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hawkinshighdropout · 2 years

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Stuck With You.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x (female) Reader

Summary: You and Eddie decide that you want to get matching tattoos, but as you are both low on cash you opt for doing stick and pokes in his trailer instead.

Warnings: Do NOT try this at home!!!!!, this is purely fluff/pure content. Mentions of needles for tattoo purposes? Unless you count a couple of curse words as needing a warning? Idk, I haven’t written fanfics in like 8 years so I’m a little rusty…

Note/Request: Requested by anonymous. “it would be so cool if you could write about Eddie and the reader getting matching stick and pokes in his room ;)”

Word Count: 1.4k

Send me prompts to write about!

“So, what are we gonna get?” Eddie asks, sitting with crossed legs on his bed.

He’s got a sketchbook in one hand and a pencil in the other, double page spread in front of him filled with various doodles and sketches that he had done in the time it took you both to brainstorm ideas for what you wanted to tattoo on one another.

Eddie was covered in a few little tattoos here and there, but you were a tattoo virgin. It took weeks of convincing for Eddie to pester you into getting a tattoo, you only agreed if it was small, hidden, and something important to you. You didn’t mind if people got tattoos just because the design was cute, everyone was entitled to their own decisions and autonomy, you just wanted your body to be covered in memories and stories.

“I don’t know, Dee. I can’t settle on one idea…” you huff, looking through one of his old tattoo magazines to get any form of inspiration as Eddie happily sat designing more and more potential options for you.

It had to be something that would look good on the both of you, you didn’t want it to ruin the scratchy flow of his own artwork, but you didn’t want something so uncharacteristically not-you plastered on your body for life for the sake of it.

He kept suggesting things like a guitar, a D20, bats to match his own, and you had to keep reminding him that those were his interests and not your own.

A pout permanently attached to your lips as you tried your best to pick something, fairly restricted as neither you or Eddie were artists or tattoo artists, so it was guaranteed to be a far worse design in reality than any book could prepare you for.

“1984?” Eddie asks, you’re snapped out of your thoughts whilst you glance across at him with a puzzled look on your face, “The year we met? 1984… We could just pick somewhere to write that on each other. Simple, relatively easy, meaningful,” he offers, checking off every box you had made.

“That’s… perfect, Dee. Yes!” you grin, throwing the magazine aside to climb up from the bed, following eagerly behind Eddie as he rushed off to the dining table of his trailer to start setting up the equipment for the stick and poke session you had planned.

You watched nervously as Eddie set everything up, the gloves, the needles, the inks, the alcohol wipes, the cling wrap for afterwards, paper towels at the ready in case of blood, and a sharpie to draw the design onto your body. He coaxed you over towards him like you were a scared kitten, eventually able to get you to sink into the seat opposite him as he smiles reassuringly in your direction.

“You wanna go first, or wanna watch me tattoo myself first?” he offers, knowing you had no tattoo knowledge and he had done this a few times, he would be the one manning the equipment today. It made you feel slightly more at ease knowing that you wouldn’t be in charge of any needles going near anyone’s skin.

“I-I’ll go first, I might chicken out if I have to watch you..” you confess, to which he nods in understanding and gives you a comforting glance.

“Where shall we put it?” he questions, taking a quick up and down glance of your body before simply smiling with his big doe eyes locking with your own, waiting patiently for you to decide.

“Maybe like… on my ribs? Where they meet in the middle cause my bra would cover it so no one would see it, but I would know it’s there? Plus, it’ll be close to my heart..” you shrug, biting on your lower lip as you awaited his approval.

“Perfect, babe. Uh… Go in my room and take off your shirt and bra? You can just steal one of my plaid shirts and just keep the top half unbuttoned so I can get to your ribs, but you can still be modest and comfortable.” He gives you a thumbs up as you nervously wander back to his room.

Once you are dressed in his red plaid shirt, buttons undone until the bottom of your rib cage like he suggested, you shyly walk back into the living room as he grins. You lay down on the dining room table and do your best to get comfortable as Eddie adjusts the shirt just a little to make sure you are as modest as possible.

You watch as he grabs the sharpie and lines up the design as best as he can, offering to let you get up and see in the mirror, but you know you’ll chicken out due to the fear you felt.

“It’s okay, I trust you.” You mumble, closing your eyes as your head falls back off the table.

Eddie is then quiet as he tugs on the sterile gloves, pours out some ink into his little cup, opening up the fresh needle and lightly massaging a small amount of rubbing alcohol over the area to prep the skin. He’s dipping the needle into the ink before glancing up at you, trying to gauge where your head was currently at.

“Are you ready?” he asks, voice full of comfort.

“I think so, yes..” you reply.

“Stay still, okay?” his voice soothing, you nod once and brace yourself to keep perfectly still.

Sticking his tongue out in concentration, Eddie pressed the needle into the ink before he started the slow and painful process of permanently marking your skin with the meaningful piece of artwork.

Reassuring you whenever you needed it, giving you words of encouragement and a promise that the pain would be worth it in the end, a fond smile on his face as you did your best to relax in his care. Once he was all done, he cleaned you up with a fresh wipe before patting the skin dry with a paper towel, taping a small piece of cling wrap over your fresh tattoo to protect it from dirt as it was an open wound.

“All done,” he beams in joy, admiring his handiwork.

Helping you to sit up, he’s then taking your hand once the gloves are removed, and he leads you to the hanging mirror in the hallway where you can appreciate the work. It was a little shaky and uneven, but it was perfect in your eyes, feeling yourself tearing up a little as the adrenaline leaves your body and makes you a soft and emotional mess.

“Dee, it’s beautiful…” you sighed, he immediately agreed.

“My turn!” he yells in excitement, rushing back to his temporary workstation whilst you continue to admire the tattoo in the mirror. Giving you time to yourself whilst he changed gloves and needles for health and safety reasons, glancing over himself as he tried to decide where to put his work.

You peak up at him as Eddie calls your name, wandering over to him with an endeared look on your face, taking the pen that he thrusts in your direction as he declares that he wanted you to write the tattoo on him so it would be in your handwriting. Asking him where he wants it, you nod in understanding before you delicately write the numbers ‘84’ on the patch of skin on the back of his hand in the space between his inner wrist and thumb.

Your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling, the placement was perfect, it filled you with butterflies that he wants that memory of you plastered so proudly on his hand, where he would see it each and every day.

“Thanks, love.” He grinned, letting you sit back as he started the process on himself.

It took him a little more time to tattoo himself as he stopped to wince, or curse, or bitch about how it hurt more than he remembered, to which you give him a smug smirk and an ‘I told you so’ kind of look.

Once he was done, he cleaned it up and got your help with protecting the skin with the cling wrap, Eddie then throws away the trash and clears up the counter to keep it sanitary. You take his hand delicately between your own so you can bring it to your face and admire it, blushing cheeks as you were a permanent reminder on him now.

“You like it?” you ask, voice sounding slightly hopeful as you wanted him to be happy with the mark that would be forever on his skin because of you.

“I love it, gorgeous!” he pauses, “’84, baby!” Eddie grins, pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead.

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the-nocturnal-writer · 5 months

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Evenfall Grove Dev log 3

Busy, Busy, Busy.

My partner got a new job recently, so I've been helping him prepare and not feel so nerves. That being said, I have been getting stuff done here and there when I can.

I keep thinking "Oh, I finally have a little time to sit and draw/write!" then something new pops up for us. 😂 It's a bit funny, but also makes me so frustrated with myself. But- This is also my first game on my own, so I guess playing it slow and steady isn't the worst thing...

I have been finishing up Heke and Constantin's re-design, while Ashborn is done (expect their full portrait to be posted soon!) Also, say hi to Ash's friend. He's a small and mighty bird.

I'm going to miss colouring Ashborn's picture, they were just a vibrant assortment of colours compared to the other two. (Question to build the hype for our gorgeous witch's full reveal! Would you let Ashborn give you a tattoo if they asked? Better yet, would you get matching tattoos?)

I like Heka's neater attire since I wanted him to be well-kept and comfy. Lots of soft fabrics and loose clothes. I also added more make-up and designs to his human form because my boy has FLAIR. (Should I post shirtless Heka to show off his chest markings? Hmm....)

I believe I mentioned it already, but I wanted Heka to give a welcoming presence, if a little mysterious. The only off-putting thing I kept was his human body's eyes... But there's a reason for that decision....

Constantin is less bulky and features more sentimental accessories (He's not going to be an easy one to romance the more and more I write....) and tighter attire... I stand by my decision. He's a Hunter, so to me, he needed something that wouldn't restrict him, but also not weigh him down too much. Also had to add the eye cover for his scarred eye. The more I write, the better I can see how these characters present themselves.

For instance, Con is a character full of guilt, shame and fear. The scarred eye is the one injury he ever felt he deserved and it's also his biggest shame, so he would be the sort to cover and hide it.

I don't have much else to update on, other then I've been mindlessly writing and drawing when I can. It's all a cluster of mess, but I'm at least happy I'm moving along despite life not giving us a moment to breath.

I've also been thinking, since it was recommended, to create a Patreon! I wanted to post about it to get some feedback and hear what you all would like to see! So far I was thinking exclusive stories, art and early access, etc. Maybe also extra NSFW stuff? Hm...

Anyway. Thank you to everyone still following along with the progress and giving Evenfall a second thought. It means so much to know how many of you are interested in Evenfall Grove. It helps, more then you'll ever know, to keep me creating! So again, thank you!

