#I don’t want to reblog the art of someone when I don’t know if they’d turn on me

[aceredshirt13]

not trying to start shit just. so tired of the “proshippers dni” nonsense. People in the world are literally dying every day at the hands of broken healthcare and cruel government systems and you’ve chosen to care about fandom ships, bro? Seriously? Is it that hard to block tags of things you think are fucked up? (The answer is no, because I block tags of things I think are fucked up all the time.) Every day I relate more to that post that says “not a ‘proshipper’ or an ‘antishipper’ but a secret third thing called ‘adult with job’”

same deal with queer identity policing btw. I could not care less whether or not someone is calling themselves an mspec or bi/pan lesbian as long as they are comfortable and happy with the label. the queer community is being hunted by conservative bigots who want us erased at best or dead at worst. stop fighting over semantics that don’t matter. who cares if a label doesn’t make sense to me? is something only valid because it makes sense to you as an individual? are astrophysics and tonal languages and religion not valid or real because I don’t personally understand them? insanity

anyway sorry for the rant. been seeing these sorts of things on people’s accounts and just had enough one day. the people with these things in their bios are the people who have harassed me in zines and on Twitter and I truly don’t need that anymore.

#red randomness #fandom nonsense #I’ve been blocking people over it as of late because I am just tired #I don’t want to reblog the art of someone when I don’t know if they’d turn on me #especially since a lot of those people insisted I was a ‘proshipper’ even though as I said life is too short to involve myself in that #so if you want to fight or harass me on this please just save yourself the trouble and block me #if you want to have a civil discussion I’m more than happy to talk with you but very unlikely to change my mind #this also goes for if you think religion or gender are inherently oppressive or bad and think that the future has to not have either #they are not inherently bad things. the system in which they are used as tools of abuse are bad #people get good things out of religion and gender every day and it’s equally oppressive to take that away from them #well that’s it for me for now. sorry

[gb-patch]

Saw an ask about an apparent problem of people drawing Qiu whiter than he is and whitewashing. With that in mind, I think you should hold the same standard for Tamarack for artists that draw her darker than she is to outright black. Tumblr and Twitter in general have an obsession with coloring traditionally white/pale characters the complete opposite race or adding details like kinky/coiled hair and see no issue with it but raise hell the moment a poc is one hue lighter. It erases their identity just as much as everyone says whitewashing does but everyone constantly falls back on the "only whites can be racist so changing their identity in art is okay!!" pipeline

Tamarack comes from a German family and is white, so please take the same level of importance when artists "blackwash" her or any other character in your series.

You know generally, I don’t like to use this blog to as a place to act like I’m the best, most correct person in the world and respond to things where I’m simply telling an anonymous person they’re wrong. I’m just someone who has people following me because they like the stories this company makes.

However, this is something that people should know. If our POC players draw our characters having a darker skin tone than they do in-game and/or give them a different hair texture, that’s alright. I’ve fallen off on reblogging stuff on Tumblr but it’d still be liked or reposted on Twitter.

Whitewashing means far more than the literal act of a single individual making someone look white in a fanart. If a trans player wanted to headcanon a cis character was trans, that’s one thing. If a cis person decided to take the only trans character for miles and insist they are, in fact, cis, well that’s another matter entirely. Your experience with your race and your experience based on sexuality or gender aren’t the same things, it’s not a one-to-one comparison at all. But can people who don’t get it at least start to see how there can be a difference in impact here?

The people who are oppressed in this country aren’t hurting you by trying to enjoy the media that most of the time intentionally excludes them. POC weren’t the ones dehumanizing white people in horrific ways. The overwhelming majority of stories and representations of heritages out there have been and still are white people’s already. Anyone reading this who was thinking along the lines of what’s in this ask need to get comfortable understanding and accepting that. And if you don’t, maybe you should find another game because I’m not going to “protect white identities” from being drawn as people of color. In fact, I think it’s actually really nice if our characters are fun and comforting to people of color so much so that they’d like to imagine those characters being included in their own culture. I think it’s strange that someone would be angry about it.

#our life #ask #our life: beginnings & always #our life: now & forever #gb patch #gb patch games

[p4ison1vy]

This may leave a sour taste in some peoples mouths but I’m saying it anyways

I keep seeing certain posts floating around talking about how it’s “disrespectful” and “degrading” for people to ask for a part 2 (or multiple parts) in fanfics or ask to be in a tag list….

Do y’all realize people ask this because they LOVE what you wrote?? People don’t ask this because they’re DEMANDING you to pump out more content (excluding people who are actually rude). For y’all to make this a problem NOW when people have been doing this since forever really irks my nerves. If you don’t want people asking for multiple parts or ask to be apart of a tag list, then state that on your account or state it in somewhere in the fanfic cause 90% of y’all literally state in y’all’s content:

“[insert what to do here] to be a part of the taglist!”

“leave your @ in the replies to be added to the taglist”

“like this post to be apart of the taglist”

“reblog this post to be added to the taglist”

(this including to be tagged in multiple parts as well)

And now y’all are complaining that people are asking…when y’all are the ones who have been encouraging it?????

I swear there’s always something y’all complain about every single fucking week. Is this even a community anymore? Like damn….

If someone for example asks “part 2?” or says “this was so good! are you making a part 2?”, that isn’t a sign for you to accuse them of degrading you…they’re simply asking you this question because they like your work and would like to see more.

And I’d like to state that I KNOW how it feels to create content when there’s a lot of personal issues or just a lot going on in your life. I used to write, make edits, and do digital art and it can be very overwhelming when you see multiple people ask for something all at once. I’m in college and I rarely have the time to do any of that anymore. But I ALSO know how to react when it comes to a situation like this. For example, I’d edit my post saying that I’m too busy with personal issues in my life or I’d reply to people in the comments telling them I can’t do what they’re asking of me. If someone one’s being rude (which that has happened to me many times before), they’d get blocked. It’s something that simple to do instead of making an entirely too huge of a deal to be making multiple posts about.

I WILL say this, if you are someone who rudely demands writers on here to pump out content for you, you can go fuck yourself because people have lives outside of tumblr or writing content.

But to say someone is “degrading” you or “demanding” you when they are asking a simple question and/or complimenting your content is shitty as fuck.

I will also like to state that I will always compliment a writer for their work (and anyone who reads ffs and wants more content from said writer should too!). It’s something to do out of generosity and it can keep a writer motivated.

I really wish that this community in whole could communicate more efficiently. I’ve seen so many amazing and talented writers deactivate because of the toxicity that’s circulates around this fandom…

#tlou #tlou part 2 #ellie williams #ellie x fem!reader #ellie williams x reader #tlou ellie #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson #1vys blog #it ain’t never that serious

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for asking someone not to make my art about a ship I hate?

This happened a couple months ago, but I’m still kinda unsure if I handled it correctly.

Basic rundown of events: I posted some art of a character on their own in the evening, and when I woke up the next morning, someone had reblogged with an addition about a ship that’s a big notp for me. I messaged them to ask they delete it as politely as possible, because people had been interacting with that version of the post specifically and it made me uncomfortable. They responded by saying I was being immature and needed to learn not to police what other people do on the internet. We exchanged a couple more messages, and I tried to explain my position my throughly. Neither of us was overtly hostile or anything, but I felt extremely talked down to by their tone of voice. After our conversation, we both blocked each other, and that was that. They never did delete their addition.

Why I think I might be TA: we weren’t exactly friends or anything. Neither of us followed each other. I’d seen them around in the fandom, and they’d reblogged some of my art in the past, but I think messaging someone I didn’t know instead of just blocking them might have been a bit of an overreach. Plus the ship in question is canon, and not particularly controversial or anything, so most people in the fandom probably wouldn’t have minded.

On the other hand, the ship being so unavoidable is a big part of the reason it upset me so much. It’s hard for me to exist in this fandom without having to see it constantly, and I don’t even ever mention the other character in it for fear of this exact thing happening. I’ve had people be assholes on my posts about the ship I prefer, or go out of their way to interpret my romantic posts about them platonically, or add tags to my art about how they only like my ship as backstory and not endgame. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer every single time I post about this fandom. I just want to enjoy the things I like without being negative all the time. Which is why I figured messaging privately was more polite than making a stink where everyone could see. I specifically mentioned that I knew they wouldn’t have known and wasn’t mad.

No one actually ended up reblogging their addition, which is also a strike against me, but I got a lot of likes on specifically that version of the post, which made me scared they were going to. I hated the idea of having to turn off reblogs on a piece I’d worked pretty fucking hard on because a version I found so upsetting was in circulation. If it was just tags, I’d have blocked, but it being an addition is different. I don’t think asking people not to make my posts about it is “policing what other people do on the internet”. You’re in MY house, on MY post with MY art I spent hours on. Making additions to art posts already seems somewhat rude to me, that’s just not something you do, but I guess that’s a matter of the corner of tumblr culture you’re used it.

Also, their response felt very aggressive and condescending. They implied I was, like, a kid, and I do think I’m somewhat younger than them, but the only information about my age in my bio at the time was that I’m an adult, so it felt like a rude assumption. My age doesn’t have anything to do with it.

Again, though, I do absolutely see how my initial message could read as entitled. During the rest of our messaging, I did lose my temper a little bit at one point; I said something about how I’ve had to deal with shit in this fandom before, and I don’t remember the exact words since, again, we both blocked each other, but I know I swore at them. That might’ve come across as more aggressive than I wanted, and probably didn’t exactly help deescalate. (Can’t say for sure, I don’t have their side of the story)

Like I said, this situation was a bit ago now, but it upset me pretty bad at the time, and I’m still not entirely sure who’s in the wrong. So, AITA?

(Also to get ahead of this: please don’t make this about shipcourse in the comments. It’s not about that. They and I have similar opinions on that discourse from what I’ve gathered anyway. Thanks.)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #ship discourse

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 28

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

9k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, suicide ideation, fighting and making up

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This is it, my dudes! The final chapter. No epilogue, because I don't think this story needs it. Thank you for all your comments, likes, and reblogs! Your support has kept me going. I'll post a masterlist directly.

28

Today’s volunteers had been abuzz with the news of Chief Jim Hopper’s miraculous return from the dead. The story was he’d uncovered a terrorist plot and worked with the government to thwart the radicals. Starcourt Mall had been the unfortunate backdrop of the confrontation.

It was also unfortunate a surviving radical had recognized Hopper. Since Hopper had been in danger, he’d been put in a protection program until the threat had been eliminated.

Rumor had it he’d been involved in defeating the rest of these radicals, who had something to do with Hawkins National Laboratory.

You didn’t bother to point out the specific government agency had been conveniently omitted. Same with the terrorist organization. Over sandwiches in the courtyard, Steve said Hawkins Lab had been closed for over a year when Starcourt’s fire occurred.

Nevertheless, while there had been casualties at Starcourt, they’d been few. Everyone considered Hopper a local hero.

A few volunteers discussed Eddie, too. They felt sorry for him and insisted they’d never believed those ugly rumors. Eddie was an orphan who’d been taken in by his uncle Wayne. Wasn’t that sad? Why, they’d known Wayne Munson for years! Wayne was an upright person. A veteran, too. There was no way he would’ve tolerated Devil-worship under his roof.

Those horrible classmates — bullies, really — must’ve targeted Eddie because he was different. Being different wasn’t a crime! Besides, Eddie had never hurt anyone. He performed at The Hideout with his little band all the time. One volunteer knew The Hideout’s owner, Cliff, who said Eddie was a good, if weird, kid.

You’d nodded and hummed in agreement while sorting donated home goods. There was no point in calling them hypocrites. Perhaps some of them weren’t. You wished you’d gone to that town hall meeting with your parents. Then you’d be able to pick out the liars.

On the way home in Steve’s car, Robin turned in the front seat to face you.

“You know, people want to be on the winning side. They like to think of themselves as smart enough to know who’s telling the truth.”

“But they were blinded by fear,” you said in agreement. “And looking for someone to blame.”

Steve said, “Like the pilgrims burning all the witches in Salem.”

You and Robin shared a look. He was close enough.

“Yup,” she said.

He appeared proud to have contributed to the conversation.

Robin rested her chin on her forearm.

“Eddie’s lucky you found him before anyone else.”

“Outside of the military, yeah, I guess.” You offered a bitter grin. “Who knows what they would’ve done to him if he’d survived Vecna.”

Though you don’t think he would have. Most likely, he would’ve dropped dead with the rest of the hivemind. If you hadn’t died from taking part of Vecna’s curse earlier, you might’ve shared that fate.

Steve said, “God, I’m so glad that fuckface’s dead.”

“Me too.”

“Me three,” Robin said with a grin.

Once at Steve’s, you three talked about dinner. Steve had pulled everything this morning to make a pan of baked ziti with roasted broccoli on the side. Robin made a disgusted face at the mention of a vegetable. You laughed at her scrunched nose and tongue poking out. Robin exclaimed eating broccoli was like eating green farts while Steve opened the front door.

Classical music played from the sunroom’s stereo system.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said, projecting his voice as he tossed his keys into the bowl on the foyer table.

The music cut off, leaving a silence that felt as if you needed to pop your ears.

Robin kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on an empty hanger in the closet. She reached for yours as Eddie jogged across the living room.

“Hey, good day?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he said to Steve, “I know this is a pain in the ass, but would you take me to my van? I want to do it before it gets dark. It’s on Coal Mill.”

“Dude, I gotta start dinner.”

Robin held up her hands when Eddie looked at her.

“No license. And the last time I tried to cook in that kitchen, I almost set everything on fire.”

Steve smirked.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah? Tell that to your smoke detector that wouldn’t shut up for fifteen minutes.”

You snorted to hide the pang at being Eddie’s last choice and shrugged your jacket back onto your shoulders.

“I guess that leaves me.”

With a pat to your pockets, confirming you had your wallet and keys, you left the house. Eddie bumbled out the front door a minute later, swinging on a navy sport coat that was a size too big. It clashed with his green track pants and untied blue sneakers.

You kept your comments to yourself as you unlocked your car and got behind the wheel. Eddie sat in the passenger seat as you started the engine. The stereo came to life. The Sisters of Mercy simmered through the speakers. You hit the power button, cutting them off.

Sounding amused, Eddie said, “I haven’t heard that in a while.”

“I was in the mood for them the other day.”

“You can turn it back on, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” You shifted the car into Drive. “How do I get to Coal Mill?”

“Uh, take a left. We’ll go the back way.”

You nodded and pulled onto the street. He tied his sneakers. At the first intersection, he directed you to go left. The evening sun’s golden light flickered between the trees. This far from the nexus, the woods appeared unaffected by the poisonous ash. You mentioned it. Eddie asked how downtown was faring.

You lifted a shoulder.

“It’s like a war zone and a natural disaster had a horrible, mangled baby.”

