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scoops-aboy86 · 6 months ago

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not sure if you're taking prompt requests (I've been lurking hehe♠️♥️) but can we consider steddie who have sexual tension whilst also being each other's biggest hater? maybe Eddie is mouthing off to Steve and they place a bet; loser draws a card at random and if they don't complete it within the month then...I don't know but something embarrassing. let's say Eddie (cocky and on his high horse) underestimates Steve and loses the bet and draws the card: bulk up. And determined not to be a sore loser he goes all in, unfortunately he misinterprets just how much he's supposed to bulk for, and what bulking up actually entails 👀 by the end of the month that boy is busting out his pants

Hey there ♠️♥️ anon! I for sure take prompt requests, and I love the idea of these two giving glaring daggers vibes whenever they’re in the same room…

(The following is also on ao3, because, uh. It's 5545 words.)

They’d settled their differences in the Upside Down, that first time, right? Despite a shared mutual history of one looking at the other and thinking ugh, Steve had thanked someone who wasn’t a friend and didn’t have any person interest vested in his safety for coming to help rescue him from a gruesome death, and Eddie had broken with years of anti-jock, anti-popular tradition to admit that Steeeeve Harrington was a good dude. They’d even bonded a little over how much of a butthead Dustin was. Right?

Wrong. The truce only held up until Eddie nearly died by bat attack, though it wasn’t officially called off until several weeks after that because Eddie was in a literal coma. Pretty much the last thing Steve had said was to not try and be a hero, and Eddie had agreed… and then pulled that shit? The idiot had nearly bled out in Dustin’s goddamn arms—leaving the fifteen year old even more shell shocked than he had been after Starcourt when it had finally, fully hit him that Steve could have been literally tortured to death, just because he’d picked up some weird Russian transmission.

So Eddie’s first real day coherently awake and not foggy from pain meds, jarring and stressful as all that was on its own, also included a vicious reprimand to the tune of what the hell were you thinking from the former King of Hawkins High. And, hey, he firmly maintained that if you kicked a man when he was down then you shouldn’t be surprised when he goes for your ankles. The shouting match that ensued only ended when Robin, Jonathan, and Jonathan’s weird friend from California physically dragged him out of the room, while Dustin and Mike each put a hand on Eddie and effectively held their weakened DM pinned to keep him from giving chase when he could not, in fact, actually walk.

(Surprisingly, Mike is actually on Steve’s side with that one. It’s because upon returning to Hawkins, when getting the full rundown, Dustin had said, “He was dying, he was right there and I couldn’t do anything to save him… It was like when Troy told you to jump off the quarry and you actually did it. I was useless then too.” One look at his friend’s haunted expression and Mike was thoroughly pissed off at both Eddie and his past self, no matter how okay things had turned out after.)

Everyone hopes it’ll blow over, but both Steve and Eddie are stubborn as hell and convinced the other is in the wrong. Neither wants to back down, so they don’t. Things snowball into an active feud, Steve with his sarcastic comments and the bitchy faces he pulls, and Eddie jumping on furniture to deliver thinly veiled speeches about whatever his beef of the day with Steve is this time—both dramatic as fuck and not nearly as ashamed enough about how loud and petulant their complaints about each other are.

As Robin likes to say, they’re both kind of right but they’re also both morons.

So their friends do what any reasonable group of young people irreparably traumatized by intradimensional monsters would do: they trick both of them into the same room and lock the door until they either sort their shit out or knock each other unconscious. The new Hopper-Byers house has a basement that doubles as a tornado shelter that’s just perfect for keeping them contained, no windows and all.

By the time the Party lets them out, they seem to have reached a truce.

Robin finds out later, though, that they haven’t ended their feud so much as… turned it into a competition. They’ve given each other a month to get into one of the other’s hobbies, though she does not get any explanation of how the results will be judged or what the ‘winner’ gets out of this besides general bragging rights. Steve will try and learn guitar well enough to play a single song (and not that Twinkle Twinkle Little Star shit in the guitar for beginners books, an actual, recognizable song that one might hear on the radio, singing optional), and Eddie will try and bulk up.

“Bulk up,” Robin repeats flatly, picturing Eddie’s toothpick frame and absolutely failing at imagining muscles showing up on it. “Eddie Munson, who was held back for two years in part because he refused to climb a rope in gym, or participate in any other Presidential Fitness Test activity as an anti-war, anti-mindless sheep protest, is going to take up working out.”

Steve just shrugs with a smirk. “I don’t know, all he said was ‘bulk up.’ We’re not asking each other for advice—which means he can’t ask Lucas either, since that’s just, like, my advice but trickle-down style—”

“That’s not a phrase you should use, Steve. Not when you’re making… that face.” Robin is starting to think that the sexual tension between these two idiots isn’t completely in her imagination.

“Whatever, he can’t ask for my advice and I can’t ask for his. By the way, do you know anything about playing guitar?”

It’s going to be a long month.

“Okay,” Gareth begins, “I’ve done some research, and I’ve compiled a list of—”

Eddie snatches the sheet of paper out of his hand, ignoring Gareth’s grumbles as he scans it. “‘Eat lots of starch to fuel the body,’” he reads. “Okay, easy enough. ‘Lots of protein, fish is good.’ Done, I fuckin’ love fish sticks. Healthy fats, blah blah blah… ‘Recovery after workouts is important.’ Makes sense.” He flicks the paper back in the younger boy’s direction, sitting back into the couch in his trailer with an exaggerated stretch. “This is going to be easy. I can just carry amps around like usual and eat up, I’ve got this in the bag. Harrington is going down.”

Snatching it up, Gareth shoots Eddie an annoyed look. “This is bringing out a lovely color in you, dude. I might not be around much for the next thirty days.”

Eddie snorts. “Band practice,” he reminds him in a sing-song voice. “I’m thinking we can do two or three times a week now that school’s out.”

“Yeah, about that…”

And that’s how Eddie finds out that Gareth is being dragged on a family road trip next week to visit some great aunt or uncle somewhere, Jeff has already started courses at the nearest community college, and Frank has a full time job washing dishes at Enzo’s now. The latter two will probably give Eddie a good in for selling to new customers, now that he’s been freed from perpetual daily forced contact with high schoolers, but other than that it all kind of sucks.

After Gareth leaves, Eddie sulks his way to the grocery store to pick up what he figures he needs for the next few weeks. Piles the shopping cart up with fish sticks and ketchup, protein powder and ice cream (because the list had said something about smoothies, there’s ice cream in those, right?), pasta, various kinds sauces to keep things interesting, a bunch of different kinds of chips for snacking, and bacon and a carton of eggs for breakfasts. That should cover most of it, right? He can come back for more whenever, but he thinks this might last him a week. No skin off his nose when that big government payout is basically footing the bill.

One week later, Steve’s fingers are sore from trying to play his grandpa’s old guitar he had found in the attic, and he’s having a hard time with Robin’s explanation of sheet music. She doesn’t know a thing about string instruments, but she’s working out an arrangement of Everybody Wants to Rule the World that he can both read and play, so he can only complain so much.

Eddie feels vaguely bloated all the time, but he deadlifts his amps and carries them around the trailer for a while several times a day and takes care to give his muscles a nice long break afterwards. He’s already had to make a couple more trips to the store for pretty much everything except protein powder… Which isn’t that bad with enough ice cream blended in with it, and sometimes he even remembers to throw in some fresh fruit for color. Sometimes he does bananas and peanut butter. Zero complaints.

By the second week, Steve is making decent progress . He’s pretty sure, anyway. The music he plays is basic, halting, and awkward, but it’s music. The real VIP when it comes to helping him learn, actually, is Erica. She’d just taken up the flute in eighth grade, more to fulfill an elective requirement than anything else, and she’s a vicious but effective task master when it comes to making him practice. Her critiques, while scathing, usually offer the information he can’t make sense in of in a new way, sometimes easier to process. Between that and Robin helping him puzzle out where to put his hands to make the chords sound right, things are coming along.

Meanwhile, Eddie has developed a routine. He deadlifts his amps and carries them around the trailer for a while a few times a day. He cools down with a joint afterwards, and if it’s a really hot day he goes through popsicles like nobody’s business. They’re basically frozen juice. Practically just water. He’s pretty sure he can have as many as he wants, and when he gets to the goofy part of his high he sometimes deep throats them just for fun—because he’s busy with this whole bulking thing, alright? Hasn’t had a chance to drive out to Indy for some good sweaty stress relief. The munchies hit him hard and there’s something satisfying in how all the snacks he blows through (ha) make him feel sluggish and warm on their way to making him bigger. He doesn’t give a shit about building muscles, it’s just… The sense of accomplishment is nice.

Partway through the third week, Steve runs into Eddie in the grocery store. Literally.

“Oof. Hey, look where you’re—Oh, it’s you.” Eddie barely glances at Steve to make this assessment, he’s too busy trying to decide on what pasta sauces he wants to get for the next few meals. His cart is already quite full (plus there’s an entire case of Mt. Dew on the wire shelf underneath), his eyes slightly bloodshot, and he has an already open Snickers bar that he takes an absentminded bite from.

Steve has to pause to take him in, knowing that something is different but not quite able to decide what… But his brain registers it as a vaguely positive thing all the same, and he finds the Snickers bar amusing. “Jeez Munson, you couldn’t wait until you got to the register? How long have you been shopping?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, swallows, and very maturely sticks his tongue out at Steve through his plush lips, right there in the grocery store. “I was working out earlier and got hungry, fucking sue me.” He makes his sauce selections and moves on, but Steve trails after him with just a dinky little basket with a few items in hand.

Which… he doesn’t mean to do, but finds himself embarrassingly hypnotized by Eddie’s ass. (And since when is Eddie not flat as a pancake back there? Must be doing squats or something. Whatever it is, Steve can admit in the confines of his own mind that it’s paid off.)

He breaks off towards the register before Eddie says anything else to him, though—and before Eddie can notice the unexpected semi starting up in his jeans. And he gets away with it too, because Eddie is facing resolvedly away, unwilling to let Steve see the way his cheeks have flushed from that bare minimum of teasing. Because Eddie has only been in the store for less than ten minutes. Made a pass at one of the candy displays by the front entrance as he was coming in, and yeah he’s high, but usually he has some restraint. This time… he just really wanted something sweet in his mouth, and Steve’s comment makes him want to shove the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth all at once. (Which he still does, but manages to wait until Steve is gone and hold in the little moan that wants to worm its way out around the mouthful.)

