#Your-Bad-Fanfic

[your-bad-fanfic]

RTC-AU : No one makes it back

I haven't seen any ideas for this yet so here's my two cents :) part two

Summary:

The choir doesn't make it in time. It's just too late... Karnak dies before he's able to bring Jane back to life... Here's their life afterwards...

"I'd gladly take my 17 years over nothing... It should be her.." Ocean said, taking a step forward. The rest of the choir joined quickly but it was too late.

Karnak began to jolt rapidly, causing the kids to flinch and band together. The robot mumbled as he died, "Be sure to Ride the Cyclone.."

The choir stared in disbelief and utter silence. No one dared to speak a word or even breathe.

"Why..." Jane mumbled as her voice wavered, a tear streaking down her cheek.

"I.. Umm..."

For once, Ocean was at a loss for words. She couldn't make out a coherent anything. She was just stuck in shock.

Mischa tried to place a hand on Jane's shoulder to comfort her but no words came out of his mouth. He swallowed back the pain at this new development. He then placed a hand on Noel's shoulder.

Noel looked over at the Ukrainian boy and took a shakey breath in.

"I can't believe this.."

He muttered under his breath and leaned a tad closer to Mischa.

Ricky glanced at Jane and took a step closer to her, placing a hand on her other shoulder.

"It's alright... This means we'll all get to stay together for a little longer now.."

He spoke softly, trying to keep the mood up a little.

"How could this be alright?!" Ocean snapped before pointing at a small door. It was besides Karnak.

"Door.. There's a door!" She exclaimed and looked at everyone," I'm sorry, but I think that could be the way out."

They looked at each other hesitantly.

"It could be a way of getting out of here.."

"I will go check it out, for safety.." Mischa spoke softly and let go of the two, making his way to the door.

Slowly, he opened the door and glanced around. He took a step out, leaving for a moment.

Ricky hugged Jane gently as she began to sob into his chest. He patted her back and everyone else tried to comfort her.

"You guys got to see this..." Mischa said after a few moments of being gone. The choir looked at each other before walking out the door and into.. Uranium?

Except, it was but it wasn't at all.... It was like the town that they knew and loved. However, it was grey scaled and silent. There was no body there either. They all looked around in bewilderment but stayed close to each other. What was going on? Where were they actually? They saw the fair and the crashed Cyclone. But also, there was a small dirt path from the crash site. "Should we follow the path?" Constance said softly, keeping her hand intertwined with Ocean's. "Yeah.. Yeah.. I think we should. I don't recognize it from Uranium." Ocean spoke softly and gave Constance's hand a squeeze. The rest of the choir agreed softly. At the head of the group, it was Ocean and Constance. Ocean was still the "leader" and no one questioned it just yet. After them, it was Jane and Ricky. Ricky comforted her as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Jane had fallen silent. At the end of the group, it was Noel, and then Mischa. Noel was a step ahead of Mischa, as the Ukrainian tried to stay in the back to keep the others safe and in his view. But overall, they were still all very closely knit. While walking down the small dirt path, they made it through a small path in the forest. But after a silent agreement, they continued forth. Eventually, the choir stumbled across a rather large looking house. "I don't remember this from Uranium.." Ocean spoke softly and Constance nodded quickly. "I don't think this existed in Uranium." Noel said, crossing his arms and looked along the large house. "Someone knock on the door.." Ricky said softly after a beat of silence as they had halted on the porch. They looked amongst each other, but before anyone said anything, someone came out of the house. It was an old man with a big smile. "I've been waiting for you all to show up. You are late you know," the man chuckled softly and stepped aside. Ocean opened her mouth to say something but was quickly cut off by the man. "Now, this house is yours. Do with it what you will, but please don't destroy it... I've left a notebook for you all with all the info you need," He smiled at the children and put a big floppy hat on and grabbed a bag, seemingly out of nowhere," Well then, I'm off!" The man walked past the children, not giving them a moment to speak and just dissapeared off into the woods. "What just happened..?" ___ Extra notes! Let me know if y'all liked and want to see more! I have a few ideas how to continue this but it'll be if i get around to writing or people like it or not! : D

[moonyflesh]

🐾 Cat Scratches - [James “Logan” Howlett x Reader]

WARNINGS: lots of fluff, brief mention of neck kisses, some suggestive comments but nothing past PG

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (Wolverine, MARVEL/X-MEN)

🐾 .*.. 🕯️

Logan laid comfortably on your stomach, his arms wrapped around your lower back and hips as he buried his face into your abdomen, the bare skin of your tummy visible just slightly underneath your sweater.

Lazily scrolling through your phone, splayed out across his bed with him on top of you, your fingers trailed over his upper shoulders, scratching the fabric of his white compression shirt, rubbing his sore muscles from a long day of training and battle practice.

As your fingers trailed upwards mindlessly on his back, your manicured nails finally reached the nape of his neck, teasing the edge of his hairline.

Scrolling down further through your instagram, you let out a soft sigh of content as your fingers finally buried into the hair on the back of his head, eliciting a low rumble from the back of his throat.

You perked up at this, glancing past the dimmed screen of your device, an eyebrow quirked upwards at his reaction.

“You alright, Lo?”

You muttered out, a small, curious smile tugging at your glossy lips, damp from your teeth gently biting at them out of unconscious habit.

“Mmmh,”

He responded in a low hum, leaning into your fingers as you smiled, a small, amused chuckle leaving your lips at his fingers that slid lower on your back, cupping the backs of your thighs with a slightly possessive grip.

