#WERE ALL A BUNCH OF FUCKING DWEEBS

[honeybleed]

— ★ THE GIRL YOU LIKE // SANO SHINICHIRO

content & warnings: female reader, reader’s friend kinda sets her up but not intentionally 😭, benkei, wakasa & takeomi are sibling mean to reader, fluff & crack, reader tries to make shin jealous (and fails), bit of a bittersweet ending

author’s note: this was the corny fic i was talking about. it’s very i’m not like other girls esque but it was fun to write!

word count: 1.5k

"Now, what brings such a pretty face to my shop?" Shinichiro grinned as he leaned over the counter.

"Why does he use the same line on every girl?" You thought to yourself. If you rolled your eyes every time Shinichiro shamelessly hit on a girl who came by SS Motors, you were sure they'd be stuck at the back of your head.

The girl looked like a model, and quite frankly you were waiting for her to shoot Shinichiro down almost immediately.

You honestly did find Shinichiro handsome, with his unruly jet-black hair, dark eyes and towering figure. He’d come a long way since the ridiculous pompadour he used to sport in his teen years.

But women — well the women he always hit on were turned off by his overeager nature. Wakasa didn’t even need to try and he had women throwing themselves at him.

Shinichiro had been one of your best friends since middle school. You’d been present for most of his life events.

When he created Black Dragon, and when he opened SS Motors, you even helped him look after Mikey and Emma sometimes. He couldn’t imagine life without you.

He always remarked that you were the female version of him.

“Here to pick up a spark plug. For my bro.” The girl giggled.

Oh?

She plucked the cigarette from Shinichiro’s lips and took a drag from it as she shamelessly eye fucked him. Her tits pressed together. You blinked at the absurdity of it all.

How bold was this girl?!

Shinichiro’s face was beet red as he stuttered at the girl's forwardness, his hand trembling as he handed her the box.

“Do…you wanna go out sometime?” Shinichiro finally stated as he cleared his throat.

“Mhm, sure cutie.” She grinned as she took out her bedazzled hot pink flip phone. “Give me your digits.”

You headed to the storage room of the store, mind struggling to comprehend the fact that that even took place.

What was this burning sensation in your chest?

You took your break earlier, still struggling to fathom your feelings. Calling your friend Mai to meet up with you.

Mai was the opposite of you when it came to aesthetics.

She always had her hair and nails done, she loved moon boots and platforms. Whether it was cargo pants, jeans or a miniskirt, she had a thong showing which sent guys and girls crazy.

Meanwhile, you were always in an SS motors uniform jumpsuit. You’d even maintained a pixie cut because sometimes you found long hair difficult to maintain.

“I knew you liked him.” She snorted.

“I do not like Shin!” You cried out.

“Yeah? So why else would you be clutching your chest?” She replied as she had her hand on her hip. “Just be honest with yourself, Y/N.”

How the hell did you like that dweeb? The same one who ruins movie nights by doing a Dutch oven under the blankets?

You shuddered.

“He’s my best friend!”

“Best friends don’t get jealous over each other dating.” She let out a sigh as she ran her fingers through her hair. “Look, why don’t you just one-up him? Go on a date and see his reaction, then you’ll know where you stand.”

“Go on a date with who, Mai! Have you seen me?”

“Oh stop it. You’re a hottie! You just scare people off. And you aren’t seriously gonna date this guy, this is just to rile Shin up. I’ll set you up with this dude who's been blowing up my phone nonstop.”

Mai was too busy to give you a makeover. She shot you a text reminding you to dress pretty and lent you a bunch of products.

You gazed at the small makeup bag. It surely couldn't be that hard..? Anybody can apply lipstick. Even if it was an unappealing light pink.

The mascara wand looked clumpy but a few strokes wouldn't look terrible. Right?

Mai and you both had brown complexions, Mai was lighter than you but it wouldn't make that much of a difference, surely?

You frowned when you were finally finished applying the makeup. Adding some extra powder didn't help.

"Don't sweat it." You recall Mai's words. "Even the prettiest makeup look will feel weird since you never wear it. You'll think you look goofy."

"Act natural, act natural, act natural." You kept repeating to yourself as you bit your tongue. You made your way out of the bathroom, passing the garage where a few of the Black Dragon members were chilling on the couches, smoke circling the room.

"Eh?" You felt Wakasa's half-lidded eyes fixate on you as Benkei called your name.

"Where you goin' all dolled up...?"

"Dolled up?" Takeomi echoed. "What's with the clown makeup?"

"Shut up!" You cried out. "It's not for you anyways, mind your business!"

"Yo, Y/N! I need your help real quick, can you-" Shinichiro's eyes immediately widened and he dropped the wrench when he looked at your face clearly.

He pulled a face, his eyebrows furrowing together. Something looked off about you but he couldn't tell what.

His reaction had the three men in hysterics, clutching their sides.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" You yelled which only made them more rowdy and unruly, Takeomi slapping Wakasa's thigh as Benkei clutched his sides.

"WHAT THE HELL IS SO FUNNY?!" You barked, makeup sweating off from how humiliated you were at this shoddy plan of yours to make Shinichiro jealous going awry.

Wakasa began to sing a circus theme, earning more raucous laughter from the men, hooting and hollering as they rolled around.

"I'm going on a date, so no I can't help you, Shin!"

"You can't just bail on a shift, Y/N..!" Shinichiro said, voice stern. "You've never done that before. You gotta tell me beforehand."

"Well I'm going and you're ain’t stoppin’ me!" You hissed. You turned to make your way out but immediately stumbled with the stiletto heels which restarted the chorus of laughter again.

A roar of an all too familiar motorbike.

"Why are you here...?" You asked, voice wavering.

Shinichiro gave you an awkward smile as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Figured you'd need a chaperone or something."

"He didn't even turn up." You said stiffly. "He probably saw my clown mug from a distance and took off running."

"Who is he?"

"What's it to you?"

"Tell me his name so I can find him and kick his ass. Or at least get one punch in."

You shared a laugh, knowing Shinichiro wasn't renowned for fighting. You appreciated the sentiment all the same.

"He didn't even wanna go on a date. Mai just forced him and he thought she'd give him a chance if he went on this charity case one." You said lowly.

You looked up to meet the empathetic look in Shinchiro's dark eyes.

"Don't take Waka n' em seriously." Shinichiro said airily as he leaned against the railing. "I told them they were being dickheads. You're like a little sis to them. Hell, I'd probably be a pain in the ass like that when Emma grows up and wears makeup."

"I got thick skin, I'll live." You murmured. "Never touching makeup again after this though."

Shinichiro bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say.

“You wanna grab a bite to eat?”

You swallowed thickly, eyelashes spiky from tears.

“Jeez, don’t start cryin’ on me. I thought you had thick skin?”

“I’m sorry.”

Shinichiro threw an arm around you, pulling you close he tucked you into his side. As you buried your face into his chest, you felt him rub your back.

“What’s the matter, huh?”

“Feel so stupid.” You sniffled. “He never even liked me.”

“That’s his loss.” Shin said firmly as he tilted your head up, taking your chin between his forefinger and thumb as he smiled at you.

“Thought you were with that girl.” You mumbled.

“Oh yeah, I screwed that up royally. Couldn’t speak without stumbling over my words.” He snorted.

“I only agreed to go out with that guy to make you jealous.” You hesitantly admitted.

“Huh?”

Shinichiro realised you’d been acting off since he agreed to take that girl out. But he had no idea you liked him.

“I don’t know why I just couldn’t stand the idea of you being with somebody else. I don’t know. I was probably afraid you’d stop talking to me as often. You’re-”

“The female version of me.” Shinichiro cut you off with a smile. “Idiot, even if I got a girl I’d never stop talking to you. We’ve been through hell and back, Y/N.”

“…So…I guess you don’t like me back then. Huh?” You said with a pained laugh.

“Hey, listen to me.” He began. “That’s the thing…you mean the world to me. And I’d hate to lose…us over jumping into something over impulses.”

You nodded. It stung but you understood where he was coming from.

“It’s not a no. It’s a we’ll see. Okay?”

“I don’t know how you’ve managed to go through this twenty times without losing your mind.” You said with a chuckle.

“It’s called resilience, baby.” Shinichiro said with a toothy grin. “By the way, get your own fries. I’m tired of you saying you don’t want a side then pinching off my plate.”

“I’m going to do exactly just that.” You cackled as you wrapped your arms around his waist as he began to rev up his bike.

author’s note: PURRRR I FINALLY GOT ANOTHER TR PIECE 🤞🏽 as a makeup girlie plz learn ur undertones unless u wanna end up like our sis Y/N. anyways ty for reading, if u got this far reblogs n interactions are always appreciated

#tr x reader #shinichiro sano #sano shinichiro #shinichiro x reader #tr drabbles #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nara scribbles

[diacripticcomplex]

Shu x Yui Smutfic (panel inspo)

Shu's POV: 

It was getting late already, I had no idea where she ran off too...I noticed a bunch of these annoying loud humans already leaving to go home, I honestly could just leave her here..but that might be more troublesome in the long run. I walk door to door searching each classroom. "Sakamaki Shu, do you need help?" some weird smelling human asks me, I don't know why she thinks she can just talk to me like we know each other, I don't even look at this weird girl and I just walk away, too bothersome to spark up a conversation with a random person. Yo where the fuck was she??? I feel myself getting irritated, I don't like her or anything like that..I mean I don't think I do, I like her blood though, she's a valuable prey afterall. 

