#sometimes it would just be nice to go out and drink something together with somebody but everyone is always busy

[oceanwithinsblog]

honestly? at times it's so hard to deal with the fact that adulthood means working every week, having so little time to take care of yourself and the people you care about, having trouble at planning a meet up or an outing with your friend(s), having to decide what hobbies you want to pursue and which ones you're willing (or forced) to give up, organizing all your expenses and purchases, letting yourself be vulnerable and understanding that being alone is important and you have to spend some quality time on your own as you can't totally rely on people being there for you.

at times adulthood hits me so hard and makes me feel so little, powerless and lonely that i truly despise it. but there's no going back.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Um... uh... um... would you willing to do a threesome with logan, steve rogers and X-men? reader. I think they will have an interesting dynamic or you could just add this to your kinktober list. (Btw i love your fics they made me happy and also i hope you have a nice day)

Steve Rogers x mutant male reader x Logan Howlett

Headcanons

Im guessing you mean the mutant reader from the two different things ive written with steve? Hes who Im going with at least. As a reminder to anybody who hasn’t read the other two things, the readers hero name is Titan. Not crazy detailed, but I hope its still good anyways.

You can read the other parts here and here

As mentioned in the other parts. You are, were? An X-man. X-men? You were part of their team, on and off for the years between your loss of Steve and you getting him back.

You still helped them out on the regular, going on missions where they needed a guy who couldn’t be knocked down. And yes, you did tell them everything you figure out about SHIELD and the government. You aren’t loyal to the government at all, especially since they wan to use or get rid of mutants like yourself.

You used to have a thing with Logan, but honestly, who in the x-men hasn’t had a thing with Logan at this point? You’ve joked once or twice that he’s like a bowl of mashed potatoes at thanksgiving, or a blunt at a party. Somehow his gruffness charms a lot of people.

If you weren’t so sure in your relationship, you might have been jealous when his gruffness charmed Steve too. But you knew Steve was yours and no one else, but it didn’t stop you from letting him prove it to you every now and then.

You still flirted with Logan when you went on missions together. As the only guys older than everyone else and with insane healing factors like you did, you two bonded.

It also quickly caught your eye how your boy would glance at you two. It really shouldn’t have surprised you to see Steve floundering a bit when it came to Logan. You two were so damn alike sometimes you could see Steve accidentally saying “yes sir” when Logan told him to do something.

Logan noticed it too pretty damn quickly. But for him it was more the fact that he could smell Steves interest and arousal with his heightened senses.

Logan might be an asshole most days, and he had his whole thing with Scott and Jean, but he did ask you how you felt about it, what you wanted to do and whatnot.

Like mentioned earlier, you were sure and secure in your relationship. You knew you wouldn’t lose Steve no matter what you did, and yeah, it did entertain you to watch your pretty boy stumble every now and then.

In the end you and Logan agreed to just keep it up to see where it all went. And it wasn’t like Steve saw Logan a whole lot, at least before. But now you found yourself inviting the x-men to the tower for drinks or whatever else you two got up too.

Steve tried to stay polite and leave you two to hang out together as the old friends you were, but you quickly pulled him into it. mainly because you and Logan liked to watch him blush as you both borderline purred at him.

The flirting kept up over time, and you and Logan had thought it was going in the right direction as Steve became somewhat receptive. That was until Steve one night burst into tears, burying his face into your chest as he apologized.

He was so ashamed of finding another man attractive and flirting with somebody else, he was so so sorry, he would never do it again, please forgive him. He loves you so much, it doesn’t mean anything.

It leads to you having to comfort and kiss him, rocking your lover as you explain what you and Logan had been up too, because you thought Steve would enjoy it. turns out Steve hadn’t picked up all the pieces like you thought, and had felt so bad, imagining that you’d leave him for being disloyal.

Of course, you quickly fix up that misconception, and explain everything to him. And you also had to tease him a little when his face reddened, and his pupils blew when you mentioned your past with Logan.

Youd save those stories for another day, when you needed to get him hot and bothered.

In the end you have to explain Steves reaction to Logan, since none of you wanna make anybody uncomfortable or step on anybodies toes. You both feel pretty bad about it, which is why you also agree to pamper Steve from then on.

Steve is obviously your partner and lover and has been since the 40s, meaning he’s most affectionate with you. He also wont kiss Logan on the lips, wanting it to only be with you.

Logan isn’t offended by this, he knows he’s just a third wheel in your bed, and he’s sure of himself enough to not mind. Logan is happy to get down between Steves thighs instead and lick him out as you kiss him, putting his best into it so you both can listen to Steve keen and whimper.

You two had had a few threesomes before, and yeah, it had been with Bucky every time, so this was new. But there’s a reason Logan is the x-mens shared bicycle. Dude knows what he’s doing, and boy is he skilled.

Any other time, you might have been a little jealous of somebody making your lover moan like that, but knowing it’s just Logan helps. Plus, getting Steves mouth all to yourself is pretty damn good too.

It takes a lot of work to open Steve up, his healing factor making him tighten up over time. His healing factor is nothing compared to the powers you and Logan share, but its close enough that you both know what to do.

Which means the first hour is spent on just pampering, touching and kissing on Steve as Logan works him open and pushes his way inside.

At this point Steve is a teary-eyed shivering mess as he whimpers and moans, his body quivering as Logan pulls him into his lap so you can slot up behind Steve. You and Logan aren’t small in the compartment that matters, so it takes a while to fit yourself inside Steve too, your lover throwing his head back and arching his back beautifully at the new experience.

You and Logan pretty much just sit back as Steve slowly rides you, his hands gripping Logans shoulders hard enough to bruise, even if the bruises fade almost immediately.

Steves hair a mess sticking to his forehead with sweat, his lips bitten red as his strong thighs shudder as he slowly lifts and lowers himself. When he gets too embarrassed, the blonde turns his head around to kiss you again, not wanting the two of you to hear his noises.

It being his first time doing something like this, means neither you nor Logan feel annoyed or sad that Steve spills so easily. The hour or more of prep also left him already teetering on the edge, his voice cracking as he sobs through the orgasm, thank yous spilling from his lips as he couldn’t help but thank you both for doing this with him.

Neither of you x-men got to cum, but in a situation like this it didn’t really matter, you got enough satisfaction out of getting Steve like that.

You end up on cuddle duty, lifting Steve into your arms as Logan expertly changes the sheets and blankets, letting you lay down with Steve before going off to find whatever else your lover might need.

Steve gasps a few times as Logan wipes him clean and makes him drink some water, praise falling from both your and Logans lips, telling Steve how good he did, how beautiful he is, and so on and so forth.

In the end you kinda have to bully Logan into bed with you two. He isn’t just a bootycall expected to leave the moment you guys have had your fun. Plus, Steve wants to lay squeezed between you two more than anything.

Steve ends up dozing off pretty damn quickly, exhausted but oh so satisfied. Logan and you just end up talking about whatever, before you put on some movie from the 70s you both like, the comforting rumble of your voices only putting Steve deeper to sleep.

[crows-in-the-house]

Sinful sensation

summary: the demon brothers sensing you're feeling their sin

pairing: demon bros x reader

tw: none

Lucifer

Get's pridefull of you being praud, and will ignore the fact that it's still a sin and a sign of being full of yourself or egoistic. In his eyes you're just a silly human who deserves to feel over the top sometimes. Feeling that sensation will make him smirk, wishing to see you imiediately and messaging you a ton of compliments. You rushing to tell him what happened will only fuel his pride - obviously, his sweet little human came to tell him first.

Mammon

He will come running to you if he senses you feeling greedy. He just needs to see that, maybe take a few picturies, record that, draw it if he has to, his human is simply too cute to not memorise it in some way. He would make u a photoshoot if he could, it doesn't matter you look the same as always!

If you're already out of money, he will give you his goldie. Here, you can buy yourself something nice (he's too embarrased of his blush to see what unnecessary thing you're about to buy)

Leviathan

Will find out who made you envious and will proceed to feel envious of them. What do you mean you're thinking about those people! You are already great, pretty and so cool, and you should have been thinking about him and his games! Do you not like spending time with him?? Is it becouse of those stupid idiots?? Is he not good enough?

Your jealeusy is often short lived if you're near him. He will either cheer you up or spiral into envy which will make you the one helping.

Asmodeus

Will try to help you out whatever the sytuation is. Lucifer yelling at you making you blush? Will come running to "flirt" with him so you don't have to deal with the embarassent. Feeling highly attracted to somebody? Will try to set you two up. Wanting to feel good tonight? Will join in. Which is, of course, his favorite kind of help he offers.

Satan

Usually he will help you get calm again, for example by calling and checking up on you. If you don't answer he will just wait in his room so you can always find you yourself. Sometimes tho, when he's in a bad mood and feels his favorite human also pissed he will start making imaginary scenarios in his head. He didn't eat today, got B instead of A on a test, got scammed by Mammon, and probably his human is getting threatened by some filthy lower demons! He should kill them! He has to find you and destroy them!

Beelzebub

Belphegor

He feels as if he grew a second black hole in his stomach. In those days you never feel full or satysfied which makes him worry. You try to spend 6 hours at the gym which he allows on only if you eat, drink and rest from time to time. Accompanies you on all side quests from Diavolo that you obliged to go on. He even bought you an emergency freezer just so you don't waste the access food you bought (will also help eating that ofc). He doesn't mind helping you with your gluttony, he feels responsable for it.

He knows you've overworked in student council when feels your sloth. Every time when you had enough you start to get reluctant to work or make any effort. He just takes you home and helps you get in bed. He will make you change into pyjamas, but only because he knows how uncomfortable it is to sleep in uniform. Might also keep you well feed but dont expect him to remind you of brushing your teeth, hair or such unimportant tasks.

He's happy you get to procrastinate together. But sometimes this word slips from his mouth - and it's a wake up call you better pick up.

So, the difference between gluttony and greed (from what I've read) is that the first is more of consumerism and food wasting for your pleasure and greed is for control, money and such and for a person to desperately get higher then others. I hope I get that in well enough?

[cowgurrrl]

I Don't Smoke

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Author's note: this hatched as an idea for @tightjeansjavi 's june writing challenge but it doesn't end as I thought it would necessarily but I kinda lurv it so (ps thank you @egcdeath for your help 🫶)

Summary: "Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small quiet room." aka Javi makes a reappearance in your life [8.6k (she’s a whopper)]

Warnings: canonical type shit

It's a random Friday in April 1998 when you're walking down the hallway of FBI headquarters and hear a familiar voice call your name. Not just any voice but a voice you came to know as well as you would know your own. A voice you loved. A voice you haven't heard in four years. You freeze in your tracks and take two breaths before you actually turn around to see him.

He smiles big as he approaches you, and you struggle to find the same response. His hair is shorter and styled nicely, and he's wearing a bureaucratic suit, which you know he hates or used to hate. He's broader than you remember and seemingly more confident. You're still tense, but once he's close enough, muscle memory takes over, and you hug him.

His cologne is different. For some reason, that tugs at your heart.

"Hey, honey," he says into your hair, squeezing you a little harder. You hold him for another second before remembering you're at work and let him go. "Wasn't expectin' such a warm welcome."

"Well, that's what happens when you see an old friend for the first time in a long time." You say and Javi smirks, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

"'Old friend.' Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"It is when I'm at work and have a reputation to uphold."

"Right," he says and puts his hands up in defense. "Didn't mean to insult Ms. FBI."

"What are you doing here? Last I heard, you resigned." You redirect, making him laugh even though you just gave away that you kept up with him even after you broke up.

"Stoddard asked me to teach a few classes to incoming DEA agents. Figured it was a good enough reason to get out of Texas," he says. You step to the side to let somebody go by in the hallway, and that ever-wandering eye falls down your body. "You look great."

"You too," you adjust some files against your chest, suddenly all too aware of how heavy his gaze is, and glance around. "How long are you in town for?"

"A week. We should get drinks or something. Catch up." He says, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. You're talking like you went to college together, and you're gonna reminisce about the good ole days over a few drinks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Sure, Javi. When are you free?"

"For you? Any time," he says so easily your heart squeezes. "But, I'm around tonight. I can meet you at the bar across from the Hill after work?"

"That works for me."

"Alright, then. I'll see you tonight." He smiles and looks you over again before swaggering down the hallway and into one of the classrooms like he used to walk to your desk or into your apartment. Nostalgia and something bigger bubbles in your throat, and you swallow it down.

You've often wondered about what it'd be like if you ever saw Javi again.

You never expected it would sting as much as it does.

You force yourself down the hallway into your office and let out a big sigh as you bury your head in your hands. Your engagement is cold against your skin.

You should be planning a wedding. You should be debating which version of white the napkins should be— eggshell or cream— or fighting with vendors on the phone. You should be doing a lot of things in the two months leading up to your wedding. Getting drinks with your ex is not one of them.

You worked at the United States Embassy in Bogotá during the hunt for Pablo Escobar in the early nineties. You were a fresh graduate from the DEA academy and got shipped off the day after you passed all your exams. They needed bodies in chairs and on the ground doing work to end the drug war, and you just happened to have a pulse and the qualification. Javier Peña happened to have those same things. Now, he's known as one of the men who took down the most dangerous crime syndicates in Latin America, but, at the time, he was just Javi.

He was a little older, a little more experienced, and, by all accounts, a little bit of a slut. He had a wandering eye and a bad habit of sleeping with newly minted Embassy employees who didn't know better. You were warned about Javi and his brown eyes and swagger, but you couldn't avoid him. He was your coworker, for Christ's sake. So all you could do was remind yourself you were there for a job and try to ignore him when possible. What they don't tell you about being thousands of miles away from home and dealing with nightmare-inducing horrors every single day is that you start looking for comfort wherever you can find it.

You made bad decisions like smoking cigarette after cigarette, sneaking just a little bit of whiskey in your coffee, or letting Javi bend you over his desk and leave bruises on your skin as he buried himself inside you. One time, you told yourself. You'll do this one time to get it out of your system, and then you'll both move on. As long as it didn't interfere with work, you thought it was okay to fuck him once, but either convenience or care kept you reaching for each other for the rest of your time in Colombia.

You spent most nights at his apartment because it was a little nicer and it felt like it would be too real if he entered your space. For all his sarcasm and hard edges, he was sweet with you. He'd make you breakfast and drive you to work under the guise of carpooling. Over time, you started to learn all his little quirks and tells, and you looked for him first when the smoke cleared and the gunfire ceased. He started stealing files off your pile of paperwork so you'd have less work to do, cook your favorite meals, and was ready with open arms when things got to be too much.

The love was like everything else that happened between you: quiet yet all-consuming.

As the months stretched on and you only grew to love him more and more, you started to imagine a life with him. You were naive and had too much faith in the world, but you couldn't stop yourself. The daydreams of a house with a big backyard, a dog, and maybe a few kids to fill it kept you alive when it felt like not even the weapon attached to your hip could. You wanted it so bad. You told him how much you wanted it, and he agreed despite how fucking crazy it sounded out loud. Love allows you to be delusional to avoid the possibility of rejection.

And you loved him so much that you let yourself believe once Escobar was dead or in prison that, you could go home together and live a somewhat normal life. That he could give it all up. That you could make it work.

So you threw yourself into the hunt. You didn't sleep. You barely ate. You went from smoking a few cigarettes a day to a pack as you got closer and closer. Javi wasn't much better off, and you definitely enabled each other's behavior, but you believed so hard in this future that you thought it would be worth it in the end.

