#IMAGINE THIS KILLING MACHINE SHOWING PEOPLE HOMES.

[equizona]

⤷ ROMANTIC HEADCANONS

michael afton || five night's at freddy's

gender-neutral reader

masterlist, navigation

i'm having michael brainrot and I can't when write his name right and also the new tumblr update can go choke on some shoelaces

⤷ MICHAEL AFTON

Michael is the type to get jealous easily. He's insecure, has abandonment issues, is making minimum wage and has a fuck ton of trauma attached to him. He knows he isn't the best boyfriend one could ask for, and that you probably deserve so much more, so seeing you with other people he just knows are better than him? It makes him want to crawl into a hole and cry.

Despite how easily he gets jealous, he doesn't show it very often. He refuses to guilt you into staying with him, or isolate you from having relationships outside of him. His father did that with his mother, and he got front row seats to see how well that turned out for them.

Michael doesn't make a lot of money, so he can't get you expensive gifts or take you out on fancy dates. Instead you both often go on walks, have picnics and watch movies at home. He'll save up for occasional amusement park, circus or whatever else you like for dates, though he tries to save those for special occasions.

He probably stays over at your place quite often. He doesn't like to be alone and he doesn't like the idea that he'll wake up tomorrow and get a call that someone broke in and killed you, or something like that. He stays over where you live often for that reason. He doesn't let you go to his place, either, since he knows the animatronics could easily figure out where he lives if they wanted.

He gets a lot of nightmares, too. He doesn't expect you to comfort him or anything, he knows he can be stressful and doesn't want your sleep being put aside for something as stupid as a bad dream. He doesn't really want you to do so, either, since he feels so guilty. The best thing you can do for him is let him cling to you, hug him back and go back to sleep.

He most certainly has an eating disorder. He forgets to eat and drink most of the time, and majority of the time when he doesn't forget he either thinks it's too much work or too expensive or just not worth the effort. However, if you bring him food or a drink, he'll make sure to consume all of it, no matter how nauseous it makes him. If he ends up vomiting, he might have a breakdown from guilt. Especially if you made it yourself.

On a less angst filled note, Michael is really good at making food. If you have ingredients and don't mind him messing around your kitchen, he will make the most heavenly tasting food you can imagine. Since he doesn't work during the day, he'll make you breakfast when he gets back, alongside lunch for whatever you have to do during the day.

He'll also make you dinner, with him making you m meals a good chunk of the time, it makes there be at least one less thing to stress you out. At least, that's what he's hoping for. If you give him the money, he'll go grocery shopping for you as well! He has all your preferred brands memorized too, so not to worry about that.

His parents didn't teach him very basics things about hygiene or cleaning, so while he isn't really a messy person, he doesn't know how most things work and decides to just leave things where they are. If you teach him to do the dishes, use the laundry machine or a vacuum, and assure him you won't get mad if he does something wrong, he might try doing some of your chores for you.

If he does it right and it makes you happy when he does it, he'll keep doing it. It makes him pretty happy, actually, to be doing it. He remembers his classmates whining about having to do chores with their mothers while he spent most of his day worried he's get yelled at for moving a glass over to the sink from the counter. Most might think it's boring to clean, but he thinks it's nice. And if it makes you happy, and makes your life easier? He's pretty ecstatic to be doing the dishes.

Michael naturally runs really hot. He could be your personal heater easily, and he's very comfortable and warm to hug. Despite how warm he is, he gets cold super easily, so he's always dressing warm and laying under blankets, which just makes Jim run even warmer.

He has a soft spot for children. If he builds a more stable life and routine with you, he'll probably try doing babysitting during the day for some extra money. He's actually really good with kids, too, even if he might seem sort of intimidating at first. He's also able to make all of them eat their vegetables and fruits, so parents adore him as well.

He is weak for matching things. Matching outfits? Keychains? Bracelets? Phone cases? Mugs? Blankets? Shoes? He doesn't care, he just loves the idea of matching with you.

He likes doing arts & crafts. Sometimes the kids make him do it with them too, and he's pretty good! He occasionally gives you those handmade bead bracelets. If he sees you wearing them he'll probably cling to you for the rest of the day.

Michael is actually like, really good at singing. He'll sing when he cleans, when he's doing his night shifts, when he's cooking or baking. If you like his singing, he might sing you a lullaby to help you sleep. If you sing with him he will be the happiest person on earth.

He likes a lot of things that are less traditionally masculine and more traditionally feminine, like flowers and soft things. (Blankets, stuffed animals, etc.) If you get him flowers, he'll press or dry them so he can keep them for much longer.

He's not much of a fan of animals, and animals don't like him that much. The exception being foxes, since he thinks they're very pretty. If you have any pets, he'd be happy to help you takecare of them, but he won't have a very deep emotional connection with the animal.

#five night's at freddy's x reader #five night's at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf x reader #michael afton #michael afton x reader #micheal afton #micheal afton x reader #mike afton #mike afton x reader #mike schimdt #mike schmidt x reader

[melissa-titanium]

HELLOOO CAN I TALK TO YOU ABT DOLL

do you think that like, her being at school let her have some escape from her home and her revenge plans, like in this picture she is smiling and it looks way more like a happy smile than here

SHE IS HAPPY TO GET HER REVENGE, BUT SHE LOOKS SO TIRED, EVEN HER LAUGH IS TIRED

its like shes getting worse from the kills, in her house there was enough oil for her to not kill any other drones, yet her plan had to work, but it didnt, and only let her feeling more guilty

EVERYONE IS ALLOWED TO SEND ME SHIT ABOUT DOLL ALWAYS AT ANY TIME EVER FOREVER AND EVER. I LITERALLY NEED HER. SHES SO FUCKING COOL. BUT OMG HI YES HOLD ON

thats such an interesting take on pilot doll omg HI???? YES I CAN TOTALLY SEE THIS CONSIDERING WE DONT SEE DOLL IN SCHOOL OUTSIDE OF THE PILOT. HIIII YES OMG ok ok.

i havent actually thought this much about this. i personally think her in the pilot vs her in promening was like. not really a Whole big difference but like...the fact that lizzy now has access to v set her off. shes always been a little unsettling, a little fucking deranged but maybe something happened between ep 1 and 3 thatr was like. lizzy came to her like... hey, one of the disassembly drones came by my bunk the other day. was this the one? (shows doll a pic) and doll just FUcking Loses it . i think she was actively vengeful during the pilot too but YES like ur saying its almost a .grounding thing. everyone here is real and alive. and then at the end of the day she has to go back and face dozens upon dozens upon dozens of corpses that are there because of HER and its liike. idk i imagine shes 18-22 . shes young as hell. and that FUCKS WITH YOU. this is doll to me:

they know damn well her parents are dead but she's just under being eerie enough that no one really suspects her for anything going on. she's relatively normal around lizzy & not aggressive but not outgoing with other students. like to everyone, shes just a normal kid who lost her parents. plenty of kids have lost their parents, considering the murder drones lurking *right outside the bunker.*

i think she would get tired. yeah. she held onto the all consuming debilitating hatred for these genocidal war machines that killed her parents and countless others. then heartbeat happens, and suddenly people are Okay with them??? that would fucking set her OFF. so long, so fucking long shes been holding onto her anger and not being able to do anything about it . BUT NOW SHE CAN. ough ok but then theres those conflicting feelings bcos of uzi. u can see in promening she has SOME sense of... for lack of a better word, humanity in how she treats uzi (hell even tossing lizzy out of the way when she started killing people.) i think she picks and choses who she cares about and then is usually consistent in how she treats them. basically; dont get on her bad side. she's conflicted at the end of ep3 after learning uzi has the solver; but uzi is siding with the murder drones and thats HER loss for being SCHTUPIDDDDDDDD!!!! but then again, she finally has someone who understands what shes going through... but also AUGH..! i have to kill v i HAVE to kill v ive gotten so far i cant give up now FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!! i think there would be so much of her being conflicted between uzi knows what i feel. but also uzi is siding with the bitch who killed my fucking parents. i think she would just spiral and spiral until dead end comes along and she has a decision to make. and she makes it. and uzi is Fucked and v is Fucked and n and tessa are FUCKEd AND OK TYHIS IS GETTING LONG IM DONE

doll jumpscare

#asks #murder drones #mel art

[juuuulez]

📰 | part five: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, loosely following canon, allusions to drugs (pills), implied mental illness, gun violence sorta, FINALLY references to Romeo and Juliet.

summary: Carl hijacks some trucks, and finds himself wound up at the Sanctuary. You decide to take pity on him, but he has other plans.

Okay FINALLY this is done! Back to teenagers who hate eachother, and typical threats/arguing. Definitely leaning more into the feels though… next chapter is already written, so I’ll publish it tomorrow!

The ride home went as it always did: long and boring.

At the half hour mark, you were already sick of Simon’s whistling. But it was better than riding with any other sub-par follower, who would likely subject you to weird comments or suggestions.

So, you fell asleep. The constant movement helped aid you into a somewhat peaceful rest, one you’d been craving for a long time. All this new tension just gave you ten times more responsibilities, and though you told your father you could handle it, the toll was starting to show.

That was, until you were rudely awakened.

Gunshots, shouting. Everyone was quick to jump out, investigate the problem.

No, no. Not gunshots. Machine gun. Dear, God.

Likely a fault of your own ruthless design, you didn’t actually carry a gun. Instead you clutched the metal baseball bat harshly between your fingers, shoving past the other Saviours to inspect what exactly has happened.

Should you be shocked, or scared? Frightened, or ready to put him in his place?

Because Carl stared directly at you. The machine gun was propped over your shoulder, the culprit to the few bodies now lying at your feet. His one eye looked down the sight, trained on you. Ready, waiting.

Was he stupid? Or.. smart?

Even though this appeared to be a colossal mistake, you felt an ounce of respect for the action, for attempting to take charge rather than spew around empty threats. Nonetheless, you didn’t dare move.

