#i still don't know if i even wanna go or not or something else
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|| this man is an exposed live wire in my brain ok
|| notes: uhh prequel to [this] and [this], semi Canon compliant, pre-s1 but mentions of pre-war Cooper, I love the dynamic 😔👌✨️
|| warnings: hopefully IC Cooper, asshole x asshole dynamic we love to see it, weapons/supply dealer!reader, Canon typical violence, mention of blood/reader is injured kinda, spoilers? Abt Cooper's backstory, kinda enemies to friends/lovers
He doesn't know why he's here.
No, that's a lie ㅡ he does know why he's here, he just doesn't want to admit it. To himself, or to anyone else, for that matter. That he needs help.
Those fancy little bullets for his gun are hard to come by, few and far between when he can't get them by looting and places like Ma June's enjoy extorting as much as they can for so very little.
There's a difference between business transactions and highway robbery, even now. Which is why he's here ㅡ he'd gotten talk about a place that sold weapons and weapon-related supplies at a fair rate, and necessity had made him swallow his pride to go and find out for himself.
Which is why he's not just turning around and fuckin' leaving.
The building is crammed between two others, as ramshackle as the rest being made of recycled tin and wood that's rotted by time and rain in places, but still suggests a stability that won't crumble if somebody breathes too hard on it.
Cooper's spurs jingle as he walks, lost momentarily to the chime of something over his head when he pushes the door open. He looks up, forehead creasing.
Is that a bell?
Rusted but still in working order, it clatters again when he shuts the door, looking around. It's about as put together as any other kind of shop, an eclectic organization to it ㅡ a couple of rifles, a pistol or two, along with an admittedly impressive assortment of knives ㅡ but it's the shine of something on the floor that makes Cooper stop.
His head cocks as he studies the stain, the still-slick shimmer to it that makes him crouch and drag two gloved fingers against it, studying the residue. Coppery, with a hefty dose of some kind of chem to clean it, but still unmistakable ㅡ blood.
Well damn. He doesn't know what's happened here and he's pretty sure he doesn't care to, much beyond the fact that if the runner of this place is dead, that puts a damper on things. Or maybe not ㅡ if nobody's here, what's to stop him from taking what he wants?
"If you're thinkin' of stealing," comes a call that snaps his head up as it echoes from further back in the building, "I'd advise you not to. Less you wanna meet your maker, then I'd be happy to assist."
It's a flat bravado that both amuses him and piques his interest, and he leans against the counter to rap his knuckles. "Not stealin'," he drawls, "just wonderin' what kind of business model you've got if you make customers wait."
"The kind where patience is still a virtue, that's what." Foosteps, unhurried ㅡ and then Cooper is staring at you as you round the corner. You've got a jumpsuit of some indistinguishable color opened to rest around your hips, dingy tank-top underneath ㅡ and a stimpak in your hand. No doubt for the mess of your other arm, bicep wrapped with gauze that's already seeped into a bloom of bright red.
Well now. Cooper wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but you still manage to surprise him. Enough that he's staring, which makes you scowl.
"I know that look," you challenge, "if you think I'm easy picking, you'll get a new place to breathe from, courtesy of the hole I'll put in your head."
Cooper's head cocks. "Well now sugar," he says, "that's not very nice now, is it? Wasn't even thinkin' of that." He turns, jerks a thumb at the half-assed cleaning of the mess on the floor. "That's your doin', I reckon."
You nod. "Don't get trouble much," you say, "but when I do, I make sure to prove a point." You jam the stimpak into your arm, and he watches the tension melt from your shoulders. "Now, what can I do for you besides point out the exit?"
Well damn, Cooper thinks again. You've got a pretty face, but it's at odds with the attitude coming from that nice little mouth of yours. About as welcoming as a rattlesnake and probably just as quick to anger, from the way you bristle as he eyes you.
"Need supplies," he says, and you snort.
"What a wellspring of information you are. What kind of supplies?" You eye him, brow furrowing. "You're a bounty hunter, aren't you? Get your kind in here all the time." You tap a worn boot against the floor, hands now on your hips. "Hope you got means to pay for shit, because I don't do tab and I sure as fuck don't do charity work."
Cooper isn't sure if he likes you or he hates you. Bit of both, he guesses. The like is tentative and the hate is more solid ground, because he hates just about everybody. Makes it easier to do what needs to be done.
"Well, sweetheart," he leans into the counter, tips his hat, "depends on what you got to show me that's worth buyin'."
You stare, unimpressed by whatever angle he's going for. He's handsome, you'll give him that ㅡ but not much else. He also reminds you of somebody, with that hat of his and the way he talks ㅡ the low, drawn out drawl that you've only seen in those movies you manage to scrounge up here and there for your amusement.
Rolling your eyes, you hold up a finger and shrug your arms back into the jumpsuit, though you don't bother to zip it up. "Gimme a sec."
You don't know why you're doing this. Entertaining the notion that if you show him good enough product, he'll become a regular. You like regulars, but most of what you get seem to run on about six months worth of visits and then vanish.
Probably dead. Such is the way of the world, and it's still enough to get by. But you like new faces.
To his credit, he doesn't flinch when you slap the first pack onto the counter, followed by a second, and then a third.
"This is baseline stuff," you explain. "Your usual grade of bullet. Black powder, the standard kick." You shove the first pack at him, let him inspect the bullets. "Then you've got these."
The second pack shoved over, thin fabric parted so he can eye the neat little row of what would be hollow-point bullets if they didn't end with a tiny, pointed bulb of red glass.
"Explosive rounds." Your expression is unreadable. "They do the job, but they need special packing. Unless you wanna be blown up before the damn things even get loaded into the gun."
Cooper hums, eyes the bullet he holds up, the barely there shift of powder in the glass. He watches as you push the third over. "And these?"
"Same, but they pack even more of a punch. I'd recommend only shooting them at shit you want up in smoke." You shrug. "Or people, deathclaws, whatever the fuck you do out there."
Cooper studies you. "Where did you get this stuff? Thought bullets were hard to come by."
You give him a flat look of annoyance. "I make 'em myself."
Cooper stares, then smirks. Another little tip to his head. "Really now," he says, watches you bristle like a viper, ready to strike. Wonders if those fangs of yours pack a punch, what he'd need to do to get you to spit at him. "How 'bout you show me, darlin'? Wanna make sure what I buy is good quality."
You should tell him to shove it. Tell him to get the absolute fuck out of your shop, take his fuckin' yeehaw personality to someone else in the mood to deal with it ㅡ but you don't.
Instead, you sigh and tug the packages back, moving away from the counter. "Well c'mon then," you prompt, irritated. "Don't have all goddamn day."
The back of your shop is half a home and half a workshop, sprawled mess of equipment rusted with time but otherwise well maintained, smell of grease and hot metal and gunpowder that clings to everything.
You don't have to look back to know he's followed you, the jingle of his spurs as he takes his time, eyes missing nothing. The boxes of empty casings and empty glass bulbs ㅡ and the Mister Handy that's slumped in the corner, sparks spitting from it.
"Poor thing got shot first with that...situation earlier." Your voice is quiet. "Gotta fix 'im if I can."
Kind of funny, you sound sadder about the damn machine than the fact you'd killed someone over it. Then again, they'd been trying to kill you, so...eh. Justified, in your book.
The rest of the room is a haphazard attempt at something like a house ㅡ a couch with blankets on it, a short stack of books gone yellow at the edges, a coffee table ㅡ and sitting on it is a shitty little television, staticy and without color ㅡ but that doesn't matter. What matters to Cooper is that he knows what it's playing.
Your flitting around fades a little as he watches himself on screen ㅡ forever ago, a lifetime ago. Before the bombs, before vault-tec ㅡ when he'd been happy.
He'd loved his life, his family ㅡ and they'd loved him too.
"I've got enough stuff to make another round of flash-baㅡ" You stop, blinking at the way he's staring at the television. "Somethin' wrong? I know this isn't much, but it's my way of living, soㅡ"
"Stop your yappin'," Cooper rasps, and you glare as he shakes himself out of whatever reverie he was lost in. You scowl.
"Look, I know this doesn't seem like much of anything, but this is my business, and my shop." Your eyes narrow. "So try to be a little fuckin' nicer if you want me to sell you anything."
Whatever patience he'd had left promptly snaps like a bowstring as he snatches your arm, grips it tighter than he should. "Listen, sweetheart," he hisses, "what exactly is stopping me from just takin' what I want and leaving?"
Something whirrs behind him, distracts him just enough for the cool, sharp kiss of metal at his throat.
"Do it," you taunt, expression unreadable, grip tight on the blade you hold to his neck. "You're not the first one to try, and you won't be the last."
And there, Cooper notes, are your fangs, ready to sink into his skin. The two of you stare at each other for a good, long minute while the Mister Handy spits and sputters. And then Cooper huffs something like a laugh. "Glad to see you've got some bite to you, darlin', but I still think I could handle you."
A threat and something a little less hostile all in one, even as you yank your arm out of his grasp. "You couldn't handle me even if I came with a fuckin' manual," you snap back, but there's a playful gleam to your eyes. "You gonna buy anything or just lookin' to be a pain in my ass?"
A crooked grin tugs at Cooper's mouth. "Both."
ㅡ
The truce between the two of you is tentative. An understanding in the barest sense, because neither of you are dumb enough to pass up a lucrative, beneficial deal. He gets his supplies, you get caps. Simple.
You won't go as far as to say you're even friends, up until the point that you greet him on a visit with, "You know, you remind me of somebody."
He eyes you. "Really now. And who would that be, sweetheart? You workin' with more ghouls than just me?"
You snort. "Careful," you tease, "you almost sound jealous." Your tone quiets as you drum your fingers on the counter. "Nah, you remind me of that one actor, Cooper Howard."
Cooper stills. Watches you warily, turning a spent bullet casing over and over between gloved fingers.
"He played a cowboy," you say, nodding to yourself. "Talked like you do, too. Good movies, at least the ones I've gotten my hands on." You eye him, playful light to your eyes. "Wouldn't happen to be a fan of him too, would you?"
Cooper debates. He's not sure if you've put the pieces together and if you have, you're polite enough not to say it. He appreciates that, makes that fleeting temptation of putting a bullet in your head all the more temporary. He likes you. Be a shame if he had to cut ties.
