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whosjunglejim4322 · 2 years ago

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Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.”

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson au #joseph quinn x reader #Eddie Munson Drabble #Eddie Munson imagine

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aziraphales-library · 3 months ago

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Hey there!

Got any adult omens that are human au’s? I’ve read all the ones on here that I can find so any more suggestions would be greatly appreciated. The fluffy ones are the ones I enjoy most!

Thank you all so much for the work you’ve done. This library is amazing!

-A

Hello! Here are some fics to add to our #human au, #fluff, and #adult omens tags...

Rear Ended by Caedmon (E)

Crowley is already having a very bad day when he accidentally plows his new car into someone at a traffic stop. He's ready to rip the head off of the person - until an angel gets out of the car, and suddenly, he's in love.

The High Road and the Low Road by saretton (E)

It's been two years and, finally, it has happened. They're paired up again. Anthony Crowley, coach driver for Roadside Fire Coaches and Buses, and Aziraphale Fell, licensed member of Scotland's Tourists Guide Association. Maybe this time they can finally talk and figure out whatever has been going on between them for fifteen years. ----- A Good Omens Scotland Tour Human AU.

litany in which certain things are crossed out by Ayes (E)

A beaten-down Aziraphale opens a bakery in the small town of Tadfield, where he finds an all-night greasy spoon and one fallen Crowley, who is making amends through various and increasingly ridiculous means of community service. Features an inexperienced!Aziraphale, Crowley the town ne’er-do-well, and Crowley’s self-appointed protector, young Adam. Human AU. All quotations are from Richard Siken’s earth-shattering collections of poetry, Crush and War of the Foxes. cw/tw: brief mentions of fatphobia; homophobia; religious oppression; miscarriage; self-hatred; background character death; drug addiction; foster care; past animal abuse… all referenced and not actively happening in the story, but sad beginnings that are addressed in order to make room for happy endings.

Oddity by Tsyvia48 (E)

The Museum staff were shocked and annoyed when their incompetent director Gabriel hired a street performer to guest curate an original exhibit about David Bowie. Aziraphale was immediately put off by Anthony Crowley's rudeness and arrogance--how dare the man think he could just waltz in to a project like this! Aziraphale was determined to make Crowley regret underestimating the task. For his part, Crowley could hardly believe his good luck: some of the smartest people he'd ever met were paying him to think about Bowie. It was like a dream come true. If only he didn't have to work closely with the posh bastard who seemed to need to hold his nose just to be in the same room with him. Crowley was determined to make Aziraphale regret underestimating him.

Drive me to the Moon by CaptainBlou, Elenthya (E)

At GOMENS, world-renowned sports brand and sponsor, one takes pride in endorsing the UK’s most talented athletes. On the other hand, one would like to ignore the fact that their two top of the bill, Aziraphale and Crowley, have heartily hated each other since the day they met. But what should be expected, when one knows these two? Aziraphale is a professional dancer, Crowley a rally driver. While the former switches between fierce competitions and prestigious stages, the other goes from one track to another across the world, clearing out every prize from behind the wheel of his racing car. Two beings, two worlds, two universes that everything should keep apart. But an unprecedented charity event is getting set up at GOMENS, and quickly, their own athletes will have to compete with and assist each other in turns. Two worlds, two personalities. But if they want to run for a cause that matters to the both of them, Crowley and Aziraphale are going to have to find an Arrangement.

Going Somewhere Slowly by curiouswriterkr (E)

Our bois are in Uni and meet in their last year. Aziraphale has sworn off dating and drinking for reasons, and of course, Crowley wants more. Of course, so does Aziraphale. It's a slice of life story. ~~ “Aziraphale, tomorrow at the pub, could I buy you a drink?” Crowley asked him, eyes earnest and hopeful. “I’m not your student anymore-” “Crowley, your invitation is so very kind and I must decline. You see, I don’t drink and I don’t date,” Aziraphale tipped his chin up a fraction of an inch and squared his shoulders.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #human au #fluff #adult omens #mod d

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icumpinkglitterxo · 7 months ago

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Take me to church

warnings: angst, brief mentions of sh, homophobia, internalised homophobia, f slur, overall heavy topics. 🥰

a/n: whY AM I WRITING SLAXL 🥲 ts may be the most chronically online thing ive ever done. am i the only one who thinks axl and slash are like mickey and ian and am i also the only one who hates bottom mickey...

i like girls and guys i can say fag go away

enjoy ★

This was the worst thing that could've possibly happened to them. Or at least, that's what Slash thought. Axl and Slash had been secretly dating, but some dickhead soccer player at their school found out and told the entire school. It was bad enough that Slash had long hair, dressed in glam and occasionally painted his nails - he had a 'girlfriend' who was really his best friend who was secretly a lesbian. But now he was out as gay, and out against his will.

It had taken a serious toll on Slash's mental health, so much to the point that he couldn't bring himself to go to school and even took a blade to his skin.

The only thing that seemed good to him was when his mom found out and she was more than accepting. She was having an affair with David Bowie, and while it didn't affect him majorly, it was comforting to know he was accepting too.

As much as it didn't bother Axl, as long as it didn't get back to his parents, seeing how badly it affected the man he loved made him unbelievably angry.

Slash spent as much time as he could ditching class, staying home, or staying with Axl or his 'girlfriend'. Making sure he was never alone in public worked surprisingly well. Nobody came near him when he was with Axl, gay or not, people still avoid a hormonal bipolar teenager.

