#fuck you vodka for being so convenient

[haoboutyou]

for your convenience | kim mingyu

suggestive, fluff | 1281 words | alcohol mention, making out

mingyu’s got an unconventional solution to both your problems

“I still don’t understand how you’re still single, Gyu. My back is hurting from all the girls shooting lasers at me!” Yuju threw her head back in a laugh, bumping her shoulders into you playfully as she shouted over the loud music.

The man in question groaned in exasperation. “Not you too, Yuju. You’re starting to sound like my mom.”

“Oh my god, really?! I miss Auntie Kim!” Yuju squealed in joy. 

“I’m not kidding; she’s even set up blind dates for me!” Mingyu ran a hand over his face, whining. 

“Oh please. As soon as they find out about his golden retriever-ass personality, they’ll lose interest and make a run for it.” 

Next to her, Eunwoo smirked. He downed the drink in his hand in one go, wincing at the burn as he hooked an arm around Mingyu’s neck.

“You’re one to talk, Mr Dark-and-Mysterious.” Your cheeks are flushed bright red, evidence of the alcohol in your veins. You did a once-over of Eunwoo in his leather jacket, scoffing. “Remember when you cried because you stepped on a cicida?”

“One: I did not cry, my hair got into my eyes! And two: it was crunchy!” 

All you wanted to do tonight was get drunk, make out strangers and party hard with your friends. As soon as you entered Cherries, your little group had made a beeline for your usual table. Two cranberry vodkas into the night and you’ve found yourself twirling around your best friends on the dance floor, steps only a little wobbly as you bounced between Yuju, Eunwoo and Mingyu.

Actually, it was just you and Mingyu. Eunwoo had already retreated to the bar, and Yuju got lost on the crowded dance floor, probably grinding on the nearest hottie around her. Not that you minded one bit– you were the closest to Mingyu, anyway, so being alone with him wasn’t uncomfortable at all. 

Mingyu’s got a firm grip on your waist the whole time, ensuring your drunken self didn’t trip over your own feet. You were both mingling around, dancing along to the DJ and having the time of your life.

That was, until you spotted an unwelcomingly familiar figure by the bar, staring straight at you. The sudden chill that followed sobered you up in record time, halting you in your dance.

“Fuck, he’s here too?” 

Mingyu looked up to see where you were looking. “Is that Jaehyun? I thought you guys broke up months ago” 

“Apparently, he didn't get the memo,” you muttered.

You bit your lip, a nervous habit Mingyu noticed you formed a few years back. He couldn’t help but reach out, thumb caressing your lower lip to stop you from biting. He successfully managed to catch your attention; instead, you turned to look back at him.

“Y/n,” he gazed into your eyes, then towards the direction where your ex stood. “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do. Why did you a-”

Mingyu kissed you. 

He kissed you and now your brain is short-circuiting again, but for a completely different reason.

Kim Mingyu, possibly the most eligible bachelor in Cherries, just kissed you. 

Correction: he’s still kissing you. 

His hands gripped on both sides of your face, firm but gentle. His thumb softly caressed the apples of your cheeks as he angled himself to deepen the kiss. Somehow, his other hand found its way to the nape of your neck; tilting your head upwards and burying his fingers into your locks. 

You let out a gasp as he ran his tongue along your lips. It happened too suddenly; your hands were left to find purchase on his jacket, gripping for dear life. You, however, found yourself drowning in his scent; his warm and woody scent engulfing you whole. Kissing him back with equal fervour was a no-brainer– he made you lose yourself in him, with him.

He’s really good at it too, you realised, until he reluctantly broke the kiss. Cocoa-colour eyes stared back at you intently as Mingyu leaned his forehead against yours. The ferocity of the kiss left you both panting, a bright rosy flush gracing both your cheeks. 

The thumping beats and flashing lights of Cherries came rushing back into your senses. All around you, bodies continued to sway in rhythm, laughter and chatter melding into a rush of excitement as strangers burst your private bubble with Mingyu.

“Do you think he saw that?” Even between pants, Mingyu managed to look arrogantly charming, smirking proudly to himself when he realised he’d managed to render you speechless.

You suddenly felt shy, eyes flitting anywhere else but back at him. You took a deep breath, before using what little strength you had left to push him away. 

“Uh, well… I think so, yeah. Thanks, I guess.”

From the corner of your eye, you spotted your ex slinking back onto the dance floor after witnessing your bold display of affection. 

You sighed in relief, slumping onto Mingyu’s tall frame. He chuckled at how comically you do it, an arm wrapping around your waist to support you against him. 

“No, really. Thank you. I think he’s been following me because he thought he still had a chance.” you shudder as you recall the terrifying past month you just had– a stalker ex following everywhere you went. 

Mingyu peppered soft kisses on your neck, making sure to look over your shoulder into the crowd behind you. For good measure, you reasoned to yourself. You balled up your fists on his lapels, anchoring yourself to him. “I might have a solution to both our problems, y/n.” He’s got a finger twirling a piece of your hair now.  “Go out with me. I’ll make him, and all your other problems gone.”

“Oh yeah?” Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Like what?”

“Rumour has it you’re looking for a new place?” Mingyu leaned forward, speaking into your ear. His breath tickled, eliciting a shiver that ran down your spine. The club’s music seemed to muffle his deep voice even more, straining to pick it up amid the constant noise.

He nuzzled deeper into your neck. “C’mon, Y/n-ie. We already get along great with each other. Most people already assume we’re dating anyway.” He took in a deep breath. “Help me stop my parents from sending me on those stupid blind dates. Won’t it be a win-win situation?”

“You want us to fake date?”

“I want us to real date.”

You bit your lip back again. Your voice dropped down to a whisper. “That’s not funny, Gyu. Be serious.”

His smile softens. For a moment, it reminded you of the goofy kid you first befriended in high school.

“Is falling in love with me that bad? I wouldn’t mind loving you, personally.”

You stared back at him hard. It’s hot and humid in Cherries, but Kim Mingyu pulls off the sweaty sexy look way too effortlessly. Brief flashbacks of your short-lived high school crush on your best friend reemerged in your head. Besides… He did help you chase off your ex tonight. Knowing how persistent your ex is though, maybe keeping Mingyu around wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

“Y/n-ie, baby.” You were aware that the both of you were only slightly drunk; sober enough to understand the consequences of your actions, but tipsy enough to act on your desires. Mingyu seemed to pout harder. “Date me, please? I’d rather be with you than anyone else.”

You pretend to ponder a little bit more before finally making a decision. “Fine.” You shook his warm hand in yours, ignoring how your heart fluttered at how his large hand almost engulfed yours. 

“You’ve got a deal, boyfriend.”

divider credit

[thecuriousquest]

Shiggy Drug Dealer to Yandere HCs

Yandere!Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader (you’re 18+ but still not old enough to buy alcohol)

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW (drugs, alcohol, and murder), mention of erection, Shiggy wants you, controlling/possessive yandere, conditioning, characters 18+

Master List

Note: I’m not hating on anyone who chooses to do weed for medical/recreational purposes. This is just my take on Shiggy as a drug dealer who ends up falling in love with you.

@palesweetscherryblossom

—————————————————————————

Just thinking about Drug Dealer turned Yandere Shigaraki.

He loves you so much that he stopped selling to you. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone else. He just wants you sober.

It pains him because now he doesn’t have a good excuse to see you anymore, but he still wants you to get clean.

He ends up stalking you, trying to just “coincidentally” run into you at some convenience store.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while! How have you been doing?”

As if he doesn’t already know.

You tell him that you’re getting your drugs from Dabi now, and he knows, but he has to act like he doesn’t know.

Shiggy lies and tells you that Dabi puts fetenal in his weed. He tells you that Dabi mixes weed with a mixture of shit that could put down a horse.

“Imagine what that shit could do to you, Y/N.”

And you’re thinking about going to Twice or Spinner. You ask Shiggy about them because he really does seem genuine, but he makes up some shit about them being untrustworthy as well.

“Twice is schizo or some shit, and Spinner’s only in it to get girls high and then feel them up.”

You’re immediately put off by all three, and you pout slightly as you try to think of some way to just get some good fucking weed. So you ask him.

He literally sighs and looks away from you.

“Maybe…you should just stop. You…should enjoy your life sober. Stop putting that shit in your body.”

He wants to control you, but he doesn’t want to scare you. If you were his girl, he’d make sure you knew the rules. No drugs. You can drink if you want, but he’ll be there to supervise.

But you’re not his girl, not yet anyway.

You ask Shigaraki why he cares so much.

“Because…you’re actually a decent human being, and you deserve better.”

You can’t help but feel your heart pound and flutter.

You deserve better he says.

It makes you blush, even if it is an awkwardly phrased compliment.

You thank him and tell him you’ll think about staying clean.

However, when Shigaraki gets wind that you’re trying to contact some drug dealers around Japan, he can’t help but *intervene*.

Intervene as in kill them all. He has the power and the means to do it.

And suddenly, you’re left crawling back to Shigaraki on hands and knees. It’s a welcoming sight. You knocking at his door, eyes red and puffy from all of the stress in your life. You’ve been crying, you can’t stomach any food because of the anxiety, you can’t sleep because of the loud thoughts which race well into the night. You’ve been surviving on maybe two or three hours of sleep every night if you’re lucky.

The way you look makes his dick hard, but he pushes all of his urges down as he invites you inside.

No, he still won’t give you drugs, but he offers you a drink under his supervision. A little vodka shot. One. Only one. It’s not even half a shot glass. Basically just a third. It doesn’t get you drunk…

But it does take a bit of the edge off.

You do end up crashing at Shigaraki’s place, and his bed sheets smell like sandalwood and something synthetic like chemical spice, and his pillow is a little too thin for your liking, and his sweatshirt that he loans you is big and comfortable.

You fall asleep under the fleece blanket, not thinking as much, not feeling as much, so you finally manage to get seven hours of sleep.

It’s so good.

You don’t even notice that Shiggy is conditioning you. You, not being old enough to buy alcohol yet. You, only managing to fall asleep because of the tiny shot that Shigaraki supplies. You, feeling safe enough to fall asleep next to a warm body. You, waking up and feeling better than you ever have in the last few months. You, actually feeling up to eating breakfast, a meal you’ve gone without for a while now.

It’s all because of him. All thanks to him.

You can’t help but look at him like he’s your number one fucking hero.

Little do you know how much of a true villain he is.

[poraphia]

"A Dancing Rockstar."

➵ PAIRING! cc!lvjy!wilbur x cc!reader

➵ CREATING! 12.8.23 | 1978 words

➵ CONTAINING! party with the qsmp members, brief mention of FitMC and JaidenAnimations, Tubbo being a drunk wingman, reader and wilbur are drunkk, dancing :o

➵ SAYING! hihi guess who tryna get back into writing! I started on this fic like.. a while ago but since this prompt one the poll here it is :))! hope yall enjoy and sorry i been leaving yall hanging i love yall mwa mwa

My masterlist :)

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I wasn’t much for parties, but if you passed me a couple shots of vodka and some damn good music then maybe I could get down to a song or two.

The party was getting loud and heavy. Bodies were sloshing around the dance floor, music rumbled the whole room, and silhouettes could only be defined in blue and pink. I sat on the couch, clutching my glass as I watched my friends dance while laughing and holding each other close. It was interesting watching from afar— seeing these people I had only met months prior in a Minecraft server now here and present before me having the time of their lives.

