#Drunk Dial Records

[punkrockmixtapes]

Listen/purchase: Journey to the End of the East Bay by The Hound of Love

[bandcampsnoop]

2/10/24.

Drunk Dial Records is to music what Drunk History is to history. Get people inebriated and let them spin a yarn or sing a song. The 12th release in the series is one of my favorite power pop musicians - Gentleman Jesse.

Side one is an original while side two is a cover of Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack".

I've always felt that Gentleman Jesse consistently writes and performs songs with the energy of early Joe Jackson. I could also see some putting him in the same category as Royal Headache or Jay Reatard.

Gentleman Jesse was formed in Atlanta, Georgia, and as far as I can tell he's still based there.

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Video: Vancouver's Night Court Shares a Breakneck Ripper

New Video: Vancouver's Night Court Shares a Breakneck Ripper @NightCourtPunk @RecessRecords

Vancouver-based punks Night Court — Emilior (drums, vocals), Dave-O (guitar, vocals) and Jiffy (bass and vocals) –are lifelong friends, who started emailing song ideas to each other during COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns. Those song ideas quickly morphed into their latest project, Night Court. Initially released through Snappy Little Numbers and Debt Offensive Records, the Canadian punks’ debut…

[experiencingpenguinshockey]

tagged by @babygirlboberrey to shuffle my "on repeat" playlist and list the first ten. i've had spotify for so long and i've never really used the auto-generated playlists and it took me a second to find the on repeat one lol

"stick season" by noah kahan. got obsessed w this song in february and came back to it in late july. fucking excellent breakup song (i'll dream each night of some version of you / that i might not have but i did not lose HELLO??)

"motion sickness" by phoebe bridgers. i have never listened to anything else by her. this song has just been a good expression of my mood several days lately

"flatline" by 5 seconds of summer. i didn't think i've been listening to it much recently? but since it's come out it's been one of my favorite songs from 5sos5 so i guess that makes sense if we're thinking longer term

"OWN MY MIND" by måneskin. it was on a mattdrai playlist that i found in may and got obsessed with. it's a fucking banger. haven't really listened to it since mid july though

"blender" by 5sos. again not really a recent listen but since it's been out i've played it probably hundreds of times genuinely so i see why it's on there

"headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet" by fall out boy. they played this at the concert i went to this summer and i didn't know it then but i found a set list and made a playlist and got SO obsessed with this song (and the entire folie á deux album) the second half of this summer

"love like this" by zayn. i listened to this nonstop for like three days when it first came out and i have not listened to it since. girl what algorithm chose what's on here

"this is growing up" by almost monday. i was making a new playlist for this semester (as i do every term [my college does trimesters normally but i'm studying abroad this fall] fun facts about hannah i guess!) and this was one of the recommended ones and i listened to the little preview and did a double take because i've worked at kohl's on my summer and winter breaks in college and this song is on their soundtrack. but it's a pretty good song and it fit the vibes of the playlist, which is not very long, so most of the songs on there should be on my on repeat lol

"lavender haze" by taylor swift. again yes it's a song i was obsessed with but it is not a current obsession. how far back does spotify pull from when it does this lil generated playlist

"sucks to see you doing better" by valley. another fun story incoming. so much hannah lore in this one post. one of my professors last spring would play music from his spotify before every class (his music taste was FASCINATING) and this was playing once and my friend was like "wtf" bc she knows this song and wasn't expecting it. and again when i was making my playlist for this semester it came into my head and fit the vibes

genuinely cannot think of anyone to tag, my brain is swiss cheese this week. if you see this post and you wanna do this go for it :) and if you read this all the way through then well uhhh you know several more things about me now!

[gregrulzok]

I got kinda poet-ish about it in my last post but I need to be more direct:

Genuinely what the FUCK is wrong with Daniel Molloy.

Like okay, yes, 100+ year old broody vampires with incredibly tragic backstories will be hot and a little bit insane. That's literally a given.

Daniel Molloy is a 30-somethings man with a budding alcohol problem and verging on a midlife crisis, and his response to a world-shattering revelation that vampires are real is to go SO fucking off the rails that his 500 year old millionaire stalker that blends rats for fun, reads 70 books a day at mach speed, and once SEWED A YOUNG GIRL'S HEAD TO AN OLDER WOMAN'S BODY AFTER MURDERING THEM has to be like "Daniel you're being weird again".

Like this man.

- Has no backstory as far as I know? Certainly no tragic tale I've ever heard. He'd literally some dude off the street.

- Is one of the only characters to ever be with Armand and NOT fetishize the fact that he looks 17 (hats off)

- BUT he DOES fetishize him being a literal fucking corpse, direct quote "I like kissing. And snuggling with dead things, yes, hold me." so maybe we should place him on some kind of list anyway

- Is literally ADDICTED to vampire blood, and the reason for it is that it gives him fucked up visions of suffering and torment and he's into that

- (I'm cutting him a lot of slack for also being not dissimilarly addicted to having his blood drunk, because this is Tunglr and I think we can all relate to that, but let the record state for real world purposes that's still fucking weird)

- Yells at and berates his deranged vampire stalker WELL before the time they become Lovers, in the MIDDLE of said deranged vampire stalker having some kind of angry meltdown. ("I WANT YOU TO DIAL PARIS, I WANT TO SEE IF YOU CAN REALLY TALK TO PARIS" [...] "WHAT ARE YOU, AN IMMORTAL IDIOT?" This is during a time period where, for all he knows, the deranged vampire stalker is fully comfortable with and even vaguely planning on killing him.

- Hears OVER AND OVER AGAIN how becoming a vampire is nothing but a terrible irreversible eternal curse, sees how every vampire he meets (all... Two of them, to be fair), longs for humanity, and STILL thinks "Nah. I'm built DIFFERENT."

- Like. Listen. He's aware of the pain and suffering he'd bring to others. He fully knows about it because he drinks Armand's blood. And he WANTS TO DO THAT, like that would NOT be an issue for him.

- At best that's a sacrifice he's willing to make so he gets to cuddle his dead boyfriend for all eternity. At worst, and more probably, that's a fun perk for him.

Like Daniel what is your fucking PROBLEM, man.

[hansmic]

𝔞𝔩𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔥𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔶

ex!han jisung x fem! reader.

summary: when after weeks of being alone after losing you, your ex gets drunk and ends up confessing stop you would never think he would.

genre: fluff, angst, romance

warnings: mentions of drinking.

word count: 1.7k

a/n: hope you like this anon!

———————————————————————-

Han was already a little drunk, but the alcohol he kept drinking wasn’t helping him forget her. He was sitting on his kitchen floor, surrounded by empty bottles and photos of the two of them. Memories of their happier times together swam through his head like a broken record player.

He couldn’t help but miss her. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she made him feel alive and loved. He missed the sound of her voice and the way her skin felt against his own. His chest ached with every memory, every thought. It was like a never-ending cycle of pain.

He knew that he probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He took out his phone and dialed her number, his heart beating faster with each digit. He wasn’t sure if she’d even answer, but he was desperate to hear her voice again.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. With each ring, his heart sank a little more. He knew she wasn’t going to answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to hang up. He waited, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she’d pick up.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she answered. His stomach twisted with a mix of relief and anxiety. “Hey,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse from drinking.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice cool and distant. He felt a pang in his chest. She was so cold, so distant. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, how sorry he was for everything that had happened between them, but the words got stuck in his throat.

