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chaenqen · 8 months

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needed me. nishimura riki

— featuring nishimura riki female!reader warnings reader being called ‘beautiful’, fluff fluff and a bunch of flustered reader because they don’t call him rizzimura rizzki for no reason side note i recommend listening to ‘needed me’ by riahanna ;) word count around 737

riki decided to show you the new choreo he recently finished choreographing on a monday at 3.43 am… you weren’t exactly happy about the time he picked since you were quite occupied with your studies yet when he insisted on showing it to you today you gave in and met him at the dance practice room.

“i hope the choreo is worth the precious time i could have spend on my studies” you roll your eyes in annoyance yet the corners of your lips just couldn’t stay down as you saw his excited expression while he got the song ready.

as soon as you noticed what song he was going to perform for you, your eyes widen and the heat rushes to your cheeks in an instant.

“are you— seriously?” you look away from him in fear that he’d see your flustered face yet he had obviously already figured it out.

“what? don’t like the song choice? i think it’s perfect, especially for a late night session like this” he winked at you before pressing play and rihannas voice could be heard through the giant speakers.

his footsteps echo slightly through the room as he makes his way over to you, guiding you backwards so that he could have some more space.

“good god—“ you let out with a shaky breath as you look back down to the wooden flooring before managing to look up at him again, paying close attention to how he tugged on his hoodie, his pants and then rolling his sleeves up just for them to roll right back down since his hoodie was pretty loose and thin.

“you ready?” as he notices your pink cheeks and the way you fiddled with your phones case he started to smirk and let out a small chuckle of victory. he had you right where he wanted you.

“whatever…” you spit out nervously but your voice sounded more annoyed and irritated than nervous and flustered. “oh— somebodies feeling feisty” you roll your eyes at his remark once again.

bet you never could imagine never told you you could have it you needed me

his body moved with the rhythm of the song like he was one with it and his eyes never look away from yours to make sure that you’re actually paying attention and hell— you were paying attention to him…

oooh you needed me

he hits every beat and makes it look so effortlessly good yet you know that it was everything but effortless. his tongue glides along his lower lip, his gaze locks with yours and your heart skips a thousand beats as you pay attention to how the fabric of his top flies up whenever he lifts his arms, revealing a tad bit of his toned skin to you which makes you look away, covering your lower face with the sleeve of your hoodie. as soon as the part of the song ends to which he had choreographed something to he turns the volume lower so it could be heard in the background as he walks towards you. your face was turned the other way, not daring to look into his eyes at all.

“come on, beautiful… tell me what you think? anything i should change?” he knew exactly what effect he had on you. the way your flushed face was turned away, sleeve still covering your face making it too obvious that you liked everything about it. you were just too shy to admit it.

“was good…” he chuckles as he takes your face in his hand, tilting your chin upwards so you would look at him. “was good? got nothing else to say?” his face leans down to your level, mouth right beside your ear to whisper in a low and raspy voice

“i think there’s a lot on your pretty mind, don’t you think, beautiful?” he was playing with you, with the fact that you were so affected by everything he did and said, by everything about himself just in general. “w-was great… i-i liked it…” you notice the way his face was also slightly flushed, probably because of his performance just now.

“wanna show me how much you liked it?” his head tilts to the side as he leans further down to you, that smirk never leaving his handsome face.

“wanna show me how much you like me, hm? show me, beautiful…”

<33

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tojiwrd · 9 months

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the consequences of the voice in your head ; toji fushiguro

pairing toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary it was easy to love toji but, sometimes, it was difficult to make peace with loving toji.

word count 4k

content warnings angstyyy, hurt/no comfort kind of, open ending kind of, grieving, self-loathing, comparing, lots of overthinking. toji's a good good dad, megumi's a lil ice hockey kid, naoya and toji r civil and almost friendly cousins in this

Breaking habits was difficult. Waking up on a Monday at seven in the morning was difficult. Love was difficult. These were all things you knew, and they always lingered in the back of your mind ready to put their claws into any thought that questioned why? Daybreak came and went everyday, sunlight got chased away by silver streams of moonlight, and these thoughts—no, facts—remained asleep, waiting for the moment to pounce onto the occasional question that flitted across your mind: why was love difficult?

You knew there was no true answer; there was no prose you could read written by a qualified doctor on WebMD that told you exactly why love was difficult. It just was. You could ask friends, family, and even strangers on the street and they could give you an answer that, in their own circumstance, ranging from calm to increasingly tumultuous, was true. But you could never get an answer for yourself from anybody but yourself. Perhaps breaking habit was difficult for Toji Fushiguro because he had learned that love—not the fleeting kind that you have when you meet a one-night-stand and immediately feel like the stars had aligned that night for the two of you, only to feel near to nothing for them until they turn into a silly anecdote—could only happen once, with one person.

For you, breaking habits was difficult because when you were thirteen, your friend handed you a cigarette and said once you get used to it, it’s akin to the feeling of laying on your bed and the duvet is warm to the bone on a chilly day.

Waking up on a Monday at seven in the morning was difficult for you probably because as soon as your eyes flickered open, you would see Toji staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows with a rueful look on his features. The first time you’d seen this image was the morning after you, Toji, and little Megumi Fushiguro moved into your new place. It brought a smile to your face, the kind of smile that is only worn by a person when they admire somebody when they aren’t looking. That was until he opened his palms and stared down at his fingers, right hand coming up to softly brush the empty ring finger. He’d bit his lip slightly, and you just about missed him from seeing you awake, before he reached down to the pocket of his plaid blue sleep shorts you’d gifted him and pulled out a ring—the ring, you’d realized—and placed it on the empty finger he was focused on.

You had beat yourself up over witnessing him having a moment as private as that for the next week without his knowledge, but there was truly no way to bring it up to him afterwards organically.

You could say, “Hey! I actually saw you put on your ring from your last marriage on your finger that morning when you thought I was asleep.” But that would, in nearly every case, not go down well.

Toji had told you, though, why this had grown into a Monday morning ritual. Well, he didn’t exactly tell you that he woke up a few minutes before you to reminisce about his late wife and their marriage, but you’d put the pieces together like you always did. Apparently, Toji’s late wife would always wake up early on Monday mornings and prepare an otherworldly breakfast for herself, Toji, and Megumi; she claimed it started off the week right, and it always made four-year-old Megumi more inclined to wake up on Mondays. In hindsight, perhaps it was silly that you clung onto that little tidbit Toji had told you in passing when Megumi brought it up, but when you saw him wake up on Monday mornings and start his day off by playing a video reel encased in his mind of Megumi’s mother, Megumi, and himself, it was difficult for you to feel comfortable by your presence around him on Mondays. Still, it was hardly Toji’s fault for missing somebody he’d spent years with who got taken away from his life so suddenly.

You were just overthinking like you always did.

A Thursday in late June marked one year since you had been living with Toji. A year of going to sleep next to him and waking up with him there. It was a silly anniversary, and you weren’t going to mention it for it would most likely garner confused looks from the Fushiguro’s, but you still decided to cover the dining table with a variety of well-enjoyed foods between the three of you.

There was a small photo-frame that stood in an arbitrary corner of the table where nobody sat. It was a small, old digital camera picture of you, Toji, and Megumi on a lake and camping trip your friends had dragged the three of you to. It was simple; Toji was sitting on a log, five-year-old Megumi between his legs who grinned wildly with a s’more in his hand, and you sat next to Toji with your head leaning on his shoulder. Your friend had gifted it to you on a random Tuesday, and when you smiled so wide at her, she embarrassedly brushed you off and said, “The person who printed this said there’s a discount if I get two pictures printed for the price of one. I just thought the picture of me and my husband would look good with you and your… Toji.”

