#but like…. I’ve *tried* to get into more modern shows

[salarta]

@comicgeekscomicgeek I’ve never cared much for Havok, but if Lorna had been treated respectfully and past poor treatment was rectified, I COULD have come around to him. It’s a decades old shit sandwich of a relationship, but someone who wants to do good work could have modernized things with enough time and effort.

But that’s not what any of these guys want.

They want their nostalgia for heaping boatloads of sexism, and they want to convince other people that the sexism is somehow good. They’re like Elon Musk in that way, in how Musk COULD have garnered real respect by being a good person and supporting good causes, but he instead tries to trick people into supporting his vile bullshit. Just as Musk wants “respect” where he can be as cruel and soulless as he wants and get praise for it, these guys want people to be into Havolaris on their sexist as fuck terms. They can’t stand the idea of Polaris being her own woman who has an existence that’s not all about putting Havok on a pedestal.

It’s a problem that goes back decades, and gets shrugged off with nostalgia. They recognized this kind of shit was wrong with how Sue Storm used to be treated, especially around Reed. They modernized her. They let her have her own thoughts, feelings, interests, and buffed up her powers to be more than just “turns invisible.” Because they know it’s wrong.

But they refuse to do the same for Polaris. Because they think they can get away with it because she’s not a household name.

Polaris is the second woman to join the X-Men, having been created in 1968. Any semblance of that history has been completely wiped out to emphasize her as Havok’s girlfriend.

They treat her like she didn’t exist until at best the 80s, but usually as if she didn’t exist until 90s X-Factor. And as if she has no history at all with the O5, despite how she SHOULD have meaningful interactions with both Jean and Bobby. She was Jean’s first female peer! She was in a “love triangle” with Bobby! Surely she has SOMETHING to contribute in terms of both covering Jean’s pre-Phoenix days and in serving as an ally for Iceman after he came out as gay.

As soon as they decided she has to be focused on Havok, they decided literally EVERY other relationship and bit of history before him didn’t exist.

And then AGAIN in the 00s, she was on a good path after the Genoshan genocide to be her own character. She had PTSD as a survivor who not only experienced it personally, but had to relive its final moments with her powers until she was found in the ruins. It was respected enough that she had an episode of Wolverine and the X-Men dedicated to it.

… then she got sent into fucking space in the comics, far from anything X-Men and mutant rights, for years. To be Havok’s fucking girlfriend again. While he fucked around in space leading Starjammers cause it was his dad’s legacy, and god forbid Lorna get to spend any time doing shit that matters to her.

So now Marvel absolutely refuses to acknowledge she’s a survivor of a fucking genocide. They have Storm browbeat Captain America in panels about it even though she wasn’t there. They exploit Genosha for a big Avengers crossover story, Axis, while they have Polaris fucking around far from the action on All-New X-Factor.

They have Kitty Pryde do a whole story arc focused on her doing stuff for the Genoshan dead cause her dad died there. But then when they have Lorna show up for that very same arc, she’s written as if she has absolutely no history with the island. Worse yet, when she shows up, she’s written as complaining about a lack of coffee there. On fucking Genosha. The place she almost died at, that gave her PTSD for a whole run of X-Men.

They can’t be bothered to respect even the most high profile, most important things she’s ever done or experienced. But they trip over their own balls endlessly to force Havok on her whenever she so much as sneezes.

I’m sick of giving Havok chances when the people who want to force Havolaris can’t give a single shred of respect for Lorna.

If they gave a fuck, they would insist on Lorna’s key history getting respected. They would recognize how Polaris having her OWN history, her OWN experiences, how her being a genocide survivor, all MEANS something. If they saw the relationship as a relationship at all, not just as a chance to use sexism to promote their favorite fuckboy, they’d see how Lorna needs to be treated right for the relationship to be good and for Havok to actually benefit.

But no, they can’t be bothered cause their interests aren’t in making their supposed beloved relationship good. It’s to retain and reinforce the sexism.

So I’m just flat out done with Havok. He’s a bygone relic of misogynistic thinking that nobody wants to make not a pile of shit.

I hate Havok/Alex Summers now. Havolaris is now very clearly a completely unsalvageable relationship that always, ALWAYS has an element of sexism (usually subtle, sometimes blatant). And it all comes down to Jordan White, Tom Brevoort, Beau DeMayo, and a majority of Havok fans demonstrating why I should by how poorly they treat and view Polaris/Lorna Dane to promote him.

I’ve been a Polaris fan since 2009. Over a decade and a half. In that time, I used to say one very clear and definitive thing. I used to say that if they kept the Havolaris relationship apart for a decade, focused on Polaris and Havok as their own characters and did enough meaningful with Polaris in that time, they could come back together as a good couple.

This is what happened instead.

