#vicious drum playing

[ikarakie]

one of the known, undisputed rules of riding in steve harrington's car: passenger seat gets music privileges.

if you brought your own tape, and won the usually vicious battle for shotgun, there was a 100% chance that the drive would be backed with music of your choice. hell, there was even a small collection growing in steve's glove box of music that wasn’t his, because people left them behind either on accident or on purpose. no one really knew what steve liked to listen to- maybe minus robin- but he always seemed happy with whatever the passenger put in.

until one day, when dustin and lucas and mike climbed into his car. dustin had won passenger seat privileges, after a rather tense game of rock, paper, scissors, and instantly reached for the tape player.

steve smacked his hand down. "paws off, henderson." he scolded, not unkindly. all three kids stared at him like he'd grown a third limb as he pulled out of the wheeler's driveway. electric guitar played at a semi-low volume.

"what the hell?!" dustin squawked. "why can't i change the tape?" steve rolled his eyes, fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the beat on the wheel. none of the kids recognised the song, and it certainly didn't seem the kind of thing steve harrington would willingly listen to.

"is it so surprising i want to listen to my own tape in my car?" steve asks. dustin shouts an affronted, 'YES!' to which steve just shakes his head and continues driving.

the man on the track sings over heavy drums and guitar, talking about how he needed someone to 'show me the things that make true happiness' and 'he must be blind.' then, there's a guitar solo that steve smiles at.

"who are you?" mike asked, suspicious. "what did you do with our steve?"

"oh, shut up, wheeler." steve meets his eye in the rearview mirror. "next one to complain loses tape privileges for their next three turns."

that does shut them up. they make idle conversation over a couple more songs before they pull up to their destination. mostly threatening each other over high scores and making bets. steve waves them off with the usual 'don't be stupid' lecture and pulls out of the arcade parking lot, the bass of whatever the next track had been audible even through his closed doors and windows.

after that, steve retains ownership of his stereo every now and then, always playing some form of heavy metal. it just becomes the norm, though never fails to confound whoever's in the car. (because, seriously? polo shirt wearing steve harrington and heavy metal?)

they only ever hear anyone else listen to it after they join hellfire. eddie invites them to his trailer to create their characters together, and when they walk in one of the songs from that dumb tape is playing from a record in the corner.

"woah! you like this music too?" lucas asks. eddie nods excitedly.

"yeah, man! you a fan?" his smile dims a little when lucas shakes his head, but dustin is quick to jump in.

"our friend steve is always listening to a dumb mixtape with this sorta stuff on it." he explains, missing how eddie's eyes light up and his smile turns a little bashful. "he used to let us play whatever we want, but ever since he got that tape he makes us listen to it sometimes when he drives us around."

"well," eddie sighs, fiddling with one of his chunky silver rings. "seems this steve knows someone with very good taste in music." there's a warm look in his eyes before he claps his hands and diverts their attention to the character sheets he printed out.

later that night, steve gets a call.

"you told me you only listened to that tape once." the voice on the other end drawls. it's low and teasing, but it's undercut with obvious wonder and fondness. steve doesn't even bother pretending to be confused.

"well, it's good." (it makes me think of you) he replies, like it pains him. eddie giggles, and steve eyes the tape in question. sat on his bedside table, 'for my stevie' scrawled across it in eddie's neatest handwriting. shitty little hearts drawn around his name and an even shittier skull at the end. "how'd you know?"

"recognised my mötörhead record." eddie coos, "told me how you revoke their music privileges to listen to it." a pause. "you're so fucking cute."

steve can't help the dorky smile that spreads over his face. the way he twirls the phone cord like a fucking lovesick loser. he cracks a joke about making eddie a mixtape featuring the likes of duran duran and tears for fears, which makes him fake retch. they chat for a little while longer, whispering 'i love you's through the phones like it was their first time saying it.

the tape stays firmly in the bmw's music rotation.

#the song is paranoid by black sabbath btw #steve smiles at the guitar because he watched eddie learn to play it #established steddie #for like a year or so #this is set post s3 but pre s4 ofc #steddie #stranger things #prompt #steve harrington #imagine #eddie munson #stranger things prompt #steddie fic #steddie prompt #steve and eddie #dustin henderson #steddie hc #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet #the party #steve x eddie #steve and dustin #steve and the party #stranger things headcanons #stranger things hc

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 17

part 1 | part 16 | ao3

Heat rolls through Steve’s gut; low and quick, a vicious flare, and then he coughs and looks away. “Jesus, man," he splutters, "learn to take a joke.”

“Mmm-hm.” Eddie's smug smirk spreads wide, grows teeth; gotcha bitch, and Steve’s about to tell him to fuck off when he claps his hands to his thighs and abruptly stands up. Does a big stretch, swinging his arms out side to side, reaching overhead until his back makes a noise like a twisted sheet of bubble wrap.

“Holy shit!” Steve frowns. “You’re gonna break your spine.”

Eddie gives him a flippant smile. “That's the idea. Anyway...” He pretzels himself up again, groaning as his neck and shoulders pop. “Seeing as we’re trapped in here for the foreseeable future, you wanna do what the little psychos asked? Play twenty questions or have a heart-to-heart or whatever?”

“Seriously? And just give them what they want?”

Eddie shrugs. “Seems like the fastest way out of here, so yeah.”

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Please. You negotiate with them all the time." He folds forward at the hips, looking at Steve upside down between his legs, and twists a curl around his pinky. "Those kids have you wrapped around their grubby little fingers."

"They do not!"

"They totally do. Besides," he swings back upright, "I’ll negotiate with anyone if it gets me back home to my girl.”

"Oh." Steve stumbles at that. "Didn't know you had a girlfriend.”

Eddie laughs big and bright, shaking his hair all over the place. “Yeah, Harrington, I have a girlfriend. You're funny. Y'know, Henderson could have saved us a lot of time here if he'd just told me you were fun—”

“Okay, then who’s your girl?” Steve interrupts with a huff, because Eddie’s just hopping around in circles while he laughs like Steve's a fucking moron for making a totally reasonable assumption, and he doesn't understand what's so goddamn funny about it.

“My girl, Harrington,” he all but coos when he collects himself, “is my guitar.” He bites his lip and mimes playing a riff; Steve doesn’t know shit about guitar, but he knows that Eddie’s fingers are quick, nimble and impressive as they jitter through the air. “We’ve got a show this weekend. Like, a real one this time, not just playing to three drunks at the Hideout.”

“Cool,” Steve says, looking away from his rings. “Congrats, man. You any good?”

“You could say that.” Eddie’s mouth goes smug and pleased, genuine pride shining in his big eyes when he rocks back on his heels. “The frat that booked us seems to think so, anyway.”

“Oh, shit!" Now Steve's impressed, because it's the weekend before Halloween, and that means, "College costume party.”

“Of course you’d be excited about that.”

“Hey, great place to get laid,” Steve shrugs.

Eddie chokes on his own spit. “You’re kind of a slut, you know that?”

“Rude,” Steve says mildly. He's not a slut; he's an opportunist.

The ground's starting to hurt his ass, so he stands up to join Eddie's impromptu yoga session. Eddie leans a hip against the workbench, folding his arms over his chest and giving Steve room to move.

His eyes flit to his hemline when it rides up on a stretch. "Would you..." he clears his throat. "Would you want to come?"

"Huh?" Steve twists around.

"To the show," Eddie adds, ducking his head to hide his face behind his hair. "You'd have to cram into the back with Frankie and the drum kit, but uh..."

Steve lets himself picture it for a moment, some alternate dimension where he's allowed to say yes: the winding highway to Indy, a van full of dudes cracking jokes and fighting over who gets to pick the music next, losing himself in the thrum of a crowd while he drinks and dances and watches Eddie on stage.

His throat feels tight, suddenly. He reaches for the flask and takes another sip of whiskey. "Don't all your bandmates hate me?"

"I mean... not any more than I do." Eddie's answer is quiet, his eyes swimming with candlelight; Steve doesn't know when they moved closer, when a hush settled over the room, but it feels like...

"Yeah?" he hedges, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he steps out onto the ledge; icy cliffside, slippery holds. The mountains are so much scarier than the deep sea. "And how... How much is that?"

His pulse kicks in his chest. Echoes down to his wrist, a nervous current beneath his skin. Eddie's eyes are so soft. Big and brown and dark. Dark like the deep woods; endless; sort of mesmerizing.

"Steve, I—"

The cellar doors shriek on their hinges.

—

part 18

part of the tag list below the cut comment if you want to be added (comment twice if you wanna be my tag manager lol i’m dyin)

@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

[yourmumsweirdshit]

Alive - Part 1

Gwen Stacy x Reader

Masterlist

Gwen misses you. Not a day goes by where you’re not on her mind. The memories of you bleeding out in her arms flash repeatedly in her head. She lost you almost a year ago and she wasn't feeling any better than the day you left her. Every night she continues to wake up in pools of her own sweat as she jolts up, trying to catch her breath as she looks towards the photo of the two of you on her drawer, thinking of what went wrong, how she could've saved you. The guilt of your death gnaws at her constantly. Like the neverending cycle she seemed to be stuck in after your death, she continues to grab the picture, holding it in her hands as she does every night after each nightmare and stares at you, your smile.

The same one you held on your face as you took your last breaths, trying to be strong for her. Where did it all go wrong? She always seems to forget how it happened, the only part she continuously remembers is you dying. But as the vicious cycle goes and never ends she thinks back to the moments, the blurred lines becoming clear as she’s pulled back to the moment you carelessly throw yourself in front of her while she’s waiting for the pain that never arrives. You stole it from her. You lost your life for something stupid, you lost your life for her. It wasn’t meant to go this way, it wasn’t supposed to be you, what happened to you should’ve happened to her.

She was supposed to take the hit, she was meant to fall down and cry out in pain, not you. You were meant to be the one that finished high school and do something good with your life. She knows what she signs up for when she puts on the mask, the second she puts it on, it’s like signing a contract, understanding what may or may not happen to her. She knows the risk, she accepted the risk. You didn't. You had no idea what you were getting into when she approached you, complimenting the school project you presented to the class, something you thought would be good for vigilantes like Spider-woman. Curious to know more about it, she approached you after the class ended.

Originally, she thought approaching you was one of the best decisions she had ever made. Over the next few weeks you two had become stuck together like glue, having similar interests and hobbies. You both began ditching your own friends at lunch to continue talking with one another. Both of you drawn to each other like a moth to a flame. You were barely seen apart, you walked to classes together, even if you didn’t have the same subject, neither of you cared for being late to your own classes as long as you got to spend another minute with each other.

After school you’d usually stay with her for band practice, doing your homework while she played the drums. When she finished you'd walk together and usually stop at a cafe on the way to her house. Now she avoids taking that route home, preferring to walk an extra 10 minutes in hopes that she isn't haunted with the reminder of you any longer. Her efforts always fail as you never really leave her mind. The first week or so after your death was the most agonising, she seeked for you during school, only to remember what happened because of the constant pitiful looks she received from her peers.

When she hit the third week mark she began to feel something else, something different. Sometimes you’d feel distant, like you’re there, just far away, as if you’ve gone on vacation and she’s just missing you, it was a numb feeling, all she knew was that she missed you and couldn’t feel anything past that. It was a rare feeling to her, foreign, but it had happened a few times, mostly during the first month or 2 after you passed.

By now she had cut off communication with everyone, with her family, friends, band members, peers. Everyone. When she began pulling away her friends noticed and tried to stop her, repeatedly trying to hold onto her, keep her close. But she wouldn’t let them. She kept on distancing herself until they wouldn’t dare speak to her, only giving her a smile in the hallways. Everyone she had known and everything she loved had become nothing to her. All she wanted was you to come back, that was the only thing that could pull her out of this depression she slipped into, or that’s what she thought.

To say meeting other spider-people was a relief is an understatement. It gave her a feeling she hadn’t felt since you, being understood. You listened to her and made her feel heard. You were her support, her lifeline. Things that she had no one to turn to about didn’t exist when you were around. But since you weren’t here, she needed something else, someone else. Like a gift from God she was given not one but 5 people who have been through what she has, and have struggled with the same things. The universe gave her that break that she so desperately needed, she might not have been aware of it at first but she needed it. It got her away from you and what happened to you, now that doesn’t mean you left her mind. You never did, but with the help of the other spiders she didn’t feel so lost anymore, so unsure of what was going to happen.

For the first time in what felt like forever she didn’t feel so suffocated anymore, finally being able to take a breath of fresh air. Like her head has finally come out from underneath the water, the water you pulled her under. She was holding onto something that wasn’t there anymore. She needed to let go or she’d drown too. When you first met her she was under a lot of pressure, only just beginning to understand her abilities. You were her escape, no stress when she was with you, nothing was short of amazing when she was with you. Now, with you gone you seem to add onto the load she’s already got, the freedom you used to give her now being replaced with guilt, anger and sorrow. You can’t give her what she so desperately yearns for, what she craves for. What she needs.

This getaway she had with the other spiders got her through the pain you gave her, now leaving something similar to a bittersweet ending. Way more bitter than sweet, but its progress, she’s getting there slowly, step by step. When she got back home she had landed in a familiar setting, one she hadn’t been in for months but one she’d never forget. The alley she lost you in. Her chest tightens as she looks around, tears stinging her eyes as she looks around, the memories rush to her like it just happened. Her breathing becomes uneven as she feels the ghost of your body in her arms as she sits down where she picked you up to hold you. But her breath catches in her throat when someone grabs a hold of her shoulder.

Another Spider-Man? He takes her to a place he calls the lobby, filled with other spider-people. It’s not too long before the man she now knows as Miguel O’Hara begins to take her on missions. Her latest one was versing the vulture, she did it with ease, with grace, like a ballerina. She takes a deep breath as she looks down making sure everyone is okay. She doesn't get the chance to look too long because someone begins to clap from the sidelines. She turns her head to be greeted with a person she's longed to see for so long, one she's been dying to see. “Y/N?” She whispers as Miguel walks over to you, now standing beside you as you begin to engage in conversation with him. She isn't given the chance to stare a little longer because Jessica begins to call her over.

