#he's still a shitheel

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

There's a lot to say about this week's RnM ep (such as that apparently I get to see this shit 2 days after half of my favorite rnm blogs, so I'm stuck skipping far too many spoilers) but putting aside my actual thoughts on the new shift of toxic dynamics in the family and the way that improved relationships in the Sanchez-Smith clan appears to constantly depend on having someone to blame for anything going wrong:

I am so glad they gave us shirtless no abs rick and all of his weird funky robot limb gadgets

#I told y'all I want this pathetic wet cat of a man w/no abs and titanium arms and someone listened 6 months in the past #anyways I feel like this new dynamic isn't actually new so much as shifting a target #from jerry to rick #and I kinda wonder how that'll affect everyone going forward #ngl I can't help but feel in my heart of hearts that this would have such major payoff if jerry lapses and regresses as a character #ik it's not great of me to hate him #but this ep reminded me of why I really do not like jerry smith and why even in episodes where he imporves #he's still a shitheel #tbqh so is beth #I do feel really bad for summer #wish they'd do more w/her and morty #esp morty #scattering braincelles #rick and morty #r&m #rick sanchez

[kosher-toasty]

going to the heritageposts zionist blocklist for a nice little round of following all the cool awesome blogs he put in one place. thanks heritageposts!

#jumblr #israel #i follow a good amount of those blogs anyway but nice to find more people #the one good thing heritageposts did and it was not what he intended #he's still a shitheel thoug

[lexalovesbooks]

seeing all the congratulatory posts about how well midterms went and how much of a highly unexpected win this is and how we should be proud as someone who lives in texas is...weird tbh

#like man good for y'all genuinely but our shitheel governor just won another term by a wider margin than in the 2020 election #and i have no doubt he's going to spend the next four years doing everything he can to make our lives as miserable as possible #i didn't even have much hope in the first place but i'm still just. very disappointed.

[sporadicthingcollection]

Kiss, Marry, Kill: Part 1/2 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy overhears a private conversation and uses that knowledge against you. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Word Count: ~3k (of 5.3k) Warnings: Clown abuse, strong language, incorrect use of a straight razor.

Never had you on my mind Now you're there all the time Never knew what I missed until I kissed ya

---

By all accounts, Buggy should be having a great time. There's food, alcohol, gambling... hell, there's even a swimming pool. Not that he can partake, but he can live vicariously.

Instead, he's got a whole school of shark eyes trained on him as he sits on a stool next to Arlong's throne. This water park sucks.

He's not chained up or anything. The threat of a couple dozen sets of teeth ripping into him is reason enough to sit perfectly still, keep his mouth shut, and try to look as small as possible. No sudden movements, no change in expression, no—

"Kiss the clown, marry the waiter, kill Pink Hair."

Buggy sits bolt upright and looks around. Who the hell said that?

Arlong doesn't even deign to look at him. "Hear something?"

Clear. Crisp. With a little bit of an accent, maybe. He's heard it somewhere recently, but where?

Certainly not here. It was a woman's voice, and Arlong Park is a bit of a sausage party at the moment. Not that he can tell on sight with fishpeople.

"Answer me, clown," Arlong rumbles.

He forgets who he's talking to for a moment. "Eavesdropping's an art," he snaps. "You can't rush art."

Big mistake. Arlong responds with a low, wet growl. "It's been three days. My patience is running thin."

Quiet chatter. The clinking of silverware. Someone chewing with their mouth open. The little pirates are at a restaurant, it seems.

He relays this to Arlong. He's less than pleased. He enunciates every word to show his teeth. "Care to be more specific?"

A shudder crawls up the back of Buggy's neck. He takes a swig of his drink to cover it. He places his fingers over his remaining ear, straining.

"You're shitting me." That voice he recognizes. The redhead. The one who ruined his show. The one Arlong's so interested in. Nadi? Nani? Noni?

The other woman speaks. "Nami, you rejected him," she says. "Girl Code only applies if you were dating."

Nami. That's her, the conniving little bitch. "No, not the waiter. I mean you'd seriously kiss the clown? He nearly killed us."

He'd recognize Rubber Boy's voice anywhere, the little shitheel. "And his nose would get in the way."

The mystery woman speaks up again. "That's nothing new. I’ve smacked noses with plenty of guys."

Okay, that narrows it down. It’s not the redhead, it can't be Rubber Boy or the bounty hunter, so that leaves...

...you. Of course it's you. How could he forget you? You're the only one who laughed at Axe-Hand Moron. Granted, it was more like a snnrrrk and you immediately clapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide with horror, but it was a laugh all the same.

And in that moment, he knew he liked you. Bad sense of humor. Cute smile. A little bashful. He appreciates that. Sure, you helped humiliate him not an hour after the fact, but all's fair in love and piracy.

"Look, I'm not saying it’s a good idea," you continue, "but sometimes you gotta live dangerously."

The bounty hunter speaks, dry and droll. "Storms are dangerous. Bar fights are dangerous. You're just insane."

"Oh, c'mon, you're not seriously gonna hold Fu..." You pause. "Kiss Marry Kill answers against me."

So that's what's going on. "They're just chattering like they always are," he says to Arlong.

Arlong does not like that answer. He snatches Buggy up by the neck, lifting him clear off the ground with only one hand.

"Wait! Wait wait wait! They're still talking! I might have something!" He kicks and struggles, but it's no use.

You speak. "You think everything pops off? ‘Cause a gal could really— hyurk.”

Laughter all around as you’re cut off by something. Sounds like you choked.

“Thank you, Usopp,” Nami says. “I am not having that conversation.”

Arlong saunters over to the pool, carrying Buggy like a ragdoll. He has precious few seconds now. C'mon, he wills them, say something useful!

A slap, a spit, then a couple of hard coughs. “Nice shot,” you wheeze. “Use the unspicy peanut next time. I think I burned my windpipe.”

The new guy — Usopp — scoffs. “Spicy? Please. This isn’t spicy. Baratie spicy is barely a zip. Now, you want spicy, you gotta hit up the Great Pepper Isles. Their chilis are so hot, I had an out-of-body experience.”

And boom, there it is. Right as he's about to be dropped into the water, his ticket to life.

“Baratie! They're at Baratie," he chokes out. "That floating restaurant. That really nice one I got thrown out of, the pricks."

It was Cabaji's fault. Turns out whipping a unicycle out at the bar is frowned upon. Who'd've thunk.

Arlong 'smiles.' All teeth and gums and no mirth at all. "Consult our charts," he says to the nearest fishman. "I'll prepare our compass."

He grabs Buggy by the hair and yanks. In the interest of not getting his neck broken, he separates his head from his body. Unfortunately, gravity takes over and his body plunges into the pool.

Weakness swamps him like a rogue wave. He can't say a word as he's stuffed into a cloth sack and everything goes dark.

In both ears, all he can hear are the sounds of laughter.

---

Someday, Buggy will learn not to run his fat mouth. That day is not today.

Usopp barges into the galley and lobs his head through the air, a low slow toss. He only has a moment to appreciate not being overhand pitched before landing on the floor. Not on his nose, fortunately, but it still hurts.

He points at the blonde guy — Sanji? Sanji. "I can't take it anymore. He's your problem now. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

He tramps off as Buggy flips himself upright. “What’s his problem?” he asks no one in particular. “Sheesh, you make one ‘your mom’ joke and—“

A decidedly unmanly yelp escapes him as he's popped up into the air. The world spins and turns and he braces himself to hit the ground again, only to be caught in soft hands. He's spun around...

...and comes face to face with you, regarding him with curious, contemptuous eyes.

Oh, you're even prettier up close. The redhead's a looker, but she's still a kid. Soft. Pale. Set like a mousetrap, ready to spring and break some poor chump's neck at the slightest provocation.

But you? You're a grown-ass woman. Comfortable in your sun-kissed skin. A twinkle of experience in your eye and the ease of someone who's been sailing her ship for years.

He can't help but smile. "Well, well, well. Fancy meeting you here, gorgeous," he says with a wink.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sanji shoot him a glare. Your expression remains cool and uninterested. Shifting his head to your side, you hold him against your hip like a laundry basket. Even through your trousers, the soft swell of flesh warms his cheek.

“Weren't you just on buggysitting duty?” you ask Sanji.

Buggysitting? Really? "I'm right here, y'know," he grumbles.

He's ignored, as per usual. Sanji straightens up and huffs. “New guy always gets the shit jobs.”

“Let’s trade,” you say. “You take my watch and I’ll mind our chatty compass.”

Rude. “I’m still right here.”

Sanji shakes his head. “Go get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it, of course."

Wow, that was a bad line. Buggy makes his displeasure known with a retch.

“Sleep is for people who don’t have coffee.” You flap your hand toward the door. "Shoo.”

Sanji glances between you and Buggy, but heads for the door. "Any trouble at all, love, and I’m a shout away."

A little smile colors your voice. "If he starts gnawing my ankles, you’ll be the first to know."

Sanji returns the smile, sickeningly sweet. As he leaves, you sit at the table, placing Buggy across from you.

He wants nothing more than to plant his leg on a stool, lean in on his knee, and give you a toothy grin. But alas, he must settle for the grin. "Alone at last. Come here often?"

You don't even bother to look at him, too preoccupied with picking up a very shiny straight razor and a strip of leather. Muscle ripples under your skin as you slide the blade back and forth.

"So you're the barber," he says. You don't respond. "Can't imagine you're too busy on a ship with a bunch of babyfaces." Still nothing. "Don't suppose I could get a shave, then? Last time I used a straight razor, I ended up like this!"

"Barber surgeon," you say as you inspect the blade. Dissatisfied with some invisible blemish, you continue stropping.

He shrugs, only to remember he can’t. "Say, doc, I can't feel anything below my neck. Could you take a look?”

Irritation tints your voice. “Not a doctor,” you say. You’ve clearly had to explain this countless times before. “Doctors treat the inside. I fix up the outside.”

“Splitting hairs, Miss Sawbones.”

Shiff shiff shiff goes the razor. "If you don't stop talking, we’re gonna see if cutting off the nose really does spite the face. Might be an improvement for you.”

That’s just low. “Keep talking shit and this bark is gonna turn into bite.”

You finally look up. You level the razor at him, glaring down the blade. “You’re the only one talking, clown.”

Damn. Your eyes are pretty. Warm as the first sunbeam of a summer morning, but dark as the blotches he gets in his eyes when he looks into a spotlight by accident. Hot like one, too. Heat lurks below the dark surface, like warm charcoal about to catch fire.

Nerves ball up in his absent chest. He swallows them and summons his bravado. “Can ya blame me? I’ve got shit else to do. I’ve met parrots with more to say than you.”

"Count the cracks in the ceiling."

"One, two, three—“ He gives an exaggerated groan. “Didn't you say you were gonna make coffee? Can I get in on that?"

