#unedited rambling

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

It's wild because I have exactly one episode of Vampire Diaries left and I've been saving it since *checks blog* a little over a week ago (versus the six episodes a night I was watching back in season 1) and I keep telling myself I have to watch the ending if only so I know what I'm working with in fic but also I do want to see the return of Elena (and Katherine) but also I don't want to see Stefan die (or Damon and Elena in a flashforward apparently? How will they have time for all this, honestly?) but I do want to see how they manage to break the curse with Bonnie still alive (but maybe it wouldn't be so bad to write my fic without knowing) but I don't know. I'm notorious for not watching the last few episodes of shows I love (White Collar, Psych, Once Upon a Time, although that last I ragequit over many minor grievances with multiple seasons left so it's not really the same thing) but I keep telling myself that if you don't watch the end of a thing then you just have less of the thing that you love but like I turned the TV on to watch it just now and I'm actually so nervous? I both do and don't want to watch it so intensely, so I had to open up tumblr and blog about it. I could save it another week but I want to watch it before the intensity of my obsession starts to fade but I know this is going to hurt me, emotionally and profoundly. Maybe I can stretch it out to two episodes by stopping in the middle or something idk. But aaaaaaaaa I don't know I'm not ready but I feel like I have to watch it. Help me I don't know. I need some of you internet people to come over and watch this with me or something lol I don't know. I'm so nervous I'm not prepared but I don't want to put this off forever either. And once it's done I could start rewatching. But like, aaaaaaaaa!!

[rejectedbytheempty]

actually, ykw? imagine if simon had a civilian s/o and bc he’s constantly away and the partner is there most of the time anyways, he lets them decorate the place.

they make it so cozy with a million lamps with stained glass lampshades and tapestries on the walls and an unexpected number of stuffed animals on the bed.

one time, simon invites tf 141 to his flat and their jaws dropped, bc ofc simon didn’t warn them about the absolute pinterest board that his place was.

in fact, he hadn’t mentioned a partner at all, or to you that his team would be coming over so you’re still in one of simon’s raggedy old t-shirts with a handful of dry cereal halfway to your mouth.

it’s generally a shock for both parties, simon excluded, who seems to settle himself right in, kissing the top of your head, eyes crinkling slightly as he grins, looking rather like a cat showing off the bird he dragged in.

you had some choice words for him later, but for now, you brushed the crumbs off your face and wiped your hands off on your shirt before sticking your hand out to the team to introduce yourself.

surprisingly, it goes rather well. all things considered. the team is charmed by you and your ability to make ghost blush and smile endlessly. and you’re absolutely enamored with the fact that they keep complimenting your decor.

[syoddeye]

still stuck on this. imagine visiting your storage locker a few times a week to grab stuff as needed.

you notice things are off around visit three. the lid to your box of mementos is cracked open. it looks rifled through. you guess it could've been from the move.

then you notice the box of your summer clothes has been pulled out. it's mid-winter. you know you didn't touch it the last time you were here.

the final straw is when your old journals and picture albums go missing. not only does the disappearance feel wrong and violating—those are all you have left of your youth and your family.

you march down to the office and spend ten minutes giving mr. price a piece of your mind before he flatly tells you to calm down. he ushers you to security, a dim office that feels too cramped for the man behind the desk. price leaves you after introducing mr. riley and says the big man'll sort you out. grand.

riley makes you sit in his chair to see the monitors better as he pulls footage from the hallway outside your unit. it's a little difficult to focus. he leans over your back and reaches one arm around you to use the mouse. you can't swivel or move away either—his foot's planted on the chair's base.

it doesn't matter, though, because the hours of tape he speeds through show nothing suspicious at your unit's door. when you sniffle a bit, going on about what you've lost, he rubs your back with his free hand and assures you he'll get to the bottom of it.

you don't mention that you noticed the muddled timestamps and gaps of missing footage. nor do you say a word when he calls you your childhood nickname, the one that only your parents used.

when mr. riley lets you up, he doesn't move. he forces you to brush against him to leave. you speed walk, ignore mr. price asking if you had any luck, and burst out the door. forget the rest of your stuff. maybe you'll call someone and get the police involved. two uniformed employees share a cigarette near your car, and exchange grins as you try to avoid looking at them. all you can think about is getting the fuck away from 141 storage solutions and putting them in the rearview.

which is fine with them, really. they have all they need to research their favorite client. and with the tracker secured your car? simple enough to follow up in person when you stop paying the bill.

hmmm price running one of those massive self storage places and employing the fellas for security

great place to meet sad little things with freshly broken hearts and bright-eyed expats

[tojisun]

hey what if golf dilf price met you at the club itself.

you're there as a bev cart girl and his friends were all like, "ah yes, the drinks here aren't really that good but there's that one sweet darling that makes them all so special which is why we keep buying them."

and john isn't like that. yeah he's old and divorced, and he's loaded as hell because he's got conglomerates and empires, but he's never been interested with women like that, especially those decades younger than him.

but then you came with your little cart and then john saw you in your pink and white cart uniform, and he realized he's just as bad as his friends.

so sure, whatever, give them six whiteclaws but—can you stay just a tad longer, sweetheart? can you give us a twirl? want to learn how to play?

