#I was praying for the same damn thing while watching the trailer

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (you're here)/ Part Four

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities. 

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking. 

Right. 

Pain management. 

“I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot. 

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice. 

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit. 

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer. 

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open. 

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it. 

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed. 

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up. 

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick." 

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed." 

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit. 

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it. 

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store. 

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted. 

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand. 

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed. 

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed. 

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture. 

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.' 

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.  

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday. 

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire. 

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it. 

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights. 

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two. 

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this. 

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight. 

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches. 

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over. 

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home. 

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it. 

Not in general, and definitely not for this. 

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill. 

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go. 

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good." 

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes. 

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced. 

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo. 

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago. 

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly. 

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything. 

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons. 

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them. 

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental. 

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth. 

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve? 

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch." 

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off. 

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side. 

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife. 

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know." 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face. 

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door. 

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?" 

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed. 

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react. 

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne. 

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?��� 

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.” 

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train. 

All gas, no breaks. 

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant. 

‘Dammit.’  Wayne thought with a sigh. 

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats. 

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid. 

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve. 

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit. 

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

 It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face. 

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?” 

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.” 

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time. 

God save him from idiot teenagers. 

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking. 

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills. 

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit. 

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind. 

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?” 

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb. 

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,” 

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious. 

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases. 

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position. 

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent. 

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.” 

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed. 

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation. 

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home. 

“Good.” Wayne said. 

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room. 

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer. 

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways. 

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both. 

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep. 

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with. 

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him. 

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute. 

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure. 

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on. 

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet. 

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as  just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on. 

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain. 

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out. 

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid. 

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse. 

He just had to find the right words. 

[little-annie]

All I Want | Ch7

Steddie | Little_Annie | Ao3

Ch.6 ⤵️

---

Wayne's POV

It was a rare thing; the evening he got to spend with Eddie. It'd been a long while since the last time they actually had time to spend together, what with Wayne taking up more shifts at the plant and Eddie spending a good deal of time resting, running errands or jamming with his band.

But tonight had been nice, sharing the monotonous stories of their day over a beer before Wayne had to go help Mrs. Kelly with her car, only to come back and catch the last few minutes of Eddie's horror fic. 

Just the fact of existing in a space together warmed Wayne's heart. Especially after so many days of worrying the boy would never wake up. It'd been tough sitting there alongside Steve Harrington, consoling the young man while they sat watching Eddie breathe through a tube.

Since Eddie had gotten home -aside from the first week- they'd communicated purely through sticky notes left around the trailer and the odd graphic mug left with coffee on the countertop.

He'd noticed some things about the boy since his return. The longing look in his eyes, the points throughout the day when he'd catch himself doing something that just didn't quite make sense, a furrowed brow and inquisitive look on his face while he tried to process his intentions. 

There'd been a few times Wayne had caught Eddie preparing breakfast for two, albeit when he knew Wayne was leaving and was nearly already out the door. It was Steve's favourite. The smell of peppers and onions that carried through the trailer was enough to go by. It made Wayne's heart pinch with a weird sort of grief.

He himself hadn't lost much, he still had Eddie and generally the boy was the same kid he was a few months ago, though maybe that's because he didn't realise what he was missing quite yet. 

When Steve Harrington and his gaggle of children came into Eddie's life, they'd brought a sort of light with them. A happiness Eddie had yet to experience until the moments Dustin Henderson was yelling something down the phone line or the Harrington boy was sharing what he thought to be a private smile. And well, now that light was gone.

It'd show in what Wayne could only hope were glimmers of recognition in his nephew's eyes; the times Steve's favourite song would come on the radio and Eddie's lip would twitch with a smile before he'd switch stations. Or moments like today when Wayne came back from Mrs. Kelly's to find Eddie on the couch in Steve's yellow sweater, burrowed comfortably into the couch with a beer in hand.

It was moments like these when he'd feel that a piece of hope spark in his own chest.

Maybe Eddie remembered.

But upon further interrogation, he'd found the boy just liked the thing. Though Wayne couldn't help but think something deep inside the boy knew better and connected the garment to the love he once shared with its previous owner.

It was when he'd gone to bed, the late night moon hanging high in the sky that the evening got interesting. He was asleep, happily curled into the couch when the phone rang and he couldn't help but pray Eddie would answer the damn thing. He was a breath away from yelling for the boy when he heard a groggy 'hello.' 

Wayne huffed to himself, rolling over to shove his face into his pillow, drowning out Eddie's conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line.

He dozed off only to hear the phone ring minutes later, Eddie answering on the last ring with a growl.

It was then that Wayne pulled himself from the couch, stomping to the phone in the dark to demand the phone from Eddie, the poor boy looking exhausted with his rat's nest askew and yellow sweater bunched around his torso.

Only a minute or so later did he find himself sat on the steps of the trailer, Eddie's leather jacket pulled tight around his shoulders with a smoke stuck between his lips as he helped to ease Steve Harrington off the ledge of another breakdown.

His heart broke with every shuddered breath that rang into his ear, sudden and sharp and erratic. The boy was damn near suffocating.

This unfortunately wasn't a foreign thing, waking at odd hours to a grieving, panicking man on the other end of the line. It'd happened enough times that Wayne knew what to do in the situation, easing Steve back into reality by guided breaths, reassurance and redirected attention.

At one point he even considered going over to the Harrington house to be with the boy in his time of need, but thought against it thinking his presence may possibly worsen the situation.

Eventually he'd gotten the young man calmed down to the point of steady breaths and un-stuttered words, only to feel his heart break as Steve asked to wish Eddie a good night.

With a hand holding the phone into the darkness of Eddie's room, Wayne's sure around the rasp of Eddie's snores that he could hear the whispers of a faint, 'I love you Eds' coming from the phone. He'd hung up not much later and made his way back to the couch, settling with his decision then to call into work tomorrow and check in on Steve in the morning.

Steve's POV

Things weren't always like this. 

Waking up on the kitchen floor, phone still clutched in hand with a foggy vision of last night's events burned into his very being. Blurs of distant, contorted memories, flashes of gore and loss that washed over him like a sudden wave; having snuck up on him with a crash, knocking him off kilter and leaving him to drown. Feeling like he'd done as much with the ache in his chest and burn in his lungs. Having gasped for breath, choking on oxygen like it's water flooding his lungs.

His body a canvas of blues and purples and reds, welts on his palms and bruises on his arms, scratches laid by his own nails intersecting the still healing wound on his neck.  

No.

Things weren't always like this. 

But, now they were. 

Now Steve peels himself from the floor with a groan, stretching his limbs and rubbing the crescent moons he'd pierced into his palms. Now, he dusts himself off and tries to carry on with his day, the late morning sun blinding as he rounds into the living room, making his way to the stairs and eventually up to his bedroom.

The plaid monstrosity he's called home over the last twenty years, a bitter reminder of last night's events. Blankets a heap on the floor, once the delirious feeling of vines around his legs. The pulse of pain from his neck, currently doing much the same. He raises a palm to the sensation, feeling the raised scars and still healing wounds, the crust of dried blood from last night's frantic clawing at his skin.

It isn't much of a thought when he steps into his ensuite and cleans the freshly opened wounds, an unfortunate re-occurrence since his most recent time in the Upside Down. Though, well, it's not like he had someone to ease him out of the self abuse during those times anymore. Eddie, having been there for the times he'd wake up pulling at his own hair and skin, babbling nonsensically about Russians and Demogorgans. Or Eddie being there to help bandage him up when things got a little too intense.

But Steve was alone this time as he applied the alcohol to the gash on his neck, hissing in pain but savouring the ability to feel anything at all. 

He'd like to think he was getting better, coping with his past traumas and the loss of a man who he loved so deeply, but, by last night's events, that'd be a rather blatant lie.

It'd been nearly a week since he'd last seen Eddie, rosy cheeked in the aisle of the grocery store, chatting animatedly with Dustin over D&D. At the time he'd thought it was enough to hold him over until the Hellfire meeting he and the kids were supposed to attend -well the kids, but he was going too goddammit- but it definitely was not. The ache for the man he held in his chest was raw and gaping, only so subtly soothed by the sound of Eddie's voice he'd heard through the phone late last night.

Steve sighs, long and winded, leaning back into the wall of his bathroom, taking in the image in front of him. He looks exhausted, hair dishevelled and flat, dark bags blooming under his eyes and a now painful reminder of last night's memories bloodied and throbbing over the pulse on his neck.

He could shower, could wash the painful memories down the drain along with the tears and sweat that clung to his skin, but what's the use? The pain wouldn't truly be gone and the physical evidence of his grief would only reappear.

Yeah, he definitely wasn't getting better. No matter how much he tried to tell himself so.

Time passed in a blur after that, at some point he'd made his way onto his bedroom floor, staring up at the ceiling, fiddling with one of Eddie's many hair ties that'd made its home on the carpet.

It could have been fifteen minutes or three hours, seconds being lost to once valuable time. No less than a few months ago, at the very least this time would have been spent with Eddie at his side, quiet and whispering words of endearment, sneaking kisses and not so subtle touches. Or the man would be lost in a story, joyvally retelling tales of fantastical creatures and other worlds. Steve, in either scenario would be sat with a dopey love struck smile on his face, his fingers laced with Eddie's and the intensity of love burning in his chest.

But it was now as those memories began to pull tears to the surface that there was a knock at the door, loud, deliberate, coming in an unsteady rhythm.

Steve cursed under his breath, heaving himself from the floor and wiping the back of his fist across his teary eyes. His vision still blurry, he stooped down the stairs.

The knocking had ceased but Steve could see a weathered ball cap through the small window near the top of the door. One that he'd grown quite familiar with over the last several months.

He tried to feign composure, straightening his back, squaring his jaw, sucking back any of the remaining emotions that'd been bleeding from him for the last several weeks.

It was with a shaky hand that he opened the door to find Wayne Munson standing there on the porch, a lopsided grin, equal parts endearing and concerned creasing the lines of his face. It wasn't often that the man dropped in unannounced, especially since Eddie had been home. It kind of struck Steve with a pang of concern.

Before he could even process the moment his shoulders fell and he asked with a worried breath, "Is he okay?" His immediate thoughts going to Eddie, thinking something had to be wrong for Wayne to just show up out of the blue, but the old man simply huffed a laugh and shouldered his way into the house.

Steve watched as Wayne surveyed the living room, its contents untouched, blankets still folded and dust collecting on every surface. It'd remained the same since the days leading up to Vecna and Eddie's murder allegations. Nowadays he couldn't bring himself to spend time anywhere else other than his room.

Paying no mind to Steve still standing in the doorway, Wayne continued to make his way through the house, yelling back to Steve as he passed into the kitchen, "Ed's fine kid! Go wash up, I'm taking you out for lunch!"

Steve's brow furrowed at the statement, he was happy Eddie was fine, but why would Wayne want to take him out for lunch? He didn't really want to go anywhere, last night's events still weighing heavily on his shoulders, grief and loss and trauma still thick and flowing like a cancer through his veins. He didn't feel like going anywhere and he didn't feel like seeing people or having to deal with the stares folks sent his way upon seeing the damage done to his body. 

He'd hardly left the house in recent weeks and when he did, it was a constant thing. The stares, the judgement, the whispers. The few times he'd managed to drag himself to the grocery store and the rare occasions he'd made it into work, it was a repeating occurrence to find someone's eyes locked onto the still healing scar on his neck.

It wasn't hard to figure out how people saw it, he'd heard the whispers soon enough, most of them seemed to settle on the fact that it was from a failed suicide attempt. Unfortunately it's not a far off thing to say he's considered it, though he'd never admit it to anyone, let alone ever actually go through with it. But the temptation of the hurt and trauma and grief leaving his body didn't sound like such an awful thing. The pain would be gone, the emptiness and soullessness that crept through his veins would cease to exist.

Though so would he. 

But there was Eddie and the sliver of possibility that his memories would return and Steve could have his old life back. The joy, the happiness, the love.

That wasn't something he'd chance leaving behind.

He was still standing there, staring off in the direction Wayne had gone, a pang of grief eating away at his chest and a sense of dread creeping into his lungs. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have to endure the public and their whispers and their stares, but before he could even begin to protest, Wayne hollered back, "You're not getting the option. Now go bathe, you fuckin' stink."

Steve huffed to himself, he didn't want to do this but he supposed it'd be better than sitting at home and reliving the horrors of last night's memories. 

Maybe it'd be a good distraction from the haunting darkness that surrounded him in his own home.

He glared in Wayne's general direction, raising an arm to smell his underarms, grumbling a hardly audible, "I don't fuckin' stink," but he was proved wrong, grimacing at the truth of Wayne's statement.

He didn't know where Wayne was or what he was doing, let alone the man's plan for the approaching afternoon. But with the promise of something to keep his mind busy for the next few hours, Steve pulled himself up the stairs.

Showering longer than he probably should have, it was nearly an hour by the time Steve returned downstairs to Wayne. He found the man in the kitchen, tea towel over his shoulder and the once mountain of dishes that flooded the sink, dry and stashed away.

At least he still had Wayne, Steve told himself as he let his shoulders sag with a fraction of relief.

He sucked in a grounding breath before thanking Wayne and following the man out the front door and to his pick-up truck. 

He assumed they were going to Benny's, though he wasn't quite sure what for or why. In the last weeks this had grown to be something familiar, not Wayne showing up out of the blue, but sitting in the comfortable silence with the old man at his side. Their gatherings had been cut short lately with Eddie being home again, which wasn't bad, but Steve had been lonely without the company. The time he'd normally spend with Eddie had recently been in Wayne's company, but lately it had been spent with himself and his thoughts, and well, that wasn't the best company to have.

—

It was quiet in the truck, the hum of the radio hardly audible, the occasional tick of the motor struggling to keep up; a faint noise in the cab. Then there was Wayne releasing a shaky breath to Steve's left before he spoke, "You doin' alright kid?"

Steve's automatic thought was a straight up 'No,' followed by a, 'No Wayne, I'm fucking miserable, what do you think?' But it's not like he could say as much, he respected the man, loved him even and he knew Wayne didn't deserve the attitude that was clawing its way up his throat. Steve sighed to himself, weighing his options knowing if anyone, he could tell Wayne everything, talk to him about anything. 

The fact was though, he wasn't fine. He was nearly the furthest thing from it but a pinch in his gut reminded him that things could be worse. Other people had much more difficult struggles in life than being unloved and lonely. In the grand scheme of the world, the struggles of Steve Harrington didn't matter. Plus he didn't want to complain or bitch or whine, Wayne heard enough of that last night anyway.

All he could manage was a hardly visible shake of his head.

Wayne hummed next to him, not sounding very satisfied with his provided response. At the moment Steve couldn't bear to look at the man. Keeping his gaze set on the flashes of trees and houses passing in the distance, his forehead pressed to the cool glass of the window, his body sore and slumping against the door.

That's how the drive remained, quiet, the air riddled with unspoken words and heavy emotions. Wayne didn't pry, didn't send Steve any sideways glances, only focused on the road ahead and let the quietness envelope them. It was one of the things Steve loved about the man. He didn't push, he didn't pry, but he was there for you when you were ready. 

Though Steve didn't know if he'd ever truly be ready. Everything flowing through him was so overwhelming, a whirling mess of emotions that swelled like a disease in his chest. 

The heaviest of it being his loss of Eddie.

—

Ten minutes later they found themselves sat in a booth at Benny's, the general public sending them odd stares and the waitress taking a second glance. Everyone seemed to be enamoured with the idea of seeing Steve Harrington and 'The Freak's' uncle sitting together in a booth. 

Steve supposed he and Wayne were an odd pairing to the public eye, but to the two of them it wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. In fact it was quite a regular thing in the last several weeks.

They'd spent hours in each other's company, albeit most of it in silence but still, it was the presence of another Steve wouldn't have had otherwise. Maybe it was a little awkward at the start without Eddie there as a buffer, but they soon fell into a rhythm and it was comfortable.

Sitting in the booth it'd taken a while for Steve to loosen up, the numbness that riddled his bones slowly fading by the minute. Something about being with Wayne took the edge off, lessened the hurt in a way. Maybe it was the fact that he was his only connection to Eddie or maybe it had something to do with the father son bond they'd forged. Either way, Steve appreciated Wayne's presence in his life.

They'd sat silently for quite some time, skimming the menus and eventually ordering food. It wasn't until their meals arrived that Wayne spoke again, words mumbled around the straw of his chocolate shake, "You going to the Hellfire thing tonight?"

Oh

Shit

Steve's gut twists at the reminder. He wasn't entirely sure if he was excited or down right terrified. He hadn't seen Eddie or the kids for a week. Hadn't seen the guys from Hellfire since before Vecna. He wasn't entirely sure how it would all go. If he'd be welcome. If Gareth and Jeff and the guys would even remember him.

Through the whirlwind that was last night's emotions and general freak out, he'd forgotten about his plan to take the kids to Hellfire today. Christ, Dustin's probably already waiting on the front porch, pouting and ready to go. 

God, kids are gonna be unbearable.

And then there's the whole Eddie of it all.

Sour and aching, anxiety twists in his gut, endless possibilities threaten to run through his head. But he sucks in a breath, counts to three and shoves it the fuck down.

He can do this.

—

Not more than a few hours later and Steve finds himself on the verge of a headache.

There's music blaring, voices screeching, he's sure Dustin just spilt his slushie on the floor and there's a letter from Robin burning a hole in his pocket.

He hadn't seen any of the kids post Vecna, not really anyways. Maybe in passing or throughout the hospital, but other than that, their attempted visits and that day at the grocery store with Dustin, this is really the first time he's seen them in a while. First time he's had to endure them in a while. He'd forgotten how loud they were,  how obnoxious, how fucking annoying. But goddammit, he forgot how much he loved them. Loved this.

The ache in his chest is a little less tense, even as Dustin wailes next to him and Mike complains to his rear. It's utter chaos, but now as tension pounds in his skull and red syrup stains the carpet of his front floorboards, he remembers why he loved this so much.

The feeling of being needed.

The feeling of the swell in his chest and the warmth in his heart.

The feeling of his ear drums shattering and his nerves wearing thin.

The feeling of family and warmth and the loneliness in his heart feeling a little less expansive.

They pull up to the school, parking in the empty lot and suddenly it's so quiet. Dustin's looking at him from the passenger seat, Mike and Lucas stare at him through the rear view mirror.

"So, what's the plan?"

It's Lucas asking this time, he and Mike now included into this scheme of theirs to win Eddie over once again. 

Steve shrugs, looking to Dustin for guidance only to be met with a mirror of his own actions.

"I dunno," Steve says, looking back to the boys in the back seat, "Just pretend it's your first time at Hellfire, pretend you've never met him before."

"What about the other guys?" Mike asks, not an ounce of his regular attitude in his tone

"I guess Wayne talked to Gareth. They know Eddie has memory loss, but that's about it."

"Well there's not much more to know anyways, is there?" Lucas asks, eyeing Steve with something suspicious

Steve stutters then, he forgets the kids don't know about his and Eddie's relationship sometimes. He supposes to them anyways there's not much more to know.

He shakes his head, eyes darting away to stare into the distance. He can feel the kids staring at him, but he ignores it. 

Dustin's watch beeps next to him, a high pitched, shrieking thing and like it's reactionary the kids pile out of the car and stride towards the school.

Steve takes a moment to collect himself, sucking in a grounding breath and counting down from three, his grip on the steering wheel growing painful as his anxiety begins to creep back in.

This isn't just another random bump in at the grocery store, this is hours confined to one room with the love of his life. The love of his life who has no idea who the hell he is.

The love of his life that Steve notices isn't here yet.

He scans the parking lot, watching as the kids enter the school and the sun slowly begins to fade, he can't help but notice the absence of Eddie's van. 

It's not a normal thing for Eddie to be late, at least not to Hellfire. Everything else in his life? Absolutely. Strolling in ten, twenty minutes late, a whirlwind of wild hair and manic energy. But he's always at least ten minutes early for his campaigns, setting up the table, taking time to unpack his bags and decompress before flipping the switch to Dungeon Master mode.

But seeing the empty spot where Eddie's van is normally parked makes something akin to dread swell in Steve's gut. This isn't like him.

Maybe Gareth knows something.

When he opens the doors to the drama room, he's met with several sets of eyes. The kids looking at him expectantly and the guys from Corroded Coffin sitting with their arms crossed over their chests, their brows furrowed.

"You got any idea where Ed's at?" Jeff asks, eyeing Steve as he moves through the room to settle on a chair in the corner, out of the way.

"No," Steve says as he settles in, "I was hoping one of you guys would know. "

The three metalheads look at him with a raised brow or some expression of confusion, his skin prickles under their scrutiny, "What?"

"Why you sitting over there?"

Steve grits his teeth, steeling himself while he speaks, "He doesn't remember me. Remember?"

The guys nod, Gareth sending him a saddened glance before he turns to say something to Jeff, the other man mimicking Gareth's reaction only a second later.

They sit there for what feels like forever, waiting for Eddie. Each passing moment only makes the nerves in Steve's chest tighten.

But just as he's thinking of turning in for the night and taking the kids home, there's a loud crash and the door flies open with Eddie falling in behind. His hair's a mess, his cheeks are red and there's a tear in his shirt. The guys erupt with sarcastic jibs before they fall silent and watch Eddie stumble into the room.

