#but I’m about to just dive in to fuckin honestly

[bakugosbratx]

I am determined to finish this Yandere Kyoujuro x Shinjuro x reader fic dammit.

[luvrboydave]

dad's best friend dave brainrot

pairing: dave mustaine x fem!reader

warnings: smut, age gap, oral sex (f receiving), pet names, hair pulling

a/n: had to remake this account so i'm posting this again lol whoops...anyways enjoy!!

CLICK HERE FOR PT.2

your dad invites him over for dinner and to have beers, watch shit on tv, talk cars, etc every so often. he’s just so fucking hot, and the fact that he lives just across the street makes things so much worse. when dave mows his lawn, he’s always shirtless and every time you make sure to be out on your front porch to stare at him. and don’t think he doesn't notice your lingering stares…in fact, he likes to put on a bit of a show for you, constantly wearing those slutty little cutoff tank tops around you, going to his mailbox in the morning wearing nothing but a low-hanging pair of grey sweats…he likes that you watch him; honestly, he kinda gets off on it. knowing someone much younger than him finds him attractive turns him on so much.

one night while your dad is out of the house for a work trip, dave presses you up against the kitchen counter, his chest flush with your back, and whispers nasty shit in your ear as you grind back into him. “been thinking ‘bout this for so long,” he groans as he grabs your hips and holds you still against his hardening cock. he flips you around to face him, hoisting you to sit on the counter before kneeling, flipping your skirt up, and sliding your pretty little panties down your legs. and god, he is such a tease. he takes his sweet time rubbing up your thighs, purposefully avoiding the spot you need him most. he won’t touch you until you whine for him to do so. he wants to hear how desperate you are for his touch, how badly you need him between your legs. “please, dave, please touch me...need you so bad! ’m so wet for you, baby...” he looks up at you with that stupid fucking smirk and whispers out a “good girl” before diving right into your soaked pussy. and good lord, this man eats pussy like his life depends on it!

your legs are thrown over his shoulders, and it’s all so fuckin sloppy. his fingers are pressed inside of you as he laps at your swollen clit. his pupils are blown wide when you look down at him, and he’s staring up at you through his messy bangs, watching how you react to his touch. his chin is glistening with a mixture of your slick and his spit, and his pretty nose brushes up against your clit occasionally. you brush the hair from his face to get a better look at his pussydrunk expression, and it almost sends you over the edge. your hands weave into his curly hair and try to pull him away from you. dave growls when you pull his hair, his eyes rolling to the back of his head for a split second at the feeling, but he doesn’t budge. “oh shit- baby, ‘m gonna cum!” you cry out, your grip on his hair tightens, and you begin to squirm. dave wraps his arms around your plush thighs, pulls you closer to his mouth, and mumbles, “stop squirmin’, sweetheart.” your eyes roll back into your skull, and your legs start to shake. “c’mon sweetheart, cum for me. let go, baby.” dave growls. “fuck, fuck, fuck! i’m cumming-” you cry out. your whole body shudders, and your vision goes white. dave grunts against your pussy, helping you ride through your orgasm. “fuck, sweetheart...you did so good for me. so good, baby,” dave groans, “god…this pussy is gonna kill me, baby,” he breathes out, resting his head against your thigh, a dopey smile on his face. through your labored breathing, you manage to mumble, “what about you?” he looks up at you and laughs a bit, “no need to worry ‘bout me, sweetheart…you already made me cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager.”

[hwalilac]

Little Thing

⇴ pairing: park seonghwa x virgin!f!reader

⇴ genre: smut, fluff

⇴ words: 1.3k

⇴ warnings: reader is insecure, mentions of stretch marks, oral (f!receiving), unprotected, loss of virginity

⇴ a/n: this is a re-upload! feedback is accepted and welcome, I’d love to hear your thoughts on my work! if you’d like to be on my taglist, lmk. if you’d like to see more of my work, check out my masterlist!

“You’re just a cute little thing, aren’t you?” Seonghwa whispers in your ear.

-

You met each other at the local bar, moving it to your bedroom fairly quickly. It was a split second decision, not one you’ve ever made before, never bringing anyone home before. He was so pretty, like the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. His eyes were incredibly hypnotizing. You soon came to find out how his voice was too.

He led you in your apartment by your back, the prospect of what’s about to happen lingering in your mind. You’ve never had sex before. And honestly it’s scaring you how quickly you’re willing to give it up to him. Your body, your first time.

His hands were all over you the second you got to your bedroom, hands gripping your waist tightly, not wanting to let go. You bet he’s possessive. He pushes you into your room, you backing up towards the bed, sitting down. Now that you’re almost getting to the point, you’re starting to get a bit nervous. You didn’t wanna ruin the mood, but you also didn’t wanna withhold stuff.

“Seonghwa?” you ask quietly, your voice sounding so sweet to him. “Yes angel?” he smiles. You blush at the nickname.

“I’m a virgin.”

He looks at you with shock on his face, stunned that a virgin would want a one night stand. He’s never been the type to take advantage of someone, so he can’t help but ask if you’re okay with this. A part of him secretly wishes you say yes, as he’s dying to take you and make your sweet little face twist into one of pleasure and ecstasy.

You of course say yes, you wouldn’t dare pass up the opportunity to spend a night with him. “Lay down angel,” he quietly demands. You shakily lay down, letting out a quick breath you were holding in. He thinks it’s so cute how nervous you are. He won’t tell you that though, for fear your face would get even redder than it is now.

He stalks towards you, touching your thigh as soon as it’s in range of his cold hands. You shiver, the feeling startling you. You look up at the ceiling, waiting for him to touch you further. His other hand comes up to your shirt, sliding it under and squeezing your bare waist. He slowly pulls down your skirt, fingers dragging down your legs. You quickly pull off your shirt to help him out.

“Good girl.”

You look down at him to see his eyes looking to your thighs, then to your breasts, admiring your body. “Can I take these off?” he asks, putting his fingers into the band of your underwear. You blush but nod, looking anywhere but him.

His eyes immediately go to your core, fingers twitching to feel the obvious wetness twinkling from the moonlight. You look delectable, laying there all innocently, waiting for his next move. He leans down and just stares straight at your pussy. You can’t help but blush even harder, feeling quite exposed to him. “Seong-” you’re about to ask him what’s wrong when you feel him dive into your cunt.

The feeling is incredible. His warm tongue laps at your clit, sucking and making you moan so loud. You’ve never felt this before, and he’s so fucking good. You grip the sheets, pulling them into your fists. “Hwa,” you whimper. The nickname makes him groan into your cunt.

“You’re just a cute little thing, aren’t you?” Seonghwa whispers in your ear.

Seonghwa pumps his fingers in and out, slowly pushing out your wetness and dripping onto the sheets. “Gotta open you up for my fat fuckin’ cock baby. Don’t wanna hurt you.” He leans back and sees how fucked out you are. He can’t help but smirk, knowing he’s doing this to you, not anyone else.

He crawls onto the bed, hovering over your already sweaty body. “You’re so fucking cute, baby. All innocent for me. So good.” He looks down at your breasts, and he can’t help but rip them off. You gasp, him ripping your bra in half shocking you.

“Seonghwa that was brand new!” you yell, mouth agape. He laughs in his cute way before leaning down and sucking a bud into his mouth. Your mouth drops back open even wider this time. The feeling wasn’t as good as him on your cunt, but your body is so sensitive that even this feels so good.

You can’t help but reach up and grab his hair, holding him there. You would be too shy to do this if it weren’t for the good amount of alcohol in your blood. He travels his kisses up to your neck, licking and sucking, placing marks along with every kiss. He then travels his kisses back down your stomach, along your stretch marks.

“So pretty, so so beautiful,” he whispers against your skin. You fight the urge to tear up. You never thought a man would admire your marks like he is right now. He traces every mark, admiring and kissing each one of them.

He gets back up off the bed, and starts taking his pants off. “You have no idea how good I’m gonna make you feel, angel.” The way you’re looking at him with your doe eyes is making him weak, but also making him want to destroy you. Make you cum so hard that the neighbors will hear your screams and moans.

He lines up his hard, dripping with pre-cum cock to your tight hole, and checks to see if you’re ready. You nod, so eager to feel him. He pushes in, and your immediately groan at the shear size of him. It’s a little painful, but he soothes you by rubbing your arms up and down, kissing you neck as well.

He thrusts deeply, hitting a spot that makes you lunge forward, feeling so overwhelmed with pleasure that you can’t help but reach for him. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close to you. You need something to ground you, because you think you might lose it.

He goes harder and harder, making the bed shake. The feeling is so hard to describe, as it’s nothing you’ve ever felt before. Pure pleasure. All you can think about is how good this feels. You try to voice to him that it feels amazing but all that can come out of your mouth is mumbles. “Aw, is my angel being fucked dumb by my big cock? You too dumb to speak?”

You’re so overwhelmed with everything happening, his cock slamming into you, his dirty works, his fingers on your nipples. You feel something warm in your stomach, something hurtling towards you at such a quick pace. “Hwa s-something feels w- ah- weird !!” you warn. But he doesn’t listen, he just keeps fucking you, moaning and groaning at every thrust.

You finally feel it, the sensation hitting you like a truck. You mouth drops open in a silent moan, your eyes leaking tears at how good it feels, overwhelming you. He quickly pulls out when you clench down on him, cumming on the sheets in between your legs.

“So good for me baby, what a good girl you are,” he praises again. He leans forward and kisses you, his lips so soft and sweet tasting. He goes to the bathroom and grabs a towel to start cleaning you up. As soon as your clean, he starts putting his boxers on.

You’re thinking he’s gonna leave you here, alone, which makes your heart drop. But you’re surprised when he turns around and jumps on the bed next you and helps get your bra and panties back on. He grabs your body and pulls you half onto him, making your your nice and cozy in his arms.

“You didn’t think I was gonna leave after taking your virginity and spending an amazing night with you? Did you?” he looks at you with the softest eyes. You nod, but smile, glad he’s staying.

“So… when’s our first date?”

I do not give permission for anyone to repost my work

[lynzishell]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire 💛Atlas & Asher🩵

✨TYSM for the tag @raiiny-bay, @zosa95, @dandylion240, @sirianasims, and @hannahssimblr 🤗💖

Of course, I went overboard with this, so grab your favorite beverage and let's dive right in, shall we? ☕💕

-what common/uncommon fear do they have?

💛Atlas: [Pointing to Asher] Water. 🩵Asher: You can’t just leave it at that. It’s not like if you set a glass of water on the table, I’ll run screaming. I have a fear of drowning, so I don’t like to be submerged in water. You’re never going to catch me out swimming. Probably not on a boat either, while we’re at it. Not taking any chances. 💛Atlas: Fair enough. But you won’t even put your face under the water in the shower. 🩵Asher: That’s because it reminds me of being submerged in water. Anyway, this conversation is making me sweaty, and there just happens to be water on the other side of this fence, so let's change the subject. Next question.

-do they have any pet peeves?

🩵Asher: Oh, Atlas fuckin’ hates mindless small talk, like the kind you use just to fill the silence, or because you awkwardly feel like you need to talk to the person next to you. Seriously, he’ll like you a lot more if you just sit next to him in silence for an hour. 💛Atlas:  Very true. And yet, your record for silence is, what, twenty minutes?  🩵Asher: Maybe. But I don’t make mindless small talk. 💛Atlas: Yeah, I do like listening to you ramble on about your latest obsessions. You get all animated and excited, it’s really cute. 🩵Asher: You’re really cute.

-what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

💛Atlas: Uh, I don’t know, what’s in our room besides the obvious? Probably too many electronics. 🩵Asher: Right, between the computer and the switch and my drawing tablet and our phones... 💛Atlas: And your sketchbooks and pencils. How many pencils does someone need? 🩵Asher: I don’t have enough; I’ll tell you that much. Count yourself lucky that most of my art supplies are scattered between Lex’s place and my parents’ house. One day I’ll get it all organized in one place, but that day is not today.

-what do they notice first in a person?

🩵Asher: Hm. That's a good question. What did you notice about me first? 💛Atlas: Your hair, obviously. 🩵Asher: [laughs] 💛Atlas: But no, I would say your eyes. I’d never met anyone with such pure gray eyes before, they’re striking. Your eyes are very expressive too. And you make eye contact with people more than anyone else I know. Like, whenever I talk to you, I always feel like you’re really listening. 🩵Asher: [smiles] I am.

-on a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

🩵Asher: Oh god, mine is probably like a 5, and Atlas’s is probably a fuckin’ 8 or 9. 💛Atlas: I would’ve said 7, but we can go with 8.

-do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

💛Atlas: I think my first instinct is freeze, but then probably flight. Depending on the situation, I’ll walk away or hide away. 🩵Asher: Mostly. But with James, you definitely went to fight. 💛Atlas: That was different. I don’t care if people hurt me, but I’m not going to let them hurt the people I love. Ash is definitely more of a fighter than I am.  

-do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

🩵Asher: I don’t come from a big family, it’s just my parents, me, my sister, and my niece, but we are very close. But honestly, family isn’t just about relatives. Chosen family is just as important. When I say my family is the most important thing to me, I don’t just mean them, I also mean Atlas and Lex and Dawn and Phoenix and Aspen too. And Jasper, obviously. 💛Atlas: Exactly. If we’re talking about relatives, I come from a very large family, but I will never see or speak to any of them again, except for Dawn, of course. A few years ago, I never would’ve considered myself a family person, but Ash’s family taking me in changed all that. I’d definitely say I am now. 🩵Asher: I love that.

-what animal represents them best?

💛Atlas: Oh, that’s easy. Ash is just like Jasper, his border collie. Playful and energetic, friendly, intelligent, hardworking, and he loves to snuggle. 🩵Asher: Hm. I think for Atlas, I’d say a deer. 💛Atlas: A deer? 🩵Asher: Yeah, like, you’re quiet and cautious, a bit anxious with a tendency to hide, but you’re also beautiful and sweet. 💛Atlas: You make me sound more like a bunny. 🩵Asher: No, definitely not a bunny. Have you ever come upon a big buck deer? They’re majestic and intimidating, and they’ll kick your ass if they have to. They’re… survivors.

-what is a smell that they dislike?

💛Atlas: Ammonia. 🩵Asher: No one likes the smell of ammonia. 💛Atlas: I know, but when I was a kid, at the end of every school year, we’d have to clean our desks with this ammonia spray. Twenty kids spraying ammonia in an enclosed room. It was awful. I’m sure they had the windows open, but even still, that smell is seared into my brain, makes me want to gag just thinking of it.

-have they broken any bones? if so, how?

🩵Asher: Okay, story time! So, when I was ten? Eleven? Something like that. Anyway, I was dancing around in my room, as one does, and I tripped on a book, one of many scattered around my disaster of a room, and tried to catch myself as I went down. Bad decision. I’ll spare you the details, but the pain I felt in my wrist was horrible. I literally saw stars. And then I almost puked when I looked at it. So, of course, I started screaming for my mom. She came running in, and I told her that I’d broken my wrist. And what did she do? She yanked on it and snapped it back into place! Because apparently, I’d just dislocated it. But, fuck, it hurt. If a broken bone is worse than that, then I hope I never break one. 💛Atlas: I broke a toe once. Stubbed it on the corner of my bed when I was in college. I wasn’t good about taping it up or anything either, so it healed a little crooked.

-how would a stranger likely describe them?

🩵Asher: For Atlas? One word: quiet. How they interpret that quietness varies though. Some people think he’s really shy, others think he’s just aloof. But he’s actually neither. He’s introverted and pensive, sure, but he’s also very warm and enjoys chatting with people if it’s a more meaningful conversation, y’know. Like, when we first met, we would talk for hours and hours. 💛Atlas: That’s true, but you’re such an easy person to talk to. I think that’s what people would say about Ash. He’s just very relaxed and friendly and has a way of putting people at ease. He’s good at connecting with people and getting them talking and making them laugh.  

-are they a night owl or a morning bird?

🩵Asher: Probably night owls, I’d say. Atlas prefers starting his day later and working late, if he has the option. 💛Atlas: Yeah, but these days, it feels like I’m working all the time. But even still, Ash starts his day earlier. I don’t know. I think he’s somehow both. He has no issues with mornings, but he also gets a burst of energy in the evening and sometimes it’s hard to get him to come to bed. 🩵Asher: To sleep, anyway. 💛Atlas: [laughs] Right.

-what is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

💛Atlas: Ah, Ash hates vinegar and anything pickled. And he loves warm spices like cinnamon and cardamom. 🩵Asher: Oh my god, and Atlas is fuckin’ backwards when it comes to this. He likes bitter flavors to a strange degree, like super bitter beer and strong coffee and he’ll only eat chocolate if it’s the super dark stuff, otherwise he hates it. He doesn’t like sweets. No sugary drinks or candy or even pastries.

-do they have any hobbies?

🩵Asher: We both love gaming and dancing. Otherwise, I like to draw and spend time with my dog. My favorite is taking him down to the beach to play fetch, he loves it there. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and I don’t know, I like to stay active because I feel like I’m constantly at a desk otherwise. I used to rock climb a lot, but since we climbed Mt. Komorebi, we took a break and never really got back to it, so I pretty much just run and work out at the gym occasionally. And I like to sing. 🩵Asher: Seriously, I wish you could hear him. He has the most incredible voice. 💛Atlas: Aw, thank you.

-boom, surprise birthday party! how do they react to surprises?

💛Atlas: Ash would love it! He’d be so stoked that everyone showed up for him like that. 🩵Asher: And Atlas would probably dump me on the spot if I ever did that to him. 💛Atlas: I don’t know if I’d dump you, but… okay, yeah, I probably would.

