#and these pills fucked him up BAD. he keeps hearing a ticking clock sound and whenever it gets the loudest he snaps and takes more drugs

[codecicle]

Do you know any good qsmp lore supercuts? I want to watch more qsmp content (since i've really only been following along with liveblogs; i only really watched wilbur's vods almost up to when the eggs were first supposed to disappear) but there's so much to watch and it doesn't all hold my attention.

https://youtube.com/@QSMPInfo?si=FUrtOTX89-XRWLvF

^^ this is the official qsmp lore recap channel!! honestly the best source I think you could get they condense so much of it so well. as for more recent stuff they haven't gotten to yet I'd recommend going on twitter (yeah i know I'm sorry 😔) and looking through your language of choices update accounts!! they're all run by official admins and have translated updates on every streamer per day. its a lot of lore but also liveblogging is how most people consume other lore, since there are people constantly streaming on the server. i look through the qsmp tag when i wake up in the morning and get home from school like a newspaper LMAO

typically I'd just suggest the twitter accounts, the recap channel, picking at least 2 or 3 different streamers to watch casually and looking through liveblogs. im a huge charlie guy obviously but I've literally never seen a cellbit stream before despite him being one of my favorite characters, I only know him through other streams and liveblogging. my spanish streamers don't stream on there anymore (cmon mariana and rubius D:) and so i mainly get Spanish updates from Spanish speakers on here!! point is you're doing great already LMAO just watch some of the recaps and look through the update accounts and you'll be fine.

(plus every stream they have to relay old information from one person to another so eventually you will get a lore info dump if you want to or not)

#i make yet anothet post just for me 👍 #we have mail :] #AUGUAHJGFHH IM SORRY I DONT HAVE BETTER ANSWERS LMAO I WISH I DID!! #best recap of the story over the past couple of weeks that no channels have really covered: #the federation (big bad) kidnapped the eggs from the parents while everyone was asleep. this wasnt this first time theyve done this but!! #this time felt much different. like they were really gone for good. #forever was given brainwashing pills by cucurucho (federation worker/census bureau for the island) #and these pills fucked him up BAD. he keeps hearing a ticking clock sound and whenever it gets the loudest he snaps and takes more drugs #bbh has been grieving and every stream he loses a little more color. he lost all of his color and streamed his 'acceptance' stream #where he kidnapped the drugged members and put them in cages along with torturing fed members to get them to talk #phil finally logged back on and with tubbo and fit's (? I think) help they covered the main federation building in cobblestone and lava #essentially just griefed the server as a threat LMAO #phil wrote and delivered a note that essentially said 'give the eggs back by the end of the week. or else' #then we got cryptic messages that cellbit decoded #they said: 'the answer is not in the center' #that all leads to todays stream where charlie tubbo and roier went to the center of a maze they found through coords #(that fred not the feds gave to them in 3 seperate books) #and there was a wheel in the center surrounded by all of the eggs items. tubbo spun it and it landed on 5 #then lava poured from the ceiling and mobs spawned kicking all three of them out #now this saturday (or tomorrow i think?) is a huge stream that was teased a couple says ago with the roman numerals 2 #and the spinny wheel in the maze was written in roman numerals #so we think todays stream and all the lore is leading up to something with the eggs tomorrow/Saturday i forgor the date #and thats basically whats been happening this past few days!! theres a LOT more lore than normal dw we have just been experiencing. #The Horrors. this isnt normal LMAO #qsmp #<- forgot to tag this

[btssunnyboy]

Unbelievable - Choi San

He was always rude to you, embarrassing you in front of everyone. So why is he mad that someone better made you an offer?

Warning - Profanity, mention of caffeine, San is mean as fuck, Yandere towards the end, He makes a threat.

Word Count - 3,362 idk if they will be a part 2!

BTS , NCT , ATEEZ — request open.

__________________________________________

Good god, your blood was boiling the moment you saw his door crack open. You could feel your fingernails digging into your palms as you tried to remain calm. The last thing you needed to do was lose your temper and give this man another opportunity to ridicule in front of your co-workers. But judging by that horrendous look on his face you already have a gut feeling that all taht hard work to keep your anger in check is going to fly right through the window. Taking the deepest breath you could take and plastering on that fake smile, you gladly greeted the man that makes your life a living hell.

“These numbers are definitely not to my liking and I refused to be the laughing stock at the board meeting tomorrow.” He huffed heavily as he practically threw the binder down onto your desk. The heavy plastic slamming against the steel desk with a loud thud that echoed through the big hallway. The wind from the fall making papers that previously occupied your desk go flying in every single direction. You could feel your anger bubble up in your chest at the mere disrespect that this man was giving you, and it was driving you insane.

“With all do respect sir, it’s already twelve thirty, and I highly doubt I’ll be able to go over all of these documents by seven thirty in the morning.” You resisted their urge to grit your teeth as you wanted to appear somehow considerate of his complications. Truth be told you didn’t want to do another all nighter when you barely pulled through from the other night. “Besides, I looked over the revenue and margin growths three times before I sent them to your office.”

He scoffed loudly as he licked one of his fingers and then continued to rummage through the papers that were bonded together. His long finger skimmed over the lines multiple times and he flipped each page within a minute. Those piercing eyes stayed locked in on every single number that crossed the page. “Ah, right here it states that we made a profit revenue of fifty million last year, but then it states that this year we’ve only grossed sixty five million. And that’s definitely less than the fifty percent revenue growth that we expected.”

“So, sixty five is not as bad as you’re making it out to be, besides multiple people double checked.” You spoke tiredly as you started packing up your briefcase. Different papers getting stacked together and even crumpled because of the rapid pace that you were going. No matter what happens tonight you were leaving before the clock strikes one in the morning. As you were packing up your eyes met his furious ones and it felt like your world was crumbling down. “Mr. Choi, I’m being honest, your accounting department checked all of these numbers multiple times and I looked over them as much as I could.”

“I know for a fact that we had a fifty percent increase in revenue, now look over these damn numbers again. Or you’ll be kissing this cushy office job goodbye in the morning.” He harshly slammed the binder closed and stalked over to his office door. The audacity of that stupid man, how dare he even threaten you with this job. But as much as you wanted to spit in his face and tell him to shove it you really needed this job, this really well paying job.

You poked your cheek with your tongue out of agitation and roughly grabbed your purse. The bottle of caffeine pills made a clicking sound as you unscrewed the cap within a second. Without a drink of water you downed the pill and grabbed the ugly binder. This was going to be a long night, and these numbers were not going to supposedly fix themselves.

Your fingers tapped the keys on the keyboard rapidly as you searched each collaboration revenue. All of these numbers were lining up, no matter what you searched. Out of the six collaborations Choi enterprise only grossed sixty five million, but for some reason he just won’t listen. All you wanted to do at this point was slump forward and go to sleep, but with that anger that Mr.Choi has you’re scared he might kill you in your sleep. But as the long hours went on and on, you could feel yourself slipping. Your eyelids felt like a ton, and your head was suddenly too heavy for your neck to hold. Before you knew you were out like a light.

—

You’d shoot the person who was jabbing their finger into side if you could. Their bony finger feeling a knife stabbing your rib cage with immense pressure. “Please wake up, y/n, if he notices you’re asleep, who knows what he’ll do!” The jabbing didn’t cease one bit, in fact they just jabbed even harder.

“Okay! I’m up!” You groggily scoffed as your vision was trying to focus on the object in front of you. The figure was simply a mush of different colors all moving in different directions. The harsh lights in the office are in no way making the situation any better. You could make out their hand moving from left to right to try and grab your attention. “Hongjoong?”

“What are you, blind? Of course it’s me, but please I’m begging you get up and go freshen up in the bathroom.” He sighed sadly as he helped your wobbly stance straighten up. His soft hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. The soft scent of his cologne filling your nose as you clung to him. “Do you still carry extra clothes in your car?”

“Thankfully yes, but what time is it?” You question as you rubbed your eyes, trying to make all the colors of the world blend back together to form one coherent thing. “Oh god, is it past seven thirty, oh shit! He’s gonna kill me!”

“Calm down, it's only six thirty, but he always gets here at seven. So please go wipe that old makeup off and I’ll get your other clothes.” Hongjoong smiled slightly at you before his eyes shifted towards the oh so famous brown binder. “Did that dick make you go over more numbers the whole night?”

“God yes and it was terrible, but I looked over all six collaborations and I kid you not it all equals sixty five.” You could hear a pin drop on the silence that coated the room. It was beginning to feel suffocating and you physically felt your chest growing heavy with dread. “There were only six right, because that’s all the forms I received.”

“Maybe i'm just thinking of something else, because maybe just maybe -“

“Stop wasting time! Is there more than six?” You panicked as you shoved him away and pulled the rolling chair back to your side. Before your fingers could even reach the keys, Hongjoong’s were there in a second. They tapped rapidly and skimmed through all your emails at a neck breaking pace. “Oh my god I never refreshed the email.”

“We don’t have time to sit here and panic, we have three pages of numbers to go through.” Hongjoong tried to make the situation less tense by offering a helping hand, but he knew that if these numbers weren’t corrected all hell would break loose. And no one wanted to see what Choi San was like when he more than ticked off. He’d probably be past the point of furious if ever saw these unfinished numbers.

—

San’s eyes were narrowed as he eyed the unfamiliar man at your desk. Where the hell were you? He didn’t pay a shit ton of money for you to be everywhere and not in that chair looking pretty. But at this moment he couldn’t control himself as the words flew from his mouth. “What the hell is this?”

That look, that gorgeous look of fear that made his blood rush and his heart pound. Was etched across the unknown man's face and he was basking in the glory of it. San cocked his eyebrow slightly as he leaned forwards on his palms. “Did I suddenly grow two heads or some shit, no? Then answer my question, what the hell is this.”

“I’m so sorry Mr.Choi, but I didn’t notice that there were seven collaborations. I only had six in my email. And Mr.Kim was only helping me scrunch the numbers.”

“You mean to tell me that these numbers aren’t finished! And this meeting is in less than an hour?” His demeanor was calm but the sheer venom in his voice was enough to bring you to your knees. He poked his cheek with his tongue and gave a mean smile in your direction. “I mean it, l/n you’re on thin ice. But if those numbers aren’t corrected then you’re fired.”

“Yes sir.” You gulped as you watched him take heavy steps towards his office. You were in deep shit now. San rubbed his chin as he tried to remain calm and not fire you on the spot. Out of all the times you could have missed up, you decided now was the perfect time. Messing up these numbers would make other investors think that this company cannot handle the responsibility of simply matching numbers. This mistake could completely tank the company and put everyone here out of a job.

Fifty five minutes have passed and investors from other companies are already showing up at the doors. And here he was sitting at the head of the table empty handed, and it was all your fault. It was your fault for not refreshing that damn email, for not paying closer attention to the numbers, for simply not giving it your all. And now it’s going to be your fault that the entire company crumbles and falls straight into the depths below.

“So San, when is this meeting going to officially begin?” Questioned one of the many associates as he leaned back against the velvet chair. A smile bright on his face as if he didn’t care to wait a moment or two for it to begin. But, on the other hand, the leader of the meeting was so furious he could start foaming at the mouth. Because guess what crucial piece of information still wasn’t on his desk.

“We will begin momentarily if my secretary would get her head out of her ass and bring them those god damn numbers.” San spoke with a soft smile on his face. The look he gave the men was a completely different tone from the words he just spoke. Those words help fury and degradation but his smile was so bright it could light up a room or cause someone’s heart to flutter out of their chest. But at this moment all of those men knew at this moment San was anything, but happy.

The sound of the doorknob being yanked on caught everyone’s attention. Their heads jolted towards the cause of the noise as they watched you fiddled with the dozens of papers in her hand. Your smile was uneasy as you tried to reorganize them on your way towards the head of the table. They watched your clammy hands shake with fear as San ripped the paper from your hands. Judging by the way you quickly held your pointed and middle finger they could only guess what happened.

“Why the hell are you still standing here? Do I need to draw you a picture and make it clear that you’re done here?” San scolded as he shoved you a bit and forced you to walk to the door. Fumbling over your own two feet and almost hitting the floor head on at one point. But he didn’t care, because all he wanted to do right now was get this meeting over with. With a final shove and a quick slam of the glass door, he swiftly turned back around to be met with very difficult to decipher expressions.

“Well now that all distractions are gone, let’s get down to business.”

—

Your face was flushed and you could feel your hands start to shake. From the mere interaction with the stupid CEO. The vivid picture of his icy eyes and cold stare were burned into your brain, as his words pounded in your skull without mercy. The man practically belittled you, in a room full of successful CEOs who now probably think you’re a joke.

“Hey, don't worry yourself sick. It was an honest mistake.” Hongjoong consoled you as he eyed your shaken form. The tearful eyes and the constant bouncing of your leg was a dead giveaway of the way you felt at this moment. And he wanted nothing more than to just say everything will be okay, that everything is going to be just fine. But he can’t, because who knows what the jerk will do you do considering your almost costed him a deal.

“Do you think he’ll fire me?” The question hung in the air with such heaviness that it was almost hard to breathe. The thought of losing this job was sending you into a whirlwind of erratic emotions. If this job is gone, there goes the ability to afford your car, hell there goes the ability to afford the damn apartment you’re living in at this moment. You’ll lose eveything, if you’re cut off.

“He better not, and trust me if he ever does, I would be more than happy to have you on my team.” A new man smiled brightly in your direction as he made his way over to your desk. He wasn’t an unfamiliar face around the office as he and Mr.Choi have done business deals of many kinds in the past. “It would truly be an honor to have someone like you working at Jeon Marketing.”

A small smile took over your face as you eyed the man in front of you. Mr.Jeon was an extremely well known CEO in this business, and he’s not too much older than Mr.Choi. You’re genuinely surprised these men are allies in this type of business, if anything you thought they’d be enemies. “Thank you for such kind words, but trust me your opinion on me may change soon.”

