#week two: party

[argisthebulwark]

Happy week number two of @tescheer folks!!✨ I know that this is not entirely canon compliant but I am too obsessed with the idea of a New Years kiss with Brynjolf to care <3 This is another prompt combo - Kiss and Party :)

With each second that passed, they grew closer to the closing of that disastrous year. The Guild Master was tucked securely into her chair and attempted her sternest expression in case anyone happened to look her way. While the festivities were exciting, they were no excuse to fall behind in her work. Recruits needed fresh armor, new training dummies needed to be procured, and she had a meeting with the Black Briars that she'd yet to prepare for. Sweeping a hand over her table she grabbed a list of jobs yet to be assigned - a meeting with Delvin and Vex would certainly be added to her ever growing to-do list. 

Another round of laughter interrupted her thoughts. The Guild Master's gaze tracked around the tavern and felt something tugging in her chest - thieves gathered around the bar, drinks half finished and heads thrown back in laughter. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd been part of their group, free from the constant weight of responsibility she now bore.

When she'd been awarded with the position of Guild Master it had felt like such an honor, a reward for what she'd endured. As the months dragged by she'd begun to realize why no one else was eager for the job. Mercer had enough thieving to last them a lifetime, which left her with little more than a never ending pile of paperwork and a persistent headache. 

"C'mon, lass." Brynjolf placed a mug of ale atop her list and the Guild Master grit her teeth. "Celebrate with us." 

"I have tasks to finish." She attempted to wave him off, though a hand around her wrist stopped whatever protest came next. Brynjolf's cheeks were slightly pink and his armor was unbuckled to reveal a dark shirt. Despite her best efforts she hadn't been able to stomp out that damned crush on him. It had stuck around since that first fateful encounter. The smile on his lips seemed to melt away all her worries when he guided her out of the chair. 

"It's almost the new year." He countered and she knew her resolve wouldn't last. She tried to remain wary but the excited chatter only grew as an ancient clock ticked down the seconds. The Guild Master's head felt fuzzy when Brynjolf's hand rested on her lower back, guiding her deeper into the crowd. Surrounded by old friends and new recruits, she allowed herself a moment of relaxation. 

"Been one hell of a year." Delvin's gruff voice cut through the rest, all conversations quieting. The Guild Master's cheeks burned when he raised his mug and nodded in her direction. "But with the help of Brynjolf and his favorite little recruit, we've finally righted the ship." 

Brynjolf's rich laugh warmed her heart. He remained close and bore an easy smile she'd seen less often during the past few weeks. He looked comfortable, like he could finally relax. A large hand patted her on the shoulder the Guild Master's stomach sank as all eyes turned to her. She prayed that they wouldn't expect a motivational speech.

"Choosin’ you is still the best decision I’ve ever made." His voice dripped with sentimentality and breathing became difficult. His gaze always knocked her off balance, heart skittering out of control and hands clumsy when he looked at her. She tended to ignore the childish crush, stuffing feelings down until they became easy to avoid. But as the last minute of their tumultuous year slipped away it was dangerously easy to grow closer to him, those old feelings bubbling to the surface. 

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" 

"I should get back to work." She breathed, enticed by the way Brynjolf had drifted closer. Bodies jostled as thieves joined in on a chant, counting down until the beginning of a new year. 

"Seven! Six!" 

"Is that what you want?" His words were heavy with another meaning she couldn't hope to discern. The Guild Master's throat ran dry when she recalled the old tradition - the myth that kissing your partner as the clock struck midnight heralded a prosperous new year. Brynjolf's deep green eyes took in every move she made and she knew she could reject him now, could flee to her desk and hide behind her work. 

"Five!" 

"No." She answered finally, hands trembling at her sides. Someone's elbow jabbed into her back as they hurried past, sending her stumbling closer to Brynjolf.

"Four!" 

"What do you want then, lass?" Deep and sultry, his words broke the last of her resolve. 

"Three! Two!"

Her eyes fluttered closed and her heart sang when she swallowed against the cowardly urge to back out. She'd sold her soul to a Daedric Prince and faced off against unbeatable foes, she could be brave for this one moment.

"One!" 

Kissing him was messy, arms flung around his shoulders and noses bumping together. He tasted like ale but the Guild Master paid it no mind. Brynjolf's hands steadied her, chuckling into the kiss. One strong arm wrapped around her waist and she was in heaven, Brynjolf's lips moving so easily against hers. It was better than all those little fantasies that had floated around in her mind over the years, clumsy yet perfect. Somewhere off in the distance she heard someone hollering her name but nothing mattered other than his kiss.

