#better put this in the bat journal

[jimkirkachu]

re: The Bat, my family's house is extremely old and we have hundreds of bats in our attic. sometimes they journey to the realm of the mortals (us). sometimes they do this every day for weeks on end. my mom's old method was to open all the doors and wait for them to decide to fly outside (better than house of screaming people). unfortunately once we did this during a blizzard and 1) cold. it was so cold. 2) THE BAT DIDN'T LEAVE BECAUSE THERE WAS A BLIZZARD

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope y'all are safe with so many bat friends!!!!!! 😳👀🤯😬 (I would absolutely be one of the screaming people, if my early morning encounter was any indicator 😂) At the same time... can't blame them for not wanting to fly out into a blizzard, I never want to be outside in the snow either lmao!! 😅😅

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad.  You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…” 

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?” 

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'. 

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

[seattlesellie]

hi angel i saw u say you wanted more fluffy ellie requests and i thought about maybe something along the lines of the cute pics she has of you two in her phone idk it’s just something i thought of u don’t have to write it if u don’t want to i just love ur blog and everything u write 💗💗💗💗🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

not about love ♡

pre-dating slightly loser college!ellie 🦕 incoming !! basically u go through ellies phone and find… something. part 1 of… maybe?

warnings: slightly mean ellie for a second, sexual tension, mentions of weed and alcohol.

part 2

Tic-Toc, the gentle sounds of the ancient clock in Ellie’s room filled the thick air. a gift from Joel. It was a warm, lazy afternoon. You almost fell asleep, almost. Her bed smelled like her, so did the ruffled, Nirvana t-shirt you were laying on. Everything in this room practically screamed Ellie. The scent, the sketches on the wall — of Dina, and Jesse, and you. Why did she have more sketches of you than anyone else? A dinosaur lego, a miniature solar system, obscure band posters, Oh! here’s the pin you gifted her once!, two pairs of mismatched socks, a random rock (“It’s from like, the moon” she said. It was from the local science museum.)

“El” you whined, receiving a gentle hum in response.

“I’m bored” you exclaimed with a heavy sigh. It's not as if she owed you any attention, she told you she had to study. For some reason, some odd reason nor you or her could put your finger on, you had to be there with her. “Well” you excused. “It’s not like I have anything better to do, right?” A lie. What about your project due Monday? Nevermind.

“Catch this” she exclaimed, tossing a serene light blue stress ball directly at your face.

“Ow!” you whined, yet again. If only you knew what those whines did to her.

“Sorry bro, gotta finish this fucking question. She said, flexing her sore hand. “Fuck this fucking Prof, seriously” She mumbled, clearly annoyed, clearly frustrated. Ellie had this thing, well, if you could even call something that she only had specifically with you a “Thing” — where she had to call you by those stupid names. “Dude” “Bro” “Jeez man!” just to see you squirm. Youd flinch ever so slightly, a fleeting reaction that betrayed a hint of offense flickering in your eyes. Every time you couldn’t help but pout, couldn’t help but look a little bit hurt, it did something to her. It wasn’t because she liked hurting you, God knows she didn’t. It would give her a glimmer of hope, of light. Shed journal about it, too;

“I called her Bro again. She looked really sad. Why does she get sad? I’m so fucking stupid. It’s probably because no one else calls her fucking bro, I’m literally delusional. Also had expired fucking Pizza. Worst day ever. Shit. Not that bad because she smiled at batted her eyelashes. God Ellie you need therapy.” YOURE A DUMBASS!!!!”

Half an hour had elapsed, brimming with Ellie muttering to herself under her breath. lighting a blunt, burning the blunt, passing it to you, begging you to give it back after 3 seconds.

You were pretty sure you had gone through every single app on your phone five times already. Stalking rando’s on Instagram, watching ASMR tiktoks, talking shit with Dina in the groupchat. How much more of this boredom could you take? My god, you were humming a stupid melody to yourself.

“Griiiind boy you know I grind when I pull-“

“Shh”

Did Ellie just shush you?!

“Excuse me?” You said.

“I’m trying to concentrate. Also what the fuck is a Fartulum?” Ellie retorted, withdrawing slightly and punctuating her frustration with stomps on the floor. God, she was too fucking cute.

“Can I play on your phone?” You questioned innocently. One more opening and closing the same App and you’d have lost your damn mind. You could practically see the Candy Crush candies popping inside of your brain every time you closed your eyes.

“No” she answered bluntly.

“Why? you scared I’ll find your nudes? Not gonna look- Swear on my li-“

You could hear her eye rolling, somehow.

“I dont have fucking nudes” she affirmed with a touch of exasperation.

“Someone else’s?” you said quietly. Your tone almost exposed you. Almost.

“Psh… no” Ellie said in return, just as quiet. Her tone almost exposed her, too.

Wish I had yours. Shut it, Ellie.

“Then let me go on your phone” You whined, got off the bed and almost slipped on one of her belts that laid on the floor. So messy, so, so Ellie.

She cast a sidelong glance at you, her eyes darting from the corner of her vision. Her grip on the pen was incredibly tight. It happened every time you got near, got too close to her. Whether it was clutching the strings of her hoodie, her knuckles turning white with tension, or her toes curling in a clenched stance. Shed never ever admit it to herself, cool, calm & collected, but fuck did you make her nervous.

You settled yourself on the chair beside her, causing her to divert every ounce of her attention back to her assignment, shifting it solely onto you. You. You. You.

She gazed directly into your eyes, and a peculiar warmth flooded your face. Its funny how even after being friends for all this time, making eye contact with her managed to stir something within you. She asked you about it once, mid fight. “You never even look at me when we talk!” she huffed. “Yes I do!” no you dont. “No you don’t!” and when your lips quivered, turning you in, she left it at that.

Ellie scratched the back of her neck, her arms flexing subtly with the motion. You gave her that look, the look that made her cheeks go bright pink, her hands clam up. She bit her lip. “Fine”. You won, flashing her a toothy smile she couldn’t help but grin at.

And there you were, with Ellie’s iPhone 5C (Yeah, she never got that buying a new iPhone every 2 years phenomenon) laying on Ellie’s bed, in Ellie’s room.

“Ew - Ellie what the fuck? why is your screen greasy?!” You squirmed, fingertips grazing over her slightly sticky screen. Is that fucking chicken nuggets residue?

“Shut up, dude. You asked me for my phone so deal with the consequences”

Dude.

You rolled your eyes, proceeded to wipe the screen of her phone with the corner of her cozy flannel bedsheet. Her phone was really warm. One more month and it would probably set on fire.

“Password?” You questioned, and shifted to lay on your stomach, your cheek caressing the pillow. It had a little auburn colored hair laying on top of it.

Ellie huffed and waited a second before she responded, contemplating again. It’s harmless, fuck it.

“2222”

“Okay, seriously - you could get hacked with that dumbass password”

“Pffft” Ellie huffed. “I’d fucking beat them up if they tried robbing me” she said, ever the brave.

“I’m not… talking about robbers, Ellie. Like, hackers?”

“Same thing”

“You cant beat up hackers they’re- Nevermind” you sighed.

2222.

If the room was classic Ellie, god, so was her phone. Default Apple background, because she truly couldn’t be bothered. iMessage, Instagram with four pictures on her feed; One of her arm slightly flexing her tat (who the fuck was the bitch who commented “damn” under there?), one of a stray cat wearing her grey beanie, a meme that says “Fuck sex. Let’s do something romantic like play Fireboy and Watergirl on CoolMathGames.Com” (God, she thought she was so funny for that one. 6 Likes, one from you, one from Jesse, the fake Instagram account you and Dina created for Joel, her ex Cat, and one from Dina and a spam bot). Next to the Instagram laid the NASA app (of course), Call Of Duty for iPhone (Made her sleep for only fifteen minutes one night), calculator, 9GAG (People still use that?!), and… her gallery.

You pursed your lips, contemplating the situation. Should you?after all, Ellie said; No nudes. So what could possibly be on there?

Of course.

You couldn't contain a soft giggle that escaped your lips, earning an inquisitive whine from Ellie. "What's so funny?" she grumbled, unable to resist her curiosity.

“Said you were studying, so study” You said, while scrolling through her gallery.

As you readjusted your position on the bed, you unintentionally swiped to the left, revealing her albums. Just harmless browsing, right?

“Screenshots”

“Funny memes”

“Pics to send Jesse when he’s being stupid”

“Dhhdjsjsou”

“Stink ❤️”

A picture of you, laying on the grass, a bright, toothy smile spread across your face. It was from your Instagram, the one you deleted because you thought you looked dumb. The one Ellie commented a for once unsarcastic “Woah” on.

The album was locked.

You felt your throat go dry, heartbeat speeding up. Your leg started shaking, and God, you hoped she would come and snatch the phone off of your hand.

But she didn’t. She just shifted in her sit, cleared her throat and resumed her studies.

You shouldn’t have. But you did.

2222

Unlocked. Success!

You felt like screaming at the top of your lungs. Was it even hotter in here now? Extra humid today? you bit your lip, it almost hurt.

A picture of you and Dina. A selfie you sent to the groupchat two weeks ago. Ellie doodled a green heart on it. You were sweating. A picture of you on Christmas last year. That same day you had your stupid fight on. You were wearing a Santa hat, mug of hot Coco and tiny white marshmallows in your hand.

Your stomach felt as if it were infested by a swarm of Ellie looking butterfly’s.

A picture of you sound asleep, in Ellie’s bed. She was mid-moving a hair strand away from your face. It was blurry. You recognized that top.

You were wasted that day. Blabbering uncontrollably about how you had to crash on her bed, because you were scared your new roommate would think you’re stupid, and dumb, and an idiot, for getting drunk at a frat party.

You couldn’t understand why Ellie didn’t want to help you. You almost kicked her when she said she couldn’t, that you’d be better off in your bed. “I snore. And I kick in my sleep - Seriously” You almost cried. You called her a bad friend, a fake one, because — isn’t that what friends are for? Shouldn’t they have your back when you’re a babbling mess? Hold your hair for you, put you to sleep, take care of you?

Ellie couldn’t sleep that night.

When you laid there, right on her bed, her face went so red and hot you could fry something on it. She almost hit herself in the face when her chest grazed your back. When your leg caressed her’s, and ended up on top of her thigh, she almost screamed. When you shifted to face her, an angelic, sound asleep expression on your face, she swore she almost died. The string of your top came off, revealing more of your shoulder, and the strap of your bra, Ellie turned around so fast she almost woke you up.

She slept for 20 minutes.

When she woke up, she had to make herself remember it. Remember you, laying with her.

So she took a picture. An innocent one.