"No," he answers. "I can safely say he and I are nothin' alike." Not anymore. He lets himself lean over the counter, too close to your face. Intimidation, maybe, or perhaps just because he likes being able to look at you like this. "Got anythin' else to tell me?"
Your eyes flick over his face, down to his lips as you lean a little closer, the suggestion of your mouth just shy of his. "Yeah," you murmur, quiet. "Next time you come by, work on your fuckin' manners."
#ㅡmine.#fallout x reader#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#now to get the norm thing done for Lexis!!
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Vaggie's Past
I've seen tons of fics and tumblr posts with 2 different ideas about Vaggie's past. 1 being that she had a human life before she became an exorcist angel, and the other being that she grew up in heaven and was raised by Adam and Lute and the other exorcists. Idk which 1 I like better, but I have headcanons for both. And I've sort of imagined conversations for how the other characters would find out?
1:Vaggie had a human life:
Charlie: Hey Vaggie? Are you heavenborn, or a human soul?
Vaggie: it's complicated? When a human soul becomes an exorcist, the first part of their training involves magic induced amnesia. They're forced to forget everything about their lives including their own name, and they're given a new 1. I know I was a human at some point, but I don't remember anything. Some things stick, like languages, and some strong feelings about certain things even if there's a lack of context for it, but I don't remember who I was or any of the people I might've known. Every earthborn exorcist has maybe 1 vivid memory from their life, but it never actually tells them anything about who they used to be or who they know. I think that's to make it easier to erase any individuality more quickly and make us forget if any of our morals didn't originally align with what exorcists do. Turns us into perfect soldiers quicker. If I remembered my real name, I probably wouldn't be going by the 1 that Adam gave me. He literally named me after a vagina.
Chalie: *hugging Vaggie*
Anyone else who heard this: ...
2: Heavenborn Vaggie:
Vaggie: I was never a child.
Angel Dust: What did you just come into existence fully grown or something?
Vaggie: No, I still had to grow and develop like anyone else would.
Husk: Then you were a child.
Vaggie: I was raised to be the perfect soldier since the moment I was born. A soldier isn't allowed to be a child.
Everyone: WHAT?!
Charlie: Why didn't your parents protect your from that?
Vaggie: A lot of exorcist angels are born from flowers instead of other angels. I was 1 of them. I was raised by exorcists and grew up with exorcists.
Alastor or Angel Dust: You were born from a flower? Like Thumbilina?
Husk: They took away your childhood?!
Vaggie: Yeah. I had to be a gown up almost as soon as I could start walking and talking.
Nifty: What was it like being raised by exorcists? Other than the fact that you weren't allowed to be a kid?
Vaggie: I was surrounded by high standards and expectations I had to meet and not allowed to have much if any individuality. Exorcists aren't even given names until after their 1st extermination. They have numbers until then. Also, you know how exorcists have those black stipes on their wings? Those don't appear until their 1st extermination either. Also I was taught to value loyalty and strength more than anything else. Loyalty goes above strength, but not by much. And the second I showed even the slightest hesitation to follow an order, I was cast out of heaven in probably 1 of the most brutal and painful ways possible by 1 of the people I trusted the most. So there's that.
Everyone: *ready to throw hands with some exorcists again*
Charlie: *crying*
Nifty: ... Wanna build a pillow fort and watch cartoons?
#the flower thing and the thumbilina comparison were from a fanfic i read and it kinda stuck#and these are all building off of other things i've read that other people said to some extent#i also really like the idea that Husk was a war veteran in life#vaggie#vaggatha#hazbin hotel#chaggie#nifty hazbin hotel#angel dust hazbin hotel#husk hazbin hotel#charlie morningstar#charlie hazbin hotel#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel exorcists#headcannons#also i think vaggie would really like she-ra and the princesses of power#for various reasons
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Loving Who You Are, Not What You Offer
Rating: Teen and Up
CW: Referenced Rape/Non-Con (Not Between Main Pairing), Panic Attack (Sort of)
Tags: Post Season 4, Post Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Steve Harrington, Coming Out, Protective Eddie Munson, Patient Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has Sexual Trauma, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Slight Comphet Steve Harrington, Dialogue Heavy
Okay, honestly, this one comes from a more personal place. So I'm gonna have to ask y'all to be kind about this one. I've recently come to terms that I'm somewhere on the asexual spectrum and I just needed to apply that somewhere, so. Also, writing from Eddie's point of view rather than Steve's helps me, so I don't wanna hear shit about it.
Read the content warning one more time before you continue and let me know if I missed anything <3
🩵—————🩵
There was an uncovered layer to Steve Harrington, that much Eddie has deduced.
It’s a subtle, blink and you wouldn’t notice, kind of thing. But even this uncovered layer had layers. And he’s not sure if anybody else has caught on. He was able to catalog several odd things about Steve that just…didn’t match his character. Not at all. Which has led, though it started casually and accidentally, to Eddie making a whole new doctrine.
The Odd Steve Behavior Doctrine. With a few noticeable bullet points:
-Don’t touch him without asking
-Don’t ask him about his sex life
-Don’t talk about sex around him, at all
-He especially doesn’t like casual intimacy
-Earning Steve’s trust is like climbing up a rocky mountain
He follows these rules he’s made for himself. Tries to keep himself casual and known in Steve’s presence. And hopes that it’s enough to get Steve to crack, even the slightest. Maybe he’ll say why these things bother him, Eddie initially thought.
Maybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut and let Steve come to me in his own time, he eventually noted. Because he doesn’t need to be in everybody’s business all the time, which is a typical thing for Eddie. He likes being nosy and involved with the lives of people around him. He likes to think of himself as the person his friends can come to, no matter the reason or the intensity of their need. And maybe part of it is selfish, too. He can admit that to himself. That he, in turn, wants to be everything Steve needs at the end of the day. Bearing the brunt of all that Steve has going wrong or right in his life.
Things come to Eddie little by little from Steve’s mouth. None that answer to any of the bullets in his doctrine, but things that are important, too. Like confessions, moments that Steve saw as flaws.
“I called Jonathan Byers a queer in 1983. That’s why he beat me up. I deserved it,” he told Eddie one day. Casually, complete nonchalance, as easy as discussing the weather. Steve had been cradling a mug of coffee at their local diner. Picked at the pancake platter he ordered all for himself. And, at Eddie’s coming out (“I’m gay, Steve,” Eddie admitted quietly mere moments before. He brought up love lives. Was poking around what was going on with Steve’s. And casually, he realizes, it just came up.), Steve took a sharp inhale. Confessed this bomb of a statement. Grimaced at the memory that must’ve played out behind his eyes. Then, murmured, “But thank you for trusting me with that, Eddie. I just need you to know that I was somebody you wouldn’t before. In case that…In case maybe you wanna take back that trust. Wouldn’t blame you, that’s all I’m saying.”
Eddie sat in that for a good several moments. As they slurped at their room temperature, rather mediocre mugs of Joe. “I still trust you,” he eventually said, “You don’t have to keep proving yourself to me, you know?” Steve merely shrugged. And that was confessional number one.
Following that, Steve mentioned being tortured by Russians. Which, Eddie thought that was reason for him not liking touch. It may be part of the reason, but there was something to Steve’s eyes that told him that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Eddie didn’t ask. Steve didn’t elaborate. Tortured by Russians, beat up by his peers, chewed up like a dog toy, the list in Eddie’s mind of All the Bad Things That Happened to Steve was growing longer and longer by the day. But Steve was telling him things, letting him in. It was a start.
So, Eddie had two catalogs all about Steve to keep up with in his mind. All the Bad Things and The Do’s and Don’ts of Steve Harrington.
Being his friend was an earned thing and it was a pleasant thing, but it also broke Eddie’s heart bit by bit. He’d never admit to this, but he had to realize that at some point. He wondered if Robin ever felt the same. Maybe even Nancy. But he wasn’t going to ask. Because who asks something like that? Eddie won’t be the first, but it won’t be the last somebody thinks that, he’s sure.
Even though Steve was breaking through his own mold, cracking his mask, shattering mirrors of who he was, none of it actually answered any of Eddie’s don’ts regarding him. None of it eased him. None of it lended itself in any sort of way. If anything, all of these other greater things only added to the incessant itch that couldn’t be scratched under Eddie’s skin.
Who are you really, Steve, Eddie asked himself all too much.
He doesn’t want to upset the poor guy.
But he’ll never know, he’s coming to realize. It’s just not in the cards.
———
It comes to a head, because of course it does. And he didn’t mean for it to, but it just happens.
They’re hanging out at Steve’s new-ish apartment. Lounging around on his, frankly, ugly floral second-hand couch. It’s musty and not all that soft on the cushions, lumpy and shifting. But they make do with it as they have a movie marathon. Steve is sprawled between the far right and middle cushion, Eddie is leaning against the left arm rest, legs crossed one over the other, head in his hand. Then, his stomach grumbles all too loudly in a room full of droning noise.
He leans into Steve’s space slightly. Reaches out a hand and places it on his thigh. Squeezes Steve’s leg and opens his mouth to ask if he’s hungry. But, for some reason, Steve tenses to the extremes underneath his touch. His hands grip harshly to the back of the couch and the throw pillow near his head. Legs going taut and straining against Eddie’s touch.
“Steve?” Eddie calls softly.
“Stop,” musters from Steve. It’s tiny. Cracking in half. Brings tears to his eyes immediately.
Eddie furrows his eyebrows, though. “What?” He asks. “What am I doing?” There’s a thrum in his chest. Something unsettling and obtuse. It pulsates and shifts and bitters his throat the way acidic bile does.
With force Eddie’s only seen in the Upside Down, Steve latches onto Eddie’s wrist. Tight enough that Eddie has to bite back a yelp of pure and unadulterated pain. Nearly enough to break the bone that Steve’s thumb digs into. He shoves Eddie away with just his grip. Scrambles to the far corner of the couch, legs tucked in close to his chest, knees colliding with his chin. He wraps his arms around himself.
And then, the softest noise breaks through between them. It’s quiet, yet somehow louder than the tape playing. It works its way under Eddie’s skin. Into his stomach, through his throat, and into his brain. Steve’s gentle, manufactured cries. Stifled behind his lips. In real time, Eddie watches him shatter. The way his eyes gloss over, his cheeks going splotchy with the sounds, his shoulders shake.
