#Brainless Duck

[altamontpt]

Itenerance Fest 2025

A festa do rock é quando o Itenerance Fest quiser!

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text css=””] A festa do rock é quando o Itenerance Fest quiser! No mês em que andamos a ressacar das festas de final de ano e que se pauta pela escassez de eventos culturais, eis que surge o Itenerance Fest, um festival que promete curar a ressaca e dinamizar esta época menos fértil. Esta foi a segunda edição deste festival e aconteceu nos dias 16, 17 e 18 de…

[thy-xin]

quack.

[pineapplecrispy]

 You must also consider the very real possibility that an Israel-Iran war won’t actually stop the Palestinian genocide but will instead distract the public from it

You need to stop this at its source

It's never felt more like a 'Fuck western lefties' time for Iranians than now! My people are struggling socially and economically under the rule of a fascist dictator terrorist regime, getting beaten, murdered and silenced by a corrupt government, that is vastly unpopular, day in day out. Now we're at the brink of a costly war on top of everything. And western left wingers are CHEERING ON THE ISLAMIC REPUBLIC! Twitter and Instagram are full of dumb westerners acting like the IR is some kind of hero here. Fuckin hell. Two terrorist regimes are going at each other, the result is going to be more misery and civilian deaths. More destruction and casualties. There's nothing to cheer for here.

I can just hope this won't escalate into another humanitarian crisis. God knows the world doesn't need more war and loss of innocent lives right now.

[idiomagic]

Horse Story #1 for @elodieunderglass

When I was young, back in the early 1980s, I rode horses for a living. Show jumpers. This is a story about me being an asshole to a prince and almost causing an international incident. I would like to preface this by saying that I regret reinforcing the 'ugly American' stereotype. I regret being rude, as I was a guest in the country. So...I'm sorry, England, your royalty is and always has been trash, but it was wrong of me to be rude. Anyway. I was 14 years old, and riding in the Royal Windsor Horse Show in England. It was my first international show, my first time ever leaving America. There was a Protocol Officer provided by the American embassy, to teach us how to bow and curtsey, how to address various members of the royal family we might encounter, since they were personally handing out the prizes. I was an utter nightmare at 14. I was a brat. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of Plymouth Rock, I hated every form of authority, I had just discovered punk rock...I was a horrid creature who should have been confined in a barrel, not let out onto the world's stage. The Protocol Officer reminded me of my mother, which was not a good thing. She was bitchy and superior, and it was clear that she idolized the royals. Worshipped them. Wanted to be them. I loathed her on sight, and immediately tuned out everything she said, while mocking her mercilessly. I was like that. So, I rode in the Open Jumping, and we won! There was a full ceremony, with a band playing God Save The Queen, fancy soldiers saluting, the whole nine yards. Then, the royals arrived. Prince Charles was going to hand out the prizes. He was there with a whole entourage...assistants? secretaries? royal ass wipers? Who knows. The lackeys followed him around like baby ducks as he approached. One of them carried bouquets of flowers for him to hand us, plus the ribbons and medals. First, he handed the goodies to the third and second place winners, then he approached me. There was a big crowd, and I resolved to be on my best behavior. Truly. I was going to be so good, and a credit to my country. I listened to the other winners say "Thank you, your Grace. It is a great honor." Right. I could do that. And he approached me and said "That was a very nice ride...for a 14 year old." And all of my hatred and resentment sprung loose. This chinless, brainless, inbred parasite who couldn't even ride a complete polo match without falling off his horse at least once (and sometimes more) dared to condescend to me? About my riding? Fuck that noise. He handed me the bouquet and ribbon, and put the medal around my neck. And I looked him in the eyes, smirked, and said: "Thanks, Chuck. Y'know, if you keep your heels down, maybe you won't fall off your ponies so often." Chuckles looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. His entourage fluttered and moaned. The end result was a Sternly Worded Letter sent to the embassy, a screaming match with the Protocol Officer, and a real question as to whether I'd ever be allowed out of America again. ............................................................................................................................ If you like my posts, please check out my pinned post. We are going through truly horrific times, and really need help. https://ko-fi.com/idiomagic

[syoddeye]

woke up thinking about smasher-esque ghost. thank you early for fueling the cyberpunk/cod thoughts.

cw: noncon, aftermath of violence, mild gore, abduction

The street’s empty. Quiet, save for the scrape of your boots and the distant peal of a sirens. At this hour, the silence isn’t calming, it’s eerie. You almost wish some brainless jingle or blaring advert would cut through the stillness just to drown out the sounds your mind’s starting to invent.

Watson’s like that, you’ve learned.

As gutted and forgotten as the rest of Night City’s outskirts, but less-inhabited. Hollowed out. Still, when the corp ordered your transfer here, it was either pack your bags or termination. Not much of a choice.

You’re two blocks off your usual route, forced to detour after spotting the last people you wanted to cross—scavs, loading what looked like rolled-up bodies into a van. Just enough to make the alley you’re cutting through unfamiliar. The lights overhead flickering and dying in sickly yellow pulses.

The usual stench of garbage and factory smoke thins out, but something else takes their place. Acrid. Metallic. A lump tightens in your throat as firelight dances faintly off the corner up ahead. Your hand drifts toward the pistol holstered at your side.

You take the corner. Slowly. Carefully.

And there they are.

Maelstrom. What’s left of them.

Bodies crumpled in grotesque shapes. Implants torn from sockets, faces crushed like ceramic. Blood and something darker spill across the pavement in glistening pools, wrapping around twitching limbs and shattered optics. A jaw dangles off a hinge of sinew. A prosthetic leg driven clean into a concrete wall, as if hurled like a spear.

Then you name the smell—burned meat and cooked wiring.

You choke back a sound. Step back. Your boot drags through broken glass.

Your heart jumps into your throat. You try to breathe through it, try not to retch. You fumble for your gun, fingers trembling around the grip. You thought you’d be numb to this by now, but this? This isn’t another back-alley shootout. A Trauma Team scene. This is carnage.

You start backing up, retracing your steps—

And slam into something behind you.

Something solid.

You freeze.

When whatever it is doesn’t move, you slowly turn your head, and your mouth drops open.

A massive hand clamps around the back of your neck. Cold. Sticky. Strong enough to crush bone. The heat drains from your body, knees threatening to give out.

A bone-white faceplate stares down at you, blood-spattered and haloed in matte black chrome. Rust-colored optics glow deep in recessed sockets. You make out a thin strip of pale, naked flesh near the jaw, barely visible with your neck craned back as far as it’ll go.

The arm gripping you is the size of a light pole. Wires and hydraulic lines run thick along it, flexing with a mechanical hiss as he tightens his hold. Armor plates click and shift—streamlined, brutal, built for war.

His pupils dilate and shrink in rapid succession, the crawl of a scan dimly registering in the back of your mind.

He ducks his head before it’s over, and a blunt nose brushes your temple. You flinch, try to turn away, but he follows. Breathes you in. A low guttural sound rumbles from his chest as he exhales, hot air washing across your face. You realize your cheek’s wet—that you’re crying.

“Well, well,” he rasps. “Look what I’ve got ‘ere. You lost?”

You can’t get a word out. Just a choked, helpless sound.

He chuckles. Drags you backwards, boot-heels scraping, until you’re forced to face the massacre again. There’s a hiss as he stoops behind you, chin settling heavily on your shoulder.

“They ‘ad a bad night.”

His chest curves over your back like a wall. Broad. Unyielding. The sharp edges of his plating jab into your ribs, your hip, the soft underside of your arm. His other hand snakes around your middle, sliding over your trembling hands, locking over the pistol still gripped tight in your grasp. His fingers curl around yours.

You know in an instant that he could crush the metal and bones wholesale.

“You don’t want to join them, do ya?”

You whimper. Sniffle. Shake your head. You don’t want to die in this alley. You don’t want to be scav meat.

His faceplate presses to your cheek, humming with the vibration of his voice.

“‘Course not. Smart girl like you… Least, I assume, seein’ as you scan Zetatech.” A pause. “You are smart, aren’t ya?”

He squeezes, and pain flares through your hands.

“Y-Yes!” you gasp. “I’m smart! P-Please, I didn’t see anything—I swear, no one would believe me anyway!” You don’t fight, but your legs tremble so violently, it’s a struggle to keep your feet flat.

He coos, low and syrupy, and shifts his grip, sliding from your neck to your waist. One massive arm curls tight around you, pulling you flush to the bulk of him. His other hand steadies you, keeps you upright.

“There we go,” he coos. “No need for all that fuss.” He taps your fingers, still clinging to the pistol. “Let go of this silly thing, then. That’s it—good girl.” 

He pries the pistol from your loosened grip, promptly tossing it into the dark. It skids far out of reach, vanishing into the shadows.

“Now I don’t ‘ave to ‘urt ya.”

There’s a single bolt of relief, a weak and thready pulse of it, but enough. Your breath starts to level out, and you manage to swallow.

“T-Thank you. I-I can pay you. Everything in my account for letting me walk away.”

You don’t have much, but you doubt your life is worth more than a couple hundred eddies.

He’s silent for a beat, hands simply resting where they’re wrapped. 

Then, he moves. One hand shifts downward, dragging slow over your hip, curving along your upper thigh. His fingers dig into the flesh there.

