#I need to get better at writing

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

A Dr. Scraptrap fic for everyone? Yes :) I’m nervous, but I still really wanted to do this one.

Title: Didn’t Want To Be Her

Description: The rabbit wishes that he hadn’t stepped out when he had—or, that he had brought her with him.

Scraptrap stared at the creation of his laid across the table, smirking. He messed with a few of the items that were strewn about.

Ever since he began working on her, he chose to keep her in one of the more secure rooms of the building.

After all, she was one of his more... lengthy, projects—it would be an annoyance if something were to happen, and he’d have to start all over.

‘Scrap Baby.’ That was the name that the rabbit had chosen to call the clown. A fitting and nice name, he’d thought.

Progress is going well... He mentally noted, chuckling to himself. Soon—Scraptrap was certain—soon, she’d finally do what he wanted her to.

If not for some complications, the rabbit assumed that she would have been finished years ago. He supposed the substitutes were fine.

“Scraptrap.” Spring Bonnie’s voice finally broke the silence. It almost sounded like they were trying not to laugh. Not doing that amazing. Scraptrap thought.

“What? What is it?” He turned away from the clown, and to his right, where the yellow rabbit had been standing.

By the time he’d made the other rabbit his assistant, Scraptrap had already been making progress on Scrap Baby—albeit rather slowly.

Of course, now Spring Bonnie was helping with her—but the scientist recalled, during the earlier days, that it had been completely different.

Not wanting any mistakes to happen with such an important project—one that was already having issues—he had Spring Bonnie deal with other, less important things.

He knew that the yellow rabbit was good at what they did—but he didn’t want to risk any potential mishaps when already dealing with a problem.

When he finally let the yellow rabbit join in on working on her, it had been a rather huge relief. Scraptrap was glad that he had chosen them for an assistant.

Before discovering the other rabbit, Scraptrap recalled having other choices, but couldn’t remember what any of them ever looked like, or their names.

His reasons for not wanting them varied—however, it was typically because they either seemed far too clumsy, or the rabbit just... didn’t like them.

Staring at Spring Bonnie, he noticed how they were pointing past him. Sighing, the rabbit turned after a moment.

The thing about the room they were in, was that it had a keypad attached on the wall, to the right of the door. He knew the code, as well as his assistant.

It was rather high up, too. And the rabbit was almost certain that he had never told the code to either Plushtrap or Elizabeth before.

...Which was why the scientist never expected this to end up happening. He stared at the sight in front of him, frowning.

Standing in the entryway of the now opened door, was Plushtrap, grinning excitedly. On his shoulders was Elizabeth, who must have entered the code.

Scraptrap sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Children, how did you...”

“Get in?” Plushtrap tilted her head to the side, snickering.

“Sorry, Daddy!” Elizabeth started to get off of her sibling. “We saw Spring Bonnie enter the code earlier. We just wanted to see...”

Once they were sure she was off, Plushtrap grabbed her hand, and scurried into the room, approaching the other two rabbits.

“That’s Scrap Baby?” Plushtrap and Elizabeth stared up at her. The smaller rabbit started to move closer, only for Scraptrap to pick him up.

“Yes, yes.” Scraptrap nodded, ears twitching. “But you two shouldn’t be in here. You should be back in bed, you should be asleep.”

For a second, Spring Bonnie glanced at a nearby clock, before returning their focus on the three. “Why are you two up at one in the morning?”

“Why are you?” Plushtrap responded.

“Plushtrap, we’re still-“ The yellow rabbit had started, only for Scraptrap to move closer, and place a finger against their mouth.

“Spring Bonnie, take the children back to their room, now. I should finish up a few things.”

He’d started to hand the smaller rabbit over to his assistant, only for Scraptrap to stop when he felt a tug against his other hand.

“What is it, Elizabeth?” The rabbit questioned, looking down after a moment.

“Not Spring Bonnie.” She shook her head. “Could you come with us instead, Daddy? Please?”

The rabbit sighed. He glanced between her and the clown for a moment. “I still need-“

“And maybe tell us a story? Pleaseee?”

“Elizabeth, Spring Bonnie could take you to bed, and still tell you a story.” He answered. She just frowned.

“Their stories are shit.” Plushtrap piped up.

The two scientists were silent for a moment, before Scraptrap released a wheeze, and knelt down. Spring Bonnie just frowned.

Spring Bonnie placed their head in their hands. “Plushtrap, where did you-“ Scraptrap was still laughing.

Finally clearing his throat after a moment, Scraptrap turned to stare at the yellow rabbit. He raised a brow, grinning. “What ones have you been telling my children?”

Spring Bonnie groaned, ears lowering. “Well, I had certainly thought that they were good ones!”

Scraptrap stood back up, but not before reaching over, and picking up Elizabeth as well, who was quick to cling to him.

“Alright, alright.” He looked down at them, both grinning. “I’ll take you both back to your room, okay?”

“And a story?” Elizabeth asked.

The rabbit sighed. “And a story, yes, Eli. But you both have to stay and sleep after that, am I clear?”

Elizabeth nodded.

Plushtrap wasn’t saying or doing anything—except for having a rather mischievous grin plastered on her face. Elizabeth snickered.

Scraptrap narrowed his eyes. “Plushtrap, I know that look. Do not do whatever it is.” His voice was firm. “When we get back, stay. in. your. room.”

The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Plushtrap groaned loudly, lowering his head. “Fine!”

Scraptrap hummed lightly. As he began to leave the room with them, the rabbit glanced back for a moment. “Spring Bonnie, finish up for tonight.”

The yellow rabbit nodded.

_____

Halfway to where the room was located, Scraptrap heard the sound of snoring. Looking down, Plushtrap seemed to be the source.

While, admittedly, there were a ton of corridors and rooms in the building, Scraptrap never found himself getting lost.

He’d shown the others around a lot—but even then, the rabbit typically found Spring Bonnie or Elizabeth having trouble with the building.

Scraptrap was almost certain that, on occasion, Plushtrap would get lost... but she still seemed to find a way to wherever they wanted to go—just in... strange ways, he’d say.

There was a ceiling vent right above Scraptrap’s bed in his room. He remembered, one night, where it had opened, and Plushtrap fell out.

Finally reaching the room, Scraptrap managed to get the door after shifting Elizabeth and Plushtrap into one arm. Then, he stepped inside.

Moving over to the right side of the room, he slowly placed Plushtrap in his bed, the smaller rabbit still rather loudly snoring.

“Alright, Elizabeth.” The rabbit started making his way over to her bed. “Do you still want me to tell you a...”

Trailing off, Scraptrap looked down at her. She’d been quiet throughout most of the walk down to the bedroom—and he assumed she just hadn’t wanted to say anything.

Now, though, he knew that she had to have fallen asleep—most likely not that long after Plushtrap had, Scraptrap guessed.

He placed his daughter in her bed, pulling the covers over Elizabeth. A moment later, he gently placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair.

“Sleep well, children.”

Removing his hand, the rabbit backtracked to the door, closing it behind him as he re-entered the corridor.

_____

Spring Bonnie groaned. Entering the code once again, they were greeted by the same thing—the keypad flashing red, followed by a beep, and the door remaining closed.

They typed it again once more. To their annoyance and confusion, the same thing occurred.

The yellow rabbit started to knock on the door after a second. “Scraptrap!” They called out. “Are you in there?? Something’s wrong with the door!”

