#trash puppies band

[bkandtheunderstanding]

BK & the Understanding’s first full-band show in 4 years will be November 11, 2023 at Dr. Jekyll’s Beer Lab in Pantego, Texas, a suburb between Fort Worth and Arlington in the DFW-A metroplex.

[webdiggerxxx]

꧁★꧂

[r3starttt]

Abby handles all the administrative tasks, which Ellie refers to as the boring business stuff. She takes care of sales, answers calls and messages, purchases materials, and finds the best deals. Ellie focuses on the creative side, designing and arranging each bouquet. She accompanies Abby to select the most beautiful colors and patterns and gauges people's reactions to ensure they love her work as much as she does.

They have a routine, even when something unexpected occurs, they know their roles. Each morning before opening, Abby ensures the store is organized, clean, and orderly. Ellie helps too, but often she just wanders around or trails Abby like a lost puppy while munching on her 'sweet treats.' At closing time, Ellie tidies up her workspace while Abby takes out the trash. Each has their designated areas to clean and arrange, but Abby always gives the store one final check.

They enjoy inviting friends to the store. Behind the main entrance is a small inner garden, barely big enough for gatherings, but they make it work. They always have snacks and drinks on hand, mostly for themselves but also for guests.

Ellie loves offering discounts to her friends, which often earns her a stern look from Abby, signaling her to stop, but Abby never makes a big fuss about it. Unbeknownst to Ellie, if finances ever fall short, Abby would dock her own salary to make up the difference.

They give flowers for every occasion. Ellie takes this seriously, often matching flowers to the initials of whomever she'll gift them to, or researching the meanings behind different flowers and colors. Abby, on the other hand, focuses on selecting the most expensive and stylish arrangements that suit the person tastes, ensuring the gift feels personal and thoughtful.

Abby had to buy a first aid kit for Ellie, who often injures herself while working. Ellie keeps band-aids in her apron, and whenever the smallest hiss of pain comes from Abby—which is rare—Ellie rushes to make sure she's okay.

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[celestiamour]

ft. roderick heffley x f! reader — diary of a wimpy kid

╰₊✧ the alcohol made you do it, maybe the feelings too┊0.7k words

kinktober 2024: oct 6. intoxication

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub roderick┊slight dubcon due to intoxication, reader is a popular mean girl, roderick is whipped & whiny, unprotected piv, more plot than porn sorry

➤ author's note: how did roderick not have any maidens in the movies

“oh my god, could you be any fucking louder?!” you hissed. you couldn’t believe you were doing this, hooking up with a loser like roderick heffley. what would your friends think if they ever found out? they would probably exile you and tell everyone in the school, you’d never hear the end of it unless you moved to a different country or something.

“can help it,” he slurred, planting his face in between the valley of your breasts, “you’re so pretty…” everything about this altercation felt like a dream, so hammered that he couldn’t even think straight and in bed with one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen in his entire life. he wishes that he didn’t drink so much to remember this moment and treasure it, but he also knows that this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if he was any less buzzed.

all you could do was roll your eyes, but at least he was more quiet now that his moans were being muffled by your tits. the music blaring through the walls was loud, yet still not loud enough to drown out how noisy he was. this wasn’t something you typically did, but you were wasted and liked the way he looked at you, so here you were in his bed with his throbbing cock buried deep inside of you. 

“i can’t believe i’m doing this,” you sighed, rolling your hips into his and hearing him choke on a moan. “this is all your fault for throwing such a boring ass party.” his little brother and his friend managed to renew some of the fun, but they ended up falling asleep before midnight and the rest of the party was carried on by drunken antics. 

“‘m sorry…”

you let out a sound in exasperation at the pang of pity his apology left in your heart, gritting your teeth and closing your eyes for a moment so that you didn’t need to look at how pathetic he was. “it’s fine…” despite how cruelly you treated him at times, he was pretty easy on the eyes and not that bad of a fuck even if he’s clearly more inexperienced than you.

it’s actually kinda cute, you have to admit, how he looks up at you like you’re a goddess and touches you like he’s never seen a woman before. it gave you a rush of confidence that you’d never felt before, but in the end, he was just a hookup and this was the product of drinking too much. you don’t even get the satisfaction of “taming” the bad boy because he’s just some wannabe drummer of a shitty band whose music would make a deaf person beg for them to stop playing, one who chases skirts like a lost puppy and is known for being a flirt so terrible that not even the most desperate girls would be put off by his attempts of being cool.

and yet you’re still here on top of him, his hands digging into your thighs before you grab one of them by the wrist and direct them to rub at your clit, throwing him a bone by praising him for following your directions so obediently and feeling his cock twitch inside of you at your words. you could argue that it was the alcohol all you wanted, and maybe you have to thank it for initiating this contact, but you know deep down that it would have happened sooner or later whether or not you want to admit the infatuation growing over the past few years. you always acted as if you hated him when you truly hated his charm that shines through when he passionately plays his trash songs and his dopey smile every time you so much as looked his way.

you’ll think about all that later when you aren’t chasing your own orgasm and suffering from a banging headache. who knows, perhaps you’ll be able to coax a confession out of him and chalk it up to your friends as a pity date, they’ll believe it and probably encourage you to trick him into falling in love with you before breaking his heart. after all, you two are from completely different worlds, but you’ll make it work somehow.

[coquettetoji]

{💌} ARMIN ARLERT MOODBOARD

★ general armin hcs ★

— sweetest soul who is 100% down to earth, will scold you for not recycling your fork into the correct trash can and will pick up plastic / any trash on the ground

— nerdy golden retriever boy, and is the biggest people pleaser

— played hockey growing up and in college, he’s a right winger

— reads a shit ton of books, will press pretty and colorful flowers he finds outside into the book spine to save it

— is academically and naturally smart, gpa is a strong 4.2, majors in business, economics, or biology, some smart shit like that ( will grow up to be that hot rich dad every single mom wants )

— SLEEPER BUILD 🗣️🗣️AND A V LINE🗣️🗣️

— hands are big but they’re like bony and soft, he also plays piano so he’s good with his hands *moan*

— his most used app is spotify, google classroom, and messages

— lana del rey coded. i will argue with anyone who thinks otherwise.

— listens to cigarettes after sex, clairo, and this one random 63 hour playlist called ‘band cafe soft jazz music’

— speaking of cigarettes, armin also smokes cigarettes (ik i’m sorry) but this guy is a student athlete, ofc he’s gonna have to de-stress somehow

— drives the newest model of a white range rover with beige interior

— 6’1 teddy bear with attachment issues

— speaks french fluently

— so so so soft spoken like you will never see him yelling at another person, even when he’s frustrated

— also doesn’t like cursing, will give someone a quick glance if they cuss but won’t mind it

— has a gold chain around his neck, yes the slutty kind

— came from old money 🤭🤑, he dresses like it too i’m talking quarter zips, sweaters, khakis, and neutral colors, wears his gold thin wire framed glasses occasionally

— knows all girl shit bc of his little sister (who he adores) he learned how to take care of her so he’s really reliable when it comes to treating girls right

— his phone case is the apple silicone one that’s cream color, keeps one of his credit cards in the case behind his phone

— phone screen is him and his puppy ( spot the difference game for everyone 👍 )

— every woman he knows or did a favor for all say “his mother raised him right”

— the most organized person ever, his whole pantry would labeled and organized like khloe kardashian’s

— eren and armin are 100% that black cat golden retriever duo, take a wild guess on who is which lol

— 2 deep dimples on his cheeks that pop out when he smiles, also has light freckles dusted on his nose n around it, has the straightest whitest teeth + an adorable smile **he’s so grateful for braces existing

— overall the most genuine human out there, no detection of fuck boy here 😁😁😁

{💌} new message from mica

armin is actually my baby i love him so much i need me a soft spoken tall nerdy blonde white boy in my life now

[jerseymuppet]

being on the mcr bus during the taste of chaos tour and ‘05 warped must’ve sucked so hard. it smells rancid, theres trash everywhere, gerard and bert mccracken are fucking, sucking and leaving a layer of grease on every surface they touch and when they aren’t doing that they are flirting so awkwardly it deals everyone in the radius 20 hp of health damage and then you turn around and have mikey with whatever schlong of the day he’s guzzling on one side and frank iero making sad puppy eyes at whoever he’s failing to be poly with on the other. ray toro stays in his lane so much he doesn’t talk to anyone really, unless he hangs out with another band for a day and does some of the most homo fag shit you’ve ever seen. b slur br*ar is there looking like someone took his batteries out.

[silverskyeline]

'number one fan'

series (part 1) - rockstar logan meets popstar wade backstage. what could go wrong? (1.1k words) pairing - logan howlett x wade wilson tags - first meeting, rockstar!logan x popstar!wade, enemies to lovers, swearing, logan feels drawn to wade, alcohol mention, kind of cute, wade is his number one fan, band au, wade still wears his deadpool mask, wade uses the name 'deadpool' as a stage name.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

logan had never heard of their support act, but by the name alone he wasn't particularly interested. what kind of a name is 'deadpool' anyway? they probably play some regurgitated heavily sampled pop trash, the same sort of crap they loop on the radio that makes his ears bleed. or maybe metal, but not the good kind.

'deadpool'. . . what a load of shit.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

it's not until logan finds himself backstage that he lands eyes on him, the front runner.

well, it's less that it was a casual encounter, more that wade makes his presence known in the only way he knows how.

"OH. MY. GOD." he squeals, balling his fists and shaking them as he squirms in front of the taller man, "it's you." he's adorned in merch, a shirt with logans face on it, badges on that same shirt, plus some stickers that were very obviously homemade. logan winces at the sight, but his eyes are more preoccupied with that mask he's wearing. red and black. what was he supposed to be, was this a sex thing?

there's silence, but only for a few moments, wade quickly fills it.

"can you sign my boobs?" he tilts his head, trying to meet logans gaze, pointing to his flat chest, "pretty please? i swear i won't sell it on ebay - or, well, i mean i guess there's probably people on ebay looking to buy human skin but-"

"don't do autographs," logan grumbles, thinning his eyes as he shakes his head. he pushes roughly past him, eyes glancing around for the rest of the band. why'd he always get dumped with the crazy fans?

"riiiight, gotta keep the fans at a distance, huh? smart, smaaart. . . i promise i'm not the kind of fangirl to hide in your basement. if i was i wouldn't have just told you that," he rambles on, following closely behind logan like a lost puppy, "the attic though? now that's-"

logan stops, wade walks directly into his toned back, stumbling backwards like a connecting bumper car.

taking a nice, deep, calming breath that does nothing to soothe the storm brewing within him, logan turns to face him once more.

"you know, you're taller than your wiki says. you should really do something about that," wade sighs, hands on his hips "unless you're the one that edited it. anyone can edit it, by the way - wikipedia, total garbage fire. i once had a back-and-forth fight with a mod while i tried to change the 50 states of america to just say: 'canada'. rest assured! i am banned for life."

a beat, and logans eye twitches. "do you ever shut the fuck up?" he asks with a look of sheer confusion on his face, he's not even sure what half of those words that spill from his mask-covered mouth even mean. and though he can't see through the material, he can tell the dumbass in front of him is smiling.