“I want you to meet a good friend of mine. Y/N.” Jess introduces you to the girl who’s still got her mask on. Her breathing begins to grow laboured the longer she stares at you. The heartache in her chest is stronger than ever as she fights the urge to reach out and touch you as well as cry and break down all at the same time. “Nice to meet you …?” You say, waiting for a name which she doesn't give. “Gwen, she must be tired from that amazing stunt she just pulled.” Jessica speaks for the white spider. Your smile falters for a split second before nodding in understanding. “I hope to see you around Gwen.” You respond before walking off with Miguel, looking back once more in hopes her mask would be off but she’s frozen in the same spot you left her.

“You alright there?” Jess asks as she puts a hand on Gwen's shoulder. “Hmm? What? Oh yeah, I’m good.” She responds as she pulls her eyes from you. “That doesn't sound very reassuring.” She comments with a laugh while Gwen pulls her mask off. “L/N?” Gwen whispers, her eyes moving to Jess. Jess looks from your fading figure in the distance to Gwen. “Yeah, how did you-” She stops mid sentence as she meets Gwen's eyes. “Something happened to her in your universe, didn’t it?” She asks as Gwens eyes go back to you. That can't be you, no way. You died 9 months ago, she saw you die, you died in her arms, she held you until your last breath, she heard your last heartbeat. But somehow, here you are, looking like nothing happened and that you just continued to age and grow in time with her.

“Hey, if you want, I can tell Miguel to do missions without her, avoid her, might make you feel better.” Jess says as she rubs her hand soothingly on her back. “No.” Gwen responds a bit too quickly, but she didn't care, the universe just gave her a second chance, a do over, a way to fix her mistake or prevent it from ever happening again. She wasn’t about to lose it that quickly.

#gwen stacy x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderverse gif #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderman into the verse #gwen stacy #spider gwen #spider Gwen x reader #miles morales #miguel o'hara #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman #spiderman: into the spiderverse #spiderverse #spidergwen x reader

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(part 5 of November Paramedic; part 4 is here and the AO3 version is here.)

Liquid sound courses through Eddie's body. His fingers dance over Sweetheart's strings, hitting every note perfectly. Behind him, Gareth is going at the drums like a beast while Jeff and Marv have gravitated together, now playing back-to-back. In front of him, a wall of people is pogoing, restricted by The Behemoth's 'no moshing policy'. When he launches into the solo, their headbanging turns so vicious they're but a wild sea of hair with haphazard devil horns sticking up. Solo over, he grabs the mic to roar the outro lyrics.

The audience screams; Eddie's ears ring. His veins hold more adrenaline than blood and his life has never been better.

"Thank you! You've been glorious tonight!" He sweeps his sweat-soaked hair from his face and winks at a cluster of girls in the front row. "We're Corroded Coffin and you'll see us here again soon. For now, thank you and good night!"

On his way off the stage, he catches one of the girls' hand and drops a kiss on her palm. She beams, face pink, as her friends shriek.

It's not his favorite thing about performing. He likes playing on stage because of the release, because of the building nervosity that erupts with the music. He likes it because it's fun. But the electricity between him and the crowd? The charged looks of pure want from men and women alike?

It doesn't make it worse. He's not burdened by being desired.

They congratulate each other outside as they deposit their guitars and few pieces of personal equipment in Eddie's van. Gareth is especially bouncy, telling Eddie over and over how he was great, he was on fire, he was invincible. Eddie would've questioned the post-show hype if he hadn't immediately demanded they go back inside for drinks; if Gareth thinks he can flatter himself into a free round, he's correct.

After the fresh June night, the air inside The Behemoth is stiflingly hot. It plus the hum of the patrons leave a cloying buzz in the back of his head. He might only stay for the one round before going home. Possibly two if those front-row ladies decide to pay; they're eyeing him right now. Sure, they're not Eddie's type, but that's what the other guys are there for.

Except when the women approach, Gareth shuts them off by pulling Marv in between them and steering Eddie in the opposite direction. Pushing Eddie forward, seemingly uncaring if Jeff and Marv keep up, he goes on his tip toes and hops every other step to peer above the crowd.

"Are you looking for someone?" Eddie asks.

"Noo, I just thought I saw someone at the bar…"

"Yeah, that means you're looking for someone, dipshit. Who is it?"

"It's… Uh…" Gareth says inattentively, scanning the bar area.

A large hand clamps around Eddie's shoulder, turning him around. He promptly swallows his tongue.

"Dude, you were great!" Steve says, smiling so big it could sustain a small country with power for the winter.

His hair is fluffy tonight, lying in a soft swoop. He's wearing a charcoal Henley, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tufts of chest hair peeking out from between the undone buttons. And he's got glasses on. Fucking glasses. Thin wireframes, an elegant complement to his beautiful face and delicate contrast to his hunky everything else.

Eddie's reply is strangled nonsense that drowns in Gareth's shouted, "Hey! You made it!"

"Yeah, man! Thanks for the invite!" Steve says, extending his hand for a shake.

"Anytime, dude! S'great to see you," Gareth replies, slapping and grabbing Steve's hand in a perfectly executed man-shake. Like they're a pair of fucking frat bros.

But that isn't the important part. No, the important part here is the word 'invite'. Who, when, where, and above all what the fuck??

"We loved it!" Robin says from half behind Steve. Because of course she's also here, wearing a patterned blazer that should clash with her differently patterned button down, yet doesn't. She continues gushing about the performance as Steve nods along and the rest of the band interject their gratitude whenever she pauses for breath for longer than a second. Eddie is the only one who hasn't said a peep.

He needs to fucking peep.

"Glasses!"

His exclamation has the others turn and stare so fast their necks snap. He ignores Gareth's snicker, cheeks burning. One of these days he will run into Steve without acting like a fool, but not today.

"What?" Steve says, his already huge eyes magnified by the glass. Damn, his lashes are long and dark.

"Y-You got glasses. I didn't know that."

Steve's brows jump, as if he forgot he's wearing them. He briefly goes cross-eyed as he tries to look at the spectacles resting on his nose. Then he lets out a giggle that's so cute it hurts.

"Oh, yeah. I usually wear contacts, but they expired and the new ones haven't arrived yet." He scratches beneath his eye, pushing the glasses askew. "I'd just wear the expired ones, but…"

"No!" Robin snaps. "It's bad for your eyes!"

"Yeah."

"You need to take care of yourself!"

Steve levels her with an unimpressed look, cocked eyebrow and pursed, plush lips included. "That's rich coming from someone who stopped eating halfway through an Alfred Hitchcock marathon because she didn't want to pause Saboteur to go grocery shopping."

Robin puts a scandalized hand to her chest. "I'm a linguist, not a medic. I can do whatever I want."

"That's not-"

"Anyway!" She smiles at Eddie and the guys. "You rocked. We had a blast. Steve even danced."

"That wasn't dancing. I was keeping you from faceplanting when you tripped over your own feet."

"Steve, go buy us drinks," Robin says.

"Why me?"

"They brought the entertainment; we'll bring the refreshments. And I'm broke. So chop-chop!"

She claps twice an inch from his nose tip. Steve rolls his eyes, but obliges, striding off toward the bar. Robin emits a witchlike cackle at getting her way.

Eddie elbows Gareth in the ribs hard, gritting out, "You invited them, huh?"

Gareth grins impishly even as he rubs the most certainly bruising spot. However, Robin's villainous glee melts away; she frowns.

"Is that a problem?" she asks.

Shit.

"Oh, no, no!" he says.

"Never!" Gareth shouts.

"New faces in the audience is always a cause for celebration," Marv says.

"He just didn't expect to see you, is all." Jeff steps between Eddie and Robin, wearing a disarming smile. "Gareth didn't tell any of us we had special guests waiting, but it's great to have you here. I'm Jeff."

Robin hums and appraises them with suspicion, eyes lingering on Eddie. Then she smiles; it would've been pleasant if it wasn't so sharp.

"Let's grab a table," she says.

They pick one in the quieter part of the bar. The booths don't fit more than four people, five if you're determined, but they solve it by having Gareth perch on the adjacent window ledge and by Robin sitting on Steve's lap.

It's first when Robin asks for details about the band that Eddie realizes how golden the opportunity is. The previous times he's met Steve, he's been at a disadvantage. Injured, caught by surprise, distracted by tight jeans or sweat rolling down necks. And yeah, he was surprised today, too. And he won't claim that it's easy to focus whenever Steve reaches for his glass, exposed forearm flexing with the movement.

Nevertheless, this is Eddie's turf. This is his stage. Here, he is king. And he will hold court like his life depends on it.

He talks about the band. He talks about their influences, about guitars, about the lyrics he writes. Robin participates in the conversation by making connections to punk music, but Steve only listens, eyes darting between them all like it's a five-way ping pong match and his attention is the ball. But mostly, he's in Eddie's palm, staring like only he has the answers. Fuck, like he is the answer.

It's enough to give a guy a god complex. The person who was created to be looked at is now looking at him.

It makes him bolder. Makes him touch Steve more, touch him longer. Close the distance between them when he speaks and zeros in on Steve's lips when he replies. And Steve… responds? He thinks? It's difficult to tell, because Steve's reciprocal touches are restricted by the lapful of Robin, and he seems to have a habit of looking at everyone's mouth when they talk. The boys appear optimistic, though, sending him encouraging signals from across the table and the window. He'll just have to use it as fuel and keep on trucking.

Somewhere along the way they move on to D&D. Steve remains enrapt by Eddie's every word, hanging on to the golden threads he spins. His only actual contribution comes at the end, asking if their game has space for one more. Eddie’s pulse jumps in his throat.

"Methinks we do." He leans back, exposing his neck, while giving Steve his best bedroom eyes from above the rim of his glass. "Why, you interested?"

"Not me," Steve says; Eddie barely has the willpower to smack his head against the table with disappointment. "But Lucas plays. Or he used to. His… what's the term? His group?"

"Party," Jeff says.

"Party. They're scattered all over the world now. I think he misses it."

"He hasn't said anything about it, but…" Robin trails off. Steve jostles her.

"You never talk about band, but you miss the trumpet like hell, don't you?"

"Ugh, I dooooooo!" she says, kicking her legs.

"We can bring him aboard and see how he fits," Eddie says. "If he so wishes."

Steve smiles like Eddie just promised Lucas a kidney. "Thanks."

Eddie gulps a large mouthful of beer to wet his drying mouth. "Anything for you."

They leave soon after that for food. Gareth especially needs it, starting to become tipsy on his stomach of nothing but beer. Although, outside, it becomes clear he passed 'tipsy' a while back when he climbs onto Jeff's back and yells, "Race!"

Jeff laughs as he hikes Gareth farther up. Robin glances at Steve, then spins away and mounts Marv's back instead.

"I promise I'm lighter than I look," she says.

"You look as light as your namesake," Marv says; she gently smacks his shoulder.

"Don't flatter me; I'm immune."

Gareth, holding Jeff’s hoodie like it's a horse's reins, points to the 7-Eleven sign glowing faintly in the distance. "Onward!"

Marv whinnies realistically enough for Robin to guffaw, and then they're off, their shoes clomping against the pavement and they howling with laughter. Still by the bar, Eddie and Steve share a giggle before following suit at a slower pace.

"Ah, youngsters," Eddie says dreamily.

Steve knocks their shoulders together. "You're not that much older."

"Well… Gareth's turning 21 and I'm 25, so a bit?"

"I'm also the oldest in my friend group." Steve shrugs. "It happens."

Gravel crunch beneath their soles. The air is cool and the sky is yellow with light pollution. Indianapolis is alive and full of noise, but their bubble has space for only them to walk side by side, close enough to touch but not doing so. They have an approximate ten-minute walk until they reach the convenience store. Unless the others return to them, that's ten minutes alone.

Eddie must use them wisely.

"So… how long have you been a paramedic?"

"Oh, um." Steve scratches his neck. "It's been almost four years. I'd actually been certified for less than a year when I got asked to be in that calendar. Not even a year in and I'm supposed to represent paramedics as a whole." He chuckles, mumbling, "That was fun."

"Did you make anything from it?"

"No. Every cent went to charity. Can't remember the name of it, but they provide vaccines to children in developing countries. Measles, polio, hepatitis, tetanus. That sort of stuff."

"Is this your childhood dream then?"

"Nah. I didn't want to be anything when I was a kid. When teachers asked what we wanted to be when we grew up I just said I wanted to be like my dad. He's the CEO of a huge electronics company. Mom is a socialite and philanthropist. They wanted me to inherit the company, but I…" Steve pulls a sigh from deep in his chest, throwing his head back to watch the starless sky. "I was a meathead jock. More interested in being keg king than keeping up my grades. Only reason I graduated on time was Nancy – we used to date. She's a study-beast. Makes great flashcards. Anyway, there's no way I'd ever get into a university good enough for my parents. I wasn't interested in the business degree dad wanted for me; I didn't even bother applying for college. It felt like a waste of time."

Eddie whistles, drawn out and low. "Bet they were thrilled when they found out."

Steve laughs humorlessly. "Yeah. Dad forced me to work this shitty retail job because of it." He halts, drawing himself up and pulling his mouth down. Giving Eddie the most disdainful look he's received, he says in a voice too pompous to be his own, "'If you don't follow the path to the top I laid out for you you'll end up here, at the bottom'." He rolls his eyes, himself again. "That's what he was saying. It backfired on him, because that's where I met Robin. Spent six months on that job, being a fucking aimless disappointment, and then…"

"Then?" Eddie asks, and now it's him desperately grasping at the thread. He needs to know. Anything Steve is willing to give, Eddie will accept.

Steve chews the inside of his cheek. Head hanging, hair falling into his face and glasses sliding down his nose, he resembles a model from an art student's angst-ridden project. Or maybe a movie star in an independent art house film. He just looks like art, okay? Beautiful and out of reach, which only makes you want to touch him more.

"It's kinda private," he says. "For Robin, I mean. The point is it opened my eyes to emergency services. I knew that was something I'd like to do. With some encouragement from her… I did it." He smiles at Eddie like they're sharing secrets. "Turns out studying is more fun when you're interested in the curriculum. My parents disowned me, but it's worth it. I'm as far away from being him as I can come."

