#if you do play feel free to reblog this with the image or send it to me with the episode you watched!!

[satirn]

feel free to play this whenever you watch fop or dp or whatever cartoon hes made. your entire board will be highlighted 👍

#danny phantom #fairly oddparents #tuff puppy #bunsen is a beast #butch hartman #i have no clue what to tag this #bingo #bingo board #butch hartman bingo #not art #👍 #if you do play feel free to reblog this with the image or send it to me with the episode you watched!!

[wooyoungmybelovedhusband]

Thinking bout free use w/ Wooyoung

WARNINGS : dom!woo, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, pussy slapping, degradation, somnophilia, spanking (yk I'm never gonna miss this), dacryphilia, mean woo, husband! Woo in one scenario, oral, fingering, riding.

WORD COUNT : 1k-ish

Just the thought of free use with woo makes my mind go brr like-

♡FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED♡

[NSFW UNDER CUT]

Free use with Wooyoung where his hands slide down your sleepy body, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth at the sight of your body dressed in nothing but his white t-shirt. He glides up your shirt, revealing the sight of your bare ass to him as you had slept on your stomach. He isn't very shocked by the absence of your panties but his dick surely gets harder at the sight.

His thumb slips in between your inner thigh, directly pressing down on your hole. The action makes you moan in your sleep and you try to wriggle your hips out of his grip, but you were too sleepy to actually get away from him. And Wooyoung took all the advantage of that fact.

His thumb which pressed down at your hole now rubbed harsh circles over it. Wooyoung was quite surprised at how you weren't awake by now, while wetness seeped out of you quickly.

Without another thought, he flips you into your back, rapidly pulling you out of your dream. You can barely get your mind out of the haziness when his fingers rub your clit like his life depended on it. Your legs immediately try to close around his hand only for him to slap your clit. You cry out in pain and pleasure, your hands already looking to hold onto his arm. Wetness seeps out of you at his harsh touch, "Woo- aah" You try to get words out of you but all you could do was let out pathetic moans. Wooyoung's middle finger slips in and out of you out of the blue, thrusting at a fast pace.

Your back arches off the bed, your legs closing around his hand due to the pleasure. "Daddy- hnngh- gonna cum" Just as you utter out those words, he retracts his hand from in between your thighs. You unconsciously let out a pathetic cry at that, "no no no, daddy please-"

Your words get caught in your throat and choked sob escapes you when his hand lands a sharp slap onto your clit. "Barely awake and look at you begging to cum like a slut, fucking pathetic"

Free use with Wooyoung where he comes home after a long day of practice and finds you in the kitchen, with bright images of making out scenes playing on your phone screen. Someone would confuse it with porn, especially with the way you had completely paused your cooking and stood there, rubbing your thighs together slightly, mouth agape at the way the actors moved their bodies over each other.

Wooyoung tchs behind you, walking closer to stop right behind your back. His semi-hard dick poking at your cheeks, while his arms find home around your waist, trapping you against his chest.

And before you know it his hands push you down onto the kitchen counter, holding your neck in a tight grip in one hand while his other caresses your hip.

"Is this what my baby has been doing all the time when I thought she just wants to be a good wife and cook me a lovely meal?"

He whispers into your ear, his low whispers sending your brain into a frenzy. "No! I was just-" Before you could get any excuse, his hands slide your shorts down before sneaking between your thighs. "Shhh baby, lemme make you feel good yea? How about you just looking pretty and moaning for me instead of your useless excuses?"

And soon he finds himself down on his knees, his nose pressing down against your hole while his tongue lapped on your clit furiously. His hands spread your cheeks, giving himself more access to abuse your cunt with tongue. You desperately try to hold on to the other end of the kitchen counter, while your knees bucked up threatening to give out.

Noticing that Wooyoung grips your thighs and places them on his shoulder in a weird posture, almost suffocating himself between your thighs. Just the way he liked it.

Free use with Wooyoung where he has you curled up on his lap while he plays games, and out of nowhere he's moving away from the desk, waking you up from your slumber. His hands meet your hips to make you grind down on him harshly. He moves the oversized shirt you were wearing out of his sight to reveal your panties. "W-what are you doing?"

He nuzzles his nose into your neck once he finally settles his fingers inside you after moving your panties out of the way. "Mhm just wanted to feel you clench around my fingers my pretty baby, how about you go back to sleep while I make you cum?"

Well obviously he wasn't serious, how could you ever get a wink of sleep with his thick fingers plunged deep inside you while you clenched unintentionally around his fingers. "Gosh I just want to be inside you right now"

And before you know it, his hands are gripping your hips ever so harshly almost leaving behind fingerprints. All while he bounces you down onto his cock, "Aww I'm so sorry for waking my baby up." And you could clearly see there wasn't a single ounce of guilt in the man, while buckled up into you at an animalistic pace.

Free use with Wooyoung where he slowly parts your legs while you try to stay focused on the movie you had been watching with him. But soon whimpers filled the room as his fingers teased your bare clit, your shorts and panties discarded onto the floor. "Mhm How's the movie baby? You like it?" You could barely manage to think straight from your giddy brain while his fingers pistoned in and out of you.

But a harsh slap to your ass has you scrambling to get your mind straight to answer him. "Y-Yes daddy!"

Your voice comes out almost high pitched and Wooyoung can't help but smirk at how sensitive you were for him always, no matter at what time of the day he touches your body like he owned it. Well he did.

#ateez #ateez smut #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #dom! wooyoung smut #dom! wooyoung #ateez hard hours #ateez headcanons #ateez smut headcanons #wooyoung headcanons #wooyoung smut headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez smut imagines #ateez hard thoughts #wooyoung hard hours #wooyoung hard thoughts #ateez x reader #ateez x reader smut #jung wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x reader smut #dom! ateez smut #dom! ateez

[loppsided]

e. mikaelson as your boyfriend

summary: headcanons for dating elijah mikaelson.

pairing: elijah mikaelson x reader

wc: 389

warnings: kissing, mentions of blood

a/n: another boyfriend headcanons! ik they get repetitive but there just a base to fill up my masterlist and practice writing! requests are still open so send something if you want! likes and reblogs appreciated.

very protective, always having to know where you are incase of danger

the possibility of being taken or hurt since the mikaelsons always have a target on there head

very noble obviously, doesn't make promises often but when he does he ALWAYS sticks by them

prefers to kiss you on the forehead and top of the head rather than cheek

love language is 100% acts of service or gift giving

a bouquet every week is a given when dating him

see's you taking care of hope sometimes and is filled with love and sadness since he wishes he could have kids with you

speaking of kids, i think he would adopt children with you, especially if you've been together for a while

would take you to where he used to play as a kid in mystic falls

probably keeps your existence a secret from his siblings since they can be dangerous

if your also an original and have known him since you were humans, hes so obsessed with you its crazy

being together for over 1000 years will do that to people

him holding you while you were going through your transition, shaken, seeing you all covered in blood from being stabbed by mikael

when you were humans he would always ask you to come with him to the watering hole and just talk to you for hours

after getting married he built you and his shared house, decorating it how you liked

him teaching you how to use a sword, sword fights leading to make out sessions

comforting him when his brother passed away

back to now

somehow always knows how your feeling? like hes just really good at reading you and your emotions

if your a younger vampire, he always teases you about how hes stronger than you

assisting him with dealing with the mystic falls gang and his family

still being starstruck seeing you in dresses for the millionth time, like at the mikaelson ball

traveling all across the world in your free time, seeing the most beautiful sites

always hears you out in arguments, taking your feelings and opinions into account

him being extremely loyal to you, not even imaging himself with someone else even after all these years

if he really loves you, he'll blood share with you

the sweetest, kindest most thoughtful boyfriend

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson fluff #the originals imagine #elijah mikealson headcanon #elijah mikaelson x you #the vampire diaries #tvd fanfiction

[ceruleancattail]

HORROR EVENT:

Darkness was the only thing they’ve ever known.

Silently waiting in their places, rooted to the ground. Lifeless puppets, limbs dangling aimlessly. Nothing more than dolls on display, doomed to forever remain.

Until someone takes a step forward, reaching out for them. Illuminating this lonely universe with your presence, every tap on your screen bringing you closer and closer into their world.

They’re simply delighted.

Preparations are hastily made to welcome you to the Night Raven College, scripts are reread, attire adjusted until they suited. Until all of them stand before the chamber of mirrors, waiting for a sign. A sign of you.

Some of them elbow each other, snapping at the opposition. Trying to force their way forward, ready to leap out and grasp you at any time. Despite having individual minds,all of them thinking the same thing.

You’ll chose him, right?

He’s been waiting for you forever! He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if you don’t pick him…

Some smile placidly, eyes never leaving the rippling glass of the mirror. A certain cruel amusement flickering within their pupils. The sadistic gleam of a hunter observing his prey.

Oh, it doesn’t matter if you don’t chose him now.

Things can change, after all. He assures you, you’ll end up taking his hand in the end.

Countless eyes gleam within the shadows, peering at the glossy image reflected within the magic mirror. Waiting with baited breath, heart trashing like a feral beast, imprisoned by a cage of bone.

Oh please, darling. Don’t keep him waiting.

Wouldn’t you take his hand?

200 Pieces of Fan Fiction Celebration

The Cerulean Cat’s Tail presents:

Sentience

A Twisted Wonderland Alternative Universe where the characters are sentient, and will do anything for your love, even if that means breaking a few… rules.

No one’s going to miss a few lines of code here and there, really. It’s fine, it’s for you after all. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do, if it’s for you.

About this event:

Sentience allows you to play as the player in Twisted Wonderland. Play the game well, and you may just be able to escape this world… relatively unscathed.

Scenarios may be requested specifically for characters through the askbox. Ask them whatever you’ll like! Of course, I can’t guarantee your safety in the process, though..

Disclaimer:

As it’s a horror event, it’s inevitable that some of the works may be heavily yandere focused, however you may request for a softer scenario. Please do specify what genre you’ll like me to write for!

Rules of this event:

- to participate, you must reblog at least one of my works and this post!

- send an “scenario” into my askbox! The Twisted Wonderland Cast are eagerly waiting for your asks attention. Victims can ask for varying situations, or ask those lovely, lovely boys of yours any question you want. Nothing’s too bothersome of a request, if it’s from you.

