#so its clearly not a problem of privacy or anything..

[felgueirosa]

i want to go on a month long research trip to asturias (and northern león!) where i can go to all the different archive offices (provincial, municipal, etc) and also maybe go to a few brañas and while i'm there commission a custom traxe vaqueira, particularly a dengue and saya

when i lived in spain i went up to asturias every weekend for my research paper (which got canned bc of covid) and went to some brañas but completely missed out on the archives bc it was the weekends and they were closed and sometimes it takes them a day to go in the deeper archive reserves to get a docuement you want which i didnt really have since i was there for a few days at a time

i would love to hit up some brañas that are really important for my current paper, though i couldnt do a ton, my body can't take the hiking as much anymore :(

but the archives were such an unexplored trove of knowledge about vaqueiros. there are completely unique documents with so much information in local archives. if you walk in theyll let you look at pretty much anything, but the online search sucks so bad its pretty much not functional. ive tried to email different archives so many times and they give me such shitty responses.

i realized last night i honestly dont have a ton of things stopping me from just going to asturias for a month. i live with my parents, i dont have to pay for housing or food, so ive saved all my money for years. ive worked my shit job for so long. its the only thing stopping me. but we have no paid time off and they need me so badly that i could just leave for a month since i pretty much have unlimited unpaid vacation and then come back and they wouldnt fire me and if they did i wouldnt give a shit. explaining to my parents would be harder, i rarely talk to them about the research and vaqueiro stuff i do and never talk to my dad about it. they wouldnt understand it at all. but also i'm a fucking adult and i can do what i want. so i can just go to asturias for a month.

i want information so i can understand my people. there is such a wealth of information on vaqueiros in those archives that no one has really looked at or seen the value of and its just sitting there. and i want to continue working on my undergrad thesis to make it something publishable and something with brand new research instead of reinterpretations of news articles, books, and other peoples research

[myosotisa]

Hiding Lately - s.h. & e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

‖  summary: You've been hurting and hiding. Steve and Eddie come over to check on you and offer to help.

‖  tags: hurt/comfort. depictions of depression, a depressive episode, and anxiety. suicidal ideations. she/her pronouns, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, angel, and doll. could be read as platonic or romantic.

‖  word count: 2.1k

The knock on your apartment door had never felt more damning than it did in that moment.

A knock on the front door was always a nightmare for someone who struggled with their mental health but that was on good days. Today, a knock on the door was definitely not something you were prepared to handle.

So you ignored it. Pulled your covers even further up over your head and hoped that whoever it was would just go away.

No such luck.

You hear the muffled sound of the deadbolt turning and then the seal of the door breaking as it inches open. “Hellooooo?” Is the familiar echo out into the empty space of your place. “Anybody home?”

“She’s gotta be here, her car is out front.”

Fuck it’s both of them. Every hope you had of just hiding and Eddie leaving got thrown out the window the moment you heard Steve was with him. On their own, either might be disheartened by no response – decide they were invading your privacy and leave before venturing too far inside.

Together, encouraging each other, it’s only a matter of minutes before they knock at your bedroom door.

Your pigsty of a bedroom that is covered in dirty clothes and dishes and probably smells weird and they can’t see–

“Don’t come in,” you rasp from your bed, voice tired from disuse as you break your silence for the first time in who knows how long.

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” Steve’s voice comes through the door, obviously right outside it. “We've been calling and calling for days.”

“I… I’ve been sick.”

“Sick? Why didn’t you say something, angel? Could’ve brought you some soup or something,” Eddie adds, sounding concerned. You can clearly picture the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Eyes closing from their stare at the ceiling, you take a deep breath to force down the sickness that is threatening to rise with every lie that leaves your mouth. “I’m contagious. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“Oh, come on. We’re big strong men, right Harrington? We can fend off a little stomach bug, no problem.”

“Super human immune system, baby,” Steve confirms, and you can hear the smile on his face. It nearly breaks your heart. “No chance you’ll give us anything. So can we come in?”

“No!”

Neither of them say a word after your quick and forceful denial, leaving it to feel like it’s echoing out around the room and grating back into your own eardrums. Just to get it to stop, you softly add, “Please don’t.”

While you’re worried it might’ve been too soft for them to hear, you’re proven wrong by Steve saying, “Then will you come out here?” It’s a soft plea, warm and velvety in its concern and compassion, and it feels like a knife in the chest. “Tell us what’s really going on?”

There’s no way to get out of this. You haven’t showered in days, you probably smell rough and look even worse. You’ve been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for a week. And you’re going to have to open your door and face your two closest friends like this.

If you don’t go out there, they will come in here. And that’s too much, it’s safe in here, they can’t come in here–

“Okay, okay. I’m… Just gimme a minute.”

“Take your time, we’ll go hang out on the couch,” you hear one set of footsteps away from your door after Steve’s confirmation.

“Not too long though,” Eddie teases, “I’m gonna raid your fridge and eat all of it if you don’t stop me.”

The threat means nothing as he walks away too. There’s nothing in your fridge left that’s edible.

Anxiety from them being here and wanting them to be gone is enough to get you out of bed for the first time today, picking through the remaining pile of clean clothes to find a different pair of sweatpants and a top that isn’t as marinated in body as your current set, slapping on some deodorant and changing your underwear at the same time. You do the bare minimum to make your hair look less like a greasy, horrible mess and gargle some mouthwash because it’s easier than trying to brush your teeth. This already feels like so, so much effort and you haven’t even faced them yet.

This shouldn’t be this hard. Why the fuck is being a normal human being so hard for you? What is wrong with you–

As soon as you’ve even cracked the door open, their murmuring to each other stops and they turn toward you, looking small and unsure in your doorway. Two pairs of brown eyes staring holes into you, seeing right through you, and it feels so fucking painful that you want to just slam the door shut again. They’re looking at you so softly, with so much warmth and openness. 

Because they pity you.

“What do you want?” Your voice is colder and softer than you meant it to be, not moving from your spot that blocks the view of your room from them. You could step out into the living room and close the door behind you to hide your shame, but leaving the safety of your bedroom isn’t something you’re willing to do yet.

“Your fridge is empty.” Eddie’s voice is as soft as yours but the corners of his mouth are turned down in a small frown. “The dishes in your sink have started to smell. Your trashcan and your mailbox are both overflowing.”

Shame and embarrassment presses hot behind your eyes, looking down at your feet. “If you’re just here to point out everything that’s wrong, you can get the fuck out of–”

“Sweetheart.” Steve cuts you off, not cruelly but enough to make you stop anyway. “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Your heart drops into your stomach when he slowly stands, starting to slowly walk toward you like you’re a skittish animal. “I dunno… I’m not hungry.”

“Shit,” Eddie mutters from the couch, head falling to look at his clasped hands as he leans forward on his elbows.

“When’s the last time you showered? Left your apartment?” Steve continues, looking like his heart is breaking.

“Steve…” You whisper, a croak in your voice again while you shake your head at him. “Please, don’t… Don’t make me answer that.”

Eddie’s head raises again, drawing your attention. He looks just as heart broken as Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything, doll?”

A humorless laugh leaves you, sounding more like a choked gasp. “What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh? ‘Hey, sorry guys, I can’t even get myself to go to the fucking grocery store like a normal human being, can you help?’”

“Yeah,” he answers, sounding almost angry, shaggy hair falling off his shoulders when he nods, “for a start.”

“Eddie.” Steve looks back at him sharply, giving him a warning look that makes him soften again. When he looks back to you, still a safe few feet away, he asks, “What happened, sweetheart? What’s got you…?”

“Hurting?” Eddie offers when the other falters, pushing off his knees to stand as well.

“It’s just…” Your voice cracks, tears you haven’t been able to find in days suddenly pushing at your eyes without warning. You squeeze them closed as your breath catches to try and stop them.

What are you gonna tell them? ‘Oh everything’s so hard.’ Just tell them you’re a fucking child who can’t handle being alive? Might as well push them out the door now–

“Hey,” Steve’s soft voice interrupts your mental berating, taking another few steps closer. “It’s okay. You can tell us anything.”

“No judgement,” Eddie adds, an echo of one of the first things you said to him when the two of you met. It’s been a constant in the relationship you have with both of them. Anything any of you say – no matter how stupid, or fucked up, or wrong – no judgement. Maybe some teasing, depending on how stupid. But they’ve never judged you for anything and there is no reason for them to start now.

But this? Trusting someone, opening up to someone, letting someone in about this? The idea is terrifying.

“Everything’s just…” You trail off again, looking off and down the hallway away from them as you bring your arms up in a sort of hug for yourself. “It’s all just a lot, right now.”

“Will you…” Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets as he kicks out his boot like he’s kicking a rock. “Will you let us help you?”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I– I can’t ask you to do that.”

Steve’s fingertips brush your elbow, the first human touch you’ve had in longer than you can remember, and it has your head whipping toward him. “You’re not asking. We're offering.”

Hot tears increase the pressure in your head, now starting to pool at the bottoms of your eyes as you struggle to make eye contact with either of them.  “I don’t even know how you could help. It’s just… I can’t…”

I want to curl into a ball on the floor and wait to die–

“How about this,” Eddie walks up, moving to rest his shoulder on the wall beside the door frame you still occupy. “I’m gonna run to the store and stock up, plus grab us all something to eat on the way back.”

You open your mouth to protest but he holds up his hand, “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s enough scolding to close your lips again in a tight line before he points at Steve. “Mr. Mom here can get started on cleaning up the kitchen so it’s nice and easy to cook in. And you tell us what you want to do.”

Your teary eyes finally look back and forth between them, begging for an answer – for them to put you out of your misery for even just a moment. “I can give you a couple of options to choose from, if that would help?” Steve offers, fingertips still lightly resting on your elbow.

Door 3, door 3, door 3, every bone in my body wants to get back in bed and never get up–

Squeezing your eyes shut, both to let some of the tears fall and to push back the shame that wants to explode out of your mouth, you give him a stuttered nod of your head. “Okay. Door #1: While we do that, you go and try to take a shower.” The immediate pain must show on your face, because he quickly moves on.

“Door #2: You come out here and lay on the couch while I start to clean up. You can take a nap, or we can talk, or we can listen to music – whatever you want. And Door #3, you go back and curl up in bed and we come back to get you when Eddie has some food for us.”

A shaky breath in and out, you open your eyes to look at them. Eddie’s face is forced casual while Steve offers a small and supportive smile. You know they wouldn’t judge you if you picked Door #3 and got back into bed. If you went back to the indent you’ve most likely made from all the hours and hours spent in the same spot. But you want to try. Even if it’s just a little bit. Even if you end up back in bed right after anyway.

“If… If I pick Door #2,” Eddie’s mouth tilts up slightly and Steve’s eyebrows raise in interest, “then can I have a hug?”

“Oh angel,” Eddie presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “If you thought you were going to get away without a hug in any of those options, you’re sorely mistaken.”

You exhale a small laugh out of your nose, a teary smile on your face as they both step up to sandwich you between them in a tight hug. Eddie’s face presses to your ear, curly hair tickling your nose as he rests his mouth on your shoulder. Steve settles higher, resting his cheek on the side of your head as he tucks you closer to his chest. Both boys are warm, solid, and alive on either side of you – almost crushing you with the force of the embrace. But it’s the best crush you’ve ever felt, one that tells you that you’re alive and that someone cares. It makes the tears come through faster, falling down your cheeks with more force as you shudder in a breath.

Steve presses a kiss to your temple, squeezing you just a little bit tighter. “We’re here for you, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s hand fists in the back of your shirt, forcing you an inch closer. “As long as you need us. Not going anywhere.”

-

now I live in a place that feels smaller by the day four walls closing in from months spent inside them there is too much grief packed into this small place packed into this bed with unchanged sheets packed between these ribs that somehow are still unbroken and no one has ever been here not in this space, not in this bed, not between these ribs they are too full of my own grief for there to be any space

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thanks for reading. please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day.

[captain-mj]

Just SoapGhost being healthy and shit. Ghost is open about his problems with intimacy and touch and they work through it.

Ghost sat across from Soap, watching him silently. He was beautiful. Kind. Fierce. Everything he looked for in a partner. 

Their date had been perfect. Soap picked a restaurant He thought they’d both like and he’d been a stupid fucking gentleman, even going so far as to request a secluded booth for privacy. 

Ghost tapped his fingers against the table, feeling very nervous. This was a first date. He didn’t have to bring this up. But if he waited, it would hurt more for both of them. Especially if Soap couldn’t handle it. 

“Johnny.”

Soap paused his chatter to look at him. “Simon. Don’t use your serious voice right now. I got other plans after this! You can’t end the date so soon!”

Ghost smiled at him softly. “No. I don’t want the date to end.” He sat back. “Its something else. I just… don’t want to lead you on.”

Soap frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ghost tapped his fingers for another second, surprisingly having to gain the courage to say this. “If we never had sex, do you think you could handle it?” He refused to look at Soap. 

“I… I don't know. I guess I hadn't thought about it. Is it the mask thing? We can find work arounds. I'm okay with whatever makes you comfortable.” Soap reached over and grabbed Ghost’s hand. “Whatever boundaries You need.” It was so sweet. It made it harder for Ghost to push but he knew it wasn’t fair to let Soap have some… misconception. 

“Its not the mask. Johnny, I’d take the mask off for you right now if we were alone. I have… issues. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

“Don’t tell me you can’t get it up. I’m just fine topping.” Soap joked, clearly trying to lighten the mood but also make it clear that wouldn’t bother him. 

Ghost took Soap’s hand and kissed it softly. “Intimacy. Its the touch. I wish it was that easy. I could pop a fucking pill and ignore it. The mask is part of it, but Johnny, a lot of… horrible things happened to me. And some of them.” Ghost cut himself off at the horrified expression on Soap’s face

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Trust me I don’t believe you’ll try it or anything. I know you’re not an idiot. But… touch is hard for me. You’re an exception. Usually. But what happens when its more than just your hands? When there’s no clothes between us? No buffers. I’d love to believe I’m fine. That it’ll be easy. But it won’t. I’ll have to initiate things. Put up boundaries.”

Soap was quiet, clearly mulling over his words. “Do you not want to try at all?” It was light. Purposely devoid of tone so Ghost couldn’t detect anything. He hated that Soap could pull that off. For a man so open, it was an unexpected talent. 

“I want to try. Just… if i never get there, i don’t want you to have wasted your time.”

Soap softened. “No time with you is wasted.” 

Ghost sighed. “You’re so sweet. It’s complicated. I just didn’t want you to go into this thinking it would be easy.”

