#this whole eating of the light thing genuinely fucks me up so bad

[warlordfelwinter]

become what you must

[anothermouse]

(vent) when I had maladaptive daydreaming issues, I’d wake up in the morning daydreaming, I’d think about my characters all morning and work on my story playlists, and it wouldn’t stop when I got to school, it was just being one (and sometimes two) foot in my head at all times. I’d go to the kitchen and get stuck pacing lost in my head and wouldn’t eat. I’d lay awake in bed for hours thinking about them. My biggest core hobby was art and I only learned it to draw the characters from my daydreams. I had a serious problem, and I miss it so, so much.

[theemporium]

can i request 💜 "You're the only one who gets to call me that, you know." with luke hughes please!!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

22. "You're the only one who gets to call me that, you know."

.

In a sport like hockey, you got used to being called a variety of different names for a variety of stupid reasons. 

Some made sense. Some had a funny backstory. Some were born from an embarrassing memory you could never escape. Some had no real correlation but it was used once and it stuck and now the whole team used it. It was just one of the dynamics of hockey that you got used to pretty early on. 

And the thing was that Luke didn’t hate his name. He didn’t, it would have broken his parents heart if he said as much. It just wasn’t exactly like he was ecstatic for people to throw ‘Luke Warren Hughes’ at him. Or at least, he didn’t like it when his middle name was brought into the locker room. 

Maybe it was PTSD from the teasing he got when he was in middle school. Maybe it was the fact it sounded a little like it belonged to a sixty year old man. Or maybe it was because he was so damn used to being known as ‘Luke Hughes’ or ‘the other Hughes’, that he sometimes forgot he had a middle name.

Whatever the reason was, Luke never liked it being used in the locker room by the boys. He didn’t really like the name being used, full stop. Unless it was one of his parents using it. He thought he managed to avoid it for years until he joined the New Jersey Devils and met the team—met you.

Because, for some fucking reason that was beyond his own understanding, every rule and belief Luke had went flying out the window when it came to you. 

Including the use of his middle name.

“God, Warren, couldn’t even use a comb this morning?” 

Luke felt his cheeks heat up as he lifted his head to find you wandering into the locker room. Most of the team were already out on the ice, but Luke was one of the stragglers that was still getting his gear on. It wasn’t his fault the team decided team pictures needed to be taken at an ungodly hour before practice. 

“Does it look that bad?” Luke questioned, trying to ignore the pleasant twist in his stomach when you flashed him a smile and made your way over to him.

“I think it looks cute,” you replied, lip tucked between your teeth as you reached out to gently run your fingers through his curls. “Curtis might give you some shit though.”

“Curtis always gives me shit,” he mumbled, letting his eyes flutter shut as your nails gently scraped along his scalp. 

“Hm, well tell him to come talk to me if he gives you a hard time for your curls,” you said, and even with his eyes closed, he could hear the smile in your voice. 

His cheeks burned as he tilted his head back to look at you, his own smile mirroring yours. “Gonna be my knight in shining armour?” 

“M’always gonna have your back, Warren,” you replied, your voice a little softer. A little more genuine. 

He swallowed. “You’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know.” 

Your smile widened. “Oh, I know. Jack told me you once got into a fight during a game back in middle school after some guy on the other team used it.”

He groaned a little at the memory. “Quinn and Jack gave me so much shit after that. They called me Warren for a week after that.” 

You snorted. “What did you do?”

“I told on them,” he admitted, a little sheepish. “They got grounded for a week.” 

You laughed and his smile widened at the sound.

“So how come you let me use it?” You asked, something else in your voice that Luke couldn’t quite name but it still made his heart speed up a little.

“I guess I like you more than them.” It was meant to come out light-hearted and teasing, but it felt far too heavy and suggestive once the words left his mouth.

“Enough to grab something to eat after practice?” You asked, so casual and calm like you couldn’t see the way Luke’s whole face was burning a pretty shade of red. 

“More than enough,” he said with a nod, unable to fight the grin off his face when you smiled back.

“Then better get your pretty ass out there before the boys make you do drills after practice for being late,” you teased, laughing as you watched him quickly shove on the rest of his gear before rushing out the door.

.

[lovebugism]

Virgin!Eddie thoughts?

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | quid pro quo

summary: eddie muson is a virgin and doesn't want anyone to know (because being an adult who's never fucked anyone is a total reputation ruiner). but you, his favorite customer, are more than willing to change that. pairing: eddie munson / f!reader word count: 6.5k (holy shit this was supposed to be a blurb) warnings: talks of virginity and masturbation, the word "tit" too many times, a handjob (sorta?) 18+ mdni a/n: you asked for thoughts but i had way too many of them for a single post so i might turn this into a whole virgin!eddie series that will only see the light of day if you guys are into this so... no pressure <3

( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

You were Eddie’s favorite customer, though that went without saying. It was something both of you were more than aware of. Albeit it, it was a little strange, since he — the supplier of your weed — was essentially paying for your high. He doesn’t mind it, though. He never did. You made it up for him in other ways; and, no, it’s not as perverted as it sounds.

It’s actually much, much weirder.

It was your fourth time meeting with him but your first time without any money to give him in exchange. You’re all pink and fidgeting and feeling like a total loser as you shift on the hard wooden bench across from him.

Your gaze is tilted away from his and down at your hands where you twist the rings on your fingers — “I was supposed to get paid last Friday, but my boss is paying me weekly now instead of every two weeks, so he completely changed my payday on me, and he swears he told me about it, but he totally didn’t— anyway, that’s beside the point. I don’t have any money to give you, or like, at all. Genuinely. I’m gonna be lucky if I get to eat anything other than top ramen for the next few days.”

“Damn,” he laughs, not in amusement at your situation but rather pitying you for it. “That sucks—”

“That sounds like I’m guilt-tripping you, doesn’t it?” you keep rambling. “I’m really not. I’m just trying to be honest. I’m not, like, trying to do you over or anything. I swear. You probably don’t even care. You’re my drug dealer, not my friend, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't— I’m making a total fool out of myself, aren’t I?”

“No, not at all,” Eddie assures sincerely, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his lips. That’s all he can muster. He feels like the fool right about now because your words sting a little harder than intended. 

He always considered you a friend. Or, at least, a whole lot more than just a client. You’re the only customer he has fun with, who he can laugh with, who doesn’t just hang around long enough for him to hand you your drugs like everyone else does, who actually cares enough to make conversation with him.  

Maybe that’s why he chose to give it to you for free that day. 

Because he’s started to grow fond of you (and because he genuinely believes that you’re in a bad way and that money’s a little too tight for you right now. He knows all too well what that’s like.) 

But he asks you for a favor in return when you take the plastic baggie from him. It has him blushing with embarrassment like you’d been just minutes before. He can’t meet your gaze as he says the words, but he can feel the incredulous beam of it piercing holes into him.

“You, Eddie Munson, are willing to give me weed, for free, as long as I… help you pass your next English exam?”

You weren’t repeating it to mock him or to make him feel bad for being a third-year senior. You’re just actually shocked because you know a thing or two about the Munson’s. You know that his Uncle is working two jobs, and his nephew has resorted to drug dealing to compensate for their being strapped for cash. You also know that suppliers giving out anything for free is bad for business, so it’s essentially unheard of. 

And aside from all that, Eddie wanting to study — to want to try to be good at something rather than just winging it and hoping for the best — was almost as surprising as him wanting you to be the one to help him. You literally have Gareth, his best friend, in your English class, and he’s way better at it than you are.

You try to find what makes you somehow special but come up short.

“Is that, like, really weird?” he wonders meekly, scrunching his nose and peering at you through his lashes. His eyes are the color of chocolate syrup, you notice then. Like, exactly. And they have a sort of sheen to them beneath the sun, like he's trapped a star inside of them.

“Yes,” you answer with a laugh that's as light as air. “Considering you could’ve offered literally anything else. Like, I don’t know— groping my tits or something.”

It’s what you were half-expecting. Not because you thought Eddie was that kind of guy, but because that’s how it often went down, at least in porn. A busty (broke) blonde orders a pizza, a man with an enormous dick delivers it… It’s a tale as old as time, really.

Your words make him tense for the second time in five minutes. 

He almost wants to be offended that you’d think of him that way, but his yearning far overpowers his wounded ego.

He’s got a soft heart. That offer never would’ve crossed his mind, and even if it did, he’d never be stupid enough to say it out loud. But he didn’t realize how much he liked you until right then. It wasn’t just a friend caring for another friend, but a boy with a crush on a girl eons out of his league (with boobs he would happily touch if she’d let him).

He clears his throat and irrationally prays that you aren’t a mind reader.

“I’m down if you are,” he answers with a playful lilt to his voice that makes you giggle again. He’s happy to hear it. Your laugh is like being basked in sunshine. He wants to keep it in his pocket when he gets lost in the shade. 

That’s the moment that started it all — the strange friendship that formed out of practically nothing. Who knew what being poor, free weed, an historically low GPA, and a missed opportunity for tit-groping could do to two people?

From then on, all your weed was free. As long as you broke down all the themes in Of Mice and Men for him, of course. And then, when he ultimately aced that paper, he wanted to run his D&D campaign by you — “So, you know, it isn’t totally lame when I show it to the rest of Hellfire.”

“Of course, it’s gonna be lame,” you deadpan from across the rotting bench. “It’s Dungeons and Dragons.”

He goes red at that, a flash of pink blotched around his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He glows cherry with embarrassment and smiles faintly as he looks down at his hand, fidgeting with his silver skull ring. It’s cute. Too cute. The kind of cute that makes you grin to yourself without even thinking about it.

“I’m kidding, Eds—”

Eds. That was new, the boy remarks to himself. Not the nickname itself, perhaps, but the fact that you were the one calling him by it. You’re getting more comfortable with him. He likes that. It gives him a false hope; that one day he’ll be a friend to you and not just your dealer.

“—It sounds really fun actually,” you assure him with nod and a twinkling gaze that proves you sincere. “As long as you’ll smoke with me during.”

“I don’t really like to use my own product…” That was a lie. Mostly. He didn’t like to smoke his own stuff because that burned a hole into his profits. But that didn’t mean he didn’t do it. It was far too tempting to have a tin full of so much weed never more than just a few inches away.

Now he’s got a pretty girl in front of him, wanting to smoke with him, wanting to spend time with him. Hell’s freezing over as they speak and that certainly calls for a celebratory smoke session.

A smirk pulls at his pink lips and he tilts his head, bringing his ear to his shoulder, as he looks at you with a glimmering umber gaze.

“But I’m willing to make an exception. Just for you.”

Eddie swears you blush at that, but he catches only the shortest glimpse of your crimson cheeks before you duck your gaze to the table. The beam on your face is only half-washed away, however, when you turn up to look at him again. You look shy, almost, as you peer at him through your lashes.

“You’ll basically have to start from scratch too, you know that, right? I don’t know anything about that shit.”

“Well, I’m glad I can be your first,” he quips.

You laugh again. It’s like the pinky-orange of a sunset. He could paint it if he had the right supplies. And a set of hands that were good for things other than rolling die and playing guitar.