He got snappy, and you argued a lot. You both shut down so much that it's a miracle you could find your way back to normalcy. He didn't even tell you when he got sent to D.C. for questioning. He just disappeared. When you and Steve stood over Escobar's body on a rooftop in Medellín, you couldn't focus on anything but the blood splatter on the shoes Javi got you as an early Christmas gift. At the end of the day, your only thought was, "It's over. We can go home. We can start over. We can make something of this."

Escobar wasn't even cold when Javi accepted a new position in Cali.

Everything he'd seen and done, the things you counseled each other through, the faces that kept him up at night didn't matter as much as that job. He broke the news to you as you were packing up your apartment. "There's an opportunity out there for you, too," he said, looking at you with those big eyes. You almost folded, drowning in affection for him, until you remembered how many times he'd almost died or disappeared without a word or struggled so much he buried his memories between your legs or at the bottom of a bottle.

How could he want to return to that? How could he want you to return to that?

That's when you broke.

You don't remember exactly what was said during the argument, but you know it was bad. There was a lot of yelling and tears. You said things you didn't mean, and he returned the favor. It went on for what seemed like hours, back and forth back and forth, until you were exhausted and done negotiating. You gave him an ultimatum: come to D.C. with you and start your lives, or go to Cali. He chose Cali. You chose D.C., and that was it.

That had to be it.

You didn't talk much in those final days, but you did a lot of crying. The horrors he helped keep at bay threatened to suffocate you. You were a shell of a person, but you couldn't reach for him again, knowing he didn't love you enough to stay with you. You had the tiniest shred of self-respect.

So, the day you left, you gave his stuff back, and he drove you to the airport in complete silence, even walking you all the way to the terminal without saying a word. His final act of care even when you'd told him you hated him forty-eight hours earlier. You waited until the very last second to get on the plane, hoping he'd change his mind or you'd change yours. You were both too stubborn and too broken, so you wished him luck and left. You didn't even hug him because you were so scared you'd never leave his arms if you did.

Things happened fast once you were stateside again. Within a week, you found a nice apartment in D.C., transferred to the FBI, adopted a cat named Astro, and swore off dating. With all your experience in Colombia, you got your pick of jobs and workload. You avoided field work for a while and got stuck pushing papers around at your desk, but you got bored three months in and asked to go back out. Your first case back in the field had you dealing with a serial arsonist who may or may not have had ties to a terrorist group. You were examining the rubble of yet another building when one of the firefighters called your name.

Harry was tall and charming and trying to explain something about accelerants, but all you could do was watch his scarred hands as they pointed. You remember thinking he was going to be a problem. It took three more fires for you to catch your guy, and Harry would later say it took those fires to build up the courage to ask you out. "You were much scarier than any fire," he told you. He had soot on his cheeks, and the flashing lights made his eyes sparkle. There was something about that stupid New York accent that just made you melt.

You thought one date couldn't hurt. You thought it would help you adjust to your new life. When he showed up in a nice shirt with a bouquet of flowers to pick you up for your first date, you knew you were fucked.

You went on a second date. And a third. And a fourth. He was patient with you as you struggled to open up to him about your time in the DEA and never pressured you to tell him anything you weren't ready to. That Christmas, you went home to New York with him and met his parents and all three of his sisters. By the next spring, you, Harry, and Astro moved into an apartment halfway between each of your jobs.

You got into the habit of bringing him cookies when he worked overnights at the station and smelling his shirt when he got home because, more often than not, it'd still smell like smoke. He'd surprise you with coffee or flowers at work "just because" and drag you away from your desk when you've been staring at the same words for however long. When a bullet grazed you in the middle of a chase, he made one of his EMT friends drive him to the hospital you were at in the ambulance with the lights on so he could get there as fast as possible. He made it in seven minutes and started crying the moment he saw you lying in the hospital bed, even though you were completely fine.

For something as unexpected as this relationship, you guys work really well. He cooks dinner, and you wash the dishes at the end of the night. He looks at big houses in nice neighborhoods and humors you even though there's no way you can afford it with two civil servant paychecks. But, when you see him playing with your nieces and nephews, something so deep inside you aches that you think the life-long debt would be worth it if it meant he got to be a dad. You take time off to visit his family, and even though he thinks it's the most badass thing about you, he doesn't say anything about your involvement with Escobar until you accidentally let something slip during a barbecue. When work gets too much, you hold each other, cry, and make promises to stay alive.

He proposes to you on the fourth anniversary of your first date. You knew he would because you'd looked at rings together, but you blub like a baby anyway and almost tackle him to the ground in Rock Creek Park. You're deliriously happy as you celebrate your engagement and even as you start to plan the wedding. It's like you blinked, and suddenly, it'd been four years since you left Colombia, and you're living the life you dreamt about, just with a new person. A person you love so fucking much, you still get butterflies when he walks in the room. The ring on your finger and the way he casually drops "my wife" into conversation when he means "fiancée" only adds to the giddiness.

You can't wait to spend the rest of your life with him. So, why the fuck did you agree to get drinks with Javi?

You pick your head up and dial the firehouse number before your brain can fully devolve into panic mode. They might be out dealing with a fire, but you figure it's worth a shot. On the second ring, Jack answers with his gruff "D.C. Fire Station 19."

"Hey, Jack."

"Oh, hey, darlin'! How're you doin'?" He asks, and you swear you can hear him smiling. Jack is one of Harry's best friends and groomsmen, and he absolutely adores you.

"I'm good. How're you?" You ask, already feeling the weight come off your shoulders just from talking to someone.

"You know, I can't complain. I mean, I could, but I won't," he says, and you laugh. "You callin' for your lover boy?"

"If he's not busy, yes."

"Nah, you're all good. Well, listen, it was nice talkin' to you, sweetheart. I'll get him now." He says before yelling Harry's name through the station so loud you wonder if the neighbors could hear him. There's some shuffling and a quick "'S your wife" as the phone changes hands. The identifier makes you laugh and it's the first thing Harry hears when he presses the phone to his ear.

"Oh, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that." He swoons, and you make a sympathetic noise.

"Rough day?"

"No, I just miss you."

"You're so cheesy," you say. "I miss you too. A lot."

"You okay? You sound off." He asks, and you chuckle. Of course, he caught the tiniest change in your voice.

"I'm okay. I bumped into somebody I worked with in Colombia today, so I just… feel weird," you say, rubbing your forehead. You hear him shuffle like he's trying to move to a more private place, but the cord on the phone isn't letting him get very far.

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"I don't know. Just weird. We're gonna get some drinks tonight and catch up."

"Maybe that'll help," he chirps. "I mean, as much as I like listening to your stories, it might make you feel better to talk to someone who was there. Maybe get some closure."

"Maybe." You say. It goes quiet on the line, but you know he's there because you can hear him breathing and hear the distant sounds of the firehouse. You don't feel pressured to say anything; just knowing he's there breaks up the tension in your chest. "Chief is gonna have your ass if he finds out you're running up the phone bill." You tease, and he laughs.

"I'll just tell him I'm talking to my wife, and if he doesn't want me on the phone, then he should stop making me work overnights."

"Which I'm sure he'll take well."

"You're his favorite. I'm almost positive he'd install a whole phone just for you," he says. It's true, but hearing it still makes you smile. It goes quiet again.

You watch people mill around the bullpen from your office window and chew the inside of your cheek. You should tell him it's Javi. He wouldn't discourage you from getting drinks with him, but he knows your history with him. He should be in the loop. He's going to be your husband, for God's sake. But you also don't need him worrying about this while in a burning building or doing CPR.

"You know I'm not technically your wife for another two months, right?" You change the subject, and he hums.

"Yeah, but it has a nice ring to it. My wife." Even the way he says it over the phone makes you giddy.

"I can't argue with that." You say. He takes a deep breath, and you copy him.

"You're gonna be okay. Go get drinks with your friend and try to have some fun. Maybe invite them to the wedding if you get drunk enough and decide it's a good idea," he suggests, and you laugh at the idea of Javi at your wedding. "I'll be home tomorrow afternoon, and we can talk about it or not talk about it if that's what you want, okay?"

"Okay." You resolve and twirl the phone cord in your fingers.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Have a good day. Don't be a hero."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He says. You wait another second to have him nearby before hanging up and looking out over the bullpen again.

You could not show up. You could go home, cuddle with Astro, and put on Sex and the City or something else to take your mind off the day. You could go to bed early and take Harry breakfast in the morning. You know his hair will be messy and a little darker than normal, but he'll still smile and pull you into his lap even though the guys tease him all the time about your PDA.

But you're also too interested in what Javi could have to say to do that. You owe it to yourself to get closure or answers or whatever the fuck he has left to offer you.

And then you'll never think about him again.

Easy.

It's a slow day filled with paperwork and pencil-pushing at the FBI. No bombs or killers or threats. Just meetings and emails and the dread about meeting with Javi all day. You linger around the office a little longer than you need to until you're almost late, and only then do you start walking to the Hill.

It's bustling with tourists dying for a peek at the cherry blossoms scattered around D.C. and the Suits you usually see trying to get home. The April sun feels good on your skin, especially after being inside all day, and you take a moment to watch the sun dip lower and lower in the sky.

All things considered, if Javi was going to visit D.C., this would be the time to do it. Spring is in full bloom, and the last dredges of winter only show up at night or early in the morning when it's still cold. People are constantly out walking their dogs or taking their kids to the playgrounds. It feels like the city has come alive again after such a long winter. You come up with a list of recommendations of things for Javi to do while he's here, even though he probably won't do any of them. The least you could do is give him something to distract himself from work.

By the time you get to the bar, the sun has nearly set, and traffic is a waking nightmare. You push your anxiety away and duck into the bar, searching for Javi's familiar eyes amongst the exhausted interns and law students. He's in the corner, scanning the space just like you thought he would, and there's a glass waiting for you at the table. His eyes light up when he sees you, and your chest aches.

He gets up to greet you with a hug and pulls your chair out for you like a gentleman. "Don't know if your order's changed, but I figured I'd make a guess." He says, gesturing to your drink as you settle across from each other. You smile and hang your jacket on the back of your chair.

"Thank you. Next round is on me," you say as you raise your glass to his and take a sip. "How was teaching?"

"It was fine. Although I wish they'd actually listen instead of just staring at me like I have a second head." He says, and you laugh.

"You're a living legend to them. Escobar and the Godfathers of Cali? You might be the most experienced person they've come across."

"I think I'm the person professors warn students not to be in the field."

"There are much worse things to be than a Javier Peña or a Steve Murphy," you say. "Besides, I think the DEA has bigger problems than a few rogue agents."

He shrugs and glances up when the bell above the door chimes, checking out whoever just walked in. He did the same thing when you sat in bars in Colombia like he was always waiting for a fight. You used to tease him about it, but the fact that he still does it makes you smile.

"Steve sends his love, by the way." He says.

"How is he? How old is Olivia now?"

"She's gonna be five soon, and they're about to have another baby. A boy," he beams. "They're all doing good. Steve runs training courses for FBI agents now and sometimes goes back to Colombia to liaise with their government. Connie works at a hospital, and Olivia's in Pre-K."

"Sounds like you guys talk a lot." You're pleasantly surprised. They were good partners, but they could barely stand to look at each other when things got tense. Not to mention Steve leaving the DEA at the same time you did.

"Well, when Olivia started calling me Uncle Javi, it was pretty hard to ignore him," he says, and you 'aw' at the idea of her little hands reaching for him. Uncle Javi suits him. "She's a good kid."

He fills you in on his work in Texas and asks about your transfer. You tell him what you can about your job and the annoying bureaucrats you hate working with. He seems lighter than you've seen before, not just because of the drink in his hand. His shoulders are relaxed, and even though he still has the instincts of someone working in the field, he doesn't get trapped in them like he used to. It's a nice change.

You're almost done with your first drink when he digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers you one. God, when was the last time you even bought a pack of cigarettes? It had to have been right after Harry came home from a particularly bad fire resulting from a stray cigarette. Three people died. After that, you couldn't pick up a cigarette without thinking about the seventeen-year-old who got stuck in the apartment. That must've been three years ago now.

"I quit," you say, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"That's new." He says like your hair turned blue before his eyes, but pops one into his mouth anyway. You shrug.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, no, 'm not disappointed. Just surprised."

"Yeah, well," you sigh. "American cigarettes aren't as good as the Colombian ones."

"I guess that's true," he says as he flicks his lighter open and inhales until the end glows. Just as always, he politely blows smoke away from your face. "Alright, so you got a new job, a new apartment, a cat, and you quit smoking. What else has changed since I saw you last?" He asks, and your thumb immediately presses into the band of your engagement ring.

Well, it's now or never.

"I, uh... I'm getting married," you say, and his eyes fall to your ring. "In two months." He takes a big sip.

"Congratulations," he says. It might be the most unenthusiastic thing you've ever heard somebody say. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name is Harry. We've been together for a few years now."

"What's he do?" He asks in his interrogator's voice, and you give him a look.

"We don't have to do this." You say. Javi takes another drag of his cigarette and grinds his teeth.

"Do what?" He asks. "It shouldn't be hard to talk about if you love him."

"I do."

"Then, why don't you want to tell me about him?"

"Is that a serious question?" You scoff, and he shrugs. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I already asked you," he says. "What does he do for work?"

"He's a firefighter." You know it's a cliche: a cop and a firefighter, but you don't really care.

"How'd you meet?"

"First field case I had was an arsonist. He was one of the guys on site when I got there."

"Romantic," Javi muses, and you hum. You wait for him to continue bombarding you with questions, but the air gets thick, and suddenly, all you can do is take big gulps of your drink. You signal to the bartender for another, and Javi finishes his cigarette in silence. "Well, I'm happy for you," he says softly. He doesn't seem like he is, but you know better than to press him, so you just nod.

"Thank you," you say. The bartender drops two more drinks off at your table, and Javi raises his glass to you.

"Here's to you and Terry-"

"Harry," you correct, and he laughs, breaking up the tension that's settled. He took the news much better than you expected, but you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop. There always seems to be one waiting when Javi's around.

"To you and Harry and a lifetime of happiness." He says, tapping his glass against yours and taking a drink. "Now, tell me what you've been doing with the fuckin' FBI."

"Oh, you're gonna need to buy me a few more drinks before I start spilling government secrets, Peña." The name rolls off your tongue before you can stop it, and it brings you back to hot Colombian days and red yarn on a corkboard and his apartment. He raises his eyebrows like it's a challenge and smirks.

"Don't tempt me with a good time."

It's late and you're drunk. Drunker than you've been in a while. You didn't mean to. You just kept talking and drinking, and it felt so good talking to him after so long. Once you got through with the elephant in the room, it was so easy to fall back into the groove with him. You talked about Colombia and your lives outside of work. You even tell him the story of accidentally letting it slip that you used to work for the DEA after smoking a little bit of weed with Harry's sister, Caitlin.

You laughed together until last call and then argued over who would pay the tab. "Consider it my weddin' gift," he half-slurred, and you rolled your eyes and let him pay.

Now, you're strolling the empty National Mall, working off your buzz and elongating the time you have with him. You didn't realize how much you missed him until tonight. Despite everything that happened, you did have good days with him. Days filled with music and chain smoking and laughter. You'd like to get those back. You'd like that version of him back.

