#Stop torturing me thx :)

[idealog]

Insulting Thieves Merely Go To Hell.

[crippleprophet]

rules of engagement before we begin: do not seek the original post out to interact with it negatively or harass op in any way. if i find out about anybody doing that sort of shit i’ll block them so quick it’ll be the fastest i’ve moved all year. ok thx here we go

[image description: three screenshots of a post with the username blacked out. the introductory & closing paragraphs are as follows, & the bullet points will be listed within the body of this post. the introduction reads:

nobody warns you this but addiction happens without you noticing and one of the first things that it attacks is your ability to care. if you find yourself using recreational drugs every day, stop and take one day a week sober. if you struggle with this or if you don't see the point of the exercise, you are likely already addicted and you need help.

nobody ever taught me the warning signs for drug addiction, only that "it costs lots of money and destroys your life!!!1" which is not helpful if you can't recognize a developing addiction in yourself. so here's some things to watch out for with recreational drug use.

the conclusion reads: yes this applies to weed. weed is a drug and you can get addicted to it like any other substance. addiction is not the same as physical dependence; it is psychological and it can happen to anyone. you are not immune to addiction. end image description.]

now! fundamentally why i will never align with this kind of perspective is that i affirm addiction as a social construct, like all so-called mental illnesses, & the psychiatric institution which invents & reifies them as a fucking sham.

answer quickly:

what substances is it possible for one to become addicted to? does this include caffeine? why or why not?

is the claim of sugar addiction legitimate or anti-fat pseudoscience? what, if anything, differentiates this from other addiction science?

what is the harm of the so-called opioid epidemic: access to a safe supply of narcotics, or the lack thereof?

can an autistic person who eats the same dinner every night, for example, be said to be “psychologically addicted” to it if they have a meltdown & subsequent ongoing distress + disinterest in food when it is discontinued?

can you be addicted to psychiatric medication? immunosuppressants? why or why not?

my point is less that these behaviors are not indicative of addiction but rather that that wouldn’t inherently make them harmful. fuck it, let’s take it point by point!

planning your day around drugs e.g "i'll give myself an extra half hour before heading out so i can get high first"

this whole post had me asking “literally what is the problem with this,” starting with this first bullet! why does someone need to leave for the grocery store at 5:30 instead of 6, or whatever? and the other recurring theme: what happens if you replace “drugs” with “pain management”? (chronic pain is not the only valid reason to get high—all reasons for drug use are equally value-neutral—but it certainly still is one.) “i’ll give myself an extra half hour before heading out for my pain management to start working” is the kind of calculation familiar to most people with chronic pain. “stop and take one day a week without pain management” is not a test of whether you “need help,” it’s torture.

now, disregarding one’s priorities or commitments to other people in favor of drugs can happen, & in many circumstances it’s harmful to the other people impacted. that’s not what was said here, & stopping that behavior does not require getting sober.

rapidly switching emotions around drugs. you love them but you hate that you love them so much. you hate the way you feel on them but you hate being sober. feeling guilty after using even when you didn't give a crap beforehand.

do you know what else i love but hate that i love, what else i hate using? my fucking bed. three years ago, my mobility scooter. this is not a logical argument, this is a bullshit argument. my feelings about something do not inherently reflect its harm to others – or to myself, even, though i firmly argue for the right to make “self-harmful” decisions regardless.

you know what people hate being on but hate worse being off? the vast fucking majority of medications.

why might a drug user start to feel guilty when they previously didn’t? being shamed by friends, family, or a fucking tumblr post; surpassing a constructed threshold of “acceptable” use they didn’t know they’d internalized; experiencing new or greater access issues; beginning to probe their morality around drugs & unpack things they were taught; experiencing consequences of criminalization; getting triggered.

caring less about spending money. if you are budgeting for drugs like they are food, you are likely prioritizing them more than is healthy.

“if you are budgeting for pain management like it’s as important as food, you are likely prioritizing it more than is healthy.” health is absolutely useless as a value for me anyway, but: the food’s no good if i’m too nauseous or too dead to eat it.

prioritizing drugs over other people’s financial needs is harmful! this wouldn’t happen if food & drugs were provided to people; some people wouldn’t need as many drugs if their needs were met otherwise; people’s needs being met shouldn’t be dependent on their parent / partner / self not using drugs; this harm is not what the bullet says.

getting high to do household chores and other unpleasant things because it would suck less and be more bearable on drugs

“things should suck. because god wills it i said so.”

feeling anxious or restless while sober, not knowing what to do with oneself, feeling lost or ungrounded.

again just. what’s the problem with that. so what if being sober sucks or is boring or stressful or demanding. so what if someone decides to deal with that sober or decides to use more because of that. who gives a shit.

thinking about doing drugs constantly even while sober. maybe it's the first thing you think of when you wake up. maybe when you're bored or otherwise have free time, drugs are one of the first things you can think of to occupy yourself with.

“thinking about getting better pain management constantly when you’re in pain”

i feel like you’re gonna tell me the only thing that can really take my pain away is jesus

again like. what is the problem with doing drugs because you’re bored. why do i need to occupy myself, what, fucking productively?

going to work or school while under the influence, especially if it happens regularly and if you're seeing your performance suffer as a result.

what’s wrong with going to school high. derailing a class discussion is a dick move, maybe, but that’s not inherent to being high. work & performance are both very broad terms – a surgeon or someone operating heavy machinery not being sober is putting others at risk of harm in a way a cashier is not.

the idea of taking a 'tolerance break' sounds good to you until it's actually break time, at which point you can come up with 20 very reasonable sounding points to explain why it wouldn't benefit you actually and you should just keep doing drugs regardless.

y’all think this is incredibly circular logic too right? “drugs are bad, so telling yourself drugs are not bad is proof that they’re bad.” took me right back to the sunday school classroom and i wish i was fucking exaggerating. it’s an argument founded upon the inherent wrongness of trusting yourself – what you want to do must be wrong because you want it. this is one of the points that’s a more solid indicator of, like, “congrats! you’re now in circumstances doctors are salivating to psychiatrize as XYZ Use Disorder,” but that doesn’t make it any less nonsense as a moral argument.

even if you succeed at quitting the drug, you keep your dealer's number on your phone "just in case"

so what. what’s wrong with giving yourself the continual autonomy to choose whether or not to do drugs. what’s wrong with quitting drugs for a while and starting using again.

you pretend to be sober when you aren't. you worry about other people noticing how much time you spend high. you make efforts to hide your drug use or minimize how much other people think you're using. you're scared of other people's judgement if they were to find out.

this one might be the most ludicrous to me, which is really saying something. “if other people being bigoted towards drug users makes you pretend to use less than you do, that’s your fault & not theirs.” cool! thanks for the quick heads up to not believe a word you say!

you have mood swings laced with self-hatred, regret, financial worries, and guilt. these mood swings are then very quickly wiped away by feelings of "but it doesn't matter, i can do what i want, and clearly i'm doing just fine while using drugs frequently". news flash, if you are rapidly switching between feeling numb-ok and hating yourself more than anything because of your drug use, you are mentally ill.

again, “the norm knows you better than you know yourself, you can’t listen to yourself, the body is wrong, wanting is wrong, pleasure is wrong, you are wrong wrong wrong.” but god, what a beautiful example of how oppression is psychiatrized: it’s not enough for the oppression to have worked, the system must then convince us that the effects of it working are our own fault. it’s not enough to just kill us with us fully aware of the knife, it’s gotta convince us we’re bleeding out for no reason. if you want any moments of pleasure during your miserable godforsaken little life you’d better put your nose back on the goddamn grindstone and repent. everything around you for your entire life has told you to hate yourself for your drug use but if the combined force of that violence works you are mentally ill, and that is the worst crime of all.

according to this post, when is it okay to use drugs, then? well, not planned into your day, and not at work or school, but not when you’re bored or have been thinking about it too much, and not if anyone who’d judge you or you don’t trust knowing you’re high or you just don’t want knowing is around, and not if you don’t want to quit, but also not if you’ve quit already. you have to hate your drug use otherwise that’s proof it’s attacked your ability to care but hating your drug use is proof you should stop. #JustSayNo

[highwayorgantrade]

I Can't

Pairing: fem!reader x John Price

Request: "hey whore  can i pls have a fic where price saves the reader's ass and then professes his love but like in a captain price im a hard ass way thx stinker butt” by @quizzyisdone

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injury, cursing, brief mentions of torture, Price being a dick.

Author’s Note: 

quizzy I could've seen this coming a mile away, but wait! am I now attracted to him? reader's code name is echo.

Being in the hospital was embarrassing.

Well, it was embarrassing for you. You weren’t the type to mess up that badly. For days, the only people who spoke to you were nurses, doctors, and the occasional psychiatrist. It was frustrating, listening to your company whisper about you, and it only added to the frustration of allowing yourself to get hurt, and even worse: get saved.

“Isn’t that Echo? I thought she wasn’t able to get caught.”

“Looks like I’ve caught you.” You felt your heart stop when cool metal pressed into the back of your head. Ice ran through your veins, and your hands froze on the sniper rifle that was positioned in front of you.

You had every advantage point, your high-caliber scope could catch even the most minute details from the cliff. Your mission was simple, and it was one you had done a thousand times before: Protect Task Force 141.

“Go ahead, kill me.” You finally responded, indignantly. In reality, you just wanted the fear that struck your heart to leave. Whoever it was, you knew they wouldn’t let you go. You wanted this situation to be over, as soon as possible. Your communication device crackled to life, and Captain Price’s voice came in, causing your anxiety to worsen. Please, Price, don’t say anything confidential.

“Echo, status?”

Instinctively, your hand reached toward the walkie, and you were met with a shocking crack across the back of your head. White spots blinded your vision, and a buzz settled in your ears, loud enough so you could barely hear John’s voice again. 

“Echo, please confirm status.” He instructed, sounding a bit more aggravated, like you had gotten distracted by the flowers, and not by an enemy holding you at the wrong end of a gun. 

“Tell him you are fine.” The voice behind you spoke, and you felt blood begin to drip its way down your face and neck.

“Are you going to hit me again?” You taunted weakly, but stiffened when you felt a boot on your back. “Fine.”

You held the side of the walkie, and waited.

“Price, this is Echo.” You took a deep breath. “Price, I’ve been made, don’t say anything-.” You didn’t even hear the butt of the gun meeting the back of your head, all you felt was a ripping pain, and a burning anger before your vision was overwhelmed by darkness.

“Privates Andrés and McDonough, do you get paid to gossip?” John’s harsh voice cut through the silence, and pulled you back to reality. The men didn’t even respond, all you could hear were their boots quickly walking away from your room. Finally, he appeared in the doorway of your room, crowding the frame. A scowl was apparent on his face, and he barely looked at you before casting his eyes to the wall behind you.

“You look upset.” You noted, and to be honest, you were a little annoyed he was mad at you. 

“Upset doesn’t cover it. You were completely unfocused.” He hissed, and anger ate at your throat.

“I’m alive. Everybody’s alive. The mission was successful. Do any of these sentences sound incorrect to you?” You knew you shouldn’t be like this, that you should be grateful he found you. His fist clenched, and he finally took you in. 

“I’m so glad that the bare minimum is enough for you, Echo.” The strained venom in his voice was obvious. “Do you know? Do you know what you looked like when we found you?”

“I had decided to take a nap, so I didn’t have time to look in the mirror.”

At this, Price stiffened, and you knew you hit some kind of nerve. In lieu of responding, he walked over to the door of your room, and shut it quietly. His back stayed turned to you, and you prepared yourself for him to yell at you for your insubordination. 

“You looked like you were already dead.” Price whispered, barely audibly, and your heart softened. “You were pale, and the way they put you in that car was like they were carrying a body.” He turned back to you, but his gaze was cast at the floor. “Gaz had to check for your pulse, I couldn’t… I didn’t want to. Do you know how many men I killed getting to you?” John’s voice cracked, and he sat down on the bed next to you.

“I still don’t understand why you’re so mad at me. If it was such a hassle, why even bother? Why did you even come here to visit me? Nobody’s talked to me in days!” Bitterness poisoned your voice, and you gripped your sheets, a brand new headache introducing itself.

“Because they feel bad! We all feel bad!” He barked, standing up again. “Echo, I can’t-.” He cut himself off, running a hand over his facial hair.

“You can’t? You can’t what?” You pushed. “You keep saying ‘I can’t, I couldn’t,’ what can’t you do?” You matched his volume as defiance reared its ugly head.

“I can’t think about what it would be like without you!” John yelled, slamming his fist against the counter, causing you to jump. “If you had died, who would take your place? Who would sit in your seat at the bar? Who would get your bed?” John didn’t allow you to respond before he continued. “Echo, if you had died, it would be like there’s a puzzle piece missing! How dare you ask me why I saved you, why do you think!”

He paced while he rambled, staring at you desperately, begging you to come to your own conclusions. “I’m looking at you in this bed, I saw the way you flinched, and every single person that made you like this, I want their blood on my hands.” A coldness creeped into his eyes, and you had finally decided: enough was enough. You needed to know exactly what he was trying to say, because so far, it has fallen on deaf ears. 

“Price, just say it.” His shoulders dropped, and you saw his lips twitch as he tried to form the words.

“I couldn’t live with myself if you never knew how I feel about you. How I see you.” He spoke slowly, like his words would break you. “You are… The single bright spot I have. Your jokes over comms, the way you smile when we meet after a complete mission. When you try to mimic my accent, everything you do, every word you speak, it’s painful knowing you’re not mine.”

Price’s long-winded confession rendered you speechless. You thought back to every time you noticed his gaze lingering on you longer than the rest of the Task Force, but the way he acted toward you gave no indication of his feelings.

Of course, that’s not to say that you haven’t thought of him that way - you’ve wasted a lot of time fumbling over your words around him, taking longer to answer questions because you just got too distracted by his voice, or the way he always made direct eye contact with you. You remember the nights where you would stay awake for hours, overthinking your interactions with him for that day. Or that one time he adjusted your hips for you when you were practicing in the field. 

“Please.” He took your hand in his. “Please just tell me to leave, and I will never talk about it again. Everything will go back to normal.”

Your chest tightened when you thought about the implications. Would you have to keep your relationship a secret? What would happen if it wasn’t a secret? No matter the question, the only answer in the back of your mind was that you didn’t care.

“Don’t leave.” You found your voice, and it cut through the hanging silence. “Please stay.” Price stared at you, searching for any sign of hesitation or regret, and when he couldn’t find any, he cupped your jaw with his hand, thumb tracing over the edge of a bandage, and he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“If you ever endanger yourself like that again, there will be severe consequences.” He whispered against your skin, and you smiled, all previous anger and frustration long gone. 