It was his first time, really. In every aspect of the phrase.

It was the first time a girl’s ever offered to hang out with him and not the other way around. The first time a customer’s ever offered to share their weed with him. The first time someone’s ever wanted him to explain his favorite hobby and not care that he’s been rambling for the better part of an hour. 

He doesn’t even notice that he hasn’t shut up since he started talking, mostly because you aren’t giving him that look of annoyance people usually have when he hasn’t gotten the hint. Most couldn’t care less about goblins and villains and battles and knights and princesses — princess knights.

It’s more interesting than you ever hoped a board game could be, but less so as enchanting as the glow Eddie’s got about him as he rambles on and on about something that makes him so happy.

He’s beaming and he doesn’t even realize it. He has no idea he could light up an entire solar system with the smile on his face. You’d tell him if it didn’t feel totally inappropriate.

It takes two weeks to perfect the campaign, which isn’t at all long if you compare it to the year it took him to build it from scratch. When the Cult of Vecna (you pat yourself on the back for coming up with the name) is polished and Hellfire worthy, Eddie starts giving you weed... just because.

There’s nothing left for him to offer in exchange. And he isn’t going to turn his favorite customer down for anything.

“What? No tutoring? No D&D campaign?” you wonder with furrowed brows and a face contorted in confusion.

Eddie shrugs and swings the baggie full of greenery back and forth with the tip of his pointed finger. “Nope. I’m passing English and the campaign’s all finished — the guys love it, by the way. Thanks to you. You’ve helped me out with enough shit, so… just take it.”

“Well, now I just feel bad,” you reject with a scrunched nose, displeased at the idea of taking something and not doing anything for it in return. He can hardly afford it to begin with, much less without anything in exchange. “You're basically paying for my weed already. I can’t just take it.”

“You could,” the boy lilts with a sardonic nod. “My hand's getting a little tired here, sweetheart.”

You huff and reach across the bench for the plastic baggie. Your face is still twisted with an absentminded annoyance and your gaze still uncertain. “You sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah. Cross my heart.”

“Fine.”

“Unless groping your tits is still on the table, of course,” he squints playfully over at you and then smiles softly at the recollection of the conversation from many moons ago.

It was supposed to be a joke. But you’re not laughing.

And when you nod at him, he isn’t either.

It’s got him nearly choking on air and sputtering for a response. “No, I was— I was just— It was a joke. I was just kidding.”

“I know. But, I don’t know, I’m down if you are,” you shrug. “That’s what you said before, right?”

And Eddie has no idea what to say to that. Of course, he wants to. There are a billion things he wants to do. He wants to graduate, he wants to play a show at the Madison Square Garden with Corroded Coffin, he wants to bend you over this table and fuck you silly.

He could do all those things if he were a different person, but he wasn’t. He’s just some guy who can’t pass an English class he's already taken three times, with a mediocre band that plays in front of about five drunks (if they’re lucky), who has a crush on a girl who’s offering to let him feel her up for a short-lived high. 

He repeats that last part to himself in his head a couple times. It sounds like a dream he had once. He pinches the skin of his wrist, just to make sure, and winces when it starts to hurt.

It’s real, you’re real, and that’s the scariest part. 

Because he’s never actually seen boobs that weren’t projected from a television screen through the grainy film of a VHS tape, or pictured in a crinkled magazine he stole from a gas station — let alone touched one. And the second he puts his hands on you, and you feel him shaking like a leaf and totally unsure of what to do, you’ll know that. 

That is, if he doesn’t come in his pants first.

He’s terrified that when you do realize that he’s a complete and utter, absolute and proper virgin, you’ll think he’s significantly less cool. And he can’t have that.

It’s bad for clientele. They’ll stop seeing him as the mysterious metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks but rather as some teddy bear who’s never actually been inside a woman.

He could probably handle the potential drop in income and the talks around school. Hell, he could even handle all the shit Jason Carver would spew at him if he knew. But the idea that you’ll stop wanting to hang out with him — he isn’t sure if he could take that.

He doesn’t notice that he hasn’t said a word until you’re speaking again. And even then, it’s all muffled like he’s underwater. 

“I can come over tonight, if you want.”

No, he thinks to himself. That’s far too early. I have to lose my virginity and learn everything there is to possibly know about sex first.

“I... I can’t. Hellfire,” he answers, almost slurring, still caught in a stupor.

“Tomorrow, then,” you challenge at his rejection. You cross your arms and lean over the table as you squint at him. The wind rustling through the trees carries the warmth of your floral-vanilla scent over to him, like a lullaby, or a magic spell.

As though he needed something else to make him all stupid.

Suddenly you're ten feet tall. Eddie feels like an ant. You could crush him if you wanted. You have all the power and the look you give him tells him that you know that. He fidgets on the hard wooden seat but can’t seem to break your stare. His voice is tight and a few octaves higher as he answers — “Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good. Great, even.”

“Cool,” you’re suddenly beaming. You stand from the bench and saunter off, tossing a look and a wave over your shoulder as you shout, “See you tomorrow, Eds!”

He has to jerk off after that one. He counts himself lucky that he made it to his van before he exploded completely.

Eddie has to become a sex god in twenty-four hours and he doesn’t know where to start. 

So, like any master procrastinator, he doesn’t. He just worries about it all night and the following day. He turns himself into a big ball of anxiety (if you touched him, he'd probably shock you) and it’s left him in the sort of worry that doesn’t let him sit still for too long.

Wayne’s sitting in his recliner, trying to eat his late lunch before he heads off to work the graveyard shift. It’s hard to enjoy his sandwich or the latest episode of Miami Vice playing on the television ahead of him when his nephew keeps bouncing in and out of the room. Making brief conversation, rearranging the knickknacks on the coffee table, coming in just to stand in place for a few minutes before leaving again to rustle in other parts of the small trailer. 

At one point, he comes in with the fucking vacuum and nudges at the man’s work boots until he kicks his feet up. Wayne’s never seen him do a chore in his life.

“What the hell has gotten into you today, boy?” the man complains through turkey, cheese, and bread.

“Nothing. What are you talking about? I’m perfectly normal.”

He’s never been normal a day in his life either.

Eddie disappears out of the room a second later with the whirring of the vacuum in tow. Wayne shakes his head to himself. “Boy’s gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles and takes another too large bite.

It’s unlike Eddie not to tell his uncle things, especially things weighing so heavy on his chest that they're starting to feel like pure steel. But his uncle doesn’t ask any questions, and Eddie’s grateful.

How the hell is he supposed to tell Wayne that a cute girl is coming over and that he’s jacked off three times at the thought of her?

Once in his bed, the first thing he did that day when he woke up from a dream about you that felt a little too real; the second in the shower when the cold water wouldn’t kill the boner he’d gotten; and the third in his bedroom, in the shirt he’d peeled off hardly ten minutes beforehand when he got into a bath. It made him feel dirty again though his skin was perfectly clean.

Wayne would think he was joking. At least with the “cute girl” part. He’d probably pat him on the back for the second one — “oh, to be young again,” he'd mumble to himself while simultaneously deciding to leave well enough alone.

Eddie’s so nervous he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

You’ve got him practicing what to do in the mirror, trying to plan the conversation, ironing out the wrinkles of what might happen. “Hi—” he starts but then shakes his head and clears his throat. His voice is deeper as he continues, “Hey, how are you doing? Oh, that’s cool, I’m good too— shit, this is so fucking lame.”

He wonders how you’ll go about it. If you’ll offer first, or if he needs to ask. If you’ll make small talk or if you’ll just straight up take off your shirt. He’d take either, honestly.

He jerks off one more time, just for good measure, after Wayne’s left for work. He’s already tired and his dick is practically raw with how much it’s been tugged at, but he hopes it’ll stop him from getting hard the second you walk through the door. And he figures with the amount he’s come that day, he’s a whole less likely to do it in his pants when he touches you.

You knock on the door at 7 o’clock sharp, like you planned it down to the minute.

He straightens out his leather jacket when he stands abruptly from the couch. He rushes to the door and then hesitates with his hand on the rusted brass handle — because he doesn’t want to seem too eager, right? 

He leans to the side to look in the dirty glass mirror hanging by the coat rack, brushing through his curly locks in attempts to tame them. Then he shakes his head so they’re wild again.

He finds you standing on his porch in a tight-black sweater that dips down at your chest; the pendant of your necklace sparkles under the yellow nightlight perched on the outside wall. It’s paired with a white nylon skirt that stops at your thigh.

He’s only seen girls on TV in the suede boots you’re wearing — the kind that’s tight up to your ankle with a short and chunky heel. They match the color of your skirt. He wonders if they were expensive and how much you’ve worn them; they look brand new, like you’ve brought them down from the top of your closet just for him.

You’ve got a stack of thick tapes in one hand and a brown paper bag of snacks in the other.

“What… What’s all this?” he wonders, not displeased at your effort but shocked by it nonetheless.

“Thought we could have a movie night,” you shrug then slide by him and into the trailer. He shuts the door behind you and watches from afar as you set the sack down. It’s not quite flat on the bottom so it topples over and spills some of its content onto the coffee table — red hot chips and sour gummy worms.

“You mentioned that you’d never seen Fast Times a couple weeks ago, so I decided to go rent a copy at Family Video, right? And then I started talking to Robin and she started showing me all the new movies that just came in, so I got a little carried away—”

You're rambling, he notices, almost like you’re nervous.

It makes him feel slightly better, knowing this obviously wasn’t your first time hanging out with a guy (or being touched by one, if he ever got to that part), but that you were nervous nonetheless. Like you wanted this — whatever this was — to go well just as much as he did.

Eddie puts the tape into the VHS player when you’re headed back from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in hand. You sit it on the table before plopping yourself in the middle of the couch — the boy across the living room has no idea you spent the two-and-a-half minutes it took to cook the snack debating on where to sit.

You feared sitting too far on one side might spook him from sitting next to you, that he’d think you didn’t want to sit next to him. So you place yourself snuggly in the middle of the decade-old sofa and hope you don’t seem too eager.

Your heart sinks to your ass when Eddie sits so far on the edge he’s practically sitting on the arm of it.

You muster a smile and try to make a joke of it. “I don’t have cooties or anything, Eds.”

“Promise?” he lilts. The way his voice shakes is purely for comedic effect. Obviously.

“Cross my heart.”

He hopes that by playing it off, you won’t notice how anxious he is about sitting next to you. But when he plants himself beside you, just close enough so that the rough fabric of his jeans scratches your knee every time he fidgets, it’s a little like sitting next to a rock. You spend the first half of the movie wondering if he’s nervous too or if he really just didn’t want to sit this close to you.

The film keeps playing and he keeps snacking — eating chips and Oreos and popcorn in a rotation before combining all three and marveling at the taste; “You’ve got to try this!” he exclaims to you with raised brows and wide eyes. He eventually forgets to be nervous.

That is, until Fast Times hits 53 minutes and 5 seconds.