- an example of an ask for this event

Taking Jade’s hand… before letting him go and choosing someone else instead! I’ll love to see the desperation melt into something a bit more sinister… (Yandere)

Or

“Thanks for waiting for me, Ace! Oh… what’s that you’re holding?” (yandere)

Feel free to be as detailed as you want! You’re the unfortunate victim, the star of this show, after all. Better get accustomed to the stage, for they’ll never let you leave.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #Sentience #self aware au

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 9

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

a/n: screaming, crying, throwing up. i hope you guys enjoy this part as much as i do. also, sorry for the hiatus. i kind of got distracted with life. anyhoo. also. not proofed.

warnings: swearing, blackmail, mention of murder, themes of conspiracy, canon typical violence.

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters. Any and all characters are a work of fiction and any likeness to real persons is wholly unintentional.

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

previous part | series masterlist | next part

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

“So, when you said a former agent, you meant…” Clint trails off, looking at Fury and Coulson for confirmation.

Bruce sits next to Tony, hands clasped underneath his chin in thought, eyes trained on the screen, analyzing it.

Coulson and Fury nod, but before anyone else can say anything, Bucky speaks.

“It’s Y/N.”

—

“Y/N’s alive?” Sam asks, but it’s mostly rhetorical. Fury and Coulson are the only ones who are not surprised.

“Agent Y/L/N-Barnes seems to be alive, yes. Of course, there is always the possibility that it’s a mask,” Coulson says.

“It has to be her,” Bucky mumbles to himself, focusing hard on the stilled image of you. He has believed you’re alive against all hope for months, and here you are, escaping Capital Hill.

“But if she’s alive, and if she’s the one killing U.S. politicians, then is she working with HYDRA?” Sam asks, anxiously eyeing Bucky.

Fury sighs, “We don’t know. All we know is that we need to stop her before word that an Avenger killed the president gets out.”

Bucky speaks up then.

“She’s not working for HYDRA. She wouldn’t do that.”

Tony sends Bucky a sympathetic look before playing devil’s advocate.

“We can’t know that. It’s out of character, but we never know how much HYDRA is truly capable of. They brainwashed you, so who’s to say they didn’t her?”

The room is tense, and Bucky is acutely aware that the team, his friends, are sympathetic. They’re sympathetic because they agree with Tony. Bucky shakes his head.

“That took years to program The Winter Soldier,” Bucky says cautiously, “and Y/N has a hell of a lot more to fight for than I did. If she’s working for HYDRA, then she’s playing an angle. Don’t you think it’s odd they let Bec go so easily? She had to have struck a deal.”

“Then why doesn’t she escape?” Natasha muses, but her tone tells Bucky she’s simply wondering aloud.

“Well, we wondered why she didn’t contact us through her phone,” Clint reminds. “Turned out she had a plan there; she led us right to the Siberian facility.”

Bucky shoots Clint an appreciative nod.

“Becca did say that they wanted her until Y/N struck a deal with them,” Steve remembers.

The room turns to look at him.

“We didn’t know what to do with that before now. We thought Y/N was dead, but if they faked her death, then that gets us off their backs to have her do what they want.”

“Still,” Sam says, “why not run?”

“They’re probably keeping a close eye on her. On us, even. She would run unless they have something to hold over her,” Natasha points out.

The team gets quiet for a while; everyone gets lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Fury breaks the silence.

“We don’t know who else HYDRA is targeting, but we imagine there are more assassinations planned.”

—

“Alright, so, it’s settled,” Tony says.

The team had spent hours devising a plan to rescue Y/N, anxiously and meticulously going over every detail and turning over every rock.

The Avengers let out a breath they weren’t aware they were holding. At this point, as if on cue, however, Coulson enters the conference room he and Fury had vacated hours ago.

“Coulson?” Steve asks, eyebrows raising at the appearance of the agent.

Coulson nods in acknowledgement, a tight smile spreading upon his lips.

“Stark, can you pull up the security camera footage for the complex?” Coulson asks, staring at the screen showing your SHIELD ID photo, background, skill set, and a list of the crimes you’ve committed up to this point.

Tony nods, voicelessly tapping at the device in front of him, pulling up the cameras. The screen changes from SHIELD’s information on you to a split of each of the complex’s cameras. Coulson takes a step forward, staring at the screen, analyzing it for something the Avengers don’t see.

“Coulson?” Natasha speaks. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“That,” Coulson points at the third box from the right. Tony zooms in on the mentioned camera footage.

“Shit.”

—

“Get Bec out of here!” Bucky demands, picking Rebecca up and handing her to Sam as the complex’s alarm system sounds. Sam nods, holding the toddler close to his chest before running off to get her somewhere safe.

“Buck, what’s your plan here?” Steve questions.

Bucky ignores his friend, taking off running towards the roof of the complex. The security footage showed the intrusion on the northwest most part of the building.

“Buck!”

“I’m saving my wife,” Bucky grumbles, putting more power in his steps, launching himself faster ahead.

—

When Bucky makes it to the roof, he does not have to try too hard to find you. In fact, he notes that you’re startling easy to find.

“Honey, I’m home,” you say cheekily, waving a casual hand at your husband when he lays eyes on you for the first time in months.

“Y/N,” Bucky breathes out, taking a step forward.

You’re leaning against the wall that surrounds the perimeter of the roof, arms crossed.

“James.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“I don’t particularly believe you,” you say, eyeing the dark bags beneath his eyes and the tired demeanor he holds.

“You’ve been gone for months. We thought you were dead. It’s not been so pleasant.”

You hum, pushing off the wall and walking towards the man. You step up against him, resting a gentle hand upon his chest.

“Hmm,” you hum. “You’re not wearing a suit, you didn’t bring any weapons…” You allow yourself to trail off, watching carefully for a reaction.

He gives you a look. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” he says cautiously, but something about the situation feels off. He isn’t sure he believes the statement himself anymore.

You sigh and step away.

“You’ve heard, I’m sure, what I’ve been up to.”

“I have.”

“Not very on brand for me.”

“No.”

“Unfortunately, sweetheart, neither is what I’m here to do.”

“And what are you here to do?” Bucky feels anxiety creep up his chest.

“Marking 3 names off my list,” you say. “You’re not all that close to Captain America, are you?”

Bucky immediately clocks the question as odd. Not only is it weird that you’re addressing the murders you’ve committed as off brand, but to ask him about the only person from his past life as if he’s someone he met recently? To address Steve as Captain America? Bucky remembers the conversation the Avengers had recently, and he thinks you must be playing an angle, waiting for him to figure it out. He also knows your mannerisms better than his own, and he has never known you to speak so formally to him.

He feels a memory trying to come forward. A missing puzzle piece that would help him understand what’s going on.

You sigh, pulling Bucky away from his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, James, but I’m on a tight schedule, and I can’t hang out here all day. So, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a To-Do list.”

Bucky stands a little taller.

“Doll, I can’t let you cross out names on that list.”

“Sure you can, and you will.”

“Why would I do that?”

You pout. “Because you promised to support me in good and bad,” you say, referring to his wedding vows.

“I didn’t mean stand by while you murder the people closest to you.”

“Well, shit,” you say before you throw a right hook into Bucky’s jaw and sprint towards the stairs while he’s distracted.

Bucky clutches his jaw with his hand before standing up straight. He usually would have anticipated the punch, but this whole situation has thrown him. And you have a habit of getting him to let his guard down.

“Shit,” he says before taking off after you.

You manage to avoid Bucky for a while as you make your way through the compound, but he does catch up to you.

You lay eyes on Steve and you sprint in his direction.

“Y/N! What? Stop! You don’t have to do this!” Steve attempts to reason, holding his shield up to deflect a bullet you send flying his way. Steve notes it wasn’t hard to deflect, and he stores that information away for later. After all, SHIELD first took note of you for to your sniping ability. You don’t miss.

“Sorry, Rogers,” you say, shrugging. “I’m just a girl doin’ what a girl’s gotta do. Y’kno—Agh!”

You are cut off, letting out an unattractive yelp as you fall to the floor. It takes a moment to get you bearings, but you quickly realize Bucky had tackled you.

You fight back, but you allow Bucky to slide your gun away from you and across the floor.

“Y/N, stop!” Bucky begs, grabbing hold of your wrists with his metal hand and holding your arms taut while he holds your body down by straddling your torso.

You—to Bucky’s surprise—stop. Then, you raise an eyebrow as if to ask, “What do you want?”

“What are you doing? Killing the president? Trying to kill Steve? What’s your angle here?”

“Have you ever heard of Orpheus and Eurydice?” You ask.

Bucky gives you a look. Your question, after all, is out of left field. You ignore the look and continue.

“It’s a Greek myth. Orpheus and Eurydice are in love, right? But Eurydice does and is trapped in the Underworld. Well, Orpheus goes on a quest to get her back, and the only condition Hades gives him is that he doesn’t turn around on the way back out of the Underworld.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“If he turned around, Eurydice would be trapped in the Underworld forever, and she and Orpheus would never be together again. Never have a life together.”

“Y/N.”

“Orpheus turned around. I always thought that was stupid. I mean, I guess if you love someone, you’d want to turn around and check on them. Make sure they’re still there. But, on the other hand, if you love someone, and trust them…”

“You trust they’ll still be following you even if you don’t turn around,” Bucky finishes.

“Orpheus didn’t get a second chance to save Eurydice. Zeus killed Orpheus because he was afraid Orpheus would tell the humans all the secrets of the Underworld. Some versions say that the Muses kept his head, though, to sing songs forever. They managed to hear his voice even after he died.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Don’t turn around, James.”

“What?”

While Bucky is confused, distracted by your story, you wrench your wrists out from his grasp and thrust up with your hips. You manage enough momentum to swing Bucky off of you and you climb on top of him, switching positions.

“Well, my targets are gone,” you sigh, glancing down the hallway you had seen Steve run. You click your tongue and return your focus to Bucky, shaking your head slightly.

“Sorry, honey,” you say, knocking him out.

