#Interesting concept but he's fucking Nothing in practice because they do nothing with him so it's fucking Hilarious to have them imply

[shiroselia]

Also it's fucking hilarious that SSE seems to think that Justin is too present because. like. yeah he's kind of pretty damn important?? He's Catherine's kid and Thomas' kid and he's a wild whisperer and that's Interesting. That's Good. He's not a main character and you don't have to make him important but claiming he's upstaging anyone is fucking silly. He isn't. He should actually have More space in the story if anything (or be written out Correctly which isn't even hard to do) because he isn't interesting and he's incredibly underutilised. There's something to Do There but if you don't want to do that just... write him out realistically?? Like SSE you can just write him out. If nothing else the fact that he could just be dropped Without being written out shows more than anything how fucking unimportant he is.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In the simplest terms, Dustin Henderson has essentially become Eddie Munson's biggest cock block.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, brief alcohol consumption, jealousy, mentions of a rough childhood, and explicit sexual content: humping, clit rubbing, pussy slapping, spitting, handjob, oral (male receiving), and ball play.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Couple uses of "Y/N," sorry. And for maximum enjoyment, please picture Eddie's whiny tantrums from the boat scene for this piece, lol. If there are any necessary warnings that were accidently left out, please feel free to let me know!

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

It started off minor, as most issue occur.

Eddie rather quickly took notice of the particular interest Dustin Henderson took in you.

It was lunch. Though they were essentially just a myriad of—let's be honest here—losers, the judgmental stares of high school boys as you approached and sat at their table was quite worry inducing. Getting through Eddie's hardening exterior was a journey in of itself, and now as his proclaimed girlfriend, you had to experience the journey yet again with his friends, who profoundly expressed their distaste for “your people.” Who knew such popularity within yourself would have caused them to initially despise you this much.

Not Dustin Henderson, though.

At an attempt to ease some of the awkward tension—made only worse when Eddie snapped at everyone to be nice—at the lunch table, you caught sight of Dustin's Weird Al t-shirt, one which he wore proudly, that in all honesty made you giggle. Ever since then, Dustin Henderson hasn’t been able to let go of the fact that he made a pretty girl laugh.

He clung onto you like a lifeline.

Eddie had a temper. He was always revved up. And seeing how often Dustin was conjuring a conversation with you, seeking your attention, truly made him ballistic. He didn't like sharing. Even if it was harmless. Ever since the officially introduction at lunch, it has been nothing but:

"Hey, check out my new comic book! It's limited edition!"

"Wanna help me with my science project? You're just so smart, it would really help. Maybe we can meet at the library?"

"Do you wanna see Alien with me? Lucas is going with Max, and you can join me." The fuck?! That was practically a double-date to Eddie.

The one that truly hurt him the most was two weeks ago, when you congratulated the stupid, little shit—Eddie's words, not yours—with one of your loving, sweet hugs for getting an A+ on said science project.

You used to always hug Eddie when he made good grades.

But, hey, maybe Eddie was just overreacting, right? But what the hell constitutes overreacting and not rightful-reacting, when some noisy freshman, who can't seem to grasp the simple concept of boundaries, once again oversteps, making him have blue balls, because all he wanted was to cum in his girlfriend's mouth, but apparently that's too much to ask!

Eddie huffed.

You stared incredulous.

"'Rightful-reacting.'" You tried to suppress the giggle, you really did, but you couldn't help but laugh at his dramatic wording, when he had dragged you away into his bedroom to vitalize this reoccurring issue.

Eddie moved close, right to your face, gripping tightly on your shoulders, looking like a crazed man. Hell, it was Dustin's fault. "Sweetheart, you're focusing on the wrong thing here." He heaved. "That little dingus has been ruining my life for the past week; only speaking to you, interrupting date nights, calling twenty-four seven, and now impeding our sexy time!"

"'Impeding our sexy time.'" Biting your lip did nothing to stop the emerging smile and laugh on your face. God, you loved the hell out of him.

"Would you quit that!" He whined with a theatric shake to your shoulders to get back to the point.

"Sorry, sorry," you placed on your best serious expression, "go ahead, explain."

"Explain?! Do you not remember what happened Saturday?"

Ah, Saturday. It was 11:42 p.m. Eddie—more so his insatiable appetite—had the bright idea of heading to Benny's Diner for the greasiest food to fill his stomach. It was late, and the diner had been empty with the exception of the older waitress smoking near the coffee pot, and he pulled you closely against his side, arm wrapped around waist, and toying with the soft cotton of your pajama shorts that rested against your thigh.

You moaned at the sweetness of the cold milkshake savoring your mouth. "Mm, you want some?" You offered to Eddie.

He was captivated, totally entranced by the pucker of your lips that held the creamy residue, "Mhm, yeah, I do." He whispered.

When you attempted to hand him the cold glass, he gently pushed your hand away, and consumed your mouth in a matter of seconds. The grease from his burger softened his lips, letting the pillowy feeling encapsulate you. Your hands naturally found solace on his jaw, prompting him to continue his movements, hands gripping your smooth thighs to keep you in place. As you parted your lips, Eddie's tongue snaked its way inside, officially getting a taste of that sweet vanilla that you had just swallowed.

"God, baby, you taste so good." He mewled against your lips.

His hand traveled up to your neck, securing your face in his palm, and you let your will fall in his control. His tongue prodded against yours, and the wet sounds of your spit exchanging grew entirely too inappropriate for Benny's establishment, though he didn't care. It was late, he wanted you, and no one was around.

Or so he thought.

"Gross, your gonna suffocate her!" Mike's grimacing voice broke your make out session.

While your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Eddie scoffed, unbothered. He rolled his eyes, glaring back at Mike, who justly looked appalled, and then there was Dustin, who had that bright, big smile on his face that Eddie was starting to grow annoyed with.

"Well, hey guys!" Dustin greeted with joy. "Funny seeing you here!"

"Isn't it past your bedtimes?" Eddie jumped straight into it.

"Nice to see you, too, Eddie." Dustin smiled. Eddie watched as the kid turned to you, eyes lighting up and everything. "Hi, Y/N!"

"Hey, Dustin." You politely greeted. Unlike Eddie, you didn't have it in you to be so blunt with disdain. "Um, what are you guys doing here so late?"

Dustin jumped with delight, quickly taking your question as an invitation to sit on the dingy booth across from you and Eddie. "Well, since you asked, Mike and I just spent the last five hours completing all twenty-seven games of Combat on my Atari!"

"Wow, that's incredible," Eddie feigned amazement, his sarcasm oozing out obviously, "now that you've told us, go." He gritted.

"Yeah, man, we have to get our food before my mom finds out we left and kills me." Mike extended, still waiting at the end of the table.

But not for long, as Dustin held a tight grip on his agile wrist, pulling him to the seating. "Nonsense, we just got here."

Eddie laughed. Not a good laugh. One of those scary laughs he pulls when he's on the precipice of enragement. "Oh, absolutely not!" His fist slammed on the table. Everyone flinched.

Dustin sneeringly dismissed Eddie, turning to you. "You don't mind if we stay, right? You always said you would welcome us."

Eddie couldn't believe his eyes. Your kindness was actively being exploited, and he watched in disbelief as you opened and closed your mouth to speak, but only an awkward laugh escaped. You peered at Dustin, back at Eddie, then to Dustin again. "Um, s-sure, I guess..."

Dustin whooped with excitement.

"Great." Eddie mumbled to himself.

You shot him an apologetic look that just exuded the words "I'm really sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you." Eddie's anger wasn’t directed at you, and he made sure you understood with a shake to his head to acknowledge, "I'm not mad at you."

He may not have been mad at you, but he was fucking furious with Dustin Henderson.

"You remember?" Eddie's words snapped you from the memory of Saturday night’s diner incident, suddenly brining you back to the setting of Eddie’s room.

You quickly nodded your head.

"Yeah, see." He proved. "And what about Sunday morning?"

Following the events of Saturday, Eddie had slept over yours, letting the resided angry dissolve as he held you in his embrace. He'd been awoken by the succulent smell of your scent, urging his morning hard-on to spring to life against your plushy ass. He tiredly nosed the hair away from the junction of your neck and shoulders to place languid kisses against your skin. His hand snaked over your hip, toying with the cute bow that was situated on the front of your lacy underwear. With a hand on your pelvis, he pushed you back against his boner, letting his wet kisses and pressuring cock stir you awake.

A sleepy whine left your pouting lips, and Eddie nearly busted at the sound of it. "Fuck, baby, you gonna let me use you?" He kissed your neck. "So fucking hard for you, princess, got me dreaming about that pussy in my sleep."

You turned your head, letting both of your lips meet in the middle, as Eddie increased the speed of his hips to hump the globes of your ass. His fingertips soon gathered a firmhold of the front of your panties, pulling upward harshly. You choked on your breath as the fabric of your underwear wedge between your puffy pussy lips, igniting the friction against your pulsating clit. You quickly began to feel the icky sensation of his precum dampening your ass, while your slick soaked your underwear, making you a wet mess all around.

"Let me have your pussy, please, baby." He groaned.

You nodded your head with permission, "Fuck, yes, please."

Eddie was quick to pull your panties from your legs, discarding the piece haphazardly across your room. Your foot hooked behind his leg to keep you nice and open, and just as his fingers were about to pleasure you seeping pussy, the phone rang.

The phone fucking rang.

You flinched at the abrupt noise that was blaring on your bedside table, and Eddie's head dropped against your shoulder in disappointment, a groan muffled by your shirt. "Just fucking ignore it, sweetheart."

"Real quick, I promise, just to make sure everything's good." You swore, as you reached for the phone.

That wasn't going to stop Eddie Munson, though. Right as you picked up, the tips of his finger pressed against your clit, eliciting a shaky "Hello" to escape your mouth. He grinned with satisfaction as he watched your eyes screw shut and your teeth sunk into your plump bottom lip.

But then the next words you uttered truly set him off.

"Oh, h-hi, Dustin."

"What?!" Eddie screamed into your ear. "Hang up the phone right now."

He was stern with his words, and stern with his movements. The pace of fingers quickened, along with your breaths and his patience.

You held up a finger to signal Eddie to hold on, as you tried your absolute best to comprehend the conversation that Dustin was attempting to have with you. "So, yeah, would you like to go to the arcade this afternoon?"

"I- Dustin, now's, uh, now is not r-really a good time- fuck." You gasped softly.

"Yeah, so fucking hang up." Eddie whispered against your cheek, as his hand slide between your wet folds, gathering all of your arousal and coming back to rubbing your pretty clit.

"Why not? Everything alright?" If it wasn’t for the current situation, you would have appreciated the kid’s concern.

"Yeah, yeah- yes!" That response was definitely not to Dustin. "Um, yes, j-just busy with Eds." You breathed out in order to filter out your moans.

"That's right, so fucking hang up!" Eddie yelled loud enough for Dustin to hear, as it was intended towards him, and his hand pulled back, slapping your cunt, the stinging vibrations traveling through your sensitive clit.

"Fuck! Gotta go." The second you slammed the phone back to the receive, Eddie rushed to climb on top of you, swallowing your wails with his hungry lips.

Meanwhile, Dustin was just left dumbfounded, staring at the deadline of his phone.

"Do you see what I'm talking about, baby?" Eddie emphasized, hands cupping your face, pleading that you'd understand.

Snapping back to reality from the memory, you were quick to nod your head again. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that."

"No, it's not you." He stressed. "That little shit just knows how to work his way around you. That's why he fucking came here today."

Now, today was Eddie's last straw. At least Sunday morning, he was able to get rid of Dustin and have you all to himself, but today? Today, Dustin ruined one of Eddie's favorite moment with you. A blowjob.

It was late into the evening, as Eddie splayed himself on the worn couch of his living room. His legs lazily rested over the armrest, as he nursed down a beer that was keeping him sane from having to listen the Happy Days theme song that he grew profoundly annoyed with, but he was too lazy to move and grab the remote. It'd been quite a long day for him. During third period, Mrs. Lineker shoved a pop quiz in his face, which he knew he flunked. To top it off, you had missed lunch under the guise that Chrissy Cunningham stole you away to “work on cheer routines.” As if that's not what practice is for, Eddie rolled his eyes at your kidnapping, which he proclaimed it was.

And now you actually were at practice, gone and away from Eddie when he really needed you. That was until he heard the gentle knocking coming from his front door, which he had learned was you. You entered with a bright smile that washed all of Eddie's irritations away. He truly did have a soft spot for you, and only you.

"Hi!" You happily greeted, as you situated yourself on his lap, arms snaking around his neck.

"Hi, baby." He tiredly smiled, as he caressed your sides. "You're back early."

"Yeah, coach cut practice, so I was able to get home and shower to come see you." A shy grin flushed his face as you pecked his nose with a cute kiss.

Who knew this mean guy could crack under nose kisses?

"Good," he huffed, bringing you impossibly close, "been a shit day barely being able to see you. People always stealing you away." He grumbled.

In truth, behind his domineering demeanor that seemed untouchable to anyone, Eddie was quite sensitive when it came to his feelings for you. His biggest fears lied dormant under his tough exterior, only exposing itself in the presence of a safe environment, and it became evident as he hugged you tight, because he truly feared someone would steal you away. Whether it was as superficial as Dustin Henderson seeking your attention, or potentially serious as Chrissy Cunningham who still remained unsure of your relationship after the bullshit Jason Carver fed her. He was terrified that one day you'd listen to your friends and leave. How the hell was Eddie Munson, "Freak" of Hawkins High, suppose to provide you with all the things you deserved?

He did, though. Eddie Munson gave you everything.

"I know, I'm sorry." You whispered, as you kissed his pouty lips.

But he simply shook his head, rejecting your apology. "Don't apologize." He insisted. "It's not your fault you're so lovable."

A smile emerged on his face as he made you giggle. You cupped his cheeks, and gently brushed a couple strands of his bangs to fully capture his eyes that just captivated you.

"You're so lovable, too, Eddie." He deserved to know. "I love loving you."

You gave him a firm, long kiss to solidify your words as fact, because it was. No matter how much he denied it in his overthinking head.

"I love loving you, too, princess."

Your hand traveled down his chest, exposing the bareness, as he only laid in an unbuttoned plaid shirt. "Can I show you how much I love loving you?" He immediately recognized that look in your eyes that always paired so beautifully with your salacious smile.

He blushed under your insinuation, dick twitching and goosebumps rising as your fingertips brushed his happy trail. "I don't want you to think that you have to make it up to me."

"Oh, I know." You kissed his cheek. "But I just really want to. So can I, Eddie? Can I suck your cock?"

"Fuck." His groaned, as you grabbed his semi through his sweatpants. "If I ever answer "no" to that, sweetheart, I want you to take one of Wayne's hunting guns and shoot me with it."

You laughed as you settled between his legs, and he relaxed himself on the armrest of the couch. You opened his shirt further, and ran your hands against his chest and belly before grabbing his sweatpants and shimmying them down his hips. You rubbed his hardening length, planting a quick kiss, before pulling it out of his boxers.

"Fuck, yeah, baby." He cooed, watching your small, delicate hand wrap around his cock to languidly jerk it.

You peered up at him, and quickly crawled up close to his face. "Spit in my mouth, Eddie."

He cursed under his breath, as you felt his dick jump at the request. Unable to formulate words, he quickly nodded. Grabbing your chin, he pulled you into a messy, open-mouthed make out, where his tongue lavished against yours. Soon, his grip stiffened, preventing you from closing your tingling lips. You mewled at the sensation of Eddie's spit invading your mouth, a warm globe situated on your tongue.

You pulled back from his hold, aiming down to his cock, where you parted your lips to let his spit coat himself. “Oh, my fuck- just looking at you is gonna make me cum.”

His abs contracted as you held a firm grip to his cock, jerking the spit to his base and up and around his blistering red head. You suctioned on his frenulum, eliciting the sweet moans he desperately tried to hold back. "Shit, baby, oh my god." He muttered.

You kissed down his shaft, eventually nosing the fuzzy skin of his balls, that tensed at your arrival. Peering up with your large doe eyes, Eddie swore under his breath, meeting your contact, and raking his hand through your hair.

"Yes, princess, suck on my balls." He moaned, as your tongue ravished his taste. "Fuck, get 'em all messy for me, baby, please."

As your left hand jerked him, your right held a tight grip between his thigh and balls to secure all access from his opened legs. Soon enough, you popped one of his large balls into your mouth, his musky scent invading your senses.

"Shit, shit- fuck, make me feel good, sweetheart. God, I'm gonna give you everything I got, baby, just keep sucking." He whimpered.

His hand was yanking the roots of your hair, shoving your nose against the curls of his pubic hair, as your hand circled around his oozing tip. Dating Eddie had led you onto the beautiful journey of learning all his sweet spots, so you knew to massage the area beneath his balls, which quickly proved right, as his body twitched at the mere sensation.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!"

With a wet pop, you switched to his other throbbing ball, enjoying the sight of his sticky bangs framing his face and eyes fluttering shut. It was pure fucking heaven for Eddie Munson.

Until it turned into straight hell.

*Knock, knock, knock,* "Hey, guys!"

Dustin. Fucking. Henderson.

Now, Eddie knew he was an asshole; every insult, shove, push, punch, and crime he's ever committed flooded his mind as to what might be the cause of his bad karma. He knew he made bad decisions in his life that very much came to an inconvenience to everyone else in Hawkins, but he never claimed to be virtuous man. But did he really deserve this? This punishment? This torment? This torture?

"Hello? You guys in there?" God, the kid's voice came out like nails on a chalk board to Eddie.

He watched the front door, praying to a god that he sure as hell didn't believe in, that Dustin would leave. But his attention quickly snapped to you, when you dropped one of his balls from his mouth.

You heaved, "We should sto-"

"No, no, no, no, no!" Eddie whined, quickly shoving your head down his cock, quietly moaning at the gag you urged from the forceful intrusion to your throat. "S-sorry, I really need this. Ignore him."

So, you did.

Your tongue swiveled around his shaft, lips dragging the wetness of spit, slobber, drool, and precum up and down his length, as you hollowed in your cheeks to speed along his impending orgasm.

But the knocking was insistent.

"Hey! I know you're in there! I see both your cars out here!" Dustin yelled.

God, this wasn't happening, Eddie thought. It can't be! By far, one of the messiest and best blowjobs he's ever received was being interrupted at this very moment. Not to mention, every time Dustin knocked or spoke, all he got was a mental image of the curly-haired kid that hurdled his orgasm back from release.

Just focus on your beautiful girlfriend sucking on your cock, your beautiful girlfriend sucking on your cock, your beautiful girlfriend sucking on your co-

"Come on, guys! Eddie?! Y/N?!"

You pulled off. Eddie wanted to cry. "Maybe we should stop?" You suggested sympathetically.

Letting go of your head, Eddie dropped his face into his hands in defeat. You felt bad, you honestly did. But there was no way you could continue sucking his dick as Dustin's presence loomed right outside. You sat back on your heels as you watched Eddie huff. There was no longer sadness. Just pure fucking rage.

He stood from the couch, pulling his sweats up, and grabbing a throw pillow to cover his throbbing cock that bulged through the material. He footsteps echoed loudly, each stomp shaking the weak foundation of the trailer. You feared for Dustin's fate.

Throwing the door open, Eddie didn't let Dustin mutter single word of salutations. "What?! What, in the absolute fuck do you want?! What the fuck?!"

Dustin flinched back at Eddie's screams, agitation consuming the kid's face, as every ounce of spit had doused his head from the yelling. Though clearly frightened from Eddie's killing looks, Dustin knew he wouldn't hurt him, especially not in front of you. He was smart. Brushing away the spurts of spit, Dustin merely sauntered past Eddie and into the trailer.

Completely disregarding Eddie, Dustin spoke, "God, who pissed in his cornflakes, am I right?" With a loud giggle, as he sat next to you.

You, who could only awkwardly laugh and rub an remaining drool from your chin that didn't reveal what you were just doing.

Eddie's mouth dropped at Dustin's actions, watching the young boy get comfortable right on the spot that he was just receiving head. If this was a cartoon, steam would be blowing from Eddie's ears. Honestly, if you squinted hard enough, you could probably see it.

"Are you fucking insane?!" Eddie shouted. "Did I say you could fucking come in?! Get out!”

Eddie truly was getting scary at this point, you'd never seen him so angry, it was jarring. Dustin curled into your side, knowing any potential harm wouldn't be done with you by his side. So, he crossed his arms, "No, I just got here."

"Why?!" Eddie threw the couch pillow he was holding—boner long gone—at Dustin's head.

"Because I wanna hang out!" Dustin yelled back. "We're friends, remember." Eddie didn't appreciate the rhetorical question that Dustin implied with stupidity.

"You have other fucking friends!"

God, it was times like these you wished you had the guts to be confrontation.

"No." Dustin pointed out matter of factly. "Mike is on the phone with El, and Lucas went to the comic book store with Max. They're all with their girlfriends."

Eddie pulled his hair as if he was going insane. You'd never seen his eyes so wide. "I'm with my girlfriend, you little shit!" He pointed to you.

Dustin turned to look at you. Oh, no. You knew what was coming.

"Well, Y/N, do you want me to stay?"

"U-um-"

"No!" Eddie quickly interjected. "You don't get to fucking talk to her! She's my girlfriend!"

"Well, she's my friend!"

Eddie breathed out a couple times to catch his breath. His adrenaline was pulsating like crazy, and he was doing everything in his will power to not choke the kid out. "Alright." He panted. "You wanna stay. Stay." Eddie reached for your hand and pulled you from the couch. "But we're not staying with you."

He began guiding you to his room, as Dustin scoffed. "Eddie." You attempted to plead.

"Nope." He was stern with his stance. "Not fucking staying with him."

Eddie had dragged you into his room with a loud slam to his door. And that's where you were right now, in the low light of his bedroom as he reiterated all the interrupted moments caused by Dustin.

"That little shit just knows how to work his way around you. That's why he fucking came here today." Eddie groaned, as he finished his stressing tirade.

"Well, I don't know what to do." You gently spoke to calm his aggravated nerves.

“You gotta give it to him straight, sweetheart." Eddie urged. "He won't fucking leave until you tell him to."

"But I can't do that to him." You pouted. "That's mean."

God, you were so fucking cute. But cute isn't what he needs right now. "Baby, you've been dating me long enough that some of me has had to rub off on you."

You groaned, entirely out of your comfort zone. "Fine, but you have to calm down." You pointed, the best austere look you could muster, discipling him like a kid.

Eddie giggled at you. "Sure, anything for you." He kissed your tense forehead. "Sorry for the yelling."

After a couple more kisses and breaths, you both made your way back to the living room, Dustin still sitting at the same spot, smug look to his face. "Well, that was pretty fast. Miss me already?" Was it wrong that Eddie wanted to punch him right then and there?

"Actually, she needs to tell you something." Eddie sneered back, placing you right on the spot. He sat you right on the coffee table in front of Dustin, standing behind and massaging your shoulders, keeping his hands busy from connecting with Dustin's face. "Go on, babe. Tell him."

"Um, well, Dustin, w-we were thinking that maybe it's best if we have a-a little... alone time." You were walking on eggshells trying to keep both heavily opinionated boys at bay. God, they were more alike than they realized.

"What?" Dustin looked shocked at your revelation.

"What she means is, get out." Eddie smiled with glee.

Dustin scoffed, "What did you do to her?! I know you just made her say that!"

"What?!" So much for being calm. "I didn't make her do anything! She's tired of you always butting in, just too nice to say it! But I'll say it, you're driving us crazy, get out!"

"Shut up! Both of you!" Dustin and Eddie instantaneously quieted down at your newfound voice that they never once heard above its usual soft-spoken octave. "You're both driving me crazy!"

"Well, he started it. Always trying to take your attention." Eddie grumbled.

"Attention?! Are you jealous? Of me? I’m fourteen, you’re like old as shit!"

That snapped Eddie.

He tried to lunge at Dustin, "Okay! Okay!" But you were quick to hug his waist and pull him back. Dustin, of course, dramatically shrieked and fell back onto the couch as if he got hit.

Too much yelling, and too much hair was flying around for your liking. You were going to explode with stress.

"Look, Dustin, we love spending time with you, really, but there are times when Eddie and I just want to be alone together!"