You felt a soft, warm press of his chapped lips against your stomach, just above your panty line, and a small laugh left your lips as he buried his nose further into you, inhaling without hesitation. In response, your legs opened slightly underneath him, wrapping them around his broad midsection with a light squeeze.

Preferring the man in front of you opposed to the celebrities on your phone, you dropped it at your side, letting it become lost in the fluffy, unkept sheets next to your form as both your hands wrapped around his head, burying your fingers into his scalp.

A low, animalistic-like growl left his lips as you scratched through his hair, meeting the place behind his ears, where you knew he was most sensitive.

Tracing over the area where his jaw connected to his ear and neck, you let out a low hum in response, tilting your head propped up on one of his pillows to the side, your eyebrows knitting together lightly in curiosity at his pleasant reactions.

“Feels good, bub. Right- mmh. There.”

Your eyes narrowed at his borderline inappropriate hum, and you nodded, wordlessly continuing to scrape through his fluffy, unkept hair.

“I didn’t take you for a cat, Logan,” You teased quietly, a small vibration leaving your own form, similar to that of the buzz of an old stereo.

“Don’t mock me, sweetheart. Can’t help it,”

He shot back, his furry eyebrows knitting together as he finally shifted, pulling himself up further, allowing his face to move from your stomach to your collarbone, trying desperately not to go full deadweight on you, knowing he’d crush your frail form.

“Plus, ever since you got yer nails done-”

He didn’t finish his sentence as you raked through his head of hair once more, pushing his face into the warm skin of your exposed neck, muffling any protest from him.

“Stop talking, James. Sleep.”

You effectively hushed him, a small smile pulling at your face as he grumbled out something along the lines of ‘mm. Whatever,’ and ‘fine.’

You felt him pepper a few hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his teeth teasingly biting down on your exposed shoulder, before lapping at the new mark with his tongue, admiring his work with your taste.

“G’night, bub.”

You smiled at his subtle acceptance to your demand, your fingers frozen in his fluffy hair and partially in his long side shaves, nodding.

“Goodnight, kitty.”

[zephyrchama]

(A bit of OM! Mammon comforting MC. TW: Lots of crying? Depressive episode? No specific cause is mentioned, the reader is free to use their own scenario, but anyone who is uncomfortable with scenes of crying and being really upset might not like this one.)

The loud rustling of a plastic bag falling to the floor, its contents shifting noisily as they dropped, drew your attention. Mammon stood there dumbfounded.

He knew you were probably upset that he ate your ramen. He expected some harsh words, maybe a light berating and a slap on the wrist. That’s why he preemptively went and bought replacements. The spicy kind that he liked, some fancy new steak flavor that seemed cool, and a bunch of the tried and true classics. That way you’d have nothing to complain about.

He expected a cold shoulder. Playful teasing. A punishment, like having to eat one bowl with ten ultra spicy flavor packets. He never expected to find you curled up in tears. Eyes red and swollen. Your face looked pale with visible streaks trailing from your eyes and nose. Your expression remained a quivering frown when you weakly looked up, and it didn’t change as you buried it back into your knees.

How long had you been at this? he wondered. Was all this over a cheap pack of noodles?

Deep down somewhere, Mammon knew this wasn’t about the ramen. But he didn’t know what this was about, and it scared him.

You needed a tissue, or a glass of water, or a big hug. Mammon had no idea which to get first. He hadn’t even shrugged off his outdoor jacket yet. It slid down his shoulder as he scampered towards the kitchen for a glass, then stopped. He couldn’t leave you alone like this. His hands rooted around in his pockets which held only receipts and some loose change. No tissues or anything suitable for nose-blowing.

Up close, your shoulders shook. Your back heaved with every fresh sob. It tore his heart to little pieces. Your sleeves and the front of your top were soaking wet, no doubt from attempts to curb the crying. Mammon had a difficult time approaching you, unsure what to do or if he could even take being rejected when you obviously needed him.

Overthinking things was not his strong suit. Mammon didn't like the feeling of being stuck, of not having a plan. He was the kind of man with a goal in mind who always gets results. The goal right now was to see you smile, to eat some ramen and joke around. Most importantly, it was to get your mind off of whatever was currently happening. He wasn't going to change that by standing around like a fool.

"Hey." This wasn't his usual boisterous voice. It was a hushed tone filled with concern. You hardly acknowledged him, you had enough going on inside your head already and anything outside just felt like an afterthought. Mammon lowered himself next to you and fidgeted awkwardly with his jacket zipper. "What can I do?"

You weren't in a state to respond, that much was clear. Your answer was to shudder and hug your legs tight against your face.

Your knees were as soaked as your top. Seeing that was Mammon's last straw. He didn't want to be rough, but he was a man of action. He tried to coil an arm around your shaking shoulders, resolution only growing stronger when it caused you to cry harder.

"Knock that off, c'mere." Tough words never sounded gentler. You had no energy to move, but luckily, Mammon had plenty to spare as he brought you in to lean against his side and draped the edge of his jacket over you. You blindly cried against the first surface you could press your face against - his shirt. It smelled of deodorant.

"Don't forget, you're my responsibility, aight? When stuff like this happens, ya gotta come straight to me."

The silence wasn't as awful with Mammon around. It didn't feel suffocating. It took time, but the heartache began to fade. Your sobs became more infrequent. Mammon patiently waited the entire time, occasionally tugging you closer. Occasionally murmuring things like, "you're gonna have to use me as a tissue. I don't have any." Or, "just say the word, I'm gonna beat that sadness into a pulp. Gonna show it I'm the boss around here."