As you walk, you point out monuments to him and messily retell the stories the tour guide told you when Harry thought a walking tour of D.C. was a good second-date idea. You switch presidents and periods too much to make sense, but Javi listens anyway. Every so often, his warm hand will brush against yours, barely touching your skin but enough for you to notice when he does it. Neither of you say anything about it or break the flow of your conversation. Maybe it's for old-time's sake. Maybe it's because you don't know what there is to say. The night is clear and eerily quiet. The only sound besides your laughter and drunken stories is the chilly wind blowing through the trees and the clacking of heels from an exhausted-looking White House intern as she walks by.

Or, at least, it was until you stumbled across a busker by the Lincoln Memorial. The empty space echoes with the sound of his saxophone, and you smile as you get closer. There are a few other people milling around, and a few take turns throwing coins in his case. You've seen him playing here before, but you've never had the time to actually stop and listen. He's good. You wish you'd stopped sooner.

"You wanna dance?" Javi whispers in your ear, his breath fanning across your neck, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"Here?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Why not?"

"Because nobody else is."

"C'mon," he tuts. "Live a little." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else. He just grabs your hand and pulls you a little closer to the musician. You sigh but let Javi hold one of your hands and rest the other on his shoulder. He smirks and you roll your eyes to hide the fact that you're shocked he wants to dance. With you. In public.

Sure, you had little moments where you danced in the kitchen, but never in public. Even then, it wouldn't have ever been his idea to dance. He's like a whole new person. You don't know how to feel about it.

What the fuck happened to him in Cali?

He spins you under his arm, and you do your best to follow his lead. You have two left feet as it is, something Harry has helped get out of your system, but the alcohol makes it even worse. You almost trip yourself but land against Javi's chest before you can hit the ground. He makes an oomph sound but doesn't do anything to push you away. You don't do anything to pull away.

The saxophonist continues playing, and the cicadas chirp nearby. If you listen hard enough, you can hear Javi's heartbeat. You think you'd know the sound anywhere. You memorized the rise and fall of his chest when you woke up from nightmares, and he was the one to calm you down. You used to count the contractions of the muscles in his heart until you fell back to sleep. It was often the first thing you heard when you woke up if bombs weren't going off somewhere in the city or your phone wasn't blaring with an emergency message from the Embassy.

And now, here it is again, unexpectedly thumping against you after four years, following the rhythm of the music surrounding you. Javi's warm as he tentatively rests his head against yours, and you feel his fingers flex around your hip. A mixture of his cologne and cigarettes invades your senses, and you can do nothing but ride the nostalgia wave until the song ends.

You pry yourself from Javi to turn and applaud the saxophonist, and he gives a gracious bow. Javi looks a little disappointed that the song is over but drops a ten-dollar bill in the saxophone case anyway.

"Didn't take you for a dancer." You say as you walk away from the Lincoln Memorial, and he shrugs.

"'M full of secrets now."

"I guess so," you say. You start walking toward your apartment, suddenly too cold and tired now that you're a little more sober. Javi follows, putting himself between you and the street and grazing your lower back whenever you cross the road. He's always been protective of you, even before you started dating. It makes sense he would still be, right? You're trying to make sense of the muddled mess in your head when Javi pulls his cigarettes out of his jacket, and you eye them. You must not be as discrete as you thought you were because he laughs at you.

"For someone who quit smoking, you look like you want a cigarette." He says, offering the pack to you, and you sigh. You take one from the middle and put it between your lips. Javi is quick with his lighter, and you lean into him just a little as you inhale. He watches your every movement like he's watching a miracle unfold before him.

You hate to admit how good the smoke feels in your lungs. After three years of not even looking at a cigarette, all it took was an offer and a quick puff, and you're back to the beginning. You'll start again tomorrow.

"Don't tell Harry." You say as you blow smoke away from him, and Javi laughs.

"What? He doesn't like you smoking?" He asks, looking for a reason not to like Harry, and you chuckle.

"It's not that. I've just heard one too many horror stories about a stray cigarette starting a fire." You say, and he hums.

"Is that why you quit?"

"Kinda. I also…" you start but then shake your head. "Never mind."

"What? Now you have to say it."

"You're not gonna like it."

"Try me." He says, and you inhale deeply, blowing smoke out of your nose. You think about telling him to leave it alone, but the alcohol and the pain in your chest tells you to say fuck it.

"I quit because it reminded me of you." You admit. He gets quiet. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks up at the stars as you silently spiral. You feel like you need two more cigarettes and a shot of tequila.

Javi has always had a special talent for making all your worst habits bubble to the surface.

"You're right, I don't like that." He says softly, and you nod. You walk a few blocks in silence. The only sounds are your shoes clicking against the pavement and the tiny crackling of your cigarette as you smoke. A siren blares somewhere in the city, and your stomach drops. It always does, but especially now.

Your fiancé is out there, putting his life on the line to save others because that's how good of a man he is, and you're getting drunk and slow-dancing with the man who broke your heart? You didn't even tell him it was Javi. What if something happens to him tonight, and you're out? What if you miss the phone call? Guilt gnaws at your throat like an angry dog, and you feel like throwing up. You swallow hard and stomp out your cigarette before it can get to the filter.

"I'm glad we did this," you say, trying to get things back on track. Javi gives you a weak smile. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"You know, Harry said there's a place for you at the wedding if you want it. I know you'll be back in Texas, but it could be fun. We'd love to have you," you say, and he shakes his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He says. You knew he'd say no, but it still stings.

"Just thought I'd ask." You say, and he nods. You're about two blocks away from your apartment, and you start fishing for your keys out of your purse when Javi stops. You keep walking, thinking he's going to finish his cigarette and pull out another one.

"Don't marry him." He says, just loud enough for you to hear, and ice floods your veins. Whatever alcohol left in your system seems to vanish, and you freeze.

"What?" You ask as you slowly turn around. Javi chews on his bottom lip and stares at you.

"Don't marry him," he says again. Something behind his eyes is familiar, and suddenly, you're the girl he couldn't leave Colombia for again. Tears prick in your eyes, and you shake your head. "You'll get bored in a few years, and you'll be stuck if you marry him."

"I love him."

"I love you."

"Stop," you mumble. He takes a step forward and cradles your face in his hands, tilting you up to look at him, and your jaw tightens. You wonder if he can feel it. "You don't love me."

"I do. I always have. I fucked up, and I'm so sorry for hurting you, but I'm here now. We can start over. I'll move to D.C.. I'll do whatever." He says in one breath like he's afraid he'll lose the courage to say the words out loud.

"It's too late." You say, and he shakes his head.

"No, it's not. We can go tonight. Anywhere you want. I-"

"You let me leave," you cut him off, years of frustration and heartbreak coming back up to the surface as you take his hands off your face. "I was drowning and you let me get on the fucking plane."

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"I wanted you to reject the position in Cali and come with me because I really thought you could at least try to love me more than your job."

"I couldn't just give the Cali position up." He says and you scoff and take a few steps away from him.

"But you could give me up," you say, throwing your arms up in defeat. "That's not love, Javi. That's having someone around to play with and throwing them out when you get bored."

"It wasn't like that."

"Enlighten me, then."

"Do you remember when Carillo died?" He asks and you take a deep breath before nodding.

Most of your memories of Colombia are muddled, but not that day. You were pissed Messina wouldn't let you go, but you were fine to let the Colombian police make the raid. Javi and Steve were anxious. You remember watching them stand next to the radio like guards and trying to guess what was going on in their heads. Javi's gaze lingered on you a few too many times to be an accident, and he smiled fondly at you. You joked about them paying for the drinks you'd have later to celebrate. Things felt stable enough for you to sit down next to Messina. You were halfway through a cigarette when the gunfire chattered over the radios.

It wasn't an ambush.

It was a fucking massacre.

They never stood a chance. The scene was horrendous. Hearing Messina call Mrs. Carillo to tell her what happened was worse. Steve, somehow, was able to go with Carillo, so he wasn't alone in transport back to Bogotá. You and Javi were the cowards who went back and drank until you stopped seeing the pile of bodies you felt responsible for.

Javi put his fist through the wall of his apartment when he got home that night. You wanted to cry but knew that if you started, you'd never stop and who were you to be crying? People had just lost their sons, husbands, brothers, and fathers on your orders. You didn't deserve to cry. It was the beginning of the end for you and Javi, but you clung to your idea of the future so hard, it had claw marks on it when you finally let it go and got on the plane.

So, yeah, you remember. You remember it all.

"I couldn't let that happen to you or anyone else ever again. It would kill me," he says. You're about to tell him it's not his fault, and it never was. It was shitty intel. It was a trap. It was a lot of things, but it wasn't his fault. That might be the only thing you can say for sure about that tragedy. "So, I put everything that wasn't work out of my mind and made bad decisions, and that's on me, but I never stopped loving you or believing in our future."

"Then, why didn't you fight for us?"

"I didn't know how. You were so…" He searches for the right word. "Sure. You knew you didn't want to go to Cali, and I couldn't make you stay."

"I would've if you said the word," you say. "Even though I was miserable in Colombia, I would've come back if you asked me to because that's how much I loved you. Even if you'd just called me after I got here, we probably could've worked something out, but I'm marrying the love of my life in less than sixty days. And I've never had to beg him to stay with me or give him an ultimatum and question if he loves me because he wakes up every day and shows me how much he wants to be with me. I can't walk away from that."

"Does he know what you did down there?"

"Of course, he does." You say, annoyance buzzing in your molars, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Does he know everything?"

"You mean, does he know I've killed people?" You ask. "Yeah, it was super fun trying to explain that to him. You want to hear about how I hyperventilated through the whole thing, or do you want to ask me another question to try to undermine my relationship?" He purses his lips and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "I just don't think you know what you're getting yourself into."

"Fuck you, Javier." You spit. You don't know the last time you used his full name like that. Something about it feels wrong and makes your skin crawl. "You left one girl at the altar over a decade ago, and you think you know about marriage?"

"That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is you coming here and making me feel like the bad guy for moving on. I deserve to be happy. I've worked, and I've cried, and I've fucking killed for it, and the second I feel like things are going my way, you do this!" You yell.

"I love you." He says again, like it'll change anything. The pressure behind your eyes returns, and you turn away from him, but he catches your wrist before you can. "Listen to me. I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeats over and over again, but all you hear is, "I love you, but I can't come with you." "I love you, but I need this." "I love you. Isn't that enough?"

You rip out of his grasp and punch at his chest with tears slipping down your face. He takes it, still saying that he loves you, and for some reason that hurts more. You push him hard and watch him stumble back, his brown eyes tracking the tears down your face.

"If you really love me-"

"I do." He cuts you off and you take a stuttering breath.

"Then, let me be happy," you beg. "Let me go. Please. If you love me, you'll do that for me."

You feel pathetic, standing there crying like he shattered your heart all over again as he just stares at you and thinks. You want to go home. You want this to end. You want to never see him again.

Maybe in twenty years, you could stand to face him again. You'll be happily married, and you hope he'll be, too. You'll have a few kids, and you'll tell stories about them and Harry will pull pictures of them out of his wallet. You won't hurt anymore. Maybe when your daughter goes through her first heartbreak, you'll find the courage to tell her about Javi. Maybe all this grief will be worth something someday. You want it to.

But right now, you're just the girl he didn't love enough to leave Colombia for, and he's not the man you love enough to marry.

He clears his throat, his own tears glistening in his waterline, and nods.

"Okay," he mumbles. "I'll tell Stoddard I had a family emergency or something back home. Get the first flight back." Your eyes flutter shut at his words, and you try to keep yourself from crying more.

"Thank you." You say.

"I love you." He says again, and you open your eyes. He's grinding his teeth again, and his hands are in his pockets as if he's forcing himself not to reach for you. You give him a small smile and nod.

"I know," you say. "I'm sorry."

Just as you did at the airport all those years ago, you stand awkwardly far apart, unsure of what to do now. He waits for you to change your mind. You won't. He'll get on the plane, and that'll be it.

He nods to himself one more time before turning to walk away.

"You do deserve to be happy. I've never doubted that. I wish I could've given that to you." He says like he's trying to convince you he's a good person. You sniffle and spin your ring around your finger.

"You did for a while. It's just Harry's turn to do that now," you say. "Goodbye, Javi." He opens his mouth like he's going to say goodbye or something else, but you turn your back to him and start walking toward your apartment before he can.

You figure, after everything, it's only fair that you get the last word.

You didn't sleep. You knew you wouldn't. Astro seems to sense your anxiety and cuddles into your chest, purring loudly to try and drown out your thoughts. You reassure her you're okay and kiss her head as the inky blue sky is replaced by a stunning pink and purple morning.

A good omen, you hope.

You force yourself to get up and get ready for the day. It's Saturday and a fire station breakfast day. It's never anything fancy: donuts picked up from a nearby cafe, greasy fast food breakfast, sometimes cold pizza. Today, you walk to a nearby bodega and pick up his favorite breakfast sandwich with two steaming cups of coffee before walking to the fire station.

It's cold, and D.C. hasn't quite woken up yet. It'll be a few hours before life returns as people sleep off hangovers or long weeks. That's okay. This morning is just for you.

The garage door is wide open when you get to the station, and Harry is perched on the back bumper with the firehouse dog, Maisie, whispering things to her. He looks tired. You don't think you look any better, but he still lights up when he sees you, and Maisie even starts wagging her tail.

"Hey there, stranger," you greet him as he pulls you closer and smirks up at you. "You have a good night?"

"No, but it doesn't matter now that you're here." He says. You would normally roll your eyes at his cheesiness but your chest fills with warmth instead. You lean down and kiss him. He smells like smoke but tastes like the chapstick you make him wear because of the heat. Maisie sniffs at the bag in your hand, and you laugh against his lips when she licks your arm.

"I think she's jealous." You say, and he sucks his teeth as he looks at Maisie.

"You have breakfast, you little terrorist." He reminds her but he immediately folds when she gives him that innocent look. "She can have one piece of bacon, but that's it. We need you trim to get up in the trucks, right?"

You pull a piece of bacon off one of the breakfast sandwiches and make her sit and shake before you give it to her. She crunches on it happily, knowing she's absolutely spoiled rotten. She makes space for you to sit next to Harry on the truck and you rest your head on his shoulder. "You okay?" He asks as he kisses your hairline, and you nod.

"Just missed you," you say. "I couldn't sleep last night." He makes a sympathetic noise and wraps an arm around your shoulder to tuck you further into his side.

"Were you thinking about Colombia?" He asks and you hum. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Okay. You wanna hear about why our kids will never be allowed to buy candles ever? No matter how old they get or how much smarter they think they are than us?" He changes the subject easily, and you laugh despite the pain still radiating in your body. You know he'll be there when you're ready to tell him about last night, no matter how long it takes you, and you will tell him. Eventually.  

"Hit me with it." You say as you unpack your breakfast sandwiches and pass him his coffee. Maisie wags her tail as you alternate between sneaking her treats and listening to Harry's story. He knows you're giving her extra snacks but won't ever stop you.

You sit there on the back of that dirty firetruck, talking and watching the sunrise together and debating on which version of white the napkins at your wedding should be— eggshell or cream— and know you'd do everything all over again if it meant this was the outcome. You love him with everything that you are and ever could be.

And as you eat your breakfast and soak up each other's presence, you find yourself hoping Javi could love someone like this someday. You believe he has it in him. You've seen it. Whoever ends up being the one to tie Javier Peña down will be lucky and loved.

It just wasn't meant to be you.

