#God these tags will be the death of me...

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (son's choice)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the war

- Next part: fire and gold

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @your-favorite-god

Loren stood beside his dragon, Valtyr. The green-and-gold beast shifted restlessly, his massive wings folding and unfurling as if sensing the tension in the air. Loren moved with purpose, fastening the straps of his riding gear and checking the saddle’s bindings. Beside him, Rhaelle watched, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression a mix of worry and frustration.

“This is madness, Loren,” she said, her voice sharp with emotion. “Mother and Father didn’t agree to this. You can’t just leave without their blessing.”

Loren glanced at her, his golden hair catching the light as he paused in his preparations. “I don’t need their blessing, Rhaelle. This is something I have to do.”

“You’re being stubborn,” she shot back, her violet eyes flashing. “You think flying off to war will make you a hero? What about us? What about Mother?”

Loren hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I’m not trying to be a hero, Rhaelle. I’m doing what’s right. Luke is dead. Aemond needs to be stopped, and I won’t sit here while others fight for our family.”

Rhaelle stepped closer, her voice lowering as her anger gave way to desperation. “And what happens if you don’t come back? What happens to us then?”

Before Loren could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps drew their attention. Turning, they saw their parents approaching, their expressions sharp contrasts of emotion. Tyland’s face was calm but somber, his green eyes heavy with understanding. Y/N, however, was a storm of anger and fear, her lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze locked onto Loren.

“What is this?” you demanded, your voice tight with controlled fury. “What are you doing, Loren?”

Loren straightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I’m readying to leave, Mother. I’m going with Prince Daemon and Uncle Jason to Harrenhal.”

“You will do no such thing,” you snapped, stepping closer. “You’re barely a man, Loren. This isn’t your fight.”

“It is my fight,” he insisted, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “This is our family’s fight. I can’t sit idly by while others risk their lives for us.”

Tyland stepped forward, placing a hand on your arm as he spoke softly. “Y/N, let him speak.”

You turned to your husband, your eyes flashing with anger. “You’re going to allow this? You’re going to let our son march into war?”

Tyland’s expression was pained, but his voice was steady. “It’s not about allowing it. Loren has made his choice. He’s not a child anymore.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling with emotion. “He’s our child, Tyland. He’s our son.”

Loren stepped forward, his gaze imploring. “Mother, I love you, but this is something I have to do. For our family. For Luke. For Rhaenyra.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your resolve faltered. But the anger and fear burning in your chest were too strong to ignore. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for, Loren. War isn’t just glory and honor. It’s blood and death and heartbreak. I won’t lose you.”

Tyland’s hand tightened on your arm as he stepped closer, his voice low and filled with quiet authority. “Y/N, please. Let him go. This is his choice, and he’s made it.”

You stared at your husband, your heart breaking as the weight of his words settled over you. Finally, you shook your head, turning away from them both. “Do what you will,” you said, your voice cracking. “But don’t expect me to stand here and watch you send our son to his death.”

With that, you walked away, your steps quick and unsteady as you disappeared into the castle.

The courtyard fell silent for a moment, the animosity lingering like a storm cloud. Loren turned to his father, his expression conflicted. “I didn’t mean to upset her,” he said quietly. “I just… I need to do this.”

Tyland placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. “I know, Loren. And so will she, in time. Your mother loves fiercely, and that love makes her afraid. But she’ll come to understand why you had to go.”

Loren nodded, though his gaze remained troubled. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

Tyland’s lips twitched into a faint, sad smile. “There’s nothing to forgive. But you’ll have to prove to her that this choice was worth the cost.”

Loren straightened, his resolve hardening. “I will.”

Tyland stepped back, his voice firm as he gestured toward Valtyr. “Then go. Daemon and Jason won’t wait forever. And Loren—remember who you are. You’re a Lannister and a Targaryen. Make your family proud.”

Loren nodded, his golden eyes shining with determination as he turned to his dragon. With practiced ease, he climbed onto Valtyr’s back, securing himself in the saddle. The dragon let out a low rumble, his wings unfurling as it prepared to take flight.

As Loren took to the skies, Tyland watched him go, his expression a mixture of pride and sorrow. “Seven save us,” he murmured under his breath, turning back toward the keep to face the storm that awaited him inside.

The sound of your footsteps echoed in the quiet corridor as you retreated from the courtyard, your chest tight with a mixture of anger and fear. The cool stone walls of Casterly Rock offered no solace as your mind raced, the image of Loren preparing to leave etched in your thoughts. You reached your chambers, slamming the door shut behind you, and leaned against it, your breathing shallow.

Moments later, the door creaked open again. Tyland stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. His presence filled the room with a steady calm that only deepened your turmoil.

“Y/N,” he began softly, his voice cautious. “We need to talk.”

You turned away from him, pacing toward the window as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “There’s nothing to talk about, Tyland. You’ve already made your decision.”

He let out a sigh, moving closer but keeping his distance. “I didn’t make this decision alone. Loren made it for himself.”

You spun to face him, your eyes blazing. “He’s a boy, Tyland! Our first boy! And you’re letting him go to war, to risk his life—how could you?”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm. “Because if I didn’t, he’d resent us both for the rest of his life. Loren isn’t a child anymore. He’s a young man who wants to stand for something. Who are we to take that from him?”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “We’re his parents. It’s our duty to protect him, to keep him safe.”

“And that’s what I’m doing,” Tyland said firmly, stepping closer. “Protecting him doesn’t mean chaining him here. It means letting him make his choices, even if they terrify us. Loren has fire in him, Y/N. If we stifle that, we lose him anyway.”

You turned back to the window, your hands gripping the ledge as your shoulders trembled. “You don’t understand,” you whispered. “I’ve already lost so much for this war. I can’t bear to lose him too.”

Tyland moved to your side, his hand resting gently on your back. “I do understand,” he said quietly. “Every part of me wants to keep him here, to shield him from all of this. But that’s not who Loren is. He needs to do this—for himself, for his family. And we need to trust him.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “And what if he doesn’t come back?” you asked, your voice breaking. “What if we lose him, Tyland?”

He was silent for a moment, his own pain evident in his expression as he turned you to face him. “Then we’ll grieve together. But if we kept him here, knowing what he feels he must do, we’d lose him anyway. He’d hate us for it.”

You stared at him, tears spilling over as the fight drained out of you. “I don’t know if I can do this, Tyland. I don’t know if I can let him go.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as his own composure threatened to crack. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. And Loren is too. He’ll come back. He has to.”

You buried your face against his chest, your tears soaking into his tunic as the storm within you raged on. Tyland stroked your hair, his voice a soothing murmur as he whispered reassurances you desperately wanted to believe.

After a long moment, you pulled back slightly, your gaze searching his. “Promise me,” you said, your voice trembling. “Promise me we’ll do everything we can to bring him home.”

Tyland cupped your face, his eyes steady as he nodded. “I promise. Whatever it takes, we’ll bring him home.”

The two of you stood there in the quiet of your chambers, the weight of your fears and love for your son binding you together. 

The march toward Harrenhal began under gray skies, the clouds heavy with the promise of rain. The Lannister army stretched along the rolling hills, banners of crimson and gold snapping in the wind, their lion sigils vibrant even in the muted light. At the head of the column, Prince Daemon Targaryen rode on horseback, his dark armor gleaming faintly. Above him, Caraxes flew in wide circles, his wings casting long shadows over the army below. Beside Daemon rode Jason Lannister, resplendent in gilded armor, and to his other side, Loren, astride a sleek destrier with his dragon Valtyr flying nearby, circling protectively.

The sound of marching boots and the clatter of weapons created a steady rhythm, a grim reminder of the purpose that drove them forward. Soldiers whispered as they marched, their voices filled with awe and unease at the sight of dragons overhead.

Loren adjusted his grip on the reins, his heart pounding as he glanced toward Jason. “Uncle,” he began, his voice steady despite the nerves he tried to suppress, “what do you think we’ll find when we reach Harrenhal?”

Jason gave him a sidelong glance, his expression guarded. “Ruins and shadows, most likely. Harrenhal is a cursed place, Loren. But it’s also a stronghold, and that’s what we need.”

Daemon, riding slightly ahead, turned his head back, his sharp violet eyes gleaming with amusement. “Don’t let the tales frighten you, boy. Harrenhal is only cursed for those who lack the stomach to claim it.”

Loren straightened in his saddle, refusing to show weakness. “I’m not afraid, my prince.”

Daemon smirked, his gaze flicking to Jason. “He’s braver than you were at his age, Lannister. Perhaps we’ll make a warrior out of him yet.”

Jason’s lips twitched into a faint scowl. “If he lives long enough to become one. You’re not to use him as cannon fodder, Targaryen.”

Daemon chuckled, turning his gaze back to the horizon. “The boy has a dragon, Jason. He’s more than cannon fodder.”

As they continued to march, Loren’s attention shifted to Valtyr, who swooped low over the army, his green-and-gold scales gleaming in the dim light. The dragon let out a deep, rumbling roar, causing the soldiers below to murmur nervously.

“They’re not used to dragons,” Loren said, glancing at his uncle. “I don’t think they trust them.”

“They’ll learn,” Jason replied gruffly. “Fear can be a powerful ally if wielded correctly.”

“And a dangerous enemy if mishandled,” Daemon added, his tone sharp. “Remember that, boy. A dragon is as much a weapon as it is a companion. Use it wisely.”

Loren nodded, his grip tightening on the reins. “I’ll remember.”

The day wore on, the army pressing forward despite the growing chill in the air. By late afternoon, the distant silhouette of Harrenhal appeared on the horizon, its jagged towers rising like broken teeth against the gray sky. The sight sent a shiver down Loren’s spine, but he forced himself to sit taller in the saddle.

Jason let out a low whistle, his expression grim. “There it is. The seat of ghosts and ashes.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, his gaze fixed on the ruins with something like satisfaction. “And soon, the seat of our forces. Harrenhal will serve its purpose, Jason. Curses or no.”

As they approached, the army slowed, the soldiers’ chatter growing quieter as the enormity of the task ahead settled over them. Loren felt the weight of their eyes on him—some curious, others doubtful. He was young, yes, but he was here. And he intended to prove himself.

Daemon dismounted his horse, his boots hitting the ground with purpose as Caraxes flew low, the dragon’s long neck arcing toward the ruins as if surveying its prey. Jason followed suit, and after a moment, so did Loren, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword as he stepped onto the rocky terrain.

“Stay close,” Jason instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is no place for foolishness.”

Loren met his uncle’s gaze, his chin lifting slightly. “I understand.”

Daemon approached the boy, his smirk replaced by a more measured expression. “Good. Then show us that your blood isn’t just gold, but fire as well.”

The three of them stood together at the forefront of the army, the looming towers of Harrenhal casting long shadows over them. The soldiers murmured behind, their unease visible. But for Loren, the moment felt electric—a chance to prove himself, to stand alongside his family, and to carve his place in a war that would shape the future of the realm.