“Holy shit!” Negan was already poking fun at a situation that wasn’t amusing in the slightest. Usually, his presence would provide you some semblance of comfort, but right now, you only felt increasingly uneasy.

He continued to tease and prod at Carl, comments about how he looked badass with that machine gun. Sure, it may be true, but amongst the conversation Carl didn’t let his scope move from where you were standing.

“Stop it.” You hiss to Negan, voice lowered into a slight whisper, though you don’t deny that Carl can still hear it.

Your father turns to you, that trademark grin still on his face, not prepared to let up. “Oh, he ain’t gonna hurt you, darlin’.” He promises, but you shoot him a look, a silent conveyance that says not now.

“Go get this shit inside, why don’t you?” Negan instead suggests, giving you an out. There’s a moment before you move, not exactly hesitation, just weighing whether or not Carl intends to let you go this easily.

Luckily, he does, and you scurry back towards the Sanctuary to deal with the contents of the trucks.

This cannot be real.

Somebody was going to die, you could feel it.

You doubt it would be Carl, you couldn’t imagine Negan doing that. Maybe Rick was finally in for it. Or maybe another poor follower, killed simply to get across a message.

Whatever happened, you didn’t really want to be there for it, not now. Not today.

Surely you deserved just one day off? One seemingly peaceful day. Just a moment to breathe, because this lifestyle was certainly not suited for a teenage girl. If you didn’t receive a moment of salvation soon, you’d explode, and it sure won’t be pretty.

So, you sorted the rest of the materials gained from Hilltop.. and by sorted, you told other people where to put them. You made sure that Dwight could go collect the bodies, to which he reluctantly agreed, not without a snide comment.

Ice Queen.

That’s what he called you, and you hated it.

“Whatever you say, Ice Queen.”

At least it was better than the demeaning princess you’d sometimes get, which tasted foul within the mouth of anybody but your father. Or girl, woman, as if you had no identity at all.

It didn’t matter anyways.

There was no more avoiding it, you’d better face the music.

You absentmindedly chewed on your bottom lip, finally pushing down the handle to Negan’s office, letting the large wooden door swing open. Please, God, don’t let there be blood.

Thankfully, everybody was in one piece.

Sure, Carl looked dejected where he was sitting on the couch, his hat and bandage gone, staring at the ground. Negan still held Lucille, though it didn’t appear threatening, instead simply dangling at his side.

“Just who I wanted to see!” Negan announces your presence, ushering you closer into the room. He stands behind you, placing both gloved hands on your shoulders, letting you tower over Carl. It’s obvious that he quite enjoys the power dynamic.

“Now, I’ve got a pretty huge goddamn mess to clean up,” He begins, “Crying mothers to console, and what not. So, doll, why don’t you escort this little shit down to the prison, let him sit pretty in a cell until we head up to Alexandria?”

You clench your jaw, internally rolling your eyes at the idea of travelling again. But of course, you had stakes in this scenario, you had to contribute.

“Sure,” You agree, and choose to wholly not acknowledge Carl, turning to give Negan a small smile before making your way to the door again, “Radio me when you’re ready.”

As you trudge down the hallway, with Carl following suite a few steps behind, he comes to the realisation that something is up.

The big bad wolf is off her game.

If anything, this is his chance to strike. Sure, maybe the whole truck-hijacking plan didn’t work out, but this could be a golden opportunity.

Maybe the real way to break down a man’s defences was through his daughter.

Three corners, and one flight of stairs upwards. Carl can’t help but wonder where you’re taking him, if not the prison cells. This certainly doesn’t look like prison cells. Only one door sits along the corridor, painted the same monotonous grey colour as the walls, sans a shiny gold handle with a lock on it.

You push open the door with a brazen sigh, clearly somewhat relieved to be away from the conflict that followed the inner-workings of the Sanctuary. Still partially ignoring Carl, you opt to take your jacket off, letting it fall onto the back of a chair.

This must be your bedroom.

It’s sizeable, much larger than any rooms back at Alexandria. A queen bed sits adjacent to the doorway, drawers pushed against the wall with rows and rows of photographs and other little trinkets. It looks… strangely girly, which feels unsettling. Pink sheets, pink pillows. The walls have been painted a soft eggshell white. It juxtaposes your entire personality.

Fortunately, you’ve finally decided to acknowledge Carl.

“Can’t be fucked walking down to the cells,” You justify, fiddling with something on the desk, looking rather serious about it. “Just sit somewhere. Don’t touch anything.”

But Carl has already started to explore, particularly interested in the various frames along your dresser. Maybe something could help guide him in the right direction, any tidbit of information that will signal on how to take you down.

Two stand out to him, one of a young woman who’s smiling at the camera, another of a small infant. Mother and child.

He chooses to ignore that for now, not wanting to dwell on the implications this brought to the table. Another photo, larger, contained what appeared to be a girls baseball team.

Looking closer, he can make out two faces amongst the crowd. God, this is making him feel sick.

So he abandons this venture, taking another peak backwards to ensure that you’re still occupied. Which you are, albeit now speaking into a small radio, to a voice he cannot recognise. But you list off numbers in a frustrated tone, to which he decides must be something routine and insignificant.

Now, Carl pokes around your bedside table. The top is clean, aside from a lamp and a singular copy of a play he hasn’t read. Romeo and Juliet. Who knew you were into that stuff?

Quietly as possible, he opens the top drawer, to reveal a stash of what appears to be chocolates. Most of them are in little shiny wrappers, and he wonders where you acquired such a large amount of them. Stealing from other communities, he spitefully chalks it up to.

The second drawer rattles as he slides it open, causing Carl to hold his breath, sparing a sideways glance to confirm that you’re still working. If anything, your temper only seems to rise the longer this conversation goes on for. Still, he peaks into the drawer, finding the source of the rattling noise to be plastic, orange bottles.

Jesus.

Not caring to read their labels, or plague his mind with anything regarding the suspicious pills, Carl quickly closes the drawer in order to move onto the next one, and the bottom of the wooden dresser.

And it contained the jackpot he was looking for.

A seemingly untouched, shiny handgun.

Just sitting there, shut away. For emergencies, he deducted. Well, if this didn’t count as an emergency, than he didn’t know what did.

So Carl let’s the weight of the handgun fill his palm, letting his fingers slide across the cool metal. He flicks the safety off, intending to check the chamber before you’re already turning around, the radio still held to your mouth. He manages to raise the weapon quick enough, before you have time to react.

You appear to be less of a trained soldier, and more of a deer in headlights.

“Give me a minute.” You mutter into the radio, and even when the voice on the other side continues to talk, you switch it off.

Silence fills the space between you. Carl stands next to your drawer, on the other side of the queen bed, with you slowly approaching, stepping away from the desk.

“Stop moving.” He commands, keeping the gun trained steady on your figure, not wanting to risk any unsuspected plays.

You obey, jaw clenched. Even with the tension between the two of you, for whatever reason, you don’t look Carl in the eye. Your gaze is trained somewhere on his forehead, he can tell, and it causes something else to bubble inside of him.

Is it respect? A twinge of gratefulness, that you are choosing not to inspect his open wound in a slightly vulnerable moment, without his bandage. Or is he angry? Because you’re better than this. Above pity.

“So, what?” You begin talking, tone slow and calculated, contrasting how pent up you’d sounded over the radio. “Gonna shoot me?”

Carl tries not to let his emotions become evident on his face, aside from that unconscious tick of his jaw. “Haven’t decided yet.”

It’s painfully similar to when you’d met, back at the Satellite station. Where your people had been murdered. No, assassinated.

24 in their sleep.

Mostly men, some women. No children.

Could have been one child, had you been asleep. If you were, would Carl have killed you, too?

“Well, you should do it.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that.

You seem deadly serious, yet Carl can’t help but assume you’re taunting him, underestimating how much he wants this. Like you’re trying to push him to the edge, string him out, then return unscathed.

Not anymore.

Carl squares his shoulders, like a bird of prey, glaring down at his victim. But you don’t move, and so he sucks in a breath, and finally does it. All it took was one tiny squeeze of the trigger, and he’s almost tempted to close his eye, not wanting to see the consequences of his rage.

Nothing happens.

There’s a tiny click from the gun, but nothing ejects. He lowers it, staring at the grey metal before regaining his senses, clicking the safety back on and opening the chamber.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You’re already talking, yelling, finally approaching Carl, where you snatch the empty gun from his hand and throw it back down on the dresser.

This time it’s his turn to avoid your gaze.

“Hey!” You persevere, and as Carl tries to turn away, you’re swiftly reaching up to grasp his face in your hand, cold fingers pressing into the plush skin of his cheeks. This time, you don’t shy away from looking directly at him, glaring another hole into his blue eye.

“I could’a locked you up, and I didn’t, dickwad!” You yell at him, all that frustration resurfacing now that the little facade has dropped. Carl doesn’t even try to squirm from your harsh grip. “And you repay me by tryna’ shoot me? Not only that, but you think I’m stupid enough to keep a loaded gun, in an unlocked drawer?”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, words muffled by your hand grasping his face. For once, he actually sounds genuinely guilty, but you only scoff at the weak admission.

At least you’re looking at him again.

It appears that you’re about to yell at him again, another round of scolding, something about him being ignorant or illogical, but then the abandoned radio is going off again, and Carl certainly recognises this voice.

Negan.

“Truck’s ready, doll.”

You swear again, loudly and uncaring of the somewhat frightening outburst, and Carl is realising how much he’s fucked up. Even at your lowest, you are always one step ahead. There’s no such thing as being off your game, not when your entire life consists of this back-and-forth, maintaining control over so many people.

He’s just some over confident teenager, you’re… you.

You say something into the radio, but he’s zoned out, until you pick up the bat once more and are addressing him again.

“Do I need to handcuff you, or what?” You sneer, and though it comes across as a snide remark, it proves to be a genuine question with how your hand rests above another set of drawers.

Carl shakes his head, still feeling a little shameful, but your persistent stare indicates this will not suffice. “No.” He finally mumbles.