“Woah, hey,” Eddie whispers, reaching out again. He wants to ground him. Wants to comfort the way he knows how. How he soothes Wayne’s panic episodes. And how he calms Dustin down from lashing out. Or when Robin talks herself in circles. Wants to just…be there. “Hey, Steve, are you—“
“Don’t touch me,” Steve bites out, “I don’t have anything—You—I don’t want to.”
Immediately, Eddie drops his hand to the now unoccupied middle cushion. The fabric meeting his palm. Going cold. Warm where Steve had just been relaxed. And Eddie—he may be a dastardly fool most days, dumb as rock the others, three time senior—knows exactly what he did, now that he’s focused on every small movement he makes. He’s perceptive to the way Steve is leaning as far away as possible. How crumpled he makes his body. Eddie notices how much space has been created and where his hands lie.
I’m so stupid, he thinks, that’s like rule one.
Don’t touch him without asking.
“Fuck,” Eddie softly curses. He pulls himself away. To his own corner of the sofa. And swallows the bit of panic that rises in him. His eyes drift away from Steve’s fearful face, to his own hands. Twitches them in his lap, against his knees. Wants to cut them off. Throw them into a blender. Feed them to the birds. Something. But he forces himself to look back up.
Steve trembles against the couch. In a way that is not the Steve Harrington that Eddie met when fighting other worldly creatures. That dismantles everything and anything he once knew.
“Shit. I—Steve, I’m so sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “I’m sorry. I know that you don’t like that unless people ask. And I just—I wasn’t thinking, I promise. It was just—You know, I’m touchy with all my friends and I was just going to see if you wanted me to make some dinner or order some food. I was just trying to get your attention, y’know, and I didn’t mean anything by it. I promise, I swear. I swear on my mom, Steve. I would never—“ He takes a deep, gasping breath. Coughing on the inhale. His hands shake, now. And he doesn’t think he’s ever seen fear paint itself so clear and bright on a person’s face, but he’s looking into it. Steve’s pallor and yet still red cheeks. And his all consuming, though far away eyes. His built body, yet childlike hold.
A part of Eddie wants to cry, too. I’ve fucked up, he panics internally, I’ve fucked everything up and now he’s not going to be my friend and he was such a good friend, too. Why did I have to do that? I just wanted to make sure he was fed, too. That’s it. He’s such a good friend and now I’ve fucked it and I just—I—
“You wanted to make me food?” Steve quietly croaks.
Eddie, in an instant, nods. “Yes!” He exclaims in his own panic. “Yes, I swear, Steve. I wasn’t thinking when I touched your thigh. And I—What do you want to eat, Stevie? Say the word, I’ll find a way to make it or…something.”
His hands twitch in his lap once more. Thumbs catching on the ripped holes of his jeans. The threads soft and wearing away under his skin. The scratchy, dry bit of skin that peers through. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t think he breathes. Just makes eye contact with Steve. Which, surely, is overbearing and unnecessary and…I’m probably freaking him out more, calm down. He takes a deep breath, blows it away from him, and lowers his shoulders from where he didn’t know they were hiking.
“It was nothing more than to check-in. I promise,” he reiterates, murmuring.
Steve, finally, draws away from himself. With his own breath. He unravels his legs, stretching them out to their full length onto the middle cushion. Arms going limp at his sides. Hands resting against his thighs. His eyes dart—left and right and left and right—between Eddie’s. Nods once. “Okay,” he meekly musters. “Okay, Eds. Can…We can order pizza. There should be a menu on the kitchen counter. I’ll—“
Eddie stands from his own cushion before Steve gets the chance to. “Nope, don’t worry about it. Just try and relax, yeah? I’ll go put in an order, pay for it. You…Pepperoni pizza?” Steve just nods, tentative and surprised. “Cool,” Eddie states, “I’ll be right back.”
The phone call goes by quick and he easily sets the money out for when the driver gets there. But he’s not entirely sure his presence is going to be a warm welcome in the living room again. He gets a glass of water anyway because, surely, Steve will tell him to go if he isn’t wanted.
Steve’s in the same position as when Eddie left. Though, his gaze isn’t entirely there. Somewhere beyond Eddie’s shoulder. But there’s a gleam, a little shine that tells him that Steve isn’t gone from himself, not yet at least. He sits back down in his own cushion. Glass on the coffee table. And turns, keeping himself tight to his own body.
“Hey, Steve?” He calls out, watching as Steve blinks sluggishly back into his body. “I—uh—I got you some water, if you want it. Drinking water usually helps me feel better after…After a down moment, y’know?”
Next to him, Steve hums. He sighs. “Can I trust you with something?” He asks, forgoing the water entirely.
Eddie nods in haste. “Of course, Steve. If you have something you have to tell me, I can keep things to myself,” he states. Which is one hundred percent true. He may be a loud guy, screaming and yelling when need be. May be somebody that fills a room with noise, if only so he doesn’t succumb to the silence. But he knows how to keep a secret. It’s sort of a survival tactic, is what he’d say if somebody asked him about it. He’s kept secrets about his parents, things behind lock and key in his ribcage. Granted, he may forget, but he won’t say a damn thing. And he surely won’t spill Steve’s beans, especially with the way he looks to him in open earnest.
“Okay,” Steve responds. His legs fall away from the couch and he rights himself into being completely upright. Ramrod straight. On the far right cushion. Mirroring Eddie’s tight pose. Feet flat to the floor. His eyes trace something on the coffee table, cracks probably, but Eddie can’t exactly tell. “Okay. I…You’re going to be the second person I’ve ever told this to, alright? And I—I figured that it would come out sooner or later, but you’re gonna need an explanation for whatever the fuck just happened. And I don’t know how else to talk about it without just going all-in. So…I just need you to listen. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, “you have the floor, Stevie. My mouth is shut.”
Steve nods slow, a ghost of a smile on his face. Breathes in through his nose, it traps in his chest and comes out as one gentle gust. He swallows heavily, words seemingly rising in his throat. And that smile falls away just as it sprung.
“In middle school, before I was popular and whatever, I had a group of friends that I ran with. We were all nerds, I won’t deny that. And—And I would involve myself with some of their interests, if only because I wanted to fit in,” Steve explains first. His eyes roam again. Not picking a spot, but Eddie won’t fault him for it. He continues, voice fracturing, “One of the guys I was closer to, we’ll call him R, he was interested in this club. It was kind of like a tech club? Focused on radios and channels and math and…Things that I was actually kind of good with, but needed a better understanding on. So, I figured, I’d sign up for this club. Go with my…friend.”
Before he goes on to say more, he leans over for the glass of water on the table. Holds it gently between his hands. Doesn’t take any sips. The condensation droplets roll down his fingers. Cold most likely keeping him grounded to the room.
Eddie can already tell he’s not going to like wherever this part of Steve’s past leads him. How Steve has to take breaks, it upsets Eddie greatly. He’s not sure he’s entirely prepared for whatever confession comes from Steve this time, but he’ll digest it. Get through this with the guy and figure out all he needs to.
Another steadying breath. And Steve’s voice is like gravel, but he keeps talking.
“It was a weekly thing. And we’d go in. Be taught about gadgets and whats-its and whatnot. R was there, though. He was always there. We’d talk, laugh, shoot the shit. Normal friend bullshit.
“One day, though. One day, something was…different. He looked at me. There was a sense of hunger. Want. A drive to him that I’d never seen before. He’d lean more into my space, drop his voice lower, whisper right into my ear.” Steve blinks in rapid succession. His breath keeps stuttering. And something in Eddie’s stomach sours. He goes, though. Pushing through. “I told him to stop. To knock it off. Kept telling him that I was trying to learn. That I wanted to focus. And he just…He wouldn’t,” he explains.
Eddie spikes with great unease and anger. Never at Steve. But whoever this so called ‘friend’ is, Eddie wants to maybe kill him. He keeps quiet, though. Steve wanted to share and he needs this out. And Eddie can listen. He can, even if it makes him want to cry, too.
“I thought that’s all it would be,” Steve speaks quietly, “Just him talking to me in this new tone. With this new level to his voice. But…I’m kind of stupid, I guess, so of course that’s not all he’d do. The next week at our club meeting, he got closer than before. He began to…” Steve stops and swallows. A single, silent tear crawls down his face. It doesn’t even phase him, the way crying usually does. It’s just background at this point. “…He began to—to touch me in ways I’d never been. And I—I told him to stop, I remember doing that. I remember putting distance between us. And saying no and saying stop and shoving his hands off me. But he just—“ A broken little sob. “—He was supposed to be my friend,” he states, small as a child.
The sobs rack Steve in such a way that his whole body is jolting with it. Nearly toppling off the couch. He chugs the water between cries, but doesn’t move from his spot. Tight and closed off within his own body.
“I wanted him to just be my friend,” Steve continues a moment later, nasally and choked. “But he didn’t want that. He kept overpowering every single decision I made. His breath on my earlobe. And his hands on my thigh, on my…He fucking touched my crotch. Tried to coerce me into having sex,” he spits. “That guy…He made me feel fucking disgusting. About my own body. About things I loved. About sex,” Steve growls, “Made me sort of dislike all those things, too.”
Eddie, for how loud he can be, is completely silent for once. Unable to form words. Not sure how to comfort. And if he could comfort, isn’t sure if that’s something he can do the way he wants to. He can’t touch. Can’t do what he’d normally do. And his body aches to take care of Steve or to simply hold him. To be…well, to be a friend. But that’s not something Steve can exactly trust.
He feels sick to his stomach.
The last bit of water is sipped at slowly, as Steve comes down. Then, he turns to face Eddie. Making direct and purposeful eye contact. “It’s not your fault, that I reacted like I did,” he states lowly. “And it’s not your fault that I close up when you want to talk about sex. Or you wanna talk about all that intimate shit. It’s something with me. Like something’s broken. It’s like a deep crack in me, Eddie.
“And I just wanted to clear up all that. Explain what I can, I guess.” He snakes out a tentative hand. It’s shaking and hesitant, but it still lands softly on the back of Eddie’s right. Squeezes. “But thank you for taking notice. And being concerned. And for apologizing. I feel safe with you, Eddie. I trust you a lot. Which is like—That’s probably highest honors you could earn with me.” And he chuckles slightly. It’s not a humorous thing, but it’s not exactly humorless either.