The smooth bass of Moving in Stereo plays lowly in the background as Phoebe Cates rises from the pool water, clad in a small red bikini. The chlorine-laced drops of water glisten off of her tanned skin. “Hi, Brad. You know how cute I always thought you were,” you quote quietly along with her.

Your eyes are as glued to the television as Eddie’s when she starts to unlatch her top, like it’s the first time you’re seeing it too. You joked to Robin once that you couldn't wait until they made this movie in 3D.

Eddie gets hard as a rock, then. In every sense of the phrase.

“She’s hot, right?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he answers. He clears his throat when the word comes out too tight. “Totally.”

“That’s how I knew Robin was gay, you know? We watched this when I slept over at her house one time and I woke up in the middle of the night and found her playing this scene over and over again,” you confess with a laugh and hope your best friend won’t be too angry you told him this. “She was sitting, like, two inches away from the screen.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. And when we made out afterward, that really sealed the deal—”

“Holy shit—” he sputters before he can stop it. “—Are you joking?”

Please, say yes before I come in my jeans, he thinks to himself.

“Why?” you challenge, shooting him an arched brow over your shoulder. “Does that change anything?”

“What? No! Of— Of course not!” It just makes you, like, ten times fucking hotter, that’s all.

“Good,” you nod and then turn back to the television. You move on quickly, and Eddie’s grateful. You keep telling the story like it’s one you tell all your friends.

“I asked her why she was watching it without me, and she said she got bored, but I already knew why she was watching it, you know? I guess I just wanted to hear her say it. So I just came out with it — ‘If you want to look at a pair of tits, I’m literally right here.’”

Eddie’s so entranced by your words it’s like you're telling him a bedtime story. He’s looking at you so intently, his gaze locked to your profile like he’s trying to commit it to memory. And when you finally turn to look at him again, he can’t seem to turn away, to even pretend like he wasn’t just hopelessly staring at you.

“So, then it became this whole thing, right? Like, I’ll show mine if you show yours. And then she got all awkward and nervous and lost in her head, kinda like you right now, and then I leaned in…” you trail off quietly, doing it in time as the words leave your mouth. So teasingly and breathtakingly slow. Eddie finds himself drifting closer to you, too, like a bayman to a siren’s call. “Just like this… And then I—”

You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence.

Eddie’s already kissing you before he realizes what he’s doing. Your noses knock together, the tip of his crushed against the side of yours. The sweet flavor of your strawberry chapstick evades his mouth when your lips press together.

He’s as shocked as you are.

He’s wanted to kiss many pretty girls in his life, but this was the first time he's actually ever done it.

You feel his face burn red against you when he realizes what he’s just done. He tries to pull away from you, but you keep him there with a hand on the back of his head; deepening the kiss and telling him that you want this — that you’ve always wanted this — without actually saying the words.

Refusing to separate from him, you maneuver yourself to face him more as press yourself against his side and tuck your knees beneath you. You caress the rough pad of his tongue with yours all the while, one hand balled in the shoulder of his t-shirt and the other anchoring itself to his curls.

You wait patiently for him to take action. To grip your waist. To lay you back on the couch. To climb over you and take what’s his.

He never does.

He hardly even touches you. He’s got one palm on your hip, but it’s so featherlight that it’s barely even there. His other hand is clutching the pillow on his lap with a white-knuckled grip, like he’s fighting to contain himself in some way. But you want him to let go. To lose himself with you.

The cushion had been there for most of the movie, something to keep in his absentminded hold and get crumbs all over. You wonder, now, if it’s a shield for something else.

Your lips click wetly when you part from him. A small smile forms on your mouth when you notice a string of spit threatening to connect the both of you. It breaks apart, landing cold below your mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“Are you hard?”’ you wonder through bated breaths, coming right and just saying it.

Eddie’s eyes go somehow wider and his mouth falls agape. “Uh… No?”

Giggling, you ask, “Is that a question?”

“Maybe.”

“So what’s the answer?” you pry.

“Honestly?” he starts with a heavy breath and heavier eyes, still trying to joke. “Whatever makes me sound super cool and mysterious and sexy.”

“I’ve always thought you were all those things,” you confess with a soft laugh, twisting a strand of his hair with the tip of your finger.

“…Really?” he can’t help but wonder. Those words are about the most shocking thing that’s happened so far this evening.

“Yeah,” you nod, then tease: “Because you've never lied to me.”

So tell me the truth, he can hear the words jumbling around in your head. So does. He swallows thickly and then admits, voice cracking halfway through his confession, “I’m so hard that it fucking hurts, sweetheart.”

You’re smiling like the Chesire Cat at that, big and sly and mischievous. You have all the power and you know it.

“Can I make you feel better?” you whisper to him, lilting like you're taunting him. You mean it, though, and he knows that because you’re already tugging at the pillow in his lap. You don’t fight to snatch it away completely. You leave just enough room to allow him to say no. But his grip on the thing relaxes and allows you to slide the cushion slowly from his crotch.

He can’t say the words because his tongue is suddenly heavy in his mouth and his throat is closing on him. So he just nods, peering at you with eyes hooded with ecstasy.

You go back to kissing him, then, unhurriedly this time. You allow yourself to feel all of him, to hold his face in your hands and explore all the bits of him you never got the chance to before now. You do it more so in an effort to get him to relax, to forget to be nervous, but it only half-works.

He gets more comfortable with himself with time. The hand on your waist finds a more confident purchase there and the other climbs up to your face, cradling your jaw while his ringed fingers get lost in the strands of your hair. Then he starts to kiss you back harder, more earnestly than before, like he’s trying to prove something. Trying to tell you everything like this than with words he can’t seem to say out loud.

He forgets to be nervous again when your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle — the kind with the funky edges, the kind you know goes together because there’s only two in the whole bunch like it. He stops worrying if he’s doing it right.

His breath is warm and heavy as it fans against your cupid’s bow. He’d rather take in small pieces of oxygen like this than stop kissing you now. You feel the same way as you straddle his thigh, careful not to move with too much haste that it knocks your lips apart.

Eddie’s legs part for you on instinct. When you settle more comfortably against him, he can feel the warmth radiating between your thighs through the thick fabric of his jeans. He wishes he was naked right now, more so that you were, so he can feel all of you, bare against his skin.

But he takes what he can get for now. And tries not to burst completely at the thought that the only thing separating you from him was the thin layer of your cotton underwear.

It’s hard not to think about your own pleasure like this. You could so easily move your hips against his thigh, let the rugged fabric of his jeans and your panties do all the work against your clit and bring you to a swift release. You want to. You’re sure Eddie would want you to if you asked him. But it strangely seems less important now.

Because you know you’re minutes away from making Eddie come so hard his legs shake. And you always wanted to know what he looked like when he came.

Your hand worms out of his hair and down his neck. Your fingernails trail lightly over his skin, leaving visible chill bumps in their wake. Your palm falls down his chest and stomach, smooth like drops of summer rain. The print of his Def Leppard tee is rough and cracked with age. You wonder how long he’s had it, how often he’s worn it, as your hand settles again. This time on his belt.

For a split second, he’s anxious about you seeing his dick. What if you think it’s too small? He thinks to himself. What if you think it’s too ugly? But then he realizes you’re not even trying to take off his jeans. You just rest your palm over the rough material of the denim and grip him through it.

A groan crawls up his throat and out of his mouth. His head falls backward and lands against the back of the couch.

He’s bigger than you thought, and warm against the tender skin of your hand, even through his boxers and his pants. It’d be ever warmer if you were feeling the real thing, you discern, but you figure you’ll save that for another time. Because even though it’s not the real thing and there are so many layers separating your fingers from his cock, Eddie’s letting out small and breathy moans that tell you that you’re touching him just right. The more you squeeze, the louder he gets.

“Is this okay?” you whisper to him.

“Are you kidding?” he retorts with a breathless laugh. “I feel like I’m in heaven right now.”

“Just wait until you come,” you giggle. It makes him moan again. His eyes fall shut because he knows he’s moments away from feeling what it’s like — not to come, obviously, but for it to be from your hand and not his. 

You massage him through his jeans, feeling him grow somehow harder with each caress of your fingers. Peering down at him, you can see his jaw clenching, the way it moves his temples, and the muscles in his neck straining as he climbs the peak of pleasure.

“If you think this feels good now, just wait until you're inside me,” you purr to him.

“Oh, fuck,” he drawls shakily at your words. He doesn’t know if you’re being serious or not. He wants so much to believe that it’s a promise, though. The idea that he could unbuckle his belt right now, free his cock from its restraints and slip your panties to the side and take you, just like this, with you on top of him and riding him for all he’s worth, that nearly does him in.

But he’s fighting to keep it at bay. To let this moment last as long as he can. Because it’s entirely likely that he’ll come and you’ll never want to do this again. It’s even more likely that he’ll wake up from this way too vivid fantasy he’s concocted in his brain. How good can dreams get until they’re nightmares again?

The hand on your hip darts to wrap around your wrist.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, gaze sober and sincere.

Eddie breathes out a tremble sigh of relief when you slow your motions against him. “I just…” he breathes heavily. And swallows. “I really don’t want to come in my jeans.”

You’re smiling again at that, pleased at how good you're making him feel. Like the pleasure is foreign to him. He can feel your grin as you lean down to kiss him. It’s a chaste peck, like you're just sprinkling yourself there so it can linger the rest of the night. 

Your kiss is far more fervent against his neck, wetter and more passionate. His skin has a faint taste of salt, like he’d been sweating. And he was, for the entire day that he anticipated your arrival, though there was never an ounce of him expecting this. You bite at the strained tendon and marvel as he shudders beneath you.

“It’s okay,” you leave your promise against his skin. “I’ll wash them for you after. Like a good little housewife—”

It was a joke and he knows it because you’re laughing at the absurdity of your words, at the reality of them. You’re probably the only person in the world giving your drug dealer a handjob for free weed and then offering to wash his damp bottoms when he comes in them — calling yourself his fucking housewife. But, for a reason he can’t explain, that’s what gets him.

Not marrying you, perhaps, but the idea that he could have this feeling forever. That you could bring him to complete and utter, blinding bliss and then take care of him while he comes back to earth. 

You give him an especially tough squeeze that sends a moan spilling roughly from his throat. His hips jerk up to their own according, his thigh jamming into your clothed pussy — he swears he hears you moan — and his toes curl in his boots.

He doesn’t let go of your hand as he comes. He grasps your wrist and presses you further against him. His grip is almost too tight but you don’t mind it, not when you can feel the denim growing damp with the evidence of his orgasm.

Eddie doesn’t feel anything for a while after that. It’s just pure pleasure for several long moments. The fuzziness of his climax, your hand pressed against him, your warmth still pressed against his thigh.

But then the high fades away like a rolling summer cloud and he starts to feel the wet patch forming in his clothes. The fabric of his thin boxer starts to stick to him and he almost feels gross, like he’s a teenager again who can’t so much as look at a woman with needing to come.

But then he sees the way you look at him, grinning like a cat who got the cream — because, in some ways, you are. You look like you're proud of him. Like you’re secretly wondering how many times you can do that before it’s too much. He wants to find out too.