“Mm, do I look ‘ard up for money, sweet’eart?” Synthskin fingertips sneak under the hem of your jacket, cold against your own. “Might be difficult to tell with how I’m built, but I’m definitely ‘ard up for somethin’.” The laugh that leaves him, blowing against your neck, is pure filth.

You whine when he takes handfuls of you at his leisure, spending several minutes groping over your clothes. When you think he’s taken the edge off for himself, he turns you to face him.

And now you see him properly.

He’s less humanoid than you imagined. And at his full height, he towers over you.

“Gonna take you ‘ome, pet,” he purrs. “See if the old man approves. Should, been in want of somethin’ soft for ages.”

Overhead, you catch movement—an AV gliding over the rooftops, silent until it lands on the street out of sight.

You shake your head. Can’t stop yourself, locked in disbelief.

“But I-I won’t tell anyone. I swear. No one would ever—”

“—believe you?” he finishes, mockingly gentle. “They wouldn’t.” His optics flick blue for half a second, receiving some comm, then back to red. He tilts his head. “We pay ‘em not to.”

You go still.

He watches you absorb it, lets it sink in, and then jerks his head in the direction of the street.

“Our ride’s ready. You walkin’ or not?”

It hits like a gut punch. This might be the last choice you get for a long, long time.

You walk. Anything to gentle what you know’s coming.

His strides eat the pavement, three to every one of yours. The sound of his feet betrays the truth of him. Even under custom-tailored gear, you hear the clomp of reinforced limbs, servos whirring with each step.

The AV doors open with a hiss.

He hauls you inside without ceremony, dragging you onto his lap. You’re forced to straddle the heft of his leg. It hurts to sit, your weight crushed against metal.

He notices your wincing and squirming.

“Not very comfy to sit on, am I?” he says, rubbing a hand along a thigh. “I’ll have Soap slap on some flesh when we’re ‘ome. Don’t imagine it’d be pleasant to bounce on me as-is, hm?”

He makes himself laugh again. You don’t look at him. Can’t.

Your eyes fix on the window instead, watching as the industrial sprawl of Watson blurs beneath you.

When his hands start to wander again, shoving under your shirt to play with your tits, he growls out the name you’re meant to whine. 

Ghost.

[inchidentally]

something about how Lando repeatedly has said how he and Oscar are the strongest teammate pairing and work together better than any other

and how Oscar always puts the burden of responsibility for a result on himself alone and sees Lando and the team as the people he's proving himself to

and how Lando celebrates with the team by being passed around to each of them like a long wished-for newborn baby and Oscar celebrates by ducking his head and immersing himself into the team's masses and looking for what Lando's doing

Lando embodies the team's - and Oscar's - emotions; Oscar absorbs the team's and Lando's emotions

how Lando says he deals with tough times by reminding himself of the good times and looking forward to them

and Oscar says he views success in terms of having it "on the books" and deals with tough times by an onward and upward attitude

how Lando has gone through so much to stay with McLaren and Oscar went through so much just to get to McLaren

and how neither of them even remotely skirt the issue and state that McLaren is where they are happy and where they plan to remain and "for many years to come" and "look forward to many more" and Lando saying "all these years" before realizing he and Oscar were only on their second season together.

how they weren't in any rush to turn their relationship into A Thing or a meme ship name and didn't force the friendship to happen until it felt comfortable because they had a job to do for the team and fundamentally had to avoid the Them of it all from interfering in that in any way - that they put the team first and Them second and look how that's resulted in them being what they'll tell you is the best partnership on the grid.

Lando being regularly misunderstood and vilified because his reaction to severe stress is emotional hyper-vulnerability, Oscar being misunderstood and vilified because his reaction to severe stress is to shut down and withdraw emotionally.

Lando is beloved but also infantilized. Oscar is respected but also dehumanized. Lando is loved and hated for his emotions and compensates by portraying himself as stupid or brainless so please don't think he's an asshole based on that one poorly worded quote. Oscar is admired and distrusted for his emotional regulation and compensates by saying he's just boring and self-deprecation so please don't see him as an evil robot just because that response was by rote instead of from the heart.

Lando openly says how he feels about team orders and conflicting results; Oscar says that's just how racing goes sometimes because everyone's out to win. Lando feels the highs and the lows in equal extremes because he needs to feel things; Oscar often withholds his visceral extremes because he needs to feel them when he feels safe. (which is why we only see That Smile on him when it's Lily, Lando, his mum and dad, and now winning the championship with McLaren)

their relationship formed with the absolutely least expectations and has followed not a single beat of PR advice and they don't post on social media when they hang out socially and they got their privacy door separating their drivers rooms away from everyone and sharing a hallway only with each other and they have their own private debriefs and agreed about the sprint swap without telling the team. they react to huge expectation races by staying glued together even during driver parades and down time despite being around each other all the rest of the race weekends. when a race doesn't have as much gravitas is when they feel happy going to separate groups.

people think Oscar getting awkward on camera and sticking to scripts will hurt Lando's feelings but the result is Lando beaming at him fondly and giggling. people think Lando wanting to spend paddock time with his many close friends on the grid will hurt Oscar's feelings but half the time Oscar is happily watching Lando with them (maybe more than half the time) or bringing up said friendship for no reason all on his own. or making an effort to get to know those guys specifically himself.

like idk there's just something about the extremes of fans on Lando and Oscar's respective sides so fully Not Getting the guy they claim to stan so hard for and it being proven most clearly by how they always expect the exact opposite reaction from their guy to Lando/Oscar respectively. they expect either bloodshed or PR overtime and instead it's just blurry footage of Lando and Oscar laughing while waiting for a private jet or a story of them sulking at Alex for beating them at a board game or a post race video where they were already laughing with each other before realizing the camera was on and they were rolling. in the best possible way it feels like they just look at these people chewing concrete "on their behalf" and laugh in that creepy perfectly matched giggle they do sometimes.

[saintsugu]

toji fushiguro x fem!reader; 18+ mdni, toxic relationship, petnames (princess, doll), manhandling, hair pulling.

“C’mon, doll. Open up.” A loud knock at your door makes you scowl, despite the man responsible being unable to see. “Y’can’t stay mad forever.”

“Yes, I can,” you childishly say back, padding over to the kitchen to pour a glass of water while he sighs at the door.

You and Toji aren’t exactly a couple, not a real one, at least. You fuck, fight, and fuck again—then rinse, and repeat. It’s not hard to guess what stage you’re in currently.

Honestly, at this point, you can barely remember why you were mad at him. Something stupid like him missing one of your “dates”, if you can even call them that. You weren’t exactly heartbroken over it, but this push and pull is half the fun.

After a few minutes of listening to him sigh by the front door, you begrudgingly give in and unlock it.

“Told ya’,” he grins wolfishly, ducking under the doorway as he steps inside. He kicks his shoes off, eyes stuck on you before he dips down to give you a gentle kiss.

What started soft, soon turns to something more primal as he walks you back into your own bedroom—lips on yours the entire way there. “Missed you, doll,” he whispers roughly, nipping at your lips as he pushes you onto the bed.

Once on the bed, he makes quick work of you and your clothes. It doesn’t take much effort for him to get you stripped and underneath him, begging for him to—“make me feel good, Toji…please,” in that cute little voice of yours that always seems to work on him.

Soon, the only things that can be heard in the small apartment are your moans as Toji thrusts into you relentlessly. He’s not letting up, and God, you love it. You’re a mess at this point—hair disheveled, and drool dripping from your lips as he pushes your neck into the pillow.

“Such a greedy little pussy,” he teases, punctuating each word with a heavy thrust. “You miss me that much, sweetheart?” His mocking question is met with a dumb nod from you—who’s already brainless from two orgasms.

He’s got a hand on your neck, and the other on your waist. You’re pushed into the pillows while he holds your waist up—making sure you have a nice little arch for him. In this position, he’s hitting every single spot possible and it’s driving you insane.

Even though you’ve already cum twice, you want more. It’s never enough with him. Toji Fushiguro is a greedy person, and unfortunately, you feed off of that energy. He makes you want to take from it, until he has nothing left to give; until he’s as obsessed with you, as you are to him.

Unbeknownst to you, he already is. He wouldn’t stand outside someone’s door for an hour multiple times a week if he wasn’t.

“Keep going,” you slur, barely coherent as you feel another orgasm starting to bubble up. “Please, Toji..!”

Your words just make him laugh. “Oh Princess,” A large hand grips your hair, pulling your back flush against his chest as he nips at your ear. “I wouldn’t stop even if you wanted me to.”

[meiguicha]

Maladroit Admirer - Rongguo

Danheng x Reader - University AU

Becoming entranced with the most plain looking guy in your tutorial classes leads to a series of very bad, not good fumbles

//So so so so enamoured with the idea of just NPC looking Danheng, short little thingy that I had to get out. Poem is  寄人 by 张泌.

别梦依依到谢家， 小廊回合曲阑斜。

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You don’t think there’s a difference between a crush and love at this point because being in university and adamantly staring at what might be the most boring looking man in this entire sea of people certainly can’t just be a momentary attraction. Short dark hair, dark eyes, decent fashion style and in a business unit, he wasn’t anything special, and yet you just couldn’t, for the life of you couldn’t, take your damned eyes off him. 

It was ridiculous, you’ve never even spoken to him, looked at him in the eyes even, but here your heart was, pounding against your ribs begging for more. Every time you walk into that horrifically cold room, freezing your shoulders off because if you brought a jacket you’d be sweating from the journey, you see him already there at some table you won’t sit at because you’re afraid of him. Because you’re a nervous wreck and you know that if you had to talk to him during discussion, all you’d do is hum and agree and have no opinion on your own. Which, you’d like to keep some part of your dignity still, so no thank you. 