He laughed. “Vivid.”

“There’re construction crews all over, and the school gets dusty overnight. We have to cover everything with sheets before we leave. People sleep with masks on.”

“What a nightmare.”

You nodded as you passed the turnoff to Sattler’s Quarry.

After that, the road narrowed and twisted. Eddie navigated you through more intersections and over train tracks. You passed farmhouses with fields of growing corn and pastures for cattle. He had you take a road into the woods where squat houses sat close together.

The road dead-ended with Coal Mill Road T-ing into it. Behind the houses, sunlight reflected off rippling water. He advised you to park in the gravel at the side of the road; his van wasn’t far. You found a wide, flat section and stopped the car. The peaceful neighborhood didn’t seem the place to stash a van.

You then recognized the house reflected in the rearview mirror as the one from the broadcast identifying Eddie as a suspect. That had been a shitty day. Even for you.

Eddie opened the passenger door. You blinked out of the memory, unlatched your seatbelt, and got out of the car. He was quiet as you came to his side. His grim face had you reaching for his hand.

He stiffened at the touch.

You recoiled and looked away. Rather than the quiet hurt you expected, though you were hurt, this white-hot feeling spread through you. Your jaw locked and vision narrowed. Each inhale became deliberate. You wanted to claw at his pretty face.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

That pretty face became dismissive, and he stepped onto the road towards the woods.

Over his shoulder, he asked, “What do you mean, what’s my problem?”

“You’re…” You struggled to find a word as you followed, but the only one came. “Skittish. I don’t know.”

“I’m not skittish.”

A few yards down from your car, he separated two shrubs to reveal parallel tire ruts in the grass.

“You are!” You waved a hand at his back. “You are. You won’t sit next to me. You won’t touch me. Not that I expect you to be all over me, but you don’t reach for me.”

He stepped between the shrubs and held one back for you.

“I—”

“I take your hand, you flinch.” You tramped into the underbrush and onto a rut. “I sit next to you, you make sure there’s plenty of space between us. I make a move, and it’s always wrong.”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said, letting the shrub go.

“Really?”

He went to the other rut. You stopped to glare at him.

Did he not see the irony of maintaining four feet of distance?

“Really?”

“I…” He frowned, though he continued walking. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

“Eddie, you’ve had your dick in me.” You resumed walking. “And I’ve never pushed you away.”

In fact, you had only pushed him away when he’d been under Vecna’s control. When it was just the two of you, the thought never crossed your mind.

He sighed.

“I’ve needed space.”

“Then tell me that. I don’t want you to feel pressured.” That heat inside you vanished. “You’re not obligated to… to do anything.”

“No, it’s not that.” He stopped and glanced at you. “I haven’t felt like myself since…”

“Yeah.”

“No, not like— It’s like…” He sighed again, his face twisting up. “There’s this emptiness.”

What could you say to that? You wouldn’t diminish his experience by saying plenty of people felt that. His was different. It wasn’t anything one could ignore or fill. You remembered dissolving into silence, and how it had swallowed everything.

You said softly, “Like a hunger.”

He met your gaze. In the sepia light and dusty shade, his brown eyes appeared darker and more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them.

“I don’t want it to touch you.”

You shook your head.

“It’s not a stranger.”

He looked away, into the trees, chin quivering. The tip of his nose turned pink. You wanted to kiss it, kiss him, make it better somehow. You took a hesitant half-step to take his hand, at least, but he walked farther into the woods.

With a deep breath, you followed a couple paces behind. The ruts curved around a dead pine and disappeared behind a thicket. Eddie knelt at the far side of the pine to dig into the rust-colored needles. An old camouflage net covered his boxy van from roof to tires.

You pushed up your sleeves while circling the van.

As you came around, he said, “Look, I know you’re too smart to believe the shit Vecna said.” He pulled something from the needles. “But I want… I want you to hear it from me—”

“Eddie.” You shook your head again. ���That’s—”

“No, let me get this out. Every shitty thing he said — I said — was a lie.” The metallic jingle of keys punctuated his statement. “I don’t believe any of it. I never thought it.”

While you didn’t doubt Eddie, there was a part of you that wondered if Vecna was right. You were privileged. Your parents could afford to send you to any college. They’d even set up a savings account for you. You didn’t have to worry about a part-time job. You had a car. You’d been protected from the banal cruelty in the world. You’d taken so much for granted over the years. On top of that, you were a witch.

He straightened and looked at you.

“I don’t know how to prove it. All I got is my word.”

“No, no, I believe you,” you said, holding up your hands.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“What?”

“You saved me, sweetheart.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Kinda feels like a blood debt.”

You grinned.

“Is that a real thing?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I don’t know, but, Eddie…” You drew closer to him. “You owe me nothing. You’ll never owe me.”

The keys rattled in his hand. His gaze darted away.

You continued, “I know what I did spooked you, but I did it because I love you. And it’s okay if you don’t…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence. It was hard to breathe or think or control the swelling sob in your chest. A tear rolled down your cheek, and you swiped it away.

Eddie’s head tilted in sympathy, lips thinning. He stepped near and offered his empty hand. It was the first time he’d done that in days.

Your vision prismed with fresh tears as you grasped his hand. The callused pads of his fingers scuffed against your skin. Your sob transformed into a long exhale.

“Vecna took you from me,” you said, and sniffed back the wet clog in your nose and wiped at your eyes. “I did it because you’re mine. Because he hurt us — hurt me.” You barked a laugh. “Now that I say it out loud, I hear how fucking selfish I am.”

You met his red-rimmed eyes. He shook his head like he couldn’t accept you were selfish. Regardless of his belief, you were, but you’d try not to be with him.

You whispered, “Even if we don’t stay together, you’ll never owe me. You’ll always be special to me.”

He tugged you near and put your palm on his sternum with his hand covering yours. His chest rose and fell because he’d pushed Vecna out, because you’d brought him back. That was something you’d never regret.

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he said, “I love you too, and you didn’t spook me. Don’t… don’t hide from me.”

As gently as you could, you said, “I’m not the one who’s been hiding.”

He stared at your stacked hands.

“Jesus Christ, I’ve been fucking up so goddamn bad.” He shook his head, his hair obscuring part of his face. “I hadn’t protected you. God, I actually hurt you. I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t even fucking graduate.”

If his last statement was an obstacle, you would’ve tripped over it.

He couldn’t graduate? That made no sense. Nothing was official yet, of course, but Dr. Owens hadn’t balked at the party’s insistence of all the seniors graduating. Had no one told him? Hadn’t it been mentioned in conversation?

“Wait,” you said, trying to remember if anyone had brought it up.

He watched you from under his bangs, eyes so fawn-like, a little furrow between his brows.

You said, “I thought Steve told you about the party’s demands.”

He angled his head.

“No…?”

“One was all the seniors graduating, regardless of standing.” You took hold of his coat’s lapel. “What did you have in O’Donnell’s?”

“A low D.”

“D’s passing.” You grinned. “You’re graduating, anyway, but you passed her class. That’s all you needed, right?”

His eyes went wide and lips parted as he nodded. You glanced at his full bottom lip while scraping your own between your teeth. You hadn’t kissed him in ages.

You stepped closer and slid your hand from his lapel.

“Congratulations,” you said before rising and pressing your lips to his.

He gasped. His lips dragged against yours. Then he jolted, pulling away.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Why would you hurt me?”

His gaze slithered from your lips to your neck to the neckline of your shirt in an invisible touch.

“What if I lose control?”

You studied his worried face in the dimming light.

“Is it the emptiness?” you asked.

He nodded, casting his gaze to the side.

You remembered how predatory Eddie had looked with the MP’s blood on his chin. That hadn’t been Eddie. Not entirely. That had been the hivemind of bloodthirsty carnivores.

“Is it…” You didn’t know how to be tactful with this. “Do you want my blood?”

His tongue worked in his mouth, licking his canine, before he said, “I don’t know.”

You cradled his jaw over the scar and eased his head forward. His focus remained to the side.

“Please, look at me.”

His irises swung to meet yours. A flicker of sunlight illuminated them cinnamon sweet. His dark lashes fluttered as he blinked.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me,” you said. “But if you want to try—”

His posture went rigid as he shook his head. His hand pressed yours tighter to his chest.

“No.”

You pressed on.

“If you want to try my blood, I’ll let you.” You grazed the corner of his mouth with your thumb. “I’m not scared.”

He closed his eyes, mouth pinching and brows furrowing.

“Honey, don’t be scared.” You stroked his cheek to his clenched jaw. “It’s just me and you here.”

“Yeah, it’s just me and you.”

You sighed.

“What, you think you can kill me? You think I’d let you? You think I don’t know my limits?”

He opened his eyes, which blazed with anger and frustration and panic.

“What if I don’t know mine anymore, huh?”

Gritting your teeth, you said, “Then we’ll discover them together.”

With your hand on his chest, you pushed him towards the van. He bumbled backwards, dropping the keys. His back collided with a dull clunk. You slid your hand from his chest to the van, boxing him in, and pressed your front along his.

“Fucking trust me.”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

He nodded, throat bobbing with a swallow.

“Are you sure?”

Again, he nodded.

You closed the distance with a hand on his nape. He angled his head, lips moving counter to yours. The kiss stole your breath and thought. You ravaged, biting his bottom lip. His hands cupped your ass and drew you against him. He plundered, groaning as your tongues slid over each other.

Teeth scraped your lip, yet it didn’t frighten you. Let them break skin. You didn’t care.

Trembling hands snuck under your shirt. He pulled at your waist, making your back arch. You mewled into the kiss and plunged your fingers into his messy hair. His tentative palms skimmed up your back.

You shivered as your nipples pebbled.

You broke the kiss to whisper, “Touch me. It’s okay. I trust you.”

His eyes gleamed as he drew his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. He spread his feet and maneuvered you between his knees. The firm mound of his erection pressed into your belly. He trailed his hands down to your ass. His fingers met at the central seam of your jeans.

“You’re so hot here.”

“Because of you.”

He caught your lips in another kiss. You gripped his hair as the woods went fuzzy. His hands, more confident, skated up your ass, under your shirt, and up your sides. Cool air swept over your skin. You inhaled as he found the band of your unsexy bra. The earlier work at the school hardly warranted anything fancy.

Eddie didn’t seem to mind. A hungry noise came from his chest as he fondled the underside of your breasts through the bra. He sucked on your bottom lip, and the sensation flowed through you like water. Your nipples tightened further. Your cunt clenched.

“God, you’re so soft.”

You caressed the warm skin at his nape, saying, “I’ve missed you.”

Without waiting for a response, you kissed him. His fingers dragged across your breasts until he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and sides of his palms.

You gasped at the wicked frisson, angled your face up to catch your breath, and writhed. You pressed your hips to his, the thick seam of your jeans rasped between your legs. He rocked his erection against you. New heat zinged down to your toes.

Voice husky, he said, “Fuck, I missed you, too.”

He kissed the side of your neck. Each kiss became more open-mouthed. His tongue moved as if he tasted more than your skin. He pulled his sharp teeth across the big tendon in your neck, like he was teasing you both. The threat of a bite had your heart beating double-time and eyes rolling back.

He pinched your nipples harder, making your lower body squirm from the ache. You kept your chest and neck still as you waited to feel what he’d do. He groaned and mouthed his way to the artery under your jaw. He sucked hard at the skin there, mouth scalding. You gasped at the delicious pain.

“Jesus,” he said between pants against the sore spot.

As his saliva cooled on your skin, you swooped down to kiss him once more. His tongue slid over yours as his hands left your breasts. You held his head in place by the hair, losing yourself to the decadent back and forth.

He folded his arms around you when you held his smooth cheek. There was no panic here. There were no monsters. It was only you and him, sharing breath and touch.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Good.”

You stroked his cheekbone.

“That’s all that matters.”

“I didn’t… freak you out there?”

“By giving me a hickey?” You smiled with a chuckle. “No.” You brushed your lips against his. “I like wearing your mark.”

His cheeks pinked further. He made a happy sound and buried his face in your neck once more.

“Gonna give me another one, baby?”

Muffled against your skin, he said, “I might.”

Tightening your hold in his hair, you pulled his head back. He looked at you with hazy eyes. His red lips parted, breaths shallow.

“Gorgeous,” you said.

His gaze drifted to the side. He wanted to shy away, but you wouldn’t have it.

“You act like I haven’t seen you, but I have.” You traced the scar on his jaw. “And nothing’s changed for me.”

He met your eyes, his own bright with conviction.

“Me neither, I swear, milady.”

You smiled at the endearment you hadn’t heard in too long.

“Then no more hot-and-cold, good sir.”

He nodded as much as he could.

“I’m with you.”

“No half-assed crap, either. I mean it, Eddie,” you said, relinquishing your grip on his hair and lacing your fingers behind his neck.

His spine straightened as if coming to attention.

“Whole-ass-ing it from here on out.”

“Good, I like your ass.”

“I like yours, too.”

His eyes lit with mischief, reminding you of the Eddie you’d first met. The one who quoted the Scorpions during roll call, who always answered the phone, who howled during concerts.

A hand gripped the underside of your ass-cheek and gave it a squeeze. It put to mind him holding you against the cold wall behind The Hideout and fucking you with hungry desperation. You wanted that with him.

“Wanna go home and prove it?” you asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

He gave you a toothy grin.

“Absolutely.”

He didn’t release you, nor you him, despite the blue of the sky having faded to ginger and blushing violet. Rose-gold sunlight graced the tree tops. Once gentle shadows were now hard-edged and inky.

You liked the heat radiating from under his thin t-shirt and all the evidence he was alive. He’d survived. You had as well. He must’ve had a similar idea, because he surveyed you with loving eyes.

You swayed.

“Let’s go, Muffin Man.”

He groaned and let his head flop back.

“I swear to God, that’s adorable when we were high, but you cannot say that in front of our friends.”

“Not even—”

His head shot up.

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” you said with an exaggerated pout.

“Oh, well, please continue, sweet lady.”

“I was going to say, not even—” You imitated his dramatics as you said, “The Muffin of Demonic Charm!?”

He laughed. “I only like the ‘muff’ part of that.”

You backed away with a giggle, sticking out your tongue. His hands went to the sides of his head, pointer fingers out, and stuck his tongue out at you.

You said, “You won’t get any part of that out here.”

He fluttered the tip of his tongue.

“Tempting, but no.”

He spread the sport coat and posed like a centerfold to entice, hip canting to the side and his chest arched.

“Oh, if only I had a camera, baby.” You found the forgotten keys amongst the pine needles and dead leaves. “You’d make Goodwill a lot of money in their annual calendar,” you said and tossed the keys at him.

He straightened to catch them, juggling them to his chest.

“I’ll have you know—” He swept his empty hand down his body. “—all of this is House of Harrington.”