Final thing, I will try to put aside some time to answer ask this weekend, so feel free to throw any feedback, questions and curiosities over there!

#evenfall grove if #dev log #unedited #when I get a good night sleep I'll be able to write properly pfft

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a-land-of-my-own · 6 months

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I'm going to get very personal here for a minute.

First of all, I definitely don't think that religion can "cure" mental illness, so don't interpret what I'm about to say the wrong way.

But I've genuinely gotten so much better at taking care of myself since I started converting.

It's a mitzvah to take care of oneself.

I haven't fasted since starting my conversion. Well, at least not in the traditional sense of "nothing, not even water or gum."

the reason for this is because I used to struggle with a restrictive eating disorder and I'm worried that if I fast for a day, I'll do it for the wrong reasons and relapse.

(This most recent Yom Kippur, i screen-fasted and only ate plain foods, per my sponsoring rabbi's advice)

I also view the "prohibition on tattoos" as not being about tattoos but rather about self-harm. G-d does not want me to injure myself so thus whenever I get the urge to relapse on self harm, I try my hardest not to do it

Idk. Obviously it's still hard for me to eat and for me to not hurt myself. But if taking care of myself is a mitzvah done for the sake of G-d, of course I'm gonna try my hardest to do it.

I'm not saying that converting cured my issues or anything like that, of course it didn't, but having a "reason" not to starve or not to hurt myself is so important to me.

G-d would want me to recover, so thus I'm recovering for G-d.

#jewish conversion #jumblr #jew by choice #self harm #eating disorders #(tagging for blacklist purposes - please dont interact if you are pro ana or anything like that. you WILL be blocked)

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e-wills-afterhours · 1 year

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@hazel-sage

"Oh, good to see you back :) If it strikes inspiration in you, I'd love to see some shenanigans with our favorite gang of six at any age! Basically, I loved the snark in the one-shot of Hiccup losing the bet and getting the tattoo, and I'd love more of that banter :P"

A/N: I'm glad you actually find shenanigans as enjoyable to read as they are to write. Be careful, though. You wouldn't want to give me any crazy ideas, such as I might actually be funny and clever! We all know that's not true. XD

This is the closest to pure crack-fic I've written in...years. Really, I'm hoping to amuse you with this as I'm amusing myself by writing it.

The gang is 17-18ish here. RTTE is not canon in my writing.

Marital Un-Bliss

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All of Berk was gathered in the Mead Hall, dressed in their best furs and garments. Formal occasions were causes to show off and stand out, regardless if the day was meant to focus on someone, anyone else--like the young couple who had just exchanged their vows and bound their lives together before the entire tribe. Astrid did not know them well, as they were a few years her senior. The bride's name was Tora, and she was Mulch's niece. She was also partial to Deadly Nadders. Whereas the groom, Brigir, was Gustav Larson's second cousin, and he favored Thunderdrums. That was a much as Astrid really cared to know.

The ceremony was beautiful enough, against the backdrop of reds and oranges consuming the forests of Berk in the distance. There was a slight chill in the air, but beneath the extra layers of wedding finery, it was not unpleasant.

What really lifted the spirits was the feast that came after. Wedding festivities in their village lasted for days, as any proper Norse wedding should, with the attire growing less stifling and restrictive, until all pretense faded away by the end of the celebration.

But even the prospect of copious drink and frivolity could not spare Astrid one day of her friends' complaining.

"This sucks," Tuffnut grumbled, conspicuously adjusting the crotch of his best pants. He went right for it too, by the handful, tugging and palming at himself.

A few people glanced disapprovingly at him, too sober to pay him no mind. The barrels had not yet been cracked open. By nightfall, Tuffnut could probably streak through the Mead Hall with half the tribe failing to notice, and the other half wouldn't much care. But he did not need any ideas to get him going.

"Could you stop that, maybe?" Astrid hissed, slapping the elbow of his offending hand.

Tuffnut rolled his eyes. "It's simple anatomy, Astrid," he replied, matter-of-factly, pointed emphatically between his legs. "You see, for us guys, when the seam on your crotch is too tight, it really strangles the--"

"I'm going to strangle you, if you don't cut that out."

"Did you even try on your formal clothes before the wedding?" Fishleg asked. He was wearing snug long sleeves, which he often found constricting over his large arms, but he had the sense not to whine about it. "I mean, we only have to endure them a few times a year."

Astrid shook her head, answering for Tuffnut, "No, that would be too practical. Sensible, even."

"Now he's stuck with pants that are two sizes too small," Snotlout snickered.

"Kind of like your brain, huh?" Astrid retorted.

"Haha, yeah!" Snotlout chortled. He paused for a beat, brow furrowing darkly. "Wait. What?"

Astrid swept her braid back over her shoulder. "I rest my case."

Snotlout opened his mouth to fire back, but was mercifully interrupted by Hiccup, making his way toward them through the sea of bodies. It was quite easy for him, as everyone readily made a way for his dragon.

Astrid's heart skipped a beat when she saw him. He dressed so unassuming normally, and only donned elaborate leather garb when flying might be involved, which was admittedly often. Only on their most formal occasions did he wear the finest tunics with silver and gold embellishments. She had not seen him in furs since their younger days, when any such cloak might swallow him. The leather he wore for now the pageantry of it, like his belt or his bracers, were classic and dignified.

"Sorry! I got away as soon as I could," he said, with a wary glance back at his father, who was busy chatting up the newlyweds in high spirits.

"Hey! That's okay!" Astrid replied, giving him a quick hug that he gladly reciprocated. "You're here now." She turned to his dragon rubbed his snout, crooning, "Hey, Toothless."

Snotlout made a sour face. "Please, don't you two start. I'm all romanced-out enough as it is."

"Start what?" Hiccup asked.

Snotlout gestured at the two of them vaguely. "You know."

Astrid smirked. "Oh. You mean this?"

She grasped Hiccup by the fur cloak pinned around his shoulders, pulling him in until she could snag him in her arms, dipping him low as one might do to a swooning maiden. He let out an indignant squawk before she silenced any burgeoning protests with a deep, theatric kiss.

Some wandering children shrieked and giggled to see them, pointing shamelessly. A few more responded with "EWW!" before running off into the crowd.

Snotlout and Tuffnut made loud retching noises while Ruffnut cackled. While the two boys found public affection between Hiccup and Astrid nauseating, Ruffnut cheered them on with great amusement.

She wolf-whistled then shouted, "Yeaaah! Get it, get it!"

"Okay, you guys," Fishlegs muttered, casting anxious glances at people nearby.

The hypocrisy was not lost on Astrid. Only moments before, she had scolded Tuffnut for lacking decorum. Now the eyes of judgment were on her. But as long as she got to kiss Hiccup and make Snotlout uncomfortable, she couldn't care less.

People began to move away from them, seeking a healthy distance from the teens' shenanigans. It was for the best.

Astrid released Hiccup and grinned, pulling him back onto his feet.

"You could warn me next time," he said, a little red in the face, pointlessly smooth out his neat and tidy tunic.

"But then it's no fun," Astrid teased, gently hip-checking him.

He cracked a smile in return.

"I need a drink," Snotlout grumbled.

He turned and strode toward the barrels of mead, quite surly. The other teens followed him with no provocation, joining the line to receive their liquid merriment; it would undoubtedly be the first round of many.

They took their drinks to an open table, dodging their parents, Berk's many dragons, and the wayward wing or tail. Toothless cleared the path ahead of them, and no mead was spilled. A feat in and of itself.

"Skol!" they shouted in unison, clinking their mugs together before knocking them back for a long gulp.

One swig became several, and Berkian mugs were crafted to be deep, and the mead was strong. As the volume of the hall around them continued to rise, so did their speech, inversely of their inhibitions.

Snotlout, in particular, was cockier the more he drank, forgetting his limitations for the confidence of a nice, steady buzz. Perhaps that was why he thought it good fun to challenge Astrid to an arm-wrestling contest, though he had not beaten her since they were thirteen. Astrid all too eagerly accepted, as the other teens, apart from Hiccup, placed their wagers. Fishlegs bet chores and the Twins bet silver; Hiccup refused to make a bet, saying it was not sporting if he already knew the outcome.

Sure enough, Snotlout's arm was leaning and trembling beneath the pressure from Astrid. Further and further, it went. He pleaded aloud, his inevitable defeat playing out in almost slow motion.

"No...no...NO!" he cried.

His arm hit the table with a dull thud, and the other teens erupted into cheers or boos, depending on which side of the wager they fell. Hiccup caught their teetering mugs before mead spilled out across the table, Tuffnut and Ruffnut each handed Fishlegs a piece of hack silver.

"Have you ever challenged her?" Snotlout asked his cousin, rolling the shoulder strained by the match.

"Why would I do that?" Hiccup asked, as if the idea was as absurd as standing on his head.

"To assert..."

"My...dominance?"

Hiccup and Astrid shared a glance, then burst into laughter. Fishlegs and the twins joined in. Toothless regarded the teens as if they had all lost their minds. Snotlout just rounded his shoulders and sulked.

"Contrary to what it may seem, I do not seek out pain and suffering," Hiccup replied, reaching for his mug.

"Then why are you dating?" Snotlout fired back.

Hiccup ignored him, drowning any retort in mead, while Astrid flashed him the middle finger.