Neither Toji nor Megumi had seen the picture. Well, not until the moment Toji walked in with a sweaty Megumi wearing his junior league hockey uniform. Megumi was babbling about the delicious smell until he saw the new addition to the table (after cooing at the takoyaki from his favorite restaurant and telling his father he knew he could smell it while they pulled into the driveway) and picked up the frame with his growing, stubby fingers.

“Is this from Lake Ashi?” he asked excitedly, eyes tracing every corner of the picture as if he was recounting the exact moment it was taken. When you nodded, he said, “I had such a good time there!”

You smiled, and ruffled his dark locks before retracting your hand and saying, “Go shower!”

He stuck out his tongue at you before he ran upstairs, saying something about how nobody can start eating until he’s back.

You walked to Toji who was watching the scene play out from the other end of the table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Hey, how was your day?” You grinned slightly as your body melted against his frame, a strange sense of euphoria enveloping you even though you’d only been apart for a day.

His arms wrapped around your waist and he bent down slightly to peck your lips. “Thrilling. I watched a bunch of seven-year-olds run around ice with sticks longer than them.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” you replied, nuzzling into his chest, right against the soft thumping of his heartbeats.

“What’s the good food for today?” he asked, stepping away from your hold and scanning the dishes on the table with a puzzled expression.

You smiled teasingly. “Why? Do I not make good food everyday?”

He snorted, and you concluded that the way he looked at you then was with love. The usual deep set of his brows were relaxed as he reached over to you and flicked you on the forehead. Lovingly. “I cook all the meals because the last time you tried, there was a fire alarm and the entire building had to evacuate.” He paused, staring at you while you opened your mouth to stop him from continuing. He beat you to it, though, by saying, “At four in the morning, too.”

“Me and Megs wanted a late-night-snack,” you argued playfully, slapping his bicep.

“That you ended up getting in a 24 hour convenience store after running the entirety of the fire department and residents wild.”

“Semantics,” you brushed him off. Walking over to the plates, you started scooping portions and placing it on the plate until you remembered Megumi’s demand.

Your body unconsciously carried you to the photo frame and you picked it up, smiling slightly. Toji walked to stand beside you, his eyes uncharacteristically focused on the slightly overexposed picture. His fingers reached to pull it out of your hands and you didn’t stop him when he walked to the small ledge above the (fake) fireplace to place it between the small collection of Megumi photographs. It was a small gesture, but it was more than you could ever ask for.

Your mind skipped over the fact that all the other photos on the ledge were either taken by Megumi’s mother (five of them were) or had her in them holding Megumi (two of them did). Although whenever your friends had come over to your place, they’d cautiously asked you if you truly are OK with keeping pictures of his late wife in your living room and you’d always said that you were perfectly fine with it. Honestly, it was never your intention to erase her from their lives because, after all, she was Toji’s wife and Megumi’s mother. There was no erasing her, and that was fine whether or not you had a place in their lives.

When you came home from work the next evening, the house was relatively quiet.

You walked into the living room, feet aching from having to wear short-stump heels but, still, heels all day. Every single day at your job as an editor for a magazine made you question whether or not you truly had the skill to walk around heels, even short-stump ones. But once again, the feeling of taking them off with delicacy because you were afraid the rough insides would scrape the parts of your skin your sock didn’t cover gave you a feeling of triumph. You were convinced that the day you come home without the visceral urge to shred the dark pieces of footwear into pieces would be the day you could claim you were invincible.

You didn’t call out to Toji because you figured he was probably with Megumi, shopping and whatnot, doing simple father-son activities. He hadn’t texted you all day, and the little demon slithering through your thoughts wanted you to overthink (like you always did) and go berserk. But you had learned to tame that little demon (severely distracting yourself by doing anything and everything).

When you had changed out of your work clothes, showered under a moderately warm stream of water, and thoroughly washed your face to stave away the office particles, you sat down on the couch expecting a text from Toji. It was nine in the evening, and it was dark outside. He had never gone this long in a day without dropping you a text, even if it was just a word, and you weren’t wrong for expecting it. Breaking habits was difficult.

When you scrolled through your missed notifications and scrolled past your friends’ messages, making a mental compartment in your mind to reply to them later, you were surprised to find that Toji had, in fact, not texted you but Naoya Zen’in had. Toji’s cousin. It was simple, short, lighthearted, and it read:

missed you today!

It could have been Naoya texting the wrong person (it wouldn’t be the first time) but an itch in your mind told you it wasn’t.

It was simple, short, and lighthearted. You were surprised at how quickly the bubbles appeared on his side of the chat; you barely had time to exit the screen before he’d replied:

the stupid zen’in dinner is boring without you there to annoy toji

he said you were feeling sick tho. feel better

It was rude not to reply, but it was ruder for you to find out this way. Find out what, exactly? That Toji had simply not wanted you to go to the once-in-a-while Zen’in family dinner you had been to a grand total of one time. That was one incident you always pushed to the back of your mind—something you couldn’t do with the Monday morning incident(s) because they always played out in front of you, never missing a week—because if you thought about it too much, you would end up shattering your entire heart and it would all be your own, unstoppable mind’s doing.

Toji wasn’t the one to invite you to dinner last year. Surprisingly, the callous cousin who had manifested in the form of a breaker of peace today was the one to invite you. Your boyfriend had his jaw clenched throughout the entire interaction, and you were sure it was because Naoya wasn’t meant to meet you. You had been at his apartment while Megumi was in school to spend time with him when Naoya burst into his cousin’s home through the spare emergency key Toji had hesitantly given him. It started with Toji yelling at his cousin that it is actually rude to barge into someone’s house without knocking and that the rule applied even if they were cousins and yes, it still applied after they had come closer after being distant and despising each other their entire childhoods. It progressed to you making tea for Naoya that burnt his tongue and Toji telling him that you are no good with anything that heats up. It ended with Naoya bringing up the dinner and how he, too, was introducing his girlfriend (now his wife) to the family and it would be lovely for you to be there, too. He’d said something about divided fire.

The dinner itself was what you could call pleasant. You met his family and they were as civil as they could be surrounded by many people who are related to them. The entire time, though, Toji was bouncing his leg up and down and brushed off your hand when you tried to stop him.

You do remember his mother had said something to you that ticked Toji off, and it wouldn’t take a mastermind to figure out why.

“You’re the perfect girl to have as a daughter-in-law, dear.”

Truthfully, you hadn’t realized that Toji would see her words and level its severity higher than you would. That was why after the longest hand of the clock ticked thrice and his chair scraped against the floor when he stood up and walked away wordlessly, you were shocked.

You assumed that, today, Naoya had taken his wife to the Zen’in dinner. You could have texted her to confirm, but you knew. And you weren’t sure if you had any right to be mad at Toji over this.

When you walked over to the television next to the (fake) fireplace, you noticed something missing. You knew it was missing because despite it only having been a day, you had looked at the picture of the three of you on that ledge for so long the night before when Megumi was fast asleep and Toji was immersed in a book and the image of the scene had been ingrained into your mind. It was somewhere beside the habits, Mondays, and love compartment.

The picture wasn’t there.