You scoff, but you do stand. "Last thing you need is caffeine.”

“The last thing I need is to be held hostage by a bunch of greenhorn nobodies,” he says, "and yet here I am."

“Sucks to suck,” you say. You pull a pot out of a cupboard and fill it with water. “How do you take it? Sugar? Cream?”

“Black. Like my heart.”

You let out that snnnrrrrk of a suppressed laugh again. What a nice sound. “Something we got in common.”

“Black heart or black coffee?”

“Yes.”

Such a simple, easy response. Not even particularly clever. But the delivery with no hesitation, no intonation, no second guessing the punchline. He laughs. “I knew I liked you!”

You glance over your shoulder at him. “You try to kill everyone you like? No wonder you have no friends.”

He hops to the edge of the table. Not an easy feat with only a stump. “C’mon, babe. All’s fair in love and piracy.”

Calling you babe was a blindfolded over-the-shoulder shot in the dark, but it lands. You add a smile to your glance. “I’ll give you that and nothing more.”

Somewhere, miles away, his heart flutters. He lets it. “Will you still give me coffee?”

“Only if you shut up ‘til this water boils.”

In this state, he’ll take any scrap of stimulus he can get. He bites his tongue and bites it hard, willing himself not to speak.

Silence creeps in. Silence leads to stewing, and stewing leads to bad thoughts. Bad feelings. Lonely feelings. Like how long it’s been since he’s had a friendly cuppa joe with someone. Or had someone honestly laugh at his stupid jokes.

Especially not someone as quick as you. Or as pretty. Or with such a nice ass. Or who maybe-sorta-kinda-might-possibly be interested in him. Potentially. Hypothetically.

There’s no damn way, he tells himself. You’re humoring him. You’re definitely shacking up with that cook — young, charming, handsome. Or the bounty hunter, maybe — tall, dark, broody.

You wouldn’t give him a second glance. Him, a pathetic, painted, big-nosed weirdo. Who is currently a severed head. A temporary state, but still not a good first impression. Even though his actual first impression was trying to kill you and your buddies. This second first impression is just as bad.

A sharp groan escapes him before he can stop it. He eyes you, expecting you to snap at him or worse.

But you don’t. You pause in your pouring to peer over your shoulder at him, gaze soft. “Y’alright?”

There goes his heart again. Ugh. “Peachy. That coffee done yet?”

You curl your lip. “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“Just realized I’m gonna need a straw or some shit.”

Still sneering, you set a shallow mug in front of him. “I’ll see what I can find.”

See? You definitely don’t like him. Stupid fucking jackass, letting his hopes get up. This is what he gets.

…A nice, warm cup of coffee. If you really hated him, you wouldn’t have given him coffee, right? Or be looking for a straw?

You’re just humoring him. You just want to save your friend. Catch more flies with honey and all that. He’ll be more agreeable if you’re friendly.

Across the room, you open a drawer. “Hey, bendy straws. Perfect.”

You’re breaking out bendy straws for him? There’s gotta be something there! At least a little something!

No. No way. Coincidence.

You place an oddly long straw into the mug. He realizes it’s three normal ones jammed end-to-end, creating a pipe ending just about level with his mouth.

You just pulled some engineering shit so he can drink coffee with you. There’s definitely something.

An ice cube plops into the mug and you slide back into the booth with your own cup. “Might dilute it a bit, but can’t have you burning your mouth.”

His distant heart flips again. He has to say something. Before he can convince himself otherwise. He says the first thing that comes to mind.

“So,” he says, “‘kiss the clown,’ eh?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That’s the first thing he thought of? Seriously? He braces himself for boiling coffee thrown in his face.

You freeze mid-sip, brows raised. “Excuse me?”

Okay, you don’t look mad. “Don’t deny it, babe. I heard everything. Kiss Marry Kill? Nice job keeping it kid-friendly, wink wink."

You stare at him with those dark eyes. "No idea what you're on about."

"I know you know. And I know you know I know." He waggles his eyebrows, hoping for a laugh, but he gets nothing.

You watch the steam swirling up from your mug. "What do you want me to say, exactly? That I chose you to kiss?"

"I just wanna know what possesses a woman to make her want to shack up with the guy who tried to kill her and her friends." He lips the straw into his mouth and takes a test sip. Still quite hot.

"Circumstance. Process of elimination. Being put on the spot." You pick up the razor. Your fiddling with it belies your agitation.

"Don't lie to me, babe," he croons. "I can see right through you."

You stare at him. "And what is it that you see?"

What does he see? "A woman on a knife's edge of self-satisfaction and self-destruction. Once bitten, twice shy, but when he comes around the third time, you just can't help yourself."

Your fiddling becomes more insistent. You break eye contact to look at the razor. He's hitting on something. Time to push some buttons.

"You bet on the wrong horse every time. You think it'll be different this time. But it never is." He smiles bitterly. "Something else we got in common. Birds of one ugly feather."

Your gaze softens as you return your gaze to him. "So you found the problem, Doctor Headshrink. What’s the prescription?"

Shoot your shot, Buggy. "Kiss the clown and maybe we'll find out."

You're still for a few moments. Then slowly, carefully, you slide your hand across the table. You pull him closer as you lean lower in your seat to eye level with him.

He can't help the way his breath quickens. It's been so, so long since he had any kind of intimacy. Your reedy fingers trace his jaw down to his chin. Your thumb comes up to pull at his bottom lip, and he lets out a satin-soft whimper as he opens his mouth to you.

You strike like a snake, yanking his tongue out with one hand and readying your razor with the other. His choke turns into a scream as you bring it down, severing his tongue clean at the root.

It's one thing to disconnect body parts. Pop a leg off, drop an ear — he’s used to it. But it's a different story when said part is supposed to be inside of him. His tongue waggles like a fish as he tries to return it to his mouth, but you keep a firm grip.

"You can have this back in the morning," you say.

He wants to cuss you out, but what comes out is ew bihck, whadda fuhck iss won wif ew, gif ih bahck.

You laugh. And lord, what a laugh you've got. Loud, like a party gone late into the hours of the night. Clattery, like a dozen plates shattering on the floor. Full of mirth, like a drunk on payday.

And, for the briefest of moments, his rage is forgotten. He wants to make you laugh like that.

But it returns with a vengeance, replaced with a desire to see you squirm.

---

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece live action #reader insert #x reader #all aboard the one piece train choo choo #emberly writes

[courtingchaos]

Hiding

FBoy!Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Uh oh, Eddie found your hiding place.

Warnings: Language

A/N: It’s been a while, I know. I went through a lot of ways these two would run back into each other and I liked it not being a huge thing. Just Eddie being pushy and you trying to keep a brave face.

Late summer morning blows in off the lake, a cool breeze that mingles with the bright sun climbing a cloudless sky. Another night spent at Rick’s helping Lisa and another week spent ignoring most of your life. The floating pier you’re dangling your feet off of bobs under you with the small wakes that hit the shore. The house that you desperately needed to get out of stands darkened behind you, even though you can still here Lisa giving Rick every level of hell.

He’s been a bastard, a motherfucker, a shitheel and a fucking bastard again in about 20 minutes after another little blonde was found creeping out of his basement. You’d actually been the one to see her while you put your small bag of groceries away and she had tried to pad out past you through the back door. Honestly you probably would have let her go with just a searing stare but as luck would have it, Lisa had been outback, smoking. So to say sleep had been light was an understatement while Rick was sent through the wringer and Lisa threw anything she could get her hands on.

At least you could catch a hint of fall on the back of the breeze where it rustled the leaves in the bright yellow ginkgo trees lining the walk down to the pier. You’d lit your cigarette and promptly forgotten it, tucked between your fingers that clutched the edge of the wet wood. There’s a few almost waves that slap against the platform under you when an early morning boater glides by, drowning out the crunch of steps behind you. The ripples in the water have your three hours of sleep beat and the hypnotic shimmer around your bare calves has you almost laying back to take a nap.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

The last voice you’d expect at 7 am, the gravel in it betraying his own lack of sleep. You know you visibly tense but you’re not turning around to look at him, two months of avoided texts should have been a big enough signal for him. There’s maybe a quarter of your cigarette left that you end up sucking down, something to do while you continue to pretend he isn’t there.

“Gonna ignore me in person too?” Eddie steps onto the pier and it springs up.

“What are you doing here?”

“One of the guys called me, said Romeo and Juliette were at it again.” He takes a few more steps out and you still don’t turn around. “Asked me to come out and talk some sense into Rick.”

“You’re gonna have to pry Lisa off his neck.”

“Yeah, she’s taking a lap.”

That makes you turn to look back up at the house and you realize the shouting has stopped, Lisa’s Audi gone from the drive.

“Shit.” You stub out the ember on your smoke and finally drag your legs out of the water, snatching your slides when you stand up. Finally you lay eyes on him and he looks different. Old Slipknot shirt a size too big, jeans that he probably owned in high school by the amount of holes in them and terminally ill reeboks that saw better days a decade ago.

“What?”

You try to ignore him and walk away but he’s too quick for you on this thin strip of wooden slats.

“No, you don’t get away easy like that.” He grabs your arm to get you to stop and you chance falling into the water when you yank it out of his grip.

“Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

“Because I don’t care.” The look you give him is dirty, your best practiced Mean Girl. You have no armor on this morning, no sharp liner or outfit that shows off your only assets. Even with your hair pulled up and grungy house clothes on you still slide into that persona like an old sweater. “Do you, Eddie?” You cock your head at him and point one of your long talons at him, one that desperately needed a fill. “You with your groupies and your two sets of friends. Why are you bothering me when you’ve got Dani and her Gucci purse? What happened to Kim?” You click your tongue at him and turn to keep walking away. “Go bother one of them.”

He doesn’t follow you until you’re well on your way up the embankment, far enough behind that he can’t hear you mumbling to yourself about him blowing up your phone. Inside is quiet except for the movement of Rick from his room. He’d sheepishly come out into the kitchen when he’d heard you come in, a hopeful look on his face that fell when he realized it wasn’t Lisa crawling back.

“Can I use your car.” You don’t ask, just stare at him until he scoffs and tells you no.

“You ran Lisa off, how am I getting home?”

“Uber for all I fucking care.” Rick runs a hand down his face, stubble scratching under his palm.

“You’re such a gentleman.”

“I never claimed to be one.” He grabs his keys off the counter and eyes you before heading back into his room and slamming the door.

Your shit is everywhere in the guest room and you sigh at yourself. Three days this time around and it looks like you’ve lived here for three years, shoes kicked under the bed and duffel bag left open and empty on the chest at the foot of the bed. There’s a short knock on the doorframe and you think maybe Rick is done being a dick but the scuffed white sneaker that comes into view tells you otherwise.

“Get out.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Not from you, get the fuck out.” You keep picking up your work shirts and throwing them violently into your bag. Maybe he’d finally get the message.