"They seem a great deal happier than you," Fishlegs pointed out.

"Yeah, a regular dicking will do that to a person," Ruffnut mused.

Hiccup choked on his drink mid-swig and had to turn away quickly to cough and sputter into his elbow. Astrid patted his back and his dragon watched with great concern.

"I can help you with that," Snotlout offered, wiggling his eyebrows at Ruffnut, paying no mind to his flustered cousin.

"Ew, no," she dead panned.

Snotlout gestured at himself as if to insinuate he was quite the specimen.

"First, you might need to figure out how to treat a lady," Fishlegs teased.

Ruffnut whipped around scowling and Fishlegs shrunk back.

"Who are you calling a lady?" she demanded.

"Oh, and you know how to do it right, then?" Snotlout asked, sneering.

"Sure, I do!" Fishlegs answered, a little pink in the cheeks.

"Your mother doesn't count."

"Okay! You know what?" Fishlegs snapped, puffing out his chest. He rose to his feet.

"Finally! A worth opponent!" Snotlout declared, cracking his knuckles. He slammed his arm down against the table, poised in the arm-wrestling stance. "Let's go!"

Fishlegs produced a stack of the dragon cards he had made himself, throwing them down onto the table. They were functional as a game, with damage and protection points based on the natural stats of the dragons painstakingly recorded on each card. They were as practical in a tabletop battle as they were educational. Much to his friends' chagrin.

Snotlout glanced down at them. "What the actual Hel?"

"I challenge you to a game of dragon-knowledge!"

"No, I'm not doing that!" Snotlout protested, pushing the stack of cards away in disgust.

"Oh, yes you are." Fishlegs retorted, sliding them back toward him.

"Get that nerd bait away from me."

"Snotlout--!"

The two of them began to bicker, shouting over one another simultaneously, to overtake the music and dull roar of conversation, as well as each other.

Astrid rubbed her temples, leaning over to whisper to her boyfriend, "Want to dance?"

"No," Hiccup replied. Then he took her hand, swinging his legs back over the bench. "But actually, yes."

They escaped the inanities of the other riders by weaving toward the center of the chamber that had been cleared for dancing. The long tables were pushed off to the sides and the back of the Mead Hall, while the firepit blazed on in the middle. Several couples were already leaping and swirling about to the fast and cheerful music, including the bride and groom. Silent Sven beat the drum furiously to the melody of the rebec and lyre: like the enthusiasm of a summer rain, coursing through every fiber and rushing in the blood. Free from distraction, one simply had to dance.

Hiccup gestured for Toothless to stay put on the periphery, and the dragon merely cocked his head at the dancers spinning and hopping in laps around the firepit.

Astrid placed one hand on Hiccup's shoulder as he drew her close by the small of her back. Her other hand was firmly settled in his. They took a second to count the beat, and they joined in at the next measure.

The Mead Hall turned into a blur of colors and faces as they skipped forward and back, as if on a track, in one large circle around the floor, following the other couples. Hiccup twirled her at the right intervals, and Astrid beamed. Her dress fanned out as she spun, only to hug her legs once more as she moved in close to him again. Her jewelry felt heavy as she bounced on her toes, but the clacking of the beads against her chest was oddly satisfying.

"For all your reluctance to dance, you're not half bad," she told Hiccup, when she saw him smiling too.

"I never said I couldn't dance. Only that I don't purposefully seek out pain and suffering," he laughed, spinning her again.

"Aw, babe. Don't worry. There's no way you can dance with two left feet, on account you only have the one."

Hiccup let out a "Ha!" and the song came to an end. All of the dancers and several of the crowd applauded the band for their contribution. Immediately, they struck up a new chord, and the next song began, as lively as the one before it.

Astrid felt a tap on her shoulder, and she almost jumped.

Tuffnut was standing right behind her hand outstretched.

"Mind if I cut in?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

Hiccup gently pulled Astrid toward him with a frown, saying, "Yes, I do m--"

Tuffnut grasped her by her free hand and skipped off anyway, wrenching her out of her boyfriend's arms, leaving Hiccup standing there in empty-handed bewilderment.

"Here we go!" Tuffnut cried gleefully, guiding her along.

He at least had the sense to avoid placing his hands anywhere that would earn him a black eye. Then, Astrid heard Ruffnut call out, "Come on, string bean!"

She looked back to find the other girl leading a very reluctant Hiccup along after them. It became clear, however, that the twins were by no means intending any offense by their actions. They only ever meant chaos and hilarity. As Astrid settled into a cadence with her new dance partner, she just rolled her eyes and smiled. She saw that Hiccup came to the same realization. He was now dancing along with Ruffnut, with the two of them laughing at the absurdity of it.

Tuffnut whooped aloud as they pranced around the firepit, and Astrid echoed him. Several other calls and whistles responded from the observing crowd, as the drinks were now flowing freely.

When it came for time for Astrid to spin, she felt Tuffnut let go of her. As the world came back into focus and she found her footing, she was in familiar arms.

"Oh, hello," Hiccup said, holding her up against him.

Astrid looked to see that Ruffnut and Tuffnut were now partners, bouncing along like two shuffling Gronckles. She beamed from ear to ear.

The four of them continued to dance, switching up partners occasionally, until Astrid even danced with Ruffnut, leaving the boys to twirl each other around in overly dramatic fashion. Upon their third rotation around the floor, Fishlegs and Snotlout joined in. They announced their arrival, running into the fray with hands aloft, clapping loudly in time. The music played on, and Astrid suspected it was being looped for their benefit.

Forgoing partners completely, the six of them locked arms and hopped along to the beat in a chain. They had taken over, as they so often did; like the music was played just for them. Even the newlyweds cheered them on with great amusement. Astrid's face hurt from a persistent smile and breathless laughter. She could not recall another wedding she had enjoyed so thoroughly.

Gustav tried to link up with them at one point, but Snotlout held him at arm's length and mouthed, "Not you."

Astrid decided then she could tolerate the stifling formality of fancy clothes and the others' incessant whining; and all the decorum of thousand weddings if they could all be as memorable.

#httyd fic #httyd fics #I probably tired less on this fic than most because I just wanted it to be FUN #don't invite the gang to your wedding #you will be upstaged #FACTS

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pandoradoesotherstuff · 3 months

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4 Times Charm Almost Told Art he Loved her and the One Time he Did.

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A/N: Yessssss I'm back on the Kollok Council of the Gods bandwagon! Featuring everyone's favourite god of Charm and our (mine and @ragingdumpsterfire) OC, the goddess of Art. Art has she/they pronouns, but other than that, they have no distinguishable biology mentioned.

Also, this is sheer toothrotting fluff! 🥰

Enjoy! ❤️

Charm watches from a distance as Art excitedly shows off her newest ink. The other gods were crowded around, twisting their arm this way and that to get the best view. It was an absolute work of art like the rest of them. Like a Renaissance painting come to life on her skin, beautiful and delicate. Bold and vivacious. Their body was a canvas that Charm more than enjoyed exploring. After a minute or two, he decides it’s high time he goes over and makes his presence known.

“They’re beautiful, Art. Like you”. He says with his usual tone of playful coyness, finally drawing attention to himself. He could practically hear the other gods roll their eyes at him.

“Typical Charm, can’t stop himself flirting for more than 5 seconds”, Moon teases from across the crowd. Art, however, knows him better than that. It’s a sincere compliment that she secretly cherished.

“I love…” Charm clears his throat, changing his mind quickly about what he was about to say.

“I love them, the tattoos. Gorgeous. I’m going to get a drink, do you want one?” Charm quickly leaves as Moon chuckles from the background before being elbowed by Art.

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Charm stands as still as he can while Art works dutifully on his eye makeup, using the smallest brush to paint delicate lines and patterns around his eyes. Art had came to him practically bouncing with excitement about trying out a new eye look for him and well, he loved to be beautiful and they loved to be create, so how could he say no?

The fine soft hairs of the brush were slightly ticklish on his skin, but he knew it was important not to move while she worked her magic. Art’s fingers felt like heaven against him. Warm and soft, slightly calloused at the pads from years of creating. It was hard for him not to smile at the cute noises of concentration they made as they worked, little ums and ahs along with partial snatches of words that made no sense to anyone but them. He longs to say those three words. It would be all too easy for them to slip right out. They fight to leave his lips, but he won’t let them. Not yet. It has to be perfect.

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Charm pauses at the studio door when he hears the sound of hurried brushstrokes coming from inside. He knew better than to disturb Art when they were busy in their studio. He’d already had that lecture before. It made her nervous and a little unnerved when he watched her, which was a shame, he loved watching her at work.

Charm cautiously peeks through the crack in the door, trying to get a glance at what they were working on now. It was hard to see from his restricted view, but he knew she would show it off eventually. Grabbing his hand excitedly from wherever he happened to be and hurriedly pull him along to her studio. A warmth spread in his chest as he thought about it. Everything was so new and exciting between them, he’d never experienced anything like it.

“I know you’re there watching Charm, I can see your reflection in my water glass”. Art doesn’t so much as glance behind as she continues working with broad brush strokes.

“How could I help myself, my dear? Who could resist watching your mastery at work?” He says in his most seductive and charming tone.

“Easily”, she shoots back playfully.

“Ah but you don’t know that I…am, uh… I’m your biggest fan. Clearly”.

“Clearly”.