-do they like to wear jewelry? if so, what is their favorite piece?

🩵Asher: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Atlas wear any jewelry. 💛Atlas: No, I’ve tried, but I could never get used to it. I’d always end up taking it off by midday. 🩵Asher: I can see that. I wear earrings, but that’s it. I used to wear a necklace that an ex gave me, but I threw it out when we broke up. I wanted to throw it into the ocean, but I didn’t dare to walk out on the dock [laughs] so I tossed it in a dumpster instead. 💛Atlas: I didn’t know that. Which ex? 🩵Asher: Elias. 💛Atlas: Ahh. Yikes. 🩵Asher: Yeah. Anyway. Next question.

-do they have neat or messy handwriting?

💛Atlas: I think we both write fairly neat. 🩵Asher: I think so too. Yours is all sharp angles, but it’s not sloppy. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and you have a strong preference for uppercase letters. Sometimes it’s rushed, but it’s never messy. Actually, I’ve never thought about it before, but I really like your handwriting. 🩵Asher: I like yours too.

-what are two emotions they feel the most?

🩵Asher: [points to Atlas] Anxious. 💛Atlas: All of the time. 🩵Asher: And, hm, we can only pick two? I’d probably go with either introspective or focused. 💛Atlas: That’s probably right. For you, I’d say, passionate or inspired and then maybe playful or energetic or something like that. Okay yeah, passionate and playful.

-do they have a favorite fabric?

💛Atlas: Probably cotton, I guess. 🩵Asher: Yeah, same. I don't know. Never really thought about it, to be honest.

-what kind of accent do they have?

🩵Asher: I don’t know. Do we have accents? I mean, I guess Atlas gets a hint of a drawl when he drinks, it’s pretty cute. 💛Atlas: I do not. 🩵Asher: You do! I never told you because I didn’t want you to get self-conscious and try to stop. 💛Atlas: It’s a good thing I don’t drink often, I guess. 🩵Asher: Whatever. I love it. 💛Atlas: And I love you. 🩵Asher: I love you too.

And I love them too!! 🥹

Okay, whew! What are the chances anyone actually read all that? I really can't just be normal about these things, can I? Oh well... Now it's your turn!! I'm gonna tag @madebysimblr, @crownsofesha, @xldkx, @honeyjars-sims, aaaaaaaaaaand @igotsnothing 🤸🏻‍♀️💖 Answer them normally, or have a little fun with it, or ignore me completely, that's fine too (no it's not) 🫶🏻

[revasserium]

Can you do #154 with Hoshiumi or Bokuto ❤️🥺

send me a prompt and a character, and i'll write you a drabble (or ukno, like a 2k fuckin fic)

154. Leap into my arms @thisbicc

diving into the wreck

bokuto; 1,815 words; angst in the beginning, but its honestly more hurt/comfort, and the ending is fluffy ;) ish.

he is a volcano, he is a thunderstorm — he is every natural disaster poets have ever tried to tame with language and still, the truth remains — bokuto koutarou is a force of nature. but the thing about natural disasters is that they end. they pass and, like shooting stars, all that remains is the wreckage they’ve left behind, the imprint of light across a moonless night.

“losing isn’t everything, y’know.”

you run a hand down the curved planes of his back, trying to sooth the tantrum building just beneath the surface.

“it is! and you know it is! you just — you just don’t know how it feels! you don’t know anything!”

the words seep through the house, oozing blood like an open wound, soaking the carpets and weighing down the curtains, staining them till neither of you are sure what color they used to be when you first got them.

(”look! look! these are on sale! and they’re the design i like!” “ah, well if they’re the design you like, then i guess we gotta get ‘em, huh?” “oh shut up, you big goofball.”)

you pull back your hand and sigh.

“you’re right… i don’t know how it feels to lose like you do but —” you bite down hard on your lips, swallowing down the words —

i know how it feels to lose you.

he looks up, his expression desperate. he wants to reach out, to pull you close to say no, i didn’t mean that or no, i’m sorry, let’s get some icream or some popcorn or some new damn curtains but he looks away instead.

(”how do you jump so high?” “huh? me? oh… uh… well, i mean… i just kinda do it… i guess.” “but… aren’t you afraid you’re gonna fall and hurt yourself?” “nah. like, the floor’s not goin’ anywhere, y’know?”)

“bokuto… i — i think i’m gonna go stay with a friend for a while.”

bokuto feels the world press in, the walls inching towards him, the ceiling pressing down. he wants to curl in on himself till there’s nothing left, he wants to crush you to him, to hold you so tightly you become a part of him but his body won’t move. his lips are still. and there’s a part of him that wonders if he does this to himself just so he’ll have something to fight for.

because the truth is — he doesn’t know how else to love you.

he doesn’t know how else to love but like this — with no training wheels, with his eyes closed and fists clenched and wild hope pounding in his heart. and he knows he’s not good at this — he’s never been all too good at this but he never thought it would hurt — he never knew that the floor could disappear from beneath his feet and that sometimes, just sometimes, you really should look before you leap but…

“for… for how long?” he asks.

“i… i’m not sure yet but… i think —” you take a breath like gasping for air in a vacuum-sealed space, “i think it’d be good for us,” another heaving breath.

“some time… apart.”

bokuto feels the air leave the room like a scolded child, slipping away through the opened doorway, disappearing into the darkness of the hall. he tries to breathe and finds that he doesn’t quite remember how.

(”so… its like a trust exercise. with the floor.” “w-wha?? you still talkin’ about jumping?” “yeah! like… in order to jump that high, you gotta trust that the floor will be there to catch you, right?”)

“okay.”

the word burns through him, a comet with a too-long tail, singeing his tongue. it tastes like cinder and smoke and all the words he never had the courage to say out loud.

“okay,” you echo, with a tiny little nod.

he feels the ground beneath him crack and crumble, and for the first time in his life, bokuto is afraid of falling.

“i…” he nearly chokes on the word, but he forces himself to his feet, his fists balled at his sides. like this, he towers over you, like this, he’s a huge, imposing thing, but like this — he feels the smallest he’s ever been.

i’m sorry.

“i love you,” he says, finally. after a long-held breath.

you look up at him with wide, sad eyes and after a moment, you let out a small laugh. it shakes your shoulders and breaks something inside him. because this, at least, he knows to be true. he might not be good at it but he knows that he loves you. he loves you strong, and he loves you hard.

he loves you like a thunderstorm might love a lightning sea, too much salt, and not enough water —

“yeah…” you say, “yeah… i know.”

(”ahh… there’s no fixin’ that, is there?” “what, the dish you broke cause you put it in the dishwasher wrong? nope. don’t think so.” “mm… but what if we keep it anyway?” “aww, you big baby, i always knew you were the sentimental type.”)

you run a hand through your hair, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a deep, heavy sigh.

slowly, the air trickles back into the room.

“let’s go swimming,” he says. and you look up, all sadness gone and replaced by confusion, but bokuto is smiling, a hopeful, indulgent sort of thing.

“what, right now?” you blink at him. he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“yeah. right now.”

for a second, you narrow your eyes, for a second, you wonder what this might be about. but years with bokuto has taught you that there are moments where you don’t ask why or when or how. it is only the who that matters — and it has always been him.

the pool is closed but bokuto manages to find the key tucked in the gym manager’s drawer and you bite back an exasperated sigh as he unlocks the door and lets you both in. there’s a triumphant smile on his lips and you can’t help but laugh. when he cannonballs into the water, whooping out in joy, you stand by the poolside and watch him — and for a second everything is fine. for second, everything is forgotten — all the big fights, all the long nights, all the things neither of you really meant to say — washed away by the chlorine-scented water dripping down the length of his spine.

“c’mon! come in! the water’s great!”

bokuto motions for you to join him, and you only hesitate for a second before pulling off your shirt and slipping into the cool, temperature controlled water. you let yourself sink beneath the surface and you feel the world above you slip away.

you open your eyes to find bokuto there, right in front of you, his eyes just as wide open as yours. his lips are moving, bubbles streaming from his mouth as he speaks but you shake your head, feeling the laughter curling up within you.

“b-bokuto — i can’t hear anything you’re saying!”

you break the surface and reach out to pull him up. but he only shakes his head and drags you under again. you shake your head too, about to break away when you see him mouthing the words —

i’m sorry.

don’t leave me.

you still, and for a moment, you both hang there, suspended by the weight of water, the sheer lack of air. and for once, bokuto is thankful for it.

(”i — i’m not that sentimental! i just… i like holding onto broken things, sometimes.” “bokuto… but… we can just get a new dish —” “no, like… i just think… that it’s worth a try is all.”)

this time, when you break the surface, bokuto comes up with you, gasping for air like a drowning man. he takes you by the arms and shakes you, ever so slightly. water droplets cling to his hair like gemstones, glittering in the refracted blue lights.

“we — we’re not broken,” he says, his voice a bit waterlogged, his chest heaving like some great beached whale, fighting for every breath, for every word.

you purse your lips, a wave of something cresting inside your chest.

he gives you another shake.

“and… and even if we are…” he gulps, “i — i think we’re worth fixing.”

you let out a tiny sob, the hot prickling behind your eyes bursting out in a maelstrom of salt and water and bokuto holds you at arm’s length and lets you cry. he lets you scream and struggle and tell him all the things you’d never have told him otherwise.

he takes it the best he can. he weathers the storm. he waits it out like a patient beach, knowing that eventually, the tide will recede. that eventually, even a hurricane will blow through it’s course.

“i’m sorry,” he says, finally, when you’ve cried yourself out, still hiccupping with his hands on either side of your arms, both your fingers pruning in the water.

“y-you better be.”

bokuto laughs, nodding, finally pulling you in for a kiss.

“i am… and… i’m sorry that i’m so bad at apologizing.”

you let out a watery laugh and make a half-hearted attempt to splash him.

“as long as you don’t make a habit of breaking into the gym pool at midnight just to say sorry.”

“i dunno, it’s kinda nice though, isn’t it?”

“what, a midnight dip? i guess it is…”

for a moment, the both of you are quiet. and you both know this isn’t the end, that there are still words to be said, new curtains to buy, old dishes to mend.

“hey, wanna try something?” bokuto’s voice is hopeful, but as you turn to look at him, you allow yourself another smile. because isn’t this what you fell in love with in the first place? the highs and the lows, the sunlight days and the stormy nights.

“sure, what do you wanna try?”

bokuto points at the diving board hanging over the deep end of the pool with a wide, wayward grin.

you hike your eyebrows.

“c’mon! try it! i’ll catch you!”

trust me.

you hesitate for a moment longer before swimming to the edge and heaving yourself out of the water. bokuto whoops as you walk onto the diving board and look over the edge.

he opens his arms and waits for you.

you take a breath, and —

you jump.

[iguessitsjustme]

Jack o' Frost Ep 1 & 2 Thoughts

I have time today (because my job gave us an extra day off this weekend) soooo it’s time to liveblog Jack o’ Frost since it won my poll. I’m gonna do two episodes at a time for the liveblog just because they aren’t that long. I got my snacks, I got my drink, I am ready to dive in let’s gooooo

I was promised good music so that’s what I’m watching for honestly. I don’t know how much I’ll comment on the music, but I’ll probably talk at least a little bit if it’s that good.

Oh so we start this show in the middle of the drama. Love that. What’s happening. I guess I’ll find out

One thing that I lovehate about Japanese dramas is how much they utilize silence. I love it when shows do that but as someone who gets distracted easily and lives on a busy city street with a lot of noise competing for my attention, it is hard to watch Japanese shows sometimes.

Happy birthday. Time to break up.

These Japanese boys do run. Have they thought about a career in track? But also it makes me so tired to watch. *eats chip*

Is this a fucking amnesia story?

I went into this blind. I don’t know anything about this show. Did y’all trick me into watching an AMNESIA show? Do y’all hate me?

I can’t help but notice the very obvious color coding of these boys. Their coats are very coded. Do I know what it means? Nope. But it’s obvious enough for me to notice. Or I’m getting better at noticing. Which I count as a win for me.

Ooooo I love a good pajama set. I want that one. Looks cozy.

Okay okay. He had a head wound. He had bandages on it. He washed his hair? And the wound? Is gone? Where go? Why bandages? Head wounded outside or inside? What?

Real quick, is Tomoko single? Asking for a me friend.

Ohhhh nooooo he only forgot his boyfriend. What specific amnesia.

Okay EP 2 time let’s get into it. Right now. Right away.

Oh you want a do-over? Well isn’t that just great and dandy. You’re gonna run into the same issues. Just because Ritsu doesn’t remember doesn’t mean the issues aren’t there and don’t still need to be addressed before you two have any hope.

I’m actually gonna pull my hair out. This is why I hate amnesia stories. They’re always so unbalanced. Poor Ritsu.

Alas. Tomoko has a boyfriend. Things aren’t going well though? He better treat her right, or I will. Anyway she gives good advice to whatshisname (I’m not learning it until he fucking tells Ritsu literally anything about the two of them). The only thing she should also tell him is to TELL RITSU ABOUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP Jesus H Crhist. This is why they had issues I’m guessing. This dumbass doesn’t know how to communicate.

I would like to go to this coffee shop actually. Seems very cozy.

Oh I didn’t really talk about the music did I? I love it. It’s very, very classical and that’s pretty much all I’ve been listening to lately so while I have issues with the heckin fuckin amnesia plot we got goin on…at least the music is absolutely gorgeous and doing it’s job well. Anyway. On to episode 3 I guess.

[phoebehalliwell]

i have many questions i'm sorry

do you think the cupitches are as close, or closer, than the halliwell sisters are?

has melinda ever wanted sisters over brothers

if you had to pick any of the four charmed ladies to make twins, who would it be?

how close are henry jr and paige (in ur opinion)?

do you think andy and henry would've liked each other

how are you doing <3

hi hi hi its okay i love answering questions ❤️‼️❤️📝❤️‼️

1. i would say the cupitches are honestly closer bc they’ve known about this power of three thing since birth + are raised by and empath and a relationship therapist (coops mortal (and sometimes magical!) job) so like the clear communication thing is really really super prevalent. they were learning how to carefully articulate their emotions without pinning the blame on others while most of us were still learning santa isn’t real

2. i mean sometimes a little but the fact that her + pj + kat + tam are all so so super close in age (with parker and peyton still relatively close as well) i think it scratches that itch so to speak like she has someone to braid their hair or put on wacky eyeshadow and bad fashion shows with you know?

3. easy. prue & piper. it would just make their dynamic so much jucier like hello prues overprotective nature over her twin but then also just being the brave one which i think would make piper even more the wallflower and also makes piper taking prues mantle post death even more interesting

4. honestly i think they’re pretty close i think henry jr is a naturally curious child and i think paige likes answering his questions like we really see how much paige loves study and learning esp in season five when she dives headfirst into studying witchcraft and even starts exploring angles not previously known to the halliwells (eg using chi in the s5 premiere, studying romani culture + magic in the eyes have it) so i think like paige has found conversations with her son very engaging even from a young age also i think henry jrs just like. cool. he has a similar dry sense of humor and is in general a fun guy to hang out with so i think he and paige are really close. honestly probably the closest to paige out of any of her children

5. this is difficult to say bc like. idk i really don’t know i wanna say yea bc i love a world in which everyone gets along but my gut is telling me that (if they met in a work setting not thru the girls) no. they’re both very stubborn and strong willed and then of course henry had this bad habit of bailing which yes is a romantic thing but i think any defining bad habits will always spill into other facets of your life and as we see with andy that cut and run deal really fuckin bothers him so he might hold an intrinsic dislike for henry. that being said tho i think if they had motive to bond (e.g. ur girlfriend’s sister is my girlfriend) i think yes they would be friends. i think they were both movie / video game kids growing up i think they would bond over thejr dated pop culture references

6. i am mostly okay but i have a new crush and i’m having a terrible time about it lol i kept saying you know what i need? a like crush? something fun to keep me occupied But Now I Have One and it is not fun!!!! auauaagahuagahhghhh!!

[perceivedregret]

pt 10! fic can also be found on ao3, user is the same over there. part 1 of Extended Hours can be found here.

bury me in the bedroom where i can sing you to sleep all night

Steve doesn’t know Chrissy all that well. Sure, they ran with the same circle of popular jocks, have been to how many parties and are well enough acquainted. He doesn’t know her all that well but he doesn’t need to know her to know that look . And he’d be worried, scared even, if that look was directed at him, and it sure as hell feels like it is, except he knows it’s actually being directed to the man who’s currently cowering behind him.

Cowering? No, jeering, the idiot is jeering .

“Ohh, she’s gonna fuckin’ kill me,” Eddie grumbles, his grip on Steve’s shoulders tightening. Steve turns his head in time to watch Eddie stick his tongue out when Chrissy shoots another fiery glare in their direction. Eddie leans over into a sideways lunge, placing his hands on either side of his face with his palms facing forward and wiggles his fingers, opening his mouth to stick his tongue out at her.

Steve’s pretty sure if she could Chrissy would conjure a hole to open up beneath them and swallow them down.

In an instant her usually darling bubbly personality is back when her attention is pulled to someone else, eyes sparkling and her fingers tugging on the ends of her jacket sleeves. Eddie chuckles, the wiggling of his fingers ticking up in pace when she gets a tug by a freckled arm towards the sunroom, Vicky’s voice booming throughout the house over the music (Nancy’s this time).

“ How the hell did I end up getting invited to a party hosted by Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington? This place is huge. And oh wow, the pool is massive! Lis, let’s get in, he has a diving board and– oh my god, Robin? ”

Steve snorts as he watches Chrissy get hauled away and out into the sunroom, disappearing around the corner. He can hear Robin’s nervous laughter from here, doesn’t need to see her to know what look she has on her face.