Of course, he would freak himself out when he he had to walk home. Alone. Axl hadn't been waiting for him at the end of the day like usual, so here Slash was, walking through an alley because it was the quickest way home. It was still light out, and no one was around, so he would be fine. Right?

Wrong.

It was fast. And slow. All at the same time. All it took was one punch for the loud ringing in his ears to start. Someone had grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. Hit. Punch. Shove. Kick. They pulled him up off the ground and shoved him against the wall again.

'Did you really think you'd get away with being a fucking faggot' one of them spat. The word alone hurt, but the way it rolled off his tongue with venom stung. The guy punched him again, he could feel the blood dripping down his face. Slash was more terrified than he'd ever been in his entire life.

They weren't showing any signs of stopping any time soon. Was being gay this wrong? Was he truly a bad person?

He was in unbearable pain. He tried everything he could to push them off, but to no avail.

They were genuinely going to beat him to death. He was going to die. He was actually going to die all because of who he loved. That was all he could think about. His final thoughts. Until the guy was pulled off him.

Slash slowly opened his eyes. Before him was Axl beating the shit out of both guys and screaming at them. "Don't you EVER lay your fucking hands on him ever again, understand!?" He was screaming so loud it actually hurt Slash's ears. But what shocked him most was that both guys looked absolutely terrified, maybe even more than Slash.

They nodded and ran away.

Axl turned to Slash, who had since sunk to the ground sobbing and shaking.

Axl kneeled in front of him, cupping his face. "Let me see, let me see..." Slash tried to pull away. He was ashamed. He couldn't stand up for himself. Axl sighed, "it's okay, you're okay... okay? I'm gonna take you home. They're gone. Okay? You're safe. I promise."

Slash was in a state of shock. He was hyperventilating. He was clearly struggling to breathe. "I- they- I was just - and then - and I- walking - and they - attacked -" Axl shushed him, grabbing his face a little more rough than before.

"Breathe."

They sat in the alley for at least half an hour as Slash tried to come down from his panic attack. Axl stayed with him the entire time, doing and saying everything he could to help him relax. He knew Slash was prone to panic attacks. He also knew he was in a great deal of pain, which he could only imagine were making things worse.

As promised, Axl took Slash home. The pair were now sitting in the bathroom, Axl cleaning the blood from his boyfriend's face.

"Do you think this is wrong?" Slash asks carefully. "What, beating people up for being gay? Course it’s wrong, it's a hate crime - " Axl started, but Slash interrupted.

"Not that. This. Us."

Axl froze.

He slowly looked down at Slash. "Is that a serious question?" Slash nodded. "Everyone thinks so. Maybe they're right." Axl scoffs, "you're not serious, are you fucking serious!?"

He nodded again. "I don't think we should be together." Axl stares at him, "don't... don't say that... don't you fucking say that..." Slash gets up and walks out of the bathroom, stopping in the doorway. "I think you should go. Don't try to call me."

He walks out of the bathroom, leaving Axl standing there completely shocked, hurt, and confused. He leaves Slash's house.

Instead of going home, Axl went to the abandoned house he crashed in when things got particularly difficult at home. While he knew Slash and his mom would always welcome them into their home, he never wanted to worry Slash with the abuse he was enduring at home.

Though, now he felt like he couldn't. Slash had actually broken up with him. When he got 'home', he started breaking everything he could, until he passed out from exhaustion.

Slash walked into his room, crying. He sat down on his bed, reaching for a blade.

#guns n roses #slash gnr #saul hudson #gnr fanfiction #guns n roses fanfic #slash fic #axl rose #axl gnr #axl rose fanfiction #slaxl #im normal i swear #chronically online #cringeposting

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joequiinn · 1 year ago

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The Dos and Dont’s of Fake Dating - inspo guide!

When I'm working on a story, I draw on all kinds of media as inspiration. I make lists of characters' fav movies or playlists that remind me of them, etc.

These are just some things I took inspo from/relate to Dos and Don'ts! I'm taking a brief pause in writing, so hopefully these will hold us over!

@sheneedsrocknroll92 and @steeldaisies because yall showed some interest!!

Playlist

I have a lil playlist full of songs that fit this fic's vibes in some way or another. There are various genres and tones and themes, so if you aren't afraid of bouncing around between types of music, this may be a fun way to vibe with the fic!

Music

Mystery by Dio - this is 100% THEIR song, I've associated this with Eddie and ice princess since day one; it will also make an appearance in an upcoming chapter~

Just Tonight by the Pretty Reckless - this song is one I associate with a particular chapter that is drafted but not out yet, and the vibes in general really mesh with some of the themes of this fic.

Ghost, HIM/Ville Valo, & Twilight Creeps - I just listen to these artists a lot while brainstorming and writing this fic; some particular songs are on the playlist mentioned above!

David Bowie & Fleetwood Mac - sooo ice princess isn't really a music person, because I think it's a funny contrast to Eddie; however, I do think she has a few Bowie and Fleetwood vinyls/cassettes lying around that belonged to her mom, so that's the extent of her music knowledge lol

Movies

Can't Buy Me Love - originally, I wanted to write a story inspired by this movie; the setup is ridiculous and I love every minute of it, so if you want to see an early prototype Eddie x ice princess, I suggest watching this one!

10 Things I Hate About You - this was also a movie that I considered using as plot inspo; although they're not the same, I do think similarities can be found in the characters to some extent, especially Patrick = Eddie.