There has been no man, woman even, that has rendered you so stupid. It must be some kind of witchcraft, there was no other explanation for the grip this man had on you. 

You try your best, your absolute best, to focus on the question ahead of you, not like it was actually hard. However, seeing as you were in a small table of three, had an ethics question and you were hyper-aware of every action you made because of that damned man, you certainly weren’t at your peak performance today. 

With your table’s assigned question out of the way, the two of them went on to discuss the rest, or rather you and the person next to you since you two were the only ones who attempted the exercise. The discussion didn’t go bad, merely boring and strained seeing as you’ve never actually talked to anyone in this class, so when the exact same person asked to see your graphs. You, of course, took that as a very bad chance to make a joke. 

“Just to warn you, I bullshitted my graphs, so if they’re wrong don’t blame me,” You joked, raising your hands in mock-guile.

Somehow, some-god-forsaken-how, despite being in a room speaking at a normal conversational level surrounded by other people talking, everyone heard you. And everyone is staring at you. Great, absolutely great. Ducking your head, you pretend to type something else on your computer. You can only pray that you never see anyone in this class ever again, or have to talk to them (which wasn’t going to happen but you could pretend).

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice his eyes glancing between you and the rest of his table, a kind of vacant stare if you will. Your ears grow hot at this revelation, he must think you’re a total idiot, or a buffoon, whichever one because you might as well be all the ways you could refer to someone as stupid. How you longed to return to the cold dark earth, maybe you wouldn’t say things that made you sound like some brainless highschooler. 

By the time the tutorial ends, you’ve already debated ending it all at least three times. With your computer and singular pencil packed up, you absentmindedly head towards the exit, weaving through strewn chairs and the awkwardly placed tables. It is then you notice a familiar someone’s form standing at the door. 

Your eyes slowly shift up and who else could it be but the very man who rendered your brain mush, holding the door open and gesturing for you to go. 

You barely meet his eyes, bowing your head and quickly scurrying off, at least not before blurting out a quick “Thank you.”

With the speed of a falcon, your footsteps scamper off, hefting your heavy tote bag you now wonder why you brought. Tucking your earphones in, you try your best at nonchalance and it works, for about six steps until the tip of your shoe catches against some crack in the path and you have to walk off the even more public embarrassment. 

In the distance, he watches you trip on your own feet and your shoe almost gets stuck on the carpeted pathway. An amused breath escapes him and he wonders what exactly about you is so endearing to him. Danheng swears he has never met someone as oddly appealing even with your little fumbles, and by now he’s given up trying to figure it out. 

He’ll find some way to approach you later, when his palms aren’t trying to sweat the skin off of them and his head isn’t going at a thousand thoughts per second. He only hopes you didn’t notice his continuous staring, or the fact that his hand slipped and missed the first time he tried to grab the door handle.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

多情只有春庭月，犹为离人照落花。

[deliciousweet]

𓈒ིུ𖤛 early sunsets over monroeville

wc: 782 (6 min read)

a/n: first post woop ! im holding this piece very near n dear to my heart right now so handle it with care please 💭

The world's prey has developed an incredible arsenal of adaptations— both defensive and offensive, clever and formidable— that ensure their survival against nature’s least forgiving predators.

Butterflies have eye spots, skunks spray, and opossums play dead.

Humans, however, have not been lucky enough to evolve such ingenious survival mechanisms.

You suppose if the nascency of zombies had been organic, the situation would be different. But, alas, all you have are your muscles and weapons. You adorn yourself in all sorts of protection— a barbed baseball bat, pocket knives, guns (that you’re too afraid to use).. everything you could carry with you.

You’ve been teaching yourself how to survive since the first mention of real life zombies but nothing could prepare you for the pure desperation to keep living and fear you would feel when having to put all those skills to good use.

You met him, Percy, as he introduced himself to you, the same day you killed your first zombie— or rather, your first zombies. In any other case you would have deemed yourself supremely idiotic to place your trust in anyone after the first 2 minutes of knowing— seeing, really— them but the circumstances were complicated.

Firstly, it was a miracle you hadn’t frozen up in fear and let the zombies have you, and secondly, he seemed soo.. distinctly human in a way you hadn’t seen since before the apocalypse started.

He watched you scream as you swung your bat around, eyes closed, bludgeoning anything unlucky enough to be in your path.

‘Anything’ just so happened to be 3 zombies.

You were running off of pure adrenaline, hands shaking and no way to tell if you were doing any real damage. You couldn’t open your eyes. If you did, you’d be reminded that this was real. You are beating up real zombies and if you don’t win, you’ll die.

Zombies weren’t as durable as they might seem. A lot of them took themselves out on account of their own (inculpable) recklessness. There were a few built more sturdy than others, but luckily, these were your standard brainless, sluggish, and frail zombies.

You’d think he would have approached with more caution considering you had just fought for your life and were still holding a wired bat in your hands as you question if it makes you a murder to kill the undead. But no, he put his hand on your shoulder gently and immediately regretted it.

You gasped, quickly spinning around to make him the next victim of your rampage. Thankfully, he ducked with wide eyes, missing your blow by a hair and by then you’d realized he was not a zombie.

He looked at you in shock rather than fear. Faces void of the chronic anxiety that came with living in the current world were rare— but not extinct, you now realized.

You have now been traveling with him for 3 months, and are content to be sitting on the ledge of an abandoned gas station while Percy looks for gas. Your life has improved a lot since you met him. You feel less like you’re waiting for your imminent death and more like you’re living now.

“They say we’re made of stardust.” You comment, as he drives down the desolate road.

He gives you a quick glance before looking back at the road, though you think it’d be hard to crash in these conditions. “Yea? What do you think?”

You shrug, looking at your hands, examining the palm, almost waiting to see if it’ll glimmer like the night sky does. “I think that’d be cool.” You believe it more when you look at him though. He’s beautiful enough to be related to the stars. Bright enough too.

“What about you, do you believe it?” You ask.

He hums thoughtfully, tapping his finger on the steering wheel a couple times before looking at you with a smile so unguarded and warm it makes you a bit squirmish. You’re thankful when he sets his sights back on the road ahead of him.

“I believe it, but I don’t think whoever said that was speaking scientifically. Sometimes you meet people who feel like they belong up there.” He gives you a quick glance. “Like they were never meant to be down here with the rest of us, You know?”

You admire him as he speaks. Watching the way his smile lines show when he talks, how his eyes shine so stunningly in the moonlight.. You think about how he seems to light up any room he stands in, how he knows just how to keep things light so effortlessly, and it’s all for you.

You nod because yea, you do know.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

A Freak and A Basket Case: Eddie Munson X Hispanic!Fem!Reader

Chapter 6: Wonderful Tonight

Do we need just a brainless little bit of fluff? I think we do. Also we need some more of my autistic rambling about music.

[Maseterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

****

Ditching first period was comically easy, and you had to admit that Stoned Eddie was a goddamn genius.

You liked plans. Loved knowing that there was a clear and concise sequential progression of events that unfolded according to your control. Eddie’s plan was infallible: show up for homeroom to create confusion in the school attendance records, fake sick in the middle of first period, then hide out in a bathroom stall until the hall monitors were at the other end of the building. You knew not one soul in the school except for Eddie — and frankly, nobody cared to notice a misfit like you — so it was almost laughable how easy it was to fall through the cracks.

Everything went according to plan. Mr. Leigh-Manuel in first period AP English seemed to accept your excuse without question. All you had to whisper was “period cramps” and you were hand waved out of the room with a pass.

Eddie said he would come get you before first period ended. He was going to take you on your first real date. Pick you up, take you out to eat, see where things went from there.

That was the plan.

You loved the plan.

But when you snuck out of the bathroom and left for the student lot the first time, the plan deviated. The van did not pull up to the drop off lane on schedule.

That was okay. You went back inside, hid in the bathroom, and went back out to check.

No Gaucho.

The conversation with Chrissy happened, and you decided to leave the bathroom amidst the throng of students making their way to second period. Your stomach was currently in knots. Gurgling and aching as you ducked out of view from the acne riddled hall monitor peeking her auburn curled head out of the school’s double doors. Before she caught sight of your blue Jansport, you managed to dodge between a black RX-7 and a golden Oldsmobile Cutlass, clinging to the fender when you squatted down so you didn’t fall on your ass.

Shaking in your Chucks, you looked frantically out towards Cherry Street for the familiar dirty white stripe on the green of Eddie’s beat up old Gaucho.

Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty… until you were about a quarter to ten and he still hadn’t shown his face.

You wanted to throw up. The nagging feeling that Eddie had forgotten your arrangement made bile sit in the back of your throat. While still in the awkward phase of no clear relationship labels, every misstep made you frightened that this charming man had already begun to lose interest.

You were about to start kicking fenders in the lot when you heard the familiar sound of Ozzy Osborne’s “All Aboard!” followed by unhinged, demonic laughter intermingling with the sound of tires squealing against asphalt. Your head snapped towards the sound- a large grin forming on your face- and Eddie’s Gaucho swerved into the student parking lot, hitting the curb hard and nearly taking out the yellow school traffic sign.

