#writing a final paper

[social-mockingbird]

It is late enough that I am willing to argue that when Oberon put the love potion on Titania’s eyes he turned her into a succubus no I will not explain myself

[thepowerofswayze]

demonstration

originally on ao3

based on this post by @fantasylandloser

pairing: art donaldson (challengers, 2024) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 1.9K

warnings & info: 18+, afab reader, college era art AHHH, friends to lovers, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (reader receiving), art is a munch obviously, reader wears a bra and skirt

summary: Catching Art up on your adventures gets hard when he doesn't get your explanations, or your hand puppet examples. Looks like you just have to show him exactly what went down. Based on this post that i could not stop thinking about. :))

☆

“Oh my god, fuck you!”

Art chuckled from where he stood, watching as you tossed the t-shirt he’d balled up and chucked at you back in his direction. It fell harmlessly to the floor a foot from him, and you glared at him as he snickered, picking it up and putting it away.

You were visiting Art, your close friend from high school, at Stanford. At that moment, you happened to be explaining how an interaction at a party at your university had gone a couple weeks before. Art never really liked listening to you talk about guys- hence, the shirt thrown directly at your face when you’d started describing this particular frat boy to him in detail- but he’d given up complaining a while ago. It was either that or be honest about why he hated it so much, and that was never going to happen. So, he tidied up his room as you explained the lead up, the flirting, the stumbling up the stairs. He fell back parallel to you on the bed as you got to the “good part”, his head by your legs and an arm over his eyes, like he could block out the imagery.

“Anyway, I didn’t think it was a big deal at first, like when we were flirting, but then I was on him, kinda like-” You took a moment to sit up straight, grinning as art groaned and propped himself up on his elbows to see you better. He watched you attempt to mimic the position with your hands, your left hand being the guy you were talking about, your right being you.

To Art, it just looked like you were mashing your hands together. He looked up from your hands to see you raising your eyebrows at him, as if to ask if he was following. “Huh?” He said.

With an exasperated sigh and without another thought, you pushed yourself up on your knees and waddled over to him, swinging a leg over his body and hovering just over his torso. For a moment, Art just watched, bewildered, as you steadied yourself with your hands on either side of his head. He let himself fall back from his elbows, hands sliding up your hips and settling at your waist, catching momentarily on the fabric of your skirt. His fingers peeked just under the hem of your shirt. Your skin tingled where he touched you.

“... Like this,” you said finally, blinking at him for a moment. “Well, uh.” You moved your hands to his chest instead, careful not to push too hard (though with the muscle he’d acquired since he’d started playing tennis for Stanford, you were sure it bothered him much less than you thought). “More like this, I guess.”

Art nodded, quickly licking his lips before asking, “Then?”

You tried not to look at his mouth. “What?”

“Then what did you do?”

It finally hit you then: what the fuck were you doing, climbing all over your best friend to ‘show him’ how you and some guy had been fooling around a couple weeks ago? That would just mean fooling around with him, obviously. That wasn’t really the plan.

But, it was too late for your common sense to kick in now. There you were, your hips hovering over his, not quite touching yet. You watched his eyes dart down to your lips, then drag slowly back up to meet your gaze. You couldn’t wait here and think about what you’d gotten yourself into and how this would change your friendship forever, though you got the feeling he’d let you take as long as you wanted.

Then what did you do?

You steeled yourself, biting your lip and watching his lips part slightly as he tracked the action with his eyes. Then you took that moment to fully sit on his lap.

You could feel his chest expand beneath your hands with his sharp inhale, his eyes snapping down to your hips, then back up to your face.

“This,” you murmured. You’d intended for it to come out cocky, maybe even a little seductive, but you could hear the breathlessness in your own voice. You were trying your best to ignore the growing pressure where your hips met his, though really, it was hopeless. 

