#I named him Simon Garfunkel

[1134soup]

New interview with Art + Art Jr !!!!!!!!!!!

Finally we got some information on more of Paul’s response to those comments Art made a few years back. It is Real fucked up to call him a monster with a napoleon complex that you wish you never met. But I’m glad they’re working it out

And Art Jr. talking about a hypothetical reunion

[bootleg-nessie]

Rating band names based on their accuracy:

(I keep updating this list so check back later)

The Beatles: 3/10. None of these people are beetles, they’re just a bunch of fruity guys from Liverpool with matching haircuts

(Edit: changed from 0/10 to 3/10 because John Lennon beat his wife)

Pink Floyd: 4/10. There is not a single person named Floyd in the band, but some of the members do arguably look kinda pink

Nirvana: 10/10. Getting high and listening to Nirvana is roughly what I imagine actual nirvana to be like

Foo Fighters: either 0/10 or 10/10. I have never seen foo in real life so either they’re pretending to fight a problem that doesn’t exist or they’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of fighting it

The Eagles: 0/10. Same as the Beatles, there is not a single eagle in this band. The name is misleading and we have all been lied to

Queen: 6/10. Partial points for Freddie Mercury

Led Zeppelin: 0/10. I don’t think any of these guys have ever even seen a zeppelin, let alone one made of lead. A lead balloon would crash faster than my hopes and dreams

The Rolling Stones: 3/10. There is not a single stone in this band. Some points added because I’m pretty sure they rolled quite a few

U2: 0/10. Despite what the name says, I am not a member of this band

Metallica: 9/10. Naming a metal band “Metallica” is like naming your dog “doggy”

Red Hot Chili Peppers: 2/10. These guys are not chili peppers. They’re not even that hot, let alone red hot

Guns N’ Roses: 0/10. How the fuck could a gun or a flower play music

Backstreet Boys: ?/10. Depends entirely on their current given location

Simon and Garfunkel: 10/10. No notes

The Doors: 1/10. Jim Morrison is kinda shaped like a door tho

Chicago: 4/10. The number of people in this band does not come even remotely close to the population of Chicago. Points added because it originated in Chicago

Earth, wind, and fire: 2/10. This is even more innacurate than Chicago. Points added because wind instruments were often used

Def Leppard: 3/10. There is not a single leopard in this band. Some of the members are probably kinda deaf by now tho

The Beach Boys: ?/10. Accuracy depends entirely on location

The Black Eyed Peas: 6/10. Not sure what the hell an ‘eyed pea’ is but the black part is pretty accurate

Imagine Dragons: ?/10. Depends entirely on whether or not they’re thinking about dragons.

Cage the Elephant: 1/10. Why would you do that. Let the elephant go

Green Day: 0/10. They’re not even green

The Police: 0/10. There is not a single cop in this band

KISS: 5/10. I’m sure they probably kissed sometimes

The Monkees: 0/10. Are you fucking kidding me

We Butter the Bread with Butter: 8/10. I can’t verify this but I have no reason to suspect that they’d lie. Butter seems like the most logical thing to butter bread with

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard: 0/10. I got really excited about the concept of a lizard wizard only to be let down. My disappointment is immeasurable

They Might Be Giants: 5/10. I googled everyone in this band’s height, the tallest guy’s only 6’1 so I wouldn’t exactly consider him a giant. Then again, I can’t really argue because the claim was only that they MIGHT be giants

The Presidents of the United States of America: 2/10. None of these people are Joe Biden nor are any of them former presidents. This is incredibly misleading. I’m pretty sure “Lump” was written about my first girlfriend tho so I’ll give them a point or two

Gorillaz: 2/10 Not quite but we’re kinda close genetically so I’ll give them partial credit

The Killers: ?/10. I have no way of verifying if they’ve actually killed before but the fact that they’re not in prison tells me probably not

The Offspring: 10/10. These guys are definitely somebody’s offspring

Arctic Monkeys: 1/10. They are neither monkeys nor are they from the arctic

Thirty Seconds to Mars: 1/10. It takes WAY longer to get to mars than that

Beastie Boys: 8/10. They’re pretty beast on the guitar

Jimmy Eat World: 1/10. Slow the fuck down Jimmy, you’re biting off way more than you can chew

Hole: 9/10. One point deducted because I’m pretty sure they had more than one hole

Rage Against the Machine: 10/10. They did exactly that

Alice In Chains: 0/10. This is illegal. Let Alice go

The Band: 10/10. This could not possibly be more accurate

Nine Inch Nails: 1/10. I can’t find any good pictures of their feet but from what I can tell their fingernails definitely aren’t nine inches long

Bush: ?/10. Not quite sure about this one, felt uncomfortable asking

The Who: 2/10. I’m not dealing with this “Who’s On First” bullshit

Radiohead: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a radio for a head

Queens of the Stone Age: 0/10. This band should be called “five random dudes from the modern era” but FRDFTMA is a bit of a mouthful

Soundgarden: 2/10. Sound does not grow in the garden

Sonic Youth: 5/10. They’re not exactly youth anymore but the sonic part checks out

Talking heads: 8/10. There’s more to the band than just a bunch of disembodied heads but the heads do tend to talk

The Cranberries: 0/10. Decent music but I only added them so that the Beatles and Freddie Mercury weren’t the only fruits on this list

The Wiggles: 8/10. They do tend to wiggle a lot

Blue Man Group: 10/10. Yep!

Weezer: 5/10. They all look like they definitely have asthma

Limp Bizkit: 3/10. While the visual image of baked goods playing the guitar is hilarious, Fred durst is not a biscuit. Points added because he probably has erectile dysfunction

Stone Temple Pilots: 0/10. None of these people are accredited as being licensed to pilot anything, much less an entire stone temple. Stone temples don’t need pilots anyways

Wasted Youth: 8/10. I guess it really kinda depends on how you frame it but yeah, they probably wasted a lot of it

Them Crooked Vultures: 3/10. These are people and not birds but Dave Grohl’s posture is kinda bad and John Paul Jones is so old that his neck kinda looks like a vulture’s so I added some points

Audioslave: 0/10. Slavery is illegal

Traveling Wilburys: 4/10. Sure, they traveled a lot but not a single one of those lying bastards was named Wilbury

D12: 6/12. There were only 6 people in this band

NWA: 10/10. I’m a little too white to safely comment on this one but I’d say they nailed it

Jet: 1/10. A real jet would be way too loud

Goldfinger: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a finger made out of gold

No Doubt: ?/10. I can’t really be too sure how Gwen Stefani felt but I think it’s probably a safe assumption that she had some doubts

The White Stripes: 3/10. I bet if you stripped them down naked and made them stand shoulder to shoulder and squinted really hard they’d probably look more like white stripes

Screaming trees: 3/10. They scream occasionally

Garbage: 2/10. I think they’re being a little harsh on themselves, their music isn’t THAT bad

Butthole Surfers: 5/10. Not even gonna touch this one

Megadeth: 3/10. To be fair, some of the former members are dead but only a little amount of death, not mega death

Dead Kennedys: 2/10. Last I checked Kennedy was still dead but neither he nor his clones are members of this band

Cake: 0/10. The cake is a lie

Cracker: 8/10. Most of them are

Tool: 7/10. I don’t know much about their music but they sure look like tools

Counting Crows: ?/10. Is this what emo kids do instead of counting sheep? Accuracy depends on whatever bird they happen to be counting at the moment

Dave Matthews Band: 10/10. It certainly is

Oasis: 1/10. Their music is the opposite of an oasis

Blur: 2/10. They are not that fast

Barenaked Ladies: 0/10. If I wanted to be this disappointed I’d reestablish a connection with my biological father instead

Meat Puppets: 10/10. Technically, aren’t we all?

Live: 8/10. Apparently they still do live shows but I deducted some points because I’ve only ever heard their music on Spotify

ABBA: 9/10. I’m still not giving any points to Guns N’ Roses but that’s mostly out of spite

5 Finger Death Punch: 8/10 I guess it probably depends on how hard you hit them but this seems to be the usual amount of fingers to punch somebody with

All American Rejects: 9/10. They’re all rejects from America so I don’t really see any issue with this

T. Rex: 0/10. Even if any of these people WAS a T. Rex I don’t think their arms would be long enough to play their instruments

Free: 0/10. Unless you steal their music, in which case it becomes a 10/10

The Strokes: 3/10. To my knowledge, none of them have had a stroke but I still added a few points because the name was probably accurate for other reasons

The Smashing Pumpkins ?/10. Another thing I have no way of verifying but this seems like a waste of perfectly good pumpkins

Therapy?: ?/10. The hell are they asking me for? I don’t know their medical history

Twenty One Pilots. 0/10. There’s only two of them and neither is a licensed pilot

Finger Eleven: 0/10. Leave the poor Stranger Things girl out of this

Fall Out Boy: 9/10. I conferred with an expert on this one who confirmed that they are in fact boys who had a falling out

Cream: 8/10. Considering this was the OG supergroup I’m sure a lot of people did in fact cream when their music came out

Edit: humans aren’t fucking monkeys. Stop saying we are

[intothedysphoria]

Steve wasn’t sure which was worse. That the nightmares had started again or that Dustin had developed an obsession with Simon and Garfunkel.

Things had consistently been off since 1983 but they’d quickly gotten far, far worse since their latest trip to The Upside Down.

Dustin had brought back an eel. At least Steve thought it was an eel. He hoped it was an eel.

It was in a glass tank above Dustins bed, it had a foul temper and ever since it had entered Hawkins, strange and awful things had started happening to Neil Hargrove.

Steve didn’t feel sorry for the man, he was an asshole.

It was the fruit going bad after two hours on the shelf he was concerned about. The scorch marks on the grass. The nightmares.

It was always the same. There was a boy his age, with golden hair, running through a field. He’d fall deep into a well then Steve would wake up.

The boys name was Billy. Steve wasn’t sure how he knew this. He just did.

The eel started to grow. It had a particular fondness for Cherry Coke and Max for some reason. Why Dustin was feeding it Cherry Coke, Steve had no idea.

The day the eel got too big for its cage was the day Steve had a genuine fear of reliving the Dart situation.

Of course, that coincided with the nightmares getting worse. Well, some of them included him having sex with Billy, so maybe he was having a sexuality crisis. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The well continued to plague his dreams as well. Deep and cavernous, it swallowed Steve time and time again.

There was only one thing for it. Steve was going to talk to the eel.

Maybe dragon was more apt at that point. The eel had grown ten times overnight and stared at him from a roof with clear blue eyes.

Billy’s eyes.

The dreams shifted after that. Billy started talking to him. Really talking to him.

He was eighteen years old, he was Max’s missing older brother and he’d fallen into a cursed well. No he wasn’t really a dragon, no he wasn’t a demogorgon and yes, he was gay.

He gave this delicious little wink to Steve before the dream shattered apart.

Of course the well was a fucking portal to The Upside Down. Steve had no idea what exactly had happened to Billy but he borrowed every single folklore book from the library.

There didn’t seem to be an answer. At least not at first.

There was one book that said Billy needed to be faced with his greatest torment. Only then he could be free.

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Neil Hargrove wasn’t exactly smart. It hadn’t taken Steve much work to lure him out into the woods, just a few goads. Just enough to get to the hill that Billy had made his home (much to Dustin’s grumbling disappointment). He was also very loud

Billy took one look at Neil and ripped out his heart.

Then he collapsed, shimmering and shrinking as his body changed into something altogether more human than before.

The eighteen year old that lay before Steve was toned, with golden skin and hair and a tattoo of a skull on one arm.

He blinked at Steve, obviously dazed, then held out a weak hand and an obviously rehearsed smirk.

“Hey sexy, wanna go out sometime?”

Steve would not be held responsible for the tears that started to run down his cheeks.

They did go out. Eventually. Once Billy had healed.

And Steve only found the occasional dragon scale in the shower.

*Loosely based the Northumbrian folktale The Lampton Wyrm and I mean LOOSELY*

For @harringroveobsessed

[eatommo]

Kisses of Fire [j.m.]

Summary: You and Joel get caught up in a champagne-filled domestic dream, and your impulses are too strong to resist. Aka, you and Joel sing and dance in the kitchen until you can't deny your feelings any longer.

C.w: slight dub con because of alcohol consumption, mentions of parental loss, age gap (reader is in her 20s), unprotected pinv, lots of praise, pet names, Joel is a sweet talker, fluffy dancing and cooking with Joel, size kink?, creampie, squirting, oral sex (f receive), mentions of oral sex (m receive), breeding kink if you squint, mutual pining?, idk I probably missed some let me know!

A/n: Hello! I am alive! I started a new job and it's been pretty crazy but I am pleased to bring you my first Joel Miller fic and my first contribution to the Dbf!joel subgenre that has been one my favorites lately. enjoy!

~3.5k

“Joel, the sauce is going to burn.” you stumble through a laugh, trying to focus the little clarity of your mind on the chicken browning in your ceramic pan. He had insisted on opening a glass of champagne to congratulate you on your new job. It was sweet and dry, exactly what you liked, and it went down easy.

You were sitting around the coffee table gushing and hardly letting the man get a word out, and then he asked if you were hungry, and well you hadn't yet eaten and with your stomach growling at his words, he was very insistent.

In truth, you'd always looked out for each other, you'd help pick up Sarah from school, on occasion try new recipes in his much larger kitchen, and in turn, he'd fix your sink leak, install a new shower head, or even build you a new coffee table.

Here standing in his kitchen you felt so comfortable, stirring the pasta with one hand and rummaging through his cabinets for oregano with the other. It could've been the alcohol or the decade-long crush on the older man that was driving you wild.

With a rush of melody, you realized where he disappeared as the fun rhythmic beat of Be My Baby echoes through the living room and into the kitchen. Joel's words barely call above the song, “Oldies okay?”

You turn to answer him, only to catch him jamming out to the song behind you as he strides cool as a cucumber back into the kitchen. “More than okay.” You’re beaming, enjoying the music and the laid-back demeanor of his slight dance and groove.

You've cherished the few moments of joy since your father passed away a few years ago, singing with him and Sarah in the car, bullying Joel onto a rollercoaster, and summertime BBQs complete with movie marathons.