He may not be most eloquent of speakers, but he's got the right spirit.

Even after calming down, Mammon didn't budge and you remained locked against his side. Perhaps you still didn't have the strength to move yet, but you could manage to whisper out a grateful "thanks." A word that finally eased the pain tugging at Mammon's conscience.

He ruffled your hair and leaned down, placing his head against the top of yours. "I always tell ya, I'm the best. Call for me if this happens, ok?"

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[starmocha]

tag, you're it Sylus/Reader | 2423 words | AO3 Sylus loves playing games. A/N: He can teleport from places with his evol? The hide-and-seek comment???? I know what I must do. MDNI

This was so unfair. Absolutely unfair!

You looked around the expansive room of wide space and high ceiling. The carpeted floor masked the sound of your heels, so all you could hear in the space was pure silence, adding further a sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. You breathed in uneasily, truly feeling small, alone, and insignificant in the large overwhelming space. As you walked through the room cautiously, eyes darting to every nook and cranny, every corner and possible hiding spot, you realized they were nearly nonexistent.

There was no place to hide, so then where—

“Gotcha.”

You gasped as you found yourself pulled into a tight embrace, the residual swirls of black energy and his deep, sultry voice were your only initial indications of his sudden presence. You looked up frowning.

“Sylus, this is such an unfair disadvantage to me!”

He smirked at your outcry, tilting his head to the side in amusement. “I prefer to think of it as a challenge for you, my dear. Makes the game all the more entertaining.”

He pushed you up against the closest wall, towering over you as he kept you trapped there by his imposing form. He leaned down and brushed his nose against yours teasingly. “What’s the matter? This little kitten no longer enjoys playing games with me?”

You glared at him.

“Don’t glare at me like that, sweetheart,” he said, his hand cradling your chin as his thumb brushed over your cheek. He laughed, pretending to sound hurt, “I might think you don’t like me anymore.”

“What if I don’t?” you countered defiantly, unperturbed by his dominating presence.

He laughed again. “Petulant little kitten today, aren’t you?” His thumb continued to rub little soothing circles on your cheek as he peered down at you with a devilish smile. “You have no problem sneaking up on me and poking me in the side, but when I have my fun, suddenly I am the bad guy? Sweetheart, aren’t you being unfair as well?”

You sulked, hating how he was calling you out like this.

“Such a little hypocrite,” he teased, amused and unbothered when you glared back up at him.

He leaned in closer, stealing your lips in a quick surprise kiss. “Let’s play again,” his warm breath brushed over your lips, his voice a soft, seductive whisper, “I’ll make it more enjoyable for you this time.”

His words and voice filled you with a sense of anticipation, a warm feeling creeping up in your belly replaced the earlier trepidation. You looked up at him questionably, your voice barely holding steady as you questioned him, “Like…how?”

He hummed to himself, his hand smoothing over your hair. He pecked your lips again and whispered, “Catch me if you can.”

Before you could react, he disappeared from view, leaving behind a trail of black swirling energy and dark feathers as the only evidences of his earlier presence. You caught a single feather in your hand, caressing it softly and curiously before it disappeared.

You looked around the room, finding yourself alone again. You sighed, “Sylus…”

You explored the room again with a renewed sense of purpose. You searched the area, trying to sense his presence before he caught you. It was easier said than done, you realized hopelessly. Catching lightning in a bottle would be easier than catching him.

As you turned around, you gasped when your eyes met his torso. When you looked up, he kissed you, commenting quickly, “One.”

And then he disappeared.

Your cheeks burned up.

You started running around the room, calling out to him. You nearly fumbled when he appeared suddenly in front of you, his quick reflex catching you by the waist before you could stumble back. He leaned over you, bending down to capture your lips once more, and whispered, “Two.”

He steadied you back on your feet before disappearing again.

You flustered as the residual black feathers drifted around you. “Very funny!” you yelled out, your voice echoing in the room.

Your stomach did flips when you heard his dark laughter echoed back in the room.

This game of chase went on for several minutes with you failing to catch him or dodge his advances, but the more kisses he left behind, the more excited you felt, briefly forgetting your earlier annoyance and aggravation with him.

“Oh!” you cried out, feeling a sudden firm grasp around your wrist, and a tug that pulled you backwards. You looked up just as Sylus leaned down, kissing you once more. He whispered, “Six…”

And then he was gone, leaving you standing there bewildered. You wondered if there was any significance behind his counting other than the number of times he had caught you. You walked forward, distracted by your thoughts and unaware that he had been standing just a few feet away waiting for you.

You gasped when you walked straight into him, hearing a deep, amused rumble of laughter above you.

This time he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Seven,” he said, hushed, “Concentrate.”

And then he was gone.

It didn’t matter what you did, because he quickly secured his eighth and ninth kisses, leaving you befuddled each time he disappeared. By this point, you had given up on trying to catch him, and was just letting him come to you.

“Hm?” You looked up and saw a black feather drifting down in front of you from above and you smiled, turning around just as he pinned you back up against another wall. You laughed when he stole another kiss. He murmured against your lips, “Mmm, ten,” he pecked you again, “You’re it.”

You looked up at him with exasperation. “That’s not how you play tag,” you scolded him.

He shrugged. “I like my version more,” he answered dismissively with a roguish grin. “Do I get a prize for winning?”

“For winning a nonexistent game with your own made-up rules?”