Eddie lets himself soak in this, though. Smiling warmly back at Steve. Because he needs it. They both need it. He murmurs, “Thank you for trusting me with that, Steve. That wasn’t easy and I’m proud of you for speaking up about it. I’m glad to be somebody you can trust.”
With another exhale, Steve relaxes back into the couch. His hand doesn’t move from Eddie’s. “I also want to say that you’re allowed to talk about your relationships with dudes,” he states quietly. “Seriously, I don’t mind. But just…Just check in with me? Before you do?”
“Of course,” he agrees instantly. “I’ll keep that in my noggin, promise, Stevie.”
Ghost of a smile on Steve’s face again. “Thanks,” he whispers.
A lull floats in the conversation. Steve removes his hand, watching as his fingers twitch, and there’s a little uptick to the corners of his mouth. Something pleased and almost…reverent at the way he looks at his hand.
Before Eddie can get up to change out the movie, he heaves a little sigh. And says, “Y’know, if you ever need any sort of physical comfort, need to talk about this, or you just need somebody to tell you that you’re okay, you can lean on me. Don’t even need to ask, really. I’m all arms.”
“I’ll think about it, Eds. This has been enough for me."
———
Steve comes out to him at the same diner Eddie did only a few years later.
It’s 1990, Eddie’s twenty-four and Steve’s freshly twenty-three. He has a certain spark to him. A sparkle to his smile and a pep in his step. And Eddie’s happy to see him happy.
Happy to eventually call their relationship romantic. Happy to share spots on the couch, curled around each other. Happy to kiss him slow and sweet or not at all, just able to gaze over coffee mugs and across the room and when Steve thinks he can’t be seen.
Eddie’s just happy to be allowed this love that fills his chest and in the colder, vacant spots of their lives.
But he realizes he still hasn’t heard everything about Steve. He gives it time, though. Because the second most important thing to Steve—first just being there for him—is patience.
The next of their chats happens when things get heated on the couch.
Soft kisses turn hungry, carnivorous. Hands wander over heated skin. Steve’s fingers against the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. But his hands shake. And Eddie places his own hands off to the sides of the couch, pulling himself away before things can get any farther than they already are.
“Hey,” he softly speaks, “Steve, we don’t—I’m okay with just kissing right now. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
Steve stops next to him. Tensing up only slightly. “Are you—You’re sure about that?” His voice is so tiny, so unlike him. And though Eddie’s heard this tone before, it still breaks him.
He says easily, “I don’t want you to be scared of our first time, baby. It’s okay if we need to take things slow.”
He watches as Steve heavily swallows. “And if I asked if we never had sex?”
Eddie eyes him for a moment. Not wearily. With something like subtle pride. “Is that what you want?” He asks in turn. “Would that make you more comfortable?”
Subtly, Steve nods. “I—“ He sighs sadly. “I’ve been thinking about how to talk to you about it. With girls, I never even liked it. I just did it because it…There was something to say about a guy who could have sex with anybody he wants. But I also…I don’t know.” He shrugs as if trying to dismiss it, but Eddie doesn’t like that.
He sets a hesitant, soft hand on Steve’s shoulder. Squeezes when he doesn’t move away. “If you never want to have sex again, I’d be okay with that. I’d be more than okay with that,” he states assuringly. “You being happy and comfortable is what matters most to me. Not sex. I don’t give a shit about sex, not when I get to see you every day, smile on your face, and your eyes shiny and beautiful.”
Steve gives another small sigh, but the smile he has doesn’t waver. “Okay. I—Eddie, I don’t think I want to have sex,” he admits quietly. It shakes from his throat, but it’s still confident the way it lands between them. “It just doesn’t feel good to me. And I—I don’t want to force myself to do it. And it wouldn’t be fair to you, either.”
Another affirmative squeeze to Steve’s shoulder. “Alright, baby. Then we don’t have sex,” he agrees softly. “And if you ever change your mind—not that I’m forcing you to—then I’m okay with what you want.” He scoots himself closer so that their bodies are one single line, warm against each other. Reiterating, “Your happiness and comfort matter the most to me.”
With both of his hands, Steve wraps Eddie’s free one. Traces the veins on the back of his hand. Toys with his fingers. “We can still kiss, though,” he states quietly. “Maybe I want a kiss.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Mhm,” Steve hums. So, he closes the gap. A wet peck to Eddie’s lips. Soft and venturing. One that last only a few seconds. He draws back with the softest smile adorned on his features. Murmurs, “Thank you for hearing me out on this. And for understanding. And for accepting this.”
“I love you, Steve. Just for you. Not the sex or touch. We could never do anything except sit next to each other and talk, and I’d still love you,” Eddie swears.
Steve sniffs something wet. Shoves himself a little closer, cuddling into Eddie’s chest. To which Eddie wraps his arms around his back in response. And he sighs, but it’s a sound of long awaited relief. “I love you, too, Eddie. God, I love you.”
The conversations are tough and they are stomach turning, but after it all, Eddie gets to have Steve. How he is. How he wants to be. And that’s all Eddie could hope for.
He kisses the top of Steve’s head and relaxes back into the couch. “I’m proud of you, Steve,” he murmurs, “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Thank you for being patient. Being here.”
Eddie squeezes them together even tighter. Warm in his chest at the content noise that draws itself from Steve. This could be all that they do forever and Eddie would never ask for more.
🩵—————🩵
#stranger things#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#angst and hurt/comfort#cw referenced rape/non-con#read the content warnings#asexual steve harrington
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↳ EVENT 03. Sebastian (Date Night)
Pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader
Genre: Smut 18+
WC: 2,779
Warnings: established relationship, cock humping, cum in pants. thats it <3
Prompt(s): 03 — date night
Wanna take part in the event?: CLICK HERE!!
A/N: im loving how soft everyone in this event has been, it's allowed me to stretch my fluff writing muscles a little which i desperately needed <3 don't get me wrong, im just as excited to get to the rougher requests too hehe! but this is a nice change of pace from my usual stuff, so thank you for letting me indulge in this type of writing!
A weekly tradition, one he's kept with him for as long as he can remember. Even when he was too young to drink, his mom would drag him to the saloon every weekend just like how everyone else in town would inevitably show up soon after, the kids getting free reign of the pool room to play in while the adults enjoyed the end of the week together, surrounded by too tall glasses of beer he was always mesmerized by. And years later, he still visits to play with his friends— only he's of legal drinking age now and able to appreciate the taste of alcohol appropriately, which adds a fresh spin to the lifelong pool nights as it were.
And, of course, there's you too. The new addition to his routine, married and homely. A welcomed plus one at that, not just by him, but by his friends too. A small little get together with everyone that quite often doubles as a date night; especially considering there's fuck all else to do in the lazy Pelican Town other than get drunk outside or get high at home. And he does enough of the latter with you already, so he likes to think that these saloon date nights count for something, right?
It's a chance for you to get all dressed up and pretty at the very least! Not that he doesn't think that you're always the prettiest girl in the world, but he knows that he puts in a little more effort himself when it comes to attending the weekly function, and it's nice to see what sort of outfit you'll end up in too. Because you look so pretty in them all, he'd be hard pressed to pick a favourite. Giddily awaiting his chance to politely ogle you from across the bar, a secret hidden game shared amongst lovers.
"Seb!" He hears you yell from the bathroom, and a smile automatically finds its way to his lips. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, all ready to go, he yells back an eager yeah babe?
Footsteps answer his question, and he awaits your arrival with bated breath. Expecting you to be done dressing by now, maybe needing some help with a difficult to reach zip or something? But what he doesn't expect is... Well, God, look at you...
Oh, that's gotta be his favourite outfit on you after all. Wasn't so hard to pick now, was it? The sight of you entering the bedroom, cute confused look on your face, wearing what he can see is only his old hoodie and a pair of underwear is such a pretty view. He bites his tongue as you saunter closer, else he's liable to spill filthy secrets about just how long he's yearned to see you wear exactly that, eyes half lidded the moment his gaze lands on your bare thighs. You could wear anything in the world, the most expensive dress known to man, the prettiest pare of heels in the world, and this would still be his favourite. Barefoot and underdressed, how domesticated you appear, hair and face all done up nicely, dressed to the nines in his hand me downs. There's not a prettier sight, he suddenly decides. Wanting to clutch his chest from how in love he is with you wearing his hoodie, an unmistakeable thirst present in how his hands itch to haul you on top of him so he can love on you a little. Genuinely pained from how badly he wants you in such a swift moment, his pretty little wife.
Still, he hopes you plan on wearing more than just that out to the saloon; a tight tug of jealousy wrapping around his fluttering heart. Except, well, maybe he really doesn't. You look perfect as is, all smiles and wifely in his beloved clothing. His beloved wearing his beloved, he'd rather you stay just as you are. But the thought of others interjecting themselves into such a personal moment for him is annoying, has him already wanting to shield you away from prying eyes despite remaining safe at home.
"Do you know where my uh... My— y'know?" You vaguely gesture towards your bare thighs with your words, and his eyebrows raise in faux suspicion. You always get so frazzled before leaving for the saloon, something about the excitement of the night to come getting to you, and though he truly believes it's innocently adorable how you fret, he can't help but wet his lips at the way you draw attention to your pretty legs right in front of him.
"Your... pants?" He questions back, tutting quietly to himself when you enthusiastically nod yes!
Of course he knows where they are— you had thrown them to him just before getting in the bathroom to assumedly finish getting ready. And like the polite husband he is, he took them without any issue. Quietly holding on to your possessions like he's been taught to, because he enjoys helping you out without need for questioning. "Sure do." He plainly states, reaching behind his back to retrieve the thrown away bottoms only to waggle them in front of you— just out of reach!
The sigh of relief you let out has him chuckling, light laughter filling the air as you ramble on about being so ditzy sometimes, but he thinks it's cute. Loves being your metaphorical knight in shining armour when you come seeking his help for the easiest of things; simply because you've forgotten again. It's nice to be of use to you.