You roll your eyes at the act of submission, clipping the radio into your belt and already making a beeline for the door again. This time, you leave the jacket behind, and Carl catches a glimpse of the way your forearms flex under the iron-grip you have on the bat.

Pay attention.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes #negan smith x reader #twd x you #carl grimes x you #negan smith #the walking dead

[mybiasisexo]

HI! Happy New Year!

Can I request #51 with Chanyeol pls? Wishing you all the best for 2024! Thanks in advance!

Distraction 🏋️‍♂️

Genre: fluff | personal trainer!au Pairing: Chanyeol x f.Reader Length: 2.3k Warnings: Chanyeol is a warning all in himself boy!!!

a/n: I said i was gonna make a gym drabble and baby here it is!!! This isnt really fluff, but its def not angst. What other genres are there??? I could've made this 6k is2g lmao i want the smut 😂. but ayye these are just drabbles! I'll behave. Sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for the request 😚 this gif of him alwaaaays makes me crazy like if i stare at it for too long ill scream. no im not ok thanks for asking

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

Dread filled you as you gazed at the building looming in front of you. Your worst enemy—the gym.

You despised the place for two reasons. The first was simple, it was a gym, pretty self-explanatory. The second reason was your personal trainer, Park Chanyeol.

You swore from the moment he was assigned to you he made it his mission to make you never come back. He had to have a torture kink or something, with the stuff he had you doing. You’ve pushed yourself to the point of puking a few times under his care, and still he would make you keep going.

And sure, you were seeing results. And, yeah, it was getting easier. You felt yourself growing stronger with every session. He was good at what he did, even if his practices had you questioning the legality of it all.

With a withering sigh, you got out of your car and made your way to what was your personal hell.

You spotted Chanyeol as soon as you entered. He was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, legs spread apart, looking rather unimpressed as he hovered over a guy struggling to do pushups.

You tried not to stare too long at those exposed arms, the massive muscles bulging over his just as firm chest. He always wore the same thing: black basketball shorts with a black muscle shirt that left little to the imagination of how much time he spent at the gym. You’d only ever seen him work out once yourself and…. You refused to let your thoughts wander to that moment.

As if he could hear where your mind was attempting to go, his eyes flickered up to where you were scanning in your membership badge. A wolfy grin split his face as he took you in, the heat of his gaze made you shiver.

He only acknowledged you for a second. It took you a beat too long to realize he was counting his client’s reps. Ignoring him, you headed over to a secluded corner and started your warm up stretches. Chanyeol helped the poor dude up, that strength of his coming in clutch when his client’s knees buckled and he almost hit the floor.

You winced, knowing that pain. Luckily, this gym had darkly painted walls and dim lighting to give its customers a sense of privacy. It helped that it was later in the night, nearing eleven, so there wasn’t many people present to watch him struggle. As well as yourself. That was why you preferred coming late. Less people, less judgement, and it wore you out enough that you could go straight to bed as soon as you got home—after a post workout meal, if Chanyeol were to ask.

He clapped the scraggly man on his back, making him cough, and gave some uplifting words as they slowly made their way to the front door. You were just finishing your stretches when thick bowlegs were in front of you. You were sitting on the floor, so you had to look up, up, up that firm trunk of a frame to meet those round eyes of his alight with humor.

“You actually showed up today?” Chanyeol asked, tilting his head curiously. His shaggy hair fell into his stare.

You glared at him as you climbed to your feet. “Well, I figured you haven’t killed me yet.”

“Yet.” His grin was a warning. He nudged his head to the rather empty machines. “Come on. It’s leg day.”

You let out a relieved breath. It was torture for sure, but leg day was your favorite. He led you to a machine and you got to work.

You tried to focus on the tasks given to you. To focus on your posture, your breathing, on keeping your core tight. But, it was rather difficult when something, or rather someone, was far more distracting.

That was another thing about Chanyeol that you despised. When you first found out he was going to be your trainer, your immediate thought was ‘hell no’. You were hesitant to have a male trainer to begin with, but this one? He was fine as all hell. Too fine. And with that smirk he gave you when you first refused his help—the one he still gave you, mind you—you knew he was going to be a problem.

Matters were only made worse when you actually trained with him. During your sessions, he was nothing but professional. His goal was to help you through your workouts and he did. His large hands would skim over your body as he fixed your posture, or added pressure against your legs so that you knew where to put your weight. His voice was deep and he would use it to encourage and praise you. There was never any teasing or animosity while you trained. His voice would sink into your brain, scramble your thoughts and leave your body boiling. Especially when he’d hit you with a ‘good girl’ or ‘just like that. Perfect’.

He had to know what he was doing.

It was near the end of your session, you had one last work out to do.

“Save the best for last,” Chanyeol said as he took you to a bizarre looking machine.

“And what the hell is this thing?” You asked with a lifted eyebrow.

“It’s called a hip abductor,” he explained to you like he thought you were dumb.

You ignored his tone. “How’re you supposed to use it?”

“Sit on it and I’ll show you.”

You brushed off the innuendo, and prayed he didn’t catch the heat on your face. Instead, you bumped the machine with your shoe, warily taking it in. You were exhausted, and didn’t want to do another set of nothing.

“Why don’t you demonstrate for me?” You suggested.

Chanyeol lifted an eyebrow and you shrugged in response. “What? I’ve never seen you work out before. How do I know you’re qualified to train me?”

He barked a laugh at that, knowing you’re bullshitting now. “I imagine your glutes are enough proof of my teaching abilities.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And why are you looking at my glutes?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Just making sure I’m doing my job.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and hummed, unable to think of a good comeback. Instead, you nudged your chin towards this ‘hip abductor’.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. Despite his words, he didn’t call you out. You watched as he plopped onto the machine with a sigh. You couldn’t help but grin victoriously, eager to see the man at work.

He adjusted the weight, settled into the seat, and then pushed his thighs against the pads, spreading his legs out wide before bringing them back in. He began explaining what he was doing, what muscles he was working, and the proper way to move, but you could barely hear a word over the way his thick thighs flexed, the muscle underneath stretching the skin.

You realized then that your roles were reversed, and a brilliant idea popped into your head. He was always teasing you during your sessions, and now was your turn to have some fun and return the favor.

You took a couple steps closer to him, studying him more, like you were invested in getting everything right. Then you ran your fingers down his arm and he faltered for a second.

“Am I supposed to hold on to the seat like that?”

You didn’t miss the way his grip tightened, his knuckles whitening.

“Yeah,” he said between clenched teeth.

He pushed his legs out again, and you’re quick to fill the new space, forcing him to keep them open.

Your name left his mouth in a warning. That only made your grin grow wider.

He glared up at you. “What are you doing?”

“Testing to see how long you can hold this position.”

He said your name again, but you interrupted him before he could finish. “You always push me. Why don’t I test your limits for once?”

Something ignited in his eyes and the lights ahead shown in them hauntingly. “Who says you don’t already do?”

“What?” You asked, startled by how gently the words left his full lips.

He didn’t repeat himself, but he appeared to give into your challenge. He sunk more into his seat, eyes never left yours as he held the position, too competitive for his own good. Though it worked in your favor.

You’re not sure how much time passed, but it felt like hours of you standing between his legs, both never looking away from the other.

Finally, you decided it was time to up the ante. Sweat had started to gather on his forehead and neck, but most importantly, a slight tremor had started in his legs.

“What’s wrong?” You asked with a fake pout. “Can’t hold it anymore?”

“I’m chilling,” he replied back, but you heard the strain in his voice.

“Is that so?” You grinned again and rested the palm of your hands above his knees on either side of you. “You’re shaking.”

You took your time scaling his body before meeting his eyes again. He was holding his breath, but something in his expression was begging you to continue.

So, you did.

Slowly, you dragged your hands further up his legs, remembering all the times he had done the same. Although he was always professional about it. He only touched you when he had to. There was nothing professional about your touch. All the sexual frustration you’ve felt because of this man had seemed to bubble over and took control of your limbs. In this moment, you wanted him to understand what he did to you, wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.

His eyes fluttered as you dragged his shorts up with your wrists, wanting to feel his warm skin.

You quickly glanced around the gym, noticing you were the only ones left, and that made you even more bold. Nearly at his hips, you went to move your hands to his crotch.

Chanyeol was fast. Before you knew what happened, he had snatched your wrists with one hand, putting a halt to your little game and causing you to gasp in surprise.

Your ministrations had you bent over him, so your faces were only an inch or two apart. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours, the hair on his forehead tickled your own.

“You’re playing with fire here,” he warned, voice a steady grumble against your lips. When he pulled back to take in your expression, you saw the burning inferno ready to wreak havoc in his gaze. You knew that if he were to let go of those flames, it would burn away all pretenses, all politeness, and rules.

And you wanted that. You wanted his fire to consume you, wanted his desire to engulf and burn and hurt.

There was a pause as you both study each other, waiting to see who would break first. You found your arms shaking in his grip, not with the usual soreness you’d usually be shaking with at this time of your appointment. It was adrenaline, your own desire raised to meet his.

Of course, he felt it too. “How long have you wanted me, Sweetheart?”  He sounded deceitfully sweet, and it made your sore legs weak. He gathered that much, so he gathered you. Large hands went to your waist, easily lifting you up so that you were now straddling him. With you on his lap, he could finally close his legs, and he did so with a relieved huff. A mocking laugh left your mouth, but he put an end to it by pushing you down so that you were seated fully on him—right on his bulge.

“Oh!” You startled. You blinked up at him innocently before throwing back at him, “how long have you wanted me?”

He hummed thoughtfully, running his hands up your thighs to hold your hips. He pressed his lips to your ear, “from the moment I first saw you.”

You shivered at both his confession and his warm breath on your skin. It took everything in you not to roll your hips into him, the pressure of him just as much a tease as his expression and words and touch.

“That being said,” he started, and you already knew you weren’t going to like what he was about to say. “You have a workout to finish.”

“I can think of a few alternatives that are just as effective,” you said, giving into the temptation to gently grind against him.