If they both go home and touch themselves for a bit after the encounter, no one’s ever going to know.

The next time they see each other, it’s because time’s officially up on their bet. Steve cannot get over how Eddie, who declines to sit down for this private little open mic event in the bland Harrington living room, fills out his jeans. It’s making his mouth water involuntary, throwing off his concentration while he tries to play the song he’s prepared. And what is up with that? He’s never looked at Eddie this way before, never had this problem in locker rooms with his jock teammates, had little trouble not looking or not thinking much of it if he did. Eddie’s not even naked for fuck’s sake, his jeans are just painted on, a stark contrast to the loose t-shirt he’s wearing.

He needs to see what’s under that shirt. Doesn’t know what he’s hoping to see, other than, just… Eddie. Which is annoying as hell, because it’s distracting while he’s trying to play—a month is long enough for him to figure out some basics and a single song, but not to be totally comfortable with the instrument.

When he’s done, he looks up from where he’s been focused intently on his hands only to see Eddie staring at him with a slightly furrowed brow, head tipped slightly to one side.

“I can’t call it good,” Eddie says slowly, reluctantly, “because it’s Tears for Fears, for chrissakes. But… I am impressed.”

Steve resists the urge to pump his fist in victory.

“For only a month of learning to play, the most painful part was really just your taste in music,” Eddie continues, smirking.

“Oh shut up.” Steve rolls his eyes and puts the guitar aside with a huff. “Your turn, Mr. Metalhead Smartass. Time for show and tell.”

And Eddie barely hesitates. Sure, he knows that he’s kind of missed the intended mark on this bulking thing, but he definitely is bulkier. His pants, the same size he’s been wearing comfortably for years, are digging in at the waist hard enough that he’s opted to stay standing for now rather than risk their integrity. He’d gotten a new, bigger shirt specifically for this occasion just to draw out the suspense of the reveal.

Part of him just wants a reaction. Like in the store, when Steve had teased him about the candy bar. He wants Steve to see him, stride over from the couch, and grab at the roll of pudge spilling over the top of his jeans. Call him out on all the pasta and sweets and nutritionless snacks, on getting high after his increasingly shorter workouts and clearing out the pantry. On the angry red stretch marks that streak the skin untouched by bite scars.

So Eddie wets his lips, and pulls his shirt off over his head. He shivers as Steve looks him over, even though it’s a hot day, and god he could go for a popsicle right now, would shove it all the way in and give Steve a show—

“Okay, let’s test it,” Steve says. “Arm wrestling, like we agreed. You want to do this in here? Or there’s the dining table, or kitchen counter.”

Eddie frowns, part of him disappointed. “Uh… Kitchen, I guess.” They can stay standing in there. No way he’s going to get down on his knees to arm-wrestle Steve fucking Harrington over a mirror-polished coffee table.

Steve waves him on. “After you then, it’s over there.”

Because Steve is trying hard not to react to a shirtless Eddie Munson in his living room. He’d seen Eddie shirtless before but that had been in the hospital, when he’d been almost more bandages than man. It had scared him then, seeing the proof of how close they’d come to losing someone this time. (Again, even if Hopper had come back.) Now it makes him want to grab, maybe push Eddie against something, just to see… what he feels like under his hands.

No, really, Steve wants to know. He can’t even articulate why to himself, but he wants, and he’s always been the kind of guy to jump first and ask confused questions later.

So they’re in the kitchen, hands clasped and elbows on grouted tile, each pushing as hard as he can. Maybe Steve started with the intent of going a little easy, though fuck if he understands why—but Eddie is really warming up now and Steve, to his surprise, is having to work a bit.

“You been lifting?” he asks.

Eddie grins, wolfish, back at him. “Yeah, I have these big amps I carry around all the time. Musician, remember?”

Steve wants Eddie’s teeth in his shoulder. Wants to bite him, all over him. Wants—Jesus fucking Christ—to watch himself disappear into Eddie’s mouth like that Snickers bar, like Eddie couldn’t imagine not wanting to swallow him down.

… Oh no.

It’s not like Eddie ever had particularly defined muscles, and what Steve now registers as extra softness all over isn’t helping them show. He was a wiry dude to start with, never meant to have bulging biceps, but that doesn’t mean he’s weak. Not after all that post-Vecna physical therapy and the past four weeks of working out with heavy band equipment.

Steve still wins the match, but it takes a while.

“You’re definitely stronger than you were a month ago,” he admits. “So… I guess I’m impressed too.”

They just sort of look at each other for a moment.

“So it’s a tie?” Eddie asks finally. “Fuck, what do we do for a tie-breaker?”

And Steve has a wild idea, one that, when he floats it, Eddie agrees to much faster than he’d agreed to the original bet.

The tie-breaker is this: they’ve ordered one large pizza each, and whoever eats the most wins. Eddie has barely stopped to consider that this might not be a fair contest; he hasn’t had lunch yet, and feels like his stomach is starting to digest itself. Hasn’t gone this long without a huge and heavy meal providing the delicious stretch to that organ that he’s recently grown to enjoy in weeks, and it’s probably a minor miracle that the hunger pains aren’t audible.

When the pizza arrives he just about tears his box out of Steve’s hands, flipping the lid and grabbing the first slice on his way back to the couch without fanfare, only a huge bite and a stifled sigh of relief as he finally plops down on the cushions and gives his feet a rest.

“Here,” Steve tells him, holding out a two-liter that Eddie hadn’t even realized was part of the order, he’d been so focused on food—and since when has Steve known that Mt. Dew is his favorite? “Hang on a second, I’ll get glasses.”

“S’fine,” Eddie grunts through a still partly full mouth, deftly twisting the cap open with his teeth, spitting it off into the distance, and raising the entire bottle to his lips for a long pull. “That hits the spot, thanks,” he says absently when he’s done, not bothering to put the bottle down as he reaches for his next slice. “Are you ever going to start on yours, or what?”

“I, y-yeah.” Steve turns away to his own box before Eddie can see the flush on his face, the one that goes all the way to his chest. What is happening to him? He hasn’t felt this tongue-tied since the first time he’d made out with Nancy, but why is it happening with Eddie?

Something about the abandon with which he’s eating, like it’s both effortless and necessary. Like he could keep going all day at the same pace, never satisfied, still chasing whatever it means in Eddie’s book to be full, and… Steve always has been a sucker for girls telling him how well he fills them up, hasn’t he? It had never meant this before but, well, there is some precedent at least.

But still, Steve thinks, as he tucks into his own pizza. Eddie. They hate each other, right? That’s why they’ve been feuding. The dude’s theatrical persona and general aura of fuck the world puts Steve on edge… but there’s no sign of either while he’s eating, wholy focused on the task (meal) before him.

Eddie finishes his pizza first, naturally. He guzzles some more of his soda, the bottle reaching about three-fourths empty, and doesn’t bother stifling a burp. Pressing a fist to his filling stomach, he manages to extend it to a belch, forcing out more of the gathering carbonation to make more room in there. Then he reaches for Steve’s pizza.

“Hey,” Steve protests, but makes no actual move to stop him. (Part of Eddie wishes he would. ‘Jesus, Munson, you ate a whole large pizza in under fifteen minutes and you still want more? You’ve really turned into a fatass.’ God, that would be—Eddie crams as much in his mouth as he can while his free hand is already reaching for another.)

“I win,” Eddie says with his mouth full, muffled and chewing but still understandable. (Fuck stopping just to talk, he’s hungry, he needs it.) “You wanna get between me and—urp—my prize, Steve? Try it and see what happens.”

And Steve doesn’t, just lets him take what he wants, and god damn if that isn’t a strange little thrill. Grease is starting to drip down Eddie’s chin, pizza sauce gathering in the corners of his mouth. No one has ever watched him eat before but Steve is watching, his own progress slowed now that the game is up.

They’re back on the living room couch, Eddie with his shirt still off and well beyond feeling self-conscious about the way his jeans are practically creaking at the seams the more he puts away. He’d give in and unbutton them (a common occurrence at home), but instinct tells him the problem is too far gone—the threshold between ‘tight’ and ‘too tight to get the button undone’ crossed. Still, he keeps eating because that feels better than stopping to problem-solve. He feels almost high under Steve’s gaze, an echo of the munchies creeping in that has him reaching for more pizza, more soda, just more.

Until the inevitable happens. Eddie doesn’t exactly notice it until he feels his belly drop, still cradled in his suddenly looser jeans.

It’s not even the button that’s popped. The entire left side of the denim has ripped down to the lower curve of his ass, bare skin bulging out because he’d forgone boxers so they wouldn’t bunch up uncomfortably under the pants.

“Shit,” he hears Steve whisper, and then bare skin is covered by warm hands and Eddie hums appreciatively as he’s cupped, kneaded, Steve’s fingertips teasing their way just under the stretched, shredded edges of fabric. Relaxing into the touch, into a quiet headspace he’s been falling more and more into over the past few weeks, where he just sits and eats.

The fact that there’s still pizza grease on Steve’s hand makes it, somehow, even more perfect.

“How did you do this,” Steve murmurs, sounding amazed, “in a month?”

Eddie just hums with his mouth full, relishing the attention. Now that Steve is focused on him he’s abandoned his own food, allowing Eddie free rein to take as much as he wants.

He wants it all. Loses all track of time in getting it. Even more so when the pizza runs out and Steve is at his side offering a lit joint, his own partly-finished bottle of soda, and packages of snack cakes.

(When had those come from? When had Steve left to get them? … Are questions Eddie barely cares enough to think, let alone ask.)

Everything feels hazy and syrupy-slow as Eddie greedily sucks down the smoke. He’s so full, but not full to bursting, not yet—and this will help him feel hungry again, help him eat more. Maybe until he can’t even move. For now, the food keeps coming, sometimes brought gently to his lips without him having to do anything but chew, and Eddie gives himself over to the pure hedonism of it.

Steve’s fingers around the joint (from Eddie’s jacket) rest against Eddie’s lips while he takes his hit. He’s still amazed that after only a month that Eddie can eat like that before getting high—how much food has he been going through in the name of ‘bulking,’ anyway?

For a moment Steve feels vaguely guilty for setting the challenge in the first place, and for impulsively suggesting a pizza eating contest as a tie-breaker… but Eddie’s rosy cheeks and hazy expression and overall eagerness for more is both a balm and a cure. And Steve listens to him chew, and gasp and moan between bites, eyes dropping down to tattooed skin, flush and growing damp with sweat as Eddie gets more and more worked up with the crinkle of every wrapper.