"no, not really," he shrugs nonchalantly, "it's one of my charms, that's what my wiki says. totally truthful. 100% accurate. 101% filled with grammatical errors."

logan groans and shakes his head in disbelief, he mutters something along the lines of 'this fuckin' guy' as he walks towards his dressing room. he had to be a joke, right? there's no way this guy was a serious musician, he could hardly hold a conversation never mind an instrument. who the fuck booked him?

"w-wait, where ya' goin?" wade calls out meekly, waving dramatically like a wife who's waving off her husband at war, "am i seriously not gonna get an autograph?"

slamming the door to his dressing room, logan disappears inside leaving wade to shrink in disappointment.

". . .aw man, wait 'till the mutuals find out i met the logan," he smirks, causing his mask to wrinkle as he searches desperately for his phone in one of his many pockets.

-

logan pays no attention throughout the support act, in fact, he remains holed up in his dressing room nursing a bottle of whisky. it was a pre-show ritual of his, and he wasn't going to give it up now. not even when his mind lingered to the little masked creature who annoyed the fuck out of him despite only being in his presence for a few minutes.

what? why the fuck was he even thinkin' about him?

whatever, logan thought, couldn't let people like that get inside your head. you give them too much room and they take root there like a bad smell, and logan had enough anger issues as is. he did not need this guy to make it worse.

so when he takes to the stage, his mind is firmly clear. well, as clear as it can be. logan often finds his mind to be slightly murky, waves never calm or gentle, a storm he couldn't quite tame. but music alleviated the heaviness of his thoughts, grounded him, finding peace in the melody, in the rough texture of the strings, the harsh beat of the bass that hits you in the chest like a bullet.

his eyes open, settling upon the audience.

until one audience member lets out a particularly loud shriek.

one that sounds all too familiar.

logans eyes immeditely hone in on the same guy from earlier. he's cheering in the front row, louder than everyone else. his body is pressed against the barrier as he waves a crudely written cardboard sign in crayon that says 'marry me logie' with a large red heart at the side.

maybe it's something in his pure enthusiasm, or the balls he must have to not feel an ounce of embarrassment, or maybe the fact that he's almost sort of endearing in a pathetic kind of way. but logan finds himself. . . smiling? no, it's not a full smile. that's rare, reserved for real special occasions. but it's close.

he's always found himself drawn to strays, because they often remind him of himself - lost, looking for a home, looking for somewhere to belong. and in that moment, logan could see something reflected in that stupid fucking weird mask of his - a craving for connection.

fuck.

in that moment, logan knew that this idiot had already taken root in his mind and was trying to make a home there. he couldn't let this happen, he wouldn't let this happen. he was a stranger, a deranged one at that.

no, this was not happening.

logan steals a glance in his direction once more.

except it was.

[fbfh]

hey would u be into writing logan huntzberger? i desperately want to see 40 year old x 29 year old pregnant rory (or reader) and him getting all possessive and territorial and glaring at anyone who comes near them

yo yo YOOOOOO HELL YES I WOULD

no bc as SOON as Logan meets you he knows that you're literally perfect. you are THE one he absolutely has to end up with. if he doesn't cuff you immediately he's going to lose his goddamn shit. he does, bc of course he does, and he knows that he will barely be able to hold back. your relationship moves so fast and between that and the age gap if it were anyone else it would be a huge red flag. but it's not anyone else, it's Logan. he overheard you on the phone with one of your friends talking about how bad your baby fever is, and how you wish you could talk to Logan about it but you don't want to make it weird since you haven't technically been together super long. but you don't need to. as soon as you're off the phone he throws your birth control in the trash and tells you he doesn't want you taking it anymore. you try to protest but he sits you on the edge of the bathroom counter and kisses you in that way he does that turns your brain to tingly mush.

"What if what?" more kissing. "'f you get pregnant?"

he mumbles it against your lips in that intimate way of his before he starts kissing you more and more and your head is already spinning as you feel his cock getting all chubby and hard faster than ever.

"That's kind of the point, ace..."

my god if you thought he spoiled you before????? holy shit just wait until you're pregnant. this man will move mountains for you. he will move heaven and earth in ways you never thought possible to make sure your and your baby's every conceivable need are always met. he will ensure that y9ou are more stress free than ever. he will ensure that your pregnancy is as wonderful and magical as a unicorn leading a parade of rainbows and puppies. And he is SO MOTHERFUCKING PROUD and SO MOTHERFUCKING PROTECTIVE! He can’t keep his hands off your fuckin belly. He looks at you with such overwhelming fondness and the sweetest smiles. One of his love languages is touch and he will be so so so affectionate with you. He literally LOVES shopping for maternity clothes with you, loves getting you cute little dresses and supportive belly bands, he seriously cannot keep his hands off you. You are GLOWING and everyone can see it. If anyone so much as looks at you for too long, Logan clocks it in an instant. He loves showing off your wedding rings, the huge ass diamond practically as big as your head. He loves how clingy you are with him, how much you rely on him. He loves seeing other guys stomachs drop when he catches them sizing you up. Logan has a huge ass powerful aura, people know he’s not someone you wanna fuck with, and he sleeps so well at night cuddled up next to you, KNOWING that he can and will and does protect you and your baby. Your little family. He knows his 20something year old self would be shocked, and he can’t believe it’s all real. That he has you, that you’re having his baby. That he gets to be a better dad than his, and he gets to do it with you.

[gravedigginbbydoll]

pencil shavings and shared smiles {pt.2}

Fem! Teacher Reader x Teacher! Eddie

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AN: I’m honestly so grateful to find people who enjoy my writing :) This started as a bit of fun aside from my current WIP that I’m DETERMINED to not immediately trash, so I wanted to practice some writing on the side, and hey, it’s been a while since I’ve done fanfiction (like, over 6 years…. I think my last fanfic was at age 16! I'm now 23.) so I figured why not? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this next bit (I’ll be honest, I was struggling with it, but the next chapters will be better, I swear!) I don’t have an exact plan for how many parts this will be, but I’m excited to see where it’s headed! 

WARNINGS AND CONTENT:  Minors DNI!!!, Noncanon, Hawkins AU, Normal Hawkins, Rumors about Eddie, Eventual Smut, Very fluffy, Outcasts and Bullying, Mentions of Loneliness, Flirting, Fem!Reader, use of Y/N, older! Eddie, short-haired Eddie, 1995/1996 Hawkins, F! Reader has a dark past, angst.

Summary: You settle into Hawkins, looking for a way to spruce up your place, and bump into a familiar face. You maybe even meet some new friends. Things are looking up. 

The next few days following your encounter with Eddie, you throw yourself into trying to get settled in and getting to know the town. You had been there for a few days before coming to the school but still had boxes piled high and needed some items. 

You focused on moving all the boxes into their designated spaces. But then, you realized you didn’t have much when it came down to it. You had work clothes, plates and bowls, cutlery, basic toiletries, cleaning supplies, and three makeup items. 

In your rush to leave the city, you left so much behind you hadn’t realized. As a result, your apartment looks abandoned in its barren state, and the hideous peeling pink floral wallpaper from the 70s makes your skin crawl. 

That’s what led you to this moment. A shopping spree throughout Hawkins. You’re determined to make the “blink, and you miss it” town feel cozy and like home. It is home now, after all. Though you may need a blanket to cover the ugly cracked green leather couch that came with the place. 

You’re piling up blankets, knick-knacks, and even plants to busy the place. By the time you get to the antique store, you’re sure you’ve burned a hole in your savings. You look around, admiring old furniture with history you wish you knew. You see a large wooden bookshelf, probably older than you, and bite your lip, picturing the perfect reading nook in your large window, a chair with too many pillows, and a table to set your favorite cup of coffee on. You did just buy some new mugs, after all. 

In your daydreaming, you barely notice the presence creeping toward you. 

“As lovely as that little vintage piece is, I heard it’s haunted.” 

You jump a bit, startled by the sudden speaking. When you turn, you feel that familiar creeping of heat across your skin, your stomach twists with nerves while your heart thumps a loud, steady beat. Eddie. He’s wearing a super distressed band shirt with the sleeves cut off, his slightly muscular inked biceps on display. Your thighs tighten at the display, and you mentally scold yourself. 

Now is not the time! Get a hold of yourself.

His brown eyes twinkle with mischief as he tilts his head at you, sticking his thumbs in his jeans pockets. You are instantly reminded of a puppy and feel your insides practically melt. Your heart is thumping embarrassingly loud. You hope to god the cute metalhead in front of you doesn’t somehow have super senses. 

“You redecorating?” 

You shrug, a shy smile gracing your lips. “You could say that, I guess.”

He nods and looks back at the bookcase with intrigue. His expression is thoughtful yet almost solemn as he speaks softly, his words barely reaching you. “Seriously though, that bookcase is bad luck. Belonged to a notorious killer. Henry Creel. Killed his whole family when he was like 9.” 

You feel a chill go up your spine, the sense of fear deep in your belly. But, of course, you knew the old trope of sleepy towns never really being sleepy. Still, the last thing you would’ve guessed to happen in Hawkins was premeditated murder. You peek over at Eddie, who looks at you; his eyes are almost sorrowful as he rubs your shoulder comfortingly. You feel an electric current shoot through you at his touch, and goosebumps shoot up your neck. A flutter in your stomach reminds you that you are far too emotional about this man, despite barely knowing him. 

“Sorry,” He rasps. “I sometimes ramble and forget what I’m saying. I didn’t mean to spook you. It was ages ago. He’s in jail now.” He pulls away his warm touch, and you almost find yourself leaning back for more. 

You shake your head. “It’s fine. Everyone has skeletons in the closet, don’t they?” You remark jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. 

Eddie’s eyes don’t sparkle as they usually do, and he looks a bit more guarded as he smiles softly. “Yeah.” 

You feel a tug at your heart and remember the encounter between the grouchy bookstore owner and Eddie. It’s clear he has a past, but you won’t bring it up. After all, you’re the last person who should be digging through someone’s history. 

“Hey, so a few friends and I are headed to a bar called The Hideout; tonight to bid adieu to summer. I was just wondering…if you’d like to join?” Eddie says shyly, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks flush. “Of course, I understand if not; I just figured since you’re new here, it may help you get more acclimated and maybe even meet some people-” 

You cut off his rambling with a hand, your lips fighting the urge to smile so vast your jaw may break. “Eddie, I’d love to. What time?” 

He grins, his signature dimples appearing and making your stomach flutter. “Great. Around 7 pm tonight. First drink on me.” 

You feel your cheeks heat once again as you nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Can’t wait.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later on in the evening, you are stressed and pacing. You remember dancing and singing to calm anxiety as a young teen and get the bright idea to turn on the radio to your favorite rock station. 