You almost jumped when the pen fell slipped from her hand and she turned around to face you.

“What are you doing?”

Whats in her notes app?

♡

part two

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie’s Memory Log Day 1:

part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 5 here | part 6 here

(ao3 link here)

The only reason Steve volunteers to keep a journal to track Eddie Munson’s skim-milk memories, is because of the twerps.

They have school, they can’t commute to the government-protected hospital that’s all the way in the city. That, and they gave Steve this well-rehearsed, tearjerker performance about how grateful they would be.

About how grateful Eddie would be.

Pfft like shit on a stick, he’ll be grateful. The dude doesn’t even remember how old he is, how the hell is supposed to be grateful for Steve Harrington jotting down notes in binder?

But those kids have been through Spielberg-level disaster shit. Steve has too, but they’re just kids.

So he’ll do it. He’ll do it for them and only them.

Eddie knows his name today.

He’s pissy - he’s always pissy cause Eddie is battered up beyond belief. But still, he’s extra pissy today because Dustin is his favorite visitor and he hasn’t stopped by in almost a week.

Eddie knows Dustin’s name today too.

And guess who’s his least favorite visitor?

“Harrington.” Eddie grumbles, mouth full of lime jello. “Who paid you to be here today?”

Remembers Steve’s name… last name.

“No one.” Steve makes himself comfy in the vinyl armchair. “Call me crazy, but I’m not too big on taking lunch money from sophomores.”

Speaking of which…

“Do you know you know how old you are?”

Eddie crumples the plastic jello container. “You’re a patronizing sack of shit.”

Steve rolls his eyes, starts to write down:

Eddie doesn’t know his age.

“Twenty.”

Eddie does know his age (20).

“Swell.” Steve fakes his amusement. The kids are much better at cheerleading Eddie along in this process. But Steve’s poker face is nonexistent. Sarcasm and assholery occupy every seat in his brain these days.

They go through a few more questions before Eddie begins to get tired. He’s tired a lot, even though the coma knocked him out for almost four months.

Guess holding hands with Death really takes it out of a person.

Eddie doesn’t know his birthday.

But Eddie does remember it’s in the winter (has a memory of seeing leafless trees from an early childhood birthday party).

Eddie remembers his uncle’s name.

Eddie doesn’t remember which street he lives on.

Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

“I’ll let you rest.” Steve folds the binder shut, sort of desperate to do anything to get Eddie to stop whining. Seriously, he thought this guy was funnier pre-bat attack.

Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Eddie settles into his pillows.

Steve shrugs, puts his hands behind his head. “I took the bus from Hawkins today. The next one doesn’t leave for another few hours.”

“Still… it’s a city, right? You can go explore or whatever. Be a tourist.”

Yeah Eddie’s persuasive skills aren’t completely back either, it’s all very half-assed.

“Been here before.” Steve lounges deeper into the squeaky chair material. “I’m good.”

“Probably haven’t seen everything is all I’m saying -”

“Do you want me to leave that bad?”

Steve doesn’t shout, but his tone takes up space. Makes the room feel crowded with accusations and cutthroat honesty.

Eddie stares back hard. Sometimes, he doesn’t look like Eddie Munson - he looks like this war victim with knotted-up hair and sulky brown eyes.

Like a John Doe cadaver - tagging his foot with the possibility of Eddie Munson.

Anyways, that’s how he looks right now as he stares at Steve. Barely Eddie.

“Just. I don’t know you.” That’s a shitty ass comeback for someone with a memory-tank that’s perpetually blinking with the low-engine light on. 

Eddie continues with his weak argument. “Were we close enough back home that you’d stay here while I sleep?”

Eddie doesn’t remember Steve ignoring him in high school for four years.

Steve finds no reason to lie. “No. We weren’t close at all.”

“Right.” Eddie nods once. “So why do this? What are you getting out of this?”

This is a complicated situation to explain to anyone, let alone to someone with fuzzy comprehension abilities. But Steve gives it a whirl:

“Look, we have mutual friends that are… younger. Dustin’s age. And whether I like it or not, they’re like siblings to me now - I’d do anything for them. But they’re in school, they can’t be here every day like I can.”

“Why can you be here?” Eddie asks.

“I lost my job.”

Eddie attempts sympathy. “Sorry.”

Eh, Steve gives him a B-minus.

“Didn’t like it anyways.” Steve reassure him plainly. “The point, I’m doing this for them. For you too, but they’re the anchors in this.”

Eddie thinks for a moment - readjusts to laying on his side, facing Steve. “Won’t you need a new job eventually?”

“Nah. Trust Fund Baby.” Steve points both thumbs at his chest.

“Yeesh.” Eddie rolls to the other side, away from Steve. Disgusted by his comment, yet still chuckling very quietly.

Okay… Eddie does remember he has a sense of humor (just a teensy bit).

His breathing becomes long and hard - sleep heavy breathing. It doesn’t take long, sleep seems more natural to Eddie right now than being awake.

Steve watches him for a moment. There’s always the ghostly-distant fear that Eddie might stop breathing. He’s done it before - four months ago and once more while he was still at the hospital in Hawkins.

Max is still asleep. Steve hates thinking about that detail because it’s cruel. This twisted game that the universe is playing is truly unjust. 

Like an Almighty Asshole rolled Eddie’s stupid dice and decided, ‘I’ll let one of your friends wake up, but he won’t remember that he battled along side you in the trenches of darkness. Take it or leave it, douchebag.’

Steve will take it.

Eddie is still sleeping when Steve decides to head out - the bus will be arriving soon and he’s gotta get a window seat. Needs control over the window cause he gets carsick way too fucking easily these days.

“Heading out?” Eddie mumbles, eyes not even open.

“Yeah - sorry.” Steve doesn’t know why he whispered that. “Didn’t think I should wake you.”

“I gotcha. I’m assuming you’ll be back tomorrow?”

Huh… Steve thinks there might be a hint of implication that Eddie wants him to come back tomorrow. Interesting.

“Your memory isn’t as shitty as you think it is.” He’s overly smug when he says it. 

Eddie gives him a closed-lip smile. Only Dustin and Wayne receive those.

“Want me to pick up some food on my way in?”  Steve decides to give generosity a try, since Eddie is tolerable enough to give him a smile. “Get you off of this lousy hospital meal-plan temporarily?”

The smile is gone. “Nah, you don’t have to do that.”

Right.

Eddie definitely remembers how to be Stubborn with a capital ‘S’

But Steve is a Trust Fund Baby, so he’s unfazed with difficult behaviors. He can match difficulties all damn day if he wanted to.

Which he does.

“Suit yourself, Munson.” Steve acts so uncaring. Very uppity and douchey. “I’m thinking Chinese takeout for me personally.”

“Cool.”

“Cool. See you tomorrow then.”

There’s a pause, so Steve takes that as his sign to turn the handle, get the hell out of here.

“Steve?” Eddie calls weakly just before he shuts the door behind him.

He cracks it open, peeks his face back in. “Yeah?”

Eddie sighs. “Kung Pao Chicken.”

“Excellent choice.”

Eddie gives him another closed-lip smile.

Steve grins wildly, with all of his teeth. “In fact, I think I’ll do the same.”

And as Steve claims his middle seat on the bus, he pulls the binder back out of his backpack to add one more note for the day:

Eddie remembers that he likes Kung Pao Chicken.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello and congrats on 5K!!!!!

I was unsure if I should send in my goofy idea haha but here goes! I was just imagining, the mc and the 141 having to do a mission super early in the morning. So the mc puts on some earbuds and just listens to the most grating or strange music to help wake themselves up. I imagined this with Soap or Gaz but whoever is fine ^^

Thank you and again, congrats on 5K!!!

—How Do You Listen To That?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [It was three a.m. when you all got the call to load up, but what's the best way to wake both yourself and the Sergeant up?] ❞

It was three a.m. and already you were in full gear, bag slung over your shoulder as the C17 sat on the tarmac. Soldiers walked about, men and women loading up the plane with all manner of items your Task Force might need. You don’t mean to be rude when you walk past without more than a grunt in greeting, it’s just that you can barely keep your eyes open.

The debrief had been quick, nothing more than a few words by Price said when everyone had been called in from their barracks not fifteen minutes earlier. Off to another base somewhere in Egypt, you yawn into your elbow and try not to think about how hard it’ll be to stay awake on the fly over there. You needed to be boots on the ground right off the bat, so no time to rub at your eyes before you landed. 

Your feet thump up the ramp and you drop your bag next to Gaz, who pulls his headphones out of his ears to rest around his neck. He sends you a glance, lips pulling in a tiny smile. 

“Still with me, Love?” You send a blurry glare his way, tossing yourself down beside him into one of the uncomfortable chairs connected to the wall. 

“Remind me,” your voice grumbles as Kyle’s hand grabs the seatbelt from your side, pulling it over you and clicking you in. “Why did I join up?”

“Well,” Garrick teases, “to see my face every day, Ma’am. Can’t think of a better reason.”

“You’re lucky you’re smart, Sergeant.” Pulling the strap to cinch the seatbelt to your abdomen, you shuffle into a more comfortable position and go to rest your head on Gaz’s shoulder. 

“Is it mine or yours, then?” The man asks you, and your lips pull in thought. An arm extends around your shoulders, jostling you closer to a hard chest as you hum in approval. 

“Mine—you choose the songs to Latvia.” A phone is casually moved to your hand and you take it with a muttered ‘thank you.’

Gaz sighs, leaning his head back and putting one of the headphones into his ear—you take the other and do the same, smile pulling at your lips. Your face still burns with fatigue; eyes fluttering against the lights as Johnny, Ghost, and finally your Captain all make their way to their own seats. 

With every Op, there was a routine. 

Johnny would fiddle with all kinds of hand-held puzzles he kept in his pack or write in his journal, Simon would read, and Price would go over reports or type up mission details—the upcoming intel that you’d all need to know before the real nitty-gritty started. 

Gaz and you would listen to music. 

It was sweet, you thought. A semblance of balance and stability before the ball dropped. Being close to him always felt like that.

Absent-mindedly, you scroll through song after song as Kyle rests his eyes, itching at the back of his neck as he holds you. Finding a song that’s sure to wake you up, not even knowing the band, you can tell just by the album cover exactly what it’s going to sound like. 

Screaming, throaty wails; maybe even garbled voices that yell at a frequency so high it’ll make your ears bleed. You smirk.

Perfect.