“Never easy with us, Lt. But I’ll get it figured out.” Soap smiled at him. 

~~~

The very first time they properly touched each other was Ghost initiated, just as they talked about. His hand went to Soap’s back as he was talking to someone. They were just getting a bit close and he decided he needed to do something about it. 

The moment he was touching Soap’s, the man basically purred and the unwanted pest trying to catch Soap’s attention quickly got the message. Ghost rubbed his thumb in circles as Soap melted into him. When the man left, Ghost gently pulled his hand away, not missing that Soap tried to follow. 

~~~

Their first kiss was messy. It was mid mission. And it occurred to Ghost that their situation had suddenly gotten so much dire than expected. 

The hood he was wearing, along with the blades, made him look scarier than he was. But not to Soap. Never to Johnny, who kept smiling at him even when everyone else seemed to panic. 

Ghost knew he needed to do this. An epiphany of sorts. 

“Everyone stare at the damn wall.” He barked and people scrambled. Soap went to as well but he stopped him. Ghost gently turned him towards him and, with as little thinking as he could manage, worried he’d talk himself out of it, he kissed him through the mask. It wasn’t the best. If he could, he would’ve taken it off, but they didn’t have time. 

Soap froze in his arms before eagerly pressing back as much as he could. His arms went up to his biceps and he squeezed tight. “What was that for?”

“Just… in case.”

Soap nodded solemnly before grinning wildly. “Let’s go get him.”

That night, when they were done with the mission, Ghost took his mask off and gave Soap a proper kiss. It got no farther, they just kept kissing, hands barely touching each other. Soap’s kept hovering right over Ghost’s shoulders, holding just a hint of apprehension. 

Ghost didn’t reassure him. 

~~~

Holding hands came after. For some reason. Somehow it was easier for Ghost to kiss rather than touch hands. 

Soap’s hand wormed over to him, sitting between them now. His hand just barely brushed against Ghost’s thigh and he jumped so hard he almost rattled the table. Soap went to pull away but Ghost caught him by his wrist, gently tugging him closer until he sat his hand in his lap. Carefully, with the same care taken for defusing a bomb, Ghost tangled their fingers together. Even through his gloves, he could feel his warmth. 

It felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be touching right now. But like usual, Soap was… better than anyone else. And he could put up for it if it meant Johnny kept smiling like that.

~~~

Sex. 

Fuck. 

Ghost had… agreed to try. Soap had simply asked him what their plans for the night were when he informed him of this. He had blushed bright red and just nodded. 

Ghost was regretting all of this when he actually stood in his own bedroom. 

Soap smiled at him reassuringly. “What do you want to keep on? Let’s start there.”

“Everything.”

“Okay. You can just undo your pants for now. And what would you like me to take off?”

Ghost swallowed and thought about it for a minute. “All of it. Take off everything.”

Soap’s breath caught and he slowly started to strip down, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He was gorgeous. Nice, tight body. Broad shoulders and so much tanned skin. 

Ghost took a deep breath and slowly let it all out. It was just Johnny. Just him. 

“What do you want from me, Si?” Johnny asked softly, his body already happily reacting. Despite what Ghost was seeing as the most awkward encounter of his life, Soap was achingly hard. “I’d do anything for ya. You know that.” 

Ghost reached for him, gloves abandoned at the very least. Soap’s body was… very responsive. He jerked and his breathing would catch and just a small brush against his chest had Soap’s nipples hard. His thumb rubbed against one and Soap tried to press into him. 

Ghost pushed him on to the bed and gently used his hands to stroke him. He could tell Soap was a little disappointed it was just his hands but he just needed a minute to psych himself up for more. Soap moaned softly as he kept stroking him. 

“Feels good, sir. Feels so good.”

Ghost’s head started to swim. He was hard. He could tell physically he was enjoying but mentally, he felt miles away. 

There was blood. Had to be. He was bleeding and hurt and someone else was gonna hu-

Soap grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer. “I love you, Simon.” 

Ghost was taken back by that but he pulled up his mask and kissed him. They settled into a rhythm as Ghost continued to stroke him. He grabbed one of Soap’s hands and pulled it under his shirt so Soap could feel his abs. Soap cursed and squeezed him.  

“I love you so much. I love you. So much.” Soap promised as he kissed his lips and down his chin. “You’re beautiful.”

Ghost wanted to sob for some reason. But god did he love Soap. He pulled his mask completely off and started to kiss down his chest. Soap’s hands tangled in his hair instead, gently tugging. 

Ghost pulled away, feeling his cock strain against his pants. He pinned him down and stroked him faster, finding himself rutting against Soap’s thigh. So good… Fuck so good.

They kissed and tangled themself together further. Soap’s hand found it’s way to his belt he undid it and slipped it off. He reached into Ghost’s pants and as soon as he touched him, all thoughts flew out the window. It was just them. 

Ghost didn’t last very long. He was a bit embarrassed so he just focused on Soap. Tentatively, he licked a stripe up Soap’s cock and his lover followed immediately, coming all over his chest. His face was flushed and he bit his lip to keep any sounds in. Ghost could feel how tense he was beneath him as he finished. 

“I love you, Johnny.”

He got a short affirmative in response. 

[002yb]

Jason living happilly with Dick, thinking everybody knows they are dating: :)))

Every single member of batfam, thinking they were just good friends until Dick kissed Jason goodbye before going out for a misssion: >>:○

Even before he's pulled away from Jason, Dick is smiling.  For as old as he is, Dick thinks kissing Jason might always make him feel giddy.  Young.  He's helpless to the stutter skip of his heart, the overwhelming affection as Jason chases after him for another kiss.  Dick laughs against the soft press of their lips because he might feel invincible like this - giving Jason more, anything, everything.

'Not going to want to go if you keep this up,' Dick teases between kisses.  He leans back only to press forward again, a peck to Jason's lips once, twice before Jason's beckons for more - his hand warm along the back of Dick's neck as he brings Dick back to him.

Dick accommodates although he really should be going.  He braces his weight on either arm of the chair Jason sits in, stooping over again so that Dick can crowd Jason’s space the way he likes; so that he can kiss Jason right.

‘Yeah, yeah.  Get outta here.’ Jason tells him, breathless between kisses.  Boneless - hand slipping away from Dick’s neck until Dick reaches up to hold it steady.  Turning away just enough to press a kiss to the heel of Jason’s palm.  He marvels the flush that warms Jason’s cheeks, the way his lips are swollen and kiss bruised.  

Handsome, Dick can’t help but think to himself.  So damn gorgeous.

‘Stop looking at me like that.’ Jason scoffs, turning his head away in embarrassment.

Dick snickers, tickled by Jason’s bashfulness. ‘Not looking at you any way but normal.’

Long suffering as Jason’s expression is, there’s a familiar affection beneath it that makes Dick’s lips quirk at their corners into a smile that’s boyish and smitten.  He presses one last kiss into the white of Jason’s hair before resting their foreheads together.

‘Yeah, I’m going.’ Dick tells him, a direct contradiction to how he stays.

And Jason smiles, crooked and biting, devastating and wonderful.  His nose scrunches, a blush dusting soft across its bridge and along Jason’s cheeks; his freckles and scars.  It’s charming the way it warms him, how he glows from such small affections.

His gaze softens.  It’s a wonder how he’s ever been able to refrain from public displays like this, though maybe it isn’t.  While it was Jason’s preference first, over time Dick thinks it might have become more his than anything.  Because while Jason likes his privacy, Dick likes keeping Jason to himself.  Selfishly, shamelessly.

Even with having turned Jason’s chair to face away from everyone before Dick kissed him though, the display might have been too much.  Dick can’t even admire how breathtaking or sweet Jason is because everyone in the cave is staring at them.  Which isn’t a problem, per se, but their wide eyes and slack jaws speak of scandal and misunderstanding and Dick gathers quickly they didn’t know.

It’s not like Jason and he have been subtle with their relationship even with the general lack of pda, so what the hell is with the genuine dumbfoundment?

Dick feels just as dumbfounded.  Jason and he have been called out for bantering on the comms countless times.  They’ve been caught sneaking off together more than once before and during patrols.  They go home together every night.  To their apartment!

Private, not subtle.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jason asks when Dick stays hovering over him, keeping Jason caged on his chair.  With a cheeky smirk, Jason taunts him with a sweetly drawled challenge, an invitation, ‘Decide you need backup after all, Nightwing?’

With how Bruce is looking at him (flummoxed as he is, he’s clearly, actively plotting Dick’s demise), Dick can’t help but weakly laugh, ‘Something like that.’

Jason turns his head to look behind him, attention catching on their flabbergasted family.  In response to their attention Jason seems to bristle.  He clicks his tongue and scowls, ‘What?’  You got something to say?  Say it.’  And because Jason is Jason, he zeroes in on Bruce - still unfortunately glaring at Dick, and sneers, ‘Stop looking at him like that.  What’s your deal?  He’s my boyfriend -’ Dick sighs, both resigned and pleased as Jason stands up for them, for him. ‘ - he can kiss me if he damn well pleases and - ‘

It’s only because Bruce’s eyes widen further that Jason stops talking, mouth snapping shut with an audible click as he comes to the same conclusion as Dick.  His attention shoots back to Dick and Dick smiles at him – reassuring and sheepish and every bit as lost as Jason feels.

It’s so dumb.  A family of detectives, ‘the world’s greatest,’ and a relationship like theirs slips them by?  It’s something to laugh about later after Dick has talked Bruce down.  The man looks ready to have an aneurysm knowing that months ago when Dick asked if it was okay for Jason to move in with him, it was decidedly not as a roommate - not as a means of keeping an eye on Jason, but rather a more efficient way to keep Dick’s hands on him.

[cacoetheswriting]

celebrity skin. (part five)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.6k summary: a party from hell.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, mentions of recreational alcohol & drug consumption, emotional hurt / no comfort in this chapter (sorry, she's a little angsty), blackmail, family drama, mentions of minor character death — if i missed anything, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

The venue is filled wall to wall with people, half of whom you have not met before this night. They’re swaying to the loud music, talking over one another, and indulging in various colourful drinks from the open bar.

Sitting on a sofa in the corner of the large space, you’re watching the night unfold in front of your eyes. There’s a drink in your hand, a cranberry vodka, however, you haven’t touched it yet. Instead, the ice has long melted, causing lone droplets of water to drip down your arm.

A harsh scent of alcohol fills the air. It gets stronger every time a party attendee sits next to you, congratulating you on an incredible single with the band they never thought you’d ever play with. You go with the flow, the politeness you’ve been taught from a young age showing its wings, and thank each person that engages with you for coming tonight.

They ask how this all came about, you on a song with Corroded Coffin. A collaboration for the ages. 

You answer honestly, to the best of your knowledge. “The powers that be organised everything”, and the person you’re speaking with laughs at your answer. Then they ask about a topic much hotter than the new record — your relationship with Eddie Munson.

The second the curly-haired rockstar is mentioned, a smile breaches your lips.

“That’s between me and him, for now.”

Which doesn’t stop anyone from trying to invade your privacy further. Wondering, out loud and with no shame, if what they’re reading in the tabloids is true. Is it just for show, or is it real? And then it goes one of two ways:

“Hope I’m invited to the wedding. It’s shaping up to be quite the party.”

“At least you’ll make a lot of money from this arrangement.”

Not one person wishes you well. Not one person says they’re happy for you, or for the Corroded Coffin frontman. It obviously makes you wonder why because you look happy… right? Why is your relationship such a big deal if you’re clearly happy? 

Don’t you look happy?

But then, in between those conversations, your gaze finds Eddie with ease. His own brown eyes land on you every single time, without fail, as if there was some sort of magnetic pull between the two of you. He smiles wide, shooting you a casual wink from wherever he’s standing at the time.

And so, you force the treacherous thoughts deep, deep down. Squish them until they’re miniscule and a problem for later — which in retrospect, not a good idea — ‘cause right this moment in time, you’re definitely happy.

Eddie makes you happy.

You’re also just glad to see the rockstar is having fun, considering how reluctant he was to leave the comfort of his own home. He’s mingling and laughing. A pep in his step as he orders another drink. After all, parties are his element.

“God, my poor fucking feet hurt so much,” Holly sighs, dropping down next to you with an elegant bounce. “I honestly don’t know how you can perform in heels for multiple nights in a row when I can’t even make it through a couple of measly hours.”

You laugh. “No pain, no gain.”

“Okay, Magic Johnson.” Holly snorts while playfully rolling her eyes.

“Actually, I’d prefer to be Patrick Ewing,” you correct her, it’s a tease with a slight dramatic flare, “‘Cause who am I if not a New York Knicks fan.”

The giggle that escapes your friend is infectious. In between the lighthearted chuckles, she does her best not to spill the fruity drink in her hand, pressing the glass to her lips and taking a sip. She relaxes into the sofa, legs now extended outwards, a hazard to anyone walking by.

“Speaking of New York, when are you taking the rockstar to meet your parents?” Holly probes, brow raised.

“Oh god,” you dramatise in response, “That’s like a super serious thing, no? I don’t think we’re there yet.”

But Holly doesn’t give up as easily, seeing right through the front you didn’t even realise you were putting up. As your best friend, she knows you better than anyone. That includes moments like these, when you’re minimising feelings out of fear.

“Babe, be for real. He has already met your grandma and she’s arguably a lot more important than your parents.” Holly states, taking another quick sip of her cocktail. “No offence to Alicia and Brad, but we all know your family is ruled by the little lady who already hates your boyfriend.”

You sigh. She’s obviously right.

“So, what’s the real reason you don’t wanna take him home?”

Glancing over at Eddie, who’s lost in conversation with the producers of your record, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, wondering what to say to her. “Because I’m scared it’s all moving too fast,” would be an appropriate answer to the question, but then again that’s not entirely true.

Holly nudges your arm and you turn your attention back to her immediately.

“I’ve just been really happy in our little bubble these last few months and I’m afraid if we venture further out into the real world, we’ll lose that feeling.”

Raw, honest. It’s a scary thing to say, but Holly doesn’t judge. She never does. Instead, her arm makes way around your shoulders and she squeezes you lightly when your head rests against her skin.

“With the way the two of you look at one another, I bet my sanity that you’ll be together for a very long time.”

And you hope she’s right.

Eddie walks up to where you’re sitting shortly after, politely asking your friend if he could steal a moment alone with you. Holly of course agrees, saying something about finding Jeff ‘cause he looks mighty fine tonight and she’s a little buzzed, “If you know, you know.”. You watch with a smile as she disappears between the dancing bodies while Eddie sits in the now empty spot, casually placing a hand on your thigh.

“Having fun?”

“I am,” you answer and lean in closer to place a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Even more now.”

He smirks at you. “I’m glad, baby.”

“Seems you are too.”

“I am.” Eddie nods, free hand now holding your jaw, as he leans in to capture your lips with his own.