"Yeah!" Eddie laughed at the young boy's sullen face.

But you were quick to turn back to Eddie. "And you! You have got to stop being so mean!" You got close and whispered to him directly. "I know this is rooted deeper for you, but I'm not leaving you, Eddie. Ever. For anyone. Get that through your head. You have every right to be annoyed, but don't so callous towards him or anyone, in general."

Eddie sighed, nodding his head, and understanding your words. Finally, a moment of clarity. He rubbed the wrinkles of your furrowed brows, clearly stressed from having to be placed in the middle of their quarrel. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, baby, you're right."

He leaned down, placing a loving kiss to your lips that denoted all his admiration for you. You both understood his underlying insecurities, and how they transcribed from his shitty childhood. Eddie Munson so undeservingly got dealt a bad hand at life that his pure heart shouldn't have had to endure. But the beauty of Eddie Munson was that his pure heart still remained, even if it was picky with the people it opened up to. You were beyond please you were one of them. Because you loved loving Eddie Munson. And Eddie knew you were worth fixing said issues; anger, insecurity, jealousy. Even if it took a lot of time and a lot of risk. But your heart and face eased his worries. He'd do anything for you.

"Hey, uh," Shit, you almost forgot Dustin was still there, "I'm really sorry, too." Dustin appeared guilty as can be. "I didn't mean to be so annoying."

"No, you're not annoying-"

"Well..."

"Eddie." You swatted his chest.

"Kidding, kidding." He threw his hands up, a chuckle leaving his mouth. "I'm kidding, Dustin."

"Look, it's just nice to know someone like you actually wants to be my friend." Dustin smiled.

"Like me?" You questioned.

"Yeah, you know, funny, popular, and sweet." He nervously played with his hands.

"Aw, Dustin." You hugged him, Eddie playfully scoffed at the melting look blushing over Dustin's face, clearly loving your affection. "You're so cute, but you don't have to prioritize my friendship over the others."

"Yeah, what the hell does she got that I don't?" Eddie smiled, as you rolled your eyes and Dustin at least laughed. He marched over and ruffled Dustin's curls. "Seriously, you getting tired of us in Hellfire?" Eddie teased.

"No, never." Dustin smiled.

"Good, we need you at Hellfire. Who else are we gonna sacrifice during our DnD campaign next week?"

"What?!" Eddie barked out a laugh, as Dustin eventually caught on and eased his heart from the potential worry. "Don't scare me like that."

"But it's so fun." Eddie chuckled.

"Okay, so are we good here? No more yelling?" You assured, pointing at both with your chastising demeanor.

"Yeah, yeah, we're good." Eddie soothed your arm. "Sorry for the stress, baby."

"Yeah, sorry." Dustin added. "But do you really want me to leave?" he peered between both of you.

"Look, kid, how about this," Eddie began, "I'll take you to the comic store, where I'm sure Lucas and Max are still there. Can spend the day with them, while we have our time," he proffered, "and in return, you can stop by tomorrow when Y/N is staying over and work on one segment of our upcoming campaign."

You'd never seen Dustin's face light up so brightly before. "Really? I can help you with DnD?"

"Only one segment." Eddie clarified. "Don't need your mouth blabbin' to the others."

"Deal!"

You could physically feel the weight on your shoulders release as all tension was gone. While Eddie briefly left to change, you made sure to place in an order for pizza, as you both felt deserving of a nice meal after the ensemble that had just occurred. Eddie returned with his jacket in hand and his shoes untied, too unbothered to care.

"I'll be back soon, sweetheart, I'll be sure to be quick," He leaned in planting a wet smooch on your cheek and whispered in your ear, "because my dick still kinda hurts from not cumming."

[dreamwatch]

Hello, I've Waited Here For You

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #18 - Prompt: Freak | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: period typical attitudes to women, period typical homophobia, internalised fat shaming, period typical sexism, sexist language | POV: Matt (Freak) | Pairing: Steddie, Matt/OC | Tags: Falling in love, CC is a family, secret relationship

I hope this makes up for yesterday.

Matt has always liked girls. Sadly, girls didn’t hold him in the same high regard.

He’s not an idiot. Yes, they were freaks in high school, no one liked them, boo hoo, but even then he was the odd one out. Because Jeff was seeing that irritating mathlete for a while there, Gareth went on a couple of dates with Samantha-what’s-her-face, and Eddie had actual women hanging off him at The Hideout, though he always seemed pissy about it. Fuck, even Henderson and Wheeler had girlfriends, though they don’t live in Indiana.

Actually, yeah, that’s probably bullshit.

And Matt? Nothing. If he looks at a girl he gets a curled lip and a side eye for his troubles. Because no one wants the fat dude. So he doesn’t talk about girls, and the boys don’t ask. It’s a pleasant status quo.

When they move to LA and start playing proper gigs in proper venues, suddenly girls are interested. But there’s a hierarchy.

The really pretty ones attach themselves like limpets to Eddie and Jeff. The shy ones hang around trying to catch Gareth’s eye. And then the bored friends who struck out with everyone else will rock up to Matt like they’re doing him a favour. It really fucks him off. But he’s a nineteen-year-old virgin and it’s slim pickings.

So he leans into it.

He doesn’t exactly sleep around, but if the opportunity presents then he’s not saying no. Girls come to a gig, they queue up for their spoils, the guys do whatever it is they do, and Matt gives some bored hanger-on a good time. 

But he rallies, chin up, he’s going to be a rockstar, women are going to be pounding down his hotel room door, and he’s going to be swimming in pussy. Really bored, would-rather-be-washing-their-hair pussy.

Jeff moves in with his new girlfriend, a sweet student named Melody. She’s going to leave him when she realises he doesn’t understand the concept of putting the toilet seat down.

Gareth moves his girlfriend in to make up the rent. It’s a fucking disaster, and they all fight constantly. In the end, they all go their separate ways: Gareth and the girlfriend in one direction, Eddie and Matt in another.

The new place is ok. Eddie is weird when it comes to girls. He lets them paw at him a little before he gets antsy, like an overstimulated cat. Like he wants it but doesn’t at the same time. So the apartment is girl-free, everyone goes to bed early, and by the way, did he mention he was going to be a rockstar?

Another backstage, another endless stream of girls pawing over all the bands, and another night of Matt nursing a beer and being ignored.

He’s thinking of leaving when he sees her.

She’s sitting in a dark corner on her own, black leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and long hair that looks dark pink under the lighting. He wants to find out what colour it really is. She glances at him occasionally, before looking away as if she’s trying not to get caught.

He’s never done this. Never approached a girl. He’s always left it to them to come to him. But she’s beautiful, and they’re only in town this one night.

“Uh, are you with anyone?”

She nods. “Yeah, um, Sandy. She’s over there with Eddie.” 

Sure enough, Eddie’s looking exasperated while Sandy practically climbs in his lap. Matt laughs. 

“She won’t be long, trust me. What’s your name?”

“Lily.”

“I’m—“

“Matt.” She smiles, shyly. “I know who you are.”

Damn. 

“Matty! Hurry the fuck up!”

“I’m trying!! This fucking—“ he scrabbles at the bow tie and yanks it off for the fifth time. Fucking thing is ruined. 

Eddie slaps his hands out of the way. “Let me look.” He scowls. “Jesus— why did we think we could do this? We wear fucking t-shirts for a living for Christ’s sake.”

There’s a knock on the door before Steve Harrington pokes his head inside the room.

“Hey, sorry, but the bride-to-be just arrived.”

“Oh fuck.” Matt can feel his insides flopping around like they’re looking for the exit. Why is he doing this, why is she doing this? She’s so beautiful and she could have anyone but—

“Hey! No zoning out, we don’t have time!” snaps Eddie. He glances at Steve. “Do you know how to tie these things?”

“Oh yeah, sure.”

He can’t figure his life out at all. In eight years he’s gone from school freak to minor rock star, he’s marrying a beautiful girl, and to top it all off, Steve Harrington’s tying his bow tie. Is he high?

“There ya go, you look awesome man.” Steve claps him on the arm. “I’ll see you out there,” he says, but Matt doesn’t miss how he looks at Eddie as he says it. 

Then it’s just the two of them.

There are a lot of things he wants to say to Eddie. He’ll get round to some of them later when he’s blind drunk and crying. But he needs to be sober for this.

“Just one of us left.”

Eddie smiles sadly. “Well, you know me, confirmed bachelor.”

“You know… if there was something you wanted to tell us. That— that you thought you couldn’t—”

Eddie shakes his head. “Matty—”

“—just listen. Please.”

Eddie freezes, eyes fixed on the floor.

“We love you. And if there was anything you ever wanted to tell us, we would be over the fucking moon to hear about it. And�� and Steve’s a good guy.”

Eddie looks like a deer caught in a trap and Matt hates it. Hates that Eddie feels he can’t share the most important part of his life with them because the world is so shitty he couldn’t even be sure his best friends would be okay about it. So it stops now. 

They’re a family. Gareth and Bonnie, and Jeff and Melody, and Matt and Lily. And Eddie and Steve. 

[dandelionjack]

sutekh was a fantastic villain in 1975. sutekh was a compelling and frightening antagonist for one serial. it’s okay that his motivation was just “destroy everything, i hate all living things”because he was only around for one serial before tom baker sealed him in a temporal sarcophagus forever. and it should have stayed that way, with the exception of, maybe, a few big finish excursions, since they love to reanimate the corpses of dead characters.

sutekh is NOT a compelling enough villain to be refitted as the big bad of a nuwho series. “kill everyone now” is the most generic motivation a bad guy can have. “i bring death” ok what else do you bring? do you represent anything? do you have any subtextual value, do you have symbolic meaning beyond “lol, die everyone because i said so, i’m an evil egyptian god”. there’s no substance to him, nothing deeper. a character like the master is practically made of substance, his history and the doctor’s are entwined from the start and that’s what makes him so fascinating as a threat, but even lesser iconic villains — daleks, cybermen, weeping angels, ood, the silence, the great intelligence, the fucking fisher king from before the flood — all have complex and intriguing motives and philosophies of their own. okay, maybe not the angels, but they represent something. they stand in for a concept (in the case of angels, for example, the very meta concept of being glued to your screen, physically unable to look away).

what does sutekh stand in for? he’s just death. he wants all life gone. that’s not interesting, that’s not exciting beyond the scope of one serial or one episode. he’s not nuwho material, he’s definitely not nuwho finale material. you may as well just plop the grim reaper there, scythe and all, go full torchwood (derogatory), instead of embracing the dated, orientalist egyptian imagery russell has insisted on doubling down on. i’m feeling pessimistic. i’d really been hoping for the “stuck-in-a-tv-show” theory to be proven right. how naïve of me.

[kalinara]

(All-New X-Men #6)

I've kind of blogged something about this before but I never get tired of seeing posts about Logan/Scott/Jean as a throuple (I will literally die of spite before I use a portmanteau) that talk about them as two godlike, immortal beings and "just some guy".

Because on some level, of course, it's absolutely true. Jean is the living embodiment of a Universal Cosmic Force. She can sneeze and wipe out entire star systems.

And Logan is basically immortal. There are a good number of timelines that go forward hundreds, if not thousands of years (see: Powers of X in the Krakoa era) that still show Logan at the prime of his life, always fighting and surviving.

Scott, is, by that standard, just some guy. He's got lasers coming out of his eyes, which is kind of cool admittedly. You could do some interesting analysis on the fact that they seem to be infinite - the only time we see them give out is when HE gives out. Or doesn't get enough sunlight or whatever. But for practical purposes, they've got one real use, the guy's just a very decorative portable cannon.

But what makes Scott special, and on level with the other two, isn't what he is, but what he does.

This is a dude who's led the X-Men since he was a teenager. And as a teenager once talked an entire fleet of Sentinels into attacking the goddamn sun.

This is a dude who co-led a guerilla war against Apocalypse in the future for 10-12 years (admittedly with his goddess wife), then came back as though nothing happened.

He's also the reason for his own last name, because in ANOTHER time traveling bout with the goddess wife, he managed to inspire his own orphaned ancestor to take the name "Summers" in his and Jean's honor.

This is a dude who got possessed by Apocalypse, and repressed him to the point of amnesia, got a sliver of the Void stuck in his head, and repressed that too. Even Phoenix possession took a while to shake that guy.

This is a dude who became the "Boy King of Utopia", uniting the entirety of the mutant race under one banner. Magneto KNELT to him and named him Caesar.

There's also that time he stared down Dracula. Was it a bluff? Dracula thinks so. But he still backed the fuck down. And for a brief period of time, even Namor followed this guy's lead. NAMOR.

This is a dude who, after becoming possessed and ostracized, led a "mutant revolution", becoming a household name among bitter college students everywhere.

He's the kangaroo trial symbol of the entire mutant race, sentenced to death, and his only response is a call to arms published through his lawyer, She-Hulk.

This is a man who's slept with Jean Grey, the Phoenix (back when they were considered separate entities), the Goblin Queen, Emma Frost, and Frenzy, and every single one came back wanting to fuck him again.

Speaking of Frenzy? That dude's sub game redeemed a fucking acolyte!

"God took less time than that to make the world!". Okay, take a fucking breath, Joanna. (X-Men Legacy #248)

His kids are practically gods in their own right, and he was only involved in the conception of one of them. The others just kind of showed up one day with a DNA test and got invited in for dinner.

The closest thing he has to a hobby is plotting how to kill dinosaurs:

(Uncanny X-Men #495 - and he's fought a LOT of dinosaurs.

Sinister's been obsessed with this man's DNA for years, and yeah, if you're just looking at it in terms of powers, it doesn't make a lot of sense. There are much more powerful mutants out there after all. But when you start thinking about the rest of this, yeah, I kind of want to put him in a petrie dish too.

Heck, he's even argued with the narrator! In another timeline, he could have become an incredibly boring variation of Deadpool!

(Uncanny X-Men #96).

I'm just saying, yes, by one point of view the Moon Throuple is two godlike immortal beings and dude who is "just some guy".

But on the other hand, if you had a chance to fuck the unholy combination of Mr. Rogers, Alexander the Great, and the Death Star wouldn't you?

[presleyhearted]

Plot Twist! | a One Shot

pairing: 70s!elvis x female reader

genre: humor, angst, fluff.

summary: After ranting to your best friend about the most cruel break up of your life, you fall asleep. You awaken in the presence of 1970s Elvis Presley himself. You vent out to him about your messed up love life, because well, this must be a dream anyways. He can't actually be real, right? Right?!

word count: 5.3k

author's note: Hello darlings! It's been a while. This year has been one of the hardest years of my life, and so it was hard to come back to writing. But this concept has been in my head for a while. I thought it might be an interesting, sorta lighthearted fun concept. I hope you enjoy it! please comment. all feedback is appreciated. I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors, I wrote this out quite fast <3

warnings: cussing, a cruel breakup, tears.

“I’m like the main fucking character to a romcom, except there is no good guy!” You laughed humorlessly, taking a spoonful from the tub of strawberry ice cream in your hand. 

Your best friend looks at you with sympathy. You should apologize for bursting through her apartment a mere twenty minutes ago. But your best friend being who she is, knowing you since you guys were practically in diapers, knows that there has to be something major going on. There has to be a reason. And she was right, it only took her simply asking you ‘What happened?’ that made you burst into a puddle of tears and your knees give out on her carpeted living room floor. 

Your boyfriend of two years broke up with you - over text. And not only that, he also took back the necklace that he got you as an anniversary gift. It should’ve been a blissful Saturday morning. But waking up in your bed and finding the spot empty next to you, to then receiving a text from him. Starting the cliche line of ‘it’s me, not you.’ and ending it with ‘It was a bet. I’m sorry.’ To then a follow-up text of how he took off the necklace around your neck, with no sense of remorse whatsoever. 

The realization of it all didn’t hit you all at once. First, it was a wave of shock. Eventually, that shock was like the key to unlocking a myriad of emotions that felt like life had slapped you right in the face. It is crazy how much a heartbroken heart can render you physically drained. You didn’t even know how you managed to drive to your best friend’s house. You were moving, but you didn’t feel anything of what was happening was real. 

And so here you are, tears practically painting your face as your best friend consoles you for what you think must be the hundredth time.  

“That asshole! I’m gonna throw hands, I swear Y/N.” Your best friend said, face in a fit of anger once you spilled the entire story to her. 

“I am such an idiot!” You sobbed, grabbing a tissue from the box beside you. You could barely taste the flavor of the ice cream anymore. It feels as though all the energy has been drained out of you. 

You were in no condition to drive home, so your best friend set up the guest bedroom which you were so grateful for. Even speaking seemed like such a task. You set your phone down on the nightstand, as you lied down on the bed with the covers over your body. Unfortunately, you feel that your mind won’t stay quiet. Sighing in frustration, you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and shuffled your ‘calming music’ playlist. 

It appears to be proven effective, as the voice of Elvis Presley lulls you into the land of dreams. 

“E, I don’t-”

“I got this, Jerry. Go.”

Voices lead you to stir awake and when you do, you are wide awake. 

Because who wouldn’t when the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself is staring at you? 

You let out a giggle, “Okay, hi, Elvis.” 

This dream is a product of your exhausted and heartbroken brain. Really, you had nothing to complain about. It is a blissful dream to escape from the nightmare of your reality. 

Elvis is amused. Well, he was also confused. But amusement seemed to triumph over his emotions. He just finished his second show of the night, and usually, he would invite some people back to his suite to hang around for a while. But tonight, he didn’t have the energy to do so. Walking back to his suite with Red and Jerry beside him, they didn’t expect to find a woman right in front of his hotel room door. Eyes closed. Your chest was rising and falling. Alive. So they concluded that you were in a deep sleep. Now, Elvis has come across all sorts of encounters with fans, he is not immune to being surprised every now and again. But this was definitely not a familiar situation for him. He saw your face - your cheeks appeared to be stained with tears. Elvis’ heart ached at the sight. You were beautiful and just. . . sad. There was no other way to word it. 

Elvis was not the most reasonable person in the world. But he doesn’t why, or how, but he has this gut instinct that you were perfectly harmless. That you needed saving. He can’t just shake you awake and tell you to run off. He’s not that kind of guy. 

Red and Jerry approached and were about to ask him if they should be calling security. But Elvis shook his head and told them to stay quiet about this and to not tell anyone a word. Red and Jerry shared a look and warned Elvis that he did not know you. That you might be ‘a crazy fan.’ They were just doing their job after all. But Elvis was determined and carried you into his suite. Red walks off and Jerry, being brave enough, tries to reason with him again - but Elvis does not sway his choice. With a sigh, Jerry walked off and closed the door. 

Elvis placed you gently on his bed and whilst in the midst of taking off your shoes, he felt your body move. You were waking up. He just hoped that he would have a chance to defend himself, hoped that he doesn’t scare you. Fan or not, he knows that any logical person would be terrified waking up on the bed of a man that they don’t personally know. But he wouldn’t hurt you. Once he makes sure that you are okay, and in good condition, he has no objection to you going on your way. 

Which leads you to this moment. With him staring down at you, his eyes meeting yours for the very first time. His head tilts to the side once he hears you giggle and hear your voice, his lips pulling into an amused smile. Oh, so you are a fan. 

But then he doesn’t fail to notice the puffiness of your eyes, the cruel gift of a woman who has cried her heart out. Elvis’ eyebrows furrow in concern and he tuck a loose strand of hair behind your head, softly asking, “What’s your name, honey?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, do you remember what happened?”

“Unfortunately. I mean, my heart still feels it. Or whatever is left of it, I guess. I must be terribly heartbroken to have you show up in my dreams like this. It’s like someone took a knife and pierced it right through my heart and twisted it. It was probably my own fault, really. I was the one who fell first. Scratch that, I was the only one who fell. Since, you know, the whole thing was a bet.” You tried to laugh as if it was the funniest joke in the room. But it ended up sounding more like something between a pained cry and a forceful attempt to be comedic about a devastating situation. 

Elvis was confused. It was obvious that you were incredibly unhappy about something, but your sentences were going by like a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t keep up. 

You sat up and looked at your surroundings, “Is this your room? Like your hotel room?” You asked all of a sudden. 

Elvis was a little thrown aback by your question, as he was still in the process of trying to make sense of what you were saying. He nodded, “Yeah, how-“

You flung the covers off your body and walked slowly, taking in your surroundings. He went from kneeling beside the bed to standing up and observing you. He was prepared to catch you,  having a feeling that your knees might give out all of a sudden. You were in a fragile state and he couldn’t help but feel an immense protectiveness over you. 

“Hmm. So this is what my brain with broken heart conjure up as Elvis Presley’s hotel room.” You find yourself rushing over to the floor-to-ceiling wide window, “Gosh, even Las Vegas looks so detailed. I must be some kinda designer when my life is falling apart. Huh.” 

“You an architect, honey?” Elvis scratched the back of his neck,  still insanely confused as the minutes go by. 

You giggled, “No. But my mind seems to be.” You winked at him. 

He chuckled at your quick switch in the mood. 

You then wander away from the window and practically run over to him, his eyes widen, thinking that you are going to jump onto him. You merely giggled at his reaction. Once you stood right in front of him, inches away from his face, you tilted your head and said, “You are so tall. Sit.” Before he could have a chance to utter any response, you placed your hands on his shoulders pushing him to sit down on the bed. 

“Okay, honey, calm down.” He chuckled at your forwardness, putting his hands up in defense. 

“Oh my gosh, you even sound exactly like him!” You exclaimed happily, clapping your hands. 

“Like who?” 

“Like Elvis, you silly goose!” You rolled your eyes playfully, “My mind is not much sometimes. But sometimes, it does its thing. And this is one of those.” 

Elvis let out a loud laugh, unable to resist it. His head was thrown back, a kinda laugh that echoed off the walls. 

“Darlin’, you just made my night.” 

“Hmm, what shall I call you then? Whilst this therapeutic dream lasts. Oh! Maybe. . . dream Elvis? Mind Elvis? I mean, I know time is not really a thing in dreams. So, I don’t really know how long it lasts. But, I mean, I guess my subconscious mind knows me too much - the only way to heal from being heartbroken is by designing Elvis, who is literally the love of my life - in such good detail. I ain’t complaining, but I am just in awe. Oh, I do love my mind sometimes.” You sighed dreamily, cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

Then it clicked. It clicked in Elvis’ mind. You thought that you were dreaming. That this is a dream. You were heartbroken over someone, and thus, thought that you were dreaming this all up. It explained a whole lot. Your switch in emotions, your mood switches. All a product of broken heart. Heck, he couldn’t even find any reasonable excuse for why someone would break your heart. It was incomprehensible to him. You are beautiful and had such a unique character, something captivating. Who would dare shatter such a precious being? Elvis thought. 

“Gosh, you are insanely good-looking.” You said, hands still cupping his cheeks. Elvis didn’t make the move to remove your hands from him. Instead, he rather found your touch comforting in a way. There was that gentleness in it. 

“I mean, the resemblance is uncanny.” You removed your hands from his face, an action that let him sigh in dismay. 

Elvis couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how cute you were being. He had to correct you. He was prepared for the realization that would ensue - the chaos of it all. 

“This is no dream, honey.” Elvis shook his head, smiling kindly at you. Trying to gauge your reaction to the words he just let out. 

You simply giggled. “Yeah, right.”

You didn’t believe him. Heck, you really thought you were in the land of dreams. 

“You don’t believe me, sweetheart?” He bit his bottom lip, curiously looking at you. 

“I know you are trying to trick me, mind of mine. But I am not that heartbroken. Not too heartbroken to believe that you brought Elvis back. So, no, you can’t be real. Elvis is gone. You are a product of my imagination. “ You sighed, with a sad smile on your lips as tears started to pool in your eyes again. 

Elvis freezes at your words. Sure, he has met so many fans over the years since his fame catapulted in the world. Met some pretty interesting characters and heard all sorts of crazy stories. But this? With that expression on your face and that sheer pain in your voice, once you said those words - believing that he was gone off the face of the earth? No, Elvis has not encountered this. Not ever. 

“Nothin’ like that, darlin.’ I’m right ‘ere with ya, ain’t I?” His thumb strokes away a tear that rolled down your cheeks, as his hands find yours. His thumb gently caresses the back of your hand. 

You nodded, “Can I- , can I hug you?” A blush crept into your cheeks, a shy side to you showing itself. 