He nodded unabashedly, smirking when you sighed in annoyance. He laughed and leaned down, nibbling on your neck. “Mmm,” he hummed again as he covered your neck in kisses. His voice was a lazy murmur, “I am not hearing a ‘no.’”

You relaxed against the wall, the feel of his heavy body against yours was welcoming as were the sweet kisses he left behind. “Fine,” you conceded, eyes averting his, “You win.”

He chuckled, surprised. “What? No more protests? No more tantrums?” He leaned back and looked down at you amused. “I was enjoying your little petulant attitude today.”

You looked up, pursing your lips at him, and for a brief moment, he seemed to soften before his usual domineering temperament returned.

“What’s with that doe-eyed look?” He tucked strands of hair behind your ear. “Makes me want to be a bad guy and ruin you.”

Your mouth remained shut and your demeanor stayed the same. Sylus raised a brow in curiosity when you didn’t react to his latter comment. He leaned down again and nibbled on your bottom lip. “Your silence,” he murmured, “Can I take that to be…an invitation then?”

Your cheeks tinged a faint shade of red, and his own crimson eyes darkened with desire.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured again, “Answer me.”

“Yes…” you admitted softly.

There was a brief instant of surprise on Sylus’ face before it disappeared. “So docile now,” he said more to himself. “I asked for a prize, but perhaps I should also reward your sweet behavior.”

He lowered himself, getting down on one knee to your confusion.

“Sylus?”

He shushed you, and gestured for you to lean back against the wall, guiding your hands to his strong shoulders to steady your balance. He trailed his hand down the long slit of your black dress, slipping in under the fabric to find the lacey hem of your underwear. He made quick work of sliding the undergarment down, and you startled, gasping.

“Steady,” he murmured, as he guided it down, making sure you don’t stumble in your heels. “Don’t trip, sweetheart.”

“Sylus…what are you…”

He looked up, smiling with a suggestive raise of his brow after tucking it away in his pants pocket to your sheer embarrassment. “Isn’t it obvious?” The deep, sultry tone stirred something within you and your cheeks took on another darker shade of red. He continued, “I am rewarding this sweet little docile kitten, of course.”

“I…”

“Stay still, sweetheart,” he cut you off, and brushed the skirt of your dress aside. He settled between your legs, his hand cupping your sex.

You gasped from the sudden contact.

He calmed you with another shush. “Let me reward you,” he crooned, and then his tongue drove into the darkness between your legs, and you had to grip his shoulders again to hold steady.

“Sylus!”

He ignored your cries, his only focus was on you, tasting you and giving you the pleasure that he knew only he could bring. He lapped eagerly, greedily, taking in the sound of your moans above him, one hand finding your hip to grasp it firmly, keeping you in place.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders and you cried from each stroke of his tongue. You rocked against him when his thumb found your clit, circling it teasingly and drawing out more of your needy cries.

“Sylus…ah…” Your knees buckled, and he pulled away and looked up, seeing your flushed face looking back at him. He licked his lips.

As he stood up, your eyes drifted to the large bulge between his legs and you swallowed slowly, feeling yourself throbbing with a growing need for him. Your eyes skirted up to meet his knowing gaze and he mouthed to you: “Help me.”

Without a word, you helped free him from his confine, and just as quickly he scooped you up into his strong arms, keeping you pressed back into the wall, your legs slipping from the slit of your skirt to hook around his waist. You gasped as he aligned himself flushed with your wet, waiting entrance, and then with a movement of his hip, you held on tight as he slid inside you.

Your breath hitched. “Sy-Sylus…!”

He groaned as your walls stretched to accommodate him as more and more of him filled you. He leaned down to press a kiss into your shoulder, and then he pulled out, slow, deliberate, before he thrusted back in, the movement causing you to tighten your hold around him as stars filled your vision.

“Taking me so well,” he mumbled. Dark, crimson eyes pierced into yours as he continued, “The only one I want…the only woman I need…”

You bit down on your lips, feeling a moan threatening to slip.

Sylus noticed the gesture, and he growled softly in disapproval. “Don’t hold back,” he ordered, “I want to hear that pretty little voice of yours.”

You shook your head, unwillingly letting a moan escaped when a powerful thrust caused you to cry out this time. “Someone…ahh…will hear us.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed against your lips. His right index finger twitched behind you, and then the sound of several locks clicked all around you in the large room. Sylus continued speaking, “No one is coming in here. This will be our private playground for hours to come.”

Your head lolled to the side with another moan. You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, a smile emerging as you allowed yourself to fully surrender to him.

“Scream all you want,” he said, kissing your forehead, “It’s just you and me.”

All other meaningless thoughts escaped, being replaced by a deep haze of pleasure, the only thing on both of your minds was each other. The feel of him deep inside you, the mingled moans that seemed to echo in the large room, and the state of euphoria you were both chasing.

“Oh, god,” you whimpered, “M-more…ahh…Sylus…ahh…”

He answered you with a deep hum, his movements steadily increasing, his grip on you tightening, threatening to leave bruises on your skin. You leaned down, your forehead pressed against his, and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked, almost ethereal, even, perhaps more so than normal now that he was also losing himself in this state of pure arousal.

“Ah—” Helpless, you peered into his eyes, your voice coming out in needy little whines and whimpers as you felt a familiar feeling rising inside you.

“Gonna cum for me?” he murmured, thrusting up into you steadily faster, harder.

You whined in response, unable to form any coherent word, only able to let him know through the needy little sounds you were making. You tightened your hold around his neck. He groaned as he felt you were clenching around him.

