#put some WD40 in that shit

[carolmunson]

how to train your wyvern

sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader desc: when bratting becomes intentional disrespect, eddie has to go to new measures to make sure you stay in line.

cw: minors dni, smut, d/s dyanmics, spanking, slapping, spanking (with hands/with implements), degradation, humiliation, mean names, pet names, pet play (but not the mainstay of the fic), references to other women, emotional sadism, physical sadism, p in a (f receiving), fingering (f receving), oral (m receiving), mmf threesome, spitroasting, facials, rice kneeling, mouth soaping

He could take it to some extent, a little smart remark, a mean joke here and there. A sarcastic reply to a question with an obvious answer. That was fine, nothing a little stern look couldn’t quell. But every now and again there would be nothing he could do and it would drive him fucking insane.

You’d been bratting for days, and nothing — nothing, was working. 

It started last week and some change ago when you decided to invite yourself over after his mid-day shift at the garage. He was exhausted, but he still had to fix a pipe under the bathroom sink that hadn’t stopped dripping – and also repair the cabinet door that he slammed off the hinges when he was annoyed about the broken pipe. 

Normally, having you around after a stressful shift was nice for him. You’d fawn over him, make him dinner, get him a drink, rub his shoulders – suck him off, if he asked. This night was different, you clambered into the trailer and snapped the door behind you, cheeks bitten by the cold and snow in your hair.

“What’s your problem?” he asked softly from the kitchen, cracking a beer open and quickly catching the foam off the top of the can. 

“You forgot to pick me up on your way home,” you huff, “I had to take the bus and then walk.” 

His eyes widened, suddenly remembering that your car was in the shop. He wasn’t working on it, so it slipped his mind, “Oh honey, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to forget. Sal’s working on your car so y’know it just – out of sight, out of mind.” 

He puts the beer on the table and takes your coat from you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His warm lips sooth your snow soaked face, but the frustration still remains. 

“Why didn’t you just call?” he asks, seeing the furrow on your brow still stuck in place, “I would’ve come to pick you up.”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you,” you grumble, “You’re such an airhead sometimes.” 

“Hey,” his voice isn’t gruff or mad, more hurt than anything, “It was an accident, you don’t have to say shit like that.” 

You take a breath, pushing it out of your lips, mulling over whether the insult was worth it, “Sorry, that was mean. I’m just cold and annoyed.” 

His lips press against your cold cheek this time, “It’s okay. Um, get yourself cozy – I gotta fix the sink in the bathroom.” 

Your face falls, “Oh.” 

His face falls too, “What’s wrong?” 

“I just – I came all the way over here and we’re not even gonna hang out,” you frown. 

“It won’t take me that long, baby. I just have to fix the sink and the cabinet and then I’m done,” he explains while you kick your shoes off. Your eyes roll dramatically when he mentions the cabinet. 

“So first it’s just the sink, then it’s the sink and cabinet. You’ll finish those and go ‘Oh let me work on the leak in the shower, let me WD40 the door’, you always do that. You start a project and then start fifty of them and I just sit here,” you huff. 

He juts his lower lip out in a teasing frown, “Aw, so sorry I wanna make the place habitable, honey.”

When you don’t crack a smile his shoulders fall, “I promise I won’t be long. You can even sit in there with me while I work on it if you want.” 

“You hate when I do that. When I hover,” you say. Eddie smiles, pressing kisses to your cheeks while he pulls you in to hold you close to him. 

“So it must mean I missed you all day today if I want you to hover when I fix the sink, huh?” he jokes. You relent, giving into his kisses, and his warm chest, and the caress of the tendrils of hair falling out of the low bun on his head onto your nose. 

It’s not long before you're sitting on the shut toilet seat and he’s half concealed in the cabinet, t-shirt riding up while he lies on his back. You’re not focusing on what he’s telling you, something about his day or a customer. Something about Dustin and the new one shot they were putting together next week. All you were focused on was the sliver of his belly peeking out of his shirt, begging to be touched. Begging to be squeezed. You slowly get to your knees and sink onto the fuzzy dark green bath mat by his hips, reaching out slowly to graze your fingers over his happy trail. 

“Jesus!” he shouts, body jumping, a loud CLANG! sounding as a result of him dropping whatever tool and part he had in his hands. 

You laugh, “Oh no, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

He shimmies out of the cabinet with a small red cut gleaming on his forehead, “Babe you can’t do that while I’m working. That’s so dangerous.” 

“I got bored, you were looking so cute. How could I resist?” you ask, “Let me look at your head, I’m sorry.” 

You peer at the little cut, it’ll definitely heal in the next day or so, but it’s enough that he’s wincing when you go near it. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” you tut, pressing a kiss just next to it, “Is that better?” 

“Yeah, it’s better,” he smiles, “But please, I’m barely balancing this tubing in my hands – no distractions please.” 

“Fine,” you say sweetly while he lays back under the cabinet. You wait a moment before your hand reaches out again to drag your finger over a clothed rib. 

His body tenses, “I’m not kidding, baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, “I’m just fucking with you, I promise. You’re just so cute when you’re mad.” 

You let him continue, back to his original one sided conversation where he starts explaining the Wyvern appearing in the campaign and all the differences between a dragon and a Wyvern. Your eyes glaze over and your hand reaches out for a third time, sliding a finger at the top of his jeans to trace the waistband of his boxers. You hear him huff angrily in the cabinet, face hidden by the door.

“I asked you to stop, baby, please,” he urges again, “I had a long day.” 

You roll your eyes, standing up and slapping on the cold water in the sink before you walk out of the bathroom, “Whatever.” 

He emerges a few moments later, fuming, soaked, brows furrowed – almost teary with frustration. He wanted an apology but he never got one, opting to put you over his knee so you’d learn a lesson that would sting well into the next day – but it was a lesson that wouldn’t quite stick. 

After his show at The Hideout he’d pulled you onto his lap in one of the booths with the rest of the band. They’d rehearsed all week, canceling two date nights at the last minute in lieu of the show – and the practice was worth it. They got the whole crowd jumping this time, even if it was just thirty to forty people. His hand slid over your thigh, back and forth to bring down his speeding adrenaline, the smoothness of your worn jeans soothing him. He talked over you in conversation, leaning forward past your shoulders to interject. You huffed dejectedly, sulking into resting your chin on your hands with your elbows on the table. Tensing when a group of girls came over to join their after show debrief. 

After all the introductions they start talking music, the girls giggling and smiling. You’re not mean, so you indulge in the conversation – but that grating happy, bubbly friendly voice behind you booms over yours, his chest vibrating against your back when he speaks. “So who’s band is it? Who’s the brains of the operation?” one of the girls asks, glossed lips shining in the low light. The boys clamber to answer for each other, all attesting that the band is theirs as a group, no one’s the head, they all make their own decisions – but they’re all talking over each other.

“It’s obviously Jeff, he’s lead guitar,” you piped up, “It’s Gareth and Jeff.” 

“Isn’t Eddie the lead?” one of the girls laughed, her painted nails tinkling against the glass of her beer. 

“You asked who the brains was. Look at this guy, he look brainy to you?” you tease, running a hand through his curls. The table laughs, including Eddie whose cheeks are tinged red, but his grip on your thigh tightens under the booth. Excuse me?

To add insult to injury, you took his half finished beer out of his hand, taking a few sips to finish it  while your empty bottle stood at the center of the table. You felt his chest press up against your back, leaning forward towards one of the girls sitting next to him, “S’cuse me, we’re just gonna go grab another drink.” 

“Sorry!” she says, scooching out of the way while Ed nudges you forward to get out. You know he doesn’t really want another drink, he just wants to be mean to you. You know you’re riling him up in the way that he likes, you’ve been waiting for this all week. 

“You think you’re bein’ cute tonight?” he says to you when his calloused fingers wrap around your forearm, walking you towards the bar, “Last week wasn’t enough? Want me to make it worse this time?” 

“I think I’m being funny,” you shrug, “Everyone else thinks so.” 

“Yeah, you’re real funny,” he rolls his eyes, ordering another beer that you snatch before he can grab it. 

“Not an eye roll, baby,” you smirk while you take a sip of the beer, “You’re so bratty tonight.” 

“You’re one smart comment away from me taking you home,” he warns. You can see from the glint in his eye that he’s still buzzing from the show and there’s only one way for him to get relief from it. It normally ends with you sobbing on his bed, tied up and begging for more of whatever pain he feels like dishing out.

“Ooh, you’re so tough, Ed,” you tease back at him. His jaw clenches while you drink the beer he just bought. He snarls when he gets you home, shoving you into the bedroom, pulling your clothes off while he berates you over and over again. Lips and teeth gnashing, kissing, biting, growling over you while he does it. But you didn’t give in, you couldn’t. His frustration was too delicious. You didn’t cry when he paddled you, you didn’t even make a sound that resembled unhappiness. You just alternated between pouting and smirking, little remarks pouring out of your mouth with your moans. Every burning strike making you jump and keen and purr.  Eventually he gave up, resorting to a long lecture about bratting and boundaries while you both showered and got ready for bed. He counted every eye roll. Seventeen. 

Two days ago, you dropped off some lunch for him at work and normally he’d melt at the gesture, but he knows why you did it. This was the incident that made it clear that all your behavior had been intentional. Still mad about your two previous punishments you showed up in the one dress you’re not allowed to wear to the auto shop. The hem was a hair too short, bending over would put on a whole show to whoever was looking, and boy, were the guys at work looking. The fabric was light and fluttery, one gust of wind would send it up like Marilyn’s. With the right bra, your chest would heave out of it, but even braless it held you in place just right. It was his favorite dress on you – just for him. 

His jaw clenched when he saw you walk in, leaning suggestively over the front desk to ask where he was. The guys snickered and leered at you, elbowing each other to get the other’s attention. You didn’t even bother to wear tights. Everyone would see the leftover welts from a couple nights ago if the wind blew into the shop the wrong way.

Before making eye contact with Ed, you looked back at them and waved, smiling, working the sway of your hips into your walk. Your knee high boots clicked on the smoothed over cement floor while you approached him. He was found leaning up against a car he just finished working on, wiping his greased hands off on a rag, his face unimpressed with you. Now normally, this is whatever, Eddie’s used to you getting attention from guys. But at work it was different because even though they ogled, the minute you left they’d start to shit on him. 

You let your girl walk around like that? Act like that? 

You must be real pussywhipped Munson.

Gotta make her behave when she’s got an ass like that on her.

You never settin’ any ground rules? 

Better put a ring on her finger before I do. 

“C’mere, wanna talk to you for a second,” he said calmly nodding you over to him, slinging the rag over his shoulder. It was unfortunate how fucking hot he looked at work, even more so when he was disappointed. Old t-shirt covered in oil and grease stains, sweat collecting in some spots, clinging to him. His cover all opened and hanging open at his waist, boots shining in the industrial light. 

“Aw, what is it babe? You look so upset,” you mocked him loud enough for everyone to hear, lips in an exaggerated pout, “What’s got you so mad? I wore your favorite dress.” 

“Yeah! Don’t be so pissy, Munson,” his co-worker joked, “She wore your favorite dress.”

Eddie ticked his head over to the back room where the guys took their breaks, implying he wants you to follow him. You click behind him, giggling at the guys comments, joking back with them, tossing little waves their way until Eddie shuts the door behind you. 

He walks slowly over to the coffee pot set up, pouring himself a cup and turning to lean against the counter. He takes a sip, watching you over the edge of the mug. His stare makes you shift uncomfortably, his calmness was sometimes more terrifying than his rage. 

“We’ve had a big talk about this dress, baby.” 

“The weather’s nice,” you said softly, crossing your arms. 

“It’s January,” he deadpans, he takes another sip of coffee, “S’there something you need to talk to me about? You’ve had this lil’ attitude all week. Now you’re bringin’ it to my job? That’s not fair.” “I don’t have an attitude,” your tone is petty and touchy, “You’re just being sensitive.” 

He nods while he puts the mug down, voice still measured, “I really hate taking this mean guy thing into our real life, sweetheart – but you’re really not leaving me any choices. Is gettin’ spanked not enough for you? Am I not gettin’ that ass red enough to teach you a lesson?” 

“You’re not even good at it,” you lie, tossing his lunch on the table in front of you. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says with a smug smile, “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you when I get home.” 

He approaches you slowly, hand reaching around to grab your ass to pull you in close to him. You whine at the grip over your welts from the other night and he snickers into his goodbye kiss. His stubble grates against your cheeks while he holds you in place to slide his tongue into your mouth, just enough to leave you wanting more. 

“Bye, princess – love you,” he lilts, letting go of you to grab his lunch and sauntering out of the room. 

The caning he administered that night was brutal, but you still didn’t cry. You yelped and whined, you begged him to stop, you called him all his favorite names to get him to go easier on you. He called your safe word after ten minutes – scared that you were too caught up in the challenge of not giving into him that you’d ignore your own safety. After making sure you were okay, he took his pillow and slept on the couch. 

He canceled your date night last night to work on the finishing touches of the one shot campaign he and Dustin had been working on for their monthly group ‘catch up’ at Steve’s. When he picked you up earlier this morning your attitude had nearly tripled in spice. Every word out of your mouth was a quick whip of the tongue. 

“Baby, please,” he begs, “Please just let me have one good day. Can we please have a good day?” 

You don’t reply, hopping out of the van and slamming the door behind you. He gets in front of you before you get to the door, eyes pleading while he leans in for a kiss that you don’t return, “Bub, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m just – I’m so tired. Can you please just be nice?” 

“What are you talking about?” you ask sweetly, a sliver of sarcasm in your tone, “I’m so nice.” 

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t start.” 

Steve opens the door before you can ring the bell, running a hand through his hair and dropping it into his pocket, “Surprised you didn’t break the window with how hard you slammed the door.” 

“It was the wind,” you lie, “Took it right out of my hands.” 

You brush past him and ignore Eddie’s gentle reach for your hand, heading straight to the dining room to hang out with Robin and Nancy while the ‘kids’ set up their game in the living room. 