The pile of snack cakes is running low—the box had been full but Eddie is still going, one after the other after the other, so Steve puts the joint down and gets back to feeding.

“You look so fucking soft,” he murmurs. It’s both derision and praise, and he glances up just in time to see Eddie’s eyes roll back in time with a deep moan, squirming slightly in his spot on the couch. “Oh, you like that? You like when you get called out on how big you are?” Watching him swallow and try to breath shallow enough not to jostle himself but deep enough to actually get some oxygen, Steve licks his own lips. “How much you ate to get this way?”

Eddie sucks the last mouthful from his fingers in answer, tongue swirling around the tips. There’s so much in there already that Steve almost has more chocolate, frosting, and cake crumbs when Eddie pulls off with a wet smack than he’d had before, but it goes straight to Steven’s dick.

“Been eating all the time,” Eddie mumbles with a hint of a whine. “Can’t stop. Don’t want to.” He reaches out, not quite looking where his hand is going and groping around blindly until he finds Steve’s wrist and guides him to touch his gurgling belly. “Do you like it? Do you like me—urp—like this, Steve?”

“I really fucking do,” Steve breathes. God, his jeans are entirely too constricting right now, dick filling at the mental images of Eddie eating all the time—while watching tv or planning out his story-campaign things, even during simple tasks like putting his shoes on or applying eyeliner before playing at the Hideout, slowly chewing even in his goddamn sleep. (Which, realistically, he probably didn’t, but it’s such a heady thought that Steve doesn’t care about realistic right now.)

“I don’t even fit in my pants,” Eddie whines, pawing clumsily at his still buttoned fly while half his ass is already hanging out the rip. His pupils are stretched wide, eyes reddened, the high setting in nicely. “How, how’m I gonna go home?”

“Stay here,” Steve blurts out. “You don’t want to flash your wide ass around the whole trailer park, right? Just stay, plenty of room, and we can find you something to wear in the morning.”

Eddie nods, groans, and grips his distended belly with both hands. Steve helps as best he can, massaging over the other boy’s jam-packed stomach to coax all the carbonation from the Mt. Dew and Coke back out, spilling from Eddie’s wet and greasy lips like sweet, filthy nothings. And—

“Is it crazy that I still want more?” Eddie groans, tipping his head back to rest on the couch cushions. “Fuuuck that feels good Stevie, keep d… Oh god, mm, keep doing that…”

And then he spreads his legs wide with a groan, pausing to use both hands to finally get his pants unbuttoned. With no hint of self-consciousness, he wriggles his hand inside pants and pulls out his stiff cock, licks a long, lingering stripe along his other palm while maintaining direct eye contact, and starts to stroke himself.

“T-that’s it, keep… You’re so fucking hot, feeding me by hand,” Eddie babbles. “Letting me have this, oh Jesus Christ—”

His fist is moving in time with Steve’s ministrations, panting and with a flick of a thumb over his cock head, twist of a wrist on every pass. Steve can’t tear his eyes away from the heated flesh peeking out between Eddie’s fingers—the one on his cock and the one clutching his belly, flicking continuously between the two.

“You should keep doing it,” Eddie gasps, blind to the lack of remaining food he’s so full and gone. “Ste, Steve, that should be my prize for winning—” He pauses to let out a wet series of belches, hips practically jerking with them. “Ooh fuck, yeah, you should. You should feed me, keep making me bigger. Wanna be, mmmhmmnn, be full all the time, I’d let you fuck me even, god I bet that’d be good. W-wanna be filled from both ends, Steve…”

And Steve isn’t much better, barely blinking and throbbing in his pants, leaking a wet patch into his boxers, nodding and panting yes and uh-huh and I will. He’s thinking about how much he’s always liked going down on girls, and how different could a dick be? It’s not like he doesn’t know what feels good, and he knows the basics like keeping his lips over his teeth and using his hand for whatever he can’t fit, and Eddie’s thighs look soft and inviting. He can picture those thighs around his ears.

Wanna be filled from both ends, Steve.

“Fuck,” Steve growls, leaning in dangerously close to Eddie’s face even if the majority of his attention is still angled downwards. “You’re getting fat, man. You want to get fatter? Bust more of your clothes? The way you’re going, this thing—” he swipes a hand down over Eddie’s rounded belly and then back up to his stomach, pressing out another round of wet, breathy burps “—is going to be huge. Your ass too. You’re going to bump into things. You’re going to lose sight of your feet, of your dick. How far do you want to take this, huh? Until you can’t even reach it under all that extra padding? You want to have to ask me to help you with that? If you can’t stand me now—”

“Wha,” Eddie gasps, shuddering, so close. “No, you’re the one… Can’t—urrp—stand me…”

His voice is so petulant, so sad, that suddenly Steve gets it. They’ve both been posturing, picking fights to avoid direct rejection. And Steve, without even realizing it until now… He’d been so mad about Eddie playing the hero and nearly dying because it had scared the shit out of him, and Eddie had felt attacked and lashed out right back.

Steve slings a leg over Eddie’s, settles on him, and kisses him hard. Doesn’t even care when Eddie shakes and comes all over them both, biting Steve’s lip with a moan that could put actual porn stars to shame. Steve scrambles to get into his own pants and finish himself off a moment later, while Eddie is still catching his breath and groaning with every bump of Steve’s fist against his belly, but also still kissing him with no apparent intent of ever stopping.

And they don’t stop so much as, Steve slumps to one side and Eddie is too bloated and weighted in place by his own overindulgence to follow. Which Steve whines about a little, but his mind is too blown to figure out how to sit back up right now.

“I think I like guys too,” he says, dazed. “Is that a thing?”

“It’s a thing,” Eddie confirms, patting him on the thigh where it’s still stretched across the other boy’s lap. “If it helps, you’re taking it well.”

“Thought you said you wanted to take it,” Steve mumbles back, and feels a giddy little thrill at Eddie’s snort of amusement. “Speaking of things I just realized… Did we ever actually decide what we’d get for winning the bet?”

There’s a pause.

“I’m too full to think about that right now,” Eddie sighs, which they both know is a no. “Think I might’ve overdone it today.”

Another beat of silence, and then Steve can’t help asking, “Just today?”

A slow grin spreads across Eddie’s still-flushed face, the look in his eyes as he briefly bites his lip telling Steve that pretty soon there will be a round two. “Well now, sweetheart… Why don’t you sit back up here and tell me what you think, and we’ll just see if you’re right.”

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie

#wg steddie #scoops words #ask #♠️♥️ anon #chubby eddie munson #feedee eddie munson #feeder steve harrington #eddie fails at bulking but he does get bulkiER

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hapalopus · 2 months ago

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I am rapidly gaining too many hrihriwa ocs to draw, here are their coat colors

Moussa - Milu - Raban

Vigga - Tarok - Flori

Lio - Bekaar - Kaya

Character descriptions below

Moussa: My main man. Equivalent of early/mid-20s (hrihriwa age slightly slower than humans). Youngest foal of the Lord of the A'atwe Clan, but unfortunately they're also the oldest colt in the family, which means he's Lord Apparent. Just wants to hang out with their secret human girlfriend, doesn't wanna be in charge of squat. Jack of all trades, master of absolutely nothing. "The weird kid" in the herd, who'd rather climb trees with humans than race through the fields. Large social circle but only a few genuine friends. Most creative shapeshifter in the entire clan.

Milu: Moussa's older sister. Massive eldest daughter syndrome. Actually wants to be Lord, but the A'atwe clan has institutional sexism. Bossy and bitchy to make up for her feelings of powerlessness. Takes on much bigger burdens than she should. Desperate for her parents' attention. Has close friends, not a lot of friends. Stressed 24/7. Born to snort adderall, forced to live in a fantasy world.

Raban: Moussa's/Milu's sire. Current Lord of the A'atwe. Equivalent of mid-50s. Traumatized and prone to lashing out when his buttons are pressed. Watched his family die in a raid, you know the deal. Big on battle training, and frustrated that none of the foals get it, because the last raid was 50 years ago. Actually a good leader. Unfortunately not a good father.

Vigga: Moussa's/Milu's dam. Logistic genius. Without her the clan would collapse, and everyone knows it. Slightly better parent than her mate, not that that's saying a lot. Babies Moussa, emotionally neglects Milu. Equally as traumatized as Raban, but they're genuinely a good couple who care for each other, they just shouldn't've had kids. Knows everyone and everything, including the clan's humans and livestock. The clan drama is her telenovela. Lives in denial of the clan's sexism even though she knows it's choking her and her filly and all the other mares and fillies, she knows, she just feels powerless to stop it, she knows but it's easier to play along.

Tarok: Moussa's best friend. Nice to be around, but hangs out with Moussa partially for clout. Comes from an unstable home like nearly every other foal in the clan (everyone was affected by that raid 50 years ago). Wants power, but doesn't realize. Has yet to understand why he does what he does. Doesn't really get why Moussa is friends with so many humans ("they're just workers given to us by the gods right?") but accepts it. Will eventually sell Moussa for 1 corn chip.

Flori: One of Moussa's friends. Haven't decided on a personality for her yet.

Lio: High-ranking noble stallion. Ornery. Loyal o Raban but doesn't like or respect Moussa.

Bekaar: One of the adults who were passed over during the raid - in his case because of horrible conformation (swayback, cow hocks, weak pasterns, steep shoulder, etc.). Mentor figure for basically everyone in the clan, but especially the nobles. Knows that Moussa isn't leader material but has a hell of a time convincing Raban. Beginning to go from "so old everyone assumes he's wise" to "so old everyone assumes he's a toddler."

Kaya: A loner from another clan. Only one who escaped their raid. Survived in isolation for a few months before giving herself up to the raiders. Works as a riding horse, for the raiders' leader. Tells herself she's doing it all to track down and free her clan members, but she has done some terrible things in her clan members' name. Probably too terrible for her clan to forgive her, should she ever find them.

#my ocs #the rootspan

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 10 months ago

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Thranduil and Josie Pt. 165- The Ghost of Christmas Past

Summary: While out cold on the Dorwinion castle floor, Josie dreams or "hallucinates" of last Christmas Eve when she was being held captive by her ex-boyfriend Peter in his remote cabin, deep in the woodlands just North of the Grey Mountains. A strange object is believed to hold magic. Clues blatantly dance like sugar plums through Josie's head but will she remember the trauma blocked memories when she awakens from her nightmare? Legolas and Lola throw words over Josie. Josie asks something critical of the Prince. Lola searches for someone unexpected.