“John,” He pulled away from you at his name, and he sat back next you. “Do we keep this a secret?” Your voice was small, and Price’s ensuing laugh made it seem even smaller.

“Task Force knows.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I might’ve complained a lot, and Soap caught on first.” 

“And Soap has issues keeping his mouth shut.” You confirmed, rolling your eyes.

“Correct. How much longer do you have to be in here for?” He looked around at the hospital room, like he was just noticing all the machines and the sounds. 

“A few more days, but at least the coffee isn’t terrible.” You shrugged, resigned to your fate. John groaned, and he pursed his lips, considering the situation.

“Alright.” He sighed when he stood up again. “Coffee date it is, then."

[dont-look-behind]

Could you do an angst oneshot for Kit Walker inside Briarcliff pls? <3

hope | kit walker

warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, torture, blood, cigarettes, violence, sharp objects (let me know if i missed anything).

word count: 1,610

note: thx for the request, i really hope you like it. english is not my first language but i did my best <3

It was a typical day at Briarcliff. The rain poured outside, an old lady hit her head against the piano, and the same song played over and over again.

No shit people never get better here, you thought. It was almost impossible not to go insane when you kept living the same day every day. The words of the song echoed so hard through your head that you wished you could break the vinyl in two.

But seeing Kit Walker enter the common room washed that thought away. In a place like that, it was unusual to have someone you could trust, but he was the only thing keeping you sane and hopeful. And like yourself, he was locked up for a crime he didn’t commit.

You were the first one to talk to him when he first arrived, and the first to hear and believe his story. He wasn’t supposed to be there, you knew a sane person when you saw one.

“Morning, sunshine.” He smiled and sat next to you on the couch, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer to him, to which you replied with a smile.

Soon after, Lana Winters walks in. She watched you from afar, cigarette in her hand, and the curious look she always carried in her eyes

“Hey, don’t let her get to ya.” Kit caressed your arm soothingly. “There’s gotta be another way out besides that tunnel. And we'll find it, just-”

A few days ago, Lana had snitched you two for trying to escape the hell Briarcliff is, which led you and Kit to Jude's office - and everybody knows what happens there. And you weren’t a violent person, but God knows how much she got on your nerves.

Now, believing in Santa Claus seemed more plausible than believing you’d make it out of the asylum.

“Can I have a word with you?” Lana’s voice interrupted Kit and made you look up at her. After letting out a sarcastic laugh, you gathered the breath to tell her to fuck off.

But when Kit suggested you’d see what she wanted in order to not raise anyone's attention towards her insistence, you reluctantly followed her to the corner where the vinyl was placed. The annoying song muffled your voices enough that the people around couldn’t hear a word that came out of your mouth.

“If you wanna tell me Kit’s a killer and I’m making the wrong choice, I don’t wanna hear it.” You hoped the conversation wouldn’t last long, especially with her blowing the smoke of that cheap cigarette on your face.

“I’m giving you one last chance of escaping Briarcliff.” Lana says, as if it was some kind of reward that only the kids that have been good get.

“Kit deserves that chance as much as we do.” I shake my head in disbelief.

“He’s a murderer who needs to stay and pay for his crimes.” Lana’s voice was almost muffled by the stupid song that repeated for the fifth time this morning as you turned your back on her. “But you and I… we’re innocent. I’m giving you the chance of a free, normal life.”

“You’re unbelievable!” You mumble to yourself, starting to make your way back to the couch. “I knew this was a mistake.”

“You know… It’s only a matter of time before you end up like his wife.” Her words cut through you like a knife, making you freeze halfway. She could insult you all she wanted, but you knew that the last thing that would cross Kit’s mind was hurting you. That was the last straw. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The room went quiet, and all the eyes were on you as you angrily grabbed the vinyl from the record player and broke it in half. Pepper clapped her hands, clearly grateful that the song had stopped.

Fuck this shit.

Your heavy steps being the only audible thing in the room as you chased Lana, the broken record meeting the skin of her face and leaving a cut, making her scream from the sting it caused. She fell to the floor as she tripped on the carpet - a failed attempt to get away from you.

“If you’re that violent, maybe your place is here after all.” She covered her face to stop the blood from dripping. A strong hand grabbed your arm before you could proceed to stab the woman with it, dragging you away from her. The anger slowly disappeared from your eyes as you realized what you’ve done.

Kit Walker, taking the vinyl from your hand before the guards slammed the door open. Kit Walker, taking the blame for something you did. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“I did it. It’s my fault!” You yelled and desperately tried to stop them from taking him, but all you got was one of the guards hitting your head and throwing to the floor.

“Hey, stay away from her! She didn’t do anything.” Kit uselessly screamed and fought against the man before being knocked out too.

Your eyes opened slightly, blinking a few times as they tried to get used to the white lighting in the room. The pulsing sensation on your head only got worse as the voices got louder. You were pulled up by the same guard that hit you.

As you took a look around the room your eyes met Kit’s - he was tied to a table like a lab experiment, a metal device connected to his temples and his mouth was covered. The desperation and powerlessness taking over the both of you.

“Finally! You’re just in time for the show.” The disgust you felt made your stomach turn from seeing the joy in Doctor Arden’s face as he exclaimed. “Come on, I’ll let you do the honors.”

He gestured for the guard to bring you closer as the dizziness kept you from being able to carry yourself. Your hand was forcefully placed on a button as Arden encouraged you to turn it on. Shaking your head no as you sobbed, and begging him to release Kit were non-acceptable answers.

“Don’t be shy.” Arden harshly placed his hand over yours, making you turn the button and causing the first wave of electricity to hit Kit. He struggled and squirmed with the pain, fighting against the straps that held him, but it was useless.

The brief relief on his face as the button was turned off and his body relaxed before another wave hit. “What if we turn it a little higher now?” Arden suggested over the muffled screams that echoed through the room.

“Please, that’s enough!” You supplicated as if it was gonna change anything. “He learned his lesson, let him go!”

But the only thing it made Ardon do was signal to the guard to take you away and you were locked up in your cell for the rest of the morning.

You presented yourself to the kitchen to bake bread for the next day like you always did every evening. Except this time, Kit wasn’t there. He’ll come soon, you thought to yourself, watching every other patient walk in.

People around Briarcliff were used to the schedule, and you’ve learned that receiving punishments was not a good reason to skip your chores. And even though you’d spent the whole day crying and blaming yourself, you still had a few tears to drop.

“You weren’t productive enough today,” said Sister Jude. So you had to stay after everyone left to make up for it. Punching the bread dough didn’t help to ease your feelings, though.

Lana Winters went to the hospital wing with a bleeding face, and although you weren’t exactly proud of your actions, you knew she wouldn’t dare to disrespect you or Kit again. She mostly stares, like she does with everyone else but it wasn't enough to bother you.

“I wouldn’t wanna be that bread.” The familiar voice was music to your ears and you saw him entering the kitchen. You quickly wipe your tears before turning to look at him.

“Kit!” He instinctively wrapped his arms around your waist as you ran to hug him. “I was so worried, I-”

Your fingers ran through his temples, noticing they were a little purple, and his tired eyes couldn’t lie. You swallowed hard at the thought of the pain he went through because of you. How long did they keep him there?

“I’m so sorry.” You hide your face in your hands after he nods. “I got mad… If I hadn’t been so stupid-”

“Hey,” He gently grabbed your hands, taking them away from your face and placing a kiss on their back. “I’m alright, see?”

“It’s all my fault.” You look down guilty. It was the truth. His hands were still shaking from the shocks, the damage was visible.

“Sugar, look at me.” He tilted your chin up and caressed your cheek, his brown eyes finally meeting yours. “I’m glad it was me. I wouldn’t handle the thought of you hurting because I did nothing to protect you. I need you sane, so we can get out of this place together. I can handle a little pain for you.”

“If we get out.” It's not every day a patient makes it out - most people spend the rest of their lives here, innocent or not. And the ones who arrived here sane are no longer in sanity. It's what this place does to you.

“No, don’t say that. We’ll get out and have a life together like you told me you wanted, alright? I promise. Just try and stay safe, alright? For me.”

You nodded. For him.

[kopfkino-o]

In Defense of Azriel: A Dissertation, Part One

One thing I see a lot within this fandom is the suggestion that Azriel, somehow, feels entitled to Elain, that he is some raging incel or some torture-loving freak or a white knight only interested in pursuing unattainable women, etc etc. And I am just not okay with that.

Azriel is SUCH a nuanced character and the fact so many people fail to see the context of his personality, his role within the narrative, and the obvious themes SJM is using in regard to his character is just... baffling to me. Especially when he has the potential to be such a powerful male character with an important story that deserves to be told.

So here we go, I'm defending Azriel with my whole chest. This is obviously a pro-Azriel post with pro-Elriel undertones, so if that isn't your thing then SCROLL.

Thx love you all bye.

1) Azriel suffers greatly with his sense of self-worth, so much so he thinks he is deserving of nothing.

We learn first from Mor that Azriel thinks so little of himself, no doubt a direct symptom of his childhood, that he harbors a deep sense of unworthiness. So much so that even if he were a prince, even if the woman he loved (I question this, but that is a whole other post I'll save for later, so I digress) stripped naked before him he wouldn't feel worthy enough to act.

"The issue, actually, wouldn't be me. It'd be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn't move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it wouldn't matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris--he'll still see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me." - Mor, ACOMAF, Chapter 52

I think this is a great line to turn to when trying to understand the value Az places on himself. Mor says it herself, she could strip naked for him and he would still see himself as undeserving, still see himself as someone who shouldn't be granted the chance to have her affection. If he feels his way with Mor, someone who he supposedly has loved for centuries (again, I question this lol), then I think it's fair to claim he probably sees himself this way with all women.

This feels like the furthest thing from entitlement to me.

We can also see this inclination towards self-loathing come up again in the ACOSF Az bonus chapter when he gifts the necklace to Elain for the first time.

"He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin." - Azriel, ACOSF, Bonus Chapter (1 of 2)

These thoughts don't come from him thinking that he and Elain are wrong for wanting to be together, that their shared moment of affection (both now and as hinted at by the "This was the furthest it had ever gone" line) is wrong, but rather from this innate feeling of unworthiness. Az sees himself as nothing (see point below) and cannot fathom why someone like Elain, lovely Elain who resembles hope and the sun at dawn, would ever stop and see him. Give him her time, her offer and permission, would ever call his scarred hands-- the physical reminder of his trauma--beautiful.

He thinks it's wrong because he believes someone like him could never deserve a woman like her.

"Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all." Azriel, ACOSF, Bonus Chapter (1 of 2).

LIKE COME ON. This man sees himself as nothing. The fact he spoke up regarding his thoughts on the Cauldron potentially being wrong to begin with was a big thing for him, he who has many secrets, and Rhys SHUT HIM DOWN. 500+ years and even Cassian states Az is slow to open up, see below:

"Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn't push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up." - Cassian, ACOSF, Chapter Nineteen

Az did speak this time, he felt so strongly and questioned fate itself so fiercely that he opened up to Rhys. He questioned the Cauldron, the fatemaker itself, not because he is entitled to Elain, but because there is something between them, something that has been brewing between them ever since their first meeting, something so fierce he is (finally) compelled to open up, to speak because he was ready. Think about how important that is for a character like him. Azriel, whose brothers of 500+ years could move a mountain more easily than get him to open up, did in fact, open up...

And he was shot down.

Of course, he wasn't going to wax off a lecture about Rhys's suggestion being wrong--because it was Rhys, not Azriel, who suggested entitlement.

Rhys's face drained of color. " You believe you deserve to be her mate?"

Azriel never suggested anything like this. An overwhelmed, distraught Rhys who feared for his mate and unborn child did.

And Azriel shut down, just as he did when he first confessed his feelings to Mor, and immediately abandoned the conversation in favor of silence. Not because he was pissed, or felt he was wronged, but because he saw these moments as validation of his nothingness, proof he was nothing, would always be nothing.

2) "If I Fail, They Will Leave Me" Complex

One thing I think that is important about Azriel's character that is often overlooked is his liberation from his father's dungeon. He wasn't set free when his hands were burned, rather returned to his "dark, airless cell" where was forced to continue on, burned and broken, for three years.

Three bloody years.

It was only when/sometime after his shadowsinging gifts first emerged that he was granted freedom. If you can call it that. Not because he was a little boy who deserved freedom, but because he had magic: a tool of value, a weapon to be used.

And used it was.

We learn from Rhys that Shadowsingers are highly coveted...

"Shadowsingers are rare--coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can't." - Rhys, ACOMAF, Chapter 16

And that Az was sent to the camp only AFTER his gifts were discovered.

"Az's father sent him to our camp once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger." - Rhys, ACOMAF, Chapter 16

This all goes to say that Azriel's freedom was largely granted because of his magic. What would this say to a literal child? He was only valuable because of his magic, because of what he could do.

And this need to please, this need to serve, and the subsequent fear of failure are very prevalent within Az's character. He runs himself ragged, he brings too much onto his plate, he is so busy he doesn't sleep, he always volunteers to put himself into harm's way because he thinks that is all he has to offer. I suspect his time working as the personal spymaster for Rhys's father might also have contributed to these feelings, but I don't have enough info at current to delve any further into that.

Moving on, all this also goes to combat the "pro-torture" argument I sometimes see. Do I think Azriel loves slicing and dicing? No, not really. Same as Rhys doesn't like breaking into people's minds. I suspect Az sees his work in Hewn City as a similarly necessary evil, something he must do (rather than anyone else) because he is already "tainted", something he has to do to be worthy. Something he does because, regardless of how it makes him feel, provides value to his loved ones. I suspect Az probably feels if he were to stay no, if he were to refuse, then he would be deemed useless, unworthy, and abandoned as a result. Not that this would ever happen, but I think Az probably sees so little value in himself he thinks only his magic and skills are all he can provide his brothers. Not because they don't love and support him, but because years and years of trauma reinforce this idea.

It's really, really heartbreaking if you think about it.

Anywayssss, that's all I have in me for tonight, but I've got a few other points I will be adding to expand this post! I love (civil) fandom discourse, so feel free to drop in thoughts and opinions below.

Thanks for reading this behemoth!