Harrenhal stood silent under a heavy gray sky, its broken towers and sprawling ruins casting long shadows over the camp. Smoke from the soldiers’ fires curled into the air, mingling with the faint scent of damp earth. The capture had been almost anticlimactic; Simon Strong had offered no resistance, opening the gates to Daemon and his forces without a single arrow loosed. For the soldiers, it was a relief. For the commanders, it was a quiet victory. For Loren, it was his first taste of conquest.

The young Lannister stood near the edge of the courtyard, the chill of the wind biting at his skin despite his heavy cloak. Valtyr rested nearby, the dragon’s scales glinting faintly in the fading light as he dozed. Loren’s gaze drifted to the distant figure of Prince Daemon Targaryen, who stood alone near the crumbled remains of a tower, staring out at the horizon.

Summoning his courage, Loren made his way toward the prince. Daemon didn’t turn as the boy approached, his hands clasped behind his back and his silver hair stirring in the breeze.

“Prince Daemon,” Loren called softly, stopping a respectful distance away.

Daemon glanced over his shoulder, his sharp violet eyes narrowing slightly before his lips curved into a faint smirk. “Ah, the young lion,” he said, his tone light but edged with curiosity. “What brings you here, boy? Have you grown bored of watching dragons nap?”

Loren straightened, his chin lifting slightly. “I wanted to speak with you.”

Daemon turned fully, one eyebrow arching. “Bold of you. Few seek me out for conversation.”

Loren hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with how to phrase his question. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady. “You’re fond of my mother.”

The smirk on Daemon’s face didn’t fade, but his gaze sharpened, assessing the boy with newfound interest. “Am I now?” he drawled, stepping closer. “And what makes you say that?”

Loren met his gaze, unflinching. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you speak about her. It’s different from how you are with others.”

Daemon’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. He studied Loren for a moment, his hands falling to his sides. “Your mother is… unique,” he said finally, his tone quieter. “She has a fire to her that’s rare, even among Targaryens. A strength that commands respect.”

Loren tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Did you ever… care for her? Before she married my father?”

Daemon chuckled softly, though there was little humor in the sound. “You’re more perceptive than I gave you credit for. Yes, I cared for her. I still do.”

The admission hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Loren’s expression tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Why didn’t she choose you?”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Your mother is a wise woman. Wiser than I am, certainly. She saw something in Tyland that I couldn’t offer her.”

Loren hesitated before asking, “And now? Do you still… wish she had chosen you?”

Daemon’s gaze darkened, but his voice remained calm. “Wishes are for children, boy. Your mother made her choice, and she stands by it. I respect that. But I’ll always care for her, in my own way.”

Loren frowned, his tone softening. “Does my father know?”

Daemon’s smirk widened, a flicker of mischief returning to his eyes. “Oh, he knows. Your father isn’t a fool. But he also knows that I’d never harm her—or you, for that matter.”

The boy studied him for a moment longer, his expression conflicted. Finally, he nodded. “She’s happy with him, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Daemon replied, his tone sincere. “Tyland may not be a warrior, but he’s loyal. And that’s worth more than all the swords and dragons in the world.”

Loren glanced back at Valtyr, who stirred slightly before settling again. “Do you think we’ll win this war?”

Daemon followed his gaze, his expression hardening. “We have to. Not just for Rhaenyra, but for the realm. Men like Otto Hightower thrive on fear and control. If we let them win, there won’t be a realm worth ruling.”

The young Lannister nodded slowly, his resolve strengthening. “I’ll do my part.”

Daemon clapped a hand on Loren’s shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. “Good. You’ve got the fire of a Targaryen and the pride of a Lannister. Use both wisely, and you’ll go far.”

As Daemon turned back toward the ruins, Loren watched him for a moment longer, his thoughts a mixture of admiration and unease. The prince’s words lingered in his mind, the weight of them heavy on his young shoulders. For all his bravado and cunning, Daemon Targaryen was a man burdened by choices, regrets, and a loyalty that ran deeper than blood.

The camp at Harrenhal was unusually quiet that evening. Fires crackled in scattered clusters, their light casting dark specters against the broken stone walls. Loren sat on a low bench near one of the larger tents, his eyes fixed on the flames. Across from him sat Jason Lannister, sipping from a finely crafted goblet of wine that seemed out of place amid the grim surroundings.

Jason watched his nephew in silence for a moment before speaking. “You’ve got that look again, Loren. Too much in your head.”

Loren glanced up, his golden hair catching the firelight. “Just thinking.”

Jason smirked, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “Dangerous pastime. What’s troubling you? The war? Or is it Daemon?”

Loren hesitated, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s about my parents. There’s… more to them than I understand.”

Jason chuckled softly, setting his goblet down. “That’s an understatement. Your mother and father are fascinating creatures, Loren. And I say that as someone who’s known Tyland since we shared a cradle.”

“What were they like before they married?” Loren asked, his tone curious but cautious. “I’ve heard rumors, but I want to know the truth.”

Jason leaned back, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, the truth. That’s a slippery thing, especially when it comes to your parents. But I’ll tell you what I know—or at least what I’ve pieced together.”

He paused, swirling the wine in his goblet. “Your father wasn’t always the ambitious, calculating man you see today. He was quieter back then, always thinking, always planning. But he wasn’t without charm. He had a knack for seeing things others missed, including your mother.”

“And my mother?” Loren pressed, leaning in slightly.

Jason’s expression softened, his smirk fading. “Your mother, Y/N, was a force of nature. Fierce, intelligent, stubborn as a mule. She could silence a room with a glance or win it over with a smile. Everyone wanted her attention, including Daemon Targaryen.”

Loren stiffened at the mention of Daemon, his hands clenching into fists. “Daemon again?”

Jason nodded, his gaze steady. “Oh, yes. He was smitten with her. And she… well, she didn’t make it easy for him. Their relationship was complicated, to say the least.”

“What really happened between them?” Loren asked, his voice low.

Jason sighed, taking another sip of wine before continuing. “Daemon wanted her—badly. He pursued her openly, boldly, as is his way. But your mother isn’t the type to be swayed by grand gestures or fiery declarations. She wanted something deeper, something steadier. And that’s where Tyland came in.”

Loren frowned, his mind racing. “So she chose my father over Daemon?”

“She did,” Jason said simply. “Daemon didn’t take it well, of course. But your father… he proved himself in ways Daemon couldn’t. He offered her stability, loyalty. And she saw something in him that others overlooked.”

Loren was silent for a moment, digesting the information. “Daemon said he still cares for her.”

Jason’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with caution. “Daemon Targaryen doesn’t forget easily, and he doesn’t let go. But your mother’s loyalty to your father is unshakable. You’d do well to remember that.”

Before Loren could respond, a shadow fell over them. Both men looked up to see Daemon himself standing nearby, his violet eyes sharp and his expression grim.

“Sorry to interrupt your family bonding,” Daemon drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm. “But we have more pressing matters.”

Jason rose to his feet, his demeanor shifting to one of authority. “What is it?”

“Unrest in the Riverlands,” Daemon said curtly, stepping closer. “Scouts report scattered uprisings—loyalists to Aegon stirring trouble among the smaller houses. If we don’t deal with it quickly, it could spread.”

Loren stood as well, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. “What’s the plan?”

Daemon glanced at him, his smirk returning faintly. “Eager, aren’t you? Good. You’ll ride with us tomorrow. We’ll show these loyalists what it means to defy their queen.”

Jason frowned, his gaze flicking between Daemon and Loren. “Are we sure about involving the boy in this? He’s untested.”

Daemon’s smirk widened. “There’s only one way to test him, Jason. And besides, he has a dragon. That’s more than most can say.”

Jason muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Loren met Daemon’s gaze, his jaw set with determination. “I’m ready.”

“We’ll see,” Daemon said, his tone almost teasing. “Get some rest, boy. Tomorrow, we ride.”

As Daemon strode away, Jason turned back to Loren, his expression serious. “Be careful, nephew. The Riverlands aren’t just about skirmishes. They’re about loyalty, alliances, and fear. Keep your wits about you.”

Loren nodded, his resolve unwavering. “I will, Uncle.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder, his smirk returning faintly. “Good. Now, get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

[firstkanaphans]

GMMTV 2025 Tier List

Thanks to @rythyme for the template. You can make your own here.

Overall, I was very pleased with this year’s line-up. I think it’s the most solid line-up we’ve seen from GMMTV, possibly ever, and the people complaining about it are simply never going to be satisfied by anything GMMTV does. 

A break-down of my S and A tiers can be found below the cut:

Ticket to Heaven (S): I was raised in a Southern Baptist church which, for those unfamiliar with the different sects of Christianity in America, is basically a cult. I have a lot of unprocessed and unhealed religious trauma that still fucks me up to this day, but for some reason, I gravitate towards shows like this that show gay characters overcoming the struggles I’m still fighting. I’m very excited for this one and I think it’s perfectly cast. It’s giving me ITSAY meets Your Name Engraved Herein vibes and will probably make me cry, but I’m not mad about it.

Girl Rules (S): Toxic Yuri? Yes, please! To be quite honest, I’ve never been a huge MilkLove fan, but this trailer totally changed my mind. I think I just haven’t vibed with the characters they’ve played in the past because Love in this??? Oh my god. She’s going to kill me. All of the girls were hot and horny. What more could you ask for?

Dare You to Death (S): Listen. Do y’all remember that Amazon show Panic? I was obsessed with it for no obvious reason because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t even gay, but this is giving me that and I literally cannot wait. I also adore that they’ve finally let JoongDunk switch up their roles so that Joong is the one that actually gets to emote this time because boy does he look pretty when he smiles. 

Cat for Cash (A): Oh my god it’s so soft 😭 The found family feels are getting to me. I think it’s very obvious from this trailer that they only have concepts of a script right now, but I have high hopes that this could be something really special. P’Au was the director of MSP which is one of my favorite BLs of all time. He’s been stuck doing Japanese adaptations this year, which I don’t think he likes or excels at, but I’m excited to see him tackle an original script in the genre he’s most comfortable with. He’s P’Aof’s protege and their styles are very similar. 

Love You Teacher (A): This is my “hear me out” of the day. Age regression isn’t a trope I’m familiar with and I do have some reservations, but boy did this trailer make me feel things. If this was just a basic amnesia plot, it would probably be S tier for me. I think it was perfectly cast and I’m willing to reserve judgment until I see the finished product. P’Dome of Peaceful Property fame is directing, so I’m expecting that same brand of “romcom” where it’s actually not a romcom at all and instead makes you cry every single episode.

Only Friends: Dream On (A): I was going to put this in B tier, but EarthMix fucking on stage in an empty theater bumped this up to an A for me. I fully expect to enjoy this version of Only Friends more than the original because the original stressed me the fuck out. This time, I have no skin in the game and can just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Melody of Secrets (A): I’ve watched this trailer like four times and I still have no clue what’s happening, but I like the vibes. ForceBook proved in Peaceful Property that they can take on a serious script and I’ve always felt that Book especially is highly underrated as an actor. I’m excited to see them branch out and try something different.