He bit his lip, holding back a moan as he forced you to stop with his hands on your hips. His attention fell to your chest hovering in front of his face. “You’re not getting out of this one. Nice try though.”

You groaned and straightened, slumping dejectedly. He chuckled before wrapping an arm around your waist, standing abruptly. You squealed, holding onto him as he turned around to sit you down onto the seat of the machine.

“Chanyeol,” you whined.

“Hey, I let you stall, didn’t I?”

“I mean yeah, but we were in the middle of something.”

“I tell you what. Finish this set and I’ll reward you.”

“Reward me how?” You questioned skeptically. His idea of a reward usually benefited him more than you.

As an answer, he stuck out his tongue, wagging it quickly at you. Your eyes widened in shock, scandalized. But the burning in your abdomen and the way your legs pressed together was a dead giveaway to how enticing a reward that was.

“Fine,” you grumbled, adjusting the weight and starting doing your reps.

Chanyeol’s loud laugh echoed throughout the building at your eagerness.

“If I knew that was all the encouragement you needed, I would’ve incorporated it sooner.”

“Shut up,” you muttered.

“Make me.” He smirked.

“Oh, I will be as soon as I get that reward you promised.”

When you left the gym some time later, you couldn’t help but to think maybe your trainer wasn’t that bad afterall.

#chanyeol #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol scenarios #exo scenario #exo scenarios #chanyeol oneshot #chanyeol oneshots #exo oneshot #exo oneshots #chanyeol drabble #chanyeol drabbles #exo drabble #exo drabbles #chanyeol x reader #chanyeolxreader #exo x reader #exoxreader #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol imagines #exo imagine #exo imagines #chanyeol fic #exo fic

[hawkins-losers]

Cuff me, officer | Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Summary: You dress up as a cop for Halloween

Word count: - -

A/N I had other plans for this fic, but I didn’t end up having time to finish it before Halloween so I’m leaving the ending to your imagination

-

‘’I don’t get the appeal,’’ Eleven said with a frown between her eyebrows as you slicked her hair back with mousse and a brush, helping her get ready for going trick-or-treating with Max and the boys.

She was dressing up as the Childlike Empress from A Never Ending Story. You had rented it at Family Video a few weeks ago and she had loved the movie – beside that one scene with the horse. It’s a little traumatizing for a child.

You, on the other hand, were going to Steve’s Halloween bash.

‘’You are dressed as…Hopper?’’

You shook your head. ‘’No.’’ You couldn’t blame her for coming to that conclusion. You were wearing your father’s old uniform. ‘’I’m using his old uniform for my costume. I’m just a regular cop.’’

Last week while thrifting, you found a mini skirt for your light khaki police uniform. It wasn’t perfect, but the color matched the shirt well enough for a house party. Hopper’s shirt was too big for you, so you used a belt to make it fit and hooked a prop gun and a pair of handcuffs to it. It looked just like his regular Sheriff uniform.

Eleven’s frown deepened. ‘’Why?’’

At fourteen, you figured she was too young – and too innocent – to understand why dressing up as a cop was hot. Especially to the male eye. To preserve that innocence, you lied to her.

‘’Because my friends and I are all dressing up as first responders. Therese is a nurse and Louise is a…firefighter.’’

‘’Oh. That’s cool. Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will are dressing up as the Ghost…Ghostfinders?’’

‘’Ghostbosters,’’ you corrected.

El nodded. ‘’Yes. Mike wanted us to do a couple costume, but Dustin got really mad because he built this machine for his costume and, without Mike Halloween would be ruined.’’

That sounded like Dustin, bossy and dramatic.

‘’What about Max?’’ You tied her hair with an elastic and reached for the headpiece you had helped her make with supplies from the craft store. The resemblance was impeccable.

‘’Max is Michael Myers. He kills babysitters,’’ she said flatly.

‘’He does.’’

*

When you arrived at the party, it wasn't Steve who answered the door. It was Tommy H., Steve's best friend. He whistled at your costume, seemingly not caring that his girlfriend, Carol, was right there. That said a lot about his faithfulness. Wandering eyes don’t usually end with just the eyes.

Right before pressing the doorbell, you had unbuttoned one of the buttons, the lace of your black bra peeking a little. You even wore a matching panty under your costume – for later fun. If Hopper had seen you in the street with your bra showing even just a smidge, he would’ve ordered you to get in the car and taken you home.

You didn’t respond to Tommy’s tasteless whistling, moving past him and letting yourself into the house.

‘’I didn’t think you would go through with your idea,’’ Louise said, squealing at your costume. ‘’Harrington better keep an eye on you, he’s gonna make some people jealous tonight.’’

Her compliment was an exaggeration – there was no way you looked that good –, but you thanked her. Louise was the best to hype her friends up. When you were unsure about your outfit choice for your first date with Steve, she showered you with compliments and said Steve would drop to his knees when he’d see you in that dress.

In the end, she hadn’t been wrong. Steve did drop to his knees.

‘’Do you think he's gonna get the joke? He can be a bit slow sometimes,’’ she added.

The reason you dressed up as a cop was because last month, Steve got a speeding ticket. Unfortunately for him, Officer Powel had been the one to pull him over. When the officer left, Steve had made a joke about how he would’ve charmed his way out of his speeding ticket if it had been a woman officer.

You shrugged. ‘’I hope so.’’

After parting with Louise, you went looking for your boyfriend.

You found him by the stairs with a beer in hand, laughing with some guys from the basketball team. He was dressed as Tom Cruise’s character in Risky Business, which was a lazy costume in your opinion. You had tried to get him to dress as Danny from Grease, but Steve had refused to gel his hair like him.

‘’Are you the owner of this house? I’m here to break up a party.’’

Recognizing your voice, Steve turned around, then choked on his beer when he saw you in your costume. He coughed a few times, eyes glued on you. ‘’Fuck. You’re unreal.’’

‘’I’ve been getting complaints from the neighbors about someone being too hot to handle,’’ you added, not breaking out of character.

Playing along, Steve’s lips twitched into a smile at the corner. ‘’I think that would be me – in both cases.’’

You posed and Steve felt his pants getting tight. ‘’What do you think? Do I make a sexy cop?’’ You leaned forward a little, giving him a tantalizing view of your cleavage and the lacy bra beneath your outfit.

Rendered speechless, Steve moved closer to you, his eyes wide and mouth nearly salivating. ‘’If there weren't so many people around, I'd make you feel what I think,’’ he replied with his lips close to your ear, letting you know about the situation happening in his pants.

Two could play the teasing game.

‘’I might as well let you know, I’m wearing a matching underwear…and it’s a tong.’’

Steve groaned at your words. You knew exactly what to say to push his buttons.

‘’I don't know how I'm gonna make it through the party.’’

-

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3  @cursedandromedablack  @Slashersimpfor  @savagejane1   @wh0reforbucknasty   @eddiemunson-slut   @slvdsjjk  @hehehehannahthings  @dreamdancers-world  @eddiemunsonbby  @notbeforelong  @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog  @tatespillows  @alwayslexii  @lilygreennn   @milkiane  @imahomeslice  @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun @marauders3rawh0re  @your-mom21 @parkersmyth @voguesir @milkiane @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @lilygreennn @alexxavicry @charlie-chick  @wandamaximoffs-deadchild  @horrorstreet  @rmeddar123  @pastel-abyss-x @lil-tracys  @luvmybbies  @chloepricesgrafitimarker  @inluvweddiemunson @i-like-trains @kittenfrostt @simp-for-slasher @m-rae23 @kenzi-woycehoski @amberputh  @sea040561​

Steve Harrington taglist: @dylanstilinskiposts  @captainbuckyyy12  @valevalentyne  @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie  @heizenka  @eddie_munsons_girlfriend @scarlet-kazuha @uhidklol-26 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @swiftbyul @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie  @tinfoilhat2719 @straycatarang @wayfaring----stranger @starstruckspring @fourlokiss @mi-amoree1111 @starshipsxx  @ghoulishlygrey @bubsonnobx  @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella  @Dreamtiara  @pastelbabygirl19  @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby  @evanstanwhore @bootlegmothman420   @courtmr  @nia-um   @strangermarvelgirl  @fandomloversvaries  @missmaxmayfield  @m1rkw00dpr1ncess  @Minksblog  @soph69420world @truewdw1  @crying-caro  @nancewheelersworld  @nluvwitheddiemunson @veniceb1tch88 @hcloangcls @ilovetaylorswift1 @steveharringtonsupremacy  @jusstdreaaming @buckyswhxre @tomspidertingle @thechoiceslookgrimm @bobafettsleftglove @princesseddie @yourfavdummy  @eddiescvmslvt  @slightlyvicked  

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve stranger things

[valittlecorner]

"Chuuya is the most tragic Bsd character" "No it's Dazai!" Shut the fuck up it's Sigma.

Sigma was born from nothing and was used by anyone since the very beginning, barely considered "human". For starters, he doesn't even belong in the Bsd universe, Fyodor forced him in with the page, meaning he can't call Yokohama "home", he doesn't know what that means. For most people he met, Sigma was just an information gathering machine. Never in his life was he allowed a free will or offered kindness, which made him desperately grasp onto his Casino, but even that was taken away from him. The first and only people to show compassion were Atsushi and Dazai. The latter inspires him to do the right thing for once, and try to defeat Fyodor. He tries his best and even gets Fyodor's secrets, but he's abruptly found dead. Not a goodbye, not a warning, he's just dead. Now imagine your existence is so insignificant to the world that your death doesn't affect anything nor anyone. No one cares about it. The world keeps going without anyone stopping to think about you, you didn't matter enough. And the one who pushed you to what ultimately killed you (Dazai) doesn't even flinch to it. Sigma was so insignificant not even the show itself paid attention to him. Now that's what I call tragic.