“Nonsense, I’ve seen the way you handle situations at this company, especially time crunched ones. I can tell just by looking at your face you stayed up hours just to make sure his numbers were perfect.” Mr Jeon stated as he leaned forward on the desk and clapped his hand together. “And truth be told I wouldn’t mind having such a beautiful face be the face of my company.”

His compliment left you stumped as you eyed his face. The tone he held was lighthearted because he knew this stressful situation needed a little laughter, but you knew from the look on his face he was being serious. About both of his statements. Before you could form a response, he long fingers were reaching into his jacket pocket. “I promise, if you ever need anything. I’m just a call away.”

“His top rival and best friend just offered you a sweet ass deal, are you gonna take it?”

You truly didn’t know the answer to that. I mean on one hand you have your secretary job here, and it pays well. The boss may be a pain in the ass, but it’s the only thing keeping you afloat. And you know that these two companies are neck and neck right now for the top spot, so it’s hard to decipher just how much he’s willing to pay you. But would there be any harm in simply asking the man?

“I’m not gonna lie and say it doesn’t intrigue me, but at the same time I don’t wanna leave you all alone.” You mumbled as you tapped away at the computer keys. Just trying to find any small amount of information about his company. But only mere surface information popped up in the search box. “Would it be a bad thing if I did leave?”

“Sometimes trying something new is good thing, but it really all depends on how you feel. And I have a friend that works there and she told me she makes over 250k a year.” Hongjoong shrugged his shoulders as he stood up to leave. His soft eyes giving a sense of comfort as he started to walk away. “I promise whatever option you pick, you’ll be fine.”

A heavy huff of air passed through your lips as you tried to think of the right answer. If he was right you’d make just a little bit more working for him and he genuinely seems like a nicer boss in general. So the real question is what’s keeping you tied to this job? The only perk about this job is working with Hongjoong and he’s the main reason why you’ve stuck around this long. The men from before were now exiting San’s offer with bright smiles on their faces, and you could only conclude that those numbers truly were the right ones. But just as your eyes leave their smiles you’re met with someone who has the complete opposite expression.

He briskly walked towards you and hastily cleared his throat. The stone cold expression he was supporting made a shiver go down your spine. Without a second thought he grabbed your hand and hauled you off in the direction of his office, with his nails piercing the skin of your wrist. Within a second he shoved you into his office and slammed the door behind him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His stern voice echoed in the office. Bouncing off the walls left and right and continuing to bounce inside your skull. The fingernails that were pressing into your skin felt like sharp needles protruding into you. You could have sworn you saw blood pass through his fingers. “Answer me!”

“I’m sorry! But I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” You panicked as you tried to yank your arm away from his hardened grasp. Those eyes of his start to terrify you the longer you stay in his touch. But he wasn’t letting you get away if anything the more you struggled against him the tighter his hold got.

“I saw that dumb fucker hand you his card, and for some unknown reason you took it. So what that’s it, you’re just gonna fucking leave after everything I’ve done for you?” He spat words at you left and right. Not bothering to back up any of his claims. He speaks as if he’s given you pure gold to walk but in reality all he’s given you is eggshells. You have to be careful around you, you’re never treated well, and he wants to sit up on his throne and act as if he’s treated you like royalty?

“If anything you’ve given me shit! You’re treating me like crap any chance you get, I made one mistake and your response to that is belittling me in front of other people!” You shouted back with just as much venom as he has done to you. With a final yank from your arm, you relaxed yourself from his grip. Tired of his antics you looked him dead in the eyes and spoke. “And so what if I take his offer, he’d be a better boss than you ever were!”

“I mean it, L/n, you take that deal and I’ll make your life a living hell.” He threatened as he got closer and closer. His minty breath fanned your face slightly as he harshly grabbed your chin. “Trust me, this is one bet you’ll regret taking if you leave.”

“I’ll take that damn bet any day.” You tried to push his chest back but he was stronger than you. What surprised you the most was the cackle-like laugh that passed through his lips. A wide smile taking over his face and that somehow made the situation more sinister.

“I warned you, Y/n.”

#Yandere ateez #ateez imagines #ateez Drabble #San x reader #ateez x reader #San imagines #San Drabble #San one shot #ateez one shot #Yandere San #Yandere au #kpop imagine #kpop one shot #kpop x reader #Yandere kpop #Yandere Drabble #ateez scenarios #ateez Yandere au #ateez au #San reaction #ateez reaction #ateez #imagines #ateez x you #ateez reader insert #San x you #San Yandere imagine #ateez Yandere imagines #San Yandere #San Yandere Drabble

[songbirdstyles]

call me.

summary: being quarantined away from harry is absolute torture - until it isn’t.

warnings: smut, some fluff and angst if you squint! phone sex <3

word count: 3.4k

song inspo.: call me - blondie

You haven’t been sleeping too well since the beginning of quarantine - whether it’s the stress of what feels like the world ending or the noticeable absence of your boyfriend, lying beside you, you can’t be sure. All you know for sure is that it takes you nearly three hours of lying in bed, staring up at your ceiling in the dark and being entirely too aware of the empty space beside you in bed, to finally be able to get a few hours of sleep. And you’d even resorted to shifting to Harry’s side of the bed, where his pillow faintly smelled of his cologne, but it did little to put you out of your insomnia-induced misery.

It was a cruel twist of fate to end up quarantined on nearly opposite ends of the world from Harry. He was merely supposed to be in LA for a week or two, and you were supposed to go with him until you’d gotten sick at the last minute - and it hadn’t been a big deal, until the global pandemic locked you in London and him in California. And now, you’re wishing more than anything that you’d ignored the cold niggling the back of your throat and utilized your ticket to the states - it would’ve made the entire situation decidedly less miserable than it is.

The light of your phone screen illuminated from your nightstand tells you, in its glaring bright intensity, that it’s 3:21 in the morning. If you squint out of the window, curtains pulled open, you swear you can already see the sun, poking insistently above the horizon - but, no, surely not yet. You pray you have a little bit of time left to try and get some sleep before your biological clock forces you up.

(It’s not looking too good, though, as another minute ticks past on your phone and your eyelids still aren’t feeling the heaviness you’re craving.)

Perhaps you’ve grown too accustomed to curling up beside Harry’s body, feeling his breath against your neck when you occasionally wake up at this time for an early morning shag. And maybe you’ve been a bit spoiled, traveling with him more as your relationship progresses over the past three years - but you hadn’t suspected it would be so horrible for your sleep schedule to not have him around. Bad for your sanity, perhaps, but do you really need his body wrapped around yours to get even a wink of shut-eye during the night?

The answer was, apparently, yes, as more minutes tick on your phone and you’re still wide awake. LA is 8 hours behind London, approximately, so if it’s 3:27 in the morning here -

You’re grabbing your phone off of your nightstand without bothering to finish the math problem you’ve conjured up. Harry’s the most recent person you’ve texted and you swipe open your conversation, finger hovering briefly above the call button before tapping it gently.

There’s a chance - a small, miniscule one - that he won’t be awake. You’ve been texting him nearly every minute of every day, constantly calling him and FaceTiming and you know his sleep schedule is worsening like yours. He goes to sleep later and wakes earlier and takes naps scattered all throughout the day, so you’re prepared, emotionally, for him to not answer your call. You’ll be disappointed, perhaps, but there’s a bottle of melatonin in your bathroom you’ve been trying not to abuse during the nighttime. It makes you drowsy for working online and continues to afflict you during the day, so you’ve been trying to stay away from them.

Doesn’t mean you won’t use them, though. You simply don’t want to - if Harry doesn’t answer so you can chat until you’ve tired yourself out, then you’ll make the trek into the bathroom and succumb to the stupid pills -

“‘Lo?”

Your heartbeat picks up as you push yourself to sit up further in bed, pressing your phone close to your ear. You should’ve expected that your boyfriend would be awake now, considering it’s only 7:30 in LA, but it still brings a smile to your face to hear his voice.

“Hey, babe,” you murmur, voice quiet in the darkness of your room. There’s no one around for the loudness of your voice to disturb, but it still feels right to keep it low. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

Harry chuckles on the other end, and you try to picture what he’s doing. When he’s home you’re usually eating dinner at this time, or curled up on the TV watching a movie, or fucking in the bedroom - “‘Course not. Jus’ got off the phone wit’ m’mum an’ had t’shower. She misses us.”

“I miss her too,” you tell him, smile widening at the thought of Anne. Yes, you miss her quite a bit - she’s always been kind to you, and more of a second mother than merely the mum of your boyfriend - but you have some sort of ulterior motive for calling him, so you figure you should get right to it. “I miss you a lot, Har. The apartment’s awfully empty without you here.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, for just a second, before Harry’s responding, “I miss you too - ‘course I do. Wish I’d canceled this stupid fuckin’ LA trip - I’d do anything t’be home wit’ you now.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head back against the headboard of a bed that’s feeling entirely too big for you right now. You’d always complained that Harry slept like a starfish and took up entirely too much space, but you’d swim across the ocean to curl up in bed with him for just one single night. “I haven’t been sleeping much, either. Guess I’m too used to having you here with me. You know, waking up with you on top of me and middle-of-the-night sex.”

“Middle-of-the-night sex,” Harry sighs dreamily, and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth with the beginnings of a smirk working its way onto your face. “God, I miss that. M’hand just can’t do the things you can. Doesn’t even come close, really.”

“I hope so.” And you give him a moment to bark out a laugh before continuing, clammy palm pressed to your bare thigh beneath your comforter, “My fingers aren’t doing too much, either. They’re not as big as you - can’t get me off an inch.”

His breathing is growing heavier, loud even through the phone, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him - you’re horny and he’s surely getting hard and you’d like nothing more than for him to help you get off. Just his voice, slightly raspy and deepening with every syllable, is enough to make wetness pool in your panties. “Jesus, doll - gonna make m’hard.” And then there’s a pause, where you’re surely meant to respond but all you can do is grin and try to control your breathing, before Harry murmurs, “S’what what you wanted? Wanted t’make my dick hard?”

You nod, and then breathe, “Yeah.”

“Bloody hell, you’re a minx, y’know that?” And you did, in fact, know that, so you confess your affirmations. “Guess that’s why y’woke me, then. Need me t’tire you out, don’t you.”

It isn’t a question - Harry can read you like a book, even 5,000 miles away, and he knows exactly what your intentions are. “I just miss you.” His soft, cocky laugh on the other end has you sliding your hand up your thigh, pushing your digits into your lace panties and feeling the wetness present in the apex. “Really - I miss you, and your dick - just please help me get off, Har. Won’t bother you with it ever again.”

“Don’t have t’take it that far,” but you’re hardly listening to him. The first circle of your fingers on your clit has you moaning quietly into the receiver, and you can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath at the sound. “Startin’ without me, are you? S’awfully rude.”

“You’re taking too long,” you exhale, running your fingers through your soaked folds - but you pause, anyway, listening intently to the shuffling on the other end of the phone. “Got me so wet, just hearing you talk.”

When another second goes by with no response you pull your phone from your ear, pressing the speaker button and resting it on your tummy. You grab your comforter and pull it off the bottom half off your body, letting the cold air hit your bare legs, just as Harry groans, “Okay - m’ready. Had t’go back t’my room - but m’here now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking just a moment to listen to his quiet grunts and imagine exactly what he looks like right now - sitting on the edge of his bed, pumping his cock, slow and steady at first, just to get started. “Wish you were here with me,” and as eager as you’d been to have your first phone sex experience, you hadn’t counted on the slight awkwardness that makes it harder for the words to come out. “Been - been dreaming about it, about you fucking me so good, and I wake up drenched, Har, just thinking about you.”

Just as you’d expected, Harry takes over almost immediately - he’s much better at dirty talk than you are and it’s only proven when he moans, “M’always thinking of it, fucking your pretty little cunt ‘till you’re crying. And you love it, don’t you? Moanin’ so good for me, so loud - the way you cry when I pinch your clit - can y’do that f’me, doll? Pinch your clit, just the way I do it.”

Shaking fingers dip out of your folds and trail the wetness up to where you need it most - the sensitive nub that’s throbbing for your touch. Just as he’d asked, you use two fingers to softly pinch your clit, the small action sending waves of euphoria flowing through your body as you drop your head back with a cry. It reverberates through the room, louder than any of your moans and whines, exactly as Harry had wanted.

“Wish you could do it -” you do it again and give him the same resounding cry, circling your clit one more time before dragging your fingers back down to slide between your folds. “Your fingers, they’re so much bigger than mine - feel so much better.”

“Fingering y’self?” His voice is nearly whiny with excitement and you know exactly how he looks now, his bottom lip between his teeth and sweat beading up on his cupid’s bow. “Tell me how it feels.”

You can’t quite describe it, even if you’re desperate too. Fingers curl in your cunt, brushing against the sweet spot inside of you that has your back arching off the bed, nipples pebbled and hard against the material of your soft tank top. One isn’t enough, and it doesn’t fill you nearly as much as Harry’s so you add another, taking just a second to run it through your dripping folds before pushing it in. “Oh, god - feels so good, thinking of you - two of mine s’hardly one of yours.”

To that, you get a loud groan, mingled with a low cry that sends chills crawling up your spine. For a second he doesn’t respond and you wonder if he’s cumming already - but then he’s grunting, “Miss you, on all fours f’me - s’how I’ll take you first when we see each other. G’na let me pull your hair, know you love when I do that -”

You do love it, and merely remembering the feeling of him, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulling your head up when it starts to droop onto the mattress, has your walls clenching around your digits, and you impulsively add a third.

“ - or maybe I’ll jus’ bury my head in tha’ cunt of yours. Miss the taste of it so much,” and Harry’s voice picks up, in speed and pure excitement, and you can hear the faint sound of him, pumping his cock. It’s hard to think of anything you’d love more than to watch him eat you out for bloody hours, fisting his hair and tugging on his curls just to hear his sobs. The way he flicks his tongue against your folds and slaps your clit when you squeeze your eyes shut in pure euphoria. “Taste so sweet f’me, don’t you - taste y’self for me, doll. Know you taste so good.”