This felt different. Not only was Sarah noticeably absent, but there was an electric hum of something between you, it was almost palpable. Chalking it up to the alcohol, you settle back into your rhythm of taking care of the food in front of you with extra sway to your hips and occasionally singing into the wooden spoon like a microphone.

Joel returns to your side, stirring the thick sauce before grabbing a spoon from a drawer and tasting it. He moans around the cheap metal, throwing his head back in exaggerated ecstasy.

Hoping the heat from the stove disguises your blush, you carefully accept a spoonful he offers you after he cools with a few quick purses of his lips, humming in agreement.

“What did you say this recipe was called?” When he's been drinking, his Texan drawl lengthens, and you swallow around the lump in your throat, lord have mercy.

“Marry me chicken? It's said to get a man to marry you on its own…” you try and let your voice trail off as he grabs a colander and begins to strain the noodles for you, and before you can think you add, “I thought it would be good practice.”

You catch something in his face as he looks toward you, now mouthing the words to a song by Simon and Garfunkel, but your brain is a little too fuzzy to dissect it completely. Turning off the heat, you quickly add bacon and parmesan before tossing the chicken and sauce mixture on top of Joel's freshly strained pasta.

He hovers over you like he hasn't eaten for days, grumbling something about sweet torture as you garnish his bowl with freshly grated cheese. Turning your attention to the table you see a second bottle of champagne adorning a small dining set, and your flukes full and awaiting your attention, and your blush returns, what is happening to you?

Dismissing himself to turn the music lower, you set his plate down and settle into your chair beside his. Briefly, you consider refusing another glass, you were supposed to drive home, but his slightly tousled curls and the nonplussed smirk on his face as he walks into your field of vision wash over your body like a cool shower on a hot Austin evening, refreshing, revitalizing, and rewarding you with his simplistic beauty.

The way his eyes fell to yours with each silly verse, speaking to each moment you’ve swooned over him in private and cementing the swell of your heart. He sits and you both immediately dive into the food, moaning in unison at the salty and creamy flavor. “I get it.”

“For sure.” You confirm, shoveling more into your mouth as delicately as you can in your haste. “I’ll keep it in my back pocket for sure.” You both laugh and reach for your champagne for a toast.

“To the luckiest man in the world.” This time, he does a piss poor job of covering his shock, and you don’t dare let the moment slip from your grasp, setting your fork down, and reaching to settle your hand on his forearm, tenderly running your fingers over the rough-tanned skin.

The affection seems to coach a weight from his shoulders, as the tension in them drops and he meets your eyes with a deep and wicked sense of playfulness. Holding his gaze, and touching the lips of the flukes together you smile innocently, and hum as the cool bubbles coat your tongue and lift your confidence higher with every passing moment.

In a flash you feel the energy in the room shift, as silence flirtatious eye contact is shared between smaller sips of champagne and groans of delight, you find your eyes lingering longer on the base of his throat and the purse of his lips around the tip of the glass.

In your stupor you miss his devilish grin, he’s chasing the feeling of your gaze on his skin, drinking in the slip of your guard, and suddenly the incredible food you prepared for him is not nearly enough to sate him.

It’s his turn to stare, watching as your lips part in a soft pant as he takes a lingering swig from his glass, imagining how delicious this could pair with the taste of your pussy. Fuck, he’s so hopeless, you could talk him into anything, yet you sit and torture yourself undressing him with your eyes and practically projecting your dirty thoughts onto his chest.

When your eyes meet again your breath catches in your throat, some snarky comment you bury beneath the burning fire on your cheeks. “Joel…” it’s an invitation, a plea, and your heart stands still in its cage in the breath between your words and his mouth on yours.

His beard and moustache are rough against your lips, but the kiss is hungry, and not nearly as vulnerable as you feel. It's a clash of tongues and teeth, your bodies are drawn together like the world is stitching them together with desperate rough movements.

You can taste the rich sweet champagne on his tongue as it drags over yours, tilting your head back with a soft hand on your throat. Standing to his feet, he breaks the kiss with a reluctance you feel, but he’s ushering the plates off the table in a single trip, setting them on the counter to be dealt with later. The complaint dies in your throat, as you let your brain devour him in a primal sense. The broad expanse of his chest rising and falling in heavy needy breath, the veins in his neck as he tilts his head to return the same hungry stare, you don’t make it past his biceps before his hands are on your sides, directing you to stand but only for a mere second as your practically lifted onto the kitchen table.

His mouth is on yours again, hot and determined, your mind is made up, and he can feel it in each little whine he swallows. Confidence surges through him, bolstered by the hum of alcohol in his system, and he leans over you guiding you to your back, while he slots himself between your legs.

You part them quickly, wanting to feel him pressed against you more than you want to breathe, and rather than following you he kisses down the smooth skin of your calves and begins working on the button of your shorts, yanking them up and off with a dexterity that would surprise you had it been anyone else.

The thin cotton panties are not your first choice of sexy intimates, but it doesn’t seem to phase him as his gaze holds at the growing wet spot pooling in the fabric. His index fingers ghost over the seam of your pussy. “Are you sure?” He kisses the words across your skin, moving along the inside of your thighs as his stubble draws the nerves in your skin taught.

You blink your eyes a few times, almost not believing and basking in the warmth of his breath. Your mouth falls open in a pant as you throw your head back onto the table, in any other circumstance it would've hurt. “Yes…Joel…please.” Each word takes a lungful of air worth of effort.

There's a dark chuckle as if taunting you for being so pathetic, as he nibbles on the skin of your inner thigh, you feel goosebumps spread across all your skin, unaware if it's from shame or the heat of his mouth muttering sweet nothings into your skin.

“So pretty,” he coos letting two fingers trace over your slick panties, “Spread out on my table for me,” he presses harder but slows his movements to a beautifully slow taunt, “A fucking meal.”

The chair moves sharply back with his movement, as he pulls your underwear to the side and licks at your hole for his first taste. His mouth is feverish in appetite, licking and sucking and caressing each part of your sex, the assault is overwhelming at first, the movements so erratic you’re unable to focus on anything but trying to breathe. Cantering your hips against his mouth his rough palm stalls one of your thighs from closing, the hand is firm and warm commanding you to obey in just its presence. “More,” you beg, again the pleasure dulled as he slowed to listen.

His free hand goes to the waistband of your underwear running along its length and tickling the skin, before you feel a rough tug at the fabric and hear the tearing sound before you can even comprehend what’s happened. The fabric disappears and the soft table mat you are perched on protects you from the cool wood of the table. He mumbles more things into the flesh of your mound, and he kisses at the exposed skin of your hips, “Sweet little thing.”

You throw a hand over your eyes, losing yourself to the embraces and brushes of pleasure he showers you in. He settles back between your legs, pinning them to your chest with his arm and working two fingers slowly into your tight heat. The stretch is pleasant, and he lets his tongue lave over the top of your sex. “Joel.” You whimper feeling his knuckles curl inwards brushing against a bundle of nerves that has your vision lulling white. Each stroke feels like it's pulling your soul from your body, and an unfamiliar pressure builds as he coaxes the orgasm to the surface with his tongue swirling over your clit.

You explode, soaking the table and his hungry waiting mouth feeling the clear gush of liquid pool beneath you and coat your thighs. “Oh god, I’m sorry I-” you stammer, not having experienced this yourself before.

Joel’s attention snaps to your eyes, “Don’t.” It's a warning, his eyes dark and muddled with something animalistic you’ve only seen when he’s angry. “You’re going to do it again.” he sits straight, and you realize he’s still fully dressed as he stands on his feet, dwarfing you against the table, undoing the length of his belt.

Unsure if your breathing is coming fast or if he is moving slowly, undoing the buttons of his flannel, and exposing skin that you’ve seen countless times before, but as each button is freed and his shirt spills open, you struggle to keep your breath even. Thick tanned skin, soft to the touch but cords of practical muscle run through his pecks, and down his well-defined biceps hold your eyes still, as your heart clips away steadily. You mumble something about his muscles, fawning over him like you’ve done so many times before, but unafraid to get caught this time.

He peers down at you, maintaining eye contact through your spread thighs as you lay waiting gawking at him like you always have, the loose leather of his belt is tugging the jeans down his hips slightly exposing the soft flesh of his stomach and the feather-light trail of hair disappearing below his jeans. He longed to reduce you to a babbling drooling mess, he wanted to mark your skin his and fill you so full his traces would linger on your cunt for days. Days, he knew it wouldn’t be easy to stop, he felt like he was running downhill and his legs were jelly beneath him, hurtling towards some sort of self-destructive meltdown. But the sweet tang of you lingering in his mouth, splashed across his chest, on his dining room table.

You were perfect, even more so than he thought possible. He ached, the jeans strangling his thick cock, he longed to free himself and sink into you. “Come here.” he stepped closer, back between the welcome squeeze of your thighs, and he wondered if he would need a new table.

You sat up barely even with his chest and when you're close enough he brings you in for a deep and filthy kiss, giving you a chance to taste your slick from his tongue and to groan as your hand settles over the hard length of his cock in his pants. You allow a finger to trace over the outline surprised when your hand keeps finding more of him to play with, fighting the urge to squeak in delight as each kiss grows in fervor.

If Joel hadn't suggested otherwise, you would've happily been fucked to bliss on the table, but as one of his hands falls to cup the supple flesh of your ass you're lifted into his sturdy arms. Now even this isn't a first, but your cunt is pressed flat to the ripped muscles of his abdomen and you can't help but trail feather-like kisses and nips across the thin skin covering his Adam's apple, half tempted to suck a bruise into his skin as he whines lowly into hair.

He traverses the stairs with ease, fingers squeezing and playing with your ass as he does so. As you enter his room, he leans in for another searing desperate kiss, nipping and tugging on your bottom lip almost painfully slow.

The bed is plush, more so than you expect, the sheets feel cool and inviting as you settle into them, not daring to turn your attention away from Joel for a second. The moon is the only light in the room, but it's bright enough for you to drool over the large bulge he reveals as he shucks his jeans.

“Something you want darlin?” that all-knowing chuckle, call your attention to his face, always handsome but there's a depravity and a hunger in his eyes that is a little bit intimidating.

“I-” You struggle to decide what exactly it is you want to do, part of you wants to let him lay down and have you suck his cock dry, and the other part wants to see you bent in half stuffed full of his cum.

Your stumble only brings another dry chastising chuckle, “Don’t worry honey, I'll take care of you.” His dark boxers leave little to the imagination, the fabric pulled tight across him as the curve of his cock is pinned to the curve of his hip. He’s huge, bigger than you could’ve dreamed, and by the looks of it nice and thick, you would be happily limping around in the morning.

He plants his hands next to your legs, crawling up your body until he’s even with your mouth, his skin radiating heat and his mouth meets yours once more. The taste of you is still lingering in his mouth, spurring you on.

The clothed hardness of him presses against you, insistent and delightfully relieving the tortuous pressure building at your core. You run your hands against the muscles of his back, at first gently caressing but as his teeth skim your pulse you dig into the flesh with your nails. “Joel…” you whimper, knowing if he wanted to drag this any further you'd have no choice but to beg, there's something so addictive to his power and the way he looks at you. He knows what he's doing to you, he knows the way you shift your hips to grind against him is a silent plea, he wishes he could withhold longer, but each hitch in your breath coaxes more precome spilling into his boxers, he hasn't been this hard since he was a teenager.

He hushes you, soothing you with a hand running over your hair, and shoves his boxers down to free himself. He lets the weight of his cock slide over your sex, the thick head catching deliciously on your clit and allowing it to get coated in what's left of your cum. You both groan into another kiss, “Condom?” The question shocks you into reality briefly, but you quickly shake your head no, not bothering an attempt to form any words.

You swear you hear a whimper in his half-lidded chuckle, but you try to focus on the feeling of his body pressing against yours, the heat of him and the rich smell of his skin the taste of his mouth as he kisses you through a few more lazy strokes.

He runs a calloused hand over the soft skin of your throat before sliding it around and into the hair at the back of your neck, tilting your eyes to his As he lines up and slides in a single brutal thrust. Your body tenses at the stretch, but the pleasure is immense and Joel's mouth parts in a pant so beautifully you crack a wickedly seductive smile.

As he begins to canter his hips, his grip on your hair gets tighter, holding your eyes to his, his pelvis grinds delectably against your clit, as the ridges of his cock and the angle of his hips drag along your walls. You wonder if you'd been able to take it if it hadn't been Joel, you don't think you've ever been this fucked out in your life. He presses your legs slightly further apart nudging at your cervix, and grounding down.

The orgasm rips through you before you know it, the shake in your legs and your panted obscenities only encourage him further. “Fuck, good girl,” your hips love on their own grinding up fucking yourself through the climax as a second wave of white-hot pleasure soaks his abdomen and your thighs, “So good baby.”

Your head drops, body limp and wrecked he kisses along your cheeks and forehead, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

He moves quicker than you can register what's happening, his boxers are on the floor and suddenly you are straddled over his lap dropping down onto his cock as he buries his face in your tits. Tongue drags deliciously over your nipples as he lets you adjust to the new angle, you rest your head on top of his, kissing his sweat-damp hair and rocking your hips slowly. You didn't think he could feel any bigger, each slight rock nudges almost painfully against your cervix, words no longer forming in your brain and breath escaping in squeaks.

You let yourself get caught up in the moans and praise failing out of Joel nonsensically, the drag of his stubble on your skin overstimulating, you bear down on him and shiver as you hear the hitches in his breathing. “Where?” you almost miss it, his voice is hoarse, desperate, strained even.

“Cum inside me.” you can't suppress the smirk, “I want it.” It's your turn to pull his head back, looking deep into the rich dark brown eyes as they admire you, he chews on his lip. His shoulders hunch as you feel him twitch, his grip tightening on your hips as he uses the last bit of his strength to bounce you on his lap and fuck up into you as he cums deep and hard into your wrecked swollen pussy.

You suppress a shutter, you feel like you're made of gelatin and you slump against his body, going completely slack.

He waits a few moments to collect his wits and allows you both to catch your breath. “Should I start a shower?” You laugh, hoping to skirt over any sort of rebuff.

