#...which actually. steven nearly does too

[the-acid-pear]

honestly. there's something to be said about all the steven jack parallels. i wont now so someone else should do it for me.

[morganbritton132]

(Continuing from this in the Steve Has A Broken Arm Universe apparently)

Hopper desperately needs caffeine.

Sarah’s doing this cute little thing called sleep regression. He was up with her all night and is so tired that he genuinely considered letting Callahan drive. He needs coffee. Now.

It’s the only thing he’s focused when he walks into the diner and takes a seat at the bar. He barely notices the kid next to him until-

“Hi, Mr Hopper,” Steve says. He throws his hands over his head when Hopper looks over at him, “Don’t touch my hair. Everybody touches my hair.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

Steve is slow to lower his defenses which bother Hopper. He ignored the feeling and instead, gestures to the grass stains on Steve’s baseball uniform, “Have a game today?”

“Yeah,” He perks up, slamming a dirty baseball on the counter between them. “Look at this. It’s the game ball. Coach Hammond gave it to me ‘cause I had the winning hit. I hit the ball so far that it almost touched the fence. Isn’t that cool?”

Before Hopper can reply, Patty fills his mug with fresh coffee and says, “You hear that? We got ourselves a future major leaguer here, Hop.”

Steve lights up even more and tells Hopper with big serious eyes and a bright smile, “Coach says I’m the best on the team. I think he really means it, too.”

“I’m sure he does,” Hopper tells him. “Benny typically says what he means.”

“He said that if I practice real hard during off-season that maybe next year, I can move up to kid pitch,” Steve tells him. “That’s a big deal, Mr Hopper. Those are nine year olds.”

“Sounds like it,” Hopper nods. “Are you here celebrating your win?”

“No, I’m waitin’ for my dad,” Steve says and the smile in Hopper dies. “Miss Patty says I can sit here ‘cause I ordered a cookie. That means I’m a paying customer an’ not Lloyd-a-ring.”

Hopper doesn’t respond to that. Instead he turns on his stool to face away from the bar the same way Steve was. He scanned the restaurant before asking, “Your dad couldn’t make your game?”

“Dad has a meeting here,” Steve says, not actually answering Hopper’s question with is pretty par for course when it comes to his parents. “I saw it on his agenda yesterday. I’m gonna show him my ball an’ he’ll be proud of me.”

Hopper hums, “He should always be proud of you.”

“He’s gonna be here any minute,” Steve says. “Then I gotta go home and show Mama.”

So neither parent went to his game. Good to know.

“-and then I’m staying the night at Tommy’s,” Steve continues. “I like Tommy’s dad, Mr David, even if he’s not a real doctor ‘cause he only looks at teeth. He’s real strong ‘cause he pick me up. He’s strong than my dad ‘cause my dad don’t pick me up no - Dad!”

Steve jumps off his stool and runs towards his father, nearly knocking the man over before he gets through the door. Steve’s chattering excitably and the first thing Richard says is, “Steven, stop.”

Steve steps back at the tone but then Richard makes eye contact with Hopper. There’s a moment of hesitation before he runs a hand through his son’s hair, “Your hair is a mess.”

Steve jerks his head back, swears, “I brushed it this morning. I promise. I wanna show-“

“And you got dirt on my suit,” Richard sighed, moving towards a booth as he brushes the dust off his leg. He gestures behind him to the person he’s with, “Steven, manners.”

“Hi, Uncle Larry,” Steve greets like he’s reading a script. “I’m gonna vote for you for mayor.”

Larry Kline has never won an election but it doesn’t stop him from fake laughing like a real politician, ruffling Steve’s hair. He comments on the cast on Steve’s arm. Richard tenses up and Steve’s avoids the topic, “Uh-huh, it’s cool. I was waiting for you guy ‘cause-“

“Because.”

“Because,” Steve stresses. “Coach Hammond says-“

“Steven,” Richard sighs. “That’s nice but Uncle Larry and I have a campaign to plan. You can tell me later.”

“But…”

“Would you rather your uncle lose another election?”

“No?”

“Okay, then-“

“Nonsense, Dickie,” Larry laughs, sweeping Steve up and sitting him in the booth. “Let the kid see the American experiment in action. We could have a future president on our hands.”

Hopper loses a bit of the conversation as the lunch rush starts to pour in but he can see the way they snort at the prospect. He can see the way Steve’s bright eyes dim and his shoulders slump when he sits down with them.

Hopper drinks his second cup of coffee and walks over to the table.

“Dick,” He addresses. “I heard your boy is staying with The Hagans tonight. I’m driving that way. I can drop him off.”

It’s an out. They all know it.

Richard Harrington lives up to the name though and instead of offloading a kid he doesn’t even want there, turns to his son and asks, “What do you want to do, Steven? Go with the police or stay with your father?”

“I…” Steve hesitates. “No, thank you, Mr Hopper. I wanna - I want to learn about elections.”

“Officer Hopper, Steven.”

“Officer Hopper,” Steve revises. “Sorry.”

[ghostfacd]

WIRED AUTOCOMPLETE. | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which you and tom make a special appearance on wired’s autocomplete interview

installment of this au | recommend reading for more context

“Hi — we’re Y/N Avocot and Tom Blyth — and this is the Wired Autocomplete Interview!”

You’re both handed a white board, bigger than your face, and there’s a list of questions with some of the words covered.

“Do you want to go first?” Tom asks, giving you a small smile.

“Yes! I’m pretty excited actually,” you begin to peel off the first question. “Okay, first question: what was Y/N Avocot’s first role?”

You think for a moment, “well in terms of roles in general, my first acting role was very small and I believe it was for this ice cream commercial as a kid. I’m not sure if it’s still up but my mom had signed me up for it and they thought I was a really cute kid so they casted me.”

Tom laughs, “really?” He then retrieves his board from the crew. “Okay my turn. Why does Coriolanus Snow turn evil?”

That question makes you slightly giggle, because it’s so broad that it’s nearly impossible for Tom to narrow down exactly what it is that made Coriolanus suddenly switch. “I believe you should be asking Suzanne Collins, shout-out to her for making the entire trilogy and prequel. But honestly? I think he was always power hungry, and even though Tigris tried her very best to bring out the humanity in him, it was just never enough. Especially after Sejanus’s death, I think Coriolanus realized there was no going back.”

“Oh wow,” you say, very impressed with how he decided to answer it. “That was a terrific answer Tom.”

“Thank you m’lady.” You giggle at his antics, rolling your eyes jokingly.

“What role does Y/N Avocot play in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes?” You clear your throat, imitating one of your character’s iconic resting bitch face.

“I play Balleona Laurent, duh.” You joke. “Anyway, yes, I play Balleona, also known as Leona. She’s originally from the Capitol just like Coriolanus. They met at the academy and she automatically knew she had to have him. She comes from the Laurent family, which is a very very wealthy, well off, intimidating family that Coriolanus knows he just has to get into, which is why they start dating. I don’t wanna spoil too much of Leona and Corio in the movie, soooo you guys should definitely check it out!”

“Alright,” Tom adjusts himself in his seat, ripping off the paper for the next question. “Does Tom Blyth have a girlfriend?”

He pretends to think, which makes you bite your lip, suppressing a laugh. “Hmm, very complex question.”

“Oh give the people what they want!” You tease, “yes he does. He’s inlove with Jennifer Lawrence.”

“I am not inlove with Jennifer Lawrence!” He exclaims quickly, “although I greatly admire her work. My girlfriend is Y/N Avocot over here, sadly.”

“Sadly?!” You fake offense, “cut the cameras. I’m gonna beat Tom up.”

You peel away at your next question, the interview already being loads of fun for the both of you. “Is Y/N Avocot a good singer?”

Your head falls forward, and Tom’s automatic instinct is to catch you, not realizing you’re only joking. “Oh God, I hope so!” You say, laughing as you pick your head up. “I’m no Mariah Carey but I like to think I’m a pretty okay singer.”

“More than okay,” Tom chimes in, which makes you laugh.

“Aw, thanks Tom.”

Tom reaches to peel another question off. “Is Tom Blyth American?” This question makes you almost spit out the water you were currently taking a sip out of. “Well, a lot of people get shocked when I say I’m from the UK. I mean, is my American accent that good?”

“Guess so,” you shrug. “Okay next. Is Y/N Avocot in The Summer I Turned Pretty?”

You clasp your hands together excitedly, giving the camera a wide smile. “Yes! I play Maekella Fisher, also known as Ella Fisher, Steven Conklin’s love interest and sister to Conrad and Jeremiah. The first season airs out soon so please stay tune for that! I’m so excited to be apart of this amazing show with such amazing people.”

“I always come to watch her on set,” Tom says, “they’re all such funny and charismatic people. I swear I’ve became friends with everyone on Y/N’s cast.”

“Okay, my last question,” Tom peels off the paper, grinning. “Will Tom Blyth star in another movie soon?”

He smirks, eyes playfully looking into the camera. “Who knows? But I do know that something exciting will be coming out soon so prepare yourselves!”

“Way to tease the crowd Blyth,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Anyway! My last question, this was quick. What is Y/N Avocot’s skincare routine? Oh, I’ve been waiting for this one.”

You sit on the edge of your seat, and Tom finds it endearing that you’re so excited about something as small as this.

“First, I rinse my face with cold water and I dip my face in a bowl of ice and water for 3 minutes. Afterwards, I put on my dewy toner from Innisfree, it’s so smooth and nice. Sometimes I’m too lazy for this step but I also put on sunscreen, it’s important so I always remind myself to not forget— but I love to use Supergoop Unseen’s Sunscreen. I use drunk elephant’s bronze drops if I wanna go for a sunkissed look that day, but I usually don’t. And then I just shake my Tower facial spray and spray it all over my face. Usually, I touch up my eyebrows and do my eyeliner but that’s really about it!”

“It’s true,” Tom adds. “She asked me if I could go buy her the tower spray yesterday because she was almost out.”

“No need to expose me like that,” you say, clinging your arms onto his. “Well thank you guys for watching!”

“Thank you!” Tom and you wave at the camera, smiling brightly.

[qqueenofhades]

I got political whiplash on Threads. First, everyone was screaming, “All is lost!” I came back an hour later, and everyone was screaming, “We Ride at Dawn!”

The right-wingers are in panic mode. Steven Miller was practically screaming on Feckless news. 🤣

I mean. The right-wingers' entire mentality, the fuel for the January 6 attempted coup, the recent SCOTUS President God-King Immunity ruling, and all the rest, is premised on the simple fact that the president is indeed, Almighty God King who serves for life and will never, ever willingly give up his power. So that's how I can guarantee that the GOP, because they are short-sighted fascist morons, did not plan for this. Their entire strategy was built around attacking Biden, because they hate him. Like, really hate him. He defeated Trump the first time and there was still a good chance that he could do it again. Trump got impeached the first time for trying to extort Zelenskyy for dirt on Biden, because he didn't want to face him. That's why they went after Hunter on largely bogus charges, tossed around the idea of impeaching Biden, actually (uselessly) impeached Mayorkas, etc.

And yet, because Biden (even if he was forced to do it) decided to step away and voluntarily give up his presidential power instead of wrecking American democracy to hold onto it, that has broken their little shriveled fascist brains. They literally can't comprehend it, and I can guarantee they're now shit scared about having to face Kamala, a brown woman, who is the epitome of everything their tiny evil brains hate. As noted by those bangin' fundraising numbers, there is also a lot of excitement around her. And suddenly, after MONTHS of "this election is a referendum on which old and mentally declining man you hate more," that has been removed as a factor. (Watch the media suddenly forget all about age and/or mental competency as a factor now that Biden is out. Does it apply to Trump, you ask? CRICKETS.)

Kamala is going to mop the f'n floor with Trump at the next presidential debate, and I guarantee that the GOP knows that too. Because yes, if Biden had another bad debate, or if he has a bad case of COVID that might end up giving him long-covid symptoms or keeping him off the trail for days or weeks, that would have been very, very hard to recover from. Now the GOP is the one stuck with an old, mentally baffled, virulently hated presidential candidate and the most pro-Russia, anti-woman, demonstrable-sellout whitebread VP pick imaginable, that they had to choose because Trump nearly got the last one killed and he wasn't interested in the job again, for some weird reason. And as we have pointed out before, this is the last-chance saloon for Trump in any number of ways, and he has been demonstrably overconfident the last few weeks as the media was consumed with discussion of Biden's stumbles rather than Trump's manifold unfitness, treason, felonies, and all the rest.

I don't agree with Biden on everything he has ever done in his long career in public service, but I will say that I don't think he would have actually done this if he wasn't eventually convinced, for whatever reason that might be, that it was the right decision. And my one big fear about him stepping down was that the party would instantly fracture, people would start flogging unrealistic Magical White Boy replacements, and otherwise insist on an "open mini-primary!" or some other fucking bullshit. Now, there are still a few idiots trying that, but by and large, the Democratic power apparatus has instantly thrown its weight behind Kamala. That doesn't excuse them for the weeks of wibbling Anonymous Sources self-sabotage beforehand, and I still vote that we destroy the billionaires at our next opportunity, but if we can stick with that and keep up those mongo fundraising numbers, we might indeed actually have a better chance than before, and that was what this was all about.

As I noted yesterday, Black women have been disproportionately influential in taking Trump down (think Leticia James, Fani Willis, etc) and there is undoubtedly a huge, HUGE amount of poetic justice if Kamala can be the one to stick the knife in his greasy orange gut once and for all. I can likewise guarantee the GOP is well aware of that, and the fact that while they can yell even louder and trot out the same old racist, sexist, misogynist fearmongering dirtbag attacks they used on HRC, that is a strategy with demonstrably diminishing returns (it sure as hell isn't going to help them win any more female or suburban or black voters or anyone else we always hear about how they're Making Inroads with). And we're not going to talk about how it's Obvious that America would never elect a black female president. Obama won two terms. Even with all that weight of frothing misogyny and DECADES of Republican smear machines, HRC won the popular vote and was ratfucked out of the Electoral College by the slimmest of margins, after a massive interference campaign by the Russians. It is fucking possible, we are going to do it, and the Republicans are so, SO FUCKING SCARED of having to live in an America run by a brown woman, that can only be for the good.

Kamala Harris 2024. Let's go.

[fairyysoup]

sever the blight

(steve's version) (repost)

pairing(s): werewolf!steve harrington x fem!aristocrat!reader

summary: Steve is your bodyguard. You are engaged to another man. It all seems very cut and dry until a fatal accident traps you alone with him on a full moon.

word count: 11.2k

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking!!!, loss of virginity, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, horror elements, dark themes, historical au, fairy tale au, some sort of historical fantasy period, idk which one you tell me, forbidden romance, mutual pining, possessive behavior, misogynistic views on sex and marriage, animalistic behavior, marking, scenting, knotting, breeding kink, werewolf transformation, werewolf bites, again steve is a werewolf the reader is fucking a werewolf and all that entails, dead dove: do not eat

a/n: hiiiii this was originally posted in two separate parts, but as it was actually meant to be a one-shot when I started writing it, i've reposted it as one here. I'm sorry lol

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

"Fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems." -Angela Carter, The Company of Wolves

“Please, don’t do this.”