“I want to see you cum, sweetheart, want you to cum all over my cock,” he said, his movements growing more hurried, more graceless. “Look at you, ah, such a sweet pretty little thing—oh, fuck…—ah, and all mine...”

You buried your face into his shoulder, crying out your release as he continued to drive into you with graceless abandon, his own climax was nearing. You held onto him desperately, letting him used you for his own pleasure now. He groaned when you dug your nails into his back, feeling it through the fabric of his shirt.

“Sy-Sylus…!”

He panted, and then, he stilled, groaning as he emptied into you, filling you with ropes of his cum.

“O-oh…”

You felt your back touched the wall, Sylus letting all of the weight dropping forward, as he held you in his arms. You leaned forward, your head resting in the crook of his neck as you felt him softening inside you.

As both of your breathing evened out, you felt him slide out of you, a pleased groan leaving his lips as he watched his seed dripped down your thighs. He helped steadied you to your feet momentarily before sitting down against the wall, drawing you into his lap, the skirt of your dress draped over the both of you.

You lay against him, your head resting on his chest. Sylus hummed softly and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. His hand gently held your head close to his chest, fingers moving in gentle, soothing strokes. He looked down at you on his lap, curled up so sweetly against him, and he smiled, feeling a sense of fondness for you.

“Game over,” he murmured as he allowed you to rest in his arms, and he, too, closed his eyes briefly to rest.

[krysmcscience]

The Lamb is malicious in a funny way and the Goat is funny in a malicious way. No, I will not elaborate.

Anyway, everyone give thanks to the Lamb for interrupting what was sure to be a very boring and patronizing PSA from their grouchy cat hubby. Truly, they are doing God's work. Granted, the Lamb canonically is God now, so, uh. Mostly they're just doing their own work.

Speaking of their grouchy cat hubby, yes this is absolutely still Narilamb, Narinder is 100% into his goofy-ass spouse always no matter what and we all know it, he just wasn't expecting his brand new adopted kid to share the same single goofy-ass brain cell as the Lamb. :)

[untitledgoosegay]

re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis

[fixing-bad-posts]

one shots are so good and legendary 😭

[your-bad-fanfic]

Part Two of RTC-AU : No one makes it back

I did not expect anyone to like this… Thanks for the support! Find Part One here!

Summary:

The choir doesn't make it in time. It's just too late... Karnak dies before he's able to bring Jane back to life... Here's their life afterwards… But now, the choir was given a house from some rando guy???

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Now, this house is yours. Do with it what you will, but please don't destroy it... I've left a notebook for you all with all the info you need," He smiled at the children and put a big floppy hat on and grabbed a bag, seemingly out of nowhere," Well then, I'm off!" The man walked past the children, not giving them a moment to speak and just dissapeared off into the woods. But, there was colour in the sky here and colour in the woods that no one noticed till just now. Even the house had colour! "What just happened..?"

“Does anyone know that guy?” Ricky asked and the rest of the group shook their heads no. The six kids stood there in silence for another moment, unsure of what to do.

Ocean took a step forward, “Well, let’s go in.. I guess?”

She looked at everyone expectantly and then walked in. Soon enough, the rest of the choir walked inside. There was still colour in the house, unlike Uranium City. Confusion flooded their expressions but the house seemed to be bigger on the inside even if it still was rather large on the outside.

