#and just so much goddamn pressure - like bad shit is happening out there and he’s not doing anything

[lonlonranching]

If I get really into bnha again would y’all be mad at me 👉🏻👈🏻

[charcubed]

I have soooooo much I want to write about Doctor Odyssey and if I keep waiting for the perfect moment to write something PROPERLY GOOD AND COMPREHENSIVE then I’m simply going to explode. So instead I’m going to write a messy little post on my phone when half asleep and try to keep it to one main topic.

Yeah yeah the throuple had a threesome (and I’m foaming at the mouth over it) but can we talk about the THEMES!!!!

This show is for crazy people (me specifically). Once again, I have a lot to say, but for now let me just focus on the wedding episode itself. That threesome is informed by the context of the rest of the episode in a way I simply CANNOT get over.

Let’s look at our passengers: the bride, groom, and best man. We find out all of them are being unfaithful to each other in various ways, miserable in their silence and unhealthy relationship dynamics. They all went to school together and were once close, but things went wrong somewhere along the way. The best man’s speech implies he has feelings for the groom, the groom is a sex addict who’s had multiple partners (possibly the best man included) because he feels trapped in a lie, and the bride and best man are having sex with each other. And none of them are communicating about it, and the groom who had preexisting mental health struggles commits suicide.

What happens to the three of them is a tragedy and it is absolutely a result of heteronormative monogamous culture. That culture was passed down from the bride’s mother to her too by example and societal influence.

I’m not exaggerating. It’s not subtle!!! At all!!! Everything explodes for those passengers because monogamy and repressing bisexuality wasn’t working for them.

They’re a dark mirror and cautionary tale. (Bonus points for how Avery’s sad backstory is that she was betrayed by her longtime friend / brief husband who cheated on her with a mutual friend as well, which is why she’s definitely hesitant about love now.)

By comparison, Avery and Max and Tristan have been avoiding some similar big pitfalls: they know they’re into each other and it’s not a secret, rivalries keep being squashed with effort, and no one is pressuring anyone to choose (so far).

This is what our beloved main characters have on their minds before what follows. And again, let’s not even get to the sex part yet… THE BUCKET LISTS!!! I’m losing my Goddamn marbles!!! The way all 3 of their lists intersect? Holy shit. Off the top of my head: Max and Tristan want to fall in love and have kids, Avery and Max want to see the world, Tristan and Avery have niche interests outside of medicine that they want to explore more… We were given itemized lists to show how the 3 of them balance and round each other out perfectly.

It’s not about any 2 of them because it won’t work with just any 2. It’s ALL THREE — just like all the framing and blocking of shots is consistently all 3, they walked down the wedding aisle all 3 together, the first sex scene for any of them that WE as the audience see on screen is all 3 of them together, a “bad threesome” is defined as 2 people getting too wrapped up in each other and the 3rd being an accidental outsider, we often see that if one duo gets a couple-y moment then the other duos get similar moments later as well, etc etc. Sorry. Let me not continue the summary list here and now so I don’t get too sidetracked but there’s A LOT.

But like, my current point? That wedding episode is a goldmine and the threesome explicitly happening doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Far from it. The themes are themeing in the whole show, of course, which is part of what I want to write about elsewhere at some point too: this show is repeatedly very deliberate about making sure heterosexuality or monogamy aren’t framed as the default or only correct options, and queerness is sprinkled everywhere. But this wedding episode specifically… the themes were nearly the ONLY PLOT. Nothing else — it’s basically only that, and it’s very focused. The failures of monogamy are on full display. And that’s why and how we get an explicit threesome right after it, which will lead us into how things will continue to develop for our trio.

Now, as for why the threesome happens so relatively quickly? My hot take on that is that general audiences can be stupid and so the creators wanted to put the throuple explicitly on screen fairly early to get people to start Noticing. Show them how the characters need to be together… and that sets us up for the possible angst and tension to follow as they have to accept it emotionally for themselves too. Now, as an audience member, you’ll more strongly know what to root for. You’ll know what’s right because you’ve seen it and you’ll want them to get back to that place, come what may. (If you’re not a puritan.)

It’s so fucking good. Insane silly show for insane people. Are we seeing the vision??? I need everyone to lock in.

This ramble is probably a disaster and I apologize for that but ohhhh man I had to put SOME words down so I wouldn’t explode. Suffice it to say I’m having a ball up in this bitch and I cannot believe this show exists. I couldn’t believe my eyes and my brain cells in the pilot, and I REALLY can’t believe them now.

What a time to be alive!!!!!! Polycule “love fest” on a cruise ship, baby!!! The world needs more love, all kinds of love, as the Captain says!!!! Onward to gay week!!!! LET’S SEE THOSE BI MEN KISS

[neo--queen--serenity]

Rewatching this series has allowed me to notice the quite frankly hilarious exchange between Kunikida & Jun’ichirou during Atsushi’s entrance exam.

Jun’ichirou is trying to act tough with threatening Kunikida until he—out of nowhere, says this shit:

And Kunikida, understandably, is like excuse me??

Now, you can see the exact moment Jun’ichirou realizes he fucked up. Idk how much improv experience Tanizaki has, but I doubt he intended to make his demand that kinky, and it shows.

But it’s too late to change his bad boy act now, so he doubles down.

At this point, you can tell Kunikida takes a moment to lower his blood pressure, before he just resigns with a “this may as well happen” sort of face.

Like IMAGINE. You tell your colleague to pretend to be a psycho bomber and he asks you to do THIS shit??? Like Tanizaki do you have something you wanna share with the class?

You gotta hand it to Kunikida for keeping a straight face the whole time though, goddamn. He may be a tightass, but he committed to that role.

[fbfh]

older!logan x reader hcs

wc: 1.6k

genre: age gap, sort of sugar daddy logan

warnings: big (but legal) age gap, logan is early 40s reader is like early 20s, brief odette mention, logan is a killer lawyer, rory kinda traumatized Logan lol, I haven't finished gilmore girls or ayitl yet so don't come for me lol, logan is obsessedddddddd with reader, mildly smutty, mentions of marriage and proposals, your relationship progresses really quickly

summary: you were reading in a coffee shop when a charming gorgeous much older guy decided to strike up a conversation. little do you know that within a very short time that same charming stranger will know your dress size, your shoe size, and your ring size.

song rec: off to the races - lana del rey

a/n: the choke hold older logan has on me..... euthanize me at this point lmao

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280

As with all nsfw works, all characters are aged up to 18+ (like way over 18 in logan’s case lol)

That being said jesus christ let’s dive right into the brain rot

First things first, a little more about Logan

He’s in his early 40’s and aging like a fine goddamn wine

MEGA MEGA dilf vibes

After the whole millions of dollars sunken into a bad investment in his family’s massive media conglomerate mishap, he still faced a lot of pressure to join the family business

But with Rory rejecting his proposal, he felt so fucking down and beaten up by life

He just had two massive blows to his ego back to back

And he needed a win

Then the strangest thing happened 

He just got back from another late night of partying with his friends and switched on the tv so he wouldn’t have to fall asleep with his thoughts, and some random movie was playing

The girl in the movie is at dinner with her boyfriend and thinks he’s going to propose, but he breaks up with her instead

It hits a little too close to home and Logan’s about to switch it off

Then she decides to go to law school to prove herself

He finds himself getting more and more invested in this movie, relating more to Elle with every scene, and by the morning he confronts the idea he’s been shoving away for too long so he doesn’t rock the boat

He talks to his dad and they decide Logan will go to law school, but remain a prominent board member and shareholder of the family company

Mitchum is surprised by how responsible and well thought out Logan’s plan is

He’s forging a path to a very lucrative field - one Mitchum can tell he’s going to be very successful in - while still staying involved enough in the family business 

So Logan goes off to law school, and 20 years later he’s a total shark 

He’s a prestigious, expensive lawyer with a reputation for never losing and a long streak of killing it with really high profile cases

Now the Huntzberger name carries all the weight and power of his father’s media reach, and Logan’s success in the courtroom 

He’s excelling 

And he’s excelling enough to keep his family out of his personal life for a while 

He’s living the bachelor life until he hits 40

That’s when his parents decide it’s really unacceptable that he’s still not married 

So they tell him if he doesn’t get married soon they’ll arrange something

Some french heiress or something 

And Logan finds himself right back where he didn’t want to be

And then, like a gift from god, he sees you

Like I said in my initial drabble, Logan first saw you in a cafe reading some dusty novel no one actually reads like war and peace or crime and punishment or something

He's seen people your age do that before, reading complicated stuffy literature to seem smart and make some pretentious English class commentary that barely makes sense 

So he calls you on it

"War and Peace, huh?"

He’s expecting you to say something fake and pretentious

Some bullshit fake deep pseudo intellectual shit

But you look up at him, only pausing for a moment before you speak

You’re surprised to see such a gorgeous guy in a little cafe like this

Especially one that seems interested in talking to you

And god, the way you talk about it

The way your eyes light up

It takes him by surprise

He's not just interested

He's invested 

You start talking and realize that you've been talking for way longer than you expected to

And he wants more

He wants to know more about you, wants to see you sweet smile and hear your cute little laugh when he says something charming or compliments you

So he takes you out to dinner, his treat 

He guides you out the door and into his Porsche with his hand on your back 

It's a subtle gesture but it makes your stomach flip 

Then he buckles your seat belt for you

If you weren't sold before you sure are by now 

So he takes you to this nice fancy restaurant, wines and dines you, and he is laying on the charm thick

"Oh, come on. A pretty young thing like you must have a boyfriend."

"Really, you have excellent taste.”

You don’t miss the way he’s been eyeing you all night

And he doesn’t miss the way you squeeze your thighs together when he touches your face or plays with your fingers

One thing leads to another and after he pays the bill and leaves a generous tip, you find him ushering you back into his porsche

And yet again he closes your door for you and gets you all buckled in

This time when he drives his hand rests on your knee

He thinks he can handle this

He’s the biggest whore on the east coast /affectionate 

Then you grab his hand and move it up your thigh

There’s no going back now

He’s in just as deep as you are

Before you know it you’re tearing off each other’s clothes

His lips are all over you and motherfucker does he know what he’s doing

He worried for a moment he might have lost his edge

But as he lays you down into his big soft bed, your skin touching his silky sheets for the first time

But definitely not the last

As he finally touches you and feels how wet you are for him

He knows he didn’t peak in college

“Shh, listen,” he says between kisses that make you feel dizzy, “you’re gonna tell me if it’s too much for you, can you do that?”

You nod while he holds your face in his big hands

“You gotta say it,” he chuckles at how sweet you are, how well you respond to him, “use your words, baby…” 

You manage to choke out a desperate yes between kisses that makes his stomach twist

And that is the very beginning to your intense affair with Logan Huntzberger 

He’s desperate to see you again

He sends flowers and a dress and a gorgeous necklace to your apartment

And not the normal amount of flowers

The Logan amount of flowers

So a lot

And you can’t believe your luck finding a hot rich older guy that’s so into you 

You really like this attention

Your daddy issues are SCREAMING

And Logan likes having someone as gorgeous and intelligent and into him as you are

And he wants to do this right

But he’s rapidly approaching the deadline his family set

He doesn’t want to scare you off

GOD that’s the last thing he wants

But he is terrified of proposing and having it end up like it did the last time

Eventually he works up the nerve to talk to you about it 

He’s explaining everything to you while you pay your bills 

But it says they’re already paid

And your credit cards are paid off

And your debt has just disappeared

Even your student loans are gone

And there’s a fat deposit in your checking account 

He paid off all your debt and didn’t tell you

By the time he’s done explaining that you basically either need to get married asap or you can’t see each other anymore he still hasn’t brought it up

And you realize he’s not going to

He didn’t pay your bills to guilt you into anything

He’s not holding it over your head

He’s taking care of you

And all you’ve ever wanted is someone who will take care of you

Logan is surprised when you agree

But he’s even more surprised at how fast you agree

You sit in his lap and end up rambling about how much you love him, how you don’t think you’ll ever find anyone you like as much as him or anyone that treats you as well as he does

To no one’s surprise the conversation ends with him taking you on every surface of your apartment

Hours later you’re cuddling naked on your couch, resting your head on his muscular chest and listening to his heartbeat

“So like… are we engaged now?” you ask looking up at him

He laughs sweetly

“No, not yet. I have to actually propose first.”