The Gaucho sped in at an angle, double parking at the far end of the lot, the driver stumbling out and running a hand through his messy curls as his head whipped around, looking for you. Eddie looked particularly frazzled, in all his disheveled, just-tumbled-out-of-bed-and-threw-on-a-band-shirt glory. His eyes were rimmed red like a demon, and the blue of his uneven five o’clock shadow evident around his mouth. Ringed fingers scrambled to smooth out the rumples in his worn denim battle vest.

If you were honest, it looked like he’d slept in the clothes he was wearing from yesterday. Probably slept in after splitting that fatty with you at the lake, returning home and passing out on the mattress with his Reeboks still on. Had Jamie and your mom not been so goddamned nosy, you would have done the same.

But you did not give a damn how he looked. It was Eddie, goddammit. Eddie had shown up! He was looking for you. It was almost pathetic how down bad you were for this man: he could have shown up in a Great Depression Era flour sack dress, and you’d be over the moon.

You whistled, and he immediately made a beeline for the Cutlass you were hiding behind.

"I am so fucking sorry I’m late, sweetheart…!" he wheezed, straining to breathe from short distance sprinting on smoker’s lungs, “Ugh…! Fuck! Slept through my goddamn alarm because I greened out when I got home..."

“Eddie!”

You couldn’t help yourself. You launched yourself into his arms and hugged him tightly with your arms wrapped around his chest. He made a strained “ooft” as he caught you, before immediately gripping you back tightly and burying his face in your neck.

"I'm so, so, so sorry if I made you worry.” He murmured, “I didn't forget you… I promise."

“I thought you did forget.” You said honestly, “I had to hide out in the bathroom all of first period.”

Eddie made a pitiful noise, rubbing his large hand along your back through your Carhartt jacket.

"My poor sweetheart." He cooed, pulling a face complete with a pouty lip, "I could never forget you. I’m so sorry, this was super shitty of me. It will never happen again. Never.”

You nodded, a soft hum escaping as you looked up shyly at him.

He gave you the once over. From the way his eyes raked over your form and his tongue flicked over his dry lips, he must have thought you looked particularly sweet today.

You wore the same quilted Carhartt jacket with the trucking logo and kitschy alien pins and patches – sweating in it from the humidity – over top an ivory button down with a Peter Pan collar, and a black pleated skirt that went past your knees. A little gold plated heart locket hung around your neck.

You had at least tried to put special effort into your appearance, even if you admittedly looked a little plain in comparison to the fashion statements others could afford for a first date. While it wasn’t the white jeans and pastel pump and polo combo, you felt that you could at least pass for presentable at a diner date outside of Hawkins.

Eddie smiled, clearly flattered by the extra effort. He brought his hand up to flick the locket around your neck, a Cheshire Cat grin forming and exposing teeth stained slightly by tobacco.

"Hey, what's this?" He asked, his fingertips brushing against the gold plating, "You look extra pretty today. Not that you're not always pretty."

“I wanted to wear something special for you.” You said shyly, “Um… I found this shirt in the back of my closet, and I wore my locket… oh! Open it. There’s a fun surprise in there…”

Eddie's smile widened when you mentioned opening the locket. A little clumsy at first, he leaned in and gently clicked it open, curious to see what surprise lay within. You giggled, covering your mouth as you waited to see Eddie’s reaction.

At first he gasped out loud, looked down at the picture with a mixture of surprise and delight, then he began to cackle.

"Jesus H. Christ, you dork!”

Inside the locket was a glossy, tiny magazine clipping of Eddie the Head, looking back at him with a skeletal grin.

"Is this for me?" He looked back up at you, shaking the hair out of his eyes and smiling.

You snickered and nodded, shifting side to side on the edges of your Chucks.

“I usually keep a picture of Kyle MacLachlan in there,” you said, “But I found a magazine clipping of Iron Maiden’s Eddie and I thought it was more appropriate to put in because, well, I’m going on a date with an Eddie. Um… If I had a picture of you, I would have put you in there, but I don’t, so...”

His chuckles subsided, his wide grin showing off beautiful dimples and flushed pink cheeks.

“Well, we’ll just have to remedy that sometime. Maybe I’ll lurk around the yearbook geeks, see if I can’t hunt down a good headshot for you.”

You smiled and began to chew on your lower lip, enjoying the attention and absolutely basking in the fact that he’d come to get you, even if he was late. Any other girl probably would have thrown a tantrum, stomped off, or – god forbid – left him standing there in the lot. They wouldn’t have extended grace to him like you.

Or maybe you were just stupid and desperate… Willing to give anyone a chance, who could tell?

“Hey, don’t bite your lip.”

Eddie gently hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head up and tapping your upper lip with a calloused finger.

“None of that.” He said, making a clicking noise with his tongue, “You’re gonna make it bleed… you’re too pretty for bloody lips, sweetheart.”

“Sorry!”

Your response was immediate, releasing your lip from your teeth and groveling.

“I’m sorry… bad habit.” You were trying to justify yourself while at the same time explain, “Kind of my thing when I just don’t know what to do… I’m really sorry.”

“No, no. It’s okay.” He replied, “You don’t have to defend yourself. Just go easy on those pretty lips for me. You’ll need them for later.”

You sputtered, giggling nervously and covering your mouth as Eddie rocked you side to side, putting both of his large hands on your shoulders and rubbing your deltoids with his thumbs. Any other day this would have been heaven, just enough that the hottest guy in Hawkins was touching you, you would have stood in the lot with him for hours. But the hall monitors were ruthless half day seniors with gaps in their schedules and chips on their shoulders, lurking around the campus grounds like sharks circling a whale carcass, and you weren’t about to sacrifice a Saturday for detention. Glancing around the parking lot, paranoid as ever, you began tugging at Eddie’s wrists. Eager to get the hell out of Dodge and out of Hawkins, even just for a little bit.

“Um… we should go.” You said quickly, “The hall monitors were like, checking the parking lot every five seconds.”

Eddie groaned when you mentioned the hall monitors. Obviously the last thing he wanted to deal with.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He said, blowing a raspberry in the direction of the school building, “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here, we’re burning daylight and I’ve got some serious making up to do.”

That beautiful smile returned to his face when he pulled you along, both of you bobbing and weaving between the cars in a game of chase before he brought you to his double parked van, making sure to open the door with an exaggerated bow.

“You’ve been formerly acquainted with my valiant steed: Big Bertha.” He said in a deep voice, “Your white-… well, uh, green horse for the day. If you please to step this way...”

Of course you giggled.

It was purposefully practiced and precise, unlike the awkward little curtsy you tried to improv that almost made you trip over your own two left feet. Eddie immediately reached out to grab and steady you with a little “oop” leaving his lips, and he helped you into the van with a hand resting on the small of your back, his hands underneath your jacket and everything. You could feel that his fingers were shaking a little, and after he slammed the passenger door a little too hard he made his way around to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting the engine with a sputtering roar.

Every few seconds he glanced over at you as he peeled out of the lot.

“You really do look nice today, sweetheart. Extra special, just for me.”

His compliments made you giddy, curling in on yourself and wriggling around in the seat. You crossed your legs, hands went up to your face to cover your obnoxiously large grin, and you couldn’t help the giddy giggling from bubbling up. The kitschy pins on your jacket clinked against one another as you moved.

You slowly pulled down your hands from your face, your smile unable to be contained as you watched Eddie turn off of Cherry Street onto another road, one that lead the Gaucho through a sad excuse of a downtown area. In comparison to where you’d lived previously, this town of Hawkins was sadly a disappointment. But you still leaned closer to watch it all go by the window as Eddie pulled onto Larabie.

“So there’s like… really nothing in terms of a food scene here, is there?” You asked gently, “We really gotta go this far out of our way?”

“Not a whole hell of a lot in town." Eddie snorted, “Would have taken you to Benny’s if it was still around. Now it’s just an abandoned cesspool overrun by jocks who sneak Pabst and take ketamine.”

So many buildings were shuttered, businesses closed down, and absolutely no one was milling around save for the few old diehards who refused to give up on their small town. Snowy old heads in plaid western snap shirts were parked on benches, while old housewives in floral mumus were milling around the open stores with discount signs. The whole neighborhood looked like it had once been an early sixties zombie apocalypse scene by George A. Romero, if he’d gotten drunk and fired his art director halfway during production.

"It's not exactly New York or Chicago here, that's for sure," Eddie said, his tone a little wistful.

“It’s not even Santa Fe.” You replied.

There was a bustling food scene in the capital of your previous home state. There were so many restaurants to choose from, and you were pissed because at the end of August they would be setting up entire rows of food carts on the plaza while they burned a fifty foot tall puppet. Of course you left right before the best part of the summer, stuck in the Midwest where there wasn’t one fajita vendor or Will Schuster spectacle to be found. You didn’t see it while you were brooding, but Eddie glanced over at you, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noticed your disappointment.

“I think I saw maybe one or two places in town that were like, an actual restaurant.” You said, “There was a real run down bar that had a menu and like, this really fancy looking Italian place.”

He glanced over at you again, a grimace on his face.

"Welcome to the town of Hawkins, Indiana: home of greasy spoons, dive bars, and one fancy Italian joint. Just so you know, I will be your welcome wagon for a lot of disappointments. Expect maybe like… at least twenty more.”

“A la ve, this sucks.” you moaned.

Eddie burst out laughing.

"Hey, it's not all bad," he said, "We have... uh..."