[0lk0s]

mischaracterization of feyre archeron

by the whole entirety of acotar fandom

feyre archeron decided on her own to go in the woods and learn how to hunt. she assessed her family's situation, the state and skills of her family members and her own skills, after that she came to conclusion that she was the best option. and she was right. because she is fucking smart. so for the love of God, let's stop acting like she was forced by her sisters (read Nesta) into doing that. she's a good person and fucking analytical genius.

saying that she was forced is disrespectful to her character. it's giving credit to nesta for something she wouldn't even consider a possibility. like I love nesta(that's my wife), but in no universe she would see a hunting as potential survival strategy. they were all girls so in nesta's eyes their only way to secure wealth is to be wed. but feyre wasn't brainwashed by their mother and saw what needs to be done and who is the most suited for it.

yall want to make her this martyr and a victim, but trust me her family situation is nothing compared to being abducted and forced to live with deadly beasts (read Fae), then being tortured, hunted for sport and LITERALLY killed. she earned her martyrhood right then and there.

also let me say this once, she wasn't abused by her older sister, she was the sole provider for said sister. if anything she held all the power in that shack. we cannot understand the complexity of their sisterhood, because we've been in the shack for few pages. it's impossible. "nesta and elain should be thankful." girl stfu and eat your food. what feyre did was incredible and im telling you right now if you think she did it because she wanted gratitude read those books again. the way they react to their circumstances is valid and feyre doesn't hold it against them. unlike other characters(read the IC).

frankly I do belive that this general consensus about feyre's character being victim of her family is caused by the IC and their treatment of the sisters (who would've thought!!). they see that feyre is traumatized but cannot talk about what she went through UTM. because by talking about it, rhysand wouldn't be a saint. so they don't talk about it. and feyre is traumatized and isn't ready to face that. the trauma is still there and now they need something else to blame. so nesta and elain get the short end of the stick.

also the fact some of you freaks love to self-insert into her isn't helping. leave my daughter alone, thx.

feyre archeron is a genius woman. she isn't always victim of her circumstances. by enforcing certain narratives yall are discrediting her and it needs to stop.

[straberrycore]

Comfort

Henry bower x soft poc reader

Warning: talk of violence and slurs

(Fluff/kissing/emotional/cringe/anger/violence/fluffsmut/warmsmut)

Disclaimer: pls do not laugh at this peace of hot garbage I know it’s bad so pls be nice this is my first story and if the views are bad then it will be my last thx very much.

When me and Henry first met at the pond the pond was a silent secluded junk infested pond era with a water fall down the stream in the woods he pushed me in the water called me a "nigger" and threw a rock at me and told me to never come back to "his" pond.

but that wasn't going to stop me so I went back again and again and each time he would either choke me and tell me to never come back, push me up against a tree and tell me he was going to hurt me or push me in to the water once almost drowning me by pulling my just pressed hair I had for easter Sunday church and dunking me into the water.

but I wasn't going to just leave I found this place first and it was going to be mines.

but one day I went back again and he saw me sitting in the back of a abandoned red rusty truck

he looked at me his eyes were watery and red like he had been crying.

he balled his fist up his knuckles were red and scraped up

his right eye was a light purple visibly starting to slowly turn into a deep purpleish black.

he took a deep breath, blowed it out and let his fists go dropping his head he then started to climb into the back of the truck with me.

he sat across from me with his head held low and his hands in his lap.

"what's wrong with you" I said low and softly with concern in my voice.

"none of your damn business nigger" he responded lowly almost like a whisper with anger and resentment in his voice.

I could tell his anger was not pointed towards me like he was mad at something else.

I slowly crawled up to him between his legs and once I was close enough i slowly grabbed his head gently with both my hands, turned his head ,sideways and laid his head on my chest.

I wrapped my arms around his head to keep him close with my arms propped on his shoulders I played his his hair as my hands reach the top of his head.

I knew he probably wanted to pull away choke me or put me through some kind of torture for touching him.

but I was genuinely surprised when he put his arms around my slim waist his arms resting on my hips and I was in a even greater deal of shock when he put his legs between my spreaded legs, pulled me up on his lap and slowly started to push me down.

like he wanted me to sit on his lap..... so that is what I did I sat on his lap my legs straddling him as I sat face forward on his lap his head still laid on my chest.

we sat like that for a good hour just me hugging him lowly humming a song the warm afternoon sun shining on the pond water and us. him taking slow deep breaths as he had a fist full on my white summer dress that had a flower pattern all over it.

this was the most calm and relaxed I had ever seen Henry he's usually bulling little kids or yelling slurs at mike.

if the kids from school, my parents or the rest of the bowsers gang saw us like this it would be the end of both are reputations.

his reputation of being the scary, hardcore, heartless, evil, bully, badass, psychopath would be demolished.

and my reputation of me the nice, sweet, thoughtful, caring, Christian, good girl would be completely over with.

just by being seen with each other.

my dad would kill me if he knew I was with the the psychopath racist kid 'Henry bowers!" right now

but honestly it’s a complete shock to be with him the way I am right now and not have him spitting slurs at me and being a jerk

i then pulled away and picked his head up to look at me

"are you ok henry" I whispered

He then looked at me his black eye eventually turning fully black and his eyes were low like he was sleepy

"I don't want to talk about it" he said in a whisper he then moved me off his lap and got out the truck

" should go it's getting pretty late" he said lowly

I got out after him and watch him start to slowly step away and take a few steps in to the woods

as I watch him something came over me

"henry !" I yelled I was a little taken back by my out burst seeing as I yelled before I could think of something to say.

he turned around and I sprinted up to him going on my tippy toes and kissing him on his cheek.

his face slowly turned red, he started to scratch the back of his head and that signature side smile he does came up on his face he looked a little embarrassed

"what was that for" he spoke sheeply still scratching his head

"I know that you were probably hurting a minute ago so I wanna say I hope your ok and that what ever is wrong it will get better" I said sincerely and slowly started to babble on

by this point his face went back to normal the same old "I don't give a fuck face" and by this point I was babbling about emotions and stuff.

but I was taken aback when he moved forward and kissed me on the lips

his lips were thin,soft and surprisingly warm.

I didn't know what I was doing I was just kissing him based off movies and times I secretly kissed my pillow and I guess that was ok because he was responding with the same moves.

the kiss then got sloppy and wet are mouths making up a good amount of saliva I closed my eyes only for them to shoot open when I fell his tongue go in my mouth.

by then I pull myself away from him and wipe the saliva off my mouth

I look up at him to see he had that smug smile on his face but it then suddenly changed "if you tell anyone what just happened I will chock you the fuck out Mackenzie. I swear to fucking god.

I nodded my head and he turned around and walked away in to a little path in the woods

I wasn't really shocked about the chocking part just at the fact he didn't call me a nigger and said my actual name.

as I walked away in the direction of my home i slowly started to realize I might have a little itsy bitsy, Teeny weeny crush on Henry bowers

oh god i probably sound like a psychopath or an idiot having a crush on a guy like him means your either cursed or you hate yourself.

either way I don't know how to explain it or form it into words but I do have a crush and i'm looking forward to the next time he kisses me

*******************************************************

when I got home my dad obviously wanted to know where I was so I told him I was at the arcade with my friends

he understood but was still a little upset that I got home late saying i could never know what could happen to me getting home late by myself.

I rolled my eyes and went to my room putting on a more comfortable outfit

just as I was hanging my dress I saw a very small blood stain on the back of it were Henry was gripping it the blood must have came from his knuckles I take it off the hook and immediately put it in the washing machine hoping for the best.

I then walked to the dinner table hearing my name be called for dinner

I sat at the dinner table eating my meatloaf listening to my baby sister talk about her day "what games did you play at the arcade sweetheart" my dad suddenly asked with interest

panicked for a good second till something popped in my head

"oh you know the usual Pac-Man and donkey Kong a little defender" I said naming all the popular games I could think of

my dad nodded his head in approval as he took a bite of meatloaf

*******************************************************

just yesterday Henry bowers kissed me and since then he can't stop looking at me

just this morning walking in to school he was staring at me while he stood over Eddie Kaspbrak.

in class I can feel his dark black psychopath eyes on me and when I turned back he was still looking at me

I gotta say I'm a little scared but I honestly can't wait to go too the pond today.

[defectivehero]

Could you please write about a hero struggling with an eating disorder? And villain who's love language is food, and helps them start a great relationship with food again?

yes, i absolutely can! thx for the request <3

warnings: mentions of disordered/unhealthy eating & food

The hero is sitting at their dining room table and absentmindedly scrolling through an app on their phone when they hear a loud crash. They immediately push themselves to their feet and grab their weapon—they have several hidden around the house in case of events like this. The hero apprehensively turns to look down their hallway, only to find a shadowed figure.

“Get out of my apartment,” the hero demands. The figure freezes. The hero’s unsteady breaths echo in their ears. 

“No.” Their voice is painfully, annoyingly familiar. The hero begins to piece everything together. The villain, their enemy, has broken into their house. They can’t quite hide their simultaneous frustration and relief. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” the hero remarks, once they feel normal again. Their newfound company walks down the shadowed hallway and stops in the doorway, which finally brings them into view. The villain is dressed in all-black—unsurprising, the hero thinks. What is surprising, however, is the noticeable lack of weapons on their person. 

The villain notices their staring and shrugs, before grinning and walking past them. They move with a strange familiarity, as if they’re confident in their movements. The hero doesn’t want to think about what that means. “Just figured I’d stop by and pay my favorite hero a visit.” 

“Well, thanks,” the hero responds wryly. “But, um... do you really have to look through my kitchen?” The villain freezes from where they’re standing in front of the pantry. There is a pause of silence and the hero momentarily wonders if their remark was unheard. 

“Obviously,” the villain remarks, their back still turned. They continue to rummage through their pantry with no regard for their privacy. The hero finds themselves thankful that they’re only interested in their kitchen—their enemy won't find much of interest in here. Sure enough, the villain backs away a moment later with a sigh. “Wow, you have hardly anything in here.”

“I appreciate your company, but if you’re just going to judge me for my eating habits, then you can leave,” the hero snaps, before they can adjust their tone. The remark comes out far harsher and snappier than intended. 

The villain turns around to stare at them. Their eyebrows furrow. “Apologies,” they murmur, so quietly that the hero thinks they imagined their remark. It takes them a few moments of reflection to realize that their enemy did indeed apologize. 

“Well, I’m ordering takeout,” the villain announces apropos of nothing. “You like Chinese?” The hero’s stomach churns at the thought of food, but they nod instinctively. They hate that they can’t speak up from themselves, can’t utter the words that will betray their feelings. They’re forced to watch in tortured silence as their enemy calls a local Chinese restaurant and orders food. They’re forced to watch mutely as the villain answers the door and comes back with two overstuffed bags of food. The hero’s stomach turns just looking at them. 

“I know you’re hungry; don’t bother lying,” the villain remarks, unbagging their spoils of war and pushing the takeout container towards them. The hero doesn’t know what to say. The smell of the food is amazing, but the thought of eating it makes them want to cry. This sentiment must be evident on their face, because clarity passes over the villain’s face. 

“Oh, I see,” their enemy says, evidently realizing that the hero has a rather... tumultuous relationship with food. The hero’s heart races in their chest. They wait for pity, judgement, sympathy, disgust... They wait for the villain to mutter a cynical remark or force them to eat. A few minutes pass and nothing of the sort occurs. 

“Woe is me,” the villain then remarks dramatically, staring at the hero. “There’s no way I’ll be able to finish this food all by myself. What a shame... If only there were someone else that could eat this food with me.” The hero grits their teeth and stares at their enemy, who stares back without hesitation. 

“Are you guilt tripping me?” The hero eventually manages to say. The villain takes a bite of their food and chews thoughtfully. 

“Yes,” their enemy answers, once they’re finished chewing. They stab their fork into the food with unnecessary vigor, before leveling the hero with an intent gaze. Despite everything surrounding these circumstances—how exactly they managed to find themselves in this situation, they haven't the faintest idea—the only sentiment the hero can feel is guilt. Gods, who knew they would start to feel sympathy for the villain, their sworn enemy? 

“I can’t believe I’m falling for this.” The hero sighs and grabs the takeout container defeatedly. They grab a paper plate and dole out an admittedly small portion onto their plate. It smells rather good, they must admit. Their stomach hurts but they know they need to eat this food—if only to make their enemy happy.

“Falling for what?” The villain asks innocently. The hero resists the urge to stab them with their fork and instead turns their attention to their plate. They clench their utensils with shaking hands, as they begin to feel the pressure weighing them down. It’s just one bite. It’s just food, they try to convince themselves. They’ve stared down many more horrifying and dangerous things. “Hey, you don’t have to force yourself.”

The villain’s voice breaks the hero out of their thought process. The hero looks up at their company, only to find that their enemy has a slight hint of concern drawn in their features. The hero hates that concern, hates that they’re the reason for it. They take a deep breath and slowly bring a bite of food to their mouth. Amazingly enough, they don't hate it. Actually... it’s really good. They look at their enemy in disbelief.

“Good, right?” The villain grins victoriously. The hero rolls their eyes and hesitantly takes another bite, well aware that eating too much or eating too fast could easily make them sick. They dole out another small portion onto their plate before pushing the container back towards the center of the table. The irony of the entire situation isn’t lost on them—sitting across from the villain, peacefully eating dinner. It certainly isn’t normal, but it doesn’t feel wrong. In fact, the entire affair just feels... friendly. Perhaps even vulnerable. The hero has shown their enemy a side of themselves that they are used to hiding. The thought is freeing, in a strange way. 

“Well, that's enough for today,” the villain announces, cleaning up their plate and boxing up the rest of the containers. The hero watches as they amble about in the kitchen, finding containers to put the food in. They’re struck with a faint sensation of... longing. This was certainly just a one-time occurrence and the hero is surprisingly saddened at the thought. The villain turns around—almost as if sensing their sudden spiral into negative thinking—and smiles. “I’ll be back tomorrow; leave your window unlocked.”

“Otherwise you’ll break it?” The hero grimaces at the thought; although, they're unable to entirely hide the smile on their face. The last thing they need right now is another thing to fix in their apartment. They can’t quite suppress the instinct to roll their eyes. Their enemy doesn’t seem to mind, as they respond with an equally infuriating eye-roll of their own before getting to their feet. 

“You know me so well,” the villain smirks, sending them a wink. They retreat back into the hallway and, within a few moments, they’re out of sight. The hero looks down the empty hall and turns back to the dining room, half-convinced that they hallucinated that entire interaction. Takeout napkins lie in a neat pile on the table, proving that the impromptu dinner with their enemy wasn’t a dream. 

©2023, @defectivehero​ @defectivevillain​ All Rights Reserved. 

endnotes below!

hey, folks! thanks for reading! i like this concept. i hope that it went over in the way i intended... i don’t have any experience with eating disorders, but i tried to make my depiction of it as accurate as possible. i didn’t want to go into too much detail, though, since the topic is triggering to a lot of people. 

if you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, i encourage you to reach out for support. as cliche and patronizing as it may sound, there are many people in this world that care about you <3 [including me!]

onto lighter topics. did y’all notice the new layout? i rly like it! i had that dark layout for so long,,, it felt good to change things up. :0

TAG LIST: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall

click here if you’d like to be on/off the tag list!

