#its all in there im way to triggered to even say anything more but please spread this shit around for more to see
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hey there some really disgusting shitheads who torture and kill cats/kittens for entertainment and profits so here's a link to a site to learn more and get them to fucking stop
MASSIVE TW FOR DISTURBING SHIT!!!!!!! not rlly graphic but very upsetting.
twt thread too for more info
#its all in there im way to triggered to even say anything more but please spread this shit around for more to see#cat abuse#cats#im sorry if this is very blank idk what else to say other than to say look and hope others can help so yeah#kitty cat#awareness
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WHAT SET YOU FREE, BROUGHT YOU TO ME BABY.
rdr2 men + short blurbs about their favorite sex positions.
ft. arthur morgan, john marston, javier escuella, and charles smith.
✧ tags : SPOILER HEAVY, fem + afab!reader, unprotected sex, light angst (in the horny post is crazy im sorry fdkjjkds), very gendered language, javier says one thing in spanish (thank u @nanamimizz), a little sprinkle of plot with each (and some canon divergency), john co-parents w abigail, otherwise just horny. 18+
✧ wc : about 1.4-8k each (6.3k total)
✧ a/n : sorry for making a multi character post for the cowboy game its cooking me to death. my john bias is showing rip. title is from rebel yell by billy idol but i listen to the bvb cover
sorry about charles and javiers but if i edit this anymore im going to level an entire city using hollow purple technique. please rb if you enjoyed i worked kind of hard on whatever this is.
sorry for . the THIRD repost of this i promise i wont after this. its just really bugging me. PLEASE
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ ARTHUR MORGAN + PRONE BONE ;
It’s an odd feelin’ for Arthur.
Wanting something, he means. Wanting anything as much as he wants you. He’s lived a less than quiet life up until now. And he ain’t the brightest, certainly, but living this kind of life teaches you many lessons. One of them being, it’s better not to covet anything. Coveting something you’re not entitled to, well—it’ll lead you places you wouldn’t want to go with a gun.
Arthur has made the mistake of coveting love before, dreamed of a future so completely out of his reach he almost convinced himself it was possible. Dreamed of it so foolishly he’d even go visit a woman he very well ought to forget. It’s his problem, his burden to bear - always desiring outcomes unsuited to him.
He’s just that sort of man he reckons. But he learned his lesson. He tries (tried?) to stay away from it after that. Tried not to pine too much for normalcy when such hopes had failed him twice. The loss of his child completely on his account and the loss of his love at the same fate.
So, wanting you - well, he feels like the world's dullest fool. Really. How is it that Arthur had fallen in love with someone again? It had all just happened so quickly. You were another woman he’d saved from the O’Driscolls, though it wasn’t like you were no damsel. A lot of those men were dead by the time they arrived. That sort of perseverance would stick with you while you traveled together. Much like Sadie, you didn’t take well to housework - you liked to earn your keep. Though you’re not nearly so trigger happy.
You’re quiet, thoughtful, well-read. Plus you’re good at making money. That’s why Dutch don't complain about you joining them, he figures.
(Arthur tries not to pry into it too much at first, but he eventually learns that you’re gambling. Which is how you’re able to make such a fast turn around. A prim little lady like you makes for a fine poker player, and you love to play men out of their money. He thinks it’s one of the funniest and most interesting things about you. He can’t help but love you a little more for it. )
When the feelings in him start to stir, Arthur tries to overlook it. Arthur convinces himself, time and time again - that there’s no way he’ll grow more tender about you. Eventually, it’ll die down. You’re a decent woman is all, a kind one - who’s easy for him to love and even easier for him to confide in. In your time together, you often come to Arthur and you always seem to have some profound wisdom he is so sorely lacking. Someone easy to love, who does not expect much from Arthur at all. It’s only natural a lonely, covetous man like him would start to dream about you. He tells himself, it will pass eventually. Should he simply let it run by him, it will pass. But Arthurs a fool, you’ll remember.
Of course, by the time he understood all that - he already loved you enough that he couldn’t bear it. It was already too late and it wasn’t going to change any time soon. Especially not while everything changed around him.
So, Arthur is undoubtedly a fool, but he’s lucky. He felt divinely blessed when you’d returned his feelings for him so politely. A coy little smile on your face, a laugh like you thought he was silly for being doubtful. Arthur tried to explain himself but you wouldn’t hear a word of it. Maybe that’s another thing he loves so much about you. There’s nothing he ever needs to explain.
In any case, all Arthur seems to do lately is want you. Wants you when it’s inconvenient. Wants you before he wants liquor or a cigarette or some other vice. Any time anything goes wrong, you’re the first thing his mind can conjure up for relief. That pretty smile and that self-assured way of living. It’s hard to get time alone in camp. And Arthur is a man in love, so any touch could be enough to set him on fire. Last week you hugged his waist a little before giving him a kiss goodbye and he had to listen to you laugh yourself into a fit as he waited for…little Arthur to settle down.
He don’t get many chances to be with you. Lay with you in that way that grown folk in love do. Though, if the two of you book it somewhere for a few days - the camp knows better not to ask where you’ve been. But it’s not often you get to really be together, where it’s peaceful to do that. Someone’s always hounding one of you to do something.
Arthur is a lucky man though, like he said. Today he had time. Today he’s alone with you in a beat up little saloon and today he gets to do as he likes. He gets to be greedy. And it’s an odd feeling for him, really, to want something so bad he disregards everything else in the world for a little while.
Feeling you, though - absolves the guilt for wanting. He’d be stupid to want you any less desperately.
Arthur’s favorite way to have you is on your stomach. Laid flat, just barely pushed up against him as he fucks you deep. You’ll fuck like rabbits for a little while and Arthur will wear you out just like this, maneuvering you until you’re pinned all underneath his weight. You lose any fight you might have, too exhausted to worry yourself with pleasing him - and when you’re like that, you let Arthur take care of you.
(He really ain’t talented at much, but he’s good with his hands. Being dexterous is part of being a talented shot. When Arthur has the time to spread you sweet in his lap and make you cum all over his fingers, he does so for as long as he can. At least until you beg him so sweetly otherwise. The same hands, soiled with gunsmoke, look so good so deep in you. At least in his eyes.)
Wet and pliable and helpless. Arthur loves you like that. He knows, he knows you’re anything but - but he’d be damned to pretend this don’t feel best. Tight, wet cunt so welcoming from all the pleasure he’s ripped out of you. Your bodies pressed together, your heartbeat pulsing through your skin. All sticky, honeyed need and animal desire as Arthur lets all of him sink on top of you. His heavy, lumbering form crushing you in - trapping you somewhere you can’t run from him. The curve of your spine pushed against his chest, ticklish.
Every inch of his body that so wholly wants for you, Arthur aches to make you feel. Burn it in you lest anything happens that risks your forgetting.
He can feel his hips meet your ass, backside squished against him - desperate for deeper friction. Whining. You’re whining to him so pretty, a pillow pushed underneath you to give friction to needy clit.
Arthur can feel how much you want more. Maybe Arthur is greedy, but he likes that look much better on you. Your pussy is sucking him in so tight, silken walls pulsing with every shallow little measured thrust. Arthur lets his arm wrap around your neck, your face pressing into his bicep. You moan again and he laughs.
“Arthur,” Your words come out in a messy slur. He lets his scruffy face press against your neck, a kiss behind your ear. He wants to kiss you all over. There’s not enough hours in the day. “Oh, god, Arthur,”
“Still feels good, then, I’m guessin’,”
“Shut up,” You huff and press your cheek into his arm. He doesn’t bother stifling his laugh. “Still feels…big. Stretchin’ me out—hicc—so much,”
You really don’t try to rile him up - but you do a damn good job of it anyway. He groans, grunts as he pulls back and pistons himself in you. A gesture half-way between a kiss and the warning shot of a gun. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes, noisy and vulgar. Arthur don’t pay it much mind. He laughs against your shoulder.
“One of these days, that moutha’ yours is gonna get me in real trouble.”
You giggle back at him
“What kinda trouble is that now?”
Even from your side glance, you’ve got that lovely little smile on you. Fuckdrunk and ingratiating, like you know he’s wrapped so tight around your fingers. And he is, like nothing else in the world could have him. A wave of possession curls up over Arthur, makes him press more of himself into you. Onto you. Another deep push of his cock, sliding against the tenderest parts of you. Staking some silent desire in you. He wants and wants and wants, and hopes that whatevers above him can forgive him for making the same mistake thrice.
“Dunno,” Arthur comments, teeth grazing your shoulder and kissing the indentations “Got our whole lives together to find out, I reckon.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Mister.”
Arthur laughs. “Hope you do, Miss.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ JOHN MARSTON + COWGIRL ;
John doesn’t say that he loves you lightly.
Hardly a thing he says can be said that way. Could never afford too. In an alternate universe where nothing goes wrong in his life, maybe - but he has a hard time picturing what the hell that’d look like. A version of himself so untainted, without all of the violence and blood and gunsmoke? Foreign. John can’t picture it worth a damn.
Who John is without a deadbeat father and a dead Ma is somewhere far beyond his reach. Ain’t nothing about his life, at any point, lighthearted.
On top of all that mess, he’s got a boy at age four with a woman he ain’t married too. And that relationship is always on rocky waters, even though John’s decided to do right by his own flesh and blood sometime ago. Most things in the world he should feel good about he doesn’t, and most things he should understand render him clueless. He’s a mess on multiple accounts, and he still doesn’t know how exactly he’s meant to approach this life of his. He knows what he should do, but nothing about how to do it.
John doesn’t come to love you easily ‘cause he wouldn’t know easy love if it hit him in his face. Quickly and painfully, but not easily.
Your return to the gang was an odd one. You were an old presence and your disappearance was an even older story. John thought he’d never gonna see you again for sure. You’d been a part of the gang back long before all of the nonsense that took place in Blackwater and you left about the time Arthur’s boy died. John don’t remember why you left exactly. He thinks it was a fight with Hosea, of all things.
Dutch weren't too happy about it neither, but Dutch back then didn’t make a show.
So you left, and John buried every feeling he ever harbored. You found all them again up in Colter, where you’d been living out your days lately. According to you, in the middle of riding, you thought you’d heard Arthur. So, somewhat recklessly, you went chasing him. Didn’t matter if he was just something your mind conjured. According to you, if it was him, it was at least worth checking to make sure. You’d reunited with Arthur and after some tears, he rode with you back to camp.
Upon your return, the gang welcomed you with open arms.
You’d done a lot in your time alone.You spent most of that time just like that, a ghost wanderin’ the planes. You weren’t gonna stay with ‘em, but Arthur insisted and Hosea did too. That wasn’t enough to compel, so John was last to chip in. You should stay, at least until Valentine.
(Silently he thought, you should stay so John can trace memories of you. It was so long ago, he should’ve forgotten all of it. You were a year older than John and always on his ass but easy for him to talk to. Didn’t fuss over his failures. You just barely grew into your womanhood when you set your sights on running away. You wanted more than this life, and John never really forgave you for it. His first heartbreak, maybe - but it’s all too blurry for that.
You understood him though better than anyone, and one day you were gone. Nothing’s really the same.)
You changed tremendously and not at all. He missed you. God, did he ever. Missed you a long time. Didn’t realize how much until you came back and everything in him felt right again. Your return stirred up old feelings and everyone noticed. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but he really wasn’t trying to fall back into anything with you. Not how he did.
Just like you did back then, you read John like an open book. And just like he did back then, he loved you all too helplessly for it. It was just all too easy again, to be with you.
You stayed out of the way at first, for the sake of his family.
But, John ain’t a half-decent man even when he’s trying to be. So he set himself on being with you. It wasn’t easy - most things with him aren’t as you’ll see. Having you around again straightened what was left of his common sense, at least. He told Abigail before telling you. He figured you wouldn’t even reply unless that was all out of the way. That turned out as well as you’d expect.
It was settled between the two of you thereafter. He’s lucky she didn’t toss him into the street.
Everything works out in a way. As best they can between broken people. You make peace with each other. His boy loves you like a third parent (you’re better with him than John is). Abigail commends you for straightening out such a worthless man though she’s a little melancholy. John just tries to stay out of the way. You’ll be together in the end. There’s a plan with the five of you.
But until it all falls apart, he doesn’t get all that much time with you.
There’s moments like tonight, though. Rare ones. Together out robbin’, cooped out some place in the woods where no one is around. A place so shaded by nightfall that John can absolve himself of every sin he’s ever committed in his life and pray at the altar between your hips. John is convinced he might find worship like he’s always hearing about there whenever he touches you, the marred skin of his hands and knuckles reading the scripture of your body with careful precision.
You might turn him into a literate man yet.
John glances up at you. Only the light of the fire and the moonlight there to accompany as he watches you over him. You’re beautiful. John couldn’t picture a single thing more perfect in his life.
Your hands against his bare chest, nails digging into the flesh as you lean forward. Your palm dug into the dirt, John finds his own hands rested at your hips. John looks at you awe-struck, cock twitching at the mere sight. His heart settles in his throat, but he’s calm all at the same time. With you, he forgets. All of it. The worst of himself.
Bare naked and so close, he watches your face as you strain. You feel soft. Every inch of you in comparison to him is. A bead of sweat slides down the valley of your breasts. John cranes his neck up to catch it with his tongue, licking a stripe up to your neck - letting his teeth sink into the space between your jaw and neck. You want to make it last and John doesn’t blame you. It’s so rare you get to have each other so unrestrained. John can feel all the ways you want him, can see it in your face - all pinched with need. You’re holding yourself back, trying to get it to last as long as the night will allow. It’s cute in a way.
It’s different than how he’s used to seein’ you, all cocky or otherwise. You’re needy like this. Just needy. His stomach turns with lust, jolting through him like a strike of lightning. His cock twitches against your folds, sliding against them. Pure admiration watching the sticky mess of his pre-cum and your own arousal mix together and smear on your mound. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat, faint and tender as you fall forward just a little. John laughs against your neck.
“Darlin’,” He says with a huff. Not malice. Something akin to bliss, where he can rarely afford it “Have I done something to piss you off today?”
You pick yourself up and look down at him and frown. John kisses the corner of your mouth, resisting some crude desire to fuck up into you.
“Just,” You grunt as the tip of his cock passes over your throbbing clit, your whole body wracking to a shiver. John looks awed. “Pent up. Goddamn it,”
John figures it out quickly after that. It’s this part of it he likes. The proximity. The closeness. Feeling the tremble in your hands as they struggle to keep up right, muscles strained in your forearms. Being able to hold you, to keep the pace or let you take the lead. The clear view of your face as pleasure travels up through your spine and melts into you. He grabs your hips, the fat dimpling underneath his fingers as he moves you along. He can’t wait. You don’t bother to protest seeing John can’t seem to bear it anymore. You collapse into his chest, your tits pushed flat against his pecs.
His cock throbs near painfully, sliding against your soft cunt before finding himself lined with you. He thinks to himself that it’s this he was looking for, as he tucks your face against his neck and lets his tip stretch you out slowly. Such a vice like grip, stretching - resisting him like your whole body can’t anticipate the sensation of fullness. You gasp against his throat.
“John,”
What a sweet sound from your mouth, even sweeter as he bucks himself up. Keeps you steady and lets his cock stretch you full, feel you deep. “That’s right, my angel. Didn’t think you’d remember my name when you’re all worked up like this.”