“How’s your hand doing?” He apparently doesn’t and also avoids whatever fight you’re trying to start.

“It’s fine, get out.”

“Lisa told me you broke your fingers.” He moves into the room fully and stands at the foot of the bed looking too soft. His hair isn’t tied back this morning and it fluffs out around his head, obviously unwashed and freshly bed headed.

“Well she’s terrible at keeping secrets.” You have a handful of socks you try to drop but that hand with the still healing fingers cramps up at the most inopportune time and Eddie gets to watch you grimace and slowly unclench your fist. “Didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me.”

“Had to somehow since you still don’t know how to answer a text.”

“No I can text, I just don’t reply to you.” Still avoiding his gaze but you’ve run out of clothes to pick up so you stare at the hardwood floor and sigh. “Seriously just go. I got a ride.”

“You paid for an Uber.”

“Same thing! Why are you stalking me Munson, huh?!” You yell and round on him finally. It would seem Rick’s was the place to have it out this morning. Eddie remains unfazed when you get in his face, voice rising and fingers jabbing into his chest. “When I don’t answer ten calls and a hundred texts it means I don’t want anything to do with you! I want you gone!” You shoo him towards the door, a gesture he also ignores. “You treat me like I’m some random asshole and then expect me to drop everything because what, you’ve got feelings all of a sudden?” Your laugh cuts through the quiet in the room and you catch the flinch of his shoulders. “I don’t fuck around with nobodies who push! I had my fun and now we’re done!” Mean Girl says this to him, full force voice and a final shove with your finger to make your point clear.

Mean Girl means all of this and she’s great at being cover for you. She keeps everyone on knifes edge and keeps everyone in check and keeps everyone’s dirty little secrets. She gets to eye Eddie like a butchers case and take her pick of prime cuts. She cuts and she cuts and she stays quiet and she gets the privilege of front row seats to heartbreak and fistfights and you? You get to pretend you’re her all the time.

You’d like Eddie to stay and you’d like a ride from him. He could drive through somewhere and get you a coffee for the ride home. Maybe he’d even help you pack up your laundry and even help you start a load at your place. He could look around your apartment and glean some personality off of your things and maybe he could let you have a redo of two months ago. He could clean off your rings and your knuckles; he could get you patched up and comfortable and not get thrown out. You wouldn’t close up this time.

But this isn’t that, it isn’t anything. He’s a fling, was a fling, with a full roster already and you refuse to warm a bench for him.

“Fine.” He shrugs coolly and leaves the room in two steps, hands still tucked up into his underarms. “See you, Red.”

He doesn’t slam the door behind him this time.

It takes your driver forever to find the house, giving you enough time to finally get ahold of Lisa. She’s already basically forgotten what she was screaming about, especially since Rick turned her Amex back on an hour ago.

“So he just called to tell you that?”

“No, I called him to ask if he was going to say sorry and he said he turned it back on.”

“So it’s kind of like an apology, but not really.”

“Babe, you wouldn’t get it. We’ve never put a label on us…”

You stop listening to her try to reason her way out of it this time. Your phone buzzes and you pull it away from your ear to stare at the notification that your Uber finally arrived. You cut her off to tell you’re leaving and she blows kisses over the Bluetooth in her car. You grab your things and pound on Rick’s door before you leave and when you get onto the front porch there’s no car. A double check of your phone shows that yes they were here but the only cars in the drive are Rick’s Jeep and Eddie’s Challenger.

“Where’s my ride, Eddie?”

A jerk of his head before he opens his door and climbs in, car already idling, waiting on you.

“I’m not getting in your car.”

“I’m not gonna fuck you in it again.” He presses a button and you hear the passenger door unlock. “I’m taking you home.”

God you want to fight him and not just verbally. The ache of your fingers reminds you that you shouldn’t but the fire remains lit all the same.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Because I want to make sure you get home safe.”

He doesn’t yell or spit it at you. He says it sincerely and you feel very soft and stupid for a moment. The low car looks almost inviting in the morning light, Eddie in overly worn clothes and sleep still settled in the faint lines around his eyes. He nods again at the passenger seat and closes his door while he waits for you to decide.

It’s not long, not with your options what they are and you slide in with your bag silently.

Eddie was expecting a little more fight from you and seeing you still and silent and unarmed gives him a swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach. He punches in your address and starts the 30 minute drive and he wonders who’ll break the silence first.

“I’m sorry about last time.” You say quietly, eyes glued to the handles of your bag. He reaches out and takes it, drops it in the backseat in the hopes that you’ll look at him.

“I really was only trying to help.”

“I know.”

“It was nice, what you did for Dani-“

You snort and cross your arms over your chest, head shaking at nothing in particular. “Always about fucking Dani.”

“It was about Dani!” It’s amazing how fast the switch is, from soft words to the yelling between you two.

“What do you want from me?” The firmness behind your question gives Eddie a clue to not fuck around right now. He lets the first thing in his head out of his mouth and flinches at your look of scorn.

“I want to be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Is that so unbelievable?”

“Yes.” A matter of fact nod of your head. “One hundred percent. You have yet to show that you even enjoy being around me so this?” You circle an open palm at him, “This is why I’m confused why you’re playing knight suddenly.”

He’s not really sure either but it makes sense. That first night was harmless fun but then he’d stare at your contact info, racking his brains for something to text you for. A pickup or a party, anything that didn’t make him feel like a teenager again, too afraid to ask out the cool girl. But now those ideas are moot as you’re sitting in his car without any of your façade, willingly letting him take you home.

“I just…” He won’t say it because it wouldn’t be true. He doesn’t think it would be true.

You’ve become a thing he looks forward to during his nights playing dealer, a welcomed distraction that no longer felt like just a distraction. Eddie cares what you think about him, from his clothes to the girls to his fucking car, but he’s spent so long avoiding those thoughts it feels foreign in his head.

“Can we start over?”

“This conversation or-“

“I could use some more friends.”

That makes you chuckle, a puff of air blown through your nose. “I thought you said you had enough?”

“Well I miscounted.”

The tension bleeds away with the faint music, the new silence warm again in its place. There’s a smile playing at the corner of your lips and he’s suddenly determined to make it grow.

“Since we’re friends now…”

“Mm.” A fraction of growth while you play with your phone.

“I was thinking we could hang out sometime. Just us.” Stopped at the red light he looks over at you just as that smile drops before it could ever form.

“Eddie…”

“Christ, what? I can’t ask you to hang out?”

You give him a heavy look and he almost misses the light turning green.

“You’re still just trying to fuck.”

“Maybe I’m trying to ask you out!” His hand slaps the steering wheel out of frustration and he passes the car in front of him, speeding unnecessarily.

“You’re asking me out.”

“Not now!” He sounds like a whining child, even to his own ears. He can’t look back over at you, refuses to see whatever derision or disgust you’re gracing him with. He drives in silence and the ruined mood he created yet again while you sink further into your seat. He’s turning into your complex before he’s ready to let you out, a lot of dumb emotions still sitting like lead in his gut. His phone burns against his leg with all the unread messages from the morning and not for the first time does he wonder why he’s even trying to do this.

The door unlocks and his attention snaps over to you before you can open the door.

“I’m serious.” He blurts out and drops a hand on your knee that you immediately stare at. “About the date.”

You freeze under his touch, such a change in your normal response to him and he feels a twinge of trepidation. You stay wound up around yourself but there’s a softening of your shoulders and you don’t push his hand away so he takes it as a small victory.

“One stipulation.”

“What?”

“You need to delete their numbers.”

He doesn’t need to ask who’s. He stares past you at something outside, eyes unfocused while he chews on his lip. “I mean that’s-“

“If you want to take me on a date, a real date, then you’re going to treat me like I’m not a random hook up.”

The car idling is loud in the silence that follows and Eddie thinks it’s a little pathetic that he can’t find words, let alone lie to you right now. Normally his silver tongue gets him out of situations like this with nothing more than a whisper and a practiced grin.

“Of course baby, I’ll delete them.”

But he doesn’t know for sure if he will. You give him such a tired look and he doesn’t want to be the reason you look so defeated but he knows himself, the kind of shit he pulls.

“I uh, I don’t want to make a promise I might not keep.” Honesty wrapped around a shitty reality.

You huff softly and reach in the back to grab your duffle, carefully swinging it to rest on your lap before you exit his car.

“Seriously? A few numbers?” You ask and he can hear what you’re really trying to say, ‘Aren’t we a little old for this?’

“I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Doesn’t get you a date just because you don’t want to.” The door opens and the bright morning light spills into the tinted interior. You climb out of his car and lean back in for your keys and he has a distinct memory of playing pool with you. “I hope you grow up some day Eddie.”

You don’t slam the door like he expected, like the last time you were in his car. You don’t walk away with a switch in your step and you don’t look back at him with a cheeky wave. Eddie watches you climb the wooden steps slowly, tiredly, to the top landing and he watches you unlock your door and disappear from view.

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Angst #Eddie Munson x Reader #My Work #My Fic #Vlad

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Honestly love how much Setheris Nelar totally screws things up for himself.

I mean, he was the primary caretaker for the future emperor from when he was eight years old. That's huge! If he had been even slightly less of an absolute dick, he would probably have ended up running the country.

Like, no offence to Csevet, but the first courier who stumbled into Edonomee at 4am with the message about Maia's ascension literally ended up being named Imperial Secretary and granted seemingly unlimited influence over the Emperor and his government. Within less than 24 hours.

That is how desperate Maia was for somebody to hold his hand through this. That could have been you Setheris!

And even if we assume that a version of Maia raised by a version of Setheris who actually gave a shit might have had the additional confidence and education necessary to stand on his own two feet more at the beginning, the Emperor's closest relative/friend/basically dad is still not to be sniffed at!

Again, Setheris raised Maia. He was seemingly the only adult at Edonomee who was tasked with taking care of him (beyond the servants, who seem to have been more involved with the practical stuff than providing any kind of emotional support). Endearing yourself to an eight year old boy, when you have ten years and total isolation to do so, shouldn't be this hard.

If Setheris was even vaguely nice to Maia, he'd have probably ended up forming some kind of strong emotional bond with him just by virtue of there being no other potential parental figures in the vicinity.

(Worth noting that the noblewoman hired to look after him for the funeral was vaguely nice to him for like a week, and Maia remembered that one week for ten years and then sought her out to offer his thanks and financial aid to her family virtually the moment he became emperor. This wasn't a hard kid to make a good impression on, is what I'm saying.)

Hell. If Setheris had managed to hire a nanny/tutor to take care of the bulk of Maia's day-to-day care, and just made the effort to be halfway decent when they passed each other in the hallways of Edonomee, Maia would still most likely have had a better relationship with him than with Varenechibel.

He could have been the slightly less distant father figure who ended up becoming chief advisor. It would have been so easy!