[earthtooz]

ik ur in ur reo phase BUT HEAR ME OUT EARTH ONLY YOU CAN DO THIS

rin ACCIDENTALLY publicizing ur relationship bec mf got jealous as hell when ur face appeared in the kiss cam IN HIS GAME??????? WITH A RANDOM GUY AND WAS HE FUMING??? YOU AND I KNOW HE WAS THROWIN HANDS

thats all

I'M HEARING YOU OUT. warning for unrealistic scenario, i wrote this in like 20 minutes so it's unedited :p apologies for any mistakes.

imagine being rin's secret partner, the one he keeps behind closed doors because he values you too much to let the invasive eyes of the internet see. he values your relationship too much to let it get tarnished by social media, so he hides any affiliation with you like his life depends on it, only to come home and shower you with the adoration and affection he wishes he could show to the rest of the world.

in the spotlight, he is itoshi rin, japan's prized striker, their golden player, but when he's out of the spotlight, he is your lover. the man who drapes himself over you when things get too rough and he needs a breather. he is yours to cherish, where you have to change your phone wallpaper every other week because there's so many good photos of you two. he is yours to love, he is yours to go to when you feel too lonely, he is yours.

but also imagine, itoshi rin's jealousy and possessiveness no longer being able to rest at bay. it'd been accumulating for the past few weeks, this desire to show you off and boast that it's him who gets to know you like no other.

then the cup overfills, his jealousy tearing him by the seams that he loosely stitched together to withhold this carnal beast resting within him.

all because of a damn kiss cam.

you had been sitting in the vip section of the stadium- where special members are granted tickets, and even though you tell rin that it's fine for you to just sit in the general area, he refuses and tells you that he's bought you the ticket anyway. leaving you with no room for arguments. well. not that there was any to begin with.

anyways, you'd just so happen to sit next to someone who bought vip tickets with no affiliation with any blue lock members. you think he's just a die hard fan, so when he asks you if you like them, you lie and say that you won these tickets at a raffle.

the guy wasn't the most favourable person ever, in fact, you found yourself awkwardly responding to what he was saying, sometimes giving him short and succinct replies because of how... weird... he was. not to be disrespectful but you did not like his vibes. you just hope these 90 minutes can be over quickly.

yeah well, how funny is it that the kiss cam lands on you and the insufferable guy beside you?

you're mortified when you see it on the screen but the person beside you doesn't warrant the same reaction. immediately, he turns to face you, anticipation heavy on his features. in fact, he looks rather... excited...

"no, no, i have a boyfriend, i-" you begin abruptly as he leans in and you have no choice but to helplessly lean back, evading his lips and delaying it as much as you can. you even try rejecting him by frantically waving your hands, panicked and unsure of what to do.

until you hear him.

"back. the. fuck. off!" comes a shout from the pitch; the voice very familiar to your ears that you can't help but instantly relax from hearing it.

your seat was relatively close to the field which meant that those around you could hear the distinct voice of itoshi rin ripping through the air, fury evident and baring its fangs as he all but punches the barrier with each word.

however, everyone in the stadium could see itoshi rin as all cameras pan to him, witnessing his wrath as he shouts from the top of his voice. everyone around you is silent and you don't know whether you want to shrivel up into the ground or run to him and embrace him as tightly as you can. to find sanctuary in his warmth, away from the pushy guy who can't wrap his head around the idea that no means no.

itoshi rin decides for you, effortlessly jumping over the (considerably high???) barrier and making a beeline for you, skipping some stairs. thank goodness for a side seat because he comes to a stop before you, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he looks at you with heated passion, huffing and puffing.

"rin?" you whisper. he doesn't hear it, looking up at the various stadium screens to see if the kiss cams were still on you. smirking in satisfaction when he realises they are, rin all but pulls you up from your seat and kisses you with so much intensity and fervour that you feel lightheaded. very much so.

the stadium is cheering but you can't focus on it, not when rin's holding you to him so closely, practically trying to meld you to him. not even trying to push him away is enough to snap him out of whatever primal instinct has taken over him, so you grab his face and jerk away from him, not wanting to get too carried away.

before you can utter a word, rin looks behind you, and the coldness in his expression says everything you need to know.

he doesn’t care about dignity at this point. he just needed the world to know that you were his.

"you're dead if you try that again, you lukewarm fuckface," he then turns to you. you shiver from the intensity of his gaze. "i'll kill him next time," he promises before hugging you close to him once again, practically glaring at the cameras. "i'll kill anyone who tries to get to close."

THANK YOU FOR THIS ANON would u believe me if i said i'd been waiting for an opportunity like this? well i'm speaking the truth and i'm so glad u gave me the opportunity i've been waiting for AYEEEEEEE COME BACK ANY TIME YOU ARE SO WELCOME ON THE EARTHTOOZ BLOG, PRETTY <33

—

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[claritys-silly-things]

Greaser gang hcs I have:

- (modern) The entire gang would SOOO watch South Park you can't convince me otherwise

- (sorta modern ig I don't remember the context to this) *scene kids your outsiders*

- Everyone has a stuffed animal or two or ten they just won't admit it (inspiration from kotlc)

- Ponyboy can't handle horror movies, Johnny LOVESSSS them. He just sits there like :D

- Soda Steve and dally get very squeamish during horror movies but try to hide it

- Darry likes horror movies

- Twobit could care less what's on (can handle horror movies, doesn't like them) (he wants to watch Mickey Mouse 😟😟)

[wanderingblindly]

Landoscar didn't interact much on the podium tbh. Oscar looked pretty lost until he started spraying Charles with champagne because Lando immediately dove in and sprayed the guy Ferrari sent up to receive the constructor's trophy. Sorry to (potentially) send you down a spiral </3

Allow me to, as is now my role in this community apparently, gentle parent my dash about this hahahahahhaahha

The appeal of landoscar is the fact that Lando and Oscar are so evenly matched despite being wildly different. Where Lando draws a lot from his emotional volatility, Oscar drives from a place of carefully controlled technical execution. It’s the balance that’s compelling, both in fantasy relationship ways and on the track, but it’s also the cause of tension. Lando’s going to be emotional when it doesn’t go his way. Oscar’s not going to be apologetic for being correct.