The kiss is short and sweet, but like everything you and the rockstar do, it attracts attention from pretty much everyone in the room. A click of the camera, a flash of light. But neither of you care. Looking instead into each other’s eyes once you pull apart, as if you’re the only people at this party. 

Even though putting a label on things wasn’t entirely necessary, it definitely cemented whatever feelings are floating within your core. And Eddie feels the same way. He actually feels a lot more than he’s willing to admit out loud. Partially because he’s always battled commitment issues, mainly because he’s really afraid of losing you. 

Again.

-

Eddie Munson loved a good party.

This wasn’t always the case, since during his teenage years he was often excluded from every single guest list. Then he started dealing. Suddenly, the metalhead was a hot ticket, and even though people still didn’t care for his company, they liked the stuff he brought. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention — as fake as it may have been.

Once Corroded Coffin made it big, and Eddie realised that people actually wanted to party with him for who he was, and not the drugs he had access too, (although, for some, it was a little bit of both), the rockstar decided he was going to throw the best damn parties Hollywood has ever seen.

It quickly became second nature. Make money, then spend it just as fast so other people can have a good time.

When the drinking, and other activities, got a little out of control, the guys tried to talk some sense into their friend with a little tough love: “Dude, those people don’t give a fuck about you! They only wanna hang out with you, ‘cause you’re rich.”. But Eddie was too far gone and he didn’t care to stop. His house was full of people every single weekend, most of whom he knew, and for the first time in his miserable life, the rockstar felt like the most important person on the goddamn planet. There was no way he was letting go of that feeling.

Then August ‘92 happened.

The evening started off as nothing special. Just another pool party to combat the unbearable Los Angeles heat. It was a common occurrence during the summer months, so Eddie didn’t think that night was going to be any different.

Surrounded by a group of girls that undoubtedly only want to get in his pants, he’s laughing at the unfunny jokes and taking advantage of the fact that he doesn’t need to refill his own drinks, the “groupies”, as Marianne calls them, gladly do it for him. 

They’re brushing up against him and flirting with no shame while batting their lashes. Eddie usually eats this shit up. Matter of fact, he should be loving every second of it right now, but his focus has long shifted elsewhere, the girls a mere distraction from the actual object of his attention and desire.

From the corner of his eye, he’s watching you.

Jesus Christ. Eddie can’t believe you came. He can’t believe you’re actually here, at his house, seemingly enjoying yourself. And to say you looked fucking hot would be the understatement of a century. Splayed out on one of the lounge chairs, hiding from the sun, you’re wearing a white cotton blouse and skimpy denim shorts, and Eddie aches for his current conversation to be over so he can go and officially introduce himself to you — like he should have at the Grammys.

“Eds, do you want another drink?”

He barely registers the question, even with the girl who has her hand on his bare bicep, rubbing up and down rather seductively. Instead, the rockstar notices how you stand up and look around the party once, before walking in the direction of his big house. So Eddie thinks that now’s his chance, perhaps the only one he’d get, and following a quick internal monologue to pep himself up, he leaves the group of ladies disappointed, following you inside.

That was almost the last party Eddie threw.

You flipped this switch inside of him, one the rockstar didn’t even know existed. After that night, he no longer wanted attention from just anyone. Taking centre stage in his mind — and heart — was America’s favourite sweetheart. Even when he royally fucked things up, he only thought about you.

Though for a number of lonesome weeks, he wasn’t sure you were thinking about him since his actions proved nothing more than borderline douchey. So Eddie fell back into self-destructive behaviour just as fast as he scrambled out of it. The parties got louder, he became more obnoxious.

September 1992. Saturday Night Live.

That will be a night his band, his management, his friends, and even his fans, will never let Eddie forget. Unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.

The drinks pre-show were free and Eddie had a mountain of feelings he desperately needed to get over, along with memories he wanted to bury deep, until they were nothing but specs of dust, flashes that didn’t resemble anything — especially not you.

He did his best not to slur his words during the live performance, and for the most part, he succeeded. Although that didn’t really matter since anyone in the rockstar's vicinity could clearly tell he was intoxicated. Eddie, leaning half his weight on the microphone, round sunglasses covering his bloodshot eyes, should have never been allowed to set foot on the stage that night.

Let alone twice.

Under the dim stage light, as they hoped to conclude their last song without a major incident, Eddie’s band mates were exchanging worried glances. The Corroded Coffin frontman had a couple more drinks in between sets and was barely able to follow along with the music.

Thankfully, behind the scenes, Marianne convinced production to shift the cameras away from unravelling Eddie, even switched off his microphone, and the only people left witness to his drunken mess were the folks present physically.

Eddie on the other hand couldn’t have cared less about how he was behaving since the alcohol didn’t numb him like he hoped, instead the thought of you being somewhere in the same city, overpowered his senses. Would it be crazy to hope you were watching? Would it be crazy to think that despite how rudely he treated you, you’d still show up like you both talked about?

Would it be crazy to try and find you? Search New York, high and low, in hopes that someone knows someone, who knows someone else, that knows where you live?

Instead, against his better judgement and everyone else’s rather aggressive protests, Eddie goes to the after party planned in his name.

Unsurprisingly, you didn’t come.

His black out was imminent.

The damages done to the restaurant came to just under five thousand dollars. The stress from keeping it out of the press robbed his team about two years of their life, so Marianne says.

And that was the last party Eddie threw. 

Considering how out of control things had gotten, how out of control he had become at some point during the night while thinking about you with every drink that burned down his throat, it could’ve been a lot worse.

Eddie still only thinks about you. Difference being, now, almost a year later, you are attending a party together, and the alcohol no longer tastes like regret.

When he looks at you, like he is right now, under the fluorescent club lights, his heart increases tenfold. He wants to kiss every inch of your face, hold you close because that’s where you belong. 

Things simply got better because he owned up to his mistakes and learned to open himself up to love, as scary as that feeling is sometimes. He’s not second guessing your intentions, because that would be cruel. He just loses himself in his doubts sometimes, since in the past, no pretty girl has given him the time of day without wanting something in return.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Eddie whispers against your lips, thumb gently grazing along your cheekbone. He proceeds to tell you how you make life a little more normal, and he’s grateful for it, despite always wanting fame. You tell him how attention is nothing if it doesn’t come from the right person, and he agrees, brown locks bouncing as he nods his head. Then he kisses you again.

And this kiss is arguably a lot more urgent than the last. Eddie is hovering over you entirely. One hand remains holding onto your face, while the other is on your waist, pushing you deeper into the sofa.

You can hear another click of a camera in the distance and despite your better judgement, that voice in the back of your mind, closely reminiscent of your Nana’s, telling you to push your boyfriend away, you slide your hands up his back and cling closer to him.

An inch of regret courses through your veins the following morning when you receive a call from your quite displeased team, “what the hell were you thinking?!”. You deflect. Unwilling for anyone to burst through the happy bubble you’ve found yourself in, you blame them for poor organisation and security ‘cause who even allows cameras to be brought into a private Hollywood event.

That regret is unfortunately also accompanied by a killer hangover and very little memory of what else has happened the night prior.

The empty spot in bed, usually home to a set of wild brown locks, should have been a warning sign ‘cause Eddie never woke up before you, especially after a party. You find him in the kitchen, at the spot where the two of you first met. His head is in his hands and you’re instantly feeling worried.

The happy bubble threatening to burst.

“Hey,” you croak, hoping to get his attention, “are you okay?”

Eddie’s as still as a statue. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, or your question, and the worry in the pit of your stomach increases tenfold. So you approach him, movements slow due to the banging headache as well as the apprehension given your boyfriend's current position. Only when your hand hesitantly reaches his back, rubbing once downward while you position yourself next to him, Eddie lifts his head and tilts it to the side, finally meeting your eyes.

“Had a good night?” Eddie asks, shifting his stance so that your hand falls down to your side. This should have been a second warning; him trying to avoid physical contact.

“Y-yeah,” you force a smile, thinking that it’s needed, “You?”

“Not really,” he answers a little too quickly.

His brown eyes scan yours, for what exactly, you’re a little too hungover to realise. But the longer he stares at you, the worse you begin to feel. A certain dread spreads through your insides, causing your stomach to drop. What’s happening right now? Actually, what happened in the late hours of last night that’s causing this sudden rift between you and the rockstar.

“What’s going on, Eddie?”

The tone of your voice is so quiet, you’re unsure he’s even heard you. But then a sigh escapes his lips. He briefly glances towards the back door, out towards the pool, before settling his gaze back on your frame.

“I think we made a mistake,” he says a little too bluntly. “I-I don’t think we should have labelled this so soon, and ehm… This is nothing on you, sweetheart. I’m just not the relationship type.”

Dumbfounded, is a little too plain to explain the feeling that you’re experiencing at this very moment. Betrayed would be a better word, but that would mean Eddie is after saying those things. That he’s really after shattering your entire world in the space of a few mere seconds. Betrayed would mean your gut instinct, the one you have ignored ever since you’ve met the Corroded Coffin frontman, was always correct: he was no good.

Used, is how you begin to feel as Eddie continues to list reasons for why he can’t actually be your boyfriend and how you’re better off simply being friends with benefits, or whatever it is the two of you had been over the last few months. Used fuels the anger inside of you because, to you, deceit is worse than cheating. And he seems so nonchalant about it, which only adds to the fire.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Eddie stops mid another lame excuse and for the first time this morning, he reaches for your hands, fingers gently grazing against your skin, which only adds to the pain you’re beginning to endure. 

“Sweetheart…”

“No, no.”

You retreat, unwilling to let the rockstar hold you since he’s after breaking your heart like it was worth nothing — Jesus H. Christ, this is some sick and twisted deja vu.

Instead, you cross your arms across your chest like a shield while taking a step away from the man you realised now you definitely loved, yet one that clearly didn’t love you.

“I-I guess I’m just confused as to what’s changed since last night—”

“I’m not the relationship type,” Eddie cuts in, repeating what he’s already said, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything towards you. I like you, sweetheart. A lot.”

“Eddie, come on,” you scoff, tears threatening to breach through the confines of their home, “Do you realise how ridiculous you sound right now? If you feel something towards me, I-I don’t get how being called my boyfriend and being exclusive with me is the worst thing on the planet.”

When he doesn’t immediately reply, you continue.

“Unless that’s it. You don’t want to be exclusive because the thought of keeping your dick in your pants when I’m not around is too difficult, or having other people throw themselves at you and not immediately act on it is something Eddie Munson simply cannot do.”

“That’s not it,” the rockstar interjects.

“Then fucking enlighten me, Eddie, because you’re making no fucking sense right now!”

Again, he doesn’t say anything. And it’s precisely because he’s not showing any willingness to be honest with you right this moment, after endless prior conversations about how that’s the one thing he will always be, you decide for your own sanity that this isn’t a relationship you can fight for.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

Three words you’ve spoken to him before, only this time they hold a lot more weight. This time, they signal an end to something that was only after getting a proper beginning. The end of America’s favourite popstar and the Corroded Coffin frontman — a headline that broke on Page Six the very next morning.

Eddie watches you leave. Frozen in his spot as you rush back to the bedroom the two of you have shared the last few months. And his heart aches because unbeknown to you, this is not what he wanted to happen.

Unbeknown to you, this is not how he actually feels. He doesn’t want to end things with you so soon after they’ve begun. He wants you. He wants to be your boyfriend, if not more.

He just can’t.

Last night’s party was the main catalyst behind the rockstar’s actions this morning. The attendance of a certain someone that wasn’t actually invited was a shock to Eddie’s drunken system, and the reason behind why he simply can’t tell you anything, especially the truth.

(Not right now anyway.)

-

Chrissy Cunningham.

The preppy blonde was the only person Eddie loved before meeting you. 

Despite not ever being anything more than friends, at least on a physical level, for the longest time, Chrissy was Eddie’s only supporter. The only person to show him kindness and shower him with care he undoubtedly deserved.

Chrissy encouraged Eddie to follow his dreams, pursue a career in music, because out of everyone in Hawkins, she truly believed in his talent.

Then she died.

Suddenly, Eddie was not only left with a hole in his heart, but he also found himself at the centre of a murder investigation. Despite being declared innocent, her death nothing but a freak accident, the scars on the rockstar’s body remind him of the events of March ‘86 to this very day.

He told you a little about what happened, just failed to mention Chrissy. Not for any particular reason, he just doesn’t talk about her as a rule — unwilling to reopen the wounds he so desperately tried to heal over the years.

And because he doesn’t talk about Chrissy, or mention her name and what she meant to him, Eddie never expected her to be brought up.

Especially not a Hollywood party of all places.

Eddie first spotted your grandmother mid-performance of the band’s single with you. She approached him shortly after, when you excused yourself to take some shots with Holly, leaving the frontman alone.

“Even I cannot deny that it’s a good song,” she states simply, as Eddie eyes her suspiciously.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think you were on the guest list.”

She scoffs. “Just like my lovely granddaughter, I can get myself on every single list I want, and even though I don’t necessarily want to be here, I do have something to tell you.”

Eddie cocks a brow, “Oh yeah?”

“Hawkins is a lovely little town,” she says, not missing a beat. “It’s quaint. Reminds me of a place I spent hiding my pregnancy all those moons ago, but that’s a story for another time. Or not. Depends how well you listen to me right now.”

“What do you want?”

“Does my granddaughter know about Chrissy Cunningham?”

Eddie’s face falls the second Chrissy’s name escapes your grandmothers painted lips, though he doesn’t get a chance to actually reply to the question, because she’s quick to continue with her agenda.

“I suppose not. Your uncle Wayne was really quite open to tell me about her though, about what she meant to you.”

She pauses, tilting her head to one side.

“I am sorry for your loss, Edward.”

Another brief pause.

“Yet I can’t help the curiosity, why didn’t you tell my baby about this girl if she supposedly played such a big part in you pursuing your dreams?”

“Don’t do this—”

“Do what, Edward? I’m just trying to learn more about the boy my naive granddaughter is willing to risk her entire career for. Again, your uncle Wayne was very helpful in this department, considering you practically shunned me from the dinner I organised for this exact reason.”

“Listen—”

“No,” your grandmother interrupts, “We both know you’re not good enough for my sweet angel and this entire Chrissy situation you are trying really hard to hide from everyone, only proves my point,” she snaps and Eddie’s feeling grateful that the place is a little too crowded and a little too noisy for anyone to hear what’s happening at this very moment.

“Edward, if you have nothing to hide, if you’re really innocent and played no part in the poor girl's death, why can’t the world know? Feel free to answer me, I’m just trying to get some insight into who my granddaughter has chosen to date.”

Eddie swallows his breath, unsure of what to say because it’s these types of conversations he’s been trying to avoid by not bringing up Chrissy.

Ever.

He didn’t do anything to the girl he loved. He is one hundred percent innocent, and the courts proved his side of the story. Yet, he’s been ridiculed and questioned left, right, and centre.