“How chic.”

“Very exclusive.” He pointed to the corner of the van for you to help gather the netting. “Not just anyone can say they’ve worn Steve Harrington’s tighty whities.”

You laughed and lifted the corner of the netting.

Together, you uncovered the van. Eddie gathered the netting and kicked it under the thicket before going to the passenger door to open it for you.

“I’ll drop you off at your car.”

You thanked him and climbed into the stuffy van. The scent of old smoke, warmed plastic, and upholstery seasoned with boy invaded your nose. You rolled the window down halfway after he closed the door.

With a glance at the vacant back, you thought of Corroded Coffin’s equipment there. You’d seen little of Jeff, Gareth, or Dougie at school. You hadn’t asked Eddie if they still played at The Hideout. You hadn’t asked him about a lot of things. There was so much you’d missed since New Year’s.

Eddie opened the driver-side door and hopped in. He made a face, then rolled down his window.

He turned all the air-system controls off, saying, “Cross your fingers she’ll cooperate.”

He shoved the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered and whined and chugged until something aligned, and it roared to life. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, throwing you a laugh.

You smiled back and fastened your seatbelt.

He shifted into Reverse and maneuvered away from the thicket. The tires spun in the layer of pine needles and budding grass before finding traction. The van lurched forward. You hung onto the seatbelt and prayed the van wouldn’t get stuck. It was too old for off-roading. He steered onto the ruts, tires kicking up dirt as they bit into the earth.

Your prayers were unnecessary or maybe something out there listened to you, because a minute later the van was on the pavement and next to your car.

“Your noble steed, milady.”

With a smirk, you said, “I thought that was you, stud.”

He leaned in, eyes sparking.

“I’m at your beck and call.”

You bent close enough to feel his breath on your lips.

“Get me home, sir, and I’ll show my appreciation for your fealty.”

His eyes darted to your lips.

“I can do that.”

Tilting your head as if to kiss him, you said, “I know you can,” and moved away to unfasten your seatbelt.

His head drooped.

He looked at you when you opened the door, expression amused.

You said, “Don’t go too fast, honey, wouldn’t want to get pulled over.”

“Depends on who’s doing the pulling over, sweetheart.”

You smiled, shaking your head at the cheesy line, and left the van. His attention stayed on you as you crossed to your car, like fingers trailing down your spine.

Once in the car, you made a U-turn and followed him to Steve’s. Eddie was something of a lead-foot, but you could keep up easily. He parked in front of the garage at Steve’s. You stopped next to him and locked up.

He met you at your trunk and offered his elbow.

“Not too fast for you?”

You snaked your arm around his bicep.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He hummed in agreement as he walked with you to the front door.

“Um, I know this is out of left field,” you said, “but I thought about the rest of the band. I hadn’t seen them at school, except in the hallways sometimes. Like, I don’t share any classes with Jeff or Dougie.”

“Last time I saw them was during the last Hellfire meeting.”

“Maybe you should call them? Now that your name’s cleared, it’s safe for all of you.”

“I don’t know…”

“They’re probably worried about you.” You squeezed his arm. “And unlike me, they can’t use magic to track down your ass.”

He bobbed his head once.

“I’ll call them tomorrow.”

“Good.”

You stopped him before he could make his way to the front door. He turned to you, gaze searching.

The blue hour painted him in shades of purple. Warm light from the porch sconces and nearby kitchen window caught in the waves of his hair. He was a fallen angel, halo stripped yet seraphic nature undeniable.

That felt like a line from someone more imaginative. You were no poet, though you wished you were.

Softly, he asked, “What is it?”

You shook off the thought and grinned.

“Nothing, I just… I just like you like this.”

He glanced at himself before giving you a wry look.

“In borrowed clothes with dirty hands?”

“No, butthead.” You jostled him by the arm. “I like you here — with me.”

That wry look disappeared. His eyes rounded, earnest and affectionate. He drew you in with a gentle hand on your nape and kissed you. His lips were tender on yours in silent relief, as though you’d surprised him. While he’d withdrawn after Vecna’s defeat, and you’d been uncertain about a future with him, you still loved him. That had never changed.

You threw yourself into the kiss, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Blood rushed through your veins. Your cheeks burned as the kiss deepened. His other hand clutched your hip to guide you against him.

It was easy to lose yourself with him. It was easy to love him, and he made it easy to let yourself be loved.

He cradled the back of your head like you were priceless. He held you like he couldn’t get close enough. The mark on your neck was a brand of sweet possession.

At an inevitable pause, you said, “Let’s go inside.”

“I can’t sit through dinner.” With a small shake of his head, he said, “I can’t wait.”

“Then we won’t. We’ll go straight to your room.”

“What about…?” He gave you a meaningful look. “Condoms?”

“I got it covered.”

“Sounds like I’ll be saying that later.”

You laughed, playfully shoving at his shoulder. He looked pleased with himself and trotted to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, he glanced back to make sure you were behind him.

You whispered, “Wait,” and drew energy up your body. It had been so long since you’d obfuscated your presence to sneak around, you’d nearly forgotten it as an option. You laced your fingers with Eddie’s, including him in the silent bubble you created.

“Keep close and avoid making too much noise.”

He nodded before easing the door open.

A top-40s station played on the radio in the sunroom. Robin and Steve’s voices floated from the kitchen. They remained out of sight even after you gently shut the door.

You directed Eddie to the stairs and remained a tread behind him as you both climbed. Once on the second floor, you ushered him to his room. He left the door ajar and lights off. You padded to your room, pocketed the couple of condom packets you’d stolen days ago from Steve’s nightstand, and slunk to Eddie’s room.

He sat at the head of the bed, blanket hiding his lower half with his t-shirt covering the upper. You closed the door and locked it. By the meager light coming through the window, you found the nearest lamp and clicked it on.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, sure, fine, why?”

The sport coat and track pants draped across the armchair. The sneakers and socks lay jumbled by the bathroom door.

“Just asking.”

You crossed the room and set the condom packets on the nightstand at Eddie’s side. He remained motionless, hands hidden in the rumpled sheets. You perched at the edge of the bed while he stared at the condoms.

Something was off. He should be flirting or reaching for you. What had happened between kissing you, saying he couldn’t wait to be with you, and now? Most guys would be naked and panting like a dog for sex.

With a minute shrug, you said, “If you don’t want to…”

“No! No, I do. Trust me, I do.”

“But…?”

He exhaled.

“I don’t… You should know, I don’t look the same.”

“I’ve seen you in only a towel. I’m aware of what you look like.”

“That’s not up close and personal.”

“You think I’m going to run screaming from some scars?”

He said, “Look, baby, I’m a horror show under this,” and plucked at the t-shirt.

You let out an exasperated sound. “Are you trying to push me away? Again?”

“No—”

“Do you not want me?”

“Oh my god, I want you.” He scooted to you and cupped your face. “I’ve wanted you for weeks. Months!”

“Well, me too!” You held one of his wrists. “Anything you got under there is gonna work for me, okay?”

He scanned your face, gaze roaming from your eyes to your lips and back.

The protective blessing you’d placed in his handkerchief had failed you — and him. Your magic had been nothing compared to Vecna’s power. Eddie had pushed out the hivemind on his own. He was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for.

Through a constricted throat, you said, “Your blood soaked through your clothes.” Your eyes pricked with tears. “You di-died in front of me.”

Eddie leaned in, crushing your lips together. You forgot about tears and the feel of his blood thick between your fingers. He tilted your head. His lips, puffy and slick, glided across yours.

“I’m here,” he said, and kissed you again. “I’m right here.”

You kissed him in reply, letting your greed and relief guide you.

You shimmied your jacket off your shoulders. His hands went to your arms to help tug it off. You grinned into the kiss when the fabric caught on your forearms. He huffed, amused, before yanking at the sleeves. You shook your arms free and flung the jacket.

Planting a knee on the bed, you crowded him back onto the pillows. He put his hands at your waist and pulled you onto him. You straddled his hips, the linens bunching between you.

He hauled you up his body to tuck his face against your throat. He mouthed and bit at your neck, all hesitation thrown to the side. You encouraged him with a whimper and fingers gripping his hair. His soft lips left a fiery line as his hands grabbed your ass.

You arched your back. Your ribs pumped with every rapid breath.

“Wanna eat you alive,” he said. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

“Want you, too.”

Teeth scraped under your jaw, catching on the sore hickey there. You gasped, yet refused to shy away. Let him bite and draw blood. Let it hurt. You could heal yourself.

With a groan, he dug his teeth midway down your neck. The sting made your spine melt. His palms slid up your back, taking your shirt with them. Then he sucked, and you felt it between your legs.

You ground against him — as much as you could through the layers of fabric. You needed to feel his heat, taste his skin and scars. Because he was alive, and you were in his bed.

When he released your skin, sensation beyond pain, beyond heat, bloomed through your neck. It rang in your ears, fisted a groan from your lungs, stole your strength. He folded his rangy arms around you and grazed his lips over the spit-wet spot.

You closed your eyes with a hum.

He kissed you from jaw to cheek. He even kissed your chin. You curled to catch his lips in a languid kiss. It went aggressive in a handful of seconds. You couldn’t tell who set it in motion, but you’d follow it through with sucking on the tip of his tongue and biting his lip. He shivered and squirmed and held onto your waist.

You broke the kiss to leave him reeling.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He nodded, eyes half-closed.

“Then let me take care of what’s mine.”

Again, he nodded.

You directed Eddie’s hands to the pillow, letting your fingertips linger on the silky insides of his forearms. His t-shirt sleeves slipped up to expose scarring on his upper arms. You pressed your lips to the delicate scar tissue.

He inhaled sharply.

You whispered, “It’s okay.”

He closed his eyes with a brief nod.

You kissed the scar on his jaw and the faint one at the side of his neck. He angled his chin to expose himself. In reward, you kissed his lips. His muscles unspooled. You brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones.

“I got you.”

“I know.”

You wiggled down his torso and sat up. Oh-so slowly, you skimmed your hands under his t-shirt to his sides. The jagged edge of a bigger patch on his torso peeked from under the t-shirt’s hem. The uneven texture of the scars didn’t feel ugly or rough. They were interesting, and you wanted to see them.

He clapped his hands over yours.

You met his uneasy gaze and waited, keeping your expression open. While you could offer platitudes or compliments, they’d ring hollow. He knew how you felt and how you viewed him. It was only a matter of time for him to gain confidence — or at least trust you.

His hold relaxed, then gradually drifted away.

You followed the taper of his torso until you held his undulating ribs. With the t-shirt bunched at his pecs, you could assess the havoc the bats had wrought. Beyond the patch on his lower torso was a line of bites and healed sutures on his left. A wedge of pink scar tissue defaced the right side of his ribs. Between the larger patches were claw and teeth marks.

You traced them with a light touch before looking at his face. His teeth dug into his lip as his gaze jumped from between your bodies to the side to your face and back again.

“So, this is the horror show you promised?” you asked with a playful look.

He frowned, mouth opening.

Before he spoke, you asked, “Can you feel my touch?”

He wet his lips and nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

“You don’t—”

“No, I don’t whatever. I’m not grossed out.”

To prove your point, you bent to kiss the bite mark on his sternum. The satiny, pitted skin wasn’t disgusting. It was just skin — that smelled like him. You nudged the t-shirt higher to get at his left nipple. You teased it with your tongue, and he stilled. You pinched it between your teeth, and he arched against your lips. You soothed the tiny hurt with a kiss, and he gasped.

You inched the t-shirt higher until you propelled his arms up. He took over and snatched the t-shirt over his head. He dropped it beside the bed as you caressed his chest.

Only fragments of his demon-head and black-widow tattoos were visible around a darker scar. You followed the scar’s border with your fingers and pouted at the loss of the tattoos. Not because they were the most beautiful you’d ever seen, but because they’d been Eddie’s.

“You can have these redone.”

“Nah, I’d rather get a cover-up.”

You smiled before bending to pepper kisses on the scar.

“That’s going to be a big cover-up, honey.” You kissed your way from the scar to the dip of his throat. “Maybe I can hold your hand through it.”

He tilted his head back with a soft groan. You angled his chin to the side and sucked at the hot skin of his neck, giving him a faint hickey. You kissed your way up to his ear and sucked on the lobe.

With a near growl, he said, “God, I can’t—” and pulled you into a burning kiss.

You opened for him as he teased your tongue with his own. He kissed your hot cheeks and your forehead. His hands surged down your sides, then under your shirt. You straightened onto your knees and stripped off your shirt and bra. Your nipples puckered in the cooler air.

His hips jerked as his hands gripped your hips. He stared at your chest and licked his lips.

Instead of asking if he wanted to touch, because that seemed obvious, you bent and guided his hands to your breasts. You encouraged him to support them, squeeze them, while you watched his flushed face.

He circled your nipples with his thumbs, his touch graceful yet electrifying. A feeling like goosebumps trickled through your gut and had your thighs tensing. You curved into his caress in encouragement. Your underwear’s saturated cotton grazed your pussy, and you wished it was his cock.

Eddie held your ribs and rose to bury his face between your breasts. He mouthed at the valley between them and kissed the beginning swells. You held the back of his head. He sucked at one nipple, then the other. That goosebump feeling intensified until you were a quivering mess.

He undid your jeans, and your eyes popped open. He looked at you through his pretty lashes. There was a voracity in his dark gaze that said only you could slake his need — and you wanted to be the only one to do it, too.

“This okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Y-yeah.”

With no hesitation, his hand slithered between your stomach and underwear. It burned a line down the curve of your belly through your pubic hair. His middle and ring fingers glided between your wet folds. You gripped his shoulders, hard muscle moved under his skin.

The first long stroke to your clit had your nails digging into his skin and sucking air between your teeth. You couldn’t stop the tiny sound you made. He nibbled at your collarbone, teeth scraped your skin. You leaned your weight against him as your watery legs trembled. His free arm held you upright by the waist.

Rather than circle your clit, he kept stroking. The first wash of pleasure fueled you to move your hips counter to his fingers. His calluses pulled at the hood of your clit, then drove it down. He pressed harder, sparking a sensation deeper than your clit.

Your focus narrowed to your rising orgasm and the thought of his cock pumping deep inside your juicy cunt. You wanted to feel his strong hands restraining you, his sweat-slick skin on yours, and his lush mouth between your legs.

An animalistic keen left your throat at the jumble of images. Your heart hammered in your ears. You rode that knife-edge of climax. It was right there.

“C’mon, baby, fuck those fingers.”

You moaned, doing as he ordered, until ecstasy forced its way through you — so hard, so deep. The internal throb of it stole your strength as it went on and on. You crumbled, putting more of your weight on him. He held you without protest.

“Can feel it,” he said, petting your oversensitive clit.