***************************************

Charm sighs heavily as he finally gets home, throwing his suit jacket over the large bannister to the right. It had been a long meeting with Night, the man knew how to talk when the mood struck him. He flips on a floor lamp in the corner before heading over to the oak liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. Something stirs out of the corner of his eye, startling Charm for a second before turning to see Art fast asleep on his couch, curled up with a large crochet blanket covering them. He watches them for a moment as their eyelids flicker with deep dreams of what he hopes are the sweetest kind. Charm scoops her up, blanket and all, before carrying them as carefully as he can up the staircase and through to his bedroom.

Art stirs a little when she gets laid down, their eyes cracking open blearily, sleep garbled words spilling out. He can’t help but find it cute. Then something causes him to freeze, his fingers poised on the top button of his shirt. For a brief second it had sounded like the words “I love you” had left their lips. He listens intently as they mutter something else and turn over in their sleep. He shakes his head with an affectionate smile before kissing their forehead and continues getting ready for bed. Those words would have to wait until they could be said in a more conscious awake state.

******************************************

The lights were dimmed in the art studio as an old record played on the gramophone tucked away in the corner, surrounded by half finished canvases and perched on numerous filled sketchbooks. They were slowly swaying to the music, just the two of them in their own little world. No responsibilities, no masks or pretences. Just Charm and Art, the only two beings in existence.

There’s a pause before the next song starts, the room filled with comfortable silence as they still gently sway together, gazing so deeply into each other's eyes that they might get lost and never find their way out.

“You’ve enraptured me Art; mind, body and soul. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Just say the word”. His words are quiet, almost afraid to break the spell between them.

“What if I only want you? What if I don’t need another single thing in this whole cosmos?” Art looks down shyly and almost a little afraid of the feelings that were finally about to come out into the open. Charm gently cups her chin to tilt her face back up towards his.

“Then you’ve got me, till the end of time and beyond. I love you, Art.”

#kollok council of the gods #god of charm x oc #god of charm #goddess of art #charm x art #god of charm x reader

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gynandromorph · 8 months

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I've been trying to eat healthier(TM) and exercise on my treadmill most days. I can't say it's helped my mood but whatever. I know it's not good to Not do those things. By eat healthier I mean I'm trying to make sure I get my 5 a day in every day, not really any restrictions on food. I'm keeping track of them because I want to put money into savings that I can spend on like. Tattoos. for doing that. Im considering making vegetables $5 per serving because they're a pain in the ass to prep And I don't generally like them without a whole meal (save for celery, cucumber, etc.) So I know myself enough to know if they're worth like 2-3 dollars I will literally see eating that many servings of fruit as a better alternative to just the one serving of vegetables. 5 seems like enough where it's no longer worth it but if I wanna eat 5 servings of fruit just to not eat a spinach sure I guess--

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steele-soulmate · 2 months

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Tattooed Wings, CHAPTER 586, Peter Steele & OFC, Soulmate AU

SUMMARY: Mary Claire Bradley meets her soulmate- literally- the famous Peter Steele of metal group Type O Negative. But will obstacles including trauma, stalkers, and toxic family members get in the way of their life?

WARNING: mentions of child rape (nothing graphic) PTSD, milk kink, soft smut, grinding, assault, fingering, hand jobs, blow jobs, 69, P in V sex, blood, noncon rape, violence, death, vandalism, graffiti, attempted kidnapping, break-ins, wild animal attacks, terrorist attack (sabotage) consensual impregnation, bareback, impregnation kink, creampies, terrorist attacks (shootings) hit and run pedestrian accident, precipitous labor, neonatal death, abandoned baby, child intoxication, death of a minor character

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORESS:

I’m going to be taken an undisclosed break from writing Tattooed Wings. If you want to reach me, come find me on Tumblr at @steele-soulmate.

WORDS: 1156

“Hello, hello, hello again, mama and mama’s family!” Ken Anderson greeted the family as we all trooped into the Paper News Theater, eager (as per usual) for the day of rehearsals for the new Ken Anderson musical. “How is everyone doing today?”

“Exhausted!” I told him with a smile as Peter quickly set up a collapsible play pen to dump the babies into in order to keep them all corralled and in one place. “The triplets are teething, as I’m quite sure you may have guessed already.”

The famed Broadway director only came over to affectionately pat the heads of all the tiny little babies before going straight over to chit chat with the pianist accompanist, who had just arrived moments after the Ratajczyk clan trooped in. I meanwhile, took the opportunity to fold myself onto the floor and begin to stretch, welcoming in Elizabeth and Katie as the two girls followed after their mommy.

After Ken Anderson had handed out new sheet music that he wanted us to run through that day, the cast began to bump our way through Disney’s The Nightmare Before Christmas- A Broadway Tale. And so, we all began to go over our lines and assigned songs with laughter and chatter in between.

When lunchtime rolled around, everyone found out that Ken Anderson had placed an order for at least two hundred boxes of pizzas with either pepperoni, all the meats, extreme cheese, or all the veggies toppings, at least eighty boxes of garlic bread, at least sixty boxes of chicken wings with blue cheese dressings, at least fifty boxes of parmesan zucchini sticks, wrapped meatball subs and individual sized cartons of pasta salad. For those with dietary restrictions, he had thoughtfully purchased dairy free, meat free or vegan boxes. I couldn’t help but notice that Elizabeth had requested a box of vegan prepared foods while Katie piled on all of the meats onto her plate.

“Elizabeth, you don’t like meat anymore?” I asked her in a soft voice as she came over to sit next to me.

“I’m trying to go vegan, mommy,” she explained, pulling apart her cheese pizza. “I really don’t enjoy the idea of me eating an animal that was bread to be slaughtered for human consumption.”

“Ah, okay.” This was the first time that I was hearing about this as Peter was feeding the babies each a skinny strip of cheese pizza.

“Though I’m not asking you to go out and buy vegan food for me- that stuff is expensive,” she continued to speak around bites of food. “But when I start to get an allowance, maybe I can chip into buying food and get a few vegan substitutes for me?”

“That sounds agreeable to me,” I agreed after a moment of thinking. “I do believe that there is a vegan supermarket nearby the house- we can run by there and have a look-see at what all they offer, how does that sound?”

“Hey sweetheart, I couldn’t help but overhear you,” Peter interjected, looking up from his plate, piled high with a generous amount of food. “But what do you think of the kids having their own bank accounts and cards where we can just deposit money into instead of just giving them cold, hard earned cash?”

“And teach them how to adult in their lives?” I hummed in an agreeing tone of voice. “Why hadn’t I thought of that?”

“Because even super mommies have fart days,” Elizabeth deadpanned.

Ken Anderson, who was passing by with his arms full of stand in props, dropped everything and had to sit down from laughing so hard.

“Oh Elizabeth? I hope you’re happy now,” I poked at the dragon. “You broke Ken Anderson.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said, getting another strong wheeze out from the African American man.

I shot my daughter a dirty look, telling her to calm down, which she did do with a sheepish squeak.

Katie finished eating her third plate of food, standing to go grab more.“That’s enough food now, mo stór,” I clucked at her. “You are not allowed to get urpy, you hear me?”

“Yes mommy,” she agreed, collecting plates from all around her as she trotted off to the trash can to go and dump everything.

All the tiny, little babies- Baby Tommy, Baby Noah, Baby Eve, Baby Mattie, Baby Teddy and Baby Jojo- were toddling all over inside the baby play pen, looking absolutely adorable as they bopped along to the piano music and babbled softly to themselves and their little baby dollies.

“Hey, I’m sorry, but can I please leave my son with you?”

I smiled sweetly at the ensemble member, who had been wrestling with a fussy little man for much of the rehearsal day, watching as she settled the cranky little man in with the Ratajczyk babies before rejoining the run through of ‘This is Halloween’ as the opening number.

“Boys and girls of every age Wouldn't you like to see something strange? Come with us and you will see This, our town of Halloween”

“Hall-a-weenie!” yelled out Baby Tommy, cackling gleefully as someone plucked him from the play pen and everyone began to worship him as though he was the Pumpkin King of Halloweentown.

Oh Baby Tommy, I thought as I saw Peter taping the adorable event with his cell phone. You are such an icon.

Mo stór, my dear, Irish Gaelic

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN/ ASK BOX IS OPEN/ REQUESTS ARE OPEN/ PLOT BUNNIES ARE WELCOMED

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

PETER STEELE TAGLIST

@rock-a-noodle

@ch3rry-c01a

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sanchoyo · 4 months

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loosey goosey new years resolutions because I did not even start to try and think of them until last night lmao

-update the webcomic every week of this year. i dont think thats unreasonable, one page doesnt take TOO long to make, so even on busy work weeks I should be able to manage esp if I stay ahead. also I want each chapter to be roughly 20~25 pages long so thats like. roughly 2- 2 1/2 chapters only which is. very reasonable and realistic of me!!!

-try more foods. with my diet being so restricted i need to be less picky bc I do not have as many options. and I have not TRIED half the ones i COULD be eating.