Harry’s got such a hold on you, sometimes - perhaps you’d even say all the time but especially during moments like these. So you don’t hesitate to pull your fingers out of your cunt, walls fluttering around the sudden emptiness, and you bring the digits up to your mouth. Slowly your tongue swirls around your fingertips before wrapping your lips around them, and the soft moan as you taste yourself has Harry whining on the other end, the noise long and low.

Normally, when Harry asks you to do something like this you would put on an absolute show for him. Pumping your lips up and down his shaking digits, eyes never leaving his as his lips slowly part in a needy pant. And - of course - you’d always know that, when you pulled your mouth off of his fingers, you’d be absolutely in for it, and that was the thrill of it. He can’t see you (FaceTime sex is something you’ll need to bring up another day) but you still perform, adding more volume and less eye contact with the darkness around you.

His breathing is rattly when you drop your fingers down to your thighs, fingernails curling into the soft skin as you would do his back or his scalp. You give him briefly a second to take everything in, the images he must be producing, before you breathe, “Tell me what you’re doing, Har.”

“M’gonna cum soon - gonna cum on m’fist, imaginin’ s’your pussy -”

“Yeah? Imagining me sitting on your cock, right?”

By Harry’s resounding moan - the exact noise he makes when you ride him and he tosses his head back in ecstasy - you can assume that he hadn’t been imagining that, but he surely is now, and so are you. God, the way you lean back, hands to his thighs, feelings his palms run up your stomach. And they’ll circle your tits, tweaking your nipples with a lazy smirk at how fast they pebble in his fingertips, before dragging down to your clit, on display for him - and he moves them so slow, but he knows you’re aching for it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing two fingers to circle your clit and sensually dragging your free hand up to your boobs as Harry moans, “Your pussy s’so tight around me - g’na fuck you so hard when I see you - you’re not gonna walk for weeks.”

It sounds absolutely dreamy as two of your fingers pinch at your nipple, closing your eyes tighter. If Harry were here he’d grab the back of your head, force your body down to his so he could lap at your nipples and relish in your sobs - and you can’t do that, necessarily, but you bring your thumb up to your tongue, licking the shaking digit before lowering it back to your nipple. It doesn’t give nearly the same effect but it’s close enough, and you can feel your cunt fluttering with desperation to cum. 

“Playin’ with my tits, Harry - pinching them just how you do.” You swallow back the urge to sob out, if only because the noise will trigger just the sort of choked up moan from your boyfriend that’ll send you over the edge and you want to last longer, dammit. “Oh, god -”

“Y’cummin’, baby?”

“No,” you exhale, “not yet -”

“Good,” and you can tell merely from the teasing lilt in his voice that you won’t last past the end of his sentence (and his staccato pants are already enough to have your clit throbbing beneath your touch), “‘cause I keep thinkin’ about that time - fuck - that time we shagged in y’mum’s house, remember? An’ I had to put y’knickers in your mouth, ‘cause you were -” and his rant is cut off by the telltale whine that’s almost always accompanied by him cumming near violently - “bein’ too loud, an’ we didn’t want your mum to hear? Be loud f’me, babe, please, need t’hear you -”

You remember that - how he was fucking you so goddamn hard your bed was hitting the wall and he had to drag you to the floor, pressed to your carpet with your drenched lace panties in your mouth. And Harry tossed your legs over his shoulder like it was nothing, pounded you into the carpet while your mum was asleep just a few doors down the hall, hand firm around your throat. He’d never done that before and God, you love it. Love it almost as much as you love him, but you figure you shouldn’t dwell on it now.

His words have the exact impact he’d hoped for and your head slams into your headboard with a choked up cry, loud through your room and into your phone, still resting on your sweaty stomach. Wetness coats your fingers as your assault on your clit continues, arm shaking with the pressure of riding yourself through the orgasm while still trying to listen to Harry - he’s sobbing out, sound of skin against skin growing louder until you hear the euphoric groan that tells you he’s reached the same high you have.

It’s a gorgeous harmony of your moans mixing together - his crackling through the speaker that’s been used and abused during your little session - and you know you’ll never get tired of it. No matter how many times you do this - for as long as you’re apart - you’ll never, ever get tired of it.

Your body is still trembling when the shockwaves of your orgasm start to wither down. There’s a thin sheet of sweat, coating your body and beading in your hairline and your fingers are covered with your cum, the bed sheets beneath you damp, too. You’ve only ever squirted a few times before - in Harry’s mouth, for the most part, with that bloody talented tongue he’s got - and you wipe the slick onto your thighs before sitting further upwards, grabbing your phone.

Harry’s silent on the other end and you squint at the screen to check the time. Your vision is clouded - perhaps your brain is simply clouded - but you reckon it says 4:00.

“Jesus,” he breathes on the other end, hardly audible through the phone. In your mind’s eye you can picture him, passed out on the bed with his legs still dangling off, running a hand through his hair to try and alleviate the sweat sticking to the curls. “Gonna have t’shower again.”

You smile, shifting back down so you’re fully lying in bed. There’s still a wet spot beneath your arse and your back but you’ll worry about it when you wake up (whenever that may be.) The idea of even moving back over to your usual side of the bed sounds like pure torture, because if you bury your nose in Harry’s pillow, it smells like his cologne with just a hint of the strawberry shampoo he sometimes steals from you. “Tired me out there, Mr. Styles.”

There’s the sound of rustling on the other end of the phone before Harry’s murmuring back, “M’glad - y’need to get some sleep, y’know. S’not good for you to be up so late.”

“I know.” Your eyes are already beginning to feel heavy as minutes continue to click down on your phone, and hearing his soft breathing is fucking therapeutic. If you close your eyes (which feels oh so good) you can almost feel him, body tight around you as he pulls your back to his chest, nestling his nose in your locks with a deep inhale that never fails to make you giggle. “I love you, Har.”

God, you can almost hear him smiling on the other end. You miss it so much - his smile - but just him, and feeling his arms around you, heartbeat against your spine lulling you to sleep. Whenever quarantine is over and you’re free to go to him, you won’t wait a second. You’ll hop on the first plane - you’ll fucking tape yourself to the side of it, if you have to.

For now, though, hearing him sleepily mumble, “I love you more, babe,” is enough. And you keep your phone planted on your chest, Harry’s steadying breathing like music to your ears as you settle in for what’s gearing up to be the best goddamn sleep of your life.

#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #my tenth fic! #ik it isnt that big of a deal but i remember writing early risers and thinking nobody was ever gonna read it #let alone enjoy it #and now look at me #i wrote this sucker in like three days and i actually like it a lot which is crazy for me #im very inspired by blondie recently #harry styles writing

[ghostmartyr]

how a life can move from the darkness [1/?]

Yo.

This wasn’t at all how I planned doing this, but who needs plans, really?

This is the first part of a fic not intentionally designed to be separated into parts. It’s unedited, somewhat long, and very indulgent.

What it contains:

Two drug addicts meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery.

High octane awkward Eren and Historia brotp. Pure gen, pure disaster.

EMA feels of the brand where Eren doesn’t make out with either of them, but if he did, you wouldn’t, like, be shocked? The One True Threesome energy stops at the gen door, but it’s there.

Ymir is there (though not yet; slow burn in all walks of genre), and she and Historia have emotions, and it’s complicated, and they’re morons. The parts where they make out on a countertop haven’t been written yet, but it’s very clear that if they could, that’s all they’d spend their lives doing.

And before I ruin mobile users lives, uh. I worked really hard on all of this, even though I never reached the editing stage, so if you wanna comment if you like any of it, that would be rad.

With that, off to the races.

Eren hated going to meetings. He hated the squeaky floors. He hated the creak all of the chairs made when someone sat down. Or moved. He hated the steadily more concerned looks the group leader, Petra, sent him when he stopped opening his mouth during. He hated listening to all the horrible things everyone had done to the people they loved. He hated knowing he had done worse.

He hated the look on his mom’s face when he didn’t go.

He hated that it made him think of pills. Over a month after rehab, over a month of several meetings a week, and every time someone had an emotion near him, he wished he could go back to being high.

He kept hearing that was normal.

The itch under his hands, the loud thump of his heart, the violent mood swings. The nightmares. All normal. Everything that had got him hooked was a normal part of the recovery process.

“My name’s Eren, and I’m an addict,” he said at meetings. Sometimes he’d try, just in case there was something to it. Sometimes he talked about his mom and the missing lock from his door and how much he missed—living alone. He’d grown out of having his mother hover over him, and that was a normal thing to feel frustration about. Even though he deserved it.

Normal.

What he never said at group anymore was, “My name’s Eren, and I’m a murderer.”

That was less normal, and it made everyone uncomfortable. They were all thieves and liars. Some of them had watched people die. One person was there every single session, gnawing his fingernails down to bloody stubs, because he knew what it was like to watch the light leave someone’s eyes when they were gone for good. That was when he knew he had to get clean.

That was when Eren had decided to get high.

No one liked to think about what it was like to be the cause.

He’d gone to therapy for it, before everyone had agreed that rehab was the more necessary treatment. He’d yelled a lot. The therapist said that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself over an accident, and he’d yelled more and stopped going.

He didn’t yell at meetings. When people yelled at meetings, it bounced back around the gym. Like one of the basketballs in the locked cage in the corner. It made Eren’s ears ring and a scream that had nothing to do with words would build up in his chest until he tasted blood in his mouth.

That didn’t help much. It brought back to mind cramped cars and more hysterical screams and flashing lights and his father’s hand in his hair and tears that felt like fire and burnt flesh and he hadn’t taken anything in over a month he couldn’t be floating this far from his body and group was over.

Group was over.

He could hear Petra announce it.

It echoed less the third time he heard it.

He wasn’t the last one to stand up. The chairs all screeched together, but standing wasn’t something any of them wanted to do. He wasn’t a great participant, but he could at least listen. Their lives all sucked. No one was in a rush to go back to the real world. Except maybe the tall freckled guy. Marco. He was mastering his recovery, and all set to head back to grad school any day now. His worst problem was fearing that it would all go away when he went back. Eren hoped it didn’t. Marco had lost it trying to support his sick grandparents, dosing himself with anything to make it through the day. He wasn’t a bad guy. He was the kind of guy the rest of them mugged for drug money.

Eren wandered over to the vending machines, where the refreshment table was set out. Petra brought cookies most weeks. She told him she baked to keep from getting baked. One of the guys in group had laughed so hard that he wet himself, and no one was that surprised to hear from his buddy that he was back in rehab.

Petra’s cookies were terrible. Eren made himself eat them. She smiled when he did, and the ritual put something in his stomach. He had trouble eating before meetings. He was supposed to be talking about that. He wasn’t, because it all came back to murder and discomfort and…

His mother told him he needed to try.

She was right. He hated that, too. He hated it so much that he stopped in the middle of breaking his teeth on Petra’s stone-hard chocolate chip cookies and stared at the wall wishing he could have his meds back before he thought about something stupid like killing her too.

Drugs. His drugs. Not meds. When they were meds, they were always someone else’s. He was never supposed to be on anything except painkillers for his broken leg.

Petra had told him on their first meeting—had taken him aside and put her hand on his shoulder—more gently than she had any reason to be, that she wished they worked on broken hearts too.

He hadn’t been planning to go to the second. She said that, and he did.

He hated meetings.

He chewed through the rest of his cookie mechanically, trying not to let it show on his face that swallowing felt like swallowing a hundred tiny pebbles, and trying not to think about bright eyes chattering about dinosaurs and digestive strategies.

The first went okay.

The second had hatred wrapping around his throat like a vice of fire, and the table he was grabbing shook enough to rattle the rock cookies against their plate. Petra brought her real plates for them. They were loud and unbearable under the massive ticking clock stapled to the wall and he wanted to hurt things.

It was not the time for the tiny blonde girl who sat across from him every week to walk over and say hello. It was not the time for anyone to be saying hello to him, when he already had one body on his ledger and that hadn’t been enough to stop him from getting into fights and watching the blood spill, and fuck he needed something to stop this.

Something said, quietly, “Do you want to share an apartment?”

The table stopped rattling. The clock above it didn’t stop ticking.

Eren stared blankly at the girl. “What?”

The same dead eyes he saw in his mother’s bathroom mirror before he smashed it stared back at him, missing any hint that something strange had just been said so completely that he wondered if he had taken something and was now obliviously tripping into oblivion.

“My sister won’t let me live by myself. I need a roommate.”

Eren was still staring. His mom would say he was being rude. Another thing she was right about, but guilt was preoccupied with too many other things. “Have we talked before?” he asked.

He didn’t think she ever spoke in group. He saw her there almost every time, and some days they’d make eye contact and keep it because they always ended up sitting across from each other. They were both so dead inside that it wasn’t creepy. Eren thought that might be the other way around, but his eyes needed something to stay stuck on when he didn’t feel like talking, and she never said a word about it.

“No,” she said, “but you said last week that living with your mother wasn’t going well.”

Eren had taken his hands off the table. “It isn’t,” he said.

“You don’t need to pay rent if you don’t want to.”

Eren was twice the girl’s size. There was no reason to worry about her succeeding in harvesting his organs. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to wonder about it. “I have money,” he said. Defensively. He couldn’t work some of the jobs he wanted to anymore, but he wasn’t broke. Yet.

“That’s fine too. I just need a roommate.”

Eren was tired, he hated everything, and if he had a home he could go back to without pain, he would be going back to it. He looked at the girl. She was still tiny. A tiny, breakable drug addict. “You were there the day I said I killed someone, right?”

His voice broke in the wrong places, making him sound wrecked instead of threatening.

The girl nodded.

“Yes,” she said, before adding, the way his mom remarked on the weather these days when they were alone in the kitchen and no one was speaking, “I killed my father too.”

The clock was ticking too loud to think time had stopped. Or even slowed. If anything, it was speeding up. Eren reached for another cookie. He couldn’t make himself take it. His fingers were too heavy. He dropped his hand back to his side before he sweat all over Petra’s hard work.