Jordan White forced Havok into EVERY depiction of Lorna under his control except Duggan’s run, ONLY because she won the X-Men vote. Something he found distasteful enough to try and dismiss her win as happening only because she was on Gifted. And every time Havok got forced into Lorna’s affairs, it was to frame Lorna as incompetent, weak, or incapable of having any identity outside of being his (ex-)girlfriend.

Beau DeMayo told the Genoshan genocide story without Polaris anywhere in sight, even though she was one of the core survivors in the comics. She had fucking PTSD because of it for an entire X-Men run! She had an issue, New X-Men 132, almost entirely dedicated to finding her in the rubble and her broadcasting Genosha’s final moments! But no. Not even in the fucking background. Instead, Lorna’s only appearances were two reminders of her as Havok’s girlfriend on 90s X-Factor, and a split second animation of her as a future slave.

And we have Tom Brevoort. Who among so many other things I could say, most recently had Polaris repeatedly treated like a weak damsel on the just ended X-Factor with a clear goal of fucking her over just after her great showing in Fall of the House of X all so he could force her back into relationship with Havok.

And then there’s the Havok fans. I know not all Havok fans are the same. But the ones I saw the most of, who I had the most interaction with? They ALWAYS insisted that Lorna “needs” to be in relationship with him. They ALWAYS insisted that any bad treatment of Lorna in any of this came down to Havok being treated poorly instead. That if their woobie perfect cis straight blonde white man just got a little more of the endless opportunities they keep giving him but never Polaris in her own right, it would trickle down to Lorna.

Cause we know trickle down economics works for fiction even though it doesn’t in real life economics, right?

The Havok fans I’ve seen and talked to never want Lorna to be her own fucking character with her own thoughts, feelings, experiences. Her own worth independent of Havok. They want the relationship forced onto Lorna because in truth? They’re fucking afraid that he really is a nobody ass clown and can’t hack it on his own without Polaris reduced to his ever-present manic pixie dream girlfriend. They can’t give her a single second, nevermind ten years, just being herself and building herself up toward a future benefit.

So fuck Havok.

I gave the idea of Havolaris a chance. I gave the character a chance. I gave them a decade and a half of my life to fix this shit. But they’re all just too goddamn committed to fucking Polaris over any time she gets the tiniest scrap of something good. They all love their nostalgia, with its origins of rampant sexism meant in its original time to kill the feminism she had on creation, way too much.

They have all proven to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that Havolaris will never not be sexist self-insert fanwankery, and that Havok himself will never be anything but a fuckboy who always requires making a hot green-haired woman look more pathetic and useless than him to garner any semblance of appeal.

Which still isn’t enough to keep a book from getting canceled cause it sucks shit and the majority of people don’t want to read sexist trash. But hey. That’s apparently what Havok fans want, and what people at Marvel want cause it’s the only place they can get away with being sexist (since they can’t be sexist toward Jean, or Storm, or Emma and get away with it).

Anyone who wants to try to make me think differently, don’t bother. You’re competing against a decade and a half of direct personal experience. You’re not changing my mind with a half-assed bit of gaslighting.

[risestarkiss]

✨The Fashionista✨

Rise Ramblings #234

While watching “The Clothes Don’t Make The Turtle,” I noticed something.

I found it interesting that Raph, Mikey, and Leo were content with Raph’s outfit choice until Donnie stated that he wasn’t “in love with it, ya’ know.”

Suddenly, Raph declares “I’m a disaster!” Albeit ridiculously endearing, it was a little strange to see his sudden shift from moderately content to absolute dissatisfaction. Huh…

Then, the disaster twins decide to help him out.

Take a note of their outfit choices.

Raph tries on all of these fits and more.

Donnie’s first choice is a mild “no.” Leo’s choice is a hard “NO.” (Not surprising, lol.) But then, the overwhelming consensus lands on Raph’s fourth outfit, which ended up being Donatello’s other pick for his brother.

So, in summary, Raph tried on his personal choice for an outfit, of which they rejected. Then, ultimately, Donatello picked out an outfit for his brother, and that pick ended up being perfect. Hmm…

Then I noticed something else. In this episode, we never get a Donnie “curtain reveal” moment, to our disdain. I mean, Raph, Leo, and Mikey got to try on several different outfits in order to get their brothers' opinions before landing on that “perfect outfit, you know the one.” All of his brothers got to shine. Why not DonTron?

Then it hit me.

The try-ons were to get their brothers' opinions and approval. And, for his brothers' choices, he was a major contributor in assisting them in pulling their looks together.

What if, bear with me, Donnie didn’t need the "curtain scene" because he was so confident in his fashion sense that he didn’t need to ask his brothers for help to pick out a great look.

…or they figured out how to break Hypno’s spell before he could get a “curtain reveal.” BUT STILL-

Look at his outfit choices in this episode. Some of his wardrobe changes were off-screen, but all of them were fire.