“You look beat,” Steve says to Eddie while Ed kicks his shoes off, “You okay?” 

“Something’s been up with her this week,” he huffs, “Longer than a week, even. M’so tired of her attitude, it’s getting out of hand.” 

“Did you talk to her about it?” Steve asks, watching as Ed rifles through his backpack to pull out his binder full of DM documents and his pencil case. 

“I keep trying,” he shrugs, “I’ve given her more than enough chances to talk to me about it. Even playing hasn’t gotten her to open up and normally y’know, once the water works start and she’s had a rough week she’s all out with it. It’s all about that release with us, does that make sense?” 

He sighs while Steve nods along with his rant, “And instead she showed up at my work the other day just to piss me off. Wearing her little dress, showin’ off to all the guys. After we went through the whole trust chat and everything, after the scene – which I had to cut short cause she just didn’t even cry? Wild. After the scene she told me she did it on purpose – as if that wasn’t already clear, but I didn’t need her to confirm it, y’know?”  

He stands up, flipping open the binder and making sure everything is accounted for. Steve chuckles to himself, leading him to the kitchen to grab them both a drink. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Ed grins down at the paper, “I’m not like you, I just know how to smack her around. You like all that mean girl shit.” 

“It works. You want me to step in while the game’s going?” Steve asks. Eddie takes a breath, hearing your happy laugh bubble out from the dining room. He savors the sound for a moment – the smiliest you’ve sounded in days – and shakes his head no. 

“Nah, it’s not worth it,” he says while he heads out, meeting the group in the living room. 

After a couple of hours they took a break. It was always an all day affair, stopping to catch up with each other, getting lost in conversations. Eddie walked by you in the kitchen, hand plopping itself on your head while you reached into the fridge to get a beer. 

“Hey, I’d prefer you didn’t,” he softly suggests, “You’re just gonna get mean.” 

“I’m not gonna get mean.” You roll your eyes when he gets between you and the fridge. 

“I said no,” he reminds you gently, “Please? I’m not drinking either. You’re already in whatever mood you’ve been forever – getting drunk s’just gonna feed it. Can I get you something else?” 

“You’re being such a fucking buzzkill, you know that?” you snap. Eddie doesn’t react how you expect, no anger flashing in his eyes, no playful frustration. He just looks hurt, nodding curtly before stepping out of your way back into the living room. “Whatever you say, baby,” he shrugs. His shoulders round forward, settling in the couch and watching the conversation bubbling and tittering around him. He tosses you a look through the archway, shaking his head in disappointment. It was clear he wasn’t having fun with this anymore. You jump when the fridge closes and look around to see Steve next to you, alone with you in the kitchen.

“You think ‘cause you’re Eddie’s girl I won’t embarrass you in front of everyone here?” he asks pointedly, “You don’t get to act like that when you’re in my house.” 

“Fuck off, Steve,” you sigh, your eye roll rivaling even his best. 

“You better feel lucky that I didn’t get the okay to put you in your fuckin’ place,” he hissed while the conversation got more lively in the living room.

“Cause if you think for one second I wouldn’t bend you over that coffee table in front of all your friends and show ‘em how I deal with brats like you, you got another thing coming,” he continues. You shrink under his words, frown painting your face while he stares down at you — but that angry attitude, the reminder that Eddie couldn’t even bother to give you a solid warning, woke that mean girl right up.

“You wouldn’t do shit, Harrington,” you mutter, crossing your arms. 

“Yeah? Try me,” he offers. He shakes his head, hands on his hips, “You swear you’re so tough. Your bullshit is tired. He’s bored with you, look at him.” 

You look over and he’s frowning while everyone gets back into position to play but still lost in their conversations. His legs are splayed out in the recliner at the head of the coffee table, slouched down enough that his chin is in his chest. 

“He just looks sad,” you mumble. 

“Whose fault is that?” Steve asks. 

You sulk, “Mine.” 

You huff one final time before going into the living room. He peers up at you when you come up next to the recliner, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes close at the feeling of your lips against him, opening them when you break away. He scans the room to make sure no one is paying attention before pulling you in for a chaste kiss, “Kneel.” 

“Ed –” you start, heat running to your cheeks. 

“Kneel at my feet for the rest of the game. Do you understand?” he asks quietly. You nod, kneeling down beside him while he got up to start the campaign where they left off. To everyone else, you were just watching everything play out – to him you were finally obeying. But it could never be that easy – just like the devil, you had to have the last laugh.

When the game was over, Steve and Eddie hauled off to smoke outside, talking quietly with each other – deliberating over something. You took that time to snag a beer from the fridge, confident you could finish it before they made their way back into the kitchen. However, talking with Robin made you less aware – hopping from one subject to the next, both big chatterers you had neglected the beer in your hand so it was only three fourths finished when the sliding doors opened and the boys showed up in the kitchen. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, continuing his conversation with Steve while he grabs your coat and slides the can gently out of your hand, pouring the remaining contents out in the sink. You put your jacket on while he throws it away, starting his round of goodbyes to the group. 

“Let’s pick up some dinner, hm?” he asks when you both get back in the van, eerily calm, tossing his hair up off of his neck as the heat blasts. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, “You’re not mad? About the beer?” 

“Oh, I’m upset about the beer,” he says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road, “But I can’t expect you to listen these days. You’re making your own rules, aren’tcha?”

“No, I –” 

He smiles, finally turning to you while he pulls into a drive-thru burger joint, “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna be very unhappy with how things go when we get home.” 

The food tastes like ash in your mouth. 

“C’mon, on your knees,” he says casually once he’s done undressing you down to your underwear. The ride home had been silent aside from the radio. You stepped in the trailer and he barely gave you a moment of reprieve before stripping you down in the bedroom. All tired eyes and frustrated grunts while each item of clothing got tossed onto a chair in the corner of the room. You obey his command but your eyes shoot up at him with a furrowed brow when you make it to the ground. He sighs while he puts your collar on, he looks defeated and worn out.

“Hey, wait,” you urge, taking his hand while he finishes clasping the buckle behind your neck. He looks down at you and falters at the look on your face — not playing, not in your role. Serious, concerned. 

“No choking, please,” you ask softly, “Not tonight.” 

He meets you down on the scratchy carpet while continuing to hold your hand, pressing a soft and gentle kiss against your lips.

“Of course not,” he agrees, “No choking.” 

His hands find your face, fingertips brushing against you like you’re made of porcelain, “Do you trust me?” 

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss before you can answer, taking your breath away in the process. Heat bloomed in your cheeks at his attention, the way his eyes glittered when he looked at you like that. Hungry, aching. 

“I trust you,” you whisper between his kisses. You catch his gaze and he looks at you expectantly.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” he asks, “You okay? We can stop, we don’t have to do this. Could always just talk to me about it, you know I’m all ears.” 

“You’re not mad, mad are you?” you asked softly, “Are you really mad at me?” 

“M’not mad at you, sweetheart,” he assures, “Very disappointed, but not mad. Just like teaching you a little lesson. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you smile. He kisses your face, again and again. Reminders of who he really is. 

“At least I’m not Steve,” he laughs, standing back up, “He loves taming brats like you.” 

“I’m not a brat!” you gasp. 

“You sure?” he asks, looking down at you with a hardening demeanor, “No? You’re not?” 

You shake your head ‘no’, he laughs at you pitifully, “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Remember what I said to you?” he asks, going into the closet. His voice is muffled while he’s in there, “You’re going to be very unhappy with how I treat you tonight.” 

He emerges and your furrowed brows soften into sadness, eyes rounding into pleading when you see what he has in his hand, “No, sir, please…” 

“Pets don’t talk, baby,” he says gently while he clips a chain link leash to your collar. 

“But I don’t…I don’t want to,” you whine, tugging at the chain in his hand. He looks down at you without remorse, petting the top of your head.

“This is how you learn to behave,” he says, “Nothing else is working, so I have to punish you with something you don’t like.” 

“But…” tears pooled in your eyes as he took a few steps forward and tugged on the leash for you to follow. You frowned, crawling on all fours to follow him to the kitchenette. He tugged twice when he wanted you to stop. 

“Sit,” he mutters down to you, catching your eyes while he walks over to the cabinets above the sink, “Stay.” 

You huff, sitting back on your heels while he rummages through the cabinets, finally reaching in and coming out with a tall yellow Tupperware. He opens the top and looks into it, frowning, and then looking at you.

“I hate to waste food but you need this,” he says softly, walking over to stand in front of the sink. Next to him, he lays down a line of white rice by his feet. 

“Eddie, please,” you whined, “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

His head whips towards you, “What did I say?” 

“Pets don’t talk,” you whimper back. 

“Want me to beat that into you?” he hisses, reaching for his belt.

“No sir, I’m sorry.” 

He stands at attention, looking down at you, “Come.” 

You start to crawl forward but he stops you, “You’re gonna let your leash drag on the floor like that? You know better.” 

You shake your head no, reaching for the leather handle and putting it between your teeth before starting your slow journey next to him. You hesitate when you get to the rice. He very rarely goes back to these kinds of basics because he knows you don’t like them, you’d much rather be spanked. He reaches down to grab your leash and gives it a sharp tug, pulling you forward.

“Don’t make me warn you again,” his voice is stern and you inch forward, knees settling on the rice slowly. You start to whimper quietly to yourself, the sting is immediate. 

“Eyes up at me,” he instructs, fingers under your chin tilt your head up toward him, “You’re gonna kneel here while I get these dishes done.” 

“That’s stupid,” you whine while he wraps part of the leash around his hand so there’s little slack for you to move anywhere. The backhand he deals you at the sound of your voice is shattering, your thighs tighten at the feeling, lips parting in a low moan.

“Open your mouth again, see what happens,” he growls, “My number one rule when we play, for years, is only speak when you’re spoken to.”

 You grit your teeth, putting your face back to center and tilting up to look him in the eyes. 

“Shouldn’t expect a brainless pet like you to take orders though – that’s why we gotta train you.” 

You shift uncomfortably on the rice, trying to relieve the pain one knee at a time but it only makes you gasp as the pain increases. 

“You gonna cry?” He asks. You shake your head no despite the burn you feel in your nose and the rattle in your chest. Your knees sting with the bite of the rice, whimpering when he starts the dishes. He casts a few looks down at you while you stay looking up at him. 

“We’re gonna keep at this until you break, you understand?” he asks, you nod. It doesn’t take him long to do the dishes, you squirm when he looks down at you down the slope of his nose. 

“Stay,” he commands, walking out of the kitchen to the bathroom to get something, then back to the bedroom. You wait for him on screaming knees to return but he doesn’t. You hear the shift of weight on the couch, the creak of the springs in the cushions, the stomp of his boots as he spreads his legs wide. He whistles. 

“Come here, baby,” he calls out to you cooly. You hear the flick of a lighter and start your short journey to the living room. 

“Do I hear that leash dragging on the floor?” he asks with a warning edge. You let out an annoyed groan, pulling slowly at the chain link while it skitters across the tile. You put the leather back between your teeth, gingerly making your way over to him again. 

“Let’s check out those knees before I keep you on them even longer,” he mutters, cigarette burning between his lips. He waves his hand at you, encouraging you to stand.

“C’mere, pretty,” he says sweetly, the mask coming off briefly to wipe off the stray grains that stuck to your skin. It was certainly irritated, but there wasn’t any blood, no damage that would last overnight. Less frequent types of punishment, non-impact play, sometimes made him nervous — not as confident in the outcomes.

“It’s okay?” he asks, looking up at you. His calloused hand finds yours, a soft check in, a gentle touch. 

“It’s okay,” you nod while he presses a kiss to your fingertips, putting your hand back by your thigh when he’s done. He lazily places the cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch to settle. 

“You know where you belong, pet,” he says, voice dropping register again. The clink of his belt coming undone makes your hips twitch, the slow drag of the zipper of his jeans. He lifts his shirt up before he pulls it out, tattoos smattering dark against his pale skin. 

He leans back on the couch while you kneel between his legs with your tongue out, flattened against your chin. His cock makes you drool, spit pooling at the sides of your mouth while he lets his fingers drag over the underside, pink leaking tip peeking out from his foreskin. 

When he lifts it up off his stomach you audibly gasp at how wet the top is, hips shifting on your legs for friction. He leans it towards you teasingly and you eagerly lean forward to let your tongue stripe over it but you’re met with a hard crack to the face instead.

“Very bad,” he admonishes, “You’re such a bad girl.” 

He starts with slow strokes, soft little gasps puffing out of his mouth when he runs over the more sensitive spots. Your mouth waters despite the sting on your cheek, “Guess I gotta keep training you, huh baby? That’s too bad, was gonna let you suck it if you could behave first.” 

You let out a frustrated huff and he likes it.

“Let’s keep that mouth busy since I can’t trust you not to act on your impulses,” he says, his voice dripping with mocking disappointment, “You’ve been doing that a lot, lately.” 

He reaches into his back pocket and it’s clear now, what he got from the bathroom. The bar of Pears soap glowed amber in the side table lamp light when he unwrapped it. 

“Y’know, I forgot about this trick,” he says with a smile, like you’re having a casual conversation. You gulp at the sight of it, leaning back with your mouth shut.

“Steve reminded me today, when we were out having a smoke,” he continues, eyes and smile wolffish while he leans forward toward you. 

“You hated it last time,” he shrugs, “But you didn’t run that pretty mouth for a while. So it must’ve stuck, huh? Open your mouth.” 

You hesitate a moment too long and his patience runs out before the buzzer to obey goes off in your brain. His fingers work between your lips, pressing at the hinge of your jaw like you’re a dog who has a piece of plastic in their mouth. You sputter over his fingers, head turning and twisting to keep him from getting a hold on you but your efforts were useless. The bar slid half way into your mouth, wedged between your teeth. You knew better than to raise your hands and fight him, he’d cuff you before you could protest – better off not seeing how bad he could go tonight. 

“Much better. Y’look so pathetic with your mouth full,” he teases, “Really suits you.” 

