#EVEN THOUGH ITS EDS FAULT????

[deithe]

nothing will ever hit as hard as ed causing a civil uprising in liore in 03, and coming back to the city towards the end of the series to see how many people died and suffered because of his pride and arrogance believing he was saving the people of liore through "liberation". 03 fucks so hard in showing ed fucking up unbelievably bad while in the military, and being forced to confront that

[trans-axolotl]

having a lot of thoughts about eating disorders + how some of us end up developing chronic illnesses directly because of the physical effects of our eating disorders and how Cruel doctors can be about that and just trying to untangle so much shame and blame from that experience rn

[lovebugism]

What about Eddie with shy!reader who still gets shy & flustered when he compliments/praises her even after being together for months now 🥺

hi love! this is such a sweet lil scenario! thanks sm for your request!! — the one where eddie is super good at making you feel pretty (but only because you make it so easy)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

“Does this look okay?” you ask for the hundredth time. Maybe millionth.

Eddie doesn’t shrug you off, though. He never does — not even when you’ve repeated the same question to him a thousand times.

The boy eyes your outfit like he’s really analyzing it, just like you wanted him to. In its fourth iteration, it looks only slightly different than the one before it, but he’ll take any opportunity to look at you that comes his way.

Most of the time, you can’t stand it when he stares at you for too long. Now he can do it all he wants because you’re asking him to. He feels a little like the luckiest guy on the planet.

“The skirt’s really pretty,” Eddie affirms with a nod. He’d argue that you’ve looked pretty in everything you’ve shown him, but he knows that’s not the answer you’re looking for. “I think I like it better than the jeans, actually.”

Even though you could wear almost anything and drive him insane, nothing beats seeing you in skirts. Something about your legs has always worked him wild — maybe because you keep them covered so often. 

It isn’t every day he gets to see you in these shorter bottoms. Those are only reserved for real special occasions. And, for some strange reason, you’ve decided that’s what Steve’s party is.

You look over your shoulder at the boy sprawled out on the edge of your bed. His wild hair and all black get-up looks much more jarring than usual against your baby pink comforter.

He’s dreadfully out of place in your girlish bedroom. You never want him to leave.

“You think so?” you wonder aloud, toying nervously with the hem of your white skater skirt. It’s not super short, stopping just below mid-thigh, but you’re nervous that it might be anyway.

Eddie scoffs like the answer’s obvious. “Totally. You look killer, babe. I’m gonna have to walk behind you all night to keep everyone from staring at you.”

Your nose scrunches at the crude compliment. Sometimes you wonder if Eddie thinks you’re prettier than you really are — like one of those funky carnival mirrors, but with the opposite effect. 

He’s under some sort of spell, you figure. He must be. 

You don’t deserve to be loved on as much as he loves on you.

“I’m being serious, Eds,” you argue halfheartedly as you turn back to the mirror. You tug at the bottom of your snug crop top when a sliver of your stomach starts to show.

The bed squeaks under his weight when he rises from his lounged position. He laughs and it sounds like sunshine. “I am being serious. You look amazing.”

“You always think I look amazing,” you murmur, flashing him a weak glare from beneath your lashes through the mirror. You’re not as annoyed as you seem. Embarrassed and a little undeserving, sure — but not annoyed.

“How’s that my fault?” Eddie scoffs with a chuckle. His chunky sneakers thud, thud, thud against your carpeted floor as he walks over to you. “If you didn’t look so pretty all the time, I wouldn’t have to compliment you, so… Checkmate.”

“Stop it…” you protest, mousy and only half-joking.

Eddie’s almost certain that none of his words ever get through to you. Every time he tells you something nice, you think he’s joking. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never been serious about anything in his life — other than you, of course — or if you don’t think you’re worthy of praise.

Maybe it’s a healthy mixture of both. 

It breaks his heart all the same.

Your back meets his chest when he stands behind you. His deep, musky cologne engulfs you like a fuzzy blanket. His ringed fingers are warm as they splay along your hips.

Even when he’s barely touching you, he makes you feel so held. 

“I mean it,” Eddie assures. His voice is soft, quiet, and serious — a stern sort of coo. His button-eyed gaze pierces your own as he stares at you in the mirror. He squeezes softly at your sides. “You look really pretty, babe. I think you should go with this one.”

Grateful that the attention is less on you and more on your outfit, you get less sheepish. “You don’t think it’s too much for a party?”

“No,” he answers with a curt shake of his wild head. “’S perfect. Honestly.”

You huff and lean back against him — not relaxed, exactly, just wanting to feel more of him. Eddie’s chin rests on your shoulder as your arms cross over your stomach. You look almost like you’re hugging yourself.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” you wonder, so quietly it sounds like a bunch of mumbles.

Eddie’s practically developed super-hearing after being with you for so long. 

He scoffs in response. “They’re gonna love you,” he promises, brows raised beneath his frizzy bangs. A pink smile tugs at his mouth. “Like, seriously. They’re gonna be obsessed with you. Henderson, especially. Him and Robin are gonna talk your ear off the whole night.”

You’re smiling before you realize it.

You love that he can imagine you so perfectly meshing with all the people he cares about. Your heart swells at the thought. You love fitting into his world.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods with a scrunched nose. “And then I’m gonna have to share you with them and… You know what? Maybe this is a terrible idea.”

You exhale sharply through your nose in place of a laugh. You purse your lips to the side when you feel like you’re smiling too big. It takes over your whole mouth anyway.

Eddie watches your gaze duck towards the floor where his dirty sneakers stand alongside your shiny Mary Janes. He smiles at you like he’s just heard his favorite song on the radio — like he’s watching happiness incarnate and holding her in his hands.

“There it is,” he singsongs quietly. “I’ve been waiting to see you smile all night.”

Your face heats like a stove eye. You think you might actually burn him if he touched your cheeks just now.

“Stop,” you whine as if he’s hurt you in some way. You writhe in his arms to escape his grip, but he only holds you tighter.

“Sorry, babe,” Eddie apologizes, mostly insincere. He tucks his face into your shoulder and mumbles his words there. “You can’t escape me.”

He sprinkles tiny kisses on your neck. You raise your shoulders, not because you want him to stop, but because the softness of his touch tickles you there. You’d rather feel his lips against your own, anyway.

“You’re such a sap,” you tease as your head turns to peer up at him. The words leave your mouth so softly you might as well be telling him ‘I love you.’ In some ways, you are.

“I mean it, though,” he confesses. He seals his promise with a barely-there peck to the tip of your nose. His lips just barely brush your skin before he’s pulling away again. “You look pretty. Beautiful, even.”

You trap your smile between your teeth as you twist in his hold. Your arms stay pressed between your bodies while his arms embrace you wholly. “Beautiful, huh?” you echo with a sarcastic lilt.

“Uh-huh. Beautiful with a capital B.”

Despite how desperately you want to look away from his intent gaze — so full of love that they’re twinkling with it — you force yourself to keep his stare. “Well, I think you’re Beautiful with a capital B, too, Eds…”

Eddie beams at you, taking your compliment in stride. You wish you could do that, too.

“Thank you, baby,” he hums before smacking a kiss to your waiting mouth. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint and strawberry chapstick.

It’s over far quicker than you’d like it to be. He doesn’t seem as grieved by it as you do.

“Alright, babe. Let’s go,” he announces with a boyish grin when he parts from you. You smile as he heads out of your bedroom, picking up the purse on your desk as he goes. He knew you’d forget it otherwise. 

His voice comes muffled from the hallway, “Your chariot awaits!” 

[libraryofgage]

Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Two

Part One

Have I already posted something today? Yes, yes I have but also I finally got through my block on this one hfjdks

I'll be working on Addams Family Steddie next but idk when that part might be coming out lol

anyway, as always, if you see any typos no you didn't ;)

---

Steve has taken over Eddie's large porcelain bathtub after it was moved to the main room of the captain's cabin. Steve is lounging in it now, a week into being on Eddie's ship, with his tail draped over the edge so he can submerge his head and breathe through his gills. It's infinitely more comfortable, even with the seaweed still wrapped along the length of his tail and reminding him of its presence with every twitch.

He sighs, bubbles rising from his gills in the "I'm beyond bored" pattern that Robin would light up at seeing. But she's not here, so Steve is left to once again turn Eddie's bat ring over in his hands, fingers brushing along the wings.

Eddie had shown him a drawing of an actual bat, and Steve still thinks they're freaks of nature. But he finds the ring itself a little endearing if only because it was Eddie's ring willingly given.

He smiles softly, the gesture only dampened by the sharp jab of worry over his guppies and Robin. They're probably losing their scales with worry themselves, scouring the sea and putting themselves at risk of being seen in their hunt for him. Steve can't even fault them, either; he would do the exact same thing if Robin or any of his guppies had been captured like that. He has done the exact same thing.

Steve sighs again, this time the bubble pattern expressing exhaustion and "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" He kind of misses having someone who actually understands what his bubble patterns mean, but he knows it wouldn't be fair to get frustrated with anyone for their inability to gain meaning from bubbles floating toward the surface.

He thinks, maybe, the worst part is being confined to the tub. Sure, it's infinitely better than the fucking bucket from the other ship, but Steve is still getting restless. He's like a guppy that's watching its siblings swim but still doesn't have the tail strength to swim itself. He feels trapped and has way too much energy with nowhere to spend it.

Steve hasn't mentioned this to Eddie, though. He'd been planning to, of course. In fact, he intended to tell Eddie that morning, but then they'd docked at some port city and Eddie had run off with the promise of being back soon. Steve had tried not to feel a little abandoned, left by himself with fucking nothing to do while Eddie prances around on land.

Before he can get too far into this line of thought (he's about three minutes from convincing himself that, really, Eddie shouldn't have left and could probably be taught the basics of bubble patterns as punishment), Eddie practically barrels into the room, vibrating with something Steve only recognizes as excitement when he sees Eddie's grin.

Steve surfaces, pushing his hair out of his eyes and leaning on the edge of the tub, twitching his tail slightly and exercising incredible control to keep from preening when Eddie's gaze lingers on it. "What happened?" he asks, slipping the bat ring onto his thumb, the only finger it fits.

Eddie drops to his knees, scooting closer to the tub until their noses are almost brushing. "I've got a surprise for you, sweetheart," he says, voice light and eager.

"Where is it?" Steve asks, returning Eddie's smile.

"It's on the deck! Do you trust me?"

For a brief moment, Steve thinks Eddie is about to throw him back into the ocean. Which, like, wouldn't be a bad thing, but Steve would be incredibly offended by the suddenness and wonder if he'd been imagining the draw between them.

But he's sure Eddie wouldn't do something like that without asking first, so he tucks it away as something only slightly possible. Steve nods and pulls back, bracing his hands on the edge of the tub before pushing himself up. He perches on the edge, his balance a little unsteady as he looks at Eddie.

Thankfully, Eddie catches on quickly. He scrambles to his feet and scoops Steve off the edge of the tub, one arm under his tail and the other wrapped around Steve's back. Steve holds onto Eddie's neck, still a little paranoid about being dropped despite Eddie's prior insistence that he wouldn't let anything happen to Steve.

"I think you're gonna love it," Eddie says, his voice soft and his breath warm against Steve's cheek.

Steve gets the urge to ask again, but he holds back as Eddie carries him up to the deck. The sky is covered in clouds, keeping the sun from blinding him when they emerge from the stairs. The deck is concerningly large for such a small crew, and Gareth is currently lounging against the mast, a hat pulled low over his eyes as he sleeps.

He's not very attention-grabbing, though. Not when there's a large...contraption in the middle of the deck. It has four wheels and is shaped like a boat, big enough for Steve to sit comfortably without his tail draping over the edge. There are cranks of some kind on the inside of the boat, and Steve realizes it's filled with water as Eddie carries him closer.

"What is this?" Steve asks, trying not to grimace at the discomfort of his scales beginning to dry out. They're starting to feel tight and itchy, a sensation he really hates, like they're going to split apart at any second.

Eddie grins wider and carefully sets Steve into the water, making sure he doesn't bump the tail or the seaweed wraps. He points at the crank to Steve's left and says, "That will make the back wheels turn. If you crank forward, you'll go forward, and back will make you go backward." He then points to the other crank by Steve's right. "This one controls the front wheels. Forward will make them turn left, and backward will make them turn right. You should be able to move around the deck with this."

Steve stares at the cranks for a moment before glancing up at Eddie. When he receives an encouraging nod in response, he slowly turns the left crank forward, lighting up when the boat does, in fact, move forward a few inches.

He's so overwhelmed with joy that he can't help the notes bubbling in his throat, rising and rising until he can't hold them back anymore. Steve doesn't even think before singing, a wordless tune that conveys just how truly happy he is, one that would leave Robin flabbergasted because she's never heard this tune before.

Because this tune is for courting gifts. Like, really fucking fantastic courting gifts. The kind of gifts that blow everything else clear out of the water and leave a merperson dazed and bubbly and floating without any direction from sheer happiness, bubbles bursting through their gills in joyous patterns.

Steve has never sung this tune before, but he's not at all surprised that Eddie is the person who managed to coax it out of him.

-----

Eddie knew the boat would be a good idea, but now he's thinking it was the best idea he's ever had and ever will. Even after hours have passed, after Steve has watched the sun drop below the water and asked Eddie to carry him back to the cabin, complaining about his arms being sore from turning cranks, Eddie is still reeling.

He's never heard a more beautiful sound. Eddie keeps replaying the tune Steve sang in his head, frustrated with his inability to recreate it just right and too flustered to ask Steve to sing it again. Because he gets the feeling it was special, something that Steve can't just do at the drop of a hat, but something he did because of Eddie.