#sigma bsd #bsd sigma #bungo stray dogs #bsd #i will not shut up about this #and this is one of asagiri's favorite characters???????? #valittleanalysis

[dirtytransmasc]

Imagine Neytiri and Jake finding out what machine the scientists used on Spider when asking where they are. I bet that Neytiri would have killed them and Jake and the others joining in on the fight

mild tw: there is no s/a or anything, but that machine is quite the allegory, forced penetration, stripping spider of his autonomy, making him completely vulnerable to the wills of others, robbing him of the safety of his own mind... he's gonna react a certain type of way and its gonna be a lot like a s/a victim might act, which can be really triggering, ot myself included. ~~~ it was clear as day that something was wrong, so very wrong. neytiri knew it the second she laid eyes on her boy, once so strong, so confident, now meek and afraid. he covered up more, clinging to the spare coat that was wrapped around his shoulders, which had seen much better days. his eyes weren't empty per say, but something was missing, part of her boy was gone.

she knew, no matter how much it hurt, that she would bring home a broken boy, but this was more then that, more then just broken. spider was vacant, quiet and reserved, clinging to her or jake or his siblings. he was terrified to be alone, terrified to show too much, too say to much, to be too much. when neytiri asked he shook her off, which was wrong, so wrong, he never kept anything from her, if he felt like he had to now she feared for what he had been through, more then she already had.

she want to charge into that base and question each and every human in there, to spill their blood, to make them pay for hurting her child. especially when spider took on the role of a church mouse, no longer loud and outgoing, a smile always on his face. no, now he cowered as if he had been robbed of everything that once made him, him.

then she found the scars, they almost seemed like burns, despite being formed like puncture wounds on the back of his neck. when she found him he froze up, his eyes watering, desperately fighting to stay calm. she felt something flip in her stomach, something telling her that this was the turn in the path she would never come back from.

"I didn't say anything I swear," he barely whispered to her before sinking into her arms, letting her hold him together. all he felt was hot shame in his gut, he never wanted her to know, ever, because then she would worry more then she already should of, and he didn't want that. that level of shame was unfamiliar to him, brought upon by those demons and their machines, but he couldn't get himself to ease through it.

he couldn't bring himself to answer her questions, or jakes, or norm's. he just stayed curled up in their arms and cried, because he didn't know what else to do.

it broke her to see him like that, she couldn't even describe it, the way he acted, she had never seen something like it before; jake was not given the same mercy, he prayed to god, eywa, whoever else was out there, that he was wrong, for once in his life he would be grateful to be wrong, but he when he looked at spider he couldn't help but recognize that empty fear in his eyes, the way he maintained whatever sense of modesty he could, grappled to what little he could trust like it would be ripped away from him. norm saw it too, looked to jake with fear, fear of what they may discover, what they would have to explain to a mother of all people.

jake can't decide if what he found to be the truth was a mercy or not; that spider was strapped to a machine that made a joke of tsaheylu, twisting it to hurt and maim and rob. knowing spider was never hurt like that, but rather tortured in an attempts to get him to sell out his family. that he never broke, no matter how badly the tried to force him, how long they kept him hooked up to that thing, no matter how hard they pressed. in a way spider was hurt like that, they just found an even sicker way to do that, they took away the refuge that was his mind, the one place he should always be safe. he held his boy close that night, not being able to let go.

explaining it to neytiri was even more difficult than accepting the information himself. how did you explain a child being robbed of their own mind to someone who could barely understand something like corporal punishment? how does he explain what spider was feeling, what this torture was like, an earth concept like rape? how does he explain the damage done to their son, mentally and physically?

neytiri broke as it settled into her, every word that came from jake's mouth like a blade to be stuck into her heart. her baby had suffered so greatly at their hands, because she failed to protect him that night.

she kept a strong face for the little boy in her arms, but when she went flying that night she screamed, she screamed and screamed and didn't stop screaming. her child had been stripped of everything he had out of another man's greed.

she swore upon her father's bow, hers own life, and her son's wellbeing that she would make them pay, starting with the wretched machine, she planned to smash it to pieces.

#spider te suli tsyeyk'itan #spider socorro #miles socorro #miles spider socorro #neytiri #jake sully #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water

[archangel-lucerys]

No but what i find funny is tg is smug about aemond murdering lucerys right upto the point when he's blamed for it then it's an "accident"

but also smug about how easy lucerys was to kill, but how its unfair to fight aemond the one with the biggest dragon in the world being attacked by his geriatric uncle with a dragon half the size of his

And also accident literally doesn't matter, what his intentions were doesnt matter with what ends up happening, because people are forgetting one key detail, he chased after a family member and an envoy. And most importantly he chased after the boy who is explicitly stated in the peace terms by the greens saying he would be spared and remain unharmed if nyra gives up.

Envoys are sacred in real and fictional world, they're messengers with diplomatic immunity where even if they belong to opposition they cannot be harmed because its major breach of warfare rules, this has been adapted by both grrm and Tolkien. Killing them leads to end of all negotiations and peace treaties and in westroes they're also protected by religion! Aemond's mother's religion!

Imagine had lucerys somehow survived and gone home and told them aemond, a major green faction member, chased after an envoy and the boy mentioned in the treaty of the greens, you think war wouldn't have started then and there? Because that is just proving that greens aren't going to keep any peace treaty.

Show tried to make aemond into such victim and all his actions a mistake as if even if he didn't mean to kill, he first asked an envoy to harm himself and then jumped to harm him, which not even book aemond did, he still chased him with a killing machine with full sobriety, which book aemond did with intention to kill.

So accident defence is stupid in real modern world and westroes

#lucerys velaryon #house of the dragon #hotd #house velaryon #luke velaryon #house targaryen #the house of the dragon #lucerys targaryen #lucerys targeryen #prince lucerys #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #alicent hightower #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #the black queen

[joleneghoul]

Infodumping here about the re-contextualized history of Rip and Booster now that Rip his canonically his son because I can't stop thinking about it.

Like i said before I really like the balance of Rip and Booster being really similar when they're in their 20s and within the same period of time VS that NOT adding at all to their possible friendship that booster seemed to want

Obviously Booster didn't know Rip was his son and just saw him as an expert in time travel, someone who he could relate to maybe. But Rip is someone who refuses to let them be closer at this point in time of their history.

like that is explicitly a barrier we see Rip put up between him and Booster multiple times in the older comics.

In the back to the future arc of BG vol 1 at the start when Rip says he thought about just turning in Booster instead of helping him but Jack convinced him to help (this also coulda just been a joke). Then again at the end Booster proposes that Rip could work with his company and brand as a time travel expert and Rip outright is like "nope, im going home, if you really need me then we can talk".

I also really like that Rip has an annoyance towards Boosters whole persona at this time too, and outwardly shows it.

He places this same barrier at the end of BG vol 1 when Booster begs him to take him to the future again to get away from his troubles and Rip reminds him that it is HIS fault his time machine is broken and that he can't, and wont help.

There's always a unease on Rip's end when it comes to Booster during this time period, which to me makes a lot of sense because I feel as though because Rip is so young in this time (he is honestly maybe a year younger than booster, i feel its implied that jack is younger than booster and jack went to school with Rip. Rip was the youngest person to get a doctorate at the time. so. but still they're around the same age range.) and even if you're a super genius like he is nobody knows completely what they're doing in their 20s.

Rip canonically also has poor personal skills at this time (Rip only gets good at manipulating people and keeping up lies when he is older and that's when him training Booster comes into play and who we see in comics now).

So imagine all of that and then your dad just shows up, also your age, and you can't slip up and let him know anything or else you could ruin your own existence. Avoidance is the easiest route.

Though, despite that Booster in this time remains Rips connection to the league and who HE ends up going to when he needs help. Of course Jeff has to convince him the first time to do so but Rip does end up calling Booster again and asking for help to get SUPERMAN to talk to him. We know Booster doesn't even like superman at this time so, big ask but Booster still pulls through. Not to mention the "call dad" sticky note in the bg of this panel.

Despite all of this we also get the implication that...Booster and Rip talk on the phone enough for Booster to know a lot about Rip's partner and Rips paranoia later on. There is also a point a bit later comics where the linear men want to kill Booster and the person they ask to do it is Rip (this goes nowhere really).

Anyways, It's really evident that Rip cares A LOT about his father and who he was to him growing up. Rip doesn't just save Booster over and over because it saves himself, he does it because he loves his family. The Rip who is forced to watch Booster hurt himself over and over is a Rip who learned to cope with it and keep his feelings hidden- It was impossible for Rip to do this in the past.

It's also really interesting to see younger Rip's reactions to seeing his dad go through emotional distress and bad choices, seeing him put up walls and push him away. Then later seeing a older Rip see his dad go through the same thing times ten and while he still puts up a wall and boundaries its in a different way. He grew into someone who could handle it.

#rip hunter #booster gold #sorry another infodump bc i cant stop thinking abt Rips early life and how he grew to be who he becomes

[sidney-latrobe]

Crop Shirt

Summary: You did laundry at your house and accidentally shrunk your boyfriend's favorite shirt. 

Warnings: Strong Language

Word Count: 969

People, who asked to be tagged: @scenesofobx, @816-igottamissedcall

—

"No," you gasped. "No, no, no, no. NO!" 

As you lifted the shirt in your hands to inspect it further, the fabric was still warm. What had once been a filthy black-and-white graphic tee shirt was now clean, but several sizes smaller and too small to fit its owner. You moved to stand in front of the mirror in your bedroom and quickly shrugged off your shirt to pull the one in your hands on. 

"He's going to kill me," you sighed, looking at your depressing reflection. Before you decided to do your laundry, the shirt was big enough to reach your butt, but now, it barely went past your hips. "He's definitly going to kill me."

You were in big trouble because it wasn't just an ordinary shirt that you stole from your boyfriends to wear at home. It was his favorite shirt — his identity — it was his Hellfire Club shirt.

"Hey, sweetheart." You almost punched your first into Eddie's face when his arms snaked around your middle and he pressed a kiss to your temple. "Whoa, easy, easy. It's me."

It was very fortunate that Eddie had fast reflexes because he had seen you give several jocks a blue eye before. Gently unfolding your fist, he pressed a kiss to your palm and continued holding your hand as he dipped his head and connect your lips for a sweet kiss. 