Art’s ears were burning a bright shade of pink. The urge to gently nip at them crossed your mind, just for a moment. He cleared his throat. “Then?” His voice was almost a whisper, chest rising and falling unevenly with his nervous breathing. The way he was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure you were real…

Fuck.

You leaned forward, trying not to let your breath stutter at the friction caused by the movement, until your lips hovered just over his. Then you kissed him.

You pressed your lips together gently, lingering for a moment before pulling back by centimeters. His lips chased yours, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly, and you were right back on him, lips falling open against each other. A soft sound escaped him as your hips shifted against his, along with a contented sigh from you. You repeated the motion, reveling in the low groan he let out, followed by your name murmured into your mouth.

Art’s lips were soft. And he’d shaved recently, you thought, hands cupping his face. The smooth skin of his cheeks was a stark contrast to the calloused hands he was now raking over your thighs, your skirt pushed up around your hips. You broke away from his lips, kissing down his neck instead, listening to the noises he made whenever you left a mark, whenever you ground against him just right. “Shit,” he gasped. “You’re- You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” You left another kiss just below his ear, before murmuring, “What is it?”

You could feel him all but shudder beneath you. “Fuck,” he groaned, then your name, before he looked you in the eye. You resisted the urge to dive right back in. “Let me eat you out,” he said, suddenly determined, though still flushed and dazed. “Please.”

All you could say was “What?” because, surely, this was one big dream.

“Please.” His hands hadn’t stilled, still rubbing shapes into your thighs, his hips rolling up against yours. “Can I?”

Your entire body was on fire. “Okay, yeah. Yes.”

He wasted no time flipping the both of you over, laying you against the bed so he could kiss down your neck. You barely had a moment to process, your hands moving to tangle in his hair, one of his knees slotted between your legs. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, prompting you to lift yourself slightly and help him get it off. Your bra came next. “You, too,” you murmured, pulling at his shirt and making him chuckle. He reached behind his head, tugging it off in one swift movement and abandoning it beside your shirt and bra on his freshly cleared floor.

One of his hands slid down your chest from your shoulders, enclosing one of your breasts, the thumb circling your nipple. You bit your lip and sighed, pulling him down for another kiss by the back of his neck.

Art let his hand trail from your chest down the sides of your stomach, then slotted his palm right between your legs, over your underwear. You gasped quietly, pulling away long enough for him to return his lips to your neck, your shoulders, your collar bone. You murmured a couple choice words as he started to move his palm, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. The dulled sensation was almost enough on its own, paired with the kisses he left against your chest. “Arthur,” you whined, tugging at his hair. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

A grin overtook his face at the use of his name, his hands only slowing down, tracing torturously slow circles over you. Art only snickered at your glare before hooking his fingers into the waist band of your underwear, pulling it down and leaving you in your skirt pushed up to your waist. He watched you carefully as he slid further down so that his head was between your legs. His finger only traced a line from your clit to the bottom of your hole before whatever restraint he had was gone, and his mouth was on you.

Art’s tongue flattened against you, the warmth and friction making your head fall back as your eyes fell closed. “Fuck,” you moaned, hands threading into his hair as he answered with an equally obscene noise, muffled against you. ‘Hungry’ didn’t even begin to describe him, his mouth falling into a vague rhythm, eyes closed blissfully, whining into your pussy like it was doing him just as much good as it was you.

You thought about asking him to finger you while he worked, but his tongue prodded at your entrance and almost immediately, words escaped you. You brought one hand up to your face, clasping it over your mouth to muffle your moans, but Art stopped suddenly, watching your face. You whined your confusion, and he reached out to tug at your hand. “I wanna hear you. Let me.”