Eddie twists his fingers in the sheet covering him, turning his head to glance at the tub where Steve is leaning against the edge. His eyes are closed, but Eddie knows he isn't sleeping yet. Steve submerges his head when he sleeps.

"Hey, Stevie," Eddie whispers, almost like he doesn't want Steve to hear so the comfortable silence continues.

Steve hears him anyway, of course, the flare of fin along the edge of his ear twitching slightly. He tilts his head a bit more, squishing his cheek against his arm, and somewhat lazily says, "Yeah, Eddie?"

Eddie turns onto his side, meeting Steve's gaze. "How'd you become a caretaker?" he asks. It's not the question he actually wants to ask; he wants to ask Steve to sing again, to let him drift to sleep to beautiful notes and lingering melodies.

He watches as Steve tenses slightly before forcing himself to relax. He takes a deep breath, his gills fluttering slightly before slowly exhaling. "A while ago, my pod had an...altercation with a pod from the southern seas. They kidnapped one of the guppies, Will, and the other guppies decided to rescue him. They snuck off one night and I followed them when I discovered what happened and..."

Steve trails off, frowning as he tilts his head to look at the small window, staring at the moon through the glass. "Well, long story short, there were lots of fights, our pod lost its previous caretaker, and we gained a new guppy the southern pod had captured. After everything, I couldn't let the guppies out of my sight, and they kept coming to me and Robin whenever they had problems. So, eventually, I just convinced Robin to be my partner and raise the guppies."

There's a lot going unsaid in that explanation, but Eddie knows better than to pry right now. Steve will tell him when he wants, and if he never wants to, that's fine, too. Eddie won't fault him for that. "Did you have a job before that?" he asks.

Steve hums softly, still beautiful and soft, but not at all the melody Eddie really wants to hear. "I used to scout for the pod," he says, "I would swim ahead and make sure an area was safe or find spots to rest when the pod traveled. When we stopped for long periods, I'd help gather food for the pod."

"You like caring for the guppies more," Eddie says, and it's not at all a question.

"Yeah," Steve replies, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "The guppies are great."

"Tell me about them."

"Well, first is Dustin. He's a little sea urchin, always talking back and getting into trouble, but he's sweet. Will is usually pretty quiet, but he's got a great imagination. Mike always hangs around Will, and he's kind of a squid, but he's going through an awkward growth phase. Lucas is the most active of them, and he likes to shadow the scouters when he can. Erica is his little sister, and she doesn't let the others get away with anything. Max is daring and brash, she tends to dive head-first into stuff, but she's also really protective. El is quiet like Will, but she's really smart and really caring. They're such a handful. Robin and I never have a dull day."

His voice is trailing off toward the end, and Eddie knows he's just moments from falling asleep. "I'd like to meet them someday," Eddie says, his voice softer than before, the words spoken more to himself than Steve.

Of course, that doesn't stop Steve from hearing him anyway. He hums again, this one quieter, and groggily mumbles, "Of course you will, Eddie. That's part of the courting."

And then, like he hasn't essentially rocked Eddie's entire world, Steve slips down in the tub. He submerges his head in the water, and Eddie can hear the quiet murmur of bubbles rising to the surface and popping as Steve breathes.

Eddie stays frozen for a few minutes, staring at the tub, and suddenly wondering if, maybe, somebody somewhere happened to write a merperson courtship manual.

Tag List (there's still room, so let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @raisedbylibrarians, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @savory-babby, @vankaar, @beckkthewreck, @itcanbepalped, @imfinereallyy, @finntheehumaneater, @mightbeasleep, @weekend-dreamer7

@whenindoubtb72, @troublemaker2azz, @just-a-tiny-void, @upallnightogetloki, @mxmakessense

[iiz42awesome]

(Putting this in anti tags to be safe but I don't think I'm anti more than just dissapointed)

Myself and some friends were chatting about why it feels bad if Lando wins the WDC

It's because he hasn't had that "wow" drive (yet)

When you look at drivers like Lewis and Max (actual world champions) and Charles and maybe George (both definitely potential world champions), all of them have iconic races that people point to to watch - that is a race that only they (or maybe a select few) could have done at that point in time.

It's the race that everyone talks about, no matter who wins or whatever, everyone is talking about that driver; "did you see what they did though?!"

Sure, load of drivers have had great recovery drives (like Lando now! Baku 2024, 15th to 4th), but could any of them have done what Lewis Hamilton did in 2021 Brazil, last to first in the thick of a championship fight? It really doesn't fee like it- iconic drive from Hamilton, its all everyone was talking about. Wow. Not even Max could do that the same year in Sochi (last to 2nd).

It doesn't even have to be a winning drive- Sure, in 2016 the championship was heating up between Hamilton and Rosberg, but nobody was really talking about that in Brazil because did you see what Max Verstappen did with his car? An iconic recovery drive in the wet that took out other champions like Raikonnen at the same time! Niki Lauda took his hat off for that drive- iconic! Wow.

Even this year in Monza, sure Lando closed the gap to Max but did you see what Charles Leclerc did? He won with a brilliant tyre management, holding off the Mclaren of Piastri! Wow. (We're debating whether this one is truly an "iconic" drive, but Charles has had several of these moments already too, like holding off Hamilton himself to win in Monza 2019 too)

And Lando just... hasn't inspired people the same way?

He's had some good drives but that's kinda it? The best ones we could think of are some of his recovery drives (do you really want a world champions who can only do recovery drives though?) And maybe that time he was leading in Sochi 2021 vs Hamilton? It was painful when he span out (that was more mclarens fault too hoenstly), and people did sorta talk about it... for like 5 minutes until Max came 2nd and the championship talk was back on.

Lando is a good driver, they all are, but he hasn't had a "wow" drive where everyone was talking about him and his skills only.

(Miami we think was more about the safety car and Zandvoort wasn't iconic because everyone had just spent 2 years hating on Max for doing the same thing in the dominant car at the time, and then Lewis before him. Lando wasn't alone in being able to do that. If Lewis, Max, Charles had the car they would also do the same thing.)

So it's just sort of "eh, sure" when people talk about Lando being world champion. Sure, I guess, whatever.

He's not properly "wow"ed us really :/

[dorims]

last christmas (i gave you my heart).

gif creds @/fightingdragonswithwho

pairing. roman roy x reader

wc. 1.6k

genre. fluff

Spending every holiday under Logan Roy’s roof wasn’t necessarily a problem. But just like any other family gathering, the pot tended to be stirred until have a holly jolly Christmas sounded either like a call for help or the theme song from the Saw franchise. for a change, maybe spending christmas away from his family would do him good. you can only hope he agrees.

tags. NOT beta-ed(?), english isn't my first language // established relationship (fiancee/married, i havent decided yet lol), brief mention of alcohol, allusion to roy family dynamics, roman and reader are the only characters in this one

a/n. idc that its march and the fact im not big on christmas either, this one really fun to write! hope you enjoy

“So,” You test the waters, lathering the bristles of your toothbrush with the bubblegum toothpaste in the process. In tune with the routine you had wordlessly established, you locked eyes with him through the mirror. Not before letting your eyes roam over his relaxed figure of course. Surprisingly intimate, you would describe the way he liked to watch you while you finished your nightly routine. He would look so painfully comfortable, maybe even serene, as he let his body rest against the doorframe as his eyes lidded with perpetual fatigue, took in the mundanity of watching you lather your face with creams and face wash.“I’ve been thinking.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, though it sounded more like a stifled laugh. “That's new, how's that going for you?"

“Funny.” The foam in your mouth was of no help at conveying the faux annoyance, balancing out the deadpan you sported with a dose of conveniently muffled speech. Not intimidating at all, it only caused his grin to grow wider. And contagious as always, you leaned over the sink to spit the toothpaste in an attempt to hide a smile of your own, though the thick layer of adoration in your eyes gave it away. 

“I’m just saying,” he raised his hands in mock surrender, finally walking inside to lean against the marble counter right next to you. “I only wanna know how it feels to lose your, you know, thinking virginity after giving no signs of brain activity for how long? Like—“

“You can tell yourself how it feels when you lose it.”

“Oh you want to fuck my brain so bad—“

“I’ve been thinking,” You cut him off with an amused smile, taking him in once more. Big round eyes shone with mischief along a hint of sheepishness as he noticed you looking at him. Really looking at him under the vanity lights with messy hair from running his hands through the strands all day and finally wearing the matching pajamas set you had gotten for him in a pretty navy blue because wearing a matching set made you feel good and you wanted him to feel the same way. Always. 

“You've been thinking…” he rolled his eyes as if to hold back another quip now that you had restarted the conversation. The pinkish hue you were so familiar with made a small appearance as you let your fingers brush over his, gently coaxing him to intertwine his hands with yours. Not that he needed much convincing, though. 

“We should spend Christmas this year with my family.”

At the beginning of your relationship, you were sure he would’ve pulled his hand out of your grasp. You could see the way he had to swallow down the urge to do so from the pensive furrow of his brows while the side of his brain in charge of his critical thinking tried to convince him that your words weren’t an attack on his family. He was still working on it, the lousy therapy sessions here and there helped a little, but he still found himself opening his mouth to complain.

“I know what you’re gonna say but think about it, Romeo.” Thankfully, you took the steering wheel before he could start. “My family loves you and we haven’t spent Christmas with them in like, ever, actually.”

Which wasn’t his fault, and you made sure to tell him so, leaning closer until your knee touched his and giving him a quick peck on his lips before he could protest.

Spending every holiday under Logan Roy’s roof wasn’t necessarily a problem. It was nice to exist alongside the people that Roman loves, the people he grew up around. Watching him interact with his siblings could be endearing. So much so that sometimes you wished you could record their banter and laughter so he could listen back and for a moment picture that things between them were okay. But just like any other family gathering, the pot tended to be stirred until have a holly jolly Christmas sounded either like a call for help or the theme song from the Saw franchise.

“Every year we celebrate in a different place,” you toyed with the idea in front of his eyes like one would a cat’s toy, using your smile to build momentum to the grand reveal that at this point didn’t even sound grand to you. “last Christmas was Italy and this year we’re doing Greece.”

“Since when do you have a house in Greece?” He asked, toying with your fingers as his gaze locked itself on them. It was a good sign he was asking.

“We don’t,” the sound of your animated chuckle helped to loosen his shoulders. Though it didn’t dissipate his slight confusion, it always felt good to have you close like this. “It’s Kelly’s house— eh, her parents’ but sharing is caring or whatever…”

He let out a chuckle of his own. The sound made all sorts of warmth bloom in your chest, maybe even cute aggression if you felt like being dramatic. 

“And after we can spend New Year's just the two of us wherever you want.” He shrugged in a silent response, still pensive, and you couldn’t help but coo at him as if to coax him out of his shell. “It’s gonna be so much fun, they’ve been asking about us and the kids adore you, they’ve been obsessed with Uncle Roro ever since Lizzie’s birthday.”

“As they should be, my lower back never recovered from being used as a human jungle gym.” He rolled his eyes at the memory yet the love was evident from behind the thinly veiled sarcasm. He was a very particular individual but so were most of your siblings-in-law. And sure, the first time he met your family hadn’t gone as he expected, both in a good way and in a bad way, but your mother still asked him to join him for a glass of whiskey whenever they crossed paths with a welcoming smile and your father always hugged him in greeting like he did all his children. 

“You’re good with them,” You smiled against his lips as you leaned closer for a kiss, leaving a couple of pecks that eventually made him smile too. “you’ve always been good with kids.” 

“Yeah whatever, stop kissing me my breath stinks.” 

The way your brothers had instantly included him in their weird boys' night out, which was ruled by the obnoxiously corny motto ‘what happens in boys' night, stays in boy’s night’ that was used as a smoke screen for that one time they decided to go to the spa to never be taken seriously again once they swallowed their own stupidity, left you grinning for a week straight. And let's not start with the picture you had taken during a summer trip to Nice of all the daughters-in-law posing like they were celebrating their high school prom with Roman at the front of the line, it had been all laughter all throughout; the picture came out a little blurry. 

It’s all you could think about sometimes when you watched him doing nothing interesting in particular with a lovesick intensity only rivaled by his. How well he fits in your life, with the quips and interjections that kept you company and next to you on your shared bed. With both your slippers sitting neatly side by side and with the unmeasurable love pooling at the bottom of his chest that he had finally allowed himself to unabashedly share after who knows how long. 

“Can you pass me your headband? I need to wash my face.”

He insisted yours was better every time you told him he should buy one of his own. Even if he hadn’t tried any other than yours. You only let it pass because he looked cute with his hair pushed back. No other reason at all. 

“So,” you cut yourself by giving him a peck on the lips as he got closer to steal some face wash. He had his own on his side of the bathroom but the bottle was pretty much full and yours still ran out quicker than when it was just you. “Greece or no Greece?”

“I got chills, they’re multiplying.” He joked right before rinsing the soap from his face, chuckling at your lack of amusement. “What? You prefer right now there’s nowhere to hide since you pushed my love aside?”

“I prefer you answer my question.” 

The eyes of a kicked puppy on full display just put him out of his misery vibes, pleaded in silence as he dragged his feet across the floor until he was standing right in between your legs, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. He fit nicely against your body and instinctively you let your fingers brush along the strands of his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go.” 

He groaned in response, his voice muffled against your skin. “It’s not that, I want to, I just— I already RSVP or whatever bullshit to my Dad.”

No one RSVP’ed to Logan Roy. Especially not his children. It wasn’t necessary when the table was already set for all parties involved regardless of conflicting schedules 

“That’s okay,” You kiss his hair, resting your cheek against his head and muffling your own voice. The vibrations made him hum. “I can talk to him.”