“So what next?” Ocean asked the group and spotted the notebook on the coffee table in the living room. She walked over and picked up the notebook as the rest of the kids followed. The living room was rather big, had a fireplace and a few couches with many other things. “Sleeping arrangements and reading the notebook?” Constance asked and looked over at everyone else. There were no objections so the ginger began to read. “Hello children. I would like to apologize for what happened.. Apparently Virgil the Rat had other plans that I was not aware about so my power cord was chewed through before I was aware so do not blame yourselves. Now, about your living arrangements… You have met the man who has given you the house I take it. Unfortunately, I do not know who this man is but I assume that he is God or someone similar. Good luck with living with each other and remember that voting is important. Sincerely, The Amazing Karnak ™.” Ocean paused in her reading and flipped through a few pages. Silence echoed through the room with tense-ness that could be cut by a knife. No one yet dared to speak. The girl spoke up once more after a few moments. “There’s one more message but it isn’t signed and then the pages are blank.” “Well what’s it say?” Noel said, placing his hands on his hips. “Yeah! Read it Ocean!” Constance chimed in afterwards. “It says, “Dear Children, I hope your stay here is comfortable. Feel free to do what you want and to leave notes in the notebook.’ And that’s it.” She shrugged and closed the notebook, setting it down. They looked amongst each other. “So, exploring next?” Mischa asked, with a small head tilt. There was a small chorus of yes or yeah. “But I want everyone to stick together, just in case. We don’t know if there’s anything dangerous.” Eyes were rolled at Ocean’s comment but no one shot the idea down. They began to look around with the six of them sticking together. To start on the first floor, they found the front entrance had a hallway attached. Then there was the living room, a rather large kitchen, two bathrooms(one with a shower and one without), a closet, and the basement. After they had explored, they decided to go to the next floor. Ocean was at the head of the group, followed by Noel, Constance, Ricky, Jane, and Mischa. On the second floor, they had discovered another bathroom but this one was far much larger than the first floor two. It had a big tub and also a walk in shower, with some other cabinets and such. Also on this floor were three big bedrooms and one closet in the hall. The bedrooms of course were empty and you could fit a couch, desk, and bed comfortably in these rooms. Which also had their own personal closets. While going up to the third floor, there were two bigger bedrooms up here and another bathroom. However, it was the same size as the one on the floor below. While they kept going up and exploring, Mischa spotted another staircase. “Hey, there is another staircase to go up. I’m going to check it out,” he said and walked up the stairs, soon followed by everyone else. It looked to be an attic but also the largest of what could be a bedroom as well. “Yooooo, this is mad, wicked, awesome! I want this room.” He said, wandering about. “I didn’t think we were calming rooms just yet. What if I want it?” Noel sassed playfully but was genuinely interested in wanting the large room as well. “I found it first.” Mischa stuck his tongue out at the other and Noel just grinned as he rolled his eyes. “Guys, the note said to vote right? Let’s go downstairs and vote.” Ocean said, coming between the two’s playful antics. Thankfully for the choir, everyone agreed and headed back downstairs. They sat down on the couches and the notebook was opened to a blank page, even if no one had found any sort of writing tool. “Alrighty! Let’s start the second St. Cassian Choir Voting time! Naturally, I will go first-” Ocean was cut off by a groan from Noel and Mischa as they sat next to each other. Ocean, Constance, Ricky, and Jane sat on the larger of the couches while Mischa and Noel sat on one of the smaller ones. “Let’s try just saying which rooms we want. Does anyone have a pen?” Noel suggested and they all looked around. Seemingly, a pen appeared out of nowhere from Ocean’s pocket. She brushed it off quickly and opened the notebook. “Well, I want one of the rooms on the third floor or one on the second floor..” The ginger spoke as she wrote it down. Constance was next. “Well, I just want one of the ones on the second floor, I don’t need that much space.” “I’ll join Constance in taking one of the rooms on the second floor as well.” Ricky spoke up, “ It doesn’t really matter to me all that much.” They looked over at Jane who seemed to be spacing out. After a moment, she looked back at them all, expression blank. “I do not care.” She spoke quickly and dismissively. Some concern arose in the rest of them but it wasn’t brought up. “Okay… Which room do you want, Mischa?” Ocean asked after writing down her notes. “I would like the top floor.” He stated plainly, which Noel made a face at,”But I’ll settle for any untaken room if I get voted out.”

“I also want the top floor or if I can’t get that, I’ll settle for a third floor room.” Noel said, with a small smile, crossing his arms.

Constance and Ricky were written down for the two rooms on the second floor. Which left one open. Then, debates and reasoning were opened. Once all of that was taken care of and written down, there was a vote taken. Everyone had a vote for who gets which room.

[astrid-beck]

Fanon caleb does not get enough credit for his 16 charisma like I know he's sad and haunted and offputting and he's obviously not arrogant golden boy bren charismatic anymore but that cha is still doing work. Like he's persuasive. He speaks well. He regularly launches into well-crafted and carefully delivered monologues. He knows the language of zealotry and he can use it. He's an ex-spy. Like he's sad and wet but he's not a shy blustering social idiot this man pulls off risky and confident gambits on the regular.

[aroaceleovaldez]

just read the plot summary for Wrath of the Triple Goddess and. wow this is. painful this just sounds painful to read.

Why is Grover the incompetent inciting incident character? That is not his narrative role ever, really. That's like, the fanon conceptualization of his character where he's reduced down to comedic relief and nothing more. He's mostly exposition and support. Why not have the inciting incident be something about Annabeth's hubris - something that has gotten the gang into situations tons of times before in a way that doesn't put down any of the characters? Heck you could have even tied it into some Sea of Monsters stuff, like Circe having told Annabeth that she'd make a good sorceress. That'd be perfect for how this book literally just exists to be advertising for s2 of PJOTV. Or maybe call-back to Percy's introduction, where he talks about how he doesn't try to cause problems but problems tend to find him. Or use the established personalities of Hecate's animal companions from HoO, since we know they have attitudes. Just what are you even doing here????

[itsgaga]

Paprazzi

“Y/N over here” 

“Nikki”

“Come on Y/N can I get a smile from you”

The flashing lights never stopped, every time your eyes would try to adjust, another storm of flaring lights would blind you. When you and Nikki first got together you were able to deal with the paparazzi, some were actually quite nice and would only ask for a picture or two and then leave you alone, some were more determined to get as many pictures as they could but still they were never rude ;however, as time went on their attention and actions shifted. They once were only focused on yours and Nikki’s relationship but recently they started following you even when Nikki wasn’t there. Their words changed, they once would compliment you, tell Nikki how lucky he was, and would have nice small talk with you, but now, they want to know where you’re going, who with, and for long, insults can be heard when they’re around, they run after you, and follow you in cars, and will sneak around regardless of where you are. 

Today was supposed to be just a normal day, you and Nikki had gone out to get away from the spotlight, the plan was to just go and sit in a cafe hours away from your guys’ home in a small town hoping no one would recongize either of you so you guys could get away from the camera and spend a day without the stress that comes along with being famous ;however, as soon as you guys pulled into the parking lot men with cameras came jumping out of their blacked out cars, all running torwards your direction.

You looked at Nikki, who was looking at the crowd. “Shit” Nikki put the car in reverse but before he could take his foot off the brake the car is surrounded from every angle. Loud screams were coming from outside the car. “Y/N and Nikki” “Y/N and Nikki” “Y/N and Nikki” that’s all you heard, over and over again.

It was never ending, minutes had passed and Nikki had given up, he’s sitting in the front seat with his head resting on the back and his hands covering his face.  The men were clearly getting frustrated and changed their approach to getting what they wanted.