I passed by a closed classroom and noticed platinum blonde hair through the skinny door window, that's gotta be her...who the fuck was in there with her...? Some human guy..? What is this feeling? I don't give a fuck about her, and I don't like her so why am I feeling this way..? Before I could even think, I acted and opened the door, I wasn't being myself today...I have no idea what's gotten into me. "Shu!?" she shrieks out, her shirt was all messed up and her lips looked puffy. "Sakamaki Shu...oh shit." the human dweeb said. I look at him and stare at him coldly. I noticed his belt was unbuckled. "Hm..what's going on here? some oral?" I ask, honestly don't even want to know the answer, but she quickly denies it, good...as she shouldn't give anyone oral but me. "It's not even like that man, we were practicing CPR for our health assignment, we're partners." he explained himself, I tune him out already not caring for this situation anymore, but I wanted him to get it through his ugly human head, this immorally corrupted woman belongs to me.  

I walk up to her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close to me, lifting her chin. I take my thumb and jab my nail into her lower lip, causing her to bleed slightly, with that I went in for a kiss, I made sure to show off to that dunce of a human, I forced my tongue into her mouth, she was squirming with embarrassment as well, I liked it. She was lightly moaning into the kissing, but that's fine, I want to hear that. "Woah man, you're so shameless.." the human stated, I gave him the meanest side eye, then took my hand and put it up her skirt, using my fingers to stroke her already soaked area. I pull away from the kissing, and turn her around, her back was pressed to my chest, but this gave me more access and I was able to touch her cute butt easily, I liked how it felt in my hand...I don't like her let me just keep clearing that up, but she is my prey, so I can do as I wish with her. 

"Yo, are you going to keep watching..? " I ask the human, he looks too stunned to speak. "You're a pervert..getting turned on by this girl like that..you hear that? She's moaning to me, for me..if you value your mediocre life you'll leave..."I threaten him, I don't like conflict but ripping out a human's throat doesn't even register as a challenge, I could do that in my sleep. “Man you’re sick…I’m leaving sorry Komori I’m not going to be your partner for the health assignment, your boyfriend is nuts!” He shouted and left, so nosy. But back to her, I was doing a great job making sure she was dripping wet, her getting like this was doing it for me, I wouldn’t mind fucking her here…

“Shu what are you doing..?!” She cried out panicking, I pushed her up against the window so everyone could see, I ripped her clothes off exposing her nakedness, pressing her firming against the cold window, I couldn’t see but I knew for a fact her nipples got super hard. I pulled down my pants a lil and held my part in my hand, smacking it on her butt teasingly, “beg for it..” I whisper in her ear, then I pull her hair back, yanking it to be honest. She began to mumble something I couldn’t quite hear her clearly…not that it matters I shove my part into her…fuck she was stupid wet. I wanted to savor this. I was thrusting slowly , gripping her butt in both my hands making sure my finger prints would be bright red on her skin, I started drastically going faster, then blood rushed to my dick because all I was thinking about was busting a nut deep inside of her.

“S..Shu..! please…this…this is embarrassing everyone can see!” She moaned out, she’s a masochistic slut, she doesn’t actually care if people are watching, she’s getting wetter so I know her body is enjoying this at least, her mouth has always been dishonest. I pull out from her, then grab her by the face and prying open her mouth and shoving my piece deep in there before nutting deep into her throat, she was gagging and gurgling at that, good she’s so much more hot like this.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik boys #dialovers #yui komori #diabolik brothers #diahell #shu sakamaki #smut #shu x yui #yui x shu #smut diabolik lovers #smut fiction #manga panel #more blood manga #manga and anime #anime and manga

[spicysooop]

‘ burning brighter than the stars ’

pairing : will byers x male reader

genre : fluff?

warning : very sexy reader (LMFAOO), cussing

summary : will is upset. upset that he’s alone at rink-o-mania as a mere third wheel, on his birthday, too. well, until he runs into his best friend from school who happened to be hanging out there. perfect timing, because, well, he’s found himself gaining very .. unusual, weird feelings around the guy.

this is my first blog, it won’t be the best 💀💀 if you liked this, please reblog :( it’d be much appreciated

FEM ALIGNED READERS, DNI

Will hated this. So, so much.

After Mike, one of his closest and oldest friends, came to California to visit, it’s been the same as him not being there at all. Or, just an extremely bitter, opposite replica of what he’d thought would happen when the two met. He thought that they’d talk like they used to, have a bunch of fun, and include everybody. And, well, it seemed like he was wrong. Because all Mike wanted to do was kiss and hang out with El.

And; it was no shit annoying.

Watching the two skate, holding hands and doing cheesy couple stuff, his face bored the semblance of a sad grimace. Why’d they even invite him? No, how could they invite him to this place but forget it was his birthday? He was expecting something better. A lot better. But, maybe he just didn’t deserve something better.

Will continued, glancing down at the pair of skates he was wearing that were rolling constantly against the hard ground. Fuck. These dumb, useless thoughts..

He couldn’t even manage to hear the sound of roller-skating moving progressively closer and closer to him until it was blurring up his mind like white noise. He looked around. There was skating all around him, and yeah, the noises were pretty damn loud, not to mention the awkward music playing in the background, but.. it was just — it was like the sound was directed towards him.

And it was.

Narrowing his eyes, Will turned his head to see a classmate, and, a rather close friend, skating beside him with a grin. It was you. And, well, his heart was thumping out of place. Butterflies roamed around his heard for what felt like forever, tying knots throughout his body worryingly. He almost forgot how angelic you were. Appearing to him in a faint, cool light.

You weren’t exactly wearing anything special, just a pullover black sweater with high-waist, baggy jeans, and still..

God, you were so—..

He can’t explain. He can’t fucking explain in words.

If you didn’t stray away from everybody at school, you know, keeping everybody at arm’s length with your icy demeanor, he promptly considers, you’d be popular as hell. You probably wouldn’t even have the time to hang out with a dweeb like him.

Why do you even hang out with him, anyways?

“Hey, Byers. ‘Ya here alone? I’d assume Jane was here with you, but I don’t know where she is.” You spoke, glancing around. Only then was it he realized that he was skating pretty slow, and that the two had already been went off together. Of course, what was he expecting.

“Oh— hey,” He spoke, saying your name softly before continuing. “Jane is here, but.. uh, she’s with somebody. So I guess I’m practically alone. It’s.. embarrassing, I know.” He sighed, shaking his head disappointingly.

“Oh. Shit, alright.” You spoke, softer this time. Raising your hand up, you ruffled his hair — and, well; he can definitely feel the small plumpness of the rings circling your fingers. Oh god..

“So, ‘ya don’t mind me just.. hanging out with you? We’re both pretty damn lonely, ‘yeah?” You grinned, removing your hand off of his head and reaching it out, causing Will to look at you in a weird way. Skating together, holding hands?

Now; he doesn’t know what your sexuality is. And, well, he’s kind of aware of his, but, skating together whilst holding hands was .. risky, for two guys. Of course, he was sure that somebody as kind as you wouldn’t mind. You’re pretty damn dense. But, it was the ‘80s. Nobody would take this lightly unless you reassured you were just very close friends.

But, he doesn’t think he can deny when it comes to you. Softly whispering your name, he stood silent for a while before taking your hand and glancing around, making sure nobody was looking. “..Yeah. I don’t mind.”

And, with that, you two begin to skate together. And, he swears he’s never been this excited for an outing.

“Seem’s like you’re really enjoying this, hotshot. Should’ve came up to you earlier, ‘yeah?” You smiled lopsidedly, and he just smiled and nodded. He was a little anxious about people looking, but that gloomy feeling was soon replaced with something completely opposite after seeing the soft, reassuring look plastered all over your face.

He was so glad.

#stranger things #male reader #will byers #i dont know how to tag help #gay #lgbtq #mlm #stranger things x reader #will byers x reader #will byers x you #will byers x male!reader #will Byers x male reader #no use of y/n #x reader #x male reader #will byers stranger things #this was fun #request #request stuff

[alchemistc]

shoulda been a rockstar

Corroded Coffin makes it. Despite all odds, despite all the shitty crap that went down in '85, Corroded Coffin goes on to have an illustrious career - they win awards and hit the top of the charts and people genuinely fucking love them. They change the fucking genre and then just keep growing from there.