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Whistle while you work

Synopsis - sometimes all a little lass needs is to just holler the lyrics of an angry female-empowering country music, but a certain beloved Scot just can’t help but be worried he screwed up

cw: swearing, medical and military workplace inaccuracies, playful language, suggestive content, heavy flirting, slight miscommunication trope(this hurts me more than this hurts you believe me), nicknames, use of Scottish and southern(Georgia/texas) accent that some readers may find corny or displeasurable

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x southern!medic!reader

Author’s note: I know I said I was busy but I heard “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood come on the radio and it’s been an ear worm that sticking to my brain like flies on a horse. But once again I’m here to remind you that I’m taking southern notes from Georgia and Texas because I was raised in one and I visit family quite often in the other. I am completely open to constructive criticism but if you have nothing nice to say then you just scroll past it costs you absolutely nothing to mind your business. Italicized is singing btw.

©️moonriseoverkyoto 2023. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

Soap had begun to have a routine with you. He could often come visit you after shift hours or you would come along on missions and be his first pit stop at base. It was a beautiful little arrangement that the F1F begun to adore. You were the warm fire to warm their cold hearts or the blazing hearth to whip them into shape if they got rowdy. So it was a little jarring to him when he strolled into your clinic and heard an angry drawl.

“Right now, he's probably slow dancin' with a bleach-blonde tramp. And she’s probably gettin’ frisky.”

Your voice had him weak at the knees but there was something off in your pitch. A grit, an anger, a frustration. He suddenly began retracing his steps, trying to find a failure placed upon his behalf.

“Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink 'Cause she can't shoot whiskey.”

“Bonnie?” the man called out to you, his reaction was controlled but his heart thumped against his chest trying to break out. When you didn’t respond he decided to stay by the doors out of your vision to figure out what was the issue, studying you.

“Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick. Showin' her how to shoot a combo. And he don't know”

Your hips began to sway against the rising tune and even in your scrubs, there was a clear muscle memory when it came to the rhythm of the song. Soap quickly exited and left to go to the common room to find the rest of the F1F playing poker

“There’s loverboy, we were wondering how long it would take for you and-“

“Firstly, she’s my friend Capt’n you know that. Secondly, Somethin’s a mattah with Bonnie.” Soap cut Price off quickly not caring for niceties.

“why because she’s running a little late?” Gaz spoke while checking his turn. It was comical how they knew you by your nicknames from Soap rather than your god given name.

“Aye ‘nd she’s singin’ this song of ‘ers and it’s got me all worried. I mean I know that I’ve been a wee bit busy lately but I’ve made sure to make me rounds and when I came to her place she was swinging hips and I ken to know when somethin’s a mattah with me Bonnie-“ Simon’s head turned to his friend with interest as Gaz cut the rambling man short.

“Calm down mate. We cannot understand you when you go back to the ancestral plane with that tongue of yours” Gaz spoke. Price waved him off to let the Scott breathe.

“She’s up tae high doh.” Soap rushed out, his brows knit together trying to piece together what could’ve happened.

“In English, lad” Price spoke up. However somebody came to his rescue.

“The phrase is meant to be used to describe when somebody is pent up, flustered. It’s a Scottish saying.” Ghost answered with a deep baritone. Everyone was surprised but secretly noted the phrase for whenever they had to go solo with the Mohawk man.

“So go talk to her” Price responded to Soap with a look that said he was ordering, then he offered a small gift of liquid courage

Soap refused the drink and made his way back over to the infirmary. His brain scrambling to find an answer.

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats”

Your belted notes rung through the doors and hit his ears. He vowed he would find out the issue and fix it just so he wouldn’t have to hear the pain in your voice. He came around the corner as you stood in front of a table, organizing your different surgery and procedural tools. He spotted the AirPod beneath your trucker hat (since wearing a traditional cowboy hat was too distracting in the work place even during the quiet shifts. )

“I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights. Slashed a hole in all four tires-“

Soap swallowed all his worry as he grabbed an AirPod out and spoke but you beat him to the punch.

“Who in all of god givens creation just ordered a free fuckin’- Oh sweetheart Johnny it’s you.” Your fire calmed just as quick as it kindled.

“hey lassie I was getting worried about you” Soap said. His heart and maybe something else throbbed at your honey tone. One day he’d finally act upon those feelings but today he needed to worry about something else. “What’s got you all worked up?”

“Are you saying I’m throwin’ a hissy fit?”

“Noo jist haud on there Lassie. I jist was-“

“Heavens to Betsy! You do think I’m havin’ a hissy fit, why you oughta know that I was the best little-“

As you two went on back and forth, the distance between your bodies got smaller and smaller. Two wide eyed grins plastered across your face. He cut you off with a smirk

“Oh I’m sure you were the.. how do you say it again? Oh right” Johnny leaned in closer and his voice dropped, “the best little girl this side of the Mississippi. Ain’t that right, hen?”

“I know damn well you did not just call me a hen from a damn barn house-“ you went to speak again but got cut off as your throat hitched, soap’s mouth just by your ear and his tone got unrealistically deeper and more dominant. A careful hand grazing your hip.

“Shut yer pus for a moment, hen. Tell me what’s a matter. What’s got you so up tae high doh.” The male spoke.

You were silent for once. All the cogs in your brain just stopped. Everything was quiet, if you had perfect hearing you could hear Johnny’s poor heart banging to get out of his chest in anxiety from him boldly caressing your waist.

“Aww come on lassie, need me to buy a wrench for that brain of yours”

“I misplaced my sewing needle. Well I did or one of the stupid nurses did but I can’t find it and I won’t find it till the cows come home” you huffed.

“The one from your nana?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“No need for the ‘tude. May I look?”

“Sure. It’s no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond” you said softly as he gently moved you aside to look at the table below. His trained eye spotting a glint on the ground. He reached over to pick it up and show it to you.

“Bless your heart! Good god Johnny, oh my sweet I could kiss you!” You cried out with the biggest grin. You leaned forward and kissed him softly on his cheek. His stubble gently scratching your soft, plump lips. His cheeks barely flushed as his smirk transformed into a smile and a small chuckle left his throat. He took a moment to memorize the feeling of your lips for later.

If that’s all it took to make his little Bonnie proud. He’d search every haystack for your needle in a heartbeat. You were his everything, he’d wait until the right moment to tell you. Especially when he was pretty sure the rest of the team was right around the corner listening to them. He’ll confront them later, for now he wants to stay in this moment with you. Watching his sweet hen, praising him. Grinning as she danced around with the needle he found, and even maybe hid.

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Slang translations

Noo jist haud on - Now just hold on there

Heavens to Betsy - southern expression of surprise

Hen- a woman (Scottish term of endearment)

Bonnie - a beautiful woman, Scottish term of endearment typically paired with Bonnie lass

Lass/Lassie- beautiful woman, term of endearment

Shut yer pus - Scottish way of saying hush up, not literally referring to genitalia

Does a bear shit in the woods - kinda like a sarcastic response of “duh.” Whenever you’re asked a question. Hard concept to explain but I hope it’s not just me who got this from their southern mama

no bigger than a minnow in a fishing pond - comparison of size

Author’s note: AAAAAAAA I DID IT. I wrote my first fic. Oh my god. I’m so tired but I hope everyone loves this as much as I did. Please go listen to the song as well. It’s “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood

General Taglist (comment to be added) : @glossythor @banana-beans-police

also thank you for the support for the series: @fruitsa1ad

[crazyk-imagine]

Breakfast and Shocking News

Pairing: Theo Raeken x Pack member!reader

Characters: Theo Raeken, Pack member!reader, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall, Liam Dunbar, Malia Tate (Hale), Lydia Martin, Derek Hale, Peter Hale

Warnings: Fluff, post show, Theo is probably ooc, cute pack moment, Isaac should have been in season 6a/b and the movie so I brought him back, I got lost in tw fanfic tiktoks and now I'm back on tw

Word Count: 918

Is this the start of a series like my gym one for Triple Frontier? Maybe, we'll see.

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

You make another bowl of pancake batter, making sure to make more than you did last time. God, that was a mess.

You had to calm down three of them and Stiles should know better than to throw a fit in front of everyone. He's older than them for god's sake.

You shake your head and scoop more batter into the second pan you have going.

Footsteps entering the kitchen alarm you but enough to make you worry.

"Hey," he pecks your cheek.

"Someone else could be up, you know."

"I already checked." He taps his ears.

"Really?" You stare the chimera with a deadpan expression.

"Yeah, really," he says sarcastically, smirking at you afterwards.

"You're not cute."

"Oh, I think you're wrong. I'm," he wraps his arms around your waist. "Adorable and as your adorable boyfriend, it's my duty to tell you that," he pecks your neck, the spot underneath your ear. "Your pancakes are close to burning."

Your eyes widen. "Oh, crap." You remove yourself from his grasp and remove the pancakes from the pans. "Go sit down. You can get started on breakfast before everyone else wakes up."

"As long as you eat with me." He turns off the stove, pulling you with him.

"But I-"

He sits down, pulling you down beside him. He prepares your plate before making his own. "Eat." His free arm wraps around your back, his hand landing on your hip, keeping you close.

"Sometimes I wonder how you were ever a bad guy," you comment, cutting up your pancake.

"Stiles says the same thing but more sarcastically."

"It'd be alarming if he didn't use sarcasm." You look for your glass and realize you didn't get something to drink for either of you. "Do you want milk or juice?" You look in the fridge.

"I'm not Liam."

You purse your lips. "Just because he's younger and doesn't like coffee, doesn't make him a child."

He gives you a look.

"Don't be mean. He's a nice guy."

You reach for a mug in the cabinet.

"He has a crush on you."

"He does not."

"He follows you around like a puppy."

"He says I'm like an older sister to him."

"So, he doesn't get his ass kicked."

"You got punched by him at least three times."

Theo scoffs. "Did he tell you that?"

"Everyone has."

He shakes his head, stabbing his fork into his food. "I let him."

"Sure, you did." You place the mugs beside the plates and sit back down. "I'd still call you to kick somebody's ass for me," you tell him, wanting him to feel better.

"Yeah?"

You nod, "of course I would. Also, not to mention how hot you look when you shifted."

"You think I'm hot?" He turns to you.

You pause in your bite, slowly swallowing. "No?"

"You do. You think I'm hot."

You scoff, pushing him away. "I didn't say that."

"You said I'm hot," he repeats to tease you.

"No," you whine when he leans in.

"What did I just walk into?"

You both freeze, slowly turning to face the human of the pack. "Hey, Stiles."

"Don't "hey Stiles" me." He points between the two of you. "What's a- what's going on here?"

"We're having breakfast."

"You're looking a little close for people having breakfast."

"What's it to you?" Asks Theo.

"Something you want to tell your friendly neighborhood FBI Agent?"

You two glance at one another and shrug. "No."

He nods and ventures over to the coffee maker. "I don't buy it."

Some of the other pack members wander into the kitchen.

"Did Stiles find out?"

"Little bit," you tell her, pinching your fingers together, leaving a bit of space between your thumb and index finger.

"I don't get it."

"He's about to figure it out," Liam tells the were-coyote.

"Oh."

"Wait- you guys know they're dating?!" Stiles screeches.

"Uh," Malia, Liam, and Brett make the same noise.

"No?" Scott chimes in.

"Oh, please. It was painfully obvious from the start."

"How did you get in?" The true alpha asks Peter.

"When I got here," Derek adds.

"When did you get in?" Stiles asks.

"A few minutes ago."

"Is everyone here?" Malia asks.

"Now, we are," Lydia interrupts.

"Great. How many of you knew these two were dating?"

Everyone raises their hands, except for Liam.

"Okay, I'm not the only one."

"I was the one who got them together."

"Oh, great so everyone knew before me."

"Guess so," you shrug.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We knew you'd judge."

He scoffs, "I wouldn’t-"

"I asked you a hypothetical question and asked how you would feel if I was dating someone from the pack."

"Uh huh... and?"

"You said rip the band aid off and I said Theo. You told me to put the band aid back on and pretended I didn’t say anything after that."

"And your point is?"

"You didn’t want to accept it therefore I didn't actually tell you."

"I can- I can accept it."

"You can't," Isaac pats his shoulder before pushing him out of the way.

"When did you get into town?"

"This morning."

"Hence the big batch for breakfast," you answer.

"You knew he was coming?"

"Of course, I did. I picked him up."

"I did," Theo corrects you.

"It was a team effort, sweetheart." You pat his knee.

"Ew. Please, I'm trying to enjoy my coffee."

"Like you need something else to get you all jittery," you tell the human.

He sarcastically laughs in return.

-

Taglist

@kmc1989

[airam1quhs]

🏵️Working Things Through🏵️ | K.C.

(requested by @kay-random [request: Kurt and reader are together but reader gets insecure cuz of uh courtney soo yeah he comforts her saying he wouldn’t leave her or any way u want :)]

Warnings/Notes: Courtney is not the antagonist! Other than that, just hurt-comfort :) Enjoy!

“Who, Kurt? Oh yeah, he’s great!”

“So you guys are in contact?”

“In theory yeah, for sure. Of course I haven’t talked to him as much since he married that girl. But he’s a person I connected very well with. I was really kind of shocked when we stopped contacting each other!”

“You should give him a call sometime!”

“Yeah, I agree. Hey Kurt!” Courtney Love looked directly at the camera with a grin that conveyed many things. “We should start talking again sometime!” Courtney winked. Winked.

She picked up the flipper and turned the tv off, flopping back on the couch with a frown. She heard the playing from the other room fade to silence, a clunk which was no doubt him setting the guitar down, and then footsteps growing louder.

“Hey, love, I just finished writing in there.” Kurt came out into the living room and stood in the entrance. He was in his pjs, looking as pretty as always with blond hair a mess around his head, and stubble dotting at his jaw. And of course the new ring on his left hand.

“The tv’s off? Didn’t you wanna watch mtv?” He approached the coffee table, picking up the flipper and turning to look at her. “Can I turn it on, then?”

She nodded wordlessly, watching as he hit the red ‘on’ button and the tv lit up, flipping over to to MTV. To her exasperation Courtney Love’s face reappeared on screen.

“Ah, Courtney!” Kurt said lightly. “She’s always got something interesting to say.”

He plopped down next to her, covering his hand with her own and fully watching.

Ugh stop, that wink was for comedic effect. You’re overthinking again.

She pursed her lips and said nothing.

***

“Hey, Kurt, uhm-“ She faltered slightly, “There’s a message here from Courtney.”

Kurt came trotting out in his socks, looking interested. “How did she even get our new number?”

“I don’t know. Somebody working with you probably gave it to her.”

“What’s it say?” He walked closer towards the phone, putting a warm hand on her shoulder.

She played the message:

“Hey Kurt! At least I hope it’s Kurt. If not, sorry to bother you, girl, could you pass it over to Kurt? Yeah, okay. Kurt it’s been a while. You should come out and play with us! Come to my place on the 21st? You know my address. I’ll have everything ready, just bring your guitar. Really looking forward to seeing you again!”

Kurt listened quietly, nodding. “Yeah, I do think we should play together. I really admire her art, honestly. I think we could make something nice together,” He seemed to trail off, thinking about it.

“If I’m at my best.”

“How do you know her address?” She asked him with a furrow of her brow.

“Oh, I’ve been to her house with a mutual friend a while ago. ’91, I think?”

“Okay.” She said plainly, not knowing what else to add even while she felt like she should say something.

