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theminecraftbee · 8 months

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Jimmy notices Scott sitting near the edge of the Ace Race launch. They’re both on the practice server; it’s a good place to hang out. Gets away from the kinds of lives they live elsewhere, even if Jimmy figures the one he’s got right now is good enough. Scott’s here a lot, Jimmy’s found; it’s probably some combination of whatever the weird messenger thing he has going on with Noxite is and the number of other lives he’s lived. Jimmy bets it’s just quieter here than, like, he doesn’t know, he’s heard something about pirates?

Anyway, he’s always down to say hi to Scott. Also, Scott looks—strange. Diminished feels rude. Not preening like a peacock? No weird ethereal glow? It can’t be that the romance has worn off, it never really did, not all the way, Jimmy’s always seen him as sort of made of lace and marble and beautiful things from the beginning and even now that they’re like, friends friends, it’s just—

Jimmy plants himself in the grass. He can’t find a poppy, but he can find a dandelion. Close enough?

“Flower for your thoughts?” he says cheerfully.

Scott looks up. He laughs. “You can’t be doing that, Jimmy. We’ll get double-married. I already have too many husbands, you can’t be on there twice.”

“I think I can marry my flower husband as many times as I want,” Jimmy says.

“We barely even do a romance anymore.”

“Well, excuse you for not being a romantic.”

“Me? I’m not the romantic? Me?” Scott says incredulously.

“Well I don’t know how it would be me,” Jimmy says imperiously. He pauses, huffs, and sits down next to Scott. “I mean, we can do romance if you want. Hadn’t done that the last few lives because, you know, work better as friends right now, but I can totally wow you. I can, uh. Uh. Make… chocolate? No, I can’t do that, actually, don’t hold me to that—”

Jimmy pauses.

“Scott,” he says.

“No, keep going,” Scott says weakly.

“Have I done something wrong?” Jimmy asks.

“No, no, it’s just—sort of being a messenger god, I get a feel for things, and—it’s gonna happen again soon, Jimmy.”

“Oh, okay,” Jimmy says. They both know what they’re talking about. “I’m absolutely gonna win this time, just so you know.” He says it with all the false bravado of a person who’s mostly just hoping he doesn’t die first again. This time, this time, this time. He’ll do it by his own merits, though; he’s not sure what he would have done if Joel had actually gone through with the halting plan to die for him that he’d told Jimmy about last time. Probably crowed on happily about it, honestly, but with needles in his stomach the whole time.

Scott hasn’t responded yet.

“You don’t have to worry. You’re way too good at this. Constant finalist, now that you don’t have me weighing you down,” Jimmy tries.

“I shouldn’t talk about this with you,” Scott says.

“Rude,” Jimmy says. “We’re husbands at least twice over.”

“Yeah, but do you ever regret it? Don’t you—don’t you regret it?” Scott bursts out. “Don’t you ever wake up and—and you weren’t good enough to protect them and you’re not good enough to be loyal to and frankly you aren’t good enough to follow the rules either and, and so you’re just constantly winning. And you aren’t trying and you just think, if you’d just—if you’d just fucking slowed down, figured out how to protect—this is stupid. I’m proud of Martyn. Got him to win, at least. I can’t regret him winning. I wouldn’t have wanted anything else. I never have. Forget I said anything.”

Jimmy stares.

“I don’t regret it,” he says, and he’s surprised to realize he’s telling the truth.

“Not even for all the mocking?” Scott says.

“I mean. Wouldn’t have teamed with Grian and Joel if…”

“Oh,” Scott says. He stares out over the practice server. Jimmy cannot guess what’s going on in his head. No matter how many lives they’re friends, husbands, lovers both star-crossed and casual, enemies, and friends again in, Jimmy has to admit, Scott’s kind of a closed book. It’s one of the character flaws he has to make up for being perfect at everything else.

It’s part of what makes him Scott.

“I don’t regret it,” Jimmy says, almost more urgently.

“Oh,” Scott says again. “I do.”

Jimmy’s not sure what to say to that.

He’s never been good enough at winning much of anything to understand that kind of regret, is the thing. Blessing, curse, whatever else, he just…

“Sorry. I’ll be better tomorrow. Not normally the kind of person for this stuff,” Scott says. “It’s not that I’m not confident, it’s just…”

That, though. That, Jimmy can understand.

He scoots closer to Scott.

“Let’s race. I’ll totally beat you so badly. I was watching CPK do skips. And, I don’t know about you, but…”

“Yeah, you’ll hit those in your dreams,” Scott says. Neither of them move to stand up, though. They remain sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, watching other participants jump off the launch. It’s nice here. Quiet. A place apart from all the lives they live. Jimmy wonders if that’s why Scott’s here so much. Jimmy might have to show up too; that’s what increasingly old friends are for, he figures.

#limited life smp #<- tagged as such for being the most recent #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #a bee fic #idk man I just wanted to write scott being a little insecure I can’t sleep and have been having fh feelings lately #for whatever else I think Jimmy doesn’t ever regret TRYING even given that it never works out #be it relationships or bad plans or the life series #scott though—it works out for him and he’ll always wonder.#flower husbands

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yutaleks · 2 months

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obsession is such an ugly word

yuuta x female reader, length 5.2K CW: Yuuta's POV // yandere // alcohol // non-con groping/dry humping/somnophilia A/N: this is a repost from my previous blog, with some small edits. Banner by @/cafekitsune. Part of Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Rage simmers beneath Yuuta's skin.

He's been good about it, about you. He did it all the right way: had you warm up to him, become friends, even spend time together outside of class. You shared the same major (after he switched, though you didn't know that), so it was easy to find that pretty smile of yours in every class he'd taken this year. He tried to do this naturally, to have you grow closer and closer to him until you'd never want to be apart.

That was his plan, anyway.

But you're stubborn. He likes that about you, but it's made things difficult.

"I'm sorry, Okkotsu-san." The formality stung. "I'm so busy with my studies... dating would be a distraction, you know? Can we just be friends, for now?"

For now. To anyone else that would signify a rejection, but to Yuuta it didn't. Your words for now meant you'd change your mind later, surely. Besides, you're the one who came crawling back just a couple days later. You couldn't stand to be apart for long, could you? See, he just had to be patient a little longer.

Tonight’s the night he’s been waiting for: the semester’s over now. He’s going to ask you again to be his, now that your excuses have no merit. He’s been waiting for this ever since you rejected him. And true love is worth waiting forever for.

But he finds that being patient is hard when your cheeks are flushed with alcohol and he has to sit back and watch someone else try and make a move on you. He's been so good, so patient. And this classmate, someone so unimportant Yuuta can't even remember his name, he thinks he can earn your stubborn heart in one night?

The table you're currently sitting in hosts four: Maki sits closest to the wall, and you sit beside her. The seat across from Maki is empty; Nobara was here but left earlier in the night as she's leaving for the countryside, heading home to be with her family. She seemed to be rather eager to leave Yuuta's side, and it’s for the best. The feeling's mutual.

It leaves Yuuta alone across from you, guarding the real estate at his side with his life, as he wants any chance at all to get some time alone with you. At least, he was guarding it with his life, until a certain pink-haired freshman showed up wanting to talk to you and you offered him the seat across from you, no care at all for Yuuta's unspoken plans with you.

"Kampai!" the voices of everyone at the tables around him shout in unison, yours included, everyone clinking together their beer glasses in the middle. Some graduating senior a couple of tables away had made a speech about the end of the semester, and his words were met with smiles from ear to ear. Yuuta doesn't join your cheer, too busy staring at you and steeping in his barely muted aggravation as he glares at his cheap beer bubbling gently in his mug. He’s starting to think he came to this stupid party for nothing.

But a sudden shout startles him from his thoughts.

"Okkotsu-kun!" His eyes widen as you shove your beer glass towards him, "Cheer up, won't you? You've been so quiet all night," a chuckle escapes your lips. "Well, quieter than normal. It's our last day, cmon. Toast with me!"

"Yeah, Yuuta," Maki yells over the noise, "Stop being a stick in the mud."

He weakly holds out his glass, heart beating just a little bit faster as your beer glasses collide in the middle. The fact that you're thinking of him, including him in your fun... You're sweet to him, always. His grin grows wider as you pull back and take a swig, encouraging him with a wiggle of your brows to do the same.

You wipe your damp lips and giggle as Maki turns and says something to you, the rest of the bar way too loud for him to hear it. He looks back down at the piss-yellow beer in his glass, trying his hardest to focus and pick up on the sound of your conversation. But a loud voice interjects before he can hear you:

"Sempai!" the pink-haired annoyance beside him chimes in, leaning over the table at the izakaya to talk to you. It's the guy who's been trying to get your attention all night, a bright-eyed freshman who's very eager and, to Yuuta, incredibly brazen. Isn't it obvious from how much Yuuta sticks to your side and how much you smile around him that Yuuta's the only one for you? This freshman should be able to tell—everyone should.

It makes him sick.

"Half-way finished with uni," the freshman yells over the noise, a smile audible in his voice. “How does it feel?"

That's right, Yuuta remembers, this gathering is to celebrate the end of the semester. Yuuta never cared about these things, not before meeting you. To him tonight was an opportunity to get closer to you; he didn’t care what the actual reason for the gathering was.

You smile at the freshman. Yuuta tells himself it's different from the way you smile at him. Fake. Your eyes don’t twinkle the same, he tells himself. The confirmation calms the rolling boil of his blood, just a little.

"I'm glad," you nod, blinking up brightly at the freshman across from you. "Knowing you're halfway to the finish line is comforting, you know?"

Yuuta's gaze zeros in on your lips as you speak. You've put on lipstick tonight, a cherry red shade that looks shiny, pretty against your skin. You don’t normally wear such bright colors; you only did once, during a presentation, most days opting for that light blue little ball of chapstick you always use instead of any color. Maybe the fact that you wore a special lipstick meant that you had given this gathering just a little more importance. Is it cause he’s here? It must be.

As he stares, he wishes he could touch your lips, watch your lipstick smear and dull as it coats his lips, his fingers, his—

"What about you, Okkotsu-sempai?"

"I'm sorry?" He blinks out of his reverie, shakes his head as he wills the thoughts of you in compromising situations away.

"You're halfway through too," the freshman smiles at him. Yuuta wonders who gave him the right to breathe. "You must be happy!"

"Not really," Yuuta starts. A frown forms on the other guy's face, a question evidently on his tongue as he bites his lip. Yuuta doesn't elaborate, turning back to take a sip on his beer.

"Okay then."

Maki laughs, "Itadori don't mind him, he's just being a dick."

"I know what will lighten you up, Okkotsu!" You're looking at him again with the goofy smile. You're tipsy at worst, sloshed at best, but he just finds this side of you endearing too.

He waves his hand, dismissing you with a soft smile. "I'm okay, don't worry about me, I—"

"Let's get some soju!"

***

"Soju was a bad idea."

It's Maki, who's just a little more than buzzed, that puts an end to your many rounds of drinks. Yuuta wasn't very interested in drinking, so he sipped on one shot-glass of soju for the evening, while you, Maki, and Itadori went toe-to-toe on shots of fruity alcohol. Maki's always had great endurance, alcohol included, but you and Itadori are nothing short of plastered.