“Since I have to do this myself now, who should I think about, sweetheart?” he asks you, your heart sinks. He lets his eyes flutter closed when he squeezes gently around the base, a dark laugh bubbling out from his chest.

“Should I think about Chrissy from the diner?” he asks, heavy lidded eyes staring at you, his breath hitches. He pumps in slow strokes, taking his time, “Think about her pretty blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes?” 

You whine, swallowing thickly while slimy suds start to leak out of your mouth, he smirks.

“Mmm, bet she’s a really good girl,” he moans, “Bet she’d never talk back to me.” 

Tears start to well in your eyes and he has the audacity to fucking smile. The bitter bubbles gather on your tongue as your salivary glands work to push the taste out, but there’s no point with the bar pressed deep into your mouth.

“You know I love a nice girl like that, baby,” he coos, pace quickening while he fucks into his fist, “Probably loves getting stuffed full. You think so?” 

His eyes open fully and he grips your hair at the scalp with his free hand, “You think so?” 

You nod, face burning with embarrassed and frustrated heat. 

“God, watching her pretty tits bounce when she’s on top of me? Fuck. Bet she’s so fuckin’ tight,” he breathes while he teases the tip with his thumb, brows knitting in focus and pleasure, “So fucking sweet, too. Not a brat like you, baby.” 

He leans his head back while he feels himself get close, edging himself – slowing down and speeding up. And then he hears it, your broken, sad, choked sob. The sound of the Pears bar dropping onto the carpet. His head perks up, and there you are, crying on your knees in front of him, wiping at your eyes.  “My poor baby, there you are,” he coos, tucking himself into the waistband of his underwear, “Finally got you cryin’. You don’t like that? When your master thinks about someone else?” 

 “No sir, I don’t like it,” you answer through blubbering and spitting up suds. He tuts, leaning forward, letting a thumb drag over a tear on your cheek. 

“I’ll be good, please don’t think about someone else,” you cry up at him.

“You’ll be good? Yeah? You’re a good girl?” he asks, sentences peaking up at the end like you’re a dog. You nod pitifully. “You see a good girl in here?” he questions, “Is there a good girl in the room with us right now?”

“Stop,” you huff, wiping your eyes again.  “Now that I finally got you crying I can really go to work, huh?” he smirks, “Think getting belted will put you in your place?” 

You nod while he pulls up his pants, “Let’s get that mouth rinsed out first.” 

He keeps up with ‘walking you’ to the bathroom, now a mess of tears and a soap slicked mouth. Shuddering and stuttering while you get cup of water after cup of water to spit out until the water runs clear. You still don’t settle, all the feelings of the week and some change of aggravation and anger surging and pulsing through you all at once. 

“You wanna tell me what’s got you acting like such a cunt this week?” he asks while you get situated on your knees on the mattress in the bedroom. Foolishly, you thought he might soften up when you started to cry – but now it’s clear he’s just getting started. 

“You just weren’t paying enough atten-attention to me,” you confess, quietly. He gapes at you, anger and disbelief flashing behind his eyes.  “All this ‘cause you weren’t gettin’ enough attention?” he hisses, “When’d you get so weak, huh?” 

“You kept w-working late, and ditching me f-for Steve, and D-dustin, and the band,” you whined. 

“Cry all you want,” he says with a straight mouth, “This is so disappointing, baby. Thought you were tougher than that. Gotta get you correct, don’t I?” 

“You kept c-cancelling, so I thought –” you continue.

“Hey!” he barks, startling you to look up at him, “I asked you a question.” 

“Yes, you have t-to correct me, sir,” you nod, “I need it.” 

“You need it?” he mocks back, “Get in position for me.” 

You oblige, bent over on the bed while he goes to get the belt that hangs next to the front door. You hear it clink with every stomp of his boots back down the hall, your thighs twitch with anticipation of him taking his anger out on you – much more pliable this time, much more reactive, no longer trying to stop yourself from feeling it.

“Attention, huh?” he repeats when he comes back in, “Well you got it, whore. I’ll pay attention to you all night.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe. You hear him open the top drawer of his dresser, the sound of plastic, zippers. 

“Maybe we can invite Steve over to help,” he suggests, “Does that sound good? A little extra hand to make the lesson sink in.” 

“Do you wanna share me, sir?” you ask while he reaches over you to press each wrist to the outside of your thighs, wrapping each of them together in thin rope he picked up at the hardware store. A shopping trip you are certain had the owner looking at you both with a cocked brow as you both left blushing.

“Something fun about watching someone use my toys,” he says playfully. The makeshift spreader bar finds its way between your legs, clicked into soft cuffs around your ankles. A vision, bent over and spread out for him. Eddie’s not an awful man, so he offers the courtesy of tucking a pillow or two under your torso to keep you raised and balanced, pressing a kiss to the middle of your back. 

“M’gonna really fuck with you tonight,” he threatens softly against your skin, “How do you feel about that?” 

“Orange,” you say back. Orange, the coolest flame. The okay. 

“And Steve?” he asks, fingers grazing your inner thighs. 

“Orange,” you reply, pussy clenching at the thought of being beaten by both of them. 

“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he rasps low, “Really good girl.” 

“When’s the last time I made you cum, pet?” he moves away from you again and you whine, the ache of your cry still sitting in your throat to be reactivated. 

“Last week after your sh-show,” you answer obediently. 

“So mean of me, huh? To keep you so needy,” he says, and that’s when you feel it. The handle of the wand being pressed against your inner thigh, the low buzz as he turns it on. You gasp while he adjusts it, feeling it press up against you before he secures it there, hips already searching for more pleasure as he turns it up higher. 

“Let me make it up to you,” the way he says it, you know he has that devilish look pulling across his smile. The metallic flick of his switchblade sounds and your panties are the first to face its wrath, pulled away with ease once the right slices were made. He follows up with the straps of your bra and you want to protest but you know he’ll buy you a new one before the day ends tomorrow – he’s always ruining your shit and buying you more, his mouth running apologies as he does.

“S’that feel good?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, eyes already rolling at the orgasm building in your lower belly. 

“What do you say?” his voice is expectant. 

“Thank you, sir,” you rasp out. 

“You tell me every time you cum, okay?” he instructs. You nod, losing yourself in the feeling of being restrained and used. Your eyes flutter closed while you succumb to the vibrations between your legs and the sound of his voice, the stomp of his boots. A soft gasp pushes out of your chest, hips pressing down on the head of the toy for more friction. 

CRACK! 

The belt is unforgiving against the fat of your ass and your gasp quickly falls into a loud wail, the cry in your chest pushing to your throat. 

“Okay?” he repeats. 

“Y-yes sir, I’ll tell you every time,” you hurry out, feeling the coil in between your legs get tighter immediately at the sting of the belt. 

“Sir?” you ask quietly, “Hit me again, please.” 

“Yeah?” you shivered at the low gravel of his voice. You hear him rev up, then the leather whooshing through the air to land in a hard ‘thwap!’ across your behind. You whine at the hit, hands balled into fists at the pain – but god was it good. It was so good. 

“I have to make a quick phone call,” he mutters, “Keep track for me.” 

He returns some minutes later, leaning over the mattress to look at you, “Look at you, what a fucking slut. You like this?” 

You nod pitifully and he rolls his eyes, your hips twitch at the sight. 

“You cum yet?” he sounds so bored when he asks you think you might cum again instantly. 

“Twice, sir,” you confess. 

“Twice?” he repeats, “Must not be enough – so quiet.” 

You feel the tip of something drag against the flesh of your thigh while Eddie draws two short vertical parallel lines, “Just using up your eyeliner to keep track.” 

“But thats –”  His hand cracks down on your fresh welt before you can continue, “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow. Get you a new lipstick, too. So shut up.”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp out. 

“Let’s get you nice and loud for me,” he mumbles, reaching between your thighs to turn up the toy's speed. 

“Oh, fuck! Oh my god,” you cry out, “Oh, shitshitshitshit.”

His giggle is grotesque when you feel the slide of your lipstick on your skin; your back, your ass, your calves. the waxy scent wafts through the air with the smell of your arousal, “Steve’s right, writing all over you is really fun. Wanna see what you look like, whore?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you obey, hips stuttering while a third orgasm runs over you, “Three! Fuck, three.” 

Another vertical line is sketched on your thigh with the other two. The sound of his Polaroid goes off when he’s done with his handy work, leaving the picture next to you to fade into view. 

“H-hope you spelled everything right,” you tease, knowing exactly where it’ll get you, “Know how hard that is for you, ‘86.” 

He growls, a stinging dig he didn’t deserve, but you remember the ache of each canceled date. Every ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ Him mentioning Chrissy while he jerked off when you always suspected he’d secretly been checking her out when you went for lunch there. 

“Well that wasn’t very nice.” 

You groan at the blend of the crack of the belt on your ass and the sound of Steve’s disappointed voice. 

“Four, fuck, four,” you cry while your thighs shake — another line added to your collection. 

“Looks like your training isn’t done, peach,” Steve says sweetly, “You’re still being such a little bitch.” 

You hear him fall in line with Eddie, his ringed hand pulling at your hair to lift you up, “Say hi to Steve, sweetheart.”

“H-hi Mr. Harrington,” you rasp out before he drops your head back down on the pillow.

“Hi, angel,” his voice was low and syrupy, “So respectful.” 

“Heard he’s been real mean to you, peach,” he announces, and you can feel his hand skate over the hot skin of your ass where the belt has met you more than once tonight, “Making you be his pet, kneeling on rice, he’s so mean isn’t he?” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply breathily as the buzz of the vibrator turns up higher.

“I have to be mean, too,” he says softly, hand cracking down hard on your ass in a sweeping smack, “Remember what you said to me earlier?” 

“No, sir,” you whimper, the cry caught in your throat finally aching back out. Tears rapidly stain your face as you see Eddie come into view at the end of the bed.

“Why don’t you try a little harder?” Eddie bites, a short smack with his fingers bouncing off your cheek, “Use your brain.” 

“I said you — shit, five, FIVE, oh my god five — please turn it off Ed, please,” you whine, hips jumping to escape the vibrations, your clit beginning to ache. A wave of concern washes over his features at the sound of his name and not ‘sir’.

“What did you say to Steve earlier? Tell me and I’ll consider it,” he says, eyes scanning you hurriedly to check your face for signs of discomfort beyond what you could normally handle. You huff and cry, too overstimulated to answer him.  

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he warns, hand snaking back into your hair.

“I said he wouldn’t do shit,” you grit out, whimpering out a broken, “Six.” 

“You can turn the toy off, Harrington,” he says gruffly. Two more lines are marked on your thigh, you shiver when Steve traces them after he turns the toy off.

“Nice collection,” he says, cocking his head over to Eddie’s implements laid out on the dresser. You hear him rifle through his options, Eddie’s quiet instructions while they look together, ‘Too much, she’ll tap out,’ ‘She can only do a few with those,’ ‘You’re not experienced enough for that, you’re not here to practice on my girl.’ Warmth pools in your belly and soothes you despite the stinging on your skin and the bruised ache between your legs. They decide on the belt, it’s Steve’s favorite and yours, and you’re silently happy he joined in because Eddie absolutely would’ve caned you otherwise. 

“You have a nice break?” Eddie asks, he appears at the end of the mattress again – torso in your vision. You nod, feeling a wet spot under your cheek from drooling. 

He tuts, wiping some of it away, muttering, “You fucking dog,” under his breath.

“I’m not gonna do shit? That’s what you said, right?” Steve asks, you moan in frustration when the toy starts up again between your legs – setting turned up high. 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you stutter out. The last syllable leaves your lips and Eddie’s belt meets you across the thighs with a speed and precision you’ve never felt before. The sound that comes out of you is desperate and aching, barely coming down from the sting when the second comes down hard the side of your ass. 

“Didn’t think this one through, did ya, peach?” he asks, a grunt and flounce of his hair adding power to the next one. 

“No, sir. I’m s-sorry,” you cry, shoulders shuddering when he follows through with two more. The vibrations of the toy and his rough smacks of the belt blend together again and you gush between your thighs with a high whine.  “S-seven,” you whimper. 

“What a slut,” Eddie mutters while he adds another line to your orgasm tally, “Gettin’ beat makes you cum?” 

“Yes, sir,” you nod feverishly, easing your hips back down lightly over the vibrator wand. He slides the belt he’s wearing out of his belt loops and wraps it firmly around his knuckles. You look up at him petulantly with wet, glassy eyes. Another strike of pain hits your backside as Steve whips the belt against you again.

“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows raised, “You got somethin’a say?” 

“No, sir,” you raspily whisper. 

“Good,” he smiles, “Cause pets don’t talk, do they?” 

“No, sir,” you admit with a nod, yelping when the leather strikes your thighs. 

“You’re gonna cum ten times, baby,” he explains, “I’m gonna help you get there.” 

“Since getting whupped makes you cum so much,” he teases before both of them bring their belts down simultaneously. The release of crying is more euphoric than the orgasms, settling into the burn of each rise and fall of their arms, each crack of their belts and slap of their hands raining down on you.

“Ow, fuck that hurts so fucking good,” you wail, “Please more, please.” 

“You dirty fucking bitch,” Steve glowers, “You learning anything?” 

“Yes, sir – AH! EIGHT – EIGHT!” you scream, the choked sob in your chest wracking through you into a full on meltdown. They both drop their belts, Steve approaching you again with both hands gripping your hot, welted skin hard. You squirm under his touch while his hand barrels down on you again, the other turning off the toy. 

“You know something, peach,” he says, finger softly tracing whatever Eddie wrote on your back, “I think you act like a bitch ‘cause you wanna be fucked like one.” 

You squeal out a noise while he kneads the burning fat of your hips and thighs, spreading you open, “Does that sound right?” 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you say between big breaths, trying to steady your sobs. You relax into the relief of the toy being turned off, shivering at the feeling of his finger going back to trace the words on your back. 

“Says here you’re an anal slut,” he smirks, “You like getting fucked in the ass?” 