-work out more. at least try more stretches, bc desk job means my back is hurting a lot TwT in the past my jobs have been constantly on my feet type of labor jobs so this is weird for me to just. yeah. sitting so much!! so even if my dr said I can't lift anything over 30 pounds and that kinda rules out the heavier working out stuff. cardio and yoga are still very Real Options

-get a vehicle. oh my god i hate asking other ppl to use theirs + I miss my van. it was so fun choosing what to stock it with + decorating it I MISS IT!!! also just kind of need that if I want to move out asjdhk

-look into therapy. self explanatory (this is less of a priority than the vehicle but still important)

-look into + maybe set up a consultation abt tattoo removals. i hate the one I got ngl it makes me sad everytime i look at it bc of who I went and got it with. this is the least important thing on the list bc its not a NEED and I need to prioritize literally everything else (esp the other ones that cost money on this list) but. like. its a thing I want to at least peep into and it would make me Happy

-debating if I want to open commissions again this year! I know I def want to try to update my portfolio (maybe an entire overhaul) and rework prices + what I offer for commissions, so I guess the last resolution is just. figure out what I want to do with that. very vague idea of just 'update stuff relating to that + my website for that. learn more programming to make it look nicer on mobile.

last years resolutions didn't ALL get accomplished, but I did get a job I don't hate that is both remote and lets me set my own schedule which I like! and I didn't release two zines like I wanted to, but I released one by myself, which I'm still happy abt! I didn't look into 3D modeling at all like I wanted to, which is like. that was never a Big One, but still. I want to dabble in it if I have time this year! not prioritizing it much tho. Big Priorities are steps towards moving out (vehicle first, more income) and web comic.

#would love to hear friend resolutions btw if u guys have them!!!#sanchoyorambles #long post #i also need to do more cardio bc ive been getting winded way too easily and its annoying. tho i suspect it might have to do with uhh #health problems too. since i had covid 2 years(??) ago ive been havng chest pains and dizzy spells way more often #i dont want to get checked for long covid but i highly suspect it at this point which sucks but like. yknow. it is what it is #there is another art resolution i have but its SECRET its Big so its SECRET SHH i shant say more. :3c

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egyptianhoney · 6 months

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The girl with the rose tattoo

Earlier this year, I made a spontaneous appointment with my favourite tattoo artist to get two small pieces done. Growing up, I always knew I wanted tattoos, so I would keep ongoing lists of ideas or inspirations scattered across notebooks and post-its. I classically promised myself that I would only get a tattoo once I wanted it for over a year.

I broke that promise with my first tattoo. My close friend made an appointment with a very coveted Toronto artist and we took that opportunity to get semi-matching tattoos. Same design, different colours and placement. A somewhat shared ornament, on my right arm and on his left knee.

I continued to break that promise. I started collecting tattoos like souvenirs, as if I was a Christmas tree adorning myself with different trinkets I gathered across different times, places, or eras of my life. Up until a couple of years ago, I had never really thought about a tattoo for more than a couple of weeks—if even. Most of my tattoos were designs I decided on the day of, browsing through artists’ flash. It seemed that a successful, non-regrettable tattoo was one with the least amount of meaning. The more meaning-less, the better.

One cold winter day in 2021, me and my partner at the time randomly decided to get semi-matching tattoos. Looking back, this situation was so proverbially wrong, and at the time I was actually very uneasy with the idea. I was reassured by the fact that the tattoos would be, again, semi-matching ornaments devoid of real meaning. When we were discussing placements with our artist during the shared appointment, my partner suddenly had a change of heart and asked, “Why don’t we just get matching tattoos?”

The problem with my partner’s question was that it seemed to be a trap. Presently, I’m aware that I should have stuck to my initial hard boundary, but at 21-years-old I caved when faced with her follow-up, “Do you not trust us?”

We got the tattoos and broke up two years later.

Right after we broke up, I started healing from that heartbreak by making my first appointment with my now-favourite tattoo artist to modify said-matching tattoo. I didn’t want to cover it up because I wanted to learn from those experiences and honour my embodied mistake. I chose to add a border, giving my artist complete free reign. Now, it is no longer matching.

After that traumatizing but enlightening experience, I began to wonder whether my spontaneous and free-spirited attitude towards tattooing was what initially trapped me in that uncomfortable situation. Upon much reflection, I developed a new rule for myself—out of respect for my body, my new tattoos all needed to be meaningful and well-thought out. In practice, I primarily searched for meaning in my culture, through designs that referenced traditional Arab/North African motifs, such as present in rugs or in art. As a Syrian-Egyptian young woman trying to carve a place in a world that has always taught me to minimize myself, I developed the opinion that the only way to respect my body in my tattoo journey was by honouring my ancestors and their tattooing practices. What better way to ‘decolonize the mind’ as Frantz Fanon (1961) theorized, than by reclaiming my body through its ornaments. This was a stark departure from my initial philosophy, as I now believed that respecting my body manifested through restricting myself to more ‘meaningful’ tattoos, particularly cultural ones.

But, earlier this year, when I made that spontaneous appointment with my favourite tattoo artist for those two small pieces, I was faced with a dilemma: I didn’t only want ‘meaningful’ tattoos anymore. I wanted a rose behind my ear and cherries on my right hip. I just wanted to have fun again, chasing the high from my first impromptu appointment. I wanted something sexy, fun, youthful, and most importantly, I wanted to be spontaneous again.

Anyone who has gotten a tattoo before can attest to how deep the conversations get when you’re laying down for hours with your artist hunched over your bare body in the most uncomfortable positions, stabbing you endlessly with a machine-powered needle.

So during my appointment for the rose behind my ear and the cherries on my right hip, I was explaining my thought process to my artist, how I wanted to stop thinking about ‘my body as a temple,’ and restricting myself to just what I would deem as ‘meaningful’ or ‘cultural’ tattoos. They asked,

“Well, what makes a tattoo meaningful?”

This question never really occurred to me. By focusing on cultural tattoos specifically, was I replicating the same colonial thought processes by creating a category of ‘cultural’ tattoos that was unchanging, fixed in time, and static? Even though I did extensive research on motifs before affixing them on my body permanently, did I fall into the same colonial psychological traps that I was trying to overcome? In my quest for meaning, was I actually just using tattoos as means to neglect the fact that I was still healing from the embodied trauma of my relationship? Is that why I suddenly became scared of my once-celebrated spontaneity?

Is my body actually just a ‘temple’ adorned with art that I find beautiful, and that’s what makes it meaningful? Is there deeper meaning behind the seemingly meaningless? Is the rose behind my ear, the cherries on my hip, or the first semi-matching tattoo I got with my friend, actually all meaningful tattoos too?

We moved on to other conversations, but I couldn’t get those questions out of my mind. More importantly, I realized that my different contrasting quests for meaning(less) tattoos were futile, because in reality, my tattoos all had meaning simply because, at a moment in time, I found them beautiful enough to place on my body permanently. The tattoos are all in some way a testament to myself. And that is the best way I can honour my ancestors—by loving and decorating this body that I inherited.

In a beautiful coincidence, my dear friend and I discovered that we have the same symbol tattooed. I often find coincidental matching tattoos in ‘the wild,’ especially with my small eye piece on my inner left arm. And every time I meet another person with the same tattoo as me, I point it out.

During the summer, I was drunkenly showing a stranger my two new tattoos, when he said, “You know every girl has that tattoo behind her ear right?”

I replied, “I know.” and I’m proud to be like every other girl who has a rose behind her ear, or cherries on her hip. I’m proud to share tattoos with thousands of others before me, because it is so wonderful how we all collectively found the same image beautiful enough to memorialize on our physical selves.

My tattoos have meaning simply because I find them beautiful.

#tattoos #girl #tattooed

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khaleesitargaryenvoice · 2 years

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Beyond Their Broken Shadows: Chapter 13: Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader

TW: sexual harassment, eventual smut, sexual assault, mentions of death, mentions of self harm, drug use, underage drinking, bullying. Smoking. masturbation.

*Let me know if I missed anything.*

A lot of angst in this chapter. hints at attempting suicide. a trip down readers memory lane. Also Eddie is absolutely the best BF in this chapter. Super caring. This is gonna be a bit of a slower burner, but i promise some spice in the next chapter. There is a little steamy kissing and teasing Steve. I found it funny. Enjoy.

Master List

Dustin is blocking the door. Eddie’s grip on my arm tightens a little more. I already have a burn from trying to escape his grasp.

“You can’t just leave.” Dustin directs my attention to him.

His arms crossed in front of his chest. His pouting lips quivering ever so slightly. He may be taller than me without heels on, but right now he looks like little Dusty. My muscles relax. Eddie’s grip doesn’t feel as restricting.

“I’m not letting you.” Dustin chokes.

I open my mouth, about to argue.

“Not alone. I’m coming with you. Give me five minutes.” His body pulls from the door, but is still blocking it.

“Claudia would have my head if I took you.” I give my first point as to why this is a bad idea.

“Plus, you have friends in town. I heard you last night. You all are doing some quick game of DND together.” I lower my voice, trying to hush his worry. “Go to that Dusty.”

He shakes his head.

“No. I’m not letting you go alone.” He argues, standing his ground.

If it were any other time I would be proud. But right now, I’m just annoyed and it’s starting to show.

“Dustin, this isn’t up for debate. You aren’t going.” I argue back, using my free hand to pinch my brow.

“Says the girl pinned by her boyfriend.” He spit sarcastically.

My eyes fall back on the metal head. His bourbon colored eyes burn back at me. He’s angry, I’m not sure at who. We can fight about it later. I tug my arm again, twisting my whole body. Eddie’s grip loosens. Freedom. I give him an apologetic frown.