[spamvilcore]

i love the contrast spamton and jevil have towards violence.

spamton has this odd tendency towards healing (f1 angel, heals you for free for no apparent reason, the healdeal act, then the weird ominous puppet scarf "for those who abandon healing") and hates it when people beat him up when money isn't involved, but will gladly aid two teens in genocide.

jevil is violent as HELL it's like what he breathes. he is SO EXCITED once you beat him up. he does the phasing out mid battle, he doesn't do that at all in pacifist, only after he's used the final chaos. he keeps laughing maniacally while you beat his ass it's like mettaton doing his "yeahh 😩 😈 " but worse! in fact in pacifist he outright says "hey i'm gonna take a nap. you defeated me so uh. take my tail, i'll cozy up in your inventory thx yall boring as shit" while in genocide he's just "LEMME JOIN YOU AARAGAGTAGHGS"

jevil is completely off the shits and we all know this but man... spamton gets to be so creepy in snowgrave istg. if you buy his ring to kill people then that's just fine by him, he WANTS that, as he says: "i knew you would use my ring for evil! oh right. that's why i sold it to you lol". you can still buy the thorn ring, abort the route right when you're supposed to kill berdly, then encounter him, beat him up and he'll say you should have bought two rings, which means:

1) he has more than one thorn ring. why. why do you have those it's so creepy

2) he still hates that you're beating him up, you're not supposed to do that at all actually. you're supposed to kill people using his torture device so he can sneak into the mansion. so how dare you stop at the last minute and then have the audacity to beat his ass?

these two are a mess goddamn it

[ashaleeleedagurl]

Malfunction

Ler: Mammon

Lee: Fizzarolli

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

"M-Mammom... Sir..." Fizz said, one of his arms malfunctioning.

Mammon, who was busy counting money, looked up at Fizzarolli with an unamused expression before going back to counting his money. He looked annoyed at him, "What do you want me to do about it? I swear, sometimes you are so stupid!" He said to the imp.

Fizzarolli looked down as he turned around and started to walk away, but Mammon stopped him, "I didn't dismiss you, clown." He said sternly as he put his hand on Fizz's shoulder. "Let me see it."

He turned Fizzarolli around and looked at his arm that was malfunctioning.

He took off the arm and threw it aside, finding a spatula and putting it on him, "Good enough." He said.

Fizzarolli looked a bit upset, but smiled through it all.

Mammon, despite him being mean to Fizz, couldn't help but feel a bit concerned because he never actually got to see a genuine smile from the imp. The sin gestured to Fizzarolli to come closer, which he did, and picked him up like he was a doll.

Mammon sighed and mumbled to himself, "I'm not going to live this down from Beelzebub" then gently started moving his fingers across Fizz's stomach, making the imp try to keep himself from laughing.

That immediately changed when Mammon started blowing small, but deadly, raspberries all over Fizz's sides, making Fizzarolli break down into hysterical laughter.

Mammon stopped for a second when he got a text from Asmodeus,who could hear Fizz's laugh from a long distance. (I sorta head canon that when Ozzie and Fizzarolli are not together and one of them laughs, the other knows there's funny business)

💲: "What'd ya want, Ozzie?"

💙: "I heard my Fizzy Frog laughing, what the hell are you doing to him?!"

💲: "I'm just tickling the little guy"

💙: "Then get his tail and sides, but don't get his lower thigh, it'll make him scared and he will cry"

💲: "K, thx Oz"

💙: "No prob"

Mammon put his phone away then went back to tickling the jester, getting mostly his tail and sides, occasionally blowing one or two raspberries on the little guy's tummy.

Fizz, with the biggest smile known to imp kind, threw his head back and kicked hysterically, laughing like a lunatic, "MAHAHAMMOHOHON, NOHOHO!!!!"

"Mammon yes!" Mammon replied as he saw the jester's smile for the first time, then slowly stopped his tickle torture on the imp.

"Let me see your arm again, mate." Mammon said as he put Fizz on the floor and sat next to him, now, actually trying to fix his arm.

An hour passed and Mammon fixed Fizzarolli's arm, Fizz hugging him once he finished.

You'd be surprised that Mammon hugged Fizzarolli back and pulled away after a few seconds.

"Well, Ozzie's waiting for me, I'll see you tomorrow!" Fizz waved goodbye and started walking back to the Lust Ring.

When Fizzarolli left, Mammon then went back to his normal attire, but with a sly smirk on his face.

And this was the beginning of Fizz's tickle torture...

[mystargirl-interlude]

heyyyyyyyyy, thx for following me I was wondering if you could do a request where Xavier meets the reader as Wednesday’s sister and they date behind her back before she finds out and Enid has to convince her to be okay with it.

hiii thank you so much for your request I hope this if fulfills your expectations!!

I was listening to thunder while writing this so if you want the full experience listen to thunder

Requested: yes

Warning: none I don’t think?

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x fem!reader

Word count: 941

Proofread: no

Thunder

completely moving schools because your twin decided it would be fun to try and kill a group of jocks isn't all that fun.

I was completely fine staying at the school we were at but when Wednesday got expelled I got expelled with her for not doing anything to stop her.

We ended up getting thrown in the same school mother and father went to Nevermore boarding .

Me and Wednesday are fraternal twins hence why we look nothing alike despite us not looking anything alike doesn't mean we are complete opposites I just tend to show more emotions which is why switching to Nevermore had such an impact on me.

Once we pulled into the driveway to the castle like school my I could feel my stomach twist with nerves while my parents looked ecstatic about us living the life they once lived

After zoning out most of the car ride I finally came back to my senses

"This looks like a hell hole" were the first words to come out of my mouth

"I would have to agree sister" says Wednesday with a deathly look in her eyes

"Come on girls you can continue on the Addams name" mother says

"And live in your shadow?" Me and Wednesday say in sync as a rhetorical question

I tend to disassociate quite often and didn't start paying attention until we were with some blonde girl named Enid

"That over there is Bianca the closest thing nevermore has to royalty, but lately her crowns been slipping, she used to date Nevermore's tortured artist Xavier Thorpe" she says pointing over to his direction

I see a long haired male painting what it looks like crows I can't seem to look away as he turn around as we make eye contact and unfortunately as Enid continues her tour I have to be the first to break it.

That leads us to where we are now

*two months later*

“Do you think if Wednesday caught us she would be mad?”

“It’s unpredictable when it comes to Wednesday”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Me and Xavier entered the weathervane making our presence known with the little bell above the door

“Go sit down I’ll order” he says

This was a weekly ritual for us, since we can’t be public about our relationship yet this was the only way we had alone time

I look up to see Xavier come my way

“Okay here’s your drink”

“Thank you” I smile

“Do you ever wish that we didn’t have to sneak off every time we want to be together?” He asks

“Yeah.. all the time, but I don’t know what would happen if we didn’t. Like I know the world won’t blow up, but I just don’t want my sister to hate me.”

“Let’s talk about something else”

I replied

“Did you hear that Eugene has a crush on Enid???”

I say

“No fucking way”

I nod

“That’s actually hilarious, isn’t he like 13?”

He says

“Yeah! I kinda feel bad but it’s too funny”

He chuckled as he reached over to softly kiss me.

We stay like that for a while paying no mind to the bell ring announcing someone walking in

“Does someone want to explain what is going on or am I going to have to bring out my ropes”

I hear a familiar voice say

“WEDNESDAY”

Xavier says breaking apart from my lips clearly shocked

I look over to see Wednesday standing in front of our table tense with her eye twitching next to a very confused enid

“Uhm Wednesday I promise I can explain-“

“Can you?” She cuts me off

“I’ll wait”

“Wednesday maybe we should just leave them be they looked like they were happy” Enid says trying to grab Wednesday

“Touch me again and I will make sure your hand never gets to touch anything again”

Wednesday say

“Mm” Enid squeals

“Wednesday I know you don’t like this school or anyone in it but I do, I really do and I enjoy hanging out with everyone and I enjoy the classes and I enjoy the people and quite frankly I really like Xavier.”

You say

“I am going to go back to the dorms. I do not want to see either one of you.” Wednesday says as she walks out

“Im so sorry, I’ll talk to her” Enid cringes as she quickly catches us to Wednesday

“Oh god oh god” I rub my hands over my face

“Hey shes your sister she’s not going to be mad forever” Xavier says

“ you clearly don’t know Wednesday, she holds grudges for forever” I sigh

A few hours later

We were all in Wednesday and Enid shared dorm room

“ Wednesday whether you like it or not your sister is going to find someone she loves and someone who loves her back and even if you don’t want that to happen it’s going to be the same for you” Enid says

Wednesday slowly looks up and this is the most emotion I’ve seen her have other than when her scorpion died but it quickly goes away as her face hardens and she quickly walks towards Xavier

She gets really close to him as she quietly says

“If you ever hurt her I will tie you up and make sure you have a slow excruciating death” she says just loud enough for Xavier to hear.

Xavier quickly nods as Wednesday gives him a side eye and nods towards me.

I smile as I see her walk out

“Well, personally I think that went well” I said as Enid nods in agreement

“Uh yeah sure” Xavier says, scratching the back of his head.

[ikeromantic]

Hello. For the New Year's asks may I request Sariel and horseback and gingerbread? Thx

Oooh this one was a little hard! I hadn't considered pairing Sariel with those options, but I had a good time coming up with a scene ^_^ I hope you enjoy! Approx. 1300 words of our favorite devilish councillor! IkePri New Years Event story!

Sariel grinned at the awkward way Emma sat in front of him on the horse. “No one is going to believe you were gentle-born with that kind of seat,” he admonished. 

“There’s literally no one out here.” She gripped the saddle horn tightly as if it was the only thing keeping her on the mount, and not Sariel’s arm around her waist.

“You can never be sure who might be watching.” He snugged her back against him, hoping to reassure her that she was in no danger of falling off.

Emma glanced at him over her shoulder. “You’re right. As usual.” She sighed. “So how would I make this look more . . . normal?”

“First, sit up and let go of the saddle horn.” Sariel nudged her arms. “No high born lady would lean forward like that unless she was racing. And that is a wholly different sort of saddle.”

“But . . .” Her expression was conflicted. She wanted to trust him, but riding along at a fast clip made her nervous. 

He eased their speed a little to make her less anxious. The last thing he wanted was to upset his lovely fiancée. 

She gave him a grateful smile and then carefully let go of the saddle horn. “Oh, oh my - Sariel! I feel like I’m going to slide off!” 

“You aren’t going anywhere. I promise.” He stroked her side with his thumb, to remind her he had a hold of her and wasn’t letting go. “Now sit straight. Not too stiffly. But, yes, like that.” 

Emma sat up, tense at first but she found a more relaxed pose as he spoke. “A-alright. Now what?”

“Lean back.”

“Lean - Sariel, that doesn’t sound right either.” She eyed him suspiciously. 

“It’s perfectly proper when riding with your betrothed. Besides, no one is watching.” He smiled the secret, sweet smile he kept just for her. It was still a devil’s grin, but full of love and unexpected joy. 

“But you said - you said -” She huffed, her expression going from surprise to outrage. Then she began to giggle. “You are really ridiculous. You could have just told me you wanted to snuggle.”

Sariel felt warmth blossom in his chest as she relaxed fully against him. The press of her body, even through their clothes, sent a thrill through him. He still didn’t understand how a devil like himself became the object of affection and love from such a woman. There was truly no justice in the world. But so long as he benefited from this particular injustice, he planned to enjoy it.

Emma turned her head and kissed him on his jaw. “So, my love, where are we headed? You were very mysterious about it when we left the palace.” 

“I needed to make sure we weren’t overheard. Or followed.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “Is this a special mission? Are we going to be gathering secret information? Meeting with spies? Fighting rebels?” 

Sariel chuckled. “Your imagination is running away with you.” He leaned his head closer and nipped her ear, then kissed the same spot.

She gave a surprised gasp, and then a pleased murmur. “Well . . . if you don’t want me to escape with my imagination, you better tell me where we’re going.” 

Her breath tickled across his throat and brought a heat to his cheeks that he hoped she wouldn’t see. “Trying to blackmail the devil? That’s a dangerous game.”

“Well, if you prefer I can resort to torture instead?” She nipped at his throat and he could feel the scrape of her sharp teeth beneath those sinfully soft lips. 

“It seems I’ve trained you too well.” Sariel gave her a wide smile, his eyes alight with desire. “If you keep that up, we’ll be late.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “How does me biting you make the horse slower?”

“Because I happen to be the one with the reins. And when you do that, I am sorely tempted to stop, lift you off this horse, and make love to you wherever we happen to be. But you deserve so much better than mud beneath your perfect bottom.”

“Pffft,” she grinned. “Who says I’d be the one on the bottom?”

Sariel felt a flash of heat at the wickedness in her eyes. “I suppose you could opt for grass stains on your stockings . . .”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “You wouldn’t be a gentleman and set your coat down for me?”

“I’d be a gentleman and buy you new stockings.” He laughed and kissed her forehead. His hand slipped up her side to caress the swell of her breast. Sariel felt her reaction more than heard it. The sharp intake of breath, the slight arch in her back to push herself more fully into his hand. 

He rested the reins on the saddlehorn, certain his well trained mare would continue on even without his direction. The horse knew where they were going even if Emma did not. Then he slid his free hand up her leg, pushing her skirt out of his way.

“S-sariel! What are you doing? The - the horse -”

“Is going the right way.” He made it past her stocking and found the silky skin of her thighs. “I’ve always wondered about those books where the hero makes love to his maiden on horseback. Perhaps we can see how life resembles art?”

She gasped as his hand went higher still, teasing along the edge of her panties. “I - I don’t think - that is, it doesn’t seem very practic-ahhh!” Emma shivered with delight as his fingers danced over the taut fabric beneath her skirt.

“Hm. You’re likely right. Not practical. But entertaining.” He lifted her just a little so that she no longer sat on the saddle, but atop his thighs. “I think this would work better. And there’s a natural rhythm to riding. Only, you’d be riding me . . .”

This had the desired effect of both sending a tremor of excitement through her that he could feel, and bringing heat to her face. She looked as if she wasn’t sure whether or not he was serious. 

Sariel grinned. “Alas, we’ll have to save our experiment for a longer ride. We’re here, my dear.” 

Emma gave him a wanton look, somewhere between relief and frustration. “You are such a tease!”

