupted by the desperate moans falling from your lips, free hand coming to hold onto his side and keep him deep, deep, deep. “don’t even know what you’re saying,” you manage to laugh.

“no,” alec laughs too, letting go of your hand and moving it and his other one to hold onto your thighs again. “no i don’t. lift this one up for me, yeah?”

you uncurl your bent knee and rest it across the length of his body, and the new angle only makes it that much more intense. “m’not gonna last much longer.”

alec is a nervous laugher. he can’t seem to stop while he thrusts into you. your defense mechanism is panic, his is undiluted joy. you hope it never changes about him. “thank fuck.” he turns his head to press a soft kiss to your ankle. “‘ve been hanging on by a fuckin’ thread.”

“seriously?” you cackle. “alec.”

it’s sweet, really, how even when your entire dynamic flipped on its head, neither of you changed. just like you’d promised. you’re still laughing in the heat of the moment together, still teasing each other in every possible way you could. “told you ‘ve been thinkin’ about this,” he grumbles in his defense, the little pout on his flushed face only pulling you closer and closer into your release’s tight grips, “can’t even blame m—”

“oh, fuck—” you can’t blame him, because you never gave him the time to pitch his argument fully, cutting him off. each breath you draw in is strained, in time with the pounding he’s giving to your clenching pussy. “oh, fuck, alec—”

“hey, language, pretty thing, there’s—” one last thrust, harder than the others, his hips stuttering their movements as he pushes out a shaky exhale into your shoulder. your head falls back into the mattress, dug into the springs as you buck into him, his cock against your cervix as he spills his cum inside of you. the feel of him twitching inside of you, of the warmth seeping from your fluttering walls and warm down your spread legs, reducing you to a muddled mess of pleasure in his arms. unintelligible words on your tongue, pleads or his name or something, you don’t even know, don’t even know what you were trying to say.

alec brushes his fingers across your forehead, pushing the sweaty hairs off of your skin. “was gonna tell you to watch your mouth, but i’m pretty sure you just swore me up and down in three different languages at once.”

your limbs feel boneless, but you do manage to swat at his bare chest, heated skin on heated skin. “shut up.”

“nah.” he scoops you into his arms, not yet having pulled out of you, as he cradles you to his chest. “we’re just gettin’ started, aren’t we?”

the answer is that one man can give a million kisses, and it doesn't take a lifetime — just a director's order and a dream.

tags, @jasvtsc @deanswidow @ostaramoon @angelblqde @depressionbarbie2023

@poughkeepsie99 @chi-raz @beausling @artyandink @figthoughts

#──★ ˙🍓 dahlia’s jrnl #divider by adornedwithlight #dark angel #alec mcdowell #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles smut #young jensen ackles #dark angel imagine #dark angel one shot #dark angel fic #alec mcdowell imagine #alec mcdowell one shot #alec mcdowell smut #alec mcdowell x reader #alec mcdowell x you

89 notes · View notes

beeanca-writing · 2 days ago

Text

demo coming soon! | voulez-vous? is rated 16+

Maybe it's just exhaustion, or the many caipirinhas flowing through my body, or maybe even the moon, bigger than usual, prettier than usual, behind Toni.

I don't know what it is. I just know that, at this moment, for the first time since we met, she seemed to me like one of the prettiest people I had ever seen.

Toni watches me carefully.

"Today sucked, huh?"

"Do you hate me that much?"

"I like your company," her voice's earnestness makes me lower my eyes. "But we didn't produce anything."

"I thought coke was supposed to make people more productive."

"All it did was make you even looser."

I laugh, because it's true. I didn't write anything, but I did laugh a lot. Told stories. Revealed secrets and gossip that I shouldn't have. That's normal, though, I think.

Toni's eyes, big and almost black, never leave mine. I'd like to avert my gaze, but I can't. Annie's eyes are so small, so cold, so bright. They scare me sometimes. It's as if they hide a thousand secrets.

But Toni's eyes are open. Honest.

"I had never noticed your eyes before," I say, knowing I should keep quiet.

She runs a hand over her mouth, her fingers covering her full lips, trying to hide an embarrassed smile.

I also like that she's shy, that she feels embarrassed. Annie likes being complimented just as much as me.

Suddenly, I feel the urge to get closer to Toni.

Features

A lesbian love triangle between three bandmates who should really know better

A messy protagonist with a beautiful voice, an even prettier face, and a penchant for hedonism

Three different romance routes

Lots of pettiness, drama, and infighting

English and Brazilian Portuguese versions

Disco music. Let's keep it groovy, baby!

Romance Options

Annie (or Aninha in Portuguese): the trio's other vocalist, alongside you. She's also your girlfriend... sort of. Annie used to be a model before being convinced by you to pursue her artistic dreams. She's hot-headed, insecure, a bit petty, and crazy about you.

Toni: the trio's main songwriter and instrument player. Serves as a backing vocal here and there as well. She's always been considered the "nice one" due to her calm, kind demeanor. Of course, that didn't stop her from sleeping with you and risking the trio's future...

Annie and Toni: I mean... why not, right?

Links

play the demo! (coming soon!) | itch.io

#SURPRISE GUYS #voulez-vous #interactive fiction

70 notes · View notes

drinkabletoxicdishsoap · 2 days ago

Text

the fandom’s characterization of peri becoming a father to dev will always be interesting to me because where it did it even come from ???

I mean in operation birthday takeback, bro CLEARLY did not care. He honestly seemed so disinterested and didn’t even care when they went into his dad’s private office by accident. He didn’t seem care or smile for his godkid when he was happy. Even got a little mean when Hazel made a nice wish for him with the rocket boots (“Well that should keep him entertained for about 10 minutes” or smth like that)

Lost in Fairy World he didn’t really seem to care either??? he really only just wanted his wand and to ‘look good’ in front of his godkid and do things his way without his parents interfering. Sort of like how a babysitter wants to look good in front of the family of the kid they’re looking after if that makes sense.