He paused, and it was almost painful to watch the gears in his head turn looking for something positive to say about this piece of shit town.

"We have a video store?" he offered.

“Yeah but you gotta pay for those.” You said, “I’m poor, I rent movies at the library. I gotta wait longer, but shit is free.”

"You cheapskate." he laughed, “But, you’re not wrong. Libraries are a poor man's best friend.”

You both began to laugh.

“So… um… have you always lived here in Hawkins?” You ventured cautiously.

“Mmhmm… Born and raised. Never even been outside of Indiana, actually.” He said.

“Where do you live? I’m out on Cherry Street. Is that near your house?”

Eddie stiffened up in the driver’s seat. His eyes were wide, suddenly alert, and he did that shaking thing that your dogs did whenever your mom yelled at them for digging tampons out of the trash.

“We uh… we live just outside of town.” He said lowly.

“Oh really? Is it nice outside of town? I was just thinking I hadn’t even really asked you much about yourself, so I was just wondering.” You were so busy plucking loose threads out of your skirt, you didn’t notice Eddie’s pallor as you continued to jabber on at him.

“Uh… I guess it’s nice? It’s a little cramped, not the best neighborhood…” he mumbled.

“Oh shit, that sucks. You guys renting bad apartments or something?”

“… kind of, we are renting a lot but he owns the… well… It’s, uh… I… I live in a single wide with my uncle.”

“Oh cool. Is the lot where you rent nice? I bet it’s nice, there’s lots of forest around here. I bet the views are beautiful. I don’t much care for the humidity here but I do like to see the green and the trees everywhere.”

Eddie sucked air through his teeth, then spit as if he’d had a hair caught in his mouth.

“… you’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.” He finally said after a long, awkward silence.

You blinked, a little confused.

“Huh? How do you mean?”

“It’s a trailer park, sweetheart. Not the Four Seasons. Everyone in Hawkins who hears those magic words automatically thinks ‘burnout’.” He said matter of factly, “I guess… I guess I just thought you’d think the same way.”

It didn’t occur to you that people could think such things. A trailer was a home, wasn’t it? Or were things in Hawkins different…?

“I used to live in a trailer park.” You said softly, almost hurt, “And my parents didn’t even own the trailer. Do you think I’m a burnout?”

“No! Oh god no… I’m just… I’m not used to this whole, like, blind acceptance thing.” He said, taking his hands off the wheel for a split second to gesticulate.

“Oh.”

The van was silent. Eddie scratched the corner of his nose, you began to shake your leg.

“Guess we’re both accustomed to the ‘park’ life then, huh?” He finally said after a while.

“It’s a bit hazy for me. I remember bits and pieces of living there.” You admitted, “But we would always go back and visit every weekend. We lived with my auntie at Desert Bluffs RV Park, out by the highway in her double-wide when I was a baby, and then afterwards we started renting apartments because there wasn’t enough room for all of us.”

“Did your parents not work? How come you couldn’t afford a house?” He asked.

To anyone else it might have sounded rude, but to you it was genuine. Then again everything sounded that way — even the baiting mean questions from people who secretly hated you — and with those you liked, you tried to answer honestly, even if it was embarrassing, because you often couldn’t tell the difference between genuine curiosity or hateful teasing.

“My mom did, she’s a teacher. My dad is the one who stayed home until I went to school because my aunt wanted money for taking care of me and my big brother, and they couldn’t afford a regular sitter.”

Money had always been tight. That was reality. That was the God’s honest truth of being a young family. Your father and mother had met at fifteen, fallen in love, married fresh out of high school, and struggled through life as a new couple with a baby boy for the first seven years of their married life. Your auntie took your parents in, and your dad stayed home to care for Jamie while your mom worked and went to college.

Finally in the fall of ‘65, mom got her teaching license, and things looked better for everyone. Then you came along in ‘67 and suddenly you all found yourselves out of the trailer park. She said it was because she was tired of hearing crying at all hours of the night. When in reality she was pissed off because she was eighteen years your mother’s senior, and her abrasive personality made no allowance for a husband, let alone a family of her own. Tia Cristela also hated weird little girls like you with a passion.

You told Eddie about the apartments you lived in after the RV park. Before buying the house on Cherry Street, your family had never owned a home. You never knew life without a landlord or someone living above, below, or behind you. In the first seventeen years of life you had moved a total of six times. That was how it was. If living got too expensive, you packed up your shit and moved.

“Christ… Six times?!” Eddie complained, “That’s like… absolutely no stability going on there, it must have sucked.”

“Yeah…” you nodded, “I never stayed anywhere very long to make friends, and… You lose a lot of stuff when you move around constantly.”

“Fuck that. No wonder you were so hesitant on moving out to Hawkins.”

This move was further out. Completely out of your comfort zone. Not only would the people be different, but the whole state, the roads, and everything else would be too. Even the food.

“I hate moving. There’s always something that gets lost, so I don’t get to keep a lot. But um, I always kept track of my books. And my cassettes, and my vinyl.” You said fondly, fingering the buttons of your Walkman in your jacket pocket.

Those were the things that stayed consistent. Music was your home. The one safe place where nothing could touch you.

“Vinyl and cassette? You like music?”

He sounded hopeful.

You remembered the day he grabbed you. He said you had great taste in music…

“I do. I love all kinds of music.” You nodded, “Um… I… not just metal but like, all kinds of stuff.”

“Tell me… we’ve got an hour to kill. Someone holds a gun to your head: who’s the band you’re telling them everything about?”

You told him who your favorite was, and then a second later you changed your mind and made him laugh. It was so hard to pick just one band when you enjoyed so many different genres that your answer varied based on mood and day of the week. The conversation deviated from small talk to deeper aspects of music: both of you spending the entire hour long drive delving deep past the superficial and into the more involved aspects. What bands influenced each other, which lyrics evoked images of grandeur in your mind when you paced up and down in your rooms.

Eventually you both got into the musicians themselves: the current topic being who is or was the best guitarist in the world. Eddie had thrown out a few names, metal artists primarily, and you had insisted it was Van Halen who wore that crown. Until you both started going into the semantics of technical style versus genre, types of guitar used, and whether or not they actually used attachments like a whammy bar, or if the artists knew how to read sheet music.

A winner had been decided just as Eddie pulled into the diner’s lot. You both came to the agreement that Eric Clapton of Cream was the superior musician who had both the talent and the icon status, as well as the verisimilitude required of an accomplished musician.

“Okay, I’ll concede to Clapton. But I still want you to at least consider what I said about Tony Iommi.” Eddie told you as you both got out of the car.

“I’ll think about him, but he’s not Clapton, and he’s certainly not doing twelve minute guitar solos like Van Halen did when I saw him live.”

“Oooh! Look at the princess throwing it in my face that she’s been to a live show.” Eddie laughed, wriggling his fingers at you before grabbing you and walking you into the diner by the shoulders, “Okay fine, but new theory: we both are wrong. I feel like we didn’t really give Jimi Hendrix the respect he deserves.”

“We didn’t. You’re the one who got all butthurt because you said the title of ‘Pop Musician of the Year’ in ‘68 disqualified him from the running.” You said, putting out your tongue at him.

“… and I will still stand by that statement.” Eddie said stubbornly, “No Pop icons in this house.”

You stared him down hatefully until the both of you began to laugh, making the hostess cringe and take her sweet time in seating the both of you.

“So it’s decided: Clapton wins this round. Iommi however? Still my personal pick. Right next to Nikki Sixx, but that’s on account of we have the same model guitar.” Eddie laughed, finally noticing the pissed off waitress and leading you with him to the booth.

“Oooh fanboy alert! Fanboy alert!” You said, not caring in the slightest about things like volume control.

“I’m allowed to fanboy!” Eddie argued, sounding as if he’d pitch a fit in the diner, “You don’t have to be like that with me!”

“Dirty fanboy, dirty fanboy!” You teased, poking him in his side.

You both laughed and wrestled all the way into the booth, Eddie beeped at you like a big rig in reverse when he used his body weight to scooch in close to your side. At all times he was in your personal space, he didn’t want to leave you alone and you didn’t want him to sit anywhere else except glued to your hip.

“Scoochie!” He demanded, bumping you with his hip.

“You wanna sit with me?” You asked.

“Hell yeah I wanna sit with you!” He smiled, “I’d sit in your lap if I could fit. Now scoochie!”

You scoochied. You scoochied all the way in until he pulled you close because you went too far away from him, his large hand rubbing your arm as he leaned close, getting into your face.

“Goddamn… you’re just so cute.” He said, chewing his bottom lip and drumming on your arm.

“So are you.” You said softly, “I just… I can’t believe it… you know? This… this thing we have going on, I like it.”

“Oh, I am definitely digging this connection.” Eddie grinned, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. It’s refreshing. It really is. And I like a girl who can hold her own with my bullshit.”

“How do you mean?”

Eddie shrugged. Ran a finger along the seam of your Carhartt sleeve.

“I’m used to being the odd duck — the freak — the one who never fits in. I’ll start talking about how the licks in ‘Iron Fist’ were superior to ‘Ace of Spades’ as a whole, and I can literally see the moment a girl’s eyes start to glass over. Y’know, like they just want you to shut the fuck up and take your cock out. And then you came along, and we just… we click.” He snapped his fingers.

“We do.” You murmured, “I… gosh, how can I even describe it. It’s like, I can have a conversation with you. We can rant about things that no one else cares about. Even if it’s something you’re not as well informed on: you listen. You don’t just dismiss.”