It was safe to say I knew most of the people here— it is a QSMP party plus some guests after all. I’d like to think I’ve talked to every single member there is to the server, whether they would be frequently active or log in every once in a while, but there was someone in this party I was dying to get to know. Though he only logged in for at max a month, he had a daughter, posed as a son under Phil, and even had some sort of gay romance with Quackity.

You know who I’m talking about.

The myth.

The legend.

“—Wilbur! Pass me another glass, would you?”

Yup. William fucking Gold.

He was here by convenience. Lovejoy was in the city for his worldwide tour and it just so happen that the stars aligned for him (and maybe a bit in my favor too) to be here.

I constantly glanced at him— He stood there next to the bar area and never really left that specific spot. His shoulder was pressed against the pillar wall while his other arm held his red solo cup. Every so often one of his friends would come up to him and spark up a conversation before retreating with other friends. Not Wilbur though. He remained firm in his position at all times, and his eyes would sometimes lurk amongst the dancing bodies. Maybe he was looking for an excuse to join in, but never really found his little reason.

I felt the weight of the sofa shift as someone took their seat next to me. It was Tubbo, who looked wasted, but had some sort of consciousness in him still. His arms sprawled out as he sunk into the cushions, letting out a loud sigh.

“Whewww! I am so… Dizzy…” He exhaled. I rolled my eyes before turning my direction toward him.

“That’s sorta your fault for drinking so much.” I commented. He puffed out his cheeks while squinting at me.

“Psh, I’m a big man now. I know what I’m doing.” He scoffed. “How about you? Doesn’t look like you’re doing much. You’re usually my party buddy here!” He exclaimed, sitting up.

I sighed. “I mean yeah. I guess I’m just a little buzzed.” I shrugged, my gaze leading itself back to Wilbur. His long limb wrapped around the pillar and his cup was now placed on a surface. His mind was occupied with the phone he was clutching in his hand. My head tilted a little at the sight and without realizing, a little smile was forming on my face. This sparked Tubbo’s curiosity.

“Don’t tell me you’re looking at..—” Before Tubbo could say anything else, I whipped my head around, causing him to nearly choke laughing. “NO WAY—! ARE YOU CRUSHING ON—?”

“BE QUIET! “I squealed. I jumped toward him and put him in a headlock while using my other hand to cover his mouth as I muffled his obnoxious laughter.

“Dude, shut up! It’s not that big of a deal—” Tubbo broke out of my grasp, sitting up and staring at me.

“Alright, so if it’s not that big of a deaaaal—” without a second to spare, he raced off of the couch and darted towards Wilbur, becoming a near foggy vision under the LED lights. My heart skipped a beat as I desperately stumbled after him. I burst through the dancing crowd, nearly slipping because of the sleek tile floor.

“TUBBO YOU BITCH!” I screamed. But it was too late. By the time I yanked the boy by the shoulder, he was already grinning sinisterly at the sight of Wilbur’s flustered expression. I pushed Tubbo aside, now putting me in the position where I was right in front of the man.

“Uh…” I croaked out. A part of me wanted to just crawl into a hole and die at this point.

Wilbur chuckled, leaning his head against the pillar while smiling down at me.

“Hey there. So uh.. What was Tubbo talking about..?” he asked, slightly side eyeing Tubbo, who was losing his shit laughing while clutching Fit.

“D-don't mind him! He was just kidding haha!” I tried to nervously laugh it off, but under the dancing lights I was a heated red mess. I glanced behind him, realizing there were spare cups and glasses of alcohol. Without thinking, I moved past him and swiftly poured my own shot before frantically gulping it down.

The alcohol burned my throat, but luckily it was quick to loosen me up. I whipped my head back to Wilbur, who had a mixed expression of shocked amusement.

“Wanna dance?” I quickly offered, holding out my hand. I knew I wasn’t thinking this true, but what else could I say to break the ice?

“I.. Uh.. sure..—?! Ah—!” without letting him get another word out, I grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor while occasionally bumping into the large groups of people. Some even took a double take at the sight of me dragging Wil.

Holy shit, this is so embarrassing. I thought. But I was far too gone to pull away. I turned around to face him now, bobbing a little bit to the music. He looked down at me, and with the red to his cheeks and the blue light shining down on him, his face was a sweet purple. The sight tugged at my heartstrings, and I felt my knees going weak.

If anything, I needed another shot. I turned to Tubbo, who was watching us with Jaiden and Fit. With my hand, I held up my thumb and pinky and held it close to my lips, indicating that I needed a drink. I watched as Tubbo ran off, leaving Fit and Jaiden confused. Chuckling a little bit, I turned back around to look at Wilbur.

He was sort of bobbing around, moving to the beat of the music. It was obvious that both of us weren’t completely feeling it, but all I needed was one shot and maybe I could help him start feeling the vibe. I watched as his lanky arms swayed from side to side.

I smiled a little. “Not much of a dancer?” I asked. Bashfully, he shook his head no. As if on queue, Tubbo ran up behind me, shoving a plastic cup into my grasp. Turning away from Wilbur, I brought the brim to my lips and chugged down the rugged taste. The alcohol rushed through my throat and into my nerves like poison, but I was back into the game. I shoved the cup back into Tubbo’s grasp and whispered him a quick thank you.

As if on instinct, my hands were on Wilbur’s hips, making him yelp in surprise. I picked up our pace, swaying to the beat of the music. Wil fumbled a little, not sure what to do besides move his torso with my consistent guidance. I decided to help him out, and as our hips grooved, I moved his hands onto my hips and rested my hands on his shoulders.

“Come on, you got this.” I smirked. A spark of boldness flamed in my chest, and the look on Wilbur’s face was my gasoline. He took one of my arms and backed away a bit to twirl me in place before holding my waist with his forearm, dipping me down so that my hair touched the glowing floor.

“I-I don’t even know your name!” He chuckled.

“Well..—” He pulled me back up, but I still remained close to his face. “Call me (y/n).”

We continued to dance to the music with our bodies intertwined. His leg was in between my legs. My arm was wrapped around his neck. His hand was on my hip. Our other hands were intertwined. It felt dangerous to be so close to stranger like this, but shit, did it feel right. For all hell, he could’ve been a mass murderer and I’m his next prey.. Although.. Looking into those eyes, I’m no better than a mouse falling for cheese on a trap.

“So how’d you meet Quackity?” He asked.

“Oh, we go way back to when we went to college together. He was a busy ass kid, but we bonded through those late night cramming sessions.” I chuckled. “How about you?”

“Ah, we used to do similar content like years ago on Youtube, then we got put into the same minecraft server, bonded outside of the server, and the rest is history.” He smiled. “It’s crazy seeing how far he’s come though— Y’know, creating a whole server full of people from all over the world and all.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” I laughed. “How about you? Heard you were a whole rockstar.”

“Pfff— rockstar?” He scoffed. “Don’t boost my ego now.”

“Oh, come on! You’re hardly on the server. It’s really the only explanation you have.”

“Well, yeah, I guess so—”

“Hey lovebirds!” Tubbo butted his head between me and Wilbur. “Are you guys having fun getting to know each other?” He chirped. He clasped his hands together and brought them near his cheek, giggling at the sight of us together.

I pulled away from Wilbur before playfully shoving Tubbo away. “Shut up!” I exclaimed. He only cackled in response before disappearing into the crowd yet again. Before I could chase after him, I felt a pair of hands grip the sides of my waist, pulling me close to his chest.

“Come on, it’s not his fault.” Wilbur whispered in my ear, the alcohol near apparent in his voice. It took Tubbo’s outburst to make me realize we were wasted and dancing the night away with Wil equally as drunk as me. I tilted my head up and sighed, taking comfort in his wobblily smile.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah? I saw there’s a gas station near by. We can get a couple snacks and walk around the city.” I reached up, cupping his face with one of my hands.

“Hm, sounds like a plan to me.” Wilbur smiled back.

Though we spent the rest of the night with him drunkenly talking about any random historical fact his mind came up with, or the outrageous stories he had while on tour, tonight it really did found like I found someone like no other. Someone who knows how to dance with me without even knowing my name. Someone I would confide in telling my life story to. Someone I could maybe, just maybe, fall in love with.

So, did I thank a hangover 19 year boy the next morning afterward? Yes, yes I did.

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a / n ~ hope yall enjoyeddd :D reblogs, replies, notes of all kind super duper appreciated YIPPIEE

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Could You Leave Them With Your Houseplants? Genshin Edition

a no question. probably your go to plant sitter if something comes up and you have to leave for a while. you will definitely come home to your plants not only being alive but in pristine condition. maybe there will even be a new leaf sprouting when you come back. responsible, reliable, and you can rest easy knowing if another situation arises where you have to leave your plants will be fine. 

- zhongli (did his research the moment you asked. has care guides for each of your plants neatly labeled and organized as to not mix up their schedules) - kazuha (lowkey better at taking care of your plants better than you are and surprisingly in-tune with their needs as if he can speak with them. you often go to him for plant keeping advice. if he told you he could hear the whispers of nature, you’d totally believe him) - traveler (looks at tutorials to avoid killing your plants while you’re gone. your plants are safe) - ayato (didn’t exactly take care of your plants so much as had someone else look after them but hey, they’re still alive so it’s a win) - thoma (watered them, made sure they flourished, sings to them. if you’re dating ayato, he’s the one who looked after your plants at ayato’s request) - ganyu (busy as she si, ganyu made sure to schedule in ‘take care of [first]’s plants’ into her daily tasks and sends you pictures of how they are so you know they’re doing alright) - shinobu (one of her many certifications is certified plant parent. your plants will be thriving and she might even recommend more plants for you to get that help fight off pests or easy to grow herbs and vegetables so you can cook with fresh ingredients)

do not leave your houseplants under any circumstances with these individuals because you will come back to less plants than you started with. if they even remember to water them, they will definitely water them too much. even if your plant manages to recover from the lack of proper care, they’re never the same afterwards. no you’re not being dramatic, plant murderer, you know how your plants are like on a good day and it has been nothing but bad day after bad day since you’ve come back

- scaramouche (hates plants with a passion and thinks of them as hotbeds for pests. he doesn’t set out to kill your plant intentionally, but his bad vibes definitely fuck with it on an emotional level) - childe (completely forgot about it and just text you ‘😬 yo your plant isnt lookin too hot’ when it finally keeled over and died) - itto (bennett levels of disaster got drunk and haphazardly gave your plant hard vodka instead of water. when he bought you a new plant to make up for it, the plant was already infested with mealy bugs though and the infestation spread to your other plants. you are coming back to absolutely no plants) - ei (watering your plants too much and not watering them enough, an eternal constant cycle. a serial plant killer who decides to buy a plant thinking ‘this time will be different’ but it isn’t. you were a moron to trust her with them)

you HAD a plant. now it is theirs and there’s no way you’re getting it back when you return home. they developed an emotional attachment to your plants through the many odd hours of talking to them randomly and getting excited when a new leaf or bloom would sprout on a stem. now your plants have been conveniently relocated to their room and any decisions about said plant needs to be passed by them. apparently you don’t appreciate “little rain” enough. yes, they even named it

- xiao (developed an emotional attachment to your plants and the life they gave off and kinda just... stole your plant by never giving it back despite living together. you just decide to let him have it after catching him smiling softly on its watering day) - gorou (gasped at the sight of your cactus and has never looked back. would probably carry its pot everywhere if he could and his tail wags in excitement every time he sees his - er your- cactus shining vibrantly in the sun)

[q18au8lt2op3idl]

A short fic

"Angel Dust &"

Episode 4 was great. I wrote this story with respect and with passion…! (Forgive my poor English translation.)