“Sure,” he massages the flesh of your ass, “I'll take care of the leftovers.” You're overwhelmed with a sense of relief, both letting out a massive sigh at the same time, and laughing once you make eye contact again. You feel his heartbeat against your chest and lean in for another kiss, the complicated stuff can come later, but the smile he gives you as he tilts his chin up slightly for the kiss, makes you feel like it's all going to be more than you could've dreamed of.

Part 2

[astrronomemes]

THE SECRET HISTORY: STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 1992 novel The Secret History by Donna Tartt. change & alter as needed.

"I suppose, at one time in my life, I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell."

"If there's one thing I'm good at, it's lying on my feet. It's a sort of gift I have."

"I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive."

"He can't be all that elitist if he accepted me."

"Well, if he doesn't know, I'm not going to tell him."

"No person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us."

"Bloody, terrible things are sometimes the most beautiful."

"Let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones... then spit us out, reborn."

"I mean to say, [name] is a handsome fellow and a sterling character, but I wouldn't want to marry him, would I?"

"You had better watch out. I've heard some weird shit about those people."

"You're always saying that, [name], but I just don't think it's true."

"[Name], put me down. I'm bleeding all over you."

"You shouldn't push your friends away like that. The best friends you'll ever have are the ones you're making right now."

"I told you, I don't have any friends here."

"I think it's good to change the place where one sleeps from time to time. It gives one more interesting dreams."

"I mean, he's not what you think. Or what [name] thinks, or anybody else. For a while there, he had me fooled but good."

"The appeal to stop being yourself, even for a little while, is very great."

"You're being so nice about this. I feel awfully embarrassed by the whole thing."

"Well, you may or may not know this, but [name] is a little jealous of you."

"Jesus, [name], you know everything. You make me sick."

"They say the same about arsenic, but I wouldn't like to try it."

"Anything I do will be dangerous, you know."

"What do you and [name] need a secret code for?"

"A person can do an awful lot of talking in twelve hours."

"If we keep it as casual as possible, no one will give us a second glance. People don't pay attention to ninety percent of what they see."

"Really, there's nothing to worry about. It seems risky, but if you look at it logically, it couldn't be safer."

"Who do you think [name] would be more apt to believe?"

"Forgive me for being blunt, but if you think you have any influence over [name], you're sadly mistaken. He's not particularly fond of you, and if I may speak plainly, he never has been."

"There were some things you had to know, I suppose, but I feel I've done you a disservice by involving you this far."

"What is unthinkable is undoable."

"Anyway, you want to come to this party?"

"You idiot. Did you know your shirt is on inside out?"

"I had a dream tonight. You were in it."

"I need more than coffee."

"I'm embarrassed that people will think we went to see such bad movies."

"He knows we're lying. He just doesn't know what we're lying about."

"I prefer to think of it as a redistribution of matter."

"These guys will chop you up and put you in a garbage bag for twenty bucks."

"You know, we've done a terrible thing."

"You know, I'm really not attracted to you."

"Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale."

"You look as if you were in a barroom brawl."

"People get upset, all of a sudden they want to listen to old hippie garbage they would never listen to if they were in their right mind. When my cat died, I had to go out and borrow all these Simon & Garfunkel records."

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask, what did you do to your eye?"

"Murder is pollution. The murderer defiles everyone he comes into contact with. And the only way to purify blood is through blood."

"You amaze me. You think nothing exists if you can't see it."

"He loved you, too. He would have wanted you to know that. You know that, don't you, dear?"

"Do you think I should go to the hospital?"

"I didn't take anything. You know very well I didn't."

"I would've told them anything if I thought they'd send me home."

"I mean, I've been drinking a bit more than I should. I'm the first to admit that."

"I never brought your name up, man. I hardly fucking know you. But they got it from somewhere. And it wasn't from me."

"Look at [name]. Don't you just love him? If he called me up and asked me to marry him, I would do it in, like, one second."

"Is death really so terrible a thing? It seems terrible to you, because you are young, but who is to say he is not better off now than you are? Or — if death is a journey to another place — that you will not see him again?"

"I'm not taking sides. I just think whatever you're doing, you picked a bad time to do it."

"[Name], it's none of my business, but I hope for God's sake you know what you're doing."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you have to make things so hard for everybody?!"

"You don't feel a great deal of emotion for other people, do you?"

"My life, for the most part, has been very stale and colorless. Dead, I mean. The world has always been an empty place to me."

"I know I said earlier that he was perfect, but he wasn't perfect. Far from it — he could be silly and vain and remote and often cruel, and still, we loved him, in spite of, because."

"Flesh and blood are frail and weak, and there comes a time when we have to transcend our teachers."

"I loved him more than my own father. I loved him more than anyone in the world."

"I don't care what happens to him. I don't care if he dies. I wish he was dead."

"[Name] can't hurt you. You're perfectly safe out here."

"Kidnap is not the word that I would use."

"So, you've come to kill me?"

"If you want to shoot me, [name], go ahead and do it. It'll be the stupidest thing you ever did in your life."

"The stupidest thing I ever did in my life was listening to you."

"I managed to get out of taking my French exams next week, due to the very excellent excuse of having a gunshot wound to the stomach."

"Forgive me, for all the things I did, but mostly for the ones I did not."

"You know, everybody is saying that you're dead."

"Are you happy here?"

[doctorcurdlejr]

Riverdale characters and their opinions on granking it

Archie -> supports Veronica and Jughead, doesn't listen to MCR all that much, and therefore takes the neutral stance that whatever his friends say is probably true and those men are divorced (was half listening to anything ever said to him)

Betty -> yeah go ahead and clock the peter pan collar with CoverGirl lipstick dramatically smeared off her face that's a MCR fan. Well known bisexual but deeply homophobic, therefore anybody who even mentions grank is a freak. YES she makes that disgusted look if somebody even mentions rpf, tries to tone it down for Veronica. Once got curious and read a 100k grank fem au, printed it out, ate a page, and then set it on fire at 2am.

Veronica -> Catholic 💥 Bisexual 💥 Dresses frequently in dark colors 💥 Casually morbid 💥 Loves theater 💥 not only does she grank it but my girl puts on her reading glasses to scroll through old live journal posts like she's a hardboiled detective ready to lock into the facts of the matter. "Jughead I could use another pair of eyes on this" it's 240p footage of those men fighting on stage. She keeps sending lesbo grank fics to Betty followed by "lol sorry meant for Jug." To which Betty responds "V. 😑"

Jughead -> [11am] violently typing a reply on a google doc for his creative writing class "I take offense at your claim that this is derivative of Velvet Goldmine just because I'm playing with similar themes. As to your second point, Cheryl, this band is an entirely fictional amalgamation meant to represent how our culture interfaced with the purely symbolic icons of the era." [2pm] "You're totally right, Bets. Really wish people could just appreciate the artistry and think more meaningfully about the MESSAGE." [10pm] sitting at his typewriter in Veronica's speakeasy where an entire diagram is laid out before him "This goes beyond stage gay. I'm sure of it."

Cheryl -> TO MX. G: Visiting fabulous Cali for the next fortnight. May I place Julian in your care for an evening? Have been absolutely overwhelmed with requests to visit darling Rosy. Whatever day works best, I understand scheduling so last minute may be difficult with your various dalliances. Ta!

Toni -> Once a regular contributor to Friends of Frerard night at the speakeasy, but suspiciously stopped all attendance after a vacation with Cheryl.

Kevin -> couldn't even tell you a band member's name but, in an attempt to be included in a conversation about homosexuality, once showed up at the speakeasy and laughingly asked Veronica if it was anything like Simon & Garfunkel. Before she could respond Jughead threw a copy of What is it All But Luminous at his head and told him to get out if he couldn't even be bothered to hold himself to their same level of base academic rigour.

[ingravinoveritas]

How did u feel with the age gap question was it pr or do u really think he meant it and this was the truth

This is referring to the question asked on The Assembly last night. I'll post the clip here, for those who haven't seen it yet:

A lot of what I felt while watching this was touched on in this incredibly thoughtful post from @body-face-words, so I encourage folks to give that a read. But I think for me, when it comes to Michael's answer, it's not a matter of whether he lied or told the truth. It's that his response was sweet, but it was also a version of the truth that sounded convincing because it needed to, because this was not a time or place where he could say what he actually felt.

I'm really not sure what people expected him to say, in all honesty, as he was never going to say anything that would make him or Anna look bad, and especially not anything that could potentially negatively impact the kids, so he instead gave a very perfect PR answer. This again does not come as a surprise because we know Michael has scripted his answers about AL/their relationship in the past, but I noticed how careful he was in his response, which seems to contrast with how off-the-cuff he normally is when discussing every other subject. Part of what so many of us love about Michael is how unfiltered he is and always has been, with the exception of how much he filters and edits himself when talking about Anna.

It also seemed like, at least from my perspective, that Michael answered the question without answering the question. What the girl asked wasn't so much about the age gap, but about AL being five years older than Michael's daughter Lily, and it would've been a perfect opportunity for him to mention her, or how the relationship with AL affected his and Lily's relationship. He could've talked about the falling out he had with her (and Kate) in 2019 once AL's existence/pregnancy came to light, and what has happened in the years since, or how Lily now gets along with Anna/her half-sisters. But instead Michael deflected from all of that and talked about everything while saying nothing at the same time.

It was also the things Michael didn't say that stood out as much as the things he did. In the entire answer to the question, Michael never once used the word "love." Prior to the show airing, I saw a lot of people online confident that he would say that he loves Anna, but he never did. He never praised her, never talked about the things he loves about her, or how glad he is to be with her. He never once mentioned her by name. The pivot and focus was on the kids, and there was a clear distinction made between how happy he is to have the family he does, rather than to be in the relationship that he is in. Michael's use of the phrase "very happy" was also identical to the wording of a comment AL wrote on Instagram the other day, which added to the whole "reinforcing a public narrative" feeling of his response.

I think what struck me most of all, though, was how somber and heavyhearted Michael sounded while saying how happy he is. It reminded me of the song "I Am a Rock" by Simon & Garfunkel, where the upbeat and cheerful music contrasts starkly with the fraught, angry lyrics. There was no sparkle in Michael's eyes when he said it, no enthusiasm for what he was saying (which is particularly jarring when we know Michael has the capacity for incredible enthusiasm), and his face never lit up while he was talking.

There was one specific moment (which is also highlighted in the body language post) where he seemed to visibly wince and the micro-expressions were in overdrive, and it immediately made me think of a moment from Good Omens:

Time and again, I have seen fans talk about Michael's micro-expressions as an actor and how he uses them to such devastating effect (especially in the role of Aziraphale). And while these two moments are not completely identical, the idea of ignoring how Michael uses those same micro-expressions in real life makes no sense to me at all. In this instance, what we're seeing could be either because he has put so much of himself into Aziraphale that we can now recognize those "Michael" moments...or it could be because in both clips he is performing, albeit for different reasons.

The difference between Michael when he is doing this vs. when he is being genuinely himself is made even more apparent by the question immediately following this one. Unprompted, he brings up David, and the change in his expression and demeanor is swift and dramatic:

Having the mention of David happen so soon after the AL question seemed to highlight so many things. I can't help but feel that David is a security blanket for Michael, something he hides behind when he is feeling anxious or sad or overwhelmed. I wondered if perhaps he was even already thinking of David while answering the AL question, which would explain why he named him so readily--as if his mind needed to drift to someplace else just to finish answering that question.

To me, this made it abundantly clear that David is Michael's safe place. Here was where we saw Michael's eyes sparkling. Here was where we saw him light up from the inside. And it was David he kept returning to and bringing up during the rest of the show in response to other questions. So if that doesn't speak volumes about where Michael's heart seems to be, I'm not sure what does.

So yes, those are my thoughts on Michael answering the age gap question on The Assembly. As always, this is just my interpretation, but I am glad to hear from my followers with your take as well. Thanks for writing in! x

[paul-simon-juggling]

Whatever spiritual level he has ascended to, he's having the same religious experience as he was on The Boxer in The Concert at Central Park (which makes me think that they're singing it but who knows.)

Art: What a night!

Paul: Aummmmmmm. What an orgasmic song.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Tea for Two

Amelia Shepherd x g!nreader* Warnings: some explicit language, just hella fluff, seriously so much fluff, mentions of hospitalization (duh) Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: You go to Grey-Sloan Memorial once a week to hang out with the kids on the pediatrics floor, but more and more you find yourself going there for one particular doctor: Amelia Shepherd. But can you work up the courage to make a move? And if you can, will she reciprocate?

*Reader & Gender. Gender is a slippery, tricky thing. I feel like I kind of straddle the line between being a girl and being nonbinary, so my x reader perspectives will shift depending on which I'm feeling more that day. But please feel free to insert whatever pronouns/gender identity fit you best! I try to keep descriptions of the reader to a minimum so you can see yourself in them regardless. <3

You checked in at the front desk of Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital and pressed your guest-pass name tag onto your shirt. You had your instrument case on your back, and several familiar nurses waved at you as you made your way to the elevator and up to the pediatrics floor. You were there for your weekly music hour with the kids. It had started last summer, when your brother had open heart surgery and spent a month of the pediatrics floor. You'd often brought your instrument to play and sing his favorite songs for him and, more often than not, other kids on the floor would crowd his room and request songs and sing with you.

By the time your brother had gone home with a clean bill of health, you'd gotten attached to the kids, to the nurses who wheeled patients into the rooms you played in. You went home with song requests and learned how to play Encanto and the Bluey theme song and Simon & Garfunkel for them. It had quickly become one of your favorite parts of the week.

And not just because of the kids. Of course, there were always doctors around, but most of the time there was one particular doctor around, and you both loved and hated it.

"Dr. Shepherd," she'd told you, on the third or fourth post-concert elevator ride which, for whatever reason, you almost always ended up on together. "Or, well, Amelia. I'm not your doctor."

"Y/N," you'd replied, shaking her hand like an idiot businessman. God, she was pretty. You hoped you didn't look as flustered as you were.

"Are you on Spotify?" she asked.

You laughed loudly, eyes crinkling shut. "No! No, it's just for fun."