—

@just-henny y @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22-blog @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a @unkasworld @qwertyb2577 @raajali3 @yoruse @iilsenewman @alysianc @fairytalegirlofurdreams @marvelxlevram @casa-boiardi @buckybraneslover111 @hhiggs @smolracoon25 @questionableratatouille00 @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl @thearieunhinged @sebastianstansqueen @middaystarlight @talesofadragon @killerwendigo @ozwriterchick @kandis-mom

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky x you #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky x fem!reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader angst

[morningberriesao3]

MWMD - Be My Love

Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson

Summary: It's NYE, and the cat comes hurtling out of the bag. Eddie and Steve finally do something about their feelings.

Word Count: 6.8K

Chapter: 6 of 6 CHAPTER LIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use

Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending

A/N: thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged over the last few days! this story is so much fun and it was a blast to write. if you were to choose between an angsty rock star eddie fic next, or a fantasy vampire eddie fic next, which would it be? feel free to send in an anonymous ask if you have an opinion or input <3

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

December 31st, 1986

“Holy shit,” Steve shouts beyond the blasting music in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor. Another holiday, another party. Eddie has attended more parties since meeting Steve than he’s ever even seen in his entire life. This one is at some graduated basketball player’s home, and Eddie has been clinging to Steve’s side for the majority of night so he doesn’t end up alone. It seems like a very unsafe place to find himself without his escort. Steve shakes his glass that’s filled with pink liquid in front of Eddie’s face. “This is so good. You should try one of these. It’s so good.”

Eddie sways to the beat of the (terrible) music. He’s tipsy enough that he’d stopped complaining about it half an hour ago, but not drunk enough that it wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. He pretends not to know exactly what song it is (You Make My Dreams Come True by Hall & Oates), even though he knows it word for word. It’s not his fault that the radio station sometimes plays shitty music. Over and over. Until he has to convince himself it is, indeed, shitty.

Eddie eyes the liquid in Steve’s glass. “What even is that?”

Steve squints an eye. “I think it’s strawberry – no, raspberry. And… peach?” He smiles that crooked smile at Eddie. “And a whole lot of liquor.”

The image that Eddie has cloaked himself in over the years tells him that he can’t sip on a fruity cocktail in a public place filled with his peers. But a little voice in his head tells him, You don’t care what other people think about you anyway. And if it’s good enough for the King of Hawkins High… So he looks at Steve and says, “Lead me to the refreshments, your majesty.”

Butterflies erupt in his stomach when Steve bends in half at the waist and holds an outstretched hand towards Eddie. “Right this way, milady.”

Now, here’s the thing.

Maybe being called a lady shouldn’t do something for Eddie. But what does everyone call him? The Freak. And when it comes down to it, there are parts of himself that are rather… freakish. Like the G-string that he pulled from the back of his drawer to wear tonight – a dirty little secret – for his own cheap thrill. Or the nipple clamps he hasn’t had the chance to try out yet.

Or being called a lady by Steve.

So he takes Steve’s hand, because it’s beckoning him to do so, and his stomach churns sideways, and he has to remind himself of his promise – the one he made to himself – that that thing that he and Steve did was a one-time thing. That, despite all reasoning in the entire world, Steve didn’t mean to get himself off with Eddie and didn’t mean to get Eddie off, too.

Does that make any sense at all? Probably not. But what makes even less sense would be the opposite theory. The one where Steve isn’t completely straight.

It’s a theory that Eddie won’t even let himself consider, because it would spark that pesky little flame of hope within him. Better it never gets lit in the first place, instead of lit and extinguished.

“Hey, Stace,” Steve says to the blonde girl in the kitchen, who has a shaker in her hand and a group of other cute ladies crowding her. Steve gives her a devastatingly beautiful smile and she rewards him with a bashful blush and a bat of her ridiculously long eyelashes. The jealousy that Eddie feels at the exchange is concerningly violent. “Can you make a couple more of these for me? They’re amazing.” Steve shakes the glass at her the same way that he did to Eddie a moment ago.

“Of course,” she chirps, biting on her lip in a way that Eddie can only assume is seductively. She lets her tongue poke out from her perfectly plump, pink lips to wet them. Eddie nearly scoffs aloud. “So, Steve. Are you here with anyone?”

Eddie looks down at his decorated hands to see if he’s gone invisible. He certainly feels like he has. But nope, he’s very much there, standing next to Steve.

Steve’s not as much of a prick as everyone else at the party, so he throws his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, unashamed. “Yeah – this is Eddie. I’m here with him.”

Stacy’s eyes trail sideways and look at Eddie for no longer than a couple of seconds. It’s long enough, however, for Eddie to read her distaste. “Oh. No, I know. I mean, are you here with anyone.”

Steve’s brows crumple above his Roman nose. “What? I’m here with Eddie.”

The group of girls twitter soft laughter. Stacy pours the contents of the shaker into two solo cups filled with ice. “You’re such a fool, Steve.”

She says it in a tone that’s probably supposed to be endearing, but Eddie can see how Steve bristles. “Alright. Well, thanks.” He picks up the two glasses, handing one to Eddie and turning his back to Stacy.

He pats Eddie on the back and points his chin towards a clearing in the centre of the room. They start to make their way away from the kitchen, but Stacy calls after him, “Only a few minutes until midnight! Come find me!”

Steve turns to face her once more – so does Eddie – and he doesn’t miss how she throws him a wink.

“Oh, um. Thank you. Maybe,” Steve says, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and hauling them away from her advances before she can say anything else. They find a quiet space in the living room, against the wall. Eddie leans his back against it while Steve takes a sip of his drink. “I hate it when they don’t take a hint.”

For a second, Eddie wonders if he doesn’t take the hint sometimes. Social cues and all that. That would, in fact, explain why lately he’s been living in a constant state of confusion.

But all he does is nod, and say, “Same.”

They stand there for a minute, sipping on their drinks, eyeballing the crowd as they laugh and dance. Then Steve cocks his head and takes a step towards Eddie. Suddenly, he’s very aware that there’s a solid wall behind him. That Steve is closer than he should be. That he’s pushing into his space when usually that’s just an Eddie thing.

Maybe he’s rubbing off on Steve.

He’d like to rub off on Steve. Again. If you catch his drift.

“So,” Steve says, looking down on Eddie, making him feel strangely small, “what’s the story with you and Gareth?”

Eddie furrows his brows, nearly choking on his cocktail. “Excuse me?”

“I never really asked before.” Steve shrugs. “And – I don’t know – you guys seem to hang out a lot.”

“Yeah. Uh. I’ve known him since like, grade three. He’s my best friend.”

Steve’s eyes drop from his for a moment. He chews on his lips. “Oh. Of course – I mean, That’s… great.” Eddie stares as Steve’s expression falls. And he has half a mind to say that he looks… jealous. But the confidence quickly returns to Steve’s gaze. “So, what am I then?”

Eddie’s stomach ties up in knots. “What are you?”

“If Gareth is your best friend. What am I to you?”

He’s aware that all plausible deniability has disintegrated. It probably did a long time ago, but now is when it really hits him. That look sparks in Steve’s eyes – the cheeky one where he’s being flirty and sexy and he knows it. The one that has been unleashed on him a few times by now, but Eddie’s always made excuses as to why.

And he is trying, trying, to find an excuse right now.

He only slightly pays attention when the chatter in the room gets louder. When everybody turns to the television in the living room that’s playing the New York City ball drop.

Steve doesn’t turn to the TV. He still crowds into Eddie. “Because sometimes I think one thing, and then sometimes it seems like the opposite.”

Eddie’s only slightly aware when the whole room raises their glasses in the air, and they yell in unison: Ten!

Instead of answering Steve’s question, he sucks in a breath and holds it.

Nine!

And then he turns it around; he says, “I don’t know, Stevie. What am I to you?”

Eight!

Steve’s lips twitch into that cocky little grin of his, the crooked one that Eddie loves so much. God, he’s so attractive. “Well, I think –”

Seven!

“– it hasn’t been the most traditional way of getting here. But we’re –”

Six!

“– together. Boyfriends.”

Those two words volley around Eddie’s head for what feels like an eternity. Together. Boyfriends. The world is on a standstill. Everything is in slow motion. His heartbeat stops, and so does his intake of air. Everything kind of zeros in on Steve, and him, so close. Heat radiating from the body that’s pressed up into his own.

A million thoughts race through his mind at once: This isn’t real. You didn’t hear right. This is a joke.

And then there’s the other thoughts. The ones that tell him that everything that has happened since March – everything that’s happened in the last nine months – suddenly makes sense. Everything since waking up in that hospital hand-in-hand with Steve. That maybe the flirty moments – the small touches, the kiss that he only thought was a game, the playfight that turned into something more – maybe those things meant what Eddie was always trying to avoid thinking they might mean.

To keep himself from getting hurt.

But maybe all this time, Steve has cared – the same way Eddie has cared – and he’s been trying to tell him. Not in words, but in actions.

And each time, Eddie had shut himself down afterwards. He closed himself off from allowing a discussion, just in case it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Here it was. That discussion. But it was everything Eddie never expected. Everything he’s always wanted.

All of this berates Eddie’s thoughts, but he’s only aware that no time has passed at all when the crowd yells: Five!

Even though he feels like he’s cracked the code, there’s still that pesky devil on his shoulder that’s whispering in his ear: there’s no way any of that is the case. So he stares up at Steve – he can feel the whites of his eyes shining as they balloon – and he whispers, “Really?”

Four!

Steve’s little smile turns into a full-on grin. His puppy-dog eyes crinkle in the corners. He takes another step into Eddie’s space, even though there’s not much left. When did he get so goddamn close? “Are you gonna give me a kiss?”

Three!

Eddie scans the room. He forgot that they aren’t alone, even though – tucked away in the darkened corner of this massive house – it feels like they are. Nobody is looking. Nobody is looking and Steve is so fucking close…

Two!

Eddie’s eyes flick down to Steve’s mouth. His lips are shimmering pink. Maybe from the drink…

One!

He nods and breathes, “Fuck yeah.” And then Steve’s lips are on his.

It’s as unbelievable as you might think, having Steve Harrington kiss you. Really kiss you. Not under the façade of a game or a dare, but because he wants to.

Just like the rest of him, his lips are sure. Confident. They slot with Eddie’s first with a gentle brush, and then start moving with conviction. He coaxes Eddie’s mouth to part and suddenly he can feel the scrape of Steve’s teeth against his lower lip. He can feel the heat of Steve’s breath as they breathe the same air. He can feel that Roman nose brushing against his own. Feels Steve’s hand – the one not carrying the drink – press flat against his stomach.