"Hey," he smirked against your lips. "What's going on? Did I do something to deserve being almost punched in the morning?"

"No, I'm sorry," you mumbled and leaned against him, not wanting to let off his warmth and the comfort the scent of his cheap cologne brought to your mind. "I just — I need to tell you something, and I know you're going to be mad —"

The bell rang and you groaned. 

"Do you wanna —"

"No, I'll tell you later today, alright? The club room at lunch." The second warning bell rang and you quickly pressed a kiss to his lips. "Don't be late! I love you. Bye!"

You were completely unable to concentrate on anything that your teachers said. You were imagining how your boyfriend was going to respond after you show him his ruined shirt and your mind was overloaded with worries and several possible outcomes. And when the lunchtime bell rang, you almost didn't leave the classroom until your teacher forcibly removed you from the classroom.  Eddie was standing by the entrance to the Hellfire Club room, waiting for you to arrive. As you approached him, he wore a smirk on his face and grabbed your hand before bringing you into a tight embrace. He smiled as he did so.

"I feel like I haven't see you all day," he admitted and unlocked the door, allowing you to step inside first. 

"Yeah," you nervously smiled, "sorry about that."

"That's alright. I got you now."

Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist and seated you on the top of the table and you couldn't help but let out a guffaw as he did so. While he kissed you passionately, his hands traveled up and down your sides before resting on your hips. It was blissful. You succumbed to his touch and almost forgot about the problems that were bothering your mind until his fingers fumbled with the fabric of your shirt, attempting to move it upwards. At that moment, you nearly forgot about the problems that were troubling your mind.

"Wait."

"What?" he said against your lips. "I haven't seen you all day, sugar. Just wanna be with you. We don't need to fuck but just let me feel this pretty skin of yours."

"Eddie." 

You soughed and pushed against his shoulders. He sighed but obliged and let you hop off the table, frowning as you walked to your school bag. 

"Promise you won't be mad."

"I don't —"

"Just promise."

"Alright, I promise. What's going on?"

You opened your bag and pulled out his t-shirt. "I, uh, so, I did laundry at my house tonight and, well, I guess our machine is buzzed because, well …"

Carefully, you showed him his shirt and Eddie walked closer, taking the shrunken material into his head. 

"You shrunk it?"

"I know. I'm so sorry, Eddie. I don't know what happened. I tried to fix it. I soaked it in cold water and tried to stretch it out, but it didn't work I just ruined it more. I'm so, so sorry. I'll promise to buy you a new one, just give me a week to find the money and —"

Eddie shook his head, smirking, and stopped your babbling with a quick kiss. "Can you just shut up for a moment?" 

Startled, you watched as he took the shirt from your hands and shrugged off his jacket. Eddie took off his shirt and a frown wrinkled your forehead when he squeezed himself into the ruined shirt. It clung to his chest and only reached to his waist. Heat rushed to your cheeks as your boyfriend checked himself out. 

"I am mad that I'll have to make another shirt," he admitted, "but would you check me out? I look amazing."

"You do look pretty good," you gulped hard, not finding the strength to look away from him. 

Eddie noticed your change of tone and smirked. "You like what you seeing?"

"Very much."

"How much?"

"Like I wanna fuck you on that table right now."

Eddie pretended to read the time on his watch-less wrist and sighed, "Well, we only have ten minutes left. Guess, we'll have to make it a quick one."

"Shut up and fuck me, Munson."

#eddie being cute #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x female reader

[blackinkroses]

My Crack Horror Headcanon

Several horror medias exist in the same world as each other, but mostly ones about kids entertainment. This includes tv shows like Amanda the Adventurer, Welcome Home, Bendy and the Ink Machine and Candle Cove, as well as places like the Fazbear restaurants.

BlackInkRoses, why do you hold such a strange headcanon? Because, my darkly humorous side has found it somewhat amusing to imagine a world where children’s entertainment is so INCREDIBLY screwed up that anyone who manages to survive their generation’s newest craze ends up so disturbed and then create ANOTHER horrifying children’s entertainment media and creates a cycle of horrible people putting out children’s shows. For example, the CEO of Hamelin watched Candle Cove and Welcome Home in the 70’s, a grandparent brushes off concerns about what their child is watching because they watched stuff like Bendy and, “Turned out fine,” a child had one sibling killed by an animatronic and the other disappeared after watching Amanda the Adventurer; they’re now the one restoring the lost Welcome Home media.

#amanda the adventurer #welcome home #fnaf #five nights at freddys #fnaf headcanons #five nights at freddy's #amanda #freddy fazbear #welcome home headcanon #amanda the adventurer headcanon #welcome home headcanons #crack idea #crack headcanons #horror #horror games #candle cove

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

Hey! I finished my Perfuma Re-design! I made her a deer person to diferenciate her a bit from other characters and also because i think would make sense with her character since she lives in the forest. As for her outfit, i pretty much mixed a whole bunch of stuff, like the hippie fashion of the 70s, Fairy core and Galadriel from LOTR, i think the dress still looks a bit too simple and empty but i imagine it having a silk like texture especially her top, i wanted to make a flower crown but i wasn't able to draw it so i simply added to her horns.

As for her character, i imagine her kingdom being a close ally to Bright Moon since they are probably the closest one, her father was part of the rebellion a long time ago and ended up dying because of one of the Horde's machines,making Perfuma resenting technology a lot. She was born blind and was dubed not fit to rule the kingdom due of her disability, being treated as incapable for a big part of her life till the Horde invaded the Kingdom, killing her parents and destroying a big portion of the forest on the process, because of the anger of losing her parents, Perfuma awekend an incredible powerful magic that she used to create a giant plant monster and banished the Horde soldiers alway from her home. After the Horde was send alway, she realized that their home was almost entirely destroyed, she then ordered to flee the kingdom and rebuild it in another place, completly hid from the Horde and any outsider deemed unworthy.

Because of her powerful magic, Perfuma was the only protector of her kingdom for a very long time, having the help of only the animals and creatures from the forest to help her, since then the Horde has been unable to enter the Whisper Forest and it was deemed an dangerous place protected by a blood thirsty monster that kills whoever enters it. Perfuma was considered a very valueble and strong ally to the Rebellion, being the one who keeps the Horde alway from Bright Moon, but she's been distant ever since her parents died and rarely visits the Kingdom or even keeps contact, which is what causes Adora, Bow and Glimmer to visit her and show She-Ra.

In question of personality, Perfuma is a very pacific, compasionate and kind person that sees the good on everyone and everything, she fantasized with She-Ra her whole life being the center hero of all her people's myths, hoping that someday She-Ra would come back to save her people and put an end to their suffering. Perfuma's was very shielded on her childhood, not being alowed to play with other kids, with the only exception being Glimmer who is her childhood friend, but despite that Perfuma was a very lonely kid and spend most of her life playing with the animals from the forest, learning to speak with them and training to be more independent despite her condition, that friendship with the animals would later pay up with them helping her defend The Forest and Bright Moon. Despite having a calm demeanor, Perfuma can be easily prone to anger and stress, due of being trusted with a lot of responsability in a very young age (she was only 14 when her parents died, with Glimmer being around 9) because her powers are linked to her emotions, Perfuma constantly meditates to keep herself calm because she's afraid to hurt someone if she's snaps. But despite being gentle, Perfuma holds a big anger and hate towards the Horde for taking her parents, destroying her home and for their machines who cause a mess in the enviroment, making her very suspicious of Adora when she find out she's a former Horde soldier, but begins to trust her after seeing she have a pure heart. She pretty much acts like a mix between Galadriel and the butterfly girl from Demon Slayer.

Perfuma's the oldest of the princesses (being around her early 20s) and she doesn't really know any if them except from Glimmer who was her closest and only friend. She acts like a big sister to her and is very worried about her friendship with Adora at first but after seeing how Adora cares for Glimmer she calms down a bit, she's also have a close friendship to Mermista after entering the Rebellion and later on she's also makes friends with Frosta and Scorpia, despite not trusting her at first either. She doesn't like Catra at all, especially after knowing what she did to Scorpia and Adora (when i say "don't like her" i mean she's literally ready to kill that cat at first moment notice) and she also have a complicated relationship with Entrapta because her machines often cause a lot of harm to the forest and because their kingdons have been at war before (i'll explore that lore a bit, give me some time). After the Horde attack, her kingdom rune stone had almost been destroyed, with one of the remaining piece being the gems she use around her body and after hearding She-Ra was back, she hoped to finally heal the stone and bring the kingdom to it forme glourious self, since she knows a lot about She-Ra, she acts as kind of a guide to Adora, helping her connect with She-Ra trought meditation and teaching her about her connection to the planet, which made them very close and she have kind of a motherly way to treat Adora. Among her powers, Perfuma have heightened senses for being part animal (and above that, being blind) especially her hearing who is 2 times better than other people from her race, she have a very powerful plant magic which can be dangerous if she gets too anger or emotional, making her a bit scared to use her full potencial, she also have healing powers which is an old magic of her people that they learned with She-Ra herself and she can talk to animals, even monstruous creatures

#submission #i love this!! #you put a lot of thought into her design and character #spop #she ra #perfuma

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Gentle Noise

Steve knows his house is quiet, even though all he can hear is the ringing in his ears and the pulse throbbing behind his eyes. It's been less than a week since the dogs. Less than a week since they saved the world again. And less than a week since Billy Hargrove almost killed him. 

The pain is less than before, slowly waning each day. He can finally drag himself out of bed and into the kitchen without exhausting himself. He's hungry and hasn't had a decent meal since before he became the babysitter. Diet mostly water, painkillers, and whatever snack he could scrounge up in his room. 

They'd tried their best to convince him he needed a hospital. "Another concussion could be dangerous". Like he doesn't know that already. 

But Steve's parents weren't home -- still aren't, won't be for a while -- and he didn't want them coming home early because of another fight. Another excuse to show their disappointment. The pinch of his mother’s brow and the tone his dad took up to explain how “real men win fights” is not something he’s eager to repeat. So no hospital. 