"Well, you're really good at it," Amelia finished, as the elevator opened on the floor before yours.

"Thanks," you said, trying your very hardest to make eye contact.

"See you next week?"

"Yep," you nodded.

"Cool." She gave you a double thumbs-up and walked out the elevator doors.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, turning back to hold the door open. She pointed at you. "Pronouns? Mine are she/her."

A bright smile flashed across your face. "They/them. Thanks for asking."

"You got it." Another thumbs up, and she was gone. You sighed. Pretty and asked about your pronouns? It was gonna be really hard to convince yourself you didn't like her now.

Amelia was there next week. And the next. And the next. Always in the back. Always in the elevator with you afterward. And you just talked. Never for more than a few minutes. But those few minutes added up after a while. You learned that she was Chief of Neurosurgery. That she'd grown up in New York. That she lived with her sisters and her nieces and nephew. That she loved boba tea and cats.

One day, in a moment of reckless confidence, you stopped at Seattle Best Tea on your way to Grey-Sloan and picked up two boba teas, one for you and one for Amelia. As soon as you stepped through the doors of the hospital, you knew it was a mistake. Fuck, you thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Friends don't bring boba tea. Especially elevator friends.

But then, of course, you had to give it to her. Because otherwise it'd look like you brought two bobas for yourself, and that was even weirder.

She was already in her corner of the pediatrics lobby when you walked in. Trying to act casual, you approached her and held on the tea.

"Hey," you said. "Do you, uh... do you want this?"

She looked at you, surprised, and took the cup. "You brought me boba?"

"No." You shook your head and shrugged. "I had an... extra?" It was a stupid excuse. You knew it the moment it left your mouth.

A smile crept at the corner of Amelia's lips, and she raised her eyebrows at you. "You had an extra milk tea?"

"No," you admitted, flushing slightly and running a hand self-consciously through your hair. "It's for you." You felt like you were digging your own grave.

"Well, gotta get up there," you said quickly. You avoided her eyes and headed quickly toward the little stool they'd set up for you at the front of the room.

You'd never been so distracted during a set, especially with the Grey-Sloan kids, who usually took up all your attention. At first you tried very hard to not look anywhere near Amelia, but then you thought that might be more suspicious, so you just tried to look in her general direction.

As you packed up your instrument, your heart pounded. You knew, you just knew, she was going to be on that elevator and that she knew. Your damn little boba gesture had almost certainly given you away. And she was going to say, Sorry, I'm not into women. Or kind-of-women-kind-of-not, which is where you usually landed. Even worse, she might say, Sorry, I'm not into you. Or the very worst of all, she wouldn't even be in the elevator, and your time at Grey-Sloan would be unbearably awkward from here on out.

Your heart sank as you got onto the elevator and Amelia was nowhere to be seen. You puffed out your cheeks and exhaled. You'd fucked up. You were glad the elevator was empty this time because you were sure the disappointment showed on. your face. You were not good at hiding your emotions, and you'd prefer to be left alone with this one.

The doors had almost creaked shut when a hand shot out to stop them. An out-of-breath Amelia stepped in, smiling, and leaned against the wall.

"Wow," she breathed. "Almost missed you."

You shuffled your feet and tried to act normal, even though your heart was in your throat.

"Thanks for the tea," she said, nudging your shoulder.

"Yeah!" you replied, probably a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, no prob."

"So... do you buy boba for all the girls or just me?"

You felt blood rush to your cheeks. "Uh..."

"Because I really hope it's just me."

You glanced at her in surprise and found her grinning at you, a little embarrassed, a little self-satisfied.

"Really?" you asked, not quite believing what you'd heard.

The elevator door opened on Amelia's floor, and she slipped a business card into your hand, her fingers lightly grazing yours. It felt like a bolt of electricity shooting through you.

"Call me and you can buy me dinner, too," she said, before stepping off the elevator, giving you a little salute as the door closed.

You looked at the card in your hand. On the front: all the usual business information. Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital. Amelia Shepherd, M.D. Chief of Neurosurgery. On the the back: a phone number, scrawled in messy doctor's hand, with a little heart beside it.

Your heart swelled and you couldn't help but smile, bouncing on the balls of your feet. It worked! The boba worked! Seattle Best Tea didn't know it yet, but they'd just made you a regular for life.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

but the fighter still remains

pairing: leon kennedy x chris redfield

cw: homophobia, dubious (at best) consent during past experiences, childhood trauma, referenced spousal abuse, use of homophobic slurs by unnamed characters, smut and angst, anal sex

summary: Leon struggles with his sexuality until he sees Chris after the events of Vendetta, and has his first consensual sexual experience.

a/n: This story does include homophobia by unnamed characters and internalized homophobia. It's meant to be an accurate depiction of the overt homophobia of the 90s and 00s. While Leon being gay/bisexual is a headcanon of mine, this story was never solely about Leon for me. Leon's sexuality crisis and realization of both his own queerness and the dubious (at best) consent of his past experiences is based on my own journey of accepting my own identity as a lesbian. That is to say that some elements in this fic might be uncomfortable to read, but it is not my intention to endorse or make light of the homophobia and other struggles that come with the queer experience.

also, the title is a reference to a lyric from the song "the boxer" by simon and garfunkel (you should listen to it if you haven't)

wc: 6.3k

i. Raccoon City was the second worst beating Leon’s ever taken. The first was from his father. Leon felt guilty for secretly being happy about his father’s death. He’d never tell his grandmother that, but he’d also never tell her about when his father punched him so hard he couldn’t see out of one eye for a week. 

Leon’s not gay and that’s because he isn’t allowed to be. 

It was against his parents’ rules and their religion too. He doesn’t remember when he stopped believing in God, but that may have been the last straw for him. If my father is a good, god-fearing man, who’s on the right track to heaven, then who am I? Can I pray to the same god my father does after he hits me?  

Leon met a nice girl at church camp one summer in his early high school years. His parents liked her. They insisted that she come over for dinner to meet them. The first time they held hands was at the table when they prayed - Thank you God for this food, this family, and Leon’s new friend . The way his father chuckled after the collective “Amen” was foreign. He was happy his son found a girl, a hand to hold, a vacant ring finger. His father was more pleasant with the rest of the family than he had been in a while. 

Leon’s father didn’t hit his mother often, but in retrospect, the bruises on her arm weren’t from the car door like she told him they were. Leon’s father was lucky Leon didn’t see any marks on his mother by the time he was in high school. Maybe he knew Leon had been lifting. Maybe he knew why. Leon would’ve stood up for his mother in the way that he didn’t for himself. He would’ve come in armed - with a bat, maybe a kitchen knife - if it were his mother. His father had a gun and he wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot the son he never wanted. 

Leon’s dad thought he wanted a son until he met Leon. It took him years to accept the fact that such a pansy of a boy could be his offspring. Leon wished he’d never heard his father’s talk with his mother that night. It wasn’t that his father degraded him or was humiliated to have him as a son - what hurt Leon most was the fact that his father was convinced his mother must’ve cheated on him “‘cause that sissy isn’t my son”. The sound of a belt buckle sent Leon across the hall to his room where he could cry his mother’s muffled tears into his own pillow. 

Church girl was appropriately named “Faith”. The only “Faith” Leon ever had gave him a handjob in the pews. They sat in the chapel after bible study and she kissed him, joking that they should practice at the altar. The sounds of their lips smacking echoed off the tall ceilings. Leon felt a brief sense of relief when his zipper got stuck, protesting Faith’s deft fingers, thought to be already tainted by the french tips her mother hated. Her pale skin was painted by the light that passed through the stained glass windows, jewel tones that formed the image of the Virgin Mary. Aside from her hand stroking his length, Leon felt nothing at all.

When they got caught kissing in the basement, Leon got a stern talking to and Faith got sent home. It was when he got caught with a boy who lived down the street that he got the black eye, and the boy was also sent home. Leon begged his father not to call the other boy’s parents, and that was the one ounce of mercy his father gave him that night. 

The next day at school, the boy came up to him at lunch. “Your dad-” he said softly, gesturing to Leon’s eye. 

“No, I hit my head on the car door this morning. I was exhausted and out of it I guess.” Leon couldn’t look him in the eyes while he lied through his teeth. 

“I know that’s not the truth, but I won’t tell if you won’t say anything about what happened between us. I liked it, I like you, but-”

“Just don’t, please, just don’t,” Leon said, putting his hand out to stop him from talking. Anything that could come out of his mouth would only hurt Leon more.  

They couldn’t see each other again, so it wasn’t worth agonizing over it, was it? He caught Faith cheating on him with another guy and he pretended to be upset. He wished there was a non-offensive way to say “it’s actually better this way. I’m not mad at you at all.”, but there isn’t. 

When Leon mentioned off-handedly at dinner that he wanted to become a cop, the look his father gave him was the closest one to pride he’d ever seen. 

“I think that’s a great idea, son,” he said. The only other time his father called him son was when his application to the police academy was officially accepted. 

Leon knew that if his father had figured out why he was so interested in law enforcement, he wouldn’t have been so keen on the idea. “I want to fight crime. I want to make sure criminals get locked up, and I want to keep civilians safe,” he told a superior officer, who seemed to find his enthusiasm cute. 

I want to make sure criminals like my father get locked up, is what Leon meant. I want to learn how to shoot a gun and be able to bring it home just in case he goes too far and I need to defend my mother. 

ii. When Leon entered the police academy, he remained certain of his heterosexuality. Sure, he sucked dick at least a dozen times, but he wasn’t actually gay. He pretended not to like it, and sometimes he actually didn’t like it because a bunch of single guys stuck in dormitories aren’t great at washing their dicks properly. 

Plus, it was nothing more than blowjobs. One, he’d never been fucked before, and two, he hadn’t kissed anyone since that guy in high school. Well, he hadn’t kissed any guys since then. He’d made out with a few girls, mostly motivated by peer pressure. It was a path to popularity because popularity required normalcy. Or the illusion of it. He’d never been the one to come onto a girl, but he rarely backed down either. It was like a challenge, like the exercises they did in the academy. These hookups were exercises in composure and mental fortitude. Distress tolerance. 

During his time in the academy, Leon found out that it’s actually cool to not have a girlfriend. Leon’s “ a player ” and he’s “ not ready to settle down ”. The other guys were jealous that he fucked around. He didn’t fuck around that much, and when he did, he tried to be polite about it. He might not have been particularly aroused by the activity, but he was indifferent to it after a few beers. Once he got into liquor, it was just “whiskey dick” when he couldn't get it up. It’s not you, it’s me. It is him, he comes to find years later when he finally accepts it. 

When he was younger, Leon was easy. Reverse glory hole of sorts. He let any interested woman ride his dick. Physical interaction was nice, and if he closed his eyes, it wasn’t hard for him to get off. He lasted longer than most guys, which just gave women another incentive to fuck him, and men another reason to envy him. Oddly enough, being gay was one of the things that other men - unknowingly - envied him for. But, he’s not gay. Bicurious at best. If he were gay, he would never cum from a woman riding his dick. Having the girl on top was his favorite position. Drunk sex is easier when your job is to just lie there. 

Leon was a firm believer in ass over tits because tits lie too close to the face, and being face to face with a girl means letting her kiss you. Kissing was too romantic, Leon decided, and that’s why he disliked it. Lipstick tasted gross and it was hard to get it off his face. “It’s cute,” a girl once said, “It’ll be like a reminder of me”. And it was a reminder in the same way that a scar is. The lipstick remark came after Leon asked her not to leave a hickey on his neck. “We’re not in high school,” he said. It’s juvenile, we’ll look stupid, we should act like adults. A hickey is just a bruise like any other. Why do you have to hurt me for me to remember? Why do you have to leave marks? If you like me, why do you hurt me? Why does being together hurt? Can you like someone so much it pains you? I think it’s just butterflies in my stomach. I like you so much that I’m nervous. I’m not scared. I’m a man. It’s heartache, so it hurts. I’m lovesick, so it hurts. 

iii. Life was different post-Raccoon City. Training under Krauser was a paradoxical Hell. You had to get fucked in the ass literally - not necessarily by him - if you didn’t want to get fucked in the ass metaphorically. On the other hand, you were worse off liking it. You cannot be a fag in USSTRATCOM. 

So, he liked Major Krauser in a way that one is supposed to like their mentor – he looked up to Krauser. It was nothing more than that until they were both a few drinks deep. Like everything with Jack, it all went down like punishment. Krauser liked when Leon put up a fight – he liked when Leon used the skills he taught him for the never-ending “mission” against him. 

But, Major Krauser got too used to bloodshed and it started to look as sexy as anything else which is why everything went down the way that it did in Spain. Leon won the fight for the first time by willpower and luck. It was the fact that his mother was blonde like Ashley and there was finally a woman in front of him that he could save. After all the years he wasted fighting an endless war against Umbrella and whoever their successors were, he’d finally get some sort of justice for himself. When Ashley arrived home safe it was one of the only times he felt like he’d “won” anything - not the princess, but the pride of being the knight. The slight self-esteem boost was enough to keep him alive.

At this point, Leon considered the possibility that he might like guys, but he’d never fallen in love with a guy. It was nothing more than lust, possibly the pull towards romance, but he never let himself go there. Gay men fall in love with other men. Leon’s not gay.

If he were gay, he wouldn’t cry during sex. (It only took him a few weeks in the barracks to learn to save his tears for later. Crying in private would save him his last shred of dignity or self-worth. Everything else had been taken, nothing remained untainted). Leon considered the possibility of prepping beforehand to avoid the physical pain, but then they’d make assumptions, so he took it like a good little soldier. Bit the bullet while he got ‘raped’, as his therapist would later claim. Leon never trusted her, though, because she tried to tell him that women were taking advantage of him, but he assured her that he’d never said ‘no’. 

She was obstinate, too. “Have you always known you were gay?”

“I’m not gay.” Fucking invasive, repetitive questions. He would never have seen a therapist if the DSO wasn’t up his ass about it. 

He could give her a list of women he'd had feelings for - Ada, Ashley, maybe Claire, Shemei for a minute, but mostly she just reminded him of Ada (not because she was Chinese - Leon’s not sure that Ada is Chinese, or even named Ada for that matter - but because he could sense the betrayal before it happened and for some reason, it made the whole dalliance sexier). 