You think back to your conversation earlier when you first said you’d want to marry him

“So that didn’t count before?”

His heart breaks at how little you ask for

“No, that didn’t count.” He kisses your head, “I’m going to take you out somewhere nice, give you a proper proposal, with a nice ring.”

You get butterflies thinking about it

You can’t believe how much he does for you

How much he wants to do for you 

You’re quiet for a moment, and he can feel you smiling into his chest

“...Okay.” 

Your voice is so small and bashful, and he can hear you suppressing a flustered giggle

Fuck he can’t get enough of you 

He laughs and pulls you closer, grabbing your chin and makes you look up at him so he can kiss you 

You fall asleep in his arms

And you think that you won’t mind being married so young if it’s Logan you’re marrying

Logan is looking at you with so much love and adoration

And right before he falls asleep 

He thinks that maybe it’s not too late for him to find love after all

[grison-in-space]

worker uprisings are not an upside.

I see this rhetoric here all the time, and it drives me up the wall. So you're all getting a good rant here: a worker uprising is not good.

The worker uprisings that bought the NLRB paid for it in blood and lives, and another uprising means that we will have to find the price to buy it again. And there will be families, people, and lives blighted in the meantime. Worker uprisings are not upsides for anyone and they are not fucking consolation prizes. They happen when things go bad, horribly bad, and they generally only result in positive change insofar as they create so much chaos, bloodshed, and disruption that the overall situation has to change. In the mean time, people are still left dead, destitute, and maimed. If we can avert a worker uprising by using nonviolent means of pressure to force accountability, we should do that, because it results in vastly more stable outcomes for everyone. If this pissant, damn-fool shortsighted Supreme Court decision goes through and violence is the only remaining option to enforce change that anyone sees, that is a bad thing.That is not a flood gift. People will die fixing that bullshit. People did die fixing that bullshit!

You know how we got the NLRB the first time, back in 1935?

It took almost fifty years of labor unrest in the United States before we got the NLRB. Let's start with the Great Railroad Strike of 1877 (which was majorly disruptive but happened before labor unionizing was widespread). That's a great template for your fucking worker's uprising: there's no union leadership to coordinate fury and direct it properly, so when workers lose their shit after the third goddamn time wages get cut (not "fail to keep the pace of inflation," actually "you get less money now"), they all kind of do things on impulse without thinking much about long term strategy. The fury just erupts. In the case of the Great Railroad Strike, angry workers burned factories and facilities, seized rail facilities, paralyzed commerce networks, and existing power structures panicked and called out militias, National Guard units, and federal troops to forcibly suppress the workers. About a hundred people died.

Let me pop a cut down while I talk about what happened next. Spoiler: there's a lot of violence under the hood coming up, and like all violence, it absolutely sloshes around and hits people who aren't necessarily directly involved in conflicts.

You have continuing incidences of violence over strikes throughout the next several decades as nonviolent strikes are met with violence from pro-employer forces and workers resist with violence back. I can't even list all the violent incidents here that ended in deaths, because they were frequent. The 1892 Coeur d'Alune labor strike broke out into an actual shooting war and resulted in a number of deaths, not to mention months of detainment for six hundred protesting miners; the same year, you have another shooting war kicked off between hundreds of massed paid private Pinkerton security and striking workers in Pittsburgh through the Homestead Strike. Imagine how that's going to go down today.

And the thing about violence like this, and tolerance for violence, is that eventually you just get used to using it to get your way. You actually also do see quite a bit of violence conducted by striking labor workers, sometimes without recent provocation from management. For example, the national International Association of Bridge Structural Iron Workers embarked on a campaign of bombings from 1906-1911 that eventually culminated in a bombing of the office of the LA Times that killed 20 people. Do you want to live in a world where the only way to resolve conflicts like this is to risk someone bombing your office because your boss mouthed off at his cause? Even if he's right, do you want to risk losing your life, your arms, your friend, your sibs, to someone who thinks that the only option available to him to address systematic inequality is violence?

And you think about who really suffers when violence erupts, too. Look at the East St Louis massacre in 1917, when management tries undercutting the local white-run unions by hiring black folks who are systematically excluded by the unions. (If you think labor solidarity is free from the same intersectional forces that hit every other attempt to organize in solidarity for humans, you really need to go back and revisit your history books. We can do better and we should, but when we set up our systems and hope for the future, we have to be clear-eyed about the failures of the past.) Anyway, when labor tensions between white union workers and management's preferred use of cheaper, poorer, less "uppity" black people erupted, the white union workers attacked not management, but the black parts of town. They cut the hoses to the fucking fire department, burned huge swathes of East St Louis belonging to black homeowners, and shot black folks fleeing in the streets.

Money might not trickle down, but violence sure fucking does. The wealthy insulate themselves from violence by employing intermediaries to do all the dirty work for them, or even to venture into any areas that might be dangerous. When we resort to violence as the only way to solve our problems, inevitably the people and communities who pay the highest blood prices are the ones who have the least to provide. You think any of those robber barons are going to wind up on the ground bleeding out? They have their Pinkerton troops for that shit. The worst they lose is money; the rest of us have to stake our bodies and our homes.

No one should look forward to a worker uprising. If the Supreme Court is stupid and short-sighted enough to reduce avenues of worker redress to extra-legal means, the worker uprisings will come back around again, sure enough, and we'll all write our demands in blood once again. But the whole fucking POINT of the NLRB is that the federal government objects to having to sort these things out when they dissolve into open violence, so it sets rules about what the stupid short-sighted greediguts fat cats up top can do to reduce violence erupting again.

Anyway. Best thing I can think of right now is to get a Congressional supermajority in with the eye of imposing limits and curbs on the Court. Because look, I'll march if I need to, but I ain't going to pretend the thought puts a smile in my mouth and a spring in my step. Fuck.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Okay okay. I just had this beautiful mental image of competence kink Steve. And my brain produced two fairly different images: Steve sees Bucky do something incredible during a mission. Idk what. And *oh*, he pops a boner right there and then, as much as the cup of his suit allows anyway. He can barely wait to get off the quinjet post mission, much to the team's amusement, to blow Bucky and then fuck into next week because holy shit hot

Or, Steve having an unfairly wet dream about WS!Bucky in the leather and incredible skills with all the knife tricks and so on and feeling very guilty about that. Because getting the horny from something Bucky had no control over? Not cool, at least in his mind. Bucks somehow gets him to spill though, and then ties Steve up and uses his knife skills to get him out of his clothes very efficiently, leaving Steve there as a panting and moaning mess Uh yeah my brain melted a little

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Oh, fuck yeah, I love competency kink. We can certainly talk about that and soak in the brain melt together, lol

Besides, we all know that that fucker has one

gifs by @/linusbenjamin

and this moment haunts him 😏 because of it.

Plus, that single shield catch isn't even to mention the million other examples I could think of for Steve's fixation on the Winter Soldier. The ghost is strutting around in what's practically fetish gear, like, c'mon, give Steve some slack. It's leather and straps and shimmering metal and decisive, confident combat. Motherfucker.

I am SO fucking down to think about Steve watching Bucky execute some incredible feat on a mission and getting turned on because of it, and I will expand on that in a minute. But, also, the second option, too. YES. Steve wet dreaming about the Winter Soldier? God, it's more than just likely, that shit absolutely happened.

(I did write something about those wet dreams in this ask answer under "war paint")

(Also, you need to see this art, that is... yup. Knives and bondage and competency.)

Okay, competency on missions driving Steve insane...

(warning for canon typical violence!)

It happens like this: one instant Steve is solely focused on strangling the underling that's freshly come at him 'cause he's just trying to get through the masses of them before he can actually disarm this whole fucking shitty, dangerous situation alongwith it's leader, and the next instant Steve is totally, completely, and entirely distracted from getting an arm around this fuckers throat, squeezing off his air between his forearm and bicep. It could not be farther from his mind, really.

Rather than thinking about how he can best discard this underling and move on to the next--always plotting his following move, what punch should he throw, what kick, where's his shield, how should he throw his shield, who's around him, and are they his teammates or this month's big enemy--he's aching, not thinking, aching to drop to his knees. It is a visceral, very unchill reaction that Steve can't fucking control. There is no way on god's green earth.

The wanting to drop like a fly isn't because he's tired and ready to give in and surrender, nah, he could do this all day, it's because he's at fucking full mast in his uniform pants so suddenly that he needs a goddamn break from himself. His own hyperreactive body. It's dizzying, debilitating, how his blood rushes from circulating oxygen as fast as it can to his bulging, burning, working muscles to pooling heavy and hot in his cock.

All that hot, thick blood filling his dick out as he moves and twists, grappling with his fucking random ass bad guy, and threatening, incidentally, to rub himself salaciously against the hard pressure of his athletic cup.

His cup is cupping him.

He's big, he can't not. He's got no fucking room. It's... yeah, it's, just--

Jesus Christ.

Steve's aching to drop to his knees and more. It doesn't stop at getting to his knees. One moment and he has the worst kind of desperate craving crashing through him, leaving him hankering for the sensation of firm, muscular legs squeezing around his throat, the pressure tight on both sides, making him feel like his head might explode as he gasps for air or he might pass out without any air or he might cum from pure fucking lust at how hot it is or all of the above all at once.

All at once.

It is an onslaught of arousal. Just. His appetency is un-fucking-checked for the tingling, sharp burn of fingers raking through his hair and pulling hard until he feels it in his scalp and skittering down his back, richly feeding the fire at the base of his spine. He needs to feel body heat suffocatingly around his neck and shoved up against him from behind. Heat painted like thick, sticky tar up the nape of his neck to the crown of his head.

And all that weakening fucking hunger is inspired by one instant. A single flash that he catches, lightning-fast, out of the corner of his eye.

Dark leather molded to fit a shapely body perfectly, sinfully, waves of hair flowing like water, and the distinct glint of silver metal caught in the sun, flashy and, just, sexy.

Bucky.

Bucky, who's barely just been able to be comfortable in combat again after deprogramming but is ever-skilled. Honed. Deadly and gorgeous as a honey trap.

Bucky, who has spent more hours in the gym training with Natasha than anyone else combined--something about mutual trauma and understanding and trust.

Bucky in elegant, lethal motion, wrapping himself like a lithe snake around his own steroid-fit underling, his burly thighs squeezed around the baddies thick, muscular throat, his veins bulging in strain, balanced perfectly on his broad shoulders, and keeping the power in his own mismatched hands. The palm of his hands, like it's easy.

Bucky is fucking winning, it's plain to see. No sweat.

Bucky has shocked this baddie by mounting him, throwing his weight around with ease in a way that shouldn't be possible for a man his size. Better, Bucky has thrown him even further off, fisting a hand into his hair cruelly, pulling so hard that his choices are to let his hair be ripped out and deal with the gritting pain or follow the hold and put himself in worse danger, prolonging the time before the pain. The unnamed baddie follows, of course. Anyone would follow someone as intoxicating and beautiful as Bucky. But he's then pinned there, throat fully exposed. Perilous. The most animal form of submission, this time forced and humiliated by defeat.

Bucky is the dominant fighter.

He is in control.