“She loves getting fucked in the ass,” Eddie answers for you, a whiff of his cologne and cigarette smoke wafts through the room while you feel him detach the spreader bar from between your legs. 

“So how about I fuck you like that? Think that’ll drive it home?” 

You nod while Eddie uses his switchblade to cut open the rope on your wrists and thighs, your hands falling down towards the mattress limply. You lift one of them to push yourself up but Eddie catches your arm.

“Stay,” Eddie says sternly, “You didn’t answer his question.” 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” your voice sounds moody and petty. 

“Is that what you want?” Eddie asks, brows raised again. You can tell he wants your extra reassurance since this was newer territory. He didn’t share you very often, and not normally with someone so close to home. 

“Yes, sir,” you nod, he squeezes your arm twice in silent communication. A gentle reminder. A silent ‘I love you’. 

“Get her on her back, Harrington,” he smiles, “That’s how she likes it best.” 

Steve, though still stern, takes his time working you up to it – teasing your clit with his thumb until wetness pools out of you down to your ass. 

“You like it slow like this? Like getting stretched out?” he asks, “You’re not my toy, so I don’t wanna break you.” 

“Mmm,” is all you can reply as one of his fingers pumps slowly in and out of your tight hole, your hips moving in time. Your head lolls back over the end of the mattress where Eddie’s stood over you, the mix of his musk and body wash filling your nose while his balls sit over your mouth. 

“Oh, you can break her, Harrington,” Eddie nods, “Put some miles on her.”

Eddie pops open a bottle of lube and tosses it to Steve, “Two squirts is normally enough to get the second finger in, she’ll loosen up good after that.” 

Your thighs twitch while you hear your boyfriend’s low gravelly voice instruct someone on how to fuck you. How your body reacts, what your body wants. Like he’s always been studying you this whole time. You preen into his touch when his ringed hand slides town your torso to move Steve’s thumb away from your clit. 

“You like getting used, angel?” Steve asks, easing a second finger in slowly. You groan at the stretch, legs shaking when the pads of Eddie’s fingers swirl over your clit at the speed and pressure you like the most. “Mhmm,” you muffle out, hand reaching out to grab Eddie’s thigh, nails digging into his skin while you continue to drool onto his sac. He hisses at the bite of the assault, “Hands to yourself.” 

You whine when he takes his hand away, offering three short slaps to your clit with his fingers. 

“Nine,” you gasp out, hips jolting at the pleasure from the pain and the fullness of Steve’s fingers pumping in and out of you. You lay there like that for a bit, eyes fluttering closed while Eddie guides his cock into your mouth, slowly pushing in and out while his hand cups your face. 

“Think you’re ready for something bigger, peach,” Steve says softly, pushing your thighs up to press against your chest. You instinctively hold them up, never having to be told where and when to be helpful in providing access to you. You feel the blunt head of his cock push forward and you suck in a breath through your nose while Eddie’s length slides against your tongue. His thumb smoothes over your jaw bone. 

“You can take it,” he encourages, his hand moving downward to grab one of your breasts. A quiet groan bubbles out of his chest when Steve pushes himself in to the hilt, making you moan over his cock. 

“So tight, shit,” Steve grunts, a soft sheen of sweat forming on his forehead while his body finds balance on the mattress to begin thrusting. And thrust he does, not caring about your pleasure – only his. Eddie doesn’t mind though, he knows that part of what gets you off is the total disregard for you, that delicious taste of degradation and humiliation that comes with being used. 

“She’s good, isn’t she Harrington?” Eddie asks, hips moving a little faster while he fucks your mouth. Your eyes roll behind closed eyelids as the sensation of one of them pushing in and the other pulling out rocks you against the mattress. 

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, “Yeah, shit – better keep her on a fuckin’ tight leash.” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair before both of them find a solid grip on your waist, drilling into you. You jump with each slam of his hips while your skin smacks together, waking up the buzzing sting of the welts they both left behind. You let yourself be used, moaning muffled by Eddie’s girth, pussy pulsing over nothing while they took turns teasing your clit and chest. Rough grabs turning into soft, feathery touches. Leather and lace, push and pull, back and forth.

“Gettin’ close, baby,” Eddie grumbles, the snap of his hips starting to stutter when he pulls out of your mouth. You obediently keep your mouth open and he laughs at you, tapping your chin closed. 

“No, you don’t get to swallow my cum,” he taunts, “You didn’t earn that.” 

You watch him fuck his fist, eyes burning with lust while he watches Steve pull you closer to him on the bed, your face finally staring up at him. You can smell the spice of his cologne, see the fire in his light brown eyes, his furrowed brow while he rapidly reaches his orgasm. Each thrust gets more punishing while he berates you into the mattress. 

“You take it so good, you fucking slut,” he hisses, “He trained you real fuckin’ good.” 

He leans over you, one hand supporting him, the other creeping up the front of your neck. You’re too fucked out to notice Eddie grab his wrist before Steve can put any pressure on your airways. Offering him a quiet ‘not tonight,’ with a shake of his head, curls bouncing next to him. Steve nods, not skipping a moment to use the same hand to smack you hard across the face – your back arches immediately. 

“Ten, oh my god, ten,” you cry out while your final orgasm rips through you, gushing down between your legs over Steve’s cock. Relieved and satisfied, the tears start to pour out of you again. Aftershocks of your orgasm making you writhe and whine, cry and shake. 

Suddenly, you feel Eddie’s cum shoot in hot spurts over your face. You sputter, eyes shut tight, face contorting while he purrs a low, “You want some more?” 

You whimper, letting out a pathetic ‘mhm’ with a nod in order to keep your mouth shut. You feel Steve’s knees walk over you, the ‘schlick, schlick, schlick’ of him fucking himself over you, using your cum for friction. 

“Say please, baby,” Steve coos over you. 

“Please, sir, please,” you beg, warm briny spend leaking into your mouth at the words. You catch the hitch in his breath before his own thick ropes of cum land on your face. You hear his ragged breathing, feel the shift of his weight while he leans over your body before getting off the bed. 

“Fuck, heh, she’s – damn – she’s good, man,” Steve laughs. Eddie laughs with him, ringed hand coming down to smear their cum into your face before cracking his palm against your cheek from above you. 

“As usual, rode hard and put away wet,” his tone is bored and it makes you shiver again, “Go hit the showers, Harrington.” 

You hear him step out and the bathroom door shut partway down the hall, the air stills now that it’s just you and Eddie. You let out a long, contented, shuddering sigh; too tired to cry, too tired to do much of anything. In the fog, he says ‘I’ll be right back,’ to you, and you aren’t sure how much time has passed between his leaving the room and his arrival. 

“Hey baby,” he croons, “You with me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble. You feel the warmth of a wet washcloth smooth over your face, taking gentle care over your eyes and lips. “Can you open your eyes for me?” he asks, pushing your hair away from your damp forehead. Your eyes open halfway, looking at him through bleary vision – he’s handsome just the same. 

“Hi there,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you croak out. 

“Why don’t you rest a little?” He suggests, pressing a kiss to your cleaned off cheek, “I’ll be right here.” 

You barely register the last syllable of his sentence, exhaustion taking over before you can even agree to the sentiment. 

You wake up slowly, eyes blinking open to the dull flicker of the collection of drippy pillar candles on Eddie’s dresser and the glow of his bedside lamp. He sat up against the wall beside you, book in hand, something new he picked up from a friend at the garage. You lazily reach over and put your hand on his knee, groaning a little at the stretch in your skin where him and Steve had left their marks. 

“There you are,” he smiles, peering over his book, “You have a good rest?” 

You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “How long was I out?” 

“Couple of hours,” he said, starting to giggle, “You slept like a log. Just – out cold. I thought you died.”

You peer around the room and see that it’s been straightened up, the heats on. You’ve been covered up in blankets – water and aspirin already set up next to you. 

“Where’s Steve?” you ask, wincing while you sit up in bed, reaching for the pills to down them. 

“He went home,” he says, dog earring the page and setting it down at the end of the bed, “But he told me to tell you he owes you a night out.” 

“Ugh, a night out with Harrington – can’t wait,” you roll your eyes, sipping your water. 

“I told him you’d rather chew glass,” he laughs, the laugh fades to a look of fondness, “Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“Was that good? Was that okay with you?” he asks, scooting closer to pull one of your hands between his. His fingers toy with your absent mindedly while he waits for your answer. 

“Yes, baby, it was okay,” you smile, chuckling at the dichotomy of his dominant persona and who he is after. 

“Just okay? Are you alright? Did you like it?” His questions are feverish and you can tell he feels guilty, teetering on getting too in his head. 

“Ed, honey –” you start, offering him a kind look that makes his shoulders relax, “I loved it. I love when we play. Adding Steve was really fun.” 

“You don’t want him, like, every time, right?” he asks. 

You pull a face, “No, ew. That’s like, a punch card kind of thing. Every five fucks he gets to join or something.” 

You both laugh in the low light of the room and he leans his head against the wall, looking at you through the slits of his eye lids, “I love you – I’m sorry it felt like I wasn’t connecting with you lately.” 

“It’s okay,” you nod, “I should’ve said something. I just, I don’t know – hate seeming like I’m being needy when I’m sad that you canceled a date. Like, we’re adults.” 

“It’s okay to be disappointed about it,” he shrugs, “I would be, too. S’not gonna hurt my feelings or start a fight if you’re just like ‘Hey, you’re bumming me out – let’s fix it’. I wanna fix these things – this is the long haul, baby. You’re not getting away from me any time soon.” 

“Um – but can I be honest about something?” you ask, nerves creeping into your chest. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Um, please don’t talk about Chrissy like – ever again.” 

His shoulders deflate, “Baby…I wish you told me, you should’ve–” 

“I know, I know, I should’ve said something when it was happening but I just. I froze?” you try to explain, “I didn’t like that.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he pleads, and you know he really means it, “You know I would never. I don’t really want her like that. I was just trying something new. I never want you to feel like there’s someone else.” 

You nod with a tight smile, “I just like – that’s why I’m scared to complain. Cause what if you wanna be with someone who will just like – brainlessly do whatever you want and not care?” 

He tries to fight a smile but he can’t help it, “Well, babe, I mean…you already sort of brainlessly do whatever I want.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you tease, swatting at him. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

“You can complain every day for the rest of your life,” he says simply, “And I’’ll feel lucky to be the guy you’re complaining to.” 

“So, why don’t we get you in the shower,” he starts, voice soft and smokey, “I’ll clean you off.” He presses a slow kiss to your cheek, crawling over you. 

“Get you all relaxed,” he says, before tilting your head up to take your lips in his. It’s loaded with desire, not a peck, but a hungry mouth on yours, “Patch you up a little.”  

“I already started dinner.” 

Kiss. “Your favorite.” Kiss. 

“We can eat.” Kiss.

“We’ll have dessert.” 

Kiss. 

“Your favorite, again.” 

Kiss. “And you can have –”

Kiss. 

“All of my attention –” 

Kiss. 

“For the rest of the night.” 

His big brown eyes linger on yours when he breaks away from his final kiss, lost in looking at you. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“Yeah, I just – damnit –” he sucks his teeth, “I made myself hard again.”  You giggle at his frustration, leaning forward until your noses press against eachother.

“We can take care of that,” you start – 

Kiss. 

“In the shower.” 

[trtlebuns]

Get Back Here

Prompt - He realised the child had seen him and he couldn't let him get away

Tags: Price, AFAB, Children, Fluff, Comedy

It was 3am…

Price had promised that he wouldn’t be out too late but here he is trying to not make any noise to wake either you and his 15 year old son up.

“Shit” Price whispered angrily to himself as the door creaked loudly trying to open it

“Needs some fucking WD40” He said while fully stepping inside and slowly and carefully closing the door while checking his surroundings

Slipping off his shoes and coat to not place any tracks on the tile floor

“Alright” Price mumbled to himself as he walks through the house and passes the kitchen

But something caught his eye

A fresh batch of cookies in a container sitting on the counter

Who was he to deny a fresh baked cookie?

Who is ANYONE to deny- ok

He simple turnt on his heel and made his way to the cookies

“Hey…you come here often? I haven’t seen you around and you look pretty..delectable” Price said sweet nothings to the container as he opened it and indulged in about 3 cookies

“Y/n you really put your foot in this, damn” Price was about to reach for another one, but he felt eyes on him

A quick turn of the head

Your son sees him

Price sees his son

Your son sees him

Price sees his son

Your son sees him

Prices sees his son

Instantly your son dashes to your room, knowing that you told him:

“If your dad comes home late, come wake me up. I got an earful for that man, okay?”

“Get your ass back here” Price huffed out while chasing his son

“You’re in so much trouble old man” Your son laughed while reaching the door to your bedroom

“Don’t!” Price pleaded while trying to reaching out to grab your sons shirt to stop him from opening the bedroom door

But he was far too slow

“MOM!” Your son barged in your room, to see you already up, sitting on the edge of the bed with your legs crossed and arms folded over your chest

“He’s late” your son huffed out while smiling

“Thank you my sweet sweet son, you can go back to living your life” you say while getting up

“Anytime mom” your son leaves and sticks his tongue out at price while he passes him to go back to his room

“Price~” You sung out while leaning on your bedroom door into the dark hallway

“I know you’re there~” you continued

“John.” You deadpanned

Instantly price comes out from the shadows with his boots and coat in hand, looking guilty as ever

“Baby-“ Price tried to plead

“Don’t baby me, get yo ass in here” you said while moving out the way to make room for price to walk in

Price slowly walks in and you close the door behind you

“NOW WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT COMING INTO MY HOUSE LATE AT NIGHT LIKE YOU AINT GOT NO TYPE OF SENSE” you yelled out

“Y/n-“ Price tried to talk but was cut out

“NO!” You continued to tell price about himself

The Next Door Neighbors

“Seems like we had captain out too late again” Ghost says as he hears you yelling at price

“DONT GET FUCKED UP JOHN!” Alejandro faintly heard while walking towards his bedroom chuckling

“You owe me $5 bucks” Soap says to ghost while he listened to you telling John about himself

“AND YO TEAM CAN GET FUCKED UP TOO I DONT CARE” Everyone heard you and chuckled to themselves, even your son.