“Of course, c’mere.” He opens his arms wide, which you gladly accept and practically sink into his arms. It was comforting and strong.

Your heard was buried in the crook of his neck, and you noticed sweat glistening on his neck and hair. 

You hummed, “So soft. Almost like the real one.” 

You still believed he was your imagination. Elvis sighed. He knows that the hug was supposed to be a comfort for you since you requested it. But he felt he needed it as much you did, if not more. He felt your hands comb through his hair, still sticking to his skin from the performance he just finished. 

“Even the sweat. You must’ve just finished a show, hm?” You asked, finding yourself playing along with this dreamland. This dream scenario that your brain put together, a temporary break from your reality. Might as well play into it. 

Elvis found himself growing hot in embarrassment, “I-uh, yeah, s-sorry, honey. I didn’t get a chance to change when I found ya.” 

You put your head up to look him in the eye, “I don’t care. It’s sexy.” 

Elvis raised his eyebrow in disbelief at your comment and looked away with a blush creeping up his cheeks. You were proving to be the most fascinating person he has ever met as minute by minute goes by. 

“Oh, uh, actually honey - lemme change.” 

You nodded, untangling yourself from him and getting up from his lap. Yep, you didn’t realize you were on his lap when you pulled yourself in for a hug. 

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” He said, before disappearing into the bathroom of the suite. You found yourself wandering around the room again, inspecting the entire setup. The telephone is hooked onto the wall. The TV screen. Some books piled in the corner. To name a few things. 

Elvis quickly returns and is now changed into a simple pair of blue silk pajamas. It suits him, you think. Seeing him look so relaxed and comfortable. And just like that, Elvis lies back down on the bed and proceeds to ask what you were heartbroken about. You giggled at the scenario. Other people have diaries they rant to or speak to themselves while they drive. But you? You have Elvis Presley - well, your imagination’s Elvis - lying down gazing at you like you are the most important person in the world. And the thing is, he really did listen. Responding every now and again and nodding his head or shaking his head. Even the switch in his facial expressions - from disbelief to pure anger as the story of your relationship with Carl unraveled. He listened to, you so intently, as if you held the secrets of the universe. You were pacing back and forth as you told the story. He saw you walk through the thousand emotions - pain, regret. Frustration, and last but not least - anger. All throughout this, yes Elvis listened to you and offered his comments, but he couldn’t help but find himself completely enamored by you. Your hair was down and it flip back and forth as you paced, your eyes so striking and expressive. Impossible not to be entranced. You were beautiful and even from your state of emotional hurt, the way you articulated your words - sure, it was frantic, but it was intelligence-coated. He loved hearing you talk. 

Eventually, Elvis asked if you were hungry. In the blink of an eye, there was knock on the door and two soda cans and two hamburgers were delivered. You sat across from him on the bed, letting out a moan as you took a bite out of the burger. A sound that Elvis found himself wanting to replay. 

“Heartbreak is so fuckin’ exhausting, thanks for the food.” You said after you both finished eating and were sat next to one another with your backs against the headboard. 

“Say, never heard a woman cuss as much as ya!” 

You grinned at his reaction and shrugged, unbothered. 

“Hey! This is my dream, so just go with it, Presley.” You pouted at him. 

Elvis cannot help but find the action adorable, and shake his head at your belief that this is still all a dream. 

“I’m gonna need you to repeat somethin’, honey,” Elvis said eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hmm?” 

“Are you in college?” He asked. 

“No, why do you ask?”

He seemed even more confused at your response, “ Just ‘cus you said this guy called it quits over textbook? I can’t make no sense of it, sweetheart.”

You cannot help but burst out into laughter at his question. My god, your imagination of Elvis, is proving to be insanely detailed. Like even with questions like this, as if you were actually in the 1970s. The years when texting was not a thing. Of course, he would be confused. But unbeknownst to you, this was not a dream and you were in fact actually in the 1970s and it was in fact THE actual Elvis Presley asking you this very question. 

“Well, in 2024, you know - the future - there is a thing called a text message. Hold on! My phone must be here somewhere, I can better explain it to you that way.” You shot up from your sitting position, and look around the room. With luck, you find your phone on the carpeted floor underneath the bed. 

“Aha! Found it.”

You hold it up and return to your position beside Elvis, with your back against the headboard. 

“The hell is that small brick doin’ under my bed?” His blue eyes were wide, looking at you like you’ve gone mad. 

You chuckled, “Elvis, no. it’s my phone.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you and pointed at the telephone hooked onto his wall just next to the TV, “Nah, honey, that over there is a phone.” 

You shook his head, “Look, I’ll show you. “ You tap it and the lock screen lights up, with the photo of Elvis from the ‘68 Comeback Special as your lock screen. You type in your passcode and unlock your phone. You spend the next ten minutes going through the various apps on your phone, and then lastly, your text messages - actually in disbelief yourself on how your dream is so clear. Then you showed him your contact list and the fact that you can call without the phone being connected to a cord. 

Elvis was in pure amazement and disbelief. Like a child opening their Christmas gift. You really are different because heck, you are from the future! There is no way.

He had your phone in his hand as he read through the break-up text sent by your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend. 

“That damn son of a bitch,” Elvis muttered under his breath, which you caught on very clearly.

Elvis kept his control, he was so close to throwing your phone at the wall after reading that cruel text message from your ex. He couldn’t believe that someone could say such cruel words, how could he say this to you? So sweet, kind, and beautiful? It made no sense to him, and if he was right in front of Elvis now, he wouldn’t have any chance, for Elvis really would’ve punched him square in the face. No excuses. 

You shrugged, seemingly numb to it all now, you ran through all the emotions so many times now. Now, nothing is left. Exhaustion yes and a sense of relief. 

You take the phone away from him and shuffle your playlist on Apple Music before playing the phone on the nightstand. Elvis is not surprised when it’s his voice that floats through your phone, for you showed him Apple Music and explained it to him. 

“He’s all in the past now, “ You sighed, “It’s my fault. I was such an idiot.” You were lying down on the bed now. Eyes closed as your hand was covering your eyes. 

“Honey, no, none of that. “ He wraps his hand around your arm, to stop you from hiding. 

“He did you wrong. Not you. “  Elvis said softly, you opened your eyes to look at him. You found him now lying down as well, his body facing yours. You turned to face him. 

Before you could register your actions, you lifted your hands up and felt your fingers traced over his facial features. First his eyebrows, nose, cheeks, and lips. Elvis found himself sighing and closing his eyes to your touch. 

“You were too precious for the world, Elvis. I hate how it all happened to you the way it did, you deserved better. So much better.” You said, voice quieter now, and there was that look in your eyes again - sadness for him. 

You spoke in the past tense, that was something that Elvis caught on very quickly. 

He chuckled, trying to break out of being serious, “I’m still here, honey.” 

You nodded, “Sure.”

Your response unsettled him. He shook his head and decided to change the topic of conversation, “How’d you become a fan of mine? 2024 sounds far from here. . .  people remember me? ” He asked.

You smiled and Elvis felt like giving you anything and everything right there. Anything you want. A simple smile and he was a goner. 

“Of course, you are remembered. People still love you and celebrate you. How did I become your fan? Well, I listened to your music since I was a kid and it was a comfort for me. Still is. I found you so true, sincere, and unlike anyone else. You are quite easy to love, Elvis.” You said, voice so soft. Elvis felt a blush creep up his cheeks at your statement.

“Y-You beli- believe that, darlin’?” He stuttered, a glimpse of that shy boy inside of him pouring out. 

“I do.” 

You chuckled all of a sudden, “I actually believed that I would somehow marry you. Well, before I found out that no such thing was possible. You were gone way before my time. When I started learning more about you. Through the books and some documentaries, I think that was when I felt my heart shatter for the first time. You were my first heart break, Elvis.” You sighed deeply. A sad smile across your lips, and those tears pooling in your eyes again but you managed to blink back the tears.

Elvis felt his heart ache at the sight before him, he took your hands in his and gently caressed it. 

“Why?”

You shook your head, “You didn’t deserve any of it. You had all these people around you, but I felt none of them really tried to pull you out of it all. Your heart is so pure and you just wanted to make people happy. But what about you? Who is looking out for you, asking you, and making sure that you are okay? And the Colonel being who he is. That sad excuse for a human being. It infuriated me. He used you. Treated you like an object. I thought, if I was alive in your time, of course, I would love to see you perform as much as the next fan does. But first and foremost, you are a human being before you are an entertainer. It’s okay to step out of it for a while and prioritize yourself first. You belong to no one but yourself. Only yourself. You had so much passion, so much potential, so much life left to live. You should’ve done what you wanted. Not what anyone else said. Should’ve made the movies you wanted. Toured the world like you did, but of course, the Colonel didn’t want you traveling abroad, because he wouldn’t step foot back into the US. I, just, I was so angry and sad once I found out about the entire thing. You are Elvis Presley, but, sometimes you can take the mask off, you know? Just be the you before the world defined who you should be.” You finished speaking, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden for speaking so much.

Your gaze met his and tears were running down his cheeks. He was biting his bottom lip, as he shook his head. The more words came out of your mouth, the more he couldn’t help but squeeze your hand tighter. There was passion and honesty in your voice, there was no denying it. He has encountered fans, but he never encountered someone who practically urged him to step away from his image if he wanted to. Who wanted him to do what he wanted, regardless of what anyone thought. Who wanted him to feel okay. Who cares about his well-being. 

Who saw behind it all?  Behind the image. You, who validated his emotions, and saw that being grateful and being tired can co-exist. 

You saw the humanity in him. 

The long silence made you believe that you said far too much, and so you began to profusely apologise, “I’m sorry. I sa-”

“Darlin’, please, can I kiss you?” He interrupts, and your eyes widen. 

You nodded, words unable to be formed. His lips are so soft once they meet yours, and the kiss was not rushed or blazing with hunger. It was sweet and gentle and the tears that were rolling down his cheeks were melding into the kiss. He has never come across anyone like you before. He broke up apart from the kiss and before you could say anything, he buried his face in your neck - his body practically on top of you. You wrapped one arm around his and the other was gently brushing through his hair. 

“No one. . . no one ever asked me. “ He said, his voice choked up in a sob, “Only cared about Elvis the entertainer. Not me. Never had someone care ‘bout me this much. I-” He broke into sobs, body shaking, “It gets lonesome.”

His arms wrapped themselves around your body, holding you tighter and tighter. The position and the warmth of his body and his emotional state - you sighed deeply and did not make any move to break away. This dream appears to be proving to be healing to you and this imaginary Elvis. So much so, that it almost doesn’t feel like a dream anymore. 

You remove your hand from his hair and Elvis’ head turns to you, feeling the sudden lost of contact. 

“Honey, whatchu doing?” 

You pinch yourself. First your arm and then your waist. It’s the number one go-to so you can tell if you are dreaming or not. 

“I’m still here,” You whispered in disbelief, your eyes searched for a clock in the room. That’s the next thing that people do. In dreams, the time on the clock does not exist. You will not be able to read the time, at least that’s what the internet says. You find a clock hanging right above the TV. It reads the time : 4:05AM. You read it perfectly. 

Your heart speeds up crazily. Suddenly, it all adds up but you cannot bring yourself to believe how it can all be real. There is no way. 

“But that’s impossible,” You mutter to yourself in shock. 

Elvis hears you, “Somethin’ wrong, Y/N?”

“No, no. I-I was just. . . . this is real, isn’t it?” You sighed, “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Elvis, even with eyes puffy from crying, found himself chuckling. He smirked, “Give me ya hand.”

He takes your hand in his, unbuttons the first button of his pajama top, and places your hand right on top of his chest. Where his heart is. You can feel his heartbeat through the palm of your hand and feel yourself breathing even more deeply now. 

“Feel that?” 

You nodded, “Oh, shit. Holy shit! I rambled so much on how much I love you and you are actually YOU! Oh, the universe must hate me. I made an absolute fool of myself in front of my crush. This is so so embarrassing. I-I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. Forgot me. I-I’ll go now, I’ll find a way to get home. This was NOT the plot twist that I saw happening at all.” You gently removed him from you to sit up, your heart hammering so fast. 

Elvis did not like the lost of contact at all. Did not like you distancing yourself all of a sudden. You were adorably embarrassed, but the mention of you leaving was the red alert in his brain. No, he can’t allow you to leave him. No. He quickly grabbed hold of your hands, “Honey, breathe. Please, breathe. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He said softly, but voice firm. 

“I- Mr Presley, you must understand. I don’t know how and why this happened. But please, you can go back to your life, before I came crashing it-”

“Thank God you crashed it, sweetheart.” His words made you freeze. 

“I wasn’t meant to. I’m literally messing up the past, this is dangerous. I have to go.” 

“Okay, I’ll go with ya.” Elvis said as if it was the most natural and simple thing in the world to do. 

You shook your head, “You can’t, you belong in your time. Here.” You sighed. 

“Then stay. Please, honey. “ He pleads. 

“If i stay, I’ll be making more of a mess-”

“On who’s rules?”

“I-”

“You ain’t messing anythin’, sweetheart. You. . .  you are doing me the opposite.” He said softly, bring your hand to his lips and planting a kiss. 

“Mr Presley-”

“None of that, Y/N. You been callin’ me Elvis this whole time. “ He raised an eyebrow at you. 

You groaned in frustration, “Before I found out that you were real! I openly said I wanted to marry you. This wins as the most embarrassing and most reckless moment of my entire life. I swear.” 

Elvis smirked, “You are so cute, honey.” 

“Elvis-”

“Stay with me. I need you, please.” 

You look at him and his beautiful blue eyes staring at you in hope and apprehension at your response, “Stop doing that!”

His lopsided grin appears, “Doin’ what?”

“That look! Your eyes!”

Elvis sighed dramatically, “I’m not doin’ nothin’, honey.”

Practically puppy dog eyes. 

You sighed. He isn’t taking no for an answer. You basically already broke like several rules of time travel. There is no going back now. 

You think for a moment. There are a hundred reasons why this is a bad idea. You don’t need to be a scientist to know that going back in time and changing the course of events will change the future. It’s just logical. And Elvis? He was one, if not the most, central figure in American history. But, the fan in you, the one who would sometimes to be wishfully thinking that you could go back in time and save him. This is it. You didn’t think that the universe would actually play this move on you. So, with that in mind, you breathed and let out your response. 

“Okay, I’ll stay with you.”

Elvis breaks out into a smile of relief. 

This is THE plot twist of your life.  

[veroniquesboutique]

Kinktober Day 8 - Breeding

For Kinktober day 8!

Shikamaru Nara x AFAB!Reader

Content warnings: AFAB reader, substance use, dry humping, breeding kink, pussy slapping, unprotected, creampie, playful degradation/name calling, stomach bulge

18+ MINORS DNI

More under the cut!

The room is cloaked in a thick cloud of hazy smoke and late night, intimate debauchery. The two of you sit on your bed, his feet planted on the floor and your legs lazily around his waist with one over his lap and one pushing up against his back as you lean in close to his face, using his shoulder to keep yourself up. Your eyelids are heavy, but you watch Shikamaru pull another drag into his mouth before holding the lit joint above his head and out of his way, leaning into to kiss you with an open mouth. Your tongues swirl together as you inhale the smoke from his mouth, both of you letting streams float out your noses to join the cloud above you. 

His hand grips your waist, and the feel of his skin against yours as he pushes your shirt out of the way is intoxicating. Well, maybe it’s the actual intoxication of your cross-fade settling into your veins, into your bones, that feels intoxicating, but you can’t deny that his calloused fingers against your soft skin feels really fucking good right now.

You and Shikamaru aren’t really interested in the labels of it all. It’s never really been worth it to you both; you don’t shy away when someone calls him your boyfriend, you’re not shocked and confused, but you two haven’t sat down and made anything official, even though you’ve been pretty much exclusive for a couple of months. Honestly, you’d be surprised if you ever have a conversation. It feels much more likely that he’ll slowly just move in, staying longer and longer each time, living lives together for years until one day you wake up with a ring box on your night stand, something more symbolic than actually legally binding. 

The truth is that you two are terrified of the concept of commitment but not so much the practice of it, but that’s another thing you two have never said to each other.

He pulls off the joint one more time, his inhale deep enough to push his chest out and jostle your languid body leaning against him, before pressing the bud into the ashtray sitting on your nightstand. As his lips meet yours again, he presses into you a little bit more, pushing your non-resistant body back onto the bed. He twists to lay his body between your legs, his weight comforting as you breath in the smoke pouring from his mouth. It’s all making your head float, his lips devouring yours and his other hand dragging tingles from your hips to your ass to the backs of your thighs. Your knees press into the sides of his waist, and he smiles against your mouth, making you both giggle at nothing in particular.

The slow making out turns to heavier breathing and panting and petting until his hand reaches towards the drawer of your nightstand, and even though that’s a good idea, a great idea even, you reach your hand out to intertwine your fingers with his, intercepting him from grabbing the protection easily stored so close by. You both smile at the implication, but his turns into a groan.

“That’s a terrible idea, and you know it,” He whispers between soft, slow kisses, and you whine, arching your back to press yourself into him.

“I know, I know, but what if-”

“Yeah, what if, play that scenario through your head,” He cuts you off, but all of his teasing, all of his jeering, feels playful, like he’s politely refusing such a terrible idea for just long enough so that he doesn’t seem eager.

You do let the scenario play through your mind. It’s the thrill of unobstructed, unprotected, deep intimacy that calls you to that terrible idea. There is no larger a commitment than life, creating a life, and the thought of what happens after is terrifying because neither of you are really sure where you fall. However, that’s part of the enjoyment; the feeling of panic deep in your stomach from a small pink plus sign feels so far away that the panic almost feels like excitement, like your nerves on fire, like desire.

“Please?” You whine again, almost begging, pulling his hand still intertwined with yours above your head and peppering kisses all over his cheeks and chin and neck. He laughs again, letting his eyes roll up to the ceiling to stretch his neck out for your hungry lips.

“You are such a fucking whore. I love it,” He mutters under his breath, a hint of laugh on his raspy, smoky voice, and the playfulness suggests you’re going to get your way. A moan hitches in your throat as you wrap your legs tightly around his waist before he changes his mind. 

Continued on AO3...

[crocheting-cupio]

"Do I Have A Crush?" Quizzes as an Aromantic

In a previous post I had mentioned that I love taking "do I have a crush?" quizzes as an Aromantic. What I didn't share in that post was all of my findings from taking basically every quiz on that topic I could find. This is gonna be a bit of a long one, but I hope it will be an enlightening one!

Being an aro and taking these quizzes is pretty interesting. Because I do get plushes, which for me share some qualities with crushes, but are a completely different experience as a whole. For lack of a better equivalent, I have used my plushes while taking these quizzes. This will become relevant later on.

Anyway, here are my findings:

1. The target demographic for these quizzes is teenage girls. Well, the majority of online quizzes are intended for teenage girls. But these ones are especially designed for teenage girls. It's often painfully obvious by the way they are written, the answers available, and the scenarios provided. About crushes specifically though, this makes sense. Most people have their first crush during their teenage years. So the next logical step is to be curious about these new feelings and take an online quiz to figure out what's going on. Why only girls, though? Hard to say. It could be because they assume boys generally feel more confident in their romantic interest and thus would have no need for such a thing. Worth noting it was very hard to find a TRULY gender inclusive quiz. There's tons of wlm and wlw, but almost nothing for mlw or mlm. And if you're nonbinary or your crush is nonbinary, good fucking luck. The vast majority of them rely on some sort of gender stereotype. So many of these are clearly written from the perspective that you are a cishet woman interested in a cishet man. In multiple quizzes I have actually found typos where instead of using they/them, they accidentally use he/him in one question, almost like it had been up for a few years, then someone edited it later and missed one. A freudian slip if I ever saw one.

2. Practically all of them assume you are currently attending high school I understand that this is the time when most people get their first crush... but there are people who only crush on celebrities and fictional characters until they are an adult. This is not an extremely uncommon occurrence. So as you can imagine, there are a lot of questions that ask about how you interact with this person at school. Usually the addition of "or at work" feels like an afterthought. Some quizzes I've come across don't even consider that an adult might be taking the quiz. Like the question just openly states that you are at school.

3. They frequently assume that your crush is NOT someone in your friend group. This is probably the most interesting one to me personally. Because I myself cannot get a plush on someone until I've known them as a friend for at least three months. And I know plenty of non-aro people that need to get to know someone as a friend before developing romantic feelings. It's just... such an oddly specific assumption, y'know? They don't even consider that maybe this person is already in your friend group (unless you are talking specifically "do I have a crush on my best friend" quizzes). They just doesn't consider that the way you feel about someone can change over time. It's love at first sight or you will never feel that way about that person, I guess. (I think this is more teenager shenanigans. Because "am I about to enter a relationship with an abusive guy" doesn't appear to be the concern. Just that both or either friend group might not approve...?)

4. They generally assume your crush is a stranger or someone you do not know very well. Related to the previous one, this one is kind of weird to me. I understand the concept of love at first sight, but these are "do I have a crush" quizzes, not "is this love at first sight" quizzes. Almost every quiz I took had a least one question that assumed you had fallen in love with someone you have never spoken to. And often for answers on other questions instead of including an "I'm on the fence for how I feel about this person" option in the answers, which would be pretty logical to include, they have an option that says "N/A because I don't actually know them." However, the "do I have a crush on my best friend" quizzes are an exception to this. Instead they often assume you are spending every single free moment of time you have with this person.

5. If you have a crush on your best friend, you have either terribly misinterpreted you feelings and theirs, or they will never feel the same way about you. Um, yeah... I guess some people just can't tell the difference between romantic attraction and just being really good friends. But an important note: I think in some cases there's definitely outside pressure saying that two people "should" be in a romantic relationship simply because they are close platonically. Making those people question how they feel. Hence the existence of these quizzes. I can definitely feel that pressure while taking them.

6. They assume that your friends are all a certain type of person and your relationship with them is very specific. So here's the common assumptions I found across most quizzes:

Your friends are the type of people that are very invested in the love lives of everyone in that friend group. (And also outside of your friend group...)

Your friends are the type of people that will tease you about your romantic interests instead of being supportive.

You talk frequently about your love interests, love life, or lack there of with your friends. (Before you say "What? Everyone does that!" Not everyone does that.)

You are the only person questioning your feelings, everyone else is certain you have a crush.

Thankfully a teenage friend has informed me that this is 100% a teenager behaviour that happens all the time. Although I have seen cases where women under the age of 25 can also do this. I would go into detail about each of those but I think how these are not good assumptions to make is pretty self explanatory. You don't know me, you don't know what my friends are like, stop saying your experiences are universal. I will say blindly trusting the quiz taker's friends is not as reliable of a choice as it sounds. Sometimes people will just call any fond feelings for someone, platonic or not, a crush. And they sometimes will insist that person has a crush even if they say that they do not have a crush and simply want to be friends. And after awhile it can get to your head and feel like the only opinion that matters.

7. They assume this person is someone who you know/you regularly see in real life. In every quiz I took they asked at least one question that I could not answer because the plush I was using for all of these is someone I only know online. Specifically, it was some variant of "how often do you stare at them?" I understand this is a defining part of having a crush for most people, but I was rarely even given the option to say that this person and I are not regularly in the same room. Okay, let's say a teen girl gets a crush on a boy on from another school during like a sports game. She cannot answer this particular question truthfully either because imagining how often you'd stare at someone you met once if you were regularly in the same room with accuracy is not easy.

8. They assume you have the biggest crush, as anything less could lead to negative results from the quiz. Because I do not experience the same feelings, sometimes answering these questions truthfully is very difficult because my options are usually like this:

Q. If your crush asked you to hang out, how would you react?

OMG YES YES YES!!!

Well, we hang out all the time (as friends) so this is just a normal Tuesday for us.

I haven't even introduced myself to this person so they literally cannot ask me to hang out.

I'd make an excuse to not go.

And none of this is even close to how I feel about my plush. Or even about my friends. I cannot answer this question with 100% honesty. Legitimately, I've felt like I've gotten "you don't have a crush" results for the simple reason that I am not head over heals for my plush. Often it was either "every thought in my mind is of them" or "they're alright, I guess." But you can see how only the first option, with the most intense feelings, suggests that you have a crush. The other three options are either completely neutral feelings or suggest dislike. And since that's what people are taking this quiz to figure out, almost everyone is going to pick the first option. It might as well be just "would you hang out with your crush if they asked you, yes or no?"