“Don’t think of it as teasing. Think of it as an . . . apertif. Something to whet your appetite for what’s to come.” He eased her back onto the saddle and dismounted. Then he held his hand out to help her down.

“Where are we even? And what’s to come?” She looked around, curious. The cottage was nothing impressive on its own. Small and well kept. An old hideout, now turned to more . . . romantic purposes. The advantage of this place was the view. From here, it was possible to see the whole of Rhodolite’s capital spread out below. 

Emma’s eyes widened as she noticed the incredible vista, and she practically dragged him to the edge of the clearing. “Look! Sariel!” Then she whirled to hug him. “Is this why you brought me?”

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, savoring the intimacy of this rare private moment. “That’s part of it. Mostly, I just wanted you to myself for a little while.” Sariel turned her about in his arms so that she could see the view while leaned against him. 

Before she could say more, fireworks began to shoot up into the sky above the city. From this distance, they looked like little colorful bursts of sparkling light, only a little closer than the stars. He’d wanted to share this with her. A sight he’d only ever seen alone, and he’d been too busy scheming to enjoy it. But tonight, with her in his arms, it felt strange and lovely. Something new in the wrappings of something old.

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter twenty - house training

warnings: explicit content 18+ (oral m receiving, mxf). mentions of death, injuries, canon typical violence. tiny slight bit of matt x karen but blink and u miss it really. they r just friends.

a/n: told u the next one was coming FAST. and it’s long too. also thx to everyone who said they enjoyed the frank w the kid situation going on, i was going to breeze thru their time together bc i didn’t think ppl would like that, but i added a lil part in this chapter just for u guys!! i love this chapter so much omfg. the whole gang is here!!!!

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s 4am and Frank Castle is wide awake.

Six months ago that was fine. He didn’t sleep much at the best of times. Even when he was in the army he couldn’t shut his brain off. Always thinking of what he needed to do tomorrow, if he’d be able to get home soon, what he was missing out on at home. He couldn’t stop thinking about Maria, his kids, what they might be doing, if they were safe. Even when it wasn’t about them it was involuntary— he just couldn’t shut it off.

But now, it feels like torture. It’s because of you— ever since that night in the hotel where you curled up next to him after he’d dragged you out of the water, he’d slept like a god damn baby. Just knowing you were in the room somewhere close, safe, in a four step radius from him. It just meant he didn’t have to think about any of that other shit. You were right there, and all he had to do was reach out and you’d be safe.

Now, he was cramped in a single bed trying to drown out the loud snores of a kid who’s clearly never had a good nights sleep in his life. He was laying like a starfish on his bed, out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow. At least he felt safe enough to sleep here— some shitty hotel probably looked like a palace to him.

He’d already tried to call Madani about nine times in the past few hours, but she hadn’t so much as texted him. The one time he actually wanted her to call him, she doesn’t. It makes him feel sick— if something had happened to you, and he’d let you just drive away, he’d never forgive himself. Sam would never forgive him either.

Just as he’s about to try and close his eyes again, the phone in his bag buzzes. It’s quiet, but he’s been listening out for it inadvertently for fucking hours— it’s like an alarm. Ripping the phone out of his bag, he moves about as quiet as a bull, slamming out the door and closing it behind him, the small balcony about as much privacy as he could afford.

“Madani. I’ve been calling for fucking hours. Tell me—“

“Hey, Frank.” He has to put a hand on the railing to keep himself steady. Even just your voice, slow and soft through a muffled speaker manages to strip all that shit away and his eyes close, trying to breathe.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“You haven’t slept.” Even through the phone you can read him like an open book.

“Neither have you.” You laugh quietly, and he can hear the quiet hum on of engine behind the sound of you.

“You get out okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“We?” He slides down the railing, his head feeling heavier now. Madani hadn’t told you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react, if you even wanted him to do this— you’d told him Sam wasn’t his responsibility, but he just looked so…sad.

“They were gonna put him in a foster home. I didn’t think I…”

“Sam’s with you?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, and Frank can’t tell if it’s because you’re angry or you’re trying not to be heard.

“Yeah. Thought it might be easier for when you come back. He looked bad— back at the house. They didn’t know where he was gonna go.” There’s silence again, and his eyes close, listening to the sound of you breathing. He could fall asleep out here on the balcony to that sound.

“You didn’t have to do that for me.” Your voice shakes, like you might start to cry.

“Yeah, I know. The kid looked sad, though.”

“Softie.” He’s smiling so big like you’ve just told him some great fucking thing, but really it’s just because he can hear you now, making fun of him and it’s only been a few hours but he fucking missed it. Missed it so bad.

“Where are you?” He keeps his eyes closed as you tell him everything that’s happened, how you were heading back to Murdock’s place with Karen to lay low until he could figure something out for you. He swallowed his pride and hummed in agreement, knowing that was something he couldn’t do for you. It’s why he’d suggested it.

The sound of your voice was doing something to him that he couldn’t place, wrenching something free in his chest that had been stuck longer than he’d admit. He kept asking you things about the cases Madani brought up, if she’d told you anything about the Gnuccis and where Bobby might be now.

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

“You could meet me there. Only a few hours away now.” He knows Murdocks place. It’s not far from him either.

“Just a few hours, yeah?” You sigh, and if he concentrates he can see the face your pulling, eyes fluttered shut and your head back. He’s glad the wind is cold as shit out here, cause he needs to focus.

“Think you can hold out that long?” He’s laughing again, leaning back against the door.

“You think you can do any better?” Your breath hitches on the other line. “Missed your voice.”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

“So?”

“Yeah. Missed yours too.” You say it quietly, muffled slightly so no one else in the car can hear you.

“You miss anything else?” His voice is low and heavy, and you let out an even longer sigh. He sees your face behind his closed eyes again, and nearly groans. 

“I’m in the car, Frank.”

“I’m not.” You let out a soft curse, and it’s probably meant to be a warning but it sounds too fucking good. It’s like being starved, being away from you. He’s way too attached, he knows it’s not the time or the place but he never gets that right anyways, and he just needs to hear you. “Sound so pretty when you swear like that.”

“I’m going to hang up.”

“Nah. You missed me, didn’t you?” 

“You’re an asshole.” Someone coughs on your end of the line and he hears you straighten up. “Does Sam seem okay?”

“Yeah. He’s fine. Eats like a horse.” He lets you change the subject. If you were asking about anyone else he wouldn’t. Just a few fucking hours. 

“I’m scared he’s gonna be messed up. I don’t know what they did to him.” You shuffle again, and it sounds like you might cry again.

“Hey, don’t worry, okay? He’s alright. He ate a burger, slept, asked me a million questions and messed around with the radio for seven hours. Most normal kid I’ve seen.” A short, breathy laugh flows through the receiver. “He’s gonna be fine.”

“Thank you, for taking him with you. I wouldn’t trust anyone else.” He can’t keep his eyes open any longer, mumbling back some kind of response. “Need to sleep. I’ll—I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. Real soon.” The receiver clicks off before he can say anything else. He doesn’t know how to navigate this shit— navigate you. He should of just said it. Said fucking something at least.

Real soon. Jesus Christ. He meant to tell you… when they shoved you in that car he should of said it back.

Sliding the door back open, he walks straight back to bed and his legs give out as soon as he finds the edge. He manages to sleep now, memories of you sending him unconscious in a matter of minutes. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Shit!” Frank flies upward at the sound, reaching for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He looks to the left and sees the kids bed empty, then hears something else break behind him.

The bathroom light is on, and he doesn’t think— the worst already running through his head. He kicks the door down, snapping the lock in one go, and the first thing he sees is the blood.

“Fuck!” The kid swears again, jumping backwards away from the aim of the gun, broken glass cracking under his feet. He backs up to the opposite wall so fast, Frank hasn’t even dropped his gun yet. “I’m sorry!”

“What the hell are you doing?!” He’s half asleep and not thinking right, dropping the gun, but the words come out angry and harsh. Blood’s running down the kids arm from his hand, which is clenched in a tight fist like he’s getting ready for a fight.

“I didn’t mean to— the light wasn’t working and I hate the dark! I thought if I just twisted the bulb… I’ve done it before but it smashed—“ He looked a lot younger than he is right now— skinny, folded over, eyes still darker than normal. Frank takes a step forward, glass from the broken bulb and cover crunching under his foot, and Sam straightens, his hand shaking a little. “I’m sorry— I thought I could—“

“It’s okay. It’s fine, yeah?” He tries, something about him being scared of him making him want to vomit. “You hurt?”

“No.” Blood continues to drip down his arm, and he’s still sticking to the corner of the bathroom. Frank goes to take another step, and more glass crunches. Looking down, there’s blood and glass all over, and the kid doesn’t have any shoes on.

“Just— stay there.” He’s staring at the floor, and Frank sighs, having no idea how to handle this— handle him. You were already scared he was going through shit you couldn’t help him with, the last thing you needed was to have Frank make it worse.

It wasn’t all that new to Frank, though— not the twelve year old kid, but the frozen reaction he had when Frank burst through the door, or the way he backed up and put as much distance between himself and Frank as possible. It was basic survival instinct, and he’s guessing the last time someone aimed a gun at this kid they weren’t trying to help him.

He came back into the bathroom to find Sam standing next to the sink, balancing on the toilet seat to avoid the glass, washing the cut on his hand. Using an old t-shirt, Frank managed to swipe away most of the mess to a corner of the room, the only noise the crunch of glass and the running water.

“You want me to take a look at it?” Frank breaks the silence, and the kids face doesn’t move, just stays staring at his hand.

“I’m sorry. About the light.” Sam says, and Frank stands, moving towards him slowly.

“Ah. Shit happens.” He shrugs, and Sam finally flicks his eyes up to him for half a second.

“I couldn’t do it.” Frank hardly hears it over the water, but he just keeps as still as he can, afraid to scare him off. “They wanted me to do what she did. Hurt people… and I couldn’t do it. I tried— but I never did it. Maybe if I could of, she wouldn’t be—“

“Hey— none of this is your fault. You hear me?” He crouches down, his forearm leaning on the edge of the sink. “Anything they did is on them alone.”

“She did it for me. Why couldn’t I do it for her? I could of tried harder. I’m not a kid anymore.” Frank knows he’s crying but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Let me see your hand.” Wordlessly, he reaches out, and Frank rifles through a tiny first aid kit, finding tweezers to start to pull the tiny shards of glass out. “The only thing your sister was worried about this whole time was you. It’s what older siblings are meant to do.”

“But I— ow.” Frank takes out a small piece of glass, and Sam flinches, but doesn’t pull away. Frank takes that as some kind of progress. “I wanted to help her. Like she helped me.”

“She did it because she wanted you to stay alive. And you did. You did everything you had to do.” Dropping the tweezers, Frank dries his hand. “Sometimes, the only thing you can do is keep going. Even if the people you care about the most aren’t there to help you do it.”

“Yeah.” To his credit, Frank bandages his hand without having to tell him not to move, and after he lets go, he stands, feeling the kids eyes on him. “They always came when it was dark. To try and make me… I don’t want the lights to be off.”

“I’ll leave the front one on.” Sam nods.

“Thanks. For—“ He holds up a now bandaged hand, and Frank just nods back.

“Go to sleep. We leave in a couple hours. Your sister called.” For the first time since he was eating, he smiles a little, then turns around and walks out of view.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” You hear in his voice but you don’t move, not wanting anything to wake you from this perfect dream. It feels so real, you swear you could even feel the warmth of his words on the shell of your ear, the press of his skin to yours.

One of his hands is splayed on your lower back, touching the small sliver of skin where your shirt rides up. You shuffle down slightly, encouraging him to go higher, and when he does you nearly purr with satisfaction. His chest presses against your arm with each inhale, and he leans closer, placing one sweet kiss to the side of your temple.

Your eyes reluctantly flutter open, but you can still feel the warmth of his palm, rough and soothing along your back. He kisses you again, and you know you can feel it; the dip of the bed as he leans forward, the warmth of his mouth, slowly kissing under your jaw, moving down your neck. You were conscious now, only just, but enough to think thoughts with some kind of rational.

“Frank?” He couldn’t be here. He was hours away. You swear you only fell asleep in Matts spare room an hour ago, there’s no way he was already here…

His nose brushes against your jaw, and his mouth is all softness as he looks up, finally hovering in front of you, pulling you awake with a slow press of his mouth to yours.

“Mhmm.” He hums against you. Every time his hand strokes up your back, your shirt comes up a little more. You shiver slightly, and he pulls you closer, your body turning to face him. He pulls back and kisses the tip of your nose. Your eyes fly open fully.

“You’re here.” Your arms don’t move as fast as you will them to, but instead they slowly wrap around his neck, and he smiles when you finally kiss him back. You shuffle up to taste more of him, feeling the soft strands of your now clean hair fall over your face. Frank groans, his tongue meeting yours with a desperate pull, fingers tracing the line of your cheekbone.

He takes control, flipping you underneath him now he knows your awake. He follows every single tired, subtle hint you give him so you don’t have to think— just feel him. Your back arches, and he knows you want him to wrap an arm under you, hold you up against his chest. Your fingers thread through his hair and he ducks down, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, finding all the places he’s claimed as his.

You sigh as he slots himself between your legs, groaning your name in a horse tone when he feels your not wearing anything besides the shirt. As his hand slides over your hip, he pulls back to find the hem of it, then stops moving completely, hovering over you with a confused look on your face.

“Who’s shirt is this?” Blinking a few times, still coming out of your sleepy state, you tilt your head.

“What?”

“Where’d you get it?” 

“I don’t know? Matt gave me some cl-”

“You’re wearing Murdock’s clothes? In his bed?” Rolling your eyes, his hand on your hip tightens a little, the other tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“Frank. He’s helping me— he was being nice.” He leans down to kiss you, taking your bottom lip between his teeth lightly.

“Yeah. Real nice of ‘im.”

“This was your idea. You called him, didn’t you?” He inhales deeply, like he’s trying to savour the smell of you.

“To be your lawyer. Not walk around in his clothes.”

“Well, I’m sure he’d like it just as much if I walked around naked.” He groans, burying his face in your neck. “Please don’t tell me your jealous right now.”

“Tryin’ not to be.” His teeth now drag lightly along the sensitive part of your neck, just under your ear, and you gasp. 

“I just needed a shirt.” In one movement, he slips the shirt you were wearing over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room, and then takes his own off. “Happy?”

“Fuckin’ thrilled.” He peppers you with kisses even though your laughing, but when he presses his weight down between your legs you breathe his name, eyes closing, feeling that warm, shuddering feeling flood your body again. 