You writhed in his arms and begged for something you couldn’t put words to. He kissed your throat as he lay still pressure on your clit. Your cunt pulsed strong enough that your hips moved of their own volition.

After a moment, he pulled his hand from your underwear and brought his fingers to his mouth. You sat on his thighs to watch him suck at his wet fingers. He hummed in satisfaction. Your cunt pulsed one last time, as though it hadn’t had enough.

Maybe it hadn’t.

He met your gaze and offered his flushed lips for a kiss. You cradled the back of his head and kissed him with unexpected fervor. You tasted the tang of your own come on his tongue. He held your face, sticky fingers on your cheek, and pushed into the kiss. You sucked your flavor off his bottom lip, pulling a moan from his chest.

“Take the rest off,” he said, falling onto his back.

“You too.”

He smirked.

“Not much more to go.”

You let your eyes track from his chest to the wrinkled lump of blanket covering his groin. Despite knowing, intimately, what was underneath, getting him naked continued to be a thrill.

“Good.”

He blushed, and his smirk softened.

You climbed off him to sit at the edge of the bed. You untied your Docs and wrenched them off. Your socks followed. Eddie kicked the blanket away. While he wiggled out of his briefs, you hooked your thumbs in your underwear and jeans, rising enough from the bed to slide them down your hips and off your legs.

You pivoted on a hip to find him reaching for a condom. His eyes went wide with a question. Or like you’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t. You bent a leg on the bed and plucked a condom from the pile before he could.

“You know,” you said, holding the condom like a cigarette between your fingers. “I think I need to get on the pill.” You got on all fours. “Or get an IUD, or something.”

Sounding on tenterhooks, he asked, “Why’s that?”

You crawled between his legs. He spread his thighs to make room for you.

“So I can have you raw.”

He let out a breath, cheeks reddening further, and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. A thick bead of precome pearled at its slit.

“Would you like that, honey?”

“Shit, you know I would.”

You gave him a playful wink before hunching to lick the tip of his cock. He groaned through a smile, squeezing his cock. You savored the salty taste of him.

You tapped at the back of his hand.

“Let go.”

“I swear, I’m gonna blow in, like, ten seconds flat.”

You sat on your calves with a self-satisfied shrug. He needed to feel as good as he’d made you feel. If that happened quickly, that was fine with you because—

“We got all night,” you said, and tore open the condom packet.

He still hadn’t released his hold.

“Eddie, honey, let go.”

“Just—” He swallowed. “Get it halfway down first.”

You pulled out the lubed condom and discarded the wrapper. He bit his lip, looking as though you were about to perform surgery on him. Keeping your touch light and at the minimum, you pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it over his shaft until it met his fingers.

He shuddered with eyes closed and a crease between his brows.

You said, “Let go.”

He exhaled and thumped his fists to the bed. You wasted no time in rolling the condom the rest of the way down. He panted and keened. His cock twitched in your hand, but you wiped your palms on the sheets before he could embarrass himself.

With a gentle shush, you caressed his hips and ran your thumbs in the shallow groove of muscle on either side. You kept at it until his breathing slowed and tense thighs relaxed.

You maneuvered your knees on either side of him and balanced yourself with a hand on his chest.

“Ready?”

When he nodded, you reached between your bodies to brace his erection. You were so ready, so wet, for this. Even the feeling of the condom didn’t turn you off. You found your hole and eased onto his thick cock, inch by slick inch.

Once you settled, you had to give yourself a moment. You sat with hands on your thighs while you adjusted to the fullness. He felt perfect and delicious. You looked at Eddie to see him watching you, bottom lip between his teeth and fingers digging into the mattress. Emotion filled his bright eyes.

You wanted to soothe him, but if you moved, it would set off a chain reaction he’d been trying to suppress.

“Don’t think.”

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Trying not to.”

If you didn’t take the initiative, he would torture himself for the rest of the evening. You rotated your pelvis. The simple movement made you gasp. It had been so long, and you were so eager for this with him. Under you, he choked on a desperate sound.

“I can’t wait to feel you without any barriers,” you said, rotating your pelvis again. “Feel you come deep inside me.”

He grabbed your hips to propel your movements.

“I’ll fill you up,” he said.

You planted your hands on his chest with a groan and rode him like he wanted you to. You rose only to sink down a second later, never letting him slip out. His hands glided up your sides. With a hum, you encouraged him to touch you — touch you anywhere, everywhere. You couldn’t get enough of his cock, of his nimble hands, of his body tight against yours.

Your need ramped to a boiling fever, some thrilling sickness. You bent to kiss him, sucking on his lip and tongue, as you rolled your hips in a frantic rhythm. Your skin slapped against his, but it wasn’t enough. You hid your face in his shoulder and whimpered when you found no relief.

His arms looped across your back, as if you’d try to escape. Like you could get away from this desire.

You stilled in time for him to roll to the side and on top of you. He pushed his cock deep. You mewled, your thighs stretched around his hips.

His gaze roved over your features.

“I’m gonna fill your sweet pussy.”

You nodded.

He said, “I’ll make you come.”

You closed your eyes as you imagined it. Hands all over you, gripping you, going between your legs, holding you steady as he worked your body. Your cunt clenched at the image.

“Because you’re mine, too.”

You nodded once more.

He adjusted his stance, knees dipping into the mattress. He grasped one of your shoulders as you held onto his arms with shaking hands.

“Look at me and tell me you love me.”

You stared into his eyes. It was all written out there for you to see: no denial, no hiding, and no more doubt.

“I love you.”

He caught your lips and kissed you so thoroughly you forgot anything beyond him. His hold tightened. His hips minutely rocked. His heavy cock kindled that heat hidden inside.

You moaned against his lips and pulled at him. He needed to move. You’d been wanting him for what felt like years. You’d both gone through hell, seen oblivion, and returned to each other’s side. You needed him to move — now.

He buried his face in your neck, lips against the marks he’d left. The rocking of his hips descended into grinding, then full-out thrusting. He fucked you hard. His cock dragged at the underside of your aching clit. The bed springs whined every time he bottomed out.

You couldn’t catch your breath as his thrusts became desperate. He yanked at your hair to bare your throat. His long hair — that smelled of your shampoo — veiled your humid face.

He kissed his marks and murmured something you couldn’t make out. You agreed anyway. He groaned in reply, driving you down while he thrust up. The sheets stuck to the sweat on your back. His hips snapped forward over and over, his cock ramming deep. You tried your best to move with him, but he was too fast.

Then you couldn’t move at all. Your belly quivered and your thighs tensed. His cock was too much. You strained against him, with him, until that fever broke. You shook in his arms. Your jaw clenched. Orgasm burned through you like a geyser. It sizzled up your spine. You couldn’t catch your breath. Hot tears trickled over your temples in rapturous agony.

Eddie fucked you through it, holding you tight. Your cunt throbbed and clamped around his pistoning length. He cursed in needy growls until he seized, breathless. His voice cracked. His thrusts slowed, yet remained fierce, as his cock pulsed with each thrust.

He stuttered a jumble of cut-off thoughts, all of them flattering and loving. You grinned and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging his sides with your thighs. He mouthed at your neck lazily.

After a tranquil moment, he kissed you, gentle yet demanding. You felt him — every bit of him. His lips tasted of salt. His hands sheltered and cradled. His gaze warmed you. You could only respond in kind. He melted as you smoothed his hair away from his flushed, glowing face.

He kissed you one more time before steadying the condom and slipping out of you.

You relaxed, allowing your tired limbs to sink to the bed. He rolled to the side and dropped the condom on the heap of his dirty clothes. You wrinkled your nose, but didn’t comment. He flopped beside you and pillowed his head on a bent arm. The heating system kicked on. Your sweat cooled as you contemplated getting out of bed. Instead, you tucked your feet between the folds of the blanket.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said.

You hummed in acknowledgement and glanced at him.

“I was thinking, and you might not be into this, but you want to go to LA? With me?”

You stared at the ceiling.

Los Angeles: broken glass glittering in gutters, live music every night, fluttering neon, cars with their tops down, a bland apartment with a mattress on the floor, your feet warmed by sunshine as you read the newspaper’s entertainment section, Eddie writing songs at the kitchen table.

A smile spread across your face.

“Hell yeah.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

[mollymauk-teafleak]

oh the times that we believed

More of the fantastic @minky-for-short's human Huskerdust painter and muse au! A bit of plot motived hurt/comfort!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed this!

cw: abuse, sex work, it's Angel Dust working for Valentino and all that implies in canon

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

Angel wondered when he’d start believing the things Husker told him. 

Some things he didn’t believe and wasn’t supposed to. Husk’s stories from his ragged upbringing on the Strip were clearly bright, shiny pearls formed around small grains of some truth, given to be admired and enjoyed, even if it was artificial. Husk would launch into tales of impossible, artful cons, victories snatched at the last moment thanks to a card up the sleeve, run-ins with the mob where Husk’s life hinged on a dice roll and a mad dash on stage to blend into a big band. 

When he told Angel these stories with obvious delight when the younger man laughed until he cried, gasped at just the right moments, hung on his every word, it was like sitting with a younger version of Husk. He’d see the great showman his lover could have been if he’d had quieter demons and more certain luck, the dreams he’d once had that still clung to him, a jacket he’d outgrown a long time ago. Angel couldn’t quite believe any of those stories but that wasn’t the point of a magic show, was it? 

It wasn’t those stories that Angel struggled to believe. It wasn’t anything big, really. All the languages Husker could speak, the achingly beautiful art he made, the places he’d been that Angel only knew as names in a book. All that he could swallow easily, he didn’t doubt that he’d found something special in Husk, a man made of dizzying highs and crashing lows and interesting stories, like an antique store in paint-stained shirtsleeves. 

The problem wasn’t the big things. It was the little things Husk said that Angel didn’t know how to believe, small handfuls of words he whispered gently or scattered like handfuls of seeds, almost unaware of the blooms they’d grow into inside Angel’s mind. 

 I remembered those were your favorite flowers. I just worried you might be cold. I wanted to let you sleep, I know how tired you are. We can take a break. I’ve got you. I’m here. I won’t leave. 

I love you. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to?”

Angel sighed internally and added it to the list, wishing Husk’s love was as easy to believe in as his lies. 

“What do you mean?” he murmured, the question he really wanted to ask but shrunk down small. 

“Well…” Husk’s gaze was knowing, though he didn’t mean that as an attack the way most people in Angel’s life did, he didn’t want to know so he could hurt, “You’ve been sitting in that robe for half an hour now, Legs?”

It was news to Angel, though he wasn’t surprised. Time had always been something slippery to him, running through his fingers like water when other people could grasp it and be sure of it. He’d been prone to black outs when he was a child, snatches of time he wouldn’t be able to recall afterwards, only bruises in the shape of his father’s fists and his sister’s fruitless tears to show him what had happened while he was gone. He’d started escaping into them as a young man, using chemicals to open the doors to oblivion, again relying on souvenirs to piece together the story afterwards when it was safe. When it could almost be something that happened to someone else. 

And now, brain still slick and foggy from the night before, he wasn’t surprised that he slipped away, not wanting to think about what was going to happen when he took off the robe, when Husk saw what was underneath. 

What did surprise him was Husk’s offer. 

“But I’m supposed to sit for you today,” Angel’s fingers toyed with the cheap fake fur that edges his robe, worn flat and matted from how long he’d clung to it as his comfort blanket, “Val ain’t paying you to paint me with my clothes on.”

“And if I gave a rat’s ass what Valentino thought, you wouldn’t spend more time in my bed than you do in front of my easel,” Husk pointed out with a wry smile, coming to sit beside him on the sagging old couch in the corner of the studio.

“I’m coming,” Angel insisted, though his voice was wearing so thin the lie showed through, “I’m just tired. Had a late night, that’s all.”

Angel didn’t know who he was kidding, trying to fool a man who’d grown up on the Strip speaking fluent bullshit, who could see the way his hands were trembling, the way he only pulled his robe tighter around him. But Husk didn’t seem angry or even irritated by the feeble attempt, just studying Angel with a careful, warm gaze. 

“There doesn’t need to be a reason,” his voice was gentle too, light, willing to play along and pretend this was just going to be a regular day, “If you don’t feel like it, you don’t feel like it.”

“You know what my job is, right?” Angel gave a bitter laugh, staring at his hands, trying to force them to relax and not look so desperate, “You know what my life is?”

“Baby,” that broke Husk’s voice a little, the sadness welling up in the cracks, “You ain’t at the club right now. You’re with me, you’re safe here.”

Another thing Angel didn’t know how to believe, another thing to toss into the chasm between what he wanted and what he could do.

“When are you gonna get sick of trying to convince me?” the words slipped out of Angel, past his better judgment, taking advantage of his bone deep exhaustion and clouded mind, “When are you gonna get tired of saying this shit to me and it not making a difference?”

There was a moment of quiet or at least as quiet as this part of the city got, down to just the riot of horns and curses from the street outside. Angel’s stomach went into a sickening freefall, leaving him burning with self hatred. He never could have anything good in his life without bending it to see when it would break, so he could cut his hands on the jagged edges and tell himself the pain had been inevitable, that he’d been right to expect the worst, that he didn’t have to change because the outcome would always be the same. 

“Can I touch you, baby? That okay?”

Angel jumped like a gun had gone off by his ear, the nod shaken out of him before he could think whether it was smart to be honest right now. 

Words were hollow at best and weapons at worst but something about the solid presence of Husk’s hand on his shoulder was more certain, something he could trust in. It hurt, of course it did, there was nowhere under his robe where it wouldn’t, but Angel kept it off his face. He knew it would hurt far worse if Husk took it away. 

“Short answer, Angel? Never,” each word came slowly, like he was checking it over to make sure it was right before putting it in place on the end of his tongue, “Do I wish things were different, yeah, of course I do. I wish you’d never been hurt the way you have, I wish the idea of me loving you and caring about you wasn’t new. But, fuck, I don’t blame you for that, how could I? It ain’t your fault.”

“It isn’t my fault that Valentino has a contract with my name on it?” Angel took a sharp, ragged breath, whipping around to face him, “I was a junkie long before I met him, Husk. My life was well and truly fucked before he decided to make a profit off it. I signed my body over to him and I meant it, how is that not my fault?”

“Because you trusted him back then,” Husk’s voice grew firm, roots digging deep and refusing to bend under Angel’s attempt to wrench it up, “And I know I’m asking you to do the same for me, telling you I won’t hurt you when that’s all anyone’s ever done. Believe me, the asking don’t come easy either. Before you walked into my studio, I was ready to just drink my way to hell and be done with it. Believing I deserve you, that I got any right to tell you I love you…it’s hard.”

For a wild moment, Angel wished he had two sets of arms, one for the part of himself that burned to shove Husk away, one for the part that ached to pull him close, “So why do it? Why try when it’s so hard it feels…impossible?”