“Oh,” he said. Maybe out loud.

His heart was beating too hard again. Several people were still loitering by the chairs. No one was walking over to the refreshment table. The people who went to meetings and got along with each other went out to coffee. Or invited each other over for lunch. The leftovers were not going to think Petra’s cookies were worth interrupting the weird, staring children who didn’t want to be here.

The weird, staring children who weren’t trusted out in the world on their own. Because they murdered people and did drugs.

“When can I move in?”

----

Her name was Historia. If anyone asked, they were sponsoring each other. Specifically, if Petra, Eren’s mother, or Historia’s sister asked, they were firmly united in their journey through continued sobriety, and weren’t leaving home so they could run away and do more drugs. They were mature, responsible adults, and being able to live in their own space would make them less likely to kill again.

Eren hadn’t meant to say that out loud when he and Historia were practicing their lines. They agreed to leave it out of the final cut.

The final cut never seemed to end. His mom was relieved that he had a friend, but the suddenness of Historia’s introduction and their decision to move in together set off the same alarm bells that landed him in rehab. Historia’s base personality didn’t help. His mom was used to him being unhinged, but seeing it in someone else just brought in the question of which drugs were involved. She’d insisted on speaking to Historia’s sister, and if Eren had anything breakable left in his room, he probably would have gone after it. He wasn’t sure if he was a child or a prisoner in her eyes.

Or just her last remaining family.

That line of thought put him down a very bad road, so he didn’t engage. After the fifth dent in his wall.

Historia’s sister Frieda, in comparison, was easy. She took one glance at Eren, said, “isn’t that a familiar look,” and told them both that she was keeping a key. She wouldn’t go out of her way to bother them, but she would show up without asking. She would be their final, invisible roommate.

Historia said Frieda was a social worker. Eren didn’t think he had a feeling about that, but anything that made her more comfortable measuring him up was probably a positive in all of this.

They were not allowed to be in the room when his mom talked to Frieda. He and Historia spent an hour staring at peeling wallpaper in the living room. Interspersed with thoughts on how their family members would get along. They died off fast. Eren hadn’t known Frieda long, but she was better put together than any of them combined, and it showed.

Even if he’d caught the same shadows his mom had when she looked at Historia.

After a harrowing conversation with his mother pushing for someone to help him pack up his things (someone someone someone like he didn’t know exactly who she meant), he was set to go. He asked Historia if she was okay being his someone, even though she was tiny and not anyone’s choice for a moving buddy, and that kept his mom from digging her heels in too deep.

“They are still your friends, Eren,” she’d said. Volume worked with her to make the point, and for once Eren hadn’t had a smart answer to fire back.

He didn’t know if his mom knew the exact number of the ignored texts and calls on his phone, but he did know Historia was the only person who’d willingly stepped into his house since he destroyed everything.

Not thinking about that was a symptom of treatment. He wasn’t going to improve if he kept dwelling on the negatives.

He wasn’t sure if the lying had come with the drug habit or after, but if he ever met himself in a dark alley, he’d add another body to his count. One without all the guilt.

Moving into the new apartment was weird, and he told Historia so. It only had two bedrooms, but it was gigantic, and even though he knew that Historia had lived there once before, the space was completely scrubbed of any personal touches. It was like being in a hotel. Historia said maid service would do that. She was not joking.

Eren couldn’t figure out if he was stable enough or dead enough to adjust to the concept of strangers regularly cleaning his room, but Historia was a stranger to start with, so he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on anyway.

The giant area rugs kept the echoes to a minimum, and there were no ticking clocks that he could hear. There was also much less white than he’d expected, walking around Frieda’s place. He didn’t want to ask if that was because it made her think of hospitals too. Historia answered any and all questions honestly, and it made him want to return the favor.

Petra would be delighted.

---

“How bad is it if I punch the walls?”

Historia was lying on the floor. She spent every day trying to lock herself in her room, then lost and stepped out into the main room with a textbook under her arm. There was a chance she really read them. It still reminded him of past someones pointedly flipping a page and not looking at him when he committed such heinous crimes as finishing off the wrong brand of cereal.

Eren’s chest hurt along with his scraped hands.

“It depends,” Historia said, resting her chin in the middle of the pages. “Breaking your hand might count as drug-seeking behavior.”

He hadn’t thought of that. He should have. He should have had any thought at all that stopped him from wanting to scream at the top of his lungs and letting the swell of rage take over until hitting things sounded like a good idea.

His head joined the pain party. He wanted his pills.

“I was more concerned about the walls,” he said.

Historia shrugged. “The walls are easier to fix than we are. Money works on them.”

Eren couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He thought he wanted to laugh. He walked over to the couch and sat on it, putting a step between him and staring listlessly at the ceiling. He was still being a pathetic bastard, but he was finding speed bumps. They were easier to hit out of his mom’s house.

He had no idea if Historia was finding any. He was probably supposed to, if they were taking the sponsor thing seriously, but he wasn’t sure if they had anything to say about everything without bringing up patricide. That was a loaded first topic. The walls could use a break.

“What are you studying?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Cool.” He wanted to lie down. He could not lie down. “You want to be a vet?”

“Things are dying around me all the time anyway,” Historia said. She turned a page.

Some roommates had chore wheels. Maybe they needed a conversation wheel. Only they’d need someone else to build it so they had topics besides drugs and death. Eren gave it a shot without one. “Most vets just say they like animals.”

He didn’t know why that was the wrong thing to say. He had never been good at this. But that look wasn’t the look small talk was supposed to bring out. Historia looked like Armin that time they got lost at a theme park—

Eren really wanted to lie down.

“I like animals,” Historia said. The words came out like pulled teeth. She looked at him. “What do you like, Eren?”

Eren stiffened. At the tip of his tongue should have been something about fightingdrugsarminmikasa. A joke or a truth. Something about the ceilings they kept staring at instead of going outside and doing something with the rest of the world. Something.

There should have been something.

Maybe that was why it was the wrong thing to say. Historia couldn’t remember what it was like to like things, either.

---

Eren still had two of his jobs. He wasn’t sure how. He would have fired him. He was supervising rock climbers while he was high. Never outside the building, since his manager wanted to be sure he was recovered from… His manager wanted to be sure his body was in peak condition when he went with the free climbers. His manager had saved lives, and now Eren peed in a cup and they didn’t talk about it.

Keeping his other job was less surprising, because his clients didn’t have to worry so much about his mental stability. They just needed someone to train with.

That used to cover broader categories. Then he had a flashback over breaking his sparring partner’s nose and. And. Now he mostly stuck to advertising running.

It shouldn’t have been a challenge to change that on the website, but every click brought him closer to the guy who set it up for him, who had made this possible past just word of mouth, and just because Historia let him scream himself hoarse in the bathroom didn’t mean it was where he wanted to be with his life, but every single time…

His best friend. Not just some guy. His best friend.

Armin.

Eren lost a step to his pace. Reiner, huffing behind him and swearing, didn’t notice. Eren had met him in rehab, and Reiner had kept his number. He’d been even worse off than Eren, and when he started coming out of it, he spent all of his time trying to get his body back. Pushups when he was supposed to be sleeping, pull-ups on parts of the building that weren’t designed for it.

He’d done amateur MMA. Like Eren.

Reiner was going to make it back to that if he had anything to say about it.

Running wasn’t the magic bullet for emotional release that fighting was, but it got Eren outside, people were still paying him to kick their asses into high gear, and when they asked him where he’d been, they weren’t looking for a real answer.

Eren ran up the hill, Reiner trying to close in behind him. No one had put him through physical therapy while he was indulging his drug habit. Eren had seen clips. They should have fought before they forgot how to be sober. It would’ve been fun.

Now he thought about punching anyone but himself and all he could feel was warm blood pooling around his freezing hands.

His shoe hit a rock.

This was where he was supposed to call his sponsor.

He was running. For work.

The trail summit wasn’t far off. Reiner sounded like he needed a break anyway. They could stop, and he could tell Historia he was having a rough day. Like he didn’t go home and put that on full display every single time it happened. Every single day.

He called a halt too soon. He didn’t know if that meant he had been running too fast or if he’d spaced out again, and Reiner’s heaving breaths didn’t point any helpful fingers. He walked over to the bench that looked over the hill and started his stretches against it. He wasn’t hiding pulling out his phone. He wouldn’t lie if Reiner caught him with it. He just didn’t need to call attention to it.

He checked over his shoulder. Reiner was taking in the view and the overfriendly bird pecking at his shoe. The wildlife here had learned that humans meant food. The Parks and Rec department’s disagreement didn’t have much of an effect on that. Reiner was reaching an empty hand down for the critter to investigate.

Eren couldn’t tell if Reiner enjoyed nature or thought part of his recovery had to be learning to enjoy nature. Everyone he hung out with these days was stuck in a cycle of healthy behavior whether they were into it or not.

He looked down at his phone. He brought up his messages to Historia before he could read the number of unread texts from other someones. Armin. …Mikasa. He thought they’d added a digit. He wasn’t going to check. The curiosity bred hope, and the memories behind that led to wrath and busted walls.

He looked at his phone.

It is Tuesday morning and I want drugs.

Nice.

He couldn’t come up with a good way to say it. A way that sounded like he was making some progress instead of straddling a fence. But he’d promised his mom he’d try. He’d promised himself he’d try. The person who didn’t try was a thieving jackass, and he wasn’t going back to that. So he sent the bad text.

Historia messaged him back.

That’s unusual?

Eren held his phone under his head’s shadow. To read the words better.

They didn’t change. They weren’t joined by any more, either.

He closed his eyes. Opened them.

He sent her a picture of the bird Reiner had coaxed onto his shoulder.

They both sucked at this.

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

[justjessame]

A Reluctant Hero Chapter 19

Choices, choices, I thought as JD and I drove home.  OK, JD drove as one of the doctor’s orders was to not operate heavy machinery and he decided the Jeep counted.  At least he didn’t drive like a maniac this time.  

Back to my choices.  I could address the elephant in the room, car, truck, fuck.  Kelsey had tossed it out into the void, and I had to wonder what his thoughts were on the subject.  Did JD want another kid?  Did I want my first kid, with JD?  I wasn’t really paying attention as he drove, and I spaced out when the truck stopped.  Shit.  I missed the entire drive.  He didn’t have to tell me to wait for him to open my door and help me out, in fact, he had to basically snap his fingers in front of my face to get me out of my own head.  

“Ani?”  I looked up at him, after he’d apparently set me on my feet outside of the truck.  Well shit, I wasn’t even drunk and I was missing things.  “Are you alright?  Does your head hurt?”  Right, concussion.  

I smiled up at him, this man that came into my life when I was honestly not looking for him, but felt like my world would be smaller without him in it.  “I’m fine, tired, but fine.”  And freaking out about whether or not you’ll be wanting to make a younger version of Kelsey with me.  “Let’s go inside.” Taking his hand and feeling my heart leap when his fingers linked with mine easily, we went into his house.  

“I think you’re due for a couple of the pills the doctor gave you,” he offered, letting my hand go and moving into the kitchen to get me a glass of water.  

“I’m fine, JD,” I said again, tugging off my clothes, we were inside and we HAD decided that the nudist approach to life was our normal here.  I heard him clear his throat when he returned, my back to him as I was unfolding the blanket on the back of the sofa.  “What?”  I asked, turning around to see him smiling at my nakedness.  “Isn’t this the house rule?”  

He hummed his approval and handed me the glass, making me roll my eyes at his nursemaid attempts.  “Here,” he pulled the bottle of pills the doctor had given me from his pocket.  “Take two-”

“And call you in the morning?”  I smirked as I complied.  “Should I hold open my mouth so you can see I was a good girl and swallowed?” 

“You’re always a good girl,” he was taking his own clothing off, his eyes on me as he worked.  “Especially when you swallow.”  

After JD and I practiced making a tiny Richter, I was curled into his body as we watched the flames in his wood stove dance after he’d taken the time to start it up.  Sighing, I felt his fingers stop their light touch teasing my skin.  

“Do you want to talk about what Kelsey said?”  His voice was quiet, and I considered saying no, not yet, but why bother?  

Tilting my head up so I could look into his face, I couldn’t stop the smile that spread at the sight of him.  “I think the better question is do YOU want to talk about it?”  He moved his hand up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my lip.  

“A baby sister or brother for Kelsey?”  He took a deep breath.  “I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind a time or two.”  I wondered if he meant with Dorothy, Molly, me, or some other woman that I didn’t know about.  “There’s something about you, Anilea, that makes me want to start over.”  Oh.  Wow.

“You’re not just saying this because I’m at the biological clock ticking age, are you?”  I squinted up at him, praying that this wasn’t something he thought I wanted, and was appeasing me to keep me.  He shook his head, moving us so he could kiss me softly.  

When he pulled away, his eyes were dark, but also gentle.  “No, I’m not just saying it because I could HEAR that clock ticking when you were holding Gideon.”  I smiled at him and shook my head. “I think I thought about it the first time,” after all those false starts, I thought.  “Looking down at you while I was inside of you, I wondered what you’d do if it happened.  If by some twist of fate that you’d end up pregnant, how you would take it.”  I hadn’t thought about it then, mostly because I take the utmost precautions to NOT have an accidental pregnancy.  “I could almost see the baby we’d create.”  

“What does the baby look like?”  JD Richter was full of surprises.  I bit my lip, watching his smile grow.  

“Like you,” his eyes drank in the contours of my face.  “You and a touch of how Kelsey looked as a baby.”  He pulled me until I was straddling him, so we were face to face.  “I’m not saying NOW, but I’d like us to have a family, Ani.  A fresh start with you.”

I leaned forward so our foreheads were pressed together.  “Our baby would be younger than your grandson, JD, would that bother you?”  He chuckled and held me.

“Does it bother you?”  Answering a question with a question wasn’t really fair, but I realized he thought that was my biggest issue with starting a family with him.  How silly.