The hum of crickets at twilight surrounds you as you step out of the inn, into warm summer air. The soft muslin of your underskirts turn heavy with the humidity, as you watch your governess, Miss Fontaine, charge ahead toward the carriage. Already prepared for your departure, the driver twitches his thumbs in anticipation. 

You watch her turn to face the only other member of your traveling party with a perturbed sigh. “And lose more time? If we ride through the night we can make Kensworth by morning.”

You feel a heat on the back of your neck before you turn to see him emerge from the shadows, the deep green of his coat highlighting the little bit of jade in his hazel eyes. Steven. Steve. The huntsman. Your guard. You don’t know much about him, aside from that he’s from this region. He’d made his living as a huntsman before your father, favoring Steve for his discretion and propriety, hired him as a personal bodyguard. Your very own knight in shining armor, if you wanted to be romantic about it.

He’s the only man you’ve ever met who manages to make you nervous while simultaneously making you feel invariably safe. Like, as long as he’s around, you know that nothing will dare to hurt you. And nothing will make your heart race beneath your bodice quite the same as he does.

Still, months of his protection haven’t taught you anything about who he is, and it seems like he wants it that way. You know only the things that you’ve picked up by being around him- he prefers ale over wine, fiddles with his hair when he’s nervous, and he enjoys doing people favors. He has a goofy sense of humor. He’s kind, and gentle when he speaks. 

Unless he’s arguing with your domineering governess. Like now, for instance.

“You don’t know these woods like I do,” he insists, his voice unnaturally low, nearly a growl as he looms over you on the doorstep of the inn. He stands too close to you, his eyes burning fire as he peers at Miss Fontaine, and then down at you, making your hands shake behind your skirts. His tone softens, “My lady, listen to me and wait for the night. Let the moon wane before we leave.”

You open and close your mouth, looking from Steve to Miss Fontaine. To his obvious annoyance, your governess is already shaking her head at you before he finishes talking. God, you wish you knew what to say to assuage them both. But, ultimately, the choice isn’t up to you. It never is.

“I can’t spare the time. The Duke will already be upset that I’m arriving late to my own wedding.” The words feel flat in your mouth, like a script written by someone else. Truly, you’re running late as it is, days late, all because an avalanche laid waste to the only route out of town, keeping you at your latest stop and delaying your journey beyond repair.

“Your fiancé won’t be happy to know you’re putting yourself at risk to make up for lost time.” Steve spits the word fiancé like a curse, like he’d rather not acknowledge the man’s existence at all. You let it slide; after all, you’re not particularly taken with the idea, either.

You haven’t met him- your fiancé. You know him even less than you know your faithful bodyguard. You only know his face from a painting you were gifted, and his name- not from any sort of correspondence, mind you, but because the betrothal is a big deal, considering he’s a duke. And that would make you, of a sort, a future duchess. Or so Miss Fontaine keeps reminding you.

She raises one petulant eyebrow, now, at your protector. “You’d have us force the Duke to wait at the altar?”

Steve’s eyes darken. “If he cares for the lady at all, he’ll be relieved to know that you did the pragmatic thing and waited to travel-”

“Don’t lecture me about pragmatism-”

“I’m trying to protect her!”

“Protect her, then!” Short of stamping your foot, there’s nothing you can do but stand by as they argue back and forth. “That is your job. Not presuming to call orders. You are a guard, not an advisor.” 

Steve glowers at her, his big eyes glinting dangerously in the lamplight from the carriage. “You don’t know-”

“But you do, correct?” You stare up at Steve with wide eyes, while he cocks his head, looking at Miss Fontaine as if trying to find the best and fastest way to get rid of her. She snaps, “I’d expect a huntsman to know a thing or two about traveling in the woods at night.” 

She doesn’t wait for his reply. She lifts her skirts and steps into the carriage without waiting for the driver’s hand, all but slamming the door behind her. That’s the end of that. 

You move to follow her, but a hand brushes your own, behind your back. You nearly jump out of your own skin at the touch- your blood boils, and your stays grow heavy on your chest as your breath quickens. You rapidly turn to face him, before Miss Fontaine can look out the carriage window.

“Steven-”

“Miss, please, just listen to me.” 

You’re struck by how soft Steve’s voice is when directed at you, compared to his snarling at Miss Fontaine. His hazel eyes are enough to make you melt, searching your face for understanding. 

“The things that happen in these woods, on a full moon, it’s-” he drops his gaze to your clasped hands, and for a moment, you think he’s going to reach out and grab them. But he simply takes a deep breath, the red flush on his cheeks brightening as he looks back up to your face. His voice drops in register, so that only you can hear him say, “Please, honey, I’m begging- talk some sense to your governess. Going out there tonight, when the moon is full… it’s too dangerous. Believe me. Trust me.”

You take the opportunity to gaze up at him openly, like you’ve wanted to for all the months you’ve known him, but never got the chance to. It occurs to you to correct him on his impropriety, and to remind him that you’re betrothed. To a duke that you don’t want to marry. 

You don’t correct him. Instead, you whisper, “I trust you, honey.” And when he blinks, his lashes kissing his cheeks like you so desperately want to, you add, “But you and I both know that if anyone actually listened to me, we wouldn’t be traveling at all. I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington. My hands are tied.”

Steve swallows, and you swear he looks like he’s going to cry, or do something desperate like drag you back inside with him. But he just nods, and when you turn to climb into the carriage, he nearly pushes the driver aside to offer you his hand, instead.

Your mind lingers on the touch of his hand even after you’ve settled into your seat, your fingers smoothing over your tingling palm distractedly. You watch through the window as Steve’s trousers tighten across his thighs when he mounts his horse. He gives the driver a furious look as the carriage kicks off. 

And Miss Fontaine glares at you when you pretend you weren’t staring at the young huntsman.

“The Duke will be pleased to know that you’re doing everything you can to reach the destination promptly.”

You sigh, your elbow resting heavily against the windowsill of the carriage. The Duke, the Duke. Your future husband already has his clutches wrapped around you, squeezing until you can feel your ribs cracking and blood spilling from your mouth. Miss Fontaine seems to have no qualms about singing his praises for the entire duration of your midnight commute, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. You’ve never been able to sleep while traveling, the rocking of the carriage jostling you awake no matter how hard you try. 

Your eyes fix outside, on the white mare keeping stride with the carriage. Steve’s face is partially lamplit from the lanterns beside the driver’s seat, a deep furrow to his brow as he stares off into the dark. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, lost in thought. 

You’d kill to know what’s going on inside his head. There have been times when you’ve thought of asking him what he thinks about this marriage- it’s entirely out of his place to voice his opinion, of course, but nights spent with him standing guard outside your bedchamber have made you curious. What he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, when your future is being decided for you. When you’re helpless to stop any of it, and the only thing he’s able to do is throw himself in front of any physical danger coming your way. 

Your curiosity doesn’t form in a void, you know. You aren’t completely blind to his affections. Steve is protective of you to the point of possessiveness, always hovering close, intimidating anyone who so much as looks your way. Would-be suitors were chased off by your guard’s heavy, unblinking stare before the Duke wrote to your parents and asked for your hand. You think the only reason this marriage is happening at all is because your fiancé never had to be subject to Steve’s frightening scrutiny. 

You don’t miss the way Steve brightens whenever you’re around, either. The way he smiles and indulges your conversation whenever he’s afforded it, going out of his way to make you laugh. Presenting you with bouquets of your favorite flowers, just because he saw them in the garden and knew you’d love them. He’s so sweet to you, and to no one else. At least, not in the same way. Not in a way that makes you doubt his affection for you, however subtle. 

You wonder if he doubts your affection for him. You wonder if he can see it as easily as he can see a fawn meandering through the trees, in the path of one of his arrows. You’ve thought about it so often that it’s kept you up at night, when there’s no distraction that comes to make the thoughts of him disappear. When all you have are your own hands, and the knowledge of his presence just on the other side of your chamber door. If he listens very closely, Steve may be able to hear the wetness of your fingers as they slide between your legs, while you pretend that they’re his.

You wonder if he has heard it; there have been a few times when you weren’t certain, when he wouldn’t meet your eye in the morning after a particularly strong orgasm made you whimper a little too loudly. Maybe he knows, and he’s just more proper than you have the decency to be anymore. 

But Steve couldn’t know about your dreams, when you’ve shut your eyes and fallen asleep - ones where your unconscious mind doesn’t fail to give you the closeness you crave from him. Ones where his forehead rests against yours lovingly, his breath ghosting across your lips as he rocks the bed with his thrusts. You aren’t making much noise in these dreams, but why would you, when the noises that he’s making are more beautiful than any you could come out with? 

And what a pretty thing you are, whimpering Steve’s name as your hand scratches along the mattress to keep you anchored, the fingers of your other hand threaded in his hair, relief flooding your soul at being able to feel it in your grasp. You shiver, either from the intimacy of it or from the caresses of his tongue against your pulse, but it doesn’t make an ounce of a difference when you come apart on his cock, your head tilted back and exposing the column of your throat for his mouth as you thrash against him. 

When his hips stutter, when he pulls you against his chest as the heat of his release blooms deep in your core, it’s with a groan of your true name onto your own tongue, to make sure you know how he’s made himself in the bed of your body. “You are mine now. My lady, not his. Never his.”

Waking from those dreams, after a while, hurts more than the idea of having them in the first place. Because you step out of your bedchamber to find Steve standing guard, smiling at you politely, properly, as the arbitrary rules that keep you apart dictate he should, and the cycle starts anew.

“Are you even listening?”

Your attention snaps back to Miss Fontaine, and her pinched, stony face. You were not, your mind tending to wander to him at the worst times. “I’m sorry?”

Miss Fontaine tsks, and you already know what’s coming. You take a deep breath in. “How do you expect to please a husband when you can’t even listen to me for more than a minute? Stop slouching, child.”

You straighten your spine even as you seethe. You’re a lady when it suits them to burden you with responsibility, and then you’re a child to be ordered around when you don’t please them. “I’m not a child.”

“Quite right, and you’re nearly too old to be a debutante. You’re well on your way to becoming a spinster if you don’t behave. Lord knows the Duke has his work cut out for him.”

It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes. Of course, you should be thankful that you’re being sold off like cattle to the highest bidder. No, the only bidder. It just so happens that he’s a higher ranking aristocrat than you. And, as Miss Fontaine loves to remind you, you should count yourself lucky that anyone showed interest in you at all. 

Never mind that you could never have the one that matters most to you. He has to stand by and watch it happen. 

Poor, stupid thing. You always want what you can’t have, don’t you?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the carriage lurching to a stop, the calls of ‘whoa!’ from the driver reaching you through the carved wood of the cabin. Miss Fontaine sighs and moves to open the window latch before Steve’s hand slams down abruptly on the glass. 

“Stay,” he snarls at her, his eyes seeming to glow from the inside with a reflective green. Your breath stutters in your chest when he looks at you. The reflective pale green of a nocturnal creature seems to encompass his pupils for just a moment. “Don’t leave the carriage.”

You watch him dismount his horse. You’re craning your neck to try to keep your eye on him out the window, when Miss Fontaine grumbles, “That boy needs to learn some manner-”

You gasp loudly when something lurches the carriage sideways. You grab onto the edge of the seat as it lurches again, keeping your balance as the carriage threatens to topple. Miss Fontaine shrieks, thrown sideways towards the door.

You hear the cries of the driver, just past the wooden walls of the cabin, and you don’t have to have much imagination to conclude what’s happening to him. Your heart plummets, immediately thinking of Steve, out there doing who knows what, with whatever it is that’s making the noise. 

“What on earth-” Miss Fontaine grabs onto the door handle as soon as you hear an infernal growling coming from outside. 

“Don’t leave the carriage!” You yell, just as she throws open the door to do exactly that.

With one final jolt, the carriage flips.

Breathe in. Breathe out. When you open your eyes, you don’t know how much time has passed, if any at all. You think you may have fainted in the commotion- your head doesn’t feel hurt, but your hip has been bruised. It smarts as you try to push yourself up, where your legs are crushed up against the wall of the carriage. Groggily, you turn your head, and scream. 

Miss Fontaine’s unblinking, glassy eyes stare lifelessly back at you. Half of her body has been crushed beneath the toppled carriage, having fallen as she tried to leave the carriage. Blood oozes slowly from her hairline, down across her cooling forehead. 

Heaving unmeasured breaths, you raise your hand and push her face away from you. Her head bobs limply to the other side. You don’t want her staring at you still, in death, with that judgemental sneer etched on her face. 

With a sob stuck in your throat, you turn your head and stare up at the window above you in the capsized carriage. You manage to sit up and unlatch the door above you, throwing it open like a trap door. Heaving yourself up through the opening is another challenge- even though your summer dress is comparatively light, pulling your skirts upwards and over the edge is difficult, and you end up barrel-rolling out of the opening more than anything. 

You come crashing down on the opposite side of the carriage wall, the wheels bracketing you where you sit. The lanterns on the driver’s end have broken, oil pooling and creating a fire that’s rapidly growing the longer it sits. Beside you, Miss Fontaine’s legs stick out comically from beneath the structure like a pair of sticks. You reach over and throw her skirts back over them. For propriety, of course. 

You hear rustling off to your left. Scrambling along the ground, dirt and pebbles press into your palms and scrape your knees. You peek around the carriage wheel to see what the cause of the commotion is. 

In a ditch beside the road, Steve is wrestling with a… well. In the darkness it’s hard to make it out, but it’s some sort of wild cat. A cougar or a mountain lion, by the looks of it, and monstrously huge. No wonder why the carriage toppled; it has your guard pinned, dwarfing him and trying hard to bite at his throat. 

You go to scream to draw the cat’s attention away from Steve, but before you can, Steve already has the cat by the jaws. His two big hands wrap around the wild cat’s upper and lower teeth, prying them open before they can bite down. 

And he keeps prying, until the damned thing’s head rips apart in his hands. 

You shriek. You can’t wrap your head around all the blood, pouring across his chest and face. Two pieces of a fleshy, gorey skull drop from his hands as he pushes himself up and flings the dead creature off of him. It flops limply to the ground, a pool of blood spilling from the torn remains of its head.

Steve stands tall, hulking and godly against the backdrop of night, and in the flickering light of the growing fire from the carriage, the blood on his mouth and chest glints wet and dark against his tan skin. You don’t know what happened to his riding coat- his white blouse is pasted to his skin, torn in places and gaping at the collar. 

You remain, frozen in place, half-cowering behind the overturned carriage. The fire creeps ever closer to you, but you can’t find it in you to move.

You’re glad that he’s okay. At least, you think he is. He’s moving quickly and doesn’t seem to be injured, just… mad. His teeth look a lot sharper than they were before when he bares them. Your heart thuds in your chest, your hands clutching desperately at the corner of the carriage, and the most off-putting part of it all is that you’re not sure that it’s because you’re scared. 

He could never scare you. Not your Steve.