The only time we ever seen him actually care about dev was in the finale when he said that. But even after fairy world got turned to normal he didn’t really seem sad about dev??? he was just smiling after, seemed genuine too and not a fake one. Maybe it’s just me, but if I was a fairy and lost my first godkid, who took over my home, I would be doing anything BUT smiling, even if we won in the end. Peri doesn’t seem like one to hide his emotions easily either (maybe I’m reading into his character wrong)

You could bring up best of luck, which I would say is a fair point, but I’m going to bring back the babysitter/job synonym. Wouldn’t you get jealous of the person that stole your position or place in a work environment after you got fired?? Especially if your rival/enemy took that position?? I PERSONALLY don’t think the jealousy comes from a place of care, but maybe that’s just me.

It could honestly just be the fandom’s way of coping since Dev doesn’t seem to have any good people in his life after the finale, but why Peri? I mean if you really want to make one of the fairies a father figure to dev, I’d say the anti fairies more over are his family but that’s IF we have to choose.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think all of the peri and dev being a father son duo is super cute and heartwarming!! I love seeing all of the art and fics of that because it really is sweet :3 but to me, it just doesn’t really make sense and seems more out of character for Peri if anything.

He seems to care more about following Da Rules in my opinion. And while I do think it’s important to follow rules, especially when it comes to a job, you shouldn’t rely on them. At a job, you shouldn’t be constantly looking over rules to make sure you’re following them, you might end up tripping over yourself. That’s what Peri ended up doing.

If I assign the duo as anything, it would be the tired babysitter who just wants to get paid and the kid he’s looking after. A dude working a 9-5 at his job he couldn’t really care less about (dev).

I mean (only from his words) he wanted to go into the family business. Not because he genuinely cares for kids, but because it’s what his family has done. He’s treating godparenting as work, not stepping into a kids family and genuinely looking after them.

I do wonder if he would act the same way if he had an easier godkid.

BUT!!!! that’s just my thoughts. I’m sorry if I got anything wrong and feel me to correct me if I did !! Also if you disagree with anything that I’m saying, tell me why in either the replies or reblogs !! I would love to hear other people’s perspectives or opinions.

That’s it 😨 thank you so much for coming to another yap session and I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are in the world <3

95 notes · View notes

specialgradefckr · 15 hours ago

Text

tw: emotional incest/enmeshment, codependency, abusive/neglectful childhood

thinking about how satoru gojo could never be normal about having a twin, even just a fraternal one.

he's the six eyes. his birth is celebrated, it shakes the world.

you were just... born.

except the moment they take you to another room he starts crying and he won't stop. he can't even tolerate being put in a different crib. he has to be next to you at all times.

satoru gojo who is born with separation anxiety. you've always been be his side, even in the womb. he can't be away from you.

how you grow up together, going to the same special classes for jujutsu prodigies. satoru on a lonely journey to master the six eyes while you sit next to him quietly reading romance novels.

you have the family technique, of course. maybe your birth would have even been celebrated, if it weren't overshadowed by a power that comes around every six generations or so.

instead, all anyone can ever talk about - think about - is the legendary six eyes, reborn at last. he is showered with gifts and praises and expectations.

satoru gojo knows what he's worth to his family as soon as they plant ancient texts in front of him to learn from.

he's power. the confirmation of their supremacy over their rivals that they've been waiting for. he was born a winner, and the gojo clan is eager to claim their share of the winnings.

but to you? he's your one and only brother. for you, loving him is as easy as breathing.

you're not dramatic like heis, you don't burst into tears the moment you're separated. no one would care even if you did - it was always about what the young lord needed and wanted.

no. instead you're a silent shadow, washed out by his spotlight, ever-clinging and following wherever he goes, wordlessly.

satoru only has to look in your direction for you to share the toy or book you're carrying, offer his hand for you to hold, sit down so you can play with his hair.

he places a kiss on your cheek, or squeezes your hand, or hugs you when you go to sleep, and it wins him an easy smile, one that feels as precious as gold.

when he's with you, he's happy. warm. what those other people want and do doesn't matter. he only has to amuse himself, and you.

you're always with him, just like he's always with you. even if you're not looking at him, you're in his orbit, a constant presence that calms him as the years go by.

he doesn't follow you into the bathroom or throw a fit when you leave his sight, but only because he knows you'll return soon - you want to return soon.

satoru who sees his parents for the first time when they come to visit you.

he's a legend, and his parents weren't fit to raise someone like him. that was arranged from the moment of his birth, even if they were rewarded for producing him.

his rearing and training was of concern to the whole gojo clan, to be done by the best that money could by, with no room for attachments. they only suffered you so long by his side because he was inconsolable otherwise.

satoru who sees them meet with you, talk to you with eager faces, eyes glancing over him with hesitation and nervousness.

they're not here for money or power. they don't want anything to do with him. they want you.

you, a normal child, their child, who they could finally take home now that satoru was old enough.

satoru gojo who doesn't let them take you away. who doesn't feel bad, not even a little bit, when he sends his (your) parents away with a chilling, six-eyed glare.

the only family you need is him.

(you're the only family he'll ever have).

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #tw: incest (emotional)#tw: codependency #there is actually no smut in here but it is a VERY weird attachment

101 notes · View notes

flightyalrighty · 1 day ago

Note

…I find it lowkey weird when someone says Sonic is bit of bully or mean in your comic.

I know you have him take after Archie and Fleetway, but he feels normal to me?

Or is it because I grew up with Sonic media that had him being abrasive that I got used to it..?

This image of being this -perfectly nice- hedgehog that people get from him kinda makes me wonder constantly, do you know how he was back then?

Would you perceive him the same way if you gotten to known him a bit later excluding the older comics?

SEGA has kept a few things consistent with Sonic and one of them being he was always this dude with an attitude. for better or for worse. That didn't mean he didn't care for anyone, it's just part of who he is. Once you can see past that, you know that despite his meanness, he's a solid guy that means well.

(I got a few asks in a short span of time so I hope I'm lining up the correct follow-up with the original here)

So! Okay. So, here's the thing about Sonic and his whole "attitude" thing. These days, canonically, it's kinda non-existent? Sonic's personality got sandpapered (in the games) until it was nice and smooth for the past, uhhh, like deca -- No, not even. I think he's actually been like this since 2005.

Like sure, he'll make a few lame jokes at Eggman's expense in the Meta Era but like. He's a ray of sunshine to everyone else (besides that one thing they got rid of in the Sonic Gens "remaster" with Amy). He's not even GENUINELY mean to Knuckles the way he used to be. There is no actual beef there, it's really just friendly banter he's having with his friends.