You blinked at him, chest heaving, and murmured “Alright,” before watching his head dive right back between your thighs, one hand still intertwined with yours. You had no choice but to moan unabashedly, your other hand busy pulling at his hair.  His free hand was wrapped around the outside of your thigh, pushing it in towards his head, so tightly you were sure it couldn’t be comfortable. But there he was, continuing to move his tongue against you like there was nothing else he’d rather do, whining and whimpering like you were his first meal in weeks. “Fuck, Art,” you cried, barely keeping your eyes open so you could watch him move. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He groaned at that, relenting the pressure of your thighs against his head just long enough to reply: “That’s it, baby, please.” If he had anything else to say, he couldn’t keep himself off of you long enough to finish, already pushing your thighs back against his head, nose bumping against your clit as he bobbed up and down.

It seemed like that was all it took, really. You squeezed his hand and his head embarrassingly tight as you felt yourself tip over the edge, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. Art kept up his rhythm as you cried out his name, your hips rolling against his face. He didn’t stop even when you’d come down, chest heaving, until you basically pushed him off, desperate for a moment of relief.

He kept a hand on your thigh, the other untangling from yours to push his blonde hair out of his eyes and look at you. He was breathing as hard as you were, you noticed. His mouth hung open as he panted, the entire bottom half of his face coated in saliva and your arousal. Fuck, he was pretty like this. “‘S good?”

You shook your head, beckoning him toward you and pulling him down by the back of his neck when he was close enough. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, lips against his almost before you were even done speaking. You didn’t mind the stickiness. You pulled back to look at him, then glanced down to the tent in his pants. “Lemme return the favor.”

Art let out a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I’m gonna last that long,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “Not if you’re the one touching me. Not after this.” He gestured to the shine still on his face, to your thighs beneath him. Your face burned, and your smile was so wide that your cheeks hurt.

You shrugged. “Lemme try anyway,” you said, before bringing his ear down to your lips, nipping at the lobe gently. “Please?”

He couldn’t say no to you.

[wtftaylr]

I love Companion Benny. I love the idea that he gets huffy-puffy and “just a little” jealous if you switch him out for another companion. He simply cannot cope with the fact that you’d toss him aside like yesterday’s trash for… what, some scribe in rags? A boring-ass first recon guy? A vaquero ghoul? (ok he thinks Raul is kinda cool actually but he won’t openly admit that)?? Benny has STORIES, baby. Interest. Intrigue. You wanna know all the juicy strip gossip? Guess what, you CANT now because you DISMISSED him. How DARE you.

Benny is VERSATILE, baby. His tagged skills are guns, melee, and unarmed. Good luck finding another companion that can do what he can. Yeah Craig “Frowns” Boone can headshot a cazador from a million yards away or whatever, *mumbling* show-off, he would’ve seen that cazador eventually *end mumbling* but Benny can shoot, stab, AND punch. Hey courier, watch this. I’m gonna punch the fuck out of this deathclaw. He does it (you gotta administer a few stimpaks) BUT HE DID IT. And he was only at half health. 400+ health honeybaby, Benny can take a few whacks from those deathclaw freaks. What was that? Showing off? Benny doesn’t have to show off, sugar plum. He’s just that good.

He also won’t complain that his feet are getting tired. Yeah he’ll complain about minor inconveniences and wants you to do something about them regardless if you realistically can or not, but at least he’ll walk miles upon miles in a day and not complain. He also won’t complain about going back to the Lucky 38. (he’ll just complain about not being able to get in there before the Courier showed up.) What, no one else complains about their feet hurting? Uhhhh BOOT-RIDERS. Silly name. But that’s how they rode the Mojave, dig? On their feet. He’s done this before. Experienced.

AND ANOTHER THING. how many companions shout words of encouragement during a fight. Go on. He’s waiting.

You’re doing great, baby! Show these punk losers what you got!!

I bet all the caps in Vegas you’ll miss that while getting shot to shit by the Fiends or whatever. Grumble. Benny hopes you come back in one piece, of course. He’d just rather see to it himself that you remain in one piece. Uhh BECAUSE HE’S JUST THAT GR-

(The courier left with their choice of companion hours ago. Swank is trying to work but Benny won’t stop gabbing his ear off. Dear god Benny just go be the Head of The Chairmen somewhere else. Swank is trying to do actual work here.)