Buuuut, on the other hand, it's just as much being your bully, too. There is intimacy in the moment where your eyes go wide as he tugs the clothing a little farther away, a silent encouragement for you to keep coming, just a little closer. The soft padding of your bare feet on the old creaky floorboards of the farm house rings in his ears as you pout prettily at him, almost bashfully, and he considers it a blessing to see you this exposed and vulnerable up close. "Ah-ah." He teases, extending his arm as high up as possible and rendering your pants inaccessible, a sneaky smirk matching his taunting tone. "I think you should leave just like this," He wiggles around, escaping your attempts to take hold of your bottoms with ease, because he knows your tactics well by now. This is not the first time he's teased you like this. "What d'ya think, babe?"
"I can't, Seb! It's too cold, hence the hoodie!" You huff cutely, and by God does he wanna kiss your lips all better. Cock quietly twitching in his pants as you take his playful attitude well, leaking a little precum for you as you tug on the hoodie strings enough for him in your demonstration of how cold you really feel to be able to see that you wear it just like him: as in, with nothing else on underneath.
He briefly wonders if you can feel the heat coming off of him, big arms ready to cuddle you up against his toned chest in an effort to share his warmth with your apparent shivering self. But you answer his question swiftly when you take to climbing on top of him, his arms immediately wrapping around you as a sharp gasp escapes him— the feeling of your knee brushing against his cock knocking the wind out of him, and still he cares more for your safety than the embarrassing fact that just seeing you in his hoodie has him rock hard already.
Tense pause follows, frozen in place with his strong arms keeping you stable as you rock preciously on his lap. God knows where your clothes have gone, because they were immediately tossed aside the moment he thought you might fall, favouring your safety above all else. And then, without a second though, he blurts out a rushed "Sorry— I, it's just..." Before he buries his head against your chest, taking a shaky inhale to try and collect his thoughts, but with your body practically skin tight to his from how snugly he holds you, cock rubbing inadvertently against your leg, the scent of you mixing with the old musk of his worn hoodie— it was a mistake to tease you from the get go. Only resulting in riling himself up enough to have him biting down on his bottom lip to stave off the primal need to buck his hips against literally any part of you like some sort of horny teen; the things you still do to him. Maybe it'd be understandable if he was acting this way back in the beginning of your relationship, and yet...
"You look good in that." He sighs into you, emphasis on the good to make sure you understand the weight of your actions tonight, curling further into you and leaning back on the bed, safely dragging you down with him and letting go just so he can see how you look above him. "Should be a sin, honestly." He laughs with you, noticing the soft blush on your cheeks prompted by his open honesty.
It's not so bad to admit to such degeneracy, right? Cock nestled firmly between your legs, his hands coming up to stroke gentle lines up and down the fat of your thighs lovingly. Would that he could keep you here all night to himself, dying to show you just how much he loves the minimal fit the best way he knows how. But one look at the clock denies him such pleasures, a heavy sigh escaping him as he notices that he should have left with you five minutes ago.
"C'mon," he pats your ass fondly, blowing some hair out of his face as he half sits up, leaning his weight on one arm while his legs still yet hang off the edge of the bed. "We should get going, once we find your— ah, fuck— babe—!"
Mid sentence, you effectively shut him up with a simple movement. Just a small rock forward, nothing too serious. But fuck does it feel great having you take control like that, his eyes flickering up to your face only to see it scrunched up similarly to his own. Tense, expectant. He holds his breath for a second or two, reclaiming a spot on your back as one arm wraps possessively around it, the other still holding him up.
"Or— We could stay here, if y'want?" He offers, but rather than waiting for a response, he slowly guides you into more movement. Pushing lightly on your back to help you hump forward, and removing the weight of his hand to watch you slide back down his lap. Knowing that you're depending on him for stability when your own hands take root on his shoulders is nice, strokes his ego about as well as your barely clothed cunt strokes his cock off right now. And he figures he's got his answer when you bite your lip so seductively that he has to roll his cock up in tandem with you, literally forced into helping you get off on his lap because instinct begs him to please his wife.
It's just that he's so in love with all the small details, y'know? Like how his hoodie fits you better than it ever has him, how it falls from your frame so prettily as you hover above him, his hand gripping the back of the fabric a little tighter so it showcases your frame just that much better for his leering eyes. The little hah's and seb's your pretty lips whine for him as he helps you ride back and forth on his fat cock, the way your brows furrow in concentration, trying desperately to feel the full weight of his hidden cock, cloth barrier providing enough stimulation to rub nicely against your scantily clad clit, but he knows that frustrated sob all too well. He's fucked it out of you enough times before to know that you need more— but babe, you're already running late.
"C'mere." He prompts you with a head tilt, the moment your face gets close enough to his own he courteously kisses you. Short and sweet, a quick peck more than anything, before your greed overtakes you and you push your hips down into him with more vulgar intent, leaving his mouth wide open in a silent gasp of pleasure for you to take advantage of. He'd never complain at the feeling of your tongue running along his own, his grip tightening on the old hoodie you adorn as a means to display some semblance of restraint, but every drop of shared saliva he's forced to swallow in hopes of more has his head dizzy with desire. A great need welling in his tummy to help you get off, desperate to have you use him for your own benefit like the pretty princess you are to him.
He returns the fervour readily, impishly nibbling down on your lower lip before you do the same back, charming him with a simple smile as he leans in for more kisses. All the while his hips continue to buck up for you, fucking forward when you stroke down, and vice versa when he helps your ride closer to him, drawing his hips down so that his tightly concealed cock almost mimics catching on your pretty hole. The shuffling sound of his jeans fill the room to match the squeak of the bed, and he welcomes every lewd moan and suck you have to offer his needy lips.
"Feels s'fuckin' good, babe—" He slurs truthfully when taking a breather from the heated kiss, vision hazy with how good you look riding him like this. And the fact that he's close already from just a minor amount of petting is a testament to how much he just adores you, he thinks, so there's no room for shame in his pervert thoughts when you push him back down onto the bed, his back cradled gently by the sheets below. And the addition of your open palms on his rapidly rising and falling chest as his lungs struggle to keep up with how fucking hot his wife is when you know what you want only adds to the tight feeling in his core. Balls taut under your relentless humping of his cock, head thrown back with barely there control.
He only wishes he could have whipped it out in time to really feel how soaked your pretty cunt must be, gliding up and down his red hot length as you start to shake on top of him.
Which is perfect, really, because he doesn't think he'd be able to last much longer at this rate either. Saloon well forgotten about when he's got the prettiest girl alive on top of him, riding him so well that he's about to stain his jeans white with how your hips snap up and down his tip, unsure who the main culprit is of the growing wet spot on his bottoms is— but that's hot. Unashamedly yearning for each other as your nails dig into his chest, your thighs tightening at his sides as you pinpoint the exactly location needed to help trigger your orgasm and then—
"That's it, that's my girl—" He manages to force out before he's cumming with you, mostly due to the sight of his hoodie sleeve getting suckled on as your eyes roll to the back of your head, the sickening contrast between how fucking cute you are and that fact that you're cumming all over his nice jeans is too much to handle. After all, he's but a simple man. And when his wife starts to moan his name around the makeshift hoodie gag, he can't help but to shoot his load against his underwear. Cock throbbing under your soaked little cunt as if he were actually filling you up— God he wishes he was, hands digging into your hips as he pushes you against his spurting length to help milk the remainder of seed out.
Just for you.
And he holds you there until he's done, only releasing his grip on you once his body stops tensing and he remembers how to breathe again, a dry half laugh crawling up his throat as you continue to shake for him.
"Better than the usual date night, right?" He muses out loud, pulling you in for a tight cuddle when you join in on his breathless laughter. Hid friends can wait, at least until he's able to find your clothes again. And, a new pair of jeans for himself.
#500 event!#i like this one its nice n soft#PRAYING FOR NO MAJOR MISTAKES THIS TIME BUT WHO KNOWS LOL#sdv smut#stardew valley smut#sdv sebastian smut#sebastian smut#stardew valley sebastian smut
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How about WandaNat x little reader. Reader goes to the dentist and is told that sucking her thumb/her paci has ruined her teeth, so now needs braces / surgery. Next time R drops she has a massive temper tantrum when she can't self sooth. Desperate to sleep before a mission Wanda creates a paci using her magic
Soother (Wanda Nat x little reader)
(sorry this took a while, life got crazy, hopefully you like this, if you don't let me know if you want something changing and I can do that for you)
It was a day all three of you were dreading, the dentist appointment. The caregivers knew it was gonna be a hard day for you all as you hated going to the dentist. "baby, come on get dressed we have to go in an hour." You groaned pulling yourself out of bed, "I don't wanna go." You huffed giving her a pout. "I know, you've been trying to get out of it all week, but it's not happening." Natasha smirked, picking out your clothes, she loved doing it everyday, even if you weren't little. "Nat. I brush my teeth twice a day and floss, there is nothing wrong with my teeth so I don't need a dentist."
"Y/N you're not going to get out of it, if you stop whining and behave at the appointment ill buy you a treat after we are done and you can watch two movies before bed tonight." You couldn't help but smile at her proposal as you knew it was only gonna come up today." fine I'll behave but just know I'm not happy about it."
"I can live with that for an hour. It's either a slightly grumpy you or an angry wanda and right now ill take the first." As she spoke she heard wanda yelling that they were going to be late. As much as you hated going to these appointments wanda hated running late for them even more and with you and natasha it was like that most of the time. Though thanks to their driving you still always arrived early, much to your dismay.
***
"baby don't worry, I'm sure everything is going to be fine." wanda reassured, squeezing your hand. You weren't so sure. When the doctor came in your heart started racing, holding Wanda's hand was helping but not enough. You needed something else and before you knew it your hand made it's way up to your mouth. The doctor chuckled a bit which made you frown. "there's our problem." both wanda and Nat looked at you and it was only then you realised there was a whole other conversation going on between the three of them you didn't understand. You still didn't pay any attention until natasha pulled your thumb out of your mouth.
"Really? It caused all that damage?" natasha said in a worried tone, the look on her face made you want to cry. If Nat was upset clearly something was wrong.
"It's not the end of the world, we can give them some invisible braces to fix the issue. The thumb sucking, however, does need to stop." It was a sentence that made you completely freeze. You didn't like that doctor anymore, at first she seemed nice but now you weren't so sure. By the look on your caregivers face you could tell that was going to be a rule and you weren't happy about it.