“So… you’re, gonna go?”

“Yeah. I think it could be productive. I don’t think I have any plans that day, yeah?”

“Yeah, probably not…”

“Okay, then it’s set!” He smiled at her, placing a quick kiss on her lips before heading back to their room. She watched his back as it disappeared across the corner, cringing at her own internal monologue. She shook her head, before turning back to the phone.

***

He still wasn’t home. Why was he still out? Hadn’t it been long enough for them to create something? Would he voluntarily stay there for so long if they could be done?

Why are you thinking so much? You know he would never hurt you like that. This is stupid. He’s been nothing but good to you and these thoughts are how you repay him?

She twiddled her thumbs in her lap, shifting in her seat on the faded couch restlessly. The shaking of her knees against the coffee table caused the drink in her mug to spill, and she groaned, voice cracking with disuse as she hadn’t spoken since Kurt had left. Which was nine hours ago.

The liquid had spilled all over the table and was dripping onto the ground. She launched herself up to grab tissues but just knocked the mug to the floor in the process. She sucked in a deep breath and struggled not to cry. Don’t. Hyperventilate. Don’t.

She heard the door unlatch and steeled herself. She needed to calm down. These emotions were baseless and even more useless. Yeah, that’s right. This doesn’t need to be thought about anymore.

Kurt stepped into the house, kicking off his shoes and smiling very slightly as he placed them on the rack to his left.

“I’m home.” He called from the entrance, walking forward towards her.

“It’s ten. You said you’d be back for dinner.”

“Oh, shit, I did, didn’t I,” He grimaced, apologetic. “I’m sorry, love. We were in… a bit of a fervor.”

She let out a short laugh and spoke under her breath “Yeah. A creativity fervor.”

She spared a look up at him from wiping down the table, spotting his minute frown. That was the way it was with him. He was supposed to pick up on her feelings. Which she supposed was part of the reason why she felt so hurt.

With a clearly audible sigh she stood up, tossing her tissue in the garbage can, before moving to the door where Kurt had been not long ago, brushing past him in the process as she reached up to grab her coat off the clothing rack.

Kurt walked over, footsteps more hesitant now. “Hey, love… what’s wrong?”

“No it’s fine. I’m just going to go for a walk. Maybe get a cup of coffee.” She pulled on her coat, voice slightly muffled by the fabric pulling over her.

He perked up slightly, reaching for his own coat which he had just hung up next to her, “I’ll come with you.”

“No Kurt. You must be really tired. Go sleep.”

Her reaction seemed to trigger something in him. His movements halted, and he slowly retracted his arm, instead laying it on hers.

He spoke lightly, looking directly at her and turning her to face him with a worried look.

 “Darling? What is it? You seem to be holding things in. You know you can tell me and I won’t judge, yeah? I hope I haven’t, well, given you an impression that says otherwise.”

At first she pressed her lips together, looking at him. Okay. You need to speak now or it’ll get awkward.

“I-” Her voice cracked and she cringed. What had happened to her self-confidence? Her belief in her own abilities?

She let out a shaky breath, looking down and focusing on the floorboards as tears welled up in her eyes. Don’t hyperventilate.

“Hey, love, look at me.” He placed his hands tentatively on her cheeks, as if asking permission, before tilting her face upwards so she was once again looking at him.

He faltered slightly, likely noticing the glistening of her eyes, before his face softened even more, if possible.

She couldn’t help it. Her sight was blurring together and her breathing was watery. She tried to blink but it just allowed the tears to find a path out of her heavy eyelids, one on either side flowing down her cheeks. It was like a dam broke and suddenly she was shaking all over. Sobbing now.

She couldn’t see him through her closed eyes, but she felt his hands move from her face to wrap around her back, the soft fabric of his sweater against her hands and his hair tickling at her face as he pulled her in.

“C’mon. Talk to me.”

“I don’t know…” she took a deep breath to try to get her words out, “I know it’s stupid and baseless but-”

“Listen.” She felt his voice gain a newfound serious tone, the vibrations moving through her chest. “I will never think your emotions are stupid or invalid. You can talk to me no matter what. I care about you. Don’t bottle them in, love, or they’ll burst out and harm you when you don’t want them to. I know about that.” He paused, voice regaining its quiet, “Now, uhm- you can keep going.”

“I just… I guess I just felt jealous. You were- complimenting her, and her art, and I-I guess she’s just the type of person who likes to stir things up, and even though I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean any real harm, I- I just didn’t really feel safe? I felt kind of threatened by her. And I know you- you’d never but-” She groaned. “I feel so bad. For having so little trust in you!”

“No, no, I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up on this sooner.”

“I still feel guilty. That’s why I never… told you about it. I knew you were just there to play music. And I wanted you to go because I knew you’d enjoy it. So much. And I want you to do the things you love.”

“And thank you so much for that.”

“It’s just, when it got late and hours after the time you said you’d be home, I guess I let my mind wander. And… that’s almost never a good thing.”

“Make no mistake, love, I… take full responsibility for this-”

“Don’t say that-”

“But I also want you to know, that I would never purposefully hurt you, okay? Today, her entire band was there. All we did was write. And also... you're perfect just the way you are. Yes, I like Courtney's art, but there's so much more that I love about you.”

She just nodded, slowly but surely calming down, breathing deeper and regularly.

“Talk to me about anything you want, whenever you want. I love you.”

She sniffled slightly, “I love you too, Kurt.”

She felt him let out a breath, and his stubble tickled at her head.

“Let’s go, uh, lay in bed together?”

Finally, the corners of her lips twitched upwards, “Let’s go.”

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart  || Chapter 17C: I'm Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 18: Turn The Page

New York City || September 1988

So you walk into this restaurant All strung out from the road And you feel the eyes upon you As you're shakin' off the cold You pretend it doesn't bother you But you just want to explode

-- “Turn The Page,” Bob Seger (1971) [click here to listen]

Claire Fraser took a long drink from the glass of water beside the bathroom sink. Closed her eyes. Counted five deep breaths.

Bob Seger’s voice flowed through the tiny portable radio that she and Jamie took everywhere on the road.

Here I am, on the road again There I am, up on the stage There I go playin' the star again There I go, turn the page

She opened her eyes. Listened to the man sing so passionately, so desperately, about his exhaustion and heartbreak from living in the spotlight. Touring relentlessly. Feeling displaced in his own life.

“Claire?”

Jamie poked his head around the door, humming along with the song.

Not for the first time, Claire was grateful that the tour had wildly exceeded all expectations – the private plane instead of tour buses; limos to and from the gig; and hotel suites that were so large they typically had two bathrooms.

Not that they minded sharing, of course – but living on top of each other could be hard sometimes. On nights like these, she needed her own space.

And now, Jamie met her eyes in the mirror.

Enjoyed his surprise.

“What…you…”

She turned to face him. Took a moment to admire him in all black – the dress shirt that she had ironed for him this morning, black jeans, black belt with silver studs, boots. The leather jacket whose inside pocket she tucked a love note into every morning.

She raised her arms. “What do you think?”

The red dress wasn’t something she had intended to buy, that afternoon in Miami when the band needed a few hours with Colum to discuss the European leg of next year’s tour (“the leg owed to the fans, after the shit Jamie pulled last year before he got clean,” he had reminded them). She had kindly suggested to Charlotte and Molly – Angus’ groupie girlfriends – that rather than spend another afternoon inside, they explore the shopping mall attached to the hotel. Jamie had insisted that one of the roadies go with them, to deal with any photographers or aggressive fans – but Claire had only smiled and said that it would be fine.

She had been correct, of course. It was such a breath of fresh air to walk up and down the long corridors, eat Cuban sandwiches in the food court, browse the selections in the department stores and specialty boutiques. Anonymous. To interact with sales clerks not as the wife/girlfriend of the biggest rock musicians in the world – but simply as three women having a nice afternoon out together.

And, truth be told, it was good to get some time with Charlotte and Molly. They asked – respectfully – about her relationship with Jamie, and she in turn asked – respectfully – about their relationship with Angus. Watched them tear up when Charlotte started talking about the uncertainty before them when the tour ended, and when Molly wondered whether they would ever be enough.

Not quite knowing what to say, Claire absently pulled through a clearance rack – and then…

“Ohmygod Claire!” Molly exclaimed. “You have to try that one on!”

Startled, Claire focused on the sleeveless, ankle-length red dress.

“Jamie will freak when he sees that on you!” Charlotte smiled, shifting an armful of lingerie to look closer.

Claire pursed her lips. Thinking.

“Come on, Claire! You need to look like the rockstar wife you are.” Molly grabbed the dress. “Let’s go try it on. Come on!”

Initially she had only wanted to placate Molly. But when she saw herself in the dressing room mirror, she immediately knew how Jamie would react.

Three weeks later, she was correct.

She swirled slightly, enjoying the feel of the fabric swishing around her calves. The bite of cold air on her bare chest and belly. And the incredulous look on Jamie’s face, eyes dark.

“It’s very…red,” he stammered. “Are you wearing a bra?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s our first event as a couple. And as husband and wife. We need to make a splash.”

He swallowed. Stepped closer to take her elbows, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I suppose. Every man will have his eyes on you tonight.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll only feel yours.”

His eyes darkened. “I like knowing, that at any time tonight, I can just do this…” One hand trailed across the fabric of the dress, over her breast, until it reached the strip of exposed skin spanning her neck to her navel. “And then this…” His thumb edged under the flap, teasing the underside of her breast, in the way he knew would drive her absolutely crazy.

Her lips parted. His eyes locked on hers – taking in the red tones sweeping her eyes and cheeks, and her scarlet lipstick, and the silver hoops hanging in her ears.

“Can we just stay here tonight?” he asked softly, not exactly joking.

She shook her head. “Jamie, Lou fucking Reed came to the show at Madison Square Garden last night and not only insisted on meeting you and complimenting your music, he invited us to his party tonight. He’s had his own addiction issues, he’s not a dummy. And we’ve talked about this, we can’t avoid parties forever. It will be good for all those people to see you.”

He removed his thumb from her breast, and bridged the gap between them to lean his forehead against hers. Without words, their hands found each other, twining and grasping.

As was their habit now, he pressed their thumbs together. The C she had tattooed at the base of his thumb, mingling with the J he had tattooed at the base of her thumb.

“It’s going to be so hard, Claire. Not that I don’t want to see people, or show you off, or help you get to know them.” He swallowed. “I’ve been to these kinds of parties before. Huge open bar. Waitresses in low cut dresses handing around trays of drugs like it was a tray of snacks. People doing lines on the tables. People…fucking in the bathroom.”

She swallowed. “I’ll stay with you the whole time. You can be my excuse to stop talking to someone if it gets too awkward. Or to say no, if something like that is offered to you. You know I don’t care, right?”

He nodded. Hands shaking.

“Do you want to call Raymond?”

He shook his head. “Not right now. Tomorrow, definitely. Let me see how I get through this. Maybe we agree on a few points for tonight?”

“Anything. I love you.”

He smiled. “OK. I’ve got gum in my pocket – that will keep us from getting too thirsty. And if we need something to drink, we’ll ask for club soda, and we’ll watch the drink poured in front of us. I don’t care if it’s awkward. I can’t trust.”

She released one hand from his grip, and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Got it. And you know it’s easier if we touch, right? Hold my hand. Put your hand on my hip. I don’t care. I’ll be right there with you. And you’ll be right there for me.”

He stepped closer, and she parted her legs, and he stood between them. Pressing her hips against the bathroom counter.

“If we get separated, Jamie, I promise I’ll stay true to my sobriety, and to you.”

“I promise the same. I only want you.”

“I’ll touch my letter on you. Will you?”

“Yes,” he swallowed. Kissing the arch of her eyebrow. “That will help. But let’s also agree on a signal, if one of us feels need for love. And the need to go.”

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. Breath so warm on his lips. “How about…” She tapped the center of his chest. “Touch here. Close to your heart. That’s where I feel need, when I want to love you. Is that where you feel it, too?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “It pools here. Like fire. God, I need to kiss you, Claire. Please let me kiss you.”

She turned her face away, smiling. “I don’t want you to smudge my lipstick. And I want you to hold that thought all night, Jamie. Hold on to that pool of fire. Can you do that for me?”

She felt his smile against her jaw. “Gonna be so, so good when we get back here,” he growled.

“I know, baby. It will keep us strong and true tonight. I love you.”

He pulled back a bit. Raised her hand to his lips. Kissed her wedding ring.

“I love you, Dr. Mrs. Fraser.”

She smiled. “I love you, you idiot. Come on. The limo should be waiting.”

[penny00dreadful]

Somebody To Love - Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 AO3

*Professor Farnsworth voice* Good news everyone! It is finished! There'll be one more part after this, I didn't need as many parts/chapters as I originally thought becasue I figured why can't I just have a high word count here? 😅 I should be able to have the final part out soon once I've completed the edits. 🥳🖤

Some tw's for this part: addict thoughts, talks of dieting, addiction recovery.

The delicacy with which Dustin and Max were handling him made Eddie feel like he’d been thrown into an alternate reality. They had the kid gloves on, treating him with so much care, like he was a temperamental ornament ready to shatter at any moment and honestly, he kind of appreciated it. 

People often took one look at him and just assumed he was a tough as nails metalhead drug addict that would spit at them sooner than look at them and like… sometimes they weren’t that far off. 

But he was still human with an infuriatingly soft core and that core was feeling very bruised right now.

He didn’t know exactly what they knew of everything, they were obviously much closer to Steve than they were to him, but he wasn’t really sure how close.

Still, it was nice that they weren’t automatically treating him like dirt for breaking Steve’s heart and then clumsily attempting to sellotape it back together with promises of proving it to him. Maybe that was Steve’s doing. Or maybe they were just more emotionally intelligent than he’d given them credit for.

Chrissy, however, had no such compunctions.

She waltzed into his house at ass o’clock in the morning and shoved a to-go coffee into his hands, knowing well he hadn’t slept a wink, she had been the one up with him on the phone for half the night after all.

“C’mon, Twinkie!” She slapped his ass hard. Way harder than was necessary, in his opinion. “Now’s not a time for moping, now’s a time for action!”

Eddie scowled at her and took a sip before coughing it up and shooting coffee straight out of his nose.

“Jesus fuck!” He gulped back air, barely able to get the words out through the scratching at his throat. “How many espresso shots are in this?!”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” Chrissy dismissed with a wave of her hand.

He had barely managed to get his breath back, standing in the middle of his house in just his ratty old Dragon Ball Z boxers with coffee dripping down his chest when his front door was thrown open with a bang and more people descended on him.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

The Corroded Coffin boys strolled through his house, immediately descending on his kitchen and raiding his cabinets for whatever food Steve constantly kept his house stocked with.

“We heard you finally got your head out of your ass.” Jeff replied, through a mouthful of Honeycombs.

“Hey! Those are mine- Wait. You knew?”

“Dude, everyone knew.” Grant had commandeered his chocolate Yoo-Hoo, cracking the lid off easily.

Eddie felt his stomach drop. “Everyone?”

“Everyone.” Gareth emphasised, knowing exactly whose wrath Eddie was now fearing.

“Shit. Does he know? What happened yesterday?”

Chrissy nodded. “I called him. He’s in the air.”

“You fucking traitor!” He shouted, pointing his finger at her. “He’s going to kill me!”

She just waved her hand at him. “Go get dressed. We’ve got work to do.”