I march up to Dustin. We stare at each other. Narrow eyes, fuming breaths, scowling faces. It’s new. It’s not how we usually are. I falter first. My eyes give way. My scowl turns into a frown.

“I will be fine Dustin. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” I assure him. I place my left arm on his shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly.

He grabs my wrist, twisting my arm so my tattoo shows.

“That’s what you said last time.” His voice is small, filled with hurt and hate. I don’t recognize it as his own.

I pull my arm away. My wrist cracks as it’s ripped from his grasp.

“Enough, Dustin.” I whisper back.

The three teens behind us lean in trying to hear our conversation. Robin and Steve don’t know. Eddie barely knows. Dustin shouldn’t know anything.

“Then I’m coming with you.” He bites.

I shake my head, “Move Dustin.” My voice is low, but stern.

“I heard what you told mom that night, when she brought you home.” His voice grows a little, so the others can hear.

“Shut up, Dustin.” I grit my teeth.

My eyes burn into his. His blue eyes seem darker now—sad and angry. He frowns, I scowl.

“I saw you, when she was changing the bandage.

“Shut up, Dustin.” I push him against the door, my hands nearing his throat.

“You said…” Dustin couldn’t finish his thought.

“Do you really think I want to do this Dustin?!” I scream at him. My hands fall on his throat, squeezing. I don’t care if it wakes up Claudia. I don’t care if it scares him. I don’t care that the three behind me are gasping, concerned.

“Do you think, for one second, I want to go back? That I want to drive down those same roads, pass those same houses. See those same fucking people! That I want to go through their things and come to terms with the fact that they are never coming back. I’m fucking 18!” I push off of Dustin, releasing his throat. His body hits the door—hard. His breathing is labored and shaky.

“I should be trying to figure out what college I’m going to. What the fuck I want to do with my life. I should be worried about tests, homework, the fucking prom.” I breathe through, my voice growing shaky.

“But no, I get to figure out if I’m going to sell these houses. If I’m going to sell any of their stuff. I have to worry about properties and money that I don’t even want!” I break, my voice falls into a harsh sputter. Tears fall down my cheeks.

“I don’t need to worry about you while I’m doing this. I don’t need to think about you see all of that.” My voice drops low. My hands reach for his.

“For once, Dustin, please be a kid.”

Hot white tears stream down my face. My eyes burn and sting. My voice feels small and numb. I’m shaking. I’m dizzy. Dustin is too shocked to speak. I use this. I pull him into a hug. He doesn’t even feel us turning. I grasp the door and slip outside. I dry my tears with the back of my hand. I climb into my car, shut the door and scream. I’m sure the neighbors hear it. I’m sure they all hear it inside. I don’t care. I scream and pound on the steering wheel. My head falls against the wheel, missing the horn.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. It feels like a lifetime. I pull my head from the wheel and rub the tears from my eyes. Before I can bring the engine to life my door opens. I don’t need to look to know it’s him. I smell his familiar scent. He just smoked.

“Please.” My voice is hoarse. My plea is weak.

His hand falls into view. His ringed fingers curl in a come hither motion. I take his hold. He gently pulls me up and out. I avoid is eyes. My face falls right into his shirt. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. I nuzzle further, wanting his scent to consume me.

“Your chariot awaits princess. Whenever you’re ready.” He whispers in my ear.

Eddie’s hands glide up my spine, holding my neck. His fingers tangle up in my hair. He tugs softly, forcing my neck to snap up and look at him. A soft smile paints his face. His big brown eyes ease me. I push up on my tip toes and kiss his lips. Our lips meld. Breaking only when we are gasping for breath.

I nod, hugging him. Catching our breath as we walk to his van. He opens the door and helps me in. Just before I fall into the familiar faux leather seat, I see Dustin standing on the front steps. Arms crossed, frown and a few tear streaks down his cheeks. I give a sad smile. Dustin looks away, waving us off. He disappears as soon as I hit the front seat.

“He’ll be okay.” Steve assures from the back.

I look back. Him and Robin are sitting on the blankets Eddie and I fuck on. They are surrounded by four duffle bags. How long was I breathing? Eddie’s engine roars. Metal music blares. Steve and him argue about the music for…I don’t really know how long. My head falls against the window, watching the world go by. Eddie taps my shoulder after we hit the highway.

“You want me to guess where you live or…?” He steals my line from our first movie date.

A small chuckle escapes. It’s small, quick, but it puts a big smile on his face. I navigate. We finally agree on some music. Steve still gripes about it being metal, but you can’t go wrong with Metallica. Robin bops her head to the music, rubbing my shoulders every once in a while. ‘Just making sure you’re alive.’ That’s her reasoning, that’s her excuse.

It’s a straight shot. About a three hour drive from Hawkins. We arrive around four o’ clock. Eddie’s van hiccups down familiar streets. My body tenses as we inch closer to town. Eddie lays a hand on my thigh. His fingers swirl the thin black fabric of my tights. It soothes me, a little. I swallow, mumbling directions. Remembering as we pass business after business.

Lonies hardware store. Daddy and I would go there a lot when we first bought the trailer. It was a real fixer upper.

McKeene’s Ice Cream. We’d walk there after dinner, the three of us. Mama and I would split a Mint Chip, Daddy would get two scoops of strawberry.

The high school. My personal hell. The statue of a hornet standing tall in front of the doors.

The movie theater, the small shops, the coffee house, the town park. All familiar places. All memories of happier times. Memories of the three of us.

We turn into the square. Old victorian manors stand tall as we drive through.

“The white one, on the corner.” I point.

It looks just as I remember it. Tall and haunting. Railing along every window at the top. We had balconies to spare. We’d sit up there and watch the town. Mama and Daddy would gossip about the neighbors or anyone who happened to walk by. I could hear them from my bedroom. We’d stargaze, making up stories about different clusters. It was a fun game for us to play.

Cobble stones stretching up to the house, cascading around the manor, towards the back fencing. The two rocking chairs still on the front porch. The wind gently moves them back and forth, as if ghosts are sitting there. I like to think they are.

We pull into the drive away, off to the side. Eddie climbs out first, opening the back on his way to my side. The door opens and I instantly smell the fall air. Crisp apples and leaves fill my memories. I adjust my black skater skirt once I finding my footing. I throw on my jean jacket over my green v-neck and walk towards the back where Steve and Robin are stretching.

The four of us stand small in front of the haunting home. My fingers fiddle with the dust in the corner of pockets. I squint a little, staring up, expecting to see someone in the windows.

“You lived here?” Robin asks, gobsmacked.

I nod, “Yeah, they bought it a few years before I came along.”

The wind rustled the trees. Leaves fall and swirl around us. I hear more crinkling, as if someone is walking on the scattered leaves. I turn toward the noise, peering past Eddie and Steve.

An older woman is walking slowly along the sidewalk, towards the house next door. Our eyes meet. She stops, blinking. Her lips purse into a confused frown.

“Lottie?” She calls towards us.

I recognize her almost instantly. Ms. Ratfure, she and her husband have lived in the bright blue house for a lifetime. Mr. Ratfure passed shortly after mama. Daddy and her talked a lot of the front porch. Consoling each other in their times of grief. I think she’s the reason daddy tried staying in the house, but it was too much. Ms. Ratfure understood that. I’m surprised she didn’t move too.

The old woman and I takes a few small steps towards each other. Ms. Ratfure adjusts her glasses, eyes widening.

“Be still my heart, I thought I saw your mama’s ghost.” She places a hand on her chest.

I give a small smile,

“Hi, Ms. Ratfure. I’ve heard that a lot recently.” I smile, avoiding her eyes for a moment.

“I’m surprised to see you back.” My eyes find hers again. She’s closer now. Her hands find mine, shaking it. “I’m happy you are here.” She smiles softly.

She lets go of my hand. I turn back to the group, they are watching. I catch her looking at them as well.

“And you brought friends.” She smirks. “I’m glad to see you’ve moved on from this place.”

“I wouldn’t say that. But,” I turn back once again, smiling at a smirking Eddie. “I’ve met some pretty great people.” I return my eyes to her.

“I was sorry to hear about your daddy. He was a good man. I meant to find you at the funeral, but you know how it is. The whole town was there.” She rambles on about funerals becoming town functions and what not.

She’s right. Everyone showed up. If you were loved in this town, the funeral was always a function. My mama’s was the same. We talked to everyone in town, I think. We had food for days and visits everyday. With daddy, the town showed up, but I don’t remember talking to everyone. I gave the food to homeless shelters. I didn’t answer the door. I kept to myself in that trailer.

“So, you gonna finally sell it?” Her question breaks my trance.

“Wha…oh, yeah probably. I don’t need a huge house like this right now.” I answer honestly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

It’ll be hard, but why keep something like this off the market. Another family can make memories there.

“Well, I hope the next family are as great as the last.” She pats my arm and turns towards her house.

“If you need anything, let me know.” She calls back.

I wave her off, “Thank you, Ms. Ratfure. Good seeing you again.” I turn back to the three, shrug my shoulders and open the gate to the manor.

The entry way is just as I remember it. Large, echoing, and decorated with a beautiful chandelier. It’s a little dusty, but the light still spills in through the windows above the door. Robin throws her arms out, twirling around. I remember doing that when I was little. I chuckle at her girlish antics. I watch Steve and Eddie peer around corners, not daring to touch anything or venture any further.