Even more about this below cut vvv

The main sources of Sonic Attitude™ I ever experienced growing up was that little itty bit left within Sonic Heroes and MOSTLY just Archie Sonic (and some STC Online reading I did as a kid) and Sonic X. Make no mistake, Sonic definitely had a range of "Attitude" to "Asshole" in those works. It just wasn't present in the games. So if you were a kid growing up and only knew Sonic FROM the games, that so-called attitude was gonna be minimal if you're age 30 or under.

And any attitude he gave would be only to people he perceived to be enemies (or Jet the Hawk).

Jump forward in time to the end of the Meta era, and we've come to a point in which Sonic is very nice. He's everyone's cool big brother. He's a "friend to all children." The perfect role model. He's very nice in Sonic Prime. In IDW, some fans would even argue he's TOO nice. TOO forgiving. To this I say, it is what it is. I just don't believe Sonic's mean-ness level is all that consistent. Perhaps someday we'll see that attitude again. Perhaps.

Now, to finally address your initial comment: I am the one who says this. I am the one who says he is mean in Infested. And! That's because he's written that way.

This isn't modern nice Sonic, but this also isn't Attitude Guy from the 90s/early 2000s. This is a secret third thing. And by that I mean he's an amalgamation of STC Sonic and Archie Sonic. He's done a lot of learning and growing and he doesn't want to hurt his friends, but his first instinct is harsh, snippy commentary or outright lashing out. He has learned and has to bury that horrible little monster inside him. For Tails's sake.

#Anonymous #asks #sorry for the NOVEL of a response but i felt i needed to give my two cents on this #infested asks

70 notes · View notes

greml1nb0i · 2 days ago

Text

THE HAZBIN LEAKS SHOW THAT S2 WILL ONLY GET WORSE: Characters

OK so my first gripe,

Emily's song is ear bleedingly annoying. Idk who her VA is but omg, idk if she's tone deaf or if they just have her mouth directly into the mic but my gods woman. STEP BACK you are assaulting my brain with these nonstop high sopranos.

Also the literal shot of Sir P trying to kill himself cuz of how either how annoying Emily is being or the fact he misses his friend, regardless it was a WILD fucking scene to show. Suicide isn't off the table for Viv's jokes, i guess.

Speaking of Sir P, his reason for being in Hell is so fucking stupid.

How tf is being scared of Jack The Ripper a sin?! His sin is just being scared of being murdered if he spoke out.

THAT'S JUST NORMAL HUMAN BEHAVIOR, WHAT?!

I hate to break it to you Viv, but not everyone is going to act like a macho hero when they see a damned murder!! Most people fucking run and hide! Why? CUZ THEY DONT WANNA DIE! They don't want to be targeted if shit goes south.

Also what is the thought process here in making his sin being just "cowardice"?? Viv are you trying to say that people who have most def been in Sir P's shoes, [witnessing a murder] are cowards that deserve to go to hell?? What's the motive here? Am i missing something?? Is being too afraid to be murdered, a sin??

Also apparently he was sent to Heaven for "saving Cherri Bomb"

save her from what?

Last i checked, in the final ep; he just kisses her as she's about to through a bomb and then says "i love you, remember me" only to have one of the most anti climatic "deaths" in the show. She wasnt even being attacked or threatened in anyway. So where tf does the plot point of "i saved her" come in??

Also can we talk about these fuck-ass human designs for Sir P and Alastor??

I don't mind Sir P's as much as i hate Alastor's. Its the fact Viv doesnt know wtf she's doing when she makes these designs.

Sir P just looks like a generic guy. One look at him and you cannot tell what time period he's from, same goes for Alastor. They could easily be frickin neighbors in the early or late 90s but no, they're supposedly from different timelines.

Alastor iirc is from the 1940-50s, and Sir P is from the 1800s, [Jack the rippers final kill was 1863-1888]

Why, Viv, cant you do any research for the time periods YOUR characters come from??

Why do they both look like cartoon barbers; not a radio show host and not a genius inventor?? Like did you even look at the differences in fashion and culture for any of these characters?!

Men fashion from the late 1800s looked like this:

This is [white] Men's fashion in the 1940-1950s:

See Viv, their fashion styles are different and shouldn't look the same at all. Why does every character have pinstripes, if it doesnt even reflect that time period in an authentic way??

And to add a cherry on top, this is what African American men would wear in Alastor's time period:

Do you see the difference in styles Viv?

Black men were not given the same nice everyday casual wear that white men did. They often wore hand-me-downs or had to work their asses off to just afford 1 nice looking suit.

you wanna know why?? Cuz Viv, the Jim Crow laws were still in full affect til the late 60s and early 70s. They were not seen as people, black men and women were still heavily discriminated against and were even still being victims of-

[MAJOR TW FOR RACISIT STUFF]

lynching's. Alastor would feel lucky, he only got mistaken for a deer and shot; he could have, and probably did, go through much much worse in his actually living life.

Tell me you didn't do any research for your characters without telling me you didn't do any research for your characters.

TLDR; So not only is Viv using more gross jokes in her next season, but the character designs have gotten even worse.

Lmk what you want the next topic to be about, if i missed anything you would've liked mentioned here, lmk in comments or asks and i'll reply. I reply to everyone as long as you arent being a jerk.

EDIT:

I've been made away that Alastor didn't in fact live in the 1940s and 50s but the 1930s. i will say most of my points still stand, but here the men's fashion for his time period.

also that makes his radio show even more of an impossible achievement, in the 1930s majority, if not, half of the black men in America were out of work cuz of racism, discrimination and segregation, ya know, cuz the Jim Crow. White people called for African Americans to be fired from any jobs as long as there were whites out of work. Racial violence again became more common, especially in the South.

Tell me again Viv, how tf did Alastor even thrive??

#vivziepop critical #anti hazbin hotel #anti vivziepop #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop criticism #hazbin leaks

35 notes · View notes

hurtwithallthecomfort · 2 days ago

Text

Caretaker had never been interested in having kids. At every family reunion, people would eventually come round to ask, “so, when do you think you’ll start having children?”

