#vick makes music

[cuyberpunk]

GUYS I FINSIHED THE LYRICS!!!! TO A SONG I STARTED 5 MONTHS AGOOO

[jennyanypenny]

shes so fun to draw <33 (<- is sick of drawing 30 billion black stripes on everyother cat)

[real-reulbbr-band]

Forgive me if I’m imagining things but that’s Jo Bingham (Etcetera) as Victoria right here right?

Ik Phyllida was pregnant during the filming and that Jo was covering Victoria during pekes and pollicles but damn I thought it was only the part where they put the dog masks on not the whole number. Still very interesting!!!

[cherrycolored-punk]

still frames - bestfriend! e.m. x fem! reader

author’s note: reminiscing about the friend I had in high school, the one who I’d create playlists with and who’d call to play his guitar for me every night. and you can’t tell me that Eddie isn’t the same type of dude. the sweet bits are based on the reminiscing. the rest is pure fiction with our favorite goof. anyways, enjoy!🧡

w/c: 5k

warnings: angst, pining, smut (oral - reader receiving, protected p in v), spanking, teasing, uhhhh let me know if I forgot anything

‼️ THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI ‼️

Raindrops race down your living room window in lines, and you watch them from your spot on the floor. It’s fall, and the lush greens of summer have begun to change color; their leaves now varying hues of orange and yellow. They create a coziness in your apartment, a warmth that feels like it envelops you and is amplified by the scent of your favorite candle; crisp apple, nectar, and warm clove spice fill your lungs with each breath you take.

Eddie lays beside you on his stomach, focusing on his phone and the playlist you created for him.

The playlists were a tradition since middle-school, a way to introduce each other to a new sound or a band the other might not have heard of. For some time, though, you’d been using it to send cryptic messages, and he hadn’t caught on. 

Your crush on Eddie came suddenly but was felt all at once. 

It was a spring morning nearly two years ago, and you’d laid dying in bed, except not really. You just had the flu, but you felt close to death and had texted him as much.

Eddie: what do you need?

You: hit me with your van, stab me in the face…please end my suffering.

He, of course, didn’t grant your wish, but he’d shown up at your apartment after work with a grocery bag full of supplies. Eddie was still wearing his navy coveralls covered in oil and smelled like grease. From what you could smell, anyway. You could barely breathe through your nose.

“I got you theraflu tea, and I don’t want to hear you complain about the taste. You just need to drink it,” he scolded before you could even complain. 

Your jaw snapped shut.

“Also got your favorite soup, four cans,” he held his fingers up, “orange juice, Vicks, popsicles in case your throat hurts, those saltines you like, and,” he turned, “I brought Scream for us to watch since I know it’s your favorite.”

It hit you like a ton of bricks, made your heart stutter, and nearly stop. 

It was the way he was smiling, the familiar excited gleam in his eye as he looked at you. It was the fact that he’d shown up after a twelve-hour shift with all your favorite sick foods in tow. 

Your eyes traced over his face like you were seeing him for the first time. The sharp edge of his jaw, the plump of his lips, the freckles that dotted the slope of his nose, and when did Eddie become so beautiful?

You’d tried blaming it on the fact that less oxygen was getting to your brain and a virus was wrecking your immune system, but now you didn’t have the same excuse. Now you couldn’t look at Eddie without noticing the pinks of his cheeks or the different smiles he had. Couldn’t be around him without yearning to hug him or hold him in a way that didn’t scream just friends.

The past year and a half had been overwhelming, the yearning making you feel hollow. Like if you didn’t say something, it would continue to eat you alive, but telling him ran the risk of ruining the friendship and that was a fate worse than being alone.

You glance over to the playlist he’s listening to, at the song playing, and clench your eyes shut.

Despite the music in your ears, you can hear the song reverberating off the walls of your skull. The one you heard that made you think of him. It plays in your head, having memorized every lyric and the way the singer’s voice influxes with certain words.

Bet you never knew it

Think you’d suit me just fine

And you know he’ll never get it, never know you’re hopelessly in love with him.

You close your eyes and focus on the song, one he chose specifically for you. 

Good Riddance plays soft, a break from the heavy metal he always added but not a song you hadn’t heard before. It brings a sense of nostalgia in the form of a lump in your throat, and you swallow hard, images of high school flashing through your mind like a retro view-master. It feels like yesterday and another lifetime all at once. The plays you were in, the various games you cheered at, going to Corroded Coffin’s shows, staying over at Eddie’s house, the first time he’d convinced you to join a campaign…the face of “I told you so” when you told him you had actually enjoyed it.

Eddie pulls the earbud from your ear, auburn hair tickling you where it meets your bare shoulder and interrupting your reminiscing. You turn to him, curious eyes meeting his steady gaze. 

“What is it?” you question with a quirk of your brow, unable to decipher the expression that colored his features. 

“Curious choice of songs here,” his voice carries a teasing lilt as he turns onto his side, facing you. 

You could feel his gaze on you, searching your features for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. 

“How do you figure?” you turn, matching his pose, and rest your chin on your palm.

Eddie thought for a moment, his eyes turning up and to the left as he searched for the words. 

He looks handsome as ever, pale skin glowing from the light of your candle. Cinnamon eyes lit with a hint of mischief and something you couldn’t name. 

His eyes shift down and meet yours, a broad dimpled smile slotting into place. 

“Something tells me you have a crush on someone,” and your heart practically drops into your ass at his words.

���A crush?” You ask, half-laughing at his accusation in an attempt not to vomit.

“Oh, don’t play coy. Every song on here drones on about love,” he points to his phone, his eyebrows pushed into his bangs. 

“They’re just good songs, Edward,” you shove his head and lay flat on your back, but he follows your movements, hovering over you. Close enough that you can smell the spearmint of his gum and the cologne he wears; musk and smoked suede. It makes your mouth water, his proximity making your heart lurch in your ribcage. 

“I never said they weren’t good, Princess.” 

Your hand reaches out to push his face away at the nickname, but he catches your wrist in his grasp, a cocky smile spreading wide on his lips. 

“What happened to us not questioning the playlist, Munson? Isn’t that rule number one since day one?” You attempt to fight your wrist out of his grasp, but it remains firm. 

“Let go,” you grumble, and he shakes his head.

“Not until you tell me,” he counters.

“Tell you what?” you stop fighting, and your arm falls back near your head, his fingers still wrapped around it as though he were pinning you there. 

“Who is it?” he shrugs, but you don’t miss how his adam’s apple bobs as he asks. 

You wonder if Eddie can hear how your heart hammers, your senses overwhelmed by his sudden inquisition. 

“There isn’t anyone,” but your gaze turns from him, and he knows you’re lying. 

“Not good enough,” he shakes his head.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I need to know,” you look back at him. The need you’d felt for the past year reflected in his gaze.

Time slows.

“Why?” your voice is softer, barely above a whisper. Breath held as you wait for his answer. 

He lets go of your wrist and settles back at your side, reaching for his phone as you watch him. The anticipation of his response pushing you closer to cardiac arrest. 

Eddie pulls out your other earbud and places one of his own in your ear. 

I Want You plays, and you recognize the familiar sound of Mitski’s voice. One that is full of yearning and a palpable sorrow. You look at him with a curious upturn of your brow, a silent question, and he turns the screen of his phone towards you. 

It’s a new playlist, one you hadn’t seen, and it bears a simple title: your name. 

A million thoughts race through your head, but you can’t find the words or the right question. 

“Mitski?” You decide to tease, your cheeks warm as the feelings rush through you. The realization that maybe, just maybe, he loved you too. 

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but it’s full of affection, and his face leans closer—his gaze darts between your eyes and the swell of your lips. 

Your mouth parts in anticipation, eyes fluttering shut as your head lifts to meet him halfway. 

A small gasp escapes your lips at the first contact, his lips softer than you’d ever imagined. Slotting perfectly together with yours. He tasted like the gum he chewed and the soda he’d had; sweeter than you thought he’d be.

Eddie’s hand cups your face, gently holding your jaw as his thumb rubs the apple of your cheek. Holding you almost reverently. 

The kiss deepens as he pulls you on top of him, his tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip, asking for permission. Your tongue swipes against his in response, and you swallow the moan he feeds you - fingers tangling in the fabric of his black t-shirt as he holds you to him. 

His large hand wanders down your back and over the curve of your ass, gripping the dough of it. You can’t help the circle of your hips as you grind against his thigh. Chasing the friction you so desperately need. 

Your lungs begin to ache as the kiss deepens, desperate for oxygen but more so for his touch, and you roll over, pulling his weight on top of you. Enjoying the feel of his body pressed into yours, and his knee slotted between your legs. 

Eddie pulls away, taking a deep breath to fill his burning lungs, and you chase his fleeting lips - eyes still closed. He chuckles, rubbing your cheek affectionately - memorizing the softness of your skin and the warmth of your body underneath him.

You breathe in deeply, gaze finally meeting his, and the first thing you notice is the flush of his cheeks. Then the way his brown eyes are almost obsidian; darkened with need. His nose brushes yours as he leans in for another kiss, just as soft as the first but quick so he can look at you again. 

“Are you finally going to tell me who it is?” He questions, lips hovering over your jaw, and you can barely breathe. Anticipating his touch. 

You shrug your shoulder, not ready to admit to defeat. 

“Couldn’t tell you, just some guy,” you play with the collar of his shirt, acting aloof. 

“Just some guy,” he repeats with a shake of his head, pressing a kiss to the space between your jaw and your ear. 

Your breath comes out shaky, and you can only nod.

“Was hoping it was me, Princess,” he kisses down your neck causing goosebumps to sprout along your arms.

His lips press against the skin of your shoulder, pushing at the strap of your dress with his mouth to nudge it out of the way. 

The curve of his lips is a whisper above your skin, his head dipping down and tracing the tops of your breasts. You arch into his touch, desperate to feel his mouth over every inch of your body. 

He stops abruptly, his head lifting back to hover over yours with a mocking grin. Enjoying how he already affects you, the way you whine when you don’t get what you want. 

“As if you don’t know the answer,” you gruff, and he leans in, shaking his head. 

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers, face inches from yours—a dare. 

The stubborn part of you wants to deny it, wants to keep the secret close in case this was all in jest, but there’s another part that yearns to hear him say it too. To hear him say it back. For it to be more than a private playlist with your name attached.

“It’s you,” and you almost want to disappear. To sink into the floor or to be swallowed whole. Despite the kiss, despite the way his body presses closer to yours when he finally hears you say the quiet part out loud. Saying it out loud made it real, the threat of losing him as a friend more imminent. 

But his mouth is back on yours, more fervent than before. His hand traces up your thigh and grips the soft flesh. Pressing himself against you. 

You kiss him back with just as much need, an eager hand pushing at the hem of his shirt until you feel his skin. The curve of your nails drags lightly down his abdomen, stopping just above his belt. Enjoying the way the coarse hairs that lead into his pants feels against your fingers. Your other hand curls in his hair, holding his face to yours. 