It turns out, Yuuta discovers just moments before the end of your drinking, that Itadori has a boyfriend. After downing the last shot of peach soju, Itadori's phone rings and he drunkenly answers with sobbing, whining professions of love to the owner of a dull, annoyed voice residing on the other side of the call. As Itadori's face falls down onto the wooden table, his phone slides out of his palm, and Yuuta gets a glance at the screen. It's a woman's name, Megumi, with a bunch of nonsensical emojis at the end. Yuuta doesn't pay much more attention to him after that—as long as he's not competition, Itadori's not worth thinking about anymore.

You however... you're leaning your head on Maki's shoulder, mumbling about how pretty you think Maki is. Yuuta doesn't want to have Maki on his bad side but he's certainly regretting letting her sit next to you right now, when that could've been him.

"Hey, wake up," Maki shakes your shoulder, and your head rolls with each gesture. "It's time to go home."

Your movements are slow and clumsy as you rise from the table. Itadori has Yuuta boxed in between the aisle and the wall, so he can't do much but watch as Maki helps you rise from your seat.

"Time to go home," you say, your voice whispy and far-away. Maki props you up on her shoulder.

"I'll walk home with yo—"

"Wait!" Yuuta rises from the seat, pushing a sleeping Itadori out and onto the floor. The poor guy doesn’t even flinch and he tumbles onto the wood, slamming face-first against the grain. "I'll take her home." When Maki shoots him a look, he adds, “It's on the way for me. I don't mind it. Besides, you drank more than me, Maki."

Maki quirks a brow but trusts her friend. With eyes pointing down to the freshman, she says, “Okay. I’m close by here so I’ll keep an eye on the freshman till his boyfriend gets here. You get her home in one piece, alright?”

“Of course.”

Yuuta’s mood flips entirely, beaming as he dashes out of the izakaya and into the frigid February night with you in tow. How’d he get so lucky to be the one to walk you home? Maybe this insufferable gathering was worth it after all.

“Okkotsu-kuuuun,” you give his cold hand a healthy swing once you’re outside, walking down the street towards the closest train station. It’s a short subway trip to your apartment, but with how intoxicated you are, it’s best he gets you home safely.

“Careful,” he adjusts your linked hands, until your fingers are interlocked. He tucks you closer to his side when he feels how unbalanced you are. “You drank a little too much,”

“It’s okay,” you smile. Maybe it’s not so bad you’re drunk, since you’ve never smiled this much at him before. “You’re here, Okkotsu-kun.”

You trip over a piece of cracked concrete in the sidewalk and he catches you, pinning you to his chest. You stifle a giggle, something about the circumstances of it all is so silly to you.

“You can’t walk,” Yuuta bends down, his hands coming together at his back. “Get on.”

“What if I’m heavy?”

“I’ll be fine. Get on.”

You take him up on his offer and sit on his back, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands have a firm grip on your thighs. He’s stronger than you’d expect, having no issue at all balancing you on his back. A little hum of approval leaves your lips that makes Yuuta glad he’s put so much effort into being strong for you.

The one thing that does make him feel a little weak is how much he loves your scent. You still smell just like strawberries, though it’s a little tainted with the smell of apple and peach liquor. He’d only ever gotten to smell you up close that one time in the library. And those other times when you’re not able to notice…

“Okkotsu-kun?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know where I live?”

Oh, that’s right. You haven’t told him where you live before. He freezes for a moment, the seriousness in your voice a sudden change from the bubbly, sweet drunken drawl you’ve had for the last hour.

You add, “Did Nobara give you our address?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He nods, and continues to walk with you in tow. “Before she left, in case you needed help getting home.”

“Mm… she’s such a good friend,” you smile, laying your head against the back of his. Your body goes limp, and Yuuta wonders if you’re about to fall asleep as he carries you home… he doesn’t mind, but a part of him wishes you weren’t so drunk. It’s rare for him to get a chance like this, and it hurts to feel like he’s wasting it as your deep breaths warm his neck.

***

When you both arrive to your apartment there’s an eerie stillness about the apartment complex, perhaps due to the time of night as well as the thin, cold air. You’re still passed out, sleeping on Yuuta’s back, when he fishes a key from the dirt in a nearby potted plant you keep on the steps to unlock your front door. When you wake he’ll smile when you ask how you got home; he’ll tell you he borrowed your keys. The walls that know the truth will silently harbor his secrets.

Yuuta doesn’t need to turn on the lights; he could maneuver this place blind if need be.

He toes off his shoes at the small genkan, the tiles stretching perhaps just a couple of square feet. After closing the door, he shifts your weight on his back as he takes one large step over the tile (he wouldn’t dare be rude and drag in any dirt). Through the kitchen, around your small island, and two doors to the left is your bedroom. He takes you there, and lays you down flat upon your bedding. He takes off your shoes for you, and once you’re sleeping soundly in your bed he does a mad dash for the genkan, to leave your shoes there for you once you awaken.

Yuuta returns just as quickly as he left, and with the moonlight that pours through your windows he observes your sleeping face. With lips parted you heave a heavy sigh, like a tired puppy sprawled upon a cushioned bed after a day of play. He debates whether he should change you out of your day clothes—he wonders if you would want to sleep in something more comfortable. You usually do; he recalls your pajamas of choice are a t-shirt and panties. Should he change you into that now?

The thought of taking off your clothes overwhelms him a little, excitement buzzing his synapses alive.

The first thing to go is your socks. They are tiny little things, at least smaller than his own, cut low to the ankle. He slips them off with no protest at all from you, his thumbs gliding across the arch of your foot as if tracing it and committing it to memory. Briefly, Yuuta glances up at you, but the touch of his hands across your heel, and then your ankles, does nothing to affect your state of consciousness. Can he get away with all of it without disturbing you? It’s a little challenge he’s decided to embark, to see how far he can push it tonight.

With eyes focused entirely on your cherry lips, on the soft breath that flows in and out past your just slightly open mouth, he continues. You’re wearing a pair of jeans, which he unhooks at the button just below your midriff. It gives him just the smallest peek at your panties underneath, something dark and lacey that pops against your skin. He swallows the desire that pools under and around the frenulum beneath his tongue as he lowers your zipper. Yuuta tells himself he’s just helping you get comfortable. Truly, to him, this is the ultimate test of his patience.

Long, chilled fingers hook themselves beneath your waistband at either side of your hips. He starts to tug down. Within seconds you begin to squirm and Yuuta freezes, afraid that you will wake up and find him in such a compromising scenario. Would you believe him if he said this was only to help you? His visage, that of a gentleman that is rooted so deeply in your memory, would it assure you in your moment of confusion, or would it be corrupted and shattered? would this be his undoing?

He doesn’t have to wonder for long because as soon as your jeans are past the widest point of your thighs, you’re back to being boneless against your bedding. Part of him expected a little more fight from you; he’d thought his favorite girl was a little more inclined to self-preservation. The thought is followed by the notion that you must be trusting of him, even subconsciously. He loves that about you, the faith in him that no one else has. You’re so trusting. He’ll protect your naivety, along with the other qualities of yours that he finds so endearing. Innocence that only he wishes to keep, that no one else will dare corrupt.

Your jeans pool at the ankles before Yuuta gently slips them down over your feet and off your body. The panties you wore tonight are one of those cheeky kind, giving him the loveliest image of the fullness of your thighs and the curve of your hips. Your body’s more beautiful up close than he could have imagined, and he lets himself drag an open hand up one of your thighs, to feel how soft and supple you are. A thumb slips under your panties, the edge that’s just at your hip bone, just to let himself feel… it’s so hard being this close. There’s so much he wants to do with you, to you, but he’s sure it will happen in time. He tells himself he’s a patient man as he salivates at the thought of ripping your panties off.

He doesn’t. But he wants to.

Your sweater, which is both a little too tight and a little too revealing (for his taste), is another beast to tackle. Yuuta deliberates it for some time before deciding the risk of waking you if he were to take it off is too great. After much back and forth, he decides to leave it alone.

He tries to stand up from the crouched position at the edge of the bed but he finds it’s very hard to stay away from you after even one touch. Curiosity has him brushing his fingers over your clothed midsection, tracing the dip in your waist, his thoughts running a mile a minute. You’re so soft, so very vulnerable. How many guys who had approached you had seen what he sees in you? The beauty in something as simple yet as divine as your body… whenever he thinks about it there’s an urge to gauge their eyes out. He’d done some damage with his fists but it wasn’t permanent, so it wasn’t enough.

His fingers shake a little as they approach the apex between your thighs. His lips part and brows furrow in concentration; fingertips just barely kissing the dark fabric that clings to your skin. It’s so warm, and the patch at the center has just the slightest hint of dampness. A middle finger glides between clothed puffy lips, first over the hood, then over a dipping point, what must be your entrance. Your breath hitches as he presses just a little harder. He wants to taste it—no, he needs to.

You whimper a little when he pushes just a bit too hard. He pulls away instantly, and the breath he’d been holding exits his body, the strain in his shoulders flowing out in waves. His jeans feel uncomfortably tight. Look at what you did, with just one single sound. He’s never been more excited; to know that even a single sound that left your mouth was entirely his doing drives him mad.

The finger that he had pressed against your clothed pussy now presses against his tongue. He doesn’t taste anything, to his disappointment.

He wants to satiate this need that boils in the pit of his stomach but, at least in this small moment of clarity, he thinks he can try to wait for a day when he will get your permission. He is patient, after all.

Yuuta, in his frenzy to distract himself from your body warming the bed sheets in front of him, chooses to focus on the state of your bedroom. It’s a place that, at least to your knowledge, he’s never seen before.

It is in what he would consider to be a state of below-average cleanliness. This does not come as a surprise to him, and luckily with your state of consciousness (or rather, lack thereof), he does not expend the effort to pretend to be shocked.

Despite the fact that finals have come and gone, the floor closest to the wall is littered with open textbooks and notebooks covered in haphazard scrawl. Clothes bulge out from your closet across from the bed, dark and light fabrics alike poking through the spaces between the slats, as if you had way too much clothes and not enough space nor enough of a care to organize it all. In the corner, just beside the entry door, is a wicker basket overflowing with laundry: among the articles are pair of jeans shoved into the edge; a sweater with a sleeve hanging out, reaching for your door knob to hide your mess; and panties, so many panties. Some patterned, with florals or little animals, and others cheeky, thin little strings that barely constitute cloth garments at all. The thought of you wearing such a little thing, barely an excuse for clothing at all, stirs something in him, something fierce and heady brewing between his thighs. Had you worn that around him? Have you ever thought of him taking it off of you? He’s thinking about it; thinking about it with such excruciating detail it makes his body sweat.

As he enters a staring contest with the pile of panties, he stops to consider the situation he finds himself in. You’re drunk, and the last thing that would curry favor with you would be to take advantage of you, so he shoves that away to the recess of his mind. You believe him to be a gentleman. So a gentleman he shall be.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t poke around.

He rummages through your laundry and he plucks out a few of your panties from the pile. Under the beam of moonlight, he looks them over: they must be at least a few days old, as they are no longer flimsy and fresh, just a little stiff. As if at one point they had been warm and wet, but no longer so. They’re soiled and dried out after sitting in your laundry. He picks the one he judges to be the worst offender. It’s a cute one—lacy at the edges, cotton in the middle.

He bunches it up in his fist. Then, he lifts it to his face. When Yuuta brings the wad of fabric to his nose he takes a long inhale, a satisfied moan threatening to break past his lips. He loves you so wholly and unconditionally, including the scent of your sex that lingers on your laundry. Especially so.