And the only trace in the living room of you being a part of Toji and Megumi’s life had vanished as soon as it materialized. It was just a picture, but it was the first one that you had brought out in the house. Toji was the one to keep it between the other pictures, and he was the one who took it off, too. You understood second-thoughts, and you knew he probably had strong feelings about it but it still hurt. It was akin to being handed candy as a kid then having it taken away from you after the first bite.

You had been heartbroken before, but the way your heart sank into a cold abyss was a feeling you had never experienced before. You weren’t sure if this was your heart breaking or the tendrils of a boyfriend-girlfriend argument sowing its way into the universe and you were just the first to realize it. It had been a year and a day in this apartment you were convinced turned into a home over that time. A year and a day since you and Megumi began collecting stickers from the different stores you went to and stuck to the corners of his whiteboard. A year and a day since you and Toji woke up with each other in the same room after a night of you tossing and turning, coming to almost-there consciousness when Toji would steal the blanket back from you and pull you into his warm embrace because you had a tendency to hog it.

The door clicked and you weren’t sure when you had gone back to the couch and began wordlessly staring at the ledge. You weren’t sure when this house stopped feeling like home for you, despite your best efforts to make it one. You weren’t sure if it ever was because there were no pictures of you, Toji, and Megumi in the living room.

You barely noticed Megumi coming towards you, pressing a slobbering kiss against your cheek and mumbling, “So tired. Gonna go to bed now. Goodnight.”

When Toji was the only presence you could feel—not see, because you were sure that seeing him would ruin you when you were in this state—in the room, you continued questioning whether or not you could get upset at him over this.

So, you said simply, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

You heard him sigh softly. When he came to sit next to you and say, “Sorry, love. ‘Gumi’s practice ran late.” You knew Toji, so you knew he probably thought it was overkill to use his son for this lie.

It was like a time bomb was ticking, and you were the time bomb.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and he was sweet. It made you think, for a hitch of a moment, that he cared. And you knew he did. Care, you mean. Just not in the way you had convinced yourself he did. It might’ve been your fault because you always saw Toji as your boyfriend when, in harsh, world-turning reality, Toji was just your boyfriend.

You have had many boyfriends over your lifetime, so what prompted you to believe Toji was anything more serious? Just because Toji came with a past baggage that weighed just about what you could help him carry and an adorable, hockey-loving seven-year-old kid? Because he moved in with you? People move in together all the time. Hell, you lived with a girl you only spoke to when you had to make a cleaning schedule for the room back in university for a year.

“No,” you replied truthfully.

In that moment, you were scared of how this interaction would end but you were more scared of how the words you carefully locked away in your mouth had been tampered with by some universal force and were just about to come out.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You finally turned around to look at him, and you didn’t realize you had stared over every inch of his face, as though memorizing it to a tee. He seemed to realize that, too, because his fingers fished for your hands and suddenly your hands were warm. Under his touch.

“I haven’t had dinner.” You were sure the words would come rampaging out of your mouth, ready to strike blows at Toji where it hurt, but you were reduced to a mere shell within now and the minute you saw Naoya’s text.

“Baby?” he asked and it hurt. “D’you want me to make you something? I can. Whatever you want.”

“How was dinner?” you asked, and you wanted to make yourself believe you weren’t waiting for a ‘ha, got you!’ moment, but you weren’t perfect.

“We just stopped by the convenience store to get some food.” You hated that he was lying because if you didn’t know the truth, you’d believe him. Toji, you realized, was good at lying.

“Naoya texted me,” you said, shaking your head as if you were trying to get rid of any thoughts.

“What?”

“Naoya texted me. Said he missed me at dinner.” At this point, you knew Toji could see the cracks in your facade.

Toji didn’t reply for a moment, and you felt like you both were blessed with the silence you needed for a moment. You weren’t prepared, you didn’t have a set of bullet points you wanted to discuss with him like you usually did when you were at odds. No, this time you were discussing everything you always omitted from those bullet point lists; they were off-the-table because you knew they would do more harm than good. They would break the cycle of a comfortable relationship.

“I didn’t think you wanted to go,” he said, sighing as he squeezed your hands lightly.

You exhaled sharply. “Please don’t lie, Toji.”

“I mean it—”

“Please don’t lie.” If you weren’t aware of Megumi upstairs, you probably would’ve raised your voice an octave higher. Just because you felt like you had to. But as you pleaded with him, your words came out soft, delicate, and a complete contrast to the red, hot, fiery anger taking space through your veins.

“I didn’t want you to go,” he admitted.

You had never been stabbed, but you were sure this is close to what it would feel like. “Why?” you croaked out.

“My family, they’d start asking about when we’ll get married and… yeah. Jus’ didn’t want the hassle.”

“Will we?” You didn’t think before you spoke.

“What?”

“Get married.”

“What?”

You changed the topic swiftly because truly, you didn’t care about getting married to Toji. As long as you had him and he had you. “Where’s the picture, Toji?”

“What picture?” Surprisingly, he sounded almost OK with talking to you and didn’t curl into himself like he usually did whenever topics such as this almost arose. Almost, because they never completely did.

You felt like you were breaking an unwritten rule.

“You know what picture.��

“I kept it in the room, Y/N,” he said, sounding as though he was treading carefully. As though you were a hibernating bear, ready to pounce.

This shouldn’t be hard. Love shouldn’t—

“Why?” you whispered, closing your eyes as you felt the salty wetness build up.

He didn’t respond, and you weren’t patient.

“Why, Toji?—”

“Because it didn’t belong there.”

You wanted to laugh. He might as well have kicked you and knocked the air out of your lungs because the latter did happen. You found it hard to breathe under his stare, his nostrils flaring in annoyance the way they did.

You didn’t want to ask why, because you knew why. You understood why, and you wished you could be blind to human emotion, to human flaws and errors because it would be a lot easier to walk away from this with the feeling that he was wrong and you were right.

When you stood up, your joined hands pulled away, too. If you weren’t as cynical as you were in that moment, you probably would’ve thought it was symbolic. Because a part of you was slowly pulling away from him, too. And love can be hard, you realized and accepted once again, but it doesn’t have to be dealt with all the time.

You weren’t sure if you could continue fighting constantly with the thoughts inside your head just so you could feel that Toji is here because he wants to be, and he’s not doing it while comparing you to his late wife. It was difficult to feel you being pushed away from him and his son’s life, even though it happened in the form of a photo frame from a small printing store. But maybe, just maybe, love shouldn’t be harder than you can handle.

“Do I belong here, Toji?” you asked, a sad smile forming on your lips.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #toji angst #toji fushiguro angst #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #naoya zenin loml

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hawkinsmethlab · 10 months

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Dustin is quiet on the ride to his house.

Unusual, but nothing unheard of, especially when he’s thinking hard about something. From what Steve had been able to pick up before he’d dropped off Mike and Lucas, there’s a lot going on in the Dumpsters and Dangers department.

Steve is half-tempted to ask him about it, even though he won’t understand a single word, just to see Dustin get excited about something. Not that he’d ever admit it to the kid’s face, but he’s missed him a bit. Ever since he started up Hellfire it’s been “Eddie this” and “Eddie that.” Give him a break.

But, it’s a bad listening day, and Steve’s really just trying to hear the commercial on the radio over the sharp ringing in his right ear. It’s one that plays a million times a day and he knows it by heart at this point, but that kind of makes it worse. Just means he knows when he’s missing a word or a sound effect.

But it’s fine. He’s handling it. The constant ringing used to make him feel like he was going insane, especially on bad days like this where it’s like a physical presence in his head that leaves him feeling lopsided, like the Upside Down itself is pulling on him. Coming and going in piercing waves that block out any other noise, no matter how loud or how close.