A few seconds passed, before the door suddenly slid open after the keypad flashed green. Scraptrap was standing in the doorway.

He shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong with it, Spring Bonnie.” He stepped out of the way to let them enter the room.

“Well, then why wasn’t it working?” The yellow rabbit questioned, moving past the scientist.

“I changed the password earlier today.” He simply answered. He made his way over to the table that Scrap Baby was laid on.

Spring Bonnie followed him. “Was it because of Plushtrap and Elizabeth?”

Scraptrap sighed, and then nodded. “I didn’t want them to come in and mess with anything.” The rabbit answered. “Especially Plushtrap.”

“Mmm... I wouldn’t be surprised if she managed to find a different way inside.” Spring Bonnie commented. They didn’t see any vents or anything, though.

Standing in front of Scrap Baby, the old rabbit held a clipboard and pen, skimming through everything that was already written down.

“Mm...” Scraptrap picked up the pen attached to the clipboard, and began to circle a few things listed.

“How long have you been in here?” The yellow rabbit questioned.

“Oh.” Scraptrap started waving a hand around dismissively for a moment. “Since about... four in the morning, I believe.”

Spring Bonnie looked towards the only clock in the room. It read: 8:10 PM. Sighing, they looked away, refocusing quickly on the green rabbit.

“You’ve been in here for that long?” The yellow rabbit’s ears twitched, and they frowned. “I thought you must have gone to sleep this time.”

Scraptrap set the clipboard down, and glanced towards his apprentice. “Well, after putting Elizabeth and Plushtrap to bed, I worked on a few things in my room.”

He moved closer to the table that Scrap Baby was laid across. “Then, I returned here. We’re getting closer, Spring Bonnie.”

“You think so?” The yellow rabbit asked. Should still probably sleep, though.

“I know so.” Scraptrap hummed. He reached forward, picking up one of Scrap Baby’s arms, seemingly inspecting it. “No more delays...”

The old rabbit chuckled, smirking. He let go of the clown’s arm, carefully placing it back on the table. “It’ll all be worth it.”

“Is she even going to be living?” Spring Bonnie questioned. “So far, I’ve only seen Plushtrap. How are you going to make that happen?”

So far, no response from Scraptrap, but the yellow rabbit continued. “How did you exactly do that with Plushtrap, by the way, Scraptrap?”

They remembered meeting Plushtrap after she was finished—and actually alive, but it was one of the things that they hadn’t had a part in.

It wasn’t really something that Spring Bonnie knew the reason for, though—and they typically never bothered Scraptrap to know.

There was still no response from the old rabbit. “Scraptrap?” The yellow rabbit raised an eyebrow.

He just seemed to be staring off at a nearby wall—however, they noticed the rather large smirk on his face. His laughter wasn’t very quiet, either.

Spring Bonnie rolled their eyes. “I know that look. It involves Henry, doesn’t it? You’ll deal with him using this?”

Ears twitching, Scraptrap looked away from the wall, and towards his assistant. “Well...” He cleared his throat.

“A purpose, yes. I might send her to mess with Henry,” He answered, “But trust me, Spring Bonnie. There are so many more purposes...”

_____

The children had slept in late—by the time he and Spring Bonnie left the room, Scraptrap assumed that they could have still been asleep in bed.

If not for the fact that, while walking down the corridor, Scraptrap and Spring Bonnie could hear something from above them. “What was that?”

Shrugging, the old rabbit paused, and looked up. Right where he had stopped, there was a vent on the ceiling. Scraptrap just sighed.

He immediately held out his hands—and just in time, too. Seconds later, Plushtrap fell from it, and was caught before hitting the floor.

Spring Bonnie looked around a little bit. “Plushtrap, how do you even keep getting into those?” They questioned. “Scraptrap, maybe we should do something about that.”

The scientist ignored them in favor of his child—or, rather, children—as footsteps could be heard, before Elizabeth entered the same corridor.

“Could you please watch a movie with us?” She grinned.

_____

Scraptrap found himself back in Scrap Baby’s room. He didn’t plan on doing too much—there were just a few minor things on his list that he wanted to get done.

He’d put his children to sleep earlier—and about thirty minutes earlier, Spring Bonnie had gone to sleep, too. They seemed pretty tired.

The rabbit would have requested that they stay with him, and work on Scrap Baby, but with how tired Spring Bonnie had seemed... Scraptrap didn’t want anything going wrong.

Just as Scraptrap started to reach for something, he suddenly froze upon hearing a rapid series of knocks coming from the other side of the door.

“D-Daddy?” A muffled voice came from the other side. Elizabeth, no doubt.

For a second, Scraptrap glanced at the clock that rested on the wall. 10:10 PM.

Scraptrap made his way over to the door, quickly entering the code on the keypad, and watched as it quickly slid open. “Yes, Eli-“

Once it was open, Elizabeth rushed forward into the room, and hugged her father as tight as she could.

“Elizabeth...” Scraptrap stared down at her. He placed an arm around her, before kneeling down. “What happened, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth didn’t let go of her father, her face buried into his chest now. When she spoke, the girl became muffled. “Nightmare...”

“You had a nightmare?” The old rabbit repeated.

Elizabeth silently nodded.

Wrapping both of his arms around his daughter, Scraptrap picked her up, while standing back to his full height.

“I... I don’t want to go back to sleep...” Elizabeth murmured.

Scraptrap sighed. He looked around the room for a moment, seemingly debating on something, before looking back at his daughter.

“Would you like to stay in here and assist me?”

_____

Remaining focused on the inside of the panel connected to Scrap Baby, Scraptrap cleared his throat, and held out his left hand.

“Elizabeth,” He spoke—voice raspy, yet gentle as he addressed his child. “Hand it to me now, please.”

With how everything was going, after this, the old rabbit would simply finish up for the night, before sending Elizabeth back to bed.

She’d mentioned that she had a nightmare, but hadn’t explained it—and Scraptrap himself hadn’t asked about it. Perhaps she’s forgotten now.

He was still holding out a hand expectantly, yet nothing happened. Scraptrap cleared his throat once more. “Elizabeth.” He repeated.

“Daddy, it’s not here.” His daughter replied. Frowning, Scraptrap looked away from the clown, and down at his daughter.

“It isn’t?”

Elizabeth shook her head, and Scraptrap simply sighed. “That’s strange... I could have sworn that I brought it in here earlier.”

He glanced towards the rooms door for a second, before returning to his daughter, and slowly kneeling down in front of her. Elizabeth began messing with her bow.

Scraptrap pointed towards the exit. “I’m only going to go out there for a moment to retrieve what I need, alright?”

She turned around to look when he pointed, but only for a second. “Elizabeth, can I trust you not to touch anything while I’m gone?”

He knew what it would be like if it had been Plushtrap—the rabbit would absolutely not be able to trust her to not do anything.

Smiling, Elizabeth nodded. “Uh-huh! I promise!”

“Good.” Scraptrap chuckled. He pat her head, before standing back up, and making his way over to the door, while Elizabeth watched.

It took him a moment to remember the new code. He was planning on writing it down somewhere—but just hadn’t done so yet.

He wandered through the corridor, before taking a left, and coming to a stop. The rabbit always happened to leave things in this area.

Right in the corner, was a massive table, and—not to his surprise, contained quite a lot of items messily strewn about. “I should probably fix that...”