But no. Setheris instead chose to be an abusive shitheel for ten years straight, and now not only is he not trusted, but the Emperor literally cannot stand to be in a room with him without experiencing symptoms of panic attack. Setheris gets basically banished at the first excuse because his very presence at court is just that triggering for Maia.

Like, leaving aside how obviously shitty for him to have treated Maia (a literal child at the time) so badly, this is such a cock-up from a political perspective.

He was given a golden opportunity to mould the next Emperor's entire personality, and he blew it so hard that the Emperor now instinctively frames his likes and dislikes around what he knows Setheris wouldn't have approved of.

This should have felt like a reward, y'know? The return to court after all this time? The seemingly friendless kid you spent ten years caring for ending up being the fucking Emperor?

I mean, just imagine getting basically everything you ever wanted served up to you gift wrapped on a silver platter, only for it to be immediately snatched away because you are just such an utter repulsive cunt of a human being. Imagine having to admit out loud in front of several witnesses (including the main victim of your abuse and your own beloved wife) that you 100% deserve this because you are just that shitty.

Honestly couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

#goblin emperor #setheris nelar #maia drazhar #the goblin emperor #goblin emperor meta #goblin emperor analysis #abuse #tw abuse #child abuse #tw child abuse

[eddo-tensei]

Hello. I think there is something about ML antagonists you are wrong about. Namely when you said that Nathalie and Felix's actions are excused. It is explicit in the show that it's not the case. Nathalie in Evolution saw her wrong, denied Gabriel and took Adrien's side instead. Felix understood that villainy is not an answer in Emotion, refusing his victory, and his romance with Kagami happened as a new start as he's learning to protect the opressed without extremism. It's a way to redemption.

That's a reasonable counterargument. That said, it still doesn't excuse all of their actions and frankly, at least with Felix, it feels like a case of it being "too little, too late." The writers spent pretty much two seasons having Felix act like an absolute shitheel with him doing things up to and including giving Gabriel most of the Miraculouses (something that also made Chloe irredeemable in everyone's eyes) only to pull a 180 on him, hook up with Kagami, and STILL did extreme things after the fact in Representation. He was also MIA when Adrien and Kagami were imprisoned in the finale and doesn't show up until the universe was reset and he just...joined the heroes. Also, if Nathalie truly did change, why didn't she out Gabriel to anyone until Ladybug came to her actual deathbed? She had no reason to keep Gabriel's secret if she was on Adrien's side. If she did decide to change, she didn't do a good job at it. In the end, both of them are absolved of their crimes with no real consequences on their end beyond Gabriel being dead. Hell, Nathalie came back to life because of Gabriel's "sacrifice." So, I still believe the narrative excused the two's actions.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #mlb #mlb spoilers #ml writers salt #ml salt #ml s5 spoilers #ml season 5 spoilers #nathalie sancoeur #mlb nathalie #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #felix agreste #mlb felix #nathalie salt #felix salt

[captainmera]

I just inhaled all of In Blood We Rise and just adore it. love the setting and the worldbuilding and all the characters. i love how all of them have depth and feel like people, even the ones who suck. oliver is absolutely right about teddys family sucking ass even aside from their views of peculiars, but i like how you portrayed the character of teddys mother as a status-greedy shitheel and abusive parent who still has her caring moments. Jennys got a wretched personality or at least attitude but I still feel for her when dream-her is bitter about her treatment as a woman. and you can see how much jess loves her brother even though shes going about it in a way that does not help him at all cause it relies on keeping their mother happy which just isnt gonna happen if Teddys supposed to be happy. this family is SO fucked like, by design and structurally. god bless this mess, maybe you guys should all stop caring about status forever and also learn to not be bigoted against peculiars. also im worried sick about isabelle, poor baby. *points at the ashdown family* i do Not trust her to be taken care of there. its a good job shes with jane at least but like Still. WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE I JUST REALIZED THIS, DOES ISABELLE HAVE THE CURSE. also oooooh poor fucking teddy, his lover died and HE NEVER EVEN GOT TO HOLD HIS DAUGHTER. also i wonder who was the carrier of the curse in the previous generation. also hope sally gets to have a happy life. i was gonna say im sorry for her heartbreak with teddy since logan said she was distraught and that polite society is gonna be an entire misogynistic bitch about her getting cheated on but then i read on the character page that its "unknown" whether she is happy or not about the whole arrangement at all so im curious to see where that goes. and Oliver. oooooh my poor baby oliver. ive had him for like two hours but him he. love the depiction of his depression via the duller coloration that follows him. the moment he first appeared i was like "ohhhh please let this be gay" AND THEN IT WAS so thank you for that. anyway i dont know where this was going. i have adhd. have a nice day thank you captn

thank you--!! yes, that..! Thank you for your enthusiasm--!!!! Aaaa!

Thank you for reading IBWR!! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Ah- Thank you! Yes-! Very gay!! it is gay. So gay. And depressing, and much family drama-! But also-- very gay, yes. Good times too. Sweet times be coming. Goofy times too. Sad and goofy times. And daffy times. All round much times...!!

yes.

thank you.

#ask #asks #ibwr #ibwr ask #ibwr review(?) #long post #long text #text post

[kappatater]

Would you believe me if I told you my current favorite OFF character was Dedan? Ever since the 2017 translation, it's been fun to think of him in the perspective of "he thinks he's the victim of everything".

Like seriously, he's gone from

"I am your BOSS, you will OBEY me you SHITHEEL"

to

"You have wasted 3 minutes of my life, do you know how fucking late I am"

Like, does anyone else even envision the posture change between these two very similar statements?

Dedan 1 is looming and threatening, hand balled into a fist, about to throttle the next person that dares to breathe in his direction. You don't just get fired, you DIE.

Dedan 2 is still looming, but also hunched over, rubbing his temples, checking the time. He has not done anything to help his employees with the spectres, but HE'S done, which is more important to him. Any break in his plans makes his plans ruined and it's EVERYONE ELSE'S fault.

The fact that his attacks have a time motif makes this characterization especially rich to me.

Gotta love this spindly, whiny man and his Big Jakt that flies open in battle.

#ramblings #off mortis ghost #off dedan #i will always miss “phantoms of shit” though that was the juice

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Can’t help but wonder what the focus of Jace’s “fond memories of our shared childhood” was. Was it the part where he participated in bullying Aemond? Or perhaps where he and three other shitheels assaulted Aemond and still got their asses handed to them? Or maybe the part where Luke took out Aemond’s eye and got off scot free, that one really was a hoot.

What an asshole.

#anti jacaerys velaryon #can't believe I'm seeing people awwing at how 'right' rhae raised them #you mean these skidmarks? #what the hell is your benchmark and why is it buried all the way in earth's core #aemond targaryen

[latenightsimping]

Nothing Else Matters (part 3)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem reader (part 1)

Word count: 6,196

Warnings: Mentions of parents yelling, Jason Carver being an absolute shitheel (as usual), sorta angsty beginning but after that it’s pure fluff town, I don’t know shit about Advanced DnD because I don’t hate myself enough to play it (5th ed gang gang), description of parents being shitty, pure fucking indulgent fluff, Eddie being real cute, one sexually suggestive moment but nothing too explicit?, no use of y/n, Eddie treating you like you deserve xo

AN: Part three made me near sob with how cute it was, and also mixed with the fact this will never be real for me ;w; But yeah, fluff ahoy, let’s gooooo!

taglist: @awkwardambition @chickpeadumpsterfire @lonelysupernova (if I forgot you I AM SO SORRY I AM SMOOF OF BRAIN)

You were ten minutes late to curfew, and arrived through the front door to be greeted with both your father and brother utterly furious with you.

You were made to sit at the kitchen table, staring at the knots and scratches in the woodwork as your father berated you for your life choices. Talking about how you were supposed to be a ‘good girl’, how you weren’t to embarrass them by dating those who had a reputation like ‘that boy Munson’ did. Many cruel names were thrown your way, but you could barely hear them over the blood rushing through your ears. Flipping the bird at Jason had felt good at the time, but you knew he would get his pound of flesh somehow. And now he was basking in your downfall, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen with a small smirk on his face. Before, this would have bothered you. You would have practically got on your knees and grovelled for their forgiveness, and would have taken your punishments with a meek “thank you.”

But not any more. Without meaning to, probably without even realising it, Eddie had given you that last little push into becoming your own person. And it wasn’t even like it was solely because of him, either. You were doing this on your own steam, finally having enough of pretending to be something you weren’t. Deep down, you had your own passions, and wants, dreams and desires. Maybe it was just teenage rebellion kicking in late. Or the fact that you had begun to finally see that people who beat to their own drum were happier in themselves, and you craved it. You wanted to listen to music that made you dance like you never had before, maybe pick up an instrument and learn to make it yourself. Write some poems or stories, be creative, do something other than study and chores.

But you knew you had to be smart about this. If Jason was going to play dirty, two could play at that game. Being so explicit about your relationship wasn’t going to be the play, so you needed to reel it in a little. Take the punishment like you usually would, act upset and like you understood that this was for the best. All you focused your attention on was Eddie’s whispered words between soft kisses.

“You’re kind, and funny, and so smart. Beautiful, too.”

Pretty. Talented. Brave. Thoughtful.

Could one day undo a lifetime of being berated and pushed aside for your elder sibling? Absolutely not. You would probably still cry about it; yearn for a different timeline where you were both treated equally, mourning for the loss of parents and a brother that could have been. But you could make a start on undoing the process, and a first step was as good as any. Countless miles in arduous journeys all had to start at the same way, and that was with one foot in front of another.

You were finally sent to bed under the guise of ‘thinking about what you’d done’, the process of getting ready for bed done on autopilot. Once you slipped under the sheets and your head hit the pillow, it was if your batteries of bravery were taken away from you as soon as you were finally alone. You stared at your bedroom, cold and devoid of personal touches. Your mother liked to keep a tidy home, and it meant that décor was kept at a level she wanted, rather than what you did. Your friends had posters of their favourite bands, pictures of them and their loved ones and close friends tucked into their vanity, stuffed animals won at fairs or had other sentimental value to them.

But not your room. Yours was pretty, yes. Pale pink wallpaper and freshly washed sheets, but little else that would give away that a teenage girl lived there. When you thought back to Eddie’s room, it was his. Yes, it smelled of weed and cigarettes, and it was a bit of a mess. But he had his beloved guitars and amps, his heavy metal posters and magazines that focused on his interests. You could tell who he was, what he liked and what mattered to him. Nobody could say the same for you. All they might be able to glean was that somebody slept there during the night. You couldn’t stop the overwhelming sense of loneliness and emptiness pulling you under, and you cried yourself to sleep that night. Just like a lot of nights you’d laid in bed.

…

It was surprising that Jason ‘allowed’ you to sit at the Hellfire table. However, it was quickly evident the method behind his madness. Being sat at Eddie’s table just cemented your fate as a social pariah, your old friends turning their back on you as soon as the news spread about your relationship with it’s leader and many others giving you sneers as you passed them in the hallway. Perhaps he wanted you to learn what a relationship with Eddie would mean; nobody talking to you, having to duck and weave through glares and muttered insults.