And he is making it known with what would be sickening glee if Steve was anyone but himself--if Steve wasn't so fucking aroused by watching Bucky wield himself as a weapon of his own choosing, taking control, and reveling in doing good.

God.

With his thighs around his neck, Bucky deftly plucks a long, sharp knife from its holster strapped onto his mouth-watering thigh and twists and twirls it around his fingers before holding it against the underling's throat. The threat is crystal clear and needs no further explanation: move and its lights out for you.

So, the underling folding to his mercy, Bucky slowly, slowly contorts his body, displaying his oh-so flexible spine and positioning his mouth right above his ear. Steve watches him whisper into his ear--his pink lips curling over the hushed syllables in the heat of chaotic, loud battle--and shivers.

Goosebumps come to attention all across Steve's body.

Shit.

He's unreal.

He's so gorgeous and so good and so charming.

At whatever he tells him, the baddie nods stiffly, all the color drained from his face, and Bucky retracts his knife unhurriedly, perfectly moving according to his own schedule, and confidently sheathes the blade it once more. Then, neatly, he unclenches his thighs from around his throat and slithers off his shoulders. It's almost a dance--totally smooth, well-rehearsed choreography.

He defies gravity.

As soon as Bucky is far enough from him, peeled away, the underling scurries off like a frightened rat, stumbling as he sprints off. Bucky watches him go with an unhinged, almost-pitying smile, an expression just for himself, as if to say, that's right, you better run. Tell the others, too. You fuck with me and it's over. Don't bother coming back.

Steve whimpers.

Realistically, it--Bucky devastatingly executing one of Black Widow's signature flipping, twisting moves as if it's his own and something developed specifically for him, an over 200 lbs man of pure muscle and metal--all happens in the span of seconds. Or, maybe it happens faster. It may not even be a single second. But for Steve, it plays in slow motion; it lasts ages in his mind.

Still, really, just it's one instant, and then his brain chemistry has been fully altered. Immediately. His wires have been crossed over and shorted out. Sparks fly. And his reboot back to being a functioning fucking human comes in the form of a punch to the face.

Fuck.

Steve groans through the pain of a fist colliding with his face, wincing, and opening and shutting his jaw to have it crack back into place. He's gonna fucking feel that later. But, for now, he has to ignore the heavy, aching throb of his cock, the pain in his jaw, and get back to fighting.

Later, he tells himself.

Later, that'll be his treat for getting through this shit day. He can kneel and beg, forgetting himself as a drooling, heaving, out-of-breath, hot faced mess at Bucky's feet, fumbling over words as he incomprehensibly pleads to have his shapely thighs wrapped tight around his head, his neck, his waist even, anything. Just hold him there until he fucking dies a happy death between those legs.

Heaven.

[vintageshanny]

Waiting for Love - Part Eight

Healing Hands

Content: February-March 1971 (this picks up right where it left off 😉), smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst, references to some possible health issues, 18+

Catch up here: Waiting for Love series

Mid-Februay 1971

“Oh, Elvis, oh, Elvis, oh God…”

Elvis looked down at Vivien’s face, her lips softly moaning his name over and over as he inched his way inside of her. He could feel her involuntarily clenching around him as her hands gripped the bedsheets. “Ya okay, baby?” he asked tenderly, pausing his movements. Vivien nodded, searching his face for some reassurance. “Honey, I want ya to wrap your arms around me, okay?” Elvis felt Vivien release her grip on the sheets and move her clammy palms to his back. “That’s right, baby, jus’ hold on ta me. Try ta relax and I’ma go in a little deeper, okay?”

“Okay, I’m relaxed, I’m relaxed,” Vivien whispered, trying to sooth herself, her fingernails running softly down Elvis’ back toward the curve of his butt. “Elvis, I want you so bad, I want you all the way inside of me.”

Elvis stifled a groan at her words, it was all he could do not to explode right then and there. He resumed his slow advance, feeling the friction of his foreskin against her tight opening as he pushed deeper inside until he was completely consumed, her wetness coating every inch of him. “Goddamn, Vivien, it feels so good in there,” he moaned out, rolling his hips, thrusting as gently as he could.

Vivien felt almost delirious with pleasure as she allowed herself to rock back and forth in rhythm with Elvis. The words flew past her lips almost faster than her brain could form them. “Oh God, Elvis, oh my, I can’t, oh God, it feels so good, I’ve never felt so good, oh God you’re so amazing…”

Elvis smiled down at the look of pure ecstasy on Vivien’s face, taking some pride in his ability to make her feel so good. “Honey, did ya, I-I mean, are ya havin’ an orgasm already?” He continued his thrusting, the intense passion of his movements growing, little beads of sweat now trickling down from his hairline.

“I, I don’t know, I’m not sure, it just feels so good,” Vivien panted, trying to get a handle on all the sensations happening in her body. Elvis reached down to where their bodies were connected and rubbed her clit with his thumb, applying a little pressure to it. Vivien’s back immediately arched, her legs shaking on either side of him. “Oh, Elvis,” she cried out, her head tilted back into the pillows. Elvis tried to stay in control as her pleasure gushed over him, but the feeling of her fluttering around him as she moaned his name was just too much to bear. With one final thrust, he could feel himself pulsing inside her, filling her up with everything he had to give.

Ah shit, I should’ve pulled out, he thought to himself as he rested his body on top of Vivien’s, Little Elvis starting to soften inside of her. The thought of any consequences for his actions was clouded by the depth of love he felt in this moment. As he slowly eased himself out of the warm hold Vivien had on him, he noticed the tears that were sliding down her cheeks.

“Honey, what’s wrong? I-I-I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” Elvis asked nervously.

“No, no, it’s not that, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. I mean, wow, that was incredible, it’s just everything feels so intense.”

Elvis smiled as he leaned down and pressed his soft lips against hers. “I thought it was incredible too, honey. That was such a sacred gift ya gave me. I-I-I’m honored that ya gave yourself ta me like that. It’s okay if ya need ta cry, baby. I understand how special that was. It was special for me, too. I love ya so much, Vivien.” Suddenly overcome, Elvis blinked and glanced away before his own tears could spill over.

“I love you too, Elvis.” Vivien pulled him close, holding his body tightly against hers until her tears subsided.

“Lemme get ya cleaned up, baby,” Elvis said as he finally lifted himself off the bed. “Although I hate ta leave those nice pillows ya got,” he said with a wink. Vivien giggled through her tear-stained face as she shyly tried to cover her breasts. Elvis disappeared into the bathroom and came back wearing a pair of briefs and carrying a warm wet washcloth and a silky pink nightgown. He gently wiped between Vivien’s legs with the cloth and then helped her slip into the nightie. “Now c’mere and hold me, sweetheart,” he said, patting the bed next to him.

“Actually, first I have to, um, I mean I think I need to…pee,” Vivien whispered, her face turning red.

Elvis let out a loud guffaw. “Honey, we jus’ made love to each other, I think you can say the word ‘pee’ in front of me.” Vivien laughed at herself too as she headed for the bathroom.

She came out to see Elvis reaching for a bottle of pills on the nightstand. “Is everything okay?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah, baby, I’m healthy as a horse,” Elvis said reassuringly. “I jus’ get so keyed up from performing that I need a lil’ help fallin’ asleep.”

“Well, I could help you fall asleep,” Vivien grinned.

Elvis paused, the pill bottle in his hand, before setting it back down with a slight nod. “Okay, we can give it a try. What magic tricks ya got up your sleeve?”

Vivien cleared her throat nervously, hoping she wouldn’t sound like an idiot. “I’ve, uh, been reading about the power of touch. Physical touch, especially from someone you love, can have calming, healing properties on your body. So I could give you a massage and see if it helps you fall asleep.”

Elvis looked excited and intrigued. “I’ve read a lot about that too! I actually tried a technique on Jerry when he hurt his back. Okay, let’s see if it works on me.”

“You should really take those back off, though,” Vivien said, nodding toward his underwear.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, baby. I-I-I mean, he gets a little shy after a performance,” Elvis laughed self-consciously.

“I think the touching would be more effective with no barriers between your skin and my hands, but I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything. And I’ll be trying to relax you, not turn you on,” she added, her cheeks turning pink.

“Honey, you ain’t gotta try too hard, that’s the problem,” Elvis teased. “Okay, I must really like you, cuz I don’t let jus’ anyone look at me like this.” Elvis pulled his underwear off and lay back on the bed completely nude.

Vivien climbed up next to him. “Well I must really like you too, because I don’t give just anyone a full body massage.” Elvis chuckled at that and squeezed her hand. “Now close your eyes,” she instructed. “And try to just clear your mind and breathe evenly.” She started rubbing his arms, his hands, and then worked her way down toward his legs, massaging the muscles in his sturdy thighs. He lay there peacefully, trying to breathe steadily as she’d instructed. Vivien felt almost guilty looking at him in this vulnerable state, but she couldn’t help but admire his thick soft cocoon nestled in his patch of pubic hair and the wiry little hairs that decorated his inner thighs.

“Honey?” Elvis mumbled, sounding half-asleep already. “I can feel ya starin’.”

Vivien blushed profusely and wondered how he could see her with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep. I wanted to give him a goodnight kiss, but I didn’t want to ruin your relaxation.”

Elvis snorted a little bit and opened one eye to look at her. “Ya wanted ta give him a goodnight kiss?”

VIvien’s face flushed hotter with each passing second. “I’m so sorry, that sounds stupid,” she whispered, hoping he would think this had all been a dream.

“Naw, honey,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again. “I think it’s sweet that ya love him so much. Not ever’one’s like that. It’s a little weird, but sweet.” A teasing grin spread across his sleepy face. “You can give him a little kiss, but don’t wake him up or this will all be for nothin’ cuz he’ll wanna get back in where it’s nice and soft and warm.”

Vivien blushed and leaned down, pressing her lips very gently to his velvety soft skin. The smile still spread across Elvis’ face told her that he enjoyed the attention, no matter how much he might tease her about it. She continued to massage his legs until a very light snoring sound let her know he was asleep this time. She pulled the blanket over the two of them and rested her head on his chest, letting the steady beat lull her to sleep.

*************************************************

“Honey, I did really appreciate the massage last night, it was really nice, but I need ta take these.” Elvis could see the way Vivien eyed the pill bottle suspiciously as they got ready to lay down for the night. Elvis had needed to mingle with some special guests after the show, so they hadn’t had much time alone together, but she could see he looked exhausted.

“But we could just try it again-”

“Dammit, Vivien, is this gonna be a problem? Me takin’ the medication I need?” Elvis snapped.

Vivien flinched at the anger in his voice. “No, I’m sorry, I was just trying to help. I care about you.”

A look of guilt flashed across Elvis’ face. “Honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean ta snap at ya. It’s jus’ that I know what my body needs ta get through these performances, okay? I don’t want ya ta stop carin’ about me, though.”

“I could never stop, Elvis,” Vivien whispered, trying to stop the tears that were welling up.

“Aww, baby, don’ cry now, you’re gonna make me feel bad. It’s okay, honey.” Elvis pulled her into a hug.

“I’m sorry, there’s just a lot of things I’m worried about,” Vivien sniffled. “I’m not sure what to do about my job.”

“Why? What happened?” Elvis asked with concern.

“Um, I didn’t want to tell you and upset you, but I overheard my boss calling me Elvis Presley’s whore,” Vivien whispered, hanging her head in shame. When Elvis didn’t respond, she looked up nervously to see his reaction. The intensity of anger in his eyes was something she’d never really seen before. “I didn’t tell them anything, I swear. But my nosy neighbor might have seen you leaving my apartment…” she trailed off.

“I ain’t mad at ya, honey, I’m mad at that boss of yours. He might jus’ need a good talkin’ to.” Elvis’ voice had a cold, steely edge to it.