So these quizzes are built on the assumption that you do, in fact, have a crush. You just want those feelings validated.

"Okay that's great Snowy, but what results did you get from these quizzes as an aromantic?"

Well, I didn't write down exact numbers since there were so many quizzes I took over about an eight month period. Some of them I took multiple times months apart and got different results. But I'd say about 60% said I had a crush, or was likely to have a crush. And 40% said I did not, or it wasn't likely to be a crush.

The funny part?

When I took some of those I didn't have a plush on anyone at the time. I was just using how I felt platonically about a close friend as the "crush." And while this did sway the results, it was not by much. Turning it more into a 50/50 chance.

No plush, no sexual attraction, they are JUST my friend. And yet, the results screen tells me I am deeply in love with them about half of the time.

When I said they assume you do have a crush, I really meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, I have actually made my own "do I have a crush" quiz that hopefully avoids doing everything I just talked about. No assumptions about the person you may have feelings for, no assumptions about your friends, no assumptions about you, who you are, or why you are taking it in the first place.

It's password locked since I'd like to get results strictly from people who find this post on Tumblr (for now). So type in this word when prompted:

conformity

Thank you for reading all the way to the end. I spent a long time with all the research and writing so it means a lot to me. 💖

[nutteu]

[cattonquick] angry smol ft. smitten tol, but make it longer

[AO3 ver.] [rambling compilation]

you remember this? okay, let's make something out of it, one of the possibilities. go ahead and read if you fancy it, but don't blame me in the end lol (also prepare yourself, it's gonna be long and messy, format wise. enjoy this 14k something i whipped out on the spot lol)

let's see. why not have oliver attending oxford out of spite, demanding that he was to be given a fast track towards graduation and making research journals just to piss off people who looked down on him, riding on full scholarship because he didn't want to waste time. sure, he could just stay at home and enjoy life because his family didn't expect anything out of him and would love it if he spent his time close to them. but he had another plan, and he was one angry motherfucker, so he'd conquer this goddamn educational path and obliterate anyone who dared to stand on his way, even god, because fuck that entity as well. oliver would rather swallow a beating heart whole than admit that he'd be defeated by a fucking concept and something practically unseen.

and so, there he was, arriving at the campus and giving nasty glares to those who giggled at his appearance. he didn't give a shit about people who thought that he was ugly, he had no time to fuss about that. but they were saying stupid shit about his buttoned-up shirt and his scarf, and those were from his father, so fuck them. these were precious to him, everything that had anything to do with his family was. he was aware that he was fiercely protective of them, even from his early childhood, but they reciprocated it by loving him completely, entirely, encompassingly. there was nothing that could ever compare to his family's love for him, and he wasn't interested in finding someone who could match it. again, he didn't have time for it.

he didn't peep through the window, in this universe, didn't see someone who would swerve his entire plan of being a recluse, didn't see someone who would love him the way his family did, even more so, because that someone was greedy and selfish and childish, above all else. but, oliver did pull off his scarf and unbutton his shirt near the window, and felix catton happened to look his way, seeing glimpses of him through the window as oliver moved to close the curtain. their eyes met for a moment, dark sky and summer blue, felix with a benign smile on his lips, and oliver with a scowl on his. the curtain was roughly yanked and oliver muttered under his breath about popular kids and high school all over again. it didn't matter; it wasn't his goddamn business.

unfortunately for him, the reaction that he gave wasn't something that felix catton was used to, hence the surprise in his dark eyes. he blinked several times in disbelief, then laughed to himself. it was kind of funny, because he was used to awe and worship in people's eyes when they looked at him; used to batted eyelashes and a twinkle of infatuation. he definitely wasn't expecting such an impressive scowl on an unfamiliar face, those ungodly glasses, and a peek of chest beneath the unbuttoned shirt. felix told himself that it was amusing, and didn't think too much about it. after all, sooner or later, people would cave to him, for him. it just needed time, and since the stranger was within the dorm, it was safe to say that they'd cross paths soon enough. he didn't know why it was important that they met again, but he figured that it was probably because this was the first time someone acted that way towards him. sue him, he was curious, and there was a certain part in him, one that was raised in wealth and multitudes of privileges, that urged him to take this as a challenge, just to prove that, at the end of the day, felix would be someone hard to ignore, let alone to be despised, like the stranger had seemed to feel towards him.

but, right now, they were separated and going forward with their own agendas and lives. it would be some time before fate would have it that they finally found each other in their paths. right now, oliver was calling his mum to tell her that he had arrived and that the student body already pissed him off, listening to her laughter and her soft cadence as she advised him not to be too rough on those poor kids, and felix was on his way to yet another night spent at the pub, keeping a stranger's scowling face at the back of his mind as the crowd cheered and urged him on for another shot, farleigh laughing next to him and telling him that he'd be abandoned by the side of the road if he passed out from the drinks.

let's have some moments of oliver trudging the corridors like he was on a warpath, and people's widened eyes as they caught sight of his narrowed ones and brusque movements. they whispered and jeered and oliver stared them down until they skittered away, then continued his way to the library. he wasn't going to waste time dawdling around; he had goals to achieve and time to compete with. as it was, in this universe, he still met michael gavey, and instead of playing along, he glared at michael and said, "fuck off before i punch your face."

let it be known, right now and later on, that oliver's entire repertoire of responses to people consisted solely of: fuck off; get the fuck out of my face; stay there, i'm going to punch you; and, the favorite, you're a pathetic idiot. let it be that, in this universe, oliver was way too pissed off at the universe and fate to ever consider being anything else than angry and impatient. it didn't matter anyway; it wasn't like he needed to play nice with people, other than his family, and he didn't need anyone's else to achieve what he wanted. he was more than capable to breeze through his syllabus and the requirement to graduate early on the four-year course, and if he didn't get that, he'd terrorize his dean until she understood the magnitude of fear that oliver would incite in people. he wasn't afraid of anything, because why would he? he had known fear more than people would assume from him, and he head learned that it would do nothing but hinder his plans if he were to succumb to it. and so, there he was, angry and impatient and on the path to conquer his education. nothing would stand in his way, and he wouldn't stray from it, no matter what michael gavey said. it truly was a miracle and oliver hadn't punched him the moment that guy opened his mouth.

then, of course, the tutoring, with oliver debating the professor within an inch of his life, and farleigh start coming twenty minutes late into the discussion. the professor looked blatantly relieved at farleigh's arrival and immediately changed the topic towards some bullshit about farleigh's mother and how she was someone admired to the professor. oliver didn't give a shit about that, and he also didn't give a shit about farleigh's not-so-subtle mockery. he glanced at farleigh, and flatly stated, "you're useless. if you have nothing to say about the discussion at hand, then better shut your mouth before i punch the fuck outta it, see if you can still speak with four teeth gone."

"oliver!" the professor exclaimed, eyes wide yet staying still on his seat, because he was terrified enough by this young man and his mind, his insistence and his no-nonsense attitude. it was safe to say that he would be wary of every tutoring session that involved oliver quick in it for future to come. "come on, we can discuss this without throwing insults or punches, can we? farleigh, how about you tell us what you've read?"

farleigh, shocked and pissed off because some nobody dared to threaten him, yet keeping the seed of fear anyway because oliver didn't seem like he was joking at all about what he said, finally stuttered out some things he remembered from his incomplete reading. it seemed to pacify oliver, at least, and it made farleigh curios, because he had never met anybody like oliver, who dressed himself like a grandpa, glasses that made his harsh features worse, and soft voice that belied the words he said out loud. it was kind of entertaining, seeing oliver steadily and mercilessly beating the professor to the ground, metaphorically speaking, though farleigh was suspicious that oliver wouldn't mind the more physical side of that statement. farleigh might have his own insecurities and he had a nasty habit of belittling people he deemed below him, but this was the first time someone actually threatened him and didn't seem to give a shit about farleigh's reputation. it was a breath of fresh air, to be honest, because while oliver's words were harsh, they weren't lies and oliver didn't seem interested in playing coy to be in farleigh's good graces. people like that was rare, and farleigh had all the intentions of keeping oliver close, if not for a debating partner to trade insults with, then for his honesty.

and so, farleigh draped himself all over oliver's back, easily overshadowing him because oliver might be someone with incredible temper and short fuse, but he was so small that it was easy to forget how cruel he could be with his mouth. farleigh said, "give me your phone, i'll put in my number."

"i'm not interested," oliver stated plainly, trying to get out of farleigh's hold and only ended up trapped within the man's long arms because he refused to let go. "i'll punch your dick if you don't let me go right this second."

"oh, come on, oliver," farleigh laughed. "i promise i can keep up with your studies. i didn't take it seriously because i thought it would be a joke, you know? i'm not going to disappoint you, honest to god." it might be a little bit of a lie, because farleigh had plans for oliver that didn't include studying, but that was for later, after he managed to wrangle oliver into being his study partner. then, after that, some parties and perhaps a round of jagerbomb. oliver didn't need to know that, however.

oliver finally stilled, then looked up at him suspiciously. "if you bother me for something else than our study, i will burn every single one of your belonging, farleigh start."

farleigh laughed again, more honest this time. "cross my heart and all," he said, and cheered when oliver reluctantly gave him his phone. he punched in the number, and messaged himself, before letting oliver go and skipping ahead before oliver changed his mind and went through with his initial plan of punching the shit out of farleigh's face.

you might ask yourself, where did felix fit into this? where was he? don't you worry. felix might not have the best first impression on oliver, but the act of surprising farleigh with his temper and threats was the catalyst. unbeknownst to oliver, farleigh had told the experience to felix as soon as they met, drinking themselves to stupor as farleigh told his cousin, half terrified and half entertained to no end, about this little guy with his ugly plaids and terrifying intelligence; described him down to the last detail and proudly showing the brisk message oliver had sent him last night, a mere ok, 5pm, library. felix, drunken and amused because farleigh was chattering about some stranger who managed to mess with his head, for the first time showing interest in anyone instead of just mocking them to hell and back. farleigh seemed to have this reluctant respect for oliver, and if felix squinted enough, he could see the start of a juvenile crush.

still, there was something, niggling at the back of his mind, that pulsed when farleigh told him about this mysterious and hilariously angry oliver quick. the memory didn't come, however, and so, he chalked it up to his drunken mind trying to conjure an approximation of the stranger farleigh seemed to be fond of. perhaps, felix could tag along to their study session and see for himself just who was this oliver. not now, though, it wasn't that important.

as fate would have it, however, they met sooner than felix thought. there he was, still a victim of the thumbtacks despite being in another universe, another possibility; his tire useless and his bike a heap on his feet as he sighed dramatically and wishing for a breeze so his hair could be ruffled and he could look more miserable. he was hoping his pitiful stance would appeal to people, and they would help him, but of course, those fuckers only glanced and whispered then left. heartless, all of them.

then, then, a small, vaguely familiar figure approached him, halting to a stop before felix. those summer blue, he recognized this person. felix smiled at him, and the man pursed his lips in a grimace. he seemed to be debating internally about something felix didn't know about, before he sighed roughly and got off his bike. he shot felix a disgusted look before he took the books out of the basket, and pointed a short finger at him, said, "get the fuck up. you look pathetic. take my bike and go to wherever you need to. return it to the shed and i'll take yours to be repaired."

"oh my god," felix exclaimed, standing up and graciously letting the insults breeze through him. he had expected this from the moment he saw this man through the window. it was both hilarious and scary, how this man seemed to be perpetually pissed off at the world. there was that feeling again, niggling at the back of his head, and this time he knew what it was. the oliver quick that farleigh raved about, was the same man that had tickled felix's curiosity on that day. "you're my saviour! thank you, thank you so much, mate. you didn't know how hopeless i felt before you came. what's your name? i need to know how to call my savior."

"i don't give a shit about how you feel," the man said promptly. "just take the bike and stop looking like a pitiful idiot."

"awh, come on," felix cooed, standing up to wrap an arm around oliver's small shoulders. wow, he didn't know that oliver was this small; it would be so easy to completely overshadow him, engulf him with felix's entire height. he smiled at this, because it was yet another funny thing about this man. his stature was so disproportionate to his apparent, constant anger. he was like a chihuahua, or better yet, black-footed cat. small and deadly. yeah, it seemed fitting. "i'm felix," he continued. "now you know my name. give me yours? please?"

oliver looked absolutely disgusted at him, and forcefully wrangled his way out of felix's hold. it was sort of ridiculous, him with his scowl, while wearing those nerdy glasses and a goddamn helmet. who the hell used bike helmet these days? oliver, that was who. it kind of suited him, though. made him adorable and geeky. oliver let out another rough sigh, and said curtly, "oliver quick. now, stop talking to me and go."

"yessir!" felix smiled brightly, then advanced on oliver and gripped his shoulders tight so the man couldn't escape as felix peppered his helmet with kisses. "thank you so much, ollie. you're a savior!"

"stop calling me that," oliver grunted out, trying and failing to get out of felix's grip. "and i only helped you because my mom raised me right." he paused, then shrugged. "and because you looked pathetic."

"awh, you care!" felix said, palm on his chest. "still, thank you. can i get your number? i gotta give you something in return for helping me."

"not interested," oliver said, then gathered his books and secured it with his arms, walking over to felix's bike and inspected it for a moment. "you got three thumbtacks and you didn't realize it? are you that stupid?"

felix shrugged. it was kind of insulting, but then again, he had prepared himself the moment he heard about oliver quick from farleigh. compared to what he had heard, this was mild coming from oliver. "must be some pranks."

oliver sighed. "whatever," he said, then pulled the bike upright. he stabbed a finger on felix's chest, said, "don't get my bike all fucked-up like yours. pathetic or not, i will break your nose if you messed up my bike."

"understood," felix nodded genially. then, because he knew how to flaunt his eyes and he had a dramatic flair he learned from his mum, "now, your number?" he added a smile, offering his phone.

oliver shot him that disgusted look again, and snatched the phone, punching the numbers in with more force than necessary. "don't text me if it's not important, and don't call me unless i give you the permission to do so."

"noted," felix said, happy now that he got the number, immediately sent a silly hi ;). oliver checked his phone, and glared with the power of a thousand suns at felix, who just smiled wider and hee-hee'd his way out of the man's ire. "gotta go now. thanks a lot, ollie!" he said, and placed one last kiss on the man's helmet before escaping from oliver's temper and scurrying away.

and so, they met, and oliver almost regretted his decision of giving felix a leeway. felix, however, would take that inch and asked for miles, for more, because he was selfish and greedy and had never known grief or disappointment. he would learn those, but it wasn't for later. right now, oliver took his bike to be repaired and felix spent his lecture messaging farleigh, flaunting that he got oliver quick to save him, didn't get a punch to his nose for calling him ollie, and even managed to kiss his helmet. farleigh would say, you're joking, and felix would flaunt further that he got oliver's number as well now. he then spent the remaining time of the lecture arranging a meeting with oliver soon. like oliver, he also didn't want to waste time, albeit with different reason. he figured that he could ask farleigh for oliver's schedule, because his cousin managed to wrangle it out of oliver's mouth, for the sake of their study-date was his excuse.

oliver, on the other hand, was complaining to his sisters about farleigh and felix, called them juvenile bastards and mona said, awh, you have friends now! and it was so humiliating to admit what happened with felix, because oliver saw it as a weakness. his mother, on the other hand, seemed to be so proud of him for helping people, for opening up enough to let people into his life. he told her it wasn't like that, and that felix and farleigh were just pulling his pants, that sooner or later he would have to break their teeth. but there was a smile in his mum's voice, pride in his dad's, and gentle teasing in his sisters'. oliver let out a sigh and smiled despite himself. he missed his family already; missed their presence and constant chatters around him, their understanding and their strong hearts. he missed waking up to eliza holding his hand, or alicia running her fingers to his hair, softly singing a lullaby when he had difficulties falling asleep, constant headache that he ignored because he was used to it.

oliver still had that headache, difficulties falling asleep, and there was no one to accompany him now, no one to sing him lullabies. he couldn't just constantly call his family, because he had to focus on his study and he didn't want to make them worry. they were worried enough as it was, especially now that oliver had decided to go to college. he had taken a year-gap and stayed at home, but he figured that fate wouldn't wait for him, and thus he decided to pursue what he had always wanted to do. perhaps, in another life, he would have all the time in the world, would be less angry. but in this life, he was stuck with his fate, with his inability of being kind, with his perpetual anger towards the world at large, the absolute indifference he felt for people who didn't know him.

except, it wasn't really true now, was it? oliver could admit that he had let his weakness shine through when he gave farleigh his number, even though he reasoned that he liked having someone to banter with, trading insults and arguments back and forth. people were usually afraid of him, especially since he started being an absolute asshole in his last year of high school, so it was kind of relieving to have someone who didn't shatter easily when he insulted them. it was nice having someone who could give as good as they got. then, there was felix, who had received oliver's backwards kindness simply because he was so pathetic and oliver pitied him. then, of course his assumption about felix was proven true when he quite literally and immediately asked for more from oliver. spoiled children, all of them. but he just looked so earnest and pitiful and oliver still remembered what his mother said. it's okay that you're angry, my love, but never forget that kindness is something you're capable of. let it be something you can possess despite your fate. curse his upbringing and habit, but he couldn't just leave felix and his stupid puppy eyes on the side of the road.

then, not even two days since they met, felix bombarded him with messages, asking his dorm number, and oliver, already impatient from his headache and assignments, told him just so he could shut up already. what he got after that was someone banging on his door, and felix grinning at him when oliver finally opened the door.

"hiya, mate," felix greeted, and oliver slammed the door close on his face. he banged on the door again, shouting, "come on, ollie! it's cold out here! i just wanna see you, please? pleaaase!"

"oh my god," oliver groused out after opening the door again, "you can't shut up, can you? what do you want?"

felix he-he'd his way again, and said, "how about we go to a pub tonight? you must be tired from all that studying. you know farleigh, right? he's my cousin and he told me he knows you. you can meet him again! with me, of course. my friends are also there, so i got you fresh meat to terrorize!"

"i meet him enough on daily basis, any more and i'm going to throw up," oliver said. "i'm not interested. go there on your own."

"oh, come on, ollieee," felix pleaded, dishing out his charm and intentionally looking as pitiful as he could. he knew that oliver thought of him as this pitiful child, and he was going to milk it for what it was worth. "just a round? then we can go. i'll even walk you back!"

"you really don't know when to stop, do you?" oliver gritted out as felix batted his eyelashes at him. "fine," he sighed, because, what the hell. he had done workloads for an entire semester, thanks to the lecturers who gave him leeway by giving him the entire syllabus and assignments to finish, so he'd have enough time to finish the rest and graduate as quickly as possible. he still needed to pressure his dean, but that was for later. right now, he could just get drunk. "but you're paying."

"deal," felix grinned, satisfied with his victory, and got the door slammed on his face again as oliver changed his clothes. he didn't mind it, even if he could admit he had wanted to get inside the dorm room, wanted to see what kind of person oliver was from his belongings. after a few minutes, oliver opened the door again, his attire completed by the same ugly plaids. did he not possess any other kind of clothing? well, it didn't matter. felix could always buy him some, once he roped oliver into it. for now, baby step. "let's go, they must have started without us already."

oliver's first outing with felix was... disastrous. not even twenty-minutes in, and oliver already started three separate fights that thankfully didn't come to fruition, because they were too busy being obliterated to the ground by oliver's scathing mouth, and felix looming over him and glaring at anyone who dared to mouth off to oliver. felix didn't exactly know why he did it, but a part of him just couldn't accept it when oliver's attention wasn't on him. it was gratifying to be lavished by the rare attention from someone who seemed to hate anyone on-sight. besides, he kind of liked it, listening to oliver's insults and how he always managed to strike where it hurt the most. two of the three fights were finished because the victims of oliver's mouth left while sobbing, and the last one didn't escalate into physical fights because felix's and oliver's combined glares were enough to make the stranger scurry away. then, when oliver turned around, felix plastered a genial smile and wrapped his arms around oliver, steered him away from the possible fights and into the couch on the corner of the room, where his friends and farleigh were.

felix's friends were definitely terrified of oliver, but farleigh could see more into it because he knew both oliver and felix. he knew that felix had a nasty habit of choosing a toy to be played with until he was satisfied, discarding the used toy in search for another. but this was the first time he actually did something like this, follow someone around like a pathetic puppy, using the advantage of his stature and status to beat someone into submission, simply because they tried to fight with oliver. farleigh wasn't dumb, he knew that oliver quick was different than felix's other toy, solely because oliver had self-awareness, was cruel and mean when he wanted to, and didn't give a shit about felix's background. oliver would break felix's bones if he dared to think of him as a plaything, and felix seemed to be aware of it. what farleigh didn't understand, was why his cousin seemed to be attached to oliver when they weren't even that close to begin with, and he had known oliver for lesser time than farleigh. his first guess, and the strongest, was because, this time, it was felix finding himself a puppy love, a fleeting infatuation which wasn't reciprocated, because oliver didn't seem all that interested in felix, romantically. but farleigh knew, that the harder the challenge was, the more felix would work for it. he didn't know how this would end up, but he banked his horse on heartbreak, on felix's end, more likely.

well, it wasn't his business, felix's love at first sight with oliver. it was kind of hilarious, too, because this kind of thing almost never happened to felix, simply because it was always the other side who fell in love with him first. this truly was a puppy love, and farleigh would enjoy the entertainment for as long as it lasted.

and so, the night continued, with farleigh shouting jagerbomb at one point, and oliver simply pointing at felix and said, "tell him. he's my wallet tonight." and farleigh laughed, because of course felix was. they were sitting close, the three of them, flanking oliver left and right because everyone else was too scared to come near oliver. the man seemed satisfied enough with the fear in their eyes, and was even willing to be urged to drink shots after shots. farleigh said, "wow, oliver, didn't know you're a party animal!"

"i have constant headache from people's stupidity, and i'm not going to waste free alcohol," he replied, then downed another shot after shrugging and muttering eh, what the hell, i'll die anyway. well, farleigh thought, he'd definitely die with that much alcohol in his veins, and it was such a waste of a good debating partner.

so, he steered oliver away from the alcohol, and instead started quizzing him about his daily life and background. oliver parried his questions with glares, and only softening a little after felix joined in the conversation, all puppy-like and eager to hear more about oliver. farleigh realized, with hysterical laughter in his throat, that oliver probably thought of felix as someone so pitiful and pathetic, and that was the only reason he hadn't razed felix to the ground. felix was just that pathetic, and oliver allowed him to be close because it was simply not worth his time being angry at someone like felix. it was fucking hilarious, because this was the first time someone ever thought that way about felix. farleigh was enjoying this immensely.

oliver said, he had three sisters: mona, eliza, and alicia, all older than him. his mum was a housewife and his father worked in a construction company as a civil engineer. he took a year-gap and only now decided to enter college. he took literatures and theology because it was easy and he wanted to graduate early, fuck the four-year course. his hobby was actually knitting and studying, and he didn't give a shit about his clothing style because he idolized his dad and wanted to look like him. well, there went the reason of why he dressed himself like an old man. still, farleigh thought as oliver got progressively more drunk as felix plied him with more alcohol, it was such a shame to leave oliver wardrobe in its pathetic state. once he found a leeway of entering oliver's dorm room, he'd do something about it. felix would certainly appreciate that effort, and it would be funny, him making heart eyes at oliver without realizing it himself.

but, still, all the answers oliver gave didn't explain his constant anger and scowl. farleigh chalked it to them not being close enough. but maybe, with enough gatherings at the pub and more liquor, he could get the answer out of oliver. it was fine to leave it this way right now. besides, it was funny as hell listening to oliver blatantly disregarding everyone around him but felix and farleigh, and answering to annabel's attempt of getting felix's attention with can't you see we're talking? get your needy ass elsewhere, which was beyond rude, because annabel knew felix longer than oliver did. but farleigh thought that it was might as well, since annabel had been blatantly belittling oliver's appearance and his prowess in commanding felix's attention. farleigh didn't blame annabel, though her crush was ill-advised and doomed to a heartbreak, because someone like felix didn't do proper romance, simply because he was too stupid to recognize it, and no one ever snagged his attention as much as oliver did. farleigh imagined it, felix pursuing a proper relationship with oliver, and laughed, because it was both impossible and, just like annabel's feelings, doomed to a heartbreak. he could see it easily, oliver shutting felix down mercilessly. farleigh ought to be there when it happened, maybe bring a handicam. venetia would appreciate the laugh, he thought.

at the end of the night, felix had to carry oliver because he was too drunk to walk properly. half-asleep and drunken out of his mind, oliver actually looked cute, definitely an improvement than his usual frown and scowl. he looked more peaceful like this, younger. it also didn't help that he had a small stature, and so, seeing him being carried on felix's back was something novel and funny at the same time. farleigh took it upon himself to accompany them, because he wanted to see oliver's room. he noted, that this was the first time felix didn't take someone back to fuck; he didn't even glance at the girls making eyes at him, all his attention on oliver.

oliver grunted something out in his sleep, and farleigh put a palm on his small back, steadying him as he reached for his head, muttering out fucking headache, then went back to sleep. farleigh moved his hand to sling around felix's neck again, and they resumed their track. once they arrived at the room, oliver was let down carefully, then they waited until he was awake enough to open the door. once he did however, it seemed that some of his sobriety had returned as well, because he just nodded curtly at them, said thanks for bringing me back, and slammed the door on their faces. farleigh stared, not used to being treated this way. but felix, that lovesick fool, only sighed pleasantly and said, "this is the third time he slammed the door on my face. it was kind of cute, don't you think?"