Eddie shudders at the sensation, a small gasp spilling from his lips as they leave yours. You look at him through hooded eyes, a slight grin slotting into place when you notice his flushed cheeks and hair slightly disheveled. 

Energy thrums through you, making your heart pound. God, you want to make him gasp like that again.

“Was that so hard?” He questions, his expression a little cocky despite his breathlessness, and if you weren’t so eager to kiss him again you might just push his face from yours. 

“Shut up,” you say affectionately and kiss him again. 

Soft, sweet. Relishing in the feel of his lips until it isn’t enough. Until the carnal hunger can’t be ignored. 

Your tongue swipes against his lower lip, and you suck it between your own. Swallowing his low moan. The palm of your hand trails lower, small fingers wrapping around his handcuff belt. Breath caught in your throat until it makes your lungs burn, and you pull away. 

Eddie watches you, your slow, languid movements causing him to hold his breath in anticipation. His long, callused fingers push up, up, up until you feel them beneath your panties, matching your pace, creating a line of fire wherever they meet your skin. 

His belt falls open with a rumble of metal, and he presses his forehead to yours; hand gripping your ass, fingers spreading you apart, and edging closer to your center. 

Your palm rubs against his coarse pubic hairs as you slide your hand further into his boxers, a small gasp escaping your lips when your fingers rub against the warm length of his arousal. Eddie is bigger than you had imagined, and you’d spent plenty of time picturing him while in bed. Legs spread and fingers working you over the edge. But this is better than a daydream. 

His cock jumps against your palm as you wrap your fingers along his shaft, exploring the soft skin and the thick vein that lines his length. Your thumb brushes against his tip, collecting the pre-cum that leaks from it. 

Dark eyes watch as you remove your hand and bring your thumb to your mouth, tongue swirling against your digit before sucking it clean. 

A groan escapes Eddie’s lips, his jaw slack. Eyes hooded with need. 

His next movements are fast, quicker than your mind can keep up with.

He flips you onto your stomach, mouth racing down your back eagerly; needy hands pushing the fabric of your dress up until your ass is exposed. 

“This okay,” he questions, fingers hooked on the lace of your panties, and you whine, ass wiggling eagerly beneath him in response. He slaps the fat of it, a cocky laugh falling from his lips, but he wastes no time.

Eddie tosses your panties over his head absently; gaze focused on the swell of your butt. He hooks an arm around your waist and drags you up on all fours until you’re bared to him. His hands are on your ass like an anchor as he dips his head closer. 

The scruff of his beard scrapes against your soft skin, his warm breath felt against your spine. Each kiss is slow and deliberate, felt in your core as his lips trail down the small of your back and over the valley of your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them, revealing the rim of your ass and your glistening cunt. 

“So fucking pretty,” and he practically whimpers at the sight, grabbing his cock to adjust the strain against his jeans. 

He traces his middle finger over your slit and to your bundle of nerves, creating a circle around the bud; a sensation that makes your hips jolt, a soft moan escaping your lips. 

You breathe in sharply when you feel the nudge of his nose against your sex, his tongue swiping along your folds. Savoring the way you taste. 

He teases you, tongue flicking against your clit before swiping towards your aching center and stretching you over his tongue. A guttural moan escapes your lips, your nails digging into the plush of your carpet at the sensation. 

Eddie buries his face deeper, pushing his tongue further into you with a groan that vibrates through you. 

“Oh my god,” you keen, reaching behind and knotting your hands into his hair. You grind against his face, eyes rolling as his tongue darts in and out of your sopping cunt. Fingers pressing into your clit. 

“Fuck,” he moans, voice gruff. 

His tongue laps at your arousal, middle finger prodding your entrance. You release his head, bracing against the carpet. He stretches you inch by inch before adding another, his digits curling inside you. Slowly, he begins to pump them into you, hitting a spot that makes your breath catch in your throat. You clench around him, the orgasm already building.

“Eddie,” you whine, spurring his movements to quicken. For his mouth to wrap around your clit and flick his tongue against it, eager for you to come undone.

You ride his fingers, desperate for the release and out of your mind with need. Body humming, warmed over from the intensity of your arousal.

“Gonna come for me, Princess?” 

You nod your head, pushing your pussy back against him. Desperate for his tongue on your sensitive bud. 

“S-so close,” you stammer. 

Every muscle in your body tenses, and you bury your face in the carpet as the feeling crashes over you. For a moment, you can’t breathe. The moan trapped in your throat and eyes clenched shut until, finally, your center unfurls. 

Your cunt flutters around Eddie’s fingers, and you moan his name as your legs begin to shake, but he doesn’t stop. He continues to pump his fingers into you, groaning at the noise it makes and the way your pussy grips him. His tongue flicks wildly against your clit, eliciting a loud groan to escape from your lips. Your legs shake more intensely as tears spring to your eyes. Bordering overstimulation. 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you beg, and suddenly, he pulls his fingers from you. Fat tongue dragging against your wet heat and savoring every drop of your essence. 

He slaps your ass once. Twice. Leaving kisses where his hands were before and trailing them up your back, pushing the fabric of your dress up with him until he pushes it off entirely. 

He’s bent over you, torso pressed to your back. Hard arousal pressed to your sopping center. Warm breath felt against your neck as he whispers.

“Sound so fucking pretty, want to hear you again. Want to watch you.” 

He presses closer to you so you can feel just how badly he wants you, and you shudder. You match his movements, pushing your ass back against him, turning to watch the way his eyes close and his jaw clenches. 

“Do you have a condom?” You whisper, and his eyes open abruptly, searching yours.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, nodding his head late as though his body was just catching up with his thoughts. 

But he doesn’t move, and it makes you feel shy. A little unsure of yourself. You squirm beneath him and flip over so that you’re face-to-face. 

“We don’t have to,” you rub an absent hand against his face, trying not to think about the fact that you were mostly naked and he was hovering inches from you, fully clothed. 

Eddie shakes his head and leans closer.

“I want to,” he says with more conviction and kisses your cheek, brushing his lips along your jaw. 

“You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to,” he whispers against your neck. 

His tongue swipes along your neck and nips at your soft flesh. A free hand wanders down your side, creating goosebumps in their path. 

“Have you thought of me?” You ask, dragging a hand down his sternum to the top of his still-open jeans. Your voice is teasing, heavy with a flirtation he’d never heard before, and he nods. No longer cocky, hovering above you but entirely at your mercy. 

“What have you thought about?” You push your hand back into his boxers and begin to stroke him, jaw going slack as you watch his eyes flutter shut. 

Eddie groans, the fingers at your side digging into your skin.

“Y-you in my bed,” he stammers, mind occupied by the feeling of your hand wrapped around his dick. Your grip tightens around him, your grasp firm as you pump his cock faster.

“Is that it?” You whisper against his mouth, nipping at the pout of his bottom lip. He follows your mouth as you pull away, and he shakes his head.

“Thought about how good you’d look as I fuck you,” his words are a little breathless, but they cause your thighs to clench. 

The movement isn’t lost on him. It spurs him on, the familiar cocky grin slotting into place—a glint of mischief in his eye. 

“You’ve thought of it too, haven’t you?” His nose brushes yours, lips hovering over your mouth as he waits for your response.

The shudder that runs through your body gives you away, and you nod. Hand still pumping his cock.

Eddie kisses you more tenderly than you expected. His lips soft against your own, relishing the feel of you. 

“How often?” He questions, mouth still hovering over yours. Hand tracing down your thigh and up again.

You try to concentrate, hand still working him but your rhythm unsteady as you debate to tell him the truth. 

“Every day,” you stroke him again, “sometimes twice a day.”

His mouth crashes against yours, all teeth and tongue. Your hand reaches from his boxers and begins to push at his jeans. He helps you, one hand next to your head, holding his weight above you, and the other helping push his jeans until he kicks them off. Eddie sits up and tugs off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his torso—the dark lines against his alabaster skin. You trace your fingertips over them, lips pressing against his chest as he reaches behind you and unclasps your bra. Eddie tosses the fabric aside, eyes fixated on the curve of your tits. 

“Fucking hell,” his voice is low, appreciative, and he reaches out to trace his fingers along your newly exposed skin. Your back arches into his touch, watching his thumb roll against your nipple and pinch the sensitive flesh between his fingers. A moan falls from your lips, and your head rolls back, legs closing around him.

His head dips to your neck, and he kisses down your chest, over the slopes of your breasts. 

Eddie’s tongue flicks and sucks, pulling your nipple between his teeth. One hand gripping your hip and leading you back down until you’re lying beneath him.

He reaches for his jeans and grabs his wallet, pulling a condom out. 

You stop him before he can unwrap it, “Wait.”

“Are you okay?” He stops and watches you with worry.

“Can we,” you pause, “can we go to my room? To the bed?”  

“Afraid of a little carpet burn, Princess?” He teases, and you swat his bicep, pushing at his chest so you can move past him. 

“Shut up, Munson,” you push his face, but he grabs your hand, standing and pulling you along with him. 

You turn from him to walk to your room, and he slaps your ass, causing you to yelp as you run away from him, your giggles filling the apartment. Eddie chases you, hand reaching out to slap your butt cheeks every so often until you reach the room and suddenly turn to face him.

His chest crashes against yours, and your chuckle dies when you look at him again. The desire in his eyes, the blush that’d crept into his cheeks, and the state of his hair. You reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him as he leads you to the bed.

Your back plops against the soft mattress, and he drags your ass to the edge, legs spread wide for him. 

He unwraps the condom and rolls the rubber down his shaft, one thumb drawing circles against your clit. Gathering your slick. 

You pant as he works you up, whining when he stops, only to jolt when his wrapped length rubs against your slick folds. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he inches into you, his eyebrows pushing together as your cunt wraps around his cock.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, gripping your hip with his free hand. 

Eddie is a stretch, but the feel of him pushing into you is delicious - every inch making your toes curl. 

“Oh,” you moan, and it’s all you can manage. Words turning to nonsense once he’s fully seated inside of you. 

He leans down and kisses you, lips hard against yours as his hips roll into you. His rhythm starts slow, pumping into you at a languid pace. Savoring the way you feel, the way your moans sound, and your naked chest feels pressed to his. 

His movements quicken, the snap of his hips growing louder as he juts into you. You pull away from his lips and dig your nails into his bicep. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes focused on where your bodies are connected. Watching the way your pussy sucks him in, clenches perfecting around his shaft, and the image of you draws him closer to the edge. 

Eddie pushes off the mattress, straightening your legs until they’re pressed against his torso, one foot resting on either side of his head. He has the perfect view of you; the bounce of your tits as he ruts into you, the way your mouth hangs open, and your eyes are entirely focused on him. 

He pounds his dick into you, one hand moving between your legs and drawing circles against your bud. 

“Eddie, ahh, oh fuck-” you grip his forearm as he continues to thrust every inch of his cock in and out of your sensitive cunt. 

“You like that, baby?” and you nod.