Through the dim light above Steve can see now that the red on Eddie's cheeks isn't a flush and that the crimson that spreads across his lips is too streaked across the white of his shirt.

There's sounds, voices and movement but as Steve's on his feet and making his way to Eddie just in time to stop him from crashing to the floor, it's all background noise. 

All he can think about is Eddie. All he can see is the blood smeared across his face and dripping from the cut in his lip. He's hurt and the sheer image of seeing blood on Eddie's face is a horrific reminder of the day he nearly died. He's sure Dustin's verging on a panic attack, just like he himself.

Pulse quickening, the flashing images of Eddie's lifeless body in his arms, it's nearly too much. Eddie's weak against him, trying to stay upright while he pushes away from Steve and mumbles something of reassurance. Like Steve can't see the blood dripping from his face.

Gripping solid on the leather of Eddie's jacket, Steve hears Dustin, a voice that cuts quietly through the rest, words he'd heard screamed into the darkness of the Upside Down weeks ago, "Steve, help him."

He sounds desperate, pleading.

But with a turn of his head he sees Mike with a hand on his shoulder and Lucas saying something in his ear that seems to ease the tension. He'll be okay.

Eddie jumps like a scared animal when Steve tries to pull him closer, jerking away, hiding his face in his hair, muttering something lost to the wound gaping on his lip.

It's times like these that Steve's thankful for his anxious tendencies, having stashed a first aid kit in the car after the gates of hell opened up back in 83'.

He wants to coddle, to pull Eddie close and kiss the top of his head, tell him it'll be alright. But he doesn't. He's not allowed to. Instead he tightens his grip on Eddie's arm and pulls him out of the room, down the hall and to his car. Eddie fights him for what feels like three steps, but follows easily by the time they make it outside.

Steve can hear what he says now, tone sharp, breath raspy, he leans against the hood of the Beemer, arms crossed over the tear in his shirt, eyes refusing to meet Steve's, he looks off to the side, "Gonna finish me off, huh Harrington? Finish what those fuckers started."

He tries to ignore the jab, leaving Eddie at the front of the car while he goes to dig in the back seat for his first aid kit. It hurts to think Eddie believes he's capable of that, especially now, especially after everything they've been through. But it hurts even more to know Eddie's going through this alone, probably running from the same people who hunted him after Chrissy died.

Eventually he finds the little white box with a red cross on top, pulling it from beneath the back seat with a sharp tug.

Eddie's still there when Steve comes back to the front of the car, arms still crossed,  head hanging low, chipped black painted nails picking at the tear in his lip. Steve watches as Eddie's eyes find the first aid kit in his hand, those beautiful brown eyes fluttering with surprise before they meet Steve's.

All he can offer is a weak smile, tapping the hood of the car telling Eddie to jump up and sit.

For a while it's a quiet, intimate exchange, Steve can feel Eddie's eyes following him, intense and wondering and locked onto his every movement. 

Standing off to the side, Steve sets the first aid kit down on the hood of the car, grabbing the alcohol wipes and a set of bandaids. He grits his teeth, knowing what he's about to do next is going to be so painfully difficult. That the feeling of Eddie's skin beneath his fingertips is going to force tears to his eyes and a sob to claw at his throat.

He counts to three, takes a breath then moves to stand in front of Eddie.

Brown eyes continue to follow his movements. They look sad, exhausted, lost, but something deep inside seems to glimmer like the sun when they lock onto Steve's. 

Steve takes a guilty moment to pause, take in Eddie's features, the curve of his nose, the arch of his lips, the gold and amber and mahogany looking back at him. He takes it in, swallows it deep and stores it in his soul for those moments when he feels restless and lost and lonely.

"Harrington." 

Eddie's voice pulls him back to reality, it's just short of a whisper, calm, quiet, housing none of the venom his earlier, accusatory words had. 

He sounds breathless 

Steve apologises with a whispered 'sorry,' scared to break whatever this is lingering between them.

Mindlessly his fingers find Eddie's chin, gentle, soft, tilting his head to better examine the damage done. It's a subtle thing, but with his motions Steve hears a shuddered breath come from in front of him. It's hardly audible, but it's there, there along with the blush creeping across Eddie's cheeks. Dusty pink beneath freckles and scars and blood.

In the sunlight he looks worse, pale skin stained pink and blooming purple beneath the hollow of his left cheek. There's the obvious mark of knuckles pressed into his flesh, a gash of split skin running along the raised bone of his jaw. His brows's bleeding and bruised and his lip looks sore where it drips wet and red.

His poor boy.

"Let me know if this hurts, okay?" Steve says in a hush

Eddie nods as much as he can with Steve's grasp on his chin, eyes never once detaching from those in front of him.

In the moments to follow Steve steps closer, standing between Eddie's thighs and wiping away the gore from the man's face. With each swipe of the alcohol wipe Steve restrains himself from pressing a kiss to Eddie's blood stained skin. He wants nothing more than to comfort and hold, to whisper words of love against the split in Eddie's lip. He wants nothing more than to pull the man close, hold him to his chest and tell him how much he misses him.

But he can't.

He can't, so he settles for what he's allowed, he settles for letting his hands linger and his touch comfort. It's a small thing but when he cups Eddie's cheek to wipe away the blood on his brow, he can feel Eddie lean into the touch. The fullness of his cheek pressing into Steve's palm, Eddie's chest rises and falls with an expanded breath like it's something he longs for. 

It'd be so easy just to lean in right now.

But he can't, so in that moment when he wants nothing more than to press their lips together in a kiss, Steve brushes his thumb over torn flesh, dragging blood across Eddie's bottom lip, tinting the once clean skin red.

Eddie's breath is hot and shaky as it spills from his nose, the breeze of it falling over Steve's knuckles with a quiet shuddered gasp.

Eddie's eyes are dark and wide as they take in Steve's, searching and finding and analysing. Steve swears Eddie sees something, pinching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, he pulls back slowly from the hold Steve still has on his cheek.

They're not touching anymore and where Eddie's skin once laid beneath Steve's fingertips, it burns, hot and aching. He wants to reach out again but forces his arms to fall to his sides as he takes a step back.

"Sorry," Steve whispers again, feeling caught in something he knows he's not allowed to feel. Not right now anyways. Not for the unsuspecting man in front of him. He feels caught in his stare and his longing and the gasping, gaping something for what he misses every waking moment of the day. 

He feels caught and he can't help but wonder what it was that Eddie's saw that made him pull away.

---

Ao3 ⤵️

[babyboibucky]

Devil’s Mark: Lead Me Into Temptation

Pairing: CleanRockstar!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your chose to give up everything to be with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Knife play, carving, marking, blood (not period blood okay), tasting said blood, pain kink, oral sex (M receiving), face fucking, tea-bagging, thigh riding, toxic relationship obviously, bible references as usual

A/N: Like I said, this AU owns me??? Whenever new rockstar pics are released my brain instantly goes into a mayhem and I can’t NOT write shit based on those photos. Anyway, enjoy sinning in this one skskksks

Devil’s Mark Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

You should have been ashamed at how quickly you decided to leave everything behind— your family, your work and your so-called friends, your beliefs and dignity.

All because of Bucky and you were not embarrassed by it. In fact, you were proud of it and you wore it like a badge of honor, quite literally actually. Bucky’s initials that were carved on your left collarbone never failed to remind you who you belong to.

You bled for it and went through the pain when Bucky pressed the tip of his knife onto your skin and used it to permanently mark you with his name. The pain was unlike any other but it was fucking worth it when Bucky rewarded you for being his good, little pet.

“You did so fucking good for me, munchkin.” Bucky cooed, sitting back and admiring his work.

The letters BB looked good on your skin, they were still red but written clearly enough for everyone to see. Tears continued to streak on your cheeks as you caught your breath, having to hold it in as you endured through the process of being marked.

“Aww, is my munchkin in pain?” he teased, wiping away your tears.

You shook your head, “I can take it.” you rasped out, sniffing and ignoring the burning sensation of the lacerations on your décolletage.

Bucky chuckled darkly and pressed a kiss on your neck, sucking your skin as his hand worked its way inside your skirt. His fingers tapped against the first mark he had given you while his mouth slid down to your throat.

“Such a good, little pet you are.” he hummed against your skin.

A combination of a gasp and a moan slipped past your lips when Bucky cupped your clothed cunt, pressing the pad of his palm against your already throbbing clit. He grunted in satisfaction when he felt how moist you had gotten.

Pulling back, Bucky looked at you with amusement. “Did the pain turn you on?” he asked.

You didn’t even know it was possible, you didn’t notice how damp it was between your legs until Bucky asked you about it. Not knowing what to say, you merely shrugged and bit your lip from embarrassment.

“Leave it to me to figure it out, munchkin.” Bucky said before bending down to lick at your fresh wound, humming at the tangy taste of your blood on his tongue.

The sting that you felt went straight to your core and left goosebumps all over your body. Hissing from both pain and pleasure, you threw your head back and found purchase on Bucky’s shoulders. It confused you at first, why the pain aroused you to the point of completely soaking your panties.

But when Bucky’s fingers began to rub your folds, you didn’t bother understanding your arousal anymore.

“Damn, didn’t expect for my munchkin to be a fuckin’ freak. You like it when it hurts, don’t you?” Bucky asked as he sat up straight.

His tongue and lips still had some of your blood, and the sight of Bucky wiping it with his thumb and sucking on it had you whimpering.

“I’m gonna have so much fun with you, munchkin.”

The day that Bucky marked you like that was the same day you had surrendered everything to him like he was a god. You never looked back since then, didn’t have an ounce of regret nor fear at what the future holds for you now that you were reeled into his world.

Everything about you changed— the way you dressed and presented yourself, your likes and dislikes. Bucky gloated at how much you willingly let him take control of you and your decisions.

You’d spent your entire life being constricted by so many rules that turned you into a person you never wanted to be in the first place. Don’t wear that, you look like a whore. Pray and repent for your sins every night, we don’t want a sinner in this family. Stay away from temptation, you don’t want to burn in hell.

It was ironic how you let the devil into your life but still got a glimpse of heaven.

A smirk tugged at your rouge-painted lips as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. You had never looked like yourself until now and you had Bucky to thank. He unraveled the truest version of you, helped you discover things you never knew you enjoyed, made you feel and bask in emotions you had suppressed for years.

Your finger traced the leather collar around your neck, something you considered a symbol of freedom rather than a restraint.

Bucky’s voice calling for you put an end to your pondering. Giving yourself one last look, you made sure to look your best before stepping out of the bathroom.

Your heels clacked as you walked into the bedroom of Bucky’s trailer, quickly catching his attention as he lounged on his bed in nothing but a pair of tight and stringed, leather shorts. His eyes darkened when he saw you, trapping his bottom lip in between his teeth as he got up to approach you.

A breath got caught in your throat when Bucky towered over you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You faltered under his predatory gaze and looked away, feeling bare and exposed because of the outfit he had asked you to wear: a black see through bralette, a matching thong and a pair of black stilettos. The collar he had given you was also attached to a belted chest harness that you had adjusted to accentuate your breasts.

“Fuck, knew my pet would look so damn good in that.” Bucky complimented, rubbing his stubbled chin as he took in your appearance.

He grabbed his silver chain from the bed and grunted when he heard your tiny gasp, loving how you got so fucking excited whenever he brought it out. Bucky smirked as he tipped your chin, thumbing your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick around.

“You wanna play, huh?” he asked before gently slapping the side of your breast.

You nodded enthusiastically, humming in excitement as Bucky continued to tease you. He clicked his tongue and took a step back, “Wanna hear my pet speak up.” he said.

“I wanna play, Bucky.” you immediately responded, looking at him with doe eyes and practically begging for him to leash you.

“That’s my pretty, lil’ munchkin.” Bucky praised, lifting your chin up so he could attach the chain onto the ring hanging at the middle of your collar.

Bucky caught you off guard when he harshly tagged on the chain, bringing you down onto your knees with a loud thud. His leather shorts already had a tent and the sight of Bucky’s thick, tattooed thighs instantly made you wet.

“Untie the strings, munchkin.” Bucky said, his hand still holding the chain while his other caressed your hair.

You lifted your hands up but they were quickly swatted away. When you looked at Bucky, he was grinning at you mischievously, “Use your mouth.” he said.

Gripping his thighs for leverage, you leaned forward and bit the edge of the string and pulled at it. You used your tongue and hooked it under the strings, lifting it up until it was loose. Bucky groaned at the sight of you on your knees, obeying his every command.

“You can use your hands now, munchkin. You’ve been such a good girl, go ahead and suck my cock. It’s all yours.” Bucky urged, exhaling through his nose when you didn’t waste any time and pulled his shorts down.

Spitting on the tip of his cock, you watched your saliva drip down to the shaft before licking the underside. You traced the prominent vein with your tongue, batting your eyelashes at Bucky whose mouth dropped open when you took his head into your mouth.

“Oh fuck, shit.” he hissed, scrunching his face in pleasure when you added your hand into the mix to fondle his balls.

“God, munchkin. You’re a fuckin’ sinner.” he breathily chuckled, gathering your hair behind your head into a ponytail.

“You gonna let me fuck your mouth?” he asked, moving his hips away from your lips.

Bucky snickered when your head followed his hips, not wanting to let go of his cock that was throbbing inside your mouth. He gripped your hair tight and yanked your head back until his cock slipped out and slapped against his abdomen. Your spit mixed with his pre-cum forming a string that connected the tip of his dick to your lips. Bucky tugged your head further away until your spit landed onto your chin and neck, dribbling down to coat his now fully-healed initials on your collarbone.

“How d’you want me to fuck your mouth, munchkin?” he asked, keeping his grip on your hair tight and painful.

“Fast, please.” you breathed out, licking your lips as you stared at his weeping, hard cock.

“Yeah, you want me to use your mouth and make myself cum?” he asked again.

You weren’t even finished nodding your head when Bucky pulled your face back down to his crotch. Your jaw ached when you opened your mouth wide, welcoming his cock back into your mouth until the tip hit the back of your throat.

Choking on his dick, your fingernails dug into Bucky’s thighs, creating dents that were easily hidden beneath his tattoos. Your eyes watered when Bucky held you in place for a few seconds before finally beginning to thrust his hips.

Wet, gaging sounds and Bucky’s moans filled the air as he fucked your mouth roughly. Saliva began to spill out from the corners of your mouth, dripping down to your chin and then the floor beneath you. Your tears escaped from your eyes and messed up your make-up, your mascara running down your cheeks, painting it a dark grey and mixing together with the smeared lipstick around your mouth.

“So fucking greedy for my cock, you’re such a slut.” Bucky grunted as he continued to fuck your face, ignoring the way your nostrils flared whenever you attempted to breathe through your nose. You blinked the tears away when you felt Bucky’s cock pulsate inside your mouth. The way his hips stuttered was a sign that he was close, and knowing how Bucky wanted to finish, you tugged his wrists away from your hair and started bobbing your head as you sucked him harder.

“Get under, I want to see my cum all over your innocent face.” Bucky demanded and began fisting his cock as you licked and sucked his balls.

You kept your eyes on Bucky the entire time, just waiting for him to make a mess on your face. The look of pleasure on his face always did it for you, always made you soak and drip for him. The fact that it was you making him feel this way, it gave you a sense of fulfillment. His brows would furrow, his nose would scrunch up and he would snarl and growl at you whenever he was close to his climax.

You loved it, loved seeing a man like him lose himself in you and on you.

“Yes, fuck!” Bucky groaned, taking a step back before aiming his cock onto your face, spurting his release all over you.

“Stick your tongue out, munchkin...yeah, fuck. Just like that, good girl.” he whispered, jerking his cock and letting more of his cum land on your tongue.

Bucky pulled his shorts back up and sat down on the foot of the bed, grabbing his phone and then opening the camera app. Like his good pet, you remained on your knees and didn’t bother cleaning up your face.

“C’mere, munchkin.” Bucky softly said, taking the chain in his hand as he watched you crawl towards here.

“Let me take a photo of you, fuck. You look so damn pretty like that, all fucked up and dirty. What a whore.” he chuckled and gripped your face in one hand, angling your face before snapping a couple of photos.

He threw his phone aside and leaned back, gazing at you with a satisfied smile. You returned the smile and started wiping your face with both your hands, gathering all his cum before bringing it into your mouth without breaking your eye contact with Bucky.

You sucked your fingers clean before proceeding to lick your palms, humming at the taste of Bucky.

You used to be an angel, such a pure soul but all that purity flew right out of the window when you met him. Now, your wings have been cut off and that landed you straight onto the devil’s lap.

“You really know how to make me happy, munchkin.” Bucky praised. “I knew it was right to keep you.” he added, tipping his head at you.

“Come, munchkin. Gotta reward you for being an obedient pet, of course. Why don’t you sit that pretty pussy on my thigh, rub yourself on me. Make that pussy purr.” he said, patting his thigh.

You crawled closer to him and held onto his knees as you stood up. You slightly winced in pain, your knees were red and bruised from being on the ground. Bucky gripped your leash and tugged on it, pulling you down until his thigh was slotted in between your legs.

A moan slipped past your swollen lips when your clothed cunt pressed against Bucky’s thigh. He laughed when he felt how fucking wet you were, your juices immediately soaking his skin, making his tattoo glisten with it.

“Ride my thigh, go ahead. Cum whenever you want.” he said.

You did as you were told and started moving your hips back and forth, moaning wantonly at the friction. You didn’t bother removing your thong, you were too aroused to do that. The throbbing in your pussy only grew with every movement, creating a delicious coil in your abdomen.

Bucky’s eyes kept on moving from your face to your pussy, watching you proudly as you tried to get yourself off. Your breasts bounced with emphasis thanks to the harness and your nipples were pebbled against the sheer fabric of your bralette.

“Bucky…” you whimpered, holding onto his shoulders as you quickened your pace— back and forth, back and forth, side to side.

Your juices were dripping down already, creating a vulgar, squelching sound whenever you moved. The hairs on Bucky’s thigh were also adding to your pleasure, allowing you to come closer and closer to your end.

“Yeah, you gonna cum? Cumming already, munchkin?” Bucky teased, yanking your leash to bring your lips down to his.

He licked your parted mouth before biting your lower lip, tugging at it until it bled. Bucky sucked on your lip before kissing you messily. You moaned into his mouth when you tasted your blood; it quickly mixed with Bucky’s release, creating a unique flavor that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Gonna cum, Bucky.” you whined, moving your hips faster and rougher against his thigh.

“Go on, munchkin. Give it to me, soak my fuckin’ thigh with your cream. C’mon.” he growled as he pinched your nipple.

The pressure in your abdomen exploded and made your entire body buzz from immense pleasure as you came. Electricity ran through your veins, starting from your fingertips down to your toes as they curled. Wetness gushed out of your sopping cunt, completely soaking Bucky’s thighs and the bedsheets beneath.

Your high-pitched moan was like music to Bucky’s ears; his smile was from ear to ear as he watched you get lost in your pleasure, your head tilted back as your nails left scratches on his shoulders down to his chest.

“That’s it, munchkin. Look at this mess…” Bucky pointed out, looking at his drenched thigh and your ruined thong.

Your chest continued to heave as you caught your breath, your eyelids fluttering from mere exhaustion. Bucky started pressing light kisses on your chest, throat and jaw while his hands began to caress the sides of your thighs.

Bucky’s praises and sweet words were your gospel, his grunts were your choir.

And you? Your body was his temple.

“You know I’d fuck you until you were dumb, but I got a concert.” Bucky sighed, helping you get off from his thigh.

“You wanna come and watch?” he asked.

The way his eyes narrowed at you was meaningful, you knew that Bucky was up to something. Whatever it was that he had in mind, you always looked forward to it.

You nodded in response, “I’ll go get changed.” you said and was about to walk away until Bucky grabbed your leash again, stopping you from doing so.

He tutted as he pulled you close, not caring whether you stumbled on your feet. Bucky caressed your face and fixed your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear before winking at you.

“I didn’t tell you to get changed, munchkin.” he said, lifting a brow at you.

“How ‘bout I take you out on a walk?”

Bucky could take you anywhere and you’d let him. Hell, he could keep you leashed and you wouldn’t even bat an eye. Truth was, Bucky could lead you anywhere he wants and you would follow him like a loyal disciple.

He had already led you into temptation, you might as well follow him to the pits of hell.

[unrestedjade]

More baseless Ferengi headcanons no one asked for: LATINUM EDITION~~~

- Almost every home is a rental, as almost all usable land is corporate-owned. Might as well daydream about owning a moon, it's no less realistic than owning the house you grew up in. (No I'm not frustrated with my $1500 rent at all, no I'm not miserable watching 40-year-old trailer homes selling for $250k to a property management firm that's going to rent it out. Surely a place like Ferenginar wouldn't be equally ridiculous, hahahahahahahahHAHAHAHA. Ahem.) - Latinum as religious fetish. We see Quark offering slips of latinum while he prays to the Blessed Exchequer before bed. He even has a little shrine. What's unclear is whether you're meant to reuse the same slips each day or if you have to actually "give up" the latinum over the longer term for the offering to count. You can break a piggy bank, but it's probably bad to break an image of the Exchequer, unless he's very chillaxed compared to the majority of gods. - Assuming really giving up the latinum is better, is destroying it extra good? Or are you sinning by removing it from the Continuum? Are there Ferengi extremist sects that sink latinum into bogs or launch it into a star?