“You’re,” You gasp and John thrusts, thrusts hard until he’s buried to the hilt. You shudder, walls pulsing around him as he bottoms out and John laughs like the terrible man he is. He fucks you again, over and over - a wicked little smile watching “Awful. Just awful, John Marston,”
“Ain’t that the truth,” He hums against your mouth as his hand snakes between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit. “Wonder what kinda woman that makes you,”
“A foolish one,”
John laughs.
“I sure do love you for it,”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆JAVIER ESCUELLA + SIDEWAYS ;
Javier hasn’t thought about much other than surviving.
It’s been like that. Been like that for a while, probably much longer than he cares to admit. He’s sure any sane man would suffer the same plight if they lead the same life. Anything but survival is little more than a pipe-dream, so Javier tries not to go for anything too strongly. In that aspect he’s like many of the members of the gang he’s in, perhaps that’s why he sticks to them. There’s that phrase Hosea’s always saying - that misery loves company. Javier will take any decent company he can get. He’s desperate for it just like he’s desperate for most things - inwardly, silently.
Some of that desperation may be symptomatic of who he is. After he killed a man in a crime of passion for a woman he loved and ran from a government who would sooner exile him than change, Javier decided to not dream anymore. Every revolutionary who dreams too hopefully pays the price in blood.
(Javier thinks there’s probably nothing in the world as true as this. A form of gospel. He remembers the first dream he ever had after his uncle passed. Not a nightmare but a dream. He remembers the exact feeling of waking up, cold and confused. What is a dream, except a memento of survivor's guilt that loyal people cling onto fruitlessly. When hope starts to feel like a debt he’s going to waste his life paying back, Javier loses sight of everything. The beginning of the end in some way.)
His mind doesn’t occupy itself with anything bigger than that. Since Dutch found him starving, there was never a desire to try and live off aspirations. He pays his penance with loyalty and honor. Practices some form of humility and tries, not too desperately, to carve a place for him to fit. All without drawing too much attention or caring too much. If you ignore the bleeding in his fingers, his penchant for knives over guns, and his refusal to talk too long about the place he comes from - it’s nearly believable that none of it matters.
Except loyalty. All Javier honors is that. It’s the only thing he has some part in choosing, so he choses it every time. Living like that didn’t make any difference to him. He was surrounded by mostly decent people. He didn’t hate the life he was living.
It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. His directionless-ness, his floating. Hadn’t since he joined the gang. At least not to anyone but him. He didn’t know what he’s meant to do or if he was meant to proceed with this forever. He was (is) loyal to Dutch. To the gang.
He hadn’t thought much about what comes after.
And it didn’t matter until he met you
He’d sworn off love after seeing where it got him, at least until he could love more dispassionately. When the women bring you back from their outing from Valentine and beg Dutch to let you stay, Javier doesn’t think much of it all. He thinks you’re pretty, if it counts for anything. But he doesn’t let himself linger on you too long.
But that’s the sequence with you two, really. The whole time. He doesn’t linger until he does. It doesn't matter until it does. He doesn’t think about you until it’s all he can think about.
You go for him first. And it’s in little, unimportant ways that might not mean shit to you but mean a whole lot to him. You have some kind of tenderness about you that you wear deep, runs through your blood like love ran through his once long ago. Some softness he can’t really measure with his own. It’s not that that gets him. It’s that sometimes you look at Javier like he's … someone you want to see. He forgot what that was like all together. It felt foreign to him the first time it happened. Seeing how you light up when Javier is around.
You wanted to see him. You noticed that he’s gone. If he sang by the campfire - you’d sit by him and listen. If he was out in the trees keeping guard, he’d hear the soft call of your voice to Grimshaw ask Where’s Javier? And sometimes the girls will make fun of you - but you wouldn’t deny anything they said. It’s so small and ordinary. He would’ve never considered himself simple before meeting you. Nothing is simple. Nothing.
(But then, Javier thinks of the kinds of songs he sings and the way he takes care of himself and the clothes he wears and maybe Javier has some kind of affinity for preciousness that explains all of it.)
When Javier confesses his feelings for you - he finds the affair to be like most things between you. Ordinary love, not really between outlaws but people. It’s up against a tree while you share a drink and he’s looking at the curve of your mouth and the plum color Karen’s so kindly put on you. And his head fills with kissing you so he does. A breathless confession between alcohol stains and the feeling of your hands curled in the lapels of his suit.
From there, Javier is your lover. He’s not interested in the business of secrets, but he tries not to let it show too much. Not that he doesn’t want to. He wants to show you off more than anything - at least some part of him does. But the other part wants to keep you away from prying eyes, keep his love for you only where the both of you can see. If he could keep that pretty lovestruck face you make all to himself forever he would.
When he gets a chance to whisk you away from everything, Javier jumps at the chance. Not often, but Javier makes time for you. Makes time to indulge in love he thought he’d never find again.
That’s why he’s here with you in the middle of nowhere, a ghost town where no one knows you.. A reserved room with a bed and lowlights all to yourselves.
Javier can’t keep his hands to himself and he doubts you expect him too.
For Javier, this sense of proximity is what intoxicates him most. The warmth of your bare skin in the slivers of yourself exposed. Javier is fond of finding you like this after a long day of horse riding. Of sneaking touches to your waist as you push back against him to sleep, only to find his desire for you - laid clearly. He likes hearing you whimper feeling his length poke against your back, the embarrassment when it dawns on you that he wants you after all. Always surprised, even though Javier tells you it so often. Whispers it along your neck and shoulders whenever you’re at camp together.
You like the feeling of his hands so Javier always starts with them. He squeezes your hips. Planes his palms over your chest before squeezing your chest, pushing the fat between his fingers. You like the way they look when they grope you, his chin resting against your shoulder as you spoon. In the lowlights of a cheap hotel - Javier gets the perfect view of your silhouette. Your body is sensitive over the fabric of your gown, heat prickling through you.
Javier who is always so gentle with you, rouses so deep listening to your whining as he explores your body. The suffocating closeness of a single bed intoxicates him.
“Javier,” Your voice is sweet and thin. Plays in Javier’s head like music and makes his mouth curl up into a catlike grin as you push back on him. You look slightly over your shoulder, lips pushed into a pout. “Please,”
He tugs at the fabric of your nightgown. The top half pulls haphazard underneath your tits, nipples perky and sensitive to touch while the skirt pools at your waist. What gets Javier like this is the desperation. Wanting so much but not being able to look too long. A way for you to mirror him, it’s a matter of possession. In some stupid way. Bunching your clothes up, pushing the fabric of your panties to one side, letting his arm wrap around your waist to touch and tease. All of these are imprints of his longing, tucked faithful into your side as he whispers sweet nothings into your skin.
His cock twitches as it pushes past your folds with finality, your hands curling up at your sides. You whimper softly, let your cheek rest against the sheets as Javier takes you on your side. Terribly close, you fuss as you feel him slide every inch into you slow, your hands reaching back for purchase. It’s the fit of you against him so perfect, the silent strokes of intimacy, the hush-hush giggles between the sheets that Javier loves most about fucking you like this. Too enamored with you to look too closely, he lets his eyes flutter closed. He could get drunk just being in your space.
He carves out space for himself inside of you, feels your cunt accommodate for him like it loves him. A feverishness breaks out as his forehead rests on the space between your shoulders, an uncharacteristic whiny quality in his words.
“Ser mío,” Javier says - as a reflection of what he really wants, to belong only to you. “Belong to me.”
Darling as you always are, you nod softly.
“All yours, Javier,” You whimper, finding his hand. “Forever,”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆ CHARLES SMITH + MATING PRESS ;
Wandering.
He’s been doing it his whole life. Not something he’s proud of. Or ashamed of either, really. Just how things have gone for him until now. Charles doesn’t think his life has been any better or any worse than anyone else's. At least not when he weighs it with the same kind of pragmatism he does most things. It’s been a hard life, and a miserable one in so many ways. Still, it’s not something Charles is too keen to dwell on.
There’s just something thematic about loss in Charles' life in a way he finds completely unpleasant. It’s more constant than anything. Loss of his home, loss of his mother, loss of his father in an attempt to find what’s best for him. It’s some overarching message that hangs over his head like a shadow. Everywhere he goes, trying to rectify his own solitude seems to come back to him. It doesn’t help that it’s an unfair world to start with, and would’ve been if he had just been black or just been native. But Charles is both, and has lived a life that reflects that specific injustice thoroughly.
There’s not really anything Charles can do about it, at its baseline. When he left his father, the name of the game had simply been survival. He was well-equipped enough for that at least. But after survival comes trying to live and trying to live isn’t something so simple. Jumping in and out of gangs who thought they could get away with slighting him or generally being surrounded by unpleasant people. Trying to find something in pages of book and scripture, or in the way water ripples when it rains.
He’s never felt any one way towards the gang. Even when he joined them all the way back in the Grizzlies. Lost in the cold, they’d crossed paths as Charles was out hunting. A lot of it feels like a blur. Of all the folks he’s met in his travels though, Dutch treats him fair and the rest of them (or most of them) are decent, honest folk. Charles stays in the Van Der Linde gang for such simple reasons as trying to stay alive and be somewhere that isn’t actively hostile towards him. He’s a good gunman, and a better fighter. The inner workings of gang politics and forging connection isn’t at the forefront of his mind, with the exception of the kindest few.
The Van Der Linde gang is just a place where he can figure out what his purpose is meant to be, even if he doesn’t find it there. He’s never expecting anything to come out from his loyalties to it.
Of all the things Charles expects of his life in the Van Der Linde gang, love is at the very bottom of the list.
Maybe it’s about time he stops being surprised by these things happening to him one or way another.
You were a member of the gang far before him, and someone Charles took to quickly. You’d joined the gang not too long after John from what Arthur tells him. Though the brunette speaks about you more fondly than he does his brother. A problem child at the start, according to Arthur - always getting into all sorts of trouble. Something you seemingly feel embarrassed about now and refuse to bring up. Charles has a hard time picturing it having only known you as you are.
The woman you’ve grown into is someone else completely, and Charles sees that in you all the time. Compassionate like Hosea but charismatic like Dutch, and clever. And you’re beautiful, too, though Charles feels a little shallow admitting that’s part of what drew you into him.
It wasn’t Charles that approached you first. You were the one who spoke to him, as often as you thought necessary but never in a way he found invasive. He doesn’t know what it is exactly about you that charms him near instantly. You’re enigmatic to a fault. It’s like you always know exactly what to say and exactly when to say it. Even more than that, you’re a terribly pleasant person to be around. Subtly warm and free of assumptions. When Charles talks to you about anything, you listen without making him feel like it’s any sort of burden to you. You don’t pry, don’t make missteps. Treat him fair, and then some.
It’s unbearably simple, just how quickly and how easily he comes to adore you. And, in some ways, Charles knows better than to believe that his purpose is loving someone. There’s more to it than that, surely - after everything.
But then, he’ll watch you do something. Watch you do some kind of menial work that he could do for you instead. Thinks of skinning animals for new clothes and chopping wood and rubbing the soap off of you and all of a sudden it makes him feel anchored. Everything he could do for you. You anchor Charles easily, with a wispy smile. Make him want to find purpose in life with you. He never wants to be somewhere you’re not.
He confesses it to you just like that, and like you do with most things - you accept and reciprocate without making too much of a fuss.
For Charles, making love is an extension of wanting to ground himself in you. A distant siren song - the intersection of lust and bone deep adoration. Like most things, you’re the one to approach first every time. A soft hand on his forearm, a whisper that you want him. It’s with ease that he draws you away. Drags from you camp during nightfall with his horse and blankets and picks a spot with the perfect view of the stars.
Charles watches you under the glow of moonlight, his vision adjusting to you easily. Naked underneath him, laid on your back with your legs folded at your knees - heaving deep breaths. He can see the sweat beading down your skin, your chest rising and falling - and the perfect view of your pussy. His hands and mouth are wet as you breathe out. He finds himself smiling at you, his own erection pressed against your thigh, pre-cum leaking out in a mesmerized haze.
You lift your hands up and he leans down, surprised as you wrap them around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your mouths meet like that, and Charles laughs against your lips as you kiss him so eagerly. You blink at him, pretty. You’re always prettier than he remembers you being the last time he looks.
“Charles,” You frown at him. “It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting,”
He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Sorry, my love. I don’t want to hurt you,”
“Well, I’m fine with it,” You repeat, almost petulant. Charles frowns. “‘Sides, it ain’t my first time taking you, you know?”
“Well, I’m not fine with it.”
You pout, looking at him all endeared. Charles couldn’t help but love you even if he tried. “You ain’t gonna hurt me. C’mon. Please?”
“Please, what?”
You look at him aghast before breaking out into a faux-scandalized giggle. “Now you—please fuck me. Pretty, please.”
Charles feels something tickling against his spine hearing you say it. He couldn’t imagine getting sick of you in his whole life. “Yeah, that’s good to hear.”
You make an indignant noise but it’s silenced quickly as Charles positions himself against your entrance. He has plenty of discipline when it comes to matters like these, but right now - he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. Not nearly enough patience to wait. He lets his hands go up underneath your knees just to have something to hold onto.
You make a little gasp as the tip of his cock pushes into you. Your walls are so soft, likely after all the orgasms he’d given you prior. You stop him in a shocked gasp, and Charles immediately readies himself to pull out. As if sensing his hesitance, you shake your head.
“Charles,” You gasp, the words caught in your throat and hoarse “Deep. Want it deep,”
His abdomen tightens, cocking twitching hard at your words. He agrees silently to your desires.
When it comes to sex, there’s very little Charles dislikes.
But this is his favorite. He’s simple but no other position lets him see you so close. He likes the way your eyes widen as he pushes up underneath your knees and folds you underneath his weight. How you look pinned down under him, the perfect view of your eyes rolling back into your head and the proximity from your face to his. He lets his cock stretch you out slowly, throbbing each time your nails dig desperately into arms trying to keep your composure. Fuck you feel so tight like that. Soft pussy, dripping and sticky. You suck him in relentlessly, and Charles groans as he bottoms out. You take every inch of him so well. So perfect like the rest of you.
Your eyes flutter open as he stays there, buried in you in complete bliss. You’re dazed.
“Kiss?”
Surprise followed by adoration, he abides by your request easily. Overwhelmed with it as he presses a chaste peck to your mouth, he laughs. “As many as you want.”
Anything you want, Charles thinks, he would give to you.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆
#arthur morgan x reader#john marston x reader#javier escuella x reader#charles smith x reader#rdr2 x reader#rogues love letters#red dead redemption 2 x reader#THIS IS THE LAST TIME. THE LAST FUCKING TIME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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HOME
ʚ✩ɞ ratings: sfw, angst to fluff, comfort
ʚ✩ɞ cw/tw: jjk manga chapter 221 spoilers! slight angst and depressive tones. slight sexual tones hehe.
ʚ✩ɞ wc: 10.5k
ʚ✩ɞ tags: gojo satoru x fem!reader, husband gojo and wife reader are teachers
ʚ✩ɞ an: hi! yes, this is the first time ill be sharing one of the many works i have in my drafts (that im confidently not sharing ever). idek how it got this long. gojo being unsealed triggered something in me so i hope u enjoy. ( ˘ ³˘)♥
italicized texts are past dialogues! FEEDBACKS are highly appreciated.
you stared at the golden band around your ring finger, toying it around. your bed seemed to stretch twice its size and grow colder every morning that you wake up.
every morning, you trace the outline of the dips on his side of the bed. you left it dismantled the way he did, since 19 days ago. you could still see a few strands of silver hair on his pillow glowing under the daylight.
"satoru, please."
"you know there's a lot of souvenir shops in shibuya! maybe i'll take you to some if you're a good little wifey."