(I added the baseball cap pic because it makes me happy. I wish we'd seen more of that fit.)

To me, he makes some really smart choices for himself, pushing the envelope of what is expected and taking chances: an open collar with no tie for a “black tie” event, a beanie and spiked wristbands for their “gansta look,” no socks with loafers (a viral fashion trend that actually began in Africa) with old man slacks in his reclined pose. *muah* Chef’s kiss!

But Don’s fashion sense doesn’t just shine in this episode.

In “Reparin’ the Baron” the boys go to Draxum’s apartment. Leo and Donnie show up in some extra nice “Sunday Dinner” twin drip.

The gold is in the details. Everything Leo is wearing, Donnie rocks its compliment: for Leo’s round collar, Donnie’s is angled, for Leo’s blue shirt, Donnie’s is white, For Leo’s light slacks, Donnie’s are dark. Blah blah blah. It’s so good!

Look at the winter fit in Snow Day.

Again, Donnie is Leo’s perfect compliment. As a pair? Fire.

Donnie has “the eye.” I can go on and on with examples, but I’ve said all of that to say this…

In the future, we see that Donatello’s technology had major pull in the resistance. He had drone ships patrolling the skies. He built and designed Leo’s arm, Casey’s chainsaw-hockey stick, and Casey's mask. The list goes on…

But, when Donatello from the past see’s Casey’s clothing from the future, he says this:

We know about the “Genius Built” brand. We’ve seen that logo on all of his tech up to this point. But, here he didn’t just say “Genius Built.” He said, “Genius Built Apparel.”

“Apparel” is not a tech brand. “Apparel” is a fashion brand. Of course, tech is incorporated into the clothing, but still.

This means that past Donatello secured this trademark with plans of creating a fashion brand, comparable to the likes of Gucci, Ralph Lauren, or any other modern clothing brand, as a subsidiary of “Genius Built,” the tech company.

And why not? The evidence has been in front of us this entire time. He has a sharp eye for style, fashion, and trends. It is easily canon that he can sew. Splinter sewed their ninja garbs in “Insane in the Mama Train,” and there is a sewing machine in the house.

They already learned Ninjutsu through basically osmosis, so learning to sew is not too far-fetched.

And here it is, right in front of us, Casey’s entire ensemble, from mask, to weapons, to clothing, was made by Donatello in the middle of the apocalypse under the brand name “Genius Built Apparel.”

And that was just in the bad future. Resources were limited, they didn’t have access to much of anything in that broken world as they were survivors of a devastating Krang invasion. Yet, he created all of this.

However, now that they’ve changed the future, his future as a fashion designer is limitless. Think of what Donatello could produce with unlimited resources, unlimited technology, and unlimited creative freedom.

Tech genius. Clothing designer. Fashionista. Future Genius Built Apparel Owner and CEO. I’m sorry, but I have to call it...

Donatello Hamato of the present, of the bad future, and of the good future is a fashion icon, the likes of which the world has never seen. ○○○○

Update: I've decided to make this concept into a mini-comic series!

2025 Update:

I've also made this post into a YOUTUBE VIDEO!

Video Preview:

You can check that out →→→ HERE ←←←

○○○○

🎞 YOUTUBE 🎞 | 💚 SEND A SLICE 🍕 | 🎵 BANDCAMP 🎵

[selfishdoll]

NOW PLAYING…. TOUCH

Just back into it, and let it touch

JJK MEN & THEIR REACTIONS TO YOU USING THEIR CROTCH TO SHOW OFF YOUR NAILS

ft. kashimo hajime, gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, & takuma ino.

cw: modern au (?), suggestive content (ofc) ooc characters(?), reader being a little shit, etc.

i’ve always found this tiktok trend adorable, and thought it would be nice to write hcs on with them. these are unedited so excuse typos and other mistakes. i might do more later.

KASHIMO HAJIME.

the nail designs you chose were cute, but a little cheesy. a simple cyan base with purple lighting bolts on each ring finger.

you came back from the shop to spot kashimo resting on your couch, clearly tired from either fighting a curse or general working out. you tapped him, showcasing your nails the moment you got his attention. hajime would only give you a small smirk, leaning his head back again to rest.

the idea would then pop into your head, softly declaring you needed to take a picture to show your friend. he didn’t care enough to respond.

but, that quickly changed when you sat beside him, resting your hand right on his crotch.

what are you doing?

you shushed him a bit, declaring his white pants were a perfect background. a plausible excuse, one that he believed less and less when he realized you were massaging him through his pants.

he allowed it to go on for a moment before he snatched your wrist, pulling you closer to him.

don’t start something you can’t finish, [y/n].

and well, you spent the rest of that evening facing the consequences of your actions. you never did send that picture.