Now, you're dancing around your living room as You Oughta Know by Alanis Morrisette plays on your radio. You’re dressed in a black slip dress, the satin fabric accentuating your figure. Maybe you’re dressed a little too nice for a bar. Who cares? Dr. Martens on your feet create a more casual look but also possibly causes a noise complaint from your neighbors as you stomp and sing, applying makeup. 

“AND I’M HERE! TO REMIND YOU! OF THE MESS YOU LEFT WHEN YOU WENT AWAY!” 

You scream into your hairbrush, jumping around. 

The singing calms your nerves a bit, and by the end of the song, you’re panting and thinking maybe you should try to hit the gym more. 

You glance at the clock and realize the time is flashing a red and angry 7:30 pm. 

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” You scramble, tripping over your feet, quickly putting on earrings and a choker, trying to rush out the door. 

Fucking Alanis Morissette. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at the bar, hoping to pass off as fashionably late. You look around before spotting Eddie, his back to you in a well-loved leather jacket. He’s at a booth with some friends, a dark stout in his hand. 

You tremble slightly as you walk over, your body thrumming with nervousness, and tap him on the shoulder. He turns, lighting up the minute he sees you. “Hey! You made it! Come on and sit down.” 

You feel embarrassment sink into your skin, hands nervously fiddling as you sit beside him. He introduces the rest of the table, practically making your head spin. There’s Nancy, a petite and beautiful brunette who works as a Chief Editor for the local paper. Steve, a handsome man with an impressive head of hair, works as a coach at Hawkins Middle and High Schools. Robin a talkative and nervous blonde who works as a band teacher at Hawkins High. According to Eddie, this wasn’t everyone in their circle, just the ones he could fit in a booth. You laugh, nerves wracking your stomach as you hope to make a good impression. 

A few minutes in, you’re laughing and practically snorting at a story Steve is telling about Eddie accidentally flashing everyone in a Romeo and Juliet drama production, where he insisted to the drama teacher that they swap the actors and actresses. Eddie had been playing a side character, a plain maiden, when he tripped over his dress and - “Absolutely ate shit! He landed with his head between his legs, and everyone could see his Garfield boxers!” 

You can’t stop laughing at the image of a smaller and younger Eddie, his loud personality causing so much chaos on the stage. You were glad he had gone to buy your drink, seeing as you had laughed so hard you were sure tears had fallen from your eyes. You wiped your eyes and sighed, taking a breath in. 

Eddie returned at that exact moment with your drink, settling it down while playfully glaring at Steve. “Harrington, you better not be talking shit.” 

Steve flicks a paper straw wrapper at Eddie and scoffs. “Can it, Munson. I could kick your ass any day.” 

Eddie immediately leaps into action and pulls Steve into a headlock, tousling his hair while laughing. Steve yells, trying to fight off the taller man and protect his hair. Robin laughs and rolls her eyes while Nancy softly smiles, shaking her head. 

“Knock it off, you two. You’re letting on that you’re both children way too early. I need new friends,” Robin whines, covering her face in embarrassment. 

You feel sheepish, smiling. You’re not used to the attention. Not this much, anyway. But you’re having fun. Eddie’s friends are vibrant, loud, and the most genuine people you’ve ever met. 

Eddie lets Steve go, Steve grumbling about his hair and sitting back next to Robin, who smirks at him while she messes his hair up even more. Eddie then takes his spot next to you, sliding in, and due to the small booth, your thighs touch. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping across your insides from the alcohol and Eddie’s clothed leg pressing against yours, which is bare. You ignore the heat pooling between your thighs at the contact and the ever-so-sinful thoughts about his ringed and masculine hands. 

Eddie leans over to you, his blinding grin causing your stomach to join in on the anatomy shuffle currently happening in your body, fluttering to the point that you think you may have swallowed a bird. 

“Sorry if we’re a bit much. But, now you’ll have a few familiar faces, right?” 

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah. Thanks, Eddie.” 

He nods, and you almost swear you see his eyes dart toward your lips before he turns back towards the group, all arguing about what the next movie night should be. You feel your heart skip a beat. You can’t help but be grateful for this introduction and even the awkwardness it brought. You now felt a little less of a stranger in Hawkins. A sense of relief rushes through you. Maybe, things won’t have to be so lonely. 

Eddie interrupts your thoughts once more when he leans over towards you. You almost feel drunk on the scent of tobacco, vanilla, rum, and something spicy like cloves and cinnamon. Your thighs tighten, and you curse your brain for instantly thinking dirty thoughts. You’re in no state to have a physical or romantic relationship. Your throat tightens as you push down the ideas and look at Eddie. 

“Hey, so we're goin' to hang out at the Palace Arcade. It’s usually super packed, but tonight they’re having a party there, so no one under 21. You wanna join?” His eyes sparkle with mischief and something you may be misreading as hope. 

You bite your lip, thinking that maybe you’re too deep and should head to the comfort and quiet of home. You haven’t been to an arcade in years. Much less a party. Sour memories threaten to come up, but you push them down and set your resolve. You are just a woman in her mid-twenties trying to have fun. You deserve that, at least. Even if it’s really a lie. 

You smile at Eddie, nodding. “Sure, I’ll tag along. I haven’t been to an arcade in years.” 

Eddie grins, his dimples flashing. “Great. You can meet the band.” 

You perk up, looking at Eddie quizzically. “Band?”

He nods but puts his finger to his lips and winks, signifying it’s a secret. You furrow your brows and feel your stomach flutter as the ever prominent question wracks your brain again. 

Who the hell is this man?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @bebe07011 @corrodedcoffincumslut @kurdtbean @nerdflash

[appleinyoureye]

JJBA p.2 │ The Tongue of My Love Takes Many Forms

Summary: love language headcanons! what they have to offer and how to make their knees weak!

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

Characters: Giorno Giovanna, Mista Guido, Narancia Ghirga, Trish Una

Word Count: 787

Type: headcanons

part one

Giorno

Giving: words of affirmation, gift giving

Giorno is a master with words. He knows what, when and in which way should he tell you to make your day brighter. With a soft smile and reassuring glance, he tells you a compliment or two when you need it the most, and it makes you feel like the most special person on the whole freakin’ planet. Very often you don't hear these sentences directly from him – Giorno usually sends you a butterfly with a message spreaded on its wings, or a puppy that has your favorite snack tied to its collar. He is not afraid to use his stand to make the one he loves feel even more adored.

Receiving: physical touch, words of affirmation

Gio often drifts away with his thoughts, his mind busy with developing new plans and ideas. It may be tiring for his smart brain, and nothing helps him in these moments like your soft touch, grounding him to reality again. Your fingers brushing his cheek and catching his jaw, sweet words leaving your mouth are always enough. Whenever you see him struggling with anything, catch his hand in yours and watch the sparkles dance in his precious eyes.

Mista

Giving: words of affirmation, physical touch

My favorite boy, baby boo, the love of my life is all about adoring his loved one. He makes sure that you know your worth, and that your insecurities poof! go away. Mista is always, always telling you how good you look, how smart you are, how amazing you do things, and, uhh, how perfect you are! And be ready for a lot of hugs and kisses! He has to maintain physical contact with you almost all of the time. Brushing your hair every morning, tracing small circles with his thumb on your skin in public places, and hugging and spinning you after a long time apart. That’s how Mista shows he’s in love with you.

Receiving: physical touch, acts of service

Okay, I think we can all agree that this boy way too often gets his cute ass into trouble. Always somehow surviving, he comes to you vulnerable with scratches, cuts and all sorts of wounds. And your duty is to help him. Gently caress his body with a cotton swab, wrap the damaged skin in bandages, put cute band-aids on his face, massage sore spots. Just pamper him like a baby! He knows he can do it all by himself, but your hands just do the magic, you know?

Narancia

Giving: acts of service, gift giving

Sometimes you think that your boo has two left hands, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Narancia makes you breakfast, but always burns one side of a pancake or makes the scrambled eggs way too dry. He cleans your desk, but accidentally throws away an important document (don’t worry, later he’ll duck in the trash can so he can find it!). He wants to make it up for his clumsiness by giving you all sorts of trinkets! He’s like a magpie. Anything that looks like something you may like (or is sparkly) he gets for you because I can’t say that he buys everything…

Receiving: words of affirmation, gift giving

He’s your good boy, your cutie-patootie, your boo-boo-bae-bee. Tell him that. Praise him. Narancia needs it, and you know it! Remind him how much he means to you. How brilliant his ideas are, even though sometimes they make no sense! Just appreciate his efforts, and I can promise you, that you will see his imaginary tail wagging. And if you tell him how much he means to you, and then give you something to eat? Sheesh! The boy may even cry from happiness.  

Trish

Giving: quality time, words of affirmation

She’s not the best at showing it, but Trish cares for you. She surely does. That is why she suggests that you should take her more on dates! Like, c’mon, how could you not think that Trish wants to spend more time with you you to take her on yet another date this weekend? That she deserves it? Pfft! You can still make it up to her by watching a movie marathon with her. And if you notice her hints, she may even praise you! 

Receiving: gift giving

Okay, now, I sure hope you know what to do with her. Give her gifts that she deserves! Trish feels the most loved when she’s appreciated. She may give the vibes of a gold digger, but it’s totally not that. Trish is reassured of your feelings when you put an effort when choosing a gift she may like, when she gets something she’s told you once and you still remembered! It’s the thought behind the gift that counts the most, plus, who doesn’t like pretty things?

[fishwithtitz]

The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t)

Summary: Mary had a certain…reputation around town. Equal blends of obnoxious and quiet, depending on who he was around, and not afraid of stirring up a little trouble if the occasion was right. The elderly were afraid of him, children gawked at him, and the “straight-and-narrow” folks were annoyed by his antics and “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. I’d heard stories of him being kicked out of bars for all sorts of interesting behaviors and fighting mouthy assholes in alleyways. I didn’t know him well enough to know if it was purely a stage act that filtered into his interactions or if it was really who he was. Prior to tonight, I hadn’t cared enough to really think about it.

“You coming?” His voice broke me from my mental back-and-forth and I looked up at him, noticing he had walked a few steps ahead of me, his body now turned to face me with his arm motioning toward the side yard.

Fuck it, I thought, nodding my head as I jogged to catch up to him. I guess I’m spending the evening with Mary Goore.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore x OFC / 7.2k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of oral sex, mentions of animal harm (no animal harm actually occurs), recreational drug use

ao3 link

Chapter One: Hook-up #1: The Rooftop

It wasn’t that I was against going to a house party. During the handful of years that I’d experienced adulthood (and some of my teenage years as well), I’d been to plenty, and I’d seen some shit that still brought smiles (and shudders) to my face. 

No, it wasn’t a feeling of disdain or a lack of desire to be at the loud, crowded ranch-style home on the rougher side of town full of ornery drunk young adults; it was that I didn’t have the social battery to play the “party game” tonight. 

Desiree had dragged me out all but against my will. (“It will be fun!” She’d said. “Come on…a couple bands are going to play!”) Although I knew she was hoping her words would act as a catalyst for my desire to attend, it only made me roll my eyes. I’d been engulfed in the local music scene for ages and it was always a toss up which type of bands you’d see playing at house parties. 