"you told me we're working together on this. just let me fight alongside with you-" you pouted and so he gives you a wet smack on the cheek and booped your nose.
"babe, my honey, sweetiepie, you're on children duties!"
"no fair!"
"don't worry, ijichi will take you there. toodles!" and then he warped out.
fools. you didn't even know half of the shit that was about to set loose.
the wooden sliding door of your shared room slammed open, startling you out of your thoughts. there stood an out of breath yuuji with both his hands clinging on to either side of the door frame.
"sensei," he looked at you with determination, a sense of sparkle behind his eyes.
no. no.
you can't have this right now. not right now. you were not ready--not when what you've been preparing yourself for was the worst. but this? this wasn't in your plan.
any indication of hope from him has all been but failure. you were under the high of false hope but now...now, you don't even know how to respond with this pressing matter in front of you.
what kind of wife are you to even think that way? will he even understand if you feel this way?
but you are here now and he is here now.
his frame stood patiently behind your student, waiting for you to say anything. but only the sound of your shallow, shuddering breaths filled the room.
the pink-haired boy staggered backwards to leave, as to give room to your man.
doors were always never tall enough for satoru so he has to duck down in order to grace the room with his presence. his presence that is so invigorating, with his own hint of charisma.
and there he is. he is still so beautiful. his alabaster hair unreasonably still glimmering. your eyes were met with the color of the sky--lustrous and comforting, anticipating you.
but beneath this façade, they were chagrin and desolated, designed with heavy lids and undereye bags that loitered his skin.
the man that came to face you is not your satoru. although indulging with the fact that he looks bigger, more rugged, with his toned arms filling up the sleeves of his shirt--this satoru is only the shell of the man that you used to know.
he scratched his neck, his eyes crinkling into a smile as he gave you a small assuring grin. he opened his arms, wide and warm, welcoming you into a zone you knew all too well.
"c'mere."
though against your will, your body seemed to have a mind of its own--lunging forward to the sense of familiarity that is in front of you. amidst the unconvinced and confused face you held, your body knew how much you ached for this moment and alas your feet brought you towards him.
he gripped your waist so tightly, so much that he could break you in half like--like there were no tomorrow.
words could not even begin to detail this feeling. missing him is an understatement. no--you yearned for him--for his touch, for his smell, for his warmth. for this moment.
you sank deeper into his broad chest. the feeling and the sound of his heartbeat confirming that this is all true and not just a pigment of your imagination, or not you going insane.
he stuck his nose on top of your head, breathing in your smell. god, he could cry. he missed you so much and he was going insane because he was beginning to forget what his favorite shampoo you use smells like.
the silence was both so comforting yet so delicate. there are both no words yet too many words to tell. one pin drop could make or break the atmosphere. a paradox in the flesh. just in character for your husband.
but just in time, he spoke up, breaking the tension. you had imagined this moment, him apologizing or saying i love you, over and over. but no, he yet again breaks the record.
"thank you."
the last thing you wanted was to ever forget him. so, you listened to every voice messages, voice mails, and videos that he sent you every day like it was a routine and a lullaby before you sleep.
you would not forgive yourself if you forgot what he sounds like.
with the sound of his voice triggering the turmoil in you, your chin quivered and your throat burned in an agonizing pain. all of the weeping and mourning you've suppressed poured out onto his shirt.
he brushed your hair and cooed you into silent hushes.
"i'm sorry."
"satoru, she never cried," shoko said.
gojo sat silently on shoko's loveseat chair with both his arms resting on its armrest. he is finally relaxed which unfortunately meant that he has the time to think.
all of the guilt is finally blossoming inside of him.
for the longest time, he wished that he'd be rid of all the burdens that are pushed onto his shoulders. he wanted to run away. with you.
but he knew that his being makes everything complicated and you'd be in greater danger beside him than staying with everybody else.
so, him being in that damned box? his wish came true. was he selfish to somehow feel relieved while being isolated, knowing everything he left behind and all the chaos that ensued?
his colleague and good friend, nanami, who all but strayed away from jujutsu, was pushed towards it again by gojo. and now he's gone.
his teacher and a parent that he considered, principal yaga, lost his life fighting for everyone--especially for the children that gojo was supposed to protect.
his students--tiny but fighter nobara, with half of her head barely even of any shape and unresponsive on a pale hospital bed. yuuji who always graced a smile, now looked like he aged a dozen. and megumi--his son, who always quietly rooted and stood for everyone, lost his hope and is now a vessel to sukuna.
and you. he could not even begin to think how much of a toll it took on you.
"she kept everyone glued together, you know. when everything was falling apart after you...you were gone, she held all of their hands."
shoko blew a smoke out of her office window then tapped her cigarette onto an ashtray. "every day, she cleans nobara's body with a wet towel. when the students would come back with all unimaginable injuries, she tended to them with all of her reversal."
"satoru, i had to clinically force her, just so i could tend to her own injuries for a day. she did not want to stop working as if..."
"as if she will lose it, if she stopped," he finished the sentence, holding a firm gaze with shoko.
she and him knew what it was like to grieve for someone but still having all the responsibilities demanded at every second.
gojo, whether everybody admits or not, was their source of hope. the students gravitated towards him, and even curses do not fail to see the light that he shines--attracting them like moths to a flame.
he tended to everyone's troubles, to the bullshit of the higher-ups that even led to him killing his own bestfriend.
but you-you are the damned closest thing to him. you were his half. you are his half. and everybody knew you are a gojo too.
so they all went to you. for 19 whole days, you shared, albeit, owned his responsibilities. and you had to keep it together.
you should not fall apart. you cannot fall apart. the children relied on you for their strength and you kept them all stuck together like a little patched-up family of your own.
you became him. a true gojo. although it sounds gratifying, it was the last thing that he wanted for you to ever encounter.
he never wanted to share his pain and bare all of his weaknesses to you. but you unconditionally took them all, without any words nor complaints.
"she-she wasn't there."
"she didn't want to be disheartened and defeated if it had failed. you were gone and she is here. still here. you know where to find her, so go."
it wasn't just you. he also does not have the heart to see your face yet--he never really had a say on when he was getting released, anyway.
but he went to you.
your palms cupped his face, searching every inch of his skin like it is something foreign. his large hands held onto them, rubbing slow and soft circles on it.
"i've missed you...so much." you mumbled, risking a hiccup and another bout of tears to pour out of you. he dried your cheeks with both his thumbs.
"i know. i know, sweetheart," his voice was soft, barely a whisper, as he brought his lips towards your eyes.
he kissed your eyes tenderly, as if commanding for them to close for a minute. satoru knew how much you needed to crack--he wanted you to fall apart on him and he can pick up all of the pieces. he can make you whole again.
he can hold you together with his warm hands, thawing and melting you into a puddle of your own unresolved emotions. molding you exactly, to fit perfectly right where you belong.
right here. right next to him.
to him, you are the apple of his six eyes. the immeasurable devotion of his limitless. and the bottomless beloved of his infinity.
he could never leave you again. not like that. not ever.
he pressed his forehead against yours, his proximity tickling you with his breath and his pillowy lips brushing against yours. he rubbed his nose on yours and his eyelashes feather on your cheek.
"i love you," he rubbed his thumbs on both your cheeks while holding your gaze, accessing all of your senses with his presence.
he wants you to know, he's here.
he tentatively leans closer, only kissing you daintly. "kiss me. kiss me, satoru."
and so he planted his hand at the small of your back, leaning forward, obliging to your words. he kisses you--deeply and passionately. your mouth presses eagerly, gliding with his lips fervently without any lapses, like your life depended on it.
you put your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss even more. he gripped your hips tightly, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
satoru is trying his best to not tear your clothes off, on behalf of his student waiting outside.
"god-" he retracted, staring at your eyes.
"i-" he kisses your neck "-missed you-" your chin "-so-" your nose "-much."
there is no reason for the both of you to be separated at all. not anymore.
and so he interlocks your pinkies together like he always did. you giggled and he grins widely.
"i'm here. i'm home."
#gojou satoru#gojo x y/n#gojo x reader#gojo fanfic#gojo fic#itadori yuji#jujutsu kaisen#⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ sunfl0werlevi#DADDY'S HOOOOME
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Worth It
Pairings: Stalker! I.T Steve
Warnings: Lurking/ Stalking (Please do not read if any of this content is triggering to you!)
A/n: Hello! It's been such a long time since I've shared anything. I'm at work. I sat down this morning and decided to write this instead of doing anything at my desk 👀.
Enjoy!
(Steve just wants to see you happy after all)
Waking up an hour early would be worth it.
Listening to finance bros drone on and on about their latest trade, and how much they expected in returns at 7 am loudly in the buildings coffee shop was worth it.
Nearly spilling his own drink trying to make it to your desk in time was worth it.
Seeing your smile would be his special treat for the day.
Steve slipped into your office under the covers of the early morning hours. Making brisk work of placing your favorite fall drink on your desk before anyone arrives in your department.
The week wasn't kind to you. Steve watched as you received email after email asking you to cover for your colleague, who picked up a bug that's been making its way around the office.
To say you were stressed was an understatement.
Steve was worried about you. You were the first to come in and the last to leave. You hadn't even logged into your Netflix account to watch your usual shows. Steve was missing spending that time with you. Simultaneously putting on whatever show you decided to watch. He didn't feel as close to you this week.
He was hoping this hot cup of your favorite fall drink would help brighten your gloomy week.
He quickly grabbed a sticky note and scribbled a note for you. He had to get out of your office, but not before cutting your webcam on. He couldn't wait to see you this morning.
Friday.. you felt like you could see the light at the end of the tunnel. This week was hellish, but Friday, your sweet savior had arrived.
You made your way through the office flicking on lights, opening the blinds. Today would be a good day, you could feel it.
Moving briskly to your office door. Your mind raced, a long list already forming of a million things in mind to get wrapped up today.
Sitting down with your purse and keys. You noticed a large Starbucks cup sitting at the end of your desk. You reached for the note it sat on top of.
You grinned at the note. This was so sweet. You needed to hear that after this long week.
Taking a sip from the cup, the cool foam and warm drink met you like an open hug. This was your favorite drink to get when the season changed.
Angie must have dropped this off for you. She'd been your rock this week as you IM back and forth about the work that didn't stop pulling up.
The sweet drink set the tone for the workday at hand.
Today would be a great day. You made quick work to put on your favorite playlist. Sipping your drink, glancing at the sweet note and smiling.
You were ready to power through Friday.
Steve couldn't help the wide grin spread across his face. He watched as you sipped and typed away at your desk.
You were happy.
All he needed was to see your smile, that had been few and far in-between this week.
He pressed play on the same playlist you'd just made and got to work with his own task for the day.
He knew getting up early this morning would be worth it.
Hope you enjoyed this little drabble!
My writing is a little rusty but hopefully I can post more soon 💛.
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The Siren And The Samurai Chapter 2
THIS HAPPENS AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE LAST EPISODE THERE MANY BE SPOILERS BE ADVISED
*warning! This will have alot of possibly triggering stuff just like the actual show so be advised.*
A bell was intruding the sleep of everyone on board, everyone had their own complaints, grunts, and fuss about it. While she also had her complaints, Mizu was actually looking forward to finding out who that ‘siren’ person was. Maybe she could get important information out of them? But first she wanted to try the food, she summed up her amount of coins, occasionally stopping to glare at fowler. He opened his mouth to mock her but was cut off by an eye roll and a purposefully harsh exhale.
She locked eyes with him for a quick second then quickly sped up the stairs before he could say anything. When she stepped foot outside she was finally hit with the “totally sweet” smell of London. She scrunched her nose in disgust and tried to power through it best she could. “It smells atrocious out here…” that comment from her caught a laugh from the leading boater.
“Yeah, its London! Of course it smells like shit and smoke.” She didn’t know what else to say to that other then just stare at him. She just sighed and started walking away from the port.
Not too far away from the plaza place was a little string of shops and stalls, Mizu inspected each one and found the one she liked, But before she could do anything there was commotion at the plaza, and Mizu wasn’t going to forfeit this chance. She passed through the crowd progressing her way to the stage.
This time there were more people waiting for them than booing them than last night, and one thing Mizu noticed was that most of their fans were women while most of the people booing were men; A little strange.
Then ‘the siren’ appeared. Something was familiar about them.. then it clicked. It was her. It was the girl, the strange girl from last night. She looked so pleased with herself even though the townspeople didn’t like her much, Mizu had a sort of respect for her for that. When she started to sing it was so different then how others described english music, then she heard what the antis were saying about it..
‘Rebel music’ and ‘Siren hex ’ even ‘ Witch Trance’
Then the lyrics.. of the song, it was so familiar to her past.. literally described her. She sung it so beautifully and the emotion in it almost made her cry. She was so in awe by the song she blocked out everything else even unintentionally getting closer to the stage.
“Thats why i call her Little Miss Blue.” The girl sung out like a songbird. When the applause erupted she gave them all a curtsy and sweetly smiled at them. She was quick to get off stage and run off but Mizu was quick to go after her. The girl noticed Mizu quickly and fear settled in her. She turned corners sharp trying to escape her follower, that ended when she was backed up into a dead-end.
The girl scouted something to defend herself with but came up empty handed. “O-okay!” She stuttered out nervously. “What do you want.?! Whats your deal??”
“Im just curious. I have some questions.” Mizu told her.The girl tilted her head in confusion.
“Tell me…”
Mizu licked her lips. “Okay, about the song.” She stared at her and gestured for mizu to elaborate. “Whats it mean? Whats it about?” She sighed.
“Its about a bounty..” she sighed then she realized. “Oh wait its you..” That caught mizu off guard. “Your ‘Little Miss Blue.’” She smiled looking like she was about to cry.
“The songs about me?” The girl giggled.
“Sound familiar?” She said proudly.
“Okay, whats your name?”
“Gracie, Gracie rey.”
“Okay look we need to go talk somewhere more private, because i have more questions.”
��Thats fine i know where to go.”
“Wheres that?”
“My flat, you can stay if you want, don’t torture yourself in that boat and don’t waste your money” she laughed. Mizu sighed.
“Okay fine but you try anything im going to kill you.” She said.
“Understandable.” She said at the empty threat. Gracie guided her to the flat. Mizu slightly flinched seeing it, it was in rough..shape. But people didn’t like her and that’s all she had, hey atleast she had shelter. The inside actually looked better than the outside, it looked cozy and sweet. It was styled with cute decorations, matching Gracie’s aesthetic. She pat a chair for her to sit down then sat in the one across.
“Okay so, why are you called ‘the siren?’” Mizu asked, unintentionally causing the girl to slightly flinch in disbelief.
“Please don’t actually call me that, men call me that as an insult because they claim i try to lure them in.” She paused for a moment to take a breath and calm herself. “But thats the exact opposite of what im trying to do.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“Don’t laugh please” she breathed out.
“I wont, i swear.”
“People usually laugh in my face when i tell them this because they think im too sensitive and too weak to lead, but im trying to start a rebellion.”
“Why?”
“Get to know me more and i’ll trust you enough to tell you.” Mizu nodded in understanding then Gracie got up and fixed a decoration on the fireplace. “Ever since i was a kid i never understood people’s way of thinking..” her venting caught Mizu’s attention. She breathed deeply before continuing. “ When i was 13 i heard about you, a man came back from japan and was literally bragging to my family about a blue eyed mixed race adolescent in japan that they are looking for. Everyone was disgusted by the thought of you but i didn’t understand why. So i stood up for you, and boy.” Gracie chuckled but Mizu didn’t open her mouth yet. “Then they called me a rebel. A siren, a demon just like they thought you were but i know neither of us actually are, they just project their biggest fears onto us which is themselves. Your not an onryo, Mizu. I think your eyes are beautiful.” She wiped a stray tear of her cheek. Then headed for her room. Mizu was glad she finally had someone who actually cared for her and was on her side but she didn’t know what to say or do. She needed time, time to process everything, her emotions and Gracie’s thoughts.