She didn't open her eyes when he pulled away, forehead pressed to hers. A soft kiss landed on her overheated cheek but she couldn't look quite yet. Her cheeks burned when she heard one of the thieves wolf whistling and fought to stay in this blissful little moment with Brynjolf.

"Hell of a way to start the new year." 

[lazylittledragon]

so uhhhhhhhh. not to be cryptic and bitchy on main but congratulations to everyone in my messages for like 5 months on being right i guess

[pygmypouter]

lowkey i graduated 😋🐒

[marizch]

a small contribution to the melvik week

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Dungeon Meshi: The RPG

[leona-florianova]

Friend had a surprise birthday party in an abandoned house.

Here he is cutting a cake while we stand around in a circle...backlit by some candles

[alimicart]

I am clinically insane!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I decided to use memory of looping, which gives you +5 hp per loop and the death corridor to get Siffrin to max hp because someone had to do it.

Here’s some data because I’m a cringe STEM major!!!!

Starting hp: 495

+100 hp per every 20 loops

+500 hp per every 100 loops

+1000 hp per every 200 loops

I had calculated that about 1900 loops would be needed to get to that hp, but I must’ve been 1 or so short as I had to get to loop 1902 and I could’ve sworn that I started on loop 1 not loop 2.

I started tracking the amount of loops per hour late so the data from the beginning is missing but the average Loops per hour was 188.625 Lph

If I could attach a data table I would, but I’m not sure how to format that so you’re just gunna have to trust me on that number lol.

[rebel-hunk-enjoyer]

I don't think Kallus is a great spy!! Here me out, though :)

I like the idea of him being fairly competent at spying compared to your average rebel, because of some of his experiences in the ISB, but the ISB isn't exactly an intelligence bureau in the traditional sense. They're law enforcement and internal intelligence, they are the not-so-secret police who are internally investigating things like treason, disloyalty, thought crimes, etc within the Empire.

To get into the gritty details: the ISB is a part of COMPNOR or the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order. This commission grew out of the Clone Wars Era COMPOR or the Commission for the Protection of the Republic, a hard-line loyalist group that lobbied the Galactic Senate to give more authority to the Supreme Chancellor and promoted wartime propaganda that aligned with their agenda. When Palpatine became Emperor, the New Order absorbed COMPOR and reorganized it into a government agency that served as the Empire's propaganda wing. The Imperial Security Bureau is a part of that because it used to be the Internal Security Bureau of COMPOR. They were already shady af and trying to root out disloyalty within their ranks during the later stages of the Republic and just shifted that over to rooting out disloyalty within the Empire at large through the ISB.

Which means that the ISB is ultimately tasked with making sure the New Order's agenda is advanced: enforcing the state-sponsored political religion to maintain control, order, rule of law, uniformity, Imperial civic pride, and so on. COMPNOR supported xenophobia and the Empire's humanocentric policies, advanced the human 'natural right to rule' nonsense, minimized the accomplishments of alien species, and pushed anti-alien xenophobia to the point of sowing distrust throughout the Empire. The ISB is their agency that does all of that in the name of security. In fact, the ISB has an entire division for interrogation and another for re-education, just to underscore the New Order's dedication to the bottom line of thought conformity and the role the ISB plays in that. They aren't just the not-so-secret police, they are the not-so-secret police who have the authority and means to brainwash loyalty into Imperial citizens.

Now, Kallus worked within the enforcement, investigations, and internal affairs divisions of the ISB throughout his career and by the time we see him in Rebels, he's clearly operating as a part of the enforcement division. He specifically states that "as an agent of the ISB, [he] follow[s] the letter of the law" and I imagine that he has the ISB Loyalty Manual memorized backwards and forwards. But knowing the letter of the law when it comes to hard-line New Order political religion conformity doesn't automatically translate into knowing everything, right? He's ignorant about larger scale operations to the point that he seems almost disinterested in them on Bahryn while talking to Zeb about Geonosis, actually.

This, I think, is what makes Kallus very interesting as a defector. He isn't just some guy who changes his mind when presented with new information, he's some guy who has dedicated his entire career to toeing the party line and rooting out the mere suggestion of anyone, anywhere within the Empire not doing the exact same. He's the thought cop and he's suddenly thinking thoughts he has never had before, he's suddenly doing things that he's only ever seen done by people who were arrested and re-educated if they were lucky, he's suddenly the thing that he's spent his entire career trying to stop.