Eventually, I’d resigned to my fate after she’d both used her big brown puppy eyes (which I’d lovingly nicknamed her “Puss in Boots” tactic), and a confession that she was trying to sleep with the guy that lived there and needed a little support. “Friends don’t let friends get cockblocked,” she’d argued.  So, after an hour of preening on her end and me smelling which clothes seemed the least likely to need a wash, we’d hopped in a rideshare and headed to the party on the other side of town. 

I’d lost track of Des after about ten minutes when she’d homed in on Thomas, the illustrious party-thrower and member of her current favorite local band. I’d received a pleading look and an air kiss as she’d locked arms with him and disappeared into the crowd. I assumed this meant she was abandoning me and would make it up to me later somehow. 

Currently, I stood with my back hugging the wood-paneled wall of a sunken den with a mostly gone PBR in hand, people watching. I sighed and took the last sip from my can, cringing a bit at the warmth and watery taste that a last sip always provides, and chucked the can in a nearby overflowing trash bin. 

The den wasn’t as full as the rest of the larger rooms of the house, which is one of the reasons I chose it. A thrash metal band was playing in the partially finished basement downstairs and their sound was loud and gritty enough to pierce through the subfloor and into the main level. Despite this, a few groups of people congregated around the den in various stages of conversation and drunkenness. 

I pushed myself off the wall and hopped up the half steps to round into the kitchen with a hope that it had been long enough for Des to reappear somewhere. I was almost instantly met with a crowd of people circling around the kitchen table in an energetic game of beer pong. My eyes peered through the space between two guys cheering on the team closest to us, and I could quickly see why the game was so lively: each successful shot resulted in both a drink and the removal of an article of clothing of the opposing team. 

I glanced across the kitchen to the clock on the stove. 11:17 PM. I’d been here for almost an hour and a half already. My social battery was nearly dead at this point, so I decided to hop out to the back patio for a little reprieve. It was surprisingly empty (which I credited to the band playing and the strip pong) and I slid into a plastic deck chair before pulling my vape out of my pocket and folding my legs up to criss-cross in the seat of the chair. 

I wasn’t sure how much time passed as I leaned back and gazed at the stars from between the branches of the old trees craning over the house and yard, but it couldn’t have been that long before I heard the screen door slide open and the light clunking of boot-trodden footsteps approaching. I didn’t glance up, instead flipping the vape back and forth through my fingers as if lost in thought. 

The sound of a seemingly male voice, who I attributed to the boot-man, interrupted my calm. 

“That shit is terrible for your lungs.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I don’t do it that often,” I replied coolly. I’d hoped to escape conversation for a while by coming outside and I wasn’t all that interested in small talk. 

I glanced over to see the person who’d spoken to me and was met with a smirk and shrug from a mystery man. Golden brown hair hung down past his shoulders and onto his back, framing his angular face. His cheeks looked ashen - almost as if dark makeup had been wiped off - and he held a beer bottle in hand as he leaned against the railing of the old wood porch. His eyes didn’t falter and I searched to see if I recognized them. Were they green? Hazel? I couldn’t quite tell in the darkness of the patio and I surely didn’t know who he was.

Breaking our stare, and in a slight act of defiance, I took a long pull from my vape pen. The bitter, smooth taste of THC danced down my throat and filled my lungs. I exhaled the skunky-smelling vapor, trying to politely aim towards the other side of the patio, and immediately started to cough. Hard. 

“Oh shit, I didn't know that’s what you were doing,” the guy said with a look of surprise and a small laugh. I wanted to retort with something snarky (“What else would I be doing out here?”), but when I tried to form the words, I was overcome by continuous strings of deep coughs and wheezes as I tried to intake air. 

“Here.” He took a step closer and held out his beer to me. I furrowed my brow, my arm still covering my mouth as I shook through my coughing fit, but ultimately accepted it with a slight nod. The beer was cool on my throat and helped to soothe the self-inflicted soreness. I only needed a couple of small swigs before my breathing seemed back to normal and I could hand him back the bottle. 

“Thanks, um—...” I paused, looking him over in search of his name. 

“Mary,” he finished for me, accepting the beer back, “Mary Goore.”

“Dahlia,” I offered back, earning a tip of his bottle in reply. 

Now that I’d fumbled my way through breaking the ice, I couldn’t help but sneak a better look at him. He was surely taller than me. His frame appeared lean and muscular from what I could see underneath his leather battle jacket and tight black jeans. My suspicions about the shoes were also confirmed. He was wearing a pair of black combat boots that matched the sound of his clunking footsteps. 

“I don't think I've seen you around before,” he said after a beat, breaking me from my obvious study of his appearance. I looked away and took a much smaller drag from my vape pen. 

“I'm here with a friend. Or, well, I was.” I licked my lips, eyes cast through the screen door as I gazed at the busy kitchen, “I kind of lost track of her.”

“She ditched you? That's kind of shitty,” he replied.

I turned to look at him again and was met with those piercing eyes. Green I decided. Definitely dark green. Mossy. “I'm pretty sure she's off with Thomas. Somewhere.” I motioned my hand haphazardly in the air. “I don't know. It’s been over an hour since I’ve seen her.”

He chuckled at this and took another pull from his bottle. “Yeah, if she’s with Tommy, I wouldn’t expect to see her for a while.” He paused and looked towards the direction of the screen door before looking back at me again. “You not into beer pong?”

I shrugged and looked in at the kitchen again. “Bad aim.” He nodded and at this point I noticed that the girls on the losing team were nearly nude, only wearing their bras and panties, while the guys on the opposing team had only lost their shirts. “I also don’t feel like taking my clothes off.”

A smile graced his lips at my words. “So, you won't be following in your friend's footsteps then?”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks at his innuendo and I looked away to hide my embarrassment. It wasn’t that I was against casual sex. I wasn’t prude, per say, but the idea of talking about it openly and alone with a stranger made me a little uncomfortable. 

“Sometimes, I just need a break from the crowd. The noise and the...feeling of so many people around me—… It's nice to be somewhere a little more open and calm,” I said softly.

I exactly don’t know why I said it — I didn’t owe Mary an explanation and I certainly didn’t need to get personal with him. I suppose I was trying to steer the conversation away from my best friend’s hookup and the raunchy game happening inside.

Mary let out a chuckle at this admission and my brows furrowed defensively. “What?” I asked. 

He shook his head a little and the light pouring through the screen door to the kitchen illuminated his face, showing that the corners of his mouth were tugged in an amused smirk. “You crave calm, yet you come to a house party?” I felt myself bristle a little at this. “You’re interesting, Dahlia.”

He cast me a smile that was equal parts cocky and warm, and god, there were those eyes again staring right at me. I shook the thought from my head. 

“Why are you out here, then?” I asked in a defensive retort.

Mary shrugged again, nonchalant as ever, and took another sip of his nearly empty beer. “Lost a bet,”  he answered. 

I felt my heart drop as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Was he out here talking to me because of some stupid punishment for losing to his friends? ‘Go talk to the weird chick sitting by herself outside’? He must have noticed my reaction, because he quickly interjected. “—Not like that! I'm avoiding the guy I owe $20.” 

“Oh, so you're nosy and you're a sore loser,” I shot back in jest, turning my body in my chair to face him a little better. 

Mary rolled his eyes. “No, he's just an asshole and I don't want to give him the satisfaction of winning.”

I laughed a little at his response. “Arrogant, too.” I quipped. This earned me another cheeky smile. I felt the corner of my lips tug down in my own slight smirk and started to flip the vape pen between my fingers again. 

“You gonna share that?” Mary motioned to the vape, his eyebrow slightly raised in question. 

“I thought this shit was bad for your lungs?” I snapped back his own words quickly, a grin plastered to my cheeks. 

This earned me a laugh from Mary, warm and genuine, and he raised his hands up to his chest in defeat. “To be fair, I didn’t know you had weed. That changes things.”

I leaned forward in my chair, almost falling out as I passed the vape pen over to him. He raised the pen to his lips and I watched as they pursed around the mouthpiece. Before I could realize it, I found myself thinking about the fullness of his lips and the slant of his jaw as he took an expert pull. I sucked my own lips into my mouth slightly in response, trying to will-down the fluttering in my gut. He exhaled slowly and passed the pen back to me.

His eyes zeroed in on my form. I realized that I had probably been caught watching, and in a last ditch effort to hide the obvious expression on my face, I rolled my eyes. “Show off,” I said. 

Mary simply grinned proudly in response. Although I didn’t really know him, I can’t say I was surprised at his cockiness. We sat in silence for a few moments (which was weirdly not uncomfortable), and I leaned back once more in my chair to study the pin-pricked stars in the inky sky. It was only getting later, and the likelihood of me meeting back up with Des was slim. After a handful of minutes, I slipped my vape pen back in my pocket and began to zip up my jacket, standing up to stretch out my tired limbs. 

“You off?” Mary asked, breaking the calm quiet. He had since moved to sit in the other vacant chair just next to his spot on the railing, and one of his legs was folded up to rest along his other as he reclined in the plastic seat. I allowed my eyes to travel the expanse of his body, noting the well-worn band tee logo hidden underneath the patch-strewn jacket, as well as the holes and rips dotting the length of his pants. 

I mentally shook myself from my glance and put my hands in my pockets. I was staring again. “Yeah, I don't see Des returning anytime soon and I really don't feel like trying to buy my way into a crowd right now,” I began to rock back and forth on my heels as I studied my shoes. 

The sound of glass hitting something hard broke my focus and I jumped. Mary had thrown his bottle into the trash can across the patio and was standing up from his seat. When I looked up at him, he had a coy smile on his face. He must have seen me react to the noise. “Let’s get out of here, then,” he reasoned, walking over towards me. 

“Let's?...as in you and me?” I asked, eyebrow slightly cocked. 

He shrugged his shoulders and his hands found his own jean pockets. “Yeah, why not?”

I paused. 

It wasn’t like I hadn’t ever heard about Mary Goore before. On the contrary, I had heard many stories about him through the grapevine. We were both active in our local music scene - him, as a musician, and me, as a spectator - and hung out in some of the same circles. I’m sure I’d seen his band play at least once or twice at some point and I’d noticed him at various gigs and bars around town. I’d never met him before, though — his vibe was a bit too forward and intimidating for me to approach him in the past. 

Mary had a certain…reputation around town. Equal blends of obnoxious and quiet, depending on who he was around, and not afraid of stirring up a little trouble if the occasion was right. The elderly were afraid of him, children gawked at him, and the “straight-and-narrow” folks were annoyed by his antics and “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. I’d heard stories of him being kicked out of bars for all sorts of interesting behaviors and fighting mouthy assholes in alleyways. I didn’t know him well enough to know if it was purely a stage act that filtered into his interactions or if it was really who he was. Prior to tonight, I hadn’t cared enough to really think about it. 