—

"Cut—--!"

—Oh, it should have been the call I've been waiting for, but I'm not happy at all.

Angel Dust thought vaguely.

The males above him got up and moved away. The too bright lights dimmed a little, and Valentino approached Angel, saying good job to the actors. Likewise, don't expect him to say, "Good job.”

"'Hmph, I'd say today's shoot was just about up to par, bitch rad actor. I hope you haven't forgotten that you still have some work to do."

"...... of course, Val."

The voice was scratchy and the speech was a little slurred. He's still on meds, but he thought 'I'll be more comfortable with that.'

"Then open up those loose crotches quickly."

Red eyes peeked out from behind those badass heart sunglasses. There is no way there is a bright red burning affection there, I know, but I can't look away, so Angel opens her legs as she is told, and out of the corner of her eye she sees his fluffy collar coat being tossed away.

The end of hours of work would be capped off in the arms of his master.

—I realize there is no love, no salvation, and yet I cannot escape its poison. I know that there is only my death by your poison.

"...... you're mine, you haven't forgotten, have you, scumbag?"

"...... yes, Valentino ......"

＊＊

The days clinging to Angel are still the same. The only difference is that the bar, which used to be a convenient bed accessory where he only went for a strong drink, has become a much more comfortable place than before.

"...... I don't know whether I want to be bored and discarded earlier or not,...... whether I hate it or love it, which is it really... ..."

　It is late at night in the Hasbin Hotel with the lights dimmed. Only the bar counter still glimmered with a warm light that enveloped Angel. Angel muttered as he plopped down on the counter.

"......hey, aren't you getting drunk too fast?　You're worn out again today, good job."

The owner of the low, eardrum-shaking voice quickly replaced the glass in front of Angel with a pointed nail. A moment ago, it would have contained Angel's favorite pink vodka. Now it must have been replaced with pink peach juice.

Angel opened one eye and saw Husk's fake-looking wings. Husk turned away and wiped his glass as if nothing had happened.

"Every day really sucks."

Then he pressed his cheek against the counter and mumbled.

"But when I see you, I'll probably think you're a little better."

"........... you drunken bastard."

Husk mutters after a pause.

—I'm not drunk, it's just an act you don't like, I'm fooling you.

Angel whispered to himself, covering his face with his arms to hide the smile on his lips.

He hasn't forgotten that night of drinking.

"We're BOTH losers."

"That's fine by me."

"A loser, but just maybe if we

Eat shit together, things will end up differently."

　

He wasn't even on drugs, but it was a time when he could genuinely say that he was a little high and having fun, not with false emotions.

After a few moments of reverie, Angel lifted his head with a start.

"Do you like me, by any chance?　Hey, I'm drunk......Hey, here's your chance, you can do whatever you want ......."

The reply was a cluck of the tongue.

Angel bowed his head again and got down on the counter.

ーI knew it, let's call this drunken nonsense.

"...... Yeah, you're still a drunk. You wake up and you don't remember anything. ...... You're still drunk enough to say that here. You're still not good enough."

Husk's loud sigh reaches Angel's ears.

"...... but well, you're doing your best. I don't hate that about you."

Husk stroked Angel's hair, enjoying the feel of it, and Angel almost jumped out of his skin, forgetting to pretend to be asleep.

－What is this mushy warmth in my chest, not because I hate that, but because I want to fuck, which is also different.

The party, Husk, gently draped a blanket over Angel's shoulders and began putting the glass away as if nothing had happened.

As he contemplated what to do next, Angel became really sleepy.

He thinks idly that it is not so bad, even though he will probably only be able to sleep for a little while anyway.

－Will there be a happy ending to the dream I am about to see? Surely there will be a happy ending? I don't think it's a waste of time to hope for that now.

Hey, Husk, I wonder if you will come to me in a dream with a happy ending.

That would be nice.

[bluedalahorse]

So is now the time to post the opening of my unfinished YR abortion road trip fic?

Maybe. Maybe today is the day! This isn’t on AO3 because I haven’t finished it, but @heliza24 really wants me to finish it and would be glad that I posted even this part to fandom.

There’s more written than just this excerpt, so I could always post more if people are curious.

No title yet, because this is untitled.

Summary: Shortly after season 2, Felice wanders off campus to process a high-profile arrest and other recent shakeups at Hillerska. She doesn’t expect to meet Sara Eriksson, who is in the process of running away.

—

Felice’s Phone

Group chat: MANOR HOUSE GIRLZ (Fredrika, Maddie, Stella)

Maddie: yooooo Felice

Maddie: tell us you missed Swedish class for something epic

Stella: we took notes for you

Stella: mine are better than Fredrika’s

Fredrika: LIES mine are better than Stella’s

Maddie: you’re not in your room

Maddie: girl are you even at school?

Fredrika: just tell us where you are and we won’t snitch

Stella: Felice?

Stella: please check in

Stella: and maybe flirt with one of the local boys so he buys you booze

Fredrika: and then share?

Maddie: don’t listen to them

Maddie: only flirt with someone hot

Stella: yeah he’s got to be at least as hot as Fredrika

Stella: lol j/k ahahaha what

Fredrika: heeeyyyyyyy Feliiiiiice where are youuuuu

Fredrika: we’re a little worried, just let us know

Fredrika: tho at least you didn’t get sick and disappear into the bathroom like SOMEONE we could mention

Stella: but we’re not mentioning her

Stella: bc we don’t mention traitors

—

Felice sits at the edge of a convenience store parking lot in Bjärstad, counting all the scars in her nail polish. It’s supposed to be a fresh coat. Stella brushed the ballet slipper pink onto Felice’s nails on Tuesday, and right now it’s only—Thursday afternoon? Felice is drunk on leftover vodka she stashed in her closet behind her Prada handbag, but not so drunk she’s forgotten that it’s Thursday. A Thursday full of literal dark clouds, at that. 

Tuesday was sunny, and it was also the day that police arrived at Hillerska and escorted that guy away. That one, the ex. Wednesday, Felice’s ex-best friend, her real ex in any kind of emotional attachment sense, came back to school for half a day, but couldn’t make it past lunch. Now people are spreading rumors about Sara Eriksson puking in the bathroom. So maybe it’s been a weird enough forty-eight hours that Felice hasn’t noticed herself scarring up her nail polish.

And maybe, now that today is Thursday, Felice needed to skip classes and get drunk and go for a walk off campus, and buy a bag of chips from a nothing convenience store in this nowhere town. There are things getting drunk won’t solve. But it’s not like being sober is going to solve things for Felice right now, either.

Felice’s phone vibrates against her thigh. She pulls it out of the pocket of her sweatpants and notes the texts from Fredrika and Stella and Maddie in her (recently purged) group chat. They’re asking her where she is, and is she coming to dinner. Please check in, fuck. How performatively worried. Felice unlocks her phone and almost fumbles her way through a typo-soaked message before deciding she’ll do this psychically. I am walking back to Hillerska now, she thinks in the general direction of school, slow and deliberate. She leaves the rest up to Maddie’s alleged witch powers and pulls herself to her feet.

Felice’s ankles ache the way they do when she’s walked on her Jimmy Choo heels for too long. She’s not wearing heels, though, only slides. Her legs wobble. Her thoughts swirl in slow, doomed circles, like dirty water circling a drain, as thunder rumbles overhead and a cool breeze rustles nearby trees. The rain is imminent, and Felice contemplates how much worse it will be when she shows back up on campus not only drunk, but drunk and completely soaked through, her carefully styled curls a wreck.

(Stella, Fredrika, and Maddie could get away with a stunt like that. A teacher might ignore their obvious alcohol breath and just tell them to put on dry pajamas and go to bed. But for Felice, they notice everything. Because Felice sticks out to begin with.)

Felice is caught in a vision of the headmistress, hissing the word inebriated on a phone call to parents, when a van pulls into the parking lot. She’s not as up on cars as the Forest Ridge boys, but this van definitely belongs to a Bjärstad local. She braces herself for an awful catcall as the window rolls down halfway, certain she’s about to get leered at by some guy in a permanently affixed football beanie.

Instead, it’s a girl. No football beanie, only football confidence. Felice recognizes the girl from Simon’s instagram—she’s come up a few times. Felice hasn’t been counting, but she’s noticed.

“You’re in choir with Simon,” says the girl. “Felice, right? I’m Rosh. Need a ride back to school?”

“I can walk. I think,” Felice says. And then, so she can own her story, she adds, “I might be a little drunk?”

Felice adjusts her posture, straightening her spine and setting her hand on her hip as she makes eye contact with Rosh. Immediately a sense of embarrassment twinges in her chest at her pose. What the—was she modeling? She’s not making a case for relative sobriety, whatever she’s doing.

Rosh turns to consult with someone next to her, then turns back to Felice.

“Come on,” she says. “Get in the car. Back seat.”

“Um. Thanks.”

The back door of the van slides open. Felice doesn’t have time to question who Rosh has next to her in the passenger seat. She receives an answer soon enough anyway. The back of Sara Eriksson’s head is so familiar—defeated brown waves that haven’t seen a wash day in too long. Sara’s shoulders are hunched over; her neck is bent. She does not turn around.

Two weeks ago, if Felice saw Sara looking like that, she would have pulled Sara close and rubbed her back until they talked through what was wrong.

(Part of her still wants to. But she doesn’t like the idea of Sara mentally comparing her hugs to someone else’s, and she’s allowed to be petty about that.)

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Sara says, tapping away on her phone. She sounds exhausted. “I’m busy anyway.”

“If you hydrate, we won’t ask about the drinking,” says Rosh to Felice. “There’s sports drink behind the passenger seat. Take one.”

Right. Sports drink. Because Rosh does sports, Felice has noticed. It sounds like an order more than an offer. Felice ducks down and liberates one of the bottles from its six-pack. The liquid inside is neon-bright and tastes of soft metal and fake citrus. Rain splatters on the van’s windows—the first sparse and irregular drops, followed by the entire pounding ensemble of water. For the next few minutes, Felice focuses on the horizon, where blurred trees meet the mirror-gray sky, and sips her post-football-run drink. Sara takes care of the directions to her old dorm, uttering an occasional “right” or “left” or “go straight here” to Rosh. Felice can’t tell why she’s doing it. Why she didn’t just insist on leaving Felice behind.

Then, the conversation shifts. Or at least, the conversation that Felice isn’t a part of shifts.

“Rosh?” Sara whispers. “I can’t find anywhere cheap enough for us to stay.”

“Even on the apps?” Rosh replies. “Look, I told you, I have some money—”

“I can’t take your money.”

“It’s money I owe Simon anyway.”

“That’s even worse. He already hates me. You should hate me more.” 

Sara breathes in, then out, audibly. She does it a few more times. Felice’s own lungs strain in sympathy.

“We have to find a place for the weekend,” says Sara. “Or we can’t do it.”

“What are you talking about?” Felice finally asks. She presses a hand to her thigh to keep her leg from jiggling. Since she was seven years old and started her first etiquette classes, she’s always been able to sit still. Always.

“We’re going on a weekend trip,” Rosh answers, too brightly. “To Stockholm—”

“—to an island,” Sara says at the same time.

