#i'm just vibin

[passivenovember]

a dash of toxicity because Steve won’t let himself love

--

“You’re a little bit of a whore,”

The words feel strange on his tongue. Like a smoke signal. A last-ditch effort to call wayward ships home. They sound like his father. Like a script long abandoned with the drying ink of divorce papers. 

Steve feels like shit. Steve’s gonna vomit, pea-green lace tacking his sleep shirt to his skin, and.

Billy freezes with his palm on the third belt loop. 

“What?” 

His knuckles are white from cinching leather in place, closing shop.

Steve swallows, tongue thick and heavy. “You’re a slut,” Steve says. He pokes at faded blue carpet underfoot with one toe, trying to feel the paneled wall behind his back warming like the center of a flame where he’s pressed against it.

Billy’s eyes are cold. Sea glass blue. “And you’re an asshole.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I wanna look nice,” Billy mutters. He pulls the tank top off of his shoulders from the hem, dragging it up his face like a coroner’s cloth.

His tits bunch together. Bulge and swell, and. Steve tries not to to look. Fails. Closes his eyes while Billy pulls a dress shirt on. Left and then right bicep, buttoning until his chest mimics sandy beaches lapping against the turquoise surf.

Steve can’t breathe. He’s gonna pass out.

“You already look nice,” Steve tells him. And Billy snorts like he does when he’s flattered but he’s mad about it, too. 

Angry cow. A charging bull. 

Steve’s not afraid of him. Steve gets to see him like this. Cheeks red and creased. Curls soft and frizzy from laying in bed all day, reading under the covers. 

Billy tugs his jeans on and puts cream under his eyes. Slathers deodorant under his pits until he smells like the sea in winter. 

He’s going. 

Steve can’t believe he’s actually going through with this, so he sits up a little straighter, spine curving off the wall.

“Why do you always dress like that?” Steve says, strong and steady, adapting like his father always could. He thunks his head against the wall. Blinks away tears. “You’re dressed like a hooker.”

It hurts him. Both of them.

Billy smiles sadly, like he sees right through it. “Need more leather for that, baby.”

“Put the jacket on,” Steve says. 

“Too cold out for the black leather,”

Billy’s fussing with himself in the mirror, trying to achieve perfection in the same panicked way girls do. Primping his curls, slathering shiny pink balm over each lip and smacking them together. 

It’s watermelon. Steve can smell it from here. 

It turns his stomach.

Steve bites he inside of his cheek. Tastes blood. “Which jacket are you gonna wear?” He asks. Steady. Strong.

Billy stares at him through the mirror, eyes bright. “Why are you riding my ass?”

“I’m not riding your ass, it’s cold outside.”

Billy nods at him, small and curt, eyes dropping to the stash of cologne he keeps on the dresser by the window. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need a jacket.”

He’s going. 

He’s actually--

Steve gets off the floor. Stretches a little and moves the covers on the bed, and. Sits on the bed. Like he’s never done it before. Like he isn’t sure the bed can hold him. 

Billy picks the Tom Ford Steve got him for Christmas. He squirts his neck, right behind each ear. His wrists, where he rubs them together, and.

His dick. 

Steve’s gonna vomit. He clears his throat, “You’re not sleeping with her, are you?”

“Steve.”

“You only spray your pants if you’re gonna sleep with them.”

“Why do you care what happens?” Billy demands. “You told me to do this. You said it would be a good idea to do this--”

“I didn’t think you really would.”

“So this was a test?” He turns, feet planted to take the weight of whatever Steve wants to tell him. “What the fuck.”

He's beautiful. 

Clean and masculine and lovely. Steve hates it. Wants him stripped down, wrapped in threadbare sheets, cheeks pink and pillow-lined, reading out loud until Steve floats. Forgets his own name.

Steve gets off the bed. Plants his own feet, knees shaking a little. “You look like a corner girl but you’re better than that. You’re better than this.”

Billy exhales, sharp and sudden. “Why are you talking to me like that?” 