[thequietmanno1]

TheLreads, Vigilantes ch 93, Replies Part 2

1) “Rappa down! Send the EMT unity ASAP, we can’t allow the timeline to be fractured, we can’t lose him!”- Mirko heard the call, but she only knows how to heal by beating up the enemy worse than the patient, so they don’t hurt them anymore.

2) “Yeah I don’t think that’s in the rulebook of free-for-all illegal cagefights, but then again, it’s not like there’s something against it in there.”- He is technically still fighting within the cage this way, depending on which side he’s holding.

3) “THERE IS MIRKO, SHOWING UP TO SAVE THE DAY ONCE AGAIN! and somehow here faster than All Might. Huh.”- All Might was further delayed getting the officers some healthy snacks before rushing in. Stakeouts can be hungry work.

4) “Why of course because she’s this manga’s best character and her presence here is a blessing to all of us mortals? And Horikoshi demanded her appearance whit a gun to Furuhashi’s head?”- Truly, the side-characters can upstage the “heroes” whenever they take action. The more the fandom loves them, the stronger they’ll be.

5) “I don’t know Rappa, you ever seen a bunny fighting? Those kicks are vicious man.”- More lives have been lost facing off against mad bunnies than there have been against bears.

6) “Unfortunately, you can’t hoodie, the time-space continuum must be preserved no matter what. We are bound to the fate laid forth.”- Hood’s acting like their demise would automatically make him stronger from it, like they were metal slimes in a video game, due to give a ton of exp if he could just finish them off. No wonder he was mad the encounter was forcibly ended early.

7) “She’s more capable than the both of you doltz, why are you being mean to her now?”- They’re just annoyed she’s showing them up when they’re fighting 2-on-1 and losing and she comes crashing in and belts Hood easily.

8) “the fuck you are on Knuckles, you saw her holding her own even better than Rappa! Not gonna refute the wild allegations, she is absolutely feral, that there’s no denying.”- Pretty sure that’s just Rappa mouthing off to Knuckles and him giving him his trademark silent treatment in response whilst he monologues.

9) “OH SHIT YOU ONLY HAVE T MINUS 2.9999999 SECONDS NOW MIRKO, QUICK, KICK HIS ASS BEFORE ALL MIGHT SHOWS UP!”- The one opponent Mirko can’t beat: The ticking clock of the inevitable future!

10) “Already? Damn, time really flies when All Might shows up, right?”- Literally, actually. I think the major time skip occurred after the sky egg incident and his major involvement in that chapter of Koichi’s life. All Might is the harbinger of chronology, pushing time towards the present in ever-increasing leaps with every time he shows up.

11) “No no, no throwing a fit, it’s time to go home now, your mom is calling, you need to take a bath and have dinner okay?”- He’s tired himself out from all this exercise, needs a long period of rest before he’s ready for playtime again.

12) “Aaaand time. Oh jesus, that was a close call, those three seconds were way too short for so much to happen I tell you that.”- Furuhasi should have given himself a larger window of time, but like many things, he misjudged it.

13) “Yeah All Might, you wasted too many nanoseconds picking up your body pillow. Shame on you, you pervert”- All Might, always on time to save the day, but never stop the overarching plot.

14) “I don;t even blame this chapter for being uneventful, I think the fact I spent a whole month away from liveblogging rotted my mind and rusted my gears, I need a bit more of it so I can actually put the ol’ reliable brain back on the tracks.”- Get that WD40 spray for your rusty brainpan. @thelreads

[stevestonbike]

First Day of Fall and a "winter ride".

I had to book some distance so I can close out September with some degree of accomplishment. Code for at least matching last year. I did 52ish km.

There was a light shower but it had cleared. Another set of clouds was on the way. I figure I could do a modest loop and get back before it hit. A genuine storm was forecast. And it was windy. Threats of rain and lots of wind. Just like our Winter.

I had three layers on for 14 degrees C. I wore a technical long sleeve hoody under my jersey and a light rain jacket. That was fine and I had no temperature issues. I debated putting on the fenders. I also thought I could switch out the aero wheels for the stock alloy ones. That is more than a bit of bother. So I dint.

I did a simple loop out to UBC. The wind was 25 kph from the southeast so yes lots of headwind outbound. Its always a headwind. The good thing about UBC is the long downhill on the return basically overcomes any headwind. The weather was cool but dry for almost the whole ride.

Then it wasn't. The rain started when I was 12 km from home. In one km I was wet. Hey it is part of the game. Wet is not bad if you are OK thermally which I was. I have hosed down the bike more than a few times so get the muck off was an added step once home. WD40 is great to protect the chain and shiny bits. Gotta get the water out of the mechanisms.

This is standard practice in the winter as that is when we earn our title as a rain forest. Snow stops riding, but rain is fine. This was just like a winter ride.

I strained my Achilles tendon again. One Ibuprofen fixed it. I gotta do more stretching. Its always the right one. When I felt the tweak I backed off so it was a relatively easy ride home in the rain.

I have not gone out with the club for a while. They had booked a really long ride for Saturday which was frustrating. First thing is that is exactly the kind of ride I needed in August when they were doing short boring rides. Second is the weather forecast was shit and unless you are rather hard core there would be tears. Third is they changed the route three times from a short stupid ride to a long one then back to a short ride late Friday (the night before) when they finally looked at the weather. Fourth that size of long ride needs support or several stops for water and fuel which was not evident. So no way I was going with them.

I guess I am done with the club. It is not serving my needs. So I guess we will see what happens.

[ati-kun]

Procrastinating with being productive

I just realized, even If I don’t have the time/energy to write full posts on my “real” blog, I could totally make a short post here! So today I did it again. :D You know that process, when you have something important to do, or something looming over you, you really don’t want to tackle it, but you also don’t want to be unproductive and just ignore everything and everyone and play games/watch shows for the day? So what do you do? Postpone the thing with doing a million others! :D  I am kinda struggling with work nowadays, because they can’t give me enough hours to work, because they’ve hired too many people (bad management), so I thought I’m going to supplement it by doing some deliveroo/uber eats driving, which I like, I tried it out in the past too, and it’s not bad money to be honest.  I was supposed to ride today, but I was really not in the mood, so I was like “let’s still do some stuff” The things I’ve done today instead: - I applied to about 7 new jobs, hopefully I get some responses soon! - I put my road racer up for sale on facebook market - Rode to ESSO in hopes of washing my bike and put some air pressure in my bike tyres - Friggin pressure washer was closed of course, so I managed to pump my tyres, and rinsed my bike as much as I could with the dinky water hose that is on this air/water thingy - It worked okay - Went to B&Q to get: Zipties, WD40, and some hose (I have the stupid separate taps in my flat so I wanted to connect them and cut a hole in the middle instead of having a cut plastic bottle on it now XD), and some metal binds to fix the hose on my sink - I found two of these, and I’ve found a good LED lightbulb that is in my main light now in my room, it’s 1580 lumens so it’s nice and bright! - I found a KFC right outside so I had a 4 piece boneless meal with a Latte and it was super nice! Also super expensive, prices are going up! x_x It was like 7 pounds something, it used to be 5 :( - Found a huuge TESCO extra, went in to get some MILK and BREAD, and some chocolate bars (I got snickers and twix OwO) - In addition of finding these I found a nice thick single duvet that was 13.5 tog, (which should be really warm) only 11 quid, and 100% polyester! Which I learned through my camping trips, is very warm!  I also managed to do the canadian jam knot for the first time from memory! So I had no extra bungee cord to fix the duvet on my pannier, but I always carry a piece of paracord in my bag for emergencies, and I tried doing this knot I saw a million times from Joe Robinet in his bushcraft videos, and I managed to do it from memory! I was so happy! :D And it’s a great knot because you can just pull on the cord and it becomes tighter and tighter but does not release at all! When you’re done it’s easy to undo though, so it’s very good. ^^ - I came home and sprayed my bike with the WD40 - I sorted out my drawer with all my paperwork - I also found there all my “gaming sticky notes” which were on my wall behind my computer in the previous flat - I decided to glue these in my notebook to keep them as a memory, and they will also come in handy if I play these games again! :) Subnautica, Warframe, Graveyard keeper, and Destiny! - Removed the tatami mats from under my pull up bar, because they were too soft so the pull up bar was moving a lot, now it’s much better!  - Made dinner and ate it! ^^ So even though I haven’t gone to do deliveroo, I still managed to do a lot!  Didn’t earn money though, just spent some though. x_x Well shit! :D

[bibliotheksbewohnerin]

*to the tune of Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad*

why does my back...hurt so bad?

[necros-writing-stuff]

Eden with a stalker is such an intriguing thought. Staring from the treeline while they chop wood and weed plants, sneaking up to the cabin at night to have a little look around. Eden would either hate it or find it very convenient

Eden with a stalker is one of my favourite things mostly because I'd stalk him.

Obvious warnings for stalkings, scent kink and Eden just being Eden.

But imagine Eden walking around, turning their head this way and that because they just feel this tingle down their spine that tells them they're being watched. It's not a wolf. The wolves would have attacked by now. They've been being watched for days now.

It's so hot. Dead of summer, sun shining right onto their back as they chop wood. They want to take their shirt off, but they can feel those eyes right on them. Eventually, the heat gets too much, and they take their shirt off anyways. A few minutes later, they swear that they hear a little whimper from the bushes, but by the time they get over there it's empty.

They barricade the door at night now. What if someone that they had fought with in the past is trailing them, waiting to get revenge for some stupid decision Eden made as a teenager?

Eden should never have put WD40 on their damn window hinges. They find one open in the morning, as well as yesterday's clothes missing. The unwashed ones. It makes them nauseous. Some freak from that town was in their home. Some fucked up little shit stole their clothes and is doing god knows what with them.

It's not till they look in their mirror to get ready in the morning that they see the hickey on their neck. What the fuck.

Eden is a light sleeper. They wake up when anything approaches the fucking cabin. How could they not wake up to their new problem suckling at their skin like a damn vampire bat?

They have to fight the urge to throw up when they think of what else could have been done to them, but theirs no fluids on them or the bed. There's no ache in their body. Just missing clothes, an open window and a marked up neck.

They start imagining the worst. Some 70 year old man with the worst hygiene terrifyingly wide eyes. You can imagine their surprise when they finally catch their little fox, as they began to affectionately call you once you were collared.

Not an off-putting old man. A pretty thing that they were stricken by as soon as they saw them. You'd been so scared when Eden had reached into the foliage you had been hiding in, gripping you by the neck and pulling you into the clearing. They'd just been passing by, they didn't look paranoid at all. They always looked paranoid when they knew they were being watched.

You had seen the hunter attack people for simply coming across their path in the forest. It's why you chose to love them from afar. They're someone who loves their personal space. That time you crept in was a moment of poor impulse control on your part. You'd made your dear hunter upset. You never intended to make them upset.

Not that it matters now. It all worked out for the better. Why didn't you see how lonely they looked when you watched them? It's so clear to you now as you snuggle in their lap, listening to their low voice read. Maybe that was why they didn't kill you. They'd ripped your clothes from your body and taken you so hard it had hurt. But you had deserved it. You'd upset them, so they should punish you.

The collar around you neck made you smile everytime you saw it in the mirror. It was a reminder that your dear hunter had chosen you. The marks on your neck reminded you that only they had the privilege to make marks. You were to receive, obey and smile. There's nothing that could make you happier.

Eden still flinches or curls their lip when you do some things, like hoarding their underwear or whining when they need to go hunting. If you're that infatuated with their scent, you can get on your knees and please them directly. If you don't want to starve, you'll let them hunt.

And you have to stop trying to cook more recipes for them goddamn it. Eden likes what they like. They don't need you changing their diet because 'it's healthy'. They're plenty healthy enough.

For now you think too much for yourself. And you think you can think for Eden. It should be the reverse. Anything Eden dictates, you should believe like its a law from whichever damn god made you.

Just a little more training is needed, though. Turns out grabbing your stalker to be your spouse can work out exponentially, so long as they're you.

[spoopycreepyhorrorcreepypasta]

Stay Safe

I’m on the sixth floor of my apartment complex. It’s a small studio, and almost fully furnished. The only items I moved in were my twin-sized bed, various personal belongings, and kitchenware. Included in the apartment is a desk that folds out on the right side of the wall, a dresser, and coffee table. 

Pat, my realtor, smiled at me with wide eyes when she showed me the apartment. “What do you think?” she asked, hands clutching her clipboard. “It’s fine, I guess,” I said. I had never lived on my own before. I was about to start college at DePaul. Chicago is a big city, and I didn’t know anyone yet. 

“Great!” she exclaimed. “I’ll send you the final paperwork via email as soon as I get home, Becca.” She ushered me out into the hallway, taking a nervous glance behind her as we made our way to the elevator.

The only way that I can explain it is that her vibes were off. But, the apartment was actually below my price-range, and in a decent neighborhood (or so I was told by Reddit), so I couldn’t say no.

That first night, I barely slept. I was startled every time I heard the rushing of trains a few blocks away. Dogs were barking, car horns honking. This was so different from the small, quiet town I grew up in back in Indiana.

I didn’t have to start school until the next month, so I had loads of time to unpack and adjust to my new life in the big city. To help with motivation, I put on pop music and sung along as I unfolded all of my clothes and put them away into my new dresser, put away my kitchenware, and set up my desk space with my new office chair, which I had just ordered from Amazon.

The fold-out desk looked old. I wasn’t sure when the apartment complex was built, but it must have been decades ago. It was a little squeaky, so I dug out the WD40 my uncle had slipped into one of my boxes began dripping the liquid on the rusted metal parts of the desk.

I saw scratches on the underbelly of the wood. This was odd to me as the desk folded down to about thigh-height, so it’s not like anyone could have been underneath, clawing away. Perhaps someone had been working at this desk with some sort of severe anxiety and had dug their nails into the wood. I looked closer. The scratches were tinged with dark red stains. Chills ran through my body. I immediately whipped out my Magic Eraser and began scrubbing. 