"I just... I wanted to hear your voice," he said, his words slurring slightly. He could hear her sigh on the other end of the line. "You’re drunk, aren’t you?" she said, her tone sharp and disapproving.

He didn’t respond. He knew she was right, but he didn’t care. The alcohol numbed the pain, if only for a moment. He just wanted to hear her, to feel closer to her.

"You shouldn’t be calling me when you’re like this," you said, your voice softer now. There was a hint of sadness in your words. "You know it’s not healthy for either of us."

He closed his eyes, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “I know,” he mumbled. ��I know, but I can’t help it. I miss you so much.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

She hesitated, unsure of what to say. Seeing him in person was a terrible idea. But a small part of her was curious, wondering just how drunk he was and if he’d actually follow through.

"Fine," she said finally, her voice resigned. "If you miss me so much, come over."

He couldn’t believe his ears. Did you really just say that? He quickly scrambled to his feet, grabbing his keys and wallet. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but he was determined to get to you

He stumbled out of his apartment, the cool night air refreshing against his flushed face. He hailed a taxi and gave the driver your address. Sitting in the back of the car, his heart was pounding in his chest.

As he watched the city lights pass by outside the window, he tried to prepare himself for what he was about to do. He wasn’t sure if he should start with an apology or if he should just come clean about how he was feeling. He also wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the anger or disappointment that might be waiting for him on the other side of the door.

Jisung stumbled out of the taxi and approached your door. He knew he looked like a mess - his clothes rumpled, his hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes heavy with alcohol. And yet, he didn’t care. All he cared about was seeing you, being near you again.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his hand and knocked on the door.

The sound of his hand against your door echoed in his ears, and he could hear his own heartbeat pounding like a drum. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity.

Finally, he heard the sound of locks being undone and the door opened to reveal you, standing there in front of him

He couldn’t help but stare. You were just as beautiful as he remembered, maybe even more. His eyes roved over your face, taking in every detail - the curve of your lips, the way your hair fell across your forehead. He wanted to memorize every inch of you.

You eyed him cautiously, taking in his disheveled appearance and the smell of alcohol on his breath. You weren’t sure why you even let him come over in the first place. It probably wasn’t a smart decision.

Jisung cleared his throat, suddenly feeling sober and aware of his surroundings. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice rough and gravelly.

You hesitated for a moment, eyeing him skeptically. But something in his tone - maybe the vulnerability, the desperation - made you soften. "Fine," you said, stepping aside and letting him in.

He entered the apartment, his eyes scanning over the familiar surroundings - the pictures on the walls, the artwork you had hung up, the couch you used to snuggle on while watching movies. It all felt so familiar and yet so far away at the same time.

You closed the door behind him and awkwardly led him to the living area. He sat down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. Luckily, you spoke up.

“So,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

Jisung looked up at you, his eyes glossy and his face red. The alcohol was still coursing through his veins, making everything feel a little hazy and dreamlike. He took a deep, shaky breath before speaking. "I miss you," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I miss you so much it hurts."

"I miss waking up next to you. I miss our stupid arguments and the way we would make up afterwards. I miss the way you laugh and the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking." He paused for a beat, his eyes filling with tears. "I miss how happy we used to be together."

He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to regain his composure. "I know I screwed up. I made mistakes, and I didn’t appreciate you the way I should have. But I swear, if you give me another chance, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy. I’ll make you laugh, I’ll listen to you, and I’ll never take you for granted again."

He looked at you, his expression pleading. "Please," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please give me another chance. I can’t lose you. I can’t."

You were taken aback by his pleading. You weren’t expecting such a raw and emotional confession, especially from him in his current, intoxicated state.

For a moment, you were torn. On one hand, you still felt hurt and betrayed by what he had done. On the other hand, seeing him like this - vulnerable and desperate - tugged at your heart strings.

"Jisung," you said gently, "you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying right now."

"No," he protested, shaking his head. "No, I know exactly what I’m saying. I mean it. I love you. I’ve always loved you."

His words hit you like a punch in the gut. You hadn’t heard him say “I love you” in so long, and now here he was, drunk and sloppy, declaring his love for you. It shouldn’t affect you, but it did.

He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Please, don’t push me away," he said, his voice cracking. "We can make this work, I know we can. We just need to talk, to communicate. That was our problem, right? We didn’t talk enough."

It was hard to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest as he held your hand, his touch both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. You knew you should be strong, you knew you should push him away and tell him to leave. But something in his eyes made it impossible.

"We can’t just pick up where we left off," you said, your voice soft. "You hurt me, Han. You broke my trust."

"I know," he said, his head hung in shame. "I know, and I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me right now, but I just can’t stand the thought of never being with you again. I’m lost without you. I thought I could handle being apart, but I realize now that I need you more than I ever thought."

His fingers tightened around yours, his eyes pleading. "Just give me a chance to prove it to you. Let me show you that I can be the man you deserve. That I can be better."

You studied him for a moment, taking in his disheveled appearance, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the way he held onto your hand like a lifeline. It was impossible to deny the pull you felt towards him, even after everything that had happened.

Finally, you let out a sigh. "Okay," you said softly. "I’ll give you a chance."

His eyes lit up at your words, and a small, tentative smile curled at the corners of his mouth. "You will?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief and hope.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah," you said, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. "But don’t think that means I’m just going to forgive and forget all the crap you put me through. You’re going to have to work for it."

A look of determination crossed his face, like a man on a mission. "I will," he said, his grip on your hand tightening once more. "I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to prove myself to you."

———————————————————————-

masterlist is here!

[sugardollcurse]

idk if you've heard the song Paul by big thief but it got me thinking about if reader was also a singer & wrote a song post-break up about one of the bugs & it got real popular....at least in paul's case i firmly believe the man would go NUTS. like late night phone call to you or on your doorstep within the week hoping there might still be a chance kinda mad, but all of them would probably in their own way.

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ exes-to-maybe-again

꒰ summary ꒱ your song about paul becomes a hit. he hears it once, twice, twelve times... and then he’s outside your door

꒰ note ꒱ i screamed because i love big thief.. i'm inhaling this.. also doing paul for this cuz you mentioned him! :b the ending is left open on purpose, so you decide what happens next! do they try again? do they let go for good? it's up to you!

The studio was quiet when you recorded it.

One microphone. A single guitar. A couple takes, and not much fuss.

You hadn’t planned on it being anything. It had started out as a confession you didn’t have the nerve to speak aloud, a quiet half-song you’d been playing to the walls of your flat in the weeks after it ended. You’d written it sitting cross-legged on your bed, with a mug of cold tea on the windowsill and a Polaroid of the two of you still tucked inside your journal like a bookmark. Paul smiling with his eyes squinted shut, you laughing in motion. Summer clung to your skin then. Now it just sat heavy in your chest.

And so you played. You sang it once. Then again. Then one more time, barely above a whisper.

The engineer asked if you wanted another go.

You said no.

That was the take.

And just like that, it existed. A thing separate from you. Still bruised, but real.

You didn’t think it’d go anywhere. You certainly didn’t think anyone would hear it, outside your team, a few friends, maybe the odd radio station that owed your label a favor.

