#like goddamn where is the contrast. I can’t see anything

[francy-sketches]

Look I love alicent she’s my meow meow but why are some of her stans so against her being compared to cersei they just objectively share similarities it’s not an insult to her I prommy. Like seeing them get upset at the comparison between the eye funni in hotd and the trident oopsie in got is just. Girl calm down nobody’s saying they’re the exact same but the pararell is so obvious lmao. Not everything is an attack on your fave hotd twitter is rotting your brain please go oustide we’re worried about you

[loveinhawkins]

Steve thinks he’s doing a good job at hiding it, but then Eddie catches his eye right as he’s limping out of the RV and… huh, maybe not.

Eddie, with panicked urgency—which, in Steve’s opinion, is admittedly sweet but unnecessary—asks if the bites are bothering him again.

“No, dude, it’s nothing,” Steve says. “It’s literally nothing.”

Eddie doesn’t look at all reassured.

Goddamn it, Steve thinks. Better rip off the band aid and hope it’s not too mortifying.

“It’s not the bites. It’s… um. My feet.”

Eddie glances down but there’s nothing to see; as soon he’d entered The War Zone, Steve had crammed his feet into the first pair of combat boots he could find.

“Oh,” Eddie says, the penny dropping. “Oh, shit. Yeah, hang on, just…”

He looks around, humming in thought, then grabs a bottle of water with decisiveness, and yeah, Steve thinks, this is gonna be incredibly mortifying.

But he can’t find a way to wriggle out of it without making the whole thing a way bigger deal than it needs to be—so he ends up sat in the grass, wincing as he pries off his boots.

It is, in a word, gross.

“Don’t know why they’re bugging me so damn much,” Steve says just to fill the silence. He huffs self-effacingly, goes to wiggle his toes before deciding ow, better not and ew, better not. “It’s, like, hardly anything compared to…”

He gestures to the bandage wrapped around him.

“Well, you weren’t walking on your stomach,” Eddie points out.

He pours out water onto some tissues he’s rustled up and gets to work.

Steve keeps waiting for the embarrassment to well and truly set in.

But… it doesn’t.

Eddie doesn’t once make a crack about how awful his feet look.

Instead he launches into a story of how, against his uncle’s sage advice, he’d gone to school in a new pair of boots (his birthday present) without breaking them in first.

It was freshman year, so Eddie’s whole look hadn’t been solidified yet. But he was determined to make it work—stomping around the school (“Were any lunch tables harmed?” Steve asks, and Eddie warmly tells him to shut up), steadfastly ignoring the growing discomfort.

At the end of the day, he’d taken his boots off and surveyed the damage with a melodramatic cry; “Kid, I really don’t know what to tell ya,” Wayne had huffed.

Eddie hams up his whiny, teenaged disgust so that he becomes the butt of the joke, and Steve suddenly feels like he’s watching a magician onstage—except he knows where to look, isn’t fooled by the sleight of hand: Eddie’s dramatics all serve as a distraction from the caked on dirt and blood he steadily cleans off Steve’s skin.

It’s quiet, unassuming. A hidden kindness.

Eddie doesn’t need to be doing this; Steve could quite easily take the bottled water and do it all himself—would probably get it over and done with in a matter of minutes, concealed around the other side of the RV, quick and perfunctory.

But you’re letting him, Steve thinks. Why are you letting him?

Eddie’s hands are cold, a pleasant contrast to the burning sensation all across his feet—honestly, he’d been hoping that so long as he just kept walking, he’d gradually become numb to it.

There’s a loud rip of plastic as a pack of baby wipes are opened. Eddie’s touch is light which soothes some of the sting, at least; he trails off into silence as he works, hissing sympathetically at whatever’s revealed.

“You’ve got a couple cracks,” he says, eyebrows drawn.

Steve gives an over exaggerated sigh. “Give it to me straight, doc. Am I gonna have to chop ‘em off?”

Eddie chuckles, but his concern doesn’t fade away.

“Just here,” he says, pointing, and the tip of his finger brushes against Steve’s heel—Steve tries not to, but he twitches reflexively, and Eddie flashes him an impish grin. “Ticklish?”

“Fuck off,” Steve says, smiling.

He kicks out, stops just short of actually hitting Eddie in the face.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Harrington,” Eddie says through laughter, pushing Steve’s foot away—gently. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

It’s a joke; Steve knows it’s a joke. But—

“You don’t need to do that, man. Robin already knows.”

Eddie stands up and stretches, gives Steve’s ankle a little pat.

“Think you’re all set—woah, wait,” he says as Steve reaches for the combat boots, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Uh, what’s it look like?”

“Harrington. You cannot put those on without socks again, you’re gonna summon my uncle; he’s got, like, a sixth sense about that kinda stuff.”

Eddie’s smile drops a little at that, a flash of melancholy breaking through.

God, you must really miss him, Steve thinks.

“I’m just making do. I don’t have any socks.”

“Yeah, you do.” Eddie’s smile returns in full force—puzzled, perhaps just a little fond. “You got me some, remember?”

Eddie retrieves a pair from the RV and, that’s right, Steve had forgotten: he’d bought a whole pack during their first grocery trip, after Eddie had made an offhand comment about feeling cold in the boathouse.

Poor guy, Steve had thought as they walked through The Upside Down. This is cold on a whole new level.

The socks are thick and warm. Steve pulls on the boots, relishing the fact that his toes no longer scream in protest as he does so.

He tightens the laces; Eddie’s sat down opposite him again.

“There. Ready for battle,” Steve says.

Eddie’s eyes flicker over the combat boots, then Steve’s whole get-up—and there’s nothing teasing in his gaze now, as if he’s seeing everything in another light. Like the gravity of it all has just hit him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Battle.”

“Hey, Eddie. Don’t worry.”

Eddie huffs with a wan smile. “Wow. And just like that, I won’t.”

Steve nudges him with his foot. Gentle. “M’not gonna ruin your handiwork.”

Eddie doesn’t reply.

Steve stands, tries a short walk in place. It’ll work. It has to.

“I’d just do it again,” Eddie says suddenly. “If… I—I wouldn’t mind.”

Steve pauses. Offers Eddie a hand and pulls him up.

“I wouldn’t mind either,” Steve says softly.

And then he lets go of Eddie’s hand.

Standing tall, he starts to round everyone up for the drive back—and wishes them all a future of simple fixes: of superficial cracks, easy to patch up.

[thefreakandthehair]

The thing about drinking at 31 years old is that it's different from drinking at 18 years old– or 21 years old, or even 25 years old. Each shot, each drink, is one sip away from a terrible night’s sleep and an equally terrible morning.

Eddie Munson’s figured this out. Steve Harrington though? Steve Harrington has not.��

That’s how Eddie finds himself corralling his husband onto the couch after stumbling into the house, the front door slamming loud enough to jolt their cat out of her otherwise peaceful slumber. She glares for a moment before stretching her paws and curling back into a neat little ball. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve repeats, an immediate tell that he’s definitely not making it any further than the couch anyways. “I’m good, I’m fine, this– this is a nice couch.” He punctuates his thought by slapping the cushion and laughing. 

Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Yep, it sure is. You picked it out, remember?” 

Steve gasps and laughs some more, falling back into the corner of the sectional. “I don’t but it’s comfy so if I did, I did a good fucking job.”

He watches with fond comfortability as Steve squirms around on the couch and lays back, arms over his head and dopey laugh still on his lips. It takes a lot of willpower and frankly, respect, not to climb on top of this giggly, flushed, disheveled man he loves so goddamn much and kiss him until he’s flushed for other reasons, but he digs deep and focuses on doing the next best thing: taking care of him. Eddie’s a little worse for the wear in his own right but a sliver of his iron constitution remains from his wild youth and he hangs on by a thread. 

Eddie gets Steve situated into a comfortable position, his back against one side of the cushions and his head propped up on a few pillows to make sure he doesn’t end up with his face smushed into the corner somehow. 

“I’m good, I’m fine– hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve slurs and Eddie looks up from his position at the end of the couch, his fingers moving quickly as he unties Steve’s sneakers. 

“Taking your shoes off? You can’t sleep in your jeans, Stevie. You’ll thank me tomorrow.” 

Steve hums from somewhere high in his throat but doesn’t say anything else Eddie moves to unhook his belt. 

“Stop–stop it, hey, I’m married!” Steve smacks Eddie’s hand and Eddie barely suppresses a cackle. “You’re hot and all but I’m married and my husband’s hotter than you anyways.” 

With that, Eddie can’t stop himself. Warmth spreads through his chest as he laughs, from his heart all the way down to the tingling in his toes. Even drunk, even with his eyes closed, Steve would still choose him without a thought and sure, after all these years, it shouldn’t come as a surprise but it does. Because Steve is Steve, and Eddie is Eddie, and Eddie still hasn’t figured out what huge karmic debt he must’ve paid for them to have become SteveAndEddie.

He stares at Steve who’s nearly asleep but feebly muttering words like “hot,” and “perfect,” and “lucky.” 

“Hey, hey, Stevie, open your eyes for a second?” Eddie brushes the hair back from his forehead, gently shifting it away from his bloodshot, glossy eyes. He’s beautiful, even like this, what the fuck?

“Oh,” Steve’s eyebrow unfurrow and the right side of his mouth turns up into a small grin. “It’s you. Hi, Ed.” 

“Hi, Steve.” Eddie chuckles and kisses his forehead. “Gonna get your jeans off so you can sleep, okay?” 

“Mhm, yeah, that’s– thanks.” 

Eddie coaxes them off, tossing them onto a chair where they’ll remain until the next morning, and sets a glass of water down on the coffee table for when Steve inevitably wakes up with cottonmouth. One more soft kiss and an even softer blanket later, Steve is out and Eddie tip toes up the stairs to bed. 

The next morning, Eddie wakes to see Steve next to him. At some point, he must’ve woken up and gotten himself to bed which gives Eddie the opportunity to stare uninterrupted in the silence of their bedroom. It stands in stark contrast to the boisterous night before– the loud music and jumping bodies and Chrissy popping a bottle of champagne in celebration of Robin saying yes, as if there’d ever been a doubt. 

Steve’s on his back, the sun just starting to intrude on their tranquility. He takes in Steve’s features, the same ones he’s memorized time and time again but that never fail to stun him just the same. The moles, the freckles, the scars that make him ache and feel thankful simultaneously. The strong line of his jaw, the eyelashes that flutter as he sleeps, that one tendril of hair that insists on curling until Steve forces it into place. Eddie’s seen a lot of the world now, having traveled a bit with his band, and there’s nothing that compares to the man sleeping next to him. 

Even if he’s snoring. 

When Steve does eventually wake up, trudging downstairs with one eye open and asking why Long Island Iced Tea’s even exist, Eddie’s ready with the necessities– a black iced coffee, two sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches delivered to their doorstep, and a Gatorade for himself. 

“You’re the fucking best, you know that?” Steve smiles through the pounding headache as he sips his coffee and tears into the sandwich. 

“Eh, I try,” Eddie grins with a mouthful of egg and leans over to bump their shoulders together. 

Comfortable quiet drapes over them like the blanket from last night still over the back of the couch, and like the jeans hanging off the recliner– little reminders of the night before and of the domesticity of the life they’ve built together. 

Once Steve finishes his sandwich, their cat, Florence, hops up on the table and starts batting at the rolled up wrappers. 

“Think she wants to play,” Steve grumbles, sliding off the couch and laying on the carpet. “Listen, Florence, you know I love you but kid, I cannot play right now. I’m barely alive.” 

Eddie doubles over and nearly spits Gatorade all over the coffee table. Even their terrible, hungover, washed up mornings aren't all that bad.

[wrongplacerighttime]

agent!harry x agent!fmc

the one where grace meets someone, harry gets jealous (again), and something unexpected is confessed. // little bunny part 4

write this and i don’t really like it but it’s set up for the next part so WHATEVER IDC 😭🤣 if it doesn’t make sense just…ignore it please 😭 i know it’s almost midnight and that means this probably won’t get seen but it’s HERE NOW.

little bunny masterlist

wc: 3.4k

tw: jealous!harry (briefly), phone sex, masturbation. (think that’s all.)

halley’s comet

To Grace, her worst personality trait was that she’s always been afraid of love. In middle school, a boy she couldn’t even remember the name of confessed his crush on her as she sat alone in the lunch room with her nose in a book, and a spark of hope twinkled in her eyes and her 13-year-old mind going haywire as she watched the blonde haired boy smile at her. Then he turned his head to look back at his friends, her eyes followed his and they were laughing. She never forgot the feeling of the stain of embarrassment marking her cheeks, or the single tear that fell onto the page she was reading when he turned and walked away.