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The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)
Chapter Seven - Bake Sale
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |
Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - The calm after the storm.
Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader
8.7K Words
Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything
Author's Note: i think im super proud of this one omg guys also...I put a little note at the end cause i didn't wanna spoil anything by saying what i was gonna say. also i fixated so much on each section of this as i wrote it so its like half proof read and then i was like ok the rest is up to god
Masterlist
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The storm subsided at around 2:00 AM and it would go down as the biggest storm in Hawkins’ history to date. The flooding was unlike anything anyone had seen in years and the poor unequipped town was drenched to its roots. Minor water damage affected homes and businesses, nothing too devastating but an inconvenience nonetheless. A few trees had been struck down, if not by lightning then by the high winds that coursed through the night like they owned it. Streets were blocked off with caution tape and traffic cones as the damages were assessed and Hawkins Square was littered in deep puddles that would soak you up to the knee if you happened to misstep.
It was fitting. The world seemed to look just as you felt. Mutilated. Tarnished. The calm after the storm, indeed. Although things that night looked up between you and Eddie, an invisible peace treaty signed by the ink bleeding on the coffee cup, the scars didn’t just vanish. This wasn’t a movie, this was real life and things didn’t just become beautiful again over night. Pain didn’t just cease because you wanted it to or because someone said the right thing. Someone could say a million of the right things but it doesn’t excuse their wrongdoings and the harm they’re capable of. And it doesn’t erase them as someone who would pull the trigger on you if given the chance.
The sun flowed into the room at just the right angle, the kitchen countertop illuminated with the faintest rainbow in the morning light. Beauty after tragedy. It was cold, god was it cold. The apartment might as well have been a walk-in freezer at this point, a place where you could store cold cuts and popsicles without hesitation. But it was hard to complain about your living conditions when there was a warmth blossoming deep within your very being. Whiskey colored eyes had the same effect as the real thing. Warming you up from the inside out, relaxing every tensed muscle, melting away every stupid problem. It pooled deep within you, a buried desire that was clawing its way out of your chest. You’d been without a glance of those rich and honeyed irises for at least six hours, well into the beginning of the hour of 8:00 AM and yet it felt like you’d drank them in seconds ago with the way your veins heated. The way your blood pumped and your nerves mellowed out. If he was like a smooth shot of whiskey, you were at risk of becoming an alcoholic if you weren’t careful.
Snap out of it.
This was not a fairytale, things could not be fixed overnight. He was still a stranger to you, a shell, you could not settle into comfort so easily, no matter how good it felt. It didn’t matter that the buzz lingering beneath your surface was far more powerful than the first time at sixteen.
It didn’t matter.
All you knew was hurt by the hands of those closest and you weren’t going to let it happen again. Never again. Not even for boyish dimples. Not even for the stupid cup of hot chocolate. And certainly not for the way it felt to be pressed against his back when you begrudgingly accepted a ride home on his death machine of a motorcycle the night of the storm. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have prime real estate in the back of your mind.
–
His hair. Several curls falling from the confines of the low messy bun that should warrant a lecture from you on the food safety guidelines but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Soft brown tendrils framed a concentrated face, tongue poked out in deep thought at the simple task of blending ice and coffee. The grinding of the blades against the ice for longer than necessary should have you in shambles, causing an uproar, at the very least scolding him under your breath. You don’t. Instead it’s as if you’re under some kind of spell, a spell that continuously draws you to the insufferable but absolute Disney prince of a man before you. It had been years since you’d seen him in such a light and it made everything all the more conflicting.
I hate him.
Several curses escaped his delicately pink lips as the blender came to a halt, the consistency of the liquid was long overblended and almost became a thicker milk but all you could focus on as his back came to face you was his broad shoulders, far more adult than you’d ever realized. He was no longer a lanky high schooler, his frame had filled out and it filled out in his favor. Had his arms only recently become a touch manlier or did your subconscious automatically blur it out all those times you encountered him only to end up with even more distaste after each interaction? A distaste which would only blind you to the man he grew into.
No, I hate him.
But the moment you would tear your gaze away it would only gravitate right back to his hands which you guessed were noticeably larger than your own but you were in no position to find out. With his rings more than likely temporarily abandoned atop the table in the back, his fingers seemed bare. It only further made you appreciate them, a flash of a daydream posed in your mind where large hands decorated with chipped black polish rested at your waist.
No, no, no.
He was not yours to daydream about nor would you want him to be.
Although…it was okay to think of him as physically attractive all while still keeping him at a distance wasn’t it? After all, he was still awful. You force yourself to recall the horrible things he’s said to you but you can only counter it with the appalling remarks you’d made in return. Though he committed a horrendous act years ago that would make you bleed for years to come, you knew it didn’t warrant some of the comments you’d snapped at him in passing. Especially those about his social status. It was becoming apparent after the previous night’s conversation that you both struggled verbally and that his crude comments were always met with your degrading criticism. You were both instigators.
But it was proving difficult to keep him in such a villainous light when he was so radiant. So effortlessly alluring even as he tossed his liquified concoction into the sink with his brows knit tightly together and profanities falling from his tongue, thankfully quiet enough as to not alert any customers. In all honesty, all he’s proved was that he was an awful barista. Even then, it didn’t bother you as much as it should, your desire to scream at him would’ve been off the charts 24 hours ago. That desire hadn’t even been simmering beneath your surface, the only desire burning within your depths was something unspoken and something you could never let bubble over ever again. You wouldn’t.
Reality began settling back in, an enraged customer snapping his fingers at you, demanding your attention as your eyes widened at the realization that he’d been waiting on a simple black cup of coffee for the past few minutes. Had the shop been busier you would’ve found a polite way to shut him up but in all fairness there were only three other customers at the moment, two of which were already enjoying their drinks. Regardless, it didn’t seem to warrant the entitled behavior of the frowning middle aged man, a simple where is my order? would have sufficed.
“I’m so sorry, let me check on that for you.”
Customer service served with a smile. And a side of sarcasm.
“Oh, you’ll check on that? It’s a cup of coffee. How hard is it to make—“
“There was a mix up with the orders, here’s your coffee. My fault.” Eddie slid the cup across the to go counter to its awaiting consumer, eyes slightly narrowed.
There was no mix up. You really did forget all about the bland coffee up until you were rudely reminded. And it definitely wasn’t Eddie’s fault.
—
1 Week Later
There was no escaping how absolutely enchanting a mundane task such as scrubbing the sink was. It didn’t make sense and yet you lingered, pretending to rinse out the blender one time too many with the hope of catching Eddie’s forearms flex in his movements as he maneuvered the sponge around the sink.
Pathetic.
Which is why you tried so hard to snap yourself out of it. Though you told yourself a week ago that you could admire from afar, even that was starting to not feel like enough which is why it needed to stop. Eddie Munson had finally apologized to you but that didn’t mean throw caution to the wind. You don’t just suddenly trust someone that for years only gave you reasons to steer far from them. The key phrase was that he finally apologized. Meaning he took far too long. Fucked up too long ago and prolonged inexcusable behavior so far into the future that it was beyond repairing. He didn’t deserve your sympathy or your persisting gaze. Sorry meant nothing in the face of years of destruction.
Keep telling yourself that.
Because all you did was remain fixated on those stupid bats decorating his forearm for as long as rinsing out the blender would allow. You had no idea how big of a breath you were holding in as you stood there next to him until you pulled away, snagging a rag from beneath the coffee bar to dry the container. Lungs suddenly exhausted, you attempted to regain a semblance of your composure.
Every conversation since that one night had gone the same. A few words exchanged pertaining to work only, some on his behalf coming off as silly banter only for you to keep your focus on any task you could grasp nearby, acting as if he bored you. It killed him but he respected it. That didn’t mean he’d stop trying to make nice. If the only positive response he received from you all week was an accidental crack in your smile he would take it. It’d be gone quicker than it came but he cherished it all the same. In the last few weeks he came to terms with the fact that he could be on his best behavior but that didn’t mean you had to accept it which in turn meant that he would have to accept that.
So your muffled answers of ‘mhm’ and ‘yeah’ to everything he said felt like the end of the world to him but if it meant peace for you then he’d endure it. The way you’d avoid his eyes made him miss you. You were an arms length away but he missed you. And no, it didn’t mean he necessarily missed prodding at you because you both had this sick game of who could throw the worst insult for years, it meant that he missed your attention, whether it be in spiteful phrases or aggressive stares. He’d take what he could get and now, he was getting nothing. He was starved, absolutely deficient of your gaze even if it did hold such a hateful fire for him. Eddie supposes avoidance feels even worse than face to face conflict that was never even meant to be. And it’s only because the way you shut down made him feel non-existent in your world. At least before he had a place.
—
1 Week Later
Before every night shift at The Under-Ground was a grueling eight hours at the auto shop. Hours that Eddie would spend mentally ripping himself to shreds even more so than before your more recent communication with him. Although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he’d sometimes wager the idea of picking a small fight with you just to earn a fraction of your recognition, even if in a negative light. Then he’d quickly acknowledge that doing so would only provide further evidence that he was never worthy of a moment of your time in the first place. And he still fully believed that. But he was eager to someday become the guy that was.
So when Steve Harrington strolled into the shop, twirling his keys around his finger, Eddie’s grip on his wrench tightened as he pushed himself further under the Chevy he’d been working on. He’d never forgive Steve for all that happened, he’d take responsibility for his side of things but Steve inflicted a kind of pain on you that he could read in your eyes every time he saw you. Though you hadn’t said much about Steve to him directly, the way you fixated on him and Eddie being ‘together’ dulled a certain light within you. How could Steve let it happen if he knew the outcome? The same could be asked of himself but he was concentrating on Steve right now. The best friend. The last person in the world you’d think to hurt you.
“Hey, Munson.”
At his feet stood the man in question. The one that he’d swear to never associate with again. Ignoring him wasn’t going to accomplish anything however he tried regardless.
“Munson.”
Figures.
“Get outta here, Harrington.” Eddie remained monotone, uninterested in any persistence Steve was forcing upon him.
“Please, I need-“
“Need what? Need me to get you off again? Get out.” It was said between clenched teeth, patience no longer a virtue. There was rage bubbling under the surface and if he wasn’t careful, it would boil over and create an even bigger mess. His conscience silenced his true inner monologue though that didn’t completely shut down his capabilities of biting back. It was just much more stifled.
“No—what? No, of course not.” Steve’s nerves were fried and Eddie could tell just by the shake in his voice. Fluorescent lights did him no favors, his usually radiant glow now dull in the stuffy garage.
“Then what, what are you doing in my bay?” A seething Eddie slides out from underneath the sedan, sitting up to glare at the king himself. “‘Cause I don’t have time for—whatever this is.” He gestures between himself and Steve, fingers covered in grease.
“Just—I—have you, have you talked to her?” Distraught. Steve has the audacity to come off as distraught. Eddie’s deep breath only furrows Steve’s brows, the vein in his neck straining as he focuses on the nearly irate mechanic before him.
“Listen.” Eddie’s coveralls are further tarnished with the oily substance from his hands as he wipes them on the rough navy material, frustration evident in the way his eyes squeeze shut for a mere second. “You two seem to think communicating through me is going to fix this whole thing but it’s not.” If he could run a hand down his face out of habit he would. Instead he offers another sigh, a disappointed one. “You need to talk to each other. You keep using the enemy as a pawn and it's just gonna blow up in your face.”
“Munson, you’re not the enemy–”
Steve attempts to make nice, tries to let Eddie know that he’s not what he claimed him to be all those times. Truth be told, Steve was always jealous.
“Don’t try pitying me, dude.”
It’s silent aside from the clanging of some tools a few bays down, the two staring at each other, one displaying an expression of warning while the other creases his forehead in some form of a plea. An unsaid call for help.
“I’m not, I’m not! I think we’ve both fucked up. Bad.” Way to go, Steve. That’ll really help your case. “Only difference is you fucked up in high school, we were all still kids.” His words are lost on Eddie, he can tell by the way he reaches back to release his unruly curls from the confines of a bun, his head shaking around like a shaggy dog. “I fucked up now so there’s no–no excuse of ‘we were so young! I was dumb!’”
His excuse was that he’s selfish. That was really all there was to it, no bigger picture, no hidden meaning that might bring justice to his name. Steve was a horny guy and he in all honesty hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions. Not even after Robin just about tore him a new one after she found out about the first time. It’s like he’d forgotten all about the absolute heartbreak you went through, the fact that Eddie harbored a sore spot in your barely beating heart was miles away from his thought process. King Steve must not have been buried that deep beneath his surface after all, not long forgotten back in junior year like he’d thought. He was right here all along with the knife in his hand, unintentionally but still brutally stabbing you in the back. And in the aftermath he was forced to bathe in the product of his egocentric ways. No amount of self help books could remedy what seemed to be another broken heart, but even worse, platonically.
This wasn’t like when he and Nancy called it quits back in senior year. This was in a way, more gut wrenching and possibly pulled more tears from him than Nancy’s cutting but truthful words ever could. And that’s saying something. He shed a lot of tears that dreadful night but he’d go as far to say that he shed more the night you caught him hopping out of Eddie’s van. Repercussions slammed his very existence and all he could do was blame himself because you had done nothing wrong and yet he went and severed the very friendship of someone who stuck by him through every questionable thing he had done.
And it was all over someone he never had any feelings for in the first place. And over someone you did. At least at some point.
“Steve, I don’t have an excuse and you know it.” Eddie was aware that he sounded borderline pathetic but what else did he have to hide? His gaze lowered to his filthy boot, eyes as tired as his brain was before exhaling in defeat. “I still keep fucking up whether I mean it or not.” His pupils seemed to dilate in mourning, of what exactly, Steve couldn’t pinpoint. Then Eddie shook his head, resentment etched into his features as he ran his tongue behind his teeth before clicking it in displeasure. “Why are you even searching for an excuse? What we both did was shitty. But for you it might be even worse because while I was the ‘bad guy’ the whole time, you were still her best friend.”
Steve was well aware. He craved the bliss that came with being ignorant but that was no longer something he could allow himself to do.
“Yeah.” He breathes out, earnest eyes dropping to the scuffed floor below him.
“Yeah? That’s it? You need to like, go beg for mercy or some shit.”
Receiving advice from Eddie Munson was the last thing Steve ever thought he’d be doing and yet here he was. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was schooling him and suddenly everything felt so backwards. But maybe that’s how it needed to be in order for things to go back to how they were. For you to at least talk to him, if not to beg for your mercy then to apologize profusely before leaving his fate in your hands.
“I know, man.” A pitiful sigh escaped his lungs, too pitiful for Eddie’s liking.
The smell of fumes throughout the shop lingered in Steve’s nostrils which left him with a tinge of discomfort but nothing could prepare him for the way Eddie almost instantly stood to tower over him despite being around the same height. It was his demeanor that made him feel inferior. Dark eyes, deepening even more so from aggravation, lips contorted into a condemning scowl, fists clenched at his side, knuckles white.
“I don’t think you do, ‘cause why are you coming to me?” Flared nostrils declared a new vendetta against Steve.