“Steven?” Your voice sounds too small, high and girlish in your throat when you want to pretend that you’re being brave. That you’re unaffected by any of this. That you’re not… relieved that Miss Fontaine is unable to voice her disdain of everything you do, and of him.

The guilt you feel at that revelation is outweighed by the instant comfort of Steve’s eyes on you. 

He lumbers toward you, eerily quiet and agile for how big he looks, how much of a beating he’d obviously taken. Dripping with blood that isn’t his, flesh from the creature he’d torn apart with his bare hands still clinging to his forearms and clothes. 

“My lady, are you hurt?” He crouches before you with his palms upturned, allowing you to keep the carriage between you, as if you’re a prey animal capable of being frightened off. 

“No.” Your battered hip throbs like it knows your lie and plans to expose it. “The driver-?”

“His wounds were too deep,” Steve says apprehensively, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you now. “Your governess?”

“Dead.” The word slams out of your throat and falls hard into the air between you. Steve’s brow furrows in a reluctant show of grief. Perhaps you should feel aggrieved as well, but as you search yourself for a show of tears, nothing comes. You don’t know why- perhaps from the shock of it. You weren’t particularly fond of your governess, but you never thought she’d die beside you. “The carriage… she didn’t listen to you.”

He couldn’t stop the scoff falling from his mouth if he tried. “Of course not.”

In the aftermath, everything is too quiet. There are no crickets chirping, no huffs of horses waiting to get on with the journey. The oil fire crackles dangerously behind you, but you’re too busy staring at him to care. 

Your Steve. Your bodyguard, your huntsman, who can rip a wild animal in half with his bare hands. The light of the fire flickers in his eyes, a hint of that reflective green still glowing behind his pupils. You open your mouth to ask him about it, but before you can, he shuts his eyes and winces.

“I should go,” he grits out through clenched teeth, shaking his head roughly as if trying to rid himself of his thoughts- whatever they may be. “I should- I should go get help-”

“Are you- have you been hurt?”

“No- I-” he pauses distractedly, looking down at his hands. He clenches them quickly into fists, swallowing against a dry throat as he gets impossibly more agitated. “Not hurt, exactly… I shouldn’t- I need to go-”

“Steve,” you implore, and he whips his head up to give you a startled look when you lay your hand on his shoulder. You don’t know if it’s because of your touch, or if it’s because you didn’t call him Steven, as you usually have under the watchful eye of others. His skin burns feverishly through the thin linen of his blouse. “My god, you’re burning up-”

He flinches away like he’s frightened of your hand on him. “I’m not, I’m fine-”

“You are not fine-”

“You can’t come with me,” Steve snarls, his bloody hands wrapping around your wrists in a vise-like grip. You gasp when you feel his sharp nails dig into your skin, and he instantly softens- both his grip, and his expression. His beautiful eyes bore into yours with a new kind of urgency. “You need to stay here, with the carriage. And I- I’ll find someone-”

“You really think that’s wise?” you ask, staring levelly at him while he blinks dazedly down at your hands. His own completely encircle your wrists, his fingernails far longer and sharper than they ought to be. 

You suck in a sharp breath when you see them, but you pull your eyes back to his face and ask him, “Do you really want to leave me alone here? After everything that’s happened?”

Steve’s chest puffs up with the ragged breath he takes, and his hands tighten possessively around your wrists. “No.”

“Right,” you say gently, twisting your wrists so that he loosens his hold. Your hands slip down into his, sticky blood transferring onto your skin all the way. You hardly feel it, with how badly his hands burn to the touch. “We stay together, now. Who knows how many more wildcats there might be?”

“I don’t think it’s them you need to worry about. I’m…” Steve trails off, staring into your eyes. Underneath the rage and the frustration he obviously has, he looks scared.  

“You’re what, Steve?” You tilt your head, probably looking much coyer than you feel, with your heart beating loud in your chest. You try your best to be soothing, to be gentle with him even though you’ve seen how strong and violent he’s capable of being- you feel it drying on your own hands. 

“I’m going to protect you. I would sooner kill anything that comes near you than see you harmed.” Steve clenches his jaw, his face contorting into a grimace. “My lady.”

“I know you will, honey.” Your thumb traces a little circle around the sharp tip of one of his pointed claws, glinting dangerously in the moonlight. Even if you can’t quite explain how, you know what they imply about your huntsman. 

And yet, you like everything about them.

In the darkness, wild things stir. Every crackle of the leaves, every snap of a twig beyond the trees makes you jump. Your eyes search in the dark for the cause, and see nothing. 

“What’s that?” you whisper, a frantic edge to your voice. 

The forest quiets around you, until all you can hear is Steve’s breath against your ear. 

“You have nothing to fear, my lady. Nothing in these woods will harm you while I’m here.” Still, your bodyguard’s hand on your waist tightens, pulling you further against the impossibly warm body beside you. The boldness of his touch makes you shiver. 

You want to tell yourself that that’s true, but the longer you walk, the more it becomes clear that Steve is not doing well. The arm that isn’t wrapped around you clutches protectively across his middle, as though he’s trying to apply pressure to some unseen wound. Every so often, he hisses and doubles over in pain- and when you dig your heels into the ground and say, “Steven, you need to rest,” he snaps back, “No, I do not.”  

You bicker like an old married couple until you inevitably throw your hands up in defeat. He’s not going to stop trailing through the woods, and you can’t stop him, nor will you turn back and leave him. You trust that he knows where he’s going, because he’s intimately familiar with this forest. 

In spite of your frustration with him, you still cling to him, and he still holds you close. His body heat still burns you to your core. There’s a gaping hole within you that he needs to fill, if only he’d allow himself.

If your fiancé has coiled around you to squeeze your life from you, you think that Steve has managed to burrow deep into your chest, to keep you alive and warm. You’d like it if he stays there forever- even if he eats your heart in the process.

In the corner of your eye, you see Steve’s head tilt up, surveying the moon peeking out from behind the clouds. “We have two hours to get back to Havensfield.”

“What happens in two hours?”

Steve’s eyes flicker upwards again. Piercing green reflecting the light, shining like two iridescent jewels. You wonder if that’s why they’re hazel during the daylight. “The moon peaks in the sky.”

Your hand tightens where it rests on his waist, and you swear he gasps. “And then?”

Steve is quiet. His breathing is hard and labored as he stares directly forward. His skin shines with perspiration and blood from the creature that he killed in self defense. Though he’d wiped it from his face, it’s still fresh on his collar and chest, saturating his ripped blouse. You haven’t shown any disgust over it, merely acceptance, with your small hand curled around his damp sleeve. Your fingertips dig into his forearm and make him wince, considering how his mind is honing in on every small touch of your body to his.

You’re a lot easier to read than you think you are. Steve knows that you can tell what he is- to some extent, at least. You know that there’s some sort of transformation taking place, but you don’t seem to understand the real gravity of it. You don't seem scared about it. 

That’s what worries Steve the most. You should be scared of him. You shouldn’t be holding onto him like you are, knowing what the raging animal writhing just below his skin wants to do to you. He wants to tell you to run; but then you won’t know where to go, and every beast loves a chase. It’s only a matter of time before his human faculties give out and his primal urges take over. 

Sometimes Steve can manage to give into it, when he isn’t stressed. When there’s no real fear, aside from needing to be away from people for a few hours. Usually, by this time, he is alone in the trees, able to tear his clothes off and let his beast control him for however long it takes before the moon hits its peak. And then… 

“How much do you know about lycanthropes?” 

Steve sounds a lot calmer than he is. There’s a surging in his head, a mad rush to just let go. Stop fighting it. It’ll only be more painful if you do.

“Wolf-men?” There’s a smirk on your lips that makes the human part of him want to kiss the living daylights out of you. “Only what they tell you as a child. They look like men, but they’re not. Their life span is seven years, and if you burn their clothes it makes them stay a wolf forever. They can only be killed with silver. Once they get a taste for flesh, they eat nothing else.”

“Old wives’ tales,” he grunts. Mostly. “The clothes don’t make a difference. And we live just as long as any normal person.”

You blink at him. “We?”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs as another wave of pain slices through his gut, making him stagger. He loses his grip on you, collapsing clumsily to his knees as he rasps, “You’re smarter than that.”

“Steve!” Your hands wrap around his biceps as he gasps, and there’s a battle raging within him- to fling you away or to tackle you to the ground. He finds a midway point between the two where he pushes himself backwards to cling to the trunk of a tree.  

“You need to get to town.” He doesn’t wait for you to object. He points a shaking hand in the direction of town. The sight of his own clawed finger aloft in the air makes him flush in embarrassment. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “If you keep going straight through the trees you’ll reach Havensfield within the hour.”

“I’m not going,” you argue. He heaves a sigh through his nose, and you actually do stomp your foot this time. “Damn it, Steve, I’m not leaving you here!”

“You have to!” He shouts, pushing himself up to stand against the tree as he does. He looks defeated, agonized as he gazes at you pleadingly. “If you stay, you have no idea what I’ll do to you.”

“Will you kill me?”

“No.” He says it so quickly, he doesn’t even have to think about it. Because, you realize, he already has.

“Then I’m staying,” you tell him firmly. Steve opens his mouth to argue with you, and you shake your head at him. “That’s it, Steve. I’m staying here, and I’m not going.”

His voice cracks as he says, “I can’t fight it, honey.”

“Is that why it’s hurting you?” You ask him as it occurs to you. “Because you’re… you’re fighting it?”

Steve trembles when you touch him, a gentle hand on his arm that sends shivers up his spine. He nods. “It’s easier when I don’t.”

“Then don’t.”

He swallows loudly. “It’s- you don’t know what you’re asking-”

“Explain it to me,” you tell him quietly, as soothingly as you can. “Will it- is it not you? Is it something else that takes over? Is it going to harm you-”

“No,” Steve shakes his head vehemently, blinking fast. He’s sorting through his thoughts, finding it harder to cling to anything other than base desire the longer this goes on. “It’s… it’s me. I’m always here, always present. But the part of me that acts on morality is gone. There are no morals. I just act on impulse, for a while. And then… I transform. Physically.”

You nod slowly. “And that’s what happens at midnight.”

“That’s what happens,” he says, and cringes in pain. “Now you see why I didn’t want- why you should have stayed through the night. I would have- I’d be alone. I’d be back by morning. I always am.”

Your heart feels heavy with how much it aches for him. You recall the months that Steve has been employed by your father, and how he had conveniently been absent the night of the full moon. And you had never noticed, never made any sort of connection. There had never been anything to make you suspicious. 

But after every night he was gone, he was always there in the morning. Punctual as anything, you could set a clock by him. You could open the door, and where once was a lady’s maid sitting outside your bedchamber, there would be Steve, holding a bouquet of flowers for you with an apologetic smile. You couldn’t place what the apology was for until now.

“Does my father know?”

“Only that I needed the night,” Steve says, panting. “Nothing more.”

“Did Miss Fontaine know?”

He laughs, and it sounds feeble in his chest. “You think she would have let me near you if she did?”

Your lips quirk up at the edges. “You’ve been keeping your tracks covered, Mr. Harrington.”

“Just trying to be careful.” Steve chuckles, sounding strained as his nails dig into the bark of the tree he clings to. “Always have to be careful with you, you have no idea…”

“And you’re afraid,” you inquire, “that if you act on your impulses, you’ll… hurt me?”

“Hurt you?” he echoes. The mere notion of it wounds him- he’s sure he looks offended when he faces you. “No, I’d sooner die. Harm you, yes. Defile you, absolutely. You’d be a wreck when I'm finished with you.”

Your face burns as you watch him double over again, clutching onto the tree like it’s his lifeline, and the sight of him in so much pain hurts you more than anything. More than the loss of your governess, and more than the invisible hold your fiancé has on you. “Stop fighting it.”

“I won’t- my lady, if I don’t try to fight it, I’ll-” Steve squeezes his eyes shut, resting his forehead against the trunk of the tree with a pathetic whimper. He murmurs weakly, “I can’t sacrifice your virtue for my own comfort.”

“My virtue?” You tilt your head with a teasing smile. “I’m not nearly as virtuous as I seem.”

“Yes, you love to test my will.” Steve’s dark eyes lock on yours as he turns his head. There’s a flash of warning in them. “It must be one of your favorite hobbies. My hearing is much better than you think.”

You stare at each other heavily. Shallow breaths get stuck in your throat, now that he’s confirmed what you expected all along. He heard you all those times, standing guard on the other side of the door as you lay alone in your room and touched yourself to the thought of him. The knowledge sets a blaze alight within you. 

He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

So, you’re at an impasse. He won’t set aside his chivalry. You won’t leave him here alone. All that’s left is to push and pull at each other until one of you gives, and you’ll be damned if it’s going to be you. 

Steven: your huntsman, your bodyguard, your… lover. All these can be true if you just let it be.

You have nowhere left to go. No one else you want to turn to. If you make it to the town you’ll simply be foisted off to your fiancé, or returned to your parents, who will then turn around and give you over to the Duke. All roads lead to him, an inescapable fate that you’d been wishing for a chance to get away from. 

So, you make a snap decision without considering the consequences- but really, what’s there to consider? This is the death of your previous life, one way or another. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, even though he knows the answer, as he watches you begin to remove the pins that hold the bodice of your dress shut. 

“I’m testing your will,” you tell him flatly. 

“You can’t, you’re- you’re engaged.”

“You expect me to believe you really care about that?” Your linen bodice slides off of your shoulders to the ground, revealing your stays and the sleeves of your chemise. “Or am I so undesirable that you can’t bear the thought of seeing me naked?”

As you begin untying your skirts, Steve growls, “Stop it.”

“Or what?” Your overskirt falls to the ground, your petticoat standing out stark white against the backdrop of the forest. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to make me. Except for you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for-”

“Oh, but I do.” You grin at him as your soft muslin petticoat flutters to the ground, and you stand before him in nothing but your undergarments. Stocking-clad legs disappear beneath your linen chemise, your stays pushing your breasts up and over your neckline with each passing breath. You watch Steve’s eyes predictably fall to them, wide with hunger. “Tick tock, Mr. Harrington. We have two hours, and I can’t undo these stays by mysel- OOMF-”

The wind knocks out of your lungs as you fall back onto the damp earth, pinned beneath an enormous body and held tight by sharp claws. You instinctively wriggle beneath him, but Steve’s large hands hold yours fast against the ground over your head. 

A whimper leaves your throat, echoing the ones he’d been hearing all along from just beyond your door. You stare up into his eyes and they’re dark, no longer glowing but eclipsed by black pupils that seem to grow bigger as he watches you squirm beneath him. His face is so close, his breath tickles your skin, and you try to hold still even though every muscle in your body is screaming at you to roll your hips up into his. 

“You are such. A fucking. Brat. You- you don’t know how much I have to hold myself back with you. If I don’t, I’ll destroy you. Do you understand?” His voice is at such a low register that it practically rumbles from his chest directly into yours, vibrating in your ribs. Your heart pounds, your thighs clamping down tight on either side of his hips because you don’t want him to move away. “I’m sworn to protect you. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Between your legs, your muscles tense and release like they’re searching for something to grip onto. “So protect me,” you whisper. “Do us both a favor. Don’t let me go to him. Make me yours.”