*Warnings* NSFW-DARK.... with mentions of drugs, emotional abuse, angst, violence, strong language, sexual language and abuse, alcohol use

Chapter characters: Josie, Peter, Thranduil, Legolas, Lola

Chapter word count: 5,593

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through house, not a creature was stirring....except you as you paced about the living room of the secluded cabin, nestled in the middle of a desolate never ending forest. The cabin that your abusive, narcissistic and sadistic ex-boyfriend Peter was keeping you prisoner in and torturing you daily while doing so. You had been inside the wooden box for so long that you stopped counting the days and no one had come for you. How could anyone find you when you didn't even know where you were? One moment, you had been in a northern New Zealand bar and the next, you awoke in the back seat of Peter's car, bound, gagged and disoriented from being drugged.

You momentarily paused your tears and erratic steps to gaze out the window at the winter wonderland. The same window you've stared out of a gazillion times, imagining a beautiful blonde King on a great white horse riding down to free you from the evil clutches of the dragon you called Peter and slaying him with his mighty sword, then whisking you away to his castle in the heavens to live happily ever after...but he never came. It was just a dumb song anyways, that you listened to as a kid when you believed in magic.

Your tears softly free fell like the sparkling snow before you as you fogged up the glass with your hot breath, then drew a heart and whispered into it, the words you had pointlessly recited every single night.

"My King, take me away from this awful place."

The slamming of the backdoor put a startling stop to your silly pleas and in stomped Peter, ridding the wet snow from his coat and muddied boots all over the floor that he would soon make you clean up.

"Baby it's cold outside!" the tall, dark and handsome monster bellowed with a grin that you wanted to smack right off of his prickly bearded face, the beard that tore your neck up every time he ravaged you.

"I never would have guessed." you quietly riposted and went to get a mop before he ordered you to do it.

"Bitchy again. That time of the month eh? Well, I've got a box full of old treasures here that I snagged at a thrift shop. I thought since it's Christmas Eve, I'd get you something since you like that kind of crap, so a little thanks would be nice because you certainly don't deserve any of it with that mouth of yours. Women should be seen and not heard, except for the moaning of being fucked good and hard."

With your back turned to him, you rolled your tear ridden eyes. Good and hard. The only correct part about that was hard. The narcissistic creep didn't know how to be gentle in any way.

"What was that Josephine?? I can't hear you!" he snarled as he dropped the box on the coffee table in front of you, making you jump.

"Th..thanks." you swiftly mumbled as you flinched in fear of getting smacked.

"Thata girl. You wouldn't want to spend the holiday with a fat lip now. So where's dinner? I'm starving after that long ass trip."

"There's stew in the pot over the fireplace. It's all we had."

"I brought more food. It's on the back of the snowmobile. Go get it. Oh..and Josephine??" he smugly toyed while holding up the keys and jingling them. "Just in case you got any stupid ideas of taking off."

"Peter...I've been here for..I don't even know how long and I know you keep all the keys on you. You remind me every single day."

"Well, I have to because I know that every single day, the wheels are turning in your simple little mind, trying to find a way to leave me and that...will never happen. I told you that back home when you foolishly tried to leave before. I always find you. There is nothing out there for miles. That is why we are here. No one is coming and you know I'm right, don't you Josephine??"

"Y...yes Peter. You're always right."

"I don't like your tone. How many times do I have to explain it so you get it through your fucking fairy tale little head? There's nothing to the North for over a hundred kilometers and the East, West and South are nothing but mountains, rivers and woodlands. I've told you, if you want to go, go...but you know you'll never survive. All alone, in the dark, in the freezing cold, no food, no shelter, just turned 24 years old and you have absolutely no survival instincts or skills since you grew up sheltered from the world, moving from place to place every few months...and lets not forget about...the wolves."

And now you were sheltered again. And The wolves. You heard them howling every single night. It was just another reminder, besides the recurrence of the real big bad wolf rubbing it in your face, that you were trapped.

"You have everything you need here. Food, heat, electricity thanks to a very expensive generator, and most importantly...me. What do you have back there?? Nothing and no one. Your mom is dead, your dad is dead. You have no friends or other family. You have no money. All that you own is a bag of shit I brought with us that you already had packed when you tried to leave me that day. Everything else you have, I gave you. I own it. I own you."

You did have everything...except what you truly needed and wanted. Love. But you did have money. Lots of it that your dad left you in his will. But what good did it do you now? You were probably presumed dead anyways, if anyone even noticed you were gone. Peter was right. You had no one anymore but him.

You didn't want to hear his cruel rantings anymore, so you put on your coat and boots and went out to get the food.

Brushing the snow from the seat of the snowmobile, you sat down and gazed up at the full moon of the winter solstice, wondering if there was another like you, gazing into it too, wishing for things you wished for, searching for shooting stars to make those wishes upon. The last time you saw one was on your recent birthday, but that was two weeks ago, so now all you had to rely on was the moon and each unique and perfectly crafted snowflake that fell into your hand as you held it out, sobbing.

Although your faith in fairy tales was diminishing, the things that were real, you could not deny, such as the wicked effects of the Mercury retrograde that began on the 13th, just before the solstice and would last another week into the new year of 2022. Your life was already shit before it began, but it only seemed to make things worse. You could feel it through Peter's actions, the way it made someone dark even darker and nothing would change when it passed. This would continue to be your hell.

Sobbing harder, you quietly cried out. "Please help me. Someone."

Everything was so deafening outside, for the blanket of snow on the ground always absorbed sound which created a calming silence. There was no wind or breeze of any kind either in that moment and then...a cool whisp of air puffed softly over you, carrying the fragrance of lilacs, a scent you would never forget for they were flowers your mother loved.

For a moment, you smiled, believing it was her...her spirit, watching over you until you heard a man's voice and it certainly wasn't Peter's. The voice seemed to also carry in the breeze and it was deep and alluring, yet soft and loving...and filled with desperate concern.

"Who are you? Where are you?"

You gasped and flung off the snowmobile so fast as if it were on fire.

"Hello?? Wh..who's there??"

Seconds went by as your eyes darted about the darkness inside the trees and then all was quiet once more.

"Josephine!! Get your ass in here! I want my bottle of whiskey!" Peter shouted as he banged on the back porch window, glaring at you.

With great hesitance, still staring out into the nothingness, you grabbed the bag of goods and scuffled back inside, glancing back on the way with every two steps you took.

As Peter devoured his stew like the slob he was and slurped on his liquid fire, you sat on the couch, sipping wine in a state of befuddlement. Had you really heard someone? Or was your mind going into some kind of survival mode to protect your sanity, making you believe there was hope? Was it the retrograde or was your mind just completely breaking? Surely that had to be it. You were just flat out losing your mind. For one thing, how could you smell lilacs in the dead of winter?

Peter finished off most of the stew and then plopped in a chair by the fireplace and began his nightly regimen of getting sauced, but not enough to where you could ever take the keys from him. He was quite smart as most psychopaths were. The only way you would ever get them was from his cold dead body and you knew you didn't have the stomach to kill someone, not even him. It didn't mean you didn't wish him dead though. Maybe choke on a chunk of the deer meat in the stew from the deer he killed, slip in the shower or fall down the basement stairs. You've imagined all kinds of scenarios with you standing over him, watching him take his last breaths. Did that make you a bad person after all he had done to you in the past 4 years?

"You gonna open your gift or what?" he snapped.

You wanted nothing from him and would much rather throw the box in the fireplace....or at his smug ass face.

"It's..it's not Christmas day yet."

"Just open the fucking box Josephine! Your lack of appreciation really pisses me off."

Picking the box up, you fretted about what you would find, for his gifts were never thoughtful and usually just junk. and that's exactly what it was as you pulled out the first item.

Cheap cosmetic jewelry that maybe a 5 year old would wear for dress up. Honestly, you didn't think anyone would wear it and that's probably why it was in a thrift shop. Next...another pair of gawdy high heels which he bought only for his own fetish. You despised high heels and he was why. Then there was a long white dress, which at the time you had no clue would be the one you wore when you finally escaped 4 months later and the high heels would aid you in that feat.

The next two items were decent at least. Another fantasy book and a classic cassette tape that you could play on an old 80's boombox you had in the bedroom. You didn't know the artist or genre, but to you, music was music when you had none, for you couldn't pick up any radio stations out in timbuk-fucking-tu. Anything was better to listen to besides silence or the cringing sound of Peter's voice.

Lastly...you pulled out an object at least two foot tall that was heavy and wrapped in burlap.

"Thought you'd really like that one since you're into all that fantasy bullshit. It's supposed to be magical or some shit. That's what the lady said anyways. I don't think she was all there, if you know what I mean. She reminded me of one of those chicks that look like they're into that creepy voodoo shit or what not...a gypsy or some fortune teller maybe? Said it grants wishes."

"Well, than why would you give it to me? You know what I will wish for."

"Because you know I don't believe in all that hocus pocus hogwash! You're not going anywhere Josephine. Deal with it and just open the damn thing already."

Upon unraveling the string and removing the burlap, your eyes widened as you were now holding a realistic porcelain sculpture of...a male elf?? Not any ordinary elf though like one of Santa's helpers with striped tights and hats and shoes with bells on them. This one was of majestic youthful beauty and superior elegance, an Elvenking of royalty maybe? A King in all the ways you had always envisioned and dreamt of one to be, whether human or immortal, for he wore a crown of twigs and berries over his long, sleek platinum strands that hung perfectly straight over his broad and sturdy shoulders clear down to his abdomen. A high standing collar wrapped around his thick, elongated neck that was accentuated by a black blizzard stone, set inside metal prongs that reminded you of spider legs and it was centered and pinned just under his captivating clavicle at the V shaped opening. Crystals were something you knew well because of your mother's massive collection. This one in particular, also known as merlinite, was a very rare and powerful crystal. It was said to hold a strong connection to the earth that gave it grounding energy and also helped to give healing strength.

Down his slender body, ran a form fitting robe of shimmering silver and placed underneath him was a blood red outer robe that you could tell was twice his lofty height as it draped over his forearms and flowed around his feet in a swirling pool of scarlet satin. You guessed the beautiful giant to have stood well over 6 foot tall and to be highly resilient, vigorous, stealthy and agile.