The disheveled strands tickled your skin as he shook his head. Now that his chin was resting on your chest you noticed how cartoonishly slow he was blinking, his lids heavy the weight of being awake for far too long. 

“I’ll talk to him.” He pressed a kiss against the side of your jaw, feeling the unmistakable excitement of your grin, before hiding the yawn that followed. “Tomorrow, I promise.

[queerweewoo]

“Eddie, you do know that I'm—that I'm yours, right?” Buck's eyes are holding Eddie's gaze like the fate of the world is suddenly at stake. “I mean, I'm yours for whatever you want, y’know? ‘Cause there is nobody else in my life that is... that's you, as in what you are to me, for me, and I'm—I just want you to know that I wanna be that person for you, too; need you to know that I am that person, and that I can be whatever else it is you might need me to be. Or maybe want me to be.” Eddie feels like all the oxygen has suddenly been sucked right out of his kitchen. “You—you get that, don't you, Eds?” 

Christopher once wondered out loud about which beast from the animal kingdom, other than human, would represent each of the three of them and their different personalities, and when Eddie had thought about Buck he'd pictured excitable Golden Retrievers and bounding Dalmatian puppies just as much as the next guy. But the proxy creature he'd been more sure of—and more hesitant to admit likening Buck to—was the Hummingbird, with its astonishingly strong heart that beats at something like nine-hundred times per minute (which Eddie knows about because Buck told him, of course).

Eddie has never known anybody quite like Evan Buckley, with his supercharged and forever-bleeding heart that's pinned so earnestly and so prominently to his shirt sleeve that Eddie's sure it's sometimes visible to the naked eye.

Bar his son, Buck is the greatest person Eddie's ever met.

They weren't always what they are now, though, Buck and him. Not back at the very start. But somehow, one day, somewhere along the line, they just—were.

They became Eddie and Buck. Buck and Eddie.

And this… something, that's simmering between them, it's a thing Eddie couldn't put his finger on for the longest time, couldn't quite make out whenever he attempted to look at it, trying to parse it out and see it for what it really was. It's an emotion he hadn't thought he'd be able to describe, even if he'd wanted to. A brand new feeling for Eddie's collection that he felt forming in the space behind his ribcage, something that bursts forth whenever Eddie looks over to Buck on the job, or at weekends when they take Christopher for days out at the park or the zoo, or whenever Eddie thinks about Buck when Buck's not around. Buck: this long-legged, loyal to a fault smiling guy who has become the best friend Eddie has ever had. Hell, he just feels it all the time. Invisible yet almost tangible, this unnamed something first sprouted like a sapling the day the two of them dug a live fragmentation grenade out of that retired third-grade teacher's thigh, springing up and growing branches that get bigger every day, reaching outward towards the sun to bathe in its warm rays, seeking out life. It grew within Eddie, and it's still growing, spreading out through every part of his life, now, not with the speed or ferocity of a wildfire but a thing similar to climbing roses; slow and steady, delicate yet hardy and strong.

Its true nature has always been just a little to the left of Eddie's range of understanding, though, an almost ethereal thing just slightly out of his reach. For a while, he hadn't dared to examine it all that carefully, or at all. Hadn't known how to, honestly. He now thinks that talking to Frank and embarking on his journey to figure out Who Am I?—trying to find out who Edmundo Diaz is as a person—was probably the start of him working out what this ever-expanding something between him and Buck actually is. 

Eddie came to the conclusion pretty quickly after that, that Evan Buckley, this kind-hearted, wide open, supremely loving giant puppy dog of a person with the heart of a Hummingbird, has become his person. Before Eddie even had the opportunity to notice that their relationship had started to change and morph into something different than what it was at the start, Buck had simply become his partner. In all ways, seemingly. Not just at work, but in life. And Eddie—well. Eddie realised at some point that he was somehow, amazingly, now apparently one hundred percent Buck's person, too. 

The only other soul Eddie has ever gotten close to in that way was Shannon, and sadly everything about their relationship had been so profoundly situational. Eddie thought he'd needed a girlfriend in high school, and Shannon was so, so lovely and had wanted to be that person for Eddie. Then Christopher had unexpectedly come along when they were both still so young, and they'd got married because that was the right thing to do, what Eddie thought he was supposed to do. He then ran away scared, by enlisting, and his life ended up spinning out of control and heading someplace he wasn't old enough to have even imagined, a life he'd somehow acquired and felt he had zero control over.

Not that he'd change any of it. There was happiness in the love he and Shannon had for each other, even if it hadn't quite been the right kind of love, and they'd made a beautiful baby together, a beautiful boy. And after coming home to Christopher after his last tour, at long last, Eddie knew he wouldn't, couldn't, be without that kid ever again.

Christopher was and is the one true shining light in Eddie Diaz's messed up life. 

Until Buck. 

Eddie and Buck, they have chosen each other as partners. And as parents, too—that's the truth of it. And they've gotten so close to each other in such a quiet, gentle way that Eddie hadn't been able to see the wood for the trees, it seems, hadn't realised their dynamic had shifted quite as significantly as it has over the years. Infinitesimally, then bit by bit, but so vastly and so dramatically at the same time.

He and Buck are together. All of the time. Because they choose to be. Because it just feels so damn right for them to be that way.  Together, they are what Eddie believes partners are supposed to be.

At some point it had dawned on Eddie that the two of them, he and Buck, had moved beyond just friends and into… that something. Something else. It had just happened so softly and so seamlessly, and with such unprecedented ease, that even after he'd clocked it, he hadn't really thought to question it because it happily became a thing that just was.

Yeah, Buck and Eddie just kind of... are.

Eddie also doesn't know when exactly it was that the grounding touches they so often share became increasingly more frequent, more important to Eddie, and then softer and more lingering, warm and comforting and completely different to the way either of them touches anybody else, Eddie thinks. Buck has been Eddie's person for what feels like forever, but Eddie started to find more recently that this thing in his chest that is constantly reaching out for Buck, this bond, this something special that they share, it was becoming something that pines and wants and needs, something fragile but at the same time something unerringly and amazingly steadfast.

Like the Hummingbird.

They're an immovable thing, Eddie and Buck. They're Buck and Eddie. They're Eddie and Christopher and Buck. And the three of them, together, are the one thing in Eddie's life that is so assuredly grounding, and so real, that Eddie often feels his chest might burst right open with the force of it.

Together, they've become more.

Eddie learned that when you find your way to that person—your person, the one who makes you feel like even when everything really isn't okay, you having that feeling is okay as long as they are here, with you—it's an unwavering thing, an absolute thing. 

The real thing. 

Eddie looks across his kitchen table at Buck, his Buck, right here and right now, and realises that this something between them is the thing that all those poets throughout the ages have been writing their sonnets about. 

Sunshine. Wildfire. Climbing roses. 

This something—this person, Eddie's person, Eddie's Buck—is standing in front of Eddie, having taken root in Eddie's chest while wearing his Hummingbird heart on his sleeve and offering Eddie a share in his sunshine world.

This something; it's a thing called love. 

Maybe Eddie got there first. Maybe Buck did. Maybe it dawned on them both at the same time, but Eddie knows that they both know it now, he knows it with the way all of Buck's love is radiating out of his body and flowing into Eddie's, like a shared life-force or magic or some cosmic shit Eddie knows he doesn't really need to comprehend. 

I'm yours, Buck told him moments ago.

Eddie takes a breath, and begins.

“I'm yours, too, Buck. All yours. It's you and me, man. Together. You and me and Christopher, because I know just how much you love him...” and he doesn't dare add what is the hopefully implied ‘too’ at the end of his declaration, but only because he doesn't know how to say it out loud, just yet. 

Until he very much does, barely a second into Buck nodding and beaming like Texas sunshine and saying, “You do get it,” and Eddie knows absolutely that he can say it, now.

So he does.

“Yeah, Buck. I do. Because I love you, mi Colibrí. I love you.”

Buck surges, becoming that wildfire as he rounds Eddie's kitchen table, their table, and Eddie stands to meet him, his Buck, his unstoppable force, his best friend, his heart, and Eddie's chair is clattering to the floor as they grab onto each other, big handfuls of shirts and arms and faces and napes of necks, gripping tightly and hanging on for dear life because maybe the fate of the world, their world, really is at stake after all. 

Yet stood here in Eddie's kitchen, together, holding each other, Eddie somehow knows they both understand that their world can't actually be tipped on its axis so easily, not by injuries or natural disasters or even The Great Unknown. Buck and Eddie can't be shaken so hard they come apart at their seams because like everything else in their lives, they're in this together.

Eddie and Buck, Buck and Eddie. They'll figure this thing out.

Together. 

Buck is standing so close that Eddie can feel warm breath on his cheeks, a definite panting that mirrors Eddie's, both their chests now heaving with the air that's crackling between them, eyes roaming all over each other's faces and then Buck's baby blue's settle on Eddie's mouth and Eddie's follow suit, and he's amazed at just how pink Buck's lips are this close up and all he can comprehend in this moment is that he doesn't think he's ever wanted a person so much in his entire fucking life, has never felt the pull of want and need and home as strongly as he does right here and right now, for his best friend. His partner. His Colibrí. 

His Buck.

“Buck, I want—” Eddie's yearning is so loud he can't even finish his sentence. 

“Me too,” Buck helps, and he's leaning in a little further, tentatively and so damn slowly that Eddie wants to scream at him to get on with it but also wants to freeze-frame them in amber because this is the moment that he knows, really knows; the moment Eddie has been trying to uncover; the rose bush and its branches, the fire, the sunshine; the moment Eddie finally understands what it is that he feels for this man now in his arms, knows exactly what their something is and what it was all along; the moment Eddie has been unknowingly and unbelievably hoping, hoping, hoping would arrive someday.

Today, Eddie thinks, and he can't wait any longer so he kisses Buck and Buck kisses him back and Eddie knows, then, inherently, that Buck loves him, too. 

[END]

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

inspired by and a tribute to one of the loveliest fics i've ever read: OF HUSHED WORDS AND HUMMINGBIRDS by the hugely talented procannibals on ao3... you should absolutely click the link to go read it and show it all the love it deserves! btw the themes of hummingbirds as a metaphor, plus eddie's question of 'who am i?` here belong entirely to mo (procannibals) and the fic linked that i've just mentioned.

this is also on ao3 HERE (published as 'Today') if you'd like to be so kind to pop across there and leave me a comment xp

[houseofanticipation]

Read from the beginning

You're having a nightmare. In it Master has his cock down your throat. You're gagging, trying to breathe, but he's not giving you a moment to rest. His cock seems impossibly long, and your esophagus impossibly deep; every time you think you've reached the bottom of his shaft, he seems to go a few inches deeper. Tears are streaming down your face, drool hanging off your chin, sweat collecting on your forehead. But the rape—in the dream you know it's rape, though you have no idea how you got here or where you are or even what your surroundings look like—the rape isn't what makes it a nightmare. In fact, for as violent as it should feel, the rape is actually fairly peaceful. The part that terrifies you, fills your dreaming mind with such inescapable dread, is how badly you want it.

His cock must be miles long at this point. His thrusting is speeding up, his broad hands gripping your head more tightly, his nails digging into your skin. You feel him begin to bulge, expand with what must be liters of cum, but his cock is so long that the process isn't instant. The bulge of cum travels down his shaft, like a cartoon character shoved through a pipe too small for them. You feel, and somehow also see, the bulge shooting down your throat, ever deeper, seeming to gain size and speed as it goes. It will be at the head any second now, and when that happens this desperate hunger inside you will finally be sated. You find yourself trembling with need, and simultaneously gripped with absolute terror at just how complete that need is. The two feelings merge into one, a heart-pounding breath-catching spine-tingling skin-crawling something that is too intense to be either good or bad. You know the moment his cum hits your throat, everything will change.

And then you wake up.

The dream ends before you open your eyes. For a long moment you can't move at all; every muscle in your body is seized up in fear, and you can't seem to remember how to relax. You feel something running down your perineum to your ass, and you realize with disgust that your pussy is dripping wet.

The bed of the slave suite is nicer than the one you have at home. (Had at home. It's not like that stuff is yours anymore.) The mattress is huge and perfectly goldilocks-ed between soft and firm, and the silk sheets feel incredible on your naked body. You never sleep naked, but in sheets this soft you might not mind being forced to. As your body begins to relax and you're able to move again, you find yourself stretching out, luxuriating in the bed, allowing its softness to envelop you.

You hear the electronic whir of the lock on your door, and moments later Master is there in a black silk robe, watching you. You sit up and lift the sheet to cover yourself—an odd time to get self conscious, maybe, but you feel the need to control something—but he gives his head a little shake. "Take that off. There's no hiding your body from me." You let the sheet fall, and resist the urge to cross your arms over your breasts. But you sit with your knees together, so he can't see how wet you are. That, at least, he doesn't seem to notice.

"Today is obedience training," says Master. "I doubt it will be enough to completely break your will; that takes time. But at the very least you'll learn my rules, and what happens when you break them. Now, time for your first lesson. Lay on your back and spread your legs."

You wonder how much you can allow before it becomes your fault. Last night you had no choice, you were tied up. You couldn't move, much less stop him as he fucked you. Raped you, you remind yourself. But you're not tied up this morning. You could fight back, at least try to fight back. If you don't try to do anything to stop him, doesn't that mean a part of you wants him to do it again? You need to prove that you don't want him to do it again. You press your knees tighter together and stare at him defiantly.

He just smiles. "Mmm, you're resistant. That's good, it means you get to learn this lesson early." Before you can think he's lunging toward you, his robe billowing open behind him. Under it he wears only a pair of black silk boxers and through them you can see how hard his cock is. This is his favorite part.