“I-I…”
“Man up, Steve. Say whatever you’re trying to say to me, to her. I’m not the one who needs an apology.” It was fair enough. Steve wasn’t sure why he walked into that garage just minutes ago. Maybe it was because despite what everyone says, Eddie was fairly level headed. Maybe it’s because Steve needed someone stubborn to mentally beat some sense into him and Eddie was the only one he could think of to do it with no remorse.
With a noticeable gulp, Steve felt his eyes sting but didn’t dare let any tears surface. He was not throwing a pity party. “I don’t know how. She won’t even talk to me–I–every time I try–”
“That’s not my problem is it? ‘M just your boy toy, remember?”
Ouch.
Among the turmoil Steve had created, he failed to understand that Eddie could be just as affected. And what Eddie wouldn’t willingly reveal was that he was genuinely hurt. Because you were hurt. And because Steve seemed like the most oblivious idiot on the planet. Sure he had his words with you and he wasn’t proud of most of them but that was another beast. He had always been the opposing force, Steve was your right hand man the entire time. In all honesty, Eddie couldn’t care less about Steve using him for pleasure, he cared that he did it at your expense whether he bothered to know that or not the few times they met up. He knew he was just some guy so what was there to lose but Steve? Steve had a lot to lose.
“Eddie, you wanted it too.” Steve’s head shook in contemplation, longing for the right words but always finding the wrong ones.
“Yeah, well not anymore.”
Eddie’s harsh front faltered, exhausted as his shoulders slumped. Steve ran a nervous hand through his stupid big hair and for some reason it put Eddie on edge.
“Obviously.” Steve exhales, nodding before his eyes give away that he was lost in thought.
“So why are you here?”
A valid question. A question that Steve was finding he didn’t want to answer. But he had to.
“Because–because I feel like I, I owe you an apology.” He babbled at first, humiliating himself further before finding his footing and grasping the words that he knew would ground him. Even if he didn’t like it, he knew this was the start of putting the pieces back together.
“Again, you’re talking to the wrong person–” Eddie appeared worn out, head tilted back and gaze fixed to the ceiling as he let out a self soothing breath before being interrupted.
“I’m sorry for trash talking you for as long as we’ve known each other and then using you.” He never thought he’d hear such words from Steve Harrington. Which made it all that much more awkward to respond to.
“Thanks?”
Eddie expects that to be the end of it, waits for Steve to press his lips into a straight line in the silence and then stride out the large bay door without another word but he doesn’t. And he kind of wants to kick his ass as more words begin to pour from his mouth.
“I know…I know she should be the first person I apologize to, and, and I’ve tried to but she’s not my biggest fan right now.” Boo hoo. That’s the only response Eddie can conjure up so he keeps his mouth shut. “And I guess, I feel like I can’t until I fix this first because Eddie…” Steve sucks in such a large breath that Eddie feels like he may have been on the verge of passing out. But he also senses it’s because all of this is very difficult for Steve to say aloud. Within the same breath, Steve releases the rest of the words he was clutching so tightly to in his chest. “She was so head over heels for you back then and I fucking spit on your name no matter how much she talked you up. And I know you ruined things on your own but I went and fucked things up on my own and I don’t know how I could’ve done it so easily knowing, knowing how much she liked you and then how much she was hurt by you. And then I went and did what I did, it just–it doesn’t make sense, I know.”
It’s quiet again. Neither man speaking, only looking at each other in anticipation. And after several moments of distant metal clanging against metal a few bays over, Eddie finally clears his throat.
“Harrington,” He starts, eyes flashing with the most intimidating fire you’d ever see. “You’re throwing the biggest pity party I’ve ever seen and if this is how you plan to apologize to her you should just give up now.”
The sentiment was cruel but beneath it was a plea of ‘get your shit together, please’. And god, he hopes Steve picks up on it.
“Yeah…yeah.” Steve’s eyes were glazed over, the thinnest sheen of tears coating them before he blinked them back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
Eddie guesses Wayne is rubbing off on him because his next words come off more wise than cruel. An unexpected empathy resonated within him though he doesn’t fully believe it’s well deserved.
“What you need to do is just admit you messed up. No excuses. If she really matters to you, you don’t need to sit here and apologize to me and get all up in your feelings. You need to talk to her and if she doesn’t wanna listen…” He sighs, a sort of calm overtaking him. “Well, respect it.”
Steve seemed to ponder, the advice overwhelming him but still penetrating through his thick skull.
–
Steve👸: Hey
Steve👸: Can we talk?
Sox🧦 : No
Steve👸 : Five minutes. And then you’ll never have to hear from me again. Promise.
“Who are you texting?” Will leaned over to view your phone screen, ever the nosy boy. Quickly clicking the off button, you refrain from sharing any messy details of what happened between you and Steve. Sure he’d seen the initial smack down in the parking lot which you regret but he didn’t need to know anything more. Hell, he didn’t even know that Robin was out of your circle.
“No one, I was just checking something for one of my assignments.”
“Liar.” What you always forgot was how much of a bloodhound he was. Could sniff out anything that smells slightly off. It always caught you off guard although it only made you look like a fool since he did it time and time again. Throwing a surprise party for his sixteenth birthday was impossible with the way he was such a detective.
“Nuh uh!” You defended, placing your phone face down on the flour coated counter of the Byers kitchen, an egg taking its place in your hand as you cracked it against the off-white ceramic bowl.
“Yuh huh! Give me that–”
“Knock it off!” Waving Will off, you threaten in a simple gesture to let the slimy egg white and yolk ruin his newest Hellfire shirt, a special edition design created just by him. It was quite impressive actually, dragons symmetric on the front, breathing fire onto the logo overlaid with a skull and crossbones.
With a scoff, Will surrenders with his hands thrown up and eyes wide, amusement prominent across his face. “It’s Steve, I already saw it. So what are you trying to hide from me this time?”
“What–I’m not trying to hide anything.” You were just further certifying yourself as a liar, but you felt this one time it was for good reason.
“Then why can’t I see it?”
An intense stare burned into the side of your face as you attempted to resume your unfinished baking, barely even started but the kitchen showcased several dirty bowls, some housed in the sink piled high in soapy water while others were scattered across the laminate. Brownie batter, cookie dough, cake mix, the works. It would appear as if you were preparing for a bake sale if anyone were to walk in. But was just a Friday night turned into a full fledged baking frenzy on a whim. Which was much needed after a particularly stressful shift at The Under-Ground, it had been busier than most days, mostly because fall activities began to ensue. Hawkins’ famous hayride had started up for the season and dropped off several families in the square who only trickled into the shop for hot drinks and buttery yet sweet pastries. Screaming children were not something you were anticipating hearing all night but it made you appreciate the calm of closing up after, only the sounds of you dropping change into the register mixed with Eddie humming under his breath as he swept up graced your tired ears.
“Just leave it alone. Please?” An eggshell is tossed into the makeshift scraps bowl you’d set aside nearby, a bit too aggressively for comfort. A telltale sign that Will should not leave it alone.
“I’m not a baby. You don’t need to protect me from all the ugly shit that happens.” He was seventeen, still a baby to you. But the irritation was apparent in the way that he grabbed the bowl of brownie batter from the counter, glaring at it like it owed him money, however you knew the glare was meant for you. “I wanna be there for you like you’re there for me.”
Fuck. That just about ripped your heart in two. He was such a sweet kid, always wanting to do right by those he cared about. You bounced the idea back and forth, should you enlighten him or continue shielding him? Your decision was made for you when the words tumbled from your lips, your subconscious declaring that Will could forever be the baby of the group but he was growing up regardless and you couldn’t hold him to that standard for eternity. He would eventually have to face uncomfortable situations and hiding them from him completely might do more harm than good, he deserved to be in the know and to feel like an equal rather than some naive child.
“Okay. Um–yeah, it’s uh, it’s Steve…”
“And…?”
“He just wants to talk.”
Your wooden spoon scraped against the bowl, combining the dry and wet ingredients together, your concentration never leaving the forming batter. Red velvet. Will set down the brownie batter he had been inspecting, reaching for a glass dish and proceeding to butter it up generously, the oven already preheated behind him.
“You haven’t talked to him since…” He cocks a curious brow at you, momentarily looking up at you from his current task.
“No. No, I don’t even wanna see him.” Your admission is quiet, almost ashamed. “But, um, let’s just, let’s just finish this up.” The attempt to change the subject fails, the boy dropping his head down to catch your averted eyes.
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“No.” You tread carefully, ever so cautious of the fact that Will had the ability to catch the slightest hesitation in your tone.
“Really? Cause I smell bullshit.” Such a damn bloodhound.
“Why would I want to talk to him? Didn’t you see what happened?” Though it was a fair point, you knew you were being avoidant and that it wouldn’t necessarily help anything, only prolong the pain and the awkwardness that would come with finally speaking to him. It had been weeks which would already create a nasty film between the two of you, something grimy and difficult to just scrub away.
Will offers a sympathetic sigh, and unspoken ‘I know you’re hurting but isolating yourself is only going to hurt more’ and you’re fully aware that he knows that feeling all too well. “I did see and it was really bad. But you’re not even gonna hear what he has to say about it?” His gentle approach was appreciated though it was just the way you talked to each other about these things. No judgment, only the right questions.
“Will, you have no idea of some of the other things that happened years ago that make this so much worse than it already is.” You’d regret how whiny you sounded except he’d seen you at your most vulnerable before so it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before.
“Okay, then what do I not know?” The gooey chocolate batter is poured into the glass dish he had prepared, resembling how your feelings were about to ooze right out of your very being.
“I’m not getting into all that now.”
“No, you don’t get to do that!” He doesn’t sound unkind but not the friendliest either, slamming the now empty bowl on the counter. You had it coming, you suppose. “You’re visibly stressed out, even worse lately, I’m one of the only ones that notices and I’m not even allowed to know the full story?”
“Will.”
There’s no saying no to his expression, blue eyes blinking at you and brows raised in anticipation. There’s no trace of judgment, just curiosity and worry. And just as you’re about to dive in head first and reveal all that you tried to withhold, the ring of the doorbell shuts you up just as fast.
The digital numbers on the stove read 10:46 PM, an ungodly hour for anyone to be ringing someone’s doorbell which is why you and Will share the same puzzled look, eyes shifting from each other toward the front door just off the kitchen. Will doesn’t necessarily live in the most populated area so there’s reason to be concerned over a visitor at such late hours.
“You get it.” Will rushes out. “Nose goes!” A speedy finger touches the tip of his nose, your cheeks flushing in irritation as the doorbell chimes once more. “Go!” He whisper yells, gently pushing you toward the door. A scowl remains on your face as you take your time. Will would do anything for you. Except sacrifice himself to the serial killer knocking at his own front door apparently. You’d never cursed a door so harshly for not having a peephole.
Deep down, you knew it’d more than likely be someone like Jonathan. It was the logical explanation, he’d lost his key and since he didn’t live here anymore, now residing in an apartment closer to downtown with Nancy, he didn’t have the urgency to replace it. But Jonathan would usually be pounding on the door, announcing that it was him. Could it be Joyce? Doubtful. She always knew where everything was and keys were the most important out of everything you’d come to learn after she scolded Jonathan for not replacing his old key to the house just in case of an emergency. Maybe it was Lucas? He never screamed or announced his presence when showing up. Couldn’t be Dustin or Mike, they were too rowdy and would never wait this long before jiggling the handle and yelling that they knew Will was home and to ‘answer the damn door’. It could be El? But never Max. Max had a distinct knock, firm and heavy, no bullshit, never rang the doorbell. The build up was only making you more anxious by the second as you’d reached for the doorknob. You’d probably be the first one dead in a horror movie, you had no idea why you let Will force you to answer his door. Regardless, you ever so slightly twisted the knob and the door creaked open, only a sliver of the outside visible as you tried your best to peek around the crack. And before you could even begin to make out any figure awaiting entry on the porch, a large hand splayed across the wood and pushed it effortlessly, sending you stumbling back as the wind knocked out of you.
“Okay, Byers. Where’s my dice? And my game controller?”
Eddie.
He’d side stepped through the door, forcing his way in obviously only expecting Will but still not realizing you stood before him as he glanced around the house.
“C’mon you knew I’d be stopping by after work, little Byers. I’ve been looking for that controller for fucking weeks–”
You could pinpoint the moment realization hit him that he was mouthing off to you and not Will. His eyes seemed to almost soften. Pupils dilating so suddenly. And then he was speechless, mouth opening and closing but words never spilling out. Then it hit you that you probably looked ridiculous in the Mickey Mouse apron you had been strutting around in, various types of batter smeared on your cheeks and chin, maybe some on your nose too but you couldn’t remember. And god, you were wearing your fuzzy pajama pants littered with pumpkins and bats finished off with some fuzzy socks that were striped like candy corn.
Eddie had never wanted to fall to his knees for someone so badly in his life.
He’d never seen you like this before.
Tacky.
In the most adorable way.
“I–um, I was looking for–”
“Will?” You finish for him, desperately trying to pull our eyes away from him but finding it impossible. And then you realized what he was wearing which only spurred on your need to drink him in. A black Metallica shirt cropped just above his happy trail, sleeves cut off to display his tattooed arms and black sweats that hung just right on his hips complete with a pair of black converse on his feet. For a second you wondered how he wasn’t shivering. You could only hope that he wouldn’t notice your drooling, praying that the dim lighting would cast enough shadows over your face that any fondness you were displaying would be hidden.
“Y-yeah.” He swallows, fingers tangling in a few of his curls before resting back at his side, keys dangling in his other hand.
“Kitchen.” You mumble, pointing.
He nods, the silence taunting you both as you trail behind him into the kitchen. Will is already staring wide eyed as you enter, looking between you with something amusing behind his expression. And in that moment the awkwardness melts off of Eddie, his usual cocky self returning.
“Dice? Controller? Man, I told you I was gonna come by–”
“I forgot but I have both–”
“Oh, you forgot?” A mischievous grin overtakes Eddie’s face, Will playing along with it as they both brace their palms flat against the kitchen island, staring at each other instantly but with playful intention.
“Ed, don’t do this.” Will warns, unable to maintain a serious face, corners of his lips pulling despite his best efforts.
“Oh, I have to.”
Eddie fakes him out, body about to move to the right but instead quickly changing to the left to which Will screeches in mock fear, rushing to the other end of the kitchen. Any time Will goes to make a move, Eddie is seconds quicker than him. When Will tries to make his big escape he’s instantly caught in a chokehold, the metalhead’s arm secured around him as he ruffles his hair with a fist, the classic noogie. Will’s laughter is contagious, a few ‘stops’ littered throughout and you can’t help but join and giggle as you watch the scene play out before you.
“Dice?” Eddie halts his movements to ask, side eyeing the boy.
“On the desk–in–in my room.” He answers out of breath, clutching onto Eddie’s forearm.
Eddie continues his torture on Will, rough housing a little more before stopping once again.
“Controller?”
“Coffee table! Are we done?!”
“Nope.” A full on wrestling match takes place in the small confines of the kitchen, both boys stumbling around and bumping into cabinets.
It was weird. You knew Eddie and Will were pretty close but you’d never seen them like this and maybe it's because you refused to linger in a room long enough if Eddie was there. Now you didn’t really have the urge to leave. All you could do was watch. Eddie’s dramatics flared as he cackled in Will’s face, Will telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ between gasps for air.
“Tap out.” Eddie demands.
“No!”
“Tap. Out.”