Gaz’s relaxed demeanor is accented by a tiny smile, muscles lax and his face loose as the ramp of the C17 begins to fold in on itself before take-off. He holds you in the crook of his arm, feeling your sleepy heat and the way your face nuzzles his upper pec—you always alluded to a feeling of relaxation on days like these; when time was of the essence. In the few hours of having you against him, Kyle can finally let his mind rest—

“Bloody fucking hell!” The man calls as the grating sound of vocal bellowing strikes his ears. Gaz’s body jerks forward, snapping the headphones away from him as the rest of the men immediately look over to the scene of a horrified Sergeant and a giggling woman under his arm.

You laugh loudly, phone close to your chest and face burying itself into the panicked man’s neck. 

Gaz blinks quickly, staring down at you with parted lips as the rest of the Task Force share a knowing look. 

“Now,” he asks through a breathless exaggeration, “what did I do to deserve that?” 

“I…I’m sorry,” you giggle out, giving him a firm side hug. 

“Christ,” Kyle sighs, fake glaring down as a smile comes out over his face. “You’re trouble, Love, y’know that? Who can listen to that this early?”

You smirk in his face, cheeks hurting from how hard you smile. “It’s going to wake us up, Garrick.”

“Fuck, if that’s how you’re going to do it, I’d rather bash my damn head into a wall. Jesus.” You roll your eyes and give in, chuckling. 

“Alright, Alright—no songs that involve people screaming directly into your precious little ears, Kyle.” The man knocks his head on top of yours, a smile hidden in your hair as the voice of the pilot wafts over the cockpit. 

“...Thank Christ. ‘Bout pissed myself.”

[alis-valot-propriis]

What was true? What was false?

Lydia Martin hadn’t had a vacation since she graduated from her journalism program nearly three years ago. She’d spent much of her first year working late and nearly every night to earn some respect at the magazine. She’d eventually earned the privilege of covering up and coming influential women in the workplace. She’d covered whoever her boss loved the most that year and this past year she’d had a lot more freedom over who she got to cover, but she was exhausted. She’d taken short breaks home to Boston over last three years, but no significant time off. This year she’d gotten a new boss and he was forcing her to take two weeks off. That was how she’d ended up in Greece. She figured if she was going to be forced to take time off. To waste time she could be using to develop new stories lounging and “seeing the sites” then she was going to go somewhere she could get a tan and appreciate history. 

Today she was just going to be roaming the streets of Corfu. She was going to stop into whatever local restaurants looked busiest and have her meals whenever she liked. She was going to shop and take today easy. Tomorrow she would resume her rather packed schedule. She would change islands and at the end of the week, she was heading to the mainland to take in the ruins and the history of Athens. Right now, she was standing just outside a little restaurant with the most gorgeous view. She leans against the wrought iron railing and feels the linen of her sundress whip around her thighs and loose hairs from her braid brush across her cheeks. She pushes up onto the toes of her wedges to get a better look at the gorgeous turquoise ocean and the sandy beach. It was gorgeous here and she felt more refreshed than she had in a very long time. She was almost inclined to admit that her boss was right. She’d needed this time away from the office and her job more than she’d realized. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath of salty, Mediterranean air and suddenly there’s a hand on her arm, turning her around. She gasps, “Hey! Hands off!” She bats away the hand on her arm as her eyes fly open to see who put their hands on her. 

@stilesstylelinski

[yanderederee]

Love,Manjiro

tw; nsfw, fingering, impliedunderage, simp:)

Part1 … Part2 … now~ … Part4 … Part5

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Once again, you caught Mikey in a lovesick stare.

You smiled fondly, and wrapped a loose lock of hair behind his ear.

You saw no reason to object. He was so cute, that look on his face. Mikey caressed your palm eagerly, loving how you let him do anything he wants with nothing but praise and validation.

Yet still, he knew you were good for him.

Your good habits and traits rubbed off on him little by little. He kept to a routine, and agreed to do the bare minimum so he could in the least, graduate with you. You promised him if he could pass every grade until third year highschool, you would stay his forever.

It was a silly little promise meant to encourage him to get a basic education, but in Mikey’s eyes, you were his. As long as he kept to his word, you wouldn’t leave him, too.

He wasn’t fond of the bullying happening behind your back before, but after you had kissed him that one day in the library, he didn’t stand for it.

He was a handful, though. Every day, he would lie and say he couldn’t find his own school books, or remember to bring a book bag with him at all.

Luckily for him of course, you always had your book, Spare pencils, and voluntarily carry both his and your own journals and homework. —that you made him do, every night.

Everyday after school, you couldn’t protest Mikey’s puppy eyes, leading you to his family dojo, claiming he can only study in peace when you taught him. And he really wanted to do so his homework in bed.

No darker intentions, he was sleepy. And you could never deny him a nap, even if you would affectionately nag him into finishing the homework he was more than capable of handling, afterward.

And once all the papers and pencil shavings were put away, before you could take your leave, Mikey would pull you in, firmly against him, holding so tight.

“I really like having you around… here, with me. I like your laugh,” he kissed your shoulder, smiling when you let out a complimentary giggle. “I love the way you look at me,” he rolled his head, meeting your gaze quickly, given you were already staring at him. “How you hug me without question,” a very quiet crack in his voicebroke at the end of his words, his eyebrows curling upward slightly. The implication was quickly met with your turning form wrapping your arms firmly around Mikey’s shoulders, your knees resting beside his thighs against the side of the bed. “When you k-“

You descended to meet Mikey’s lips in a solid, loud releasing kiss. “I also like when you kiss me,” you whispered, forehead resting on his.

His black eyes darkened as his eyebrows dipped deeply, desperately leaning forward to kiss you. Immediately his hands wrap around your rib cage, above your shirt, grabbing the fabric to bring you ever closer.

You gave him a hint of what making out felt like once in public. Now, he’s eager to put to use all that he’s learned til now in the confides of his own separated shed-room.

Closer, closer, he pulls you in, until your shirt is pulled off your shoulders.

His kiss is hot with how hard he breaths, from what seems to be excitement, having you all to himself.

But you knew him better than that.

“Manjiro…” you moaned into his mouth, peeking your eyes open so you could see to run the tears falling down his face into his skin.

He looked back up at you, sighing at the feeling of your thumb running over his cheek. He bats his lashes at you, desperate for you to say more.

How can you tell him no?

“Follow my lead,” you smiled, pecking his bottom lip once, then his top lip, til you slid your tongue flat against his own, melting together immediately.

Mikey couldn’t help the little whine that escaped at your bold movements.

“This whole time, until I say so,” you say clearly, fiddling with something behind you. “You aren’t allowed to open your eyes,” he notices a shift amongst the fabric against him, and realizes quickly you had unhooked your bra. “And you can’t stop kissing me.”

You untucked your shirt and threw your bra elsewhere. You drew your body in closer, your chest only a single layer of fabric between your soft chest and his own. And oh, he never really thought to realize, how soft your chest was.

Mikey bites his lip, wavering gaze still keeping up with you as you trace his reaction with your eyes. “You can touch anywhere you like, just go slow,” you stated, and gently took hold of Mikey’s wrists, guiding them under your shirt and rested his palms on your hips. “Okay?”

He nods, frantically, he nods, touch starved after years of disappointment after tragedy.

“It’s okay,” you shushed him, cradling his face with a smile. “I’m yours.” And kissed his waiting lips.

Immediately Mikey kisses you back, with fever and impatience. He’s pushing himself up, while pressing you down against him with all his strength. Immediately you moaned, embarrassingly loud. But it was his fault. “M-Manjiro..!” You yelled at him, an attempt at anger. Mikey grinned at his inappropriate actions, but he kept going, feeling no need to argue further.

Repeating himself, as though your warning meant nothing, he rolled the both of you into a push and pull make out session.

With wandering hands, slowly tracing the smooth textures that made up your body. He ran the tips of his fingers gently over every inch of your back twice before experimenting his thumbs to smooth along the line where your breast met your ribcage. Breathing into one another, you gave an encouraging ‘mm-hmm’. He answered by tracing further, until his thumbs met in between your breasts, the webbing between his thumb and forefinger cupping the underside of your breasts. They were so soft and so warm. It was only instinct that he cradled them roughly in his palms.

He loved when he was able to draw reactions out of you. Always, yes. But gods, the way you act under his touch, he himself feels like god.

Attempting to be slick, you rolled yourself into his touch, hoping he would read your body language.

Before that, he had shifted your seating posture so he was rolling his lower stomach between the juncture of your legs. Your weak thighs slowly rested you further down, threatening to sit into his waiting lap.

“Can I-“ he started, but was cut off with your impatient tongue. “Just as long as you go slow,” you said softly against his lips, a high pitched whine escaping when you gave in and sat into his lap. “Y-you can…” you said, now eye to eye with The InvincibleMikey.

While still a few fabrics away, your warm core sat right against his own, each twitching involuntary.

Pressing into him just a little more, you watch as Manjiro gasps helplessly. A soft and whisky ‘fuck’ fluttered out of Mikey’s lips when he slowly slid his right hand away from your breast, the perky nipple he was just attending to eagerly scratching against the fabric of your shirt.

The gentle friction made you let out a sigh, shivering into his touch. Keeping to his promise, his lips were latched against yours in wet colliding passion. His attempt at a slow kiss was unsuccessful when his hand finally slid over your skirt, tracing the hem of the material before his thumb peeks under, and his hand slides up the skin of your thigh to find your panties.

Opening his eyes to see your reaction, your expression lusty and pleading. God, he thought he would lose control there. Maybe he did, his feverish actions were confident and rough , trying to keep up with his own impatience.

“Manjiro…” you encouraged, squeezing your thighs against his hips.

His tongue lapped into the drooling kiss with persistence, even when you tried breaking your own rule to not break said kiss. He growled into your cavern when his fingers slid along the smooth fabric covering your core. It was warm. So fucking warm. You were so hot, what with all the sensations flooding your every direction. Even still, Manjiro’s assault on your left breast wanted to claim another squeal from you.

You moaned, sweet in tone. “P..please…” the back of Mikey’s nail pushed back the band of your underwear, and slid his dominant hand in, his palm gently petting against your skin, and finger tips making contact with your slick—

Mikey couldn’t help but clench his lower abdominal muscles, breaking the kiss to groan at how your arousal sent him into dangerous levels of need.

Mikey’s needy hands felt to touch everything. He’s never done anything like this before. You were his first kiss. His first crush. His first girlfriend. His first love. And now, he had you on top of him, taking his first intimate relation now too.

Manjiro willingly let out a drawn out, vocal moan as your whining pitched his erection to jump. “Y-your voice… please. Let me hear you, god, p-please.” He bit in small bites into the juncture of your neck, kissing and sucking in rhythm while he also explored you folds. He messaged them back and forth in between his fingers as he savored the silk feel. You were fucking intoxicating.