“Wait... wait where’s—”

“Karen and Matt took him out for food. Told you the kid eats like a horse.” You should probably ask more questions, make sure he’s okay, but Frank leans down again, kisses you so deeply that the dreamlike feeling comes back and nothing else matters— nothing else can matter but the feeling of having Frank like this.

His hands wander all over your body, scorching heat trailing every line his fingers trace. He pulls you down the mattress, torso lined below his mouth. He looks up at you, making sure you see his face when he kisses his way down a little lower. He murmurs words against your skin, your hands brushing through his hair, simultaneously pushing him down and tugging him toward you. 

“Frank...”

“What do you need?” He stops moving, head resting on the top of your thigh. The sight is fucking dizzying— how his hands look hooked around your legs, his eyes half dazed. You tug on his hair lightly, and he frowns, but follows your movement. Once he’s hovering above you, you flip him over in one move, sucking in a breath when the warmth of his chest presses against your thighs.

He moves where you put him, one hand in your hair, the other reaching out for you, running along your back, then your shoulder as you shuffle lower, and when you roll the waistband of his boxers down, his free hand fists into the sheets. Blinking up at him, he looks completely gone, his eyes only half open and his knuckles white with restraint.

You couldn’t help it, some baseline thing inside of you just wanting to give an inch of what he’s given to you. And he has─given so fucking much to you. Given you anything you asked for and more. You want to give him what he needs now— you.

You take him into your mouth, and you can’t hold the moan you let out at the taste of him. His hand tightens in your hair, wrapping around the length of it in a makeshift ponytail. He says your name, over and over, and with each slow motion of your mouth you take more of him in. You’re greedy— swirling your tongue around his head, taking your time to memorise the taste of him, the way he sounds when you take him deeper.

“Fuck— so fu— shit.” His head falls back, the rest of the words getting lost in choked out moans. The broken way he’s trying to tell you how good it feels only spurs you on, taking him deeper, not caring what you sound like or look like, only caring that he feels as good as he gives.

Taking him to the back of your throat, you swallow around him, and he borderline growls before the hand in your hair pulls you up slowly. You know it’s messy but you get the feeling he likes it, the way he holds you there, inches above him, his eyes flitting over your face.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” He says lowly, and pulls you up so quick your arms give out, but he’s too fast for you to care. Swinging you underneath him, his mouth is on you, swallowing you like he’s never had you before. It’s desperate and messy, and it’s everything you missed about him, teeth and tongue and hands are all you can focus on.

It’s what it’s always like with him— everything ceases to exists, nothing else matters when he’s here in front of you, when he’s kissing you like you really are that fucking gorgeous and he can’t get enough. One arm wraps around his neck, the other is taken above your head by his free hand, fingers interlocking.

It’s something he does a lot when your like this, and you can almost read him through it. How his hand gets tighter the longer he fucks you, how he holds it there and doesn’t let go, keeps one hand on you until it’s no longer possible. Like he needs to keep you in arms reach. It makes you feel safe, and when he slides into you, there’s no where else in the world that’s felt more right.

Neither of you say anything other than each others names as he drives into you, slow and deep. It feels perfect— right, and when he pulls back to look at your face, there’s something you go to say. Something you’ve said only once, and something he didn’t say back. Three little words, yet they feel so heavy in your chest.

You didn’t expect him to, and really, if this was all you got from him, the way each stroke makes you feel like you’re on fire, and how he kisses you with so much hunger it makes you light headed, you could live with it. It means something different to him— he’s had that before, and maybe it’s not something he wants to have again, but you do. You can’t help it. Not when he’s looking at you like he is now.

“Frank…” You shudder as the hand on your hip trails softly across your stomach, down between your legs to circle your clit. He hums, the feeling against your collarbone as he dips his head to kiss you there, driving you closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby. Taking me so fucking good.” He speeds up, lifting his head and pressing his forehead to yours. His hand squeezes yours and you’re pretty sure your eyes roll back in your head, the rhythm of his hand and hips sending you into over drive.

“Close, Frankie. Please—“ You beg for everything he’s already giving you, and he obliges.

“Atta girl. Let go for me.” He whispers into your ear, and your release cracks open from your chest and floods your body with warmth, your thighs already shaking around Frank. “Fuck— that’s its, I fucking… I love you.”

At the last second he pulls out, and you feel him spill onto your bare skin, the sensation only sending you further into your own pleasure. His mouth is on you in the second after his confession, telling you everything all at once, but you are too blissed out to know the magnitude of it.

The gentle caress of his thumb over your knuckles where your hands are joined brings you down, and the solid weight of his body on yours takes your focus, allowing your heart beat to slowly return to normal.

He picks up a shirt and cleans you off slowly, then slides another one over your head. It smells like him— his shirt. You’ve worn it before, but then in dawns on you that the only other shirt in the room was the one you were wearing before. Matt’s shirt, that he just used to clean you off after—

“Tell me you didn’t just use what I think you did.” He doesn’t lift his head from where it’s buried in the crook of your neck, but he doesn’t need to. You feel him smile, and you’d have the mind to say something but he’s so real and he’s here— that when he picks up his head and smiles at you, you just kiss him again. “I hope you plan to wake me up like that every morning.”

“You don’t wear anything else other than this—“ His hand fists the shirt you have on “— and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“How’d you get here so fast?” He pulls you onto his chest, and you squint, the sun shining brightly into your face.

“Not that fast. It’s 3pm.” Your fingers trace soft lines along his chest, straying further down when you touch the metal chain that holds his wedding ring. “Besides, had a little motivation to get me here.”

“A blowjob?”

“Jesus.” You look up, seeing him turn his head away from you to try and hide the red in his face, and burst out laughing.

“I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t know if I’d see you after they—”

“I would’ve come found you wherever they took you.” It’s only one sentence but it makes your heart feel like it’s on fire. “But that’s not what I meant. I—“

You both hear the door open, and three voices fill the once quiet apartment.

“Later.” You whisper to him and swing out of the bed, very aware of how Franks eyes trail you when you stand, his shirt only just covering your ass. “Clothes?”

“Bags in the bathroom.” His hands rest under his head, making no move to get up.

You grab some clothes, making a conscious effort to take Matt’s dirty shirt off the floor and shove it underneath your bag, and quickly change before the voices outside the door get too close. Coming out of the bathroom, Frank has found another shirt, and is doing up his belt Once his hands are free they are on you, like he’s holding on to the last three seconds of time alone you have.

As much as you can’t wait to see your brother just outside— you know he’s safe, and you can hear him laugh at something, so you lean into the touch, coming up on your toes and turning your head to kiss him. He groans against your mouth, feeling your fingertips tread through his hair, and if the voices weren’t so close to the door, you’d lock it and keep him here all day.

“Later.” He says before kissing you on the forehead and letting you go, heading towards the door.

Opening it, your feet move faster than your brain does, and Sam spots you as soon as you walk into the room. He calls your name, giving you enough time to see his face— safe and smiling, before he grabs you and hugs you tight.

“Missed you too.” When he lets go, you bend down, and then you see his bandaged hand. “What’s this?”

“Tried to change a lightbulb. Don’t worry about it.” Frank answers for him, and the two of them look at each other with some kind of knowing look, but Sam looks grateful so you don’t push it.

“You been okay?” Sam nods, looking over to Karen and Matt.

“Yeah. I ate six pancakes for lunch. They just kept bringing them on these plates! It was fucking cool.” You can’t wipe the giant grin off your face, and you turn to Karen and Matt.

“Thank you.” Karen smiles and Matt shrugs, and then you remember what you’re here for. “I’m really— I don’t know how to repay you guys for everything. If there’s anything you need from me…”

“All I need is time. And for you to keep your guard dog from peeing on my floor.” Matt motions to Frank, and before you can figure out how he knows where exactly Frank is, he’s continuing. “Bobby Gnucci is AWOL. Without him, we have to rely entirely on getting Agent Madani to grant you immunity after the fact.”

“After the fact of what?”

“When you came to her the first time, and said you’d work with her, you didn’t sign anything. There wasn’t any record of it, there was no terms— no one even knew your face. Now she’s got you on record, and practically extracted all the information she needs to clear her own name. Knowing her, she’s not going to throw you under the bus, but without Bobby…” It’s clear even Matt is still trying to work through this thing. He sits down on the couch in front of him, Karen moving around next to him. “We have two options.”

“Okay.”

“One, we go to trial. That means sitting you in front of a public jury, your face and your brothers plastered on every newspaper and television in New York. It won’t be long before it turns national, considering your… record.”

“You’re supposed to win trials. You’re a god damn lawyer— it’s your job.” Frank says, standing behind you.

“I didn’t say we wouldn’t win. I said it would be public. Everyone would know you. Ignoring public opinion, the thing that’s been keeping you safe all these years is the fact that no one knows who you are. Once they put a face to the name… you’ve killed people in almost every major gang and organisation in the country. Bobby could be the least of your worries.” You swallow hard. Having enemies in New York was hard enough to track— let alone the entire country. And then your brother would be involved… you look to Frank, who knows exactly what it means to have enemies who would stop at nothing to hurt you, including going through one’s you love.

“Option two?” You say hopefully, and Matt sighs.

“Did you ever read what happened after the Punisher trial?” The question confuses you, but you rack your brain. You remember reading about the trial, and how hated he was. You don’t think you ever asked about the outcome, although you assumed he got out. He’s here, and free— which is more you can say for you.

“I don’t think so?”

“They killed him.” Karen says, and you laugh for a second before you realise she’s not joking.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Madani. She faked my death in a shootout. Said I got caught in the crossfire. Made me a passport and got me a new life just outside the city.” Frank continues, and you turn to face him.

“And that worked?”

“For a while.” He says, a hand brushing yours. He looks back up to Matt. “You reckon she’d go for it?”

“Not without a lot of work. I’d need time. And a reason for you to…”

“Die? Surely we can find that. People get shot every day in New York.”

“Your brother, too. And it would still mean your faces go public. It has to be big.” You look at Frank, and he’s got that trained look in his eye that tells you he’s thinking the same thing as you.

“You said Bobby went AWOL. How do you know?” You pick up the newspaper on the desk, reading over Karen’s article about the death of the Colonel.

“Ever since they got Sam out, he’s disappeared. No phone calls, no emails, not even a ping on any of their networks. It’s like he’s completely disappeared.” Karen says.

There’s one place you can think of. One place that’s dark enough, lonely enough and isolated enough that someone could disappear for weeks, months even and no one would ever know. One place that no one would be looking anymore because it’s supposed to be desolate and evacuated.

“I’ve got a feeling we can avoid that all together.” You look up at Frank, and he smirks. “Feel like another road trip?”

“Road trip?” Karen asks, and they both stand from the couch.

“Washington D.C. He’ll be there.” Frank says as you put the article down.

“How do you know?”

“There’s only one place I know where a guy like that can disappear. Plus, he’s sentimental. He knows I know where he’ll be, and he wants me to come to him.”

He wants you to come back to him— that was the real truth, but there’s only one man you’d cross state lines for, one man you’d cross anything for, and he was standing right beside you, like he’d do for as long as you’d let him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tag list:

@stress--relief

@hellskitchens-whore

@blkwayne

@itwasthereaminuteago

@margoo0

@daisykins

@paryl

@urlocalgeek

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@hollandorks

@23victoria

@fluffysteampunkd

[dre6ming]

The delicate beginning rush

Instagram photo dump - part 7

Masterlist <all chapters here>

Instagram photo dump masterlist

Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/actress fem reader

!!!!Everything Fake!!!!

𓆈𓆈𓆈𓆈𓆈𓆈𓆈

y/n4real.2002

Liked by austinbutler tchalamet and 1.293.299others

y/n4real.2002 my babies are now 2. So glad I stumbled upon you next to that garbage can. Love you forever!! #catmom

View all comments

tchalamet: sweetest boys I know

↳y/n4real.2002: tchalamet I raised them well 😎

fan23: this is so cute, I live for those pictures

↳fan.258: omg yess they are so sweet

taylorswift: Ben, Meredith and Olivia wish their best friends the happiest of birthdays

↳y/n4real.2002: taylorswift let's have a play date soon

↳fan1: iconic cat moms

fan.tastic: this is so cute, Simba and William supremacy

↳fan192: perfectly curated names

↳fan6: true gentlemen

austinbutler: the cutest ever

↳y/n4real.2002: austinbutler thx

↳aus.b.fan: this interaction seems so strange to me 😭

↳aus.b.fan: this interaction seems so strange to me 😭

joshua.fan: um where is Joshua? Come support your girl!!

↳joshua.fan23: I don't think she's HIS anymore...

republicrecords

Liked by joshuabassett fan34 and 708.390others

republicrecords some very exciting things happening in the studio right now. #y/n #joshuabassett

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fan293: he liked the photo, but she DIDN'T...I actually dying

↳fan09: omg she's so unhinged

joshuafan283: so excited for this

↳fan383:same here

fan990: all the confirmation I needed that their relationship is just PR

↳fan10: yeah..

fan494: girl does NOT love him, her heart is with AB, has been for weeks now 😭😭

↳ab.fan.2: can we blame her?

y/n4real.2002

liked by taylorswift roxanne.02_b1tch and 2.394.399others

y/n4real.2002 #girlsnight 📸: the one exception we allowed in.

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tchalamet: not mad at all😭

↳y/n4real.2002: tchalamet I see that, I really do🤣

↳fan12: wait if Timmy is not the exception from the girls night, then who took the photo? JOE?! 👀🫣

↳tsfan13: omg my heart, it has to be!!

austinbutler: 🧶

↳y/n4real.2002: austinbutler 🧶

↳ab.fan49: what kind of code is this 🤔

↳fan2: I'm loosing my mind here?

↳austin.fan: Austin using an emoji?! And the ball of yarn? What the hell is going on??

gossip.w/.me

Liked by fan2 austin_fan3 and 500.389others

gossip.w/.me: via deuxmoi 's story, new update on the whole y/n x Austin Butler and Joshua Bassett thing. Also her being rumored to be on the Elvis Soundtrack? I think I'm losing it.

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austin_fans: this is too much for my little heart

fan10: she's so amazing of course they'd want her on the soundtrack

elvis.movie.fan: Baz asks personally for her 🥺😩

ab.34.fan: ugh this is so unfair, I really wanted them to be dating. Austin and Y/n would make a great duo

joshua_fan: at this point they are just messing with us

tmz

Liked by fan48 fan_5 and 200.583others

tmz: y/n4real.2002 spotted out in LA driving alone

View all comments

fan23: she looks so cute

fan1: I love to see her smile

fans.4.love: can she be more beautiful?

ab_fan: she's incredible

↳austi_n_fan: Austin would agree here

↳fan395: how wouldn't?

fan1loves: why did they have to say alone??😩

y/n4real.2002

Liked by austinbutler tchalamet and 2.030.293others

y/n4real.2002: dandelion into to wind you go, won't you let my darling know... that I'm in a field of dandelions wishing on everyone #dandelions #outnow #stream

View all comments

austinbutler: so proud 🧶

↳y/n4real.2002: austinbutler 🧶

↳fan59: again with this emoji what's going on??