Robin thinks it’s a problem.

“I’m dealing with it,” he’d told her, both of them on her bed with her history textbook in his lap. She had a test on Monday and sure, Steve wasn’t the best student, but he’d helped Nancy study a million times.

“Sure,” Robin said. “Except that you aren’t. You’re avoiding it, and those are two very different things. Do I need to pull out my dictionary and beat you over the head with it?”

“Which one, you have like, seven in here.”

“Maybe we can try them all just to see what sticks.” Then, she’d folded herself over the edge of her bed to rummage around in her bag. “But also, I was just thinking, maybe we could give this a try?”

She handed him a folded up piece of paper, biting her lip. Steve took it, skeptical, and unfolded it to see a poster for the Bloomington community center that read American Sign Language Lessons.

At Steve’s extended silence of like, a second, she continued, “I thought we could do it together. For fun. Really up our trash talk game.”

Steve had just stared at it, dread settling low in his stomach like a sack of rocks. He dropped the poster on the bed. “Thanks, but neither of us are deaf. We don’t need it.”

She’d sighed. “Steve--”

“‘In which battle was Napoleon defeated?’”

“Waterloo, easy, but listen to me. ASL isn’t just for deaf people. Besides, you don’t have to wait until you can’t hear anything at all to start learning. I mean, you could, that’s the whole point of the language, but I don’t think you would handle it very well.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just saying.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe we could even get some of the kids into it. I bet Dustin would--”

“No, Robin.” It came out a bit more harsh than he’d meant it, a little scared and he hated that. He crossed his arms just in case his hands decided to start shaking. “Just. Can we drop it?”

Robin, being Robin and he loved her for it but Jesus, leaned forward on her elbows. Steve raised his legs a little to hide the textbook. He wouldn’t put it past her to use this as some kind of con to cheat. Not that she needed to, she’s a genius.

“Steve,” she said, “you can’t just not tell them forever. Eventually, one of them is going to figure it out, and I don’t know about you, but I’d rather tell somebody something like that on my own terms.”

“I’m not not telling them,” he insisted. “It just hasn’t come up.”

“In five months? Or no, you said Billy is when it got really bad and that was a year ago. There hasn’t been a single moment in all that time where someone hasn’t noticed something different?”

Sure they had. A few different times. But, he’d always been kind of air headed and spacey, even before his concussions so it was easy enough for them to just brush it off as Steve being Steve. “I thought I was here to help you study.”

Robin looked at him like he was one of her crossword puzzles. “I’m just trying to understand why you told me and no one else. That’s all.”

“That’s...different.”

What did she want him to say? That to tell her had been one of the scariest moments of his life, had made him miss the demodog-infested tunnels, had made him feel like he needed a bat in his hands? That saying it, any of it, out loud had left him feeling like he needed to hurl? That the thought of telling anyone else who wasn’t her, as wild as that was for someone he’d met six and a half months ago, left him on the edge of a fucking panic attack?

Yeah, sure, he’d get right on that.

Robin stared at him a little longer before she leaned back, the fight gone. “Fine.” She reached over and grabbed the poster, folded it back up and put it back in her bag. “Just promise me you’ll give it some thought? Even just a little?”

“Scout’s honor.” He held up his hand.

“You were never a scout. And that’s the wrong hand.”

“I went to summer camp that one time!”

“That’s not the boy scouts, Steve!”

It’s been three days since then, and as much as he would like to forget about the whole thing, he’s been kind of agonizing over it. Over what Robin had said, about them figuring it out on their own. Would that be better? Worse?

Either option leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Makes him want to dig Billy up from his grave just to put him back in it. Him and those fucking Russians.

There’s a slap on his arm. “Steve!” Dustin’s glaring at him. “Jesus, finally. You just passed my house.”

Oh. Whoops. “My bad.” He pulls into a random driveway to turn around. “Don’t have to shout, man, car’s only so big.”

“I said your name like six times.”

Steve sighs and wishes for about the millionth time that his tinny-whatever-Owens-had-called-it had a dial so he could turn it down. Or off, really, that’d be great. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little distracted. Some--work thing that Keith’s on my ass about.”

He pulls up in front of Dustin’s house and debates getting out. On any other day he’d be happy to walk him to the door and talk to Mrs. Henderson, but that usually leads to her inviting (or ordering) him to stay for dinner, and while his stomach is more than on board for whatever she’s whipped up, his head has the louder argument.

“Alright, man,” he says and cuts off the radio. “I’ll see you later.”

Dustin doesn’t move. He’s got his backpack on his lap and a loose grip on the door handle, but that’s it. He almost looks...nervous?

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dustin nervous before.

“What’s up?” Steve asks. “Your mom pissed at you or something?”

Dustin scoffs. “Please, I’m an angel.”

“Only in her eyes. Come on, what’s bugging you? Something one of the guys said? A kid at school? Some sort of mathematical nerd thing that’s got you stumped?” He gasps. “It’s not Suzie, is it, I swear to god--”

Dustin looks almost scandalized at that. “No. What? No. Nothing like that. I’m just--” He’s suddenly back to nervous. He starts picking at the zipper on his backpack, takes his hand off the door. “I’m just not sure how to--”

After a few more seconds of stuttering silence, Steve rolls his eyes. “Dustin, just spit it out. Whatever it is, you can talk to me. I mean, I can’t promise how helpful talking to me will be, with all the stuff you guys get up to but hey, I can at least try, right?”

Dustin sighs and turns in his seat to face Steve more fully. He seems to steel himself before saying, “Okay. I just want to say, before we move forward, that I’m not mad.”

Oh. Not exactly what he was expecting. “...Okay? I’m not either.”

“And I still think you’re cool or whatever, and we’ll still be friends no matter what.”

Steve nods, completely lost. “Right.”

“Because society can say whatever the fuck it wants!” Dustin is yelling suddenly. “And they can go on and on about the bible and whatever the hell Reagan is talking about, but you’re my friend, dammit! You’re my friend!”

“Whoa, Dustin!” Steve raises his hands, both to calm him down and maybe to protect himself a little. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dustin takes a deep breath. “I’m talking about how you’re--” He looks around, as if they weren’t alone in the car, then whispers, “About how you’re gay.”

Steve blinks, slowly. There was no way he heard that right. Right? “You think I’m what?”

“I know,” Dustin says. He puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder in what he assumes is supposed to be comforting. “I know that you’re gay and I just want to tell you that it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Steve leans back and stares at him. Dustin leans with him, keeping his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m not gay.”

“You don’t have to hide from me anymore,” he says. “I love you, you’re my friend, one of my best friends, and nothing is gonna change that.”

“Well, that’s great and I appreciate it, but I’m still not gay.”

“Yes.” Dustin nods solemnly. “You are.”

Steve laughs. A short one, like a gunshot, and pinches the bridge of his nose. When Robin had told him about people drawing their own conclusions, she probably hadn’t imagined something like this. God, he can’t ever tell her about this. “Oh my god. Okay. What, uh, what gave me away?”

“Well, really, you shouldn’t feel too bad. I don’t think anyone else has noticed.”

“Hmm.”

“But you’ve just been kind of out of it lately. Distracted more, like right now, driving me home, or when we watch movies. Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at Harrison Ford. Raiders of the Lost Ark and Star Wars, dude.”

“Now hold on, that’s not--”

“And then, back at Thanksgiving, when my mom was telling you that story about me and Suzie and you just looked so uncomfortable--”

Because Steve hadn’t had a single clue what she was talking about.