The way he was prestigiously positioned on the tree carved throne with enormous elk-like antlers sprawling out behind his head, spoke of a highest stature that cautioned of puissant power and dominance. His head was held high, angled to the side with fierce confidence and noticeable arrogance. One knee was crossed over the other, revealing his grey leggings where his robe parted below the waist and one arm was relaxed on the limb rest as his hand slouched freely off the end. His other hand gripped a very tall wooden staff of twisted oak that was crowned by a peach sized and shaped amber jewel on the top, snuggly nestled inside a lattice of silver vines. Baltic gold the gem was sometimes referred to. It was made from tree resin and preserved for millions of years and would turn to stone. Just how old was this Ellon supposed to be?

Your perplexed eyes then traveled right back to his glamorous face because their was some kind of undeniable magnetic pull to this mystical being of defined glass. His skin was of flawless ivory and delicate as the porcelain the figurine was made out of. Like his body, his nose was long and lean, sloping down in to a softly pointed tip while his pronounced ears raised up in to stronger points. His supple lips were heart shaped and pouted ever so perfectly over a very compelling jawline. Even his Adam's apple was intriguingly and audaciously apparent.

Whomever created the sculpted masterpiece from clay with their bare hands was highly skilled and deeply invested in it. The artistry was of such detailed precision, right down to his crystalline eyes of the moon that your boring olive orbs were helplessly lost inside of and desperately trying to read. There were multiple rings upon his pampered fingers with one in particular standing out upon his left forefinger, a sizeable moonstone that resembled the icy blue hues of his eyes, eyes that drew you right in against your will as you began to understand them, ageless eyes that held presiding pain and darkness as if they had seen an eternity of hatred, fire, war and death, yet love and light, loyalty, wisdom and knowledge dwelled within them in competition with the evil and sheltered over those lonely soulful eyes were the boldest of brows, black as his knee high boots.

You also were now highly invested in the art piece. What was something like that doing in a thrift shop? Did the piece have a name? You wanted, needed to know more, so you carefully turned it over to see if there was any information on the bottom.

Gúl -o Aran Thranduil. Ech- a ithil sarn iest no i clair de lune was carved on it and nothing more.

"Clair de lune. I know and love the song. It's French for Moonlight...but the rest of these words, what language is that?" you whispered aloud with furrowed brows as you ran your finger softly over the grooves of the letters.

"What does it say?" Peter curiously answered your question with a question and a hiccup.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be asking. It's not English and I don't know how to pronounce any of it."

Peter took a hefty swig from his bottle and then chortled. "It probably says made in China."

Asshat, you thought. It wasn't any language you had ever seen and from all the fantasy books you have read, you guessed it to be from long ago...medieval era?? No...it had to be even older and you desperately wanted to decode it.

"Well why don't you put that pointy eared princess on the shelf...right there, in the window and make your stupid wish. I'll even entertain you and make one too." he barked, then got up, ripped it from your hand and sat it down on the wooden sill so hard, you swore it would shatter...and it should have, but it didn't. The elf sat chip free under the rays of the moonlight shining in from the window, his eyes sparkling in it as they looked right at you.

"I...I..I don't want to." you stammered as you began to tremble, knowing the whiskey was kicking in and Peter would become meaner than when he was when sober.

Here he came, storming at you, grabbing a clenched fistful of your hair at the scalp and dragging you to the window, stumbling, screaming and sobbing.

"Now. I'm going to make my pointless wish at this sexy elf on the shelf and then so will you! I can't say I wasted my money on it because it was free, some horseshit that freak at the store told me, saying the price tag is in the wishes, SO why not?...here goes nothing!"

"No, wait!...I....I changed my mind. I..I want to go first....please."

You never believed in this stuff, even though your mother and Sarah did. You and Sarah argued about it all the time and eventually, you just humored her and played along with the tarot cards and seance's for fun, but right then...you were willing to believe and be daring and brave, knowing what the consequences of your actions, or words you should say, would be after you blurted them out, and not by the price tag of karma, but by Peter.

"Alright. Go." he sarcastically agreed and pushed your head forward as he released your hair.

Your pent up anger rolled into rage and out of your mouth, as you stared into the elf's moonlit eyes, spewed words you had been aching to say out loud....and you knew, this night, you could die for it.

"My King, I wish for you to take me away from this awful place! And for all the times Peter has tortured me with spiders, I wish he would be dragged off by the Queen of all spiders, bloodied and screaming, deep into her dark cave and ripped limb from limb, leaving him alive long enough with his disgusting head attached to his torso so he can watch a dozen more spiders come and feast on the pieces and then I wish the Queen would drag his dismembered remains to her lair and spin him up in her web so he can be tortured for days, screaming in the dark as she snacks on him till his death!!"

Peter's eyes gaped as he gulped and then the rage that you knew would come...came.

"Brava!!" he shouted in a fury, clapping his hands as the Italian in him came out. "Tell me how you really feel Josephine! Well guess what? I wish that I will come back from the dead and haunt and torture you for the rest of your life!... Although that may not be very long..." he snarled and head butted you.

Down you went, to your hands and knees, stunned and almost blind as he knelt down and growled right in your face.

"There's no King coming! The only thing that's coming for you is my cock fucking you to death."

Peter grabbed the statue and hit you in the head once more, knocking you to your back, barely conscious and then he hoisted you up over his shoulder and carried you off into the bedroom, where for over an hour, he roughed you up... before, during and after having his forced way with you....and it was after this night that Peter began drugging you because the sadist realized the sex was much easier when you were practically limp and couldn't fight or talk back.

Crawling in tears of pain from the bed to the floor to find your clothes, you passed out and later awoke on Christmas morning with the sun blazing over your face and throbbing head, instantly crying once again from the pain, mostly below your waist and from also realizing you were still alive.

You stumbled in agony to your feet and gazed out the window to see the sun had melted most of the snow and the car was gone. What time was it??

After wrapping a robe around you, you crept out to the kitchen and sighed in relief when you saw Peter's coat and boots were gone too and you knew it was so the coward wouldn't have to look at you after what he did.

Knowing that you had a good amount of time to yourself, you showered, dressed, ate a donut and then remembered the elf figurine.

Gasping, you quickly hobbled to the living room to find it and sure enough, it was gone. It was real, wasn't it?? You couldn't have dreamed all of that, considering the huge knot on the side of your head from where Peter struck you with it.

You frantically began searching every corner of the cabin, even the basement that you dreaded going down to, but you came up empty handed. The creep had taken it after you wished him dead, you just knew it.

Crying ONCE AGAIN, you went back to your room and threw yourself on the bed, instantly regretting it as intense pain shot through every inch of you. As you laid there, sniffling in your snot, your eyes found the floor board where you had hid something special to you because you knew Peter would take it just as he had taken the statue. Luckily, he had never went through your bag that he had brought there when he kidnapped you, the bag you had pre-packed when you were going to leave him.

Slowly making your wincing way to the floor, you pried it open and pulled out the wooden box buried within the wooden box you were buried in. As you opened it, you smiled and sobbed some more to see the three items that belonged to Sarah, your best friend and neighbor who had disappeared into thin air on Halloween night 8 years ago.

Inside were her deck of tarot cards, a photo of the both of you, happy and twinning it at 14 years old, for you were both the same age, and her special ring, a silver ribbon ring she always wore, claiming it warded off magic spells placed upon the one who wore it. The day after she had vanished, her mother Jocelyn did too and you never saw her or Sarah again.

One night, after your sick father had fallen asleep, you snuck into their house through an unlocked window and went up to Sarah's room. That's when you found what looked like a shattered figurine all over the floor and in the shards, laid her ring. You had placed it inside her box on the dresser that had the photo and cards in it and took it for special keeping for when she came back, because you always believed she would....but she never did, nor did her mom. What you didn't know was of the special compartment the box held on the bottom and what was inside of it...until now.

As you were attempting to place the box back inside the floor board, your dropped it and the bottom popped open and out fell a beautiful amethyst pendant.

"What the??" you whispered and held it up by the chain, gazing into the purple crystal that had swirls of white clouds inside of it.

"Why would she hide it??" you asked yourself, completely and utterly confused.

You had never seen it before and she had shared everything with you. It must have been something of great importance, you figured. Maybe something personal or sentimental that she didn't want to share with anyone, not even you.

You stuffed it back in it's hiding place and the box too, then you decided to go outside for some sunlight and fresh air while you had the chance, and you took with you the battery powered boombox and cassette tape Peter had brought back to see what kind of music was on it.

Sitting on the picnic table out back, you slid the tape in and pushed play. The music began and it appeared to be some kind of country, bluegrassy, Irishy mix. It was all you had so it would have to do.

About 5 songs in and two glasses of Peter's whiskey drank down to help wash away your pain, you were completely caught off guard when a song came on that you knew. The same song you recalled the night before as you stared hopelessly out the window, dreaming of a King on a great white horse, for that was the name of the song.

You had sang it a lot as a child. Your mother was always singing it and it had stayed with you all through the years until now, but for it to just randomly pop up after you thought of it the night before, and after the wish you made to the porcelain elf, it was just too odd and it was all just too much.

"Why???? Why is this happening to me????.....Is anybody out there??!!" you screamed, so loud it burned your throat and then broke down into hysterical, uncontrollable sobs and blubbered the words as you tried to sing along.

"When I was a young girl I used to dream of a lover, to be my shining knight of strength one day. He'd carry me to a castle in the heavens and battle all my dragons on the way. And he'd ride down on a great white horse. He'd bring me love I was longing for. He'd bring me joy and everlasting peace and on a great white horse, he'd ride away with me."

"Josephine..." you heard in the wind and jumped to your wobbly feet.

"Josie! Josie...wake up!" you then heard, a voice echoing in your head. Legolas' sweet elven voice.

Was he really there or were you hearing him in your head again? You couldn't open your eyes, only mumble his name and when you did, you then felt yourself floating as Legolas lifted you from the cold stone floor...just like the night Thranduil found you in a similar state on the cold forest floor and carried you.

"Legolas?? What happened to her??" Lola frantically asked as the Prince gently laid you upon your bed.

"I do not know. Quickly, bring the healing water. Her skin is like fire."