Only Max and Wayne know that the final reason as to why he’s decided to leave Hawkins behind for good, was to get away from the rumours and the people that didn’t believe him. And as he rushed to chase his dreams, he swore he’d never bring this up. Swore to never mention Chrissy’s name to anyone, or the fact that she’s been the inspiration behind numerous Corroded Coffin singles.

In a way, it was freeing. In Los Angeles, Chrissy Cunnigham was nothing but a figment of Eddie’s imagination.

Until this very moment.

“I didn’t kill her.”

“I know,” your Nana states, “But it wouldn’t take a lot to make people in Hollywood believe that you did and then your image is ruined, your career starts to decline, and the only other person that’s affected besides you and your bandmates, is the person you claim to feel something for. My granddaughter.”

Eddie’s heart sinks. He glances behind your grandmother’s shoulder to where you’re standing at the bar with Holly, laughing at something your friend has said seconds prior.

He’s happy with you. He’s happy to be known as your boyfriend.

And it’s because of that happiness, he knows he cannot ruin your life by involving you in something that happened before he was even famous.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” the rockstar mumbles in a defeated tone.

“She’s going to hurt either way,” your grandmother says, “But if you end things with her on your own, I promise to keep Chrissy’s name out of the press, so you’re only breaking my granddaughter's heart and not simultaneously ending her career.”

The metalhead hangs his head low, closing his eyes momentarily to try and gather his tipsy thoughts. His lack of rebuttal is enough for your grandmother to claim her victory. She places a hand on the rockstar’s shoulder and squeezes once, faking remorse.

“And Eddie,” she continues, “I wouldn’t tell her about this conversation, and I also wouldn’t be so brave to tell her about Chrissy yourself, because with a snap of my finger, the whole world will know. Then you gotta ask yourself, what’s more important? Your happiness, her happiness, or the careers you both worked extremely hard for.”

She lets her hand fall and walks out of the party with her head held high. Unseen by you and unnoticed by everyone else here, almost like a ghost. Like the conversion never happened. 

But the ache in Eddie’s chest is proof enough. He knows what occurred, just like he knows what he unfortunately needs to do — which is break your fucking heart.

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @astheni-a , @bebe07011

[dropsofmoonlightzine]

Happy Holidays everyone!

We hope you are doing well! First, thank you so much for your continued support of the Drops of Moonlight Zine Charity Project. Although the project has gone on for much longer than planned due to multiple hiccups that we have faced, we are still committed to have the physical and digital bundles distributed to those who have pre-ordered them. Once the hiccups listed below are resolved, we will be reaching out to those (contributors and supporters) who pre-ordered a bundle to collect shipping and handling, and ship everything out! With that, included below is a summary list of previous updates re: the current Murphy's Law poo that is holding the project up:

We're still missing 2/5th of the shipment of the printed volume. Production had been in delay because of the paper crisis and they arrived in increments slowly batch by batch. We bought from a small family-run vendor and they glue the covers by hand. We've been getting them in smaller batches, and two batches have yet to arrive. They don't ever update us re:status, but they have been consistent.

Our sticker order was lost in the mail. We're fighting with FedEx on whose fault this is. We have had to pay double customs to have it re-enter its country of origin and make the trip again, which is ongoing, and are trying to get reimbursed by FedEx, which is a lengthy process.

The coloring books arrived late and with faulty covers, and after much discussion with the company, it appears that the fault was entirely our own. One of our mods is paying for 400 new covers out of their own pocket and will fix them by hand.

Our local washi vendor pulled out and went bankrupt and radio silent. This was a huge problem both for budget and for getting a new one. We have one finally lined up, production has begun.

Booth has refunded part of our orders because it took too long, meaning our funds have further shrunk. We're in talks with Booth to save the rest. It's in Japanese so only one mod could handle it, and this is not the easiest.

The domain for our website was paid for two years and that was the time and funding allotted in the budget. These two years are up. We didn't notice that for the longest while, and then when we did, things like Booth happened, and we decided against renewing the domain so late in the game. We plan to ship the orders with Shopify and the portion of Booth orders that have not yet been refunded.

A few mods we won't name are on extended hiatus for critical life events that we won't call out for privacy, and because this project has gone on for much longer than anyone on the team has anticipated or consented to/planned for. This means the rest of the work is falling on fewer shoulders. Tasks and responsibilities have subsequently changed amongst the mod team since 2020; for instance, we don't have a mod in charge of communications right now and haven't had one in a while, which you do clearly notice.

We make all decisions together as a team, which makes us democratic and also slow. We react to things only together but it means we wait out mod meetings across four time zones for nodding off on all decisions.

Everything else is ready, layouted, translated, linked to, hosted online, printed, lined up, and arrived. Once everything else lines up/arrives, we will be reaching out to those who pre-ordered a physical bundle to collect shipping and handling, and then ship them out.

We realize that the timing of everything has not been ideal. We did not realize we bit off more than we could chew when we took this project on… and none of us Mods plan to take on anything like this ever again as all of us are doing this on our own time. We thank you for your continued support and wish you all a safe holiday season!

Love,

The Drops of Moonlight Zine Mod Team

Happy Holidays!

皆さまお元気でお過ごしでしょうか。まず初めに、いつも「月の雫」チャリティー・プロジェクトをご支援いただきありがとうございます。このプロジェクトは、さまざまな不運が重なったことにより予定よりかなり長引いていますが、ご予約いただいた皆様に、ZINEバンドルとデジタルバンドルをお届けすることをお約束します。下記の問題が解決した時点で、バンドル版を予約してくださった方々（寄稿者の皆さま、サポーターの方々）に連絡を取りZINEたちを発送する予定です。下記に記すのはこれまでこのプロジェクトの妨げとなってしまったことがらに関する過去のアップデートの要約です：

印刷会社より全量の2/5の出荷を未だ受け取っていません。製紙危機のために生産が遅れ、製本されたZINEが少量ずつ到着しています。今回購入したのは家族経営の小さな印刷会社で、彼らは手作業で表紙を糊付けしています。ZINEは少量のロットで納品されており、あと2つのバッチの到着を待っている状況です。

付録のシールで完成品の紛失がありました。国際輸送中に行方がわからなくなってしまったため、現在輸送会社のFedexと責任の所在を明らかにしようとしています。原産国から再度入国させるために関税を二重に支払う必要があり予算にも影響を与えるものでしたが、皆さまへ発送するためこれらの対応は現在も進行中です。

塗り絵の納品が遅れ、また表紙に欠陥がありました。印刷会社と確認した結果、どうやら私たちの責任であることが判明したため、モデレーターのひとりが、自腹で400冊分の新しい表紙を購入し、手作業で表紙を付け直している最中です。

マスキングテープを発注した地元の業者は倒産し、音信不通となりました。新しい業者に再発注する必要があり予算的にも大きな問題でしたが、ようやく1社が決まり、生産が始まりました。

発送まで期間が空きすぎたため、BOOTHで注文の一部がキャンセルとなりました。予約してくださった皆さまには申し訳ありませんでした。まだ残っている注文に関してはキャンセル期限延長をBOOTHと交渉中です。日本語対応可能なモデレーターがひとりで対応にあたっています。

私たちのウェブサイトはドメイン料が2年間支払われており、それが予算上割り当てられた時間と資金でしたが、この2年間が終了しました。そのことに長い間気づかず、気づいたときにはブースのようなことが起きていて、ドメインの更新はすべきではないと判断しました。Shopifyでの注文と、Boothでの注文のうちまだ返金されていない分については必ず発送する予定です。

このプロジェクトは、主催チームの誰もが予想し、同意し、計画したよりもはるかに長く続いています。モデレーターの何人かは私生活での緊急を要する事態によりプロジェクトを離れる必要があり、残りの仕事は少ない肩の上に乗っています。例えば、しばらくコミュニケーション担当のモデレーターが不在であることにお気づきの方も多いと思います。

私たちはチームとしてすべての決定を下すので、民主的であると同時に時間が掛かります。私たちは共に物事に対処しますが、それは4つのタイムゾーンにまたがって主催ミーティングを開催し、すべての決定でそれぞれが同意する必要があることを意味しています。

それ以外のすべてについては、準備を進め、レイアウトし、翻訳し、リンクを貼り、オンラインでホストし、印刷し、並べ、到着しています。すべての材料が揃い／到着し次第、ZINEバンドルを予約注文してくれた人たちに連絡を取り順次発送していく予定です。

すべてが理想的なタイミングではなかったことはもちろん承知しています。このプロジェクトを発足したとき、自分たちが扱い切れる以上のものを発案したことに気づいていませんでした。皆さまにはご心配をお掛けし本当に申し訳なく思っています。皆さまの変わらぬご支援に、心から、感謝いたします。

愛をこめて、

月の雫ZINE　主催チーム

[itsgxsly]

ONE IN A MILLION

Summary: Carlos is yours, you know it, but you don't know if you're ready for the rest of the world to know it.

Pairing: carlos sainz x reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1263

You knew that falling in love with a famous Formula 1 driver came with its consequences. Let no one misunderstand you, you had no complaints about your relationship with Carlos, he was just the perfect man. Brown eyes that looked at you as if you were hanging the stars from the sky, his dark hair that gave him a princely air, his broad body well shaped by those daily hours of training... He was perfect from head to toe.

And clearly you weren't the only one noticing that.

You were warned that many fans praised Carlos all the time, in every instagram photo or on twitter or any other social media. You were used to that for a few years now and it didn't bother you. But even so, there were certain specific moments in which unfortunately, you could not avoid the slight pang of jealousy that was inevitable in you when one of those fans or some other woman got closer to your boyfriend more than what seemed appropriate to you.

You didn't distrust him, of course you didn't, but it was hard having to hide your insecurity seeing those girls so close to him and not being able to do anything. Because therein lay the problem. That you couldn't act or say anything about it. Because nobody knew anything about your relationship with Carlos Sainz.

It had been your idea and Carlos had respected it, you didn't want to be attacked like many of the WAGs were and he didn't want to see you in that situation either. So you were known to the public and the press and could be said to be close friends, but nothing more.

It was frustrating and if you were honest, it made you feel insecure at times. Like now. You had no reason to envy the group of women that surrounded Carlos in that nightclub during the party celebrating the first race of the season. He was yours, you wanted to convince yourself of it. But what if he preferred something else?

Maybe one of them was better than you. Maybe Carlos would enjoy be with her more the with you and she wouldn't be so reluctant to go out in public with him.

All those thoughts that flooded your head left you slightly dizzy along with the noise and lack of air with the crowd of people. You needed to get out of there for a while to clear your mind. You smiled briefly at Pierre and his girlfriend who were standing near the private booth, indicating that you were going out. In your rush you didn't even notice Carlos following you as soon as he saw you move. The Spaniard hadn't taken his eyes off you all night, the desire to get close to you filling his head, but he had to hold it, both of you had made it clear that you wanted privacy.

When you arrived at the entrance of the club, a blast of cold air greeted you at once. You appreciated it at the time. You took a few deep breaths to relax, but a pair of warm hands on your waist made you jump and turn around quickly. You sighed when you saw who he was, but your concern returned when you realized that Carlos was right there with you.

"You scared me" you reproached him.

"I'm sorry, cielo. It was not my intention” he replied, letting his hands fall from your body. You almost complained about the loss of touch from him.

"What are you doing here?" You didn't really think that Carlos had noticed that you had been out for a few minutes.

"That's what I wanted to ask you," the Spaniard told you. “I saw you leave in a hurry and I got worried. Everything is alright?" He raised a hand that went to your arm, stroking it with his thumb.

"Yes, yes, don't worry. Everything is alright. You can go back inside, they'll be waiting for you” it wasn't fair that you reproached him for that, after all he wasn't doing anything and you were the one who wanted to continue in private, but even so, jealousy made you act like that.

Contrary to what you expected -that Carlos would get angry and go back inside- your boyfriend just laughed. A low, almost wry laugh. You looked at him confused without knowing what the laugh was coming from.

"cariño, are you jealous?" He asked you and it almost seemed more like a statement. He knew you even more than you knew yourself. He knew you were jealous, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"No" was your resounding answer. You didn't say more, you just turned your face, hoping that by not seeing him you could put up with your lie. Clearly it didn't go very well for you at the moment when his hand grabbed your jaw to make you look at him.

"Don't ignore me" His tone, although it was soft, made it clear that you had no other choice. You swallowed and let him pull you closer to him placing his other hand on your waist. Now almost no space separated you.

"Listen to me, I don't know what you're thinking or what has made you jealous" you went to interrupt him again to deny that, but the look on his face told you not to. "As I was saying, I don't know what happened, but whatever you're thinking, get it out of your head, mi amor" throughout the speech, his thumb caressed your jaw, almost close to your lips.

You sighed before briefly explaining yourself.

"I'm sorry. I don't like being jealous. I was the one who wanted our relationship to be private and you agreed with me and yet I am getting angry with you” it was not fair that you blame Carlos for your jealousy and for your decision.

"No need to apologize, cariño. Those are normal things” he reassured you.

“I just can't help it. All those girls who are always around you. It makes me think that maybe one of them could be better for you than me” you made a childish pout and looked at the ground, too embarrassed to be able to look at Carlos.

Carlos raised your face again with the hand that was on your jaw and when you were looking at him, he gently kissed the pout of your lips. You went to continue the kiss, but you remembered that you were still in public.

"Carlos" you were alarmed. "someone could see us"

"Well, let them see. Let them see how I love my girl” it actually didn't sound so bad to let the whole world see you only if you could keep kissing Carlos.

"Look, let's go do something, okay?" You nodded listening to him. “We don't have to suddenly announce this, but we can make small strides. Soft launching. We could start with you coming to the next race by my side."

"Carlos, I go to almost all the races of the year" you laughed.

"But you have never come as my girlfriend"

“I don't think appearing directly as your girlfriend in the next race counts as soft launching” you laughed again. "But we can do that and see how things progress"

"I think it's a good idea" Carlos kissed you again and this time you didn't think of moving away from him. “And I don't want you to ever compare yourself to anyone again, mi vida. You are one in a million"

EXTRA:)

Liked by charles_leclerc, reyesvdec, and 7,394 others

carlossainz55 time to recharge energy for the next race

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[kvetchinglyneurotic]

I wouldn’t mind hearing your thoughts on the reality tv fic research you’re doing, if you had any thoughts or observations you wanted to share, be they fic-related or otherwise 🌹

So the reality TV fic is really the first chapter/prologue of a longer fic that covers Jamie's reintegration into the team and developing friendship with Sam in the first half of season 2, while also having some complicated feelings about Amsterdam and his time on Lust Conquers All as Sam and Jan rope him into their effort to get the player auction during at the charity gala changed to something less terrible. While I don't necessarily think Jamie's experience on LCA was itself traumatic, the structure of reality dating shows might poke at some sore spots in a way he might not consciously register, same as the auction did in season 1. 