He realized later that the feelings he had for Ashley and Claire were mostly a strong platonic affection. Ada remained a mystery, as always. 

iv. In retrospect, the first guy he felt anything real for was Chris Redfield. Not STARS Alpha Team point man Chris Redfield, whom he would’ve met if Raccoon City hadn’t been blown to smithereens, effectively terminating his position as a cop on his first and only day. Leon caught feelings for Claire Redfield’s older brother, Chris Redfield. 

Leon and Claire shared a unique trauma bond, and he wondered at first if she asked him to hang out with her because he was the only one who she could relate to anymore, or if she actually enjoyed his company in any way. It took him years to accept that it was the latter. Leon didn’t have many friends, not many he really felt connected to, so he was surprised to have a certified cool girl want him as part of her posse. Claire already had a support system in the form of her brother, Chris, who had gone through hell more than once. 

When Leon met Chris on a night out with Claire, the first thing he noticed was the way Chris looked - hot. Leon assumed it was envy, when all along it was lust. “I want to be him” turned out to be a facade for “I want to be with him”, but it took well over a decade for Leon to come to that conclusion. 

“Claire told me you’re in STARS?”

“Yeah, I mean, I was.” Chris laughed, but grief hid behind his smile. “STARS doesn’t really exist anymore, since Raccoon City doesn’t really exist anymore.”

“Oh, yeah, slipped my mind for a sec,” Leon joked. He wished he could forget.

“It’s not all bad. That fucker Irons is dead.” Leon recognized that look. It was the one he had on his own face when his father died. 

“I had no idea he wasn’t a good guy until Sherry…” Leon couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know the details of what did or didn’t happen. Leon never dared to ask. 

“The kid?” Chris confirmed.

“Yeah, I’m sure Claire mentioned her.”

“She didn’t mention Irons. Kinda sad he’s not dead. I wish I could kill him myself.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have the chance to meet him.”

“Anyway,” Chris said, “Let’s not damper the mood with all this morbid shit.”

“Amen to that.”

They shot the shit for a while and Chris taught Leon how to play darts - or how to play right since Leon couldn’t aim for shit until Chris helped him get his arm in the proper position. 

“How’d you learn that?” Leon asked. 

“We had a dartboard in the STARS office. We had more downtime than you’d think, you know, especially with your first day at the RPD being the most chaotic in history.”

Leon didn’t realize that to an onlooker it might’ve seemed like they were flirting because it felt so natural to him. When Chris went to have a cigarette outside, they were mid-conversation so Leon followed him. Leon was never a smoker, and quite frankly, hated the smell of cigarettes, but liked Chris' company enough to put those feelings aside.

A group of a few drunk guys started hollering at them, throwing around various slurs and making lewd gestures. Chris ignored them until they walked closer, clearly trying to start a fight. 

Chris gave the leader of the pack a look that said "what do you want?" and that was the last thing Leon remembered before Chris had one of the guys pinned to the wall while another tended to a likely-broken nose and the third was nowhere to be found. 

“Are we done here?” Chris asked. There was no response and he let go of the guy’s collar. He looked to Leon who was standing by in shock and nodded towards the door. Leon walked back into the bar and tried to wipe the look of bewilderment off his face. 

“What? Never seen a fight before?” Chris asked, in a more joking manner than one would expect from someone with bloody knuckles. 

“I have, but that was impressive. Does that kind of thing happen often?”

“More than I’d like it to. I don’t tend to start fights, but I don’t hesitate to finish them either.”

Before Leon could say something stupid, Claire stumbled over to Chris, practically falling into his arms. 

“Claire?! What the fuck? I told you one drink.”

“I only bought one,” she slurred. “Some guys bought me more.”

“Where are those guys?” Chris asked with a face that said he was ready for another round in the ring. 

“Oh c’mon, Chris,” Claire said, “You don’t have to be so ‘protective’. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

He sighed and took her by the hand, leading her towards the door. 

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” Chris said. 

“Want me to help?” Leon offered. 

“Be my guest.”

Claire ended up with one arm over each of their shoulders, and slumped over Leon’s lap in the backseat. Chris drove because it was his car and he was the most sober. 

Chris put a cassette in the tape player before he started the car. Leon could identify Freddie Mercury’s voice but he didn’t know the name of the album. He didn’t ask lest he embarrass himself. Freddie Mercury is gay and that’s why his parents don’t listen to Queen in the car anymore, he thought to himself. 

They got Claire situated in bed with a glass of water and two ibuprofen on her nightstand. Chris decided to sleep on her couch, and Leon went home for the night. 

“Need a ride home?” Chris asked. 

“Nah, I’ll call a cab. Wouldn’t want Claire to get into any trouble if you left her alone.”

“Fair enough.” Chris’ smile was warm under the porch light and Leon assumed it was no different from Chris’ regular smile. It was no different from the way he ever smiled at Leon . 

Leon felt his heart rate rapidly increasing when Chris gave him a hug goodbye. It was a friendly hug, but not the type that’s half-hearted, accompanied by a pat on the back that’s equivalent to saying "no homo".

v. The first time they kissed it was barely even real. It was a game and it was for the amusement of others. That’s what spin the bottle and truth or dare are - games, nothing more. Never back down from a dare. Leon was invited by Claire to another get-together, which was attended by a handful of people who would become long-time friends of Leon’s - including, and most notably, Chris. 

They sat in Claire’s living room, all a little buzzed when the master-of-ceremonies, Claire Refield, suggested a game of truth or dare, which most of the group was less than enthused about since it’s a game for teenagers. Barry set a rule that he wouldn’t take on any dares that would make him cheat on his wife and the group agreed unanimously with a collective “aww” at the rare good man. 

“I wish I could have a loyal man like you, Barry,” Claire remarked. “You will. Don’t settle for less.” Leon didn’t learn until years later how Barry was there for the Redfields after their parents’ passing. 

Claire was the one who dared Leon and Chris to kiss. It shouldn’t have been unexpected after she dared Jill and Carlos to kiss about three turns prior. Leon didn’t notice the tension in the room when he leaned in. It’s nothing, but it feels like something. The feeling of Chris’ lips against his that night was something that stuck with him for well-over a decade. His freshly-shaven face, his breath like beer and cigarettes since there was no time to disguise the taste with a breath mint. The tips of their tongues brushed ever-so-slightly and Leon only pulled away because he was worried he’d embarrass himself if he didn't. 

Leon tried not to think of Chris when he jerked off later that night. It was a futile effort. He successfully covered his mouth before he moaned Chris’ name when he came. He lived alone, but he didn't want to hear it come out of his own mouth. 

Straight women get off to lesbian porn all the time, so when Leon gets off to gay porn, it seems normal to him. Straight women don’t talk about watching lesbian porn, just like how Leon doesn’t talk about watching gay porn. 

It was the next century when Chris made a move on Leon. “Would you ever wanna go out sometime?”

Shockingly, Leon didn’t take the hint. Chris waited, teeth on the lip of the beer bottle, slowly regretting his words. 

“Go out where?”

“I mean, anywhere you want…” Chris is rarely nervous. However, he also rarely asks anyone out. He almost never gets asked out, either - at least, not by men. 

Leon cocked his head to the side like a fucking idiot. “Like, hanging out… or-?”

“Or…”

“Oh . You’re asking me on a date.”

“I was trying to.”

“I would, but I’m not gay.”

And that was the truth in his mind. 

“Oh. Forget I said that then. I assumed you were ‘cause I’ve seen you brush women off who are flirting with you. Now, I know you’re just oblivious.” Chris said the last bit with a laugh, hoping the friendly jab at Leon will lighten the mood, but internally he was beating himself up.

They parted ways and it was awkward. Chris confided in Claire, who went on to tell him an hour-and-a-half’s worth of awful dating stories. She’d had her share of times where she embarrassed herself in front of guys. 

Leon struggled to get off, sleep was nowhere in sight, and for the first time in years, he decided to pray. God didn’t respond. It was the last time Leon even tried.

vi. It was years later when they saw each other again in China. They fought over a woman, well, kinda, but it was still ironic enough that it made Leon laugh in hindsight. It was not the way Leon had imagined Chris’ hands all over him. They didn’t do that in China. 

Leon was too focused on 70,000 civilian deaths and the fact that he shot the president. It was not a John Hinkley Jr/Ronald Reagan situation. Leon knew the man as “Adam” not President Benford. It was personal. It wasn’t the first time Leon had to shoot someone he knew and it wouldn’t be the last. He was found “not guilty”, but he felt very guilty. About everything. 

Leon was way too focused on the fact that Ada may or may not have died - information he got from Chris Redfield himself, a fairly reliable source. We both want the same thing. Leon meant that in the realm of bioterrorism. They both wanted the other’s touch in a way that was hot, sweaty, rough enough to leave marks, but entirely differently from the way they ended up in the aforementioned tussle.

vii. They didn’t see each other in person again until ‘14, Colorado. Leon was the worst he’d been in awhile. The man he’d been lusting after for over a decade in secret walks into a bar mid-morning to find him deep in the bottle. Of course this shit would happen to Leon. They yell first, makeup later. After all the killing is done and the blood is off their hands. 

It’s easier to be angry than anything else. You don’t have to bare your soul to yell. Vulnerable, from the Latin vulnus - wound. Somehow new bruises are easier. Leon didn’t notice the ones on his knuckles until the next day. His headache was worse. The purple marks make him feel guilty, but they'll fade. They always do. 

Chris caught Leon with a flask in his hand the moment the op was “over” - nothing is ever really over in Leon’s life. Even the dead come back to life - undead on Earth, ghosts in his dreams, whatever the fuck Ada is and has always been to him. 

“Hey,” Chris said. It was neutral but Leon could hear pity in his voice. He fucking hated it. He didn’t want to be someone who deserves pity. Someone pitiful. 

“I almost pity you,” his father said. Leon was pitiful, but his father was cruel. 

“What d’ya want?” Leon said, not turning towards Chris, though he could feel his gaze boring through his frail figure. How funny it was that Leon was deteriorating. He should’ve been in one of those body bags. 

“I don’t want anything.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“I’m worried about you.”

Leon scoffed. “Don’t be.”

Chris stood over him and reached for the flask, but when Leon dodged his grasp, he didn’t force his hand. “You know it’ll hurt in the morning,” he said. 

“Think I can handle a little headache.”

“You think I don’t understand, but I do.”

“What?” Leon met Chris’ eyes. “You wanna have a sweet bonding moment? This isn’t an afterschool special. You can save your breath.”

“Why can’t you accept that people care about you?” Chris was indignant. 

There wasn’t much to say to that. I don’t care about me, he wanted to say. Leon sighed. Chris looked at the spot next to Leon, then at his face. “Can I sit?”

Leon nodded reluctantly. He set the flask down next to him, and put his head in his hands. Chris didn’t say anything. Instead, he placed his hand on Leon’s back. It wasn’t a pat on the back - empty, friendly, platitudinous. He didn’t rub in soft circles like Leon’s mother did when he was little - nurturing, familial, pitying. It was just his hand, placed firmly, not letting up, not pressing down - grounding, steadfast, sincere. 

Leon sniffled, wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, and tried to half-laugh it off. 

“Just let it out.�� I won’t say anything. 

The tears fell. Commanding officer even in friendship - or whatever this was. Leon leaned onto Chris’ shoulder, meeting him halfway. Chris pulled him into a hug. 

“This is pathetic,” Leon said into Chris’ shirt. 

“Only because you’re so resistant to it.”

“You’re gonna blame me for my own patheticness?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up.”

“I never said that.”

“Then why are you holding me like I’m a fucking child?”

“Because you’re acting like one.”

Somehow crying turned to laughing. 

“I really am,” Leon said, lifting his head. “I even got snot on your shirt.”

“Not the worst thing that’s gotten on my clothes in the last 24 hours.”

“Glad I’m not as gross as a BOW.”

“Far from it.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t say how far.”

“What? Are you calling me ugly?”

“You’ve looked better.”

“So have you!”

“I know I have. I’m 40 fucking years old. But you look-”

“Pathetic?”

“Yeah, and somehow you still manage to make it work for you.”

“How’s it ‘working for me’? Am I wooing you right now? Do you enjoy watching a grown man cry?”

“You don’t have to ‘woo’ me. You did that a long time ago.”

It took Leon’s drunken brain a minute to wrap his head around the words. 

“When?”

“‘98.”

“That was…” Leon did the mental math. “Sixteen fucking years ago. And you never told me?”

“I asked you on a date, Leon. I thought it was clear.”

“Maybe I’m just an idiot.” A date doesn’t mean anything, he thought, I’ve been on plenty of dates just for the hell of it. 

“I think you might be.”

“Fuck. I’m ugly and stupid.”

“Just stupid. You’ve never been ugly. That’s how you get away with it.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“I’d prefer to fuck you, but…”

Leon shook his head, snickering - mostly at himself. He took them both by surprise when he kissed Chris, hard on the mouth. It only took a few swigs from the flask to get him here. He was nearly sober, too sober in his mind. Chris’ hands were all over him and Leon’s dick wanted this, but something in his brain stopped him. 

“Wait,” he said, catching his breath. Nerves had taken over. “Maybe we should have a drink first, you know… to-to loosen up… metaphorically…”

Chris stared at Leon, trying to read his mind. “We don’t have to do anything. I’m not going to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to- believe me, I want to,” he said, “but, uh, this isn’t really the kind of thing you do sober, right? Not like, entirely…?” It only sounded weird when he heard the words come out of his mouth. 

A moment of silence passed as Chris processed Leon’s unintentional admission. “You… don’t do these things sober?”

“No…?”

“Never? You’ve never done anything more than kissing sober?”

“I guess, yeah, but it was a long time ago… in high school, I had a girlfriend and,” he laughed, somewhat ironically, “she gave me a handjob in the pews of the church we both went to.”

“That’s it? Nothing since high school?”

“Well, there was some stuff at bootcamp, back in STRATCOM, and at the police academy, too…” he winced before he said, “it wasn’t exactly my choice. I would’ve preferred to not be that sober.”