But, more importantly, what’s most interesting is that they find ways to patch it up. We see Oscar try to offer olive branches (making a joke about Lando breaking his trophy before the champagne started), and we see Lando bristle. We see Lando offer an olive branch (calling Oscar ‘Osc’ and taking accountability in post-race media) and Oscar barely acknowledging it.

It’s a back and forth. As with a lot of their dynamic, it’s a back and forth. So like, this is part of what makes further relationship growth interesting — putting them at each others throats and seeing what happens.

Again: they’re fine! They’re hyper competitive grown adults who operate on levels of adrenaline and dedication we can’t even begin to understand — they’re fine!

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Thinking of a modern frat Harringroveson au with chubby!Billy, because he’s my favorite, and a scenario that’s similar to that one tumblr(?) post about the girl who lost her keys at a frat party, if anyone knows what I’m talking about.

Specifically the part where she wanders around the house looking the morning after, and no one is particularly helpful until she runs into a guy who sends a text to the group chat with a description of the keys, and suddenly like twenty of them spring into action like soldiers and find her keys in less than a minute?

It’s peak boys will be boys and I love it so much.

So I’m thinking about Billy, Eddie, and Steve being in a frat. Particularly one of the larger ones, so the house is roomy and kind of daunting when first stepping into the foyer.

Steve is taking an exam and he, very miserably, let it be known that he would be gone for most of the afternoon, seeing as his next couple classes were nearly back to back after his test. So, he’s out of the house all day, and Eddie takes the opportunity to have a scary movie marathon with Billy.

Because they might as well do something other than sit around and wait for him to come home, and why not watch something creepy? Steve hates scary movies, so it only makes sense.

The house isn’t buzzing with activity at two in the afternoon on a weekday, so the couple settle into the living room. Have some popcorn, get comfy on the sofa, light a fall-scented candle to match the cooling temperature outside, and it’s perfect.

Until Tommy (I’m picking on him this time, sorry) meanders in about halfway through The Fly.

Maybe it’s a running bit in the house, something born of affection, that it’s acceptable to poke fun at Billy for his size. He’s one of the bigger guys, in every sense, and he gets easily flustered, so he’s teased a lot. They chant his name when he does keg chugs at parties, and they even call him The Tank.

Partly because he can put a lot away, and partly because he’ll do some serious damage if he decides to throw down.

Maybe Tommy takes the joke too far. Instead of giving Billy a pat on the back and calling him big guy, be calls him lardass. Maybe he comments a little too much on Billy’s eating habits, trying to get some kind of rise out of him.

While Billy used to get pissed, used to get in his face and promise to kick his ass before someone intervened, he just gets… uncomfortable now. Usually whenever Tommy enters a room, before he even opens his mouth.

Like right now.

Eddie has his arm around Billy’s shoulders, cradling him against his side, fingers tip-tapping against the blond’s bicep as he noses a kiss into his hair.

“This sweater’s real cute on you,” he murmurs. Billy hums appreciatively, and Eddie smiles as he digs his hand into the bowl of popcorn in his lap. “My cute little muncher.”

A door closes in the close distance, and suddenly Billy goes a bit rigid where he leans against Eddie’s shoulder.

Tommy pads into the room, hands on his hips as he glances between the tv and the couple sitting on the couch. Spreads an amused little smirk, eyes tracing up and down the scene.

“No Steve today?” he wonders. Eddie shakes his head and turns his focus back to the movie. “And did you just call him little?”

The freckled brunet snorts, and Eddie huffs a groan and lolls his head back.

“Can you leave, please? Crawl back into whatever hole you spawned from?”

“Hey, this is the communal living room, I can come in here if I want.” Tommy plops down in the recliner and cocks his head to the side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Eddie lifts his head again, brows drawn together as he shifts to fish his phone out of his pocket after he pauses the movie. He rubs up and down Billy’s arm where his hand is still resting, and taps on his screen.

“I’m trying to watch a movie with my boyfriend, Hagan. He’s never seen The Fly, and we’re on kind of a schedule ‘cause we have to finish both movies before Stevie gets home,” Eddie says. “I’d say I wouldn’t mind if you watched and just kept your trap shut, but I’d really rather you just leave.”

“So you’re saying I can’t come into the living room in my own house? What would El Presidente think of that?”

Tommy clicks his tongue. Billy shifts when his eyes fix on him.

“I’m saying you make my boyfriend uncomfortable, and I’m saying you should fuck off about it.”

“I make him uncomfortable? I can hardly go anywhere in this place without seeing some kind of perverse display.”

Eddie quirks a brow.

“Perverse display?”

“Well, yeah.” Tommy crosses his arms, and it’s remarkably bratty. “You guys are always feeling him up, or sucking face, and he’s always pigging out. You don’t see how that could be disturbing?”

There’s a beat of silence. Eddie’s mouth pinches into a line when he notices the tinge of red in Billy’s expression. Notices how he leans closer, making himself smaller, and how out of character that is.

Eddie wants to rattle off an insult about how Tommy’s hair is always a mess, his room is filthy, and point out that his girlfriend has been cheating on him since the dawn of time. He wants to tell him how fragile he is if he thinks that two people sharing a kiss is obscene, or that snacking on popcorn is pigging out.

Eddie wants to say all of it so bad, but instead, he types briefly, and hits send.

Instantly, both Billy and Tommy’s phones buzz, and they both pull them out of their pockets. To Tommy’s horror, it’s a notification from the group chat. A voice note with a text attached to it.