At some point you hadn’t even paid attention to the way Will hesitated in surrendering, you were too caught up in the way Eddie’s already cropped shirt rode up in the position he was in, his waist looking all too enticing, lower back on full display however you refrained from trailing your eyes up his spine.
Stop it.
“Okay, I tap out!” Will smacks his hand against Eddie’s forearm that was secured around him, instantly granted relief after saying the magic words.
“Eddie The Banished reigns supreme.” He pumps his fist in the air in triumph, face scrunched in victory.
You roll your eyes but in all honesty, it’s not out of pure annoyance just this once. It feels more like when a friend does something stupid and all you can feel is warmth flush through your body and your initial reaction comes naturally. Effortlessly.
“Okay, now get your precious things and go.” Will points at the door, sass overtaking every movement, the playful energy still buzzing between them.
A pang in your heart says don’t go. But you remain quiet as a mouse in the corner between the sink and the microwave. You don’t mean that. You try to bargain with yourself. Seeing him in this light does not excuse his past no matter how much of an ache you feel in your chest. The good kind.
“Okay, okay.” Eddie sighs, catching his breath, a grin still stretched across his face. “Hey, what the fuck happened here?” He stops in his tracks, gesturing to the atrocity that has become every surface of the kitchen. Batter and dough of all kinds smeared along the countertops, eggshells discarded along with balled up foil on Will’s side of the mess, and of course the towering bowls just about ready to tumble out of the sink, filled with suds, wooden spoons and whisks. And of course the bag of chocolate chips that had spilled, sprinkled across the surface, some even dismissed on the floor, there was even some kind of dough caked onto the handle of the fridge.
“We’re having a bake sale.” You break your prolonged silence from the corner, mouth upturned in almost a smirk but not quite, it’s more like you’re holding in a laugh. At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s head snaps in your direction, molten chocolate eyes landing on you in such a way that has your breath hitching.
“A bake sale?” He questions, doubt written across his handsome features, his tone hinting at the fact that he knows you’re bullshitting him.
“Mhm.”
“Aren’t you like–aren’t you bad at baking?”
How does he know that?
Will’s eyes widen and he sucks in the most subtle breath. That’s how.
“Can’t I be bad at something but also still try?” You argue.
“I dunno, can you?” It’s almost mean, almost. But it doesn’t feel the same as when he’s usually ridiculing you. The dimple peeking out at you provides evidence of an opposite intention. He’s teasing but not to be a dick, unless you were reading him wrong. And there was very little chance that you were since the past few weeks at work, he had almost left you alone all together save for a few questions here and there and maybe a few bad jokes. But other than that he was solely a coworker who you held no personal ties to.
“Well that’s how you learn. You keep trying until you get it. So far nothing has burned and the batter tastes good–try it.” You don’t know what you’re trying to prove but your body had already been on autopilot, it’s sole mission to keep him from leaving. A wooden spoon coated in red velvet cake batter is offered to him, you twirling it to keep it from dripping everywhere. Eddie glances from you to the spoon a few times rather quickly, almost as if he’s waiting for you to psych him out and tell him to go to hell. In a way he wishes you would just so he knows he isn’t dreaming. He makes his way around the island, standing next to you, not too close but just close enough that he can steal the spoon from you, his tongue licking up the back of it. The sight is strangely erotic.
“Not bad.” He hums, continuing until the spoon is halfway clean. You want to mention that he’ll risk getting sick from eating too much, raw eggs aren’t exactly ideal to eat even if disguised as a delicious batter, but that would show that you care. Which you don’t.
“What am I missing?” Will addresses the elephant in the room, containing a smile that might be too big for his face if he were to let it take over.
“What?” You ask, head tilted in a way that has Eddie’s eyes lingering for a moment before turning his head and copying your actions, tongue still committed to the spoon, licking up every ounce of sweetness.
“Are we–did we–end up in a parallel universe? Why aren’t you threatening to kick his ass?” He points an accusatory finger at you. “And why aren’t you making snarky comments?” He points to Eddie who is still too busy licking any remnants of the mixture.
All you can offer is a casual shrug before snatching the utensil right from Eddie’s hand, tossing it into the overflowing sink. “I’ll kick your ass if you were even going to think about double dipping that spoon in my bowl.” You warn, a touch mean. “There, are you happy?” You look to Will for approval, skepticism still painted all over his face, his arms crossed in uncertainty.
“I wasn’t done.” Eddie frowns, ignoring your threat to instead dip a daring finger into the bowl of artificial red.
“Hey!” Both you and Will begin to reprimand him.
“Just one more–” He doesn’t finish his thought as you grab the bowl, holding it behind your back.
“Say I’m good at baking. Both of you.”
Eddie and Will look to each other in perplexity. Will can’t comprehend the sudden playfulness you have for both him and Eddie. Usually this would end up in an argument, one saying something a bit too offensive for the other’s taste and from there it would spiral. Instead neither party is engaged in conflict but rather play and it’s not unwelcome, just…weird.
“Excuse you?” Eddie takes the bait.
“The two of you seem to talk trash about my baking skills behind my back but I didn’t see you complaining two seconds ago while you salivated all over the spoon.”
You only receive a scoff in response, Eddie crossing his arms as if to appear more intimidating. He only looks more like a misunderstood teddy bear.
“Say it.”
“Anyone can make cake out of a box.” He retaliates, Will releasing a small gasp as he hides his smile under his hand.
“Oh, okay. I’d love to see you out of all people bake a cake.” You challenge him.
“This is more like it.” Will mumbles, though he knows this is not at all the usual bickering that happens between you.
“Oh, you want me to out-Betty Crocker you?” Eddie threatens.
“You can try.” You shrug, setting your bowl back onto the counter.
“No, no. I will.”
“Guys it’s literally cake from a box.” Will intervenes.
And so started the greatest bake off the Byers’ kitchen has ever seen.
–
“Okay, wait. I have a grievance with this competition.” Eddie speaks up, abandoning an uncracked egg on the countertop only for it to roll off and crack at his feet. “Damn.”
“What’s the matter now?” Will asks in mock annoyance. Every other minute Eddie had a near microscopic complaint but it only entertained you. Curses at wrong measurements, that his bowl wasn’t as pretty as the others, or that he wanted the whisk Will was using.
“Why don’t I get matching pants?”
You glance down at your Halloween themed pajama pants and then to Will’s. They were a steal at Target and you couldn’t resist, knowing Will would love them as much as you did. That, and every year you bought a matching pair for both fall and christmas. You can’t help but feel a huge smile pull at your lips, the sight of Eddie pouting with his hands on his hips is all too endearing.
“For one, you weren’t even invited to this sleepover.” You sass, pouring your newly mixed chocolate cake batter into its pan. “And two, this is our thing.” You gesture between you and Will standing a few feet next to you, Eddie directly across the island sporting an even bigger frown.
“Yeah, you kinda crashed our party.” Will adds, snickering with you.
“Wow. I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and instead you pledged your undying loyalty to me.” Always a drama queen. “Whoa–wait, wait! How are you already done I haven’t even–” He quickly realizes you’re already setting your masterpiece in the oven while his bowl still contains both dry and wet ingredients, unmixed.
“Guess we can already tell who’s gonna ‘out-Betty Crocker’ who.” You smirk.
“Oh, hell no.” He mutters under his breath, suddenly focused on mixing.
While Eddie just about buries his head in the bowl, Will graces you with a look. A knowing look. You claim innocence with a lift of your brow but you both know. You’re just too ignorant right now to acknowledge it.
–
Seeing Eddie Munson dancing and screaming to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift was something you could never even fathom and yet here he was. Unapologetically singing every word and putting on one giant show with Will, singing into random kitchen utensils while the speaker blared the song. He knew every word. You didn’t dare interrupt the choreography they had come up with on the spot, watching from your comfortable perch on the stool at the counter.
Will sounded like a dying animal and it occasionally had you reaching up to cover your ears but your smile never faltered. And Eddie was unstoppable. He didn’t sound that bad though he was shouting along with Will at the top of his lungs so you figure if he actually tried he would sound angelic. Once the song reaches the bridge you can’t help but drown in your own laughter, both of them strutting in between where the living room meets the kitchen as if it were their own personal runway.
Your eyes open, nearly crying only to find Eddie just feet away extending his ‘microphone’ to you with a raised brow and a cocky grin. Your immediate reaction is to shake your head, your nerves instantly on edge at the mere idea of holding any kind of attention.
“C’mon, you’re gonna miss the bridge again!” Eddie waves you over in a rush. You don’t budge, a flash of worry washing over you and it seems that it was written all over your face. “C’mon Roadkill, don’t make us finish off without ya.” He half jokes, Will still screeching like a banshee behind him. “Do it for little Byers.” He cocks his head toward the boy, pleading eyes begging you to change your mind.
Slowly, you emerge from your comfy perch, snatching up your own ‘microphone’ with a bashful gleam in your eyes. Just in time for the bridge again, you strut toward Will who excitedly starts jumping and nodding at your participation.
“I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you!” You yell in each other’s faces, wheezing as you continue dancing–if you could even call it dancing. Your confidence skyrocketed. Turning toward Eddie, you sing to each other the last line of the bridge.
“And I screamed for whatever it’s worth, I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard!”
Chests heaving and mouths hung open, his eyes swallow you whole, dark honey slowly pulling you under. Your first instinct is that you should run but he feels too much like home to ever willingly leave. If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right to stare into pools of deep amber?
~end~
Author's Note: okay if you're reading this TY SO MUCH. The scene where reader is kinda admiring eddie at work, i had 1 step forward 3 steps back by olivia rodrigo playing along with it for me and rather than something super sad, it's kind of the opposite in this case as theyre coming out of their angsty era so if you just listen to that and imagine her admiring him with a little content smile on his face as he works it makes me want to SCREAM lmk if it does the same for you ok BYE <3
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tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface @rustboxstarr @3rd-conchord @eddiessteady @lightcommastix @kittydeadbones @shadows-echoes @str4ngerthingsslut @winchester-angel @elegantkoalapaper
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fic#eddie x reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x fem reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson series#stranger things fic#st fic
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Honestly my biggest fear is to end up writing my characters the same way vivzie does, I feel like she doesn't even try on certain characters(female characters and literally any other that isn't her "uwu baby boi must be protected at all costs" characters like stolas, angel dust). Like imagine completely missing the point of your own character/srs
to everyone pre-release worries and anxieties just as much as I have-- Please take this time to read or explore different interests of books or authors of subjects and genres you like ! In the era of internet where the golden age of information is rusting into brainrot, the less time online anymore the better. I've been taking javascript/python tutorials for myself attempting to make a dating simulator for literal years at this point and its bounced around to the point of where I branched off to develop my own murder mystery 2-d sidescroller !
I wish for this to be a farewell letter to the crushed hopes and dreams I had for the original hazbin pilot and crew has moved on to other things whereas viv attempted to spitefully keep a story she clearly doesn't have any passion over- it is very evident over her lack of care for her own characters purely for the monetary gains of attempting and sadly wriggling her way into industry the way she did is so abhorrent to the world of genuine art and animation I grew up with.
Has Vivzie ever read a Felix the Cat comic strip or Dilbert even Hägar The Horrible? Does she even know about the history and strive of depth that animation has been at for hundreds of years? Does she even like comics, clearly not if she doesn't even have the patience to write her own and horribly rush whichever story she's interested in that day. I've never seen a careless writer be this selfishly unashamed to write literal garbage and surface level 'intrigue' of design and then falling flat face first at EVERY step. Hope she becomes as unbearable of a director as John K. is because honestly even though I'm cringing making that comparison, it's pretty fair in my book considering the outright ABUSE she has always trying to talk or hoard artists into her 'pet project'
I recommend above anything else to watch Dan Stamanolous' 'Moral Orel' if you want an actually funny dark comedy or Christy Karacas' fast paced dark horror comic-come-to-life Superjail! for good animattion that doesn't belittle its audience... *[Trigger Warnings for Adult Swim-esque outdated 2007 humor and light transphobia, read for your own triggers if you dont want to though, please!]
The fact that Stollitz is written so flimsily like a wattpad fanficiton of tropes rolled into one is astounding to me, I used to like the dynamic pre-season 2 as I've mentioned on here and @tired-hellowl so I really don't want to get a headache going into how I USED to like it-Realizing the problematic consent issues all of STOLASS is, I physically cannot watch another Helluva or Hazbin promo anymore without rolling my eyes into the back of my head.
To the anons and people who used to also enjoy vivs work, there are other artists and there are other stories to tell. If you wish to be inspired from Dante's Inferno/Hell or WESTERN CHRISTIAN BASED RELIGION keep in mind what source material you're doing because I don't even think vivzie has picked up the bible once in her life.... And I say this as a drifter in the world who believes in reincarnation I don't really vibe with the athiest stereotypes however, I don't believe in most religion but more power to people that do get hope and love from their teachings and cultures.
She entirely missed the mark for several years, nearly a decade. Viv has had time and time again chance and opportunity to give a chance of storytelling with demons and what does she do?
Adult Cartoon that has the demons scream 'FUCK SHIT DAMNIT DAMNIT LOOK IM SO HORNY AND SILLY AND WACKY WOAHH THE SCREEN IS CONSTANTLY MOVING YOU CAN NEVER HAVE A SECOND TO BREATH IN ANY AMOUNT OF WORLBUILDING OR SETTING BECAUSE FUCK. YOU.'--
I have said this time and time again- there is no substance or worth about Helluva Bosses or Hazbins writing, even without the show not being released because Amazon seems ashamed about it, I know it'll be a shitshow.
Honestly at this point I agree with the redesign community, take any character you used to like and rewrite them until it's unrecognizable from the original source material, let those fuckers in space fight alien pirates or hell take them out of the heaven and hell trope and just flip it on it's head entirely out of earth or wherever you want to set your story! I'm personally redesigning angel to be a slight aid to my addiction help via rewriting him into my murder mystery heheh while keeping the sexual abuse and recovery in mind because woah that shit happened to me too man !!!
I wish the best to any future writers, animators, programmers, lovers of animation or art, you can do what you put your mind and hands to! Spread more positivity and love then hate in this world please guys, this'll be the last time I pop in I promise I'm trying to get a better job and hopefully get accepted in a community college that i've been on the fence over trying to do more online coding !
The sky is the limit!<3
#anti vivziepop#trash askbox#helluva critical#i dont want to be mean in the tags and overtag like i usually do#however#vivziepop critical#please stop supporting spindlehorse#please stop supporting vivziepop#anti helluva boss#genuine art criticism#genuine art tip box#<3 signing off#!!! <3#my.silley.art
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PLEASE DO IT
the people have decided, here's a fanfic rec list of dsaf fanfics that arent focussed on davesport! (in no particular order)
Centipedes by Raccoonsandpossumswritesometimes [incomplete]
Dee centric fic which is a swap between Dee and Jack. Not only is davesport not the main focus, it's also pretty toxic. TWs at the beginning of each chapter, but heed the tags.
Hello, You. by galaticanthem [incomplete]
Another similar premise to Centipedes. If you think davesport is toxic in centipedes though, here it is arguably worse. Plot is a bit confusing as of chapter 7, but as it stands, here are the trigger warnings that I can remember off of the top of my head (but basically, if you're sensitive to disturbing themes, i'd skip this one):
Murder
Abuse
Kidnapping (by the looks of it but ????)
Underage drinking
Neglect
Body horror (I think??? it's so early into the fic im unsure of half these warnings but as it is rn i think it is important they're there because thats what it looks like at least)
Dave is very objectively NOT a good person in this fic. Like, at all. I don't think any future chapter could change that. If you're a person who cannot read about their favourite character committing absolutely heinous things theres nothing wrong with that and I wouldn't read this. If you can stomach all that though, it's a good story.