“Like what?”

“Like you’re a fifty-year-old man who’s wife is gonna pack up and skip town?”

Steve blinks, squares his jaw. “I’m not--”

"It won’t work,” Billy snaps. Quiet and final. “I’m not your mama and we’re not married.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Say that shit to me again and I’ll crack your skull.”

“Billy--”

“I’m not so strung out on you that I won’t rock your fucking shit, alright?” He turns, stalking to the wardrobe where he disappears, digging around for something warm. 

Steve wants to put his arms around Billy. 

He feels sick to his stomach. Billy reemerges with a brown leather jacket, already shrugging into it when he realizes Steve might cry because he’s sniffling. Choking softly on something like love.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not standing this chick up.”

“This was so fucking stupid,” Steve admits suddenly, exasperated. “I never should’ve told you to do this.”

“So why did you?”

“Because,” Steve whimpers, pathetic. So fucking pathetic and sick to his stomach with love. 

He wants to say it. 

Billy’s standing in front of him, open and expectant, still so sweet after all the shit Steve’s put him through, and.

Steve swallows it. Everything. 

He shakes his head. “It’s alright. Go.”

Billy takes a small, shuffling step backward as if Steve had tried to hit him. His eyes close like doors. Fill with water. 

Billy nods. “Don’t wait up.”

His cheeks aren’t pillow lined anymore. 

[not-the-blue]

inktober #1 - squabble

[foulbearobservation]

wait you have a novel? are you an actual writer?

HELP 💀💀💀 "actual writer" homie, everyone who writes is an "actual writer" so jot that down

and no baby I work in marketing usually but I did write a novel for nanowrimo last year so now I'm starting the process of revising it

[marzowo]

Hoping to get more popular on tumblr than on twitter rn <3

Anyway check out these unsent tweets 😍

Idk why they wont send but its fine

[kirby-the-gorb]

[bucket-of-amethyst]

since pearl has been borzoi-ed, would you ever human-ificate tilly?

In my head, animal companions are the hermpups favorite toys/plushie/chews!

[had to use minecraft wolf plush png cant get more accurate than that sldkg]

And this would also go for irl pets!

[get golden retriever boyfriend-ficated idiot - i literally could not go with any other breed for Jimmy ldjgdç]

The only exception I would probably make is Bubbles. Since she is Sausage's Spiritual Guide of sorts, i believe she needs to be something more sentient. But that's for another day!

✨ i have commissions open! :D ✨

🐶More puppers: Jog / Pixl / Porl / SoupGroop / Tango / Zed / Grian / Skizz / Cleo

[brucewaynehomeforangrychildren]

post-patrol sugar rush

[genericpuff]

what people assume i'm thinking while i'm working on rekindled: "GRRR I HATE LO AND RACHEL!!! I HATE HER SO MUCH!!! THIS WILL SHOW HER AND HER FANS! THIS WILL SHOW ALL OF THEM! I HOPE RACHEL SEES THIS AND CRIES!!!"

what i'm actually thinking while i work on rekindled: "man i'm having a great time working on this but i can't wait to be done with this panel that's driving me nuts. i wonder how i can get that cool splatter effect rachel did in S1. bright colors make brain go brrrr. i can't wait to get to the part where hades clowns on himself. oof i'm hungry, i need to figure out what to have for dinner tonight. oh look, an 11 hour retrospective on the simpsons-"

[linterteatime]

Like, subscribe and turn on notifications for more crazy-ass crossovers

[jiiyawns]

BRING! YOU! BACK!

this song is really good

[shima-draws]

HUGE Pokemon spoilers ahead but oh my GOD Pecharunt's encounter theme is such a BOPPPPP

[mayhemspreadingguy]

This is where the goth cat belongs.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Greetings I play cookie run

[psikind]

little lights

[norisus]

Big bois

[martini-with-a-lizzard]

If captain Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce can do surgery all through the night in the middle of a war zone then I can write a single goddam essay without crying.