“No,” a breath, but with complete conviction.  “Nothing about having a baby with you bothers me.”

“Really?”  For once he sounded as breathless as he usually made me.  “You and me-”

“And baby makes three?”  Another whisper, but still sure.  “We’d still have to talk a few things through,” I reminded him, and myself before we got carried away.

“Later,” he growled, and then he was standing with me wrapped around him as he carried me to his bed.  “Let’s go practice, Ani.”  

My giggles were muffled by his neck, where I’d buried my face, but I was more than willing to practice until we were perfect.

Later, sated and sweaty, my head cradled on his chest so I could listen to the steady pounding of his heart, I couldn’t stop a laugh from bubbling up at the absolutely ridiculous thought that hit me.  

“What’s so funny?”  He sounded deliciously tired, and I smiled knowing I had a hand in making him that way.  

Propping my chin on his chest, I looked up to see that his eyes were slits, fighting the pull of sleep.  “I just realized,” another giggle left me.  “I’m screwing a grandpa.”  

His eyes opened enough for me to see him roll them.  “Ani, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve BEEN screwing a grandpa-to-be for awhile now.”  A smirk grew on his lips and he offered his own take.  “Besides, I just mounted a really hot Nana, didn’t I?”

“You’re pretty sexy for a grandpa yourself,” I offered, my hand taking a trip down his body to cup his very sensitive semi-hardness.  “And you’re holding up pretty fucking well for a-”

I was on my back and he was wide awake before I could finish.  And we started another practice session.  Practice makes perfect, after all.

#JD Richter x OFC #Extant #After the Series #mention of smut

[gaypasta]

Do You Want Fries With That?

Chapter 4/?  Read on Ao3 Previous Chapter | First Chapter

Stan checked the red illuminated numbers of his watch, the bright LED lights hurt his tired eyes. 

[01:40].

Stan groaned as he shifted slightly in Richie’s bed, trying not to wake the sleeping figure next to him - who was currently splayed out like a starfish, forcing Stan to grapple onto the edge of the bed before he was pushed into the mountain of dirty clothes and comic books which was Richie Tozier’s bedroom floor. Stan couldn’t sleep. Normally he was asleep in his pristine white bed by ten o’clock, but not tonight, because tonight he wasn’t sleeping in his familiar abode - he was bunking with a hoarder.

Stan was exhausted - the soft glow of the stars peering through Richie’s half-closed curtains were burning his eyes, feeling as though the moon is mocking him for the restless night. Stan had never had difficulty sleeping with one of the Loser’s before. Eddie’s room was always fairly clean anyway but Bill always spent the day before hosting a sleepover cleaning the house if he knew Stan was attending. Stan wasn’t as bad anymore, he takes his medication and he can deal with small things like Bill’s posters being slightly lopsided, or Eddie’s pill bottles being arranged alphabetically instead of by size, or even the way Richie’s glasses were never quite sitting on his face right. Stan suspected he had sat on them and never bothered to get them fixed.

But this situation, even with the medication - was driving Stan crazy. He was itching to clean Richie’s room just so he could sleep. Stan tried to take his eyes off the glass of soda Richie had left teetering on the edge of the desk, or the open closet door, which showed clothes thrown in, with no hangers and Stan thinks he can make an outline of a shoe sitting on top of all Richie’s clothes. Stan could feel his hands were beginning to fidget, picking at the pair of ugly Christmas pyjamas Richie had given him to sleep in.

No, he’s fine. Stan is fine. He just needs to wash his face and he’ll be fine to go back to bed. He just needs a minute out of this… hellhole.

Stan lifted the duvet off his body tenderly, trying to keep it as motionless as possible to avoid waking Richie - the duvet which didn’t have a cover - and he stepped onto the floor. Well, onto a notebook which had been permanently crinkled beyond usability. Stan tried to navigate Richie’s horde of junk - not junk, Stan knew that some of this stuff was probably of great importance to Richie, which is why he was being so delicate with his footwork - only to step on an upturned plug from Richie’s stupid fucking lava lamp, which didn’t even fucking work. Stan made an agonized noise in the back of his throat as he rubbed the sole of his foot. He hobbled out of Richie’s room and into the bathroom to wash his face.

Stan pulled on the shaving light to examine his face in the mirror. His eyes were already beginning to form bags and he had a pimple developing under his lip - the joys of puberty. Stan splashed the arctic cold water onto his face, the shock of the cold water lifted his mind from Richie’s room for a moment, and he felt cleaner. Stan rubbed his face dry with his shirt and went to switch off the light before he noticed something in the corner of his eye.

Reflected in the mirror, was a framed photo of Richie from when he was probably around six. Stan turned around and picked it off the shelf, bring it towards the light to get a better look. Richie looked much the same - a pair of buck teeth, glasses and a mess of black hair, Stan felt warm. He remembered this day, this was the first day where him, Bill, Richie and Eddie were all in the same class. Stan wonders what would’ve happened if one of them had been in the other class, what if Stan was put in the other class and never met his friends? Stan decided to focus back to the picture. Richie was sitting beside a thin, pale boy with such rounded cheeks that he looked almost like he was having an allergy attack. The boy reminded Stan of Georgie, they looked almost identical. Almost as if they were … brothers. Stan closed his eyes and took a patient breath, it’s Bill. Of course it’s Bill - who else would it be?!  Bill’s arms were wrapped tightly around Richie’s neck, and Richie’s head was leaning against the mop of Bill’s hair. Stan snorted, such children. Stan, even at such a young age wouldn’t have taken such a photo, he would’ve stood up straight with a modest smile - nowadays wasn't much different, but his smile wasn’t painted anymore.

Stan traces the edge of the frame softly with his finger as he tries to recount how many photos exist of just him and Richie. He puts the photo back where it was. He couldn’t think of any. He made his way back to the room, feeling slightly calmed.

Stan watched the floor with concentration as he avoided stepping on any other rogue items, he hastily stepped over a pair of Richie’s tighty-whities. Stan’s hands ghosted over the duvet to find the corner - only to trace into a cloud of tangled hair. For some reason, Stan’s hand stopped in its place, maybe because he hadn’t been this close to his lifelong friend in years, or maybe it was because it felt exactly how Stan imagined - coarse, thick and most definitely unbrushed. Or maybe it was because a pair of half-lidded eyes were staring back at him. Yes, that was probably it.

“Stanley?” Richie’s voice was deep and gravelly. Stan almost had to look around him to make sure that the voice had, in fact, been Richie’s. “What’s wrong?” Richie had begun to move back over to his own side of the bed. Stan’s hand fell to the mattress.

“Nothing, Richie. I just went to the bathroom.”

“If you wanted to jerk off-” Richie yawned “you could’ve just woken me up.”

Stan huffed a laugh. “Why? Just to watch?”

“Never seen a jew dick before. Wonder what it looks like without all that foreskin.”

Stan shoved Richie farther over the bed and softly got under the blankets. Richie’s socked foot was softly kicking against Stan’s as Richie closed his eyes. Stan’s eyes were fixated on Richie’s hair. It needs to be brushed so badly that it hurts.

Stan laid on his back for what felt like hours, with Richie breathing practically into his armpit, but the red glowing lights on his watch told him that it had only been eight minutes. The only sound in the room was Richie’s heavy breathing, he was a mouth breather - Stan recalled with contempt - and the soft buzzing of Richie’s digital alarm clock on his bedside locker. The buzzing was loud and the moon was far too bright.

Richie shifted in his sleep, turning more to lie on his stomach, Richie’s arm moved and found a place over Stan’s abdomen. Richie’s fingers were twitching beside his nipple. That wasn’t bothering Stan, what was bothering Stan was that he could feel Richie’s mane of hair against his arm. His unkempt, unbrushed, peninsula of hair. Stan’s disorder hasn’t been this bad in years, but Richie hadn’t expected Stan to stay over, so Stan can’t fault Richie for the state of his room. Stan could hear the kitchen clock ticking like a countdown. The light from the moon twisted around Richie’s floor, showing off all of the socks and candy wrappers and crumpled up pages of homework, presenting them to Stan like a cat showing off its kill.

Richie rubbed his head against Stan’s tensed arm and Stan has had it. Stan jerked his arm away and resumed his earlier position of teetering off the edge of the bed in an attempt to get as far away from Richie as he could. The sharp motion of Stan moving away must’ve stirred Richie from his attempt to fall back asleep as Richie groaned.

“What’s wrong? Go to sleep.” Richie grumbled from the pillow.

It would be so easy, just press his head into the pillow. Stan’s stronger than Richie, he could keep him there, hold him down until he passes out. Richie has no idea how infuriating his hair is. How offensive it is. Stan could feel the straw-like texture all over his body. The knots of Richie’s hair wrapped around his Adam’s apple and threatened to squeeze. Stan couldn’t get it off.

“Your hair, Richie.”

Richie turned to look up at Stan. “My hair.”

“Yes, Richie. Your fucking hair!” Stan sat up straight in the bed, hands clenched. “Your hair is so messy and you obviously haven’t brushed it in ages. Years probably. Do you even use conditioner?! No, of course you don’t I’d be shocked if you even used shampoo. Your hair is so coarse with knots and I can feel them on me, rubbing up against my neck and my arms and my legs and your room is so fucking messy and your lava lamp-”  Stan began finding it very difficult to get oxygen into his lungs, he was breathing shallow breaths and he could feel perspiration beading in his armpits.

“Oh - oh fuck, okay Stan, it’s ok.” Richie kicked the blankets off his legs as soon as he noticed Stan’s voice begin to break in a close encounter with hysteria. He pushed the blankets off Stan too, letting the cool air soothe him.

“-and your homework, it’s everywhere and I can’t see the floor and there’s - a shoe, Richie there’s a shoe in your closet, on the clothes. That’s not where it goes and the tacks in your posters are all red except the bottom right one on Freddy Krueger it’s green, it’s green, green isn’t your favourite colour yours is red, but your walls are blue and it doesn’t match your carpet but I can’t see your carpet because your room is too fucking messy.”

Stan could feel his heart racing and he couldn’t breathe, the knots of Richie’s hair were squeezing his lungs now and constricting his chest. The moonlight pierced his eyes like daggers and Richie’s hands rubbing circles on his back felt so soft, so distant that it might’ve been a dream.

“Okay, Stan come on. Move, we’re going, you’re fine I promise.” Stan could feel Richie grabbing his forearms and pulling him off the bed. Stan wasn’t sure what was happening, all he could focus on was his lungs. His other senses were a distant memory. He wonders if this is how Eddie feels every time he has an asthma or an anxiety attack, does he spiral into this dream world too? Richie’s hands were like fire on Stan’s icy arms and it burned. Where is Richie going? Is he leaving? No, of course he’s not. He’s holding onto the clammy forearm and dragging Stan out of the room. No, we’re not in the room, we’re in the hallway. Stan didn’t remember Richie leading him down the stairs. Stan faintly heard the grandfather clock in the living room chime, it echoed around his head like the beat of a drum. Stan could feel Richie’s hair squeezing his face, suffocating him even more. Stan tried to get it off, clawing at his face with his perfectly manicured nails.

“Stan! Stan stop it! Please, don’t you’re going to hurt yourself.” Richie had grabbed Stan’s hands and held them tight. Stan’s hands were in Richie’s hands. There was no hair on his face it had faded from existence when Richie’s voiced had pierced into it. “Hey, you’re fine, Stan. You’re fine. You’re in the living room it’s ok.” Richie gently pushed Stan into a sitting position on the sofa.

Stan tried to focus his eyes onto Richie, who was crouched on the floor in front of him, but he couldn’t move them. There was a stain on the coffee table. It was glaring at him, threatening him. “The coffee… the table. Richie it’s got a stain, you need - you need- a cloth. No… I don’t know what gets out…stains on varnished…wood.” Stan didn’t speak. Or at least it didn’t feel like he did. He heard the words on the inside of his ear, but he didn’t feel them leave his throat.

Richie took off his shirt and folded it as neatly and as quickly as he could over the stain, Stan’s eyes slowly met his. Richie’s glasses weren’t wonky. Richie’s hair was… gone? No, not gone, Richie was wearing a hat. It looked like one of Bill’s baseball team caps.  

“Yeah, see. No hair, okay? Now you need to breathe, Stan. You know how to do the exercise, the one you make Eddie do?” Stan nodded. He remembers.

“Okay, that’s good. You’re going to do that, okay?”

Stan did it. He breathed. Richie was rubbing circles into Stan’s thighs with his thumbs. It was warm, it didn’t burn.

Stan breathed for several moments as his lungs slowly filled with oxygen, and he slowly tip-toed back into lucidity. (The red LED lights on Stan’s watch had said that it had been twelve minutes).

“Okay, you’re okay Stan. You good?” Richie moved his head to catch Stan’s eyes, which were flickering around the room to take in his surroundings. Stan’s eyes stood to a halt when he saw Richie, crouched in front of him with hands gently rubbing his thighs. He just nodded, he wasn’t sure he could trust his voice. “Do you want me to bring you home?” Richie’s voice was soft, Stan didn’t like it. He shook his head. “Okay, do you want me to make the bed in the spare room?” Stan shook his head again.

Richie sighed and took Stan’s wrists into the palm of his hands. “What do you need me to do? I’m not good at this shit, Stan. I need you to tell me what you need.”

Stan stared blankly at Richie for several moments. The words escaped his mouth without permission. “Brush your hair, please.”

Stan’s voice was so brittle that Richie had almost missed it, but he didn’t. Just because his sight is gone to shit doesn’t mean his hearing is. He nodded and patted the pad of his pointer finger softly against Stan’s hand. “Okay.”

He left Stan. Stan was exhausted now, but mostly he was embarrassed. He hadn’t had an attack like that in years, he had almost ruled out the possibility of having one ever again. He was such a nuisance, Richie had invited him over to help and he just ended up causing a scene over what? His hair? Stan put his head in his hands and groaned. He felt like he was eight all over again, crying and sobbing over his peas touching his carrots. The tone Richie had used, he was so soft and gentle, as if Stan would just shatter under his tongue, and Stan loathed it. He wasn’t fragile or weak, he had been brought up for so long being treated like a porcelain doll by his family, he didn’t need his friends treating him like that too.