You didn’t expect it to move people.

But it did.

Like wildfire.

You found out when you walked into a café and heard it playing from the overhead speakers.

Your heart froze before the chorus.

You stood there like someone had poured ice water down your back, then turned and walked out before anyone could recognize your face.

It was already in the charts. Already in everyone’s mouths. People whispered about it with reverence and awe, like it was sacred or scandalous or both. They asked who it was about. Some guessed. Others knew. Beatles fans weren’t stupid.

Paul didn’t say anything publicly.

Not yet.

━━

It’s not the radio that kills him.

It’s George.

They’re in the car together, some charity thing in Hampstead, Paul half-asleep behind his sunglasses, and George is fiddling with the dial, quiet as ever, until something catches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks over, still.

Then: “That one’s about you, innit?”

Paul frowns. “What?”

George nods toward the speaker.

The song’s almost over, but the voice, your voice, filters in like smoke through cracked windows. Familiar and soft and sharper than he remembers.

Paul goes still.

George lowers the volume. “Didn’t know Y/n was puttin’ out a single.”

Paul doesn’t answer.

George glances over. “You alright, mate?”

He isn’t.

But he lies. “Yeah.”

━━

But then came the night.

Three weeks after it dropped. A week after it reached #1. Five months since the two of you last spoke.

It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when you heard the knock.

Three of them, steady and insistent. Not drunk-persistent, not a neighbor with a complaint.

You froze where you stood, halfway to brushing your teeth.

Another knock. Louder.

You padded to the door, heart thudding, every cell in your body already knowing before you looked.

And there he was.

Paul.

In the dark. In a coat that didn’t quite match the weather. Rain in his hair, on his collar. His eyes were huge in the porch light, like he couldn’t believe you were really standing there.

You opened the door without a word.

“Hi,” he said, and his voice cracked.

You didn’t let him in.

Not at first.

You stood just inside the doorway with your hand on the knob and stared at him like he might vanish. But he didn’t. He just shifted on his feet like he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore.

“I weren’t gonna come,” he said. “Kept tellin’ meself I wouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“But then you-Christ, you sang it. And I thought…” He swallowed. “Maybe you wanted me to hear it.”

You didn’t say anything.

The porchlight buzzed quietly above you both. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and faded.

“I’ve been going mad,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You know that? Proper losin' it.”

“Paul-”

“You wrote a song,” he went on, voice raw, “and now every bloody café, every car, every soddin’ club’s playin’ it. You’re hauntin’ me.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t write it for you.”

“You didn’t write it for me?” He laughed, once. Bitter. “I’m in every bloody word.”

“You’re in the feeling,” you said. “Not the audience.”

“Well, I heard it.” He took a step closer, rain dripping from the edge of his fringe. “And I know what you meant. You said things in that song you never said to me.”

You looked away.

That was true.

Because the truth was: you hadn’t known how to say it then. Not while everything was unraveling, not while he was in motion all the time, flying to cities you couldn’t follow, disappearing into interviews and egos and late-night mixing sessions. The version of Paul you’d fallen for, the one who made tea barefoot in the mornings, who hummed melodies against your shoulder, who used your ankle as a footrest while strumming his bass... he got harder to find.

And when you’d tried to talk, he’d said “we’ll figure it out.” But figuring it out never came. Just more miles. More silence. Until it collapsed.

You rubbed your arms and stepped back. “Do you want to come in?”

He nodded once. Like it hurt.

Inside, the flat smelled like old books and chamomile tea.

Paul stood awkwardly near the table while you fetched him a towel. He used it to blot his hair, his hands trembling faintly.

“You still listen to records?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“I figured you’d gone all posh by now.”

You gave him a look. “It’s not a palace.”

“No,” he murmured. “But it smells like you.”

You ignored that.

He turned to face you fully now, eyes flicking across your face like he was memorizing it. “Why did you write it?”

“Because I couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You sighed and sat down, curling your legs beneath you. “I had all these feelings, and nowhere to put them. So I wrote a song. That’s what people like us do.”

“People like us,” he echoed. “Right.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair. “You know what it did to me?”

You looked up.

“It wrecked me,” he said. “I’ve played it more’n a hundred times. Know every breath, every pause. I put it on in the dead of night like I’m tryin’ to torture meself.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’t you?” His voice rose, not loud, but sharp. “You didn’t just bleed, you broadcast it. You put the ugliest bits of us on show.”

“No,” you said, steady. “I put myself on display. My heartbreak. My mistakes. The parts I never let anyone see, even when we were together.”

Paul stared at you, shoulders heaving. You could see the walls cracking.

“I loved you,” he said.

You closed your eyes.

“I still do,” he added, quiet.

You looked at him again. “Then why didn’t you stay?”

Silence.

Rain pattered on the window.

He dropped into the chair across from you and buried his face in his hands.

“I didn’t know how,” he said, muffled. “I thought I’d have time. Thought you’d wait. Thought everything else’d calm down eventually and I’d come back to you.”

You stared at him. “That’s not how love works.”

“I know,” he snapped. Then softened. “I know. Now I do. But then… God, everything was noise. You were the only quiet thing I had, and I-” he looked up, eyes red, “I let you slip away.”

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

The kettle clicked off in the kitchen. A wind rattled the windowpane.

Paul leaned back, arms crossed, like he was holding himself together with the fabric of his coat.

“D’you think,” he said slowly, “that we could ever try again?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m not askin’ to fix it all. I just…” He leaned forward. “I miss you. You. Not the song. Not the idea of you. Just… the person who’d sit up with me at 3 a.m. talkin’ shite. The one who made up daft lyrics for my tunes when I couldn’t think of any. The one who looked at me like I wasn't disappearin’.”

Your throat closed.

“I want to be that person again. For you.”

You swallowed. “That’s not just something you want. That’s something you do. Every day.”

“I know.”

You looked at his face. Really looked.

There was no arrogance left. No public Paul, no charm turned up for a crowd. Just a boy, wrinkled around the eyes, wet hair curling at the temples, desperation clinging to his words like moss.

He was asking.

But he wasn’t begging.

He was offering you the first version of honesty you’d heard from him in months.

And still…

The pain hadn’t vanished. The trust hadn’t rebuilt itself in an hour. The song still existed. So did the silence that had followed your breakup. The long nights. The hollow mornings. The feeling of being unloved in someone else’s spotlight.

You rose slowly and walked to the record shelf. Ran your fingers along the spines. Stopped at the blank-labeled acetate, your demo copy, and turned it in your hands.

Paul watched you.

“What are you thinkin'?” he asked.

You set the record down gently.

“I don't know,” you said.

Paul frowned.

And you turned to face him again.

He left a little after that.

You didn’t say yes.

You didn’t say no.

You stood in the doorway again, barefoot, as he stepped into the street and looked back once, waiting. Hoping.

You nodded.

That was it.

Not a door slammed. Not a kiss in the rain. Just a look. A maybe.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[candiedspit]

Junebug

It was the summertime; baseball games on the radio, little fires. 