↳ab.3.fan: nah they enjoy to torture us

tchalamet: sounds good I'm not gonna lie

↳y/n4real.2002: tchalamet huh 🤔 just good? Ok fine!

↳roxanne.02_b1tch: 🤣🤣🤣

jackantonoff: happy to be part of this

↳y/n4real.2002: jackantonoff 🥹

billieeilish: hot mama

↳y/n4real.2002: billieeilish stop I'm blushing

Tags: @kittenlittle24 @amorx @cryingabtab @lexicox044 @lrissa @feral4austinbutler @sageskywalker @jesssssicaa @rainydayz101 @flwersgarden @bobthefishiesworld @captured-memory @homebodybirkin2003 @galaxygirl453 @butlerslut @chrisevansgirl34 @myradiaz @pennyroyalcreep @macey234 @im-lame-irl @lordandmistress @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @poppet05 @gabbywontlose @4shbug @0-thegoodwitch-0 @hauntedarchivesx @chewiethecatus @sunnyx07 @francesbloomer @jessaroni19 @finelineskies @stargirlbytheweeknd @cerenaydins-blog @girlblogger2002 @gigisworldsstuff @my-baexht-Is @xmusselisims @denised916 @bluepeacheslandia @kibumslatina @samaraannhan20 @goldobsessionworld @silliypapercreatorangle @cmrxac @donnamarie23 @justarandomfamdomblog @marlowmode @natsnosehair @xxgggooomm @banksmars @namoreno @areuirish @choppedlamphandscowboy @yeetfack-blog @fangirl125reader @aliceforbes @k-1898 @lucid315 @numberonepaperbeard-blog @lunacat616 @katelswan @jellysquidjj

[star4daisy]

heyo

😂 a funny or crack WIP snippet

😍 published lines or a section of a fic that you loved writing?

heey thx for asking honey <3

😂 a funny or crack WIP snippet

(the rest of the unedited rskc snippet I posted last time about leashes)

When Evan tries to take the leash out of Barty’s neck he pouts mockingly. “What if I wanna keep it? Reggie brought it just for me.” Evan smirks. “I packed you a nicer one, but if you don’t want it…” Barty took it off so fast James could only assume he regularly wore them. “Here,” he threw it at James. “I’m sure you can make proper use of it.” Evan scoffed. “Don’t give them that shit, they’re gonna hurt themselves. I can buy you a better one,” he took the chain out of where it had fallen on Regulus' thighs. “Oh, I don’t think we’re gonna-” James started at the same time as Regulus said, “Sure.” His gaze quickly found his boyfriends, he looked serious and slightly mischievous, not an ounce of playfulness in them. “Are you for real?” “Yep, I quite liked dragging Barty around like my little bitch.” James' eyebrows almost reached his hairline, perhaps he should’ve been jealous of that even if Regulus's tone had been teasing, but all he felt was desire settling deep in his core. “Any time, sweetheart.” Evan offered Regulus like Barty belonged to him and he was the one who ought to give him permission to play with his toy, James supposed he did in their own way. “I might take you up on that.” Regulus played along, they were such close friends that they didn’t mind teasing each other like that.

😍 published lines or a section of a fic that you loved writing?

(this was hard between every scene of power over me cuz I loved writing that the most and the torture scene in AL)

“Then prove it.” Barty pounces on him so fast James doesn’t even see him coming, suddenly his back is hitting a tree and Barty’s lips are on his. It’s as much of a violent attack as a caress from a long-lost lover. It’s everything James wanted and all he feared. Because his feelings were still there, the distance only made his heart grow fonder. And yet it’s an instinct to fight it because he had made up his mind that he’d never be able to feel this again. James pushes him and pulls him back in a matter of seconds, he’s not strong enough to make himself stop, not when he has Barty so firmly pressed against him. So he does the only thing he knows will keep him away. James grabs the stake he always keeps hidden in himself and presses it in front of Barty’s heart, not strong enough to pierce his skin, just enough for him to feel the pressure. Barty freezes, green eyes going wild. “I see you’ve been doing your homework.” “Let me go,” James begs, his glasses fogging up from the tears that were welling up in his eyes. “You don’t want that, sunshine.”

“I do,” he says strongly enough in hope that if he can't convince himself then the least he can do is make Barty believe in it. “That’s too bad because I can’t.” Barty rested his forehead against James, his breath so close to his mouth he could almost taste him. “You’ll have to kill me.” “Barty.” James protested. “Come on.” his eyes shine with a type of madness James hadn’t seen in him before. “Do it, I’ll make it easy for you.” And then Barty snarls, his teeth growing pointed and his eyes glowing red. “Is this what you wanted to see?” He asks savagely. “Is this the monster I needed to become in your eyes so that you could end me?” James's breathing gets even more shallow. Barty had never been more wrong, he doesn’t have the appearance of a monster. This is how he was always meant to look like. Divine. Barty looks like an otherworldly being that James was born to worship. “No, Barty-” But he doesn’t give him time to continue, mumbling through his pointed teeth. “It will be you or me, sweetheart,” then James feels an acute pain in his neck, a burning so strong spreading through his veins that his vision almost goes black.

ask game

[infinite-orangepeel]

Can’t stop thinking about Steve -do I really want to be in another meaningless relationship only based on sex?- Harrington coming to the conclusion that his scars can be pretty off putting and spiraling because now girls won’t even want him for his body. Eddie thinks they only add to his beauty.

me too me too me too ! i've written so much fic content about steve and eddie and their scars bc these are the types of thoughts that keep me up at night. ughhh. i adore this so much <333 thx for submitting :)

bc i've written on this topic (as its one of my faves), i thought i'd include an excerpt from one of my fics as my answer !! hope you enjoy !

Steve’s gritting his teeth, because the rubbing alcohol on his fresh cuts somehow stings worse than the demobat bites did. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” he groans, as Eddie dabs along his wounds with a soaked cotton ball. Strategically rubbing up and down Steve’s calf with his other hand to calm him. 

“Just a little more,” Eddie looks up at him from his crouched position, “Then, it’s only the bandages and you’ll be good as new.” 

True to his word, the torture doesn’t last much longer—a few minutes max, though Steve’s comprehension of time is still fucked up from this morning. It feels like some time after noon, but it’s hard to be certain without the assistance of a clock. 

Frankly, it’s not like he has hard-set plans for today or any other day this week. He’s not missing out on anything substantial, especially not since his boss conveniently stopped putting him on the schedule after he slept through one too many shifts a few weeks ago. 

Besides, he’d much rather be here than anywhere else. With Eddie’s callused hands centering him and curating a new normal. 

Eddie props himself up on his knees to place the few small bandages on Steve’s inner thighs. He’s extremely methodical about the process which Steve wouldn’t have expected from someone as spontaneous and off-the-cuff as him. 

“Doing okay up there?” Eddie implores, meeting his eyes with a sweet smile. 

His dimples make an impromptu appearance and Steve thinks he might just melt into a puddle at the view. 

God he’s so fucking beautiful. Holy–

“Peachy,” Steve responds and nods to affirm the statement like his thoughts are puritanical and going to lead him straight to heaven. 

However, his mind says otherwise; riddled with sin and lust–

Would be doing much better with your dick in me. Filling up my throat until I can’t breathe. I think that would be very healing, don’t you? 

Admittedly, his internal dialogue has gotten increasingly horny since he exited the bath. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Eddie’s kneeling before him, tending to his injuries, speaking in a raspy tone, and oh yeah –there’s the fact that Steve’s butt ass naked.

He hadn’t originally envisioned it going like this, but here they were. There wasn’t some juicy blueprint with a mock up of his dick and every other inch of him on full display for his resident nurse. It’s not like he had some hidden agenda. 

When Eddie had helped him out of the bathtub—so he didn’t slip or whatever—he hadn’t instructed Steve to get dressed, so Steve had simply toweled off and tossed the terrycloth thing to the side once he was dry. Eddie smirked at him with a sort of curiosity, but didn’t make any remarks about the nature of his obvious nudity. Instead, he chose to remain fully clothed and got to work playing doctor. 

It’s hard to put into words and even harder for him to wrap his head around, but the events of last night–specifically the ones that took place in his living room–have seemed to cast Steve under an ineffable spell of Eddie’s own creation.

 It appears to be defined by the severe, unwavering need to obey Eddie’s every command under the aim of earning his praise and utmost pride. If the man asked him to jump, Steve would ask how high and proceed to launch himself further than humanly possible. 

Overnight, Eddie has gone from being his estranged acquaintance–whom he hadn’t really thought he’d ever see again–to someone whose opinion matters more than his own. 

All of this is to say that despite wanting it, Steve really doesn’t have any reason to believe Eddie is going to touch him anywhere other than where it’s logically necessary, until he starts talking again. 

Returning to a cyclical point that he just can’t seem to let go of, clinging to it like the end of a fraying rope. 

“Do you believe me yet?” Eddie smooths his hand over yet another bandaid, “Do you believe that I’m not like your parents? I’m never going to leave you just because you’re hurting. Pain’s only human Steve. Why would I ever blame you for experiencing it?” 

The questions are rhetorical. He makes this clear by silencing the response slowly forming in Steve’s mind with his touch. Trailing his ringed hands up to Steve’s bare hips and gently squeezing the soft flesh there. Eddie kneads it beneath his fingers, massaging generously. Ceaseless in his eye contact, he pointedly ignores that which Steve feels rather embarrassed by–his fast growing erection. 

Steve’s dick flags to immediate attention before he can even think to try and hide it. It’s honestly laughable how quickly his body reacts to the feeling of someone else’s hands on him–something that hasn’t happened in a longer amount of time than he’d like to verbally admit. Thankfully, Eddie’s not asking and doesn’t seem at all offended by how reactive his body is. Rather enticed—pupils swelling in enchanted awe and blissful wonder. 

“Stevie, I want to answer that silly little question of yours, alright? Will you let me do that, angel? Will you let me get you out of your head for a minute? I’ll go slow and you can stop me at any point. Taps always work great if you don’t feel like talking. You know that,” Eddie demonstrates this by flattening a palm and maneuvering it over the low part of Steve’s abdomen to tap rhythmically. 

It matches the asymmetrical beat of Steve’s heart–whirring and skipping all over the place. 

Eddie’s licking his lips as he lies in wait, as if preparing to sink sharp teeth into defenseless prey. The insinuation of his overt power oddly juxtaposes against his physical position. On his knees in what would usually be deemed submission, but gazing up at Steve with such intense fire and hunger that there’s no question about who’s really in control here. 

His comprehension of Eddie’s sheer ability to dominate and possess him gives Steve a rush of shivering, but pleasant cold to the head. Goosebumps rise to coat his skin. It’s the same effect he experiences when he slurps down a milkshake too fast. 

“Yes please, don’t wanna think anymore. Want you to teach me how to be good, Eds,” Steve sucks on his bottom lip and wriggles his hips in Eddie’s grip. Almost thrusting forwards, but realizing his dick would bump straight into Eddie’s nose and that feels kind of rude, so he holds himself back. 

It’s an indescribable craving–what he knows Eddie can give him. He feels like a junkie in need of a tantalizing fix. The drug’s perfectly in view, but just a hair too far away for him to grasp it. Even if it was close enough, he wouldn’t dare make a move until Eddie gave him the go ahead. Eddie knows what’s good for him. Eddie wouldn’t lead him astray. 

“Good, baby,” Eddie’s pet name sends Steve’s eyes rolling into the back of his head, “That’s right. I’d never hurt you, not in any way you didn’t want me to.”

His interest immediately peaks at the sound of that, though he’s not sure exactly what it means. The proposition of Eddie administering controlled pain to his body is strangely inviting. Questions lazily bob to the surface of his brain, but he’s not in the right mindset–at present–to run a proper interrogation. It’ll have to wait. 

“Alright, you’re going to start by telling me why your parents shouldn’t want to come see you? Why shouldn’t they fly home to see their perfect son, hm?” Eddie presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his knee and returns both hands to his hips to ground him. 

Perfect? He thinks I’m perfect? 

Steve’s cock constantly throbs against his stomach and it won’t take much more for him to start leaking slick down his fuzzy happy trail. 

“ ‘m not worth their time, ‘m not the type of son they wanted to have–don’t have a big fancy job or anything to offer them–nothing they’d like anyway,” Steve whimpers from a mixture of painful emotion and wanton desire, “My dad always tells me I’ve failed them. Always tells me they wouldn’t have had a kid if they knew he’d turn out like me.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Eddie says with strict finality, like he’ll accept no further argument on the topic, “Fuck that, Stevie. That’s not true.” 

Eddie kisses up to his waist–avoiding his weepy cock for the moment–and presses his hot mouth to the residual scars that an array of Upside Down monsters have left him with. His tongue flicks out to trace the edges of his gnarled skin, lapping at it like it’s sugar coated in ambrosia. 

Steve moans and this time, he can’t prevent his pelvis from bucking forward; rolling through a wave of blanketed pleasure. It softens and pacifies the abrasive noise ringing between his ears. 

“Fucking look at you, baby. How could they ever think you’re a failure? That’s a fucking bold faced lie, so obviously false,” Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him, before continuing to make headway on his emboldened path through the labyrinth of Steve’s pain, “These pretty marks on your body show me how strong you are–how brave you’ve been for so many years with no one to take care of you, but yourself. That takes so much courage, Stevie. You’re a fighter, aren’t you? I’ve seen it–the way you defend everyone and jump into battle for them. You did it for me, didn’t you? Saved my fucking life with that bravery of yours. Wouldn’t have survived without you. Doesn’t sound like you’re much of a failure to me.” 

As much as Eddie makes it sound obvious, this perspective is fresh and nearly unbelievable for Steve.

 Sure, he’d fought and sure, he’d saved Eddie, but he wasn’t special because of it. Anyone would have jumped in to help a friend in those situations. Robin would have. Nancy would have. Dustin too. It didn’t mean he was worth any more than the rest of them. It didn’t mean he was better because of it. 

“I’m not special,” his voice breaks wide open like the daunting fracture of a fault line, “Saved you because you’re my friend. Any of them would have done it. I just happened to be the one to get there in time.” 

“You’re wrong, Stevie and I don’t like hearing you talk about yourself like that. I won’t allow it,” he reprimands. 