“Say it,” he groans, hips stuttering as he nears his pinnacle. 

“Feel so good, Eddie,” you moan, and the way you say his name makes him clench his jaw. Trying his best to maintain composure until you come.

“Going to come for me, sweetheart?” and it sounds like a demand. Your nails dig into his skin as you nod. 

Your eyes trace down his body, watching the movement of his hips and the way your ass reverberates with each movement. The image of him, the erotic sound of skin on skin, bringing you closer.

“Please,” you beg, back arching off the bed as you get closer. The rubber band at your center stretching thin and ready to snap.

Your legs fall from his shoulders and hook around his waist, pulling him closer. Deeper. Exactly where you need him. The tip of his cock nudges your spongy center, the orgasm building with each rock of his hips until it’s enough.

His name is on your lips like a prayer, vision white as the intensity of the orgasm pulses through you. 

“Baby,” he groans, the grip your pussy has on him causing his hips to stutter and the muscles in his abdomen to tighten as he reaches his peak. His hands grip your thighs, his dick twitching inside you as he spills into the condom.

You come down for your orgasm and watch him through hooded eyes—the flush of his pale skin, the sharp edge of his jaw.

So fucking pretty.

He releases his grip on your thighs and slowly inches out of you. 

You whine at the loss, already needy for more, and he gives you a cocky smirk. Eddie presses a quick kiss to your lips before disappearing down the hall, and you listen as the faucet squeaks, then off before he returns. 

He approaches you with a warm washcloth, and wipes your center before discarding it into your nearby hamper. 

You pull him forward, resting his weight against your body. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence. The only sound filling the room is your heavy breaths and the faint thrums of your hearts. 

“That was-,” and he can’t finish the sentence. Unable to find the right string of words.

Eddie pushes his weight off you, balancing on his hands and meeting your gaze. He leans closer, his nose tracing yours, and he kisses you softly—a hum vibrating against your lips when he releases your mouth.

“Decent,” you shrug and roll your eyes affectionately. Falling into your usual teasing.

“That was some of my best work, babe,” he gasps, feigning shock. Hand to his chest as he stands straight. 

Your heart skips at the nickname, but you try to hide it. Babe. 

“Guess you’ll have to show me again,” you shrug and push yourself further onto the bed. 

Eddie raises a devious brow and follows your movements, his body inching forward as yours inches back. 

“I can show you again,” he kisses you, “and again,” he kisses you once more, “as many times as it takes to convince you,” he promises.

[luvmahae]

john summit fanboys!

‣ haechan: nu chi theta's very own wild card! a public relations major, known for his big flirt energy, people love him for his confidence and unapologetically bold personality—he’s just him. literally the life of the party, usually the one who stands out because of how obnoxiously loud he is. music festivals are practically his second home; catch him either riding the rail or vibing back with his frat bros. with him, expect the unexpected; he's always full of surprises.

‣ mark: the frat's resident house dj of nu chi theta, a marketing major who wants to be john summit so bad according to haechan. he literally bought lasers off ebay just for their frat house. he's the guy everyone likes without trying. the frat's laid-back heartthrob, the one that can make everyone feel comfortable even if he's more reserved than his wilder friends. maybe one day he'll be headlining a festival... who knows!

‣ jaemin: the frat's smooth-talking communications major and surprisingly the king of rage cage! the highest body count in the group (insane). with a smile that could probably talk its way out of a speeding ticket, he's the guy everyone crushes on. the resident designated driver because he loves showing off his modded car. he literally wants a girlfriend but is absolutely terrified of commitment... but are we surprised? no.

‣ jeno: the ultimate double threat in the frat: a kinesiology major who's literally a frat bro and a gym bro... double whammy! with his build, who doesn't want a shoulder ride from him? he's the one in charge of bringing the goodies to events or to any party if you know what i mean. the resident rave dad, usually the one who holds the totem and has a fanny pack of just the essentials. vicks? gum? the fan? count on jeno.

‣ jisung: the computer science major who went through the key club to frat boy life pipeline. the smartest in the group obviously; i mean, how is he keeping up with classes with these events? he might be the complete opposite of his big (haechan), but they just mesh so well. if he's not partying, he's gaming in his room! not picking up the phone? just message him on discord.

introducing the gamma alpha class of nu chi theta! these fratboys formed their friend group during their freshman year, when they all rushed for the same fraternity. they bonded fairly quickly during pledge week, going through hell and back to get where they are now. shoutout to our sexy pledge dads jaehyun and johnny for crossing these idiots! from that point on, their lives became a wild ride of house parties, club events, and most importantly: brotherhood. jisung joined the fraternity later on and was picked up by none other than lee haechan, sealing their place as the ultimate big/little duo. now, their days are filled with unforgettable nights of partying, drinking, and endless hookup stories—living their best frat life, one rager at a time.

masterlist — yn's group — intro

notes: i rly hope u guys enjoy this!! crying because the bios make me wanna ??? </3 BUT I LIVE FOR IT.... also if anyone has questions about raving and stuff related to it, pls let me knowww omg!!

[paladin--strait]

congrats on 100 followers!!!!!!!!

can i request prompt no. 1 with quinn hughes?

my bedroom is cold despite my sweating body. i'm covered in a blanket, which is exactly what my mom told me not to do if i had a fever when i would get sick as a child.

theres vicks vapo rub on my upper lip right beneath my nose and there's some on my chest too. i hope it'll open up my sinuses but i think i've used it so much these past few days that my nose is now immune to the strong smell of it.

i have a random tv show running on the television and soft ambient music playing in the background. thankfully, i can get my work done from home so i won't be losing any money. this packet of paperwork is taking hours and hours and it feels like it's never going to end.

i groan and throw my head back when i realize i have one more page left. but i gasp in shock when i hear my bedroom door creak open. i look behind me and i see quinn looking at me with a sad smile. "hey baby. i called your name a couple times but i guess you didn't hear me. how are you feeling?" he takes a couple steps forwards and sits beside me on the bed.

"quinn! i'm sick. you shouldn't get near me!" i say, the congestion making my voice sound all funny and nasally. "you have to play tomorrow. what are you doing here anyway?"

"baby, i don't care how sick you are. i'm gonna be here to check on you and take care of you." he tells me with soft and reassuring smile before he puts the back of his hand up to my forehead. "oh my god, you're burning up! you need to get out from under the covers." he grabs at my blanket, slowly pulling it away.

i grab at it quickly. "no! i'm cold!" i put the blanket back on and wrap myself in it. "please don't take my blanket..." i look at him with a soft look, my cheeks flushed red from my fever.

"fine. but please just promise me that you'll go without it later? i have to leave to go to practice later today. i wanna see it off of you when i come back home tonight." he says sternly. i know he means well, but i'm just so cold.

"okay...you sound like my mom right now. she used to tell me the same thing." i say, unwrapping just enough to reach over and shut off my computer after saving my work so far.

"so she's told you the same thing and you still didn't listen?" he says, looking at me with those eyes that make me agree that he's right every time he looks at me with them. "and you're working? i thought you called out? you need to stop and get some rest, my love." he stands, walking over the the other side of the bed and grabbing my laptop before he puts it on my dresser on the opposite side of the bedroom.

i groan out, my shoulders slumping. "but i can't just not do my work, i told them i would!"

"honey, you know i love you, but you look like death right now. i'm sure they'll understand if you don't get it all done." he says, putting his hands on his hips. "when you feel better, i try and help you finish it up. you tell me what to write and i'll type away. hold on, let me go get this medicine for you." he walks out of the bedroom and presumably to the kitchen.

i sit up in bed more when i see him walk in with one of those little measuring cups full of blue liquid and glass of water. "take this, it'll make you feel better."

i whimper and turn my head away from him. i know what that medicine tastes like and i think i'm gonna throw up if it even gets near me. "baby, i love you but don't make me shove this down your throat." i roll my eyes and look back at him. i know he would actually do it, so i hold out my hand to grab the little cup before i pour it into my mouth and swallow it quickly, trying to get rid of the disgusting taste as fast as possible with the cold water.

i cough when i pull the glass of water away from my lips. "there you go...see? that wasn't so bad!" quinn smiles at me as he speaks.

"you're not the one who had to drink it." i fire back, looking at him with slotted eyes.

he gives me a suprised look at my words, grabbing the cup from my hand and taking it into the kitchen to wash it out. i hear the beep of the microwave before he come back into the bedroom. he has a red and white bowl in his hands, the bottom covered with a blue potholder. "you need to eat. it'll help settle your stomach. you told me your stomach was hurting this morning when i called, so i figured you hadn't been eating properly. it's chicken noodle from chick-fil-a, the one you love so much? please eat it."

i smile at him and thank him for the food when he sets it on my lap. i grab the plastic spoon, filling it with soup and bringing it up to my mouth, eating it slowly. "thank you, quinny. can you get me some crackers?"

"babe, i don't think that's the best idea. it won't be good for your throat." he explains, sitting beside me.

"i want to put it in the soup and let the crackers get soggy. that's how i like it..." i say, looking at him softly. quinn hums in understanding and runs to the kitchen to get the crackers, coming back and breaking them up into my soup. "thank you!" i say happily, the congestion still evident in my voice.

quinn sits beside me while i eat, putting on our tv show that we started watching together. he turns off the ambient music and turns the fan on, putting it on the lowest setting. after i finish eating, i snuggle up to quinn, "i'm sorry if i get you sick..." he shakes his head and gives me a kiss on the forehead.

"it's alright honey, i don't care." he smiles and holds me closer to him. "just as long as my baby is okay."

[vickracker]

🚨🚨🚨(WARNING: THIS TWEET CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM THE LEAKS OF HAZBIN HOTEL SEASON 2, IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THEM I ASK YOU DON'T WATCH IT, THANK YOU)🚨🚨🚨

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Hi guys Vick Racker here, I just came to share some thoughts and theories about the Hazbin Hotel leaks just to chat and exchange ideas with you,however I've been thinking 2 things about this:

1-What would Alastor's powers be like if he had never met Rosie?

2- His relationship with Vox is more complicated and sad along with this fact.

Well, let's begin!

1

Independent Alastor:

As those who saw them know, Alastor gave his soul to Rosie in exchange for power to protect himself from the demons of hell,giving him the powers we know in the voodoo magic series, as well as in the story that Minzy tells, he overthrew the ancient overlords of hell and is known by everyone as "The Radio Demon". However, I've been thinking to myself what Alastor's powers would be if he had never met Rosie and sold his soul to her?

(rant: VALUE YOURSELF MAN, DON'T LET THIS WOMAN MAKE YOU HER SLAVE, EVEN WITHOUT THESE POWERS YOU ARE STILL THE FUCKING AWESOME RADIO DEMON!!!)

taking a deep breath 😤😩

As revealed to us in Alastor's life before his death, he was a charismatic, charming, handsome radio broadcaster (I loved his human form, I won't forgive Vivienne Medrano with his demonic design that doesn't even come close to being as perfect), but he also practiced voodoo trying to access the other side, practicing rituals and having that radio to try to communicate, in addition to the fact that he was a cannibalistic serial killer.