- What do they think and feel about latinum with regards to the Exchequer? What does a god need with it? Is it meant to be his lifeblood, figuratively? Or literally, via transubstantiation? (Catholic Ferengi. Cathipitolists.)

- How was latinum treated in the days before they knew to process it with gold so it could be handled safely? It's very pretty and ethereal-looking in its raw form, and also very, very toxic. Depending on the symptoms of latinum poisoning, I wonder if it had anything to do with it gaining religious significance? Ancient Ferengi priests seeing visions and going a little funny in the head from handling raw latinum for years and years?

- The way Quark and Brunt talk about taxes in S7 suggests there's not a lot of taxation in Ferengi society (officially, anyway. idk what else you'd call their ubiquitous bribes/tips than unofficial taxation). In any case, since one of the major purposes of taxation in modern economies is to control inflation by removing money (governments create/destroy money; they don't really keep a little checkbook register of surplus/deficit the way a household does) offering latinum to the Exchequer as an act of worship could be a good way to take money out of circulation for a while. - Latinum vs fiat money? Latinum is canonically used as coinage by multiple species. (It would seem like Ferengi are putting themselves at a bit of a disadvantage by also attaching a spiritual importance to it, but who knows, and this is a tangent on a tangent.) Is all their money backed by latinum? It can't be, right? Just conceptually, their stock markets and banks can't possibly be tying every value in every account to a real, physical measure of latinum, that's horribly inefficient. Can "latinum" also mean any legitimate liquid asset? Or does the Exchequer insist on the real thing? Much to ponder. - Brunt implies in Family Business that Ferenginar has houseless people and beggars. There's no point in begging if no one ever gives you anything, so some people must give charity to beggars. What's that look like, is it something kind-hearted Ferengi do in spite of the RoA explicitly stating that charity is only acceptable when you come out richer than you started? What's their rationalization in that case? Are they left feeling shameful about it? (Obviously the people stuck begging feel shitty, by design. Ironically, they might feel less shitty than we would, since the Exchequer doesn't appear to care how you get money, only that you get it.) - If you're moved to give money/material aid to a needy person, you'd probably do it quietly. Here in the good ol' US of A a common view is that "hand-outs" hurt the needy person in the long run because you're removing their impetus to stop being lazy sponges. And that's from people who follow a religion that commands them to care for the needy! So it's gotta be even harsher under a religion that's completely mask-off in its worship of individual prosperity. - (You just know Keldar was one of those people tossing a few slips of latinum for someone sleeping under a shop awning each morning. His business sense sucked but Ishka made him sound like a warm person. Folks gotta eat.) - Reincarnation... Alright, so if you were a dude and you die broke it's implied you can't reincarnate/are damned to the Vault of Eternal Destitution. Cool and fair, nothing to unpack there. What about women? They're half the population but seem to have been overlooked on this point in this here 10k-year-old religion. Which is telling in itself, of course, but you'd think someone would have addressed this? Who reincarnates female? Is the accepted understanding that females reincarnate female and are totally removed from the requirement to bid on their life? But that still doesn't solve the problem, because even if reincarnation were assigned-sex-segregated (god what a shitty idea, compels me tho) you're still losing X number of men to the Vault each generation. - I want to see what Ferengi religious debates look like. Pel is shown to be a serious scholar of the RoA as they've dug into not only the text itself but all the commentaries and refutations and deep-dives others have published about it. That's gotta fuel some spicy convo around the tongo table once everyone's a few drinks in. - Are there multiple sects? People arguing whether this or that rule is meant to be taken literally vs as metaphor? Everyone can't be in lockstep on this stuff. Quark seems to have been raised within the currently-hegemonic sect, but surely there's others.

- There don't appear to be any clergy or equivalent persons, so I wonder if there's different sects how they organize themselves? Do they host different subs on Ferengi Reddit? (Ferengi Reddit...shudder) - Ferengi atheists slacking at work or living as drifters because there's no point saving money for a next life that's not real. Life must drive them to drink. That's when you go out into space to live with the sane people and never call home.

- Is the rest of the population chill with atheists, or is that a no-go? I guess it would depend on how loud the person is and whether they follow the Rules or not.

- You know who they're definitely not chill with: socialists. Do they have Satanic Panics about this or that media turning the youth into commies? If you're an outspoken socialist, are you looking at exile? Arrest? An unexpected date with an Eliminator? - Conspicuous consumption seems to be a thing, and it's interesting in light of the whole "needing a good high score for a good reincarnation" idea. It still boils down to showing off how much you can afford to waste, but the stakes are undoubtedly higher for the faithful. - If something happens and you're at risk if losing everything, is it safer to just off yourself while you still have money? What if you're going to lose more than you'd ever be able to make back? (In economics this is called a perverse incentive lulz)

- The Great Monetary Collapse must have suuuuucked. It's the Great Depression x100, and also your god is mad at you, maybe??? And your next life is totally screwed now, too. Fuckin' dire, man. When Quark mentioned it in the show, it was with this flippant air like he was waiting to see how Miles and Julian reacted. He might have elaborated more if they hadn't reacted...the way he probably assumed they would. (Partially a self-fulfilling prophecy given the way he primed them to treat it as a joke, but I digress.) - Suicide rates are measurably higher in societies that elevate achievement and work ethic (see the Protestant vs Catholic divide on this, it's interesting and very depressing as a lapsed protestant in a protestant-dominated country). Just saying. - On this same bummer track: hedonic depression could be very commonplace among Ferengi. Every minute not spent working is spent on distraction because life is just such an exhausting grind, and a lot of factors determining whether you're a good/successful person are out of your control. Booze, porn, and gambling are all very distracting, and thus very popular. If a lot of this just sounds like regular degular capitalism: yes. It's actually proving difficult to push the fictional society further out because we're already living beyond satire. Maybe that's why I like these awful little guys so much. (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[buckyownsmylife]

into you - tom hardy smut

The one where you help him read his lines and things get slightly out of script

Warnings: smut, no foreplay, unprotected sex

A/N: This was another Hardy request I received not so long ago. I ended up going with a PA again 🤷‍♀️ Also, I think I might end up investing in these banners more than those moodboards for my fics, lmk what y’all think 🤔The moodboards just take forever to make and these last few I’ve made were simply terrible, in my opinion 😂

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“You in there, love?” The smile on my lips was instantaneous, the last traces of sleepiness vanishing from my face like the man appearing through the trailer’s door was some kind of super powerful, instant coffee. I knew at least the side-effects from withdrawal were much the same.

“Where else would I be?” I joked, still busying myself with cleaning a bit around the room as I waited for him to take off the coat that was a part of his character’s characterization. Tom just grunted, checking himself in the mirror like he still couldn’t believe in the power of cinematic make-up before glancing in the direction of the shower.

“You say it like you got nowhere better to be.” Was this a joke? He knew it was the truth, he had to be saying this just to tease me. Still, it was better to join in than to make this a bigger deal that it was, so I just snorted.

“You say it like you don’t know you’re the best company ever!” I mocked in a fake girly voice, giggling at myself after I reached the end of the sentence. I’d also finished with the general clean-up and I gave myself a nod as a recognition for my efficient work, before finally meeting my boss’ eyes.

“Careful, sweetheart. When you say stuff like that I only end up falling deeper.” A wink was sent in my direction, and stupidly, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man who was supposed to be my boss - and nothing else - joking about being in love with me. 

It was moments like these that showed me regardless of how strongly I tried to shove it away and push it to the farthest corners of my mind, I was still falling deeper and deeper for him with each passing day I spent in his company.

“I have to go take a shower, wash this make-up off me. You’ll still be here when I get out?” Like he said, I had nowhere else to be, so I just shrugged, letting my body fall on the couch while releasing a deep sigh.

“I guess. You need me for something?” When he didn’t immediately answer me, my curiosity was picked, so I raised my gaze to find him leaning on the threshold of the bathroom’s door, shirt already off and a boyish smile on his lips.

“I always need you, sweetheart. But I was thinking about maybe running some lines, are you up for that?” All I could do was nod, mouth suddenly too dry to do anything else as I watched him enter the bathroom and close the door behind him. Images of what it must be like in that cramped room, the fog slowly relaxing his muscles as he let his jeans drop to the floor before curling his thumbs in his boxers and then…

I needed to stop.

Tom’s P.O.V.

Fuck. I knew I should find it in me to turn the water to a cold temperature, but the warmth just felt so good against my tired muscles and it was becoming clear that not even the frigidest of showers would be able to stop my cock from hardening, not while she was still right there, behind that door, waiting for me, looking like that. God, how could she not know what she did to me?

Three years I’ve waited. Three years. Trying to see any sort of definitive sign that she was as into me as I was into her. Because, since things in my life could never be easy, the woman I ended up falling for worked for me. And as much as I wanted her, I could never find it in myself to be that guy who just ends up screwing someone’s lives because of his own egoistical wishes.

If I revealed my interest in her and she didn’t reciprocate it, there was simply no way for us to keep working together like this. My heart couldn’t handle it and I’d never want to make her uncomfortable in any way.

So I just waited and waited and waited for the perfect opportunity that always seemed to slip through my fingers. And in that time, we only grew closer and closer. A P.A.’s job is already quite dependent on having a tight connection to the person they’re supposed to assist, but we were just so damn similar. And it seemed like she just understood me - beyond the needs of her regular day-to-day tasks - on a profound level, from my wicked sense of humor to my fears and anxieties.

It was really no surprise that we had become as close as best friends. She was the person I trusted the most now, even with the stuff I wouldn’t regularly confide to a personal assistant, and I knew the new nature of our once strictly-professional relationship was easily apprehended by her, too.

It only added a new layer of difficulty for the mess we’d found ourselves in, a new bond I could easily destroy if the resolve I had so cautiously built came crumbling down. But now that the cracks had appeared, it was only a matter of time before it all became clear and I was left with whatever came of it. So I decided to take a stance.

“You ready?” I asked, once dried and with loose and comfortable clothes that allowed me to relax even further after such a stressful day on set. This was it. This was the moment of truth. I was really going to do this.

“Sure. Can you throw me the script?” Oh, right. I looked around the now (thanks to her) tidied trailer to locate the little brochure right over the mini-fridge, offering it to her on the correct page.

“There you go. You sure you don’t have anywhere else to be? We might be here for a while.” If things go according to plan, I thought but didn’t voice it, although I was surprised that she couldn’t hear how loud my heartbeat had gotten in this cramped space.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Positive,” I confirmed, not looking at him as I took advantage of the excuse of becoming familiarized with the words I’d have to speak. “I’m yours for the night.” I don’t think I would have realized just how… different these words could sound if it wasn’t for the silence that followed. But when my head whipped up and my eyes met his, panic undoubtedly very clear in my expression, all I got was, “I need you to listen to this and listen carefully, because it is my heart that speaks directly to yours.”

For a second, I just blinked, completely confused about what was happening until suddenly it dawned upon me. Right, the script. I glanced down once more to check my line before reciting it, “Speak if you must. I don’t know what you could possibly say that would erase this mess you’ve made.”

Fuck. I’d forgotten this movie had a pretty intense romantic storyline. I hadn’t been on set for any scenes other than the action sequences, so it’d completely disappeared from my mind that this was a possibility: that Tom would ask me to rehearse love scenes with him.

All I could do now was pray that my heart would come out of this unscattered.

“I need you to know that I want you, in more than one way - in more than the expected way. I want you as more than a friend and maybe as more than a lover too.” Once again, I was dumbfounded by the words that left his lips, uncertain of what to do. Those weren’t the same words on my script, they weren’t the ones I was expecting to hear.

“I need you to know that I need you, in more than one way - in more than the traditional way. I need you as more than a friend and maybe more than a wife too.”

Like it knew something was about to happen, my heart sped out of control, and I tried to force my hands to stop shaking as I licked my lips and took a moment to breathe. “Are you… Are you sure that’s the right line?” I managed to ask, but all I got as a response was a small, almost shy smile.

Tom didn’t do shy. This felt different.

“Can I touch you?” He asked. That wasn’t in the script either. And somehow, everything in the universe seemed to click into its rightful position because somehow, right then, I just knew.

“Yes.” It came out more as a whisper than anything else, but in a second his hands were on me, one on my hip and the other on my hair and I could just barely comprehend that this was about to happen when his mouth descended upon me.

His kiss was everything I thought temptation would taste like and it consumed me like nothing else. Chapped lips pried mine open and at the touch of his tongue on mine, my knees faltered, but he was right there to keep me up.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.” I don’t know if I shivered because of the feeling of his warm breath against my lips or the words in itself. I just knew I suddenly felt warm, really warm, like something was burning me from the inside, and I was desperate to take him with me.

My eyes traveled up his body until they reached his own, both of us breathing hard against each other. I could feel his fingers gripping my hips tightly, and just that small gesture of possessiveness was enough to have a whine threatening to escape my throat.

“Yes,” I breathed out, lost in his gaze. “I want you too.”

Apparently, that was all he needed to fully let go of his control, mouth desperately tasting mine before abandoning it to litter kisses all over my jaw, down my neck until he stopped to suck a bruise on my throat, like some sort of ownership sign that he was anxious to leave on me. I was struggling to even catch a breath, but somehow managed to bury my hands inside of his shirt, clawing at his back with each new nip and suck that he gave me.

When we finally parted, the first thing he said to me was, “Can I take this off?” while playing with the hem of my dress and I’d never heard Tom that needy before. It almost felt like he would be the one whining any second now, and the thought that he could truly desire me that much had my head swirling.

I’d barely nodded in response and he was already pulling the fabric over my head, discarding somewhere in the tiny trailer. I couldn’t care enough to look for it right now, too preoccupied with the way his eyes explored me, hands immediately reaching out to get rid of my bra, too.

“Take off your underwear and sit on that couch.” It felt like an order. “Spread your legs for me.” That definitely was one. And I wasn’t stupid enough to disobey it.

Although still trembling with the anxiousness that came from the unpredictable turn of events I was living through, my body felt electrified by his gaze, by his obvious desire for me. It wasn’t hard to follow his command, even if some part of me wanted to feel at least a bit shy about being completely naked while he remained fully clothed. But the tortured groan he let out after I completed the task and exposed myself to him made it clear I’d done the right choice by abiding by his wishes.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Well, I felt hot under his burning stare, so it seemed appropriate. Still, I had to ask, since it seemed like I was about to lose my damn mind, “Then why are you just staring?”

Tom’s P.O.V.

The question, that barely hid the eagerness behind it, made me smirk while I approached the trembling little body waiting for me on the couch. “I fucking knew it,” I teased, kneeling before her and delicately tracing her jaw with one finger. “I knew you weren’t any innocent little angel.”

The look she gave me from under her eyelashes almost had me second guessing what I’d just said, but I knew better. Raising to my full height, my fingers made quick work of my clothes before I wrapped a fist around my member, slowly jerking myself to the sight of her naked body.

“I knew you were perfect for me even on this level.” She licked her lips as her eyes kept following my movements, and I panted at the clear sign of desire when she reached out to grab me. “No, darling. I can’t control myself much longer and I still need to prepare you.”

When I made a movement towards her, sitting by her side on the couch, I was surprised to see her close her legs before I could reach out for her, quickly climbing on my lap with as much eagerness as I was exhibiting myself.

“No, no teasing,” she pleaded, wet and warm cunt grinding against my hardened member as she wrapped her arms around the back of my neck. 

“I don’t want to tease, I want to prepare you,” I tried to explain as I reached out to grab her arms, holding them between us instead. She pouted, clearly fully intended to guilt me into skipping foreplay, but I didn't want her to regret this later, even if she still asked this while clearly knowing just how big my cock was. “The night’s still young, baby. We have plenty of time to get acquainted with our bodies.”

I nibbled on her earlobe as I tried to convince her, but she wasn’t having it. That much became clear as she continued to grind herself against me, before saying, “I don’t want you to prepare me, I want your cock in me. I want it to hurt.”

A shiver went through my spine at her words, temporarily freezing me. And that was all the time she needed to pull her hands from mine and take my cock in her own grip, quickly aligning it with her hole before starting to descend back to my lap again. 

“C’mon, Tom,” she tried to snap me out of it. “Fuck me hard. Show me just what I’ve been missing.” Those words, paired with the feeling of her tight pussy beginning to ride me, had me breaking out of my control in a second.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” I growled before taking a hold of her hips and quickening her movements until her breasts were bouncing right before me. “I should have known you’d be a little cockwhore, huh? I’m gonna fuck you against every wall of this trailer before fucking you on top of each and every piece of furniture. Let’s see if you’ll still be hungry for more when I’m done with you.”

The moan she let out at my words had my cock twitching inside of her, fingers pressing tightly on the soft flesh of her hips as I struggled to keep my composure and not spill myself inside her tight walls so damn soon.

“You’re so fucking wet, even without any foreplay,” I absentmindedly commented, and while it seemed like she wanted to say something, maybe explain herself, the way I was ramming into her clearly stopped any sane words from leaving her lips. It was only a mess of moans and whimpers, until suddenly, a single word came out, clear as day, at least to my own inebriated mind and hard-as-a-rock cock.

“Holy shit,” I cursed, throwing my head back as I grabbed her ass to keep her riding my cock. “Moan my name again. Moan my fucking name, Y/N. Don’t you dare keep it in.” It seemed like my command was unnecessary. She screamed my name like it was the only thing she knew how to say as I felt her pussy milking me for my cum, her own orgasm taking over her.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

As soon as I was able to breathe again, his hand was forcing me down to meet his lips again in a desperate open-mouthed kiss. “Such a good girl for me,” he whispered, still fucking himself up at me, and the overstimulation was so delicious I squeezes his shoulders to keep my whimpers in, scared that he’d slow down. “I imagine you like this so many times.”

Giggling, I wrapped my arms around him while I resumed my previous movements, riding his dick with all I had, determined to feel him spill inside of me. “Is it anything like you imagined?”

He just groaned, squeezing my ass and letting his head fall back on the couch before admitting, with lust-filled eyes that looked up at me from his eyelashes, “It’s so much better. So much better than just jerking off to the thought of you.”

His words, the raspiness of his voice as he uttered them, had me clenching around him, and ultimately, that’s what brought him close to his own orgasm. “Can I cum inside of you?” He asked, fingers squeezing my hips tightly as he took full control of my movements in his need to get to that pleasurable end. A nod from me had him finally there, cumming inside of me as his entire body freezed, immobilizing me on top of him, too.

“What about now?” He asked, barely able to stay awake as his fingers traced circles on my hips, eyes closed while I did the same, resting on his chest. “Can you still stay?”

Laughing, I pulled away just enough to deposit a quick kiss on his lips before readjusting myself back to my previous position. “Positive,” I repeated, thinking back on just how much had happened since the last time I said that word to him. “I’m right where I need to be.”

[korissideblog]

Ok! ONE more actor AU post, then I’ll start switching Aito’s quirk <3

(if you have any recommendations for that btw, send an ask lol)

[work in progress!!]

[We need to get this out for next week’s issue. Ichiro’s working on the visuals, you guys make the transcript look nice.]

[yes sir.]

[Aye boss!]

[You got it]

Hello! I’m Kiyoshi Ono, joined here today by none other than Shishio Ramos! Actor in the new series Kimi no Hīrō Akademia!

Hi! [awe! This kid is so sweet] [He’s barely said anything yet] [hush!]

Hi there Ramos! Could you tell us what this new series is going to be about, and who you’re playing?

Oh yeah! Totally! Well- pretty much it’s a highschool for super powered kids, where[nice][Nice!][?][look at the word count!][juveniles]they each can show off their special abilities and train to become pro heroes! Pro being taken literally there- they’re training to become professional heroes! It’s a really fun thing. Ah- and my character is Aito Takao! Takao’s a silly sort of character- kinda like a villain but she’s on the hero’s side in the end. She’s comic relief for when things get too heavy- mostly because she doesn’t care about what’s making everyone else all bummed out [laughter] yeah- she’s a really narcissistic character- but she’s funny so it’s ok.

Yes, my daughter read the manga that inspired Kimi no Hīrō Akademia, and she says that you guys are making a lot of changes- specifically to Takao?

Oh- yeah [laughter] we’re making a couple changes. Takao’s gonna have the same personality and stuff- don’t worry fans- but… you know, we’ll be adjusting a couple things to make Takao an easier role for me to play. He’ll be going by she/him pronouns for one-

She/Him pronouns?

-yeah! Takao’s gonna be genderfluid! For those who don’t know, there’s a ton of different ways to be genderfluid, but the way that I’m gonna portray Takao as- you know, the way I am- pretty much he’s gonna be kinda a little mix of boy and girl? Ah- it’s kinda hard to explain without getting into a lot of different topics, but- pretty much what the audience has to know is that you could refer to Takao with both he/him and she/her pronouns, and his uniform is gonna be both slacks and a skirt! [Ahhh! I just adore Ramos <333] [he’s just explaining gender presentation?][I KNOW!!!]

Alright, good to know! Anything else you think the fans would like to know about changes?

Yes actually! So- in the manga, both Takao’s parents are like, super dead [laughter] but! The writers thought it would be more fun to [nice] [juvenile][JUVENILE!!!] keep Takao’s mother alive, and be kinda ambiguous with his dad. I won’t go too much into it- but I think new and returning fans of the series are really gonna like it!