[moonshine-nightlight]

Courtship Confusion: Part One

You’ve been working with your siren partner for a couple years now. A consummate flirt, you’d initially been put off by his whole charming deal, somehow he's become your best friend. You’ve been wanting to see if he’s still interested in dating, but unfortunately he’s not picking up your hints. A pair of visiting cubi remind you of the cultural differences that come with interspecies dating. Maybe you’ve both been misunderstanding each other. Maybe it’s time you set the record straight.

Modern Fantasy, friends to lovers, siren/harpy, male monster x reader, Part 1 of 8

Ao3: Courtship Confusion Chapter 1

Part One

“Start blocking the exits, people. They’re making a run for it. Team Lure, you’re up,” the static-y voice says from your radio.

“Confirmed. Lure moving into position,” you answer for yourself and your partner before clipping the walkie talkie back onto your belt. You glance over to your partner who, per usual, looks far too unconcerned and cheerful for the mission of stopping a crew of smugglers. “Where do you want to set up?”

Morgan grins at you, sharp white teeth flashing even in this dim warehouse. “You know where.”

You stifle a grin of your own, knowing one of you needs to remain professional, and roll your eyes instead. “Wherever you can be the center of attention, right.”

He preens as he fluffs out his feathers. You only asked once how exactly his wings can go from resting comfortably and unobtrusively on his back, hardly seeming to take up any space at all, to a full wingspan that was enough to carry him. The highly technical arcane answer he’d given had been enough to serve as a reminder that, despite his carefree attitude, he was a fully licensed arcanist and make sure you never asked again. You’re the investigator and rules side of your inspector partnership—Morgan was the technical and social side. You liked it that way.

A career as an investigator of potentially illegal arcane workings isn’t nearly as glamorous or exciting as most people think it is. Most of the time it was just about handing out fines to people dabbling in things they shouldn’t and accidentally flooding their apartments or conjuring too many hamsters. But, sometimes, like today, you end up having to bust an illegal coven.

When containment spells failed and the criminals scattered, it’s your job to pull them all back. Well, mainly Morgan’s job.

From his high quality suit to his expertly applied eyeliner, he didn’t look the least bit like an inspector. Even the other department arcanists didn’t have his flare. Lively and cheerful where most were bored and weary, he breathed life wherever he went. And he loved to show off.

As you enter the large open area of the warehouse, you quickly begin setting up the broadcasting equipment—probably not needed, but protocol—while Morgan picks his spot. Within a few seconds, your carefully managed set up, ready to unfold for fieldwork in record time, is ready to go. You’re long practiced after being partnered these last couple of years.

Looking up, you find Morgan spreading his gorgeous black and white wings to alight on a stack of old pallets the cult left in this warehouse they’d been using as their base putting him several feet above everyone else.

“Careful!” you call despite knowing it's a lost cause.

Morgan flicks his wings in a careless, shrug-like gesture. “Worrywart,” he teases. You only have to give him a look to remind him of the incident with the ice for him to pout, the dark red of his lipstick making the expression obvious even with the height and distance. “That was one time! Are you set up?”

His voice is easily audible, as always, but you have to raise yours to reply, “Yeah, ready to go.”

He looks at you expectantly.

You put your hands on your hips to communicate ‘really? Do we need to do this every time?’ and he grins in response.

“Let the show begin!” you grudgingly prompt.

He’s no longer a performer by profession, but you can’t deny that's who he is in his heart. It’s hard to begrudge him the little bow he gives. Not when his eyes glitter with simple glee as he does so. “Thank you, darling.” Morgan clears his throat and closes his eyes, thankfully keeping him from noticing the effect the endearment had on you. Regrettably, the effect of him calling you “darling” to you has only gotten stronger with time.