He's on you in less than a second, and you're relieved to find that your fight-or-flight response really does kick in. With no option to flee you find yourself beating against him with your fists, kicking with your legs, trying to wrestle out of his grasp, but he is larger and stronger than you in every count. He gets on top of you, his swollen cock twitching against your stomach, and wraps his hands around your throat. You tug at his arms, try to buck him off, but the harder you struggle the tighter his grip gets, and the weaker you feel. You look up into his eyes and see them gleaming with amusement. You stop resisting.

He holds you there a moment longer, letting you plead with your eyes, letting spots play across your vision, before he relaxes his grip and allows you to gasp for air. He does not get off you, nor does he fully release your neck. "I am stronger than you. I am faster than you. I am smarter than you. You cannot overpower me, you cannot outrun me, and you cannot outthink me. Do you understand?"

You stare into his eyes. You can't be sure how clever he is, but he's definitely not lying about the other two. "I understand." Then, remembering yourself, you add, "Master." You feel his cock move when you call him that.

"Good," he says. "Now, because you resisted me I'm going to have to hurt you. You're still learning the rules, so I won't go too hard, but understand that the more you resist the worse it will get. Are you ready?"

What else can you say? "Yes, Master."

He slaps you very hard across the face. Pain shivers across your skin, making your eyes tear up. You thought he hit you yesterday, but that was nothing. That was just getting your attention. He pulls his hand back and when he hits you again it's a little better, because you can steel yourself for it, and a little worse, because he hits harder. As the immediate pain fades, the skin he struck feels tingly and hot. You close your eyes as he raises his hand again, and then he's taking your nipples between his fingers and pinching quite hard. This one surprises you—you suspect that was the point—and you yelp, though to be honest the pain is brief and not as bad as the slaps. You feel his cock strain against his boxers, and take a mental note: he likes when you cry out. Does that mean you should be more vocal, hoping he'll get what he wants and move on, or stay quiet, hoping he gets frustrated and gives up?

You don't take Master for a man who gives up easily.

Indeed, it seems like he's done punishing you for now, though whether that was always his intention or he was waiting for you to cry is anyone's guess. He rubs your cheek tenderly with the same hand he was just using to strike it, brushing away the tears the pain brought to your eyes. "There, there," he says. "I don't want to hurt you..." He looks down at his cock, rock hard against your stomach, and laughs. "Well, you can probably tell that's a lie, but it's no fun when you haven't earned it. Do as you're told, try your best, and I won't hurt you very badly. I may spank you for making mistakes, but that's just responsible slave keeping. Now, are you ready to cooperate?"

He's shown you it's useless to resist, at least head-on. All you'll get for fighting back is more pain, and he promised to make it worse next time. So you say, "Yes Master."

"Good," he says, finally getting off you. "Now. Spread your legs." You do as he says, and notice with some surprise that you are no longer ashamed of your nudity. Maybe those slaps knocked something loose in you, whatever part of your mind was still clinging to the idea of preserving your honor. You're going to have to give up on pride if you want to survive this situation.

Master kneels at the foot of your bed to get eye level with your groin, and makes an appreciative sound. "It really is a beautiful pussy. You'd go for quite a lot with a pussy like that, even with that attitude of yours. Not that I'm planning on selling you anytime soon. Anyway, go ahead and play with yourself."

You lift your head to look at him, trying to tell if he means what you think he means. What else could he be talking about? It just seems out of character, having you pleasure yourself without pleasuring him. "You heard me," he says. "Masturbate, like you would in your own home. This is your home, after all."

"Yes, Master." You lay your head back on the pillow and lower your hand to your pussy. It's still quite wet from the dream, but you take a moment to warm up anyway: running your fingers over your pussy lips, tracing wide circles around your clitoris, just waking yourself up, getting used to the touch. Then you dip a finger inside yourself, getting it nice and wet, and start using it to touch your clit. Softly at first, just quick swipes across, then longer, slower. You're afraid to tell him you won't get far without something to get you in the mood, something hot to read or watch. But you soon realize that this clit routine is working better than expected: you can feel the orgasm building up faster than you'd have thought for the situation. It's like your pussy doesn't know the difference between fear and arousal. Anything that gets the blood pumping is good enough for me, sweet pea.

As you begin to moan, you find your mind straying unbidden to the way you felt last night, completely helpless, Master on top of you and inside you. You remember the way his cock swelled up when you struggled, the way his eyes looked as he rubbed your clit. You think of the dream, wonder what his cum would have tasted like. He takes you by the wrist and pulls your hand away gently, but before you can protest there's something else touching you, wet and soft and wonderful. It's his tongue, you think, but you don't look. Seeing him doing it would remind you where you are, and you don't want to be reminded. You just want to stare at the the ceiling and lavish in this sensation.

He does it exactly like you would have done it. Somehow, just by watching you for a few minutes, he's figured out exactly how you'd like to be touched. Only somehow he's doing it better. It's like he know what you want next before you do, understands your pussy better than you understand it yourself. As the pleasure mounts you begin to close your legs around his head, barely even noticing as you do it, but without stopping he presses them firmly back into the bed and holds them there. You arch your back, close your eyes, allow yourself to moan unabashedly.

And then he pulls back. The feeling lingers for a moment before falling back, settling down, leaving you twitching and whimpering. Operating on instinct you reach down to bring back the pleasure, but he catches your wrist. "From now on any pleasure you feel comes by my permission. You do not touch yourself without my say so. You do not cum until I feel you have earned it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Would you like to earn it?"

The feeling has receded enough to let you think more clearly, and the shame is creeping in on you. Knowing how much you needed him in that moment, how you would have done anything for him to make you cum, let him hurt you or degrade you or humiliate you. You hate giving him that power; you know the more power you give him over you the harder it will be to escape.

You also know how desperately you want to cum.

"Please Master," you say, voice shaking. "Let me earn it. Let me earn the right to cum."

You can see in his eyes and in his cock how much he likes that. "Good girl."

Being Master's fuckdoll turns out to be more than just sitting around and waiting for him to pump some cum into you. Your entire life is to be dedicated to increasing his pleasure. After breakfast (a bowl of plain oatmeal that you eat with your hands, no spoon having been provided) Master shows you how he likes his shoulders rubbed after a long day at work. You take to it quickly, and you're surprised how satisfying it is to hear his appreciative groans as you dig your thumbs into his tense musculature. He puts his tongue on you again, this time laying you out on the living room sofa, letting you whimper and moan, but he still doesn't allow you to cum. The next thing he teaches you is how to greet guests when they come over: where to put their coats, how you're expected to touch them, if and when to suck their cocks. You make a few mistakes in the practice runs he makes you do—it's a lot to take in, and it gets harder to focus each time he brings you close to orgasm—but you do pretty well. When the lesson is over he lays you across his lap and spanks you mercilessly, his cock hardening again as you whine and cry and beg his forgiveness. When he's done he says, "only ten spanks is better than most girls get for that lesson. You're a natural learner." You have to remind yourself not to be proud of that accomplishment. And then he licks you again, and any thoughts in your head go out the window.

That's the pattern for the rest of the day: Master gives you a lesson in how to behave in his house. He spanks you for each mistake you made during the lesson. Then he brings you right up to the edge of orgasm. He teaches you how to mix his favorite drinks, and when he'll want one. He ties you up in a number of different ways, showing you the right positions to assume to make it easier for him. He shows you the different ways he likes you to sit with him in the living room as he reads a book or watches a movie: your favorite is when he stretches out on the couch and lets you cuddle his leg, your head in his lap. He pretends not to notice as you gently grind your clit against his bare calf, but the swelling of his cock betrays him. As long as you don't cum, you think, he'll let you get away with it.

Each time he stops you from cumming you get a little more desperate, a little more delirious. You make more mistakes as the day goes on, and he has to spank you more with each lesson, but a funny thing is starting to happen. Because spanking always immediately precedes his tongue on your clit, you find yourself starting to get wet as soon as his hand strikes your ass. It hurts, but you don't mind the pain—you kind of like it even. It's exhilarating, makes you feel warm and tingly, and you think it heightens the pleasure when he starts touching you more tenderly. By the end of the day he doesn't even have to spank you: you can feel yourself getting wet as soon as you're in position.

It doesn't escape Master's notice. He runs his fingers along your vulva, sending a delicious chill up your spine, and gives your head a scratch. Nobody's ever done that to you before, but since he started doing it this morning you can't get enough of it; you whimper with pleasure, melting into the couch and into his lap. "You're beginning to like your punishments," he says. "You're a good girl, good girls know how good it feels to get what you deserve. Just so long as you aren't acting up on purpose to make me spank you. If that starts happening I'll need to find another way to hurt you."

You shake your head vigorously. "No Master, never!" And you mean it; it wouldn't feel as good if you knew you hadn't earned it for one of your stupid mistakes.

"Good," says Master. "I think you're ready for your final lesson of the day." He moves you off his lap without giving you your spanking, which disappoints you a little, but when you get your face out of the sofa and turn around your heart leaps with sudden thrill. He has removed his boxers, letting his erection hang in front of you. "It's time you learned how to suck my cock."

Without you quite noticing, most of the shame has slipped away from you throughout the day, but you're reminded of it in this moment. You remember how much you wanted to taste him in your dream, how it felt disgusting and ecstatic and violating and thrilling all at the same time. You hate yourself for what you've already become; a day of orgasm denial and you're already his simpering little slut? Are you really that weak?

But what else should you do? Fight for your life, be punished over and over, live your life in a cage waiting until someone is ready to rape you? Isn't this way better? Why force yourself to be miserable when you can feel this good all the time? You can still work on your escape plan. It doesn't mean you can't enjoy yourself along the way. So you leave your shame behind; let it fall off you like a coat you've grown too big for. You get on your knees in front of Master. You look up into his cold eyes. And you begin to suck his cock.

He likes you to look at him. That's good, because you like looking at him too. You like to see his face react to each movement of your lips, each flick of your tongue. His head is dripping with precum—you realize today's activities have probably teased him just as much as they did you, and he didn't even get the release you did. It's warm and salty and just flavorful enough to tease you after the three meals of oatmeal you've had today. You feel yourself dripping with anticipation of what his cum will taste like. You feel insane. You don't know if you've ever been this horny in your life.

He likes it when you lick that strip of skin on the underside of his head, but it's too much all on its own. He shows you how to switch it up, swirling the head of his cock around your tongue, pushing up and down his shaft with your lips and cheeks and throat. He's not interested in shoving himself down your throat with every thrust—he likes throatfucking, he says, but that's not what this is about. This is about you servicing him, not him masturbating with you as a proxy. Still, he likes it when you take his whole cock down your throat, especially when you use your hand to play with his balls at the same time.

At some point he transitions to sitting down, and you to laying belly-down on the couch with your head bobbing in his lap. He lays his head back and moans softly, and you swell with pride at how good you're able to make him feel. His hand is on the back your head, not pushing you onto him, just running his hand through your hair, scratching your scalp with his manicured nails. It feels so good you almost can't keep sucking. You wonder if anyone has ever cum from having their head scratched.

He's getting close. You can feel it in the way his cock swells, the way his fingers become more frenetic on your scalp. You close your eyes and you're back in the dream, watching the bulge of cum speed toward you, dying to know what he tastes like. Then he's gripping you by the hair and lifting you off him, letting your cheek rest on his thigh. "That's enough," he says. "Or you'll make me cum."

"No!" you say, whipping your head up to face him. "I mean, I'm sorry Master, just...please, please may I taste your cum?"

He stares into your eyes, that appraising expression seeming to penetrate your mind and slither through your darkest secrets. He strokes your cheek. "Usually I prefer to cum in your pussy," he says. "But today I'll make an exception, because you've been such a good girl."

You almost weep with relief. "Thank you Master. Thank you so much." You return your attention to his cock, and he moans with renewed pleasure. You feel his weight shifting, and a moment later his hand is sliding between you and the couch, and his fingers are working your clit exactly how you like it. You moan into his cock and lift your ass up to give him better access.

It doesn't take either of you very long. He was seconds away from bursting a moment ago, and you've been in a state of sustained arousal since this morning. He tells you to finish him off with that move he likes, licking under the head, so you do just that. As his fingers quicken across your clit and his cock stiffens in your mouth, you suck your lips onto his head, stroke his shaft with your hand, and flick your tongue across that strip of skin as fast as you can. His fingers reach a fever pitch and you find your ass raising further in the air as your legs straighten, your toes splay out, your back arches. A wonderful, aching glow pours through your pussy and into your stomach and you close your eyes as his cock finally erupts into your mouth. Mouthful after mouthful of warm, thick cum shoots out of him, almost faster than you can swallow, and you feel the dream of this morning melting away. The dream was hot, sure, but it can't stand up to real thing. The texture of his cum on your lips and tongue. The pleasure radiating through your body as his fingers softly stroke you clit and labia. The way it feels to have him in your stomach, like a part of him is becoming a part of you. The feeling of his softening cock against your lips, his balls in your mouth as you run a sensual hand through the hair on his legs. You close your eyes, trying to capture this moment forever.

He lets you stay there as he turns on the TV. You don't understand the show he's watching—it's in a language you don't speak, and your brain is too fluttery at the moment to follow the subtitles—but it doesn't matter. The feeling of his skin against your skin, his cock against your cheek, his hand playing absentmindedly through your hair...it's perfect bliss. Just this morning you were thinking about how to fight back, how to escape. Why would you ever want to leave if you get to feel like this everyday? You'll probably feel differently in the morning, but for right now you allow the moment to take you, let yourself be carried away on a wave of warm, happy calm.