To the left is a sitting room. The furniture is covered in white sheets. The grandfather clock no longer ticking. The library shelves coated in a small layer of dust. The hardwood floors are dimmer and the area rug looks crusted and aged.

To the right is a set of French doors. Robin swings them open. My daddy’s office. His desk is just as he left it. A picture of mama and I on one end. A notebook and case files on the other. The books on his shelves are collecting dust now. It still smells like him, pine and cigar smoke. A box of cigars he use to smoke still splayed across the desk. Eddie picks one up, sniffing it.

“Good taste.” He mutters. I smirk, closing the box.

“Knock yourself out.” I kiss his cheek, placing the box in his hands.

I filter through the room. I find myself wandering down the hall, towards the kitchen. It’s dusty and looks to have not been used in years. We had a lot of good meals in here. Mama was a great cook. She taught me everything I know. When she died, I tried making dinners like her. We only had to call the fire department twice. It still didn’t put a smile on my daddy’s face. But I tried.

Robin’s voice echos from upstairs.

“It never ends!” She shouts. I giggle as she runs around.

“It was just the three of you? Why’d they need so much space.” Steve asked. His hands dig into his jacket pockets.

I shrug, trancing the banister as I climb the steps. Steve and Eddie follow.

“They wanted a big family. But my parents had issues getting pregnant and keeping babies. I was their miracle.” My voice is a little somber.

I remember finding the box of baby stuff. Seven. She lost seven babies. I don’t know how she kept going.

“Aw, little angel. Fitting.” Robin sing songs.

I roll my eyes, pushing the first door in the hallway open. It was my old room. Not updated since I was 10. The ballerina wallpaper peeling slightly. The powered pink ceiling chipping. All the furniture was donated. Nails and tape line the walls where posters and photos use to hang. On the wall, where my bed use to prop up against, was a painting that my mama did. Fluffy clouds surrounded the phrase angle. A tiny glowing halo sitting above the N and G.

“Aww, cute. You rather me call you angel?” Eddie’s hands wrap around my waist, cooing into my ear.

I push him off lightly, giggling. “Don’t you dare. Besides, I like it when you call me princess.” I lick his lip, kissing him quickly.

He presses our bodies together, holding me tight. We fall against the wall. His body rubbing against mine. A breathless giggle escapes.

“Ugh, get a room.” Steve pouts, swirling around the door frame.

“We are in one. You’re the one who joined us, Harrington.” Eddie teases with a wink. “We’ll show you a good time. Won’t we princess?” Eddie’s hand falls on my ass, squeezing it.

“Only if I’m on top.” I sing song.

Eddie’s chuckle deepens. Steve’s face burns red. I fall, laughing, into Eddie’s arms.

“You little minx.” He growls. His lips are on me again, pushing me harder against the wall.

“This isn’t what I signed up for.” Steve mutters. His face still hot and bothered. A little tent forming in his jeans.

Eddie and I pull away. I walk past Steve. My hand drapes dangerously close to his thighs.

“Looks like you did.” I tease. My fingers grazing over his tightening pants.

Eddie growls following me out of the room. He gives a little wink to Steve, patting his cheek. Eddie catches up, finding my waist and holding me close. His lips pepper kisses as we explore the rest of the manor.

Most of the rooms are empty, dusty and worn. I see Robin in one room. Eddie and I trail inside. She’s sorting through a box that was left behind. It’s full of albums and mix tapes.

“What is this stuff?” She asks, kneeling on the floor.

Eddie loosens his grip, laying one last kiss against my neck. I bend down on my knees neck to her. Steve enters the room, standing next to Eddie. He’s cooled down.

“Stuff my daddy left behind.” I whisper.

Robin opens an album and coos. Photos of my parents from their high school days.

“Wow, you do look like your mom.” She mutters. Eddie and Steve join us on the floor.

Robin carefully lifts the photo out of the plastic covering and passes it around. It was a photo from their homecoming. Mama in her cheer uniform, daddy in his jersey. That use to be a bedtime story. Mama and daddy dancing on the football field for hours after the game. No music. They talked and talked. Laughing, dancing until the sun came up. Mama said her folks were mad, but she didn’t care. She was in love. That’s all that mattered.

“Aww, baby Y/N!” Robin squeals.

Sure enough, photo after photo was of me.

“Cute.” Eddie whispered. I blush.

Robin flips through more albums. Steve helps her. Eddie and I go through the mix tapes. Daddy made these for mama when they got married. He even made her one for her labor. I cringed at it. Eddie lifts one box out. It has photos, a few tapes, a hospital band and a bandana.

Eddie’s fingers shift through the photos. His lips falling into a frown. Tears prick his eyes.

“Baby? You okay?” I ask, noticing his fallen features.

“Your mom was sick too?” He asks, not looking back at me.

I nod. “She found out after I turned 12.” I answer honestly. “She fought like hell for a year. She beat it. But…” my voice falls. Tears fill my eyes now. “She died two months after she was cleared.”

“That sucks.” Steve echoed what they were all thinking.

“Yeah.” I stand up, wiping my tears and walking out of the room.

Eddie follows me.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He pulls me into a hug. “Why don’t we take a break. Let’s find some food, yeah?” He suggests.

Robin and Steve join us in the hall.

“We coming back here for the night? Because it doesn’t look like there’s much here.” Steve points out. He’s right.

I shake my head.

“No, there’s a pizza shop on the way to the trailer. We can grab a few pies and head that way for the night. It’s full furnished still. Hopefully cleaner and less spooky.” I lick my lips, trying to lighten the mood.

There are no arguments. We leave the haunting manor. The rockers still swaying, waving goodbye as we pile into the van.

#eddie munson #eddie #eddie smut #Eddie fluff #robin #steve harrington #stranger things #stanger things season 4 #fluff #fem reader #dustin #dustin henderson #joseph quinn

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mo0nl0v3r · 1 year

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th!nspo challenge ;

NOTE : I'm only gonna update this on this tab cause I don't want my other posts to get lost in this series thing... also my stats are already uploaded so imma start on day 2 :) NOT PRO

DAY 2 : i'm 5'2.... i do like my height sometimes i wish i was taller so i could present as thinner but its not one of my biggest problems

DAY 3 : I have a Pinterest board that I love its called tattoo inspo (I made it with a bunch of ballet & hour-class grunge girls in it. I named it tattoo inspo so it doesn't present weird cause it sounds like thinspo plus I can put skinny people with dope tattoos in

DAY 4: my greatest fear is that I'm gonna look sick or lose hair that's terrifying to me

DAY 5: I'm doing it for myself but the praise doesn't hurt :) also the way i could wear anything and look good sounds amazing

DAY 6 : sometimes nothing crazy but occasionally do slip up and eat a couple unhealthy things

DAY 7 : my parents do know that i try to eat healthy and that i "occasionally" count calories and try to lose weight . They think its a good thing

DAY 8 : i dont have one yet i just try to do as many crunches and sit-ups i can and i try to walk at least 1 mile a day

DAY 9 : I don't know honestly , sometimes i think they do but they've never said it to my face .

DAY 10 : freedom tbh

DAY 11 : @green-tea-111 i love there thinspo

DAY 12 : i usualy eat whatever i want but at a restriction

DAY 13 : I'm losing weight in both a healthy way and a unhealthy way because its not the point where its bad for my body but it can take a tole on my mental health sometimes

DAY 14 : My UGW is 102lb i really wanna get down there cause that would not only mean I would be like skinny but it would get my BMI down to 18.5 and thats the minimum healthy BMI. so def ideal

DAY 15: i am not vegan or vegetarian... i did try it a couple years ago and i actually gained weight cause i would only eat carbs so def didn't work for me

DAY 16: well literally for as long as i can remember probably around age 10 or 11 but most recent decision to lose weight was back in September of this year

DAY 17: I do have disorded eating

day 18: pasta , gordita tortillas , chocolate , chips , candy , ice cream , ritz crackers

DAY 19: tbh yesterday i had a happy meal

DAY 20: calorie counting or portioned eating cause diets are really hard for me

DAY 21 :

pants : medium or size 10

shirts : medium (but i prefer baggier stuff)

DAY 22: 7 pounds at birth ;) no but actually 100 pounds it was in 2019 i was in dance and i would dance 3-5hours a day and i did have distordered eating at the time and i gained due to my depression and binging

DAY 23 : a little... it didnt start it but it definitely helped

DAY 24: im not pro ana and i am definitely not pro mia, bulimia tears you apart so quickly its just sad especially when you do research on how it effects your body and how it only deteriorates you instead of making you thinner

DAY 25: i have unfortunately, it was rough i did it on occasion for about 2 weeks before i decided to do research and decided it wasnt for me

DAY 26: Wearing whatever i want and being less insecure. I cant wait till im skinny so i can just be happy with whatever i wear

DAY 27: I’m cool with food being infront of me I usually struggle most with it when its late or im alone cause thats when i tend to eat the most

DAY 28: It would be cool but its not what i want most i really want thinner arms and a tiny waist

DAY 29: unfortunately its mostly western beauty standards ( im part mexican and have very mexican features ) so its rough when i want the hour glass waist and a slope nose cause my body just hasn’t been able to do that

DAY 30: 10 facts about me

10:

#pro ana #th!nspo #tw ed relapse #ed trigger warning #ed rant

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holyluvr · 11 months

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sensitive subject & long post

***I am aware that surgical lobotomies are usually more severe in results and traumatizing in a diff way than psych malpractice, but at the end of the day— my frontal lobe was damaged by doctors that I had tried to escape from and begged for anyone to get me away from.