Before you can dwell on it, Morgan makes a sort of clicking noise in the back of his throat. He’s tried to explain to you once why all of his songs started that way, but you’ve never truly understood. Not that it really matters because it’s always followed by him opening his mouth to sing.

A beautiful wordless melody begins to flow from him.

Haunting and alluring on its own, you know his siren song must be far more potent to the criminals he’s purposely luring back here. Every member of the team was introduced to Morgan before the operation began, so Morgan was able to exempt them. His control is impeccable, but they’re still liable to get distracted. Nothing magical about that. It’s hard not to when a master like Morgan sings.

Morgan primarily sings in the siren’s language when he performs spells such as this one. He says that for spellwork there’s simply more nuance and specificity in Soprety than in any other language when it comes to the subject of things such as lures, madness, lullaby and so on.

Despite knowing very little of the language, you still understand the message the song is trying to convey: where are you going? Come back, join me, this is where true happiness lies. Such is the power of a siren’s song. It’s hard to articulate the difference between the magical pull of a compulsion and the mere auditory pull of Morgan’s smooth voice. He’s never truly tried to compel you, but each time you hear him you have to put effort into focusing, into not simply basking in his voice. That’s only gotten worse the longer you’ve known him too, the more times you’ve heard him.

You don’t think it's that his singing is better, it’s only that it had seemed in the beginning, despite it’s obvious beauty even that first time, somewhat generic. Artificially or distantly beautiful. Now, his voice is so clearly entwined with who Morgan is, you can’t fathom how you thought it generic initially. His coaxing nature, always ready to persuade you to follow his lead, is woven through the words he sings as clearly as it is when he tries to convince you to take a coffee break. His promise of something better, something more fun and entertaining, if you only would listen. Of course, in this case, the outcome will only be entertaining for him. His seductive way of complimenting those he wants so that they will make the best choice by choosing him.

The music he makes is all very compelling is the point. You huff and focus back on the messages from the team—text since they’ve all got ear plugs in and don’t want to interfere with Morgan’s spell.  You don’t need the plugs, as his partner he can exempt you easily and you’ve practice functioning while he sings. Besides it's always good to have someone who can hear him in case he does need help. You check again to confirm how many you are nabbing. Seven, natural for a coven, even a criminal one. That means the rest of the operation didn’t manage to catch a single member.

Usually illegal covens are more subtle, caught due to smaller disturbances or the wrong people stumbling upon them on the wrong night. This crew has been smuggling truly nasty ingredients for dark magical spells, bewitching or killing anyone who tried to interfere. They’d been making a big enough splash despite their travels and have caught major heat by now.

The National Investigatory Agency has been tracking them. They followed the trail of memory loss and death they left in their wake. That’s not even mentioning the longer term problems that would impact a community after they’d traded their illegal and dangerous wares—increases in love potions, poisoning, and general curses. You’d managed to catch a break locally. Someone had lost their nerve about this year’s shipment in your city and your department was coordinating with the NIA for this capture. Well, at least your team was—truthfully most of the local office was just providing backup.

Morgan, as always, had a habit of disrupting the usual with just his presence. His skills had been enough to catch the head NIA officer’s attention and your captain had vouched for your effectiveness. As such, while NIA coordinated a wide-spread tracking net, your team would try to simply pull them back. It was a common enough play you two ran and this was no different.

There was some worry a witch might have protection, but most aren’t prepared for a siren song, not given how rare sirens are and especially inland. Besides, you’d unclicked the safety on your tranquilizer gun, that’s why you were here to watch Morgan’s back. He’d be pissed if you let someone interrupt his song.

Movement on your left draws your attention. A woman stumbles out from between to shipping crates, her expression muddled but searching, urgent. You check for the signs she’s ensnared as she walks closer. You’re only supposed to handle the ones who weren’t, so you let her approach once you’re convinced. When she spots Morgan, high on his perch and singing his heart out, a look of joy and greed takes over. She hurries towards him.