Then, in high school, she had her first “real” boyfriend, Jake. For some reason or other, he had been pining after her and she couldn’t make sense of why the captain of the boys basketball team wanted anything to do with the quiet and reserved girl who only took advanced classes and spent her free time with her nose in the pages of a good book. He followed her like a lost puppy after one tutoring session with her, driving her around in his truck on backroads through the little town in Tennessee where they resided. She gave him everything, in every sense, and after he got it he left her high and dry. She still remembers the way the stars shined in the sky that night. It was just a blip in Jake’s timeline, but felt like a goddamned gorge in hers. As a girl, you never forget your first time…and he played her up so nicely. Being gentle with her, brushing the strands of hair from her lips, the kisses he left just behind her ear when she turned her head to the side. She didn’t leave her bed for weeks. She swore off love after that. It was real to her, even if it wasn’t to him.

Then came Harry, and to her, he was just like the rest of them, and she refused to let him get to her…keeping him at arms length even though she was insanely drawn to him. Then one day, she didn’t look at him like the rest of them. She knew in the back of her mind that sleeping with him would fuck with her head. They didn’t get along unless they’re fucking, and that can’t be healthy. Was it because they really didn’t like each other, or some other reason? She’s too selfish to give him up though, even if he might not want her that way, a relationship might be too much commitment for him but they didn’t talk about it. She had a feeling they never would. She pulls her coat tighter around her, snowflakes falling around her and her breath clouds in front of her. Her mind spins and she doesn’t pay attention as she looks towards the ground, running right into someone walking out of the building she was heading into.

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry.” She looks up to a man she’s never seen around before, his eyes an icy blue that contrasts the green she’s been seeing in her daydreams.

“Not a problem. I wasn’t paying attention…entirely my fault. Apologies.” He smiles at her softly, an expression she mirrors back to him.

“No…I wasn’t either, it’s okay.” She blows a breath, a cloud forming in the cold air between them, and his smile widens. “Sorry, I haven’t seen you around before…I’m Grace Weston. I work on the sixth floor.”

“James Seeley. I’m in organized crime.” He pauses and smirks. “If you’re on the sixth floor that must mean…” He trails off and Grace nods, already knowing what he was going to say.

“You caught me. I’m a profiler.” She holds her hands up, pretending to surrender and he smiles at her. He looks across the street, pausing for a moment and looking back at her

“Can I get your number?” He asks, and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry! Was that too forward? I just think it would be nice to have a contact in the BAU…you know, for any future cases.” He rubs the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness, and she pulls her lips in to prevent a smile from breaking at his nervousness. “I also think you’re pretty, and I’d like to get to know you better.” He rambles, and she nods. Maybe this would be good for her? He hands her his phone and she types her number into the designated spot, adding her name to the contact and hands it back to him. He briefly looks down at his wrist to check his watch and his brows pull together in the center.

“Sorry to be rude, but I’ve to get to a meeting downtown…and you know how traffic can be.” He says, jutting a thumb towards the direction he’s heading and she nods quickly.

“Oh, gosh! No, yeah! Again, so sorry for bumping into you.” She looks at him for a beat before looking towards the ground.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Glad it happened. See you around?” He asks and she nods again, making her way around him into the foyer through the sliding glass doors.

The rest of the team had made their way onto the jet and to Florida in the early hours of the morning, before the sun rose. Grace had sent Aaron a message privately before and asked if he cared if she stayed behind for this one. She was willing to consult from her position here and that was enough for him. A shiver travels down her spine and she thinks about the warmth of the Floridian sun and almost regrets her decision. She needed time away from Harry, she had convinced herself that much. She told herself if she kept her distance the feelings would go away. She wouldn’t feel this way if she stayed away from him, right? Love never came easy for her, and she was sure he wouldn’t make it easier either. She feels silly, falling for a person who was very much “no strings attached”. She can’t get him out of her head, her dreams filled with him, of a life with him…

She makes her way to her desk, shrugging her coat off and getting to work.

———

The day drags slowly and Grace is on the phone consulting with the team when the sound of the glass doors of the office open and tear her attention away from the video call. She looks up and sees the man from earlier this morning, James, walking over to her desk carrying what looks to be a bag of take out food. She grins over to him and he mirrors it back to her. He had sent her a message earlier after his meeting and asked if she wanted him to drop off lunch to her and she didn’t hesitate to say yes. He walks behind her, into the view of the camera before disappearing again and he perches himself on the edge of her desk. She silently thanks him as to not interrupt whatever Aaron was saying and her eyes flick to Harry on the screen. She can barely see the way the pixels of the video call catch the shift in his posture and the tick of his jaw, but she decides to ignore it.

She mutes her microphone as she listens to Aaron’s monotone voice through the speakers. Occasionally Harry or Kelly will add their input but for the most part it’s just Aaron. He’s throwing out ideas left and right trying to figure out where to start with the case. Grace can see all the files spread out in the table, the same ones that Grace has open on her other screen, and she scrolls. A crime scene photo catches James’ eye and he puts his hand up to halt her. He leans closer, pointing to a small symbol etched into the tree above the body, it's barely visible, blending into the seams on the bark. She turns her mic back on.

“Hey…guys? Did you see the symbol in the picture of our latest victim?” Her eyebrows furrow and she leans in closer to the screen. “Could it be satanic? Was there anything similar at the other scenes?” She asks and Aaron flips through the pictures to look for what she’s seeing.

“It’s not Satanic.” Harry mutters in a tone of voice that makes her eyes narrow, holding the picture closer to his face. He types in quick succession on his laptop, performing a quick google search. “It’s Egyptian.” He screen-shares a symbol that looks almost similar, more intricate than the one haphazardly carved into the tree.

“We need to have this picture blown up, it’s hard to identify from this distance. Good catch, Grace.” Aaron praises, looking down at the picture still.

“Oh it wasn’t me, it was James. We met earlier, he works upstairs in OC, we were eating lunch together and he caught it.” Grace replies, redirecting the praise to James while turning her camera towards him. He puts his hand up in a small gesture and Aaron nods, walking out of view of the camera. The screen goes black, the video call ending abruptly. Maybe the connection was bad? She pulls out her phone to text Harry.

Grace: “keep me posted.”

Harry: “k.”

His short reply makes her roll her eyes, and she almost puts her phone away when another message pops up.

Harry: “wanna start a group chat with lover boy so he can give me all his opinions directly?”

Grace: “i’m not doing this. he’s just a friend. and you’re being annoying.”

Harry: “just a friend my ass. friends that just met don’t bring each other lunch. he’s got a hard on for you.”

Grace: “so what? we definitely aren’t exclusive so it’s none of your business anyway. drop it. move on.”

She drops her phone down on her desk, shaking her head and scoffing.

He doesn’t reply.

———

A few days pass with no word from Harry, the case causing a build up of stress to fall on Grace’s shoulders. The Egyptian symbol was present at every scene in some form or other, and it had them stumped. James had asked her out on a date and she declined, really just wanting to go home and go to bed. She regrets staying behind, she feels out of the loop and she feels guilty she’s not there helping catch their suspect. Long distance while being an FBI agent doesn’t work, especially when her specialty is geographical profiling. It’s hard to create a profile for an area she’s unfamiliar with.

She showers. A long, hot, shower. The muscles in her shoulders relax with the steam blurring her vision. She just stands under the heat, washing away her stress…and she thinks of Harry. His words…his hands on her body…his lips on her neck, her tits…his teeth pulling her clit between them…Her breath catches and her legs feel weak at the thought of him. The way her body reacts to him, knowing he has this sort of control over her, she could never be with anyone else. She quickly finishes her shower, wrapping her hair in a towel and moving to her bed, not bothering with clothes because she has only one thing on her mind. She needs to cum.

Her hand dips down past her navel, running a finger through her folds before bringing them back up to her clit, rubbing gentle circles while tweaking her nipple between her fingers with her other hand, pinching and pulling, trying to replicate the way he does it. She replays every time they’ve been together over in her brain, remembering the way his breath fanned over her neck as he grunted in her ear, whispering words into her ear, words no one else has ever said to her. Words she didn’t even know she liked to hear.

The shrill ring of her phone pulls her from her thoughts, a groan of aggravation escaping her throat, so close to her release and she sighs, looking at the caller ID. Harry.

“Finally deciding to talk to me?” Grace answers out of breath, frustrated she didn’t get to finish. She tries to slow down her heartbeat, her breath left heavy in her lungs.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was being childish. I let my anger get the best of me, and I’m sorry. I know I have no right to be that way towards you. You’re allowed to see other people, you’re right. We aren’t exclusive.” He pauses. “Happy now?” He grumbles. She sighs,

“Are you okay?” His voice drawls through the speaker and she gulps nervously.

“Just peachy.” She answers sarcastically, trying to sound like she wasn’t just trying to get herself off less than five minutes ago. She gnaws on the inside of her lip. “Did you need something, is something going on with the case?” She turns over onto her side, waiting. He hums, choosing to ignore her response before diving into an update about the case as he paces around his hotel room.

Grace drowns out his voice involuntarily with her daydreams. She goes back to what she thought about to make herself get worked up in the first place, and then she imagines it…really imagines it. And it wouldn’t be so bad right? She lets her mind wander to the image of him curled around her in bed every morning, his hands gripping her waist as she stands at the kitchen sink, or her swollen belly in the mirror as she gets dressed for work for the day. A life with him.

“Earth to Grace?” His voice through the speaker pulls her from her thoughts and she blinks once to clear her head.

“I’m sorry, Harry. What did you say?” She’s breathless, feeling the arousal pool at her aching, empty hole. A smirk plays on his lips, one she can’t see, and now he knows exactly what she was doing before he called her. He knows her, knows how she sounds when she’s fucked out…when she’s needy. He knows just how to push her to the edge.

“Don’t worry about it, bunny.” He purrs and she whimpers into the microphone before covering her mouth and her thighs squeeze together almost on their own volition. “S’the matter sweet girl?” He coos and the drop in octave in his voice makes her squirm.

“N-nothing.” She stutters, lying straight through her teeth, feeling the flame igniting in her belly once again and she can’t help that he just does this to her. Her body reacts to him on its own despite the way her brain fights the feeling every single time.

“See, I know when you’re lying. I don’t like when you lie to me, Grace.” His voice is gravelly and he clicks his tongue as she pulls her lip between her teeth. “Let me help you make it better.” He mumbles and she whimpers out an agreement.

“What were you thinking about to make you all riled up like this?” He asks in a sweet voice and she stays quiet. She hears his breathing on the other end of the phone, silent. “Hmm?”

“You. Was thinking about you.” She admits and her cheeks heat with a little bit of embarrassment, but mostly with desire.

“Is that right? Well don’t let me interrupt, go on then.” He can feel himself hardening beneath his sweats at her honesty, but he refrains from touching himself. For now. He doesn’t hear any rustling on her end of the phone and his brow furrows. “What’s wrong? Need me to tell you what to do?” He jokes and she mewls.

“Y-yes. Please.” She whines and the tone of her voice tells him all he needs to know.

“Mm, okay.” He pauses, thinking. “What were you thinking about? Tell me, bunny. I’m curious.”

“Thinking about the last time…in the supply room.” Her voice is breathless and he smiles at the memory.

“Want you to pull your bottoms down for me, sweet girl.” He instructs her and hears rustling on the other end, her eagerness making his heart lurch in his chest and he feels all the blood in his body rush southward. “Have ‘em off?” He asks and she confirms that she does. “Good girl. Want you to touch your thighs, just drag your fingers over your skin, like I would do.” She follows his direction, the light touch of her fingers creating goosebumps in their wake.

“Want you to touch yourself, too.” She mumbles into the phone and he groans on the other end, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Want you to tell me how wet you are first, are you dripping? Want you to put a finger in and tell me how soaked you are at the thought of me fucking you against that wall.” His words come through gritted teeth and he shifts his hips, pushing his sweats down and he leans against the wall, palming himself through his boxers and biting the inside of his lip. She trails a finger through her folds, her arousal pooling on her finger before she pushes into her aching hole, feels herself clench around her own finger as she moans at the intrusion.

“Harry—” His name falls from her lips in a breathless whisper.

“Tell me.” He demands, jaw clenched and hand squeezed into a fist and he can hear the way her finger is pumping in and out, the sound of her arousal evident through her end of the phone and he could almost cum right then, without even touching himself.

“S-so wet. Wasn’t entirely from the sex, though.” She admits and he raises his eyebrow in an expression still unseen to her. “From what you said.” He combs through the memory, her pushed against the wall with his hand around her wrists, slamming into her again and again. He pries his mind and the memory of what he said to her comes flooding back. Gonna fill your pretty little pussy up, get you all full of my cum…bet you’d like if I got you pregnant too, huh? Wanna see that cute little belly swollen, let everyone know who you belong to.

“Little minx…likes being full of me, doesn’t she? Likes feeling me dripping out of her.” He can’t help himself now, the memory playing over and over in his head like his own personal porno. He pushes the rest of the barrier away and spits into his hand before wrapping it around the base of his hardened cock and pumping himself with a soft grunt falling from his lips.

“Yes, Harry.” She whines, feeling herself come closer to her release as she flicks her thumb over her clit and pulses her fingers in and out. “Want you to…need you to, Har. Just wanna feel you.”

