#custom sweatshirts cheap

[chai-berries]

post club partying and you’re at a diner, tipsy and love drunk, messily inhaling a cheese burger and fries while abby devours hers with a little more manners. she’s not as drunk as you and spends most of her time smiling at your drunk swaying/dancing to the overhead radio as you munch on your burger, holding it with two hands, elbows tucked into your side like a child. you’re blasted.

the two of you are sharing a blackberry milkshake with one straw because according to you it’s “better for the environment”

there’s a few other customers but only one waitress, who like every waitress in a small diner, is a 50 year old lesbian with a dry sense of humor. she hums in amusement when she first takes your order. you were oblivious to her, your hands playing with abby’s left one and your eyes locked onto abby’s face, smiling adoringly at her. the blonde hands the waitress the menus with her free right hand, ordering the basic diner meal and of course the blackberry shake with a passionate “one straw please!” coming from you though your eyes never leave her face

when the waitress brings the check, abby has moved to your side of the table. you’re tucked into her side, sucking the last of the blackberry milkshake aka 99% of the seeds through the straw. the waitress places the check next to abby’s plate with a pen.

“you two are too cute,” the waitress says as soft as you can after years of smoking cheap cigs. “it’s nice to see the young ones doing so well. goodnight sweethearts”

and with abby’s strength, a lot of patience, and your sudden burst of energy, you successfully make it back to the car and tucked into the passenger seat. she starts the car, making sure the seat heater is on before you even ask. she snags a sweatshirt from the back and places it over your legs as a blanket. when she pulls out of the dark parking lot where the only light comes from the windows and single sign of the diner, she takes one last glance at your cute sleepy face until it gets too dark to see before driving your drunk ass home <3

#fondness oozes out of her #abby anderson x reader #abby brainrot era #mads’ headcanons #if you are reading this — hi 🫵🧡🤍🩷 #i have never went to a club but i have done post event diner vibes

[zvaigzdelasas]

A few years ago, I noticed that a number of factories in China had started opening TikTok accounts and posting footage from their assembly lines. The videos offered a rare glimpse into global supply chains, and millions of Western TikTok users marveled at teddy bears being stuffed with polyester fiberfill, machines dipping gardening gloves into hot liquified nitrile rubber, and quality assurance testers seeing whether cheap cigarette lighters worked. (My friend and former colleague Andrew Deck wrote a great story about factory TikTok for Rest of World in 2021.)

Since then, hundreds of other Chinese factories have joined TikTok. Some of them produce industrial equipment that would never be bought by normal people, like dump trucks or bottle labeling machines. And while the older factory accounts were often created by marketing agencies, these newer ones seem to largely be the work of earnest salespeople trying to find new customers. Many of them are relying on AI translation and text-to-speech tools, making the videos unintentionally sound very funny.

One of these manufacturers is a company called Donghua Jinlong, which is headquartered in Hebei province about 200 miles from Beijing. It sells “high quality industrial grade glycine,” a type of nutritional additive that evidently sounds silly and abstract to people who never need to think about how processed food is made. Donghua Jinglong and its glycine have become a relatively big meme on TikTok, Instagram, and X over the last few days, and some of the company’s videos are getting over 100,000 views (even though its official account only has roughly 4,400 followers).

Donghua Jinlong itself, however, doesn’t seem to have any idea what’s going on. People in the comments keep begging it to make official merch, but the company doesn’t understand why anyone would want a sweatshirt or t-shirt with the name of an industrial manufacturer on it. Shitposters have also started referencing the Donghua Jinlong meme in the comments of videos from other Chinese factories.

A company called HengYuan, for example, posted a video of what can only be described as a machine for filling Tide Pods, and one of the top comments is someone asking “Could you pack food grade glycine in this?”

Clearly baffled, HengYuan responded, “No. This is used to pack detergent in PVA Film.”

The Donghua Jinlong meme is a great microcosm of what’s actually happening on TikTok when it comes to content from China. Some people might argue that Chinese manufacturers are choosing to post on the app because its parent company, ByteDance, is also from China. In other words, these factories could be held up as an example of TikTok allowing Chinese influence to grow in the US (albeit a bizarre one).

But Donghua Jinlong also has a Facebook page with even more followers, it’s just that no one is engaging with its posts there. That’s because there are likely very few people searching social media for a new glycine supplier at any given time. TikTok, however, doesn’t rely on users to actively seek out content, it serves videos to them via an algorithm. So now tons of random people are coming across glycine manufacturers and Tide Pod machines by accident, and they’re happily turning the whole thing into a joke.

I personally find these videos to be fascinating, both because It’s cool to learn how things are made, and because they provide the opportunity to watch in real time what happens when random Chinese companies come into contact with American social media users. I don’t think this is the type of Chinese influence lawmakers are imagining when they worry about TikTok, but it’s arguably much more interesting and human.

[deathbecomesthem]

Good Neighbors

Artwork by the one, the only, the @dr-aculaaa - There's a sweet treat of another piece of artwork at the end of this fic.

*I'm a shit for neglecting to mention that @jo-harrington commissioned the artwork for me, and encouraged this fic every step of the way.

Super Perv!Eddie x Older!Fem!Reader | 5.4K

A/N: This is a reupload from Chesty based on a random request. Many people were involved in the creation of this beast. I have a love/hate relationship with this scumbag.

*There is no actual sexual contact between this reader and Eddie. He has some elaborate fantasies about her. He crosses lines, and it's uncomfy. I consider this a bit out of character.

Contains: Stalker behavior, crossing of privacy boundaries, a pipe bomb, male masturbation, and cum eating. (and food play)

---

Eddie Munson, sweetheart of Forest Hill Trailer Park, is sitting at the picnic table that sits between your trailers. It is 6:30 am. Before you moved into the park, Eddie Munson didn’t wake up before 8:45 am. It’s different now. He’s the kind of guy that gets up with the sun, coffee mug, Camels, and battered paperback in hand, to sit in the crisp spring morning air. To see you.

Eddie is a sweetheart. That has always been true about him, but it’s only been the last few years that it’s an accepted fact within his community. He’s had his fair share of problems, he’s been in and out of legal trouble. He’s made some questionable choices as far as making money goes, but he’s a good man. Always has been. Even Eddie thinks he might be a good man.

Eddie has been walking Mrs. Olson’s terrier every morning and afternoon since she had her shoulder replaced two weeks ago. He does brake jobs for the cost of parts and a six pack for anyone that asks. He even got some lumber and rope to put up a couple of swings around the park for the kids. He has a respectable job down at Danny’s Garage. He’s not just a mechanic, he’s a supervisor now. He’s reliable. He might be a little late in the mornings, but he never misses work, the customers love him, and the guys love that he still has a hookup and can supply cheap herb whenever they ask for it.

This morning Eddie has his book, The Talisman - open to page 243. Eddie’s had this book open to page 243 every morning this week. Eddie’s not progressing in the story. He’s not getting lost in the worlds that King and Straub have described in those pages that are already yellowing from exposure to tobacco smoke. He’s waiting behind the pages. He’s anticipating. He’s holding his prop, his reason for being here. The book is, of course, a ruse - and you are the intended target.