Tagging a few people whose tier lists I would love to see, but feel free to ignore: @doublel27, @mbjw, @wangxianinventedromance, @elliebirdwrites, @khaopybara, @moonkhao, @boozles, @scrumptiousstuffs

And everyone else please feel free to participate and tag me in yours as well!

[runraerun]

AO3 | WC: 7.8k | Rated: E | CW: Internalized homophobia, references to the death of a parent, lots of swearing and general vulgarity from the both of them. Drug usage. Discussions of trading sex acts for drugs. Billy being an asshole but hey that’s new. | Tags: ADHD Eddie Munson, Semi-closeted Eddie, Fully-closeted Billy, One-Sided Steddie (or is it? We don’t know because of unreliable narrator reasons) Bully Billy Hargrove, Bullied Eddie Munson, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Eddie calls Billy ‘m��lord’ in here god help him, Happy Ending, some angst sprinkled throughout, but overall quite fluffy.

(Title is inspired by a song of the same name by Chromeo.)

Summary:

“I’ll cut you a deal, Munson,” Billy says, his icy-pop blue eyes and dark lashes illuminated by the end of his stolen cigarette. “I’ll let you have something. Y’know, as payment.”

But pretty as Billy is, Eddie’s no sucker. “I don’t do trades either.”

“You’re gonna wanna hear this trade.” Billy exhales a cloud of white smoke between them.

Eddie doubts it, but the sooner he hears it the sooner he can shoot it down. “Spit it out then.”

Billy Hargrove stands there, half-smirk on his face, hips tilted forward. Like he’s God’s fucking gift. “I’ll let you suck my dick.”

And that.

Well.

Eddie isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting but it sure as hell isn’t that. 

Or, Billy tries to pay for drugs by offering to let Eddie blow him.

Of all the mugs Eddie expects to see in his neck of the woods, the one attached to Billy Hargrove, resident bad boy slash heartthrob with a notoriously short fuse and a mean right hook, is not one of ‘em.

The fact that he’s alone isn’t much of a comfort, but it’s… well, it’s something. It means if Billy’s planning on jumping him and stealing his stash, then at least Eddie’s got a shot at running and actually getting away with all his teeth intact.

Eddie sucks back on his cigarette, grateful he has something to do with his fidgeting hands as he eyes Hargrove’s approach. Tries his best to keep still—something he’s always been absolute dog shit at. Even as a little kid. They tossed words at him like Attention Deficit Disorder and Hyperactivity ’til the cows came home. Never changed anything, though. Mom always just called it ants in his pants. For Uncle Wayne, it was worms up his butt. All said in love, of course. Eddie was ant and worm-free, far as he knew. Just had a lot of energy is all. And a lot to say too. That isn’t a crime! But right now, under Billy Hargrove’s slow approach, he tries his damndest to get all his ants and his worms to settle down. No sudden moves in front of ticking time bombs.

“You’re Munson, right?” Hargrove asks in a low, slightly nasally voice. He’s stopped a few feet from the picnic table that Eddie’s perched on, his canister of goodies sitting unassumingly beside him.

Eddie fights his nerves—bulldozes over them, more like, and smiles wide, holding out his arms in a display of showmanship. “The one and only.”

Billy scoffs as his eyes travel around the clearing. Doesn’t seem too impressed by the ol’ Munson razzle-dazzle. “You alone out here?” he asks, eyes finally returning to Eddie’s.

Eddie shifts, leaning forward slightly—literally on edge. Why the hell did he have to say that so fucking ominously? “I was ‘til you showed up,” Eddie answers.

Billy hums noncommittally and doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s looking Eddie up and down. Sizing him up. Double-checking to make sure Eddie’s not a threat, maybe. Eddie fights the urge to duck his head and pull his shoulders in to assure Billy that he isn’t one. He’s a lover, not a fighter. In theory, anyway.

“Now what can I do for you on this fine evening, Mr. Hargrove? I don’t keep everything on me…“ Eddie trails off before he continues, “But I got anything you’d want.”

Billy snorts, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“You’re from Cali, right? I got weed from there. Stuff that tastes like blueberries,” Eddie leans forward and bounces his brows, “I got some shrooms from the coast too that could even knock someone like you on your ass. So, what’re you into, Hargrove? What’s your poison?”

Billy’s got an amused look on his face. He’s smirking, but no part of it’s warm or welcoming. It sets Eddie even further on edge than he already had been. “You sure know a lot about me.”

Eddie shrugs, feigning innocence. He takes another pull from his cigarette. “It’s a small town; people talk. Especially around people like me. Y’know, the kinda people who don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. And you, Billy Hargrove, you’re, well…”

Eddie bites his tongue before he continues to embarrass himself. Clears his throat instead, tries to think of something not entirely stupid to say, but the words rush around his noggin so quickly that he can’t seem to catch and pin down any one of ‘em.

The forest floor crunches under the sole of Billy’s heavy black boots as he takes a slow, purposeful step forward. “I’m what, freak?”

Eddie swallows. Feels the hair on the back of his neck stand. Jesus, does this guy ever blink? Fucking blue-eyed people and their zombie stares…

He smiles despite his nerves. Then, with a tilt of his head, he answers. “You’re hard to miss.”

It’s grounds to get punched, Eddie knows. Innocent as the comment is, Eddie’s been hit for less. Shit, he got shoved into a locker for looking too long that one time in middle school. Spent the whole fucking lunch break with no one but his ripe gym socks to keep him company. So yeah, maybe Eddie’s a little jumpy around jocks like Billy Hargrove who look like they could fold Eddie into a pretzel without breaking a sweat.

Billy doesn’t look like he’s gearing up to punch Eddie, though. Not yet anyway. He just looks sort of… amused.

It’s getting late. The sun’s low in the sky, and every few seconds it catches on Billy’s earring or his chain, both temporarily blinding him. Eddie doesn’t let his eyes wander, though. He’s got enough self-discipline for that at least.

“I’ll take some of that blueberry kush,” Billy finally says, checking over his shoulder one last time before he flicks his head towards Eddie. “But I don’t got any money. Not until Monday. I’ll have to owe you.”

“Sorry pal,” Eddie leans back, palms against the flat of the picnic tabletop. He blows the smoke from his cigarette up towards the sky. “I don’t do I.O.U’s.”

The air shifts between them. Eddie can feel it. The blue-eyed zombie stare darkens, and Billy takes another step forward until his hip nearly knocks up against one of Eddie’s bent legs. “What? You don’t think I’m good for it, pal?”

“I don’t know you, man,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, shifting uncomfortably. He always hates this part of the job. He’s been a punching bag on and off for most of his life, but that doesn’t mean he’s gotta like it.

“You just went on and on about how you did.” Billy spits, and Eddie flinches as it hits his cheek. He doesn’t dare raise a hand to swipe it off though, lest it be interpreted as a move to strike.

“Look, I can hold it for you until Monday, but that’s the best I can do.” Eddie offers, but it’s not enough. He knows it’s not even close to enough. Guys like Hargrove aren’t used to being told no.

“C’mon man, there’s gotta be some deal you can cut me. I just wanna have a good fucking night. You can understand that, can’t you, Munson?” Billy asks, his voice going soft. Smooth. Breathy.

And even though his insides are fucking liquifying in real time as he does it, Eddie shakes his head, his long hair curtaining his face as he does. “Can’t do it, man.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just beat the shit out of you and take your shit anyway, huh? How about that?” Billy asks, his bottom lip caught between especially sharp-looking teeth. Eddie looks up, his dark eyes lock onto Billy’s salt-water blue ones. Stormy fucking seas. Eddie sure as hell doesn’t want to get beat up tonight, but if he starts cutting deals and giving special treatment to everyone who threatens him he’d be intimidated right out of business. And he needs the cash. Can’t leave all the bills to Uncle Wayne.

Before Eddie can think up a clever answer, Billy’s got his head thrown back, and he’s cackling. “Shit, I’m fucking with you, dude. Put that face away. I swear, no one in this fucking town can take a goddamn joke.”

Eddie doesn’t bother defending himself, just takes his cigarette from his mouth, knocks off the ash and gives a shaky exhale before putting it back between his lips. He barely starts in on his next inhale when the damn thing is plucked out of his mouth.

Lightening fast. Eddie hadn’t even seen his hands—but there was his cigarette, half-smoked, between Billy’s lips. Eddie feels his face heat at the idea of Billy’s mouth being where his own was, just a second before.

“Ha ha,” Eddie mutters, his eyes narrowing. He’s feeling somewhat brave, despite feeling distinctly like a mouse that’s being battered by a cat's paw. “Very cute.”

Billy tips his head, accepting the comment as if it were a compliment. He doesn’t give Eddie his dart back though—the guy just keeps smoking it with a swarmy fucking grin on his tanned, well-proportioned face.

Because the truth is that Billy is easy on the eyes. Nice to look at. It’s entirely counteracted by the fact that the longer you look at that aforementioned face the higher your chances are of getting a knuckle sandwich sent hurtling your way… but Eddie’s still got functioning eyeballs. He can see that Billy’s… well. Beautiful.

In a weird way, though. Like how Eddie pictures the elves from Middle Earth might look.

Fucking ethereal and shit.

“I’ll cut you a deal, Munson,” Billy says, blue eyes and dark lashes illuminated by the cherry of that stolen cigarette. “I’ll let you have something. Y’know, as payment.”

But pretty as Billy is, Eddie’s no sucker. “I don’t do trades either.”

“You’re gonna wanna hear this trade.” Billy exhales a cloud of white between them.

Eddie doubts it, but the sooner he hears it the sooner he can shoot it down. “Spit it out then.” He sighs.

But Billy doesn’t ‘spit it out’. Instead, he shifts weight from foot to foot, looking suddenly agitated again. Billy sniffs and scratches his nose with the nail of his thumb. Like he’s tweaking. Eddie waits him out. Curiosity officially piqued.

Finally, after doing his little dance, Billy leans forward, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “I’ll let you suck my dick.”

And that.

Well.

Eddie wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

The shock is written all over Eddie’s face, he’s sure. He’s never been good at concealing his emotions—an open book, his mom called him. Shit liar, is what his dad called him. Either way, he knows the surprise of what Billy’s offered up plays across his face by the way Billy’s eyes dance around it, looking pleased.

“What?” Eddie squeaks out, face suddenly on fire.

“You heard me,” Billy snaps, “I ain’t sayin’ it again.”

Eddie blinks, looks away from Billy Hargrove’s icey freeze-pop eyes. It’s no easy task. “You’ll let me…?”

Eddie motions towards the crotch of Billy’s exceptionally tight jeans. Jeans that leave very little to the imagination, Eddie might add.