Unknowing to the sensitivity that same with licking the eroginic zone of your neck, his assault to leave behind little love bites only forced your pitch to rise. Biting your lip and swallowing thickly.

“S-so good… my manjiro, y-you’re so good f-for me…”

Your Manjiro.

Mikey grinned. He liked the sound of that.

“I’ll teach you one more thing tonight,”

You whispered,

You smiled when you pet your own hand over Manjiro’s rougher one. Pressing your finger tips against the back of Manjiro’s, you twitched involuntarily at the pressure. Manjiro’s pupils dilated.

Slowly, you slide his fingers up, barely over your bundle of nerves, twitching against him as though to reward him.

“So pay attention.”

[kisses4kaia]

i’ve been seeing ppl do sej x coryo x reader and all the time i see dom sej, switch coryo, and sub reader and it gave me this idea.

i think it would be interesting to see dom coryo, switch sej, and sub reader. yes ik this is very much ooc BUT IDGAF 😵

the plot could be that coryo and sej find the reader’s diary that she kept hidden in a shoebox. in the diary she’s saying things like “oh i want coryo or sej so bad omg”(obviously not like that LMAO). i feel like you could put romance into this plot too by having them see that she also would write about these cute scenarios abt them both. TEETH ROTTING THINGS EVEN.

i’m not sure if coryo would be more gentle with sej bc in my mind he(coryo) would be the one to actually consider the things in the diary. sej is up for the idea, but he’s nervous abt doing this with coryo bc duh it’s his best friend.

anyways, i hope this is interesting enough to do bc i liked how you wrote sub sej!

(this was long asf i’m so sorry 😭😭 also, this doesn’t have to be a long ass fic! if you think this would be better as a longer fic or shorter fic, GO AHEAD‼️‼️)

YES I LOVE ! plz don’t apologize i loved hearing ur thoughts . oh and i changed some minor things about this but i still hope u enjoy💞

your blood ran cold as corio stood at the foot of the bed, your fuzzy pink diary in hand as sejanus stood next to him, arms crossed and a smug look on his face, as if he was trying to contain laughter. “god, i would die happy if i could sit on coriolanus’ face and have sejanus stuff his cock down my throat,” corio quoted your journal, an devilish, amused, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “such dirty words for such a shy girl. don’t you agree, sejanus?”

he meets the blond boys eyes and nods, in modest agreement. “i don’t know, corio, i’m not all that surprised. i mean, she practically begged to join our group for the project,” he cocked his head slightly as he reasoned, all too casual about the situation.

he hadn’t lied, when professor click assigned a project for groups of three, you immediately got to batting your eyelashes and flattery with the two boys. at first, your intentions were pure, only wanting to ensure a good grade for the assignment, and it made the most sense to try to get with sejanus and coriolanus, for they had the highest marks in the entirety of the class. you had wanted nothing but an ‘a’, until you began noticing how beautiful corio’s eyes were in the sunlight, and how full and plump sej’s lips were when he pushed a pencil through them in concentration, and you hadn’t even realized you’d begun spiraling. you entrusted your diary with all the details of your infatuation for the boys, and as you wrote on late, dark nights, you’d never expected to have the subjects of your logs read it. you were utterly mortified, and your paled expression did not conceal it well. “oh, come on now, darling. don’t be ashamed, we aren’t judging you,” coriolanus cooed at your rigid posture at the head of the bed.

today was supposed to be the last day. the last day you were working on the project, and you’d let them into your empty home, into your bedroom, and onto your bed. you had let them linger in your room while you grabbed your school bag from the living room, facilitating them just the right amount of time to snoop if they so pleased, and you should have known that they did. in their defense, how could sejanus even be blamed for reaching for the blush book sitting in such plain sight on your nightstand? how could coriolanus be at fault for reading more when the first page had ‘corio ♡’ and ‘sej ♡’ written about 30 times all over the lined paper? when you’d returned, completely oblivious to their snooping, corio had hidden it behind his back and obscured it from your view. it was only when you turned to grab a pen off of your nightstand, the nightstand in which you retired your diary to every night, that you noticed the pink rectangle missing. slowly, you turned to face the boys who were standing, your innermost thoughts and secrets in corio’s hands. “i-it’s not what it looks like, i promise. i just…” you’re stumbling over your words nervously and you can feel sweat forming on your brow.

corio just laughs before sejanus takes the book from him, thumbing to another page. “all i want is for sej to hold me in his strong arms while corio eats me out. i need him to call me a good girl, i need it, i need it, i need it,” as he reads, his voice is monotonous, but his face reads touched, pleased. he looks over to corio, and upon viewing the expression on his face, knowing exactly which gears are turning in that head of his, he shakes his head. “i don’t know, corio. is that really a good idea?” sej is hesitant, but the blond boy just keeps staring at you with hungry eyes, the brunette boys apprehension not deterring him from his goal one bit. “sejanus, she obviously wants it if she wrote a whole fucking novel on how bad she needs to get her holes filled by me and you,” he reasons, speaking as though you are not in the room, which sent shivers rampant all over your skin. “but together?” sejanus squeaks and corio’s expression of amusement shifts from you to him. “what, you don’t want to? because i’ll be here? c’mon, sejanus, let’s not pretend i can’t see you’re hard at the mere idea of seeing me cum inside of her,” sejanus just rolls his eyes and redirects his attention back to you. “you want this?” he’s walking slowly, closer and closer to you, you who’s sat pretty at the head of the queen-sized bed, like an unsuspecting doe while the wolves prey on you hungrily. coriolanus walks around the other side, and your senses are on fire, watching your two classmates stalk towards you with primal lust swirling in their deep eyes.

you can only nod weakly, afraid that if you were to make a sound, your own voice would betray you. “words, sweetheart,” corio says in a singsong voice, his hand reaching out to your chin, jerking it to force your eyes to meet his. “please,” you squeak, lower lip almost quivering. the blond boy pouts at you, before using his free hand to fall between your thighs, flipping your skirt up before petting your cunt over your embarrassingly damp panties. corio’s digits move skillfully as the pads of his fingers press through the fabric and onto your clit, pulling desperate whimpers out of you. you haven’t forgotten about sejanus in the slightest, hyper aware of his looming presence, but you were much too afraid to break eye contact with corio, so you simply whisper faintly under your breath “sejanus,”

corio lets up on his grip of your jaw and allows your eyes to land on sejanus, who’s palming his bulge through his trousers. his eyes read your needy ones before grabbing your hand and replacing his own. you gasp at the how large he feels even through the layers of fabric, and have to bite your lip to the point of breaking skin so as to contain a moan. corio’s ministrations feel good, so good, but it’s not enough. “more, please. need you, need you both” your eyes begin pricking with tears as you look back at the snow boy, face rendering as a plead as your hips buck weakly into his hand. “i know, baby, i know,” corio leans down and for the first time, presses a kiss to your lips, before pulling your panties to the side and sliding his middle digit into you with ease. you moan against the sweet lips on yours, and turn to face sejanus, eyes begging for permission as you toy with the button on his trousers. “go ahead, pretty,” sejanus breathes out, pleasure building up within him. as well as you can manage while under the influence of gratification corio is invoking upon you, you undo the button and the zipper of sejanus’ pants and pull them down along with his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. you were mesmerized at first glance, he was beautiful; girthy, but still quite lengthy. prominent veins ran up and down him and his tip was a dark shade of vermillion, weeping with pre. you swear you thought drool was coming out of your mouth, because sejanus just smiles knowingly, guiding your hand back onto his cock.

at the same time, corio adds another finger to your tight cunt. his other hand comes in to use the pad of his thumb to draw calculated, deliciously meticulous, circles on your sensitive bud. you can tell sejanus is close from the way his eyes flutter shut as pleasure overtakes him, from how you can feel him twitch in your hand, and you know your release is coming soon, too. and when it does, pleasure courses through your veins, you had never felt anything like the orgasm corio talked you through. “fuck, yeah baby. cum all on my fingers, hm? poor, pretty, baby. so wound up f’me,”

not long after, you feel sejanus’ seed spill onto your hand, a string of explicits falling smoothly from his plump lips, along with moans of your name and praises for how good you make him feel. when his eyes reopen, you suddenly feel bolder than you did 20 minutes ago, and stare him down like he’s the prey, while licking his sperm off of your pretty, delicate, manicured, fingers. sejanus thinks—no, he knows—that could’ve made him cum again on the spot if corio hadn’t interjected, his tone a starved and vicious growl.

“on your knees, now.”

[goodeapple]

someone could come love me, if somebody knew me

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny. 

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating. 

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true. 

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest. 

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.” 

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable. 

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?” 

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat. 

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy. 

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.” 

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body. 

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck. 

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees. 

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it. 

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck. 

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin. 

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.” 

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath. 

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week. 

Cheeky brat. 

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so. 

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.” Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees. 

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone. 

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely. 

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks. 

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales. 

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.” 

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.  

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs. 

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see. 

“No.” 

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him. 

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat. 

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.” 

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness. 

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock. 

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind. 

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up. 

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary. 

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.” 

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong. 

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes. 

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

.

.

.

[vampyrkalm]

VAMPIREKIN TIPS

Hey fellow vamps! Here is a list of tips that give me euphoria but absolutely feel free to modify these to your liking. Vampires can have any style and vibe so remember to do what feels right for you!

Eat foods with blood in them or rare beef! Blood sausage and blood pudding, to name a few! Here’s a wiki for more options: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_as_food

Drink red drinks: energy drinks, hibiscus tea, pomegranate juice, cranberry juice, etc

Enjoy the feeling of biting into ripe fruit - so easy, very satisfying… I feel like it’s alike to fangs on skin

Wear black cloaks / clothes / gothic wear / gothic lolita fashion / etc etc

Keep a journal all about your vampirekin. Decorate it and such! I use this as a bullet journal and it’s mainly in use at night.

Music! Make some vampiric playlists for yourself. I recommend classical and organ music

Look after your skin! “Vampire skin”

Get and light some red candles, black candles or, even better, bleeding candles. Bleeding candles can be found on Etsy or Amazon!

Exploring decades of history and researching about historical accounts of vampires

Play A Thousand Year Old Vampire! An amazing tabletop journaling solo DnD game where you play as a vampire and write a journal for them. I can’t explain to you how euphoric this is… just amazing.

Vampire DnD in general is euphoric to me (putting this here incase folks can’t afford the precious game!) Look on https://itch.io for free solo DnD and other indie games!

Read vampire stories, watch vampire movies!

Wear fake fangs and get some fake blood for comfort <3

Create a Pinterest board based on your vampirekin

Decorate your room with gothic items! Interior design goes a long way - for example, I keep a few Halloween decorations up that are bat and vampire related!