Putting this information together, I believe that his powers would have voodoo traits, but not in such a blatant way (I think this is on Rosie's part) he would be more inclined to the voodoo practitioner than I don't know his demonic form with seams that looks like a voodoo doll that someone else could do whatever they want with him, anyway what I'm saying is, his powers would be very different because they are HIS and not GIVEN FROM SOMEONE, they would have their own traits, but his main powers would be radio, a little more evident, not only in his voice or the bugs he makes when someone tries to record him or watches him on TV in the Vox case, but mainly his power of radio waves that could be more powerful and with his charm attracting people (a little similar to Vox and his televisions but different), cheering people up, convincing them or even transporting energy what radio waves do in real life, which in my theory about the end of Hazbin Hotel he could use this power to transfer a battle song sung by him, by Charlie and all the hotel staff, making the demons stronger for the imminent war between heaven and hell, since it is a musical and is one of the main points of the radio playing music.

Even though it does not have the same impact as him with the powers GIVEN BY ROSIE, he could indeed protect himself and become an overlord and continue with his sadistic fun. (the guy doubts himself a lot) In addition to having powers like a deer, the horns, the senses, the jumps that deer make, etc.

His appearance would also change, I think he has his hair cut like that and the costume like that to be more presentable for the cannibal city, otherwise he would have his curly hair with the red that represents the blood from his head after he was shot in the forehead, his costume would have more characteristics of his New Orleans radio broadcaster costume,also keeping the mustache and wearing the glasses he wore in life. I think the monocle is more from Rosie's time than his time in the 1930s.

2

More Complicated and Sad 📻💔📺

Now going back to the friendship between Alastor and Vox, along with this information it could be the saddest and most complicated friendship in this series, since Alastor made that deal to protect himself from the demons of hell that are more powerful than him.

(I could even make an analogy to powerful white men who could do whatever they want and he would have no chance of competing for being a black man, and to make matters worse he appealed to Rosie, a white woman, to have her powers and survive in the face of those predators and he would be a "deer" a prey).

Counting all the suffering he went through with Rosie and taking away Minzy who they knew in life and also taking away the people at the Hotel, Vox would then be the only demon in all of hell that Alastor really trusted and allowed himself to be his friend to the point of taking a picture of him without those bugs, seeing that this photo was taken from a camera from the 50s or 60s, since Vox probably died in the 50s, because at that time TV gained strength to become what it is today, that is, they were very close, in the episodes of season 1 there are several scenes of them that parallel each other, indicating even more the closeness of both.

But unfortunately, this trust of years was broken by their fight that I theorize was not only because of Valentino and the alliance between them, but also because he changed both in appearance and personality, becoming blinded by power ( Power that Alastor also longed for,but we both know how is ending),success and fame, and this affected Alastor because he no longer recognized him as if that old friend was slowly disappearing, thus refusing to join the Vees and this friendship ended as it did and the two became enemies of each other.

The phrase that Vox always says:

"trust us"

never made so much sense. 😢💔

[pinkslipxox]

Hola mami what about when there on vacation with Miko they have a whole day planned and back at their sweet there’s a jacuzzi and they make out and take it to the room for a smut. 🙈🙈

hola mi amor! Oooh yesss hope you like it ☺️🙈

——————————————————————————

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, the sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore, the warm air carrying an hint of salt from the sea as the scent mingled with the tropical flowers that bloomed beautifully. You sat in the jacuzzi with your wife, Miko, who was sitting across from you, exchanging light banter and laughter as the two of you relaxed in the warm water. Today had been full of spontaneous adventures and lasting memories that only Puerto Rico had the power to provide.

You couldn’t help but blush at the way Miko was looking at you, her tattooed arms resting casually on the rim, her brown hair slicked back and glistening in the fading light. Her blue eyes were glowing with mischief, and it made your heart flutter as you had a knowing feeling of where the rest of the night was heading. And you couldn’t wait.

“Ven aquí, pequeña,” Miko murmured, her voice dipping into a more sultry tone. The way she said 'pequeña' wrapped around you like a warm embrace, stirring something deep inside her. It was your favorite nickname.

Her eyes never left yours as you moved across the jacuzzi, the water gently sloshing about, and Miko instantly pulled you to her lap. Your thighs on either side of her, arms wrapped lightly around her neck, her grip tight on your waist.

“Hi, baby,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips as you realized just how close to two were, the usual playful atmosphere shifting into something more intimate.

“Hola, mi amor,” Miko purred, her hands slowly caressing your sides, making goosebumps form on your soft skin. Her lips brushed against yours, softly, almost teasingly, igniting a spark inside you. “No tienes ni idea lo hermosa te vez ahora mismo.”

You smirked. “Enlighten me, Vick.”

In an instant, Miko captured your lips in a passionate kiss, and you responded with the same eagerness. The kiss deepened, a beautiful blend of urgency and tenderness. Miko pulled you closer, your bodies gliding against one another as the water swirled around the two of you, it’s warm contrasting with the heat building in your core. You melted into the kiss, your soft moans swallowed by your wife’s mouth as you interviewed your fingers into Miko’s damp hair.

“Mi Y/N…” Miko growled as her lips trailed from your mouth and to your jaw, planting soft kisses along her skin, making your head spin and small gasps escape your lips.

“Miko…” you whimpered, tilting your head to give her more access. “Por favor…”

“Puedo, mami?” Miko’s husky voice was like music to your ears as she gently played with the stings of your bikini.

You nodded, almost frantically, and Miko freed your breasts from the piece of fabric that covered them. Miko wasted no time into taking one into her mouth, sucking gently as she swirled her tongue around your hardened nipple, as she took your other breast in her beautifully tattooed hand and massaged the soft flesh in a delicious circular motion. You tossed your head back in pleasure, encouraging Miko to continue.

“Eres tan hermosa, Y/N,” Miko praised as she planted kisses on the valley of your breasts, gently nipping the skin there before soothing the sting with her tongue. She then began to give the same delightful treatment to your other breast, sucking on it, her warm tongue lapping around your nipple as she gripped your other breast that was in her mouth earlier.

“Más… más…” you moaned, the ache between your legs beginning to feel unbearable. She always had this effect on you. And you loved it.

Miko molded her lips onto your again, hungrily, desperately, and never once breaking the kiss, she lifted you in her arms, your legs wrapped around her waist and took you out of the jacuzzi. She laid you down on the bed, neither of you caring that you were both wet from the waist down, and she hooked her fingers on your bikini bottom and peeled it off. You began to grind your pussy against her thigh, moaning at the friction, reliving the ache for a moment before Miko halted your movements.

“Tú eres mía,” Miko growled, her dark eyes filled with lust while she pinned you down gently but firmly. Her mouth traveled down your neck, making you moan and your eyes flutter closed, your chest brushing against hers as you become more desperate to feel close to her.

“Miko, please… make me yours,” you gasped, arching your back, your clit throbbing for attention.

Miko’s hands found their way to your thighs, her fingers digging in just enough to elicit a soft gasp from you. “Just relax, mami,” Miko instructed, her tone both commanding and tender. “I got you.”

With that, Miko leaned in, her lips finding your soft skin, starting at your thighs and working their way higher. She took her sweet time teasing you, purposely avoiding your clit, and you squirmed underneath her. Then, after what it felt like an eternity later, her tongue met your bundle of nerves, licking and sucking your bud like a lollipop. You reached down and tangled your fingers in Miko’s hair, pulling her closer, deeper, urging her on. Miko groaned, sending the vibrations right to your pussy, much to your delight.

“Más, por favor,” you begged, your voice trembling with need.

Miko obliged to your pleas, your moans and gasps echoing the room as you got lost in the overwhelming sensation as Miko’s mouth continued its skilled work, your body and mind spiraling into pure bliss. Your hips instinctively rocked to the rhythm of your wife's tongue, every movement making her taste you at a new angle, making you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Carajo, you taste so good, baby,” Miko murmured against your skin, her voice filled with raw hunger. You could feel and hear that damn smirk of hers against your core. “I could do this all night.”

“I can’t— don’t stop… please, Miko,” you whimpered, your vision blurring, your legs shaking as your orgasm consumed you.

Before you knew it, you cried out in pleasure as you came undone, your wife drinking in all your sweetness until every last drop was swallowed. Miko, her eyes hooded and glowing with pride, kissed your lips, whispering sweet nothings to you in English as Spanish as you recovered from your high. Nothing else mattered in that moment, only you and Miko.

Best vacation ever.

[aloysiavirgata]

(if you are accepting prompts!) what iffffff you wrote a soft gentle little fic in which Scully has a spectacularly unlovely head cold and after some grouching Mulder looks after her? There are so many moments of peril on x files that sometimes it’s nice when the enemy is just a simple rhinovirus, lol.

He doesn’t even attempt to make it himself. Calls ahead to Loeb’s with his order, which he accepts from a stylish young Mexican man whose name tag reads Pierre.

“A sheynem dank,” Mulder says, echoing the grandmother who called Samantha a shaineh maideleh.

Pierre nods. “Bitte, baby,” he says. “De nada.”

***

Mulder clomps up her stairs with Puritan determination. He feels that since he did not cook the food himself he must exert some other effort for it. His soul is at eternal war with itself.

He doesn’t knock; lets himself in with the Home Depot key Scully had made for him around the time that Tooms wanted into her pants for all the wrong reasons. It sticks a little still, even after so many years. He’s rarely had to use it - when aren’t they together?

A hacking noise from her bedroom, something wet being coughed. Spat.

Mulder helps himself to a bowl, a plate, a spoon.

“I’b arbed,” she rasps from down the hall. “I’b a Federal Agent.”

“Don’t shoot,” Mulder calls back, hunting down a napkin. “I am a poor boy from a poor family.” Her mother wears Revlon and his wears Guerlain.

He tips some soup and two of the matzo balls into a bowl, wedges one of the challah rolls next to it. He puts the leftovers in the fridge.

Mulder carries the plate down the hall, the nearly-full bowl sloshing dangerously atop.

He enters Scully’s bedroom. She’s been upgrading over the past couple of years, replacing her IKEA basics with good secondhand finds in cherry and walnut. The candle she’s lit smells like white flowers with thick, creamy petals.

Scully is tucked into bed like an Austen heroine, all delicate pallor and genteel unhappiness. Her nose is pink-tipped and raw, hair in a ponytail. She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt instead of her usual pajamas.

Mulder sets the food down on her nightstand, next to a vase of dried roses and her Yaqui slide holster. A speed loader. There’s a well-framed Monet print over the bed.

Pat Conroy’s Beach Music is open face down on her lap, surrounded by crumpled tissues. She doesn’t look happy to see him, her purple-shadowed eyes narrowing a bit.

“Go away,” she says. Sneezes.