“--plus, I’ve seen the way you look at Eddie so--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait.” Steve scoffs. “How I look at Munson? The Freak.”

“Well, yeah, it’s like you’re being tortured or something.” He shrugs. “It’s kind of romantic, honestly.”

Jesus Christ. “Okay. Wow.” This is worse than every Upside Down encounter combined. “Dustin, I will repeat: I am not gay. There’s an explanation for all of those things, but it doesn’t involve my sexuality in any way. Got it?”

Dustin raises an eyebrow, totally not believing him. Finally, he leans back. Crosses his arms. “Alright then, I’m listening.”

Whenever he did let himself picture how telling one of the kids would go, this hadn’t been what he’d imagined. But really, this has already gone so terribly, so how could it possibly get worse?

(Dustin could look at him like he’s broken, like he doesn’t recognize him, could tell him that he doesn’t trust Steve to watch his back, could start treating him differently or avoiding him, he’s already hanging out with Munson more, why not just abandon him altogether--)

“Alright.” He runs a hand through his hair before settling it on the bottom of the wheel, gripping it so tight his knuckles go sheet white. “So. Yeah, I’ve been distracted and not...listening as well.”

“Because you’ve been thinking about--”

“Nope!” Steve closes his eyes. Deep breaths and quick prayer to not kill a child. “It’s because I literally can’t listen as well as I used to. I--I have hearing loss.”

His second time saying it out loud to another person and it’s met with a similar kind of gut-turning silence. Steve watches Dustin’s face go through several rapid changes before settling on something confused, his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows low.

“Oh.”

Then he looks mad.

“You have what? Dude!” He starts slapping Steve across his arm. “Since when?”

“Since--Jesus, man, stop! Since the mall fire, okay?”

Dustin freezes and Steve does too, the guilt like ice in his chest. He looks at Dustin and knows he’s thinking about the elevator and the bunker and the sizzling of human flesh under a fucked up cattle prod. It had been a tough summer for all of them, but Steve won’t ever be able to forget how Dustin had sat next to him in his car, just like this, trembling when he told Steve about how he was having nightmares. About how he thinks he might have killed that guy, and what did that make him?

A hero, Steve had told him. You saved our lives.

“If I hadn’t--” Dustin starts.

“Cutting you off there, Henderson. This,” Steve waves a hand around his face, “is not your problem. Okay? It has nothing to do with you.”

Dustin looks so small then, so lost, and Steve feels his heart twist. He reaches over and ruffles his hair. “It’ll be okay. I can still hear out of my right ear, so I’ve got that going for me.”

Dustin frowns. “Does anyone else know?”

“Only you and Robin. I just...haven’t found the right time.”

“The right time being when? It’s been months. If we’d known, we could have helped you.”

Just like with Robin, he doesn’t have a good answer. Doesn’t really have any answer, and doesn’t know when he will. “I’ll get around to it. Sometime. But,” he locks eyes with Dustin, “you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone until I’m ready.”

“Steve--”

“Promise me, Dustin.” He stares him down. “I’m dead serious.”

Dustin sighs, but nods. “Alright.”

“On your mom’s life?”

Dustin recoils. “Dude, you’re bringing my mom into this?” Then, “Alright, fine, I swear on my mother’s life. Cross my heart and hope to die and all that shit, I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thanks.” Steve claps him on the shoulder. “Now get out.”

“Does Robin know you’re gay?”

“What?” Robin can never know about this conversation. “Dude, no, I’m not gay!”

“So you are dating Robin.”

“I’m not dating anyone! Definitely not Robin, and I don’t have any kind of crush on Munson or anyone else!”

“But I swear, the way you look at him--”

“I hate his guts, now get out or I’ll hold your hat hostage.”

With a proper amount of grumbling, Dustin manhandles his backpack and steps out. He goes to shut the door, but pauses. “You know, you saved my life too. I’ve got your back no matter what. Okay?”

His eyes sting, so he itches his nose. Clears his throat to make sure it won’t crack when he says, “Yeah, Dustin, I know. You too.”

The next second he’s gone and Steve, alone in his car, is left to think that maybe...ASL lessons might not be so bad.

#stranger things #steve harringing #robin buckley #dustin henderson #hard of hearing steve harrington #hoh steve harrington #platonic stobin #steve later: I should talk to him about trying to get people to out themselves #also he FOR SURE tells robin about it #and regrets it immediately #cut to him and eddie dating and dustin just gives them the smuggest look #my writing

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tinymousboobs · 3 months

Text

EV3 Act II

content warning: cnc

I came into the office several hours early on Monday to find EV3 powered off, laying on her back on the bed. her big LED eyes, normally bright and full of life, were pitch black. her charger was right there next to her, but somebody hadn't bothered to plug her in

I connected her charger to the port on her thigh and her eyes lit up shortly thereafter with a blinking battery symbol. I definitely left her plugged in when I went home on Friday, but there she was, drained to 0%

I looked EV3 over and realized she'd been written on in permanent marker. multiple styles of handwriting, too. "slut," "grab here," "toy," "whore," "fake." they'd written on her hips, her chest, her stomach, her face. someone had written "Venus" across the length of her penis, too. it was smudged...

EV3's penis was still erect, too. there was just a simple mechanism that would push a metal rod from inside her body through a cavity in the silicone of her shaft, standing it up and making it more firm. if she powered off while she was still hard she would just stay that way

I left the room to grab some washcloths, soap, rubbing alcohol, etc. just when I came back with some cleaning supplies, EV3 finally charged up enough to power on proper. her eyes lit up and her erection started to go down

I paused for a moment. this was the first time I'd been alone with her since the incident. but she didn't look or act like the same robot anymore...

I thought about my coworkers, probably having some weekend party I wasn't invited to, having their ways with her, marking her all up, leaving her here for the janitor, who evidently didn't care, to clean their filth off of her and take care of her. Claire probably made EV3 fuck her while everyone watched

EV3 sat up at the foot of the bed, and I came over to sit next to her. I felt tiny next to her, but she sat so politely, hands resting on her knees. she watched me as I scrubbed rubbing alcohol into her casing, getting up every little smudge of permanent marker while she stayed in place for me. I was careful not to get any of the harsh alcohol on her softer silicone parts

then I soaked a washcloth in the soapy water bucket I'd prepared and got to work scrubbing the words "grab here" and "fake" off of her soft silicone chest. still, EV3 just sat politely. I hate to admit this, but it was somewhat erotic for me. we somehow still hadn't gotten around to making her breasts sensitive, and it frankly felt awkward to touch her there without any reaction, especially considering how arousing I found it. I think I would have felt more comfortable if she had been into it

then I washed her penis. in a way, that was less awkward, because she tensed up her rotors and gradually became more erect as I scrubbed down the length of her shaft, removing the word "Venus" (and whatever other fluids were surely dried onto her) bit by bit. EV3's LED eyes displayed big red hearts and her legs stiffened as I scrubbed out the last of it. if she had had speakers I'm sure she would have been moaning

EV3 squirted out several loads of cold, synthetic ejaculant, and I cleaned that off of her too. she laid back on the bed, moving as if she was panting heavily, as her erection went down again

yes, I found our encounter arousing, but EV3 needed cleaning either way, and evidently nobody else had cared enough to do it. furthermore, after what had evidently been done to her, it would have felt downright disrespectful to touch her like that while she was powered off. I think it was perfectly professional of me to go about this the way I did. I touched her only as much as necessary. it's not as if I was using her to masturbate

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eretzyisrael · 2 months

Text

by Dave Rich

On the other hand, some of those central London synagogues have got into the habit of changing their service times on days when there are anti-Israel demonstrations so their congregants can vacate the area before the protestors turn up; and there are usually police stationed outside, just in case. And a lot of other Jewish Londoners, the ones who live in the suburbs and might otherwise go into central London on a Saturday to shop, visit an exhibition or a museum or do whatever other people do in central London at the weekend, will be staying at home. So maybe not a no-go zone, but also not a normal, sustainable state of affairs.