This Monday morning, you’re dressed in your usual jogging outfit for these chilly late spring mornings. OSU sweatshirt and matching gray sweatpants. Eddie silently prays to Mother Nature for the true warmth of summer. He wants the heat of the sun to coax you out of those warm clothes and into a pair of jogging shorts. A tank top that shows the lines of a sports bra. Maybe even just a sports bra on really hot days.

Eddie is already sporting an erection just thinking about the possibilities, which makes getting up and walking over to greet you at the foot of your front steps a bad idea. He’s wearing his work coveralls with a white tank top and shorts underneath. It gets hot in the garage, even when it’s not full mid-summer heat. He knows for a fact that his unfortunate boner will be on full display against the poly/cotton blend fabric.

You were hoping to run into Eddie this morning. Such a nice young man, and so helpful to you since the first day you arrived in Hawkins. Your arm was still in the sling at the time, and he made a fuss about making sure you didn’t lift anything heavier than your purse. He spent the better part of the day carrying boxes into your new home with his sweet smile spread across his full lips. A handsome guy, it was no surprise when a pretty girl pulled up that evening and headed to his trailer. You don’t know what happened to her, but after a couple of weeks in the park, she stopped coming by. A shame, Eddie deserves a good woman. You tell him all the time, if you were 20 years younger, you’d snatch him up.

You’ve got a few things you’d like him to do around your trailer when he has the time. Rick, your current boyfriend, isn’t the type to do manual labor. He’s also a good man, a respectable lawyer at that. He’s kind. It’s ok that he can’t put in a garbage disposal. It’s ok that he doesn’t know how to fix your leaky sink. He’s offered to pay a plumber, but Eddie seems to genuinely care about you. You like that, it feels right to be in a community like this after living in hell for so long. It makes you feel safe knowing that the Munsons are right next door, keeping an eye on things.

“Good morning, Eddie!” You have a niggling feeling that Eddie had been looking in the direction of your trailer just before you looked up to see if he was in his usual spot. He always has the brightest smile for you, even in the early hours of the day. Today is no exception. What a nice surprise to find out the sweet young man next door is also an early bird, up with the sun every day. It’s not what you would have expected from a leather wearing, motorcycle wearing, tattooed metalhead. You were happy to put aside your preconceived notions for him.

“Howdy, neighbor!” As usual, he’s got a Camel lit and perched between his ringed fingers. Funny that he wears them to the garage every day knowing that he’ll have to take them off before he starts work, but he has them prettily adorned on his fingers every time you see him.

“I’m so so glad I caught you,” Eddie preened a little at your smile and kind words. He loves it when you stop for a chat. It’s the reason he gets up at these ungodly hours, he knows it’s a chance to see you. To talk to you. To catch a whiff of your scent. “I’m wondering if I could have you do some handyman work around my place again. I’m happy to pay for it –“

“We’ve talked about this before,” Eddie’s hand is up in the air as soon as you utter the word “pay”, stopping your train of thought before it can really start to pick up steam.

“Well,” you let out a deep sigh to show your faux annoyance, “there’s a pie and roast beef dinner with your name on it, at least. You’ve got my key. I’ll leave a note with what needs to be done along with some cash for any parts you might need. Thank you, I should probably know how to do most of this stuff myself, but I’m useless.”

“Pretty ladies don’t need to know how to snake a drain, we’ve been over this. If Rick doesn’t have the time, your good friend Eddie does. What are neighbors for?” His smile, as always, reassures you. He really doesn’t mind helping the middle-aged lady next door with silly little tasks. And he always leaves your place immaculate, cleaner than when he came to do the work.

“God, what would I do without you? You’re such a sweet boy, Eddie.” Eddie’s erection presses hard against his thigh at your praise, and aches painfully when you give his forearm a little squeeze. “If I were about 20 years younger…” the sentiment hangs in the air as you turn and begin your trail jog, leaving Eddie sitting alone with only his uncomfortable boner to keep him company.

You say it every time he’s sweet to you. If I were about 20 years younger, and Eddie wants nothing more than to tell you that he doesn’t want that. He wants you now. But that’s not going to happen with your clean cut, age-appropriate boyfriend in the picture. A boyfriend that takes you to nice dinners once a week. A boyfriend that drives an expensive car. A boyfriend that will probably pull you out of your post-divorce poverty and put you up in his cute suburban home with a white picket fence.

--

Eddie watched you return from your jog from the front window of his trailer. It was already getting too warm, and you had taken off your sweatshirt, exposing a wide armed talk top with a sports bra underneath. Sweat was trickling down your neck. He couldn’t see it from this distance, but he knew there would be beads of it kissing your soft skin. He thought about what it would be like for his tongue to catch that saltiness. Let his tongue slide across your collarbone. He could almost taste you, from the imagining alone. Smell you.

Eddie wonders if you do it on purpose. He wonders if you bend down with your ample behind pointed in the direction of his front window hoping he’ll see it. He likes to imagine that you do. He likes to imagine that you know what you do to him, that the game is something you’re playing together. He thinks about putting his face in the cradle of your neck while he pulls down those gray sweatpants. He thinks about dropping down to spread your ass for him. He thinks about letting his tongue taste you while you’re still glistening with sweat. It would be so good. Yes. He thinks about this while he watches you. He thinks about this while he tugs at his aching cock. He fists at himself furiously while you arch your back and let the sun shine down on your face. He’s been hard since you came out of your trailer this morning, and he’s been patiently waiting for your return to relieve himself. He has a pair of your panties under his nose, a pair you were sure your dryer ate at some point. Your scent is faint, but still present. It’s not until after you’ve climbed the steps to your trailer that he wraps those cotton panties around his length and releases himself with a groan.

Eddie tucks himself away and immediately checks his coveralls for any possible stray cum stains. Regret and disgust begin to creep into his mind before he can fully push them back, but he knows it doesn’t matter. He’ll still be a few minutes late for work because he needs to know which outfit you’ve decided to wear today. Will it be the dockers with the wide black belt paired with one of your short-sleeved sweaters? Or maybe the dress you bought last week that you’re worried about being a little too casual for the office?

Eddie doesn’t know this stuff about you because you and he have girl chats over cups of coffee in the afternoon. He knows this stuff about you because he’s observant. He listens. Your trailers are close together, after all, and when the windows are open, he can sometimes pick up bits of conversations. Some of them are between you and Ricky, some of them are one sided phone conversations with your friends. It’s not creepy. He can’t help it. He’s making sure. He’s keeping an eye out. You deserve to be safe and happy, and he’s going to do his goddamned best to make sure that happens. He would never pry.

The first time he saw you, your pain cried out to him. Your broken arm was still healing, and there were still faint yellowing bruises scattered across your pretty face. Eddie knew exactly what happened before he ever had the evidence. It took a few weeks, but he put the pieces together, and found out about him, the ex. He found out where he worked. An insurance agent with his own office. Well – he had  an office in downtown Dayton, Ohio. Stand-up guy, except for the part where he beats his wife.