They break up for a time in the aughts, and then when they're all in their middler ages they have a drunken night together and decide to get the band back together - they've got kids now, wives and families and a million other things and one day Gareth's kid pulls out a tape from one of the boxes Gareth hasn't opened in thirty years - spends a week searching thrift shops and ebay for a cassette player even though his dad definitely could find one way quicker and when he finally listens to it he's a little transported, because this stuff is - this stuff is raw, and it's just a bit mean, and - and the vocals are all wrong, the voice is -

Gareth's son brings it to the studio and they all sit around the booth and listen with wistful sad smiles and -

"That's Eddie, bud," Gareth tells him, and he struggles with the memory, trying to think of where he knows that name from but -

"I think we recorded this when you were still a freshman," Jeff says, but that doesn't explain who -

"You mean that guy who murdered those people in your home town when you were in high school?"

And they all sort of blink and pause and hem around the point for a bit but -

"Eddie wasn't - listen, bud, I know what the official version of events is but Eddie - he didn't -."

"He died, right?"

And they all nod solemnly and share quiet looks between them and he thinks probably that's the end of that, and he feels sort of bad about reminding them of their dead maybe murderous friend, but he's a teenager, so he sort of forgets about it after that.

---

The dudes he runs into on his way to the booth give Paul sort of a shifty look, and Paul takes them in - they're both about the same height and they both look very vaguely familiar but they're in the studio and Paul never pays much attention to his dad's colleagues - ones got thick rimmed glasses and a crooked nose and a weird scar on his neck, and the other has a nest of short dark curls piled artfully atop his head and a nervously giddy grin plastered across his face and they're holding hands and Paul doesn't know them, so when he asks his dad about it he just shrugs and tells him they're trying some shit out for the reunion album.

Paul promptly forgets about them, too.

---

Corroded Coffin releases three singles before the start of the reunion tour that fans go absolutely batshit insane for. Jeff doesn't sing in them, which Paul thinks is weird as fuck, because Jeff's vocals are like a cornerstone of Corroded Coffin but the singer in all three songs reminds him of -

"You told me he was dead," Paul says, arms crossed and the tape he'd tossed at his dad still laying in his dad's lap, and his dad sort of maybe panics a little.

"Paul, you can't - he is dead. Eddie Munson died in the earthquake and that's what the whole world knows."

"Who the fuck is Steve E, then?" Because that's what the vocal credits on the song say, and there's definitely royalties going to this Steve E guy, and -

"Paul, you can't tell a soul. According to all government documentation Steve E is Teddy Eller's husband, and he's the vocals on those songs."

"And the truth?"

"That's - complicated."

Paul's not going to tell anyone, but it still sort of pisses him off that his dad won't at least tell him because he can keep a goddamn secret, okay?

---

"You can't play them live," Paul predicts, the day before their first show, and he thinks they all kind of look like dweebs, dressed like they haven't all spent the last eleven years filling out and aging, but they're excited, and they're letting him go on the first leg of the tour, so. Whatever. They can do what they want, a bunch of aging rockers trying to relive their glory days.

But they can't play the new singles live. Not when those songs have a voice that distinctive and that voice is apparently attached to a face that's supposed to be dead.

"That - those songs, we didn't really record them for - it wasn't for us," Gareth tells him, and he maybe, sort of, kind of gets it

It's a shame though, because of everything he's ever heard from CC's discography, these are some of the best.

"You could make it a gimmick, you know. Like - Corpse, or Daft Punk, or - that weird band you like, the ones with the cartoon avatars "

"The Gorillaz aren't weird, Paul, they're art."

He doesn't even bother to respond to the suggestion, and - that's that, Paul guesses.

---

"Shit shit shit -," the guy standing in the wings says, and Gareth sighs, rolls his eyes, grabs Paul by one elbow and the curly haired guy by the bicep and he drags them both further into the bowels of backstage.

"Where's Steve?" he asks, and the other middle aged guy from the studio with a different set of glasses on this time guiltily pops his head out from behind a massive amp.

"Hey Gare," he says with a dorky little finger wave, and Paul stares at them for a beat.

"Holy shit you're Steve Harrington." In his dad's freshman and sophomore yearbook, his dad has drawn devil horns on the preppy kids face. He only remembers because when he pointed it out, his dad had laughed hysterically for like ten minutes and muttered "I didn't draw that shit, his fucking soulmate did that when he was pretending he still hated his goddamn guts."

"Not technically?" Glasses says. "I changed my name when I got married."

"YOUR FAKE-DEAD HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND HAD AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS ROMANCE WITH THE PREPPY JOCK?"

Glasses blinks. Curly haired vocalist grins. "When you put it that way it is kind of cliche. Steve, I want a divorce."

"Oh gross," Paul says, because they're looking at each other all fond and lovey like his parents do right before they start playing shitty 90s love ballads really loudly from their bedroom.

"Super gross," his dad repeats, but he's darting his gaze between the two like he's watching one of those romcoms he pretends to hate whenever mom picks the movie.

"Eat my shorts," Curly Hair says, and it's the single most embarrassing thing Paul's ever heard so he sort of just sneaks away before his dad has a chance to figure out why the fuck they're hanging backstage like they're going to crash the bands show.

---

Paul still calls him Teddy even though the rest of the band drops the "T" any time they're not surrounded by managers and publicists and adoring fans. He's - the single most annoying person on the planet but also the only person Paul knows who can actually hold his weight when Paul starts debating about some obscure piece of music trivia. Teddy runs a D&D game in breaks between cities and fights Paul on game mechanics constantly because Paul hates min-maxing and Eddie doesn't give a shit about it as long as the RP is good, and Steve still puts on one of those stupid fucking masks once in a while and pretends to sing Teddy's vocals while Teddy wistfully watches his husband showboat in the wings of the stage.

His last night with the band before CC heads overseas and Paul has to go back and figure out how to do a summers worth of reading in two weeks, he corners Teddy halfway through a super-embarrasing gyration Steve's doing onstage to a lyric Paul hadn't realized was so suggestive until that very moment.

"Don't you hate it?"

Teddy looks at him sharply, and Paul knows - knows he fucking hates that this is the closest he'll ever get to that rockstar dream he probably spent his formative years imagining. He's got a limp that never goes away, and one time they'd all snuck into the hotel pool after hours and Paul had seen the map of scars across Teddy's torso, and sometimes Teddy reaches for the air close to his neck and makes a surprised face like he was expecting to have something their to dig his fingers into. And sometimes Teddy and Steve get maudlin and quiet and haunted and the band sort of pretends it's not happening until they snap out of it

"You ever heard of Damien Echolls?" Teddy asks instead of responding to the question, and it takes him a second but his mom is obsessed with true crime podcasts and it clicks, eventually. Paul nods solemnly, and Eddie gestures to the stage, where Steve - who is way too old to be as fit as he is, Jesus - is hopping around and hamming it up and actually doing a pretty good job of playing at a rockstar. "I'm alive and I didn't spend a couple decades locked in solitary and that stupid idiot loves me so much that sometimes I can't even imagine not loving everything about me, too."

Paul makes a gagging noise, and Teddy gives him a noogie.

"Yeah kid. I fucking hate it. But there are worse things."

---

It takes him twelve years and a whole ass law degree, but when Eddie Munson is posthumously exonerated, the band releases an EP with a dedication to the founding member of Corroded Coffin and Steve E on vocals. They're new songs, and they get away with it by pretending they'd found an old notebook buried in a storage unit and decided to honor their friend, but Teddy sort of cries a bit when he sees the songwriter credits.

He cries a lot, actually, but then, so does Paul.

#corroded coffin #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #outsider pov #steddie #i kinda hurt my own feelings with this one #eddie munson you shoulda been a rockstar

[tossawary]

Needing something to play in the background during the day, I have started watching Transformers G1 and have now finished the first season. It is very funny to visit the original after getting most of my information through Fandom Osmosis and passing acquaintanceship with more recent Transformers media. I decided to start at the beginning (terrible decision, I know, I will not be changing it) because I have like 40+ hours per week that need background sound and I like studying adaptational choices over time, so I intend to progress through a bunch of Transformers shows in chronological order.

It's kind of like Star Trek: TOS (Star Trek is better) in that I find parts of it very charming, there are plenty of aspects that are even compelling in their potential, but it's also... bad. A lot of it is Very Bad, sometimes in a very funny way and sometimes in a way that is just Not Good and even Problematic. I cannot possibly recommend it.

The animation quality is understandably very low due to the context of its creation (television show from the 80s made to sell toys). I like a few of the Cybertron background paintings, but it still takes me a second to tell a lot of the characters apart, partially because there is a revolving door for supporting characters. The writing quality is even worse. The physics is all over the place. The powers and abilities are completely arbitrary. None of the science works. No one can decide what body parts the Cybertronians actually have. There is way more mind control in this show than I ever expected there to be. This is apparently an alternate universe where the Earth has various types of energy crystals. The Idiot Ball trope is flying all over the place like dodgeballs and the characters are repeatedly hitting themselves with it constantly. Some of the accents are quite silly, yeah, but it still doesn't justify how some people type them out in fanfiction.