He didn’t dismiss you. Quite the contrary. Eddie validated you. Teased you gently. He laughed so hard that chewed up pieces of his barbecue chicken sandwich went flying out of his mouth at you when you made bad jokes. But you didn’t even care. Not even when every so often he’d bump his forehead gently against yours, touching noses and just basking in your affection.

“You’re so silly.” Your murmured, inhaling his exhales as he lazily shut his eyes and rubbed noses with you.

“I can’t help it.” He murmured, “I haven’t had this much fun in my entire life. I thought I’d be shitting bricks on this date trying to keep it cool but… you just make it so easy to be around you. We’ve got so much in common, you’re super cuddly and sugar sweet. I just wanna like, eat you!”

Eddie took your face in his hands and made funny munching sounds, causing giggles to erupt from your throat.

“Seriously… this is the best date I’ve ever been on. I can open up around you, be myself.”

“Yes!” You nodded, “I feel the exact same way… I never want this date to end!”

“Well,” Eddie smiled, “Lucky for you, sweetheart, this is only our first date. We’ve got so many more coming. I want to know you, I want to experience more things with you.”

He gulped, staring directly into your eyes and holding your cheeks in the palm of his soft hands.

“In short… I want more of you. Now that I’ve had a taste, I’ll just keep coming back for more.”

[astaldis]

WIP Tuesday

Thanks a lot @disdaidal for tagging me! 😘

Here is the beginning of a little one-shot I'm writing for the @witchermonstermayhem. No longer works in progress at the moment.

And yet another safe

Cahir & Gallatin friendship

The monster gives a deafening roar, mouth wide agape, its rotting teeth flashing in the light of his torch. It looks ugly like hell and stinks of death and decay. But he has fought the likes of it before. They seem to be spawning out of the soil like pests these days. Well, they are well fed in these times of contempt, and he himself has provided them with ample dinner. If their mission was not as secret as it is, he would, of course, burn all the corpses of the soldiers and waggoners that accompany the caravans they raid and that end up dead and rotting in the woods. But fires like the ones necessary to cremate a dozen or so dead humans at the same time are too conspicuous and they cannot bury every body deep enough for those corpse eaters not to get to them. At least they try to with their own casualties. Which is more than enough hard work with all the rocks and stones and roots in the forest soil. A pity, these brainless beasts do not appreciate the service they and the Scoia'tael are providing them and keep to a dead-meat-only diet instead of attacking their benefactors.

He swings his sword at the ghoul. The beast roars again and charges at him, the elf lying spreadeagled on the forest ground forgotten. Cahir ducks and spins, then stabs the ghoul in its massive thigh. The monster does not even seem to notice. It lunges at the human. But it is too slow and stupid to do any damage. Cahir evades the monster by jumping to the side in the last moment, then he spins around and sinks his blade into the ogroid's back. This time, the monster does notice. It turns around, its ugly face a grimace of deadly fury. Then it pounces at the human again ...

If you'd like to play the tagging game too, I'm looking forward to seeing snippets of your current WIPs @littlestsnicket @my-jokes-are-my-armour @bookscorpion @i-bermudiana @morriganwarrior @bylightofdawn @bittersweetbark @kuwdora

and anybody else who'd like to take part! But no pressure, only if you feel like it and have some spare time at hand. Have a lovely Tuesday!

[marvelous-goose]

WIP Wednesday

look at me, doing tags on the day i'm actually supposed to do them!

ty @orangeandclover for tagging me !!!! officially tagging YOU. YES YOU, RANDOM CITIZEN! if you want to do WIP wednesday i am tagging you and you should do it NOW

this is a snippet of something i'm working on for the lighthouse 'verse, a nebulously modern AU that me and a bunch of my friends have where the lighthouse is a historic queer bar & our OCs (plus some canon thedas characters) are all employees, performers, or (like my OCs) regulars.

jasper thorne is my canon rook, and emmy is his twin sister :3 putting my snippet below the cut !!!! also putting their character tags in the tags for this post so you can check out pictures & more yapping about them if you want :3 i need to yap about them more here actually. i need to fix that bc i love them

Jasper walked through the front door of the apartment he shared with his twin sister with a heavy sigh. It had been a long goddamn shift. He toed off his work shoes—clogs with excellent arch support, a staple among nurses—kicked them into place just beneath the key hook, hung up his keys, then shuffled into his bedroom and started shucking off his scrubs. His phone had been buzzing on and off the entire bus ride home; he knew it was Emmy, his sister, excited about something new. Typically, he’d be fine with spending the ride home chatting with her, but this evening, he had just put his phone on mute and popped in his earbuds. Now that he was home, he glanced at the texts: she was going on about some place a friend recommended to her, was trying to get him to join her one of these days. He dropped his scrubs into a dedicated “nasty scrubs” hamper next to his bed, pulled off his socks and boxer briefs, took his longish dishwater-blond hair out of its practical bun at the back of his head, and started a scalding hot shower.

This was his post-work routine. He took a quick shower, just long enough to scrub the remnants of hospital-smell and sweat off his skin. He didn’t let himself start to drift off under the soothingly monotonous shower head; once he was done, he toweled himself dry, put on his pajamas—ratty old sweatpants and a far-too-big tee-shirt—and went back out to the living room to put on some nostalgic (or brainless, one or the other) TV show. Jasper didn’t bother making dinner. Emmy was a firefighter, working 48-hour shifts with four days in between; she was coming home tonight, and the routine always had her pick up pizza on her way. He was halfway through an episode of MAS*H—he couldn’t stand most medical shows, especially after work, but he always made an exception for Hawkeye Pierce—when Emmy arrived, pizza in hand. “You got my texts?” were the first words out of her mouth as she hung up her keys and set the pizza on the little side table next to the door. She knelt down to untie her boots, tossed them haphazardly next to Jasper’s clogs, then finally looked up. “Oh.” She turned to look at the TV for a minute. “Season five?” “Yep,” said Jasper. “That bad?” “You don’t wanna know,” he replied. Emmy nodded, more to herself than anything else, as she quickly rearranged her evening plans. “You want tea? I don’t make it as good as you, but—“ “—I’ll make myself some in a minute, I think.” He paused the episode. “C’mere. Tell me about this place Davrin was telling you about.” “Lemme get changed first, but yeah!” And Emmy ducked into her bedroom, on the opposite side of the apartment from Jasper’s, for a few minutes before coming back out in a pair of old joggers and a poorly-made cutoff tank emblazoned across the front with an epic action scene between a stegosaurus and a t-rex. Jasper briefly considered the accuracy of the proposed all-out fight before deciding it didn’t matter anyway.

[leprosycock]

when you started your ATHF yaoi journey i didn’t see the vision with shake.. i thought you were crazy… but i decided to start watching the show again as a result and my eyes have been opened. i can’t believe he’s more shota than MW. i’m disgusted. i’m enlightened. i’m envious of your brain.

let it be known that mw is still extremely shota, given literally everything about him (being canonically six re: season 11, crayon drawings, baby brain, constantly being parented and fathered by fryIock, crying and pouting when he doesn’t get his way, playing with dolls that he made himself, sleeping with a teddy bear and a cap, etc etc so on and so forth). but. But. shake is so fucking little boy and nobody understands. nobody gets that he’s a brainless psycho toy of a boy who doesn’t understand what sex is and it confuses and terrifies him and he complains and pitches fits and he puts cats in microwaves and kills ducks with baking soda and vinegar and he’s the show’s punching bag so he constantly gets decapitated and gored to death and shot and cut up and blistered and he can’t read and he loves video games and tv and he’s a great cook and he wears a pink frilly apron when he makes lasagna aaaaaaa (the voices)

there’s a narrative that shake and fryIock are mw’s parents, but if you really pay attention and you watch and you listen, fryIock parents shake just as much. he has the ability to ground him and make him sleep outside and shake was given an allowance for at least a period of time and he’s often babied just because fryIock doesn’t want to deal with the alternative. the true nature of fryIock and shake’s relationship is that shake is a boyfriend and a wife and a brother and a divorcee and a soulmate and they live inside no children by the mountain goats. it’s all very interesting and i have a lot of issues

[theesirenteller]

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 ; 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝

◦•●◉✿ 𝙹𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙾𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚣/ 𝙾𝙵𝙲 ✿◉●•◦

Ofc; Suzanna "Suzie" Wallace-Ortiz

"Look Suzie please! Please just listen to me!" Juice pleaded frantically as he dodged and ducked from the flying flip flops. "I can't be without you. I..I don't wanna lose you!" he pleaded.

"You're a fucking liar! You left me!"

" Woman, I was in prison!"

"Well who's fucking fault was that?! Yours! Nobody told you to follow those inbreds, they're not your brothers! They wouldn't do the same for you!"

"You don't get it Suzie! I can't be alone!" Juice yelled His eyes filled with tears as his face grew reddened. His hands balled into fists at his sides. "I-I don't do good with being alone. I start thinking about shit and i…it just gets real fucking bad for me. The clubs all I've got, Suzie. WIthout you, they're all I've got."