Some time later you are dimly aware of him lifting you, carrying you, placing you in your bed. You snuggle into your lovely sheets, only half awake, and the last thing you remember is him lowering his head between your legs to give you a good night kiss.

[slexenskee]

MDNSY AU

Posting this WIP bc maybe if it sees the light of day I’ll actually get around to writing more of it

I originally wrote this right after the sick-fic arc even though its supposed to take place during the Eri arc so it gets kinda AU from there

It’s only afterwards— months afterwards, that he realizes the full extent of his own stupid actions. 

So many things had to perfectly align in exactly the wrong way for this to happen. But each and every one of them was his own damn fault, so there’s really no one to blame here but himself. 

It had to have happened when Hawks had been sick and recovering in his hotel room, that’s the only way the timing lines up. Gojo has always been good about practicing safe sex— considering how he sleeps around, he sort of has to— and has never slipped up even once… until Hawks. Multiple times, actually, not even counting the time he was sick. There’d also been that time in Palawan, when he hadn’t brought any condoms with him because he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t need them. That had been rather profoundly short sighted of him, in hindsight. And then of course there were the time(s) when Hawks was staying in his hotel room, when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and once again Gojo hadn’t thought to go out and buy any condoms because he’d genuinely thought he wouldn’t need any. Hawks had been sick! Basically delirious! How was he supposed to know that the moment he’d recovered enough he’d jump him? And on a related note, how was Gojo supposed to summon up enough willpower to stop him? 

To that point— how was Gojo even supposed to know he should stop him?

That too, though, is entirely his fault.

Apparently it’s a regular part of sex-ed during middle school— except Gojo never went to class in middle school, so he’d entirely missed the memo. With the advent of quirks came a rare genetic mutation that allows for male pregnancies among a small subset of the population. Rare, but not entirely unheard of, either. It was certainly common enough for a segment to be taught in public schools, and testing to be done as part of the gamut of health checks most kids go through around puberty. Most kids aside from Gojo, who was out terrorizing organized crime syndicates just for fun at that age. 

God, he’s a fucking idiot. This entire situation was so laughably avoidable, and yet he’d managed to end up in it anyway. 

Anyway so now he’s having an existential meltdown in the middle of his still unfinished bathroom, staring numbly at the flecks of grout still flaking off the new tile, wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.

“Satoruuu,” a voice whines from the other side of the bathroom door. “I need to pee.”

Gojo scrambles to his feet, binning the evidence of all the pregnancy tests and burying it under a cloud of toilet paper just before he wrenches the door open, smile fixed in place. “Sorry Eri-chan! I was spacing out.”

Eri just takes the excuse at face value, bounding into the only current usable bathroom in the house and shutting the door behind her.

Gojo sighs wearily, slumping against the wall just outside the door.

Alright, first on the agenda is finding a temporary residence for them while he gets an army of contractors to fix the worst of the ‘home improvement’ sins he’s committed upon this house as quickly as possible. He’d originally thought redoing the rooms would be a fun bonding activity for him and Eri, but now he knows all those chemicals will be bad for… for the baby, so that’s probably a bad idea now. He’s also going to need this house in livable condition as fast as he can make it happen, because apparently… there’s going to be a baby here in less than six months. 

He’s also going to need a doctor, and a very good and discreet one at that. From what he’s read in his mad frenzy of online searching, male pregnancies are very high risk. He’s not at all worried for himself, seeing as though he can heal from just about anything, but that same protection doesn’t extend to the other person currently taking up roost inside him. He frowns. Or does it? Wouldn’t his reversed-curse technique still work on them when they’re still a parasite leeching off of his body? When exactly does their cursed energy start to deviate from each others to the point he can no longer heal them as an extension of himself? Man, what he wouldn’t give for a conversation with Shoko right now.

He can worry about things like clothes and furniture and baby food after he’s settled the most immediate concerns on his list. Namely, fixing this house and finding a doctor. And telling Eri, although he doubts that will be much of an issue. The girl will be beyond excited to be an older sibling.

Now as for telling his family and telling Hawks…

Gojo winces.

Yeah, okay. It says a lot that he’d rather tell Endeavor, to his face, that he’s getting another grandchild than fessing up to Hawks about carrying his kid. Even the thought of it is going to give him a stress tumor.

Well, stress is bad for babies, right? So maybe he should just table the thought for later. You know, for his health.

[gothicthundra]

OMG I finished this in three days!

HAPPY NEW YEARS!!!!

Mad thanks to @sharperthewriter for being my late night doodle chatter and giving me major help and push to get this done!

It's 2024 and the party got out of hand....

Lucre didn't get invited so he's attempting to hold the new years hostage... Unfortunately Kim's on call for GJ and Wade has to page her in to work... despite being less then 30 feet away. Ann's shocked by a possible global hostage, which honestly she really shouldn't be. The Stoppable's wonder if Kim ever just doesn't volunteer for things. Hana was originally excited to be considered adult enough to join the adult party with her soda... but she'd rather be hanging with the other kids.

Motor Ed was told if he was attending, he had to wear something nice... so he even bought something designer... which is still not the dress code requested. Mama Lipsky expected nothing less, but really, Edward. Nana's really wishing he'd chosen somewhere else to sit.

Jim and Tim contemplate the Wego's offer to make this issue a Team Go situation instead of a GJ... its tempting.

No one is actually sure if Mego and Monique are arguing or even what the topic is about. Zeta lost track somewhere around legal implications of fashion and medical malpractice mixed cases and honestly she's waiting that drink from Felix before she decides to rejoin the conversation.

Junior and Bonnie are pretty much there for a good time, not a long time. Though he is rather impressed that when wine got on his shirt that Shego produced such a stunning designer shirt for him and even insisted he keep it and never bring it back here again.

Meanwhile Shego is having more then a few issues this evening. From trying to pawn of Drakken's shirt, Motor Ed's existence, and her brothers actually showing up to the party. The last straw really was Hego deciding to wear a low V so casually. Hego only points out that at least his chest is mostly covered unlike some of the guests.

Drakken had already been done way before midnight what with Shego giving out his clothes, Motor Ed's choice to mock a simple request, and just how many people actually came to this party... the last thing he needs is Ron pointing out he should have invited Lucre to the party... and especially James condescending agreement of it. As if it is HIS fault Lucre's bored.

Rufus would also like someone to notice the giant drooling genetically enhanced Commodore Puddles who keeps trying to play ball with him. They are both too old for this!

NOTE: I know someone's gonna say it about Wade, Jim, and Tim... I just don't believe they would be jacked or overly muscley as we are not in Shego's future and no need to indulge in such activities and genetic enhancements.

[areyoudoingthis]

Rated E, 6,971 words.

Ed gets a lazy morning full of warmth and orgasms. - Stede's hair is a random mess of flattened curls and golden strands sticking up wildly in every direction, and there's a bit of drool drying in the corner of his mouth. He looks adorably peaceful as his chest rises and falls at an even rhythm beneath the blankets, and Ed blinks sluggishly and tries to shake off the fog of sleep so he can drink in every minute detail.

Stede's hair is a random mess of flattened curls and golden strands sticking up wildly in every direction, and there's a bit of drool drying in the corner of his mouth. He looks adorably peaceful as his chest rises and falls at an even rhythm beneath the blankets, and Ed blinks sluggishly and tries to shake off the fog of sleep so he can drink in every minute detail.

The hair is probably his fault, he thinks with a self-satisfied smirk as the memories of the previous night start trickling back. A thrum of contentment goes through him as he remembers holding on to it a little too enthusiastically, and Stede being keenly on board with it.

He struggles to wake up fully, fights heavy eyelids and the inviting warmth that threatens to pull him back under, doesn't want to give in to it because Stede is soft and devastatingly cute right next to him, and the whole world seems to be holding its breath just for the two of them. Basking in the perfect stillness of this moment seems a lot more tempting to Ed than sleep.

He stretches his arms over his head with a yawn and shuffles around until he's settled comfortably on his side. His knee twinges when he bends it, and he winces and thinks again that he's gotta get around to finding a new brace for it soon - he can already tell it's gonna bother him all day after the workout he gave it last night. The bruises in his thighs and neck ache a lot more pleasantly, though, and excitement shoots through him when he pictures what he's gonna look like standing naked in front of the mirror.

He shifts his leg around until he finds a position that doesn't hurt his knee, yawns again and enjoys being snug in their big new bed under their soft new blankets. He makes a game of counting the freckles on Stede's nose to stay awake - there are a lot more now that he's stopped carrying his little parasols with him whenever he's in the sun, and Ed loves them but also misses how fucking cute he looked hiding under those. He's up to thirteen and starting to map out constellations on his skin when his mind suddenly grabs onto a thought and pushes it insistently to the front. Is this the first slow, relaxed morning he's had in... years? Maybe ever? The room is bathed in golden sunlight, he woke up with a smile on his face and he feels content and at peace. The bed is warm, Stede's body's warm next to him; Ed feels warm in every way that counts. And not just that, he feels safe and home, for the first time in a long time.

Next thing he knows, blood is rushing in his ears and he can feel his pulse rocket in his neck at the same time as the breath gets stuck inside his chest and every one of his limbs locks up. His heart is racing madly, and he's irrationally terrified of moving an inch and having all of this disappear on him somehow.

He knows that's not how it works, knows Stede and the bed and the house are solid around him and they can't vanish that easily. But things haven't exactly been stable lately, and easy and safe are not things he's used to, especially not first thing in the morning. He's used to his days beginning with a rush and a whole lotta clatter, generally with Izzy yelling at someone before the sun was even up. And the past few months have been even worse than the uszh - he didn't do a lot of waking up because he wasn't sleeping much to begin with, relying on drugs and sheer stubbornness to keep him going instead. His nights and days had been blurring into one big endless nightmare for a while.

He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that part of his life is over now, Stede came back and he loves him and they've retired to become innkeepers, he's left all of that behind. But the memories and the dread of those achingly empty days still cling to him. It's hard to shake them off when they stretched for so long and he can still count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he's woken up next to Stede and been able to enjoy an uncomplicated lazy morning in bed with him.

Their first morning together he was up at dawn while Stede still slept, doing his best to forget everything that happened before he was dragged into his room and had the breath kissed out of him, trying to drown all his demons at once by sinking his leathers to the bottom of the ocean, useless as it was.

Their first few days in the cabin have been fun (because anywhere is fun with Stede), but not exactly restful - there were piles of dust and cobwebs and bird shit everywhere when they got here, not to mention the weeds and a critter or two, and they really shot themselves in the foot by not bringing any furniture with them. For days they've been making do with a few blankets on the hard floor and getting up with the sun to get this place cleaned up and as close as they could to inhabitable. This is his first morning waking up in their brand new bed, in their neat, bug free room, with nowhere to be in a hurry and no one demanding shit from him. It's disconcerting in its newness.

He tries to ignore his racing mind and relax back into his previous calm state, fills his lungs with the unfamiliar smells of their new home and the familiar scent of the man sleeping peacefully next to him, focuses on the warmth of the sunlight caressing his face, listens to Stede's soft snores and watches his eyelids flutter in sleep. He tells his brain firmly to stop being a dick so fucking early in the morning, but it's hard to get it to shut up once it's awake, especially when it's running a mile a minute and making his heart beat loudly in his ears like it expects an attack any moment.

He gives up on it after a few minutes, turns around on the bed and burrows into Stede, seeking body heat and the reassurance of his presence by Ed's side. Stede shuffles in his sleep, tugs Ed closer as if he's welcoming him home even in dreams. Ed sighs happily and lets himself be pulled, shelters comfortably in his arms and feels his heartbeat beginning to slow down already. It's amazing what Stede's touch can do to him, it's like his mind and body react to him more readily than they do to Ed's own commands sometimes.

He sighs as his body releases all the tension it was holding and decides then and there that this is how he wants to wake up every morning from now on, warm from head to toe in a room brimming with sunlight, sheets soft under his skin and bed full of the man he loves, with no one demanding shit from him.

He's hovering in that pleasant state between awake and asleep when Stede shifts some more against him and Ed can suddenly feel his erection pressing between them. His mind rushes back to full wakefulness, heart rate picking up again for an entirely different, far more enjoyable reason this time. He smiles in delight - this is already much more like his idea of a perfect morning than it was five minutes ago. He pushes closer and tilts his hips into Stede's body, repeats the motion a few times and feels his own cock stir in interest.

The sheets rustle behind him and Stede's face presses into Ed's back, so close that he can feel his delicate eyelashes brush his skin as he blinks his eyes open, hear the vibrations as he rasps, voice still drenched in sleep, "Morning, darling."

Ed beams, much happier now that Stede has joined him in being awake and their day can start.

"Mornin' babe."

He grinds into him a little more intentionally, enjoys the enticing drag of Stede's cock against his ass and is really fucking pleased they went to bed naked last night.

"Mmm, feels nice," Stede murmurs, arm tightening around Ed's middle, cheek nuzzling his skin. He smiles against his shoulder blade and his breath tickles the nape of Ed's neck as he asks, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, bed's great, 's like lying on a cloud." He yawns, feels the remains of something unsettled still stirring within him so he adds, "But I missed ya."

"While you were asleep?" Stede's tone is playful, like Ed just said something really funny. But Ed means it, has spent weeks missing him, months, years even. Probably his whole life.

"What if I did," he replies, and it comes out a little petulant.

He doesn't want to talk about where his mind was before Stede woke up. Wants even less to own up to how lost he was barely a week ago, unable to sleep and crying on the floor of the captain's cabin on the Revenge, playing with dolls painted to look like the two of them and believing that Stede had left him for good, feeling the lowest he's ever felt in his life as a result.