You plant another kiss to his lips. Just because you can.

“Take your pants off, Munson,” you mumble against his mouth, kissing him one more time for good measure before pulling away again.

“Oh— shit— wait, really?” he sputters. “I thought you were joking about— about me being… I— I don’t know if I have any condoms.”

He totally does, in an unopened box under his bed, collecting dust. 

You don’t need to know that, though.

“I meant for washing them so you can change,” you laugh at his embarrassment. The sound somehow makes him feel better even though you’re slightly making fun of him. You shrug and arch a brow at him, lilting, “But… I’m down if you are.”

have any more virgin!eddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

[lovelaetter]

hér in that two piece…

she looks like a sugar baby trying to convince her mommy not to leave her for a business trip 🥲 purposefully wearing a skimpy mini skirt and a tiny little top that doesn’t even try to cover her bra underneath. when you ask her to give up your suitcase she’s all over you, saying the dirtiest things trying to distract you so you hopefully miss your flight—and which you do because how could you when it’s hér

you getting angry with her and fucking her without letting her cum til she’s crying and all she can do is blabber out apologies to you. so soaked and so grabby with you. when you try to get her naked she gets all whiny and says “no, i put this on for you :(“

when you wipe her tears and it finally comes to her riding you she mumbles that she swears that she could “feel it in her stomach” and looks down with wide eyes at her pretty white skirt bunched and shrivelled up to her waist to see her belly bulge as you fill her pussy.

(extra thought: also imagine just bringing hér on the private jet with you after hér pleading and when you catch a certain flight crew member looking at her for too long you fuck her real good that everyone could hear who she belongs to but that’s just me)

i love the fact there isn’t a name mentioned anywhere but we just know bc hér.

she would be so fucking insisting and annoying, wrapping her arms around your neck and pouting, saying you “can’t leave me here, i’ll miss you soooo much, i might die!”, dramatic af, and you’re like “you’re not dying, rosie, now give me that” trying to get your suitcase from behind her but she’s faster, sitting on top of it like 😠 and when you say she better stop that and you’re going to be late? “hm, i hope so”. but who we fooling here, if you really cared about your trip and wanted to leave that bad you could easily push her away, kiss her goodbye and leave, but the truth is deep down you’re having so much fun with her overreacting moment. and the way she bites her lip when you check your phone and shows her that you indeed lost the flight? “now you have no choice but staying with me!”

finding the whole thing fun doesn’t mean you aren’t making her pay for it, obviously, sighing and grabbing her waist, looking at her like who asks “what am i going to do with you?” while she giggles. let’s out a loud gasp that turns into a moan when you force her to bend over the back of the couch and your hand slides between her legs, instinctively pushing against your touch. kicking and whining when your hand stops and her orgasm drifts away, arching her back trying to get more of your fingers but only getting a laugh and a “look at you, not so feisty anymore” from you. not so hard to make her cry as she’s so used to getting what she wants from you, tears threatening to spill by the second orgasm you deny her and sliding down her cheeks halfway through the third edging. can’t barely speak as you repeat it for a fourth time, sobbing when you give her pussy light spanks, her clit aching, asking if she’s really, really sorry and all she can is nod, crying harder when you tell her to use her words. so lost that when you finally let her cum she doesn’t babble the usual “thank you” but keeps on going “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry”, to which you have to turn her around and shush her with kisses because it’s almost pitiful.

barely being able to close her legs after, hugging you and letting you carry her to bed because of course you’re not done. didn’t she want you to stay at home with her? might as well enjoy it to the fullest! i think she would insist on eating you out before riding you, because she loves to taste you but mostly to give her a break. kneeling between your legs as you sit at the edge of the bed, so weak, but almost purring when you grab her chin and brush hair off her face. genuinely not her best job, her mind still a little fuzzy, tongue all over the place but the important part is that she does make you cum, coming up with a big smile and the lower half of her face all wet.

you can’t help but chuckle when she whines and stops you from taking her top off, simply lowering it to show her tits. ignores you saying her clothes are going to get out of place anyways, sliding easily down your strap, mouth opening in a big ‘O’, quiet at first as you let her found her rhythm up and down, listening to the wet squelches from her abused pussy. growing louder and louder as you take in your hands the job to bounce her up and down, making her take all of the toy’s length. backing away a bit and opening her eyes suddenly and staring at you with mouth hanging open, moving her skirt to get a better view, in awe, taking your hand to her tummy and muttering it’s too big and that she can “feel it here”, almost going cross eyed as you feel it too and make her go faster.

waking up the next morning and she’s wasted in your arms, looking like an angel, as if you didn’t do the worst to her night before. poor baby, being so sad to wake up and find you getting ready to take a private jet because you really need to take this business trip, she will miss you so much. but lighten up after you stare at her for a long time and ask if she wants to come you, going “yesyesyesyes” and jumping on your arms :( she doesn’t mind it’s going to be boring and that she’s going to be alone most of the time, just knowing that at the end of the day she won’t have to wait for a call because instead you’ll be coming back for her at the hotel?! she’s the happiest girl in the world.

AND FUCKING HER DURING THE FLIGHT??? her trying so hard to be quiet while being on your lap and your touch, even if nice and slow, still feel like too much as she’s still sensitive and you’re not being that merciful as well, filling her with three fingers :( you can be so mean to her sometimes!

[ghost-proofbaby]

if it were anyone else (e.m.)

warnings: strong allusions to depression, disordered eating/rough relationship with food, mentions of smoking, description of a sort of panic attack. very sad. hurt/comfort? not edited.

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: this is literally entirely self indulgent and written entirely after i sat and cried and thought "i wish i had eddie here right now to hold me". maybe in like thirty minutes tops. this is for me and only me. go figure lol. sorry. yeah. anyways.

if you relate, my askbox is always open, and i'm very sorry you've felt this way as well. i hope you all take care of yourselves. drink some water, call a friend. be kind to yourself.

“I’m worried about you.” 

Four words that always manage to strike a certain type of fear in your gut. You don’t know how to react as he says it, how he wants you to react. You can only stare blankly, you can only wish harder for the earth to swallow you whole.

“What do you mean?” you laugh nervously, following it with a hard swallow.

You’re playing dumb. You know it, he knows it. The tremor in your bones and your numb appendages know it, too. 

“You’re…” Eddie stalls, licking his lips, letting his eyes rake over you, “You’re getting bad again.” 

You’re quick to shake your head, forcing another hollow chuckle from your chest, “It’s not that bad. I’m fin-”

“You’re not fine.”

The look in his eyes could crack your spine if you stare too long. Wet eyes, a trembling bottom lip, worry lines etched into his forehead that you realize might be caused by you.

You’re causing him worry. The last thing you want to do, you’ve accomplished. You’re on a fast-track to becoming a burden – the first step is always acceptance. 

You’re still unsure of how he wants – no, needs you to react right now. This conversation is a landmine for both of you, and you hold every breath with every step as you try to navigate it. If you make one wrong step, it could cause an explosion that spares no survivors.

You don’t mind if it tears you apart limb by limb. You do mind if it hurts him. 

“How… How do you know that?” 

It’s not a sarcastic snipping or defensive deterrence. It’s an unfiltered response of genuineness – you want to know the signs, you want to know what has exposed the rot this time.

And then, maybe next time, you’ll be able to better shield it from him with this knowledge. 

“How could I not?” he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you focus on the flare of his nostrils rather than any of the tears beginning to gather at his waterlines, “It’s been happening for a while now, though, hasn’t it?” 

Your throat is a cage, tight and restrictive and ringing with a bitter metallic taste in its tenseness. You can’t respond with words. You can only nod. 

He chooses to answer your question more properly now that you’ve admitted it, “You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground. Picking up distractions like they’re going out of style.”

“Hey, they might be. We never know-” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet his. Now’s not the time for jokes, “Sorry. I… I know. I’m sorry.” 

He’s right. Fuck, he’s right. 

“I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly,” his own steps across these landmines are just as delicate, just as feathery light, as your own. You hear it in his tone, see it in his body language. You wish your body could sink into the mattress you’re sitting on the edge of as he crouches in front of you, warm palms connecting with your knees. Grounding you. Tethering you. Holding you back from that sinking you crave. “Are you… Sweetheart, are you okay?”

If anybody else had built up to such a stupid question, you would have laughed in their face. You would have shoved those warm palms right off of your skin and you would have thrown up those ice cold hands of your own, shouted obviously not. 

Obviously not. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay, it’s a bit comical. I am drowning. I am treading in freezing cold waters and I am barely capable of keeping my head above the waves. My engine is fucked, my tank is empty. I don’t think I’d even know how to be ‘okay’ again if you did manage to pull this mangled body of mine from these depths and sat me down on safe, solid ground again. 

You can’t say any of this, though. Not because you don’t trust him, not because he would judge you. But because the moment he asks the question that should make you scoff, you let out a sob instead. Something like a muffled, broken wail that tears from deep within you. It had already been ready and poised, laying in wait for a perfect moment like this one to escape. 

His eyes aren’t the only glossy ones anymore. 

“I-” you start, breathing already stuttering and chest already constricting, “I- I-”

“Hey,” he palms smooth up your thighs, carrying their warmth with them, as if he were trying to spread it across you. As if he had heard your thoughts. As if he already knew all about those dark, treacherous, freezing waters you were stranded in. All you can do is spew out another cry, strangled as you tried to swallow it down before it entered the atmosphere between you two, “Hey.” 

You only notice the tears when you crumple forward and he meets you halfway. Those warm palms, those hands so capable of safety and promise, cup your cheeks and his thumbs make quick work of swiping away the salty streams. 

“Hey, baby, breathe for me,” his voice is tragically gentle, “Just one deep breath, okay?” 

To demonstrate, you watch his chest expand dramatically, his hands forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

You can’t see through the bleariness. 

“C’mon, sweetness,” he encourages again, “One breath. Just one.” 

If it were anyone else, you’d turn into a fit of rage at the coddling. You’d break everything in sight. You’d scream until your already burning lungs finally collapsed as they’d been yearning to for so long. 

But it’s him. It’s just him, it’s just Eddie. 

His chest rises dramatically again, and this time, yours does as well, albeit through stifling hiccups. You’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the flood of emotion that was wrecking you. 

“There you go!” his voice rises ever so slightly, and when you flinch a bit at the sudden volume, he retracts, “Sorry, sorry. But that’s it, sweetheart. Another one, okay?” 

Another breath. Another sob. Another wave of all the pain you’ve been battling off. 

You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground.

He was right and it fucking killed you. None of those are things you could ever shield him from. You didn’t have the heart to pull away those numb and icey fingertips every time he’d reach out for your hand, or try to cover the shivers that managed to rack your bones even in the middle of summer. The sleeping situation had been spiraling, a pendulum of sleepless nights that would end in a sleep so deep that you could have been mistaken for resting with the dead. Maybe the smoking you could have hid, especially when you’d been so boastful about quitting. 