“Because you’re worth it.”

Husk said it so plainly, without hesitation, like he was telling Angel the sky was blue, that water was wet. Like he just knew. 

Angel had never had any use for faith, his nonna and his sister had tried to convince him but when he looked at the stained glass, his eyes were always drawn to the snake coiled around the tree, the twisted shapes with horns and claws more than the pure, perfect saints with their palms upturned to the light. Even when he’d been too young to know himself, he had known that when the priest spoke about temptation and deviance and sin, he was talking about Angel. Those were the first words he learned to describe himself and that kind of shame never fully went away. 

But when Angel looked at Husk, he saw something in his eyes that could only be faith. Belief for its own sake, belief because it filled a space inside him, because it felt good when so many other things felt bad. 

“So I’ll never get tired of telling you I love you, baby,” Husk murmured, “I’ll never get tired of telling you you’re safe here. Whether you believe me or not, it’s true and it’ll always be true.”

“Husk…” tears blurred his vision but he still felt that gaze, anchoring him in place. 

He didn’t have the words to finish that sentence, he didn’t know what to call the emotions thrumming in his chest, scared that if he looked too closely they’d crack and fall away. Instead he shrugged out of the robe, letting it turn into a faux silk puddle around his hips, letting Husk see what he’d been hiding from him, why he hadn’t been able to imagine showing him before. 

Husk’s voice was strangled, like something was gripping his throat, something not outside but inside, “Angel. Fuck, what did he do to you…”

The bruises had looked bad that morning when he’d dragged himself upright, showering and dressing quickly so he didn’t have to see them, only feel them, but Angel knew they’d look worse now. Husk’s expression, the tremor in his voice, told him enough. 

“Apparently some big shot was in the club last night,” Angel’s voice was flat, distant, echoing oddly in his ears like it was someone else speaking, “Someone Valentino wanted to impress. I was headlining like usual but I fell, went down hard. No way to recover.” 

He lifted one shoulder, a more misshapen, more natural bruise throbbing like it knew he was talking about it. 

“Val was furious,” he closed his eyes against the memory of flashing eyes and bared teeth, smoke pouring out with every curse and cutting word like there was a fire inside his mouth, “I was in for a beating anyway but then…then I made it worse. I told him I’d slipped because my hands were shaking. I wasn’t gonna tell him why, I’d said too damn much already but…but he made me tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Husk prompted gently, not demanding, just giving him permission to say it. Just promising him he’d be heard. 

“That it was the shakes. That it was because I ain’t had a hit in…a week?”

It sounded such a small thing to say it out loud, a pathetic, scrambling first step up a mountain that stretched into the clouds. Seven days, seven hard, painful, blinding days, felt like nothing to boast about, a child holding up a shiny candy wrapper and calling it treasure. Sitting here, all Angel could think was how seven days wasn’t worth a beating, not when he was just going to fall off the wagon at any moment. 

But Husk’s voice was awed, a tone that would make Angel think of the colorful prayer candles and brightly painted wooden rosary beads in his nonna’s little closet, the place where she carefully tucked her faith and her home away, keeping it safe from their family’s darkness. 

“That’s incredible, baby,” he murmured, finding Angel’s hand and holding tight, “I mean, I’m sorry that asshole flew off the handle but, fuck, I’m proud of you.”

Angel gave a dry, bitter laugh but he held on just as tight, “Don’t get used to it, can’t promise it’s gonna last.”

“Don’t matter,” Husk’s voice was as firm as his grip, keeping Angel anchored, “I’m proud of you either way. For doing it and for telling me, for letting me see. I know what it costs you.”

The smile came easily, easier than it had any right to when he was sitting here wearing nothing but the streaks of tears and blooming bruises, “No more than you’re worth, Husk…sorry, I ain’t gonna make a pretty picture today.”

Husk paused a moment before a light flickered in his eyes, a light that took years off him, that turned him into the main character from those impossible bullshit stories. 

“Well…I’m sure as fuck not lifting a finger for Valentino today, except to give him a taste of his own medicine,” his eyes slid over to his cluttered workbench, deeply stained with turpentine and oil paints, old whiskey jugs and jam jars filled with water in half a hundred swirling colours, “But I still feel like painting. Work with me here, Legs…”

Angel watched in bemusement as Husk began loading the coffee table with half crushed tubes of paint, watercolor palettes that had wept half of their pigments away, his most delicate brushes. He navigated the chaos of his studio almost without thinking, always knowing what he needed and where to find it, even if he never put it down in the same place twice. 

“The hell are you doing, handsome?” Angel tilted his head, putting his arm out when Husk gestured, without even thinking because he just didn’t need to. 

“Trying something new,” Husk sat beside him, dipping a feather light brush into water, then pressing it to a square of dusty pink paint until the horsehair drank the color, until it looked like a flower bud, “Call it inspiration.”

“Like I’m your muse?” Angel flashed him a grin, knowing Husk thought his gold tooth was hot.

“Like you’re the love of my life,” Husk gently touched the tip of the brush to his skin, “Let me know if it hurts…”

It didn’t, the brush was as delicate and gentle as Husk’s own fingers, like it really was an extension of him. A few strokes and that bud bloomed into an orchid on Angel’s skin, with a burn scar in the center. Suddenly it wasn’t where Valentino had pressed the smoldering end of his cigarette to wrench the confession out of him, it was something beautiful. 

“It won’t last forever,” Husk murmured, eyes holding Angel’s, “But neither will the hurt. Either way you’re beautiful and either way, I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Angel’s voice trembled along with his hands, making the orchid dance as if in some breeze, “Can you do more of them?”

Husk raised his knuckles to his lips, “Fields of flowers. A galaxy’s worth of stars. Moons and suns and whatever the hell else you want, baby. I can’t give you much but I can paint you the universe.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got,” Angel laid his head against Husk’s shoulder. 

He said it wasn't much but to Angel, it felt like everything.

Every scar, every bite, every bruise was given something beautiful. Some got flowers until Angel was wearing a necklace of them, some became clouds in a sky that began as daylight at his fingertips and ended at night by his shoulder, with every color in between. Dragons curled around some, guarding them fiercely, planets orbited around others and made them the core of distant solar systems. 

Husk painted almost without thinking, like he was letting whatever he felt for Angel spill out through his brush, giving him a hundred other stories than the ones the bruises told. He made him a fae prince with garters of wisteria on his thighs and serpents curled around his wrists, a young god with the world in his palm, a literal angel with a folded pair of gorgeous wings on his back. He was right, they wouldn’t last, but Angel knew he’d always remember. Nothing was going to take this from him. 

And while he painted, almost as great a gift as the escapes he was offering, Husk listened. He seemed to know which scars to ask about and which to let lie, which ones to frame and which ones to cover. Angel told him about the jagged slash on his back, the bullet that had whizzed overhead while he crouched behind a bar in France, after the drag show he’d been performing in went to shit when an enemy soldier felt the knife strapped to his thigh. He told Husk about the pinhole scar on his ear from his very first, very stupid attempt to pierce them, the one that had ended with his sister bending him over the sink and holding her favorite scarf to his ear until the bleeding stopped. He showed him the bump in his nose, where he’d fallen on his face, smack bang into the sidewalk, right off his very first pair of high heels. 

Husk might have been a showman once upon a time but he’d clearly spent a lot of time in audiences too. His laugh was a smoky wheeze, like an accordion with a hole in the bellows, and he used it at just the right moments. He asked the right questions, he groaned and gasped and chortled and made Angel feel as though he was standing on a stage, bringing the house down. And all while he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, with Husk crawling all over him to paint his chest, his back, down to his ass and between his thighs. It tasted like relief, to be naked but not offered up, to be exposed but not sexualised, touched but not grabbed. He loved when Husk fucked him, of course he did, but it was nice to know it didn’t have to be an inevitability, something to make him feel more powerful rather than powerless. 

Angel didn’t think there was an end to his scars but, by the time the sky outside was bleeding orange, he was standing in front of Husk’s dusty mirror, a completed work of art. Every mark on his skin, from his childhood to last night, was decorated and adorned and loved. He would cry but he didn’t want his tears to ruin the sets of bright, golden eyes Husk had painted on his cheeks. 

Instead he choked out, “Thank you…fuck, Husk, thank you so much…”

Husk wiped smudges in half a hundred colors off his hands, eyes warm and admiring, “Should be me thanking you, baby. You let me help.”

“Now that I don’t believe,” Angel reached out and snagged his collar, pulling him into the frame of the mirror so he could look at himself and Husk at the same time. 

“Listen…there was something else I wanted to give you, not that you need to take it,” Husk’s voice softened, eyes ducking and an honest to God blush darkening his cheeks, “You tell me if I’m being an old fool here…”

Angel paused, watching his lover’s expression in the mirror, struck with the sudden sense that the ground was about to shift beneath his feet. 

“Ever since you introduced me to your friend, Charlie?” Husk cleared his throat, suddenly sounding like he was reading from a prepared speech, “She commissioned me for a couple paintings of her girl, the mean eyed one.”

“Vaggie?” Angel chuckled, “Yeah, she said she was going to. She’s a generous girl, huh? A toff but she’s nice about it.”

“Real fucking generous. I ain’t had pricetags like that since before I blew it all,” Husk admitted with a small, almost disbelieving laugh, “But…it got me thinking. Between what I’m getting from that asshole Valentino and your friend…well, your contract with the club has to have a price attached, right?”

Angel’s heart sank with the bitter, shameful taste of a dream he’d been a fool to believe in, “Yeah. It was a fortune when I first signed it and it’s only gotten bigger every year. Val finds any excuse to add to it, room and board, make up, costumes, the fucking drugs. When I was younger, I thought maybe one day…but it’s impossible.”

“Not for me.” 

The reflection wasn’t enough anymore, Angel turned and looked at Husk, jaw slack, eyes wide, “What?”

“I could give you the money to buy your contract out from under that creep,” Husk’s voice steeled, a fierce determination bolstering it, “Then you wouldn’t have to live with him, you wouldn’t have to work at his whorehouse calling itself a nightclub. You’d be able to get clean, you could find a new job or, hell, you could still strip but it would be on your terms. And he wouldn’t be able to say shit. And…you could leave the city. Get away from all this.”

Husk’s voice stumbled at the end, the words clearly paining him but he said them anyway, not flinching from Angel’s gaze. 

It was a fantasy, an impossibility, like the things he’d painted on Angel’s skin. And in spite of himself and the life he’d lived, in spite of every second that had come before this one, all Angel could do was ask for more. 

“Or?” he prompted, his voice a whisper like it was scared to be heard. 

Dawn broke in Husk’s smile, “Or…I buy the apartment above my tiny, shitty studio. It’s also tiny and shitty but it’s got enough room for two people. You move in, I succeed in pulling my career out of the gutter and give you the chance to build a life you actually like. I make you coffee and flapjacks every morning, you make me your nonna’s recipes, we go out dancing, I drag you to art museums, you make me go to the ball game. And…and I guess we live happily ever after?”

“I guess,” Angel smiled, feeling his heart crack open, all the hope he’d been so scared of rushing in, “I want that, Husk. God, that’s all I want.”

“Then let’s go get it, baby,” Husk drew him close, his embrace smudging the paint but it didn’t matter, this dream meant more. 

Maybe it was just a daydream. Maybe it was one of those stories too fantastical to really believe, the work of a Vegas showman, a beautiful con, the throw of a dice. Maybe it was another escape into oblivion, an idea that would melt away like a high. Maybe it would fade into a scar or blur like paint under a thumb. 

But Angel didn’t care. If it did fall apart, the way everything had before, he’d still say this feeling had been worth it. 

Angel realized now, he didn’t have to wait until he started believing the things Husk told him. He had to choose to believe in them. 

That's what made it faith. 

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #huskerdust painter au #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #husker #angel dust #please reblog and comment

[complexcritterscave]

HI I’M SORRY FOR THE SPIVE ANGST SORRY CHAT PLEASE LOVE ME I’M SORRY PLEASE LOOK I’M DOING FLUFF TO MAKE YOU HAPPY PLEASE DON’T PLACE MY HEAD ON STICK PWETTY PWEASEEEEE I’M JUST A BABY A BABY WRITER DON’T HURT MWEEEEEEE

Fanfic based off THIS LOVELY PERSON’S ART PLEASE SHOW THEM SOME LOVE NOWWWWW 💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤💛🖤

Anyway fanfic starts now :3

Mornings…

Who would want to leave the soft and warm comfort of their bed? The embrace of one’s sheets wrapped around them as if they were but a small infant once more.

There was not a single person in the world who actually enjoyed getting up.

Absolutely no one..

Not a single person…

Nope!

Okay that might have been just a teeny tiny lie…

Well… Not really a lie? How am I supposed to know, I’m just a narrator get off my back!

Moving on…

There really was one person who enjoyed mornings. For her, that meant she had lived to see another day. That she had evaded capture once more. No one could catch a genius, a reborn, intuitive Einstein as she would say. That’s right! Bive was the smartest cookie there was!

Mornings were a sign of hope, that she still had a chance to spread the truth! A chance to save everyone. Of course some were too far gone to be saved and would have to suffer the consequences for when the clowns came and snow soldiers took over but they picked their poison. They made their bed. They dug their graves. Now they had to lay in them when the time came.

Besides! Even if she couldn’t save everyone, she could save some of them! She could use her cleverness to think of plans to save those who listened. Her brains to find solutions to their biggest problems. She could accomplish anything as long as she was wide awake, as long as the gears in her head were constantly turning!

…

So why weren’t they spinning now?

She stared at her corkboard, her expression dull as she leaned against the brick wall of the maze. She felt horrible. Her head was killing her and her special brew wasn’t helping her in the slightest. If anything it made it worse! She felt top heavy and ill, her arms and legs acted as if they were a fruity gelatine. Maybe even a sweet lime flavour gelatine…

If that didn’t sound awful already. She was groggy and irritated. Her cat-like reflexes were more like a snail’s and her vision would occasionally blur.

What in the name of Clown Militia was going on with her?!

She let out an annoyed groan as she used the wall to keep herself upright before eventually succumbing and falling over. It was as if her own body were betraying her!

Useless vessel. Didn’t know she was the reason it was even alive! Talk about ungrateful…

There had to be someone she could trust to assist her. DrRETRO? No. That furball thought she was insane. Poob? No. They’d make it worse with their constant partying. Mark? He’d try and fix her with some sort of wood trick. Wallter? He trusts the flowers… Absolutely not…

Wait… God it was worse than she thought. She couldn’t even CONTACT any of them! None of them had her signal! Oh the fool she was! A complete and total fool!

Who had her radio signal..? Her memory was a bit fogged at the moment but she knew she gave it to someone..