But that's also why I think he wouldn't be a good spy specifically in S3 against Thrawn. He's used to finding traitors to the Empire, that's what all of his skills are honed toward. Now he's the traitor to the Empire, surrounded by a bunch of hard-line Imperials who are all focused on stopping the rebels, and he's ... trying to get information from them? To pass along to the Rebellion? With a repurposed MSE and some sleight of hand with Lyste's code cylinder? This isn't to say that he didn't give the Rebellion valuable information, he did that on several occasions, but when it came down to the wire, when it came down to the actual spycraft of keeping himself safe, he did not perform well. He got the job done, he covered his ass, but he did not cover his ass in such a way that he was able to fool Yularen or Thrawn. They were onto him immediately, they left him in his position with the intention of using him against the Rebellion, Thrawn even waited until he had Kallus dead to rights, caught him right in the act of sending a message to the Rebellion.

All of this is to say that I think Kallus might have been a better spy if he hadn't been ISB and that being ISB maybe set him up to be terrible at spying on Thrawn. Because I can't imagine spending nearly two decades hunting down people for non-conformity, then suddenly finding yourself on the other side of that and not being really, really nervous? He probably saw accusations of treason on his own face every morning in the mirror, he was probably sick about it constantly, worried that he might slip in a way that would be meaningful to an ISB agent, thinking more about his performance of being an Imperial than on the actual spying itself, than the MSE or the code cylinder or whatever else. I imagine him worrying so much about his Imperial Mask and not thinking as much as he should have about the rest.

Because first and foremost he was a cop who policed loyalty, not actually a spy.

Now, of course, this changes once he gets into the rebellion at large, because I do think a lot of his ISB skills would be adjacent to spycraft, but I think before that he was more backed into a corner like a wounded animal about it than anything else because of the political atmosphere surrounding the Empire and how it polices loyalty.

[nikisdaughter]

Now that we are in carnival season, it's okay to post these iconic photos of Senna again

[tennessoui]

wine party au morning after ficlet

thank you so much to the person who donated to my ko-fi and asked for a wine party au ficlet in exchange!! this fic takes place the morning after obikin's first meeting (and after they've fucked) - i hope you enjoy!!! (also btw i'm still doing fic trades for donations on my ko-fi because it's really stupidly expensive to get my laptop fixed and i need it for school stuff as well as fic stuff but im flat broke)

The first thing Anakin notices when he wakes up is the pleasant ache in his muscles along his back and in his thighs. It’s the sign of a good night, that feeling, and Anakin can admit it’s been a while since he’s felt it.

He wants to roll over on the disgustingly soft mattress, languish in the warm morning light wrapping around his bare shoulders, tangle his legs in the sickeningly plush duvet, and sleep for several more hours. It’s what he deserves after all he did for the owner of this bed last night.

Or, all he let the owner of this bed do to him last night. Whichever.

But he can’t, because the moment he cracks his eyes open to peer across the expanse of the  mattress, he realizes that he’s alone, the other side of the bed gone cold.

The lack of Kenobi makes Anakin wake up all the way, one part indignant and another part…worried. Or, not worried, really, but something like it. His chest gets tighter as he scans the large room for signs of the other man and comes up empty. Doesn’t Kenobi know the first thing about sleeping with someone? You don’t let them wake up alone, unless you’re just an incredible asshole.

Which, well, Anakin knew Kenobi was, but he’d thought maybe Kenobi knew the basic etiquette of fucking someone.

He’d certainly pretended to last night, at least, after all the other guests had left and it was just Anakin and Obi-Wan sitting on the white patio furniture by the pool. It’d been almost a masterclass of unnecessary seduction, the way Kenobi had taken the wine glass from Anakin’s hand and set it on the table by his elbow; the way he’d slid closer, thigh to thigh, and tucked a loose bit of hair behind Anakin’s ear; the way he’d rested his hands so lightly on Anakin’s waist when he’d given the urge to swing himself into Obi-Wan’s lap…. 

It’d been weird, the sex. It’d been surprisingly gentle, when it happened, nothing at all like Anakin had expected by the way they’d treated each other fully clothed. He’d been the one to initiate, the one to push Obi-Wan into grabbing his hair and tugging him to his knees, manhandle him up the stairs to his bedroom. Kenobi had almost seemed like he’d be content with heady kisses by the poolside, sipping at his mouth like he’d sipped at the wine all night.

But it hadn’t been bad, the sex. Anakin can admit that in the safety of his mind and with Kenobi wherever he is. It had been good. All of it. Even when Kenobi touched him carefully, wouldn’t fuck into him without first opening him on four fingers, wanted him on his back with his legs around his waist instead of on his hands and knees like Anakin had been expecting since he met the man.

It had been good, and Anakin had gone to sleep still vaguely tipsy from the wine with Kenobi’s spit and come drying along his inner thighs and he’d felt fine. He’d felt good. Satisfied, the way only a really good one night stand can make him.