He couldn’t have it too messy. Maybe what he was looking for was over there—at least that’s what the old rabbit was hoping for.

Approaching the table, he began looking at all of the items, hoping to find the correct one—all while making it more orderly.

“Scraptrap?” The scientist turned around upon hearing his assistant’s voice. They looked like they had just woken up.

“Ah, Spring Bonnie. Hello.” The old rabbit cleared his throat.

“What are you doing?” The yellow rabbit questioned, moving closer.

“Well, what are you?” Scraptrap said, raising an eyebrow. “I assumed you’d be sleeping.”

Then again, that was what he had assumed for Elizabeth—and she had been—at least until her nightmare occurred.

“Well, I was.” Spring Bonnie nodded. “But, you see, Plushtrap wanted-“

Before the yellow rabbit had the chance to finish, Scraptrap’s attention—as well as his assistant’s—was pulled towards an unsettling noise.

Albeit muffled, what sounded like a shriek could be heard from one of the other rooms—before promptly being followed by a soft thud.

The old rabbit’s eyes widened, and he unceremoniously dropped one of the items—it missed the table, and hit the floor with a clatter.

He knew where that was coming from—he knew who it had to be coming from. “Elizabeth?!”

Scraptrap rushed past Spring Bonnie, causing them to stumble back a bit. He could hear their footsteps, but paid them no attention.

“Elizabeth?!” Spring Bonnie’s voice was laced with concern, while they attempted to keep up with the other rabbit. “Scraptrap, what’s going on?”

They never thought that Scraptrap could be this fast—it was rather surprising. They were usually always able to keep up with him.

When the old rabbit came to a sudden stop in front of the door to enter the code, Spring Bonnie nearly ran straight into him, but managed to stop.

The first try, in his panic and worry, Scraptrap proceeded to get the new code wrong. The second time, however, he got it right.

Once the door slid open, both of the rabbit’s raced into the room, Scraptrap managing to enter first.

Looking around, everything seemed to be perfectly fine... until Elizabeth was spotted.

She was still where Scraptrap had last seen her—except, now, she was collapsed on the ground, motionless. Her back was facing them.

“Elizabeth!”

While Scraptrap rushed over to his daughter, kneeling beside her, Spring Bonnie remained where they were—frozen.

“Elizabeth?!” Scraptrap reached over, picking her up, and holding her close. She seemed rather pale, too.

“Scraptrap, what happened?!”

“I don’t know!” Scraptrap hissed. He didn’t turn to look at his assistant, only staying focused on his daughter. Does it look like I do?!

He hadn’t been gone for very long—he assumed when he returned, everything would be the same as he had left it.

Had she accidentally or purposely touched something? Elizabeth was laying rather far from Scrap Baby, though, he noted.

“Pulse. Pulse. Pulse..” Scraptrap began quietly repeating to himself, trying to find and check just that.

Some of the areas—mainly the corridors, had cameras—but this room was one of the many that didn’t have any. It wasn’t like he could check those to see what happened.

Spring Bonnie still remained where they were. From the corners of their eyes, they thought they saw something move. Just my imagination...

“She’s breathing...” Both of the rabbit’s sighed in relief. Slowly, Spring Bonnie started to make their way over.

Scraptrap kept his daughter close to him, not letting go. What happened, Elizabeth? He frowned.

Once reaching Scraptrap and Elizabeth, Spring Bonnie crouched down, ears lowered. “...You know, maybe... maybe we should-“

“D... Daddy? Spring Bonnie?” Elizabeth. That was Elizabeth’s voice—Scraptrap certainly knew that. They both knew that.

He was staring at his daughter, though. Her mouth didn’t move—she seemed to be unconscious. His daughter in his arms didn’t say that.

Was it his imagination? Scraptrap shook his head at that thought. Spring Bonnie seemed to have heard it, too. Not just him.

“Daddy?” The voice repeated. It was coming from behind the two of them.

Turning around, Scraptrap and Spring Bonnie were greeted by the sight of Scrap Baby. She was sitting up, frowning, and staring at the two of them.

“Elizabeth...?” The rabbit whispered. He started glancing between her and the body that he held in his arms. Spring Bonnie was silent.

His grip on Elizabeth’s motionless body tightened, while he met the terrified and confused eyes of just who was in the clown.

“Oh no.”

[tommy68mellohi]

Oc art <3

Don’t have any lore actually written out yet I’m getting there i don’t make Ocs a lot

[zoominballs]

I have learned my lesson about making massive lore dumps and then logging off. So I clarify some things

I am not dead. I love this tennisona too much to kill him

This person had seen zoominballs die earlier and not at that specific moment

This new account is directly linked to everything

[squirsquirrel]

smiling as I write the idea for a fic I want to write because it brings me back to when I first began reading fanfic and even though what I write won’t be of the same quality of what I’ve read I hope the idea does

[lucky-fy]

For the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people)

I had this illustration commissioned (a big thank you to @lunehowls) for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP).

The general pitch is as follows :

AU in which Laios never got to meet his sister again, putting his life on a whole other path, a more desperate one. A military deserter with barely a coin to his name, Laios hitches a ride on a boat to one of the elven continents, where he learns about magical tattoos that binds one’s soul to a wolf’s, effectively making them artificial werewolves. Illegal magic be damned, this feels like the answer to… everything.

In the process, he learns about the existence of an illegal fighting ring in one of the elven cities, where beastmen gladiators gather. Freshly tattooed and without anywhere else to go to, Laios decides to head there, where he meets Lycion, an elf and artificial werewolf gladiator. If they first bond over a simple shared meal, by spending time together (sharing the same room in the barracks, maybe the same bed? gasp) they find that they have a lot in common, notably a shared distaste for the body they were born in, a dysphoria partially remedied by becoming a werewolf.

They bond :)

NB: I commissioned another piece, go take a look :D

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

[hajihiko]

Multilingual 🌍

Fuyuhiko: its beneficial to understand when rivals are talking in secret

Sonia: diplomacy is easier when you speak their language too

Hajime: duolingo library forced speedrun

Akane: worked in customer service

Kazuichi is just more of a Language of Numbera guy 😋

[prince-liest]

Some thoughts on Lucifer's mental health, relationships, and role as king of hell!

Lucifer’s perception of himself as the king of hell is really interesting to me because he’s very blase about it in canon while totally using it when it suits him.

I think it’s really telling that the first time he actually brings it up himself is when it’s something he can leverage to help Charlie out. He reads to me like someone who objectively knows that he’s the hottest shit in town, but also just doesn’t really think that it matters most of the time because it's not relevant to his personal problems. Being Lucifer Morningstar did not allow him to achieve his goals in petitioning heaven. Being the most powerful person in hell didn’t even un-fuck his family life!

...Except for when suddenly it might in fact help un-fuck his relationship with his daughter.

It's the main thing he can desperately and dramatically showcase as a worthwhile reason for Charlie to maintain a relationship with him, because he as a person is depressed, half-functional, and barely has enough spoons to pay attention to a conversation he's having with her while he's actively having it, nevermind remembering their last one.

He wants to! And it doesn't start with his song at the hotel! It starts with him answering the phone, heavily fumbling actually connecting with Charlie despite clearly desperately wanting to, and then realizing she's asking him for something and promptly choking on his tea before excitedly telling her, "Yeah! Of course! Anything within my power is yours for the asking, you just name it." He knows that there is a great deal 'within his power,' and he's happy and relieved that he can offer her that!