Trying to watch a movie and this fuckhead Hagan can’t decide between being fatphobic or homophobic. I think we’ll start looking for an apartment so we can watch movies in peace.

It takes merely seconds for messages to start rolling in. Everything varying from what the fuck to hell no to questioning if the text is genuine, and if Eddie is serious about moving out. Eddie grins, and briefly hopes that Steve remembered to silence his phone before his exam.

Then, Tommy’s phone starts vibrating with a call. His eyes go wide, and he swallows before answering.

Eddie bites back on a laugh, knowing that only one person besides Steve has yet to have texted back.

“Hello?” Tommy answers.

He cringes briefly, and nods to himself as he pulls his phone away from his ear, and taps the screen.

“Am I on speaker, dipshit?” Jason asks.

“Yes.”

Tommy’s voice is suddenly timid, face hot with shame, and Eddie presses his lips together when a laugh threatens to sputter out.

Over the phone, Jason sighs.

“Hey, Bill? Edd? Can you guys hear me?”

Eddie clears his throat and exhales a calming sigh.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Good.” There’s some static and some shuffling over the line. “You okay, Billy?”

For a moment, the blond is quiet, but he relaxes a bit when Eddie gives him a soft squeeze.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says.

“Cool. I’m kinda caught between classes right now or I’d deal with it myself, but I promise it’ll still be handled. I’m really sorry you guys had to put up with this, so I’ll have a couple pizzas sent to the house.”

Eddie nods in approval.

“We appreciate you, boss man,” he says.

“Alright, I’ll let you guys get back to your movie. Hagan, I hope you have street clothes on.”

Then, Jason hangs up. Things are quiet for a moment. Anticipation is thick in the air, and then there’s a new message in the group chat from El Presidente.

Hagan is excommunicado, effective immediately.

Eddie snorts when not a single text rolls through after that, but there’s the sound of movement upstairs.

“John Wick,” Billy murmurs, nodding. “Nice.”

There’s footsteps. Heavy scraping. Tommy stands up from his seat, ready to bolt upstairs to see what the commotion is, but he doesn’t make it further than the base of the stairs before the noise and voices get louder.

Then, things come flying down the steps, and Tommy barely jumps out of the way.

Armfuls of clothes, shoes, a backpack. Tommy’s eyes blow so wide Eddie thinks they might pop out of his head.

The mattress is next, with the sheets still on, and then figures come into view. Argyle and Jonathan carrying a dresser down the stairs in nothing but their socks and underwear, full drawers threatening to slide out and spill clothes everywhere. Patrick is right behind them with a nightstand in his grasp, alarm clock and bong still resting on top. More voices follow, and more and more comes tumbling down the stairs.

Nothing is moved carefully. Wooden legs are skidded across the floor, corners are banged against the guard rail and doorframe, and Tommy’s laptop is thrown like a frisbee out onto the concrete walkway.

It’s beautiful, Eddie thinks, how fast the pile of trash and other belongings accumulates, and how he counts probably fifteen heads as the guys dump everything out into the front yard. They wail at Tommy as they pass, booing and poking and some even pinching him before the guys all disperse like roaches when the light flicks on.

A few pass by the sofa, offering condolences like they’re at a funeral, and Argyle even tousles Billy’s hair before he disappears.

Tommy is left standing there, staring through the open doorway at his entire existence spread out on the ground in front of him. Eddie snorts when he sees the tiny Tommy Hagan has been removed from group notice appear in the bottom of the chat, followed by a plethora of saluting emojis.

He ropes Billy closer into his side and kisses his hair, shutting his phone off.

“You gonna be hungry for pizza?” he murmurs.

Billy tilts his head up to look at him, eyes glassy, and chews his lip.

“Mhmm,” he hums. “You think Stevie’s gonna be stressed when he checks his phone?”

He closes his eyes when Eddie squeezes him and presses a kiss to his forehead. Relaxes into the embrace when the front door shuts.

“I’ll send him a picture when the pizza gets here so he knows you’re okay.”

“Why wait ‘til the pizza gets here?” Billy muses.

He hums a laugh and turns further into Eddie, tucking his face in the crook of his neck and smoothing his hand over his chest. The brunet sighs comfortably as he feels around his lap for the remote, and traces shapes against Billy’s bicep with his free hand.

“‘Cause the only thing cuter than you in your comfy sweater is you having a snack in your comfy sweater.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. Don’t want him to miss out on it.”

Eddie smiles as he presses play, and Billy chuckles into his neck.

“Me neither.”

[horsemeatluvr23]

the juppet !! i just realised he is jerma posing i swear that was unintentional...... i spent so long digging thru muppet concept art and looking at old puppet designs just to end up doing a rly simple drawing but. i love joehills!! i have only been watching them for like 4 years but their videos r so special to me :3

[mothiir]

LMFAO all i can imagine now is lion so lost in the sauce eating her out hes reverted mentally to an actual lion on an antelope carcass, bro growling n shit when she tries to like shift away like NO this is mine DONT YOU FUCKING MOVE

this is beautiful and totally true. please enjoy the following fic snippet, which occurs the same night as the first one, because the lion does not fuck around.

cw: slight dubcon, size kink, slight gore.

Even when ensconced between your thighs, his tongue buried inside your cunt, the Lion is terrifying.

It starts out promisingly enough. He licks into you, sloppy and eager, enthusiasm winning out where his skill lacks (the fact that his tongue is large enough to lash across your clit each time by sheer chance helps), and before you have quite registered what is happening he’s wrung an orgasm from you. Your body convulses, your breath quickens, and you mewl helplessly. You swear you feel the Lion smirk against your soft flesh — but you cannot imagine the Primarch doing something so human, so petty.