It’s not wrong if he does it out of love is it? It’s not disgusting if it’s love, right?

He tells himself so as he fills his nostrils with your scent, aroused by your discarded underwear like a fucking dog. He hovers over your laundry basket, forehead pressed against the wall, the tent in his jeans becoming more and more pressing of an issue to fix.

“Look at what you do to me,” he sighs, breath warming the panties that he keeps pressed to his face. He knows you can’t hear him. But he wants you to look. He wants you to see him, see how desperately and ardently he feels for you.

His free hand makes quick work of his jeans—he snaps the button open with his index and thumb, and then soon after works the zipper down. His open palm snakes down, under the waistband of his boxers, and tugs on his length to alleviate his erection, even a little.

As he takes another breath from behind the veil of your dirty underwear, he pumps at his cock. He does it slowly, savoring the moment he can finally get so close with you still in the room.

Can you see him? Do you see how much he wants you?

Yuuta, despite what he believes, is not, in fact, a creature of patience. Within a few strokes he hears you sigh and he turns around to face you. You look so pretty on your bed in those cute little panties and that deep-cut shirt. So pretty.

Suddenly, fucking his fist in the corner of your room facing away from you isn’t enough for him anymore. He’s so close to you, can’t he just get a little closer? He just wants to see your pretty face. He’ll apologize later. You’ll love him, so you’ll forgive him.

Yuuta moves towards your bed, on something that feels like instinct. Crawls onto your bed slowly, his breath balled in his throat as you sleep soundly. You barely flinch as the mattress dips and creaks with each slow shuffle of his knees. In one fist is your balled up panties, pressed just to the side of your head, holding up his weight. His knees are at either side of your hips as he hovers over you, caging you in like an animal of prey.

All he can focus on is your face.

Yuuta uses his free hand to swipe at your lips with his thumb, messing up the remnants of your red lipstick. He’d been wanting to do that all night, to smear the color along your skin until your natural lip color pokes through. You’re naturally so pretty—you don’t need any embellishments, not around him. But it does look quite beautiful all smeared, when it’s a mess made by his design…

He then takes his hand and cradles your jaw, moves it to the side, just enough so your sleeping face is facing his own. So he can look at you, so you can look at him too.

Just like that…

He imagines this will be his view the first time he’ll fuck you.

You haven’t told him, but he knows you’re a virgin, so you’ll probably want him to be gentle. To be soft, just like this. To take the lead, to tell you “you’re so beautiful” just as he whispers it to you now. To move his hips slowly, let you adjust to him—just as he does now, rutting his clothed cock against your tummy. He does it with a lethargic, purposeful grind of his hips.

This is exactly how you will want it. He knows you. He knows you’ll love this. He knows you’ll love him.

You move a bit below him, stretching out a leg, and it lowers his cock to just above your panties. He wasn’t going to go that far, he only wanted to see you, to feel you.

What a good girl—you want it too, don’t you?

With dark eyes focused entirely on your expressions, especially the soft little grin on your lips, he grinds his hips against your own once more. He moans when the tip of his cock catches on your clit, and feels a sudden drop in his stomach when your eyes twitch below closed eyelids. He needs to find a way to be quieter…

The panties in his balled fist are promptly shoved in his mouth, self-inflicted in an effort to quiet down/ To remain the gentleman you believe him to be. And he doesn’t mind it, actually. He even sucks on it, right on that stiff double-cotton lining in the center where he knows your pussy once was. A muffled noise leaves his lips as the tangy taste hits his tongue.

He wishes he could taste the real thing, and imagines what kind of noises you’ll make when he does.

Another push and pull of his hips, and the pleasure he feels from just rutting against your clothed pussy is overwhelming. Would he even be able to hold back when he’s inside you? What kind of incredible feeling will sex be, when just rutting on you with clothes on it feels this good?

He stops thinking too hard about this and just lets himself feel. The fabric between the two of you gets wetter with every passing minute, pre-cum leaking from his cockhead and staining your panties. His teeth gnaw hard on the fabric, drool seeping through with every labored breath. He feels as if everything were soaking wet as he’s drowning in pleasure. And he loves this feeling, wants more more more.

Something happens, then, that has never happened in all the nights he’s watched you dream. As he humps your cunt through the fabric, pushing himself closer to the brink, he hears you whimper out “Yuuta”. In the state he’s in he doesn’t question it at all; his cock catches on your hole, just between the folds of your pussy, and he comes in his boxers pressed right against your sex with a broken moan muffled by your soaked panties in his mouth. What a sorry sight to see.

He rolls himself off of you and spits out your panties into the floor. As you turn over in your sleep he lays in your bed beside you, panting and blinking at your ceiling. Did that really just happen? Did he really get to come so close to you, right on your body, right when you said his name?

He wonders if its possible to love you any more than he does right now.

Yuuta’s grinning like a fool as you lull back into deeper sleep again, your body turned to its side and facing away from him. His boxers and jeans are soaked through, and his chin and pelvis are sticky, but he has not a single care in the world.

Why would he care about anything else, when it’s so clear to him that he has you now?

He buttons his pants closed and turns on your bed, to face your back. Once he’s no longer panting, emboldened by what just happened, he slides just a little closer to you. He won’t be able to sleep, not when just being in your presence alone makes his body feel electrified. So instead, he will watch you sleep.

He slides an arm around your midsection, and curiously touches your panties with one of his fingers. It’s so wet, stained and soaked with his cum.

He’s left his mark on you, for once.

He sticks that finger in his mouth again, as he had done earlier in the night. This time, he tastes himself. And he tastes you.

Satisfied, he lays beside you, and prepares for a long night of bliss.

#yuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #writing tag #cw.yandere #cw.noncon

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smilesthroughfandoms · 3 months

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So I have a theory about who Alastor made a deal with. It’s pretty flimsy but there is some slight merit to it, I think. (Spoilers AND theory below cut)

So someone pointed this out on Twitter and I went back to see for myself and, yeah, there are eyes watching Alastor during his little soliloquy in the Finale song

(Thank you Viv for favoring Red, helps the blue stand out nicely here)

Now we know Lilith was in Heaven for the Past 7 years so she could have put eyes on Alastor to watch him but… they don’t look like her eyes. Like, at all.

“But wait, it could be Eve!” “What if Eve took Lilith’s place for blah blah blah plot reasons and yadda yadda she’s a twist Villian!” Ok and while those do have some merit as well it’s still to early to tell. The last time we saw Eve was the intro story and she looked like this

Not enough information to say Yay or Nay one way or the other. But, I have a third option.

What if it’s Roo? The Root of all Evil? A character Viv created early on and said would be a Big Scale Villian of the series? You know

This Roo?

Still don’t believe me? Compare the eyes I circled in the screenshots to her eyes here. I’m sure her design has changed over the years but, they’re still a near perfect match.

Could I be proven wrong? Absolutely! It’s season 1 of who knows how many. But I still think this would make a lot of sense. It explains Alastor’s ridiculous levels of power, why he’s so desperate to get out of his deal (look me in the eye and tell me you’d work willingly for that woman), and all the actual eyes on him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #hazbin alastor #the radio demon #hazbin roo #hazbin hotel roo #hazbin hotel season 1 #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel theory #lilith hazbin hotel #eve hazbin hotel

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randomness-is-my-order · 3 months

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from the start, i’ve mainly been praising the show and have spoken against the minor nitpicks but i think some constructive criticism won’t go amiss. i’m always going to advocate for praise + critique but since literally all my posts praise the show (character-work, writing, directing, cinematography, literally all aspects) i’ll focus on the main issues i have with it for this one.

i’m only saying this because i do think there is merit to the conversation: yes, i agree with many other people saying the show has a very real lack of tension. the stakes are established, potential horrific consequences are alluded to, but the instances in which the action needs to take place falls short. i wanted to see percy and annabeth and grover SHOWING their inexperience through stumbling on traps (which would automically raise the tension in both medusa’s lair and the lotus casino), i wanted them to make mistakes and quick-think their way out of it. sure, there’s something to be said about conveying annabeth’s intelligence but aunty em was a great way of highlighting percy & annabeth’s dyslexia by having them be unable to read the signs. the statues could have been removed from the yard–a move that would show medusa’s intelligence instead. similarly, the fun of the lotus casino was about the creepiness that slowly and steadily builds on the backdrop of this harmless kid carival like setting. percy, annabeth and grover’s intelligence and knowledge has already been built in other obstacles so seeing them actually fall for well-set traps seems to me like a much more nuanced portrayal of the kids, their capabilities but also their weaknesses. speaking of, i was waiting for one moment of annabeth making some mistake, showing some flaw. i think it would have been cool if she was the one to lose her drachma given that she was undoubtedly jostled hard while clinging to the cerberus. grover already felt like he messed up after the lotus casino and having percy reassure annabeth after her drachma screwup would really nail in that yeah she’s intelligent and wise but she is also just 12 and she can be a bit reckless too.

honestly, i’m a sucker for flaws. i love my emotional percabeth bits to death but would i have rejoiced just as much had both of them been a little more unempathetic towards each other and been at each other’s throats for a few more episodes? yes.

i love show grover and his earnestness and savagery in manipulating a god but do i love my little coward goat boy who slowly but surely proves himself to be capable and brave? who keeps asking for food at the most inopportune moments but really has percy’s back at the end of the day? who is severely unconfident but slowly learns to trust himself more? yes! i just feel like the grover we have now was my imagining of grover in book 2-3. we never got to see his major flaws so i’m just wondering what kind of upward arc will he have and will it be as impressive as the books.

i really really appreciated that percy’s impertinence was actually something he paid a price for. it will make his continued rebellion against the gods that much more intentional. that said, i would have liked percy’s relative ignorance of the mythic world to still remain. having sally make him so prepared that he sometimes manages to know obscure greek stories sort of blends their roles in the trio. yes, each one of them is layered and there is no one super rigid position they must adhere to but this is storytelling on television at the end of the day, the characters should have unique traits to distinguish themselves. for me, percy’s intelligence was about his presence of mind and deductive reasoning which the lotus casino scene in the book beautifully portrays. similarly, his knowledge was less about facts he knew and more about the street smarts he had acquired. in some way, annabeth and percy have a weird overlap in characteristics (show annabeth feels as sassy as show percy which is not the book dynamic imo).

i don’t see these as minor nitpicks btw – i think show portrayals have changed these characters through small changes and while that is okay, it also leaves room for improvement before it is too late. there are many considerations to be made–percy’s grief, annabeth’s tackling of complex feelings about the gods, grover’s guilt, ofc. but it’s, i think, a valid critique of the show that the main trio’s dialogue and actions could be made more faithful to the books.

also, i think the direction can be more dynamic, especially in exposition-heavy scenes. there are ways to make info-dumping fun and i’m sure the directors are more than capable of exploring these options moving forward.

there are many more smaller things i would point out but i don’t want to make this longer that it already is. many people handwave alot of the critique saying that the show is for children to which i say: children’s media doesn’t mean lesser quality media–the books were literally made for children yet on tv, many scenes are sanitised, very little left not on-the-nose. i have myself mentioned how certain scenes could be impossible to film with 12 yr olds (medusa beheading) without harming them mentally in some way so i appreciate the clever sanitization there. but the action sequences do need much more edge and that’s okay to acknowledge. the show we have now is great but it is absolutely not without flaws and normalising discussion about the flaws is only going to benefit the show moving forward.

and lastly, rick might be the author of the books but there is no rule that once you like an author’s work, you will have to like all of that author’s writing. just because rick made some final decisions does not take away the fandom’s rights to question those decisions and critique the screenwriting. there is seriously no use putting him on a pedestal–and i say this as someone who adores his writing in pjo.

let’s let the fandom breathe a little. let the mild, politely conveyed critique become commonplace as much as the ardent praise because i think that’s the balance we need to ensure that season two delivers on all the fronts that season one was unable to.

that’s all. thanks for reading lol. have a nice day. :))

#pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy pjo #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #walker scobell #annabeth chase #grover underwood #pjo tv spoilers #pjo tv crit

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slocumjoe · 1 year

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I've said before that the synth thing would work better with a McCarthyism allegory, but for Danse specifically, its so similar to autism that it has to be intentional??