If you’re spiritual, get vampire / gothic tarot decks!

Painting with acrylics- paint done pomegranates, I don’t know why, very euphoric.

Buy a coffin made to be a bed! Of course, if that isn’t available to you then make your bed coffin-esc. You can do this with getting gothic bed sheets, arranging some cute bat plushies, having a veil over your bed etc… which reminds me-

Buy bat plushies!

Go out safely at night and gaze at the moon when she’s out. Appreciate the silence and beauty of the night.

If you are able to do so, pull an all nighter. Please don’t do this if you have responsibilities the next day, are chronically disabled (aka you can’t stay up all night for your own health), etc.

Get your nails done! Coffin shaped or nice and pointy! Look on Pinterest for some design inspo

Try out some vampiric makeup, get creative!

Research the different kinds of vampires!

Research the differences and overlap between IRL Vampire/Modern Vampire and Vampirekin

Take gothic photos with vampiric vibes. Filters, editing, soft light and outfits can help

Find community! Vampirekin spaces online and tags can really help feel like you are a part of a collective community and less alone

RED LEDS! Very useful for me and very comforting - I have bat shaped LEDs

Go on Victorian house tours or explore Victorian-like houses! Gothic houses are very pretty from the outside but the inside is even more astonishing! If you can’t go in person, watch a YouTube video!

If you’re a vamp who isn’t keen on sunlight, stay in the shade, get sunglasses, get a gothic sun umbrella and wear sunscreen!

Create picrews of your vampirekin self

Enjoy cathedrals, cemeteries and graveyards at dusk/night. Just enjoy the liminal energy and calming space.

Go to abandoned churches!

Get athames/ritual knifes. I’m a practitioner so I use it in my ritual work but honestly you can get it for the vibes!

Write love letters to yourself, vampires are confident - self love 2023 <3

Get lovely silver candle holders

Gift yourself a dried flower bouquet <3 Dried roses look and smell amazing!

Get red bath bombs! Bathe in a soothing red bath 🫶🏾

Get chew stim toys if you have biting stims or urges

If you have a garden, get night blooming flowers! A lovely lil nocturnal garden

If you have bats around then watch them at night! We only have a few where I live but it’s a delight to see them fly about.

Study tips: do so by candle light, annotate everything, red/pink highlighter, important notes in red pen

Tell yourself some vampirekin affirmations!

Vampirekin Affirmations

My fangs are stunningly sharp, I love how they glisten in the moonlight!

I am lookin’ vampiric today!

My experiences as a vampirekin are completely valid.

I am valid even if I don’t have fang shifts.

I am valid even if I don’t have blood lust.

I am valid even if I have a phobia of blood.

I radiate vampiric energy and I attract those alike to myself.

I am a master of self love, acceptance, and monstrous energy.

I’m a vampire. I’m literally the main character AND the fan favorite.

I am worthy of respect.

I am a vampire. I am doing the best I can.

I accept myself as I am.

[chimielie]

“Did you ever keep a diary as a kid?” You want to know, rifling through Tadashi’s nightstand to find the book you’d left last time you slept over.

“I mean, I had them,” he says, response slow like he’s trying to remember. “I wasn’t really good at keeping up with it, though. I think I had like five at one point that all had only two or three entries. I just didn’t want to ruin that nice new notebook, you know?”

“Yeah,” you say thoughtfully, pulling out the tome you were looking for with an expression of triumph. “I don’t think I ever managed to do it consistently until like, last year.”

“That’s better than most people,” he shrugs, hauling you back by your hips next to him on the bed, where you settle your head on his shoulder, enjoying his clean, fresh-detergent smell and light touch. “What do you journal about?”

“Kind of whatever,” you shrug. “Mostly what I did that day as a memory exercise. I like going back and rereading stuff from the beginning of our relationship sometimes.”

“You wrote about me?” His voice is soft, shy. You pat his cheek.

“Yeah, definitely,” you laugh, “I think I went home and wrote poetry about you two dates in or something. Yeugh.”

Tadashi looks up at you, and it’s almost alarming how fast the blood rushes to your cheeks. “You’ve written poetry about me?”

“I didn’t mean to say that,” you say, all your breath caught in your chest. “Oh, my God, you did not hear that.”

“No,” a slow smile spreads over his face, putting dimples in his freckled cheeks. You lean back a little as he leans forward, showing you the little gap between his two shiny white front teeth. “I did, actually. And as your muse, I have a right to read it.”

“Nooo,” you moan, sliding from your seat on the bed until you’re staring up at the ceiling and your bent knees are holding you in a bridge position. “It’s not even, like—I barely knew you and I think I was kind of tipsy, when I wrote it, I mean—I’ve written much better poetry about you since then—fuck!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, but it’s too late. He’s crawling over you, crowding you until you’re comfortably laying on the bed, arms up by your ears and deceivingly sadistic sweetheart of a boyfriend hovering over you, his body burning you everywhere he touches.

“I wanna see it,” he says, voice quiet and teasing. “Pretty please? With a strawberry on top?”

You can’t even look away from him, batting his lashes, trying to charm you into giving him what he wants. He’s got a little victorious spark in his eyes, like he already knows he’s won. How are you supposed to say no?

[jimkirkachu]

I hope the bat is gone! One summer we had some roost in the eaves of the house. The animal control guy informed me about the no killing thing. So he put in this door, they could fly out, but not back in. Oh no I said, where will they go? He said, lady, I've been chasing this same colony around your neighborhood for 5 years!

Ooo, I like the sound of the one-way door, that's great! Our friend is definitely out of the house proper now, might still be in the garage but I can't imagine him not making his way out where we left it partway open to go find food. We're going to have to check around the house for the next few days to see if we can figure out how the little guy got inside in the first place... but apparently they can squeeze themselves through cracks or crevices as small as 1/4 inch, so we'll probably end up having to get our monthly pest control guy to check around for us since he has a more practiced eye.

But omg that story!! 😅😅😅 Your neighborhood must be a haven!! Sounds like almost every house around you probably has one of those doors by now, lmao 🥳 According to what I've read in the last 12ish hours, it's actually a very good sign if there are lots of bats in your area; I guess it indicates that there's a healthy balance of insects in the ecosystem, and bats are a huge defense for us against weird diseases carried by mosquitoes and other bugs. So I'm glad we both got them out of our homes, but I'm also glad we both got the chance to see them! Such a weird little adventure! 😂🥳🦇

[arcadiabaytornado]

silly hc question but what do you think max's hobbies are besides photography? also chloes hobbies besides skateboarding?

Max

A: She really likes scrapbooking! She has a bunch of books and each one of them are themed. One of the books is filled with her photo's of nature. One of the books is filled with her photo's of buildings. One of the books is filled with her photo's of Chloe. She has so many scrapbooks.

B: Max loves playing card games. She's super good at games like Solitaire and Uno, but she likes to play for fun more than she likes to play for competition.

C: Max likes to casually bake! By casually I mean it's rare for her to make something complicated like a five tier cake with homemade icing. She's more of a "put the cookies on the baking sheet and then in the oven," type of girl. (Me too.)

D: She likes to collect pins! Her favorite is a pin of a cat curled around a polaroid camera.

E: Max is shockingly good at roller skating. I say "shockingly" because she tells everyone "Oh. Well. I like roller skating, but I have two left feet so I'm not very good..." and then she goes roller skating and is flying around the rink like a bat out of hell.

Chloe

F: Chloe loves video games. She plays a bit of everything, from cozy games to CRPG's.

G: Chloe likes to cook. She used to help Joyce and William in the kitchen all the time, and as a result she can make GOOD diner food. You'll never meet anyone who can make pancakes better.

H: She's really great at chess. She used to play with William, and of course, she wasn't going to give him an easy win. It's her party trick talent because no one expects her to be good at a knowledge based puzzles. But, as we all know, she's super smart!

I: She loves to sketch. She has a bunch of journals filled with simple drawings of all sorts of things.

J: Chloe likes making miniatures, which is a hobby that Steph got her into during their DND phase.

[whatsnewalycat]

mine.

Pairing: Brat Tamer Joel Miller x Brat Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Word Count: 2.2k+

Summary: You act out for attention and Joel punishes you.

Warnings: no show spoilers, established relationship, non-canon compliant, post-outbreak, smut, swearing, brat "taming", D/s dynamic, dirty talk, pain kink, impact play, leather, suckin dick, deep throating, piv sex, maybe a little fluff as a treat

A/N: Today's the day I out myself as a brat, I guess. These two have established agreements and boundaries and safe words.

[ my masterlist ] [ taglist ] [ AO3 ]

Joel made a mistake bringing you with him.

He was out for two weeks with no contact. Smuggling shit in-to and out-of the QZ. When he got home yesterday, he was travel-weary. Still far away as his mind lagged behind his body, like it always seemed to on these expeditions. Your attempts to garner his attention were fruitless.

This morning when he mentioned needing to go talk to a tradesman, and you asked if you could come with, he just shrugged, “Don’t see why not.”

He should know you better by now.

You study the items put out for display at this leatherworker’s rickety stall while Joel talks to him. Your fingers graze along the length of buttery soft belts and trace the detailed engravings on a leather-bound journal. The care that was dedicated to each piece is apparent. This man is excellent at his craft.

“Stop touchin’ everything,” Joel barks at you.

You glare up at him. He stares back, his dark eyes penetrating and narrowed. A warning.

Fuck, he should really know you better by now.

Your fingers curl away from the leather goods. You slide closer to Joel and listen in on their conversation.

“Is it done yet?” he asks the leatherworker.

“Is what done yet?” you interject, smiling innocently between the two men.

“None of your business,” Joel spits, hardening his features as he searches your face. You give him a blank expression.

“It is,” the leatherworker responds, “Do you have what I need?”

Joel holds your gaze for a moment longer, then disengages to dig something out of his shirt pocket and hand it to the man.

Satisfaction smirks across your lips. You return your attention to the stall's display, rubbing a belt between your fingers.

While Joel is waiting for the tradesman to package his item, he leans over and rumbles in your ear, “Is this how we act in public?”

“What do you mean?” you feign confusion, tilting your head as you frown at him.

A low growl hums in his throat. His jaw cocks to one side and he turns back to the leatherworker.

Without waiting another second, you start off towards home. You don’t look back to see if he caught up. You don’t need to.

Each of your footsteps are echoed by his. He’s right fucking behind you, practically breathing down your neck. Anger pulses off him in hot waves that lick your heels. Through the streets, up the stairs, down the hall.

You burst through the door to your unit and throw yourself onto the couch.

Just as you suspected, he crosses the threshold only a moment later, slamming the door behind him. His presence dwarfs the room around him.