But all of that’s gone now, bled dry and wilted under the morning—early afternoon?---sun, scattered away the moment Anakin woke alone. 

It’s just bad etiquette, Anakin thinks to himself as he grabs a shirt from the floor and pulls it on. It’s Kenobi’s, the same dark oxford he’d been wearing last night. It doesn’t fit, too tight in the shoulders, and Anakin doesn’t even try to button it up properly. The idea of stretching out one of Kenobi’s perfect shirts, probably tailored to his weirdly proportioned frame—lithe and muscular, defined chest and narrow shoulders, thick arms, thicker fingers—makes Anakin smile as he finishes dressing and leaves the room.

Kenobi’s house is as big in the daytime as it had been last night, maybe even bigger. Anakin has to take a double staircase down to get to the ground floor. Anakin didn’t even realize grand foyers even existed outside of palaces and movies anymore. To think, a house like this has existed in his town all this time. It’s disgusting is what it is, all this white paint and marble and—and sandstone.

It’d seemed beautiful last night, winding these corridors from the kitchen through the sunken living room, the foyer, then up to Kenobi’s bedroom. Obviously that’d been the wine and the lust talking, Anakin can see that now in the morning light. It’s just a waste of space and money now.

Obi-Wan probably doesn’t even use half this house. Certainly not the elevator.

Anakin’s made a list of twelve cutting remarks he can’t wait to tell Kenobi by the time he makes it to the kitchen. 

All of them die on his lips the moment he actually enters the room and sees Kenobi there amongst the luxury, moving about among the appliances like this is his true home. He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of loose pants that hang on his narrow hips like the only thing keeping them up is a wisp of a prayer. Anakin’s mouth goes embarrassingly dry as he watches Kenobi’s forearm flex as he mixes something in a bowl.

“Uh,” Anakin says, groping around in his mind for something to say. This Kenobi is not a Kenobi Anakin had expected to find. This Kenobi, with his soft, unflattering hair falling into his face, wearing thick-framed glasses and no shirt, humming to himself—it’s not any kind of Kenobi Anakin wants either. “What are you doing?”

Kenobi looks up at him, eyes soft and face unguarded for a moment before it smooths out. He arches an eyebrow. “Making breakfast.”

Anakin glances at the bowls around the man, taking another step into the kitchen and crossing his arms. Kenobi tracks the motion carefully, probably concerned over the state of his shirt. 

“What, are you making the cereal from scratch?” Anakin asks, peering at the counter. He wrinkles his nose at the bunch of spinach sitting in one of the sinks. 

Kenobi wrinkles his nose in return. “Don’t tell me you actually eat that,” he says in such a snobby manner that Anakin is pretty sure no jury made of his peers would actually convict him if he drowned the man in the yellow sauce Kenobi’s got in the bowl.

“What, should I be pairing it with a sauvignon blanc? A merlot?” The words taste awkward on his tongue, and he’s sure he’s butchering the pronunciation. Not that it matters. To be honest, Anakin’s surprised he remembers these names, surprised he learned anything at all last night. He’d spent half the time staring at Kenobi from various points in the room and the other half making fun of the room full of snobs in his head.

But he’d also apparently spent at least some of that time learning something about wine. Like its types.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kenobi is saying, but he also deposits the bowl on the counter beside his hip and crosses his arms over his bare chest. It’s distracting. “Your average cereal is so packed full of sugar, you’d want a dessert wine.”

His voice is scathing, but it’s like he’s speaking another language for all Anakin understands him. “Well, the average cereal’s about three bucks a box, so unless you’re about to offer me a job or whatever, I’ll stick to my Lucky Charms.”

Kenobi’s eyes narrow and he mouths out Lucky Charms as if the words personally offend him. “Eggs Florentin,” he finally says, which is a nonsequitor and also definitely not English.

“Is that another kind of wine?” Anakin asks, wary. He can’t imagine spinach and alcohol going well together, but maybe rich people have discovered a new level of hedonism.

“It’s breakfast,” Kenobi says. “It’s my understanding that one usually serves breakfast to their partner the…morning after.”

It’s Anakin’s turn to narrow his eyes as he looks from the counter to Kenobi and back to the stove. It looks, to his quite discerning eyes, like Kenobi has decided to make breakfast from scratch. Which is—not what one usually does.

The last time Anakin had had a one night stand, he’d slid the guy a bowl of cereal from across the counter, feeling all fancy that he could offer him either oat milk or regular milk.