You weren’t running yourself into the ground. You had already collapsed into the dirt, you had already joined the worms. You’d buried yourself alive, six feet under, and nothing could have stopped him from sniffing out that scent of decay on you. 

The death of a soul and mind. The death of the thing that had propelled you forward for so long. No amount of sweet perfume, or hour long scalding showers, or minty gum to occupy your mind rather than a proper meal, can erase that stench. 

You never could have shielded him. He always saw right through you. Always had, always would. 

“I’m sorry,” you end up crying out. 

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you echo the words again. Over and over, on repeat, until he’s rising from the ground. Until he’s sat beside you. Until his arms are suddenly encasing you and you’re awarded a warmth you didn’t feel deserving of. 

He doesn’t smell like the decay you’d surrounded yourself with. He smells like slow waking in the morning, dreary and calm and at a reasonable time. He smells like warm baths that only relax your bones, and don’t have to blister your skin in the process. He smells like three meals a day, all comforting and all effortless and that never linger with a sense of regret.

He’s not decay, never even treading close to death. He’s home. He’s the promise that you could be okay. Even if it isn’t right now. 

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, squeezing you tighter into his chest, not even blinking an eye at the patch of wetness you leave behind from where your cheeks bury against him, “Never apologize. Ever. Not with me, sweetheart. Keep the sorries. I don’t need them.” 

If it were anyone else, the holding would have suffocated you. But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

You don’t fight him when he pulls you fully into his lap, situating the two of you comfortably on that mattress. 

You don’t know how long you let him cradle you like that. How much of that time is spent filled with your cries, or how many breaths he gently urges you to take with him. He never once has to verbally say what you already know; he never once promises aloud that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t put that pressure on you, not yet. Not today. Not when he knows the journey to okay is still such a long one. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to you instead, “I’ve got you, now, sweetheart.” 

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t believe them. 

But it’s him. It’s Eddie. 

And he’s got you, for now and for as long as you need.

[deansmom]

Everytime I point out that Dean Winchester is autistic, people get mad or look at me like I’ve spontaneously grown a second head, as if this man’s existence isn’t just checking off boxes for the diagnostic criteria

Special interests: westerns, cars, mechanical engineering stuff in general, 1960’s & 70’s music - specifically classic rock, monsters. You’re gonna look me in the eyes and tell me that it’s totally normal for someone who was born in 1979 to have borderline encyclopedic knowledge of two decades of music????? Hundreds of years of monster lore??? — for fuck’s sake, he had a train thing when he was little!!!! Those are special interests!!!!

Restricted diet: it’s mostly for Jokes but dean genuinely doesn’t eat much beyond burgers, diner food and pie.

Dean didn’t speak for months after Mary died and there’s 15 years of canon evidence where he loses his voice during moments of Big Emotions!!! He’s going nonverbal!!!!!!!

Trouble with social cues: literally look at every single instance of Dean trying to interact with strangers, ESPECIALLY in the early seasons. He’s not playing dumb, he just doesn’t get it. Also, watch any scene of this man TRYING to flirt and tell me that he’s any good at it. You know why? That bitch is mimicking the fucking movies and tv shows he grew up watching.

Sensory processing disorder: DO YOU THINK HE WEARS 87 LAYERS FOR FUN???? FOR FASHION????? WHAT DID YOU THINK ALL THE FLANNELS WERE ABOUT. THEY’RE SOFT. Also think about how much he liked the nightgown and the robe. ALSO, ALSO: school!!! It’s loud, it’s smelly, it’s dirty (his germ thing), the lights are too bright, there’s too much sensory input happening at one time. Between being so overwhelmed in school that he couldn’t focus and John pulling him left & right for cases and Sam, no wonder dean dropped out :(

14.04. The comic book episode is an ENTIRE episode about dean and his special interests!!!!!! And his social anxiety, hiding out in his room at the beginning of the episode because of all the strangers in his home 😤

Emotional regulation problems: those angry outbursts?? Destroying the Impala??? LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THATS NOT A MELTDOWN

His whole personality is a mask! He based his whole life and personality around the men he grew up around! John, Bobby, the other hunters - we all know that dean isn’t this rugged manly man he puts on. Sure people can have layers, but my man literally wore his dad’s actual jacket for fucking years

Black & white thinking: this doesn’t need anything else tbh

Strong sense of Justice: “how many people do you have to save?” “All of ‘em. Whole wide world of sports.”

Literal thinking: half the show is about how they both have to learn to look at monsters and not immediately go “monsters bad.” Also literal thinking is hard to explain, but I promise he does this.

Hyperlexic: “what? I read?”

“Too blunt”: all those times you thought “that was kinda harsh Dean” or “wtf that was so mean” - he doesn’t like lying to people when he doesn’t have to!

Hyper empathy: “The baby in the well? My bad.” “I do my best to be brave.” Sacrificing himself for people over and over again. The djinn episode and the speech he makes in front of John’s grave. His whole life he’s been told he cares too much!!!!

As a fellow AuDHD bitch, the most AuDHD thing Dean has ever said was “we know a little about a lot of things. Just enough to make us dangerous.” Also: “I got no idea. But what I do have is a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude, and I’ll figure it out.”

Like I could dive into the nuances of all of these and explain them in great detail and find textual evidence for basically everything, but it’s too early in the morning for that much work when I know that I’m right. Yeah he has adhd, obviously, but I will eat my left hand if that man isn’t autistic.

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛✗𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙬𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙚

featuring ⨳ stalker!nikolai gogol x fem!reader

synopsis ⨳ “I flirt with my woman by chasing her with a knife, dearest. And she likes it. She loves it. She loves it so much that she can't stop thinking about it. She thinks of her chaser so much that her pretty brain can't hold all the thoughts she had about him that she has to put it all down into her little journal.” Nikolai presses his knife a bit harder, “She likes it.”

contents ⨳ stalker au, 18+ content, dark content, harsh languages, very dubious consent, predator/prey dynamics, threats, manipulation, rough semi-public unprotected s*x, horror descriptions, repetitions are intentional, masochism, violence, impact play, oral (both receiving), knife play, hints of ‘exhibitionist’, light mindbreak, very toxic relationship, obsessive and possessive behaviour, dead dove do not eat

notes ⨳ stupid ass labels ruin my hardwork. thanks a lot. now i have a reason to post this draft. fyi this is a part 2 of my stalker nikolai au

❝ Day 6 of him not being outside my house.

One more night and it will be officially a week since he last came here. Truthfully, dear diary, I know I should feel relieved and happy that one threat to my life is gone, even if it's temporary.

But I think he fucked me so hard that he fucked my head too.

I can't stop thinking about him. Not in a bad way. I just can't get him out of my head. Every fucking time, I find myself looking at my phone at work because I hope he texted me creepy messages. I purposely wear short clothes when I'm out in the living room because I want to tease him. I don't even lock my doors, hell, I even leave my wardrobe slightly open.

Why why why why am I acting like this? I'm losing my logical sense! I should not do those stuff! I should not rile a fucking murderer! No normal human would think of walking around their house topless, nipples out, perked and shit, just for their fucking stalker to see!

I blame my fucking hormones.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm a whore this whole time.

I am ashamed of myself.

I am also ashamed that I actually wait for him to barge in my house again. I want to experience that first night when he first talked to me as Kolya. I want him to wat no no what the fuck am I writing

Anyway, dear diary, I'm quite excited about this weekend. I will go out to have a drink— actually we'll get fucking drunk so fuck yea

I wouldn't call myself a lonely person, but I do... have very few friends. Maybe it's because of my weird hobby. Maybe it's just my social skills. But, putting that aside, I am quite happy that I am actually invited to go.

Because nobody invites me that often. pathetic bitch

And very rarely do people take my invitation to go on some horror adventures with me. I could count on one hand how many people have come with me to enjoy those scary things.

Maybe I should put myself out there. I can't stay this aloof and alone without a companion, or a genuine genuine friendship. Romance is one thing, but to be honest, having a deep friendship is beautiful too.

I hope I can have a best friend. Maybe one day. If I don't fuck myself up in my life so badly, that is. ❞

— ˚ ១。read more? ☄.

— ˚ ១。read more? ☄. [AO3]

[sailorblossoms]

On Baz and unconditional love

Baz has a better understanding of love because, unlike Simon, he grew up being loved. But you can see something in Baz's responses to Simon's reaction every time the kidnapping incident is brought up: Baz doesn’t know what to do when he receives unconditional, unapologetic love. One that, when dealing with arguably the most traumatic moment of Baz’s life, doesn’t avoid vulnerability, doesn’t chastise him for “letting it happen” because “he’s a Pitch, he should be stronger than that” or awkwardly offers therapy but lets it all go like it never happened when Baz doesn’t take the offer on the first try.   

Baz has experience feeling unconditional love, but I don’t think he has much experience receiving it, perhaps to the point he doesn’t even expect it... Which doesn’t mean his family doesn’t genuinely love him, but he doesn’t perceive their love like it comes with no “buts” (and the adults are pretty bad at expressing it). All of them had made him feel small, shamed, and otherized in one way or another, like there wouldn’t be a place for him if he were to be himself and not conform to their wishes and expectations. It says so much that he wonders whether his dead mom, who he only remembers as loving him, would want him dead if she knew who he was. While Daphne seems to generally make his life easier, she’s not without fault (says much that Baz doesn’t know whether she means “the gay thing” or the “vampire thing” when speaking about being cured iirc, and his surprise when she wants to invite his “friend” Simon) and seems like a weaker figure. (Baz’s nuanced understanding of said adults screams of “child forced to grow up and mature too fast.”) 

When Simon says things like “I’d found you sooner, sparring you pain,” and “I’d slaughter anyone who hurts you” Baz doesn’t know how to react. He can’t believe it, and he tries to deny/downplay it with “nah you hated me then, what are you talking about.” Even after he has seen Simon go nuclear and kill because he was being sexually harassed, after having had this conversation with Simon in his house and already hearing Simon saying he would’ve saved him then, and after already hearing Simon says he loves him: Baz still “jokes” that Simon would’ve “just sent them a thank-you card, actually.” This upsets Simon, and with good reason: it’s fucked up to assume anyone would make light of someone they love getting hurt, and Simon is one to take this kind of thing very seriously... but this is pretty in line with the fucked up kind of “tough love” Baz is used to receiving from Fiona. She did slaughter his captors, but she also implies he should be embarrassed for being captured like that in the first place. She’s very unserious in a pretty messed up way with the whole “back seat” business. He gets no real reassurance from her. Baz wants to be loved gently, but “rough and unserious” in a delicate situation involving his well-being is what he got from her. Simon wants to do what Fiona did (slaughtering Baz’s captors) but unlike her, his first reaction (after he tellingly stops eating) is “why wasn’t I informed? I would have been faster and more efficient.” With this, Simon is criticizing the people who were in charge of protecting Baz. He’s saying he would have done a much better job of protecting him.  

When Simon tells Baz “there’s nothing about you I don’t want” it’s massive, and we don’t get Baz's reaction at all. The scene cuts there, with Simon running off. I don’t think Baz knew what to do with himself then, with that information. Until that point, the adults in his life have loved him despite certain parts of himself, pretending those parts don’t exist. So when he hears that Simon knows and loves every single part of him, he’s... blank. We don’t know how he feels then, and I don’t think he himself knows either. 