“Oh, no, Elvis, I would get fired if you say anything to him,” Vivien pleaded.

“Honey, you ain’t goin’ back there anyhow. No one’s gonna talk about my baby like that.”

“But I need a job, I won’t be able to afford my apartment.” Vivien was starting to regret having said anything at all.

“Baby, I can pay for your apartment, it ain’t a big deal,” Elvis said nonchalantly. “Besides, you’ll be livin’ with me at Graceland soon enough.” Despite all her stress and confusion, Vivien’s heart fluttered at those words. “Now you jus’ leave things ta me baby, I’ll take care of ya. Let’s jus’ get some sleep.” Elvis took his pills and pulled her in close to him, his warm hands holding her tight and secure. As he drifted off, he mumbled something almost incoherent.

“What’s that?” Vivien asked, turning her head toward him.

“Not since mama,” he mumbled. “I think not since mama has anyone loved me for who I am the way you do. I don’t take it for granted, baby. I really love you…” his voice trailed off into a soft snore.

*************************************************

March 16, 1971 - Baptist Hospital in Nashville

Vivien’s stomach was in knots as a nurse led her to Elvis’ room in a private wing of the hospital. Joe trailed behind her, silent and unfriendly as usual. She normally wished that Elvis would have someone else, almost anyone else, make arrangements and pick her up from the airport. But right now she just wanted to make sure he was okay. He said it was nothing to worry about, just an eye problem, but still, a hospital is a hospital.

As soon as she saw him lying in the hospital bed, Vivien rushed to his side and grabbed his hand in hers. “Elvis! Are you okay?” her voice quivered with emotion.

“I’m okay, honey. ‘Specially now that my baby’s here ta take care of me. None of these guys know what I need,” he said, squeezing her hand and nodding toward his crew. Vivien looked around and blushed, as if it had just dawned on her that they were not alone.

“And Priscilla’s taking care of something in Los Angeles,” Joe announced with a smirk.

Elvis’ eyes shot daggers in Joe’s direction. “And I didn’t ask her ta come back early, did I? Why don’t ya make yourself useful for once and go get us some hamburgers?” Joe nodded and turned, looking relieved to leave the line of fire that he’d put himself in. “Ignore that asshole, baby,” Elvis said, turning back to Vivien. “First thing I did when I got in here was call ya ta come be with me. Now get over here.” He patted the spot next to him on the somewhat narrow hospital bed. Vivien looked around shyly at the other people in the room and then back at Elvis. “Don’t worry, honey, they were jus’ leavin’,” he said, waving everyone off.

Vivien climbed into the bed and curled up next to him, snuggled into his body, enjoying the feel of his silky pajamas against her. Before she could protest that someone might walk back in, his lips were smashed against hers, his strong hand gently squeezing her hip. “God, I missed ya,” he said, pulling back with that grin that still made her heart skip a beat. “I’ma need ta bring ya along to the next recording session. Now tell me what ya been up to while I’ve been wastin’ away here without ya.”

Vivien bit down on her lip as she considered her next statement. “Well, um, I’m having a little trouble finding a new job. So Roxanne said I could move in with her if I need to…” VIvien’s voice trailed off as she saw the look of fury on Elvis’ face.

“Why are ya lookin’ for a job and tryin’ ta move? I said I’d pay for your apartment until I can move ya into Graceland with me. Didn’t I tell ya I’d take care of ya?” His tone grew more biting with each word.

Vivien cleared her throat nervously. “Well, yes, you did say that, but Elvis, I don’t know if I could take that money from you-”

“When is ever’one gonna stop tellin’ me how ta spend my own goddamn money?” he snapped. “First Daddy, then Cilla, now this? It’s my money, dammit.”

Vivien had never heard Elvis sound so angry, not even about the sleeping pills in Las Vegas. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness,” she whispered, trying in vain to fight back the waterworks that she knew were coming. She shifted on the bed as the tears started to fall. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I should just go.”

Elvis could see by the pained look on Vivien’s face that he had crossed the line with his temper. He grabbed her wrist, careful not to be too rough. “Wait, honey, wait. Don’t go. I-I-It’s jus’ that ever’one’s been on my case lately. I-I-I shouldn’ta taken it out on ya. I guess I ain’t used ta havin’ someone be worried ‘bout takin’ advantage of me. Usually jus’ got people tellin’ me what ta do.” He laughed hollowly at that as he pulled her back in close to him.

“Well I guess I’m not used to having someone want to take care of me,” Vivien whispered as she laid her head on his chest. “So maybe this is something new for both of us.” She felt suddenly very warm inside, as the hairs that were escaping his pajama top tickled her cheek.

Elvis looked down at her affectionately and kissed the top of her head. “Honey, ya jus’ better get used to it, cuz all I wanna do is take care of ya. I’ve done a pretty good job so far, huh?” he teased as he let his hand slide down her hip to her thigh and then back up under the hem of her short skirt. His fingertips danced along her bare flesh. “Is that why I can feel your heart poundin’ right outta your chest, hmm? Ya thinkin’ ‘bout me takin’ care of ya?” Vivien nodded and blushed, wondering how he always seemed to know what she was thinking. “Y’know what I’m thinkin’, honey? It sure would be nice ta feel those healin’ hands of yours again. And this time ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout wakin’ no one, cuz he’s all ready ta come out and play.”

“I can tell,” Vivien laughed as she looked down at the protruding part of his pajama pants. Elvis leaned down and caught her open mouth with his, letting his tongue taste hers before biting softly on her lower lip, eliciting a sweet moan. “No one could take better care of me than you,” she whispered, diving back in for more of his sweet kisses. As his fingers found the elastic leg band of her panties and continued to tease her, she let her hands wander under his pajama shirt. His soft warm skin felt so comforting. Right as she reached one hand into the waistband of his pants, Joe came barging in with the hamburgers.

“Jesus Christ, son, ya forget how ta knock?” Elvis exploded, looking to make sure Vivien was all covered up. She was frozen in place, her hand still tucked inside his pants. “Leave that on the table and get the hell out, man.”

“Sorry boss,” Joe muttered, actually looking a little embarrassed instead of like his usual smug self.

“Now where were we?” Elvis murmured, turning back to Vivien. “Oh, that’s right, about ta work up a good appetite.” Vivien giggled and wrapped her hand around his hard length as Elvis slipped his tongue in her mouth again, each kiss growing more passionate. She was so deep in love, she couldn’t possibly concern herself with what anyone else might think about it.

Tag List: @whositmcwhatsit @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @thatbanditqueen @missmaywemeetagain @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @from-memphis-with-love @pebbles403 @deniseinmn @everythingelvispresley @little-laamb @annapresley8 @leapresley @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @atleastpleasetelephone @gatheraheart @richardslady121 @helen06dreamer @arg-xoxo

[teaboot]

Did you ever read or have your name read aloud in class as part of a story/poem/math problem? If so how did you feel about it?

I can vividly remember reading ahead and spotting my name and feeling my stomach drop like it does on a roller coaster but bad. I hated it so much, everyone looking at you and grinning when the name was read and like no I have no affiliation with this person or their actions do not look upon me and judge.

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer within a certain amount of time or at all.*

different for different classes, honestly.

Art: Loved being called up in art, it was my best subject, I graduated early and volunteered to do grade 11 art again as a TA. Art was the best. No issues.

Math: Eh. I'm good at it, but I was REALLY BAD at it in school, mostly due to the way it was taught. Didn't really care, though, just sort of an "Ah fuck, better get this wrong fast so I can sit down again" deal.

English: LOVED the class, LOVED books, HATED reading aloud or reading my own work. One teacher I had would read whatever assignments she thought were done best, so I wrote garbage half the year on purpose. Didn't step it up until she told me I was failing and would have to retake the class, and then tested me on my own work cause the quality was suddenly better and she thought I was plagiarizing it from somewhere.

THEN I had a fucking English teacher who thought his ass was in Good Will Hunting or some shit. Like I was his goddamn charity project. Dude kept telling me I had "a really special talent". Every single class we'd have to bring our own short story and every single class he'd ask me if I wanted to read mine out loud and EVERY TIME I'd say no. Hearing people read theirs would give me anxiety attacks so fuckin bad. One day he didn't even ask, just took my work off my desk and started reading. I literally just stood up and booked it. Skipped p much the whole day sitting outside. "Do you wanna talk sbout your feelings" type asshole. Dickhead

I enjoy all these subjects MUCH more as an adult

Edit: OOOOOH, you mean like having my name incorporated into a textbook? Nah, never happened to me, my name's too weird lol

[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 1983

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, mentions of sex, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, angst, crack

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Heaven by Julia Michaels

superglue

You’re slumped on the couch, the kind of heavy exhaustion settling in your bones that feels more like a leaden weight than simple tiredness. It’s like the room’s been spinning for hours, but you can’t quite pinpoint how long it’s been since you last felt steady. The air around you is dense and suffocating, a cruel mockery of the freedom you thought you’d found.

The front door of the safe house bursts open with an audible crack, followed by the heavy thud of boots on the floor. Ben, always a presence larger than life, storms in with a fierce scowl etched into his rugged face. His intense eyes scan the room quickly before locking onto you.

"Goddamn it, what the hell’s going on here?" Ben’s voice is a low, angry rumble. The old soldier’s tone doesn’t disguise the edge of concern that cuts through his gruff exterior.

You blink, trying to focus on his face, but the world around you remains stubbornly blurry. Your throat feels like sandpaper, and you’re struggling to summon the strength to even raise your head. Ben’s presence is a double-edged sword—comforting and overwhelming in its intensity.

"I’m—” you manage to croak out, but it’s barely a whisper, and your voice trails off into a weak, unconvincing silence.

Ben’s jaw tightens as he strides over, his big, rough hands gripping your shoulders with a firm but gentle pressure. “You’re not fine, obviously. Shit, you look like you’ve been dragged through hell.”

You want to reassure him, to tell him that it’s nothing serious, but the dizziness and weakness make coherent speech a distant dream. Ben’s face blurs again, and he kneels in front of you, his expression a mix of frustration and worry.

“Don’t you fucking dare pass out on me,” he mutters, the curse slipping out as he tries to figure out what’s wrong. “We’ve got enough problems without you going down like this.”

It’s true; the situation is already a mess. You’re both on the run from Vought, hiding out in this nondescript safe house that Ben managed to secure for you. The constant fear of being discovered, the constant movement—it’s taken its toll. But you had hoped, foolishly, that you could push through it.

Ben’s hands are surprisingly gentle as he checks your pulse, his rough fingers surprisingly tender against your skin. “Look, we can’t go to a hospital,” he says, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “They’ll find us faster than you can say ‘bad idea.’ We need to figure this out ourselves.”

You try to nod, but the effort makes the room spin harder. “Too dizzy,” you manage to say, the words coming out in a strained whisper.

Ben swears under his breath again, the sound a mix of exasperation and worry. He starts rifling through the small first aid kit that you keep hidden away for emergencies. He mutters to himself as he pulls out various items, trying to find something that might help. His movements are quick but careful, a stark contrast to his usual brash demeanor.

“You gotta hang in there, alright?” Ben’s tone is softer now, though still rough around the edges. “I’ve got some basic stuff here. It ain’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”

You want to tell him to calm down, to not worry so much, but your body feels like it’s betraying you. The dizziness is relentless, a cruel reminder of your current predicament. Ben’s hands are a blur as he works, but you catch glimpses of him preparing something—perhaps an old remedy or just basic care, you can’t tell.

“Goddamn, you better not have caught some fucking bug or something,” Ben grumbles, more to himself than to you. His concern is evident in his voice, despite his gruff exterior. “We’ve been through too much shit for you to be falling apart now.”