Lilith has been gone for years but he's still wearing his wedding ring. His walls are still covered in family portraits. He's just been sitting in his room making thousands of rubber ducks he thinks suck instead of ruling hell, because his daughter liked that one duck he made one time.

Charlie needed him to support her in her mission, but damn did Lucifer also need Charlie to get him out and moving and actually doing things again.

Anyway, someone get this man on an SSRI.

[rawrsatthetree]

I’ve seen people compare Julian Devorak to Astarion, and honestly I think you’re all embarrassing wrong.

Gale Dekarios is Julian Devorak.

Astarion is Count Lucio

[plush-rabbit]

Foggy Minds

Word Count: 4.7K A/N: I dont know his body!! So I tried to leave it ambiguous and yeah!! i also wrote this just for the ending bit

-

It’s a fucking joke. A cruel one. Angels- or at least Exterminators- are known for their cruelty. Raining down from above, a storm cloud that leaves red behind. Even after the destruction and death, the guts and gore that leave a lasting stench, the cruelty isn’t done. The angel Adam still has to bring torment down to Hell.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing is what he is. He can pretend he’s higher than the sinners down below, but he’s just as crude, if not more so than the worst of them here. It’s a tradition at this point for both you and him. He brings hell on hell, and a week later, he flies down once more, calling the club that you work at, demanding for you to be sent to the Heaven Embassy. However, as the next Extermination Day comes close, he’s called for your services once again. You wish you could say no, but he pays quite a lot for you, and you could always use the money.. 

You hate the walk there more than anything. It’s like everyone knows you’re off to go fuck the Exorcist. You look both ways before disappearing through the doors of the Embassy. Maybe they think you’re getting a meeting with- someone. 

The Embassy is empty, and every step you take echoes out in the room. You’re terrified. You always are. It never stops feeling like a trap. Even in the elevator on the way to the suite, you can only stare at the golden doors in front of you, your reflection distorted and twisted. 

If you’re going to be honest- you aren’t sure why it’s you who has to come up. It’s Adam- he’s bragged enough about how he can have anyone, and yet, he pays for a sinner’s cunt. You make sure to not feel special, to squash any pride down. Perhaps it’s too tedious to pay for another sinner or hellborn, and it’s best to just get what he knows will be a good fuck. You sigh and look away from your reflection and the glowing numbers. Still, you show up and do your job. You've taken better and worse clients. The angel is just someone in between. 

The doors open and you pass a few doors until you reach his suite. You don’t know why the Embassy has so many rooms, and when you tried to ask Adam, he made a comment about how you could have a fuck-a-thon, doing it in each room, and you sneered at the idea. 

Your suite- or rather his suite- is unlocked like always. You waste no time, stepping into the shimmering room. It’s livable. A kitchenette on one side, a bathroom with a wonderful shower tucked in the room, and a massive bed pushed to the end of the room. The room is bright, golds and blues, a deep dark wood carved into ornate decorations, and you feel out of place. It’s nice- far too nice for you to show up and defile it with what you’re going to do. The room never ceases to amaze you. There aren’t many places in Hell where the colors are bright and soft at the same time, where things look so pristine and untouched. When you once mentioned to Adam how nice the room was, he laughed and told you that there were far better rooms in Heaven. A part of you still wishes that he would have offered to show you- something, pictures, descriptions, anything. 

“Took you long enough!” The angel says, leaning back on the bed. “I pay for your entire time, ya know? From the walk from your whore house to the embassy, the least ya could do is hurry it up. I’m a very important angel, ya know?”

“You ordered me like last-”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I don’t want excuses.” His hand waves in the air, and he sits on the bed. “Come on, let’s get to it.” You roll your eyes at him as you walk closer. “Oi! Don’t roll your eyes at me,” his voice is laced with disgust, and you remember that he looks down on you- in more ways than you would care to admit. “Come on, strip.” Your hands go to unzip your skirt. “And make it good!”

You bite your tongue. Your shirt is the first to go. The action is slow, tantalizing as your fingers skim over your bare skin, and your skirt follows suit, pooling on the floor. You step out the fabric, and your heels click on the floor. Adam watches you, his hands scratching the bed covers. You spread your legs over his right, and grab his hands, letting them touch your ribs and then moving towards your back. 

You can feel the tips of his claws scratch at the clip of your bra. You press your cunt over his robe covered thigh, and grind over it softly. “Please, Adam,” you beg. “Take it off for me?” Your hands rest over his chest, and he watches as you grind yourself over him, your hands fisting over his robe, and you wonder for a moment if maybe you did a bad thing- if this was the wrong move. But then your bra straps fall down your shoulders, and it’s discarded somewhere in the room.

You hiss when his mouth suckles on a breast, the other breast being pinched and pulled at. He sucks so softly, letting his tongue roll over the swelling bud, teething at it so you hiss and arch yourself further into him. You can feel a wet spot grow, and you can’t help but rock yourself over your thigh. The other breast is manhandled, twisted and pinched that has you gasping and fisting holy fabric in your sinner hands. 

You're pushed off and his hands claw over your hip. You get the memo, and peel off your underwear, the wetness of it noticeable, and the only mention of it is when Adam pockets your underwear. You wish you bought another pair with you. The heels are tossed aside, and strong hands push you down from your shoulders. You fall onto your knees with a hiss, and you know what you have to do.

-

“And- And- Oh fuck, that’s it, baby-” He hisses, his head tilted back. The hand fisted into your hair tightens, sharp stinging encouraging you to swallow more so he could let go. “I’m just saying that why would you settle for anything less than-” A moan interrupts his monologue and you look at him through glossy eyes. “Oh fuck. It’s like a fucking gift to suck me off.”

A string of spit and pre-ejaculate connects to your lips as you pull away. It’s thick and white, and you’re gasping for hair, a hand wrapped around the base of his cock and you push yourself to swallow his package, fitting the pair into your mouth as your hand pumps his length. He’s breathing heavily, and you know he's upset at the loss of contact with your mouth with the way that his hand tangles itself into your hair, but his mask is twisted, and you pop them out of your mouth. Your mouth feels dry despite the excess spit- you suppose it’s the salty taste that lingers. 

You take him back in your mouth, eager, and begging for him to just spill his seed already. Your cheeks hollow, and he’s heavy on your tongue. Your tongue swirls over a vein, and you can feel him twitching.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he hisses, his hands cradling your head. You hum, and brace yourself, your hands holding at his thighs, bracing yourself for him to thrust forward. His hands tighten, and he thrusts into your mouth. You gag around him, your throat constricting around him. It’s a horrid sound, loud and hollow, and acid threatens to bubble over. As he continues to pump himself into you, spit dribbles from the corner of your lips and you’re grateful that you were ordered to remove your clothes. 

“That’s right, take it. Oh fuck, fuck-” a string of curses fills the room, and he’s unrelenting, pushing deeper into your throat. A hand slips to grab at your breast, eyes squinting when you can feel the spit coat over your chest. Your other hand tightens around Adam’s thigh, your nails pinching into him.

Your fingers pinch over your nipple, rolling it over, desperate to take your mind off of the assault of your mouth. His thrusts get deeper and harsher, and he’s still in the back of your throat, holding you down. Curses mutter in the air, sharp and slurring together, and he keeps his eyes on you. The eye contact is far too much, the piercing eyes boring into your entire being, and it must be some type of power play for him. You choose to focus on the base of his cock. With your nose pressed into his pubic bone, you cough around him, and finally he pulls away, his seed laying thick on your tongue. Tears wet your face and mix with your spit and the drops of his seed. 