The stains were not rubbing out. I clenched my fists and scrubbed harder, to no avail. The scratch makes made my skin crawl, and I was really uncomfortable at the possibly that there would be stained blood right underneath me while doing schoolwork. 

The days were long. I did begin to feel more comfortable as all of my items from home were coming together nicely in my new space. 

The nights were longer. The trains still irked me, the dogs barking was unnerving. The third night, things got worse.

The scratching began. 

As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a “skritch” on the other side of the wall, opposite the desk. I thought nothing of it. The scratching continued, small noises, intermittently, with no distinct pattern. I tried to ignore them as best I could. I assumed it was a neighbor painting their wall, or maybe it was furniture of theirs scraping for some reason. Maybe they had a desk like me, which wasn’t sturdy, and they were working overnight.

The next morning, I made myself breakfast on my tiny kitchen stove. My eyes were drawn the to the desk, and my wall behind it. 

“I’m going to take out the trash,” I thought to myself, “and explore my new building.”

The trash bag wasn’t heavy, as I didn’t have much to dispose of yet, but this was a good excuse to meander about. As I exited the apartment and turned to lock the door, I realized that there was no apartment on the left hand side of me, as my apartment was snuggled into the corner. The left side of the wall was where the scratches were coming from. 

I ran to the garbage bin outside, tossed the bag, and headed back inside the building. As I approached my door, I questioned myself as to why I was so antsy to go back in. 

"You're being stupid," I told myself. "There must be something in the walls. Maybe I can track down a neighbor and ask them if they've had similar experiences." 

I did run into a neighbor that weekend, in the lobby. 

I mustered up my courage to approach the strange man. "Hi," I said. "I'm Becca. I'm in apartment 608. Do you mind if I ask you a weird question?" 

He was handsome, and his brow gleamed with sweat. His name was Greg, he said, and he was actually moving out. He set down the box he was carrying and brushed off his shirt. I could see the U-Haul parked out front of the complex. 

"Oh," I said. "Congrats on the move?" You never know if someone is moving because they found a better opportunity, or worse, if they are breaking up with a partner. 

"Hah," he said, chuckling a bit. "Yeah, I can't stay in this apartment much longer. So, your question might not be so weird." He chuckled a bit but I could see a glint of fear in his eyes. 

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you have a weird question, but I bet I have a weirder answer. Let's sit down."

I froze, worried that he would invite me into his apartment, but thankfully he pointed to the couch on the other side of the lobby, next to the Keurig machine (which sadly isn't free, I noticed). 

"Listen," he said, leaning forward. "This place is fucking weird." 

I was taken aback. I wasn't used to cursing nor was I prepared for what he was about to say.

"I moved in about six months ago. I mean, this is a pretty cool place, right? Decent location, close to the train." He looked around, as if reminiscing. "Shit started to go down within the first week. I'm alone, right? How are my keys going to be place on my desk and when I turn around they're in my bathroom? Or in my fucking bathtub?!" He shook his head. "I'm thinking I'm going crazy. I'm hearing all these weird noises. I swear something is watching me. I'm finding nails on the floor. I'm seeing all this weird shit outside my window. And I'm on the third floor!" 

My mouth fell open, agape. 

"Bro, I had the creepiest feelings, too, I can't even explain them. Just like, the heebie-jeebies. Someone is watching me." He said it again. Someone was watching him. "I'm not even religious at all, but I'm praying every night. I had to get out. I was just done. I called the landlord and I broke my lease and I said 'I'm out, I gotta go.' She actually didn't ask questions..." He pondered this for a moment. "..and I didn't ask questions, either. So two weeks later, here I am, bailing."

"I've been hearing scratches," I said shakily. "They started a few days after I moved in. I also feel really...weird."

"The scratches!" He exclaimed. He took my hand, and I instinctively pulled away, but he held on. "The scratches is how it begins. You gotta get out," he said. "You need to leave."

He stood up quickly, before I could ask any questions. "Listen," he said. "I gotta go. I'm on a time crunch here. I really hope you, uh..." he was at a loss for words. "Stay safe." 

Greg picked up the box he had left up front and hauled it out the front door, glancing back at me once, nodding his head, as if confirming his words, which echoed in my head. "You need to leave," he had said. "Stay safe."

I sat in the lobby for another ten minutes, cursing myself that I didn't have quarters for the Keurig. I could have gotten some hot cocoa. My aunt always made it for me when I was feeling anxious or scared.

I didn't want to go back into my apartment. But I had no choice. 

Greg was right. The scratching was how it begun. It got louder, and louder. The scratches sounded longer, like someone scraping their nails across the walls in long strokes. I began to sleep with my AirPods in. The soothing sounds of ocean waves washed around me. "He was just messing with me," I thought. "It's just rats, or mice," I thought. "It's just a creaky old building, this is just in my head, this is all a dream, just a fever dream..."

I was reading in bed one afternoon. The sun was glimmering through the window, and the scratches started again. But they weren't coming from behind the desk. They were coming from the wall behind me.

I jumped out of bed, and flung my bed to the floor. I couldn't stand this anymore. I began knocking on the wall. "Hello!?" I said loudly. "Please be quiet!" 

The scratching became louder. The noise traveled up the wall, creeping over my head, and onto the ceiling. RIPPP! SKREEEET!

I screamed, grabbed my phone and keys, and ran to the lobby, then outside, gasping for air. I looked around. Where was I going to go? What was I going to do?

"My realtor," I thought. "She has go to know something." The memory of her odd behavior when I accepted the space entered into my mind. 

I dialed her number, and surprisingly, she picked up almost immediately.

"Hi Becca," she said. "So... how are things?"

"Listen, Pat. Please be straight with me. What is going on in this apartment."

She drew in a long, labored sigh. "What's happening to you?" she asked.

"Scratching!" I exclaimed. "My desk, it has stains on it. It's like, fingernail scratches and there is blood! There is blood, Pat! And the skritching, the scratching, it's like... creatures trapped in my walls! Is it rats? Mice? Racoons? Greg told me he heard it too." The words were rushing out of my mouth. "He said he saw something outside, Greg said that he was freaked out, Greg is moving out!" I'm almost yelling at this point.

"Hon," she said. "It's going to be okay. Meet me at the Starbucks down the street tomorrow. Does 3pm work for you?"

My breathing is slowing. "Sure," I said. "Sure. I'll see you there."

"I need to go," Pat said, sounding distracted. "I uh, I'll see you tomorrow." She hung up. 

I didn't meet up with Pat the next day.

That night, the pitter patter of rain tapped gently on my window. I decided to not sleep with my AirPods in, as the rain was soothing enough.

Tap, tap! "It must be raining harder," I thought. "Tap, tap, tap." This didn't sound like rain though. 

Scrreeeeeeeeeech! The sound of nails dragging on glass. Scriiiiiiiitch! 

I closed my eyes tighter. "This isn't happening," I told myself. "I am dreaming, you are dreaming." 

SCRIEEEEEEECCCH. I couldn't ignore it.

I shifted my head toward the window, moving at the slowest pace possibly, and saw it.

It wasn't a shadow. It was darker than a shadow. But solid. I was frozen.

Sunken eyes, sunken jowls, sunken cheekbones. The longest face, a dripping chin, like melting wax. Arms raised above it's head, claws like a bird's beak, scritching, scraping down my window. Head tilted, it noticed my presence. A small hole formed where a mouth would be. A small hole growing larger, wider. The scratching, it was scratching faster, and faster, the mouth growing larger, and larger, until it screamed louder than I could have possibly imagined, piecing my ears. Like a banshee, like a demon, a sound from the pits of hell. 

I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. The shrill shriek seemed to last for eons. But then it stopped. It tilted it's head once more, and then scurried sideways out of sight. 

The next morning I gathered my essentials, rented a car, texted Pat that I couldn't make it, and drove back to Indiana. 

I had to break my least, which was a kick in the butt financially. I called Pat about a week later and told her that things just didn't work out. 

"Oh," she said, sounding downtrodden. "Can I ask why?"

"No," I said firmly. "I am never speaking of it again." I hung up the phone. 

I still see it. I see it in my nightmares. I see it in the corner of my eye. I ignore it. I think I made a mistake. I shouldn't have looked at it. I shouldn't have looked in those eyes. Those blackened, sunken eyes. 

[27dragons]

Name of Piece: No Fellow in the Firmament Square Filled: S5 - [image: iron patriot] Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: Some moments in Tony and Rhodey’s history. Created For: @tonystarkbingo

“But I am constant as the Northern Star, of whose true fixed and resting quality there is no fellow in the firmament.” --Julius Caesar, Shakespeare

Contrary to popular belief, Rhodey didn’t meet Tony at MIT.

Technically, it was off-campus. Jim was walking down the street, looking for the little bodega that a ROTC buddy had told him about that didn’t card for beer, when something exploded high above him.

Jim ducked and ran half a block, pursued by the tinkle of glass hitting the pavement. When he stopped and looked back, the window had fallen out of the top-story apartment, and there were plumes of smoke billowing out.

Jim set his teeth and ran back toward the building, ducking through the door and jogging up the stairs as fast as he could go. The top floor only had two apartments, and it wasn’t hard to guess which one the explosion had come from, given the loud swearing going on behind the door.

Jim lifted his hand to knock just as the door opened, releasing even more smoke and a startled teenager a few years younger than Jim. “Oh! Uh, hey, are you the neighbor? Because I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“No,” Jim said, “I’m--”

“Listen, if management sent you, I’m good for the window. In fact, it might be best if we just replace all the windows with something a little sturdier, because--”

“I’m not from management,” Jim interrupted. “I was walking by and saw, and I wanted to make sure no one was hurt.”

The teen pulled up short and stared at Jim. “The window didn’t fall on you, did it?”

“I got out of the way in time,” Jim assured him.

“And then you came back to the building where something had just exploded?”

“It seemed like the thing to do.”

The teen smiled. “You’re my kind of stupid,” he said and offered a hand. “Tony Stark.”

Bemused, Jim shook the kid’s hand. “Jim Rhodes.”

“You’re my new best friend, Rhodey,” Tony said, and tugged Jim into the apartment instead of letting go. “I’ll get this cleaned up and we can make another mess.”

[’ware the readmore!]

When Rhodey heard the news, he ran all the way from campus to Tony’s apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst through the door to find Tony sitting cross-legged on the floor, tinkering with DUM-E’s chassis. He glanced up, said, “Hey, Rhodey,” and went back to work, sticking the screwdriver between his teeth.

Oh shit, Rhodey thought. He hasn’t heard. I’m going to have to be the one to tell him.

Then Tony looked up again and said, “Oh. You heard.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said, and tried not to feel relieved. “It was on the TV at the Student Union. What... Tones, what are you doing?”

“Fixing DUM-E’s sticky wheel,” Tony said. “It keeps making him spin around in useless circles and I thought I should do something about it. Also I think I might be in shock.”

“Yeah.” Rhodey knelt next to Tony on the floor, running a hand down DUM-E’s arm. “You want me to go with you to talk to your professors?”

“What for?”

“So you can get an extension for your classes.”

“Oh, that. No need.”

Rhodey stared at his friend. “You’re going to withdraw?”

“What? No, of course not. We’re only a couple of weeks from the end of the semester.”

“Tony, I think when the shock wears off, you’re going to want some time.”

Tony actually stopped working and sat back on his heels to look at Rhodey. This close, Rhodey could see the red rimming his eyes. “I can’t,” he said. “Me at MIT, this was... This degree was the thing that was supposed to make Dad proud.”

“Oh, Tone.” Christ, it was enough to break his heart. Rhodey sighed and pulled Tony into a hug. “Okay, man. Whatever you need, I’ve got your back. You know that, right?”

Tony endured the embrace for a moment, then pushed away. “You can come with me to the funeral,” he said. “But right now, what I need is for you to hand me that can of WD40.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can totally do this.”

“Easy for you to say.” Rhodey’s voice was reedy and thin across the phone line. “You’ve been doing product demonstrations for like twenty years already.”

“My first was at thirteen,” Tony said, “so more like twelve years.”

“Whatever. The point remains--”

“The point remains,” Tony overrode Rhodey’s nervous blathering, “the point remains that you got this. You know these systems inside and out, you know what the cost-benefit charts look like, and if you’re still anything like you were at MIT, you’ve been dreaming about this presentation for the last week.”

“Yeah, dreaming I walked in naked,” Rhodey grumbled. Tony could practically hear the pout over the line.

“You’re not going to walk in naked,” Tony huffed. “You’re going to blow them away. They’re going to wonder why they didn’t switch to Stark guidance systems five years ago.”

“And I’m going to tell them that five years ago, these systems were just a scribble on the back of your doctoral thesis,” Rhodey said.

“There you go,” Tony said. “You got this.”

“I got this,” Rhodey repeated. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. Thanks, Tones.”

“Anytime, sugarbear. Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell ‘em if they make you the official liaison to Stark Industries for the duration of the contract, I’ll come down another five percent on overhead costs.”

“Tony, that’s going to be over half a million dollars. Per year.”

“Not enough?”

“Obie’s going to murder you if he finds out.”

“Nah. He’ll be glad I’m finally taking an interest.”

The less said about Afghanistan and Obadiah Stane, the better.

Tony was dozing off into his schwarma when JARVIS murmured into his ear, “Sir, you have an incoming call. It’s Colonel Rhodes.”

Tony rocked to his feet, startling several of the other Avengers. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to take this.” He put the helmet on and cued JARVIS to connect the call.

“You son of a bitch,” Rhodey said.

“Honeybear--”

“An alien army, Tones? And you don’t even call? I had to find out from radio chatter?”

“Platypus, you are literally on the other side of the Earth right now. Even at top speed, it would’ve taken you a solid eight hours to get here. And that’s ignoring the time it would take to get clearance from your chain of command.”

“And you were positive you could wrap up an entire alien army in eight hours, were you?” Hoo boy, Rhodey was livid.

Tony closed his eyes. “I needed you to be the second line of defense.”