The answer would always be the same. Never. They’re a lot of hassle, and considering caretaker’s line of work, it probably wouldn’t be a safe environment for a kid. Then, eventually, the disgruntled aunts and nagging uncles would quieten down and go back to obnoxiously chewing on their food, occasionally making a snide remark about a cousin or nephew.

It was 2:43 in the morning, or so the glaring alarm clock said. Caretaker groaned slightly as they turned, half asleep still. Normally, they slept through the night with ease, routinely going to bed at a reasonably mature time, and waking up to the beeping of the morning alarm like clockwork.

But, this time, it was loud in the house. Quiet murmurs and tentative footsteps had woken caretaker up, purely from the fact that they simply weren’t used to it. Caretaker was happily single and childless, as well as not owning any pets or really being of an age where sleepovers were considered anything but childish. On any other night, the house was silent through and through, but tonight was different.

A knock on the bedroom door brought Caretaker out of their thoughts. A grunted ‘come in’ was all Caretaker could respond with, and as soon as the words left their lips, the door creaked open, and faint light poured in. It was Whumpee. Caretaker wasn’t particularly shocked - who else would it be? Still, up until noe Whumpee had been adamant that they were completely fine. When the team had found them, they didn’t whimper or sob or plead. They had to be grappled down in order for Medic to be able to examine them, and when they were told of the severity of their injuries, they simply denied ever even feeling bad.

Ever since Whumpee had been found, they insisted on leaving, and going ‘home’, though nobody was particularly sure where ‘home’ was, because when asked about family and friends, Whumpee had no answer. But, the team couldn’t just let the kid go, partially because they were far too young to be fending for themselves, and partially because this was the closest to Whumper they had ever gotten. Could they really risk losing their only clue?

Sleeping in the HQ wasn’t an option for Whumpee, they were tense back there, snappy and hostile. Staying overnight wouldn’t have done any good. Most of the team had to set off on an emergency mission that was far too dangerous for someone as fragile as Whumpee. Medic and Caretaker were the only ones who remained, and the former already had kids of their own waiting at home. So, Caretaker it was. They packed up Whumpee’s things, drove them for three hours to get home, and fought to get them settled in the usually abandoned guest room.

And now, they were standing in Caretaker’s doorway. Hesitant. Akin to a child standing at the foot of their parent’s mattress, shaky and looking for comfort after a harrowing nightmare.

“… couldn’t sleep..” Whumpee muttered, looking away bashfully, as though they were embarrassed that they were hurting to the point of having to reach out. Like it was the worst thing they could have done.

Caretaker didn’t react. Perhaps it was the tiredness. Instead, they shuffled and shifted in their bed so that they were upright, and patted down the other half of the bed. An invitation. Whumpee tread closer to the bed in the same way that a stray cat might stagger towards the scent of a stranger. Assessing risks.

It took them a minute to crawl into the bed, but when they did, they were quick to pull up the duvet, clutching at the blanket for warmth. Caretaker hadn’t seen the room Whumpee was being kept in, but based on the look on Leader’s face after they had found them (somewhere between horrified and distressed), they could assume that Whumper had never concerned themselves with Whumpee’s temperature concerns.

Caretaker hadn’t expected Whumpee to relax this much in their room. Sure, Whumpee had taken to them much faster than they had taken to anyone else, and sure everyone on the team had jokingly started calling them the team mother, but those were all jokes. Caretaker wasn’t a parent, and they had made peace with that. Their life wasn’t safe for a child.

Caretaker moved from their sitting position, now lying on their side under the mauve covers. Here, they faced Whumpee, whose eyes were tight shut, and their frail arms tightly shut around the firm, cream pillow. They looked so young; while nobody could find any documents regarding Whumpee’s real identity, it was easy to tell looking at them that they couldn’t be older than late teens.

Hesitantly, Caretaker pushed their hand out and brushed Whumpee’s hair out of their face, fingers gently skimming their forehead. It was hot to touch, like they were a flu-ridden child in the middle of a summertime heatwave. Caretaker couldn’t even fathom what Whumpee had been through to get here. But, if their meagre little townhouse in the middle if nowhere could provide some solace for them, then so be it. Whumpee could sleep wherever they wanted.

#whump #whump snippet #writing snippet #whump writing #whump prompt #this was written with living weapon in mind #doesn’t have to be interpreted like that though #because when do I ever think about stuff other than living weapon #the answer is #never #whumpee #caretaker

41 notes · View notes

the-technorats · 17 hours ago

Text

ok ive been wanting to post abt this for a while. i think a part of the reason that i started to grow away from the 1d fandom recently (and more into 5sos, actually, which will be relevant later) is for these exact realizations. it became pretty clear, during the band's lifetime but mostly once the band went on hiatus, explicitly and implicitly, that being in one direction was extremely unhealthy for the talent involved.

and so not only did it become a kind of moral dilemma, bc how do you support and love something that you know is abusive, but it ruined the mirage of the essence of the band, which was, as louis put it, about having fun and being normal guys but terrible, terrible dancers, because you knew that under the surface of their silly, goofy live shows they were probably not having that much fun all the time and were definitely at points in either physical or mental anguish or both at once.

it feels so disillusioning because their primary appeal to their fanbase wasn't that they were like, hot or whatever (though they were and that was definitely part of it (but also their fanbase was so fucking queer that that metric could only do so much)), but it was that they were friends. the explicit marketing was sex appeal, sure, but the implicit marketing was community.

we wanted to think they were having as much fun as we were, that they loved being in the band with each other as much as we loved them. and once they broke up ("went on hiatus") and people started realizing they weren't quite as good of friends as we all thought they were, that they were coworkers, that they don't even have each other's phone numbers, that's when it didn't feel as good.

which is interesting. we all wanted so badly to be convinced that what we all knew was happening wasn't.

i think we desperately want that. as 1d put it: to be loved and to be in love. and we want to think that friendship and community and love can withstand anything, no matter how abusive and oppressive. because we want the hope that in our own abusive and oppressive life, our community can carry us through it. we're like, fantasizing about unionization and collectivization in a way that feels safe. and no one wants to hear this, but this IS a weapon of which we (and your faves) are victims.