GOJO SATORU.

probably asked you to get his tip color. you refused, much to his dismay.

you settled on a pretty blue and white design, curtesy of his eyes and hair. you sent a picture of it to him while in the shop; your lover hearting the image instantly.

on the way home, you were scrolling through your tiktok feed and came across the trend. a cheshire like grin covered your features soon after.

making it home, gojo wasn’t busy with anything, simply sitting on the couch and watching some random show. he greeted you and attempted to get touchy, only for you to declare you had to take a picture of your nails first.

just use the one you sent me?

no, baby, i wanna use a different one.

although confused, the man shrugged a bit, focus turning back to the tv. you sat on the couch beside him, humming as your phone hovered above your hand that rested on your thigh. taking a quick glance to assure he wasn’t looking, you reached over, placing your hand right on his crotch.

gojo noticed you instantly, eyes falling from the tv screen and over to your hand, eyebrows pinched close. he said nothing however, simply watching you closely. the moment you began to rub him, however, he was adjusting his hips eyes lifting to yours, adoring an are you serious? expression.

what’s wrong? you tried to play dumb, all while your hand still moved, not so secretly anymore. gojo would only grin at you, pretty dimples exposed, turning back to the tv.

nothing.

in that moment his hand reached over to your bare thigh, gently tapping it; fingers stroking the inside of them.

this had now became a game of who would crack first.

and much to your dismay, you always did.

GETO SUGURU.

your choice of design was a black base with his initials on each ring finger. when sending a picture to the man he complimented them, and was clearly happy his name was on your fingers.

you had been planning to do the trend on him the moment you saw it, booking an appointment the next day. you just wanted to see his reaction, to see if your normally calm and collected boyfriend would react differently.

you were basically rushing into the house the moment you locked your car, entering to spot him on the couch reading a book. you two greeted each other with a soft kiss the moment you walked over.

you really like my nails, suguru?

mhm.

lemme show gojo. you hummed, pulling your phone from your pocket. you bit the inside of your cheek, reaching over and planting your hand right on his crotch. you felt his eyes on you for a moment before they drifted back to his book. which, frustrated you.

and so, you adjusted your hand, a false mumble of needing a better angle exiting you. except the adjusting didn’t stop, seeing as you began to gradually rub your palm up and down his crotch.

you jumped a bit as he shut his book closed, grabbing your wrist and pushing it against his hardening length even more.

now, you deal with it? understand?

NANAMI KENTO.

much to nanami’s embarrassment, you used his tip color. he tried to talk you out of it, but it happened. how they color matched it was above him. and why you did such a thing was above him as well. but, he did have to admit the nails were still pretty.

when you got home the man was busy with some paperwork at his desk, grumbling to himself every once in a while. you walked over with a gentle smile, watching his tense shoulders fall the moment you made your presence known.

you then showed off your nails, nanami simply shaking his head with a smile.

you got a bit needy the moment his eyes turned back to his desk however, biting the inside of your cheek before a brilliant idea popped into your mind. you find a chair beside his desk, scooting a bit close to his own. which wasn’t suspicious, you did that often.

what was suspicious was you reaching over, placing your hand onto his crotch.

[y/n]…

just trynna get a good picture. your pants are the perfect color. the excuse left you quickly, hearing the man sigh softly to himself but allowing your hand to remain there.

that was until, you began to carefully slide your hand up and down his crotch— back and forth. nanami didn’t left it go on for long before he was grabbing you by the forearm, pulling you up from your chair and over to his lap.

oh, ken, your paperwork..

that can wait. can’t ignore you when you’re being so damn needy..

TAKUMA INO.

to ino’s surprise, you somehow got your nail lady to carefully draw his masked face on your ring finger. the moment you sent the picture he was amazed and very happy. something you found adorable.

so of course you decided to toy with him.

coming home you spotted the man not really doing anything, simply resting on the couch. he smiled up at you, eyes following you as you walked over to sit beside him. his arm came to wrap around you, the two of you sitting in silence for a moment; simply watching tv.

until you swore softly, pulling your phone from your pocket. gotta take a picture for a friend.. you would mumble, something ino barely acknowledged.

the moment your hand was on his crotch, however, his eyes fell from the tv quickly, staring down at your hand.

uh, y/n…

sorry baby, just gotta use your pants. you claimed, the man muttering nervous ok, going completely still— clearly not wanting to mess up your photo. you smiled at this, nearly feeling bad for what you were about to do to him.

slowly you carried your palm up and down his crotch, feeling the hand on your hip twitch. continuing the facade, you tilted your phone every so often, attempting to find the correct position; all while poor ino attempted to calm his rising hard on. he tried so hard too.

just as you felt his hard length through his sweats, you snapped a photo, rising from the couch— placing a chaste kiss to his cheek on the way.

thanks baby, imma take a quick shower.

needless to say, ino was a bit confused and disappointed, only able to give you a small nod— watching you walk away. ignorant to the fact you were holding in your laughter.