Stan always appreciated Richie for that reason, he never went easy on Stan. When Stan was struggling with his faith, Richie went even harder with the ‘jew-jokes’. When Stan had failed his first ever class (physics), Richie poked and prodded at his intellect with jokes. Stan had told him to fuck off the majority of the time, but the contrast Richie gave to everyone else’s reaction was like nicotine. Stan needed Richie’s bite when everyone else was cooing him. Richie always took it too far, and sure - sometimes it annoyed Stan, and sometimes Richie’s jokes actually hurt people’s feelings. But Stan appreciated that Richie wasn’t worried about treating people softly. He wasn’t afraid of crossing boundaries, he tackled boundaries to the ground and spat in its mouth.

Stan heard the soft padded footsteps of Richie coming down the hall, and not shortly after did Richie appear in front of him with -  holy hell. “Is that better?” Richie asked, modelling his hair.

Stan, uncharacteristically - burst out laughing. He laughed so hard his sides ached and his throat was raw. Richie stood, not knowing whether to be deeply concerned because his friend may have just lost his mind, or to be overjoyed that Stan is laughing at something he’s done. Richie’s contradicting emotions were plastered on his face and that only made Stan laugh harder. “You - you look like you stuck your f-finger in a fucking electrical socket.”

Stan was entirely correct, Richie’s hair had gone frizzy after it had been brushed, it stuck out in hundreds of directions, it looked as though his hair was trying to get as far away from Richie as it possibly could while still being attached.

Richie tilted his head at him. “Isn’t that what you’re meant to do?”

Stan’s laughter broke into sharp broken squeals as his vocal cords began to fail. Richie laughed with him, but not nearly as much.

It took a few moments for Stan to settle down, he was red-faced and had a dopey smile on his face that he couldn’t wipe off. Richie sat beside him, their shoulders brushing against each other anytime they fidgeted.

Richie turned his head to look at Stan, and the movement caught Stan’s eyes. Stan didn’t like the sad look on Richie’s face. He knew that this was going to be a thing. It didn’t need to be a thing. It’s happened before, it just so happened that it happened again.

“Stan, what were you thinking about?” Richie bit his lip, not just bit. Gnawed, like biting through his lip would make this conversation less painful.

Stan sat back into the sofa. Richie had shared his dirty laundry with him, so it’s only fair. “I just- your hair was so messy, Richie. I was tired and it was just too much-”

“No not that.” Richie waved his hand dismissively.

“Then what?”

“What were you thinking of when you jerked off earlier?”

Stan rolled his eyes, but a smile painted his entire face. “Thought about drowning you, watching the life leave your eyes.”

A smile danced dangerously across Richie’s lips. “Wow, didn’t take you as the kinky kind, Stan. Want to cut off my head and fuck my corpse?”

Stan got off the sofa. “I’m sleeping outside. Bye Richie.” He waved as he left the living room, making a motion for the front door, waiting for Richie’s reaction. He didn’t get one he was expecting.

Richie grabbed Stan’s arm and pulled him into a hug. It was painful as Richie had twisted his arm in the process, but it was tight. Richie held onto Stan’s form so tight, Stan wondered if Richie thought he would try to wriggle out. He didn’t. He let Richie hold him, and he ran his fingers through Richie’s combed hair.

“What is it, Richie?” Stan spoke softly.

Richie’s head moved into Stan’s hands. “I haven’t seen that happen in so long, it freaked me out. I thought you were gonna explode or something.”

“I don’t think I would explode.”

“I thought you would, all because you can’t handle a bit of dirty underwear, you queer.”

Stan slapped Richie’s head. “You’re not one to be calling people queer, Richard.”

Richie moved his mouth beside Stan’s ear. Stan’s entire body shuddered as he could feel Richie’s breath coast his earlobe. “Call me Richard again and see what happens, tiger.” Then Richie licked Stan’s entire ear and Stan pushed him off.

“You’re disgusting.” He used his pyjama shirt to clean his ear of Richie’s saliva. “I’m going to sleep, you better put a shirt on before coming to bed.”

“Why, can’t handle all of this?” Richie flexed. Nothing else flexed with him.

“I think Georgie has more muscles than you.”  Richie huffed and retreated to the living room to get his t-shirt. Stan made his way back into Richie’s bedroom. Stan noticed that there was less junk on the floor that there was earlier.

Stan crawled into bed and shortly after he felt Richie flop ungracefully beside him. They both sat in silence to get some well-needed rest before work. Out of the corner of Stan’s eye, just before his heavy eyelids fell shut for the night, he noticed all the tacks on the Freddy Krueger poster were red.

Stan and Richie were fast asleep when Richie wrapped his arm around Stan’s waist, and Stan wriggled closer.

#ff #stozier #stan uris #richie tozier #it fanfiction #it 2017 #it movie #dywfwt #mine

[wildeoscars]

Teddy had seen it before, long before he even got involved with The Firm. He'd seen it when he was just a bit of rough hanging in the shadows of clubs, pickpocketing Johns, or threatening blokes for other small-time crooks and criminals.

Say what you will about him, but Mad Teddy was observant.

Ronnie Kray got bored.

He'd have a piece on his arm for a few weeks, some lasting a few months at the longest—the latest in a long line of pretty young men. Then for some reason or another he'd send the away. Didn't take long for him to find someone new, of course. There were always groves of tarts who wanted the gift, the prestige, of belonging to Ronnie Kray—even if they didn't have a threatening bone in their body.

Teddy had replaced a boy, who replaced a boy, and so on; a long line of playthings for crazy Ronnie. He wasn't the first, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. Ron was a regular heartbreaker as much as he was a bone-breaker.

They weren't exclusive, of course. Ron had plenty of other boys for plenty of other purposes: Showing off at parties, muscle, persuasion. Sometimes Ron just wanted something pretty to destroy. Sometimes Teddy would help him destroy something pretty.

He didn't mind the other pieces hanging off Ron's sleeve. He knew he was Ron's favorite, even if the gangster never said it. Ron was never one for words, much less sappy affections, fairy words. What he didn't say, he showed. He was sweet on Teddy, that much was clear.

They understood each other, yeah? They were both mad.

But then came Leslie Holt.

Leslie. Fucking. Holt.

He was old Boothby's piece, the poor brat. Teddy could see why he hung around Ron so much. Having an old fart fall asleep on top of you one too many times can leave you desperate, if Boothby could even get it up in the first place. The thought made him laugh. Most things made him laugh.

So yeah, Teddy could see why a raging bull like Ron would get Leslie's motor running. Didn't mean he had to like how clinging he was, though. Leslie just didn't get it. Didn't understand Ron like he did.

Leslie didn't laugh at his jokes, not really—just the little fake titters like those rich pricks at the club would give. Bein' polite, so Ron wouldn't smash their faces in. They didn't get how bloody hilarious Ron actually was, didn't understand the subtle nuances in his humor. Teddy understood it all.

Leslie couldn't take a hit, neither; whether it was for The Firm, or in the bedroom. Ron was grabby, with those big boxer's hands of his. Didn't mean it, half the time. Just didn't realize his own strength. The other half, he meant it, and Teddy relished in it.

Leslie was too soft, too concerned about his appearance. Loved Ron's grabbing hands, sure, but hated the aftermath. Hated not being pristine and perfect. Teddy loved the marks, loved showing them off. It was like a claim to scare off other potential mates. Gangland was an animal kingdom of its own.

He was sure Les would go running back to old Bobby Boothby as soon as they sealed the deal at one of Ron's “parties,” but he just kept showing up. Like a bedbug, he was. Or maybe a nasty infection—that's what he was to Teddy. A nasty, festering infection.

Leslie just plain didn't belong, with Ron or The Firm as a whole. Regardless of his upbringing, he was a posh little prick. He was more used to giving old politicians blowies in the comfort of their luxurious offices, with their soft carpets and equally soft expectations. And where was the fun in that?

Luxury. Teddy understood the fondness for that, sure. Ron's flat was something fit for a king, with its expensive furniture and decor. A real East End palace, it were. Softness, though. That didn't belong in The Firm. He wanted to tell Leslie that. Even wanted to tell Reg's pretty little bride that, all hollow little bird's bones that she was, anyway.

Ron knew how Teddy felt about Leslie, of course. He just didn't want to hear about it. Just told them to work it out themselves. Ron didn't like whiners, and Teddy was never one to complain anyway. Not like Leslie was. Didn't even get a smack to the back of his little blond head for it. Instead, he got shiny baubles, or a new suit, or money for whatever else he might want.

Teddy got presents from Ron, sure, but he never had to go cryin' to him for it. He deserved what he got.

Now, if he was anyone else, he'd be getting...Jealous? Nervous?

Surely Ron was getting bored with him, he'd been around long enough. Leslie was fresh meat, new and interesting. Ron had been taking him to bed more often, keeping him closer at the club, too. But it weren't like he'd never had his little flings, brief favorites. Teddy'd put up with them before—they always passed.

He could laugh, play nice, even take him to bed if Ron wanted to see it enough. He could pretend he didn't want to ruin Leslie's straight, perfect teeth.

So Teddy was neither jealous nor nervous, thank you very fucking much. He was Ron's favorite...but how many favorites had he had before?

“How do you deal with it?” Leslie had once asked him as he inspected the finger-shaped bruises on his hips in a mirror. He wasn't in pain; That much was obvious by the way he poked at the purple spots, watching as they changed colors. Like leaves in autumn, Teddy always thought. No, Leslie weren't really hurt. He was just plagued by his usual narcissism—the clear skin he was so obsessed with was now a little less perfect.

It had been his first night with Ronnie, that previous night. He'd been skipping out on his tablets again, but the marks on Leslie were nothing more than his usual hard-handed grabbing. Teddy just smiled that mad grin of his; those bruises didn't come close to what he had begged Ron to do to him on more than one occasion.

The incident where he got decked for gettin' too close to Ron and Reg's bickering had been another matter entirely—Les' sobbin' all night about his broken nose, about how ugly he was. That was what he got for gawking instead of getting the hell out of the way. The twins fought like frenzied sharks—if you didn't move, you'd just end up as collateral damage.

That night Teddy had to tend to Ron's wounds and play his therapist, which was mostly just nodding his head as he rambled on about trust and betrayal, and his brother. He was in another world, then. Would do no use for Teddy to say anything, anyway.

Not only that, but he also had to play little Leslie Holt's nurse.

It was his turn to question Leslie, then. He sat atop the closed lid of the toilet, his little rat-hands clasped in his lap and Teddy standing between his legs. “Why do you stick around, huh?” Teddy asked as he dabbed the blond's nose with a cool rag, cleaning the blood and easing the swelling. “That's what you're getting into with this, you know.”

It was much more than broken noses and bumped heads. There weren't no politics in gangland, not like the boy was used to. He'd get hit hard, and he'd have to hit back harder if he was going to survive. As one of Ron's boys, he was even more of a target.

He didn't hate Leslie, not entirely anyway. He could be useful, at times. After years of sneaking around politicians he had honed the craft of lipreading, and he wasn't a half bad thief. He was scrappy, good at intimidating anyone who got any bad ideas about the twins (Ron, in particular, even if the threat was purely imagined by the paranoid twin). However, it took madness to survive in gangland, to really thrive. Madness like he and Ron had. Madness that little Leslie Holt couldn't begin to understand.

Teddy knew when someone was biting off more than they could chew—and Leslie, he was already choking after one bite.

He wanted to send Leslie away after cleaning him up, tell him to go and have Boothby lick his wounds, but he knew Ron would be none too pleased the next day when Leslie would undoubtedly tell him. So instead he showed him to the guest room, gave him some of Ron's sleeping pills so his aching nose wouldn't wake him and, in turn, wake Teddy—or worse, Ron.

The flat was silent save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the sitting room, and the faint sound of mouth-breathing from the two broken noses in the flat.

Exhaustion seeping deep into his bones, Teddy made his way to the master bedroom, the one he typically shared with Ron. He had a flat of his own, sure, but he hardly spent any time there compared to Ron's flat, or Ron's little caravan in the woods.

They were as much a home as Teddy'd ever had.

“You awake still awake, Ron?” He asked into the darkness of the bedroom as he stripped down to his y-fronts. No answer, besides the mouth-breathing. Deep and steady. Ron had to be asleep. “You still fancy me, yeah?”

A moment of weakness that he wouldn't normally acknowledge himself.

He didn't expect a response as he crawled into the large, four-post bed, especially not with how far gone Ron was. He certainly didn't expect the tree trunk of an arm that came crashing down onto his stomach, pulling him into Ron's side.

“Still here, ain't you? Silly cunt.” Came Ron's slurred, heavily medicated response from beside him. The tablets were kicking in, but he still wasn't quite back yet. Wasn't quite..Ron. Too soft.

By morning he'd be back to his old self, pushing Teddy off him while grumbling about his achin' fuckin' face, and go on and make us some tea, Ted. But for now, he soaked in the feeling of having Ron so close.

So what if he got a little soft, sometimes. He was mad, not heartless.

Ron still smelled like sweat and blood from the fight, and the bandage-wrapped fingers that gripped at him irritated his skin. The embrace was more of a tight squeeze than anything, as if Ron was afraid of Teddy leaving—or of Ron himself floating away somehow. As if he were a balloon instead of a 15-or-so stone human wrecking ball.

Ron was all muscle under that fat; He and Reg had been exact copies of each other once, after all. Before all the drugs they made Ron take got him all puffed up. He weren't much to cuddle up next to—it was more like tryin' to hug a rock—but Teddy didn't pull away.

In all, he'd had worse.

Drugged or not, Ron wouldn’t normally hold him so close. Maybe he had to share with Leslie, but he could get used to it. He could tell he was still Ron’s favorite.