Perfect! Now, let’s talk more about you

Oh boy-

[laughter] Don’t worry Ramos- I just wanna learn a bit more about behind the scenes stuff. You’re just coming off Good Morning Nakamuras!, how would you describe the transition between Hanta Kobayashi and Aito Takao?

oh lord- [laughter] yeah yeah- there’s a lot of difference between the two. You can see it really prominently in the writing. Good Morning Nakamuras! was a family sitcom, so it was a lot of ‘someone says something’ ‘someone else says something’ ‘Hanta says something either funny or dumb’ and then a laugh track. Sometimes someone else would come after Hanta to carry the joke, but usually it was just that. [awe… I’m gonna miss Good Morning Nakamuras!] [same here, it was my mom’s favorite!] But with Takao, it’s a much faster pace. It’s just ‘someone says something’ and then immediately ‘Takao says something funny or dumb’ and then immediately back to ‘someone else says something’ and then ‘Takao says something funny or dumb.’ I-I don’t know if I’m explaining it well- it’s just that Takao talks all the time and always has something new or witty to say. He’s just a chatter box without a filter and- that’s kinda fun to do- I always get the final word and it’s always gonna get a laugh, you know? [have you guys seen the trailer yet?] [no, but my niece has! She’s really excited to see the premiere!!] [i have. it looks weird, but my brother is excited for it. his favorite is the blonde one i think]

There’s also the problem with the stunts, you know? Like- the worst of it on Nakamuras! was just the parts where I had to jump the fence, and even then it was just every couple of episodes. On KNHA I have to do all these cool fighting moves- and not to mention how deranged Takao is just… naturally [laughter] he’s just a very energetic guy with a fondness for climbing things- and people! Like you have no clue how tall someone is until your boss points at them and is like “hey, go climb them.” And you have to do it! The pro tip I’m gonna give people-climbers: it’s all in the legs [laughter] you just have to get your legs around them and pray that you don’t look as stupid as you feel. God- the worst part is when you’re climbing someone who's the same height as you! Hiroharu’s actor is about my height, and I have to climb him all the damn time. It feels like you’re gonna crush them, you know? Like you just have to be as light as possible and hope and pray that they can support you. And- and I know that he can, you know? Like me and him have the same personal trainer, and Kyo-San doesn’t do “easy” [laughter] I know that he can hold me, there’s just always that fear you know?

Oh definitely- and speaking of Hiroharu’s actor, we know you’re on the lower end of the age spectrum, do you think that affects how you all work together?

Oh no, definitely not! Yeah I’m younger than a lot of my coworkers, but not by much- 19, 20 in June. I mean I’m glad that I’m so young! Like I said- Hiroharu’s actor is about my height, and I’m like 173, and… you know… Hiroharu’s actor is over 21 I think- he sometimes offers to get drinks with us, so he’s definitely 21 and up- and I hear people stop growing after 18…

What? [laughter] What are your tying to say?

Oh my god wait- wait you can’t leave that in! I work with that guy! I can’t call him short in an interview before the show actually starts- ohh no! Oh god!

The average man’s height is 175!

Oh- ah I’m sure- I’m sure that-that’s true- oh my god-

I’m 174!

Oh my god we can’t leave this in! [laughter] oh my god- I’m sorry I just- I come from a tall family so sometimes I forget that- that you know people- oh my god we have to cut this out [laughter] [make sure to remove this bit] [awe! But it’s funny!!] [we’ll literally be sued if we don’t] [you two are no fun :(]

But yeah, age doesn’t really get in the way of things. We’re all good friends on set- especially Hoshizawa’s actor! Him and Shimoda-san are really cool guys, I love hanging out with them!

Shimoda-san? As in Kosuke Shimoda?

Yes! Shimoda-san plays Ikuto Maekawa, and since our characters are such great friends, I’d like to think we are as well! He’s a real fun guy, and I’m excited to work with such a huge talent- everyone- everyone there is so talented and I’m so lucky to be there.

Ah, speaking of talent. While a large portion of the cast is hidden, we have seen some familiar faces in the trailer. We’ve also seen some familiar faces on social media…

Oh my god-

[laughter] you never publicly addressed it, Ramos! Do you want to talk about your fight with Bryce Aoki?

Oh lord… [laughter] everyone’s so dramatic- so it wasn’t a fight- it’s just- ok so we had a little scene together where I would push him out of frame, but he wanted to still be seen and I was fine with that. Choreography is very important to me, so we had a passionate discussion-

Passionate discussion that ended with Aoki getting a black eye?

That- [laughter] that was an accident! I was- so we were practicing by the makeup desks- bad decision I know, but- stop looking at me like that! [laughter] It was just- we’re standing like we would in the scene, and I go to shove him- and- and I’m aiming for his head but- but maybe I accidentally hit his eye - and he absolutely wipes out, like this kid’s on the ground and I’m like “holy sh*t I just punched a kid” you know? [laughter] [she’s like, barely a year older than him…] but! Bryce is a sweetheart, and luckily he’s alright-

He got a black eye! He posted about it!

Oh he! He’s just a bit dramatic! He’s an actor though, it’s our jobs to be a bit looney [laughter]

Alright then, it seems we've run out of time for tonight. Anything you want to say?

Yes! I want to wish everyone a lovely evening! Thank you for the support! -And make sure to watch Kimi No Hīrō Akademia when it comes out this summer!

[litwitlady]

When You Go, Take Me With You

On a warm July morning, Thomas Mann – not his real name, mind you – finds himself hauling ass down 285, praying that the airstream doesn’t come unhitched. Tommy has spent the last 11 months in Santa Fe grifting seniors in assisted living facilities out of their hard-earned nest eggs. But someone’s greedy little grandson finally noticed his grandmother’s savings dwindling away and called the authorities. He’s been riding hard all night and can’t remember the last time he ate. But he’s got a rap sheet three pages long and knows if he gets caught, he’ll never see the light of day again.

Eventually, his stomach wears him down, though, and he stops in Roswell at a kitschy little diner he hopes he can disappear into long enough to satisfy his basic needs. Halfway through his cheese fries, three sheriff’s deputies walk in and as they are chatting with the waitress at the counter, Tommy sneaks out and takes the scenic route back towards his pickup. He can’t really say he’s much surprised to find the actual Sheriff knocking on the airstream’s door. Knowing he’s lost this battle, he decides to cut his losses and run. The old Ford pickup is eventually auctioned off, but the airstream ends up in the impound lot collecting dust for the next year.

And then one day Michael Guerin accidentally illegally parks his truck on the Long farm where he promptly passes out drunk across the bench seat. Daddy Long calls the Sheriff and Michael’s arrested. Again. Max bails him out and drives him over to the Chavez County impound lot to collect his truck. And that’s where Michael Guerin falls in love for the second time in his life. The shiny, silver airstream gleams in the morning sunlight and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. Not in a long while, anyway. He convinces Max to bargain with the county in order to buy the airstream for him. Michael knows they will laugh him out of the precinct, but Max is one of their own. He parts ways with every single penny he’s ever made, but he’s rewarded with the first permanent roof he’s ever had.

Not that Michael expects the trailer to be a permanent thing. After all, no home has ever been forever. Most haven’t lasted longer than a year or so. Besides his truck, of course. The mere idea that the airstream is mobile proves the impermanence of the situation. He can flit from place to ungodly place without settling down with any actual intent. There’s beauty in the nomadic nature of it all. Mostly, he doesn’t have to worry about being rained on any longer or crashing on Isobel’s sofa or cuddling up with Sanders’ dog. So, he’s happy. Content. Proud, even.

The trailer is cramped. The engine is shit. And the toilet is literally two feet from where he lays his head at night. How he convinces any of his hookups to climb into that tiny bed with him is anyone’s guess. There’s been more than one conquest sent home with multiple bruises. Once he burns a piece of toast so badly that he can’t sleep inside for a week. There’s no storage, the floor is lopsided, and Isobel refuses to step inside for two whole years. But hey, nothing’s perfect.

After a year together, Michael and the airstream find a balance that works for them. He covers the windows with old newspaper, adapts to being very, very tidy, and sleeps outside when the claustrophobia sets in. He even fashions a front patio out of some old oak pallets he finds in the junkyard. In return, the trailer gives him privacy, a sense of autonomy, and a place to bring Alex Manes when he returns from his first tour overseas. And every tour after that.

Not that he was looking to bring Alex back to his place, of course. He hadn’t even known Alex was back. And then suddenly, there he is. Laughing with Arturo in the Crashdown. Michael hardly recognizes him with the regulation haircut and newly lean body. He tells himself to walk away, but the universe has other ideas. Alex spots him and his whole face lights up. No one has ever looked at Michael like that and he’s lost all over again.

Over the next decade, the airstream begins to collect memories. Isobel blowing the door open and taking her first steps inside to shout at him that she’s engaged. Max showing up at 3 am like clockwork every year on Liz Ortecho’s birthday because he’s smashed and doesn’t want to hear Iz’s lectures. The Sheriff’s random visits for one reason or another; he suspects she’s spying on him. The brief time he lets an old, senior dog share his space. There’s still dog hair in the many nooks and crannies.

And then there’s Alex.

He’s everywhere - in every corner, every empty inch of space – filling up the entire trailer. Sprawled naked across the narrow bed, one long, gorgeous leg hanging off the side. Standing over the small stove laughing as Michael teaches him how to make the perfect omelet. Two old Air Force t-shirts stashed deep in his closet that Michael will swear up and down he doesn’t know exist. The silly little cartoon of a cowboy he’s scribbled on every single yellowed newspaper taped to the windows. And the one solitary heart drawn in permanent ink right above Michael’s pillow. He’ll never admit how many times he’s traced that doodle and prayed that Alex’s heart is still beating.

Not every memory is happy, however. He and Alex have always fought as hard as they’ve loved. How many times Alex has stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoing off the trailer’s tinny walls, door hinges growing whinier as the years go by. Tears shed in anger and in desperate sadness every time the Air Force calls him back to some violent conflict a world away. Damn near feral sex fucked out through those same tears. The sun rising over two beaten, broken hearts the next morning. Another goodbye. Another lonely year stretching out into the desert wasteland. And suddenly the airstream feels suffocating and enduring. Set in stone and unmovable as Alex walks away one more time.

In the in-between times, Michael nurses his bruised heart out on Foster’s Ranch, punishing his body with grueling manual labor. He settles the trailer into an anonymous patch of dust and scrub brush. He begins to collect various trailer accoutrement. First, a rusted, used patio set he grabs off someone’s teetering trash pile. Next, a ‘free parking’ sign he finds abandoned on the side of Route 60. On Alex’s next leave, he’ll mark out the ‘free’ and write ‘no’ in its place. Michael will try hard not to overthink the implication. Isobel says he’s nesting, jokes that he should hang up a cross-stitched ‘Home Sweet Home’. Michael begins to panic.

At the end of ten years, he gives up. The airstream is home. There’s no point in denying the most basic fact of his existence any longer. The impermanent is now permanent. He flicks off the tin bucket and then lovingly wipes away some mud caked on the tire well. Love/hate, defined.

He returns to the trailer after another stint in the drunk tank (a home away from home, if you will) to find a uniformed Alex Manes knocking on his door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised to find him there – Isobel, after all, had been the one to organize his hero’s parade down Main Street. But it’s been two years with no contact – the longest they’ve ever gone – and so when Alex turns to meet his eyes, the breath is knocked right out of him. So begins another cycle of fight or flight. The airstream will play centerstage. He can almost hear the aging trailer sigh.

But this time the cycle ends differently. Michael moves the airstream into the Wild Pony’s parking lot, shocking everyone. Ostensibly to keep Maria DeLuca safe. But really just to be near her energy, her spirit, her laughter. He hopes to love her. He wants to be good for someone, goddammit. But deep down he’s worried he never will be. That he’s about as solid and steady as his home on wheels. Good enough for a little while, but never long enough to last. Always ready to roll off a cliff with the slightest push.  

He hates when he’s right.

Maria breaks up with him in a hospital room. The next night he meticulously searches the airstream for anything she might have left behind. A shoe, a bra, some lipstick. But there’s nothing and he feels like the trailer is out to get him, shoving those two old Air Force t-shirts in his face. The tiny, scribbled cowboys serenading him with derisive laughter. The black heart mocking him. And Michael can’t take it anymore. He slams the airstream’s door shut, nearly knocking it off its stupid creaky hinges and calls Isobel, all but demanding she meet him at the Pony. He needs a drink. Maybe several. And a shoulder to brood on. Perhaps he should call Max instead.

Michael doesn’t expect open mic night. He doesn’t expect Alex Manes and his dumb angel voice. He doesn’t expect to be confronted with the one answer he’s always wanted. But home is a tricky business. Especially for an alien stranded in the foster care system on the wrong planet. As Alex sings his song – asking Michael to come home – everything becomes crystal clear. And Michael tries to telepathically tell the airstream to go fuck itself. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

Because here’s the thing. Home can be a person.

The answer has always been that easy and that impossible. And the airstream has always known. Watching all these years as the two of them danced around each other. The ultimate grift. The longest con job this side of the Milky Way. Michael Guerin has been played, marked, and left wanting. His genius brain duped and cheated. The airstream has never been more than a shit engine and lopsided floors.

After Michael leaves the Pony that night, he moves in with Isobel. And he goes to work. On himself – AA meetings, college classes, mending all his relationships with Max, with Maria. With Alex. And on the airstream – gutting the inside and converting the space into an admittedly revolutionary eco-friendly garden greenhouse.

Once the project is finished, he attaches the toe hitch to his Chevy and heads east until he pulls into the Chavez County Children’s Home. The director meets him outside and shakes his hand with tears in her eyes. Michael walks her and several of the children through the garden, excitedly explaining all the vegetables and flowers he’s planted. Isobel arrives to take pictures for the local paper and secretly shed several of her own tears. She watches Michael happily playing with all the kids and teaching them the wonders of composting. Soon, he gives her a kiss on the cheek and climbs back into his truck. He’s got one final stop to make.

As he drives through the center of Roswell, something swells in Michael’s chest. He knows this place so well – has been arrested on nearly every corner. The Crashdown has always welcomed him with a warm meal and silly antennae. New Roswell High – with all its memories, good and bad. The UFO Emporium – or what was the UFO Emporium – with its fake alien displays and empty corners perfect for kissing sweet emo boys with the biggest of hearts. Of all the places to crash land, Roswell hasn’t turned out so bad. It’s truly a stunning conclusion.

When he arrives at his destination, he pulls into the driveway next to Alex’s green Explorer, grabs his two duffel bags, and heads to the front door. He opens the lock with his key and shouts to Alex that he’s home.

[pip-n-flinx]

yup, it all goes below the cut

So I’ve been seeing a resurgence of ME content following the trailers for ME4 and MELE, which makes sense. But I’m a salty m-fer and I honestly am sick and tired of Mass Effect getting shit on for things that other game studies (looking at you fromsoftware) get praised for. So we’re going to unload a little.

The underpinnings of the mass effect universe is this huge extinction cycle, designed and perpetuated by the Reapers. As sufficiently advanced civilizations reach a tipping point, not unlike the great filter theory of space travel, these AI come in and wipe anyone out. This sort of cyclical storytelling, with pieces of the previous cycles being dribbled in throughout the trilogy, seems pretty similar to progression of Dark Souls. At the end of the Mass Effect Trilogy, many fans were upset by the ending choices: Destroy, Control, and Synthesis.

What are your choices in Dark Souls? At the end of the first game, the cycle ends and you, the player, get to choose how the world enters the next era. Does they cycle of undeath continue, or do you shatter the world and hope something new rises from the ashes?

How, pray tell, is that really any different a decision? And why is it when fromsoftware does this its groundbreaking storytelling, but when bioware does it we decide collectively its ‘just a shitty recolor of the same ending?’

I agree, there are some flaws in how they chose to animate the climactic moments of ME3. For one, the fleet assembly and space combat with the reapers above Earth doesn’t change much no matter how many/which allies you bring to the final fight. And of course, the ‘garbage recolor’ ending. And I agree with the premise that more than the color should have changed. We should not have had to wait for the still flawed Extended Cut ending to be released to see how Shepard’s final choice changes the end of the game.

We can also comment on what the crucible actually does. If it is some incredible power-source in need of direction - the citadel - it is a strange choice of weapon to design for your battle against the reapers. We could speculate endlessly on why the writing team chose this, but the real issue here is that there is very little in game context for how this comes about. We get a few lines from Hackett and Liara explaining the Crucible, but that’s about it. Surely there could have been more discoverable codex entries about it, perhaps on Eden Prime with Javik?

To be clear, I don’t actually have a problem with the end of the Trilogy. Sure, it has its plot holes, but I’m not actually too fussed about it. It felt like a fitting end to the series to me. Graphically a little disappointing, to be fair, but otherwise a fine capstone to the story.

I’ve actually read some comments and posts explaining that they ‘won’t buy the legendary edition because they won’t fix the ending’ and I.... Do you even know what a remaster is? I’m not buying the remaster because I think many of the new lighting choices detract from the story, and a reskin won’t ensure the graphics stand the test of time any better than the old ones. I’m perfectly happy replaying the original trilogy without a fancy graphics package that adds nothing to the artistic vision nor sets out any distinctive art style. A few years will see even these HD 4k graphics obsolete/dated, and I’ve spent enough money on Mass Effect as it is.

Moreover, I really hate what speculation and rumor I’ve heard about Mass Effect 4. First, I hate that it will be a ME4 and not an MEA2. This will take some explaining so bear with me.

I’ve seen videos of the original graphics and animations that caught so much flak for Mass Effect Andromea. Unpopular opinion: I don’t think they were bad, and I certainly don’t think they were bad in the context of Mass Effect. None of the games prior had flawless rotoscoping or anchoring. Even watching stock sheploo in the original trilogy is painful if you’re hoping for realism. If y’all want to play this game we can start sharing clips but suffice to say I’m personally convinced we can go tit-for-tat on awkward animations.

Moreover, I think Mass Effect Andromeda is the best Mass Effect game. Best gameplay, by far. It has all the hallmarks of a great sci-fi: new aliens, new planets, new villains. And while I understand some people felt the switch from overcompetent supersoldier Shepard to young-kid-with-daddy-issues-and-more-than-a-few-bad-bosses Ryder was jarring, I absolutely loved playing a plucky hero who lost their mentor before they’d even properly started training. It gave the game an urgency I loved, and to me Ryder felt like a much more relatable protagonist than Shepard.

The story itself is a fucking masterstroke. Hear me out:

So in Mass Effect, the twin plot drivers are infighting with council/alliance/cerberus ‘allies’ while facing down the threat of and advanced AI wiping out all organic life to preserve diversity and make way for the next ascendant race. In Andromeda, we’re met by the same bickering and infighting amongst our own faction, and the Kett. The Kett, for whom nothing is cyclical. Everyone must assimilate. Who shun technology and seek to eliminate biodiversity by ensuring all civilizations end with Kett. And instead of a well trained military commander and a ship of soldiers, mercenaries, and specialists in the sciences who grow to be respected players on the galactic stage, we get Ryder. Ryder and their crew of misfit nostalgia-driven rock-licking rule-breaking cereal-smuggling culture-vulture heart-broken multiple-amputee nervous-doctor neophiles who meet one alien and have to save all their races from genocide by a rogue Kett Archon. And the Jaardan? the long gone artificial life-forms who had the technological capability to be reaper analogs? They’re the life-givers, the gods of the Andromeda galaxy, seeding species and hope into the galaxy for the player to find.

It’s such a perfect inversion of the original trilogy while still preserving the genre and the universe they had already built. It’s fucking brilliant. And I’ll never forgive them for abandoning it, nor will I forgive the fans whose vitriol stopped the project in its tracks, and killed any hope of a second trilogy.

Honestly, I don’t care if you agree about MEA, or the ME3 ending. I know this isn’t a common take among bioware fans. I just... I’m so fucking done with this franchise and this fandom. I’d like to think my mutuals and the other blogs I follow have level headed positions on this stuff (possibly more level headed than my own salty takes these days) but I honestly wonder why I’m even on this platform some days. It doesn’t spark much joy anymore. I hope no one takes this personally, I certainly don’t mean this as an attack or criticism of any of my followers but damn, I’ve got a lot of feelings tonight and almost all of them are negative...

[gunnerpalace]

(These asks were reordered from bottom-to-top to top-to-bottom for clarity.)

Alright, so the first thing I want to say in response to this is actually best summarized in the form of a song:

You are somebody that I don't know But you're takin' shots at me like it's Patrón And I'm just like, damn, it's 7 AM Say it in the street, that's a knock-out But you say it in a Tweet, that's a cop-out And I'm just like, "Hey, are you okay?"

And I ain't tryna mess with your self-expression But I've learned a lesson that stressin' and obsessin' 'bout somebody else is no fun And snakes and stones never broke my bones

So oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh You need to calm down, you're being too loud And I'm just like oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh (oh) You need to just stop Like can you just not step on my gown? You need to calm down

I would like you to seriously reread what you’ve written here (and copy-and-pasted to others) and tell me that it doesn’t come across as more than a little obsessive and psychotic. "This may seem like hate, but it's not," you said anonymously, before going on a rant to strangers on the internet whom you had nominated as the representatives of "you guys." Sure, okay, Heather.