“Oh,” he says. He was raised to be polite, but he doesn’t know what counts as polite in this scenario. He so obviously probably shouldn’t be touching anything, and it’s not like Kenobi needs help. It looks like Kenobi’s made his own bread. How long has he been up? How long has he been cooking? For Anakin?

His chest feels weird, and he rubs at it absentmindedly. “Alright,” he adds. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Kenobi repeats, eyebrows raising up again. 

“Well, I’ll just—I mean…do you want…?”

Kenobi keeps his face unreadable, arms crossed, unhelpful and snobbish and incredibly attractive all the same.

“Help,” Anakin finishes lamely.

“That looked like it hurt,” Kenobi says, lips lifting like he’s trying to smile but only remembers how to smirk. Anakin sneers back automatically. It’s weird, being around Kenobi. Weirder than any other one night stand Anakin’s ever had.

Mostly because it feels like there’s still a fire burning under his skin, thousands of ants crawling all over him. Mostly because he thinks–he still wants to touch Kenobi. Usually he sleeps with someone and that’s that. It’s out of his system and he can treat them the way he’d treat a roommate, a stranger on the street. But with Kenobi, it’s like his hands are begging his brain to be allowed to touch him again and it’s weird.

“Well, fuck you then,” he says faux-cheerfully, tugging at the edge of Kenobi’s shirt in hopes of stretching it out further and ruining it beyond repair. “I’m gonna take a shower. Still got, you know. Stuff. On me.”

“Please do,” Kenobi agrees, voice tight, turning his back on him as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “It’ll be on the table in twenty.”

Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever been so summarily dismissed in his life; he’d be impressed if it didn’t send him reeling into a foul mood.

Fine, maybe Kenobi understands one-night stand etiquette, but he definitely doesn’t understand how to be human. How to not be a dick. Treat others the way he wants to be treated and all.

Anakin doesn’t even know where the fucking bathroom is, let alone a towel. And he’s not gonna ask, that’s for sure.

Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t take a shower, he thinks as he stalks away from the kitchen. Maybe it’d serve Kenobi right to have someone dirtied up with dried sweat and come sitting at his pristine table. He’s probably never had to deal with that before. Serves him right.

Two wrong turns take him out to the poolside, where the party had been last night. It looks…well, familiar in a way that settles something in Anakin. Maybe he can’t help Obi-Wan making a fancy breakfast and maybe he can’t navigate his way through this fancy marble mausoleum of a mansion, but this—he knows this. This is what every morning after a party looks like, in the history of the world maybe. There are empty bottles of wine laying about, pieces of litter and dirty plates. Cups still, on the side tables, displaced cushions on the ground, someone’s forgotten sunglasses discarded on a sofa.

Maybe Anakin doesn’t know anything about wine; maybe he doesn’t know anything about making bread from scratch. But he does know how to clean up after a good party.

So he starts doing that instead.

An indeterminable amount of time later, he’s interrupted by a throat clearing behind him. He sits up on his knees, abandoning his effort to sweep under one of the sofas, and turns his head up to look at Kenobi.

“I have people for that,” Kenobi points out, eyebrows furrowed as he stares down at him. There's something considering in his face, like Anakin's genuinely surprised him.

“Wasn’t doing anything,” Anakin mutters with a shrug.

It’s hard not to think about the last time he was on his knees in front of Kenobi, just last night. It’s hard not to think about what happened. About how it felt to reach up and untug Kenobi’s belt from his pants, unbutton them and roll his briefs down his hips to free his cock.

Kenobi clears his throat like he’s having a hard time thinking of anything else too, and Anakin’s eyes flash up to his.

The fire beneath his skin is back.

“I’ve plated the food,” Kenobi says. “We can eat out here, if you would like.”

Anakin blinks and clambers to his feet. He wants to ask Kenobi if this is it. If, when they’re finished with breakfast, Anakin will be kicked out the way Anakin’s kicked out all of his own one-night stands at the conclusion of the post-sex meal. It’s the etiquette.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

Anakin wants more of Kenobi. More of his touch, more of his sneers and smirks. He doesn’t have the words to ask for it though. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I just cleaned though. So you can’t be messy or spill anything on the cushions or anything.” 

Kenobi blinks, and then his face lightens, his mouth tugging up into a smile as he recognizes the same words he’d said to Anakin the night before. “No promises,” he says.

[afewproblems]

Eddie downs the last of his beer and tosses the empty red cup into the kitchen sink, right between a couple who were clearly gearing up to claim one of the spare rooms upstairs. 

Eddie snickers and winks as the girl tells him to fuck off while her boyfriend flips him the bird, god he loves highschool parties, and this one is no exception.

It's Halloween and business is booming for Eddie Munson.