Unhinged ramble on reality TV dating and how it might affect Jamie under the read more:

(My research was mainly focused on Love Island UK, the real-world equivalent of LCA; however, some of the rules, filming practices, ect. are based on industry norms that I don't know for 100% certain apply to this show) 

There are some aspects of the reality TV experience that Jamie would likely be better equipped to handle than most contestants — while the producers do go out and scout people and I gather that some (or possibly most) of them are social media "micro-influencers," one of the main things they tend to struggle with is not only the sudden rise to fame and the volume of criticism that comes with it, but the fact that it's very temporary fame and they have to reintegrate into regular life and a regular job afterwards. Jamie struggles with depression after leaving LCA, but he clearly didn't put the same stock in it as a career move as most contestants do — his depression is tied to his football career (or rather, his temporary lack thereof) and his dad; LCA was primarily a way to get away from James rather than something he was invested in for its own merits or that he likely expected to have much of an impact on his life in the long term.

He also has an advantage when it comes to contract negotiations. Reality TV contracts are extremely extensive and typically involve the contestants waiving the right to sue in the event of... basically any kind of harm (emotional/psychological distress, injury, illness, death, ect), as well as their right to privacy — many shows specify that they have hidden cameras and microphones throughout the entire house, including areas like bedrooms and even bathrooms, and that they can use, edit, ect. anything they record however they want, including frankenbiting, ie cutting together snippets of audio to form sentences that the contestants never actually said — and their contact with the outside world, as contestants aren't allowed to keep their phones or go on social media. They also often tie the contestants to the production company for several months afterwards, which may involve doing public appearances or even restricting activities related to the show (this is less relevant for something like LCA, but American Idol season 2 contracts didn't let contestants sing anywhere outside the show, even at like. private gatherings with friends and family).

I imagine Jamie's contract would include a lot of these same rules, but unlike most contestants, he has an agent (even if we know the agent kind of sucks) who may have gotten him better terms. That being said, based on the way his agent talks about him going on LCA in 2x02, there is a distinct possibility that he signed on as an impulse decision and actually didn't have anyone look over the contract, so really whether or not he had an advantage here depends on how pre-meditated his decision was at the time. Another area where he has an advantage is purely demographic: he's a white man, and reality dating shows have a massive problem with racism and sexism that affects casting, how the contestants are framed once they're on the show, and even voting behaviour. 

Prospective cast members undergo a very thorough vetting process that involves a background check, medical exam, psychological evaluation, and interviews with basically everyone they've ever talked to, it seems like. How effective the psych eval is in rooting out people who are likely to be negatively affected by the show is debatable — I read an interview with a former contestant on the Bachelor who said she suspects she was chosen because she was emotionally fragile after a recent breakup with her fiancé — and they seem to be more geared towards keeping people off the show who are likely to be physically violent with the other contestants. Jamie fits the profile of someone who might be chosen pretty well, actually: he's combative and has a big enough personality to be involved in drama, but he doesn't actually start physical fights. 

Once contestants arrive, their belongings are searched for any contraband alcohol or drugs, as well as clothes with logos from non-sponsor brands. Shows generally don't allow them to keep their phones or other electronics — Love Island contestants have cellphones that they sometimes use to take pictures and where they instructions via text, but these don't appear to be their own personal phones. (Sometimes contestants appear to be posting on social media during the season, but it's actually someone else running their account.) They're also not allowed to leave the villa except on scheduled dates (some shows do allow the contestants out, but they have to ask permission first). This is... kind of creepy, honestly, but I suspect that with James being on Jamie's case the way he was after he came back to Manchester, the lack of contact with the outside world may have been part of what appealed to him.

Life in the villa is very regimented: two producers live there with them and the contestants are told when to eat and when to sleep. This is another area that Jamie might cope with better than the average contestant, since he'd be used to working with nutritionists and generally having many more aspects of his life than the general person planned out, and the dietary restrictions are likely less strict. While conversations aren't scripted, contestants are often told to go to a specific location and to have a conversation with a specific person about a specific topic, which produces the slightly odd effect that, especially in the first couple of episodes, they spent all their time analyzing their relationships/prospective relationships with people they just met and barely know. I suspect this might be part of why it's hard to build sustainable romantic relationships in this environment — obviously communicating about what everyone wants in a relationship is good, but it doesn't allow for the regular conversations that make up most of the process of getting to know and like another person.

Which brings us to: kayfabe. Kayfabe is a wrestling term which refers to the implicit agreement between wrestlers and their fans to act as though the staged performances are authentic. Part of what I suspected tripped Jamie up during his stint on LCA and got him kicked off is that he's... not great at this part. He'd probably have some form of PR training and he has experience doing brand deals, but ultimately footballers don't have to pretend they're doing anything other than trying to win. Reality dating contestants can't say that they're there to build their brand or win the cash prize; the only motivation they can publicly acknowledge (not contractually, just in terms of coming off well to the audience) is finding love, and I suspect that Jamie was maybe a bit more obvious than he should have been about the fact that he approached it as a competition more than as an opportunity to find a relationship, which I don't think he was actually interested in at that point (or at any point, for the aro Jamie truthers among us).

There's also a bit of a tension between the producers' putative goal of capturing authentic reactions and creating certain storylines. The result is that they try to elicit certain reactions during the talking head interviews without stating outright what they want the contestant to say, and I suspect Jamie and the producers would find each other frustrating to deal with given his blunt approach to social interaction and difficulty with subtext and other forms of indirect communication. Similarly, interactions between the contestants — particularly the contestants of opposite genders — are governed by a set of extremely heteronormative social norms in which the contestants reaffirm their relationships through by, for instance, acting jealous or worried when their current partner is talking to another person as a sign that they're serious about the relationship. In addition to just generally not being a sexist dick even in his prick era, he is, again, just not that great with subtext. Ultimately, I think Jamie attracts the public's ire because he's too obvious about the fact that he's approaching LCA as a game to be won — while viewers are generally aware that reality TV is constructed, the contestants acknowledging that damages their popularity.

And now onto the potentially triggering stuff. First up: the alcohol. Most reality dating shows involve a lot of drinking, although instances of light drinking (eg sipping on champaign, drinking beer on dates) are generally more common than heavy drinking like taking shots or the contestants being shown to be very drunk, though it does happen. Some shows have an open bar, while others control the consumption of alcohol more closely and only give the contestants one bottle at a time. Contestants on Love Island are often shown drinking (usually champaign, or at least something in champaign flutes) from what appears to be an open bar, but I'm not sure which approach they actually use. I've seen some former contestants (on The Bachelor, not Love Island) attribute the frequency with which everyone drinks to the fact that they don't really have anything to do besides interact with the other contestants, get involved in drama, and drink — they don't have personal electronics, obviously, but they also aren't allowed to bring books or other forms of entertainment. Jamie does drink in canon and he goes out clubbing with his teammates, but the consistency with which everyone is drinking and the potential pressure to drink more himself as a result might make it feel a bit more fraught, particularly if part of the reason he doesn't remember losing his virginity in Amsterdam is because James forced him to drink.

Second: consent in reality dating shows is... weird. Once they sign the contract and enter the villa, the contestants pushed — though not technically legally required — to engage in various forms of intimacy which in any other situation would be considered pretty clear violations of their consent. Couples are formed unilaterally: in the season of Love Island that I watched (season 8), the initial couples were chosen by the voting public, and couples are re-formed in ceremonies in which, for instance, a newly arrived man choses between the two single women and the one who isn't chosen is sent home (or vice versa). In essence, only one member of the couple (or neither, in the case of public voting) actually has a say in whether they want to be with the other person. These couples then sleep in the same bed (in a room they share with all the other contestants), and the challenges similarly often involve one contestant choosing another to kiss, offer a lap dance, demonstrate their favourite sexual position, or perform other forms of intimacy (these examples are all from the first challenge of the first episode of season 8). In essence, while the contestants could technically refuse, they probably also wouldn't be on the show for long, and the whole thing is very much built on the presumption of consent to these more "mild" forms of intimacy. 

Other Things: 

Part way through, the men are sent to a different villa where they meet a new set of women, while the women stay at the original villa and meet a new set of men. I imagine the Jamie cheating on Amy with Denise in a hot tub incident probably occurred during something like this. 

For some reason the announcer always calls them "boys" and "girls." He does it for both genders so at least it's not sexist, but I still don't like it. 

If you want to read more about consent in reality TV dating, I found this chapter very interesting: Sreyashi Mukherjee and Dacia Pajé, "'You Can't Force Someone to Want You': Investigating Consent, Tokenism, and Play in Reality Dating Shows," in The Forgotten Victims of Sexual Violence in Film, Television and New Media: Turning to the Margins, ed. Stephanie Patrick and Mythili Rajiva (Palgrave Macmillan) [tried to attach the pdf but I got it through institutional access from my university and it won't let me 😞)

[fanfic-enthusiast]

Could I please request headcanons of one of the other bishops catching Leshy in an act of intimacy with a follower? I can imagine there might be a bit of internal conflict, depending on that bishop's values, between different things they may think are right. I.e. "They're a bishop and his follower, so do I stop this? They both clearly want to do this, so do I give them privacy and pretend I never walked in on them?"

OOOoooo juicy!! This probably happened before they all got injured.

Warning NSFW Themes

Heket

She made the unfortunate mistake of not sending a letter ahead of her before visiting her little brother. Traveling instantly through the lands has its pros and cons.

Appearing through the floor inside his temple, she didn’t see him in the main room and figured he was in his chambers. Thankfully she heard what was going on inside before she opened the door.

I think she left just as quickly as she came, not uttering so much as a word as she absconded back to Anura.

Needless to say she is working very hard to burn that memory out of her head with mushrooms. And for the most part is successful.

As for the fact that it was a follower he was with, her general philosophy is, "They're here to serve us." She will probably caution Leshy in privet to, "not let that follower think themselves superior to you."

Other then that she would prefer never to talk or think on that unfortunate incident ever again.

~

Kallamar

He came to Darkwood to ask Leshy if he had messed with his sword collection. Things had been moved from where they were supposed to be in his weapons room. 

Marching through the temple too caught up in his own thoughts to realize why exactly the temple was so empty and why the door to Leshy’s personal chambers were closed. 

“I thought I told you to stay away from my collections! They're valuable and fragile and I-” He cuts himself off after making eye contact with Leshy and his follower.  Quickly ducking out of the room and slamming the door behind him with a “OHMYGOODNESSGRACIOUS-” along with various retching sounds. Needless to say he will be knocking on Leshy’s door every time from now onwards. 

Leshy finds him in the main room of his temple looking a little green in the gills and makes his older brother promise not to tell Shamura. 

“Fine. Just stay away from my collections.” 

Kallamar’s opinion on Leshy’s relationship is pretty much the same as Heket’s so long as it doesn't effect their status as bishops he doesn’t care who Leshy sleeps with. 

~

Shamura

They needed Leshy’s insight on some odd animal behaviors in Silk Cradle, yes they could just consult the endless number of scrolls and tomes on their shelves but sometimes one on one talks were the easiest solution. Their little brother was always so in tune with the chaos of nature after all. 

They hummed as they appeared through the floor of the main temple room only to find it empty. Odd but not a problem. The spider made their way to Leshy’s personal chambers but stopped once they heard what was going on through the door. 

Once the momentary shock had passed they knocked on the door and the sound inside stopped. Moments later after some shuffling Leshy’s face poked out from around the opened door. 

“Hello brother, I require your insight on a matter in my domain when you get a moment. I know you're busy in there-”

“Shamura I-”  “I don’t need an explanation Leshy, but expect a review on safe sexual practices. And no you're not getting out of it.”

“Please no not again-”

“Oh and bring your partner you have in there as well. Only right for them to be fully educated on such matters as well.” 

Leshy and his partner for the evening are essentially forced to listen to and extensive birds and bees lecture. 

Doesn’t matter to Shamura if they're a follower or not, just that they take good care of Leshy and make him happy. Anything less and they don’t deem them fit to be in such a position. 

~

Narinder

Finally a chance to prank Leshy back for all the times the worm has messed with him!

Narinder slides through the doors of Leshy’s temple with supplies in hand. Mostly bowls of only the most rancid “food” Narinder could get his hands on. With the plan to throw this at the worm when his back was turned. 

Leshy was missing from the main room of the temple, which meant he was elsewhere inside. Perfect! 

He crept slowly up to the door of his brother’s personal quarters and just barely heard Leshy talking inside, low enough where he couldn’t make out what was being said. He muffled his giggles as best he could to avoid detection. 

Narinder threw open the door and quickly threw the overflowing bowl towards his brother before he could fully witness the scene in front of him. 

He realized exactly what Leshy had been doing when his brother quickly shoved him out of the room, nude and absolutely livid. 

Didn’t stop Narinder from cackling in the hallway for a solid half an hour as Leshy calmed down his startled follower partner. 

After Leshy cleaned himself and his partner up, he hunted Narinder down to scream at him. Which only made the cat laugh harder. 

“Can’t handle a little payback little brother?”

No remorse for his actions, especially for the follower. They're just tools for him and his siblings after all. 

He isn’t laughing like that when Leshy and his partner shave him in retaliation but that’s a story for another time. 

[frozenjokes]

Signing Back In, Apparently - 16

Prev/Next

“Do you think Mumbo is okay?” Grian wrung his hands as he broke the silence, unable to keep the peace any longer. He hadn’t been too worried when Mumbo had left, not really. Mumbo-related anxiety spikes were a normal occurrence lately, but there was something about the look on his face from this morning that was really setting Grian off.

Impulse looked up from where he sat, eyes hazy as if he had been woken from a nap. Even still, Impulse was expressive as he thought through Grian’s question, despite the fact this wasn’t the first time Grian had asked it this week. It helped, knowing Impulse took the time to consider him. “You mean, like, in general? Well, no. He and Pearl have been on edge all week, I’m just hoping they can realize how much better it feels to spend time away.”

“Well, I meant a little more today. Like, right now. I don’t know, something was up this morning. I thought maybe when he left he was just taking a second to relax or..” Grian trailed off, fidgeting with his hands. “He’s not back yet.”

“How long has it been?”

“Maybe an hour? I’m not totally sure.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s too unusual. Maybe when he gets back we can check in, or you can talk to him alone if you think that’s better.” Impulse yawned, getting to his feet. Grian felt Impulse’s gaze over him, the other ghost straightening as his focus tightened, “Is Pearl around, or is she still gone as well? She was also looking troubled before she left. Do you think this is different than usual? I’ll be honest, I was a little out of it there,” Impulse gestured sheepishly to the place on the sand he had been sitting, watching the shore. The beach had been the finish line for their flight race earlier today, and it was out of the way of Scar’s usual routine, so they had settled down to relax after. Well, after Mumbo left that is. Impulse’s brow furrowed, clearly struggling to remember. “Maybe we all need to check in.”