Billy grins, his pink tongue caught between his teeth as he leans back, jutting his hips out a little.

“I’ll let you,” he confirms. Standing there like he’s God’s fucking gift.

Though he’s got very little air left in his lungs, Eddie gives a weak scoff. “Shouldn’t this be the other way around?”

And for the first time tonight, Eddie does feel at risk of being sucker punched. Billy’s eyes flare, and just like that his beauty melts into something ugly. Like a spell is cast over him—beauty to beast. “I’m no cock-sucker.” He spits out.

In a show of surrender, Eddie raises his hands. “I didn’t say you were. I just—usually when someone is offering sexual favors it’s… Y’know what? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m not—I don’t trade in pleasures of the flesh, ‘kay? That’s not what I’m doing here, Hargrove. It’s cash only.”

But Billy’s either got a hearing problem or a comprehension problem because he rolls his eyes and just keeps on bartering. “Fine, I’ll give you a handjob. After my blow job.”

Now. Eddie isn’t a prude. In fact, he’s probably something of a pervert if his porno of choice is any indication of that, but this—with Billy?

Eddie’s spent this entire interaction scared fucking stiff, and now Billy’s offering to go and get him into an even more vulnerable position—with Eddie’s pants literally around his ankles?

“No.” Eddie aggressively shakes his head, sending his curls in motion. No no no. Fuck no. As hot as Billy is—no. The decision is final. Take it or leave it, Eddie thinks stubbornly. Heels successfully dug in.

Billy sighs through his nose, takes a step back and chuckles dryly to himself. “I know you’re a queer, Munson. Don’t—!” Billy snaps, pointing a finger in Eddie’s face when he dares open his mouth to deny it, “don’t fucking lie to me.

Eddie swallows, promptly shutting the fuck up.

Is he really that obvious…?

Billy continues, “I know you’re a queer. I saw the way you used to look at Harrington, back when we were all in school together. Gym class,” Billy leans forward, back in Eddie’s space, their shared cigarette bouncing between them as he speaks, “the showers. Remember?”

It’s been a year since Hargrove and Harrington both leap-frogged him out of Hawkins High, diplomas in tow. A full year, but apparently Billy’s got a fucking photographic memory. Eddie feels his t-shirt stick to his back, slick with sweat. “Whatever, man. It’s not a crime to look.”

“It is in this shit hole of a town,” Billy chuckles, dark and humourless, “so you get it now? I know you like dick. And I like pot. So, let’s work something out, here, Munson.”

Billy claps his hands together between them, loud and jarring. “Time’s a’wastin’, amigo!”

Jesus this guy…

“Even if I did like dick,” Eddie tilts his head and scrunches his nose, “it doesn’t mean I want your dick, Hargrove.”

“A dick’s a dick, man. And trust me, I got a nice, big fat one for you to choke on, trust me, you’ll love it,” Billy laughs as he speaks, watching in amusement as Eddie rubs a hand over his heated, blotchy face. “C’mon, you’ve sucked cock before, right?”

The simple answer is yeah, a couple of times. Every time it ended pretty much the same though. With him being shoved off after they’d finished. Being told they weren’t gay, that if Eddie were to ever tell anyone about the encounter they would deny it, call Eddie a liar, or worse, beat the shit out of him.

He’s not a dummy; Eddie knows being queer in Hawkins is a risk, so it made sense to want to keep it hush-hush. Eddie’s the rumoured gay kid, so if you’re gonna experiment with someone, why not let it be with him? But after a handful of times being treated like trash—something people needed to wash their hands in Javex from after simply touching him—he stopped. It didn’t feel good.

“You don’t gotta answer. I already know you have.” Billy mutters, smug. “Mouth like that.”

There’s no way Billy knows, but Eddie ducks his head, tired of how this entire fucking conversation has him feeling like he wants to crawl out of his skin. Tired of how the darker the sky gets, the brighter Billy’s eyes seem to turn.

And what the fuck’s wrong with Eddie’s mouth..?

“Cash only,” Eddie repeats. Monotone. Suddenly overstimulated as fuck.

Billy finally pulls the last bit that he can from the cigarette, down to the butt, before he flicks the remains of it into the grass. He gives one final, frustrated exhale of smoke. “Fine. Jesus, Munson, you drive one hell of a bargain. But I’ll sweeten the deal for you, alright?”

“Jesus, Hargrove, are your ears not working? Or did you get hit one too many times with the basketball during your jock days? I said I’m not interested. In your cock or your hand or whatever else you try and offer up.” Eddie exclaims, voice going high with strain.

But it’s like the more worked up Eddie gets, the more Billy wags his fucking tail. He’s all lit up, shiny white teeth built for puncturing. He gets back to crowding Eddie—Eddie, who’s one hair’s breadth away from raising his hands and shoving this smug asshole away from him, not caring if he gets his ass kicked as a consequence, but then Billy’s talking again. And Eddie… Eddie’s listening.

“We could kiss a little,” Billy drawls out, angling his mouth towards Eddie’s ear. He lets his voice drop to a low rumble, his words vibrating in that wide chest of his. It sends a chill down Eddie’s spine. “Y’know, make out. You got a van, right? Nice and private. You’d like that.”

Eddie turns his head towards Billy, so close they’re nearly touching each other. His mouth hangs open, slack, but Eddie can’t get a fucking word out. His whole fucking life, all he’s ever heard is ‘Jesus, does this kid have an off switch?’ ‘Eddie, give mommy’s ears a break, please,’ ‘Eddie is very disruptive in class with his constant chatting’. And now he can’t make a single goddamn sound!

Billy, on the other hand, seems entirely pleased at rendering the great motor-mouth-Munson to a mute. “I’m a good kisser, too.” He adds, eyes dropping down to Eddie’s mouth. Like he’s gonna do it right here and now. Eddie’s throat clicks when he swallows.

The embarrassing part is that, well—Except his Mom and his Meemaw and his weird cousin that one time, he’s never… y’know. Been kissed.

Sucked cock? Sure, yeah. That ship has sailed. Sayo-fuckin’-nara.

But kissing? On the mouth? Romantically? It hasn’t happened for Eddie yet. Not that any of what Billy’s propositioning here is in any way romantic, of course, but…

Eddie watches as Billy darts a pink tongue out between his lips, wetting them so that they glisten. Jesus Christ. How can he say no to that? Rules or no, Eddie’s only fucking human. Does he not bleed if he’s cut? Does he not get hard if he’s presented with an absolute fucking smoke show like Billy Hargrove offering to make out with him? All for the low low price of his dignity and a couple of ounces?

“You… actually want to?” Eddie frowns, counter to the nervous smile that’s pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Billy clicks his tongue and shrugs a shoulder, eyes scanning the horizon for like, the hundredth time. “What I want is for you to cut me a deal. That’s enough, ain’t it?”

No, is Eddie’s knee-jerk answer. It’s not enough. Not even close. But, maybe the first kiss fantasy he’s got built up in his head wasn’t ever gonna happen. Especially not for someone like Eddie. He’s probably lucky. Billy’s hot. Willing. And Eddie’s… well, there’s not exactly anyone lining up at Eddie’s front door for the pleasure of his company, let’s just say that.

He feels himself nodding before his brain has even had a chance to catch up. “Yeah. Fine. Okay.”

“Yeah?” Billy grins, canines flashing, “Guess I should’ve started with the chick stuff first, huh?”

Chick stuff? Eddie makes a face. Suddenly emboldened, he shoves a hand against Billy’s shoulder, which just makes him laugh harder. “Don’t be a shithead, Hargrove, or deal’s off. Got it? I’ll walk, I swear to Christ!”

Billy doesn’t agree nor does he disagree, he just leers after Eddie like a fucking bonafied weirdo. And as someone who’s all but cornered the market on being a bonafide weirdo, that’s saying something. He hops off the picnic table, scooping up his lunch box of goodies as he does, not daring to turn his back on Hargrove. “I’m parked just through here.”

Eddie starts towards his van, stealing glances over at Billy as he trudges on after him, only a step behind. Just enough to make Eddie nervous. “Don’t you have like, a job?”

“Two of ‘em, actually.” Billy answers, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Why?”

“How do you not have any cash on you?” Eddie asks, blunt as always.

Billy stiffens, just a little. “That’s none of your business, Munson.”

Eddie raises his hands in yet another mock surrender, “sure, whatever. Remain a man of mystery, I don’t care.”

Just seems stupid, is all. Billy must be fucking terrible with money. Probably spends it all on his obnoxiously loud car. Eddie doesn’t voice any of his many theories though. Billy’s covered in live wires, and Eddie’s not overly eager to start touching and testing ‘em.

The woods aren’t especially dense, but it’s new growth—the old forest chopped down a few decades back and left to grow back all weedy and skinny. There’s lots of branches to duck under along with dirt holes to roll your ankles in. Eddie knows his pathway like the back of his hand by this point, but Billy; not so much. There’s a bundle of eye level branches that always used to smack Eddie in the face when he was focused on his footing, so he makes sure to turn and holds the offending branches back for Billy so he doesn’t totally eat it.

Thinking back, maybe it’s a weird thing to do for another guy, but Eddie’s radar for what’s weird and what isn’t has been busted since he first got cut out of his mom. Always difficult, even back then.

So yeah, Eddie doesn’t get a thank you, or whatever—instead Billy just eyes him with an air of suspicion as he ducks under Eddie’s arm. Like he’s waiting for Eddie to let the branches go or something. Who knows.

Either way, it’s the last great hurdle before they’re back at Eddie’s van, which is right where he left her; parked in the middle of the small gravel lot behind the watershed. Nobody came back here, especially not at night.

His hands shake when he takes out his keys, feeling Billy’s eyes on him. Briefly wonders what kind of mess was waiting for them in the back, but whatever. It’s not like Billy’s expecting The Ritz.

He gets the doors unlocked, and because he’s a gentleman, he holds the door open for his hook-up.

Despite his nerves rattling around under his skin, Eddie gives a little flourish for good measure, holding out an arm for Billy to take. “After you, m’lord.”

Billy scoffs, blue eyes rolling back in his head. And as dim as the light is, Eddie swears he can see two pink spots form on the apples of Billy’s cheeks. He counts it for a win.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird.” Billy mutters as he crawls into the back of Eddie’s van, pointedly ignoring Eddie’s offered arm, the whole thing shifting with the heft of him.

“Wow, y’know what, Hargrove, I had never heard that one before.” Eddie says, hot on Billy’s heels. He swings the door shut behind him.

The back of Eddie’s van is pretty spartan, but only because he’d just finished using it to lug a shit ton of gear to and from a Corroded Coffin gig. What’s left behind is a couple of ratty blankets, some old sweaters, a scattering of sheet music and some candy bar wrappers. It could be neater, but overall it’s not terrible.