Why did he want to spend time with me, of all people? There was an entire house full of partiers he likely knew and got along with. Plus, the now nude girls at the beer pong table were definitely a more enticing choice than a quiet girl getting high on the patio while she waited for her friend, the social lubricator. 

“You coming?” His voice broke me from my mental back-and-forth and I looked up at him, noticing he had walked a few steps ahead of me, his body now turned to face me with his arm motioning toward the side yard. 

Fuck it, I thought, nodding my head as I jogged to catch up to him. I guess I’m spending the evening with Mary Goore. 

🜏🜏🜏

Mary had led me through to the front yard of the house with ease before sidling up to the sidewalk towards the more urban part of town. I followed next to him and matched his pace, hands in my pockets as I looked around at the dark street. We were mostly quiet as we walked, which I didn’t mind. Maybe he reasoned that I didn’t want to engage in small talk since I’d purposefully separated myself from the party crowd, or maybe he was content to just walk. I wasn’t sure but was grateful nonetheless. 

We ended up at a 24-hour convenience store a few blocks from Thomas’ house. Mary motioned towards the door as if asking nonverbally if I wanted to come in, but I shook my head, holding up my vape pen to tell him that I was fine outside while he did whatever he’d planned on doing. 

It wasn’t a long wait, probably five or ten minutes, and I’d had enough time to take a few more hits of my vape pen to calm my nerves. My anxiety had started to bloom in my chest. I didn’t know Mary and I was alone with him, in the dark, walking around an area of town I wasn’t familiar with. I had made sure to ping Des with my location, sending a simple text of “left for a walk, be home later” (though I doubted she was in any position to check her phone). 

Mary emerged from the gas station with an armful of snacks and a brown bag stuffed with…something. I shook my head in disbelief and pocketed the vape pen again as I followed him down another unknown street. 

“Here, put these in your pockets since you have so many of them—” Mary grabbed a couple of small bags of chips from the arm holding them and held them out to me before stopping and turning to face me, “—why the fuck are you wearing cargo pants?”

My eyes widened in defensive disbelief. “I like them!”

He laughed and cocked a brow at me. “Is that like a...scouts thing? You one of those doomsday preppers or secret militiamen?” I could feel the snark dripping from his tone. He was enjoying this. 

“They're literally just pants! They're comfy and they're cute and I—” I sighed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose, “I do not have to explain this to you.”

Mary pushed the bags of chips into my chest playfully and I quickly struggled to grab onto them. Dropping them would be the icing on the shit cake of embarrassment. 

“...you didn't steal these, did you?” I asked as I eyed him cautiously. 

Mary, who had begun walking again, turned his head to look at me with a glance of disbelief, surprise, and possibly a tinge of irritation. I felt my heart sink a little with guilt and I let out another defeated noise. 

“Fine. I'm only doing this because I feel like I owe you,” I grumbled, stuffing the small chip bags into my cargo pockets. 

“Scouts honor?”

“Fuck off, Goore.”

We walked down a winding sidewalk, the street completely empty and illuminated eerily with various old street lamps, some flickering in exhaustion. It had grown quiet again (except for the shaking, crunching noise of the chips in my pockets) and this time I felt like I had to break the dead air. 

“Where are you taking me?” I asked quietly. 

He didn’t turn to address me. “Somewhere quiet and calm. Just like you wanted.”

I felt that familiar heat rising to my cheeks and my momentary anxiety cooled. “Thanks,” I eventually replied. 

“Don't mention it,” he said with a slight smile, before his expression changed to one of seriousness, “Really, don't mention it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I've heard. Did you really microwave a cat?”

Mary suddenly stopped in front of me and turned around, causing me to nearly run smack-dab into his chest. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed with furrowed brows. “I might be an asshole, but I don't fuck with animals. That shit is psycho.” He shook his head and pointed to one of my pockets, the one holding the vape, and I took this as his way of asking for it without really asking. I handed it to him and we started walking again. After a long drag, he looked over at me, our paces now matched, and exhaled with a lewd smile. “The only pussy I eat is in between the woman’s legs that are squeezing my head.” 

I cleared my throat to hide my noise of surprise at his boldness. It didn’t work and he laughed at the stunned expression on my face. 

“So, um, what’s in the brown bag?” I asked, changing the subject. 

“A forty. And shaved ice.” Mary handed me back the pen and motioned to the left before turning down another quiet street. I looked at him curiously. “Come on, we're almost there.”

Mary started to jog off the path through some bushes that lined the sidewalk and I scurried to keep up with him. It was almost comical watching his lean body try to move quickly without dropping his bounty and I had to hold back a snort. He led us through a bank of trees and through some overgrown grass (during which I made sure to threaten that if I got a tick I would beat his ass) before stopping in front of a small building. 

It was an old, abandoned warehouse that sat just off the main road. The structure was all cement and brick with worn shingles and overgrown vines, but in the starlight, it looked oddly beautiful. 

Mary walked up to the side of the structure and pushed some tree starts to the side, revealing an old ladder that had been purposefully tucked away. “I was hoping this would still be here,” he breathed out as he pulled it to the side and repositioned it against the cracked facade of the building, wiggling it a little to test its sturdiness. “Come on.”

Mary took the paper bag he’d been carrying and gripped it between his teeth as he climbed up the rickety ladder. I hesitantly followed, bouncing a little on the bottom step to make sure it wouldn’t break under my weight, and eventually hoisted myself onto the dirty, rough shingles of the building’s roof. Mary held his hand out to help me find my footing, and we walked over to what looked like the most stable area of the top of the graffitied building. 

We sat down beside one another and Mary started arranging his goodies. I, on the other hand, leaned back, my hands stabilizing behind me with knees bent so that I could glance up at the night sky. The moon was visible and constellations dotted the great expanse above us. Everything was much more visible from our elevated position. Sounds of crickets and a faraway frog teetered through the air. He was right —  this was much more peaceful than the party. I could feel a smile creep onto my face again at his thoughtfulness.

“So, tell me how come I haven’t seen you around before?” Mary started as he spread his legs out in a v-shape against the tiles of the roof. 

“You probably have and just haven’t noticed. I’ve seen you a couple of times at bars and stuff.” I played with the zipper on one of my pants pockets and tried to sound as neutral as possible. I didn’t want to give the impression that I cared that he didn’t know who I was…even if that wasn’t necessarily true. 

“Shit, sorry,” Mary awkwardly laughed and shot me an apologetic smile.  

I returned it warmly. “It’s fine. I don’t have much of a memorable face…or presence for that matter. I’ve come to accept that.”

“I’m guessing you’re into the music scene? Or is that just your friend?” Mary opened up the brown paper bag and took out the forty and a lidded double cup of shaved ice. I watched as he unsheathed the second cup and distributed the now sloshing ice between both cups, before cracking open the beer to pour into both of them. 

“I dabble,” I passed him a small grin and accepted the cup with a silent nod, “I’m not as active as I used to be. Life and…stupid shit got in the way.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and looked down at the icy mess in the cup.

“Boyfriend?” Mary questioned. 

I nodded. “Ex.”

“Ahh. Someone I know?” he asked as he took a swig of his drink.

“Brody Gillings.”

Mary immediately sputtered out the beer concoction and laughed loudly, wiping the corner of his mouth with his leather jacket sleeve. “You dated that tool? Oh fuck, that’s funny. I’m so sorry.”

I watched him as he shook his head, still laughing, and rolled my eyes in response. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, get it out,” I paused and took a sip of my own drink.The taste of hoppy beer had been muddled down with water and gritty ice and I couldn’t help the disgusted look that painted my face. “Jesus, Mary, this is awful,” I choked out.

Mary returned the chuckle and to my surprise, he looked down at his own cup sheepishly. “Yeah, beer slushies sounded like a good idea in my mind, but come to think of it, I’ve never put ice in my beer. Shit’s watery as fuck.”

I shot him an apologetic glance before allowing a beat of silence to overtake the rooftop. I found myself speaking before I even realized it was my voice that cut through the air. “It…wasn’t always bad. He was charming for a while. Introduced me to a few black metal bands that I like.” I let out another small breath and licked my lips as I picked at a stray thread on the fabric of my pants. “Everyone makes mistakes,” I looked up at him, a resigned tug at my lips, “Mine just lasted a couple years too long.”

Despite how awful they tasted, Mary gulped down a chunk of his homemade icee with a nod. “Didn’t he move to Milwaukee to join some up-and-coming band or some shit?”

This time, it was me that choked out a surprised laugh. “Is that what he told people?!” I shook my head and scoffed. “Makes sense. He’s all about appearances.” 

It was true - my ex had been the kind of person who reveled in his reputation in town. The big, bad bassist that could break necks and down more shots than the whole bartop combined. I turned my head to look over at Mary. “He moved to Florida to take care of his grandma. She’s close to death and he’s itching to be written into the will.”

He raised his eyebrows in retort. “Wow, he just keeps getting shittier.”

“Seems to be the running theme with Brody.”

As time wore on, we filled the night air with pleasant and comfortable conversation, Mary sharing about the bands he’d played in and his current band, Repugnant, which were trying to set up a small coastal tour.  I shared a little about my job and my friendship with Desiree, and we sipped our beer slushies until they were mostly gone and had became more water than beer. 

Talking with Mary seemed natural. It came easily. Despite not truly knowing who he was as a person, I spoke with him like he was an old friend. I didn’t feel an air of judgment with what I chose to share with him, and he seemed appreciative that I wanted to know more about the things he enjoyed. Specifically, his music. 

After a while, my head was feeling a little fuzzy from the weed and the beer and I allowed my eyes to close as I relaxed against the scratchy shingles. As the sound of a nearby bird cooed in the distance, Mary reached over and surprised me by looping a licorice rope around my neck. Where he had kept it during our walk over, I had no idea. 

“A licorice rope? I haven't had one of these since I was like...eleven.” I reached up and pulled the rope down to remove the wrapper before biting off a small piece. 

I looked over at the gutter punk beside me to see him tying his own rope in knots, having already removed and discarded the entirety of the wrapper onto the ground below us. 

“Their R&D is genius,” he started, hands working the candy into an intricate knot, “They're like a gateway to BDSM. Perfect for preteens who like pre-bondage.”

I felt myself choke on my bite of licorice and I let out an incredulous laugh. “Mary! I'm pretty sure that's not what these were designed for.”

He paused his tying and looked over at me with another one of his trademark smirks. “Are you saying you're not into bondage? No surprises for me in those cargo pants?”

I felt my cheeks flush and I took another bite to hide my embarrassment. “I am not answering that question.”

This seemed to amuse him, but he let it go when he saw my bashful response, quickly changing the subject. “Hey - chips,” he snapped playfully, hands reaching out in a grabby motion. I unzipped the pockets of my pants and threw the chip bags at him. Annoyingly, he caught the bags without hesitation and ripped open a bag of Lays, quickly shoving a chip into his mouth. 

I tossed him a look. 

“I know it's not microwaved cat, but—”

“— it's no pussy either,” he interrupted, mouth full of chips as he chewed. 