Your skin buzzes as his gaze narrows to slits and he grinds out, “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck it is you want?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you bat your eyelashes and grin.

His boots thud soft against the hardwood floor with each slow step he takes. You keep your eyes trained on his as he approaches.

“Whatever you’re actin’ up about, just ask me for what you need, Princess.”

A pop sounds from his knees when he crouches down in front of you. He brushes his calloused thumb against your bottom lip and murmurs, “I’ll do whatever you want, you just gotta ask me, baby.”

Your eyes flutter closed and you soften at the gentle touch. The hot puffs of his breath on your face. His thumb drops from your lip.

He grabs you by the jaw, fingers digging into the hollows of your cheeks, and growls, “Did I say ask? I meant beg. Beg for what you want.”

His demand electrifies you. It pulses down between your thighs.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I want,” you retort, words all mashed up around his grip. Your eyes blink open and you meet his hardened gaze.

He shakes his head and gnashes his jaw back and forth, then mutters, “I’ve fuckin’ had it with you today,” before standing up and ordering, “Take your fuckin’ clothes off.”

His strict tone is a cracking whip.

While you scramble to your feet, Joel sits down on the couch, leaning back to let his knees spread wide. His eyes pierce straight through you as you strip off your clothes.

Shoes

Socks

Pants

Shirt

Underwear

All piled on the dusty floor. Sunlight streaks through the windows and makes your bare skin glow.

He yanks you down across his lap. When you try to resist, try to squirm away, he shoves you down, pinning your chest between his forearm and thigh. The action shoves air from your lungs in a wheeze.

“That is enough, you hear me?” he barks, smacking your ass so hard it makes you yelp, then growls, “Now sit there and take your punishment.”

Another sharp slap buzzes across your skin with a smack. You gasp. His rough palm slides across the tender skin.

“Do you think it’s funny to disrespect me like that in public?”

“Maybe,” you giggle.

Smack

The impact floods you with need. You arch your back into it and whimper.

Smack

“Why’re you actin’ like this?”

Smack

“Hmm?”

Smack

“What is it you need me to do, Princess?”

Smack

Your skin is tender and hot. Each open-palmed slap vibrates into to your center and fills you with a red, pulsing current. Pain and pleasure twist together so tight you can hardly tell the difference. Your cunt is throbbing and begging for attention.

“Oh my god, Joel—” you choke out as he slaps your ass again.

“Yeah?” he grunts.

Smack

A moan sounds from the back of your throat.

“Whadda you need, baby, hmm?”

Smack

You squeeze your thighs together, trying to catch friction, but he just pulls them apart and grinds out, “No.”

Smack-smack-smack

“Joel—”

He snaps, “What?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you whine, arching your back towards him, “I wanna cum.”

His palm smooths against your ass. It makes you flinch, but you relax when it only continues to caress you. He rumbles, “You gotta be a good girl and beg for it, remember?”

You whimper, but you don't say it.

Smack

“Please fuck me, please," you choke out.

“Get on your knees,” he responds with authority, leaning back against the couch.

You crawl off his lap and onto the floor. His belt buckle jingles as he unbuckles it and unzips his pants, “Take off my boots for me, will ya, darlin’?”

With trembling fingertips, you work to unlace one, then the other. His gaze burns your skin, although you don’t dare divert your gaze from the task at hand to confirm that he's staring at you. Each heavy boot falls to the ground with a thunk when you pull it off his foot and toss it aside.

“Socks,” he says simply.

You take them off.

“Jeans.”

He lifts his seat as you tug at each pant leg, until you yank them off with a huff. His cock is standing at attention between his spread out legs. It pulses, swollen thick and rigid with desire. Almost seems like a threat on its own.

You lick your lips and wait for him to say more.

“Look at me.”

You flick your eyes to his. They’re obsidian as they bore into you.

“You gonna show me you can be a good girl?”

You nod.

“Say it.”

“I wanna show you I can be a good girl.”

A deep hum rumbles from his throat, then he says, “Go on, then.”

You sit up and slide your hands up his thighs, further and further until you reach the thicket of curly dark hair at the base of him. He groans as you wrap your lips around him and start to rut up and down. Slow at first, taking more of his length with each bob.

His cock stretches your lips thin. The heady aroma of him fills your nose and dances at the back of your tastebuds. Saliva gathers around your mouth and douses his length, each movement getting smoother and more lubricated.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathes and runs his fingers through your hair, “Look at me.”

You meet his gaze and see his pillowy lips form an ‘O’ of approval.

“Are you through bein’ a fuckin’ nuisance?” he murmurs.

“Mhmm,” you hum around his cock, batting your eyelashes at him.

His hips buck and he hits the back of your throat, making you gag. He groans and throws his head back. Pride swells in your chest and makes your heart race.

You sit up further, climbing closer to take him deeper. Wanting more of that. Wanting to please him. Wanting to make him feel so fucking good his head spins.

“Fuck, that’s it, baby,” he husks, grabbing two fistfuls of your hair as he starts to thrust his cock down your throat with a wet, choked glug-glug-glug. He moans wantonly and his eyes flutter closed. Your eyes start to water and chest starts to heave. Spit dripping down your chin. His eyes are wild and black when he opens them and locks onto you.

He yanks you off of him by the hair and pants, “Remind me again, darlin’, what is it you need me to do?”

“Fuck me,” you gasp for breath, “Make me cum, please—”

“You know, you were misbehavin’ an awful lot today,” he tells you.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you appeal, fingers twitching as you try to keep good on your word, as you resist the urge to touch him or yourself, “Please, Joel.”

He hums, then stands to his feet. Your eyes follow him as he walks around you, over to the brown paper bag he tossed on the floor in a rage when he stormed through the door. He takes his sweet fucking time plucking it off the ground, glancing up at you to make sure you’re still behaving.

And, you are, really.

But your whole body is pulsing and it’s getting really fucking hard to contain. You want the release. You want the sweet swell of ecstasy to consume you and make you forget about this fucked up place for just a moment. You want the validation. You want to be shown that you’re worth the trouble and toil.

But mostly, you want him.

You want Joel to make you feel loved and secure, like he always does. You want him to give his undivided attention, his doting affection, all to you.

The brown paper crinkles as he unravels the trinket crafted by the leathermaker’s expert hands.

And you gasp.

It’s a black leather strap, notches worked through its middle, adorned with a shiny silver buckle on one end.

“For me?” you search his face as he approaches you.

Joel furrows his brow and narrows his eyes, as if to ask who the fuck else would it be for?

You watch him return to his seat on the couch and he pats his thigh, “Come on up here, sweetheart.”

Without hesitation, you obey. Your body settles against him, his throbbing cock pinned between your heat and his belly. He fastens the collar around your neck as you unbutton his shirt.

He hooks a finger under the collar and tugs on it, leading your lips to his. The kiss melts you from the inside out. It’s tender and heartfelt, even as he drives his cock inside you with ferocity.

You gasp against his mouth. He grips your collar tight and digs his fingers into your hip. You rake your hands through his waves of graying hair and whimper.

Each relentless thrust, each eager kiss, each little huff of his breath against your skin, each pinch of the soft leather strap around your neck, all of it drips gooey and hot down your spine and gathers at your center.

“Is this what you wanted, Princess? What you made such a big fuss about?” he pants, snapping his hips up into you, “Hmm?”

“Yes,” choke out as your vision fills with stars, “Holy fuck, yes—”

“You gonna ask nice next time?”

“Mhmm,” you hum and nod frantically, “I’ll be your good girl, Joel, I promise.”

He purrs in satisfaction, “That’s right, you’re gonna be my good girl.”

You moan and work your hips against his, chasing the aching, tingling, divine pleasure that’s mounting at your core.

“Tell me I’m yours,” you plead, pressing your sweaty foreheads together.

“You’re mine,” he rasps, voice and hips growing frenzied, “You’re mine, all mine, baby—”

“Joel, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you breathe shattered breaths as ecstasy starts to override you, “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop—”

He groans and pulls the collar tighter, so tight you can barely squeeze whimpers past the restraint. The tingling, molten center of you swells to a crescendo and swallows you whole.

Your body trembles as overwhelming bliss washes over you. You convulse around Joel and he steals the choked sob from your lips. He pulls out and spills hot cum between your bodies with a guttural moan.

The two of you lay there a while, chests heaving in unison, melting together into a puddle of contentment. You rest your cheek against his thudding heart as he strokes your hair.

The world outside is filled with horrors, manmade and naturally derived. But in moments like this? When it’s just you and him, your hearts beating in time? When there’s proof, tangible and pure, that you’ve both lived through everything to be here with each other?

It’s not so bad.

Joel tips your chin up to look up at him.

You meet his thoughtful brown eyes with a hazy smile as he brushes his thumb against your cheek and whispers:

“Mine.”

[pink-tk-a-latte]

Day in the Life of the Nakajima Household

Aka Atsushi’s tiny dorm at the ADA that he is forced to share with 3 murderous individuals.

Tickle fic!! Lee!Atsushi, Lers!Lucy, Kyouka, and Akutagawa + a little Ler!Atsushi, Lee!Lucy (romantic Akuatsulucy and platonic Kyouka addition)

It’s the orphan poly + fellow orphan Kyouka!!!! ❤️🤍🖤💙 I wrote this a while ago so it’s all in present tense LOL. When I first had the idea, I was hesitant, but then I started actually watching the BSD anime and got to know all their characters better so here it is!! They make me SO EMOTIONAL

Also bonus mini HCs at the end!!!!!!!!!

(Ignore the cringey ahh emoticons LMAO it’s just that all of them are so creature-coded)

ᓚᘏᗢ ♡ ≽^•⩊•^≼ ♡ ૮(˶• ༝ •˶)ა ♡ /ᐠ •̀ ˕ •́ マ ♡ ՞ↀ - ↀ՞

Atsushi’s dorm at the Agency is certainly not made to house four people. It’s hardly big enough for two. Kunikida looks one noise complaint away from bursting a vein in his forehead, but, well, nothing has ever gone to plan as long as Atsushi’s involved.

Despite their statuses as Port Mafia operative and former Guild disciple, Lucy and Akutagawa come over so often that Atsushi’s colleagues hardly bat an eye. The two have even taken to calling it “their place,” which Atsushi thinks is kinda unfair — both for his living situation and his heart.

It’s a peaceful kind of day today. Kyouka’s inside journaling, Aku’s at the store — because he has the most stable paycheck — getting groceries, and Atsushi and Lucy are outside, watering the plants around the building.

“Someday you should get us a garden,” Lucy says while she sprinkles water over the tiny blossoming daisies. “So we can take care of our own plants instead of these ugly trees.”