Billy sits with his back to one side of the van, his legs spread, knees bent. He sits like a man. One used to taking up room and not apologizing for it. Eddie backs himself up against the opposite wall of the van’s interior, knees bent to his chest, legs crossing at his ankles. There’s not much light back here, but Eddie’s eyes adjust quickly to spot Billy’s agitated-looking face.

“Well?” Mr. California barks, one of his legs begins bouncing restlessly. It shakes the whole van.

Eddie swallows, “well?”

“Where’s the weed?” Billy asks.

Oh.

Right. Wake up, Munson.

Eddie scrambles to get his feet back under him before he squeezes his upper half into the front of the van, reaching into the glove box to grab a baggie.

“Here y’go.” Eddie winces as he pulls himself back through. He sits on bent legs, closer to Billy now. He bestows upon him the sacred sandwich baggy of goods. “Premium blueberry kush, 100% indica. So it’ll mellow you right out. Not that you need to chill out, of course, but, y’know. It should, in theory, help with that scary vein you get in your forehead sometimes.”

Billy glares at Eddie as he swipes the bag out of his hands, the scary vein threatening to make an appearance right there and now. He turns that glare toward the bundles of dried herbs.

“You got a bong or a pipe or somethin’?” Billy mumbles.

“Duh,” Eddie scoffs, breathing entirely too hard, “Why?”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘why?’ To smoke this shit with.” Billy gives the baggy a few vicious shakes in front of Eddie’s face.

Eddie feels his eyes cross as he follows the weed. “Right now?”

“Unless you feel like rollin’ it.” Billy shrugs, sounding like his already thin patience is beginning to wear even thinner.

“No—uh, I just thought you’d wanna smoke at home or whatever.” Not with Eddie.

A crease forms between Billy’s eyebrows as he frowns. “What, you don’t wanna smoke with me, Munson?”

Eddie snorts, shakes his head, “hey, I’ll smoke with anyone—“

“Then shut the fuck up and get the bong already!” Billy shouts, fuse burnt down to the quick.

And if there’s one thing about Eddie, is he responds well to yelling. Or, not well, per se, but shouting always seems to snap him out of whatever fog he’s in. It works on him. So, yeah, he responds. Jumps to attention. His mom used to have to snap her fingers in front of his face to ‘bring him back’, she said. No one else seems to bother with that sort of gentle touch with Eddie though, except Uncle Wayne, but he usually just gives Eddie’s hair a tussle instead of a snap.

So back to the front he goes, sliding the keys into the ignition and starting the old girl up while he’s there so that they’ve got some music to fill the silence. And if memory serves him correctly, Billy’s got pretty decent taste, music-wise.

When he sits back down, bong in hand.

“Ta-da!” Eddie sings, holding the contraption up by the neck to Billy in victory, careful not to tip it over. Billy looks entirely unimpressed as he grabs it out of Eddie’s hand and slots it between his thighs.

Lucky bong.

Billy starts grinding up some pieces between his fingers and packing the bowl with a familiarity that Eddie can respect.

Technically, it’s still Eddie’s weed that Billy’s prepping, since he hasn’t exactly gotten payment for the pot yet, but… maybe Billy needs the vapour courage before he can face the idea of kissing another dude. Of kissing Eddie.

Eddie watches from behind the hair he’d let fall in his face as Billy lights the bowl, inhales, and takes a hit. It’s sort of pretty, the way he slowly exhales the smoke out of the side of his mouth. Away from Eddie.

Then the bong is being pressed into his hands. Eddie’s turn.

He takes a rip, then another one once Billy’s taken another hit of his own, and that’s all it takes for the both of ‘em to get laid out on their asses. They end up flat on their backs, the round part of their shoulders touching, both staring up at the ceiling of the van, with rolled-up sweaters and blankets under their heads in the way of makeshift pillows. They’re the kind of high where time feels like it’s barely moving. Something made up. A concept. Like there’s a very real possibility that Eddie and Billy have been lying here for an eternity, and then some.

And Eddie still hasn’t gotten any kisses from Billy.

But he also hasn’t gotten any punches by Billy either, so there’s that…

“You ever seen the ocean, Munson?” Billy murmurs in a voice that’s gone a little rough thanks to all the smoke still floating around the van. Now successfully hot-boxed. Drawing out their high.

Eddie’s arms feel heavy. “No.”

Billy turns his neck to look at Eddie like he’s re-evaluating his idea of him paired with this new, disappointing information. Eddie turns his head away from Billy, just a little, feeling weirdly embarrassed. “Never even left the state.”

Small town, trailer trash… that’s probably what Billy thinks of him. Billy, who’s been everywhere. Especially compared to Eddie. He expects to get laughed at, but Billy keeps surprising Eddie. He just looks… bummed out.

“You’d probably hate it,” Billy states, sure of himself, eyes dancing across Eddie’s face. “You’d burn right fuckin’ quick. Get sand all up in your shorts. D’you even know how to swim?”

“A little.” Eddie means to say defensively, but it comes out as little more than a sigh.

“Not in waves, though, I bet. You’d end up swallowing your weight in seawater before I hauled your ass out,” Billy’s smiling at the strange little fantasy where Eddie’s tormented by the elements. Eddie’s giggling along too, though he’s entirely unsure as to why.

“A crab might even,” lighting fast, Billy reaches over to punch the barely-there roll on Eddie’s stomach, “get’chya.”

Eddie yelps—or maybe he squeals. He can’t be sure. Either way, whatever sound he lets out isn’t in any way charming or cute. Which; no surprise there. Instinctually, his hand’s gone and encircled itself around Billy’s wrist, but he’s too fucking blitzed out to do more than just squeeze it, trying to appear threatening. Sort of tough when you can’t stop fucking giggling. “Stop, stop—I’m gonna piss myself, dude.”

Billy’s got his tongue caught between his teeth, laughing along, low and rough in his throat, but to his credit (and probably a desire not to be covered in piss) he releases his hold on Eddie’s stomach.

They settle back on their backs, one Metallica track leading into another. It’s the only way Eddie can be sure the clocks haven’t all stopped entirely. Proof the passage of time is still in working order. He exhales in relief, staring at Billy’s profile.

For someone so fucking scary, he’s got deceptively cute features. An honest-to-Christ button nose, along with some ridiculously long eyelashes. Golden ringlets fall around his face. Freckles too, all over his cheeks. Even a Cupid’s bow. When Billy fell from heaven, he didn’t hit like, a single ugly branch on his way down.

Eddie blinks before his brain catches up with what he’s looking at; Billy, staring back at him. When did Billy turn his head? How long have their eyes been locked? A second? A year? Time’s fucking with him so hard, Jesus…

“M’not really an outdoorsy kinda guy.” Eddie admits, unable to keep from smiling.

Because of the weed.

Billy gives a lazy snort as if what Eddie had just said was the understatement of the year. “That’s weird, because you kinda look like a bug.”

It shouldn’t make him laugh as hard as it does, but Eddie feels the rumble of it in his chest, and he can’t help but let out a series of very unflattering sounding laughs. Billy’s not laughing along, but he seems entirely entertained by Eddie’s fucking display.

When he finally catches his breath, Eddie indignantly squeaks out, “How do I look like a bug?”

“Because,” Billy flicks his chin towards Eddie’s face, teasing half-smile still firmly in place, “you got them big buggy eyes.”

Eddie blows a low-energy strawberry, rolling his eyes before they land back on Billy. Can’t seem to take his eyes off of him for long. “I’ll have you know that my ‘big buggy eyes’ are my best feature.”

Billy narrows his eyes, clearly amused. “You think so?”

“I know so. It’s what everyone tells me.” Eddie widens his eyes to drive the point home.

Everyone being his mom when she was still alive, and… well, just his mom. But she was a real smart lady. And like, super pretty. A total knock-out. She knew about this sort of thing. He remembers how she used to go on and on about his big brown puppy-dog eyes, about how they’d break hearts one day. And no one, especially not Billy Hargrove, can take that away from him. Even if it is something all moms say to their funny-looking kids.

“Well, everyone’s lying to you,” Billy says, in that casually cruel way of his.

Eddie drops his jaw in an exaggerated show of the offense. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Billy confirms, smug. A true blue asshole; through and through. “Your best feature’s your lips, no question.”

And. Well, no one’s ever said anything about his lips before. Not his mom, not his hook-ups—no one.

They’re just… lips. Not especially big or small. Kind of right in the middle. They’re even kinda chapped right now.

“Gee, thanks.” He murmurs, from lips that Billy Hargrove apparently approves of. Maybe even likes. His fingers twitch at his sides, palms growing sweaty.

Billy just looks away, like Eddie’s caught him doing something wrong. Caught him being nice. Guess it probably hurts the ol’ bad boy image to compliment other boy’s lips. Eddie resists the urge to raise one of his hands and feel along the ridges of his mouth, to map ‘em out. Try and figure out what Billy likes about them enough to say it out loud. He’s buzzing with the compliment.

“So, you still want… y’know, payment or whatever?” Billy asks, keeping his words to little more than a low murmur between them.

The song playing through the speakers stops—a brief pause before it leads into the next one. It’s deathly quiet in those tense few seconds.

Eddie doesn’t answer Billy right away. He can’t. So instead, he just… lets the questions hang between them. Because the thing is, God help him, he does. And yeah, maybe he didn’t plan on his first kiss being with big bad Billy Hargrove—maybe instead of golden curls and freckles Eddie had envisioned dark, fluffy hair and a splattering of moles. Big brown bedroom eyes instead of sharp, icy blue ones. Either way, he’s way out of his depth. Out of his league. In fact, Eddie should be on his hands and knees thanking Billy for even considering sucking face with a guy like him. He should be psyched. And he is!

Fuck, this weed is making it hard to keep his thoughts linear. He stares back at Billy, realizing suddenly that he’s been waiting for an answer to his question.

“Nothing is ever free, Hargrove,” Eddie answers, cryptic, even to his own ears, “you should know that.”

Because it’s the truth, isn’t it? Nobody just does shit out of the goodness of their hearts. Everyone expects something in return. Everyone’s gotta pay the piper. And if something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. So yeah, Eddie gives what he can, but he also takes what he can get. Same as Billy, Eddie suspects.

Billy’s got a real perplexed sort of look on his face. Golden and tan, even in the cold, sterile light of night. His eyes momentarily dart to Eddie’s lips, just for a split second. But split second or no, Eddie’d caught it. The tiny motion sends his beat-up little dime-store heart all a’flutter. Billy likes these lips.

“Close your eyes,” Billy tells him, voice cigarette rough.

Eddie does it, trying to keep his breathing even. Shallow, so he doesn’t puff hot air in Billy’s face when he approaches. His hands lay limply by his sides, with his hair splayed around his like some expanding ink blot on the floor of his van.

He has the sudden and quite frankly embarrassing image of Snow White lying dead in her glass coffin, pale-skinned and raven-haired, waiting for a kiss of her own.

It’s so stupid that he ends up snorting.