His house is always quiet. It's not like it's the first time he's noticing the silence. No, Steve first noticed his house was quiet the day of his fourteenth birthday. Then again the next year for Thanksgiving. Months and months of silence would pass by, broken up only by his parents’ brief layovers between business trips. Even when they were home, it was quiet, but a stronger, more oppressive silence. Not the neutral sounds of absence he was used to. Which Steve definitely prefers. 

Now, for the first time, he's wondering what a house would sound like if it was loud. If maybe he got lucky like everyone always told him, but not because of the money. Maybe because, with bad parents, it’s better to have a quiet house than a loud house.

He's trying to imagine what it would be like, living in that kind of noise. The yelling. The screaming between people who've screamed at each other for years. Crying and name calling. Never ending strings of curses so thoughtlessly thrown together that it sounds a little ridiculous and juvenile.  Music blaring, fists pounding on doors, cupboards slamming closed. The smell of stale cigarettes and spilt alcohol is too loud. Hair in the shower and stains on the toilet. An unbalanced washing machine, forgotten white noise on the TV, the sink dripping. It's all too loud. 

Can’t imagine her living in a place like that with nowhere to hide.

How can someone find quiet when their home is only noise? 

Steve pulls up outside of a house that looks like he expected. Took him a while to find it. Took him a bit to realize it was listed under a different last name. 

He notices the yard is yellowed, and as he gets closer, that there's a tear in the screen door. The sounds and smells seep from the edges of the house, everything he imagined leaking from its pores. He can't help but pause to consider that maybe this is a mistake. If he can handle the volume.

He knocks anyway. 

Steve knew what would happen once he did, guessed it by the car in the driveway. Yet it still didn't keep him from tensing as Billy Hargrove opened the door. 

House listed under Hargrove, not Mayfield.

A flicker of shock flashes across Billy's face before he quickly fashions it into casual hatred, disdain hidden behind a cocky smile. He’s shirtless and sweating, reeking of body odor and stale cigarettes. Behind him Steve glimpses the kitchen, littered with beer cans and unwashed dishes. The TV has been left on, white noise struggling for space against metal music drowning out the rest of the house. 

"What are you doing here, Harrington?" He sounds tough, aggressive. But he crosses his arms, taking a small step backwards into the house and rakes his gaze over Steve's face. He realizes that Billy seems nervous.

Maybe Billy does take threats seriously. Even when he's high on tranquilizers. 

"Where is she?" Steve asks, more akin to a demand. He straightens his shoulders. Braces himself just in case. Tightens his grip on the handle just out of sight. 

"I'm babysitting the brat until they get back. She's grounded after all that shit and she's not going anywhere with you--" 

"Go get her. Now. I wanna talk to her." Steve pulls the baseball bat into view from where it’s casually propped next to the door. Billy's eyes widen as he takes another larger step back. 

He can feel a migraine coming on. He hadn't eaten anything before leaving and was due for meds. At this point Steve was using the bat more as a crutch than as a threat, but Billy didn't need to know that. 

"Maxine! Get your ass out here," Billy shouts over his shoulder. He walks backwards further into the living room, still keeping his eyes on the bat. He fumbles his hand around on top of the end table next to him, blindly grabbing a crushed pack of smokes. Steve watches Billy stick a cigarette between his lips, glimpsing yellow-stained teeth behind chapped lips. 

Steve thinks maybe he’ll never smoke again. 

He's finally able to turn away as he catches sight of unruly red hair. She stares up at him, surprised and maybe a little curious, if Steve had to guess. He doesn't know her very well, doesn't know how to read her yet. But he sees she's wearing a headset around her neck, plugged into the Walkman in her pocket. 

Yeah, he supposes that would help with the noise. She makes her own. 

"Steve," she says, and yes, he's sure now. It's surprise. She sneaks a glance back at Billy, who hasn't moved, then turns back to him and asks, not unkindly "what are you doing here?" 

"I'm hungry," Steve replies. It’s not what he meant to say. But he’s not really sure what he’s doing here either. Just making it up as he goes.

Max scrunches her face, confusion flickering through her features. "Umm ok..." 

"Are you hungry? I was gonna make some lunch or something. I'll probably have extra " he states, as if commenting on the weather. A casual invitation, to keep from spooking her. So it doesn’t come off as pity. So she won’t feel like a burden. 

 He gets it. 

He sees the moment she understands his invitation. But again, she looks back at Billy. "Oh," she sounds unsure, tense, her shoulders hunched. "Billy's supposed to be babysitting me until my mom and Neil get back, so I don't think–" 

"I'm the babysitter." It comes out strong and sure, and maybe a little too forceful.

Max stills. She glances at the bat in his hand, then back up at him with something there behind her eyes. He hopes it’s something good. God, he hopes he’s doing this right.

"Max," Steve says softly, crouching down and slowly telegraphing his movements. He gently places his free hand on her shoulder. "I'm your babysitter, Random Girl, and I'm asking if you want to eat lunch with me." 

Because at the end of the day, he's not Billy. He'll never force Max to do anything she doesn't want. Even as he suppresses the urge to bundle her away from this place, this house. Away from the noise. 

"You're such a dork," she bites, half-hearted with a smirk and wet eyes. He quirks his eyebrows in question and she laughs, a quick but true thing. "Let me grab my stuff." 

Steve looks back to Billy as she runs off, and finds him sitting on the couch now, resigned. 

"Who's gonna be there, Harrington?" Billy kicks his feet up on the coffee table, aiming for casual again and just missing the mark. "It's not those little shitbags is it? Sinclair, right?" 

Steve stands again, swings the bat over his shoulder, and plants his feet as he holds Billy's glare. He feels the quick beat of his pulse and a tremor in his hands. Can’t believe he’s here really. Because, for some reason, inter-dimensional dog monsters are ok. But his nightmares are of Lucas pinned to a wall and a plate to his own head. 

Billy finally gives it up, turning his attention to the TV. 

Steve doesn't relax until he sees Max round the corner, weighted backpack on one shoulder and a skateboard tucked under the other. She's smiling, so full it takes up her whole face, and then Billy's forgotten by both of them. 

The ride back is quiet. Max turns the radio on– the pop station Steve normally listens to– but the volume is turned low. She rolls the windows down letting the cold November wind wrap around her curls. Steve huffs, trying to fix his coif, which gains him a giggle. But she rolls it back up, just so it's cracked. 

It's quiet as he cooks. She's set up on a high top at the kitchen counter, backpack open and schoolwork spread out. Soft music floats through the headphones around her neck, and he can catch her small hums, whispering along with the lyrics. 

He hopes he was right, that Max likes it here where it's quiet. Because now there's sounds of life in Steve's home. 

And if she can be his gentle noise, then he will be her peace and quiet.

#Holy shit you guys I wrote something! #if you see typos no you didn't #steve & max #Steve harrington #max mayfield #stranger things ficlet #QueenieWritesStories

[uldren-sov]

🖊️ + Elora Starwars? 👀

Ms. Elora Starwars, if you're nasty.

Tyty!!!

( art by @artofzofia !! mwah!!)

Some more about the Empire! More Sith culture! Some Sith philosophy!

So have to start this out by saying I don't agree with a lot of the writeups about the Empire not being as bad as it seems, it's worse. Maybe I'm just more sensitive to the subject, but beyond the cartoonishly evil moments, it is smarter and crueler than that as well.

The Empire is a massive machine that has worked thus far because it grew bloated in isolation while the Republic thrived. Even that kind of beginning will show just how the emergence back into the galaxy at whole should frame a lot of perspectives. It was and continues to be an insular society that prides itself on the ubiquitous homogeneity of who is given power. (Apparently both the Mirialan and Cathar home planets are a part of the Empire, you don't see a lot of them in DK do you?)

So, given this frame of mind! And the fact that it is Dromund Kaas is the capital planet of the Empire, not Ziost, I think she does feel ostracized from the start of her exile (around 13 ish years old), by being from Ziost which has more of the cultural heritage of the Sith Empire from ancient times that was then reclaimed. Further, it had New Adasta, which was the gateway to the Empire as well as where you go to trade with the Empire. So as she grows up, she already had more access to cultural history, that does not exist in DK outside of stories and the ability to interact with other people in this very tailored exposure to the rest of the galaxy, that doesn't exist in DK.

She's spent most of her life angry and frustrated at the Empire due to the restraints placed upon her by Sith and Imperial society in Dromund Kaas versus Ziost given, in some way, Ziost had to give the facsimile of being open to the rest of the galaxy, and could not be as earnest in its invidiousness as it is in DK.

So given this emphasis on actual Imperial history and ancient Sith artifacts, teachings, etc. She felt a connection to that aspect of the Empire more than anything. It's why she had her tattoos done in traditional way, scarification, venom, and all!!!

So then with that gone, so too was so much of the history and left her once again kind of listless and apart from DK. Thankfully hatred, rage, and spite are typical of Sith, because one of her biggest complications now is, how can she have a home -- or save her home!!! -- when she feels once more separated from what is forced to be her home again. It's a complicated relationship where she hates what the Emperor did to her home and by extension hates the Empire for essentially letting it happen, hates most of the people in charge of the Empire still, but is loyal enough to it to want to try and make it better. She has no home but her family, her friends, and the amorphous idea of the Empire that will be undone if the Republic wins.

Also I've always liked how she's played with the Sith Code. Ideally it results in freedom and there are understandably many interpretations on how to achieve freedom through power beyond the obvious one. I enjoy an interpretation that is more personal to the Sith, gaining a kind of self assurance and power and confidence in oneself will set them free. And to a point it does! Imagine living without such self doubt! She subscribes to it a bit as well as how it plays into how the Empire is a "meritocracy". She uses assets more than she destroys them, she's converted Jedi rather than killing them, and all of it still add to her power which leads more often than not, to victory. And at least by now she has proof of concept! Through those victories she's broken some of the chains that the most hated parts of the Empire had kept her down with.