And then Steve’s tongue flicks out to catch the jut of Eddie’s lips – kind of like that time on the Fourth of July – but it’s a question. One that Eddie answers by opening his mouth further. That tongue slips inside, and he can see fireworks behind his eyelids, he can taste Steve’s drink, he can feel the slide of wet against his hard palate.

His self-control snaps.

Eddie pushes back into Steve. His tongue meets his in the middle, rougher, impatient. Their teeth clack together, he can feel drool seeping from the corner of his mouth and he’s not sure if it’s his or Steve’s but it doesn’t matter – he wants it all. His tongue licks over Steve’s mouth and he tastes artificial vanilla. And he realises in that moment that Steve’s lips aren’t shining and pink because of the drink, but because of the lip gloss.

When he has that lightbulb moment, Eddie groans into Steve’s open mouth. It’s mostly drowned out by the cheering of the crowd – oh yeah, the crowd – but still, Steve chuckles and pulls back.

“Do you what to stay longer, or do you –?”

“Fuck, no. Let’s get out of here.”

Maybe he’s a bit overeager, but Eddie grabs Steve’s hand that’s still pressed against his stomach and he yanks him towards the front door. Everybody is still blissfully unaware of their kiss. Everybody but Little Miss Drink Mixer Stacy, who’s staring so hard it looks like her pretty green eyes will pop from her skull. Her mouth is hanging open. She’s frozen in place.

Eddie really should be frightened that somebody in Hawkins witnessed such a disgusting act of intimacy between two men, but instead he feels proud. He blows her a kiss and wiggles his fingers in a wave before he and Steve slip from the door and into his rusty van.

He starts the ignition, and before he can even shift into reverse, Steve is grabbing his hand. He stares at it for a minute. Such a simple thing, holding somebody’s hand. But it still has his heart in his throat. It’s just so real.

“What are you thinking right now?” Steve asks.

Eddie feels the ways his fingers fit so perfectly between his own, and counters with a question of his own. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Steve blinks at him from the passenger seat. “What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you – I don’t know – slap some sense into me? Tell me that you… felt this way. Or wanted this.” He gestures vaguely to his chest, wrapped in a WASP t-shirt.

“I thought you knew,” Steve says simply. He gives a loose shrug of his shoulders. “It’s pretty obvious that the things we do together aren’t really – you know. What just friends do.” His brows furrow. “Well, maybe you do those things with your friends, but I don’t –”

“I don’t either.”

Steve pauses for a minute as he smiles over at Eddie. “You really didn’t know?”

“It was weird.” Eddie looks down at his lap. “But I didn’t want to assume things. I didn’t want to wreck our friendship, because I – well, I really like you.”

Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s hand long enough for him to back from the front of the house they emerged from. He grabs it right back once they’re on the main road back to Forest Hills Trailer Park.

“I thought it was one of two things,” he says. “I thought you either wanted to take things slow. I didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything, because losing your virginity can be a really big deal.” Eddie’s entire face ignites. He tries not to think about how sad that is – twenty and a virgin. When Steve has been rolling in the sheets since he was probably fifteen. How casually Steve just said that, like it isn’t mortifying. He continues, “Or, I thought you weren’t really interested in taking our friendship any further.”

Eddie gawks at Steve. “Dude, I didn’t even know you being into dudes was a possibility. And if you were…” He pulls into the gravel in front of his trailer. It crunches under the tires. He doesn’t finishes his thought.

Not until Steve squeezes his fingers, and asks, “And if I was, what?”

“And if you were into guys, there’d be no way you were into me.”

Steve looks like he can’t even comprehend why Eddie would say such a thing. That he’s not aware of how different they are. That he’s not aware that Eddie is a mere mortal while he’s a god. “I’m into you, man. I’m so into you.”

Eddie stomach erupts once more into a thousand butterflies. Or maybe they’re bats. He can feel his cheeks turn even redder.

“And for the record,” Steve adds, “I really like you, too. I – I really like you. And I wasn’t lying, at the party. I want us to be boyfriends.”

Eddie chews on a little patch of dry skin on the corner of his lip, and desperately tries to kill the bats flapping away in his chest. “Okay. Boyfriends. I, uh. I want that, too.” He’s not great with words, but it gets his point across.

Because Steve is beaming as he leans across the centre console to press his lips to Eddie’s once more. Eddie tastes peach, and vanilla, and cigarette smoke, and chewing gum. And he tastes just Steve as their tongues mingle together.

Steve’s hands start exploring him – squishing the little meat he has on his thigh, teasing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the few hairs he has trailing from his navel below the waist of his jeans. This time, when his cock starts swelling, he doesn’t try to hide it.

The beautiful cherry on top, is that this time, he’s freshly bathed and somewhat groomed. This time when Steve sees him naked, he won’t be embarrassed.

When Steve sees him naked. What a treacherously delicious thought.

When he moans into Steve’s mouth the same way he did at the party, there are no other noises to swallow it up. So it fills the space of the van, this raunchy sound that tumbles from Eddie without his consent. It sounds so unlike him – desperate and begging. But then Steve makes his own noise, and suddenly Eddie can’t wait any longer. He can’t wait to get himself on Steve, inside Steve, whether it’s his hands or mouth or his perfectly tight ass.

“Fuck,” he groans, “let’s go inside. Now.”

They barely make it through the front door and into his room. Steve is all over him, groping at his nipple ring through the fabric of his shirt, flicking it, twisting it – fuck, fuck. Eddie’s own fingernails are digging painfully hard into Steve’s shoulders, scraping against his neck, pushing under that stupid rugby shirt to rake against his impressive chest.

He crowds into Steve – shoves him against the ledge of his mattress. But before he can get Steve onto his back, he swivels so somehow he’s the one in front of Eddie. He’s the one pushing Eddie onto his back.

He falls to the mattress, Steve towering over him like some powerful warlord.

Eddie’s dick is throbbing, hard as steel in his jeans. He’s probably not contained at all in the – oh, fuck. Oh, FUCK. The G-string. The G-string that he put on before the party. The G-string that he has no intentions – zero – of Steve even knowing he owns, let alone seeing him wear. Why the fuck did he choose tonight to try it out, why did tonight have to be –

Steve bends to pop the button of Eddie’s fly, fingers deftly undoing the zipper.

“Fuck – uh – Steve. I just have to – can I just have a minute? I forgot to do something.” His dick is so tender. He can feel his heart beating between his legs, can feel himself leaking into the tiny cotton gusset of the panties. So small. So tight.

Thankfully, Steve nods. “Don’t take too long.” Before relief can find Eddie, before Steve pulls away from him to let him stand, he dips his fingers under the waistband of his jeans – just a small tease against what is supposed to be his boxers. But they find the string of fabric squeezing against the flesh of his hip instead.

Eddie sees the moment when Steve realises that he’s not feeling the elastic band of Eddie’s normal underwear, but something entirely different. “Uh, Steve…”

“What’s this?” Steve cocks his head to the side as his eyes trail down Eddie’s body, to his gaping jeans. When Eddie looks between his own legs, he nearly chokes at what he sees. The dainty fabric, edged in lace and a tiny, feminine bow, stretching obnoxiously over his cock. It’s holding on for dear life, that little triangle of fabric. It’s barely containing him – it’s not containing him. The waistband isn’t against his skin, it’s being pushed from his body by the swollen head of his cock and through the gap there, the flushed red tip can be seen. Glistening, strained, wet.

“Steve, I didn’t – it’s not…” Eddie doesn’t quite know what to say; he’s wearing women’s underwear. And not just any women’s underwear. The smallest pair that he could possibly get his grubby little hands on. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover what he’s feeling.

Steve’s eyes are glued between Eddie’s legs. “Is that a thong?”

Just hearing those words leave Steve’s mouth makes Eddie want to die. “Oh my God.” He covers his face with his hands. “I didn’t know we’d be doing this – I didn’t know! I’m sorry. I don’t do this all the time. It’s the first time I’ve – I swear. Jesus Christ.”

Steve’s quiet, but Eddie doesn’t dare look at him. Until he hears, “Show me.”

It’s a command, all but growled at Eddie from the man atop him. When Eddie opens his eyes, he’s met with a rather ravenous looking Steve – a predator appraising its prey. His eyes are black, his jaw is tense. The muscles there feathering as he clenches and unclenches his teeth.

“What –?”

“Show. Me.” Steve hauls Eddie to his feet but doesn’t step far enough away. Their chests are still touching – Steve’s heaving like he’s parched for breath. Eddie is frozen for only a moment, but soon enough his trembling fingers are peeling the shirt from his own back.

The look on Steve’s face doesn’t make him feel ashamed anymore. It makes him feel appreciated. Sexy. It makes him feel like maybe this part of himself that he wants to explore – this part of himself that really does make him a freak – can be done next to the man that he can now call his boyfriend. His partner.

He hooks his thumbs under the waist of his jeans, and he pushes them down.

It’s hard to get them off when Steve is still standing so close to him – so close that their bodies rub together as Eddie moves to take the rest of his clothes off, bar the little black G-string that only lived in the back of his drawer. Until now.

The air from Steve’s lungs puffs against Eddie’s face when he straightens himself out again. And then Steve’s hand lifts against his shoulder, pushes him backwards so he stumbles back onto the mattress. And because he’s feeling brave (how could he not when Steve is looking at him like his last meal?), he lays himself out on the bed. He spreads himself open.

Steve’s eyes rake over every inch of Eddie’s body, from the top of his curly head, over his flushed cheeks, down his pale chest that’s painted with not only silvery scars, but splotches of nervous red. They land between Eddie’s legs, where his knees are lewdly spread to display just how much the little triangle is struggling to hold everything down there. Eddie knows how it gapes around his balls, how heavy they look compared to the scrap of fabric. He knows because he stared at himself in his mirror before they left for that stupid party. And he knows that now, with his cock engorged between his legs, that it’s only gaping more.

Eddie swears he sees Steve’s knees nearly give out. He definitely sees his hands form fists by his sides, knuckles going white with the force of them. Steve doesn’t lift his eyes from Eddie’s crotch as he says, “I am going to fuck you until you cry.”