“What? You think this is funny, Munson?” Billy growls, voice sounding like it’s still to the right of him, but that he’s propped up on an elbow or something.

Eddie shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed. A smile tugs at one of the corners of his mouth, totally beyond his control. “No, no, it’s stupid. I. Just—fuck. Sorry. Forget I did that.”

“If you think this is stupid, then I can go. I don’t need this shit—“

”No! Stop—“ Eddie reaches out and grabs the front of Billy’s shirt, his eyes popping open in panic. “You’re not stupid—I’m… shit, you’re gonna laugh.”

“Just tell me, shithead.” Billy snaps, face getting more and more red as his temper rises.

“Fine. Jesus.” Eddie squirms under the intensity of Billy’s gaze. All hard edges and intimidation now. Eddie’s only had the Billy that tickles him and tells him nice things about his lips for a fucking millisecond, but he already misses him.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before, alright?” He blurts out, quick like a bandaid.

And with that, Billy’s eyes go a little funny. The icey shards in his eyes melt back to tumultuous waters. “Seriously?”

“No, dude, I’m lying about being a total loser with no game.” Eddie snorts, emboldened by his buzzing high.

Billy frowns, “Aren’t you like, two years older than me?”

“Look, I had opportunities, okay? But mostly… It was, y’know. With girls. Pretty ones, too!” his brows shoot up, attempting to emphasize the point, “but I just… I never wanted to.”

Billy’s stone-still while he listens. Looking like he’s hanging off every word that Eddie’s stumbling over.

“So, you can’t even fake it?” He asks.

Eddie blinks, suddenly lost. “Fake what?”

“Liking chicks.” He answers quickly.

“Nah,” Eddie huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “I’m a shitty liar.”

“Poor bastard.” Billy mumbles, mostly to himself. Then he clicks his tongue, “That’s a real tough break, amigo.”

Eddie’s shoulders twitch. “I get by.”

A corner of Billy’s mouth turns down and he tilts his head like he’s allowing Eddie some small, indiscernible mercy.

“I just feel bad,” Billy says, low and smooth, “you starting at the very top like this. Everyone else after me is gonna feel like a major fuckin’ letdown.”

Eddie snorts, looking up at Billy, who’s got himself propped up on an elbow and is sort of hovering above him. “Big talk, Hargrove.”

Canines flash. “Well I got a big game, Munson.”

“You’re a real cocky b—” Eddie’s words are smushed back into his mouth when Billy suddenly leans forward and presses his lips against Eddie’s.

Billy’s got a hand against Eddie’s neck, the pad of his thumb against the edge of his jaw, tilting his face up just so. Eddie can hear his heart thundering in his chest, white noise overtaking For Whom the Bell Tolls.

His first kiss.

It’s warm and soft. Drier than he expected it would be. The stubble of Billy’s moustache scrapes against his upper lip, sending shockwaves up and down Eddie’s spine. Billy smells like cologne. Or maybe that’s aftershave—he can’t tell. Eddie fills his lungs with it, breathing deeply through his nose.

The thumb resting against Eddie’s jaw begins stroking along his cheek. Delicately. Like Eddie’s something fragile. Precious, even. He’s gone all tingly everywhere Billy touches him—like magic.

It’s about this time that Billy parts his lips, sliding a tongue along the seam of Eddie’s mouth, gentle prodding—like he’s looking for a weak point. Somewhere to gain entry.

Or maybe he just wanted to taste Eddie’s lips.

Hey, can’t a guy dream?

Billy shifts his weight, further encroaching into Eddie’s personal space, his broad shoulders caging over top of Eddie’s narrower ones. Then Billy raises a leg and swings it over before letting his hips drop over top of Eddie’s own. It’s like touching a fucking live wire. He can’t help the way he reflexively gasps and bucks up into the solid bulk above him. And sweet Jesus Mary and Joseph… he’s rock fucking hard in his jeans. When did that happen?

Flood gates open. Billy—clearly emboldened by the discovery of what he’s doing to Eddie’s body—deepens their kiss by sticking his tongue down Eddie’s throat. The sensation is weird as hell—Eddie’s only ever had his own tongue in his mouth, but there Billy’s is, swirling around, dipping in and out as the sound of their smacking lips fills the van, harmonizing with Hammett‘s insane, face-melting guitar solo.

There are teeth involved now too; Billy’s biting Eddie’s lower lip and pulling, stopping right before it gets painful. It brings sounds out of Eddie that he’d never heard himself make before. Didn’t even know that he could make. All breathy and moany. Maybe he should be embarrassed about how loud he’s progressively getting, but it’s hard to think straight when Billy’s slowly grinding his hips down against his. And Billy’s—fuck, Billy’s hard too. That’s gotta be what that is, right? Jesus H. Christ…

Their hips move in tandem now, the same way their tongues seem to. It’s like Eddie’s body just knows what to do. It’s fucking incredible. He’s never been naturally good at anything in his life. Nothing comes easily to Eddie Munson. Every talent he’s got has been hard-fought, earned through blood, sweat and tears.

But this… Eddie might actually be kinda good at this.

Or maybe Billy’s just a really good teacher.

He’s a cocky asshole, but Eddie fears he might have been serious about everyone else being a letdown after him. Because how the hell is anyone else going to compare to this? To Billy Hargrove. Mr. California King. Eddie could swear he’s glowing right now—like Billy’s spent so much time laid out in the sunlight that a couple of rays got trapped just underneath his skin. Dude can’t help but shine.

Yeah, he’ll be a tough act to follow.

But that’s another Eddie’s problem. Future Eddie. Meanwhile, the here and now Eddie, is getting kissed. He’s got Billy’s big arms wrapped around him, like Eddie’s somehow worth something to someone like him.

Down south, there’s just the right amount of pressure on his denim-trapped dick. He can feel the line of Billy’s own cock bump against his own when he pushes hard enough. He could fucking weep. It’s almost too much—too good. Too perfect. What’s he gonna do with himself now that he knows he could be doing this? God, how’s he ever gonna jerk off when this—when Billy… oh fuck-!

His orgasm hits him like a goddamn freight train. The switch on his brain had gone off and it didn’t even have the courtesy of letting him know!

Eddie’s jaw drops open, mid-kiss, and he pants—moans—into Billy’s mouth. His hips go stiff, stuck in its lifted position, trying to drive upwards into Billy as hard as he can. He can feel himself shake all over as the waves crash over him, one after the other in quick succession, nearly whiting out his vision. He shuts his eyes as he finally comes down on the other side of it, releasing a choked-sounding exhale.

He goes limp. Boneless. Buzzing and tingling and vibrating all over. Waits for the feeling of mortification to overtake him. It should be here in 3… 2…

“Did you just…?” Billy asks, lifting his own hips to examine the scene of the crime. Eddie imagines the wet spot steadily growing on the front of his jeans, a little off to the left, is pretty hard to miss.

“Holy shit, you did,” Billy chuckles, slightly awed sounding, “you just creamed your fuckin’ pants.”

Eddie whimpers. The sharp contrast of absolute bone-deep humiliation paired with the fluttery, intensely content feeling he's still got working its way through his nervous system is enough to make his head spin.

“Sorry.” Eddie blinks his eyes open.

Eddie didn’t think it was possible for Billy to look any more smug than he did before, but somehow, he’s achieving the impossible.

“Don’t be,” Billy insists, a chuckle still at the edge of his words. He grunts a little as he rolls off of Eddie and drops down onto his back. Taking up his previous position of laying shoulder to shoulder next to each other. “I take it as a compliment.”

It’s kinda sweet of him. Because what happened was embarrassing. No two ways about it. Shooting off like that, like Eddie’s some horn dog who can’t control himself?

But, well, if the boot fits…

Billy reaches down and roughly adjusts himself before sitting up. Gentle touches all used up for Eddie, apparently. Then he lifts his ass just enough that he can slide a hand behind him to retrieve a crumpled-looking box of Marlboro reds. Shakily, Eddie sits up too, engaging muscles that still feel jello-like.

Billy knocks out a cigarette and puts it between his lips. Then he knocks out a second one, and without asking, puts it in Eddie’s mouth. Billy leans forward, and Eddie mirrors him—still just trying to keep up—moving until the ends of their cigarettes line up. Billy ignites his lighter, temporarily blinding them both, but he holds it in front of them, and they inhale in tandem.

Smoke fills Eddie’s lungs. The familiar, soothing burn in his throat makes him feel a little more solid. Present. It makes what just happened all the more bewildering.

They smoke in silence.

Well, except for the music from his cassette still humming from the speakers. Billy mumbles something about loving a certain drum solo, but other than that, it’s crickets. It goes on like this until their cigarettes are half their original size and Eddie finally grows a pair.

“What about you?” He murmurs around his dart.

Billy exhales a stream of smoke out of his nose, looking like a sick ass dragon before he answers, “What about me?”

Eddie flicks his chin towards Billy’s general direction. “You wanna get off too?”

Billy just snorts and shakes his head, like Eddie had said something prosperous. “Nah.”

A pit forms in the center of Eddie’s gut. Souring any of the leftover post-nut happy chemicals that were still rolling around his noggin. That sting of rejection. The knowledge that Billy doesn’t actually want someone like Eddie touching him. Like Billy’s itching to go take a shower and wash all the Eddie-cooties off of him, before heading back to his actual life. Like being with Eddie is something embarrassing. It’s a sinking fucking feeling, one he knows no post-high buzz or cigarette is going to touch. Sometimes Eddie forgets that he’s just a detour. Never anyone’s destination point.

“Maybe next time.” Billy mumbles, so low that Eddie almost misses it entirely. He finishes his cigarette before stuffing the butt of it into one of the many makeshift ashtrays Eddie’s got kicking around back here. Then he starts making his way to the back doors, slipping out into the Indiana night.

Next time.

The words echo in Eddie’s head. Bounce off the walls, does couple of cartwheels, spins. The letters get all scrambled up before he’s able to make sense of them.

Next time.

“Pleasure doing business with you, California.” Eddie hollers out a split second before Billy can close the door.

A half-smile forms on that Cupid’s bow-tipped mouth. Pretty as a picture. How did Eddie never notice before? And how’s he supposed to think about anything else?

“See you around, Eddie.” He purrs, knows exactly what he’s doing, Eddie’s sure of it—then slams the door shut between them. He’s engulfed in darkness again. His eyes are back to their unadjusted state, while specks of nothing flit across his blackened vision. He gnaws on his bottom lip to keep the laugh that’s threatening to bubble up from his chest at bay.

Next time.

—

Permanent Tag List: (dm me if you’d like to be added or removed—OR if you’d only like to be tagged for specific ships. ie, ONLY Steddie or ONLY Harringrove, etc.)