Like. The thing that really solidified that Danse in particular is just straight up about autism is Piper's line in Blind Betrayal. Paraphrased, it goes something like, "I mean...yeah, of course he's a synth. It was kind of obvious, wasn't it? I mean, have you heard him talk?"

The autism accent is a concept that seems to be popping up more recently, but its a real thing, and in my own experience, everyone in my life has been able to clock that there was something different about me from my speech. People thought it was weird that I used "adult" words as a kid, and was very technical and exact when speaking. I was often mistaken as being from places like Brooklyn because I had a weird affectation to my voice.

And there's just. This fucking line. "Have you heard him talk?". Piper is also the person who clicked McDonough as a synth. It's worth noting that McDonough and Danse both use words like "rabble".

But seriously.

Danse goes through his life being respected for his work ethic, intelligence, and strong sense of duty and morals, but he never really bonds with anyone, he doesn't make friends. He's respected, not liked. People want to work with him, but the best they have to say about him is about his work. He makes one single friend in his entire life, and never tries again after that guy dies. And no one tries to befriend him. He's their brother. He's not their friend. And he takes his job too seriously as a commanding officer to attempt emotional connection. He apologizes for overstepping on the few occasions he does.

He talks like a thesaurus, and no one is sure if its to sound smarter, or if that's just genuinely how he thinks. It's strongly implied to be the latter. He's incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about various topics. He sounds like a kid on Christmas when you risk life and limb cracking open a vault that's supposed to have riches, but instead, just has some historical items. He throws his Brotherhood prejudice away the moment he finds a farm run by ghouls that uses pre-war structures in a creative way, and scolds you if you do the Brotherhood thing and insult them. He also seemingly forgets that he's in the Brotherhood when meeting a child ghoul, that kid's parents, a shy, insecure ghoul who clings to children's media (despite Danse finding children's entertainment stupid and a waste of time), and Daisy.

And then there's the synth thing.

Danse has always been Danse, but one little word gets attached to him and his life turns upside down. His work ethic is no longer a work ethic, it's viewed as a perversion. His intelligence and manner of speech are no longer of his own merit and education he had to have given himself, they become inevitable, things he had no say in. His existence is both erased and explained by one word, and anything else is irrelevant or in question. People who once respected him want nothing to do with him, because this one word puts him in a context they find unnatural, corrupted, inhuman. There's even something there with the Institute. Autism is (incorrectly) associated with vaccines, the government, science gone wrong. It's a man-made horror.

And then you have the people he gets lumped in with, after being thrown out for this one word. They take schadenfreude in it. This is comeuppance, this is deserved. This one word, something they take pride in or have sympathy for and want to protect, suddenly becomes weaponized. It's a source of pride for others, but for this one person, we're going to use it as punishment. You weren't with us from the start, so now you really are on your own. It's not that there isn't a right way to be this one word, it's just that there's a wrong way, and even if you change accordingly, you will never belong with the rest of us.

Its. Autism is about exclusion, from everyone and everything. Always being an outsider, often too polite or nervous or jaded to even bother looking in. And at every point in Danse's life he didn't belong. He was a rogue synth, so he didn't belong in the Institute. He naturally thrives as a soldier, so he didn't belong as a junk seller in Rivet City. He was a synth and considerably more kind and compassionate than the rest of the BOS, so he didn't belong there. And because he was a BOS soldier and is still working out some bad traits after his exile, he isn't welcomed by the people who he was thrown to. Everywhere he goes, there's a big neon sign over his head that changes to whatever word will ward off everyone around him and he's so used to it, the thing that makes him angriest about being a synth is that he doesn't even have parents. He doesn't even have that connection to the world, of being born into it. There is nothing he can connect himself to beyond the Institute (which he hates) and the Brotherhood (which, if he continues to connect himself to, will drive him to suicide out of sense of duty, and he already agreed to not do that)

Its just. His entire story is one of absolute isolation and the final dickpunch of "You've always hated yourself, right? Good news, here's a reason to kill yourself that's professional and won't illicit pity from your peers, so no one will judge you for doing it or grieve you."

#fallout 4 #fo4 #paladin danse #gettin emosh with the babygirl this fine evening #always sobbing about how Hancock hates Danses fucking guts but not as much as he hates Danse laying down and accepting death #theyre such similar people its just that Hancock has finished his first arc of bettering himself. he just hasnt worked thru the guilt #and self hatred #meanwhile danse only gets the realization hes been an ass and needs to change. he never hits act 2 or 3 #because of shit writing

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futurecorps3 · 10 months

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Hobie Brown partying with latina!reader<3

Masterlist<3

SUGGESTIVE!!! MDNI GO AWAY OR ILL BITE YOU

I’m already giggling about this shit and haven’t even started it 🤭 just picture that emoji cause that’s how i look rn. This is written from my perspective which is from a mexican living in Mexico going to 100% mexican perreos!!!

-It took a while to convince him to be honest

-Don’t take it the wrong way though!! He’s supportive and go ahead, perrea hasta el suelo but it’s just not his scene

-He’s not a reggaetón hater, he believes every type of music has a merit to it!! BUT ITS JUST NOT HIS SCENE

-Hacerle ojitos was enough to convince him lmao

-“Mi amor please! I want you to meet my friends” You whined, looking up at him all dressed up for the party that started in about thirty minutes. How could he say no when you were looking so pretty? “Shit ‘aight” He muttered, leaving to do his makeup as you kissed his cheek sweetly

-Now when y’all get there

-HE’S ASTONISHED TO SAY THE LEAST

-Yeah sure, mosh pits were crazy and the pubs he frequently attended were also wild but seeing

-People making out with a stranger then the next, some couple basically fucking in the couch next to the door, a girl downing shots like there was no tomorrow, besos de tres, and most importantly; el perreo.

-My man gets shy n shit like he holds your hand. pls help him no entiende nada

-Your friend approaches you with two plastic cups with some golden liquid that didn’t even reach the half of the cup. “Hey Hobie! Nice to meet ya��, my name’s Martha. Tengan, para ambientarse and getting the party started for you two!”

-Hobie thought it was dumb to drink so little of something, even more when he saw how effortlessly you downed your shot. “What’s this shit?”

-Tequila. It was Herradura. Now he knows why you pour so little for a single shot.

-HE WAS WHEEZING, SPILLING HIS GUTS OUT AND ABSOLUTELY BAFFLED BECAUSE HOW DID YOU DRINK THAT WITHOUT EVEN FLINCHING?????

-Your male friends definitely laughed a bit at that, pero en buena onda, they know how important Bee is to him so they’d never be mean to him hehe

-“Ay cabrón, Martha le dio tequila?” One of your friends say while laughing, his arm rounding your boyfriend’s tall figure “Sí, no soportó” You laugh back, kissing Hobie softly

-Your friends got to know him, silently questioning his intentions and stuff but not like they’re your parents. They mean well!! They just want their friend to be happy with this new dude, and some of them are men, so they definitely know how shit they can be

-“So this is what usually happens?” He asks, looking around as he takes it all in “Yup” you nod, popping the ‘p’ and smiling “I love it”.

-He found it all very freeing; no one judging, everyone moving as they pleased and drinking like hangovers weren’t real. No labels, no consistency. Just fun.

-Then… your friends pulled you to the circle to dance

-And he was done for.

-Seeing how you moved your hips in circles (something he was now sure was sort of a generic gift) changed his life forever

-You danced with your girlfriends, making a line of grinding and twerking from time to time. Some of their boyfriends reaching out to dance with them

-“Holy shit” Hobie muttered, entranced by how you ass moved in those shorts “Yeah, it’s something else” One of your friends who was now friends with Hobie (bonding over playing vodka beer pong) answered.

-“Try to dance with her man, I know you’re foreign and stuff but I don’t think Y/N/N would mind teaching you”

-His feet take him to you before he knows

-“Want me to teach you, love?” You shout so he can hear you over the music, and he just nods with a smile, holding your hands

-“Your work is just moving with me with your hands on my hips, look at Martha and her boyfriend”. He noticed how your best friend’s boyfriend kept a tight grasp on Martha’s hips, going down with her and up again if she did.

-Hobie replicated his moves and soon he got the hang of it

-Big, ring-clad fingers holding your waist tightly as he loosened his hips and felt your ass grinding against his crotch. You can feel how his tall figure looms over you, towering your smaller frame and you love it.

-As he gets more confident, he starts pulling you closer, kissing your neck from time to time and pulling away for a bit so you can scream some lyrics with your friends and then go back to him.

-It's safe to say he has a boner, yeah

-To you? It felt like an absolute dream! Imagine him grinding behind you to some track of Un Verano Sin Ti as he sings along to some of the chorus’s lyrics <3

-You got wasted, danced the night away, he perfected his spanish and you accomplished your dream; ver a Hobie Brown, el punk, perreando.

˚ · • . ° .

TAGS: @kirbyskisses @angeliquecherie @cowboycurtis56 @backyard-bear @lilacspider @gktyo @katsukiswrld @elusive-honeydew @solanawrld

I'm actively ignoring my full inbox to write this so it better not flop. HERMANAS lemme know if u like it and leave in the replies what else would you like to see from hobie with a latina reader

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

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zenkindoflove · 1 month

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"I want what Elain wants and she wants Azriel"

Is a claim I often see e/riels use to claim why they are "pro Elain" and implying that if you ship Elain with her mate because "she clearly doesn't want him" then you are anti Elain.

So yeah this whole post is why that's bullshit.

First let's get some things straight that we all can agree are facts.

1. Elain had a crush on Azriel. It's clear by their looks and touches and her showing body language that she wanted to kiss him in the bonus chapter. It's unclear whether that crush survived post her tears over his rejection and giving the necklace back as they had no canonical interactions post solstice.

2. Elain does not want to address the bond right now and avoids Lucien. Her feelings about Lucien specifically and what she thinks about the bond are unclear.

Now that we got that out of the way, the assertion that you are the most pro Elain because you ship her with Azriel is quite a stretch. I'm sure you like Elain, as do I, but you do not hold some moral high ground because of who you ship her with.

First, let's discuss the idea that you have to support who Elain wants. People can want all kinds of people who are not right for them for a lot of reasons. It's a common experience for many to want the wrong guy. To have a crush and think they're the best and it'll all work out only to have your heart smashed by the cruel reality that they were wrong for you or didn't want you the way you did. It's also common to hate your friends' boyfriends and husbands because they're assholes despite how much they "want" them.

People's feelings change. Feelings are fickle.