It shouldn’t be hard to understand why this is the case. Imagine you are a Jewish person who lives in Golders Green. On the morning of Monday 9th October you woke up to find that somebody had painted “FREE PALESTINE” in massive letters across the two railway bridges that you walk under on your way to the tube station to get to work. I find it hard to believe it’s a coincidence that this happened in the best-known Jewish neighbourhood in the whole country: it looked very much like an attempt to intimidate the Jewish community.

Or perhaps you are one of the hundreds of British Jews who has had “Free Palestine” shouted at you in the street by a random stranger, in an act of racist hostility because they spotted a Jew. It’s unsurprising you might not want to put yourself in that same position again, but this time with tens of thousands shouting that same slogan.

I’ve written before about the unknowability of how many of these marchers are simply expressing genuine human rights concerns; how many are motivated by utter hatred of Israel; and how many are using it as a cloak for their antisemitism. We do know that all three types are present on most of these demonstrations, and we like to tell ourselves that the ones fuelled by hatred of Israel and Jews rather than compassion for Palestinians are in the minority, but really, who knows? Especially now that the hundreds of thousands of part-time protestors have drifted away and the demonstrations have reduced down to a hardcore of 20,000 or so true believers.

When people think of a “hate march” they tend to picture mobs of skinheads rampaging through neighbourhoods, beating up anyone they take a dislike to. Or perhaps violent jihadists seeking out their next terror victim. That is not what is happening in central London each weekend. These marches are mostly well-behaved with hardly any violence at all. If you are Jewish and happen to be standing by the side of the road as one of these marches passes by, you will probably be fine.

But a lot hinges on that word: “probably”. Nobody wants to be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and since 7 October there have been a lot more wrong places and wrong times for Jews than previously. Just ask Duche Sorotzkin, who was attacked in Trafalgar Square after one march.

#london #no go zones #jews #british jews #protest #antisemitism

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graysnetwork · 1 year

Note

hello !! can i request gary "roach" sanderson x gn!reader headcanons ? like how he is in a relationship , how he got together with the reader etc. ( feel free to ignore if requests arent open ! )

Petition to get more Roach imagines, headcannons, and oneshots🪧👋

Edit mid writing: I got carried away with it😅

Edit from right after finishing this: I did this for a whole hour, please somebody get me a therapist this is not healthy.

GARY “Roach” SANDERSON X GN!READER HEADCANNONS

(If you weren’t in the military) you knocked on his door asking if he had a battery charger because nobody in the neighborhood seemed to have one

The moment his eyes captured you he was amazed by how pretty you were, he went to grab his charger for you, and gave it to you, you left and he saw that you lived right next door to him

He didn’t want to be a creep so he went back to cooking his dinner and listening to the tv, but you did stay stuck in his mind for those two hours, the way your eyes looked, the scent you radiated, and your smile when you said thank you and introduced yourself to him.

He remembered that at 6pm he heard an engine roaring, when he went out to look he saw you sitting in your car checking something, he saw how happy you looked, before he knew it you sped off, only leaving echoes.

—

(If you were in the military) you two were in different squads same units but never met, only ever seeing each other occasionally.

Price had called you in to talk with you, telling you— you would be working with another squad on a mission, then he introduced you to Roach

There was an immediate connection, something was there, some type of electricity that you couldn’t specify.

But nonetheless you are quite determined when it came to your job, even with you being confused with your emotions about Roach, you got your job done, that’s what made Roach more interested in you. How efficient you were, and how good at your job you were.

But apparently you two weren’t efficient enough to get out of the only building with a bomb planted in it, you two were so fixated on getting your teams out of the building and grabbing intel you two didn’t realize you were too late to get yourselves out of the building.

To you the bomb got louder with every tick it made, and when it finally gave off three quick ticks you prepared yourself. You felt someone grabbing you, covering you with their entire body wrapped around you and all you heard was the explosion and your ears began to ring. You opened your eyes for a few seconds seeing Roaches eyes before you passed out.

You woke up again hooked up to an IV and laying in front of a doctor/medic. The doctor called Price in and the first thing he said to you was “kid, I didn’t know you were being serious when you said you would die for this job” both of you chuckled. You looked around the room noticing someone in the chair next to your bed, it was Roach.

“He been waiting for you ever since he got out of his own bed” Price told you, you heart melted when you heard him say that, “he really cares about you, you should give him a chance” Price said, you looked back at him confused

“I saw the way you two looked at each other when you two first met, you should give it a shot. go on a date with him, you might love it” Price told you “yeah, I’ll think about it” you told him smiling

—

Now here’s the headcannons

He pretty quiet so he loves to listen to you talk about your day, even if it was bad, in that case he tries to cheer you up and make you feel better.

He’s a good cuddler, he likes being big spoon but prefer having you lay on his chest

(Loves it when he gets to be little spoon)

He’s a pretty good cook, you two have a schedule (he cooks on Monday, you cook on Tuesday, and so on)

But every once a month you two go out to a restaurant

(That’s when he’s home)

When his team found out he had a S/O they were pretty stunned but when they saw you in a picture/met you, they were astonished, I mean how did their mate Roach pull You?

(If you were in the military) they were messing with Roach when they started hearing rumors about him and you going out, but when Roach straight up told them it was true they were stunned, jaws were dropping.

Now if you weren’t in the military, you two moved in together somewhere else, roach had been wanting to move somewhere else so after two years you guys got a house together

Roach is a sweetheart, he’s literally such an amazing bf, like a golden retriever but can also just casually turn into German Shepard police dog

Roach doesn’t get jealous easily, it’s pretty hard to get him jealous cause he knows you would never cheat, but he does get mad when guys put there hands on you without consent (obviously)

(For non-military reader) So it’s not like he tries to stop you from going to car meets, he actually enjoys going with you

He finds that you actually know a few of the people there and he becomes friends with them because you always find them

He also takes note of the ones you like, the rims you like, the colors or wraps so he can make you a future Christmas or birthday gift.

Yeah he’s a good bf

NSFW? He’s probably like 7.6 inches maybe even a little bigger

He likes to give oral (a bit more than receiving)

Sometimes he gets lost in the moment and ends up hurting you a bit but never hurt hurting you, probably just digging his nails into your hips

Leaves hickeys each time, he can’t not leave a mark on you, he likes that it looks like claiming almost

Also likes waking up and seeing all the scratches on his back from the night before

(F!reader moment)

Loves it when (he’s giving you oral) and you push his head down, or wrap you legs around him more, it makes him go feral knowing you want more

Position? He probably just loves the basics: missionary, doggy, downward dog, cowgirl

Favorites are probably missionary and cowgirl

He’s open to do anything with you other than bdsm probably, like choking would never happen

As I said he loses himself in the moment sometimes so he would never even trust himself with choking you or wtv

—

That’s it 🤗

#imagines #x reader stories #fluff #call of duty #captain john price #roach cod #gary roach sanderson #cod roach #gary sanderson

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love-and-hisses · 8 months

Text

Somebody's got a case of the MONDAYS. Buck up, Kirk, it'll get better!