@stervrucht @dame-zoom-a-lot @lawrencebshoggoth @morallyundefined @thepossummoldypasta @wheneverfeasible @sanctumdemunson @chaotic-waffle @bookworm0690 @lifelessstar

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

#glad other christians are catching the odd statements about hell#idylls denies the eternity of hell as it is warned about and it inevitably bled into the post#keep in mind that Jesus spoke more about hell than He did about heaven as it has very real consequences#christianity#be mindful of what you read

@mav-milonn

Hi. Firsts things first my name is Kaleb, not Idylls which might be a stupid thing to be upset about but you would know my name if you knew me, which you do not. And as such you really should be more mindful about what you say.

I am well aware of all the people mentioning what they think are my views on hell and I have ignored all except 1. Idrc what a bunch of strangers think; I am following @/greater than the sword tho and tho I disagree with her on a lot I would prefer she think well of me.

You, however, are just rude. I am not a hell denier. Actually talk to me for five seconds about my thoughts on divine justice and you would know that. After reading my essay — if indeed you did read it — do you really think I am unaware that of the theology of hell? I have been a conservative Christian all my life and grew up in a conservative southern Baptist premillennialist young earth creationist church. I assure you, I know about hell 🙄.

That said I also know many other things. Like Gehenna — either 1) the Valley of [the Son of] Hinnom or 2) the Valley of Wailing — being a trash heap in southwest Jerusalem where kings would slaughter their children and so Yahweh declared he would slaughter them in the valley. I know that translating Gehenna as hell is pretty unhelpful. I know that the hope of the Christian faith is not life after death (heaven) but life after life after death (resurrection after heaven). I know that the hope of the Christian faith is the rebirth of the universe and the marriage of heaven and earth. I know that Christians do not die because they are united to Christ and Christ is forever alive and we are forever alive in him. I know that the ancient hebrews lacked belief in an immaterial soul. I know that God is not a sadistic tyrant who needs his pound of flesh. I know that God hates hell. I know they God is an eternal community of other centered life giving love from the Father to the Son (and extension to his body the church) communicated by the Spirit. I know that I do not sing forever the praises of thd God who didn’t kill me, but rather I am willing to die at the hands of evil in the name of the God who liberated me from slavery to sin and death by dying the death of a slave tho he knew no sin. I know that the Orthodox believe that heaven and hell are one play and that your experience depends on theosis. I know (some?) Roman Catholics believe that hell is not burning fire but deprivation from God who is source of all goodness and beauty. I know that annihilationalists believe that since God is Life, to reject God is to reject Life thus choosing death. I know that C.S Lewis believed hell is an autonomous choice and God’s respect to human dignity where the doors are locked on the inside.

I mentioned in the post that “some Christians idea of hell has developed past “God mad. Punish sinner.” And into a more temporary condition and even autonomous choice on the individual.” I meant to say “or” not “and”. That is 100% my mistake. Those are 2 completely separate views.

It is also a mistake I cleared up in the tags of a reblog so if you cared they deeply you could’ve found it.

The view that hell is basically a purgatory and all will eventually be saved is called purgatorial universalism.

I am not a purgatorial universalist and think that while valid it is still wrong. Universalism is just diet-Calvinism (which I disagree with) dunked in sugar and candy and icing. (Me and a friend haves talked about both at length in dms)

Even if I was a purgatorial universalist, it would not warrant your response because it is not a denial of hell, even if it denies the eternity of hell. It is a denial of your conception of hell, if your conception of hell is just burning torture for eternity. That said, many many many conservative Christians from Nondenominational Evangelical to Eastern Orthodox would disagree with that conception.

As for what my conception of hell actually is, it’s that you shouldn’t be rude by accusing people of being hell deniers. I am literally some random teenager on the internet like come on.

Goodness. Is this what Tim Mackie feels like when he’s called a hell denier? As for the people in the reblogs calling TBP hell deniers: just admit you don’t understand their conception of hell. Just say you disagree or don’t understand but for the love of Christ don’t say they (or I) are hell deniers. We’re not. Chill out.

Also hell is mentioned twice in this entire post. Like. Maybe focus on the actual topic which is the sovereignty of God over life and death, his abounding faithfulness and loyal love, and the justice he will bring on his own people if they do evil towards others.

insane for parents to read the story of isaac and abraham to their kids like ok so would you also kill me if god asked you to, dad?

[mangofresca]

in praise of oranges

“the universe is going to catch you,” romano warned. there was blood beneath his fingernails, and his hands did not shake. “god will catch you.” “let it, and let him,” spain said, “and let them catch us together when they find me.” spain kissed him, and beneath the lingering hints of ash, romano thought he could taste the distant sting of oranges, of sunburn and ocean water, of maybe. oneshot, spamano

Words: 1,024, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Hetalia

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)

Additional Tags: Canonical Character Death, in a way? i suppose, more me fiddling with the notion of nation-personifications dying, and coming back to life over and over again, Depictions of Violence, it's not super explicit or graphic i dont think but it's there and i want to give warning, this also isnt as angsty as the tags are making it out to be so dont worry, i just like to be Dramatique™️, and i will forever be enamored with the idea of romano being fussy over battleweary spain, which was mainly my excuse for writing this, i've written it before and lord knows i will do it again

im!!!! alive!!!! and still posting, believe it or not!!!!!!

i did just move so im still settling in, but please enjoy this while i attempt to pull my life together <3333

[n0-n1c]

about to blow that madara-tobi freak out of the water 🧨

📃🏙️📄

as is becoming a habit, more details under cut :)

take a look at this bustling city we can be proud to call our own! in the embrace of waters deep six hundred billion seeds i have sown (all ready to bloom. aren't they pretty?) now comes a time for you to reap (every piece is a piece of me)

the paper collage part was made from a single newspaper in a fit of inspiration

the vaguely heart-like shape in the middle was a pain to make natural while keeping the wings as i wanted them.

i wanted to include a faint rainbow, or rather several color-tinted arches of exploding tags in the reflection. it didn't want to work with the composition.

most of the papers in her wings aren't distorted by the water. wonder what that means

deep dark... deep dark... alluring light at the very bottom...

now to the poem:

amegakure is suspiciously modern. best place to live! except for the war and rain and heavy industry and vaguely threatening leader with a god complex.

if this was the closing verse of something longer, the opening verse would be this: we were made out of stainless steel where others were left out to corrode only the strongest welcome the rain over a pit stop on war road

kishimoto has no idea how numbers work. i usually play with the timeline & ages to get something that makes sense at the moment (even thinking about team minato ages hurts). however 600,000,000,000 is an insane number i'm keeping.

(can't find the original post that first mentioned this but i've already incorporated it into my konan lore:) konan has a plan to take down any member of the akatsuki. very batman-like of her. except every plan involves an incredible number of exploding tags. "konan is the only sane one in the akatsuki"? she is sitting in their meetings while silently making exploding tags somewhere else. every time she lays her eyes on hidan or deidara or madara-tobi she ups the rate of production. i'm scared of big numbers because they overflow on accident or you have to think about what special type to give them & when you mess up an algorithm complexity they want to compute way over the heat death of several universes... (amateur c programmer with math background spotted) (btw in c it's long long int, 64 bits)

konan & flowers! i mean it's literally part of her design so why not indulge when she has created a literal minefield (except the whole field is made of bombs)

madara-tobi goes boom! poor obito finds field imagery around him (hatake, nohara). seems to be a normal japanese thing, but psst, let me enjoy this. mr fan-the-flame is drowned in fire

every piece is a piece of her. first of all, literally. don't tell me she sat down (cloned of course) and did calligraphy on regular paper by hand, and/or ruined the whole economy just for this. talk about putting your heart into something... second, she uses paper butterflies for spying. as in, she turns into hundreds or thousands of pieces (ch371; jiraiya assumes he's arriving in ame suuuper stealthily), all of them presumably directed by one consciousness. solid clones have copies of the original mind, and shadow clones can return memories only when they dispell. i can't imagine all the butterflies with a mind of their own and konan casually integrating such a number when she reforms. if that is the case, she is truly on another level. sidenote: nagato's paths of pain share line of vision. he's literally operating 6+1 bodies at once. you know what? i bow to that. let him enjoy his godhood!

in conclusion: she had the audacity & the 600,000,000,000 plan almost worked! my top 3 female character in naruto

[grudgecollector]

God Help The Fool

Pairing: Bo Sinclair / Reader

Summary: Even as a long time residence of Ambrose, you could have barely prepared yourself for what would happen tonight. Your curiosity pulling you closer and closer to the front door, to your doom.

Words: 827

Tags/Warnings: Blood, attempted murder, light descriptions of gore, descriptions of stabbing, Bo's anger

A/N: Um hello... It's been quite a while since I've written any sort of fan fiction in like two years probably, so I apologize if this isn't very good LOL

I have recently been hit with inspiration to write again. I've realized I really miss it.

In the future some of my fics may be a little more centered around Creep and Josef, but I did rewatch House of Wax for the first time in a while last night and it just makes me AGH

I'm not entirely sure how active I will be, but I'm hoping to revitalize this blog and make it into a home for me and anyone who has similar interests once again.

Your ears ring, fingers tightening around the handle as you dig the knife deeper into the flesh of your sudden victim. Your eyes burn, tears threatening to drip down your bruised cheek. A cloudy puff of air comes from your parted lips, the cold winter wind biting into your skin. 

Dark green eyes were staring into your own with both rage and fear, his hands closing harder around your neck as he continued to try and strangle you. The air was being snuffed from your lungs, a fire building up in your chest as you struggled under his strength. 

It felt as if your neck would snap, the way the heel of his hand dug into your windpipe. 

You twisted the knife further into his torso, making him groan in pain. Whatever strength you had left you used, attempting to wiggle the knife around like a joystick on a jammed arcade machine. 

In this moment you felt like you could accept death. Whatever sins you have committed in your life have finally caught up in one foul game of cat and mouse. No matter how hard you tried to fight him off he stayed glued in his place, bloody spit coming to his lips before dripping onto your nose, down to your cheek. 

You heard a warped voice yell above you, it sounded so close yet so far away.

There was a sudden release of pressure around your throat, a harsh breath of cold air filling your burning lungs. You let out a wheezing cough, clutching your chest with a bloody hand as you attempt to suck in more air. 

The ringing in your ears never stopped, your head was spinning, you felt like you would throw up any second. 

Bright white dots blurred your vision, making it impossible to know which way you crawled.

In some way you believed you would be safe from the chaos that occasionally reigned through the quiet, empty town of Ambrose. No matter how much you have seen or heard during your time living here. 

It was tonight that your naivety finally caught up to you. A simple look out the front door ending in you almost dying. 

You should have listened to Bo when you told you to stay upstairs, you should have listened to Vincent when he told you not to move from the closet minutes later, and most of all you should have listened to Lester when he told you to not let curiosity get the best of you. 

There was a tingling sensation on the side of your face, numbness prickling your skin. 

Slowly, your eyes open to see Bo’s fiery ones, his forehead creasing in worry as he lightly caresses the skin around your throat. 