He slows his steps then, face sobering before he barks a shocked laugh. The apples of his cheeks are pink.

"Fuck, that just flew out! I'm not usually like this; it's Robin who can't put a cork in it." He laughs again, softer, and levels Eddie with a gaze that borders on adoring. "You're easy to talk to."

Eddie nods. His lungs are burning, he must gasp for breath before speaking. "It's a finely honed skill…"

He swallows, licking his lips. Anything Steve is willing to give, he wants to give back. To take and give. To know and to be known.

He chokes out, "I almost turned into my dad."

"Yeah?" Steve says casually, unaware of the knife Eddie just plunged into his own chest and cut himself open with. "What's he?"

"Prison."

"What?"

Eddie nods breezily. He puts his trembling hands into his jacket pockets. "Petty stuff, but it stacks up. He taught me a few things, though, so if you ever need to hotwire your car or pick a lock… I'm your guy!"

He pulls out his hands to point at himself with both thumbs before shoving them back in. His voice is shriller, and his body's getting the jitters. Can't be still, can't shut up, and now Steve is eyeing him with… sadness? Not disgust, at least, or mistrust.

"But you're a mechanic now, right?" Steve says.

"Yeah. Learned it from my uncle – he took me in after the ol' sperm donor got caught. Greatest man I know, my uncle. I was a crap student," Eddie says, because why not. What's this after divulging about his dad? Nothing! Might as well disclose his aptitude for crime and philistinism. "Completely aimless. Still am. Redid senior year twice."

"Shit."

Grimacing with empathy, Steve sidles up until their elbows brush. A smidgen of tension leaves Eddie as he leans into Steve's warmth.

"Uh-huh. My peers started looking at colleges and all I thought was 'death before higher education!' So, I used my savings to move to Indy and got a job at a garage. It's not what I strictly want, but it pays the bills. Keeps me housed."

"What do you want?" Steve asks, like he wants to know and not just to be polite.

Eddie balloons his cheeks and puffs out the air. "I don't know. I'm passionate about music, but mostly as a hobby. Doing it professionally seems like it sucks. It's all I got, though. That and D&D."

"That's okay." Steve throws an arm around Eddie, and then they're flush. Ribs to ribs. Not an inch separating them. Close enough for Steve's skin to vibrate with Eddie's heartbeat. "You have time to figure it out. And being a mechanic in the meantime is great."

"It-It's not as meaningful as saving lives…" Eddie says, shaking his hair forth so it curtains his face.

Steve hooks the curls around his finger and tucks them back behind Eddie's ear. Holy shit. If Eddie hadn't been clinging to Steve, his jelly-legs would've collapsed and made him eat asphalt.

Steve's gorgeous grin still sends him stumbling a step.

"Sure it is. I bet you've saved someone." Steve leans in, breath ghosting across Eddie's cheekbone as he murmurs, "You'd save me. I know how to change tires and check the oil, but if it's something else? I'm screwed."

Eddie turns his head; their noses nearly bump. Steve's gaze flicks from his eyes to his mouth, indecisive. It chooses his mouth when he pokes his tongue out and drags it over his lips.

"Don't worry, big boy," he says, voice gravelly from use and their proximity. "If you're ever in trouble, just come to me and I'll take care of your engine."

Steve's breath hitches; he flinches back. For a moment Eddie's sure he went too far. But then Steve giggles like a schoolgirl. He ducks his head, face flaming red.

"Cool," he says weakly. "If you ever… heh, I was going to say 'if you ever need the kiss of life, come to me', but… don't." He's leveled himself with Eddie again and is looking at him sternly, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the humor glittering behind his glasses. "Don't ever get fatally injured. Okay?"

Eddie runs a hand down Steve's back, feels him shiver, and looks at him from beneath his lashes. "I make no promises."

A minute later they're caught up with their friends, who are very kind not to comment on how they're plastered to each other.

They buy their food – subs, nachos, chips, cookies, and juice, Steve paying for Robin's after she begs – and wander back to the parking lot by the bar. As a group, so no more clingy cuddling. Just as well, because Eddie's hot enough to erupt if touched again.

Steve didn't get the memo, though, because when they're saying goodnight and about to climb into their respective cars, he pulls Eddie into a hug. A real hug. Two-armed, chest-to-chest, sniffing-the-other-person's-hair kind of hug.

"S'been fun tonight," he says, squeezing Eddie tightly. "This is gonna sound sappy, but I'm glad we ran into each other again."

Ran into each other again.

Ran into each other.

It's a barrel of ice water over Eddie's head. His whole body constricts, shoulders hiking to his ears, jaw clenching. Because they've never actually done that, have they? They ran into each other once, but never again. Every single one of their meetings since has been orchestrated. Made to happen to satisfy Eddie’s obsessive crush. And Steve has no idea.

He doesn't know Eddie is a capital-letters-only FREAK. He doesn't know Eddie gets his rocks off to charity calendars. Fuck, he doesn't know about the calendar.

He has to know. If there's anything Eddie has learned from his millions of failed relationships, it's that there are things you have to know, and this is one of them. Because what'll happen if Steve finds out years from now from someone who isn't Eddie? A shit show, that's what!

Eddie wants for it to be a 'years from now'. He wants to feel Steve's hugs and see his eyes behind thin wire glasses. He wants to smell Steve's shampoo and hear his voice go soft as it says the names of the people he loves.

He wants to take and to give. To know and be known.

Steve has to know.

But how will Eddie tell him?

------------------------------

Part 6

Steve's glasses are a result of @pemsha's lovely fanart. If you haven't seen it yet you can do so here.

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lenore1232, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll, @theysherobinbuckley, @freddykicksasses, @winterbuckwild, @sideblogofthcentury, @subparbrainfunction

#gareth said 'max tricked eddie into going on a date with steve so I'LL trick him into an even date-ier date' and that's so valid of him #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #robin buckley #stobin #my writing #steddie fic: november paramedic

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Two

One

So, this part was kinda supposed to be attached to part one, but I got tired and the part was getting too long so here we are lmao

Anyway, we get a few parents revealed here, but most are still a mystery

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

---

Eddie is on the other side of the park and wondering if he has enough time to see that fake Parthenon when he hears the unmistakable sound of a harpy's shriek. Those things have nearly eaten him enough times at camp for their bird screams to be seared into his memory. And if he's hearing the overgrown chicken, that means it's found those demigod kids before he could.

Fuck.

He whirls around just in time to see the harpy shoot above the trees, wings flared and feathers bristling, before dive-bombing whichever unlucky kid it's decided to eat first.

"Motherfucking shit bitch," Eddie mutters, taking off across the grass to where the harpy dived.

On the bright side, he managed to find the kids pretty quick; he'd only been in Athens for a few hours. On the fucked up side, he might only be able to sneak one or two kids away from the monster. Which, like, he'd love to save more of them, but he's not exactly the best fighter. He's the best runner and hider. This is why he's sent on these missions: the camp has learned that stealth and hiding usually bring more kids into safety than straight-up attacking monsters.

Eddie skirts around a tree, just barely missing the branch that threatens to whack his head off. He can hear music (something light and jumpy, soft and clear) and kids shouting in what he assumes to be fear. Just based on the sound, he's not going to be able to sneak those kids away. They're probably right in front of the harpy.

He'll have to be a distraction so they can run. "I'm gonna fucking die today," Eddie says, resigned and annoyed all at once. He reaches up and tears off the guitar pic and chain around his neck, the small triangle bursting outwards into a shield with straps that wrap around his arm.

It's ready to withstand some harpy claws by the time Eddie gracefully trips over a tree root and reflexively tucks and rolls over his shoulder. He pops up from the ground, eyes trained to the harpy, and freezes as three very important things become incredibly obvious.

One: the kids are not, in fact, shouting in fear. They're shouting with excitement, cheering at the fight happening before them. Eddie watches as a boy wearing a baseball cap punches the air and shouts, "Get 'em, Steve! Fuck the bird up!" His words are quickly followed by two girls jokingly shouting, "Language!" in return before laughing.

Two: the song playing is coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the blankets. It's a pop song. At least, it sounds like one. It's definitely old, though, and he only knows the name (Dancing in the Moonlight, by Toploader) because one of the muses' kids sang it once at a campfire night when Eddie first arrived at the camp.

Three: the most gorgeous boy Eddie has ever seen is currently beating the ever-loving shit out of the harpy with a nail bat. His mouth is pulled back into a vicious grin, his hair is somehow unaffected by the violent swings, and Eddie can somehow tell he's dragging this fight out with the harpy to blow off some steam.

"Oh! Steve!" one of the kids shouts, a girl with a beanie covering her hair. Her hat seems to be shifting just slightly, but Eddie thinks it might be a trick of the light. "Hit her to the music, like one of those movie fight scenes."

Then Eddie hears the boy, Steve, laugh. The sound is bright and clear and pierces right through Eddie's chest. "Sure thing, kiddo," Steve says, sliding back a step and twirling the bat in his hand. He tilts his head, listening to the song and catching the drums and keyboard, and then jumps right back onto the harpy.

And he does it. He starts swinging and landing hits on the harpy in time with the drums. Steve roundhouse kicks the harpy in the chest right as a guitar solo starts, his foot making contact with the first strum. Feathers are bursting in the air around Steve, brushing by him and creating brief, tiny dappled shadows over his face. The way he fights is like a dance, especially when he has music to follow and an audience to entertain.

Here's the thing: Eddie has never been one to keep his imagination in check. Why would he? Some of his best songs have been inspired by daydreams. So, when he sees the most gorgeous boy in the world beating a harpy's ass with a violent yet graceful dance, Eddie really can't be blamed for daydreaming.

The bright sun is replaced by a full moon, the park has become the shore by the lake at camp, and the audience of kids has disappeared completely. It's just him and Steve at the lake, smiling at each other and dancing, trading off lead between them. Eddie spins Steve and Steve dips Eddie. Somewhere, Dancing in the Moonlight is playing softly, nearly drowned out by their quiet laughter and whispered jokes and the waves of the lake brushing against the shore.

Oh. Oh.

That stupid prophecy. It was talking about this. The oracle predicted this moment and, apparently, considered it important enough to actually tell Eddie about it months ago. And he's spent this entire time trying to fight that obscure prophecy, trying to turn it into something bitter and filled with rage when it's just...just Steve. And Eddie doesn't know Steve yet, sure, but not even the gods could stop him from giving it a shot.

"YES!"

Eddie blinks, dragged harshly from his daydream by the kids shouting with joy as Steve brings the bat down on the harpy's head. The monster bursts into that familiar puff of smoke and mist and dust, and the kids cheer even louder.

Steve grins and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders and cockily resting the bat on his shoulder. He starts to turn toward the kids only to stop when he's facing Eddie, their eyes meeting and catching right as the song finishes playing.

----

The rush of joy and adrenaline at beating the harpy is still surging through Steve when he sees the guy his age standing a few feet away, staring at them with wide eyes. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's a human who just happens to be able to see monsters, too. They've run into a person like that before. Then he notices the shield on the guy's arm and realizes he must be like them to some degree.

Steve blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studies the other boy. Hair that definitely needs a more specialized shampoo, big brown eyes, and a whole grunge kinda vibe that Steve finds inexplicably attractive. He could spend another hour staring at the guy, but then one of the kids leaps onto his back, laughing right in his ear and nearly making him go deaf.

"That was so awesome!" Dustin shouts, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist as the other kids rush to surround him.

El grabs his free hand, smiling up at him. "Thank you for dance fighting," she says, her words almost drowned out by the other kids shouting their favorite parts and Max insisting she could have helped with the fight.

Steve grins a little wider, feeling his adrenaline drain as the relief of keeping his kids safe takes its place. "She shouldn't have interrupted our day off," he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the kids instead of the guy still staring at them. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."

"Where are you going?"

The guy's voice is a little rough, and Steve thinks he'd be able to pick it out from any crowd after hearing it just once. He looks over at the guy, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's your business," he says, trying to ignore the part of him that feels bad.

Thankfully, the guy doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and takes a few steps closer. "Oh, I don't know, big boy. I think your gaggle of demigods is definitely my business," he says.

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, really hoping it isn't. It would be a shame to punch the guy's face.

The boy blinks, pausing like he's reconsidering how his words sounded. "Shit, yeah, that did sound bad," he says, frowning and tugging on a lock of hair. He pulls it in front of his mouth, a few more seconds passing before he says, "I'm gonna start again."

The guy clears his throat and the retracts his shield. It shrinks down into a guitar pic on a chain that he latches around his neck. "Okay," he says, "Eddie Munson, son of Hermes, future rockstar, and your guide to Camp Half-Blood."

"Future rockstar?" Max asks, her voice low and sardonic.

"Hermes has kids?" Mike asks.

"I've never heard of Camp Half-Blood," Steve says, pushing forward and herding the kids to stand behind him. He stores Eddie's name for later, forcing himself to focus on the whole Potential Threat to His Kids thing.

Eddie nods like this is something he's expected. "That's fine. Lucky for you, pretty boy, I'm here to explain it all."

"Pretty boy," Steve mumbles, doing his absolute best to not think about his face heating up.

From behind him, he hears Lucas groan, "Aww, man, they're gonna be gross."

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't pay them any mind. "Camp Half-Blood is a safe haven for demigods like us. It's got a barrier around it that keeps monsters out, and we make sure everyone is trained to fight monsters and survive as adults," he explains, grinning at Steve.

"Wait, how many more of us are there?" Will asks, poking his head around Steve to look at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Oh, hundreds. The gods aren't exactly known for keeping it in their pants."

"So, we'll be safe at this camp?" Steve asks slowly.

"Safe as can be, big boy."

"Is it demigods only?" Steve asks.

Eddie nods once, flashing a grin. "Of course. We've got one Olympian who helps run the camp as, like, a punishment thing. He doesn't do much, actually. But we've also got some nymphs and Chiron. Uh, there are a few monsters in the forest, but they aren't too dangerous. They're mostly for training. The main thing is that big dangerous monsters can't get to us, and the Mist keeps humans from stumbling on the camp, too."

Honestly? It sounds way too good to be true. Steve has spent years running across this country and back, collecting the kids along the way and struggling to keep them alive. How is he only now learning about some camp that's built just for kids like them?