Rhodey was silent for a moment. “How bad?”

“Rhodey--”

“I’m watching some shakycam footage of you flying a missile into a portal, Tones. How. Bad?”

“Bad,” Tony admitted. “They were going to nuke the city.”

“I’m coming,” Rhodey said, his tone admitting no refusal.

“I’ll heat up the sake.”

“How’s that?” Tony asked. “Need any adjustments? Does it pinch?”

“It’s fine, Tony,” Rhodey said. “Ease up. You’re like an old woman.” He braced his hands on the arms of the chair, bracing himself to stand up.

“I just want it to be perfect.”

Rhodey grunted. He hadn’t seen Tony this manic and wracked with guilt in years. “Hey,” he said gently. “Tones. I’m alive, okay?”

“I know,” Tony said, too fast, too sharp. “And we’re going to get you up to code in no time. Come on, hop to it, there’s walking to be done.” He held out his hands.

The far end of the parallel bars might as well be in Timbuktu, Rhodey thought, but he’d rather break his back again than admit it to Tony. He grasped Tony’s wrists, let Tony pull him carefully to his feet. The braces Tony had built stabilized him, redistributing his weight with each subtle shift. “Not bad,” he said.

“It’s just the initial prototype,” Tony promised. “I’ve got Friday recording both externally and with sensors in the braces for stress and motion analysis.”

Rhodey put his hands on the parallel bars, holding himself up. Tony ducked out of the way but hovered, ready to catch Rhodey despite the thick mats to either side of the bars. “When are you going to tell me what happened over there?” Rhodey asked.

“I know you watched the suit footage,” Tony said, not looking at him. “Come on, take a step, now.”

Rhodey huffed and twisted, dragging his right foot forward a few inches. The braces whirred softly as they compensated for the weight shift. “Sure,” he said, “but when are you going to tell me?”

“As soon as you’re off the painkillers so we can get drunk,” Tony said, surprisingly honest.

Rhodey thought about what he’d seen on that unsteady footage and nodded. “Fair. I’ll buy the first round.”

“You’re on.”

Rhodey stood at the window and looked out over a city in mourning.

The shock of Thanos’ victory was beginning to lift, and despite the wave of heartbreak and panic, people were beginning to rebuild their lives, to take care of each other, to help each other. Humans, Rhodey thought, not for the first time, were an amazingly resilient race.

He missed Sam.

“Rhodes.”

Rhodey didn’t answer, didn’t turn to look as Romanov came up beside him.

“Do you think he’s still out there?” She didn’t need to specify who.

“Absolutely.”

He could feel her looking at him, but kept his own gaze on the city. “What makes you so sure?”

Rhodey could almost feel sorry for her, never having known the kind of constancy that he’d had with Tony. He shook his head, smiling, just a little. “If you have to ask,” he said gently, “I can’t explain it. He’s out there. He’s coming back. And when he gets here, y’all had better be ready to work, ‘cause he’s gonna have a plan.”

[sammyhale]

J2 PittCon 2018 Main Panel

J2 jump onstage!

Jared: “As is obvious to everyone, we haven’t worked since the finale. So we’re a little beardy.” 

Boys are in great moods :)

“So without-” Jensen ...”further ado” - Jared. 

They are going around flipping back and forth between each side to decide where to start taking questions & being silly.

J2 are doing a bit of like a Laurel & Hardy bit. 

Fan: "I've been watching you guys since I was little." "How little?" "Since you guys started and I'm 18 now." Jared: So...four? Jensen: pretends to faint over that. Jared catches him, helped Jensen up after collapsing like an old man lol. 

Jared: “If I could be anyone else on SPN, I’d be Castiel so I could have the day off!” Jensen: Even when he’s working. Jared: That was my joke! You can’t explain my joke! Jensen: I was adding it! Jared says all jokes aside he would still play Cas because he thinks it’d be fun to help the Winchesters out with no agenda. 

Jensen would be Baby because she just sits around and gets pampered all day long. 

Fan: I think I would be Jensen actually. Jared: But then you’ll get to look at me!

What hair products do you use? Jared: Shampoo, conditioner, beanie. 

Jared doesn't know what hair product the on set hairdresser uses on him. Jensen: YOU LOOK AT IT EVERY DAY........actually, to be fair I also look at it every day and I have no idea. 

Jared had a quarter life crisis over his forehead, thinking he was losing hair.   

J2 shenanigans :P

Jensen: “I think she uses ‘mousse’.” Jared: “Coming to a store next summer: Moose Mousse.” 

How many miles do you think the Impala racked up?? Jensen: a lot.

J2 think Baby would have at least a half million miles on her. 

Fan: Why did Soulless!Sam smirk when Dean got turned by the vamp? Jared: That's just my face. Even when I sleep I'm like this... *does a grin* Says he always has a shit-eating grin on his face lol. Jared says that Soulless!Sam was smirking because he wanted to see where the story went from there. Jensen: I just assumed you were watching cat videos.

The boys joke about Cas/Misha. Jared: “[Cas] is not dead, just recast.” Jensen: “Cat’s outta the bag.” Jared: “CAS out of the bag.” 

Jensen would like Dean to come back in Season 14.  

Jared: I would love to see Dean come back, but I want to see Michael!Dean for a few episodes.

Jensen: Christian had a beard when he was playing Michael... so I should... 

Jared says he wants to take the opportunity while Dean is Michael to teach Jack what Dean taught Sam.

Jared: In Season 32, when Jack is 18, we’ll get him a girlfriend, boyfriend, whatever he wants! <3 

Jared: “The show is gonna end. I don’t think the SPNFamily has to end.” Says he hopes the conventions continue after the show ends. 

J2 laughing at each other and their attempts at French

Fan: “Do you need spécial French lessons?” Jensen: “Oh yeah he does!”

..and the dick jokes have begun.

Jensen just turned “process” into a dick joke.

Jensen: we should not be allowed to raise children. Jared: I’m not allowed that’s why Gen ships me away

Jensen: you go first, your process is longer. Jared: why yes it is... lol.  

They are being so naughty and Jensen is laughing so hard. Jared: it's all about your process...

Jensen just did the shocker lmao. 

Jared likes filming emotional scenes. Jensen likes the comedic scenes.

Jared: “I like emotional stuff.” Jensen: “You would.” 

Neither of them like exposition very much

Jensen looking dreamily at Jared 

Jared said exposition and asked if the fan knew what that was and Jensen immediately breaks out the Anchorman reference, “I believe it is an old, old wooden ship.” 

Jared says it was easy being directed by Jensen: I’ve known Jensen the longest and the best. Jensen knows how I work and vice versa. He knows what to say to me because we have such a rapport with each other. 

Jensen: We direct each other on a daily basis anyway. We’re constantly watching each other’s back. 

When Misha directed, Jared was more focused on messing with him. Jensen adds that Misha’s strategy wasn’t so much directing so much as survival.

The boys high-five at some point :P

Jared: Our directors know we care about Sam and Dean more than anyone else so they trust us with those characters.

When Richard directed he kept calling them by their character names. Jared: We've stopped trains together in Europe! Call me Jared! haha  

Fan: “I’m so nervous.” Jared: “All good, girl. You’re surrounded by family.”

Fan asks about actors’ idiosyncrasies before filming a scene? Jensen says Tahmoh would walk in circles grunting just before scenes. Jared: And he's a big guy. Jensen: So cut to Jared & I watching *stares forward terrified* like "are we gonna get hit??" 

Jensen said David gets his Ketch face on before cameras roll and that he keeps the Ketch accent between takes which helps them. 

Jensen on Jared: "If we're in the middle of a scene & it's his turn to say a line but he's like checked out, you see him realize he missed his line & he does a loud throat clear & then says his line as if the long dead air was so he could clear his throat." 

Jared just slapped Jensen’s thigh very enthusiastically.

Jared: Jensen would chew gum and he would stick it to the roof of his mouth when he was talking and Jared can sometimes see it.

Jensen says he ALWAYS knows the difference between when Jared is leaving a pause for emphasis or to do an action vs. if he forgot it's his turn to talk because of the throat clear. They know each other well :) 

Jensen also wants everyone to know that for 13 seasons, Sam and Dean have ALWAYS had gum in their mouths, in every scene. Just to spite his high school teacher who told him she could always tell when he had gum in his mouth.

What would they tell their characters? Jared: Go to Maui. Go to Spain. Cut your hair. There’s nothing for you here. Eat some cheese. Jensen: Maybe not to Dean about the cheese... Jared: You’ve had enough, Dean. 

Jared says he would thank Sam for stopping the apocalypse and that he would listen if Sam needed or wanted to unload some trauma. 

Jensen would tell Dean to get a little WD40 on the Impala doors. “They’ve been squeaking for 13 seasons” 

Jared: I would tell Sam and Dean, “Hey, stop chewing gum!” Sam, stop dying! 

Fan thanks J2 for mental health awareness and support of #MeToo movement. Jared acknowledges women and LGBTQ are not treated well still but thinks it’s great it’s being talked about. Jared just wants to listen to people and wants them to know he doesn’t want to hurt them. Wants to be emotionally available so he can listen and help. 

What can men do to help the #MeToo movement? Jared says they can shut up and listen to people as human beings. Let them know you see them as people and treat them as you want to be treated. 

Jensen: I try to lead by example showing and being the person you want to be and make people proud of. Says it’s something his father taught him (leading by example). If someone is being inappropriate show them by example how to be better. Jensen says you can call people out, but at the end of the day, showing people rather than telling them who they should be is more powerful. 

Jared: I think you need a genuine person to actually help you change. I try to be emotionally available to who do suffer. Treat others how you want people to treat you. 

J2 are both very proud of those coming forward <3 

Who makes the most bloopers? Jensen points at Jared lol. 

Jensen: Jared might be “the blooper” or else he’s probably responsible for it.

Jensen gives an example: Jared failing to enter the scene on time was how Jensen lip-syncing to “Eye of the Tiger” happened. Jensen: “I get a lot of credit for that - it was his fault.”  

Boys cracking each other up :)

Jared: Watching Supernatural during kids’ nap time should be called “Supernapural”. Stephen: *rim shot* Jared is so proud he finally got a rim shot!

Since Rob left the con early to attend the Felicity reunion at the ATX Festival in Austin, Jason takes Rob’s place to sing the last question with Jensen. He was very unsure what to do lol. 

Last question: Jared loves spending time in the vegetable garden with the kids and looking for bugs and animals like frogs and such.

Jared: I feel like a terrible dad. My kids love chasing bugs. It's Texas in the summer, 100 degrees. "Daddy, you chase bugs, too!" I say: "...I'll watch from the kitchen window." lol. Jensen: For me, it depends which kid...& whether I can remember their name at the time...

Jensen tells a story about how he put on a Led Zeppelin vinyl and just stared out the back window and listened to the album with Zeppelin on his lap. 

J2 fist bump!  

Info via: Fangasm, Michael, Cherie, Olivia, Jess, DWB, Sil’s livetweet list

[electricbluebutterflies]

shit I have seen/done at weddings:

Honestly, if somebody wants to use any of this as fic inspo, please go for it. My perpetual state of disaster has gotta be good for SOMETHING. Anyways, without further adieu...

(bride age 22, groom age 26-ish) the wedding where I almost attempted to hit on someone who turned out to be the serious-boyfriend of a girl I’d grown up with - like, he proposed to her literally four days after that. wedding, it would’ve been SO BAD if I’d tried to do something there

(same wedding as above) my siblings’ Young Life leader, who is a particularly large individual and looks like a stray member of Alvin & The Chimpmunks, running halfway across the reception hall because he’d accidentally woken up somebody’s baby.

(same wedding as above - look, it was the beginning of me going to weddings as an adult, things went wrong) bride’s littlest brother, age 9-ish, dropping plastic cutlery from the balcony (don’t ask)... which was almost adorable until the 7-year-old flower girl got hit and went into attack mode... sufficient to say, all the clichés about little girls who have a lot of older brothers are true.

(bride age 21, groom age... shit, idk, 30-ish??) bride’s mother did the food for the wedding. bride’s mother is one of those people who has a lot of bizarre dietary restrictions because they’re an asshole who doesn’t get enough attention, and also has bullshit moral reasons for it. I did not end up eating anything at that wedding and I was ANNOYED.

(also this was the couple that ended up getting kicked out of groom’s home country because they did not realize that bride moving there required actual paperwork, but that is a whole ‘nother story that I should probably post ‘cause it’s a bingo card of “nobody’s actually THAT stupid... right??”)

(bride mid-20s, groom roughly the same age) bridesmaids walked down the aisle to a string quartet version of “We Are Young” by Fun, which for a number of years was my all-time worst song heard at a wedding.

(bride age 21, groom age 26) I wore a white tennis dress with a lot of black floral lace over it, assuming it was an indoor wedding. fuck no. outdoor wedding at midday in mid-June, and the weirdest sunburn of my life.

(same wedding as above) in the receiving line, I kinda accidentally hit the bride. not sure how this happened. funny thing, given how I feel about her, is it was a genuine accident.

(bride age 18, groom age 20) the wedding where I spent the reception hiding behind a freaking cupcake tree because this absolute gremlin of a woman - not that much older than me - decided that was the right time and place to talk shit at me about how unfortunate it was that I hadn’t found somebody yet and how it was probably because I wasn’t religious enough. I was 21 and that was why I refused to go to that church anymore.

(bride age 25-ish, groom probably same age) early in the reception, bride’s 35-ish-year-old sister decides to get a certain part of the guest list singing along VERY LOUDLY to “500 Miles” to piss off her mother. worked out exactly as one might expect. mother of the bride was just SUNSHINE the rest of the evening.

(bride age 20-ish, groom age 22) wedding is inexplicably delayed by an hour due to some kind of technical difficulties. delay is filled by various members of bride and groom’s families performing on various musical instruments... including the groom doing a trumpet solo.

(bride age 27, groom age 29?? idk, I should know how old this guy is but I don’t) I happened to park one space over from where the priest was smoking several cigarettes in succession. I did not consciously NOTICE the priest until after I’d double-locked my car and set off the alarm. frankly, he deserved that little panic due to...