You hear him moving around, and it’s clear he’s trying to make do with what little he has. It’s both reassuring and unsettling to see him so focused, so determined to make things right. You feel a pang of guilt for being a burden, for dragging him into yet another mess.

“Ben,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut the fuck up, sweetheart,” he interrupts, his tone softer but still firm. “I don’t want to hear it. Just focus on staying awake. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

You try to heed his advice, focusing on the sound of his voice as a tether to reality. The room continues to spin, but Ben’s presence is a constant anchor. His hands are steady and reassuring as he applies a cool compress to your forehead, his touch gentle despite his usual roughness.

After what feels like an eternity, Ben finally sits back on his heels, his eyes never leaving your face. “Alright, this is the best I can do for now,” he says, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and relief. “Just stay with me. We’ll get through this.”

You want to tell him that you’re fine, that you don’t need to be coddled, but the words won’t come. Instead, you nod weakly, doing your best to keep your eyes open. Ben’s expression softens slightly, though the worry still lingers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go down.”

Despite the dire situation, there’s a strange comfort in Ben’s presence. His unwavering determination, his concern—it’s a stark contrast to the harsh world outside. It’s a small, bright spot in an otherwise dark and uncertain time.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one dragging on as you fight to stay conscious. Ben stays close, his presence a steady reassurance amidst the chaos. His occasional muttered curses and frustrated sighs become a strange lullaby, a reminder that despite everything, you’re not alone.

“You know,” Ben says after a while, his voice low and contemplative. “I always thought we’d get through this. Hell, I always figured we’d come out on top. But I never thought we’d be here, like this.”

You try to respond, to offer some form of comfort, but the dizziness and weakness make it difficult. Instead, you focus on the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. It’s a small comfort, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s a sliver of hope.

Ben’s eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the fierce soldier’s mask slips away, revealing a glimmer of vulnerability. “We’re gonna make it through this,” he says firmly, though the edge of doubt lingers in his voice. “We always do.”

You want to believe him, to hold onto his words like a lifeline. The room continues to spin, but Ben’s presence is a steady anchor. His determination, his refusal to give up—it's a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak situation.

Slowly, the dizziness begins to ebb, the world around you settling into a semblance of stability. You still feel weak, but the worst of the spinning has subsided. Ben’s eyes never leave your face, his concern evident in every line of his expression.

“Feeling any better?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with a cautious optimism.

You manage a weak nod, the effort making you slightly lightheaded. “A little,” you croak out.

Ben’s face relaxes slightly, though the worry still lingers. “Good. That’s good,” he says, his voice filled with a mix of relief and determination. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t go down again.”

As you rest there, Ben’s presence a constant comfort, you allow yourself to hope. Despite the chaos and uncertainty, there’s a sense of calm that comes from knowing that you’re not facing this alone. Ben’s unwavering determination, his refusal to give up—it’s a beacon of hope in an otherwise dark and uncertain world.

The minutes continue to tick by, each one bringing a little more stability, a little more strength. Ben remains by your side, his presence a steady reassurance amidst the turmoil. And as you start to feel a bit more like yourself, you can’t help but feel grateful for the stubborn soldier who refuses to let you go.

You were sprawled on the couch, feeling like a half-deflated balloon for what seemed like ages. Ben’s fussing and cursing were a constant backdrop to your recovery, his heavy footsteps and occasional grunts a reminder that you weren’t in this mess alone.

It took some time, but finally, the dizzying haze of whatever the hell Vought had done to you was starting to lift. Your vision cleared, and the world stopped spinning like a damn carnival ride. Ben, ever the persistent asshole, had stayed by your side through it all.

“Fucking finally,” he grumbled, tossing the medical supplies back into the first aid kit with a rough shove. “You look like a human being again.”

You shot him a tired smirk. “Glad I’m not looking like roadkill anymore. Thanks for not letting me die on your watch.”

Ben snorted. “Like I’d let you off that easy. Can’t have you croaking before we sort out our shit.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigar, the crinkling of the wrapper loud in the quiet room. “Here, take this. It’s not gonna fix you up, but it’ll take the edge off.”

You eyed the cigar with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “You know, if we weren’t on the run, I’d ask where the hell you even found a cigar. But right now, I’m just too damn tired to care.”

He tossed it to you, and you caught it with a lazy hand. “Well, consider it a gift from one fucked-up asshole to another. Light it up and relax, will ya? You’re starting to look like you’re ready to pass out again.”

You huffed a laugh, managing to sit up and fumble with the lighter. “I suppose one cigar won’t kill me. Might actually help with the goddamn stress. And lord knows, I’m tired of dealing with your ranting.”

Ben’s smirk was evident even as he watched you, his rough demeanor softening slightly. “Hey, I’m a goddamn expert at ranting. It’s a talent.”

After a few clumsy tries, you managed to light the cigar and took a long drag, savoring the brief respite it provided. The smoke curled around you, a welcome distraction from the persistent gnawing feeling of something still being off.

“Okay,” you said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I’m feeling somewhat normal now. Thanks for the smoke break.”

Ben leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing. “You still look like shit, though. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You took another drag, the cigar’s warmth a small comfort. “It’s probably the fucking chemical Vought messed with me. I’m starting to think it’s still lingering in my system or some shit.”

Ben’s brows furrowed, and he let out a low, frustrated growl. “Seriously? They’re still fucking with your head? I thought we’d gotten rid of that crap when we made a run for it.”

You nodded, feeling the frustration mount. “I thought so too. But the way I felt earlier? It’s not just normal exhaustion or stress. There’s something else, like a goddamn residue of their mind-fucking bullshit.”

Ben’s face twisted into a scowl. “Fucking Vought. They never know when to quit. Always got to leave their goddamn mark.” He rubbed his temples as if trying to erase the anger. “So what the hell do we do now? We can’t exactly waltz into a lab and get your system cleaned out.”

You took another drag, the cigar’s taste a bit bitter but strangely satisfying. “Well, first thing’s first, we need to figure out how to deal with this shit without getting ourselves blown up or caught. And maybe stop living like fucking hermits.”

Ben snorted. “You think I don’t know that? But we’re kind of on a goddamn tightrope here. Vought’s still sniffing around, and we’re not exactly in the best position to go making noise.”

You leaned back against the couch, letting out a long, smoky breath. “Yeah, I get it. We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. But just because we’re stuck doesn’t mean we can’t do something about it. I’m tired of being a goddamn guinea pig for Vought’s experiments.”

Ben’s expression softened slightly as he took in your frustration. “I get it. I’m fucking tired of it too. But we’ll figure this out. We always do.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, right. Like our usual method of ‘wing it and hope for the best’ has worked out perfectly so far.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hey, we’ve survived this long, haven’t we? Not saying it’s ideal, but it’s worked. And I’ll be damned if I let Vought win this round.”

You took another drag, the cigar almost done. “Fine. I guess we keep at it. But I swear, if we end up getting fucked over because of this, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you don’t pass out on me again. I’m not up for another round of you looking like a goddamn zombie.”

You smirked, tossing the cigar butt into the nearby ashtray. “I’ll do my best. And maybe next time, I’ll be less of a burden.”

“Fucking hope so,” Ben said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “For both our sakes.”

You could feel the tension easing slightly, a small relief in the midst of the chaos. The cigar had helped, more than you’d care to admit, and Ben’s presence was a rough but comforting reminder that you weren’t completely alone in this mess.

“Alright,” you said, pushing yourself to your feet with some effort. “What’s next on our list of shit to do? We need to get this sorted before we’re back to running from goddamn Vought.”

Ben’s eyes sparkled with a mix of irritation and determination. “Next on the list is figuring out how to deal with your chemical hangover and making sure we don’t get our asses handed to us. But first, you’re going to sit your tired ass down and get some rest. I’ll handle the rest of the shit for now.”

You gave him a grateful nod, leaning back against the couch. “Alright, boss. You’ve earned the right to take charge for a while.”

He grinned, a rare moment of genuine warmth cutting through his usual rough exterior. “Damn right. Now, just relax and try not to get us both killed while I figure out our next move.”

You leaned against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, your hand resting on your stomach. A frown pinched your forehead as thoughts spiraled through your mind like an endless loop. It was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the world outside. The scent of old wood and bleach filled the air, mixing with something raw and vulnerable that clung to your heart. You breathed out slowly, trying to untangle the web of emotions inside you.

You were staring blankly at your reflection, the person looking back at you a mere shadow of the confident, brash figure you usually portrayed. It was just a simple bathroom, one of many you'd encountered in your life, yet it felt like a fortress, protecting you from the outside world. Outside that door was Ben, the man you had been entangled with for longer than either of you cared to admit.

The thought of him made your stomach twist, but not in a way you were used to. It was more like a punch to the gut, a reminder of the recent past that felt heavier than any weight you had ever carried. Just a couple of weeks ago, everything had been so different. The vibrancy of life had filled your belly, but now it was an empty ache, a loss you didn't know how to confront.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head just enough to see Ben stride in, his boots thudding against the floor. He looked rugged as ever, his dark hair tousled and a five o’clock shadow gracing his jaw. His brow furrowed slightly when he caught sight of you, and your stomach churned with an unsettling mix of gratitude and annoyance.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, his voice gruff but tinged with concern.

You quickly straightened up, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing,” you lied, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen you look like this before. You can’t fool me.”

You turned away from him, gaze drifting back to the mirror. “It’s just… it’s been a long day,” you muttered, trying to sound casual.

“Long day?” He scoffed, stepping closer. “Since when does a long day make you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to let him in. “Maybe I’m just tired, alright?”

Ben’s expression shifted, a mix of confusion and frustration clouding his features. “Tired? You look like you’re about to lose your lunch. What the fuck is really going on?”

Your heart raced, a storm of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. You knew he was only trying to help, but you didn’t want to open that door. Not now. Not ever. You turned to face him, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “I said I’m fine, dammit! Just drop it, okay?”

He let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re never fine, you know that. You’re always either ready to kick someone’s ass or…” He paused, his gaze falling to your stomach, the implication hanging in the air like a loaded gun. “What’s going on, really?”

A heaviness settled in your chest, and the weight of his scrutiny made your heart race even faster. You had been through so much together, the two of you—friends, lovers, partners in crime since the '40s. You had shared everything from laughter to battles, but this was different. This was something raw, something that threatened to tear you apart if you let it.

“I just… I don’t want to talk about it,” you finally replied, your voice softer, though it held an edge of defiance.

He sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Well, you don’t have to talk about it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and watch you crumble. We’ve been through hell together, and if something’s eating at you, then damn it, I’m going to want to know.”

The resolve in his voice made you flinch. You hated how much you respected him, how much you cared. You had spent years crafting a tough exterior, refusing to let anyone close enough to see your vulnerabilities. But Ben had a way of breaking down those walls, and it terrified you.

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Fine? You’ve got that look on your face that says you’re about to lose your shit. And don’t try to pretend it’s just because you don’t like the smell of the bleach in here.”

A laugh escaped you, though it was devoid of humor. “Well, maybe the smell of your bullshit is just as bad.”

He took a step closer, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. “You think I’m letting this go? Not a chance. You know damn well that I can smell when something’s wrong. Just tell me what’s up, and I swear I’ll be out of your hair.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. The truth hung heavy, a ghost that refused to leave you. You thought of the last time you had felt hope, the last time you had dared to believe that something beautiful was blossoming within you. It had all been ripped away, and now you were left with nothing but grief and confusion.

“Just… don’t,” you finally murmured, the defiance in your voice fading. “It’s not what you think.”

He furrowed his brow, his confusion deepening. “Then what the hell am I supposed to think? You’re acting like you’ve lost something, and I want to help.”