I was twenty-seven. I was learning how to box in Mickey’s hot, crowded basement. He spoke of the sport in sermons, and when I came in frilled and drunk off my own blood, we practiced until I could feel the cool distilled ointment he slathered onto my knuckles afterward and until I could make out hear the sweet croonings of his records in clear pictures. Sometimes, we drank homemade strawberry daquiris and watched cartoons instead. But most of the time, I walked into Mickey’s arms in a fit, red in the face and knotted. I was on a hair trigger that summer; went around looking for fights and unable to sit still because back home in Tennessee–where the grass was long and the sun grinned madly–my mother was dying. It was Tamara who told me, my older sister by three years. Listen, she said. Things are bad. I hadn’t spoken to my mother in almost half a decade. And even with the time we had left, I couldn’t will myself to call her, so I learned how to hit things instead. But one evening, Tamara told me our mother was asking for me in her milky opioid sleep. 

Just call her for a while, Tamara said. It’s gonna be quick. It’s gonna be soon. 

I put it off for a week. I imagined her waiting for the call. I told Mickey about it at our next session. We were sitting on his ratty couch. 

Christ, what did she do to you that you won’t call? He asked with a half-chuckle. 

A lot, I said. I can’t remember half of it. 

Tell me one thing, he urged. Just say it out loud. It doesn’t hurt as much if you can give it a name. 

He was well meaning. I tried to recall as his fridge buzzed. 

Once, I began. So many times. I was wrong. I was made wrong down to my molecules. I was all the names in the book. I was always. I was never at the same time. The roof caved in because I made it cave in. A remote control at my head. A bruise on my forearm from where she held me in place. I was so many things, as many things a child could be. All of them disgusting. I was rot. But I could never be in pain. But I could never see things in the right light. And she could. She was the whitest of angels. And all I did was thrust the sword deeper and deeper into her side. These were things she said. All of these things for years, even after I got the fuck out of there. 

Mickey had placed a hand on my back. I could hardly feel it there. I was in the third dimension, a place where realness couldn’t reach. It took forty-five minutes of practice to get me back. I decided, as I eyed the Playboy calendar Mickey had on the wall, that I was going to call her in three days. It had to be done. I couldn’t go on. 

Three days afterward, I dialed her number; I was in the kitchen smoking a cigarette. I placed my hand on my hip and the moon was out in her piss colored glorious. After three rings, I hesitated. But on the fourth, there was a click and then her voice on the other end. 

Hello? Who’s this? 

Mama, it’s Juna. 

Juna, she said. Oh my goodness. I didn’t think you were going to call. Juna, how’s it been this long? All these years. 

I know, I said. But Tamara said you’re not feeling well. I had to call. 

Not feeling well is one way to say it. I’m fucking dying, Juna. And where are you? Watching ballets at midnight? Doing pornos on a Tuesday? Drinking the boys under the table? What have you been so fucking busy with? Jesus. 

I stayed quiet. 

You gonna fucking answer me?

How are you doing? I asked, biting the skin off the edge of my thumb.  

I’m saline and morphine, she said. Television dramas. Endless dreaming. The doctor asks if I’m comfortable. Tamara has been here. Skips work to wash me down. I tell the nurse to fuck herself and she still calls me ma’am. I’m quite alright. Who are you fucking these days? 

Mama, I should have called. 

His dick so big you can’t see anything else? He the only person who’ll give you the time of day? Everyone else has left? And he’s the only one who you can still fool? 

Mama, I said. 

If you think you’re different, you’re wrong, she said with a cough. I have always known who you are. And you’ve only proven me right. You’re a house on fire. You’re a bad dog. You’re the only thing I ever done wrong. You’re dirt, Junebug. Don’t call me again. And don’t bother comin’ to the funeral. Don’t write me no eulogies. I hope you get happy someday. 

She hung up. I stood there, stunned. 

A white hot electric ran through me. I tried to remember Mickey’s advice. Go where you can see the skies. Go where the world is. I went out, still in my wife beater and shorts, and walked beneath the hard and heavy night. But the cool air only made me hot. Mickey’s voice again. Find something to hold. Find something heavy to hold. I looked around. A woman was picking up her mail. The trees made shapes on the ground. But there was a broken mirror on someone’s curb. I plucked out a piece of glass, and as I walked back home, I counted my steps. I go to eighty one by the time I was at my front door. I could feel my heart pounding like a trapped child. It had to happen soon. I went to the bathroom, sat on the floor, and made a mess of my wrist counting backward from eighty-one. The anger began to dissipate like air out of a balloon. I could feel my hands again. I was shrinking back down. I sat there for a long while, breathless and dumb. 

I called Mickey as I cleaned the wound with antiseptic. I told him what happened. I went over in the morning. He held my wrist. 

Idiot, he said. Let’s go. 

We practiced. He asked me to repeat what he was saying, looking for signs of life. That I hadn’t slipped back into the bloodstream of nowhere. We practiced until I could hear him. 

You gotta keep moving. You gotta be awake. That’s the only way out of this. Y’hear me? The only way out is to be awake when the room goes magic, when the light shudders through the windows, when the newspaper goes out, when the kid speaks. 

Be awake. Be awake. Be awake. Tennessee is a dream.

[steddieas-shegoes]

if you call me back

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'mutual pining' rated: T wc: 864 cw: angst with a happy ending, mention of being drunk tags: mutual pining, long distance friends, friends to lovers

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

"Hey, Eds, just me checking in. Dustin said you lost your job and I didn't know if you already had another one or not. Uh. Just call me when you can."

"Me again. Heard you got a new job! I didn't even know a record store opened in Hawkins. You must be happy about that. Um, well, I guess call me when you can?"

"I know this is kinda the worst to get a lot of voice messages, but I just...miss you? Sorry, I just. Needed you to know that. If I upset you or something, you can tell me."

"Eds! Listen! If you call me back, I gotta tell you something! Robin said I can't say it over the phone though! Ouch, sorry, just stubbed my toe. Uh, okay wait. I think I'm drunk."

Eddie listened to every voice message on repeat every night before bed.

He didn't know why he didn't call Steve back, especially after the last message that left him dangerously hopeful that he would admit he had feelings for him.

They'd naturally drifted when Steve moved away with Robin, though they'd kept up weekly phone calls for months. The highlight of Eddie's week was getting to talk to Steve about the kids and hear about his exciting life in the city.

But after a few months, the calls got shorter, and then Eddie decided that he had to pull away completely before Steve unintentionally broke his heart.

It wasn't Steve's fault he couldn't keep things strictly platonic.

The phone ringing startled him out of his thoughts.

He looked at the clock and frowned. It was much later than Steve usually called, even the one drunk message was from closer to ten instead of one in the morning.

He answered, hoping it was just Wayne checking in from work.

"Hello?"

"Edward."

Robin.

"How're things, birdie?" Sounding casual would work for him, right?

"Things for me would be a lot better if I wasn't dealing with the mopiest human being on the planet right now."

He could hear the crossed arms in her voice.

"Oh?"

"Oh? That's all you've got? You don't return Steve's calls for almost two months and all you've got is 'oh'?"

Had it really been that long?

"I-"

"Don't wanna hear it. Can you please at least call him back and break his heart so he can move on? I cannot deal with the pining anymore."

She hung up before he could respond.

Well.

He dialed the number for their apartment, hoping Robin would at least explain more of what she meant.

"'Lo?" Steve's voice, rough with sleep, answered.

"Uh."

"Eddie?" Steve sounded like he'd just had cold water thrown on him, much more awake. "Holy shit. Hi."