He means so much more than a few hours when he says he missed him, but he doesn't want to get into it while they're cuddling in bed after having barely woken up. Doesn't want to crack himself open and start rummaging around in his tenderest bits when he's already almost ruined his own perfect morning by panicking before he was even awake for half an hour. It's all still too raw and it's too fucking early in the day to be bringing up that heavy shit anyway.

They have talked over the past few days, a bit here and there, but the time they spent apart still seems like such a tangled thing to start unraveling. He's aware that they’ll have to talk about it eventually if they want to avoid crashing on the same rocks and shredding themselves against them all over again, but it's scary as fuck if he's being honest. And he doesn't want to think or talk about that or anything else right now. All he wants is for Stede to make the bad memories go away, to hold him close and fuck him slow and deep while everything feels sleepy and quiet around and inside him.

"Missed you too," Stede answers, easy as breathing, brushes his hair aside to drop a gentle kiss behind his ear that feels a lot like understanding and acceptance. The dark thoughts scatter like shadows, like Stede's opened a window somewhere inside Ed's mind and now bright sunlight's streaming in like the tide.

He hums at the contrast between Stede's soft lips and the tickle of his early morning stubble on a sensitive spot, delights in the lazy pinpricks of heat it sends scattering through him and the way his mind has gone quiet again at the touch. 

Stede strokes a warm hand down the line of Ed's body, lavishes soft, affectionate kisses between his shoulders that have him melting into syrupy bliss.

Ed keeps grinding idly against him, chases his own sweet pleasure in Stede's body while the morning stretches hazy and indulgent around them. Stede licks and sucks at his pulse point, lets gentle fingers roam in a lazy caress over his skin, and Ed's floating dreamily on a cloud of want and slow rolling heat.

"Need you, Stede," he sighs, barely even aware of what he means other than more and closer, his motions becoming more insistent with every press of Stede's lips and tongue on his neck.

Stede holds him tight to his chest as he starts rocking against him in turn. Ed's back bows and his breath quickens, heat pooling thick in his hips and his chest with the intoxicating combination of Stede's hard cock and tender touch. 

"What do you want, darling?" he murmurs, low and intentional, and Ed shivers as his tone shoots electric down his spine.

"Don't wanna move," he answers, and he doesn't, this right here is perfect already.

Stede chuckles in his ear, warm breath ghosting over his skin and making every hair on Ed's body stand on end. A low moan escapes his lips before he can bite it back.

"'s nice," he defends.

"It is," Stede agrees. "But I meant a bit more specifically."

Ah, of course, Stede's still learning his way around this, isn't he, around sex and intimacy and all the wondrous things they can get up to together. It's so fucking weird how it feels like they've been doing this -being Ed-and-Stede, openly in love and having a go at this relationship thing- for a hundred years, but it's actually only been a few days. And it's not like Ed isn't getting used to all of it too, not like Stede hasn't introduced him to a whole lotta new and firsts himself.

He dreams of five, ten, fifteen years from now, when their bodies know each other so well that they can move together on their own, know all the right spots to touch that will make the other shiver, where to kiss and where to bite down, when to be gentle and when to be rough, how to use their hands and tongues to make each other scream. He wants to spend his life learning Stede inside and out, thrills in anticipation of the journey that will get them there.

"Just keep your hands on me," he asks. He wants Stede to keep touching him for another two or three weeks for a start, thinks he might starve if he stops.

"Happy to," Stede agrees.

And he takes the request to heart. He slides an arm under Ed and splays his hand against his stomach to hold him steady as he rocks against him, unhurried and uncoordinated, chasing mindless friction more than any goal in particular. He traces the fingertips of the other one all the way from his hipbone to his armpit, has Ed's eyes falling shut and a sigh escaping his lungs with how good it feels to be touched so sweetly.

Stede presses his lips over and over to the sleep-warm skin of his back as his hand wanders over the rest of his body, skates up his inner thigh and his stomach to run through his chest hair, lingers there a bit longer than anywhere else. Ed smiles. Stede seems to have a fascination with all the hair on his body, and he's more than happy to indulge it.

He turns his head in a silent request and Stede doesn't make him wait, meets his lips for a wet, sloppy kiss that's so fucking hot it's got Ed halfway to hard in an instant. He thinks he could start writing poems about how good kissing Stede is, much better stuff to write about than what inspired his last song.

He gasps into Stede's mouth when his palm drags indolently over his tits and catches on a nipple, hisses and arches back eagerly against him when he does it again, on purpose this time.

"You're sensitive here," Stede comments, as if he's making an observation and plans to start taking notes any minute. He probably is, the lunatic.

"Yeah," Ed replies, although it comes out more as a breathy moan than an actual word, because Stede's gently rolling the nipple against the pad of his thumb now.

"You really liked it when I sucked it into my mouth last night," he breathes hotly into his ear, and Ed's brain scrambles.

"I really fuckin' like your mouth, as a general rule."

Stede groans and snaps his hips a little harder, and Ed makes a mental note of his own that goes Stede really fuckin' likes it when I praise him in bed . He's pleased that they're well on their way to reaching his five year sex goals, good thing they're both overachievers.

"You certainly seem to like having it on your cock," Stede says, and Ed's mouth waters at his brazenness and the way he says it, like he's savoring the word on his tongue the same way they've discovered he likes to do with his actual dick. 

"I like it when you're using it to say dirty shit that drives me insane, too," Ed volleys back. This seems to be rapidly escalating into a dirty talk competition of some sort that Stede appears determined to win.

"Hmm, good to know," he smirks, and proceeds to latch his lips onto one of the bruises he left on Ed's neck last night and suck, hard. Ed moans and shudders, feels it reverberate all the way through him and settle molten between his legs.

"Fuck, that's great, too. Don't stop."

Stede's a really quick study, keeps playing with Ed's nipples as he nibbles on his neck like a fucking hungry vampire, rolls them between his fingers and pinches them, experiments with roughness and pressure, and before long Ed's blood is boiling with urgent need.

He starts mindlessly humping his hips into the air, hunger scorching through every inch of him and threatening to unravel him, dick aching to be touched. He decides to do something about it and tangles his fingers with Stede's, pulls his hand down to where he needs it, to where his cock is hard and leaking for him, all for him.

Stede moans deep in his chest and does exactly what Ed wants, fists his dick in the warm palm of his hand and begins stroking him slowly.

"Like that, babe. Love your hands," Ed hums in satisfaction, rocking his hips into the touch.

He swims in rapturous heat as Stede spreads the precome beading at the tip over the head and slides his fingers loosely around it, enough for it to feel fucking fantastic but not to drive him towards the edge anytime soon, like he's planning to take his time with Ed's pleasure this morning. Ed's breath hitches at the prospect.

Stede hooks a leg over his waist and smooths his foot languidly along his shin, makes sparks dance on his skin with the intimate touch as he fans the flames gathering in his belly by pumping his cock at an agonizingly slow pace at the same time. Ed grunts and bucks his hips, feels impossibly, maddeningly close to Stede with his body all over him like this.

He goes to move his own hand out of the way but Stede holds on to it, whispers filthily in his ear, "Show me how you like it."

Ed's eyes roll into the back of his head, and an obscenely loud moan tears out of him as whatever remained of his brain evaporates at the shameless invitation. Stede's gonna fucking kill him one of these days with the things that come out of his mouth.

He blinks a few times until he can focus again and reaches his free hand under the pillow, finds the oil he had the forethought to tuck out of the way last night before it ended up spilling all over their nice new sheets. Stede gets the hint and helps him get the flask open, and Ed pours some on his hand before he stoppers it again. It slips from his fingers and thuds onto the mattress when Stede's slick palm closes around him in a loose stroke.

"Fuck, Stede, the way you touch me."

"Help me make it even better," Stede murmurs, striking the perfect balance between suggestion and demand to have Ed's brain freezing and then hastening to comply.

He tangles their fingers back together, guides Stede to put the right amount of pressure around him and starts moving their hands over his length. His mouth falls open on a soundless gasp at the unexpected onslaught of sensation. They've barely even gotten started and it's already so much better than doing this to himself, and it honestly doesn't surprise him - Stede's hands on him are enough to have fireworks going off behind his eyelids under pretty much any circumstances. And holding hands around his dick as he shows him how he likes to be touched is one of the sweetest, hottest things anyone's ever asked him to do in bed. 

He pulls out all the stops, shows him how to switch between squeezing his fist up and down the shaft and focusing more delicate touches on the head, gasps every time the pads of Stede's fingers brush against his heated flesh. He can feel his eyes glued to every motion of their joint hands, decides he might as well give him a show and presses his thumb into the slit, follows it with a twist of his wrist that has his toes curling and a string of moans and curses dropping from his lips.

"God, you're beautiful like this, Ed," Stede pants, voice full of wonder, like he's watching a really pretty sunset or staring at a nice painting.

Ed shivers and turns his head to find his lips again, trades messy kisses back and forth as he keeps fucking himself with Stede's hand. He's heard a lot of things during sex in the past, some of them praises even, but no one's ever called him beautiful and love and darling like Stede does, like Ed's something precious and cherished and he needs to make sure he hears it as he's making him come undone. 

Stede bites his lower lip greedily as he lets Ed use his fingers however he likes, and Ed moans into his mouth and keeps showing him every move he has. He can imagine the cogs whirring inside Stede's skull, memorizing details about his dick the same way he memorized the parts of a ship before he ever got on one or fifty different names for the wind that he likes to bring up at random. The idea is insanely fucking hot.

"Let me try it now?" Stede asks after a while of letting Ed fuck his hand with abandon. Ed curses as white hot lust rushes through him, setting every last corner of him aflame.

Jesus fuckin' Christ on a cracker.

He removes his fingers and this time Stede lets him, proceeds to imitate everything Ed showed him with dedicated precision, has Ed dissolving into a blissful puddle in his arms in no fucking time at all. It'd be a little embarrassing, the way Stede manages to take him apart within seconds with a few touches, if he didn't feel so fucking safe and loved at the same time as he's going mad with the pleasure cascading brightly through every inch of him.

Stede keeps working him in his fist until he's got jerking off Ed's dick down to an art, starts growing bold and adding a few flourishes of his own eventually. Ed moans with every heated stroke of his fingers, can't stop himself from rocking into them and seeking more.

"You're so sweet, darling," Stede says, licking his shoulder blade. "You even taste sweet."

"That's probably the oil from last night's massage you're tasting," Ed grunts. He doesn't think his skin tastes of anything in particular, except maybe sea salt, and probably not even that anymore.

"Mm, I'm not sure," Stede goes on. "I'll need to do more research before I can give you an official conclusion."

Ed snorts. What a loon. He's so absurdly gone on him.

Stede wraps his fingers around the head of Ed's cock and flicks his wrist just like he showed him, and Ed arches his back and presses his hips forward into it, delights in the flames that spark through him as Stede's fingers touch him exactly the way he likes. It may not even take them five years after all, they may have their whole sex life figured out by the end of the year at this pace.

And then Stede's hand leaves his dick altogether to cup his balls and play with them lightly, and Ed whines in surprise as much as pleasure, writhes helplessly under his touch, dizzy with lust and drunk on him. He didn't even show him this, this is one hundred percent Stede and his fucking fascinating mind at work.

He keeps rolling his balls gently between his fingers until Ed feels like he's about to snap.

"Stede ," he whimpers.

"Is this working for you?" he asks, sounding both genuinely curious and a little smug at the same time, as if he already knows what the answer's going to be.

"Yeah," he replies, honest and raw. It's not like it's a secret; Ed isn't playing hard to get here.

Stede hums and kisses his jaw, switches to stroking his fingers down Ed's thighs, a barely there whisper that makes goosebumps break out wherever they go. He moves promisingly close to his dick and Ed tries to thrust into it, but Stede draws away to rake his fingernails lightly through his pubic hair instead, and it pulls a choked gasp from Ed's throat. He presses his fingers gently into one of the purple bruises that decorate Ed's thighs, and Ed outright whines at the pleasure-pain that pulses through him. Every touch feels like silk and lava, has fire catching on his skin and in his veins. Stede's hands are fucking magical.

Stede never stops rolling his hips as his hands tease and caress, and it's all driving Ed mad, the warmth of his body pressed so close, the tantalizing drag of his cock against his ass and the way it catches on his rim every now and then, the fingers now stroking slowly up the underside of his dick, sparking sheer, blazing need in his core. It's like Stede’s in no hurry to go anywhere, and Ed suddenly needs more, needs to feel him all over him, to be drowning in him until there's nothing else left in the world.

He reaches a hand behind him and digs his fingers into Stede's waist, presses himself as close to him as he can and cants his hips.

" Ed ," Stede groans, clutching him tightly.

"Want your dick inside me."

He feels Stede shudder and bury a whine in his neck.

"I won't last long, darling. I'm already close, you feel fantastic like this," he says, running his fingers delicately over the swell of his ass as he ruts his cock between his cheeks. "And watching you fall apart under my touch... God, Ed, you're absolutely perfect."

Ed feels warmth flush all over him at the praise, feels suffused with so much love he doesn't think his body will be enough to hold it. It drips liquid like honey through his veins, settles golden in his heart.

"Doesn't matter," he reassures, voice saturated with affection and need. "Wanna feel you come inside me."

Stede moans brokenly and stills against him, takes a few deep breaths and says, sounding strained, "You're not helping matters, Edward."

Ed chuckles. Like he should be sorry for a little begging after every dirty thing that's come out of Stede's mouth this morning?

Stede nips his shoulder. "Keep that up and you won't get what you want," he scolds.

Fuck, that's hot. He likes it when Stede tells him what to do, has for a long time, decided it was maybe his third new favorite thing in the world as soon as he heard the words I'm your captain come out of his mouth (the first two are Stede in general and the way he's always so gentle and attentive with him, in bed and out of it). He makes it his immediate goal to see what it takes to get him to do it again.