“I know, sweet girl. Wanna have my babies in your cute little belly? Know you’re carrying around part of me and that I’ve claimed you?” He grits and she nods even though he can’t see her, his hand working himself at his own pace, his tip leaking and dripping onto his own hand as he grunts and groans at the frictions he’s creating. “Gonna fill you up, let your thighs be a sticky mess of me? Cum for me, bunny. Wanna hear you.” He encourages her and she squeezes her eyes shut and her toes curl, pleasure taking over every one of her senses. One flick of her thumb against her sensitive bundle of nerves again and she’s gone, moaning and crying out his name between them. He follows not long after her, his own release painting his hand and he leans against the wall to catch his breath, coming down from his high. Grace sighs into the phone, feeling a little hazy, not in the proper state of mind to continue a normal conversation with him.

“I love you.” She whispers, her eyes flutter closed, the pulses of pleasure still buzzing through her brain, clouding her better judgment. She doesn’t even realize the words have slipped past the barrier of her lips. He’s silent for a moment, mouth dropping open to speak but closing again.

“W-What?” He stutters, heartbeat quickening and nervous sweat forming on his brow. Her eyes fly open and her heart drops to the floor. Did she really just say that…out loud? “Grace…” He trails off, his vision blurring, his head feeling dizzy and he doesn’t know what to say.

The line goes dead, and he’s alone.

taglist: @indierockgirrl @hermionelove @storyschanging

if your tag is red it didn’t work :(

[shywhumpauthor]

Cheap

I started writing this with the intent of it being whump, but well- read it, you’ll see. Not really whump, but I’m still tagging it as such.

Cw: violence, manhandling.

A strangled gasp clawed its way from the hero’s throat, raking against their windpipe as pain exploded from their sternum. The force of the blow knocked them back, stumbling against the wall as the breath rushed to leave their lungs. Brick snagged at the back of their uniform, uneven edges of the stone trying to twist its hold on them by the threads.

Cheap shot. That’s what it was. That’s what Villain was. That cheap, petty, good-for-nothing, disreputable asshole. They fought dirty, like the fucking rat they were. Not an ounce of self-respect to their technique, they would fight tooth and nail. Hero had the scratches, weeping blood down their cheek from where Villain’s fucking claws caught them—when was the last time they cut their goddamn nails? Not to even talk about how much grime was certainly on their hands, Hero was appalled anyone, especially the street rat criminal who practically lived to scrounge around the disgusting alleys, would dare touch anything in the city without gloves on.

Tears welled in their eyes without will, Hero rapidly blinked them back as they pushed themself forwards. Their chest burned, breath lodging in their throat as they used the wall to brace themself in the moments preparation before they lunged back at Villain.

Hands caught their shoulders, but instead of the shove backwards they were anticipating and already planning for, they were tugged forwards, their momentum used in a cruel twist as a knee was brought up to meet their stomach. Hero choked out a gasp, a shock jolting back through their body ad they were manhandled back up and slammed against the bricks. Their head hit back against the wall, without any distance to try and ready themself. Specks of white buzzed in the corners of their eyes, pain like cracking cement ripping through their skull. It dazed them, for a moment too long. Villain’s hands ripped down their arms, calloused fingers wrapping around their wrists and steeling in place like iron. Twisting their arms up and shoving them against the red stones, pinned to either side of the hero’s head.

Then they could feel Villain’s breath against their cheek, warm and intrusive and wrong, their lips so close they almost brushed the shell of Hero’s ear as they leaned in-

“Oh my little Hero,” Villain whispered, their voice so quiet left a resounding echo humming through their mind. They slowly drew back, leaving a numb prickling spreading across their skin as a sudden cold replaced the unwanted heat. They stopped, eyes level with Hero’s. “When will you ever learn? You can’t win against me.”

On any other day, Hero would’ve fought back. They would’ve stomped down on Villain’s foot and returned the blows with the same graceless disorder Villain fought with. But they were tired. Their body hurt and their head buzzed with exhausted anger and what was certainly the forming of one hell of a headache.

But instead they just stood there, letting their head fall back an inch to rest against the brick. Let the criminal take on their weight as they pressed their body against theirs. If Villain was to step back, they’d crumple.

Then slowly, with a certain care to contrast the brutality of the blows they had dealt, Villain shifted Hero’s wrists to one hand, pinning them to the wall above their head while their free hand dipped down to brush along Hero’s jaw, the back of their finger tracing a swelling bruise on their jaw.

“I told you,” Hero murmured, their exhaustion seeping into their tone as Villain’s hand follow the outline of the scratches across their cheek, a nail brushing just outside the bleeding edge. A warmth of touch to battle the chill air. “Not- not the face,”

Villain’s fingers curled beneath their chin, a thumb smoothing softly over a spot on Hero’s wrist.

“Oh love, I’m sorry,” Villain’s eyes softened, tilting the hero’s head to the side as their eyes flicked over the shallow wounds. They leaned in, pressing their lips to Hero’s jaw carefully over the forming bruise. “But when have I ever listened to anything you’ve had to say?” A whisper of the taunt returned to their voice, visible in the spark behind their adoring gaze.

Hero only sighed, the night cold fading into a soothing warmth that bled across their skin as Villain’s hand slipped down to cup their neck, their eyes fluttering closed as the villain guided them in and brought their lips together.

Tomorrow, they’d fight back. Tomorrow they’d repay Villain everything they’d dealt and more.

But tonight- tonight Villain won.

And Hero was alright with that.

[passivenovember]

Sharing again!

--

mirrorball

--

“You’re irate,” Robin says. 

And Steve can’t pretend that he knows the definition or that somewhere, past the churning noise of the party, and the wafting heat from the dancefloor, Steve has the slightest clue what to say other than, “Probably.”

Because in all the months he’s known her, if Robin says he’s irate then he probably is.

Steve wants to go home. He’s been over this scene for a while now, holding an empty red cup so no one asks him if he’s up for seconds and thirds. His eyes sting from the smoke. He’s never liked that about parties that don’t rage under his jurisdiction. 

If they were home right now, cutting the night away at Steve’s house, he’d tell them to take it outside. Not everyone’s a smoker. Not everyone wants to die early from nicotine poison, at least not from something as insignificant as second-hand smoke. 

But these are Tommy’s digs. And apparently, anything goes, here. People smoke and drink and fuck right out in the open, probably depositing colonies of lost children on the shag carpet underfoot, and Steve’s had enough. 

“This is really bothering you, huh?” Robin asks. 

“What are you talking about?”

On the other side of the room, past a string of holographic flowers cut from cellophane that dangles in Steve’s line of sight, Billy’s got a kaleidoscope of color dancing on his eyelashes and he’s standing really close to a guy with pretty hair.

That’s all Steve can clock about him.

His hair is nice. Long and brown and curly. 

And Steve’s been told a million times by his grandma that he’s got more to offer than a head of thick, Italian locks but with only a red cup and Robin’s fifty-cent words tethering him to this basement, Steve isn’t so sure. 

Robin knocks their shoulders together. “Billy,” She says. 

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from Billy’s eyelashes. “Where?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Steve snaps. “I just don’t see him.”

As if on cue, Billy steps closer to the guy. Gets right in the crook of his neck 'cause either. He knows Steve is watching or he’s trapped in his own little world.

Steve can’t figure out which is worse. Serving as the gasoline that fuels Billy’s night and earning a front-row seat to whatever happens next or being locked out. Forgotten. 

A sliver of perfect, golden skin peek-a-boos between the hem of Billy’s slashed Metallica tank top and a pair of leather pants Steve’s never seen before. Not in this basement. Not in his entire life.

He knows instantly he wants to see them trapped around Billy’s thighs. And on his bedroom floor. And melting, coughing up smoke until they’re memory when brownie-locks tugs Billy closer by his belt loop.

Steve crumples his red cup. “Let’s go,” He says. 

Again, Steve’s legs don’t move. 

“You should talk to him,” Robin says. “You should do something before–”

“Billy’s not going to fuck him,” Steve tells the shag carpet. He looks at Robin, and peers into her red-rimmed, pitying green eyes, because. “Right?”

She’s probably worried.

She’s probably tearing her hair down from its edgy updo in fear that their very own ray of Californian sunshine is going home with a stranger tonight. 

Robin’s lips disappear between her teeth, “I don’t know,” She says honestly. 

Robin cherry-picks her words. It’s such a contrast to the way Steve bulldozes his way through grand statements and sweeping apologies. It’s comforting. He hangs on her every expression to know he’s not crazy. He tracks the way she stares past those goddamn cellophane flowers until her eyes get big.

Robin glances over, cheeks red as speeding firetrucks even in the shitty light of this shitty fucking basement.

“What?” Steve demands, and he stares at the horizon to find, that. 

Billy and his Motley Crue knockoff have disappeared.

Steve sucks in a sharp, desperate breath. 

“Steve,” Robin says. 

He can’t feel his toes. He knew this would happen. He should’ve told Billy he loved him when he had the chance, and now.

Robin rubs his knee. 

“Maybe they just. Got swallowed by the wallpaper, or something.” And Steve sounds almost believable. He almost believes it himself, you know? Because how could his entire sex life have gone up in smoke in the last thirty-six hours? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. He was inside Billy Hargrove thirty-eight hours ago, and now--

The room might as well be empty.

“This is such bullshit,” Steve shakes his head. “He better wear a condom.”

Robin snorts, “You really think Billy’s gonna top?” Her fingers snake around Steve’s shoulder blades, rubbing at the knot of muscles in the side of his neck. “You can’t let it get to you, Harrington.”

Steve has to swallow the immediate desire to protect his shoddy, half-assed fortress of Cool Guy that has been falling apart, brick by brick, since the first time Billy sported hickeys on his neck in the shape of Steve’s mouth and told him that this meant nothing.

Steve wants to bury his face in his hands. 

He wants to pull his hair out by the root and scream and scream and never stop screaming until finally Billy admits that this is love.

That they’re in love with each other.

Whatever that looks like. Forgetting the condom, maybe.

Robin rocks their shoulders together. “Do you want another drink?”

Steve wants that, too. 

He hands his cup over, instead, “I’m going out for a smoke,” Steve mumbles, because even though Tommy’s parents have money and could replace it no-problem, he still pretends to respect the wallpaper he knows Mrs. Hagan chose special.

--

Billy only lets Eddie get his hands under his shirt because Steve’s watching. 

Only. Steve misses it, because he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. He’s too busy talking to Robin, and it’s fucked up that the cocktail of vodka and cheap dope has Billy jealous about that, too. 

Like it’s not enough that he's consumed by jealous hatred of Steve’s sweater for draping itself over him all day, but Billy’s gotta drag his favorite lesbian into this. 

Nothing is holy, anymore.

The angry, love-drunk, pissed-off part of himself whispers that Steve and Robin are going home with each other tonight, even though Billy knows that means hideous fleece pajamas and no grabby hands.

It doesn’t matter.

Eddie scrapes a nail over Billy’s nipple and Billy thinks he’s gotta get even. 

If Steve is going to sit on that fucking couch and uphold their agreement that this means nothing, Billy’s going to fuck this stranger.

Done deal.

So Steve looks away and Billy tugs Eddie’s hand to his waist to get his mind off the mole on Steve’s cheek. 

“Got a condom?” He slurs. He’s fucked up. Can’t even stand straight without the wall or this guy propping him up. 

Eddie detaches himself from Billy’s neck, and. “A condom?” He asks, not understanding.

Even in Tommy’s shitty basement, he’s got nice eyes. 

Big and brown and kind, like Steve’s, but. He’s not Steve. 

That could be good, right? Billy could work with that. “You don’t wanna fuck me?” He bitches. Hurt, maybe.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, I do it’s just,” He catches Billy when he stumbles and puts him back on the wall like Billy’s mom used to do with loose paintings when Neil pushed her into them. “Shit, darlin’, you’re drunk.”

It’s kind of hilarious. 

Billy snorts. Knows if Steve heard him he’d say Billy’s cute, and Billy wants to go home. Not to Cherry Lane, but to Steve. He wants to live there forever, and Max could come, too.

“I am drunk,” Billy admits. He leans forward, wetting his mouth and grinning when this poor country idiot can’t help but zero in on the shine. “I’m real easy when I’m sloshed.”

“I don’t know–”

“C’mon, Harrington says I open up nice when I’m blackout.”

Eddie blinks at him. Straightens his spine, all noble, so he can stare down his button-snout at Billy to demand, “He fucks you when you can’t stop him?”

Like he knows Steve.

Like he knows them like Billy’s his mom and he needs to be rescued.

It pisses him off. Gets his dick to lay flat, for once, and Billy’s fucking tired. “Oh, like you were about to?” Eddies cheeks flare. Billy waddles forward. Says, “I don’t even know you. Stop acting like you know shit about shit because you don’t.” Because. “I love him,” Billy adds, “I’m in love with him because he deserves it.”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “Oh yeah?”

“Maybe.”

“That him over there?” And Eddie jerks a thumb over his left shoulder. Steve’s watching them, cool as a fucking cucumber, and that does something to Billy. 