He imagines Dian Fossey felt similarly, wandering through the Congo studying the great apes' behavior patterns and social structure from within rather than observing from afar. 

So far Eddie's observations have paid off in spades and he's managed to sell out most of his stash by targeting the basketball team and their girlfriends. No one wants to get high all by themselves after all, it's almost too easy the way these sheep all flock together. 

Eddie leaves the kitchen behind him, but not before snagging a can of something cold from a nearby cooler of half melted ice. With a decent buzz going, what's one more? He's done working for the night after all. 

Eddie climbs the stairs, dodging drunk teens left and right as they make their way past him, shirts ruffled and hair messy. Eddie snorts, ignoring the wistful pull in his chest as a tall boy on the swim team pulls his girlfriend closer to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head before smoothing her curls away from her forehead. 

Unfortunately no one Eddie would be interested in would accept him brushing their hair like that without punching him in the face.

He shakes his head and continues forward, he's an observer, nothing more. 

Eddie passes a closed door on the second floor and pauses as a raised voice splits through the wood.

"It's bullshit, you're bullshit," the voice slurs out and Eddie feels a wide grin pull at the corner of his mouth. 

He takes a step closer, nearly pressing his ear to the flat of the door.

"Like we're in love?" Another voice says softly, a guy, "you don't love me?" 

A small part of Eddie knows he shouldn't be listening to this, he can hear the waiver in this guy's voice like his heart is slowly cracking in his chest. Shit, he almost feels bad for this guy. 

But the people that go to these stupid parties, the Hawkins elite, the gorillas in the mist, deserve their bullshit --to use this girls turn-of-phrase.

The only reason they didn't mess with Eddie was because he was these highschool shit-heads main source of weed. 

Its karma, plain and simple, Eddie reasons as he presses even closer now.

"It's. Bullshit". The girl hisses emphatically and for a second Eddie hears nothing.

It happens so quickly after that. 

The door swings inward, causing Eddie to stumble into a tall firm chest as the bathroom guy collides with him.

"What the fuck?" The guy says as he pushes Eddie away from himself and --no way.

"Harrington?"

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes red rimmed and shiny in the dim light of the hallway, the tip of his nose is pink as he reaches up to pinch it roughly before swiping across his eyes as well.

Even though Eddie's fairly certain that he and Steve are the same height, he seems smaller like this, deflated, standing in the hallway while a party rages down below them both. 

A cheer rings out, startling Steve into action.

He steps widely around Eddie, enough that his shoulder connects with the wall in his haste to take the stairs down, two at a time, as though Hell is hot on his heels. 

And Eddie should leave it, go back to the party, see if there are any snacks left before calling it a night, but something pushes him to follow the path Steve took.

It's like he's possessed, the haunted look in those hazel eyes forcing him forward until he's outside on the lawn.

A few other teens are outside, including a couple making out on the porch, Eddie steps over them and jogs to the end of the driveway.

He spots Steve down the street sitting on a large rock at the end of another neighbor's lawn with his face in his hands.

He looks up as Eddie gets closer and curses softly.

"Seriously? It wasn't enough that you were listening, you're following me now?" His voice cracks on the last word as he wipes his eyes again, he can't quite hide the way the moonlight catches the tear tracks running down his cheek and neck though.  

"Oh come on Harrington," Eddie says, walking up to Steve. He sits on one of the other rocks and takes a crumpled pack of smokes out of his vest pocket, "it's no fun if you're sad".

"What is?" Steve mumbles after a beat, wiping his eyes again as he stares at the ground. 

"Making fun of you," Eddie shrugs as he takes a cigarette and puts it between his lips, he smiles at the startled bark of laughter from Steve.

"You're a prick," he huffs softly, the barest of smiles slowly blooming across his face.

Eddie can count the constellation of freckles and moles across his face, giving the blanket of stars above them a run for their money. His hand twitches at the thought of touching the ones on Steve's throat.

Eddie coughs once, mentally tallying the number of drinks he must have had for those kinds of  thoughts and shifts on the rock to adjust his pants. 

He holds out the pack to Steve who looks at the nearly empty sleeve before his eyes shift to the house behind Eddie. 

"Nance hated cigarettes," Steve murmurs as the corner of his mouth twitches into a terrible frown. It's gone in an instant as Steve blinks once and reaches out for the pack.

"I got something stronger if you want?" Eddie offers, he shrugs when Steve looks up at him with suspicious eyes. 

"Come on Harrington, I'm not gonna keep kicking you when you're down, you need a pick-me-up and then I can get back into it," Eddie stands up and without thinking, holds out a hand towards Steve, "what do you say?"