“Stockholm has lots of islands,” Rosh improvises. “Sara just needs to be away for a weekend. That’s all.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re going on a normal trip,” says Felice, hearing the suspicion in her voice, and how it sounds like her father.

“We told Mamma we were traveling,” says Sara. “My period’s late. I don’t––I don’t think it’s coming. I know it isn’t coming, because—”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“—I did a pregnancy test.”

Felice digs her chipped nails into her knee. She knew how Sara’s sentence was going to end. Not the way she knows people’s names or the answers on a test she studied for, but the way she knows to pull her hand away when she touches a hot stove. Swift and unthinking. She even gasps the same way she does when she’s burned. Not out of surprise but out of pain.

“Fuck, Sara,” says Rosh. “You don’t have to tell her. She could tell the media.”

“Sorry,” says Sara. “It just came out. I’m scared, okay?” At last she turns around and looks toward Felice, her fingers curled around the back of the passenger seat. Her face is red and purple-tinged in all the places that indicate crying and sleepless nights. “Look, you can’t tell anyone. Rosh and I are going to deal with it. We already got the pills. I can’t deal with it at home because of Simon and Mamma. I don’t know what they’d say.”

“We wanted to use my apartment,” Rosh adds. “We thought my mother was going to visit one of my aunties this weekend. But auntie came to visit us instead at the last minute.”

“Please don’t tell anyone at school, Felice.” Sara turns away again. “Or Simon. Don’t tell him either.”

“People are already talking about how you threw up in the bathroom,” says Felice. “And if you’re absent from school again, they’re going to wonder.”

“Please don’t tell,” Sara repeats, voice muffled as she pushes her face into her coat sleeves.

As much as the infusion of electrolytes, courtesy of Rosh, has helped Felice to steady her head, she’s still too drunk for this. Or maybe, again, she isn’t drunk enough. She tries to imagine her math class tomorrow, working trigonometry problems with an empty chair beside her and actually knowing why the chair is empty. She can’t. Felice can’t even imagine faking sick and staying home from class, because then Stella and Fredrika would come visit her with buns and coffee, and then they’d want to gossip.

At first, being able to gossip felt good. But ever since the arrest—since the security from the palace arriving to keep out news cameras—gossip is more like gangrene eating at an already wounded limb. Felice needs amputation, or at least closure. Until then, she’s just going to keep asking herself questions about what part of the catastrophe she made happen. Why didn’t she ask Sara who she had a crush on, like best friends always do? Why hadn’t she been more concerned that Sara was gone all the time and came back late to their room? Why hadn’t she told Sara how bad things got with him last term, to warn her?

Felice doesn’t want to keep asking herself the questions, because this isn’t her fault. Maybe Sara isn’t the only one who needs an emergency abortion. Maybe Felice needs to abort Sara from her life, so she can move on.

But if she’s going to do this, she has to make it her choice.

“My family has a vacation cabin,” Felice says. “We can go there to do what you need to do. But after that, we will never speak to one another ever again. Alright?”

Sara’s shrunk down in her seat so much that Felice can’t see her anymore, but Felice is pretty sure from the rustling of her coat sleeves that she’s nodding.

Five minutes later, Felice is on the phone with her mother, feeding her excuses and exaggerations until she gets the approval to leave school for the weekend. At the same time, Rosh turns the van around and drives away from Hillerska.

[geminimoonbeamx]

Reality Bites: Dazed & Confused(3/6)

A/N: I hope you guys dig this! This was an extra little filler that I thought I’d give Ya’ll, a little peek into Bean, Peach and Steve’s dynamic. @allaboardthereadingrailroad, this might be my fave chapter. 

Warnings: Copious amounts of drug use. Pass the dutchie.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Plus Sized Reader

Summary: You invite Steve to come along on a ritual smoke-sesh with Bean. He cannot hang. 

Chapter Three: You Spin Me Right Round Baby

You hate Fridays, how could a day that used to mean freedom, that you used to count down the hours to, now be the bane of your existence? 

As you watch the line to the register grow and the store become increasingly more crowded its crystal clear. 

Everyone and their fucking mother coms to the mall on Friday. 

After five, once corporate releases its zombies, they all gather at Star Court. 

You avoid the three to close shift like the plague on the weekends.

 But well, Jimmy is a basket case and totally has it out for his workers because he’s upset he lives in his mom's basement. 

You're forced to deal with another middle-aged woman shoving a cassette in your face and demanding a refund because she couldn't figure out that it had a B-Side, 

“Ma’am, I understand your frustration but once it's been taken out of its wrapping, we can't give you a cash refund, it’s Sam’s policy. But we can issue you in-store credit”-

“That's simply unacceptable. I want to speak to a manager. I spend my money here and I expect better customer service than this. I want to speak to Sam, right now” 

You want to choke her.

You want to burn down Jimmy’s moms house and the basement that he resides in, 

Instead, you take a breath through your nose, and widen your smile “Ma’am, unfortunately there's not a manager in today, but I’m sure me or one of my team members can figure this out for you. As for Sam, that’s not a person- it’s short for Sam Goody” 

The store you’re in you dumb bitch. 

You add that part mentally.

Her face still screws, and you still take a tongue lashing for another five minutes before she accepts a new Joni Mitchel tape, snatching it out of your hands and storming out of the store. 

You lock eyes with Bean, who’s fighting for her life in the Heavy Metal section. A screaming preteen and their parents in front of her-

“Black Sabbath is devil music! I will not hear, not one more bit’a it” 

It's been one of those Fridays. 

You’re hanging on by a thread, only the promise of your break keeping you sane. A joint and a smoothie from the Julius. You’d rather have a shake but well- you're not even craving one. 

That badly. 

Not badly enough to face Steve, who's also working until closing down at Scoops. 

No, you needed some distance. Some space to breathe. 

Lately your life had seemed to be choked full of nothing but him and it made your skin crawl, made sirens go off in your head. 

Steve gives good head, 

Without you even having to ask. 

Why’d he have to make things weird? 

We could get dinner at Enzo’s sometime, you're off this weekend right? I know reservations aren't easy to score but my dad actually gave the owner the loan to open so we can go in whenever. If you wanted…do you want?”

That had been two nights ago, the two of you in his bedroom. 

Because that's something you do now, spend time in Steve Harrington's bedroom. His parents are like never home, as usual, and it was easier to hook up at his place when Uncle Elliot’s not at work.

All for convenience, really. 

He’d just made you touch the moon, and before you could even wallow in post orgasmic haze fully there he was. 

Being complicated. 

Offering things like Italian by candlelight, and he’d pick you up at eight- if you wanted. 

You very much did not want- and had pulled on your clothes with an excuse. 

You have to be up early to take Bowie to the vet, no, Uncle Elliot can't do it. Bye, see ya later. 

On the drive home, as you weaved in and out of the neighborhoods of Hawkins, you couldn't deny that penne vodka did sound good. Steve would look good in the warm glow of candles- 

No. 

Oh now.

“Hey miss, can you check me out or not?”

Break could not come soon enough. 

“What is wrong with people?” Bean laments as the two of you navigate the parking lot. The crow is so thick out here, it must look like ants from an aerial view. “The world needs a new epidemic. The human race needs to be culled” 

You snort and stuff the last couple fries in your mouth “That lady was like ninety years old, she didn't mean to spill your Icee” 

“Not just her, I mean like generally” 

“Mmkay, sure” You throw an arm around her shoulder “It’s okay, Grumpy Bear, in like ten minutes the rest of the world will barely exist. That shit we got from that scary guy actually turned out to be pretty dank” 

“True, very true, it was worth the life risking” Bean agrees, “I mean we could’ve been chopped up into a million little pieces, but I really have never been so high in my life. Shit, you should've seen what happened at dinner the other night. It’s like my mom could smell it on me- and Erica’s such a little asshole, she almost got me caught”

You loved Bean's little sister, you aspired to be Erica Sinclair when you grew up. You tell Bean of that fact often. 

“Are you sure she couldn't actually smell it on you?”

“Absolutely the fuck not. I smoked in the woods behind our house, and then showered after, tooth paste and mouth wash. You know I have to be extra careful, my parents would literally kill me if they found out” 

“You’re right, it would be the actual end of the world if their Purdue bound, future Scientist got caught smoking a little Ganja. I really could literally see your dad breaking down in to tears” 

“No dude, he’d totally cry. Act like I’m snorting hack drugs or something in my spare time” 

You can’t help but chuckle at the mental image of Mr. Sinclair weeping over his drug addled daughter. 

Beans parents are kind of overbearing, but like, in the normal way. It makes you wonder what having a live mother and real father would be like. 

You’d acquired a few too many bad habits for parentals at this point, you think. 

The lot is full, there’s people everywhere, and you don’t notice the maroon BMW until you’re already right in front of it. Until the driver's side door slams shut behind the lanky brunette. 

What are the odds that you and Steve just happen to have your break at the same time?

“It’s the universe. I don’t know what signs it’s trying to give me, but it keeps aligning at just the wrong point. It’s like I can’t get away from him”

“It may be universe, or you know what else it might be?  The fact that we all work at the same place, Peach”

You’d told Bean, told her that you and Steve were stuck in some wacky loophole. If this isn’t proof, then what is?

“Um, Hi Steve” you greet, keeping it cool. Casual. There’s nothing going on, this isn’t weird. 

You slip your arm from the perch of Bean's shoulder and stand a little straighter.

“Hey girls” Steve nods at the two of you and the small smile and wave that Bean gives is terribly forced. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. Just taking our break- as far away from this hell hole as possible” you crack the joke and for some reason it doesn’t make impact. Steve’s laugh is half-hearted, more of a short grunt then anything. 

What the hell? He always laughs at your jokes. 

“Same here” he answers instead 

“Oh. That’s cool?”

“Yeah, um if you want we could go do something“ he throws out, casts a line. 

“Can’t, we already have plans” you reply, softer, and even then, he looks a little bit like a kicked puppy. He masks it with bravado and nods, because of course you do.

 That’s why the two of you are together- plans. 

Obviously. 

“Can we go smoke now? We should hurry, so we have enough time to get back and clock in?” Bean interjects and God you love her and you know she can’t handle tension like this, but right now, you want to wallop her. 

Because you know the moment it comes out, what you’ve been forced to do. 

“Yeah, let’s go. Steve, do you wanna come with?” It’s polite. It’s the right thing to do, the right thing to ask. 

“What?” The inquiry comes at you from both ways, feminine and masculine voices converging as to sets of dark eyes zero in on you. Bean looks shocked. Steve hesitant. 

“Come smoke with us? Fridays are literal dumpster fire and I think we could all use the relief. But if you don’t want to that’s okay”  Please say you don’t want to. 

“No, I’ll come. Where do you guys usually go because I could drive. We could take my car?” Steve offers and you can feel Bean still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“We don’t need to drive, just follow us, okay? Oh and bring that cologne you keep on the dash, you might need it” you warn him, because the weed in your bookbag is anything but mild. 

When he bends back into his car Bean pinches your arm 

What the fuck.

She doesn’t have to scream it, doesn’t even have to open her mouth to say it. It’s written all over her face. 

You know I couldn’t just leave him here. It’s not my fault! 

Women have this gift, the gift of telepathic gab. 

The two of you have an entire conversation, silently, before Steve rejoins you and you’re off. 

You suck ass. 

At least that’s what you think Beans last little glare would be translated to. 

You take Steve to your secret spot. Which is not as much secret as it is unknown. A little corner off the east loading bay, gated off. 