Makes him look at the situation from outside of it. 

Like, he just offered to fuck this guy, this random dude, and Steve doesn’t even care. And he’s not stupid. Likes to pretend he is, though, and that’s worse. He may be having a grand old time over there with Robs, lounging like a king on the same couch Tommy fucked Billy on last summer, but he knows.

He’s gotta know. 

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” He gasps. 

It’s not Eddie’s fault. 

He’s a nice guy. He’s been sweet all night, asking about music and movies and books and only touching when Billy begs him for it. 

Eddie’s baby browns get big. He says, “There’s nothing wrong with you, sugar, people act crazy when they’re in love.” He pushes the hair off Billy’s forehead, looking sweet and concerned, “Do you wanna go outside, maybe? Get some fresh air?”

Across the room, Steve isn’t even watching them, anymore. 

He’s lost interest.

Maybe he never had it in the first place. And it stings. 

Strangely, Billy doesn’t feel like drawing blood when Eddie leaks kindness. He offers his hand and Billy is too drunk to do anything other than take it.

--

Billy’s edges are sharp enough to cut. 

The truth, though, is that Steve likes it. Every drop of venom tastes like gin burning down his throat, hungry for more because it leads to Billy.

Truth is, Steve sees through it. He’s been close enough to that incendiary spirit on dark midnights to notice the fireflies that gather for warmth around the hearth of it all. And the reality that Billy would even let him get close enough for danger to  flash red against Steve’s skin in the first place--

Maybe that’s one of the things Steve likes most. Even if it hurts, sometimes, there will always be proof that Billy was there. And that for a moment, their edges had fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

Maybe it’s just the beer talking, but Steve can’t let him go.

So Steve busts out of Tommy’s shitty basement, ready to tear springy brown curls from the scalp of that handsome, flirting stranger, when he steps into a puddle of rainwater, instead.

His skin is on fire. The shock of cold puts things into perspective, Steve’s chest opening like a summer tulip to the enormity of the universe.

There’s a calm spring mist, settling like diamonds across his skin. The Earth smells forgotten. Like for years and years, someone took the fabric of the city and rolled it up and stored it away, and now it’s free again. Resting, moth eaten and threadbare, against the backdrop of Steve’s shitty fucking night. Steve’s awful realization, that. 

He loves Billy. Earth-shattering.

And Billy’s going to fuck someone else. Apocalyptic. 

And even if Billy doesn’t make brownie-locks wear a condom, Steve will sit by his bedroom window all night just in case Billy decides that it means nothing, too. Just like them.

“Goddammit,” Steve hops out of the puddle a minute too late.

There’s water in his sock, squishing like fresh mud between his toes. He imagines being home. Warm and showered with a full belly, dozing in front of the fireplace. In Steve’s daydream, he’s naked from the waist down while Billy pushes and pulls his leg hair and calls him colonizer shit spawn for having a marble hearth in his living room. 

It doesn’t sting. Nothing hurts because in Steve’s fantasy, they belong to each other. Every impossible summit has been scaled and they’ve sidestepped waterlogged potholes to get to the truth. Their relationship means something. Everything.

Steve’s heart shudders, reality eclipsing the moon until everything's so bright he catches on fire. 

He stalks to the side-fence, peering into the watery darkness for a shock of American-made blue.

Billy’s car is nowhere to be found. 

And historic, champagne-pink revelations aside, Steve fishes around for his pack of smokes and refuses to admit that he’s out here to kill the guy who wants to get Billy’s mouth on him.

Steve would lose, probably. He’s fucked up. This probably isn’t healthy.

He wonders if Billy would plan his funeral. If he’d cry for him and swear off guys forever and visit Steve’s grave every morning with a hard on. 

Steve hopes so.

He’s embarrassed, to the very root of him. He needs a light.

So Steve bites the butt of his cigarette and pads around the yard, trying to find someone with a matchbox. The Earth is beautiful. Mrs. Hagan is an excellent gardener. All around, bushels of lilacs and marigolds are set to bloom. He studies the fullness of each blossom, eyes tracking the deep green of their clinging branches. 

It’s not even April yet and they’re thriving. That’s just the expert of Mrs. Hagan. She’s a smart girl, she knows how to nurture difficult saplings through hardships and winter months with careful hands, and--

Relationships are kind of like that, people have said.

Someone said that, once. Right?

Steve almost drops his cigarette. He yanks a handful of marigolds from the soil. They come up with their roots still attached.

That's gotta mean something. Bad poetry that feels like the ‘acknowledgements,’ page in one of those books his mom is always reading. Chicken Soup for the Soul. He imagines what Billy would say about this revelation after he’s chewed on it for a while.

Steve pets over the bleeding roots of his bouquet. He's never had gentle fingers. He tries to, with Billy and with everything else, but it always lands a little crooked. 

If Billy knew how hard Steve was trying, he’d probably call him an asshole. Chew on his thumbnail and ask how it is that Steve can read minds, all of a sudden, if Billy didn’t teach him. Because Billy taught him everything he knows, apparently. How to skateboard, how to bake pies from scratch, and how to fuck. 

Which flowers are his favorite.

--

Billy’s nails are sharp enough to pierce the skin. 

He’s never tried to do it on purpose, but he always manages, somehow. 

It’s raining. And Eddie’s hand is soft and warm and his fingertips are calloused just enough that when Billy nearly falls on his ass trying to side-step the tasteful rocks in Tommy’s side-yard, Eddie’s got traction to steady him.

“Nails are fucking sharp,” Eddie says. But he’s smiling.

There’s no shit, in that grin. He’s not aiming to eat Billy’s heart and soul or anything else. Nothing at all like Steve. Billy doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Not like I need to worry about keeping ‘em short,” Billy grins back, sighing in relief when Tommy’s parents had the good sense to invest in picnic furniture, “I’m not a top. I was, until Harrington--”

“I think if you say his name one more time he’ll appear,” Eddie teases, “Like Beetlejuice.”

Billy flops onto a sun lounger. “Think I’m gonna be sick,”

Overhead the stars vibrate, undulating until it feels like God is trying to hack and slash his way through the dark night sky to get at Hawkins. 

“Do you want me to run and grab--” Eddie pauses, staring around the yard with exaggerated care, “Harring--”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Told ya,” Eddie grins, “Beetlejuice.” 

And maybe it’s just the vodka talking, but Billy’s stomach is stuffed with butterfly hearts when this dumb, sweet, beautiful boy smiles at him.

Eddie perches at the base of the lounger. His boots plant themselves on the ground, nice and respectful, so if someone were to see them they might think Eddie was aiming to rescue Billy from alcohol poisoning right before he calls him a slur and takes off, cackling into the night.

He won’t, though. Eddie’s a nice person and even if he wasn’t, Billy knows when a guy’s caught.

Kid’s been watching him all night. Even now, Eddie peers through a curtain of springy curls, baby browns flitting all over Billy’s face and catching on the things Steve likes best about him, probably. His cum-gutter lashes and dick sucking lips--

“You eyes are really blue,” Eddie squints and slides closer, all, “Like, creepy blue.”

It’s written all over his face. Hook and line, blind with hope for things Billy could only ever give to Steve. "Creepy?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, full of wonder.

“Well fuck off, then,” Billy snaps. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“You’re not a baby, and I’m just sitting, alright?” Eddie's silver-lined fingers rise to pat around his vest. Billy squares his jaw when he pulls away with an unsheathed cigarette. “I’m smoking,” Eddie tells him, “Just sittin’ down until I can get the cherry sparked.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“Probably.”

“It’s annoying,” Billy shakes his head, staring out at the trees that line the Hagan’s side-yard, a hop and a skip to the neighbor's place. “You’re a good guy. Why are you so good?”

“’M not good,” Eddie admits softly. “You’re just. You’re fucking gorgeous, alright? And if you don’t wanna go home with me, I gotta keep you safe until the Prince can get to you.”

Billy’s eyes snap, heated, to Eddie’s grinning face. “This isn’t a fairytale,” He says. Because it isn’t.

But Eddie looks so hopeful. 

His eyes melt like chocolate kisses. 

“No, but it could be,” Eddie scoots a little bit closer, hand falling to rest on Billy’s knee, fingers slipping along leather. “Can I ask you something, gorgeous?”

“I’m not gorgeous,” Billy snaps. When Eddie grins again, Billy’s face warms. Hot as the sun. “Spit it out, Munson.”

“Why are you in love with him?”

“I’m not in love--”

“Billy.”

He’s uncomfortable, like this. A bug under a microscope so he’s gotta show his stinger and scare kindness away.

But Eddie’s too dumb to notice.

A thousand words bubble and rise like champagne at the back of Billy’s throat, each one fizzing out before it can shuffle past his teeth. All of them will land like fists. Split skin and draw blood, so.

Billy shakes his head. Settles on, “He’s not what I expected.”

“Yeah, but why him? I could be different than what you expected. I mean--”  Eddie’s fingers dance along Billy’s thigh. Touching but not quite, at the same time. Making his skin dance. “I already am, right?”

Billy shivers. 

“Yeah,” He admits. It burns like alcohol on open wounds to say out loud.

But the thing is-- 

“Steve’s different than you. Than everyone. He’s sweeter and brighter than anyone I’ve ever met. Event though it took forever to get there. He’s got layers. He’s not what you’d expect, because. He’s got this big fucking house, right? And it’s full of shit. Name-brand poptarts and every vinyl you could imagine and all his blankets are soft enough that they’re probably lost clouds, or something. And even when I’m with him, like. Even after we fuck and Steve gets what he wants from me, he always asks if I’m hungry. And he doesn’t believe it when I say that I’m full. That I’ve gotta jet. He cooks really good pasta. He sings. He’s got a good voice, and he puts my name in the song, sometimes. He lets me eat in bed and he plays with my hair while I fall asleep, and. That’s the biggest thing for me, you know?”

Eddie’s fingers wrap, like warm summer vines, around his own.

“I don’t sleep good anywhere. I get cagey, ‘cause of my old man. I’m always on alert. There was a while, last summer, where I slept with my shoes on. ‘S why I’m such a bitch all the time, I’m fucking exhausted, but with Steve,” Billy’s shaking. He’s gonna vibrate out of his skin. “Steve is my home town. He’s home, on a Saturday morning. I’ve never felt safe with anyone else.”

Billy’s going to cry.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Eddie doesn’t notice. And if he does notice, Eddie refuses to care. His eyes are intent on Billy’s face when Billy admits--

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie tells him, “It’s alright.”

“Vodka turns me into a chatty bitch. I’ve never told anybody that, before,”

Eddie’s thumb strokes soft over Billy’s palm. “The stuff about Steve, or--”

“Any of it,” Billy looks up, caught in waves of warm, sweet brown. He sniffs, suddenly more nervous than he’s ever been in his entire life. “If you fuckin' yap to anybody about this, Munson--”

Eddie’s smile is like the setting sun. “Put your teeth away, baby, I’ll take it to my grave.”

Billy opens his mouth to say thank you. To admit that this night, for all the good and bad and embarrassing, has made everything feel easier. 

Eddie seems to hear it. To feel it in his bones.

He kisses the back of Billy’s hand, lips sliding warm and soft along Billy’s thumb, to the pad of each finger. 

Billy’s heart hammers, unsteadily in his chest, when those lips press lewd, against his palm.

“Eddie,” Billy mumbles, sounding frail even to his own ears. “Eddie, I--”

--

A bomb goes off. 

Steve thinks the sky might as well be full of mushroom clouds because war’s waged when brownie-locks takes all of Steve’s knuckles across the bridge of his nose.

Steve’s not left handed.

The punch, it’s. It’s awkward and more force than anything else, and it hurts like hell. Something’s probably broken.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses, same time Billy’s new boyfriend says, “Shit,” and Billy puts both of his calloused, strong, stocky, perfect fists on Steve’s chest to shove him back.

Steve goes easy, because he deserves it. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. 

But. He’s seeing red, and he’s gotta know. “Billy--”

Billy looks like he wants to kill him, and he could. Steve would let it happen. He thinks about sinking to his knees right here, dropping the marigolds, begging to get his speech out before the light goes out in the sky forever.

Steve’s still got the unlit cigarette in his mouth. A bouquet in his hands. He takes it out. Drops the flowers. Steps closer and says, “Billy, did he kiss you?”

Because he has to know.

Billy stares at the marigold petals in fear. They're coiled snakes. They're the end of the world. “You’re drunk,” Billy says, same time his new boyfriend bolts upright and fucking cackles. 

“Harrington, huh?” Brownie-locks spits on the ground. It’s red. Steve tries not to feel proud. “Really are Beetlejuice, man.”

Steve ignores the boyfriend. He stares at Billy and tells the truth, “I am drunk. So are you.”

Billy doesn’t look at all like Steve imagined, now that his anger’s planted itself on brownie-lock’s face. 

Billy’s shaking. 

He’s got tears clinging to his lashes, and Steve knows everything’s his fault and he wants to die for that, but all the guilt in the world doesn’t stop him from turning on Billy’s new boyfriend and taking a step forward when brownie-locks says, “I wanted to fuck him until you came along.”