Heathers - the vibes and fashion speak to be, and in another world maybe Eddie and ice princess would serve up some JD and Veronica vibes~

Halloween - it hasn't come up yet in the fic, but ice princess is a closet horror movie fan whose favorite is Halloween (no it's not her fav bc it's my fav what do you mean).

Bride of Chucky - Chucky and Tiffany speak to me on a spiritual level, and I feel like Eddie x ice princess give some of these vibes??? Also RIP Eddie Munson, you would've LOVED Child's Play.

Labyrinth - I picture ice princess having a lot of similarities with Sarah, which I didn't initially notice when I was first writing. There have been many lines I've written that I can SO clearly hear in Jennifer Connelly's voice, so she's a big inspo for this fic. Also, I love Bowie

That 70s Show - putting aside all the real-world controversies, I was obsessed with Jackie & Hyde when I was a kid, and I think you can clearly see a similar character dynamic with Eddie and ice princess.

Married... With Children - have yall SEEN Kelly Bundy??? enough said.

Other

Evil Ernie - maybe you've seen my other Eddie posts, but I've mentioned before that the vibes of this comic series and it's titular character remind me of Eddie, so that's all.

Flight of Icarus - yes, yes, I know that this is literally a book about Eddie, but I still think it's worth noting that I've used the book as some reference, but for the most part I haven't included it too much (I also haven't read it sorry not sorry)

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #a #em #dos and donts of fake dating

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universallydestinytaco · 1 year ago

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Smiling Friends Headcanons y’all

TW brief mention of queerp***bia and emotional ab*se.

Charlie is an abromantic achillean intersex transman

Pim is transmasc genderfluid and pan and he loves switching up his gender labels and yes he goes by he/they/fae

Alan is a triple battery. (Agender Autistic Aro/Ace spec)

Glep is a non-binary aroace spec lesbian who goes by he/it pronouns

Marge Simpson is a lesbian

Smormu is transfemme and bi also SMORMU NEVER DIED IN MY HEADCANONS HAHAHA

Charlie’s (ex?) girlfriend is named Susan and she’s bi and a cisn’t ally

Jennifer is a bi demigirl who goes by she/her and neopronouns

Shrimp is unlabeled and goes by all pronouns

Mr. Boss is a gay transman and yes he was at Stonewall kicking ass.

Pim is jealous of Charlie and Susan but keeps it to himself because he wants Charlie to be happy.

Alan invites his friends over to watch his family’s vacations slides.

Glep walks into the telephone booth nearby work to anonymously prank call random people during his free time.

Pim grew up with girl’s toys and holds on to his childhood dearly, he is a doll collector and he has a girly Y2K aesthetic blog as well.

Charlie grew up a social outcast with Pim and Susan being the first friends he ever had. Seriously my man Charlie has had it ROUGH.

Pim’s family except for his cousin are SUPER bigoted and heteronormative…yet they pressure poor Pim into keeping contact with them.

The gang love watching bad movies and shows together to riff on them.

Smormu and Pim watch Disney movies together and know most of the songs by heart.

Alan is a fan of David Bowie, Prince and The Beatles.

Charlie and Pim watch Toonami religiously every Saturday night.

One night Charlie got so shitfaced drunk after a possible breakup that he started howling loudly at the full moon until Dj Spitz shot him in the ass.

Glep is a Jhonen Vasquez stan.

Pim rewatches Steven Universe on the daily + is also a Swifty who makes friendship bracelets

Mr. Boss dated Rick Sanchez once, they broke up because of creative differences.

#smiling friends #smiling friends pim #smiling friends charlie #smiling friends alan #smiling friends glep #smiling friends smormu #smiling friends mr boss #headcanons #charpim

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raisinchallah · 3 months ago

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thinking again about the brief mention of bob fosse getting the idea to do a lestat musical with david bowie and mick jagger.... the mind reels actually kind of insane how many people were reading the vampire lestat like was bob fosse showing up to rehearsal with the vampire lestat filled with sticky notes under his arm...

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doeyedeath · 1 year ago

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nother snippet! its road trip time!

brief mention of implied morning wood and sexual attraction/arousal but its barely there

They decide to use Jack’s old Jeep, which he’d left for Spot when he’d gone to college, because it has a bed built in the trunk, and also because Spot needs driving hours for her test and she’s already used to that one. On the first week of June, they load their bags into the trunk - under the mattress - and head out for the long drive from New York to San Fransisco.

During the day, they listen to Tony’s upbeat, 12 hour playlist, full of Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, David Bowie, SZA, a frankly absurd amount of Megan Thee Stallion (“She’s a modern day Homer,” He argues when Katherine mentions it), and plenty of other pop artists. Katherine suspects it’s the playlist he uses for Modern.

In the evening, they play Davey’s softer playlist, simply titled crush. He pointedly does not make eye contact with Katherine when Spot and Tony tease him about it. Nick Drake, The Staves, Joni Mitchell, Taylor Swift (“Red and Folklore are masterpieces and New Year’s Day is the most beautiful song she’s written.” He argues when Spot asks about it), and Lana Del Rey croon about love, and it’s frankly a bit terrifying. She does not think about it.

Of course, she has her own music, for nights when she can’t sleep and sits in the bathtub of their motel rooms thinking and marking. Mostly because Spot and Tony take one bed, like the lovesick assholes they are, leaving her in a bed with Davey. She would rather share the trunk bed with all four of them in a Denny’s parking lot than risk waking up with his mouth in her hair and her back pressed against him. It had already happened once and. Well. Davey is a teenage boy. Sometimes things happen. She’d pulled Spot into the bathroom at the iHop where they ate breakfast and confided in her about this situation and Spot had laughed at her like the terrible friend she is.