And yet I am still mildly entertained, probably because I am already partial to both animation and space opera with robots. And I recognize enough of the characters to find these early versions of them very funny. And some parts of this extended toy commercial were very clearly Done With Love.

Megatron and Starscream are like two halves of a whole idiot. The Decepticons are incapable of not betraying each other for more than a few episodes. Except for Soundwave, who is the MVP of the Decepticons, and yet also does nothing to stop any of the drama. Both sides can just Make New Guys at any time apparently and the Dinobots should unionize. I think Optimus Prime essentially "ok boomer"ed Megatron in the second episode and it was justified. I can't believe that Shockwave didn't just straight up stage a coup or otherwise move on in 4 million years, like, man, DUMP HIS ASS already. Bumblebee has apparently always been Very Smol and Just A Little Guy. Because this is a kids show, all these giant robots are constantly calling the Mortal Enemies They Want Dead "dweebs" and "nerds" and "twerps" and it's Very Funny. And I'm just going to assume that Sparkplug is a nickname and not an adult human man's legal name.

Also, I know the reason that the human kids are in the show is so that the show can go, "Look! This could be you! Being friends with all your favorite giant robots!" But it very much comes off as the Autobots having no real context for Spike's age or squishiness, probably because their own newborns are already able to fight. And Carly's introduction involving renting scuba gear and breaking into the Decepticon base makes her look (and I mean this with bewildered affection) fucking nuts, girl.

#tossawary transformers #tf g1 #optimus prime #megatron #starscream #soundwave #bumblebee #carly witwicky #shockwave #grimlock #spike witwicky

[foolondahill17]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

Transcript (bracketed text are notes from Mrs. Dalton):

[11/15/94, please add date]

[C- please see me after class]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

[Introduce yourself here]

We’re supposed to pick our favorite author and write them a letter, or whatever. I don’t have a favorite author because I’m not a fucking [unacceptable language!] nerd, but I thought Cat’s Cradle was the best book we read so far by process of elimination (no offense). I just thought the other books were stupid. My Antonia? Total snooze fest [point taken]. And the story about the tricked-out wallpaper? 

I get that it was supposed to “mean something,” but – call me crazy – I think a story should have a good story before you start talking about hidden meanings. Some lady getting locked in her bedroom and hallucinating - that’s a shitty [language!] story. If I were her, I would have just jumped out the window or beat my husband over the head with a lamp. Not that I’m ever gonna have a husband. I’m a dude. But my point is, it doesn’t matter if the story’s secretly some feminist commentary on how we shouldn’t lock up women (see, Mrs. Dalton? I do pay attention) [not quite] if it’s just a crummy story in the first place. 

But Cat’s Cradle was a good story, first, before all those messages about how we shouldn’t have gone so crazy with nuclear technology during the Cold War because it might blow up the earth someday. But anyway, the story was good, you get me? It was funny and weird and had all that new age religion and science fiction stuff – kind of like “Star Trek.” 

I liked the stuff about Bokonism Bokononism. There’s this real stuck up prissy bitch in class named Marie [very inappropriate to discuss another student like this!] who was really upset that Bokononism was basically saying that all religion is just a bunch of lies people make up to make themselves feel better about the fact that everyone dies. And Mrs. Dalton said that, why did it matter if it was all lies if it still brought people peace? I don’t know, I think I’d rather not be lied to and find peace on my own terms, you get me? But Marie was all like “but Jesus is the truth and the Bible is the word of God.” People like her are all over Texas. I hope we move soon. It’s way too fucking [language!] hot here, too. 

My dad’s got this friend who’s a pastor who used to babysit me and my brother all the time. He’s always saying the same kind of stuff Marie is, accept [except] he’s not a jerk about it. He thinks that the evil all around us is proof that there’s good, too. My mom used to think that. She taught me the hole [whole] “when I lay me down to sleep” schtick, but then she ended up dying, anyway, by something so evil you wouldn’t even believe it if I told you. 

The foot thing was kind of kinky [??], but one thing I liked about Bokononism was the karass idea. I move around a lot, so I meet a lot of people, and I guess some of them have sorta joined my karass [nice connection to your personal life]. I don’t think we’re cosmically linked like the book was talking about, but I think it’s weird [significant?] that we all met each other even though we normally never would have. Like if Dad never met Pastor Jim, he never would have met Caleb and Bobby [run-on sentence] and then me and Sam never would have spent that summer with Bobby [run-on sentence] and I never would have learned how to replace a catalytic converter [impressive!], which was helpful because I had to do it all by myself on the Impala when Dad broke his arm and I needed to drive [??] Sam to school.

It’s like what Newt said: “life’s just a game of Cat’s Cradle. [end quote] I see what you mean, but I don’t know if I totally agree. It just seems so pointless if you really think about it. Life’s nothing more than interconnected strings [nicely phrase]. It’s…doomful [??]. (My dweeb little brother says “inevitable” is a better word) [It is a better word]. 

Living in a world where you’re not in control of your decisions seems kinda depressing. I mean, I don’t have a lot of control over where we live or what my dad does for a living, but at least I get to decide to help people. It’s not me who’s trapped inside a story that’s already been written. I’m not some corpse on the highest mountain of some Caribean Caribbean Island, thumbing my nose to God. I’ve got more power than that, right? [A significant question]

Anyway, it ain’t like you’re actually going to read this because I probably won’t get a chance to send it. And Mrs. Dalton won’t get to read it, either, [spoke too soon] because I won’t even be at this school in a week. But there’s nothing else to do while I wait for Dad to get back home. There’s nothing good on TV after 11:00, so I might as well do homework. He said he’d be back in time for dinner, but it’s already 1 AM. [??]

Bye, [Regards,] 

- Dean W.

 A+, you’re a genious [genius] Mr. Winchester! [haha]

[Passably written, and you followed the assignment well enough, but your language and attitude toward your fellow students are unacceptable.]

*Pages surrounded by doodles of a devils trap, fire, Star Wars logo, book, stick-figures, grocery list (peanut butter, apples, bread, soup, cereal, socks), snail, partly erased cartoon dog, glasses, gun, Scooby Doo, baseball, skull, Samulet, Chevrolet logo, Zeppelin lyrics (‘Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor I met a girl so fair, but Gollum, and the evil one, crept up and slipped away with her), note: Call dentist for Sammy! 555-8451*

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #young dean winchester #tean dean winchester #kurt vonnegut #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #ficlet #cat's cradle

[hotchocolateboy]

lautski week day one- "Blue"

@lautski-week

day one submission! (it's still technically december 3rd where i live)

oh damn, never seen that color blue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stephanie Lauter felt she was nothing more than a burnt out junior who was forced to take chemistry to graduate. The most boring of all the sciences. It felt like a different language, the way they talked about bonds and whatever the fuck she was supposed to be doing all year. But whenever she sat down in front of her massive textbook with a worksheet she was supposed to fill out, it felt like a brick wall magically built itself right in front of the paper- like it was physically blocking her from being able to figure it out. But it was the last week of classes, so for once she figured she might as well tune in to what the teacher was saying. From what she gathered, the class’ final would be a group project where he would give each pair or trio a mysterious mixture and it was their job to figure out what was in it through trial and error, and a list of experiments they had theoretically done all year. 

Shit.

Steph didn’t recognize any of the equipment sitting at all of the thick black lab tables, set up behind the rows of desks where the teens were all taking notes, and photos of the rubric. She knew she was going to have to pair up with some random dweeb who she could swindle into doing all the work. It might not be the most ethical solution, but she is a Lauter after all. 

“Hey. Hey geek. You understand this shit, right?” “Uh. yeah?” The boy sitting next to her had thick black glasses and longer brown hair. With his nose almost always in a book and a fucking bowtie, he was the perfect candidate. “You’re Peter, right?” He nodded his head. “Great. Do you wanna be my partner for the project? Fair warning you will be doing most of the work- but it could be fun!” Bad sell Steph. You’re gonna be screwed. Is it too late to drop out? Her mind criticized. 

Peter looked back at the two friends he had originally been chatting with, who gave adamant approval, jumping up and down in their seats like feral guinea pigs. “Alright.” ~~~

The next day was the first of the project. So Steph walked over to one of the front lab tables, where Pete was already sitting, with goggles on. What a nerd, she thought. 

Pete, on the other hand, was anxiously going through his notes to try to distract himself from the fact he was going to have to muscle his way through an hour of talking to the coolest girl in school. Something he very clearly was not. Ruth and Richie had spent all of lunch hyping him up, saying some things that he wished nobody would ever repeat, but nevertheless, he almost stopped breathing when Steph took her seat next to him; just as the bell rang. It was one-sided uncomfortable silence (Steph didn’t notice) until the teacher handed the two a large vial of pale blue liquid. 

“Alright. First impressions. What are we thinking, blended up smurf? Water with blue food dye? An actual chemical solution?” Pete laughed, without having a chance to think about any of the words that came out of his mouth.