Eddie mumbled and grumbled but did as he was told, knocking back the rest of the poisonous coffee she had provided him. When he arrived back downstairs it was like walking into the middle of an intervention, even though he had started the process himself.

He was going to get off the drugs, he was going to stop drinking. He was no longer going to be sleeping around, obviously, but he was also going to go to a private medical clinic for a number of tests. Just to make sure he hadn’t picked anything up in between previous testing. He was going to keep smoking, because god-damn it he needed something.

The rest of that day was spent with Dustin, Chrissy and the Corroded Coffin boys scraping through every square inch of his house, searching for his various stashes of drugs and alcohol while Max watched him like a hawk.

Chrissy pulled away some pills taped to the bottom of a decorative pot that sat on top of one of his upper cabinets and Eddie was pretty sure he’d never seen that pot in his life before. Never even looked at it, let alone hid shit using it. It was the ugliest fucking pot he’d ever seen, why was it in his house? Honestly he’d forgotten half the places they pulled a handle of vodka or a baggie of powder out of. 

He wasn’t an addict, he didn’t consider himself an addict but he just used them more as an aid to get him through the day. He wasn’t an addict. 

He used them because he wanted to, not because he needed to.

Except.

Except now that he was faced with the reality that there’d be none of it left in the house, and he’d be monitored very closely by all of them so he couldn’t break and go out and get a fix… it had his anxiety skyrocketing through the roof and he almost asked them to stop multiple times. 

But each time he did, he remembered the defeat and heartbreak on Steve’s face and he… he just had to keep pushing forward. 

As they went from room to room, Max seemed to have some kind of sixth sense. Sitting there in her tailored business suit, red hair in a high pony, leaning over towards him with her elbows on her knees. Whenever he knew where something was stashed and the guys skimmed over it or missed it, she called out to them, telling them to look again without taking her eyes off him.

“How the hell are you doing that?” He asked.

“I had a troubled upbringing.” Max replied with a flat tone of voice.

They’d been at it for hours by the time he called for a fucking breather. All of this was exhausting. The stress was eating at his stomach. Eddie was in his back garden, trying to chill the fuck out with a cigarette when he heard the door open behind him.

“Boy.” The voice that came from behind him was heavy and stern, like Eddie’s own personal Kratos had descended and Eddie froze like a rabbit caught in a trap.

He turned slowly, hoping that someone else, anyone else was around to help take the pressure off but they all seemed to have scattered, the cowards.

“Wayne!” He tried to inject as much joy and lightness into his voice as he got to his feet but the man just continued to stare down at him with a raised eyebrow and his arms crossed, towering over him like a monument of parental disappointment.

Quick as a flash Wayne’s hand shot out and slapped him over the back of the head, not too hard, but hard enough to let Eddie know he wasn’t happy, as if that had ever been in doubt. “What did you do to that young man?”

“You can’t hit me! I’m in recovery!”

Wayne slapped him again.

“I’m fixing it!”

“You better be. I like that Steve kid. He’s good for you.”

Eddie slumped, dropping his cigarette butt on the ground and trudging over to his uncle, pressing his forehead into his collarbone. “I know.”

Wayne nodded and pulled him in close for a hug.

“I’m fixing it.” Eddie said again, quieter this time. 

“Good.” Wayne rubbed his hand up and down Eddie back before pulling away. “We’ll get this sorted.” He placed his hands on either side of Eddie’s face and gave him a light squeeze. “Now pick up that butt, I didn’t teach you to litter.”

For all his whining and grumbling and absolute terror of the man, it was a big help having Wayne around. Of course it was, how could it not be. Though he’d never doubted Wayne for a second, facing up to the consequences of his actions had never been something Eddie was particularly eager to do.

Case in point, involving Chrissy was maybe a mistake. 

Because she was, like, sporty and shit. And she kept dragging him out of bed in the early hours of the morning once the worst of everything was out of his system. 

She’d force him into the gym room that came with the house and Eddie was pretty sure he’d never set foot in it before. But all the stuff there had clear signs of being used regularly and it was with a strange mix of sadness and glee that he figured Steve had probably been the one using it all along.

“Why am I here?”

“To get some endorphins into you without using drugs.”

Soulmate his fucking ass. 

Chrissy was no less than a drill sergeant and no amount of whining and bitching would stop her from making him do stretches and get on the treadmill and god he fucking hated it. Any one who enjoyed exercising was now solidly listed under ‘psychopath’ in his brain. 

Chrissy had even convinced Max to get her husband, some kind of sports health something or other, to put together a meal plan for him that had him eating shit like broccoli and apples and brown fucking rice.

Eddie did not throw a temper tantrum by day five of that diet, about a week and a half into this whole ‘getting his shit together so he could prove to Steve he was a competent human’ thing. Definitely not, even though his muscles ached and he wanted to stuff an entire Dunkin worth of Donuts into his mouth and get stupidly ridiculously high.

“Fuck off and leave me alone, Chrissy.” He snapped one morning from underneath his bedsheets. He was fucking tired, he was fucking sore and last he checked sugar wasn’t one of the addictions he was supposed to be giving up so why the fuck wasn’t he allowed to have any?

Chrissy crossed her arms. “No.”

“What’s even the point of this anyway? How the hell is the fucking broccoli and the fucking treadmill proving to Steve that I’m gonna stick around?”

“Because you’re improving yourself, taking care of yourself. Staying away from the drugs and alcohol and sex orgies and showing him you’re trying.” She sighed, softening her voice. “Didn’t you tell him you’d try every day for him?”

“Whatever.” Eddie grumbled, pulling the covers up over his head. “It’s a bed day. I’m staying in bed. Don’t try to drag me out, I will bite you.”

He could hear Chrissy leave and he knew the attitude was unnecessary, she was his rock in all of this, but he just wasn’t in the fucking mood to do anything apart from wallow.

He had dozed back off to sleep until he was awoken by someone coming up the stairs. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a tall handsome man with fantastic shoulders standing in his doorway with a box of fucking donuts in his hand.

What kind of sugar-craving wet dream was this?

The guy lifted his hand with a pleasant smile. “Hey-”

“Sorry, man. I’m off the market.” Eddie slurred in some kind of delirious half-asleep haze before his brain finally caught up with him and he realised that’s probably not what was happening right now.

The guy burst out in a short laugh. “Yeah, me too. I’m Max’s husband, Lucas.”

Eddie’s entire face went scarlet. “Oh fuck, don’t tell her I said that. She’ll cut my balls off.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He said with an easy smile as he held the box out and shook it slightly. “I brought these for you.”

Lucas handed the donuts to him and even though Eddie should be wary of the quite literal candy from a stranger (although, was candy really the correct term?), the allure of fried sugar was too much.

“Aren’t you supposed to be having me eat healthy?” Eddie asked, practically diving face first into the box and stuffing as much as he could into his mouth at once. “Minoththuppothsbeowmaheawthmfifthnssjurmy?” 

Lucas blinked at him and Eddie forced himself to swallow the large lump of fried dough, but not without sucking on his fingers first. “Am I not supposed to be on a health and fitness journey? Or whatever you,” he wiggled his fingers at him, “active types call it.”

"Don’t get me wrong, you still need to eat right and exercise but the meal plans I write up are usually for athletes at the top of their game. So the fact that sugar and some fats never made it in just never occurred to me. And no offence to you dude, but you are no athlete.” He smiled and tapped the box. “Everything in moderation, right?”

Things began to even out after that. The boys started to travel between Eddie’s house and their own homes, checking in on him less and less the better he got. Finally getting to spend some well deserved time with their families rather than babysitting their problematic frontman. 

Wayne still stuck around. Eddie’s literal rock in everything he’d ever done in his life ever and Chrissy was no longer riding him so hard about getting the endorphins pumping. 

Honestly video games could do the same thing for him but she refused to accept that.

When Steve walked back through his front door some two weeks after he’d left for a second time, he took Eddie by surprise all over again, manifesting behind him like some kind of ghost and scaring the ever loving shit out of him.

But he didn’t throw himself at Steve this time. 

He didn’t have that right anymore. 

The ball was in Steve’s court and he would be the one that would decide just how fast they moved from now on.

He noticed the difference in Eddie almost immediately because of course he did. Telling him off hand that he looked good, healthy. That he hadn’t looked like that since their second studio album blew up, which caused Eddie to blush furiously and hide his face behind his hair like a fucking schoolgirl and not someone who had appeared in fucking ‘Playgirl’, which he had.

Usually in his down time he would have been spending it hanging out with Steve and his weird little found family. And with Wayne, flying in between LA and Indiana and getting to remember what it felt like to just be a normal person again. 

But it had also been the time Eddie would let loose and go hard into everything could. The kinds of things he couldn’t manage when on tour. 

Days long sex parties, kink clubs, high quality drug dens, week long getaways to someone’s private island or luxury yacht that probably collectively took ten years off his life every time he went.

But they were a thing of the past now.

Eddie found he was kind of enjoying the slower summer getting clean afforded him. He’d started to enjoy the things he used to love so much, but lost over time. 

Reading, losing himself in a writing haze, feeling the frantic passion of ideas and creativity overtaking him, and all with a clear head this time. 

Days spent in his basement studio no longer fueled by cocaine and other stimulants, now only fueled by caffeine. 

Before, he’d be able to go a couple of days awake in his writing haze but caffeine was no substitute for coke. 

As a result of that, being under the influence of only caffeine, sugar and nicotine he usually ended up crashing on the couch down there before he even realised he was falling asleep. Sometimes he’d wake up with handwritten pages stuck to his cheek or forehead, sometimes he’d wake up with the mother of all back aches and stiff fingers. But sometimes he’d wake up with a blanket thrown over him, the ghost of a hand in his hair and a strawberry frappuccino waiting for him on the coffee table.

The downside of being lucid and sober was that Eddie was now painfully aware of his shithead behaviour over the last number of years and it constantly threatened to push him back into a spiral again. 

He was actually mentally present for the first time in he didn’t know how long for a meeting with the label executives to discuss a timeline for the next album and tour. He had no idea just how much Steve had been doing for him, especially when it came to this. 

Making decisions on his behalf that always benefited him far more than anything he’d have been able to negotiate himself, making excuses for why he was so out of it all the time that everyone could see through. But the execs always let it go because Corroded Coffin were one of the labels biggest bands, on of their biggest money earners and continued to be, no matter how fucked up Eddie was.

And it wasn't just meetings with execs he now had to deal with. The people refused to get the god-damn memo. The invites to all the debauched shit he usually took part in just kept coming and people actually started getting defensive whenever he refused.

No matter what he told them. 

He told them he didn’t want to go. He was healing. He was off the shit that would be shared around like pass the parcel. They were down right offended to hear it. Like Eddie was somehow telling them all he was better than them by holding up a mirror towards their own actions which… maybe, yeah actually.

The only invite he had accepted was a charity fundraiser for queer homeless youth. But only with a firm stance that he would not be going to any kind of after party, so don’t even bother asking.

But it would be fine. 

There’d be alcohol and probably some drugs and probably some people trying to get into his pants there but Chrissy and Steve would also be there, all but chained to his side. Gareth, Jeff and Grant would be taking up the mantle of schmoozing so it would be fine.

Plus, he was close to hitting his ninety days so he was definitely stronger than he had been at the start, right?

Yeah.

Either way, the alcohol, the drugs, the horny people… it would be the kind of shit that would be unavoidable in his line of work. So he’d have to get used to temptation being thrown in his face regardless and this would be a nice entry level experiment.

“You sure you want to do this?” Steve asked him, with an arm around his shoulder. 

The return to normal touch had been gradual, happening over the last few months and it was doing wonderful things for his nerves right now. The three of them were sitting in the back of the big fancy car, stalling.

Steve flashed him a cheeky grin. “We can leave and head to the McDonalds drive-thru right now if you want.”

Eddie smiled and stopped twisting his rings around his fingers. This was an overly fancy event, probably requiring white gloves as part of the dress code but Eddie wasn’t going to start worrying about expectations like that now. 

They knew who they’d invited. 

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” He tipped his head over until he was leaning against Steve’s shoulder and laced his fingers with Chrissy’s gloved hand. “Let’s just get this over with. Maybe we can leave before I turn back into a pumpkin, though?”

Steve smiled. “Sure thing.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of Eddie’s head and smoothly exited the car. 

It was definitely not the most intimate thing they’d ever done together in their decade long friendship but definitely the most intimate thing that they’d done in the last three months and Eddie’s stomach exploded with butterflies.

“Cinderella doesn’t turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.” Chrissy said, shaking out her large pale pink dress as she stepped out of the car after Eddie. “Are you calling yourself the carriage?”

“Yeah.” He offered her his elbow. “I have plenty of carriage.”

“Twinkie,” she shook her head, “you have no carriage. It’s a tiny little fuzzy peach butt.”

“Excuse you, it’s a pumpkin!”

She rolled her eyes and gave his ass a little pinch out of view of anyone. “It is not.”

“It’s really not, Eds.” Steve put in with a not so subtle up-and-down look.

“This is a betrayal of the highest order,” he pointed at them, “and the both of you are terrible people.”

Overall, things went pretty well. 

He didn’t really have to talk to anyone, the Corroded Coffin boys as previously discussed between them, were dealing with the majority of boring ass rich people conversation and Steve had enough experience from his upbringing with his parents to deflect the most persistent of wannabe schmoozers. Eddie had been sticking only to mocktails (his favourite would always be a Shirley Temple but they had some strawberry thing which was essentially just strawberry limeade but it was fucking delicious so who gave a fuck) and some really nice non-alcoholic champagne that honestly tasted better than the regular champagne without the tang of alcohol in it.

Steve had to lead someone away, almost with a hand at their elbow when they just kept pushing for conversation. Chrissy was in a gentle discussion with a new young artist who looked like she was about to vibrate out of her skin from fear. And Eddie felt a shadow descend into the chair next to him.

He turned, still trying to suck the last dregs of his Shirley Temple out of the bottom of his glass.

The guy who sat down looked vaguely familiar, in that kind of memory signal way. His subconscious definitely knew they’d crossed paths before but that could mean anything. Maybe he’d collaborated with him in the past? Maybe he was an old supplier? Maybe he’d slept with him, who knew?

“Hi!” The guy said with a smile and dark bedroom eyes.

Well, okay.

He slid a drink towards him, cold and beading with condensation and the most beautiful amber colour.

Eddie swallowed, unable to take his eyes off of it. He picked up the edge of the white tablecloth, using it to push the drink away. He didn’t even want to risk touching it.

“I’m clean.” Eddie pretty firmly kept the now empty Shirley Temple glass up, still sucking the straw around the bottom, trying to keep a barrier between them because no thank you. Not tonight. Not ever, anymore, if life worked out the way he wanted.

The guy nodded and smiled again, a little condescending, as though Eddie’s attempt to stay sober was cute. “I've been watching you. Trying to find an opportunity to say hi.” He scoffed lightly with a raised eyebrow. An attempt at an inside joke only one of them was in on. “Your bodyguard’s got a pretty tight grip on you though. Glad he finally gave you a chance to breathe.”

“Steve’s not my bodyguard.”

Even though he could be. Has definitely had to act like it before. More than once. 

God, Eddie was a shit.

“No? He’s certainly acting like it. Won’t let anyone near you. Seems a little possessive if you ask me.” The guy scooted a little further forward and started brushing his leg up and down Eddie’s calf and Eddie retracted almost immediately.