On one notable occasion, Spot hyped her up enough to wear the leggings while she stretched in the morning and when she’d started her grande pliés en second, he’d excused himself to use the restroom. For an hour. She doesn’t think about it.

#ballet au #kavey #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #david jacobs #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #sprace #< sort of

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destinyc1020 · 1 year ago

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Confession Sunday: This is going to be very unpopular, but after SM4, I don't want Tom and Z to work with each other as love interests. Or again, if that means they can maintain privacy in their relationship. I hope Z has a smaller role in that film, and it's more on Tom's Peter and Black Cat, maybe. The backlash both of them got for TCR and Challengers because they became public is very deranged. They should be able to play characters with love interest without fear of public backlash because they are adults and professionals. Im kinda scared with Romeo and Juliet. I hope ppl are sensible and dont embarrass Tom cause it's not just him on stage. Francesca and the rest of the cast deserve their moment.

They are not the first couple to act but they the first famous couple of the younger generation that ppl are too invested in and honestly don't have the best energy towards their union depaite them being complete starbgers to us. I'm aware this is hypocritical as I am a fan of both and I'm on tumblr but I've been aware of both sides of the fandom on these blogs, solo fans of each other and I understand the frustration to want you fav to be independent of their relationship because it limits their artistry. They are actors first!!!!

Unpopular opinion, and I'm gonna get tomatoes, but looking back, SM NWH presstour was a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing for Tomdaya fans, but its a curse cause now when they do it again, the soundbites are gonna feel curated and tired. I started to see a problem when Tom kept mentioning it when he was promoting TCR because, let's be honest, he was ashamed of the results of the show. He used it as armour, and that's not fair case it was him that chose to do that show with poor execution. Using his family as pr is no better than Dom no shade. Even when Challengers was promoted and Tom was mentioned, it was cute as Tomdaya fans, but objectively, it's unheard of unless it's a podcast.

David Bowie and Iman are the best counterparts because they both were successful in their lane but were together. Iman was asked about David, but I was brief because she already had a business and foundation stand from. Both Tom and Z are in the middle of building that foundation.

I read on a blog how Riley from that Daisy amazon show filmed an intimate scene with her actor husband, and she said it was awkward because they were acting, and when they are together, it's real. I want them to have a life that we, as fans, don't know because overexposure is always bad in hindsight. Look at Jelenas. They can't get over the accessibility they had to that couple, and that's just sad.

I enjoyed the intimate scenes in Challengers and TCR because I was invested in the characters they were playing because they had respectful costars who i had little information about them other than acting, and it was great acting. I think it's even why I couldn't buy Paul and Chani in Dune 2 because I know Timothee and Zendaya are very good friends. Almost like siblings, like Timothee called her a sis!!!😭😭😭

I never have this issue when he's Taylor, Florence, or Saoirse because i know them through acting only, and I'm not invested in their lives cause its private as fck.

What are your thoughts???

Wow Anon.... you said a LOT with this ask/confession lol.

Thank you for your input and confession Anon.

Personally? I don't think there's anything wrong with Tom and Z working together even though they're in a relationship together. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Do you know how many actors have worked together in Hollywood and were in relationships with each other? Paul Newman and his wife Joanne Woodward, Elizabeth Taylor and her husband Richard Burton, JLo and Ben Affleck, Emily Blunt & John Krasinski, etc. Shoot, even Baz Luhrmann and his wife work together on films lol 😅 It's not exactly unheard of in Hollywood. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Re: The NWH press tour....

Hmm... I'm not sure why this is a concern exactly. 🤔 But I also don't feel like how TZ were during the press tour together was a bad thing either? 🤷🏾‍♀️ Even if they were to break up tomorrow, their press tour videos are endearing, sweet, and just a testament to a good friendship and casting for their Spiderman film imo.

While us shippers and Tomdaya fans may love the press tour for other reasons lol, I don't think that the general public has an issue with the press tours with TZ being together and in love etc. I think most think it's cute? 😅

Granted, I will say that if you do feel like you're having a very hard time separating an actor's character from their real-life persona, and it's hard for you to see them disappear in certain roles, then maybe it might a sign that you're following a celebrity a little too closely, and it may be a good idea to perhaps lessen the amount of time you spend tracking and following that celebrity/actor. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Re: Fans...

I def think that SOME fans get a little too invested with the lives of their faves, to the point where it can become a bit parasocial, but like I mentioned earlier, you can always take a bit of a break, and try not to be so obsessive.

Re: Public Backlash

While I def understand the concern regarding the gp and any backlash on TZ and their projects, the truth of the matter is, a lot of actors get bad reviews on their projects also, but it's not an automatic death. Many Actors have recovered from bad projects and have gone on to do wonderful films that had critical acclaim. ☺️

#confession Sunday #cleaning up my inbox 📥

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bumblecrisp · 6 months ago

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Today i listened to Fear of Music - Talking Heads (properly this time), Σ - REOL, and Trouble in Shangri-La - Stevie Nicks on @sachermorte’s recommendation! :D

“I Zimbra” is groovy. There’s no other word for it; this song grooves. The lyrics are nonsensical, the percussion is catchy, the quirks of the guitar draw you in. A little bit “Thela Hun Ginjeet” - King Crimson. My mother says she doesn’t hear it, but I swear “Cities” reminds me of “Our House” - Madness. There’s a similar sort of upbeat energy disguising a sense of urgency, not to mention the obvious overlap in subject matter. Regardless, I’m very fond of this song. Something about the lyrics is almost childish; it sounds like what turning 18 feels like. It’s very endearing. “Life During Wartime” has a similar effect, except, of course, it’s rather darker. That said it’s always the peanut butter lyric that jumps out at me. People should sing about peanut butter more often.