“Brought you some soup,” he says, unnecessarily. Points at it, also unnecessarily.

“Bulder,” she sniffs. “Go hobe. I don’t like being fussed over. I hab a cold, dot Ebola.”

“Too bad,” he says. “I’m going to. Do you have Vick’s Vapor Rub? You really should have Vick’s Vapor Rub.”

She closes her eyes. Pinches the bridge of her nose, centering herself. “It’s dot your fault I’b sick,” she says, looking back over at him after a moment.

“I dragged you into the woods again. You fell down a hole full of corpses! You’ve been in remission for like…twenty minutes.” He jabs the spoon at her.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t get a cold frob being in the woods. Or frob being chilly. You get a cold frob a virus.”

He feigns outrage. “Excuse me, but are you contradicting noted excellent mother-slash-world-class-epidemiologist Doctor Teena Mulder MD?”

This sends Scully into a flurry of coughing. She swats at him in annoyance. “Ugh,” she says at last. “You see why I can’t hab you here, you’re a lousy durse.”

Mulder takes her hand, pale as a kid glove. He shoves the spoon into it, squeezes her fingers about the handle. “Eat the soup or I’m calling your mom. I’m calling BILL.”

She narrows her eyes again. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think you’re well aware that I’m capable of being overly dramatic when the wind is southerly and the fancy strikes.” He holds the plate before her like an offering to a goddess.

Scully considers him. “You did get us out ob the teabwork sebidar,” she observes. “Techdically.”

“I did,” he agrees.

“You bade be sing,” she adds. Reproachful.

He grins. “The angels all were singing out of tune, And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, Or curb a runaway young star or two.”

Scully looks at the spoon in her hand for the first time, as though wondering how it got there.

“Byron,” she says, a little smile. She picks up the roll, examines it. Peers at the soup. Sneezes again. “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Caroline Lamb,”Mulder replies. He doesn’t point out that Caroline Lamb had been Byron’s lover, that she’d sent him a clipping of her pubic hair in the mail. He certainly doesn’t think of the juncture between Scully’s thighs at all, whether it matches the drapes, whether it tastes like kettle corn and Vineyard whitecaps in July. Lobster rolls and saltwater taffy.

He’d meant it, about the sleeping bag. He wishes there had been a sleeping bag and he is so, so grateful there was no sleeping bag.

Scully sniffles again, defeated. “You got be batzo ball soup?”

He thumbs an escaped tendril of hair back from the sweep of her extraordinary cheekbone.

“I did,” he murmurs back. He sets the plate down between them. He peels the roll open, yeasty and fragrant, and dunks it into the golden broth.

He raises it to her mouth.

Scully sucks at it, draws it past her lips. She bites. Chews, swallows. She holds his eyes with hers. She catches an escaped droplet with her tongue.

“Good,” she mumbles. Watches him dip the dry part back into the bowl. “Thank you.”

He feeds her another bite. Her mouth opens like a snapdragon, like an oyster in the tide. She drops her gaze this time. Her guard.

They complete the entire roll this way, and one matzo ball. Silent, slurpy. Scully’s lids droop, her lashes brushing her cheeks.

“Sleepy,” she mumbles, curling onto her side. Her paperback falls to the floor.

Mulder returns the food to the night table. He strokes her hair until she’s out cold, snoring a little. He curls into the bed as well, his nose to hers. He touches her philtrum with his pointer finger. He traces the tender pink whelk of her ear.

They sleep for hours until she coughs awake, gasping, her thin chest heaving. Mulder rubs circles between her scapulae.

“Go hobe,” she says, knees drawn, leaning against his chest. “You deed to sleep.”

He puts his arms around her, drops a kiss on her tangled head. “Okay,” he agrees.

She’s out again in moments. He holds her upright until he drifts off as well.

They sleep until morning. He feeds her soup for breakfast, calls into work with a case of Ebola.

[rooftopbeliver]

‘dangerously yours’ .ೃ࿐ ❝prologue❞

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　° cillian murphy x f! reader

. . .

Y/N HAS A ONE DREAM since her childhood. she wanted to do something for her great-grandmother, even if she is no longer in this world. she wanted to thank her for her motivation and inspiration to be an actress. her great-grandmother was a fantastic woman who didn’t care about opinions; she was doing everything she wanted to. inga — because that was her name — wanted to be an actress, but nobody wanted her, but she didn't lose hope. gladly, one day she was asked by vicks matinee theatre to be the main ‘actress’ in every sunday’s afternoon broadcast streaming on radio called ‘dangerously yours’. of course, she said yes to this.

inga’s voice was in every episode, but she never played the same character. that was also why she loved that show so much. the stories were always so romantic but also dramatic and adventurous. it was harder than just acting in movies because you needed to express all of your emotions just with your voice because listeners didn’t see your face. but she loved doing it; it was her comfort show. they recorded sixteen episodes, but today people can find only thirteen of them.

y/n loved to listen to this show as a kid because it was the only memory she had of her great-grandmother. she was in love with inga’s voice and her expression skills. when y/n turned twelve and was more aware of what she wanted to do in the future, she started to write a script inspired by ‘dangerously yours’. of course, it wasn’t the best because she was just a child, but she was proud of the idea, and she dreamed of a movie based on this broadcast. she wanted to produce it. and this dream has been with her to date.

. . .

when y/n turned sixteen, she started to take her ‘job’ more seriously; she even had a list of actors she wanted to see in her show. she has an actor for every role, but she still doesn’t have a main male character. she has known so many great actors, but nobody has really matched her ideal. then she started to watch with her mother a new series ‘peaky blinders’ and she saw him. cillian murphy he was her ideal for this role (maybe not just for a role). eight years have passed since then, and she still wants cillian in her production. she was watching every movie he appeared in; she knew that only he would play this character like she wanted to.

when she finished high school, she went to acting school. she felt alive when she was acting; she loved it, and she had stronger motivation to make her dreams come true. she knew that she could make it happen. her teachers said that she is a great actress, and she just thanked her great-grandmother for that because she was an inspiration when she was performing. after finishing her acting studies, she started to learn how to write a script more professionally because she wanted everything to be perfect. it needs to be perfect.

. . .

now we are in 2021, and her dream has started to come true. with her mother's help, she found the director who wanted to make this show, and she started working with professional people who knew how to do a good movie and how to have all the actors from her list here, and everything seems to be working. almost every actor loved the idea for the plot and agreed to play in this show; the only actor that didn’t answer was cillian murphy. the man she needed the most in this production was him; without him, she didn’t want this series because nobody else would play the main character as he did. but she didn’t lose hope; she just patiently waited for him to answer the proposal.

the music for the movie she had since 2016, and she couldn’t be happier when lana del rey accepted the offer to do a few songs for this show. y/n thinks that she was perfect for this, and she couldn’t imagine any other person doing half of the soundtrack but lana. y/n cannot believe that her dream was just coming true, that all the plans she made as a kid worked, and that she is about to do a series with real and popular actors; it was just too perfect.

she was happy, of course, but still, she didn’t have cillian as a main character, and just at the moment when she was about to search for another man to play this character, her casting producer walked into her room with a big smile.

“cillian agreed to play this role”

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ thank you for attention!! ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

note: i hope that you will love this series. im so excited for this and i hope you are too!

[toiletwipes]

Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

MOUTH SO SWEETLY TELLING LIES — PART TWO

5k words. / [Two months after the festival you're left in the dust of what to do with yourself when you've been ghosted by a really cute guy. Depression hits and it's not a good mix.] [watch out for self-deprecation, slight suicidal ideation, kind of an unhealthy relationship brewing out of pain]

Part 1 — Masterlist

fic title from Lovesong by The Cure but the chapter title is from Cut by The Cure

thank you @drop-of-void for proof-reading!! and i'm tagging some lovely folks now. @sleeby-anon @loversj0y @struggling-with-delia @l0veb0mb1ng @boiled-onionrings

xxxx

After the first month, it’d been easy to slip into the same old routine. Wake up too early, stare at the wall until your alarm goes off, manage either the longest shower ever or brush your teeth, then go to work and come home exhausted. Maybe eat. Stare at the wall a little more, go to bed. Music was optional.

And Seff wasn’t having it after the second.

“If men do this to you, then they don’t deserve you.” You grunted, listening to him ramble as you sat on the couch, arms feeling like noodles as you fold towels that sat on your bed a little too long, with Seff mopping your floor, the rugs rolled up and against the wall. The room smelt like fabuloso. “I’m serious. They don’t get to have a great night, express that they want to get to know you more, exchange numbers and then do jackshit with it.” He stops mopping, opting to lean against the length of it, eyes staring straight at you. You don’t make contact.

“Well it’s not up to me what they do, remember?” It’s hard not to be mean about this, you’re all too aware that when men do this, it’s not your fault. (...Entirely.)

“Vividly.” He says, before finishing up the last corner and putting the mop back in the bucket and putting it off by the laundry room. When he joins you, you’re halfway done. He helps you with the rest of the towels, getting you off the couch and forcing you to tuck the towels into the cabinets. When you get back almost ten minutes later, you find the living room fan turned on high and the floor drying faster, Seff himself back on the couch with gummy candy. He offers some to you when you join him on the couch. You dig a hand into the bag and pop them into your mouth, chewing on them as you let the cleanliness of the place wash over you.

“Doing anything feels like I’m moving through- through a thick goo, like tar. And I can’t get out of it.” The words come out only a smidge louder than a whisper but it was so loud between the two of you. Seff doesn’t say anything. So you continue. “It wasn’t… just him. It was all of those guys. Like, how could all of them have one night and change their mind so fast, like it wasn’t real for any of them.” But it was him. He was the last straw. He made the choice to come up to you and spend the last of the festival with you, it was him that wanted your number. It was all him and then- and then- tears prick your eyes again.

And it was him again, ghosting you, just like the others. They were so different from each other, how could they all do the same thing? There had to be a reason and the only logical one is that it was you. They regretted what they did, what they said, and they regret you.

You feel the hazy feeling wash over you, the tar-like substance coating your limbs and mind as Seff hums, wrapping an arm around you. He knew you so well, you wondered why he stayed. “They’re jackasses, don’t forget that, no matter how nice they were or how they smiled at you, they decided that being a coward was easier, it had nothing to do with you.” You nod, not really listening… but still, it’s a little nice to hear the words. Even if they didn’t stick like they should’ve.

He rubs your shoulder, offering you more candy and letting it sit in his lap when you decline. “Here, let’s finish up cleaning and then you hop in the shower. Vick wants you over for dinner tonight, she’s making your favorite, okay?” You nod, Vick was always so nice and sweet to you, snarky towards her husband. And on good days it didn’t hurt to be around them, to see them in love like crazy people.

“How’d you do it?” You don’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, foreign and sickly tasting. He hums, sighing as he breathes out while he looks around the apartment.

“How’d I do what?” He asks.

“How’d you know it was her, I mean, you guys moved so fast, how did you- just- how?” Words failed you and you wanted answers but even on autopilot, you’re unsure of what you want to know. Of what you want to hear.