[randum-famdoms]

Prev’s tags are too interesting to lose

Also it’s not just tv; it’s movies too I think. Live action American sci-fi/action movies to be specific. I can only think of a couple made since streaming got big that I felt like I actually knew who the characters were, and liked them, and felt like they actually cared about each other. Other genres have this problem too (comedy comes to mind), but none so extreme as in action and sci-fi. Feels like lately it’s all just rewrites of the same script but with different set dressing and they forget that you also have to have characters, not just a half a concept and a tired plot with cgi sprinkles.

I know the characters’ names and maybe a motive if I’m lucky and that’s it. Then one of em dies or is kidnapped or whatever and the other characters are so heartbroken and like… did they even know each other? Cause they met like a day ago and haven’t had a single conversation longer than a couple minutes, and they only talked about Plot Things.

There are some standouts obviously, The Equaliser series comes to mind, but it’s the exception, not the norm

I don't know what those '90s sci Fi TV writers were putting in their shows but I wish they'd start doing it again

[inotakumagf]

step on it!

✶ choso kamo x gn!reader

word count ✺ 1.7K

summary ✺ Choso helps you break in your newest pair of Doc Martens <3 based on this and this drawing <33

warning ✺ minors DNI! sub!choso, boot humping/grinding, reader loves being mean, good boy choso, brief choking (m receiving), lil bit of dacryphillia, reader is gn & there’s a line about ur strap but no gendered language. today is my birthday, so this is my birthday gift to myself :) reblogs & comments are very appreciated!

Choso has an extensive Doc Marten collection. Through your friendship and now your relationship with him, you’ve introduced him to a lot of different things. He tells you that he likes how human they make him feel, and you take that as encouragement to show him as many modern human inventions as possible. You’ve got him hooked on video games, iced matcha lattes, and even a little bit of drama television. Your most precious shared interest, however, is each of your Doc Marten collections. You have a humble collection, and you used to only buy a pair once a year as a birthday gift to yourself. 

But Choso has quickly changed that tradition. His excitement over the different styles and the thought of matching with you makes him so giddy; you can’t help but feel excited with him. You just hadn’t expected him to be so into it. He sure does love his platform boots, and he even likes to pick one out and place it at the foot of the bed before tucking in to sleep. It’s cute, but he has definitely fueled your unhealthy obsession with the brand. 

You drag Choso to sit next to you on the couch the moment you see that the new collection is live on the Doc Martens website.

“Cho! Look at these platforms, aren’t they so cute?”

Choso has his head tucked against your shoulder as you scroll over the product page. You zoom into the photo as you envision yourself wearing them. 

You tilt your head. “Hm, actually, I don’t know if I should get these ones. I’ll browse the other styles.” 

Choso lifts his head. “I like them.”

You pout and scroll down the page. “I don’t think they have them in your size, baby.”

“I mean for you. I think you should get them.”

You raise an eyebrow at your boyfriend. “Really? But I’ve never had platforms this high before–”

“It looks really good.”

“And I don’t know if I like the leather they used–”

“It would feel so nice,” he sighs.

You laugh. “Well, I can’t feel the leather if it’s on the outside of my feet.”

Choso blushes and tucks his face into your neck. “I-I mean it’s more comfortable with this type of leather, because it’s flexible and it lets your feet breathe better.”

You stare at him, and he shrivels under your gaze. “I don’t think that’s a real thing.”

He pouts. “It is! The man at the store told me so. He informed me that he owns thirty pairs, so he must know what he’s talking about.”

“But is that why you want me to get them?”

He squirms at your question, and stutters out, “Of course!”

You shut your laptop and push it to the side. You don’t care about the new collection anymore, not when you have something so much more enticing in front of you. 

“Choso, honey. Wanna tell me what’s got your pretty little head all twisted up?”

“I-I don’t…” He stares at you with wide, doe-like eyes. He knows he’s been caught, but he tries to keep up the appearance of indifference. “I want you to get the shoes you like, sweetheart. That’s all.”

You run a sweet, gentle hand over his cheek, which is dusted with embarrassment. You lure him in with soft kisses on his jaw, his chin, and the corner of his lips. Choso’s eyes flutter shut and you grin at the way his eyebrows furrow on instinct. You get him all nice and comfortable, and then you tug your fingers through his hair until you grip one of the buns that he’d oh-so-carefully pinned. He whines at the sting, and at the way you tug his head back and away from your torturous mouth. 

You press your lips near his ear, nibbling on the cartilage before whispering, “Why do you care so much about my shoes, baby?”