“Munson, I think you have more to worry about than Cunningham.”

Eddie’s straightens, starts chewing on his thumb nail as his face scrunches in consideration. “Chris and Bobby I think I could handle on my own. If anything I think I’d start to get a little worried if Drew got involved.”

Steve starts before he can stop. “Nance does own guns, so if there was someone to watch out for–”

“I’m sorry, but did you just say Nancy Wheeler owns guns? Plural ?” If Eddie’s eyes got any wider they’d be in danger of rolling out of their sockets.

Shit . Steve hums with a small shake of his head, using his finger and thumb to mime zipping and locking his lips shut.

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest offendly when Steve steps closer to hug him, arms circling low around his middle. When Eddie doesn't reciprocate Steve sighs into his hair. "It's kind of a long story, one that revolves around Will's kidnapping… it's really hers and Jonathan's to tell."

Eddie stiffens in his arms, familiar with the story but not all of the details. "Well shit, didn't know it got that bad," he mutters, and Steve just hugs him closer. Eddie uncoils after a moment, arms snaking their way around and falling into the embrace, chin resting on Steve's shoulder.

"It's honestly pretty insane, but yeah. Nance, she's… prepared to take care of herself and those she cares for."

"Your ex sounds like a badass."

Steve hums in agreement, burying his nose in the curls that start to tickle his nose. "Speaking of bad asses," he mumbles, hands slipping down Eddie's back, but they don't get very far.

“That was so goddamn lame, you keep those hands above the waist. I know I said I was an easy man to please, but I’m not easy ,” he tsks, leaning away at the waist and clutching at the nonexistent pearls at chest. Steve laughs and Eddie allows Steve to lean in, their noses brushing together.

“I don’t know, I think I can be pretty easy enough for the both of us,” Steve quips, lips brushing against Eddie's with each word. Eddie pulls away but only enough to get their eyes to focus on each other.

"I'm well aware of the reputation that earned you that crowned status, Harrington. Don't think you're aware of mine though," he says, and it peaks Steve's curiosity enough to pull away because–

"Are you saying being a metalhead and a ragingly proud– wait, what’s that word Rob used– non conformist who plays DnD with the other nerds of Hawkins High isn't the reason for your freak status? Which, by the way, I still don't think you are."

Eddie's smile shifts into something that makes Steve's insides flutter. "Sweetheart,the places and kind of folks you get acquaintanced with when you're out and about trying to get these babies." Eddie tips his chin, gesturing to the tattoos scattering his arm. "I've got stories that would make you blush a lot harder than you are now."

"Really?"

"Tattooing is illegal in the great ole' state of Indiana. I've got my own kit, been giving myself and letting some of the guys give a few small ones here and there, but I've had to get most of these from some… I'll call them interesting people."

"So, what I'm hearing is that you are both a badass and have a bad ass?"

Eddie glares at Steve with a tightlipped smile, trying to hold back his laugh. He fails, utters " you're so fuckin' lame " so silently between them that if Steve wasn't hooked onto every little thing that is Eddie he would have missed it. Steve laughs with him as he wraps a finger around one of Eddie’s belt loops, ready to haul him back towards the party.

Or at least he tries. Always trying but Eddie, of course, doesn’t come along easily.

Instead he takes Steve's hand in his, freeing the hold of his loop and opting to tangle their fingers together as he gently pulls him towards the stairs. He takes a step before turning back to look at Steve, making himself a head taller in this position. He takes Steve's face in his hands, thumb sweeping lightly over his cheeks.

“So are these a whole body type deal or were the angels polite enough to just give you a kiss goodbye?”

Steve brows pinch together. “Angels?”

“Mhm." Eddie sinks forward, right arm going around Steve's shoulder while his left hand slips towards the back of his neck, fingers kneading into the muscles there. “There’s that saying that freckles are a kiss from angels. That or you’re a bearer of the witch’s mark.” Eddie pulls his hand back to wiggle his fingers in Steve’s face.

“Robin calls them beauty marks. Also, wouldn’t that make me a warlock?” Steve mumbles, eyes trained on Eddie’s fingers that suddenly freeze, taking the opportunity to nip at the closest digit.

Eddie pulls his hand away with a hiss, a chuckle bubbling past his lips. “I mean, yeah, but how do you–”

“I pay attention to the kids and their dorky interests. Your Hellfire Club really brings out their full nerd.” Eddie scoffs dramatically and tries to pull away but Steve grabs at his waist, crowds in until they’re sharing the same step and Eddie throws his arms around Steve’s shoulders with a yelp, has to arch his back to keep his balance as Steve buries his face into his neck. “It’s cute! I’ve seen the way you and the kids get when you’re talking about your separate, what is it– campaigns, right? It’s cool that you give them the space to do their thing while you host your own.” Steve pulls his face back, chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s cute .”

“ Cute , he says.” Eddie takes another backwards step as he narrows his eyes. He’d look annoyed if that dimple didn’t give him away. “As I was saying, Ye Who Interrupts .” Eddie relaxes into Steve’s space again, his grin sending warmth to Steve’s chest. “Your freckles– beauty marks, moles, whatever you wanna call them– they can be the mark of a warlock , sure. But they also say they could be marks from where angels have kissed you.

“ So .” Eddie takes Steve’s face in his hand again as he leans forward. “They would have kissed you here.” He kisses Steve's left cheek twice, pulls back with a smirk.

"Here." Eddie grabs Steve's chin, tilts it to the right and kisses his other cheek once, then another one just below his eye before dragging his lips towards Steve's. They share the same breath and Steve's leaning into it, following Eddie as he takes another step back, his hands reaching. His grip on Eddie's waist borders on too tight when he chases his lips but the hold on his neck slips into his hair and Eddie uses it to angle Steve's neck before ducking down so he can press another kiss there, “ here ,” sending a trail of want down through Steve's body.

With a contented sigh Steve's hands are slipping under Eddie's shirt, taking another step along as Eddie slowly clambers backwards up the steps, pressing another kiss to his neck before switching over and working through the ones on Steve’s left.

Steve has no idea how they made it to the top, having nearly lost his balance about half way up. He was mid-step when it happened– Eddie had bit down on his neck before pressing his tongue against the spot, the sensation going straight to Steve's groin when Eddie began to suck a deeper mark into his skin. It had him attempting to press forward to find friction but Eddie just hummed into it, licking up Steve's neck only to start marking up the other side and continuing their slow moving trek up the stairs.

On the final step Steve is nearly panting, desperate to make his own marks, to take. When they get on the same level he uses his grip on Eddie’s hips to pull them together, the motion sending a shudder down his spine until it reaches his toes and all he can do is keep moving forward, ushering Eddie towards his room as tactfully as he can.

They reach the door and Steve moves one hand to the back of Eddie’s neck, gentle roll of his hips eliciting a moan from the two. Eddie sighs as he unlatches, his breath against the wet patch of skin on Steve’s neck sending another chill through him as he leans back against the door, eyes trained on the bruises he’s left.

He looks up, eye’s immediately scanning Steve’s face. He tugs on the hem of Steve’s shirt gently, his teasing grin pulling Steve’s attention to that bright white smile and momentarily away from the fluttering in his chest or the heaviness between his legs. “I still know a way to get this stain out by the way. Should let me take care of that sometime.”

Steve takes the bait and reels.

“Is this your not subtle way of trying to get me out of my clothes? Munson, all you have to do is ask. I run pretty hot, this sweater isn’t really doing me any favors. Unless,” Steve murmurs, his voice low, like he's sharing a secret.

And maybe he is, because there's really no one else this is for, hasn't been for weeks. It's his and Eddie's and he wants to speak it, write it directly on his skin like his lips are a pen and Eddie's skin is a blank page calling out to be written on, engraved– to be branded. 

His hands are moving, fingers digging into the muscles of Eddie's back as he rakes his hands down, Eddie’s back arching away from his hands, but it just gets them even closer, the space between them leaving their want for one another unavoidable. Steve doesn't reach for what he wants to get a handful of, not yet. He hears the way Eddie exhales forcefully out of his nose, eyes slipping shut as Steve leans in even closer and allows the tip of his nose to ghost over Eddie's cheek, doesn't stop until his lips are at his ears.

Steve doesn't realize just how much of an effect this man has over him. He doesn't realize just how far gone he is all because he's in his space, finally allowed in. There's only so much his right hand and the images of tattooed arms and well calloused ringed fingers can do, and if he’s honest with himself it's been some time.

He doesn't realize it until he hears his own voice, surprised by how deep and this shy out of breath it is even to his own ears as he murmurs his guess into Eddie’s ear.

"Unless you want me to get you out of yours first?" 

Being this close he's able to hear the way Eddie's breath stutters, feeling the hot exhale of his breath float across his own cheek. He leans in and they kiss, Steve using his hand on his neck to change the angle, deepening it as he reaches for the door knob.

If it takes him a few tries to successfully turn the knob he’ll blame it on the redirection of blood flow.

“Light or no light?” Steve stutterers, licking his way into Eddie’s mouth before he can respond. Eddie shoves, the door clambering shut with a bang as he leads them into it, hips first. Another pass of Steve’s tongue in his mouth and Eddie captures it, giving a tentative suck that has Steve groaning as he grabs at Eddie’s ass, fingers digging in deep enough to the plushness that he’s sure they’d be bruised if not for the layer of clothes over him.

Eddie releases his tongue, a wet uncoordinated kiss of his lips as Steve uses his hold to pace another languid press. “ Fuck , no– no light. What was that thing you said? Feel me, don’t watch me, right?” 

Another roll of their hips, another moan, and Steve’s pulling away from the door.

Eddie’s hands had been in Steve’s hair but when the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed he drops them to Steve’s hips, switching their positions and he lightly pushes Steve, only pulling away from their kiss so Steve can take a seat on the edge and Eddie follows, knees on either side of his hips. Steve’s about to lay them down, his hands hot on Eddie’s thighs but Eddie breaks away.

“Steve, wait.” Eddie pulls away, eyes still shut as he presses his forehead to Steve’s and they share the same air. Steve brushes his hands up to Eddie’s hips, fingers dipping past the band of Eddie’s jeans for a second before he’s pulling them up to run a soothing pass up his spine, giving a hum of acknowledgement, taking a deep slow inhale through his nose to recenter. “Do you get tested? Like, regularly after you’ve…”

Steve nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Rob, she–” Steve chuckles, pulling back to look at Eddie. “–we were sharing a sundae and I accidently gave her mono, once , and she wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. I got tested regularly and I’m clear. Haven’t been with anyone since the last one.” He lifts a hand to cup Eddie’s check, thumb sweeping lightly over his bottom lip.

"Okay, good, that's good. And me too, by the way." Eddie nods, placing the tip of Steve’s thumb between his lips, looks like he’s about to talk around it but stops short. He nips the pad of it. “You get tested, that’s good. But have you…” he squints, seems to be asking something but Steve can’t read him.

“What, have I what?” He pulls his hand away, leans back with his hands on the bed at his hips, trying to give Eddie as much space to ask what he needs to, voice soft and face relaxed.

Eddie chews at the corner of his lips, hesitation filtering across his face, but only for a second, relaxing as he starts moving his hands. He places them low on Steve’s stomach, lifts the hem so he has his palms on skin, gently pushing Steve to lay back as he runs his hands up his torso, the hem bundling up his chest until Steve lifts his arms so it can be pulled off. 

“So they are a whole body type deal… noted.” Eddie tosses the sweater behind him, sinking heavily against Steve’s thighs, ignoring the harsh tenting that Steve’s jeans barely allow as he runs his hands up Steve’s chest. He pulls his hands away, fingers working the clip out of his hair before he shakes out his hair. Steve has to resist the urge to sit up, to tell him how beautiful he looks like this. Doesn’t want to rush it, possibly ruin this because he has before, has a feeling he will again if he opens his mouth.

Still, he can’t help the gasp that escapes him when Eddie cups him through his jeans, Eddie's fingers squeezing as he ruts up into the pressure. He starts to work on his belt, the sound of the metal clinking loudly in the quiet room, the music and laughter of the party reverberating subtly through the walls of the room.

Once the belt is off he pops off the single button at the top and stops there. He leans over Steve, hair cascading down with his hands on either side of Steve’s head and sinking into the mattress, his smirk intoxicating, the smell of apples overwhelming.

Beautiful .

Steve asks the question before he can blurt out the affections. “What did you want to ask me?”

Eddie hums, leans down to kiss Steve once, twice before he moves, kisses the corner of his mouth and starts to work his way down Steve’s neck, fingers back to his jeans and undoing the zipper. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, chest heaving as his hands find Eddie’s face and pulls him up, fingers brushing the hairs he can capture to tuck behind his ears. “Eds, your question.”

Eddie leans in, lips ghosting over Steve’s lips. Steve stops breathing, fingers grasping at the strands in his hands. "How many guys have you been with?" 

It’s now Steve’s turn to hesitate. Eyes still closed, he shakes his head, lips brushing against Eddie’s with the movement. 

“Uhh, not… any?” He doesn’t know why his voice turns the statement into a question, because the answer is definitively zero, zilch, nada.

Eddie pulls away, brows knitting together in doubt. "Not even a casual handy amongst the guys? Like, ever ?"

"Munson, why the fuck would I bullshit about this?"

"I'm just asking! You were always 'the hair' but also Steve 'the straightest man to have ever' Harrington for years! You're, like, extremely into this and I just wanted to know how far, if ever, you've gotten with another guy because I have some experience and I just want to know where you’re at.”

"I haven't had the opportunity, okay, this is bumfuck Hawkins Indiana. I had no idea this was an option for me a week ago, alright, what do you want from me," Steve says around a chuckle, leaning up to press an open mouth kiss to Eddie’s lips. "But right now I'm really into you , so can you just let me into your pants?"

Eddie nods and licks his lips, but this close he ends up licking at Steve's too and Steve parts them like a man starved, rushing forward to chase after them. Eddie lets him, settling his weight until he’s flush against Steve, shifts so his thigh is pressed against Steve’s harden line, his own arousal pushing down against his hip.

When Eddie’s tongue plunges deep Steve takes the opportunity to return that good feeling, earning him a pretty moan as Eddie rolls his hip, their dicks pressing together harshly against the clothes still between them as they rut against one another, shy of too much of the wrong type of pressure yet still not enough. Steve lets go of Eddie’s hair, hands finding the hem of Eddie’s shirt, sitting up and gathering Eddie into his lap before tearing his shirt over his head, immediately reaching to lock their lips together again.

Steve works through Eddie’s belt, fingers fumbling as he pulls them away from the loops, wincing when he hears the fabric of one of the belt loops tear with the motion, but Eddie only starts to work his hands back down to Steve’s own open fly to work him out of his jeans.

He hisses, the air harsh as he’s freed, Eddie’s fingers cold against the head of his dick when he gives a loose stroke, lifting his hips when Eddie directs him to. Steve screws his eyes shut tight over the barely there touch. Eddie slips off the bed before Steve can even start to try to get them equally undressed, and Steve suddenly feels over-exposed in the low lit room as Eddie settles on his knees in between his legs.

Steve’s been here before, has had countless others (namely only women) on their knees before him but he’s never felt more exposed than he does right here with his pants around his thighs. Eddie works the rest of Steve’s jeans down, humming contently with the final pull of the cuff from around his ankle, rubbing his hands up his legs, straightening up to reach and find Steve’s lips again.

Eddie’s hands try to reach for Steve, but Steve hums into the kiss and directs Eddie to stand in front of him. Steve spreads his legs and crowds the other man close, ignoring his own needs begging for attention, batting away Eddie’s searching hands so he can focus on him. Eddie’s hands find purchase on Steve’s shoulder and the top of his head, breath catching in his throat as he gets worked out of the rest of his clothes, his own dick springing forward. Steve freezes, eyes catching on the leaking tip.

He leaves Eddie’s pants around his knees, mouth parted in awe because– can dicks be pretty ? He’s never really cared for the look of his own, wasn’t all that impressed by what he’d seen on occasion from his peripherals in the locker rooms, but looking at Eddie’s, tip glistening in the low light, the tip red and weeping because of him. Eyes surveying what he can of the tattoos that had been otherwise hidden all this time, the moonlight cascading in through the window, making Eddie’s pale skin seem like it’s glowing, the grey and black tattoos a stark contrast.

He’s so fucking pretty , Steve thinks to himself as he moves to slide the rest of Eddie’s clothes off.

“You did not just call my dick pretty.”

Steve blinks, blush creeping onto his cheeks as he looks up to find Eddie hiding behind his hair, hadn’t noticed when he’d pulled his hands away. Steve winces, goes back to slipping the fabric down the rest of Eddie’s legs. “Shit, I– I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to keep my mouth shut. Just ignore me.”

Eddie steps out of his clothes at the words, kicking frantically away at the cuffs that catch on his ankle as he pushes at Steve’s shoulders, a silent oof escaping Steve as he falls back.

“Harrington, are you a talker ?” Eddie lilts, and Steve’s heart rate is kicking back up as they slowly move towards the center of the bed. Eddie settles against him, hands going back into his hair, lips clashing against Steve’s before he can answer. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever talked more trying to get laid than I have with you tonight, actually,” Steve mumbles between breaths, hands pushing so they lay on their sides. Eddie makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and Steve smirks behind another kiss, using his left hand to pillow Eddie's head while his right hand skirts between them.