Maybe you’re delirious. Maybe this is all a fever dream.

The problem is that he keeps going. He sucks and licks and when you — quite against your better judgement — start rocking your hips against his face, he purrs. “That’s it,” he rumbles approvingly, his grasp on your hips tightening. “Like that. Open yourself for me, little whore.”

Whore — oh the fucking nerve of it. The cheek! You had a respectable job and a decent life, and actual wages, and then he stole you and if anything you are less than a whore because you are about to get fucked for free —

He sucks on your clit — more accurately, he sucks on the upper half of your cunt — but semantics don’t matter because holy fucking hell — the world shatters, you shatter, everything is warm and visceral and your cunt is one twitching nerve, pulsing in time with the Lion’s relentless lapping.

“Stop — wait — stop — “ you slur, trying to squirm away; the Lion growls, a truly bestial sound that has your stomach curdling, and you freeze. He pulls you back onto his face.

“Mine,” he snaps. “Stay.”

“My lord —“

The Lion’s snarl echoes up your spine, distracting you enough that you don’t see his teeth close on the meat of your thigh until it is too late. Not that you could have stopped him biting you, of course. You might just have got a bit of warning. You stare as his fangs sink in, as blood bubbles, and for one icy moment time slows to a syrupy crawl. His eyes meet yours. His pupils are swollen black and huge, like a cat about to strike.

And then, all at once, time returns to its usual pace, and your body shrills in pain. You choke down the warm scream filling your throat, staring wild-eyed at the Lion/

He’s really switching from eating pussy to eating pussy, isn’t he? A dry, hysterical giggle escapes your lips at your own stupid joke. The Lion’s eyes drift half closed, and he releases your thigh, licking at the blood spilling from the wound. Not as much as you feared — a trickle, not a flood — but still more than you would like.

The Lion utters that strange rumbling sound again, nuzzling his blood-sticky maw against your thigh; his expression is dreamy, almost peaceful. “Delicious,” he sighs, and licks again. “Tasty tasty mortal, and all mine…”

Another lick. Then he freezes, and it is like the gears turn in his skull. You swear you hear them grind. He clears his throat, and mops his face on the back of his hand, trying to gather some dignity.

“…anyway. Right. That aside — where were we?”

[brighteststar707]

To enter Saeyoung's study is like getting the smallest peek at the inside of his mind. He has never been one to try to put everything in his mind down on paper - it's too vulnerable, you see. It's not as messy as you had expected it to be at first (though it's by no means tidy, though).

Even in its tidiest state, you can spot little details that give you some more insight into his mind and habits: the little cross indentations on the surface of his desk where he absentmindedly dug his nails into the soft give of the wood. The chips in the paint where his box cutter nicked the desk. The overlapping marks of hot mugs placed down without a coaster. The tiniest little mark of your initial on the far corner (that he blushed at the first time you pointed out - a momento from the CCTV days).

This changes the second he takes on a project, especially one of those good ones that you know is going to be a marvel. That's where the corkboard comes in. And the whiteboard. And the wall.

At some point, he seems to have given up on having a dedicated space for his ideas and allowed them to encroach on his space.

When he's in one of these frenzies, you step into the study and find the walls covered in different sticky notes and papers with equations, find the whiteboard covered in diagrams you can't make sense of (and strange annotations to boot). The desk is strewn with more bits of paper and the beginnings of whatever he's trying to build.

Then, once it's all done, the study is restored. The blueprint is made, the doodles and calculations aren't needed anymore. Everything gets tidied and the wall reappears.

You used to spend the early days in there with him most of the time. Either curled up in Vanderwood's chair next to him or tucked up close to him on his lap. You can't count the amount of times you fell asleep to the sounds of him tapping on his computer keys and the soft humming under his breath. They're some of your best memories from that difficult time.

Then, later on, you found yourself bringing your work into the room with you just so you could be busy next to each other. He'd clear a corner of the desk for you and leave you little sticky note messages when you weren't looking.

This habit of yours was what led to him surprising you with your very own desk on the opposite wall of his study - an anniversary present. He still leaves you sticky note love letters and little origami creatures to keep you company. Then, sometimes, for posterity's sake, he'll pull your chair up to his desk so you can relive the old days.

While the room is still mainly his, knowing that he has made space for you in what once used to be his hideout from the world has been one of the best gifts he has given you so far (and he has given you so many).

[sunshinechay]

So I finally caught up on My Stand In after being 3 episodes behind due to irl reasons.

The last three episodes have been a lot and while I’m sad to have missed the weekly discussions, I’m also kind of glad I watched all three at once because it gave me the opportunity to get to watch Ming’s progress rapidly rather than waiting (which my ADHD brain is very happy about) and the one thing really stuck with me through all three episodes.

Of the three who knows Joe is Joe, Ming is the only one to figure it out completely on his own. He doesn’t overhear anything, he isn’t told by anyone. Even the priest (is that what he is? Citation needed) won’t give Ming the straight answer he seeks. Joe is neither dead nor alive but a secret third thing, his soul has transmigrated to another body entirely.

Before, when he didn’t know, we got the small kernels of change. Ming is much more straight forward than he used to be. While he was never one to mince words, he is more truthful and up front, even with Joe 2.0. He is honest with him from the start about exactly what he wants. He doesn’t tell Joe the real reason why he wants it, but that’s understandable given that no one else is willing to believe Ming when he says Joe is still alive. So why tell this new stand in why you want him to be so.

Then he figures it out. He puts together the context clues and believes the impossible because he’s the only one who never gave up hope that Joe would come home, would come back to him. Joe does come back to him and Ming immediately sets out to ensure that Joe exactly where he stands in terms of how Ming feels about him. Ming needs Joe to understand exactly what he wants. Ming is probably always going to be the type of person who will use underhanded tactics in certain situations, but it’s completely understandable why he uses the contract to keep Joe with him.