“I-I don’t. I just–” 

You mark up his pale neck, watching intently as he sighs and arches into your touch. “C’mon. You’re my good boy, aren’t you? Gotta be honest with me. M’not gonna be mad at you.”

Choso stares at you through heavy-lidded eyes. Your kisses have definitely helped ease his embarrassment to make room for his horniness. He spreads his large hands over your stomach and runs them down your waist so that he can anchor himself to your hips. He squeezes, pupils dilating as you press into him. 

“I want…I want you to step on me,” he admits, pulling you flush against him with one strong arm wrapped around the small of your back. 

You laugh, cooing when Choso goes right back to being embarrassed. “Aw, honey, wait. Didn’t mean to laugh.”

“You think it’s stupid,” he pouts into your neck.

You lift his chin so that he has to look at you. “No, I think it’s hot. You want to help me break in my boots, is that it? You wanna grind on my shoes, baby? Fuck, you're so good, I know you’d look perfect on your knees for me.”

Choso whimpers at the picture you're painting. “Please. Just wanna be good for you.”

He grinds against your core, almost like he’s subconsciously trying to prove that he can hump your boot so well.

“I wouldn’t even need to fuck you, you’d just get off on that, wouldn't you? You'd let me be so mean, I know you can take it.”

He rolls his hips upwards, jerking against you desperately. You press your palm against the bulge in his sweatpants, feeling it twitch at your touch. His eyes roll back in pleasure, and he’s so lost in the feeling that you almost feel bad for pulling away and denying him his pleasure. 

He whines at the loss of your touch. You place your laptop back on your lap. “C’mon, Cho. You have to help me pick out a good pair, yeah?”

The boots arrive faster than you thought they would—thank you express shipping. You chose them because they made Choso blush the hardest. It might have something to do with the max platforms on them.

They dig a little bit at your heel, but that’s alright. That’s what Choso’s here for. He sits on the bed as you model them, spinning in a slow circle and pointing your toe out so he can see them better. He smiles up at you sweetly, and you pretend that you can’t see him blush. 

“You look so amazing, sweetheart,” he sighs.

You stand before him, grinning when he automatically wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. You drag your hands through his hair to loosen his buns, and to tug at them just how he likes.

“Thank you, baby,” you say, “but how ‘bout you get on your knees for me, yeah? I know you’ve been aching for it.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice as he immediately sinks to the ground, switching your positions so that you’re pressed up against the bed. Choso rests his cheek on your thigh, staring up at you with those irresistible eyes of his. He keeps his hands to himself, clenched on his strong thighs so that they don’t wander anywhere they shouldn’t. You reward his behavior with a deep kiss, bending your upper body to meet his lips in a searing kiss. You laugh when he has to strain his neck to kiss you properly.

Choso gasps when you pull back to let him breathe. He looks up at you as you brush your thumb over his wet lips, swirling his tongue around the digit desperately. It’s like he’s trying to convince you to let him hump your shoe. And who are you to deny him that? You lift your foot slowly and press it into his growing hard-on. The effect is immediate. Choso moans and tilts his head back, wrapping his hands around your leg and forcing you to press down harder. Usually, you’d punish him for touching you without permission, but he’s enjoying himself so much that you don’t have the heart to.

You tut. “Are you gonna be good for me, honey?”

The sweetness of the way you talk to him makes his head dizzy. “Yes! Yes, I’ll be good for you. Promise.”

He ruts his hips up against the sole of the platform, and it's like he’s chasing the pain. His desperation fuels the fire in your gut.

“Please,” he cries.

You grin, pressing harder against his bulge. “Please what?”

His thighs are spread wide, caging your leg in between them. He grinds up into the boot, but you can tell he’s getting frustrated. It’s not enough. “Need more, please.”

You oblige, pressing down harder and wrapping your hand around his throat to get him even more worked up. He tilts his head back, giving you a great view of his marked up neck. You get a rush of possessiveness, and you wonder if you can press down hard enough to leave an impression of the boot print behind. Whether or not it's possible doesn’t matter, you’ll just try your damn hardest. Choso appreciates the effort, moaning when you press your boot down even harder.

He cries at the intensity of pleasure and pain, overwhelmed because he can’t quite distinguish between the two. Tears streak down his cheeks, and you smear them messily when you squish his cheeks in your hand. He looks up at you with those wet, dumb eyes of his, and you just want to eat him whole. 

He pistons his hips up faster, and you’d be concerned if he wasn’t letting out the most delicious sounds. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You can tell the exact moment his orgasm washes over him, twitching his hips up involuntarily, and dropping his mouth open in pleasure. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he drops his head forward to kiss haphazardly along your leg in apology.

You pull your foot back slowly, revealing the wet spot in his sweatpants. He whimpers under your intense gaze.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Didn’t mean to.”

You hum. “That’s okay.”