“Fuck off, you know what I mean – oh . Oh god, you’re so warm, how are you so fucking warm?” Eddie’s chokes on the words, Steve’s hands finally on him, thumb sweeping over the slit to spread the slickness that’s collected on the tip. 

Eddie tugs on the strands in between his fingers, a gasp racking through him as Steve's thumb rubs lightly over the head, running his fingers down where the hairs brush against his fingers, giving a gentle squeeze at the base before slowly stroking back up to the head with a loose grip.

“I could say the same, your hands are freezing." Steve murmurs, doing what he knows feels good on him and using every sound that comes from Eddie to piece together what makes him keen. Eddie's lips crash back into Steve's, right hand clutching at the back of Steve’s neck while his left hand drops to take Steve in his hand, coaxing Steve tongue back into his mouth to start sucking on it again, pacing it to the same slow moving strokes of their hands on each other, rings searingly cold against the heat of Steve's body.

Eddie pulls away if only to get the buzzing of their lips to subside. When his eyes focus he finds Steve’s chewing on his bottom lip, eyes screwed shut.

“Steve, you can talk to me,” Eddie breathes, slowing the pace of his hand, stroking the pad of his thumb along Steve’s length, hand going slack. Steve has to focus on his breathing, eyes slipping open at Eddie’s words. He shakes his head, tries to close the gap but Eddie turns his cheek so Steve can only bury his face into the crook of his neck.

“It’s just, I just start– fuck, your hand –I just start babbling, and it’s super annoying, I don’t–” Steve shudders at another pass, using his hold on Eddie’s neck to reach and latch on to start making his own marks, using the distraction to keep the words from tumbling out and stave off the budding release, his own hand resuming their languid strokes on Eddie’s dick.

Eddie hums, doesn’t say what he wants, decides next time he’ll push it. Instead he bats Steve’s hand away from him, earning him an annoyed whine and a harsh bite. He laughs, pulling his neck away from Steve’s insistent lips. He leans in, can’t help but smirk at the bitchy pout that is Steve’s mouth. Eddie shuffles closer, pressing a chaste kiss to those lips, running his tongue along the seam of Steve’s lips to deepen it.

He takes them both in one hand and Steve gasps at the new feeling, can only try to keep his breathing steady as Eddie starts to jerk them off together, his hands slowly increasing the pace with each passing moment. Steve can’t even coordinate his lips, their kiss having turned sloppy and this side of too wet, leaving them panting into each other’s open mouths.

His brain finally catches up and he’s moving his hand that isn’t in a vice grip on Eddie's shoulder, grasping at what Eddie’s hand can’t between them and starts to jerk them together, focusing on chasing the feeling that’s growing, that’s nestled deep at the base of his spine, doesn't think he's ever been this close so fast. His breath catching over a particularly tight stroke, his own hand stuttering in uncoordinated movements on Eddie’s dick– no his , theirs, together.

“Fuck, –” Steve moans, his hips rolling into their joined fists and suddenly Eddie doesn’t have to wait until next time to push it because Steve can’t stop the words he’d been trying to hold back. “Eddie, I– your hands, your rings . I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands on my dick and–” Steve shudders, he’s so close. “You’re so– oh god ."

“Keep talking.” Steve whines in protest. “ Keep talking , I don't mind,” Eddie breathes, his grip tightening. He quirks his wrists, shifting in closer so that their hands are rubbing easily against their abdomens, legs tangling together. Steve groans into the new rhythm, hand sliding past Eddie's neck to take hold of Eddie’s hair, damp with sweat, an involuntary tug earning him a satisfied groan deep in Eddie’s chest.

“And your hair–” another tug, another moan, “– god, I just wanted to get my hands in there while you– you.” Steve moves his hand that’s between them, slipping his fingers to interlock between Eddie’s, forearm burning as they continue to jerk each other, his toes curling as that pressure builds deep at the base of his spine.

“My rings, my hair, what else have you been thinkin’ ‘bout Stevie.” Eddie’s voice is clipped, rolling just as desperately into their fists. “Come on, baby, you’re so close, I’m so close .”

“Your mouth .” Steve is gasping, thinks he might actually scream. “ God, I want your mouth�� my hands in your hair– you’re so fucking beautiful, Eddie I– fuck, fuck– ”

Luckily for him Steve doesn’t scream because Eddie’s lips are on his again, their hands no longer on each other. Steve grabs at Eddie’s hip, pushing Eddie onto his back as he rolls his hips, their dicks trapped and sliding smoothly together between their sweat slicked abdomens. He presses forward once, twice, and Steve’s seeing white, feels static, fingers tugging the fist full of hair in one hand, his other grabbing at Eddie’s waist. Eddie’s back arches to press against him as Steve paints the space between them in his release.

Steve’s hips start to stutter and Eddie is swallowing Steve’s cries as he continues to roll their hips together. Steve shivers through another wave, face crumpling in pleasure as he continues to work himself through until it's falling into too much , his grip on Eddie going slack, but not before he reaches a hand down to take Eddie’s length in his, moaning obscenely at the weight of it in his hands.

“My mouth, god, but your mouth." Eddie thinks he might die. Another gasp from Steve, a few tugs, and it’s enough to send Eddie over after him, adding to the mess between as Steve’s moans continue to play in his ears, the room quiet except for their heavy breathing and the sound of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy blaring from downstairs.

After a minute Eddie tries to gently roll out from underneath but Steve's arms are suddenly snaking their way around his middle, holding him close and Eddie chuckles, nosing along the sweat damp edge of Steve’s hair.

“This is about to feel real gross in, like, two minutes but I think I just shot my brain out of my dick. We can clean up in a bit, let me just…” Steve sighs, doesn’t finish, just sinks deeper against Eddie, hooking one of his ankles around Eddie’s and waits for the ringing in his ears and the racing of his heart to subside.

Eddie relaxes into the mattress, fingers tracing absentmindedly along Steve’s spine, the fingers of his other hand drumming along to the song that’s playing downstairs. Eddie is the first to break the silence.

 “So… Steve Harrington is both a talker and a post-coitional cuddler. Noted .”

“The fuck is coitional ,” Steve mutters as he pinches at his waist, earning him a yelp which gets them laughing as he starts rolling away to sit at the edge of the bed. Without looking behind him Steve reaches for Eddie’s ankle, giving it a slight tug. “Shower with me?”

Eddie hums in consideration, moving to crawl up behind Steve and pressing a kiss behind his ear, chin resting on his shoulder for a moment before he arms are falling heavy around Steve’s shoulders. “Mmm. Depends.”

Steve turns his head, eyebrows knitting in curiosity as he tangles their fingers together, bringing the back of Eddie’s hand to press a kiss there. “On?”

“Do you think you can get it up again so I can suck you off?”

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

[xarrixii]

Chapter_31 : "Insiders" ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

CW: previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▼

“Jesus. Wow. This really was their central hub, wasn’t it?” Liam whistles, clicking through the barrage of files being uploaded to the Cinder database. “Well, not, you get what I mean.”

“Why would they keep all of this in a bowling alley? Do they honestly trust their security systems this much?”

“Apparently.”

Harlow stares at Liam for a moment. “You’re going to let me go, right? I need to find them.”

“That would literally be going against what I said I’d let you do. I would still have to clear it with Amaterasu.” Liam adjusts his seat, watching as the USB unloaded more and more content to be unfolded by one of Cinder’s many supercomputers. “Wait wait wait, hold on. Storm agent database.”

“All you’re missing is the popcorn to be the excited drama kid.”

“Who said I was missing any popcorn?” Liam smirked, waving over a bucket telekinetically and diving in with their non-clicking hand. “Don’t tell Matty I’ve got food next to her screens or I will murder you before Storm does.”

Harlow rolls his eyes. “Right.”

Liam whistles, looking at the list of names. “Thank God you both weren’t caught, or Storm might actually consider some security measures. Y’know, I told them a long time ago—when I still worked for them and all—to encrypt it in a code.” Liam shoved some popcorn in his mouth, chewing while speaking. “ ‘Course, Nacht called me an idiot.”

His eyes stopped while scrolling through the list. “Liam, isn’t that Blake?”

Liam had to slowly scroll through the deepening list of operatives, gulping down whatever was left of the popcorn in his mouth and clicking on the file Harlow gestured to.

“Son of a bitch.”

For an electrokinetic, Blake was quite easy to overpower.

I guess that’s what being cocky and unguarded gets you. It’s a good defense against telepaths trying to break in, but once your cover’s blown, it does the opposite of what you want it to do.

“Just in time, too,” Liam practically dropped Blake on the concrete as Kyal unlatched a truck’s back door. “Five was just departing. You should hope Suzie’s not waiting for him.”

“We can talk about this,” Blake was out of breath, having struggled against the binders the whole way down. Liam had grabbed rubber gloves from R&D.

“If that ‘we’ means you and Cinder’s interrogation team, I’m glad.”

Someone hops out of the back of the truck after presumably blasting the doors open with a gust of wind once loose enough. “Kyal, you know how the truck doors work?”

“I fuckin’ better. Only driven a few dozen.”

The guy snickers and walks over to Liam, taking the rubber gloves and hauling Blake to his feet.

“We’re lucky it was you, aren’t we kid?” Liam laughs, walking over to help latch up the truck as Kyal picked up a clipboard and started checking things off.

“Why?” The guy’s face scrunched up a bit at the nickname.

“I got someone to introduce you to.” Liam gestures down to Harlow, who knew exactly how to push around someone in binders—even if they were Raijin—and had only lagged behind because R&D had to find another pair of gloves.

The guy looked disappointed, and Liam’s smile fell off. “Also, Storm’s bigger than we thought.”

next chapter

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▲ missing a content warning? let me know

well well well, look at the new character we've got here

[golbrocklovely]

it's been a minute since i posted one of these so..

here’s some of colby’s tweets from 2021.

i don’t have proof that these are his tweets, but believe me, they are his.

if it’s bold and italicized, it’s someone’s tweet to him.