Eddie had only meant to scare him a little. He threw the pipe bomb into the dumpster and drove away. He didn’t check to make sure there was nothing flammable inside, because there are rules about that kind of thing. It’s not really his fault what happened, plus no one was in the building anyway. He expected to cause a little confusing mess, but the entire place ended as kindling. Eddie still thinks the guy got off easy.

Of course, he recognizes now that it was too far. How would he be able to make sure you’re doing ok if he’s stuck behind bars? What he wanted to do was strangle the ex with his bare hands and watch the light of life blow out of his eyes. But it’s better to stay where he is, to keep an eye out. Plus, Rick is a really good guy. So far.

--

Eddie,

Thank you, a million times over. You’re such a sweetheart for doing this for me. I made a pie last night, have a slice (or two) if you want and there’s beer in the fridge. I’ll be back around 4, and I’m making your favorite for your dinner payment.

xoxoxo,

your favorite neighbor

The note hangs on the metal door of your trailer, you’d left early. You’re working a double at the diner, and it’s Eddie’s day off. Convenient for him. He can work uninterrupted. He can have the place to himself. His cock is hard just thinking about being in your space with your things. He hopes there’s some laundry left in the hamper just inside your bedroom door. He hopes you went jogging this morning, that maybe your sweatband would be sitting on your vanity.

Your living room is tidy, it’s always tidy. A People magazine, a TV Guide, an ashtray, and a lilac scented candle sit on the coffee table at the center of the room when he enters. You don’t smoke, but Ricky does, and she never minds if you do when you’re in her place. You even asked Eddie the other night if he’d want to share a joint with her sometime when you caught a whiff of the weed smoke coming from his porch. He brought some weed today just in case you were serious.

Eddie makes his way to the kitchen where his first, and easiest, task of the day is located. It’s all plumbing problems, and he told you it would take all day. But, no, It’ll actually be a couple of hours. Tops. Plenty of time for other things. The reality is Eddie could come into your place any time, but he’d never do it uninvited. That would be intrusive. He respects your privacy and would never want to cross a line.

Eddie tosses his jacket on your empty recliner and gets to work sorting through his tools. His first stop is the kitchen where he promised he’d put in a new garbage disposal. The kitchen is tidy, just like every other part of your trailer. It’s your place, all yours, and you treasure it. Eddie notices a coffee mug with a red lipstick kiss on the rim and an empty bowl with a spoon sitting next to the sink. Breakfast dishes, no doubt.

There’s a bit of Raisin Bran residue in the spoon sitting in the white porcelain bowl. Without a thought in his head, he takes the spoon and shoves it into his mouth. Eddie runs his tongue against the cool metal, lapping up the last of the milk and cereal. His eyes are closed in concentration, reaching for any lingering taste of you left within the dirty utensil. It’s a fight against his brain when lays the spoon back to rest in its former position and turns his attention to the coffee mug. A kiss left just for him, he lets his tongue run across the ghost of your lips, tasting your lipstick. He’s already hard just being here with the hints of you that were left behind this morning.

No more, he promises himself, not until you’re done. The next few hours are spent with wrenches, screwdrivers, and caulk. Garbage disposal – done and functioning. You’ll be able to grind chicken bones with that baby. Eddie puts in a new faucet in the bathroom and notices that the showerhead is still dripping. He noticed it the last time he was in your place. He came prepared. He bought a massaging, detachable head and puts it in for you as a surprise. You deserve it. The last thing on the official list is replacing the parts inside of your toilet tank. It just needs a new flapper valve, but Eddie’s doing the whole work. Easy fix. He could show you, but then you wouldn’t need him next time. He could show Rick, but Rick’s not interested in manual labor. Rick can afford to pay a plumber to come and do the work that would take a total of 20 minutes to complete with a basic knowledge of how a toilet tank functions. That’s below Rick.

Taking care of you would never be below Eddie. He would do anything to make sure you have everything you need to be happy. He bought that shower head for you because Robin had mentioned how much she loved hers. When Steve told him why she loved hers, Eddie knew he had to get you one. He ran his fingers against the nozzle head after the installation was finished. He stroked it, imagining you standing under it, the water running down your skin.

Eddie’s next movements are without thought behind them. The need guides him. He undresses completely, leaving a pile of clothes sitting on the toilet seat. He steps into the shower, your shower, and turns the water to warm. His hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, and he decides to let it loose. He has time. You won’t be back for hours, his hair will be dry by then. Every bottle in this shower smells of you. So, he lathers. He lets the suds of your honey body wash clean off the sweat and dirt of the day. The pink bottles of Salon Selectives are what he uses to massage his scalp. He works the shampoo into his skin, he wants the scent to last for at least a couple of days. He wants to think of you when catches the scent from his own head.

Eddie luxuriates under the warm trickle of water. He lets himself think of you. He reaches into his mind to remember the way your touch feels against his skin when you squeeze his arm. He lets the lingering scent of your lost panties re-enter his nasal cavity. He thinks about the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you give him one of your big smiles. He thinks about all of this, letting his cock grow. He tugs at himself, just a little bit, to really let himself start to feel something.

He has a ferocious erection when he steps out of the shower and reaches for your silky bathrobe. It hangs on a plastic hook on the inside of your bathroom door. It’s white, and he lets himself think about how you look wearing it as he slips it over his damp skin. It’s so soft, as soft as you are. He’s being directed by his cock now, his brain is more than empty. It does not exist. His chores are done, and he hours before you’ll be home.

Your room. The untidiest room in the house, but still neat. He sets his pile of clothes on your dresser. That’s where he spots your tube of lipstick and your perfume bottle. Kismet. He takes the tube of Avon Apricot Freeze and delicately applies it to his lips. It’s the shade you’re wearing today, he recognizes it from your coffee mug. Eddie is careful when he handles the triangle shaped bottle of Claibourne perfume. He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. It’s you, yes, but it’s lacking something. He spritzes it against his neck where he knows he’ll be able to smell it while he enjoys himself.

His next stop is the hamper that sits beside your dresser. He knows what he’ll find there, he watched you on your run this morning. The underwear sits atop a week’s worth of dirty laundry. A quick sniff tells him that, yes, you wore them while the sweat clung to your body. His erection twitches against the silky robe while he takes a deep breath. His eyes roll back in his head, and he knows it’s time to let himself feel the full height of his pleasure.

What the perfume is lacking can be found on your pillowcase. Your fuller scent lingers there. Your worn underwear sits against his tongue and lips while he lays his chest down on your soft mattress, a pillow folded under his hips to create a fold that will hold his cock. Your scent, your taste, the softness of your robe – he is lost in you. With his eyes closed, he can almost imagine you’re here with him. He can almost imagine the way your heat would feel wrapped around his cock.

It's so good. So perfect in your place. He’s teased himself for hours thinking about this moment, and his body moves with furious intent in your bed. He’s listening to you say his name inside his mind, over and over while his cock rubs against the pillow under him. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Yes, it’s what you would say if he had you here. If he plunged himself deeper and deeper inside of you. If he wrapped his mouth around your nipple instead of around this piece of fabric. Eddie, Eddie, please. I want you so much. You’re such a good boy.