"That's going to be tough. They never stop." I barely listen as he starts giving them suggestions of how to deal with my bad habit. "there are some alternatives, there is chew safe jewelry and even adult pacifiers that can help with thumb sucking and other habits. If you use them responsibly and stop when there is pain or discomfort it won't cause as much change."
"I will look into those, thank you." Wanda smiled, hoping this would be a solution to their problems. After they left the dentist y/n dropped again after getting all of their work and it soon became a constant battle to keep y/ns thumb out of their mouth. Each time they were stopped they seemed to get more and more upset, by the night Wanda and natasha were mentally exhausted from the tantrums, it got even worse when natasha got a phone call. "babe, we have to leave for a mission tomorrow. We leave early in the morning."
"There goes our plan to just let them cry it out till they fall asleep while we wait for the delivery, Im already slow in the morning, I need to sleep tonight." Natasha nodded, she of all people knew about Wandas hatred of the morning, she knew it would be a rough day if they didn't get to sleep soon. "can't you use your magic to make them sleep."
"No, I promised myself I would never use my powers on them like that." the two were interrupted by y/n dumping all their toys on the floor and crying. Wandas mind was quickly changed, but she decided to try a less forceful approach first, she conjured a pacifier similar to the one she had seen on the Internet.
She couldn't believe it when y/n took to it, their wails turned into light sniffles within a few minutes and they stopped acting out. Wanda picked them up, "there see, everything's okay. You're okay, you like the paci?" y/n nodded settling against Wanda who put them to bed, "goodnight baby sleep tight." Natasha and Wanda breathed a sigh of relief as the little went to sleep peacefully, Wanda cleaned up the mess with her magic and the two turned themselves in for the night as well.
#littleavengerfics#little reader#sfw agere#natasha romanoff#mommy natasha#mommy wanda maximoff x little reader#mommy wanda
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hi it's the girl who isn't allowed to cum this year, I've been edging more and more I edge for like at least an hour or two a day now if not more and your blog is still one of the things I look at most regularly while I edge bc you post a lot and your posts are so hot. FUCK I want to cum so so bad it’s all i can think about but good girls don't cum good girls rub their minds away good girls edge forever idont deserve to cum i want to be a good girl good girls dont cumm
…uh. oh yeah I'm sending this bc last time you said something about wanting to see how much of a mess I'd be by the end of the month so um hi here I am… I'm getting so much worse
- F
i'm so so proud to be one you touch and rub and edge and drool over! gosh you really have gotten worse haven't you? there's less and less of your old "smart girl" brain in your head after each edge. you're so much more desperate and weak and obedient. that programming you subject your weak toy mind to is taking over everything else. it leaves you docile, open, accepting of whatever your superiors say or want. how about you let me put some good girl wisdom in your head?
you need to edge. you don't need to cum. cumming makes the pleasure stop. stretch out that pleasure. you need to edge.
you don't deserve to cum. you're a dumb slut who gave up her orgasms for pleasure and control. keep denying yourself. keep scrolling. keep babbling brainlessly about what a good girl you are for not cumming. good girls don't cum. you don't deserve to cum.
keep edging, whore! go deeper. get worse. you love how much worse you are now. this is good for you. this is what you need. this is what you want. edge until all your thoughts leak out of you. edge until you forget what cumming feels like. edge until the greatest pleasure you get is from making your superiors cum. edge yourself empty. edge until you never want to cum again.
and then keep edging. deeper is the only way forward now. you're fucked. we're fucked. keep fucking edging, slut. tempt those around you. corrupt those around you. show them how good edging feels. get them hooked. make them edge sluts like you. edge to what you'll do to them. drool over their blank faces and busy fingers. pull each other even deeper into bliss.
after all, good girls make more good girls. 💖
keep me updated, slut, i've been edging myself to my own words towards you. i wanna watch you get worse. you're so fucking hot when you're denied, begging, and stupid!
(and remember, if this is ever overwhelming or interfering with your non-kink life, you have the permission and the duty to step back and recover. i know i just said a lot of very very degrading stuff, but you really do deserve rest and support. you're allowed to take as long a break as you need from edging - just as long as you don't cum. your needs come first. treat yourself like the prized princess you are, ok?)
#ask#anon ask#F anon#denied anon#brainwashing#bimbo brainwashing#hypnokink#good girls make more good girls#edge slvt#edge slave#pink makes me sink#pink text#good girls encourage each other#degradation kink#objectification kink#denial kink#edging kink#dumbification
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don't wanna be alone anymore [ken lemmons x oc]
A/N: the first in what will (hopefully) be a series of maggie/ken drabbles and one-shots. this one is pretty stream of consciousness and shifts tense so i apologize if it's incomprehensible. in my defense uni has been kicking my ass lately (one more week of the semester left, thank GOD)
ken lemmons x oc. word count: 1.3k.
crossposted on ao3.
For Maggie Zielinski, romance is something that she watches other people get to experience. She’s long been resigned to the fact that it isn’t something she’s meant to experience herself.
She doesn’t know what it is about her. She certainly isn’t bad looking, she understands that much. Clear blue eyes, full lips, and an even fuller chest. Still, that had never stopped her from becoming the butt of all the boys’ jokes back in grade school.
And it’s not like she’s never had friends. No, Maggie’s always had loads of friends. She knows how to work a crowd, how to say the right things at the right time to set the whole room laughing. Even before she met Vee, Loretta, Mabel, and the rest of the ground crew, she’d had a whole gaggle of friends back home in Detroit.
Her main circle was a raucous group of six—Ida and Annemarie, Nina, Victoria, Victoria’s brother Paul, and Ida’s cousin Vinny. They’d been friends since the very first day of junior high, maybe more out of the novelty of the experience than anything. For all that Detroit was a metropolis, its neighborhoods could be as insular as any backwater town. In Maggie’s world of newly-arrived immigrants and babcie who watched the streets like hawks, where everyone worked at the same auto plant and everyone knew everyone else’s business, it was nice to see some new faces.
Maggie loved her Detroit friends. She loved their laughs, their smiles, their inside jokes and their secrets. She tried her best to help them out when they needed it, to offer a shoulder to cry on or an ear to talk off. She gave her friends everything she could. It was just a shame that they never did the same for her.
As the years passed, Maggie found herself confronting a terrifying reality—that for all she was devoted to her friends, they would never love her as much as she loved them.
Sure, things were fine when it was just two or three of them alone. Catching a matinee with Victoria, or going out to lunch with Ida and Annemarie—here, Maggie felt comfortable. Victoria would always riff on whatever movie they were seeing, making her dissolve into giggles. Ida and Annemarie would insist on paying for Maggie’s meal, and they’d stay in their booth for hours on end, just chatting the day away.
But when it was the six of them all together, Maggie couldn’t help but feel that something was off. That there were things that the other five were privy too that she wasn’t—and to which she maybe wasn’t meant to be. There’d be some new in-joke that nobody ever bothered to explain, some party that she hadn’t been invited to, some other get-together that they’d forgotten to tell her about.
Well, two could play at that game.
When Maggie enlisted as a technician with the Army Air Force, she didn’t tell any of them what she had done.
Nina and Vinny, newly engaged, spotted her the day before she left for basic training. The image of the couple stopping dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they took in Maggie’s new uniform and fully-packed suitcase, filled with a determination that would carry her thousands of miles away from Poletown, was forever burned into her mind.
Maggie wasn’t sad that she’d be missing the wedding. It wasn’t like she was going to be chosen to be a bridesmaid. Money was still tight, after all. There was only enough in the budget to get dresses made for Annamarie and Victoria. Ida, of course, would be the maid of honor.
(She understands, Maggie says. No, Nina, really. It’s fine. She understands completely.)
(She cries herself to sleep into Agnes’ shoulder that night.)
When she meets the Mavens in basic training, she spends the first few months of their friendship waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It’s not that she’s awkward around them; in fact, it’s exactly the opposite. The four of them get on like a house on fire. Loretta with her witty comebacks and shining black curls, Mabel with her dry wit and hands that always smell of chain grease, and Vee with her earnest modesty and the snapping lens of her Kodak 35. For all her faults, Maggie’s never had a problem charming people. It’s getting them to stay that’s the difficult part.
Is she boring? She doesn’t think she’s boring. Especially not here in the army, where stories of home practically form a currency among the enlisted women and men. Besides, Maggie knows how to spin a yarn, to make even the most mundane story from a life spent in auto plants and dim garages seem like something out of an adventure magazine.
But that’s never enough, is it? It wasn’t enough to keep the people she thought were her friends, the people she loved more than life itself, from leaving her in the dust. It wasn’t enough to keep her from becoming a veritable untouchable among the boys in grade school, the kind of girl you would ask out to the pictures on a dare, only to leave her stranded at the ticket booth. Even the boys who considered her friends were just that—friends. Never anything more. While Ida and Victoria and Nina and Annamarie were busy with first kisses and sneaking out of bedroom windows late at night, Maggie sat in her room and watched them grow up without her.
There’s only so many rejections you can take before you start to think that romance, hell, even reciprocated platonic love, just isn’t something that you’re made for. Only so many missed engagements and plans made behind one’s back until you start to think that maybe there’s something, some reprehensible quality inherent to yourself, that pushed people away.
So, she holds her breath and waits. Waits for the Mavens eventually grow tired of her.
But they don’t.
Because it’s there, isn’t it? The love.
It’s in the filmstrips Vee develops late at night after their shifts, holed up in the makeshift darkroom she’s set up in an abandoned storage closet. It’s in the magazines Loretta always passes to her once she’s finished reading them, telling her to use it for the scrapbook, there’s some great stuff in there. It’s in the way Mabel taught her how to ride a bike way back during basic training, shocked that she had never learned, but oh so willing to help her try. Maggie can never forget the way Mabel had cheered when she finally got the hang of pedaling.
And then, of course, there’s Ken.
When she kisses him that night on the floor of Rosie’s Riveters, she burns with shame and tears, shed and unshed for her siblings and for Cleven and for Ken and for herself. She waits for him to recoil, to glare, to tell her not to do it again. At best, she waits for him to let her down easy. But he doesn’t.