At least someone answers Steve’s question.

He feels a little bit like throwing up and a lot like going for round two. Turning this guy’s face to hamburger meat, but. 

Billy gets between them.

And he’s vibrating.

And no matter what they’re dealing with or how much they’re refusing to talk about, Steve never wants to be the reason Billy can’t hold still.

Regardless, Steve scoffs. “You’re seriously protecting this guy? From me?” 

He’s furious.

He’s so hurt and bleeding inside and angry--

“Go home, Steve,” Billy mutters. He’s not shaking anymore. He stands his ground, looking every bit like an avenging angel, and.

Steve loves him. He’s proud of him, but. “You don’t want me.” The words sound wrong. Garbled and stretched out.

The boyfriend stand ramrod straight all of a sudden, like, “Wait, that’s it?” And he looks so confused.

Hurt, even.

And that pisses Steve off, you know. Gets him feeling brave.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it,’” Steve paces forward, stopping only because Billy tacks a soft, warm hand to the center of his chest. “Are you really asking to get your dick knocked off, freak?”

Billy’s boyfriend laughs, “God, you’re so pretty and so, so fucking stupid.”

Steve knows. About the second part. So he rolls his neck and says, “Why are you still here?” Because--

Billy gets in front of him. He looks so beautiful, with moonlight painting his curls more bronze than gold. And his lashes are clumped together. “Why?” Steve asks again, because he has to know.

And suddenly it’s like everyone runs out of words.

They stare at him. Billy’s boyfriend rocks a little on each foot, eventually peering at the ground like there’s no place he’d rather be than nestled under it. "What's the with the flowers?" He asks.

The longer they ignore him, the more Steve’s set on digging the guy a hole in the ground. Burying him and leaving the marigolds there as a memory.

Steve’s losing his mind.

He’s going crazy, he--

“Why is this guy here with you, Billy?” Steve demands.

Billy stares at him, pretty pink mouth open. His palm is so warm on Steve’s chest, it’s like a sun spot. 

“Why do you want him here and not me?” Steve grabs that hand. Holds onto it, says, “Do you love him?” 

Billy bares his teeth. “Does it matter?”

“Billy,” Steve whispers. “Are you--of course. Of course it matters, you. You have to know, that--”

And he’s grateful to Billy’s boyfriend for not laughing at the way his voice, fucking. 

Cracks.

Bleeds.

Steve takes a deep breath. Tries again. “You’ve gotta know, right?”

And.

Apparently not.

Billy blinks at the stars, blue like the ocean set to spill. He takes his time. Gets his feet under him. Eventually, Billy bares his fangs and stares right through Steve’s skull. 

“Thought I meant nothing to you, Harrington,” Billy says.

And Steve dies.

He might as well not even exist. He might as well be a window. 

“Thought you just wanted me because I’m a warm place to slide into a night,” Billy rumbles, and. 

Steve. He’s never had teeth pulled when he could feel it. He’s never snapped a bone in half. He’s never seen God, either, but. 

He imagines it would all feel the same when he finally has the courage to say--

“I was just following your lead,” Steve’s so embarrassed. And ashamed. He can’t believe he made Billy feel like that, like a figment. 

It hurts worse than any pain he could conjure for himself, so.

"I. I mean, I picked marigolds for you, baby." Steve toes the edge of the cliff. “I love you," He tries, and. 

Falling feels a lot like flying, apparently.

Billy’s boyfriend disappears. Steve considers it a sign that even though Billy won’t look at him, he hasn’t pulled his hand away, yet.

[starfxkr]

this is real crazy of me to say but i think we’re close enough for me to admit it friend

… i wanna ride jj’s gun. i need to see his face as his kitty loses herself on his weapon of all things. THERE IVE SAID IT !!!!!!

- 🪐

AND UR REALLLLLLLL i cant remember if i wrote this read it or dreamt it but i def recall there being something similar on my blog where he rubs it against her clit but riding it? oh she’s doing that 100%

it’s when be first steals it and he’s so goddamn giddy about it, showing her how to load and unload it and how to clean it. and he jokingly presses the “empty” barrel under chin saying, “you better be lucky i love you kitten, theres some real bad motherfuckers out there who’d hurt you.”

and there’s that mean glint in his eye— the one that doesn’t rear its ugly head often but when it does you feel it. he probably runs the barrel over your lips when you stick your tongue out to give it a tiny lick and he just slides it between your lips back and forth like its his dick. when he pushes it down your throat amkes you gag, his eyes are drawn to the very obvious wet patch growing on your panties.

“i could do whatever i want with you right now you know that.” it wasn’t a question. his eyes flicking up from between your legs as he pulls the gun from your mouth with a thin string of saliva connecting it to your lips, “i could fuck you with this right now and you couldn’t do a thing. ‘cuz you’re my little girl arent you”’

frantically you nod, pretty much gasping with arousal, “i’d let you do anything.”

“yea you would,” he pinches your cheek with a wild smile, “‘cuz my girls a real freak.”

you can’t help but smile back, biting your lip when he lifts your dress and slides your panties to the side with the barrel.

“you trust me dont you?” he presses the cool metal against your hot sticky flesh.

“maybe.”

he pulls away to adjust himself, laying against the headboard and positioning the weapon at crotch level with a smirk, “come ride it then.”

you practically crawl towards him, once you’re close you dip your head down to lick the faint traces of your cunt off it. the way he moans you’d think his actual dick was in your mouth.

grabbing the back of your neck he lifts you off and drags you up until your wet pussy is hovering over it.

“go on now, wanna see my pretty girl ride it.”

it was almost embarrassing how easily he got you to sink down on it, a faint purr in the back of your throat when he rubbed his thumb beneath your ear.

the feeling was indescribable, the dry coolness of the gun was a stark contrast to how hot and wet you were. it was dizzying and he knew it, panting cruel praises into your ear as you sped up.

“i got you so well trained you’re riding a fuckin gun kitten you know how sick that is right?”

you shook your head, digging your nails in the side of his neck in irritation, “shut up…m’not sick i just-just wanna make you feel good.”

jj just smirks and pulls out your right tit from your dress, rubbing a thumb over your nipple, “yeah whatever makes you feel better, can tell you’re about to cum all over papa’s brand new glock though.”

you shake your head again, ashamed at how your dripping.

“dont shake your head at me missy i know you,” he leans in and trails his nose against your jaw, “i can see your clit throbbing from here.”

he’s right— god you hate that he’s right because your clenching hard around the metal with a choked mewl, clit pulsing and mind going blank with the strength of it.

when you finally come to his lips on pressing soft kisses against your pulse point, feeling that contented purr rumbling in the the back of your throat. you’re relaxed enough for him to gingerly pull the gun out of your now tender pussy and he gives you a finger so you have something warm to clench around.

still, he brings the drenched barrel to your face, mockingly, “i’d say you christened this little baby perfectly.”

[lookismaddict]

Lookism Chapter 429 Memes/Thoughts I Have:

(SPOILERS !!! I don’t own any of the Lookism panels and the translations. Only the memes that I made.)

THIS IS SO ADORABLE, LIKE LOOK AT JAMES BEING ALL PROUD OF DANIEL LIKE A BIG BROTHER. 😌💖

Every James Lee simp when they saw this panel:

Oh LAWD. IT’S THE SOUND OF THE POLICE! 🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔

NOOOOOOOO!!!JUST LET BIG DEAL GO!!!!! 😫

Bro, if you don’t get your polka dotted boxers out of my FACE…

JAKE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???

SOMEONE SMACK SOME SENSE INTO THIS MAN! I DON’T WANT HIM TO GET CAUGHT AGAIN!!

OMG JASON, TALK SOME SENSE INTO HIIMMMMM.

BRO, WHY DOES THIS CHAPTER GOT ME UGLY CRYING???

Daniel coming in with the CLUTCH. BUT NO PLS, BABY BOY, DON’T GET ARRESTED!! Your mom won’t be happy if you do… 😭

Daniel got Eugene sweating bruh. 😰

Or so you thought...

AYOOOOOOOO???? 👀

Oh boohoo bro, you won’t get what you want this time. 😑

AYOOOOOOOOOOO X2 ????

OMG YES, FINALLY. STEVE HONG GETS TO HELP DANIEL!!!! 

This is really nice but where’s your son at? We’ve all been missing him. Like PTJ, pls give us a peek at Jay Hong now. We’re basically all DYING to see what he looks like now. 

This bubblegum haired k-pop dude is so attractive. Not even gonna deny it. 

UUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! 😩😩😩😩 THIS PANEL, RIGHT HERE!!!!!!! GODDAMN BRUH, LOOK AT HIM FLEX AND THOSE MUSCLES. THIS MAN IS LITERALLY EYE CANDY FOR ALL OF US.  LIKE HOW CAN BE SO FINE LIKE THAT??? 

Baby, I’d risk it all just for you. Say less. I’d even go out on a journey to try and find out what’s Victoria’s Secret, if you want me to. I can be your little detective, and anything you want bruv. So pleeeeeaaaaassseee sir.🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

I’m still in love with this contrast. I was hoping that we would get to see them fight, but I guess PTJ will be saving that sweet scenario for another day. 😔

Wouldn’t you like to know, Eugene?

H U H...? 👁👄👁

OMGGGGG, BIG BOOBY MAN IS BACK!!!!! HE LOOKS SO HOT EVEN WHEN HE’S INJURED BADLYYYY. 

I’M SORRY SAMUEL ASDHFASJDFHASDFHDFJKAS. WE ALWAYS THINK ABOUT YOUR BOOBS FIRST BEFORE YOUR OWN WELL-BEING. (I stg, this is what the Lookism fandom think about first right when they see Samuel Seo.) 

OH SHIT, THE MOMENT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR...

WOOOOOOOO HERE WE GO. NEXT CHAPTER, LET’S HEAR ALL ABOUT THE JUICY DEETS JAMES LEE. WE GET TO FINALLY KNOW WHAT IS WITH THE TWO BODIES THING!! AHHHHHHHH I CAN’T WAIT. FINALLY!!!!!! 😱😱😱😱

[tjmystic]

FINALLY doing more writing on the things! I'm about halfway through writing a lot of smut, and then I'll be editing Steve's POV fic (cause it isn't quite at the level of Eddie's POV and needs some more connecting threads).

And here's the proof!

Eddie winks. “Don’t worry, Pretty Boy, I gotcha. Not gonna go too far.”

Fists clench the sheets next to Steve’s head, tight enough to pull the corner off the mattress. Eddie’s lungs constrict. Well, shit. Guess he’s not alone in getting worked up over this.

Preening a little, he pops the button of Steve’s jeans, works the zipper down slow. Just his fingers for now, not his teeth. That can come another time. He doesn’t wanna give his boyfriend a heart attack. And fuck, just the reminder that he might actually be able to, that Steve’s as into this as he is…

Focus, he tells himself. Not that it’s really all that difficult to bring himself back. The zipper sticks halfway down, impeded by a thick bulge in the fabric, and Eddie’s not ashamed in the least to admit that he’s drooling over it a little. Steve’s a big guy, everybody knows that. How can they not with the tight-ass jeans he insists on wearing? But he’s hard now—because of Eddie, shit, that’s still something else—and it makes a pretty sizeable difference. To think, Eddie was under the impression Steve was a show-er, not a grow-er. Looks like he’s fucking both.

With a swallow, he works the metal down the rest of the teeth, doing his level best not to graze anything with the side of his hand. It’s a tease for both of them, sure, and that’s part of the fun, but he also doesn’t wanna scare Steve off. So when he finally gets the thing all the way open, peeled back to reveal sensible blue briefs, he stops. Traces his eyes back over Steve’s scarred ribs, the dusting of hair over his pecs, the faded line around his throat, so he can look him in the face. He’s pink, panting, but at Eddie’s stare, he nods. No words necessary. Go ahead, he says without speaking.

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice.

Hands shaking, he loops his fingers around the top of Steve’s jeans, the briefs underneath, and starts to tug.

He’s hairy here, too. Clean, but unmistakable, darker and denser than the hair on his chest. Eddie bites on his tongue where it’s stuck between his teeth. He can see the base of him now, smooth as sin, a stark contrast to the thick curls. A quick shimmy, Steve arching his back to help him out, and he sees even more. But not all of it. Not all of him. He’s almost worked the jeans down over his hips, but there’s still more to go. Down to the tops of legs. Down to mid-thigh. Damn, it just keeps going…

Then, finally, there it is.

In his head, Eddie hears it boing like a spring, fat and flushed as it recoils from Steve’s pants and slaps against his belly. That part definitely makes a sound, a real one, goddamn obscene even as quiet as it is. Just the sound of skin on skin.

He gulps.

And, like always, he fucking ruins it.

“Wow. Guess Wheeler’s not the only one packing heat.”

Steve tosses his head back. It’s his classic eyeroll, the same one he gives the kids when they’re being particularly irritating. “Could we maybe not mention my ex while you’re looking at my dick?”