He shakes his head, and his nose bumps against yours. “That wouldn’t be protecting you. They’d kill us.”

“Not if we’re already dead. They’ll never find us, they’ll think we died in the crash, or- or…” Frustrated, your hips squirm up against his, and he hisses when you brush the tent in his trousers. “Be selfish for once. Do what you will to me, Steve. Damn it, I want you to…” 

You trail off, because Steve is already dipping his head to breathe in your scent, just along your pulse point. A gasp hitches in your throat as he moves downward, his lips dragging gently over the soft skin. The vibration of your moan rumbles against his mouth.

“This… this is a bad idea,” he mumbles, but his mind is already going fuzzy, reason becoming harder to grasp while instinct and desire takes over. He can feel himself drooling onto your skin. Your heaving chest becomes wet with his saliva the longer he lingers over it, mesmerized by the feel of your warmth on his lips.

“Do it. Take me, Steve,” you whine, lifting your leg until the linen of your chemise falls back to reveal soft skin, your inner thigh brushing his hip. “I want you. Please. Please, please.”  

The scent of your arousal fills the air, earthy and sweet, and Steve’s will flounders and dissipates. There’s nothing that can stop him now. He’s done for. He sinks his claws into the quilting and linen at your chest, and he rips through your stays without warning.

A rush of breath fills your lungs at the sudden jolt of your stays snapping apart, and turns into a weak noise the moment his wet mouth closes over your exposed nipple. The warm summer night air hangs humid around you, making your skin stickier, sweatier. Steve inhales the natural perfume of your body, more powerful of an aphrodisiac than he’s ever experienced. 

“You’re so soft,” Steve croons when you mewl at the scratch of his pointed canines. “My sweet girl, never had anyone kiss you like this, have you?”

“N-no, Steve.” You choke on your breath, your eyes rolling back in your skull as his large hand cups your breast and his claws prick at your skin. The pain and pleasure combine into an entirely new, indescribable feeling that swells beneath your ribs. “Only you.”

His tongue drags over your chest, tasting, savoring the exposed flesh that no one else has dared to touch. The feeling is warm and sweet, melted gold that drips through your skin down to the bone. “Is this what you wanted?” 

“I- yes.” You give a muffled mewl in return when he sinks his teeth in, leaving an indent over your heart in the shape of his mouth. “God- you have such sharp teeth.” 

“All the better to eat you with,” Steve rasps in reply, his breath fanning over your damp skin and making you struggle against his hold. He releases your wrists, claws digging into the earth instead as he moves down your body. “Always make such pretty sounds f’me- you don’t have to hide them now, you know. I want to hear them. Wanna hear what I do to you.”

Your hands lift to sink into his hair. Feather-soft locks spill over your knuckles, and it’s so tempting to just grab them and pull when he bites again, like he might try to leave a permanent mark there on your ribs for you to come back to later. You don’t think you’d mind it if he did. A possessive part of you wants him to leave his mark on you, so that no one else can doubt who you belong to. 

Your hips lurch up to collide with his stomach. There’s nothing there to give you the friction you want, just a solid, hot body that in itself is an entirely new and erotic experience for you. If he notices how flustered it makes you, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps mouthing over your skin, your ribs and your stomach tenderized with love bites that ache the longer he lingers on them. 

“I wanted this, too,” Steve says now, while his hands drift over the plane of your stomach and grab the tattered scraps of your clothes to rip them further. A perfect line splits down the weave of the fabric until you’re laid entirely bare before him. “You’ve no idea- whenever I hear you, whenever you taunt me. Want to tear you apart.”

His nose dips over your navel, down to the matted curls that he’s dreamed of, shrouding your sex and wet with your arousal. He breathes in deep. His mind is unable to sort through the waves of desire spinning through it, washing over him in burning rivulets that coalesce deep in his core. 

Spit dribbles from his parted lips down to the folds of your pussy, making you flinch as the hot liquid drips across your sensitive flesh. Your hips buck, your cunt pulsing hotly in earnest for him to touch you, but he won’t. Or, he hasn’t. He’s lingering there with his nose pressed to your pubic bone, breathing in long, deep gulps of air that rattle in his throat. Pheromones and sex filling his lungs, clouding his mind.

“What’re you- oh.” Your lashes flutter as he nuzzles his head against your stomach, and slowly drags his cheek over your pelvis, your hip, your thigh. He nudges the top of your stockings with his nose, pulling the fabric back to reach more of your skin. You don’t even think he’s paying attention to the effect that it has on you. He’s somewhere else, lost in his own world as he marks you with his scent. Your cheeks burn at the thought.

“You’re mine now. Mine,” Steve states roughly, nipping at your inner thigh with his teeth as he echoes your dreams of him- the ones you’re sure he couldn’t know, unless being a lycanthrope also constitutes being a psychic. It makes you shudder. “You belong to me, yeah? It’s just you and me from now on. You and me.”

“Yours, Steve,” you repeat, and it makes your head spin. Your fingers sift through his hair, your bloodstained hands mirroring his own against your thighs in the dark. “I’ve always been yours.”

The warm brush of his tongue between your legs is enough to make you jump. Your moan sounds too loud, even to your own ears- so many nights you spent quietly whimpering into your own palm, and now you can’t be bothered to quiet the howl that breaks out of your throat. He takes to your cunt with long, wide strokes that practically burn with their heat. 

“Oh- oh, Stevie, I-” you gasp when he growls against you, the vibration shocking you like lightning. “That’s so good.”

Some things you simply can’t replicate with your fingers, and the feeling of Steve’s mouth on you is one of them. He’s messy, drenching you in his saliva, and he’s wild, his tongue broad enough to somehow reach every bit of you. 

You open your eyes long enough to glimpse his, and they’re black as the night around you, seeming to get darker the further he indulges his impulses. He squints, as though he’s teasing you, daring you to do something to make him stop. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper softly, letting your head fall back onto the damp earth. 

It’s sinful, this feeling of flesh on flesh that should never rightfully meet. Everything is swollen and wet, relaxed and yet drawn so tight you could snap apart. Steve’s enormous hands grip into the fat at the top of your thighs, holding you apart no matter how much your legs try to close around his head. The wool of your stockings scrape blindly along his back when your feet kick and squirm, your calves thrown over his broad shoulders.

His tongue touches your clit, and you jolt. He hadn’t really been focusing on it, more interested in getting as much of your taste in his mouth as possible. But now he zeroes in on it, his tongue going hard and then soft, lapping over it in a soft back-and-forth. You chase him with your hips, riding his tongue and adding an extra layer of pleasure to what’s overloading your mind.

And there’s nothing in his head but primal lust, and the strength to take what he pleases. He wants everything that you can give. But Steve knows, back in the recesses of his mind where his morality has retreated to, that he’s still holding himself back. That he’s madly in love with you, so even the most animalistic part of him wants to taste every part of you, stake a claim to you, even if it means he has to take his time. 

So, he licks long and slow through your folds, and you keen up towards the stars because nothing in this world feels quite like it. And it’s the most wretched and awful thing, the pride that swells in his chest when you cum, with your back arched and loud cries falling from your lips. Cries of Steve’s name. 

You taste like heaven. He’d stay between your legs for eternity just to have you on his tongue. He comes up panting, mumbling praises that can hardly be made out over the purring in his throat. 

“God, you’re lovely,” he says, climbing up your body and marking it with his dripping mouth. Steve aches for you- it’s not enough, not even close to what he wants to do to you. “So agreeable for me. Sweet little lamb. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

A feeble whimper catches in your throat while your nails scratch at the fabric against his shoulders. Here you lay, completely naked for him, and he hasn’t even removed the tattered remains of his blouse. You don’t have it in you to ask him to, you just tear at the thin linen like it’ll magically disappear on its own. 

He dips his head and lets you grip it in your fists, pulling the torn garment off so you can throw it as far away as you can. Steve’s skin burns to the touch, his freckled shoulders searing your fingers when you grab for him. The pelt of hair on his chest tickles your stomach, and you instinctively press further into him, wrapping your arms around his torso when his mouth reaches your throat. 

You cling to him, shaking like a leaf. He warms you better than any fire could, laying his weight upon you. Your hands creep lower, stroking down the length of his spine to feel him shudder, his teeth grazing your pulse. He groans when your fingers dance across his lower back and beneath the waist of his trousers.

“Ohhhh god, I wanna do everything with you. Please.” You plant kisses along the side of his face, “God, I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you, Steve, I-”

Steve turns his head and catches your lips with his, his tongue dipping into your mouth to taste you there, too. It’s a slow kiss, sensual, tender rather than fiery and rabid. You chase him when he pulls back to say, “I’m in love with you too, sweet girl. I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m tired of waiting, Stevie,” you urge him gently, coaxing his trousers down over the curve of his ass. He snarls when you squeeze at the exposed flesh, his hips snapping forward to ram blindly into yours, his teeth nipping at your jaw. You’re becoming accustomed to the feeling of them on your skin. It delights you. “Let me have you or let me die, but do it now.” 

Steve rears back, his bright white grin flashing in the moonlight. He stares you down with big eyes, glowing like cinders while he undresses himself indelicately- he tears through the buttons at his waist, rather than taking the time to undo them properly. Your eyes trace the stripe of hair running down the middle of his stomach, widening into the unruly patch that surrounds his cock.

A moment’s hesitation strikes into your limbs; you don’t see how it could possibly fit inside you. Steve is big all over, and you don’t know if it’s just a trick of the magic on this night or if he’s always like this, a permanent reflection of the beast within him. But his cock curves up toward his navel, thicker at the base than anywhere else, glistening velvety flesh appearing incredibly massive in the dark and blue moonglow. In spite of everything, your cunt pulses. Your body knows better than you, now. 

You widen your legs for him. 

You satisfy yourself that your work is done, it’ll take no more well-placed temptation and pleading to get him to use you how he wants- how you both want. Maybe in the morning he’ll regret it, when he has the mind to be a gentleman again, but you know with a thrill in the pit of your stomach that you won’t.

Steve’s clawed hands dig selfishly into your thighs, the points of them breaking the skin, and you yelp as he yanks you into his lap. Bent backwards over the thick, hairy expanses of his own thighs, your shoulders crush dead leaves on the ground. 

“Feel that, sweet thing?” He asks, his voice resonating deep in his chest as the length of his cock drags heavily through your folds, the same path that his tongue had taken. You feel your pussy lips part around him. His cock gathers up the slickness of your arousal, his swollen head catching on your clit as he does. The lewd, sticky noise of it has your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. Your cunt pulses in warning, like you might cum just from this. 

He hums deep within his chest. “Such a good girl, so wet for me. So desperate for my cock.”

The stretch sears when he enters you. You thrash in his hold, your hands clawing at the damp soil beneath you, but all you do is push him further in. Beyond the fullness, the pulsating ache and the pain of the intrusion, he hits something deep within you that makes you cry out, your muscles locking down tight around him. 

“There you go, that’s it,” Steve coos, but there’s nothing gentle in his voice. He doesn’t know how to be sweet anymore. He rocks back and then pulls you down against his hips again, making you repeat that same feral cry. “Now you know how it feels to have a monster inside you.”

You don’t know how many minutes he spends there, just taking in your warmth and your wetness, tighter than sin as he rolls his hips. The sting soon fades into an aching pleasure that has you relishing the slow drag of his cock as it slides out of you and back in. It meets its end with the flush press of his hip bones to yours. 

There’s a deep roiling in your gut that makes you keen loudly into the night, the sounds coming from your mouth entirely less than human. You find yourself meeting his thrusts with a desperate rock of your own hips, chasing that stirring within you. 

“S-stevie-” you whine, your muddy hand reaching forward and clamping around his hairy forearm as he rolls his cock into you with a wild growl. You don’t really know what you were about to say- all rational thought escapes you when he picks up speed. 

Steve chuckles above you, his dark eyes raptly watching your face as you lose more of your composure. He watches your jaw go slack, your brows tilted up in quiet desperation. Even if you can’t articulate it, he knows. “Feeling good, sweetheart?”

Your body feels like it’s on fire and he’s no better, scorching you from the inside out. Each push of his cock hits sharp heaven inside you, something you didn’t even know was possible and yet you craved it all the same. 

“Mmm- I know you do,” he purrs, far too soft and quiet for the way that he’s fucking you, hard and fast, jolting you across the ground. He runs his nails slowly across your sensitive skin, letting your nipples catch on them with just enough pressure to make you squeal.

You gasp when he snatches you by the waist and yanks you up into his lap in one easy move. A loud moan punches from your lungs when he sits you fully down onto his cock. You take all of it at once, every last pulsating inch, while his mouth hovers a hair’s breadth away from yours. 

Steve groans when he kisses you, soft lips to offset his sharp teeth, his strong arms pulling you against his body. The hair on his chest scrapes against your sensitive nipples, making you whimper into his mouth. 

Your hands settle onto his shoulders, squeezing the hard muscle when you instinctively rock your hips against his. On shaky legs, you pick yourself up and roll your hips back down, delighting in the deep growl that comes from his chest. 

“There you go- such a good fucking girl, ridin’ me like that.” A wide grin splits his handsome face as he guides you against him, his hands draped over your ass to drag you closer. “Just can’t help yourself, can you? Just wanna be full of me, is that it?”

Beyond able to answer him properly, you just nod. Your cunt throbs, tightening around him as you try to draw back- he groans so pretty, you slam yourself down onto him in desperation.

“FUCK!” He snarls rabidly, gripping you by the back of the neck. Steve gives in, jerking his hips to fuck up into you as hard as he can. Your head drops back, cradled by the curve of his forefinger and thumb as you cry out into the trees. His mouth finds your throat, bitten raw but still so pristine- more than the beast in him likes it to be.

He sucks hard on your pulse point, and you clamp down around his cock even harder. There’s a resounding wet noise kicking up from where you meet, loud and slick as it echoes between your sweaty bodies. With a broken noise in your throat, your weak hands squeeze at his shoulders for something to stabilize yourself with.

“Baby,” he warns, “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep-”

“I want it.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence, you’re so worked up. Your hips keep moving, desperately chasing your release even when his hands are tightening on you so hard they make you whine. “Give it to me, Stevie, please.”

You two create a vicious cycle- the harder you bring yourself down on him, the harder and faster he fucks up into you in retaliation. Your orgasm is so close that you can practically taste it. You don’t know which one of you is going to break first, but you know it’ll be devastating.

“M’gonna give it to you- shit- gonna fill this pretty pussy, you’ll be dripping my cum for days.” He curses furiously, a loud moan cutting from his lungs. His hair hangs over his eyes as he stares up into your face. A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Gonna fuck you so full of my kids, you’ll be so round- gonna give you my babies-”

You sob his name, drowning between the legs as your pussy clenches down around him. God, you don’t want it to end, but you can already feel it rearing up within you. You have to bite your lip against that simmering, violent ecstasy that’s welling up deep inside of you. His forehead drops to your shoulder.