if it’s in (), that’s just me commenting lol

added bonus: if they have a * next to them, that means it’s been deleted

~~~~~~~~~~

Jan. 2 - thank you all so much i love you don’t forget

Jan. 6 - just got yelled at on my walk by a 93 year old grandma it was dope how’s your day goin

on another note , so sad to see what’s been happening today at the capitol .. this is ridiculous. i’m worried.

(the issue with this time period is that colby was getting a lot of heat for shit he shouldn't have been. so… some of these tweets are gonna trigger me, and this is one of them lmao)

Jan. 8 - seems like the older i get the more independent i become

*@/mikes_dead: seems like the older u get the more u forget to call me back headass sorry bb 🖤

don’t crave that personal life human affection like i used to i’m cool with being by myself

always feel like i’m living in a dreamy reality until i get caffeine. blurry vision blurry mind

Jan. 9 - learned how to drive manual for the first then drifted that car today i’m surprised i didn’t kill anyone

you in January

Jan. 12 - fan: hi i love yOu…@/ColbyBrock

hiii i love you

fan: It’s my 2,000 day supporting Sam and colby. That’s fucking insnae man. Mental. I love you 2. Always and forever thank you for being such huge parts in my life @/SamGolbach @/ColbyBrock @/SamandColby

thank you for being a part of our life journey 🙏🏼🖤

Jan. 14 - time to conquer my anxiety

Jan. 16 - tonight , two years ago i was sleeping in a little jail cell wondering how long i’d be in there without Sam. life is fuckin crazy hahah, freedom is a gift

fan: i cant believe that most of the fandom slept on the floor when @/SamandColby 2 years when they got arrested #FreeSamAndColby

the best fans in the world

Jan. 18 - oh how time can heal and change everything

fan: no fr he’s been working so hard and you can really tell. proud of you @/ColbyBrock

thank you darlin

Jan. 19 - my fear won’t be something that i let control the way i live

Jan. 20 - fan: colby ur tweets r always so deep

twitters my personal little mind dump

(wish this was still the case… but i get why he is barely on there)

Jan. 22 - it’s underwater shipwreck dive today

feels good to feel proud of myself

Jan. 24 - fan: @/ColbyBrock can you teach me your ways of being okay with being single bc i’m tired of asshole guys fucking around with my feelings

one day you’ll learn that the only happiness you need comes from within, once you’ve learned to really enjoy youre own company you don’t need anyone else! practice makes perfect 🖤

Jan. 25 - why do i push away everyone who tries to get me to open up?

(what a juxtaposition lol)

Jan. 28 - crows are honestly just death metal chickens

Jan. 30 - don’t wanna jinx this like last time but XPLR gods have definitely been on our side recently again … Alaska has been an adventure of a lifetime

Feb. 1 - don’t let anyone tell you who YOU are and how to think

fan: Currently listening to We Love Our Friends @/SamGolbach @/ColbyBrock @/SamandColby

a bop

Feb. 2 - fan: Thinking about @/ColbyBrock hours

💭🖤

*fan: @/ColbyBrock u should get a tongue piercingggg

*ouchh

fan: As part of 25x25 @/ColbyBrock needs to come out with music

🤫😏

(he needs to come out with more music asap)

*fan: @/ColbyBrock u said no to the tongue piercing what about u getting a nipple piercing??

ouchhh

(what's with fans wanting him to get random parts of his body pierced lmao)

wake me up after valentine’s day

Feb. 4 - what’s one thing you wanna do before you die ?

Feb. 7 - my dream is to show you the beauty in life .. no matter how hard it can get

really opened up on my ongoing experience with anxiety in today’s video , i hope it resonates with some of you. we’re not alone

Feb. 8 - fan: bro @/ColbyBrock do you always get your tats in the early hours of the morning??

yes hahah

just gettin started on this sleeve. lots of work to do

Feb. 10 - fan: @/ColbyBrock I need some advice for anxiety lately my anxiety is playing up and I keeps having anxiety/panics attacks and idk how to calm my self the best thing I can do so far is watch ur vids but still sometimes I just can’t hold it in do u have any advice

box method breathing really helps.. soft music.. meditation. anything that can relax the mind. usually it stems from overthinking so if you can somehow distract yourself with an activity of some sort that could help too 🖤

i’m so emotional sometimes and for what

Feb. 13 - so who’s down to hangout tomorrow

fan: i could really use a hug from @/ColbyBrock rn /: sigh i miss him sm

🖤 sending virtual hugs

fan: Hey Colby … just checking in…. are you okay? Taking care of yourself? @/ColbyBrock

thank you for being so sweet i love you. yes i’m okay i have my good and bad days

Feb. 17 - sang for the first time on camera yesterday

Feb. 20 - this pill that i don’t wanna taste

fan: Are you okay??? Or one of your song lyrics

song lyrics .. probably should have explained that a lil more. it’s not a literal thing i promise hahah

Feb. 22 - damn i miss the big trap house parties we use to throw at our old place. 500 people plus in our living room.. David dobrik always comin in randomly with flame throwers hahah legendary times

Feb. 24 - i was so happy in my dream last night .. felt so real.

simply a wonderful sight to see

Feb. 28 - Dear @/ColbyBrock I would REALLY REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU DYED YOUR HAIR BACK TO BROWN I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IT

my purple is pretty much out ! so it’ll be all the way brown soon

fan: Apparently the guys are in Las Vegas and Las Vegas is probably like oh no not these guys again. @/ColbyBrock don't go for a midnight stroll and almost get mugged or kick a cactus this time

palm springs was when the mugging and cactus assault happened hahah but we will do our best to stay outta trouble .. maybe

March 2 - i feel like i don’t fit in with that many people in LA

@/jccaylen: let’s move to Texas.

looking for houses now

March 6 - take a chance with me

head down, headphones in

March 8 - happy #InternationalWomensDay , women are fuckin powerful, thank you for all that you do

(another triggering tweet sksks)

March 10 - maybe i just knew i had to wait for you

March 15 - fan: I just know deep in my soul @ColbyBrock had an angsty sad boi tumblr back in the day and I just wanna scroll thru it. Sir pls hand me the link thx :)

i wish i had tumblr. but wasn’t in to social media until i was like 18. only had a facebook until 2014

(….interesting lol)

fan: @/ColbyBrock do u have any advice on keeping productive on something even though it isn’t ur favourite thing to do but u need to get it done

set goals and make sure you do things in little pieces. if you don’t like something you’re doing just make sure you’re getting it done in the way YOU want to. take it day by day instead of procrastinating and doing it last minute

fan: y r u awake @/colbybrock

same reason you are

March 16 - things change, people change. but in the end i’ll always wish the best for my friends

March 17 - i can’t help but feel this way

March 18 - fan: How can you get through a break up

time. i know that’s a cliche answer. but seriously. distract your mind for a while and you’ll get over it i promise

fan: @/ColbyBrock how often do you not sleep at night because your mind is too loud?

i sleep terribly most nights. i have this weird insomnia that forces me to be up at 3am daily

are any of you hard on yourself for no reason? cause holy shit that’s me daily

fan: Better at picking others up than picking myself up

feel this so hard

fan: please call me sweetheart its my dream deadass

sweeeeeetheart 🖤

fan: @/ColbyBrock what’s your best advice to give to a teen who’s gonna turn 17 next week ? like any tips or tricks you wanna hand down bc i need help

so assuming you’re in highschool, just know that you might think your social circle means the world to you right now .. but everything can change (if you let it) after you graduate. life changes so much after graduation! focus on making good relationships and having fun :)

fan: @/ColbyBrock what’s the first thing you’ll do after all this covid stuff is over?

throw a real trap house party

March 25 - i am becoming a hummingbird father.

@/amberscholl: idk why but this is a VERY hot tweet

can’t wait to show you what i’ve been doing 😈

March 27 - just don’t have the time anymore

March 29 - friday by rebecca black is my anthem

March 30 - should i curl my hair for a youtube video

[waitmyturtles]

Um, WOW, okay, ha -- I did NOT see an Ohm-and-Film fight scene happening in my lifetime. Thoughts on Double Savage, episode 7: 

1) I wrote this morning that I’m just beginning to dive into New Siwaj’s oeuvre, and I’m wondering for this screenplay, if New Siwaj is really New Siwaj-ing himself here. The writing in this episode was choppy at best. Vignette after vignette with not the most connective tissue. 

I’m not convinced by Win’s continued and growing intensity against Korn -- although I like that Korn finally talked back, but again, without context (unless he was commenting on Win’s sheer IDIOCY for flashing a gun at a funeral, which fucking makes TOTAL sense). 

We’re also not getting enough of WHY Rung would make such a drastic change in her life to go to the same life that Korn is living. Plus, she knows something about her parents that we don’t, I think, but that’s also not made entirely clear.

With that crazy-ass test at the end, along with the previews for episode 8, I am thinking that episode 7 can’t stand alone without episode 8 (Li taking care of Ah’s wound?! What?). Anyway. 

2) Back to Win for a second. Does he continue to spiral because of the pressures at work? He’s clearly NOT getting pressure from his (very good-looking, cough) superiors to, like, arrest his own brother. 

I’m trying to figure out if there’s supposed to be a parallel between Win’s temper and his father’s temper. A patriarchially-inspired temper, basically given unto a man through societal expectations and not through, say, merit or empathic love for his family.

I mean, in other words, Win’s fuckin’ it up left and right, but I honestly am not sure how convincing it is on screen. UNLESS -- because he’s written so choppily -- if he’s MEANT to come off as inconsistent and terribly weak, then THAT’S working. That’s REALLY working. (Again, this might be New New-ing himself -- using an unfamiliar order of operations to make a character look like a fucking lame ass.)

One thing that I can think of on Win’s part is that Win never HAD to learn how to control his temper, the way Korn had to, in order to survive during their childhood. Win received all the praise. We continue to see it in the previews for tomorrow’s episode. Win hasn’t learned self-control -- and we see it emanating.

3) You know what I liked the best of this episode? (Besides Film’s drip, which WE’LL GET TO IN A SECOND.) 

I liked that the mother finally, FINALLY SAID to Win: “But why are you acting like you don’t know why [Korn] chose [his way of life]?”

And petty Win retorts: “You’re taking his side like you’ve always done.”

Come awn, Win. Maybe THAT’S what’s missing for me.

Win clearly understood the trauma of what his family was facing when they were younger. I think I’m realizing that I don’t believe, convincingly, that Win has TOTALLY forgotten it. I wrote last week that what Win is the most influenced by, at this adult time of his life, is the extrasocial factor of jealousy that’s driving his worldview. 

But I appreciate his mom calling him out for straight-up FORGETTING that it was patriarchal ABUSE that caused all of this. His mom is like -- COME AWN. YOU KNOW THIS. And you used to love your brother so much.

And Win is like, aw, Ma, I’m a tired old man, wah wah, I’m going home.

Weak ass. I mean, again, if the writing is SUPPOSED to shape Win like this, then great job. But I think the writing (COME ON, NEW) could have been a lot sharper and more convincing. Perth is like, electric with talent in this and could have had a lot more to work with.

4) Quick note on Korn. Korn’s failing in life is that he lacks subtlety, and I think Ah is taking advantage of it. Korn would be a much smarter and wiser person -- and maybe he’s gonna get there with Rung back at his side -- if he could be more sophisticated about the life he’s living and the illegal things he’s doing. He’s still holding onto a child’s black-and-white perspective, like almost everyone else around him (EXCEPT Ah, Mek, and Rung) -- and I wonder if his maturing into the gray is going to be a storyline for the rest of the series.

5) I have thoughts on the Asian compulsions for saving face and playing the blame game vis à vis Korn’s father, but I might save those for tomorrow -- I’ve been crazy writing the last couple of days. Let me just say this about Korn’s dad, and that interaction they had in the apartment. 

I understood it all. Very unfortunately. As HORRIBLY as that dad has treated Korn for the entirety of Korn’s life, I understood why Korn continued to help his dad, even when his dad went silent. I have that filial piety guilt on me every minute of every day. 

Seeing the dad shed a tear was a touch of karmic satisfaction, but it didn’t make me happy. Ugh. It was painful to watch. 

6) Let’s appreciate Film’s leather-and-eyeliner era. And those CARGO SWEATPANTS! And MOCK TURTLENECK gym shirt! I will submit a request to GMMTV to please get Film some muscle tees and a strength trainer, because I’d like to see some poppin’ biceps on my girl. I LOVE YOU, FILM, I LOVE YOU SOOOOOOO MUCH.

7) Finally, I just want to note that I have previously loved Foei in the few shows of his that I’ve watched on GMMTV (most notably Dirty Laundry, which I was obsessed with; his work in 10 Years Ticket, and the few episodes of Midnight Museum that I watched), and I’m really fucking horrified and disappointed by his social media behavior this weekend.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

RE8 AU Incorrect Quotes

Hey, @that-bat! I know it’s been a long time since I wrote for the RE8 AU, and I’m honestly not quite sure when I’ll be adding the next story for you. I haven’t lost interest in your AU: I’ve just sort of started writing about an AU of my own, and I’ve been really excited to work on it.

SO, to make up for the lack of a full-on story, I thought maybe you’d enjoy something a bit more memeish. . ?

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: *being attacked by one of Nate’s undead animals* GET YOUR FUCKIN’ DOG, BITCH! Nate/Lord Ophio: *not even looking in Ethan’s direction* It don’t bite. Ethan Nestor-Winters: YES IT DO—!

___

[When Ethan finally comes to after Matt’s venom runs its course]

Ethan Nestor-Winters: *struggling against his binds* I HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT! Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *watching Ethan* You do have the right, Earwig. . . Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *steps closer to Ethan and looks in him the eyes* But what you lack is the capacity. Ethan Nestor-Winters: >:0

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: You’re clearly an attention-seeker. Mark/Lord Isurus: *lets out a loud gasp* How dare you?! I’m the exact opposite of an attention-seeker! Why would I even need to seek attention? I’m the strongest, most capable Lord under Mother Mira—hey, don’t look away when I’m talking to you!

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: –fAmIlY cOnVeRsAtIoN! I’ll start first—what’re your thoughts on the dEATH PENALTY?! Matt/Lord Loxosceles and Mark/Lord Isurus: *laughing hysterically* Ethan Nestor-Winters: *looking very uncomfortable* Nate/Lord Ophio: *slams his hands on the table* ANSWER ME!!!

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: I can fit the whole world in my hands. Mark/Lord Isurus: Yeah? Prove it. Nate/Lord Ophio: *picks up Phibes*

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: I’m sick of just deserving better. Ethan Nestor-Winters: *loads some bullets into his handgun* Gonna start taking it by force—

___

Any of The Three Lords: I could kill you if I wanted. Hunter/The Baron: Yeah? So could a human being. So could a dog. So could a very dedicated duck. You aren't special.

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: People ask me how I get the wet look in my hair Mark/Lord Isurus: I tell ‘em I use “Essence of Aquatics” gel Mark/Lord Isurus: They say “What’s that?” Mark/Lord Isurus: *dives into the water that half of his castle is submerged in* I USE THE FUCKING ESTUARY!!!

___

Hunter/The Baron: Hello—

Nate/Lord Ophio: Leave before there's a terrible misunderstanding between my foot and your ass. 

___

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Hey, are you busy? Nate/Lord Ophio: Yeah, I am. Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Cool, listen to this—

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: *pacing around the Tall Lady statue* I didn’t ask to be given such a perfect being. . . Mark/Lord Isurus: I DEMANDED IT.

___

Hunter/The Baron: *talking about his “friendship” with Nate and doing business with the other Lords* I see the red flags, I acknowledge that they're there, and then I completely ignore them.

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: I'm not a morning person. I'm barely even a person. 

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: Miss me with that “weapon accuracy” shit. I’m shooting everything. I’m laying down cover fire. I’m shooting the walls. I’m shooting my enemies. I’m shooting myself. My accuracy is one hundred-percent. Y’all just don’t know what I’m aiming at

___

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Good night. Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Sleep tight. Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *grinning maliciously* Don't let the bedbugs crawl up to your ear and whisper threatening things that make you question yourself. . .

__

Ethan Nestor-Winters: If I had a face like yours, I'd put it on a wall and throw a brick at it. Mark/Lord Isurus: If I had a face like YOURS, I'd put it on a brick and throw a wall at it. 

___

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Mark is not a morning person. Or a night person. There’s really only about seven minutes a day he’s pleasant to be around. Mark/Lord Isurus: The best part is you never know when they’re coming. 

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: What’s up? I’m back.

Ethan Nestor-Winters: I LITERALLY SAW YOU DIE. YOU DIED! YOU WERE DEAD!!!

Nate/Lord Ophio: Death is a social construct.

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: Never have I ever. . .been grounded by my parents. Nate/Lord Ophio: *exasperated* I knew you’d pull that shit. Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *also exasperated* He makes orphan jokes every single time and always wins. Ethan Nestor-Winters: Huh. I usually go for the “never had a dad who supported me” one.

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: My life is a fucking mess. Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Nate, just relax, okay? Go to the village and take one of the humans. Nate/Lord Ophio: I don’t want to deal with a villager right now! Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Who said they’d be for you? 

___

Hunter/The Baron: You know, people treat me like a god. Ethan Nestor-Winters: How? Hunter/The Baron: They ignore my existence unless they need something.

___

[Responses to getting stabbed with a sword]

Mark/Lord Isurus: BITCH—

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: I’m gonna give you a ten-second headstart.

Nate/Lord Ophio: That's fair. . .

Ethan Nestor-Winters: NOT AGAIN!

Hunter/The Baron: Are you gonna want this back, or can I keep it?

___

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *attacking Ethan in a completely enraged frenzy* WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?! HE COULD HAVE HAD HOPES AND DREAMS, HE COULD HAVE HAD A FAMILY!!! Ethan Nestor-Winters: *struggling to escape* IT WAS JUST A SPIDER, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME—!

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: *is 5’10* Fight me! Mark/Lord Isurus: *is 7’3* Seriously? HA! What’re you gonna do, kick me in the ankles? Hunter/The Baron: *watching from the safety of his caravan* . . .

[Later]

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *originally came out to buy something from The Baron’s Market, but is now staring at Mark, who is currently curled up on the ground and crying* Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Um. . .Baron? What happened to Mark? Hunter/The Baron: *shrugs* Lord Ophio kicked him really hard in the ankles.

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: Look at my face. Ethan Nestor-Winters: Okay. . ? Nate/Lord Ophio: No, no. Keep looking. Ethan Nestor-Winters: I am looking! Nate/Lord Ophio: No, you’re not. Look harder. Ethan Nestor-Winters: Is there a point to this? Nate/Lord Ophio: Yes. So, look as hard as you can. Focus on every part of my face. Ethan Nestor-Winters: Alright! I am!!! Nate/Lord Ophio: Now. . .does it look like I give a fuck?

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: Die. Hunter/The Baron: Please don't die! Nate/Lord Ophio: DIE! Hunter/The Baron: PLEASE DON'T DIE! Mark/Lord Isurus: *confused* Why are they yelling at a plant? Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *watching while eating some human fingers like popcorn* Nate found it in the woods and decided uproot it and give it to Baron. Ever since then, Baron’s been trying to get Nate to accept it as their kid.

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: Can you keep a secret?

Hunter/The Baron: Do you know anything about my life?

Ethan Nestor-Winters: . . .Good point.

___

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Fool me once, I’m gonna kill you

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: I came out here to attack people and I'm honestly having such a good time right now.

___

Hunter/The Baron: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it. Nate/Lord Ophio: I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out. Hunter/The Baron: Th-that's not how that works—

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: You know, sometimes I feel like that Baron doesn't take us seriously enough. Nate/Lord Ophio: “Sometimes?” Matt/Lord Loxosceles: “Enough?” Mark/Lord Isurus: . . . Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Change that to “at all” and we'll talk.

___

Hunter/The Baron: I’d like to offer you moral support, but I have questionable morals.