Well, regardless, let’s go through this. First, you don't understand 685/686. I've been over this before several times, but I will go over this one final time, as simply as I can. That said, I can't guarantee that you will understand it when I do. I was unable to successfully tutor 1st graders how to do addition because my perspective was, "Either you understand it or you don't," and I don't have the background in math to make such a simple concept exciting. The same might be true of this, because there is no way to critically analyze these chapters more succinctly than this, and so you still might not get it.

The point of 685/686, thematically, is that absolutely no one got what they wanted.

Renji wanted to surpass Byakuya. He remains Byakuya's Lieutenant and has to settle for being under his sister (figuratively and probably literally too) who now also outranks him as a Captain.

Rukia wanted to reform Soul Society into a more humane institution that protects all souls. It is the same as it ever was, and if anything has doubled down on its practices by rebuilding the Soukyoku (on which it tried to kill her) a hundred times larger, and she is one of its main wardens.

Uryuu wanted anything but to be a doctor, ever since he watched his mom being autopsied by his dad. He is now a doctor, and all alone at that.

Chad promised his grandfather to never hurt people with his fists. He is now a boxer, doing exactly that for money.

Orihime wanted to go out and have several different exciting careers. She is instead a stay-at-home mom.

Ichigo wanted to save a "mountain full" of people, be Superman, leave Karakura, and be a Shinigami. He instead appears to run Isshin's clinic now.

So, yes, you are correct: Kubo chose that Ichigo wind up with Orihime. It is exceedingly clear, from the context, that this is absolutely not a good thing.

That point is further reemphasized by Yhwach’s threat to come kill Ichigo and everyone else when they are at their happiest. And when does he reappear?

When Ichigo saw Rukia again.

Not when Ichigo asked Orihime out. Not when they started dating, officially or unofficially. Not when they were married. Not when she gave birth to his son. Not when his son said his first words.

Not when anything happened with Orihime or Kazui, but when he saw Rukia again.

That is your “Kubo-sensei” telling you directly that the happiest moment in Ichigo’s life was just simply seeing Rukia again, and not anything involving Orihime in any capacity whatsoever.

All of that should tell you that Ichigo and Orihime’s relationship is not exactly the stuff legends are made out of, because them winding up together is explicitly portrayed as a downer ending. A bad ending. 

If you cared at all about the characters—if you cared at all about their desires, or their happiness—or if you cared at all that IchiHime was presented as even merely good, let alone destined or fated or whatever else, then you would be offended by this ending too. 

Because the ending is “Kubo-sensei” straight-up unequivocally telling you that IchiHime is bad and tragic. It is something that one must demonstrate “courage” in the face of. It requires stoicism. It is a bad ending, but that’s life. That’s what the ending means.

He did you dirty too. You just don’t want to see it, because you are so obsessed with the concept of “winning.” Well, this was mutually-assured destruction: everyone lost. Especially you.

Moving on: no, Kubo doesn’t really get attention or money from us. I’m not really sure where this idea comes from.

I’m not an expert on Japanese intellectual property rights and licensing, but I know enough about them in general to know that very little if any money goes to Kubo personally from ongoing Bleach merchandise sales. For example, KLab more than likely has a contract with Shueisha (representing Kubo, hence why they’re put together on BBS’s title card), TV Tokyo, Dentsu, and Pierrot, wherein they pay those entities a fixed amount to license Bleach per year or per contractual term. It’s not like Kubo is making money off of every orb purchase or every figurine sold or something. These things don’t work like that.

As for attention, he’s still hiding from social media (for reasons of his own, unrelated to the fandom), and the people who give him attention are... you. People like you. “True Bleach fans” who can’t stop treating all his shit like it’s solid gold. We have made it fairly clear we don’t need him or care what he thinks.

Regarding BBS, maybe you haven’t noticed, but the majority of the imagery they use is IchiRuki-focused. The last title screen was IchiRuki. The Guild button is IchiRuki. The Events button is IchiRuki. The Chronicle Quest button is IchiRuki. Here, I’ve helpfully highlighted this for you:

While they do occasionally toss IH a bone, the last January event also ended on an IR note despite the ridiculous crowing about it being IH. While I’m at it, even the current supposedly “IH” title screen is anything but.

It doesn’t take Michelangelo or Da Vinci to figure out the composition here is not terribly suggestive. While Rukia is indeed off to one side, the fact Uryuu, Zangetsu, and the title card are between Ichigo and Orihime (and they’re looking in different directions) makes it pretty evident that they’re not being visually associated together. It is at best a “general” title screen. Uryuu is showing more visual interest in Ichigo than Orihime is.

I’ll come back to “the anime” in a minute. Let’s talk about their “tag-team move.” Do you mean the one that ended like this?

This one that didn’t work whatsoever?

This one where Ichigo wasn’t concerned at all that Orihime might be dead or dying as she lay there on the ground?

This one where he absolutely gave into despair?

How romantic. Truly, what an excellent battle-couple they make. Their combat effectiveness and synergy is just astounding. I for one would love to see it animated.

(Let’s not forget that later, Orihime can’t repair Zangetsu without some nonsense shenanigans from Tsukishima either. Just like how her healing abilities are useless against any sufficiently strong residual reiatsu. Ah, but that would require reading the manga closely...)

Finally, on to the idea of the anime returning. Here’s the thing: news about a trailer also doesn’t really mean anything. Sure, it could be TYBW. Or it could be The Honey Dish Rhapsody. Or it could be a thousand other things. I neither know, nor particularly care, what it actually is, on top of my explanations as to why animating TYBW would be a dumb business decision.

Here’s why: even if it is a TYBW anime, it will have to be an adaptation of TYBW. They will still have to follow the plot of TYBW. And TYBW was a pile of shit. It wasn’t just a pile of shit for IR, it was a pile of shit in general, and a pile of shit for IH in particular.

Perhaps you don’t recall that Orihime spends most of the arc off-panel, having been ditched in Hueco Mundo for most of it (chapters 500–586)?

Oh, but just think, you wouldn’t just get to see the Ichigo-Orihime “tag team” attack totally and utterly failing! You’d also get delights like:

Orihime and Chad utterly failing to believe in Ichigo! (Just like in the Xcution arc where it was demonstrated that Byakuya was a truer friend to Ichigo than either of them!)

Orihime being reduced to a pair of tits, each bigger than her own head!

Ichigo totally ignoring Orihime!

And who can forget the delight of Orihime selling out her dignity to dress slutty at Kisuke’s suggestion to try and get Ichigo’s attention, only for it to not work at all?

Yes, truly, TYBW would be a fantastic arc for IH that would surely win over the populace and convince everyone of the chemistry between these two characters!

Except it wouldn’t. Because they have no chemistry. And they didn’t. See, what’s really funny is that not only did TYBW not give you anything, but it was just following up on the Xcution arc not giving you anything.

Because ORIHIME VISION was played for laughs, just like say, Shuhei constantly is.

Because despite Chad and Orihime being about as important to Ichigo, he couldn’t even bother to say bye. 

Because he just didn’t have time to deal with her bullshit.

I could go on, but this post is already long enough.

You see, you’re real keen to dismiss "all the scene or poem shit or parallel or the hell else thing," but the truth is, that’s all there is to a manga. It is panels of art and text on a page. The rest is just in your head. And it is from those panels of art and text that animated scenes and spoken dialogue would be created. And the funny thing is... there are no IH moments in these arcs. They simply don’t exist.

So really, what you’re hoping and praying for is not just for TYBW to be adapted. Given your evident thirst, I doubt that the perhaps 5–10 minute epilogue of 685/686 at the end of 4–5 seasons would be enough for you. You’d need the animation team to decide to sprinkle in a whole lot of IH filler along the way too.

That didn’t work out so hot for the Xcution arc. How did that one end again? Oh, that’s right: they made up their own (better) ending for it. Are you really willing to bet your money on a TYBW anime going out of its way for IH, if you even get it? Or would you really be satisfied with those 5–10 minutes? Are you really so sure you’d even still get them?

Ultimately, I don’t care. You’re blocked. But, I will say this: in a way I almost kind of pity you. It seems really sad being a militant anonymous IH, desperately and eternally craving outside validation. You have so very little to cling to. It must be hard.

Good luck with that, Heather.

[somilkyshaky]

S4 Trailer analysis

You wanted analyses? Well, here you go!

I don’t pretend to see everything and know everything; I’m just sharing with you my interpretation and my thoughts (and a lot of my excitment too).

I already did this kind of “analysis” for all the clips of the first episode of season 2, so if you already read them, it’s clearly the same kind of thing.

Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy!

(I allowed myself to take the trailer’s screenshots from @inmyarmswrappedin, thank you for sharing them in the tag!)

--

I don’t want to take to much time with the date changing color because a lot of people already talked about it. Just, it’s really symbolic to pass the 9th April from yellow to white to say that this date is long gone; and then showing the 3rd September in yellow to say that it’s the new date.

ANYWAY! Let’s get into it!

--

Okay, first row of quick extracts:

First shot and we have a worried Amira, walking alone. “The season is about her and the problems she needs to deal with, alone”, that’s clearly what they’re telling us here. (I love this light scarf btw)

Okay, first I thought she was smoking and I was like “EXCUSE ME? What the hell is happening?” but then I just opened my eyes and breathed again. We have Cris, maybe Viri in the background? The two other hands I’m like “I don’t know but maybe Eva/Joana and Lucas?”.

We have Amira in the middle of the shot, as if the world was turning around her, but she’s not “a part of it” you know? She again clearly seems worried. We understand here that she doesn’t feel that comfortable in her group of friends.

Finally, we see our queen SMILING! I kind of feel that the entire trailer is composed by parallels between two worlds (like for the poster of the season). We were with the girl/boy squad and now we have a new character that I suppose to be a girl from Amira’s association (the “morocco” poster). We also were with a group and here there’s something more intimate with only one person. The colors were cold, here they’re warm. Clearly, this shot is here in opposition, in contrast, with the one before (AND DAMN I’M HERE FOR THAT).

Amira alone again, it closes the loop and the first “row of quick extracts”. She seems confident, maybe she does her makeup or something?

Oh, I haven’t said it yet, but GOD ALL THOSE SHOTS ARE *chef kiss*.

--

“I know we said we'd see each other. / I know we accorded a meeting.” when the old date appears, come on… Stop being so amazing would you? Plus, the fact that she starts talking when the dates appear is just the kind of small details in the editing that I love.

--

Okay… We’re back here. I first wanted to compare the two trailers, but it seems that they removed the old one… so, let’s use my messy memory.

Amira is confident, looking straight to the camera, even a small (really small) smile/smirk, but the chin still a little down, so… I have mixed feelings about this shot (confident but not THAT much).

Anyway, I think they just wanted to connect the two trailers. Btw I think that anyway we were supposed to have a second trailer since we have the same shot? In the first trailer Amira is strong and confident about her beliefs and she’s even “angry” at all the comments she receives, but as we’ll see, in this trailer, she seems pretty lost.

--

Second row of extracts:

Lucas spilling his drink on Amira… I don’t know what it could mean, but since we kind of “know” what will happen, I would say that it’s another way to show the “I don’t know if I feel that accepted/comfortable in my group of friends anymore.”

Okay, THIS, this is brilliant. (Plus, I guess this is our Spanish Yousef? Ok, OK, he’s cute.)

Both boys in the same side of the shot with Amira’s back and both looking at her with heart-eyes and with a more than cute smile; well, it’s just brilliant to introduce them that way.

AND AGAIN, the shots are showed as parallels/opposition.

(I don’t know if this shot is an extend of the shot with Dani just before, because in a way, I think it could fit, I really don’t know. All I can say is that she’s opening the door at someone she doesn’t want to see.)

I think that all the quick extracts are in Amira’s head (the Amira who’s looking at us in the trailer). Because after seeing the boys, we have again Amira alone and, in her room, kind of thinking about all of this and even praying. I think that it’s a way to show us, the kind of guidance that her religion is for Amira; when she doubts, she turns toward it. I LOVE THAT. They’re showing us so many things.

--

“Sorry I stood you up / I'm sorry for not showing up.” when this face appears. Damn, she seems so lost, confused and scared… The mouth is falling, she doesn’t look at us anymore, the frown and her eyes… phew… I’m not ready to see her suffer…

If I keep my theory that this Amira is reacting to her own thoughts (the extracts), it clearly shows that the boys are confusing her, like, A LOT.

(Oh, and maybe if we try to fit the sentence with the shots, maybe she stood up one or the two boys?)

--

Third row of extracts:

I don’t know how to interpret this shot, but DAMN IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL. (Maybe it’s the Koran? So the symbolism of the religion is back)

Some Amiris content. I’m here for that, like, I’M HERE FOR THAT. Just a quick thought though. It’s like Amira is cheering up Cris (I’m not ready to see her also suffer).

Um… Is it from the same scene? Are we really gonna have a friendship between Amira and Alejandro? Damn Skam España, I’m not ready for that. Btw, I have nothing to say because it’s clear that they’re smiling and happy (Just, Alejandro with teary eyes, that’s cute).

A Mosque with a wonderful shot again, wow… We still have the really important place of religion in Amira’s life, and the fact that it shows up after some moments with her friends, and maybe her role of “advisor”? I like that.

And then we’re back at something “dark” and “negative” feelings. It seems that she’s doubting, scared? Just look at her eyes… (small parallel to s2 and Cris in the car)

Is it a symbolism that shows that even if there’s her friends and religion, she’s still troubled? Confused?

--

The more we progress in the trailer, the more we see Amira in distress… It’s so at the opposite from the first one when she was strong against all the comments. Here, all those thoughts are really invasive and are confusing her so much. Her eyes were closed and now she even covers them, she can’t hold all this pressure anymore.

--

Fourth row of quick extracts, which is clearly shorter than the others:

Okay, these three shots clearly need to be analyzed with each other. It’s kind of a mirror. We have Amiris, we have Amira-Cris-and the girl from the beginning (I guess?) and then we have Amira and again this girl (I’m really not sure).

The first picture, we have an Amiris hug but… it’s like Amira doesn’t want it? So maybe a not that positive moment?

The second picture, it seems like Amira is in the middle of a conversation between the new character and Cris. And again, it doesn’t seem like a “good moment” you know? Amira is like “My goodness what am I doing here? I don’t want to be here. Send help.” (pinched lips, raised eyebrows and a little too opened eye.) The new character is like “Sorry but, it doesn’t work like that” and Cris is like “Oh… I really don’t know what to say right now…” (not sad, but… lost?). It’s not an argument, but it’s not a calm nor joyous, nor friendly conversation you see?

The last shot is with the new character (I guess) taking pictures of Amira in an AMAZING place what the? I LOVE THAT.

What I’m trying to say with all of this is that in the first picture Amira doesn’t feel good with Cris, then we have kind of a ““conflict””, the moment when the two worlds collide, and then we have a positive (?) moment with the new character, but not Cris. Meaning that Amira is starting maybe to choose one of her two worlds? THIS IS SO INTERESTING AAAAAHHH.

--

Still a completely confused Amira here. She’s still talking while the extracts stop, maybe meaning that she’s completely overwhelmed.

--

Fifth row of extracts:

These two shots follow each other and we have a clearly happy Amira with Spanish Yousef.

We ALSO have a clearly happy Amira with Dani, which is YES a parallel with the two shots from before (interesting, Dani always shows up after the other boy).

“I needed time to process everything that's happened. / I needed time to process everything that has happened to me.” stops here.

“I needed time” was present while we had Cris and the other girl on screen. She needed time with her friends (most important friend) “to process what happened” with the two boys? With 6 pictures and a well-placed sentence, the producers show us one of the most important plot (I guess) of the season (a freaking love triangle, aaaaaaah).

A confused and clearly overwhelmed Amira here… As I said, the more we go through the trailer, the more we see a completely lost Amira.

Those are clearly judging eyes my girls (or at least, not understanding eyes? angry? disappointed?). Maybe it’s showing the fact that the girls are not going to help her? Are going to left her? (there’s not Cris here btw, good sign? I hope.)

And here the distress at its highest point… Teary eyes, her mother (I guess) holding her, since most of the time it’s Amira who’s holding and supportive everyone, it’s… har to watch (I’m going to cry so much with this season I’m not ready). An opposition? The girls are leaving, but her family is here for her?

--

To reinforce my theory that this Amira is thinking about the extracts is her looking to the right, it’s the sign of someone trying to remember or I don’t know, thinking about something.

--

Sixth row of quick extracts:

Amira’s reaction to Ruben coming to kiss her cheek is the entire fandom when a clip with him will show up. No but more seriously, I can’t wait to see this scene (and everything that his presence implies for Crisana/Croana, because, come on, why would they make him come back then?)

I AM NOT READY TO SEE THIS WONDERFUL WOMAN SUFFER.

This shot is beautiful… And I think it’s Amira and Dani up there. (I think it’s from the same clip than a another shot with Dani a little higher, in the fourth row of extracts.)

Again, these two shots are mirroring each other. Amira is talking with both boys and to be honest, I think that’s great, communication. (And come one… a talk on swings? Aaaaaaaah) Something I just noticed, for the first picture, it’s like Amira doesn’t want to talk with Spanish Yousef and he seems a little disappointed? (it’s like his smile/mouth is falling.)

--

I don’t have a lot to say here. Juts the fact that she’s silent and just remembering/thinking? about everything that happened.

--

Seventh and last row of quick extract:

It’s the first time we see Dani without a parallel with Spanish Yousef. And COME ON, the CLOSENESS. It’s clearly here to show the “tension”, the attraction between these two (even if clearly I think that everyone already noticed it).

Again, it’s an Amiris scene but… there’s this kind of tension here? Like none of them seems joyous or cheerful. Amira doesn’t smile, her face is closed, we could even say that she’s lost (and not sad but kind of? Maybe even annoyed?), while Cris has the “I don’t know what to do/say” face.

NOPE- NOPE. Take it back, I’m not seeing her suffer again. NO WAY.

More seriously, this scene seems so… powerful? It’s like the camera his turning around her, or at least, the camera is clearly moving and um… she’s alone in the shot? I don’t like what’s happening. The mouth is falling, the eyebrows are down, the eyes are teary, I think you all understand it, she’s worried, maybe even lost. I don’t see anger though; it’s just pure worry and I have this feeling that she’s ready to burst into tears? (I don’t know why, just a feeling I’ve got, deep down).

Plus, the fact that Joana is shown just after a shot with Cris? I don’t like it (I already said that no?). And also, not all the characters are shown in the trailer (the boys), is it meaning that she’ll have something important to do in the season? We’ll see guys, but I really can’t wait discover her storyline.

Dani and Amira, again. I think it’s from the same clip with Ruben and MAYBE the party with Lucas spilling his drinks.

Okay… I’m not confused, but almost. This parallel is… strange. We see Dani at the party, we see Spanish Yousef (btw I think it’s also coming from a scene we already saw some shots before) and now we have Dani again, but this time we see AMIRA (and omg this shot is so beautiful with her bringing her hand near Dani’s cheek).

I really don’t know how to interpret that because it seems like Dani is taking more space than Spanish Yousef in this sequence of extracts, especially with the fact that we see his back and Amira smiling at him, AND ESPECIALLY if I follow my thinking about being in her thoughts. Are they already telling us Amira’s choice? (I don’t think so, but, it’s interesting).

And then, AND THEN, we have THIS, and omg I love that. Nora with a supportive and understanding gaze, both girls holding hands, Amira being vulnerable and clearly lost… It’s… wow. Plus, the fact that the sequence of extracts stops with Amira confiding in a friend? (clearly showing that, even if all of this mess is happening around her, she will find someone to help or at least advise her) especially Nora? I love it, really. We all know the symbolism behind the Sana/Noora talk and if Skam Sspaña is really going to do THIS, I mean, it’s powerful.

--

The fact that she leaves the shot still confused shows us that there’s still a lot to come and that this trailer shows us nothing compared to what’s coming. I love that. Really.

And, “Should we meet up and I'll tell you about it? / What if we met and I tell you about it?" OOOOH, HELL YEAH, I’M HERE FOR THAT AMIRA!

More seriously, I like the fact that even if we have a clearly lost Amira in this trailer, the song closing the trailer says “I’m the boss”, showing that she’s going to be strong and that this season is gonna rock.

--

Soooo, what this trailer is telling us about season 4? SPOILER, it tells us A LOT of things.

We will have something with Amira not feeling accepted, or kind of having mixed feelings about the girl/boy squad; but she will also find new friends (aka the new girl character). Cris/Amiris will have an important role in this season since we saw her many times. We will see Amira’s life more in depth with her relation with religion, photography and we’ll also see her family (the hug with her mother). With Ruben and Joana’s worried face, I guess we’ll have to face some Crisana/Croana drama (wouhou). We will maybe also see Nora and her healing process after Miqhell (I really hope so). OF COURSE, we’ll see how Amira will deal with her feelings for two boys: Dani and Spanish Yousef (damn, if it’s not him, I think we’ll all be clowns).

And in a wider picture, we’ll see how a Muslim teenage girl is dealing with her emotions, her life problems, and her identity during ten WONDERFUL weeks.

--

Phew… It was long to write all of this. I surely missed A LOT of things, and a lot of ideas will come to me in the next two weeks (stay tune I might reblog and write some stuff), but it’s really something I wanted to write right now since this trailer is really amazing.