Simon expressing love

When Simon first tells Baz he loves him, he also tells him that murder is basically a love language for him (“I have killed so many things for you”). It sounds unhinged as hell, but makes perfect sense when you see his examples. Simon grew up unloved, and through the role that shaped half of his life, he learns to express love by being a protector (killing). With Baz, who has special dietary needs, he expresses love by also being a provider (also killing). As he works on himself and their relationship, as he becomes better at identifying and managing his feelings, he tells us that he can’t stand to see Baz unhappy, and that he wants to be the person who takes care of him and makes him happy. He specifically finds it thrilling to be the person who can do that for him. 

However, with everything Simon has done in his hero days, with all his power and training etc, etc, etc... when the love of his life needed to be saved, Simon “was useless” because he didn’t know. He looked for Baz everywhere he could, but he never got a real chance of finding him because no one knew shit.  This is the kind of thing that Simon avoids thinking about because it would fuck him up too much. His “I would have saved you” stands out to me, because the way he says it conveys the one way he knows to express love: murder (ha). (Considering Simon isn’t good with words, with voicing his feelings and what’s on his mind, he only starts communicating and voicing things after Baz lets him know he needs to hear it, after Baz lets him know the wordless ways he’s been conveying his love are not reaching Baz, they are getting lost in translation, etc)

It’s there in CO, even before Simon realizes the full extent of his feelings for Baz, in the way he stops eating (food is connected to love in the series) in his frustration with not being informed, in the way Penny can tell with a glance that Simon must be fantasizing with killing numpties. In awtwb, as Simon begins to work through his issues, we see how he can’t stop putting his hands on Baz. As Simon feels secure in their relationship, he’s a very touchy person (not being able to touch Baz is linked to torture and touching him to sustenance in SFC). And not all his touch is sexual. There are a lot of affectionate, playful cheek kisses, for instance... I bring this up because I noticed that in awtwb, when they talk about the numpties again, Simon incorporates touch. Alongside emphasizing he would’ve slaughtered his captors, he holds and kisses Baz, as if he could soothe and kiss the pain away. In both CO and awtwb, when the numpties incident comes up, Simon expresses love in the way that comes naturally to him, in the only ways he knows how. 

[prodigal-explorer]

You say that both Palestine and Israel are in the right and wrong, which first of all is the most bullshit I've ever heard.

Stop saying that you're "staying neutral" when it's fucked up, sick headed people like you that the government leeches off of. Its your ignorance that they profit off of, your privilege to lay in bed, to watch a fun movie, to hang out with friends and eat your full plate. That is a privilege that Palestines dream of.

Little kids dreams of Palestine dream of watch TV. They dream of playing outside without the fear of their lives on the line. They dream of going to school, having families, growing old, yet Israel kills them for no reason. This is genocide of innocent civilians.

And don't say "BuT hAmAs!!" As if that's your supporting argument. Nothing, and I mean nothing in the world can justify the genocide happening in Palestine right now. The numbers don't lie, Annie. The 30,000+ people didn't deserve it.

I hope you enjoy riding Israel dick and I hope the true guilt you feel once you finally see past your comfort zone hurts you so bad.

Genuinely, for all of us. Delete your pathetic excuse of an account and never post a thing ever again.

hey!

first of all, i never said that i’m staying neutral. wanting peace isn’t the same as staying neutral. i’m not encouraging the genocide just because i’m holding empathy for both sides and wanting both sides to have peace.

your cruel words are just a further example of all the hate that social media is spreading that isn’t helping anyone. i’m spreading information about charities to SUPPORT PALESTINE. i’m spreading information to uplift the voices of israeli and palestinian people who have LOST FAMILY MEMBERS due to this conflict, and trying to uplift the things THEY are saying. if i deleted my account, all of that stuff would be gone. the stuff that’s helping palestine. so you want palestine to have less help? that’s so woke of you. /s

i never said that israel should be bombing innocent people. i’m not supporting that and i never ever did. i never justified the genocide one single time and the fact that you think i did only goes to show that you didn’t read my posts. you just wanted to get angry and righteous and you chose me to attack, but it’s not going to work. i will apologize for saying that both sides are in the wrong because that is a bit of a bold statement which could easily be taken as excusing the actions of the israeli government, which was not my intention. palestine didn’t do anything to deserve this attack. the actions of hamas do not represent palestine as a whole.

for the record, if i had to choose a side, i would choose palestine. the way that the israeli government is using the money america is feeding them is horrible and disgusting. too many people have died in this conflict. but it is unfair to paint israel as a whole in a light that suggests that they are trying to wipe out the palestinian race because that’s not what’s happening. did you know that in israel, citizens are required BY LAW to serve in the military? they’re sacrificing their lives and being forced to do things they don’t agree with because the government is forcing them. israeli people don’t enjoy doing this. if you’re going to point fingers at someone, point at the 0.01% of israeli government officials who are making these decisions. not at an entire race, an entire population of people who are just doing what they are forced to do. it’s hypocritical to get mad at people for addressing hamas while also accusing all of israel of terrorism when the only real decision makers are the government. it’s the same thing, blaming an entire population for something that only a small group of people are responsible for. neither should be encouraged.

i don’t agree with what the israeli government is doing whatsoever. but that is not an excuse to wish death upon the people who didn’t even make any of these choices. these people were born in israel and they have to follow the laws. you can’t stand here while you’re privileged and on your phone typing angry little paragraphs that you wouldn’t do the same to keep yourself and your family safe.

so many people are using this issue as an excuse to be antisemitic. that is what i’m addressing in these posts. people like you are so fucking performative that you can’t see what the real issue is.

i know both israeli and palestinian people whose families have died. who’s YOUNG family members have died due to this conflict. and you know what they are telling me?

they aren’t telling me to go on social media and attack random people. they aren’t telling me to post about how all israelis/palestinians are awful people who deserve to die. they are telling me that the only way to stop all these innocent children and people as a whole from dying is to promote PEACE. and guess what. it isn’t just palestinian people saying this to me. ITS ISRAELI PEOPLE TOO.

THATS WHAT IM ADDRESSING IN MY POSTS. promoting PEACE is how we can do more for these poor children than just getting angry on social media. when we pick sides and polarize, we create more of a divide between two beautiful nations who deserve to live in peace and harmony. we further remove the chances of there being a reconciliation.

what do you suggest we do? kill all the israeli children? what will that accomplish??? this is so much more complicated than petty revenge. what feeds a war is the possibility of winning. and creating sides and pretending that the other side are full of evil heartless monsters who are doing this for no reason is only making the war WORSE because it fabricated the possibility of one side winning MORE.

so if you think you’re helping anybody with this bullshit, you’re not. your mindset is a prime example of the horrible performative activism that america is doing in order to pretend to be helpful while thousands of innocent children are dying.

maybe put some of this righteous energy into donating, or listening to israeli and palestinian voices instead of talking over them and speaking for them. that’s what would really be helpful in a time like this.

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

Queen + Adam Lambert in Philadelphia on October 18, 2023

Well, that was one of the best experiences of my life! These are my thoughts (pictures and videos will go in separate posts):

I loved how much the entire thing really was a production. It wasn't simply people standing there and playing/singing songs, you could tell every aspect of the show was well-thought-out with set pieces, costume changes, and basically a light show.

I sat in a section on the side that was pretty close to the stage. When they were performing on the main stage, I was able to see everyone pretty clearly, and Spike turned to us and told us to clap sometimes. When Brian and Adam went down the catwalk, their backs were to us. That meant Brian’s back was to us during LOML, but I got a clear view of the whole arena lit up with everyone’s phones. It was beautiful, and the people around us were commenting on how moving it was, too.

Let’s expand upon that: My sister isn’t even in the fandom, but even she said how beautiful LOML was, and how the whole show feels like an homage to Freddie even during the parts when he’s not explicitly mentioned. She said she had a cheesy moment where she was standing there while Adam sang “Who Wants to Live Forever” (which had beautiful rainbow lights), and she thought of Freddie and said to herself, “This is what it means for someone to live forever.” It really is. You really feel like you’re part of this experience of keeping Queen and Freddie alive, and people are so fucking stupid to accuse Brian and Roger of merely cashing in. Even my sister said they have enough money for 3 lifetimes, and are obviously doing it because they love it. Anyway, LOML was genuinely a moving experience, hearing Brian sing and to look out into a sea of lights, and towards the very end of the show, they played Freddie’s vocal call-and-response with the crowd from Wembley, and I did get emotional seeing how Freddie still had a crowd eating out of the palm of his hand +30 years after his death. It made me really wish he was still here.

Adam: You know, I didn’t dislike Adam before this, but my sister and I agreed that we have a newfound respect for him. He’s an incredible performer. When you actually hear him sing live for 2 hours, you realize what Brian means when he talks about Adam’s voice being a gift and everything. His voice was so strong and clear, not a single sour or weak note. These are notoriously difficult songs to sing, but he really nailed them. Adam is also a really charming, likable performer, too. He has fantastic energy and often comes off as very playful. He was delightfully campy as he applied powder and perfume in “Killer Queen.” You can tell he’s having the time of his life, and he took a moment to talk to the audience and say how lucky he is to be in his 10th year of performing with them. Also, his outfits were amazing. He wore glittery boots that looked 12 feet high lol

Brian and Roger: I always knew they were incredible musicians, but god, actually seeing them perform really drives it home. You do have this moment like, “…Damn, they’re really up there playing all of that.” My eyes kept going back and forth between watching Brian on stage, and watching the quick and intricate movements of his fingers up on the screen. 

Brian was wonderful during LOML, despite his back being to us. His voice was warm, and he told us to sing the song to everyone we’ve lost. “‘39” was fun. I loved his solo section. He was way up on a pedestal with a screen to make it look like he was standing on an asteroid, and bright, colorful planets descended from the ceiling and floated around him as he played a calmer melody. It was so lovely. Again, my sister isn’t in the fandom but after the show, she commented that while Roger doesn’t seem like a bad guy, there’s just something approachable, likable, and nice about how Brian came across on stage :’)

Roger was still great, too. I really don’t know where the fuck he finds the energy to still be that good at the drums in his 70s, and even though I don’t like “I’m in Love With My Car” as a song, it’s still objectively impressive to watch him sing and drum for it at the same time. With him and Brian, I can’t comprehend how they’re still doing this. I feel exhausted just from standing there and watching them lmao, but they’ve still got it in their mid 70s. You can tell this is just what they were born to do, and tbh watching how completely they throw themselves into a performance, and picturing them doing that night after night for several months on end on and off for like 15 years……yeah, I see why they had so many personal issues and their domestic lives fell apart lol. I’m not even trying to be mean, I just think something’s gotta give when you’re doing that kind of work, and that’s not even mentioning any harmful aspect of the rock ‘n’ roll party culture. Anyway, the point is that it’s crazy that they’re still able to do this and give it their all, and I’m so happy I got to see them do their thing.