like, god, if the success of capitalism isn't that it makes you think you want it. people want community? people are realizing that collective action is what overturns oppressive systems? give them this. this band of boys from working class backgrounds who love each other and made it to superstardom through nothing but the power friendship and love and art. give them that experience through an artificial projection of community that only ever makes you complicit in the commodification of yourself and your artists. the strongest sedative is the one you already want to take.

and if that isn't the reason 1d were doomed to fail. because they were created by the exact power that people want to push back against. you can't eat your young and have them too.

if being in one direction was all sunshine and rainbows, the boys would have come back after that hiatus and zayn would have never left.

behind closed doors, those boys were suffering.

it kills me that i never saw that because all i saw was that they made me happy and surely they were happy too.

that couldn't have been farther from the truth.

this is killing me

#here's the 5sos aside:#this is why they were kind of a magical thing esp in light of 1d. esp since a lot of 5sos fans were 1d fans first/simultaneously #everything 5sos does/is is what 1d could have done/been if they formed organically for the love of the music and each other #which is obvs not 1d's fault. this is the x-factor's entire propagandic premise (the /american dream/ essentially)#that any working class nobody with a dream can become a star. that was their opportunity to make that dream real so obviously they took it #no one wouldn't have #anyway 5sos. really uplifting as a fan because everything they are is despite despite despite #they have the intention and vulnerability and connection with each other/the band/the fans that 1d (the entity) manufactured but that #1d (the boys themselves) were not allowed to have #1d #5sos #thoughts #liam payne #when i thought about it too hard i just. and this is morbid but. couldn't believe that justin bieber is still alive. he deserves the freedo #and hopefully peace of irrelevancy #posting in light of.. idk. the forced agreement of paparazzi at liam's funeral maybe. but obviously the whole tragedy in general #this is super late but i wanted these thoughts out there #ari #thanks for letting me rant about it the night of

181 notes · View notes

risingsunresistance · 2 days ago

Text

because im normal about the staff and normal about the resistance im forced to constantly think about how awful the aftermath of the resistance must have been. we know that "in canon" there's still at least one admin TO THIS DAY who is on dante's side. they're allowed to keep their job like that. and since that one still has their job, they're all at least complicit in that behavior. all of the admins, simon himself included, were on his side during the fight. not a single one of them helped us. hasco, one of techno's islandmates, was also an admin and pestered his party in their chat. deo, who would later become an admin, didnt fight dante at all and chose to sit back and watch despite being elected as a general for the fight

do you think there's resentment. is there an underlying fear, knowing you'll never trust those people again. is there a quiet "they're basically gods so we have no choice but to play along and pretend we're happy to stay on their good side." did they ever actually talk about it and make up or was there nothing left to say. did any of them feel sorry or have regrets. did any of them try to make up for it

#chat #sb #sb lore #one day i will touch on this some more. i have so much to say about simon specifically

33 notes · View notes

m0rkl · 3 days ago

Text

The People We Become || Reverse Portal AU || Stan Vs. The Multiverse

Back to talking about My Mans and this AU

Stan's Adventures Through The Multiverse

After tumbling through the exploding portal Stan ends up in this sort of between space, lost between dimensions where there are rifts steadily opening and closing around him. He has no idea really what they are or where they go, so he's lost and freaking out.

He's desperately calling out for Ford to come save him. For a while, he's determined to stay put in case the portal opens back up again, but his cynical side tells him Ford has already abandon him and he's stuck here forever. Stan fight back and forth with himself, both unwilling to believe that Ford would just let him stay here forever and uncertain that Ford doesn't think this is exactly what Stan deserves.

Bill senses the Dimension 46'\ Portal open and goes to the location only to find Stanley and no portal to be found. Seeing Stanley with the journal, Bill tries to manipulate Stan into giving him the journal, saying that he and Ford wrote it together long ago.

Bill says if Stan give him the journal, he'll send Stan home easy peasy. Of course, Stan knows a con when he sees one and tell him to go fuck himself. Bill is less than please, but keeps trying to manipulate Stan. It doesn't work.

Stan: You know, my brother might be the one with the brains, but I've got that other thing.

Bill: Oh? And what might that be?

Stan: PUNCHING!

[Stanley punches Bill in the eye and launches himself into a random rift.]

Luckily, Stan lands himself in a sort of interdimensional central hub where travelers can stop and rest for a time. Unluckily, this particular hub is dominated by a shitty totalitarian government and he gets stopped almost immediately by law enforcement. He doesn't have real ID on him, just one of his shitty fakes, which might have worked on random crappy traffic cops, but not dimension hopping violent super cops.

Stanley gets thrown in jail with some other petty criminals, which is truly his home element these days. He makes some quick friends and they break out, stealing some poor sap's a luxury ship mini cruiser along the way.

Now that he's made some criminal friends, he gets some totally absolutely completely legal ID and credentials and learns to pilot ships.

For a while, Stan travels around, taking sketchy jobs, running with various crime group and actually... having a somewhat good time? Turn out space crime is kind of more fun that normal crime, even if he feels like shit for doing some of it. It's just as dark and dangerous as the life he was living before.

Over the years he has a couple run ins with Bill and usually scrapes out of it more or less in one piece. None of it is pretty though. It is Bill, after all.

He runs with various crews, making money, losing money, racking up debt, going to prison, escaping prison, becoming a fugitive, becoming a hitman, a thief and all kinds of bad shit. But after twenty or so years, he gets tired of it.

He decides to settle on a quiet planet and lay low for a little bit with the small amount of money and connections he's made over the years. The planet he's on is like a small town. He's nervous around such 'normal' people, but does well with kids and ends up being the mysterious and gruff, but kind old man who feeds the kids who don't get enough to eat at home or don't have a safe place to stay. It's nice. But doesn't last very long.

He catches wind of a trans-dimensional locator that wouldn't necessarily get him home, but it would be a start. He'd have to find a way to hook it up to his Rift Hopper(the device he uses for dimensional travel) AND keep it untraceable to Bill. It won't be easy but it's closer to a way home than he's had since he got here.

He joins up with a rag-tag treasure hunting crew that might be a little morally gray, but they're better than a lot of the crime lords Stan has worked with. He travels with them for a while, being their main muscle and negotiator for jobs.

When there's trouble, he takes it upon himself to get them out of it and tends to be very self sacrificing. He is still Stanley Pines after all.