Grian bit his lip, beginning to pace. “I don’t know. Honestly, I kind of want to look for him, well-“ he stuttered slightly, embarrassed, “-them, but I don’t want to overstep. Would that be a breach of privacy, do you think?”

Impulse suppressed a small smile, passing Grian a teasing look, “If you just stop by and ask how Mumbo’s doing, I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. The problem is finding him, but I can help you look. We can look for both of them.”

An alarmed yell cut through the air, followed by a deep crash that shook the earth. It sounded almost like an explosion, like the impact of cannon fire. Instincts Grian had thought long gone flared back to life, heightening his senses as he looked for the area of impact, as well as the cause. He found both to the southern tip of the island, terrifyingly close. From the debris of a now crumbling building rose a large silhouette, the clearing dust framing a massive bug-like monster. Its face was round and flat, with massive black eyes and soft looking antennae extending from its forehead. Its head was framed by an ethereal mane, from below six- maybe eight legs extended, not all of which looked like they should belong to the same being. Besides its barbed forearms, it looked a lot like a moth, almost friendly in nature. That is, until a second head hinged open from between the mane with earth shaking roar. The monster flared two sets of wings that surely couldn’t belong to the same type of bug, raising its jagged forearms to the sky.

“Impulse- Impulse! Look!” Grian screeched, only to see Impulse facing the wrong direction with his hands over his ears. With great ferocity, Grian turned him around, pointing vigorously.

“We- where did that come from?!” Impulse patted blindly at Grian as if to ask him to let go, but Grian was having trouble following that commnd as realization started to dawn. The edges of its form were unstable and bright and its color was chalkier, more opaque even, but it was the same as his own.

“Impulse! It’s- it’s a ghost . It’s- that’s-“ Grian gasped, not stopping to consider any more before shooting away, directly toward Mumbo. It had to be.

“A ghost? Ghosts can’t- Grian!” Grian was vaguely aware of Impulse behind him, but his focus was solely on the form ahead. Was Mumbo conscious? Would he recognize him? Grian remembered through spikes of fear lashing out before Pearl had grabbed him, but even in her arms, the world had been so fuzzy, so terrifying. Grian heard Impulse yelling behind him and someone else (a Kestrel, maybe?) screaming, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t let this get any worse.

“Mumbo? Is- is this you?” Grian yelled, following the creature in its path. It climbed the rubble, revealing a long body that split and conjoined again as it moved, bright sparks flying through the cracks. Grian called again as he reached its more accessible face. Its eyes were huge and dark, almost kind. Almost sad. This was him, it had to be. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, yearning with every ounce of his being that Mumbo might hear him, “We’re going to get you out of this. We’re going to help you. You don’t have to be afraid.” Grian only realized he was too close when the second face reared up, jaw hanging open to reveal in vicious detail its multiple rows of jagged teeth. Decidedly, much less friendly. Grian barely dove out of the way in time before it snapped forward, only seeing its raised forearm out of the corner of his eye before it started to bore down.

Grian gasped as Impulse barreled into him, the mantis-like leg crashing down like a hammer in a near miss. It slammed into the pavement below, sending cracks splitting through the sidewalk.

Impulse held tight as Grian struggled, “Get it together! This is too dangerous, we have to get away from here and regroup.”

“We have to help him, Impulse!” Grian wailed, clawing at Impulse’s arms with hands that had no real form. He spotted Sausage as he writhed in Impulse’s grip, yelling orders to Kyle and Martyn. “He’s going to get hurt! Impulse, they’re going to hurt him!”

“Grian, I’m going to take us away. We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’ll find Mumbo and Pearl, and figure it out.”

It took Grian seconds too long to figure out what he meant. “You’re not going to- no- Impulse! Let me go! Let-“ But it was too late. The world went white, and they were suddenly somewhere new, somewhere way too far away. It was a restaurant; he and Impulse had appeared on the table, and Scar was sitting directly in front of them. Grian found himself still fighting as Impulse’s grip loosened, his rage producing an animal-like screech as he swiveled around, tackling the other ghost off the table.

“ What have you done? ” Grian’s arms shook, fastened to Impulse’s shirt as they rolled to the ground, “We just abandoned him!”

“Get a hold of yourself! You aren’t doing any good acting like this!” Impulse shoved him away, an anger Grian rarely ever saw coloring his face, “You don’t know that’s Mumbo! You did not look like that- we don’t even know if we’re dealing with the same thing. Sure, you didn’t look like yourself, but you still looked at least humanoid. That thing is the size of a house, and maybe you know better, but it seemed a lot less afraid and a lot more angry to me. I need you to take a few deep breaths before doing anything stupid, okay?”

Grian opened his mouth to protest, but both of them stopped dead when Scar began to speak, “Something must be in the air today, every one of these ghosts are so edgy! In my fantasy where Pearl actually told them to come around for their appreciation message, they just stood there nicely, they did not roll around on our table full of food hissing and spitting like cats. Honestly, I find it rude.” Scar didn’t even look at them, talking like they weren’t there.

“Uh huh,” Grian noticed Cleo for the first time, sitting across from Scar in the small booth and looking amused.

Impulse was up before Grian, leaning over the table, “You talked to Pearl? Where is she? Did you say everyone?”

Scar fixed him with a blank stare, an eyebrow ever so slightly raised above the other. Apparently unbothered, he returned to his rambling. “I mean, seriously, it’s hard to keep your appetite when you’ve got ghosts stomping all over your food,” he said, continuing to eat regardless, “No class, they have no class. Although, in hindsight, given that it was kind of hilarious to watch, I’ll grant them my forgiveness. After all, they almost made it a whole week without bothering me! I’m proud, Cleo, I am.”

“So gracious of you, Scar,” Cleo rolled her eyes with a smile, tone flat. Impulse frowned, hopping back on the table and sitting in the middle to obstruct Scar’s view. Scar didn’t move as Cleo continued, “So, you’re coming back to The Haunted Island with me tomorrow, right?”

“Where is Pearl? And Mumbo, for that matter. Did you talk to both of them?” Impulse leaned forward, trying to disrupt his focus.

“What did you do?” Grian joined in, aggressively pushing into Scar’s booth. He lost his balance, falling through Scar, but at the slight tense of Scar’s shoulders, continued phasing through him on purpose. Impulse put his hands through Scar’s face. Scar just closed his eyes, continuing as if they weren’t there.

“I am not , no. I’m not that crazy, I know what’s going to happen to me. You only want me there to distract Cub anyway, you threw me to the wolves last time! Yeah, I don’t need anyone ripping out my nails or my teeth, no thank you. ”

“Aw, but he said he’d give you new ones!”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Grian huffed, crossing his arms with a pointed glare in Impulse’s direction, “This is pointless. He basically confirmed he talked to Mumbo and Pearl, and Pearl might be out there alone trying to help without us!” Every moment they spent here was wasted on Scar. Even if given the choice, Scar would only go out of his way to hinder them.

Impulse balled his fists, clearly wanting to argue, but struggling with the words, “I just.. It feels like something bigger is going on. If we had just a little more insight-”

“Whoa,” Cleo’s voice cut through, eyes wide, “You’re bleeding, Scar. Oh shit, you’re kinda- that’s a lot!” Cleo stood up, but Scar only looked confused. Grian blinked rapidly as he saw bright blood begin to stain Scar’s shirt, quickly darkening the light fabric.

“I.. What the hell?” Scar’s brow furrowed, stumbling to his feet as he lifted his shirt, presumably trying not to get blood on the seat. There were two holes in his side, almost like shallow stab wounds, and both were leaking blood. A third appeared out of nowhere, and this time, Scar seemed to feel it, yelping in pain and surprise. “Wh- what’s happening to me? Did- is this you?” Scar turned his frightened gaze to Impulse and Grian. They exchanged looks, Impulse looking just as baffled as Grian felt.

Before either of them could answer, Scott barreled into the restaurant, face pale, “Cleo? Scar? Oh, thank fuck, do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? Scar, why don’t you ever tell anyone where you’re going! They- the Kestrels- need you!” Scott startled, focusing on Scar for the first time, “Shit, are you okay?”

“I don’t know!” Scar was visibly losing his composure now, crying out as something cut across his legs. A deep horror fell over Grian as he remembered the pain that exploded through his own head as he screamed, as he hurt Scar while trying to escape him. The stabbing through his ears, his eyes, his nose- the blindness, the fear. His tinnitus, a condition a ghost shouldn’t be able to have. He found himself frozen. Stuck. But time didn’t stop around him.

“ What did you do?” Cleo hissed, running forward with concern Scar definitely didn’t deserve. She pressed napkins from the table against his side while Scar, as he always did, made helping infinitely more difficult by squirming.

“Well- I didn’t- okay- I didn’t mean to do anything, in fact, I would argue it wasn’t even my fault really, and I don’t want to be a snitch-” Scar’s eye flicked to Impulse and Grian, a look that was enough to bring Grian back to life. He lunged forward, Scar stumbling back to get away, continuing to backpedal at Cleo’s behest.

“What did you do!” Grian shrieked, his own form rippling. He felt Impulse’s hands on his own, squeezing tight with urgency. Grian didn’t hear his whispered words. He didn’t want to be calm.

Even though Scar couldn’t hear, he got the message loud and clear, “Mumbo asked why,” Scar gritted his teeth in an exaggerated gesture, clearly not wanting to elaborate in front of the other pirates. He didn’t need to. “I’m not going to give any details, but let’s just say he forced my hand, right?” Scar held up one of his arms, his wrist and hand wrapped in a tight bandage. “I told him. He didn’t take it well. Surprise, surprise. But Pearl had it handled! She- well I didn’t stick around, obviously."

“Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt whatever ghost shenanigans are happening, but there’s a literal monster laying waste to the Kestrel Island, and it’s making its way to the main isle, so I’m going to need you , Scar, to go and help fight it, or at the very least, if it’s your doing, deal with it. ”

Scar looked momentarily like a trapped animal as he looked between Grian and Scott, but after a moment of flustered stuttering, he seemed to remember Grian didn’t have much power here and walked directly through him to get away. “Okay, okay, I’m going, but I’d like everyone here to know this was not completely my fault this time. I didn’t provoke him at all! I think. Well, maybe I could have been a bit gentler. No, no, I was gentle. It was like, tender. You wouldn’t understand. Wait, did you say he was laying waste to the island, seriously? He can like, touch stuff?”

“I- yes, Scar, it’s an emergency, so-”

“You’re not exaggerating, are you? Seriously, Mumbo’s tall, but he’s a total sap, surely he hasn’t done that much damage.”

“ It’s leveling buildings, Scar!”

Scar stared blankly, only reacting when another phantom injury appeared, this time near his chest. Mumbo. They were hurting Mumbo. Shocked out of his own anger he began to pull away, stumbling when Impulse didn’t release his hand.

“ Impulse ,” Grian had no more anger left to give, only desperation. Fear. “Please. Please let me go. They’re hurting him, Impulse.”

“Grian, you’re not going to be any help if you work yourself up into the same state. I need you to listen to me for a second. I need you to calm down.” Impulse squeezed his hand. Grian thought he might scream, or cry, or maybe both.

“We don’t have time. Don’t you see? Whatever they’re doing to Mumbo, it’s reflecting on Scar.”

“What? Did- did that happen to you? Are you sure?”

“ Yes. And the damage is permanent, at least whatever happened to my ears- I don’t know! It’s something about the connection; it gets so strong, you even share pain? Who cares how it works! Impulse, if they can hurt Mumbo, they might be able to kill him.”

Impulse stared, taking a painfully long time to let that information sink in. Grian didn’t resist, willing him to understand. Willing him to let go and help. Impulse’s brow furrowed and he spoke slowly, “Scar’s cuts- even the holes- they aren’t serious. Clearly, Mumbo must be doing pretty well for himself, even against possible gunshots. I don’t think it’s him we should be worried about if this connection goes both ways.” Impulse’s voice lifted as he finished, eyes widening. If Grian had a beating heart, it would have stopped in his chest.

“Scar.”

[salmonskinrolltf]

Joining the Team - Chapter 2

[A long-delayed follow-up to a story commissioned by the wonderful and patient @beardobession - more is on the way]

Read chapter 1 here

The next morning, Danny got to the dugout an hour before practice was scheduled to start. He couldn’t sleep that well. He had woken up every hour or so with a throbbing boner screaming for his attention, but he was afraid to jerk off again in case anything else about him changed. Not that he was upset about the new handlebar mustache that graced his face. If anything, he thought it made him look more rugged, more athletic, more like he belonged as part of the team. But he had no idea what exactly had caused these transformations and what might happen next if he accidentally triggered another change.

As the feeble dawn rays gave way to a beating morning sun that promised a sweaty day ahead, his teammates began to trickle in. Brian gave him a double take before stroking his own mustache and saying “couldn’t resist copying my style, eh?” The movement of his fingers had caused some stray hairs to stick up from his lip. He needed to comb it back into place. Danny felt the sudden urge to offer to help with that. With his tongue.

What had gotten into him today? He knew he was straight, but the rush of excitement around so much of his body changing at once must be spilling out in unusual ways. Or something. He nervously chuckled and shrugged off Brian’s remark, licking his own mustache. He adored the way his tongue felt like it was sliding across velvet, his taste buds lighting up with a rich, slightly salty flavor as the individual hairs prickled against them, making them even more sensitive thanks to the rough texture. His dick twitched involuntarily in his pants, and he snapped his mouth shut. Keep it together, Danny…

Carlos jogged up, the latest Jack Harlow song blasting from his AirPods. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to chat, but Danny thought the pitcher’s eyes had lingered a little longer on his mouth than was strictly necessary before he smirked and started stretching.

Cody was the last to appear, slipping in right before Coach Mark started his spiel. Danny didn’t get the chance to chat with him, but he did give him a fist bump that seemed to surprise him. Clearly Cody hadn’t gotten any attention from his other teammates, because that act of kindness caused a blush to spread across his cheeks, even turning the tips of his ears pink.

Practice went great that morning. Danny felt all-powerful, like he could run, catch, throw, and bat for days at a time without needing to take a break. Getting into his body really helped him channel the all-over-the-place sexual energy he had been battling throughout the night, that he barely even noticed the unbearable heat and the fact that his shirt was soaked with so much sweat, the liquid alone probably weighed more than his entire body had before this miraculous transformation.