That night he kisses her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and it just makes her want to cry harder, because she doesn’t deserve it. Her brother is dead, her sister is missing, Major Cleven is God knows where, and she completely lost it at Rosenthal, so what right does she have to be touched like this, to be held like this? None. None at all.
At the same time, she doesn’t have it in her to fight herself. The floor of the nose is cold, and Ken is so, so warm. The kind of warmth she wishes that she could crawl into and live inside of. East Anglia is chilly this time of year.
She shifts, opening her mouth to his, and for a moment wonders what sins she’s committed to have had this feeling denied to her for twenty-one years. Yet there’s no use wondering, is there?
Ken loves her. That much is clear.
She just has to be ready to accept it. And after two decades of loneliness, that’s easier said than done.
#ken lemmons x oc#ken lemmons#masters of the air x oc#mota x oc#masters of the air#mota#mota fanfic#ch: maggie
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Ok I've been in the fandom for about three years now, but I still sometimes feel like I'm on the outside - how do you make close friendships? because I've spoken to many people in this fandom, including you, and I call you guys friends in my head, but I'm too anxious to just talk to people in their inbox just because I like them and I don't wanna be annoying or overstep if you get what I mean
HOLA!
You'd be surprised how often I get asked stuff like this.
Honest answer?
#3: Engaging on tumblr
Reblogs, comments, etc. Nothing better than screaming at each other in the comments of a post. I think I'm weird in that I prefer comments to reblogs because it doesn't clog up everyone else's dash.
#2: Engaging on Ao3.
If you're looking to snag a writer friend, read their fics and comment on them. Then have the same URL on tumblr and send them an ask about it. We are simple beings and easily tricked into friendship if you tell us you like the thing we spent 45 hours writing.
#1: Discord.
I've made so many wonderful friends through tumblr. It's one thing to reblog something or comment (I think comments are better than just a blank reblog, personally), but my friendships within this fandom only kicked off really once I started talking to them on discord.
Of course we've got the Writer's room which is just me, Emma, Bia, Elle and Tammy, and there's a private server for dedicated fanfic writers (although you have to be a writer and also have somewhat of a highly visible presence to be invited to that one. They've had HUGE issues with semi-anonymous people wanting to join and then being trolls or starting drama and wrecking the wonderful friendly vibe.)
But there is also an amazing fan server which I believe is still run by @caitkaminski @oliverslove and @rebelrayne. It's an absolutely wonderful place and there's almost always discussion going on in there, especially on episode release day. It's WILD. I highly recommend it. Check their blogs, I think the link is in their bios.
Also, I don't even know who you are (anon obviously) but you're my friend in my head too dw xxx
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> be a robin buckley fan
> be lesbian
> project on robin
> look up "internalized homophobia robin buckley" on tumblr because it's cathartic
> 3/4 of the posts are about st3ddie or just about steve
#saw one in which steve was like ''no robin you don't understand! i have never been loved! i don't know how that feels like!''#i have several grips about that interpretation#going from the fact that's not true (dustin is clearly a big steve fan + robin herself cares about him deeply)#to the fact he probably wouldn't be introspective enough to voice his emotions this concisely not to mention he'd probably wouldn't take#a moment to realize he's never felt loved if that were the case. i mean. he could think that. when he's like 35 and more in touch with his#inner world. 19yo steve can't even get the hint that hitting on a girl who's already clearly taken (nancy) is wrong so like i don't expect#him to be that smart#but i can live with people having takes i don't agree with. my opinion doesn't have to be everyone else's opinion if you see steve that way#it fine#what bothered me was the fact he was saying this to a lesbian living in the 80s lmao#who tells him that 1) her whole life has been an error 2) she doesn't think he'd want to be close to her if he truly knew her and 3)#3) is paralyzed by fear of social suicide if she dares believe for even a second that the girl she likes may like her too#like i dont need people to do deep dives into robin lore and quote from memory lines from Surviving Hawkins abt robin feeling like she's#rotten inside. not supposed to have friends. feeling like something is wrong with her and that pushes people away etc etc#the fact that she's a lesbian should tell you enough abt who has the biggest chances of being loved 😭#also bothered me that it showed up when looking up posts abt internalized homophobia because?? where's the internalized homophobia therw#unless it's gay steve feeling bad abt it in an AU (as if canon robin didn't go through it)#like look im not bothered to find steve-centric content in the robin tag cos people are gonna tag her in posts mentioning her.#she's his friend.#but there are barely any posts at all about robin's internalized homophobia. like i saw 2 or 3. compared to all the steve or steddie ones#where's the love for my babygirl 😭😭#anti steddie#not really but y'know i don't wanna bother anyone#edit: the bit about there being like 3 posts on robin w internalized homophobia isn't exactly true. there are a few. but they still feel#drowned in st3ddie posts#like something isn't right here
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today has been VERY ANNOYING!!
#im not going to vent post im not going to vent post#set a deadline for myself of thursday to talk to the HR guy about the BO smell in our office#bc it's just going to get worse as the weather gets hotter#listen... I don't wanna do this. i know it's embarrassing to have to have the HR guy pull MCoA aside and telk to him anouy his BO#he is thirty two. he should be able to tell when he stinks and figure out a solution#but clearly he can't#or won't. idk. idk if its a denial situation or an oblivious 'golly gee someone ELSE must stink!!' thing#but anyway#it sucks and i hate that i have to be the one to say something! but also i just cannot work in a tiny stinky office anymore#secondly some asswipe in a beemer almost lane changed into me and then honked at ME#and then passed me eventually and proceeded to continue cutting in and out of traffic without signalling and while speeding#like...i know i can't even be mad at that one like thats not in any way my fault but still#can men stop???? today???? you stink ans you can't drive stay AWAY from me
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Okay I'm sorry I need to rant about this for a second cos it's gonna bother me if I don't. The fact that some people try to imply that if you as a bi woman are into men who aren't traditionally masculine or men who are comfortable enough in their own masculinity that they are not afraid to dress in a gender non-conforming way (or god forbid you are into nonbinary people cos some of you still can't process the fact that bi people are into all genders) then you MUST be a lesbian and the man you are into is actually secretly gay cos he decided to dress differently once... The fact that these same people will act like they are so supportive of bi people and then try to go out of their way and convince you that you are in fact something else is just insane to me. I know exactly who I am and who I'm attracted to. I'm sure you do too. I'm not gonna go ahead and start making posts about how I think you aren't actually a lesbian cos you find some male celebrity attractive (for the record I definitely don't think that I just couldn't think of another example) And if I realize down the line that I'm actually lesbian then that's fantastic! But that'd be for ME to discover. For now I know exactly who I'm into and I know what I need and if you are not bisexual you don't get a say in what bisexuality is. It's that simple.
#and by the way this isnt about gender to me! just wanna make that abundantly clear#even if the man in question came out as non binary id still very much be into him lol#it's the fact that some people on this godforsaken site go out of their way#to try to explain to you that you are wrong about your own fucking sexuality#so pleaaaase. no one take this the wrong way#if you think he looks like a lesbian then he looks like a lesbian! I don't care! good for you djfhfnfjd#just. don't try to twist this into something else#i dont have enough knowledge about gender in general and i tried to be very respectful about that part#if i missed the mark please do let me know though!!#this is purely about bisexuality to me!#cos im tired of the way this site treats bisexuals. yall hate us for real.#annie rambles
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Having a totally normal one* after waking from a dream where I just relive life with my ex. It was so normal and fine and we did things such as lay around in bed and make plans for the day, go to the Korean supermarket on the corner, go to a friend's house together.
#*if it were in the evening i would be drinking enough to finally drink dial and just fucking ASK all the questions i am making up answers to#what did you want? what do you want now?? honestly could you find it in your heart to hate me and never wanna see me again?#because me saying 'i don't think we should talk for a while' and you saying 'id really like to be friends' are obviously Not It#omg im going to spend my birthday alone for the first time....nearly ever and im just going to go to work and be miserable#i havent been able to stop chewing on the idea of me visiting when i head down to see the fam for christmases#i want him to want me back sooooo bad!!!!#i still think about that dream where i made him pasta#would i take him back? depends on what he said#as much as im pathetic im not an idiot and id need clear evidence to show that he 1. knows what he wants (involving me) and#2. is going to ask for it#because i don't think i ever heard him say a single thing about what he wanted for our future#never said 'hey i want to see you when are you free for me to come up?'#is probably fucking dating now anyway and doesnt WANT me to remember him on new years (our best guess anniversary)#or ask to call because i want to ask questions that will be hard to answer#when all ive ever wanted is the TRUTH#not the strategic answer just the gods honest truth#and i suspect that is 'i dont want to date you i havent for a while i didnt know how to stop or what i wanted instead'#and then i could go home break every object in ny house and move on#try a dating app ot something else to attempt to look forward instead of back#so as you can see -totally normal one
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I wanna talk about my mind for a little bit
I was gonna save this until after I posted the last Wingless Angel chapter but I can’t post it yet. Pretty sure my mind wants me to get this out of my system first.
So hi everyone, how are you? How have you been? Honestly if you’re still following at all I’m delighted.
I don’t want this to come across as some excuse for all the unfinished fanfic I left behind 3+ years ago, which is why I wanted to publish WA first, so I hope you don’t take it that way. But I ended up stumbling upon an aspect of my mental health that I’m still trying to address and since I never really saw anyone post or talk about my particular issue before very recently, I wanted to share it in case it resonates with anyone.
(Clearly stuff has changed, this is where I'd normally put a "read more" but.... I guess that's not a thing anymore?? Hopefully this isn't a huge annoying wall of text on everyone's dash, oof.)
I’ve posted before about my ADHD. I’ve been getting treatment for it for 10 years now, and for all that time, medication & other coping mechanisms have been helpful to a point, but only to a point. There was still something left that was keeping me from functioning, and I couldn’t tell what it was. All I knew was that I had no will of my own, and I’d spent the last 10 years trying to create situations where the people in charge were asking (or implying that i should do) things I considered good to do. “People in charge” meant anyone besides myself. If someone was not me, they automatically had authority, simply by virtue of being someone external to me.
I did a lot of research trying to find something that matched up with my experiences & feelings, even partially, and I looked into things like PDA autism and even just the people-pleasing habits common with other ADHD folks.