Steve stares up at him, his eyes flick once to the outstretched hand before he snorts dryly and slowly takes his hand. 

It's warm in Eddie's own. The fingers squeeze gently as Steve uses it to hoist himself up until he's once again eye level with Eddie. 

From this close Eddie can see the way his eyelashes have clumped together with leftover tears and the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes

Oh…this, this was a bad idea. Eddie swallows roughly as Steve finally nods.

"Lead the way Munson," Steve says with the barest of smirks as he wipes his face one last time, "and if you tell anyone about this, I'll slash your tires".

Eddie cackles at that, "there he is!"

He claps Steve on the back as he leads them towards where he parked his van down the road, "our chariot awaits!"

Eddie ignores the small voice that whispers in his ear, the one that sounds remarkably like his uncle, as it asks him just what the hell he thinks he's doing with Harrington of all people? 

It'll be fine, he tells himself.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

Part Two

[a-cryptid-called-magetha]

this mf game man…

[damned-punk]

Happy Birthday Captain (Kidd x Reader)

@gratefulcheeses Kidd Pirate’s Month 2025 🏴‍☠️

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Content Warning: nsfw, language

Content Description: it’s Kidd’s birthday and the night takes an intimate turn ♡

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It was that time of year again, Kidd’s birthday. You always worked so hard to ensure that he had a good day, never glossing over even the smallest of details on such an important date. He loved to party and the crew never missed a chance to let loose, the Victoria Punk would essentially turn into a dusk to dawn club with all the excessive booze and music included. The group festivities were taken care of, but you wanted to take things a step further this year.

While Kidd was preoccupied with drinks and gifts from friends, you went to work on setting up the cabin for some much more intimate activities. The night typically ended in some form of debauchery but you felt that there was a much needed change from old routine, the occasion called for extra flair. Kidd typically initiated and controlled the pace of how things unfolded and while you certainly had no complaints of his dominance, you were excited by the idea of urging him to lay back for once.

You readied a piece of rope to the headboard knowing that while it certainly would not be able to hold him down, it would add to the ambiance. You fluffed the pillows, arranged the blankets, and set out everything you thought you might need on the bedside table. You’d even changed into a little outfit that hugged your figure in all the right places, sure to have him feeling warm in no time at all. It was now time to wait, a purposeful part of the plan to have him find you all dolled up and waiting just for him. Opening the door would be like unwrapping a gift in and of itself.

Sure enough, not long after you’d finished your preparations, Kidd began to wonder where you’d gone. He asked his First Mate if he’d seen you and of course, the blonde shook his head in response. The cake had long since been passed and he couldn’t recall seeing you at all after you’d handed him a plate. Killer had a feeling that the Captain would be occupied for sometime once he found you, especially given that the sun had already disappeared beneath the waves crashing against the ship.

Kidd did a quick lap around the deck before talking long strides back to your shared cabin, he saw faint light glowing from beneath the door and swiftly pushed it open. He stiffened to a halt the second he laid his eyes on you, sitting on the corner of the bed kneading your chest while rubbing the cloth of your bottoms to ready yourself for him.

“Close the door, Captain.”, you said smoothly, your silky voice imploring his arousal.

This certainly was different, it wasn’t uncommon for you to be shy at times so this was an entirely new experience. He returned his gaze to you immediately after securing the door’s lock, somewhat unsure if he wanted to disturb such a beautiful sight. You stood to greet his much larger stature, taking his hand into your own and leading him to stand in front of the mattress. Carefully unlatching his belt buckles, you slid his bottoms off and hooked your fingers around his boxers in the process.

His cock was already hard, proudly standing between the two of you. As you dropped to your knees, his hand instinctively went to entangle in your hair. Placing soft kisses along the shaft from base to tip, you took your time before wrapping your lips around the head. He gasped and leant his head back which was rare, more often grunting or cursing in response to pleasure. You were working hard to take as much of him into your mouth as possible, his thickness making the job a bit harder. He rocked his hips slightly, fighting against the urge to fuck your pretty mouth while your half-lidded eyes glistened up at him.

You wrapped your hands around the back of his thighs and lightly pulled him toward yourself, giving him permission to move. His fist carefully gripped your hair, thrusting as gently as he could to ensure that he wouldn’t hurt you. You focused on your breathing, moving your head in tandem to provide as much friction as possible.

“Oh fuck, (Y/N)…”, Kidd moaned with his gaze fixated on the ministrations below him, “Such a good job.”

You could feel him throbbing, a victory in your mind as he was undeniably enjoying himself. He pulled away rather quickly, panting heavily with his face matching the hue of his hair.