Plus, just something to conclude. The trailer is here to build the hype. Remember, they know that we know the storyline. They clearly can “““bait””” us, and try to make us see things that are completely different from the actual season. So, stay critical. But anyway, they did an amazing job with this trailer and I think we’re gonna have a wonderful last season for Eskam.

I hope you enjoyed reading me; have a nice day and try not to hyperventilate whenever new information about the season come. See you soon!

[popculturebuffet]

Close Enough Reviews: The Canine Guy

We’ve finally reached the end.. hopefully not of the season and there are hints that there’s a little more to come so fingers crossed, but of the massive bomb. 12 episodes, with three thankfully done already. 1 day. Doors open let’s go after the blurb and the cut.  Josh and Alex have a falling out over a yearly tradition that leads to Josh befreinding a talking dog raised on Jim Carrey movies, while Bridgette drags Emily to a cabin in the woods, wooo ooo, to try and get their music duo back on top and run into musical legend and living god Weird Al Yankovic. Dare to be stupid under the cut. 

Like many episodes of this show, and what i’ve said is a strength this episode is two plots tha tsomehow end up smashing into each other but unlike the rest it’s 22 minutes. The show was, unsuprisingly originally convinced this way, as recently revealed by JG himself during the show’s premiere day reddit ama, but the execs later decided to simply cut most of hte episodes down to 11 minutes to improve hte pacing, which as we’ve seen clearly worked . But this one DOES make full use of it’s 22 minutes and does make me hope if hte show gets a season 2 they feel free to ping pong a bit. So with that settled, let’s dive in.  Our A-Plot starts with a flashback showing Josh and Alex’s yearly tradition: Going to midevil times together, due to having seen it in the cable guy, even qouting it and other jim carrey movies as the two were super fans. This continues fine into college but by last year alex just.. isn’t as into it. IT’s a sacred friend ritural and all but Alex is just getting bored.  Things come to a head in the present where, when Alex tries to just flat out get out of it, as he has press agents looking at his viking novel he’s been working on who might actually publish it and as his characeter profile, if not the series makes clear, just like josh and emily’s own dreams this is his. It’s resonable, they could just resschedule.. but Josh feels betrayed lashes out, Alex calls medivial times stupid and historiclaly inaccurate (even if he loves fecatia dippers with tomato soup ), and Josh storms off. Josh wallows, and finds the mead tastes like horse piss (Which leads to an utterly great and gross gag when it turns out ita ctually is, the guy serving it says “He’s on to us”) And switches to brownies using the same horse. Sometimes a grossout gag can work.  However Josh soon finds a new buddy in a talking dog named dog guy who was tourtred by and is running from the scientest who created him for reasons we’ll get to in the climax. And since the dog was also raised on jim carrey movies, and gets josh’s refrences and love of htem, the two quickly bond. Alex is pissed and jealous, somehow more than with his own ex wife, to see this despite trying to clear his schedule to make things up to josh, as he’s still a good guy and can realize he was wrong, and has his meetings, which are boring or frustrating, whie also stalking JOsh and Dog boy. Alex in a fit of rage at seeing dog boy seemingly tear up his manuscript calls the scientest, who popped by earlier looking for him.. only to find out that he just tore up the ending because he felt , as ac ollege graduate no less, that it could be a franchise and the two become friend. WHile Josha nd Alex fight over him Dog GUy’s creator kidnap him and the two head off, their freindship exploding over josh calling the cops and the two both wanting the dog to be their new best friend as well as the whole medievil times thing. Meanwhile Pearles tracking dog guy’s creator, because as she explains to ready cold cases are her majong and lets Candace be the corrput denzel washington type which unlike the previous pearle bit has REALLY not aged well for a number of reasons, but none I can blame the show itself for. 

Alex and Josh head after dog boy and find that the crazy lady who made him is making animal films (It was tourture because she’s bad at it and she was still genuinely abusive) and seeing dog guy as a failure wants to chop up his balls (after using 80 diffrent terms with alex scremaing “Just say balls), to make new dog guys.  Meanwhile in the B plot we first see Bridg and Emily’s comedy rock act which is genuinely funny but fails to impiress with Bridgette having grown frustrated over emily’s focus on candace, in a nice parallel.It also shows that for all her social mediaing and partying, Bridgette DOES take her music seriously but it hasn’t been able to progress without her musical partner.Emily waffles on joining her for a cabin retreatto work on it, with bridgette evne assuming with a fake emily she made out of pillows that emily would bring candace but nope: Candace is left with pearle and josh is busy with a dog so Emily is free. Things still don’t go well: Emily still won’t focus and is on her phone constantly, and emilys defense of “well you were on your phone at your wedding” when BRidgette calls her on it falls flat in a nice moment when bridgette points out she’s divorced. It’s also a nice moment of self relfeciton that shows Bridgette has learned from “Robot Tutor” and accepted her part in her marriage falling apart. The two fight until an angel appearls: Weird Al Yankovic! Like I hoped it really is him! Not that it’s HARD to get him to do voice work, he’s done quite a bit and he’s always happy to pitch in for another comedian, as Red Letter Media recently pointed out he’s kind of the bridge to all eras of comedies as he never really went away. When the two ask which is better: using your family or shutting it out, he admits there’s no perfect way to write a song or no one right way you just do your best.. and in his case stab yourself iwth a narwhal tusk and pray to a demonci god. Then one of the crazy lady’s animals attacks, we get another trailer homage and as they approach our herooines both apologize, Emily admitting Bridg is like her sister and in a funny but still sweet moment BRidgette admits she’s like a half sister... and only dosen’t say the full sister because she has a sister and dosen’t throw that around lightly, but the sentiments the smae. But the animals are recalled to deal with Josh and Alex, so while Emily and Bridgette follow them we get our climax.  Alex and Josh naturally crumble under hteir new foes, but both , like their spouse and ex spouse, reconnect over their mutual love of dog boy and apologize for their behavior to one another, sharing one last dumb and dumber most annoying sound in the world.. which ends up being the key to defeating the animals with Pearle soon swooping in to arrest dog boy’s creator.. for unpaid parking tickcet,s a good gag. She’s in jail, Dog Boy is free and the whole madness and talking dog has given Bridgette and Emily a new song. Our friends are all best pals again, Dog Boy spends time with bost his best friends before nleaving to start his own theater and work on his acting career, so he could show up again and I really hope he does. That last part was revealed via a hilarious where are they now that shows where all the animals oepn up and we close, hopefuly not on the series but on this day Final THoughts; This was a really good one. While admitelly havn’t not watched any pf the classic jim carrey films in years, though I own dumb and dumber I just haven’t gotten around to rewatching it, it was a nice throughline and the kind of specific nostaliga this show is great at. It was also nice to see a conflict where alex is being througly resonable to start and shows that beneath his nutty exterior (he also assumes the scinetests plan is at first to make furries even sexier (his note, add more nips)) is a guy who like his friends has a dream. We see the same with Bridgette who most of the time is’nt on give a fuck mode but here we see there is something besides her friends and ex husband she cares about: her music. It’’s a nice roll reversal to see BRIDGETTE, be the one to take something seriously and Emily to be the one who can’t commit to it and it takes compromise and both realizing they need each other to work. IT’s a nice examination of the shows core freindships that also has a wonderful talking dog and of course weird fucking al being amazing as allways. A stellar close out to this swarm of episodes and hopefully not hte series.  I”ll give my thoughts on the season as a whole later if this turns out to be the season and in a few weeks if not, but for now I finsihed this matharthon and i’m glad: Close enough is a damn good show that while having some more eh episodes, has a good strong emotional core, a great cast, great humor and is creative as hell while improving on the genre and even it’s predecessor. Just a delight to watch. I have regular coverage of Amphibia and Owl House coming up saturday, and hopefully close enough will continue each week, but if not until we meet agian later days. I’m going to go lie down. WOO. 

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good - 7

Chapter Seven: Naked

For once in my damn life I actually got inspired and this is what became of it. Basically I was thinking about Taylor Swift and rewatched the Miss Americana trailer (I’m waiting to rewatch the movie so I can do it with my aunt) and I just like...ended up in my feels? So I actually kind of really like this chapter and I hope you guys do too. Also shout-out to that one anon who binged the last six chapters and sent me an ask about it! I live for moments like that, truly.

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli

AoG Taglist: @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr @youreasnack @alioop3818

Wordcount: 3290

Warnings: Dark themes throughout. Death. Murder. Some body horror. PTSD. Flashbacks. Trauma. Discussion of torture and kidnapping. Brief mentions of sexual assault.  

“I often don’t say things out loud, even when I should. I contain and compartmentalize to a disturbing degree: In my belly-basement are hundreds of bottles of rage, despair, fear, but you’d never guess from looking at me.”

-Gillian Flynn

It was official. You were cleared for active duty again. You had passed every test they had thrown at you, and by every empirical measure you were fine. It was like nothing had ever happened. And so that’s how you decided this was going to play out. You were just going to act like nothing had ever happened.

You were going to bluff like your life depended on it.

Your first day back at work had to be perfection. You envisioned it in your head the night before, you built it, like building up a shield or a wall. Pristine, beautiful, strong. You got up extra early just to execute it, just to put on the pencil skirt, the red heels, the crisp blazer and the flawless makeup. All of it planned out, right down to the skinny vanilla latte with oatmilk. Just like a costume.

You were prepared for the barrage when you stepped back into the BAU. Penelope Garcia never let anyone come back from a long absence without at least an absurd amount of enthusiasm. Usually there was a surprise party involved. You prayed there was not a surprise party involved in your return today.

In fact, you were hoping there wouldn’t even be a case. That, just this once, the bad guys would see fit to give you a break. That maybe they wouldn’t kick a woman while she was down.

Your hopes were too high though.

Penelope’s squeals of delight and everyone’s sickeningly pitiful looks were cut short by Hotch.

“It’s good to have you back, Y/L/N.” Even stone-cold professional Aaron Hotchner looked softer, if that was at all possible. “That being said, I’m afraid we have a case.”

He didn’t patronize you by asking if you were up to it. He knew that you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. In a way, you were glad for the work. It would be distracting.

You were glad for it until the second you walked into the briefing room and saw the photos Penelope pulled up on the board. Then you were holding back vomit and taking careful, even breaths because nobody could know you were panicking. Three different women, all of whom had been tortured, then dumped. Sure, they hadn’t been tortured the same way you had been, or even by the same guy. That didn’t stop every last one of their faces from turning into your own.

You were under a magnifying glass here though, and you couldn’t break composure even for a second. They couldn’t know. So you practiced your breathing techniques, took careful, measured blinks, and listened the best you could. You swallowed perhaps a little too rapidly, relying on your latte to hide that you were just stopping yourself from crying. In a room full of profilers, the stakes had never been higher.

“Alright team. All of these women were found in the last month in North Dakota. As you can see, there are clear signs of torture, and there is also evidence of sexual assault. It appears the assault was ante-mortem, but there are no signs of remorse in the way the bodies were dumped. All of these women were in different, clean clothes, and their bodies themselves had been cleaned up. You can see that injuries were stitched back together, and the only blood on the body appears as stains from where it sat on the skin too long and couldn’t be properly removed.”

“So we’re dealing with a doctor?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t know about that. These don’t look surgical. They seem pretty messy to me,” Rossi said.

“The coroner’s report from the first victim would indicate that this isn’t professional work.” Hotch folded his hands in front of him.

“It’s entirely possible this guy’s a germaphobe though.” You made an easy contribution, something to satisfy everyone without drawing suspicion.

“You know, it’s not unlikely.” Spencer leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together thoughtfully. “Approximately 9.1% of American citizens do have phobias. It wouldn’t be too radical to suggest that maybe our unsub does as well.”

“Okay, so we’re dealing with a germaphobe who can’t sew. Doesn’t narrow it down much. I’d say we need to get out there and see what’s going on ourselves,” Prentiss said.

“Wheels up in 20.”

 The plane ride was long enough that you were able to sleep through most of it after tossing around ideas. You found your own quiet little corner of the plane and promptly pretended to sleep so that no one would bother you. In reality you hadn’t slept well in weeks and couldn’t risk sleeping now in case you woke up out of a nightmare, but as far as the team was concerned, you were to be left alone. 10 minutes before landing you “woke up” to listen to Hotch giving out assignments.

“Morgan and JJ, I want you checking out the dumpsites. Prentiss and Y/L/N, go talk to the M.E.”

“Hotch, I really think I should go with Y/N.” Your entire body tensed at Spencer’s words. “We tend to work really well together and especially with a case like this I think my medical knowledge could come in handy. I might be able to figure something out from looking at the bodies and examining the stitches.”

Hotch paused for a moment. “Alright then. Reid, you’re with Y/L/N, and Prentiss you can stick with Rossi and I.”

“That works for me.” Prentiss shrugged. “I have an old buddy who used to work for the Bismarck police department. I’d like to see if he still does, see what I can find out from him.”

“Good. Then it’s decided.”

 Hotch could not have picked a more awkward person for you to be trapped in a car with. Of course, you supposed Hotch hadn’t picked him, he had volunteered. You wondered if he could tell something was up with you, or if it was just instinct. If sharks could smell blood in the water, Spencer had a nose for you being in any kind of emotional distress. Right now you wished that he didn’t.

5 minutes into the drive he spoke up.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yeah. Just tired.” You lean your head back further into the nook between the seat and the window frame.

“You sleeping okay?” Spencer’s brow furrowed as he glanced over at you.

“Yeah, fine.” Lies, lies, lies. “I was uh…out late last night.”

“Oh.”

You stared out the window, watching the scenery. This time of year there wasn’t much to see in North Dakota. Just frigid, icy wasteland. You dreaded getting out of the drowsy comfort of the nice warm car.

“On a date?” Spencer’s voice sounded off somehow.

“What? No.”

Maybe too quick an answer, but it was a ridiculous suggestion. You? On a date? In your dreams.

“Some friends of mine from college were in town. We went out and got a few drinks before they had to head back.” Always make sure the witnesses are conveniently unavailable.

“That must have been nice.” Spencer smiled.

“Yeah. It was good.”

“So other than that, how have you been?”

“Good. Great, really. Itching to get back to work though.”

“Really? Wasn’t the break nice?”

“Nice, but boring.” You pulled your sleeves over your hands.

“I guess.”

Spencer pulled into the parking lot, safely sliding into one of the available spaces before coming around to open your door. You frowned slightly. He had never done that before. If he was babying you now just because of what had happened you were going to kill him.

Mad. Mad was new. Mad was good. You decided to pursue that.

“Why open the door? I can do it myself, you know.” Your voice carried more hostility than was warranted.

“I know,” Spencer said, blushing. Blushing? “I just thought it might be nice. Plus with all of this ice you could get hurt. Did you know that 1 million Americans are injured slipping on ice annually?”

Ah. So he was babying you.

“I’m fine. I can handle a little cold, Spencer. Now come on, we have bodies to look at.”

You stormed ahead, determined to leave him standing there alone in the cold. What happened instead was far less triumphant and dignified. You slipped. On ice. And Spencer caught you. And then subsequently did not slip.

“See?” A smile played on his mouth as you looked up at him through your snow-coated lashes. “Dangerous weather conditions. But you’re right, we should get inside.”

He righted you, unfortunately causing you to leave his warm embrace, and looped his arm through yours as you two headed into the coroners.

 Seeing the bodies in person was worse than you thought it would be. The smell of the formaldehyde felt like it was seeping into your pores, like it would never leave you. The gleam of the metal tables seemed to whisper, “This could have been you.” The icy cold Bismarck air turned your skin to something lifeless, something that belonged underneath one of the sheets hanging over the victims. After all, what was one more dead girl?

It took everything you had to keep it together. Even then you let Spence do most of the talking.

“So these stitches, they’re not surgical,” he established.

“Well see, that’s what’s interesting about this. The first ones certainly don’t seem surgical. They’re far too messy. The technique is good, but the execution is falling apart. But the second body is far more orderly, and the third is nearly perfect.”

“So our unsub has been practicing.” The horror in your voice shone through.

“It would seem so. But here’s what else is interesting. The chemicals used to clean these girls up? They make the same progression. At first, household cleaners, hence all the staining. But then they move to medical grade stuff.”

“Wait…could we be dealing with a medical student here?” You asked.

“It’s entirely likely. However, I would bet that whoever did this is looking less to be a surgeon and more to be a coroner themselves. Look at the cut patterns.”

You froze. You didn’t want to look. You couldn’t look. You could feel your scars burning in your sides, white hot, the metal slicing through you, tearing you to ribbons.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

“As the victims progress, the pattern becomes more and more organized, until it almost looks like…”

“An autopsy,” Spencer finished.

The coroner nodded. “So I certainly wouldn’t rule out medical students, but if I had to take a guess…”

“We’re not looking for a candy striper,” You supplied.

“We have to get this to Hotch. Thank you so much for your help.” Spencer took the folders offered before following you back out to the parking lot and into the car.

 As it turned out, your suspicions were correct. The unsub had been studying to work as an M.E., until they discovered that cadavers just weren’t enough. Sublimation can only take you so far.

They began seeking out more lively victims, their psychopathy making them seem no different than a cadaver. To this unsub, people were just meat to be used and then hacked up. He would never be seeing his medical license though.

You should have felt good. Should have felt on top of the world about solving a case, especially being able to do it so quickly. Instead, you just felt a cold sense of dread about having to go home to your nightmares. On the plane, you once again feigned sleep, with the goal of slipping away from the others when you touched down. No such luck.

“Good, you’re all back! I have a surprise for our favorite returned agent. That’s right, it’s tequila time! We’re all going out for drinks, totally non-optional. And when I say all of us, I mean all of us.” She glared pointedly at Reid. “Even the good doctor.”

“Penelope, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.” Spence looked over to you.

For the first time that day, you allowed yourself a moment of weakness. You had gone through a lot, you had sat through that briefing, you had looked at those bodies. You could have a little bit of emotional vulnerability. As a treat.

You looked at Spencer hopelessly, practically begging him to save you from your surprise party fate and somehow get Garcia to call the whole thing off. You couldn’t do this. All you wanted was to go home and take a nice hot shower and curl up alone.

“Okay,” Spencer said. “I’ll go.”

Penelope cheered, overwhelmingly excited about the development.

Morgan chuckled. “Baby girl, we better go before he changes his mind.”

“Oh! Right!” And with that she was off.

 The very last thing you could have possibly needed right now was a bar. It was loud and noisy and crowded and all together far too much for you to handle. You supposed you should be thankful it wasn’t a club, but you couldn’t find it in yourself. You didn’t want this right now.

You didn’t want glowing neon lights or the wine cooler you were pretending to drink to make Garcia happy. You didn’t want music that was slightly too loud or a football game playing in the background. Most of all, you didn’t want all of these people touching you. Every graze was like someone was running nails down a chalkboard. You would have rather had a cheese grater on your skin, would have rather peeled it off and torn it to pieces.  You had to get out of there.

Your salvation came from the source of your doom.

“Well guys, I think I’m going to head out,” Spencer said. “It’s getting kind of late and I have a documentary I was hoping to catch.”

“Alright, well, we’ll see you soon okay boy wonder?” Morgan raised his glass in salute.

“Actually, perfect timing Spencer. I was wondering, do you think you could drive me home?” You had originally carpooled with JJ, having taken public transportation to work that day. Oddly enough, you knew Spencer had brought his car. “I’m totally wiped out after last night.”

“Oh, right, you had your thing with friends!” He remembered. “Um, sure, yeah. I guess your place is on the way to mine. The more the merrier!”

Garcia tried to convince you to stay, but Spencer maintained the role of a beautiful, beautiful excuse. With your combined efforts you were able to navigate your way out of the clutches of Penelope Garcia and into the cool, quiet car, where mercifully no one was touching you.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the bar, but you were irritated to find that Spencer insisted on seeing you up. You were tired of this patronizing behavior. You didn’t need to be coddled, you needed to be respected. You thought he of all people would be the one to always respect you, but apparently not.

You stopped outside of your door, keys in hand as you looked up at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“What?”

“Why are you treating me like I can’t be left alone for 5 seconds? You’re babying me. Stop it.”

“I’m not babying you,” Spencer said. “I’m concerned about you. You just came back from a traumatic experience, and I just…don’t think you should be left alone right now.”

“So what, you don’t think I can handle myself?” You turned to face him, livid under the glow of the overhead light. “Because I have plenty of scars now to prove I can. I’m a survivor, Reid. I think I can walk myself up a few stupid stairs and unlock my apartment door without supervision. Did Hotch put you up to this? Wanted to make sure I was ready to be back in the field?”

“What? No! Of course Hotch didn’t put me up to this. He would never do that. He respects you and believes you’re more than capable of doing this job.”

“Then what? Who’s telling you to do this?” You took a step closer, getting in his face.

“No one! I’m doing this because I care about you, Y/N, and when you were taken it was one of the worst moments in my life. I’d never been that afraid of anything before, not even when I was kidnapped. And I just kept thinking how scared you must have been, how alone you must have felt, and I…I don’t want you to feel that way now. I don’t want you to feel alone. No one is making me do this. No one is watching you, waiting for you to breakdown. It’s just me, Y/N. It’s just us.”

You wanted to melt into the way he said us. Wanted to tell him everything, wanted to let him count your scars and tell him you were afraid, you were alone. You wished that you could.

“Well thank you for your concern, but I don’t need it. Everything is fine. I’m fine. We’re…we’re fine.”