Lola did as he asked and when she returned, she momentarily froze in her tracks with a hard dose of reality. Legolas was holding one of your hands and caressing your cheek with his other and the way he was looking at you spoke volumes of his undying love. It was as if no one else existed but you and Legolas proved it only seconds later.

"Legolas? I have the water and a cloth."

The worried and suddenly deaf elf did not hear a word Lola said as he continued stroking your cheek with a stare lost upon you.

"Legolas?? The water???"

"Huh?" he gasped and glanced at her and then took his eyes back to you.

"Would you rather I pat her with it so you do not have to remove your hands and eyes?"

Legolas certainly heard that. "I will tend to the Queen. You tend to the child as it is your duty is it not?" he snapped as held his hands out.

His words were cold and biting and Lola's eyes began to sting as she handed him the pitcher and cloth. She could hold her tongue no longer when Legolas aggressively took it from her.

"And you are appointed Josie's keeper? By whom? I am quite capable of looking after her as well as my DUTY of caring for Leean. I do believe the Queen has hired me, not you. I am the one who has always done it, never leaving her side, as you so easily did when she needed you."

Legolas' lips pursed as he turned to the bitter face matching the bitter words.

"By my father's rule...which... that is what he would wish, for she is his Queen and that makes her my Queen! And whom are you to speak to me that way, or to speak anything at all of the situation? I am Leeanduil's brother and godfather. I do not require employment or authority to care for either of them. You are merely nothing more than a servant and should mind your place and tongue if you wish to continue your duties as such."

"You did not seem to view me as merely a servant when your lips neared mine this evening! And now you threaten to remove me of my duties? And whom are YOU to do so? Josie retained my services, not you."

In a spitting image of his father, Legolas rose to his feet with rage and flared nostrils.

"I am the King! That is who I am to do so! Dare you ever question me again girl and consequences shall be suffered! Your jealous tirade is unwarranted and inappropriate and.."

"Leggy?" you grumbled as your eyes began to flutter.

His head whipped right to you as he immediately sat back at your side, abandoning the conversation with Lola...and Lola herself and continued to dab the wet cloth over your forehead which only infuriated her more.

"You are not MY King!" she barked, not caring if you heard her. "Lord Narcisse is and this is his castle. By all means, continue to pine for what shall never be yours while she pines for the one she truly loves. Unless you are a vampire named Garrett, which you most certainly are not, then it is you that shall suffer. I will leave you now to do MY duties."

Lola stormed out of the room in tears and the slamming of the door fully awoke both you and Leean.

"Yes, it is I my lady. I am here. I have not left you and I will never again."

"Leg...gy...my..my dream...I..I remember someth...." you paused with a flinched face as you noticed he was holding your injured hand a bit too tightly. "Owww!!"

"My lady?? What ails you?? Your hand?"

"Y..yes...it.."

Legolas' gasp cut you off. "It is bleeding clean through your glove!"

He carefully removed the lace covering and unraveled the makeshift bandage you had applied.

"Josie. This needs sewn up. Do not move while I locate a healer."

"NO!! Don't leave me! You said you wouldn't! I..I want you to do it. There is a thread and needle in the vanity drawer. The healing water will sterilize it."

"You...want me...a non healer...to stick a threaded needle through the tender skin of your palm??"

"Yes. I don't trust anyone here anymore. Give yourself more credit Legolas Greenleaf. Believe in yourself as I do."

He smiled at your kind words, but then frowned. "But..we have no pain reliever."

"Yes we do...hand me that carafe of wine. I will drink it down while you thread the needle."

The Prince's eyes gaped and then reluctantly did as you asked and while this was happening, Lola stood outside Narcisse's chamber door in full blown tears and sobs, vigorously knocking and receiving no answer.

"Daddy! Where are you??"

@redeemer46

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six-improbable-things · 8 months ago

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I know I haven’t used this as a reading blog in FOREVER, but I feel the need to talk about the book I just read because holy shit did it destroy me in all the best ways.

Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson

4.75 ⭐️

So first off I wanna say that idk if this was intentional on the author’s part, but oh my god were the autism vibes off the charts for Artemisia. Like, that’s my autistic icon. Idc if it’s canon canon, it’s canon to me.

Secondly, HOLY FUCKING SHIT did the way this book deals with abuse and toxic cycles and trauma and learning to love yourself destroy me. Artemisia bonded with a revenant and it had to teach her how to take care of herself, and then later she realized it was just as traumatized and fucked up as she was, and they helped each other heal and it destroyed me.

I’ve seen those tumblr posts where it’s like “imagine you get possessed by a demon and the demon is so appalled at how you live that it gets you to start taking care of yourself” and this was kind of that concept but so much better and done so well. And it covers so many amazing themes and topics:

The realization that everything you’ve ever been taught isn’t just largely a lie, but also just fundamentally wrong. And realizing that there’s been a cycle of abuse and bad decisions but also knowing that if no one had made that decision then things would be even worse. And betrayals and friendships and lonely old spirits and no one is 100% right, and no one (not even the villains) are 100% bad or wrong. And realizing that you’re just a puppet in the hands of a god, and that gods aren’t always good. And finally stepping out of your denial of your trauma and accepting that you need to heal. And growing up and maturing and making amends and realizing that people can change. And understanding that everyone, no matter how old or how powerful, still gets lonely and needs someone to talk to.

Also featuring:

Badass, kind and wise old ladies, who are badass because they are kind

Bitchy spirit possessing someone

Mutually beneficial possession.

A delightful number of hurt-comfort adjacent scenes

Cool nuns.

Undead angels????

A very lovely horse who deserves all the treats

Many, many ravens

No romance

Favorite Lines (will come back and add later)

The one about the goat and biting back as related to trauma

The one about swords and sewing needles as related to hands and power

The one about not wanting to do things being a sign

“That’s my human.”

(This book is not explicitly queer, nor is the main character explicitly labeled as autistic, but it does feel queer and autistic to me. But that’s just my personal relation to the book. May not carry over for everyone.)

#morrigan.text #morrigan reads #vespertine #margaret rogerson #Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson #book recs

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stitchspell · 2 years ago

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Temptation in a Kilt CH 1

by Victoria Roberts

fun little find at a local bookstore, they sell a lot of these old romance novels they pick up at estate sales. Every now and again I drop in to pick up a cheesy romance book and my partner and I read through them chapter by chapter until we both get lost in an ADHD activity frensy, but the books help keep us on a task.

hard to read aloud if you can't do a good scottish accent, which I cannae, but my partner puts on a fantastic show for me.

So far we've got a traditional 'met at royal banquet' kind of setting. We've got our MC, Cieran (I looked up how this could be pronounced and there were like 3 different ways and we settled on KEER-IN bc it seemed like the one we would mess up the least), oldest of three sons who inherited his father's estate, etc, etc, general male lead stuff, haven't seen too much of his personality yet but he seems to be the stereotypical 'my brothers are idiots and I'm very serious' guy. Our female lead, Rosalia, is honestly the star of the show, we've got our typical 'parents are broke and trying to marry me off to a gross dude for m o n e y' thing going on. I was kind of guessing the way the story was going to go when we were introduced to her via her mom screaming at her in the banquet hall about how she was 21 now, nO oNe WiLl MaRrY yOu kind of scene, you know. The male and female lead lock eyes and gush about it endlessly (they haven't spoken at all in the first chapter'. Rosalia's mother, unnamed so far I think (she may have been named but her character is basically 'bitchy mom' so I kept reffering to her as that), finds said 'gross dude' she's supposed to marry who basically offers an open marriage after she bears him an heir, basic plot kind of stuff for these books. The world is really small up to this point? Like, my partner and I kept kind of flip-flopping between 'yeah, this is about right for these kinds of books' and 'okay this is a little different' kind of stuff. Maybe my scope on this kind of literature is still small. Work in progress i'll probably return to later. Anyway, Rosalia and Cieran part ways at the banquet, again they haven't spoke at all, and Rosalia returns home to discuss her future being married to aforementioned 'gross dude' with his gross dude plans and sexual propositions. They give us a sweet older cook who's kind of a grandma to her and a stable boy who sees her (platonically) as like a sibling/friend as a relief from her otherwise shitty life with her mean ass mom and complacent dad (dad's still a dick in my option for sitting by while the mom does all of the forced marriage arranging/ beatings), we see a little bit of her life there and kind of see a peak of her personality, which is a little one dimensional so far but to be fair we're only in first chapter, BUT THEN

we get like a 'mulan' moment???? She cuts off all her hair and runs away in the night with one of her family's horses???? I know it's a little cliché but I didn't expect it with the way the chapter was going, honestly. She takes off towards Northern Scotland where she has a grandmother she's never met (her mom was an englishwoman and didn't want to associate w/ any of dad's family, but she's gotten letters/ gifts from her grandmother), the last scene in the chapter is her passing out on her horse but like, I read a tiny bit into the second chapter and she was FOUND by Cieran's party on their way back to his estate (obv she's still in disguise) So that's my poor, uncultured review of Temptation in a Kilt Chapter 1 (and kind of a tiny bit of 2.)

#cheesy #book review #booklr #romancenovel #bad reviews #book recommendations

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athina-blaine · 4 years ago

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WIP line chain game!

tagged by @bluejayblueskies, thank you!

rules: write the latest line from your WIP and tag as many people as there are words.

“You’ve truly discovered the most wretched horse on the planet,” Jon said and Martin snorted.

15 words and ooh boy that’s a lot, I’ll tag @definitelynotshouting @iceeckos12 @canonicallyshort and @stopitjon, do with it what you will~

#tma #momm #bitchy old horse rights

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horsesarecreatures · 2 years ago

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So I had the chiropractor come out for both horses today and I’m kicking myself for not having him out a few days sooner because he actually recommended a Chinese herbal treatment for Lyme by Jing tang herbals that according to him works very well, is easier on the stomach than the tetrocycline antibiotics, and doesn't contain any prohibited substances. Like all equine chiropractors in NY, he is a licensed vet. I wish I had known about it before starting her on doxycycline.

But anyway, I was very happy because both horses did well today. Amba isn't showing any hypersensitivity like the last time she had Lyme because she didn't even pull any bitchy faces at this guy and just let him do whatever without moving. She did even better than the last time despite being in heavier work, a testament to the treeless saddle I believe, with zero signs of back misalignments. She also did not have stiff stifles, which was an issue the last time she had lyme. Overall she has an excellent range of motion.