In SJM's canonical world, mating bonds are not.

It makes sense that Elain, after going through her horrible rejection by the man she actually wanted and loved, Graysen, would not be ready to face what having a mate means. I'm sure it felt like infidelity to her, especially if she does desire and feel a pull towards Lucien like every other female with a mating bond has in this series. Her avoidance of Lucien can mean a lot of things, including that she wants him even if she mentally isn't ready or feels she shouldn't.

It also makes sense that she would seek out and find herself in a rebound crush with someone who is in her proximity and is low risk. Azriel doesn't come with the pressure of being her fated soulmate. He's just a dude. A dude who is pretty and paid some attention to her.

So yeah, I get why she wants him. Doesn't mean I think he is right for her.

Why isn't he right for her? To make a long post short, Azriel often undermines Elain. He diminishes her need for help when she's clearly depressed (ACOWAR), and he speaks for her and directly contradicts her wants (ACOSF, scrying). He is entitled to her without merit (the third sister line, bonus). He ignores her wishes to avoid violence and wants to kill people who are important to her (wanting Graysen killed, saying he'd kill Lucien in a blood duel - we know canonically if a mate dies it is like losing half of your soul). He thinks very little of her past his lustful fantasies (bonus chapter) and even to the point of projecting his own self-hatred when he looks at her skin (bonus chapter). Elain is symbolic for him of the thing he covets most (a mate), and his crush on her is a manifestation of his psychological need to pursue unavailable females because of his self worth (friends who will never romantically love him or a female with a mating bond). Basically they are a recipe for a toxic relationship full of avoiding real personal healing.

So yeah sorry, even if Elain wants to kiss him I'm not shipping her with someone like that just because she "wants" it. I would rather see her have a story where she discovers who she is and what being Fae means to her, which means directly addressing not only her powers (hello let her scry) but also addressing her mating bond head on by getting to know the male that she will always have a pull to, no matter if she rejects the bond or not. Elain is a fictional character with a narrative arc. Her wants now will not always stay static.

For me, as someone pro Elain, I want her to give herself a chance at a forever kind of love, one with a soul to soul connection and an eternal devotion. I want her to experience that unconditional love she so desperately craves. I don't want to read her choosing just some regular dude who will probably drop her the second his mating bond snaps anyways. She deserves a mate. Even if she doesn't know or understand that yet.

And quite frankly, I think once Elain does learn not only who Lucien is but the way he thinks about her and how devoted he is to her and only her, she will want him soon enough. I don't ship for characters' frivolous crushes in the now. I ship for their potential with the right person. The person who will see them starving and depressed and worry about their well being rather than what their powers can provide them. Who will hear their vision and cross an ocean because they believe in it. Who will fight across a battlefield just to make sure they're okay. Who will even push down their own needs and wants to give them space because that's what they want right now.

You know what that means though. If you're pro-Elain for wanting what Elain wants, then Lucien is the most pro-Elain person there is. And why wouldn't he be? He is her mate after all, and he will do anything for her.

So yeah, that's who I want for Elain, and I think that makes me pretty pro-Elain too.

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro elain #pro elain archeron #anti e/riel #anti azriel #pro elucien #elain x lucien

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drdemonprince · 4 months

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I'm a trans guy and tbh I feel like I don't fully understand the transandrophobia debate. Based on my understanding of intersectionality & transfeminism, I think that trans men (largely) experience transphobia and misogyny, while trans women (largely) experience transphobia, misogyny, *and* transmisogyny -- I also think it's necessary to discuss issues that specifically affect men without describing them as forms of oppression or discrimination against men. But that's just accounting for intersecting identities (including both marginalized and privileged identities) rather than only accounting for intersecting oppressions, right? I feel like some people using the term "transandrophobia" either seem to be confusing these two concepts or mistaking gender essentialism for discrimination against men (though some just use it to describe a subset of transphobia rather than an intersection, it seems like). In any case, even though misandry isn't a real systemic issue, I can understand why some people feel like there's missing language or frameworks when it comes to discussing the ways men, and trans men specifically, are treated (and the ways they/we treat each other). I'm not sure what better alternatives are available, but I'm sure some are possible. I'm wondering if I'm misunderstanding something or if you have any other thoughts on this. Thanks!

It sounds like you understand this 1000% better than every sincere transandrophobia poster. Not every unique experience is a locus of oppression that needs a systemic oppression label -- but yeah, of course, it merits being talked about.

For example, lots of trans men have a hard time in coping with the shift from being treated with emotional deference and warmth by strangers, to suddenly being treated quite coldly or even in a mistrustful way by strangers. That is a real, painful experience -- and it's one that is wrapped up in damaging gender norms that do also negatively affect cis men. It's not androphobia, but it is a consequence of sexism and the gender binary that sucks, and it merits speaking about.

Where things get dicey and fucked up is when men (either cis or trans) take a painful experience like that and declare that it means they're actually more oppressed than women.

(And, as Lee ButchAnarchist often points out, women's emotions are even more policed than men -- yes men are denied tenderness and warmth from total strangers, but they are showered in affection and caretaking by the women close to them, and they are allowed rage a whole lot more than women, in general. so it's overly simplistic and sexist to say men are more societally emotionally repressed. this dynamic plays out among trans men too -- we are given a lot more latitude to be emotionally explosive. trans women, meanwhile, are told they're being "scary" if they have any negative emotion. This is all also racialized -- Black people of any gender are basically never afforded the chance to voice negative feelings in public no matter how much they police their tone.)

I think a lot of trans masc people have a sudden rude awakening that being treated as a man can be painful and complicated, and that the gender binary harms everyone, and that there is a social price to pay for the privileges of being deferred to, respected, and so on. They also don't want to acknowledge when they are being respected and deferred to -- owning up to having any male privilege feels dirty and wrong to people, which is silly because it's just a reality, it has no moral bearing on the person experiencing the privilege. And of course it's often an incomplete privilege because of sexism and transphobia. But it still happens. Particularly within trans spaces.

I don't think this conversation will move forward productively until more trans men are capable of acknowledging that many of us have privilege and that we are very capable of hurting other people, being sexist, and speaking over trans women. And that's why we gotta make this transandrophobia stuff just completely socially unacceptable in our spaces. It is exactly the same as being a Men's Rights Activist. There are real men's liberation issues! Any worthwhile feminism will also liberate men! There are lots of aspects of the gender binary and patriarchy that are harmful to men, and that's worth talking about. Same with transphobia. But we can't have that conversation when men commandeer it to talk about how actually women have it better and all that vile shit. That talk is used to silence women, trans and cis alike.

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oh-stars · 3 months

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Unspoken Habits

Love Is Silently Passing Them A Pickle Because You Know It’s Their Favorite.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 733 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

It’s been forever since they all got together. Steve’s got an arm slung over Robin’s shoulders and is leaning toward Max to talk shit about Mike, while Eddie’s squished between Dustin and Nancy on the opposite side. The rest of the party surround the table, laughing and talking so loudly he’s not even sure if you could call it that anymore.

As nice as it is, Eddie feels a little bad for how rowdy they are in the middle of a restaurant. Thankfully, it doesn’t last too terribly long once the food comes out.

“Okay,” their waiter says as he brings out two others with big trays of food, “help me out here.”

It’s an ordeal to get everyone’s orders where they need to go, but once it’s settled, they all start to tuck in.

Eddie’s squirting ketchup all over his fries when he looks up to see Steve’s plate has a pickle on it. His chicken fingers didn’t come with a pickle. Dammit.

Steve’s not even looking, still listening to Lucas’ story about the game he had the other day. He just picks up his plate and holds it out for Eddie.

Fuck yeah! Eddie plucks the pickle off Steve’s plate and takes a big bite, then sets the rest down on the edge of his basket.

“Can we please talk about the new player’s handbook that came out?” Dustin says, muffled around his straw.

“I haven’t picked it up yet,” Eddie admits.

Dustin groans, then launches into a full comparison of the last version and this new edition. Which brings Mike and Will into the conversation, too, and soon they’re all debating about the merits of all of the editions, which one is superior and the best in both the standard and advanced games.

He’s so lost in the topic that he nearly misses Robin handing Steve her pickle.

Eddie’s got a mouthful, chewing faster so he can correct her mistake because Steve doesn’t like pickles. He doesn’t like a lot of things, he’s almost always handing Eddie something at every meal, whether it's olives or pickles or green skittles.

But then Steve stops him in his tracks and takes the biggest bite out of the pickle.

What the fuck is this?

Eddie turns away from the nerd talk to lean forward, mouth finally free to talk. “What was that?”

Steve raises an eyebrow and puts the pickle down on his plate, hanging off the edge so it doesn’t touch his remaining fries. “What was what?”

“That!” Eddie points to the pickle.

Robin looks like he’s lost his mind and she may have a point, but the input isn’t necessary. “Is he not allowed to eat? Jesus, Munson.”

“Not pickles, he’s not,” Eddie says. “You hate pickles.”

Steve’s cheeks go pink as he shakes his head, fringe bouncing on his forehead. He’s bashful when he meets Eddie’s eye. “No, I don’t,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. It’s like the world has turned upside down (no pun intended) and he’s left marooned on an island of imposters. The fuck is this?

He shrugs and leans forward a little, mirroring Eddie’s posture as they rest their crossed arms on the table and try to get a little closer despite the distance. “I like pickles, Eds. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie says half-heartedly. “Since when?”

“Always?” Robin interjects. “You guys have been together for almost a decade! How do you not know that he loves pickles?”

Steve’s face gets even redder.

Eddie feels like he’s been shot, the ultimate betrayal playing out before him. He clutches at his chest. “Stevie?” he squeaks out.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, reaching a hand across the table.

“Then why do you…”

Steve just smiles. “You love them.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all that matters,” Steve says softly.

“Can you two stop being all sappy for like two seconds? Some of us are trying to eat,” Max says, nearly snarling with disgust (even though her eyes are all gooey so it doesn’t land the way she’s hoping for).

Steve laughs and takes his hand back. He winks at Eddie from across the table before turning back to Robin to talk in their weird twin language.

Dammit, he really loves this man. With his stupid winks and silly sacrifices. If that’s not true love, Eddie doesn’t know what is.

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddielovemonth #whatislovedailyprompts #ohstars posting challenge

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veryferaldistributions · 1 year

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My Favorite Quotes from the “Bride of ReAnimator” Commentary (Not Included in the “Gay” Compilation):

Herbert: “Go. Home.”

Bruce: “Oh yeah, lot waiting for me there. How ‘bout that front room? Pet the dog! Find the finger eye puppet. Have some leftover spaghetti!”

Jeffrey: (about the Bride) “So she’s Meg. She’s Gloria-“

Bruce: “She’s the virgin-hooker with the twinkle toes.”

(Herbert and Francesca are barricading the lab door.)

Bruce: “Why is she helping you?”

Jeffrey: “Because she knows there are creatures out there (laughs) puking Cream of Wheat!”

Herbert: “You’re better off without her.”

Bruce: “Thanks for the advice, Dear Abby!”

(Herbert is talking about the feet of the ballet dancer.)

Bruce: “Y’know, Herbert’s parents made him take ballet for five years…”

(Over the course of the film commentary, they make several jokes about how Chapham is always seen with food.)

Herbert: (at Chapham) “What are you doing in here?”

Bruce: “Eating!”