Eddie’s orgasm hits him like a truck. His hips leap with no rhythm. They are searching while his cum is expelled from him with more force than he’s ever experienced before. More pleasure than he ever felt with Sandra, the girl that left him when she said he was spending too much time worrying about the old lady next door. His bucking hips slow after what feels like an eternity of ecstasy. A never ending stream of seed, while the sweat on his back is making the silk fabric of the robe stick to his skin. He allows himself a moment. A beat to lay in his post orgasm haze. Bliss unrivaled by any other feeling he’s ever had in his entire existence. Laying there with the ghost scent of you in your bed. In your home.

--

When you pull into the trailer park, it’s half past 4. You’re ready for a shower. It’s getting sticky out, and your hot flashes have started increasing. 45 years old, and your body has decided to become a mystery to you. You vaguely remember that Eddie might still be at your place, and resign yourself to the idea that the shower might have to wait until after you feed him. It’s worth it, though. He deserves at least a home cooked meal and the six pack you have in the trunk of your car.

You open the door to your place to find it in exactly the same condition you left it in. It needs dusting, but it’ll have to wait. As you walk through the kitchen, you notice the breakfast dishes sitting in the drying rack and smile. He really is an angel. There’s a note on the counter.

Howdy neighbor,

I have to run out to do a few errands. I’ll be back around 6. I hope you enjoy the surprise I left for you in the bathroom.

Eddie

Everything is clean. It’s like no one was ever here. You look around and spot it, a new shower head. He didn’t just fix the constant dripping, he replaced the whole thing. Angel. It feels incredible when you step into it. The massage feature is a gift you hadn’t expected. The warm water washes away the day from your body, and you silently praise Eddie’s handiwork while you let the honey scented body wash foam between your fingers.

Your bathrobe isn’t in its place, which is odd, but you must have left it in your room. You grab a towel from the shelf above the toilet and wrap it around your body. Sweatpants and a sweater are a comfort to your tired muscles. You finally register the sound that’s been in the background since you got home. Your dryer is running. He even did a load of laundry for you. You’re going to have to make him his own pie this weekend.

It was so warm and soft, a quick and tender embrace. It was friendly, innocent. Eddie relished it. He let himself focus on the feeling of your arms around his waist, the way your hair brushed against his face, the clean scent of soap from your post work shower. He reached and searched in those couple of seconds, determined to take as much from the moment as possible. To let it fuel his need.

He took that moment, that embrace, with him as he left your trailer along with the Dutch apple pie you made for him. It was still warm from the oven as you placed it in his hands. Those weren’t the only things Eddie took with him. The metal was burning a hole in his pocket while you hugged him goodnight. He fought against his body while his arousal kicked up at your touch, and he promised himself - soon.

It’s beautiful. Eddie almost feels bad about cutting into it. The apple syrup bubbled up around the brown sugar crumble crust during baking and there are pieces of crystallized sugar sprinkled about the top. He’s thinking about you cutting the apples, he’s thinking about your fingers working the pie crust. Sprinkling sugar and cinnamon. 

Eddie’s hard. It’s not only the memory of your warmth against him, or the cinnamon and sugar scent invading his nostrils, but also the soft silk panties he’s wearing. Like the other things he’s taken, he’ll return them back of course, but how could he resist when they were out in the open like that? Freshly worn and resting atop today’s work clothes inside your bathroom. He had only meant to wash his hands before dinner, but instead he took off his boxers and replaced them with your pretty underwear. Underwear that had so recently held your heat against them. He needed it.

Eddie knows what he plans to do despite the fact that he is not consciously acknowledging it. It’s as if he loses control of his bodily movements at times like these. The empty trailer, Wayne’s gone for the week on a fishing trip, is an open invitation for the experience he has mapped out in his mind. He sets the scene, taking his time. His body is still tired from earlier, but the temptation of the still warm apple pie is impossible to resist.

Eddie pulls a knife out of the drawer, cool metal against the warm skin of his fingers, and he cuts a slice of the crumbling dessert. He leaves it in the pan and immediately walks to his bedroom. His window is still open, the curtains blow in the breeze of the summer evening. It smells like rain will come before too long. The lights are always low in his room, but he opts for turning them off completely before he undresses. Just in case. 

Your bedroom window is directly across from his own, and when the evenings are cool it’s possible to hear things. Soft music sometimes wafts through Eddie’s open window. He’s hoping to hear some of the sweet noises he occasionally hears on nights like these. Not the sounds of love making when Rick visits, but the sounds of quiet pleasure when it’s just your own car parked in front of your home. Eddie likes to think that maybe sometimes you can hear him, and hopes that it helps you along when your fingers are deep inside yourself. Maybe you even think of his ringed fingers during those times. 

A man can dream.

Eddie reaches into the back pocket of his jeans before he lays them on the chair in the corner of his room where the rest of his clothes are resting. His nipples are already peaked with excitement. The small pieces of gold jewelry sit in the palm of his hand while a flash of disgust threatens to ruin his plans. He finds the strength to push it back. Let it sit way back in his mind until after. After he can let those feelings of shame come out to play, but not until after he’s had his fun.

Eddie’s cock is pressed against the silk fabric of your underwear, and the cool air of the room combined with the arousal the head is already leaking, it feels like a gentle kiss. There’s a twitch, an answer to that thought, and Eddie turns his focus back to the clip on earrings he smuggled out of your trailer. They are not the kind designed to gently cling to the lobes of your ears. No. These are the kind that are designed to pinch, an aggressive assurance that they won’t be lost at some point during the day. When Eddie attaches the first one to his left nipple, it’s an immediate and intense pain that only kicks up his arousal. His cock jumps with each zing of pain and pleasure, and he has a distant concern that he’ll come just from the feeling alone. With deep breaths, he manages to calm himself before doing it all over again with the right nipple.

Eddie’s back is sweating, and his cock feels weighed down with the cum he’s holding back. It won’t take much coaxing for him to erupt. He can feel an orgasm creeping behind his eyes, in his throat, deep in his guts. From an outsider’s perspective, he would look absurd. Even more so as he rests his ass, still covered by soft panties, on the large terry cloth towel he has laid down on his sheets in preparation. It’s going to be messy, and he’s happy that he has the forethought to prepare. He’ll be very tired when it’s over.

Eddie lays his head on his pillow, pulling his curls over so that he can lay on his side. His nose can smell the shampoo he used earlier. Your shampoo. It’s so lovely, and it helps Eddie imagine that it’s your hair that his nose is pressed into. His nipples are still shooting zings of painful pleasure as Eddie uses one hand to scoop out the piece of sliced pie from the tin, and the other to release his aching cock from the prison of your silky panties. The first bite of pie is almost a religious experience for him. The apples are still slightly crispy, but the juices have mixed in with the sugar and streusel topping. 

Eddie had not planned what he did next, it was a natural instinct. His need took over his movements again. Instead of wrapping his hand around his aching cock, he slid his palm under the pie tin and pressed the pastry against himself. The tip of his cock is immediately surrounded by the warm, sticky filling. It feels incredible, and he’s shocked to realize it feels surprisingly like a mouth. 