“Nikki, how good is Y/N? You think you’d ever give me a chance to find out”

Nikki removed his hands from his face and looked outside the car.

“Hey man, don’t start”

A guy standing outside your window speaks up.

“Well, if she’s gonna dress like a whore she’s gonna be treated like a whore.”

Nikki was mad, his emotions were all over his face, you could tell he wanted to say something. “Nikki don’t, they just want a reaction” Nikki looked at you then looked down. “We need to leave.” Before you could tell Nikki theres no way to get out, Nikki once again put the car in reverse and began backing up.

Loud shouts from the back of the car were yelling at him to stop, Nikki rolled down his window and told them to get out of the way. Again, the man from your side speaks up.

“Hey Nik, are those things real on her?”

Nikki ignored him.

“I think fake tits look like shit.”

Again, he ignored him.

It wasn’t until the man just flat out called you a whore when Nikki finally snapped and swung the car door open, the man saw Nikki and tried to calm him down.

“Hey, no no Nikki it’s just my job, i’m just doing this for money, I didn’t mean it man, seriously.”

Within seconds Nikki was threatening to beat his ass, there was pushing and shoving and screaming with flashes from the camera. You were done, you wanted to leave, with numerous insults and what felt like thousands of photos being taken, you were just done.

Rolling down the window you yell for Nikki multiple times, he made his way back to the car, clearly still pissed off and got in immediately driving off. “I can’t believe it, I can’t fucking believe it.”  Nikki sighed and looked at you.

“Are you alright, babe.”

You just look at Nikki, give a soft smile, grab his hand, and look out the window. The car ride back was quiet, except for the occasional whispers coming from Nikki, complaining about the paparazzi and muttering a bunch of threats.

He squeezes your hand causing you to look at him “I’m just saying I would’ve beaten his ass if you would’ve let me”. You roll your eyes and smile. “I know babe” Nikki looks at you.

“I’m being serious”

“I know you are”

“Really? Cause I feel like you don’t believe me”

You and Nikki continue back and forth the entire car ride home, completely forgetting about everything that just happened. Realizing only then that you two didn’t need to drive hours away to go somewhere to feel some sort of peace and forget about everything else going on in your lives, the entire time the two of you could’ve just found peace in each other.

Bro. I hate the ending. With a passion. I rewrote it about 7 times. I didnt wanna give up. But i’m tired. Ready for a nap. So enjoy.

[animentality]

ok.

ok I'm glad it's not just me.

there are so many fucking weirdos out there rn on archive of our own insisting that people tag "ooc" for every goddamn fanfic-

you know back in my day, people were just bad at writing in character fanfics and you just moved the fuck on and read something else.

but apparently it's becoming common to insist people "tag" every fucking little thing.

even things like "ooc" which is something that's not even always intentional.

but oh id better "tag" that these characters are ooc because they're not FUCKING in canon either...

it's like asking people to tag that the fanfic is not canon - like no fucking shit.

teenagers.

this has gotta be teenagers who don't know how to just x out of a fanfic they don't like.

incredible. insane.

I'm so glad I'm not the only one.

[angeldreamsoffanfic]

content warning: this took SUCH a turn to dom eddie munson wanting to make steve harrington just absolutely one, turn his brain off, and two- realize that his interests aren’t stupid. like it’s not… necessarily explicit on here but when this gets a bit more fleshed out… it’s gonna have to be posted on ao3 😂

-

The thing is, Steve Harrington knows hair- okay?

And he also knows that his friends completely like to tease him about it, that they think that most of the time his affinity for it is a bit narcissistic. That he shouldn’t spend as much time as he does on it and he should “let go sometimes”, but he can’t.

He can remember watching his mother years ago in the bathroom mirror teach him how to style his hair, with little spritzes of water and a just a few puffs of sweet smelling hairspray. He can fully and thoroughly recall flipping through magazines when he was younger, back when his parents had started to travel, and taking beauty tips from the pages in regards to detangling. He’d spent three days with a knot at the nape of his neck, after a few days of swim practice, and he had too much pride at the time to ask anyone for help.

But anyway, Steve Harrington knows hair- and it’s not that he thinks other people don’t… but he also knows that some people don’t care as much as he does. And that’s why watching Eddie Munson take a brush to his curls (completely dry which is painful in it of itself) is absolutely heartbreaking in the weirdest way possible.

Steve also is completely and totally aware that his face must be doing… something, because Eddie has turned around to fully face him- instead of glaring daggers at his own reflection.

“What, Harrington?”

Steve shook his head quickly, fingers drumming against his thighs as he diverted his attention to the tv again. He hadn’t had a television in his room before actually, had figured it’d be a bit too much of a distraction from trying to sleep. Steve is sure there’s some study about the light too, a study Robin had rambled to him before.

That’d been before Vecna though, before the year 1986 and all of it’s horrors that it brought along to the town Hawkins once again. In Steve’s mind? A small tv and a couple of VHS tapes was probably the least of his worries after surviving everything. The tv itself had some poorly made horror movie on, something Eddie had brought along from his government provided home, while the two waited on Robin and Nancy to make their way over.

“Stevie?” Eddie had moved closer, brows slightly furrowed as his dark eyes widened. “What’s on your mind, man? Not getting like…” Eddie mimed wiggling his fingers at the side of his own head, and Steve couldn’t hold back the laugh that made it’s way out from his throat. “Okay so Vecna is not getting his creepy hands on you… so what’s up then?”