“I dunno, I was gonna write down ‘blue shit’ and call it a day, but that works too.” Steph smiled back. Both had wildly poor attempts at jokes, but she found herself laughing anyway. “What’s the first step?”

~~~

The first step in the long list of helpful guides was to find the boiling point, although Pete was pretty sure that a bunch of high schoolers all handling mystery chemical solutions over open flames was a terrible idea; he obliged nonetheless. 

“The fire’s turning blue… and our solution’s blue.. that has to mean something, right?” Steph asked, readjusting her goggles. 

“Not exactly.” Pete said, trying to not sound condescending with everything that followed.  “The flame is turning blue because that’s the hottest possible flame. But that does mean that whatever we’re dealing with has a really high boiling point, which is super helpful.” Pete started to write down something on his worksheet, while Steph was not so subtly looking over his shoulder at the answers. 

Eventually things got easier. Even though they were the most simple concepts, she started to understand whenever Pete took the time to explain to her. She had started contributing to the project over the week, suggesting hypotheses, and slowly looking forward to the class after lunch. 

After the first day, Pete had started to relax. Science was his strong suit after all, and after getting to actually know Steph over the course of the week, he realized that she wasn’t one of the scary cool kids; but one that got to know him, and let him geek out about any topic she asked about. 

~~~

“Hey! Did you see the grade?” “Fuck, he already graded it? We got outta class like ten minutes ago.” Steph checked her phone, anxiously opening the app.

A+

“Oh my god.” Steph grinned. She couldn’t even try to hide it. Pete matched with his smile, something that made Steph’s heart flutter. That confused her, but she decided to listen to her heart. 

“Hey, thanks for doing the project, I really appreciate it. And hey, my dad won’t take away my phone now, so that’s a plus.” “Hey, you contributed just as much as I did Steph. It was your idea that crossed off the final two combinations.

“Yeah, I guess. But I wanted to ask, do you wanna go to the end of the year carnival with me? It’ll probably be lame, but everyone knows making fun of shitty school events is the best part of school.” Steph asked, throwing all caution to the wind. A week ago she would’ve laughed at the idea of liking the geek who sat next to her every day for nearly a decade. But this Steph, the Steph with a passing grade in chemistry, didn’t care.

“Really?” “Really.” Steph assured. 

“I’d really like that, Steph.” “Cool.”

#lautski week #lautski #starkid #hatchetfield #hotchocolateboy #npmd #nightmare time #steph lauter #pete spankoffski

[irenadel]

still posting in fits of impulsivity, still pure fluff, reader x homelander, slow burn, real slow, homelander-is-a-dweeb kinda slow, eventual smut

Chapter 1. That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain Chapter 3. He touched me, so I live to know that such a day, permitted so Chapter 4. She rose to his requirement, dropped the playthings of her life.

Pygmalion

Chapter 2. We sat grown quiet at the name of love

“So you made Homelander — THE Homelander, you know, the one with the laser eyes and the nazi girlfriend — a glass of warm milk in our kitchen? Are you shitting me?!”

You glare guiltily at your roommate and throw her a pack of toilet paper while you flee in search of napkins.

“Don’t be mean! And don’t pretend you’re not a fan of all this! You’ve watched more Vought movies than I have!”

Your roommate tucks the toilet paper beneath her chin and wheels her chair in your pursuit.

“Only because you never have time anymore. And if you had been following the news on Vought you’d know EXACTLY why this is all so fucking hilarious… AND dangerous” She tosses you some cans of tuna but admits with a crooked smile: “It’s still the coolest thing that has ever happened to us.”

You sigh dramatically and deeply consider whether to just lay down on the frozen food aisle and pray for a quick death via supermarket cart. God knows you're tired enough for it. But your roommate’s adding Belgian chocolate ice cream to your cart and teasing you about using your dirty Vought blood money to pay for it. It wasn’t nearly enough to pay for expensive groceries and doctor’s bills, so you pluck the pint from her hands while she mock-complains and stick it back into the fridge, trying to muster a defense for yourself.

“I’m not keeping quiet because they paid me! I’m keeping quiet because I told him he could come back whenever he wanted and I think that would be really fucked up with a bunch of paparazzis menacing our building!”

Your roommate gapes at you, bag of frozen cauliflower falling from her hands.

“You have GOT to be kidding me! Are you mad?! You had to go to the HOSPITAL because of a bruised trachea!”

You know you sound insane. You’d have screamed the same thing at her if this had been any of her exes. You had in fact a couple of times and you had a sneaking suspicion you were behaving like a tiny bit of a hypocrite but… she hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen him sleep an entire afternoon or nearly cry at the offer of comfort… you didn’t want to make excuses for him, but you also didn’t want to judge him by what was probably the worst day of his life.

“You always say the Vought superheroes are no worse than Naomi Campbell throwing phones at people…” You try to argue. “But with like, superpowers.”

“Exactly!! Naomi doesn’t have super strength!”

You try to argue your case but give up halfway because you don’t really believe she’s wrong and are quiet the rest of the trip. She sees you so downcast, that your roommate offers to pay for the full grocery run but you shake your head and tell her you’ve got this one. Money had been tight for everyone, but tougher for her recently. There were enough problems to go around without borrowing more from the morrow, you thought stubbornly.

You had freelance work to do, the only money coming in during the middle of the semester. You had leaky faucets and a bug problem at home and maybe too much backreading to get done before having to present your progress to your advisor at school. You had dreams and plans to nurture and promises to keep to yourself. You didn’t have time to be a fool about this.

You determine to put the whole thing out of mind. This just wasn’t what your life was about. Whatever had happened, had been obviously a freak accident, a once in a lifetime, probably (hopefully), never-to-be-repeated event. Beautiful, grieving men don’t just fall out of the sky, especially for girls like you, especially not more than once. You’d gotten a taste of the crazy and the unusual, the extraordinary, and it was high time you put it away from you, where it could never touch you again.

***

But he looks for you after all. The problem is that he does end up finding you, the sort of private you that you prefer to keep to yourself. You hadn’t counted on x-ray vision, you see? Or the ability to hover thirteen stories in the air staring straight through your room. You hadn’t counted on him NEEDING your offer of company ever again.

But to your misfortune, the man is lonelier than you had imagined him to be.

He finds you in bed at noon. Curled up in a miserable ball, trying to get a few hours of sleep before having to head out for class. It had been a bad week, followed by an excruciating call from home and you had stopped being able to cope a couple of hours ago.

But when Homelander knocks on your window, loudly demanding to be allowed in (disinclined as he was to interact with the other people in your life by doing anything as sensible as knocking on an actual door), you are too stunned to understand. It’s been hours since you’ve been laying in your bed, breathing shallowly, earbuds in place to guard you against the terror of thought. You barely understand yourself, let alone the angry, pouting god staring balefully at you.

So you open the window. What else could you do?

And so begins the torrent of words. Angry recriminations, sneering disparagement. He had been so quiet that first time that you had actually thought him rather sweet at one point. You recognize none of the names in his furious ranting. All you can do is watch him pace your room, blinking slowly to try to clear your head enough to note who Edgar or Ashley or Starlight (Starlight! You know that one!) are.

He’s at full steam now and it takes him a couple of minutes to take in your glassy eyes and disheveled hair, your pajamas still on at midday. You should be preparing for class. Or finishing up work at least. But the sad droop of your shoulders betrays your defeated exhaustion.

“You haven’t heard a WORD I said, have you?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose, hand at his hip, looking like the world’s most terrifying soccer mom.

You rub your face and murmur a half-hearted apology that does nothing to smooth his ruffled feathers. He is on you so quickly that you don’t even register it, snapping his fingers at your face like an owner to his dog. Somehow his contemptuous exasperation more frightening than his murderous grief.

“No. No. No,” he says, slowly so you can understand. “MY time is important missy. I need you focused now, deal with whatever THIS” — he gestures mockingly at you — “is on your own time.”

What he doesn’t expect are the tears, immediate and copious but silent. You had thought fear was the worst thing he could do to you, but somehow humiliation stung more cruelly. As a general rule people didn’t cry in front of Homelander. Vought employees had always known it only made things worse. But you’ve never been able to control your tears and here in your room, your private shelter, you’ve run out of places to hide them.

He stares at you, stunned at your display. You are covering your face again, trying to calm yourself with steady, gulping breaths… or you would have seen the flash of envy on his face. The hunger. How do you do it so easily? That expression seems to demand. Words! And tears now! Why do you think you have the right? (when he doesn’t)

But he only clenches his teeth against this sudden raw desire and lets you cry it out.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally, breathing deeply and managing to drown out the rest of your tears. “It’s not you— I mean it IS you, you were horrible just now — but THIS isn’t about you. I’m no use to you just now.”

Homelander, THE Homelander, rolls his eyes at you and just snorts in agreement. “You don’t say!”