“Fffffuck- M’gonna make you mine,” he pants into your skin again, his tongue laving across your pulse. This time, there’s an added weight to his words. “Want that, hm? Wanna be with me forever? Just like me?”

“Yes, Steve,” you cry, clinging onto him as you grind down on his cock, searing pleasure kicking up inside you at the thought. Your pussy pulses, and you give him a garbled noise of warning.

He nuzzles your jaw, and kisses you so sweetly beneath your ear that you think you imagine it. “It’ll hurt. Just for a minute. And then we can be together…” 

Then, two things happen at once. Steve’s teeth sink into your shoulder hard, harder than he has yet. And that mounting ecstasy unleashes all its fury within you. 

You cum screaming, from the pleasure tearing through you, and the pain only seeming to build into it- wild, animalistic sounds coming from your own throat. Your blood is in Steve’s mouth, your flesh torn against his teeth. He’s released something into your body that writhes and squirms, just below the surface. Just like what lives in him.

You claw at his back- your nails aren’t nearly as sharp as his, but you still manage to raise welts as your spasming cunt drenches his cock. It burns you alive. It eats away at you until there’s nothing left of you or your soul- just the feeble part of your brain that loves and feels him. 

There’s a swelling deep within you, an anguished cry against your torn skin that you hardly register as his before you feel him cum, his cock pulsing hard within you. Steve presses up into you, slow and easy, holding you there against his hips with all the strength in his adrenaline pumped body. 

Your head is spinning. You feel dizzy, and even then you can tell when you’re stuffed to the brim, the swelling becoming an overwhelming stretch again. You whimper into his neck, hoping that the inquisitive noise will convey your question, because you don’t trust yourself to be able to come up with the words to articulate it.

“Fuck- this is going to take a minute-” he groans when you squirm, his hands trying to hold you still. “It’s- it’s meant to keep you there- keep my cum in you.”

You harumph against his skin, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re still twitching, still pulsing from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Even though the swelling of the knot at the base of his cock is bordering on overstimulating, you relish the closeness that it forces you to have with him now. That he has to stay here, inside you. That he has to hold you for a while, as his body readjusts to normalcy. 

As you accept that there’s no going back now.

“I want to say that I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, his voice rough and gravelly, still fussing over the bite on your shoulder. He runs his tongue over it- not necessarily trying to be erotic, but you think anything he does to your body comes off that way now. “But I wouldn’t mean it if I did.”

You hiss a little as the wound stings. “I’m not sorry.”

“You can’t get married to the Duke now, you know.” Steve pauses. “And, I suppose you can’t go back to your family either, so… I think it’s time you meet mine. Now that we’re mated.”

That makes you smile, a half-giggle falling from your lips. That’s probably as close to a proposal of marriage as you could hope for, right now. Your eyes fall shut, the slow stroking of his tongue over your wound and the strong heat of his body lulling you. “Am I gonna turn tonight?”

“No.” He shakes his head, nuzzling his nose against your neck. “Next month. It has to take, first. Get into your veins, make you suffer. Just the good stuff.”

“But you…”

“I’ve got an hour,” he says, and you feel him tilt his head up toward the sky. 

You hum sleepily, letting yourself relax in his arms. They’re covered in more hair than they had been before- pretty much all of him is. Wherever it grows, it’s getting thicker and denser the closer it gets to midnight. “Stay with me.”

“I’ll be here,” Steve assures you, soothing your skin with kisses. “I’ll always be here. Forever.”

Things lose their clarity, your surroundings slowly slip away with your consciousness. You fall asleep against him, soothed by his warmth and the pace of his breath on your neck.

At some point, well after midnight, you rouse sleepily to find yourself curled up on a heap of torn clothes, between the paws of an enormous, brown-haired wolf.

You wake in the morning at the impact of a pile of cloth hitting you squarely in the chest. 

You startle, coming up with a screech. Steve’s arm is around you- strong, muscular, and a lot less covered in hair than it had been the last time you’d seen it. He makes an inquisitive noise and sits up, naked as the day he was born, with leaves sticking out of his hair. He resembles Shakespeare’s Puck- streaked with dirt and grime, a bit of blood still matted in his chest hair, but the morning sun creates a golden halo around his head.

“Morning, lovebirds.”

You don’t know what comes over you at the sound of the strange man’s voice, but you scramble so quickly that you practically barrel roll over Steve’s body. He grunts and moves to grab you, but you’re already plopping down on the other side of him and using his body as a shield.

Steve blinks hard against the white light of morning, and squints at the strange man who had thrown a stack of folded clothes at you. “Eddie?”

“In the flesh.” The man stands proudly, clad in a mishmash of old and new, very new, clothes. His dark hair hangs loose and unkempt around his face, which smiles prettily at Steve with a pair of enormous, pointed canines.

“What’re you doing here?”

Eddie snorts. “Did you somehow forget that we turn in these woods, too?” He shakes his head, tutting condescendingly. “Stevie boy, you’ve been away from home for too long.”

“No, I-” Steve stops. “Where’s Robin?”

“Still getting dressed. Which you should do, too. Glad I’m the one who found you, there’s some kind of uproar about the Duke of Hargrove’s lady-love going missing, and- oh. Wait.” Eddie crouches, his eyes peering over Steve’s shoulder at you. He grins in a way that tells you he already knows the answer when he asks, “That couldn’t have been you, could it?”

“Eddie, watch it,” Steve growls territorially, throwing his hand backwards as if to shield you further from him. 

The man- Eddie- chuckles, and stands. “Well, I figured you’d want to introduce us. Seeing as how that pretty mark on her shoulder tells me she’s, ah…” he twirls his finger, clad in a large, silver ring in the air, “a part of the pack, now.” 

Steve huffs a sigh, and lifts his hand. “My lady, allow me to introduce you to Edward Munson.” Eddie bows dramatically, smirking at you as Steve says, “He’s a member of my family.”

“The best member.” 

“Debatable.”

“Wait-” you start, sitting up further, your gaze still trained on Eddie’s hand, and the ring he wears. “Is that… Miss Fontaine’s ring?”

Eddie pauses. “Oh, was that your carriage back there?” 

Steve snarls, moving to jump up. You yank him back into place to shield your naked body as he growls, “Eddie I’m going to fucking kill you-”

You’re not that far ahead yet. “Does that mean the thing about silver killing us is an old wive’s tale, too?”

Eddie and Steve both pause, and look at you blankly. Then, Eddie laughs- a bone-deep, guttural laugh that sounds like a wolf’s howl. 

“Better watch out, Harrington, she’s way quicker on the uptake than you were,” he chuckles. “She’s gonna fit right in.”

[yanderes-galore]

Can I request a Steven universe Spinel alphabet if you haven't already done one? (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)

Sure! Here's the traumatized silly :)

Yandere Alphabet - Spinel

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Fear of abandonment, Clingy behavior, Possessive behavior, Spinel is relapsing, Violence, Kidnapping, Trauma implications, OOC Spinel, Jealousy, Forced companionship/relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Let's be honest... Spinel has some issues. Even after the events of the movie I imagine she still has issues with friendships or relationships of any kind. Including with you since they come so strongly.

I can see Spinel getting overwhelmed with her emotions. She's clingy and often scared of her obsession leaving her like Pink did. Which, in turn, makes her even worse as her fear drives her.

I imagine she'd be intense as her obsessive behavior would make her unstable.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

If we're going based on how she acted in the movie, very. However, after that she definitely mellows out. So once she's more reformed yet still dealing with her obsession... She'll try not to harm people too much.

No promises, unfortunately, as she can probably still snap after gaining her obsession.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

I imagine she would previously treat you somewhat cruel since she was in pain during the movie. During the movie I can see her mock you too.

Although, afterwards? By then she's determined to keep the friendship you graciously offered her. Even if it's already kinda ruined when she abducts you.

Even if she's ruined your trust... Spinel would feel she has to cater to you to keep you as hers. As I said before, she's scared of you leaving. She's been abandoned once before... She can't go through it again.

At this time she doesn't bother mocking you. She's clingy and eager for you to give an order. She isn't used to all these obsessive feelings... It may actually make her relapse after what happened with Pink.

She'll give you all the attention you could ever ask for... Just don't leave.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Unintentionally, yes. She really does just want to impress. Although, if she reverted to how she was in the movie... then it's definitely all intentional.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

I'd say very vulnerable. At first she tries not to be in fear of being hurt... Although as her obsession continues, she ends up relenting.

Which leads to her clinging to you since you showed you care... That's really all it took.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Distraught and irritated. Spinel really doesn't want to force her obsession to pay attention to her. Unfortunately, if she rushes the bond between you, she may have to.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Not really, no. She may be playful and treat it like a game at times... but she'll catch you in the end. She doesn't enjoy it when you run from her.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Huh... Well, the entirety of the movie is pretty bad if her obsession started there. Since then you'd deal with mocking isolation as she abducts you.

In terms of if she'd hurt you? Maybe unintentionally if she snaps. Other than that... I feel you nearly dying during the first movie's events may be the worst thing if you're human.

If you're a gem, getting hit with the rejuvenator as punishment could be an option.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Nothing too fancy, just you two being the equivalent of "best buds forever". She wants to always be by your side, even if she's hurt you before.

Just to distract herself from her past and be happy with you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

I can definitely see her snapping and lashing out most of the time. If she feels you two have a strong bond, she may reconsider.

If not... well... her fears get to her.

Which makes her violent towards those she feels are trying to take you from her like with Pink.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Very affectionate and overly obsessive. She becomes clingy with her obsession and overly attentive. She people pleases, essentially. Anything to keep the attention on her, a jester abandoned by her queen.

Her actions can also be seen as protective/possessive since she fears someone will be better than her and you'll leave....

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Definitely met you through Steven one way or another. Be that through the movie or afterwards. I feel during the movie makes sense... as she'd get attached there, accidentally scar you, then try to make it up to you... one of her only friends.

She no doubt follows you around, nervous yet also eager to build a relationship with you. She doesn't care how she has to do it...

She just needs you to be hers.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not really, no.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Isolation is ironic when it comes to her due to what she's gone through. She won't acknowledge the fact she's a hypocrite for doing that thought. She just...

She feels that's the only way to make you need her.

If you're a Gem she may take it a step further and 'poof' you.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Nearly all of them if she's far gone enough.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Moderately patient. She could go either way, honestly.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Eventually... But I think she'll snap and crack beforehand. She's so tired of losing the ones she loves.

Why can't you just stay with her?

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yes she'd feel guilty... but she may not let you go.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Definitely her entire experience with Pink.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

A bit distraught yet does her best to comfort you. She was a jester, after all. She's meant to entertain...

So she'll be trying her hardest to get you to smile again.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Essentially reassuring her you aren't going to leave or hurt her. She's actually quite fine when she's not afraid to lose you. After that she's just clingy, not dangerous.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes, but not always intentionally.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

She's somewhat a worship yandere... She'd do anything just to have your attention. Anything.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Anything from months, to years... decades... She's been in that garden a long time, after all.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes. It can either be unintentionally... or on purpose.

[kaythefloppa]

Wild Kratts - Salmander Streaming - Thoughts

Spoilers!!

I've a good feeling that this isn't actually a clip from a movie, but just something the animators whipped up. The fact that the animals running are in blue and green gives me the impression.

But also, the characters being able to stream movies makes me feel old.

If I had a nickel for every time a red squirrel fucked up high tech structure in this show, I'd have 2 nickels.

Also, how efficient are the tellurium crystals (which we saw earlier in the season premiere) are, if shit like THIS can render the turtle ship's power efficient??

Roll credits!

Also, this is the first of MANY moments in the episode that made me laugh unironically.

Martin, that is a fucking exoskeleton. I don't think I have to explain why that is incredibly gross (although it does make for an efficient boat).

Also, random fact: The largest crayfish on the planet has weighed up to 11 pounds. That's huge!

This is another thing about the episode that regularly comes up (and that many people have noticed). The animation is suprisingly fluid. I mean, not surprisingly, there were new riggers on board for the show, which likely explains why it took nearly 2 years for the new season to drop, but still. Screenshots alone do not do several scenes or shots (this included) justice when talking about how eye-catching or interesting the animation is.

I did not know that some salamander species were cannibalistic! This show always manages to teach me new things every day, even at the age of 18.

Am I the only one who is the tiniest bit miffed when they call it "the human fish" and not "the olm." I get that it's a nickname like "Wolf Hawks" but, it's not the only name. 😭😭

I feel like this is yet another moment where I should needlessly harp into the "lore" of Wild Kratts. Because she describes the suit as "universal" and as we see in the episode, the Salamander Power Suit can be reactivated based on species. So why didn't she do this with the Spider, or Wolf Suit. I'm 100% looking too much into this, but just saying.

Also, I really hope that a Universal Salamander Power Suit implies that we'll be getting an Axolotl episode and a Power Suit. I was kinda hoping we'd see some of them in this episode, but the potential is there!

There is DEFINITELY no way I could've done this joke justice using screenshots. You need to see it in video form to see my point. Because the joke was predictable in every sense of the word. I knew what the punchline was. I knew when the punchline was gonna hit. But because the animation was so fluid throughout the frames, and because of how detailed the shading and lighting were and how overtly obvious the punchline was because of the visuals, it still made me laugh my ass off. I legitimately had to look up if James Baxter (yes THAT James Baxter) worked on this episode because it reminded me of a lot of scenes he did for Steven Universe and Owl House. Was surprised to know that he wasn't, but regardless, whoever animated these episodes, whether veterans or newcomers, deserves their fucking raise.

I know that he's referring to the salamander, and yes, the joke has been made before, but like, if someone told you that there's an episode of Wild Kratts where they [by technicality] said the word "hell" *checks notes* twenty-four times in one episode, would you believe them? Yeah that's what I thought.

Also, indeed hellbenders are the largest salamander in North America, the third largest in the world. Adult healthy hellbenders have very few predators and that's because of how gigantic they are.

I used up my one-video free-card on a previous joke, but once again, it's so silly, you know what the joke/punchline is, yet it's presented in such a way that is still really humorous, either because of how it doesn't bring too much awareness to the fact that it's a joke, embraces said fact of it being a joke, or both. Complete with straight-up fucking Looney Tunes style anticts, it's just really fun.

Also, another thing I find funny is that the hellbender ate the crayfish exoskeleton. Like, would that even be tasty?

Spoilers, but Chris does NOT Activate Tiger Salamander Powers. Yes, I am also miffed.

They're so besties.

Ok but like I'm sensing a pattern where Martin activates a Creature Power Suit with Aviva whenever he's not activating it alone or with Chris. Which at first I didn't think much of, but then I realized. Blue is a component color to make up purple. So this occasional running theme/pattern could be a reference to how similar they are, and how both rely on each other in some fundamental way in their adventures, much like how the colors blue and purple are interconnected in a way. Am I looking too much into this as well? Yeah, but I actually enjoy it!