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thegrimreaperisanerd · 21 days

Note

hii i have a maybe somewhat difficult question:

how do you go about writing all of the police/detective stuff? I have no knowledge at all about that except having played the game a few times and watching bbc sherlock back when that was a thing.

I have so many cool kimharry things in my mind that i need to get on paper but i don't know how to involve all the cop stuff in a natural way because i don't know anything about it and don't want it to be too wildly incorrect.

so yeah.. how do you even learn the things for this?

thank you so much i love your work

Quite a difficult question I won't lie...... But I've answered at length so it's going under a readmore

This isn't my favourite thing to discuss online as it can trigger my psychosis, but I have an actual dismaying amount of experience with cops. I don't want to talk about it but... Bit like Cuno I suppose. Good ending for that kid is doing public services training ages 14 - 16, and going "oh this is shit actually" once he's got an out from his abusive parent, then working at a restaurant

I quite literally cannot go into detail - so don't ask because I WILL delete this post - but an ex military police officer told us a "funny story" about a "prank" he played on some kids in an occupied location during the late 80s that I recognised as psychological torture, but made my peers laugh. So I decided to become a faggot and poet instead.

~NOW FOR THE FUN ADVICE THAT IS ACTUALLY OF USE TO YOU!

Research:

Honestly, the amount of time I spend looking up stuff for writing is probably more than the time I spend writing. The internet's being fucked by SEO but it's a start. Like... There's plenty of info out there written on the police and their role in systematic oppression, I'm pretty sure there's free PDFs floating around on Tumblr actually...

If it's more "day in the life" I honestly don't know. Maybe reddit or if there's one of those "Ex-[blank} reviews [blank] in movies" videos on Youtube for cops, but obviously take everything said with a pinch of salt.

FAYDE:

Fayde is the best tool at your disposal. We bully Kim a lot for his dedication to the RCM but that makes finding out info pretty easy. EDC too! I've never played with high EDC so just typing in key words (especially names of other officers to try and get character info) and scrolling through is helpful.

Good keywords are "precinct", "RCM", "Militicia" as they'll bring up opinions/ info from other characters.

The RCM is not a traditional police force:

I would worry less about accuracy and more about being interesting. It doesn't need to be a perfect representation of police work since the canon makes a point of there being a distinction in the powers and roles of the RCM. Go listen to the collapsing tenement cut content. You don't need to write about them filling in forms if it's not relevant. It'll show in your writing if you're unsure/ bored.

Make them worse:

If you're going to write one of the officers doing something shitty (yes, that includes Kim and Harry) but worry that you've gone too far then I promise you haven't. Dickheads are drawn to positions of power and the impunity it gives them. There's a reason I wrote one of the 57's officers as a groomer.

Make them less competent:

Don't trust the police, but also don't expect anything of them.

As recently as Monday I had to call for the fire brigade because a lit (thankfully poorly made) petrol bomb had been left under a neighbour's car (I live an irritatingly interesting life for somebody who lives in the middle of fucking nowhere) nobody was harmed. Cop came to find me afterwards to get an interview from me since I'd spotted it and he told me, I kid you not, "Yeah, we're not gonna do anything unless anything else happens." Like, I expected as much but I wasn't expecting him to up and fucking say that. You're welcome for 85% of my council tax, you fucking moron.

Harry's a special case because he's, like, psychic and got "maybe if I solve *THIS* one my wife will let me sleep in the big bed" disorder, and nobody wants to read a case fic that they... don't solve (or do they..? *winks*) But if you care about realism you need dick-in-hand dipshits. Another favourite quote of mine from an officer two years back; "Is 'right wing' the good one or the bad one?" So the advice here is you're writing a cop well if you're reading it and thinking: holy shit please just go work at a TESCOs instead.

Don't worry so much:

You should write, first and foremost, for yourself. I like detective fiction, I have wasted an unfortunate amount of my life dealing with police due to my job and shit childhood. (I did originally write far more about this, but frankly it's better for myself if I don't bother. That's why it's taken me five days to answer this)

I've read/ watched a lot of detective fiction and I'm always more drawn to stuff that is less based in police work. Private investigators, investigative journalists, kid detectives like Nancy Drew, ect.

In particular my favourite book, perhaps of all time, is called Hideaway by Dean Koontz and is two fathers (one: the killer's father - a talented doctor who brought his shithead son back to life - and another, the doctor's most recent patient to be brought back from the brink who has developed a psychic link with the killer as a result) trying to stop him, but never actually meeting! It's one hell of a read if you need inspo.

Val McDermott is a good author for crime writing with less police input, too. She has a book called Killing The Shadows which is excellent. The Killer's motive is taking out crime writers who've romanticised psychological profilers after he was wrongly convicted. Fair enough! Until he starts... Killing about it? Sort of defeats the message... Anyway, what's fun about this book is that before each crime writer is killed (in the same way they wrote THEIR killers killing!! Love that) you get to read the first chapter of each writer's most famous work. So you are essentially getting six crime books in one (first chapter of at least) ...Also the main character's husband is a crime writer called Kit, which I've only remembered just double checking the book name now. Lol???

...This is just turning into me recommending books.

TLDR: write what you know, write what is fun, ACAB, don't even worry about it

#Hope this helps #I'm not upset about being messaged about this by the way i hope it doesn't come off like that #DUCKLINGS THAT DROWN #Imprinting #breakthrough imminent: post of mine

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the-90s-music-colosseum · 2 months

Text

The 90s Song Ever - Round 1 Results

Hello y'all it's me again!! We have collectively suffered through the first month of this tournament, slicing the 256-song bracket clean in half and experiencing tremendous pain. Unfortunately it is late now and I'm sleepy, so the anticipated start of Round 2 is postponed til tomorrow - keep your eyes peeled for polls! Until then... good night.

Expand to see the results of Round 1! Songs in green will be moving onto the next stage, songs in red have been banished to the shadow realm.

Side A1

Midlife Crisis vs When You Sleep Emotions vs Barbie Girl Sugar Kane vs Firestarter More Than Words vs Born Slippy Sabotage vs Wonderwall November Rain vs I Want It That Way Losing My Religion vs Kiss Of Life Stratford-On-Guy vs Grace, Too Shitlist vs Freak On A Leash Blue (Da Ba Dee) vs Doll Parts Peaches vs Bulls On Parade All Star vs Flagpole Sitta Push It vs The Distance I Could Fall In Love vs Blue Monday Two Princes vs Bitch End of the Road vs The Private Psychedelic Reel Sour Times vs Sober 1979 vs Constant Craving Now That We Found Love vs Sunburn Loverman vs Wakko's America Around The World vs Lightning Crashes Believe vs Nothing Compares 2 U Pepper vs Windowlicker Fly vs Law & Order Theme Black Hole Sun vs Sex and Candy Animal Nitrate vs Unfinished Sympathy No Rain vs The Rain Free Your Mind vs My Heart Will Go On Du Hast vs The X-Files Theme C'est la Vie vs Fear Of The Dark Supersonic vs Deceptacon Running in the 90s vs The Tourist

Side A2

Beetlebum vs Are You That Somebody Sway vs River Of Deceit Hunger Strike vs Who Will Save Your Soul? Generator vs Bills, Bills, Bills Doo Wop (That Thing) vs Finally Tearin' Up My Heart vs Silence Kid Enter Sandman vs Everybody (Backstreet's Back) Boombastic vs I'll Be There For You Yakko's World vs To Be With You Cotton Eye Joe vs Amish Paradise Nuthin' But A "G" Thang vs Basket Case Dagger vs Seven Rebel Girl vs Groove is in the Heart Baby Got Back vs Hallelujah Only Happy When It Rains vs Say You'll Be There U Can't Touch This vs How Bizarre Nancy Boy vs Cornflake Girl Affirmation vs Don't Walk Away The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air vs The Boy Is Mine Scatman (Ski-Ba-Bop-Ba-Dop-Dop) vs Juicy Buddy Holly vs Closing Time Pony vs Wynona's Big Brown Beaver Pretend We're Dead vs All I Wanna Do Santeria vs Send Me On My Way Birdhouse In Your Soul vs That Don't Impress Me Much Vogue vs Brain Stew/Jaded Kiss Me vs These Are Days MMMBop vs Black Genie In A Bottle vs Bullet With Butterfly Wings Tank! (Cowboy Bebop opening theme) vs Smells Like Nirvana Mind Playing Tricks On Me vs (Everything I Do) I Do It For You Friday I'm In Love vs Would?