Silence grows as he mulls over the answer. Then he starts standing, getting you up on your feet with him, speaking as he pushes you to the shower, “I’ll tell you when you’re done, how about that?” He smiles as you reach the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, turning to him helplessly as you shiver.

He’s about to close the door when you stop him, reaching out with a hand. He stands there, unmoving, eyes moving up to meet yours and you gulp.

“Thanks.”

He smiles and he shuts the door with a click.

You undress, making no attempts to look at the mirror as you step into the shower, closing the curtains. The water hits your scalp and you try to picture your ails being washed away with the oils in your hair. You try to follow your old routine as best as you can but when thirty minutes pass and all you have to show for it is clean hair and nothing else, you turn the shower off. You’ll take a win where you can. You don’t entirely know it’s been thirty minutes to be fair, but when the water turns from hot to cold you can take the hint it’s time to get out.

Getting dressed and drying your hair with a shirt, you exit your room to find Seff on the couch, finishing the bag of gummy candy off. The corner of your lips twitch up as you toss the shirt at his head, snorting when he shouts and somehow falls onto the ground. “And after all that I’ve done for you!” He says as he wrenches the shirt off his head, throwing it right back at you. “I’ve rolled the rugs out AND I’ve got your bag and keys, and this is the thanks I get?!” A small smile plays on your face, wrapping your arm around his neck in a limp headlock as he continues to mumble about how unfair it was.

“Come on, you big baby, let’s get you back home to Vick,” and at the mention of his wife, he perks right up, handing your things over as he rushes to the door. You follow after him but as you lock the bottom lock, you hear a banging on your window. Your head snaps to the living room, just barely catching the dimmed blue sky of the night, nothing to be seen in the glass. You’d check it out but then you hear Seff call for your name. Turning away, you finish locking your door, following your best friend down the stairs and breathing in and out as your thoughts try to race ahead of you. Despite the genuine fear of a burglar… you couldn’t be bothered to worry too hard about it. One, there wasn’t a thing you could do now, pulling the seat belt over you as Seff started the engine. Two, and you’re sure it’s a bad thought but your mental health has never been known to be particularly okay, but you almost hope there’s somebody waiting for you. Whether they’d kill you immediately or to kidnap you, you’re clueless to which you want more, both are fine options. Maybe torture. Maybe you’d come out of this haze your mind seems to be stuck in.

You hardly notice the car parking, only when the door unlocks and you, automatically, take your seat belt off, opening the door and watching with blinking eyes as Vick, the beautiful woman she is, finds the two of you and hugs both at the same time. It’s a nice hug. Her soap smells nice. Makes you feel sleepy again.

Dinner is filled with laughs and despite your small fears, she doesn’t bring up Wilbur and she doesn’t bring up anybody and she doesn’t say that you deserve better. She just finds ways to make you laugh, make you gasp with the drama she’s heard, helps you with setting the table as Seff finishes off the toasted bread.

Wine is poured in your glass and Vick’s, juice for Seff. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he raises both in return, “what?” he asks as he lifts the fancy glass to his nose, swirling the liquid and then smelling it, with a satisfied nod.

“Pregnant?” He hangs his head in shame as Vick snorts, getting the salt and pepper from the kitchen.

“We wanted to be sure it was hers,” he sends a wink your way before beaming at Vick, accepting the bowl being passed for bread.

The night passes fast and before you can soak the warmth and happiness in for the long run, Seff is already dropping you off, double-checking that you’ll be okay for the weekend. “We’ll be at her mom’s place and you know her mom, middle of nowhere. No signal and—” you cut him off with a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything else until you let go. Until you’re sure the wine isn’t the only thing warm in your chest and belly. You’re slow to pull away but when you do, you walk backwards into your apartment, hand tight around the doorknob. The fear from before is back and though you know he has to leave, you wished he would stay. But that would mean asking. And you can’t ask that of him, not when he’s done so much for you already.

“See you when you get back.” He nods, tight-lipped.

“See you.” He starts the walk back to his car when you call out to him.

The words choke up in your throat but you manage to force them out, tasting bitter like vomit, “love you, be safe.” He parrots it back and tears blur your vision as you wave, watching as he disappears down the steps and then out of sight when his car drives away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping you wouldn’t throw up on the floor after he mopped it, the fear of a familiar pit in your stomach as the door closes behind you. It’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

You turn your TV on, just loud enough to cover the ringing silence in your ears as you sit on the couch, not daring to check your bedroom or the kitchen for any intruders. You’re not sure what you want to find.

Head falling to your lap, phone open, your hand trembles as you press the icon for Wilbur’s contact. Despite him not answering before, you kept texting him and everyday it would stay on delivered, nothing would change. It felt maddening. Lonely. Desperate. You start typing a message out, speaking as your fingers moved, “Seff came over… helped clean and everything. I don’t know… where I’d be without… him.” Tears dripped onto your cheeks as you felt stupid and pathetic and- and- you couldn’t breathe, not around the sobs that escaped your mouth, covering it with one hand as you sent the message. He was just a guy and he only spent one night with you. It wasn’t even that special- you weren’t that special- why would he ever think-

It’s hard to focus but when the tears stop falling and you can breathe, at least through your mouth, you wipe the snot off with your sleeve.

Burglar be damned, you walk into the kitchen, tearing a paper towel off the roll and blowing your nose. It’s loud and it’s warm when you pull it away, groaning at the sight. “Fucking hell,” you mumble, tossing it into the trash.

The floor is cold beneath your feet walking back to the couch and when you sniff, you catch a whiff of that fabuloso again, pressing a hand to your forehead as you reach down to grab your phone. Your breath catches in your throat.

They’re- the messages- they’re not delivered anymore. He’s opened them. Thousands of emotions run through you in the matter of seconds. Air lodges itself in your throat, leaving you dizzy and unable to breathe as you think about it. Shame, humiliation. He’s seeing this pathetic, sad and lonely person vomit in his messages. Shock. Did he- did he lose his phone? Briefly angry, why couldn’t he just open it that night why did he have to wait till now? Staring down the phone screen, you can hardly recognize your thumb pressing on the call button. Without question, the cold press against your ear brings you to the moment, your mind clears of the haze as you’re forced to think, in milliseconds of a game plan. You thought of one over the last two months, wondered what you’d say to him, given the chance, but with your self-deprecating ass it was hard to think at all right now. Taking him back so quickly definitely was wrong, as was assuming he wanted you at all. Oh what to say?

As the call goes through and rings, hearing a vibrating noise outside the window you stiffen up. The one where you heard a noise from-

And the phone picks up, the vibration stops and all you can hear is the distant city noises, and perhaps the quietest panting you’ve heard. You approach the window, holding both hands at your phone, clutching as you whisper, “Wilbur?” Turning around until your back meets the wall beside it, you try to see if looking out would do anything. It doesn’t. It’s just as dark as it is inside of your living room, the only thing disturbing that inky blanket of darkness is your TV. You’re almost scared to turn it off. “Wilbur, what- are you there?” You didn’t know if you meant in general or right outside your fucking window but you can only imagine the answer when you see a phone drop onto the fire escape, a body falling to its knees, you can barely make out the silhouette. You drop your own phone when a hand smacks against the glass, dragging down as it smacks again and again. The shake in your hands makes it hard for you to flip the locks and you slide it up, just barely asking the question: just what in the hell are you doing??

But the hand falls off and a head of fluffy brown hair sticks in and he falls in with as much grace as a limp noodle, groaning all the way. You move him enough only to reach out and grab his phone, looking around to make sure nobody caught him sneaking in. You hope that in the case they do, they assume you’re only sneaking in a boyfriend— even if the assumption hurts to ache for.

“Fuck, Wilbur, what happened to you?” You hiss as you close the window, crouching as you help him sit against the wall, trying to look over him as his head rolls back. His eyes stare up at the ceiling as you look back at the window, catching sight of the red tint dragging down in the shape of his hand. Picking his wrist up, you do see the drying blood coating his skin. Your chest coils tight, thinking the worst of the worst. You try asking him what happened, where’s he hurt before his eyes drift down and find you, his face softening and a deep sigh rattles out of him, interrupted by a hiss and an attempt to press against his ribs. You need to call the ambulance, hell, take him to the hospital yourself but the way he’s sitting on your floor, already adjusting himself seems a little too… relaxed. As one can be relaxed when, no doubt, pain is at the forefront of your mind. “Wilbur, say something,” you beg with gritted teeth. You need a reason to not kick him out, to not pull him into your arms and kiss the wounds away no matter how tempting and how useless it would be. “Say something before I kill you myself.” And then he passes out.

You groan out in frustration, having caught his head in a panic when his body slumped over again and making a dive for the tile. “I cannot be doing this, Seff will kill me-” and then the sudden reminder, of oh yes, as of right now, you cannot call him. Despite more than likely being in the city together, you didn’t want him worrying over you again. You cannot keep doing that to him, he has a life of his own, Vick needs her husband and they’re going to visit her mom— and in your panic, a minute has passed and his head is still in your hand. You, out of nerves, started carding your free fingers through his hair, finding it… wet. You sniff close to his head and nearly groan again, yeah, his hair is wet with sweat.

You push his head back and reach around him, mumbling to yourself about how you should do it. Picking him up by the waist doesn’t do you any favors, neither does pulling on his arms. Bad idea in the first place. Sighing, you make a note to apologize later if he doesn’t die on you when you drag him to your room. It’s no question that he lies on your bed- after a towel has been laid out for him. If he’s bleeding, you don't want too big of a stain. You had considered leaving him on the floor… but then you couldn’t do it.

You check his arms, pushing his sleeves up and finding none of that. You check his head, nothing bleeding there. You take his shoes off but… that’s about all you do besides getting the first aid kit and setting it next to you, along with water and painkillers. If he was bleeding in the legs or chest or hell, even his feet, you needed him awake for that. And despite him literally being on your fire escape, which raises all sorts of questions mind you, you couldn’t undress him. You couldn’t.

After a few minutes, you shake his shoulder, giving his face a few smacks when he wakes up with a jolt, looking around until he finds you and then he groans, clutching at his side again, eyes shut tight. Then he tries to sit up. “Hey slow down there,” you say, holding onto his shoulder when it seemed he would stand up.

“Please, I should-” he swallows and you despise yourself for looking at his throat move, “I should go.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, now where’s the blood?” You speak fast, hoping to hide the shake in your voice if you were mean about it. He tried to fight you on it but when you pushed on his chest, stepping between his legs, he couldn’t move, head flung back as he tried to reel the grunts of pain in, trying to be quiet. “If you needed the hospital- or- or a clinic, you should’ve gone there first. But you didn’t, so you’re gonna tell me what’s hurting so I can help you.” He lays limp on your bed, unable to look at you as his mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times. “If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I’m going to stab you and then stitch you up myself and then throw you out my window so fucking- say something.”