Stede pats the bed until he finds the oil where Ed dropped it earlier, and soon enough he's got a slick finger teasing at his entrance. Ed thrills with anticipation for what's coming next - if Stede's hands feel wonderful on him, they're even better in him. Stede draws lazy circles around the muscle, pushes in tentatively with two fingers at once, and Ed's whole mind flares bright at the pressure right where he needs it.

"You're still so loose," Stede purrs, stroking his fingers slowly in and out of his body. His voice sounds awed at the discovery.

"Yeah, happens when you got fucked into the mattress a few hours ago."

It doesn't hurt that Stede's been reducing him to putty for what feels like ages with a single hand on his dick, either, or that he gave Ed the best massage of his fucking life last night. Every muscle in Ed's body feels relaxed and loose.

Stede groans and bites down on his shoulder again, thrusts his fingers deep into the heat of Ed's body. Ed gasps and writhes in his arms.

"Fucking hell, Edward."

"Like the thought of fuckin' me often enough that I'll always be ready for you?" he challenges.

Stede crowds closer, brushes Ed's ear with his lips, whispers his next words right into it, "Are you doing it on purpose, darling?"

Ed feels strangely caught out even though he has been literally asking for it, reels for a second until he reminds himself that this is Stede, he can trust him with anything. He exhales the breath he's been holding and answers, "Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?"

Stede responds by crooking his knuckles sharply and keeping the pads of his fingers pressed against his prostate until Ed goes dizzy with it, whimpers at the unrelenting waves of pleasure rolling through him. The world fades for a few seconds, is reduced to Stede's fingers and frantic heat and Ed could swear the sun's come down from the sky to burn inside him for a moment.

"Look at that, you can be quiet after all," Stede growls. "You wanted me inside you," he punctuates the words with a deep thrust that has Ed's breath hitching and sharpening into a whine. "Wait until I've given you what you want," he does it again. "And then you can talk as filthy as you like."

Ed's mind blanks at the order, mouth falling shut and brain emptying of anything but the need to do as he's told. Stede's fingers are stretching him so sweetly already, he can be good and wait to have his cock.

For the next few minutes he takes everything Stede gives him as quietly as he can, focuses on the firestorm gathering in his hips and practices being patient. He's helpless to staunch the needy little sounds that escape him with every knuckle that slips past his entrance as he works him open, but he doesn't break until he can feel the blunt head of Stede’s dick press against him and slip into his hole.

"Can I talk now?" he bursts, at last. It sounds breathless to his own ears.

Stede laughs, a ragged and frenzied thing.

"Can't promise this won't be over really quickly if you do," he grunts as he sinks into him inch by lovely inch. He presses closer and closer until he's buried inside him balls deep, and Ed floods with ecstasy at finally getting what he's been craving.

"Don't care," he pants. And he really doesn't, just being joined like this with him is everything. "You feel fuckin' amazing inside me, Stede. Fuckin' love the way you fill me."

" Darling ," Stede moans, and rests his forehead on Ed's shoulder, breathes heavily like he's struggling to keep it together as much as Ed is, like this is all a little overwhelming for him as well. "You feel wonderful, too. Always so good for me." Ed dissolves into dazzling brightness at the neverending praise.

Stede plants his foot on the bed and drapes himself over Ed's back, starts rolling his hips at an easy pace. It's fucking great to feel him move against him his in this position. He's curled tight around Ed's body, blanketing him better than any fabric he's ever covered himself with, skin soft and warm, muscles hard underneath, holding him close against his chest as if he never wants to let go.

Ed's heart beats thunderously at the closeness, a river of fire flowing through his body with every maddening drag of Stede's cock inside him. He pants and lets himself be tugged by the current, rides the waves of pleasure Stede keeps him swimming in and knows that he's safe as long as he's got him, could never drown here.

It's all already so much, and then Stede adjusts the angle until he finds the one that makes Ed curse as stars erupt behind his eyelids.

"There?"

"Yeah, shit, right there," he groans.

Stede feeds the heat coursing liquid inside him with every snap of his hips, wrings every ounce of ecstasy he can out of him. This is all Ed wants for the rest of his life.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?" Stede asks, pulls almost all the way out and slides hotly back in.

"So good, Stede. Fuck , do that again." Ed knows he's babbling a little incoherently, can't be bothered to give a single fuck about it. His mind is blissfully quiet and he's dying for more, and Stede is so good at giving him what he needs.

Stede builds up a slow, burning rhythm, brushes relentlessly against Ed's prostate and takes him higher and higher with every thrust. Ed shuts his eyes tight and focuses on the warmth of Stede draped over him, the way his lips and tongue brush over his skin everywhere they can reach, the blazing pleasure unfurling inside him. He loses track of what's coming out of his mouth, could guess it's probably a combination of Stede's name and shameless pleas for more.

"I love your body, Ed," Stede whispers like a confession as he moves inside him. "Love all of you so much."

The words wash over Ed like the sun glittering on the waves, light him up from the inside until he feels like his skin should be glowing with it. He practically sobs Stede's name as he intertwines his fingers with the ones pressed against his stomach, pushes back into him until he's as close as he can be.

Stede kisses his shoulder, his neck, his scalp, and Ed feels every press of his feverish lips as another declaration of love, thinks of names written in permanent ink and vows of his own he'd like to make some day. He feels bathed inside and out by the sunlight streaming through the window, by the warmth of the love being poured into his body.

"Love you, Stede," he whispers back. "Love you so much."

Stede buries his face between Ed's shoulders, snaps his hips a little faster, and they pant together as he fucks him just like he wanted, gives Ed exactly what he needed when he woke up feeling out of sorts about his life being too nice all of a sudden. His brain is definitely on board with too nice now, would like another hundred mornings like this one, please and thank you.

Stede's cock is perfect inside him, all velvety heat and delicious pressure as it stretches and fills him just the way he likes. It sparks something wild in him every time it slides in and out of his hole, every time it presses just right against the perfect spot inside him. He's so close already, and then Stede snakes a hand around his waist to wrap around his dick again, and Ed is melting, surrounded by red-hot flames on all sides.

"So close, Stede. Fuck. Please don't stop, please, please ," he begs.

Stede's movements stutter and his pace becomes a little more frantic, but he doesn't stop, keeps driving heatedly into Ed's body as his hand works his cock in the tight, hot circle of his fist in tandem with his hips. Heat swells inside Ed like a hurricane with every touch, with every inch of their skin pressing together, with every needy noise Stede lets out above him.

"Yes, yes . Come on, Ed." Stede sounds halfway to wrecked already, pace turning all the way from sweet and lazy to erratic and desperate as he speaks. Ed's almost ready to let go, too. "You feel - ah - too good, darling. I'm- god , I'm gonna come."

"Go ahead, babe, let me feel you."

Stede moans his name, keeps thrusting rapidly for a few more seconds before he buries himself deep inside Ed once, twice, and spills hotly within him.

Ed whimpers and comes right after, the feeling of Stede's cock pulsing inside him, of his come slick and messy in his hole enough to push him over the edge, too.

He's engulfed by heat, mind and body full of nothing but Stede and molten pleasure. It's like hitting the water at a hundred miles an hour and executing a perfect dive, the waves parting easily around him to lick welcoming tongues of fire all over his skin. Pure ecstasy ripples blindingly through him until it's all that's left and Ed is being consumed by it.

He makes a mess of Stede's hand as he comes all over it in hot, thick white ropes that seem to go on forever. Stede keeps working him through it, milks every last drop out of him until Ed starts shaking from too good and too much.

Stede releases him then, wipes his hand on the already ruined sheets and runs it over Ed's feverish skin in tender, soothing motions, whispers praises into his ear - so good, Ed, love you, you were amazing -, until Ed comes down and sinks against him, limbs heavy and mind light. He drinks in the warmth of Stede's body, feels his heart beat wildly against his back and cherishes the proof of his life flowing strong and steady through him.

"You gonna keep talking like that all day?" he asks, in between gulps of breath. 

"Would it be such a big problem for you?"

He chooses that moment to pull out of him. Ed shudders.

"Fuck me, Stede. We won't get a thing done if you keep running that mouth of yours."

"I remember you having a few dirty things of your own to contribute," Stede remarks as he brushes Ed's damp hair out of his face, strokes his palm lazily down the curve of his waist. "Had to shut you up about it, in fact."

And he did it so beautifully, treated Ed just like he needed. He feels tingly all over at the memory, will make him do it again if it gets him fucked this thoroughly then, too. He brings Stede's hand to his lips and kisses his palm, a wordless thank you for taking such good care of him.

They lie contentedly together, exchanging soft touches as they wait for their breaths to even out and their hearts to settle. It's peaceful and perfect, until Stede's stomach rumbles loudly in the quiet room. Ed laughs until he has tears in his eyes.

"Maybe we can table our discussion until after breakfast," Stede concedes.

"Oh, it was a discussion, was it?"

"Would you like to think about it as more of a healthy competition?"

Ed pounces on him and kisses him until he's stolen all the air from his lungs. Stede flounders in shock for a fraction of a second before he's kissing back with equal enthusiasm, buries a hand in Ed's hair like he'd be more than happy to go at it all over again. Ed's stomach is the one that interrupts them this time.

"Make me breakfast while I run us a bath and I'll let you win this time, 'kay?"

"That wouldn't be sportsmanlike, darling," he complains, and pinches his ass.

"I'm starving here, babe." He sits on Stede’s hips and gives him one of the pleading, wide eyed looks that he's quickly discovered will get him anything he wants.

"Oh, alright, that's uncalled for, Ed. You're playing dirty."

"Thought that's what you were all about these days," he teases good naturedly as he bends down to steal one more kiss from Stede’s lips.

He feels cheerful and airy as he gets out of bed and slips on his favorite soft robe, stumbling start to the morning all but forgotten after being wrapped in Stede's warmth and loved so earnestly and absolutely. 

Stede comes to join him, wraps his arms around him from behind and smiles as he hooks his chin on Ed's shoulder.

"I win, anyway. I get to hold you forever," he declares.

Ed's knees go a little weak at that. He didn't know it was possible to love anyone this much before Stede, didn't think he was even capable of loving like this. He remembers standing on the edge of a cliff and declaring himself unlovable, remembers the hair-raising fall that followed, too.

But he was willing to do something about it after all, wasn't he? He's learning to ask for what he wants, learning to give himself permission to accept what Stede gives freely, learning to believe that he means every praise he gives, every I love you he gifts him. He turns around in his arms and kisses him tenderly.

"And I get to be held by you." He smiles against his lips. "I think we both win."

Stede's eyes shine brighter than the morning sun.

Ed can hear him sing all the way from the bathroom as he makes breakfast for two, a catchy, cheery tune. He manages not to burn the toast this time.

[ritalacochona]

So i am rewatching the first season into the 2nd again ( yes I have a problem but that's why I took a week off of work k?) And I noticed somethings on this viewing that are new for me with the context of 2nd season:

-Ed is under a lot of pressure to figure things out and live up to the Blackbeard moniker. His speech to Stede!Blackbeard about everything being his fault, his responsibility. I never watched Izzy in that scene. That speech was for Iz. Especially considering Izzy's earlier insults and saying he was going to quit. The look he gives Izzy when the fog is revealed. Charged.

- Ed is a deeply lonely person. Izzy may "have love for Edward" but he does not play with him (ex:the clouds like frankfurters, the trinkets on the ship). Izzy is shown to chronically lack imagination (Its how Stede gets one hostage back, gets gun powder in Izzy's face in the duel). This is an integral part of Ed and Stede. It also means that Stede can come to the Lighthouse conclusion with Ed. Not a subordinate-a partner.

- Ed doesn't see that Izzy is also breaking under the weight of his role in Blackbeard. The constant going between Ed, the crew, and doing all the work without the reverence/ obedience/respect afforded to the actual Blackbeard is unbelievably stressful. I think of love dying in a marriage when one partner has the other act like their babysitter. In this case it's the one being treated like the child who is done first.

-I never noticed how hard Ed works to keep Iz around. The way he leaves the crows nest to lure Izzy back in with promises and compliments about being a good captain. Poor Iz. Even with Stede, who he is his most himself with,Ed still thinks he needs to put on the Blackbeard show. It's what Stede and the crew like right? Izzy is key to being Blackbeard. Ed goes through it when Izzy loses the duel to Stede (it didnt have to be like this Iz, we could have worked something out). Everyone is happy to see Izzy go except Ed. He is upset when Izzy curses him. He walks away upset.

- I never realized how Izzy leaving could play a part in why Ed is preparing to leave at the start of " This is Happening." It something to think about as you watch him start with his moodiness. I imagine Izzy was always responsible for him in his moods. I imagine despite the fact I think he was already in love with Stede at this point. He was feeling very insecure. He felt so strongly for Stede, too scared to lose this new connection that had brought life back into his life to push for something more. Blackbeard is Edward's cloak against vulnerability, Izzy is key to Blackbeard= Firstmate/ security blanket.

- when Izzy betrays Blackbeard to the British, it breaks the final line holding their relationship together. He had an opportunity. When Ed came back to the ship heartbroken. If Izzy could have realized how he felt, could have been kind to Ed. Offered love instead of insults and threats maybe he could have fixed things.

- In season 2 Ed is trying to operate Blackbeard on his own. Izzy was always the second on the helm, but after the betrayal, after the threats, Ed can never fully trust him again. Any part of Ed that thought Izzy cared about him as a person and not Blackbeard was extinguished (even if he is wrong). It makes sense why he reacts to Izzy's confession. Too late. I think even Izzy knew that though.