He watches you suspiciously, which you suppose is fair. Because you lift your opposite foot and press the boot against his softening dick, using his cum as a lubricant. He practically squeals, which is such a delectable contrast to his low voice.

“You promised you’d help me break in both my shoes, Choso. We’re not done yet.”

“I-I…can’t. S’too much,” he says, but still he wraps his arms around your leg and pulls you closer, overstimulation be damned. “Oh. Don’t stop, please.”

Choso really loves everything that you teach him. You might have to introduce him to your strap-on next time. 

[cursedyuri]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! ** 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: modern au; ellie moves to a big city to escape the past. she goes to her first lesbian bar, where she meets you.

cw: porn with…a whisper of plot; alcohol use, fingering (e!receiving), strap-on sex, bottom!ellie, slightly sub!ellie, she’s whiny here

Ellie’s never been to a lesbian bar.

It’s surreal - banners of colorful pride flags are strung across the room, some of which she can’t even identify. Distressed and faded posters are plastered on the stone walls, advertising drag shows and queer punk bands with names like The Cranky Dykes and T-Girl Social. Nearly every patron is tatted or pierced, and there’s more platform boots and fishnet clothing than Ellie’s ever seen in one place before. Before she’d moved to the city, Ellie had lit up with excitement at the thought of visiting a lesbian bar. But now, in her worn Harley Davidson tee and a pair of jeans with unintentional rips at the knees, she feels very much out of her depth. 

Steeling her nerves, she internally reminds herself that this is exactly why she’d moved in the first place - she needed new experiences. She needed unfamiliarity. What she’d left back in Texas was her normal, and she planned to build a new normal here. One that was the antithesis of everything she’d known before. 

The bar isn’t completely packed, but she does need to push past dancing, sweaty bodies, girls sucking on each other’s faces, and chatting cliques to get to the edge of the bar, where more clusters of people are calling out drink orders and thrusting wads of cash tips at the bartenders. By some miracle, an empty barstool presents itself after a drunken patron with a mohawk stumbles out of it, and Ellie swoops in to snatch it before someone else does. She sits there for a good few minutes, trying to capture a bartender’s attention, until someone shuffles up beside her and sticks a hand out to wave one over. And, of course, they notice immediately, heading over with a towel slung over their shoulder. Ellie sinks lower into her seat, cheeks burning.

“I’ll have a spicy marg,” the woman beside Ellie says, voice projecting loud enough to hear over the clamor of music and chatter. The bartender nods, then goes to step away, but the woman next to Ellie stops her, speaking with that attention-commanding voice.

“What are you having?” 

The bartender’s gaze shifts to Ellie, still hunched over and beet-red in the face. She flushes impossibly redder when she looks up at the woman who’d just ordered, realizing that the question had been directed at her. 

“Oh,” she blurts, posture straightening. She glances at the woman, anxiety flaring, then back at the bartender. “Um, an old fashioned. Please. Thanks.”

Just as quickly as they’d come, the bartender disappears again, off to pour precisely-measured shots and mix cocktails in shiny silver shakers. Ellie’s hands are in her lap, fiddling restlessly, when she finally forces herself to look up at the woman who’d practically had to order for her. 

You smile at her when she meets your gaze. Though she’s trying to be subtle about it, you can feel the way Ellie drinks in your every feature, eyes flickering over your face, then your body. It’s obvious that she likes what she sees, because she has a hard time looking you in the eye again. 

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been trying to order for a while.”

“So I saw,” you respond, but not unkindly. You take a moment to look her over, although you’d already done plenty of that before you’d even approached her - you had seen her from across the bar, looking forlorn, her leg bouncing beneath the edge of the bar as she tried (and failed) to order herself a drink. Her lack of confidence is what piqued your interest; it was hard to believe that someone that gorgeous wasn’t oozing arrogance and self-importance. She’s all lean muscles and shaggy hair, her forearm decorated with a sprawling fern tattoo. You could already imagine yourself running your hands through that hair, kissing the length of her sharp jawline, pulling those narrow hips up against your own. 

At a lesbian bar, a hot girl who couldn’t carry herself with confidence usually meant one of two things: she’s fresh out of a breakup, or she’d never been somewhere like this. You’re determined to find out which of the two applies to her.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you here before.” You angle your body to face Ellie, popping your hip out as subtly as you can. 

Ellie, determined to keep her eyes on your face and not the curve of your hip or the delicious sliver of cleavage peeking out of your square-neck top, peers up at you from behind her bangs. “Uh, yeah, I’ve never been. I just moved here. I’m Ellie - what’s your name?”

You tell her your name and she repeats it slowly, like she’s tasting every syllable. “Pretty.”

Your drinks arrive before you can fumble for a response. 

“Spicy marg, old fashioned,” the bartender lists as they slide your drinks over the smooth wood of the bar. Ellie murmurs her thanks and you nod at the bartender before they disappear, your hand curling around the glass. 