"you're crazy, man," farleigh laughed as they made their way towards their own room.

"do you think ollie will accept it if i bought him new clothes? no offense to his style, but it needs a little... reshaping," felix sighed.

"he'll probably kill you," farleigh shrugged, and promised himself he'd tell venetia about it. it would entertain her. or, maybe, she needed to meet oliver himself, get herself away from liquor for a moment to enjoy life in sobriety. as much as farleigh understood her reasoning, it didn't mean that it didn't make him and felix despair when she tried to numb herself and her feelings with alcohol. maybe, oliver might be able to get venetia from all of that, call her out without mercy and make her see the light. farleigh didn't know why he put such responsibility on, virtually, a stranger to them. but oliver was honest, had no interest in people, and was beyond merciless with his quips. if he were to be taken to saltburn, he'd be a storm. it would be priceless, seeing elspeth and james' faces.

"ah, but he's so cute too in his plaids," felix said. "don't you think?"

"no," farleigh laughed. "you're wasted, and he'll punch you if he heard you talk about him that way."

"i kind of wanted to see him punch someone," felix sighed wistfully. "but he's so small. what if he can't reach the face? oh, well, he can always kick the groin, i suppose. he's the perfect height for that, isn't he? is that the reason why he's so angry? i heard the shorter people are angrier because they're closer to hell."

"you're being silly," farleigh said. "go to sleep before oliver caught you saying all of that."

"he won't do anything to me, though," felix said confidently. "he helped me and accepted my invitation to hang out."

"yeah, because he sees you as this pitiful puppy," farleigh said, sighing out loud. "be careful, though. you're kind of stupid when it comes to love. you might hurt yourself."

"ollie won't hurt me," felix said, again with that confidence. "he thinks i'm useless and can't do anything right. he'll protect me."

"you're talking shit out of your ass, man," farleigh sighed again, and pushed felix inside his dorm room when they reached it. "go to sleep, and don't dream about oliver. you don't even know him, for fuck's sake."

"but i will," felix said, assured. "just you wait, i'll make him like me too. we're gonna be best mates and everything!"

"see?" farleigh said, rolling his eyes. "already showing your stupidity. go to sleep, felix."

felix fell asleep and didn't dream about oliver, but he did think about the man when he woke up, a stupid smile on his lips as he thought about all the things they could do together. he couldn't help it, oliver was so different than the people around him. he was so unapologetically himself, didn't give a shit about other people's feelings, had insurmountable rage for such a small body, and was so smart that it was scary. also, he was kind of cute when he was half-asleep, and when he talked about his family. it was evident that he loved them so much, and felix didn't know how it felt. sure, he loved venetia and farleigh, but their upbringing wasn't exactly something to be compared with oliver's apparent close tie with his family. he valued them and thought of them as something precious. felix's life was served on a diamond platter, a heirloom from a legacy he didn't know how to run away from. he never experienced true familial love when it came to his parents, and he envied oliver for that. it was truly a miracle that felix still ended up with heart on his sleeve, because he had seen what happened to his sister and cousin. farleigh covered-up his insecurities and needs of genuine love with his haughty attitude and mockeries; venetia buried her feelings and dreams with cigarettes and alcohol, long since given up about the way her parents didn't really see her as a person, and instead merely a failure. they had money and an estate spanning across acres, they had influence and privileges, but felix had never heard someone talked about him with such reverence and fierce love the way oliver talked about his family. he wanted that, and he felt like oliver was the only way for him to attain that. if anything, maybe oliver would pity him enough to be invited to the quicks' household, get away from the sprawling mess that was saltburn, experience how it felt like to be cherished and valued, instead of something to be projected onto and be flaunted in parties, only to be ignored in daily life.

oliver, on the other hand, woke up with massive headache and regrets of talking so much when he was inebriated. curse farleigh and felix for their curiosity, he was going to murder them later. but right now, he needed something for his headache. it wasn't like he wasn't used to it, but this morning it was even more so. he sighed and promised himself he wouldn't accept the next invitation for a night's out. he took his pills and showered, brushed his hair and rolled his eyes at the fallen strands of hair. at this rate, he'd be bald before next month. well, that wasn't a problem. he had been bald before, and it had been hard growing out his hair again, and it kept falling once it got longer. maybe he should just shave it off again, less hassle that way. but, well, they'd just fall out and he'd be bald eventually anyway. he just gotta wait for it.

he didn't have an assignment today, already finished it prior to going out last night. but he did have an appointment with his dean, and he promised himself he'd extort quick graduation from her dainty hands. with that in mind, he gathered his bag close and headed out of the dorm. there was a vibration from his phone, and he opened it to farleigh's message of 'study together at lunch?', to which he replied with 'ok'. he had time for that, and farleigh was actually really smart once he stopped acting like an asshole. but oliver didn't mind that, either. he was also, after all, an asshole.

the dean looked wary when she saw him, probably already hearing from the lecturers how he behaved. he didn't care; he wasn't here to play nice. he was here to pursue his goals, and like fuck he was going to let anyone get in the way of it. so, he debated back and forth with the dean, almost made her cry and got himself booted out of the oxford. but he didn't, and he got the schedule for advanced classes in his itinerary. it meant more workloads, but he didn't mind that. he didn't have time to waste complaining about it.

the dean walked him to the door, and placed a hand on his shoulder. she was a tall woman, with weary green eyes and a look that only someone with responsibilities got. she said, "don't push yourself too hard. enjoy your youth while it lasts, it's okay to be like that, you know?"

"i don't have enough time for that," he said, and her eyes softened. so, he sighed, and nodded. "i'll try, but i can't promise anything."

"that's good enough for me," the dean said. "come see me if you have difficulties with your advanced classes. we can work something out for that."

"no need to," oliver said, but his tone was gentler. "i appreciate the offer, though. have a good day."

he left the office and went to the cafe which farleigh had sent the address to him. when he got there, he rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, because of course felix would tag along, even though they were in completely different majors and he didn't need to be there. oliver felt a pulse twitch in his head, overshadowing the constant headache. this pathetic git, he swore to god.

"come on, ollie, don't make that face," felix whined. "i'm a great company, you know?"

"no, you're not," oliver said blatantly. "and your presence here isn't welcomed."

felix smiled, looking like he had won something, as he said, "you mentioned that you liked physics and civil engineering. i happen to know someone you can talk about those things with."

that piqued oliver's interest. he chose literature and theology because it didn't require him to think too much, but he had always been interested in all kind of knowledge, and it was especially nice to have someone whom he could discuss those things with. his dad used to be his study partner whenever he had free time, teaching oliver about civil engineering. he looked at felix's stupid smile, and nodded, taking a seat between him and farleigh. "where's that person."

"let me call her," felix said, giddy because this was yet another inch he could take from oliver. he dialed venetia's number, and waited until she picked up the call. "hey, are you busy? i got a friend here. he likes the things you used to study. do you have time to talk? he's not a git, i promise, just... very honest--oh, come on, vee. just a little bit? i promise you won't regret it."

oliver waited patiently as felix tried to assure the person on the call to speak to oliver. farleigh didn't deign them attention as he focused on his papers. at last, the phone was given to oliver. felix looked proud of himself, and expectant as well. so, oliver just sighed and spoke, "hello?"

"is this oliver?" the voice on the other line said, mirth in her voice. "felix's new boytoy?"

"you keep calling me that and i'll find out your whereabouts and boil your teeth for supper," he said, and frowned when there was a laughter greeting his words.

"i like you," she said. "can i call you ollie? i'll call you ollie. i'm venetia."

oliver gritted his teeth. what the fuck was it with these people? they trampled his personal space, were stupid enough to enjoy his presence, and had weird knacks of liking his insults. masochists, all of them, he swore to god. but then, venetia mentioned a research he had read before, and she was so adept in the theories and methods used, and oliver found that he could forgive venetia for her weird taste in company. they talked about their favorite physicists and argued about some journals. it was also fun to know that venetia used to write her own research journals, and she was entirely open for suggestions and critics.

somewhere along the conversation, she said, "you're the most real person i have ever known, ollie. i think i'll keep you around. might have to fight felix for his boytoy, though."

"i'm not a thing to be kept around, and i have no intention of being anyone's boytoy," he groused out. "i can take both of you in a fight."

venetia laughed, bright and honest. "okay, how about a friend, then?"

oliver wrinkled his nose. he didn't have many of those, friends. he didn't consider farleigh or felix as friends, because they just did whatever they wanted and dragged him along with their shenanigans. but he could do with venetia. she was smart, even though she didn't sound entirely sober, and she possessed a keen mind that oliver could appreciate.

"okay, i can do that," he said, nodding even though venetia couldn't see him.

felix, from his seat, made a gargled sound that vaguely expressed his happiness and victory. he looked so smug, oliver wanted to punch his handsome face. once the call had cut off, oliver gave the phone back to felix, who accepted it and looked at oliver like an overeager puppy. he seemed to expect something, and oliver wasn't adept in reading someone's mind or emotion. but felix did introduce him to venetia, and he enjoyed their interaction. he bit his lip, and slowly formed the words on his tongue.

"uh," he started, "good job. i like venetia."

"yes!" felix exclaimed, drawing attention from the people around them. he didn't seem to mind the stares, however. "see, ollie, if you keep me around, you'll find good things and have a good time!"

for the second time that day, he said, "i don't have enough time for that."

"just you see," felix promised.

oliver considered it for a moment. these people were strangers to him, no matter how much they seemed to want to know him. he wasn't used to it, and he definitely wasn't used to people who liked his not-so-charming personality. farleigh was fun to be around, and there was a certain part of oliver that felt fondness at felix's stupid puppy eyes. maybe... he could spare some time for them. any kind of risk they could have from befriending someone like him was their responsibility entirely. he refused to take the blame. it was, after all, not him who started this tentative friendship.

felix, on the other hand, was overjoyed. not only because oliver seemed pleased with a new discussion partner, but also because venetia sounded sober enough throughout the call and she had seemed... happy, though reluctantly. he understood, happiness wasn't a concept she was familiar with, and she had thought that oliver was just another toy felix would discard at the end of the day. but see, oliver was more than that. at least, felix thought so.

the days went forward, and within them were various meetings and nights out that oliver finally relented to. it was weird, this kind of thing. oliver realized that farleigh and felix were genuinely curious about him, and he was allowed to ask them questions too. oliver wasn't used to it, wanting to know someone. it'd be futile in the end, was something he had always thought. he talked about it with his mum, and she sounded suspiciously like she was in tears when he heard about his decision of giving the cattons' siblings a sliver of his time. oliver used to have friends, yes, but he pushed them all away once his anger at the world overcame him completely. friends were something he couldn't afford, being him. but now, there were people who wanted to know him, on their own volitions. they were adults now, though young, and oliver thought that heartaches and loss were something they could handle maturely. it wasn't his responsibility to console them at the end of it, he reminded himself.

enjoy your youth while it lasts.

he thought about it, and concluded that he could be selfish, this time. he knew that the cattons were only curious about him, and they possessed an entirely different mindset than him, courtesy of their upbringing and state of family. farleigh had told him that the catton siblings didn't mean to offend him by calling him a toy, it was just something they were used to because they could afford blind kindness and thought that they could have everything in their lives. they were unaware of their ignorance, and it was, unfortunately, one of their defining personalities. but, farleigh said with a pained face, as if it hurt him to talk about oliver with kindness, too used to them trading insults, oliver was someone different. the cattons were used to people following their whims, but this time, they met someone who didn't see them for only their status, but instead a person who saw them for who they were and didn't discriminate them from his sharp mouth and scathing insults. in the following week, he had three calls from venetia, once she acquired his phone number, and one of it was spent insulting each other.

this time, they met someone whom they had to work for, to get close to. it was different, because oliver refused to be anything but himself, and they needed that kind of person in their lives. at least, that was how farleigh thought of it. afterwards he looked sick at his admission, and said, ugh, being nice to you makes me want to puke. to which oliver replied with, go ahead and puke, i'll laugh at you.

still, ultimately, he ended up with friends. it was so weird, thinking that he had people who didn't mind his prickly nature and habit of starting a fight with dumbasses. venetia told him to call her vee, and he listened about her inability to face her own thoughts and feelings, the reason why she chose to drown herself in liquor. listened, when she cried and whispered i just want them to love me, you know? said to her, you don't need their love. you can achieve anything you want. come to my house and i'll introduce you to my parents and sisters. they'll welcome you and my dad is a good conversation partner for your interest. he gave her his parents' numbers, and got a call from them that a venetia catton had introduced herself as his friend, and asked if they would like to have lunch together some day, so they could meet one of their son's current closest people.

felix pouted and whined when he found out, because, hey, he wanted to be introduced to oliver's parents, too. but there was undeniable happiness in his eyes, and he spoke so gently when he said i'm glad you allowed her to be your friend. oliver was silent when he said that, and didn't think about how this would end. it was okay, he could enjoy this while it lasted, and when it ended, at least he could be rest assured that he did something to change someone and pull them away from their misery. venetia might not know him for long, but oliver thought that it was unfair for such a bright mind to be dimmed down because of stupid people and fate. he told his parents that venetia was allowed to sleep in his room, should she come to their house; told them to always contact her, because he didn't want to risk undoing what the girl had achieved if she were to be left behind yet again in the yawning emptiness of loneliness.

oliver still didn't know how to handle having friends, but he trudged forward like he had done all this time. he didn't know where this decision would bring him to, but like fuck he was going to let it go, now that he had decided to pursue it. he hounded the catton siblings with questions of his own, and gleaned knowledge about their personalities, their memories, their dreams and wishes. he found out that farleigh was a lonely boy who needed love, because his mother couldn't give it to him; was so embarrassed that he had to constantly ask he cattons, beg with a bowl. oliver told him to start being independent and to try out work, so he could have income of his own. he was smart and he could tutor people. he could also choose to delve into fashion or entertainment, because he got the skills and mindset for it. farleigh considered it, and oliver told him that he'd introduce him to his family too, if he had the time. now, there were two cattons whom his parents knew about, and, apparently, mona and farleigh got along famously, because of their shared interest in fashion and completely appalled by oliver's choice of attire.

the last catton to be introduced was felix, and he had complained loudly about it. to be honest, oliver didn't know how to do that when it came to felix. with venetia and farleigh, it was because of shared interests and understanding of their minds. but felix was someone oliver had helped simply because he looked so pathetic, with his bike a useless heap on the side of the road. felix was... someone oliver didn't understand. he was painfully kind, and people flocked to him like moths to fire. he was stupid beyond belief when it came to studying, and had to be threatened before he did his assignments, muttering and whining under his breath. he was popular, could converse well with people, had a savior complex a mile wide with the way he treated people, and definitely didn't understand how to not be the center of attention.

felix followed him around like a puppy, always chattering about some mundane things that oliver unfortunately listened to; he was smart enough to understand that oliver's anger wasn't going to be directed at him because he was seen as pathetic, and he was okay with it, as long as he could annoy oliver on daily basis. he was surprisingly secretive about his own feelings, even though he wore his heart on his sleeve. oliver couldn't understand that-- felix's habit of putting his feelings at risk, just because he didn't know how to love while still protecting his heart. if his heart was to be hurt, it would shatter completely, because, even though farleigh kept telling oliver that felix was a dumbass when it came to love, but oliver himself believed that felix simply didn't know how to love except with his whole heart.

it was terribly easy to make him sad and ruin his mood, but it was also easy to appease him in return, if he were to be given attention and a touch of affection. he seemed to be aware of his shortcomings, but didn't know how to process them healthily. so, he turned towards alcohol and meaningless sex and friendships that only scratched the exterior he put out for people to see. he cried easily, and he pouted and whined all the time, even about the smallest thing. but, one thing that shone the brightest was how felix, at heart, just wanted to help people. it was selfish, sure, his need of being seen as a savior, but oliver understood that it came from his parents shaping him up to always think this way, their habit of belittling those more unfortunate than them, making out charity as a selfish act instead of a selfless one, wolves in fancy clothing who couldn't understand the plight of those they deemed beneath their level. oliver could see traces of it on all the catton children, but he understood why they were the way they were.

the difficult thing was that, while felix was eager to share about himself to olive, it was like pulling teeth when it came to his private thoughts. at first, oliver didn't really think about it. they were friends and that should be enough kindness to be given to these weird people who insisted on being close to him. but he couldn't just ignore it all the time.

because, while oliver was still not privy to felix's thoughts, he knew how it felt to be seen with adoration and awe in those dark eyes, mirth and amusement when he started cussing people out, thoughtful expression when he started lecturing farleigh about their assignment. he knew how it felt to be called ollie, like it mattered; knew how felix's kisses felt on his forehead and his cheeks and the back of his neck, because felix liked standing behind and looming over him. it was a weird habit that oliver was helpless against, because, as much as felix acted like a pathetic puppy, he was so stubborn and selfish when it came to satisfying his curiosity and need of constant physical touch.

he would wrap his arms around oliver, giggle into his hair, patting his thigh, play with his fingers, demanding his attention all the time. he would pull oliver close to him when they went out to pubs, and would forcibly wrench away oliver's head when it became too close to farleigh. there was a reason why he always sat between oliver and farleigh, ever since that time. farleigh just laughed at his face, and oliver rolled his eyes but ultimately relenting. he thought that maybe he was going insane, because what was he doing here, within felix's arms, listening to him sing a song terribly. he had goals to achieve, and time to compete with, so what was he doing here?

but see, oliver, with all his anger and scathing mouth and habit of starting a fight, was still a young man. he had decided to open up to the catton siblings, and he didn't know how to take it back, how to warn them that it would be futile in the end, because it wasn't wise to cultivate relationships and memories with oliver. no matter how rough his exterior was, he still had a heart.

a heart, which stuttered a beat or two when felix came to him, all smiles and all the intentions of hogging oliver's attention; when felix laughed at his insults; when felix touched him; when felix looked at him with something close to wonder in his eyes; when oliver finally allowed farleigh and felix into his room, and felix touched all his belongings with reverence while farleigh started criticizing his wardrobe.

when felix spent the afternoon staring at oliver as he did his papers, when he smoked and stared intently at oliver, when he held oliver close underneath the dim light of the pub, when he carried oliver back in drunken nights, when he whined and complained and pouted and begged for oliver's time and attention and care.

within those moments, oliver realized, mortified beyond belief and heaving out wistful sighs, that he had been too soft when it came to felix. he had always gave the man a leeway, a path into oliver's live, simply by being a simpleton who didn't know how to give up.

on one of their outing, oliver went alone to pay for another round of jagerbomb, because he knew that farleigh was stressed out with the upcoming exams, and he wanted his turn to pay, instead of solely relying on felix. that, was when a man stood close to him and started a conversation that oliver had no intention of reciprocating. he was merely there to wait for the jagerbomb. as per usual, the man grew irritated by his lack of response, and oliver only said, "scram. i have interest in entertaining self-centered idiot like you."

now, it wasn't unusual for oliver to start a bar fight, given how his mouth operated. but this time, felix wasn't there to loom over him, engrossed in a conversation with his friend, and the man had thrown a punch before oliver could anticipate it. his head was ringing, and he felt blood flowing down from his nose. he licked his lips, and was about to throw a punch back, when a familiar back came into his vision, and then it was a blur of screams and sickening crunch of someone's nose being broken. oliver's cheek pulsed in pain as he cradled it, and his nose still hadn't stopped bleeding. he watched, as if in a trance, as felix absolutely pulverized the man, and only stopped when the man no longer moved.

oliver wiped at his nose, and more blood flowed. shit, he thought. wasn't from the punch, then. he did what his mum always told him to when he got nosebleed, but the headache that suddenly overcame him was too strong for him to think of anything else. his vision swum, then, suddenly, he was encased in warmth, and someone was calling out to him. oliver didn't realize that his legs had failed him, until he felt himself being carried by strong arms. he vaguely remembered the whispers as he was carried through the masses, farleigh hot on their heels.

"felix," he croaked out, reaching blindly for the man's face. felix winced when he pressed on a bruise. oliver laughed a little. "you shouldn't fight someone else's fight, you know? i could handle myself well enough. you know that."

"i don't care," felix said, harsh and cold, so unlike what oliver had seen from him. it made him uncomfortable, and weirdly guilty. "he punched you, he touched you. you were bleeding and almost fainted, ollie. how is that handling yourself?"

oliver sighed, and considered redirecting the conversation altogether. but... but he had known felix's birthday and what kind of food he liked, what kind of spices he couldn't handle, who was his favorite singer, his favorite liquor, his go-to brand of cigarettes and liquid for vapes. he knew how it felt like, for his hand to be enveloped by felix completely, to be carried by him, to be in his arms when felix was feeling particularly clingy. he knew all of that. the least he could do... was to offer the truth, the warning he should have given.

he tried to speak, but there was nothing that came out of his mouth. his throat felt dry, like sandpaper, and he ended up just burying his face into the crook of felix's neck, uncaring of the blood he smeared on the skin. "don't be angry," he said, muffled. "it's my job to do that."

felix let out a rough sigh, then his arms tightened around oliver. "you scared me," he admitted. "you don't know how scared i was when i saw you falling. don't do that anymore, ollie. don't let yourself get punched like that. your body isn't strong enough to withstand it."

"you're treating me like a child," oliver said, suddenly tired. his headache was steadily making it difficult to think, and his guilt was eating him alive. "also, your requests are beyond selfish and stupid."

"i don't care," felix repeated.

"why are you doing this?" oliver finally managed to ask. if felix ever said that it was because he didn't like having his toy being touched by other people, headache or not, nosebleed or not, oliver would punch his nose until it cracked underneath his fist.

"because i care, ollie," felix said. "i care about you. you're my friend."

oliver gulped with difficulty. he didn't know how to say it to felix, that it was unwise for him to think like that, that he'd only hurt himself in the end. because oliver was supposed to be alone, supposed to bear the burden of living on borrowed time by himself. he wasn't supposed to offer up friendship blindly, wasn't supposed to care about these people in return. it'd just hurt both sides in the end. oliver wasn't someone who could stay, after all.

but he couldn't say it. because felix's voice sounded pained when he spoke, and his arms were strong and warm and oliver didn't want them to let go. so, he let himself be carried back to his dorm, wiping at his nose that had thankfully stopped bleeding, took his pills, and relented to felix's request of staying the night. farleigh had been silent since they left the pub, but he sighed like oliver had hurt him, and bade them goodnight as he settled on the extra mattress.

felix slept next to oliver that night, holding him close like he was afraid that oliver would disappear if he were to let go. that was an apt analogy, he supposed. oliver let himself be held, tracing patterns on felix's arm, and scrounging up courage to finally speak.

"felix," he said, staring at the man's clavicle so he didn't have to look felix in the eye and break down right then and there. "why... why do you care? i know you follow me around because you thought it's entertaining to see me insult people and start fights. you were fine with it, so why the change of mind?"

he saw the tick in felix's jaw, then a gust of air as he sighed. he buried his face into oliver's hair, before he said, "my feelings changed."