As was foreshadowed in “Memories Can’t Wait”, the record’s B-side is… strange. “Air” is strange. “Animals” is very strange. “Electric Guitar” is downright bizarre. It reminds me a little of “Elephant Talk” - King Crimson or “Joe the Lion” - David Bowie. (Sorry about the constant comparisons, but I find they’re useful.) The jagged rhythm and experimental guitar are off-putting, but deliberately so. If “I Zimbra” is the thesis for the A-side, “Drugs” is the perfect conclusion to the B-side. The atmosphere is dark and disturbing, calling to mind the dripping coldness of a damp cave deep underground, where every movement sends uncomfortably echoing reverberations over the stones and the sound of your own breathing fills your ears. It’s very unpleasant. I like it.

Fear of Music is a self-contradictory album. It’s certainly not so approachable as Remain in Light, but I rather like that about it. 3.5/5

Σ is one of a few products of れをる [reol]’s brief union with ギガ [giga] and お菊 [okiku]. (I’m extremely tempted to say more here but this is not actually a vocaloid album so it doesn’t matter and I will restrain myself.) For the purposes of this review ‘れをる’ refers to the vocalist and ‘REOL’ refers to the group as a collective. Previously, I only knew れをる from her writing credits in ギガP songs; this is my first time hearing her voice. It’s sharp, very diagonal, and dramatic with a little bit of rasp, sort of like nightcore HyunA, and I imagine it would be a similarly acquired taste for someone not acquainted with the style.

“VIP KID” is a strong opener: a bold, in-your-face banger with thrumming bass and stabby synthesizer. “宵々古今” [yoiyoi okon / Every Night, Every Age] reminds me of takamatt and かごめP [kagomeP]’s “トキヲ・ファンカ” [TOKIO FUNKA], which was released earlier the same year. Both songs are heavily influenced by the enka genre, incorporating the layered and heavily textured percussion, twanging string trills, and warbling kobushi vocals of traditional Japanese music into hypermodern electronica.

“コノヨ Loading…” [konoyo Loading / This Time Loading] is some golden bitpop work; ギガ would never be my first thought for the genre, which I always associate primarily with sasakure.UK, but he executes it well and れをる’s vocals lend the track a sort of bratty robotgirl charm. “404 Not Found” is a bit of a tonal departure from the rest of the record, but one I really like. It’s a melancholic ballad with a heavy brostep drop in the chorus. I’ve never been big into dubstep, but it really works here!

This album is extremely solid. Honestly, my only gripe with Σ is that it is extremely high-energy. To be fair, I am extremely low-energy, so this probably isn’t as much of a problem for other people, but by the time I finished listening to it, I was exhausted. Σ is fast-paced and presents something fresh with every song, maintaining thematic consistency despite considerable genre-hopping. 4/5

“Trouble in Shangri-La” is a masterpiece. I’m in love with this song. Earbuds don’t do it justice. In order to properly experience this - because believe me, it is an experience - you have to play it over a car speaker or something similar so the sound surrounds you, envelops you, thrums through you. It is really really good.

Three cheers for enunciation - I can actually evaluate lyrics this time around! “Sorcerer” was particularly lovely in that regard. Actually, Roland, it’s funny that you recommended Trouble in Shangri-La, given much of the album appears to be written about you. “Timeless in your finery”, no?

Aside from those, “Bombay Sapphires” was my other favourite. I’m not usually a bongo gal, but those were some good bongos. The instrumental itself conveys the imagery alluded to in the lyrics - the quiet song of the water, the ever-shifting waves, prismatic and pure. Actually, as I listen to it again, I quite like “Candlebright” too. It’s just the right balance of rock belladonna and desert rose, coy and coiling and extremely Stevie Nicks.

Unfortunately, I have spent the past six and a half months listening to country music of the lowest calibre (and I truly mean that, I have no problem with country but this is just Bad) against my will because I was too chicken to say no when my coworker asked if I liked it and now it's far too late to say anything. Consequently I’m afraid I’m having what I will freely admit is a kneejerk negative reaction to the clear country influences in this album. That being said, I can recognize that objectively they are good songs, and even if they weren’t the sheer magnificence of “Trouble in Shangri-La” alone would boost this album significantly. Trouble in Shangri-La is not quite a perfect record, but when it shines it dazzles. 4/5

#i bomme #humbylbee in the medow #talking heads #reol #stevie nicks #new wave #post-punk #art punk #electropop #j-pop #pop rock #singer-songwriter #punk #rock #electronic #pop #Spotify #this took me three hours to write btw y’all better savour it

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jorban-ederble · 1 year ago

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Might as well make a post for anyone who sees this

(CW: brief mentions of mental health conditions and concerns. Like, really brief. Nothing bad, I’m just nervous)

Hello, my name is Armani/Layne, I’m just… some thude from western Washington. Plan on starting a band, getting into music, that kinda biz; though for starters I’m looking to become an HVAC tech so I can get myself some money. Pays pretty well, actually!

I’m a self-described “manthing”, given I’m kinda having an identity crisis lately? May change this later or update if anyone’s interested, but I’m masculine of some sort, currently labeling as non-binary though I have considered agender, libramasculine, and demiboy. I’m asexual panromantic which is kinda neat though I do struggle to fully accept myself as an ace person. Fun times!