It’s silent. Until it wasn’t. “Everywhere,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It hurts everywhere. I can’t-” he gasps, hand coming up to where your own still processes, in the middle of his chest and over yours“-think.” You retract your hand immediately, backing up as you give him space. Space for yourself.

“Is there anything bleeding?” You ask and when he shakes his head, you think back to the clear blood on his hands, on your window. It doesn’t add up but taking it with a generous fistful of salt, you want to scream. “Okay- okay. Fuck.”

In the end, you have him sit up, half-apologizing for the pain and the other of you lets him have it, he can handle it just this once. He could’ve called, he could’ve texted, anything, but no, he had to wait until he was literally too hurt to move.

“Did you break anything?” You ask, digging through the first-aid kit while you waited for him to take his shirt off, “because with the way you’re bitching about these bruises—”

“—bitching?” He cuts you off, shirt halfway over his head.

“— yes, bitching, you’re not bleeding, if anything was broken you would’ve, surely, gone to a clinic. A healer, just, fucking anybody. No, you had to come to me.” You say, pulling out the self-adherent wrap and opening it up, unable to fault yourself in finding a battered, bare-chested Wilbur on your bed and losing your voice for it. The hair on his chest that leads down his stomach that leads further down into his pants… you breathe in as he himself is quiet. Starting at his ribs, you have him hold it down as you begin wrapping it around his torso, dedicated to ignoring the heat of his skin, how close you are to him. How you have to stand with one leg between his and lean into his space.

With each go-around, you make sure it’s not too tight, just enough to keep pressure and when you tape it down, you have him lay back down, gathering the first-aid kit to put on the nightstand. Heading into the kitchen for an ice-pack. In the middle of making one in a ziploc bag, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You’re patching up a guy who fell into your living room after having ghosted you for two months.

You want to be mad at yourself, you want to punish yourself so badly for letting him in so easily.

“Listen, I just wanted to say—” he says when you walk in and you couldn’t help yourself, you chucked it at the bed and snatched the throw blanket on your dresser, ignoring any other attempts at conversation.

“Get some rest, don’t call for me unless that bag is melted.” You say over your shoulder, closing your bedroom door shut and you can’t help the pathetic slide down against it. Tears try to fall but you wipe them furiously. He does not get to wander in and fuck everything up. For goodness’ sake, you’ve just mopped.

Setting up camp on your couch, you lie down with the knowledge that yeah your neck will be shit in the morning, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It won’t matter in the morning because in the morning, he’ll be okay enough to get up and stand somewhat straight and maybe without help and he’ll insist on leaving. That’s just how it’ll go. He’ll say he never meant to end up on your fire escape and in the morning, he’ll apologize for taking up your bed. Because that’s just how it’ll go. And then he’ll go. And you’ll never see him again.

That’s how it’s going to be. It’ll never be anything more. You sniffle, can’t even stop crying for a night. How fucking useless. You bury your head into the throw pillow and shiver under the thin blanket. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over and he’ll be gone and you can pretend that you never intended on letting someone murder you. You can pretend that you’re normal and pretend everything is okay. Breathing out, you let sleep fall over you.

You rub the ache in your neck, grimacing as you flip another pancake, successfully burning it. It goes onto a stack of burnt pancakes. Turning off the stove, you don’t even pull butter or the syrup out of the fridge. Maybe your bitterness will fade away with time… maybe you’ll be able to look back in time and say, it’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be. For right now, you get to be petty and serve your bruised guest burnt food.

Opening your bedroom door, you halt in your footsteps; finding him fast asleep. The ice-pack is nowhere to be found. A sigh falls out of your mouth, the sound of the plate that knocks against the dresser is almost as loud as your defeat. You take the blanket you’d slept with and drape it over him, tucking the edges under him. The idiot slept on top of the cover. Standing up straight, you look at him. This is the first time you’ve seen him in two months, and you feel hopeless. He looks so peaceful, so handsome, so pretty, so helpless you can’t help but want to stay. But he’s hurt you. No matter what he has to say.

You breathe in deep before turning to leave and you would’ve made it out the door had he not reached out for you, grasping your wrist with cold fingers. You shiver under his touch as his head falls to the side, his hair falling into his closed eyes. “What you do to me is cruel,” you whisper, sliding down to the floor and letting him hold your wrist. You don’t know how much I regret meeting you and you don’t know how much I cherish meeting you at all.

It takes twenty minutes for him to wake up, two minutes after that for him to let go. You stand up, throwing a new shirt at him. This one happened to be completely oversized and old for you, perfect for him. “Get dressed and eat, I’m either taking you to a hospital or a healer you know, fifteen minutes.” You don’t give yourself time to loiter in the room, you don’t give him time to explain himself. (You know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mean to ghost you but let’s be real, you’re you. And he’s Wilbur. The math isn’t adding up. He just wasn’t that interested.)

About ten minutes after you walk out of your room, he stumbles out, gripping onto the walls and he groans with his mouth closed. You don’t let him see your flustered face at the sound, just walking out and letting him follow you to the stairs. You pull one of his arms over your shoulders and make a point not to talk to him, even when he tries to get you to let go. Saying all about how he can walk on his own and stairs are no problem… you couldn’t resist it though, he was pretty insistent that he’d be okay and maybe you’re still upset. You let go and watch as he falls down one step, catching him before he scraped himself up even more.

“And you said you had it under control.” You mutter and you can see he wants to say more but you send him a look that has him clenching his jaw again.

“Look, you don’t need to take me to a hospital.” He begins after the two of you are settled in your car.

“So you know a healer?” You turn to him, giving him a blank stare.

“Well- maybe- I-” he stumbles over his words as you start the engine.

“You have very limited options right now. Either I take you to someone who will help you or I will dump your ass on the front step of the nearest doctor. Pick one.” His jaw sets and you make it a point to stare ahead as he gives you directions.

In no time, you find yourself in front of an apartment building, helping him get out of the car and into the lobby. You barely helped him into the elevator before turning to leave, watching as he leaned against the elevator doors. He stumbled over his words again.

“I couldn’t text you. I wanted to, so badly.” He says, with the wettest eyes known to man.

“So you’re telling me, you saw I was texting, couldn’t respond  for some mysterious reason and you expect me to tell you it’s okay?”

“I’m not saying it was.”

“Two months, Wilbur, you left me alone for two months.” You say, throwing it out there and he wants to say more, you can see it so clearly. You can see he wants to say why, wants to tell you everything. His big, sad eyes stare you down, tears close to falling. You look behind you, holding onto the elevator doors as you lean closer into the enclosed space. “And we’re only talking because you showed up at my window, bruised to hell and back with someone’s blood on your hands. Talk to me when you’re healed. Because yeah, I have questions. And if you can’t answer them when you’ve healed up, just go back to ignoring me. It worked perfectly fine for the both of us, didn’t it?” You don’t know why you said any of that, bitterness and hurt chokes you up, your words coming out stilted or too fast. Because no way in any version of reality were you okay. You wanted the truth. You wanted to know exactly what went wrong that night for him to ignore you.

And if he’s being honest with you right now, you’re not sure what to make of it.

But you’ve said your piece and the first tear falls down his cheek. So you lean in, palm smacking the button for the doors to close. You don’t wait a second before turning around and heading back to your car. Breaking down right in front of it.

You were so far from being okay, so, so fucking far.

[cuyberpunk]

to all the archivists out there

ilyy

[asexualsoup]

In which Peter Nureyev goes undercover at the Vixen Valley and Juno just happens to find him there. Not canon... (maybe). I’ll find out tomorrow when the finale comes out, I guess lol. 

And yes, this comic was all just an excuse to draw Nureyev as Jessica Rabbit. 

As always, click the pics for better quality. 

[ID: A five page fanfiction comic of characters from The Penumbra Podcast, in grayscale. 

Page 1: The text at the top of the page reads: “Disclaimer: Not canon (unfortunately).” The first panel shows the exterior of the Vixen Valley at night. Juno’s word bubble reads, “Come on, Vick. We both know you got the intel I need on the guy I’m looking for.” The second panel shows Vicky and Juno sitting in armchairs together inside the Vixen Valley. Vicky’s word bubble reads, “You know how this works by now, Steel. I ain’t in the habit of givin’ out anythin’ I can put a price tag on.” The third panel is a close up of profile Juno looking serious while holding a drink. His word bubble reads, “I do. Just want to make sure it’s a price tag I can afford.” The final panel shows an extreme close-up of Vicky’s grin. Her word bubbles read, “Hehehehe. I guess that depends on how badly you wanna find your ‘guy...’” 

Page 2: The first panel shows an employee of the Vixen Valley dressed in a black suit approaching Vicky, their hands behind their back. Their word bubble says, “Ms. Vicky. Your wife is on the phone for you.” A grinning Vicky responds. Her word bubble reads, “Perfect. Steel, gimme a minute. I gotta take this.” The second panel shows a frustrated Juno. His word bubble reads, “Goddamn it, Vick! You can’t just-!” He gets interrupted by another Vicky word bubble, which reads, “God, you’re such a baby.” The third panel shows Vicky and her employee walking away. Vicky grins and gestures behind her with her thumb. Her word bubbles read, “I ain’t leaving for long. Gives me time to think over our little deal. Besides, the show starts soon. And somethin’ tells me you’re gonna like it.” The final panel, which rests partially behind the third panel, shows a still angry Juno shouting to Vicky behind him. In front of Juno is a stage surrounded by tables of waiting patrons and bustling wait staff. Vicky grins mischievously in the foreground as she continues to walk away. Juno’s word bubble reads, “Vicky!” Vicky’s word bubble reads, “Don’t enjoy yourself too much, Steel.” 

Page 3: The first panel shows a close-up cartoonish version of Juno pouting (FX: “pout”). His word bubble reads, “hmph.” The second panel is the same close-up but drawn in a less cartoony style. Juno looks upward curiously as the lighting in the room changes and the show begins. The lyrics to the song Why Don’t You Do Right? by Kansas Joe McCoy and Peggy Lee begin to appear in text boxes surrounded by music notes. The third panel shows the curtains on the stage, now lit from behind by a spotlight to show off the silhouette of the hidden performer posing sensuously. In the fourth panel, Juno gapes up at the stage in interest as other patrons cheer and whistle around him (FX: “whistle” and “woo!”). The final panel shows the silhouetted performer behind the curtain doing another pose. The lyrics on this page are: “You had plenty money 1922/You let other women make a fool of you/Why don’t you do right?” 

Page 4: The song lyrics continue across this page. The first panel shows the performer sticking a long leg out from behind the curtain. The second panel shows a close up of Juno’s eyes as they widen and he blushes. The third panel shows the performer stepping out from behind the curtain and grinning, but the second panel partially covers the third, obscuring the performer’s face. We can still tell that they have round glasses, light skin, long dark hair, and long, slender fingers. In the fourth panel, we see the back of the performer’s head as they push the curtains aside. More patrons of the Vixen Valley watch with rapt attention. The fifth panel shows a close up of the performer’s high-heels as they slowly strut across the stage. The sixth panel shows a squinting Juno. His word bubble reads, “No way...” The seventh panel shows an extreme close up of the performer’s heavily lashed eye behind their glasses. The lyrics on this page are: “Like some other men do?/Get out of here/Get me some money too.” 