Edit: This video makes me think of many things:

[adickaboutspoons]

Hey guys(gn)! Guys, guys, guys(gn, gn, gn)! You know how the show goes out of its way to say that Stede Did NOT Kill Nigel?

A thing that would absolutely get him convicted of at least manslaughter in any court?

And, like, even Stede "It's all my fault" Bonnet goes from "I'M A MURDERER!" to "I didn't fully kill the man"?

How the show looks at Stede striking a man in the head from behind, which causes said man to fall on his drawn sword and die, and says "Nah - he didn't kill Nigel, and the people who claim that he did are all douchebags"? Can we please stop saying that Stede responded to Ed being slighted by the aristocats with violence by burning down the French Party Boat and killing a bunch of people in the resulting fire?

First, Stede's response to Ed being embarrassed was to embarrass Ed's tormentors in kind by revealing their shameful secrets. If you want to talk about how weaponizing emotional responses is a form of violence, we can, but no one is going to literally die of shame, and Stede's response is entirely proportional. They humiliated him and he *checks notes* went and pouted on deck with Frenchie. They humiliated his friend? He is going to humiliate all of THEM. As the old adage goes: "don't dish it if you can't take it."

Second, Stede didn't start the fire. Sir Cockhead tackled Sigfried, who tumbled into a cart on which there was alcohol and a candle, which set the cart rolling, which spilled the booze and knocked over the candle, which set fire to the alcohol, which set fire to the curtains when the cart butted into the wall.

Does Stede look delighted by this turn of events? Yes. But that doesn't make him the perpetrator of it. Again, he was just sort of around when it happened.

Third, Stede isn't even directly responsible for the fight that set the fire in motion (literally). Yes, he revealed that Sigfried was having financial trouble. But Sigfried revealing that he had bought into Frenchie's pyramid scheme was an unforced error. Stede had already moved on to take down Gabriel and Antionette for their incestuous marriage, and it wasn't until after THAT was revealed that (I'm presuming) the wife of Sigfried's business partner called him out for being a crook, which led him to boast about his expected turn in fortune, what with owning "half the pyramid". Then Sir Cockhead and Messr. Business Partner both revealed that they ALSO owned "half the pyramid." And THAT is what led to them brawling. As such, you may as well blame Frenchie for burning down the boat, because it was the revelation of his scam that made the toffs start fighting. But you wouldn't. Because that's stupid. Frenchie just took advantage of their greed and self-importance. He didn't make them fight. He didn't goad them into it, or physically push one of them into the other to get things rolling.

But neither did Stede.

So in a show that takes the pains to say, in as many words, and on more than one occasion, that Stede did not kill Nigel, even though the act of stunning Nigel is what directly led to him falling down on his sword and killing himself, can we please stop assigning chains of culpability to Stede that he is three-or-more steps removed from directly causing?

[amour393]

see after scrolling through the beloved jay walker tag I'm now thinking of the bad!skybound ending where nadakhan wins and everything is terrible, in which

Instead of the whole "I wish this never happened" shtick, jay wishes for nya to be healed. he can't risk losing her

Naturally, though nya is healed, nadakhan twists it so it doesn't lift the delaara curse

Nadakhan takes over and fixes up djinnjago to be his palace and stuff, fixing the ninja as his centerpieces

I feel like he wouldn't kill jay though

At first, he wants to

Wants delaara to kill him

Wants him to watch as it's nya's hands, but not her eyes that finally end him

But then he decides against it

Jay has caused so much trouble for him, caused the destruction of his realm, the betrayal of his crew- death would be far too merciful, he decides

I think he would reinstate jay to his status when he was prisoner aboard the misfortune's keep, except I think nadakhan would make him serve delaara

At first jay isn't too extremely opposed, at least initially

At least he still gets to be around nya, he figures

Maybe he can save her, remind her of who she really is

he soon learns it's far worse being around her when its not her, when shes nothing but a shell, than it ever could be without her

Delaara is cruel- I mean, she likes nadakhan, she has to be, and she knows how to hurt jay

The third time he tries to save nya, to remind her of who she is, she plays along, and when he finds out it was all fake, losing that hope hurts worse than he ever thought it could

Jay only tried to escape once, and when he failed, nadkhan brought Ed and Edna before jay and turned them into statues

Guys that was not in the original plan this just gets more and more depressing

one day there was a rescue mission launched to save jay

It's a combination of the elemental masters, old friends and allies-

It fails miserably, and nadakhan turns them into statues before Jay's eyes

Jay likes to pride himself on optimism, but that's the day he lost the last of his hope

He stopped hoping people would save him- he couldn't take seeing anyone else he knew frozen before his eyes

Eventually he starts to think he deserves it all

It's his fault anyway, right? He made the first wishes. He kept the secrets. He couldn't save nya then and he certainly can't now

So eventually Jay's resigned. This is his life until nadakhan and delaara get bored of him and finally put him out of his misery

Ok ok so I have this headcanon/theory that delaara possessing nya is exactly that- a possession. It looks exactly like when bansha briefly possesses misako in grave danger- and I feel like it's the same thing

One day jay trips (because he's exhausted and overworked and broken) and he spills water all over delaara

It's not enough to fully break the curse, but it's enough that the green eyes flicker and when jay looks at delaara it's nya who looks back, her eyes warm and brown and scared, he's never seen her this terrified

She manages to unlock his chains and choke out a gasping "run, jay, please run, I cant- I can't- jay, help-"

Not to make this feel like a fic but GUYS I CAN FEEL IT I CAN FEEL THE-

She hissed, recoiling at the water, Jay already gasping his apology, daring to glance up at her-

But it's not Delaara. It's not. He knows those eyes, he does, FSM, he thought he'd never see them again but-

"Jay," she shudders out, Nya shudders out, falling to her knees and wrestling Delaara's keys into the vengestone locks. "Jay, run, please, I-" she gasped, fingers curling in against the wooden floor. "I can't- she's too strong, Jay, I can't-"

Running is the last thing on his mind, as he rushes forward and he grasps her hands and tears burn his eyes and her lifts her head but she pushes him away because "I can't stop her, Jay, get away from me, you need to go, please run, RUN-"

He falls back and Nadakhan appears as Delaara wrestles back into control

Anyway anyway ANYWAY WHAT IM SAYING is that now he can't leave. He can't even try. Nya is in there somewhere and he can't leave her. He can't

The scarse times that Jay gets water are now only when he's far away from delaara

And this is all a prison for nya too because she's locked in her own head, watching as Jay- sweet, dorky, anxious wreck with a sharp tongue and a heart bigger than she's ever seen Jay- is forced to live in absolute misery, as he's hurt, as he's cut off from his power, as he watches his loved ones fade and fall one by one, as he looks up at her with so much hurt

They're sixteen. Sixteen

Anyway. I don't know how this ends its too sad to think about. Yeah

Give jay a hug

Sorry?

[imqueerandadeer]

Okay it's time again for rants and personal stories no one fucking asked for. Todays topic: How fucking rampant and normalized ableism is, with comments from @pansgoobernonsense as usual.

Really long post ahead guys you've been warned.

The reason it has been featured in the last post and now this one is because it's also ND and Asian and I wanted to get other peoples experiences with ableism.

It also said that I can interview it for practice because journalism sounds cool to me and I might want to be a journalist.

Anyways obligatory disclaimer/reminder. I don't speak for all mentally disabled people because we are not a monolith!! For example I am great at masking my ADHD and Autism (I'll get into that with more context later) and it's somthing I've picked up subconsciously. Other people with my same conditions may not be good at masking.

Also this post will mostly center around mental disabilities, specifically ADHD and autism because thats what we have and know most about. Neither me nor my friend are physically disabled (to my knowledge) so I won't speak much on it because It's not my place.

Alright with that out of the way lets add some context.

Hi, if you don't know me or haven't seen my blog before (most of you probably have though in some shape or form) I'm Ollie or Cupid. I have ADHD, self diagnosed (and peer diagnosed) autism, and possible dyscalculia. Theres also a millon other things I'm suspicious about having but I won't get into those.

Lets start with this, imagine (or don't idc) that your back in *gasp* middle school. Terrifying. Now since this is tumblr I'm gonna assume most of you have autism and/or ADHD so y'all most likely know what it's like to be in middle school and be ND. But still I wanted to talk about my experiences with ableism in school.

Okay I've noticed that the difference of how I get treated because I mask and those that can't mask for whatever reason is wildly different. I have instructional support which is technically special ed and no one has ever called me "Sped" or the R-slur. Versus the the kids who visibly have support needs and their disabilities are present. They get called those things all the fucking time.

The hypocrisy of it all is what really gets me. Kids at my school will really stand there and call these other kids dehumanizing things while I stand there as a person with ADHD and autism having to akwardly laugh it off and pretend it doesn't effect me. Yes of course I tell them off but it doesn't work, because they have been taught that what they're saying is fine and people who have higher support needs are not human, which is wrong and ablesist.

Thats not even their fault really it's what they were taught. Although if they weren't taught it and they know It's wrong but still do it then it's their fault

It genuinely got so bad that me and my friends wrote a letter to the office telling them about the ablesist language at our school, I don't think the letters ever got sent but yeah it was that bad.

On another note I don't think my schools very wheelchair accessible at all, although I wouldn't know really because I don't use a wheelchair.

Now heres @pansgoobernonsense experiences woth ableism as a whole, while mine were mostly about school its are more personal

"My personal experiences with ableism are mostly from my parents, and since I have not one but two neurodevelopmental disorders I’ve experienced it a lot. The most notable of these experiences come from my parents reaction to my autism.

A notable example was the time I was crying because I didn’t want to go to a party (I had had a panic attack at another similar party at the same place with similar people) and my dad had said I didn’t need to go but my mom made me.

I tried to explain (through tears) that I didn’t want to go and my dad angrily called me “autistic”. I’ve also been told to just “act normal” in social situations (despite the textbook definition of autism being essentially “I can’t act normal in social situations”). My parents have also neglected to tell me about my diagnosis for basically my entire life.

I was diagnosed when I was 2-3 and only found out this year. The reason behind this decision was “if I knew I’d tell everyone and use it as a get out of jail free card”.

They seem to treat my diagnosis as a label rather than an actual disability. It makes sense, since historically mental disabilities haven’t been treated the same as physical disabilities, but it’s still an awful experience."

While my experiences with things like this haven't been as severe as Nicks experiences I do have some of my own.

One time I was talking to my mother and she said that they suspected I had ADHD but didn't get me tested until I was 12 because she didn't want me on meds that early, which yes is a semi fair point but still why would you keep your suspicions a secret until I startes to notice and suspect it myself. That seems so weird to me and it could have saved me a lot if trouble if she had just told me.

Anyways thats it, sorry if it's not cohesive or coherent it's 1:00 am for me, I need to sleep

[certifiednatelover]

TV. N.STURNIOLO

toxic!nick x m!reader

warnings: ANGSTTTTTTTT, swearing, mentions of ED, use of y/n, No happy ending NO PROOFREAD

summary: one fight can change your whole perspective on someone.

(lyrics will be in bold)

(NICK WOULD NEVER DO THESE THINGS BUT ITS JUS FOR THE PLOT)

Y/N's POV:

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I look up into nick's eyes.

"WELL MAYBE WE SHOULD JUST BREAK UP!"

Those words reply in my head like a broken record as I run out of the house. I've never seen this side of him. He's always been so caring, I never suspected this to happen. Slamming the door, I quickly exit out of the house and run until my legs start to hurt.

That's what happens when you fall inlove..

-----

It's been 3weeks. 3weeks and no apology.

I check the time on my phone, 12:30am.

I'm a mess. I haven’t been eating or drinking ever since the argument at Nicks house. One minute we’re laughing and cuddling, Second minute we're screaming at each other.

I'll try not to starve myself, Just because you're mad at me..

FLASHBACK TO 3WEEKS AGO:

3rd person POV:

"HE WAS BEING ALL HANDSY ON YOU NICK!"

"NO HE WAS NOT! I'VE KNOWN HIM SINCE HIGH SCHOOL."

"THEN WHY DID YOU NEVER TELL ME ABOUT HIM??"

"I DON'T NEED TO TELL YOU EVERYTHING I DO! JESUS Y/N! ITS NOT MY FAULT YOUR SO INSECURE WHEN IT COMES TO ME BEING FRIENDS WITH MEN!"

"I'M NOT INSECURE! HE WAS GRINDING INTO YOUR ASS ON THAT DANCE FLOOR! I DON'T WANT YOU TO DANCE WITH OTHER MEN BECAUSE I'M SCARED YOUR GOING TO LOOSE FEELINGS FOR ME!"

"WELL MAYBE WE SHOULD JUST BREAK UP!"

Y/n looked up at Nick with tears running down his cheeks, Nick had a look of anger and guilt plastered on his face. 2 seconds later Y/n runs out of the house, slamming the door.

"shit shit shit.."

PREASENT:

Nick's POV:

I knock on Y/n's door with a look of guilt plastered on my face. I knock again and again, hoping he's awake. Finally, Y/n opens the door.

"I'm so sorry i look like this. I'll get my wallet real qui- Oh.."

He looks up at me with a hurt expression.

"what do you want Nick.."

I look down at him.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry about everythin-"

"save it Nick. We broke up. I was a shit boyfriend and you were right, I am insecure. I was insecure that you would cheat on me even though you would never do that to me. I don't want to hurt you anymore."

I get taken back by the sudden confession.

"wait wha-"

"You deserve better Nick."

Y/n closes the door while I try to explain that I'm sorry. I sink down to my knees and break down in tears.

It was all my fault..

Yours truly, R.A.Y.Č.E.K☆🍓𖦹🍒𖦹☆

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