Dave and Old Sport Adopt a Kid by Wario_Speedwagon [incomplete]
Davesport is there and it's prevalent and not toxic, but it's not the main focus. It's more of an accidental baby acquisition fic. I can't think of any trigger warnings for this one, but check the tags. always.
Matted Fur by Afval [one-shot]
Evil ending fic with rabbit symbolism for Dave. All TWs are in the tags.
Sharp-Toothed Rabbit by orphan_account [one-shot]
More evil end Dave ft. animal metaphors! what more could you want? All TWs in the tags.
happiest day by grimkid [one-shot]
A fic about Jack's happiest day. Jack x Steven, no TWs iirc but heed the tags.
Octane Rating by dontrollthedice [one-shot]
Canon compliant fic about the good ending, only its harrysport. i dont even like the ship but this fic makes me so unwell /pos. No TWs I think but look at the tags.
NO MIDDLE-CALLING by XYZ_Countoriss [one-shot]
Silly chatfic, what can go wrong? -oh that right. No TWs needed, but look at the tags.
Operation Get Your Brother to Remember You After Years of Thinking He is Dead by Sockth [incomplete]
A fic focussed on Peter and Jack, I think the title is self explanatory. No TWs but look at tags.
Safety Infiltration by themostneontwig [incomplete]
After Jack betrays Dee in the evil route, Dave decides he needs to be stopped. A fic based around the idea of Legacy Jack founding the pizzaplex. No TWs that instantly come to mind other than the fact that it's set almost immediately after Jack kills Dee. Look at the tags though.
Hot Chocolate by Wario_Speedwagon [one-shot]
Ouch, set right after Jack dies the first time round. This fic physically hurt me and I mean that in the best way possible. TWs in tags.
After the Storm by themostneontwig [one-shot]
Christmas fic focussed on Peter and Jack. Read this one after Hot Chocolate, it can save you. No TWs unless you're Ebenezer Scrooge in which case dni
Jack's Squad Has UNO Night by Wario_Speedwagon [one-shot]
The title's a lie they play cluedo /j just some wholesome fun. No TWs.
An Unexpected Connection by End_Transmission [one-shot]
Post good end, but Jack 'lives'. We all know Dave had at least ONE kid. No TWs.
Peter Kennedy and the Worst Place on Earth by biptari [incomplete]
AU where Jack and Peter swap places. Steven x Peter. As for TWs I can't say everything off of the top of my head but I KNOW Henry is homophobic and transphobic in this. I can't remember if he says slurs 100% but I'm pretty sure he does use at least one so like, watch out. Other than that, heed the tags.
That's all I have right now. If you know some more then feel free to reblog to add them. No hate to davesport or anything but if you write dsaf fanfics that aren't focussed on davesport then you are my lifeline /hj
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ARC ENDING: Logan's POV
[TW: this part features implied neglect, if this triggers you, please skip this part, its not more important than your health.]
This part connects to Cronus'. read this one first.
enjoy :] <3 (you can find all the other parts on #arcend on this blog)
"Cronus, i appreciate you attempting to contribute, but i need you to stop."
"stop what? I just want to make sure no one gets hurt again"
"but its not helping. You constantly trying to take over me is not helpful, and it will never be."
"but at least you wont have to feel the pain when i fail you if i do."
"Cronus... We- no.. I trust you to help on your own, as an individual"
"why? You know I've never done that, you know I'll mess up!"
"even if you will, I wont hate you for it! Everyone makes mistakes, even I do. Thats what makes us what we are. Mistakes are an essential part of learning and progressing. Without mistakes you will not be able to grow and evolve. If you make mistakes, those that will hate you are those you need to hate back. Its not 'bad' or 'wrong' to make mistakes, its just another way to learn."
Cronus sighs, his eyes full of tears. I hope he understands what im saying, I hope he knows I care. I dont want him to end up the way I did.
"Th-" he stutters for a few seconds, his words tripping on tears, "Thank you, Logan" he finally says as the tears run down his face, his voice trembling.
"of course. If you ever need to talk to someone, even if you're not looking for anything specific, im always here."
"do you think he hates me?"
"i dont think so, he's probably afraid of you because of your past actions. He's not the kind of side to hate someone for actions induced by fear."
"honestly i could understand if he doesn't forgive me, i was a horrible brother"
"horrible? No... you were scared. He was a lot of responsibility, you weren't ready for it. If you talk to him, and explain why you did those things, he'll surely understand your actions"
"are you sure? He's very emotional, and he overthinks things... he might take it as a joke or even an insult... I dont want us to end up as separate from each other as Creativity"
"im certain that he will understand, even if it takes him a while to show it. As much as he tries to hide it, he's the most sympathetic side here."
"if you say that.. i trust you" he wipes his tears
Never have I thought to hear these words from someone other than Remus. This... It... It hurts to hear... It hurts to hear it from someone who genuinely means it... Why does it hurt? It feels like.. like a deep paper cut, something so simple, hurts so much.
"I..." And for the first time, i find myself struggling to find the right words. We sit in silence for a few seconds before I manage to find my words, "I appreciate you saying that."
Cronus turns to face me, noticing my eyes shut tight.. im holding back tears, again. I dont know if they're positive or negative tears, but they're strong, and its terrifying.
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my very biased favoirtes (tm)
kingkiller chronicle baby!! ive been obsessed with this series for half my life now and ive written essays on it for fun. it is deeply special to me.
the tortall books esp the song of the lioness was one of the first books i read on my own that my mom hadnt read. these are my ultimate comfort books and influence the fantasy i read after.
graceling realms by kristin cashore (well the first three at least) is a series i can read over and over. i love the magic system and how it's tied to themes. the main characters are complicated and dynamic, the romances are beautiful .. . absolutely amazing.
the gilded wolves by roshani chokshi is a puzzle book, a historical fantasy. there is a big emphasis on found family, addresses racism and colonialism within europe (esp the upper class), and it is all very cleverly constructed.
legendborn by tracy deonn is worth all the hype is is getting and I hope people continue recognizing its awesomeness. the only book in king arthur canon im attached to. its about grief, it's about legacy, it's about institutional racism, its about parents and children. read for a strong emotional journey, complicated characters, and difficult conversations about king arthur and the united states
in other lands by sarah rees brennan which tbh i read back when it was being published online. perfect for those who love snarky protagonists, commentary on the fantasy genre, you gotta try this book!
the poppy war by rf kuang is one of the few trilogies i have finished in the past few year. its absolutely heart-wrenching. starts as a magic school book, then turns into a magic war book. please look up the trigger warnings beforehand. perfect for those who love epic fantasies tied to historical events.
piranesi by susanna clarke is the strangest book I've read. its not like anything else I've read. you should absolutely try it.
strange the dreamer by laini taylor is beautifully written, clever, and full of amazing themes. i love these characters and worlds and it's very lovely and intense.
elatsoe by darcie little badger is a modern day fantasy and i cannot recommend it enough, it's so clever and kind and theres ghost dogs????
little thieves by margaret owen- my new beloved. this book was written for me, even if the author doesnt know it. sequel comes out in only a few days, perfect time to read it!!
Honorable mentions:
sunshine by robin mckinley- i love robin mckinley's books although this is not my favorite, its a fantastic take on vampires
the bone witch by rin chupeco- amazing world building and beautiful writing, im way overdue to finish the series
nettle and bone by t. kingfisher- a dark, creepy fairy tale feel that has me wanting more from the author
an ember in the ashes by sabaa tahir- another series i absolutely need to finish, has some really interesting morally gray characters.
wayward children by seanan mcguire- these books are so satisfying and i am absolutely the target audience for this series. we love deconstructed portal fantasies
girls made of snow and glass by melissa bashardoust- i will read all fairy tale retellings but this one i bought after because i needed this fantastic version of snow white
the sandsea trilogy by chelsea abdullah- only the first one is out but i am so invested to see where this reimagining of a thousand and one nights goes!
his dark materials by phillip pullman- a classic. your soul is your animal companion. need i say more?
the golem and the jinni by helene wecker- a very recent read but i will be shoving this into peoples hands now. historical fantasy isnt always my jam but when it works, it works.
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[ooc post]
wahoooo intro post time
edit: I DO NOT GET NOTIFS FOR ASKS OR MENTIONS!! if you send or answer an ask to/from this blog, please LIKE one of the posts so I get a notif and am prompted to check this blog because I have too many.
i saw people making rp blogs + didn't want to be a total clone + like angst. so this happened.
im @2-kakimiko-1 i run @junior-high-ena-official @riho-hasegawa-official and @jail-x-break-official too
the mod is autistic and a minor and uses he/it and a handful of neopronouns listed here :3 you don't need to overuse tone tags or anything but I struggle to tell tone sometimes so I'd appreciate it if you used them !! my timezone is est if it matters
i'd prefer if you used he/it/they for the character! Ngl I used to say no shippy interaction but I genuinely do not remember why I felt that way so. its allowed now yippee
for all intents and purposes this blog is set around the end of Rui's 3rd year of junior high/the summer of his 3rd year of junior high. :3
ummm headcanon time because I'll be playing by those. he's pan, aceflux, transmasc and he just figured that out, and autistic and bpd. he knows the former not the latter. bad at taking care of himself but that's a given. yeah 👍
this blog has and will continue to cover heavy topics, mostly bullying and occasionally sh and sui related things. they will all be tagged and if I forget please tell me! you are also always welcome to ask me to tag anything, I'll tag common triggers if I remember but if theres something I miss or something you need tagged again T E L L M E P L E A S E
ummm dni. basic dni criteria racist MAP or w/e homophobic transphobic ableist etc um I think that's it tbh uhh dni if youre weird (/neg) about rui and think hes a violent cannibal yandere whatever the hell. since I did mention he has bpd I think this needs to be picked out even though it falls under ableism get the actual fuck off my blog if you can't be normal about cluster b disorders.
uhhh be nice to rui hes sensitive be nice to the mod i am also sensitive/hj
edit: my rp style!! I feel like I should clarify it!!
ooc is the double slash! → // like this
unformatted text indicates speech! → like this
italics indicate actions! → like this
italics with brackets indicate internal thoughts! → [like this]
tags:
#ooc post - ooc post
#rooftop whispers - everything in-character
#rooftop mewls - funny other in-character tag for when he gets turned into a cat by anons. this will likely become a regular occurrence.
#tw ____ - trigger tags
picrew used for cat icon
--
arc tags and respective warnings:
#kamishiro family angst - series of events catalysed by several rui clones experiencing negative things at once, mrs kamishiro collapsing under the stress of taking care of that all, and as one thing leads to another, other kamishiro family members end up injured and hospitalized. warnings for: hospital related things, overworking, fainting, car accidents, mentions of brainwashing and torture (on exthief rui), descriptions of injury ranging from minor to more graphic to gory.
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I was wondering if you could write a saiki & reader oneshot fic with a reader who has DID & C-PTSD and paranoid tendencies? I understand that that might be a bit too hard to write but just in case I got some recorces that might be handy, here is the link to DID listing from my own copy of the newest version of the DSM https://www.dropbox.com/sh/htaraej65e34tg9/AADBATmelRQFUBfTMxaJ3W6wa?dl=0 as well as this website that has a lot of good info on it https://did-research.org/ and this page I found that has a brief overview of C-PTSD https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/24881-cptsd-complex-ptsd but I also recommend quickly reading thru the different types of flashbacks (shouldn't be that hard to find info on)
The main idea is that because of the mix dissociation,switching,paranoia, different types of flashbacks etc that the readers thoughts are very fucking confusing to saiki (feel free to use this premise for any kind of plot you want just try not to make it overly angsty is all I ask, well as un-angsty as you can get with C-PTSD anyways lol) I just wanna see more y/n / reader inserts that I can actually relate to but the saiki K fandom is so small
Can be platonic or romantic
Hi!! So sorry for the late reply, I researched as much as I could so if theres anything remotely wrong or different please tell me! Ngl, im not very sure i like how it turned out, nevertheless I hope you enjoy :))
Also i totally get that its hard finding stuff for saiki k which is the reason why i write for it in the first place, they totally deserve more recognition!! Feel free to send more requests in the future!!
warnings: somewhat angsty but not really, i tried to be as vague as possible so as not to trigger anyone, reader suffers from trauma, DID, CPTSD, swearing, fluffy ending? slightly oc saiki
RULES !!
DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK PLEASE
REQUESTS: OPEN
NAVIGATION
WHO DO I WRITE FOR?
summary: Saiki was used to listening to many types of thoughts, and at one point, nothing he heard surprised him. However when you came around, he was beyond confused. What sparks as a little curiosity might turn into something more.
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No matter what | Kusuo Saiki
He was used to it, or at least that's what he used to tell himself. Throughout the years he had heard all sorts of thoughts, at one point, he learned to tune them out when need be, having listened in on weird enough ideas that now don't surprise him anymore.
When you came in the picture, he was...baffled, to say the least. Confusing wasn't even close of a word to express how he felt. Your thought process was anything but simple. At times it'd be a fuzzy mess almost as if you lost part of your memory, other times, you'd think as if you were a completely different person, contradicting many of your previous thoughts. But what disturbed him most was the series of traumatic thoughts that would cross your mind. Flashbacks he realized in that moment.
In the beginning he felt annoyed, as per usual. Often times, he'd find you in class with a dazed expression, which to be frank, he had seen enough times to not give it a second thought. But then his attention would be caught when your mind would wander and you'd start thinking in a very unusual way. They were so unlike the person you presented to be, so much so that Saiki was left perplexed and in need to understand exactly what was going on.
The more it happened the more worried he'd be. There were days where you acted a certain way, and other days where you acted completely different. He could tell you weren't being fake trying to act differently for attention, after all, your thoughts lined up with the you acted and the things you said. Rather, it was the abrupt changes in your behaviour that had him thinking for far longer than he normally would.
Along the way, he also picked up how you'd flinch if you were in sudden physical contact, the way your shoulders would tense and the way your heart beat would speed up. Saiki wasn't stupid of course, he was aware that all of this was caused by some form of trauma.
He knew not to pry, yet his heart strings pulled everytime he saw you having a bad moment. So he began to follow you, in disguise of course, and even if he seemed like a stalker, he couldn't help it. Eventually he began to connect the dots, your reactions, behaviors, everything. It made sense now.
Unconciously, his words began to soften around you, his touch became gentler, he looked out for you in ways he had never done so with others. You began to notice but in no way did you mind, if anything, Saiki was someone you took great comfort in. What started of small slowly grew into something neither of you expected.
Of course, that didn't make it any less hard for either of you. Like right now. You were laying in Saikis bed, your head resting on his shoulder as you watched a movie, when suddenly a specific scene had triggered an anxiety attack. Your mind was racing through flashbacks of the many disturbing events you had gone through. Saiki was up almost immediately, having read your mind and sensed your reaction.
His touch was soft, his hands cupping your face so gently you'd think he was scared to break you, which he was. He was in no way someone who could comfort others easily. Nevertheless he tried his best. He attempted to lower your heart rate, rubbing small circles against your back as his other hand held the back of your head. No words were needed, they never were. He had, in a way, been there for you, way before you two even became a thing, so none of this was a surprise for either of you.
That didn't ease the guilt in your heart any less. You always felt bad. You knew Saiki could read you, literally. And well, it wasn't pretty. Countless times you had attempted to push him away, yet he never budged.
"'m sorry" you mumbled against his shoulder as your rested your head on it.