It was the last words that gave you away. The tremble in we, the unsureness.

“Why won’t you let me in? Why can’t you let your guard down. Take all of this composure and just…lose it a little?” Sweet brown eyes snuck their way in, securing themselves around your heart.

All day, you had been trying so hard to keep it together. To put on a mask and pretend that everything was fine, because that was what you needed everyone to think. You needed all of them to see you as competent and capable and someone they could look up to and respect and love, but it was just…it was just so much pressure, all the time, and normally you could handle it but now? Now it was too much, all of it all too much.

“Do you know why I can’t just lose it? I can’t fall apart because people are watching and it doesn’t matter to them what happened to me. Nobody cares about anything but right now and right now what I know is that they take your pain and they turn it into a joke. Because that’s what people do Spencer. That’s what people do when they don’t like you. When you get hurt, that’s funny. When something terrible happens to you, it doesn’t matter how bad it is, you deserved it. Gosh, can’t you understand that? Don’t you get it? It’s not just that I don’t want people seeing me hurt, it’s that I can’t let them. Because you know what hunters do when they see a wounded animal? They kill it. And I’m…I’m…” You choked.

You choked on all of it. Not just the words, but the fear, the horror, the overwhelming gut-wrenching spiraling episode you were falling into. You didn’t understand what was happening to you anymore. You just knew it hurt. It hurt so bad.

“Look at me.” Spencer spoke softly, not daring to touch you. “It’s okay. It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to feel it. You don’t have to stop.”

“I can’t…I can’t…”

You couldn’t stop the tears from coming down your face, the tight ache in your chest, all of these feelings catching up to you like you never could have imagined before this.

“He hurt you. He hurt you very badly. Nobody expects you to just bounce back from that. Nobody needs you to be okay right now. It is not your job to be okay.”

You fell into him. Collapsed into his body that caught you like he had been waiting, like he knew this would happen, like he knew you better than you knew yourself. Knew your body, knew your pain, knew your heart, and was holding it all together, even raw and bleeding and naked as it was.

And you let go.

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.”

-Lois Lowry

[ashtheshortstack]

Waiting for Your Curtain Call - ch 1

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna Chapter 1: Your Show Last Night

Tags: Modern AU, Bodyguard AU, Popstar AU, KristAnna, human!Sven, Eventual Smut, Slowish Burn, Fluff, Bodyguard Kristoff, Popstar Anna, Popstar Elsa

Read on Ao3 

Next Chapter 

Kristoff Bjorgman was proud of his job. It was strange being in the limelight, but not all at the same time. Anna and Elsa Arendelle’s devoted fans knew him as Anna’s bodyguard. They knew Sven was Elsa’s too. He was on tabloids next to Anna, but he meant nothing to the picture. He was just there. Usually in black and with his shades over his honey-brown eyes. Kristoff had never had to be truly violent with anyone—not yet, at least. Anna and Elsa’s career as a sister-pop-princess duo was still growing, meaning the obsessive fans weren’t as psycho as others had to deal with.

What Kristoff couldn’t stand was the pompous boy-band prince that Anna was dating. The guy was obnoxious, stuck on himself, and not good enough for Anna, that was for sure. Sure, Kristoff may have been a little biased because he—well—may or may not have been crushing on the ginger girl for as long as he’s worked for the Arendelles…

But it wouldn’t work. The pop princess and her bodyguard? No way. Oh, but the fans ate up Anna dating Hans Westergaard. He was part of a boyband consisting of him and his twelve older brothers. Kristoff could barely keep up with boy groups of five, let alone thirteen. Hans seemed to be the weak link. The baby of the group. Which made him the “cute one” but apparently… not very talented. At least from what he heard. The guy could carry a tune, sure, but nowhere near what his brothers could. Kristoff was pretty sure he could show the guy up himself with a guitar.

Not that Kristoff was one to brag or anything.

But Hans made his job hellish and difficult. The last thing Kristoff wanted was to guard that twinky little weasel. When the guy was with Anna, Kristoff was obligated to look after them both. And it grinded his gears more than he could say.

He turned the corner, looking in every crevice of the concert hall unable to find Anna. She was supposed to leave the stage and return to her post. But as usual, when Hans was there… she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. When he checked in the audience, big surprise, Hans was no longer in his seat. Kristoff growled, clamping his palm down on Sven’s shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Where is Anna?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

Sven shrugged, brushing his hand from his shoulder. “I don’t know, man. You know how she gets when Hans is around.”

“I swear when I find them—”

Sven bumped him. “You’ll find her. Just don’t beat Hans to a bloody pulp. The guy’s face is all he’s got.”

Kristoff snorted at that before taking off to search the premises. He’d been checking the whole lot and she was nowhere to be seen. His blood boiled hotter every passing minute he couldn’t find her. If something actually happened to her and he didn’t know because of her little stunts like this, he’d never live with himself. Unsurprisingly, Anna wasn’t in her trailer after her portion of the concert either. Elsa was, however, when he went to check for Anna in hers.

“Can’t find her again?” the elder sister asked with a sympathetic smile.

He sighed. “She does realize she puts my job on the line every single time she does this, right?”

Elsa rolled her eyes. “Hans is more important to her right now. He eats up all her attention.”

Kristoff chuckled at that. “You don’t like him either, huh?”

“Can’t stand him.”

Humming in agreement, he stepped out of her trailer. “If she gets in touch, please tell her I’m looking for her. I pray for both of them that I don’t find them first.”

Elsa waved a hand. “Good luck.”

As Kristoff left the door, Sven was standing by the trailer door. “Still nothing?”

“I’m going to break that little prick like a twig.”

His partner just laughed at that. “I don’t know if Anna would forgive for that one. This is her first relationship, after all.”

“I know. And she’s acting like an immature teenager!”

“Anna is eighteen.”

“And in the spotlight where she could be targeted by anyone!”

“Did you check the backstage dressing rooms? There’s one that’s unoccupied. Maybe they’re in that one.”

Kristoff frowned, not wanting to imagine what he could possibly find in that room. He had to suck it up, however. This was his job. And he wasn’t going to let that Backstreet Boy wannabe take it from him. There was no hiding his anger as he stomped back inside. One would think when someone is a special guest on a talk-show, they’d behave. But no. Not Anna.

Kristoff was almost entirely positive that Hans tagged along today so he could get his fifteen seconds in as he watched Anna from the audience. Because of course, he had special front row seats to watch his girlfriend. And of course, the host of the evening pointed out that Hans of Th1rt3n was there. Of course, of course, of course.

When he reached the “empty” dressing room, he heard shuffling from inside. Kristoff swung the door open, a scowl on his face. Oh, and what did he know! There were just the people he was looking for. Anna sat up on the dresser with Hans standing between her legs. Disheveled clothes, swollen lips, and tangled hair… It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the couple had been up to.

“Get out of there,” Kristoff sneered.

Hans just smirked, straightening his designer jacket before turning his attention back to Anna. His chin held high, he looked back at her with a lustful gaze. “I’ll call you later.”

Anna giggled at that. “Okay.”

The pop prince gave him a smarmy stink eye as he brushed past him with clear intent as his shoulder bumped against the blonde’s. Kristoff slammed the door behind him, arms crossed as he glared at her.

Seemingly unsure how to respond, Anna’s gaze flickered around the empty room. “Hey, Kristoff.”

“Do you know how much trouble you could get me into? Your father wants you under my watch at all times. You’re going to get me fired, Anna!”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes! Yes, you did! You know exactly what you’re doing sneaking away with him. This isn’t fun and games. You can head back to his mansion and do—whatever the fuck it is you want to do with him. But you can’t do it here. Not while I’m supposed to be protecting you!”

Anna scoffed, waving a hand to brush off his concerns. “Please, Kristoff, you don’t have to protect me from Hans.”

He gaped at her, then. “Yes, I do, Anna! That’s part of my job. One that I won’t have anymore if you keep doing this,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, brows pinching as he gazed at her. “We’re friends, aren’t we? We have to be there for each other.”

She hoped off the dresser then, a pleading puppy pout on her face. “Yes, yes! Of course, we are, Kristoff. I-I’m sorry… I know I haven’t been a very good friend to you. I know you’re trying to do your job. It’s just that Hans—”

“—Is very convincing, huh?” he finished.

Anna nodded. “I’ve never, ya know, been with a guy before. All of it is so… exciting and new? I’ve never had the rush of someone wanting to sneak off and spend time with me.”

This whole conversation had a bad feeling swirling in Kristoff’s gut. He was supposed to protect her. Physically, at least. It wasn’t his job to protect her heart… her emotions.

No matter how much he wanted to.

  o~o~o~o

  Kristoff took the heat from Agnarr after Anna’s disappearance. After watching him be shouted at, he hoped Anna may have had a change of heart. Especially with the guilt-stricken look etched on her face. She apologized over and over the next few days. Despite feeling a bit guilty himself, he couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied.

The next few months, however, still sucked ass as Hans became a frequent guest at the Adrendelle home and their events. After the talk show incident (and watching Kristoff get chewed out), Anna had been more aware of her surroundings and how her actions could affect other people, which he was grateful for. Hans did not share that sentiment.

Kristoff knew Hans seemed like a bit of a controller, but damn, he had underestimated that thought. He wasn’t sure if Hans was pissed that he’d interrupted their romp in the dressing room, if he could tell that Kristoff had feelings for Anna, or if he was just an asshole. Or if it was all three.

No matter which it was, the brat purposely tried to get under Kristoff’s skin as much as he could. And somehow, he’d still look like the innocent party. It was just little things he would do. Smart ass comments that would make Kristoff look stupid, tripping him—yes, tripping him like a grade school bully—but somehow made it look like an accident. It was annoying that he felt like he was back in high school. What was next from him? A “kick me” sign on his back? He wouldn’t put it past him.

And no matter what a pain in the ass he was. No matter how much he couldn’t stand the fucker. He never wanted it to end the way it had.

The cheating scandal broke on the tabloids first. None of Anna’s team, none of her friends… no one told her. She saw it on social media when they were about to head out to a charity performance. There was a gut-wrenching sob from behind her bedroom door. The sound sent his heart plummeting to his feet. Kristoff and Elsa both heard it. They slammed open the door as quickly as they could. Anna was huddled at the foot of her bed, slumped over on the floor, shoulders shaking with meek sniffles.

He was on his knees next to her in an instant. “Anna? Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

She stayed silent, her cries wracking her body as she held her phone up to him. The image of Hans kissing one of their back of dancers, his hands way too high on her thigh while they sat at a bar lit up the screen.

Why that little—

Kristoff felt an animalistic growl leave his throat before Elsa was over his shoulder. He handed her the phone, and the elder sister’s stare turned icy.

“I’m going to kill him,” she murmured.

“Not if I get to him first,” Kristoff sneered.

Anna grabbed his shoulders, surprising him out of his brooding. “Please, stop. Both of you,” she muttered, pleading.

He opened his mouth to refute. He wanted to tell her she didn’t deserve this, that he knew that bastard was trouble, knew that he deserved a good square in the jaw—but when he saw the hurt in her eyes. All the furry melted. Kristoff felt his shoulders relax as he placed his hands over hers, taking her tiny palms into his own.

“What do you need, Anna?” he asked, gently squeezing her fingers.

Her eyes were wide at the question. “I… I don’t want to go to the concert.”

Elsa hitched a breath at that. “Anna, you have to. We’re in this together…”

Smiling pitifully up at her sister, there was so much anguish in her gaze. His chest tightened at the sight. God, he wanted to take her pain away. He felt so frustrated with himself for not sticking up for her sooner, telling her that Hans was bad news and she should stay away. He had known all this time that the asshole was going to hurt her. He just didn’t realize it’d be so soon. Or like this.

“Please, Elsa. Tell them I’m sick or something. I-I can’t sing like this.”

Her sister sighed. “People are going to know why you aren’t there.”

“I don’t care if they know… I can’t do this.”

“Anna—”

“Hey,” Kristoff interrupted her, “look, we’ll deal with the PR stuff later. Just tell them Anna wasn’t feeling well,” he released Anna’s hands, moving to stand over her next to her sister. Her fingers dragged along his forearms as he stood. It made him wince… had she not wanted him to let go?

“Papa is going to be furious,” Elsa replied in a warning tone.

He nodded. “I know, but we have to respect what Anna needs right now.” Kristoff gestured towards the door with his head. “Can we talk for a second?”

Elsa rubbed her hands over her arms, hugging herself gently. “Yeah, okay.”

Looking back down at Anna, he gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be right back, okay?” He took Anna’s phone from Elsa just as the elder sister went to hand it back to her. “I—uh—think it’s best that I held onto this for the moment, yeah?”

Both sisters nodded silently. He hated having to treat them both this way, but it was his job to make sure Anna was safe. And from now on he knew that meant that went for her heart as well. He wouldn’t let her go through this again.

Never again.

[gideongrace]

2 for the song prompt thing

Song: In My Arms by Snow Patrol. Sorry this took FOREVER to get to! 

///

It's the most ordinary of Thursdays in existence and something about that is shattering something in Steve. He doesn't know what it is, he doesn't know why, but it just - it just - 

He can't take it. Something in him is shattering, fracturing bit by bit until there just won't be anything left and he needs - he needs - 

The door to Family Video opens, the bell goes off and Steve straightens his shoulders and prepares to put his customer service game face on until he sees the person walking through the door is Billy and that? That has the tension in every inch of his body flying out of him like a puppet that's just had its strings cut. 

"Hey," Billy says, smile easy, eyes all warm and making Steve feel like a puddle of human goo rather than an actual human-shaped person even as it makes Robin roll her eyes.

"Hey," Steve says, his voice sounding just as stupid and just as gooey as he feels and it's obvious, it has to be obvious from the way Robin groans next to him.

She throws out a, "Alright, later, nerds," before heading for the far back corner of the store where the unshelved and (desperately) needing to be organized tapes are.

"Okay, you're friends with her again because?" Billy says as he strides forward to lean up against the counter, showcasing his biceps in a way that Steve knows is a thousand percent on purpose. But then everything Billy does is on purpose, every move he makes is choreographed and perfected, like he's a dancer in a show in some big city, like he's that level of flawless, that level of gorgeous and Steve...

Steve is just a guy who works in a video store in a small town and that's it, that's all there is to him, no more, no less.

He does his best to shrug and look unaffected. "We went through shit together," he says, smiling like it's some sort of funny joke even though it's really, really not. "She's good people." 

Billy's eyebrows do a thing and he says, "If you say so, sure," and it's… it's… so weird. 

It's all so fucking weird. 

Weird that Billy isn't calling Robin names. 

Weird that he's here. 

Weird that they're friends. 

Weird that Billy came back different, calmer and fiercer all at the same time.

Weird that Billy came back at all.

And even weirder still? Weirder than all of that? Is that all Steve wants in the whole world right now is to crawl into his bed with Billy and just… sleep with him. And like sleep-sleep, not fuck-sleep because Steve has little to no interest in the kind of sleeping together that ends with stuff going in places, much to his own (and seemingly everyone else's) everlasting dismay.

And now... now Billy's snapping his fingers in his face, a smirk spread wide across his own like he's a second from laughing, like maybe this has been going on for a while now, and...

Steve shakes his head, brings himself back out of his mind and back into the real world, back into this Thursday that just won't end. "I'm sorry, what?" he says as Billy bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that has Steve feeling about eighteen different kinds of dumb.

"Nothing, nothing important," Billy says, shaking his head and still laughing. "They workin' you too hard in this place or somethin'?" 

Steve nods. "Or something," he says even as he wishes he could say, "No, it's just you," but he doesn't, because he can't, because even if they're friends now, even if Billy's different now, Steve doesn't know if he's that kind of different and any kind of different or not, that's still the kind of thing you get punched for and Billy still really loves using his fists. So.

"Anyway," Billy says, pursing his lips to keep from laughing more and it helps but only just barely. Mostly, though, it just makes Steve notice Billy's lips more. "I was just gonna ask if you wanted to come over later," Billy says, all cool, all charm.

"Hmmm…" Steve says, pretending to give it some serious, deep thought. "Depends on what you're getting." The actual truth is he'd go over to Billy's place even if his answer was that he was gonna find a six hour long tape of paint drying on a wall, because he'd spend time with Billy doing just about anything. But. Best not to let Billy know that.

"Well then I guess that depends on what you're in the mood for, Bambi," Billy says as he leans forward far enough that the pendant on his necklace clatters onto the counter. He's close enough for Steve to just about count his eyelashes and Steve has to take a deep breath in through his nose to stop himself from doing exactly that. Or worse.

Meanwhile, in the far corner of the store, Robin groans aggressively and loudly and Steve ignores it (and the idea that it might have anything to do with him and his current ridiculousness 'cause that is a thought he just can't handle).

"I dunno," he says, cool as anything and proud as hell he's managing it, "just don't pick a horror movie or a nerd movie and it'll be fine." 

Billy gives him a careful once over, his eyes shining brightly with something teasing but affectionate and he says, "Okay," somehow managing to make that one word sound like he's saying that he sees the challenge Steve has just set before him and that he's accepting it wholeheartedly.

Then Billy's sauntering off down the main aisle, carefully studying each box as he goes, and it occurs to Steve to shout out, "And no picking any movies that are secretly scary, either, like you did last time!" 

From the back of the store, Robin calls out, "He made you watch Aliens, Steven, what did you think that was gonna be?"

"I don't know, cool space shit? Not monsters bursting out of people!" And then since there's no one else in the store right now, he adds, "We get enough of that shit in our daily lives, thank you very much!" 

Robin snorts, shouts, "Whatever, dingus," and out of the corner of his eye Steve sees Billy smiling and shaking his head. 

"Okay, princess," Billy says, sarcasm dripping heavy from his every word even though there's only been two of them so far, "nothing scary." He picks up a copy of The Fox and the Hound and holds it up above his head. "What about this one?"

Steve looks at the tape, rolls his eyes as dramatically as he knows how and huffs as best he can. "Oh, fuck off, man," he says, trying to sound irritated and nailing it even as inside he's smiling like he's five years old and this is the best shit ever.

"Sure, sure," Billy says, again barely holding off from laughing. "Sure." He puts the tape down and keeps looking, long fingers trailing over the cover of every single tape and making Steve furious and sad and - 

and - 

Filled with a kind of longing he doesn't know what to do with and that's impossible to explain to anybody else because every time he tries whoever he's talking to immediately jumps to thinking he's talking about sex and he's never been able to explain that no, that's not it, that it isn't sex he's after, it's just…

He doesn't know what it is he's after other than to say that certain things about certain people do something to him, like the way Nancy would flip her hair over her shoulder or the way Billy is running his long, golden fingers over the cover of every tape in the place like he owns them, owns all of them, every single one and Steve doesn't know how to put that feeling into words, doesn't know how to explain it, just knows it's taking all of his energy not to stare at Billy with his mouth gaping open, just knows that he wants… something. 

Something big enough it feels like it's tearing him apart and making him feel like he might actually die if he doesn't get it, whatever it is. 

But eventually, finally, after tagging every single tape in the place like he's a dog leaving his scent on everything, Billy picks a tape - Crocodile Dundee - pays for it and heads out, but not before clarifying what time Steve's off work - seven - and telling him to, "Come right over after," and making Robin mutter something neither of them quite catches if the look that flashes briefly across Billy's face is anything to go by. 

///

It takes roughly a million years for seven o'clock to roll around but finally, finally, finally it does and Robin gives Steve a look, tells him, "Go, I'll close up," and he smiles at her as brightly as he knows how and says -

"Thanks, I owe you one."

"Yeah, you do, and some day I'm gonna collect," she says as he's already running out the door. 

He arrives at Billy's trailer about twenty minutes later and parks out front but waits. Takes a deep breath, then another, then another, then a few more just for good measure because he's entirely too excited for this, he knows he is. 

He knows this all means more to him than it does to Billy, he knows it does, so he has to calm down - 

But he can't, no matter how many deep breaths he takes so he just winds up saying, "Fuck it," and getting out of the car. 

He walks to the door and knocks, waits, but he doesn't have to wait long before Billy's pulling the door open, eyes shining with that same affectionate, teasing thing as before and Steve is just as gooey, just as gone and Billy's saying, "Hey," and swinging back, letting Steve in and - 

God, he's fucked. Only, you know, not. Because. You know. 

"Want a beer?" Billy's asking, like Steve could ever want anything other than him. Still, he says - 

"Sure," like he does, like he cares about anything as dumb as beer right now.

He settles himself into the middle of Billy's rickety, old brown couch, arms spread wide and puts his feet up on the scarred, dark wood coffee table, taking up as much space as he possibly can like if Billy owns the video store then he owns this, like maybe he can't own Billy but he's damn sure going to own this space.

Billy, smile all sharp and crooked, brings him his beer, puts the tape in and sits just past the reach of Steve's fingertips, just at the edge of the couch. Steve waits, prays and waits and he's rewarded for his patience when five minutes later Billy wiggles a little closer, leaving Steve waiting, waiting for what he's not sure exactly, but maybe it's for Billy to punch him or maybe it's for Billy to say something but he wraps his fingers around the curve of Billy's shoulder and again Billy moves in closer. It's enough to have Steve taking sharp breaths and it's fucking ridiculous, that he's having this much of a reaction to something this small. 

And yet. 

And yet.