Chris’s mouth moved, but he didn't speak at first. “I’m sorry that stuff happened to you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. 

“Why?” Leon said with such genuine confusion that it pained Chris.

“I mean, it doesn’t sound like you’ve had any good experiences… maybe not any completely… consensual experiences…” The last part sounded like a question, though he was pretty confident that his assumptions were true. 

“Are you gonna try to get me to “process my trauma” or are you gonna fuck me?” Leon said to avoid the awkwardness. Nothing like trauma to ruin a perfectly good moment. 

Leon captured Chris’ lips in a kiss, but Chris pulled back. “I have to know that you actually want this.”

“I’m the one who started it, aren’t I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, I want this.”

Leon was ready to tear Chris’ clothes off, but again,  Chris stopped him. “We’ll go slowly,” he said, prompting Leon to sigh. “Or,” Chris continued, “I won’t fuck you at all.”

“You’d never turn down the chance.”

“Oh? Mr. Pity Party’s feeling so confident all of a sudden? Try me.”

Chris crossed his arms and stared at Leon, who eventually gave in. “Fine. Do you have more terms and conditions? Or can we get on with it?”

“Why are you so insistent on “getting on with it”? Why do you feel the need to rush things? Why not let yourself experience some enjoyment for once?”

“I enjoy it fast and rough-”

“No, that’s just the only way you’ve ever had it.”

The truth cuts like a knife. Leon didn’t know he was being defensive. Chris was right. He’d never had it slow or sober. He closed his eyes and nodded, trying desperately to accept the revelation he’d just been forced to have. 

Chris grabbed Leon by the back of his neck, seemingly pulling him in for another kiss, but he whispered in Leon’s ear, “I wanna make you feel good.”

The words sent a shiver down Leon’s spine. Chris’ voice was low in pitch and in volume, and Leon knew every word was for his ears only. It’s no longer reassurance, it’s flirtation, bordering on dirty talk. 

Then, Chris went in for the kiss with more confidence, dedication turned devotion. Chris was gentle when he pushed Leon onto the bed, so much so that Leon tried to find a joke somewhere in his foggy brain to avoid the fact that he felt like a virgin in the face of such tenderness.

“Any chance you have any lube?” 

“No, but I bet you five bucks that concierge does.”

Chris scoffed in disbelief. “Deal.”

Approximately five minutes later Leon returned with a bottle in his hand. 

“No fucking way.”

“Pay up, Redfield,” Leon said, holding out his palm. 

“Really? I don’t even think I have cash.”

“There’s an ATM downstairs.”

“How about I offer you something else, maybe another form of payment will suffice…?”

“Just this once. I’ll let you get away with it… because you look hot even when you’re all covered in blood.”

Chris’ lips curved upward into a smile so genuine that it was foreign to him. Leon realized that maybe he didn’t get complimented very often, and surely not enough. Leon didn’t have time to compliment Chris to the extent that he deserved - that would take a lifetime. 

Chris pulled Leon by the hand so that Leon was straddling his lap. Leon leaned down to kiss Chris with less force in the absence of haste. This time he melted into Chris’ lips. 

It wasn’t Leon’s first time being penetrated, but it was the first time someone cared enough to prepare him before shoving their cock inside him. Chris’ fingers, slick with lube, made him tense due to their gentleness. It was a novel thing to Leon. 

“You’re tensing up,” Chris said. 

“I’m not trying to,” Leon said, lashing out at Chris, though he was upset at his own inability to relax. 

“Just relax.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

Chris pulled Leon into a kiss and it seemed to help him, taking his mind off the fact that Chris’ fingers were inside him, slowly stretching him out. Leon’s breath quickened and he grunted into Chris’ mouth. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon’s voice was shaky. “It actually feels… good.”

“Yeah? Like this?” Chris curled his fingers to meet the same spot, making Leon moan louder than this time.

“Yeah, right there. It feels really fuckin’ good.” Leon didn’t need to say it for Chris to know - the way his dick twitched told him enough. 

“Think you’re ready?”

“Hope so. I want it.”

Chris removed his pants and upon seeing what he’d been hiding under them, Leon changed his mind. “Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought.” He was wide-eyed and hungry for it, but more nervous given Chris’ size. 

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “And we can stop whenever you want.”

For many years, Leon struggled to pinpoint his exact feelings for Chris. Was it lust? Affection? Connection due to their similar circumstances? The one thing he'd known from the start was that he trusted Chris. 

Leon gulped down his anticipatory nerves and nodded, giving Chris the go ahead. Before entering Leon, he was diligent enough to lube himself up, giving Leon a nice view.

Leon hissed at the initial stretch. “I knew you’d be big, but not this big.”

“Sorry, nothing I can do about it.” Chris laughed a little, forced to take it as a compliment. 

“It’s fine,” Leon said, though his words were beginning to slur. “It’s hot. Just gonna take a minute to get used to it.”

Leon learned that Chris likes to makeout during sex and he would’ve thought it was too romantic if Chris’ lips didn’t feel so good pressed against his. Eventually, they both were running short on breath, so they fucked forehead-to-forehead until they climaxed - Leon first, shortly followed by Chris. 

Chris collapsed next to Leon and Leon sunk further into the mattress. His eyes had fallen shut and his hands laid on his stomach, unsure of their place. Someone is supposed to leave now, he thought. That was the way it had gone every other time Leon had done this before.  

“You okay?” Chris’ voice called him back to reality. 

“Yeah,” he said. And, besides his confusion, he was. Very okay, which confused him more. It was the first time he'd felt truly at ease lying naked next to someone. He might be sore the next day, but only physically.  

“You look… awkward.”

“I’m not used to… this part.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty easy. It’s similar to lying down alone. You just have another person there.”

“Thanks, asshole. I got that much.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone or…?”

“Are you asking me if I want to cuddle with you?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“No, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t care either way. I want whatever you want.”

Chris pulled Leon towards him in a way that would be startling if it were anyone else’s hands. 

“I knew you were too stubborn to say ‘yes’,” he whispered, answering the unasked question. 

“How are we supposed to do this?”

“I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way.”

Leon sighed, and Chris took it as a plea for directions. 

“I can hold you from behind like this,” Chris offered, manhandling Leon. “Or, you can lie on top of me.”

Leon rolled over and put his head on Chris’ chest. 

“C’mon,” Chris said, “You can’t crush me.”

Leon pretended to be reluctant when he wrapped his leg over Chris so that he was sprawled halfway across his chest. He admitted, accidentally, the next morning that it was the best sleep of his life. Leon locked eyes with Chris and noticed the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles, how the demarcations have made their place more permanent over time, the subtle reminders of happiness becoming more prominent with age. 

It was about an hour later when Leon looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and noticed his own smile. His expression was so unusual it almost made him suspicious. He was under the impression that the previous night’s experience would’ve brought about some change within him. It was only then, that he realized he’s exactly the same as he’s always been. The only new thing was the certainty he felt when he stared at his own reflection. Denial was just a phase. 

[kasugas]

Notable things from the EE intimate acoustic session i went to:

I know this is probably a mix of old and new information but i wanted to put everything from the set in one post so i can keep it for posterity.

Jon fucking cracked his head open on the morning of the show on an Uber boot lid while taking merch out of the boot.

Jon said the Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel were inspirations to him as a kid.

Jon got his first guitar at 13 and had a dream to make music by then.

Alex mentioned playing viola and cello as a kid and mostly knows stringed instruments. He said he wasn't good at the piano and Jon mentioned he's shit at the drums.

They both talked about how the band got together. Jon poached Alex from another band that broke up 2 weeks before they were gonna get signed for a band, by literally messaging him on old timey email or Facebook and saying "do you want to get a burrito".

Jon tried to impress him by eating the same spicy burrito as him and he was dying the entire time.

Jon also talked about how he loves it when he makes songs that give the impression that he has strong feelings on things but it's ambiguous as to what those feelings are.

Jon said man alive was a very nervous energy album, where ideas where just smashed together because these songs were the beginning of his songwriting. He mentioned photoshop handsome having conflicting messaging talking about surgery and photoshop at the same time, which he thought muddled the idea of the song.

They thought arc was more put together, and for every album they make they try and think of what makes a better sound for a live experience.

Talked about how their career is very much due to luck. They have had it very lucky with getting their songs circulated in radio space when they were such a small band starting out.

Suffragette suffragette was a single produced for a small label which very luckily got radio time

Photoshop handsome was rejected for radio because it was "too weird" but the music video gave them the success they needed. They made the music video themselves in their garage using a greenscreen, and submitted it to a competition on MySpace. The winner got played on MTV 2 for a week or two. They spoofed tons of votes with the help of their friends to win the completion.

Some big radio name (i unfortunately forget the name of) heard it on MTV 2 in a random hotel room and really liked it, so he ended up getting that song radio time.

The producer for get to heaven (Stuart Price) wasnt paid big manager money at all because he was doing it BC he was a fan. And the fact he was a "pop" producer didn't change ee's sound because they had everything written beforehand and he couldn't change their weirdness.

Apparently Jeremy's back was up when working with him until Alex and Mike met Stuart and confirmed he was chill.

Jon talked about the fact he was extremely moody on get to heavens creation. Alex said an anecdote where he tried to get Jon to do the vocals for warm healer and he did the main melody and then went "this is the worst song I've ever done" and then left the studio.

Jon talked about being the emotional heart of the team while Alex was the techy guy. Except Jons emotional heart was being a moody dickhead, in his words.

There was no cover of a song from a fever dream because it was too hard to convert one of the songs to acoustic, according to Alex.

Jon said Re-animator was the album he would change the most on and that it was the most unpolished.

Alex said he was very stressed in making mountainhead. It was the shortest amount of time they had made an album in. He was juggling home life and his work quite extremely. And by the end he was stubborn on his production choices.

With mountainhead being an exception, Alex mentioned that normally they have 5 or 6 versions of a song recorded before they choose one to go with.

Alex talked about their boiler suit troubles in the early days. Jeremy was insistent that their boiler suits be tailored which he recalled was terrible for movement.

Jon mentioned that he has had no formal vocal training. He didnt even do vocal warmups The falsetto was something he did in his early career and by the time he realised he did it he had settled into it and it had become "his thing".

He also admitted he didn't think he had a strong voice which I think is a. Fucking lie.

Alex talked about how touring is a LOT of waiting. And that they have exhausted every single avenue of conversation with each other so they end up just going to inside jokes they've had for 15 years they don't even remember why they're funny anymore.

During lockdown when the building their equipment was in burned down, they got into an argument with the owner of the building because he thought it was an insurance fraud job.

Jon still uses his guitar that got burned in lockdown in shows. Its the same body but has a new neck. Alex's also got restored but he doesn't play it because it's really difficult to play. Jon said Alex puts really heavy strings on his guitar because "it's what the jazz musicians do". But because it got burned apparently it sounds "a bit shit".

They both have talked a lot about how Spotify and streaming has decimated the music industry. Alex also talked about how songs don't even need albums anymore you can just made a compilation of singles and how he is averse to singles. Him and Jon joked about the idea that albums don't need any singles. Alex also talked about how cohesive albums are a dying breed of music made for a dying breed of fan.

[take-it-on-the-run]

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Dean Winchester, Reaper!Reader

Dean Winchester didn't want to know what life was going to be like without his brother, and he didn't intend to learn

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Suicide attempt, angst, major character death, minor injury, typical cannon violence, angst with a happy ending

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reaper!Reader

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Simon & Garfunkel title. This has been stewing in my drafts since August, so I'm very happy I was able to finally finish it! This is set around season 5 (Dean is 30 and Sam is 26). PLEASE heed the warnings, and please don't read further if this story will make you uncomfortable. Unbeta'd and every single mistake is mine :)

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Rain clung to a man as he peered over the rails of a bridge he couldn’t name. It was big enough to have a name, he was sure of that, but not big enough for people to be driving by at three in the morning.

His hands wrapped around the steel beams meant to keep cars from tipping over into the rushing waters below. They were cold to the touch, but he didn’t feel that. He could barely place one foot in front of the other, let alone feel anything besides the hollowed-out hole in his chest.

His car was parked just off the side of the road less than half a mile away, keys still in the ignition, lights blaring onto the tree trunks that ran on for as far as the eye could see. There was no one for miles, the only souls accompanying him in those moments being those of the rodents scattering into crooks and crannies to hide from the rain.

A heavy weight shifted in his pocket, nudging against his thigh, reminding him why he was standing alone in the rain. He couldn’t comprehend that in the morning, people would come looking for him, that he would be missed; that he would be mourned. He only knew the pain that was engulfing his very being, pushing him closer and closer to life’s edge.

He wanted to compare it to Hell, but he knew that in Hell he’d at least pay for what he’d done in the form of flames and pure, unimaginable agony, like he’d experienced all those years ago. Here, he could only wallow in the fact that he was alive, and the only person he’d give his life for wasn’t.

The first time he tried to pitch himself over the rails, his foot slipped and his head collided with the metal. Blood trickled down his forehead as he remained on the ground. Any other time, he’d be able to climb anything, anywhere; but now all he could hear was the sound of the river below calling for him.

Join me. It said, beckoning him to his feet once again.

Though he couldn’t see me, I was there watching him as he tried to will himself to take his own life. Standing a mere ten feet from him, leaning on the opposing set of rails, I watched as he clambered upright. In complete honesty, I didn’t know if he’d do it or not. I did, however, know that he wasn’t meant to be there. He was meant to pass in a horrible accident three weeks before at his own hands, leaving his brother the only survivor. His name was in my book, and I was meant to take him to the great hereafter, only to find him standing over his brother’s body.

The man didn’t know it, but his brother was there too, watching him on that bridge. He tried to get his brother to hear his pleas, but he couldn’t, so he turned to me.

He begged me and begged me to not let his brother take his life. This had happened many times since I started my life’s work, people trying to offer me their souls in place of a loved one’s, but my duties remained as they were. I’m a pathway to the afterlife. No more, no less. Never once had I prevented someone from dying, never once had someone slipped between my fingers, and never once had I stuck myself in Earthly affairs.