But like you secretly hoped, it also meant getting to know new friends. Over the past month, you’d got to know the little group and their quirks. Dustin was a charmer, always with an easy smile and a quick wit. He reminded you a little of Eddie, in that way. Perhaps they were drawn together like magnets, two charismatic and kind people who deeply cared for their friends. Jeff was knowledgeable on his many interests, able to quickly recall pieces of information at a blinding pace and seemingly happy to have someone new to share them with who was interested in whatever he had to say. Grant, though sarcastic and deadpan most times, didn’t mind quietly catching you up on DnD terms whenever you looked a little lost as the group spoke. Gareth didn’t speak much, but when he did, his smile could light up the whole room behind that curtain of messy brown hair that hid away his eyes. Lucas could crack a joke that would have the group in stitches, and you’d spoken about basketball with him quite a lot when he mentioned an interest in it. You’d seen Mike a couple of times as you passed him in the halls, but he was a completely different person around his friends. Kind and compassionate under the surface, but he had that certain teenage angst that you didn’t mind. Slightly endearing, in a way.

Once the shock of seeing the little sister of Hawkins High’s star football player died down, you were mostly left to your own devices- no doubt they’d found a new rumour about somebody else to gossip about. Jason refused to take you to school any longer, and that suited you just fine. You enjoyed the short walk a few blocks away where the school bus always parked up to take everyone to school. Not that you took it, of course. Eddie was always waiting a little further along, his metal music at a respectable volume until you both took off and hit the road. It was you who would turn up the dial, relaxing back in your seat as you put your converse on the dashboard and nodded your head to the beat. Eddie’s hand would always be on your thigh as he drove, and you welcomed it. A small reminder that he was always there, and would continue to be.

It was a chilly Autumn day, and you nestled yourself further into the hoodie you’d stolen from Eddie - as if you could steal something that was gladly given - as you frowned at the pages of the book that had been resting on your lap for the past five minutes. “I still don’t get it,” you finally admitted, a sigh leaving your parted lips, words slightly muffled thanks to the strawberry sucker that Eddie always kept a stash of in the passenger door for you resting on your tongue.

A cigarette was slotted between his own, the window rolled down to blow smoke out of as he threw a quick glance over at you. “What’s confusing you, princess? Talk me through it.”

“So… You roll the twenty sided dice, and that tells you if you hit or not, right?” Poor Eddie had been trying to explain Dungeons and Dragons for months now. He’d been patient, but you’d ended up getting a little frustrated on not being ready yet. He’d invited you to play your first campaign; a Halloween themed dungeon that the others seemed stoked about. Talking about what kind of monsters that they might face, and already scheming up tactics to try and overcome them. You’d nodded along, and yes you were excited too, but… What if you got it all wrong, and you messed up the game? Hellfire campaigns were so important to Eddie. You didn’t want to rain on his parade by being a nuisance that he needed to hand hold through it when he was in his element. So he’d given you the battered copy of the player’s handbook, now perched on your thighs that you’d read back to front and barely had a handle on.

“That’s right,” he smiled, a plume of smoke drifting from his lips as he spoke. “And depending on what you roll, I’ll tell you if it’s a hit or miss.”

Your brows furrowed a little as you popped the candy from your mouth, tapping it against your lips in thought. “And if I hit, I roll those other dice you told me about?”

“You’ll be playing a fighter, which is pretty self explanatory. If I tell you that you hit it, swing your sword at ‘em, babe.”

That part was pretty self explanatory. But it was the little boxes that signified combat modifiers that got you. Still, you pressed on as you quirked a brow. “And then I pick up one of those ten sided dice and roll it for the number, right?”

His grin widened as he ran his hand along your thigh, slightly chilled from the cold air that made you slightly shiver. Though you couldn’t completely blame the weather for it, not when he gently squeezed the uppermost flesh. “You got it. See? Gonna be a natural. You’ll pick it up real quick once you start, you’ll see. Besides, Henderson has designated himself dungeon babysitter for your first time.”

You playfully scowled, snapping the book closed and settling it beside you as you picked up his hand to interlace your fingers between his own. “I’m old enough to be his babysitter in real life. Sucks that I have to have one in this fantasy world.”

He clicked his tongue between his teeth as he took the final drag of his cigarette, bracing his knee against the wheel to use the hand that he was driving with to flick the butt out of the window. God forbid he let go of your hand, instead chancing a crash so he wouldn’t have to leave your grasp. “Ah yes, but Dustin the Serenader of Storms is a mighty bard, charged with proving his mettle by accompanying the Princess of Sabres through her first victory. May their gallant quest be swift, with treasures aplenty as their great reward.” He had slipped into his ‘Dungeon Master’ voice as he spoke, gesturing as much as he could with no free hands and making his voice boom through the van and over the background tunes of Anthrax.

You giggled as you popped your sucker back into your mouth, noticing how his eyes dipped down to watch you with a small dart of his tongue to wet his lips. You decided to play along as innocently as you could, rolling the stick between your fingers as you slightly hollowed your cheeks. That got him. You saw the confident demeanour slightly fade, replaced with a bob of his Adam’s apple and his eyes slightly widening. You looked at him through your lashes, leaning towards him as you tilted your head. “Will there be a very handsome prince waiting for me at the end of my quest?” you asked, your voice saccharine sweet.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips as he playfully shook his head and focused on the road. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You let the smile spread over your face as you settled back into your seat, loving that this new confidence that you’d slowly come to gain when one on one with Eddie. It massively helped that he practically revered you, in all aspects. You could still hear the praises that fell from his lips when he was buried inside you, whispered in the shell of your ear. It made you blush a little, squirming in your seat to try and dull the need. Looking over to Eddie, you noticed that he’d caught your change in demeanour. Confident to bashful in less than five seconds, and you knew he was amused. Judging by the fondness in his eyes, he liked it too.

Clearing his throat as he rolled the window up to try and let some heat back in for the last five minutes of your journey, you could tell he was thinking hard about something judging by the frequent tapping of the bands of his rings against the steering wheel. Not slow enough to be based on the tempo of the music, but just fast enough to let you know something was up. He gazed over to you again, an upturned corner of his mouth giving away a slight excitement. “Hey uh, pretty girl? You’re not grounded any more, right?”

You nodded, eyebrows slightly knitted together at the question that came out of the blue. “Technically it was up two days ago… Why?”

“You think you could convince someone to cover for you if you told your folks you were going for a sleepover?”

Your stomach flipped at the question. Small time rule breaking, you could handle. Hell, you’d done enough of it already. But this felt like a step up, and as much as it made you curious, it also made you apprehensive. “I… I could come up with something. Why, what’re you planning?”

“A surprise,” was his cryptic answer, that little mischievous smile that was often playing on his lips coming back full force. “Just clear your schedule for next weekend, ‘kay? Promise, you’re gonna love it.”

As much as you tried to get more clues to his surprise, he was being tight lipped about it. You tried to pay attention in class, you really did. But your mind was filled with half-baked theories and guesses; was he taking you out of town somewhere, so you needed the whole weekend? Was he going to let you stay at his trailer overnight? All you were sure of, was that you wanted desperately to find out.

You’d managed to concoct a scheme by the end of the day. You’d tell your parents you were staying over at a friend’s house, giving them Eddie’s trailer phone number in case they called to double check. They didn’t know Eddie’s voice, who would be playing the part of the fictional friend’s brother. It was a good thing that lying came second nature to your boyfriend when it came to authority figures, who’d managed to charm his way out of several situations over the years. Then again, it was unlikely they’d even call at all. The weekend Eddie had planned to spend with you, they were away on some sort of couple’s retreat. Pair that with Jason planning to throw a rager with his friends back at the house, he probably wouldn’t even notice you gone. It was a win-win situation, the stars aligning in your favour. All you had to do was count the days until next weekend.

…

Since you couldn’t get too dressed up at your own home, Eddie agreed to meet you at the trailer park so you could get changed. Trying to get dressed in his cramped bathroom was a bit of a chore, and a couple of times you had tripped over your own feet – leading to frantic knocking on the door and asking if you were okay – but you managed it well enough. You decided on a deep green plaid skirt that Eddie’s eyes always lingered on, paired with a beige turtle-neck sweater and black tights. Trying to do something with your hair ended in failure, so you ended up tying it back and clipping a small green bow to the top. For a second, you contemplated wearing the only heels you had, but decided on your trusty converse for comfort. Sweeping a small amount of makeup over your features, you took one final look in the mirror as you fussed with your hair.

It crossed your mind that you would be a stark contrast against Eddie’s own dress sense. Ripped jeans, chains and band shirts walking hand in hand with bows, soft knit sweaters and shimmery lip gloss. But that was something that you really liked. Knowing that out of the both of you, the one that was the softest, kindest and with the biggest heart wasn’t the one that people assumed. As you slipped out of the bathroom, you stood in the doorway of Eddie’s bedroom, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater as you bit the inside of your cheek. He hadn’t seen you yet, too busy fiddling with the tuning pegs of his guitar with a cigarette dangling from his lips to hear your soft footfalls. Long legs clad in torn denim sprawled over the bed, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration as he listened to the soft notes that each pluck of the string earned him. A part of you didn’t want to interrupt him; wanted to watch him like this for a little longer. Wanted to focus on his beauty, plush lips and soft rounded eyes.

It was a creaking when you shifted the weight on your feet that gave you away, his head snapping up to look at you. A lopsided grin spread across his features as he gently placed his guitar onto the bed beside him, getting up to his full height. “Well, don’t you look beautiful,” he cooed, taking the final deep drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray and taking the last few steps towards you as he exhaled. A hand came up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, eyes flickering over your face as if he was taking in every detail. “Who you all dolled up for, hm?”

You giggled, swaying on the balls of your feet as you tilted your head. “Well, this really cute guy is taking me out on a date today,” you answered, happy to play along with the joke.

“Is he now?” he drawled, quirking an eyebrow as his hands came to rest on your waist. “Lucky guy.”

He finally caved, a chuckle rumbling through his chest as he finally leaned down to capture your lips in his own. He tasted like the cigarette that still lingered on his lips, and you didn’t hate it. To taste it was to know that it was Eddie kissing you, and you craved that more than anything.

When you finally pulled away, you took his hands into your own, swaying them between the two of you. “Finally gonna tell me where we’re going?”

He hummed in thought for a second, biting his lip as he smirked. Finally he shook his head, letting go of one of your hands to pull you towards the door. “Think I’ll keep it under wraps until we get there, princess.”