“You're really obsessed with that, aren't you?” I leaned toward him, a hand on my hip as if to teasingly scold him.

He beamed beside me. “Who wouldn't be? There is no better feeling than having your face between some chick's thighs....”

This time, the silence between us was notable. I looked down and bit my lip, not exactly knowing what to say in response. Mary was so nonchalant, so chill yet matter-of-fact in talking about his experiences. It was something I envied. 

He must have caught on to my nervous aura because he set the bag of chips down and rotated his whole body to face me. His eyebrows raised in shock. “...wait, seriously?! You've never—”

“—I've never been with someone that liked it!” I spat out, heat flushing my face as I looked away in mortification. 

“Damn, Brody really was a dickhead. I guess that shouldn't shock me.”

I released a deep breath of resignation and reached up to rub my palms against my eyes, pushing away the burgundy locks that had fallen into my face. “He wasn't the kind of guy who cared about how I felt….in a lot of ways, actually,” I admitted. I could feel Mary’s eyes on me —  studying me — and I avoided them like the plague. 

“...And other guys? Before? They didn't go down on you?” He sounded confused.

I paused. I’m pretty sure I audibly gulped, but my heart was racing so fast that I didn’t really know what was happening. I fiddled with the thread between my fingers, twisting it as I tried to figure out how to respond. "I never reall— what are you doing?!"

My words were interrupted because Mary had shifted from beside me and was crawling over my outstretched leg, settling in between my knees to face me straight on. He was only a few feet from the edge of the roof. “Mary, what the hell? You’re going to fall!”

He ignored my protests. “I'm showing you what you're missing out on,” He said as he saddled himself in between my legs. His eyes flickered up to mine and god damn it, the green hue was almost glowing in the moonlight. He licked his lips and continued. “I'm not gonna let you go through life without experiencing this at least once.” 

He can’t be serious. I chuckled nervously and shook my head. “No, Mary, it's okay, really, you don't have to,” I said, but my words were clearly said in vain. His hands were already resting on the green fabric covering my knees. His grip was soft yet firm, and I felt a lump form in my stomach. 

“I know, I want to,” he grinned, then quickly added, “Platonic head. Just two people enjoying themselves.” Mary raised one hand to his temple and gave me a two finger salute, a mock look of seriousness on his face. “Scouts honor.”

“Fuck you,” I laughed out at his jab. Despite the situation, I felt myself relax a little under his touch. He looked at me lecherously. 

“Maybe if you play your cards right.” He winked at me and sat back on his knees, his hands beginning to brush up my thighs as if to ask silent permission to continue. I swallowed roughly and looked down at his fingertips as they moved across the inseam of my pants and up to the button at my waist. 

I lifted my hips up towards him as his hand ghosted over the button at my waist. He effortlessly popped the button through its closure and slipped both hands under the waistband before pulling the pants down my legs. I silently thanked myself for deciding to shave my legs in the shower this morning as the fabric slid down my calves before being kicked off to the side. I was left in my jacket, tank top, and luckily, a cute pair of lacy black cheeky panties that I had thrown on quickly before we left for the party.

Mary moved a little closer, leaning in as he ran his palms up and down my inner thighs. My skin was pale - maybe even more so in the moonlight - and his hands felt electric with every stroke. I leaned back on my elbows and looked at him through anxious eyes. His long hair hung in strands that perfectly framed his face and at that moment, I noticed just how attractive Mary was. His features were nearly chiseled and masculine, yet his movements were fluid, confident, and soft, almost like he was afraid to break me. 

“Damn, your skin is so soft,” he muttered out, more to himself than anyone else, and he leaned down to press his lips against my inner thigh. I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath as I felt him kissing along the sensitive skin there. He was dangerously close to my core and I suddenly was feeling self-conscious at having a person I had just barely met touch me so intimately.

Mary must have sensed my apprehension, because he looked up at me with kind eyes, lips still pressing against my leg. “Relax,” he breathed out, his thumbs rubbing circles against my skin, “You deserve to feel good.” I nodded and let out another relaxing breath, eyes closing as I tilted my head back slightly towards the sky. 

Had someone told me yesterday that Mary Goore would be eating me out on an abandoned warehouse rooftop, acting completely romantic and sweet and selfless, I would have told them they were fucking high. Yet, after talking with Mary all evening, I realized just how gentle he was. How he’d taken the time to get to know me, to ask about my past, to insinuate that I deserved better than aggressive assholes that used metal music as an excuse to antagonize women. I also realized that I was just as bad as the people that looked down at him for the clothing he wore or the music he played. I’d decided to let my assumptions cloud my interpretation of someone I didn’t even know.

His mouth moved closer and broke me from my rabbithole, his teeth grazing against the curve where my leg met my groin, and he brushed his cheek against the fabric of my panties. I felt myself biting down softly on my lip, fingertips pressed into the textured rooftop, and my hips moved just barely at the contact. He chuckled and brought his hands to rest against my hip bones, fingers sliding under the band of my underwear as he pressed a kiss to my mound. Without another word, he slid my panties off and down my thighs before pocketing them. I’m sure he’d hoped I wouldn’t notice and I made a mental note to confront him later about it.

I lay bare in front of him, half naked against the quiet slate, our only neighbors being the surrounding wildlife and the glowing stars above. Mary pressed another kiss to the bare skin of my pussy before wrapping his arms around my thighs and gently pulling me closer to his mouth. I could feel his breath fanning over me and it felt chilly against the wetness that was now gathering at my center. 

He was still for a moment, our breath the only sound punctuating the night, before I felt him lick a stripe up my slit, barely touching my clit before pulling away. I let out an embarrassingly loud moan and reached up to cover my mouth in surprise. I felt him laugh against my thigh. 

“Be as loud as you want, dollface. There’s no one around for blocks.”

I nearly felt myself puddle at the nickname and before I could respond, he was licking against my folds again, fingertips gripping tightly against my thighs. I opened my eyes and looked down, raking in a breath at the sight of the emerald-eyed man between my legs. His gaze was trained on my expression and his tongue was now moving up and down teasingly, trying to get a reaction from me as we locked onto each other. 

Mary moved his tongue up to my clit and massaged it lightly before wrapping his lips around it and sucking down harshly. I arched my back helplessly and let out a loud moan in response, my thighs beginning to squeeze against the sides of his head. My actions earned me a lustful groan in reciprocation. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured against my skin, kissing my labia before diving in to sloppily lick around my clit, pointing his tongue as he flicked it rhythmically. The motions sent shockwaves to my center and I all but crumbled.

“Oh god, Mary,” I said breathlessly, laying down completely as if to surrender to his ministrations. Had I not been so distracted by his movements, I’d likely have felt his cheeky smile against my core. He knew he was good at what he did and he got off on these reactions. Now that I had a taste of what it felt like to have him between my legs, I was more than happy to give him exactly what he wanted.

The weed was really starting to take effect and my limbs started to feel tingly and heavy. I let myself relax into the roof and against Mary, no longer caring about the tiny noises he was working from me with each movement of his mouth. One of his hands left its place on my quad and snaked between us before barely brushing against my entrance. He gathered the slick there and without warning, he pushed inside of me gently, his tongue lapping from his finger up to my sensitive nub.

Mary started to pump inside of me before adding another, the angle shifting before he hit the spot that had me seeing explosions of light dancing in my vision. I buckled my hips up into his face and he moaned lewdly, rubbing his fingertips against my g-spot as he licked and sucked at my core. With each ministration, each caress of his tongue, I felt the tingling deep in my abdomen building and my knees shaking. 

“R-right— fuck, right there,” I whimpered out, my pelvis rocking against his movements. I felt my legs tighten against his head again and without thinking, I reached down to card my fingers through his long, caramel locks, gripping onto them as I guided his head against me. “Don’t stop,” I choked out in an almost sob. I was close and he could tell, because he sped up, increasing the pressure of his tongue as he pumped his fingers in and out of me. 

Mary let out another intoxicatingly attractive groan at my words. “You gonna cum on my tongue, kitten?” he all but growled against my folds. I was so close that I could feel myself dripping onto him and I nodded fervently. “Mmph, good girl. Come for me,” he purred, his tongue circling around my clit before clamping down and sucking hard. 

I completely lost it at that moment. My thighs trembled as I felt the tightness in my abdomen snap, flooding waves of intense pleasure and electric heat throughout my core and into each cell of my body. My grip on his hair tightened and I let out a near-scream of ecstasy as I came undone around his eager tongue. 

Mary continued to work me through my release, his forest-colored eyes watching my every expression as he kissed and sucked at my wet heat. He only stopped when I felt overstimulation take root and pushed lightly at his cheek to signal that it was too much. 

Mary ran his tongue along my slit once more, gathering up my cum with a lascivious gleam in his eyes before releasing his grip on my legs and sitting back. My head had since dropped back against the cool shingles and I was nearly panting, my whole body shaking from the intensity of my orgasm. 

“Holy shit,” I breathed out after a beat, a broad smile tugging at my face as I brushed some of my long, dark red strands from my face. I took a moment to look down at the pleased punk in front of me and watched as he dipped the fingers that had been inside of me into his own mouth, cleaning them off with an obscene slurp. Heat panged at my stomach again and I nearly came from watching him. Fuck, he was hot.

“You taste incredible,” he said before wiping my slick from his mouth and chin, a seductively satisfied grin on his face. I felt myself flush at his words and I let out a bashful giggle, licking my lips as I watched him relax back on his knees. 

“So,” he asked after a minute, reaching out to stroke the pads of his fingers up and down the delicate flesh of my thighs, “Was I right? Nothing better, huh?” He stared at me with lust-blown pupils. 

I sat up slightly to face him and sucked my lips into my mouth briefly to attempt to hide my resigned smirk. Reaching up, I threaded my hands through his messy hair, the pad of my thumb rubbing sweetly against the angle of his jawbone. I guess it wouldn’t kill me to give him a tiny victory.

“Shut up, Goore.”

[gerrystamour]

down on your two knees (to save your soul) [chapter one... kinda]

Teen (for now)★Gareth/OMC★In Progress

So this is technically a prequel to my fic here i have found some peace of mind and it's about Gareth and my OC Tig!! Thank you @strangerthingsocweek for give me the push to actually like... finish this fucking chapter? I guess? This is largely unedited, but like... alas! Tagging the Scromies: @starryeyedjanai @sidekick-hero @steddieas-shegoes @stobinesque @vecnuthy @tboygareth @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @puppy-steve @theheadlessphilosopher @wormdebut And tagging the honorary Scromies: @hellion-child @spectrum-spectre

“This isn’t my decision, Eddie—”

“Oh, come off it, Chris. Even if it was, you know you’d be saying the same fucking thing—”

“Then why are you wasting our time arguing with me?”

Now that was the million-dollar question, right there. Why was Eddie arguing with her? Gareth was pretty sure Eddie just liked the sound of his own whining and Chrissy couldn’t help but rise to it every time.

“Because this is our band—”

“Enough!”