What most people don’t know? The gates never locked. 

You had discovered it early into your Star Court career, perpetually lost you’d somehow ended up here. No one ever uses the space and it’s hidden away from view. 

The perfect place to spark up. 

It’s kind of a walk, but there’s a little bench and to this day you and Bean hadn’t had any run-ins with security. 

You inform Steve of this as you’re sat on the green metal, pulling the tin from your bag. 

“You smoke at work? Like all the time” he clarifies, looking doubtful. He turns the look to Bean who shrugs and nods.

“All the time, it’s really no biggie” You explain, pulling out the joint that bean had pre-rolled in your car on the way to work. It’s a beauty, but then again they always are. She’s an artist. 

“Do you want greens?” You offer and when he looks hesitant you sign “look I’m not into that peer pressure shit. You don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to” 

You spark the joint, running your purple lighter along the twisted edge and until it’s cherried and then taking a long drag. The smoke and burn familiar. 

You hand it off to Bean who hits it long and smooth. 

“We never get caught, if that’s any consolation” she tells him, exhaling a large flume of smoke before holding it up, a small non-forceful offer. 

Steve takes one more moment, and then gives the universal sign of fuck it. Shoulders shrugged, taking the spliff. 

He hits it way too hard, and ends up hacking. You both wince because ouch. 

“Jeeze Steve, come on. I know you don’t have baby lungs. You got me high for my first time at the twins’ party back in eighth grade” you tease him, taking the joint from him and trying not to laugh as he composes himself. 

“I don’t that’s just harsh” his pretty face is flushed, but he’s catching his breath. Kind of. 

You scoot on the bench, closer to Bean, giving him room to sit. It’s always a perfect fit for the two of you but with Steve it’s tight, you’re sandwiched in the middle, and that’s not so bad, is it? 

That might just be the weed taking. Strongest shit ever. 

The three of you bleed away the minutes, puff-puff passing. Chatting about nothing. 

Well you and Steve chat, mostly Steve who you now know gets extremely talkative when he’s got THC in his system. 

Beans quieter but that’s to be expected, she doesn’t know Steve. And what she does know of him, she’s not sure she likes. 

“It’s been real life hell. This woman threw a Mannilow record at our coworker, shit was nuts. Right, Bean”

“Bean? Is that your actual name?” Steve wonders, sitting up to look past you and at your friend. 

You wonder if she knows how cool she looks, hair tied up, sunglasses resting on her nose. Even if you told her she wouldn’t believe you. 

“Um, no?” She answers, giving him a look over her dark glasses that has you bursting into laughter, you cover your mouth with your hand in an attempt to smother it.

“I didn’t think so. You're Lucas' sister, right?” Steve goes on, extroverted as ever. He could talk to anyone, it had always been his trade. 

Beans a tough egg to crack though. 

You’d learnt that. Last year when you were partnered with her, back in school. It had taken a minute for your friendship to bloom. 

“Yeah, Lucas is my little brother” Bean replies easily, taking her turn “My name’s B/R/N”

“Oh yeah! We had that Geometry class together, right?” Steve insists, excited, like he’d solved an equation. 

“No” Bean counters. Not rude, maybe a little aloof but mostly just high. 

Steve face falls a bit, lips pursed “You sure, I could’ve sworn?-“

“I was in honors math all throughout High School- so when you were taking Geometry, I was taking Trig” she explains, the fucking brainiac. “Must’ve been someone else” 

“Ugh” you gag “even hearing math terms makes me want to slit my wrists” 

“Shit, honors all throughout school? You must be going off somewhere big in the fall” Steve guesses, correctly unbeknownst to him. 

“Purdue” 

He whistles and even though talking about the impending doom that is Autumn, you can’t help but grin. 

You’re happy for her, even if you’re sad for yourself. 

“Our little scientist. She’s going to win a Nobel Prize one day” you gush like a proud mom. I mean, Beans mom is already proud, but she can have two of them. 

“I’m aiming more for a Fields Medal” She corrects you and you blow a very mature raspberry at her

“Okay smart ass, maybe aim for not killing one of our customers tonight” 

“Peach, did you or did you not just say that you wanted to burn our bosses house to the ground, with him and his family trapped inside?” She reminds you, dead serious, of the threats you’d made against Jimmy’s life.

“I did, yes” it only takes you locking gazes with your friend for a moment before you’re both chuckling. 

This weed is good as hell. 

Giggle weed, you’d named it. 

It made you feel cloud-like and light. Everything was funnier on this high, the world and all of its issues less rigid.

“Peach? Is that a nickname for you, Y/N?” Steve is just full of questions, he looks you up and down with a smile “When did you guys get so close? I don’t remember you ever hanging out in school”

“When did you become friends with a bunch of thirteen year olds, including my brother?” Bean shoots back fast and you think that Steve will have to get the hang of her eventually. 

Figure out that she’s all wit and no bite. 

I mean, if he wanted to be…friends with you at all, that would be a necessity. 

The sky is blue, and yeah it’s hot as balls, even in the evening- but you’re sitting between two of your favorite people. 

Or maybe just your favorite person and Steve, you hadn’t decided yet. 

But the with every puff you think that yeah. It might not be so bad- Steve might not be so bad.

“You’re the worst”

You accuse Steve in a whisper as the three of you walk through the sliding doors of the mall “pull it the fuck together, I swear, I’m never smoking with you again”

Steve’s first talkative when he’s high. And then giggily, which might just have been the strain. But now he’s paranoid. 

Super paranoid. 

“I smell like weed, you smell like weed. There’s no way Robins not going to be able to smell me” he insists, like he has been for the last ten minutes. 

Even though he’s drowned himself in so much cologne that all you could smell within a mile radius of him was Dior.

“It’s fine. Robin isn’t going to know if you just chill out” you whisper at him, allowing the grip he has on your hand to tighten because he’s freaking out for no reason and you feel just a tad bit responsible. 

You should’ve known he couldn’t keep up with you and Bean. 

Steve’s “I smoke at parties” tolerance was far from you and Bean's “I smoke the moment I wake up” tolerance.

It had only been one joint, but for him it was way too much. 

“It’s all in your head, on the outside you look fine. I mean you’re in a sailor costume, but you look fine” Beans reassures in a way only she could. “And plus, who cares about Robin?”

“Exactly, who cares about Robin? She’s not your boss. She can’t fire you. Fuck her. Just go in and be chill. Hah, get it. Chill. Because you work at an ice cream place-“ 

At least someone gets your joke, the peal of laughter Bean lets out makes you snigger along. 

“It’s not funny and it’s not fuck Robin, we’re friends. Kind of“

“Oh?” You observe, 

“No, not like that. Not like we’re friends. She just likes to bust my balls-“

“I bet” you nod, and you probably shouldn’t be putting him through the usual wringer, not while he’s this stoned but you just can’t help yourself. 

“Stop it, I know what you’re doing and I’m already tripping out. I can’t handle any freaky foreplay head games right now” Steve’s serious and grasping your hand tighter, his palm sweaty as your fingers interlock.

And if you have to take the rest of the day off to take this idiot home and take care of him you’re going to be so annoyed. 

“Hey Steve,” Bean calls, giving him just a moment before taking a piece of ice from her water cup she’d scored at the food court and placing it in his empty hand “There, sudden exposure to cold is known to bring down a high. And you work in an Ice Cream parlor. It’s fine. Stop tripping out, you’re harshing my mellow” 

He looks shocked for a second, before fisting the ice “Yeah, you’re right, that does feel better” 

She shrugs and turns her back, her jet-black bun bobbing. 

“You’re going to be okay, dude. If anything, just clock out early. I’ll come check on you, if I get the time” you instruct him as you and Bean drop him off in the doorway of Scoops. 

Like he’s your kindergartener. 

He nods, and goes forward into the abyss. The rainbow colored, multi flavored abyss. 

“Oh my god I’m never smoking with you and your boyfriend again” Bean hisses, once he’s out of earshot and you glare at her and bump her arm with yours as you redirect. 

“He's not my boyfriend. Not even close. He’s barely even my friend, he’s just a friend with benefits. Benefits, mostly” you correct her, because she’s got it all wrong. 

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself. Because Honestly, you’re doing a poor job of both” Bean is cutting. 

You’d learned that a long time ago. She’s direct and blunt and sometimes? She has too good of an aim. 

“Fuck you, Yoda. I hate that you get all philosophical when you’re stoned, you’re the worst” you accuse her, glaring at the side of her head as you make your way back to work. 

“Right back at ya” 

And the two of you clock back into hell. 

Were halfway done. How did that happen? I hope you guys are enjoying the adventures of Peach and Bean as much as we enjoyed writing them. Please, continue to leave feedback. It means more then you know. 

[qqweebird]

something about rightwingers and lots of centrists always makes them choose the weirdest fucking ideologies to side with in “conflicts” like this. they never care abt the preservation of human life or ending suffering, only about supporting whichever “side” that is already convenient for them.

they all immediately took advantage of the ukraine situation to let their beef w russians jump out. very few actually cared about ukrainians. hatred for russian civilians, immigrants in other countries, and boycotts of russian-owned businesses; which, yes, exports from russia obv benefit the government, but its… not a SUPPORT of the Russian State to buy fucking vodka. more reasonable people (like, my fairly centrist mother) were able to identify that the government & military were the problem and not the people, but it was still pretty rampant to be incredibly hateful of russia as a whole.

with palestine it was an immediate hostility towards middle eastern people, and anyone that is pinned as “arab” or “muslim,” and fervent support for the US satellite state. NOW i see 100s of people saying shit like “hate the governments, not the people 🥺” “who made the first attack… we can never know… history is just so complicated” “israel has a right to exist too!!”. very few people care to boycott companies that are SPECIFICALLY funding israel. US politicians (and im sure other countries are dealing w this too) are ACTIVELY calling for the extermination of palestinians.

and i saw a lot of people pointing this out while ukraine was the hot topic too!! that countries like the US only care about slaughtered innocents when its advantageous to them! that if ukrainians were brown and it wasn’t russia or china attacking them or if there was some oil field we would gain access to under their graves, the US wouldn’t give a shit about them.

like, obviously not all israelis hate palestinians and those who don’t are only in an unfortunate situation, but that doesnt change the fact that their “country” has specifically displaced the native people from their land and is performing a genocide. and it doesnt change the fact that many israelis DO believe themselves to be the rightful inhabitants of that land! like im sorry but if you are willingly partaking in colonization you are part of the violence and you deserve to be criticized and pushed back as much as ur government does.

you shouldnt hate israelis as a whole but way way more of them are an accessory to this violence just by virtue of BEING THERE willingly than russians are complicit in the ukraine war by just living in russia yk? and yet right wingers decided that russian civilians were villains, and that israeli colonizers are victims ??

[violetren]

Has anyone every stopped to ask why the fuck Mrs Fredrick has both smelling salts and a flask of Absinthe in her pockets?

What life is she leading when she's not scaring the bejeezuz out of agents (and regents).

I mean it's not like she's toting around the kind of classic base spirit you expect someone to be walking around with, and that's kinda what makes the flask so surprising. She isn't walking around with scotch, or vodka, or rum, but Absinthe. It's just so distinctive in flavour and reputation.

The smelling salts almost make sense given the world she lives in and in a way that almost explains the absinthe but she's just so... Stern...

The smelling salts can be explained away as plot convenience if one is so inclined but the booze so specifically being absinthe is such a specific detail that suggests interesting things about Mrs Irene Fredrick as a person, and I love it.