You huffed in annoyance, but you couldn’t erase the lovesick grin on your face as you followed him towards the van. As always, he opened the passenger door for you, helping you in before closing it behind you. While you waited for him to jog around to the driver’s side, you noticed a small bag full of snacks and drinks in the space between your seats. When he climbed in, you gave him a questioning look. “We going on a road trip?”

“Sort of. We got a long drive ahead of us,” he explained, fiddling with the keys and putting them into the ignition. “Don’t worry, I made sure to get your favourites.”

Sure enough, the snacks and candy that you tended to get from the store were there, including your favourite soda and a couple of brightly coloured lollipops for good measure. Getting settled into your seat, you unwrapped a sucker and popped it into your mouth, nodding your head along to the music as you fiddled with Eddie’s rings, his hand as always on your thigh as he drove.

For a while, you engaged him in conversation to keep him occupied. Things like the latest rumours around school – was Donna Schofield actually pregnant? More to the fact, who’s damn business was it if she was? - and the latest plans that Eddie had for some new songs that Corroded Coffin could play. He was halfway through telling you that he’d finally nailed the lead guitar for I Wanna Be Somebody when you hummed softly in agreement, eyelids growing heavy as you curled up to get comfortable. It wasn’t your fault that you fell asleep; the heater of the van made you comfortably warm, and Eddie’s hand smoothing the nylon-clad skin of your thigh felt so pleasant.

You didn’t realise that you dozed off until you felt someone stroking the apple of your cheek, your name being softly called until you opened your eyes. Eddie’s smiling face came into view as you yawned, stretching out your muscles as you gave him a meek look. “Sorry for falling asleep on you baby,” you mumbled, trying to rub your eye without ruining your makeup. The blanket that was always kept in the back of Eddie’s van behind your seat was draped over your thighs, and you smiled at the thought that he must have struggled to grab it while still keeping an eye on the road, just so you’d be comfortable.

“Oh, how terrible of you,” he answered with a sarcastic drawl, leaning his forearm on the top of the steering wheel as he grinned. “Had to keep looking over and be reminded of how cute you are when you’re asleep. It was torture, truly.”

“Shut up,” you retorted, though you giggled as you playfully reached out to jab his shoulder. Looking around for the first time, your eyebrows furrow as you try to work out your location. It’s a parking lot, that much you know. A pretty big one, and not one that you recognise.

Eddie seems to pick up your curiosity, deciding to keep the suspense by saying nothing as he pulls the keys out of the ignition and pockets them. Like always, he gets out first, jogging over to the passenger side to open the door and help you out. Keeping a hold of your hand, he points to the distance behind you.

Your eyes widen as you realise what you’re looking at, breath catching in your throat. The imposing building stood tall, columns and many stairs guarding the entrance. On the stonework, you could only just make out the wording, but you knew exactly what it was without even having to read it. Shedd Aquarium. The place that you’ve always wanted to go, your parents refusing because it was ‘too far’. Eddie had travelled over state lines, all the way to Illiois, just because you’d mentioned that your dream date was a visit to an aquarium. Your heartbeat raced at the realisation, blooming in your chest as you turned back to face him with the biggest lovesick grin on your face. “Really?” you whimpered, eyes glassy with unshed tears of joy as you squeezed his hands.

He chuckled in affection, pressing a kiss to your forehead and nodding. “Really,” he echoed. “Told you I’d take my girl to her dream date, didn’t I?”

You’d believed him; of course you did. But to have it really happening… You squealed with joy as you flung yourself into his arms, hugging him tightly around the neck as you peppered his cheek in kisses. “You’re the best,” you giggled. “You know that?”

“I aim to please,” he laughed, gently prying you off him and taking your hand back into his own. “Come on, let’s get inside. Go and look at all the pretty fish ‘n shit.”

You couldn’t stop smiling as you walked, babbling on about what types of sea life you were excited to see, and what you’d heard about the place, and how much you were excited for the gift shop afterwards. To Eddie’s credit, he nodded along as you spoke, swinging your joined hands and leading you towards the front door. He only parted from you for a second to pay for the tickets, handing you one as a keepsake, the other being gently slotted into his wallet. You were practically buzzing with excitement, pulling on his arm in the direction of the first tank.

He never stopped touching you, and you adored it. You were somewhere that nobody knew you; out of Hawkins, and away from judgemental eyes. You were like any other couple, his hand in yours as you pointed out whatever caught your eye, behind you with his arms looped around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as you marvelled at the beauties of nature. And so many times, your eyes drifted to look over at him, to look at his own beauty. The soft blue light made him look so ethereal, his eyes so soft and the upturned sides of his mouth as he focused on the scenes in front of him. Butterfly wings brushed against your stomach as you realised that he was yours. Eddie Munson had chose you, over so many other girls. He loved you, and you loved him with a matching ferocity. He had probably scrimped and saved, just to make you happy. It made your eyes sting with tears, a soft sniffle that slipped out of you making his head snap towards you.

“What’s wrong, pretty girl?” he whispered, face etched with worry as he brushed calloused fingertips under your eye to catch the wetness that wasn’t yet there.

“Just so happy,” you managed to say, shaking your head as you held him closer. You took a deep inhale as you hid yourself inside his jacket, being enveloped by the scent of cigarettes and weed, the heady cologne he always wore and something that you couldn’t describe except it being ‘Eddie’. It was something that you sought out over and over; it was the scent that let you know that you were safe, and you were loved. “So happy, Eddie. You don’t even know.”

You felt his lips on the crown of your head, and his hand smoothing up and down your spine. “’M so happy too, pretty girl,” he cooed, letting you stay there for a few moments. Letting you bask in him, and to ground yourself as you listened to his steady heartbeat. You heard him gasp softly too, the hand on your back gently patting to get your attention. “Look, babe. Check out the size of that shark.”

You looked up and over, grinning as you marvelled at the creature. When you briefly looked up, you saw Eddie’s eyes wide with childlike wonder, and you swallowed a giggle as you tore your eyes away. You were overjoyed that he was having a good time, just as much as you.

You spent hours wandering the halls and tunnels, stopping to look at everything. Pointing out things you noticed with each other, reading the little placards on the sides of the enclosures aloud so the other could focus on looking. It didn’t pass you by that this was probably Eddie’s first time in a place like this too. You knew about his childhood, and how money was always hard to come by, love and affection just as difficult before he lived with Wayne. It was something you were both experiencing for the first time, and the memories of this would always be so dear to your heart for that very reason. It was a perfect day. If there was a Heaven, some sort of afterlife, you were sure this would be yours. Being bathed in an aquamarine glow, the love of your life by your side, holding your hand.

When you finally saw everything there was to be seen, you headed into the gift shop, overwhelmed by the choices that were on offer. Stationary, mugs, toys and stuffed animals of most of the creatures you’d seen. You were a little saddened that you didn’t have much money in your purse, only the very small amount that your allowance gave. Eddie had asked you to pick out a mug with him, a small smile gracing his features at your slight confusion. “Wayne collects them,” he explained, and you remembered just how many there were adorning the walls and various surfaces of the trailer living room. “Want to get one for him, from me to you.” Your heart warmed at the sentiment. Even though you hadn’t actually met the man yet, you guessed that Eddie had mentioned you to him. You both picked out a mug decorated with pretty fish, the name of the aquarium emblazoned on the front. You both agreed that it was the best of the lot, and your heartstrings were tugged at the thought of Eddie being so thoughtful. Even on a date, he thought of Wayne, his kindness and love for his Uncle evident in the action. God, you were a goner for this boy.

You were ready to leave empty handed, until Eddie dragged you towards the massive wall of stuffed animals. “Pick one,” he said with a smile, nodding his head towards them.

You shot him a sheepish look as you fiddled with the sleeve of your sweater. “I can’t afford it,” you admitted, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

His eyebrows shot up, chuckling as he shook his head. “Wasn’t asking if you could. Wanna buy my girl somethin’ to remember the day by. Go on, have a look.” You were about to open your mouth to argue, to say it wasn’t necessary, but it was like he could read your mind. He furrowed his eyebrows, and you matched it. Your lips parted again, and he interrupted you with a playful noise. “Ah ah, sweetheart, it’s my treat. If you’re worried about bringing it home, you can keep it at my place.”

You finally conceded with the amusing thought of a plushie adorning your boyfriend’s head, letting out a giggle as you cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’d be okay with a toy fish in your bedroom? Wouldn’t that ruin your metalhead image?”

“Psht. Fuck that noise, I’d wear pink if it made you smile. Besides,” he shrugged with a mischievous look. “For your information, aquatic life is metal as fuck, I’ll have you know.”

“Is it now?” you chuckled.

“Absolutely. Now c’mon, pick one. I’m starving, and I know a great pizza place just down the road.”

Now he mentioned it, you were pretty hungry. Looking back to the wall of animals, you tilted your head and pursed your lips, little ‘hmm’s escaping you as you thought about what you wanted. You finally decided on a toy Manta ray – Partly because you thought they were adorable and you’d spent ages watching them glide around their tank, but also because you and Eddie both agreed to christen them ‘sea pancakes’. Never again would you use their actual term, you were sure of it.

“That one?” he asked when you picked out the cutest of the bunch, grinning when you held it tightly to your chest.

“This one,” you nodded. “Gonna call him Pancake.”

Eddie’s laughter was earnest, crinkles forming at his eyes from the action. Guiding you over to the kiosk to pay, you begrudgingly let your new little friend go so the employee could scan his tag, you snatching him back up as soon as he hit the counter. Eddie looked amused at your antics, handing over the cash before tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “Think you’re gonna be able to let Pancake go when you get back to mine? I’m a good babysitter, I swear.”

You smirked as you walked towards the exit, holding the ray plush with one arm so you could interlace your fingers with Eddie’s. “I trust you,” you said with a mock sincerity. “Just don’t feed him after midnight or let him smoke weed. And you gotta give him some head pats, alright? Don’t just ignore him.”

Eddie exaggerated a gasp, looking down at you with a face of shock. “You think I’d be capable of doing that to our child? Why sweetheart, I’m wounded.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes as you squeezed his hand. “Nah, he’s in capable hands.”

“That he is,” he smirked. “Little fucker better not hog you for cuddles, though.”

You burst out in laughter, shaking your head as you bumped his arm with your own. “I promise, Munson. I’ll always let you have your full share of cuddle time.”

He looked pleased at that, and you caught the longing look of adoration in his eyes as he picked up your interlocked hands, pressing kisses to your knuckles.

“Good.”

…

The weekend just gone had been one of the best in Eddie’s life. It was going to be up there with his Sixteenth birthday, when Wayne had presented him the keys to his van. Or the day he had managed to save up enough for Sweetheart the guitar, and had taken her home to practically spend the whole week playing his favourite songs.

He thought you had looked stunning when you were waiting for him in the archway of his bedroom door, wearing his favourite skirt and that little bashful look that you sometimes had. You looked stunning when you were bathed in a blue glow, the giddy grin never leaving your face as you cooed at the pretty sights of the aquarium. You looked so damn sexy when you spent the rest of the weekend at his trailer, wearing nothing but panties and one of his band shirts pretty much all the time. Looking so at home and comfortable that he couldn’t stop kissing you.