"The Mist?" Dustin asks, pushing around Steve. He'd be halfway to Eddie if Steve didn't grab his shirt and drag him back. "What's the Mist?"

"It's, like, this camouflage thing that keeps humans from noticing monsters and our powers," Eddie explains, vaguely sweeping his hand in the direction of a few other park-goers. "It's why nobody started screaming when you beat that harpy."

"Oh, that's what it's called," Dustin says, his grin saying he's about to grill Eddie for all his knowledge if Steve doesn't stop him.

Eddie nods and looks over the kids before settling his gaze on Steve again. "You and the kids will be safe there," he says.

"I wouldn't mind settling down," Will says, tugging on Steve's sleeve and looking up at him hopefully.

The other kids nod in agreement, and El squeezes Steve's hand. "It sounds like it'll be safe for me, too," she whispers.

Gods, is it tempting. No more running around, a place they can actually settle down and call home. He could get a full night of sleep for once instead of waking up every other hour to check their surroundings. He wouldn't need to worry about food or clothes or what to do if the kids get sick.

Steve frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before looking back at Eddie. "What happens when we get there?" he asks.

"You'll be given the grand tour by yours truly," Eddie says, playfully bowing to Steve and the kids. "Then, you'll get sorted into cabins and start training."

"How will we be sorted?" Lucas asks. He sounds genuinely curious, so Steve swallows back his retort that they certainly won't be separated if he has anything to say about it.

"By your godly parent. So, pretty boy here will probably go into the Aphrodite cabin," Eddie says, winking playfully at Steve.

"Aphrodite isn't his mother," El says, pushing closer to Steve as the other kids agree.

Eddie blinks. "Uh, who is?"

Steve hesitates, studying Eddie for a few seconds before looking at the kids. This isn't something he should reveal without a general consensus from them. What he gets is a few shrugs, an exasperated sigh from Lucas, and some nods. "My dad is Zeus," Steve says, looking back at Eddie.

"Dude," Eddie breathes, his eyes wide as though his entire world has been shaken, "How the fuck are you alive?"

And Steve can't help it. He laughs, shrugging off the nerves he'd felt earlier because he just can't bring himself to mistrust Eddie. "It's a bit of a long story," he says, "but I could tell it to you on the way to Camp Half-Blood."

The way Eddie lights up is enough to slightly calm the ever-present anxiety that hums through Steve's veins. Maybe this won't be a disaster.

Tag List (there is definitely still room, so just let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie

#steddie #steddie fic #semi divine steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #percy jackson au #my writing #please don't expect quick updates like this on the regular btw #weekend me is just too productive actually #so ya know just vibe i guess lmao

[vasyandii]

PROBLEM CHILD

KruegerNak FIC

TYPE: SET IN KRUEGER'S PERSPECTIVE, just insight into how their initial relationship was starting out.

SYNOPSIS:Before they were dating they were friends, before they were friends they were petty assholes.

WARNINGS: Crude language, Depictions of violence, Nak and Krueger are just Assholes

CHARACTERS: Sebastian Krueger, Phayvanh "Nak" Sotsvahn, Nikolai

WORD COUNT: 1000+

CREATOR NOTES: This is something I wrote while writing Edelweiss (Changing name to be a continuation of Plumeria), it still has some stuff I need to fix but as soon as that's done with, I'll post it :3 as always, the art is done by me!

---

"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" She shrieks, other unit members prying her off and away from him as she's thrashing about. "Let me go!"

Krueger stood over Nak, his chest heaving with laborious breaths. Blood trickled down from a split in his lip, mixing with the dirt and grime on his face. He was a picture of apathetic victory; battered but unbowed, a smirk playing on his grimy face as he regarded the new specialist trying to claw her way past the unit members holding her back.

His fingers prodded gingerly at the split skin of his knuckles - By now he forgot what they were beating each other for. She had spirit, but she often bites off more than she could chew.

Ignoring the burning feel on his face and possible bruised ribs – because damn that bitch packed surprisingly powerful kicks – Krueger lit up a cigarette and took deep drags, he knew his ass was in trouble as well.

---

In the office, Nikolai paced back and forth like a caged animal. His usually cool demeanor seemed to have frayed at the edges.

"Fighting in broad daylight, Again." his tone stern from behind his oak table scattered with undisclosed documents. "You're supposed to be professionals."

Krueger sat nonchalantly on one of those uncomfortable metal chairs they had around here, watching Nikolai's rant impassively through narrowed brown eyes. The cigarette - A new one, perched between his lips was all but forgotten now as ashes threatened to spill onto the floor.

"Of all people Krueger!" Nikolai finally spat out his name like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "How many times do I have to remind you."

Nak sat neatly, hands in her lap. The woman looked rather pleased with herself despite her disheveled appearance as she listens to Nikolai berate him.

That was until Nikolai shifted is attention to her.

"And you!" Nikolai's gaze snapped towards Nak, Krueger swore he saw her flinch. "You think that childish outburst makes you look tough?".

Nikolai ran a hand through his greying hair, frustration clear on his face. Nak stayed silent, whether it was to save her ass or because she didn't have the right words to say.

Krueger watched from the corner of his eye as her smirk morphed into an irritatingly defiant sneer. He could almost read the silent challenge in her gaze - one that screamed she'd do it all over again if given the chance.

"I was teaching him a lesson," She said to Nikolai. "Your worker should learn to watch his mouth."

Krueger chuckled at her bold retort. He turned to meet her gaze with an insincere smile plastered on his bruised face, "Oh really?" His tone dripped with sarcasm as he leaned back comfortably in his chair, drumming his fingers against the wood.

"I guess next time I should watch out for midgets in whatever jungle you crawled from." He fired back mockingly, shooting Nikolai a glance before smirking at Nak.

If they were going to throw insults now, he wasn't one to back down. "Oh look who's finally learned some big words," he quipped back swiftly.

"You-" Nak stood from her seat, hand pulling him by the collar. "I'll straighten your damn jaw, ຝະລັ່ງຂີ້ນົກ ."

"Enough!" Nikolai stopped them, silencing the room instantly. His vicious stare switched between Krueger and Nak.

She sat back down, cursing under her breath; something in a language he didn't understand. Asian probably.

"I don't give a damn about your petty squabbles," he growled, his icy gaze finally landing on Krueger again with full force of its fury. "Settle it or I will settle it for you."

The threat hung heavily in the room for what seemed an eternity before Nikolai turned away dismissively towards his desk - usually signifying that he was done with them.

Krueger rose nonchalantly from his chair and headed towards the door without so much as another word - no point further provoking the boss today after all. Nak was almost a foot out the door before Nikolai spoke again.

"Phayvanh, you stay."

What a strange name.

--

"I'm not going," She dismisses. "Nothing wrong with me. you're putting me through something that isn't worth shit."

Krueger listened in stealthily, his curiosity piqued. The stinging pain on his battered face subsided as his interest turned to the squabble he could overhear from Nikolai's office.

"It's not up for debate, Phayvanh," Nikolai snapped back curtly. "Your outburst clearly shows that you need those sessions."

"I can work!" she countered defiantly. "You are fucking making me dead weight!"

"Watch your language," Nikolai's voice turned stern, "You are an investment Phayvanh, and Chimera does not throw away investments lightly. You will go to those sessions."

Krueger chuckled softly against the wall. Oh, this would be fun to watch play out. He could see himself using her rebellious streak for his own amusement in the future.

"Investment? He's not an investment," She didn't need to offer a name for Krueger to know she was talking about him. "I don't need those sessions if you just get rid if him."

Krueger's smirk dropped, replaced by a scowl. The nerve of that little shit. His fists clenched involuntarily before he quickly forced himself to relax.

"He's one of our best."

Krueger felt an odd sense of satisfaction hearing those words from Nikolai.

"Whatever," Nak stood up to leave. "I'll go. Let's see how long it'll take for you to stop wasting your money."

---

It's midnight. Quiet other than her footsteps, something he's gotten used to since she got the job a month ago. Sometimes he could hear rummaging in community kitchen. He never bothered to look until now because, who gives a shit?

She doesn't sleep, she doesn't eat. What the hell is she doing?

Krueger sat silently in the dark, he rolled his eyes at himself for even caring enough to consider it. Nak had been quite the nuisance since she got here but her antics were starting to catch his interest.

Tossing his blanket to the side, he sighed and stood up from his bed, deciding impulsively to investigate whatever it was that she was doing this late at night.

He moved silently through the dimly lit corridors, making his way towards the source of the sound. He was aware that he was stalking her like prey in its natural habitat, but a part of him justified it as needing to know what she could be up to.

His footsteps were heavy against the cold stone floor, he saw light flickering under a door down the hallway - the kitchen.

He saw Nak turn sharply towards the direction of the sound he had made, her dark eyes wide in surprise.

Krueger froze momentarily, cursing himself internally for being so careless. He was usually silent in his movements - the fact that he hadn't been careful enough this time irked him immensely.

"Relax," His voice was low, laced heavily with mockery. "It's just me."

For a moment, they locked eyes and then she went back to whatever it was she'd been doing before he came.

Nak tried her best to ignore Krueger and his staring from the table. Her table, he knew that - it was fun to fuck with her.

He got his answer for what she's been doing, though; just making coffee.

Leaning back in her chair, he watched Phayvanh move around as she made the brew.

"You don't sleep much?" He finally broke the silence, curiosity getting better of him.

She replied curtly. "Don't speak to me."

He chuckled at her vain attempt to control their interaction, "So bossy… Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to give orders?" His voice was rich with sarcasm as he rested his boots on the table, blatantly ignoring any boundaries she may have established over 'her' table.

"Why are you here," Nak carefully stirs her coffee with a spoon. The handle looked like it would snap by how tight she was gripping it.

"Curiosity," Krueger replied casually, watching the way she handled her cup. The concentration on her face was a stark contrast to the fiery defiance he'd seen earlier. "It's late and you're always up… thought I might join."

He hesitated momentarily before adding in a softer tone, "And maybe to piss you off, just a tad bit." A smirk played at the corner of his lips as he looked over at her.

"Go fuck yourself," She was going nowhere near that table when he just planted his ass in her seat. "ຝະລັ່ງ."

Krueger's smirk widened at her sharp reply. He was familiar with many languages, though he had to admit the dialect she spoke got lost on him.

"I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that," He drawled out lazily as his eyes glinted in amusement. "Want to run that by me again?"

Nak leaned down to his eye level like she was about to say something. Instead she opted to pouring her coffee on his lap.

---

For a split second, he froze in surprise before jumping up swiftly, uttering a guttural curse.

"You little bitch!" Krueger reached for her arm, roughly pulling her towards him to look into her defiant eyes.

"What the fuck was that for?" He spat out through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the burning sensation on his legs.

"I told you to go fuck yourself didn't I?" She mocked, waving her mug in hand. "You should listen to-"

"Do you two you what time it is?"

Nikolai. Great.

---

Krueger's attention snapped immediately to Nikolai who now stood at the entrance of the kitchen, his eyes flickering between Krueger and Phayvanh as he tried to assess the situation.

"She fucking poured coffee on me!" His grip tightened around her arm.

"He pissed himself." She just stated simply, hiding the mug behind her back. "Must've startled him or something."

Krueger blinked, appalled by her audacity.

"You fucking liar-" He began, but was quickly cut off by Nikolai.

"Enough," The older man barked out sharply, turning his icy glare towards Krueger first before it settled on Phayvanh.

"Why are both of you up this late? And why the hell is there coffee all over my floor?" His intense gaze bore into Phayvanh in particular, as if already suspecting her role in the entire mess.

"Piss." She corrected.

"Fuck you," Krueger growled at her under his breath. His calloused hand still clamped tight around her arm.

"Enough!" Nikolai repeated, exasperated. He sighed heavily and covered his face with a tired hand, "Clean this up and I don't want to see either one of you till sunrise."

With that he turned on his heel and left them alone once again in the dimly lit kitchen.

---

Nikolai out of sight, Nak took out the empty coffee mug she hid behind her back.

The sudden bonk on his head caught him off guard. He quickly let go of her arm, and rubbed the back of his head where she'd hit him, meeting her gaze with an irritated scowl. Wasn't enough to seriously hurt him like her punches, but still hurt nonetheless.

"You got some serious fucking issues, you know that?" He snarled at her.

Nak gave him a sidelong glance.

"I could've rendered you a vegetable with that. Consider it my apology," She snagged a rag from the counter. "Only because I feel bad for Nikolai."

Krueger watched her with a guarded expression as he grabbed another rag for himself.

"Wooow, " He couldn't help but quip back sarcastically. Despite everything, he had to admit there was something strangely interesting about Phayvanh's unpredictable disposition. "Such generosity from you is truly overwhelming."

"Hm, You're funny." She notes off handedly, cleaning the floor.

His sarcastic snort echoed in the small shared kitchen, "Yeah, and you're a fucking delight."

TRANSLATIONS

ຝະລັ່ງຂີ້ນົກ (Farang Khi Nok) - Literally translates to "Bird shit foreigner", basically "White Trash"

ຝະລັ່ງ (Farang) - Foreigner, specifically one of European descent. In this context it's used as a derogatory term.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #art #digital art #krueger cod #cod krueger #krueger #sebastian krueger #phayvanh nak sotsvahn #nikolai cod #cod nak #cod mw oc #kruegernak #original character #call of duty oc #call of duty original character #cod oc #oc x canon fanfic #oc x canon #oc x cc #cod fanfic #cod art #call of duty art #artwork #cod fic #cod fanart

[lee-em-dee]

A Sequence Analysis of the 6x13 Bellarke Reunion

[a.k.a. the final scene of The 100 because Jroth can Jrot in hell]

After a grim conversation between Bellamy and Jordan, the sequence transitions to a warmly lit, wide angle perspective of the reunion at Sanctum. Friends and lovers “meet again,” hugging, kissing, reconciling in a series of action shots: Miller & Jackson, Murphy/Emori & Raven, Jackson & Echo. The sound of their laughter cuts through the uplifting strains of the melody playing [GAITS “Other Side”]. Against the show’s constant onslaught of death and destruction, the beauty in these brief flashes of joy isn’t lost on us; it’s fleeting, but it’s potent. We’re back at the gates of Arkadia in 2x16, only this time around, prospects for the future aren’t quite so bleak, nor is it “getting dark, too dark to see” beneath “that cold black cloud [coming] around” [RAIGN “Knocking on Heaven’s Door”].