“Yeah, Ron, you're right,” He replied, wriggling to get a bit more comfortable, head pressed up against his chest. “I'm still here.”

#this is just a lot of stream of consciousness rambling #but i'm kind of proud of it so #legend 2015 #mad teddy smith #ron kray #ronnie kray #leslie holt #writings

[plebeianfrog]

I might as well live up to my name, right? Nobody believed me to begin with, so I might as well prove them right. It's not like it'll harm me too much anyways. If anything it'll be pretty nice. It'll be treating myself. Besides I have people who will do it willingly. That isn't wrong, right? Win-win situation. I have more guys to please me than I do fingers on my right hand. It's not like any of them really like me anyways. I'm a female who can hold a decent conversation about anything; whether it be memes or sex. I'm not as frail as I used to be, so I should be fine, right? I'm going to be on the pill soon anyways. Plus I've got condoms, so it's okay, right? Guys definitely are all for it. It'll fill that empty space anyways. My friends all looked up to me like I was somehow one level ahead of them or something, but then I, like, I took a break, okay? Sure I still talked to guys, but I didn't have a single steady relationship. Shit, I haven't kissed a guy in over a year if you don't count that one time you-know-who cheated on that you-know-what. Sorry she hates me for her boyfriend not being able to control his horny nature that she obviously couldn't satisfy to save her damn life. My friends are all catching up I guess. It's weird. I'm definitely happy for them, like really, it's about time, but I guess I just peaked early and stayed there. Sounds like a certain boy I've crushed on for a while. Speaking of. He totally hates me. Not to mention the fact he knows I've liked him for a while. Not to mention he thinks I'm a slut. Not to mention he wouldn't mind getting his dick sucked by that so-called ugly, annoying girl who's been crushing on him for almost two years. He might as well, right? I might as well, right? My mom always told me to save it for some special guy, but, Mom. There isn't a special guy. What if I don't want there to be a special guy? What if I don't give two shits? I'll be safe, so why does it matter? I'll feel much better anyways. Plus it's not like you're even here to see it. Yeah, okay, maybe it isn't entirely your fault you aren't here, but you're the only person to blame for this happening. Don't get me wrong, I love and miss you to death, but you can't really be here to help me decide on right and wrong when you've chose wrong over a dozen times in front of my two eyes. You're still my inspiration, but maybe I need to learn from my own careless mistakes instead of yours. You taught me what alcohol can do to you, yet here I am: a girl who's gotten drunk twice and would do it again in the blink of an eye. Maybe I don't care if I'm a slut. Don't you think I deserve a hint of anything and anyone to at least fill a tiny bit of the huge, gaping void of loneliness that you left here for me? I think I do. I work my ass off to get good grades, succeed in my ambitions, and take care of my useless, childish family. Yet no matter how many times I hear the words “I'm so proud of you,” I feel like I'm still getting pulled deeper and deeper into the endless void of helpless loneliness. Sure, I've got a ton of friends. But they're all tired of me, I know it. They're jealous of how I appear to all of them. My charade makes them hate me. What if I throw that charade away? I'll lose all of my friends. My crush is the only person that sees through my charade. My crush is the only person I want to see my amazing mask. But of course reality is a bitch, right? The universe loves to turn tables like clocks that tick the wasted time away. You'll never get what you want. In fact, you get the exact opposite of what you want. What if I do suck dicks for fun? What if I have sex every other night? What if I keep it going until the void is filled, or until my mom comes home to embrace me in her warm arms, or until I fucking stop breathing and get buried in the cold, dark earth that consumes everything I absolutely despise and absolutely desire. Wow I'm pretty pathetic, right? Yeah, I've known that for a while already. Too bad I can't really fix it. Too bad I'm useless. Useless to everyone, that is except the horny boys who stare at my ass everytime I stand in front of them. Too bad, huh? Too bad I'm thinking about just giving in. Yeah, it really is a fucking shame. At least I'll have a spark of happiness for at least a small second of my helpless breathing eternity that is my life.

#frog rants

[xcandycorn]

Intro Toned body Can't atone with me Took the music when he left Lover of the stars Cared more about his cars Than my career Tossed my records in the dirt Drug my name through it too Now I'm running on empty I need to refuel Sat across from a man so doped up That he's starting to drool To make it through a world so cruel I'm gonna need to pull up a barstool Nothing left in my glass To keep my mind still I think it's time to refill Boom! Boom. Boom... Can't get onto that couch again Sat there while you poked around in my mind And I didn't even know it  Yeah, it helped back then  But there's more barriers now A terrain once easy to navigate  Is now a mine field  That's ready to blow Yeah, it's ready to blow Boom! What was I so worried about Why was I shaking Did I cry over a guy Boom. Stressed out over meaningless things Couldn't see the good things Life continuously brings  Boom... Feels pretty damn good To finally at least feel okay Even if it's just for part of the day Boom! Boom. Boom... Same pill, same time, same day Not how I want to live  Not that way No not today I'd say not tomorrow  But will tomorrow even come This is what I deal with Where's that thought even from  My life's not that bad But on any given day  I go from passive to sad In three seconds flat  Really, why's my brain Dropping bombs like that  Boom! What was I so worried about Why was I shaking Did I cry over a guy Boom. Stressed out over meaningless things Couldn't see the good things Life continuously brings  Boom... Feels pretty damn good To finally at least feel okay Even if it's just for part of the day Boom! Boom. Boom... Don't want your bottle of solutions  That'll only help until they don't  Or until I won't  Or my body just can't  When I take a nosedive  Into the dark recesses of my mind I need something to lift me up Raise me up high  Why blackout on the ground  When I can light up in the sky Boom! What was I so worried about Why was I shaking Did I cry over a guy Boom. Stressed out over meaningless things Couldn't see the good things Life continuously brings  Boom... Feels pretty damn good To finally at least feel okay Even if it's just for part of the day Boom! Boom. Boom... Big Girl Boots Lace me up (up, up, up) Prepare me Don't scare me Already shaking Beneath this stadium floor Gladiatorial tour Eyes on me Waiting for me to fall Or throw up my liver In the bathroom stall Torch those tennis shoes! Torch your opinions of me. You want to send me flowers? Torch your roses Torture to have your eyes on me I'm in my big girl boots I can handle chaos in large doses My big girl boo-oo boo-oo Boo-oo-oots My big girl boots! Will I bleed Will I scar Will I drink and drive Just to crash another car Everyone's waiting on me to relapse I will not give in I will not collapse These boots hold me up When the world pulls me down Torch those tennis shoes! Torch your opinions of me. You want to send me flowers? Torch your roses Torture to have your eyes on me I'm in my big girl boots I can handle chaos in large doses My big girl boo-oo boo-oo Boo-oo-oots My big girl boots! Pop girl here Came to rock and roll Rock and roll band here Singin the blues No genre limits Not on this road Only wear big boy shoes As they tap to the beat If you only came for one thing Better give up your seat Torch those tennis shoes! Torch your opinions of me. You want to send me flowers? Torch your roses Torture to have your eyes on me I'm in my big girl boots I can handle chaos in large doses My big girl boo-oo boo-oo Boo-oo-oots My big girl boots! Ricochet I am on the road I'm on the run  Engaged in an arms race But forgot my gun What a sickening sound The way you recoil  Should've kept that safety on You shot, you missed Bet you didn't know those were  Poisoned lips that you kissed  You've unleashed a crazy woman Unearthed a fearless warrior Took aim at a retched soul  Give it some time Your misfirings will take their toll  Ricochet-et-et Pulled the trigger But you won't hit me, No, not today-ay-ay Each time you shoot at me That bullet's coming back to you  Ricochet-et-et Ricochet.  Don't even think about Raiding this caravan  I'm a caring woman  But I still have eyes on my back  Friends watch my six Armed with stones and sticks  I know what makes you tick I am the arms of the clock  I'll decide when Enough is enough  And when the end Of this war has come  Ricochet-et-et Pulled the trigger But you won't hit me, No, not today-ay-ay Every time you shoot at me That bullet's coming back to you  Ricochet-et-et Ricochet.  Bullets bouncing everywhere  Did you really think that I would not hear About the guns you played with  When I wasn't looking?  Caught a whiff of the lies You always seem to be cooking.  Don't hurt yourself trying to reload, It'll all be in vain. My rhyming ass already hit the road,  Ears ready to hear you cry out in pain.  Ricochet-et-et Pulled the trigger But you won't hit me, No, not today-ay-ay Every time you shoot at me That bullet's coming back to you  Ricochet-et-et Ricochet.  It Hurts If I ain't screamin I ain't happy Don't need roses Poems are sappy Step back, step off Why don't you jerk off If you ain't hard enough To hurt me. If this ice cream Is labeled vanilla You can keep it, That shit ain't for me. I demand some with a kick, A slap or a hit. Make me say ay, papi Till my head game is sloppy Won't let nothing stop me Or you. Can't wait to put you on... lock And all I want is your... cock Ohhhhhhhh If your loving ain't... pain, Then I don't want it. Boys make it... rain, I need a man to make it storm Until my clothes are... torn And my body is... worn Ohhhhh fuck It Hurts, your lovin', It Hurts Hurt Me! Be the needle in my arm Come on and cause me harm As I come down from the high Won't you be my paul bearing guy  Fantasize about how my blood might taste Does that make me a vampire  Or masochistic waste  With the devil's arms Wrapped around my waist  Let me sink into this bed Come on, watch me drown  Life keeps slipping away  Cuz' I'm going down  Down, Down to where I belong  Dancing to Satan's song  Not expected to care  Not told to be strong  Yeah, I'm going down  I don't want to be your one and done cure I want to be your everyday drug Loving shouldn't be this pure Make this dirty Begging you to hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me! Ohhhhhhhh Just don't desert me Hurt me! Hurt me! Fucking hurt me Be the liquor in my bottle Inebriate my ability to handle the throttle As my liver dies inside my body Will you wish to be the one to stop me Curious about the liquid on your lips I gave up the bottle But your lips I can't quit If I drink off them Do I still get my chip Sure I'm still sober This was just a slip Into the dark I go Where the shadows become one With those whose form they steal Into the dark I go Where the devil forged my name on his deal I don't want to be your one and done cure I want to be your everyday drug Loving shouldn't be this pure Make this dirty Begging you to hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me! Ohhhhhhhh Just don't desert me Hurt me! Hurt me! Fucking hurt me Na-na-na-narcan in my system You you you weren't supposed to save me You were supposed to dig my grave Pump vitamins and fluids into my veins You you you were supposed to let me die Not be the hero I Never needed Never wanted Never even asked for I am evil's whore Flirting with darkness and death High on the flames Produced by Hades' lungs Funeral song has been sung I don't want to be your one and done cure I want to be your everyday drug Loving shouldn't be this pure Make this dirty Begging you to hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me! Ohhhhhhhh Just don't desert me Hurt me! Hurt me! Fucking hurt me! Daddy Hose me down, I'm a naughty girl Make my day, pull the trigger daddy Haven't known you Since before mommy had me You hate how I turned out Should've tried to raise me After you left The world learned to praise me Jealous of the light You tried to trap me in the dirt I earned that name The first night I lifted up my skirt I'm not your Daddy's Daddy's Daddy's Girl Not the center of his whole world I'm not your Daddy's Daddy's Daddy's Girl But I'm scared I might be him one day Call me Daddy, boy Spank me, I'm a very bad girl Take away my pain, light me up daddy This bullet in my chest would've killed If you'd given me a heart Took it with you when you left You shot a hollow doll Not quite porcelain I didn't shatter Still you shed your own blood Acted like it didn't even matter I'm not your Daddy's Daddy's Daddy's Girl Not the center of his whole world I'm not your Daddy's Daddy's Daddy's Girl But I'm scared I might be him one day Call me Daddy, boy Only daddy-daughter dates Were at the end of a gun Passed this on down Yeah, do you remember your son Runaway daddy drove my brother insane Broke him down, he lived to cause me pain Took after Mommy You like how I fight back Take joy as your sight Fades to eternal black I'm not your Daddy's Daddy's Daddy's Girl Not the center of his whole world I'm not your Daddy's Daddy's Daddy's Girl But I'm scared I might be him one day Call me Daddy, boy Runaway Man Wish you had left me for dead At least that would mean We made it till death do us part  Burn me at the stake  For crimes against man Don't give me a break Break my heart  Turn into the marathon man Got miles to go  Until I can't reach you  Tried so hard to teach you I'm not the woman you leave  Throw it in reverse Got tread marks leading to you  With my money in your backseat Gotta know I'm gunnin' for ya Runaway Man, doin things Only runaways can  Runaway Man No sense of responsibility  Would've hurt less  If you just killed me  Left me with no booze  In the bottle  Now my hand's on the throttle Eyes see clearly what's ahead  What looks like a man Will soon be dead I'll make roadkill Out of all that flesh If I put your body in my trunk Does that make this a muscle car Or a hearse?  Throw it in reverse Got tread marks leading to you  With my money in your backseat Gotta know I'm gunnin' for ya Runaway Man, doin things Only runaways can  Runaway Man Dropping you off Where the highway don't go  Where your body lands No one will know  Peacefulness left in my rear view  In pieces is how I'll leave you  Will you decay  Become one with the dirt road  Will you burn  Become the ashes in my throat Either way you'll never run again  Driving you to a dead end  Throw it in reverse Got tread marks leading to you  With my money in your backseat Gotta know I'm gunnin' for ya Runaway Man, doin things Only runaways can  Runaway Man

[noahpoligy]

[Archive] Original Lyrics - 2016

Haven’t looked at any of these in ages... So it’s probably mostly shit.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I'm riding this dark train on the railway ridden of knives slitten by the children of my day

Now please help me figure it out We both don't need this but please I need it now, I need the closure If you can't, I might just run away

Baby why have you ran away? I miss you so much I know it wasn't significant to you All I needed to stay sane was your touch

And here I am now On this dark train Possibly riding backwards on the blood stained railway Possibly not, but I've always had my doubts Please, I don't want to hurt another please tell me that you don't blame me Can you just tell me you're ok?