“Can’t help it, performance anxiety,” Eddie mutters, but shit, he wasn’t supposed to say it. Even if it is true. He’s never been the type of alpha-male macho moron to have dick measuring contests, but even he can admit it’s cause he’d usually win. Not against Steve, though. Shit. He almost wants to pull out a measuring tape.

[gremoria411]

Alright then. So we have another Witch from Mercury episode that hits like a goddamn truck.

Heavy spoilers follow for Witch from Mercury Episode 14 (and 13). Sorta a mix of feelings and predictions.

Not gonna lie, really loving the new season so far, basically because both episodes have been pretty jam-packed. Like, there’s a lot going on with expansion and character development to a lotta people. Standouts include Chuchu, Nika and Lady Prospera.

I did absolutely love how Lauda has this big dramatic speech and genuinely guns it for Suletta, but then gets absolutely stomped. I feel like things are probably gonna end badly for him, if only because Guel’s more interesting. Still, watching Pettra and Chuchu defend him was nice, everyone has someone that cares about them.

There was also a small bit of development for Elan…… five? (I really should’ve rewatched this prior, oh well). Like, he doesn’t step in to ruin Shaddiq’s plans, and he expresses fear when faced with dire odds. Like, I guess Elan Four was about necessity, whereas Elan Five is about cowardice? Its a neat contrast, or perhaps how Elan Four influences Elan Five?

I love how we’re finally getting some insight into Lady Prospera’s actions though. I mean, episode 14 confirms a lotta theories some people have been having, which is rad, but I’m honestly just here to see what the heck she’s up to. So, Quiet Zero, I’m guessing it’s some sort of shutdown weapon? GUND-ARM System suits are shown to be able to totally overpower any non-Gundam suit (“only a Gundam can defeat a Gundam” thanks, Elan Four), so presumably their only threat would be another GUND-ARM system suit, which quiet zero focuses on taking over/shutting down? Though having written that down, it sounds like something too small-scale for what Prospera’s talking about.

EDIT: I have remembered that the Gundam Schwarzette is a thing. Given that that mobile suit literally has a zero on its face design, it’s possible that it mounts the “Quiet Zero” system in question. It’s also possible that the quiet zero is somehow connected to the ms-style GUND-bits that the Lfrith’s were using.

It’s also entirely plausible that every word she says to Miorine is a lie. I don’t think she’s lying when she talks with Belmeria, that sounds like what she actually believes. But there she’s with an old friend who she holds a lot of power over. Miorine is different, so I’m less inclined to trust anything she says to her. It is interesting that while talking with Miorine, she steps out of the darkness and into the light, so it’s possible that these are her original, noble goals, that have slowly been twisted into things she’d go to terrible lengths over? Things to ponder.

Shaddiq’s been…. Interesting, to say the least. Since I just spent a whole two paragraphs talking about Prospera’s possible goals (and honestly, I might write more later), it’s good to see the show’s other resident Char Clone stepping up to the plate (The Elan’s have too much other baggage for me to weigh in on them, and we don’t really know what’s going on with Guel yet). Shaddiq’s essentially plotting a coup from under his own father, and is straight up financing terrorist operations. It’s unclear how this is going to end for him, since it’s being repeatedly proven that he isn’t quite as smart as he thinks he is, so I feel like he’s going to go down a couple pegs at some point. I honestly don’t have a clue on where he’s going from here, so I’m very much looking forward to it. Grassley defence systems seems to have a monopoly on non-aerial Gundam tech, so I’m betting that they’ve been supplying Dawn of Fold with the Lfrith’s and GUND-bits.

Alright, guess I can’t really avoid talking about it any more can I?

Sophie Pulone gets a really nice focus episode, then dies attempting to take down Suletta in the Aerial. I genuinely wasn’t expecting her to bite it so soon, and it’s only made me more interested in seeing what the whole deal is with her and Norea du Noc. It’s quite interesting because Sophie is essentially a Gender-swapped (and perhaps slightly more childish) Mikazuki Augus, from Gundam Iron-Blooded Orphans. She fights because that is her choice, for the things she wants in life, because that is what she is good at. I just find it really neat how she’s basically a takedown of the protagonist from the last show, showing what would happen were they actually overpowered. It also loops back to earlier, her death being the thing that breaks Norea’s emotionless composure and shows how these Gundam pilots view Suletta - as a terrifying monster.

It has greater implications too, since for all Sophie’s combat ability and credentials as a mobile suit pilot, she dies fairly quickly, as a pawn in someone else’s (in this case Shaddiq’s) plan. It sends the message that it isn’t the characters with raw power and deadly mobile suits that are dangerous, but the movers and shakers behind the scenes. Like Shaddiq. Like Prospera.

[gasha40k]

Recently I’ve been trying to focus on getting through my incomprehensibly massive amount of unpainted models, so here’s another quick little painting update.

Missile launcher bro thinks he’s part of the team meanwhile it’s a completely illegal model

Our first little squad of Berzerkers is coming into shape! I’ve got a bit more painting to do before this squad is done, but everyone’s got their trim, at the very least. Most of them also have red, which, when combined with the brass trim and the black primer, technically counts as battle-ready, since it is 3 different colors. Does this mean I can put them on the tabletop and play with them? Not without feeling ashamed of myself for never painting, no!

Brother Kardon the Eternal, veteran of the Long War, possibly over 10,000 years old. So old and presumably powerful that he could easily be a Chaos Lord if he wanted to, but is so dedicated to killing at all times that he can’t be fucked to actually lead anything

Wally is one of my better minis, I think. He’s a tame but distinct kitbash and a fun way to pay homage to the ugly ass past of the World Eaters. He’s also one of the better painted models that I own. This, I think, is for two reasons: I changed how I use washes, and I started thinning my paints more.

Firstly, I finally ditched the fucking Nuln Oil. The new formula is garbage and doesn’t look good on anything except for metal. Deeply disappointing! But being left with no go-to wash left me wanting, so I’ve made the switch to Agrax Earthshade. Agrax Earthshade is magic. With almost every one of my models, I’ve been finishing their base colors and then promptly slathering them in mildly thinned Agrax Earthshade. Once it dries and stains the mini, I take a small amount of the base color and fill in the broader surfaces, brightening them and cleaning up messier spots where the wash had dried. This makes the recesses a lot darker while maintaining the cleaner look on the armor panels, and that contrast generates a very serviceable illusion of depth without having to bother with highlights.

You can also experience a glow up like this, all you need is a cape, trust me

Color-wise, I tried to paint Kardon as close as close possible to the original Wally model. For example, his Mark of Khorne belt buckle (that’s cute) is brass and his belt is red, just like the old model. His backpack is mostly red, with the… wing-connector thingies being brass. And while it’s hard to see in the reference image, Wally’s right kneepad has a silver Mark of Khorne on it. Kardon noticeably lacks kneepads, having a MK6 torso and legs. To maintain that cool little splash of silver, I moved it onto the Khornate emblem that Kardon uses to pin his cloak to his shoulders. Most of that shit is meaningless, I just felt like talking about my decisions because I thought they were cool if I’m real.

The Raijin’s targets rarely foresee the Interceptor’s attacks as it stalks its prey from low orbit before diving from the highest heavens to strike. Once its locked in, it moves so swiftly that quarry aware enough to catch a glimpse of the plane see nothing more than a few red falling stars before they’re annihilated.

Anyways, enough about Kardon and his friends. Here’s an update on my Interceptor. This thing has taken so much goddamn paint and, frankly, doesn’t look super great, but once I’m done brightening and highlighting the panels, I think it’ll look great. I think the golden guns are really good and funny, because that’s so unnecessary, they’re fucking aircraft guns. It feels very 40k, like, of course they’d make their plane guns golden. I’m really satisfied with the Raijin, as well, and I wish aircraft were better so I could actually use it.

As a closing thought, I’d love to, one day, do a big ass 4000pts game with a full aircraft layer transpiring. Multiple gunships and Interceptors dogfighting, occasionally dipping from the chaos in the sky to raze the surface with earthshaking strafing runs. Would be cool.

[bbraefairy]

ONLY FOR YOU ( 𝙗𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙘 )

where rachel and garfield are neighbors

WARNINGS: 18+ characters, smut, profanity, toxic relationships, light angst !

𝐂𝐇 𝟏: 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑

✩.

“Oh, so you’re finally picking up my call.” a voice over the phone snarled.

“What could you possibly want me for, now, Ace?” Rachel receives her call.

Rachel is sitting on her bed. The shade of evening dismissed the brilliance of the day, and Rachel was preparing to go out. The summer dusk contrasted with her light skin and the outlines of her physique.

“Don’t give me attitude, you’re the one that missed two of my calls.”

“I was in the shower. You shouldn’t be talking, I barely hear from you for about three days if I am not the first one to text you.”

“The problem is you’re too goddamn insecure, and I don’t have the time to deal with that.” Ace responds sourly.

“How is me checking in on you being insecure? If anything, it’s you lacking communication.”

“I told you, I’m busy with work.”

“You’re always busy. Out of the twenty four hours of the day, you can’t take two seconds to say something? Not even a “hi”? A busy man you are. You’re not the only one with a personal life, I hope you realize that.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I’m gonna send you about four hundred dollars in a second. And, maybe we can meet up in about an hour?”

“Babe, I don’t care about the money, I want you. You’re always sending me money, or buying me things, but you’re what matters to me most.  It’s really nice that you do these things, but you’re what I want. What I need.”

“Damn, at least be grateful I’m giving you something.”

Rachel closes her eyes, lets out a deep sigh.

“Ace, I can’t do this with you right now. I have somewhere to be in about five minutes.” the girl states.

“Where are you going?”

“My neighbor’s. They’re inviting us over for dinner.”

“I see. You jus’ be doing your own fuckin’ thing.”

“I’m so tired of you!” Rachel shouted, a film of heat entering her cheeks. “You only want me around when it’s beneficial to you. I’m getting sick of all of the phases you are putting me through of wanting me whenever you feel like it. But when I make up my mind that I can’t put up with your crap anymore, and revolve my life around your half-assed plans, that’s a problem!? You can miss me with that shit, to be honest.” Rachel ends the call with a click of her finger.

She exhales again, walking over to her mirror which was lit from her night lamp. 

Rachel sports a grey, bodycon dress, under a black, leather jacket that stops right above her knees. She has on fishnet stockings, and black combat boots.

She tucks her short, violet hair behind her ear, right behind her bar piercing. She applies a few strokes of mascara to her lush eyelashes. Rachel finishes her natural makeup look, and hopes that will be a decent facade to hide the hell she’s living through.

Within a short while, Rachel and her parents arrived next door.

The house had a dark green door, one that was unique in the complex. The door opens, and a young man appears. 

His complexion is tanned, and his eyes were a tealish-green. His long, brown hair, which had dark green highlights, was coiled back into a man bun. A thick-jagged scar runs from the middle of his forehead, to the top of his left eyebrow. His muscles tone through the fabric of his graphic t-shirt, and to follow are dark jeans and a pair of Vans. Additionally, a few tattoos were etched on his arms.

His mouth is bent into a kind smile, “Good Evenin’, name’s Garfield. Garfield Logan. Nice to meet ya.” 

“Hello, I’m Mrs. Roth, but you can call me Arella. A pleasure to meet you.” Rachel’s purple-eyed, gentle mother shook Garfield’s hand.

“Mista Roth, I go by Tony.” the ravenette, hearty father addressed with a handshake.

“And I’m their daughter, Rachel.” her amethyst gaze scrapes against his teal. 

He feels tension as Rachel greets him, but doesn’t mind it much at first. Maybe she was just shy.

The Roth’s greet the other residents of the household, who are Marie, Garfield’s mother, and Graham, Garfield’s older brother.

Marie has blonde hair, warm, blue eyes, and was average height. Graham, was about six feet tall, with a close resemblance to his brother.

“Here, have a seat and make yourselves at home. Thank you for spending the evening with us.” Marie’s mouth angles into a charmed smile as she escorts the guests to the dining area.

The Logan’s interior was comfortable, yet elegant. Chandeliers, paintings on the walls, freshly mopped wooden floors, marble counters, delicately expensive furniture.

On the dining area table were portions of appetizers, the main courses, desserts, and drinks.

“No, thank you,” Arella grins, sitting down. “Thank you for having us.”

“A pleasure.” Marie responds.

Everyone starts to put food on their desired plate, eat, and a discussion begins.

“So, how do you guys like Jump City so far? I know it’s only been a couple of days, but hopefully you all have found something nice about it.” Mrs. Logan laughs lightly.

“Over here is a lot better than the last town we lived in. Big space for a small sales price.” Mr. Roth asserts.

“That’s how we like it.” Mrs. Roth chimed in. “The last place we had, we had hostile landlords, always had to hustle for parking, the houses were so packed on top of each other. Plus, the neighborhood wasn’t all that friendly, so it was a tough place to like. But, this, we’ve liked a lot more so far. We’re gonna love it here.”