Instead, the refrain “I know I’ll see you on the other side” embodies a sense of hope and certainty while also referencing Jasper’s parting words in S4. Unlike his nihilistic outlook, however, the soft, inviting quality of these opening shots seems to suggest that there’s light at the end of the tunnel—a glimpse at the other side of heaven’s door, where peace prevails and war is a distant memory.

As this undertone of cautious optimism resonates, the frame is swallowed up by a dark mass of faceless bodies. The music slows, the crowd parts, and exposed in the center of the frame is Clarke Griffin—a solitary, motionless figure within a stream of movement. Her silent presence isolates her from the liveliness of her surroundings. From the side angle of the camera in the shadowy foreground only her profile is visible, yet the expression on her face is noticeably stunned. We’re left with a sense of anticipation. Where is her gaze focused? What commands her attention so fiercely, stopping her in her tracks and arresting her movements? The anticipation builds, and, with it, the percussive intensity of the music. Soft vocalizations trail after “the other side,” echoing in our ears as we --

Cut to a reverse shot of Bellamy. He makes his way to his people, but it’s clear that the words exchanged with a disillusioned Jordan weigh on him. His eyes are fixed on the ground, brows furrowed, a pensive expression reflecting his weary frame of mind. It’s the aftermath of yet another battle, another spoke on a wheel that spins and spins, unleashing more devastation with each turn. We, as the audience, can only hope that this is the end of its vicious cycle. He’s lost in thought, but a glance ahead has his eyes snagging on something out of shot. No, someone. Bellamy’s steps falter for a beat, then his eyes widen a fraction. He’s mesmerized.

On the receiving end of his gaze, Clarke sharply exhales. The steady pulsing of the music stutters before the rhythm picks up in rapid sixteenth notes, akin to a heartbeat that skips, flutters, then pounds. Energy thrums in the single look that they share; everything else seems to melt away as they fixate on each other, as the tether that binds them together tugs, as the distance between twin souls is bridged.

We’re hit with the crescendo of the music, punctuated by the sustained beat of the drums. It’s booming. A fluid tracking shot follows Clarke as she launches herself away from the crowd into Bellamy’s open arms, and the force of their collision is shown through their synchronized exhalations of breath, through the swaying movement of their bodies pressed tightly together. Like cymbals crashing, they meet in the middle of the frame. The blocking instantly establishes a bubble of intimacy around them that blocks out the rest of the world as they completely obscure the figures (“girlfriend”) in the background. Refracted light slices across the screen at an angle, tracing the points of contact between these two people who radiate warmth and ignite under a single touch.

The music swells. Their embrace is set to the bridge “oh wait for me in fields of gold,” and as they hold each other, lost to a symphony of grief and elation, we get the sense that in each other’s arms these two broken beings are very much found. It’s a homecoming.

Clarke burrows her face into Bellamy’s neck. The sun beaming in the background sends scattered light over his shoulder, captured as flare in the camera lens. Not only does this element add a layer of visual impact and aesthetic beauty to the shot, but it also intensifies the climactic moment when their bodies collide. Tension is built and built until it finally snaps; in doing so, emotional catharsis (for both the characters and for the audience) is maximized. The combination of the lens flare and camera movements makes for a striking, visually dynamic shot with epic romantic overtones. In their reunion a sense of rightness is restored, which has remained a consistent theme of the show for six seasons. When the camera finally settles, what’s captured is the sheer magnetism of the moment. Nearby murmured conversations are unable to overtake the melody, and the bustling movements of the crowd are unable to break that hypnotic hold they have on each other.

Clarke clings to Bellamy; now, more than ever, it’s evident that her love for him is a refuge, her strength in times of weakness. Even so, sorrow threatens to overtake the solace found in his embrace; Bellamy immediately senses this, rubs a soothing pattern across her back. With brows drawn, he nestles his face against her shoulder as if to will her pain away.

We cut to a dynamic two shot, with Bellamy occupying the left side of the frame and Clarke the right. Both seem reluctant to part, and as they do, harsh realities set in. Bellamy delivers the sobering line, “I heard about Abby.” Like a death knell, its implications land on Clarke and reverberate through this gentle, short-lived moment of peace. Her face crumples. With a despondent shake of her head, she manages, “I tried to do better. I did.” Bellamy can only nod. His strained expression conveys how the mere sight of Clarke’s pain is excruciating to him. A sharp intake of breath from her—“And then I lost my mom.” The tremor in her voice betrays her composure; the words catch in her throat, imparting a strangled quality to the line.

Her mother’s death clings to her. It’s reflected in her head-to-toe black attire, in the misery painted on her face. The weight of impossible decisions looms (how tragic that her mother’s endangerment was what drove her to pull the lever back in Mount Weather), and it seems that, this time around, the burden is too heavy to carry alone. “Tell me it was worth it,” she pleads to Bellamy, barely choking the words out as she battles tears. “Tell—tell me it was worth it.” In deep anguish Bellamy watches Clarke unravel before his eyes. With gentle words he tries to piece her back together. “Hey—Hey, we did. We did do better.”

This entire verbal exchange is filmed as a continuous arc shot that swings back and forth on an axis (Bellamy -> Clarke / Clarke -> Bellamy) with the sun acting as the focal point between them. The shot—much like their soul-deep connection—remains unbroken and uninterrupted. Rather than keeping a fixed, static position, the camera’s movements allow us to feel the push-pull emotional tension of the scene. It orbits Bellamy and Clarke in a way that cinematically mirrors the gravitational pull they feel towards each other. For years and years, the two have danced around each other. Though distance and time separated them, they’ve always been inextricably tied together in common orbit. Like binary stars, Bellamy and Clarke orient themselves around a shared barycenter. Their center of gravity—the sun flaring at the center of the frame—coincides with the show’s key thematic elements: forgiveness, rebirth, redemption. The rising of the sun marks the start of a new day and, with it, another chance to do better.

With each dizzying motion of the camera, flashes of light shine between their silhouettes, obscured only to re-emerge seconds later as lens flare; The sequence, as a whole, is a study in subtle contrasts: the contrast between the white sun in the background, the light glinting off the water, the pale gold of the sky + of Clarke’s hair vs Bellamy and Clarke’s shadowy figures captured in low-exposure, the darkness of their clothing, Bellamy’s black hair. This balance of light and shadows/brightness and darkness mirrors the tenuous balance between hope and despair driving the scene. In parallel, the despair that consumes Clarke is a darkness balanced out by Bellamy, who maintains a more optimistic outlook for the future and serves as her guiding light.

[Additional Note: These cinematic contrasts are also a perfect illustration of the concept of yin and yang—the cosmic duality that reflects Bellamy and Clarke’s “head and heart” relationship. The two are equal, seemingly opposing forces but, in actuality, function in such a way that enforces their complementary and interdependent nature: One cannot exist without the other, and both are connected as two halves of a whole in perfect equilibrium. Yin and yang—the head and the heart—do not act as isolated parts, but rather continuously influence and interact with each other to bring forth balance and harmony.]

Hope.

In spite of everything, it shows its presence in the vibrant yellow tones of a scene filmed at golden hour; the honeyed glow creates a dreamy, inviting atmosphere, giving off a quality of softness and romanticism that balances out the heaviness of their conversation. Hope echoes in the melody as it conveys the inevitability of reuniting with a loved one in this life or the next: “It’s not the end. It’s all I know…I know I’ll see you, I know I’ll see you on the other side.” (In other words, we will meet again). Hope is felt through the warmth of two lovers embracing, the warmth of the rising sun on their faces.

As we cut to a final close-up shot of Bellamy, he delivers the last line of the scene with resolve: “I have to believe that that matters,” he murmurs softly, brows knit in concern. His eyes search Clarke’s, but her teary gaze is cast low as she chokes down a sob. Her close-up shot captures the internal conflict taking place:

 It’s a mental battle—grappling with the urge to fall apart or to suppress the vortex of raw emotion churning inside her. Bleary-eyed, she turns away from Bellamy as if every instinct screams at her to flee, to bear the burden alone. Still, an unspoken conversation anchors her to the spot: “Together.” “I got you for that.” “I need you.” “If I’m on that list, you’re on that list.” “The heart and the head.” “You don’t have to do this alone.” Though devastation lines her face, the morning sunrise bathes her skin in light. Clarke draws a shaky breath. She turns back to Bellamy, then nods: a decision has been made. The camera switches from this close-up of Clarke to a hazy, low exposure medium shot as she leans into Bellamy, drawing strength from him (notice its resemblance to Miller and Jackson’s reunion). They wrap their arms around each other, and their bodies meld together. Clarke tucks her chin onto Bellamy’s shoulder. The immediate relief that she’s flooded with is palpable. She closes her eyes and sighs, and Bellamy rubs her back consolingly. The visual of their merging silhouettes—reminiscent of two suns eclipsing just above the horizon line—composes the final frame of the scene before the shot dissolves with a last “I know I’ll see you on the other side.”

There’s a true sense of finality to this closing shot which sets it apart from others before it—or, rather, establishes it as a culmination of every moment in Bellamy and Clarke’s “exhausting” history to get to this state of perfect alignment. The hug, in particular, serves as a departure from previous seasons’ hug scenes in which an interruption was often required to progress the conflict and reestablish some semblance of distance between the two of them.

In this season, however, though death and distance and other outside forces conspired to separate Bellamy and Clarke...they, against all odds, end it with bodies intertwined, defenses stripped away, never more unified both physically and emotionally: the heart and the head joined together in perfect equilibrium. Two bodies, two souls breathing, moving, thinking, and working as one.

#bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #s6 is for hot people with good taste fight me on it

[pralinesims]

The BOLD THE FACTS tag

Tagged by @rebouks @toqqa @lilamausmaus @rebelangelsims, thank you all so much <3

doing this for... *drum rolls*

Aaron!

[ PERSONAL ]

$ Financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty ✚ Medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / non applicable ✪ Class or Caste: upper / middle / working / unsure / other ✔ Education: qualified / unqualified / studying / other ✖ Criminal Record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / has committed crimes, but not caught yet / yes, but charges were dismissed

[ FAMILY ]

◒ Children: had a child or children / has no children / wants children ◑ Relationship with Family: close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased ◔ Affiliation: orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent / not applicable 

[ TRAITS + TENDENCIES ]

♦ extroverted / introverted / in between ♦ disorganized / organized / in between ♦ close minded / open-minded / in between ♦ calm / anxious / in between ♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in between ♦ cautious / reckless / in between ♦ patient / impatient / in between ♦ outspoken / reserved / in between ♦ leader / follower / in between ♦ empathetic / vicious bastard / in between ♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in between ♦ traditional / modern / in between ♦ hard-working / lazy / in between ♦ cultured / uncultured / in between / unknown ♦ loyal / disloyal / unknown ♦ faithful / unfaithful / unknown

[ BELIEFS ]

★ Faith: monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic ☆ Belief in Ghosts or Spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✮ Belief in an Afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✯ Belief in Reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ❃ Belief in Aliens: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✧ Religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious ❀ Philosophical: yes / no

[ SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION ]

❤ Sexuality: heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual ❥ Sex: sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable / naive and clueless ♥ Romance: romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable / naive and clueless / romance suspicious ❣ Sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious ⚧ Potential Sexual Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all ⚧ Potential Romantic Partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

[ ABILITIES ]

☠ Combat Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ≡ Literacy Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✍ Artistic Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✂ Technical Skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

[ HABITS ]

☕ Drinking Alcohol: never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / Alcoholic ☁ Smoking: tried it / trying to quit / quit / never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / Chain-smoker ✿ Recreational Drugs: never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / addict ✌ Medicinal Drugs: never / no longer needs medication / some medication needed / frequently / to excess ☻ Unhealthy Food: never / special occasions / sometimes / frequently / binge eater $ Splurge Spending: never / sometimes / frequently / shopaholic ♣ Gambling: never / rarely / sometimes / frequently / compulsive gambler

-

The Rules are simple! Tag people and name a character you want to know more about! If you want to let the person you tagged decide who to showcase, then don’t name a character and they can pick somebody. Easy! The person who is tagged will then bold the remarks below which apply to their character &, if they want to, include a picture with their reply!

I'm tagging @castawavy @madeofcc @crsentfairy @eljeebee @eldrichthingy @omgkayplays @rottengurlz @fizzytoo @diwns @madebycoffee @servospawn @alinelie @piupiowa @potential-fate @wldestluv-rs and everyone else who's also in mood to play.

#tag game #my sims #oc facts #aaron

[nyorobonzo]

Guzzwog, The Madpole Pokémon

Type: Water/Dark

As soon as it’s born, Guzzwog is said to be filled with a burning hatred for all things. Pokémon and people who unknowingly enter its domain are met with vicious headbutts and spews of water.

It has multiple spikes extending from its body. It is easily swept away by fast-flowing waters. To combat this, it anchors itself to the ground with armlike appendages.

-

Guzzmaw, The Horn Frog Pokémon

Type: Dragon/Dark

A very territorial Pokémon that bites anything that gets too close. It’s hard to get Guzzmaw to bring out its softer side.

Offering Guzzmaw food and treats is said to make it more likely to trust you, but typically, they enjoy being around other members of their species the most.

-

Guzztoad, The Lizard Toad Pokémon

Type: Dragon/Dark

Guzztoad will only get along with other members of its evolutionary line. Guzzwog often accompany a Guzztoad, and provide battle assistance with its water-type attacks.

Guzztoad almost never stops eating, but still has the heart to share the food it finds with its allies. The Guzzwog on the top of its head will eat whatever leftovers its Guzztoad leader gives it.

-

UB-?? PERCUSSION

TYPE: GROUND/DARK

THIS ULTRA BEAST’S BODY IS COVERED IN LUMPS THAT RESEMBLE DRUMS. IT PATS THESE LUMPS TO CREATE EARTHQUAKES. THE STRENGTH AND RHYTHM OF THE BEATS DETERMINES THE MAGNITUDE OF THE QUAKES. WETHER IT PLAYS DRUMS WITH ITS LUMPS FOR ITS OWN ENJOYMENT OR TO CAUSE DESTRUCTION ON PURPOSE IS STILL UNCLEAR.