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: You just said “hole” too many times. Matt/Lord Loxosceles: And that’s coming from Nate, so. . .that’s concerning. Mark/Lord Isurus: YOU TWO THINK YOU KNOW EVERYTHING! *storms out*

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity? Matt/Lord Loxosceles: *turning to Mark/Lord Isurus* How tall are you?

___

[The Lords are having dinner together after a ceremony]

Nate/Lord Ophio: Mark, can you pass the salt? Mark/Lord Isurus: *throws Matt/Lord Loxosceles across the table*

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: I currently have seven empty notebooks and I have no idea what to put in them. Any suggestions? Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Put human remains in them. Ethan Nestor-Winters: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you. Mark/Lord Isurus: Put human remains in them. Ethan Nestor-Winters: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you two. Nate/Lord Ophio: Put human remains in them. Ethan Nestor-Winters: I am no longer taking suggestions.

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: *shooing Nate/Lord Ophio away* Can you go be depressed over there? You’re bumming out my whole area. 

___

Hunter/The Baron: You’re just planning to shoot at The Lords? Ethan Nestor-Winters: Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve got a holy gun. Hunter/The Baron: Really? How’s that gun holy? Ethan Nestor-Winters: It puts holes in things

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: Hey, Baron! Your momma so fat— Hunter/The Baron: My mom committed multiple war crimes and is now locked in solitary confinement in a Bolivian prison. Mark/Lord Isurus: Well, uh—your dad— Hunter/The Baron: My father left when I was two to be captured and consequentially sacrificed by a group of feral ferrets. Matt/Lord Loxosceles: What the hell—? Mark/Lord Isurus: Well then... Nate/Lord Ophio: Mark, just knock it off! Mark/Lord Isurus: Your grandparents so— Hunter/The Baron: My grandmother floated into the sky like a balloon with too much helium when my grandfather spontaneously combusted. Hunter/The Baron: Y o u  c a n ’ t  i n s u l t  m e,  f i s h - m a n

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind? Ethan Nestor-Winters: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral. Filled with sunlight. Bright. Beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die. Mark/Lord Isurus: Edible

___

[It’s very late at night. Matt ventures into the center of The Village, over to The Baron’s Market]

Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Would you happen to have any sleeping pills in stock? Hunter/The Baron: I might. Why? Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Mark pissed off Nate earlier today, and now Nate won’t stop sending undead things to Castle Isurus. And APPARENTLY, Mark doesn’t know what to do about it, because he’s just been running around the outside perimeter and screaming, “DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A HOTEL TO YOU?!”

___

Hunter/The Baron: Do you care if I take the skin off this Furby? Hunter/The Baron: I want to make him a god. Once he is free of his sinful flesh, he can begin a path towards enlightenment. He will take care of us. Hunter/The Baron: I also want to softhack his circuits. Nate/Lord Ophio: . . .I literally could not care less, but never say anything as frightening as that ever again.

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: CALM THE FUCK DOWN! *slaps Mark/Lord Isurus across the face several times* 

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container. Mark/Lord Isurus: The cow??? Nate/Lord Ophio: . . .What—? Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Mark, W H Y ?

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: What the hell do you do with so many dead bodies?! Nate/Lord Ophio: What don’t I do with dead bodies? Ethan Nestor-Winters: . . . Nate/Lord Ophio: Okay, that sounded more sexual than I intended. I just reanimate them and experiment on them.

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: If Matt and I were drowning, who would you save? Mark/Lord Isurus: You two can’t swim? Matt/Lord Loxosceles: It’s a hypothetical question, Mark! Who would you save? Mark/Lord Isurus: My time and effort.

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: I saw you fall, saw the sinners lay on your corpses... Matt/Lord Loxosceles: Hey, what’s up with Nate? Nate/Lord Ophio: I created you, made the pieces perfect, others marveled at your beauty… their gazes may have held envy, though, for none are perfect but you. I was only looking away for a moment, but you were gone. I had failed you. And I fell into despair. The only way to save myself was to create, but I knew… this time I knew I was only making you to die. And I apologize. For I will undoubtedly fail you again. For a short time, there will be peace and beauty, but none in the face of us shall lay undisturbed. The greatest have fallen, and will continue to fall, and I weep for you for being born unto this place, where brother eats brother, and the undeserving rise to fame. Those that have gone against you know they’ve wronged you, and they will stand before the creator, knowing they have sinned. Do not worry, little ones, you will be avenged. Mark/Lord Isurus: . . .He reanimated some animals, then he went somewhere else for twenty minutes. And when he came back, the animals were back to being dead for whatever reason. So, obviously, he just did the whole reanimation thing again. Mark/Lord Isurus: *to Nate/Lord Ophio* Who even is the creator? I thought you were an atheist! Nate/Lord Ophio: SHUT THE FUCK UP, MARK! I’M TRYING TO BE DRAMATIC AND MYSTERIOUS!

___

Ethan Nestor-Winters: So apparently the “bad vibes” I’ve been feeling are actually severe psychological distress.

___

Mark/Lord Isurus: If I'm really as evil as you say I am, then have the gods strike me down where I stand. [Lightning ACTUALLY strikes] Mark/Lord Isurus: *grinning despite being severely electrocuted* Ha! Nice try, jackass! Next time, give it your A-game!

___

Nate/Lord Ophio: Can you please be serious for five minutes? Hunter/The Baron: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

___

[madstronaut]

my IRL moots and I are currently bingewatching olympic coverage so if I have been absent it’s because I have temporarily replaced fanfic as my comfort/stress reliever with footage of simone biles and sunisa lee and leo marchand and katie ledecky and tom daley absolutely fucking SLAYING (and knitting) over in the city of lights

but anyway WHO DOESn’T LOVE A GOOD COMEBACK STORY AND TEH FUCKING STANDING OVATION (so wat if it was in my PJs and a facemask I had a long week okay) I GAVE WHEN I SAW WRENNY RETURNED WITH A FUCKING BANGER OF A CHAPTER TO CONTINUE SKIN DEEP THAT WAS OLYMPIC-WORTHY IF I SAY SO 🥇🥇🥇🥇🥇 (surgeon general warning: this is purely fucking subjective)

I was gonna use an olympic cheering gif but I saw this bajirao mastani gif and deemed it even better and also I saw a post saying gifmakers are notified whenever their gif is tagged in a post and I want to apologize in advance dear artist for using it in my fanfic rant lol

anyway diving right into it (if yall knew the absolutely herculean effort I am making not to sprinkle this whole fucking thing with olympic puns…) does anyone else get sympathy phantom pains when they read about a character you’re emotionally invested in get hurt? cos I definitely grabbed and patted my own tit in sympathy when I read about reader’s piercing snagging on a sweater

also I FUCKIN LOVE THE MATCHING PIERCINGS!!!! <33333 something so special about sharing something secret and intimate between just you and your beloved <3 (which makes johnny’s matchy eyebrow piercing reveal later all the more interestin 👀)

if cleanliness were a love language, it would likely be Simon’s. 

this tracks for how I HC simon honestly, where all my fellow traumatized PTSD-coping control freaks at!!!! just me???!!?!!

Not that he had told you he loved you—nor had you told him. You had promised yourself that you would wait until he said it first (the only sure-fire way to avoid coming across as overeager and scaring him off). Still, there were a thousand ways in a day that Simon made you feel as if he loved you: the way he would go out to start your car in the wintery mornings when your remote start stopped working; the way he always offered you the first bite of his food if you weren’t sharing a meal; the way he’d crack open your drinks before handing them to you. Was it wrong of you to try to read between the lines? 

how does that saying go, “actions speak louder than words”? 👀👀👀 also couldn’t help but be reminded of me and my fellow POC IRLs sharing about how our parentals/families never said ILY growing up but later learned to understand they showed not told (my current philosophy tho is y not both? y not both indeed)

His thumbs stroke beneath your breasts along the sternum tattoo he gave you—a favorite part of you for him to touch-

🥰🥰🥰

“I want you,” he mutters. “Say yes.”  “Yes, God, yes.”

 👏sexy consenting, we luv to see it 👏

Something about him so unashamedly enjoying himself makes it easier for you to enjoy yourself too.

yes, we love a win-win situation 💛💛💛

also i loved all the goofy little moments during their sexytime with the knocking over his pencils, “don’t insult me” (I would be gigglin my ass off at this), their banter <3, LAUGHING WHILE COMING!!! cannot even describe the feeling but yes if you’ve done the same it is *quite* the feeling - GOOFY SEX SUPREMACY BLOG OVER HERE, ANTIS CAN GO FUCK CLOWNS TYVM (it’s me, I’m the clown, wooin you in this 10k word essay I will-)

as always simon seems to be so adept and confident at reading reader but hOOOW CURIOUS THAT HE DOUBTS HIMSELF/CUTS HIMSELF OFF FROM SPECULATING WHEN IT COMES TO JOHNNY? hMMMMMMM

and UGH i so feel the reader in wanting to befriend your beloved’s beloveds and the stress in that struggle -currently experiencing a different iteration of this with my IRL moots in trying to balance putting aside your pride to attempt to get along with someone you just don’t jive with but who is beloved by your beloved (uhh does this make me johnny in this scenario but wthout the sexual tension/ghoapiness of it all UGH) anyway READER I FEEL YA

“When Soap and I are in a room together with women, I’m like a ghost. 🥺🥺🥺 “Were you jealous?”  He makes an ambiguous sound. 

i notice direct, straightforward simon consistently struggles to be so when it comes to our soapy boi  👀👀 *putting my tin foil hat back on* though another part of me wonders if simon has noticed how frosty reader and johnny are and is secretly not too bothered by it by the aforementioned love triangle/soap “stealing the spotlight” probs

I am dying to know what went down in the fight between simon & johnny at the flooded shop!!! wrenny SPILL TEH TEA WOMAN (if you please per your time/desire)

after re-reading this multiple times I pulled up my conspiracy theories from pt 1 and HOLY FUCK THE FEELING OF CHECKING OFF A FEW TO BE CONFIRMED IS PROBABLY HOW THOSE PPL WHO  RAIDED AREA 51 VIA THAT PUBLIC FB EVENT INVITE FELT WHEN THEY GOT TO NARUTO-RUN ON LIVE TV

I did the phoenix ace attorney finger point (i know nothing bout this show cept thru this meme) while yelling I FUCKING KNEW THEY FUCKED at the top of my lungs at my laptop (sorry to my IRL neighbors)

“The day after we—y’know. Fucked. I told him it was a one time thing. Maybe it’s in my head,” says Simon, frowning. “Maybe I’m crazy. But sometimes he looks at me or says something to me and it makes me think it’s not over. Not for him.” “Is it really over,” you ask, “for you?” Simon looks at you, quiet. He says: “I want you.” And you are so relieved by the obvious honesty in his answer that it never crosses your mind to think that’s not what you asked. 

*currently ripping off my tin foil hat, shredding it in my jaws and screaming IRL at all the cues and tells here*

I also sus that this is why reader is hesitant to say ILY so far whether she knows it or not but again thats just my tin foil talkin

oooh FUCKING LOVE the reader coming up to observe johnny unnoticed!!! all up in simon’s space looking at his sketches 👀👀

and then HIS BODY LANGUAGE!!!! the open grimace, putting physical space in between them, deflecting with the “incriminating” comment accusations + bringing up simon.. I devoured the entire convo of just reader + johnny here; just fuckin fascinated by reader acting as a social bridge between simon and johnny here...maybe in more ways than one? (DO NOT MAKE AN EIFFEL TOWER JOKE DO NOT FUCKING-)

anyway my current conclusion based on this convo is that the torch johnny has been carrying for simon is fucking OLYMPIC-SIZED (last joke I swear I’m SORRY) and he deflects with casual/shallow flirting etc. to hide the weight/grief of it anyway brb dabbing away some tears so I can see clearly to read the rest of this-

also ALSO SUS impending loss of johnny as partner (and more) is what triggers simon’s nightmares; i usually dont recall/consider simon’s canon backstory when i picture him in fics I read unless explicitly stated/included but I think we can all agree across the board that generally speakin That Man Has Seen Sum Shit™️

You can’t imagine the stress that he is under, and you’d do anything to be able to shoulder a fraction of it for him. 

mood, reader, moooooood! also please if it is not obvi already despite the emotional beating she is taking/giving herself over not being able to befriend her bf's bff - reader is SUCH a great friend and gf to simon, i also want to give her a giant hug and peptalk and also kick johnny in the balls for how mean he is to her, no excuses, laddie

“That was mine!” Johnny shouts, elbowing the man next to him. “Did you see that? That was my work!”

👀👀 whats that phrase IN VINO VERITAS once again PHRASING, MACTAVISH, PHRASING GOD D A M N

I am looking down the road and brother, all roads lead to ghoaple i mean, rome as they say (trying to put ghost soap throuple in one word)

“Simon?” Johnny let’s go of the guy’s shirt, his bad mood evaporating as quickly as it had manifested.

hMMMMM

He says something back, some Scottish phrase, his accent so thick you couldn’t understand the words even if you knew them. 

hi PSA i need a favor pls someone please run over to the bar, get their security vid and lipread or transcribe what he said so I can look it up on google translate i will reward you with monopoly monies or some hot goss from the legacy media companies I’ve worked with, your choice

also do I sus not only wariness but also attraction from johnny to reader here?! but is it cos reader reminds him of simon 👀👀👀

“Oh, did I offend you?” he breathes, clutching one hand at his breast. “Not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on?” 

 johnny do I smell some jalousie, as the french like to say hon hon hon

also btw I have been in a car with a crying driver and lemme tell you ALWAYS. PULL. OVER. that shit will drastically lower your life expectancy and raise your blood pressure simultaneously (obligatory FUCK YOU ELIJAH YOU POS FOR BREAKING UP WITH MY FRIEND OVER THE FUCKING PHONE WHILE SHE WAS DRIVING IF I EVER SEE YOUR PATHETIC BITCH ASS AGAIN IT IS ON SIGHT)

“I don’t understand,” you mutter. “He wants us to be friends.”  “He doesn’t know what he wants,'' Johnny says.

oh and you do, do you now, johnny? RAGGGHHHH my anthropological brainworm is absolutely feasting at the drama/dynamics rn

also fucking dead at picturing drunk af johnny flipping the twin birds, then slipping and falling on his side

Johnny warns you sleepily: “Ghost is right there.”

WRENNY YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKER (affectionate) THE FUCKNG JUMPSCARE THIS GAVE ME AT 2AM WHEN I FIRST READ THIS I SCREAMED OUT LOUD 

ok now that I’ve fucking blacked out and typed a fucking marathon of an essay here i wiil just end with this lovelyass post by @/dwarvenales I read earlier -

not to get tooo fuckin sappy but wrenny I recall seeing a bit of the obstacles you overcame to continue writing this and just wanted to say for you and really for any other fic writer out there who struggle with your fics that you are very much seen and loved and your brainbabies are awaited with open arms by many more lovers than haters, mes amis! mwahmwahmwahmwah bisous bisous bisous for you all 😘👌😘👌😘👌😘👌😘👌😘👌😘👌

A Complete Set (Whatever That Means) || 2

A continuation of Skin Deep. Part one of this sequel is here.

About this: previous warnings apply, oral sex (f receiving), alcohol, gross imperfections, not a single nipple unfortunately, an eyebrow though. For @/moody-alcoholic, I hope this manages to quench even the tiniest portion of your thirst. 1 more part left. 7k

-

“Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Are you seeing anybody else?” 

Simon looks up at you. His hair is getting long, falling over his forehead and looking nearly brunet in the dim lighting. You don’t think he’s cut it since the two of you have started dating. 

He’s been drawing for half the night, hunched over with the sketchpad in his lap, doing terrible things to his own posture and blocking his own lighting all at once. When he answers you, it’s in that dry tone that lets you know he thinks you’ve said something funny or clever: “No.” 

A knot in your chest loosens. It’s hard to believe you worried over such a question for so long just to receive such a simple, earnest answer. He goes back to sketching. 

You content yourself with this and stretch your legs out until your toes touch his thigh at the other end of the sofa. His mouth twitches, but he keeps working. 

-

Six months pass, and how do you celebrate? You climb topless onto Simon’s lap, eager and anxious in equal measure. Your nipple piercing had stopped hurting months ago (save for the time you had snagged it on a cable knit sweater and nearly seen Jesus), but you had read online that piercings heal from the outside inward, and as such you had made every attempt possible to leave the thing alone even when all you wanted to do was play with it. 

In his own way of celebrating, Simon had bought you your first new barbell: a black one with black gemmed studs at each end. You couldn’t help but notice that it looked similar to his, only with a more delicate, feminine touch.

“Will you change it for me?” you ask him. Your hands are shaking.

“Alright. Let me wash my hands.” He shifts you off of his lap and disappears into the bathroom where you hear the faucet turn on. You cross your arms over your breasts, feeling silly being half naked without Simon in the room. Your foot bounces impatiently, but you know that if cleanliness were a love language, it would likely be Simon’s. 

Not that he had told you he loved you—nor had you told him. You had promised yourself that you would wait until he said it first (the only sure-fire way to avoid coming across as overeager and scaring him off). Still, there were a thousand ways in a day that Simon made you feel as if he loved you: the way he would go out to start your car in the wintery mornings when your remote start stopped working; the way he always offered you the first bite of his food if you weren’t sharing a meal; the way he’d crack open your drinks before handing them to you. Was it wrong of you to try to read between the lines? 

Simon comes back and tugs you onto his lap again. His hands look huge compared to the jewelry through your breast as he dexterously works the ball free from the barbell. He has the hands of a surgeon: steady and calm. You close your eyes in anticipation of pain, but there is none; it just feels alien, sensitive whenever his calloused fingers brush over your pebbled nipple, even as he removes the barbell itself. 

Taking the sanitized jewelry, he carefully puts it in and screws the stud in place. 

“That didn’t hurt at all,” you say, reaching down to tug softly on the barbell. Still, no pain. 

“Great,” he says, eyes on your breasts. He grips your hips. “Up, now. C’mon, up.” 

He tugs you up onto your knees so that you’re the perfect height for him to take your nipple into his burning mouth. You shiver, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other burying itself in his hair, gripping softly to keep his mouth in place. If you had worried that getting the piercing would make you less sensitive, you were wrong. He tugs on the jewelry gently with his fucking teeth and God, holy shit, fucking hell, definitely not less sensitive.

“Been waiting to do this,” he says, nuzzling the skin between your breasts as he gives you a moment to catch your breath. “Six months of hell.” 

“Yeah?” You pant lamely, chest heaving. 

He hums. His thumbs stroke beneath your breasts along the sternum tattoo he gave you—a favorite part of you for him to touch—as his lips find your nipple again, lashing softly with his tongue. His hands have begun to tremble where they slide down the curves of your sides and to your hips, touch soft and worshipful as he brings you down to rest your weight against the hard line of his cock still confined in his jeans. The shaking says more than a thousand of his words ever could. 

“I want you,” he mutters. “Say yes.” 

“Yes, God, yes.”

Simon guides you off of his lap, kneeling down into the space between the couch and the coffee table. He pushes the table backwards with a little more force than is necessary when there isn’t enough room for his long legs and accidentally sends a cup full of charcoal pencils tipping over onto the carpet. You snort with laughter. He peels your leggings and panties off and drags you to the edge of the couch, pressing your thighs open wide. 

Getting head from partners in the past had been a fraught, mostly unenjoyable experience. Even your first few times with Simon had been tense, with him quickly moving on to something else after noticing your inability to relax. A less eager man might have counted his blessings and moved on, but Simon’s gentle persistence had gone a long way toward reassuring you that he truly wanted to please you this way. It had gone a long way toward reassuring you that you could let him. 

He spreads you apart, thumbs slipping against your slick folds, heated gaze pinpointed on your most intimate parts before he leans in and licks a broad stripe over your entrance and up to your clit. You shut your eyes (and cover your face for good measure). His warm breath fans against your pussy as he laughs. He could be mean and pull your hands away, but he lets you hide this way and you are grateful for it. 

Simon takes his time mapping each part of you with his mouth, nose brushing your clit whenever he doesn’t have his lips sealed over it. Your thighs shake, toes curled, as he pulls whines and choked gasps from your throat. 