Finally, Brian came out in a Philadelphia Phillies T-shirt during the encore, and my sister and I screamed lol

10/10. What a night. I think Freddie would be so proud to see his work not only being carried on, but how Brian and Roger (and their team, of course) are still adding things to the production to keep it all fresh and give it their 110%.

[ughgoaway]

the sick dad matty blurb omfg ACE i’m literally unwell at the thought of mopey messy hair matty falling asleep in ur lap and being so flustered at u seeing him like that- brb fucking crying

also speaking of which genuinely insane timing how you always post smth after i’ve had a very long shift i swear theyre really the one thing i look forward to the most after work 😭😭 uninterrupted horizontal time with ur blurbs it’s true it literally is my fav thing-

also perhaps an extension of sick dad! matty but i just can’t shake the idea of teacher reader being worried about him still and asking annie about it at school the next day and annie just randomly drops a bombshell in the way kids do and says smth like ‘oh daddys so much better today! he’s all smiley and said that you chased the bad coughing monster away for him- can you come do that every time? daddy’s never had anyone do that before’ and it just b r e a ks teacher reader completely pls anyways crying throwing up

(- bff anon also has the can’t shut up disease i fear 😭）

OMG, IM GLAD YOU LIKED IT BFF!!! I just need to look after this man.

like imagine he eventually wakes up and its like 9pm at that point so you're like "okay let's get you to bed" and he's all sad and pouty and says "only if you stay over with me" but he's still half asleep and doesn't quite process what he said for a good few seconds...

wide-eyed, he tries to backtrack, "wait- I'm so sorry I didn't mean it like that! obviously, we haven't slept together yet, but- NO, NOT LIKE 'SLEPT TOGETHER' SLEPT TOGETHER!!! I MEANT LIKE JUST SLEEPING!!! ohmygod-"

you're like "no that sounds nice, let's go upstairs," and matty is silently freaking out bc you're gonna be in his bed. with him. sleeping. he's thought about this scenario 1000 times, and none of them included him being dealthy ill and not having nice sheets on the bed first.

(more rambles below the cut as always)

you get matty to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, even rubbing some moisturiser on him (he just sits there with a dopey grin as you apply)

he always thought you'd be on his chest or he'd be spooning you, but he ends up with his face buried between your boobs and he's out within 10 mins.

oh and the morning after... so much potential...

I must have spidey senses for when you're at work bff!!! the fact that my blurbs make you so happy you look forward to them??? brb vomiting???? that is so kind. horizontal time on tumblr is my fav too, its unmatched.

OH, LITTLE ANNIE TALKING ABOUT HIM PLEASEEEEEE-

I can see her spending the night at hanns bc matty doesn't want her to get ill and doesn't trust George or Ross to keep her overnight.

"Do you even know what 5 year olds eat??"

"bro, why dont you trust us???"

"Yeah... like mushed carrots and shit right. "

you put the kids to work colouring something but secretly call Annie over yo your desk, "hi Annie! I just wanted to ask how your daddy is today, I know he's been a bit poorly"

"...please take her Adam"

she immediately lights up and starts chattering away, "Oh, daddy said he's feeling much better today. he even made me my toast this morning, and he was all smiley the whole time!!! he said you made him all better and played nurse!! can you do that every time he's poorly? he's much happier when you are his nurse than when he goes to the doctors"

obviously, internally you're like "ohmygod he really likes me, and I made him feel better. oh, he couldn't stop smiling, and annie noticed because he was so happy and -"

but externally, you play it cool like, "Oh, that's great, sweetheart! I'm sure next time he's poorly, you can help him feel better too"

Annie is like, "Oh!! I hope he's poorly again soon, I wanna play doctors with you!!!"

you try not to laugh at her wishing her dad ill and just send her back to her desk, but the grin doesn't leave your face all day. thinking about the fact you made matty giddy makes you just as giddy as him.

the next day a bouquet of flowers show up at your door with a note,

"dear nurse y/n,

thank you for coming to look after me even after I cancelled our date. whilst I am slightly mortified you saw me looking like that, I'm more grateful for your help. you made being sick worth it. Spending any time with you is always worth it.

love, matty x

ps, I hope the next time you stay in my bed, I'm substantially less sick, and we're both wearing substantially less clothes ;)"

[revlischarm]

what are some of your favourite one piece hc's :?

Sorry this took so long I was jotting them down as I went. I’m sure I missed some of them because a few weren’t coming to mind but uhhhh. The list turned out way longer than I thought it would be!!

• All of the ones you listed because they’re great

• Transman Crocodile

• Transman Ace

• Sabo has a tattoo like Ace’s except on his right arm, and it says “SABO” but with the “A” crossed out. heheheheh ‘SBO’ lmao

• Sharp teeth Zoro supremacy

• Ace has narcolepsy

• Luffy has a tattoo of the dawn that doubles as a Strawhat on his forearm!! I saw that idea somewhere and I’ve just. Amassed it into my horde.

• Zoro getting the Strawhat Jolly Roger tattooed on his back after Luffy is King of the Pirates,,,my beloved,,,

• Luffy has a bracelet of beads like Ace’s after Marineford!!! So does Sabo :)

• Zoro instinctively likes doing things in sets of three’s. Has a thing when it comes to numbers and counting. I’m inflicting him with a very specific brand of OCD/Autism. I saw this stuff with him counting certain things in this one Lawzo fic?? Fucking amazing, highly recommend. I’m gonna link it here just for how incredible it portrays Zoro.

Seriously, even if Lawzo isn’t your thing, I recommend it alone just based on that particular Zoro trait.

• Robin can do an impeccable horror girl scream. You know the one.

• Zoro can do math in his head insanely quickly

• Zoro knows how to garden a bit after time on Kuraigana

• Luffy is super knowledgeable about bugs, actually! His favorite kind of insects are Atlas Beetles

• Sabo is fucking unhinged. Good for him. Would crush the skull of anyone who so much as looks at Luffy the wrong way.

• I’m partial to the idea that Luffy has a super high metabolism

• Zoro’s got an oral fixation (Luffy might too, actually)

• Colorblind Crocodile

• Zoro is agender!!! Mostly uses they/he, but honestly, I don’t think Zoro would fucking care what pronouns you use for them

• Luffy has a bad habit of gnawing on things, especially fingernails, when he’s hungry. Which begs the question, are his fingernails rubber as well? When they fall to the ground like rubbings from an eraser, do they too retain their elastic properties? Who can say. Do Luffy’s teeth fluctuate between solid and rubber. Is Luffy capable of breaking any bones at all. I have so many questions about the physics of devil fruits sometimes you have no idea

• Sanji smokes because it can stave off hunger; he’s also always the last to eat, waiting until everyone else has their meal before eating himself

• Law is a fucking nerd and I’ll say it. He’s absolutely the type to try and act/look cooler than he actually is and I think most of the fandom has fallen for that ruse. I love him still, tho. Pathetic wet meow meow. You are sad and depressing and a genuine freak. Good for you.

• I like thinking that Doflamingo is partially blind in one eye from getting hit by an arrow during his whole backstory as a kid, that’s why he’s always wearing the glasses. Yes I know he’s also wearing glasses as a kid, leave me alone, it’s between that and the idea that maybe he and Rosinante have some sort of light sensitivity, since they both have their eyes covered when they’re younger.

• Crocodile’s eyes are the most gorgeous shade of lavender I’ve ever fucking seen, I swear to god

• Goth family. Goth family. Goth family!!!! I don’t care how unlikely it is I FIRMLY believe that all three of them keep avid tabs on each other, and would 100% do frequent calls on den den if they weren’t affronted by the idea that it would seem needy(Idk if that’s the right word but. You know what I mean. They’re embarrassed to admit they care.)

• Zoro picked up a mishmash of behavioral traits from both Perona and Mihawk after the two years. Man knows how to do hair and paint nails now. Picked up a smidge of fashion sense from them both, too (and by that I mean goth)

• Law and Robin get along insanely well, they have the same sense of humor.

• Law loves anything even slightly bear-shaped. He has so many items that go along with the theme. Fucking loser nerd.

• Law also gets super moody on winter islands; I read a fic once where he tends to go to the local church whenever he visits one and. Yeah idk that felt right to me. Law’s got an overall SOMETHING of a relationship with religion (just based off some of what we saw with his childhood I think) that I’m not complex or knowledgeable enough to do a justified analysis of

• Sanji makes recipe books, and labels them with notes on what’s easiest vs more hard to make in case the crew ever needs that. Dude also absolutely has a notebook somewhere on how to prepare human meat should it ever come to that. The ideal way to mourn his passing. Consume the flesh of the fallen. Become feast.

• Sanji’s hands don’t have a single blemish on them, and he moistures them frequently, actually.

• Luffy gives platonic kisses to all of his crew mates!!! All of the love

• Franky sacrificed a lot of the feeling left in his body during the two year skip in order to get stronger for everyone :(

• Law has golden eyes, Zoro’s is silver, Luffy’s are an abyss of darkness. Like a bug!!!! Bug-eye luffy. He’s a creature to me.

• Luffy likes to walk up stairs on all fours

• I think another reason that Luffy’s built up such an immunity to poison is because he puts his mouth on literally EVERYTHING. Consumes so much that should be inedible and takes it in stride.

• On that note, I think that Zoro would deliberately ask Sanji to poison his meals sometimes just to build up his own resistance. Because that’s also the safest way to go about it honestly.

• Sanji burns really easily in the sun actually I think lmao. And he always has one part of his face that’s perfectly off-color

• The arm that Shanks lost was his dominant one :) that’s part of the reason Mihawk was so disappointed he lost it. He would sword fight with that hand. Any letters he tried to write to people came off as shaky and uneven for the longest time

• Zoro is ambidextrous. He can also write shockingly well with his mouth and his feet if need be. Fucker is absolutely planning to go multiple different sword styles one day. Cut off his legs, replace them with blades.

• Luffy will bite Zoro a lot just because. It’s Zoro. Why would he mind. Captain is just releasing pent up energy cause he got excited.

• Luffy is immune to getting acne—as well as most other skin conditions—since he’s made of rubber. Lucky bastard.

• Kidd has a ton of piercings that he can and will use as projectiles. He’s also 100% had tetanus and rabies as a child. It just fits.

• I think that—Zolu or not—Zoro was Luffy’s first kiss. Just based on principle. A captain and his first mate, sitting in a cramped dinghy for who knows how long together?? Listen, all I know is they must have talked about some weird shit. And Luffy probably mentioned that he’d never kissed anyone before if it was brought up, before going suddenly silent and then asking if he could kiss Zoro. Just because. And who’s Zoro to say no to his new captain?

• Sometimes Sabo will sit and just. Let himself be on fire. Just to see if he can feel Ace.