But now it was Sunday night, and he had dropped you off before your parents could get home. And as he locked the front door, he realised just how quiet it was without you.

His heart ached as the silence grew. He’d grown so used to laying on the couch with you, watching movie after movie and sharing a box of cheap pizza. He missed the way that you made coffee for the both of you in the morning, so careful to not wake up Wayne due to the fact that you were mindful of his nocturnal work routine. He hadn’t given him the mug yet, wanting both of you to be the ones to present it to him. He’d tried to get you two in a room together, he really did. But it just so happened that Wayne had errands to run, or needed more sleep than usual. Wayne already knew all about you, considering his Uncle knew something was up when his nephew was walking around “all chipper like.” And Wayne seemed happy that he was. Eddie just knew that the older man would love you, just like he did.

A long sigh left his parted lips as he trudged to his bedroom, not looking forward to having to spend the night on his own again. But his heart warmed when he saw the freshly made bed that you must have prepared while he was busy sorting out something with the van before you left, Pancake the manta ray placed between his pillows. Ever since he bought you the stuffed animal, you barely put it down. He had woken up a few times to the feeling of soft fur on his chest, looking down to see you fast asleep with it tucked in-between the two of you. He didn’t mind it at all; in fact, he thought it was really fucking adorable. And he was glad to have it around, a little memory of you, and a memory of that wonderful day in Illinois.

Flopping down onto the mattress, he couldn’t help but pick up the plushie, bringing it to his face for a deep inhale. Yep, it smelled of you. The scent of your sweet perfume that he yearned for when you weren’t around, now enveloped in the toy’s soft fabric.

It would be a secret that he fell asleep with the toy manta ray pressed to his nose, holding it close to keep a part of you around even when you weren’t there. You, he might tell one day. But to anyone else?

They could pry that fact out of his cold, dead hands.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things x you #stranger things x vans #eddie munson fluff

[fromthedeskof-darkiplier]

What are your thoughts on Antisepticeye and Wilford Warfstache and when was the last time you saw them

Good afternoon, stranger.

This question is admittedly very funny to me. The feelings I harbor towards Anti and Wilford are comically disparate.

Anti is -- pardon my language -- a shitheel. He's obnoxious, he's an attention hog, and he has no tact. He's all bark and no bite comparable to that of a spoiled-rotten Chihuahua.

He's headache incarnate. Migraine made flesh.

And still, I'd take a thousand Antis over another minute spent around Mark any day.

Wilford, on the other hand...

Wilford is my husband. He is the sweetest human I know. I adore him, I respect him -- always have -- and I feel lucky to be able to call him my spouse. 🖤

How long has it been since I've seen either? Anti was at the channel studio last week, and Wilford is here in my office as I write this. He's keeping me good company, and we're discussing plans for Valentine's Day tomorrow.

Thank you for your question.

-D

#ask darkiplier #ask dark #darkiplier #antisepticeye #glitched green and grungy #wilford warfstache #favorite color #darkstache

[analogskullerosis]

Also, Timothy Dalton truly just knocks it out of the park every time he appears on the show. He's such a magnificent bastard who knows how to play Niles Caulder as an irredeemable piece of shit, but also endearing and charming enough that I do care about the guy and just love whenever he shows up. He's a great example of how to do an imperfect but still morally decent character. His talk with Old!Jane to help her solve her puzzle and his genuinely trying to understand why this hulking robot is pissed off at him showed that he isn't always the giant bastard the characters are haunted by and make him out to be. Even though he has shitty and smug moments (berating Laura at the bureau, calling himself a goddamn genius after getting a good look at Cliff) Dalton plays it so well that he's simply captivating regardless of which Niles he is at the moment. He always found a good balance with his version of Caulder and I think the comics sometimes tended to lean too far into making him and "apathetic asshole." He's just as flawed and fucked up as the Doom Patrol can be, he just had more power/connections/desire to be MORE than all of them combined. But much like the Doom Patrol, he did spend his last days with them trying to help and make up for the terrible things he had done. Shitheel or not, he at least owned up to his actions and did his best to help his victims find peace. A guy who lets you eat his disembodied head to cure your zombieism can't be all bad, right?

He's a wonderfully flawed character and I think it's Dalton's performance that was a key factor in why it was hard to fully hate him throughout the series. It's easy to play a straight villain and easy to play a straight hero, but a complicated, morally grey character is a taller order. He's so important to how the show develops past the first season that I think if he wasn't as good as he was, the entire show would've fallen apart. You needed him to be this really complicated guy with tough relationships to the main characters so that he can somehow still haunt the Doom Patrol even long after he's gone.

I was so happy to see Dalton in the role one more time before the final episode.

#original post #doom patrol #doom patrol spoilers

[sporadicthingcollection]

Kiss, Marry, Kill: Part 2/2 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy saves your bacon and you continue to lie to yourself. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Explicit. Word Count: ~2.3k (of 5.3k) Warnings: Canon-typical violence, sexual fantasies, needles.

A/N: I was going to wait a few days to post this, build some anticipation, but y'all thirsty and I am a woman of the people.

---

Does Buggy feel a twinge of regret as he hauls ass out of Arlong Park? Sure, but not out of any sense of honor or decency or whatever. He just wishes he could have seen your lovely face one last time.

And he must have racked up some good karma recently, because he does indeed see your lovely face. It's curled up in a snarl as a fishman bears down upon you, but it's hot in a warrior princess kind of way.

You throw a right hook that collides with the fishman’s jaw, but no dice. He belts you right in the mouth. It lays you flat, but you take it like a champ and pop right back up.

He hates the idea of such a pretty face being marred in such an unfair fight. So he lends a hand.

Detaching said hand, he sends it floating toward the scuffle. A hard pinch on the ass throws the fishman off guard with a yelp.

You see the opening and slam him across the face once, twice, a third time. He collapses to the side. You waste no time jumping atop him, straddling his chest as you wallop his face into hamburger.

Still kinda hot.

Satisfied that he’s unconscious, you climb to your feet, resting your hands on your hips as you catch your breath. You run a hand through your hair, mussing it in a most handsome way.

Buggy saunters up behind you. Not particularly quietly, but you’re so winded you must not notice. He hovers his chin right over your shoulder. “Boo.”

You screech. Loudly. And whirl around and throw a haymaker that he only just catches with his remaining hand.

“Aw, c’mon,” he grumbles. “That any way to treat your coffee soulmate?”

You blink at him. “When’d you— How— What?”

He recalls his other hand. It reattaches with a little flourish. “Saved your life, babe. You're welcome.”

You look around, then frown. You give his chest a weak shove and stumble away. “I gotta… gotta find Usopp…!”

“Up-bup-bup. Not so fast.” He snags you by the back of the shirt and pulls you back. You whine in protest. "You owe me, Miss Sawbones.”

You scowl at him. “I didn’t ask for help.”

“No, but you got it. Which means…” He taps the tip of your nose. “You.” Tap. “Owe.” Tap. “Me.”

“Fine. Whatever. Cash it in later when I’m not in a rush.” You try to run again, and again he snatches you. “What’s your problem?!”

“My problem is that, if everything comes up Buggy, I’m never going to see you shitheels again.” He leans in close enough for his nose to bump yours. “But I don't like having unfinished business.”

Your eyes are so hot that steam might as well be coming out of your ears. “Just tell me what you want and fuck off.”

Finally, just what he wanted to hear. But what to ask for? You most certainly don't have money. And the map's a wash — even if you could get it, all your little friends would beat him black and blue. No, this has to be something that will get under your skin. Pull your pigtails a little. Hurt your pride.

Like a ray of divine inspiration, it hits him. He can't help but grin as he steps towards you. You take a step back. He matches it. Another step. Another. He backs you right into a tree.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing his finger down your jaw to tip your chin up. He pulls out his best imitation of that damn cook. "Give us a kiss, love."

Your face screws up in disgust. You slap his hand and try to jump away, only for him to grab your arm. Swinging you back around, he pulls you flush against him, his free hand on your waist. He revels in your warmth. He missed his body so much.

He puckers his lips. “C'mon, just a little smooch. Won’t even use tongue.”

You yank your arm from his grip and stare up at him. Grabbing him by the collar, you jerk him downwards. He braces himself for a slap. Or maybe a punch. That seems more your style.

But then you yank him forwards and his lips collide with yours and every joint, every tendon, every inch of sinew in his body locks up. It's all he can do not to topple into a thousand parts and pieces.

He's in shock. He never freezes. Not in the middle of a performance, not in the middle of a fight, and certainly not in the process of sweet talking a kiss out of a pretty little thing.

And yet, here he barely stands. Probably because it’s none of those things — there's no one around, the fight's over, and you're not a pretty little thing. You're a very beautiful grown woman.

His heart flutters against his ribs like a starved hummingbird barred from a flower. He wants more. He wants everything. He wants you.

Oh, this isn't good. It's never good when he catches feelings. Especially not this quickly. Never ends well for him.

...but maybe this time...

You pull away with a pop, but your grip on his waistcoat stays strong. Your mouth remains open, and you waggle your lower jaw, running your lip along your bottom teeth. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips.

He wants to lick them too.

You let out a yip as he swings you down and dips you low, one hand on your neck and the other hooked under your leg. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, twinkling like mischievous little stars.

He dives in for the encore before he can lock up again. Somewhere, some idiot sets off fireworks.

Oh, what a kiss. It’s the kind of kiss they write songs about. The kind that breaks fairy tale curses and turns frogs into princes. The kind that lonely sailors dream of, wishing on shooting stars for someone to love. Someone to laugh with, argue with, cry with, share a treasure with, share a bunk with, share a crown with. Someone to be his and his alone.

And then he feels it. A little nudge against his lips. He pulls away in surprise. “So much for no tongue.”

Smears of red lipstick and flakes of white greasepaint coat your lips. You lick them anyways. “I never agreed to that.” You throw your arms around his neck and force your way inside his mouth.

Now it's the sort of kiss that haunts the dreams of all men. Fiery. Slick. Dexterous. You stroke his teeth and nip his lips and fill his mouth in due measure. He can barely keep up.

The images come unbidden. You, lying across his bed, eyeing him like a tigress eyes her meal. Him, ripping your shirt off to get at those delicious breasts. You, bouncing on his cock, moaning like a whore. Him, flipping you over to fuck you more efficiently. You, begging and whining as you hit your peak. Him, climaxing so hard he sees lightning. You, resting your head against his chest as you drift off to sleep. Him, pulling you closer and burying his face in your hair and whispering sweet little things that you won’t remember—

God damn, are all your kisses like this? Is this what you treat every man to? A lightning strike, a cool plunge, a searing brand, all in one? What kind of devil did you make a deal with to be so beguiling?