All at once, he’s groaning around the pie at his mouth while his cock pushes itself through the mess of apples, sugar, and streusel. His body is crying out, the pleasure soaring through him. His taste buds are dancing, his nipples are screaming, his hips are thrusting his cock into that open mouth. Brown sugar coats his thatch of pubic hair, raining down from his gluttonous self pleasure. In no time, he spills himself into the pie dish, his cum and the pie filling creating a combination of flavors that would make Betty Crocker roll over in her grave. The piece of unfinished pie has somehow ended up mashed in Eddie's wild curls. He’s sticky from the sweat and sugary confection.

After the bliss wanes, Eddie first removes the earrings, allowing his nipples to rest. The vibrating pleasure immediately ceases, and he can breathe normally. The come down is a crash as he envisions this moment captured in a still image.

Eddie Munson, in his bed, ass being hugged by a pair of silk underwear, covered in streusel and apple pie filling. It’s with a sigh that almost sounds like a groan that Eddie scoops out a handful from the pie tin and brings it to his mouth. He licks the mess from between his fingers, the sweetest pie he’s ever tasted, and the faintest hint of himself mixed within.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #chesty fic #perv!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader

[galaxywarp]

(please like if you read. and it would mean a lot to me if you read.)

————————

My body and my mind have been sick lately

So my sleep schedule has been fucked.

3am is a normal time to wake.

And just before the sun rises,

I find a couple of dollars

And I put some gas in my tank and I buy a cheap iced coffee,

And I drive and I watch the sun come up

While I listen to music that makes my friends sad.

And as I’m standing at the pump and overdrawing my bank account to put a few dollars of gas in my car,

And my speakers are playing a song about wanting to kill my father with a baseball bat,

I see a man around my age walking towards the gas station,

From out of the shadows of the distant sidewalk

Into the harsh light.

And he’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants and he’s walking alone through the dark to a gas station at 5 in the morning to buy a lighter

And some part of me registers that this is a man who others may feel nervous about him approaching them through the darkness.

But in him I see myself.

And I miss being a meth addict.

And I miss his world. And I miss dragging myself, dirty and beaten, to the nearest gas station at 5 in the morning with loose change in my pocket to buy myself a lighter so that I can smoke my meth pipe.

And I get back in my car that’s still playing a song about wanting to kill my father with a baseball bat.

And I try to think about what it is I’m missing.

And I think of rooms of faces,

Painful, terrible, beautiful faces,

Where every person there understands exactly what it’s like to be at a gas station at 5 in the morning listening to a song about wanting to kill your father with a baseball bat.

And you don’t have to think about it.

You don’t have to talk about it.

They just hand you a pipe

And a lighter

And the pain goes away.

And I drive to pick up my iced coffee

And I don’t feel as bad about the iced coffee as I thought I would.

It’s only two dollars, after all.

And it’s easy to find two dollars, even when you have nothing else.

You can find two dollars in a lot of places.

In your couch.

In old jacket pockets.

In the kindness of a stranger.

And I’ve been hoarding loose change for years.

I keep it in my grandpa’s old ammunition box from the war.

The box where I keep one of the shells from the guns they fired at his and grandma’s funeral.

The box where I keep a dirty rusty nail that someone gave me in rehab.

Someone who didn’t make it, but I did.

The box where I keep the smooth pretty blue stone that the other patients passed around on my last day, that they held close to their hearts as they wished me strength on my journey. As they told me that I was strong and that I was going to make it.

And it’s the box where I keep my loose change

For iced coffee

And meth lighters.

It’s easy to find two dollars.

Your mom will give you two dollars

If you tell her it’s for iced coffee

And not meth lighters.

Your mom will give you two dollars

If you promise it’s not to kill yourself.

And in the drive thru the girl asks me to please wait a moment, she has to refill the coffee.

And I tell her it’s okay, really, no rush.

And she thanks me

And tells me she appreciates me.

And I think about all the jobs I’ve had

Where I had to ask a customer to please wait a moment

So I could do something important

Like refill the coffee

Or use heroin in the bathroom.

And when she hands me my iced coffee I say thank you

And I tell her “I appreciate you too”.

And I see her face fall, briefly,

As she is stunned by my words

Taken aback by this brief, fleeting moment of genuine kindness and connection.

And just as quickly she smiles at me

Truly smiles

And says thank you.

And I hurry and drive away, so she can deal with the rest of the cars in line

Many of which are running late for work

And who will blame her for it.

And I take my drive.

And I watch the sun rise.

And I listen to music that makes my friends sad.

And when I come home

I wash down my antidepressants with what’s left of my iced coffee

And I think about how I don’t miss being a meth addict.

I am a meth addict

Without his pipe.

#recovery tag #addiction #drug addiction #recovery #poetry

[superblysubpar]

It Wasn't True 👀 - probably not Pastel

Ask Me About My WIPs

I see you @pastel-pillows , and I love talking about WIPs, so I'm down 💛

*sigh* I started this LAST December. Here's the banner and the first bit, cause again, the vibes just ain't vibing - this one is all about a kingish version of steve, you have some of your own demons, and both of you just wanna get out of Hawkins.

summary: It started with a can of Coke, the hood of a red BMW, and a kiss that shouldn't have happened.

the tune: cruel summer by taylor swift

How could you know the boy in the fancy house on Cornwallis was putting on a show? That he was more empty than that big house - a charade, a character, and maybe just a little worth a second thought. How could he know the girl who lived down the street wasn't satisfied with her life in Hawkins, or Indiana for that matter. 

Lilac dappled across the soft blue sky, a crescent moon peeking out already behind white puffs of clouds, like they were hand painted and then ripped apart by streaks of sherbert orange. It's beautifully reflected in the glass panes of the doors to the Fair Mart, and on any other night perhaps you would take a minute to appreciate it.

Tonight though, your fingers shake as they push open the door, and the beautiful and fleeting sunset disappears and ads for junk food fill your vision in its place. Senses immediately tune into a rumble of the oscillating fan in the corner, a flicker of a fluorescent light overhead, the squeak of your converse against tile, and the pop of pink double bubble in your peripheral.

The bored teenager flicks through her magazine and snaps her gum, droning on without looking up, "Welcome to the Fair Mart. Coke is on sale. Go nuts."

Wandering the aisles, you wonder if tonight is finally the night. The one in which you grab a map, some shitty snacks, a pair of cheap sunglasses and just drive until Hawkins is not even a blip in the map of your life.

Queen plays overhead as you pull your sweatshirt sleeve down over your palms, thundering drums and wailing guitars do nothing to ease rattled nerves as you pause in front of the cooler doors. They hum loudly, like they're working overtime, begging you to please buy the icy cold drinks they've worked tirelessly to keep fresh for you.

Something about the colors of the cans hypnotize you, the reds fade into the blues and the blues into the greens until you realize your vision is growing blurry from tears. Quick to wipe at your lash line as the bell over the door alerts you that you're no longer the only customer.

"Welcome to the Fair - Jesus Christ! Steve, what the hell-"

"I'm fine. It's fine."