He grabs your chin and you open your mouth, showing the mess that he’s made. Letting go, you stay still, as he taps his cock on your face. It’s tacky with your spit and leaves you feeling much filthier than you would like to admit. You hold the seed in your mouth and he gives a nod, and you make a show of swallowing, and open your mouth to show him. “Did you want me to do a blessing before you swallow?”  He teases. “With my holy cum, I grant you the opportunity to fuck me.” He chuckles at his joke.

“Thank you, Adam,” you murmur, hoping that the soreness on your jaw will go away.

“You know, you could learn how to relax your throat. You’d think after doing this for a living, your gag reflex wouldn't be a thing.” You send him a dirty look, and his grin widens. “So fucking sensitive. What did you want me to tell you? That you were good?”

You aren’t sure what mood he’s in at the moment. Sometimes you can tell when he wants to fight with you- where he wants to punish you and call you a sinner as he ravages you, but then there are moments when he wants you to beg for him, to tell him how good he is, how you want his cock more than anything. But at the moment with your skull pounding and jaw sore, you spit out a simple, “Fuck you.” His grin widens, and he hoists you up onto the bed. The stickiness on your face ruins the soft comforter, and you feel too dirty to even touch something so nice.

“I was going to be nice and just fuck you, but shit, you had to talk back.” 

A hand grips at your rear, and a finger teases at your hole. You hiss at the contact, and you're glad you’re face down or else you’d never hear the end of it of how flustered you must look. As if reading your mind, he flips you over, your face exposed and your hands immediately cover the lower half. 

“Adam-” you squeal, instinctively trying to close your legs only to have them pried apart. 

“Don’t worry,” he says casually. “I just wanna look at how wet you got just from sucking on me.” A finger traces against your slick and you watch as he tastes the finger. “Damn, I should have let you keep your panties on if I knew you were going to get this wet.” A finger enters and you squirm, suckling the intrusion further into your softness. “You’re soaked. And all you had to do was suck me off. You know, if I could keep you, I would.” He enters another finger, pushing the two inside until he’s at the knuckles. “I’d give you a nice collar, a nice bed, and all you would have to do is be my little cocksleeve.” He pulls out, and thick strings of slick connect his fingers back to your cunt. He returns his fingers to your cunt, now with the addition of a third. It’s a wide stretch, a sharp pain being overridden with pleasure. “I bet you’d like that. You’d live a pampered life, and all you have to do is keep your pussy spread open for me.” 

With a yank, you’re pulled further into the bed. The comforters make a soft noise, but the bed itself doesn’t creak. You watch with half-lidded eyes, focused as he rests on his knees beside you, his cock growing, the scent of it enough to make you go dizzy. You brush your cheek against it, licking at the side of it when he thrusts his fingers into you.

You sit on the bed, his cock pressed against your face, and with a mind too delirious to think of anything else, you pull him into your mind, lazily bobbing his head, as his fingers scissor inside of you. 

You breathe heavily, your mind growing fuzzy with the stimulation. He’s slow and lazy, massaging the inside of your gummy walls as he looks down at you taking his cock once more. A hand brushes your hair away from your face, and you pull away, pecking at his cockhead, nuzzling the glistening head against your lips. It isn’t enough for you, and you swallow him once more, humping into his hand when he gives a smart smack to your cunt. 

“Turn around,” he orders, and you scamper to do so. You don’t get a moment to prepare yourself, until he’s bullying himself inside of you. Your hands claw at the comforter, and with watery eyes, you see the fabric tear apart underneath your claws. “You’re clamping down hard around me,” he breathes out, and you buck your hips, trying to feel him deeper into you.

Above you, he's heavy, and selfish, pumping into you relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin is harmonized by your moans. He grunts above you, whispering strings of obscenities and few words of praise linger in the air.

“Oh fuck,” he grunts out, “so fucking good.” His breath is hot against you, fanning out into feathered tickles that touch at your body. He’s never been one for intimacy before reaching his peak, always preferring to be lustful, so you never expect him to actually kiss you, but in moments where he rights just at the right spot, you’d wish he do a little more to make it feel something other that whatever this all is.

His body is pressed against your back, hands squirming underneath to grab at your breasts. His hands are rough and unforgiving, pulling and pinching his nails into your soft skin, You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, puffing and huffing, murmurs about how you feel wrapped around him, and you bury your face into the comforter. Your mouth is slacked open, spit pooling down, as your moan helplessly around him, body taut and nerves feeling as if they’re on fire. 

“No fucking wonder you’re a sinner,” he seethes out, his thrusts harsh and deep, enough to have you see stars and think about how as selfish as he can, he feels so good. “With a pussy this good, I bet you had everyone lined up for just a taste.” You let out a low whine. “Yeah, I bet you did. No wonder you were hired at that sex joint. Did you have to fuck the owner to get in? Ha?” His tone is wicked, and you’re unsure if it’s his words or the fact that you’re so close as to what is making you tear up. His weight above you shifts, and by your hair, you’re yanked back. You yelp and tighten around him, tears slipping down. “I asked you a question.”

“I didn’t-” you yelp as he continues to bully himself inside of you- “I didn’t hear it, ’m sorry,” you mumble, your scalp stinging with pain. 

“Too fucked up on my dick to even think,” he hisses, pushing you down onto the bed. He pulls himself out, and you whimper, shaking your head and pushing yourself closer to him, your cunt weeping for more of him. “A cock hungry slut is all you are, huh?” His cock is pulled out, and he watches you whine, your cunt gaping and leaking slick that makes your thighs glisten. 

“Adam, please,” you moan, turning your head to look over your shoulder. You can feel the drool stick to the side of your lips. 

“Please what?” he spits out, his eyes flickering to yours, before returning to your ruined sex.

You let a whimper, high-pitched and desperate. You fall back to the bed, your eyes looking forward, and your hand slips underneath you, fingers peeking towards your cunt, feeling the warmth drip onto your fingertips. “I want more,” you tell him, your words muffled by the comforter. “I want you,” you tell him, hoping that he’d take pity on you for a moment.

The tip of his cock brushes itself against your opening, and you clench around it, your body aching for more. “Nah, you have to do better than that.” Your cries are shushed, brows furrowed and you’re turned over onto your back, “Come on, I’ve heard you beg before.” Two of his fingers enter you, thrusting in painfully slow. “You know what to say already.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers twisting the bed sheets into spirals. You shake your head, humping pathetically into his hand. “I promise to make ya feel real good.” 

“Adam,” you croak. He pulls his fingers out, and tears gluten over your lashes. “Please, I wanna be fucked.” Your legs tense when you feel the tip of his cock nestle itself inside of you. “I’m just a filthy sinner who needs-” you yelp when he thrusts himself inside of you, the entire lengths filling you nicely- “needs to be fucked by your holy dick.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softy over your skin. 

“A little more, honey, and I’ll ruin that demon pussy for you.” His hands curve over your hips, scratching softly over your skin, his voice low and sweet for you.

“Adam,” you plead, your hands curving over your breasts, “I need you,” you whisper in a haze. “I need your cock in me, I wanna cum real bad. I need you. I need you to fuck my sinner pussy.”