Everyone jumped at Freak’s loud outburst, silence falling over the tiny boardroom they were all piled into as they looked at him. He was massaging his forehead, a grimace clear in his expression.

Glancing at the screen of his phone, Gareth flinched as he realized they had been sitting there for forty-five minutes, and forty of those were dedicated to Eddie and Chrissy arguing in circles. Jeff had had his head on the table before Freak’s shout, and his mouth was still a tense line.

“You’re right, Eddie. This is our band, and that includes Chrissy,” Freak said pointedly, and Eddie actually had the grace to glance away, shame-faced, his mouth snapping shut. Seemingly satisfied, Freak said, “Stop being a dick and let her actually finish what she was saying.”

“Thank you, Freak,” Chrissy sighed, sitting back in her chair at the head of the table. “Now, as I was saying, the label can’t have us canceling shows if we’re headlining.”

“Gee, thanks, Chris,” Eddie bit out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“It was different when we were openers,” she continued a bit shakily, shrugging a shoulder, “but we’re about to start what the label’s anticipating being a sold-out arena tour.”

Jeff’s expression went slack, and Gareth knew his own eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Jeff asked, tilting his better ear toward her. “Did you say sold-out?”

“Anticipated, yes,” Chrissy replied, smirking just a bit smugly about it.

Gareth scoffed incredulously. “Fuck ‘sold-out’, did you just say arena tour?” He looked around the table. “How the hell did we score an arena tour?”

“Between your explosion in popularity and the docuseries deal…” Chrissy said, trailing off as she looked at Eddie a bit sadly. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I know how much you wanted to make this the tour you were back for, but canceling two of our appearances and needing a sub on guitar at the end of Ghost’s tour has the label spooked.”

Gareth sneered at the mention of the sub they were saddled with. When he looked over at Eddie, though, his chest squeezed at the way his oldest friend was staring up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly. All the fight had left him, and Gareth could tell he was resigning himself to the decision. Jeff leaned over to wrap a hand over Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoever we bring on better be good,” Eddie bit out eventually, his voice thick as he turned a flat look on Chrissy. “We’re not slowing down for them.”

At that, Chrissy actually broke into a grin and clapped her hands together. “Well, you’re in luck because I’ve already brought someone on and he’s ridiculously talented,” she said in a rush, and they all just blinked at her. There was a sinking feeling in Gareth’s gut about the whole thing.

“He should actually be here soon to talk to you— oh, that might be him,” Chrissy continued, hopping up when there was a quiet knock at the door. When she opened it, she smiled politely and said, “Yeah, just send him back.”

Turning back to them, Jeff gestured for her to elaborate. “Are you going to tell us who it is?”

Chrissy frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, c’mon guys, don’t act like you don’t know who it is,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Gareth immediately thought of the smug behemoth that subbed for Eddie’s guitar parts and grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. At the same time, however, the rest of the band’s faces lit up excitedly, even Eddie’s. Of fucking course Eddie would be fine with being coddled, babied— nay, treated like a fucking invalid if it meant some hot, overrated giant was going to be around more often.

There was another knock on the door and Chrissy immediately opened it with a grin. “Morgan! Welcome back,” she said brightly, and the name threw Gareth off just enough that his shoulders relaxed and dropped down from around his ears.

He didn’t know a Morgan, he didn’t think, but that was fine! At least it wasn’t—

“Ugh, that’s the name the lawyers use for me,” came an impossibly deep, slightly accented voice as Chrissy stepped back, staring up at the man coming into the boardroom with nothing short of awe.

Sure e-fucking-nough, in walked the very giant Gareth had hoped wouldn’t be returning. The asshole actually ducked his head under the door frame is if it was too fucking low for him to clear it.

“Please, just call me Tig,” the man said before looking around the room with a giant grin, his blue eyes pausing on Gareth just long enough to wink at him.

It had been months since the band saw Tig last, and Gareth hated that he looked good. His hair was a vibrant pink at that moment (very much not the blue it was when he was touring with them) and with complete and utter dismay, Gareth realized he had a new fucking tattoo on his throat. It was almost a blackout tattoo, but on the front of his throat it looked like a honeycomb. The pattern faded into proper blackout where it wrapped around the column of his neck and up to the line of his jaw. It was distracting, and Gareth just wanted to chew that shit off.

Tig had been brought in as quickly as possible at the end of Corroded Coffin’s tour with Ghost when Eddie’s nerve pain flared up to the point that he could barely perform, let alone play his guitar. Despite being unable to play and upset about that, Eddie and Tig immediately hit it off. They had been nearly inseparable, between Tig’s (admittedly genius level) skill on guitar and Eddie’s passion for finding the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable. What was worse was that Tig had the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable tattooed all over his body.

Even Freak had taken a shine to him, actually finding his fucking childish antics hilarious. Jeff barely even hesitated about returning Tig’s over-the-top flirtations, too.

Gareth couldn’t fucking stand him.

Across the table, Freak was looking at him with an eyebrow raised and a little, smug smirk. Gareth flipped him off before crossing his arms and slouching back in his chair.

The first problem he had with Tig was that the man was so goddamn tall. It honestly hurt Gareth’s neck to meet his eyes most of the time, and then the dick went and wore fucking platform boots as if he needed three more inches. Whenever he did that, Gareth was practically eye-level with Tig’s goddamn bellybutton (and the man’s stupid fucking piercing there) which filled him with something that could only be rage with how hot he felt all over. Hot like flames were engulfing him, flames of anger and shit.

The second problem was that Gareth was, apparently, Tig’s fucking fan.

See, Tig used to be part of a masked, anonymous band named Rake as the lead guitarist and unclean vocalist. Their whole get-up, especially in the last era of their career as a band, were full suits and bird-themed masks, leaving only enough skin visible for the guitarists to play and the vocalists to sing. Rake was up there in popularity, even for a metal band, somehow making it big while maintaining their anonymity. That was until, of course, a fateful music festival in Nevada during a record-breaking heatwave.

Gareth was a huge fan of Rake— they were literally his favourite band, so when he found out Corroded Coffin was going to be playing at the same festival as Rake and they were scheduled perfectly so he was going to be able to see Rake perform? He was ecstatic and he weaponized his elbows to get to the barrier.

Their entire aesthetic looked fucking rad but watching them perform in triple-digit weather really put it all into perspective.

Mid-set, it was obvious that the lead guitarist was suffering. Somehow, Tig was still hitting all the correct chords and nailing every single one of his lines, but between songs he was guzzling water, pouring it on himself, turning his back to the crowd to lift his mask up off his face even. He had already shed as many layers of his costume as he could just short of showing off skin. The other members were also having a rough time, but none of them seemed nearly as bad as Tig.

(Since meeting him, Gareth had come to learn that Tig is just annoying and dramatic, especially in any amount of weather hotter than 90 degrees.)

Eventually, Tig swayed unsteadily enough that the other vocalist had to grab his arm to keep him from eating shit. There was a moment where they were clearly arguing, though it was hard to tell with the beaks of the masks being in the way. Eventually, Tig began to roll up his sleeves, exposing very distinctly tattooed forearms that had more than a few audience members shouting in excitement.

The thing was, Gareth recognized the tattoos, but where he recognized them from was escaping him. The tattoo that stood out to him in that moment was the Lichtenberg figure that started on his thumb and crawled up his arm, branching out into a perfect mess of lines and angles. It had been almost thrilling to have that moment of knowing, that split-second where he knew who was under that mask even if he couldn’t actually immediately recall who it was.

But then there were gasps in the crowd, and people began shouting something that Gareth couldn’t quite hear properly, and Tig’s shoulders drooped a bit. Looking around himself, Gareth took in the sea of people around him and noticed that a few of them had their phones out. The girl next to him at the barrier was on Twitter, frantically scrolling through the people she followed.

Upon realizing that his favourite guitarist (after Jeff and Eddie, of course) was apparently Twitter famous, Gareth was pissed. It just felt ridiculous that a metal guitarist would be famous on the fucking bird app without their music as the reason. It felt like they sold out, like some influencer was behind the music.

Then Tig stepped up to the microphone and— in an impossibly deep and slightly accented voice that Gareth absolutely fucking knew in a way that had him blushing in the middle of a crowd of metalheads— he said, “well, I guess the cat’s outta the bag now.”

See, Gareth knew on some level that the members of Rake were probably recognizable in some way other than their looks off the stage because none of them ever spoke. They would go on stage, perform their set, and leave. It wasn’t that weird, given their entire gimmick with the masks, so Gareth really didn’t think too much about it. Now that Gareth heard that voice and recognized it immediately as one that frequently featured in his horniest daydreams, the gimmick made a whole lot more sense.

The thing was that Gareth knew that voice and those tattooed arms— and, yep, the man was unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the massive and distinctive tattoo of a cicada across his chest— and they belonged to the one OnlyFans creator he was fucking subscribed to.

“Let’s get back to the show, then,” Tig growled into the mic, and the music immediately picked back up as if a quarter of the crowd didn’t just get their shit rocked.

Later that night when he was back at his hotel, Gareth pulled up Twitter and sure enough, there was a new post from xX-Tamer Tig-Xx. It was a selfie of Tig standing in front of a mirror, completely naked while he held his iconic plague doctor mask over his cock. Black body paint was still on his hands, throat, and around his mouth, as if he just stripped and took the selfie after the concert. It was posted with a caption that read, “So, big news incoming 😳 IYKYK 😏”

The ensuing chaos the news threw part of the metal scene into was nothing short of fucking batshit insane. Gareth and Eddie were eating it all up as they watched YouTube reactors express their opinions on the matter. They watched the way Rake blew up on TikTok now that it was known that at least one of the band members was already a well-known “accountant” on the app. After about a week, the rest of the band unmasked too, and it turned out all of them were sex workers by trade.

It was shortly after that when Rake announced that they would be permanently disbanding now that they were unmasked, which was devastating for Gareth. He mostly understood, of course, because the anonymity was ultimately important to them, so their sex work and music was wholly separated. Plus, Rake was very vocal as an entity on their socials that they were always intending to complete a trilogy of albums and they achieved that. It just felt wrong, as if their hands were forced to announce it early, or they were robbed of their chance to just quietly disappear forever without revealing anything.

After a couple months, Rake sat down for a full profile piece for an article about them unmasking, their feelings about it and the end of their careers as Rake. All five of them seemed happy with the way the band was ending things, that they could finally be more open about their friendships with each other, even outside of their working relationships. Hell, the drummer and the lead vocalist were fucking married. Like, real-life married, and they had to hide that on stage. In the interview, they said they were most excited to be able to actually interact with their opening bands, and something in that made Gareth realize how much that anonymity probably felt very isolating. Thinking about how much Corroded Coffin got to learn from the bands they were opening with and for, he couldn’t imagine that lack of collaboration.

The article itself had images of all the members unmasked and in various states of undress. Tig’s photo was the most provocative, with him standing in profile and completely naked except for his platform boots, one leg bent just enough to keep his modesty. His arms were held up, hands tangled in his own hair, but he was looking directly at the camera over the muscled curve of his biceps.