(same wedding as above - I swear everything else went right at this one) Father Napoleon - I’d had a couple tangles with this guy before and knew he was gonna pull something - does homily on how marriage is constantly supposed to be like a fairytale. aka the worst advice another human could POSSIBLY give to my friend the bride, who is a sweetheart but not always fully in touch with reality.

(bride age 19, groom age 18) my little sister’s wedding was magnificent... except for my brother, a groomsman, who discovered ten minutes before the boys were supposed to leave the hotel that he actually DIDN’T know how to tie a bowtie. my brother aso has an unusually large neck. my dad was Not Amused.

(bride age 19, groom age 22) groom forgets to bring rings. groom borrows someone else’s rings. bride puts borrowed ring all the way on groom’s finger. borrowed ring is WAY too small. half hour later, as we’re waiting for the reception to get going // enjoying the couple’s taste in wine, bride’s aunt borrows the DJ’s mic and asks if anyone has any WD40 in their car. weird question, no takers. another fifteen minutes or so later, I wander off to the bathroom and notice there’s an ambulance out front. we got the whole story about the rings from the groom’s older sister later... apparently they ended up having to cut the borrowed ring off the groom’s finger. wonder how the person it had been borrowed from felt about all that.

(same wedding) new winner for worst song heard at a wedding - “Treat You Better” by Shawn Mendes. not that the rest of the DJ’s choices were much better, but that one wins because it was played twice in a row during the reception. WHY. 

[jtzvintagetamadrums]

Crusty, rusty mounting hardware rejuvenation. “Pink Snot” to the rescue!

I’ve been spending some time tearing down several pieces of the 75 Imperialstars in the previous post to nest and ship to a buyer in California. As is normal for 40 plus year old drums, I found the lug mounting screws, muffler hardware, t rods and washers to be in pretty rough shape. So in this post, I decided to document the journey and do a bit of a pictorial, how-to guide on how I usually go about rejuvenating damn near barnacle encrusted hardware back to usable condition.

Here’s how the lug screws, tone control mounting hardware and washers started out. They looked to have been “rid hard and put away wet”...no seriously, like literally put away wet. Most people would just say “fuck that noise” and find some original screws. Me...I have way too much free time on my hands and ALWAYS try to salvage the original screws because it’s not like any vintage Tama screws are all that readily available. 

Be warned, this process WILL remove any of the original yellow zinc plating that is on the screws. In this case...there wasn’t much left to worry about so they are the perfect candidate for restoration.

First the lug screws...I know WTF...Life After People style...but alas, there is hope.

Tone control screws, washers and nuts...whee dawgies...totally jacked.

Washers...not too bad, but could use a good kick in the face...

First step: Slather them in “pink snot”...also known by the brand name “Loctite Naval Jelly Rust Dissolver” available in the glue and paint remover section at your local Home Depot. It gets its name because they use it to get rust off of battle ships...so this is the real deal and will gladly and chemically burn your face off if given the chance. It is also great on lug casings, chrome hoops, Titan stand hardware and steel snare shells. Surprisingly, Tama chrome doesn’t seem to mind it (nor does vintage Camco) as far as marring the finish. I love this stuff and like the Red Hot sauce ad...”I put that shit on everything!” This product is a little harsh on the sinuses so you are best off using it outside with good ventilation and blue nitrile gloves to protect your manicure. Shmear it on and let it sit for twenty minutes or so. Vigorously work the product around the hardware several times every few minutes with an old paint brush you have lost all respect for.

This is how the parts will look after they are rinsed thoroughly with hot soapy water. Any rust that remains has been turned to black carbon deposits that will need further attention. In the case of these lug screws, they were so corroded that the washers seemed almost fused together. This is a result of a build up rust between the flat washer and the threads below as the screw is pressed against the shell. This is where you grab a decent flat blade screw driver and give the lock washer and flat washer a twist to break them free from their bondage.

The tone control hardware pretty much needs just a little face time with a Dremel tool and a wire wheel attachment. If you don’t have a Dremel tool...get one! Best damn Christmas present ever. Each piece as well as the t rod washers will need to be burnished to remove any remaining deposits prior to getting a good soak in WD40. Don’t forget your safety goggles kids...a wire wheel shard in the eye sucks.

In mid process below. I also gave the fully separated lug screws and washers a once over with the Dremel wire wheel as there will be rust and corrosion in that area where the washers were stuck together. The lug screws will get yet another ride on the “Pink Snot Express” to ensure they are rust free.

I also used the pink snot on tension rods...makes them all pretty again.

The old “shake, shake, shake” in the pickle jar filled with acetone for a final rinse.

This is how the lug screws should look after the second pink snot bath, rinsing, drying and another shot with the Dremel wire wheel. Both the flat and split washers are now free floating on the screw shaft. Oh so sparkly.

Now the next part, I've never actually tried before. Normally I jut soak these in WD40 for future rust abatement and call it a day. However, my friend Kevin Cundy up in the Great White North mentioned in a Facebook post that he likes to shoot them with some gold metallic spray paint. I figured what the hell, I’ll try it on a few of the screws and see how it looked. The two spray cans pictured below both look like gold, but the “Bright Coat” one on the right is a bright Silver Metallic finish. I shot these test screws first with a light coat of the silver from all angles, then hit it with a light coat of the gold when the first silver coat was wet. I thought maybe the two sheens (silver and gold...not Charlie and Martin) would play well off of each other. The idea is to kind of mist it on. You can go back and hit it with a mist of of the silver again to get an even lighter mixed metallic sheen if you wish. 

Test screws close up...pretty shwanky.

I thought “Hey these look pretty fucking awesome...I’ll just do the rest of them!”

Below are the finished product on the right, with some original yellow zinc plated, super clean screws on the left. The spray coat will keep the rust at bay for the foreseeable future and make them as close to factory fresh as possible. This is by no means a perfect match and they are lacking that blue/green yellow zinc cast, but I don’t see anyone coming out with a snazzy “Popeil’s Pocket Yellow Zinc Electroplate DIY Kit” any time soon...and don’t think me and some other guys with fist fulls of fucked up looking screws haven’t researched that possibility as well.

Booosh...in just a few hours...this happened.

So the moral of the story is...yes, I do have too much free time on my hands (that’s not actually true, I have two kids which means zero free time) and even though your screws may look like total ass...they can in fact be revitalized with some due diligence, elbow grease...and of course “Pink Snot”.

Cheers and thanks for taking a look!

- jt

[explicitlytheballs]

Get You Good

It is the end of Gelo week 😢😢 I enjoyed writing these imagines and I hope you enjoyed reading them. - Omniscient Y/n sat in her car far from where the Balls lived. It was late at night and she couldn't help but to spy on her ex boyfriend and his new girl. A few months ago Gelo broke up with y/n for some girl named Isabella. Y/n was heart broken, she couldn't believed that LiAngelo would do something like that, it was least expected. She picked up her binoculars and looked over to see if they were gonna come out or not. Y/n had been sitting here since 7:00 PM and that's when Izzy came. It was now 12:23 AM and y/n had no luck of her coming out. Y/n sighed in disappointment, she put the binoculars up to her eyes once again and she spotted Izzy and Gelo coming out laughing. Y/n laughed, "he really broke up with me for that?" Gelo gave Izzy a hug and a kiss before she got in her car and left. Y/n put down her binoculars and tossed them in the back seat. She tied up her trench coat and she put on her black heels. "Ohh I'm gon' get you good baby boy." She grabbed her keys and her backpack. She got out the car and locked her door, making her way towards the house. It was only Gelo at home and that's the way she wanted it. She went around the back and peeked into the house. "This door better be open." She slid back the door and creeped inside. Then she closed it locking it. She heard the shower running upstairs so Gelo must've been taking a shower. She tip-toed upstairs, going to the bathroom door and slowly opening it. "Baby!" The front door slammed . "Shit." Y/n whispered and ran into Melo's room. "Hell if I knew the front door was open I could've went through the front." She halfway closed Melo's room door so that she could still see out of it. Izzy went into Gelo's room then she opened the bathroom door. "I forgot my phone, I'll text you when I get home okay?" She closed the bathroom door and went downstairs leaving out the house. "Whew that was too close, if she caught me her ass was gon' be rolling down them stairs." Y/n shook her head and put her car keys in her backpack. She left out of Melo's room and quietly walked to Gelo's room. His room door squeaked as she opened it. "Damn this shit need WD40, squeaky ass door." She entered and cracked the door like it was. She unzipped her backpack and got the blindfold and handcuffs out, putting them in the pocket of her coat. Y/n took her phone out of her pocket and put it on airplane mode so it wouldn't ring. She put her phone in her backpack and pushed it under his bed, and hid in his closet. After 10 minutes Gelo finally got out the shower, he came into his room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He opened his dresser drawer and got a pair of boxers out. He dropped his towel and put on his boxers. Y/n creeped out the closet as his back was turned, typing away on his phone. Y/n took the blindfold out of her pocket and wrapped it around his eyes tying it up. "What the f- "Shhhh." "Izzy? I thought you were gone? You can't stay away from me huh?" He laughed. Gelo reached for the blindfold, but y/n smacked his hands away. "Ohh we getting down like that?" He smiled. Y/n pushed him on his bed and she got the handcuffs out of her pocket and cuffed his hands to the rails of the headboard. Y/n giggled and untied the scarf around from his eyes. "Hi baby boy." Y/n smiled. "Y/n. Get. The. Fuck. Off. Of. Me! I'm not finna play with you, unlock the fucking handcuffs right now." Gelo shouted at her. Y/n laughed. "What the hell are you gonna do? Hit me? You can't do shit if you got handcuffs on." "What do you want?" Gelo eyed her. Y/n stood up and took off her trench coat revealing her lingerie that he always loved for her to put on. "You." She straddled his waist and rubbed her hands up and down his chest. He licked his lips and tried to avoid looking at her. "Can you just get off of me. You know this is wrong I have a whole girl." He explained. "Yeah you have me. So why is it a problem?" "Izzy is my girl! Not your crazy ass get off of me y/n!" He tried to get out of the handcuffs. "Who's Izzy?" Y/n cocked her head to the side. "Y/n just stop." "I don't think I'll do that." She leaned down connecting her lips to his neck. Stop that shit right now." Gelo demanded. "Babe just give up already, you're not able to get out of these handcuffs so enjoy it." She left hickeys all over his neck. "The thing is I'm not enjoying it." He responded. "Your dick says something else." "I know you missed me, don't front." She continued. Gelo stayed quiet. "Exactly." Y/n trailed kisses from his neck down to his chest. She stopped at his boxers and looked up at him with a grin on her face. She traced the outline of his dick with her finger. Gelo swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked down at her. He wanted her to do something so bad, but he couldn't let her know that he is enjoying every single second. Y/n got off the bed and kicked off her heels, before standing in front of the bed with her back turned to Gelo. She reached behind her and and unclipped her bra, letting it fall down her arms then on the floor. Y/n bent over and looked over her shoulder at Gelo as she took off her panties. She turned back around and slowly walked back to the bed, and Gelo watched her every move. Y/n climbed on the bed and sat and the end with her legs spread wide open exposing herself to Gelo. He licked his lips and stared at her without saying a word. "You don't have to tell me, you miss me, being inside me... tasting me." Y/n's hand went down to her pussy as she started to rub her clit. Gelo bit his lip and closed his eyes. "Look at me babe." He opened his eyes and looked down at her, as she played with herself. "Daddy I'm so wet for you." Y/n stuck two fingers inside of herself. "Y/n..." "What you want a taste?" She took her fingers out and crawled up to where he was putting her fingers on his lips. "You know you want to." He opened his mouth and sucked in her finger. Y/n smiled and took her fingers out of his mouth. Y/n then darted her eyes to his boxers. She bit her lip and ran her hand down his chest and her hand squeezed his dick. "I could tell you don't like all the teasing." She took off his boxers and watched his dick spring out. He sighed in relief and stared at y/n. His tip was swollen with a tint of pink, pre-cum dripped from his slit. "Izzy can't get you like this huh?" Y/n swirled her thumb around the tip. "Y/n.. please." Y/n smirked as she looked at Gelo, his cheeks were red and he stared at her with lust. "I promise I will rip you apart." Gelo said to y/n. "Yeah?" Y/n reached for the handcuffs and she grabbed the key from the dresser, and unlocked the handcuffs. Gelo instantly yanked her by her hair, pulling her down on her back. "Gelo let go." "Shut that shit up!" He slid into her and let go of her hair, he put his hands behind her knees and pushed them back as her knees were almost touching her chest. Gelo thrusted deep inside of her making sure to hit her g-spot everytime. "Gelo fuck!" She screamed as she tried to push him away. "Nuh uh baby don't push me away now." He pounded into her violently as his balls slapped against her ass. "I can't... I can't take it!" "Shit." Gelo groaned. "Gelo please!" She begged. He pulled out and y/n tried to catch her breath. "On your side." He smacked her thigh. "Ge- "On your side!" He commanded. Y/n laid on her left side and Gelo laid on his side behind her. He pulled her closer to him. "Hold up your leg." Y/n held up her leg and Gelo rubbed his dick in between her lips, he entered her painfully slow. "Gelo." She moaned. Gelo slowly pumped in and out of her and he rubbed her clit. "You like that huh?" "Yes!" "You want me to go faster?" He questioned. She nodded her head. "Speak." "Yes daddy." She gripped onto the sheets. He sped up while still rubbing her clit.  "Ohh fuck!" Y/n screamed. "Who own this pussy?" "You daddy! Only you!" Y/n tried to pull away once again. "Nah don't run from the dick if you came after it baby." "Fuck! I'm cumming!" Gelo rubbed her clit faster as he felt her walls tightening. "Let it go baby." "Fuck Gelo!" She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly as she came all over him. He kept rubbing her clit, which made her squirt and he pulled out and released on her thigh. Gelo sighed, "yeah I miss you alot."