His head spins like a carousel as you pull away, from either shock or oxygen deprivation. Probably both.

Even more old paint covers your face. And you still don’t care. Your chest heaves and your gaze burns as you lick your chops. 

While his brain processes what just happened, his poor, stupid heart takes the wheel and shoots its shot. “Wanna come with?” he rasps.

The smolder in your eyes snuffs out and your brows scrunch. “Huh?”

“Ditch the punks. Join up with me. It'll be great."

You blink a few times, eyes darting around. “Why?”

Why? A kiss like that and you’re asking why? “Group of weirdos like us could always use haircuts.”

That marvelous sound leaves your lips. First that glorious snnnrrrk and then that clattery laughter. Your face lights up with glee, your pretty teeth on full display. “Sell me on it.”

That’s a good sign. “Your own cabin. An operating theater. More treasure than you can carry and the best barber chair it can buy.”

Your smile grows. You slip a finger below his chin as you gaze up through your eyelashes. “Sweeten the pot.”

Oh, that’s a dangerous look. His mouth starts writing checks his ego certainly won’t let him cash. “Your own act. Your name in lights. And you can kiss me like that whenever you want."

Those eyes turn downright smoky. You say in a low, low voice, "Just kiss you?"

He almost drops you. All the blood rushing to his cheeks stops dead in his arteries. Then it waterfalls all the way back down.

He jerks you upwards and presses his lips to your ear. “I’ll screw you to the wall every night and eat your cunt like a wild dog every morning. How’s that sound?”

A little hiccup of a gasp escapes you. “Sounds— Sounds good to me, Captain.”

He's ready to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of flour when something whistles through the air above him. He looks up. Pain explodes across his jaw, popping his head off and sending the rest of him sprawling.

It takes him a moment to shake the stars out of his eyes and get the blood back where it belongs. The sniper kid stands a few yards away, quaking in his boots as he loads up his slingshot. Next to him, you scramble to your feet, clutching your makeup-smeared hand.

"Nice timing," you say to Usopp. You pat his shoulder, leaving a streak of white.

“Don’t mention it.” He swallows. "What do we do about him?”

“Iunno. Either kill him or let him buzz off.” You grip your wrist. “Yeow, that hurt…”

Buggy recalls his head to his neck and gives it a good shake. How dare you? How dare you use him like that? Give him feelings only to play with them? What kind of heartless bitch are you?

He's got quite the eloquent insult prepared, but it vanishes as soon as his mouth catches up to his thoughts. “You...!”

He launches his fist at you, but the kid fires off a round from his slingshot. Buggy yelps as a dozen pinpoints of pain pierce his palm, and he recalls it back. There are, in fact, a dozen pins buried deep in his hand. Ow.

He looks up, but the kid is speeding away. You're close behind, but you do glance back. He swears he sees a glint of remorse in your dark eyes, but you're gone moments after.

Alone. Again. After getting his emotions kicked around like a naughty puppy.

Fuck this. Fuck Rubber Boy. Fuck the sniper kid.

And, most of all, fuck you.

—-

You're no good at art, but you're the only person around here with steady hands, a sterile needle, and a willingness to inflict pain. Thus, redoing Nami's tattoo falls to you.

"So how was it?" she asks.

You're so focused on tracing the design onto her arm that you almost don't respond. "Not too bad, if I do say so myself. Might have to adjust the angle."

"Not that. The other thing."

The tangerine connects to the tangerine leaf. The tangerine leaf connects to the pinwheel spoke. “Yes. Of course. The other thing.” 

“Heard you kissed the clown.”

The pinwheel spoke connects to the other spoke aaaand the pen slips from your fingers. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t screw up your careful tracing. “We’re gonna need a new sniper when I’m done keelhauling the old one.”

Nami laughs. It’s not bitter anymore, which you’re thankful for. Girl’s been through a lot. “C’mon, how was it?”

You scoff. “Sudden. Sloppy. Tasted like greasepaint and self-loathing.”

You leave out that you actually like all that. Surprise. Spit. Theatrics and desperation. What can you say? You’re a dumb bitch with a bad taste for pathetic men. You accepted this about yourself a long, long time ago.

If Nami picks up on your deception, she doesn’t let it show. “Thanks for taking one for the team, doc.”

Taking one for the team. Yeah. That’s what it was. A distraction. A diversion. You didn’t manipulate a madman’s feelings for you. He didn’t read you like a giant neon sign. Nor did you feel anything in that kiss. Not in any of them.

Certainly not the first time — that was impulse. Nor the second time — that one was thrust upon you. And the third time — brain was preoccupied with stalling for time so your cooch took over for a moment.

A moment that almost led to you abandoning your friends for a psycho, your conscience reminds you.

You shake the guilt off. “I’m not a doctor,” you mutter, “and let us never speak of this again.”

You swear she stares right into your soul. That she knows what you’ve done. But she nods. “Speak about what?”

It takes a few hours, a few curses, and a few tears, but the tattoo comes out great, if you do say so yourself.

And the entire time, you’re distracted by thoughts of a psycho with a very persuasive tongue.

---

Never had you on my mind

Now you're there all the time

Never knew what I missed until I I kissed ya

---

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece live action #reader insert #x reader #emberly writes

[toaarcan]

RWBY isn’t anti-abuse victim, FFS

Still not sure how people ended up reaching the conclusion of “RWBY has a bad message because it makes victims of abuse and neglect into villains.”

Like bruh, okay, I’ll grant you that Salem, Cinder, Mercury, Adam, and Neo were subject to some pretty shitty treatment early in life, and this at least in part made them who they are today.

But all four of the titular protagonists were also victims of abuse and/or neglect.

Ruby and Yang had to fend for themselves after Tai was unable to deal with his grief from losing Raven and Summer in quick succession. While other parts of the show’s lore imply that Tai recovered at some point after Yang’s first attempt to find Raven ended in disaster, or at least he had good days as well as bad ones, Yang still had to step into her parents’ role for a while.

And that’s just what applies to both of them. Yang gets a double-whammy as well, because Remnant’s Third Worst Mum over there decided to dip almost as soon as she was born.

Weiss, meanwhile, gets to deal with an abusive shitheel of a father who decided it was a great idea to say the quiet part out loud and admit that he only married Willow for her name and money on their younger daughter’s birthday. Jacques is both verbally and physically abusive, and remains unassailable due to his wealth, power, and friendship with the kingdom’s ruler, until he got caught doing election fraud.

She’s also got to deal with Willow’s coping mechanism being alcoholism, and how self-destructive she became during her lower days (as seen in the DC comics). Like with Tai, this is more a case of the parent’s (understandable) inability to deal with their own trauma inducing more trauma in the next generation, but it’s still something she had to endure.

And then there’s Blake. Blake who was in the region of 12-14 when she was groomed by an older man, and trapped in an abusive relationship until shortly before she became an adult. And after she escaped, her abuser tracked her down, burned her new life to the ground, stabbed her in the gut and maimed her new partner/lover, before ordering a hit on her parents and subsequently stalking her across Anima and forcing her and Yang into a fight to the death.

Blake had it pretty fuckin’ rough.

And hey, that’s just our four main leads. How about their allies?

Well, let’s start with Nora. She had Remnant’s Second Worst Mum, and presumably also its Second Worst Dad, who abandoned her on the streets of a random village.

And hey, how ‘bout the rest of the Schnee family? Winter and Whitley were in functionally the same situation as Weiss. And Willow obviously also had to deal with being married to Jacques, something that fucked her life up completely. Oh, but let’s go for one more. Oz. Oz, who’s second go-around at life ended with him being burned to death by his own wife, after a battle where he saw all four of their children also die. Oz, who has then spent the following centuries constantly coming back, and occasionally being murdered by his ex-wife’s followers. Oz, the shambling mass of scar tissue, stumbling around in the approximate shape of a man, because he was manipulated into agreeing to a shitty deal by an arrogant god, and he decided that maybe killing all of humanity and replacing them with his and Salem’s kids wasn’t a good idea.

Bonus addition: Emerald. She’s new to our protagonists, and we don’t have a huge amount of information about her backstory compared to the others, but it’s very apparent that she was also an orphan when Cinder found her. Whether that’s in the traditional sense or the “They went out for cigarettes ten years ago” sense, I’m not sure, but if it’s the latter, that’s one more for the list.

RWBY isn’t condemning abuse victims by depicting them as monsters. It has significantly more good-aligned characters who endured abuse. What RWBY does do is make villains of those who perpetuate the cycle.

Salem was abused, but ended up killing her husband and kids. Villain. Cinder was abused, and now gleefully executes teenagers for kicks. Villain. Adam endured horrible treatment under the SDC, and then went on to groom and abuse someone who was still a child when he started. Villain. Mercury and Neo are more up in the air at the moment, but I genuinely think both of them will be redeemed by the end of the series. The same may even happen for Cinder and Salem, but I’m less certain about that. Frankly I can never tell what the writers want Cinder to be.

We have abuse victims who became heroes and abuse victims who became villains, and the difference between them is that the latter category are currently opting to make it everyone else’s problem. But as we’ve seen with Emerald, those choices aren’t set in stone.

To quote something else that gave its hero and villain similar trauma:

“There is a difference between you and me: We both looked into the abyss, but when it looked back, you blinked.”

#RWBY #RWBY Analysis #TW: Abuse #CW: Abuse

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

🌹

From Howling at the Hollow Moon:

“It may be nice to have someone else who isn’t a werewolf on this mountain.” Yennefer hands him a mug of coffee. “There aren’t any others?” “No, there aren’t many humans that elect to live on a mountaintop full of people who turn into wolves every four weeks and can smell it every time you get horny.” Jaskier snorts into his mug. “Every time?” “You shared a tiny room with Geralt for two weeks. Once your scent suppressant wore off, he knew every time you had the slightest indecent thought.” Jaskier looks into the mug and contemplates if it’s deep enough to drown in. “Don’t worry.” She smiles at him over the rim of her own mug. “Most of them are polite enough not to walk up to you and ask what turned you on. Except for Lambert.” “Anything else I should know?” He settles back in his chair. She drums her fingers on the table for a moment, looking thoughtful. “You’ll want earplugs for the full moons. The howling travels. They all eat their meat so rare it’s practically still mooing, so you’ll need to remind them that you’re a human who can get food poisoning. Don’t sneak up on Lambert, Aiden, or Renfri, especially close to a full moon. Turned werewolves can be volatile.” “So can hereditary werewolves.” Jaskier resists the urge to reach up and rub at the scar on his shoulder. “Occasionally.” Her gaze drops to his shoulder, like she can sense his discomfort. “But for the most part, this pack isn’t violent unless provoked.” “And what provokes them?” “Being a shitheel like your father.”

Send me a 🌹 to get a snippet of a WIP

#the witcher #not another geraskier werewolf au