IT HAS NO EYESIGHT. ANY EYES THAT IT HAS ARE OBSCURED BY ITS LARGE LUMPS, MAKING IT PERMANENTLY BLIND. TO MAKE UP FOR THIS, IT CAN SENSE VIBRATIONS IN THE GROUND TO “SEE” WHAT’S AROUND IT. IT CAN EVEN SENSE CHANGES IN THE AIR, WHICH CAN COME IN HANDY TO PREDICT WHERE A FLYING ENEMY IS COMING FROM.

UB-PERCUSSION IS COMMONLY REFERRED TO AS CROBONGO AND IS CLASSIFIED AS THE BASS DRUM POKÉMON.

(i drew some more guys for the fakémon challenges happening over on twitter. this time, i swapped the roles of seismitoad and guzzlord to create the guzztoad line and ub-percussion!)

#pokémon #fakémon #guzzlord #seismitoad #pokemon black and white #pokémon sun and moon #ultra beast

[myheadhurtscutely]

With the Band -Rocker!Anakin Skywalker x Reader-

First fic, kinda nervous (>ლ)

C ` Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary ` Anakin, your not boyfriend, boyfriend, has been touring around the area lately, and for some reason he seems like he just can't not have all eyes (and hands) on him..

!Warnings! ` Manipulation, Toxic!Anakin, Gaslighting, Love bombing, anakin just being an asshole in general. Cheating?? kinda. ANGST ANGST ANGST, tiny like smut references??

word count ` 1.6k

You guys weren't a thing. You knew that. He definitely made sure you knew that. You were his thing though. You knew that just as clearly.

Anakin had been touring for about three weeks now. His band was still stumbling through here and there, small faults, technical issues, band arguments. You saw it all. You had been there since day one. In highschool Anakin had made up his band consisting of Obi, his bassist. He was a shy kinda guy, didn't say much, but when he did it was nice to hear. His drummer- well nevermind his drummer changed every few weeks. Anakin was as stubborn as he was handsome. He saw it as His band, Obi was the only one who could tolerate his attitude. Anakin of course took the role of lead vocalist AND guitarist.

You had tried to join your freshman year of college as the guitarist, but your best friend, Anakin Skywalker, was just trying to help poor little you stay safe and focused on school. He told you he didn't want grubby hands thinking about you, and perverted eyes, feeling you up. You were just a girl. He made sure you understood. You were reasonably upset by this, but Ani fixed that after a couple of after show parties in the basements of venues... more specifically, the bathrooms.

It started as just a onetime thing. Both of you were intoxicated and you did what two friends, who have had undeniable chemistry since highschool after some alcohol and bud, do. Hook-up. It really was just flings here and there, Anakin bombed a test? Your phone would light up. 'hey r u busy rn?' Sure, you had an eight-page paper due by tomorrow, but yeah besides that you were free. free use. Anakin's drummer he got last Tuesday cussed him out and left? Ding! 'i need you rn'. You couldn't deny you're closest friend comfort. It was a vicious cycle. You felt awful, you really did. It was like you knew what he was doing, but you felt like there was no way out.. besides, he needed you. He also needed the 18 other girls around campus that rotated shifts in his bed when he wasn't playing gigs. But he told you, you were special, he meant it surely.

This night was special. It was the BIG gig. It was in the middle of the tour, the largest number of tickets sold at one of the biggest venues they could book. It was downtown at one of the smaller stages meant for local artist, but it was right next to the college nearby. Prime market. young women. pretty girls. desperate college chicks. Anakin knew what he was after by the end of this show, but you follow him obliviously up the stairs with your "v.i.p." pit pass behind him. Your already ripped stockings tearing on the metal fencing up the stairs. Anakin only hauled his guitar, refusing to help Obi and you carry any of the sound equipment. It's okay though, it's just cause he's hungover and his throats a little sore. Obi-wan grunts, hauling literally everything known to man, amps, cords, a random bass drum? Probably belonging to the drummer that left this past Friday. You held drinks, bags, clothes, food, and some lighting equipment. Anakin insisted on a fog machine also, which conveniently got left at home two hours away. God bless you Obi.

You dropped your stuff and rushed to give Anakin a peck on the cheek, which he quickly dismissed annoyedly. 'He's probably just stressed out,' you fought in an attempt to reason with yourself. After giving Obi-wan a thumbs up and a wishful good luck, you are quickly rushed off the wings of the stage, to the back of the pit. What the fuck? You could b a r e l y see the rail at the front of the stage through the sea of crappy highlights, and slutty tops. Oh well, lights come up, Anakins standing there, soaking up all of it. The attention, the lights, the sounds, the attention, the crowd, the attention, the attention, the attention. Excitement boiled in your stomach. Seeing him in his white tank top, stained with god knows what. His box bleached frosted tips at the very edges of his grown out hair. Sweaty and shiny from the lights, he was a sight to behold. An image to have every man and woman on their knees begging for a peek. You and Anakin knew that.

The set started out with his earlier tracks inspired by the likes of deftones and superhaven. His sweat dripped down from his chin, to his angular neck. His adams apple dancing with the runs erupting from his vocals. No one could admire him as deeply as you did. No one could appreciate his stage presence the way you did. Like the way the spotlight, contrasted harshly with his tanned skin, highlighting his carved cheeks and white teeth.

As he continued, you began to push your way to the front, fighting as if it was a ragging mosh pit at a Victoria's Secret perfume clearance sale. Clouds of vapor and smoke raised high creating Anakin's own fog machine. Second hand highs at these shows were a guarantee. Still pushing past sweaty bodies, with heavy drums and piercing guitar pounding in your ears, you slowly became disoriented. It was as if it was all hitting you, the meds were wearing off or something. you were suffocating, drowning in a large sea, with your only chance of safety just a few inches ahead.

You grab the rail.

Consciousness is regained and so is your composure. Smeared sweaty make up, clouds your vision, but you saw. You saw clear as day. He had leaned down from the stage and kissed her. Kissed her. Right on the lips. This was his song about you. You were the one with the beautiful eyes he sang about. You were the one he made listen to the strumming pattern of it till you could recite it like a scale. It was yours. For once it was yours. From him.

Glitter rained into your watery eyes, what a poor style choice. If only you would've known he'd kiss a beautiful brunette girl halfway through his set, you probably would've chosen a more neutral palette. Chasing whatever air remained in the world, you gasped, running out from the exit doors. It was already late. The only light illuminating onto your back was the exit sign and a streetlamp on the other side of the alley. The bands van was parked crookedly in a nook between the garbage cans and the dented fire hydrant. locked. Yay! and it was raining. You started to think that maybe you were in a dramatic romance novel. The rain really was just unnecessary. Regardless, you rampaged back into the back door, left unlocked in case of a fire. Storming up the steps, you could hear the unplugging of a turned on amp, causing a shrill amongst the chatty, squealing crowd. Anakin's figure became visible from the wings, Obi-wan following in after him. Without a thought going through your mind, you ran right up to him and slapped his chest. His head snapped in your direction, with his attention previously being on the cheering crowd behind him.

"Hey! What the fuck is your problem?" His arms throw themselves up in frustration.

"Don't play dumb with me, you fucking kissed her! You kissed her Anakin? You, you said that wouldn't happen." Your voice quivered as he mumbled, guiding the both of you out the door and into the rain, away from the scene you had just caused backstage.

His arms swarm you like an unwelcome crowd of bats. clouding your vision. In more ways than one. You thrashed but only for a second before completely crumbling in the man's arms. Sobs stained his disgusting tank top. Your cries drowned by the leaving crowd at the front of the building, and the heavy downpour casting you and Anakin in your own little shell.

"You know better than to expect me not to push the bands publicity. It might be better for you just to stay backstage from now on. Or go stay with one of your other guys when I do shows." How did his snide words warm you so sincerely...? He was right though. You knew better. You couldn't be upset; it was for the band. After he made it big, he'd be yours and yours alone. You knew the deal.

"m' sorry Ani, I just-"

"Don't call me that right now. You hurt my goddamn feelings." He shoves you away from his chest. "I was having a great show and then you came backstage screaming at me, putting on a pathetic show like always." He knew where to plant his knife and how to dig it around inside you. It cut you up completely. Every time.

You couldn't do anything but sob. Every show you'd go into it expecting a different outcome. You were the stupid one. You were the idiot. It was your fault. He was right and you knew it. There was nothing you could say to combat it. You just cried.

He paused for a moment. The both of you standing in the pouring rain. You, staring at the ground as he watched the rain fall. "fuck.." you could hear him curse under his breath.

"I'm sorry Anakin. really." He said nothing, dragging you back into his chest, kissing your forehead, swaying the both of you back and forth. His wet hair, dripping onto your nose after he pulls away slightly.

"Look at me," he takes your cheeks in his hands, "It's gonna be okay, just try to be better for me next time 'kay?" He finishes it off with a soft kiss to your puffed and dry lips.

"I love you." He hums in a lack of response.

Notes ` first fic, longer than i meant it to be, proof read before bed, so barely, thank youu <3 (hell if its anakin skywalker i will let him act this way, sure young man, be outta pocket..)

#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin fanfiction #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x you #star wars #star wars x reader #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #angst #anakin skywalker fanfic #rocker!anakin x reader #myheadhurtscutely

[milflewis]

idk if i am understanding the prompt of title correctly but i will submit: 1) valewis + "travel song" or 2) dantteri + "people are fragile things"

1.

Lewis hums something quiet and slow on their walk back to the Shatterdome. It reverberates through the Drift and settles around Valtteri’s shoulders.

He catches the edges of a memory spent handing Sebastian the wrong tools on purpose as the blond man swears at him, laughing, German music playing low on the radio behind them.

It took Valtteri a very long while to get used to how easy it is to drift with Lewis.

He always felt like a Titan — even before Nico died and he dragged their Jaeger back to shore alone. Something mythic and unstoppable. There was a certainty to Lewis Hamilton that sometimes felt like the stuff stories are made of.

Valtteri has never done particularly well at the thought of not measuring up. Worse when their pre-Drift potentially was so high.

Lewis feels tired. He always feel tired. His mind is calm and cool like a lake, and Valtteri lets himself sink into it.

2.

"What's it like being in Lewis’s head?"

He signs off on his action report. "Boring, like you said."

"We both know that's a lie. I only said it to get a rise out of him." Daniel drums his heels against the desk, a rattling repeating pattern meant to burrow under the skin. "You forget I've known him before Nico died and he became all Solemn and Serious and Grieving Widow."

Valtteri considers that as he finishes the rest of the paperwork. His eyes ache faintly. "What was he like?"

Daniel takes the pile and sets it aside. "Don't you know?"

"I don't," he says, although he catches glimpses of it on occasion, in the way Lewis moves or how his mouth shapes certain words, the lingering traces of youth, of anger, of secretly believing you would never die. Sometimes, in the middle of a fight, when they are being pushed back, when debris is falling and there is barely any time to think, Lewis’s mouth curls and snarls, sharp and vicious and feral, and Valtteri can feel it in his gut, and he thinks that's you; that's what you've always been.

"And here I thought we'd moved past you lying to me." Daniel drums another beat against the desk, staccato and just off tempo enough to set Valtteri's teeth on edge. "He was a little shit. Still had the same smart mouth — him and Sebastian used to get up to so much trouble. Almost as much as what I’ve heard him and Nico did. He laughed more. All dream — that Lewis was.”

"And then Spain happened," Valtteri says.

"Life happened," Daniel corrects, and Valtteri doesn’t bother hiding his eye roll. "We all have our Spains."

Daniel takes the opportunity to sling his leg over Valtteri's lap, and Valtteri absently rubs his thumb over the knob of Daniel's ankle.

"Fuck off," Valtteri says, but he doesn’t mean it. Hasn’t meant it with Daniel for a while now. Valtteri presses his knuckles into the ball of Daniel's foot, keeping a firm hold on his ankle so he can't jerk away. "Is this going to be a problem for you?"

"Depends on whether you’re going to show this to Lewis or not.”

"He sees everything." He digs his knuckles in harder. "But he doesn’t poke around. I think he was embarrassed to see us kissing the last time we drifted."

"That's Lewis all over," Daniel says fondly. "Will flirt with anyone and anything if he thinks it will give him an advantage but is terrible with genuine feelings."

"Speak from experience?" he says. He doesn’t know what to do with this thing in his chest. He swallows.

"We were too young to be serious." Daniel’s gaze is steady and unflinching, as if Valtteri is a reporter or donor for Daniel to spin around and around and around, every hinge and crack and vulnerability mapped and laid bare for Daniel to do with as he pleased.

He shoves Daniel’s foot off his lap and stands so fast the edges of his vision darken. He needs sleep. He needs his fucking head back.

"Does this bother you?" Valtteri asks, hating himself for it. "Lewis being in my head?"

Daniel doesn't even have the decency to be surprised by the question. Valtteri hates him. "No, not in the way you mean."

"And how do I mean it?"

"You want to know if I'm upset that I will never know you like Lewis knows you."

He flinches. "Are you?"

"No. What you and Lewis have is not something I would ever want or ask for."

"I didn't ask for it. There is a war and they said jump,” he snaps, the fury so close to the surface that he is afraid his ribs will snap and it will come boiling out, and god help anyone caught in its path. "I don't want it."

He will not be able to hide this from Lewis when they drift next. He hasn’t been able to hide it from him in the first place.

Guilt coats the inside of his mouth, thick and sour. He swallows and swallows and swallows.

He tries to breathe.

"Hey," Daniel says, so close that Valtteri jerks back in surprise. "You all right?"

"Fine," he says, coming to the belated, and embarrassed, realization that Daniel has likely been speaking the entire time. "Got distracted. Sorry."

"Did you just apologise? Has Lewis lobotomised you?"

"That's not funny," he snaps, too quick and too sharp to play it off as a joke. He draws another breath, the sound of it rattling in his empty head.

"He hasn't done anything to me. He leaves shit alone, like I said."