You knew he was angry with you, you could feel it radiating off of him as he stared down at you, chest heaving.

He grabbed your tired arms and hauled you to your feet, making you stumble forward into his chest, where you clutched onto his black button-up weakly. 

“I-” You attempted to choke out an apology, but your throat felt like sandpaper, forcing a cough from you once again. 

“Not now.” Was all he managed to say, his rage bubbling as he glanced over towards the now mangled corpse of the man. 

Bo could barely contain his blood lust in normal circumstances, but when he saw you on the ground like that? It was like something else entirely took him over. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the dominance inside him, watching as some stranger hurt what belonged to him, or if deep down it was the fear of losing something he loves. 

Either way, the younger man did not stand a chance against a seasoned killer such as Bo Sinclair. The wrench the older man wielded now lodged into the broken skull of your attacker, a now unusable body for Vincent’s evergrowing gallery of wax figures. 

Bo could not find it in him to care though, he knew a replacement would be lured in eventually. 

He slammed open the front door of the house, making his way to the kitchen towards his twin who had probably just come out from his studio. 

“Vincent! Take her, there’s still another out there somewhere.” Bo practically shoved you into his twin’s arms, “And do not let her out of your fucking sight.” His darkened eyes glared at you, something vulnerable swirling deep inside. 

You didn’t take his harsh tone to heart, having been with Bo for as long as you have, you have dealt with his outbursts before.

This felt different, though, while his anger was evident, the thing that stuck out to you more was the wetness in his eyes. 

His eyes did not linger on you for very long, his heavy boots stomping back towards the front door. The harsh closure of the door made the walls rattle, some small things falling from the shelves hung up on the walls. 

[jaxieshauna]

OMG THANK U MY BELOVED OOMFIE BITES U ..

last song: inbred ethel cain pelase save me && alicent hihgtower

fav color: PINK >__<

last book: guh i love reading but havent had time for pleasure reading recnetly i'm reading this book about paradise depicted in judaism && christianity for a research paper..

last show: arcane s2........

relationship status: talking

sweet/savory/spicy: SWEET , oh. my god my eyes rolled back in my head fucking. up thanksgiving apple pie

last search: writing center for my uni...

current obsession: i'm in a rut sort of like. burnt. out from all my spins llwokey but maddiecaitvi , maddiecait , maddie nolen && vi + jinx arcane heh ... also butchfemme rhaenicent && modern rhaenicent they never leave me alone && da yellowjackers

looking forward to: christmas break && christmas XP ,,, also im SUPPOSED TO hit texas roadhouse w friend && see heretic tomorrow or this weekend if the stars align for me ... everyone pray it works out plz && thanks !!!. && yellowjac s3 though there are two options for me when it comes. out &&. those are psych ward or death by suicide so i'm also scaredy scared && lowk dreading tee bee aych.. dat one guy who actually doesnt play && is so srs about being cosmically entwined with da yellowjacs ( could tell u concrete memories of being there in the wilderness && of being jac e. && lottie but psych is choosing. to call me delusional && psychotic instead of real yellowjacket.. ) would not. be a jaxieshauna post without a major overshare. so GLARPPPP ^_^

tagging in case u feel like doing :33 @soggykittylottie @jackieshaunism @apartfromgod @charlieisim @mirrorcowby

ten ppl i’d like to get to know better <3

thank you for tagging me @deadgirl-violet 💯

last song - like him by tyler the creator

favourite colour - red!!!

last book - just kids by patti smith

last tv show - idfk

sweet / spicy / savoury - savoury

relationship status - single 👅

last thing i googled - capricorn moon celebrities

current obsession - scream (i love the gays)

looking forward to - christmas🤍

tagging: @rockandrollsgroupie @jankbotekobaldie @idontliketopoeticize @thismanatemysonsbiggestfan @xthepuppyofthegang @thebeatlesoutsiders @taxidermydolls @vodkasuntreatedaids @tharmyof2 @shecriestotheclickingoftime

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[babacontainsmultitudes]

RIP Will Campos the only person who was murdered this episode.

[narikill]

aughdhshfjjsjcjdjfjsbgsknfjs <- leshy in this art probably

[smellslikenevermore]

thanks for the tag pookie @pedrosgrogu

straight from the currently listening playlist:

1. Build God, The We'll Talk - P!ATD

2. Always Something There to Remind Me - Naked Eyes

3. Love You to Death- Type O Negative

4. Off to the Races- Lana Del Rey

5. Gloom- DJO

no pressure tags 0_o : @almostempty @archivequinn @vervainandspritz @oldpaintings @rav3n-pascal22

List 5 songs you like to listen to, then publish this and send this ask to the last 5 people in your notifs 🎶

ok then! :3

The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You - My chem

The Sharpest Lives- my chem :3

DESTROYA- my chem (no not because of the moaning)

Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In! -will wood

FIRE4FUN - Jhariah

since I’d rather not go into peoples asks who most likely have never even interacted with me, I’ll @ them! @forgivemeiamoldbutstillachild @joey-regrets-nothing @artiepoison @barton-n-bishop @give-them-hell

[creep-girl]

ii16 spoilers 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

[dipperscavern]

about to go to bed, but this post got me thinking… cregan x reader w strange interests.,… walk with me here

people have always been a bit… unaccepting, when it comes to you and the things you like. they’ll enjoy your personality well enough, laugh with you at feasts, treat you courteously at gatherings, but decide they don’t enjoy your company the moment you show a different part of yourself.

one that takes a special interest in poisonous plants, knows how to prepare a body after death, collects bones and feathers, charts astrology… and your pets are usually quite successful in labeling you as completely mad.

you understand to some extent. different is strange, and people reject the things they don’t understand. such is the games of highborns (a rather cruel dance, really.) but you found you couldn’t find it within yourself to try and change. after all, comparison is the thief of joy, as your beloved old maester would say.

you were alright with solidarity, if being alone meant being yourself — but the old gods have always been said to have a sense of humor.

it seems cregan stark is not so off put by such oddities. quite the opposite, in fact.

your pet spider doesn’t repulse him, like it does the others. while he would’ve been most content to allow you the sole responsibility of spider-handling, it didn’t take much convincing on your part. only a simple statement of reassurance, a small smile, a warmth of your cheeks at his interest, and cregan finds himself sat on the bed as you retrieve your eight-legged friend.

whatever doubts he harbors instantly vanish as you sit across from him, un-cupping your hands to reveal a much bigger spider than he previously thought. tarantula, he’s heard the maesters say (with horror.)

while one holds the maesters’ worst nightmare, your other hand reaches for his. he takes note of your warmth, the softness of your hands in comparison to his own. people usually don’t touch him without permission, and, perhaps strangely, he wishes you to never hesitate when doing so.

he uncurls his palm for you, and before you transfer the creature, you softly ask for him to “please don’t scare him.” — and cregan’s heart skips a beat, because he knows at that very moment, he would heed your every request. anything you ask of him, it is yours.

perhaps this revelation would produce a greater affect on lord stark if he wasn’t so encapsulated with staying still while your creature begins to crawl from your palm to his own.

its great work to not tense himself or pull away when it happens, but you watch him so intensely, waiting to pull your creature to safety at any indicator. so he stills. you ground him, even if unaware.

once your creature is fully in his palm, it seems comfortable. sitting itself, abdomen flush to cregan’s palm to encompass the warmth he offers. you sit like that in silence for a moment, cregan observing it’s markings, and you waiting for the warden of the north’s assessment of you and your creature.

after some time, cregan speaks, tone different from the usual one of lord stark.

“Does he have a name?”

you can’t help but smile at his words, and he can’t help the way your expression makes one of his own tug at his lips. “Bones.”

“Bones?” he repeats, face relaxing in his surprise. his words don’t contain any malice, only a question in its tone.

you nod tentatively, as if awaiting judgement. “When found in the kitchens, a cook tried killing him with a chicken bone.”

his gaze momentarily flickers to the spider as he nods his head, a sort of understanding passing between the wolf and the arachnid. something else is there, too. a fondness for you unfurling in his chest — how you can find beauty in such things; things deemed unwanted by most people.

cregan’s gaze finds you again, and you look at the spider in his hands with such reverence it makes his lips part in silent adoration.

you’ve captured him, he thinks. he’s damned.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price - Bloodbath at the House of Death (1984)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

thank you sooo much for tagging me @drewsephrry!

top 5 current replay songs

dancing through life from wicked

what is this feeling? from wicked

touch by katseye

the wizard and i from wicked

euphoria by kendrick lamar

according to my spotify on repeat!

top 4 pinterest saved pics that describe u

thank god i have a meme board! nothing describes me like random memes do

also let me promo my pinterest lol

top 3 quotes u think about often

the term penetration implies (and reinforces) the idea that sex is from the male perspective. like sex is defined by something a man does to a woman. the opposite might be envelopment or enclosure. can you imagine how different life would be if that's how we referred to sex? if women with linguistically framed as the protagonists of any given sexual scenario, could that potentially mean that a womans orgasm as opposed to a dude's would be seen as the proverbial climax- the ultimate goal? (from the book wordslut: a feminists guide to taking back the english language)

water wrinkles past leaving stones smooth. will we soothe the earth we travel? - anna nissen barrett

its a night when the stars don't align, your shoelaces can't stay tied, it rains, you can't stay dry, you can't find your keys, you don't know what to say, and you find you are in love - some random tumblr post years ago

top 2 lore about yourself that surprises people

ive been to juvi :) i am a very good girl so this often surprises people but tbf it was literally just overnight lol

i grew up reaaaally red neck on a farm

top 1 'hear me out'

everyones hear me outs are sooo tame so maybe im crazy for this but its death/the wolf from puss in boots: the last wish

let me get to know my moots, tag <3

top 5 current replay songs

mine—treasure in the hills by leon thomas, that's why i love you by sir and sabrina claudio, d'evils by sir, replay by tems, and lucid dreams by leon thomas and masego

top 4 pinterest saved pics that describes u

top 3 quotes u think about often

We have yet to understand that if I'm starving, you are in danger. People think that my danger makes them safe. They're in trouble. — James Baldwin

Nothing matters so do what you love and be kind — Everything, Everywhere All At Once (Theme)

In front of my mother and my sisters, I pretend love is cheap and vulgar. I act like it’s a sin–I pretend that love is for women on a dark path. But at night I dream of a love so heavy it makes my spine throb. I dream up a lover who makes love like he is separating salt from water. — Salma Deera

top 2 lore about yourself that surprises people

i had a reputation of fighting people in high school and to not be messed with despite having 0 fights

i got a famous book on wp that had like 700k views lol

top 1 'hear me out'

specifically, the bracket "}"

tagging moots (no pressure <3) @itneverendshere @aliyahwritings @cameronsprincess @starkeysprincess @oceandriveab @nottsangel @nadvs @whytheylosttheirminds @inthelibrarybtw @promiscuousg1rl @sematarygirls and anyone who wants to join!