The room spins as Steve undresses – Eddie barely registers his words. He drinks in Steve’s near naked body, his abs that flutter as he works off his belt and then his Levi’s. The thick outline of his dick tenting his black boxers. But then he thinks, ‘when Steve fucks me?’ as he crawls slowly between Eddie’s legs. So he hooks them around Steve’s middle and uses all his might to flip that muscled body onto it’s back.

Eddie straddles Steve as he says, “I think you meant to say you’ll cry as I fuck you, Harrington.”

He can feel the line of Steve’s cock under his boxers, pressed against his near bare ass. It’s only made more obvious as Steve grabs Eddie’s hips and pulls them harder against himself, lifting his hips to rub against his body. “But your ass looks so good in that tiny little thong.”

“I don’t think you got a great look at my ass yet. How would you know?”

And just as fast as he got Steve onto his back, he’s on his again. Steve looms over him, grabs around his torso, and flips his body like a ragdoll. Eddie’s face presses into the blankets as he lays face-down, his dick throbbing as it rubs under him and against the mattress. Steve’s hands splay against the valley of Eddie’s spine, fingers slipping under the string waist of the G-string, pulling the fabric where it was almost buried between the cheeks of his ass. “I’m getting a pretty good look now. Turns out, I’m right.”

Eddie tries to lift himself up, tries to get himself in a position of power once more. But Steve bores down on him, pressing his chest flush against the panes of Eddie’s back. His hips pitch forward and his cock drags against the cleft of Eddie’s ass. And he hates himself for this, he really does, but he whines at the sensation. He whines, long and loud into the ruffled blankets, a little river of drool seeping from the corner of his lips as he does.

“If you think you’re going to stick your cock in my ass, Harrington, you can think again,” Eddie says. But there’s a part of him, a small part that’s growing, that knows that’s a blatant lie.

He always thought, without a doubt, he’d top the first time he had sex, and he’d top the second, and the third, and the fourth, and so on. He thought he’d always be the one to get someone underneath him, someone crying and begging, someone gagging to get dicked down.

But he feels himself falling into some form of submission. Not that he wants to admit it.

Steve presses into Eddie again and again. He can feel the panties soaking up as much of his precum as it possibly can, but it must be reaching its threshold. There’s so much. His cock is weeping and so is he as he hears Steve grunting with each thrust. “But think about how good it’ll feel. Think about being stuffed full of my cock, Munson.”

Eddie isn’t crying yet, but it sure sounds like he is with the noise that just erupted from him. It’s enough of an answer for Steve.

“Fuck yeah, listen to yourself. You want to take it as much as I want to give it to you.”

Eddie tries to swallow down his sobs, his pants, but really he just sounds pathetic as he says, “In your dreams.”

Steve bends over Eddie’s back, gets his face nice and close to his ear. “You’re damn right in my dreams.”

A finger slips under the band of Eddie’s thong and pressed against his asshole. Eddie moans and arches into it, but he spits, “Fuck you, man,” with the little conviction he has left.

It’s not very much.

He wants Steve, he wants to be coated with him, covered from head to toe, all over his skin, outside, inside. He wants to take Steve’s cock every way that he can.

“Keep these on,” is all Steve says as he moves away from Eddie’s back, snapping the thin side of his panties against his skin.

Eddie does.

But Steve – he strips down to nothing, completely bare naked as he stands near the edge of the mattress. His cock juts proudly from him, and Eddie turns to stare, taking in every goddamn inch of his impressive length. Somehow, that’s going to be inside him, but he can barely compute it.

“Lube?” asks Steve. Eddie points to his end table where he keeps stuff like that. The rare nudie mag, the bottle of lube, the nipple clamps.

The nipple clamps.

Eddie grins something sharp and feral as he tumbles from the bed, reaching the drawer before Steve has the chance. He throws the lube onto the mattress, but he keeps the nipple clamps in his hands, joined together by a thin, silver chain.

Steve eyes the metal in his hands. “What’s that?”

“These, dear, sweet Stevie, are what you’re going to have to agree to if you think you’re fucking me tonight.” Eddie would bend to Steve’s will either way, but he wants to see what he can get away with. Steve sucks his lip between his teeth and clamps down on it. He’s nodding before Eddie even has the chance to tell him what they are. “Good. Get on the bed.”

Eddie regains some of his gumption as Steve clambers to obey his orders, throwing himself on the double mattress that they’ve shared now for months. He leans his back against the headboard, reaching between his legs to stroke at his cock that looks nearly as painful as Eddie’s own.

If Eddie did the same thing, he’d come in a matter of seconds. It’s probably better he gets fucked than do the fucking, because it would last no longer than he could even get himself sheathed in Steve.

He walks on his knees to where Steve is splayed out – as if on a platter. He runs his hands against the fuzz on his thighs, up the rippling abs that are adorned with matching scars to his own (albeit, not as many), through the thatch of chest hair between his pecs. Then he pinches on Steve’s pretty, pink nipples to get them peaked and prepped for his little surprise.

Steve gasps, but presses into Eddie’s fingers. His hand stills from stroking his cock as Eddie swings the simple, circular clamps, attached by a chain, between their chests. “You ready?”

“Fuck yeah,” Steve says, even though Eddie is sure he has no idea what he’s agreeing to.

He opens the clamps wide enough that they won’t hurt too much, but narrow enough to pinch into the peaks on Steve’s chest. Steve moans when the first one clamps onto his nipple, and lets his head fall back onto the headboard for the second one. Eddie trembles with delight as Steve’s cock offers a pearl of precum when he tugs on the chain.

So he swoops to lick it up.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve gasps, eyes fluttering open as Eddie’s tongue swipes against the bulb of his dick. He seals his lips around the head of his cock, and sucks on it like a cherry popsicle in June. Steve’s hips buck forward into the heat of Eddie’s mouth, against the soft skin of his cheek. He twirls his tongue and laps at the slit, and he’s not sure if he’s doing a great job, but Steve’s thighs twitch under his hands and he’s making these sexy little noises, so he figures it can’t be bad.

He savours the musky taste of Steve, salty and bitter. And he learns pretty quickly that sucking Steve’s dick might be his new favourite pastime. The way he shakes and whines and whimpers is almost as delicious as the heavy, hot feeling of the cock in his mouth.

It only takes five minutes before Steve is tugging on Eddie’s hair, easing his lips from his length as he says, “Okay, okay. Don’t make me come yet. Jesus.”

Eddie wipes at the saliva seeping from his mouth with the back of one of his hands. He tugs on the chain connecting Steve’s nipples once more, making him keen into the air. Music.

The next thing Eddie knows, he’s being charged by Steve’s broad shoulders, backwards. He falls flat on his back, his head and hair hanging from the foot of the mattress as Steve grapples at the lube.

He doesn’t say anything as he slicks up his fingers, he only stares down at Eddie with so much want that it looks like he might burst. If it’s anywhere close to what Eddie’s feeling, that might very well happen.

“Ready?” Steve leans forward and tugs Eddie’s panties to the side. He can hear the threads in them pop as they’re forced past their limit of stretch. And as they pull to the side, his cock springs free from what little fabric sheathed it. They both look between his legs, at how red Eddie is. How swollen, how wet. His dick twitches at the attention, and he spreads his knees further apart as his answer to Steve’s question.

It stings when Steve pushes two of his fingers into Eddie. It stings, but more than that, it stretches, it spreads, it squeezes. God, he feels so full, Steve’s fingers are so big. He moans unabashedly at the ceiling, twisting his fingers into his own hair to distract himself.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks, pulling his fingers out only to plunge them back into Eddie deeper than before.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, yeah.” Eddie tries not to let the tear gathering in his eye slip bast the brim. It doesn’t work. It feels… it feels so good. Like its scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. And then Steve’s fingers brush against something inside him – a spot he’s only read about – one he didn’t really know was fact or fiction.

It’s fact. It’s so fucking fact.

His voice breaks as he all but yells into he empty air, Steve’s fingers brushing against that spot over and over and over… and, Jesus, he’s not even touching Eddie’s dick but he’s gonna come. He’s gonna come before Steve has a chance to touch him.

But then Steve stops.

“You sound so fucking hot,” he says, slathering his hand and his dick with more lube. He pushes a third finger into Eddie like he’s making a point, forcing him to cry out once more. This time he doesn’t brush against that spot, Eddie has enough time to recollect himself as he gets stretched over Steve’s fingers.

“Steve?” he says, lifting himself to rest on his forearms. Steve cocks his head sideways, his fingers stilling inside Eddie’s body. “Fuck me. Right now. Fuck me.” And just to assert his dominance, he grabs the back of Steve’s neck and hauls him closer.

Steve growls and blankets himself over Eddie.

His lips crush against Eddie’s. Their kiss is anything but timid or practiced or skilled as they attack each other with their tongues, devouring each other in deeps licks and bruising bites. Everything between them wet and warm.

The blunt end of Steve’s cock lines up against Eddie as they consume each other. And then he’s pushing forward.

Someone – Eddie isn’t sure which of them – moans into the other’s mouth. It’s a shared breath anyway, when one noise is made, the other swallows it down. Give and take.

There’s an unrelenting pressure between them, and Eddie feels it when the head of Steve’s cock pushes past his rim. He’s never felt like he feels in this moment. Claimed, but still equal as he presses his fingers into Steve’s neck with one hand and tugs yet again on the chain attached to his nipples with the other. Steve whimpers as much as Eddie, sliding forward inch by glorious inch. And then he’s seated so deeply inside him that Eddie swears he can see a bulge by his belly button.

“You better start moving,” Eddie says, panting against Steve’s lips, “or I’ll pin you down and do it myself.”

With that, Steve pulls an inch from Eddie’s body and pitches forward again. His cock rubs against that bundle of nerves inside Eddie, and he starts leaking profusely between their stomachs, a jolt buzzing into his core each time Steve’s abdomen brushes against his flushed tip.

Steve hums into Eddie’s mouth as his pace quickens. Eddie could come from the sound alone – their skin slapping together aggressively, only heightened by the ridiculous amounts of lube slicking their bodies. Steve grunting and hissing. His eyes squeezing shut and fluttering back open to bore into Eddie’s. They’re both covered in a sheen of sweat; Steve’s olive skin glistening and sparkling against the warm light of the tabletop lamp.