Turning to see the boy quickly turn down the candy aisle, a hand yanking a bag of gummy worms, fingers finding a bottle of painkillers without looking. His Nike's squeak to a stop as he rounds the corner and sees you.

Steve Harrington does not look like the kid from school you've heard all the stories about. He's not carrying himself like the boy who's driveway fills with cars and pool with hot girls that you watch from the down the street in a dark and empty house. 

Nose swollen, jaw scraped open and purples and blues swirling around his eye so dark you understand why it's called a black eye now. His tongue sticks out and prods at a cut in the corner of his lips. His eyebrows bunch, loose strands of hair falling over a furrowed forehead as he mumbles, "Wanna take a picture or something?"

Staring, you're staring. "So-sorry," you squeak out and grab a can of something and rush to the counter. Pausing to let your fingers trail over the maps, one for New York catching on your thumb.

Someone clears their throat and you grab the map on impulse, shoving the can of soda and it on the counter. Utterly aware of Steve's towering presence behind you, you try to focus on blondie, who snaps her gum as she rings up your purchases and sighs, "Sure you don't want a second one?" Holding up the can of coke, annoyed by your presence. 

"Oh, uh, I-"

"Here," Steve holds up his own can of coke down and his other two items, throwing a crumpled bill that is way too much money for all of it on the counter. He turns on his heel and stalks out, the slap of the open sign against the glass makes you jump. He sits on the trunk of his car as you watch him with blinking eyes through the glass, the sign swaying back and forth obscuring him partially. 

The clerk snaps her gum again and scoffs, "Good luck with that."

Frowning at her, you grab your items, "Excuse me?"

She looks at Steve, then you again, smirking before blowing another bubble and popping it. 

"Your trip," nodding to the map.

#taylor's asks 💋 #wip game #pastel 💞 #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you

[drylan]

for rylan prompts,

at home movie night fluff!:3

It had been a long, draining week. From exams in his classes to portfolio projects to shitty shifts at this part-time job dealing with the dreadful general public, Ryan was just done. Sure, he only had a couple months of college left, but he was absolutely hitting his limit.

Apparently Dylan had been picking up Ryan's vibe with ease even though they barely saw each other the entire week, despite living together.

"Hey, babe. Ready for the weekend?" Dylan and Schrodinger greeted him as he came home and Ryan almost felt faint with how much more relaxed he felt as soon as he came back into their apartment.

"Yeah, I could take like, 60 weekends in a row, please."

"Aw, babe." Dylan cooed sympathetically, kissing his forehead. He was a goddam nerd through and through. He thrived in college and was going to be starting his master's in the fall and had jobs tutoring on campus. But he knew for Ryan was just ready to be done with the whole college thing.

As he settled in, though, Ryan really let the fact it was a free weekend soak into him. Begone, shitty barista uniform. Peace out, fake customer service smile.

When he came back downstairs, a pizza had already been delivered and Dylan was fetching their favorite brand of shitty, cheap beer out of the fridge.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" He tugged the sweatshirt he'd stolen from Dylan down lower, helping by bringing the pizza to the coffee table in the living room.

"Well, for starters, I love you and you deserve to kick back and relax." Ryan blushed at that, whispering 'Love you, too' before Dylan continued. "Aaaand, Babysitter Bloodbath 7 is on streaming."

"Wait, what?! I thought the release got canceled!" He jumped excitedly onto the couch, Dylan flopping down next to him.

"Apparently not! They literally just dropped it today, dude. Outta nowhere." Dylan could feel his heart warm as Ryan fell more and more back into himself, finally letting go after a difficult week.

As they nibbled on their pizza, drank their beers, and settled in for some direct to streaming C-horror garbage, they cuddled up close to each other.

Ryan laid his head heavily on Dylan's chest, listening to his slow, calming heartbeat. Dylan kissed the top of his head between eating and drinking, loving the weight of his lover on his chest.

They couldn't think of a better way to kick-off a much needed and deserved weekend.

#my stuff #fanfic #ficlet #the quarry #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #drylan #rylan #radioheads

[levi-dayne]

need to get a pair of cheap white shoes that i can customize to be mello and near themed cuz i am also doing this with my sweatshirt

[icharchivist]

also lowkey still furious ngl but, so, i bought some merch for my birthday the other day right? and it was the first time in 2022 i was truly buying something from Japan. (the other time was postcards and i didn’t have any problems)

And this is how i’ve learnt that since January 2022, new European laws set up special Customs Taxes from stuff coming from outside of Europe, specifically to fight back against “buying cheap knock off from Chinese Websites”  and encourage people to instead buy stuff in Europe.

Which is something they just tell you either when your package arrives in the country or in front of your door as they give you the package.

I ordered plushies (as you’ve seen) which had to cost me 7€ in Customs, and a sweatshirt that costed me 34€ in customs. Which i’ve only learnt once the packages were, respectively, in the country, and in front of my doorstep </3

and i’m kind of super pissed? Like look i’m willing to swallow the high proxy taxes from shipping from Japan, from the idea of paying for shipping and the plane and everything, it’s pricey already as it is, but i get what i’m paying for.

But this is making me SO salty because it’s basically just punishing me for not buying a European thing

like bitch the day you actually import or make anime merch from niche seiyuu franchise that is still pretty Region Locked, sure, let me know, but are you fucking kidding me?

Like idk man, having friends around the world and having interests from various different countries i really can’t process this whole thing. it’s not like it’s POSSIBLE to get the things i want in Europe. Even if it was, what’s the harm in that like holy shit. Who gives a shit. 

It also means that now to be buying merch from Japan i have to account for at an even bigger price and i’m so sad. I thought i found a loophole with a website with lesser proxy taxes and now it’s just :(

i was so dumbfounded when it happened but happy i had my sweater i kind of tried not to mindn but it's been working me up, and i was thinking about possibly buying physical versions of albums from artists i like from Japan and suddenly this slapped me back in the face and now i'm FUMING

like where ELSE am i supposed to get that then!! at an age where the digital is slowly giving up on us putting stuff into vaults, from streaming services taking down their services and spotify always risking to put some stuff in sudden regionlock, this is the time you’d want to have physical copies of things especially if it’s to support artists you like, but now with this stupid taxes i’m just getting worked up because it’s not like i can find those in any stores. 

And i’m sorry i’m perhaps making a mountain out of a molehill but this also strikes to me as a way to close a country culturally / encourage not looking outside of your own cultural bubble. In our times? I find this pretty awful.

Guh. Gotta be more careful in the future and all but i’m really pissed lol

#ichatalks #ichasalty #'it's to protect the industrial production local and encourage you to buy local!!' #then start making anime plushies what the fuck do you want from me. you really think you're that good? that special? #or you think perhaps i only want to listen to European music and the few bands you decided we could listen to? #fuming. #also the fact the customs were a lower price for plushies than for a sweater is still bewildering for me #it's prob the acknowledgement of 'well we don't make those plushies so it's good' #'but if you wanted a sweatshirt you could have bought local and compromised on the logo' #like excuse me. are you for real. is that what i have to get from it. I'm going to cry.