Ming offers up explanations where Joe didn’t ask for them, because he knows that Joe deserves them, whether or not he asks for them. He wants Joe to understand that he regrets a lot of his past actions, including what he did for Tong at the end. Ming had all but admitted that if he could go back and change it, he would.

Ming is willing to confront so many issues head on. He is learning to deal with his emotions in a way that is more productive for them all. He has started to feel more of his emotions out loud in a way he didn’t before. He promised himself he would change if Joe ever came back and so far he has kept his promise. He will better himself and he will grow. He will no longer be stagnant.

He is even willing to tell his father that he is dating Joe. The mere mention of it clearly terrifies him more than he has the words to express, something that Joe picks up on right away and tries to protect both of them from. Preemptively breaking up with Ming to try and save them both a worst heartbreak than simply breaking up.

Tong had spent so much of the show attempting to prove again and again that Ming is under his thumb. He knew that Ming was in love with him in the past and still believes he is now, but he is wrong. Ming will no longer allow himself to be manipulated by Tong and by extension his mother. So he will shoot their ace out of the sky by doing the one thing that terrifies him the most. He will tell his father that he is gay. That he is gay and dating a man. A man named Joe.

He will accept what comes next because the only other options is to lose Joe and Ming absolutely will not do that for a second time. He is willing to lose everything, as long as it means he doesn’t lose Joe.

[syoddeye]

blah blah john price witnessing his girlfriend discover something new about herself.

it happens at a birthday party, of all places. it’s for a friend of yours. he’s grateful when the cake comes out, gives him a reprieve from your friends grilling him about your new relationship. john’s handled worse, but even he can’t stand the sound of his own voice after a while.

you’re a sweet girl, helping wrangle the candles after they’re waved out. your smile only falters a little when the dripping wax of the candles drops a thick glob onto the back of your hand. one of your friends offers a napkin immediately, and checks to see if you’re okay.

and he ought to do the same, but he’s rooted to the spot, gripping his bottle tight. his eyes are glued to how your lip’s caught in your teeth. the subtle heave of your chest. if he didn’t know any better, a little shiver ran down your spine when the wax hit. he hears your friend ask if you’re alright, and you stammer out a quiet just a little warm.

he finishes his beer on the spot and swiftly pulls out his phone to shop. he has questions. experimentation is a must. he’ll have to bring you around to the idea. coax the words out of your mouth. whatever lets him see that glow in your eye again will be worth it.

his mind leaps ahead to your birthday. he wonders if he could work up up to that number in time.

[creeps-and-pasta]

Laughing Jack spent 13 years locked away, never knowing if he was going to escape. As each day went by he was forced to become familiar with the concept of eternity, the idea that this might last forever. It was quite possible he would spend forever trapped inside that box.

I think Jack has never spoken about his past to anyone. Why would he? Who would he tell his story to? Jack looks back on his former self with disgust, with hatred for a creature innocent and naive and loving enough it would willingly let itself be trapped.

Jack wraps himself in the chains of his past and drags it with him everywhere he goes. He thinks it's a necessary precaution. He can't afford to forget or forgive what happened, because he's terrified of getting hurt again. Jack has to hate humans because what if love makes him naive again?

Jack doesn't tell anyone about Isaac. But there is not a day that goes by he doesn't think about the boy he was built to love.

Because if he stops thinking about Isaac, if he stops remembering Isaac, then no one else will. Jack is the only person left alive who knows of Isaac Grossman. And if no one is left to remember him, did he ever really exist? Does a man die when his last breath leaves his lungs or when his name is uttered for the last time?

He was with Isaac for 3 months, and the grief lasted 200 years. Jack is no longer in his box, but he's still trapped by his self-imposed suffering

Jack was built to love Isaac. He was built to love humanity. And he learned to hate it instead. Or maybe he learned that suffering is good, that pain is happiness. Isaac taught him that. Isaac was taught that, by his father and his mother.

Maybe when Jack killed Isaac, it was his last love letter to his dear friend.

Or maybe he just hated the fucking guy, I don't know. I don't think Jack knows sometimes, either.

[l0cal-catb0y]

Hero!Ghoap x God!Reader brainrot

Had some insane brainrot while listening to music, this is going to be word vomit but like, i have to share it w/ yall and i didnt read this back so it may be a lil wonky (first cod post too wow) idk man its bad but whatever

Reader being a lesser known god who only has a few shrines and a tiny group of worshippers and hero!ghoap being incredibly well known and strong fighters who stumble across one of your shrine while looking for a place to rest. maybe it's abandoned or something but while theyre resting they investigate you and your history and end up leaving you some offerings for letting them have safety while healing up. Maybe you get a little excited cuz the heros all the gods are talking about are leaving you gifts!! just for being kind!! hehe you send them a sign that you are watching over you and helping them as much as you can even after they leave your shrine to continue their journey <33 you only have a few followers so you can actively pay attention to ghost and soap unlike the other gods who are so so busy. Ghost notices first that youre always watching over them when he starts seeing your associated animals and plants everywhere they go (can be whatever you want but im picturing a type of bird) and ghost feels unsure if its actually you but after it becomes a pattern he points it out to Soap who had a feeling they were being tailed as well. Now they start gathering little trinkets after their battles and leaving them in places that remind them of you like flower fields or by rivers. I feel like soap would become such a devoted follower so quickly while ghost is still a little wary, he doesnt know your intentions and there is barely any information about you out in the world. I think a few weeks or months later ghost would join soap in being one of your most devoted followers. I feel like they would create you an altar near where you live or move closer to the original shrine they discovered you at <33

also thinking about how they would react if you disappeared, specifically a war broke out between the gods and you get gravely injured and in a panic descend to earth by the boys' shrine before passing the fuck out. just the boys showing up to leave offerings but seeing you bleeding out on the altar, they both rush to you can try to stabilize you the best they can from experiences when patching each other up,,, once they clean you up they bring you back to their home and placing you in their bed, they sit next to you discussing what the fuck happened and who they have to hurt to get you justice.