(EDITED POST TO ADD MORE QUOTES/FIX ERRORS IN FIRST BATCH UPON REWATCH)

(Dan gets stabbed in Peru.)

Jeffrey: “Your kidney’s been lacerated, but you’ll be alright!”

Bruce: (sees his own name in the credits) “Who’s that?”

Bruce: “How did they get down there (Peru)?”

Jeffrey: (dryly) “By a plane, Bruce.”

Jeffrey: (singing to credits music) “Oh MEEEEG, my loooove, where did you goooo my deaaaar?”

(Movie cuts from Peru to Miskatonic.)

Bruce: “Oh yeah, like those two would be let back in the States!”

Bruce: “(Bride) is the ‘Frankenstein’ of the series. If the second is ‘Frankenstein,’ what’s the first?”

Jeffrey: “…Re-Animator.”

Bruce: “What is with my HAIR?”

Jeffrey: “Well, that was your choice!”

Dan: “Herbert, I have something to tell you.”

Bruce: “I’ve found a new hairdresser.”

Dr. Graves: “Who’d want to steal body parts?”

Jeffrey: “Ohhhhh, I think we knoooow.”

(Herbert is stealing Meg’s heart.)

Bruce: “Like Dan wouldn’t have enshrined that already.”

Herbert: (at Hill’s head in the morgue) “How did you get in here?”

Jeffrey: (mumbling) “…I hate this scene.”

(They both laugh at the puns anyway.)

Jeffrey: “Nice wheels, Dan.”

Bruce: “You bet. All in eight months. Got through customs. Now I’m driving a Dodge Swinger.”

Bruce: “I can’t get over my BeeGees haircut.”

Jeffrey: “Barry Gibb lives!”

(Later in the movie.)

Jeffrey: (singing) “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Stayin’ alive! Stayin’ alive!”

Bruce: “Of course this house has a basement.”

Jeffrey: “It was one of our requirements.”

Bruce: “One of your requirements.”

Jeffrey: “Well…”

Herbert: “Security.”

Dan: “From what?”

Herbert: …

Jeffrey: “From what?!”

Bruce: “Do I merit an answer?!”

(Herbert is showing Dan the reagent.)

Jeffrey: “DRINK IT! DRINK IT!”

Bruce: “Y’know, Herbert has this nasty habit of shoving things in Dan’s face. Iguanas, reagent, amniotic fluid-“

Jeffrey: “Dead cats.”

Dan: “I’m moving out!”

Jeffrey: “Why?”

Bruce: “Because, I like this heart patient in the hospital MUCH more than you!”

Jeffrey: (laughs) “What, you gonna move in with HER?”

Bruce: “No one will ever get rich overestimating Dan’s bad taste.”

(Herbert is trying to convince Dan to reanimate Chapham, next to the boiling pot.)

Bruce: “Sure…why not?”

Jeffrey: “Lemme have some tea first!”

(Cuts from the basement to Francesca, in Dan’s bed.)

Francesca: “Daniel?”

Bruce: “Why am I down there? WHY? What am I thinking about?”

Jeffrey: “You needed to get another prophylactic from the lab.”

Dan: “Herbert!”

Bruce: “I’d like to have a nickel for every time I’ve said ‘Herbert’ in these two movies.”

Dan: “It helps me to think of you as Meg.”

Bruce: “Betcha that makes her feel good. No wonder she dies!”

(Gloria flatlines.)

Jeffrey: “And that made her die.”

(Herbert and Dan are reanimating the Bride.)

Bruce: “Don’t try this at home.”

(Herbert puts on the gun holster.)

Bruce: “Wild, wild West. Herbie, get your gun.”

Herbert: “There is my creation!”

Jeffrey: “So put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!”

Bruce: (singing Rick Springfield) “I wish I was Herbie’s girl!”

(The Bride is trying to seduce Dan.)

Bruce: “Oh boy. I certainly wasn’t paid enough for this.”

Bride: (to Dan) “You made me?”

Herbert: “I made you!”

Jeffrey: “Yeah! Get that straight, babe!”

Dan: “You’re not Meg. Meg’s dead.”

Bruce: (flatly) “Wow. What a revelation. How edifying.”

Herbert: “Make a note of it, Dan! Tissue rejection!”

Bruce: “You write it down, ya little squirt! I’m tired of taking your notes!”

Dan: “You’re alive.”

(Falls to his knees.)

Jeffrey: “And I worship you!”

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literary-illuminati · 4 months

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Book Review 70 – American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis

I’m honestly not sure I ever would have gotten around to reading this on my own, but ended up buying it through the ‘blind date with a book’ thing a bookstore in New York was doing when I was visiting (incredible gimmick, for the record). The fact that it then took me a solid three months to actually finish probably tells you something about how genuinely difficult a read I found it. Not in the sense of being bad, but just legitimately difficult to stomach at points. Overall I’d call it a real triumph of literature.

Not that anyone doesn’t already know, but; the book is spent inside the head of Patrick Bateman, high-flying wall street trader and Harvard blueblood at the close of the Reagan era. Also a serial killer. The story is told as a series of more or less disconnected vignettes, jumping from dinner conversations at one exclusive bar or club or another to the brutal torture and murder of a sex worker to several pages of incredibly vapid pontification on Nina Simone’s discography. The story vaguely tracks Bateman growing ever-more alienated and out of control as the year goes on, but there’s very much not any real single narrative or cathartic climax here. - most stuff just happens (stuff that’s either incredibly tedious or utterly nauseating by turns but still just, stuff).

So yeah this is an intensely literary work (obviously), a word I’m here using to mean one that is as much about the form and style of the writing as about the actual events portrayed. Bateman is a monster, but more than that he’s just an utterly boring and tedious husk of a man, traits which are exaggerated to the point of being fascinating– if you told this story in conventional third person narration without all the weird asides, it would be a) like half as long and b) totally worthless. The tonal whiplash of going from an incredibly visceral depiction of Bateman cutting out the eyes of a homeless man to six (utterly insipid) pages on the merits of The Doors is the selling point here (well actually I think Ellis goes back to that specific well probably one time too many, but in general I mean).

Bateman is a tedious, unstable monster, but as far as the book has an obvious thesis it’s that he differs from the rest of his social milieu only in degree. A symptom of a fundamentally rotten society, not a heroic devil among sheep. The book’s climax, such as it is, involved Bateman getting into a drug-fueled gunfight with the NYPD, shooting multiple people in the middle of the street, and then stumbling home and leaving a rambling confession to every crime on his lawyer’s answering machine – but despite very clearly wanting and trying to get caught and face some sort of consequence or justice, people just refuse to believe that someone like him is capable of anything like that. (It’s not, it must be said, an especially subtle book).

There is, as far as I can recall, not a single character who gets enough screentime to give an idea of their personality who I’d call likeable. Sympathetic, sure, but that’s mostly because it’s pretty much impossible not to sympathize with someone getting horrifically tortured and torn apart (at one point a starving rat is involved). The upper crust of New York yuppie-dom is portrayed as shallow and vapid, casually bigoted towards quite literally everyone who isn’t identical to them, status-obsessed to the point of only being able to understand the world as a collection of markers of class and coolness, and totally incapable of real human connection. Bateman is a monster not because of any freak abnormality, but just because he takes all of that a few steps further than his coworkers.

The book is totally serious and straight-faced in its presentation, and absolutely never acknowledges any of the running gags that are kept up through it. Which shows impressive restraint, and also means that none of them exactly have a payoff or a punchline – it’s just a feature of the world that all the expensive meals at trendy restaurants everyone competes for tables at sound disgusting when you think about them for a moment, or that the whole class of wall street trader guy are so entirely interchangeable that ostensible close friends and coworkers constantly mistake each other for other traders and no one particularly cares. Or – and I’m taking this on faith because fuck knows I’ve got no idea what any of the brands people are wearing are – that the ruinously expensive outfits everyone spends so very much time and money on for every engagement all clash comically if you actually looked up what the different pieces looked like. The book’s in no way really a comedy, so the jokes sit a bit oddly, but they’re still overall pretty funny, at least to me.

I like to think I have something of a strong stomach for unpleasant material in books, but this was the first work of fiction that I had genuine trouble reading for content reasons in I can’t even remember. I’m not sure it’s exactly right to call the violence pornographic in a general sense, but as far as American Psycho goes the register and tone Bateman uses to describe fucking a woman and torturing her to death are basically identical (and told in similarly explicit detail), and all of Bateman’s sexual fantasies are more or less explicitly just porn scenes he wants to recreate, so. Regardless, the result’s pretty alienating in both cases – his internal monologue never really feels anything but detached and almost bored as he relays what he does, sound exactly as vapid and alienated as when he is carefully listing the exact brands and designers every person he ever interacts with is wearing at all times, or arguing over dinner reservations for hours on end with his friends and lovers (though both those terms probably deserve heavy airquotes around them). He legitimately sounds considerably more engaged when talking about arguing over sartorial etiquette. It all adds up to a really strong alienating effect.

Anyways, speaking of sex and violence – perhaps because my main exposure to the story before this was tumblr making memes out of scenes from the movie, but I was pretty shocked by just how explicitly awful Patrick is ‘on screen’. The horrible murder, sure, but also just the casual and frequent use of racist and homophobic slurs, the pathological misogyny, the total breakdown he has at the idea of a gay man being attracted to him and thinking he might reciprocate – all of these are entirely in character for an asshole Wall Street ‘80s Guy even if he wasn’t a serial killer, but it’s still oddly shocking at first to see it so thoroughly represented on the page. It makes how comparatively soft-pedaled the bigotry and just, awfulness, of villains in a lot of more modern books stand out a lot more, I suppose? I have read a lot of books that are in some sense About queerness and/or racism in the last year, and no one in any of them holds a candle to good old Patrick Bateman.

Part of that is just the book being so intensely of its time, I suppose. The New York of this book is very much one of the late ‘80s, incredible wealth living side by side with social rot and decay, crippling poverty everywhere and a society that has to a great degree just stopped caring. Absolutely none of which Bateman or any of his peers care one bit about, of course – they’re too busy showing off the latest walkmans and record players, going to the newest clubs, and just generally enjoying all the fruits of Reagan’s America. Recent history has made the fact that Bateman’s personal idol is Donald Trump almost too on the nose to be interesting, but in 1991 I’m sure it was a bit more subtle in how telling it was.

Anyway, yeah, horrifying and exhausting read, triumph of literature, my god did Easton Ellis hate America (this is a compliment). Now time to go watch the movie!

#book review #literature #american psycho #brett easton ellis

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brbsoulnomming · 6 months

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Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 26

-----

"You boys all right?" Hopper calls, after the sound of Chief Powell reading Jason his rights has started to fade.

"Can't complain about the rescue," Eddie calls back.

"Doing a lot better than we'd be without you," Steve agrees.

"All right, just hang tight until I get confirmation that Carver's all settled in the cruiser and on his way to the station," Hopper says.

And Eddie sees the merit in that, really, he does, but Steve had dodged directly answering the question of if he was all right the same as Eddie had, and Eddie needs to see him.

He creeps off in the direction that he'd heard Steve's voice come from, sticking to the growing shadows, until he damn near collides with Steve - who must have had the same idea.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, grabbing the front of Eddie's shirt and hauling him in for a kiss.

Eddie wraps his arms around him, holding him as close as he can as he kisses him back, every last bit of the terror he'd felt in the last however long coming out in sheer desperation.