"you don't know me," oliver reminded him. "it's only been a few months. you don't know me, and i don't know you. not well enough for you to care like this."

"you're a dumbass, ollie," felix said. "didn't you see the way farleigh looked at you just now? and venetia would fuss and worry when she found out about this. i might not know you completely, but i want to. do you?"

oliver thought about it. thought about his decision to go college, the advanced classes, the fast track towards graduation, the goals he must achieved, the promise to himself, the hatred towards the world, the fate, the universe. he didn't have time for this. he didn't. but, felix didn't deserve his ire and cold shoulders. not anymore. as much as it pained him to say it, he was oliver's friend.

"i do," he whispered, like it was a secret. "what do you want to know?"

"what's your favorite genre of music?"

"it's rock and metal, actually."

a laughter. "no way, ollie!"

"what's yours?" he asked, pressing a smile on felix's skin.

"honestly? classical music."

"what was your childhood dream?"

"a gardener."

what's your favorite colour. why did you choose latin. what kind of book do you read. what's your favorite movies. who's your preferred sibling, venetia or farleigh. who was your first crush. why did you smoke. what do you want to be. what's your best childhood memory. why did you choose to befriend me. what do you think about your parents. what's your secret.

it's blue. i chose latin because i thought it'd be easy and i can sleep more. i read gardening and cooking books. i love the godfather. i love vee, but farleigh is so fun at parties and he makes the best insult. you completely dethrone him though, i like your insults more now. my first crush was this girl on sixt form. i smoked because i wanted to look cool, and then i kinda became addicted to it. when mum bought me a music box. because you're entertaining and, as i found out later on, an amazing person to be around; you're so honest with your thoughts and being yourself; you're so smart and i like your attention on me. my secret? i think i'm afraid of ending up alone and with no dreams; i can have anything money could buy, but i'm scared of ending up with an empty heart and a house too big for my loneliness.

now you.

it was green, but it's brown now. i chose literatures because it has the easiest workload and i can graduate early. i read researches the most but i love sci-fi. i also love the godfather. i like vee the most; sorry, but you and farleigh can't compare (oliver! how could you wound me like that?"). my first crush was this girl who used to be my neighbor, then she moved away. i didn't smoke because my body suffers enough as it is. when i was eight and mona fell into my birthday cake by accident. because i thought you were a pathetic idiot, so i let you follow me around; then i found out that you care about people more than your heart can handle, that you're so selfish and greedy and i find myself not minding it; that you're so painfully kind that it's hard to look at you sometime. my secret? you wanted to know my secret?

"yeah," felix whispered, pulling him closer.

oliver closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around felix. "i'm running out of time."

"what do you mean, ols?" felix asked, and there was a tremble to his voice.

"you wanna know why i'm always angry?" oliver said, then chuckled to himself. "it's because i decided to stop caring. why should i care when there's more important matters at hand? i'm always angry, because i'm running out of time. because i've been fucked over by fate and the world. so, i'm angry, because that was the only thing i've learned how to be. i don't want to be weak anymore, don't want to cry rivers over my fate anymore. so, i'm angry, all the time. the headache is also another reason, but honestly, i have that all the time, so i'm pretty used to it."

"ollie," felix said, and he sounded so small, so lost. oliver hugged him tighter. it broke his heart, too, to hear heartbreak in felix's voice. "why didn't you tell us?"

"i tried," he said. "but i didn't know how, and i didn't think it was important enough."

"you always did say that it's futile, being friends with you," felix laughed; it sounded hoarse and brittle. "i thought that was you being a pessimist."

"i am a pessimist, but not because of the reasons you thought of me." he heaved a sigh when felix's breath shuddered. he continued, "i got diagnosed when i was fifteen; back then we didn't know and it wasn't something to be worried about. then, my hair started falling and i got constant headache; i started having fainting spells and often had nosebleed. they said that it could still be cured, so i underwent a surgery. it stopped for a while, then the symptoms started again, and it turned out that i still have it. so, i decided, i'm not going to cry or complain about this. i think, i was angry because i was scared, of dying, of leaving behind my family, of not being able to pursue my dreams. so, out of spite, i entered college, extorted fast track to graduation from my dean's hands, which she allowed because she knew about this."

he took a moment. then, said, softly, "i had wanted to just ignore everything and continue with my study. with enough luck, i could graduate before i'm out of commission. they told me that it came back stronger than before, and that i'm living on borrowed time. imagine telling an eighteen-year-old that," he laughed, and felix's arms tightened around him, almost suffocating. he welcomed it and embraced the man just as tight.

felix heaved something that sounded suspiciously close to a sob, and oliver heard the rustle from the mattress on the floor where farleigh was sleeping. there was a dip of weight on the bed, and someone took one of oliver's hand to grip it tight. oliver sighed; he had thought that farleigh could be spared from this.

"there's no cure anymore," he continued gently, as he broke his friend's hearts. "they told me i have at least three years, if i keep doing chemo. but honestly, i don't think my family's budget can handle that, even with healthcare, and chemo takes a toll on my body. i want to at least be myself, look like myself, when i die." there were twin hitches of breath when he said that; oliver ignored the pang in his heart and trudged on, like he always did. "i still take my pills but no more chemo. my hair is starting to fall out again, though i count it as victory that i didn't faint as often as i did before. i think my body knows that i'm being stubborn."

"you'll be bald by the end of the semester," farleigh choked out, and oliver laughed freely. "you'll look so ugly with bald head, but don't worry, we still like you."

"i'm... glad," he said, voice small. "i'm glad that i have you guys, and venetia. i thought i shouldn't have friends anymore, because it'll be such a hassle, you know? leaving everything behind, and i'll just hurt someone's heart with... well, me dying."

"you're so blase about this, it's annoying," farleigh complained, but his voice was heavy with emotions. "cry like a normal person, goddammit."

"i'm not exactly normal," oliver said primly, then laughed along with his friends. "it's okay. i've got everything sorted, eulogy and all. i'll finish my course and graduate; i've made enough research journals to be put in our libary, and i've made friends with assholes like the three of you. i'm glad i'm able to do it, despite everything."

there, he said it out loud, at last. now, it was time to weather the storm yet again.

felix's body shuddered, and then, he started crying in earnest, hiding his face in the crook of oliver's neck. his tears seeped into oliver's shirt, and it broke his heart to pieces to hear anguish in felix's sobs. farleigh tightened his grip, and brought oliver's hand to his chest.

"it's alright," he tried to console, patting the back of felix's head with his free hand. "you saw me--i was okay, wasn't i? i didn't get nosebleed that often, didn't faint often as well. three years? i'm too angry to die that soon. i'll be okay."

felix sobbed harder, and oliver didn't know how to mend his wound. this was an act of mercy as much as it was conscious effort of breaking someone's heart. it would never be easy, to lose someone.

farleigh seemed to sense his helplessness, because he said, "scoot over, losers, i'm sleeping on the bed."

it took a little bit of coaxing to get felix to move. in the end, oliver lay on his back, between the two, each hand gripped by them. felix laid his head on his shoulder, and farleigh rested his chin on his hair. they didn't say anything for a moment, until felix seemed to get ahold of himself, and whispered, "ollie."

"yeah?" he hummed.

"don't go," felix said, sounding so much like a lost child, one whose heart was aching.

"i'm not going anywhere," oliver said, and let the lie stay between them like a blanket. it was alright, even if it was a lie. he could lie as many times as felix needed to finally accept this, to stand on his own feet without oliver to follow around.

 "ollie," felix called out again.

"yeah?" he answered patiently. he just wanted felix to stop hurting, no matter how impossible it might seem at the moment.

"tomorrow, let's ditch class and go to your house," felix croaked out, voice heavy with tears. "i'll go get venetia and my jeep, and we can have a road trip."

oliver's heart hurt. "okay," he said gently. "we can do that, fels."

they didn't sleep that night, trading stories and banters as they waited out felix's sobs. when he calmed down enough to respond to them, they started planning a week-long escapades to prescot. they could afford to do it, they thought, because they wanted to be foolish and young and alive. in the morning, farleigh stayed with him as he packed up his clothes, and felix was gone for some time before he met them outside of the campus with a jeep and venetia on the backseat, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. but there was courage in them, persistence and selfishness so on brand for a catton. oliver couldn't believe it, but these three were so stubborn and he couldn't do anything about it. if he were to die suddenly, they'd probably wouldn't allow his soul to rest. that was how determined they were.

the trip was spent chattering amongst each other, singing on the top of their lungs, and the siblings flaunting embarrassing memory of each other to oliver. he laughed and joined in the conversation, feeling so, so scared and so, so hopeful for the first time in his life. he could do this, he thought. he could have this, as long as it lasted, and he was going to get everything he could desire because he knew they would give him the world and more.

his parents were surprised when they arrived, smiling sheepishly while saddling their belongings, but they were soon welcomed and his parents gushed about the catton siblings and how they were such a good friend for oliver. it was quite embarrassing, especially when his mum pulled out the baby pictures, but he figured that if he didn't do this know, then when else? it wasn't like he had all the time in the world.

but it felt like that, being here, with his family and his friends. it felt like he had all the time in the world, all the dreams he could achieve, all the memories he wanted to carve. his sisters flocked to his friends and shared camaraderie with them, complaining about oliver's mouth and his nasty habit of insulting someone within an inch of their lives. they had dinners and picnics for lunch; they watched movies together and played board games; they slept late into the night trading stories, camped and cramped into oliver's room because suddenly it became everyone's territory.

but no matter how much they seemed to be enjoying these moments, sometimes, oliver would look at felix and saw the grim look in his eyes. he would jostle felix's shoulders, let the man entwine their fingers together, lie yet again and say, "it's going to be okay, felix. i'm not going anywhere."

venetia slept in alicia's room, and farleigh in mona's. felix slept with oliver, and his siblings graciously let it. they still spent more time in oliver's room than their respecting resting place, though. they really were greedy, these cattons. give an inch and they'd take miles and miles away from what was given initially. they would befriend oliver like it was the last thing they did, and it probably was, given the situation. oliver gave as good as he got, because like fuck he was going to be weak, he had been strong all this time, hadn't he?

but, when the night came and felix held him in his sleep, he would say, "i'm scared." and felix would pull him close, whispering all the things they could do once summer came, then the fall, then winter. they would do all the things in the world, and oliver would be there, because felix was selfish and greedy and wore his heart on his sleeve. oliver was going to break it someday, already breaking it right now, but they didn't talk about it.

the same way they didn't talk about the fondness in oliver's eyes at felix's antics, his unsurprising possessiveness, his penchant of hogging all of oliver's attention and care, his constant need to touch oliver, his newfound habit of cuddling oliver to sleep, the kisses he pressed to oliver's temple when they pretended to be asleep. they didn't talk about it, because oliver refused to-- refused to break felix's heart further.

in the end, it was venetia who stole him away for a girl's night, which consisted of oliver's sisters and her, and oliver as the victim of their pampering. he was in the middle of having his toenails painted when venetia said, "he's not a child, you know? i know he acts like that most of the time, and he's too sensitive for his own good, but he's stronger than you know. go ahead and kiss him. i can be entertained by him acting more like a buffoon, as if he's not already. just kiss him and do whatever the fuck you want. if you're going to die anyway, why not have the last hurrah and say fuck you to the world and fate?"

venetia was the only one who didn't shy away from the topic, the one who was strong enough to keep her tears for herself. oliver respected and envied her at the same time. so, he nodded, said that he'd consider it, and kissed felix anyway when he was staring at oliver yet again from the windowsill, smoking his stupid cigarettes.

his mouth tasted acrid and bitter, and he gaped like a dead fish for a few seconds before his brain seemed to get the memo, and then the cigarette was forgotten on the floor, an ignored fire hazard, as he gathered oliver into his arms and kissed him like a man starving. felix kissed him like he was the one dying, like this was his only chance of doing this, like his life depended on it. oliver supposed that the looming threat of his death was enough of a motivation.

"we don't have to make it into a relationship," oliver told him. "we can keep it casual. it's not fun being left behind after all."

"you stupid little shit," felix laughed and kissed him again. "i've been flirting with you non-stop and you still thought i don't want this?"

"well, it's easy to mistake infatuation for love when we're in this kind of situation," oliver shrugged, and was kissed yet again.

"oliver, ollie, you stupid fuck," felix said, and there was that heartache again in his voice. "farleigh kept teasing me about it, venetia too, and i was too dumb to realize it but i like you, you angry, violent motherfucker."

"did i rub off on you too much? why are you cussing me out like this?" oliver laughed, leaned into the embrace and enjoying the warmth he was encompassed with. "so much for a confession."

"i don't know everything about you, ollie," felix said, calm and resigned and happy within the same breath. "as you do about me. but i've said it before: i want to. we still have time; we'll make it count."

it was hard to breathe, to swallow. here they were, living on borrowed time, finding love at the most inopportune moment. but that was alright, they both could lie, could wish that they would have all the time in the world. it could be their little secret, that they were both afraid of the end, the looming storm on the horizon.

for now, oliver could kiss felix until they were breathless, spent his time with his family and friends, making the most of his time, because fuck you universe. he could be happy, and he wouldn't have it any other way. he might be defeated, but it still tasted sweet, this acceptance of his fate at last, because he wasn't alone when he did it. he had people who adored him, who cared about him, who were selfish and greedy and loving when it came to him.

it was alright. in this moment, he was alive; in this moment, oliver was happy.

-

in a sunday afternoon, the summer sky outside of the window, oliver died in felix's arms. it was a beautiful day to die.

it was two weeks before his early graduation, and he got flying colors, a fucking valedictorian. felix catton's heart was shattered at last, after so long of breaking apart at the seams. he held oliver close, for the last time, before he strengthened his heart and made some calls.

oliver's funeral was attended by many people. his family, his friends, his dean and professors, and his lover. his eulogy was read by felix, and flowers were arranged on his tombstone. venetia wrote his name on a stone, and they invited the quicks to throw it over a river, to honor his memories and life.

oliver's life was cut too short, and he spent most of it being angry at the world, at fate. but it was okay, because he had people who held him dear, who thought of him as someone close and important and beloved. his researches would be studied, and his pictures would be put on bedrooms, in cherished albums. venetia strong-armed her siblings into living a life they promised oliver they would live, dreams they would achieve, wishes they would make real.

every year, in a summer afternoon, they would have a picnic with the quicks, pulling out old albums full of oliver's childhood pictures, and talked and laughed and remembered-- a young man with anger so disproportionate to his stature, with mind so intelligent, with heart so big, with compassion and kindness that he hid beneath his biting words and hilarious impatience.

every year, felix catton's heart break apart all over again when he visited oliver's tombstone. but he would tell the stories of his life, how much he missed oliver, how he wished that they had more time. but, he would also be grateful that they were allowed to spend the end of it within each other's arms.

it would be some time before the people in oliver's life healed from their wounds, but it's alright. even though it was a lie right now, it was okay. they would be okay, and they could always try. it was alright.

-

[orionabovethehorizon]

When Your Pride is on the Floor, I’ll Make You Beg for More

Rating: 18+

Word count: 4k

Characters: Will Graham x Will Graham (brief mention of stagman)

Setting: Hannibal’s office, season 2 episode 8: Suzukana

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE thoughts of necrophilia, canon typical violence, canon typical religious themes, choking kink, autoerotic asphyxiation, blood kink, blood consumption, creampie, cum swallowing, p in v, obsessive and possessive behavior and thoughts, pain kink, light foot fetish if you squint, ftm character

Summary: That one scene where Hannibal asks if Will still wants to kill him and Will says he’d do it with his hands, except Hannibal continues on with his unconventional therapy and tells him to do it

NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH but it’s considered

Author’s note: my first work in this fandom 🙏🏽 Beta’d by @siffrin-enthusiast and a mutual of mine on a different platform, sorry !

Tell me if I should tag any other content warnings please 🫶🏽🫶🏽

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59147416 pls boost 🖤

“Tell me, how would you do it?” 

Will, who despised eye contact, was unrelenting in his stare, his expression offering nothing. “With my hands.” 

Hannibal seemed… pleased. Like he enjoyed the concept of Will trying, because he could overpower him easily. Or, perhaps actually excited by the prospect of letting Will overpower him. Given the look on his face, Will’s eyes dropped to Hannibal’s crossed legs and, not for the first time but having never allowed himself to entertain the train of thought, wondered if it was to hide. 

His own stomach always coiled whenever he spared the time to fantasize about killing him, as Hannibal worded it. Though it would only make him more confused by all the different layers to their dynamic, it wouldn’t be surprising if Hannibal often felt the same. Or maybe Will was just mirroring back Hannibal’s own desire due to his empathy. 

Anyways, there was a challenging lift of his eyebrows as Hannibal adjusted in his seat. Will didn’t know what to expect but it certainly wasn’t, “That sounds promising.”

There it went. A volcanic churning in his lower belly.

“Are you asking me to?” Will inclined forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands. Feeling a revolting twinge of excitement in his gut. Fingers twitching incomprehensibly at the need to grab. 

“Should you find yourself in need of relief when it comes to the resentment you feel toward me, I must inform you that therapy sessions are precisely the place to do as such. It only serves to be doubly beneficial to you that your psychiatrist is the very source of your resentment. My job is to allow you to work through your emotional turmoil however you may need, so long as I am still alive by the time the hour we share has commenced. And you are well aware, intimately so, that I am unorthodox in my methods and willing to go much further than most.” No grin is evident on his face, but it is audible in his voice, and Will wants to reach out and suffocate him right now. 

Will pushes himself to his feet, and it is not lost on him that Hannibal’s schooled expression of stoicism is an act. It does not falter at all, not even once, but he knows. 

“I don’t want to kill you anymore, Doctor Lecter,” he hums as he rounds beside the black chair opposite his own. “Not now that I finally find you interesting.” The words practically purred out of him. The empath notes how Hannibal’s eyes trail him intrinsically and watches them sparkle—fucking glitter—as he reaches out to delicately card his fingers through tamed, aging wheat-blond hair and begins to unlatch his belt buckle with the other hand. 

There’s a minuscule but disemboweling lilt to the killer’s lips while he gazes up at the man gifting him such a soft touch, and Will finds himself wondering when the last time Hannibal had that even was, and more, if he was the only person Hannibal would allow to coddle him. A lack of hesitation or questioning indicated requisition; how long had the monster yearned for this fairy tale?

That didn’t make it any harder to do what he did next. 

The gentleness steeled into brutality when Will curled his fingers into a fist, slid his belt from the loops, dropped it to the floor, and grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder to relocate him to the same location the abandoned leather fell to. 

Besides the huff of oxygen forced out of him in a rush, the man now beneath him gave no sound or other evidence of being phased. Even his eyes held no contempt; a bit of surprise, sure, and heat akin to the amber color of his irises as he watched the fabric of Will’s deep blue button-up slowly drift open. He didn’t dare move. Not when both sides of his shirt fluttered apart like curtains framing a window pane, and beyond the glass lie a glimpse of a secret regarding Will’s identity: two pale, thin, well managed scars cutting beneath each pectoral. Not when Hannibal realized that he would be receiving the full reveal of said identity as the younger man above him undid both the button and the zipper of his slacks. 

If he moved, this might end before it begins. 

So, while his eyes may have widened marginally, and his lips parted slightly in place of his jaw hanging, Hannibal laid there, watching, waiting, drinking it all in. Sketching this angle of Will in his mind to reproduce on paper later. 

If there were even to be a later. Given where this seemed to be going, Hannibal now found himself very much open to the idea of perhaps falling homicide victim to Will’s darkest whims. It wouldn’t be the most dignified way to go, but it was certainly his most appealing threat thus far. 

A good way to torture him would be to let him think this was going where he currently assumed it to be, only to kill him just before doing so. But when he scented the air, the thick, sweet, foggy thunderstorm that was Will’s arousal rushed his senses, growing stronger when pants and boxers alike were pulled down to bundle atop his shoes which he bent to unlace and remove, and he doubted the occurrence of such a punishment. This was accompanied by the stark, jagged waves of Will’s anger, ebbing away only to crash forward again on the rocks. 

His beloved experiment and patient smelled of nature, but not in your typical way. Will didn’t smell like he had been outside, Will smelled like he was Nature herself; every feeling he experienced slotted with a different state or disaster, even. Right now, a rolling evening storm on the beach. Without any fabric between Hannibal’s nose and Will’s sex, his state of excitement struck down into his diaphragm and splintered throughout the bronchioles of his lungs like forked branches of lightning, thrumming in his chest and making him feel light, warm, electric. 

"Will," he puffed out into the stifling, heady silence, dragging his eyes along the full length of his newly exposed body. The parted halves of Will's dress shirt maintained the barest sliver of his modesty and Hannibal dedicated the full power of his creative capabilities to completing the picture within his mind. As he laid there, pushed up on his elbows but otherwise stagnant, to now observe the way that Will kicked the pile of shoes, pants, and underwear at his feet off to the side, the killer set it all to memory. Once he had the time and space to himself to disappear into his mind palace uninterrupted, he would chisel a marble statue of the personified deity hovering over him now to preserve and revere. Again, and again, and again, until the very ground beneath him conformed to mold around the steady weight and pressure of his knees in their unwavering devotion. 

Will’s eyes shadowed with a dark sheen of something primal. Something that made Hannibal’s person suit run cold and warm at the same time. The profiler smirked, sized him up, pausing at the no longer shieldable tent presenting itself at the crotch of his dress suit pants. 

So, he had been trying to hide, just as suspected. 

Curiously, the heel of his foot came down on the bulge between Hannibal’s thighs. Not hard, or malicious, barely even a press of contact. And when the recipient of said action groaned and spoke his name again, Will laid his toes over the man’s lips, still socked and all. Shushing him, with a gentle but sarcastic level of chastisement. 

“None of that,” he scolded, clicking his tongue and ever so slightly shaking his head. “I believe you’ve said quite enough. I want you to be quiet. Do you understand?” 

Hannibal was far too preoccupied with the spinning of the room. His cock swelled to its full potential so quickly that the southbound rush of blood had rendered him dizzy. His eyes were glossy, hazed over, and heavy lidded. He bit his tongue to the point that copper flooded his mouth when Will emphasized his question once more, doubly as stern, and used his foot to push Hannibal’s head to nod. 

After Will stopped moving his foot, Hannibal continued the nod of his own volition to signify his agreement. 

The satisfaction in those raucous blue eyes would have made the cannibal more offended had he not wanted this. Prayed for this in whatever capacity he could receive it, despite having lost his faith long ago. 

He could have bitten them off. But he wanted this. No matter how his pride bristled at his current treatment. Could he truly have expected Will to be any other way? 

No longer balancing a fraction of his body weight on Hannibal’s jaw, Will returned to his previous stance—one leg positioned at either side of Hannibal’s hips. It distantly dawned on the Lithuanian that he could see Will’s entire lower half, he wasn’t wearing a packer around his hips, and he tossed an askance, curious look over to the pants and boxers abandoned beside them to find that his counterpart had the custom underwear that came with a built in pouch for one to sit within. His fingers twitched towards them; suddenly, the want—no, need to smell them was so intense that it was practically electrifying. 

But Will, ever studious, ever predatory, noticed this slight movement and this time it was his other foot to move and find its mark on Hannibal’s wrist. Uncomfortable. More demeaning even than having an arm, or arms, pinned down by his hands. Honestly, quite a fraction humiliating. 

Just like the foot on his mouth had been. 

And yet. 

The frantic rise and fall of his chest was nearly animated in its dramatism, but it was very, very real. Their eyes, fire and ice, two different and completely incompatible elements of the earth, met in the middle with the same sharp, daring, scalding glare and held steadfast. Even as Will returned to his previous position once more and then lowered to his knees entirely, straddling Hannibal’s thighs and working at the fastenings of his dress pants while never even conceding to so much as a blink. Will, insistent on having the upper hand for once. Hannibal, knowing he had already succumbed and doing his inflated (deflating) ego one momentary final service before finally bidding it farewell and looking away. 

For the first time in history, fire melted, and ice won. 