maybe ill write more later but yeah hope yall liked my mess of an idea

[castlebyersafterdark]

Imagine Will going home after the first confession/make-out and immediately getting off alone. See, while Will had frequently gotten off while fantasizing about Mike in the past, this is the very first time he gets off with the thought “oh my god, this could actually happen. Mike and I having sex someday, that could be real”. Plus he now knows more things that elevate his fantasy. How Mike kisses, how he grips his hips, how he sounds when Will kisses his jaw and neck, etc. Safe to say Will does not last long.

Being the person that he was, Will was in the unique position of knowing what it was like to experience the feeling "if I disappeared right now...," though, not as happily as he could ascribe to his current state. More than a feeling. Here and gone. Been there, done that.

If the worst should happen and he disappeared again, if the ground opened and swallowed him up, if another gate split time and space and whisked him away - in that exact moment as he walked through the bedroom door after the best night of his life - he'd do so with a smile on his face. Didn't mean he wanted it to happen. Having now known what it was like to kiss Mike Wheeler, oh what a waste it would be.

What a revelation. It was like coming back to life all over again - another cliche experience of which he had personal knowledge. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped several times tonight. When he - when, he and Mike -

He'd kissed Mike Wheeler. Mike had kissed him. A lot. Quite a lot.

Please, let him live, actually. Forget all that darkness. He wanted to stay right there. Solid ground. Boring and wonderful planet earth. Linear and spinning. The cruelty of giving him everything he'd every wanted and then losing it? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

No thanks. He'd rather not have known then, if this was lose-able, if this would get snatched away.

The burden of knowledge.

Please, let me keep him.

They'd kissed once before, days ago. Danger. A fight. More danger, imminent danger. More fighting, and then stillness. A kiss. A confession. Too much danger for those so young, for anyone, really. And - now. Time. Calm before some storm. A chance to talk and slow down and smile into each other's mouths and and and. Kiss. For the sake of kissing, not to seal the truth into each other's anxiety corroded skin when faced with the possibility of this was it. Now or never.

They were getting closer to hope. To normal. It was going to get bad again. But, they existed suspended in the still of a moment.

Try to be normal. As normal as it can be when you're in love with your best friend and he knows that now. A secret unspooled. No longer restricting and suffocating like vines around limb. The strength to fight.

His room was dark and Will didn't bother with the light. He closed the door behind him and let out a long, contented sigh. Still smiling. His face almost hurt from the constant strain, though it could never hurt him. The solid ground was more like clouds, feet so light they stumbled as he approached the bed.

He couldn't concentrate on one foot in front of the other when his mind was a haze of Mike Mike Mike. His kisses. And everything more.

Will fell back onto the bed in the room he'd been staying in temporarily at the farm. Ever since returning to his town, he was a boy in limbo. He'd bounced from Mike's floor to his bed to the couch in his basement, to a cot at the radio station, and now to a spare room at their latest residence. At least he got a space to himself for once, with privacy. Sharing with Mike had been lovely and terrible and exciting and agonizing. A head spin, a constant mind fuck. Tense and soft and tense again. Close quarters, a team! But often - too far away.

He regretted it now, knowing what he knew, how Mike felt for him. And how he'd felt for him for quite some time. He regretted them not getting their shit together in time to take advantage of a bedroom and a locked door and a bed big enough for two. Big enough for two seventeen year old boys to lay side by side (and on top and behind and under and and and - he had to stop. A jolt ran down his body, hooked under his stomach. Twitching under his jeans. The images in his head - enough, Will. Enough.)

Didn't matter. He couldn't change time, force a path not ready to be tread. That hadn't been their journey. They liked each other. Maybe even loved each other. Will was so in love it made him sick from it most days - Mike hadn't said he loved him, didn't have to. He'd felt it. Still wanted to hear it. In time - the thing he couldn't force to move faster or slower, backwards or forwards. Where time stood still he didn't want to re-visit. Figured he would again. Inevitable. The threat loomed, ever present. A steady imprint on his roller coaster reality.

Ever present like the phantom feeling against his lips.

Mike's lips. His mouth, Mike's mouth. Will shifted in his too-narrow bed and kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his coat, brought a finger to his lips. Traced the shape of them, traveled the sloping curve. Less than an hour ago he'd had his mouth pressed to Mike's over and over and over and over. Teeth nipping at reddened skin. A tongue, cautious, testing, then sure, tracing slick lips and slipping into wet heat. The tingle of how it felt when they touched. Seemed weird to him before he'd tried it, even if he'd thought about what that would be like over and over.

He kissed the spiraling ring of forefinger and thumb as he brought his fist to his mouth, kissing his own skin. Inadequate. Couldn't get away with doing that anymore as he'd often practiced and fantasized, didn't feel like Mike's soft lips and hot tongue. Didn't taste like him, just nothing but his own skin.

Gosh, was that another revelation, learning how Mike tasted. Couldn't describe it, but he wanted more. Sweet but strange, skin and saliva and the hint of his own fruit flavored gum mixing with Mike's 7up and popcorn. They'd been hanging out in Mike's basement - a night of normalcy until the next disaster. He'd wanted to stay over. Mom insisted on him coming home. School night. As if that mattered anymore.