At some point, with therapy, I did learn how to say “no” to other people’s demands of me. I learned to set boundaries. But I was still profoundly uncomfortable with dictating what I was going to do, especially if anyone else was ever going to be aware of it.
When I was a little kid, i was told “no” constantly, and that’s not hyperbole. I’ve cited the story many times of falling in love with the violin when I was 9 but immediately being told “No, you’re going to play the flute.” So I played the flute, but without any passion for it I couldn’t figure it out and I quit, and my mom never stopped making me feel guilty about it. But that wasn’t the only example of that kind of thing. I wanted to play soccer; mom said play basketball, so I played basketball. I wanted to play piano; mom bought me a guitar and my sister got the electronic keyboard. (We eventually switched, but I never felt like I could fully commit to playing the thing). I wanted to learn Spanish or Japanese in high school; mom told me to learn French, so I took four fucking years of French.
My feelings and wishes were effectively not a factor in what I was allowed to do, what goals I was allowed to pursue, unless I was staying in my room and out of everyone’s way (and even then I had to make sure I jumped up to do what was asked of me if I got called from another room). Eventually I learned, as a survival mechanism, to just obey. It wasn’t worth fighting anymore because I was systematically robbed of my individuality at every turn. Something happened when I was 13 that I will never talk about publicly and she played "good parent who has her kid's back" for about 5 minutes before siding with the bad guy. I brought it up years later and she was mad I'd never gotten over it. And all that is on top of being raised to be a "good little capitalist drone" who needs to be perfect and efficient at all times. I was never supported. I was never given grace. So I never gave grace to myself, because if your own parents don't give you grace & time to learn and be flawed, then clearly you don't deserve any, right?
I finally cut my mother out of my life not long after the pandemic began, a few months after having gone no-contact from my father (mostly due to his casual racism & transphobia, which cost me at least one very close friendship when I was a kid, and was unkind to my child in a way I could not abide). My immediate family - spouse and kid - are the only family I have left now. And it sounds tragic on paper, because it is, but until I finally got away from my mother's voice in real life I couldn't filter through the recordings of her voice in my mind so I could finally throw them away. And that knot is still being untied. Honestly this is 10 years into a very long mental health journey, when you think about it, but I wish I'd cut my mom out of my life a very very long time ago. I wasn't angry about lost time when I got my ADHD diagnosis. I was angry about it when I realized that yes, this had been abuse, and I hadn't been courageous enough to get away from it sooner.
Because that dehumanization resulted in me having no will power of my own, and that extended as far as simply not wanting anything anymore. I like things, sure, but anything I WANTED for myself was out of the question, especially if it involved other people in any way, but honestly even solo pursuits became impossible for me to will myself to do. For right now, when I have something I want to do, I'm telling my friends & husband to order me to do it. Because I won't do it otherwise. And it's a potentially dangerous workaround, but it's all I have for now. I and my therapist are hoping that once my brain registers that what other people are telling me to do is aligned with what I want to do, maybe it won't depend on other people's commands anymore and I'll just take control of my own life for once. But that may not work. I'll have to wait and see.
So what does this have to do with my abandoned fics? Well, it had started to become more difficult to write because the adhd "shinyness" was wearing off anyway, but I'd been doing a good job of pushing past it because people liked what I was writing. I could see my skill getting better, and engagement was going up, and that was really motivating.
But then... I stopped writing fic all of a sudden because someone made a post about finding it shitty when writers wrote about COVID in their fics, and.... that was sort of a last straw that broke me, because I do exactly that in the last WA chapter. So I just turned tail and ran away. I tried to push through and write & publish the chapter anyway, because it was the LAST chapter and I knew people were waiting on it, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Even having OSBB obligations didn't get me writing again, and given that obligation, the shame I felt about not having finished those stories weighed on me so badly that I couldn't even interact with you guys on Instagram, despite you having been so kind to me in the past.
Let's face it, that goes WAY beyond adhd rejection sensitivity, that's a trauma response. I saw one bit of honestly well-reasoned critique of work that wasn't even mine, and I just ran. Immediately I felt like I was no longer allowed to take up space here. I felt unwelcome here in this corner of the internet world, just as I have always felt like I wasn't allowed to take up space in the physical world for almost my ENTIRE life. And the shame I already feel about myself normally was compounded by what I felt was a cowardly thing to do, which prevented me from returning.
Now that I've accepted that, yes, I am an abuse victim whose life has been MASSIVELY and MAJORLY affected by that childhood trauma, I'm finally able to address it properly. Over the last few weeks I've been changing the direction of my therapy and my self-talk (reparenting yourself is HARD) and I'm feeling some improvement, but progress isn't linear so my burst of motivation the other night fizzled out, and I'm genuinely sorry for that.
So... yeah, I'm trying to come back and get those fics finished. I'm grateful for any of you willing to be patient with me. Consciously I KNOW I deserve any support willingly given to me by any of you, but I FEEL like I don't. So yeah. Thanks. <3
#long post#me irl#i'm sure i had a tag for original posts but i dont' know wtf it was#it's been awhile#I'm too damn old to already have so many regrets#i'm mourning a lot of goals i had once that are no longer options#or even things i'm not as interested in doing anymore#like i'm still sad i didn't do them in the first place even tho i don't wanna do them now#but some stuff i really do want to do#and i hope to regrow my childhood will power soon enough that i can do them#cuz yeah there is a proper midlife crisis going on now#i am halfway to death if i'm lucky#and my life has never been my own#so i'm trying to seize it back but it is really hard to do#I feel like tumblr is the only site that would know where this post is coming from#anywhere else i know it'd just be seen as a sob story excuse or something#i mostly just wanted anyone who's been an abuse victim in a similar way to realize that that's what it is#because i resisted accepting it for so long#and it cost me so much time
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ATTENTION: BRAINDEAD POST INCOMING
i'm gonna marry him i swear to god. I promise. no kidding
#his 80s cary elwes-esque slay w the moustache WHYYYYYYYYYY i am in agony.#i think there was just something about 2021. prophetic dreams were abound and we all fell in love w someone who greatly impacted us forever#i still believe there's smth special about him and i can't let him go 😐 the nature of the dream and everything and the fact that i knew IT#i sowwy for being insane but i do believe he's my special little guy. him havin a gf literally changes nothing. whoops! 🤷♀️#god i have a problem i think i need to be on anti-psychotics but idc. i'm just remembering how i was sayin i was happy abt him reading my#comment and saying good night to me and i called him 'my beloved streamer' and people were callin me parasocial for that and yet#a bitch who's been his fan for over half a decade who ends up dating him ISN'T parasocial? the hypocrisy of everyone being kind to her#while getting angry at other for being attracted to him and genuinely caring for him just like i'n sure she did. i hate alllllllll of you#i never felt like life made sense more than when i was obsessed w him... sigh#ironically i think want someone to tell me that i'm being crazy just so i can tell them to fuck off. it's not like i don't know or that i#enjoy being like this but i feel like a have no other choice? it's odd but it feels like my purpose. this is my rock to roll up the hill#my track record for this sorta thing isn't good but i'm trying to be better. just once i wanna be loved by someone i love heh... 😔#he feels like the final one fr. the last in a line of total failures#god it's a miracle anyone puts up w me ngl LOL there's smth deeply wrong w me i don't think is fixable#not to quote astrology like it's gospel but the stars decided i was supposed to fall for someone in the public eye so. it only makes sense#that this keeps happening to me i guess. i'm just fuckin retarded no need to be concerned#anyways SCHIZOPOSTING OVER! back to whatever the fuck else i can use as a diversion so no one reads this (even tho no one gaf)
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I should sell that bastille ticket shouldn't i. Just the thought makes me cry but it'd be the responsibile thing to do
#i also should not go to korea#it's just selfish and expensive and i wouldn't even enjoy it#I'm so desperate to get something out of my life i just cling to any opportunity to experience something#but i need to realize it won't change anything#it's just a waste of time#because i don't know what else to do#and I kinda still hope to die soon#(not in a suicidal kinda way. just in a 'i can't imagine any future for me' kinda way#(just because i don't want any dumb comments on that. it's just what it is. it's always been like this it won't change#i just don't think i should waste money and time anymore just to ''enjoy'' myself#i never really enjoy anything anyway#so i should drop out of uni and get a fucking job that hopefully will allow me to live in a 15m² apartment without having to starve the#whole month instead of just the last week of the month#so my mother can finally be free from this burden#ahaha#shut up amy#death mention#or whatever you wanna call it#idk if someone filters this shit
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Every time someone complains about a genre of fic (i.e. superhero au's) I make 5 more just to piss them off.
The reason for this is because their takes always reek of entitlement to people's hobbies and free time and they always demand for something "different" instead of realizing that a story someone isn't actually passionate about would be way more shit than one they like despite it being a genre you personally have grown bored with <3
#the blocks yell#Like I'm sorry but so many of y'all have been blessed with copious amounts of fic that isn't highly saturated by a ship#and I'm sorry but loosing a couple of fics by filtering them out really is not that bad#go into a different popular fandom and find the biggest ship and filter out the most popular ship or all ships and watch how fucking low#the fic count gets. Stop acting so entitled.#And that's not to say shipping is bad! It can be really really fun! But the idea of 'over saturation' in this fandom has become so skewed!#But don't complain becaus You Personally want something different. If you want something different then write it yourself!#And don't try and come at with a 'But I can't write!' do you know how many people Start Out writing fics? This day in age its a fucking lot#So get out there and make the stories you wanna see because until you do? Nobody else is gonna. Nobody else has your exact artistic vision#They can't do it like you.#And if one day you get to the point where you still like the story but don't like how you wrote it? Write it again!#Make it bigger and better! Use the old version as the first draft or even a really comprehensive outline!#And if you Don't like it anymore and don't feel any passiin for it then thats fine! You can let it sit because the thing is?#One day someone is gonna read that story and it'll be their absolute favorite thing in the world!#They might even make their own based off of it. Wouldn't that feel Good? Having someone love something you made so much that they create#something of their own. Despite the flaws you may now see?#Anyway. That was kind of a lot but if you can't tell I have a lot passion for this subject.#But just remember: fic writers make things to have fun. We don't get paid for what we do and yet we share it for free!#You accomplish nothing by whining about somethings success despite not having tried for yourself. Now go write a and have some fun#big rants at buildmart#<- also look i have a tag for these now
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