“That’s it, Doctor Lecter,” Will enunciated slowly, and despite the airy atmosphere of patronization, Hannibal allowed the cheap praise to wash over him like a baptism. There was a physical, outward shiver that jittered through the body of the killer beneath him from the chill of such a thin, shallow compliment, and Will allowed his baneful smirk to present itself. “Let me have this,” he finished. At the same time as he’d successfully gotten the cock before him to spring free, expensive fabrics bunched haphazardly at Hannibal’s hips. And the man—no, the monster, stayed silent to such a disgrace. 

He was behaving so well. The ache within him then was indiscernible between emotional yearning, or physical. 

Either way, he knew how to fill the gaping emptiness within him right now; he was staring directly at it after being freed to do so by Hannibal’s surrender in their staring contest. Could it even be called that? Such a title made it seem so… juvenile, when this was anything but. 

Though, when Will righted himself, raising higher on his knees with a dry and calloused palm wrapped around the fattened, flared base of the erection standing before him (at full attention despite receiving hardly any contact at all, the profiler did not miss that little detail), there was a horrifying flash of a moment where he felt much like a fumbling teenager, seeing, touching, fucking for the first time. Felt out of his depth with Hannibal. Hannibal, of all fucking people- no, Hannibal, of all fucking things. 

His monster wasn’t even human. Will could, and would, take from it whatever he damn well pleased, thank you. 

That in mind, Will Graham properly aligned himself, slicked the head through the arousal currently dampening his core, and sunk down in one fell swoop. He fell forward to shove a hand over Hannibal’s mouth and catch his upper body weight there just in time to cut off a catastrophic moan right as it began to crest out of him. Will didn’t want to hear how good it felt for him. Didn’t want any evidence that this could be for anyone but himself. His head hung low for the count of five deep breaths while he adjusted to accommodate such a stretch, dark curls shielding the pinched expression on his face from the magmatic color and heat of Hannibal’s eyes that would singe all his resolve if contact was made. 

The hand he’d used to position himself found the wrist he’d already pinned before, and Will nearly blacked out when Hannibal brought the other up to lie beside it, held. 

Once the lines of his face smoothed, with a cautionary rock of his hips, Will’s breath punched out of him at the first pleasant nudge of the cockhead within him doing its job—providing a service as a victory and a distraction. Then, again, his lungs stuttered and constricted when he finally allowed his gaze to find that of the creature he sat upon, whose skin turned as black as an inkwell to the quill it would likely use to account this interaction on paper later, only to return to its original golden tan hue after Will blinked it all away. Temporarily closing his sensitive eyes to what he saw in the ones below him. 

Love. 

Something deeper, and darker, and more twisted than that; an amalgamation of obsession and divinity and devotion, of hunger and carnality and despair. But, in simpler terms, the look in Hannibal’s eyes was love. This openness did not falter even when Will��s touch slid from smiling lips down to his throat and snatched it like a vice. 

It was like looking in a mirror. One that he’d shattered with his fist. One that he’d covered with a torn sheet. 

And Will loved Hannibal so much that he could kill him. Just to keep him to himself for all eternity. He would get to live with the knowledge that he was the last one to see, hear, touch, the person that he was in love with. It would make Hannibal his, forever. Momentarily, he considered it. The man was so pliant beneath him right now, staring up with red eyes rimmed with more adoration than pain, willing him to do whatever he pleased so long as he wanted it, and Will thought of visiting a grave with flowers every day and fucking himself senseless with Hannibal’s preserved fingers every night. It was as if a frenzy had triggered within his mind, and the thought of Hannibal no longer being alive to torment him as he had, but still being Will’s possession, was addictive. But… well, the cock within him twitched and he knew the warmth would be missed. 

Hannibal wasn’t allowed to feel that way about him in return, but Will Graham knew it was far too late to draw that line between them. There wasn’t even space enough for a line to be drawn at all. In fact, they were stitched together much like the mural he’d been consulted on. 

“Being so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’,” Will purred smoothly, southern accent laying thick, in place of complimenting Hannibal’s endowment as he wanted to. Why would he praise something he was taking for himself? He’d rather gloat about Hannibal surrendering and allowing Will to take this from him, restrained and balancing on the line between consciousness and not. 

Speaking of restraints, the killer began fighting loosely against the hold on his wrists. Will genuinely considered slapping him so fucking hard his head snapped off to the side. Right after commending how well behaved he was? Temptation overtook, though, and Will slackened up his grip on Hannibal’s wrists while tightening it on his throat. Curious, wondering if he would fight back, flip them over, shove Will off; return the favor and choke him, perhaps. 

There wasn’t enough time to bite back the moan that bubbled up when, rather than anything defensive for himself after nearly being killed, all Hannibal did was grab Will’s hips and press them down as far against himself as he could. Sinking in as deep as possible. Didn’t even bother with the hand around his neck. 

“Feels that good, huh, Ripper?” 

He emphasized his words with a slow circle of his hips, and reveled in the way Hannibal’s head rolled and his top lip drew back in a snarl, nails biting into Will’s soft skin. Warmth rolled down his outer thighs, indicative of blood. Which attributed to the warmth between them as well. 

His monster beneath him was nodding his head, or at least something as closely resembling it as he could, considering Will’s hold was so tight now that his lips began fading into a slightly blue tone. Using his knees as leverage to push himself up, until Hannibal was nearly slipping out of him, his own lips twisted into a cocky grin when he sank back down and the only sound the man could make was a strangled whimper that was clearly supposed to be some kind of moan. Undignified, honestly bordering on pathetic because of who the sound was coming out of. Fingers tore down his legs and left bloody trails in their stead, and Will took the hand that had previously been pinning Hannibal’s wrists and slid his fingers along the new wounds to tap them against the paling lips. Before accepting them to suck, he was trying to verbalize something, starting with a kuh sound, and judging from the look on his face and the pulsating within his core, Will assumed it was either ‘close’ or ‘condom’… neither of which he could give a fuck less about right now. So, he just smirked wider, forced his fingers between his teeth, and went back to moving atop him. Dropping his head back as his swollen little cock ground against Hannibal’s pubic bone and left a sticky mess of arousal behind. The lips around his fingers and tongue sliding against them planted a glorious idea in his head. 

When Hannibal drives his hips upward in a sharp thrust, Will releases his throat at the exact same time, and he nearly cums with him when he hears the pure depravity of the sound that leaves the cannibal as he sucks in air. Once his lungs are satiated, he begins imbuing the name of his patient over and over incessantly with each pulse, each shot of ejaculate that Will coaxes out of him with as much grace and intensity as bullets. His hands are slipping around on Will’s thighs because of the blood, his hips are stuttering from the overwhelming ecstatic bliss of tumbling over the edge so early, and the profiler is eating it all up. He wishes he could carve this moment into Hannibal’s skin down to the very detail, no matter how minute or insignificant it seemed, and strip the doctor any time he deemed fit to remind himself of this encounter and get off to it. The pinch of his brows, the curl of his upper lip that closely resembled a snarl, the way he was clawing at his legs, this was his monster. 

There’s a slight tremor to Will’s thighs that he needs to mask when he dismounts the stag recovering below him. 

Hannibal’s words are gravelly and grated practically beyond recognition due to the torture his throat endured when he asks, through heaving but slowly evening breaths, “Did you finish as well?” A question that a man hardly asks without already knowing the answer. And the sinful depth of Hannibal’s abused voice sends a tsunamic wave of arousal crashing over Will in a way that has his dick throbbing, begging for friction. He thinks that if this is how Hannibal sounds after he tries to strangle him, that he is going to have to do this much more frequently, and wonders distantly if he’ll ever be able to cum in the future without hearing it again. Considers that, and doubts it. 

And surely, Hannibal would not object to whatever physical attention he offered. Especially if it ended like this. The doctor was well-guarded but his weaknesses had become obvious and Will could exacerbate them. 

Fair is fair, after all. 

Even Steven. 

“Nup,” Will replies simply; relishes in the shameful tinge of pink that dusts over Hannibal’s already flushed face when his eyes lower. “Got me a solution for that, though.” 

His country accent is still rearing, and he hardly notices it in the moment but to Hannibal, it’s completely dizzying. He watches intently, now back to not saying a word, waiting for whatever it is  he can do to remedy such a massive inconsideration on his part. Oxygen is coming easier now, and yet the tension has his breath wavering. 

Will stands, and for an agonizingly centurial second Hannibal thinks he’s going to leave, that he was so unsatisfactory that Will is going to take care of it himself and abandon him as a sweaty, sticky mess on the floor of his office to mull over the events and missteps of tonight. But then his feet plant themselves coolly on either side of Hannibal’s neck, and he lowers himself to hover above his chest momentarily, watching realization dawn on the powerful man lying so pliant below him. His eyes narrow scrutinizing but he does flash him a genuine, scintillating grin, full of teeth and desire and hatred and adoration and secrets. The blood stretched between them, the blood on them now, and the blood yet to come. 

“Think it’s time you ate yourself for once,” he drawls, dipping a finger into the mingled wetness between his thighs and smearing it from his own lips to Hannibal’s, though both found at opposite ends of their respective anatomies. “Hmm?” He asks, like he’d even take a ‘no.’

The cannibal goes so far as to draw the finger into his mouth (once again) and pull it between his teeth—a sure risk for Will, but not so much as the one he was about to take—to lave his tongue over it and clean the mess. He honestly makes a show of wrapping his lips around it and the way he works his mouth around the intrusion; how his eyes threaten to roll back at the taste of them together, including the lingering tang of sweet pennies from where there had previously been blood on the same finger. 

Hannibal nods, moving Will’s hand along with the movement of his head, eyes so intense in their direct contact that it sets the room on fire, and Will retracts his finger. He wrenches that same fist in ashen blond hair, tugs it back to position himself directly above it, and in a doting voice laced with thinly veiled condescension he instructs Hannibal to take a deep breath. Then he sits. Not really caring if the distribution of his weight or lack thereof makes it hard for Hannibal to breathe. He got a considerable break, far too long for Will’s liking even, and the enslaving saccharinity of the destruction a lack of oxygen impacted on his voice would likely have Will stirring Hannibal’s cock again to coax him into round two.

Maybe it would circle around and around all night in an endless loop. Or maybe Hannibal would suffocate. 

Oh, well. 

If he died, Will would keep it cycling anyways. He wouldn’t stop just for morality’s sake. And Hannibal’s Last Meal would be the one he most desired: Will. 

[aeolianblues]

I took 4 hours to make a stew today. I also listened to five different Johnny Borrell interviews in the intervening time. I think the two might be connected. I should be packing my suitcases instead.

I have been toying with the idea of reaching out to Razorlight management. They just put out an album, Planet Nothing on Friday. I have been thinking about this for a whole MONTH. In defence of my delusions who else is clamouring to interview them in Canada? This continent knows two songs (America and In The Morning, maybe Golden Touch at a stretch). Besides their management has liked my posts about them twice. So feed my delusions. I’ll try and reach out even though the album is now out. Worst case I won’t hear back, which is normal.

If they did say yes though, imagine that. It would make them one of the highest profile guests I’ve had, but that’s also good reason to be nervous. What the fuck do I know about touring the world, being in showbiz, doing telly, festivals, you know what I mean? You have to know about something yourself to ask questions about it.

And there’s say that Johnny is apparently a notoriously hard interviewee, though I’ve only ever heard him be delightful and insightful in interviews. Man doesn’t have a phone though, he’s like old-school old-school. He doesn’t trust social media which is valid and based. But I also find it’s easier for such people to fall out of touch. Like. What do I do if this guy shows up completely uncomfortable with the concept and practice of using Zoom? They aren’t touring Canada, any interviews will most likely be remote. This has literally happened before, where an interviewer in 2020 was like ?? Buddy you’re taken aback seeing yourself on the screen on Zoom, again, valid but like. Have you never used FaceTime or any such thing before? You’re in your forties. And he’s just like nope, never had an iPhone, don’t have one now, it’s borrowed for the interview, don’t trust it.

Man I want to talk about music? Let’s not get stuck here. He is completely right about how social media is killing creativity though, it doesn’t give you a chance to be bored and think, dream. Still, it does mean that we’d start things off on quite different pages, and then I’d also be working to pull him onto the same page, or meet him somewhere halfway. Whatever.

He was even asked about his supposedly difficult and standoffish persona, and he said he’s never had a tough time talking to music interviewers, you know music journalists from radio, music magazines, whatever; anyone who actually wanted to talk about the music itself, but because Razorlight got big quite fast and found themselves miserably thrown onto like art, culture lifestyle and celebrity programmes and magazines, and the interviewers would ask them inane questions, and Johnny just doesn’t seem like the kind of person that had the patience for that rubbish. He apparently groaned and moaned about having to go to the BRIT Awards because he had no interest in the façade of importance the music industry builds around itself, but the management had said yes before he ever had a chance to decline the invites and didn’t want to look like a dickhead pulling out at the last minute. That’s pure artist, and always a tricky interview— but one that could go really really well!

Here’s one interview Johnny gets criticised for, from I think 2007? Johnny gets asked questions regarding press about him, and he gets quite uncomfortable and says he’d rather not do it at all. All I see here is someone setting down firm boundaries over something he isn’t comfortable with, which should’ve been applauded! Instead almost universally the mood in the studio (and in the 16 year old comment section) is sour, there are people calling him a diva for politely saying he’s uncomfortable with and doesn’t want to dignify lies about himself written in the press— some of which the interviewers say they’ve made up for a laugh. Johnny says he’d rather they moved on, and they’re like 😐 we don’t have any more questions, we have a minute to fill.

Like that’s not Johnny Borrell’s job? Good on him for standing up for himself, the interviewers should’ve had backup questions. It’s so awkward, not because a musician set down boundaries but because the interviewers then made it awkward! Goodness, if that happened to me I think a TV Interviewer would never see me again. This is the kind of shit that made Godspeed stop doing interviews entirely.

In contrast, here’s an interview Johnny did with Face Culture in 2018 where he’s perfectly forthcoming and extremely pleasant (it’s more recent as well, which could be a confounding factor). He even said at the end when he’s called away for soundcheck, that’s a shame, I could’ve talked longer, I really enjoyed that, thanks for the intelligent questions.

I think he gets unfairly maligned in the press, and it’s a bad cycle that keeps spinning faster— one bad interview and suddenly journalists (especially non-music ones) are approaching you with that predator-out-on-the-prowl attitude and you’re cooked then because they can write what they please. They can make things awkward where there was no right to be awkwardness. Things like that.

So i think Johnny is okay, and particularly as campus radio, as someone with literally 0 agenda other than I want to talk about music to you, and as someone who is digging deep now and doing my homework, I think I should be fine. So I want to reach out (scared), if we do get the interview I hope he’s feeling great! He’s an interesting fella and if it works out, this could be the biggest interview of my (nonexistent) career so far.

[buqbite]

ok so!!!! i have. so many thoughts about penacony. aventurine the man you are...... his obsession with facades and masks... his future self shit talking him.... 2.1 truly delivered. his dynamic with ratio is also so interesting.... the contrasts... aven not taking care of himself at all vs ratio the self care king........

there's so much unexplored potential for a friendship between acheron and aven... their similarities as people who lost everything ... how acheron works in the shadows and aventurine flaunts himself yet acheron is much more willing to be... openly vulnerable about her past? as compared to aven..... i care them both dearly anyway!!! i have many thoughts on 2.2 but i don't want to intrude or make this too long ajshldfkjasdjf but yes!!!! im having a good time so far (though i'm kinda fed up with the sunday boss fight) and !!!! looking forward to meeting aven again (myriad celestia trailer!) + seeing what other adventures the astral express goes on...

I FORGOT TO REPLY SORRY

aventurine is just such a fun guy. i become attached to characters who try to sell a specific image of themselves pretty much immediately, because the gradual detachment from their own identity and struggle to properly connect with others is always a delight to see. and aven does it so well! he's completely out of touch with himself - kakavasha and aventurine are practically different people by now.

i care deeply about depictions of cptsd in media, particularly when they acknowledge that it really isnt just depression + anxiety + flashback induced panic attacks in a spot the person you ship them with can conveniently find them in and calm them down. such a big part of it is the way it can completely fuck up your self-concept and worldview cuz yknow. your brain structure is altered. it's the key factor in that disconnect that i just talked about. and that constant sense of impending doom and emptiness are a part of that, which often leads to stupidly reckless behavior. i don't even need to bring up aven's whole gambling thing here, do i?

(also please do note that, as i wrote this bit, welt was even further on the forefront of my mind than he usually is. because of course he would be)

him and ratio are also a fun match, because ratio does not care for the way aventurine flaunts himself (to pretend he has his shit together) in the slightest. he'd do a good job at getting aven to just... slow down, and wouldn't allow their relationship to develop into something unhealthy either.

(its one of the reasons i like avenpaz + ratio, bc aven and topaz on their own would most certainly enable each other's bad habits. they have a bit too much in common in that regard.)

AND ACHERON. ACHERON...

miss raiden bosenmori mei i love you so damn much. she does the "oh, i'm doomed? my struggle was meaningless? well if nothing matters then i will do what i want" thing so well, and every dynamic she has with the other characters is fascinating to me.

one really big thing to consider is that, since acheron's whole backstory is essentially the bad ending of honkai impact 3rd, she's already seen all of this dreamscape shit. she's been living in the waking world for a long time now. in the quest "when the sacred ginmill closes," her and welt talk about kevin kaslana, someone who used his last resort to try and save humanity from the uphill battle against the honkai and plunge all of humanity into a dreamscape (etc), robbing it of its future.

a big part of hi3 is the direness of the situation, and the way people push themselves to go further and further in hopes of reaching this unattainable peace. it's an absolutely sisyphian task. and acheron let go - she defeated her version of kevin (why would you name him that) and let her homeworld be enveloped by the nihility.

so acheron's been there. she lost the people she loved, struggled against a meaningless end and was changed so irreversibly that she's not even human anymore. and there's a lot of potential for her to properly guide aventurine out of the nihility (i mean that's kind of her job?) and onto a path that's a lot more meaningful to him.

also, i'm saving a lot of my acheron thoughts for when i actually finish hi3, but there's a few dynamics that i could pick apart and think about forever. my favorites being aventurine and his whole (gestures at this post) stuff, black swan as someone whose whole being consists of memories while acheron perpetually erases them, welt as someone who shares the same experiences and black hole related powers, and firefly, who exists in the moment because she can't dream in the first place, and chooses to fight against the inevitable without being afraid of it.

...also also also i fucking love black holes and i love how it's connected to sun imagery and i think the idea of icarus reaching the sun only to discover a hopeless abyss beyond it is my favorite hsr symbolism thing ever. black holes are like THE thing to show hopelessness and meaninglessness and emptiness and a point of no return, because they devour everything and leave nothing. we don't truly know what lies within a black hole!! we might never find out!!! there are so many suns out there that will end up as black holes but we can appreciate their beauty nonetheless, can't we??? ive never seen a character with black hole (or sun) imagery that didn't fuck severely. a person who will figuratively consume you in your entirety if you get too close. they can't even help it. it gets me every single fucking time. can you guys tell that interstellar changed my brain chemistry when i first watched it as a kid. i need to punch a wall

[fandomfluffandfuck]

hey what should I draw, mr.s?

I'm always partial to people and adjacent things, so, maybe some anatomy practice? Shoes? Clothes with interesting textures/shine/folds? Expressions? I don't know! Or...

Don't try to draw anything.

Listen, that sounds so fucking weird, but one of my friends encouraged me to try intuitive art where you just aimlessly do shit except for what you feel is right. Inuiting it. Scribble, make circles, dashes, lines, etc., whatever, there's no wrong way to do it. Just do it. Do what feels right. It doesn't have to be representative of anything, not an emotion or story, but it can be if you want to, too. Whatever. Use an art medium you're familiar with using or not. Use kids' crayons, use expensive, nice watercolors, either extreme or somewhere in between. There's no wrong way to do it.

I thought that sounded interesting when I was introduced to the concept first, and god knows I have enough sketchbooks unused lying around to experiement in. So I just picked up a sketchbook that someone distant in my family gave me who knows nothing about art, and nothing about the art I specifically make, so it's too small of a book for what I usually do and I don't particularly like the paper within it, so I was, like, whatever, okay, I'll "ruin" this book. And I just started scribbling.

I will say I don't love love love anything I've made yet, but I don't hate it the way I thought I would as a realistic artist that is very much a perfectionist. I've really only spent, like, 30 minutes of time (tops) on the intuitive drawings when I'm already spending 5+ hours to work on my actual pieces daily. So, it's low stakes. It's easy. But. It's still so interesting. It's been so good for me, even if I don't love the outcome, y'know? The process is fun or, at least, nice and flow-like. It's a good way to start or end a drawing session, I've found.

Shit, though, I made fucking magic this afternoon on complete accident! So, okay, maybe I do like that outcome of that scribble in particular. Even if it is a little embarrassing as a mess of smeared pink and red crayons in blurry squiggles and almost heart shapes. It's chaotic, and it happened because I got stuck thinking about my old best friend, whom I knew from 1st grade until high school. He, to say the least, was not a fucking good friend as it turned out. Yet, time puts rose colored glasses on you, and so sometimes I wonder about him. Sometimes, I even miss him, though I know it isn't real what I miss. (I also might have been in love with him? I don't know even know, and that's a whole can of worms.) That being said, I tore through a page with that intuitive art and... I was truly just scribbling, not trying to make anything representative. In the end, though, I made this lighter background with a very prominent, darker scribble in the abstract shape of the first letter of his name. I didn't do that. Not consciously. So, fuck, I was astounded when I looked down at it, feeling like I was finished, to see that letter. What the shit? I hate when art does these things to me 💀💀 Fine. I'm lying. It's very cool in an indescribable kind of way.

(Did I then immediately go on to start another page and make a vaguely disturbing scribble with lots of eyes and loose teeth and bloody looking smears that I also did not intend to make look like that? Yes. Is that besides the point? Yes.) ((Also, funnier, did I make something the day before yesterday that was undeniably vagina-shaped? Also, yes. It's an adventure out here, lmao.))

Whatever you do, get out there and do it, baby!! Draw! Be meticulous or chaotic! There's no rules!

[azreactstowormtheserial]

Overboard [8.1-11.8]

SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR THE SCROLL WHEN YOU HIT KEEP READING

--Yeah... Sorry for not keeping to that 'one arc at a time' promise. But whilst I'm in medical-recovery mode I have nothing better to do than Worm [The Serial] my afternoons away.

And look at that! I'm 1/3 through all of the main story. At least, by Arc-No. ? My friend said come the end of Arc 8, I'd graduated from 'Early Worm'. Should I be scared or happy to be gradually approaching 'Late Worm'?

Speaking of.

ARC 8 -- EXTERMINATION

Title Accurate.

ARC 9 -- SE

Okay, okay. I'll talk about Arc 8. It's a little weird to talk about as a whole. Way easier in the moment, reacting to things as they happen.

"1 in 4 of you (at least) will die."

Tattletale "down".

Aegis, Gallant, Iron Falcon, Mr. G,

Taylor -breaking her spine -- she could have died!

And I thought I couldn't handle the stress of the inter-group dynamic potentially crumbling at the end of Arc 7. Don't worry, we'll get to that.

The endbringers are a terrifying concept. Like, what do you do? Wear it down, hundreds dying to prevent hundreds of thousands from dying, only for it to recover for a few years, months, who knows-- before it attacks somewhere else, almost unprompted?

Almost. I have no idea what it was doing, edging slowly towards Coil's base like a fucking NGE Angel. That's almost as scary.

It just, picked people off. Indiscriminantly.

Kaiser. A powerful, influential-- horrible excuse for a human being, but still, a major player-- he's just dead! Just like that!

I'd started to like a few of The Wards towards the the end of Arc 6, I think. At first it was easy to group them into a 'haha these kids don't know any better, they're really snot-nosed about being heroes'-- which feels a lot nicer a label than what's actually happening.

They're just kids! 15, 16, Vista is 13. 13! Kids that've had a traumatic past, in one way or another. Up against, and dying to, an existential threat. Sentinel really helped put this into perspective.

I'd love to talk about individual moments that I thought were cool; Tattletale's analysis of Leviathan, The truce between heroes and villains, Clockblocker absolutely stepping the fuck up and pretty much clutching the entire fight. But I need to talk about Armsmaster.

(These few lines saved me.)