“I’m close baby, I won’t last much longer.”, he admitted, nodding his head toward the bed, “Get your ass on the bed, please.”

You giggled at how disheveled he was. It was not like him to admit to being close so early, let alone for him to nearly start begging. You denied his request, pushing him to lay on his back while you straddled him. He helped you line yourself up against his cock, once again fighting the urge to buck his hips as you slowly descended along his length. You took him in fully, sitting with your knees across his thighs for a moment to adjust to the filling sensation.

His hand reached to grip at the plush of your sides, prompting you to lean down and capture his lips in your own. He planted a firm slap to your ass, this position was driving him insane. You took the opportunity to redirect his arm above his head, quickly and poorly tying the preplaced rope around his wrist as the urge to move was becoming too much with his member fully sheathed within you.

“A rope, huh?”, he laughed while eyeing you, “You must be proud of yourself with that shitty little knot.”

You lovingly rolled your eyes as a wordless response, reassuming your position upright against his lap. In one swift motion, you began bouncing yourself up and down at a steady speed. Kidd’s smartass comments immediately came to a halt as he uttered a series of curses while you repeatedly took him all the way down to the base of his shaft. You could already feel yourself fluttering around him, a strong feeling of ecstasy being shared between you. All of the preparatory work had built up so much anticipation that neither you nor Kidd would last for any extended time. He couldn’t fight the urge any longer, he snapped his hips up to meet your own as best he could.

“It’s so big Captain…”, you said to purposefully brush his ego, “Feels so good!”

“Fuck, I can’t (Y/N)…”, he moaned, his legs beginning to tighten.

You squeezed yourself around him as he bucked himself as deep as possible, cumming with his fist clenched and hair stuck to his sweaty face. You collapsed onto his chest immediately, breathing nearly as hard as he was. He easily slipped his wrist out of the rope, lazily smiling at all your efforts to make this night memorable. He rubbed your back whist the two of you rested in silence, taking as much time as needed to calm down from such rigorous fun. He gently removed himself from you after several moments, massaging any areas that he thought might be sore.

“Happy Birthday Kidd.”, you congratulated him once more, your voice sounding much more exhausted than you’d intended, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”, he kissed your forehead, grumbling a bit from the break in contact as you leant up to retrieve something from the night stand.

You handed him a small present that had been wrapped in black paper with a red bow. He unwrapped the gift and unceremoniously opened its box to reveal a thin golden chain. He immediately clasped it around his neck and while it did look good on him, you laughed at him for not inspecting it a bit closer.

“What’s so funny? I like it.”, he grumbled down at you.

“It has our initials on it.”, you shifted the chain around to show the small engraved letters on the clasp, “Silly ass.”

“Me? You’re the silly ass! How the fuck was I supposed to see them when they’re tiny as hell.”, he playfully argued, admiring such a sentimental gift.

“Whatever…”, you huffed as a response, “I hope you like it.”

“I like it a lot, thank you (Y/N).”, he squeezed you against him, keeping you close as the two of you drifted off to sleep.

The night had gone even better than you could’ve anticipated. It would always be a gift to end the night with him like this.

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[icantalk710]

Time for another year--I'm not prepared but I'll do it 🥱

(Happy new year 😌🎉)

[m4lexxx67]

I did it, I'm done!!! I finished what is probably one the coolest projects I have ever done and it turned out SO COOL, I'm so excited!!! Everyone come look at it cause I made a fucking killjoys shirt collection!!!

Everyone of the Fab Four got their own type of shirt that I think fits them and they're all the same concept (logo on the back, name in the front, most of the design in their color plus some smaller detail in another color that's kind of in their pallet (taken from their ray guns), words associated with the character) but the font and placement of the writing changes and all that and I really love that they obviously belong together but still look so different!

Also fun fact it took fucking FOREVER to paint Ghoul cause it's sooo many lines and painting lines takes so much time cause you can't just carefully draw a sharp edge and then quickly fill in the rest (like for example Jet's logo) because basically everything is edge! And the design for Kobra's name? Such a pain in the ass, there's so many sketches that were all scrapped. Like in total it took me maybe one and a half to two hours to come up with all of the designs, except for Kobra's stupid fucking name, I kept going back to it for literal weeks!! But honestly so worth it, it turned out exactly as I wanted and just all in all feels very Kobra to me

(As for the different shades of blue/green on Jet's and Ghoul's shirts... The shirts have been done for a while and were lying around my room without being folded or anything, so that's just folds and light reflections, the colors are actually very even)

[vagueeyes]

But at the end of the day, Steve, it's just a television programme. It'll be on, and then it won't be on.

INSIDE NO. 9 | S9E6 "Plodding On"