Then Billy is looking at him, calm, quiet, questioning, and for a second Steve just blinks back at him, eyes deer-in-the-headlights big - like he's actually fucking Bambi like Billy's always saying he is - and then he nods and Billy's inching closer, closer and it takes about ten minutes (or maybe ten lifetimes, depending on how you ask) but eventually, finally, Billy is sitting curled up next to him, cat-like and almost goddamn purring and so deliciously warm that Steve stops being human-shaped in a way he might never recover from.

And Steve's never wanted anything more in his entire life.

And neither of them says anything, but Steve can't help but feel like this is the beginning of something, like maybe he was wrong before, like maybe this means just as much to Billy as it does to him and clearly Billy is that kind of different.

The way Billy groans and presses his face into Steve's neck can't possibly mean anything else.

//part of the canon but gayer ‘verse. there’s more of it here.//

[captainchrisfics]

Endgame Interviews and Special News

About: As per the request of @rororo06 , Chris Evans and the (first person pov) reader are married and going through a round of press interviews, although the plot of Endgame isn’t the only thing they’re worried about spoiling (hope you don’t mind that addition to the plot!)

Words: 2,600

A/N: Featuring the lowest key hint at what could possibly be considered a spoiler, lines lifted straight from Chris and RDJ’s dialogue in The Avengers, and a reference to a quote from my favorite author, Jandy Nelson.

“So, this is potentially the last time we’ll see the two of you in the MCU. I’d imagine that feels pretty weird, huh?” The interviewer asked, sitting a little closer to us in her chair that looked so much comfier than the folding ones Chris and I have been sitting in all day. I felt bad for omitting her name from my memory. I really did try to remember, but this is our seventh question session of the day and there reaches a point where they all kind of blur together and you forget things. I made an effort to push the thought of exactly why forgetfulness was plaguing me way worse than usual out of my mind in the hopes that it wouldn’t accidentally slip from my mind to my mouth during this Q and A.

“I think I can speak for the both of us when I say that after shooting so many of these, getting back on set sort of feels like coming home,” Chris said with his Boston accent accentuating his vowels in a way I would’ve laughed at if it were just the two of us. “Granted, it’s in the same weird way a high school reunion does.” The interviewer giggled at that and tried to hide her blush behind her notes, but I’ve gotten pretty good at catching the flirty eyes women gave my husband and how their voices raised a couple octaves around him. I couldn’t blame her, Chris has always had this disarming charm about him and I was secure enough to know he wasn’t entrancing her intentionally. Chris intertwined his arm with the one I had sitting on his armrest, never knowing where the blurry boundary of my personal space ended and his began, and held my hand. “What do you think, babe?” he asked, turning his baby blues to me with his attention and perching one eyebrow higher than the other. I nodded in agreement and added, “We’ve watched them grow so much over the years, it feels more like sending our kid to college.”

The interviewer cleared her throat and turned to me, more serious now. “I mean, I grew up watching these movies over the last decade. Being one of the first female heroes in the series, you’re someone little girls everywhere have been looking up to for a long time now,” she said, eyes boring into mine the way they do when conveying the kind of admiration someone had when they saw you as a hero, despite the fact that all I did was pretend to be one. The appreciation people who could see a reflection of themselves in your mirror, one that the screen didn’t show them too often, wasn’t something I’d ever get used to. “Thank you,” I said earnestly, placing a hand over hers. “I can only take so much responsibility, though. The most amazing women in this industry from the cast to crew work on these movies, standing alongside them has been one of the biggest honors.”

Chris smiled down at me as I spoke and stretched to wrap his arm around me and I leaned into his side comfortably, giving into the giant magnet always pulling us together. “Your relationship has been something so many fans loved seeing develop on and off screen as well. Any clue as to how your characters will be affected by the Endgame?” she asked, tucking one index card behind another. I started twisting my wedding ring around my finger unconsciously, thinking about how crucial this franchise was in bringing us together for the first time in a while, with a new sense of nostalgia. It wasn’t a secret that our contracts were up and, as excited as we both were to move on to new projects, there was a bitterness sprinkled in with the sweet when I thought about hanging up our superhero costumes for the last time.

Chris was established as Captain America in his origin story, but I was a new addition on the set of The Avengers. Still, the role wasn’t as second nature to him then as it is now. He didn’t feel as though the shield felt right on his arm. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to Chris, but that’s not why I invited him back to my trailer after a particularly stiff scene, even though when he tells the story it’s because his blue eyes and high cheekbones ignited an irrevocable love for him within me and a burning need (not desire, need) to be in  his presence every moment I could. It was an exceptionally humid day, made worse by our heat-trapping supersuits, which grew into a sticky summer night spent sat in my trailer going over our lines for hours on end. There was something I noticed about the way Chris was carrying himself during our scenes together that was so unnatural, I just hoped to help him grow more comfortable with me so the camera wouldn’t pick up on whatever was bugging him next time we were on set.

We were at this part where everyone’s arguing, shouting over one another while Loki’s scepter glowed behind them. Chris and I were standing a little too close for comfort, sandwiched together by the counters in my thin trailer, which made it increasingly difficult to stay in character. “Why shouldn’t the guy let off a little steam?” I said with faux nonchalance in reference to Bruce’s growing temper, slapping my hand on his broad shoulder. Chris shook the script in his hand to stiffen the pages, staring at it intently before turning to me with a dramatically furrowed brow and tight jaw. He slapped my hand away, shoulders heaving as he breathed heavily with acted anger, and said, “You know damn well why so back off.” Chris took a small but threatening step toward me, looming just inches away. Although the harsh lines of his bone structure and intensity in his stare made Chris that much more intimidating, I tried to rely on my character’s own unabashed smugness as I rolled my shoulders back and crossed my arms, playing his challenger. “Oh,” I said, eyes dragging from the frown on his lips to meet those gorgeous blue eyes. I tried to step back, as the script directed, but my back hit the cabinet. “I’m starting to want you to make me,” I said lowly, conscious of my breath fanning across his face.

Instead of saying his next line, Chris threw his script down on the tabletop. He closed what was left of the little space between us by reaching out and caressing my cheek. His other hand slipped behind me, resting on the small of my back. Our chests rose and fell together, brushing against each other with every breath. His eyes searched mine, looking for permission. When his mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying and failing to find the words, I kissed him. It was slow at first, soft and uncertain as our mouths melded together, but before I knew it everything was on fire. I felt hot, every inch of skin Chris touched burned for his attention again. So did he, with the way his blood rushing turned his skin into a radiator. I wasn’t thinking about it as Chris pushed his hips into mine and sucked on the skin of my neck, leading me to the trailer’s sorry excuse for a mattress, but I read somewhere that when people fall in love they burst into flames, which I think is as true as the sky being blue.

Although, watching the movies now, it’s clear there was always some sort of tension between us if you know what you’re looking for. In the scenes we shot before that day, Chris stood straighter around me and puffed out his chest while I walked with an embarrassingly prominent sway in my hips. After though, even by the next morning, it was clear to everyone we’d grown more comfortable together. We found our rhythm and it showed, causing the directors to pursue an on-screen relationship between our characters. Chris and I didn’t complain too much about getting paid to do what we already were anyway.

“Would you agree?” Chris inquired, tracing the tip of his thumb along my shoulder to regain my attention. I nodded absentmindedly, focusing on trying to keep the blush in my cheeks to a minimum. My hand floated to where it rested on my stomach without me noticing while I was reminiscing, which I pulled away quickly and prayed no one would notice in the recording’s shoulders-up shot. “So I think we’ll see a new side of Steve,” Chris reiterated the point I’d missed. “At this point, I’d say he’s willing to stop at nothing to get her back after she got dusted in Infinity War,” he elaborated, moving the light line his finger brushed against my shoulder a little higher to draw shapes on my exposed skin, sending shivers down my spine. Chris either didn’t know or didn’t acknowledge the effect he was having on me as he kept talking without breaking the interviewer’s eye contact. “It’ll be interesting to see how he handles really losing everything for the second time now.”

She nodded solemnly and gave his words a minute to hang on suspense in the air before leaning toward me as she shifted her attention again. “Your chemistry is so clear on screen, you two get along effortlessly. I was wondering if it’s like that in real life as well?” I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at the assumption, knowing that suppressing my anger every time I had to pick up the socks Chris strewn all over the apartment since he refused to put them in the laundry each time he peeled off another pair sure as hell wasn’t even close to resembling effortlessness. “Sorry, it’s just… of course it isn’t,” I said, causing Chris to feign hurt as he pressed his hand to his heart and joked about me twisting the knife. “No, really. We’re real people. We fight over the stupidest things,” I insisted. Chris nodded, bringing up how the third world war almost broke out in our kitchen this morning after I discovered he finished my favorite cereal and put the box back. I fired back by mentioning the time he lost the screaming match over whether we should record the Patriots game or the premiere of my favorite show.

“At the end of the day, I love him,” I said, as Chris placed his hand over mine. “It’s like stumbling through the house when you’re sloppy drunk,” I paused to allow Chris the time to throw his head back in the laughter I knew was coming, the kind that pulled his hand to his pec as he sunk into his seat. “Really,” I implored once he finished. “Sometimes it’s dark and you have no clue where you’re going, but you figure it out. It isn’t perfect, you forget to take your makeup off, we fight, but you put on your pajamas and choose to land on your soft bed instead of the floor, which feels like exactly where you’re supposed to be. It’s where you fit in the world but you have to make it work, too.” I turned to Chris who met me with a quick peck on the lips. The interviewer cooed, calling that the sweetest thing she’d ever heard though her tone told me that wasn’t the case. “You wouldn’t think it was so cute if you poured your heart and soul out in your vows and she stood at the altar and compared you to a drunk night in front of your whole family,” Chris dramatically pinched in between his eyes to drive the joke home to the woman across from us, who genuinely believed him for a second until we both burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry on Marvel’s publicists’ behalf,” I apologized, wiping a tear from my eye. “They really should know better than to put us together for these things, being twenty-two movies deep and all.” The interviewer chuckled lightly and I could tell her patience was running thin as she tried to reign Chris and I back in. She asked the usual concluding question: if there was anything more we could say about Endgame without losing our jobs.

“Whatever you’re expecting, I guarantee you’ll still be surprised,” I promised. The interviewer raised her eyebrows and laughed, joking about how ominous that sounded. I just shrugged, letting my answer speak for itself in an attempt to be mysterious. And to avoid breaking my contract, spoiling the movie, and being sent to that training camp they made Ruffalo attend. Chris contemplated the question a little more than I did before saying, “It’s definitely an ode to the fans, which is my favorite thing about it. I’ll guarantee,” he said, shooting me a pointing look coupled with a knee-weakening smirk, “that they’ll love watching it as much as we loved making it.”

Chris thanked the interviewer and excused himself to the snack table while I shook her hand. We were only afforded short breaks between shots, which he intended to make the most of by stuffing as many grapes into his mouth as possible. I met him there and took a donut that disappeared in mere minutes. “You know what else I really loved making?” Chris whispered to me with incisive eyes aimed at my stomach, taking advantage of our few moments alone today to poke fun at me. “That’s such a weird thing to say,” I remarked, crinkling my nose at his comment. “I know,” he laughed, popping another grape into his mouth. Before swallowing he cocked his head toward me and said, “You know what’s worse? I actually almost said that.” I rolled my eyes as I giggled at him. “Imagine if that’s how everyone found out we’re pregnant,” I entertained the idea, laughing harder at the absurdity. I could just imagine the YouTube comments now. Maybe even an E! News headline that went something like: Chris Evans Spoils Pregnancy Instead of Endgame. Chris shrugged sheepishly, taking a step toward me as he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. “I can’t help it, I’m just so excited,” he grinned down at me, staring at me with soft eyes. My gaze met his, making me melt from the inside out. “Me too,” I said quietly, wrapping my arm around his waist and bumping our hips together as we fused. “Don’t you think it’d be a fun way to tell everyone? Like hey guys, we’ve got some special news- here’s the link to our pregnancy announcement!” Chris tried to get me to give in. “It’s still way too early and-” I started, until the director cut me off.

“You two, back on set!” he called Chris and me back to our chairs to start the next round of interrogation. This time the interviewer was a young kid who gaped at us with a grin so big it looked like it ached. He was dressed as Captain America, which Chris kept insisting would be our baby’s first Halloween costume, so I knew he was about to be putty in this boy’s hands. “Don’t slip now,” I reminded him, shooting Chris a threatening look. His head ping-ponged between me and this kid who sat in a folding chair, legs dangling above the floor. “But-” he started, until I squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary to prove my point. “Fine, but this is harder than not spoiling the movie, you know?” Chris groaned playfully before walking toward his seat again, ready for another Endgame interview.

[pretty-restless-insomniac]

Say Something (W.C. 1,842)

Fandom: Riverdale

Pairing: Sweet Pea / Reader

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Cussing, Underage Drinking

Summary: Sweet Pea never thought he would be so f***ing ruined by a girl, but here he is, clutching the phone to his ear praying to anyone listening that you would pick up.

*Can be read as sequel to “I’m Not Her” or can be read alone*

Click Here for Ao3  or Click Keep Reading for on here!

     Sweet Pea never thought he would be so fucking ruined by a girl, but here he is, clutching the phone to his ear praying to anyone listening that you would pick up.

    "Hey this is y/n, I'm not around to pick up bu-"

    "Damn it!" He punches the red call button and leans back against his headboard, phone tossed away and his hands tugging through his hair. It's been a week since you walked out and he feels as if he's going fucking insane without you. The only other times he's cried so hard were when his parents abandoned him as a kid, and when he nearly lost his best friend. But this was different. When he's gone through hard times before, he had you. You were the light of his life and his fuck-up caused him to be alone. Sweet Pea struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat, eyes burning from continuous tears. He's a mess.

    He needs you. He knows that now. With you he felt powerful, attractive, safe... loved. But you're gone, and he feels like he might die from the aching in his chest, from every single fucking memory of you two running through his head. Beer, he needs a beer, multiple. Pea wobbles on his feet and slowly makes his way into the catastrophe of which is his den. He took all of his pain out on the trailer for the first three days, and it shows. Pea pushes the flipped couch out of his way, eyes trained on the dinky fridge that hold his newest best friend. Said fridge is bare of all edible substances aside from the four 6-packs Fang's gifted him when he heard of the breakup. Fuck, even the word makes his heart spasm. He grabs a bottle and pops it open, leaning against the counter. He takes a long swig, welcoming the bitter taste. 

          Pea doesn't know how much longer he could live like this. Hell, he's had to hold himself back from running to your house even if it's just to catch a glance at you. Because he sees everything but you anymore. The coat hook, empty. His shower void of all your soaps, your side of the closet... bare. He feels like you're a ghost now and he's frantic to just prove that you were ever in his life at all! But the loneliness that's slowly suffocating Pea proves that you are very much real. You were his, for a short while, but he was the one that never took 'being yours' seriously. He remembers your face when you begged him to just be honest about how he feels for you, that he loves you. But he couldn't. Not because of anything other than he's a coward that doesn't deserve you. He remembers when Betty and Jughead came to get the things you left behind, Jones had to almost sit on him so Betty could come in and out safely, taking all he had left of you.

      Pea starts to shake as the next wave of this ever-lasting mental breakdown comes upon him. He wishes this was all just some stupid fucking nightmare and he would wake up to you squirming away from his snores in your ear. He would let you go, but before you could get off the bed, he's grab you back and crawl on top of you. He'd whisper all the naughty things he wanted to do to you, watching the lust dance across your eyes. Pea would nearly lose it as you let out a little moan, grinding against his bottom half, him kissing your neck-

    "God fucking damn it!" Pea wails his bottle against the wall and slowly slides down to the floor, begging someone -anyone - to put him out of his misery.

    "Fuck, y/n," his voice cracking into uncontrollable sobs. He can't be bothered to try to make his way into the bed as his vision darkens, finally giving into exhaustion on the glass ridden tile. 

      A little while later, a few forceful pounds on his door stirs Pea out of his drunken stupor, but only to groan, hoping if he stays somewhat quiet that whoever out there will get the fucking hint. He wants to suffer, alone. Pea imagines you're doing the same thing, at least he hopes you're as broken up about this as he is. Soon the bangs stop, but before he could slip away again, a powerful shove sends his door nearly off its hinges, no doubt cracking the frame. Pea nearly uses all of his energy to sit up, seeing double of a certain purple haired vixen. Fuck he want her seeing him like this. He tries to scramble to his feet as Toni looks around in shock.

    "What the hell did you do? I was expecting a mess, but it's like a fucking war zone Pea!"

    "Why are you here?"

    "You're joking right? You haven't left here in a week and you've been ignoring every single person who's tried to get you. I'm the last resort!"

    Pea just lolls his head back against the counter and closes his eyes, trying to block out the spinning room.

    "Fuck off." Toni just snorts at that and makes her way into the kitchen, only sighing at the broken glass. Neither of them speak as she fetches the broom to clean it up. Soon she just slumps down next to Pea, slightly gagging at the alcohol rolling off of him in waves. Pea just hopes she'll get bored with his silence and just leave, but Toni just plays with her bracelet, trying to find the right words.

    "Do, do you want to talk about it?"  Pea finally turns to look at her, and she flinches slightly at his bloodshot eyes and red skin, making it clear how broken he feels right now. She's at a loss, never having seen him so torn up over something before. He usually is so good at burying his feels, so having his face being so easy to read shakes her a little.

    "Have you seen her?"       Toni takes a deep breath, hesitating a little before giving a solemn nod. She can't stand to look at him as she continues.

    "Yeah, I've seen her around lately." Pea swallows and then asks the inevitable.

    "H-how is she?"

    "She-e was very upset before, but-" Toni cuts off taking more interest in her jeans at the moment. Pea's anger spikes again as he shoves her shoulder.

    "But?" Toni just sighs and runs her fingers through her hair. 

     "I don't think you want to know-"

    "Quit fucking around."

    "She-s, she's... happy." Pea whips his head around, furrowing his brows. What the fuck does she mean you're happy. You should be a hermit, constantly crying like he is. You were never a good liar, so he's sure you aren't faking, but, but that just pisses him off! How fucking dare you being happy without him.

    "Happy? Happy! Are you fucking serious?!" Anyone else would be shocked, but Toni would expect this. Still, she couldn't help being a bit coy.

    "I though you're supposed to say that you're just happy because she's happy and all that sappy shit." He only just glares and then turns to face the wall.

    "No. I don't want her happy unless she's with me. I'm a selfish mother fucker. Who the fuck does she think she is? She should be wallowing in sadness and alcohol like I am, not fucking acting like she's celebrating! If she was here right now I'd-"

    "But shes not. And she's not your fucking problem anymore, so your opinion means shit."

     Pea just puts his head down, accepting the loss just a little more. Toni feels bad at cutting his rant off, but for Pea, being drunk and angry wouldn't do anyone good! She stands up and reaches her hand out to him. He stumbles to his feet and they make the journey to the bedroom. Pea just flops face down to the bed and Toni just stands there, unsure if it's safe to leave him right now.  

   "You don't have to fucking babysit me, I'm not gonna do anything stupid." Pea mumbles from his pillow. Knowing how Pea is when he's drunk, Toni just shifts and then grabs him a glass of water, and leaves with a final worried glance. Pea tries to fall back asleep, but Toni's words keep ringing through his head.  

   "She's happy."   

  He doesn't know if its the loneliness or alcohol that leads him to try calling you again, already expecting the same voicemail message.

      "What do you want Pea?"

    He nearly falls off the bed at the sound of your voice, you picked up! He fumbles with words and you only huff at the silence, ready to hang up.    

 "No,wait, y/n. I-I've been trying to get ahold of you," and then he pauses... the anger kicking in, "why the fuck haven't you been answering me?" He doesn't need to see you to know you're doing an eyeroll right about now.     

"Why the hell do you care? I'm not your girl Pea, so it's none of your business. Did you call just to fucking chew me out? Me life doesn't revolve around you anymore."  

   Pea takes a deep breath, eyes starting to blur with tears.

    "No-no. I'm sorry I didn't mean to- I, uh, I just," he takes a moment to collect himself, "I just really miss you... I lo-"

    "Don't say you love me."

    "W-what the fuck do you mean? Why not? Are you with someone," Pea rambles. His emotions giving both of you whiplash. You just ignore his ramble, trying to keep your voice steady.

    "Because with you, every time you say you love me, it means a little less."

    Your voice nearly cracks, and you wince, hoping he hadn't caught it. But he did, and it gave him hope to push a little more.

    "So you just want me to forget about you, about us? There definitely has to be someone else, who the fuck is he. Is it Andrews? Mantle?"

    "Oh just shut up Pea, can't you just accept that maybe I'd rather bealone than with you? Do you think I'm that much of a floozy?"

    "Fine, if that's how you feel. Then do this one thing for me. Then I'll leave you alone, you won't hear a fucking peep from me. Just, swear to me that this mean nothing to you."

    You nearly choke on your cries, but you know what he's doing. He playing you, even now.

    "That's not the po-"

    "I want an answer, dammit!"

    "You aren't gonna get the answer you want Pea."

    "Lie to me then."

    You need to stay strong, to prove that you will survive without him. That you don't need him.      

    "Don't call this number again."

    "Y/n, I'll keep calling for the rest of the night if I have to, until you answer me."

    "Guess you'll have a long night then."   

    You left him once again that night.