He gives you a lazy smile, and gives a nonchalant shrug. “Good enough.” He pushes himself inside of you. Your stomach coils into a heat, and you suck in a harsh breath when his fingers slip to rub at the bundle of nerves between your legs. “You have a fucking grip on my dick. What is it? Are you close?” You let out a broken moan. Your legs kick up, and wrap around him. “If I cum in you, you’re dealing with it.” His grin is sharp and predatory, and it only makes you drag your hands down his arms.

Your hands reach up, and you hold the sides of his neck, your hands curving behind, and you just feel tufts of hair peek from underneath the mask. A hand reaches to grab your wrist, holding it tightly, and you’re sure you’re going to have a bruise afterward. “You fuckin’ slut,” he spits out. “You think just because you got my mask off last time, I’ll let you look at me again?”

“Adam,” you whimper out, scratching at the back of his neck with your free hand, “please. I just wanna look,” you slur out. You know you’ll regret saying those things when you’ve sobered from him, but sex always did make you softer, needier. You think that must be why he decided to continue to hire you- to see you pant for him and stroke his ego. “You’re so pretty, I wanna see,” you lament. “I wanna- I just- I wanna look at you when I cum,” you stumble over your words, your fingertips tapping against the bottom of the mask. The golden eyes narrow at you, and you can only look for so long until you turn your attention elsewhere.

His mask is tossed to the side, and his irises glow. The hand that holds your wrist loosens, and you cup over his cheek, the stubble on his chin scratching at your palm. “Fuck- Oh fuck,” you hiss out, your heart beating against your chest rapidly. “I’m gonna- Oh my- Adam! Fuck,” you hiss, the knot in your stomach tightening, a pressure building more and more until you’re sure that you’ll burst. 

Even as your body shakes, he doesn’t stop. He continues moving his hips, pushing all of himself inside of you, his breath coming out in pants above you, his smile sharp and face flushed. A hand wraps around your neck, and you arch yourself into it, whining and mumbling at how your cunt is still too sensitive, how he has to slow down, but he coos at you, and he tells you how good you’re benign for him, and you hold onto his wrist with your hands. 

Adam places his face close to yours, his lips and breath fanning above yours, and you’re stuck staring at his eyes, unable to look away from the gold in front of you. You lick your lips, and you brush against his. He stares at you, and your face burns. 

He gives shallow thrusts, and is still inside of you, and you can feel him. You can feel the heat, and the stickiness leaks out of you. He keeps himself there, and hides himself into the crook of your neck. After a moment, he slips out, and you can feel the heaviness of his seed weep out of you in slow and heavy drools. 

You lay in the afterglow, chest heaving and sweat and more sticking to your skin. Your body is on pins and needles, and laying on top of the soft bedding, you could fall asleep right then and there. Nestled into a pile of feathers and gold, you could die- again- and be happy with it. 

But then the man- the first man- groans and you remember that this isn't the time to play house. You have a job. Or rather, you had one, and now you have to return. You lift yourself up into a sitting position, and you stare at the bathroom. A part of you wants to take a shower, but you fear that if you even just tasted what luxury is, you’d have to be pried out of the embassy. 

With a sigh, you lift yourself off of the body and gather your clothes. The lack of underwear is something that you frown upon, but when you look back to the angel, with the demand for its return, you can’t bring yourself to ask for it. You’ve walked around without it before when customers got handsy, this is nothing. Your skirt is tight, and long enough that only a pervert would tell. 

“So,” he trails off, lying on his back, “do you wanna cuddle or something?”

Your eyes widen, and as you flatten your skirt, you thin your lips. “Uh, no. No thanks, Adam. I’m uh- I’m good.” You straighten your top, and tap your heels against the floor, the sharp click echoes in the chambers. 

“Whatever,” he huffs, “I was just gonna psych you out anyways.” He waves his hand, and cool air rushes around you. 

You let out a sigh, looking at the mirror where you stared at yourself just a bit ago. Your hands play with your hair, making sure that when you leave, it won’t look like you just slept with someone. You hum, and tilt your head from side to side, trying to find some sort of mark that would have to be hidden. However, the cool air- his own magic or blessing- has fixed any evidence of indecency on you.

“The extermination is next month,” Adam sighs. Your eyes flick up, and you catch him staring at you- golden eyes piercing into your own, unblinking and unbothered. 

“I’m aware,” you tell him, returning to look at yourself in the mirror. You stand straight and let out a sharp sigh. “I think some of the residents are already panicking.”

“Are you?”

Your stomach knots itself, and you remember when you were first bought by Adam- the nervousness, the disgust, the bile burning your throat. It’s all too familiar at this moment. You shrug. “I don’t think it’s set in yet,” you mumble. 

“I’ll come by the night before.” You look at the white tiles- the grout filled with shimmering gold, and the tiles patterned with silver and gold lines. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked like last time.” He doesn’t say the words nicely, it’s more like an afterthought, as if telling you this is a bother, but still, he tells you this, and one thing you've learned about Adam is that he hasn't lied to you yet. You fist the hem of your skirt in your hands, and nod. It’s silent, and then he starts again, annoyance laced into his words. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Adam,” you tell him in a beat. 

“Yeah, well, I can't have my favorite whore die.” His wings unfurl and stretch across the bed. The tips of the feathers reach just beyond the mattress, and you shrug. The words hang heavy in the air, and you feel small compared to him. In the mirror, you can see his reflection, his  mouth thinning, and his eyes narrowing. “I- uh- I still have you for ten more minutes.” You make eye contact with him in the mirror. “Get back here. I wanna suck on your tits.”

You stick your tongue out, and your hips sway as you walk towards him, your heels falling carelessly to the floor as you rest beside him. His hands are cold as they peel off your shirt and without a care, he tosses it to the foot of the grand bed. A hand cups at your breast, and you can feel his breath fan over your chest, and you wait to feel his teeth bite at you, but you never do. The wetness of his lips trace over the swell of your breast, a peck pressed against the bud, but never swallowing it. Your chest is heavy with his weight on top of you, and the hand on your breast unfurls and curves over your ribs. His wings expand, and they partially cover you, the softness of them akin to the finest blanket in what only money can buy. 

Realization as what he’s doing has your body heating, and you worry that he can tell with the way that he’s laid bare on your chest, and yet, he makes no snide comments. This is far more intimate than anything you’ve ever done before. With a harsh swallow, your arm wraps around him, your hand reaching upwards to scratch at the back of his head. Your hands knot into his hair, your nails dully scratching along his scalp. He lets out a low hum in response, nuzzling his cheek over your bare skin in approval. 

With a shaky breath, you break the silence. “You know, I was thinking, that maybe I’d uh, give that Hazbin Hotel a shot.” You feel his hands scratch over your ribs, straight, and piercing, and they cling to you as his breath hitches. “I’m not sure I believe in the whole redemption thing, but free housing is nice.” You feel him nod slowly, and you twirl a piece of his hair around your finger. He gives you a short answer, one that is mumbled into your skin and doesn't make its way to you, and his wings inch further up covering more of your body as he brushes his lips against the swell of your breast. You don’t look at the time even when you feel that he’s grown heavier on your body.

[smeddiemunson]

(part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Gareth, in a feat of truly impressive self-restraint, lasted all the way through their band practise before asking.

The four of them packed into Eddie’s van. Gareth had ultimate dibs on the front seat since he’d known Eddie the longest, despite being in different grades. 