This crew LOVES their goofy violent self-loathing grandpa and are 100% on board with helping him find the translocator. Even if it means he'll leave them ):

But as Mabel and Dipper make progress on the portal back in their dimension, blips of Dimension 46'\ are sent into the multiverse. Which means Stanley can track a rift! ...But so can Bill.

Bill comes after Stan and his new crew, taking them hostage. Stan agrees to go with Bill if he lets the crew go. Bill tries to make a deal, but Stan tricks him, gives the crew the translocator and the crew narrowly escapes. Stan does not.

Bill holds Stan captive and tortures him, both to get the translocator and because he just fucking hates Stan after all this. Also, torture is FUN! (for Bill)

Stan can't escape and starts to think maybe this is just how he's going to spend the rest of eternity. He starts losing hope, thinking it's what he deserves for the life he's lead.

But then! His crew comes to the rescue! No way they were going to leave their weird violent human grandpa to Bill's wrath! They risk their lives to save Stan and escape Bill

... but bad news. The translocator device broke when they were making their initial escape. Stan is pretty okay with it, but then... the portal opens. It's definitely to his dimension, but it's locked onto his energy signal some how???

He's confused, because why would Stanford be looking for him after three decades of nothing? Could someone else be searching for him? What the hell is going on?

But the portal is right there and finally Stan gets to go home! But he knows Bill is still after him so he has to close this dumb reckless portal asap

....tbh now I just wanna write a bunch of shorts about Stanley's adventures through the multiverse

#stanley pines #gravity falls #gravity falls au #reverse au #The People We Become AU #stanford pines #bill cipher

29 notes · View notes

plusvanity · 11 hours ago

Note

Metalion was arguably one of Pelle's closest friends in Norway, and the very same person who saw Pelle trying to drown guinea pig in a jar, then putting it in the microwave. That story would have never been known if not for Metalion. He decided to share it, which points to him NOT being the "Pelle was an angel" type of person.

Yet he said that Pelle only pretended wanting to kill the farm cat and said he actually believes Pelle could have caught the cat if he wanted but pretended it was too fast for him. He also expressed belief that Pelle was actually fond of cats "in his own twisted way".

(Metalion was also the person who received the famous rant from Pelle about the inclusion of Garfield comic in the Slayer mag, with the accompanying "I HATE CATS" drawing where he put Garfield in the meat grinder).

What do you think about this? Do you agree with Metalion or you think he could have been wrong? I could have asked you this in dm but I feel like reading the discussion if anyone wants to add their two cents.

I definitely feel like Pelle was trying harder than his metalhead peers to seem brutal, tough, cold and 'evil' and his harsh antipathy towards cats is, in my opinion, the easiest way in which you can tell he's purposefully exaggerating his image.

Now, I wouldn't say he was an angel either. He was very complex as a character in the scene and I'm glad we have this story from Metalion to contour a wider view on Pelle's personality. I wouldn't consider him evil or an animal abuser for killing a rodent, but the way in which he carried out the act is quite interesting for a few reasons. If I recall it correctly, he was drunk when he did that. We all know that alcohol allows disinhibition and promotes reckless/ unthoughtful behavior. I see him as having fun and wanting to see 'cool and brutal' to his friends, so his sporadic decision to microwave the hamster must've been born from the wish to impress. And what wanting to impress really means? To belong.

I very much believe that a lot of Pelle's actions and declarations originate from his wish to belong, to be perfectly integrated into a small group of friends that he made. And this could be traced back to being bullied in school, having low self-esteem and being emotionally neglected. These are some of the conclusions that I tend to have when looking back at his history and relationship with others.

I don't have any way in which I can prove or disprove this, but my gut feeling tells me that Pelle wasn't sadist, cynic, or evil in the slightest. I believe he was, in fact, a sensitive person and sensitive does not equal 'angle' or innocent. I think he was forcing himself to be more intimidating than he was in reality because of a tough lesson that he's been taught since early in his life.

Another aspect of why he might be pressured to maintain this exaggerated act was because of the environment, after all the black metal scene was designed to capture 'the worst' in people as a backlash to conformity and normality. He couldn't be less aggressive, less brutal, less 'cool' than his peers, not when he finally had the chance to express himself in a way that could be appreciated by those who shared his feelings.

If Pelle was indeed prone to violence and aggression, it would've shown and there would've been stories about this, but there are none. The only person he ever hurt was himself, and this is not because he couldn't hurt anyone, because he could if he wanted to, but he took it on himself as a mindful decision.

Although self-destructive behavior is common for people with low self-esteem, it is not the rule. Many people lash out on others for their own feelings of self-hatred. (Vikernes for example)

I don't see the possibility of him secretly liking cats this far-fetched because exaggerating about just how much you hate something is sometimes a good indication of how you actually enjoy something that you're very ashamed of.

To sum this up, I think Metalion was observant enough or lucky enough to see beyond Pelle's shocking acts of impression. I see that instantly cooked rodent incident as something isolated, pushed by the circumstances in which Pelle was at that time rather than part of a continuum of cruel events.

I think Pelle had a limit when it came to seeming cool, and this would make a lot of sense if h indeed chose not to catch the cat at the farmhouse when he could just do that.

Some people take their frustration on smaller creatures because they need to punish a lesser being than them the way they've been punished by a bigger being. This is an antisocial mentality. Pelle could have done so, if he wanted to many times, but he didn't. Also, most antisocial acts are committed ALONE, not with friends, or at a party, or in any social circumstances and things like that don't stay hidden for long, so eventually people start noticing. This is clearly not Pelle's case.

#ask response #pelle ohlin

21 notes · View notes

possessiveandobsessive · 21 hours ago

Text

The Spirit of Determination

Nyra "Rook" Thorne is somehow responsible for the fate of all of Thedas. If she's going to pull it off, she's going to need a hell of a lot of determination. Lucky for her, she knows a guy and his demon who can help her out with that.

Part 2: Guilt is a Painful Poison

Rook had just made it to the bottom of the first set of stairs into the library and was preparing to head down the second when a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Where are you going, Rook? Are you going alone?”

That voice, that damn voice. Smooth as velvet, with a deep rumbling tone that she could feel down in her core.