Page 5: The final page of the comic. The first panel takes up about three quarters of the page. It is a full view of the performer on stage, revealing him to be Peter Nureyev dressed in a Jessica-Rabbit-style dress. He poses sensuously, hand on his hip, leg stretched out, and head tilted back. The second panel shows a grinning and slightly flushed Juno with a little heart beside his head. The final panel of the comic is the moment Nureyev notices Juno is there watching him. He gasps, looking embarrassed and blushing furiously. The lyrics on this page are: “Get out of here/Get me some-.” The second line is cut off by Nureyev’s gasp (FX: “gasp”). 

End ID] 

[rdng1230]

WIP Wednesday (early addition)

tagged by @diazsdimples This is from the Saltommy Henren Roller Derby Double Date thing I randomly started and am having a lot of fun with. Just so you know, 100% of the player names and team names are real, but they don't all actually play for the real LA Derby Dolls.

—--

At that moment, the Varsity Brawlers team gets to their feet and starts skating around the inclined track. An announcer starts reading off the names and numbers of the players. 

“#94 Pulp Friction,” The crowd cheers even louder as the player raises her hand and does a quick spin on her skates. 

“#71 Malibruise Barbie,” The player in question, a tiny little blonde girl who looks like you could knock her over with a feather suddenly lands a jump so well and so hard it makes Sal’s knees pang in sympathy. 

He leans down over to Karen. “I take it these are not their Christian names?” Karen leaps up and down a little as another player she recognizes is announced. “NOPE!” she shouts. 

“#86 Pennytration,” Tommy nearly chokes on his beer and Sal pats him on the back as well as he can while also laughing his ass off. 

It’s Fight Crew’s turn for the limelight and they roll onto the track single file, connected like a conga line. The DJ is full on Thunderstruckin’ it now and there’s the stomp of the crowd’s feet as the announcer reads out the other list of players. 

“#75 Rockingjay,” The player gives a girl scout style three fingered salute. People start whistling in response. 

“#66 Vick Dagger,” Vick sticks her tongue out and does the little rock and roll sign with her hands. She’s clearly a crowd favorite, and the DJ switches the music up to Paint It Black. 

“#33 Trick Pony,” A woman with a long blonde braid pulls her leg up behind her head and skates on one leg for a lap. 

“#42 Pig Squeal,” A small group of fans toward the front in matching pale pink start oinking appropriately, the woman is significantly older than the other players, but seriously intimidating. She’s a million feet tall, broad shouldered, with a mousy face and grandma glasses. Sal can’t wait to see her kick ass.  

—-

NP tags: @racerchix21 @cliophilyra @desert--moonchild

[reigningqueenofwords]

Couldn't Be

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Part 6 of the Games We Play

The two of you talked more while you healed than anything. You started to tease him, wondering if he knew what outside looked like. At least you had an excuse to limit your time outside. He was just staying inside for you!

As you healed, your mood had increased, as well. Falling into your old ways, he was back to being your best friend, and the one you made a point to contact at least once a day.

Your first case back was three hours away, so you’d showered, left him an in game mail, and packed up.

Halfway to the case, you were filling up the tank when Bobby called. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“What’s up?” You asked, your eyes watching the numbers on the meter.

Bobby sighed. “So, seems you won’t be workin’ this case alone.” He started. “Told him to meet you at the diner on Main St- Joe’s. He’ll be in a leather jacket with shortish blonde hair. Look for the one flirtin’ with the waitress.”

You furrowed your brows as you finished pumping. “Wait, why am I teaming up?”

“For one, he’s already there. Secondly, you can keep an eye on him. And third, because I said so. It’s lookin’ like there’s a bigger problem than we thought.”

Finally, you had agreed to work with this guy. And now, there you were, walking into Joe’s. Looking around, your eyebrows went up. “Holy shit.” You muttered, walking to the booth and sliding in.

Dean stared at you. “Can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Bobby sent me.” You told him.

His eyes went wide. “You mean you’re–?” You nodded. “Uh, Sam’s off doing something else so…”

You shrugged. “Okay? Not sure why you’re telling me what you’re brother is doing. Can we just work on this case and get it over with?”

Working with Dean was by far the toughest experience of your life. He was constantly flirting with anyone in a skirt. And, for a minute there, you were pretty sure he was flirting with the bartender -Vick- as well.

As soon as you walked into your motel room, you were thankful to be away from his car, his music, his cocky attitude, and his shameless flirting. It was peaceful. Oh, and no more little comments about you having slept with his brother.

After your shower, you logged on to WoW.

Kanestinia- Ugh. Theinastus- Is that how we say hello now? Kanestinia- So, I travel for work. I’m on my way there, and my supervisor calls. Kanestinia- I get told I’m gonna be working with a partner. That’s fine. Whatever. Kanestinia- Turns out the guy I’m forced to work with is a complete pain in the ass. I couldn’t wait to have some peace and quiet. I can still smell him on me. And I never touched him. Kanestinia- At all. Theinastus- You done yet? Kanestinia- I could go on, but that would be inappropriate language for this game. My inner monologue would make Dennis Leary blush right now. Theinastus- Wow. Sounds like you’ve had one hell of a day. Mine went down hill, too. My partner is called off by this bitch from another department. Can’t stand her. His replacement for the time being- get this- has slept with my partner. Which makes things kinda awkward. I play it off. I think she hates me, though. Kept glaring at me. Theinastus- Should I be scared? Theinastus- What if she comes and murders me in my sleep? Theinastus- Would you avenge me? Kanestinia- Seeing as I don’t know your name, what you look like, OR where you’re staying…that would be a bit difficult. Theinastus- I’m in Jersey, Motel 6. Kanestinia- ….Um. I’m at the Motel 6 in Jersey. Theinastus- The one with the screwed up ‘6’?

You stared at the screen. No. There was no way. It couldn’t be.

Kanestinia- DEAN?! Theinastus- You have got to be fucking kidding me. Y/N???  

[final-girl96]

STOLEN HEARTS CHAPTER TWENTY

DAYTONA BEACH, FL

SPRING 1990

Daytona Beach, Florida. That's where we are currently at right now. Corroded Coffin has been number one of the charts for months. They had no problem booking places for concerts, which meant the tour continued. We did, however, have winter off. They guys were able to spend time with their families. Eddie and I hosted Thanksgiving and Christmas for the band and their families. Then Eddie had the bright idea to have a New Years party.

People we didn't even know showed up. The music was too loud, people were drinking heavily, and someone also brought drugs. Eddie and I had a huge fight after I caught him sitting on the couch with a few guys doing lines of cocaine. "It was just one hit, babe! It's nothing!" I ended up locking him out of our bedroom that night and found him and a bunch of other people sleeping downstairs. The house had been trashed inside and out.

Daytona Beach was their first stop. The tour was only going to be four weeks long, and then they were going to focus on making a new album. They had a bunch of interviews lined up for various talk shows and even MTV again. Some of those interviews would be taking place in between concerts. Vick, the band's managers, was also trying to set up so they could do a tour in Europe.

The partying never stopped though, and of course, with it being spring break, that's all they would be doing while we were here for two days. Today is Friday, and we just arrived at the hotel. I wanted nothing more than to get up to the room and sleep. Fans were posted outside the hotel screaming and crying. They begged for autographs, which some of them got. Eddie was always more than happy to give an adoring fan his autograph. I would normally stay by his side, smiling from how proud I was of him and the guys. But not tonight. Tonight, I just kept walking, Jay was right beside me, making sure no one touched me.

I'm the daughter of a rockstar, and a lot of people recognized me because of that. But now I'm the girlfriend of a rockstar. Girls were now jealous of that. They were jealous that I got to be with Eddie. Some of them loved us as a couple, and then some of them hated it, which meant they hated me. I've gotten dirty looks, and I've been spit on by jealous fans. Jay was always there to make sure they didn't get too close, though.

Once inside, Jay took care of checking us in and then led me up to the room. It was like any other room we've stayed in. A big suit. There was a living area, a small kitchen, and a bar. Then there was a door that connected to the bedroom where there was an ensuite bathroom. On the other side of the living room, space was another door with a smaller room and bathroom. That's where Jay would sleep. I never wanted him too far away. "You could have brought Anna along."

Anna was his wife. She also used to be my nanny. She was the sweetest woman I've ever met. She was short, probably about five-two, and petite, but very feisty. Jay was six-five with broad shoulders and huge arms. He was a fucking giant compared to Anna. But they bonded over the years when I was little. "She might join us later," he told me. I smiled at him and looked around the room.

"I'm going to take a nice long hot bath and then just relax for the rest of the night. You're free to do whatever it is you do." He smiled and nodded his head. I grabbed my bag, went into the bedroom, set it down, and headed for the ensuite bathroom. I walked over to the rub and turned the hot water on. They had lavender bath oil sitting on the counter so I put a little bit of that in there. When I stepped in and sank into the hot water the tension in my body slowly disappeared.

"Sweetheart!" I sighed and sank deeper into the water. I could hear him and Jay talking now. A short while later, the bathroom door opened and then closed again. "There you are. Why didn't you wait? I went to grab your hand, and you weren't there." I sighed, closing my eyes, and resting my head back. "I didn't feel like being spit on, having my hair pulled, or seeing the dirty looks your fans give me. I don't need to be there, Eddie."

"My fans love you. They wouldn't do that. You're being dramatic," He said. My eyes flew open and I looked at him. "Are you fucking blind? I've been spat on multiple times, I've had my hair pulled, and I've had some very unkind words screamed at me. But you're too busy soaking up the fame to notice. Just like you're too busy to notice that I'm not happy anymore!" I stood up, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around me, and pushed past him.

"That is such bullshit! You're just jealous that when I'm with my fans, all my attention is on them and not you! Little miss attention whore. Always need to be up my ass about everything!" I just stood there staring at me in disbelief. He didn't even notice because he was too busy ranting. "Bitch about me partying, drinking, smoking some weed here and there. God forbid some girl flirts with me! I could have any bitch I wanted, but I'm here with you! You should be fucking grateful!"

"Wow. Okay, well, don't worry about my jealous, clingy, ass being at the concert tomorrow night. You can go out and party, drink, get high, and I guess fuck who you want. You know seeing that I'm just a nuisance to you!" He threw up his hands and groaned. "You know what? I'm going out to the club with the guys tonight. Don't wait up!" He stormed past me and walked out the door.

I took a deep breath in and tried to stop the tears from coming. "Yn, are you alright?" I turned to look at Jay. Nothing needed to be said for him to grab the robe in the closet and rush over to me. He wrapped it around me and caught me as I sank to the floor. Eddie and I have fought plenty as of late, but nothing was ever as bad as this.