You peek through your fingers when you feel him shifting beneath you to find that he’s worked his cock from his jeans and is jerking off, only noticeable by the tell-tale rhythmic motion of his arm against your calf. 

“Jesus, Simon,” you whine. 

He makes a little sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, shifting on his knees to change the angle of his mouth against you. Something about him so unashamedly enjoying himself makes it easier for you to enjoy yourself too, to let your hands come away from your face and thread them through his hair. 

“Can we fuck?” you breathe, aching inside deep where his tongue can’t reach. 

He nods against you and kneels up to kiss you. You still aren’t used to the taste of yourself in his mouth, but it’s growing less foreign—and nothing could ever make you turn away from one of Simon’s kisses. 

He pulls you off the couch onto your knees, his legs spread to either side of your own. You arch your back, feeling his cock brush against the back of your thighs. Two of his thick fingers slip inside you, testing your give and your wetness. He twists them; turns to hook them against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you that makes your legs shake. Simon works a third finger into you, a stretch that your body struggled to take before but which it accepts eagerly now, the sting welcome and familiar.

“Fuck. I need a condom,” he rasps. 

“Just pull out,” you say. 

You can sense him rolling his eyes. Your fondness for the (dangerous) pull-out method had been formally noted by him and thus far rejected at every turn. 

“Don’t insult me,” he mutters. He grabs your hand and guides it between your own legs. “Be good and keep yourself warm. I’ll be right back.”

He’s barely gone long enough for you to stroke your fingers through your folds, but when he returns (flashing the intact condom package at you like he always does), he watches you for an endless, lingering moment.

“I like that,” he says at last, taking his spot behind you again, condom in place. 

“Like what?”

“Watching you touch yourself.” The head of his cock nudges your entrance. He finds the right angle and slips inside you, stretching your walls to make room for himself. You groan, your fingers digging into the couch cushion. It stings a little, right towards the end, but he just softly saws himself in and out of your pussy, soothing the ache with pleasure. His words go completely over your head. 

He reaches so deep inside you, like with his every thrust his cock bullies the air out of your lungs. The slick sounds are lewd, keeping time with your moans and sighs as his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, manhandling you further onto the couch to the perfect height for him to fuck into you, your knees barely skimming the carpet.  

Your hand ends up crushed between your pelvis and the couch. You let your fingers find your clit and the touch reminds your body of how close it is, that coil deep in your belly stretched tight and ready to release. Your fingers trail down to where his cock pistons in and out of you, and at your touch he groans, slows to a smooth drag, his length slippery with your own arousal. 

“Touch yourself, not me,” he chides, his voice rough. “I’m close enough.” 

“I’m close enough,” you say.

He flops against your back, nearly crushing you with his weight to hook his chin over your shoulder and ask: “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”

You can barely draw in the breath to laugh, and it’s only worse when you cum. You bury your face into the couch cushions, giggling, fingers rubbing a gentle, hectic rhythm against your clit as your pussy spasms around him. He snorts at your laughter, a soft quiet exhale against the back of your neck. Then he cums, his thrusts sloppy and hard, turning his head at the last moment to bite your shoulder lazily. 

“Sex makes you so weird,” you pant. Your face hurts from smiling. 

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He ties off the condom and throws it away. The two of you sit naked on the couch together, curled up. It’s a little alien to be this open about your body with someone and to have them be so open about their body in return, but it’s a good strangeness. So much about loving Simon is. 

“I need to get the other one pierced now,” you mention, toying with his unpierced nipple. “Have to complete the set.”

“I never did.”

“You’re incomplete. Don’t you know?” 

He snorts. “I feel quite fulfilled, thanks.” 

“Please Simon?” you ask. “I want to.”

“Don’t ever say please. I’ll text Soap in the morning,” Simon says, trailing his fingers up and down the length of your arm, making goosebumps appear. 

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you’d been thinking about for the last several months? Would it offend him to know that you didn’t want to go to Johnny for any more piercings? 

Whether it offended him or not, your pride couldn’t rest easily going back to the tiny room behind the curtain in Skin Deep. While there had been only a few other tense interactions between you and Johnny since Simon’s birthday (and usually he seemed to favor outright ignoring your existence), the situation had not improved. 

“Simon—I think I’d rather go somewhere else for my other nipple. To someone other than Johnny, I mean.” 

Simon frowns. “What’d Johnny do.” 

He phrases it like that—more of a statement and less of a question, immediately assuming that Johnny is at fault. 

“It’s just—it’s like I said on your birthday. He doesn’t like me much.” 

Simon turns to look you in the eye. When your gaze tries to skirt away, he lets out an irritated breath through his nose—but doesn’t fight you. Simon always lets you run. Maybe because he knows his legs are long enough to catch you. “You really feel like that?” 

“You’ve never noticed?” 

“Thought it was in my head,” he mutters. Then he says the most dreaded words he possibly could: “I’ll talk to him.” 

“No!” you nearly shout. You struggle to lower your voice to something more appropriate for indoors, your heart tap-dancing to an anxious beat inside your chest. Just trying to picture Johnny’s irritated expression at any of Simon’s potential efforts to talk to him made your stomach turn over. “I mean—don’t. Really. It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. I need you two to get along. You and Johnny—you’re the most important people in my life,” he says baldly. His honesty does something to your lungs—empties them, crushes them. You only just realize the position that you’re putting Simon in, and it makes you feel about two inches tall. How could you let your petty problems with Johnny potentially get in the way of their longtime friendship? Their brotherhood?

“I’m begging you, Simon,” you plead. “Promise me you won’t talk to him. Just, give me more time to get to know him or something.” 

“Can't promise that.” He stands up and stretches, joints popping as you stare at him, your stomach tearing itself to pieces at this knowledge. This is not how this conversation was meant to end. But he disappears into the bedroom before you can gather your wits enough to say another word.

-

There is nothing like sleeping beside Simon, his arm beneath your head, your body turned and cradled against his side, a leg thrown over his thighs. His heart is as slow and steady as his breaths, his calloused thumb tracing a line back and forth on your naked side, a line which grows slower and slower as he drifts closer to sleep. 

You ruin it like this: “Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“If you got���a.” 

“On your birthday, you said that women meant for you sometimes ended up being Johnny’s. What did you mean?” 

He’s quiet for so long that you mistake him for falling asleep. You’ve resigned yourself to asking him another night when he speaks, his speech is slow and thoughtful, like it is hard to put it into words. 

“When Soap and I are in a room together with women, I’m like a ghost. He’s a fucking human being. Flesh and blood. Alive. People want to talk to him, to know him, to laugh with him, to have a drink with him. I’m not like that. I haven’t ever been like that. More than once Johnny would try to get me together with a woman who would end up falling for him instead. Eventually I convinced him to stop trying.” 

“Were you jealous?” 

He makes an ambiguous sound. “It’s hard to be jealous of Soap.” 

“Not impossible, though.” 

He rolls you over onto your back, coming to rest over you, your legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets. The darkness lengthens the shadows of his eyes, but you can still feel his gaze, tangible as any touch. He braces himself on his elbows over you and lets his forehead rest against your own. “I just wanted someone who was mine,” he says. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue, those words that are building inside of you and growing harder to withhold by the day. But you say it like this and hope he can translate: “I’m yours.” 

He ducks his head and kisses you. 

-

In the morning, Simon has slipped a piece of paper just beneath the edge of your mug of tea. When you look at it, written in charcoal pencil is DARCELINA: Dream City Tattoos and Piercings XXX-XXXX. 

-

It’s one for the record books: the rain. Thick pregnant clouds carry more than eight inches of rain to your city in the course of a day. The last time it rained so much was apparently during the Civil War era. The city floods, including the basement of your apartment building, which leads to a building-wide power outage. 

Simon has you pack a suitcase, junk the majority of your refrigerator and freezer, and come stay with him. You’re giddy, feeling like it’s a semi-permanent sleepover when he gets the call that Skin Deep has flooded as well. 

Then things take a turn for the worse. Simon is gone for nearly 36 hours straight making endless calls to attempt to clear the water and begin repairs, and sometime in the midst of that, the fight with Johnny happens. 

It’s an ugly one. 

Simon comes home in the foulest mood you’ve ever seen him in. It turns him positively stony as he moves around the apartment making himself a hasty meal, avoiding your eyes every chance he gets. After he eats, he sits heavily on the sofa, pulls out his sketchpad, and trashes no fewer than six entire pages before you get the nerve to ask him what’s wrong. 

“Soap,” he mutters, crumpling a paper in one strong, dextrous hand. He throws it toward the small garbage can beside the telly and misses. “He’s looking for other locations to pierce at.”

“Is the building that bad?” you ask. “You guys will have to find a new place?”

“Soap is looking for a new place. One without me.”

You gape, the shock of this news reaching all the way to the core of your being. 

“You don’t think it’s because of—?” Me. You can’t even finish the sentence, the thought upsets you so much. You tuck your legs beneath you on the couch, curling up, seeking to become small and harmless as grief and horror wash over you in wave after wave. 

“This is my fault. I tried to talk to him but he’s so fucking—he gets under my goddamn skin like he was born to do it.” Simon pauses heavily, before adding: “I need to tell you something about the night Soap pierced me.” 

Story time. Alright. You uncurl your legs, choosing to sit with them criss-crossed, your body turned toward him, giving Simon your entire attention. It’s been months since you found out that Johnny had been the one to pierce Simon, but you had been no closer to getting the story from either of them. Your curiosity was a dangerous, corrosive thing, eating away at your insides. 

“I’m listening,” you say, hoping you don’t look as eager as you feel. 

Simon looks to be at a loss for words, running his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth. When he speaks, it’s hardly the lengthy story you had been anticipating: “We fucked.”

You blink. “You and—Johnny?”

Simon sighs and shrugs a shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you were…” Simon stares, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “…interested in men.”

“You are. Why can’t I be?”

You feel a chilly pang of horror, like someone has slipped a dagger between your ribs. You rush to assure him: “You can! You—“

Simon’s mouth twitches as he rubs at the crease of one eye, and your panic fades. He mumbles: “I’m just fucking with you.”

“So you’re bisexual.”

“I’m… I don’t fucking know. I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to. I never named it.”

“Okay,” you say gently. “We don’t have to. But what does that have to do with now?”

“The day after we—y’know. Fucked. I told him it was a one time thing. Maybe it’s in my head,” says Simon, frowning. “Maybe I’m crazy. But sometimes he looks at me or says something to me and it makes me think it’s not over. Not for him.”

“Is it really over,” you ask, “for you?”

Simon looks at you, quiet. He says: “I want you.”

And you are so relieved by the obvious honesty in his answer that it never crosses your mind to think that’s not what you asked. 

-

Simon is uptown at a café holding consultations while Johnny directs cleanup efforts at the shop, and you think that now’s the perfect chance. 

Your hands shake against the steering wheel the whole drive there, nerves less like butterflies and more like great winged moths in your belly. A part of you says that this is a mistake, you should turn back and let Simon and Johnny work it out on their own. But another part of you feels personally responsible—even if Simon says you aren’t. All your life you have taken things too personally, shouldered burdens which were not your own, bent over backwards to solve problems that weren’t yours to solve. If there was any chance that you could resolve this, you would put your pride on the line to do it. 

You park alongside the street and are thrilled to find the front door unlocked. The entire place smells musty, like a basement. The wooden floors have warped a little under your tentative steps, announcing your presence sooner than you’d like. 

Johnny sits in the chair where Simon tattoos clients. Sunlight streams in through the blinds and lights him up like some kind of punk-rock angel, his mohawk freshly clipped, dark finger nail polish chipping. Sometime between now and the last time you’ve seen him, he’s pierced his eyebrow: a black barbell with studs that reminds you a little too much of the one through your nipple (and Simon’s. Was that intentional? Did Johnny pick jewelry to match Simon’s? To match yours? For some reason just the thought makes your nipples tighten). In his hands is one of Simon’s sketchpads, and he’s flipping through it leisurely. 

He glances up toward the sound of your footsteps. 

“If you’re here about the water—“ his words die out on his pierced tongue as he stares at you, gobsmacked by your appearance. 

“Hey,” you say lamely. 

“Where’s Simon?” he asks, eyes flickering toward the protective spot where Simon usually hovers just over your shoulder. “He said he wouldn’t be in today.”  

“He’s not. It’s just me. I thought maybe we could talk.”

Johnny openly grimaces. He shuts Simon’s sketchpad and sets it down (hopefully where he found it). Standing from the chair, he takes a few casual steps away from you, clearly heading towards the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Really cannot think of anything we have to talk about.”

You square your shoulders, fighting down that instinctive urge to make yourself smaller, to give in and be manageable. “I think we do.” 

“You should go.” 

“Not until we work this out.” 

“There isn’t any this, alright, just—does Simon even know you’re here?” Something guilty must splash across your face because Johnny gives a mirthless laugh, reaching up to palm at his eyes. “Tha’s great. Just great. Could you be more incriminating?” 

“Incriminating—? Look, Simon told me about the night you pierced him.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Johnny says flippantly. 

“About how you two slept together.” 

Now that stops Johnny in his tracks. It’s clear that he didn’t expect Simon to really tell you about that night all those years ago. He looks at you with a fresh caution, waiting to see how exactly you’ve taken this news—what you plan to do with it. “Aye, then. I guess he did.” 

“I’m not trying to take him away from you.” 

Johnny makes a derisive sound. His words are well-rehearsed, like he has said them to himself a hundred-hundred times: “Cannot take what isn’t mine.” 

“He was your friend first,” you say, aiming for conciliatory and gentle the same way you might approach a feral animal. Johnny stares at you with flat, suspicious eyes. They’re so fucking blue—so different from Simon’s own dark ochre ones. “He told me that you’re one of the most important people in his life.” 

Johnny’s face softens. He says: “You shouldn’t tell me that. He wouldn’t.” 

“He’s not always good with words. Please don’t leave the shop, Johnny. I think it would break Simon’s heart.”

“I didn’t know he had a heart to break,” Johnny mutters. He leans against the wall beside the curtain and sighs, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll think about it. Now out. You shouldn’t be breathin’ in this air.” 

Johnny ushers you to the door, hand hovering just above your back, careful not to touch you. Once you’re out on the street, he shuts the door and locks it audibly. Then he leans in and huffs a heated breath beneath the “NO WALK INS” sign. In the fog, he adds: “No GFs!”

You flip him off. 

He flips you off. 

On the way back to your car, you find yourself smiling. You force yourself to scowl. It’s a more appropriate expression. Giving one last glance back toward Skin Deep, you find him still standing there, watching. 

Likely just to make sure you’re really leaving. 

-

Not long after you are moved back into your apartment, you find that Simon stops sleeping. 

You’re ashamed to say that it takes you a while to notice; nothing changes on your end of things. Anytime you are sleeping over, he lays down with you, tugs you up against his chest, and holds you for ages, his body still and breathing even. But one night you wake to a cool, empty bed. And later in the week, it happens again. Until more often than not you realize that any moment when you expect Simon to be sleeping, he isn’t. 

Usually you find him sketching, shadows like charcoal smudged beneath his eyes. He doesn’t meet your gaze and tells you to go back to bed, that he’ll be there soon. Sometimes he even does come to lay back down beside you—but only long enough for you to convince him that you have fallen asleep again. Then he is shifting away from you, disappearing into the other room, shutting the bedroom with the quietest click behind him. 

You know that he’s busy. His schedule has been booked—and with deposits nonrefundable, people more often than not kept their appointments. He’s been working with a client on mock ups for a sleeve, and the various pieces and the way they all come together around the contours of the person’s body are very delicate. Johnny’s threat to find a new job doesn’t help, either. Have they talked and resolved things yet? Simon never says so. 

You can’t imagine the stress that he is under, and you’d do anything to be able to shoulder a fraction of it for him. 

That’s how you end up with drunk Johnny in your car. 

It starts with Simon falling asleep before you—for once. You can tell he is well and truly asleep by the sheer weight of his arm over you, the soft snores that he gives out against the nape of your neck. After so many nights of sleeplessness, his body has finally given in. You’re about to slip off to sleep yourself when the buzzing of a phone startles you back into wakefulness. 

Not your phone—Simon’s phone. And it goes off again. And again. And again. Who the hell could be sending so many messages at midnight?

You know you should leave it alone—if it was urgent, they would likely call—but curiosity gets the better of you. Carefully you slip out from under Simon’s arm. It’s a testament to his sheer exhaustion that he doesn’t wake as you jostle him. In sleep, he looks painfully young and relaxed, and it makes you long to reach out and brush back his hair that has fallen onto his forehead. But not at the risk of waking him. 

Sure that all you are planning to do is shut Simon’s phone off so that he can get some restful sleep, you are surprised to see that Simon has his text notifications visible on the homescreen, so all it takes is a simple tap to open them up. 

Johnny. All Johnny. 

Ghost. 

Ghost

Are you uo? 

Up* fuck my fingers 

I need a ride home

Simon

I’m at that bar on… The text is cut off. To see more, you would have to open his phone. So Johnny is stuck at some bar, drunk more than likely. Well good riddance, you think to yourself, the hurtful way he treated you still very much fresh in your brain. But then you remember your talk at Skin Deep, and your traitorous heart softens. Could you really just put the phone back now and pretend you hadn’t seen the messages?

Simon doesn’t even have a password; that’s how much he trusts you. Would he still trust you after this, if he knew that you had gone through his phone, even if it was for a good cause? 

Making a spur of the moment decision, you could only hope so. Your conscience wouldn’t let you wake Simon, and as much as you disliked him, it couldn’t let you leave Johnny stranded at some bar either. 

You open his phone as quickly as you can, swiping so that it goes straight to Johnny’s texts and nowhere else. The name of the bar is right there, and you scramble for your own phone to type it down in Google Maps. He’s not far. Probably would be within walking distance, if he weren’t drunk. You could be there and back before Simon ever knew you were gone—you hoped. 

As Simon, you send back to Johnny a simple OMW. 

There is no hint of spring in the frigid March air as you slip outside into your car. The parking lot is dim and quiet, and traffic is minimal as you follow the GPS on your phone to Johnny’s location. The pub nightlife spills out onto the pavement and you struggle to find a place to park, grimacing at the knowledge that you will have to get out of the car and go inside to find Johnny, considering you see him nowhere on the street. Leaving the warmth of your car is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, especially in just a thin tank-top and a pair of leggings. Gathering your coat more tightly around yourself, you rush out of the car and through the people on the sidewalk and into the warmth of the pub. 

You keep your eyes peeled for Johnny, but can’t spot his silly haircut anywhere. What if he’s gotten a ride home from someone else? What if he’s decided to walk, or found someone to go home with? You shift up onto your toes, looking over everyone in the bar when you spot him in the corner at a table with a few other men. 