"Have you lobotomised him?" Daniel says instead of what Valtteri is expecting, which is asking if Valtteri wants Lewis to do something to him.

"Not yet," he says, which only seems to worry Daniel more.

Slowly, as if Valtteri is a rookie on his first deployment and Daniel doesn’t want to spook him, Daniel drags fingertips up his jaw and over his cheek. His thumb traces the scar over his lip.

Holding himself still and quiet, Valtteri didn't protest when Daniel cups his face or when he touches their heads together, or when he says, soft and revenant, "You're a fucking disaster."

He laughs and kisses Daniel.

"You don't want in my head?" he asks.

"Yes," says Daniel. "You're a private man, Valtteri, and a hard one to read. I never know what you're thinking at any given moment."

"I will not say sorry - if that is what you are looking for."

"I'm not looking for anything," Daniel says, and Valtteri doesn't need a line to his head to read the sincerity there. "I won't take your privacy from you. When you do decide to share something with me, even if it's just your opinion on my life choices, it's because you chose to trust me, and I wouldn't give that up, not for anything."

"If it would end this war?"

He means it as a joke, but Daniel, who acts as if he takes nothing seriously, does not take it as one.

"No," he says, as if he had put great thought into it, "not even if it meant that."

"Shut up."

"Yes, sir," Daniel grins, pressing a kiss to Valtteri's neck before undoing his own pants zipper and, with a frankly ridiculous shimmy and hop, kicks them off. He isn't wearing underwear.

"Stop trying to distract me."

"I know you're lying because you once told me, and I quote, you liked me better when I'm naked."

"I would have to be a dick to say that."

3.

Lewis stays smiling as the reporter asks his question, smug as ten fucking cats.

Valtteri’s stare sits heavy on his face. The reporter swallows thickly, eyes darting away.

“Well?” He asks again. “Do you think the fact that you yourself have said that you can be too stubborn led to the rift in your and Nico’s partnership, and therefore his death?”

Lewis’s eyes are distant.

At least, they didn’t ask about Michael again, Valtteri thinks. Or Fernando.

“Can I take this one?” Valtteri asks. The reporter frowns at him but Valtteri is looking at Lewis.

Lewis blinks at him. His eyelashes are ridiculously long. They’ve just come from drifting — having taken out a three alarm Kaiju, worn and tired and spilling over into each other’s heads.

Valtteri loathes sharing his mind with another person more than nearly everything else in the world, for all that he tries to keep that boxed away from Lewis. It is times like this that he almost doesn’t mind it.

Lewis raises an eyebrow at him, quietly amused.

Never let them see, Valtteri remembers his dad telling him, hands bruise tight on his shoulders — except — no. Not his dad. They are Anthony’s hands, and that’s the grey yellow tint that Lewis has on all his childhood memories.

Valtteri turns to the reporter. His dark hair is long around his ears and he is looking at Valtteri with thinly veiled contempt.

“Go fuck yourself,” Valtteri tells him calmly, and Lewis laughs, startled.

Valtteri feels his surprise skittering down his spine, followed quickly with smothered childlike delight.

Lewis’s face is soft for hours after. His mind even more so. He smiles to himself throughout the twenty-five minute dressing down General Wolff gives Valtteri.

4.

"What's your favourite kind of ice cream?" Lewis asks as they make their way to the gym. It is stupid early and the corridors are empty and dark.

Lewis does this sometimes. Asking Valtteri questions about himself that he could just pick out of Valtteri's head as he wishes. It is more endearing than Valtteri likes.

He stomaches it only because he thinks Lewis is doing it more for his sake than for Valtteri's. Lewis, Valtteri had been pleased to find out, is only selfless up until a point. A relatively small one, all things considered.

"Mint," Valtteri answers.

Lewis pulls a face at him as he pushes the gym door open. There are deep circles under his eyes, like someone dug in their thumbs and pressed. "That's so gross, man. Why don't you just eat toothpaste?"

Valtteri laughs before realising it. It's loud in the quietly still room. The sound echoes off the bare metal walls.

"My second favourite is pistachio," he says, and Lewis sticks his tongue out in disgust, obvious even in the dark as he throws him a bamboo stick.

5.

Valtteri clears his throat. "Did you tamper with the sim, Tsunoda?"

"Of course not, sir," Tsunoda says, offended. "That would be -"

"Against regulations?" Gasly says.

"- cheating. I don't cheat."

When Tsunoda tries to turn that offended look on Gasly, Gasly just tugs Tsunoda back where he wants him, which is close enough for Gasly to prop his chin on the top of Tsunoda’s head. Tsunoda, like with most things where Gasly is concerned, bears it with minimal complaint.

An ache opens under Valtteri’s breastbone. It has been a little over two weeks since he has last seen Lewis. Longer since they’ve drifted. They had been taken out of the rotation after Valtteri got injured, and sent across the world on Charm-The-Rich-Into-Giving-Their-Money-Even-Though-Don’t-They-Know-The-World-Is-Fucked-And-They’re-Living-In-It-Too missions and rented out to different Shatterdomes for pep talks and training seminars.

It has been the longest they’ve been apart since they were first paired up. Maybe Valtteri shouldn’t be surprised to be missing him but he is.

He hasn’t had someone to miss in a long time.

He’s even more surprised to find himself missing Daniel.

+1.

In the end, it’s just Lewis and Valtteri and the big wide yawn of the bottom of the sea.

“You are living,” Lewis tells him, mouth grim, and Valtteri tells him to fuck off and to stop telling him what to do.

Lewis laughs, which is as partly what Valtteri was going for, and doesn’t say it again, which is the other thing Valtteri was aiming for.

Valtteri wakes up coughing with Lewis beating on his chest. “Ow,” he says. He thinks Lewis might’ve broken a rib.

“I told you you’d live, man,” Lewis tells him, hands wet and cold on his cheeks, because he’s an asshole.

“I hate you,” Valtteri says, throat sore with sea water. He stares up at the cloudless sky. He can faintly hear the thrum of a MEDEVAC-HELO in the distance.

“Uhuh,” Lewis says, and he’s grinning. Even drenched and bleeding and backlit by the sun, he is beautiful. It’s fucked up, Valtteri decides.

“My ribs are sore,” Valtteri tells him.

“I told you to get out before I blew the bomb,” Lewis replies, unsympathetic. His fingers are gentle in Valtteri’s hair, and he drags his body behind Valtteri’s so they’re further in the ejection pod, propped up against his back, weight off his ribs.

Sebastian looks decades older when they step onto the tarmac of the Shatterdome, half stumbling out of the helicopter. Lewis walks towards him. His eyes are wet. It hits Valtteri in the stomach like a gunshot. "Hey."

Sebastian takes a step forward too. His next word is spoken so softly that Valtteri can only read his lips.

"Yeah?"

Lewis just shakes his head slightly and makes a sound that might be a laugh. “I really did want to make that promise to you.”

His shoulders shrug like he wants to hold out his arms.

And then Sebastian is running towards him, colliding into his chest and throwing his arms around his neck and burying his face against his shoulder. Lewis wraps one arm around his back and presses the other hand to the back of his head.

Lewis is crying into his hair and Sebastian’s crying, too, weeping against him with such force that Valtteri would think his heart was breaking if he didn't know the opposite to be true.

He feels a hand slide into his and he squeezes it tightly. Daniel squeezes back and looks at him with a watery smile. His face is a little blurry and it's only then that Valtteri realises he has tears in his eyes too.

“Lewis broke my ribs,” Valtteri tells him, and then kisses Daniel’s laugh off his mouth.

#these were perfect thank u! kinda combined the two for u . sorta #pacific rim au #valewis #dantteri #sewis #lo tag #little fics #niamh.asks

[multiverseofstrangeness]

King!Daemon Targaryen x Female!OC

A/N: Well first of all I hope u all had wonderful Holidays. I haven't published for a long time cuz I was busy with school. So I take place in a Christmas Challenge from Vee (@sstan-hoe) and yeah I gave my best to make outta the prompts a whole story. Excuse my English and if my smut scene isn't that good: excuse that too. Anyways: Hope u enjoy it. Have a great day/night/evening and we'll hear eachother next year! Prompts: "Such a good little pup, aren't you?"; King!Daemon; Christmas Trees and Dragons Warnings: Out of Storyline, smut (18+), kinks, harsh words, slight dark!daemon, oral receiving (p in v), NSFW, my English (I am no native so excuse my grammar) Words: 1,567

Her eyes flow over the crowd of men and women, showing their desire. Her eyes disinterested in their behavior. The warmth of the room filled her cheeks, and a smile crept along her lips as she saw her sister coming over to her. 

"You got a room?"

Her sister nodded. 

"Very good. I mean it's uncommon to stay here in a brothel, but better than sleeping on the street." 

Her hand was resting on the table, and her fingers were drumming on it. She cast her gaze around the room and noticed a man in a corner. Unlike many others in the room, he wasn't accompanied by a woman on his lap. This rarity brought a smile to her lips, and she appreciated his lack of lustful behavior.

"To your information, he is the King." 

Her sister whispered into her ear. She let the sound of it run along her tongue. A King in a brothel, what a rare sight. Her smile rose as he noticed her view and smiled back at her. Her sister interrupted her thoughts. 

"You shouldn't stare like that. Rumors say that he is a vicious and violent man. Better for you to keep away from it. Furthermore, he is the king, he has higher interests than a mercenary." 

"Since when are you a spoilsport?"

"Since I got to hear the rumors about him. Keep away from him for your own sake."

She rolled her eyes and sipped at her wine. Her sister huffed and moved away, probably on a search for a useful man for the night. She tried to look at the man again and noticed that he was gone. The corner was empty. A person appeared in front of her. It was him. Her eyes widened a little not noticeable, and she swallowed. She saw the dark in his eyes, and she knew this man had power. 

"Your majesty." 

She mumbled under her breath. His lips raised to a smile. 

"No need to be formal, My lady. May I?" 

He pointed to a seat next to her. She only nodded. Her eyes followed him as he sat down. 

"What's ur name?" 

She looked at him still with big eyes. He laughed. 

"I am sorry. I didn't expect the King to talk to me. But my name is Isabella." 

He smiled.

"A beautiful name. What are you doing here, Isabella?"

"My sister and I searched for housing for the night." 

"So u are not from here?" 

She shook her head. 

"We are from Braavos." 

"A Braavosie beauty, what a rare sight." 

She smiled lightly. 

"Thanks." 

His eyes wandered over her, and a smirk played in the corner of his lips. His eyes met hers, and it seemed like he was sure with his next sentence.

"Isabella, what do you think about a more private space? A space with less desires." 

He pronounced the word "desires" more than the others. She understood what he meant and smiled. 

"It would be me an honor, my King." 

"No formalities, as I said. Call me Daemon." 

She smiled even more as he said so. 

--

They moved to the back of the brothel where the more private rooms were. He led her inside one. The smile still on his face. He opened the door and let her move inside. The room was big and painted in one color. In the corner, there was a Christmas tree, as nearly everywhere around. The bed was big and completely red. He closed the door behind him. 

"So, my dear, tell me something about yourself except that you are beautiful." 

She turned to him, and a light blush covered her cheeks.

"Well, what should I say? I am 21 years old. I am from Braavos, and I am a mercenary." 

"U are a mercenary?"

She nods her head. His eyebrows raised in amazement. 

"What are u doing in Westeros?" 

"We had business to do." 

He laughed softly and looked at her. 

"I am a little curious: You sleep in a brothel but don't sit on the lap of a good-looking whore. Why? I mean, every whore would scratch eyes out for someone like you." 

She felt the blush return. How does this man always know how to make her blush? She was intrigued by him. His eyes wandered again along her body. As he noticed that she was watching him, he locked eyes with her again. 

"What do u think about getting to know?" 

"Highly overrated." 

He smiled and leaned a little forward, his eyes were still locked with hers. 

"U just became one of the most interesting girls I've ever met. Tell me, what do you know about dragons?" 

Her eyebrow raised.

"To be honest, not much. I mean I know that Balerion was the biggest Dragon and Vhagar was one of the big three, and she is still alive but not more." 

He smiled. 

"No worries, you will learn the rest but for the beginning, it is very good. Tell me, would u sleep with a Dragon?" 

Her eyes widened. 

"No. Definitely Not."

"And with the blood of the Dragon?" 

He leaned even more forward, their faces nearly touching. A dark smirk appeared on his lips. 

"If the blood of the Dragon is so good as they say." 

"You know what you are getting yourself into, my dear girl?"

--

She nodded. He stepped even closer. His breath hit her face. His hand cupped her cheek, and his eyes showed something like affection. His lips were close to hers. One last step and his lips laid on hers. A warm rush of feelings ran through her. His lips were soft and passionate. His hands ran through her hair, and his kiss got even more passion.

She replied to the kiss. At first, she moved her lips slightly on his as he pressed his body even closer to her she raised the passion. He pressed his body even closer to hers. A tingle ran down her spine as he moved his hands to her hips. 

He broke the kiss but stayed close to her face. With one fast movement, he pressed her against the next wall. She gasped as she felt the wall hard on her back. His eyes were darker than before the desire nearly sparkling out of them. 

"You are the most beautiful woman I ever met. May I kiss u again?"

She nodded and he kissed her again, this time with way more passion. She felt his hands all over her body. She felt his breath on her face and his lips on hers. He moved his hands further and further down till he laid one hand on her tighs. She gasped a little as she felt the little movements of his hand on her thigh. He only laughed softly and kissed her further. His lips trailed down to her neck. 

"Such a good little pup, aren't u?" 

Her heartbeat increased by his words, and her breath stuck in her throat. 

"Breath, little one." 

Her eyes closed as he started to suck on her neck. She felt his hand still on her tight. His hair lightly tickled her face, and she sighed as he hit her soft spot. 

"Oh, Daemon." 

He laughed and kissed down to her collarbone. As she lightly moaned he looked up and searched for permission to go further to bring her to her climax. She only kissed his neck as permission and he laughed again. He unzipped his trousers and ruffed her dress up around her hips. 