I leaned into the rails silently, letting the rain fall onto my bare skin. I could imagine how cold it was for him, shivering and bleeding as his world seemed to crumble.

His brother clung to my side, clawing and tearing at my skin as he wailed for me to let his brother live, that his soul should be enough for me to have.

I turned to him and looked into his widened eyes, and all I could do was wonder. Wonder why such a young man was content in his own death, and why he didn’t want his brother to die as he did.

“You Winchesters and your family bond. You know Samuel, there aren’t many people out there who aren’t pissed at the person who killed them.” I said as I acknowledged the youngest Winchester for the first time since he started our conversation.

“He didn’t-” Sam looked to his older brother, still oblivious to my presence, “-my death wasn’t his fault. You got your soul, now you can report back to your big boss and just leave Dean alone, please.”

I turned to him, ready to tell him that my kind didn’t deal in souls, but was interrupted when the click of a handgun made Sam and I turn our heads.

“Are you my reaper?” He asked, matter-of-factually, poorly aiming his pistol in my general direction. I took a step toward him, the rain beginning to fall more violently.

“We both know you’re smart enough than to try and use that on me, Dean,” I said, ignoring his question as I took more steps toward him.

“Answer-” Dean readjusted his slipping grip on the gun, eyes wearily trained at me. “-answer me.”

“I was your reaper, yes,” I answered, closing the distance between us, cool metal pressed against my chest.

His eyes were green and sunken; packed with tears, veins, and blood. His pupils darted around my face expectantly, begging me to do something, make his pain simply go away.

I felt a heavy pang in my chest, that hooked onto my heart and sunk to my feet.

I reached up to his face, gently cupping as I skimmed my fingers over untrimmed facial hair. He flinched as my hand made contact, probably expecting to get ripped from his body.

“Don’t be afraid, Dean. He’s safe.” I said gently. His eyes closed, and he leaned into my palm as he let out a heavy breath.

“He isn’t angry at you. You know, he practically begged me to come stop you.” I smiled, smoothing over the gash on his forehead. The deep cut disappeared as my fingers skimmed over it, offering him some relief.

“It’s not fair-” Dean choked out, coughing as the weather around us began to take its toll on his body. “-Sammy, he’s got a whole life ahead of him. College, a big lawyer job, a normal life. All I’ve got is hunting, and waiting to run into someone sharp enough to finally get me.”

His teeth chattered in his mouth, and the metal against my chest disappeared as he let his arms drop to his sides.

“Big talk coming from someone who’s barely thirty,” I said, watching as Dean pulled away from my hands, and returned to leaning on the rails.

“It’s the-” Dean starts.

“-the life, yes. So I’ve heard from a great number of hunters.” I finished his thought as I joined him on the rails. “Why is it that all of you think your lifespans are so short? Hunters back in, I don’t know,” I wave my hand as I’m trying to come up with the words, “the seventeen hundreds still lived longer than a lot your folk do nowadays.”

He creased his eyebrows, his eyes flickering over my face.

“All I’m saying,” I take a long look at the sun starting to crawl its way over the horizon, “is that ‘the life’ doesn’t have to be your life, Dean. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but you don’t have to die in some horrific fight that finally puts you down. Hunters have died of old age, you know.”

He looked at me, the freckles on his face more visible now that the rain was calming down, “but Sammy… he deserved his happy ending more than I ever will. He got out. Got a full-ride scholarship to freakin’ Stanford. Had a girl. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him how proud I was. I’d stand outside his dorm room for hours, trying to figure out a way to come see him without Dad, or without him hating me. I shouldn’t have dragged him back into this, and now he’s dead. In my place.”

“It’s the natural order of things, Dean. If not him, then you, and if not you, then some other person had to die that day.”

“But it didn’t have to be Sam. I would’ve gone just the same way as he did, but at least he’d have something dragging him forward, to move on.” He looked at me again with those tired eyes, letting out a sharp breath as his hands clung to the railing again, leaning his torso off halfway.

“Dean,” I said cautiously, watching his knuckles turn white as his heart quickened and eyes shut, “Dean.”

His feet were moving fast, and in one swift moment, he was off the bridge. His body flung over almost effortlessly and catapulted him down to the rocky waters below.

I turned away, expecting him to appear next to me in a moment, but his voice rose through the air instead.

“What…?”

I looked over the railing, only to see Sam was holding his forearms, holding him from his forearms before he could drop.

I turned to the younger Winchester brother, who was solely focused on trying to save his brother’s life, his spectral hands losing their grip the longer he held on.

“Dean, hold on, please. Please, man, just hold on. Don’t give up on me.”

Dean’s head snapped up, looking straight at his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean choked out, his legs starting to kick frantically as if he were trying to walk on air.

“Help me, help me get him up. Please.” Sam turned to me, struggling to hold onto his brother.

I blinked and I was beside him, yanking up on an almost-limp Dean, and throwing him onto the road of the bridge.

Dean lay on the ground, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Sam knelt beside him, his eyes filled with remorse.

“I didn’t want to give up on you, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the damp morning breeze.

Sam’s heart clenched at the sound of his brother’s voice, filled with a mixture of pain and regret. “I know, Dean,” he replied, his voice choked with emotion. “It’s not your fault. You never gave up on me. You took all of dad’s crap, and I mean all of it. The yelling. The hunting. The abuse.”

Dean looked at his brother before he went still, not saying a word as he clutched his chest with pale blue hands. His breaths grew shallower, his body beginning to tremble from the exertion and the cold rain that drenched him throughout the night. Sam glanced around frantically, feeling helpless in the face of his brother’s suffering.

“He needs help. Help him,” Sam said, his voice urgent as he looked up at me, desperation clear in his eyes.

I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of the situation. “I’ll do what I can,” I replied, my voice solemn. “But I can’t interfere with the natural order of things.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he refused to give up. “There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, just help him.”

I hesitated, the pull that the Winchester seemed to have with the universe was something even Death couldn’t withstand; but who was I to interfere? As I looked down at Dean, lying battered and broken on the ground, I could hear the cracking of his ribs drowning out my thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, I knelt beside Sam and Dean, moving Dean’s hands away from his chest with little force. “I’ll do what I can,” I said, my voice softer.

I laid my hands on Dean’s chest, warmth spread through his body, chasing away the chill of the rain and easing his pain. His breaths grew steadier, his trembling subsiding as color started returning to his hands.

Sam looked on in awe, tears welling in his eyes as he watched his brother’s condition improve before his very eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

I nodded, a small smile touching my lips. “Take care of him,” Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper, and I nodded. “He’s gotta lot of fight left in him, and someone has to keep him up and running.”

I chuckled, moving to the side of Sam as I waited for him to pull away from Dean. The two of them sat there in perfect silence, staring into the blankness in front of them. I could barely hear Dean’s breath through the wind that curved between the air around us.

“I have to go, Dean,” Sam said, turning to face them as they both sat on the edge of the empty road.

“I can’t do this without you Sammy, I don’t want to,” Dean said, catching stray tears with the back of his hand. He took his brother into a firm hug; it was as if he was holding him to Earth, and to life itself.

“I love you so much,” Sam said as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean taking in a shuddered breath. Sam slowly pulled away from him, and stood beside me, trying his best to smile, “bye, Dean.”

Dean looked up at his brother, nose red and raw from the tears that coated his face, hiccuping as he failed to drown his emotions with a weak smile, not saying a word. He scooted away from the road, sitting himself up against the rails as he watched me and Sam walk down the bridge, and out of view.

I can’t say that I forgot that day, especially when I was called again for Dean. He lay on a hospital bed, his once dirty blonde hair replaced with silver tufts, complemented by wrinkles brought on from years of stories to tell, and different kinds of scars in new places.

He looked just as he did that day on the bridge when he came to stand by me, watching the woman beside him, hair just as gray as his, holding onto his hand. An anti-possession tattoo peaked out from under her long sleeve as she reached over to plant a kiss on his forehead, watching as his heart monitor ran flat. After a few moments of silence, nurses came into the room, looking over Dean’s body as the woman shuffled out of the room and walked through Dean and me with a shudder.

“Hello, Dean,” I said, smiling gently, preparing to lead him out of the room when there was a laugh from behind us. Two hands were placed firmly around Dean before I could realize who it was.

“You ready? We’ve got a lot to catch up on, you know.” Sam said as he pulled away from his brother, the both of them smiling like I’d never seen before.

[weimarblues]

I wrote this on my old blog about the only living boy in New York before it got deleted so here it is again!

you miss him and he isn't in your city. that's all the song should be but it's so much more, there is more love in this than any love song paul simon ever wrote. and he doesn't even write the song with a girl's name, it's tom get your plane right on time because that's the role art played in catch 22. he doesn't try and disguise it, he's openly honest about the fact that no one makes him feel quite this way. and you quote his phone conversations in the song and he comes in with his harmonies when you aren't singing as you two are detached, he's whispering "here i am" like a long distance phone call, it's so romantic, so romantic. and you have a girlfriend but you're the only living boy in new york because he's gone. and then you bring it to him after, for him to sing harmonies on, to duet, so inherently romantic and raw and jesus that must have been hard for paul, art knowing it's about him, but art did it, because of course he felt the same, they were the cheshire cat and the white rabbit together they were boys together they loved each other so much. I am weeping as i listen to this song because it is the most pure and deep love song if you read it platonically or romantically because they're only away from each other for the stint it takes to make a movie but paul simon missed him so much, the emptiness one feels without the other half to their musical duo/their lifelong childhood best friend... it says something that a lot of paul simon's songs post s&g are so cynical because hearing this song... he must never have felt love like this again. Love so simple, half of the time we're gone - the time when they aren't together, two halves of a whole. And you watch the pair of them in concert and no two voices have ever soared the way they do, art garfunkel's spun sugar light voice and paul simon's conversational gentle speak singing... without the other they were the only living boys in their city and this is really, truly, the most romantic song ever written.

[loveinhawkins]

Hi! I've never messaged you before, but your writing is some of my very favorite on Tumblr! I love that you have Steve as a poetry fan, and a fan of Simon and Garfunkel! I was reading the poem Richard Cory, and it made me think of a young Steve, the one people only see as a King, as a spoiled rich boy, not seeing his pain and trauma. Even his friends seem to gloss over it. And I can imagine him and Eddie in English class, and Eddie barely paying attention, but seeing how Steve subtly reacts to the poem when they read it, and Eddie wondering if maybe there's more to him than he'd previously thought! I found out that Simon and Garfunkel made it into a song, too, and that really sent it home! I hope you have a wonderful day, thank you for sharing your wonderful stories with us!

you are so kind, thank you so much. i hope you have a wonderful day too ❤️

oh, this has so many things i love. the poem & simon & garfunkel references (cw for references to suicide in both the poem & song lyrics), how Steve views himself and his high school persona vs how Eddie sees him—like, I could quote the whole poem but:

he fluttered pulses when he said, “Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.

Steve glittering as he walks! Eddie in denial that his pulse is also fluttering! ❤️

and them fleetingly crossing paths in high school is one of my absolute favourite things to think about, as well as them sharing the same English class at some point.

And when they read that poem… Eddie silently notices things. How Steve’s reaction stands out amidst the typically bored, glazed-eyes expression of other students. Eddie can see out of the corner of his eye how Steve reads the poem over and over, the subtle swallow, the shift in his jaw. The crease in the middle of his forehead that somehow seems more than just straightforward confusion.

But then he puts it out of his head—until, that is, an English period when the teacher says the whole lesson is just for silent reading. And Eddie hears a, “Psst,” coming from his left.

He doesn’t realise that it’s Steve Harrington trying to catch his attention, assumes it’s just someone trying to piss him off, so he snaps, “What?” a little harsher than warranted.

He almost does a double take at the way Steve shrinks back in his seat—not obviously so, but just enough for Eddie to notice.

“… Nothing. I’ll leave you alone,” Steve says shortly.

Eddie feels a flash of guilt. Sighs. “What?”

“Just… you’ve done this class before, right?”

“Fucking astute observation, Harrington.”

“Shut up. I just…” And Steve hands Eddie his photocopy of the poem, points at the top of the page. “Do you get this stuff?”

There’s a pause where Eddie scans the poem—and, Jesus, there’s a lot of annotations. Like, a lot. There’s even parts where Steve’s writing gets all cramped in between the stanzas, because he’s got a helluva lot to say, apparently.

Then he sees the part Steve’s pointing at, where there’s a scrawl of: Metre???

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “I get what… it’s, like, the rhythm of it. Where the emphasis is on each word and stuff.”

Steve actually has the audacity to roll his eyes at Eddie’s, in his opinion, very generous explanation. “Yeah, I get all that in theory, but I can’t, like, hear it, y’know?”

And well, Eddie’s in a band. He knows a thing or two about rhythm. So he leans over and taps the rhythm out with his finger on Steve’s desk. He can’t remember the proper term for it, but he rambles, “It’s the same rhythm in Shakespeare plays? Kinda like a heartbeat.”

It must click for Steve, because sometime during Eddie talking, he starts tapping out the beat, too. Their knuckles almost touch. Not quite.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve says distractedly, as he takes his paper back and starts writing again.

And for the rest of the lesson, Eddie has to consider the fact that Steve Harrington truly knows his name, like he didn’t even have to think about it; like the freak moniker didn’t even occur to him.

[nastylittleghouls]

A Hazy Shade Of Winter

Relationship(s): Aether/Aeon, Aether/Dewdrop, implied Aether/Dewdrop/Aeon

Rating: Mature (to be safe)

Words: 2501

Summary: The first snow is always special. Aether takes it upon himself to show Aeon its joys as he knows it can hit differently for quintessence ghouls.

Warnings: brief mention of blood/death related to events before they were summoned during an anxiety episode on Aeon's side. Aether is affected too but guides them both safely out of it.

Notes: I haven't written anything in years and this was supposed to be a cute little ficlet to stick to my plans to be more creative again. Somehow, it ran away with me. I don't think it turned out too bad so, after careful consideration and battling my inner demons, I decided to share it. Please excuse my rustiness and thank you for reading! <3 The title is from a song by Simon & Garfunkel. The endearment Aether uses for Aeon is Irish Gaelic and means little bear.