However, as soon as practice ended and the boys were sent to the showers, his problem reared its ugly head yet again. He was pretty sure it was the Tinder message from Tara that was waiting on his phone that caused his rock hard boner to return. Not the way that Carlos’ goatee dripped with sweat after practice. Not that at all. But regardless, he waited by the lockers under the pretense that he had to answer an urgent email from his professor, so he could take a shower in privacy after the other guys had already left.

His skin tingled as the water rushed over it, whisking away the accumulated sweat and grime from practice into the drain in the center of the empty room. Water beaded on the tip of his still-erect cock, dripping to the floor with a percussive plunk-plunk-plunk. As he soaped it up, his dick jolted with pleasure and he sighed. How was he supposed to get to class with a distraction like this? After a furtive glance around, he clocked that he was completely alone in the locker room so he decided to just take care of it.

Leaving a dripping trail across the concrete floor, he ran over to his bag and grabbed a tube of lotion he kept in the front pocket. He squirted some liberally onto his right palm, returned to the shower, and got to work, the veins popping from his newly muscular forearms as he worked his meat up and down. He mentally conjured up an image of Tara from last night, how hot she had looked in her underwear. His dick started to droop, and he slapped at it half-heartedly. What was going on? He had been so boned up all day and now this…

He scrubbed his left hand over his face in frustration, feeling his dick jump to attention once again the second his palm touched the manly bristles jutting out from the lower half of his face. He had neglected to shave again this morning, so the stubble around his mustache was dark and plump, like his face had been smudged with charcoal.

He hesitantly scratched against the sandpaper toughness of his cheeks, feeling the fledgling hairs bristle against the pads of his fingers. The contrast between this masculine feeling and the formerly smooth skin he had been cursed with for the first two decades of his life sent a surge of adrenaline through him. Fuck it. He was hot now. He might as well appreciate that fact.

He began to pump again with his right hand as he explored his face with his left. The bushy new handlebar mustache felt even more prominent today, and he allowed his fingers to sink into it, disappearing almost up to his nail beds by the time they made contact with the skin beneath the rustling flurry of hairs brushing past them. He thought about how virile the hair made him feel, and he wondered if the other guys on the team who had facial hair felt the same way.

This inevitably led to him thinking about Brian’s caterpillar mustache again. About Carlos’ well-groomed goatee. About the forest of blonde hairs that graced Brian’s chest. Danny wondered if he would ever be able to grow chest hair like Brian’s. A profuse mat, the dark color of which would prove to everyone in a ten yard radius just how masculine and powerful he was. He imagined himself as hirsute as Danny, the dark hair enveloping both nipples and exploding from his shirt collar when he worse it open, a loose tangle of curls even overflowing the edge of a crew neck, curling around the hem to remind any onlookers that yes, Danny had fucking chest hair. Without warning, his dick juttered, spurting one, two, three, four, pearlescent globs of cum in a graceful arc to the shower floor, where the swirling water quickly ushered them down the drain.

Pleasure surged up from his balls, leaving his brain in a pleasant fog as his entire body was suffused in a warm glow. After a moment, the feeling subsided everywhere but his face. If anything he felt like he was only getting warmer there.

He reached up to feel his mustache, but it wasn’t there anymore. Or rather, it was there but everything around it had sprung up to meet it. His stubble had progressed from rough five-o-clock shadow to a longer, softer, mat like the moss on a forest floor, springy and thick. He patted at it, his fingers tangling in the hair on his cheeks as it began to surge out from its follicles, slowly extending a centimeter at a time.

He felt under his chin and noticed the hair there was working double time. The hairs wriggled beneath his fingers, tickling as they extended one inch, and then another, until his entire face was draped in a thick black curtain of a beard. He rubbed at his upper lip once more, regretting the way it no longer stood out above the rest of his stubble, but the regret withered away as he began to work his fingers through the thick, luscious hair that now graced his face, enjoying the rustling sound like a broom being swept across a hardwood floor.

Experimentally, he made a fist and grabbed a handful of hairs from the bottom of his chin. The thrill of having a beard long enough to grab made his dick twitch again, and he moved his head left to right, leading with the clump of beard like a marionette, the pinch of the tugged hair against his chin proving that, somehow, this whole experience was incredibly real. He loosened his hand and the hair sprang back into place against his chin.

Curious, he looked down to see if there was anything happening on his chest, the new spongy mat of his wet beard compressing against his skin as he did so. Alas, no chest hair. Yet.

He was considering jerking off again, just to see what would happen, when a faraway alarm buzzed from where his phone was tucked into the front pocket of his bag. Shit! He had to get to class! He hastily shut off the water and grabbed his towel, his new beard dripping a trail of water onto the concrete floor all the way to his locker.

——

The second Danny stepped into the university pub the next evening, the blasting AC soothed his skin, which was pebbled with sweat from his walk across campus. The rest of the team was already gathered in the corner, chatting loudly over the din of the other diners’ conversations, blending with Kesha’s “Your Love is My Drug” blasting from the tinny speakers. He couldn’t believe he was even invited to the annual welcome week kickback, something that just a few days ago he was certain was a statistical impossibility.

Danny ordered a beer at the counter and sauntered over to the group, looking for Cody. In vain, because apparently he WASN’T the last one to get there. He sat down in a booth, flapping his collar to try and unstick his new XL shirt from his torso. He saw Carlos walking past to dump a an empty paper tray that was still oozing nacho cheese into a nearby trash can and tapped his elbow to get his attention.

He could barely hear Carlos over the noise, “Shit, Danny, I hardly recognized you! You have a full beard after what, two days of not shaving? If I had your genetics, I’d be full-on Gandalf by now.”

Danny laughed obligingly, hoping he could get away with changing the subject and drawing attention away from his unpredictably changing body. “Hey man, have you seen Cody?”

Carlos’ eyes flickered for a moment before he said, “Didn’t you know? Hot date tonight! Some chick from his Econ class.”

“Oh! OK.” Danny felt momentarily disappointed.

During the lull in their conversation, the song finished, with Kesha’s trademark giggle preceding her spoken word outro of “I like your beard.”

At that moment, Carlos’ eyes surreptitiously flicked to Danny’s chin, then back up to his eyes. He took a breath, as if preparing to leap from a high dive, and leaned in to whisper in Danny’s ear, so close that the short hairs of his goatee tickled coarsely against his soft earlobe, sending a fluttering tingle down every inch of Danny’s body. “What do you say you and I get a little private practice in tonight? Meet me at the dugout at 10?”

Danny stared at him for a second, stunned. Did Carlos think he needed the extra help? Or was he… Could he be… flirting? Danny wasn’t sure which option he’d have preferred, but the silence had begun to stretch uncomfortably long so he just nodded, muttering “Sure, thanks.”

Carlos winked, then walked over to the bar to order another round of drinks.

Continue to Chapter 3

[jovenshires]

I feel like the real problem with the shourtney isn't the weirdo (affectionate) tumblr side but stuff like tiktok. Bc with almost every other ship it is only weirdo tumblr kind of people that treat it as ficition but with shourtney there are so many normies that are doing truther shit.

Tiktok is so so so so bad. There is a tiktok with half million views analyzing courtney and shayne selfies and account of their family to "prove" that they are a couple.

They scare me.

I am not part of either group but if you a weirdo tumblr shourtney shipper just know that when people complain about shourtney "shippers" they are talking about the second group of people mostly.

(sorry for so many people using your inbox to do ship "discourse" haha, I am doing too but feel free to ignore and delete this if you don't want to talk about it anymore)

okay so to start off - totally agree with you that it's not really tumblr that's the problem. i will say i don't go into the sh/ourtney tag (bc. not my monkeys not my circus) but at least as far as the mutuals i have that do ship sh/ourtney, they're super chill about it! as we do, they treat the dynamic as purely fiction, they don't ya know. harass anyone.

i (and i say this thankfully) am not REALLY on smoshtok. i get the occasional smosh men or angela thirst edits and that is About it. but i will say this: you all know i am totally against tinhatting in all senses of the word. i try to stay as far away from those sides of every social media platform. so i'm with you, that shit is nasty.

but even after all that - i saw that tiktok. multiple friends sent me that tiktok. i didn't like it or anything or engage with it on purpose but i saw it. and then i found out later that they were both tagged in it, as was the official smosh account. my brother in christ i truly wish i'd never seen it. i think its one thing to look at a picture and be like 'omg they're so cute here' but another thing to compile it as evidence and throw it back in their faces. at that point, it feels like forcibly outing an aspect of their life that they clearly either do not want to or cannot discuss. they are still people with a right to privacy. rpf is just that - fiction. this is something different and i hope they one day have the clarity to see that.

tbh i really appreciate your input; you worded it much better than i did!! this is what i was talking about when i said that this epidemic isn't a huge thing here on tumblr, and i think a lot of that is in part bc the cast isn't here for us to interact with. the official smosh blog has been dead for years and as far as i know (?) none of the cast uses tumblr anymore. i was thinking more of the instagram, tiktok, and some twitter fans. (twitter is a mixed bag though and i won't get into that here. ever.) 9 times out of 10 i am Not talking about tumblr fans when i critique shipping at large. (that is to say not always. we can always work on ourselves and grow as a community. i, myself, am always learning and growing.)

anyway! i wanted to publish this ask, because i think it's very succinct and touches on a subject that i think was very valuable to this discussion (re: tinhatting). this ask is totally fine and did not cross a line in any way and i genuinely appreciate the thought you put into sending it!! that being said - this is probably the last ask i will publish on the subject. though i adore you all and i want you to feel free to speak your piece, frankly, i would also like to maintain my peace knnfnfk i do think that these discussions are important and worthwhile but that being said. i am just one lil guy.

[frozenbound]

Henlo the previous anon here! Waaaaahh you did so great with the prompt (poor Hanzo needs to walk with crutches). Would love to see a sequel where its Genji riding a toy this time 🤤

This ask was sent via Zaqa, which allows anonymous asks with an account!

I'm happy to hear you liked it, Anon! Thanks so much for requesting a sequel! I decided to mix in something that came up in a previous ask with hardlight dildos, as well as adding a small element of identity porn. I hope you enjoy it!

Genji enjoying riding his toy, coming right up under the Read More!

It was five days before Genji was walking normally again.

It wasn’t a surprise. For one, Cassidy’s cock had been huge and Cassidy had been rough. For another, it took that long for Mercy to come back, and after she had attended to Hanzo’s broken pelvis, it was easy to sidle up to her and whisper that he had a “personal” problem that just needed a small dose of biotics from her staff. 

Mercy was a good, thorough doctor, however, so it took a little more than that before she said, “Oh!” in a knowing tone, and then he was walking out of the medical bay without any trace of a stiff-legged limp.

Good thing, too. Hanzo would be waking up any minute now after his surgery, and Mercy wouldn’t have spared him any of her best effort to be sure he woke up healthy and whole…and incredibly horny.

Then he would go straight to his quarters.

In search of his toy.

Winston really seemed to have it out for Genji's brother. The very same transport that had brought Mercy back to the Watchpoint had taken Cassidy away.

Apparently, there was a stubborn band of former Blackwatch-turned-Talon operatives that his brother-in-law was by far the most qualified to handle.

So off he went.

Winston had asked to speak to them three days ago, and specifically requested them to be in the cafeteria when they took the call. In hindsight, it was obvious he had wanted them to be in an open and public space where they couldn’t roast him alive like they certainly would’ve had they been in their quarters.

His brother and brother-in-law had been so angry and so horny after Winston broke the news as gently as he could (and then ended the video call as quickly as he could) that they hadn’t been quite mindful enough of their lack of privacy.

“Fuck!” they had roared together, swinging all four of their fists down onto the table.

Genji had been about to enter the cafeteria, but he had paused at the shouted…shrieked word that was almost deafening out here in the hallway despite the firmly closed door.

Then there had been a diatribe, a tirade, that Genji had listened to, slack-jawed, because while he knew that both men had what could charitably be called “tempers”, it was amazing to hear them so enraged at the same time.

It had taken about fifteen minutes before their throats were too raw and there were no more chairs within arm’s-reach to throw.

Then, a deathly silence descended.

Then…

“Don’t,” Cassidy started, with sudden hesitance in sharp contrast to his bitter anger a few moments earlier, “Don’t…think less of me for this…”

More silence.

“For what?” Hanzo croaked, sounding exhausted now that he had vented out his immense frustration, but also clearly mystified and suspicious.

“For…for looking at…toys. While you’ve been…while we’ve been waiting.”

Hanzo sighed, the sound soft but clear to Genji’s cybernetic ears. “I don’t think less of you,” he murmured. “I’m only sorry that I couldn’t meet your needs.”

“Don’t need anything but you,” Cassidy said firmly, slamming his fist down on what must be a very dented table by now. “I’d wait a hundred years for you, and then I’d wait a hundred more if I had to. Which is what this’ll feel like,” he added bitterly.

There was another short silence, and Genji wondered if his brother had leaned against Cassidy or taken his hand or something similar. That had been the time to sneak away and stop listening to this clearly private and intimate conversation, but unfortunately…

“What did you find among those ‘toys’? I assume it’s something…ah…pertinent,” Hanzo said, sounding increasingly uncertain the longer he talked.

“Yeah, I’ll get right to the point. Hardlight dildos. Customizable hardlight dildos. Uh…live customizable dildos.”

It took his brother a moment.

“Live?”

“Live as in, current. Broadcasting. Streaming.”

Another moment.

“Oh.”

Now, despite the circumstances of Genji’s existence, when it came to electronics and telecommunications he was much more a user than a programmer…or a hacker.

But he’d learned a few tricks, especially since the terrifyingly powerful Sombra had reared her purple, glowing head and shut down parts of his cybernetics for a short but hair-raising time. Then, if only to understand what had happened to his body and how it happened, he had done some intense reading on the subject, and had grown increasingly nervous about how vulnerable all internet-connected devices were.

He’d never imagined, however, that he’d be taking advantage of those vulnerabilities. 

In the end, everything had been frighteningly easy.

Just a quick look at the express package that arrived at the Watchpoint less than 24 hours later, with the return address helping to ensure that another express package arrived less than 24 hours after that.

Then a quick search with the new WiFi visualization filter that Winston and Mercy had added to the cybernetics in his visor to help track Sombra’s movements and hacking locations, which came complete with a shockingly complete amount of data when it came to things like device IDs and security certificates and “secure” connections…

A quick (and untraceable) cloning and synchronization of the data he had mined…

And there they were, sitting on his bed when he returned to his quarters: two innocuous-looking metal rings, one of which could simulate an asshole, and the other which could simulate a dick, both in realtime, both as an exact facsimile, and both with precise feedback.

Genji closed the door behind him and licked his lips.

He doubted that Cassidy was going to treat his husband with anything close to the intensity he had treated his “toy” five days ago…

…but Genji needed something akin to it.

And he was going to have it.