"Hey. Uh-"

"I'm sorry," Steve interrupted.

"Sorry? For what?"

"Whatever I did to make you not wanna talk to me."

"Steve, I-"

"No, I just. I know sometimes I'm needy or clingy or whatever. Robin doesn't mind it because she is, too, but I know it's annoying. Like, you have a life that I don't belong in and I just have to get used to that. I should've taken the hint sooner."

Eddie's heart was racing.

Now. Do it now.

"Why would you think you don't belong in my life?"

"It's just that you always talk to everyone else, but not me. I kinda got the message, just, maybe later than you hoped."

"Stevie..." Eddie sighed, his grip on the phone tightening. "I miss you every minute of every day. I just thought...you seem happy there. I don't wanna make you feel like you owe me anything."

A whimper could be heard on the other end and Eddie felt his stomach drop.

"Eds, I." A pause. "I didn't wanna do this over the phone, but I won't be back in Hawkins for another month. I'm sorry this might change everything, but I can't keep doing this. I love you. I love you so much that some days I think about packing up and moving back there because having you laughing next to me on the couch sounds worlds better than anything this city has to offer. You've been one of my best friends for a year, and not having you next to me is like my chest is actually trying to cave in on itself."

"Oh." Oh.

"Oh?"

"Oh."

"Is that...all?"

"No, sweetheart, I just think I'd like to say the rest in person. Think you can make time for me to visit tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Don't you have work?"

"Not anymore. Tell Robin to stay somewhere else."

"Oh."

Eddie smirked as Steve let out a breath and cleared his throat.

"I have a shift in the morning, but I can be home right after lunch?"

"Perfect." Eddie started pacing as he mentally planned what he needed for his four hour drive. "Grab some lube if you don't have some. We've got a lot of time to make up for. Oh! And before I go, I love you too."

"You do?"

"Yeah, Stevie. Kind of been head over heels for the better part of a year."

"Oh."

"Mhm."

"Tomorrow?" Steve was smiling and Eddie could feel his heart melting.

"Tomorrow."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: You get what you give

For this round, drabbles are written based on a random choice of character and image from this pinterest board. Pls feel free to keep adding to it.

Character: Andy Barber

Prompt

Warnings: this drabble includes elements such as mentions of alcoholism and cheating. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

Andy Barber.

You'd know him anywhere but you didn't expect him there. The tight-ass, straight-laced family man in a place like this. His department store suit stands out on the dingy bar. So does the woman grinding in his lap. She's not his wife. 

He has one hand on a pint of foamy beer and his other on her ass. He encourages her with a growl as she nips at the air before him. The tension is palpable. 

Your hand rests on your phone as you hide on the gloom at the other end of the bar. Your vodka tonic is forgotten as quickly as the shitty day you hoped to drown in it. Your thumb hovers above Laurie's name, hesitant, calculating. 

Andy fucking Barber. 

That jackass with the side eye. You're not stupid. You heard what he said about you. He didn't realise you were in his bathroom, that you were witness to yet another row with his long tortured wife. 

Well, you might be a goddamn drunk but you're not a fucking cheater. The only man in your life is the bartender.  

You flick away your contact list. Instead, you tap the camera icon and swipe into recording mode. You carefully angle the lens up to catch the screen. Yoi watch through the screen as the woman straddles him, grazing her fingers through his beard as she draws him into a sloppy kiss.

Oh yes, it's very messy indeed. 

🍺

You expect chaos when you hit send. It isn’t thoughtless or spiteful. The truth is the truth. As he always says, honesty is the greatest virtue of all. You always roll your eyes when he goes on his exhaustive lectures; often treating Laurie no different than their son. 

‘Sorry, Laurie. I didn’t think you’d believe me but proof is in the pudding.’ 

Maybe there is a bit of spite left in you. You hope she’s happy now. Andy may have been right about you but you were just as on point about him. Let it burn, you might just smell some of the ashes as they settle. 

Days pass. No response. You don’t expect one. You were surprised she didn’t block your number when she cut you off. You wouldn’t have blamed her either. But you can still hate them all. 

It’s not Laurie, it’s him. He shows up at your office. You sit behind reception where you always do and tuck away the flask you keep in your bottom drawer. Shit. 

“Hello, sir, how can I help--” 

“Don’t fucking do that,” he points over the top of the square desk and grips the edge, “you know why I’m here.” 

You can’t help a smirk. You wiggle a pen and innocently tap your bottom lip, “I’m sorry, did you have a meeting with one of our agents?” 

“You are fucking low,” he snarls. 

“Ah, yes, but seems like we frequent the same gutters,” you sneer back. “She looked young. Did you check her ID? You might not just be a creep, you could be a criminal, Mr. ADA.” 

“Fuck you,” he bends over the higher shelf of the desk, “do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve done?” 

“Mr. Barber,” you reach for the phone, resting your hand on the receiver, “if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to call security.” 

He quakes with rage as his face turns red, “you’re a fucking bitch.” 

“Might be, but at least I’m not a cheater--” 

“Alcoholic slut,” he sneers. 

You lift the receiver and hit speed dial. You stare him down as you do, “hi, Joey, yes, I have a client here who’s a bit... aggressive, do you mind coming up here? Thank you.” 

You wink at Andy and put the phone down as you sit back. He glares back at you and stands straight. He puffs through his nose like raging bull. 

“Just you fucking wait,” he threatens as he retreats, “you ruined my fucking life. I’m gonna burn yours to the ground.” 

[vapekingg]

Creature of Habit - Ex!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Hurt, no comfort Inspired by Dial Drunk x Noah Kahan Additional tags: mentions of past seggs, alcoholism, driving under the influence, break-up, 18+

Eddie's fingers grip the leather steering wheel of his van. It's only a ten minute drive back to the trailer park from The Hideout, but winter winds whip into his open window and snap at his face, making this the most uncomfortable ten minutes he's had since... Well, since the last time you broke up with him and he went on a bender.

His eyelids are drooping. Every time he blinks they take a beat longer to reopen. Not that it matters, Eddie doesn't even have the headlights on.

The radio though? That Black Sabbath tape you'd pocketed from your job at the record shop is the only thing keeping him from drifting off the road. Die Young vibrates the dashboard and rings in his ears, nearly drowning out the howling wind that's screaming at him to get it the fuck together.

Eddie swats his palm against his cheek. The quick, sharp sting electrocutes him for a second, wakes him up just enough to get within the lines — or at least he thinks he's between the lines. Faded yellow and white paint crawls up this backroad, winding across the pavement like a corn snake and making it hard for him to decipher what's real. Bald tires churn up dirt as he drifts toward the edge again. This time, he isn't given the grace of correcting his mistakes.

Blue and red lights flash in his rearview mirror. It's the first time Eddie has really been allowed to see in the past six minutes, and what he sees is Chief Hopper's Blazer riding his tailgate as if it's his job.

"Put it in park, Munson. Don't make me show up at Wayne's with a warrant for evading." Jim eventually says over his car's loudspeaker.

Not that Eddie was going to run. Sure, he'd considered it — but that would be so typical for a Munson. Wouldn't it?

Besides, he's gotten himself into enough shit lately. Eddie accepts that he's spending the rest of the night at the station, that he'll have to pay another eighty bucks to get his van out of impound in the morning, and slams his foot on the brakes.