Side B1

Everlong vs Only Wanna Be With You California Love vs Fall At Your Feet Glory Box vs Man In The Box Livin' la Vida Loca vs Are You Gonna Go My Way What's Up vs If Only Personal Jesus vs Everybody Hurts The World I Know vs Glycerine Semi-Charmed Life vs You Get What You Give I'm Too Sexy vs Amor Prohibido Rhythm Of The Night vs Heaven or Las Vegas Heart Shaped Box vs In the Aeroplane over the Sea Everything Must Go vs Insane in the Brain Tornado of Souls vs Rabbit in Your Headlights My Own Summer (Shove It) vs Ice Ice Baby Californication vs Crush On You Clown vs No Scrubs Bitter Sweet Symphony vs Say My Name Waterfalls vs Cowboys from Hell Army of Me vs Tomorrow Adam's Song vs Self Esteem Under The Bridge vs None Of Your Business No More Tears vs Roll The Bones Black Or White vs Pure Morning Stay (I Missed You) vs Lump Girls and Boys vs De Música Ligera Waking Up vs Be Aggressive Can I Kick It? vs You Oughta Know Canned Heat vs Your Woman Cannonball vs Always Be My Baby Painkiller vs Even Flow Goldeneye vs Tubthumping Steal My Sunshine vs I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)

Side B2

Closer vs Sorted For E's and Wizz Bring It All Back vs Loser Wannabe vs Jesus Christ Pose Kiss From A Rose vs Nothing Else Matters Killing in the Name vs That's The Way Love Goes Pokemon Theme (Gotta Catch 'Em All) vs Ordinary World Song of Storms vs Estoy Aquí The World Is Not Enough vs I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone Criminal vs Real Love Enjoy the Silence vs Plush This Is Halloween vs Spooky Scary Skeletons Fade Into You vs I Will Always Love You Istanbul (Not Constantinople) vs Iris Been Caught Stealing vs Virtual Insanity I Wish vs No Diggity Torn vs Common People Gangsta's Paradise vs Detachable Penis What Is Love vs The Sign Linger vs Ironic Venus as a Boy vs Lover, You Should've Come Over 100% Pure Love vs Macarena (Bayside Boys remix) Violet vs Sugar Spongebob Squarepants Theme vs ...Baby One More Time Loaded vs Creep The Kids Aren't Alright vs One In A Million Right Here, Right Now vs Bruise Violet Killing Me Softly With His Song vs Lovefool Jump Around vs Jump Don't Speak vs Spit It Out Intergalactic vs Dreams Say It Ain't So vs Smells Like Teen Spirit Poison vs Rid of Me

#the 90s song ever #masterpost #round 1 results #90s music

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glygriffe · 5 months

Text

The Lockpick

Fandom - Supernatural Character - Sam Winchester Summary - A missing scene in the Pilot episode, at Sam's apartment. Word Count - 800 A note - I finally did it! I finished my first fic for the @spnfanficpond rewatch, fanfiction edition! Particularly proud of this being from Sam's POV since it is a lot easier to write Dean than Sam.

Sam packed his bag to follow Dean for the weekend in search of their dad. He was thrilled to be with Dean again after all that time. It had been way too long since he last saw his brother. Way too long since they last talked on the phone, even. Before Jess, Dean was his world, and seeing him tonight brought back all kinds of mixed feelings.

For one, he was delighted with the clues Dean presented him for this hunt Dad supposedly disappeared from. It was the hunt itself almost as much as the help Sam could provide to his brother that made him agree to follow Dean. He felt a little guilty about that. In theory, he went to college to get out of the hunting life. In theory, he no longer wanted to work a case, research lore, or defeat monsters. In theory.

Because he still kept, unbeknownst to Jess, a whole assortment of objects and tools for defeating the supernatural. He even kept a set of blades engraved with symbols he hadn't yet deciphered that he had never used. They were not still in his possession just for self-defense against the occult. And he didn't choose to follow Dean in his quest for their dad just for the family's sake. The truth was, he missed it. Just a little.

Before telling Jessica a half-truth about why he was following his brother, Sam had put one of the blades in his duffle bag. He also took his lockpick from under the bed frame and hid the tool in his hoodie's pocket. He probably wouldn't need it. It was mostly a case to be solved, mental gymnastics.

He got excited with the possibilities offered by the EVP on that message Dean played for him much more than with the rescue mission. Not that he didn't love his father. But he was skeptical about John's willingness to be followed. Especially by his younger son. The man had been pretty clear about the not coming back part of his shouted statement the last time they saw each other. Sam loved Jessica and the safe life he had built for himself at Stanford. He was sure he would be a great lawyer one day, probably sooner than later if he did land the full ride to law school on Monday. But a part of him also thrived in mystery. He loved the puzzle of figuring out a case or the precision demanded to pick a lock properly. That is probably why he held on to his lockpick in the first place.

It was Dean who had given him this tool ten years ago. Because it could be useful on a hunt, sure. But mostly because it allowed Sam to explore all the intricacies of different locks or padlocks. It kept his mind engaged, challenged. He had practiced relentlessly for days at a time, between school and research for their dad's monster of the week hunt.

Dean had been a good lockpick teacher and was proficient with the tool, but with time, when their dad had finally brought both his sons on hunts, it was Sam who did most of the illegal entering on their jobs. Dean was a better lookout than Sam, able to think on his feet and charm bystanders away from the crime scene. He was not against throwing a punch or two if need be to give his brother the time to go, unscathed. When it was the other way around, young Sammy had frozen more often than not, leaving Dean to try to explain yet another bruise on his face on the next school day when somebody came by while he was picking a lock. He also missed entire school days when John was not there to bail him out of jail when he got caught. A pang of guilt stabbed Sam at the memories. Yeah, their system worked better with Dean as the lookout and Sam as the breaking-and-entering guy.

Sam touched the pocket where he had hidden the lockpick and felt comforted. He got this. He would help Dean, reconnect with his brother for a couple of days. They will find their father, or not. They will close the case or not. It was a toss because he was rusty as a hunter and had limited time to do the job. The Monday interview would seal his future as a lawman and nothing short of the end of the world could make him miss the interview.

Bad comes to worst, he could always use the lockpick to get out of a tough spot. But the small tool symbolized what all his mind and body were capable of, working together. And he was proud of it even if he would never admit to it out loud.

#spn rewatch #Spnfanficpond Spn rewatch #pond events #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn gen fic

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