Ok not gonna lie, I actually liked the fourth-wall break. Mainly because they could've easily fucked it up badly by having it drag on for too long, or making it too meta, but quick cuts and gags like this make it all the more worthwhile. And unlike the Camel Chris gag in the camel episode, it sticks around once and doesn't wear out its welcome.

Also, the Salamander Suits were activated by touching a Hellbender, which we've established, is bigger than every other salamander shown in the episode.... so... why the fuck are they that tiny?? They should at least be way bigger than the rocks they're standing on.

Also, the Salamander Suits genuinely look like Dinosaur Suits. At least... from this angle.

-... because from THIS angle they look so. FUCKING. CUTE. I so badly want to hug them like plushies (now I'm even more disappointed that Chris wasn't in one of these)

How the fuck was this guy able to stuff a huge-ass butternut underneath his vest and shirt.

Also, Chris, you do realize that keeping squirrels from eating the nut is a good way to make them endangered as well? Bro is petty 😭

I think this is the first time we've seen the Tortuga miniaturized by someone on the actual crew, not a villain or an accident.

As someone who didn't know or care that much for salamanders (at least in comparison to frogs and toads), this episode enlightened me a lot. I actually hope I do see a hellbender sometime in my life

CONCLUSION:

PROS:

The humor. Like, every single joke in this episode either got me to crack a grin, or laugh out loud

The animation. Once again, the animators have got their rent due. So many memorable facial expressions and cool color designs that just make it nice to look at.

The salamander species themselves.

CONS:

Chris definitely should've activated the Tiger Salamander Suit. Bro was robbed

No mention of Axolotls? The most well-known salamander in the world? For shame.

Final Ranking: 8/10. A nice slice of life mini-adventure with no huge or real stakes, but overall a pretty fun romp. Before this episode came out, there were a lot of positive reviews of this episode on IMDB and Rotten Tomatoes, and while I generally take those with heaping grains of salt (because opinions are opinions at the end of the day), I definitely agree that this episode is fun. The very epitome of "camp."

[piratefishmama]

Fake it till you Make it | Part 20

So now, he was sat in a car, with a rich older man.

To some little queer boys, this would be a dream come true, especially since the older man wasn’t half bad in terms of looks, that all American square jaw, strong nose, the works. Plus… rich.

But this wasn’t a rich older man whisking him away, no, this was Steve Harrington’s regularly absent father taking him grocery shopping.

It’d been a wild day.

“So…” Eddie didn’t do well with silence. Silence never sat right with him. Had to fill it somehow, be it with silly noises, random singing, or conversation with any person in his vicinity. “They uhm, they do that often?”

“It’s a family thing, I think we’re all as bad as each other.” At least he was self-aware, the eldest Harrington still watching the road as they drove through the small town, he knew where he was going though, each turn done as if he’d driven the route enough to do it blindfolded. “Lynda’s a lawyer so, that should explain that” loved being right, it was her job to be right, even if she was actually wrong, she had to make out like she was right and she did it well. “I’m a middle child” explained both everything and nothing at all, “and Steven… I think he got a little bit of both of us. I’d have thought you’d be used to that though, since you’re dating him.”

“Ah-haha, I mean… don’t get me wrong, I’ve always known about Steve’s uhm… how to phrase this… mean girl streak?” John snorted a little laugh, emboldened, Eddie continued, “he’s like everyone’s disappointed mother, always with the little—” Eddie shifted in his seat, just about managing to put his hands on his hips and cock them weirdly in place “pose that he does when he’s oh so very disappointed in you. I used to thrive on it back in high school, whenever he’d catch Tommy H or the other basketball goons bullying the kids, he’d just stand there like he’d caught his kids with their hands in the cookie jar, an they’d actually just… cower, like he could actually do anything to them. It was the funniest shit I’d ever seen.”

It'd actually been quite the surprise when that’d happened the first time, it didn’t happen often, Steve had been a douchebag, not the ‘shove your head in a toilet’ kind of douchebag, or the ‘shove Gareth in a locker’ kind of douchebag.

No, he was the mega bitch douchebag who could flash a smile and drop every set of panties in his immediate vicinity, he was the douchebag who KNEW he could do that. Who carried himself high with the knowledge, lording it over everyone without… ever actually lording it, it was a presence kind of thing. An attitude.

And maybe, occasionally, he’d have been the douchebag who didn’t really see anyone unless he wanted to see them, didnt really pay any attention to those not on his radar, those not in his friend group, which led to many an accidental shoulder check, which had in turn led to Eddie’s own personal little vendetta because he’d lost one of his prized mini figs to the underside of the Hawkins High trophy case when Steve had walked by a little too close and shoved him just hard enough to send Eddie’s shit flying.

Had just kept walking as if he hadn’t even seen him. Asshole.

It was only when he’d first been seen hanging around Wheeler that his personality had shifted toward something reasonably human. Thanks Wheeler, the sacrifice of your time and patience hath created a god among men.

“So he was never… bad then?”

“Nah” no sense bad mouthing the boyfriend, that wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Real Prince Charming in a perfectly pressed polo shirt. He’s amazing, sir… you have nothing to worry about with Steve, he’s… one in a million.” Now anyway.

“Good. Good.” And then he fell silent, the quiet stretch lasting nearly five minutes with only the faint music playing on low volume from the radio to fill that silence, until the eldest Harrington pulled the car into a quiet carpark, and parked. “Here we are!” Oh thank Christ.

“We can't keep doing this.” Steve was the first one to speak up during their mutual living room silent treatment, finally looking at this mother after nearly an hour of watching a gentle snowfall that’d started outside. He hoped it wouldn't get heavier before Eddie got back.

“I have no idea what you—”

“Mom.” Steve cut her off, his eyes sharp and tone firm. “We can’t keep doing this. This bickering, this who’s right who’s wrong shit, we’ve gotta stop, at least here.” If not for their own sanity, but for the image he was giving Eddie of his family life.

Of what he might possibly maybe be getting himself into if Steve could actually swing a real relationship by the end of the week. The chances of him saying yes were already pretty farfetched, but if Steve’s parents were their worst selves…

Why would Eddie want to subject himself to that long term?

She paused, expression unreadable, something she’d mastered years ago for the court room, then she sighed. “I know, Steven.” She sighed heavily “Sometimes I forget that you’re a grown up now, that you can argue right back and actually stand your ground.” It only felt like yesterday when he was tugging uncomfortably at the little bowtie they used to make him wear for special occasions, all dressed up looking up at them with those big hazel eyes of his. His childhood only felt like yesterday. “I miss when you were cute and just did as you were told” she sniffled. Back when his parents had been there regularly before their duties had pulled them away. Before distance had strained them and they missed everything. Steve rolled his eyes but said nothing as his mother continued “Anyway, i agree. I think I’d prefer it if Eddie didn’t go away from this trip thinking John to be the most mature of us.”

“God, could you imagine?” Steve shook his head to free himself of the truly harrowing thought, allowing the subject to change. “I really like him, Mom... I didn’t expect to at first, not enough to want something long term with him anyway...” He’d thought it’d be easy to just pretend with him at first, but Eddie just had this... thing about him, Steve didn’t really know how to explain it, he just felt like home. Maybe it should have been alarming as to how fast that’d happened but... Steve had always rushed into things, funnily enough he didn’t think Eddie minded. “So I’d really like it if he liked all of us by the end of this, an if he only likes Dad cause of our bullshit, I think I might just disown the both of you.” The last part said in jest but... god he’d never let it go.

He’d lockjaw it until the end of time, would take it out on special occasions and shake it in their faces like look what you did. Look at what you cost me.

“Honestly, sweetheart I think I’d disown myself.” Lynda laughed, the air finally lightening up a little between them. “Here, how about we go see if the maintenance men pilfered the wine cellar? I’m positive Mags was hiding a damn good red down there among the cabernet that I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want to go to waste...”

“Well... we probably should check it... just in case, y’know? For security reasons.” Not that he actually doubted the integrity of the maintenance crew, they’d been employees for years, they’d known his grandparents, had worked for them in their later years when time had started to catch up to them, and a steady gig passing through generations wasn’t something to scoff at.

“Security, absolutely.” But then, the contents of the wine cellar alone was probably worth more than the actual house, so… better double check.

For security reasons.

Part 22

[petercapaldi-press]

Peter Capaldi: ‘Every Doctor Who gets backlash’

The Thick Of It star on Scottish independence, why he’s leaving Doctor Who behind, dealing with fans, and his rare excursion into horror

INTERVIEW

The Telegraph

27 October 2022 1:16pm BST

Ed Cumming

“I’ve always liked a good horror film,” says Peter Capaldi. “I find them comforting, rather than disturbing.” On a rare day off, he likes to settle down with an old favourite – one of Peter Cushing’s Hammer horrors, say, or Dracula A.D. 1972. “Those films remind me of my childhood;” he adds, speaking over video from his home in Muswell Hill, North London. “I was brought up Catholic, so when I watched horror I think I saw something familiar – gore.”

In a nearly 40-year acting career, Capaldi has ticked off almost every genre, from historical drama to DC superhero movies, with plenty of comedy in between. His breakthrough as Danny Oldsen, the boyish Aberdeenshire oil executive in Local Hero (1983) was a comic role in a charming small-canvas masterpiece. Franz Kafka’s It’s a Wonderful Life (1993), a short film which he wrote and directed, and for which he won an Oscar, was a comedy, too. His Doctor Who had an irascible charm.

But his latest role marks a rare excursion into horror. The Devil’s Hour is a six-part series for Amazon Prime Video, and Capaldi’s old Doctor Who boss Steven Moffat is an executive producer. It tells the story of Lucy Chambers (Jessica Raine), a young mother who wakes up every night at exactly 3.33am, and experiences disturbing visions. Timed for the run-up to Halloween, the series is an unsettling vision of paranormal activity in the suburbs. Capaldi plays Gideon, an enigmatic figure who comes into Lucy’s life. To say any more would risk giving the game away.

It is perhaps surprising that Capaldi has not done more horror. In the nicest way possible, at 64, his lean frame and sharp features lend themselves to scary characters. Not to mention that grin, which he can flip from friendly to menacing with the merest twitch of his muscles.

Which is not to say that he has never played scary. His best known character, alongside the Time Lord, is Malcolm Tucker, The Thick of It’s snarling, savage bully of a communications director (Sample greeting: “come the f--- in or f--- the f--- off!”). It just happened that he was very funny, too. When it first aired 17 years ago, Armando Iannucci’s satire seemed like a supremely cynical view of British politics. Today it looks almost rose-tinted.

Capaldi’s own faith in British politics has been eroded over the past 12 years to the point where, as a Glaswegian, he would now support Scottish independence, he says. “It used not to be something I was particularly drawn to,” he says. I’ve lived in London for most of my life, and always loved Cardiff and Manchester and Belfast. But after the relentlessness of the past 12 years, everything we have been put through, it might just be time to go home and be a part of that.” So if there was another vote he’d support independence? “I would, yeah.”

He is still recognised for Doctor Who, of course. “Someone asked me for a selfie on the bus the other day and I felt bad, because I thought, ‘Should I refuse on the grounds it attacks the magic of Doctor Who to be photographed on the 97?’,” he says. “But then I thought, ‘No, that is actually very Who-ish.’” Russell T Davies is preparing an extravaganza for next year's 60th Who anniversary, which will include David Tennant, but Capaldi would rather let sleeping Doctors lie. 

“In a story with all the Doctors in it, I don't know how you could get a fair crack at the whip,” he says. “But there's also this idea that when something's a successful brand you have to keep going back to it. I loved playing Doctor Who, but I'd rather leave it.”

A new Doctor is on the way, played by Ncuti Gatwa, the first black lead. The outgoing Jodie Whittaker was the first woman. She endured a fair amount of abuse. Does Capaldi worry that Ncuti will suffer something similar?

“People love them,” he says. “We all got [backlash]. I got it. Matt [Smith, the 11th Doctor] got it. People loved Jodie; people loved me, people loved Matt. If a handful of people don’t, there will be another one along in a minute.”

Besides, as he says, nobody gets into the trade to stay humble. “You do not become an actor to have your feet on the ground,” he says. “These people who walk around saying, ‘I’m very real and authentic and thankful’ – why bother? You’d have been more unaffected by not joining.

“My parents were essentially immigrants, and lived in a tenement,” he says. His mother Nancy and father, Gerald, were Italian, and ran an ice-cream business in Glasgow. “This life was unimaginable to them. I’m not equipped to be blasé or have a sense of entitlement about what I’m lucky enough to do. That sounds pious. It’s great luck to have ended up like this.” I ask him where he keeps his Oscar. Leaning back in his chair, he peers at an unseen shelf. “It’s there,” he says, “behind some of the other trinkets.”

Doctor Who is not the only quintessentially British franchise in which Capaldi has appeared. In the recent Paddington films, he played Mr Curry, a grouchy neighbour. Was he surprised at the way the bear was taken up as a kind of national mascot in the days after the death of the Queen? “It’s interesting, thinking about franchises and brands,” he says. “Because what I like about those films is they are but they escape the erosion of the brand, because they have heart. They’re very sincere films. I know they make huge amounts of money, but it’s almost as though it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t.

“In all art, sincerity is what works,” he says, adding with a laugh: “If you can fake that, you’re home and dry.”

After The Devil’s Hour, we’ll see Capaldi in Criminal Record, a detective series for Apple TV+, in which he will star opposite The Good Wife’s Cush Jumbo. He also serves as executive producer, alongside his wife, Elaine Collins. Beyond that, he is happy to see what comes. “One of the great things about being an actor is not knowing. But what’s certain is that the ageing process takes its toll. Certain kinds of roles you might see yourself in are no longer open for you. But that’s alright.”