"Eddie," Steve murmurs against his lips, his voice a little frantic like he needs to say it but doesn't want to stop kissing him. "Eddie, baby, are you hurt?"

"No," Eddie says, muffled by the fact that he can't stop kissing him, either. "No, I'm okay. Are you?"

Steve doesn't answer right away, kissing him again and again, and Eddie cups the line of his jaw, cradles it in his hand for a moment before he pushes his fingers into Steve's hair, checking for any tender spots.

"Hold up for a minute, let me look," Eddie insists, but he doesn't pull away when Steve stubbornly keeps kissing him.

"Stevie," he whispers, the sound stolen up by Steve's ragged inhale.

"I'm kind of trying not to freak out," Steve admits.

Eddie registers the press of something cold and hard against his chest where Steve's still holding his shirt, the clink of metal when he shifts, and he remembers the handcuffs.

"Fuck," Eddie curses. "What can I do?"

"You're okay, right? He didn't hurt you?"

For a moment, Eddie thinks Steve might be deflecting, but the look on Steve's face tells him no, he's answering Eddie's question just fine - that's what Eddie can do to reassure him.

"He didn't hurt me," Eddie says. "He pushed me a couple of times, and one made me lose my balance, but no damage."

"Let me see-" Steve starts, but Eddie shakes his head.

"Uh-uh. You let me see first, then you can look," he insists.

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Steve's lips. "I take care of you, you take care of me?"

"Bingo. So no trying to get fresh with me again until I've had a good look, all right handsome?" Eddie teases.

This time, Steve lets him cup his jaw again, peering closely at his face. It's getting dark enough that Eddie can't tell exactly, but nothing looks broken. He's pretty sure he's going to have some bruising, though.

"Okay," Eddie says once he's satisfied - or as satisfied as he's going to get until they're home. "Your turn."

Steve lifts Eddie's shirt up without any preamble, peering at his stomach and chest and running his fingers over his skin. His touch brushes over some of Eddie's soulmate ink, and - oh, fuck, if last time was Steve's hands in his hair and hot water washing away a week's worth of grime, this is molten heat running down his spine, the taste of Steve's tongue in his mouth, the feel of his breath on the back of his neck. Eddie shudders, lips parted in a soft gasp.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

"Soulmate words," Eddie says.

"Oh," Steve says absently. Then, "Oh."

"Yeah. Fuck, we're doing that again once we're home," Eddie says fervently.

Steve's looking at him again, all warm and happy like he's just had the best experience of his life.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"You said home," Steve replies softly, gently tugging Eddie's shirt down and leaning in to kiss him again.

Oh.

"It is," Eddie says. "With you and Robin, it is."

Steve closes his eyes, forehead pressing against Eddie's. They stay like that, tucked in close to each other, until Hopper's voice calls out and tells them it's safe to come out.

Hopper's got a flashlight on him, and he looks them both over when they emerge, the corners of his mouth dropping down lower and lower when he looks at Steve's face and wrists.

"Hey Chief?" Hopper says into the police issue radio he's got hooked on his belt, as they walk back towards Forest Hills.

"Yeah Hop?" Chief Powell asks.

"Get the handcuff master key out and ready for when we get to the station," Hopper tells him. "And you might want to add unlawful restraint to that list of charges."

Eddie blanches. "Who says we want to go to the station?" he grumbles.

"We can't do it tomorrow?" Steve asks.

"You'll be glad you got it over with," Hopper points out.

Which is probably true, but Eddie isn't going to give him the satisfaction of saying it.

"Got it," Chief Powell's voice comes back over the radio. "Which one of them is it?"

Hopper shoots him and Steve a little look. "Better get ready to hear from Lillian Harrington."

"Ah, shit," Chief Powell mutters. "All right, see you soon."

There's no police cars when they get back to the trailer - just Steve's BMW, still parked out front next to the abandoned boxes of Eddie's things.

"Can you help get those in the trunk?" Steve asks.

Eddie wants to point out that they don't feel all that important right now, but Hopper's already crouching down to pick two of them up, and Steve's awkwardly fishing his keys out of his jeans pocket. And it's - yeah, okay, if they went through all of this on a mission to get Eddie some of his life back, he doesn't want to come back empty handed, either. He picks up the last box, tucking it inside the trunk.

"Found this, too," Hopper comments, setting Steve's bat next to them.

Just the sight of it makes some of the tension leak out from Steve's shoulders.

"Get in," Hopper says. "I'll drive you to the station."

"It's my car!" Steve protests. "I've driven with way worse!"

"That's exactly why you're not driving now," Hopper says.

"That doesn't make any sense," Steve mutters.

"Stevie, if he isn't driving, I am," Eddie tells him. "You want me driving your car in my current state?"

"I know you've done it before, kid," Hopper adds, his voice gentler this time. "You shouldn't have had to then, and you don't have to now."

Steve looks away for a moment. Then he nods, clambering into the backseat of the car. Eddie joins him, sitting as close to him as he dares. Once they're in route - Eddie risks slipping his hand over, palm up. An offering, just in case.

Steve grabs it immediately, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight.

"How come the cops are so scared of your mom?" he asks Steve in a low voice.

There's a little laugh. "My mom's a lawyer. She's mostly a corporate lawyer now, but she was a criminal defense attorney for a while, and she'll still take some cases. She's going to be all over this."

Hopper gives a soft snort of amusement. "She's going to threaten to sue everyone from Powell to the mayor if Carver doesn't get charged the way she wants him to."

"She's a good lawyer," Steve agrees, grinning a little.

Hopper's eyes flick down in the rear view mirror, and Eddie knows he can see him and Steve holding hands. For a moment, his heart jumps into his throat - but Hopper doesn't say anything, just slips his gaze back to the road.

Flo's waiting for them with a set of keys and three steaming mugs of hot chocolate when they get to the station.

Eddie takes the keys before Hopper can, hurriedly unlocking the cuffs from Steve's wrists. Steve sags a little when they're gone, leaning into him for a moment before straightening up to accept his mug of cocoa.

"You can wait in the break room," Flo tells them. "The phone's free if you want to call your mom."

She ushers them in and closes the door.

Steve and Eddie take the threadbare couch, squished together, while Hopper plops down on a folding chair.

The phone's on a table by the couch, and Steve puts it on speaker after he dials.

"Wolfram, Hart, & Harrington, this is Lacey Shepherd speaking."

"Hi Lacey," Steve greets. "Can you connect me to Mrs. Harrington? This is Steven, one of her clients. I'm calling from a police station."

"One moment, please," Lacey says, before some truly terrible music drifts through the phone.

"One of her clients?" Eddie repeats.

Steve gives a little shrug. "She's working. She'll answer for a client."

But not for her son?

Eddie doesn't know why he's surprised, considering everything, but getting hit in the face with it like that is still a bit of a shock.

Fuck, he's going to hug Steve so hard after all of this.

Granted, he was going to do that anyway, because Eddie really wants a hug after this, but still.

The hold music stops.

"Steven?" Mrs. Harrington asks.

"Hi, Mom," Steve says.

"Steven." There's comprehension in her voice now. "What happened?"

"Jason Carver," Steve says. "He ambushed me with a gun when I was walking back to my car, threatened to kill me and my soulmate."

"Just threatened?" There's a sharp alertness in her voice now, and Eddie can hear the scratching of writing.

"He handcuffed me to a railing, took my soulmate out into the woods and shoved them around. Punched me in the face a few times."

"Punched you in the face," she repeats.

"In his defense, I was choking him with the handcuffs he made me put on," Steve adds.

"Steven Everett Harrington," she hisses. "I know you didn't just say that in a room full of cops."

"It's just Hopper," Steve says.

"No cops here now, Lillian," Hopper says.

She sniffs. "Once a cop, always a cop, Jim. You don't talk to cops."

If he wasn't for everything else he knew, Eddie might actually like her.

"What did the Carver boy say to you?" she asks.

"Uh - that he was trying to get justice and remove the curse from Hawkins. He said he believed we could do it. He was upset about Chrissy, and wanted to make us suffer. Something about planning to send people to Hell."

All technically true, and Eddie sure as shit isn't going to volunteer anything that puts Jason Carver in a better light.

"I knew that boy was unstable," she mutters. "The whole police force was wrapped up in looking for some insignificant gutter trash, and they're letting the real threats go around right under their noses."

Right, shit, so much for liking her.

Eddie slouches down, until he sees the anger in Steve's eyes. As nice as it would be to let him say whatever he's going to - Eddie puts a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

"You tell Chief Powell to call me after you're done giving your statement," she says. "If I don't hear from him in less than an hour, he won't like the outcome."

"Yes, Mom," Steve says.

The dial tone rings out in response.

"I don't want her to talk like that about you," Steve says immediately.

"I appreciate it," Eddie says, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against the bruise appearing on Steve's cheek. "But you've taken enough hits for me tonight. You can save swinging at your mom for later."

It wasn't until he said it that he recognizes the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knows Steve doesn't agree, knows he's made it very clear otherwise, but - part of him can't help but feel like this is his fault, like Steve wouldn't have had to go through tonight if Eddie wasn't his soulmate.

He doesn't say anything, but Steve narrows his eyes anyway.

"You're my soulmate," Steve says. "I don't regret it."

Hopper clears his throat, and Eddie jumps, his hand dropping away.

Fuck, he can't believe he almost forgot he was there.

"Hop," Steve says.

Hopper shakes his head. "He's your soulmate, right? Whatever that means, you got nothing to fear from me."

There's a beat of silence, then, "At least it's better than Mike Wheeler, anyway."

Eddie barks out a startled laugh, clamping one hand over his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Hopper grumbles. "I'm sending the little shit to you when he gets on my nerves."

It's not long before Chief Powell comes to take their statements. They give him the same spiel that they gave Steve's mom, with a little more detail about how Jason was trying to make Eddie confess.

Chief Powell sighs. "Boy's not saying much in there. I think he finally gets how much trouble he's in. I better go give Judge Ellison a call, then get Lillian on the phone."

He scrubs a hand over his face, then looks at Hopper. "You sure you don't want your job back?"

"Nah," Hopper replies with a grin. "It's all yours."

Steve doesn't put up a protest when Hopper gets into the driver's seat of the Bimmer this time. He just reaches one hand out, and Eddie takes it, giving it a soft squeeze.

"The whole motley crew's probably at your place by now," Hopper warns them as he drives. "Your girl called a code red. The only reason we didn't have the rest of those numbskulls showing up at Forest Hills in a panic is because she'd already called 911, and the police were on their way as soon as they heard Jason Carver and gun. Joyce took the kids and Argyle over to wait with Robin, so I'm sure the rest of them are there too."

Sure enough, the Wheelers' station wagon, Argyle's van, the Byers' car, and his uncle's truck are all parked outside when they get there.

Part of him thinks so much for getting to kiss Steve senseless, but the bigger part is touched that they're all here like this. He sneaks a glance over at Steve, sees a slightly stunned smile, and gives his hand another squeeze.

Hopper walks in first, mostly so he can fend off the immediate rush at the door.

Robin's the only one that gets past him, flinging herself at both of them and hugging them.

"I'm okay, Robs, we're okay," Steve whispers into her hair.

She hugs them tighter.

Then she steps back. His uncle is in her place immediately, folding Eddie up in his arms - and then hauling Steve in to hug him, too.