“That’s going to be a solid no from me. I’m off the market for the foreseeable future.”

The guy couldn’t hide his surprise quickly enough. “Seriously? Someone get in your head about it?” The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smug grin. “Couldn’t stop thinking of a particular night? I couldn’t stop thinking of it either. I heard you stopped making the rounds after.”

Eddie could do nothing but blink at the absolute balls on this guy. But apparently this was a one sided conversation because the guy was still talking.

“I was hoping you’d call me again.” He attempted to nudge Eddie’s knee with his hand but Eddie pulled back again with a hard glare. The guy scoffed again. “Unless, of course, your phone privileges have been taken away by the help.” He laughed at his own pathetic, mean excuse for a joke. “I think we could be quite good together, Eddie.”

“I don’t fucking think so.”

The guy pushed out his bottom lip and batted his big eyelashes at him, like Eddie’s rejection was performative, like he was playing hard to get. “Awh. That’s too bad. You marked me up so good last time.”

It was only then that it finally clicked for him. “You’re the guy from the ‘Sucker’ video.”

The guy's bravado faltered, clearly not expecting to be forgotten so easily.

“Obviously.” He bit out.

He was the last guy Eddie had slept with before everything had happened.

Steve had shown him out and left on his vacation almost immediately after.

He’d been so upset.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” Eddie hissed, finally setting his glass down.

The guy blinked with a curl at his lip. “Who?”

“Steve.”

“Oh, him?” The guy laughed, short and sharp and mean. “Not my fault if he wasn’t ready to hear some harsh truths.” He shrugged. “I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t deserve to hear. Practically did you a favour, by the way.” The guy rolled his eyes. “Just had to get it in his head that he didn’t have a shot, shooting above his pay grade and if he couldn’t handle it he should take a long walk off a short pier. Even if you did let him weasel his way back in-”

There was something shoved hard into Eddie’s chest and he only had a second to register what was happening before he had to catch Chrissy around the waist and pull her back to stop her clawing this guy's eyes out. 

The purse she’d pushed at him fell to the floor as Eddie was jerked forward, using his all of his weak as shit strength to keep a firm grip on Chrissy who was always so strong with her hidden jock prowess.

“Jesus Christ, put a leash on her, would you?” The guy had fired himself backwards, nearly toppling himself out of his seat.

“You motherf-! Edward, let me go!” Chrissy was swiping at the guy with one arm while the other dug into Eddie’s arm, trying to loosen his grip. 

Before he could consider whether the spectacle of Chrissy Cunningham in her pink meringue dress absolutely wrecking this guys shit would be worth the entertainment enough to let her free, a wall of bodies planted themselves firmly in her way.

“I think it’s time we head out, don’t you?” Jeff asked leaning back, trying to avoid Chrissy’s hands.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. Jesus this girl was strong. “Yeah, maybe!”

The four of them were able to manhandle Chrissy, who was still spitting and cursing, shooing her out of the front door. Eddie glanced back and saw Steve leaning down towards the guy with the sharpest smile he’d ever seen, muttering into his ear ‘He doesn’t even remember your name’ before turning and following the five of them out.

There was silence between the six of them outside, save for the sound of Chrissy’s heavy breathing, as they waited for the car to come around.

They all bundled themselves inside and once the door slammed shut Eddie exploded.

“Okay, what the hell?” 

The boys were looking at him with wary expressions, Chrissy was wide eyed and a little flushed and Steve just cocked an eyebrow, well used to Eddie’s tantrums after so long. But that wasn’t what this was.

“Him? Him? I slept with him? He’s not even cute, why the hell didn’t anyone stop me?!” He pointed at each of them in turn, not even bothering to skip out Steve, the fucker would only tease him about it later.

The car started moving and Eddie took a second to send a silent apology to the very nice chauffeur, Marlon, who really shouldn’t have to be dealing with their nonsense.

“Twinkie,” Chrissy huffed, ripping her white opera gloves off, “the amount of times I have tried to slap the dick out of your hand and get you to listen to me-”

Eddie squealed, high and outraged. But he couldn’t even stay mad because Steve was doubled over cackling like a witch on her broomstick and the boys were poking fun at him while literally poking him in the sides and all he could do was slump down in his seat and pout at them with crossed arms.

They did end up going through the McDonalds drive-thru after all.

So... y'all wanna see Eddie's Playgirl cover? 👀 (minors dni)

That magnificent artwork was done by the supremely talented @sporelium and I am in fucking awe of him, like holy shit. I saw it when it was originally posted and I have not been able to stop thinking about it. Thank you so much for letting me reference it here. 😘🖤

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 AO3

@lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring, @child-of-cthulhu, @sweetwaterangel, @anaibis, @katytheinspiredworkaholic, @littlewildflowerkitten, @hallucinatedjosten, @estrellami-1, @gregre369, @stxrcrossed186, @novelnovella, @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme, @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere, @thesuninyaface, @messrs-weasley

[mamirhodessxox]

Hey There Delilah Incorrect Quotes

Delilah: I didn't drink that much last night.

Randy: You were flirting with Cody.

Delilah: So what? They're my partner.

Randy: You asked if they were single.

Randy: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Cody: Cause your pretty and your smart, and your ignoring me so your obviously my type.

Delilah, who was distracted: I'm sorry- what were you saying?

Cody: Perfect.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Delilah: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers?

Cody: Peonies, why?

Delilah:

Cody: Were you going to get me flowers?

Delilah:

Cody:

Delilah: ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Seth, sweating: Cody, there’s something I need to ask you-

Cody: Finally! You’re proposing!

Seth: How’d you know?

Cody: Seth, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

Cody: I even picked it up once.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Rhea: Ah, yes. Here we have a beautiful couple...

Delilah: I really care about your feelings!

Cody: I really care about YOUR feelings!

Rhea, turning their head: ...and then there's the disaster couple...

Becky: YOU NEED TO PAY MORE ATTENTION TO ME INSTEAD OF BEING AT THE HOSPITAL!

Seth: I WOULDN'T HAVE TO SPEND SO MUCH TIME AT THE HOSPITAL IF YOU STOPPED INSISTING ON FIGHTING EVERYONE WHO COMES WITHIN A FIVE FOOT RADIUS OF YOU!

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Delilah: Cody is too tall for me to kiss them on the lips. What should I do?

Seth: Punch them in the stomach. Then, when they double over in pain, kiss them.

Roman: Tackle them!

Rhea: Dump them.

Becky: Kick them in the shin!

Cody: No to all of those! Just ask me to lean down!!

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Damien: Yeah, a partner sounds nice, but a supreme enemy you can make out with in secret sometimes sounds a lot more hardcore.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Seth: Ooh, somebody has a crush

Delilah: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on Cody I just think they’re cool, it’s not like I stay up at night thinking about them.

*Later that night*

Delilah, very much awake: Uh oh.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Delilah, looking through their clothes: Has anyone seen my top?

Randy: Cody's in the kitchen.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Delilah: That's ridiculous, Cody doesn't have a crush on me.

Randy: Yes they do.

Dom: Yes they do.

Cody: Yes I do.

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

Randy: *sees Delilah and Cody together*

Randy: They're cute. I would put them on a boat.

Dom: You mean... you ship them?

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

@alyyaanna

[specialagentlokitty]

Lokittys prompts 2024 part 2

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you… I could walk through my garden forever.”

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”

"The world's not perfect, but it's not that bad If we got each other, and that's all we have You should know I'll be there for you"

“We could’ve been great you know…”

“I spent years searching for you.” “You should’ve just left me.”

“Everybody has fears, I feed on those fears, I watch them grow.”

“You spent all that time waiting, and for what?” “For you.”

“Meet me the dark.” “What does that mean?” “You’ll know.”

“You didn’t deserve any of this, you deserved so much better.”

“We’re the same.” “We’re a traitor.” “I’m not somebody else’s puppet.”

“You’ve a restless soul.” “Is that bad?” “I suppose it depends on your definition of bad.”

“You’ll be working with our best agent.” “That’s a teenager.” “Shut up or square up bitch.” “As you can see they need to be kept under close watch.”

“You must have wondered if I loved you and I did. Oh god, I love you so much…”

“You’re beautiful.” “I am?” “Like the colour green. Like trees on a rainy day.”

“We can be both human and monster, both these parts live within us. Sometimes the balance tips, and one takes over.”

“Forever describes memories not people.”

“You steal my dreams.” “I hope I turn them into nightmares.” “(Y/N) no.”

“What are you to me?” “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

“There’s no such thing as perfection.” “Yes there is. You.”

“I ruin everything.” “No you don’t.”

“That’s an order.” “Bitch you don’t give me orders shut up.”

“I had everything once upon a time.”

“Are you sick?” “Please don’t tell them/her/him.” “How long?” “Maybe a few months if I’m lucky…”

“One day I’ll wake up and forget all that I was.” “And I’ll still be here.”

“You are the oncoming storm.”

“I’ll live all your dreams for you.”

“Everything around us stays the same except for us.”

“Take my hand.” “A weird way to propose but okay.” “No I mean- did you just say you’d marry me?” “No?”

“I like pretty things.” “I’m pretty, do you like me?” “No.”

“Spaghetti.” “This is an interrogation.” “Spaghetti.” “Fine! Can someone get me spaghetti!?”

“What’s your name?” “I don’t remember.” “That’s okay, I’ll help you remember.”

“Look at me.” “Why?” “I just love to look at your eyes.”

“Can we be friends?” “It’s more fun to be mortal enemies.” “Can we be moral enemies?”

“The hero and the villain don’t work together.” “They’re not married either but here we are.”

“If you go down then we all go down.”

“Don’t be stupid.” “I mean I can’t really be anymore stupid than your face.”

“I’m scared…” “it’s okay I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sometimes I just want to throw chairs out of windows.”

“I’m driving.” “You don’t even have a license!”

“Stop speeding!” “Bitch do you wanna get there the safe way or the fast way?!” “The safe way!” “Too bad!”

“…so… what you in for?” “For punching you in the face, why the hell are you in here?”

“Nice tattoo.” “Thanks.” “What’s it mean?” “No idea.”

“You want to go start fires?” “Excuse me?”

“Apparently you’re dangerous.” “That would be correct.”

“Is stealing bread a crime?” “Please stop.”

“I want a drink.” “You have a drink.” “I want a different drink.”

“What wrong with you?”

“Why are you always in trouble?” “Why’re you always dumb?”

“You’re old.” “I know.”

“Do you plan where you go?”

“What made you who you are?”

“I want to travel with you.” “It’s dangerous.” “I know.”

“I want to be just like you.”

“I’ve never seen you smile.”

“It’s just me and you.” “Always.”

“You’re my favourite, but you can’t tell anybody I’m not supposed to have favourites.”

“You’ve been drinking all night.” “And I’m still not drunk enough.”

“You shine brighter than any star I’ve ever seen.”

“I need you to promise me something.” “What?” “Live.”

“I’ll come find you again I promise.”

“I’ll always be here for you.” “Why?” “Because nobody deserves to be alone.”

“Adopt me.” “What? Why?” “Because nobody has ever been as nice to be as you have…”

“You are a masterpiece, you are exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

“Why are you always so sad?” “I don’t know how to be happy.”

“He/she/they never smiles…” “you’ve never seen them/her/him looking at you then.”

“Can we play a game?”

“You’re a shapeshifter?”

“Are you scared of me?” “No.”

“We’re the same.”

“How do you define good and evil?”

“I’ve made mistakes, I know this. But I wouldn’t change what I’ve done.”

“What I create is chaos.”

“I’m so sorry….” “Why?” “For what I have to do…”

“You have to stop smoking.” “It’s the only thing that makes me feel better.”

“If you so much as lay a hand on my spouse I will make sure nobody finds your body, and remember, I have diplomatic immunity here.”

“How do you get away with all this?” “The key is not to get caught.”

“My people will take you home.” “Your people?”

“Oh so scary.” “What until you see what I can do.”

“I’ll punch you.” “You already did!”

“You’re not that bad.”

“Wanna hold hands?” “Stupid question of course I do.”

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“If I help you will you be nice?”

“Can you speak any other languages?”

“You’ll be safe with me.”

“Show me the world from your point of view.”

[ownedbythescribe]

Kaedehara Kazuha | Not For You

ıllı Synopsis: Letting go of what you think is the best thing of your life can be hard. But, fate has something in store for you. A better future you would not even expect.

ıllı Genre: Angst, Comfort

ıllı Notes: Gender Neutral Reader

ıllı A/N: Just a short story before I take a break. It’s a bit of self-indulgent too. Sometimes, loving somebody can hurt, but we have to take a deep breath and look past that pain.

Autumn, the season when the leaves turn from verdant green to alluring shades of crimson red and vermillion. They languidly fall to the ground as the wind gets a bit chiller, pricking at anyone’s sensitive skin. Breathing in frigid air feels like drinking mint juice, a cool sensation harrows through the chest. It may be nice to some but for others.

Glancing up, you reached your hand to take the fallen maple leaf. It was a shame that so many goodbyes seemed to happen when autumn came, whether between family, friends, or lovers.

“And maybe, it’s time for me to say mine as well.” You muttered, watching the figures not far from you frolic by the sea. Both their eyes shone with adoration and happiness, feelings that he would never reciprocate. Not when he had already found the one he wished to be with for the rest of his life.

You stared at the maple leaf in your hand and thought about the subtle changes in your relationship. It was vague when it started, but eventually, you drifted apart from each other. Hazily remembering their first encounter, you suspected that it must have been love at first sight.

Your friend sent you a letter that the Yae Publishing House accepted her as a new writer. You recalled being ecstatic about it because that would mean she would be moving to Inazuma. When she arrived, you toured her around, introducing her to locals and prominent people in the country. It only took one smile for her to pierce the heart of Kamisato Ayato.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss. I hope you enjoy your stay in Inazuma. Should you require assistance, please don’t hesitate to inquire Thoma about it.” He offered. It was pretty strange for Ayato to proffer help to strangers. You thought that he was just being kind.

Each week, you saw them meet up with each other. There were even rumors that the Yashiro Commissioner fancied the new writer as they would be seen dining together and enjoying their private time. It pained your heart to know the man you loved for years fell for a woman he had recently met. All your efforts to remember his favorite food, place, and gifts were thrown out the window.

In the end, Ayato officially asked her to become his lover. The news circulated around Inazuma. Many were devastated that the elegant and attractive Kamisato Head was already taken. Some sent envious looks their way, but his periwinkle eyes were only set on your friend’s. You were forgotten to the sides. Like a toy he had grown out of.

“If I become selfish and tell you my feelings, I will be forever hated. So, I will try to let go. But can I truly let go?” You uttered to the wind. You wanted to be angry, yell at him that you loved him for years, and ask him why he could not look at you. But his eyes said it all. He had a gleam in them that said, ‘Ah, she’s the one. I mustn’t let her go’.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and one by one, they fell like rain on a stormy night. Your chest felt tight at the ache. As he departed from your grasp, he also took with him a part of you who dedicated their selves to a man of his standing.

A shaky sigh left your lips as you let go of the maple leaf and his last gift in your hand. You watched the water carry it away, far from your sight. Suddenly, a handkerchief appeared in front of you. You looked up to see a man with platinum blond hair, a red streak on the side, and soft crimson eyes. A kind smile was etched on his face. He reminded you of maple trees, not just because of his outfit but because of his aura. He sat by your side and asked.