Aha! Split! At least she thinks so? She couldn’t remember very well. She reached for her radio, twisting and turning the knobs as she attempted to reach the fruit-taur, letting out a cry of pain from the feedback and hissing through her teeth.

She let out a quiet sigh, trying to ignore the splitting pain that shot through her head, with every knob turn a new static frequency filling the air. Her voice croaking as she spoke into the radio.

"Split?"

"Split are you there?!"

The fruit-taur was sleeping peacefully in her own bed, a small banana-themed night light shining on her nightstand beside her alarm clock. It was still frankly early, only about 4am.

All was quiet…

"SPLIT!"

… Until it wasn’t…

Split immediately shot up, breathing heavily as she was suddenly awoken from her restful slumber. Her heart racing as she glanced around frantically.

"WHO’S THERE?! SHOW YOURSELF! I KNOW KUNG FU! I’VE SEEN ENOUGH MOVIES TO KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!"

Despite being unable to see, she immediately went on the defensive, tensing up as she tried to look as threatening as possible.

"Split…? Split are you there? Split..? Split!"

She turned towards her nightstand, the adrenaline dying down as it slowly became replaced with tired realization. She grabbed her glasses, putting them on before reaching for the radio.

"SPLIT?! Oh no. DID THE CLOWNS GET YOU?! OH GOD THIS IS AWFUL THEY KIDNAPPED HER?! WHAT AM I GONNA DO?! If they got her… THEN THEY’RE ATTACKING NOW! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD! THAT MEANS THEY’RE COMING FOR ME NEXT! I GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE THEY CATCH ME AND-"

"Bivey, you’re spiralling again…"

Bive’s side of the radio went quiet, as if she were processing the moment before answering.

"SPLIT YOU’RE OKAY- AcK- Ow ow radio feedback ow."

Split couldn’t help but smile, finding her worry endearing before speaking up.

"Yes, I’m fine. What’s going on with you? It’s uh…"

She glanced at the clock.

"Four in the morning. I don’t even think the early bird gets up this early!"

"IT’S AN EMERGENCY! THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME!"

"What-?"

Well that was concerning news.

"What do you mean something is wrong with you?"

"MY BODY IS ACTING WEIRD. I THINK I MAY HAVE BEEN POISONED! SOMEONE POISONED ME!"

She listened as the detective rambled on and on, blinking as she tried to slowly put everything together.

"Poisoned-? Bive what-? No one poisoned you. You probably just have a cold."

"THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! I CAN’T GET SICK! I-"

"Okay okay fine! You’re not sick! Just calm down."

"HOW CAN I CALM DOWN WHEN I’VE BEEN POISONED?!"

"Oh my… Bive? Just… Stay calm for now? I’ll be over soon."

Guess she wasn’t sleeping in like she originally planned. She sighed as Bive rambled some incoherent words before the radio went dead, having no clue what she said before she got up. She was just in a comfortable T-shirt, that’s decent enough to go out.

It’s not like anyone would see her, it was too early for someone to be out and about on the elevator… Apart from her of course…

Bive was leaning against the wall, her head still throbbing and body still weak. She felt awful. There was no way she WASN’T poisoned. How was this even possible?! Even if they DID make it through the maze, how did they catch her off guard?! She was awake the whole time!

This was worse than she thought. Her enemies were getting smarter. They had found her location, slipped through the maze, and caught her off guard while she was on guard! Oh this was horrible. Truly terrible! How could she save anyone in her weakened state?!

The next hours were spent in agony. Well at least it felt like hours, it had really been only thirty minutes as she sat there patiently. Waiting for the Split’s arrival.

Speaking of Split, she was already stepping off the elevator, standing outside of the maze as she yawned. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, it wasn’t even dawn. She entered the maze, knowing her way decently enough to where she couldn’t get lost and only worrying about Scary Mike and an overly excited Fleshy, more so Mike, as she navigated herself through it.

Turning one of corners, she noticed the soft glow of a yellow light. Bingo. She quickened her pace down the hall, the strong scent of coffee wafting over her as the glow became stronger. Soon enough, she was met with the living quarters of the paranoid detective.

It was just as unorganized as she remembered, red string and empty styrofoam cups littered the floor. At least she listened to her the last time Split was over and picked up the thumbtacks, those were just accidents waiting to happen. Her floppy ears lifted as she heard a quiet and pained groan, looking down to see that Bive was on the floor, against the wall, with her head in her hands.

"Bive?"

She let out a startled yelp, trying to jump back only to met with a brick wall as she hissed through gritted teeth. That didn’t help with her headache and weak body at all… She looked up at the fruit-taur, a wave of relief and realization washing over her.

"SPLIT-! HI! HELLO…"

"Are you okay?"

"No! I’ve been POISONED! I’m going to DIE!"

"You’re not going to die."

"YES I AM!"

"Why do you think that?"

"BECAUSE THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME!"

She winced in pain as she felt another debilitating stroke of pain shoot through her head, gritting her teeth and using the wall to stand as she leaned against it. Seeing her state, Split grew concerned. Her being poisoned was a stretch but there was very well a chance she may have done or eaten something that could cause her this much harm.

"Can you tell me exactly what you’re feeling right now..?"

"Er-! A stupid headache… I feel a bit nauseous… lightweight… Annoyed with everything.."

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes…"

"Have you had some water?"

"..Yes…"

"Have you slept..?"

"…"

"Have. You. Slept?"

"Uh… No…"

"When’s the last time you have?"

"…"

"Bive… When was the last time you slept?"

"Hold on. I’m trying to remember…"

"You shouldn’t have to remember! It should’ve been recently!"

"BUT THAT LEAVES ME VULNERABLE TO THE CLOWNS AND SO-"

"You’re also vulnerable to them if you DON’T sleep!"

Touché…

"Oh please, I’m not even tired!"

"Doesn’t mean anything!"

"I think it means a lot!"

"Do you want to feel better or not?"

"I do."

"Then go to sleep!"

"But-!"

"No no! I don’t wanna hear it. No buts! If you’re that worried about being attacked by someone, I can just stay with you! Problem solved!"

Bive stared at Split for a moment. She’s never had her stay over. But seeing how much the fruit-taur wanted her to sleep, she knew she didn’t have much of a choice.

"Fine."

"Thank you…"

Split watched as the detective huffed and left to go get ready for bed, smiling as she grumbled underneath her breath. Even if she wasn’t happy with the idea, it was certainly necessary.

She continued to wait patiently before Bive reappeared, no longer in her classic coat and pants but in her own sleepwear.

"I don’t like this."

"Too bad. You need it."

"Do I though?"

"Go to bed."

Seeing as she wasn’t going to be able to wriggle herself away from this situation, she groaned before heading off back to her room, falling onto the bed and just laying there while waiting for fall asleep. She wasn’t very good at this thing…

Split stood outside the door, still feeling sluggish but forcing herself to stay awake. She had no idea what time it was since Bive owned no clocks; something about time being stopped and how every other clock was a fake, but it felt as if it were still early. She felt herself dozing off, but tried to fight against it. Right as she was about to drift off to sleep, she felt someone tap her shoulder.

"Split…? I can’t sleep."

She jerked awake, staring down at Bive before sighing.

"Are you okay?"

"I’m fine! Just tired.."

"Oh…"

"…"

"Do you wanna sleep in my bed?"

"What?"

"I MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE TO! I just thought.. Ya know!"

She stared tiredly down at the stammering and jittery detective, a small grin appearing on her face.

"I’ll take you up on that offer…"

Bive paused, looking at Split before forcing out a nervous laugh.

"AHAH! Uh OKAY!"

She led the fruit-taur into her room, watching as she dragged her paws towards the bed. She paused midway before looking towards Bive.

"Wait. Where are you gonna sleep?"

"Uhh… I just… won’t? Since I’m not tired..?"

She gave her a nervous smile, flashing her yellow tinted teeth at Split. Unfortunately for her, the other’s gaze hardened.

"Alright, I’ll just fix it this way."

Before she could get a reply out, she was dragged into the bed with her, the fruit-taur was holding her close as she sighed.

"This… This isn’t necessary you know?"

"Yes it is."

"But-"

"Bivey?"

"… Yes?"

"Goodnight."

"… Goodnight, Split.."

Bive fell quiet, listening quietly as Split’s breathing eventually slowed into quiet snores. She laid there a moment, before clinging onto the other, snuggling against her before sighing. A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her as she began drifting off.

"Goodnight…"

RAHHHHHHH FANFIC FINISHED. Sorry if it isn’t as good as my angst fic, I hope you enjoyed it though!!!!!

Omw to work on the Cheshire Cat doomed yuri fanfic someone double dog dared me to write now bye sillies <3

#regretevator #regretevator bive #regretevator split #bive regretevator #bive #split #split regretevator #bive x split #split x bive #regretevator spive #spive regretevator #spive #she regret on my evator

[strawberrysodaslut]

hey babe! loveeee your work! could you possibly write a steve x reader where reader works at the local book store? honestly i trust you so much with this so run with the wind!! write it however you want just with that plot point! i just wanted book nerds (me) to represented lol. love ya 😘

Video Killed the Bookstore Clerk - Steve Harrington x Reader

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❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

[ Steve Harrington Masterlist ]

[ Main Masterlist ]

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word count: 1.2k

summary: working in a bookstore right next to the video store had its ups and downs, but Steve Harrington was definitely a highlight to your day.

warnings: fluff, mention of smutty books, platonic relationship (for now)

a/n: this request made my writing juices floww, i feel like i focused more on the reader working at a bookstore than Steve himself but I hope I was still able to do this request justice!!

join taglist <- tags in reblog

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

Working at a bookstore was one of the better decisions you had made in your teenage years.

It wasn’t perfect by any means, the pay wasn’t amazing, neither were the hours, your co-workers were either so pretentious you couldn’t talk to them about anything you enjoyed, or so boring you hated the idea of asking them, but there definitely were some upsides.

One of your favourite parts of working at the book store was meeting people who read the same books you did, getting to talk to them all about the book.

what’s their favourite character?

what’s their least favourite character?

what scene made them cry?

what scene made them rip the book in half?

did they actually rip the book in half?

is that why they’re here to buy another copy of the book?

It made for some amazing conversations for sure.

You also loved how much you could learn about people based on the books they read, you’d get the people who only came to buy books for their English class,

the people who love horror and gore who asked you how much violence was actually in the book, only to come back complaining that there wasn’t enough,

there were the people who adored the romantic books, craving that kind of love in their real world,

and then… there was a specific type of book that more people came for than they’d care to admit.

Some would call them erotica, some would call it sensual, but the most common phrase, porn books. You couldn’t blame them, those writers knew how to get you feeling all sorts of ways, but there was humour to watching people buy the books that you couldn’t ignore.

There, of course, were the people with no shame, who would walk directly to the spicy stuff, pick out the book and walk straight to you. But most of your customers would have a bit more… nuance when buying that genre.

It would always start with the classics, looking at books they already read in school, or books they would never read, then they’d dip their toes in, try looking at the general romance, the fluffier stuff where sex is only between the betrothed. And then, only for a few minutes, would they pick out the book they were actually here for, either acting disgusted with the premise or completely unaware of the contents of the book, but you knew the truth… they knew exactly what was in that book.

Another part of working at the bookstore was the rivalry with your neighbour, the video store. To this day, you still don’t know which store was here first, but whoever decided to go next door to the other was either an idiot or an evil genius, or maybe both.

It was honestly hilarious watching how serious your pretentious co-worker, Adam, would take the unspoken competition between the two stores. Whenever you spoke to someone working there- or god forbid shopped there, you’d get a painfully long lecture the next day about how “Movies are the death of books” and how they’re “rotting people's minds and only the sanctity of books will save them.”

While you enjoyed books, it was shocking to see the extent this man would go to in ‘defence’ of an art form that has been around for centuries.

“Didn’t you hear the song ‘Video killed the radio star’? It’s the same thing here. Open your eyes.” Adam said, continuing another very long rant after catching you rent ‘Back to the Future.

You roll your eyes, “You know one day those stores are probably gonna become obsolete, right? Eventually, technology is gonna move past renting tapes to watch a movie at home, I mean- cinemas have been around for decades and we’re doing fine. You need to relax, books will be okay.”

“Not if I have any say in the matter” You hear a male voice from the front door, specifically, Steve Harrington’s voice.

Steve was one of the clerks at the video store, and one of the few people on the shopping strip you could actually stand. Although neither of you particularly cared about the whole ‘books vs film’ competition, you had a lot of fun participating- mainly to make fun of each other.

“At least when people pay for our stuff, they keep it.” You joked to Steve, watching as he dramatically pushed his hand over his heart, as if he was hurt by your comment.

“My, what an attitude we have here today.” He says, walking behind the counter while ignoring Adam’s protests as he sits next to you, “It’s called marketing, if they wanna watch the movie again they have to come back. Books don't have that, do they?”

You gave a sarcastic nod, hoping it would add some humour to your comeback, “Libraries,” You say, watching as the smirk on Steve’s face dropping as he thinks about it.

“Shit.” He says, making you laugh.

The two of you then continue the tradition you’d had for months, he would rent a movie he thought you’d like, and you’d do the same with a book, then the next week you’d trade back and share your thoughts.

“So, what’d you think of ‘It’?” You ask, nodding to the book he had pulled out of his bag.

Judging by his face, you knew he had some things to say. “Look, I liked it- I really did. It has that Stephen King charm you know I love. But the part with the kids fucking? Fucked up.”

You nod, understanding what he’s talking about “Yeah, that part was pretty icky,”

“Super fucking gross,” He says, laughing a little. “What about you? Did you like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”

You nod, “Yeah, it was real funny.” It was a lie, you hadn’t actually gotten the chance to see it, between school and work, you didn’t have the time.

Steve knew you too well to think you were telling the truth, so he decided to test you a little, “Who’s your favourite character?”

You chuckle, “Uh- my favourite character is… Ferries Bueller?”

“You didn’t watch it,” Steve says, shaking his head at you.

A wave of guilt overcomes you, “I know, I didn’t. I’m so sorry, I just got so caught up with work and school, and I only lied because I didn’t wanna ruin our tradition because I really like spending time with you and-“

Steve cuts you off, “Hey- woah… hey, it’s no big deal, we’ll just have to watch it tonight.”

You look up at him, “Really?” The two of you had never seen each other outside of work hours, it seemed insane to imagine him in your house.

He nods, “Sure, why not? I’ll bring the popcorn?” He says, getting up to head out of the store.

“Sure, what time?” You ask.

Steve shakes his head from side to side, trying to think of a time, “Oh, I don’t know, Seven?” He asks, smiling as you nod. “See you then.” He says, walking out the door.

You smile, going back to stocking the shelves when Steve comes back into the shop, paper and pen in hand.

“I forgot to ask for your address.”