Atsushi sends her a playful glare from where he’s watering said trees with a hose, smiling. “Do I have to do everything in this relationship? My pockets are crying thanks to you guys.”

Lucy scoffs. “Shut up, you! I give you discounts at the cafe all the time. I put my life on the line for you.” She tosses her hair and places a hand on her chest, and Atsushi holds back a laugh.

Maybe it’s his apprenticeship under Dazai, but Atsushi feels a bit mischievous today. In a move that he’ll probably regret later, he lifts the hose and rains fire over his life partner.

Gasping and spluttering, Lucy throws up her hands to block the spray. Her sundress soaks through and her braids quickly start to droop. She turns a murderous gaze on Atsushi through dark, sticky bangs, and he feels sweat run down his back.

“Atsushi Nakajima, you’re dead!” He spots a certain intensity in Lucy’s turquoise eyes.

Uh oh. He knows what that means.

Atsushi yelps and drops the hose, not even bothering to switch it off before he sprints. He employs his tiger strength, probably cheating, but Lucy could easily drag him away from reality and into Anne’s Room if she wants. Noticeably, she doesn’t, probably to drag out the anticipation. But she will have him. Atsushi is sure.

He races into the building and up the stairs. He doesn’t trust the elevator, but he has hope of escape if he continues on foot. In a blur, he spots his apartment number and pushes through the door, thankfully unlocked. Atsushi lunges for the closet, throws open the door and slams it shut behind him. He’s been on so many stealth missions; Atsushi knows how to be quiet. But he’s giddy from the chase and can barely restrain the frantic giggling he breathes out.

“Where are you, my cute little kitty? Come out, let’s play~!” He hears with his heightened senses. A shiver runs up his spine even while his face feels like an oven. He needs to remember that Lucy worked for the Guild, and their first meeting was a gamble for his and his coworkers’ lives. “Isn’t this a fun game! But you can’t hide forever.”

He really can’t, because there’s only so many places he can hide in his tiny apartment. He wonders what his chances are of getting out the closet and jumping through the window without Lucy noticing.

Just as he thinks this, though, the door flies open.

“Found you!” A grin full of metal shines through the darkness, and Atsushi screams. He tries to leap past her, but the wind is knocked out of his lungs as she tackles him onto his futon. Where did she get this strength from? Yet he doesn’t match her force with his own, mostly because, now that he’s caught, he’s found he doesn’t want to be free.

“Such a bad kitty,” she pulls him onto her lap with her elbows under his arms, and Atsushi feels her wet clothes press against his back. His ears are already pounding, hot. “I’ll show you what happens when you go up against Lucy Maud Montgomery!”

Suddenly there are fingers pressing into his sides. Atsushi yells out a panicked laugh. “A- Ahahaha! Luhuhucyhehehe I’m sorryhehehe!”

She huffs. “Well, you should’ve thought about that before you drenched me!”

This is just the consequences of his actions, isn’t it? Her nails tease under his shirt and he throws his head back. “Stahahahap! Stop Ihi yeheheheild! Lucyehehehe!”

She toes the line between unbearable and gentle. The feeling runs through Atsushi’s every nerve, frying his brain until he can’t do anything but kick and flail around on his sheets. Lucy holds him firmly, a satisfied smile on her face that he can’t see.

She is doing this for revenge, but gosh is Atsushi cute. His cheeks are full and red, his fangs peeking out from under his lip. His giggles are nervous and flighty but ingenuous, the purest kind of happiness. Warmth runs through her face without permission; she really wishes she didn’t have such an embarrassing ailment.

When Lucy digs her fingers into his ribs and Atsushi squeals loud enough to echo off the walls, Kyouka pokes her head in from the other room.

“Oh, are we getting Atsushi?” she asks with a small blink. Lucy grins and Atsushi pleads.

“Ky- Kyouka plehehease! Hehehelp! I’m gonnahahaha dahahahie!”

“We are indeed, Kyouka! And he deserves it. I’m sure he would love if you assisted me.”

Kyouka’s expression doesn’t change, but her eyes twinkle. She strides over and seats herself on top of Atsushi’s legs. He cracks open his eyes to give his little sister a look of betrayal.

“Kyouka! Youhaha’re supposed to help mehehehe!”

“No thanks,” she says blankly, before drilling into his hips with an assassin’s precision.

“KYOUHOHOKAHAHAHA!” Even Lucy is a little terrified by the focus in Kyouka’s eyes, as if she were performing a surgery. But mostly she’s just pleased. She takes her hands off Atsushi’s ribs to clap, then repositions them in his underarms.

“YOUHOUHAHA GUHUhuys are soho MEHEHEHEAN!”

“This is discipline,” Kyouka states very seriously, and Lucy too laughs at that. Kyouka reaches forward and pokes Atsushi’s cheek. “You’re so squishy. Like a bunny. Squish.”

Atsushi turns pink; Lucy really wishes that didn’t make her flustered. “He is, isn’t he?” She pokes his other cheek. “Just as a tabby cat should be.”

Then Lucy worms her fingers into his neck and he scrunches up. “EHEHEHEE nohohoHO!”

While Lucy’s methods are soft in an evil way, Kyouka attacks with honed, concentrated energy, deadly in her efficiency. And with both of them on opposite ends of his body, Atsushi has no room left for thought.

And then the front door shuts with a bang.

Perhaps Akutagawa is too aggressive with his actions, and he squints apologetically at the door he slammed. Setting down the grocery bags on the counter, he winces at the ruckus in the apartment. Is that the Jinko’s screaming?

He walks into the main room to find what he’d expected to see: Atsushi pinned to the floor with Kyouka and Lucy dissecting him.

“This is just like you, Jinko,” he scoffs with a note of fondness, squatting beside the squirming, laughing Atsushi. “You’re not even fighting back.”

“RYUHUHAHA dohohon’t!” Atsushi shakes his head, his face a deep pink and his eyes crinkled shut. His smile is just as blinding as the light of the sun. Gross, Akutagawa thinks with a mini smile.

“Akutagawa.” Kyouka turns to him with that river-like gaze, clear but acute. “Join us.” Lucy cackles.

He smirks. “If that is what I must do.”

Though she calls out to Ryuunosuke now, Kyouka hasn’t forgotten how his words kept dragging her down as she swam desperately toward the light. But then he said he was proud of her. Plus, well, he’s involved with Atsushi. Kyouka’s grown to trust him, at least as long as Atsushi’s around. The same goes for Lucy, who Kyouka resented at first for endangering Atsushi, and for her harsh personality that pushes everyone away. That was before though, before she learned that Lucy is genuinely kind, only a girl at heart, and she’s really fun to talk to, and hug, and go shopping for plushies and clothes and crêpes with.

Kyouka would defend Atsushi’s happiness with the blade of a katana and the might of a demon. Because he’s the one who saved her, because he’s her older brother. He has a way of bringing out the light in those with the blackest of blood. Though he’s made many enemies, he has twice as many friends, Lucy and Aku included. She’s never been more sure that they care for Atsushi than now, engaging in something so purely affectionate. That’s why Kyouka pitches in, because her heart is full to the limit.

Speaking of which, Atsushi seems to be reaching his limit.

“RYUHAHAHAHA! LUHUCYEHEAHAHAE! KYOUHAHAKAHAHA! STAHAHAHAHAP!”

Akutagawa is rough and awkward as he claws at the center of Atsushi’s abdomen. Even Rashoumon is crawling up and down his sides. Still sitting on his legs, Kyouka is moments away from flying off, and it’s only through sheer determination that she remains in place. Lucy has slowed her assault out of pity (because she is soft for this man and terrible at hiding it), slowly dragging her fingers across Atsushi’s jaw. Kyouka copies her: Akutagawa really is ruthless. Atsushi’s floundering and screaming is amusing though, and she can’t hold back the soft giggles escaping from her own chest. Though his laughter is desperate and embarrassed, it’s also bright and overwhelmed with love.

“You should learn to take this, weretiger. If you wish to help people, endurance and inspiration of the soul are necessary skills to have.”

Which is basically fancy talk for: Your joy could cure the world’s suffering and you should show it more often.

“LIHIHIHIKE you wouhAHALD KNOHOHOW! AHAHAHA wahahaHAIT!”

“How foolish of you to sass me in your position.”

Atsushi’s chest barely gets the chance to rise and fall before another laugh is forced out. He probably needs a breather. Lucy, despite being the one to start this, is also the first to end it.

“Now now, Aku. Give him a break. We were at this for a while before you came.”

Akutagawa hums, but he retracts his hand and his ability. Lucy and Kyouka let up, and Kyouka removes herself from Atsushi’s legs. Finally free, Atsushi collapses into Lucy’s lap with an inhale that could rival a tornado. He tries to regulate his breathing with giggles interrupting, and he buries his face against Lucy’s thigh, turning to his original assailant for comfort. Lucy blushes even redder than Atsushi himself had because his tiny exhausted closed-eye smile is the cutest thing she’s ever seen, but settles her hand on his back for a massage.

“You hahall… ahawful,” he titters. “Lucy, I’m sohorry for hosing you.”

Kyouka appears beside Lucy and pats Atsushi’s head. Lucy sighs as if she’d just been hit with the force of all the love in the world. “I suppose I can forgive you. I’m a little less soaked now, thanks for asking.”

“Sorry, sorry.” His chuckles turn to sleepy mumbles. “That’s good, though. I’m glad.”

“Quit apologizing.” Lucy covers her face with her equally red hair and turns away. “You’re such a sap.”

“Far too soft,” Akutagawa adds, leaning down to press a kiss to Atsushi’s upright cheek. Kyouka moves her hand so Lucy can kiss the cat’s head too, instead throwing her legs over him and leaning on Lucy’s shoulder. Akutagawa is a clumsy distance from the cuddle pile, hunched over Atsushi, so the tiger throws an arm around his other life partner’s shoulders and drags him down to rest on his back, maneuvering himself so he’s on his stomach, chin on Lucy’s lap. She runs her fingers through choppy white hair and shifts one leg to lay on Akutagawa’s arm and establish a point of contact with everyone. She laughs quietly as she looks over their entangled position, like some kind of Tetris puzzle.

And then she starts laughing for a very different reason.

“ATSUSHIHIHEHEHEE!”

Kyouka flinches as Lucy’s shoulder jolts her off and blinks rapidly. Then she catches sight of Lucy’s hysterical expression and wide open mouth, someone’s fingers scribbling up her sides, and understands. Screeching, Lucy kicks and shoves at the boy in her lap, the culprit, and realizes that with all the bodies piled on top of her, there is no escape.

Atsushi, the ever perseverant hero he is, grins up at her with teeth white as an angel but pointy as a beast. “Revenge.”