She closed her eyes. Of course it’s him. It’s always him. Rook turned to face Lucanis, who stood by the round table in the center of the space. This table was the one the team gathered around to discuss their upcoming plans of action, and Lucanis was standing directly behind the chair Rook normally sat in. He had his hands placed lightly on the back of her chair, and she couldn’t help but picture him doing this while she sat in it. She yearned to have someone who would always stand protectively behind her when she let her guard down, so that she actually could let her guard down. Now was not the time for those types of girlish fantasies, however. Rook was a Grey Warden, a soldier who stood between darkness and the people of Thedas. She wasn’t some damsel that needed protection or saving, no matter how badly she sometimes wished she could be. With that thought in her mind, she answered Lucanis.

“I’m headed to Dock Town. Morrigan wants to meet me to discuss some things before we face the gods. I’ll be fine going alone. It’ll be a quick jaunt to The Cobbled Swan, there shouldn’t be any huge dangers that I can’t handle on my own.”

Rook put on her best “I’m tough, I don’t need anyone” face as she said this. If he insisted on accompanying her, she wouldn’t be able to say no to him. She should go into a meeting like this with Morrigan clear-headed and focused, and she had trouble being either of those things with the handsome Crow around. Of course, he couldn’t back off and make it easy for her.

“Danger finds you every time you leave this Lighthouse, Rook. You should have back-up. Give me a moment to grab my blades and I’ll come with you.”

She opened her mouth to turn him down and assure him that she would be just fine, when Lucanis cut her off.

“Don’t argue with me Rook, you know damn well that if anyone on this team heard you were planning to go alone, they’d insist at least one other person go with you. Harding and Neve would insist on two people accompanying you. I’m coming along, or I’m telling the others that you’re planning on going alone to Minrathous. Your choice.”

Rook’s green eyes narrowed at him for a moment before she sighed and threw herself down onto the small loveseat that Harding and Neve normally occupied for their meetings. This man is going to be the death of me, she thought to herself. She wasn’t nearly as upset about that as she wanted to be.

“Fine, you win. Hurry up though, Morrigan made it sound like it could be somewhat urgent. You know, world ending type stuff.”

She said this last part lightly in an attempt to mask her growing anxiety about it. Rook was definitely concerned. Morrigan wasn’t one to exaggerate when it was important, and she had never requested Rook’s audience in such a pressing manner before. She knows something we don’t, and I don’t think I’m going to like it. A frown twisted her mouth again, and she was unable to school her expression back to a neutral one before Lucanis caught it. His brow furrowed as a twin frown appeared on his own face. He gave her that concerned look he got on his face when she seemed unhappy or worried. Instead of commenting further though, Lucanis simply gave her a nod in response and turned quickly on his heel to fetch his gear.

Rook watched his figure retreat and exit the main room before letting herself crumple a bit. Her shoulders sagged and she let out a frustrated sigh. She was too weak to refuse him anything, especially when she wanted him at her side pretty much constantly. Those warm brown eyes made her brain slow as all of her rational thoughts flew out the window. She wanted nothing more than for him to hold her to his chest so she could just sit and listen to the strong, steady beat of his heart. But she couldn’t allow herself those luxuries, nor could she afford to be distracted by her girlish affections for such a vital member of her team. Control Nyra. That’s always been your weak point. Control your emotions, don’t let them control you. Blindly following your heart is what has gotten you into your biggest messes. What happened at Weisshaupt can never be allowed to happen again. Your lack of focus and reactionary nature is what caused the Grey Wardens to go into battle without their First Warden at the helm.

Rook could still feel the phantom pain in her hand from the force that she had struck First Warden Jowin down with that day. He had been a massive prick, but she had made a decision that had huge consequences for all of the Grey Wardens. And she had done so out of wild rage and frustration, not conscious thought. That wasn’t the kind of thing good leaders did. Varric never would have handled it that way. Her mentor would have talked the First Warden down and gotten him to cooperate willingly. He definitely wouldn’t have struck down his superior so hard his knuckles nearly broke.

“You chose wrong, Varric.” Rook whispered to herself quietly in the silence of the Lighthouse rotunda. “I’m not cut out to lead this team. I’m not fit to be the one holding the fate of Thedas.”

Rook heard someone clear their throat in front of her, and her eyes snapped up to meet Lucanis’s. Eyes wide, she opened and closed her mouth for a moment. How long has he been there?? The thought made her heart rate pick up. Had he heard her voice her doubts? That was not a good look for the supposed leader of the Veilguard. Luckily for her, Lucanis said nothing about her whispered comments to herself, and instead gestured towards the stairs behind her.

“Ready to go, Rook?” he asked, watching her closely but not with any hint of judgement. He was wearing his fighting leathers now, and had at least 4 blades strapped to his person. Rook knew that he absolutely had more hidden from view.

“Yeah, let’s get moving. If the world really is ending sooner than expected, we don’t have time to waste.”

With that, Rook got to her feet and held her chin up high as she purposefully strode down the stairs to the Eluvian room. Lucanis moved silently behind her, the only indication of his presence and proximity was the small hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Now focused and with the dutiful mind of a soldier once again, Rook led the way through the large mirror. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire, she and her silent companion ventured forth.

* * * *

The Crossroads were as calm and quiet as always, the only sound to be heard was a faint whisper on the wind coming from The Tree a few yards in front of them. Rook wasn’t actually sure what The Tree actually was or if it had a proper name. She had taken to calling it “The Tree” simply because it had one golden “trunk” that opened into golden branch looking pieces that formed a hollow sphere. Inside the branches was what appeared to be pure, swirling energy of The Fade. At the base, there stood three ancient, fossilized elvhen people with distressed expressions. Rook had never heard The Tree whispering before, that part was new to her. Cautiously, she took slow measured steps towards it until she could finally make out words.

“You will have new subjects, in recompense. Whatever you wish.”

“Rook’s favorite Spite demon and its host. Wouldn’t it be so fitting if I gave him real wings to match his true demonic nature?He could be a masterpiece…”

“Inspired sister, consider it done.”

Rook ground her teeth so hard she thought they might shatter in her mouth. Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, she thought, Those bastards. Rage coursed through her veins, hot as molten lava. They planned to hurt Lucanis, because of her. All because she had been far too obvious in her fondness for the man. Another person with a target because of her.

“I’d like to see her try.”