Despite being subscribed to his OnlyFans, Gareth still saved that image to his phone and told himself that was completely normal behaviour. He had lots of photos and videos of Tig naked on his phone. It wasn’t weird.

Plus, he foolishly thought, it wasn’t like he was ever going to fucking meet the man, especially since Rake was breaking up and none of them had immediate plans to return to the stage, even as a solo act.

Gareth jumped as someone knocked on the table to get his attention, and he glared at the heavily tattooed hand that was there. Turning his sneer up at Tig’s face, he felt something squirm in his gut as the man just smirked knowingly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tig crooned as he sat down, leaning close to Gareth to ask in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “miss me?”

“Like a fucking toothache, Slenderman,” Gareth spat, and Tig only grinned broadly at him, showing off all of his perfectly white teeth. They weren’t perfectly straight, but they were so fucking white, it was ridiculous. Unfair. Disgusting even.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” Tig sighed before turning his attention to Chrissy as she stood back up to start going over the details of him temporarily joining Corroded Coffin.

This was going to be the worst, Gareth thought— nay, he knew.

[wandering-spaghetti]

Today we are darning socks. I’m going to update this post with progress pics once I take them. This sock had a pretty large hole in the heel from wear and a puppy decided it was a chew toy as well. So I’m going to fix it. Because I’m not trying to buy socks right now because I’m poor 😂

Im using a handy dandy Speedweve loom to patch this hole. I absolutely love using this little guy to mend holes. I’ll link to it below for anyone that wants one.

I do have to mention that the rubber bands that came with the one I bought were trash. So get your own rubber bands. But the lion itself is a game changer.

[yikesharringrove]

For your hc pleasure!

billy getting into a huge fight with someone maybe tommy and steve cleaning billys cuts while lecturing him not to fight with people anymore

"I don't know why you're so fuckin' pissy. I definitely won."

Steve rolled his eyes, still wiping gently at Billy's knuckles. They were split, and kept bleeding. The alcohol stung.

"I don't care if you won or not, Billy. I just. I don't like it when you fight. I don't like it when I have to do this for you."

And normally, if it was anyone else, he'd snap. Say I never asked you to clean me up like a baby and maybe even throw a punch.

But, it's Steve. And he knows that when it comes to caring for Billy, Steve wouldn't stop even if Billy begged.

"This was a good one, though. He barely got any hits in." It was true. Tommy was an okay fighter, by Hawkins standards. But Billy has been getting into scraps since he could stand.

He could tell Steve had something more going on in his head, and he kept swiping at Billy's knuckles.

"Spit it out, Man. Come on."

Steve sighed, tossing the alcohol-soaked gauze in the trash, not looking at Billy while he wet another piece.

"I don't like it when you're hurt. Because it just. I think about when you're hurt because of-"

"Neil?"

Steve nodded.

He gets it. Sometimes he gets into these fights just so people don't ask questions about the state of his bruised and banged-up face anytime his dad loses it enough to whack him on the kisser.

"Baby, this time, it was purely Tommy. You know my bullshit tolerance is low on a good day."

Tommy was being an ass.

Probably.

Billy doesn't really remember what happened. His dad had yelled at him over breakfast and Billy wanted to take his anger out on someone that wasn't Steve or Max.

And Tommy's a safe bet, because he's a little bitch that's always being a little bitch.

But, Steve doesn't need to know every single encounter Billy has with his dad. Steve doesn't sleep enough as it is.

Steve pressed a Star Wars themed Band-Aid over one of the still bleeding cuts on Billy's knuckle, and kissed over top of it.

"Just, please. For me. Quit fighting so much." And then he looked at Billy was those huge puppy-dog eyes and Billy's sunk.

"I can try. That's all I can promise."

Steve beamed at him, his knees cracking as he stood up, cleaning up the first aid kit.

"That's all I want."

[glittergroovy]

Post Directory: Lana Del Rey Unreleased / other

1949 / Afraid / All Smiles / Angels Forever / Architecture / Axl Rose Husband /

Baby Blue Love / Back To The Basics / Backfire / Bad Boy / BBM Baby / Be My Daddy / Beautiful Player / Because Of You / Behind Closed Doors / Ben / Bentley / Big Bad Wolf / Big Eyes / Big Spender / Blizzard / Boarding School / Bollywood Hawaii / Break My Fall / Breaking My Heart / Buddy’s Rendezvous / Butterflies / Butterflies (Part 2) /

C U L8R Alligator / Catch & Release / Caught You Boy / Children Of The Bad Revolution /Come When You Call Me America / Criminals Run The World / Crooked Cop /

Damn You / Dance For Money / Dangerous Girl / Daytona Meth / Delicious / Disco / Dragonslayer / Dreamgirl / Drive / Driving In Cars With Boys / Dum Dum / Dynamite /

Earthquakes / Elvis (Demo) / End Of The World / Every Man Gets His Wish /

Fake Diamond / Find My Own Way / Fine China / For You / Fordham Road / Freak Like Me / French Restaurant /

Gangsta Boy / Get Drunk / Ghetto Baby / Girl That Got Away / Go Go Dancer / Golden Grill / Goodbye Kiss / Greenwich /

Hangin’ Around / Hawaiian Tropic / Heavy Hitter / Hey Blue Baby / Hey You / Hit And Run / Hollywood / Hollywood’s Dead / Hot Hot Hot / Hundred Dollar Bill /

I Can Fly / I Don’t Wanna Go / I Must Be Stupid For Being So Happy / I Still Love Him / I Talk To Jesus / I Want It All / I Was In A Bad Way / If I Die Young / In The Sun / In Wendy / Is It Wrong? /

Jealous Girl / Jesus Is My Boyfriend / JFK / Jimmy Gnecco /

Kinda Outta Luck /

Lake Placid / Last Girl On Earth / Let My Hair Down / Life Is Beautiful / Lift Your Eyes / Live Or Die / Looking For America /

Maha Maha / Making Out / Match Made In Heaven / Meet Me In The Pale Moonlight / Melancholia / Methamphetamines / Midnite Dancer Girlfriend / Moi Je Joue / Money Hunny / More Mountains / Motel 6 / My Best Days / My Song 57 /

Never Let Me Go / Noir / On Our Way /

Ooh Baby /

Paradise / Paris / Party Girl (St. Tropez) / Pin-Up Galore / Pink Champagne / Playground / Playing Dangerous / Prom Song (Gone Wrong) / Puppy Love / Push Me Down / Put The Radio On / Put Your Lips Together /

Queen Of Disaster /

Resistance / Roses / Run Motorcycle /

Scarface / Serene Queen / Serial Killer / She’s Not Me / So Good (Summer Bummer Demo) / So Legit / Some Things Last A Long Time / Starry Eyed / Stoplight De-Lite / Strange Love / Summer Of Sam / Super Movie /

Teenage Wasteland / Television Heaven / The Happiest Girl In The Whole USA / The Man I Love / There’s Nothing To Be Sorry About / Tired Of Singing The Blues / Trash (Miss America) / Trash Magic / True Love On The Side / TV In Black And White /

Unidentified Flying Bill / Us Against The World /

Velvet Crowbar /

Wait / Watercolor Eyes / Wayamaya / Westbound / What’s A Girl To Do / Wild One /

Yes To Heaven / You & Me / You Can Be The Boss / You Must Love Me / You’re Gonna Love Me / You, Mister / Young And Beautiful / Your Band Is All The Rage / Your Girl

SEE HERE for directory of her released music

[papaver-decervicatus]

tiktok keeps recommending me videos of bassists and I cannot stop thinking about julius because of you

First ask ever, let’s go!!! Let me, not at all, remedy this issue you’ve found yourself with, anon! Answer Below the 'read more'

Most of what Julius plays is in the safety and privacy of his own home, and it’s not a hobby he ever really brings up. If anyone knows about it and is egging him on to join a local bar-band while out, he has to be about 6 beers in to even entertain the idea. If the lights in the venue won’t blind him on the stage he does require being blindfolded for stage fright reasons. 

He usually starts predictable and “universal” with something like Pink Floyd’s Money or Superstitious by Stevie Wonder, he’s always partial to a little Super Freak by Rick James, too. The sort of stuff you’d find on a ‘Top Ten Bass Lines of All Time!’ list because for the most part those are songs that are popular in their own right without the kick-ass (if a little sanitized) baseline. But that’s not where his heart is, his heart has always been with Heavy Metal (Metallica, Black Sabbath, for a more recent example see anything in the Doom Metal subculture/subgenre like Ramesses and Valhall) and Neue Duetsche Härte (think Oomph! and Rammestein.) And I’m not talking slipknot, Tin or Steel levels of metal, I mean straight up Mercury or Lead poisoning. The second song is always when things get interesting. 

See, the funny thing about König playing the bass is, people hate playing in a band with him. Think about the phrase “take em for a walk,” when it comes to a musical breakdown, yeah well. König never got the memo that a bass is supposed to be a rhythm instrument first and foremost. He takes that puppy for a full on marathon sprint, shows off to the max, he’s playing the lead guitar’s part or the vocals half the time if he knows the song well enough. With his own personal double neck bass, Walküre (obligatory quick mention of @kneelingshadowsalome‘s series Valkyrie, go read it yesterday if you haven’t already) he is replacing the strings four times as often as he ought to because, as gentle and loving as he is with the instrument as a whole (he adores her, and is probably a few screws loosening away from sleeping in the same bad as the damn thing), his playing is naturally violent and bombastic to the point of shredding his fingers and the strings. 

His style is something like this (Djent Style, a sub-genre of metal) 

But he likes his kickback and reverb, way, way, way up. The only thing louder than the mess of pure sound coming from the amps is the barely-recognizable music notes cascading out. König doesn’t know what dynamics are, if he’s playing it, it’s gonna be loud, except of course, when the rest of the song gets quiet. 

He usually finishes a set with something classic like Metallica’s Master of Puppets or 21st Century Schizoid Man by King Crimson because those are universals, everyone’s gonna know them. But if he’s feeling particularly pumped, in his element, or is that drunk, he’s playing a once in a lifetime rendition of Agent Orange by Sodom (because trash metal isn’t heavy metal, but it sure is fucking fun!)

The second he steps off the stage, however, he’s practically running away to get to the bathroom or a shower or something. König isn’t usually a sweaty guy, or at least not more so than any other man, but when he jumps off the stage he’s practically swimming in clammy anxiety and sweat. Finishing his little show and going back into the crowd is his least favorite part of the ordeal by far. It’s a dire tone shift once he’s finally gotten back to the people he came in with, from a heavy metal god that rivals the craftsmanship and raw power of Hephaestus or Vulcan to… demure and anxious Julius Doss, dodging praise like bullets on a battlefield. He would never admit it, but he absolutely adores the compliments and awestruck expressions he gets from his little displays of what remains of his teenaged exuberance and the blood hammering adrenaline of having everyone's attention on him (usually the very last thing he wants outside of the field.)

That being said, practically no one gets the privilege of seeing König on bass but when they do. God, do they fucking see it.