Steve took a moment and shrugged, before he let himself card a wide-splayed hand through his own hair. The hairspray was just ever so slightly crunchy under his fingers, and Steve huffed as he shrugged again.

“It’s so stupid man, like don’t even worry about it.” Steve flapped a hand in Eddie’s direction, and Eddie was quick to click his tongue against the back of his teeth as he moved closer.

“Nuh uh, big boy.” Eddie eased himself onto the foot of the bed, and Steve forced himself to not scrunch his nose as Eddie’s dry curls swished a bit around his shoulders. “C’mon I can see it in your eyes! Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell m-”

Steve cut Eddie off with a press of a flat palm up against Eddie’s lips, and Steve tried to not think about how soft Eddie was up against Steve’s skin. Steve groaned as Eddie’s tongue swiped against his flesh, and Steve hissed as he reared backward away from the older teen.

“Fucking gross dude!”

“Usually I’m the one doing that, big boy!”

Steve and Eddie both spoke up at the same time, and the two eyed each other warily, before they split into soft laughs between the two. Eddie then shifted further up onto the bed, back pressed up against the footboard, before he knocked his leg against Steve’s.

“C’mon dude, what’s up?”

“Your hair!” Steve finally answered, before he then folded his arms over his chest. “I know it’s stupid, but watching you tear a brush through it dry is actually breaking my heart, Munson.” Steve groaned, and ran a hand over his face before he continued. “And I know it’s stupid and everyone always says it’s stupid of me to care about hair so much-”

“It’s not stupid.” Eddie’s firm tone cut Steve off, and Steve glanced back toward the man through his lashes. Eddie’s jaw is set, firm and unyielding, and Eddie let out a dry laugh. “Fuck man, what has everyone in your life done to you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re… fuck sweetheart, you’re allowed to enjoy things.” Eddie’s voice has gone saccharine sweet, soft and gooey- and the tone has an immediate effect on Steve, making his brain feel all fuzzy and soft. “So, what has everyone in your life done to you?”

Steve doesn’t answer and instead just shrugged again, and it draws a quick intake of breath from Eddie- before the man has pushed himself up and off of Steve’s bed. He’s quick and methodical in his movements, scraping his curls up and off of his neck into a low bun at his nape. Eddie then pulled his boots back on, before he checked his pockets for a moment, and then proceeded to nod to himself. Eddie then extended a hand out to Steve, and wiggled his fingers with a small grin on his face.

“C’mon then, dude. We need to go to the store.”

Steve let his hand meet Eddie’s, and is quick to ignore the flutter in his stomach at the touch. His hands, Eddie’s, are larger than his but the fingers skinnier and calloused from what Steve knows to be years of guitar playing. That, and Eddie now has a pretty decent job at the local mechanic shop, and Steve knows that Eddie enjoys the job. Knows that Eddie likes working with his hands, and Steve tried to ignore the idea of Eddie getting those hands on Steve—

“Stevie?” Eddie snapped his fingers in front of Steve’s eyes, and Steve shook himself out of his revere. Steve sent Eddie a nervous smile, and he tried to ignore the flush of heat he can feel under his cheeks at the soft coo that Eddie let out. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,” Steve bobbed his head in a quick nod, even when Eddie hummed before he moved as to grab the pair of Nikes that Steve had on earlier in the day. “Where are we uh, headed?”

“You and I-” Eddie moved back to Steve, and he curled a hand around Steve’s right ankle before he pulled- which caused Steve to unsteadily rock back, before he clamped a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I gotcha don’t ya worry baby-” Eddie murmured, soft and saccharine again, before he continued on as if Steve’s heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest. Eddie worked Steve’s Nike onto his foot, methodical in tying the laces tight, double-knotted just like Steve does. “You and me are gonna make our way out to Anderson for the afternoon.”

“But why?”

Eddie just sighed, soft and slow at Steve’s softly asked question, before he grabbed at Steve’s left foot, and set about slipping the other shoe onto it. Eddie took a moment, made sure to tie the laces of the shoe tight, before he stood back up so he could peer down slightly at Steve. Steve doesn’t move as Eddie pinched Steve’s chin soft in between his thumb and pointer, before Eddie slightly shook Steve’s face from side to side.

It’s enough that something in Steve just burns.

“Because Anderson has a nice and big hair supply shop in it, and we’re gonna go spend a little bit of government hush money there.” Eddie cooed, his voice soul-achingly sweet again, and Steve forced himself to swallow down the saliva that had been quick to pool in his mouth at Eddie’s tone. “And then when we’re done, I’ll drive us back here and you can do anything you want to my hair.”

“Anything?” Steve croaked, eyes wide as he kept his eyes on Eddie’s from under his lashes. Eddie’s smile is gleaming, and Eddie hummed quietly as he nodded himself.

“Absolutely anything, sweet thing.”

Steve Harrington knows hair, and he knows that.

And he also knows that his friends completely like to tease him about it, well, it’s seems like except for Eddie. So Steve let himself smile and nod, and he reveled in the way that Eddie grinned- a quick flash of teeth as he pinched a little firmer at the meat of Steve’s chin, before he let go.

“Atta boy.”

-

just a little sacrifice to the tumblr readmore gods

[beforeimdeceased]

abby wearing her strap on asking you to ride the bulge and beg her to fuck you and she’s not gonna do it until you sound as desperate as she wants you to…i need a glass of water

[iwasntstable]

your camera roll dating noah.

　——　/　→