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I don't know if my life has been a shithole since forever Or if it's just that we have a weird synergistic effect But I feel me around you I've never felt myself before. Belonging is for fucking losers That's fine, I'll lose with you.

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I've loved you all my life Ever since my eyes found your face and I'll love you til the day I die I don't care if you won't miss me when I'm gone Because I've loved you all my life I can't stop it, it's an uncontrollable beast I have my love, but my will is good so that's ok Jumping off the edge of a cliff to save your life Yeah, I'll do that and ride a wyvern To safe you from your strife. You may not need saving Yeah, you've told me that That's ok. I wouldn't have it any other way You're not a princess, my love You're my queen. And I'll cherish you til the day I die. Even if you're killer, I'll love you all my life I wish I could stay, I've tried and tried. But the signals are vacant in your eyes I've loved you all my life And I'll love you til the day I die Goodbye.

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You're the enemy You'll be the end of me as my heart is falling down until it hits this chunk of dust that keeps my brain from withering into a crisp so please know that You're the enemy You'll be the end of me My pain is safe and sound as long as you stay away Have you heard the news that I hate you? So get the fuck away from me You're the enemy You'll be the end of me We send our ashes to the empire where they sell our lungs and give us black eyes Staple your artieries to the ceiling Baby you know fighting is a waste of time You're the enemy You'll be the end of me You stole my carton of blood You sold my soul to the highest bidder You ate my fingers and stole my tongue You're the enemy You'll be the end of me I'm not even flesh and bone I'm just a skeleton Rattling down the street in the best damn suit I own.

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Rattle Street

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WELL GATHER AROUND I'LL TELL YOU A STORY OF HOW I GREW OLD, AND BABY IT'S FULL OF CONTRITION I THINK I NEED YOU TO BREAK THE MOLD. IT STARTED WITH A VAN CRUSHING MY SEAT AND MY TONGUE HEARING MY OWN HEART BEAT THEN I WAS 27, AND I SLEPT FOR 4 YEARS THE STORY IS A DREAM, A COMA TODAY I WAKE UP AND I THINK POLITICS STINK

WELL GATHER AROUND AND I'LL TELL YOU A STORY OF MARTYRS ARE SHEEP HER NAME WAS JOAN OF ARC, AND SHE WAS A HERO OF SHEEP SHE SAVED THEM FROM GOD, AND GAVE THEM HEROINE AND THEN I WOKE UP, AND WROTE THIS BOOK IT'S FULL OF STORIES OF THE TIME OF WHEN I WAS GROWING OLD

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we killed the girls To get paid and put the whole damn room on the edge of the grave is it hard to stay clean? and if the world stops believing I'll keep believing that the world can make a change and put the suicidal dogs in their sedated cage so come hard and stay clean we're singing this song for the damned now, hallelujah But god is gone and if you keep beleiving we won't believe in you and throw your record out and live that life that you made yeah we're just gonna take it so grab the cash and run and watch the suitors find each other and kill one another it doesn't matter if our words don't mean a thing you just gotta keep on believing

well alright through blacks and blues you keep the faith there ain't a dry eye left in this hell of a place is it hard to stay clean? well if you are then I'll start believing that the world has a saint and put a shotgun shell in the side of his head so come hard and forget clean we're singing this song for the damned now, hallelujah cuz god is gone and if you keep believing we won't believe you and throw your record out and live that life you made yeah we're just gonna take it it doesn't matter if our words don't mean a thing you're just gonna keep on believing

hallelujah hallelujah god is gone hallelujah hallelujah god is gone hallelujah hallelujah god is gone hallelujah hallelujah god is gone

hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah god isn't gone and if you aren't believing I won't believe you and throw your record out and take back that life I made yeah I'm just gonna take it so grab your rags and run and I'll watch the suitors trip all over and kill one another it doesn't matter if my words don't mean a thing I cross my heart and hope to die, destroya isn't gone

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perfectly you

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You can't use my friends Cuz I don't have one left I'm trying to catch just one but they all end up splattering on the floor These hands, stained white, with a touch of silk they're too afraid to reach out for more.

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with death we shed life

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The world can just role by talking about education, equal rights, climate change, and terrorism and I'll just be here, trying to find myself

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being told lies. responding with lies. creating lies. living a lie. lies. lives. there is a v in between, that's the only difference.

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Yes, I am confined to a scar. I return at night to hide with them. I feel blood on my face. My skin is cold. It peels. It creates a stronger shade of urine. Son, man, warrior It creates a stronger shade of urine. Wife, friend, lover I was falsely linked to my heart. When others cry and I feel comfortable. I know that he is only 6 years old at the most. However, if you open a mixed inserts 12. I do not care what people say. I'm going to find my way, my way. I spent my time I've had my share. And boring as hell. Bored as hell Give me a sign. Show me the way. Really real. I also found my pulse. It's gone. The truth is flowing out of your mouth He knows that this love will always continue. always And I will always wait for you. I gave up persecution for nothing. He is dead to me. I am dead to him I know more than you thought I knew. I feel at home in black and blue. Yes, I am confined to a scar. I returned at night to hide with them. I felt the blood on my face. Cold, cold as hell like the devil. The world is screwed. So am I. The world is in bankruptcy. Tick Tock goes the clock.

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Lets go insane Lets get guns Lets shoot up some broken down homes full of mindless walking corpses. Lets sell drugs Lets get high Let me lose my life with you by my side It's superficial, yeah Baby my world is just getting started Lets kill a man Lets skin his dog Lets get married under-missile-tow You know the value of a man is from the length of his beard and the girth of his co METAL BAT BELTBUCKLE UNLEASH THE FUCKING BATS Baby my hearts got nine volts, would you care to make it ten? tick tock big bad baby, time is up BOOM BOOM BOOM.

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The fire station bells are ringing and all the children are running out of class everybody run, everybody scream we all gotta get out of here, the scarecrow is running free

All the super-malls are full of thieves theres just me here listening to a song and it's about romeo moaning, him saying "You belong to me I believe" It doesn't matter though, so I'll just say the next line, you better leave

As the perilous mongrals watch as all the civilians leave with our jetpacks on our backs and gasoline in our hands

Now at dawn all the scarecrows and their tick tock tin-man crow round up all the lions of men just to see what they'll do They'll bring them back to the tanning salon Then skin them alive

From the prospects of Death Canyon To the peak of Mount Mitchell The scarecrows run it all, we humans are no more It isn't fun. But that's alright. Some of us got out of there. We ran free.

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I yelled back I'll wrote a song and I remember what I did was wrong Painting pictures of a lovely girl Even though our friendship was sterile

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One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven Eight. Honey, I think we lost track of how many pills we ate

Woooooooooooooooooah Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah The pain I'll cause is set in stone The pain I caused won't bring me home This melting feeling is seeping in I hate it I hate it Honey please I can't take it any more Bright eyes I want to take it off Big black eyes says no one gives a fuck

My arms are cracking My toes are blistering The worms inside my body are infesting in my lungs The gurgles from my ocean are heard from miles around Lashes from my past strike upon me

Blond hair, you told me you wanted to find love Blond hair all I could find was death

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Tears weeping from the taps This heart is a vacant shrine that you try to break all the time

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Yeah girl, I've loved you all these years For whatever reason I still keep a photo around with your blonde hair, your pretty smile Some may say it's obsessive I've been called your stalker I don't think I'll ever fall out of love with you Believe me, I bet we all wish we could We've got some scars locked up inside One day I just wish you would let me take them Throw them into the illusions of a perfect guide To this life we lose. To this life we create One day we'll be together That's what's said in optomistic, ignorant songs This one is realistic I don't think we will be together Hell, I doubt you even have a sliver of emotion left for me I hope you do, it gives me strength You could give me a solid right hook, it would make all the difference I kind of wish we spoke Last time we truly have was that early summer of 15' We got high. Laughed. Enjoyed ourselves. It felt like you were my friend. It was true hapiness. It's sad that I can't even talk to you. You're the reason I go back to your school Hoping something would happen Like in those TV shows or animes It's funny, I even sit in that spot in the back near the window, where the kid with crazy hair daydreams One day I'll find my calling. And I hope, one day, you will call me your friend.

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You twist my arm I'm twisting fate You'll live alone

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No one loves being secluded But here I am, away from everyone I always plan to meet a friend But that feeling of contrition always bites me as I walk out the door I just turn around, walk back inside, and lock the door. The things on the outside can't harm me inside But the things on the inside can destroy my mind I'll lose all my friends but not those that love me They already know that I'm a fuck But they will slowly erode away Like a mountainside in a sandstorm Some days I want to be let out of this cage that is my depression But later at night, I'll crawl up to it and hide Letting it shield me from the evil critters of planet Earth While it nibbles away at my brain Driving me insane and wanting to harm those I abandoned.

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You don't tell people things and they call you a liar. You tell them the truth and they judge you.

So what's the point of this relationship

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Dad.

Though he's gone, I no longer have any fear or regret. He was a part of my creation and without him I could cease. I am now seeing the world through his shades that protected his eyes from the dust and sun that tried to blind them. I now use the headphones that shut all the madness out and played a treble tune. He's gone forever and ever like a phantom fading in the sun. He is now the fuel for my engine, the inspiration for my adolescent desires. He's gone. His memory will carry on, I swear to god. Believe me. This engine will never give out. Not until there is a newer model to take my drive.

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Been one week we've been living and your smiles are giving me all types of treble Weak esteem I've been given and your smiles are making my eyes starlit and marble I've been living by your rules can you be by my side It's getting kind of hard to breath in all these lies and metal I'm dying from all this treble, can you step on my pedal, baby I'm your light Weak knees have given in and now I'm dancing to your smile She's sweeter than electricity girl I'm your type She sucks an enemies milk now I've got nothing I've got a small notebook and that's something It's not love if it's just smiles. It's not love if, it's not you living

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Sometimes you miss old friends. Until you remember they weren't friends Your treasured memories always end in a crazy spin That is, when you meet them again It's that time again It's that time when they try to push their agenda They say they want whats best for me They try to give me pills Until they're gone They went them all down my throat And then they wonder why I shut-up I always crawl into my shell when people try to further their own agenda and don't care about me Yeah you may want me as a "friend" But you don't even want yourself as a friend Yeah once upon a time we were close but look at you now You're strung up on seven different types of shit I've watched you fall apart, and I've tried to help you up Hell, I even went under with you but I can't do that again My mind heart voice are all my favorite parts of me and I won't let anyone take that away from me Yeah I know that it'll dissapoint you but I can't help you out if you can't get over your shit Now I'm depressed Now I'm locked in my room It's not a waste of time I'm just getting all of this shit out of my mind You can't tell me how to live my life Trust me, you don't even know what the hell you're doing You can be friend enemy child parent or any other time of family I don't care what you say unless you love me And even if you love me, I'll only take the parts I deem sincere. I'm not going to change my mind of this I'm breaking out of this shell No one else in the whole fucking world is like me No one else feels like me, I'M SURE OF IT You can't tell me how to be me Trust me, you don't even know who you are I'm not going to break down again I'm never going to change my mind If you die with me in mind Then I will live for you But I will only absorb the parts of you That will make me a better man. I will follow my heart. Even after letting you go Before or after you croak I want you to know I still love you

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I need to get out of this place This place of screaming and hatred But my only other option is to go to a place that is haunted by the soul of a figure that I once dispised I'd wake up to night terrors I'd fall asleep to fatigue I don't know if I can live like that way But i don't like if I can live where I am now Am I even ment to live at all? Breathing this foul air that not even a runaway could stay in Where will I go from here? I don't know I can't kill myself, that is not an answer Even though it's in my head, every day every hour, every minute. It's an option But it's one I'll never succumb to I'll have to go to that haunted place and face the demons Maybe they're angels in disguise Maybe it'll be the end of me Who knows. I'm on my way.

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You walk with confidence afar Drenched in red and black plaid You don't look my way You just keep marching on I dunno if we could've been at all You were so far away yet only a block away I've decided you'll never even know my name and just stroll away singing out of tune about a party at the end of the world without the two of us dancing to the music

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You are but a pill, just to help me sleep My weaknesses take vacations in my dreams And when I'm not sure you'll help me

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In this vanity I'm breaking lets me live like this and i'll puke in a bag while shaking and nevermind the friends I'm making and the beauty in that I'm faking Why the fuck am I living like this?

And the amount of times I've seen it and I hope I'm not mistaking that bones were made for breaking it's hard to say I'm shaking I don't know the choices that I'll make

You can't keep my mind But you can fuck my so called friends It doesn't matter how many times I scream it Never again Will I live my life like this?

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I've met death I've shaken his hand I'm terrified that one day I'll have to meet him again

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Why can't I let you go?

I don't want to feel my conscience I don't wanna live in the now I want to live in a life with the taste of your lips Dripping down from my own with my hands on your hips Cuddling in the daylight with a touch of affection I'm not going to cry now Even though that I know that'll never happen I guess I'll just have to shut my eyes and wait for the next day Role your fucking eyes baby, you know it isn't hard The things in my head make me look like I'm dead Yeah your friends are afraid of my looks back you know whats inside I'm just an innocent boy looking for a non-intimant friend To just hang around with and get fucking high To talk about whats wrong with our lives while singing to the tune of Kurt Cobains raspy voice drinking coffee on a school-day afternoon Even though that I know that'll never happen I guess I'll just have to shut my eyes and wait for the next day Role your fucking eyes baby, you know it isn't hard Even though that I know that'll never happen I guess I'll just have to shut my eyes and wait for the next day Role your fucking eyes baby, you know it isn't hard Why are you staying in my head? Are you telling me it's the only place you fucking belong? Get the hell out. I've unlocked all the windows I've unlocked all the doors I've thrown you the keys but you won't leave this house I don't get it

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Sleeping just results a horror movie playing in my head Dreams of stabbing or being stabbed Nightmares of drowning or being robbed