Then Cannoli did very well, too, much better than I expected. The last time he had some issues everywhere, but today his whole front end was fine and it was just the area around the sacrum that was a bit out of whack. But when the guy adjusted Cannoli’s back and pelvis he got big releases right away, which he said would not have happened if Cannoli had an injury like an old fracture there or something like that. All in all, he said that for the amount of times Cannoli raced he’s actually not in that bad of a shape. 🤷 He also said that Cannoli is a very well behaved ottb.

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lazybakerart · 3 years ago

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for @ihni! (pics added by me)

The flat face monstrosity licks Steve’s nose and he giggles. All cute and shit. Rubs at the cat’s ears and keeps smiling at it - lovingly.

Billy wants to ram the fireplace poker through his own eye before he makes a noise like ‘aww’. Out loud. In front of Steve. It’s close. Billy bites his tongue in half to keep it together.

He’s not sure how picking up an old hag’s cane off the grimy Fair Mart floor turned into petsitting eight cats for a week. He doubts he’ll ever figure it out.

Women are fucking weird.

But Billy has a week out of Neil’s house and he’d be a moron to stick his nose up at fifty bucks.

“Oh my god, I love this guy. He’s so - ugly. But, like, in a good way?” Steve turns to him, like Billy’s got any opinion on felines and their attractiveness.

Steve’s got that goofy smile in action. Makes Billy get bubbly. Has him thinking it’d be a fine idea to push the cat over and get in on some of that nose licking.

Billy can feel his face heating up, can feel the rest of him following. Silently, he prays for Saint Peter to hurry up with the verdict before he embarrasses himself even more.

Steve’s found him out. Insisted on coming inside to pet every cat. Growing up without pets and siblings apparently makes a guy needy to poke at something. A little old lady’s animals. Billy.

A cat - the one with the stripes and pink collar shoves its way through Billy’s elbows braced on his knees to settle on his lap. Entitles little shit.

“Entitled little shit.” Billy says, not about to shy away from someone with a haughty attitude aimed at him even if it does walk on four legs and shit in a box Billy has to clean daily.

Billy pets it behind its ears. It purrs. Billy keeps at it just for something to do since it’s here.

Billy doesn’t like it or anything.

Steve appears inches from his face. Crosses the middle seat cushion to sit right next to him, nearly on top of him if it weren't for little bitchy whiskers.

"Oh, what’s this one’s name?”

“Mr. Ed.” Billy says, hates that he has every cat’s name memorized without trying. Had been introduced one by one. This is what he gets for being forced to get As in school or else.

“Named after - the horse?”

“Her dead husband.”

Steve nods, grin slipping downwards at the corners, turning into a full blown weepy eyed accompanied frown. Taking in the useless information and keeping it because he’s just like that. Cares about some old broad being a widow just because.

“Did she get all these cats after -”

“Think so.” Billy shrugs, wanting to avoid thinking about the shit show life ends up being.

“That’s so - sad. Losing the love of your life and then.” Steve looks around the room. Floral couch. Doilies on every flat surface. Finds the vase that could be an urn and could be a vase and quickly crumples.

Steve reaches over and pets the cat trapping Billy to the spot. Unable to run. Unable to find a corner to hide in until Steve gathers his big dumb heart back up.

Their hands touch on the back of Mr. Ed’s head and Billy is faced with the real possibility that it’s possible to forget how to move.

“I guess they’re nice enough company. Real cuddly.” Steve says soft, looking at Billy from under thick eyelashes and dark eyes as he rubs Billy’s knuckles.

Billy blames the ancient broad for the clench in his chest.

Clears his throat. Feels his head about to overheat. “Planning to snatch up some strays?”

“I don’t know.” Steve says, every bit of trouble Billy knew he would be. “Are you going somewhere?”

#harringrove #my stories #replies #i hope you like it!! and i hope you dont mind that i picked out some pics for it

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lesbiansforboromir · 4 years ago

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If a person wanted to write Boromir fic, do you have any tips on how to capture the Tolkieny tone in writing/best scenes to re-read for characterization?

LET ME SEE if I can’t compile a nice guide for you;

First thing’s first! Boromir does not include his own feelings into his statements unless it’s utterly against his will, such as the ring-controlled scene. In fact his discussion with Frodo is the first and last time he expresses his emotions verbally at all and even then it seems to be squeezed out of him in the midst of his ranting ‘how it ANGERS me’ like he is almost shocked at how angry he actually is in that moment, so much so that he can’t hold it back like normal.

‘I am’ statements in general don’t come often either. He doesn’t use ‘I’ at all if he can help it. If he is describing the war or some conflicts or battles, he uses ‘us’ or ‘we’ ‘Some said that it could be seen, like a great black horseman, a dark shadow under the moon. Wherever he came a madness filled our foes, but fear fell on our boldest, so that horse and man gave way and fled. Only a remnant of our eastern force came back, destroying the last bridge that still stood amid the ruins of Osgiliath. 'I was in the company that held the bridge, until it was cast down behind us. Four only were saved by swimming: my brother and myself and two others.’ Here he mentions himself only as an explanation for the circumstances, and goes quickly back to talking as a collective. (This is the first and last time he mentions Faramir too, and never by name)

The times when Boromir uses ‘I’ statements most is for defining his own actions and intent or when he is offering advice. 'I have let my horn cry at setting forth, and though thereafter we may walk in the shadows, I will not go forth as a thief in the night.' He is clear to himself and others about what he will and won’t accept. 'I will add a word of advice, if I may,' said Boromir. 'I was born under the shadow of the White Mountains and know something of journeys in the high places. We shall meet bitter cold, if no worse, before we come down on the other side. It will not help us to keep so secret that we are frozen to death. When we leave here, where there are still a few trees and bushes, each of us should carry a faggot of wood, as large as he can bear.' Note here he is also polite but in a confident manner. ‘If I may’ is added to acknowledge that he is not the leader of the company, but he is not shy with offering his advice and assuming it useful.

When he’s in more familiar and less strict circumstances, and actually sometimes even when he isn’t, Boromir has what I would call a... hint of sarcasm in his tone at all times. He’s always got a little sardonic wit with him, `Let those call it the wind who will; there are fell voices on the air; and these stones are aimed at us.' See? It’s not... OVERT but it’s definitely a little long suffering/etc. Boromir... talks like an old man I guess is my point. 'What do you say to fire?' asked Boromir suddenly. 'The choice seems near now between fire and death, Gandalf. Doubtless we shall be hidden from all unfriendly eyes when the snow has covered us, but that will not help us.' ESPECIALLY when he’s talking to Gandalf, there’s just a bit of dark humour and ‘cheek’. `I do not know which to hope,' said Boromir grimly: `that Gandalf will find what he seeks, or that coming to the cliff we shall find the gates lost for ever. All choices seem ill, and to be caught between wolves and the wall the likeliest chance. Lead on!' jhadsjd BITCHY... but very funny and he’s right. And here also, ‘wolves and the wall’, he tends towards almost... poetic isn’t quite the word but he likes sayings and flowing dialogue.

Continuing on from that point, Boromir is also generally... not WARM but he’s got a way of speaking that is comfortable and confident in comradery. Especially with Gimli, actually, he often makes these lighter sighed statements that have a lick of humour to them. Again, it’s never particularly overt, more of a constant underlying note in his wording, even in the latter parts of the fellowship. `Ah, it is as I said,' growled Gimli. 'It was no ordinary storm. It is the ill will of Caradhras. He does not love Elves and Dwarves, and that drift was laid to cut off our escape.' 'But happily your Caradhras has forgotten that you have Men with you,' said Boromir, who came up at that moment. `And doughty Men too, if I may say it; though lesser men with spades might have served you better.’ This is one of my favourite lines of his it’s just like... confident, not over proud, you can hear him grinning and the leetle wry tone he’s speaking in. Even here! In like the very last days of his life, he still has this quality!

We might labour far upstream and yet miss it in the fog. I fear we must leave the River now, and make for the portage-way as best we can from here.' `That would not be easy, even if we were all Men,' said Boromir. `Yet such as we are we will try it,' said Aragorn. 'Aye, we will,' said Gimli. `The legs of Men will lag on a rough road, while a Dwarf goes on, be the burden twice his own weight, Master Boromir! ' (later) 'Well, here we are, and here we must pass another night,' said Boromir. `We need sleep, and even if Aragorn had a mind to pass the Gates of Argonath by night, we are all too tired-except, no doubt, our sturdy dwarf.' Gimli made no reply: he was nodding as he sat.

AND ANOTHER THING. Whilst Boromir CAN be an orator and give long speeches, he tends towards economy of speech. This is especially noticeable, again, between him and Gandalf. Gandalf will go on for three paragraphs about something, patronising him, explaining a lot of unnecessary stuff to sound clever. And then Boromir will just answer with; `We do not know what he expects,' said Boromir. `He may watch all roads, likely and unlikely. In that case to enter Moria would be to walk into a trap, hardly better than knocking at the gates of the Dark Tower itself. The name of Moria is black.' And that’s it! AND HE’S FFUCKIN RIGHT GGSHAHGS

So you’re usually going to be trying to narrow down his speech to it’s bare essentials in order to get the point across and nothing more. Stream lined, impersonal, confident and clear are the hallmarks of Boromir’s speech patterns. NO. SHOUTING. Unless to be heard or in a brief flash of shock, immediately restrained afterwards. Actually if Boromir has any kind of outburst, he tends to walk away from whatever situation caused it rather than allow anything to escalate. Boromir’s verbal tone is almost always neutral, wry or reassuring/comfortable. From experience, I can tell you this is... GRUELLING to write. You want so desperately for him to say what he’s thinking and feeling, what’s important to him, but he’s utterly incapable unless briefly possessed by evil. Not even when he’s literally dying will this change, though that might be because it was Aragorn at his deathside. Which brings me onto my final point.

We actually have no idea how Boromir might interact with people he actually likes and is friends with, let alone his family. I’m inclined to believe that warm comradery element just becomes more overt but little else changes. But you’re entirely at liberty to decide for yourself. Certainly though it is different from how he behaves throughout the fellowship. We never really meet Boromir... is a thought I can hardly bare so we’re STOPPING now.

#boromir #chats #erran vs tolkien #lotr #tolkien #rescue-ram #asks

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cookinguptales · 2 years ago

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So I just saw a theory of Guillermo possibly being the reincarnation of Nandor’s old horse, John 😂 What do you think of that theory?