ARMSMASTER. You horrific excuse for a human being. Jeopardizing CHILDREN'S LIVES, YOUR COMRADES LIVES, PEOPLE'S LIVES-- AND FOR WHAT!?!?!?!?

WAIT NO STOP NO

I absolutely hate this fucking guy. How do you ruin everything in the middle of a natural(?) disaster killing thousands.

(Did I mention Shadow Stalker is Sophia. Huh. That's interesting! I'm sure it won't come up again.)

The arc ends really bittersweet.

I'm really sorry, Bitch. Showing up and saving Taylor was an amazing moment, but that's over half of your closest family, just gone.

But, I totally called it.

I know I wanted to take a break after all that, but I couldn't just leave it at "I told her my answer." -- I had to find out what it was!! So, after a few hours of psyching myself up, I got straight into the Interlude.

ARC 8 -- INTERLUDE [COIL]

How do you beat Coil? What -happened- to Coil to give him this power? Applied perfectly, his power makes him practically invulnerable. One of his only weak points being the immediacy after closing his second universe.

I still don't know how to feel about Coil. He's said in vague terms that his plan for Brockton Bay was to improve. Taylor, I think, took this to mean that people's livelihoods would be better. People would have food, shelter, water. But it's so difficult to tell, even with a direct view into his mind like this interlude gave. All I know is that this is a plan he's put a considerable amount of time and his life towards-- it has to mean a lot to him and he has to be strong in his ideals. I only hope that he isn't utterly insane.

Because if he is? If his motives are 'evil', unjust-- if you can even say they have the potential to be just, with how he operates-- I don't know if anyone can beat him.

...

Shit.

ARC 9 -- SENTINEL

This arc was nice. The breather I needed, and was worried I wouldn't get, after Arc 8's Interlude.

I mentioned that I'd started to like The Wards a little earlier in the story, so the emotional beats really worked here for me. And even if I didn't, this arc'd easily have been a turning point.

\=====

[Az.Interlude: Obligatory Wards (And Co.) Tier List]

Bold means #1 in each thing if there's more than 1.

S [Super :)] - Flechette, Glory Girl, ****Shadow Stalker****, Vista

A [A cool character] - *Clockblocker, Gallant, Kid Win, Panacea, ****Weld***

B [Baegis Tier] - Aegis

C [Cant Remember] - Browbeat

(Sorry Browbeat, who apparently died offscreen in Arc 8.)

\====

I say it's nice, but really we're just seeing a few kids grieve the deaths of their friends. Is that what 'nice' is, in Worm?

Sophia/Shadow Stalker is growing into a more and more interesting character. Though everyone got their fair share of attention, I found her scenes, like the one with Flechette in 9.2, quite interesting.

I* think something really awful happened to Shadow Stalker. *

A lot of my thoughts on Arc 9 I think are just snippets at characters I like. I really liked Weld, and felt 'kinda bad for him. He's trying his best! He's just walking into all this mess.

Vista's chapter made me cry. She's so strong for standing up to Shadow Stalker like that! And the story's tackling on trying to 'fill in' somebody's role after they've passed really hit me like a freight train.

\====

[Az.Interlude 2: Now Obligatory Protectorate (and Dragon) Tier List]

S [This is actually based off of the arc 10 interlude, wait for that.] - Dragon

A [Assault- Oh] - Miss Militia

B [Battery] - Battery

C [Cool? I think?] - Assault, Triumph, Velocity

D ['Dunno] - [Anyone who I haven't remembered. I don't know that many...]

F [Fucking Armsmaster] - Guess who

\====

9.3 was a nifty chapter, too. It's probably the only instance of a 'character are bored in an exposition-lecture' that I've actually thought was pretty well done?

Also, it's nice to get some Clockblocker characterisation. He gets a pass for his flaws because of his context. I do hope his dad ends up getting healed-- but the scenario as a whole really makes me feel for Amy/Panacea. There's so much suffering in the world, and it's -technically- preventable. Just through her. How much of a weight on her shoulders is that?

\====

[Az.Interlude 3: Favorite Arcs]

S - [Super Good Arc] [4. Shell] [8. Extermination] [9. Sentinel] [10. Parasite.]

A [A really good Arc] - [11. Infestation] [6. Tangle] [7. Buzz]

B [Breally good] - [1. Gestation] [2. Insinuation] [3. Agitation]

\====

(See what I'm doing there, by the way? Interlude Arc? Load of Interlude Tier lists? Whatever.) KID WIN ADHD TINKER REP!!!!

I think that's my cue to hop on over to

ARC 10 -- PARASITE

Okay, sure, sure-- Taylor's back, but on uneasy terms, swallowing her pride, sure--

ALEC. ALEC! I THOUGHT YOU JUST MADE PEOPLE TRIP! And I thought even how -that- power was utilized was a little horrifying. This is just... I mean. I'll talk about it some more in the interlude.

Hi Imp! It's nice to meet you! Where'd you come from? Or maybe she was here the whole time, and that's her power--

Imp's neat. I like her power, and I'm hoping we see more of her! She doesn't quite live up to the rest of the gang just yet, but, I mean-- they've been around 9 more arcs. I was wondering if The Undersiders were going to recruit some more members...

This Arc's short but sweet. An infiltration à la the bank robbery, some fights with some superheroes-- and, Dragon!!! Dragon is so cool!!! I love Dragon!!!! We'll get there!!!!

I expected Bitch and Taylor to have a proper confrontation about everything, but... She really just sabotaged her mid-mission? Taylor's beatdown of her was unfortunately deserved-- like, c'mon. You're hurt. More than any of the others, really. But you didn't even 'eye for an eye' her, you went ahead and 'eye for a head' or whatever the relevant saying'd be. I

*really

* hope she takes her up on that offer.

Everything was going alright, even if Dragon'd appeared and made the escape a little tricky. And, oh. A meeting with Coil. Maybe Taylor can hash things out, and come up with a deal that reflects her--

So. That's one way to make an impression of a new overarching villain group. What the actual fuck, Jack. The absolute balls of this reveal-- I have no idea what to make of it, and already Jack just in how he's been described in passing, and-- this-- already made me clock him as a huge threat. I can't wait to see how this goes. I'm sure it'll go great. I'm sure.

ARC 10 -- INTERLUDE [ALEC]

Alec, alecalecalec-- What the actual fuck. I really should have thought twice when Lisa clocked you as a sociopath on first sight. This chapter was scary. Even Sophia doesn't deserve that. The "breach of privacy" -- if you can even -call- it that, with how far it went, made me sick to my stomach.

It's 'kinda crazy that this is just something that continued word-for-word from an earlier chapter. What else has happened directly after Taylor's POV left a scene? What has she missed?

I'm sure this won't come back to bite Taylor in the ass.

Or that.

I think something really awful happened to Shadow Stalker. [2]

Even after all that. I still like Alec. I think. In his own, fucked up, twisted way, he's getting payback for Taylor. He just has no limit. And, I mean-- he is still a kid. That had a horrendous, abuse-ridden upbringing. I don't know. I'm allowed to have complicated feelings about the main cast!

ARC 10 -- INTERLUDE [DRAGON]

Dragon, on the other hand, is objectively fucking cool. She's not even human! What?! It's 2011! Or something like that. I'm a bit of a dork for the 'kinda stuff that the opening third of this chapter was. That it was layered with limitations, purposeful, intended ones that dig under Dragon's skin at all times-- that she's keeping this a secret from even her closest co-workers-- only made me root for her character even more. I'm hoping she's, uh. 'One of the good ones'? Is that how you'd put it? Weird considering she's a hero, but--

*Armsmaster. *Come on.

Oh, look. It came back to bite Taylor in the ass.

Taylor in Arc 11 ruminates on how she'd face losing her civillian identity. But I don't think she quite understands the ramification of it just yet. This is the beginning of the end, in that regard-- Dragon found her.

I'll try not to gush about an interlude too much just to get to Arc 11 and wrap up this post before the day's over, so I'll just leave it at:

*The conversation between Lung and Marquis was very interesting. ****I hope Amy is okay.***

Arc 11 -- INFESTATION (I haven't read the interludes yet! I thought the final base-11 was a good place to stop.)

The Merchants are pretty fucked up, huh? 'Might makes Right' as an actual group philosphy never works. And I don't think the leader's are -that- stupid. I wonder what their deal is?

And, yeah. I'll finally bring it up, Worm. You've got me. *I'm interested in whatever the fuck Case 53 is. *And so is Faultine, apparently. Let's hope they stay in touch with Lisa.

Skitter taking over her territory was rad. She'll make a great monarch! (Queen bee? Is there an insect joke you can make here?)

Whatever my views about how things should be handled, Taylor's helping people in the here and now, and keeping groups like The Merchants out. Helping families. I think what she's doing is right.

And, for once, it all works out! Not without a hitch. Or an underlying dread. Taylor being the arbiter of one of the more straight up 'bad' Merchant's fate is a little telling that her moral's have shifted, somewhat. She's more comfortable leaving someone to die than insisting they have the right to a fair trial, etc-- even if the situtation did totally call for it.

Faultline's crew showing up was neat. I don't think I've mentioned Labyrinth, actually. Her and Newter are my favorite of Faultline's crew. I might go back and re-read Gregor's interlude, just for another look at how Faultline runs things.

And, my god. Brian finally picked up some slack, after some nudging via Lisa. Good on her. The dynamic needs some work from the both of them to build up the trust they once had. But they'll be friends in no time. I hope. Everything's working out.

...

*Oh my god, No, Taylor you can't ****say it!***

Everything is going to go to shit, isn't it?

I don't want to read on anymore. Can't it stop right here? Taylor won, got her friends back? Please?

See you all on the other side. Promise it won't take as long.

[remyfire]

A kiss to the inner thigh and whatever other kisses you feel like adding- Charles/Hawkeye

(WE FINALLY DID IT, EVERYBODY, baby's first hawkchester.

I rolled one more for you, so you get! A tentative kiss! I couldn't resist that. I haven't written hawkchester until now because Charles intimidates me so much as a character, but I'm steadily gaining confidence in his dialogue. So hopefully more of them soon!)

"Charles, do I ever ask you for anything?"

"Around seven-point-six times a week, on average," Charles drawls as he turns the page of his medical journal, never once glancing away from the page.

"How's that even figure out?" Hawk demands from behind him. "You don't have the numbers. When's the last time I asked?"

Still, he doesn't spare Hawkeye so much as a glance. "This morning, you told me to budge over so you and Hunnicutt could share your inane little quibbles about the duty roster."

"That doesn't count. That's barely—I-I would've asked anybody for that. That's not a you-specific thing."

"Yesterday, you needed to borrow my pen."

"To write on a chart!" Hawk exclaims, sweeping his arm through the air. "Is it my fault my pen ran out of ink?"

"A true professional," Charles intones dramatically, "would never be without a spare."

"Y-You're so—"

"And, for that matter, a man who swears his devotion to the medical practice must be prepared to tend to his duties." Charles finally gives one single look over his shoulder, viewing Hawk from the corner of his eye. "Not scheduling his rendezvous during his assigned shift in post-op."

Hawkeye circles around to Charles's desk and slaps his hand on the surface to head off his point. "It's with Gwen. For the love of God, how many times do I have to miss a date with Gwen before one of you assholes gives me a break?"

Charles, it appears, is utterly unimpressed, simply staring up at him as he clicks his tongue. "Steady. If you spend so much of your time disappointing women..." He considers, glancing toward the wall of the tent. "Mm. On second thought, if we consider the gossip..."

The nerve of him. Though he knows full well words like that are only used to wind him up, the bite of acid stings his tongue all the same. "Hah. Right. Like you're hearing a single word on the gossip train when the nurses won't even give you the time of day."

It's frankly insulting that Charles could sting Hawk like that, then look so completely unaffected by a returned barb. He doesn't even reply. Just goes back to his academic reading like, like he's...

All right. It's not the first time Hawk's had thoughts about him. Notions, even. It was those same mental experiments that led Hawkeye down interesting paths with Trapper, for instance, ones that served them both exquisitely well for the time they had together. He's run games like that with plenty of men—with MPs, aid station medics, and that one extremely interesting occasion with Scully—but he'd never felt bold enough to actually make a move on someone like Charles.

Because it would make sense, wouldn't it? How quickly him and Margaret fizzled out, if they even started down a path together at all. His trouble with finding evening companionship that will have him. God, Charles is in his cot every fucking night, just like BJ, and with a hell of a lot less incentive to be there.

So he...he wonders. He thinks about it sometimes. He...

Yeah. Yeah, okay, he would. Hawk would, absolutely, even if just to push his buttons. To tug strings.

In moments like this, when a concept grabs him, Hawk has trouble surfacing from it, gets so tightly caught in a loop that barely five seconds have gone by, and yet he's spent a lifetime wonderingwonderingwondering, and he's tapping his foot, and he's drumming his fingers on the desk, and—

"What if we make a deal?" Hawk asks.

"You have nothing that could possibly interest me," Charles replies.

Hawk's mouth waters. He swallows. "You haven't even heard my offer."

"Because I already know that it will not interest me."

Undeterred, chest tight, Hawk circles around behind his chair. He grabs the back of it and with all his frail little might, he manages to drag it back a couple of inches.

Charles splutters. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Presenting my case." Hawkeye even manages to sound unstrained, miraculously—he hopes, at least. As he comes back around, there's just enough room to bump past Charles's knees, meet his eyes, and sink down to the floor.

There's such a radical moment of stillness from Charles that Hawk could almost believe that time might've come to a stop. It's not rare to see Charles completely absorbed in his passions, unmoving as he appreciates them with a depth that Hawkeye will sometimes catch himself watching endlessly in return, but this is quite different. It's like for the very first time, Charles is seeing something about Hawkeye, and his body has frozen to allow his racing mind to catch up.

Hawk laces his hands around Charles's calves, giving them a slow rub up and down along rough fatigues. They're not as soft as he might expect when compared to the man's more plush thighs and round stomach. No, there's a rock hard strength in them just like the nurses, like Colonel Potter and BJ both. As much as Charles could be read as a man of utter luxury, he works as hard as the rest of them. He doesn't shirk his duty.

Almost regrettably, Hawk admires that.

He travels higher, easing Charles's legs a little further apart, but he doesn't look down at his goal yet. He already knows he's going to enjoy this—takes a personal pride in his excellent service in this regard. He's very oral. What can he say?

But while Hawk's well familiar with how men will sweat or squirm or even grab him and yank him toward their cock, Charles simply watches him, brow furrowing, like he's...what? A puzzle that needs to be solved? Or an ant crawling up his pant leg?

Hawkeye's mind still hasn't slowed. He was counting on getting his mouth on Charles's dick to make that part happen. But now it rushes ever onward, wondering if it's maybe kind of a shitty sign that he can't read Charles's curiosity from his disdain, and wouldn't that be unfortunate? If not even Hawk's particular skill at pleasing a man could make someone like this—who views everyone around him as imbeciles—thaw?

Somehow he hadn't considered the possibility that after all these months of Hawkeye's irritation beginning to melt into some degree of respect, perhaps Charles still saw Hawkeye as a boy playing doctor, and nothing more.

Hawk's breathing a little too fast now. He gulps down his sudden trepidation as best as he can and leans in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Charles's thigh. There's an interesting flutter of eyelashes above him, which seems promising, but the second he glances down, he sees...nothing. Not even the slightest hint of arousal. And he's thinking far too fast for the possibility that he might just need to tease him a bit more.

He knows what he is. Knows the picture he presents. He's pretty enough to be a girl, but his facial angles are masculine enough to be a boy. He can play whatever role someone might need. But he never foresaw the possibility that someone might not want either.

Fingers suddenly find Hawkeye's hair, and they thread through the strands with an elegance that he's unfamiliar with feeling during this act, the kind that half-makes Hawk want to spit on him. It wouldn't take much to read condescension in the gesture. On any given day, it all but drips out of this man's every pore. "Pierce, perhaps these methods are all it takes to sway your endless revolving door of lovers to your whims. But on me, you'll find it's quite ineffective."

Hawk rolls his eyes. Tends to the faint slice through his ribs, the one that nicks the edge of his heart. No, yeah, he realizes that. There's not a bit of lift to be seen. It's actually hilarious how the insult hits him faster than the fear which should rise to the surface. If he just made a move on a normal fellow—completely misread his suspected proclivities—then he could have a hell of a lot more to lose than just a midnight tryst with Gwen.

"I do admit I find your eagerness to sell yourself quite interesting," Charles murmurs.

Hawk sinks his fingers into Charles's pillowy thighs as leverage to start standing up. "You about to take lessons from Sidney?"

Charles tuts out a little laugh. "Oh, hardly." But suddenly his hand shifts, his broad palm dragging over Hawk's cheek, and the intention and warmth there bring him to a sudden stop when they're at eye level. Charles shakes his head with amusement beaming from his eyes. "I have no use for that variety of, ah, pseudoscience."

The interwoven combination of annoyance and attraction strikes him again. "And I'm sure he's crying himself to sleep over it every night."

For once, Charles doesn't have an immediate retort. He tilts his head to the side, and as his glimmering gaze traces along Hawkeye's face, he can feel every inch as he covers it.

"Try not to take it personally, Pierce," Charles finally murmurs. "I'm so rarely stirred at all. Even your best efforts would serve little purpose."

It's interesting that he won't drop it. Hawk chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, and when Charles's eyes leap to that action, his heart rate skyrockets. As they watch each other, focused on different facial quadrants, an interesting fact occurs to Hawkeye that he can't help but mention. "So why are your cheeks getting so red?"

Charles huffs. His eyebrows rise. "Unfortunately, you are mistaken. See, Winchesters never flush, we—"

As Hawkeye bobs forward, Charles goes deathly silent. Hawk waits. He looks for any feasible sign that he's making a mistake. But when no snide comment is forthcoming, he leans in far slower, and when Charles doesn't so much as move the hand off of his jaw, Hawk settles his weight gently with fingers on his other forearm.

The kiss is gentle. Honestly, it's one of the sweetest that Hawkeye can remember giving in recent memory. And when Charles's mouth doesn't even slightly move beneath his, Hawk pulls back, hesitant, hovering an inch away as he sucks in a deep breath and forces himself to meet those blue eyes.

Charles's lips part. "I..."

"Yeah?" Hawk coaxes quietly.

Charles clears his throat. He shakes his head a little, as though clearing it, then speaks just as softly. "I'm unable to fill your shift for you."

Right. Right. This is a deal. They're bargaining, and Hawkeye is losing. He'd forgotten that part. Forgotten Gwen. Forgotten where they even fucking are. He gives a tiny nod. "Uh-huh." And his mind returns to running rapid calculations for exactly how much trouble he might be in as he continues to stand back to his full height.

"Are you on duty next Saturday night?" Charles asks.

Hawk feels almost dizzy with how much he might've just fucked up his life, and for what? For a pair of pretty eyes? For a brilliant mind and words that so often taste like vinegar? He's a fool. "No," he just barely manages to say.

"Neither am I."

Hawkeye starts to walk away, then pauses. Blinks. He slowly turns on his heel. "Oh yeah?"

Charles doesn't look at him as he returns to his journal. "Quite."

Three long seconds pass. "That's interesting."

"Mm."

C'mon, Hawk wants to say. I just tried to blow you and you barely reacted. I just kissed you and you didn't kiss me back. You can't make me do everything.

But his fingers are tingling. And if he had patience before this war, it vanished barely a week in. Hawk chances, "So maybe we'll see each other."

"I'll be here," Charles simply replies.

Hawkeye huffs in shocked amusement. Okay, so apparently that's all he's gonna get. But it's...it's something, isn't it?

He hovers for a few moments more, staring at the back of the man's head, before he stumbles out into the camp, days worth of thoughts stampeding ahead of him. He's got one date to reschedule, and apparently he's got a new one he wasn't even fucking planning for with a puzzle he might never understand.

[crypticcupid]

Timeline for the DinYonRil

(How would you make a ship name for them???)

Art by @/zipperqwerty

Yonny realizes he's a boy sometime when Dingo and him are kids on their home planet. Dingo is chill with it, he would have been best friends with him regardless as he's the only one that can match his curiosity for getting into situations.

They get older and Yonny realizes he likes guys, specifically he likes Dingo. He tries asking Dingo if he's interested in guys and Dingo's like "Nah I don't think so".

Yonny takes his L, shoves it away, and focuses on graduating. Nothing is really weird between them after that but Yonny doesn't fully get over his crush and Dingo is still as close to him as ever.

Fast Forward to the current events of Pik4. Rill unofficially joins the Rescue Corp. as they have prior expirenece with PNF-404.

Dingo and Rill start beefing hard as fuck because they are both competitive but for vastly different reasons. (Dingo because he has a crush on Shepard and Rill because he loves to be right.)

Yonny and Rill on the other hand start getting along veryyyy quickly.

Especially when they both realize each other as Trans then they get super attached and eventually start sneaky dating. (For shits, for giggles)

During this time Dingo realizes. A FEW THINGS.

-1: Shepard is not going to like him back, take the L my boy.

-2: MAYBE IT'S NOT NORMAL TO IMAGINE YOURSELF IN THE GIRLS SPOT WHEN YOU'RE WATCHING A ROMANCE MOVIE. Also it's normal to have an inspo board of men to get buff like but if you start starring really long at it and getting flushed sometimes maybe you are gay just saying-

Dingo basically was so apathetic growing up to the concept of gender and sexuality that he just picked the defaults and went on his way. And now he feels odd processing that he might not be that.

To add to the conundrum; he's realizing just how much he loves being with Yonny side by side and how much he enjoys the sweet moments Rill gives him. (Despite their bickering)

It does not help that he is having some odd ass dreams about the two and he's stressed about this now because okay? He doesn't exclusively like girls and might like boys…. Okay but why did the first boys he have to realize he may like be his best friend and his best friend's boyfriend?

During this, at some point Yonny tells Rill about his prior super crush/still sort of back seating feelings about Dingo. Rill is just like "… Yeah I get it actually. "

Dingo is starting to get frustrated because he wants to ask his best friend. But Yonny is taken and still probably thinks he's straight and he doesn't want Yonny to think he's being weird because he's trans.

Kind of reaches a tipping point because for a bit him and Rill were getting friendly but now he doesn't know what to do with himself and so their prior "friendly sparring" practices get more heated.

Unfortunately, Rill misses the social cues that Dingo is pissed and takes it as him playing rougher. Rill likes playing rough very much. He bites Dingo a little too hard and Dingo out of knee-jerk and adrenaline knocks Rill upside the head.

They both end up on Yonny's med bay and he's pissed because this was just ridiculous.

Dingo has been acting so weird the past week and Rill is sitting in the medbay with them while they argue with an ice pack over their head and eyes just chilling and listening. He really did not know Dingo was mad so he's kind of processing everything at the same rate Internet Explore boots up.

Eventually Yonny pokes enough for Dingo to just breakdown and confess that he likes them both, a lot, but he didn't want them to think he viewed them as any different than guys because he is just now having the revelations.

Everyone is slowly processing this information and Yonny is still pissed because "Okay but you're my best friend, you should have told me!".

Everyone steps away to collect their thoughts. Yonny is especially mauling over it and Dingo is kicking himself over how bad he handled every aspect of that.

At some point Rill is like "Yonny you should give him a shot." Yonny assumes Rill is in fact concussed. But Rill explains that since that was his first love they should both get to try each other. Rill is a hopeless romantic.

Yonny asking if that means he wants to break up and Rill is like "Well I didn't mean like that, I meant I'm chill with sharing". Yonny deserves 2 bastards.

Yonny decides that Rill at least raises a good point in that they should try it and nothing much worse than the other argument could happen so yeah okay sure.

Yonny and Dingo start also going out which is a little funny because the other crew members had previously thought they were dating at a point in the pass.

Rill is fine with time apart because even though him and Yonny both love being in each other's personal space, Rill gets time to chill with the others and the Pikmin.

Eventually though Rill does start getting super affectionate to Dingo as well. The boyfriend of my boyfriend can also be my boyfriend mentality.

Dingo somehow gets his fantasy of having both the guys he thought were hot.

Yonny gets his first love returned as well as a boyfriend that shares his experiences.

Rill gets pampered between two guys that treat him like he's a respectable and smart individual.

Everyone wins. And also teach Dingo to start communicating a bit more clearly. Lol