The heartbroken look on his face made the busty blonde frown. She lowered the shoe in her hand as her glaring expression softened. "Aw sugarplum..," she cooed as she rushed over to the closet-sized trailer. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she embraced him closely. Her warm palm gently rested against the back of his shaved head that she began to caress. "I done told you before that you've got me, sugarplum. You'll always have me." she laid a kiss against the nape of his neck as he hugged her tightly.``But it can't be both. I don't do well being second best to a bunch of rough lookin' rednecks" 

Suzanna Jean Wallace loathed bikers with a passion Specifically Samcro. The men had a filthy reputation. Done unspeakable things to people. People she once loved and cared dearly for had fallen into the grave because of those men. 

Juice, her sweet sugarplum was different. He was so much better than them. She knew his heart was pure. He'd been the first man to kiss her with his lips instead of a fist after an argument. He held her like he needed her.  Suzie didn't care for the type of guys who were brainless macho men that only cared about emptying their balls in whatever pussy that could get a hold on. She needed someone to hold her at night. Someone who didn't mind watching reruns of soap operas and cartoons whilst eating cereal. Juice became all that and so much more. He was sweeter than the sweetest sweet tea. 

"I've let good things go all my life. I don't wanna let you go." He wept against her hair. His fingertips dug into the softness of her skin as he squeezed her. "Marry me." he murmured with a muffled tone.

Suzie tilted her neck back and looked at him wide-eyed "What?"

"Suzie.." Juice's hands cupped her face as he stared into her brown eyes. Both of their eyes were the same shade of dark brown. "Will you marry me? Just us. I mean i love you and you love me…you're my dream girl and fuck, i couldn't think of anyone else i'd wanna spend my life with." his words were rushed but he spoke from his heart.

Suzie was one of the nicest women he'd ever met. Sure, she was an overly emotional crybaby at times. Or a drama queen who threw the oddest, scariest fits when she didn't get her way. But! she never ceased to keep a smile on his face. She baked him cherry pies and sugar cookies whenever they were together. Everyone in the diner where she worked loved her. She was so lively. An immaculate lover that left his skin marked in love bites and scatch marks. So much so you'd think he'd fought a cat. Suzie wasn't a secret but she was scared. His scared, serene lover.

A high-ear piercing squeal escaped Suzie's lips before she tackled the tanned biker onto her bed. She peppered his face in sloppy kisses as she hugged his waist. "Of course I'll marry you, Sugar." The southern Mississippi native stood up abruptly and sassed, "I'll be needing a ring. Something pretty and sweet that makes me think of you." 

Juice chuckled happily as he grasped her hand and laid a kiss at her fingers. "Whatever you want," he agreed. Standing up on his feet again, he gleefully wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling Suzie into a bear hug. His lips ravenously crashed against hers. His lips soft to the touch, overlapped hers in a slowed, yearning, and tender embrace. 

She felt the strength he possessed by the way he lifted her in his arms as if she weighed little to nothing. Suzie couldn't help but to melt in his arms and kiss Juice tenderly. He stole the air from her lungs and in that moment she felt as though they were one. Just before her tongue could brush against his, Juice pulled away. His fingers tapping against her lower back,"I wanna marry you right now." he whispered an inch from her lips. Suzie could feel his heart beating against hers. 

Her smile beamed so bright that her cheeks hurt. "Let's go get married then, sugarplum." she said, nudging her nose against his. Suzie then pecked his lips before she smacked her hands against his chest, "Now get out, I gotta get proper." 

"Yes ma'am." He chuckled before rushing out of the trailer. Juice reached into his pants pocket for his phone and his finger itched over Jax's number. But, he froze for a moment as Suzie's words replayed in his head. He instead turned off his phone and shoved it into his back pocket.

Suzie rushed to get ready.  From freshening up in a five-minute shower to getting her outfit together; Suzie was frantic with excitement. She'd put on a white overbust corset from her closet with white knee-high tights her six-inch pleaser rose & white stripper heels, and white lace g-string graced her body. The southern belle proceeded to straighten her bottle-blonde hair until it fell effortlessly to the of her breast. As she went to work on her makeup; Juice had left on his motorcycle.

The man sped off down the dust roads until he arrived at a Jewelry shop on the outskirts of Charming near a small coastal town. He took a deep breath as he parked his bike. Straightening himself up and removing his glasses, juice proceeded to head inside. He walked along the two isles with his eyes skimming over the selections. So many designs and styles to choose from. Yet, almost instantly…the ring chose him. A dainty-sized gold ring flashed revealed itself to him. It was crafted in a Japanese peach blossom shape with a tiny pink rose-quartz crystal in the center. 

"Hey, excuse me! I'd like to purchase this one." He called out. Excitement bubbled in his tone. 

Nearly thirty-minutes later; After packing an overnight bag and tossing on her oversized Levi denim jacket, Suzie rushed out the trailer and approached Juice. He had been rolling a fat joint when she approached. The man's eyes widened as he looked her over. A wide grin stretching across his lips. "Wow babe, you look amazing," he said before kissing her cheek. 

"Thank you honey. You look as handsome as ever." Suzie smiled as she pecked the tip of his nose. Once Juice had placed his helmet on her head, the pair were off to Vegas.

An hour's drive felt like five minutes. Juice blazed the couple through the highway at the speed of lightning. It wasn't that he was in a rush to head back to Charming, no. The guy was just so filled with excitement that he barely could contain it. Something about making her Mrs.Ortiz just made him so chipper and feral.

The wedding chapel. One of many in the city that never sleeps. But, what made this one special was that there were no witnesses needed. The two love birds stood in front of one another with a Priest dressed as Elvis in between them. The couple couldn't wipe the smile off of their faces. It's only been three months that they'd known one another and been together. But, it felt like thirty years. For Suzie, it was love at first sight. The sight of his golden retriever smile and hippy attitude made her want to give the hunk of a man a son named Tanner and worship him endlessly.

Suzie wore a 2.99 viel she'd brought from outside the chapel and a 5.99 bouquet of faux white roses. The trailer park princess was finally becoming a proper wife. Tears filled her little Bambi eyes as her smile grew shaky.

"Do you Juan Ortiz take Suzanne Jean Wallace as your wife in sickness & in health? For better or worse for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." Juice quickly nodded his head as he agreed. He proceeds to take the ring out of his pocket and slip it into her finger.

Suzie couldn't contain the squeaky sob that escaped her lips, "Oh my gosh sugarplum!" her heels click-clacked as she stomped her feet in delight.

The Elvis priest chuckled and shook his head as proceeded on, "Do you Suzanna Jean Wallace take Juan Ortiz to be your husband in-"

"Yes! No need to yip yap too much. I do." Suzie quickly interrupted. She excitedly pulled her father's old wedding band out from under bosom before proceeding to slip it onto Juice's finger. It was a perfect fit. Almost solidifying that they were in fact meant to be.

"Well then…" The Priest chuckled, "I now pronounce you Mr.&Mrs.Ortiz."

His muscular arms wrapped around her hips as Juice quickly lifted her up in his arms. Their lips clashed together passionately. Their mouths ravished one another until their noses were nudged and their tongues pressed closely against each other. The world suddenly felt still. No one else mattered but the two of them.

They'd gotten married fast but got to their honeymoon suite at the Mermaid Motel even quicker. Sweet sativa clouded the air as Mrs.Ortiz enjoyed her KFC chicken drumstick and fourth joint. Whilst Juice had been taking a call outside their room. Giggling to herself, Suzie watched a rerun of Mall Cop on the small TV that hung from the wall. Tilting her head back, she peeked through the curtains, her eyes narrowed in on Juice pacing back and forth. Which caused Suzie to roll her eyes.

"Fucking shit hole bikers." She muttered as she stood up from the couch. After tossing her drumstick down on her paper plate and tossing the remains of her blunt into her cherry coke can ; Suzie slips out of her heels and corset. Snatching two complimentary towels from the edge of the bed on her way out of the room, Suzie stalked toward where Juice stood. Quickly, she snatched his phone and ended the call with a snap of the flip phone.

"Hey! Babe what the hell?! That was important." Juice groaned with a huff.

"Not more important than fucking me stupid, sugarplum." She dismissed as she grasped his hand. "Let's go swimming, it's hot." her feet smacked against the pavement as she ran towards the vacant pool.

"Definitely not." He agreed as he chased behind her.

Towels were dropped at the edge of the pool as Suzie jumped in first. Juice quickly stripped out of his chunky boots, baggy jeans, and white tee before diving in after her. The fluorescent lights of the Mermaid Motel sign were their only lightning. Reflecting off the pool water. As the pair arose for air, Suzie playfully licked the side of his face. " Sweeter than a sweet tatar." She laughed.

"Whatever weirdo." Juice laughed as he splashed water her way.

"No! My makeup!" She giggled as she shielded her face with her hands.

"You're looking like a corpse bride right about now babe." He teased as he continued to splash her. The two splashed one another until she had no choice but to turn around and reach for her towel to pay her face dry.

As she gently tapped her face, he came behind her. His hands rubbed along her hips up to her breasts. Squeezing at her squishy pear-shaped mounds as his thumbs fondled at her nipples. A low whimper escaped her giggling lips. His pouty lips warmed her cool skin as he kissed along her neck. He adorned her skin with his lips and tongue, nibbling at her flesh. "You're so pretty baby." he murmured against her. Grasping greedily at her breasts he tugged her closer.

Her small hands draped over his larger ones as Suzie softly moaned. Arching her lower back, she grinds her ass against his crotch. Her nails dragged along his forearms that she couldn't help but grasp and caress. His stiff cock grinding against her plump cheeks needily earned a muffled groan to leave his lips. His large hand grasped at her throat and jaw, tugging her back as he did so. His tongue dipped down into her mouth. Their tongues licked against one another as their lips messily pressed and dragged passionately on and off each other. The way his tongue would massage the back of her mouth made her clit throb as she eagerly rocked back against his growing erection.