Also on the note of "shit Mrs F has in her pockets" but switching it to minor key.

How long did she spend searching the Escher Vault after that agent walked in there twenty years ago? She had a key and knew where the goggles were kept. Did she even try searching? Did she just write them off as dead the second she got the call?

[kxllerblond]

MICHAEL -— The Archangel (PINTEREST)

How far the tumble from a mountain you were never designed to climb, how deep the wounds garnered trying to crawl through glass for attention that was never yours to hold, and how heavy is the crown your neck was never intended to support.

Michael is a study in the never-ending pursuit of perfection, of the second favorite child trying fruitlessly to fill the spot of the favorite, and the burn out that inevitably comes from that.

With an absent creator and a need, no, an entitlement to take up leadership of Heaven once the rest of the host began to get antsy, Michael initiates a grab for control despite a barely contained buckling from the pressure brought upon both by herself and from the expectations from those around her.

The attempt fails and still with no creator intervention still, there isn't much the rest can do for punishment but collectively strip Michael of her wings for the time being, banish her to earth, and more or less tell her to chill the fuck out before she's allowed to come back.

She currently lives on a beachside property alone as a freelance writer and hobby painter and has done so for a few decades now. While she's still very bitter and hurt over the matter, she's mostly just resigned to her current state of affairs and simply wants to be left alone for the time being so she can mope and otherwise avoid confronting her own feelings.

Personality wise, she's bitter but in a constantly stressed out sort of way. She's self-conscious, uses sarcasm as a defense mechanism, overall vodka aunt vibes, and always seems one bad day away from an absolute meltdown. She's self-pitying and though it's a bit deserved, she does have a bit of a victim complex.

Her Writing && Painting

It started out as a personal way of venting, a way to assume the control she failed to achieve. She could make anyone who wronged her or hurt her say or do whatever she wanted. That was the joy of writing. Ask her and she'll outright deny it, but this is how she is healing in her own way.

Her writing are 'fictional' books about her family. There are some original storylines written in for the sake of an overall plot and the characterization of her siblings and such are obviously depicted from her biased point of view and so there are obvious inconsistencies. Though these started as personal vents, dolled up and fictional takes of the divine apparently sell like hotcakes and Michael couldn't simply fund her time on Earth with thoughts alone.

MISC TIDBITS -—

📘 Her mbti is intp-t

📘 Loves mint tea and snack foods in general

📘 Fucking hates deadlines and is often on the phone having yelling matches with her editor and publisher.

📘 Indifferent on gender/doesn't real have an identity but goes by she/her for convenience.

[adultswim2021]

Space Ghost Week

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #61: “Cahill” | August 28, 1998 | S05E04

Thank god for my Space Ghost Coast to Coast Volume 4 DVD. I bought you for a song back in 2007, and you’re not just a potential source for 200 dollars on eBay for me. You are also slightly more convenient to throw on than torrenting the episode and putting it on my Plex server is. 

Yet another episode with a “Waiting” title card and a cold open in the commissary. Shaking my damn-ass head. I really dislike this cold open. Space Ghost utters the line “Storm’s a ‘comin’” which is a perfectly fine way to set up this episode where a storm does indeed a come. But the rest of it is wacky non-sequiturs, like Moltar talking about eating Jello, and a cut away from the theme song to Space Ghost saying “I got a monkey”. Honestly, “I got a monkey” is a strong contender for least-favorite moment in the entire series. It’s especially childish and grating to me.

Speaking of writing, this one has three writers credited: Mike Lazzo, Ben Karlin (who wrote a small handful of previous episodes), and Brian Posehn from Mr. Show. I misremembered this being solely credited to Posehn. Brian is a lovely guy, so I’m glad that we can all pretend he didn’t write the stuff I didn’t like.

I do like this episode, I promise, but it’s far from a favorite. It’s a fairly normal episode, except there’s a running joke that Space Ghost is extremely afraid of lightning while an intimidating and gloomy storm breaks out. That whole element makes the episode a nice mood piece, and adds legitimate production value and humor to the show. It’s one of those things that makes Space Ghost be Space Ghost.

Space Ghost attempts to interview absolute legend Garret Morris, who is fucking hilarious in this. He might be the only original SNL cast member that got funnier with age. Dying of drugs, dying of cancer, sexually assaulting a young woman on a movie set while ironically observing Covid-19 protocols, selling vodka in a glass skull, screaming at Dan Harmon via voicemail, primarily doing voice work, and Kate & Allie are all funny in their own ways, I suppose. But Morris is one charming mother fucker and he out-charms all those bozos. Even George Coe. Even Don Novello!

Meanwhile, Moltar has meteorologist NOT AL ROKER, I’M NOT RACIST AND KNEW RIGHT AWAY THAT IT WASN’T HIM, I mean, Mark McEwen in his control room. Space Ghost is too scared of the lightening and forgets about him, basically, but Moltar has a great time with him. They have an awkward chemistry. Moltar seems like he has a bit of a man-crush on him. It’s cute stuff. Sample dialogue: 

Moltar: I would never blame you. Mark McEwen (doing an Elvis impression): Thank you very much big guy. Moltar: I’m totally serious. (awkward silence)

Speaking of Moltar being cute: there is a line in this where Moltar is reading meteorology jargon from a book and sorta fumbling over the words “Microinductor dyloptiloid” it and then sardonically adds “not a word I use everyday”. I’m genuinely not sure if that’s a written joke or if they are honoring their tradition of including improv and outtakes as if it’s written dialogue. In a script it would stick out, but it does feel like one of those moments even if it’s not. Another moment, where Space Ghost says “Is there anything more funny than somebody just drastically white trying to speak colloquial hood?” also feels blurry to me. It seems like some stock thing George Lowe would say as an actual conversation starter that was captured while he was going off-book.

One of the lesser episodes of the season, but goddamn there’s some good stuff in it.

MAIL BAG

hey kimosabe. the lewis lectures still rock my world. Any chance of bringing those dogs out of the kennel now that lazzo is gone?

Um... (theatrically) don’t look at me!

from prince-moth-mothy-moth-moth:

just found out about your page as i'm rewatching sgc2c, literally in the middle of season 5 right now, ha! looking forward to seeing your thoughts on Cahill, feels like one they had a lot of fun making

Garret Morris’ interview must’ve been so great to conduct. They must’ve been aware that they were capturing lightning that day. I hope my relatively lukewarm review didn’t disappoint too bad.

also from: prince-moth-mothy-moth-moth 

also im guessing you'll probably cover Dinner With Steven at the end of the 98 episodes?

Wasn’t planning on that in particular! Seemed like a thing to watch in preperation for covering “Snatch” next season. But I might change my mind. Generally I don’t sweat covering the Space Ghost ephemera too much because when I do Space Ghost Week it’s on an accelerated schedule. But more and more I’ve been thinking how there should be a concentrated effort to preserve all that stuff in some kind of shareable archive. At the very least I should start a spreadsheet.

[palettesofrenaissance]

.... 💭

Maybe it's not such a bad idea to stop fanfic writing. At least stop writing pieces alone and from my own ideas, aka the collab pieces. If anything I'll pull through for my mutuals who are writing those too. I hate bringing people down and I don't want to flake out on my promise to work on those. I wouldn't like it if someone else did it so I'm not going to do it. The feel like they're truly the only lifelines I have to fandom these days. I live for them and I love them so.

I haven't done much in these past days in regards to productivity. And have totally been disregarding what my doctor said to do because. Reasons. I feel like I'm being sustained by caffeine in the mornings and alcohol in the evenings flowing through my blood streams. If it wasn't for the multivitamins and my anti depressants... idk man. I should prob stop taking robitussin so close to drinking too...

I had so much shit I planned to get done by now. I should have gone on a pirate ship. I should have done several escape rooms by now. I haven't gotten back with my grandpa to continue my gun lessons. But these anons man

I'm scrapped for cash and trying to write some kind of semblance of a decent fic for a beloved mutual but which involves an odd character with a shitty actor. Bucky barnes all over again. And I live in a dangerous area of town because it's surrounded by convenience stores and good af resteraunts in walking distance so I have to keep looking at my bank balance. I have to take my youngest sister out tomorrow because her birthday was recent and she wants to get free food and stuff for that. And I'm supposed to see another sister but I. I just. I'm gazing at mindless, stupid tv which is surprisingly holding my attention which tells me how low i must have fallen?? And I've emptied yet another tall bottle of vodka. What is this, my third in equal amount of weeks? I was doing so good, why did I open it tonight??

Sometimes stuff like this makes me want to connect with my ancestors. Because I wonder who and how many have gone through shit like this. But my family is a mess. My birth father is dead and was a piece of shit, and I've cut off his side of my family. My mother relatively recently just found out who her birth father was -- at his funeral -- and none of us know her new siblings like that. Her resided father is cool but he's retired and he and grandma help babysit a younger cousin's baby. Ugh. Aunties are too old are too far away. Uncles all have kids. Literally have no cousins my age. Wait I found out my hair dresser beautician is actually my relative, so maybe I'll reach out to her? Visit her??

I'm so unhappy and tumblr used to be my happy place. I only really use this, discord, pinterest, and tiktok but solely to watch videos. I wish it was the same. Kind of miss the days when everyone talked to each other and this site was interesting, even when I was dissociating and being fucked out my mind like I was smoking a pack a day. I'm not exactly in that place again because my current roommate is nice and therefore provides a semi comfort and she has a dog which helps, but I'm moving soon. I wonder how deep depression and addiction runs in my family. I have an uncle who's (allegedly) a recovered alcoholic, and my grandpa too, but. Yeah.

Guess I should have known cause old babes (before most men became obnoxious and pre covid) were a smoker, another was into edibles and quite kinky, and another... idk but we got hot and bothered after arguing

Anyways, I'm typing this why finishing a full solo cup of vodka + ice water + lemon juice + splash of Gatorade for flavor. I have relatives who are White, and a distant distant relative who was Blackfoot Native American so I have a few additional routes guess? It just sucks that the eldest matriarchs on both sides of my family have passed. I'm happy I got to meet them but, you know, still

I should visit the fountain of youth

I need to get out of this town. I haven't been around people who are into the same things as me for too, too, too long

I want bang bang noodles, and birria tacos, and old world pepperoni, and this blackened chicken salad from this resteraunt I'm too afraid to return to because they'd probably remember me as a regular. It's 10:30PM

Maybe take a piece of one of the oldest trees in this region. There's a Madam Toussaude not too many miles away. Should visit that. I guess?? Wish everything didn't cost money

I have clothes in the dryer and I think I'm going to take a long hot shower with music and my stress relief candle going...

I know I can never please everyone, much less all readers, and I learned that during the times I had things published publicly. Wish I knew publications that I could submit to but

At the same time, damn these anons may be on to something. When I noticed that comments dropped significantly and when some of my beloved and talented mutuals left tumblr and deleted their work, I should have known and followed suit. Now I'm going to. But not before doing these things for dragonmaiden, breadtheft, sarifinasnigjtmare, and Em. I can't. I'll enjoy what little joy their inputs and writing those will bring

After those, yeah I'm done. I'll go get in the shower.