Anxiety runs in my family and DEFINITELY carried down to my ass, I’ve got depression of some type (can’t tell if it’s seasonal or what, though), deal with intrusive thoughts and am passively suicidal. My friends say I’m probably autistic as well as ADHD, though this has not been diagnosed (and probably won’t be for a few years), but I do show quite a few signs of both.

Of course, as my bio says, I’m super into hockey. My current banner is my own photo! Hockey’s kinda become a special interest of mine, and it’s actually really helped me through a lot of really tough times in my life, from loss to some really bad mental health problems. I’ve often thought, “there’s another game tomorrow” or “I’ve got next season to look forward to”, and it’s helped often.

My other interests (some are special) are, of course: music, rocks, animals, cars, that kinda deal. BUT I’m also really into fallout, and that’s why you’ll see me repost fallout stuff. I could go on about how much I love that series, but I can also go on about various artists and the history of sound recording, or I could go on about salmon and how much I love those little freaks (they’re one of my favorite animals!), or like… some dumb stuff I know about hockey. Did you know that “double teamed” is a real term used by announcers??? Well now you do. It means to block or guard an opponent with two players at once.

I’m into all sorts of music, from Tom Waits and Nick Cave, to Alice In Chains/Mad Season and Nirvana and Stone Temple Pilots, and then like… David Bowie and Vashti Bunyan and Connie Converse and Death Grips and Radiohead, then like… even weird, out-there wild ones like Derek Bailey and Anthony Braxton and shit. Weirdo free jazz kinda shit. Then I’m also into Pink Floyd and kinda getting into Led Zeppelin and The Doors, but I’m also really into Depeche Mode and Duran Duran and Naked Eyes and Kajagoogoo, then on top of THOSE guys, like… Johnny Cash, Colter Wall, Patsy Cline, etc. I’ve grown up around a whole ton of different music and my parents never let me shy away from discovering what sort of music I do or don’t like, and I do like quite a lot of shit… I actually have nearly my whole liked playlist on Spotify and would happily post a link if anyone would be interested in seeing it. I’ve got something for everyone in it.

(Oh yeah plus I make mashups and they SUCK so bad but it’s lowkey fun to see what works and what doesn’t and why…)

(OOOOH SHIT FORGOT I ALSO WRITE THINGS SO I DUNNO, MAYBE I’LL POST SOME FICS FROM TIME TO TIME???)

Oh yeah and, music aside, my OTHER favorite animals (currently) are jellyfish as well as salamanders, though I’m more partial to giant salamanders! Hellbenders are endemic to the US, is one of the state animals of Pennsylvania, and one of their nicknames (one of my absolute favorite ones, too) is lasagna lizard!

Also, my birthday is October 9th, making me a libra. That’s pretty cool

Thank you for reading, that was a lot, I know. I just… I dunno, want my mutuals to get to know me a little more and let random passerby’s know what this is about and who runs this blog I guess, that way if they have interest here, then… well, this is the stuff I’ll post about most likely, if I ever post- I dunno if I will. I may post my art more often, or something I do on guitar or whatever shitty mashup I’ve made recently in audacity or whatever. Or I’ll just… share music, I guess. I dunno. We’ll see!

Now go enjoy the rest of your day or night!! Or else!!!

—————— banner pic + hockey talk, ignore if you’d like! ——————

(My banner if I ever change it, ID: Jordan Eberle getting awarded his silver stick with his family, GM Ron Francis, and Kraken owner Sam Holloway, pregame, March 14th, 2024, Kraken V Capitals at Climate Pledge Arena, Seattle, WA.)

(Again, my own photo! Was a beautiful ceremony, loved being there even if the game resulted in a loss. Was really cool to see Alex Ovechkin, too, but also TJ Oshie! TJ is from Everett, so… I was personally more interested in seeing him that night, haha. He was actually nearing his own 1000th that night, he was at like… his 995th or something that night? Kinda neat!)

#self introduction #hello #it’s me #this is an introduction #I yap about myself and my interests for a bit #stay if you’d like

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circusgoth-dotcom · 11 months ago

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Room for One More

Ship: Artie x Edgar Comet (qpp), Edgar Comet x Cruella de Vil

Word Count: 766

Summary: The scene where Estella and Artie first meet but with Edgar. :] CWs for food mentions, brief smoking mention.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

Edgar rolled over in Artie’s bed and began kissing the man sleepily.

“Time to get up already?” Artie half-yawned between the affection.

“Mmh, do we have to? I think we ought to just stay here, where it’s warm, and comfortable, and people don’t judge our relationship,” Edgar hummed. Artie smiled at his friend in the grey light.

“Oh, come, poppet. I know you don’t care about that.”

“You’re right. But I’ll take any excuse…” He hugged Artie tightly under the covers. He laughed softly and kissed Edgar again before pulling away, stretching as he rose from the mattress.

“Alright, come on. Have to open the shop.”

Edgar grumbled quietly, rubbing his eyes. “You do that. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Excellent. The kettle will be waiting for you.”

Slowly, Edgar untangled himself from the grasp of sleep and freshened themself up for the day. Today was their once-in-a-blue-moon vacation day and they intended on doing as little as possible in celebration. They loved their job but the Baroness could shove it. He was glad Artie’s store, Second Time Around, didn’t open until ten. Sparkling, Edgar poured himself tea and made toast with grape jam before joining Artie downstairs, finding him struggling with the radio.