And the whole thing is so surreal — a week ago you knew him only from his posters, you hadn’t been following the news or the Vought movies and your roommate was telling you, you needed to catch up soon because it was all going coconuts — and now Homelander, THE Homelander is in your room, annoyed, angry and contemptuous (oh how this hurt) and talking to you like you’re a hysterical child. It’s too much. You’ve been spoken to like that before. Sometimes it seems like you cannot love someone but they will speak to you like this. And you think if you have to hear it from this man (who was so sad, so hurt, seemed so lost in his pain the last time you met) you might just start screaming and never stop.

You look at him, pleading, not knowing for what.

“What do you want from me? Why are you here?”

You can see him blush briefly, like a boy caught in a lie, but the sneering sarcasm is back almost immediately (like a shield, you think).

“Me? Oh I am sorry girlie!” He’s smiling mockingly, hand on his chest in faux indignation, only the quick frenetic energy of the reply giving his nervousness away. “I thought YOU had brought me here last time! Maybe you’re done feeling important at the expense of better men!”

There is a hysterical note of betrayal in his voice that would be easy to miss. But not for you.

Pain is transitive, you had told him. And it had seemed easy then to be patient because it was a good day. He’s not exactly wrong, which is why it stings. It HAD made you feel important and special to be privy to his sorrow, you had to admit to yourself, but that hadn’t been all of it. He must know that. But you know what he’s doing now, throwing this inadequacy in your face. You know because you’ve been that person before and you want no part in it anymore. You’d promised yourself to be better than this.

So you clean your face harshly, annoyed with yourself as much as you are with him, feeling the hot anger that comes sometimes, after the tears. You push it down, down, out of the way because it is of no use to anyone here. You breathe and breathe again and gather the courage (try not to think of your bruised trachea or your broken chair) to take his hand, steal it from his indignant crossed arms, willing the gesture to speak the tenderness that you DID have for this strange, lonely man.

“I’m sorry you’re having a tough time. I’m not doing well either and I can’t listen right now…”

You try not to give him time for anger, hating yourself for tiptoeing around this man’s moods, but vividly remembering what it could cost you if you didn’t.

“… you can stay in my bed again,” Youp are trying to keep the desperation from your voice. “And I’ll make sure no one bothers you, okay?”

He is quiet for a minute and you are almost afraid before he gives a tch! of disbelief, eyebrows raised at the nerve of you. Homelander is a few more careless words from deciding you need to be taught a lesson in manners.

… but he’s tired too. Bone-deep exhaustion at the unrelenting demands of humanity’s stupidity. Tired of (being alone) having to deal with lesser creatures. Tired of (needing them) having to play their games. So he relents, rolling his eyes at his indulgence of your pathetic weakness. He yanks your blanket out of the way, fastidiously draping his cape behind him and settles beside you on the bed.

It catches you completely off guard and your battered brain waits too long to tell you to scramble elsewhere, because when you try to leave for your chair, the living room, anywhere really, he catches your wrist with a grip terrifying in its power and pulls you back down. And it is doubly frightening because it sends a jolt of longing to the tips of your toes. It’s been years since you’ve had someone in your bed. You think of that book that said something about the humiliating quality of loneliness. That even this harsh touch should thrill you to your core.

So you lay down again leaving a space between the two of you in sheer self-defense.

And he lays there besides you, realizing suddenly your proximity and your physicality. That you aren’t only a soothing voice, or a torrent of tears or a pair of hands that destroy him every time they take his own. You are also a weight besides him, a mat of messy hair that still smells like cheap vanilla soap, a warmth radiating from clean, soft flesh and a sliver of skin in the back of your neck between your hair and pajamas that contains all these things in concentrated form.

He stays frozen there for an eternity, the way he stayed glued to the outside of Madelyn’s office, like a fool, watching and wanting and wanting and wanting. Your heart is beating madly, like a bird battering its cage. But you are still, a foot of space between the two of you.

And he doesn’t desire you (not at all) because you are common and not particularly attractive (like Madelyn, like Stormfront, beautiful like he is beautiful) but you are here and warm and you told him to sleep in your bed. And he wants, cannot stop wanting, will die of this want that he doesn’t know the name for. So he moves closer, sneakily, stealing away the inches between you, and can feel the prickling of goosebumps on the back of your neck. He sucks in a shaky breath, is unprepared for the tingling on the palms of his hands, the urge to reach out, the urge to bury his face in your pillows, your hair, your neck, anywhere that can give him huge, greedy mouthfuls of the smell of this moment so he can never forget it.

You are crying again, but softly this time, inconspicuously. And all he wants is to yank you back to him. Turn you around so he can lick the tears off your face and know the taste of this freedom he’ll never have. So much that his hand hovers above your side, poised to break the strange stalemate you are caught in.

He does not, but you do. You grab a hold of his arm and wrap it around your midsection, still crying, but no longer agonizingly separated from him by a chasm of inches. Homelander is pressed all along your back, his arm trapped beneath your breasts, heavy and soft and making black spots bloom at the back of his eyelids.

He doesn’t want you (he tells himself) but he will have you if you insist. But you stop him with a squeeze of his hand in yours and two cruelly timed words wrapping around his heart like a vice.

��Thank you.”

A pause.

“For staying to take care of me…”

And it takes him by surprise, leaves him winded and bewildered, like the first time he’d ever been punched in the stomach, to realize how pleasing he finds these words coming from you. He’d heard them countless times before, had grown drunk on them and sought them again and again since the first time an awed little human voice had said them to him (“gee! thanks Mr. Homelander” “a round of applause for the Homelander”). But there is something to your inflection, to the weight and warmth of your body besides him, to the tears still flowing but less agonizingly so, that lends them a gravity they had never had before.

He had needed the gratitude of millions before, but your stupid, empty thank you seems to make the crowds in his head cheer, the cameras flash for him. He is adored and worshiped. He is who he was meant to be. The words are a roar of thunder in his blood and he squeezes you against him, almost painfully.

He smiles, cruelly, deliriously happy, swollen with your regard.

“What are heroes for?”

And the hero is rewarded with a sweet laugh choked in tears.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander smut #the boys #the boys season 3 #my writing #homelander fanfiction #the boys fanfic #pygmalion homelander

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

star wars, for fandoms

my top 3 favorite characters...

Lando Calrissian

R2-D2

Tenel Ka (yeah i know she isn't canon anymore but idgaf)

this was hard bc i love luke and leia a lot, obvs, and threepio and chewie and han, and ig-11 and din djarin, and adi gallia and plo koon, and obi-wan and qui-gon and... what finn and poe and rey could have been orz what the fuck disney but yeah. these are the top 3 for me

and i'm objectively correct about lando, who should be everyone's favorite. the charm! the fashion! the business acumen! i've loved this beautiful scoundrel ever since his first appearance, and that love has only grown over time, so i'm adding a bonus lando pic that always makes me smile:

fuckin dweeb lmao i love billy dee williams so much too

artoo is also a no-brainer; little shit has been terrorizing sith lords and causing mayhem for generations.

tenel ka tho...i admit this is another one of those childhood nostalgia hits for me. she was in the Young Jedi Knights book series (which followed mostly han and leia's kids who are also no longer canon but were way better and cooler than kylo ben)

she was secretly a princess, and fought hard to be taken seriously. when she and her peers were building their own lightsabers, she, in a competitive rush, went forward with a defective build, which resulted in her 'saber fritzing out during a practice duel, leading to her arm getting cut off--and then the 'saber exploded, which meant there was no reattaching it.

a lot of the subsequent focus on her was learning how to do a bunch of shit one-handed...tbh, she was the first character i ever read about learning to navigate a new physical disability, and it was right after i'd had an illness and developed pretty severe breathing difficulties, so i took a lot of strength and pacing cues from her back then, watching her rebuild her skills and her rancor-tooth lightsaber (!!!)

i have no idea if the depiction has aged well but thinking about her again is getting me all riled up about finding copies of those books to reread lol

#star wars #stirring up trouble #stir's top threes

[dinoberrypress]

Learning to enjoy art again (and making messed-up little guys in the process)

Hey y'all, Nevyn here! I wanted to talk a little about the art process that's gone into You're In Space, and what it was like for me to do it!

I'll start by saying that I've had a bit of a stressful relationship with Making Pictures for a while. I really liked doing it in highschool, but I had a lot of bad feedback and critique from peers and teachers alike that lead to me stopping- nothing I made was good enough, so why bother, right? It lead to me never being satisfied with what I put on a page as a result of constantly trying to stick to the ideals and visions of those around me, instead of just making what I wanted, so I stopped.

Fast forward like 50 billion years and I'm working on Spacefucked. I've been designing the game for a while, and Jam and I started talking about what kind of art it should have.

CW for images below: illustrated blood, body horror, gore, weapons

I'd been seeing my friend Adam Vass doing art for Cybermetal at the time, and they were doing all kinds of interesting stuff with it. Unique tools, tools used "wrong", tools I'd never heard of. Talking to Adam about that art, I learned about soda can pens and palette knives and all sorts of different ways of putting media to paper that I'd never heard or thought of.

I talked about it with Jam, and she encouraged me to take a crack at it- to just make some pens, grab some inks, and to go to town on a big sheet of paper and see what I came up with.