He disrobed, shrugging off the hoodie that he sometimes wore.

To be honest, he often wore it just to be able to take it off, slowly, with anticipation, baring the gray, artificial skin and tan natural skin of his torso.

Then he did the same with his sweatpants, biting his lip as he slid the elastic waistband over his thickening cock, making it spring out when the fabric finally fell over his hips and dropped to the floor.

Then he sat on the bed, his cock twitching occasionally in his lap, but it was his hole that he was concerned with today…though Cassidy had been able to satisfy both last time.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed by as he sat there, breathless with anticipation, watching those two rings and not aware of much other than hope, hope that he had cloned the software and settings correctly, that he had modified everything correctly so that he would receive data but not transmit any, that it would work, just please, let it work…

Then the asshole simulator lit up, the hardlight flickering as it formed the perfect image of a tight ring of muscle.

Showtime.

Genji moved quickly.

He sighed in breathless anticipation as he inserted the other ring between his buttocks even as he kept his eyes trained on the asshole. It was twitching and clenching so realistically, looking almost real despite the cool blue color of the hardlight, and Genji couldn’t help licking his lips as he suppressed his longing to dip down and take a little taste, a little feel.

The fact that it was…possibly…his brother’s asshole meant surprisingly little to him at this point, horned up and vibrating with anticipation as he was.

Though it was a reminder, a sharp reminder, of what Hanzo had said on that fateful day, while Genji had been hiding Cassidy’s sextoy and crawling under the sheets. 

“It will be a struggle to decide what to do: fuck you into the mattress or ride you into the sunset.”

What had his brother and brother-in-law decided in the end?

Whose facsimile of an asshole was Genji staring at right now?

He wouldn’t know until…

But…probably…not even then.

Growing up together, Genji and Hanzo had shared the castle baths enough times that Genji was aware that Hanzo was…amply…endowed. Maybe even equally endowed as his husband. 

Would Genji be able to tell the difference?

Would Genji…would Genji care?

The question had been floating in the back of his mind during this whole insane process, and the answer, while not definitive in the lead-up to this moment, had seemed to indicate that he was going to take the risk.

And now that the moment had arrived…

Suddenly, the simulated asshole at his side…opened.

For a wild crazy moment, Genji had no idea what could possibly be making it stretch so wide and then wink closed, but when it trembled, clenched, and then opened once more, the answer slammed into his mind and shot straight down to his dick.

Anal beads, he thought, awestruck, as he watched that asshole tremble and then spread wide open again, wider this time, and then try to wink closed, but not quite managing it.

Then, one final time, widest of all but still fairly small for an anal bead, at least in Genji’s experience, it spread spread spread and then snapped almost closed, the ring of muscle trying to grip in vain at the small empty circle in its middle.

And that was all the warning either it or Genji got.

“Ah!”

Genji couldn’t hold back the surprisingly needy yelp.

There was no build-up, no teasing, no foreplay. In an instant, in a single moment, Genji was getting absolutely pummeled once again.

He had planned to lay out on his bed, face down, ass up, just like last time, but the furious piston spearing into his flesh so big, so wide, so deep…so fast!...had his back ramrod straight, his mouth open, his eyes wide, and his cock so, so hard.

The question of whether it was Hanzo or Cassidy pounding into him was now the farthest thing from his mind; the pace, the ferocious, absolutely merciless pace, was all that mattered, all that he needed, all that he had craved since that fateful day under Cassidy and Hanzo’s sheets.

He was dimly aware of falling back until he was leaning against the wall, somewhat conscious that he was spreading his legs wide to welcome that barbarous invader into his innards, a little cognizant that, not bound to silence like he was before, he was letting little noises, whimpers and whines, escape his drooling mouth.

Otherwise his mind and ass were equally full of that wonderful, thick, long, ruthless cock, slamming into him over and over, seeming to strike directly at his prostate like a battering ram, like lightning, until…

“Ah! Y-yes, Cass, yes, brother, ah, yes, yes, yes!” Genji babbled as his cock throbbed, twitched, and then erupted, throwing a shower of opalescent cum high into the air to rain down on his chest and face. “Oh, brother, Hanzo, Cass, Cassidy, Cassidy, yes, fuck me! Fill me! Fucking drill me til I can’t walk! Oh! Oh! Ah!”

Whoever it was thrusting into him, they certainly had stamina. For a time that seemed endless yet incredibly short, Genji, now slouching against the wall as he panted and whimpered and gasped when another, and then another orgasm was punched straight through his prostate and out his dick, had the presence of mind to wonder if this was proof that it was Cassidy once again using him so wantonly, or if his brother, after so many weeks without, was displaying the same amount of far-too-long-deprived lust, but he didn’t have much capacity left to dwell on it; the room was too hot, the air was too thick with the scent of his own cum and sweat and his needy sounds, and the holographic cock barreling into him was just right, pushing aside his abused yet non-resistant flesh and sending bolts of pleasure echoing throughout him. 

Then, regrettably, that cock slammed into him one last time, struck into his core with a force that, despite everything he had endured, forced the air out of his lungs, and then, as though stuck fast, trembled and pulsed within him, and Genji shuddered at the thought of how much cum must be flooding out, gushing out, and he blinked and shouted as he came one last time, pushed over the edge by the thought.

Breathing hard, almost wheezing, he came back to himself some time later.

The hardlight toys had powered off at some point while he had been lost in his post-orgasmic haze, leaving him achingly, almost pathetically empty.

He stared at the ceiling, breathing in the sharp, humid smell of his own essence, feeling it drop across his skin in rivulets and streams.

Success, he thought to himself with a weak chuckle. Success.

[sneezemonster15]

Are you for real? No, seriously are you?

Do you know that Hinduism is a religion, not a race? Do you know that every religion has had a bloody and bigoted history? Do you know that religions can be, and have been, used as a way to discriminate far more than they were used to bring people together? Do you know anything about the Hindu religion? Did you know that in Manusmriti, which is basically a guidebook for 'moral code of conduct' for the Hindus, it says that women are men's property and men can choose to use them however they want? That women should be seen and not heard? Did you know that it categorically discriminates people on the basis of caste and gender? Do you know that in its conception itself, it is a discriminatory religion? I know those who practice it themselves will chafe at it and not agree. But it's true nevertheless.

The only reason I am even responding to this is because I have gotten queries about it and I don't want to see those because, like I have already said, I value my privacy.

I am here to talk about storytelling and characters and that's what I wanna stick to. If you like it, go ahead. If not, then it's beyond the ambit of my consideration.

People here feel way too comfortable to judge others' personal and political feelings heh, without having any damn idea about that person's history or background. Well, you could have given me the benefit of doubt, given up until now, you didn't have a problem with my views. But you chose to simply say this bs? You know the world is bigger than you imagine. There are a lot of things you don't know. Why didn't you at least Google it first? What I am talking about is an extremely well documented subject.

Yes, I have very, very justified reasons to feel the way I feel. And oh by the way, that person who is harassing me, who has made several different accounts to bother me, only because they didn't like that I blocked them, you really think that person gives a shit about my views on religion? That person obsessively went over a year back on my blog just to find something to frame me, so they could use it as a reason to get me in trouble with Tumblr. They have been reported and already been partially banned by Tumblr, yes Tumblr can do that. The person's whose screenshots you saw abused me calling vile names in the name of this religion. That person has been reported by several people, and not just SNS. If you knew the meaning of those swear words that they used for me, your ears would turn pink. Do you have any sense of proportion? Do you think everyone in the world will think like you and everyone has had the same circumstances as you? What is this fucking homogeneity? I don't care about your shallow and obviously ignorant understanding of the world.

You think this person's feelings got hurt because of what I said? You think a person who acts like that person has any consideration for being politically correct? How naive you are. Heh. The person who told me that, I underestimated their pettiness and that they would take a break but they would be back for me?

For real? They are clearly doing whatever they are doing out of SPITE. If nothing else, you should have been able to clock that. There's a reason I judge SS and NH people the way I do. Because they aren't capable of rational thought. You think anything that comes out of their mouths would be rational? I haven't seen one time when they did that. One can't be intelligent or logical or rational and say and believe things that they say and believe.

No one is ever Right? Is that so? How easily you generalise lol. Except I am right in my beliefs. I don't believe in or condone discrimination based on gender, religion, caste, sexual orientation or class.

I grew up navigating certain social realities that not many people of my generation have had to experience in their lifetimes. Do I have Hindu friends? Yes, I do. Many. Do they celebrate their religion? No. Do they agree with me? Also, yes. But is it a simple matter of leaving all ties behind to agree with me? No. These things are complex, very much rooted in their own identity, and I understand it.

I appreciate honesty, common sense and generosity of spirit in people. I don't care for ignorance. I try in my own ways to address it. The major reason why I made this blog is one of them.

I have had enough of this. I will NOT entertain any further enquires on my views regarding this subject. That's not why I am here. And anyone who feels like they are not satisfied is welcome to unfollow me. Right now. You have no idea about the depth and strength of my convictions. Heh.

Anyone who continues to enquire about my reasons to feel what I feel about this religion will be immediately blocked with haste.

[avasharpe]

Only For Her

Chapter: 1/1

Words: 777

Summary: Ava and Sara text each other using emojis.

Fandom: DC’s Legends of Tomorrow

Relationships: Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe. 

Characters: Ava Sharpe, Sara Lance, and Mick Rory.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences.

Additional Tags: Emojis, implied sexual content, Beer, Friendship.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

AN: Look at me posting for Avalance again. I decided to clear out my WIP folder so while these are short and simple. I'll be posting a few more things in the future.

………………………………………………………………

Sara smiled down at her phone as those three little dots disappeared to reveal Ava’s new text.

“I know how much you love desert, 🍩🍰🧁.”

“Not as much as you do 😜,” Sara typed back with a smile.

“I don’t know. You seems to enjoy that whipped cream and chocolate last week🍫.”

“You know I can have Gideon fabricate anything I want 😉.”

“Is that a challenge, my love? 🤨” 

The more Sara thought about it, the more her mouth watered as she longed for her lips to touch Ava. Something stirred deep inside her, a gentle ach that she knew and loved. It had been a week since they had been able to see each other in person as Ava was busy with the Time Bureau being audited by the government and the nonstop time aberrations appearances. Sara was so worked up that even the idea of licking her girlfriend’s fingers was enough to work her up.

“Your kitchen. Tonight. The one who looks the most delicious wins. 🥵🌶️”.

Just as she hit send someone knocked on her door.

“Sara,” Ray wined, as he knocked again. “John refuses to do any of his chores or clean up after himself. It’s becoming a real problem. The dust build up in the Gym is reaching allergen levels.”

“I’ll be there in a minute Ray,” Sara yelled, flopping onto her bed.

Her phone dinged and she quickly checked her text.

“You're on! 😠🍑” 

Sara smiled and placed her phone on her nightstand before going to moderate Ray and John’s . argument. Some day she wished her team was more independent and willing to deal with their own shit without running to her at the first sign of conflict. She often felt like a school teacher with a bunch of ill-equipped children.

………………………………………………………………

“Mick!” Sara shouted, as she entered the parlor, she walked up to him and held out her hand making a grabbing motion.

“Something, I can help you with Captain?” Mick asked with a smirk.

“Just hand it over Mick.” 

However, he only shrugged and as he casually sipped on his beer.

“Now!” Sara said using the harsh voice she only used for desperate times.

“Alright, alright, no need to get your panties in a twist or did you decide on a thong for the Mrs. tonight,” Mick said as he teased her while fishing her phone out from the lining of the recliner.

“What have I told you about going through my phone,” she said, when he handed the phone to her she waved it at him like a scolding teacher.

“How the hell am I supposed to resist when you just keep it lying around like that?”.

“It was in my room behind a locked door!”

“Yeah well, isn’t that secure of a door, I thought you of all people would know better. You should at least hide it in a safe or smoothing. I mean I expect this kinda thing from Haircut or Pretty…”

“My room is supposed to be secure!” Sara said, stomping her foot. It was in that moment as she realized how childish she was being, but he had already made his bed she might as well make him lay in it.

“I can’t allow you to continue to go through everyone’s phone. It’s a gross invasion of privacy. If you continue to do this I’ll have no choice but to prohibit you from lighting any fires.”

He shrugged, clearly not taking her threat seriously.

“I mean it Mick. No trash fires, no lighters, no nothing, and if it means John has to stop smoking, then so be it. It’d be good for him,” Sara said, crossing her arms as Mick eyed her, but they both knew she would make good on her threats. 

“Fine,” Mick growled, as glared at her.

“Thank you,” Sara said, her voice returning to its sweet sound. “Now, hand over Ray’s too. And Nate’s.”

Mick reluctantly handed over the phone and mumbled under his breath in worlds she chose not to hear.

“Thank you,” she said. When she finally had everyone’s phone, she turned to walk out of the parlor.

“How come, Ava only texts you, Emojis,” Mick asked, catching her attention as she turned back to him. “She doesn't text them to anyone else.”

“I guess I’m just special,” Sara said, with a smile she felt a pink tint to her cheeks that she didn’t bother hiding from him.

“You got a good one, their boss,” Mick said, giving her a nod of approval, something Sara knew meant he thought very highly of their relationship.

Sara smiled, as she thought of how true his words were. “I know.”

[olderthannetfic]

I know you have issues with ffn, but is it possible they’re all just busy with real life and can’t always be on the site? I mean the founder started it in college and obviously has a family of his own now and just prefers to stay off social media. I think the staff are rather introverted and like their privacy, so they do what’s needed and don’t chit chat, because it’s not their thing. They must be very private people that see it as a hobby, but otherwise let the users figure it out as they think they’re smart enough to handle it themselves. I just think they legit aren’t talkative by nature, nothing personal but they just run the site like how a 90s webmaster would and don’t really answer questions much as they’re busy with outside sources. I wonder if that answers some questions people have about why they’re so distant. Maybe they’re just very busy adults now and hardly have time to use the site now. Whatever the case they do update the site. I don’t think anything bad happened to Xing, he’s just grown up and moved on to do his own thing. The site got renewed two weeks ago so clearly someone is looking after it but more in terms of maintenance. I wonder if that’s why people run into problems with them, because they just aren’t social people.

--

Most 90s sites gave somewhat more updates than FFN does, and being social or not social has fuckall to do with whether a site posts messages about its status in public.

I don't personally care whether they update people or not. Like I said, I thought the latest freakout was ridiculous. I used the site regularly for a year or two at the beginning and then left when they banned porn in 2002. I only care about FFN from the perspective of historical preservation or for how it gives a more well rounded image of fandom than looking at AO3 alone does.

What is this tone you're taking, like I'm being a Big Meanie to the poor introverts? FFN doesn't need defending just because a few people get scared it's going down every time there's a bug.