I don’t know anything about the woman with the lobotomy tools tattoo, but if she’s the type of crazy or deviant that has to worry about these things, I’d say the tattoo is only a bit insensitive or in bad taste due to how visible it is and anyone seeing it not having context as to why she has it. Otherwise why is it a problem? If I saw that, I would be uncomfortable, wary, and distance myself a bit more than automatically assume she thinks lobotomies are chic. I have no idea what her reason behind the tattoo was or if she’s part of a group that has real and understandable worry about this still in 2023 rather than “reclaiming” the misogyny of the 1900s. It’s a bit contradictory to say that it’s a real concern for multiple groups of people and then assume it’s not for someone else based on appearance alone— and it’s not too uncommon for someone part of a minority group to reclaim symbols, imagery, words, etc that are used as violence against them. It’s really not uncommon for anyone traumatized to reclaim imagery that’s related to their trauma. If someone told me I was jumping on a trend and using psych malpractice as a style and ignored my history with psychiatric abuse or that being a possibility that I maybe don’t want to talk about, I’d be pretty annoyed and hope to God that they have personal experience themselves and aren’t just speaking out of their asses to me from what they read in books or class.

But anyway, the last few sentences of that video are the takeaway people should probably consider more, imo. It’s not about one period in history, it’s not about helping patients, it’s not about anything but doctors and lawmakers playing God and trying to erase people and traits that they deem as too “high risk” or “deviant” for society. Hence targeted minorities being included in discussion who aren’t crazy. Sure, there have been doctors who referred patients for the lobotomy or performed it with good intentions, but grabbing at outliers to derail and ignore the blatant reality of how the USA psych institution works is….not cool but a common way people respond to me anytime I bring up the subject! Because someone has to stand up for the poor, poor psychiatrists!😢

Although the surgery was given a bad reputation and restrictions, do people seriously ignore all of the stories and concerns coming from mostly psychotic or “unpredictable” or “deviant” or “complicated” patients about the cups of medication and TMS/ECT being forced on us as children, teens, people who were unable to consent at the time, or adults given terrifying ultimatums and threats if we hadn’t “consented”? Oh, but believing crazy people is difficult, so how about the stories of kids who were hospitalized by good-intending and concerned parents who then meet their child for visitation hours and realize that something is wrong, and it turns out that their child was given heavy treatment that harmed their wellbeing without guardian knowledge or consent? And how many of those children have a disorder that causes psychosis or disruptive behavior?

All of those treatments, every pill on it’s own or in safe combos, TMS & ECT, and even ABA therapy can be used as a helpful tool in treatment. But they can also be used incorrectly with the same base motive as surgical lobotomies.

I was never the same after my second and third hospitalizations, and no one was surprised except for my new psychiatric nurse to find out a few years later that my frontal lobe had been damaged, most likely from psychotropic medications. He was mortified because he personally knew one of the doctors in my records and referred patients there. He was the first of a small handful of medical professionals that I’ve met who would actually turn their back on another doctor and be horrified and enraged for an LGBT, schizo, complicated, and unpredictable patient. I was 16 years old, and my appointment ended up going past the hours that they were open. Finally, when I had lost hope already, someone stopped typing and looked up at me when I mumbled something shitty about a past doctor. Instead of typing that I was easily agitated, aggressive, or overly pessimistic, he asked me why I called the doctor an explicit word then did what he could in his power to report it.

My psychologist also reported the same doctor 3 years later and I had legal reports filed against him, but I was still forced to be his patient again last year. If you don’t think the system is fucked up when a patient, the patient’s family, the patient’s ex-psychiatric nurse, the patients psychologist, and the patients current psychiatrist all have sent in faxes, emails, and calls to the local hospitals and crisis teams that someone should not be sent to the same hospital again for a long list of reasons that include criminal behavior and neglect…and the patient is still forced back to that hospital, back under that psychiatrist’s care….idek what to say because that sounds like a violation of rights and disregard for a patients wellbeing to me. It was in their system when I got there. The social worker immediately brought up the reports and forms and promised me nothing would go wrong this time. Lmao right. No offer of a different doctor. No offer to find me a bed in a different hospital. Just “I promise”. Because I’m insane, so who cares? They’re doing me a favor and saving my life! 🤩

No one listened to or believed me when I tried to tell them that I wasn’t scared of the pills as poison or anything paranoia related; I was afraid because I felt like I was losing parts of myself and couldn’t voice my thoughts or emotions about it; actually, my ability to speak was damaged enough to have me considered nonverbal for a while, and my movement was moreso uncontrollable spasms— I couldn’t do anything between the episodes of catatonia that was, of course, blamed on my Schizoaffective Diagnosis and seen as a reason to add more medications. I was 13 years old and on so many medications that my parents had to have my school nurse involved to call me out of class and take my midday 2 pill cups under supervision. And of course I was getting sicker.

It wasn’t until I was an adult and reached out to multiple specialists and psychiatrists to look at my pharmaceutical records and brain scans that I realized, watching their faces turn somber or grossed out as they went through it, when their tone changed and voice fell in volume to ask me to confirm hospital stays and names of providers that were in the system, “can you confirm an appointment with [psychiatrist] for TMS and medications?”. I finally accepted that I wasn’t crazy about it. They were gaslighting a child that they knew was already being gaslit at home. I knew what they were doing: They were trying to chemically lobotomize a child instead of helping me because I was too deviant and unlikeable; a transsexual and bisexual child who wasn’t growing out of the homosexuality despite therapy and had problems with authority, a history of long term abuse and family that normalized criminal behavior, complaints from family and school about disruptive behavior, and psychosis. A child like that is scary to society because they could grow up to be an actual transsexual who partakes in homosexuality, breaks the law, and could be a danger to others and thorn in the system’s side.

How a doctor can keep his license while viewing patients, especially children, that way is beyond me. But yeah, lobotomy isn’t something that went away that people, especially those at higher risk from doctor bias, aren’t worried about anymore or don’t have trauma with. “60 years old” maybe for reported, surgical lobotomies. But there are people younger than 18 to this day who have had parts of themselves damaged via psychiatric malpractice who don’t even know how to talk about it or to who. I don’t even understand what I lost in any way that I can put into words. I just know that I’m not the same person, and I know I lost a lot of people around then because they didn’t understand why it felt like they lost a friend/family member who was standing in the same room as them. I lost my future with school. I was further traumatized and distrustful and bitter. Every childhood disorder that I had was now a more severe, adult version that they didn’t know how to treat and overwhelmed them.

I’m traumatized. My family is traumatized from being a part of it. We already had trauma in the family from medical malpractice that lead to deaths, near deaths, permanent physical disability, and abuse of someone with an intellectual disability by hospital and school staff. I’m sure that played a role in why my parents took so long to get me psychiatrists and psychotherapy in the first place. It was painful. My family and the nurses had to pin me to the floor and force me to swallow then check my mouth with a flashlight and watch me for 30min because YEAH I wanted to throw it up or get it out of my system somehow. I felt like I was overdosing on diphenhydramine anytime they gave it to me, but they wouldn’t believe me. Thinking back and comparing it to an ER visit I’ve had, I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that I spent my middle school-high school years forced to live through mild serotonin syndrome. That and them giving me large amounts of benzodiazepines in middle school? My father’s psych encouraging them to cut his benzos in half and make me take them when I was in elementary school? Yeah, I fought back. That was basic survival instincts, not paranoia.

There isn’t anywhere to really talk about this because people immediately want to assume it’s anti-medication propaganda. They accuse people of being part of that whole “anti-conspiracy to numb everyone’s brain with psychotropic medications having to do with capitalism and state control” mentality. And that’s not what I’m talking about. And people’s lived experiences aren’t political tools unless they are specifically applying it to a political stance. Sometimes it’s just to vent about something more taboo that we’ve gone through that isn’t widely discussed or taken into account.

I think meditation is important and can be used in a way that saves or betters lives, but that doesn’t change the fact that putting heavier restrictions and medical stigma on lobotomies isn’t going to stop or change the motives of doctors who believe in permanently damaging the prefrontal cortex as a means of treatment, and they will find a way that doesn’t need any surgical tools if that’s the way they view patients. The current tools at their disposal are mainly medications, TMS, and ECT. If you use those with the intention to (fry) alter someone’s frontal lobe without consent and in a way that harms their quality of life but makes them easier for the system to deal with, that’s not too much different from attempting to do the same with surgical instruments. It’s bullshit to pretend that USA lobotomies ended when they stopped mass producing and buying the tools necessary for surgery. It’s bullshit to assume that the treatment modality stopped existing when one of the tools was taken away.

The problem with lobotomies is that it’s an entire treatment modality mindset. You can ban the Tx, but you still have doctors who were trained or allowed to view psychiatric treatment as a means to commit human rights violations and doctors who were trained under the men who performed lobotomies back in the mid 1900s. Until those doctors are held accountable, nothing will change. Lobotomies still exist both literally with metal and anesthesia and with medications used off-label, in harmful combos, at dangerous ages, and heavily. Then you have literal magnets and electricity still being applied in combination to medications.

#…#long post #lobotomy tw #psychiatric abuse tw #psychiatric malpractice tw #acquired brain injury #<- was never diagnosed but lookin @ my neurologists’ notes wellllll

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