[entangledptsd]

whoa yeah i just saw a post reminding people to get some damn nutrition and started crying

i have had some pretty serious eating problems for several years. it's a lot better now than it used to be, but the urge to skip meals is still there in the back of my head

and it breaks my heart when my girlfriend, knowing this, asks me in that tiny voice she gets sometimes and with big blue pleading eyes to "please eat something." i don't want to hurt her. it takes precedence over not wanting to hurt myself. i don't know how i got lucky enough to find someone so kind and good and bright after everything the world has thrown at me, seemingly because i deserved it (i didn't)

a close friend of mine always makes sure everyone in the group gets enough to eat when we're all hanging out because he's seen too much of the world and knows what hunger does to people

it's strange, being in recovery from so much and still being expected to be a productive normal member of society. how am i supposed to act like everything's just peachy when there are so many others suffering like i have? how can i stand to eat anything when there are kids starving to death in Palestine and Somalia and Congo and Sudan and right down the fucking street from me here in the country that hosts some of the richest people in the world? how can i get a normal job and go to work day in and day out, force myself to be another cog in the death machine that is Amerikkka?

i don't know man. i remember the lady who put vodka in her daughter's soda to keep her convenient because they were homeless and she couldn't deal with the sound of crying. i remember pushing my body way past its limits for too long and denying it everything it needed, wouldn't even wash it gently, because nobody had ever shown me how to be kind to myself. i remember the 19-year-old kid i met in jail whose mom got her hooked on meth when she was 11 and then died a few years later, leaving her all alone in the world except for a 40-something-year-old creep who just wanted to use her body (fuck you Dusty, wherever you are i hope you're fucking suffering and i'm glad you're too dead to hurt any more kids). i remember the people who got arrested on purpose just so they could have three square meals a day and a shitty bed to sleep on for a little while. i remember

too much i think

i just hope i can do something about it someday. i hope i can start making enough money to bring stacks of pizza boxes to the long line of tired folks behind the homeless shelter, like that one person used to do on Monday nights back when i was the one waiting in line. i hope i can have a little extra cash in my wallet someday to give to the ragged people i see sheltering in corners and bus stops, like my dad and granddad do

but first i have to get myself somewhat stable, and that means getting enough food to start

[thagantm]

@shadowcovcn ; “ are you gonna keep looking at me like that or are you actually gonna kiss me? ” - axel ( x )

THINGS  NOBODY  ANTICIPATES  AFTER  BEING  RELEASED  FROM  PRISON : freedom  apparently  feels  like  punching  a  bitch  in  the  face . said  bitch , naturally , being  Axel , standing  maybe  eight  feet  away , a  bottle  of  vodka  clutched  in  his  hand  with  the  door to  the  shabby  ass  motel  room  they’ve  rented  for  the  night  already  ajar  behind  him . just  looking  at  him  with  arched  brows , while  Tommy  tries  to  sort  through  the  mess  that  is  currently  coursing  through  his  inebriated  head . he  hadn’t  expected  Axel  to  be  the  one  to  come  pick  him  up . frankly , Tommy  had  believed  that  after  Axel’s  release  a  month  prior  to  his  own , the  guy  would  be  out  of  his  life  and  gone  forever  (  and  truth  be  told , he  wouldn’t  have  blamed  him  for  it  ) and  yet  he’d  been  the  one  standing  on  the  parking  lot . leaning  against  Tommy’s  Alfa , that  he  apparently  had  stolen  right  out  of  his  parents’  garage  after  Tommy , drunk  on  hooch  most  likely , had  told  him  his  address  at  some  point  in  the  past .

freedom  celebrations  had  happened  in  some  bar  just  outside  of  town  -  with  Axel  being  pretty  much  homeless  and  Tommy  having  decided  that  home  is  the  last  place  he  wants  to  be  at  right  now  -  and  after  fuck  knows  how  many  bottles  of  lager  and  whiskey  chasers , they  had  stolen  said  bottle  of  vodka  from  behind  the  bar  and  disappeared  into  the  night . he  has  cash  in  his  pocket , along  with  his  dad’s  credit  card , and  no  plans  or  expectations  tied  to  him  anymore . it  could  be  the  start  to  complete  and  utter  bliss  and  perfection  -  and  then  Axel  decides  to  open  his  mouth  and  blurt  out  that  stupid  as  fuck  question , that  entirely  derails  Tommy  and  simply  has  him  standing  there , dumbfounded , the  trail  of  thought  that  previously  had  revolved  around  why  the  fuck  has  he  picked  me  up ? lost  completely .

they  kind  of  hate  each  other . that  much  has  been  previously  established , and  judging  from  the  fact  that  he  really  does  feel  like  punching  Axel’s  lights  out , it  still  stands . they  also  have  kissed  before . not  once , not  twice , but  whenever  it  had  been  convenient  to  blame  it  on  pressure  rising  and  fuck  knows  what  other  bullshit  excuses  they  had  cooked  up . there  is  no  excuse  now , is  there ? I’m  drunk ; well , so  fucking  what , he’s  free . he  could  have  talked  up  any  girl  at  that  joint  and  she  probably  would  have  been  happy  to  join  him  for  a  night  of  post – prison  fun . same  cure  would  be  there  for  the  pressure , so  what  excuse  does  he  have  now ?

(  he  was  there  to  pick  me  up . him . he  had  cared . nobody  else . only  that  ridiculous  motherfucking , mohawk – wearing  son  of  a  bitch . fuck .  )

he  crosses  the  distance  between  them  in  two  easy  steps , one  hand  curled  into  the  fabric  of  Axel’s  shirt  just  on  his  chest , and  his  lips  almost  violently  collide  with  the  other  boy’s , forcing  him  into  a  step  back , right  against  the  doorframe . I’m  drunk  is  a  pretty  good  excuse . pressure  is  decent , too . who  the  fuck  cares  also  makes  it’s  way  up  there , but  the  loudest  of  them  unfortunately  is  he  cares . and  Tommy  hates  his  fucking  guts  for  it . along  with  his  own , when  his  free  hand  comes  up  to  cup  Axel’s  cheek , keep  him  place , body  pressed  almost  flush  against  his , effectively  pinning  him  against  that  doorframe  -  and  the  kiss  turns  into  something  a  little  softer , a  little  more  desperate ;  a peace  offering , almost .

when  he  eventually  takes  a  half – step  back  for  some  air , Tommy  still  glares  at  him  in  the  semi – dark  of  the  hallway . “ this  doesn’t  change  anything  and  I  still  fucking  hate  you . ” just  to  be  clear .

[frontbottoms-babe]

the past few weeks have been roaring over with so many memorable tastes, smells, sounds, and other magical moments that i want to keep them in my palm and bring them so close to the safety of my heart. 

sucking the bbq sauce from island takeout from our fingers. the unforgettably soft and succulent crunch of lobster meat. sweet lips swollen with drink and mirth. the press of a cold glass of water against your mouth, the slight clink if it taps against your teeth. the salty taste of skin after a long and challenging hike. veggie peanut tofu noodles, made with loving hands and plants from her garden. loni’s empress gin lemonades.

the aroma of his cologne, yes, but even more so, the tantalizing aroma of his skin after a day in the wilderness. the comforting papery scent of grandma and grandpa’s beloved board games. the unforgiving smell of long drives (old fast food wrappers, the burn of rubber tires, and still wet bathing suits hanging from the roof to dry). the delicious heat coming from fresh chocolate pancakes and bacon in the diner. the cleanest oxygen i’ve ever breathed atop a majestic mountain in acadia, drinking in the salty sea air. 

the gentle slap of his hands against the steering wheel as the speakers purr out his favorite song. our laughter as we tumble around in bed together, the Wii music a nostalgic and hilarious backdrop for our hoots of laughter. the startling crash and boom of thunder directly above our heads, the soft sighs as we roll back over to sleep. the wonderful audiobook of harry potter & the chamber of secrets. hearing sophie’s kind voice through my drunken haze, coaching us on how to play her favorite game. 

the rock scramble down the bubble loop and the ladders up to beech cliff ladder trail. ditching the long line for lobsters to buy the best food from a tiny restaurant behind a convenience store instead. soaking in the hot tub, a beer and a lychee vodka pooling condensation on the bench beside us. ordering our very own feast in boston, clinking oysters on the half shell like tiny champagne flutes. getting up early to see the sunrise but being met with clouds and mist instead. being fucked on the counter while everyone slept around us. playing chameleon with my family. your paddleboard sinking so we took turns paddling each other back to the shore. slithering up the creek with sophie like little river snakes. taking turns sleeping in the passenger seat. giggling in the yurt and sharing secrets in hushed voices so we don’t wake the others. playing the guessing game until we’re red in the faces with laughter. 

i love you and all our little moments. 

[shieldedreams]

for many christmases, you’ve had my heart (j.s.)

summary ⇾ it takes being trapped in a tiny toolshed in the woods for johnny to confess his feelings for you. details ⇾ 2,798 words / johnny storm x reader / 🌸 fluff / friends-to-lovers / reader calls johnny ‘jon’ :-) notes ⇾ this is for @stargazingfangirl18​ + @navybrat817​ + @drabblewithfrannybarnes​​ happy hoelidays challenge! ✨

recipe ingredients ⇾ johnny storm + snowstorm + friends to lovers + prompt: Person A: “How long?” / Person B: “I dunno... Not long.” / Person A: “How long, (character name)?” / Person B: “Years...” / Person A: *choking* “You’ve loved me for years?” [!] smol indication of things leading to sex but nothing explicit!

this... was not how you intended to spend your christmas eve. well, not that what you had in mind was anything grand but you’d definitely choose to be in the comfort of your home. a pint of ice cream and a hot cup of tea in front of the television, basking in the presence of yourself and not–“is being stuck in here with me really all that bad?”

you look over your shoulder to what seems to be your company for the next unforeseeable hours. swallowing, you shift back your gaze out the small window; clouded with snow to the point it’s a death wish if you tried to leave this tiny toolshed oh-so-conveniently next to your cabin. (yes, in the woods, because sue thought it would be nice to have a holiday getaway)

no one had expected for a snowstorm to take a toll on the night that leaves you stuck with someone you call jon... who decided to pay a visit to your cabin. only to find that you’re not there and made a move to look for you. bursting into the shed, half-joking to lock the door so he’d have you to himself and... cue the snowstorm trapping you with the menace that is johnny storm.

“plus, if you need someone to keep you warm, i can definitely keep you warm.”

you roll your eyes and settle down onto the wooden floor, sitting cross-legged as johnny gets comfortable opposite you. not too far away, but he could extend his leg and kick you if he wanted.

“still the same old jon,” you scoff a laugh, folding your arms in efforts to keep warm and shaking your head, “still an insatiable horn dog.”

“hey, that’s not true,” he pouts, mimicking your body language to cross his arms, puffing his chest out. one raised brow from you and he sinks his shoulders, “fine. maybe a little, but who’s to say a christmas miracle can’t change that?”

you laugh. actually laugh. the kind of laughter that leaves johnny gaping because his heart stops at the sight of you being so happy; the kind of joy he wants to wake up to every morning. the way your lips curl up and that beautiful melody leaving your mouth... johnny can’t quite describe what it does to him. he wants to smile, maybe he is (he can’t feel his face) but guessing by the look of your smile slowly fading, it must’ve indicated he hadn’t been.

it grows eerily quiet when the seriousness hangs heavy in the air. johnny’s just staring at you, deep in thought. if your gut is right, you know what johnny’s gonna say next. (and you don’t know if you’re ready for it.)

((heck, he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it))

“so... are we gonna talk about what happened last night?”

oh... well...

you attempt to sway away from the topic, “what’d you mean?”