The coil in Eddie’s stomach tightens and burns bright. He’s whining with each thrust of Steve, building a tension that’s about to snap. And as if Steve knows, he wraps his fingers around Eddie’s cock and starts stroking, quick, dirty.

“Oh, fuck, Steve. Steve.” He can feel his body tensing around Steve’s length, can feel his muscles beginning to contract.

“You gonna come all over my cock?” Steve says, low and sultry. It almost finishes Eddie off.

But somehow he holds off, just for a few more seconds. Enough to say, “Not before you come inside me, baby.” He doesn’t even know if it’s true. But still, he pulls on Steve’s nipple clamps because he has an inkling that it might finish him.

“Fuuucckk, fuck.” Steve’s hips lose their rhythm. He fucks into Eddie sloppily, and then something hot and wet is dripping from inside him as he rockets against his ass.

When Eddie feels Steve’s cum dripping out of himself, getting shoved back in with Steve’s still pistoning hips, the tension snaps. Cum surges from his cock in hot, white ribbons, slicking Steve’s fist, catching in the fabric of the G-string bunched to one side, shooting against Steve’s and his own scars.

He’s sure he says something – maybe a string of curse words, maybe Steve’s name – but his mind whites out before he can commit that detail to memory. But he does know his muscles are tremoring in Steve’s grasp, he does know Steve’s abs twitch against his fingers as he rubs his spend into his skin.

And then they collapse, Steve softening in Eddie’s body with each of their heady breaths.

Time ticks by until Eddie can comprehend. And then – like the time before – he laughs.

“What the fuck?” Steve says, but it has no malice. He lifts his head from Eddie’s neck, where he was pressing delicate kisses, to grin down on him. “Is that something I’ll have to get used to? You laughing after sex?”

Eddie isn’t really sure. So he says, “I guess we’ll have to have more sex to see.”

Finally, Steve pulls out. Eddie can feel liquid drooling from within him, cum and lube. He needs a shower. But he needs this moment with Steve more, so he wraps his arms around those strong shoulders and pulls him into his chest. Steve hums his approval, nestles into Eddie’s side like he belongs there.

He does belong there.

When Eddie goes to the bathroom to shower, Steve joins him like he did all those months ago. This time, however, he steps into the water. He wraps his arms around Eddie and presses the pads of his fingers into his head when he washes his hair so sensually, that Eddie might weep. Steve doesn’t say something smart when Eddie gets hard again; Eddie doesn’t feel embarrassed about it.

They get each other off a second time, with Steve’s hand wrapped flawlessly around them both.

Then when they go to bed, they tangle together in a pile of limbs, without even their boxers. This time, when he wakes up to Steve clung to him, Eddie doesn’t go still or try to keep Steve from waking. He presses into him until his eyes flicker open in the dark of the dead of night.

They get each other off a third time, with Eddie nestled tightly between Steve’s thighs and his fingers circling his cock possessively.

Then, they finally fall asleep.

January 1st, 1987

Eddie wakes up in Steve’s arms.

This time, he doesn’t question what it means, doesn’t question what might happen tomorrow.

A new year.

A new start – with Steve.

’86 really was his year.

THE END :)

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x steve harrington #eddie x steve #steddie blurb #gay eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #eddie stranger things #virgin eddie munson #bottom eddie munson #eddie munson loves steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #top steve harrington #bisexual steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington loves eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steddie fandom #steddie smut #steddie brainrot #steddie thots #steddie ao3

[spnkinkevents]

SPN Kinktober 2023

What is it?

A SPN Kinktober event during October! This is a daily prompt event in the normal Kinktober vein, but we've added some SPN specific kinks in there for you as well. You can post on as many or as few days as you want!

When is it?

Every day in October, 2023.

What are the prompts?

See the image above (or for a list, click the readmore below.) Feel free to combine this event with any other fest/event you find, including any -tober events!

How do I participate?

No sign ups are required! Just post any and all SPN Kinktober content and be sure to include #spnkinktober2023 and tag us @spnkinkevents in your post. We will reblog everything we see, but if we haven’t reblogged your work within 24 hours please send us an ask. There will also be a thread to drop your links on our Discord for this event.

Reminder: Please review our General Rules, which apply to all events we host. If you have any questions, feel free to send in an Ask!

SPN Kinktober Prompt List:

Shoe Kink, Phone Sex, Needle Play

Busty Asian Beauties, Size Kink, Docking

Panty Kink, Impala Sex, Choking

Cock Rings, Dungeon, Exhibitionism

Animal Play, One Night Stand, Skype Sex

Body Modification, Cock Cages, Uniform Kink

Grinding, Circle Jerk, Cockwarming

Hentai, Kitten Play, Piercings

Suit Kink, Beastiality, Handcuffs

Praise Kink, Sex Swing, Wing Kink

Foot Job, Pegging, Deep Throating

Tattoos, Power Exchange, Felching

Spitroasting, Blowjobs, Sex Toys

Awkward Sex, Non-Human Kink, Sensation Play

Lapdance, Cupping, Ice Play

Boy Pussy, Cuddling, Object Insertion

Pressure Points, Role Play, Chastity Belt

Bondage, Feather Play, Face Riding

Striptease, Sexuality Crisis, Accent Kink

Strap Ons, Impregnation, Teasing

Cum Swallowing, Medical Kink, 69

Tentacle Porn, Edging, Weapons Kink

Slapping During Sex, Human Furniture, BDSM

Mpreg, Masturbation, Costumes

Filming Sex, Biting, Daddy Kink

Fuck or Die, Nipple Clamps, Creampie

Gags, Celibacy, Dry Humping

Saxx, Wedding Night, Frottage

Vacu Beds, Scratching, Coming Untouched

Sadism, Grace Kink, Clit Play

Free Day!

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.  

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there��.

 I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

 “y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

 His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

#thranduil au #thranduil x you #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #the hobbit au #the hobbit #thranduil fanfic #lord of the rings #thranduil ballet au #thranduil headcanon #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil oropherion x reader

[waxerboilmonth]

Schedule/FAQ/Rules

SFW prompts NSFW prompts🌶️ Waxer*Boil Month AO3 collection Discord server

SCHEDULE (weeks begin on Sundays) : • Prompt submissions: Dec 1, 2023 - Dec 14, 2023 • Prompt voting: Dec 15, 2023 - Dec 21, 2023 • Prompts announced [SFW prompts] [NSFW prompts🌶️]: Dec 22, 2023 • WEEK 1: March 3, 2024 - March 9, 2024 • WEEK 2: March 10, 2024 - March 16, 2024 • WEEK 3: March 17, 2024 - March 23, 2024 • WEEK 4: March 24, 2024 - March 30, 2024 • Late contributions accepted/re-reblogs posted to Tumblr: March 31, 2024 - April 21, 2024 • Collection closes: April 22, 2024

FAQ and rules below the cut:

FAQ:

1. Can works created for Waxer*Boil Month include other characters or ships?

Of course! That said, the focus must be on Waxer and Boil's relationship, however you envision it. Any other characters featured should be in supporting roles only (see Rule #1 below for more information). The purpose of this event is not to encourage more works that simply include Waxer and Boil, but to encourage more works that focus on their story, specifically, above all others.

For example, if you were to post the work on AO3, the tags ‘Clone Trooper Boil/Clone Trooper Waxer’ and/or ‘Clone Trooper Boil & Clone Trooper Waxer’ would be the first and primary relationship tag(s) in the work.

2. What kinds of fan works are welcome for this event?

All kinds of fan works are welcome, including, but not limited to, fan fiction, digital and traditional art, gifs, podfics—anything you'd like to create!

3. What platforms/websites can I use?

Waxer*Boil Month will include an AO3 collection to which you can submit works, the waxerboilmonth Tumblr account, and a Discord server. If you are sharing a work on Tumblr, please tag @waxerboilmonth​​ so that I can reblog it. If you don't have a Tumblr account or don't want to share a work directly to Tumblr, you can send an ask or DM waxerboilmonth with a link to the work on AO3 or other sites (such as Instagram, Twitter, etc.), and I will share it on the event Tumblr.

4. Do I have to make something for each week in order to participate?

No. Participants are welcome to create as many fan works as they like for the month. If you just want to create one work, that's great!

5. How many sets of prompts will the month have?

Four—one for each full week of March, 2024. The list of prompts for 2024 will be posted on Tumblr after Dec 22, 2023.

6. How many prompts will there be per week?

Each week will have 4 text prompts and 2 image prompts that participants can choose from to create any kind of fan work. In addition, there will be 3 NSFW prompts per week, though again, contributors may create any kind of work from any prompt. The list of prompts for 2024 will be posted on Tumblr after Dec 22, 2023.

7. What's the difference between the text prompts and image prompts?

Aside from how they are submitted, there's no difference between the two types of prompts. Text prompts could be anything from tropes to AUs to short song lyrics. Image prompts can be anything from an aesthetic image (cyberpunk, cottagecore, etc.) to something that is more suggestive of a plot or other theme (a person going running with their dog, a birthday party, etc.). Feel free to use any of these prompts as inspiration for any kind of fan work.

8. Are there rules regarding whitewashing?

This event does not condone whitewashing of any characters, but there are no specific rules that participants must follow. Descriptions or visual representations of the clones, for example, do not need to check any arbitrary boxes of 'correctness.' Nor must they exactly resemble the models in The Clone Wars or any people who have played the clones in live action roles—art is hard and demanding anything like photo-realism is exclusionary. However, please keep in mind the frequent whitewashing of characters in popular media and create your contributions to Waxer*Boil Month in good faith.

9. Are NSFW/E-rated works allowed?

Yes, fan works of all ratings are welcome (please see the rules below for exceptions). However, they must be properly tagged on AO3 and labeled with the appropriate Major Archive Warnings. On Tumblr, contributions must also be properly tagged and have appropriate community labels applied. You are free to post your works on other platforms as well, but please follow those platforms' community guidelines and tagging policies.

10. Do you accept late contributions?

Yes, the event will accept late contributions through April 21, 2024.

RULES:

1. This rule is being added in April, 2023, due to some confusion with contributions for the first Waxer*Boil Month in March, 2023. To elaborate on and reiterate item #1 in the FAQ, the focus of the work MUST be on Waxer and Boil’s relationship. This means that:

Waxer and Boil must both be included in the work in some way (for example: though flashbacks, talking via holocalls, etc.)