"I'm okay, we're okay," Eddie says.

Finally, his uncle lets go, too, letting the crowd get a better look at them.

"What happened?" Dustin demands. "Robin said Jason locked Steve up and dragged Eddie off somewhere!"

"Handcuffed," Steve says. "But I got free."

"Handcuffed?" Erica repeats flatly, shoving her way to the front of the group.

She looks him and Steve up and down. Eddie can see the way the fire in her eyes burns hotter and hotter as she lingers over the welts around Steve's wrists, the bruises on his face, the dirt and blood on Eddie's own hands. He hadn't noticed that before now, but he must have ripped at the edges of a couple of his fingernails, digging his hands into the ground like that.

Then Erica turns on her heel. "I'm going to call Tina."

"Tina?" Eddie asks, confused.

"She's the biggest gossip at Hawkins Middle," Erica replies. "Jason Carver is a ruined man."

"He's already in jail!" Steve calls.

"Yeah, and when I'm done with him, everyone will know what a psychopath he is!" Erica shouts back as she slams the door to the study down the hall.

Nancy makes this little giggling snort sound - the same one he heard her make when he was in the hospital, what feels like forever ago.

Apparently it was a good sound, because she's smiling.

"She's going to be a terror when she gets to high school," Robin says fondly.

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "I'm so proud of her."

"Ugh," Lucas groans.

"Luckily, she's got better friends than I did, to keep her grounded," Steve adds, looking out over all of them.

Joyce worms her way to the front, looking both of them up and down just like Erica.

And just like Erica, there's a ferocity to her as she takes them in, though hers burns cooler.

"Oh, honey," she murmurs. "Come on, let me look at you in the kitchen."

There's a moment of silence, then she looks at them.

"Both of you, now," she orders.

Well, not that much cooler.

"Hopper, will you order pizza for everyone? I know it's late, but I'm sure we could use it," she calls back as she ushers them into the kitchen.

She points them both to the kitchen table, and what the hell else is Eddie going to do but obediently sit? She digs into the freezer, gets out an ice pack and wraps it in a towel, then gently places it over Steve's eye and cheek.

"Hold it there for a little while," she tells him.

Then she wets another towel and comes over to Eddie, taking his hands in hers and gently cleaning them up. She looks at him with such softness and warmth when her eyes catch his that, horrifyingly, he feels his chin quiver a little, and he has to look away.

"I haven't gotten to tell you," she says quietly. "It was a very brave thing you did, helping fight against One."

"It doesn't feel like it," he finds himself admitting.

She hums softly. "Because you were scared?"

"Terrified," he agrees. "But because I didn't do enough."

She makes a tsk noise, wiping away the last of the grime and wrapping a bandaid around the tip of his finger, where a drop of blood had sprung up. "You're here. That's more than enough."

Jesus Christ, he's not going to cry, he's not.

She takes pity on him, patting his hand one more time and then going to check on Steve.

"That goes for you, too," she tells him as she lifts up the ice pack to take a peek, then puts it back down. "You think I haven't noticed that it's always you?"

"They're kids," Steve protests softly.

"So are you," she tells him, in the kind of tone that manages to be both gentle and leave no room for argument. "And you are worth more than how much damage you can take for them."

"Okay," Steve says, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She tsks at him, then gently cleans the dirt off of his face and hands.

"There's juice and stuff in the fridge for everyone," he says.

"You're a sweetheart," she tells him.

Eddie snorts before he can stop himself.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You have an opinion on that, Edward Munson?"

Shit.

"No ma'am," he says quickly, even though he knows it's a lie.

Steve drops the ice pack away from his face, grinning. He looks - a little punch drunk, a little like how he'd light up so high every time the house is filled with people. "That was a lie," he stage whispers to Joyce. "He definitely has an opinion."

She tries to hide her smile. "Oh? Enlighten us."

Eddie groans. "Look, I love Steve, okay, he's the kindest, bravest, best guy I know, but he's way too much of a bitch to be a sweetheart."

Steve cackles, head tilting back as he laughs.

Joyce has one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening with what looks like unshed tears. Eddie frowns, tries to think back to what he said - fuck, he'd said love, okay, but everyone knows Steve's his soulmate now, and he hadn't said what kind, so there's no way she'd assume -

She reaches out, takes one of their hands in each of hers. "Will you boys come to dinner on Sunday?"

Steve's brows furrow in confusion. "Well, yeah, of course."

"Good. Will and El missed you," she tells Steve, then nods at Eddie. "And I think Will's unsure about it, but I know he'd like to be in that club of yours. I think having you around, together, will be nice."

Oh.

"Of course, Mrs. B," Eddie says, exchanging a look with Steve.

She squeezes both of their hands, smiling softly at them a moment longer. "Are you ready to go back out and face the questions?"

They are, and they do.

Eddie takes over, dropping into DM mode to spin the story of what happened into something a little more colorful, a little less scary - and manages to cut his poetic waxing about Steve ripping the railing off and choking Jason while handcuffed short when Robin pointedly nudges him.

He's just about done when Erica emerges, looking very satisfied with herself.

"The whole school knows all the details of what a creep Jason is now," she says. "Both schools, by morning."

Steve picks her up, twirling her around.

She shrieks.

"Steven Everett Harrington, you put me down!" she shouts at him, kicking her feet.

Eddie notices she doesn't actually do anything to try to get him to let her go, and her shrieking is definitely the more gleeful variety, but he doesn't point it out for fear of the verbal dressing down he'd get.

She flips her hair when he finally sets her down, loudly commenting, "Ugh!" as she storms off to the couch.

"Me next," El requests, holding her arms out to him.

Steve immediately picks her up, smiling wide and playful as he spins her around to the sounds of her delighted laughter.

When he sets her down, he turns to Max - who was apparently waiting for that, and promptly throws a couch pillow at him.

"Don't you dare! What, just because I'm a girl! How sexist is that, why don't you try to twirl one of the guys?" she demands.

Steve tilts his head like he's considering that. "Okay," he agrees.

Eddie expects him to chase down Dustin or Lucas - but instead, the next thing he knows there's a pair of arms around his waist and Steve is hauling him up to twirl him around.

He cackles, draping his arms over Steve's neck and tipping his head back. "Come on, Harrington, put those muscles to use and twirl me faster," he teases.

Steve spins him around again, then sets him down, beaming at him.

Joyce whacks him on the shoulder.

"Quit that," she scolds. "You should both be resting. Go, on the couch, the both of you."

"How does Erica even know your middle name?" Eddie asks Steve once they're settled on the couch, after Uncle Wayne, Hopper, and Joyce have gone back into the kitchen.

"I know everything," Erica replies smugly.

Dustin scoffs. "Sir Everett is Steve's paladin. She only knows because he told us when we played."

In his indignation, he says it loud enough for the whole room to hear, and Lucas, Mike, and Will's heads immediately swivel over to look at them.

There's a moment of silence, as Dustin seems to realize what he just said. His eyes widen, gaze cutting over to Steve.

"You told!" Erica shouts delightedly. "Shotgun privileges revoked for a year!"

"You played with my sister?" Lucas asks, sounding betrayed.

"What the hell!" Mike agrees. "He was our friend first!"

Steve raises one eyebrow at him.

"You were!" Mike insists. "We even made you a part of the Party and gave you a walkie everything!"

"You sure that wasn't just to con your way into free movies last summer?" Steve teases, hands on his hips.

"Steve," Lucas protests.

"I think we're forgetting that Dustin knew about this," Will points out.

"Will, come on!" Dustin whines.

"All right, how about this," Steve says. "Will, when are you running one again?"

Will looks thrown. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," Steve says.

"Oh, I, uh. I don't know." Will's gaze cuts over to Eddie, then skitters away so quickly he's not completely sure it happened.

Yeah, looks like Joyce was right about him being uncertain. Eddie remembers Steve saying that Will was leaving his party behind and didn't want anything to play for a present, but his friends clearly hadn't done the same. Eddie can see how that'd cause some conflicting feelings.

"I've heard a lot about you," Eddie chimes in.

He feels Steve tense briefly next to him, then relax when it's clear Eddie isn't lying.

"What?" Will asks, looking back at him.

"Oh, yeah. Not to my face, of course, before spring break these little shits were terrified of me - and I already mourn the loss - but I heard them talking." He clears his throat, making his voice all high and squeaky. "'Can you believe that? Will never would have done that! Will would have given him a whole backstory! Will's introduction was ten times more interesting!'"

All right, maybe he's playing it up a bit - but he had overheard them talking about the differences in his and Will's styles a few times, and there were times that they liked Will's better.

"I wasn't the only one who DMed, though, Mike used to do it, too," Will says, face a little pink.

"Yeah, but you're way better," Mike says earnestly. "Remember how long my last couple of campaigns took me to plan and how quick we finished them?"

"Tell you what," Steve says. "You both work up one together, and Eddie, Robin, and I will play."

Jesus Christ, it's like Christmas came early.

Eddie cackles. "Just wait, boys, you haven't seen me as a player yet."

"Why am I roped into this now?" Robin protests, but it's the tone of voice she uses when she's going to do it, she just wants to bitch.

"We'll all play," Jonathan cuts in, glancing over at Nancy and Argyle. "Right, guys?"

"Oh, for sure. Bring it on, little dudes," Argyle agrees.

"Fine," Nancy says, rolling her eyes, but she's smiling. "I'm not dressing up, though."

"Dress up?" Eddie repeats, pouncing on it immediately.

"No!" Nancy retorts immediately.

Eddie wriggles, twisting so he can peer at her from over Robin's shoulder, eyes wide and beseeching. "Come on, Wheeler," he whines.

She glares at him, managing to hold it for a few seconds before she caves. "Fine! Remember this when it comes time for your study sessions."

Shit, that's right.

…eh, worth it.

"Dress up?" El repeats.

"Yeah, but boring dress up, not fun dress up like at the mall," Max says.

Eddie clutches his heart. "Mayfield. Don't you want to be a maiden fair? A tiefling princess?"

Max narrows her eyes at him.

El squeezes Max's hand.

"If I get a mace," Max says. "And I get to hit Munson with it at some point. I'll consider it."

"Deal!" Eddie immediately agrees.

He's pretty sure she means her character, and he can sacrifice a few hit points.

…she definitely means her character, right?

Eh, still worth it.

"Wait, there's costumes now?" Steve asks.

Eddie drops himself back over Steve. "Don't worry, I've got you covered."

Steve pulls a face. "Great," he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mike and Will, who'd bowed their heads together to have a quick, fervent discussion, separate to look back up at the group.

"Okay," Will says. "We'll let you know when we've got it worked out."

The pizza arrives not long after, and even though he, Steve, and Robin already put away one earlier - that feels like forever ago, and he still devours a few more slices.

Eddie kind of expects some of them to go home at some point that night, but they never do.

Uncle Wayne takes the guest room that Steve told him he could have, and Joyce and Hopper end up in the other one. The rest of them all crash out in the living room, on couches and chairs and in sleeping bags.

No one bats an eye when he, Steve, and Robin tangle themselves up in each other.

Eddie falls asleep surrounded by his family, and thinks - there's no better feeling in the whole damn world.

Just one more part left, and then this will finally be wrapped up!

-----

Part 27

Tag list (always happy to add more for the last bit!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fic #robin buckley #dustin henderson #erica sinclair #joyce byers #jim hopper #steddie soulmate au

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