“I’ve been telling you we need to get it replaced,” Edgar commented as he watched him smack the side of it, willing the station to change from static to the middle of Rebel Rebel by David Bowie.

“Well, tell me when you can find something we can afford,” Artie quipped, smoothing down his pants as he descended from a stool. Edgar crunched on his toast and went to pick up their mail. The first three hours were slow, giving Edgar ample time to peruse fashion magazines while Artie made sure his shop was more organised than the Dewey Decimal system. He groaned when the radio started acting up again.

“I swear…” Artie complained, climbing back up onto the stool with a platform heel in hand. As he began banging on it with the shoe, the front door opened. “Oh!” Surprised, he hopped back down. “Welcome to Second Time Around, I’m Artie, or Art, as in ‘work of.’” He gestured to himself gracefully.

“Wow. You look incredible.” A familiar voice was clearly awestruck even from where Edgar was sitting. He quickly emerged from the back of the store.

“Then it must be true,” Artie smiled.

“How’s that look go on the street?”

“Oh, some abuse and insults, of course, but I like to say ‘normal’ is the cruellest insult of them all, and at least I never get that.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the ape operaia stellare, Miss de Vil. Your presence so humbles me,” Edgar greeted with an opulent bow.

“Edgar! What are you doing here?” Estella asked with a grin.

“You know each other?” Artie asked, looking between the two.

“Oui. This is the girl from work I was telling you about.”

“Italian and French? Really pulling out all the stops today, Eddie,” Artie teased.

“What can I say, she brings out the linguaphile in me.” A look passed between Edgar and Estella that Artie did not miss.

“So, what can we do for you? I’ve everything a girl or boy could want.” Artie eagerly showed off a Dior gown while Estella met his knowledge with one from Chanel. It was the window display that had caught her eye, being one of the Baroness’ own designs.

“That ought to cause a stir, if she were to catch you wearing it,” Edgar commented as Artie prepared Estella’s purchase.

“I plan for it,” Estella grinned devilishly and Edgar’s eyebrows raised. “But I can say no more than that.”

“Colour me intrigued. Though truly, Estella, I think with your talent you shouldn’t even waste your time with this thing.”

“Thing??” Artie interjected.

“Compared to Estella’s designs, yes, this is no more than a fancy, red, cloth thing.”

“I appreciate your concern, Comet.” Estella gingerly took the bag from Artie. “Thank you, Artie.”

“It has been my pleasure and we hope to see you again soon.” As soon as Estella left, Artie looked to Edgar with a knowing expression.

“What?”

“You’ve got a crush on her.”

Edgar laughed shortly, moving to grab a cigarette from a hidden stash. “Sure, Artie.”

“And she likes you back! I saw it with my own two eyes!” He gestured to them for emphasis.

“I simply admire her. Now, I’m going to go smoke—”

“While daydreaming about your little work crush?”

“Oh, bugger off.”

Artie snickered as Edgar slipped out the back door.

#self shipping #self shipping community #safeshipping #gay self ship #trans self ship #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #circus scripts #🚬🕶️.s/i #🏎️I Know Something About Love🏎️#🧵You are A Work of Art(ie)🧵

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doomed-sorceress · 6 months ago

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So as cool as it would be for this to be true, I've think it's false. The original source of the rumor seems to be from this tweet, but the user has limited who can view their posts so I only have this thumbnail summary. It seems they may even be confessing to making the whole thing up in this tweet, though I can't be for sure.

I found the original interview this is copying to look legit and there is a brief mention of LSD: "..Even psychedelic drugs that open you up are forbidden. LSD was invented by Albert Hoffman, who is Swiss. He had his first psychedelic experience on a bicycle, after accidentally getting some LSD on his fingers. He didn’t know what he had discovered. He was looking for something that would help women in labor. He changed the world."

But nothing about he himself doing LSD or a sexual experience with transwomen.

There is a mention of lying about a woman's gender identity to artist Dali: ".....Amanda Lear wrote a book about him. For some time she was like his lover. At the time, they didn’t know if Amanda was a guy or girl. David Bowie brought her in and told Dali she was a man in order to make her more mysterious."

Full interview for those interested:

You may be good, but are you "fucked a man so hard he created genre re-defining art so incredible that it has reached across multiple mediums and impacted them for generations to come" good?

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xtruss · 10 days ago

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How Common Is Drug And Alcohol Abuse Among Music Stars? A Statistical Analysis

How Often Do Famous Musicians Battle Addiction?

— Daniel Parris | May 28, 2025

Jimi Hendrix, Performing Live Onstage in England on February 24th, 1969.

Intro: Drugs and Music Mythology

A few weeks ago, I explored when pop songs and stars typically reach their "peak." This analysis yielded a potpourri of dispiriting takeaways on the prototypical lifecycle of music stardom, including (but not limited to):

Modern pop hits typically peak within a few days of release.

Those same songs quickly exit mainstream awareness after a handful of weeks (or less).

Most artists will achieve this feat once, maybe twice, and then never again.

Worse still, this brief moment in the limelight will likely come before age 30.

But the revelations didn't end there. In perhaps the most "Debbie Downer" of essay endings, I found music stars have one of the shortest lifespans of any profession, with an expectancy comparable to boxers, military figures, and race car drivers.

Since publishing this exploration of music celebrity, I've begun investigating additional factors affecting this lifespan statistic. This downer of a quest led me to the matter of drugs and alcohol—a staple of music mythology and the cornerstone of nearly every music biopic. How frequently do music stars abuse drugs and alcohol, how often does this addiction contribute to their untimely death, and how have these patterns evolved in response to well-known cautionary tales?