She was still pressed against the wall. Her breath was fast, and she felt him with her whole body. His cock was near her entrance, and he kissed her again before he moved into her. She moaned as he did so. He started to move, and his thrust only got faster. As he got faster, her moans were more and louder. The room was filled with their noises of pleasure. His thrusts were hard but exactly on point. She had her head in the space between his neck and head. He held her hair in one hand and held himself with the other at the wall. She reached her climax and screamed his name. He reached his climax too, as she reached hers.

His thrusts started to get less. His breath was fast and warm against her head. His hand in her hair started to stroke through her hair, and he whispered comforting words in her ear. The other hand on the wall comes to her hips to hold her. He left his cock inside of her. 

"You are such a good little girl. You were impressive." 

His body was hot, but his words were soft. She had her head still in his space between neck and head. 

"You would make a good wife, my dear." 

She smiled. Her breath was still fast. 

"No joke really. You know what? I want you as my personal mercenary. Stay by my side." 

She lifted her head and looked at him. 

"U sure?" 

He nodded his head. 

"Yeah totally. Stay by my side. Stay with me. My love." 

She smiled and kissed his lips. His hands moved to her cheeks, and he cupped her face in it. 

"Stay with me till the end of the line." 

One last kiss sealed his request, and she knew she would stay with him now, even if that would be a new experience. 

#vee's holly jolly challenge #game of thrones #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd daemon #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen

[thecuriousquest]

Hi! Hope u are having a good day so far. I was wondering if u could write a yandere condescending Kakashi x reader NSFW with some degradation please .

You Only Talk to Me

Yan!Kakashi Hatake x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Yandere themes, dominance, (I would consider this consensual sex, but some may view it as punishment sex or training), electric stimulation play, isolation implied, female orgasm denial, facial

Master List

Note: Ugh! Thank you Adventurer for this lovely ask! I fucking love Kakashi and degradation. Got me fuckin’ kicking my feet. 🤘🖤

—————————————————————————

His hand comes down quick on your mouth, palm molding to the pout of your lips. He doesn’t want you speaking. He doesn’t want to hear a singular syllable from you.

All he wants is your moans, your moans like that of a seraph’s choir, your whining and whimpering for him like an intoxicating drink. And fuck, he’s gonna get what he wants.

He looks in your eyes with his Sharingan, making you feel fuzzy in the head as he rips away your shorts with one hand. You look at him with pleading eyes, begging him to make you feel good. He has disciplined you enough by now to drill into your head that he’s the only one with the ability to take care of your drenched pussy.

“Yeah, you didn’t mean to talk to anyone in the village today. I know. I know. But if you can’t be smart enough to make good decisions, then maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to make any. You’re just a dumb little girl after all. I can’t have you going around making bad choices.”

Kakashi manhandles you, spreading you out on your stomach and raising your hips to meet his own. You no longer feel hazy, no longer looking into his red eye.

There’s a moment before he’s rubbing your cunt with the hand he used to cover your mouth, electric pulses from his chidori nipping at your folds. The light currents buzzing and vibrating, making you squirm as you bury your face into the pillow. It feels so good, too fucking good. Drumming your feet against the mattress, you beg him for his cock.

“K-Kakashi!” you whimper out. “Please! I- I need…ah! I need you! Kakashi, you’re all I need!”

The former Hokage absolutely takes pleasure in your neediness. In his opinion, he has trained you very well.

“You’re just such a little cock whore. Hmmm?”

“I’m a cock whore!”

“Whose cock whore?”

“Yours! Your cock whore! I want your cock in me so badly. Kakashi, please? I’m begging you!”

“Such a good little come slut,” he rubs your buzzing pussy as he relents the jutsu.

None too gently, he roughly shoves his cock up your cavern, sloppy and vicious in his pace.

“You don’t talk to any guys but me. Is that understood? Only me. Say it.”

“Only you! Only you!”

“That’s right, filthy bitch.”

A sudden shift in tone, slight, but you can still hear it. He has become more aggressive, as if the thought of you speaking to another man is making him pound your little throbbing hole even harder.

His fist finds your hair, pulling your head up from the pillow so his breath can ghost the shell of your ear.

“Naughty girls don’t get to come, do they?” he asks, his voice low, like a growl.

“No, sir, they don’t.” You could cry in agony at the mere thought of not being able to get off. His cock bullying that primitive little spot right in your very core. Your thighs twitch, sweat drips from your brow as you try to regulate yourself.

Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t come.

Only punishment follows disobedience.

“They don’t deserve it. Only good girls can come on their lover’s cock.”

You gasp sharply as he withdrawals, pulling and pushing your hips until you’re flat on your back again.

You end up receiving his seed alright, just not in the way you want. As he fists his erection, he shoots a rope of white spunk all over your face and chest. You feel it seep into your mouth, and you sniffle as you swallow it, knowing better than to spit it out right in front of him.

Kakashi pulls you towards him as he settles himself between your legs. With each of the insides of your thighs resting on either side of his hips, his hands hooked under your knees, he narrows his eyes at you with that look that makes your head go all dizzy again.

“Ready for round two? Maybe if you prove how much of a good slut you can be, I might let you come this time.”

#yandere #triggering content #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #triggering themes #yandere x darling #yandere themes #yandere naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden #yandere kakashi hatake x darling #yandere kakashi hatake x reader #yandere kakashi hatake #yandere kakashi #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi #naruto shippuden kakashi hatake

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The most vexing gift

Characters: Fëanor, Fingolfin, Maglor, Maedhros

Themes: Soft

Warnings: None

Word count: 500+ words

Summary: Fingolfin presents Maglor with a gift on his begetting day.

A/n: This was inspired by @batsyforyou baby Maglor post

Minors DNI

Fëanor studied the strange box in his half-brother's hands with apprehension. "Pray what have you there, brother mine?"

"Tis a gift for Káno, brother." Fingolfin was all innocence, but the light flashing in his eyes gave rise to further suspicions. Fëanor believed this gift—whatever it was—was more than just a mere gift. "It is his begetting day, after all."

"Very well," came the reply. Fëanor did not wish to argue during his second son's begetting day. He comported himself with as much dignity as he could muster, and he moved to the side to allow his half-brother to meet his young son. "Come here, little one. Your uncle has come calling."

Maglor babbled merrily and ran as fast as his little feet could carry him. His laughter rattled around the receiving room as soon as he set his eyes on his father.

"Atar!" He cried, and then he turned to face his uncle. Maglor watched with eager eyes while Fingolfin dipped to his haunches and held out the box for his nephew to take.

"For your begetting day," Fingolfin cooed and looked on with growing amusement while his nephew fussed with the ribbon. He reached out and loosened the strips of silk himself when Maglor gave up and huffed in frustration. "I hope you like it."

A whoop of delight followed. Maglor pulled out a shiny, beaten gold drum and held it in his hands. He rewarded his uncle with a lopsided grin and made himself comfortable on the cool marble floor. A loud, shrill womp sound followed when he banged his fist onto the drum skin. Maglor laughed like it was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard. He banged his fist on the drum skin again. A second womp followed, and another, and another. Maglor looked at his uncle and babbled incoherently. Then he clutched the little drum to his chest and rose to his feet. Fëanor observed this all unfold before him, and with growing alarm. His second son adored anything that made noise, and this drum made ample noise. Maglor would be relentless in playing with his new toy, and at all hours too. They would know neither silence nor peace until he tired of it. Fëanor turned to face his brother, his eyes narrowed to thin slats.

"Of all the gifts," he began in a hushed whisper, "why this?"

"Like I said," answered Fingolfin, "it is merely a gift. One I am certain Káno would love."

A round of loud womp-womp-womps and more laughter followed. This time it came from the library. Maedhros was then heard encouraging his little brother to play even more. Fëanor nearly howled.

Fingolfin must be vexed over what I said about him during the last feast, he thought to himself. Yes. That must be the cause of this gift.

More shrill sounds were heard. And then Maglor began to sing. It was high-pitched and garbled, and it was very much the singing of a small child. Maedhros' cheers encouraged him.

"Ah, the joys of childhood." His half-brother continued. The smile that followed was both triumphant and vicious. "I must leave. Farewell, brother mine."

#maglor #fëanor #fingolfin #maedhros #keeping up with the finwëans #the silm #the silmarillion

[thebrawlerina]

Feel free to write this into an actual story if you like. All I ask is a bit of credit and a link if it does get written.

Brawl Stars Fanfic Idea #1

No. 1 Bad Random/He won't cooperate

Summary: Edgar is the Bad Random's biggest fan. When he gets 'recruited' by Melodie and Draco to make an opposing band to 'take them down', Edgar will have to defend his favorite band's honor!

(More info under the cut)

(Note: this idea was written before we learned more about Draco's personality, so his inclusion will be minimal and might not be in character)

Improtant Details (HCs important to the story)

Edgar is THE biggest Bad Randoms fan. Maybe an even bigger fan than Colette in this regard. He's wearing their shirt on his default skin afterall!

Outside of the band, Edgar has a friendly relationship with Buzz, Stu, and Poco. You can even include Bibi and Janet in here if you count Vicious Bibi and Popstar janet as somewhat part of the band.

Edgar can both play guitar and the drums. When he gets recruited for this new band, hes asked to be the drummer.

Normally he would be staying out of the nonsense, but he feels too much pride in being their fan. So he does a lil trolling and 'spying' instead.

Melodie started the band. She'd be a bit more antagonistic and spotlight hungry here to push the story.

Melodie believes that Janet is part of the Bad Randoms and makes many comments and jabs because of it.

Draco is just here cause he really wanted to join a band and the idea sounded awesome to him.

Draco thinks the Bad Randoms could be better and decides the best way to let them know that is to lead by example

Edgar and Draco vibe hard and they become friends regardless of what happens.

Edgar does not like Melodie that much.

The plan is to have several songs ready to go so that theh can crash the Bad Random's annual sunmer concert with their epic songs.

Potential Ideas (Other ideas that can be added)

Melodie recruits more than two people to the band to further 'upstage' the original. She would be looking for back up performers who can support her but wont steal her spotlight.

Bibi and/or Emz get recruited. Edgar decides to invite them to the trolling for more chaos

Melodie gets suspicious of Edgar at some point and makes a Monster Note follow him for 'espionage'(things dont go well)

Assassin Beef (Edgar, Buzz, Stu, and Melodie are all considered assassins so)

Colette gets involved and makes everything worse

Ships involving Edgar for more drama

Draco consideeing just joining the bad randoms as well and showing them better music in a more direct way. Edgar ends up joining him.

#brawl stars #brawl stars fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic ideas #brawl stars fanfic ideas #brawl stars edgar #brawl stars melodie #brawl stars draco #this was the first thing that came to midn when draco was announced #feel free to write the fic #just give credit and a link if ever hehe #probably should have waited for draco sneak peeks but oh well

[nellycanwrite]

His Timeless Love: a Preview

K'uk'ulkan x Reincarnator!Filipino!Reader Fic Preview

Summary: A God such as K'uk'ulkan has lived life by the hundreds, yet you wonder why he has not found his true love during his time of immortality. It might just shock you to believe that he had already loved you since the summer of 1592.

Or, in which K’uk’ulkan tells you the story of the four times he fell in love with you and the three times he saw you die.

Rating: 18+

Note: This work follows along the history of the Philippines and the influences of the colonizers throughout the years of subservience. I claim no historical accuracy to the plot but the timeline and the implications of each historical era was and is researched accordingly. As such, I am also of Filipino descent specifically from Bisaya, Ilonggo, and Ilokano backgrounds. 

This work is a connecting piece to His Queen. Both can be read separately and in any order.

"...You are hiding something from me."

As if the sea had sensed its rulers melancholy, it shifted and it hummed amongst the rocks of the royal chambers. It crashed into you like the waves of a full moon's midnight, pelting your eyes with the sting of tears. You know not of the reason for your own sadness, but you knew somewhere in your soul that it was connected to your husband's own sorrow.

He reaches up to caress your cheek, and like a subservient dog to its master, you lean in right away to the warmth of his loving hands. He traced your features, every curve, every freckle, every bump, and every line down to the very last detail. He was memorizing every inch of you. He was burning it to memory.

"It is not a tale that is to be taken lightly. It is a burden I alone must bear." 

You leaned down further until no space was left between your bodies. His breath hitched when you caressed his own cheeks, fingernails running through the planes of his chiseled face. He was a God in every way, and you worshiped every part of his divine countenance. 

"I am your wife. I am your queen. What you know, no matter how vicious of a tale, I must shoulder. It is also a burden I must bear with you."

"My queen—" you silenced him with your lips. He would have returned the gesture with fervor, but you pulled away just as quick.

"K'uk'ulkan, akong hinigugma, akoang hari," my love. My king. His body shook in response to your mother tongue. He wondered if it was your powers at play. He, the embodiment of the sea, so easily bent to the will of your prowess. It was hardly fair, he would muse. But he will do as his queen demands, "tell me. Tell me what plagues your heart."

He hesitated for a moment. Flashes of decades worth of memories invaded his sight. You sensed his plight—you always do—so you tore your eyes away from his own earthen gaze and rested your cheek against his chest where his heart thumped in speed. You tapped your fingers to the rhythm of his pulse, your breath matching his to give him a sense of comfort. That you were there to listen. 

And with a heavy sigh, he started;

"I've decided to make you queen the first time I saw you—during that fateful day you had fought off Spanish colonizers to reclaim your motherland."

"But I have not lived that long." The drumming of your fingers stopped. You felt his heart race faster. You did not look up, instead, you waited for him to continue. 

"Not the you of the present," he tangled his own hands to your hair, his fingers playing with the strands mindlessly. There was an edge to his voice now, but as soon as you found purchase to his free hand, he breathed in a centering inhale before he continued.

"...but the you of the past."

If you like what you see, make sure to comment if you want to be added to my tag list! This will be my first time doing a formal preview and tag list, so make sure to send your love if I’m doing it right HAHAHAHA

#namor x reader #mcu namor #namor x filipino!reader #namor x fem!reader #tenoch huerta namor #fic preview #this one's gonna be LONG long lmao #if yall need an insight on how long this fic is #im already at 8k words and im not even halfway done #this has HEAVY heavy angst lmao #i always forget that im an angst writer #k'uk'ulkan x reader #k'uk'ulkan