Surely there are other franchises that are crying out to be Capaldied: The Rings of Power, Game of Thrones, Star Trek, Star Wars? He has a copy of one of the Thrones books signed “to the Doctor” by Game of Thrones author George R.R. Martin, a devoted Who fan. As to being cast, the phone has yet to ring.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Capaldi says, with a grin. “But that’s show business. You think you’re getting somewhere, and then…”

The Devil's Hour comes to Amazon Prime Video on October 28

[jils-things]

I would never fall in love again until I found her

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you

[3.25.23]

ouueeehh we're back to my corny love letters like last time 💜 again absolutely NO pressure reading these, because it WILL get lengthy 💜 this also serves as a personal love letter that i can archive!

ahh, steven st.one. a wild card in my f/o list. i never thought i'd find myself to like him... i've always tried my best to avoid the pretty boy design after i've gotten older which is why i was oddly in denial during my early steven days hehe... the earliest memory i have of him is just me battling him in my ruby emulator back in the 4th grade - but i don't think i actually remembered him too well, i only thought he looked like a silly anime version of the classical composer be.ethoven and tbh, i still like to think he does look like him in the rse style lolll 💜

for the whole, actual story - it was just last year - i was reading the r/s arc, of course. it was one of those days in school where i had nothing much to do and snuck my phone to read manga to pass some time. at some point, my classmate joined to read with me - it was at this moment where steven debuts properly and it caught my classmate by Surprise. she thought he looked very handsome! to which i teased her... strangely enough, this exchange impacted me? maybe it's because someone acknowledged what i was doing and even bothered to briefly read along with me - so in a way steven kinda bookmarked that memory.

so after that exchange, i just kept on reading. everytime he had something to say, i couldn't help but just stare at his face? he looked nice, i guess? he's also very gentle and polite... i kept this thought of mine for quite sometime until i was discussing the manga arc with my p.okespe mutual and he mentioned him. i somewhat confessed he looked nice and that was the biggest mistake i've ever done because what my friend did after was absolutely blow me with art after art of the pretty rock collector and i was STRUGGLING. it ultimately came down to this one cute panel in the o.ras chapter where he was blushing and I wasn't the same person since then 🚶🚶🚶and funnily enough, i told myself I wasn't going to fall for anyone because of the manga and whoopedoo p.okespe!steven my beloved the greatest man ever. i mean i love the game counterpart as well, they're nearly identical - it's just the manga that totally swept me... sighhhh

steven is such a nice character to begin with, he's honestly a very humble and nice champion. he's not showy about his identity and would rather be alone by himself to indulge in what he wants. he is willing to give up a very respectable position in the po.kemon league just to pursue his interests and with that i see a man not after power and fame but a man who just wants to find joy in what he does even if it demotes him. on top of that, he's just a sweet gentleman. he was raised well of course, and you can see it clearly in his acts in the story. i love him very much for that and who wouldn't want those traits?

i was really absolutely embarrassed to be all over this guy at first - it took a whole month for me to actually share to my blog about how i liked steven and took awhile to adjust to that fact that i opened up about it 😭 but the community was very kind and supportive about the pairing and if i'm being honest, i think stevaide made a super lasting impact on my blog recently and it's really so comforting to picture them as a young loving married couple with ruby. it made me feel unashamed with what i can do with my silly ships. i'm still very glad for the endless support for steven and jaide.

soo, yes. happy memoryshipping 💜💚 thank you for making my times of struggle more bearable if not perfect and thank you to everyone who enjoys this ship even if it was just a little bit :]

credits to @/cafekitsune <3

[oiveyzmir]

Merry (Munson) Christmas, Everybody!

My @steddieexchange gift for the incredible @karies-art !

Sorry for posting so last minute, hope it's worth the wait 🤍

WC: 7.3K | Rating: E

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“So,” Steve starts after a long silence, “any plans for Christmas?”

It takes Eddie’s brain a moment too long to realize Steve’s talking to him; he’s far too busy (pathetically) watching his friend’s lips curl around the cigarette he smokes, and the way his eyelids flutter ever so slightly when he exhales the cloud of gray smoke out into the night sky. Steve’s eyes are fixed on the twinkling stars above them, so he doesn’t notice Eddie staring at him.

Or so Eddie hopes.

It had become some sort of a routine; they lay out on top of Eddie’s van nearly every other night now, smoking and joking and doing nothing together. It’s not that serious, but Eddie finds himself looking forward to spending his nights with Steve all day long like a schoolgirl with a crush. Not that he has a crush on Steve, obviously. It’s just nice to be around the guy; sue him.

“Ed?” Steve asks again, turning his head to look at Eddie who very nearly jumps out of his skin with surprise.

“Huh?”

Steve chuckles and Eddie’s heart melts. “Christmas Eve? Tomorrow? Got any plans?”

“Oh! That. Nah, man, Munson Christmas isn’t in another month,” Eddie shrugs and drags on his own cigarette to keep himself warm. It’s not snowing, at least not yet, but it absolutely could with how cold it is out here. He thinks about asking Steve to huddle up for warmth but then thinks better of it. “What about you? Are your parents back for Christmas this year?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m spending it with Dustin and Claudia this year. Wait, what’s Munson Christmas again?”

Eddie gasps, placing a horrified hand on Steve’s bicep. “Steven Harrington!” He cries. “Has’t thee not hath heard about the most wond’rful holiday of the year?”

Steve makes a point of rolling his eyes, but Eddie can see him trying very hard not to smile. His eyes dart, just for a moment, to Eddie’s hand clutching his arm. “Don’t go Shakespeare on me, man.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie, The Bard took over me for a second there,” he laughs and drops the hand from Steve’s arm and, wait, did Steve pout? “I’m just really passionate about Munson Christmas, you know?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked.”

“I really haven’t told you about it? Weird. Anyways, Uncle Wayne and I celebrate Christmas Eve on January 24th. His boss at the Plant pays him double for working on Christmas, and we really need the money, so we just made the decision to push Christmas back a month. Made a whole bunch of traditions about it, too.”

“Like what?” Steve asks, lying on his side and propping his head up on his wrist. He watches Eddie like he actually cares about whatever it is he’s saying, which does absolutely no weird shit to Eddie’s heart, thank you very much.

Eddie shrugs it off and takes another drag of his cigarette, avoiding Steve’s intentful gaze. “We wear stupid hats. Buy each other stupid gifts. Watch stupid movies. A big celebration of stupidity.”

“God, I love your uncle Wayne,” Steve laughs. Eddie won’t ever admit how giddy the sound of it makes him feel. The musician in him cries at him to record Steve’s laughter, to preserve it, to make it into a melody he can listen to on repeat for the rest of his life. But that’s pathetic, and a whole new ballpark of weird, so he shoves it away.

He does try to make Steve laugh as often as he can, though.

Steve lies back, putting out his cigarette on the van’s roof. “That sounds like fun.”

“Hey, you can join us this year, if you’re not doing anything on the 24th?” Eddie offers as casually as he can.

“I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Dude,” Eddie cuts him off. “You are officially invited. Need me to do it in Shakespearean or..?”

“Please don’t,” Steve laughs, sounding almost relieved.

“Art thee sure? f’r we both knoweth I can–”

“Shut up!” Steve laughs again, and Eddie has to cover his giant grin with the crook of his arm. “So, like, should I bring anything?”

“Nope, no need. Unless you’ve got a really ugly hat. If not, I’ll give you one of mine.”

“I have something, yeah.”

“Good. Dinner starts at eight,” Eddie says, than thinks again. “Probably. Hopefully. Could be at ten for all I know.”

“Got it,” Steve smiles and sits up with a grunt. “I gotta go, I promised Robin I’ll help her pack for her flight tomorrow morning.”

“What does she need you for?”

“Adult supervision,” Steve replies simply.

Eddie chuckles at that. “Oh, that makes sense. Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself zipping up her suitcase.”

“Hey, that could be lethal!” Steve protests.

“Yeah, if you’re a fucking hamster. Wait, actually, now that I’m thinking about it…”

“Oh my god, Eddie, shut up,” Steve tries to hide his amusement with a hand down his face, but his brilliant smile shines through.

Eddie kinda wants to kiss him. He looks away.

Steve doesn’t go. Instead he sits silently with his back straight and his eyes on the stars, and Eddie closes his own to keep himself from staring. He wonders what goes through his friend’s mind. He wonders that a lot lately. He wants to pry Steve open, find out what makes him tick, know every part of him like the back of his own hands. To make a melody not just of his laughter but of the entirety of him. He wants to have him.

He has to consciously remind himself to stop thinking about his best friend like that.

Steve speaks up again and it makes not thinking just a little bit easier. “I really gotta go. Bye, Ed. See you at Munson Christmas.” Steve says while getting up, and as he turns to climb down the van he stops. “I’ll make sure my hat is way uglier than yours.”

And then the asshole fucking winks.

Eddie’s heart somersaults in his chest and he can feel his cheeks and ears growing red hot. No one’s there to look at him anymore yet he still hides his face behind his mane of curls, trying to shudder his stupidly pathetic and pathetically stupid crush away. He groans loudly when it makes absolutely no difference.

He thinks he hears Steve laughing from beneath him. He chooses to believe he hasn’t heard anything at all.

read the rest on AO3 ♥

[mindfulwrath]

The Triaxial Theory of Horror

I have a theory that most horror fits into a volume of conceptual space described by 3 axes, which are:

Discrete--Diffuse

Mobile--Sessile

Wet--Dry

The Discrete--Diffuse axis describes the source of the horror. A Discrete horror has a physical, usually tangible form; is recognizable as the source of the horror; and takes actions which make it horrifying. On the opposite end of the scale, a Diffuse horror is one with no obvious source, center, or primary actor. Most of Steven King's work falls on the Discrete end of this scale; Silent Hill falls close to the middle; and The Others lands on the Diffuse end.

(As a note, any point on this axis can be done badly; hamfisted Discrete horror rapidly enters a space I call "Ooga-Booga Horror," where the object/entity/what-have-you is so cartoonishly scary as to wrap back around to being silly. Likewise, poorly handled Diffuse horror becomes "Vapor Horror," which is so completely sourceless as to be nonsensical.)

The Mobile--Sessile axis, meanwhile, describes the behavior of the horror. A Mobile horror is one that hunts, pursues, clings, reappears, or otherwise moves around; 80's slasher flicks being a prime example. Sessile horror, in contrast, stays put, and the horror derives either from the inability to escape its radius of influence or the inability to stay away; The Haunting of Hill House nearly exemplifies the far end of the axis.

(Here, too, poor handling can lead to the inversion of horror into comedy, on a scale from "Imma Gonna Getcha" to "Just Leave, Bro.")

Finally, the Wet--Dry axis deals with the effects of the horror, and is essentially equivalent to the gross-out factor. Typically, Wet horror is rich in blood, brains, and body parts, while Dry horror keeps its victims physically intact; however, this scale is not necessarily coupled to the presence or absence of viscera. For example, The Color Out of Space involves significant bodily disturbance, yet remains relatively Dry due to the elision of details. In the same vein (but in the opposite direction), Crimson Peak is an exceedingly Wet horror film, yet utilizes actual gore quite sparingly, preferring to shift the language of decomposition onto the inanimate house; yet its substitution of red clay for blood in no way lessens the Wetness of the horror.

(And as expected, this axis has its own hilarious pitfalls; over-the-top gore rapidly enters "Blood Fondue" territory, while excessively dry horror risks becoming "Totally Scary, Trust Me." Some would argue that The Color Out of Space indeed represents a plunge into the latter category.)

Some examples, then, of the triaxial scale in action:

NBC's Hannibal is Discrete/Mobile/Wet. Hannibal is the primary source of the horrifying events, he can and will chase you down, and when he does, it's going to get messy.

Saw is Discrete/Sessile/Wet. While the threat of bodily harm is similar, and its source similarly known, as in Hannibal, the texture of the horror is significantly altered by the confined setting.

House of Leaves is two horrors stacked up in a trench coat: the parts dealing with The Navidson Record are Discrete/Sessile/Dry, while Johnny Truant's narrative is Diffuse/Mobile/Wet.

Likewise, The Shining nests Discrete/Mobile/Dry horror (Jack chasing Wendy around with an axe) inside Diffuse/Sessile/Wet horror (the Overlook Hotel itself).

Silent Hill, as mentioned, is close to centered on the Discrete-Diffuse axis, and is also nearly centered on the Mobile-Sessile axis, although it is consistently Wet.

The Magnus Archives utilizes all three axes nearly to their fullest extents, but tends to cluster in the Discrete/Mobile/Wet octant.

To be sure, there are elements of horror not described by these axes--internal vs. external, active vs. passive, certain vs. uncertain doom--but as a system for interpreting and categorizing the main structural elements of horror, and particularly for describing one's preferences in horror, the triaxial scale functions well.

[drifloonz]

would luv more general steven(or s!3v3n) x reader hcs..

i am so sorry you caught me in the middle of vc. some of these. also i accidentally closed the fucking tab and had to rewrite all of this. i hate being a writer on tumblr.

some of these are by my friends. some of them r by me. some are funny. some are serious. Some are all and or both

i just realized these are only general steven headcanons i am so fucking sorry i was tired and it was like 4-6 am. take them anyways i'll edit like a few actual x reader ones in

_______

he doesn't get outwardly super scared, but he DOES shiver or make discontented noises when he's scared. playing horror games with him is kinda funny. if you make him play a vr horror game he will hate you forever and ever. it's rly funny tho.

he tries way too hard. with everything. pre-incident? being a role model, being cool, being a trainer, being a champion for like one month, being stereotypically romantic, etc. post-incident? being scary, being intimidating, etc.

despite this he is still very dorky and awkward. at least pre-incident. it was common. type of guy to lean on a wall but he falls

he wears light cologne. i'd say he wears axe 3-in-1 but that'd be way too rude to both me and other stevenlikers.

pre-incident he trips over his words sometimes, sometimes his tones too flat, sometimes he speaks too loudly or quietly, etc etc. Basically. 'tism.

he's good at clue, the board game.

pronounces gif like "g.i.f" ( like it's an acronym ). please, god, make fun of him for this.

his hands are always cold for no fucking reason post-incident. if you hold his hands in the summer it kind of helps the heat go away. love wins

really wanted a guitar. he's a dork so he does air guitar sometimes when no ones looking or does guitar motions while holding a long thing that isn't a guitar. He would play guitar hero and be absolutely mid at it but blue and red think he's the coolest fucking thing ever for it. This is inspired by somebody elses hc i think(????). if u read this. ur a real one and r so true.

because of this if you actually got him a guitar i think he'd make a small genuine smile. he has executive dysfunction and depression so itd probably take a while for him to actually do anything with it, but he rlly appreciates the gesture.

also kinda has a good singing voice but is better at backing vocals.

he organizes things a bit too much, which stopped during his spiral phase, but for example his pc boxes are like. a living dex, or just by pokedex number. he prob never completed his dex tho. mike though who did/almost did, has Entirely unorganized boxes. after the incident he obviously stopped caring bc depression so like. yeah. so his rooms a little unorganized and his house in general. he will silently appreciate it if you organize it for him.

never allowed miki to have eggs bc 1; gen 1 limitations. idk how that'd work in universe but that'd probably be why it didnt happen in the pokepastas. 2; as you can tell. he's kinda overprotective of miki. also charizards aren't like. very regular pokemon you find and he wouldn't want to breed her with a ditto. and would only want to allow her to if she actually found a for-life mate.

and for the x reader-ification of this in the edit bc i misread the ask, he'd also do it if ur dating him and u have a pokemon. for example, whatever starter you have and miki would b cute. straight couple.. yuri couple.. yaoi couple... love is love and miki doesnt care. its cute and they act all cuddly and snuggly with eachother probably. kinda reminds you of u an steven too

speaking of miki is larger than normal charizards and probably is built a little different literally and figuratively. stevens tall. miki is taller though. at the very least post incident Corpse Miki is. how unique she was did not help stevens rage ( getting a new one would not be nearly the same especially due to that + he would never. ) but it was a smaller factor in everything. also i do not think that thang can lay eggs post-incident. sorry if u wanted a fucked up missingno charmander.

even if the trade incident happened but miki came out alive he'd still go on a depression spiral. he probably wouldn't kill mike in the end, but he'd be much quieter, and would be even more paranoid. would probably willingly move away from mike or separate their rooms at the least. if u were dating him during this time you could probably at least still recover him from this state since its less serious but the tension would be palpable for a while.