The world could end. He needed Mike. Needed to taste him again.

Will turned into his pillow and kissed the fabric, lips soft and slow as he allowed himself to moan into the scratch of threadbare cotton as he relived a memory. Guess he could go back in time. Freeze it. Repeat it. Kiss the pillowcase like he kissed Mike. He hadn't known what he was doing. Didn't seem like Mike knew either. Sloppy and inexperienced and so, so eager. Mike had said not to feel nervous, he'd never kissed anyone like that before either.

He hated himself a little for it, but Will couldn't help but feel excited about that truth. Being the only one to go further, to get Mike in a way no one else had, in a way someone else hadn't. He'd wallow in the guilt later. Now, he relived it. Kissed and kissed and continued where he wished they had before they parted with great reluctance.

It had been wet and open and messy and full of love. The heady adventure of inexperience and need. Heat and teeth. Breath through nostrils and mouths re-sealed. Hands grabbing at t-shirts and then bare skin, hands under clothing.

He was definitely hard now, all from making out with his pillow and trying to conjure the phantom flavor that was all but gone at that point. He ran his tongue over his teeth once more, over his lips, and frowned when he only tasted himself. His hips thrust forward into nothing and he couldn't take it.

Will's hand flew to his zipper, hesitated a moment as his fingers trailed up the body-heat warmed metal, then relented and pulled the teeth of the zipper down and apart slowly. He brushed a hand against the parted gap in his pants, petting over-top the underwear covering soft hair and the base of his dick, smiling dazed at the teasing relief. Mike hadn't touched him there. They'd only kissed - well. Not quite true.

They may have gotten a little carried away.

He'd only been pining over the boy for the bulk of his young life, all of the parts that mattered, anyway. Before Mike and After Mike. The after was love and longing. The after now, having kissed him and told him how he felt and come out on the other side alive, in the true After - he knew too much. Felt enough to make him burn.

Hands sliding under his shirt, too gentle against his skin, against the scar tissue of a burn mark on his side and then felt all too good as those same gentle, huge hands gripped his waist and hauled him into an eager lap. Thighs around thighs. Ass on knees, then raised as he followed Mike to fall back against the couch, bodies flush. Hips slotted together, hot and hard and unacknowledged save for the sudden, jarring sound of a moan. Mike had groaned low in his throat, and shuddered over how it felt against Will's tongue. High and breathy a moment later as Will pulled away to press his mouth and teeth against the side of Mike's neck as their hips rolled and then slowed.

Too much, all too much. Pulling away with a heavy, rapid heartbeat. Slower, drier kisses. And Will's hand now, shoved down his pants, tight between his sweaty skin and the taut fabric of his jeans and briefs. Pent up. No relief despite skin on skin.

Will pulled his pants off the rest of the way. Tan and tight - chosen on purpose for his date (it had been a date, a date, a date!) He knew how his ass looked in them. Mike noticed, too. Felt it up for only a moment as they'd sat thigh over thigh, chest to chest. Cock to cock, too, when he admitted what they'd done. Will's hand stroked himself tight at the thought.

He'd felt Mike against him for only for a moment, but it had been enough for Will now to moan softly into the pillow again as his hand pulled at his cock, slow and too dry. Didn't care. Wasn't the point. He was traversing a memory, using sensation to slow time, speed it up, imagine what could happen if they both hadn't gotten too nervous.

Mike had been hard. Mike didn't just like him, want to be with him, want to kiss him - he wanted him. He wanted to do things with him. His body liked it, liked him. Wanted to fuck him, whatever that really meant - and fuck, wasn't that a revelation all in itself? The way Mike's hands had felt on his waist. A perfect resting spot, made to hold him like that. Will turned onto his back and spread his legs, splayed and vulnerable as he jerked off, slicker now as he leaked all over himself. Still not perfect, but good enough.

He knew how it would go, how he wanted it. Was that how Mike would want it, when they finally did get brave, find courage, have sex? Will, like this, like they'd been on the couch, with his legs wrapped around Mike as Mike's big hands held his waist, his hips, drove into him and guided him in time with his thrusts.

How would time feel as they made love? Too fast or too slow? Would it freeze? Would it matter? Will's hand sped up. Back arched, neck twisted as he writhed from the pleasure of it all, memory and hand and phantom kisses, cheek against the damp spot on his pillow where he'd mouthed and pretended he could taste Mike instead of the bitter flavor of the old pillowcase, fabric and old sweat and traces of shampoo and his own plain spit.

It was over suddenly, as words echoed around his brain. His orgasm caught him off guard as he conjured the ghost of Mike's mouth on his mouth, the bashful roll of his hips, and the sound of his groan and pretty words against his teeth.

"I like you so much, Will. So much. Could kiss you forever."

And Will had to live now, they both did. There was so much more he wanted to do, a door flung open, unleashing desires stashed inside a lifetime of want.

Will removed his sticky hand from his softening cock and rested his fingers in the mess on his stomach, tracing through pearly white patterns as it dripped into his navel and slid down his side. Unbothered. Out of breath. Smiling in disbelief that Mike was his, and he was Mike's.

He brought his clean hand to his mouth, curled a fist again, and kissed Mike good night. Mouthed his love into his own skin. Wondered if Mike was doing the same in his own bed, thinking of Will and how they couldn't lose each other again. Wanting. Knowing he could be getting it all, within reach.

No disappearing. Solid ground. They were going to make it.

Will had gotten a taste. Wanted more. A lifetime of thinking about never. Real was better. Real was kissing Mike forever. And everything else.

~❤️