• I firmly believe one of the reasons Zoro and Sanji don’t get along is because of their differing views on woman—or more specifically, how Sanji acts with them that pisses Zoro off to an extent. And that’s due to the whole Kuina thing. The fact that Sanji would not only treat women like they’re glass, so capable of breaking and delicate, to the point where he refuses to so much as lay a finger (or toe in this case??) on them—it really fucking grates Zoro. If a person is demanding you to fight them on equal grounds, regardless of their gender, you shouldn’t disrespect them just because they’re female. Just feels like an insult. Cant fucking believe I gotta argue in defense of hitting women here because of you, Sanji

• Usopp has the second best observation haki on the crew—and I say second only because of the whole Luffy and Katakuri thing. Yeah. Third best would be either Zoro or Sanji, because we see Zoro specifically training with haki during the timeskip, and after losing an eye I refuse to believe that Mihawk wouldn’t give Zoro a pretty decent training in observation haki to make up for that. And Sanji just. Idk man he gives me the vibes, plus he always seems adept at being able to know when someone’s in danger (even if that’s only catering specifically to the female sex)

• I think that Zoro postures a lot whenever Luffy compliments Sanji or talks about how cool someone else is because he doubts his place on the crew a lot. Like. He’s just the swordsman, right? He’s a lot more replaceable than the other members of the crew, a swordsman isn’t totally needed to survive in the New World. Y’know. Stuff like that :)

• Zoro has a super high alcohol tolerance, so it takes a lot to get him drunk. He’s also got a high tolerance to most heavy sedatives.

• Zoro does the boob-grab thing to himself sometimes when he’s thinking. You know the one. I sure do. Hold the titty for comfort and serotonin.

• Law is an EXTREME control freak. Just in general.

• Zoro and Usopp are part of girls nights. Just because. They are.

• Transmac Usopp my beloved also—this is UNRELATED TO THE PREVIOUS HC. Usopp is part of girls nights because of his chill vibes!!!! Don’t get it twisted. I’ll bite you.

• Everyone is autistic. Not just the Strawhats, but like. Everyone in the One Piece universe. Luffy is the most autistic. He’s going to be King of the Autistics. His hyperfixation is pirates and he’s collecting crew mates like plushies at the end of his bed

Idk if I have more, I probably do just stirring around in my brain somewhere

[um-whattheducc]

TRIGGER WARNING - CONTAINS VERY PERSONAL AND VERY SENSITIVE TOPICS SUCH AS SEVERE DEPRESSION AND TRAUMA, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

This is the real me, these are my true everyday thoughts.

The last thing I ever want to do is trauma dump anyone, but I need to release my pent up emotions somewhere. Please take the warning above seriously if this type of stuff makes you uncomfortable. I'm going on a sad and angry rant purely about local people i know in real life, NOT about anyone i talk to on tumblr, I genuinely love you. There will be very aggresive language. I'm posting this because this blog is my safe space and frankly i need somewhere to say what i'm about to say without paying for therapy.

I'm trying my best. I really am. It may not look it but i am. Me eating even 100 calories in a day, or waking up in the morning, is the best i have to give right now.

I am so far gone i don't even understand what's happening. I'm so fucking tired of life and don't know how much i can take anymore.

Tired of life-or-death level family trauma. I love them with all my heart and eternally grateful for the good they've provided to me, but can't ignore the bad either. They have ripped me apart, between being the golden child who's supposed to become a doctor and save the family, to the marriage counsellor/therapist for my parents, the lighting rod for my older brothers countless reckless idiotic actions, the suicide threats from family and friends and tearing myself apart trying to keep them alive, I can't take it anymore.

Tired of feeling hopeless, tired of feeling insecure about being 23 and still not having any sexual experience whatsoever because my attention was on my family and grades instead of living my life. Tired of watching the girls i fall so deeply in love in end up dating my closest friends it's fucking torture. It's pure fucking torture. I'm tired of telling people how i feel about still being single and told that being single is the best as if it isn't the most invalidating thing they could possibly say. Try never having any experience for your whole life, including never having your first kiss and tell me how you feel watching all your friends talk about their love lives, or having to watch it everyday knowing that it's something you'll never have.

Tired of walking around dead inside, tired of wearing a fake smike until i come home and crumble apart and pick myself back up the next morning to make it through the day, tired of losing interest in activities i used to be passionate about, tired of pretending like everything is ok, tired of constant doubt, tired of feeling the most depressed on christmas, new years, my birthday, pretty much any day that should be celebratory. Tired of the fact that everything i try to be happy doesn't work. I tried to gym consistently for 4 months, healthy diet, full time job, take care of myself, i can't anymore.

Graduating college very soon and all i can think about is how i became a shell of myself in those 4 years when i always dreamed about how college would be the place where i'd become the most happy and free. Instead it was disappointment and constant heart break over and over, from a straight A student aspiring to become a doctor to just trying to stay alive wondering what's the point...

I'm still trying my best

[kira-anon-uwu]

chunk from my write's block document

context: i have a fic just for me that i've only shared the majority of with one person that i only work on when i can't focus on anything else. it probably will never see the light of day but here's a funny part that i genuinely feel bad not using in something meant to be posted.

~-~-~

He climbed the ladder in the meantime, idly tapping his hands against the empty part of the shelf as he waited for Wilbur to come back.

"So, I'm hoping you spent your time at home resting,", Wilbur started as he handed up books.

Tommy let out an annoyed groan, contemplating dropping a book on the man's face. "Can we talk about literally anything else?"

"Thoughts on the art of eating sand-"

"I slept while I wasn't here, yeah."

Wilbur exhaled out of his nose with amusement. "That's good. And you explained it to your parents?"

"Yeah, and they didn't bother me about it nearly as much as you are."

"That's not as comforting of a statement as you think it is."

"It's my way of telling you you should drop it,", he rolled his eyes.

"And this is my way of making sure I'm not going to have to file an insurance claim of some kind because you dropped dead in the middle of my store."

"Please, give me some credit; I'd go die somewhere out back, probably."

"Tommy, am I going to have to start making regular checks of the alley to make sure you're not sitting back there like a salvage animatronic?"

"Y'know what? Yes, you do. Gonna wait for you to drag my ass back inside so I can hide in the vents and kill you."

"Which one would you be?"

"You can't hit me with a question like that and expect an immediate answer,", Tommy stopped to think about it, ignoring the way Wilbur was laughing at him as he genuinely considered it, "Probably be Lefty, I recon."

That made Wilbur laugh even harder, dropping the book in his hand back in the box as he tried to collect himself again. "Why Lefty?"

"Because he's cool, and he's got the fucking puppet inside of him."

"I was assuming you'd say some shit like Moltent Freddy."

"Well yeah, if I wanted to be basic about it."

"And what about me, then?"

"Easy; you get to be purple guy."

"Tommy, I didn't sit there and listen to you explain that whole fucking timeline for nine hours for you to compare me to a child murderer."

He looked down at the man with the smallest amount of empathy he could muster, giving him a shrug.

Wilbur glared at him before moving the ladder down the shelves.

"Holy shit, you don't have to prove my point!", Tommy's grip on the ladder tightened, and he leaned closer to it as the wheels grinded against the rails.

"Sorry, couldn't hear you over my insatiable bloodlust. I'm trying to make Remnant."

"Think you making me bust my fucking head open would be Agony instead!"

"I am being one-hundred percent honest with you when I tell you I do not know the difference between the two, and I genuinely do not give a fuck."

"I don't think Scott Cawthon does, either."

"Can we stop with the FNAF talk now, please?", Wilbur sighed, "Bringing it up again reminded me of how exhausting it is to think too hard about it."

"You're the one that brought it up!"

"And now I'm the one putting it away; sticking the missing children in their graves, one might say."

"Ok, Mr.Afton. How many more books are there?"

"I will beat your ass."

"Oh, but you were so worried about me before."

Wilbur rolled his eyes, moving the empty box from the top of his cart to get to the next one. "That was before you started calling me fucking William Afton."

"But think about it; same first name, he probably stank as well, you've probably murdered a few people-"

"You can't prove that."

"I can absolutely prove that you stink,", Tommy snorted, going to grab the next book from Wilbur's hand.

The man narrowed his eyes at him, waiting for Tommy to have a good grip on the thing before yanking it back hard enough that the ladder Tommy was standing on started falling backwards from the shelf.

Wilbur managed to catch him before he hit the floor, but the sudden motion absolutely did not feel good on his injury.

[figothynewton]

First listen thoughts of Unreal Unearth!!

Disclaimer: when it comes to his music I am literally incapable of thinking it’s bad all of these reviews are good and I don’t take criticism ps sorry for the long post oml

De Selbys: part 1 STUNNING the fuckin gorgeous Gaeilge vocals at the end???? The tranSITION TO DE SELBY 2 COME ON !!!!!!

First time- SOME PART OF ME MUST HAVE DIED THE FIRST TIME YOU CALLED ME BABY??????????? FUCK!!!!!!! God the rhythm his fucking voice the instrumentals !!!!! So good

Francesca- phenomenal as we already know

I, Carrion- Girl I already knew I was gonna like I, Carrion cause like hello I am a whore for Greek mythology and especially Icarus like sunlight is one of my favorites BUT “if we fall I only pray you don’t fall away from me” I am weeping it is so so beautiful oh my god

Eat your young- as fucking amazing as always

Damage gets done- Brandi Carlile and Hozier’s voices blend beautifully and this song feels like something you’d hear in like a coming age movie when the main character is having her realization that her life is changing for the better like full on perks of being a wallflower car tunnel scene (and yes I fucking love it)

Who we are- are the fucking vocals in that middle part him??? How is he physically capable of doing that???? Holy! Shit!

Son of Nyx- I think the best way to describe this is that my sister sent me the gif of Pinocchio from shrek rising out of the bed cause. Yeah.

All things end- remaining probably my favorite from the eat your young ep

TSFAWC(U)- Y’all. I had to replay the intro of to someone from a warm climate about five times “a joy hard learned in winter was the warming of the bed you’d shake for minutes there and move your legs wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within let your breath heat the air until you’d feel it getting thin” FUCK I need help PLEASE Ohp ok and now I’m crying again wow I almost choked from crying I’m not doing well

Butchered Tongue- girl I’m just gonna not stop crying am I ? it’s still singing here above the ground ??? Screaming crying yelling throwing up

Anything but- ! So fun!! But still so like melancholy like I’d give anything to run away! Clapping reminiscent of almost (sweet music) and it just feels like they were having fun dining the background vocals just so good

Abstract (psychopomp) really be making me fell that post about not being able to understand him cause if he wanted me to know the words he would have enunciated but lord I still love it. upon hearing there’s a part of me I’m afraid will always be trapped within an abstract from a moment of my life and I wish I could go back to not understanding the lyrics that fully made me cry all over again

Unknown/Nth- so the album hasn’t been out long enough for me to decide what my favorite out of the whole thing is but this has been my fav if the early/single releases so this one is for sure up there

First light- wow just wow wow so like I don’t even know how to describe it like I hate the word epic cause it’s so 2000s but like it truly is so like epic and powerful the sheer strength of his voice is genuinely jaw dropping just wow wow wow wowowowoowowo

So it was just a first listen through I don’t know which my favorite is yet but wow they are all just stunning it’s just an incredible album so so so good