But some chains just aren't broken like that :)

Also thought of having her apprentice be a fallen Jedi but honestly what Sith in their right mind wants a teenager (or anyone tbh) around who's planning on killing them?

tiresome!!!!!!!!

so she's trained some of her friends and colleague's apprentices

and her first real apprentice is her dottir Cosima!

#Swtor OC #OC: Elora #MORE LORE

[tf2fansderogatory]

if any of u r still takin requests……. um…… something in the vibe of those gothic hcs from an outsider’s perspective like the one for encanto where a random stranger hears tales of the family and it’s put into perspective just how horrifying all of the characters we know and love are when you don’t know them personally. but. for tf2. maybe include ingame stuff (like scout’s double jump, medic’s regeneration, spy’s ability to mimic anyone down to the fucking voice) 4 extra points…… pleas e?

imagine that you’ve just moved into a new town. the people don’t seem *quite* right- everybody seems to be paranoid for the first few minutes of any conversation, there’s no official curfew but everybody’s home and inside by sunset- but beyond that, things seem relatively normal…until you start hearing explosions from the edge of town. any time you drive by there, you can hear gunfire, battle cries, and screams of pain. some of those screams haunt you when you try to sleep. eventually, you start asking around- what the hell is going on out there ? every time you ask somebody, they go quiet for a moment before talking to you in a hushed voice, as if they’re scared one of the ones they’re talking about might overhear. and you quickly learn why they’re so terrified…

they tell you about a young man who defies physical human nature, able to jump twice without even touching the ground and too fast to catch. he drinks pure radiation almost daily, for fun, and then uses the energy to run even faster. if you see a lean, young man who looks like he plays baseball, walk on the other side of the road. he doesn’t.

there’s another one who always carries a rocket launcher. he fears no mortal damage or wounds- he shoots rockets at his own feet and uses the explosions to launch himself up into the air, splattering his opponent’s brains all over the walls with a shovel. if he doesn’t obliterate their head, he keeps it and adds it to his ever-growing collection.

another man does the same explosion-launch trick, but with bombs he makes himself. some of those bombs can stick to surfaces- countless of his enemies have died from simply walking through a doorway. sometimes, he puts down the bomb launcher and picks up a cursed sword that drains the energy of those it kills and gives it to the wielder. when the bomb-maker has his sword, he always aims for the neck…and he never misses.

one of them wears a full flame-retardant suit and has a unhealthy obsession with watching things burn. they don’t care what: papers, enemies, random people- and they do it all with a skip in their step and a laugh as if they’re just watching their favorite tv show. nobody knows what sets them off, but if they’ve decided something or someone is going to burn, then it’s going to burn until it’s ashes- and then the ashes will burn.

the arsonist is often accompanied by a short man with a warm smile and a kind voice. don’t be fooled into thinking you’re safe. he’s an engineer of war, a manufacturer of death. he builds machines with staggering levels of firepower, machines that provide supplies for his teammates, he figured out teleportation just to apply it to warfare. he always wears one glove, and whatever’s underneath it is far too strong to be human.

there’s one who’s a massive, hulking beast of a man, with fists huge enough to crush your skull. he always looks like he’s ready to pulverize someone within an inch of their life at a moment’s notice- and probably is. all nine of the men carry a gun and some kind of close-range weapon. this one has a machine gun and just his bare hands.

then there’s the doctor- people always shake just talking about him. he’s completely insane, has no regard or respect for human life, and is creative in the worst way possible. everything about him promises horrible pain if you cross him- the wide grin, the too-cheery eyes, the way he speaks about his job so enthusiastically. one of the townsfolk claims to have watched him get a nasty papercut, only for it to be fully healed without treatment within the minute. pray that you don’t end up in the same room as him, because his mood can flip like a light switch. don’t trust his calm, collected posture- it’s a bald-faced lie.

nobody knows much of anything about the sniper- quite a few don’t think he exists. he owns a camper van, and will sometimes drive the others into town, but he never walks around with them. he hardly comes into town in the first place. there are rumors floating around that the doctor did something to him and he doesn’t want other people to see.

and then there’s the mysterious man who’s only known by the alias “Spy”. his specialty ? disguises. he doesn’t just look like the person he’s disguising as- it’s like he becomes them, down to the tiniest details of voice, inflection, knowledge of events and info, everything. if you want to tell if it’s him or them, you’d better pray there’s some deeply personal tidbit between you and that person that he doesn’t know. and odds are, he does know. he doesn’t just disguise as people, though- sometimes he disguises as nothing. people have seen him step out of thin air like he’s doing nothing more than walking through a doorway. you don’t know where he is unless he wants you to know.

you want to stay safe ? go home and lock *everything* from sunset to sunrise. if you hear gunshots and explosions from the edge of town, they’re busy and therefore you’re safe. but otherwise, watch who you talk to. watch where you’re going. don’t zone out, be aware of your surroundings. if they want you dead, it likely won’t help, but it’s better than nothing.

…you feel like a rabbit that just made its burrow in a wolf’s den.

#this was so much fun to write #posted by ikea #anon #tf2 #tf2 whole team

[dirtytransmasc]

Vance Hopper HC's part 2

part 1 here

he's not quick to trust, but once he does, he shows it by leaving his back towards you, relaxing with his eyes closed, leaving his resources* out around you. that's how he's learned to read trust in animals and his lack of social understanding has lead to some animalistic traits

* he has bad resource guarding, like it's one of the things he is most aggressive about. it's mostly with food and people, but also the pinball machine and a few personal items. he doesn't like people near his room or his body (there are multiple reasons for this, resource guarding is just one of them) he is possessive over the boys and even if he tries not to, he gets snappy when people he doesn't know are around them. (I don't want this interpreted as the type of possessiveness associated with abusive relationships. I honestly don't know if nuerotypical people experience [not limiting or gatekeeping, I've just never met an NT person who understood this feeling] but it's the type of possessiveness you feel when your scared of losing something. it isn't a greed type control thing, it's a fear of abandonment/loss/sudden change type control thing. I only say this cause I see a lot of people trying to HC him as possessive and abusive)

He gets really bad nightmares, most of the time he doesn't even remember them, just wakes up terrified, covered in sweat, sobbing with no recollection of what triggered him.

robin watches his back when he falls asleep or has a shutdown anywhere other than home. it's something that just sorta started happening, but Robin takes his job insanely seriously, making sure he never breaks Vance's trust.

part of the reason he likes pinball so much is because of the sounds

he's super good at math, like he can do that shit in his head, but panics under pressure/time constraints which is why he would normally flunk all of his tests. he also has some memory and time management issues, so homework was always hard to remember. he was never dumb, he wasn't held back because he couldn't do it, he just couldn't do it the way they wanted him to.

he's actually wicked smart, when given the proper accommodations (at home, since y'know it was the 70s, and non disabled people hated us disabled people with a passion) he was genius, and he actually loves reading and writing, loves when the boys give him complex math problems to work through.

I cannot specify how much I think this boy loves to read. it's becoming an all consuming thought. I know he would eat up a pile of books in a month, and he would remember it so vividly, talking to the boys about it non stop until he decided to read it again. When he got tired of that he taught himself how to type so he could write his own. especially if he were to be formally diagnosed with dyslexia, he would do it all out of spite just to prove that even with a learning disability he could be as good as anyone else. he just needs to do it his way at his own pace. (the gifted kid that never got accommodated in me is crying, I just want my boy to be happy)

he hates bugs, but, eventually Griffin will win him over bug by bug. and slowly he has gone from wanting to burn every spider he sees to being spider neutral, a more 'you stay over there and I'll stay over here' type approach. and he won't let people kill them anymore, hell carefully take it out side. and if the other boys aren't looking and Griffin is offering one for him to hold, he'll allow it to crawl on his hand till he physically can't take it anymore and Griffin has to take it back. he's getting there.

he loves honey bees though, Griffin told him how friendly they are when you're friendly and now they're very chill (imagine him just chilling with honey bees, just like holding one, or sitting in a flower field just kinda watching them)

can't really do movies, but will put up with it for a chance to lay on the couch with all the boys.

terrified of the doctor, hates it with a passion, but not even the 'toughs it through any sickness, ops to do what he can at home' way, like he hates being sick, he's not the home surgery type. he just needs someone to hold his hand, and to talk to the doctor for him. also needles of any kind can get fucked.

he doesn't get sick often, but when he does he gets it bad, really really bad. he has to be hospitalized like once or twice a year cause since he gets something it either spreads through his whole body (a throat infection turns into pneumonia, an ear infection, and a sinus infection) or it just hits him like a freight train and lingers (stomach bugs lasting nearly a weak and getting him so dehydrated he's convinced he's dying).

he can cook, his mama taught him well. he has a handwritten copy of her cook book he spent days on.

he is such a Mama's boy, and he specifically calls her mama.

his handwriting shifts between what I call faux cursive (all the letters are connected and kinda curvey and twirly, but it's not cursive) and chicken scratch, depends on the day.

I can't decide if he's a bass or guitar guy, but I know that he has to be at least slightly supervised when he plays because he will play until his fingers are raw. Finney found him with blood all down his arm because he was just having a really bad day. he hates playing with a pick so his fingers are always at the mercy of his strings.

he knows how to play the drums, and they're his second choice.

is a surprisingly good driver, he just gets really bad road rage. he's pretty level on the gas, definitely going above the speed limit but in a safe controlled manner.

definitely becomes more and more of a teenage dirt bag as he gets older, if it weren't for his hair and reputation he would float in the back. any and all party surfing is against his will.

definitely drags kids out of parties they shouldn't be at, telling them they'll thank him later. he's good at reading a party in a second, knowing who is and isn't safe there and immediately getting them out.

he loves to be out in the sun, but doesn't like the heat, so he's a late spring early fall boy. the summer gets too hot sometimes. he hates the cold though, so winters are rough for him.

#the black phone #vance hopper #robin arellano #finney blake #bruce yamada #griffin stagg #billy showalter #dirtytransmasc