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things s4 #stranger things season 4 #steve harrington #joe keery #steve harrington headcannons #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington dialogue #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you

[slayersweek]

2023 SLAYERS SECRET SANTA INFO AND SIGNUP FORM:

Hello! Please read over the following before signing up. Thank you!

What ‘Secret Santa’ Means: You create a fanwork, and you’ll receive one in return. Everyone who wishes to participate will provide prompts that they’d like to see completed, and another participant will be assigned their prompts and will complete one of those prompts (which one is completed is up to the person they’re assigned to).

When you submit your prompts, you are welcome (and encouraged) to tell me anything you are uncomfortable with or don’t wish to do (pairings, genre, rating, etc), that way the prompts you’re given are something you’re comfortable writing/drawing.

Rules and Regulations:

1) Watch this tumblr!  If you do not have a tumblr yourself, please put it in your bookmarks and remind yourself to check it often.

2) Can I ask for ____?  You can ask for whatever you want- rating, genre, etc. However, please keep in mind that if you’re asking for something super unusual, you might want to provide some broader prompts as well.

3) How long do I have to signup?  Signups will end on Thursday, November 30, 2023. That is all month to sign up!!

4) When is the deadline?  Please have your piece completed and posted by Wednesday, January 31, 2024. You can post your gift anytime starting from Monday, December 25, 2023.

5) How do I post it?  Post it in your own tumblr and link it to us or tag us so we can reblog it over here. You may link to where your fanwork is posted off tumblr (to livejournal, dreamwidth, ff.net, ao3, deviantart, etc) in your post.

6) How long does fic have to be?  At least eight hundred words. It doesn’t need to be super-long of course, but we want everyone to get something that’s more than drabble length.

7) Are there any extra requirements for the art?  It can be done in any medium (digital, colored pencil, copic, sketch, etc). Just remember that this is a gift for someone, so make sure it’s a completed piece!

8) Can I do fancomics?  Yes. Absolutely.

9) What if I need to drop out?  Then I would ask you to please let me know as soon as possible (and before the December 25th deadline) so we can arrange a pitch hitter for you. Failure to notify me will ban you from future events.

10) What is a pitch hitter?  If someone has to drop out, I’d still like their giftee to get a gift. A pitch hitter is someone who is willing to do a second fanwork in order to make sure no one goes without a gift.

11) What type of prompts should I give?  Prompts can be anything from something vague like “Lina, Gourry, Amelia, and Zelgadis exchange gifts,” “Sylphiel and Martina go to the beach” to something specific like “I’d like to see a fic where Lina and Gourry are pulled into an undersea world. The two end up facing an ancient source of magic, and they must team up with many witch and wizard allies. I’d like if it featured Lina/Gourry and Zelgadis/Amelia, and if possible… some Filia/Valgaav? A happy ending, please!” You must give me three prompts or I cannot fairly give your requests to your Santa.

12) I have another question!  Then please ask it via our askbox (anon asks are enabled).

Okay, I’m ready to signup! Please copy and paste the below form and submit it to the SlayersWeek inbox to sign up.

GIVING: Tumblr Username: Email or Alternate Contact:   Specialty (Fanfic or Fanart- If you can do both, you may list both): Highest Rating You’ll Work With: Will Not Work With (Any characters, pairings, genres, scenarios, you won’t do): RECEIVING: Do Not Want (Any characters, pairings, ratings, genres, scenarios, etc you don’t want to receive): Do You Prefer fic, art, or no preference?: Three Prompts: 1) 2) 3) Can you pitch hit if someone drops out?:

Please SUBMIT your completed form HERE. If you have any further questions, you can direct them to this blog HERE, or to my personal HERE.

#slayers #the slayers #slayers secret santa 2023

[sunlightfeeling]

re: flop posts reblog’s tags, i really like your smaposting and glad to see you excited about making stuff and talking about your fav stuff, but if it’s uncomfortable to you, i can lower my presence in your notifs? or do whatever that would make you happy with posting about things that you love!

AAAA no I’m genuinely so sorry I gave that impression (my tags were really really crabby reading them back looord lmfao)

—

This is going to be a super long explanation but I really just want to clarify? And try not to misconstrue what I think my tags meant in more “critical-thinking” terms lol:

I think my tags were more…targeted from recently seeing the influx of takuya/smap-inspired posts but their…judgment/lost judgment related. I really hate calling this type of thing out and being complainy but I actually think its made me more bitter about the fandom? To be horribly blunt?

When I see these posts, I can’t help but have the initial feeling that maybe some still only care about Takuya’s piece in SMAP…when there’s literally four other men (sometimes five) standing right next to him. This isn’t new though, like if you look at SMAP’s history, its a chronic thing with Takuya being the star compared to the others.

And…this isn’t me assuming they aren’t fans of them all but…I guess the main thing is that if the only smap post I see from someone are just…Yagami…it kind of hurts, I guess?

Because oh…it’s Takuya again…which is great lmao but like…stares at elephant in the room (the sheer amount of posts of takuya vs the other members)

But then I’m hit with oh wait, that’s not even takuya lol, that’s…yagami …..

Which I know I sound like a major bitch because fan content is fan content etc etc etc

I think maybe it’s because smap means a lot (a lot) to me and I wish the opportunity was used to give them love and support, rather than seeing a chance to play Yagami dress up.

Which I want to clarify!! More!

I am not automatically anti-any of this. Using anything SMAP as inspiration for JE/LJ content: art, fic, etc etc etc is super sweet to me and I love all the little references to Takuya’s IRL career. It really shows how Yagami is a pretty multi-layered protagonist, especially when you find how many references to Takuya’s IRL career got squeezed into these games. Like RGG went all-in with the references, so should fic writers, artists, etc etc if they’d like to!

To kind of tie this post up, lol:

If you’re enjoying the posts, I absolutely support this and don’t want you to feel uncomfortable interacting. If anything, it makes me happy knowing that I’m hopefully infecting more rgg people with smap and pulling them closer and closer to the swamp (😈😂)

But more seriously, thank you, thank you, thank you for the support because it actually does mean so much to me and I’m so happy I can, hopefully, lend someone else some serotonin and dopamine with my brainrot beautifully thought out posts 😇💕

#im actually so sorry i gave that impression 😭 #im leaving the tags for my own accountability #but they’re so bitchy 😭😂 #had a splitting headache and in the middle of prep-hell so i was just overall ✨bitter✨ #(which isn’t an excuse at all but…maybe a reason why my tone was way off lmao) #ramblin but not a gamblin man #long post

[groovygladiatorsheep]

Remember that post where I said I’d stop talking about it ?

Some things happened in between,

I feel like I should explain how I feel about this whole thing.

—

So ! It happens you have an option where you can check up on people you blocked ( if they’d didn’t already blocked you and you blocked them back like I did with Nadia. )

And I saw Zaiko answer and Nadia answer, which was to come, which I am here to answer and provides proof !

So, plan out -

1. Nadia coming to me on an alt account to ´apologize’

2. Tracing art for their Gacha mod + answer to Zaiko’s post

—

1.

I received, yesterday despite Nadia saying they’d leave me alone in other old screenshots from someone else I also have, here’s one under their old username ;

( do you realize that ? They didn’t ask me to remove the block they “wanted” it. )

I received a text, what kind of text ?

( you forgot about me, but not enough to contact me under another account ? )

Here you go. Alicehopes, aka Alice used to be Azulnadia’s old username.

As you can see, it’s not a good apology. Why ? Because they say they forgive me too, that in their heart they forgive themselves..

What do I have to forgive myself when all I did was break off our ships and block you ? It’s a question I asked myself a lot, I did.

There’s more to the convo, here’s Nadia ignoring the part where I say to take off the video where they traced my art. Their answer is ? To ignore it.

You know what Im talking about when I say art video. In fact you can see the bottom of the screen, I showed them the screenshot of their Gacha mod « Eclipse »

( which was originally named Narkos, an old ship child of mine ! Coincidence or plagiarism, im still not sure knowing them. It’s just a name so it’s a side thought. )

I don’t have the complete screenshot of after that since I did block that account, and the account was deleted after by Nadia.

2.

So ! To answer Zaiko’s post.

I translated the answer, which you can see on their blog with Google Translate, since I’m bad at Spanish.

« that is Mode concept, said Mode concept was created by AZULNADIA AND BY NOBODY ELSE, true, SOME contributed to certain garments, but the vast majority of designs belongs to AZULNADIA. »

Except ! The two traced art from me. No, changing colours doesn’t make it different from tracing.

« If they tell about plagiarism… here I ask them, who plagiarizes whom ? 👀 »

Maybe the one having posted last ? Also know as Azulnadia !

Last reblog on Violan post, which you can feel free to check ! Vs Gacha Eclipse posting time.

19 January 2023 vs 2 November 2022.

« The hat that is there, is very similar to the one worn by the groovy character… but oh no! IT IS IN PTRO COLOR, ISN’T THAT PLAGIARISM OR RECOLOUR ?! 📸 🤨 »

Very good question, but here’s the thing ; you only showed one item, a recoloured one.

What about this ?

Which is the same colour, the same design, the same flowers, leaves.. then again go and take a look if they did not remove it ! No, this do not belongs to Gacha club, but to me I created and drew this designs.

( and it’s the same trait for trait, so it is ‘plagiarism’ )

And.. the date you ask ?

2022 reactions, please feel free again to go and check yourself I reached images limit.

-> Nadia, I no longer take it in if you apologize, you had the chance to and it was simply not an apology, but I do know as stated, you won’t.

#discourse cw #discourse #important #I refuse to be accused of tracing my own art. #and y’all deserve a proper explanation of a part of the stuff I went through during those months. #but yes ! #tagged properly so people who don’t want to see it can avoid it ‘ #now I’ll really try not answering more stuff #it’s no use

[ailendolin]

L, N and P for the fandom meme, my dear 😊

Thank you, dear! 💙

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves (chars you’re neutral on are fair game, as are chars you dislike)

All right, let’s go with Kitty for this one. One aspect of her character I genuinely like is her interest in weird, gory things. I think the moment she became fascinated with Maddocks’s foot (or lack thereof) was the first time I could truly relate to her. That could have been me, 100 %, and I’m sure everyone around me reacted the way the other ghosts did when I told them about that one time I dissected mummified bat skulls under a microscope. So yeah, I love this part of Kitty's character.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

1. More positivity rather than discourse. Every now and then people post about ships or characters they dislike, and I just wish rather than complaining about why there’s so much content for them, they’d use that energy to support the creators who actually make the content they want to see. There’s no better way to encourage a writer / artist / gifmaker than to leave them feedback. Which brings me to point 2.

2. More interaction with fics, art and gifsets. Likes are all well and good but it's reblogs that get works seen and comments that motivate creators to make more. Fandom thrives on interaction so I'd like to encourage everyone to reblog instead of like something and leave at least a little heart or random thought in the tags of the fic, art or gifset to let the creator know they liked it.

3. More gen fics. Granted, I don’t read many fics because I'm always afraid of other people’s ideas influencing my own writing but I get the impression that a lot of Ghosts fics focus on romance (some my own included) and I’d love to see more found family type stories that focus on friendships.

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas)

I always struggle with inventing AUs because Coffee Shop AUs and the like don’t really do it for me. For me, an AU only works if it retains at least some of the core elements of the show, and that makes it quite difficult to come up with an AU for something like Ghosts.   

But I have recently thought about the potential of a Primeval AU. If you’re unfamiliar with the show, it’s about prehistoric animals wandering into modern time through so-called anomalies. So there's dinosaurs and mammoths roaming the streets, but every now and then humans from the past appear in the present as well. And that’s where our beloved ghosts would come in:

Fanny still gets pushed out of a window by George but instead of landing on the hard ground, she falls through an anomaly and lands in a lake

after Thomas gets shot he staggers through an anomaly and survives thanks to modern medicine

the arrow that hits Pat vanishes through an anomaly before it can reach him. Pat ushers the kids into the bus before he investigates the sparkly thing and gets lost in time

Robin runs from the bear straight into modern Britain

Mary flees into an anomaly when she tries to run away from the witch hunters

Humphrey's anomaly opens below him when he comes out of his hiding place

Julian vanishes from his time while hiding in someone else's bedroom closet - half-naked, of course

Kitty probably went through an anomaly while playing hide and seek

The Captain stumbles upon an anomaly during maneuvers and checks it out (there might just be a possibility Havers does the same in Africa and the two of them to meet again in the future)

the Plague Ghosts cause quite a ruckus when they show up in modern times because, well, they’re infected with the plague. By the time Jemima arrives a few months later, safety measures for this sort of thing have been implemented

Alison and Mike still inherit Button House in this AU. When the government attempts to take the house from them because they need a place for all these misplaced people that’s far away from everywhere else, they strike a deal with them: the Coopers get to keep the house and the government pays them to let the people stay, thus enabling them to repair it

at some point, the government brings them a mammoth - a literal mammoth. Robin is over the moon. Alison and Mike are not. Fanny hopes the next animal will be a sabre-toothed cat.

Ask Game can be found here.

Already answered: A & O

Next up: M, U, E

#ask game #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts primeval au

[twopoppies]

Hi gina! Hope you’re doing well. I saw your post a few days ago about meeting some fandom friends and i just wanted to ask for advice on how to make friends in the fandom. I’ve been here for almost five years and i’ve never made any friends. It’s like my social anxiety is still present through the phone, i’m always too shy to talk to someone and even if i wish someone a happy birthday i do it anonymously. And i know that experiencing fandom with people who share the same interests is the most exciting thing but i just can’t seem to be able to make any friends. And most people here are super nice and some of them wish me happy birthday but i just don’t know what to do

Hi darling. Oh, I totally understand. My social anxiety makes that sort of thing tough, too. I’m generally much better when someone else initiate contact. I think if there are people who you think you might be able to connect with, maybe try just messaging them off anon about something they mention in tags, or ask them a question about a fandom thing you’ve thought about, or ask their opinion on something like a particular song’s meaning. If you’re nervous about it being shared publicly, DM them, or send an ask, but ask if they’d reply to you privately. Let them know you exist and want to connect. I’m sure no one will mind that—even if it doesn’t lead to a major connection. It’s at least practice for you. If the person is a content creator, try complimenting them on their work, telling them about what you like about their art or their writing it whatever. We’re kind of all in the same boat here. Most of us knew no one when we got here.

When I think about the people I talk to most often, usually we connected because they messaged to ask me questions or messaged me about a particular post. Or I noticed their posts on my dash or their tags on reblogs and I liked their vibe. @indiaalphawhiskey and I became friends years ago because she asked me to draw something for one of her fics. @blackandwhlteaesthetlc and I became friends because she used to send her thoughts about things into my inbox. They were always off anon and I just thought she was interesting and smart. At some point we started talking via DM. I think @daisiesonafield-blog and I started talking because we were reblogging each others posts a lot. @complicatedvol6 and I spend most of our conversations talking about shit we hate (like T*ylor) 😆😆😆 There are so many ways to strike up conversations. Not everyone is going to keep it going, but that’s okay. Just try someone else.