The main story or theme cannot revolve around other characters, relationships, or plot elements unrelated to Waxer and Boil’s relationship.

If the work consists of multiple chapters in which each one is a drabble or ficlet, all of the chapters must be focused on Waxer and Boil’s relationship.

Works that do not meet these criteria will not be accepted in future Waxer*Boil Month events.

If you are unsure about an idea, feel free to DM or send an ask to the waxerboilmonth Tumblr account. As an example, here is a work that may not, at first glance, seem to meet the criteria above, but the caption underneath the image ties the work together and makes it clear that Waxer and Boil's relationship is the focal point.

2. I’m the only mod and need to at least skim all works to make sure they fit the event criteria, so while I place no moral judgements on works of fiction, I ask that participants not contribute works that feature:

explicit sexual content, non-con, or graphic violence involving characters under the (species equivalent) age of 16—that's 8 for clones.

animal cruelty

3. Please do not add any DNIs (Do Not Interact) to any of your contributions to this event.

4. The AO3 collection is open but moderated, so you may join it and contribute works at any time. However, the works will not be approved until the appropriate week. For that reason, ✨please include the week number and whatever prompt(s) the work is filling in the tags, summary, or author’s notes.✨ 5. Have fun! Support each other!

#waxerboilmonth #waxerboilmonth2023 #fandom event #waxer #boil #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #lieutenant waxer #tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #star wars #faq #rules #schedule

[arcanefandomweek]

Arcane Year Two week event Rules and Guidelines

Rules

Fanworks created for this event should be focused on Arcane character(s). While LoL characters and OCs are welcome, they should not steal the spotlight. Canon characters should be the focus, even in a work set in season 2 with new characters joining the cast.

All types of fanworks, including fic, art, moodboards, podfic, playlists, meta, cosplay, embroidery, and more, are welcome for this event.

NSFW or potentially triggering content, even if canon-typical, must be properly tagged with any applicable content warnings. For the comfort of the mods, please only submit NSFW works if you are 18+.

This event is also open to all ships and all levels of rating. However we expect works to be fully tagged in order to be reblogged. This is a strict rule, as people can't be expected to effectively manage what they see and read if they are not given the tools to effectively block tags.

Racist, queerphobic, ableist, misogynistic, or otherwise hateful or bigoted behavior or fanworks will not be tolerated. Your work may include aspects of bigotry and oppression so long as they are properly tagged. For example: A fic that features a character facing ableism is allowed with content warnings; a work that includes ableist tropes as part of the narrative or erases a canon disability is not.

Any form of disrespectful or threatening behaviour towards fellow participants will see the offending account blocked and their works unshared.

If you are submitting visual work, please consider writing an image description!

Guidelines

This is a week format event. It will run for 1 week, from the 7th of November to the 13th. Late entries are accepted. Early entries are not and are discouraged. Please wait for the start of the week to share your works. We will not be browsing the tag prior to the 7th.

How do you participate?

By making any type of fanwork using any of the prompts provided. The orthodox way of playing with this type of event is to restrict yourself to a prompt provided on the day. Posting a fic on day 1 written to a day 1 prompt, an art on day 2 with a day 2 prompt, etc.

This event provides 2 sets of prompts with two different themes (pre-canon and canon timeline, and a post canon speculative timeline). While you can stick to one set of prompt, you are very welcome to mix and match. Extremely bold participants may want to do both and post 2 weeks worth of works. That's fine too! So is doing a single work for a single prompt.

Ultimately, the goal is to have a week during which the Arcane fandom gets the spotlight and new works are created and shared. the goal is to be inspired and have fun. The prompts are there to inspire If you see a prompt in the post-canon theme that appeals to you for a pre-canon story, go crazy!

Submitting Posts to AO3, Twitter, and Tumblr

AO3

Please submit your works to the AO3 collection Arcane_Year_Two. This collection will be opened the day the event starts, and remain open for at least a month after it ends. It will never be hidden, made anonymous, or deleted.

Twitter

If you want us to retweet your posts, @ us (@Arcanefanweek) and use the tag #arcaneyeartwo or #arcaneyear2. If your post includes NSFW or triggering content, a rating or trigger warnings must be included in the post as per our rules. NSFW material should include the tag #nsfw or #arcanensfw, or you may want to consider adding a sensitive content filter.

Tumblr

If you want us to reblog your posts, use the tag #arcaneyeartwo We'll also monitor #arcaneyear2, so either should work.

Due to Tumblr’s glitches regarding posts with links not showing up in the tag, we also recommend that you @ us (@arcanefandomweek) in the body of your post just to make sure we see it! If we take more than 2 days to get to you, feel free to send an ask or DM.

If your post includes NSFW or triggering content, a rating or trigger warnings must be included in the body of the post, as per the rules. Any NSFW or triggering material itself must be under a read more/post break.

If your post is longer than a few paragraphs, please place the rest of the text under a read more and/or include a link to AO3.

Mods

The sole mod for this event is the blog runner, @bluedaddysgirl (they/them), both on here and twitter.

Our twitter | Our FaQ | AO3 collection | Prompt list

#arcaneyeartwo #arcaneyear2 #arcane #arcane event #netflix arcane #fandom event #rules #guidelines

[lamemaster]

The Silmarillion Elves Finding My Mutual's Blog

AN: why am I doing this? Lack of brain cells, I tell you. But here we go (lmk if you would like to be removed...I don't intend to offend anyone). A small gift for mutuals and feel free to add more blogs if needed.

Summary: How would characters from the Silmarillion react to finding my mutual's blogs. Purely based on my interpretation which may or may not be messed up.

@asianbutnotjapanese: the loremaster with all the records. Elrond and Finrod. Do I need to say more? This trio would sit together to appreciate all the writings together. A group that thrives together as they compare their findings.

Finrod's appreciation might originate in the form of odes complimented by the notes of his harp.

Kings and queens of reblogging stuff for easier access.

@doodle-pops: There's going to be a crowd here. But the chief guest of this gathering can be none other than Fingon. Accompanied by Glorfindel and Fingolfin (because I see you with that sugar daddy fic Mina).

I completely expect Fingon to encounter the blog, binge-read everything and then create his own the very next day (and yes, he will write the most cursed ships). This elf will create multiple other accounts to comment on the Fingon fics...Will jokingly compare the note count of his fic with that of Maedhros'.

Glorfindel is just another golden retriever. He will meticulously thank you and the rebloggers (celebrates humbly at his popularity). And he will be the one to send super sweet 'you're amazing' kind of asks to the writer.

Fingofin will become an established annon on the blog. No one knows it's him. His online personality is 180 from his real life. (He's got some ships and opinions and mans won't stop from stating them *aggressively*.

@a-world-of-whimsy-5: The Ainur. Sauron, Namo, and Irmo (Manwe and Eonwe are lurking) are here and they will read everything. Don't be surprised if you get a bunch of passionate Sauron requests by an 'annon' the next day. Very specific requests.

Irmo on the other hand reads even the spiciest fics with a poker face late at night. I can just imagine him laying with his phone in his hand as he scrolls through the blog. A quiet existence but don't be surprised when you wake up with 50 notes and a new followers.

Namo will start by restraining himself to the sfw fics but somehow ends up reading nsfw and goes down the rabbit hole. Next day the he can't look anyone in the eye (especially Manwe). Decides never to do that again only to come back for more (don't even bring him close to hurt no comfort, this Ainur cried for Luthien. He can't handle angst).

@wandererindreams: Ulmo, Manwe, Eru, and The Void. Just a merry group having existential conversations. You all would be sitting there with your copy of texts and believe me Eru will pull out receipts to prove shit.

The sight of the Void being hyped by all the extensive headcanons...chef's kiss. Literal black hole feels included in the fandom for the first time.

Manwe and Ulmo would be there with wisdom and appreciation for your deep contemplation. Both commenting their piece and views about the subject in lengthy comments.

Eru will be taking notes. I can envision Iluvatar, playing devil's advocate (ironic) and arguing against anything and everything. Eru likes hooman who challenge him (ask Numenorians).

@animatorweirdo: Maglor and Sauron. The second eldest Feanorian will be found blushing as he reads your works and he will revisit the blog in bouts of day-dreaming of his true love. Leaves adorable emojis in the comments.

Believe me, Sauron would get some pretty interesting ideas from all your sci-fi fics. Now he really really really needs a vampire plus werewolf SO so bad. This maia will flourish under all the attention given to him. Follows fervently but will like sparingly (he's got an image to maintain).

I would also spy a lingering Maedhros but he's got the tired mom energy so he'll be a flickering presence who remembers Tumblr once every 3 months.

Lamemaster: dead. Feanor or Finwe will smite me the second they see my blog.

#the silmarillion #writers and their muses #tolkien elves #we're fucked if this happens #Feanor will smite me #treat for mutuals

[whatgaviiformes]

i'm absolutely windswept

I started Thunderteers in May of 2019. I remember very distinctly being out to dinner with Hubs, coordinating the AU concept almost entirely for a long, epic first story. We were at a Chili's and I had my usual indecisive platter of appetizers as my meal. As of today there's only been 3 chapters of what mapped out that day. Some of it made it to paper. I've never been great at those long epics - I love reading them, but my writing brain is most solid with the 1K-6K word length.

So I started building the world with fic. I wrote about Virgil playing the violin, and how he made music. I explored Gordon's accident, and what it could've happened in place of a hydrofoil. I reached for Military!Bros instead of my usual FishTank, and explored the truth behind legends. I forced myself to make and break OCs, spent way too much time researching when songs were created, recipes of the time, if certain animals were classified the same way, and what name a city may have had in 1774.

Other things I decided not to research at all.

Above all that, before I posted a new story or fic, I asked myself if the imagery was there, and was it something I was proud of? Because I knew - the only way I could get others to set sail with me, was to make sure I was taking you on the journey. Not if it was historically accurate, but does this feel like our boys, and are they interacting with the environment in a way that feels like it would still be them? Is it possible to still see Gordon? Still see Scott?

That was my first AU.

Naturally, in asking myself this, I've had different images in my head all this time, and I was lucky enough this month to have the chance to ask the amazing @chenria to bring one of them to life for me. You can find the post below:

Sailor Gordon by Chenria.