“So,” he said, breaking the expectant silence. “Steve Harrington?” 

Eddie groaned and let his head thunk against the steering wheel, not even flinching when the horn sounded. “Please don’t.” 

“Nah, man. It’s all good,” Jeff soothed as he leaned through the gap between the front seats. “We’ve not got a problem with it, but Harrington? Really? Not exactly your type.” 

Eddie laughed humourlessly. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Gareth turned in his seat to share a loaded look with the two sat in the back as Eddie started the van. They were planning to find out the all of it.

“And you guys just don’t have a problem with it?” Eddie asked once they were well on the road to Loch Nora. “I know you don’t exactly have the best memories of him from school.”

Eddie tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn’t even match the tape that was playing quietly. He was nervous and Eddie hated being anything other than completely sure of himself. 

“You’re right, we don’t have the best memories of him, but the guy saved your life, Eddie,” Gareth reminded him gently. 

It was the worst phone call he’d ever received in his life. He couldn’t imagine getting another one like it. Wayne on the other end, breathing shakily as he told Gareth that Eddie was in the hospital, that he wasn’t waking up but that he was going to be okay and that he thought Eddie would really like it if his best friends, his brothers, were there when he woke up. 

It had been hard seeing Eddie like that, small, frail and paler than usual, no rings or battle vest, no Eddie. Steve and Wayne had been sat at his bedside, both just staring into the middle distance, when they had filtered into the room. Gareth remembered so vividly the sinking feeling that he felt at the quiet. Eddie hated the quiet, he was never quiet. 

And maybe it had been the wrong thing to do, to interrupt Steve and Wayne in such a way, but Gareth knew Eddie. Wayne, for all he tried, never really understood his nephew and Steve was clearly a new development.

So he started talking. He talked about school, about the assignment he was working on, and he talked about the girl that worked behind the counter of Camelot, and he talked about his mom chewing him out for almost crashing her car. Jeff and Grant, who knew exactly what he was doing, picked up the thread when it sounded like he was running out of steam. 

He just couldn’t stand to let Eddie exist like that.

Gareth owed him that much. Gareth owed him everything.

Eddie who had stood on lunch tables and made himself the centre of attention, the target, when Gareth couldn’t fight off the tears after getting an F on his history midterm. Eddie who got them their first paying gig as Corroded Coffin and pushed them all to take their music seriously. 

He joked about them being his sheep, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yeah, man,” Grant doubled down. “We can’t hate him anymore. Without him you wouldn’t be here. And you trust him?” 

“With my life,” Eddie confirmed with conviction. 

“Then that’s good enough for us. It’s all water under the bridge,” Jeff concluded. “Now turn that fucking music up, I don’t want to cry in the back of your shitty van, Ed.”

Eddie cracked the music up with a blubbery laugh and all four of them yelled along with Ozzy for the rest of the drive.

The door to the Harrington house was opened before they even got out of the car. Steve stood there, excitement buzzing around him.

"Ed," Gareth stopped him with a hand on his arm before Eddie could scamper off. "Do they know about you?"

Eddie shook his head. "Only Buckley."

Gareth nodded once and jumped out of the van. He was still too short to climb out normally, and at seventeen, he didn't have much hope for a late growth spurt to help him out with it.

“You been waiting for us all this time, Stevie?” Eddie teased as he slammed his door shut.

Steve laughed, stepping out the door with bare feet on the porch so he could accept Eddie’s hug. He didn’t have a shirt on, pink scars on full display, and short yellow swim shorts on. It was nothing short of a miracle that Eddie still had the brain cells to flirt.

“We could hear you guys coming all the way up the street.” He explained as Eddie let go of him. “Ozzy?”

“Oh for fuck sake,” Jeff muttered from his place at Gareth’s shoulder. “How is Ed not seeing this?”

“He had to do senior year three times, dude.” Grant fired back from Gareth’s other side, but still not loud enough for Eddie or Steve to hear. “Steve could plant one on him right now and he’d still find a way to make it a just friends thing.”

Steve, having finally managed to pull his focus away from Eddie long enough to see his other guests, waved them over. “Come on in guys.”

Gareth made sure to share with Steve what he hoped past for a friendly, macho and athletic half handshake as he passed him to go through the door.

“Thanks again for having us. You really didn’t have to invite us,” Grant said, using the good manners his father taught him.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “No way, man. I’ve been trying to get Teddy to bring you guys over for ages. He talks about you all the time.”

“You talk about us, Ed?” Gareth asked with a shit eating grin. 

Eddie pushed at his shoulder, sending Gareth stumbling towards the open french doors. “Yeah and I’ll talk about Tammy Thompson if you don’t shut up.” 

Jeff and Gareth snickered together. They knew all about Gareth’s benadryl induced dream about Tammy Thompson because when he told them he was still half high on the same benadryl.

Gareth huffed but didn’t say anything. He didn’t doubt that Eddie would follow through with his threat if pushed. 

Out in the garden, it seemed that the party was already in full swing. There were scattered cans, Robin and Nancy were giggling together at something, and s portable stereo playing The Cure. 

Steve smiled shyly. “We got started without you.” 

His voice seemed to draw the attention of the other four people. They all stopped in the middle of their conversations. 

“Whoa, dude,” The guy with long hair that Gareth didn’t recognise said to break the silence. “Your cult looks super culty.” 

Gareth froze. Jeff and Grant did too. 

But Eddie, determined to always surprise them, just laughed. “Not a cult, my man.” He kicked his shoes off by the door (surprising how little care he paid them since he sulked for a week straight when Jeff accidentally scuffed them) and started making his way over to the sun loungers. “This the legendary Corroded Coffin. Gareth, Jeff and Grant.” 

He pointed them out each in turn then shucked off his shirt and started working the intricate handcuff clasp of his belt. 

Gareth pretended he didn’t hear the strangled noise that came from Steve’s throat. 

“And guys, this is Argyle. You know everyone else.” 

Gareth waved politely but awkwardly and it was returned by a chorus of ‘hello’s.

Once Eddie had divested himself of his jeans, the black swim shorts he had forced underneath them sitting starkly against his pale skin, he dipped back in his jeans pocket to pull out two perfectly rolled joints.

“I brought party favours!” He waved them in front of Argyle’s face how he would sometimes play with the stray cats that skulked around Forest Hills.

Grant groaned. “Eddie, you know I can’t afford weed right now.” 

Eddie scoffed at him. “These’s ones are on the house, Ad-Grant-age. This is a party after all.” 

Steve, somehow having forced himself out of the trace that Eddie’s torso had put him in, was the first to start moving. “You guys can change inside if you want. There’s bedrooms upstairs or the bathroom just past the kitchen. I’ll get some more drinks. Can we switch this tape?” 

The rambling did nothing to hide the redness of his cheeks. If anything it just brought more attention to them. 

“Your tapes are shit, Steveo,” Robin informed him happily. “But this one is also awful, so yes I will change it just for you.” She ignored Jonathan’s annoyed hey and beckoned Steve to follow her. 

Eddie settled on the sun lounger next to Argyle, already having pulled a lighter from somewhere. 

Gareth took that as his cue to drag Jeff and Grant inside to change. 

Jeff, as soon as they were out of hearing range, asked, “When has Eddie ever given us free weed?” 

Gareth shook his head. “I’ve known about this crush for less than a week and I’m already tired of it. We have to do something to get them together.” 