To deliver what might be considered punishment by a more stable individual, Eddie nips at his scars–little scrapes of teeth that make him openly moan at a volume that would be far too loud if they weren’t the only two home. It's heavenly as is, but Steve gluttonously yearns for more. Wishing Eddie would make good on his promise and fully bite down. Perhaps, draw a bit of blood. Take away the hurt and suck it from underneath his damaged skin. 

However, he doesn’t share these thoughts, because he doesn’t want to scare Eddie with how much he’s willing to submit. With how much he’s dying to hand himself over and give Eddie complete control. Steve knows that’s not normal. He knows it’s likely the result of whatever illness is rotting his brain and tarnishing his heart. It’s too much to ask of someone who still hardly knows them–even after playing the game of twenty questions. 

“Eddie. Fuck that feels good,” he settles for instead, “Need you, need more.” 

More doesn’t necessarily have to mean bite and bruise me until I can’t feel anything, but the imprint of your hands and teeth on my skin. It could mean anything at all. There’s nothing wrong with more. 

Sucking purple and red stains onto his waist with devoted lips, Eddie finally ghosts a hand over Steve’s throbbing cock and chuckles lowly at the way it twitches in desperation for him. 

“Needy, aren’t we? That’s okay, I happen to like needy boys. You’re in luck,” Eddie drips an intoxicating condescension from his tongue and Steve focuses for way too long on the enviable suggestion that he’s done this before, “I’m happy to give you more, baby. In fact, I’d love to. But, I’m afraid rules are rules and I can’t do that until you finish answering my question.” 

Steve bitchily stomps one of his bare feet against the tile and Eddie tsks at him, shaking his head back and forth. He nips again at Steve’s skin–this time biting a bit more meanly at his upper thigh. The faint imprint of his teeth is erased hastily by a sloppy kiss. A figure eight is traced by his tongue, connecting a series of pertinent moles that dot the tender flesh. Precum spurts onto his belly at the delectable feeling of Eddie’s godless mouth. Depravity leaks out of Steve in a relentless, milky white trickle and his counterpart just watches the show. Making no move to stop it or bring about release. 

“B-but I was good. I did answer your question, Eds. I already told you the truth about why they wouldn’t want to come see me. I promise I wasn’t lying, wouldn’t do that to you. Know you don’t like lying,” Steve whines, demoralized by Eddie’s refusal to further things along and let him cum. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie licks up a drop of pre that has rolled down Steve’s left leg, moaning at the taste and for the first time–Steve realizes that he’s hard in his jeans, a thick protrusion forming to the side of the taut zipper, “You gave me an answer, but you didn’t give me the right answer. I can taste how badly you want to cum, baby. So sweet and deprived. No one’s touched you like this in a while, have they?’ 

“N-no,” Steve shakes his head frantically, surprising himself with the confession and lack of embarrassment surrounding it, “No they haven’t. Haven’t been touched like this in over a year. Only by my own hands.” 

Eddie perks up at his disclosure of the truth. He moans deep in his throat and palms his dick through the black denim. Steve desperately wishes it was his hand, so curious about what it would be like to be the one to make him come undone. 

“You poor thing,” Eddie patronizes, rubbing himself again with a rougher hand and barely disguising the way he’s shakily breathing through it, “A body as perfect as yours should never be ignored. Not even for a second. There should be a line outside your door ready to worship you, baby. Pretty boys like you deserve to be touched and admired all the time, don’t you think?” 

“M-maybe, I don’t know,” Steve replies nervously. He’s not used to this brand of undivided attention, it’s a bit overstimulating and he keeps getting tongue tied under the tidal wave of brazen compliments. 

“You sure you don’t know or do you just need some encouragement? I don’t think you’re quite getting it yet, angel. Let me make this very clear, you’re not cumming until you answer me properly. I’m sorry to do it this way baby, but it’s my job to make you understand how perfect you are and I won’t stop until you believe it,” Eddie purrs and thrusts into his own hand, clothed cock grazing Steve’s shin and eliciting a high whine. 

Steve’s certain at this point that his body was made to respond to Eddie’s every beck and call. He’s been with plenty of girls, but there’s something about being with a boy–about being with this particular boy–that completely consumes him. A bomb could go off, the house could set fire, a lion could roar from right outside the door and Steve would remain entirely entranced by Eddie Munson. Running only when instructed to do so. 

It’s terrifying. 

It’s repulsive. 

It’s insane. 

He’s never wanted anything more. 

Apparently to Eddie, ‘encouragement’ means standing up so he’s eye to eye with Steve and licking a stripe up the side of his exposed neck. Persuasion is administered in pressing their bodies as closely together as possible–mirroring each other–and rutting his cock against Steve’s through an incredibly frustrating layer of clothing. 

The rugged friction hurts, causing Steve to wince and bite his inner cheek. There’s no soft silk or frilly lace like the stuff he’s used to sliding his fingers beneath when he hooks up with girls. There’s no delicate bows to untie or complicated clasps to undo. Floral patterns and pastel colors are replaced by ripped jeans, beat-up leather, and stinging metal. 

Eddie’s biting his earlobe unapologetically. He’s gripping Steve with reckless abandon, traversing every inch of skin–pinching wherever he pleases and teasing without an ounce of regret. He’s playful–endlessly so. He starts a game, changes the rules half-way through, and relishes Steve’s panting breaths. 

They kiss with tongue and teeth and stubble grating sensitive skin. Eddie knots his hands in Steve’s hair and pulls. When Steve reaches up to return the favor, to get his hands on him, Eddie takes both wrists in one firm fist and breaks their sloppy kiss to remind Steve of their agreement: 

“Not happening,” Eddie yanks hard on his hair, “You keep your hands to yourself. I didn’t tell you to touch me, did I?” 

For someone who relentlessly admonishes authority figures, Eddie is quite good at taking on the role himself. As if he’s internalized each run-in with the police and visit to the principal’s office; taking careful notes on how to demand obedience. Referencing them all now in his whipping tone. 

“No. No you didn’t tell me to. I’m sorry,” Steve pouts. 

“No need to apologize, sweetheart. Nothing to be sorry about. Just need you to remember that right now is about you–making you feel good. Do you want me to keep going or do you want us to stop here? You won’t upset me if you feel like it's too much,” Eddie leans his forehead against Steve’s as he whispers these words to him; pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Wanna keep going, don’t want you to stop,” Steve pleads. He likes the added pressure of Eddie’s hand around his wrists, like being restrained from giving into stupid decisions. 

“Then you know what I want to hear, don’t you angel? All you have to do is repeat after me, we’ll make it real nice and easy today. Can you do that?” Eddie kisses along his jaw and uses his free hand to trace shapes on Steve’s chest–tightly pinching his hardened nipples and tugging a bit meanly. 

“Yes,” Steve assures him, “I can.” 

“Good. Repeat after me,” Eddie says like he’s teaching Steve a grammar lesson on a blackboard, “I’m smart.” 

“I’m–um–I’m,” Steve’s hands tremble from where Eddie has them bound.

He dips his head to suck another bruise onto Steve’s collarbone–it will turn the color of a nightshade vegetable–burgundy as it fades, “Try again. Don’t be shy. I know you can do this. It’s just you and me. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

The pain brings Steve strength. It shouldn’t, but it does. It frees him from the fear of vulnerability and lets the words tumble out of his mouth. 

“I’m smart,” he says without pause. 

“Just like that, baby. That’s right. You are smart. You’re so smart and so good for me,” Eddie praises, releasing Steve’s wrists and dropping back down to his knees on the floor, “We’re gonna keep going. Let’s try another one. I’m kind.” 

“I’m kind,” Steve mimics without hesitation. This one is easier, comes out smoothly, because he agrees with it. He’s been told he’s kind by enough friends and acquaintances to believe it–evading the dooming cloud of his ‘King Steve’ era. 

“Music to my ears,” Eddie says, taking Steve’s shaft in his hand and pumping him with a steady pace, “You are kind, aren’t you? Such a kind boy–always putting everyone else first and helping out whenever someone needs a hand.” 

Steve snorts at the irony of Eddie quite literally being the one to ‘give him a hand’ as they speak. The laugh is short-lived and substituted by a groan of pleasure as Eddie speeds up. 

“Almost there. I’m so proud of you. Just need to hear a couple more and then we’ll make you cum. Gonna milk every last drop out of you, sound good?” Eddie coos. 

“Y-yeah, shit. Yeah, Eds. I wanna cum, wanna be good and cum for you,” Steve keens and reaches a hand up to tug at his own hair. 

Noticing this, Eddie says, “Oh, baby, if you need more stimulation–I’ll let you have a little. Touch your nipples for me, while we talk. Gonna make you feel so good. Tug on ‘em and tease yourself, I wanna watch you.” 

Obediently, Steve pinches  his pert nipples between two fingers. He rolls the bud and sighs as they stiffen beneath his touch. He hasn’t spent a lot of time getting to know this part of his body in the past or using it to his advantage to get himself off. He always thought it was something that girls liked and that it wasn’t worth trying on himself as a guy. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

“God, you look fucking beautiful like that, Stevie. You have no idea–no idea the things I want to do to you,” Eddie observes him with rapt attention, slowing the movement of his fist on Steve’s length, “One last sentence for me and then I’m gonna suck you off. I’m loved–say it for me, baby.” 

It goes against every fiber of his being–to believe himself worth loving. Vomiting up his breakfast, sobbing into the carpet, pushing away every last person who cared about him–it’s all because Steve isn’t loveable. He’s not worth the time and effort. He’s a burden–this is his undeniable truth–and no one should have to endure the weight of his agony on their shoulders. It’s just not worth it. 

“I’m loved,” Eddie coaxes and tears have begun rolling their way down Steve’s ruddy cheeks without his permission, “I’m loved. I’m loved. I’m loved.” 

It’s a simple sentence–short in length and uncomplicated in rhythm–but Steve feels like there’s a padlock on his heart and until he finds the right key to open it, those words aren’t going to come out. Forbidden. 

“I–I’m–I can’t,” Steve sobs out, “Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I–I can’t say that. I’m not–I’m not ready–” 

A pair of warm arms are thrown around his shoulders and it takes a second for him to realize they aren’t his own–they’re Eddies’. 

Eddie who is kissing his face and petting his hair. 

Eddie who is stroking the scars on his waist and rubbing out a knot in his shoulder. 

Eddie who traces his collarbones with his tongue and draws shapes across his chest. 

Eddie who whispers devotional words in his red-tipped ears: 

“I’m here, I’m here.” 

“It’s okay, you’re safe.”

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m going to make it better. Whatever you need, whenever you’re ready.” 

Steve lifts his head from where it has fallen onto Eddie’s shoulder–-collapsed like the fall of a great empire; unable to hold it together for a moment more. 

“Touch me, Eds,” Steve instructs, “Take it away and touch me. Make all the bad go away. Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, I can do that. Are you sure that’s what you want right now? You don’t want to go back to bed and cuddle or watch a movie downstairs,” Eddie offers, refusing to risk overstepping the line and pushing Steve past his limits. 

“Need it, Eds. Need you. ‘s the only thing that makes it better,” Steve cries, trembling all over. 

“I’ll give it to you, baby. Of course. I’ll do whatever I can,” Eddie promises, cupping Steve’s face in his hands and licking up the salty tears that puddle between them. No one’s ever done that to him before,“You’re so pretty, even when you cry. You know that?” 

Steve’s tears dampen Eddie’s cheeks and Eddie’s kisses leave saliva on the corners of Steve’s mouth. It’s impossible to tell what belongs to who anymore–which portions of the mess should be labeled with which name. 

All they know is that they’re here together–in the mess, in the dirt, treading water in the thick of it. Clinging to aching bones and weary eyes and finding rare shreds of peace, shreds of home in each other. 

On his knees, Eddie kitten licks at the sensitive head of Steve’s cock. He’s still hard in his jeans, but pays no attention to the blaring call of his own pleasure. He doesn’t care–he’s here to heal Steve. He’s here to make it better–to lick up the pain and the gore and the hurt and gift him with a blank canvas in the end. 

Something they can create together. 

Something raw and real and unrepentant. 

Something whole. 

Steve tosses his head back and returns to working at his nipples–touching and moaning and aching for more. Eddie gives and gives below him–never taking his lidded eyes off of Steve. 

“Ah, fuck. Eddie, Eddie,” Steve whimpers the five letters as the boy on his bathroom floor sucks him deeper into his willing mouth, “Eddie, please. Need more. Need more. Don’t stop.” 

He’s hardly making sense, but like all else, Eddie understands him without much explanation. Filling in the gaps and taking it in stride. Meeting him halfway. He’s unaffected by the fragmentation of Steve’s speech; only proving his dedication by taking him to the hilt and hollowing out his pinkened cheeks. Writing the stanzas of every famous love poem with the skilled tip of his tongue. 

Ten seconds pass without a single gag and Eddie reclaims his ability to demolish Steve with words alone, as he pulls off of him. Keeping his hand in place to spread slick and spit over the head. Licking at a bead of pre and using a brutal thumb to prod at the slit. 

“Taste so sweet, baby. My perfect boy, of course you do. Gonna make you cum down my throat. Gonna drink up every last drop,” Eddie jerks him at a punishing pace, “You ever had a boy suck you off before, Stevie?” 

He shakes his head and twitches from head to toe, as Eddie sucks his balls into his warm mouth. It’s slippery and gentle and Eddie expertly laves his tongue over the smooth skin. 

“I’m your first? Wow. Guess that kinda makes you a virgin then, Harrington. Never would have dreamed I’d be the first guy to let you cum down his throat. You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear,” Eddie moans and sucks Steve back into his mouth. 

He bobs his head faster and faster, twisting and licking and drooling out of the corners of his plush lips. Steve moans uncontrollably above him, not caring about how loud he gets—almost entirely unaware of the noise, because he’s lost at sea in the electrifying feel of Eddie’s perfect mouth. 

“Gonna cum soon,” Steve warns, because it’s the polite thing to do, “Gonna cum, Eds. Feels too good, can’t last any longer.” 

The warning doesn’t deter him—Eddie fucks his wide open mouth onto Steve, pinning his hips harshly against the counter so he can’t move an inch. Steve grips onto Eddie’s shoulders—though he’s technically not supposed to—and holds on for dear life as his orgasm nears. Warmth spreads through his belly. 

Within moments he’s shooting off into the back of Eddie’s throat and– of course –the bastard is fucking smiling through it. Well, as much as he can with a very full mouth. Dimples surface and the edges of white teeth shine through the cracks. His eyes roll back and a moan vibrates around Steve’s cock, as Eddie suckles on the tip—swallowing all of his cum. 

Every. Last. Drop. 

Just like he promised.