You wait a second before nudging a fellow officer with your boot. A transfer from another precinct, he’s not been involved in one of these operations before. He shakes himself, tearing his eyes away from Morgan to look at you. You jerk your head at the coven member and he blushes. Hastily pulling out his handcuffs, the orc goes to secure her while you train your tranq gun on the man darting out from a different doorway. This time an NIA member snags him before he can press up against the base crate Morgan’s on, for which you’re grateful.

Technically, Morgan should have crafted his spell so that the listeners won’t be too desperate to get to him, despite how he was enticing them. People will still react differently than each other so there’s no guarantee when trying to pull in a group like this. Morgan said that the more people, the less control he had over anything more than the base aim of the spell. A lullaby could put ten people to sleep, but they would likely all end up sleeping for different amounts, whereas if it was just one or two, he could control how long they slept for.

Similar thing here. He can pull them in and do his best to keep them calm, but there’s more margin for error. And Morgan’s one of the best there is. Arcane workings are always more complicated and nuanced than most people assume. If they weren’t, you’d be out of a job making sure any mistakes or malicious workings didn’t hurt anyone.

There’s a text that the NIA agents caught a pair on their own, meaning three more to go. It’s not long for them to join the others. The officers who are familiar with these types of stings are efficient, cuffing the ensnared with practiced ease.

You wait for the confirmation, all using sign language to confirm the criminals are secured. That’s your cue to whistle, two fingers in your mouth and loud enough to cut through Morgan’s song—you’ve had to practice. The whistle lets Morgan know you had them all and he flips his hand to show he’s heard. He’d never just cut off the song—for specific arcane reasons, but also because he considers it poor etiquette from a musician’s perspective. He carefully and artfully wraps up and slows down, gentling the song until it fades out.

You can’t help but feel as enraptured as the criminals are, although you try to hide it. It's too hard not to when you’re in love with him.

[cfffrk]

[trek-tracks]

Space, the final frontier.

That is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to explore

The strange new worlds of our outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a five-year mission

And, by opposing, end it. To go—to seek,

Once more; and by “to seek” to say we find

The new life and new civilizations

Where man has gone not: 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To go, to seek;

To seek, perchance to find—ay, there's the rub:

For in these voyages what dreams may come,

When we have boldly gone whence we have not,

Must give us pause—there's the respect

That makes a mission of so long a life.

For who would bear the Enterprise of time,

The starship’s wrong, admirals’ contumely,

The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th'unworthy treks,

When he himself might make his voyage on

With a bare warp core? Who would tribbles bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the hope of something to be found,

The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn

We travel and return, puzzling our will,

And makes us wish to solve those ills we have

And fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience makes explorers of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is glistened o'er with the stars of thought,

And Enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents warp ahead

And seize the name of action.

[greyncvember]

i got to class and my professor said "i have a meme i think you'll really like" and showed me this

[inkovert]

I don't make the rules but - if you don't get excited at the thought of going back and re-reading the story you wrote then you're writing the wrong story.

You are your first and most important reader.

[hurt-over-comfort]

The finals were kicking my ass but I am free now!!!! Feels great. Here is some shameless whump I sketched to get back into it!

Smile for the camera~

[gtwshark]

red wine supernova !

based on a tweet by cooper

[nonbinary-eddie-munson]

Steve is Robins beard/no upside down AU where Robin and Steve run away and get married after Robin graduates because she gets outed in the last few weeks of highschool and its the only way to stop her parents from sending her to a christan all girls college.

Originally the cover up plan is for Robin and Steve to tell her parents that they just recently started dating and a girl in band started the rumor about Robin being a lesbian because she was jealous and hoped it would make Steve and Robin break up. They can fake date and then "break up" after Robin goes off to college in Chicago, claiming the distance was too much.