Soon, the bright whiteness of a flashlight is burning his eyes. He shields his face as Hopper approaches his window and leans against it.

They don't say anything for a moment. This is the second DUI Eddie has caught in the past six months, the second time you've broken up with him, incidentally. And rightfully so.

Eddie can't blame you for breaking things off. He just... fucks up. Right? He's a Munson, it's in his blood. But he'd bleed himself dry for you.

"Eddie..." Hopper starts, his voice soft and disappointed.

That's the worst part. Eddie just can't handle being a disappointment.

"Yeah, I know..." He responds.

Hopper slaps his hand against the hood of the van and begins to go through the motions. Step out of the car, blow into this tube, walk this straight line and follow my finger with your eyes. Eddie's never been good at tests. He's especially worse when he's eight beers and a joint deep.

"Alright, well, I'll do you a favor and let you leave your car, but I gotta take you in this time, kid." Hopper reluctantly tells him while snapping a pair of cold, metal handcuffs behind his back. "You wanna use my car phone to call someone?"

Eddie lets Jim lead him to the Blazer by the wrists.

The only person he wants to talk to is you. The only name and phone number he can even remember are yours.

"Call my girlfriend," Eddie slurs.

He's wobbly on his feet, but the seat in the back of that patrol car is a hell of a lot comfier than the barstool he was just sitting on for three hours. Eddie settles into the back of the truck and listens while Jim dials those seven digits that he used to eagerly punch after school, after shows, after every single Hellfire campaign so that he could ramble to you about how it all went.

The line rings, and it keeps ringing. It's only ten o'clock, he knows you aren't asleep. Your shift ends at eight, so he knows you're home.

With each ring, Eddie sinks deeper into himself. He can't hear anything else. Not the angry wind outside or the Black Sabbath still blaring from his own radio. Just every long, eerie, unanswered ring.

After ten or so rings, Hopper ends the call. He's not good at these things — sympathy — and Eddie isn't good at receiving it.

"Do you want to... maybe, call your Uncle... See if he can—"

"Call her back," Eddie interrupts.

That fucking dial tone won't stop ringing in his ear.

But Hopper hesitates. "Son, I don't think that's such a good ide—"

"Call her the fuck back!" Eddie spits.

He's sweating, can feel it collecting beneath his messy bangs. Heavy heartbeats thump in his throat and his head is starting to spin.

Slowly, Jim dials the numbers again, and Eddie listens to it ring. And ring, and ring. He recalls that New Year's Eve party where he kissed you for the first time, how your lips tasted like vodka and how that was the only drink he would have for a month after. Eddie remembers when the two of you got your place, how you didn't have any furniture but you had a cheap bottle of wine so you celebrated by getting drunk and making love on the floor. He recalls it all. Every kiss, every screaming match, every goddamn ring that has never gone unanswered... until now.

Hopper ends the call one more time, and Eddie doesn't say anything.

"I don't think she's answering this time, Eds..." He eventually says. Cautiously, quietly, as if Eddie is an unpredictable dog.

He's not as unpredictable as people think, though.

When the phone rings on the side table next to your couch, it's completely predictable. No one calls you this late, no one besides Eddie. And you think about picking up the line. It would be so easy. Just give in to your aching heart and all will be right again. You're sick of crying yourself to sleep on the couch. Sick of hearing the fucking phone ring all. night. long. Sick of all those memories that keep plaguing your mind.

But you're strong, too.

You remember him taking you to your first show and sitting on his shoulders so that you could see, how he'd gotten way too drunk by the end of the night and you had to drive home. You remember the beer on his breath, thick and hot on his tongue whenever he kissed you. You didn't mind it at first, maybe you'd even liked it for a little while, but eventually it got stale.

Eddie isn't unpredictable. He's a creature of habit. Bad habits.

So instead of picking up the phone, you white knuckle the arm of the couch. You grit your teeth and clench your jaw. You let the tears fill your eyes. But for the first time, you recognize that you cannot save Eddie Munson from his own self-destruction.

Hopper flips off his lights when Eddie doesn't say anything. He pulls out onto the back road and starts toward the police station while Eddie rests his head against the inside of the door.

The shadows of trees stretch across the road, illuminated by silver moonlight. Eddie watches them come into vision and then disappear again, and it feels like you'd ceased to exist in his life just as quickly.

He's not unpredictable, Eddie is a creature of habit. Habitually getting himself in trouble, habitually letting you down, and habitually having to make it up.

Until now.

[punkrockmixtapes]

Listen/purchase: Mr. DNA by Hakan

[demonpiratehuntress]

Hi, I want to ask something, have you seen the tik tok trend where there is a couple, and the girlfriend does the dance with the song 'everytime we touch' and the boyfriend just stands there giving their reaction. Can you please make some reactions from one piece characters (Ace, Sabo, Zoro and Law)? Thank you for reading this. Hope you have a nice day🌹

hello! i haven't seen the trend because i don't have tiktok, but i did look it up for this request :) also i don't know a thing about Sabo because i haven't met him in the anime yet, but i have read a few things about him so i'll try. i hope he's not too OOC but if he is im sorry!

also i don't do AUs so the song will play from a dial like the ones in Skypeia :)

taglist - @kabloswrld

everytime we touch

featuring - Ace x F!Reader, Law x F!Reader, Zoro x F!Reader, Sabo x F!Reader

summary - the ask :))))

warnings - slightly suggestive???

ZORO

Zoro has reached a point where he fully believes that he is used to your pranks and shenanigans. He thinks that there is no way you could surprise him now, because he thinks he knows every trick or shenanigan you could pull.

But he eventually finds out just how creative you can be when you pull him aside from training one day in the crow's nest, saying you have something you want to show him. He's definitely not prepared for what he sees next.

"'Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling..."

An unfamiliar (to Zoro) song starts to play from one of the dials you picked up in Skypeia, but your boyfriend recognised the voice because it belonged to a famous singer you liked to travel to islands to just to see.

"Babe-"

And then you start.

Swaying your hips and moving your body to the beat of the song, Zoro's eyes never leave your figure. He's mesmerised by the sight in front of him, and he'll deny it vehemently but a light blush dusts his cheeks as he watches you move. He's never seen anything like this, but he's sure he only ever wants to see you move this way - and he only ever wants you to move this way for him.

His eyes are wide and his lips parted slightly by the time you're finished, and he looks like a fish gaping for air. You giggle, and that apparently snaps him back to reality because then he growls and grabs your waist, roughly pulling you against his body.

"Do it again for me baby, but this time without the clothes."

ACE

Ace had just returned from a long mission and you wanted to show him just how much you missed him. You had a song recorded on a dial Ace had gifted you for your birthday - though how he got it you had no idea. But anyway, you prepared a little dance for your tired boyfriend, feeling only slightly guilty about pulling him away from dinner so he could see it before he KO'd.

"I promise babe, you're gonna love it!"

He offered you a sleepy but still goofy grin as you tugged him along to your shared room, "I know, baby. I love anything and everything you do."

Blushing at his sweet compliment, you closed the door before turning to him and began your dance. Ace's eyes immediately shot wide open, all sleep disappearing from them as he drunk in the sight of you moving that way before him. His jaw dropped, stunned for a moment before his eyes regained that familiar mischievous gleam they sported for almost every hour of every day.