Marie states, “I am so sorry to hear about that experience you all had. I really hope you do enjoy your new home and what the town has to offer. If you need any help with anything, like finding stores and things like that, we are more than glad to help.”

“What she said.” Graham lazily joins.

Rachel and Garfield happened to be sitting next to each other. Rachel was left handed, and Garfield was right handed. He accidentally nudged his hand against hers while gathering a forkful.  

“I’m sorry.” he whispered shyly. 

“It’s fine.” came Rachel’s bothered reply.

He sighed.

“Do you mind passing me the lemonade?” Rachel asked.

“Sure thing,” he stretches to the jar, hands it over to Rachel.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” he pauses before continuing, “I’m not a big fan of lemonade, so knock yourself out. Even if I was, it’s only etiquette for you to have as much as you want.”

“How come you don’t like lemonade? It’s sweet and refreshing, and perfect for the summer.”

“I don’t really like juices with pulp in them. Lemonade, orange juice. Well, if I drink orange juice, it’ll be pulp free.” he declares.

“Fair enough.” 

“Mhm. So, what’s got you all the way on this side of town?”

“We needed bigger, and better. Plus, my dad got a new job, and this area was suitable for the distance.”

“Gotchya,” Garfield’s tone was friendly.

“Hope you have a blast. Don’t be like me and get tired of everyone on the block. I mean, I’ve been here for years, so it’s only fair, right?” 

The corner of Rachel’s mouth arches up, “Give or take.”

“Got any plans for the summer?” he questions, gulping down some iced fruit punch.

“Settling in. I applied for a job, which I am starting next week. Hopefully I can find a library to hang out in on occasion. Nothing much besides that. How about you?”

Slowly but surely, Rachel was becoming less tense.

“Ah, I’m chillin’. Just knocked out another year of college, fixin’ up cars and motorcycles per usual.”

“Oh, so you’re a mechanic?”

“Not quite. I just kinda have it as a hobby, but I’m hopin’ to turn it into a career.”

“That’s valid.”

After several more minutes, the families finish their meal. They all engaged in a hearty conversation with one another while having a scrumptious meal. 

The Roth’s get ready to leave, having a fond sensation for their new neighbors.

“It was a pleasure having you all, and you are always welcome to come back if you’d like.” Marie opened the green front door for the Roth’s.

“Please, Marie, thank you for dinner, the advice, and the hospitality. Your sons are sweethearts, too.” Mrs. Roth says.

“That apple crumb pie was delicious, you have a strong baker’s hand, Marie.” Tony states with a bellowed chuckle.

“Oh, it’s no biggie.”

“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Logan, Graham, and Garfield.” Rachel waves.

“No prob, Rachel. It was nice havin’ ya over, you’re good company.” Garfield’s face softens, and he smiles faintly at the girl.

Rachel tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her shy eyes trace away from his.

“You, too. Have a good night.” Rachel begins to walk away.

“Wait, Rachel.” Garfield calls to her.

“Mom, Dad, I’ll be behind you in a second.” Rachel says to her parents, who are already next door.

The other Logan’s retreated back into the house.

It was just Garfield and Rachel at the door.

Garfield pulls out his phone, then glances at Rachel.

“Can I have your number?”

Rachel is thrown completely off guard by the question, and tries to hide her hesitation.

“Just to keep in touch, is all. I promise I’m not a freak or anything.” Garfield gently reassures.

The compassionate twinkle in his smile suggests to Rachel, that maybe, she should take his word for it. He didn’t seem to mean any harm.

Rachel takes out her phone, and they begin to exchange.

In mid-transfer, Rachel’s phone rings in Garfield’s hand.

“I’m sorry, hold on.” Rachel takes the phone in her hand, answers the call.

“Ace?” her disposition changes, she melts into a vulnerable, almost terrified state.

“It’s been an hour, and I’m ready to go out.” Ace abrasively snarls.

“I told you that I can’t tonight, my neighbor’s invited me out to dinner.”

“I don’t care. I want you, and I want you now, you understand?! Tell me your address so I can pick you up.”

Rachel shakes her head, highly irritated, and ends the call again.

“I’ve gotta go.”

She gives Garfield his phone back, and when she leaves with hers, she only has half of his number.

✩.

hi, bbrae babes ! i hope you liked this read 💌 thank you for reading. i will post more chapters soon.

this story is also available on ao3 & ff.net !!

[docholligay]

Flowers: Printemps

I made it! The review of Flowers: Printemps is done before the Winter stream tonight. @iscahwynn usually I ask the patron before I write the review if there’s anything they’d like me to answer, but I was in a crunch, a bit, so if there is anything you’d like me to answer, just let me know and I’d be happy to! 2300 words.

Firstly, I made a mistake. Before I go into this, I want to say: A) The mistake was mine. B) If I had to fuck up in this way, I am so very glad that I did it for someone who has always been a really wonderful and understanding patron. C) Thank god it was for a series that I would go on record as saying I broadly enjoy. 

That being said, I am never taking a visual novel commission again. I charged for it like a book review, and it probably took me three or four times as long to complete. I don’t know what IDIOT thought I had in my head that I could completel a visual novel as quickly as an actual novel, and that the only thing slowing me up was the streaming, but I was out of my goddamn mind. So! Iscah has gotten the only visual novel commission that will ever exist, because what I’d have to charge for it even at the lowball per hour I do book reviews, it would be too high. 

OKAY NOW TO THE ACTUAL GAME.

Trying to figure out how I feel about this game, contrasted with the other two. Autumn is most definitely my favorite. Yuzuriha made me absolutely insane, but in a way that by the end of the game, was affectionate in nature, really. I think I actually would have liked her more from the get-go if I had played the two games before it first, because I would have been more used to her bullshit. Or maybe not! Autumn gave me a chance to get at the core of Yuzuriha’s weird stuff, so by the time I was playing Spring, places where I very much would be annoyed with her (And sometimes still am: I swear to god if she asks if it’s that time of the month again I’m gonna blow) I rolled my eyes and simply said, “Oh my god, you ain’t shit Yuzu” and moved on with my day. Like, I know she’s a fucking loser so it didn’t bug me. 

ANYWAY, Autumn was definitely the best of the two as far as storyline, school uniforms, and everything else. But I can’t decide if I like this or Summer better.

 I like Erika a LOT more as a character. She is still my ultimate fave, and she and Chidori are my ultimate couple. But the way they treat Erika’s disability in Summer hugely rankles me, and it’s just a level of infantilization that is largely absent in Spring and Autumn. I’m not going to waste 86% of this review of Spring litigating the problems I had with Summer’s engagement with a disabled character, so suffice to say it was deeply annoying. 

Spring’s pacing is horrendous. I mean, in a way that I found not fun. This took me forever to play not only because playing a visual novel takes much much more time than reading a book, but also because sometimes halfway through a session I would find myself bored and distracted, which, I mean I know I’m an ADHD shit, but isn’t an issue I had much with the other two games, and I don’t think that was just because of the streaming. I’ve been bored with things I was actively streaming before. I think it just maanges to constantly feel like you are spending forty years in the desert. Which is a bummer, because the moments that land are so very good. 

Anyway, let’s talk about some of the moments and characters and we’ll see if I can reach a conclusion. 

I think part of the trouble here is that I don’t emotionally connect with Suoh. I find a lot of her “thing” extremely, I guess, self-centered. She is so convinced that people are thinking about her and looking at her, and so every moment of her life she has to be thinkling about how she can’t have friends because she’s just SO awkward, and I know I should feel bad for her, I know that is the intention of the narrative, but when she’s fucking SURROUNDED by people who are being nothing but kind nad warm to her and constantly being told how gorgeous she is, it all comes off a bit pathetic. That being said! Characters like Suoh are most definitely NOT my thing, and I get that and I own that. It’s the ‘sad nerd’ thing, which is not a character archetype I connect with at all. 

This is going to sound strange but I really love the love triangle here. I gotta be me: I ort of wish Mayuri would have stayed liking Rikka and having to let down Suoh. But I know where I am! Buy the ticket, take the ride, and I wasn’t disappointed the way I was with say, Autumn, because at no point did the game REALLY let me think that they weren’t going to get together if I grew my flower right. But I enjoyed that, at least for a pretty large series of moments, we had Mayuri in love with Rikka instead of both fighting over Suoh. I thought that was great. 

I actually thought the Bloody Mary stuff was really fun and creepy! It’s been my favorite handling of any of the Seven Mysteries thus far. I felt the tension was really good, and unlike Rikka, I really enjoy a good ghost story. 

I also really enjoyed, and they do this a couple times but I’m thinking of the time with Mayuri in the baths in particular, the way they switched between times. So it would be a few hours or a day agao, and now. I wish they had done more of that in later games, though I can see how some people might have found it clunky. On that moment, as a small aside, boy was I about to murder the Sasakis for getting in the way of the big lesbian confession.

The Sasakis! It’s funny because I told Iscah this game made me like Ringo and Ichigo more than any other game had managed. I never disliked them, but they weren’t endeared to me the way they are now, and iscah told me a lot of people really disliked the Sasakis in this game, because, well, they’re little shits. They play a prank on Souh that’s a little mean-spirited, admittedly. They fucking fake a disappearance. They unintentiuonally out Mayuri. I would die for them. I can see where people are coming from, but they aren’t actively mean people, they’re just little goblins who think of something funny and then have no further thoughts beyond that. I DON’T wish I had played this before Fall, because I doubt I would have had as much faith in the series as I did, but I feel like the who Yuzu dating situation might have landed with me a bit better if I had known them so well and had the capacity to feel bad for them that I do now. 

On Mayuri, boy don’t the writers think they’re being cute here! I figured out that her secret was the she was a lesbian really early in the game, for two reasonms. Number one, I’ve consumed a gay media. But number two, oh my god they are so obvious about it, up to and including--and this is the one I am openly and without apology making fun of-- having the Sasakis call her “Yuri” for short. 

So That I expected and loved, but I would be lying if I didn’t say I was a little taken aback by the fact that the secret isn’t that she’s a lesbian, or rather, not jsut that, but that she fell in love with her nanny, a woman that she herself says was like a mother to her. I know that not everyone has the deep level of squick I do for anything that isn’t QUITE incest, but has a familial level of closeness tied into  it. I know that I think that’s fine. But for me, it was extremely, “can we not?” I mean, unless I’m deeply mistaken about the state of Japan, I think there’s still enough embarrassment about being a lesbian that Mayuri could feel strange about it. Or she could just be a weirdo! Or she could have been rejected before! There are so many options here that don’t necessarily have to be falling in love with a parental figure. 

I LOVE LOVE Rikka forcing Suoh to be in a relationship with her. 800 points to Rikka Hanbishi for being so much more interesting than I have ever found her in any Floweers property thus far! And they did it by making her terrible! She is deeply besotted with Suoh, and at first early in the game that’s very cute and for awhile I just feel really bad for her because if you ask human beings named Doc who are me, Mayuri acts a little bit like an ass in the beginning

One thing this whole series of games does, and I think it does it really well, is have a light touch with people’s backstories. I DESPERATELY want to know more about Rikka being adopted and feeling like she will never ever measure up to the family she’s been adopted into. I want to hear so much more about that, and we fucking DON’T, and that’s so normal and real and natural, and I think it is such an amazing touch from a genre, not just visual novels, but yuri manga and anime are abd about this too, that tend to dump backstory on you. I am in love with and obsessed with their choices here. Same with how we never hear much about Erika’s family and we never find out why she can’t walk. She just can’t, and that’s that. Same with so much of Nerine’s backstory. I love it! 

I do find it weird when Suoh is worried that other people won’t acept her for *reads notes* being emotionally abused by her stepmother? Mayuri I get. Mayuri’s thing is very fucking weird and I could see how people would be a little “eeeehhh” about it, but Suoh doesn’t have that. Under what banner could she possibly be rejected? 

ADORE that she fails at the recital, that there’s this whole buildup about the soloist and accompanist having this deep bond, and you know it’s gonna be Mayuri and you’re expecting this beautiful clear, moment, and she fails! Suoh fails! She can’t get through the song! I was not expecting that at all, and I was so excited about it. What an amazing choice, to have the heroine fail. 

I expected so so much more of Mayuri’s disappearance, and I am genuinely a little disappointed. So much is made of it in the latter two games, especially Summer, and so I was expecting a lot of emotional turmoil, and heaviness, and whispers, and drama. But, bitch is gone for like four minutes, including the credit roll. I’m with Chidori here, “What? It’s not like she died.” and so I think it actually made me scoff a bit more at so much being made of it in Summer, because I don’t think they ever really let the emotional resonance of the situatiuon sit with me in Spring. So, I’m glad I have the backstory for Winter. I am now totally set up to get what’s going on through Winter. But I don’t feel any more connection to Mayuri’s disappearance. 

Hopes for Winter:

More Erika! I can never have too much Erika. I hope they treat her well, also. 

This is me beginning for disappointment, I fear but I actually would like to see Rikka and Suoh get together. I know I shouldn’t, I know I should want Rikka’s overeagerness to not be rewarded, but sometimes I’m a soft touch and can’t help myself. 