Robins mom is fully ready to accept this as fact, after all it will do so much for their status in town if her daughter marries into the Harrington family

Robins dad, on the other hand, hates the idea of his only daughter being with the son of Richard Harrington. He watched the bastard play with his sisters heart in highschool before running off to marry some rich girl and will be damned if he sees the same happen to his daughter. No it will be better if he put an end to all of this and ships her off to Mount Saint Marys so she never has to see the Harrington boy again.

Cue Robin and Steve aided by Joyce and Hopper making a plan for them to run away because Steve will be damned if all of Robins dreams are crushed because her father wants to be an over protective asshole. They decide the easiest way to stop her dad from tracking them down and forcing Robin to come home is if they get married.

So the night after graduation, Robin sneaks out of her house and steals away into the night with Steve. They drive all night until they make it to chicago as the sun is rising. Joyce has a cousin who lives in the city and is willing to let Robin and Steve stay in her spare room until they get settled.

Carina has the same motherly warmth as Joyce, though she never married or had kids instead choosing to live with her " Capital R Roomate" Marjorie. Of course, the two women know the truth of Robin and Steves situation and as soon as the court house opens, they bear witness as Steve and Robin sign the marriage papers and offically become Steve and Robin Buckley-Harrington

They actually fought quite a bit on last names Steve insisting that he should take the last name Buckley because fuck his parents, while Robin still angry at her father wanted to become a Harrington just to spite him. Carina is the one who convinces them to hyphenate after, to her horror and amusement they suggest combining their lastnames and becoming the Buckington's (Steves idea) or the Harringley's (Robins idea)

Steve and Robin find jobs together at a local coffee shop and after Robins first semester at school working towards a degree in linguistics, Steve decides to apply for community college eventually deciding he wants to become a school councilor, he loves working with kids and hey if he can help atleast one kid all the schooling will be worth it.

Steve and Robin love the city and once they both graduate -Robin ending up adding a teaching degree in with her linguitics- they get jobs teaching at a local middle school Steve as the guidance counciler and Robin teaching French and Latin. They talk briefly about getting divorced after a few years but after almost dying in a fire together when starcourt burned down they're trauma bonded for life, honestly steve doesnt know who he was kidding thinking he'd be fine staying in Hawkins until the kids graduated while Robin went off to Chicago.

Carina and Marjorie introduce Robin and Steve to the queer scene in Chicago and Steve has his bisexual awakening. Robin becomes Steves beard just as much as he is hers. They both date around a bit, but nothing serious ever comes of it theres not many people who can handle the combined force that is "Steve And Robin Platonic With A Capital P Soulmates"

Enter professional substitute teacher/drama club advisor Eddie Munson and brand new lead journalist of the Chicago Tribune Nancy Wheeler, who are both confused, gay and unwilling to be homewreckers but cant help but to be sucked into Robin and Steves orbit all the same

[spooksier]

also btw that passage about media consumption as activism and the idea of "gayboring" (this post) are twin sisters to me because when you see media consumption as activism and therefore as a reflection of real life, any gritty or unsavory or "weird" aspects of any marginalized culture/community gets completely sanitized in favor of portraying an "ideal" form of that community in the eyes of consumerism (i.e.: boring and safe and non-confrontational)

[comeasyouarenana]

every time I log on it’s another diss track from Kendrick & a funeral for Drake, I’m losing track but he got like 4 coffins by now

[shadows-coffeebeans]

is starlight friendly with new people? (and am i allowed to make fanart of him…)

also love your art and starlight the silly the skrunkly i want to grab him and crush him (affectionately)

Starlight is super friendly with new people (sometimes he's too much for some)

Also anyone can make art of Starlight ^^

Just tag me when you do, I wanna see them :D

[bluberimufim]

GUYS HOLY SHIT I JUST FINISHED MY FIRST DRAFT!!!!!!!!!!

taglist: @little-mouse-gardens , @wildswrites , @cheeto-flavoured-pasta , @fleurtygurl and @joswriting

[mydream-synopsis]

must put men in maid dresses. Must