I had a lot of fun making it! This was just with ballpoints, felt tips, and sharpies- but look at the results! Scratchy, messed-up, weird little freaks. I wasn't sure if it was viable for a project, though, so I asked around and got really enthusiastic responses! It was really encouraging, to learn that people liked my art! People wanted to see more!

Jam was a huge fan and wanted me to make more, encouraging me to try out other tools and methods, not just for the potential use in You're In Space And Everything's Fucked, but also for me to get that practice and exposure to new methods of Making Art™!

So, of course, I did more research on the things Adam and I talked about, and got some new tools prepped. I started by making some folded pens out of soda cans and drawing some monsters, then I tried writing some text, and the more time I spent playing these these tools and learning how they worked the more fun I was having, the more expressive and intentional I was able to make things. It felt like my eyes were opening for the first time!

The text results were always varied and expressive, and using different consistencies of ink and different tools always created really unique, powerful results with a lot of impact.

The important part, though, is that I was having a blast doing this art! I got more supplies- stronger paper, palette knives, and a bunch of different kinds of pens. After a few more big pages of messy art, it was decided: I'd be doing the art for Spacefucked, and even now, over a year into the project, I'm still excited to be doing this art.

I've learned a lot doing this. I have a great time with it, every time I sit down I learn something new. I get to make a mess, I get to play with ink and tools that I've never used before and every time I step away my hands are splotched-up with ink. Every time I step away from, I feel excited to get back and make more.

I continue to improve and understand what my style is, and I continue to realize, with every piece I make, that my art just that- my art. Maybe it's a bit cliche or rote, but that's the truth of it. The art I make for this project is mine, and it's in a style I would've never developed if I'd just continued listening to all those dweebs in school.

The project, You're In Space And Everything's Fucked, launches on Kickstarter next year- you can sign up for a notification here and you can check out the very awesome demo, complete with just a taste of my artwork, here!

Thanks for reading!

#ttrpg #ttrpgs #indie ttrpg #indie ttrpgs #ttrpg design #ttrpg community #tabletop rpg #tabletop games #horror #sci-fi #survival horror #game #indie #independant #indie publishing #kickstarter #crowdfunding #free #demo #art #brush pen #folded pen #soda can pen #monster #art process #process #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop roleplaying games

[myc-ology-whore]

IJ Season 2

So, guess who just finished the second season on Inside Job? Guess who's actually crying real tears because of this stupid show? Guess who's back in the writing game?

I have a shitload of unanswered requests after I went on hiatus for so long, and I'm not going to answer all of them, but I will write for some. Feel free to put more requests in for the second season or first season, I'll see what I can do. For anyone just seeing me post for the first time, check out the pinned post on my blog, it's got a masterlist for Inside Job works.

Now, for my thoughts on the second season, if you're interested. Spoilers - obviously.

I cannot believe they didn't bring in Orrin, I was so looking forward to some crazy coincidence of him and Reagan reuniting and rekindling their friendship (or maybe more). I loved Steadtler though, and I was really rooting for him and Reagan. When she let him go, I was crying; I'm hurting for her rn.

I was also hoping for a look at Hollow Earth, and the producers provided, thankfully. The place looked exactly how I expected, but I do wish there was more diversity in how the other mycelians looked (still calling them that, no one can change my mind). Also, it's somehow very satisfying to know that Myc was a dweeb in "hive school", it really explains a lot of his shitty personality.

The development between Reagan and her parents was... good. I still hate Rand, but nobody is ever truly completely good or bad, y'know? He's still an irredeemable fuckwad, but it takes bravery to admit that you've done wrong, and I respect him for it. Tamiko wasn't as bad this season either, and her progress with Reagan after the Keanu incident wasn't inconsequential. Brett's family are still a bunch of assholes, though.

I won't go into detail, but I'll admit I've got some daddy issues too - I think most people in the world have at least one fucked up parent. The line at the end of S2E7 really struck me, and made me feel a little guilty even. "I spent my whole life thinking you were a hero or a villain, but you're not - you're just my dad, a screw-up." I already knew this was going to be a good show from the first episode, but lines like that, and the natural character development between Reagan and the Gang, make me think this show is gonna get better and more profound with each season, just like Bojack Horseman. I think, like Bojack, this is gonna be one of those shows that really fucks you up in the best of ways, that's gonna make you think and wanna call your family after an episode to tell them you love them. It shows a lot of promise for getting another two or three seasons, and I'm looking forward to watching every episode.

Also, seeing Myc's human version (pretty much just his VA) in the last episode made me laugh.

#inside job #inside job netflix #inside job season 2 #inside job spoilers #my thoughts #inside job x reader

[suginami-division]

Ryuko’s Thoughts on Minato Division

Nadya Kuromiya

“Another scientist? Fucking, welcome to the club. Or… I guess this is one of the older teams, so congrats on your new colleagues I guess. The D.R.B. is filled with these Chuuoku science rats and it’s really sickening. You’d think that being in charge of the competition, you’d disallow your former employees from entering, especially if they want your head on a stake. That’s like inviting your killer in.”

“But hey, hey, hey. How many nerds am I going to have to kick aside to make it to the top? Seriously, all the leaders in the D.R.B. are a bunch of dweebs! Bring in some more brawn and less brains! It’s going to get real fucking boring if all these government bitches keep bringing in these tech freaks. Being a leader doesn’t mean you have to be smart anyways. People like shitty Samatoki-sama and that Toyama country bumpkin are proof enough of that!”

Meari Miracle

“Oh fuck, no way that the Banshee is in the D.R.B.! Man, I’ve been getting into 86 again recently after Shuu and I had a discussion on our favorite music. Thanks to the little guy, we were able to piece together that one of my favorite songs ‘Investigative Hell’ was about him! Like, of all people, that cutesy little shit pissed off a big heavy metal band enough to make a song about him! Honestly, I gotta give Shuu a lot of credit when it comes to most of our opponents in the D.R.B. Thanks to him, there’s an endless list of people we can fight when Shuu keeps pissing everyone off!”

Aika Yumi

“Yu…Mi? Hm… Nah, it’s nothing. Just had a random thought. It's nothing noteworthy, probably.”

“Normally, I don’t involve myself with women… Both in my past and current life. My old job didn’t like to get involved in drugs or sex, so I’m not too familiar with the industry this Aika girl is involved in outside of the basics. At most, I suppose I worked with some broads to extort men in the past, but... I shouldn’t get into those details. If anyone reading this is concerned though, it was our responsibility to make sure the women involved weren’t forced or harmed in anything. I usually did my best to beat the ever-loving shit out of any of the pieces of garbage who dared push those boundaries. It was a method of business, so I’d be damned if I didn’t help my associates when they got into a pinch.”

Oculus

“Again, what is the governor thinking when inviting all these people in? Bringing in people who specifically have it out for you is just asking for death. Those bitches must get some sick, twisted enjoyment seeing their enemy claw to the top for their filthy money… Whatever, I’ve stepped into the government’s game, just like this team. Might as well play along and kick these Oculus bitches off the list of opponents too.”

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone oc #sazanka zombeez #suginami division #ryuko umemoto #minato division #nadya kuromiya #meari miracle #aika yumi #oculus

[donnerpartyofone]

(Here's a bunch of Who Fucking Cares) I liked Blaze when it was just maniacs and religious proselytizers boosting their most inane possible thoughts, but its inevitable degeneration into a way of forcing me to look at somebody's fandom garbage has done nothing but add to my ever-growing block list. It actually makes sense as a tool for people trying to sell shit or god forbid "build their brand", although that's less interesting too...and then you see people promoting things that just make no sense to me at all. For instance the thing I just saw where somebody is trying to build a mailing list so they can send out small segments of the novel Frankenstein, "in written order", on a weekly basis, that "we" will "meme along with", starting in February of next year. I mean, first of all, I know the target audience of this kind of thing is chronically online dweebs who use the "dark academia" tag, but like what is preventing those people from reading a fucking book? If they're such smartypantses, why do they hate turning pages and enjoying literature at a natural pace? I read Frankenstein for the first time this year, and it took me about three days; it was over before I even realized it. I can't imagine what would be improved by getting it in bite-sized emails every seven days, garnished with shitty jokes and horny memes. Like I don't know if the person who is trying to do this has ever actually read Frankenstein before, but it's not that juicy, "nothing happens" for pages and pages of it, you really have to just bite the bullet and READ A FUCKING BOOK if you want to feel at all engrossed in it. And even if this sounds appealing to you, like you'd RATHER get a few pages of travelogue, a few pages of family history, a few pages of reflection on the contemporary state of science, a few pages on religious concepts of creation, etc, separated by a week and punched up with cutesy graphics and shit--are you honestly going to remember that you signed up for this 8+ months from now when it starts? I guarantee that if these things start going into your spam folder at that time, you'll have no idea you were even supposed to look out for them. Having worked at companies where I had to collaborate with a marketing person or social media specialist to promote events or product drops, I know that nobody would advise you to start advertising something any smaller than a Hollywood blockbuster more than half a year away. It's like 1-2 weeks tops, if you want anybody to have any recollection at all of what you're doing. The entire idea of this is fucking maddening to me. It will probably just fail, not that I'd be at all aware of it, but I hate being reminded that there are growing numbers of people out there who only read or watch things in order to run them through their lonely porny fandom filter, and they just won't do anything if they can't meme it.