You turned away, your heart racing as the memories flooded back. The way you had held on to that tiny flicker of life, how you had nurtured it, and the devastating moment when everything had come crashing down. The bathroom walls felt like they were closing in on you, and you struggled to catch your breath.

“It’s just… it’s complicated,” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Ben’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, invading your space. “Try me,” he said gently. “You think I haven’t dealt with my share of complicated shit? Hell, we’ve both been through enough to fill a goddamn library. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

His sincerity disarmed you, the tenderness in his eyes making your chest tighten with conflicting emotions. You wanted to push him away, to keep him at arm’s length, but the truth was you were scared. Scared of losing him, scared of losing everything you had worked to build together.

“Ben, please,” you pleaded, your voice cracking slightly. “I can’t… I can’t talk about this right now.”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes were still filled with concern. “Alright. I get it. But don’t think I’m just going to forget about it. I care too much to let this go. Just remember that.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and frustration. You didn’t want to admit how much his words affected you, how much you needed him in that moment. Instead, you turned back to the mirror, focusing on the face that stared back at you, a mask of bravado and pain.

“You’re a stubborn pain in my ass, you know that?” you said, trying to lighten the mood, though it felt forced.

Ben chuckled, his tension easing slightly. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Maybe,” you replied, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Or maybe I just tolerate it because I have no choice.”

“Sure you do. You could always kick me out, but then who’d listen to your bullshit?”

You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. “Don’t push it, soldier.”

He grinned, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Look, I know you’re hurting. Just promise me you’ll let me in when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his tone sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a fleeting moment, you considered breaking down the walls. But the fear of vulnerability held you back, and you simply nodded, knowing that words would only complicate things further.

“I’ll think about it,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your heart felt like it was about to burst.

“Yeah, that’s all I can ask for,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and moving toward the door. “I’ll be outside if you need me. And don’t think you can escape without me knowing. I’ve got eyes like a hawk.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, waving him off as he stepped out, leaving you alone once more.

As the door closed behind him, the silence enveloped you. You stood in front of the mirror, your reflection a reminder of the battle you were fighting within yourself. You wanted to scream, to cry, to let it all out, but you couldn’t. Not yet.

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand back on your stomach, feeling the emptiness there, the loss that echoed in your heart. You knew you couldn’t hide forever. Eventually, you’d have to face the truth, face Ben, and confront the reality of what you had lost.

But for now, you allowed yourself a moment of solitude, a moment to gather your strength. You weren’t ready to let him in, not yet. But when the time came, you hoped he would be there, waiting to catch you when you finally fell apart.

1983:

The opulent luxury of the hotel room was a sharp contrast to the rough and raw energy that had just unfolded within its walls. The king-sized bed, with its crisp white linens and extravagant pillows, lay rumpled and disheveled. The sheer curtains, pulled halfway open, allowed the dim glow of the city lights to seep in, casting a sultry ambiance over the room.

You lay sprawled on the bed, your body still tingling from the intense passion you had just shared. The cool air of the air conditioner brushed against your sweat-slicked skin, providing a fleeting relief. You caught your breath, the previous moments of heated fervor slowly giving way to a familiar post-coital exhaustion.

Beside you, Ben was stretched out, one arm draped casually over his eyes, his breathing uneven but steady. His dark hair was in disarray, sticking to his forehead in a way that only added to the raw, unfiltered appeal he exuded. The bed creaked softly as he shifted, his muscular frame moving with a languid grace.

You turned your head to look at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. The man was a damn force of nature—blunt, obnoxious, and fiercely unapologetic. It was part of what made him so damn irresistible, despite the fact that both of you were more than willing to push each other’s buttons.

“You know,” you said, your voice husky and tinged with amusement, “for someone who’s always so goddamn rough, you’ve got quite the knack for taking it easy afterward.”

He snorted, his arm lowering to reveal a cocky grin. “Well, pet, it’s not like I’m gonna be a raging bull 24/7. Sometimes, even I need a break.” He shifted closer, his body heat radiating toward you. “Besides, someone’s gotta give you a chance to catch your breath.”

You laughed, though it was more of a throaty chuckle than a full-blown laugh. “Catch my breath, huh? I’d say you’re just too lazy to do more.”

“Lazy?” He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Let’s not pretend you’re any better. I seem to recall you screaming my name like you were calling for a rescue.”

“Hey,” you said, turning to face him, “don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. You’re just as bad as I am, if not worse.”

He laughed, a rough, gravelly sound that was both comforting and infuriating. “Guilty as charged. But you know what they say—better to burn out than fade away.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips remained. “Always so dramatic. It’s a wonder you haven’t tried to take up acting yet.”

He shot you a mock-serious look. “Oh, please. I’d be terrible at it. I’m much better at being a reckless asshole.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m just some kind of saint?”

He chuckled, reaching out to stroke your hair. “No, not at all. You’re just as much of a wild card as I am. That’s what makes this whole thing work.”

You shifted slightly, feeling the weight of his hand and the warmth of his body. The intimacy was strangely comforting, despite the gruffness of your interactions. You had both built a fortress around yourselves, yet somehow, this unfiltered connection managed to break through.

“Yeah, well,” you said, propping yourself up on one elbow and looking down at him, “I suppose we’re both a couple of hardasses. But at least we know how to make it work.”

“Hell yeah, we do.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and mischief. “And speaking of making it work, don’t think I’ve forgotten about our little game.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Game? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on,” he said, his grin widening. “You know exactly what I mean. That little bet we had about who could go longer without…”

You rolled your eyes again, though the amusement in your gaze was clear. “Oh, right. The bet. I suppose I should have known you wouldn’t let that go.”

“Damn right,” he said with a chuckle. “But let’s be honest, neither of us was exactly keeping track.”

You smirked, leaning closer. “True enough. We’ve always been more interested in enjoying ourselves than actually playing by the rules.”

He reached out, his hand cupping your face with a rough tenderness that always seemed to surprise you. “And that’s why I love this mess we’ve got going on. It’s never boring, that’s for damn sure.”

You let out a soft sigh, leaning into his touch. “Yeah, I suppose it isn’t. Even if it does come with its share of headaches.”

He chuckled again, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You mean like the one you had earlier?”

You gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t remind me. I’m still trying to forget that little disaster.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said softly, his tone more serious. “We’ve all had our share of those days. But at least we’ve got each other.”

You met his gaze, feeling a rare moment of vulnerability. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s nice to have someone who gets it.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you with a protective and surprisingly tender hold. “Damn right it is. And no matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, the roughness of his skin against your cheek providing a strange comfort. “You better not. I don’t think I could handle you disappearing on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “We’ve been through too much to let it all fall apart now.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken understanding. It was rare for either of you to let down your guard, but in these moments, when the raw edges of your interactions softened, it felt like you could actually breathe.

You glanced around the room, the luxury and opulence starkly contrasting with the reality of your lives. The extravagant setting seemed almost absurd in light of the gritty, rough lives you led outside these walls. But for now, it was a sanctuary—a place where you could be as blunt and unfiltered as you wanted.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, “you ever think about what comes next?”

He gave a thoughtful hum, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. “Sometimes. But mostly, I just focus on the here and now. We’ve got enough to worry about without adding more to the pile.”

You nodded, appreciating the simplicity of his approach. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“You know it is,” he said, his voice taking on a more playful tone. “And anyway, as long as we’ve got each other, I’m not too worried about what comes next.”

You smiled, the warmth of his presence melting away some of the hardness that had settled over you. “Yeah, I suppose we can handle whatever comes our way.”

He grinned, pulling you closer until you were nestled against him. “Damn right we can. And if anyone tries to fuck with us, they’ll have to go through me first.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I’d like to see them try. We’re a force to be reckoned with.”

“Hell yeah, we are,” he said, his voice filled with a rough but genuine affection. “Now, why don’t we enjoy the rest of this night before it all goes to hell?”

You sighed contentedly, letting yourself be enveloped by his presence. “Sounds like a plan. For once, I’m more than happy to let the world outside fade into the background.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “Good. Because I’ve got no intention of letting you go.”

And so, in the luxurious confines of the hotel room, amidst the remnants of passion and the comfort of shared intimacy, you both allowed yourselves a rare moment of peace. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t always easy, but it was real. And for now, that was more than enough.

You woke up to the soft, muted sounds of the city filtering through the thick curtains of the luxury hotel room. The morning light crept in, casting a warm glow over the plush bedding. For a moment, you enjoyed the calm, the gentle embrace of the sheets that cocooned you. But that moment was short-lived. A tightness in your stomach sent you jolting upright, and before you could fully register what was happening, you were bolting out of bed.

You barely made it to the bathroom in time. Your stomach churned violently, and you doubled over, retching as your body expelled whatever remnants of last night’s indulgences remained. The taste of bile burned at the back of your throat as you grasped the cool porcelain of the toilet, your knuckles whitening with the pressure.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally settled back against the wall, panting and trembling. The fluorescent lights above hummed, and the stark whiteness of the bathroom felt overwhelmingly bright and sterile. You took a deep breath, the air feeling sharp and acrid. Slowly, you pulled yourself together, trying to steady your racing heart.

As you sat there, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. This wasn’t the first time you had felt nauseous in the morning. In fact, over the past few weeks, you had noticed a series of bizarre cravings—things you’d never even considered eating. Pickles and peanut butter, raw tomatoes, and even the occasional urge for a strange concoction of ice cream and hot sauce. You had laughed it off, chalking it up to stress, or perhaps just the weirdness of being a super who had too many mental battles to contend with.

But the signs were all there, laying themselves out like a damning series of clues. You felt your heart begin to race as the realization washed over you like a cold wave, crashing against the shoreline of your thoughts.

“No. No, no, no,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head in denial. This couldn’t be happening. You were too young, too wild, too reckless for this. The very thought of being pregnant sent a jolt of panic through your system, making your hands tremble.

You pushed yourself up from the floor, swaying slightly as the realization sank in deeper. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink as you leaned over the mirror, staring at the reflection that looked back at you—a face filled with dread, uncertainty, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “This isn’t happening.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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[katyawriteswhump]

WIP tag game!

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

The beyond awesome @wheneverfeasible tagged me! I was going to try QWERTY, but yeah... no Qs forthcoming so I stole some SYRUP!

So, here's some WIP excerpts, including some oldies I really need to get back to. This was a good excuse to dust off those files, so...

Less than zero pressure tags for some lovely moots and lovely tumblrs I haven't connected with in a while (my bad!) @tea42 @yesdangerpls @estrellami-1 @hey-rach247

@kal-ology @berenwrites ... word is, TOAST.

...

Screw it.  Steve’s an Omega. He’s not a freakin’ pushover, plus there were pups in danger. Okay, not his, and in fact only a few years younger the him, but that was total irrelevance. It was his duty as much as anybody’s to look out for them—in fact, presenting as Omega had been a goddamn relief, explaining a lot about his protective instincts toward younger kids.

From my forthcoming Whumptober Omegaverse fic #1

There's 18+ stuff to follow so...

“You want that?”

All Steve could do was gawk at him, incredulous. “I always wanted you, Eddie. Yeah, I was kinda surprised at the start, because sex had never been, like, fun for me before. And I’m not saying what we did wasn’t totally fucked up, but… Honest to God, Eddie, that first night, you spent more time with your fingers up my ass—driving me crazy—than your dick. The only part which was fucking hard labor was how you aaalways needed me to come too! Guess that meant you always cared if I was enjoying it, so… I wasn’t lying about much, okay? No doe-eyed guilt trips, huh?”

From The Freak in the Penthouse chapter 15

Really, truly, Steve wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come again so soon. Either way, it was fun finding out. By the time Eddie gobbled him deep, cheeks sexily hollowed and with a super-sexy glint in his eye, Steve was pretty much at the point of no return, and the soft undulations at the back of Eddie’s throat slayed him dead.