[cherrynika]

sebchal I'm never going to finish

summary: charles connives/trains seb into bottoming

A few months ago Charles finally allowed Mia to take control of his Twitter. “It will be better for everyone, you won’t have to worry about what to post and when to post anymore. And maybe you will sleep better if you can’t check it.” She says, as though it’s for his own good. He smiles at her without teeth, the polite, closed-lipped smile reserved for teachers.

What she doesn’t know won’t hurt either of them. He starts another Twitter account and let’s his mind wander, liking whatever he wants, saying what he wants, watching what he wants. He’s lost anonymity in every other part of his life, but where he goes on the internet is strictly his own business. 

When Twitter doesn’t know him the suggestions are different and strange.

The biggest revelation so far has been popping videos. A man’s pitted and oily cheek fill up his screen, a metal loop is digging roughly at a swollen pore. The sallow plug is forced out, the pore stretching around it. The plug finally pops out of its hole. It gapes a little before blood rushes to the surface and covers it up. He wants to wipe it away and see if the rim is torn. 

Charles’ fingers itch, he’s never allowed himself to pop his own pimples and blackheads; everyone in Monaco knows it will leave a scar. Put an acne patch on in the day, Differin at night. He retweets so that he can watch it again later more closely and tweets at Dr Pimple Popper, “Wish I could do that.” Maybe he could have been a dermatologist if he hadn’t spent his youth racing karts.

“Don’t fall down a rabbit hole, Charles. Twitter is full of trolls.” Sebastian says while stirring the eggs on the stove (low fire, in a bain marie, a new agonizing way to make scrambled eggs that he had found in a book). 

“I’m not,” he replies without looking up, thumb still flicking over the screen. The ads he has been receiving lately are pretty interesting; he’s been informed of an ultra-high-end drug rehab in Switzerland which he saved for future reference, and lacy crotchless panties for the male form on Wish.com. They are cheap enough to buy without thinking, he gets one each in 5 different sizes. They look decidedly unerotic on the mannequin, but he can imagine how tightly the polyester will bite around the legs, how the waist band would squeeze a well-padded hip.  

“I know about your online shopping addiction. Some of your packages arrived when were in Baku. Do you still want them?”

Several more intriguing suggestions appear on the sidebar, helpfully announcing. “Customers who bought this also liked” mint lube, hand warmers, vinyl harness and a buy two get one free deal for anal plugs. Anal plugs. 

Charles looks up. Sebastian has taken his eyes off the pot, head cocked and waiting for an answer. “What was inside?”

“I didn’t open them. They’re in my office.” 

Charles tries to think of what they might be. Sometimes when he can’t sleep due to jet lag, online shopping is comforting. It’s still a novel sensation to be able to fill up a cart and checkout without thinking twice. Perhaps it’s the BAPE sweatshirts or the sheet music he’s not going to have time to read. 

“Did it say where they came from?”

“I can’t remember. Lucky boy, you’ve got a surprise from past-you.” Sebastian’s gone back to focusing on the pot. He always falls for recipes that are deliberately difficult or inconvenient. 

He walks over to the stove to take a look. The eggs are solidifying but slowly. “My mum never used a bain marie to make scrambled eggs. I don’t think this a real recipe.”

The sunlight coming in through the window lights up the hair on Sebastian’s arms. He’s taken off the Oura which he’d always hated wearing. “Then it will be new for us both.”

--

There’s so many things Charles wanted to ask Sebastian when they were still tearing at each other on the race track but could never bring himself to. He’s watching Sebastian watch him open himself up when his curiosity raises its head again. The afternoon sunlight picks out the blonde highlights in his hair and the dip of his collarbone. Charles had tied his wrists to the headboard tighter than usual with one of his old ties, he wanted it to bruise; perks of summer break. 

“I’m not going to put a condom on you.” Sebastian nods mutely. This is one of the great things that came out of an uncomfortable discussion last season where Charles admitted he wanted more than occasional post-race fucks. He straddles him and carefully guides the head of his cock, already standing at attention, into his body. The drag of skin on skin as it catches on his rim are sparks on a tinderbox. 

Sebastian’s breathing speeds up as Charles slides down onto him. There’s a phantom of an ache but nothing extreme, he’s wide open having come on Sebastian’s prick three times in as many days. Still almost as though the intrusion forced something out of him the question slips out. 

“Don’t you want to get fucked?”

“We did it once.” He’s flushed to his chest and slightly distracted. 

Charles grinds down on him, the pubic hair at the base of Sebastian’s cock abrades his rim in a way that should be irritating but he wants all the nasty parts of him. Sebastian’s cock jerks inside him as Charles leans over him and thumbs his nipple, making him squirm like a restive horse. “And you didn’t come. Was it your first time?”

“Charles, it's just not interesting to me. I just don’t like it.” Pity. 

He puts the flat of one hand beside Sebastian’s head and the other on his throat, putting some weight, not all of it, he’s careful, and grinds down on his own dick, sandwiched between them. Sebastian’s hips buck into him erratically, hitting

His orgasm takes him by surprise, losing his grip and slumping over onto Sebastian’s chest, cum spurt into him

He picks up the thread of their conversation again when he can. “It’s good and you’re missing out. Can I try to make it good for you?” untying his hands

“Are you bored?” Sebastian gazes up at him. His curls are damp with sweat, if they’re lucky he’ll have bruises on his neck that keep him from leaving the house. 

“No. But–” there’s so many things that Charles isn’t sure if he should say. Perhaps it’s too naive to say to a man who’s been having sex for 15 years: No, but I want to be the key to unlock you. No, but I think I can change you. 

“Ok. You can try.” He says, running a hand around Charles’ ass and squeezes. 

-

Zandvoort was, as expected, Max’s homecoming party. Charles turns the race over in his head, watching the highlights on F1.com while listening to Sebastian shower. The air conditioning has the delightful smell of a high end hotel and the highlights are enchanting, full of orange smoke that he’d barely noticed while racing. P5 is good, just out of the podium places, but safely ahead of Carlos who came in 7th. The ache in his shoulders feels like a warm blanket of promise: the next race will be better. 

Sebastian let him into his room before retreating into the shower. He’s sulking and moody about spinning. Charles plays the video again and again on his phone as Sebastian tries to drown himself under the rain shower. Valtteri who’s lapping him just manages to avoid T-boning him. Anxiety rises in him, he can’t feel the terror when he’s going around fast corners but it’s different when he watches Arthur, and now Sebastian. 

The shower stops and he shuts his phone off, placing it face down on the nightstand. 

[wholesalehoodie]

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[imhappyitscold]

-Carole Radziwill, What Remains

I got mad at everything last week and ordered a navy snap cardigan and white t-shirt from Petite Bateau.

I like spending my nights in these days. Clearing out my closets, editing my life. I got back to New York two summers ago and hoarded everything since college like a pack rat. Now it’s time to cleanse all that.

I have four closets in my studio apartment. One for t-shirts and sweatshirts. One for dress shirts and dresses. One is multifaceted. For shoes and coats and sweaters and skirts. One I call my utility closet: my router and medicine and cleaning supplies. Everything else is in my custom Blu Dot dresser. The one that just got discontinued.