He cupped your face in his hands, pulling you to look at him.
`I won't let you push me away. The things you went through won't make me see you any differently, because to me you'll still be someone I cherish'
Your eyes welled up as you looked him deep in the eyes, finding nothing but love for you. Still cupping your face, he ran his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
'I love you'
"No matter what?"
`No matter what'
#headcanons#masterlist#saiki kusou no psi nan#saiki kusuo#saiki no psi nan#kusuo saiki#saiki k#saiki fanart#ao3 saiki#the disastrous life of saiki k#disastrous life of saiki k#saiki kusuo no psi nan#saiki x reader#saiki icons#saiki headcanons#saiki imagines#saiki reactions#saiki oneshots#saiki k headcanons#saiki k imagines#saiki k fanart#saiki k x reader#saiki k no psi nan#saiki k fanfic#saiki ff#saiki fanfic#anime masterlist#anime edit#anime and manga#anime gif
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Vent
You can read if you want and advice is welcome. Content/trigger warnings for abuse, self inflicted injury, self delete, cruelty (toward humans and animals)
I am an abuser. I am abusive to my core. I am toxic. I have negative narcissistic tendencies. I never say sorry. Or please. Or thank you. I am never greatful. I experience no empathy and very rarely do i experience sympathy. I hurt the ones around me constantly. I want to stop. I need to stop. I want to kill [me] everytime i realise what ive done. But i never realise until its too late. I lash out. I snap. I say cruel things. I am lucky that as ive gotten older i have stopped being physically abusive, but emotionally and psychologically it has gotten worse. The worst part is, the one i abuse most (my mother) still loves me. More than anything. She would never admit i hurt her 24/7. She is stuck. The guilt i feel is beyond anything i could ever write down but there is nothing i can do to stop myself from my cruelty towards others. I do not think before i act when i am upset. I simply say or do whatever i want and often what i want to say is cruel. I often threaten [self delete / self inflicted injury] to get what i want. But its more than a threat. I can and will hurt [me] to get what i want. If my mother pays attention to her gf instead of me i [inflict injury on self] and show her so she hangs up the phone and talks to me. I do not lack attention. I simply want more and more all the time. I fired a therapist who was actually helping me because she called me out on this. If anyone calls me out i scream at them and then go hide and cry about it because i feel so bad. It feels like theres no way out that isnt death or isolation. I dont want to hurt people but i refuse help and change (if change is even possible). I am even cruel to animals. Never physically. But i scream at animals when im angry and have to physically restrain myself or attack an inanimate object to stop myself from hurting them physically. The only living being i have never had to do this with is cats. In fact when i am on a rampage they calm me. But i still scare my cat. I yell and scream and throw things and it scares her. The things that hurt the most is there are only two beings in this world who i love. My mother and my cat. They are who i hurt. My mother especially. And that i am a prime example of the rare instance where the abused becomes the abuser. I am my fathers child through and through. He and my step father have shaped me to become this monster. Why. Why couldnt i be better. Why couldn't i stop the cycle. I know i could never have children despite wanting them so badly because i know i would hurt them. I am a worthless use of space, time, energy, and resources. Why. Why am i here. Why am i like this. Why do i bring nothing to this world but pain. Someone kill me. Please. Its gotten to the point where my mother and i have seriously considered a [self delete] pact. Because i need to [leave this earth] and she cannot live without me because for some reason she loves me more than anything (Stockholm syndrome probably). I need to leave this earth but i do not want my final act to her to be causing her more pain. I cannot drag her down with me. I want to [inflict injury on myself] but my gf took my [utensil] and i have no other. I could do it. I could leave. But i cant hurt her like that. Please. What do i do. Help.
#vent#tw#cw#warnings in the header#sonny vents#idk im starting a tagging system now ig#sonnys public diary
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GUESS WHO'S BACK FUCKERS
Its me
I'm back
You gotta love me not working on requests and being a nerd and brainstorming ideas with @colemorrison
(This one's for you pookie)
(I'm sorry I'll never say that again)
This is so ass I'm sorry Im like, half asleep
Into the Void
Cole hadn't thought anything would happen. It was a simple mission that wouldn't require too much effort. That's why it was only Cole, Hanzo, and Mercy who went.
Hanzo hadn't thought anything would happen either. To him it was just another mission for them to do.
Until Cole got shot.
They hadn't anticipated Talon to be there. Much less Widowmaker to have her first shot be at Cassidy.
Hanzo was taking down Talon soldiers left and right as Mercy did her best to push them back enough to get to the safehouse. To get somewhere where they could get to exfil.
Thats when Widow dropped down from one of the ships. Hanzo hadn't noticed her until it was too late. He couldn't even get to his boyfriend, his fiancé, before the bullet went through Cole's torso.
Mercy cussed in her native tongue as Hanzo slung his bow over his shoulder and grabbed Cole, who was standing with his hands over his bleeding stomach. The archer lowered Cassidy to the ground. "Hey there, Han," Cole said, looking up to his lover.
Hanzo was crying. He hadn't even realized how the tears streamed down his cheeks until they landed and mixed with the blood spilling from Cole's stomach.
"Han, you can't give up. If I don't make it-"
"Don't talk like that."
"Please, Hanzo. If I don't make it, you need to be happy again without me. You can't blame yourself for this."
The tears came harder, and Hanzo pulled Cole closer to him.
Widow was getting ready to take the final shot, to take out two targets with one bullet. Just as she started to pull the trigger, Genji appeared out of nowhere. He used his sword to deflect the bullet, sending it back to the sniper. She just barely dodged it and was pulled back up before she could fire another shot.
Seeing his brother, Hanzo looked confused. "Where did you come from?"
"That's not important now, brother. Come, let's get him to Angela," Genji said, putting one of Cole's arms around each of the brothers shoulders. The cowboy was out cold at that point, leaving them to drag him along.
Mercy could only apply a temporary bandage until they got to the safehouse, which didn't do much to stop the damage.
Hanzo was crying the whole time that they dragged Cole through back alleys. He cried as they pulled him into the safehouse. He cried as they laid him down on the bed that the two of them had been sharing just hours prior. He cried as Mercy started her work on Cole.
After what felt like forever, Mercy got Cole stable enough to not need her immediate supervision.
"He's unstable right now, so he might crash at any point. If anything starts beeping in a way that you don't trust, come and get me. This is all I can do until Lena comes to bring us back to Gibraltar." She goes to place a hand on Hanzo's shoulder but decides against it and leaves the room.
Hanzo stayed there for days. Cole died twice, and both times Angela managed to bring him back, but only barely. Cassidy was in and out of consciousness, and every time he was awake, he was more lucid than anything.
When Tracer came to get them out of there, Hanzo wasn't allowed to follow Angela and the other healers into the back of the hovercraft. They put up some sort of wall to stop him from trying to pry. Genji had to hold him as he continued to sob and had to catch the archer when he passed out from exhaustion.
~~~
When Hanzo woke up, he was on a chair in a clean room that smelled of antiseptic. He slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital wing.
Cole was already awake with multiple IV's connected to his arms. "Hey, Han," Cassidy said, his voice rough with disuse.
The archer looked at Cassidy like he had grown a second head. "You're..." He cut himself off by launching himself onto the cowboy's arms. Cassidy let out a little "oof," but held his fiancé close.
"Nice to see you too."
"Never do that again. Never, you hear me? I'll never forgive you if you die before we get to be old and married and have kids. Am I understood?" Hanzo said, his voice burning with intensity.
Cole started to laugh, but stopped at the glare that he got. "What?"
"I'm serious, Cole Cassidy. I can't-" his voice cracked and the tears started again.
Cole's face morphed into concern as he held the archer closer. "I know, honey. I know. I'm sorry. I'm not goin' anywhere."
"You died. Twice. I was so scared."
They stayed like that for a while. Hanzo crying and Cassidy rubbing his back and holding him. "I was so scared."
"I know. But I'm just fine now thanks to you."
Hanzo didn't have the energy to confess that Genji was the one that saved him by deflecting that second bullet.
After Hanzo calmed down and climbed into bed, Cole came to a realization.
"Ain't I supposed to be the one that needs to be comforted?"
"Shut up."
#overwatch 2#overwatch2#cole cassidy x hanzo shimada#colecassidy#cole cassidy#shimada hanzo#overwatch hanzo#hanzo shimada#bean writes#junkerqueen simp supreme#yeehan#mchanzo#overwatch#overwatch imagines
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Fandom song animatic tournament: Side A Round 1
Just Take My Wallet (Softest way to say/You took away my friend) - Jack Stauber
"What's the kindest way to say
You took away my friend, my buddy?
What's the kindest way to say
The end?"
Blue Lips - Regina Spektor
"Blue lips, blue veins
Blue, the color of our planet from far, far away"
Remember that we're voting on how Iconic they are for ANIMATICS, not for the song itself. In order to make things fair, the tone and mood of the song should not affect how iconic it is (for example, a serious song should not be considered more iconic than a joke song just because it's serious)
Propaganda and animatic links of the songs under the cut:
Just Take My Wallet - Jack Stauber
Propaganda:
Makes me feel bad! /pos
Animatics with the song:
Adventure Time Marceline
Your Boyfriend
Omori
DSMP
QSMP
Warrior cats Mothwing Animatic
Blue Lips - Regina Spektor
Propaganda:
name a fandom that hasnt had an amv or something to this song. idk im not very convincing about this. but i know its popular
this one isn't used too much now but it was literally Everywhere & produced some of the most iconic fandom pmvs. also it's just a good song
I don't even think I need to say anything about this one. If you were into animatics in like 2016-2018... you know. You just know. The color of our planet from far far away.
Animatics with the song:
Undertale Sans
Ace Attorney
Detroit: Become Human
Camp Camp
Wings of Fire
BNHA
Please be cautious and read the title, description and warning cards on the animatic videos if you decide to watch them. If you've got specific triggers I'd recommend even more caution when watching animatics of fandoms you don't know, since sometimes canon-typical themes don't get warnings.
Please keep in mind that I don't know all the media and fandoms of the animatics provided as examples and I don't have the time (nor the will) to research them all. Don't come into my notes or my ask box complaining about them being included, I will simply block you. If a ship animatic included is about an adult and a minor, do tell me and I'll take it out of the post
#I'm not gonna lie to you all. this one was evil of me#fandom animatic tournament#tumblr poll#tumblr tournament#tumblr tourney#idk what yall gonna do to decide on this because I could not honestly lmfao
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re: tone tags talk on here.
I have a rant thats been stewing awhile on the subject.
I would be really really careful using these for people and touting them as The Best Way to interact online and The Most Accessible for a few reasons:
People who are not in the know can become more confused, especially with the lesser-known or less obvious ones. It is forcing others to learn an entire new dialect, one they may not have the spoons or memory to use or understand properly. It can cause neurodivergent people MORE stress to have to use them.
Many neurodivergent people (such as myself) find them INCREDIBLY condescending when used on us for fairly obvious things (ex- I like your shirt! /gen looks like 'I think you are such a -insert slur- that you cant understand a statement where the default literal reading is fairly unambiguous, poor little baby cant handle it! Im such a disabled ally!'). This is less so with the original two tone tags /s and /j, but most tone tags have this problem.
Many neurodivergent people (also such as myself) find them to look suspicious like a bottle labeled 'THIS IS NOT POISON' being poured into our drink. It looks like a suspiciously specific denial and messes with paranoia. It also implies any time you say 'your shirt looks cool' without 5 tone tags proclaiming its base meaning of positive, genuine, and serious that when you usually make a statement like that it ISNT those things.
They are NOT screenreader friendly. At all.
People lie with them a lot, and some people have trauma regarding certain circles online using them to fuck with people. Literally just last week I found someone doing the /gen /srs thing with a question whos last post was to a cringe subreddit for the topic. They also view them as get out of jail free cards or ways to get people to farm 'cringe content'. Some of us arent going to trust that at all with VERY GOOD REASON and now the tag is useless.
Many tags have non-obvious meanings, /pos doesnt look like 'positive' it looks like 'piece of shit'.
ASL speakers are going to have a rough time learning tone tags because its more weird english slang no one explains.
Every time anyone criticizes tone tags (or even says so much as 'please dont use them for me its a trigger'), tone tag likers fly off the fucking handle(in my experience) and accuse you of being horrible and evil for not loving them to death, causing them to be associated with performative accommodations that dont do shit and people getting mad when you call them on it for some of us. Im not hyperactive in many spaces that use them and ive witnessed like 5 breakdowns in the past year alone of someone saying 'hey can you not use these for me please?' and the other person loosing it that the ungrateful disabled person wasnt bowing in awe over their wokeness for using them or whatever. Just complete all caps aggressive HOW DARE YOU and WHY CANT I DO ANYTHING RIGHT IM TRYING TO BE AN ALLY reassurement fishing and defensive 'I cant be ableist deliberately using tone tags on someone triggered by them, im doing the woke thing tiktok said so you are wrong' stuff.
What would be better to be done instead, in order of best to worse is;
Rephrase the statement/question to have the tone stated in there if the statement is not ruined by doing so. Unless you are working with a wordcount, this is accessible to the most amount of people because you dont need to learn a secret code and its fairly unambiguious and the least condescending and trap-like looking.
'Why do you have text describing images all over your blog? /gen' -> 'Genuine question, why do you have text describing images all over your blog?'
'Your artwork emotionally disembowels me /pos' -> 'Your artwork, and I mean this in the most positive of ways, emotionally disembowels me'
State the tone/meaning in FULL in parenthesis at the end. This makes it clearer what the tag is supposed to indicate to more people, it may still cause confusion however, trigger paranoia, or look condescending. Its more screenreader friendly, but less so than the above option. This works also for things that ruin the thing to interrupt the flow.
'Why do you have text describing images all over your blog? /gen' -> 'Why do you have text describing images all over your blog? (genuine question)'
'Because you are totally an anti /s', 'because you are totally an anti (sarcasm)'
Ask or look for indications that this person requires tonetags or uses them BEFORE using them and then respecting that choice. Has all the stated above issues, but at least consent for participating in this dialect was obtained. Checking if they need /pos, /srs, AND /gen tagged on on simple statement of 'your shirt looks cool' is very good.
Counterarguments:
'Im working on a short charactercount'
Not on every platform you arent! I concede this one on twitter, where you can barely fit a statement in there sometimes and you may not be able to threadtweet reasonably. But in spaces like tumblr where you have no charactercount? On discord where charactercount is so high and its a chatspace so you can just double message?
Also the 'ask before you use' or 'state in your hoverbio you use' is best practice.
Also also try emojis, which I didnt list previously but with some tones can make it more clear with only a few characters.
'It helps ME THE poster's anxiety/ADHD/etc to do this, I NEED to write like this, you are being ableist to stop me.'
Other options ALSO get the thing across for you! If rewording things to be clearest to everyone is way too hard for you, the FULL word in parenthesis is next best.
'I have a disability that makes typing hurt so I need to type as little as possible'
The third option is still available to you, but make sure to be clear that its not for the readers benefit you are doing this, but for you. This way people who need to avoid this can block you/not interact. Lean full chatspeak to help further (&, b4, 2, w/o, etc shortenings).
Also try emojis as above.
Competing access needs is a bitch, and that means we need to coexist, but (general)YOUR access need doesnt trump mine, so dont feel entitled to interacting with people who request no tone tag interaction. We just have to avoid each other.
For people who dont have the above problems just... PLEASE use plain text. Please. Its way more accessible to the most amount of people.
--
Yeah, for real.
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