From The Freak in the Penthouse chapter 15

“Uuuuuh, how exactly did you two wind up at Lover’s Lake, anyhow?” asks Dustin, who’s getting incredibly nimble with his crutches. Steve remains out of it, so Eddie and Robin hook his arms over their shoulders and start dragging him between them back toward Nancy’s station wagon.  “I mean, we thought you were in the Starcourt base—"

“Good job you weren’t,” interjected Nancy. “Oh my God, you have no idea what’s been going down there.”

“Yeeeeah, actually, that’s precisely where we were,” mumbled Eddie. “And the apocalyptic flood? Okay, you might have to ask Steve about that. When he wakes up.”

From The Power of Love chapter 19

“P-please.” Steve begged, and for or the first time, he struggled against his bonds in his need to remove the blindfold. “What’s happening… Jesus… Holy Shiiiiiit! E-eddie? Pleeeeeease!”

Still no answer. Just scorching hot breaths, and deep grooooowl that resonated to the marrow of Steve’s bones. At the same time, mega-confusingly, the pillow-soft lips nuzzling Steve’s throat sure as heck belonged to human Eddie. The body slamming him, too, wasn’t abrasive scaly… but Holy shit! That was a definitely gigantic, scaly dragon cock that slowly nudged his dripping wet passage apart.

From Dragons’ Pet chapter 3

[starlightiing]

Could you put together a top 5 or even top 3 drivers and why?

I - like my opinion I guess, obviously? I'm not sure I could narrow my faves down to three or even to five but I can try. I'm going to do top 6 I think. That would fit better for me.

George Russell

Alex Albon

Pierre Gasly

Lando Norris

Oscar Piastri

Charles Leclerc

I don't really know if that's THE order because it changes around a lot. But...Those are my top six for sure. The why's are really silly and not technical and probably useless to explain but George for me is a world championship contender (not this year) but in general, in a good car. He has so much untapped potential we've not even seen yet. He's ambitious without being a cunt (some people think he's a cunt, idk, I don't see it), his heart is on his sleeve openly and proudly and I love that for him/about him. Show me more emotional men in sports pls. He has the talent, the drive, the ability - but not the car. I could see George, if put in a competitive car again, world champ in a few years really.

Alex is an AMAZING driver. Yadda yadda, he crashed 2x, yadda yadda, Williams, yadda yadda el oh el chassis, blah blah blah. I don't really want to hear all that when you look at the car he's stuck with. That kid can drive, he wasn't BAD with Red Bull he just wasn't up to their standards, but you put him back in a car like that and give him a year or two and he's there. I will never not talk about Alex's talent. He is incredible and I hate to say it but it is simply this: no one does well in that Williams car. He also needs to come out into a better team, better car, and start working his way up to where he can be comfortable driving with the big teams.

Pierre is another one with untapped potential. His story is tragic and I don't like to talk about him too long because it makes me sick. He himself I'm sure is just fine and having a great time and doesn't need/want defending, but I don't like it. I see it in him, that passion is so strong I can feel it radiating off of him. People don't like him because he's been bitchy and unhappy recently but can you blame him? Look what he's got to work with. He's a race winner and he's stuck back of the pack in a car that looked so goddamn promising when he signed his contract and ended up eating absolute dogshit. You can say Red Bull gave him a chance and they did (sort of), and maybe they were right in saying he wasn't ready for THAT just yet - but he is SO much better than where he is right now and has fought so much harder and gone through so much, and he deserves to be in a car that fights as hard as his heart does. Period. I could easily see him being in a place where Lando is right now, in a decent car.

Lando and Oscar I just think are good. Period. Lando has his moments where he chokes and I think people are really, really hard on him for it but I'd really love to see them hop in a car and do what he does :) Things happen. Literally all you have to do is accidentally turn the wheel a little more than you planned (which we've all done in our regular cars, I'm CERTAIN) but going as fast as he is, that can be a catastrophic mistake. That's the pressure they're all under, and they all make mistakes. And Lando is a nervous little bunny sometimes, so I think that doesn't help, but the point still stands: they all make mistakes. Lando gets too much shit for his, period. He's a fantastic driver. Oscar is incredibly talented - without even bringing up his age, because I feel like it's backhanded "wow he's great for his age" nah mate he's just great. He's working his way up and doing really really well and just getting better and better. He's a strong competitor, don't sleep on him.

I think we all know about Charles Leclerc's ability and potential, his heart, his passion, what fuels him and what his team does to him. I don't think I need to deep dive too far into this one. Loyal to a fault, gets his own heart broken too much by bad calls - but probably one of the most razor fast reflexes on the grid and overflowing in natural talent. And he's not a dick, which we love. Please don't confuse "sometimes being a dick" with being a dick overall as a person - they are not the same thing. I am sometimes a bitch, I am not a bitch as a whole. He can and hopefully will world champ before George.

[bluerasbunny]

you know what. fuck it im getting autistic on main

C!DREAM AS JH/ARIAH SONGS. (read under the cut!!)

starting with THE MOST fitting one!!

who's eye is it anyway is so him it is insane. it's so post-vault dream in the imprisoned sam era. 'an eye for an eye'. literally. like literally an eye for an eye i need everyone to hear how much this fits c!dream.

i'd have to paste all the lyrics in i'm not doing that. all of them fit. listen to it you'll see what i mean

THSI ONE. FITS SO WELL.

Is it really a complex or just lacking context? Why would someone go so far to be a walking lie? Yeah, that don't sound like me I don't think I'm that guy (enter beginner's guide)

c!dream being severely misunderstood, lacking in context, a walking lie that he went as far as he possibly could for. you see it right

That I would lose (needed a change of pace) Oh, I would lose Between my left and right, one day I'd have to choose (gone without a chance) He found the man before him had died

first of all these are lyrics from BAD LUCK!! which is the most discduo song ever. second only to want you gone from portal 2.

second of all 'gone without a chance' 'he found the man before him had died' do i even.

the abandonment of himself in the haste of his mission.

Slow down Those words mean nothing My brain just revs up faster Pressure bomb in a goddamn knife fight Ecstatic pathways runaway flood my mind Overstimulation makes me feel like I'm alive

Static that's keeping me up It drives me forward every moment Makes sure I don't stop too long to Smell the flowers I been here too long I might Burn up and explode

I get in the way of myself And it hurts to admit That sometimes I'm unequipped To handle It all on my own But why do it alone It's cause I know I'll never slow down

I'm at the end of my means From idolizing a made-up man Who one day could be me But does version sleep at night Or ever take a minute to just breathe Or Just to be

honestly i can't even. explain this one properly?? like with any evidence for it?? i just think it resembles his psyche and 'guy that is always running around doing SOMETHING' thing

this one is SO discduo. holy shit it is so fucking discduo it is insane how discduo this is.

"You're not like me, I'm not like you I'm not who these things happen to" And that's exactly what you say before they do

tommy. tommy with the 'You're not like me, i'm not like you, i'm not who these things happen to' and the responding line. its so them it is so them OGH

Hand in hand come human error and plain bad luck It seems the timing's always wrong For the ones who wait too long You'll never catch a break you'll have to make your own

'Hand in hand come human error and plain bad luck.' i am. INSANE about corellating this to discduo. tommy is human error dream is plain bad luck. by the way. or it could be the other way around it works either way

That I would lose Oh I would lose Between my left and right, I'd one day have to choose You're not like me, I'm not like you. I'm not who these things happen to And that's exactly what you say before it catches up to you Before you play with knives and find yourself in two You, you, you, you

first point except with the new lines fitting discduo even more. like

I finally climbed to heights I No matter how I try Can't descend Still, somehow they're looking down on me Laughing cause I got what I deserved (You got what you deserved)

And I would do it again I'm not sorry but thank you For enduring me As long as you did That's more than I'd ever ask of you

LIKE. DO I EVEN. HELLO? HELLO. HELLO??? YOU SEE THIS RIGHT.

that final part is LITERALYL the discduo finale like. it is insane. it is insane

okay. hear me out. manhunt energy, yes, but ALSO.

Before I knew I'd live to Savor this day I'm taking off To my own grave I'm running away

So watch me disappear before your eyes And catch me if you can

Catch me, catch me, misplace and mismatch me Tie your shoes in knots but you’ll never harass me Find me, find me, I dare you to try I’ll bet on my survival But now you’re gonna die out there

Where could I be? Walking among you or inside your own homes? Or perhaps there's a part of me in all of you. (Hahaha!)

i cant even explain my thought process with this one i just need you guys to match my brainwaves honestly. like you get me (probably)

So catch me if you can Catch me if you dare Venture through the foul and you'll see what's fair Catch me if you can Catch me if you dare You'll find me through the fog and the filthy air

'Venture through the foul and you'll see what's fair' SNAKES DON'T JUST BITE.

Another grave for the digger with the crimson blade I ain't a saint or a sinner I'm the ghost you made

I fucking dare you, You wouldn't know a good hook if it impaled you That chorus isn't yours, eighty-five is for the label So are you able to take the blame, As a pawn to the winner of a losing game?

FUCKING. DISC DUO. IT'S DISC DUO MAN. I MEAN COME ON THAT LAST LYRIC. I AM DERANGED

im going to gain a reputation as the guy that tags c!dream to songs and then does the worlds worst attempts at analysis posts on them and well maybe im okay with that

[mapsofnonexistentplaces]

25 for end of year asks!

25. Did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year? Describe one

GODDAMN DID I! came up with most of the ghosts in ccs this year and it was fun but i think i’m gonna soapbox a bit about the facsimiles because i haven’t really anywhere else….

these guys have technically existed in the narrative since last summer but i hadn’t really developed them nor designed them until like. literally this summer so about an entire year later. their whole deals just being sentient bits of code derived from the memories of two other existing characters. person who made them (marjolaine) has been experimenting with evolving human consciousness from raw code and the facsimiles endeavour was basically just another expression of that with the addendum of an animate human origin point

in the past i’ve like described these two as “new shoots of a plant growing from the same root of an established organism” because they both arise from younger incarnations of their bases and have like. basically fully split apart in ego despite maintaining the memories and foundation of them.

these two guys also just basically exist in the computer. which is also the sky of the entire world. don’t worry about it. but they don’t exist corporeally and can only really commune through a computer interface

frances on the right is a younger copy of marjolaine…. for context marjolaine used to be a prestigious opera singer who ended up straining her voice so heavily she retained permanent vocal strain that completely killed her career and also weakened her ability to consistently speak at all. frances was built from memories PRIOR to that as a way for marjolaine to relive her glory days but frances themself became like. very unimpressed with that responsibility and was much more interested in manipulating their own existence and partial omniscience (as a result of being expanded on with code) to just become a major gossip basically hehe. they love peoplewatching the living and coming up with absurd ‘theories’ and assumptions about their behaviours, making bets on things that will happen, peeking into potential ‘timelines’ for fun….

eventually though marjolaine grew extremely ornery with their waywardness, and started to pressure and berate them into fulfilling that desired snapshot of her own life. this placed a lot of stress on frances and they basically just shattered into code under it which. although not a permanent affliction is something that requires a prolonged period of recovery. and prior to ‘dying’ they basically vowed to never commune with marjolaine again so. that bridge is burnt. fucked up your clone real bad!