Go like it, reblog it, send her support, consider joining her patreon if you can. She knocked it out of the park, and in so doing - inspired me along the way.

If you decide to read Thunderteers, just know - it's not always beautiful.

But this one - it's all love and heart. I've written the snippet for Windswept as a thank you to chenria's amazing work, to everyone who puts up with my reblogging posts for the age of sail (#ships ships ships) or who tag me in things to see, or have Wellerman living rent free in their heads and let me play along. Thanks to those that have read the story, maybe cried along, or sent me words of encouragement.

Thank you for letting me experiment with language and story, and sometimes - when I get really lucky- for the words I've written to matter to you.

*****

Windswept (~500 words)

As far as clouds go, Gordon is among the strangest. The wind tugs at his clothing, hanging loose and informally on his silhouette, and at his hair where he stands aloft amidst the sails. The seabirds close to shore weave their dance between the ropes above, circling him curiously. Even though his form is strange to them, he’s not unwelcome in their home in the air. If anything, he’s just a part of the flying clouds that make up the rigging of their ship.

The gulls’ calls sound like laughter, and he smiles with them. The birds will accompany the ship for a time, darting towards the quick meal at the bow where the front of the ship often disturbs the sea life below. If the voyage is to be a lucky one, they’ll grace the wood of the ship with a gift or two that’ll be left to wash away only with the next rain.

Gordon can feel the sway of the ship stronger from above; though with the Thunderbird still anchored close to shore, the waves are gentle as they lap against her firm hull. The movement is a tease for the voyage ahead, as Gordon has always found himself more comfortable in their journeys out to sea than he’s ever felt in his tentative steps on land. The ship has watched him grow and come of age, from awkward limbs racing up the rigging, to strong shoulders heaving her lines and helming her wheel. She’s given him the freedom to roam, to explore lands and seas unknown, and even with the thrill of adventure, Gordon feels most safe in the comfort of her embrace. If that isn’t a home, he doesn’t know what else is.

He knows her in the early morn - the way the sunrise paints cotton and how the mist tingles at the fuzz on his arms at the start of his shift. He knows the echo of their shanties within her oak beams, and the squeak of her joy when the creatures of the sea ride along with her bow waves upon them really catching the wind and when the tang of citrus remains on his tongue from breaking fast.

He knows her in the rain, the smell of wood and cotton when burdened with wet from above as well as below, the crackle of lightning in its brief and staggered illumination of her flags. He knows her in the cold, when the puff of his breath is visible and the wind cuts into his skin. Among whales, massive and elegant as they groan their song into her hull.

He knows her in the evening – Virgil and John’s cooking and their different nuances for flavor and spice, the vibrato of Virgil’s violin paired with the warm timbre of the Scott’s cello pulsing along her foundations. The way she creaks below Alan’s eager footsteps.  He knows the soft glow around flame-lit lanterns in the darkest of night and the hush of melodies uttered in multiple languages up towards twinkling stars. The way his hammock rocks him to sleep with her movement.

He knows her in both fair winds and motionless skies, in the brightest of sunlit days and the most cloud-covered of nights. Through doldrums, archipelagos, and the far reaches of the seas, and along coastlines, he knows her.  

And his soul trembles just as she does, her unfurled sails shuddering in anticipation of catching the wind.

TBC..?

#gavii scribit #privateers!AU #thunderteers #there might be more to this moment eventually but for now a small snippet of a scene

[todayimfour]

Hello!! If possible, do you think you could do a Hypnos from Hades (game) board, with the image of him (like the images of the characters in the board) being his "Bond Forged Icon" (found on the fandom wiki)? If you're cool with more specific age ranges, do you think you could do somewhere around 8-12 years old? Tysm in advance!! Also please let me know if this is too specific or too much /genuine !

HYPNOS BOARD!!! 💤✨🪶

PLZ REBLOG IF YOU SAVE/DO NOT REPOST

I had to do some research for this character so let me know if I did okay!

With the age range you were giving me I tried to go for a sleepy kid who always has SOMETHING to do except his schoolwork, I also have him a phone. I feel like with being a god/ the art I saw of him he'd be one of those super cool but spoiled kids with the newest iphone in 5th grade. Subway surfers and angry birds pre installed just for him! I just imagine him sitting in a cozy nook dosing off while he's playing those free dressup games and ignoring his math homework 🤍

MADE USING PICSART- FREE ON APP STORE

None of the art or images are mine, they were either found in the app or a quick Google image search for his face

I take requests! Plz read the green portion of my pinned posts before sending an ask <3

#Ghostly's Boards!! #agere boards #agere board #hypnos hades #hypnos hades agere #hypnos hades agere board #fandom agere #agere fandom #sfw agere #age regression #agere #agere community #agere little #safe agere

[cyber-therian]

my boundaries & preferences

please do not:

interact with me in ways that involve touch, even though it isn’t actually happening ! for example: “can i pat your head?” “can we cuddle?” “can i play with your tail?” etc etc !

i have touch aversion & if i want touch i will initiate it myself !

tag me in picrews / image makers that are exclusively humanoid / have no options for animal characters !

i am physically nonhuman and have really bad species dysphoria, not only can i not participate in these because of my appearance but it also makes me feel that i am being viewed as human

use my userboxes without permission

some are very personal to me. you can send me asks to request the use, but if i refuse it you can also ask me to make you a custom one

involve me in syscourse

i have a statement here discussing this

save or repost any IRL images

“repost” is not the same as reblog, you are free to reblog anything unless i turn rbs off. i am deeply uncomfortable with anyone having control over images from my personal life. you may receive a warning but depending on the image i might block you if you break this

these are subject to change & addition

#boundaries #preferences #boundaries list #important

[ratbiwirattime]

NE WPIN PSODT ("new pin post")

[Image ID: A banner that says: ‘To break free from the JRWI RP industrial complex, feel free to block the ‘#just role(play) with it’ tag. End Image ID.]

RTWA tikem with em, vuiw- hanfg opnin gotn a trna slateor ("RAT time with me, biwi- hang on i got a translator")

helkpo peo;.e ikm, rat exceptn if u r roemo juilet or part of thwen mythbrioen crewwbe ("hello people im rat except if you are romeo juliet or part of the mythborne crew")

prikjns? me rat no care ("pronouns? me rat, no care")

thb ans kltions provided byeb cheri caus eclaws back forn typing even wtih thubmsb ("translations provided by cheri [HEY THAT'S ME! :D] cause claws bad for typing even with thumbs")

wikklk troyjn to ikm,rlrpove tpyijgn ovn ertime sen d hujamns wornd s for me ton help pel,x ("will try to improve typing over time, send human words for me to help pls")

thst sijk alln gobdy ("that is all goodbye")

hello everyone, translator @s0lar-ch3ri here! i do also play an aster blog, please interact with me id love it

out of chracter i use he/her/it, but i do not mind others!

it is hard to be in full character for rat so forgive me if my acting is shit

im not saving the aster tags so heres the ones ill be using:

#off stage water break -out of character asks/reblogs/posts

#biwi hears. - he will answer your question.

#biwi entertainment cheese - incharacter for biwi

#INFESt RAT RTA RTA RTA - conversations with other rp blogs

#purely biwi - "untranslated" posts (only doing this upon request or for fun)

#MOBILE BEAST - biwis on his phone

#worb practice - on the computer practicing typing

#no feral :3 - interacting with rp blogs but like less wild to fit the mood

#biwisping - hes...somewhere. yeah

#INFESt RAT RTA RTA RTA #biwi hears. #biwi entertainment cheese #biwi the rat #jrwi mythborne #jrwi #jrwi podcast #jrwi show #just roll with it #jrwishow #jrwi biwi #jrwiblr #rp blog #purely biwi #MOBILE BEAST #worb practice #no feral :3 #biwisping #just role(play) with it

[ryan-selucreh]

oh hey its the website aster got into

[Image ID: A banner that says: ‘To break free from the JRWI RP industrial complex, feel free to block the ‘#just role(play) with it’ tag. End Image ID.]

hey guys, its ryan here (for the j-crew, its just some silly nickname the dudes like using, hahaha im totally jyan)! i use he/they pronouns mostly, but whatever you guys want! con-nerd isnt here yet but like he says if you guys have seen any weird mystery things or if you know anything on what happened at WyldRyatts college like 4 months ago, hit us up here

you can also hit up my girl at @aster-aeliana!

yo, wait that twerps on here? sweet, hi @thepiedromeo, silly drama loser lol

FUCKING BIWIS ON HERE??? WELL FUCK MAN @ratbiwirattime THE HELL YOU DOIN??

oh fuck dude connors actually here @connorfrombofa what up homeboy

ik professor aeliana got on here but i dont want him sending me to therapy for my posts so hes not getting tagged

oh also forgot to mention im on the floatball team for the wyldratts gotta love my boys of the j-crew (im not as great as another player i love [NO HOMO], but im fine with 2nd place, @gary-mfing-gilmore <3)

most any blog tagged here is ran by me, MINUS ROMEO AND CONNOR PLAYED BY NEW FRIENDS OF MINE! CHECK THEM OUT

ooc i am your local silly bigender @s0lar-ch3ri and use she/he/it mainly, but accept/tolerate other pronouns! do check out the other rp blogs too, theres been the suckening, apotheosis, bitb, pd, and riptide blogs (this is only counting ones from the server im in, i forget who hosts it but yeah)!

lil tag things:

#ryans part to play - in character

#from you dudes - answering asks

#off court shit - out of character

#across jrwi teams - interacting with rp blogs

#totally not a history nerd - history related things (will probs just be some quote things, inspired by the deacon and arthur blog poetry reblogs and shit)

OH ALSO I CANNOT BE 100 PERCENT CANON AND THERES GONNA BE SPOILERS BE WARNED RAHHHHHH

small edit but on main i have a ryan analysis and thats in part what i base his behavior on

EDIT, PFP CHANGE HAS HAPPENED, CREDIT TO MY MUTUAL @ripells FOR IT <3333333

edit number 2, changed pfp because brain was mean, but THE OLD PFP IS STILL FIRE SO TAKE IT

#totally not a history nerd #across jrwi teams #from you dudes #ryans part to play #off court shit #jrwi mythborne #jrwi rp #rp blog #ryan selucreh #just role(play) with it