“c’mon,” he catches your bluff almost immediately. scoffing a laugh, he shakes his head, shifting forward as he hunches over his folded legs, elbows resting on his knees, “don’t play dumb with me. i’ve known you longer than you could count on all of your fingers. i think i know when you know something.”

“can i just say, thank fuck you’re no longer tied to that useless piece of shit!” johnny jolts mid-way of his lull to slumber, sprawled out on the bed with a loose grip on the bottle of vodka. you carefully pull it away from him, setting it down to a nearby bedside table and watch as he giggles up to you when your eyes meet.

“jon, you’re gonna get yourself hurt. lay down–”

"because how could anyone think of not being with you?”

for a moment, your heart stops. the sincerity in johnny’s voice is one you know by heart. past the way he’s able to tell a white lie to get off a mission or out of a ticket, this wasn’t one of those times. his voice trembles a little, his eyes hooded as he maintains eye contact but when he starts to gag, you find yourself about to laugh–but your heart takes over to care for his well-being first. 

reaching for a bottle of water by his bedside table, johnny instead reaches for your hand. he grips onto your wrist, making you gasp as you turn your attention back to him. he doesn’t look like he’s about to empty his insides but instead there’s... this look of solemn on his face.

“i know i have,” he murmurs slowly, eyes blinking incredibly slow; in a daze as if he’s about to lose consciousness (he is). “...always have.”

before you can respond, johnny’s eyes roll back and he’s gone for the night.

“hey, sweet cheeks. you still there?”

you visibly blink back to the present, now aware that you had been–"i mean, i don’t have a problem with you staring if i get to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

carefully, you shift your folded arms, straightening your back as you eye him, “jon,”

he loves hearing you call him. “finally,”

“you don’t mean it... do you?”

he does this face whenever you question something he feels doesn’t need questioning (something you do quite often but he’s never tired of it). his brows furrow, almost as if his whole face scrunches up in distaste. “why? you don’t believe me?”

you shake your head with a small pout, “no, not really...”

after a beat with your cluelessness still lingering on your features, johnny’s smile disappears. he knows you have no malice behind your words but it’s the fact you look genuine that scares him. how... you didn’t believe him. not when he’s drunk, not when he’s sober. he loves you so much with his entire being to the point he’s about to explode and you don’t even know. before he can say anything, you beat him to it.

“you’ve slept with so many people i can barely keep count of it all with my fingers and toes combined.”

okay, not quite the confession he thought this was gonna go. then again, you always do surprise him.

“ouch. takin’ a jab at my weaknesses now, huh?”

“jon, what i meant to say is that–”johnny’s quick to intercept with: “could do very well without that low blow,”–you continue ignoring him“–if you meant what you said last night then why are you doing the things you’re doing?”

that puts a pause to johnny’s train of thought.

“what?”

it’s like he still doesn’t get it. instead of getting frustrated, you let out a soft sigh and uncross your arms. your eyes gaze to your hands on your lap as you fiddle with your thumbs, voice soft as you ask: “if you truly love me then why didn’t you tell me?”

it seems like you’ve hit a stump when johnny grows quiet. the kind of quiet you hadn’t experienced since the day you told him you were dating someone from work. someone johnny thought was just another tool–it’s okay, maybe after this guy... i’ll finally tell her and i won’t die with this stupid feeling–until he was proven wrong when that tool stayed around for a good couple of years and johnny actually thought you’d get married to him. 

he remembers the feeling all too well; simmering in his bones, brewing in his heart after countless nights trying to get over you but to no avail. you peek up to see how sad johnny’s face has gotten. it makes you gape at him, about to reach out with a soft are you okay? but this time, johnny’s beaten you to it.

“because i didn’t know how much i loved you until it was too late,” his eyes meet yours briefly before it’s too much to bear. it still hurts, a deep cut in his heart he didn’t think he could feel. he lowers his head as if he’s speaking to the ground.

“and i learned the hard way of watching someone else love you, do all the things i’ve wanted to do with you for the longest time since i–”johnny stops himself before he reveals too much, his breath hitches and you could tell he’s surprised with how much he’s unravelling. the speed he’s falling; rapidly, recklessly, no safety net to hold him back like he usually does to stop himself from hurting because... johnny storm doesn’t do feelings. 

‘cause if he doesn’t, he can’t get hurt.

“jon...” you call for him softly, he refuses to look at you.

“johnny,” the full name irks him but it triggers him to snap his head up.

“how long?”

his eyes shift away and back to you a couple of times before he admits: “i dunno,” he shrugs, “not long.”

it’s a silent plea; the tiniest of cracking in your voice tears his walls down completely.

“please, jon. how long?”

you watch as johnny debates if he should be truthful. he’s come all this way to bear his heart out, might as well go all the way, no? his jaw tightens initially, refusing to reveal any more information that could possibly spread himself too thin, but one look at your pleading eyes easily brings out the side of him no one has ever seen–no one has seen johnny storm the way you do.

“years...” he murmurs, letting out an exhale, “maybe a couple even before you met that other guy.”

“...why didn’t you tell me?”

“i couldn’t just tell you.” he almost raises his voice. not because he’s mad at you but at himself. he felt... pathetic. "i didn’t wanna lose you.”

he moves to pull his knees up, hugging it to his chest, “and i thought... someone like you shouldn’t be with someone like me.” you feel your heart squeezing at the pain lacing johnny’s words. it’s almost as if he believes the words he’s saying and it shows.

“jon,” you scoot closer, placing a hand on top of his folded arms as he hides his face away in the space between his kneecaps and chest. it’s... cute. he looks like a defeated puppy, so whiny and soft. if only he knew what was going on in your mind, behind the smile you’re trying to hide, the one he can’t even see.

“...if you’re gonna say ‘i’m sorry’, i really don’t wanna hear it.”

he had it coming. it was almost too easy.

“i’m sorry–”johnny immediately groans and tries to cower away from you, refusing to admit his embarrassment flooding him like wildfire”–that it took us this long to admit it to each other.”

you watch as your words sink into johnny’s brain, like cogwheels spinning slowly... then quicker as he looks up, gaping. you pull your hand back from him, only to have him unfold his arms to reach for it before you can lean away. he’s stunned, but he gazes down to his hand holding onto yours. he doesn’t know what it means but he feels his heart burning.

“maybe i was hoping for a christmas miracle.”

you allow as much as a soft chuckle to escape your lips at your own attempt to lighten the mood but it seems like johnny still needs more time to process it. his eyes are wide as they could be, his jaw hangs open. he looks like he doesn’t believe it but when he analyses the look on your face... he can’t describe the feeling stirring from within.

“...if you’re saying what i think you’re saying and this turns out to be some sick joke you’re pulling on me with sue, i will burn your favorite pair of shoes.”

you snort, folding your arms once more, “guess my shoes are safe, then.”

deep down, you were still waiting for a response. he hasn’t quite responded directly to your confession to his confession and it was biting your nerves. one, two, three beats of an inhale and exhale and things are happening too quick for you to catch your breath. it’s making your head spin, the gush of wind that stirs and shifts your position to be closer to johnny, warmer as he has you on his lap.

the new position makes your cheeks warm as you straddle him, hands squeezing his shoulders in surprise. you take in the flash of happiness on johnny’s face, stretching out handsomely onto his features. the fire that actually sparks in his irises as he grins up to you; reflecting your shy smile as you lean your forehead on his and johnny would die a happy man seeing this everyday up-close.

“this is a bit forward but i... i’ve been thinking about this for the longest time and i–”johnny can’t get the rest of his words when your hands frame his face, leaning down to kiss him. he shivers lightly at your cold fingertips meeting his flesh but they soon warm against him. before he can respond to the kiss, you pull back with your lips in a thin line, visibly embarrassed.

johnny keeps one hand on your waist, the other reaching up to cup your cheek with his thumb on your chin to tug your lips back into their original position so he can kiss them. he kisses you; long and hard, as if he wants to imbue all the emotions he’s been feeling for you and you feel them. each stroke of his tongue, the movement of his lips, the way he holds you down on him as he keeps you close; you have never felt a love burning like the one johnny has for you and to be able to reciprocate them as the timeline aligns for you both felt god-sent.

despite the euphoric lull making you content, it was getting a bit hard to breathe with his eagerness. it takes for your hands to lightly squeeze his cheeks and pull back for him to stop. groaning, he leans back, heavily breathing with you but loving every second of it. 

“easy there, it’s hard to breathe in here.”

he smirks, pressing a quick peck before suggesting: “how about i get us out here?”

narrowing your eyes at him, you squish his cheeks a bit harder together, “you could’ve done that from the start, didn’t you?”

“hey,” he huffs, grabbing both of your wrists to stop the onslaught of face squishing, “if i did, this–”he motions with his head between your bodies”–wouldn’t have happened.”

you shake your hands from his grasp, “fairs...”

that handsome, shit-eating grin appears on his face when he manages to wrap his arms around you, craning his neck up to you with those blue eyes that could promise you the endless sea of love. 

“fine. let’s get out of here. you sure you can keep us warm back to the cabin?”

“honey, i have no problems with that at all. only problem is what’s in it for me?”

it was your turn to smirk, hands snaking up his arms until you’re squeezing his shoulders. your hips intentionally pressing down on him as you tilt your head at him with a coy smile, “i have my ways of warming you up in return later.”

johnny has never broken out of a toolshed so fast in his life. granted, he almost combusted and nearly gave you third degree burns but johnny’s more careful with your life than his own. he makes it back to your cabin with ease while being able to keep you warm all the way.

and when you’re in bed with johnny, let’s just say, the deed of repaying him for keeping you warm was paid off and well-received.

((“oh, thank goodness you’re okay! i was worried if anything happened and–”sue stops herself from rambling, now noticing how oddly close you’re standing to johnny. the two of you had arrived at the christmas party together (something that wasn’t out of the ordinary) but it’s not until johnny makes the move of revealing your interlocked hands that sue lunges for you, nearly suffocating you in a bear hug.

“finally! this is just–”she pulls back, holding your face in her hands, “this is all so exciting. tell me everything!” she uses her powers to detach your hand with johnny, stealing you for herself.

“as long as i get her back, alright?!” johnny yells, to which sue waves a hand while you blow him a kiss as sue drags you deeper away from him. 

johnny plans on heading to the drinks area to grab a drink for you and himself but gets stopped by–”so, the wild johnny storm is finally tamed.”

he looks over his shoulder, immediately rolling his eyes at who he sees.

“alright, lay off me gramps.” johnny flicks ben’s shoulder (lightly, because that man is... hard as a rock, no pun intended).

despite their constant banter, the look in ben’s eyes as they meet johnny tells another story. johnny knows of how ben treats you like a sister; someone who he cared for and even if ben wouldn’t admit it, he cares for johnny just the same. so it was... nice. this was nice.

“take care of her, alright?” ben starts off with a smile... that morphs into a sneer, “or i’m gonna smash you so deep into the ground you can’t burn your way up.”

“okay, okay. nothing to worry about here,” johnny nudges ben away by the shoulder, looking at the direction of where you had left with sue. ben follows his gaze and watches over the archway of you chatting animatedly with sue. upon noticing looks on you, you turn the cheek and offer them a wave. ben watches how johnny smiles at you, that small look of endearment on his face and that... that was the only thing ben won’t poke fun of because it was so pure.

“i’d set the world on fire if anyone dares to hurt her.”))