"Babe, you never told me you could move like this," he smiled, though he immediately joins in when he's over his initial shock.

He is definitely the type of boyfriend to go along with this kind of thing and even add in his own moves, just to watch you giggle and tell him that's not how you do it, and just to watch you repeat it for him so he can drink it in over and over.

"I'm sorry babe! I really don't get it, show me again?"

LAW

Law absolutely does not stand for your shenanigans. Every time you try to trick him or prank him or otherwise do something that will annoy him, he will 'room, shambles' you into another part of the submarine. Which is why you have to get rather creative with your methods of showing him certain things.

"Captain! There's something wrong with (Name)!"

Law was up and out of his chair before the bear could blink, racing down the hallway at the speed of light to find you. However the ruse was quickly revealed to Law when he walked into the dining area and saw you were okay.

"(Name)-ya, what-"

You cut him off by standing up and beginning to dance for him, after pressing play on something behind you. Law felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, as he gazed at you moving so mesmerisingly. For a while all he could do was stare, his body stiffened up as his eyes went wide and just locked onto your moving figure, never once leaving it.

That's not to say Law didn't like it. He did, he very much did, but he was so awkward that he didn't know how to properly react. This big nerd just blushes an insane amount that you all have never seen before and just stares at you. He feels like his own body forgets how to move, and for a while all he sees is you. You are the only thing filling his vision, and with your movements he swallows thickly.

"(Name)-ya...you are absolutely stunning but this is something that should be for my eyes alone."

SABO

Sabo is a very busy man, you know that. He's got a lot of responsibilities and an equal amount of duties to the Revolutionary Army, so he barely has time to just relax and have fun. You're pretty sure he doesn't know how to, but you're slowly helping him with that. And today is no different, because today you have a surprise for him.

"Hey baby, do you have a moment?" You walk into his office without knocking, something you got away with - most of the time.

"Of course, what do you need love?" The blonde answered, without even looking up.

You sighed, "For me to answer that, you need to look up."

He stopped what he was doing then, his eyes drifting up to meet your figure. As soon as you were sure he was looking and wouldn't immediately dismiss you again, you pressed play on the dial and started to dance as a song started to fill the room.

Sabo dropped the pen he was holding as he watched you, his eyes widening and his heart hammering. He swallowed thickly, leaning back in his chair to observe you as you danced. Several emotions flared within him, but he was unable to tell which was more prominent. However, he knew one thing for sure, and that was-

"Love, you're absolutely amazing you know that?" Coupled with his cute smile, the compliment almost had you tripping up.

"Yeah?" You smiled when you were done. "You liked it?"

He grinned and stood up, walking around the table to snake his arms around your waist. He pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and your neck, the kisses getting slower and more sensual with each change in place.

"I think like is too weak of a word to describe how I felt about that."

[hungharrington]

okay sooo I read the steeb sending audios blurb and loved it and this is the more wholesome version but just imagine steeb who’s out w eddie and he’s out of his mind drunk sending u audios or even calling u to tell u what he’s doing every 2 mins bc he’s just so drunk and misses his baby 😭🙏 and eddie is just like so done w it

this is so damn cute 😭 and the reversal of him being the one out drinking? TOO CUTE here’s the nsfw blurb lol

At 1am, you’re doing the reasonable thing; sleeping.

Tucked up, having dozed off hours ago, you don’t notice the buzz of your phone on the bedside table. It lights up, face down, illuminating the 4 previous missed calls. You slumber on, unaware.

At 1am, Steve is stumbling down the street besides Eddie, his phone clutched tightly in his grasp as he pouts down at the screen. You’re not picking up.

“Steve, man, c’mon, they’re probably asleep,” Eddie’s voice of reason chimes in beside him.

He’s drunk too, just not nearly as much as Steve. A burning cigarette sits between his lips and he’s watching with amusement at how much Steve seems to be stumbling, too focused on his phone between his hands. Steve throws back his head and lets out a pained noise at Eddie’s words.

“S’just wanna- I wanna talk to my baby. M’gonna try it again.”

He punches his finger against the screen and dials your number. Steve squishes the phone against his ear and stops walking, his free hand coming out to grab a pole on the street. Eddie spots what he thinks is a cat, digging around in a trash can and perks up, crouching to start trying to make friends with it.

The ringing of the phone stops and Steve gasps in excitement, just for his heart to plummet when he realises it’s your voicemail. It’s nice to hear your voice but it’s also cruel; he still can’t talk to you.

He swings around the pole dramatically, the other hand still pressing his phone to his ear. When the beep to begin leaving a message sounds, Steve scrambles to think of what to say.

“Baby,” He’s got this faux stern voice on. “I -hic!- can’t believe you’re schleeping.” His drunken hiccups have started. He spins around the pole again.

“Sleeping! When I, me, Steve, your sweetheart, needs a kiss. And a hug. Both. I -hic!- miss you.”

This time, he spins around the pole too fast and stumbles to gain his balance, his eyes finding Eddie’s crouched form over by some trash bins. Steve giggles, relaying the information over the phone, “Eddie is- S’Eddie talking to the trash because ‘m too busy talking to you.”

He giggles again and when you listen to this the next day, you’ll have to pull your phone away from your ear because Steve shouts at full volume. “HEY EDDIE!”

There’s a scuffle in the background of the recording and you can hear Eddie yell back, “Look Steve! A friend!”

Then there’s a banging noise, like someone’s shoved the trash cans over, another scuffling sound as Eddie gets closer to Steve. It silent for a moment before Steve goes, “Oh my god, that’s a raccoon.” before the recording ends.

Steve has no memory of the voicemail the next day— but with how it sends you into stitches, sides hurting with laughter the next morning, it’s a permanent memory for you.

[raichett]

all the WIP folder fics sound so intriguing but 'THIRTY-TWO AND A THIRD TIMES''s all caps swag compells me...

I do like me a title with swag, I must agree :D

"THIRTY-TWO AND A THIRD TIMES" is going to be yet another recursive fic (that is, a fanfic of a fanfic) based on @definitelynotshouting's Hunger AU. What can I say? I love my friends and I love my friends' fics.

The basic idea is that while Grian's on the run (just before the start of where LITD begins), he starts leaving the Minecraft equivalent of answer phone messages on a number that Scar checks once in a blue moon, making the whole fic a series of transcribed voice notes (I swear I can be trusted with epistolary style!!). It's something like a confessional for Grian, rather than messages he actually wants to be answered.