AO3 LINK for the so inclined (Aeon is called Phantom there because I am STILL torn on the name. e_e)

The sun is barely kissing the horizon when Aether nuzzles Aeon awake, tells him “It’s time”, in a hushed whisper close against his ear. Aeon turns to curl into him, only to end up cuddling the lukewarm fur at the edge of the nest. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up with the smallest of winces and gives himself a moment to collect himself. Lets himself bathe in the toasty warm glow of oil lamps and the rekindled fireplace.

In Dewdrop’s presence next to him, hogging the nest and snuffling in his sleep. Unashamed and unfairly beautiful. Here, right now, Aeon feels like he is too, still riding the heights of having been welcomed between these two.

Ultimately, in Aether’s gaze. Affectionate. Appreciative. Aeon feels the urge to preen, maybe show off a little. Instead, he ends up following Aether‘s thick yet nimble fingers as they button up his shirt. How can he not?

Admittedly, he’s mourning his cozy spot tucked against Aether’s bare side already. The intoxicating scent of him and Dew mingled with his own. That he could stuff his face into his armpit and just block everything else out except for them and the ache in his body from last night. Just a bit, though. Watching Aether getting ready makes up for it, despite it being horribly distracting from his own task of getting up and giving him ideas of either pulling the other ghoul back into the nest or, even better, getting on his knees for him right then and there to continue his worship.

Both options would probably wake Dew up and ruin Aether‘s valid effort to let him sleep. Tempting but not worth the aftermath. Not today. It would probably cost him nest privileges. Dew doesn’t fuck around with that. Never mind that this isn’t even his nest. He just has Aether wrapped around his claws. All nine and a half of them.

Aether is smirking by the time Aeon finally looks up at his face again, nodding encouragingly towards the end of the nest.

There are fresh clothes already waiting for him, soft and thick and neatly laid out within reach. Even his new acquisition, a long scarf, that he had watched Cumulus and Sunshine working on in the common room quite often after the tour ended, to finish it before the first frost set in. He had not known the purpose of it back then and had called it a ribbon noodle until they had explained it all to him.

Seeing it grow, stitch row after stitch row had been fascinating. Not only had it made him want to be able to do that as well. It had made him feel like it was him that was ultimately being woven tighter into the patchwork that was this pack. His home.

Another whisper pulls him out of his musings.

„C‘mon, béirín. You‘ll need clothes for this kind of fun“

And that’s more than enough for the spark to ignite a flame of excitement inside him as well. Aether has never led him astray when it comes to introducing him to new topside things but it’s the endearment that holds the most importance to him at this moment. It makes him happily drum his fingers on his thigh before he’s rudely interrupted by the end of Dew’s tail smacking him in the face. It’s light, but he sends, an apparently now semi-awake, Dew a pout as he finally gets dressed anyway. He’s just. He has been waiting, not so patiently, for Aether to finally choose one for him. Of course, Dewdrop can’t relate.

Before they leave, Aether brushes a kiss against Dew‘s temple. It earns him a sleepy smile and a scritching for his sideburns in response. Which, in turn, elicits a low purr out of Aether. As his heart skips a few beats at the sight, Aeon can‘t decide which one of them he‘d rather be.

Snickering as if they’re doing something forbidden, they sneak through the still quiet hallways of the abbey, past the other Ghouls' rooms, towards the wooden door that leads into the courtyard. Aether stops to properly loop the scarf around Aeon’s neck, affectionately chuffing at him when he goes up on his tiptoes to bump their horns together.

Aeon relishes the moment until the very second Aether pulls away.

Heavy snowfall greets them as Aether pushes the heavy door open with his shoulder. As expected, he feels Aeon stiffen. Recoiling into the safety of Aether’s side, eyes squeezed shut. Their mental connection stutters, shuts down then reopens. Aether is prepared, a large hand placed over Aeon's lower back and his heart. Fingers splayed wide and grounding over the small frame, his quintessence beckoning Aeons and entwining with it protectively again once it found its way.

He knows what this sight does to new ghouls, first and foremost to the quintessence kin.

The sunrise painting white snow in red too similar to the blood and ash of fallen kin. The Heavenly Wars. The destruction of quintessence beings. The last scene before their eyes as the void claims back what Lucifer burrowed. If unfortunate, forever lost.

Aeon’s reaction infiltrates Aether’s vessel's nervous system like electricity and drags parts of his own long-forgotten fear to the surface again, as irrational as he knows it is. Makes his healed wounds burn anew. Gives him the illusion of putrid fumes invading his nostrils before he can reign himself back in again for both of their sakes.

Own up to his responsibility as one of the pack leaders. The blind trust Aeon extends towards him.

He’s fine. Has to be. For them.

“Timor mortis conturbat me,” Aether murmurs as he moves them forward, one of his hands seeking the outline of the pendants hanging low on his chest, buried under the thick wool of his cloak. One, unarguably the most important one, holds fragments of Dew’s horns. The before and after. A reminder of the strength and protection of a mate freely given.

He taps his next words into Aeon’s mind, not wanting to disturb the quiet around them. Maybe not trusting his voice either. It could crack and give out after all. All too weak.

“I’m here. Deep Inhale, deep exhale. I want to feel your body move with it”

He takes his advice as well. On the next exhale, synced with the smaller ghoul’s, Aether’s eyes close too, and with it, he finds his voice again. Even manages to put a smile into it.

“We’re safe. This is just snow, the very one we told you about. Listen to it fall”

His hands move up, putting the lightest pressure on the outer shell of Aeon’s ears with his thumbs, rubbing the pads over the edges. The pointed tips. They flick wildly under his ministrations before they still again and the smaller ghoul relaxes against him just slightly with an audible sigh.

It‘s the reaction that he was aiming for and again he moves his hands and tips Aeon’s face up towards the rapidly falling snow, keeping his fingerpads there to stroke light circles along his jaw.

”Feel it tickle your skin. How fluffy it is. Just like Lus’ hair”

Numerous seconds tick by before Aeon’s dulled-down quintessence aura blooms back into full force.

When Aether chances a look at the smaller ghoul, his eyes are open again as he finally takes his surroundings in without his fear overshadowing his excitement. Aether could swear he was even wearing the same awed facial expression Dew had worn, that Aether must have worn too when Omega had introduced them to this wonderful earthen spiel.

He snorts slightly, amused when Aeon goes cross-eyed at the sight of their breath fogging up in front of him, swatting at it with his hand as if he’s not sure what to make of it before letting out a curious chirp and slowly extracts himself from Aether’s side. Not without a cautious glance back to reassure himself once more that he is safe. Protected. Then he visibly shakes the remaining shadows of the past off and starts sliding through the snow, twirling carefree around himself, open-mouthed trying to catch the snow on his forked tongue.

The utter confusion when it doesn‘t pile up but melts is not lost on Aether. It reminds him of the raccoon trying to wash cotton candy that he and Rain had discovered while they were both sick and stuck in bed for a week.

It would be a shame if this wouldn’t find its way to Rain too for him to appreciate, wouldn’t it? But just as he reaches into his pocket, the younger ghoul trips over his tail while chasing it, limbs flailing in all directions, and falls into a snowbank. Face first, arms and legs starfished around him.

It’s quite deep, Aether can only see a Aeon-shaped immersion with his butt sticking out in the otherwise surprisingly pristine snow. It‘s a perfect still life, he thinks. Original oil on canvas. Aether titles it, tail as old as time' since Aeon's tail, the cause of it all, is curled like a piglet’s against his body. The Church of Satan will take your bids now.

“Fuck, that’s cold”.

Aether tries not to laugh. Attempts to look up into the falling snow, bite down on his bottom lip but it’s futile. Barks of laughter burst out of him with short, helpless sounds in between.

Aeon‘s tail swishes back and forth with them, bouncing like a coil spring, which sets Aether off even harder, tearing up a little. Until a muffled, yet high-pitched “Aeth. Help” reaches his ears and he quickly makes his way over, rolling the other ghoul onto his back.

„You okay?“

Aeon looks up at him with slitted eyes as he attempts to blow at the snow stuck on his face then his upper body shoots up, grabs, and pulls Aether down right on top of himself.

The cursed element of surprise.

They roll through the snow, their laughter and the occasional curse so loud that they’re probably waking the whole abbey up. Their tails lash playfully as they try to shove each other into the white cold - Aether‘s joints will make him pay for this later- until Aether finally realizes what Aeon is trying to accomplish. He isn’t trying to win or end up on top, he’s enjoying the way Aether’s body is pressing him down into the snow again and again. The way he covers him completely. Eyes shining brighter with every turn.

Aether boops the younger ghoul’s red nose when a higher slope forces them to a stop, about to give Aeon space to breathe when their laughter tapers off into them just grinning goofily at each other. Thinks about suggesting they make their way back inside to warm up with hot chocolate and pancakes to round this experience off. The temperature is affecting his protege by now if the shivers he’s trying to hide are anything to go by.

As soon as he realizes Aether’s intention, Aeon reaches up to pull the bigger Ghoul down into a kiss. He aims for sweet but ends up desperate. Aether allows it. Indulges him for a while by letting him lead. Humms with the wet slide of their tongues, then tips his head to a sharper angle, guiding Aeon’s enthusiasm into something slow and deep.

Aeon’s breath catches mid-moan with the intensity of it.

Slender arms wind themselves around Aether's shoulders, clinging. Keeping. Legs fall open wider in invitation, hips grinding his still sensitive cock up against Aether‘s with little gasps, boldly asking for more. For anything Aether is willing to give him. He’d let him take him right there. Wants him to. The wetness and cold that is seeping more and more into his body be damned. He just wants to feel that closeness and give himself over again.

I’m here. Please see me. Feel me. Let me be yours too.

„You could warm me up with something else,“ Aeon manages in between. It‘s cheesy, accompanied by the dorkiest eyebrow wriggle Aether has seen in his long life. A salute to Swiss influence, no doubt.

„Is that so?“

It doesn’t sound like a question. The mirth in Aether's words is a stark contrast to the heated look in his eyes. He should reprimand Aeon for mind snooping and not reward him with another kiss. But how can temptation not get the best of him when …

Fate doesn’t want him to finish that thought. A snowball hits Aether square on the back of his head, and he looks up, alarmed. A little confused.

Dew is leaning against the door frame, clad in nothing but one of Aether’s hoodies and knee-high socks that reveal a sliver of creamy skin every time he switches feet to protect them somewhat from the cold floor, regarding them with a mischievous smirk.

It’s betrayed by how his eyes are still unguarded from sleep, and the love Aether knows is always there. It‘s a look to be alluring, and it works every time. Dew knows how weak Aether is for him wearing his clothes, how stunning he looks, made obvious once more by Dew quirking a knowing eyebrow at him when their eyes meet and the demanding tug at their bond.

How long has Dew been watching them?

Aether smiles too sweetly down at Aeon when he whines, traps his still twitching hips with his thigh, and affectionately ruffles his hair. Mouths 'stay still' at him while he banters with an entirely unbothered Dewdrop. Aeon doesn‘t hear much of it, just happily gets lost in the touch, a shaky breath that he can thankfully pass off as being cold, leaving him. Aether’s attention being divided once more makes Aeon already miss having it entirely to himself. It’s rare. Too rare.

“Get the fuck back inside then. I’ll warm you up alright”.

It's the first thing he consciously hears Dew say before Aether pulls himself up. His grabby hands are not fast enough to stop Aether and he can’t stop the utterly sad sound that leaves him at the realization. “Now he acts like I’d leave him all by himself, “Aether teases with a chuckle and helps Aeon to his feet as well, patting the snow from his clothes. Aeon remembers to return the favor, subtly turning his head to look for Dew. The spot he had occupied is empty, the door closed again. Probably back in Aether’s warm nest already. 

When Aether walks back towards the building, Aeon lingers, looking down at the spot they just laid in again. The indents they left are already filling back up with a fresh layer of snowflakes. 'Snow’s pretty rad', he decides as he adjusts himself in his damp pants with the heel of his hand to get at least a little bit of relief, before finally catching up with Aether, ducking under the already raised arm to let him pull him against his side. Good boys can wait.

“So, about that hot chocolate…..”

[toddandersonsblog]

hi! this is an introduction post, I suppose!

you can call me todd ☺️

my pronouns are she/her, but since I'm using todd's name and not my own, I don't care if you use he/him (or any) pronouns either

I speak english and greek!

I'm an infp (almost an ambivert) and a pisces (how predictable 😂)

I consider myself to be a yé-yé girl if I had to define my own aesthetic ☺️

my favourite films are dead poets society (obviously), amélie, 500 days of summer, and cheap smokes (or ftina tsigara/φτηνά τσιγάρα in greek)

my favourite musical artists are the beatles, the smiths, blur, nirvana, françoise hardy, graham coxon, elastica, radiohead, belle and sebastian, simon & garfunkel, stereolab, and many more!

my favourite shows are friends, new girl and freaks and geeks. I also like beavis and butthead (lol), house md, and gossip girl! I'm planning on watching gilmore girls as well, because it looks very interesting

my hobbies include playing music (particularly the guitar and the ukulele; I'm also learning the piano by ear currently), singing, sketching, listening to music (I like way too many genres), watching films, watching youtube, writing down my thoughts, taking photos, making moodboards, reading, going on walks, listening to people, and making them laugh ☺️

fandoms that I guess I'm part of: dead poets society, it (the 2017 and 2019 films), romeo and juliet, the beatles, the smiths, blur/oasis, secret shanghai, maurice

some other random things about me: I'm into shakespeare!! I still love watching cartoons, and one of my favourite books is le petit nicolas, which is a children's book 😂 my favourite comic book series is asterix and obelix. I have a few records and cds! sometimes, I like to play the sims. I also like playing chess and dominoes!! I'm very into fashion. oh, and I also want to learn to cook because I love mediterranean food so much!

here's my letterboxd, in case you'd like to be mutuals there, too! https://boxd.it/6zcdV

that's about it! I think that I have yapped enough. I'm using @thecutestgrotto 's beautiful dividers here ☺️

I've made lots of lovely friends on this app, and I'm hoping to meet many many more ☺️

peace and love! ✌️❤️