“Tears do not suit you, Milady, but if I may, why do you weep?” He was gentle with his words. You dabbed your face with his handkerchief and ruefully answered.

“I just let go of what I thought was the best thing in my life. How can I be all right?” There was a light deride in your tone in the end, one you did not mean. He understood where the hostility was coming from.

“Fate must have led you somewhere else. To someone better, one who completes the emptiness in your heart. Fate is fickle, but its intricacy is beautiful.” He retorted.

You were silenced. It was as if the heartache was washed away by Kazuha's alacrity and confidence. It felt like he had been with fate for years. He understood the reason why somebody’s life was weaved the way it was. His flowery words mended the fissure of your heart. Taking in a deep breath, you turned to him.

“You may be right, but it still hurt. I’m not sure how long I will heal, but I know I can try and be happy for them. Thank you, dear stranger.” You smiled. His crimson eyes creased in delight.

“Kazuha. Kaedehara Kazuha is my name, Milady.” Kazuha replied. You stood up and gave him your name. He was happy to learn your name but more to see that your heart felt at ease. No more turbulent storms were raging in you. The wind whispered that the emotions in you were clouds of acceptance and rays of hope.

“If I may be so bold, do you wish to take a stroll with me through the Chinju Forest, (Y/N)? The bakedanukis might be out for their tricks, but the place is a beauty.” He invited. There were thousands of words dancing in his eyes that you were drawn to. You took his hand and reflected the smile on his lips.

“I’ll take you on that offer.” You grinned. The wind blew between you two, and you found yourself looking forward to meeting him again after this day. Be it in your dreams or by the same beach he found you.

This meeting was a small bud waiting to blossom. Whether it was love or simply friendship, only time could tell. There was no need to rush as the scars of previous affection and longing remained fresh. If anything else, this made you realize that there was a suitable time and person for everything.

Please do not copy or repost my stories, but notes and reblogs are always appreciated!

[ofmoonlily]

. LAWS

I will keep these straightforward. If you are confused with anything, please come to me directly.

BEHAVIOR:

Treat others the way you want to be treated. One thing I will not tolerate is bullying, shitty behavior, mind-games, manipulation, vague blogging, and drama. I am not against using hardblock if I must.

TRIGGERS

My triggers are the general; r*pe, inc*st, any type of assault on a minor, callouts, chain letters (ex; if you don't send this to 3 people you/a loved one will die.)

TAGGING

There will be blood, NSFW, and gore on this blog. Therefore, I will tag them accordingly. That said, if you follow me, and you do not tag your posts, I will refrain from following you for my safety. Thank you for understanding.

FOLLOWERS

Please, for the love of all things holy, if you have no intention of interacting with me, please do not follow me. I do not care if you followed for the sake of being nice. What is not nice is following when you know, for a fact, we will not be threading, speaking, or overall have 0 communication and dismissing somebody who is trying to reach out.

I imagine that would be annoying on the other side too. Constantly getting inbox prompts from a muse you have no interest to engage, and you just wish they would go away. I understand that. What I do not understand is why keep em hanging by a thread?

So yeah, long story short. I do not practice follow4follow.

Hardblock or softblock me if you have to. ^^ No hard feelings.

Minors, homophobes, r*cists, transphobes, personals DNI.

PERMISSION

When you follow me, you agree you are 18+ (preferably 21+ as I am 30+ and do not feel comfortable rping with somebody who cannot even legally drink.)

MULTIPLES & RESERVATIONS

I do not practice exclusivity or mains, or shipping exclusivity or shipping mains. It blocks potential threading content. I will gladly write with whoever wants to write with me.

SAFETY

Take care of yourself! If you see content I am dishing out with a mutual that triggers you, come to me directly. I can create the appropriate tag just for you! I like to think of my blog as a safe space for everyone. (If you rather just block me all together, I understand.) We all must do what we have to in order to have a sane mind and a safe writing journey!

FOLLOWING/UNFOLLOWING

If I do not follow back/unfollow, please don't take offense! Rarely do I ever not follow back/unfollow. And if I do, it is usually because of the following;

You do not tag your posts.

I know absolutely nothing about your muse or the world they are in. (I usually follow back even if I know just the name and where they came from lol).

You have written something that doesn't make me feel safe to be tuned into your blog.

You have broken one of my rules.

You harass me for replies. (I have a job. I sometimes won't get to things as quickly.)

We do not interact / show no interest in interacting (ex; never sending memes, never replying to comments, never replied to a meme(s) I sent months ago, overall avoidance.)

You constantly delete/remake your blogs in a span of a week without so much as a warning and continue doing so. I will begin blocking.

Will add more if I can think of any or if the situation crosses!

INTERACTIONS

I'm someone who matches my partner's energy. If my partner is as excited to write with me as I am with them, I will likely gravitate into sending lots of memes and ooc screams and yellings. ♥ If my partner shows interest in other things, (or is tired) I will give them space. It's nothing against anyone. It's a bow of respect. I want my partner(s) to indulge in ther hyperfixations. Once they are ready for other interactions, I will be here.

NSFW

Now. I like smut as much as the next rper but please refrain from using my character as smut fodder. I like my muse to develop meaningful relationships instead of having meaningless sex. I don't detest anyone who practices smut foddering, but please respect my boundaries if that is your flair, and skip onto somebody else who shares your mutual interest. Thank you so much! ^^

OATH I vow to keep your safety and best interests in my radar! I will ensure our RPs are fun, satisfactory and to our liking! Let's create a world together!

[literaticat]

My critique partner's debut went live on the ARC sites recently and it's getting absolutely slammed by reviewers. Do you have any advice for how to be a good writer friend when this happens?

Sometimes if a book I love gets a lousy review, I look up MY FAVORITE all time books. Classics, like Where the Wild Things Are or something. Books that WE KNOW are great. I read those one-star reviews. And I realize - you can't please everyone, and lots of people are just plain wrong AND stupid. And the more people you reach, the more likely it is that stupid wrong people will get into your orbit. And Maurice Sendak did not give two f**ks if Norman Q from Oklahoma City thought the Wild Things were satanic. He would have laughed, I'm certain. The more of these you read, the funnier they get, and that helps me put this nonsense into perspective.

Anyway. On to your question. So you, as a friend, can, of course, write a NICE review to counter-act the negative ones, and enlist other people who have read and liked the book to do so. After all -- if YOU like the book, and other people liked the book enough to want to acquire and publish it, presumably it's NOT hot garbáge, so surely there are people who will want to say nice things!

And if any reviews truly are just dog piling / bashing the author / bullying or something like that, report them if there is a way to do so. Like I've had situations a couple times where an extreme right-wing pastor or somebody talked about one of my books, and sent all their minions to flood us with bad reviews, and we were able to report and get the most egregious ones where they clearly hadn't even LOOKED at the book taken down.

Meanwhile, if your friend wants to vent, let them do that -- but also gently let them know it's a limited time event. You can and should be compassionate, but you can't really be expected to hear endless complaints about this for the next however-long, that's not fair to you, and certainly unhealthy for them. I'd propose something like, "How about we have a friends weekend where stay OFF the internet, eat ice cream and drink margaritas, go to a scream room or whatever, ceremonially block all review sites together, then go to a spa and emerge refreshed, relaxed, and ready for a fresh start."

It's like a breakup or something, IMO - yes absolutely they should punch that pillow, get those feelings out, do some self-care -- but then they just have to pull their pants up and move forward, they can't wallow around indefinitely.

The thing is, reviews aren't FOR authors. If you are a thin-skinned person, as many authors are, you should not be looking at them AT ALL, actually (and it shouldn't need to be said, but you FOR SURE should NEVER respond to them!!!) - If I were an author, I would block those sites like they are X-Rated and I'm both a sheltered child AND a helicopter parent.

I know authors who get stressed and upset or obsessed when there is ONE slightly negative line in an otherwise glowing review -- they don't see the glowing part at all, they can only see the negative shining like a beacon -- so of course, actually-lousy reviews really suck to get.

However. There's an upside . . . which is hard to believe if you are in a bad head-space, but is actually true . . .

If you are getting reviews... positive or negative... that means you are getting READ, and people are invested enough to actually say something. Most books actually DON'T get read, or nobody cares enough to review them. So if your book is getting read AND provoking an emotional response from people, enough so that they are moved to actually write a review, that's actually better than nobody even looking at it at all. Because one person's 'ick' is another person's favorite thing. And your book is much more likely to find THOSE people if it is actually out there, circulating and being talked about. Reaching those readers is what it's all about.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Would Leddie pick out trinkets for each other, ie jacket pins? Actually Leddie and love languages in general? But especially gift giving?

Okay, to make this easier on me, I'm just going to break down how they each express different forms of love language because a healthy relationship doesn't just rely on one.

Gift Giving

Lucy has given Eddie so many different patches and jacket pins over the years it's not even funny

Eddie is also more than capable of sewing on his own patches, but Lucy almost always offers do to it herself and Eddie can't say no

She likes making things for him in general; pieces of costume for his characters, a knitted scarf, even just a bandana since he keep getting his other ones dirty

Eddie meanwhile doesn't do it as often, which he sometimes feels awkward about

He doesn't think he's that good at gift giving and he usually doesn't have a lot of extra money to spend, which he'd rather save to do something fun with Lucy

Once they're solidly together though things start to change

He starts to pick up pins and patches for her at gigs so she can have her own vest

When they've got to Ren Faires, he insist on buying her the perfect flower crown

He also at some point absolutely gives her one of his rings

Physical Touch

Near constant, for both of them

We're talking hugs, we're talking hand holding, we're talking kisses all day every day

I went into full detail about it here

They are that obnoxious PDA couple and there is no stopping them

Acts of Service

This one mostly goes to Lucy, even if Eddie is all over this too

Lucy expresses her love through food; making a nice meal, packing a lunch, bringing a tub of freshly made cookies to DnD, it's how she shows she cares

This is all good news to Eddie who had a stomach like a trash compactor

He loves absolutely everything Lucy makes and knowing it makes Eddie happy just makes her want to do it more

Lucy also is in the habit of just doing stuff for people

When Lucy had her first Hellfire meeting she stayed behind to help Eddie clean up without having to be asked

She becomes a chauffeur to the kids once she gets her license, she helps Corroded Coffin load up the van after gigs, doubles checks if anybody needs her to pick something up from the store; it's just what she does

Eddie's acts of service are a little different and not always as obvious

He helps Lucy carry whatever she needs carried without complaint

He'll becomes defacto designated driver on the rare nights Lucy decides to drink

Sticking around late at night while Lucy is at the theater so she'll have somebody to walk her to her car

Honestly they really start to become friends when Eddie offers to drive her home after Hellfire rather than she her ride her bike back home in the dark and cold

It's not as showy as some of Lucy's displays, but it's there

Quality Time

Another big one for both of them

Eddie and Lucy are the type of couple where if Lucy says she's going to the store, Eddie will literally launch himself over the couch and offer to come with her

They need their designated movie night with just them otherwise the rest of the Hawkins gang will just invite themselves over

It's really important to them to be able to watch a movie or read or just process a story together and then be able to talk or just joke about it after

Before they even get together, they really value that extra time after Hellfire where Lucy helps Eddie pack up and then he drives her home

It's really only an extra half hour, but it's time for them to really just talk one-on-one

Genuinely get antsy when the other has been away for too long

If Eddie or Lucy are out of town for some reason, they'll get on the phone late at night and just keep talking until one of them falls asleep

Words of Affirmation

You want to get Eddie to melt? This is how you get Eddie to melt.

This boy turns into a god damn puddle on the floor if Lucy gives him any kind of compliment

It takes a lot for Eddie to blush, but Lucy touching his face and calling him pretty will just about do it

And leaving a little note in his lunch? Forget about it, he's lost

Lucy is super encouraging to everyone she cares about, it just so happens that Eddie is especially receptive to it

But don't let that fool you, Lucy can just as easily turn into a mess if Eddie does the reverse

It's not so much when he calls her pretty, which he does, often, but more when he praises her for her skills or talent

Nothing will turn her into a blushing mess faster if after a performance Eddie sweeps her up and tells her how amazing she was

It's the actor in her, it can't be helped

[ofgearhead]

. LAWS

I will keep these straightforward. If you are confused with anything, please come to me directly.

BEHAVIOR:

Treat others the way you want to be treated. One thing I will not tolerate is bullying, shitty behavior, mind-games, manipulation, vague blogging, and drama. I am not against using hardblock if I must.

TRIGGERS

My triggers are the general; r*pe, inc*st, any type of assault on a minor, callouts, chain letters (ex; if you don't send this to 3 people you/a loved one will die.)

TAGGING

There will be blood, NSFW, and gore on this blog. Therefore, I will tag them accordingly. That said, if you follow me, and you do not tag your posts, I will refrain from following you for my safety. Thank you for understanding.

FOLLOWERS

Please, for the love of all things holy, if you have no intention of interacting with me, please do not follow me. I do not care if you followed for the sake of being nice. What is not nice is following when you know, for a fact, we will not be threading, speaking, or overall have 0 communication and dismissing somebody who is trying to reach out.

I imagine that would be annoying on the other side too. Constantly getting inbox prompts from a muse you have no interest to engage, and you just wish they would go away. I understand that. What I do not understand is why keep em hanging by a thread? So yeah, long story short. I do not practice follow4follow.

Hardblock or softblock me if you have to. ^^ No hard feelings.

Minors, homophobes, r*cists, transphobes, personals DNI.

PERMISSION

When you follow me, you agree you are 18+ (preferably 21+ as I am 30+ and do not feel comfortable rping with somebody who cannot even legally drink.)

MULTIPLES & RESERVATIONS

I do not practice exclusivity or mains, or shipping exclusivity or shipping mains. It blocks potential threading content. I will gladly write with whoever wants to write with me.

SAFETY

Take care of yourself! If you see content I am dishing out with a mutual that triggers you, come to me directly. I can create the appropriate tag just for you! I like to think of my blog as a safe space for everyone. (If you rather just block me all together, I understand.) We all must do what we have to in order to have a sane mind and a safe writing journey!

FOLLOWING/UNFOLLOWING

If I do not follow back/unfollow, please don't take offense! Rarely do I ever not follow back/unfollow. And if I do, it is usually because of the following;

-You do not tag your posts. -I know absolutely nothing about your muse or the world they are in. (I usually follow back even if I know just the name and where they came from lol). -You have written something that doesn't make me feel safeto be tuned into your blog. -You have broken one of my rules. -You harass me for replies. (I have a job. I sometimes won't get to things as quickly.) -We do not interact / show no interest in interacting (ex; never sending memes, never replying to comments, never replied to a meme(s) I sent months ago, overall avoidance.)

Will add more if I can think of any or if the situation crosses!

INTERACTIONS

I'm someone who matches my partner's energy. If my partner is as excited to write with me as I am with them, I will likely gravitate into sending lots of memes and hope for many interactions. <3 If my partner shows interest in other things, (or is tired) I will back off and give them space.

It's nothing against anyone. It's a bow of respect. ^^ I understand what it's like to want to focus on a thread/mutual that's grabbed your attention and gives you starry eyes. I want my partner(s) to indulge. Once they are ready for other interactions, I will be here. ^^

OATH I vow to keep your safety and best interests in my radar! I will ensure our RPs are fun, satisfactory and to our liking! Let's create a world together!

SELECTIVITY

This blog is going to be a bit choosy and selective with who I follow.