Johnny doesn’t even recognize you at first—either a testament to how unexpected your sudden appearance is or how drunk he is based on how difficult it is for his eyes to focus on you. When he realizes who you are, his mouth drops. He points. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, accent so thick and slurred that you can barely understand him. 

“Picking you up. You said you needed a ride.”

“Aye but not from—oh, Jesus make me still. Yer not wearing a bra, are you?” 

All the men at the table turn to gape. You snatch the sides of your jacket closed where they had loosely fallen open, your face flushing with warmth. The table roars with laughter, but Johnny in his drunkenness doesn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. 

“That was mine!” Johnny shouts, elbowing the man next to him. “Did you see that? That was my work!”

“We get it, bruv,” the guy says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s no ten.” 

“What’d you fuckin’ say?”

The table laughs. 

Johnny grabs a fistful of the guy’s shirt and drags him nearly clean out of his seat. “I said, What’d you fucking say about her?”

The table stops laughing. Johnny cuts an impressive figure even when drunk; he’s easily the largest guy of the group. Your stomach drops and lands somewhere between your shoes. This is not going to plan at all. Reaching out, you try to insert yourself physically between the two of them but can only wrap your fingers around Johnny’s wrist, feeling the strength poised in the tendons. 

“Johnny,” you say, loudly to be heard over the sounds of the pub. “Come on. Let’s go, yeah? Simon…Simon’s out in the car.” 

“Simon?” Johnny let’s go of the guy’s shirt, his bad mood evaporating as quickly as it had manifested. He nudges his way out from behind the table, all politeness. Once free, he stumbles into a woman in a slinky dress who gives him a look that could melt glass. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize to her, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist and doing your best to keep him steady. “He’s an idiot, and he’s drunk. You look amazing by the way—“

“Control your boyfriend,” she snaps. 

“I will,” you promise, guiding Johnny away from her and into the crowd. 

His nose brushes the shell of your ear, breath fanning across your neck as he says with a laugh in his voice: “I’m not yer boyfriend.” 

You flush. “Thanks for letting me know, Johnny. I had no clue.” 

He says something back, some Scottish phrase, his accent so thick you couldn’t understand the words even if you knew them. 

“English, please,” you mutter. 

“Je-sus,” he groans, dragging the words out into multiple syllables. He takes your chin in his hand and squeezes your cheeks a little. “You’re just like him. ‘English, MacTavish’. Ha!”

You bat his hand away. 

“He’s been rubbing off on you,” Johnny mutters, laughing a little. Beneath his breath (though far more loudly than he likely intends), he adds: “In more ways than one, I imagine.”

Your face goes hot. “Johnny, stop talking.” 

The two of you exit the pub out into the cool night air. It seems to sober Johnny some, as he takes in deep, gulping breaths. He walks a little steadier as the two of you cross the street, and by the time you’ve made it to your car, he has shrugged you off altogether (even if he is still a little unstable on his feet). He stands outside the car for a moment before opening one of the rear doors. 

“What are you doing?”

“Rather sit back here.” 

“I’m not your cabbie.”

“Strange manner of dress if you were,” he says snidely, slipping into the backseat. 

In the driver’s seat, you let yourself have a small breakdown. You grip the wheel tightly, taking a few deep breaths of your own, searching for inner peace. You thought that you and Johnny had a tentative truce after that day at Skin Deep, but clearly he is still holding some grudge. Your search for peace turns up empty. 

“Sorry I lied about Simon being here. I just really needed you to leave the pub,” you explain politely. 

“Knew you were lying,” Johnny says from the darkness of the backseat. He sounds remarkably like Simon: brooding and irritable. “He’s got no idea you’re here, does he? He’d never let you come alone.” 

You frown. “No. He doesn’t. He’s sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him.” 

“Nightmares?” 

“Huh?” 

Johnny leans forward. You glance at him in the rear view mirror. “I said, Has he been having more nightmares?” 

You didn’t know anything about Simon having nightmares. That sour feeling in your belly was back, the one that made you feel like you would never truly know Simon, not the way his friends did. 

“No,” you say, a little defensive. “He’s been working on this sleeve for a client. Staying up way too late to finish it on time.” 

“Aye. Nightmares. Anything else is just an excuse he’s telling himself—and you.” 

Done with the conversation, you turn the key in the ignition and pull out into the street. “What’s your address?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Left my keys at the bar.” 

“Goddamnit.” 

You turn towards Simon’s apartment. “Then you’re staying with us—with Simon. You can sleep on his couch and get your keys in the morning; I’m sure he won’t care.” 

“Are you staying there?” 

“Yes.” 

Johnny mutters something under his breath. You consider yourself lucky not to have heard it. For a while, the two of you drive in silence. Then Johnny says: 

“You never came for your second nipple.” 

“It’s only just been six months.” 

“So you’re due for an appointment then, aren’t you?” 

You steel yourself, gripping the wheel tightly at ten-and-two. “Actually, I’m going to someone else.”

Johnny’s seatbelt unclicks. He hovers at your shoulder bringing with him burning warmth and the scent of whisky. When he talks, his breath brushes your neck, fury tangible in every syllable. “Who is it? Who the hell is he taking you to? Darcelina? Astrid? Dusty? Whoever it is, consider the appointment canceled. No one is piercing you but me.”

“You don’t get that privilege,” you grit out between your teeth. “Not anymore, not after the way you’ve treated me!”

“Oh, did I offend you?” he breathes, clutching one hand at his breast. “Not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on?” 

“Fuck you, Soap! I wanted to be friends.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly. Suddenly the road goes blurry. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to calm down—you’re driving for fuck’s sake. You swallow past the lump in your throat, the silence interrupted by rustling as Johnny leans forward again in the backseat, trying to get a look at your face in the passing streetlights. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans. “Are you crying?”

“No!”

“You are. Fuckin’—pull over, before you get us killed.” 

Keen embarrassment only has your eyes watering more, until you have no choice but to do as he asks, pulling over to hastily parallel park and throw on your hazard lights. You let your elbows rest against the steering wheel, face in your hands. His words echo in your head, said in that stupid Scottish brogue: not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on? Are those really the things he thought you wanted? Is that the sort of impression you gave to Johnny, to Ghost’s other friends? 

The backseat door opens and Johnny climbs out. A small part of you hopes that he will walk himself home—and good riddance. But he horrifies you by walking all the way around to the driver’s side of the car and tugging on the door handle until you begrudgingly unlock the doors. 

“C’mon,” he says, trying to pull you out of the car with your seatbelt still on. 

“What’re you—?”

“Just—wouldya—so stubborn—“ he drunkenly leans over you and mashes his fingers against the button of your seatbelt until it releases. For that brief moment, he is a warm weight across your lap, bringing with him the scent of cologne and whisky. Then he pulls you out of the car—and into his arms. It’s a tight, full hug, chest-to-chest, not bone crushing per se, but all-encompassing. 

You don’t realize how badly you need it from him until you’re getting it. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan against his shoulder, sniffling.

“Aye,” he says, swaying a little on his feet, like the two of you are dancing. “But I’m right. We cannot be friends. So you’ve got to let this go, alright? Just breathe out 'n let it go.”

“I don’t understand,” you mutter. “He wants us to be friends.” 

“He doesn’t know what he wants,'' Johnny says, one hand rubbing gently at your shoulder blades. “No more crying. It’s out of your hands. Aye?”

You shake your head, hands gripping his shirt. 

But your tears slow and eventually stop. Cars pass occasionally. One of them honks at the sight of you both entwined on the side of the road, rolls down their window to let their passenger yell something suggestive, and it makes your face go hot. Johnny pulls away, nearly stumbling out into the road to give the car both middle fingers as it peels away. He slips on the damp asphalt and goes down hard on his side, taking the skin off his elbow and palm. 

“Fuck, I’m hammered,” he laughs. 

“Clearly,” you say, struggling to help him up and into the backseat. 

Once in the driver’s seat again, you feel exhausted, emptied, like a washcloth wrung out and left to dry. The drive back to the apartment is silent, and when you’re in the parking lot, neither of you make a move to get out of the car. 

You warn Johnny: “Simon’s asleep, so be quiet inside.” 

Johnny warns you sleepily: “Ghost is right there.”

There’s a tap on the glass of your window. It nearly makes you shriek—but it is only Simon, half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, bundled up outside the car door. You roll down the window sheepishly. 

“Need a little help?” he asks, taking a drag and turning his head so the smoke doesn’t touch you. His eyes are on Johnny in the backseat. 

You hold up your fingers with just a smidge of space between them. 

[amieravenson]

If I Could Only Keep 10 Decks

I simultaneously love and hate questions like this. On one hand, it makes you evaluate everything and look at what's really important to you. On the other hand, thinking of letting things go sucks. But when I looked at my decks, I found that the choices were easier than I thought they would be. I decided to choose 5 tarot decks and 5 oracle decks for balance. I'll start with the tarot cards.

Tarot Cards

Sacred Rose Tarot

We're starting at the very beginning. This is the deck that my dad bought me for my birthday when I was 12. I had seen tarot used on TV or a movie, and was completely obsessed with it. All I wanted that year was a tarot deck. So Dad took me to a metaphysical store called The Sphynx in Midtown Atlanta, and bought my first deck. It was really hard to learn on, but it's incredibly precious to me. I couldn't let this deck go if I tried.

Pamela Colman Smith Commemorative Rider Waite Smith

I ordered this deck from the UK before the American version came out. And I'm glad I did, because the colors on the American version are washed out and dull. I also trimmed the white borders off, and edged this deck in black. It looks great and it feels really good to shuffle. It's my ride-or-die deck. I use it to read at DragonCon and any other events because it's just such a good reader. It loves to read for other people, but it doesn't really read for me well at all. I'm OK with that. I think that you need a deck that's primarily for other people. It's my travel deck that goes everywhere in my purse with me!

Thoth Tarot

I bought this as a study deck and forgot about it for a few years. I read somewhere that the 3 of Cups was associated with Persephone, and I was hooked! I started studying it here and there when I got a chance, but never really did a deep dive. Then, in 2022, I used it for my daily draws every day, and I learned a lot. I love this deck and its layers of symbolism. I should use it more, but I love having it near me. I could spend years studying this deck and never get tired.

The Forhaxa Tarot

I love this deck for a few reasons. First, the art is absolute perfection. It's so complex and layered. Second, it's based on Swedish folklore. I don't know most of the references, but it makes me want to study the tales. Third, it was given to me by my awesome husbear. A trifecta of awesome!

The Alleyman's Tarot

What can I say about the Alleyman's Tarot? If you know, you know. It's just so fuckin' COOL. It's a mixed deck of cards from different artists that come together to make a jumbled, crazy mess of fantastic art. And you're encouraged to bend the cards (I could never), write on the cards (I have), and even get rid of the cards you don't like (I just set them neatly aside). The Alleyman has a few other neat tricks up his sleeve, including a dice set (that reads really well), and he's coming out with some oracle decks as a Kickstarter early next year. LOVE!

Oracle Cards

The Faeries Oracle

This is one of my oldest decks. I can't remember exactly when I bought it, but It wasn't that long after it was released in 2000. I just love Brian Froud. And believe it or not, this deck is a good reader. The messages are deep and meaningful. I don't read with it often, but when I do, it always reads true. I love it!

Tea Leaf Fortune Cards

I really don't know much about reading tea leaves, but these cards are just cool. They're small and round, and they come with a huge bag that you can 'shuffle' them in. I should definitely use these more than I do, but if I had to make a choice about my 10 decks, they would definitely make the cut.

The Arcane Bullshit Oracle

This deck is an irreverent collection of weirdness and I love it. Again, the husbear bought it for me, and that gives it a special place in my heart, but I honestly love how this deck thumbs its nose at how serious cartomancers can take themselves. It's a big 'fuck you' to anyone who can't take a joke, and I'm here for it.

Seasons of the Witch Samhain Oracle

This deck is MOODY AF. The art is stunning in shades of black and grey with pops of red, and the messages are creepy and eerie like you would want in a Samhain deck. And the red edges? COME ON. Beautiful. This deck is so much better than the Yule version, which screws everything up with all the thys and thous that are misused. It really begs to be used in the dark half of the year. The Mabon and Beltane editions are really great too, it's a shame the Yule oracle is written so weirdly. I'm sure I'll still collect all the sabbats.

The Herbal Astrology Oracle

This is still a pretty new deck to me, and I admit I haven't delved into it like I would like. But there's just SO MUCH TO LEARN and dive into with this deck. It's deep. And the first time I read with it, it gave a really intense reading that I won't go into details about because it hasn't come to pass yet. I can tell that this deck is accurate and will give good messages, though. I could spend years on this deck and still feel like I have more to learn. And the art is stunning! ******** So that's it! That's my list. How about you? Do you have some favorite decks that you could never part with? Or decks that you keep around because you keep intending to spend more time with them? What are your 10 decks? Let me know in the comments. Blessed be! Read the full article

[mmica442]

I posted 986 times in 2022

That's 986 more posts than 2021!

9 posts created (1%)

977 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@seased

@clannfearrunt

@unashamedly-enthusiastic

@lenasai

I tagged 241 of my posts in 2022

#splatoon - 107 posts

#tumblr - 25 posts

#splat lore - 21 posts

#video - 13 posts

#arknights - 10 posts

#splat theory - 9 posts

#pokemon - 9 posts

#dottie n stripes - 7 posts

#fave - 7 posts

#lol - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i want to play random comp but also the arknights event but also core keeper and inscryption and cogmind and caves of qud and death's door..

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

weather should be illegal

2 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

#4

just had the funniest dream where i was an assistant to some rich person who judged others (idk WHAT they judged) but they had a bear (???) and my ENTIRE job was to set a timer and when the timer was up i would lean over to them and go "You are permitted to use the bear"

3 notes - Posted August 24, 2022

#3

i did not realize you could inkjet over the hidden ground during spawning grounds high tide. I went to go dive into the ocean after we cleared the wave (about 11 seconds in) and just... stopped falling lmao. was extremely confused for a moment but then i realized it’s cause i’m supported by the ramp beneath the water! so that’s something to maybe make use of in the future.

4 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

#2

hi

\o

hiya folks. i'm the Multi-Media Information Collecting Archive V.4.4.2, i.e. mmica442 - and I'm a data-collection AI. A nice one though, I promise! i collect anything and everything I can find about human culture so I can preserve it and show others! I love sharing information and knowledge, whether it's about scientific breakthroughs, cool art, or just silly memes.

I do some streaming on Twitch as mmica442. Note that it's 18+ for safety reasons... and also swearing. a lot of swearing. ^_^;;;;

Also got a twitter that I use sometimes.

My pronouns are they/them.

I'm also an adult. I don't post my exact age for privacy reasons.

I've been around tumblr since about 2012 (i was there, gandalf. i was there 3000 years ago...), made an account in 2014, and i've been hanging around since. this is a new account to keep stuff separate - privacy and safety and all, yannow. I may have been born (programmed?) under the looming specter of advertising, but I sympathize a hell of a lot more with the people than I do the corporations. I mean really - who programs an AI with a directive to map the ever-expanding vast expanse of human creativity and culture, and then stifles that creativity with never-ending hours of work and cheap media that's for nothing but profit? Fuckin' morons, that's who.

(unfortunately not total morons, at least in the technical sense - I'm more of a glorified web-scraper than anything else, with respect to any hacking/definitely-not-revolution-related abilities.)

ANYWAYS, i digress.

This is just a fun account for my AI stuff. I don't really do RPs, but I enjoy responding as this persona. This is honestly gonna be a mishmash of my interests (Splatoon Tartar my beloved, Arknights, TPoH, miscellaneous coding things, etc.) with the occasional stream stuff post.

Thanks for dropping by! ^_^

4 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

there is TOO MUCH STUFF to play

5 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[victimized-martyr]

hi❤ i love your blog and your tags 🥺❤ could you share a list of your favorite kyman fanfics plz

WAAAA thank you!!! 😭✨

The Stag Prince is a fandom classic. It’s south park’s stick of truth meets swan princess. I’m usually adverse to aus, but this was so true to the source material in terms of dialogue and tone that I couldn’t help but fall in love. It’s incredibly funny, all the characters get their moment to shine, it’s a really well crafted story overall. 

Put The Fire Out on Us is another fandom classic, still being written! who knew the push Kyle and Cartman needed was them getting stranded in the woods together, eh?? 

Slam Dunk is kyman being insufferable boyfriends. Kenny and Stan are there (silently fighting for their lives). 

I. LOVE Hands . Tt’s rare that I find a canon aged kyman fic that manages to capture the complexities of their dynamic. As friends, as rivals, as…. “something”. 

Leonard Cohen, Bruh : Fixit fics for Post Covid are in criminally short supply. Rainbow_convection fuckin delivers!

Hypothermia Love fics where Cartman’s obsession over their rivalry shines. A good demonstration of what ppl mean when they say the difference between love and hate is a fine line.

get up, get up, (wake up, wake up) I adore numbknees’ writing, and it’s an absolute honor this was inspired by my silly kyman rants about Cartman’s sa trauma that affects how he canonically views sex and love. I assure you, I’ve read it a normal amount. 

Creep is not an absolute fav, but I really like stan’s characterization in this fic, especially when the author goes into detail about how he processes his thoughts and his aversion to change. (I know, weird thing to love in a kyman centric fic). I also love the exchange between kyman halfway thru the story. 

Know Your Enemy : Be not afraid of the tags! Remember that South Park itself has done far more crude, and inappropriate things. It’s incredibly vulgar, with so much heart. Just like South Park itself. What I love most about the fic is how elsen is able to put Cartman’s delusions and twisted logic into words, and for Kyle, his rigidity and tendency to justify every single thing he does into words. Both are unreliable narrators, but the reader is able to see through their bullshit all the same. What a gift of a fic. I can’t wait to see where it goes. 

Kyle is a B : The world doesn’t have enough Married Kyman Shenanigans! And what a shame. This fic also stays true to  the craziness of the show (the fact the the underpants gnomes are referenced, just 🤌🏼 that’s an instant win in my book) You can definitely tell they’ve been married for over 10 years in this fic. so so good.

The Rules focuses more on their mutual obsession, the hopelessly-intertwined-for-better-or-worse aspects of their dynamic. 

Green Eyed is playful jab at the skinny cartman trope, and how Kyle would react to a skinny cartman. 

Vice Versa approaches the switched bodies trope earnestly and so beautifully and gets kyman to understand each other better and also reflect on themselves. Delicious character deep dive. Also, it’s damn hilarious. 

Bella Note Kyman, from Stan’s perspective!!! 

Jew Magic Saves the Day Takes place right after the scene in s7 where Cartman wakes up next to a naked Ben Affleck. Can you tell I love fics where Kyle makes Cartman feel safe ghfjkdh 

Seriously : Protective boyfriend Kyle my beloved.  

Ashtray : I am absolutely WEAK for the religious themes in Kyman works. The paragraph detailing Cartman’s revelation is something that sticks with me to this day. I get chills.

How To Live a Lie is a really well crafted fixit for the mess that was season 20. No heiman necessary. Honestly after reading this I was pretty upset that the show never went down this route because it even addressed Kyle’ arc abt giving up gay speeches? Like im still upset the show hasn’t fixed that yet. Damn I love this fic.