(also yes they’re named after that One Album. for no reason really)

sezim on the left derives from another guy (olzhas, who has many problems, such as being friends with marjolaine) who basically ‘donated’ eir own memories for this experiment only to like. very quickly regret it once it turned out sezim developed into kind of just. an embarrassing immature bratty version of emself from like 5 years back. he’s much more vexed about setting himself apart as a distinct individual than frances was, to the point that it’s what occupies his mind most…. his main pastime WAS hanging out with frances and testing the precise vastness of their knowledge, together, but once frances exploded and shit, seething about his general existence kind of took priority lol. he’s basically just got an entire thing of “i’m a terrifying being of great wisdom and power but i have to be tied to this random motherfucker that i hate and i wish i could shed all that influence off. and also i’m confined to a computer.” he sort of just ‘fled’ once frances exploded (which he’s EXTREMELY bitter about btw) and has formed an undying grudge against marjolaine, thus never contacting her again afterward….

these two have a weird role in the story where they’re kind of just setpieces for their bases’ story arcs. funnily enough. but they’ve got a bit of meta to them that i think is interesting…. mostly just embodying the idea of “here’s ‘people’ who both literally and figuratively sit ‘above’ the narrative and the traditional idea of being developed characters” by design they’re kind of just witnesses or, more aptly, critics of the main conflict of the story which is all about really convoluted and annoying interpersonal drama radiating out into more serious conflict. they kind of think it’s all stupid and avoidable and they are 100% right. but who’s going to listen to them! nobody’s really casting an ear to them since they’re so above it all to begin with….

or something like that. i like these two catty fucks

[vacantgodling]

figuring stuff out for this wip. no pressure to read it cuz this shit is subject to change. characters are dummie lennon & morrigan

—

“I…” I stammered. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“No you’re not.” His voice was cold, and he held a hand up before I could finish speaking. “You’re in love with the idea of me; the way that I help you, the way that I’ve given you a place to stay and recover from the trauma that The Centurion and Aurora put you through. What’s something you know about me?” Morrigan’s gaze was like ice shards slicing through me until my soul was cut. He sat waiting, saying nothing. I cleared my throat.

“I know how you take your coffee in the morning.” I said so meekly that it was almost like I never said anything at all. “Exactly.” He said sharply. “You know how I act around you. But you don’t know me.”

“But I want to get to know you!” I cried. “Isn’t that enough?”

And despite what every popular romance movie I’d ever seen would have me believe, Morrigan turned away from me.

“No.” He said, and his voice was hollow. “It will never be enough to just ‘want’. You want so many things Len—“

“Is it bad to want things now?”

“It’s bad to take!” Morrigan whirled on me again. “To take, and take, and never give back. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re pretty goddamn selfish Len.” I felt my heart stiffen, my mouth hung agape. “S-Selfish?” I uttered.

“Selfish.” He parroted. “You took time and energy from your parents til they pulled their hair out. All they asked was for you to stay out of trouble but you couldn’t. They were stifling you. And then they got a divorce and you still didn’t change, and now your step daddy sent you here and who’s the bad guy?”

“He is!” I said back instantly. “I may have done some things wrong, but he had no right to treat me how he did… Like I’m some fucking basket case that needs to be contained! He had no right to take away my freedom, my, my home, my—“

“And what about his rights?” Morrigan countered. “Your moms? Your brothers, for fucks sake. You told me you once almost let him drown!”

“But I didn’t!” I cried. “I didn’t because I couldn’t bear to have that responsibility placed on me! You’re the one who told me for every good deed even when it’s difficult, it’s valuable. Is that not the same thing?”

“It is!” Morrigan looked frustrated. “But you’re only thinking about it from your perspective. Take me taking you in for instance. I could’ve left you out there to die, knowing that you being here could get me fucking killed.”

“I… Killed?”

“Yes! Killed!” It’s like I’d been let in on a huge secret that they’d been keeping from me all this time. But Morrigan carried on, angrily gesticulating with his hands as he spoke.

“Why, pray tell, do you think Aurora was pushing you away so much until this happened? Do you think him caring about you was some sick joke?”

“Well I thought—“ Morrigan cut me off. “You thought wrong! We didn’t want you to get involved so you could be safe.” He sucked in a breath of air, almost out of breath from shouting. “And now I have to stick my neck out, for your sake—“

“I can take care of myself.” Morrigan just looked at me. “I mean, you didn’t have to do all of this if it would be such a bother for you.” I said and Morrigan laughed, bitterly. “Who do you think asked me to do this?”

Aurora. It went unsaid.

I thought about every instance between Morrigan and I. Every time he brought me tea when I asked. When he told me it was fine to rest my head on his lap and fall asleep so I wouldn’t have nightmares. He looked at me with such soft, caring eyes.

“That doesn’t explain everything though.” I was wearing his shirt right now as I sat in his bed, covered in his scent. A scene like this would’ve driven Aurora wild but… that’s the problem wasn’t it? He wasn’t Aurora.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Why did you bother doing everything else though?” I blurted. “Holding me and comforting me and…” I stopped when I met Morrigan’s eyes. He looked distant, troubled… but there was something else. It dawned on me.

“You love him too.” I said quietly. “Don’t you?”

Morrigan didn’t reply, but I suppose he didn’t have to. He was right when he said I didn’t know. Not only did I not know, I realized there would be no satisfying way for this to end for any of us. Morrigan got up from his chair and headed to the door of his small room. He didn’t acknowledge me when he went out, just closed the door behind him and left me to suffer in my silence.

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 14x12 Prophet and Loss

“Is this the first underwater shot we’ve gotten? It couldn’t be. I don’t think we’ve been underwater much” “Alright. Going back a few, our little submarino friends, this is lit up, so you’re not that deep at all. He wanted to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere. It’s lit up so he’s probably not even 100 feet down, but the crush depth of that box is probably not that far down. It’s not a sphere. Instead of this odd box, you’d have to have a titanium sphere like 6” thick. You’d need like 6” of titanium in a sphere in the Marianas depth. Challenger Deep is 36000 feet down.” “I know it’s a TV show but fkn A” “DIdn’t he build it? Why would he be banging his way out of it?” “God I hope it wouldn’t make that much noise down there. Fuck” “You know what would suck the most about being in a box in the dark for however many years, knowing you have functioning eyes but not knowing if you’ll be able to see if you ever get out” “Fkn wallpaper goddamn” “just a bad dream, eh?” “fukc dude” “this wallpaper was definitely on purpose” “These conversations are so insane if you think about what happened in Season 1. Before demons and stuff. These conversations are so out there” “are we making concrete or what?” “or is it some crazy ass chemical?” “fkn Sweeney Todd or what?” “how the fuck is this guy so alive? Every time I forget about him, I think he’s dead, but then he shows up and I get frustrated” “I get so frustrated with Nick being around that I forget what happens to him every time” “Do they have a fkn hitch on this thing?” “no pressure” “helluva a hairdo man” laughter

“I love how Dean is the most dangerous thing to Dean at this point. Even more than the other shit they’ve run into before” “the fuck is he doing/“ “When are they going to jump in his head and put more than a screwdriver in the door?” “who’s creepin’ on the shitter? Oh it’s a door” “no cameras? Nothing?” “hmm” “we’re on iPhone 6 era I think” “helluva a knocker” “well that’s something” “that’s all it took to snap the guy out of it?” “really?” “you know the answer to this already, Sam” “No shit” “oh he’s breaking into a house now’ “isn’t het this his old fkn house? Or some shit? How did he get back here?” “yeah it’s his old house” “Fkn die already goddammit” “Wouldn’t Lucifer’s vessel had died a thousand times over? How is this possible?” “good luck explaining that to your wife bud” “dun dun dun” “she’s never met an angel clearly” “helluva a way to word it” “what a fkn asshole” “she should ghost-kill him now” “says who?” laughter “Clear?” “does it alternate every other season who is going to sacrifice themselves?” “Does Cas have to spend grace doing this” “we did all this grace blasting and couldn’t get his eyesight fixed?” “they’re going to keep reminding us that he doesn’t have a soul” “is that supposed to be funny? Cas almost killed him” “this is probably one of the top 5 sam speeches ever” “to be fair I don’t really like many of his speeches. Right up until the part where he fkn punches Dean” “ehh” “you better clean up that fkn mop at home” “that scene just looks like a homeless guy wrestling some guy in the parking lot and the security guard coming to check it out” “idk he’s in one of those murdering moods. Better watch out” “Fuck that’s bright. Why?”

[fozmeadows]

revenge of others finale

this is an extremely niche complaint but the final episode of revenge of others was so goddamn rushed and underwhelming and I’m PISSED about it. I mean, look: this is very much a show with melodrama vibes played straight, and it succeeded so admirably at that for eleven out of twelve episodes that I’m not even really mad about the last minute jaebum/jaejoon is-it-a-split-personality-or-is-it-a-ghost reveal despite the fact that it is objectively dumb and bad. what I am mad about is how jaebum’s arrest somehow magically nixes all the investigations into the shit sooheon actually did, even though jaebum can confirm sooheon’s guilt - like, I could potentially buy that he took the rap for it out of shame and loyalty, but goddamn, if you’re going to imply something that emotionally meaty, you need to show it to me! and especially when sojung’s whole deal has been Good Anti-Corruption Cop, even with her sympathy for sooheon, the fact that the whole school covers up for him when it comes to a clear-cut instance of self-defense is like... noble, or whatever, and gives us a good callback to an earlier plotline, but it also doesn’t jibe with her as a character to accept it, or make sense that THIS was the thing he needed to be shielded from (fighting for his fucking life) as opposed to the things he actually did (beating up sexually violent dudes). we don’t even get an explanation about how taeyeon was able to safely come back, even though the whole point of her leaving was so that she didn’t get pressured by the police, who I guess just... gave up? on her? as a witness?

we don’t get a solid confirmation on whether osung is dead or just badly hurt, let alone see how that all plays out at the police station with his dad and sister; and even more importantly, we don’t get to see a proper reveal of everything he did and why, especially re: setting chanmi and jihyun up to be enemies with the fake nude plotline! both those girls deserve catharsis with each other over the ways they were manipulated and used, and I wouldn’t say no to a callback explaining what actually went down with that really early flashback about the fake pregnancy thing osung was involved in, too, now that we know what his whole deal was! we don’t even get to see what happened with him and jihyun! the implication is that he forced a kiss on her and recorded it, but we don’t get to see or hear her side of things, which feels like a major elision! 

the fact that sejin waited until the very last minute to tell chanmi that he and wonseok were dating also felt cheap - like, yeah, even though he told her about his dads and she was cool with it and he helped with literally everything else, I can still see him having been nervous to bring it up, but I want more details, especially when osung claimed that jaebum had dated wonseok and jaebum thought it was true. like, what was going on there? at the very least, you’re suggesting jaebum is potentially enough into dudes that when osung told him, ‘hey, you dated this guy,’ he thought it was plausible, instead of being all ‘what the fuck, I’m straight’ - like, it’s kind of a massive lie for osung to try and tell if he’s got no pre-existing deets on jaebum’s sexuality, but no, we’re just gonna gloss over that because Reasons.

and then, most annoyingly of all, the chanmi/sooheon situation ends with him dropping out of school and her going into the marines, and they’re just... together, but also we’re not going to revisit the brain tumor thing? we’re not going to have even a single scene where they talk about how he could potentially drop dead at a moment’s notice but she’s going to go off into the army? really? we’re just going to paste over it with an attempt at happily ever after, as though all the previous emotional tension doesn’t exist? we’re not even going to have chanmi question her career choice, or at least view it in a new light, after all the trauma and violence she’s just been through and the fact of sooheon’s diagnosis? 

just, goddamn. I would like to think there was originally another episode’s worth of material fleshing out the ending that was forcibly cut for shitty network/production reasons while the writers got angrily drunk about it, because it really does feel like there’s a whole bunch of missing scenes in play, and the alternative is that everyone involved was like ‘yeah, this seems fine’ about a final episode that completely ignores all the stakes and consequences, emotional and otherwise, which fueled the plot to that point, in favor of ‘the cute straight couple are fine, so everything is Good.’ AUGH.