Rook heard his voice behind her, and then a more twisted, growling version spoke up.

“We will make her regret. She will die by Our hand. Soon”

The last word of Spite’s declaration was a violent hiss. When Rook turned to look at Lucanis behind her, his eyes had already returned to their warm, brown color. His expression however, was equally as murderous as she imagined it had been when Spite had spoken through him.

“If she touches you, death will be the least of her concerns.” Rook spit the words from behind her still-gritted teeth. She wasn’t sure what her face looked like at that moment, but whatever emotion her expression held seemed to shock Lucanis a bit. Pink tinged the tops of his cheekbones and he cut his gaze to the side before chuckling lightly.

“The gods are wrong to underestimate you Rook. With a fire like that in your eyes, you could bring dragons to heel.” Lucanis met her eyes again after these words, and now she was the one uncertain of what she saw in his piercing gaze.

She smiled ruefully in response. “I’m pretty sure Taash would disagree, but thank you Lucanis.”

The two of them then began the trip to the mirror that was connected to the one in the Shadow Dragon’s, now destroyed, base of operations. Neither of them spoke, but the silence was comfortable rather than awkward. Lucanis’s presence had a calming effect on her when she was out on missions, a fact she had momentarily forgotten in her lovesick panic earlier. It was good that he came with her, she felt more centered now than she had all day. The Caretaker’s boat finally pulled up to the dock they needed and Rook clambered out first with Lucanis close behind. They made their way across the small island to the Dock Town Eluvian. Stepping inside, Rook tried her best to prepare mentally for whatever Morrigan was going to tell her. Upon reaching the correct clearing, she and Lucanis stepped through the giant, rippling mirror.

One thing most people didn’t realize was that travelling via Eluvian took some serious getting used to. It still made Rook’s stomach flip every time she exited on the other side. Both sets of boots crunched as they came in contact with the rubble and debris covered floor on the other side of the portal. Lucanis seemed to read her mind, because before she could spiral into her pit of blame and self-hatred at the sight, he spoke firmly to her back.

“It isn’t your fault Rook. It was an impossible choice, and not many people have the nerve to even have made it at all. You aren’t to blame for every tragedy the gods have caused, and beating yourself up doesn’t bring the dead back to life.”

Curse him for being kind AND correct. Rook wanted to scowl at him, but she knew he was right. It didn’t help anyone to continue to blame herself every time something went wrong or someone got hurt. Knowing that he spoke the truth didn’t make it any easier to swallow though. She wasn’t sure the wounds those decisions left her with would ever completely fade. Scars were permanent reminders of the past. They were undeniable evidence of both victories, and losses. Instead of responding, Rook just nodded her head and continued forward into the ruined city. She had somewhere to be.

Rook made an effort to keep her eyes averted from the weeks-old bodies that had been left hanging on the Venatori’s makeshift execution stands. It wasn’t easy, they littered every street corner and filled the squares. Even if she could avoid seeing them, their presence was undeniable and unavoidable. The bodies of innocent citizens filled the air with the sickeningly sweet, rotting, scent of decomposition. Bile filled her mouth as Rook swatted flies from her face. The flies in Dock Town were another indicator of the atrocities the city had undergone. The insects swarmed the corpses, giving the impression of black clouds hanging low in the streets. Their irritating buzzing became a drone in the background of every thought and spoken word. Rook truly hated every second she spent on these ruined streets, and that made her feel even worse. She had the audacity to hate the aftermath of the devastation that had befallen Minrathous because she had defended Treviso instead. Grimacing from the sting of those thoughts paired with the foul sights and smells, Rook forced her legs to continue moving as she numbly made her way to The Cobbled Swan.

Lucanis could clearly see that Rook was deeply upset and disturbed, and he hated that she had to be here. Though, the fact that she blamed herself was something he hated even more. She carries too much and relies on others too little. Then again, he thought darkly, I am guilty of the same things and I hate it when she points it out. With that thought in mind, he said nothing about her mood shift and simply followed her towards their destination. He knew the weight of guilt, and was familiar with the way it seemed to curl around one’s very soul. It wasn’t an easy thing to let go of.

After about a 10 minute walk, Rook and Lucanis reached the tavern. Rook let out a sigh of relief at the excuse to get off the streets and hurried up the stairs to get inside. She could see Morrigan waiting for her at a table off to the side, and turned to Lucanis.

“Could you wait here while I speak to her? She asked for me and I’m not sure what she wants to say is meant for an audience.” Rook felt bad for making him stand across the room while she met with Morrigan, but she had the feeling that this was going to be a conversation meant to be had with her alone.

Lucanis bobbed his head in the affirmative and said, “It’s not a problem Rook. I’ll wait near the door. Spite wants to people-watch anyway.” He rolled his eyes with the last part of his statement and Rook couldn’t help but laugh a little. Spite’s curiosity and non-understanding of human behavior was one of her favorite things to witness these days. Well, outside of Lucanis cooking with sleeves rolled up and a serene look on his face. That was her favorite thing.

“Thanks Lucanis.” Rook spoke in a relieved tone before turning and walking towards Morrigan’s still form at the last table. Just as she was coming up behind the witch, Morrigan began speaking.

“Thank you for coming quickly, Rook. It is best that the things I am about to say are spoken before the last part of your battle begins.”

Rook swallowed down her nerves and took the seat opposite of Morrigan. Rook’s vibrant eyes were suddenly alight with a fire she felt deep in her soul. Time to get serious. “Alright Morrigan, what do you know, and how much time do we actually have left?”

Part 3 Coming Soon!

(It may not be tomorrow, but soon!)

Part 1 here!

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #lucanis x rook #spite dragon age #lucanis dellamorte #GreyWarden!Rook #fem!Rook

23 notes · View notes

dreamwatch · 15 hours ago

Text

Part 1 Part 2

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

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

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

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas.

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair.

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.”

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway.

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet.

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him.

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it.

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal.

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face.

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream.

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there.

“That was… that was really cool, actually.”

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?”

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed.

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.”

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just… I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner.

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air.

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It��s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar.

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him.

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it.

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up.

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration.

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now.

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs.

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep.

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have.

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside.

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

#corrodedcoffinfest: black friday #corrodedcoffinfest #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #cw sui ideation

20 notes · View notes