Juice had to have one the most modest men who carried a third leg Suzie ever encountered. Despite their first time being a quick five-minute bathroom bang; she never expected the Glock-sized cock he had. By looking at him and his demeanor, she never expected it. But their second hook-up in her trailer gave her a juicy first look. The man, her man was a whooping eight inches with about a five-inch girth. Not that she had a ruler but it was pretty clear. Circumcised (thankfully) and perfectly, cleanly shaven. He kept his hair as neat as his Mohawk. A slight tilt upward shaft that just plunged her whenever he rammed into her.

Just like now. Suzie had been so blissfully enchanted by his tongue in her mouth and his left hand groping at her breast; That she hadn't realized how swiftly he lifted and pressed her left leg to her waist. His thick and veiny shaft stuffed into her silken hole with little ease. Suzie let out a cry of both pleasure and pain. Her thighs shook as her hips jolted back against his. "Ah! You fucking mad mohawker!" she cursed through teary-eyed laughter. He made her a complete and utter mess. and she loved every minute of it.

"Shouldn't have interrupted my call, baby"Juice laughed in her ear as he dug deeper inside her. His fingers pressed against her throbbing clit and he rubbed at it tenderly. Suddenly, the cool evening air is stifling, and Suzie starts to feel like she's suffocating. Overwhelmed by the pleasure he's basking on her. The way his hips snapped against hers when his throbbing, thick veiny cock drilled into her with a force that matched the roaring of thunder. Her moans grew so loud that Juice had to stuff his fingers into her mouth.

The newlywed's pleasurable night was only the beginning of their wild ride. Their love was a fire that would burn down any obstacle in their way. No matter how 'Brotherly' that obstacle was.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

I'm gonna call this 'Chapter One'

[lavalampelfchild]

Breathe, Breathe with Me

Summary: The Battle of Denerim is won. The Wardens and their allies have emerged victorious, and all of Ferelden, it seems, wants to celebrate.

Yet, amidst this revelry, there is a single moment, shared between two weary souls. Small, intimate, and worth the world.

AO3: Here!

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Preview:

Sodding sod it.

So.

Tristan had to be here.  He had to be here, at the center of Denerim, smack in the sodding center of this sodding castle, blown to Kal Sharok and back, being paraded around like some noblewoman showing herself off for suitors.  Had to be present at this nug show, letting these humans trot him out like some lap nug to cheer at.  Fine.

He’d been through worse.  He’d gotten through heaps of nugshit, he’d get through this too.

He sighed heavily through his nose and settled back, prepared to tune it all out until he could get away to the drink and food.

But, as he surveyed the room from his uncomfortable position at the center of attention, something in his chest… shifted.

It was something—something tight.  So tight and twisted and coiled, and it wrenched loose in Tristan’s chest, wrenched free and settled.  And Tristan blinked hard, breathed hard, and looked out at the sea of people, a flash of suspicious uncertainty flaring through him.

He wanted to cling to it.  That familiar suspicion, that bitter-tasting wariness that he was so used to, that had protected him for so long.

But that thing in his chest, wrenched free and loose in a way Tristan had never felt before all this sodding shit…

His eyes moved over the crowd, and he looked, let himself see more than just a hoarde of strangers, or a gaggle of potential threats, or brainless fools who thought he was something to gawk at.

The faces of the humans – of the elves and his own kinfolk as well – that looked back at him, they were all tired and dirty, ringed with the bruises of the exhausted, the gaunt and sallow complexion of those who’d been thrown into a bloody fight.  The bone-deep relief of coming out the other end alive.

Survivors.  Fighters.  All of them.

Tristan’s eyes slid to his fellow Wardens.  Same exhaustion, same pain, same relief.  All of them, together, level and equal.

Knees threatening to buckle briefly with the weight of it, the sheer overwhelming punch of it, Tristan shifted slightly, locking himself in place and ducking his head to swallow past the feeling of it.

End Preview:

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[bookwormscififan]

The Chaos Files, Chapter 6

Read on AO3!

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

A/N: I'm not the only one who loves the idea of possessive Jackie, right?

Warnings: Implied smut.

--

Phantom wasn’t used to waking up to growling. Opening his eyes slowly, he was met with Jackie’s bare torso, strong arms holding him close as a soft growl rumbled in his chest.

“Jackie?” he asked, unable to move from how tightly Jackie was holding him. If he was still mortal, Phantom was sure he’d have been crushed by now. “Are you alright?”

Jackie’s growl grew louder at a knock on the door, and Phantom could feel a warmth where his claim mark was. Snaking a hand up to press his fingers against the bite, his eyes widened when the dots connected.

“Hey, Jackie,” he whispered, smirk playing at his lips. “Are you being possessive, darling?” His chuckle escaped when Jackie’s answer was to nuzzle into his neck, running his fangs over the bite before growling again. “Oh, honey, you’re probably just growling at Mad and Mare. Could you let go of me so I can prove that to you?”

When Jackie let go, Phantom climbed out of the bed, wincing slightly at the pain in his hips, then pulled one of Jackie’s hoodies over his head before going to the bedroom door and opening it. Instead of Mad or Mare outside, there stood a man in a blue waistcoat with brown hair, regarding him curiously.

“Who the hell are you?”

----

“Mare! We really should check on your brother,” Mad insisted, trying once more to free himself from Mare’s hold.

“They can wait a little more. The sun’s barely set,” Mare protested, nuzzling into the dip in Mad’s back, soft purrs vibrating in his chest. “Please, stay in bed a little longer.” One hand moved down to trace the line of Mad’s hipbones while the other drew lazy patterns across his chest, waiting for Mad to reply.

“If I told you I’m feeling like there’s something wrong, will you come with me?” he asked with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Something feels… off tonight, like there’s something bad about to happen. I just want to make sure everyone I care about is alright.”

“I’d love to have one week where nothing bad happens at all,” Mare groaned, releasing Mad as he rolled onto his back. “One week to have you in this bed all the time, with nothing to worry about except for feeding and cleaning yourself.”

“You got that week before Phan came looking for you,” Mad argued with a chuckle, giving Mare a quick kiss on the cheek before getting out of bed, searching through the dresser for something to wear. “Besides, you couldn’t handle a week with nothing bad happening.”

“Not true!” Mare exclaimed, rolling out of bed and pulling on a shirt that passed the sniff test. “I’d be incredibly happy, and you’d be a brainless mess on the bed. Let’s check on Jackie and Phan, then I’ll prove how brainless I can make you.”

“That’s if I’m wrong about this feeling,” Mad mumbled, tucking a small dagger into his boot – just in case – before they left the cabin.

----

“Fresh claim mark. Explains the growling,” the newcomer hummed, stepping into the room and heading straight for Jackie. “Hello, Jackie.”

“Jameson.” Phantom froze, back straightening when he heard Jackie’s reply.

“Did you know he was going to be here?” he asked Jackie, biting his lip as he pulled on the hem of Jackie’s hoodie, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Should I come back?”

“Stay.” Jameson’s voice was soft, yet held enough command that Phantom stood still for a moment before scurrying back into Jackie’s arms. Jameson shifted, moving his arm from behind his back to show an envelope. “I received your letters.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to come,” Jackie mumbled, eyes on the sheets and he held Phantom close. “I thought you were busy tracking down Chase.” He felt Phantom shift beside him, and he moved one hand to the dip in Phantom’s back to soothe him, soft purrs rumbling in his chest.

“We can talk about Chase another time,” Jameson replied, tucking the letter away and ducking his head. “I see you have yourself quite settled here. I apologise for intruding. If you have a spare room for me to rest in—”

“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing here?” Mad’s voice interrupted Jameson, pointing a dagger at his neck as he stepped into the room, free hand held tight by Mare. “I built this fortress centuries ago, and I’m starting to reach my limit of patience toward trespassers.”

Jameson looked at the dagger, then at Mad, nostrils flaring before he noticed Mare, pausing to glance back at Phantom before returning to Mare. “Your brother?” he clarified, pointing a thumb behind him.

“It’s better if you answered Mad’s questions before asking your own,” Mare replied, tugging gently on Mad’s wrist to get him to step back. “He’s very good with weapons.” His own growl rumbled in his throat when Jameson took the dagger from Mad’s hand and pointed it at him instead.

“Your brother’s been freshly claimed,” he began, inspecting the dagger with false interest. “I think we should leave them be for a while. I’d like some words with your mate.” He easily dodged Mad’s punch, moving past them toward the hall before looking over his shoulder at the couple in the bed. “You will need a few days to get out of that headspace, Jackie. I’ll return then.”

Before anyone could speak, Jameson left the room, quiet footsteps echoing down the hall as he made his way to the living room. Mare moved to hug Mad’s shoulders, looking at Phantom to see Jackie nuzzling into his claim mark, and after sharing a silent conversation with his twin, he led Mad out of the room.

“How long will this instinct last?” Phantom whispered, toying with the hairs at the back of Jackie’s head while Jackie continued to bury his face in his neck. Jackie hummed noncommittally in response, grazing his teeth over the bite before following it with his tongue, enjoying how that made Phantom shiver.

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@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @rattyboyisemo @dungeon-dragons-dragons