I could see this show going there tbh. It’s just the right amount of ridiculous and plausible for a theory like that to work for this specific show, especially because IT IS canon that Gregor was a horse (and a mouse?) in his past life so it’s not like the past lover being an animal/pet in their past life wouldn’t make any sense, cause it does in this show’s canon lore. Also it would still make sense for their relationship, by how much Nandor adored John (he was probably the only living thing Nandor loved the most in his whole life, way more than any of his wives just from the sole fact of him remembering his name and none of his wives names, also for the fact that killing him was his biggest regret in life), and by how “delicious” (but devastated ofc) he was when he had to eat him (could be a great opportunity for a lil cheeky “I saw what ya did there” parallel in the future(?)lol. Buy maybe not even the future, since it’s already been established that Nandor found Guillermo “hard to resist” at the start).

Also Nandor has said at one point that John was “his closest companion” and then of course we have him saying that about Guillermo in 3x04. Hmmm 🧐

-----------

I remember this theory going around a year or two ago lmao.

It is not one that I generally subscribe to haha. I think it was really popular before Guillermo became quite such a badass, at which point people realized that his real personality (which would presumably carry throughout lifetimes) is actually petty and bitchy and strong as all hell. Not just a beast of burden, so to speak. (Though I suppose some horses are actually pretty stubborn and bitchy themselves, but John wasn't described that way lmao.) So I think the Nandor's horse parallel started to fall apart a little bit, especially once their power dynamic started to change.

tbh I could even see it being a theory that held quite a lot of water for the reasons you stated in season 2. But I do think that Guillermo's personality started changing quite a bit in s3 and I don't think it held up quite as well then. I guess I could see them going for something crazy like that...? But it does feel more like a Clement joke than what they're going for currently.

I suppose I wouldn't really rule anything out for this group of writers. (Crazy people...) And who knows, they could go for a whole "Guillermo's had hundreds of lives but this is the first time he's really been able to be his full self" thing.

But... no. It's not a theory that I think about often. lmao. I guess it's at the level of "eh, I guess I could write fic about it?" but not "oh I really like this one and think it'll happen."

#replies #wwdits tag #nandermo tag

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anunvalidcritic · 4 years ago

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Justice League: Snyder Cut

(DISCLAIMER: MY OPINION IS MY OWN AND CAN BE DEEMED INVALID TO THOSE WHO DON’T CARE FOR IT.)

Oh, the time has come my friends! Now, I originally did a review on Batman V.S. Superman and I didn’t care for it, so I deleted it. But before I start, I would like y’all to read this statement made by @verified-villain-fxcker - You can click HERE to read it. As I stated in my repost, I couldn’t have said it better. May Autumn Snyder continue to rest in peace. Let’s get started!

It’s been so long since I’ve made a post I can’t even remember how I do this LOL.

CLARK is outta there to say the least...

WONDER WOMAN and LOIS look flabbergasted, as they should... BRUCE as well.

Talk about a shock-wave scream

All jokes aside, the hate that LEX has towards SUPERMAN is just to much energy to be giving to another person..

THESE BITCHIES ARE READY

why are they letting a minority approach the fucking the cube?!?!

*insert travel montage scene here*

Part 1 - “Don’t count on it, Batman.”

BRUCE knows damn well he’s talking to AQUAMAN. Let’s move this shit along lol

“Oh Gotham? How’s that shit hole?” - AQUAMAN

Ik these bitchies aren’t singing rofl

I’d sniff anything wore by Jason Momoa too.

“Maybe a man who broods in a cave isn’t cut out to be a recruiter.” - ALFRED

TALK YO SHIT ALFRED!!!!

AMY ADAMS can literally take my heart, step on it, throw it in a river and I still wouldn’t be mad.

Here comes the lovely WONDER WOMAN!

broooo her hands were moving like Donnie Yen in Ip Man!

Fucked that entire ceiling up

Ofc the one who tried to touch it would make the stupid statement.

STEPPENWOLF is really wildin’ out

Don’t look back! I hate it when they look back!!

These are some strong as women!

PART 2 - “The Age of Heroes”

“It’s toxic, that’s good.” - STEPPENWOLF

I can only imagine that this is how toxic people think.

this dude really just threw that lil demon fella like it was nothin’ lmao

You know you're working at a job for too long when you say this is the first time in a while that they're going home early smdh

Now that shit was pretty lit....

SILAS thinkin’ shit I better check on my son.

“You know a lot about monsters, don’t you? Especially how to make them.” - CYBORG

If that isn’t teen angst, then I don’t know wtf is lmao

Seeing Gal in this tomb makes me want to re-watch Wonder Woman 1 all over again!

DARKSEID ol’ trifflin’ ass

plopped him down like he was dirty laundry

God bless Willem Dafoe, this man is a fuckin’ legend!

“This world is divided. They’re a primitive species. Unevolved and at war with one another. Too separate to be one.” - STEPPENWOLF

DeSaad kinda looks like Doctor Doom in the Fantasic Four reboot lmao

GREEN LATERNS!!!!!!!!!!!! OH SHIT!!!!!!!!

we really need a Green Lantern Corps moving...

ZEUS + ARES = A Dynamic Duo When They Aren’t Being Dicks To Each Other

You know I feel bad for man because all they did was bury that shit in the ground rofl

Part 3 - “Beloved Mother, Beloved Son”

BARRY + IRIS = Love at First Sight

The burger can’t be that good like damn.

Bro the detail on his fucking shoes and the glass!!

ROFL PLEASE TELL ME HE TOOK THE HOTDOG FOR HIS DOG!?!?

damn did the car really need to explode...

lol BARRY must really need the job lol

... I would’ve just played dead after he threw me against that rock...

Man of Steel probably has one of the best soundtracks not just for a superhero movie but just in general

Americans love their football!

I have this love-hate relationship with CYBORG being in the JL and not with the TITANS you know since he’s a kid, but he’s a college student in this one.

Thank God DIANA spoke with VICTOR instead of BRUCE because I honestly don’t think he would’ve gotten him on board.

Everyone can literally zigzag zoom across this planet at undeniable speed except for BATMAN lol

Come on, VIC, help the lady out.

You know honestly, BARRY has a pretty cool pad for someone who's trying to get by paying for a Criminal Justice Degree.

“A very attractive Jewish boy. Who drinks milk, I don’t drink milk.” - BARRY

“Fuck the World.” - CYBORG

dang Ik DIANA has every right to grieve over STEVE, but damn that man has her whipped!

“You’re looking at the hottest thing on Earth. The exact same thing I said to my prom date. She dumped me anyway.” - RYAN CHOI

Why does MERA have an accent in this but not in AQUAMAN?? (ik the answer)

DAAAYYUUUMMMN MERA TURNED INTO A WHOLE BLOOD BENDER!

PART 4 - “Change Machine”

CYBORG just glided over silently

STEPPENWOLF + WONDER WOMAN = EPIC FIGHT SCENE

Seeing BARRY move like that to stop the debris and to ping DIANA’S sword really is amazing..

But he should not be screaming like that LOL

How do you not remember the planet that’s habitants almost killed you?? Because if that was me, I wouldn’t have forgotten that shit at all!

Would've held a big ass grudge until I could go back.

“I know we’re all thinking the same thing right now. Who’s gonna say it? I’m not gonna say it.” - BARRY

WOOOAAHHH J’ONN JONES?! (forgot about that)

“There are six, not five. There is no us without him.” - BRUCE

Damn, no faith at all

PART 5 - “ALL The King’s Horses”

ICONIC DIALOGUE

BARRY - “Wonder Woman. What do you think, man? You think she’d go for a younger guy?”

VICTOR - “She’s 5,000 years old, Barry. Every guy is a younger guy.”

I would’ve kept swippin’ that ID like a cashier at Wal-Mart swippin’ a debit card.

They're movin’ a little too slow for me. Ik they’ve never been on the ship before, but I would’ve been zoomin’ through that entire ship just to hurry and get the job done.

NOT THE PREGNANCY TEST

Damn, they couldn’t have at least picked up the photo??

The foreshadowing was spectacular! It will always amaze me.

I’m sure Allstate will cover that person’s car...

Just when LOIS was about to move on.

CLARK grabbed DIANA like miss me with that Rafiki shit.

I would’ve come back to my senses too after looking at Amy Adams.

AQUAMAN + THE FLASH = A CONUNDRUM

DR. SILAS takin’ one for the team

PART 6 - “Something Darker”

As crazy as radiation is, it’s quite an amazing spectacle.

I wish this Justice League movie could’ve held off until we got some other heroes such as the Green Lanterns, Hawkgirl, and many others.

Our generation was truly blessed to have an incredible actor as SUPERMAN, and we are not putting him to use!

JONATHAN sounds like President Biden lol

Alright, team?! Break!

AQUAMAN is totally enjoying this fight. He rode that Parademon like a surfboard.

AQUAMAN + CYBORG + FLASH = *THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN*

I swear every scene that WONDER WOMAN enters into does not fail to include the “Ancient Lamentation Music”.

VICTOR hurry up and say “one” god damnnit!!

SUPERMAN COLD!!!!

Somebody needs to put this fight on WorldStar

BARRY = HE’S A RUNNA HE’S A TRACK STAHHHHARRR!!!

THAT WAS FUCKING IMMACULATE

The Unity = The Three Bitchies

I bet DARKSEID will remember that shit now

EPILOGUE - “A Father Twice Over”

VICTOR = A Final Requiem

LOL VULKO and MERA look stressed tf out!

“Uh, I have too much to live for. And more important things to do.” - LEX

A cocky motherfucker LMAO

Alright, we’re back in this type of dream sequence.

“Who have you ever loved?” - MERA

Uh, bitch his parents, Robin tf?!

Thank you, JOKER, for stating the facts for Ms. Fish-stick

Oh shit, they let LOIS die, goddamn it!

HARLEY’S DEAD TOO?!?!?!

BRUCE LOOK SICK AF!!!

Well, the dream is over once again...

I just don’t see how people can live with all those fuckin’ windows.

“Oh, and some have called me The Martian Manhunter.” - J’ONN

Alright...

________

Yes, the movie was long but what needed to be expressed was. As we already the Snyder Cut wasn’t supposed to be seen because a father simply wanted to grieve the death of his child. I’ll once again reiterate what @verified-villain-fxcker you don't have to like the film but at least give it the benefit of the doubt from its predecessor. For me, I did enjoy watching his version, but let’s be honest what he who shall not be named did was just fucked up.

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