And this is what happens when you go up against Nakajima Atsushi.

ᓚᘏᗢ ♡ ≽^•⩊•^≼ ♡ ૮(˶• ༝ •˶)ა ♡ /ᐠ •̀ ˕ •́ マ ♡ ՞ↀ - ↀ՞

Ryu may have the most money but he has near-zero social capabilities. They all lack people skills actually, but Aku lost the last video game tournament. So he’s doing the grocery shopping.

Also they love each other <3

I don’t know why I got so emotional with Kyouka’s POV but it’s probably because I adore her to the ends of the earth. Two paragraphs of just Kyouka reflection bc I think she’s the type to start daydreaming in the middle of an attack.

Relationship HCs:

Atsushi and Lucy — like lonely little children in love, so desperately it hurts

Atsushi and Akutagawa — It’s Complicated™️ (it isn’t)

Akutagawa and Kyouka — it is actually complicated, but they’re getting there

Kyouka and Atsushi — the purest form of connection, siblings <3

Kyouka and Lucy — sisters who give each other the freedom to just be girls

Lucy and Akutagawa — from strangers to not so much so, united by their love for one special tiger (they’re still getting used to each other)

This is a long-ahh footnote I’m sorry

[dalekofchaos]

William Afton's motivations and goals

From this reddit thread

and this reddit thread

I'll say this right off the bat: I am 100% certain that William's motives for murder revolves around his family. I think everything we know about William from the games, novels, and now film is pointing to this being the case.

However, there is nuance to this that should be understood. Even with this being the case, with William somehow caring about his kids in his own twisted way, William can not love.

Look to The Silver Eyes:

"We both wanted to love," he [William] said in those melodious tones. "Your father [Henry] loved. And now I have loved." "You killed."

Then The Fourth Closet:

"I wanted so desperately to have been the one on that stage, but it was always her. All of his love went into her." "You're talking about Afton." Jessica stopped, and Charlie [Really Circus Baby/Elizabeth] nodded confirmation. "William Afton never made anything with love," Jessica snarled.

Baby then described the moment of Elizabeth's death, from both of their perspectives.

“The little girl approached me and pulled the sheet away. I felt nothing; it’s no more than a record of what happened. But there is feeling, my feeling as I pulled the sheet away, and stood in awe before this creature my father loved, this daughter he had made for himself. The daughter who was better than me, the daughter he wished I had been. I wanted to be her, so badly.”

William did not love Elizabeth, he loved Circus Baby, which remember, in the novel's storyline was originally created by Henry as the oldest-aged Charlie. William is obsessed with Henry, his creations, and his family. Quote from The Silver Eyes: (this was when the police was investigating him following the Missing Children's Incident)

A search of his house had found a room crammed with boxes of mechanical parts and a musty yellow rabbit suit, and stacks of journals full of raving paranoia, passages about Henry that ranged from wild jealousy to near-worship.

Another quote from The Silver Eyes:

“Oh,” he gasped. “You’re something beautiful aren’t you?” Charlie recoiled as if he had touched her. What’s that supposed to mean?

With later context, we know better why he said that- Quote from The Fourth Closet:

“Even after this; embodying the one thing Father did love, I'm not enough. Because he can’t duplicate this, he can’t make himself like me.” Her [Elizabeth's] voice began to grow angry again. “He can’t duplicate what happened to me, or maybe he’s too scared to try it on himself. I broke free of my prison, I emerged from the flames and the wreckage of Henry’s last great failure, and I went to my father. I gave myself to him, to study, to use, to learn the secrets of my creation. And still it is you [Charlie, the 3rd robot] he wants.” “You, maybe he can re-create. Henry somehow got a piece of himself into you, and that’s something we haven’t seen before. That’s ... unique.”

Throughout The Fourth Closet, we see William trying to do this, to recreate what Henry did: to put a piece of himself into his own creation.

That was in the chapter immediately after Carlton finds William, next to what's revealed to be the molten amalgamation of all of his victims. That amalgam makes an appearance earlier in the book, but let's look at what William says in that scene, describing his goal and reasoning for this. (I am trimming down these lines for the sake of this post)

“I have faced my own mortality, Jessica. I knew I was dying and through every broken fragment of my body, I was profoundly, immeasurably afraid. I fear it more than I fear life like this, even when every waking instant is pain, and sleep is possible only when induced by enough medication to kill most people.” “Everyone is afraid to die,” Jessica said. “And you should be more afraid than anyone else, because if there’s a hell, there’s a hole at the bottom of it reserved for you.” Afton nodded with a moment of honest resignation. “In time, I’m sure that’s where I will find myself. But the devil has knocked on my door before, and I’ve turned him away." “So, what? You want to live forever?” “Certainly not like this,” he said. “So, what, you’re making yourself into a robot?” “No, that’s science fiction,” he said, unamused.

Then, William says this.

“The most terrible accidents sometimes bear the most beautiful fruits,” he said, as if to himself. “Re-creating the accident—that is the duty and the honor of science. To replicate the experiment, and obtain the same result. I give my life to this experiment, piece by piece.” He nodded at the girl, and she approached Jessica with deliberate steps.

He then shows Jessica the "melted scrapheap," then asks her how she thinks the original animatronics came to life.

“How did the creatures at Freddy’s move, of their own will, with no outside force controlling them?” he asked mildly. “The children were still inside. Their souls were inside those creatures,” “Oh, Jessica, come now. What else? What else was inside them, to bind their spirits so inseparably to the bear, to the rabbit, to the fox? How did they die, Jessica? How Jessica?” “You killed them. They died in the suits,” she said hoarsely. “Their bodies were bound inside, along with their souls.”

Then, he describes how he plans to live forever:

“The spirit follows the flesh, it would seem, and also the pain. If I wish to become my own immortal creation, my body must lead my spirit to its eternal home. Since I am still ... experimenting ... I move my flesh piece by piece.” He looked thoughtfully over at the creature on the table. “More and more,” he murmured, almost to himself, “it is a test of the strength of my own will. How much of myself can I carve away, and still remain in control?”

He wants to surgically remove his organs, piece by piece, with Elizabeth's help, into his 'eternal home,' the amalgam, to become "his own immortal creation."

William is trying to recreate what Henry did, putting a piece of himself into his own creation. In Henry's case, he put a piece of himself into the robotic recreation of his deceased child; in William's case, he is putting a piece of himself into the fused amalgamation of all of his victims, which I think is important to my next point.

William sees the animatronics and his victims as family.

This was already clear with Baby, as Elizabeth described earlier. But here's more lines from The Silver Eyes.

“You're a sick bastard,” Carlton sputtered. “And you’ve created monsters. The kids you killed are still here. You’ve imprisoned them!” “They are home, with me.” Dave’s voice was coarse as he said it, and the large mascot head slid forward, tilting. “Their happiest day.” “How do we get out?” Charlie placed one hand on the mascot head and pushed it back into position on Dave’s shoulders. The fur felt wet and sticky, as though the costume itself were sweating. “There isn’t a way out anymore. All that’s left is family.” His round eye reappeared through one of the sockets, glimmering in the light.

I don't think its wrong to say that the story of FNAF (at least early FNAF) was about "the Afton family," because that is exactly how he sees the missing children. He finds comfort in living amongst them, especially as Springbonnie, and he even says why-

“Because I am one of them,” he said.

Most of what I'm referencing in this post comes from the novels, but this is not an exclusive trait to his character in these books. Look to the recently-released film:

“The Little ones tell me you have a sister, she will love it here!"

and...

"Wake up Children! I brought someone for you to play with!"

That line I also find really interesting, because of William's language elsewhere in the movie, referring to his daughter, Vanessa:

"Put that thing away, and help me clean up the mess that you created!"

With the first line, he's referring to Mike like he's a toy for the animatronics. In the second line, he's referring to Vanessa's gun, but its also as if he's talking to a child, asking her to put her toys away and help him. Think about it, he's blaming Vanessa for something that is not her fault at all, it's the language of an abusive father to his little kid. I bet this is actually something William has told her before, to persuade and manipulate her. ("He really messed you up, didn't he?" as Mike put it.)

Anyway, I just wanted to bring it up because it just strengthens this point, William sees the characters like his own family; which is ultimately where I think his motives come from. He finds comfort in his robotic family because of his disdain for his real family.

William's kids change between each continuity.

In the games, he has 3 real children- Michael, the Crying Child, and Elizabeth- and kills Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, Fritz, Cassidy, and so on. Michael of course, kills his brother. In the novels, he only has Elizabeth, and rather than killing Gabriel and Jeremy, he kills a kid named Michael (Brooks), and a kid without an established name (who is characterized by his black-and-white striped shirt, crying, and who gets told he'll be put back together by Carlton-- all relating back to the CC. All of this is stripped from the Graphic Novel, where that kid becomes Gabriel). Again, there's juxtaposition between the kids he murders and his real children. In the film, Vanessa is established to be his daughter, but only her- Michael and his siblings are not presented as being related to Afton (There could still be a plot twist regarding this though). We also don't know the identities of William's victims, aside from the fact that Mike's brother (Garrett) was kidnapped by William rather than bullied to death by Mike.

Ultimately, these continuity differences is why I can't say "William kills because he wants to bring back his son after Mike killed him," or whatever, because that objectively does not happen in either the novels or the film. He becomes deranged no matter what.

In my opinion, the Bite of 83 is the first thing that happens in the games timeline, and does result in William killing Charlotte (and also the creation of the Puppet, hence why it doesn't exist in the novels and why she doesn't possess anything).

In the books, William is established to be jealous of Henry, even before he brings his creations to life- and I think it's still because of his family- hence why he goes for Charlotte. William doesn't have his sons, and he clearly doesn't care much for his daughter, so he robs Henry of his perfect family.

In the film, I think his motives are more speculative. William's first kill in the other continuities is Charlie, but its unconfirmed if she (or Henry) exist in the film. William kills Mike's brother, Garrett, separate from the five missing children, but we have no established motive as to why.

This will probably be a big reveal in a future film, maybe Mike and Garrett are related to William and thats why he abducted Garrett (Affair Theory?). When Mike tells Vanessa about his family, he says they'd sit around the table, say graces, etc.- its a cookie-cutter perfect family. Maybe William wanted to destroy that, like he did with Henry's. Maybe, again, I don't know.

Now for my spin on the theory. I believe this was William's goal, but his goal in the games was to became immortal, but also to bring his family back as the Funtime Animatronics. Mrs Afton would become Ballora, Elizabeth as Baby obviously, CC as Funtime Freddy and once Michael is killed, he would become Funtime Foxy. And they would live forever as the Funtimes, eternal and killing together as a family unbroken!