So today, we'll explore music's ever-evolving relationship with vice, how substance abuse differs by genre, and whether drug use has changed over time.

How Common Is Drug And Alcohol Abuse Among Music Stars?

To quantify substance abuse rates within the music industry, I analyzed over 10,000 Wikipedia biographies (for the most trafficked musician pages), identifying mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, cataloging the specific substances involved, and determining whether these habits contributed to that individual's death.

To make this data more intuitive, I anchored a subject's drug use to their musical peak—estimated at age 27—instead of their birth year, thus aligning their substance abuse more closely to their period of fame.

When charting drug use over time, I was surprised by how early in the 20th century illicit substances began impacting musicians.

Call me naive, but I assumed someone simply showed up in 1960s San Francisco with a handful of LSD, and that sparked decades of industry-wide drug consumption. Apparently, this issue predates The Summer of Love and Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" by quite some time.

In the 1930s and 1940s, jazz and bebop musicians like Billie Holiday, Lester Young, and Charlie Parker frequently abused heroin, cocaine, and alcohol, particularly within New York's vibrant music scene. This trend continued into the 1950s, affecting prominent artists like Miles Davis and Chet Baker, with heroin and alcohol afflicting jazz communities on both coasts.

Indeed, opioids, alcohol, and cocaine appear to be the most life-shattering of vices—at least historically speaking. An important caveat to this analysis is that our dataset captures individuals who "struggled" with a substance rather than someone who partook casually. While marijuana was more widespread during the 1960s, musicians have battled heroin and cocaine addiction at significantly higher rates—enough so that it repeatedly warrants mention in their Wikipedia biographies.

Examples of musicians who struggled with these substances include Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, and John Coltrane with heroin; Stevie Nicks, David Bowie, and Ike Turner with cocaine; and Amy Winehouse, Jim Morrison, and Hank Williams with alcohol.

As I combed through our dataset, I began noticing distinct connections among drug use, music genre, and the social environments associated with these styles. Music history often spotlights vibrant locales where particular subgenres flourished alongside widespread drug use: 1950s New York with heroin, 1960s San Francisco with LSD, and 1990s Seattle grunge with heroin. Can we pinpoint the drug most commonly abused within a particular genre and measure the prevalence of its usage? Depressingly, yes! 🙌

The findings from this analysis reinforce several longstanding stereotypes: rock, punk, and jazz musicians commonly struggle with heroin, country artists frequently grapple with alcohol, and a notably high proportion of funk musicians contend with cocaine abuse.

As I examined these associations, I couldn't help but wonder how intertwined these drugs were with the artistic creations themselves. Is Miles Davis' heroin use inseparable from a song like "Blue in Green," and to what extent did cocaine influence the work of James Brown or Rick James (and a song like "Super Freak")?

Drugs are often central to music myth-making—not just for the creativity (and hedonism) they inspire but also for their lasting toll on a musician's well-being. So, which substances have proven most dangerous, and how have overdose patterns shifted as awareness of these risks has grown?

The Drugs That Kill Music Stars

The "27 Club" refers to a group of well-known musicians who died tragically at the age of 27, often due to substance abuse or suicide. Prominent members of this rather unfortunate club include Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and Amy Winehouse.

I've always felt ambivalent about society's fixation on celebrity culture—and, by extension, celebrity deaths and the 27 Club. Do the sordid details surrounding Jimi Hendrix's or Kurt Cobain's passing reveal anything meaningful about their artistry? Probably not. Yet, there is something captivating about how these tragedies immortalize an artist. There is an undeniable appeal to the way Kurt Cobain lived, the art he made, the way he struggled, and ultimately, the way he died. The idea of Cobain is heightened by this mythology.

Every analysis I've conducted on music stardom suggests a kind of existential pain endured by many in this bizarre industry. These repeat observations sparked my (admittedly morbid) interest in the vices that appeal to the most tortured of artists. So which substances frequently play a role in the premature deaths of legendary musicians?

According to our Wikipedia dataset, this distinction belongs to heroin and prescription opioids.

The prominence of prescription opioids is particularly concerning because Purdue Pharma only invented OxyContin in the mid-1990s—which leads to the most-"Debbie Downer" of "Debbie Downer" insights.

While debating whether I should explore a topic this bleak, I ultimately decided to proceed because my initial hypothesis suggested a hopeful outcome. Yes, drug use has profoundly affected famous musicians, but my thinking was that well-publicized tragedies (like the "27 Club") would serve as cautionary tales, discouraging future music stars and ultimately leading to a decline in untimely deaths. To a certain extent, this hypothesis proved true—until recently.

When examining the prevalence of well-known musicians whose deaths were linked to drugs and alcohol, we see this figure peak in the 1960s, steadily decline to its lowest point in the 2010s, and then rebound slightly in the 2020s.

Ultimately, the late 2010s and 2020s have seen an uptick in overdose deaths linked to prescription opioids, including up-and-coming hip-hop talents like Lil Pepp, Juice WRLD, and Laxii Alijai (with their career peaks being categorized as the 2020s).

My quest to somehow make this topic uplifting failed quite miserably; instead, I've added another chapter to my ever-growing body of work on why music stardom is existentially vexing.

#StatSignificant.Com #Drug & Alcohol 🍷🍺#Music Starts #Musicians #Addiction #Famous Musicians Battle Addiction

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