I’m upset about the dresser and it makes me feel dumb. Like I’m shallow or can’t zoom out. I’m stuck in the summer afternoon I spent in their SoHo showroom picking out drawer colors and wood stains.

I’m so attached to objects, to clothes, to jewelry. They can’t leave one day, can’t burn up in jet fuel and tarnish me forever. My brain chemistry isn’t changing because Cosabella altered the fabric composition of their Ceylon camisole. My neurons don’t rewire because I’ll never have another tube of Rodin crema.

I like being safe. I like being petty. I like staying on the surface.

Both my therapists call me out for talking this way. They know it’s not true I’m not this shallow. They tell me I need to have self compassion. I say that’s not what I want to hear.

I stay in on a Friday night and I don’t feel guilty. I let myself be meticulous. I spend hours trying on each one of my bras and then arranging and rearranging how I fit them in the drawer. It’s indulgent. Like I’m eating frosting out of the can. Thick and heavy I’m high. I’m smug. By bedtime I could be a Real Simple magazine cover. Ordered and coded and not one care in the world.

At the end of October I laid on the floor of my hotel room looking out at the Sunset Strip. The clouds were pink. I was cozy. I let go of urgency. I watched the cars go by and the hills light up as the sky faded. When a small part of you is always planted in the half life of grief you learn how important it is to enjoy the beauty right in front of you. Healthy distraction is the greatest gift when the only thing that can heal you is time. I’m grateful my brain loves visual beauty. I’m grateful it can feel as warm as I’m sure security feels. I’m grateful to be easy like that. I let myself lay on the floor and meditate. There is always time and you will always be told there isn’t. I hope if I die at 44 I will have spent my time appreciating beauty. Letting it fill me up and holding me still.

My t-shirt and cardigan arrive in two days from DHL. I try them on as a set and giggle to myself in the mirror. I could be a baby or 80 or anywhere in between. The classics always gleam. I can remember now why I throw my tantrums. In this era of neon and acrylic, of affiliate codes and traces of lead in cheap clothes, it feels so good to be seen.

[blue-and-dog]

Susie Lavoie (“Extracurricular” skin) of The Legion from Dead by Daylight

Costume overall took about two and a half months to put together. The mask was made from a blueprint purchased on Etsy (here). The knife was traced on layers of EVA foam just straight up from making a stencil from a printed out picture of the knife.

The sweatshirt was purchased from Independent Trading Company, then had the text custom printed on it by a local shop, then dyed a shade darker by a coworker of mine before I bleached out the seams a bit. The light blue converse shoes I bought off Poshmark—fortunately already looking a bit beaten up! The wig is just a cheap wig bought online, and the leggings and skirt were store-bought and I just hacked up the skirt a bit (the leggings technically should have a hole at the knee, but they’re so comfortable and I wanted to keep using them—so I left them alone. :P)

Yes, I can see; the cracks in the mask have eye holes in them. However, in my case, if I look directly at someone I can only see their shoulders, not their head. The “braces” are made from flat 4x4 lego bricks and the “wiring” is a cut up wire hanger.

I haven’t cosplayed in like seven years, so I thought it’d be fun to do a quick, easy costume for Halloween.

I also created a NOED Hex Totem:

The bones and two of the skulls were from two “bag of bones” sets purchased from Michaels, then stained darker. The third skull I just grabbed from Walmart. Obv the sticks are just from outside. The tealights, candle and drawstring bag I already owned.

#dead by daylight #the legion #legion DBD #susie dbd #susie dead by daylight #susie lavoie #cosplay #dbd cosplay #dead by daylight cosplay #Halloween #Halloween 2022 #hex totem #NOED #no one escapes death

[kromer]

i can't be assed to show it bc it's buried deep in my closet (and has embarrassingly poor craftsmanship), but when i was like 15/16 (a few months after i posted the second half of tc22's translation) i made a replica of obrien's sweatshirt by customizing a cheap plain sweatshirt. a bit oversized bc i wanted to imagine it was really obrien's lol

i kinda wanna redo it someday, properly

[customsweaterproducer]

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Gym Apparel for Men: A Guide to Finding the Perfect Fit

Finding the perfect gym apparel for men involves more than just picking out any old t-shirt and shorts. It's about finding the right balance of comfort, performance, and style to enhance your workout experience. Here's a comprehensive guide to help you navigate the world of gym apparel and find the perfect fit for your needs.

Moisture-Wicking Fabrics: When it comes to gym apparel, moisture-wicking fabrics are essential. Look for materials like polyester or nylon blends that draw sweat away from the skin, keeping you dry and comfortable during intense workouts. These fabrics also help prevent chafing and irritation, allowing you to focus on your training without distractions.

Breathability: Opt for gym apparel that offers proper ventilation to keep you cool and comfortable, especially during high-intensity workouts. Mesh panels, perforations, and lightweight fabrics promote airflow and prevent overheating, ensuring you stay fresh throughout your training session.

Fit: The fit of your gym apparel can significantly impact your performance and comfort. Choose clothing that allows for a full range of motion without feeling too tight or restrictive. For tops, consider options like fitted or athletic cuts that hug the body without being constricting. For bottoms, look for tapered or slim-fit styles that provide a streamlined look without impeding movement.

Versatility: Select gym apparel that can seamlessly transition from the gym to other activities or casual wear. Choose neutral colors and classic styles that can be easily paired with different pieces in your wardrobe. This versatility ensures that you get the most mileage out of your gym clothing investment.

Supportive Undergarments: Proper support is essential, especially for high-impact activities like running or weightlifting. Invest in supportive undergarments like compression shorts or moisture-wicking underwear to minimize chafing and provide added comfort during workouts.

Layering Options: Consider layering your gym apparel for added versatility and comfort, especially in colder weather. Lightweight jackets, hoodies, or sweatshirts can be easily added or removed as needed to regulate body temperature during warm-up or cooldown periods.

Quality Construction: Look for gym apparel made from high-quality materials with durable construction. Reinforced stitching, flatlock seams, and quality zippers ensure longevity and durability, even with frequent wash and wear.

Brand Reputation: Choose gym apparel from reputable brands known for their commitment to quality, performance, and innovation. Research customer reviews and ratings to ensure you're investing in reliable and trusted products that deliver on their promises.

Price vs. Value: While price is an important consideration, prioritize value for money over cheap deals. Invest in gym apparel that offers a combination of quality, performance, and durability, even if it means spending a bit more upfront. Quality gym apparel will last longer and provide better performance, making it a worthwhile investment in the long run.

Personal Style: Finally, don't forget to express your personal style with your gym apparel choices. Whether you prefer bold colors, graphic prints, or minimalist designs, choose gym clothing that reflects your personality and makes you feel confident and motivated during your workouts.

By considering these factors, you can find the perfect gym apparel for men that not only looks great but also performs well and enhances your overall workout experience. Whether you're hitting the weights, going for a run, or attending a fitness class, the right gym apparel can make all the difference in helping you reach your fitness goals.

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