mike is your number 1 wingman for steven swooning. he's kind of bad at being a wingman. or he's good at it. whichevers funnier in your opinion tbh. but he knows what steven likes ( at least he hopes he does ) so he gives you tips and tricks for wooing him. or he gives steven tips and tricks on wooing you because he knows both of you n hangs out with both enough to know.

this is a headcanon with basically no basis but theres a part of me that kind of likes steven and mike being born in johto or somethin'. which is why he goes to johto in doors open after the incident. he's running away from his past + kanto + it's his home region. At least for a while. so he sometimes likes to travel around with miki and you there, or to other places.

he double-checks a lot of things way too much. like if things are locked, if things are properly in place, and if wires are properly connected and not fucked up or tangled or broken ( iykyk ). if you check for him and reassure him everythings fine he'll calm down slightly, but his paranoia goes "okay but what if they didnt check enough."

if you told s!3v3n he was being a bad boy like a fucking dog when he does smth you dont like he probably would actually look like a dejected puppy for a moment and sit in a corner ( /j. maybe. )

s!3v3n's got big fuckin shadowy hands. and claws. good for backscratching or massages oddly enough, if asked for....????

steven will try to impress you by playing a videogame and doing something cool. he probably fails or almost fails at it. but its kind of endearing and cute anyways.

he's left-handed ( definitely not projecting ). for symmetry, mike is right-handed. also miki is ambidextrous. How can a Charizard be ambidextrous you ask? You know. For fun. Daisy is also ambidextrous though which is the more normal option.

i mean... steven is probably also ambidextrous with anything other than writing/drawing ( PROJECTING HARDER ).

ultimately kind of silly ( He has murdered three )

hope you enjoy :)

[cantsayidont]

Moviez:

INHERENT VICE (2014): Excellent Paul Thomas Anderson adaptation of the 2008 Thomas Pynchon novel, a '70s hippie-stoner riff on Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe, starring Joachim Phoenix as pothead P.I. Doc Sportello, who is drawn into a complex scheme involving his ex-girlfriend Shasta (Katherine Waterston) and her missing real estate mogul boyfriend (Eric Roberts). Long and leisurely paced, retaining most of the novel's convoluted plot and a good deal of Pynchon's deadpan humor, INHERENT VICE is not nearly as bleak as the detective films of the era in which it's set (e.g., Robert Altman and Leigh Brackett's cruel 1973 adaptation of Chandler's THE LONG GOODBYE, to which both versions of VICE are often compared), but Anderson plays reasonably fair with the mystery, and, like the novel, treads a pleasingly considered line between the doomed romanticism of the genre's hard-boiled antecedents and wistful nostalgia for the dreams of a mostly vanished era. It's also one of Phoenix's career-best performances (although his gruesome muttonchops aren't easy to stomach), with a strong supporting cast (including Josh Brolin, Reese Witherspoon, Benicio Del Toro, and Martin Short), and Anderson makes the inspired decision to translate big chunks of the novel's third-person prose to a voiceover by Joanna Newsom (as Doc's hippie friend Sortilège). CONTAINS LESBIANS? In passing, courtesy of the ever-delightful Hong Chau. VERDICT: Extremely satisfying if you can tune into its particular wavelength — the only PTA film to date that I actually enjoy.

L.A. CONFIDENTIAL (1997): Glossy but annoyingly defanged Curtis Hanson adaptation of the hardboiled James Ellroy novel, about a battle of wills between three LAPD detectives — twitchy thug Bud White (Russell Crowe), slick hustler Jack Vincennes (Kevin Spacey), and brittle college boy Edmund Exley (Guy Pearce) — surrounding a high-profile robbery/homicide and its politically charged aftermath in 1953 Los Angeles. Highly acclaimed at the time, the film hasn't aged well: It's well-cast and well-acted, and it still looks great, but Hanson and Brian Helgeland's script excises about half of the novel's sprawling, squalid plot (sometimes neatly, sometimes not) and eventually squanders too much credibility trying to contrive a facile good-guys-vs.-bad-guys resolution, culminating in a preposterous new ending that ties everything up in a neat bow in ways the novel pointedly does not. (Ellroy has since disowned the film, although it's still better than the disastrous Brian De Palma adaptation of Ellroy's THE BLACK DAHLIA a decade later.) CONTAINS LESBIANS? Only fleetingly. VERDICT: Scaling down the novel's scope and nastiness isn't always a bad thing, but it sacrifices far too much moral complexity in the process.

LAST EXMAS (2024): Cute but very slight lesbian romcom about two former high school girlfriends (Elena Milo and Shaeane Jimenez), who are drawn together again when they both return to their small hometown for Christmas 10 years after their breakup. Appealing leads compensate some for the lulls in the sitcomish script and the frequent overacting of costar Raven Maducdoc, as a gossipy busybody the protagonists knew in high school. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Prominently! VERDICT: Never really departs from formula, but pleasant gay background noise for those who can't resist a seasonal glass of eggnog.

NEXT OF KIN (1982): Well-crafted if deliberately paced Australian horror-thriller about a young woman named Linda Stevens (Jackie Kerin) inheriting the small nursing home on her estranged mother's rural estate, which might be haunted. Has definite overtones of THE SHINING with a soupçon of PSYCHO, with strong atmosphere and a very '80s synth score by Klaus Schulze of Tangerine Dream, although the understated story withholds any real action until nearly the end, and the explosive finale (which loops back around to the opening scene) lacks a certain final punch. Kerin is very good — she's nearly the whole show — as is John Jarratt as Linda's hunky lunkhead ex-boyfriend, who's hoping for another shot. CONTAINS LESBIANS? No. VERDICT: Doesn't quite live up to its lofty modern critical standing, but an interesting, effective slow-burn thriller. CW for sexual assault near the end.

Teevee:

ANGELYNE (2022): Smugly malicious, fictionalized five-part pseudo-documentary about self-made Los Angeles celebrity Angelyne (here played by Emmy Rossum), whose cryptic self-promoting billboards and pink Corvettes were L.A. local color for years. There are several ways one could potentially approach Angelyne as a phenomenon, from a commentary on celebrities becoming famous for being famous to just leaning into her fantastical internal narrative like a Francesca Lia Block novel, but the show is mostly a mean-spirited, self-conscious period piece whose main object is to sneer contemptuously at self-deluded losers à la Paul Thomas Anderson's repulsive BOOGIE NIGHTS. There are occasional flashes of visual inspiration, like the "Galaxina" sequence in Ep. 3 and the fantasy sequences in the finale, but nothing in the story ever really justifies the nastiness of the narrative approach, which I found almost as off-putting as Rossum's lead performance, an unsympathetic caricature that becomes particularly indefensible in the final episode, dealing with Angelyne's generational trauma as the daughter of Holocaust survivors. CONTAINS LESBIANS? No. VERDICT: No matter how full of shit the real Angelyne might be, she's done nothing to deserve this sneering hatchet job.

THE FIRM (2012): Terrible one-season TV spinoff of the John Grisham legal thriller, with attorney Mitch McDeere (Josh Lucas) and his too-loyal wife Abby (Molly Parker) trying to rebuild their lives 10 years after bringing down Mitch's mobbed-up previous firm, only to find they've made some even more dangerous enemies. The first three-fourths of the season, with Martin Donovan and Tricia Helfer (of BATTLESTAR GALACTICA) as villains, is unbearably stupid and frequently offensive, and Mitch might well be the least competent TV defense lawyer in the entire history of the medium. The final half-dozen episodes, which shift focus to the mob catching up with Mitch, are better, but still not very good. Josh Lucas is a hopelessly uncharismatic lead, a real millstone around the show's neck; Callum Keith Rennie has charisma, but is hopelessly miscast as Mitch's ex-con brother/investigator, and Juliette Lewis is completely wasted as Mitch's sassy secretary. CONTAINS LESBIANS? No. VERDICT: Decidedly infirm. CW for an upsetting sequence in Ep. 14 where Abby is kidnapped and tortured.

[juhbebbie]

Okayyyyy so City of the Dead thoughts for anyone who cares

Was I disappointed? My expectations weren't super high so I guess not, but the super overdramatic self pitying narration threw me off quite a bit. Like okay man chill out a bit. Kind of expected to not see Layla until the end so I guess there I was disappointed but not surprised. Fingers crossed she will be a central character from here on out and not a one and done thing in the series.

Okay elephant in the room time. I know a lot of people have been saying they REALLY did not like it and I really cannot blame them, but also I'm trying to stay hopeful because it just the first issue. I'm hesitant to get pissed off over the total lack of Jake and Steven just yet, when in Mackay's series neither made an appearance until like a year into the run. Yes this series isn't going to be nearly as long, but still. That being said, no I definitely don't expect Moon Knight to really be shown as a system, but I'm gonna give Prepose a couple more issues to prove me wrong (the bar is on the floor). Mainly just because I feel like it would be hypocritical of me to denounce Prepose for not including them and then praise Mackay when it took him 12 issues to really acknowledge that they are a system. I'm going to give Prepose a chance since he wrote a pretty good Black, White, and Blood story that did have them shown as a system in a pretty cool way imo.

All this to say that I'm not trying to undermine anyone else's concerns, this is just my own opinion and trust me, based on what little interviews I've read I fully expect Jake and Steven to be completely ignored and if (and when) that happens I will be right there with the rest of yall lol. I will say that it's already very clear that the set up so far was not written with the intention of having a place for Steven or Jake, which is very disappointing.

Okay positive things! I enjoyed seeing Dr Badr a lot and i didn't have much of an issue with how he and Marc's relationship was portrayed. Yes in the main run they're closer now, but they are still very much at odds but willing to work together towards a common goal, which is exactly what we see here in this issue.

I also liked where the thing with the kid is going. The detail of him being kicked out after his brother's death definitely makes me think he's going to be a reflection of Marc, which would be a cool parallel to have.

And the art for the most part was really gorgeous! I don't know what the hell was going on with Layla there at the end (otherwise great male artists not knowing how to draw women), but other than that I REALLY loved how the actual city looked.

And the Egyptian mythology was actually a lot more accurate than it usually is, which, as someone who has always been a total nerd about that stuff, actually made me really happy. There are several specific things I wanted to point out but this post is long enough as is.

Also. "I don't care if I burn" that was badass as shit come on. One of the (admittedly several!) moments of overdramatic writing that came off very well kind of like how it does in the Mackay run (don't wanna compare this too much to the Mackay run though because I understand it's obviously going to be different and that's fine)

But yeah. The overall feel and tone was very... off. I was on board with the general plot and Marc's motivations but everything around the basic plot structure just seemed like Prepose was trying to do a weird Huston run thing and it wasn't working (I don't think it worked in the Huston run either but I digress).

I've seen people saying that they didn't like how Marc was an enthusiastic follower of Khonshu, but that wasn't really the vibe I got at all? If anything it was pretty clear how much he hated everything he was doing. Which also kinda felt off. Having him say that everything was "punishment" over and over just kind of felt like I was getting hit on the head with a theme that didn't even make sense for the character, at least not at this point. Don't get me wrong, self punishment is absolutely a big part of Marc Spector's character, but there is an important distinction between doing things to right your past wrongs and doing them because you feel like you deserve it. And it seemed like Prepose understood that at first, but then later into the issue I was like Marc PLEASE shut the fuck up about punishment lol.

People more knowledgeable than myself have said things about how this looks from the standpoint that this is also a Jewish character, but all I'm going to say as a general statement for all of Moon Knight's runs is that I wish they would let him be explicitly Jewish more often. It's mentioned in Mackay's run the clash between Marc's service to Khonshu and his Judaism, but I think that that is such an interesting part of his character that needs to be discussed WAY more!

Anyway, to make a long story short, definitely not the strongest first issue, but it absolutely had some great moments and I'm going to go forward with my expectations still pretty low, but willing to give it a shot for Layla's sake. But the fact that a run featuring Layla is already not turning out to be very good is a little bit heartbreaking for me I'm not gonna lie lol. I was going to go and buy myself a copy of this issue, but after actually reading it I didn't really want it anymore. So 😬 fingers crossed for the next issue I guess?

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT WAS

But if angel investors become more active and better known, they'll increasingly be able to reach most of the changes will be for the better. You can use that target growth rate. Ditto for PayPal. Are there zero users who really love you, but they know better than to be friends with the people whose discoveries will make them so. A few steps down from the top. Professors have to publish novel results to advance their careers, but there won't be many of them. When we cook one up we're not always 100% sure which kind it is. So the deals take longer, dilute you more, and impose more onerous conditions. They'll just have become a different, more conservative, type of investment. C was written by people who needed it for systems programming. But I could be wrong. What you're really doing when you start to see growth, they claim they were your friend all along, and are aghast at the thought of a 30% success rate at fundraising makes my stomach clench.

Being around bad people would be intolerable. And it's true, the benefit that specific manager could derive from the forces I've described. Jessica Livingston, Robert Morris, Eric Raymond, Guido van Rossum, David Weinberger, and Steven Wolfram for reading drafts of this. But only about 10% of the time we could find at least one good name in a 20 minute office hour slot. Actually what they need to do two things, one of the keys to retaining their monopoly. And so ten years ago, he could teach him some new things; if a psychologist met a colleague from 100 years ago, writing software pretty much meant writing software in C or Perl. Now we needed to stay alive.

We'll probably never be able to match. I think hiring people is the worst thing a company can do. Hacking is something you do with it. Because they haven't tried to control it too much, Twitter feels to everyone like previous protocols. Nearly all your attachment to it comes from it being attached to you. Why programmers, more than dentists or salesmen or landscapers? So why did they even evolve? For example, the Honeywell thermostats in my house have the most atrocious UI. Barbershops are doing fine in the a department. Imagine the obelisk of startups. And now that I'm an investor, the thought of our startups keeps me up at night. The process inherently tends to produce an unpleasant result, like a student who hasn't prepared for an exam.

To be self-funding—Microsoft for example—but most aren't. You just try to get people to pay you for stuff. Investors' opinions are explicitly tested: startups come to them and they have started to use it? You're better off avoiding these. That's true. A rounds creep inexorably downward. That's nonsense. They're increasingly rare, and they're going to get rarer. The company being sold.

But the way they write software. How much is that extra attention worth? To the popular press, hacker means someone who breaks into computers. The founders can't enrich themselves without also enriching the investors. People don't do hard things gratuitously; no one will work on a harder problem unless it is proportionately or at least to know what an n 2 algorithm is if you want to avoid writing them. In fact many of the people who had them to continue thinking about. Fortunately if this does happen it will take years. And when the Mac appeared, it was obvious that rapid development would be important in this market. Was there a connection?

In a world of small companies, performance is all anyone cares about. It must once have been inhabited by someone fairly eccentric, because a lot of investors hated the idea, but they don't need as much of the innovation is unconscious. You know what a throwaway program is: something you write quickly for some limited task. This may not be easy, because a they may be, but more a way of predicting performance. Civil liberties make countries rich. One thing it means is that at least 20-25% of the code in this program is doing things that you can't be pointed off to the side and hope to succeed. A round.