Have a snippet of one of said messages :D

[DIAL TONE…] [DIAL TONE…] [DIAL TONE…] [CLICK] RECORDED ANSWER MESSAGE: Why, hello there, you've reached GoodTimesWithScar, your first stop for amazingly good times – it's right there in the name, see? It seems that I can't answer your call right now, so I'll call you back when, uh, when I remember to check this number. Have an ab-so-lute-ly fantastic day, and good-bye! GRIAN: I’ve been trying to imagine your reaction to the last couple of messages, but I can’t do it. You’re so… predictably unpredictable. [ANGRILY] A – a stupid, stupid man who likes to play with fire even though you’re gonna get burnt, ‘cause in your life it all turns out okay in the end. Well, guess what, sometimes it doesn’t. You didn’t even. You didn’t even say anything, you know? You just stared at me when they tossed me out. I don’t know what you were thinking. Nothing good, I’d imagine, but – all of that, all of it, and you didn’t even spit at me. Didn’t say a damn word. You never said anything about the desert, either. Not really. If I came up to you right now, cornered you on some mini-game server or something, what would you do? What would you say? [LOUDLY] Damn it, Scar, what would you say? Nothing, huh? That’s right, all your skill with words and twistin’ them about to get people to buy into your scams or – or give you their armour and at the end of the day you’re silent when I go. [HEAVY BREATHING] I mean… [PAUSE] [WEAKLY] … You’re not gonna answer these, are you? I don’t even want you to but I hate the thought of you listening and then not saying anything. But I guess that would probably be – right. Proper. [PAUSE] It’s night right now, where I am. Edge of some hub server, in one of those plots around the ring of the centre. You know, those ones where they just recreate the same three basic small bases a hundred times and people rock up and live in them temporarily, for events or when they’re between servers – a couple of beds, some chests, crafting table, furnace, ender chest, exactly one potted plant, you know the ones. I guess I’m between servers now, huh? I’m sitting on a wooden stair block, you know they never put real chairs in these things, and I’m looking out the small window. There’s – heh – a couple of drunk people walking past, they’re smiling. Laughing. They’re being loud, but – I don’t think the comm’s picking it up. These are glass blocks in the window, not glass panes. I’ve not got the lantern on, they won’t see me unless they turn to look, and they aren’t. They’re away down the street, now. I can see the moon, just over the rooftops. It’s normal size, don’t worry, just – big and silver. Like someone cut a hole out of the sky and poured in white dyed glow paint. Do you remember the sky above the desert, Scar? I do. I remember it all. I remember – it doesn’t matter what I remember. You know, I froze when it, uh, when it happened. I think I said that before. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. There wasn’t – wasn’t anything to say. [PAUSE] [QUIETLY] Maybe you froze, too. [CLICK] VOICE MESSAGE SAVED YOU HAVE 9 UNHEARD MESSAGES

[tmwcs]

How about heethan's reaction to let's assume for once yn goes to a party with hn and some dude slips viagra in yn's drink so she drank it obliviously and ofc got horny so the dude sees it and tries to feel her up only for her to kick him in d!ck and runs away back to the dorm room to heethan now ofc the effects of the pill were still there so heethan gets a little confused as to why his pretty baby comes up to him hurriedly from the party all horny.....so later on they do the deed and when our yn is asleep he dials hn number and asks her what happened with yn and hn explains all and heethan being him goes on full murder mode

Now I leave it up to you to finish everything up 😼😼😼

lol well unfortunately kitty cat anon, i'm afraid viagra doesnt work that way for females (as far as my research shows) it doesnt increase a woman's desire to have sex. Not to mention, it would be hard to write out this prompt because heethan (as the record shows in the chapters) does not let y/n go ANYWHERE without him. she barely is able to attend her classes in peace bc most times, he's right outside waiting/watching her through the window from his car. he'd be at that part with her, and therefore, no one is going to slip anything in her drink bc he's gonna be the one to order and watch over her belongings. for me to write out anything different is hard because its very out of character for heethan, he's always (like literally stuck like glue) with his y/n. wherever he goes, she goes. and wherever she goes, he's there.

NOW, lets just say they're at a party, and he hands her a drink and somehow it slipped through his sharp sights and someone did manage to slip something in y/n's drink. Again, studies show that viagra doesnt have that effect on women, it's a medication mean to stimulate hormonal and blood functions for men only, so lets say they slip something else and it takes effect, i'm not sure what is out there that stimulates a women's desire to have sex, but if we bend the facts a little and they slipped something and y/n was already ovulating and whatever was slipped in made her a little woozy and more "in the mood" heethan be right there to see her change in mood and would just take her to a private room or in his car and give it to her until she knocks out. (there are similar scenarios where y/n is ovulating and she expresses her desires to heethan and she always gets more than what she bargains for, i think they're in my one shots ML) it wouldn't be any different.

Warnings: some detailed smutty stuff below the line....like straight up nasty porn type content, car sex, and ofc breeding kinks, anal play, oral, and creampies. yup. MDNI 18+ content below.

He'd take you to the car, slip his hand down in you panties and feel how wet you are. probably increase the tension by antagonizing you with the "tell me who are you wet for?" or "tell me what you want, princess."

he'd make you say it and practically beg for it. in fact, he'd throw in the "beg for it baby, i wanna hear you beg." while he pumps his fingers (all three of them) in and out while curving the tips inward to hook you from the inside and gently pull you down until you're a laying mess. record shows he loves to slap y/n's p*ssy, whether it's his hand or with his shaft, he likes to slap it. when he gets a few drinks in him (doesn't have to be drunk, he can have a tiny buzz) he likes to tickle it too. he likes to watch you jump, jolt, and yelp out of the oversensitivity he's creating and from there, he slaps his hand on your shoulder, your waist, or even your neck to hold you steady and will keep doing it over and over until he gets you to the point where you're now begging for him to stop (see what he does? he's a menace. first he has you begging for more, now he has you begging for mercy) and then, as he's sucking on your skin, he shoves it in. He get's you feeling so full (because he's a python....he has girth and length) and this time around, because you're ovulating, he just wants to go at it and not start off slow and deep (which is how he usually does it) naw....he starts going at it and loves it when you gasp out in shocking breaths while you yelp and moan out in disbelief that he's just fucking the shit out of you off the hook and beaming a very demeaning (but loving) gaze at you.

everytime you turn your head away from the overwhelming sensation, he grabs your hair and either makes you look directly into his psychotic glare or he'll make you watch his cock going in and out of you (balls deep too) since you're ovulating, you're extra juicy so he'll make you stick your hand down and use your fingers to ring around his girth as he thrusts in and out, and make you rub his balls as he's slamming into you. the man is always filthy but when you're in the moments of heat and wanting to breed, he's extra nasty with it. he'll spread your legs open, spit on it, stick his finger in your anus while he's fucking you and will suck on your tongue while you're screaming out as he keeps going and going (man is an energizer bunny) he'll taunt you with his words while he spits on your tits and tells you things like...

"yeah...you're pretty little girl....you ARE pretty, i'll give you that....in fact, i'm going to show you just how pretty you are."

and boy, does he ever. he'll take it out for a few minutes so he can go in there and shove his face in between your legs, flip you over, grab your rear end, squeeze his fingers down to make it look extra bubbly, and shove it back in, going to town on you. "breed with me baby." he'll say that every time he feels you gush. and your ovulation period is just make you feral for child bearing so of course you moan and let him do everything, which includes him leaning over your back as he's fucking you doggystyle, and he'll bite your neck and hold you steady that way while he pumps in deeper and deeper until you feel him cumming.

when all is said and done, and you're bruised down there, red and purple from him beating your womanhood (i'm talking like...the man went all Mike Tyson on you) you sigh out and catch your breath, only to hear him transition and speak out...

"Round two baby...."

and you look up with an ever enduring horror on your face as you see that Ethan is looking down at you....hungry. You're too weak and exhausted to move or do anything, you just lay there with your eyes beginning to water as you dread for whats about to come your way. you whine out of mercy, which only makes ethan smirk deviously. Now that heeseung had his fill, ethan want's a taste...in fact he want's the whole entree. bon apetite. ❤️

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