[kittttycakes]

Yes that would be such a trip for Hob to meet Johanna. I can just picture his face and double take when he sees her! I’d love to see Grace trying to get as much info out of Johanna as she can too.

You know, now that you mention it, I reckon Rose would actually be great!

She knows a little bit about the Endless but isn’t super close to any of them, is a writer (maybe she and Grace can talk writing and procrastination, and Rose could get little tidbits of info for her book from Grace), and is an all round excellent human. Do you think they would have a big/little sister/cousins kinda vibe? Or just friends?

Also, what about Gault? Do you think she and Grace would get along?

Or Calliope? (Is that too messy as Morpheus ex though?)

I am so excited about your Promptober plans! Super keen for that an cannot wait!

Also, what you reblogged about the Dreamling monsters to lovers trope. So good. And I love that for Hob and Grace and Morpheus so much!

Grace is just so deeply curious about things! Not pictured in the fic is every time she has absolutely grilled Morpheus about the Dreaming and his function and how he creates dreams and the limits of his power and the list just goes on. He mostly answers, as much as he can, and as much as any one human (even an immortal one) is capable of conceptualizing and understanding. She would definitely do the same to Johanna, especially if this is her first introduction to “Oh, by the way, demons? Also very real!”

I think her and Rose definitely do end up having a nice relationship! Grace would technically eventually be her…double great aunt? She’s not that much older than her (a little over 10 years, I would think?), so I think that complicates the more traditional family dynamic that you’d expect, but what about this family is traditional? They talk books and dreams and writing and Grace doesn’t have to be anything but herself. She can say “No, I’m just annoyed with your uncle. No, the other one.” and have it just be…normal, which is huge for her. Even if she can’t talk relationship things with her, just having their relationship be out in the open and not a secret is so nice, and she would absolutely like Rose (and Jed!) as a person.

Grace would love to meet Gault! I think they’d get on as well, which I know I say for everyone, but Grace is a generally pretty affable person, and she especially loves meeting dreams and nightmares. She’s probably dreamt of Gault before, in her function, so getting to meet her outside of that would be interesting! Grace thinks she’s beautiful, especially her wings.

Someday, I think, Grace will meet Calliope. It’s definitely a little awkward, meeting her partner’s ex-wife, but she’d be absolutely in awe of her. Calliope would get it in a way that other people wouldn’t, though, and that can’t be underestimated, even if they probably don’t talk in too much detail about Morpheus, for both of their sakes. They could definitely have a nice talk about art, though! And if Grace walks away from the conversation feeling inspired just from being in her presence, hey, that’s not so bad at all! And maybe later, they happen upon each other again, and are in a situation where they could have a glass of wine or two, and let loose a bit, and have a nice talk as two people who have loved the same person.

I had so much fun with Promptober last year so I’m very much looking forward to doing it again!! Getting to pick out ideas is my favorite part and I already have a few I for sure want to do, which is exciting.

I love monsters to lovers, it hits every single time. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Grace is not exactly the norm. The speed with which she accepts Morpheus in his more nightmarish aspects? Not the move of someone who is just totally average and normal. She’s many other things too: curious and kind and intelligent, but she’s also just a little weird. And she’s found people who appreciate that about her! She definitely has had the “No, you cannot doom that man to an eternity of nightmares just because he disagreed with me during a panel discussion at the conference. Dr. Ward, though…” conversation at least once, maybe twice, three times on the outside. Hob is just not great at boundaries when it comes to Morpheus because he genuinely doesn’t care, he just wants him and loves him and he’ll take that however he can get it, but he definitely does have to enforce some of the basic ones and Morpheus is just pleased as punch to be getting a good grade at being a partner, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve. They can all be a little monstrous together, in the enormity of their want, as a treat!

#anon <3 #oc: grace talbot #to the surprise of no one monster to lover is one of my very favorite things

[willgrahambf]

I posted 1,025 times in 2022

377 posts created (37%)

648 posts reblogged (63%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@willgrahambf

@peoplesoup

@willgrahamscock

@bloodstainedlamb

@dogmotif

I tagged 969 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#ask - 188 posts

#txt :my thoughts are not often tasty: - 112 posts

#hannibal - 104 posts

#nbc hannibal - 81 posts

#hannibal funnies - 71 posts

#hannigram - 51 posts

#hannibal meta - 47 posts

#hannibal comparative - 40 posts

#hugh dancy - 38 posts

#hannibal art - 36 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#if i did a review for every movie i watched it would take way too long bc i think too hard and can’t be concise and i don’t have enough time

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

hannibal crossing his legs when he sits is hot bc it works on a number of levels. it’s the elegance of the way that he carries himself, it’s the sensual lines that the body inherently makes in that position, it’s the refined repose that masks the predator underneath, it’s the departure from hyper-masculine posture, but most of all it’s bc he is bisexual

1,788 notes - Posted January 25, 2022

#4

i know that the shot of will laying his head against hannibal’s chest in twotl is one of the most iconic images of the show but like…. sometimes i think of it and it takes my breath away bc it’s one of the only times that will seeks physical touch from someone beyond touching a hand and bc i think laying your head on someone’s chest is one of the most tender and romantic things that you can do. it’s pure intimacy, and they really gave of us that between two men on cable television in 2015. it flies in the face of generally socially accepted ways for men to touch each other in american culture, and i know we rage against there being no kiss, but that’s bc to us as lgbtq people it’s obvious what’s between them, but i think it was radical in a way. a kiss would have been a distraction to the general public viewers bc all they’d be able to think about is the fact that it’s two men kissing. but will laying his head on hannibal’s chest, peaceful at last….. that is everything bc hannibal is his everything now, all else has been stripped away, and for the first time, in the entire show will rests without guilt in the only place that can offer it to him. not to go all “their relationship is something deeper than romance and sex” but like it really is. obv i’m of the belief that romance and sex is part of their relationship, but that would be nothing without the simple yet heart wrenching core of it — that they are the only ones who understand and see each other truly for what they are and they are the only ones who can change each other until they fit together perfectly. they made a place for each other there in each other, and the embrace is the physical representation of it. nothing fits like a head against a shoulder or an arm around the waist

2,032 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

#3

See the full post

2,084 notes - Posted June 28, 2022

#2

people who still get scared by hannibal trending on tumblr of all places are so funny like babes the show has been over for 7 yrs there’s not gonna be a s4 there was never gonna be a s4 we are all just mentally ill having ball up in this bitch with our funny little cannibal men and our silly little gifsets don’t even worry about it

2,213 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

no no no bc will asking hannibal, “how do you see me?” in episode one is so insane bc he wouldn’t have asked just anybody that. he was not inviting the scrutiny of anyone and i mean anyone. he didn’t want people to perceive him. the way he dresses, his glasses, his biting wit, his teacher persona… they’re all methods of self-protection to keep people from looking too closely. but he asks hannibal what he sees bc he really wants to know, and hannibal, who he has just met, doesn’t even hesitate to tell will something that no one else ever has before. something dangerous, something powerful said with admiration. with a smile.

2,608 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#well would ya look at that #that sure is something

[pocketsizedquasar]

I posted 1,394 times in 2022

140 posts created (10%)

1,254 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@coulson-is-an-avenger

@pocketsizedquasar

@chandlerfromfriendsisqueercoded

@two-captains

@martinbelovedblackwood

I tagged 1,394 of my posts in 2022

#art - 371 posts

#tma - 337 posts

#the magnus archives - 333 posts

#not my art - 288 posts

#jon sims - 221 posts

#jonathan sims - 218 posts

#martin blackwood - 189 posts

#self reblog - 150 posts

#reblog - 150 posts

#jonmartin - 144 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#so much of the initial gifted kid ‘discourse’ or whatever was just ppl formerly labeled as ‘gifted’ describing the trauma of that experience

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

when i find love i want it to be like / all that i know it should be

(ID: A digital drawing of Jon and Martin from the magnus archives. They are sitting on a wall outside, surrounded by bushes and flowers, and bathed in warm yellow sunlight. Martin is lying down with his head in Jon’s lap, and Jon is leaning down to kiss him, holding his face gently in one hand and resting their other hand on his chest. Martin has an arm wrapped up around Jon’s back. Jon’s glasses and a phone wallet rest on the wall beside them, and their cane leans against the wall in front of them.

Jon is a thin Persian person with medium brown skin and long, curly graying dark hair pulled into a bun. His skin is peppered with scars and he’s wearing an ace and wedding ring on his right hand. They are wearing a light blue dress with a sheer skirt layer. Martin is a fat Black and Filipino man with dark freckled skin and short curly reddish brown hair. His hair is tipped with white and his face and hands are dotted with vitiligo. He wears a dark blue suit, and an ace and wedding ring.)

622 notes - Posted June 26, 2022

#4

don’t mind me just thinking about a TMA au where Trevor & Julia swap narrative roles with Daisy & Basira. instead of daisy & basira being our morally ambiguous hunt duo who almost kill jon, get separated by the buried, then subsequently lost to the Hunt, it's trevor & julia.

You can keep all of the complicated angst of like. Jon going into the buried to save someone who hurt and almost killed him, of giving yourself to the Hunt vs starving yourself so you don’t hurt people anymore, but Without all the cop sympathy! You keep the heartwrenching hunt duo that make a promise to each other and keep All the moral ambiguity and the pain of dealing with that aftermath knowing that you both hurt people, without implying that basira getting over/“reflecting” on her enabling state sanctioned murder for years or daisy doin the Murder are on the same level as the other character flaws and arcs.

In the beginning of s2, keep all the stuff with Section 31/Basira and Daisy, and keep the stuff with Basira feeeding Jon tapes to keep him from running because she thinks he’s guilty (gotta love cops abusing their power as cops bc they arbitrarily assume someone is guilty); keep Daisy & Elias framing Jon for Leitner’s murder. But instead of making two killer cops into recurring sympathetic characters, you can ship them off to America to search for Gerry’s page -- maybe because they were tipped off about it and they’re shitty cops who want information, maybe because daisy canonically wants to hunt down “monsters” and figures it’s a good place to look. Have them be the ones who kidnap Jon in the US; have them be who Jon steals Gerry’s page from, and them who subsequently attack the Institute at the end of S4.

As for Julia and Trevor: Julia and Trevor have both given statements, so they’ve both been Involved with the Institute; they come back to give more statements and/or realize they can use the Archives as a way to gather information about the monsters they Hunt. They figure they can trade one evil for another; even if the Eye lords over this place, at least they can use it for their own purposes. 

They’d be tied up in the institute similarly to how Daisy & Basira are in canon: Elias blackmails Trevor because Julia's signed an employment contract, and Trevor can't kill Elias because doing so would be killing Julia. Bring back Elias’s "watch your last connection to humanity die screaming" line, but instead of being directed at a piece of shit who's literally just a killer cop, it's directed at a man who’s self-admittedly spent his whole life shunned and on the edge of society and stripped of his humanity, hunting monsters bc what else is he supposed to do? What other purpose does he have?

In S4, Jon rescues Trevor from the buried. Jon and Trevor bond both over losing themselves to the Eye/Hunt but also bonding over both of them struggling with regular old addiction too. Trevor admits he was going to kill Jon after the Unknowing and Jon tells him he understands.

Suddenly the s4 Ny-Alesund plot makes way more sense if you think of it as Julia wanting to go after the entity/cult that killed her father (the Dark/the People’s Church), Elias blackmailing her with that information, and Jon going with her as support, rather than Basira randomly deciding to trust Elias for...some reason.

In the s4 finale, Basira and Daisy storm the institute to “collect” Gerry’s page. Not!Sasha is loose, two Hunt-aligned cops are on the loose, and so Trevor makes a choice. He makes Julia promise him to take him out after he gives himself back to the Hunt. Julia being forced to contend with that, to promise to kill someone she loves who’s become a father to her, because she knows it’s what he wants and it’s what is best for them both.

In season 5, Jon and Martin come across Julia tracking Trevor through the domains and have to watch her kill the only family she thinks she has left. Julia asks them to leave her alone as she makes her own way to the Panopticon. She’s the level head Jon needs when Martin goes to Hill Top Road.

Just imagine the banter. the icon behavior. the peak father/daughter chaos dynamics, and a healthy familial relationship. Julia and Melanie. Trevor and Jon. Julia and Martin. Imagine! Imagine TMA if it didn’t give more sympathy to literal murderous agents of the state than it did to a homeless person struggling with addiction or an orphaned kid who lost her dad to the Dark... just. imagine, if you will.

(I’ll probably write some stuff along these lines at some point so. hell yeah)

this post has been in my drafts for literal months but i kept forgetting to post it here you go

842 notes - Posted February 10, 2022

#3

promise me that you’ll start where i end

(ID: ID: A digital drawing of Jon and Martin from the Magnus Archives kissing. Jon is a thin Persian person with medium brown skin and long graying dark brown hair. They have a thick beard and scars dotting their skin. He is wearing a black dress with orange flowers. Martin is a fat Black and Filipino man with dark freckled skin and short curly dark reddish brown hair. His face and hands are dotted with vitiligo and his hair is tipped with white. He is wearing a light blue T shirt and jeans. The two of them are holding hands and kissing softly. There is a blurry foliage background and bright sunlight behind them.)

851 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

#2

pov a guy who looks like a stiff wind could blow him over is abt to suck out ur trauma in a starbucks

(ID: A photo of a sketchbook with a black and white ink drawing of Jon Sims from the Magnus Archives. The entire drawing is made up of stark shadows. Jon sits at a cafe table with a cup of tea in front of them, and smoke swirls up from the cup in an intricate weblike pattern. From what we can see of Jon, they are a thin Persian person with long curly hair wearing loose fitting clothing. They are viewed in profile. His face is obscured in shadow except for their eye, which is wide open and staring at the viewer. Small eyes are dotted throughout the steam curling from the mug.)

1,138 notes - Posted September 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

recapping some info from the first half of the stream since we’re at a break:

the title is The Magnus Protocol

two new MCs

they work for or are involved with the British Civil Service, re: bureaucracy and the tedium of a paper-pushing job

jonny said he wants this series to be "something that dives more into organizations" and is “less isolated” than MAG1

new VAs for the MCs

there will be some old voices AND some old characters: "revisiting characters in new and exciting ways"

many of the characters do not have names yet

Andor and the video game Control were name-dropped as potential inspirations / cool things

3,784 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#year in review #tumblr year in review #im glad i reblogged the most from 1) my partner 2) myself #self love babye #also very pleased that my top posts are all tma lmao... #quasartalks