I don’t know if we’re supposed to get anything resolved with the Seven Mysteries, but I assume we’re going ton find out something about Mayuri’s disappearance? So maybe, anyway, i’d love to see more stuff that’s not just Sister Dahlia fuckin around or whatever. 

In this game, Suoh has a line that I specifically wrote down, that she had many experiences this year at the academy “more bad than good” and I’m curious to see how that comes out. What? Mayuri disappeared? People have been really good to you here, Suoh, please explain. 

BULLET POINT THOUGHTS FROM MY NOTES

The ballet fanservice seems very feminine. It is light, and sexy but in a very casual and airy way

If in fact the Japanese translation of, I guess, the ENTIRE chronicles of Narnia she's reading have changed lines to be more palatable, I think that sucks

"Foreign literature can have hidden ideas implied in the text" suoh I hate to inform you this is just called literature

This flower shit is INSANE when we could just...see that one of v these books is Erika's 

Both neris father and grandfather were priests I'm DYING, and sister dhalia’s father too? Holy fuck no one in this game understands how priesthood works, fuck me ahahah

Oh my God is ichigo talking about a dogs purpose? That book was annoyingly mawkish

Just how mentally weak are you? Fuck I love erika. If you don't want to do it you can just refuse YES. In general,  as an American rural jew, I have no patience for the 87 levels of politeness of Japanese,  but the way erika weaponizes them and the way the narrative KNOWS SHE IS DOING IT gives me such fondness

Encounters on spring tying together in summer ripening in fall melting together in winter hmmmm

[paperbackribs]

He is the flower and she is his sun

Ashley sucks in a breath, her eyes bouncing between her boyfriend and his partner. Is he kidding right now? Can he feel the almost visible cartoon hearts in his eyes as he leans back into her space? She knows cops are a close-knit group; she knows from every story, every barbeque, every interaction she had seen growing up as a cop’s kid. But this is more than the bond of working closely together; this is a spark that could light a forest fire, and it’s not directed towards his actual girlfriend.

She had patiently waited over the phone while Tim set Lucy up with the man sitting next to her. She asks herself what Tim had been thinking since anytime Chris tries to interject in this painful parody of a double date Tim noticeably closes off. Not towards Lucy or even towards Ashley, but in a way that demonstrates how little he thinks of the man. Tim clearly thinks highly of Lucy, and she can’t help but mull over why he would match her with someone he considers such a dud.

Lucy leans in to take his mushroom pancake and, fair, they’ve likely shared dozens of meals at this point. But she watches his gratitude and contrasts it against how he had mocked the waiter. How he had turned up with a generally bad attitude against this dinner that she had looked so much forward to sharing with him. And it is in that moment, that bubble of awareness, that she feels the cold wash of the truth sweep over her. Tim will never feel for her as he does the woman seated next to him. The woman who is always by his side. The woman who he turns to like he is the flower and she is his sun.

It's later. Tim’s posture and face are soft and relaxed under her porchlight, leaning towards her as if to kiss her goodnight. She feels a brief moment of exasperated fondness for this dense man. This otherwise good man who is not hers. Her annoyance and frustration is banked at the moment; smothered under the calm of knowing what needs to happen next. She’ll allow herself to dwell in some unhappy and possibly bitter thoughts tomorrow. In this moment, she doesn’t have the energy.

Right now, she puts her hand to his chest. He is warm under her palm, his heart steady but unexcited at her touch. “No, Tim.”

He visibly recoils; unsure, where he had thought he had been welcome.

Ashley sighs, he really doesn’t see it and somehow this task has fallen on her. “This isn’t working. I think we should stop now.”

His face crinkles in confusion then abruptly clears. “I’m sorry, Ash. My entire attitude about trying to do something new with you… I’m just – I’m sorry, that wasn’t right of me.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, “yeah, you were acting like you were doing me a favour and then you spent the whole night talking with Lucy. It didn’t feel good.”

“I know, you’re right.” He shrugs lightly, “it’s just, the thing is, every job I’ve had has been wall-to-wall unpredictability, being ready for anything –“

“No,” she cuts him off. Of course, he missed the takeaway. The very centre of what she is trying to say. Have they been talking around each other the entire time they’ve been dating? Did it take the oddity of tonight for her to finally realise it?

“You spent the whole night talking with your partner. With Lucy.”

He swipes away her observation, “she is not my partner, okay. I’m her sergeant.”

She very calmly, so very calmy, exhales.

“That’s not the point. Tim, tonight if you had asked anyone looking in on our date they would have said you and Lucy were the ones dating. Chris and I,” her laughter sounds empty even to herself. “We were set-decorations for the Lucy and Tim show. It sucked that you weren’t into tonight. Like, really sucked – I was so excited to share this evening with you. I was happy at the thought to getting to know you a bit better by becoming friends with your friends.”

Tim takes a wide step back, hands firmly balled into the front of his jeans.

“But you are not friendly with Lucy, Tim.” Her voice rises and she hates that her eyes are becoming glassy. “You are a goddamn married couple and somehow I am the other woman.”

Tim is frozen, mouth agape and if she wasn’t burning so badly in humiliation, she would find it sort of cute. She stares him down.

He seems to gather his thoughts, clearing his throat and reaching for her before he seems to think better of it.

“I’m sorry, Ashley.” His voice is quiet. “I never meant to make you feel that way.”

“Yeah, well.” She wraps her arms around her ribs. She thought she had this under control, but her mouth just won’t stop “I did. I do. And I don’t want to keep feeling this way. I don’t want to wake up in six months and find out that you and Lucy finally figured each other out. I don’t want you calling me to say, hey, I’m sorry, but I’m in love with my partner and we’re breaking up.” She closes her eyes, gathers her thoughts. “I deserve better than being your placeholder, Tim Bradford.”

His eyes are heavy on her and he nods. Almost decisively. “You’re right. I’m sorry and I’ll drop your things from my place at Jerry’s later this week.”

No matter her conviction that this is the right move, it stings that he doesn’t try to convince her otherwise. That his shock has suspiciously transformed into his own sort of conviction. Ashley knows that Tim is a man of actions over words. And, as she locks the door behind her, she can’t help wondering what Tim’s next action will be.

[soul-dwelling]

Do you think any readings of black blood as some metaphor for STD's could have been intended by Ohkubo or it's just all in the heads of fans that want to make childrens media "dark and mature" and or edgy trolls that just want to be abrasive for the sake of it

Oh, I’m going to go off the rails towards the end of this post. 

Let’s start with the actual answer to your question before my rant kicks in. 

I can’t remember encountering this reading, or having made that interpretation (although it wouldn’t surprise me, after 10 years with this fan blog, with thousands of reblogs and original posts, that there isn’t a post where I or someone else didn’t bring it up). 

I think what mitigates that reading for me is that the Black Blood, while passing along the same condition from Crona to Soul, is presented as passing along a more mental condition of “madness” (admittedly, Ohkubo’s portrayal of madness in his fiction is not directly aligned with how it works in our world--seeing as he is writing magical fiction, not something strictly realistic). 

So, I’m too distracted by “shared mental condition due to an ‘infection’” before I think, “Um, is this tapping into something problematic where Ohkubo is not portraying STIs well?”

I can’t figure out an author’s intention (even though enough of my replies today are trying to do that). But what I see from Ohkubo, I don’t see enough other context clues to make me think he intended for the Black Blood to be read as a metaphor about STIs. Given how the manga wraps up with the entire world under a form of madness, I don’t see how that speaks to anything about STIs. 

And now, the rants--and neither one is in response to your question, they are just tangential and on my mind given *waves hands at how fucked up everything is right now in this real world we’re stuck in*. 

(And before anyone says, “Ohkubo’s Chapter 113 predicted COVID,” no, he fucking didn’t. If anything, at best, I could say, between how Soul Eater ends with everyone just tolerating the Madness of Boobs, and how Fire Force ends with Shinra forcing onto everyone else a lack of concern about dying, this is more like Ohkubo darkly anticipating, by logic or cynicism, how humans would create to something: they would just accept the problem and, rather than avoid it or try to fix it, just normalize it, because they are too lazy and heartless to give a shit about the problems they are putting onto other people and would rather go without a vaccine or a mask or social distancing--and yes, I am ranting now, because goddamn it, this shit has gone on for years and has compromised the health and livelihood of so many people who can’t afford the financial, mental, emotional, and physical costs.)

I don’t think it’s only that fans want to make it dark or mature or want to be edgy trolls--that’s all part of it. But some fans just want dark humor to let the tension out, to work through their fears or traumas. I would not tell someone dealing with an STI that they can’t crack this kind of a dark joke--they’re dealing with this problem, I’m not, let them speak about their own experience, even if I don’t agree with the interpretation or find the experience to be in such contrast with the tone of the original work. Same if someone did indeed want to read this as similar to COVID (even as my rant above, more so in anger at the “___ predicted ___” memes that just piss me off, shows I’m not a fan of that reading, either). 

And I would quibble over whether we can put Soul Eater into children’s media--but that’s a discussion about how much of the series can definitely be handled by children, how norms and demographics differ between Japanese audiences and audiences in other settings, how there are children who can handle something thought not to be for their age group and some children can’t, so the entire demarcation of something as “children’s media” and something as “adult’s media” has more to do with reception and engagement that varies person to person rather than a necessarily blanket category. 

(...Almost like why book bans going on in my fucking country are fucking tiresome: you can leave a book in a library, you can guide a kid to check out that book or not to check out that book, but removing the book from the shelves is the fucking wrong move because now a kid who can handle that book or even adults who also are at that library now can’t get it. It’s also why it's foolish to ban books that are LGBTQA+, or perceived or promoted as such--first of all for the reasons I said above about leaving books there to find their audience, but also because you’re acting as if “LGBTQA+” is synonymous with “adult” when no it fucking is not and when you’re acting like a child can’t be LGBTQA+ when we have seen repeatedly yes they fucking can.)

[hanji-is-life]

Bakugou who aggressively flirts with the black interviewer throughout the entire ordeal and doesn’t let up on her because he likes seeing her stutter and get all flustered. You’re trying to ask him about his hero stats, but all he can do is counteract the questions with shit directed toward you instead.

“Dynamight, I’m here to ask and learn more about you! This isn’t about me! Nobody wants to know anything about me.” You say through a laugh, but Bakugou frowns at the words before he leans forward with a grin.

“Fuck everybody else. I wanna know everything about you, sweetheart.” The words fluster you to your core. Every question is shaky after that, your hands fumbling and sweaty from how he’s been eyeing you, biting his lip whenever you roll your eyes at another one of his attempts to flirt.

His PR manager keeps pausing the interview to get him back on track, but he’s trying to get on your track instead. After more hounding, he starts answering the questions instead of blatantly flirting, but he’s eye fucking the hell out of you. The black boots that come up to your knee, the skirt and fishnets that frame your thighs and hips, the view of your exposed cleavage, even your pretty ass face and soft looking lips.

He wants to both kiss them and stick his dick in between them.

“‘Like your boots.” He blurts out, cutting you off mid sentence. You stammer for a second, tripping over your words as you try not to combust in your seat.

“Your fishnets, too.” This time it’s said with a lecherous grin as he leans back in his chair and spreads his legs. The cameraman quickly panels to your face, mainly to avoid the obvious bulge that’s now swelling in Bakugou’s ripped black jeans.

Your mouth is gaping open, in shock that this fucker was so damn bold and had absolutely no shame! Bakugou just imagined you getting his pubes sticky from that soft clear lipgloss and brown lipliner on your lips.

“Behave.” You say through a smile, eyes cast low as you try your best to school your expression. You can’t afford to get fired for flirting on the job, but he’s making it so goddamn hard. Bakugou likes the way you try to calm yourself, how chills slither up your exposed chest and arms from being so damn flustered by him. He can’t help himself.

When the interview is over, he’s looking at you to give his thanks and goodbyes instead of the camera, even shooting you a wink that the camera catches. He doesn’t let you get far when it’s finished though, ignoring the people telling him it’s time for another interview at another station, instead opting to convince you into letting him inside of your own dressing room.

He hikes your skirt up in no time, bending you over the vanity, leaves on the heels he wants you to step on him with, rips a hole in your fishnets and pushes your panties to the side. He wastes no time in shoving his face into your cunt, huffing against the pretty brown lips that are already wet with your slick. He licks you clean in seconds, sloppily opens you up with two fingers, before he’s pushing himself inside of you. He doesn’t care about the rattling noises from the falling makeup and jewelry, just pounds into you harder, glances from where your skin contrasts with his own, up to your panting face in the mirror.

It’s a sight he’ll never forget. Especially not the face you make when you cum all over his cock and squeakily ask him to fill you up so you can still feel his cum dribbling out of you during your next interview with Deku. And of course, he happily supplies your demands.

ps: the interview goes viral and everyone loses their shit bc Dynamight was so obviously into you. now you’re being harassed into answering whether or not you guys fucked afterwards. your reply is always a stuttered, “no comment.”