Grant narrowed his eyes. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”

He pushed them both towards the bathroom. “Get changed, our work starts today.”

(part 4)

[saetoru]

al-haitham’s the kind of guy who tilts his head slightly for a kiss before you even lean in to give him one. he just knows it’s coming. expects it. trusts it’ll happen.

he’s yawning when he sits at the table for breakfast, hair slightly disheveled from sleep. he sits down and when you place the mug of coffee in front of him, his head angles a little for that kiss you place on his cheek.

he’s drowned in endless paperwork at the akademiya when you stop by to visit, chuckling when he gives you that look of despair at the all the work he has to do. you don’t even manage to walk up to him fully before he’s leaning in and waiting for the kiss to the top of his head.

he’s shirtless in the bathroom, brushing his teeth at night when you walk in to brush yours too, bumping hips with his as you giggle. you don’t even have to turn before he’s tilting his head so he’s exposed and ready for that gentle peck you leave at his jaw.

“have you ever noticed how demanding you are for these,” you chuckle one day, pressing a kiss to his cheek to prove your point.

he grunts, leaning in and burying his head into your neck as you greet him at the door after a long day. “what makes you say that,” he mumbles.

“you’re ready for one before i’ve even come close,” you grin, “what if one day i don’t kiss you?”

“you’d stop kissing me?” he asks, squeezing your hips as he nuzzles into your neck. something tells you he already knows your answer.

and he’s warm. he’s close. he’s here and he’s everything all at once. he’s all you need and everything you’ve ever wanted. he’s the messy hair of your mornings and the pouty lips of your afternoons and that shirtless back of every night. he meets you halfway—maybe even takes the first step so you don’t have to.

he leans in for that kiss before you do. because he needs you, wants you, loves you—and he never lets you forget it. so you turn your head, press your lips against the side of his head and run your fingers through his hair as he sighs in content.

“no,” you hum, falling in love all over again, “no i’d never stop kissing you.”

[thepaleunicorn]

becoming an eminator is a hard choice one sometimes cannot refuse

it's alright it's okay aha is totally not a bad person here right

riiiiight?

[crybaby-bkg]

Trainer Bakugou who you're a little terrified of the first day you're paired with him. when asking for a trainer at the gym, you had expected the friendly redhead who always looked so sweet and encouraging and cut as hell. you weren't expecting his grumpy looking blond counterpart, who was all glares and shouts for his clients to keep pushing themselves.

you were hesitant at first, before you quickly realized that it was all a ruse, for the most part. he pushed those who needed that extra encouragement, but was more lenient to people like you who simply wanted a professionals guidance. so, after a few weeks, you liked him for the most part, and his looks damn sure made it easier to cozy up to the big guy.

the only issue you've been having with Bakugou though are the...coregasms, as you've seen them been named on social media, that you keep experiencing. the first time, you weren't sure what it was, why your stomach and pelvis kept tightening up. you couldn't have...climaxed, or anything. you hadn't even been touched!

but, as the weeks go by, and the workouts get more strenuous, they've become harder and harder to subside and ignore, and so had Bakugou's commands to keep going when you suddenly stopped. you can only lie and say its cramps so many times before he realizes that something is up.

you're midway through a good morning, when that familiar feeling starts tightening in the pit of your gut. you clench your eyes shut, shaking your head a little, as if you could ward off the impending feeling. bakugou notices though, frowning at your almost pained expression in the mirror, walking up behind you to stop you as you pull yourself back up. his hands are on your waist, and as you come up, you feel his bulge glide over the curve of your ass, and something in you snaps.

you gasp, buckling over, one hand on your knee as the other reaches back for bakugou's hand to keep you up as your thighs shake. you can feel yourself spasming, clenching and unclenching around nothing, secretly wishing you had something that could fill you up, something that you felt throb against you as bakugou leaned over your form.

"Another coregasm, huh?" he asks you lowly, his lips brushing your ear as you bite your bottom lip to hold back your moan. your eyes buck open though, when his words sink in, head tipping back to look at him in the mirror, only to find his gaze already on you.

"You knew every time?" you ask quietly, panting now that its finally starting to pass over you. but bakugou doesn't let you up from this position, especially since the area you're in seems to be desolate for now.

"It's hard to ignore how pretty you look when you cum, sweetheart." Bakugou seals his words with a firm press to your ass, his cock rubbing the seam, and you can practically feel the heat and veins of it through your thin bottoms. you groan under your breath, getting lost in the feeling of him grinding against you, when he suddenly speaks again.

"You still feel it?" he asks, voice low as he looks at you through his lashes. you nod, biting at your bottom lip as you meet the steady rock of his hips, watching how he smiles before slotting his lips against your ear.

"Want me to help make it go away?" and he does, in the employee locker room after hours. he makes it go away, and rebuild, and go away again and again until you're hoarse and your legs are weaker than they typically are on leg day. bakugou helps the ache go away, but not for that sweet redheaded coworker of his, whose fists have fucked his cock the entire time of watching bakugou rail you over the locker room bench again and again.

[lovegrowsart]

it's pretty wild to me that people don't see that aang running off to save katara in CoD is his luke in empire strikes back moment, where he runs headlong into his want and attachment and he's narratively punished for doing so and not learning his lesson - aang runs after katara despite guru pathik's warning, like luke runs after leia and han from yoda on dagobah despite yoda's warning; similarly, as a result, things go to hell in ba sing se like they do on bespin - aang enters the avatar state before he's ready and gets killed, and ba sing se falls to the fire nation, luke fights vader before he's ready, loses a hand, and symbolically commits suicide after vader tells him he's luke's father.

the difference between their character arcs is that george lucas and co. actually went thru with luke's hero's journey and understood the fundamental difference between attachment and love, whereas I don't think bryke understood this difference and then dropped this from aang's arc pretty much completely and replaced it with aang digging in his heels into his want and attachment and he gets rewarded with energy bending from a lion turtle, the avatar state from a random pointy rock, and his forever girl from the self-indulgent white men that couldn't bring themselves to give their hero a compelling character arc that meant he might not have gotten everything he wanted at the end.

[yuwuta]

yuuta exhibits such previously abandoned, recently adopted dog behavior. incredibly anxious all the time, even though nobody’s out to get him or leave him behind. waits for you to return home or from school or from work excitedly, just to see you when you walk through the door. follows you around senselessly, hovering in your space just for the sake of companionship. initiates affection in prodding ways—starts off next to you, then a hand on your thigh, then deems it safe to lay all the way down, then slowly pushes his head into your lap. gets up whenever you need to get up, and resumes his position as soon as you’re ready. brings you gifts as a sign that he’s thinking of you, and maybe because he likes the affection it brings out in you, maybe because he likes the gentle affirming touches of a hand in his hair or a pinch to his cheek. rests his head on your stomach or his chin on your shoulder when he’s sleepy, stays there, immobile, and will not move unless absolutely necessary. sometimes he gets surprised when he hears you calling for him, there’s a moment of disbelief as he thinks “me? really? you need me?” but it’s very quickly overshadowed by this compulsive need to show up, to please, to do anything for you, which is why he always answers when you call. he doesn’t realize that he has puppygod eyes, especially when he’s excited or confused, but he does and it’s incredible endearing. very reluctant to share your space or attention after a while, considers that to be sacred and he won’t risk being let go or lost again, so as a safety precaution, he keeps himself right by you, waits for you always.