#don't tell me to let people enjoy things either #if i could prevent anyone from enjoying anything then maybe i'd have done it already #and i wouldn't even have to talk about shit like this

[idyllicserendipity]

@falsiliar​​​ asked: “Hey, Miu! Hey. Hey. Hey—! I'm in desperate need of your maaaaassive brain! Please; this is, like, way important. ( •᷄⌓•᷅ ) How do you spell 'i cup'? ﾍ(ﾟ∀ﾟﾍ)"

    LIKE A PINCH OF SALT DASHED into her gorgeous baby blues, Miu’s features were quick to hike themselves up in UGLY DISTASTE at the very sight of the other. Already skeptical as to why he was even here other than to PISS HER OFF,  so would her hands rest themselves apprehensively upon her hips as she allowed him the blessing of a listening ear. When she could have simply told him to fuck off--

   “Eurgh, what is it now?          No wait, lemme guess-- you want a bunch-a TOYS that only a                         LAME LIL’ VIRGIN like you will ever be SATISFIED with, RIGHT”

   He could pull that INNOCENT LIL’ BOY ACT all he wants, but Miu and the others have long since come to know that he was ANYTHING BUT.

   ... Pft, important? HAH! Like anything important EVER comes oughta that FUCKIN’ GLORY HOLE he calls a mouth! And while it IS TRUE that she did indeed possess a massive brain (Oh yes, even she knows how unfair this all is-- for she alone to possess BOTH BRAINS and BEAUTY~), the Ultimate Inventor would give nothing more than a snort and a roll of her eyes. 

   Did he really think she was that STUPID? Like she would believe any compliment that comes out of that LYIN’ YAP of his! Buuuut, lucky for you, ya lil’ dweeb. She’s not only beautiful, smart-- but KIND and GENEROUS too! As so evidentially shown right then, what with her entertaining your dumbass requests when you have done nothing more but waste her precious time. Ooohh what would you and the others do without her, really?

   “I-CUP?!         Even an annoyin’ LIL’ TURD like you should know this!                                                                  I-C-U-P--ee--”

   KHH-HRRGHH!!!!

  Far too late in clenching her teeth together, Miu had only wished that she could have bitten the tip of her tongue off. Instead of allowing herself to drag out that final alphabet for as long as she had. Undignified shudders noticeably running through the entirety of her body, and all the way to the ends of her tentacular hair.

   L-LIKE HELL WOULD SHE EVER WANT GOLDEN SPORTS AND THE NAME KOKICHI OUMA TO EVER BE PLACED TOGETHER IN THE SAME SENTENCE!!!

   “... I-I can’t believe it... h-hrgh... I can’t... believe a genius like me fell for something like that...”

   And here she was, having managed to swerve around those first few landmines-- only to land FACE FIRST into the biggest one of em’ all... And all she could do now was shrivel up like a raisin in the sun at this very defeat... 

#ﾐ Muse ;; MIU IRUMA 彡 #ﾐ Muse ;; MIU IRUMA ;; Asks 彡 #ﾐ KOKICHI OUMA AND MIU IRUMA ;; Somehow he’s the sperm that won that day ;; falsiliar 💛 彡 #falsiliar #(I'm so-- I'm so sorry AUHEUAWHE)

[anhed-nia]

I complain about fandom shit a lot, and while it's true that I don't like its unpleasant melange of being extremely infantile and extremely horny at the same time, I also think it's actually disrespectful to the content. By and large, movies and shows are stories that a group of people came together to tell. Fictional characters are story elements that have been devised to deliver a certain meaning--the entirety of which is bounded by the narrative as it was written. The characters are joined by other artificial elements like photography, music, sets, sociopolitical context, and so forth, to provide the richest, most convincing version of the message that the authors of the production are trying to convey to you. All of this is very deliberate and takes a lot of hard work and, usually, belief in what the creators are trying to say. When you decontextualize the characters, or filter out everything in your perception except for what's sexy to you, it kind of sucks. I mean, no one can stop you, that's for sure, but it's extremely limiting and maybe even rude.

Why not just watch porn if that's your deal? I once saw this long, creepy thread where a bunch of little fandom dweebs were saying that books should be merchandised not only with accepted genres, but with subgenres that describe what kind of dick-hardening material can be extracted from the story, i.e. slowburn, enemies to lovers, "and there was only one bed!", etc. They all seemed to think that this was a great idea for just, like, literature in general, as if it's not incredibly weird to have every single piece of media indexed by how you can potentially masturbate to it. I feel like if I went to the trouble to research and write and publish, like, a historical drama on a theme that meant something to me, I'd be horrified if I saw it in the bookstore and in between the genre designation and the barcode it said something like "It's not in the story, but it would be hot if the two step brothers kissed."

I'm being all cantankerous about this today because I stupidly went to look for RRR-related things to reblog on tumblr dot com, and of course it's all just a bunch of needy babyish garbage that reframes everything in this gorgeous, moving, surreal, anti-colonialist fable as just a bunch of throbbing foreplay between the two leads. That said, if I'm being totally honest, I don't blame anyone for wanting to fuck either of these guys. I'm only human!

PS I *know* there's this whole argument about how fan fiction and fandom-style consumption is a way for especially-female audience members to enjoy erotica without having to deal with the problems of pornography. I get that, actually. But it makes me wonder where the genre of soft porn has gone. There are romance franchises like 50 Shades and Twilight that seem to serve this exact purpose, but I guess I wish that creators of that ilk would ramp up production, because then maybe I could look up fuckin ANYTHING on tumblr without encountering a bunch of hormonal children whose media consumption just boils down to, like, making Ken and Barbie dolls scissor in the bathtub.

[missing-wires]

Hmm… suddenly I feel the strange need to clarify things. It’s like I have this nagging itch that I can’t quite scratch.

I am not ashamed of what happened to me when I was 13 years old. It was an accident. I was just a dumb, horny kid who didn’t know any better. I have never shamed you or shared any of your childhood trauma with anyone, ever. It would be a strong false equivalence to compare your camming to my penile fracture.

Yes, I shared some things with someone back in October, but hardly anything. He didn’t come to know anything of substance until late January, which was long after you had been sharing my shit with a bunch of randos, including teenagers, which I found to be in very poor taste. The man I shared things with is married and a respectable person and someone with whom you already had a dialogue. Again, this is a major false equivalence.

It’s not even that you shared with people. Believe me, I would have shared myself. It’s like, why? Why did you feel the need to? Just too juicy to pass up? Because we hadn’t seen each other in person and it was easy to continue pretending like I was a robot? That’s a cop out.

I mean I’m not like surprised or anything lol. I thought about sharing all the screenshots of private convos you sent me. After all, if she does it with others, you can bet she does it with you. No one’s immune from it. I am not that special. Any opportunity for conversational fodder, right? Any opportunity to control a narrative.

I am a very forgiving person, especially among people I care about, perhaps, in part, because it’s rare that I care about people at at all.

I recognize that I put you in a uniquely, awkward position, but I thought your gaslighting and your complete unwillingness to admit to any betrayal of trust was extreme. I did my very best to convey that I wouldn’t care at all, and you were super persistent to the point of anger that I would even imply that you had told others. You called me paranoid and “MK ultra brained” and later seemed to half admit to it but blamed it on PTSD.

I was just very frustrated that you were so flippant with me. I barely even tried to talk to you since October. I was content with a slow, chill pace. I felt like i got sort of a second lease or whatever. But I guess something happened along the way. You met someone else and I became conversational fodder. I was happy to end things at the New Year, but I guess you didn’t like that and had to drag your pet back in.

And again, I have said this before, but I never intellectualized my feelings toward you. Of course, things can change, in the event we got to know each other, face to face. I recognize that. I felt extremely patronized that you would insinuate that a face to face meeting was equivalent to a marriage proposal.

I think the glass house metaphor in the context of the song is a very poor one. You don’t have anything on me. There is no “thing” I am afraid of sharing with anyone. That 13 year old kid died a long time ago. When you laugh at my fracture, you’re not laughing at me, you’re laughing at him. That little conversation I had with Ric was about “shaking the bushes.” I got exactly what I needed out of that.

It was never about the thing, or even the sharing. It was that you repeatedly lied and lied and lied about it again and again. Fuck you for that.

Believe me, I could give two shits what your dweeb friends think about me or their interpretation of your warped narrative. I know what it really feels like to want to die, and any other feeling pales by comparison. If anyone has a problem about it, they can come see me.

*Removed records, not because I’m ashamed of it, it’s just a little tacky to leave up in perpetuity lol. Hopefully this is it. Edited-Midnight 5/8/23

#Spotify