“Cheers?” You tip your drink towards Ellie. She clinks her own glass against yours and the two of you take your first sips, the bitterness of the alcohol burning its way down your throat. You feel it settle in your stomach, warm and satisfying. 

“So,” you begin, licking jalapeño and lime-tinged tequila from your lips. Ellie’s eyes follow the movement for a moment before she catches herself and looks away. “Where’d you move from?”

Ellie smiles shyly. You watch her index finger trace the rim of her glass. “Texas.”

“Oh?” One of your brows lifts. “And what made you want to move here, Texas?”

“For one, I’m gay.” 

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

She lets out a little laugh, and the sound makes you want to grin - you take a sip of your margarita instead. 

“I just… Couldn’t be there anymore,” she elaborates. “It wasn’t right for me. I needed to start fresh.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, letting Ellie’s words sink in. Clearly, something severe enough had happened to make her want to shed her life in Texas like an old skin. And this lesbian bar, filled with every unique kind of queer this city had to offer, was part of this new version of Ellie - the version she’d chosen to build from the ground up. You’re struck by how brave Ellie must be for that. And yeah, maybe she’d struggled to order a drink for herself, but that didn’t take away from her bravery - not when she’d willfully chosen to uproot her life, a decision most people could never follow through with. 

“I’m impressed,” you say honestly. “And I hope the city gives you what you’re looking for.”

The corners of Ellie’s lips twitch, and that pretty blush fights its way onto her cheeks again. You’re about to say something when you hear the first notes of one of your favorite songs thumping through the speakers, a few other bargoers cheering to express their own excitement. 

“Dance with me,” you say to Ellie, reaching forward with your free hand to grab her forearm. She looks up at you like a deer in headlights.

“I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead. C’mon.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Didn’t you come here to try new things?” You curl your fingers around Ellie’s wrist, and she lets you pull her to her feet. You’ve made a good point, and she doesn’t argue again - just follows you to the dancefloor, where dozens of others are already moving to the beat of the music, hips rolling, heads nodding. The lights pulsate in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, the crowd painted shades of sunset orange, hot pink, deep indigo. You sip your drink and start to dance, turning to face Ellie; she’s gaping at you, unmoving. 

“Come here,” you say, having to shout over the music. Ellie steps closer to you as you move to the rhythm, hips swishing. You’re wearing a pair of flared pants that makes your ass look incredible, and after Ellie finally starts to dance along with you, you turn around to bring your backside closer to her. As if by instinct, Ellie’s arm loops around your waist - she presses her palm into the front of your pelvis, rolls her hips against your ass. You grin, wide and self-satisfied, as you lift your drink to your lips again - only to realize it’s almost gone. You make a mental note to head back to the bar after this song, but for now, you enjoy the last few drops of your margarita, revelling in the feeling of Ellie’s hand, strong on your hip, as she presses ever-closer into you from behind. 

Ellie’s in awe of you. 

The way you’d strolled up beside her at the bar, posture proud, buying Ellie a drink and flirting with her like it was easy, natural. The way you’d let your eyes wander over her figure, not shy at all about the lust in your gaze. The way you’d dragged her to the dancefloor and ground your ass back against her, smelling like lime and tequila and something headier, something distinctly you. 

Now, after two strong drinks and several songs-worth of dancing with you, Ellie’s so turned on she feels like a live wire, sparks erupting from her every nerve. 

On the dancefloor, Ellie had looped her arm around your hips, leaning in so close she could smell the liquor on your breath. You’d needed to fight down every urge to kiss her first - you weren’t even sure if she’d ever kissed another woman before, and you’d already done enough to pull her out of her shell for the night. But Ellie had leaned her forehead against yours, noses brushing, eyes fluttering shut… And your mouths had crashed together in the sort of kiss you’re going to have a very hard time forgetting.

After making out in the crowd like that for god knows how long, you’d invited Ellie back to your apartment. Which brings you to your current predicament: Ellie’s backed up against the front door, your hand under her shirt, fingers dancing over every inch of her deliciously solid abdomen. If Ellie’s inexperienced, she’s doing a fabulous job of pretending she isn’t. But you’re not sure just how innocent she is now, as she moans unabashedly into your mouth, your hand squeezing her tits over her sports bra. 

“Hey,” you breathe, pulling back from the heated kiss you’d been sharing. 

“Mm?” Ellie blinks at you, dazed. You want to ruin her. 

“Is this okay?” You peck at her lips, then her cheek. “We don’t have to… Do anything. Not if you don’t want to.” 

Ellie’s bangs are gorgeously tousled, and she looks at you like a kicked puppy - all round eyes and furrowed brows, worried you’re taking something from her. “But I… I want to.” 

“You sure?” 

Ellie nods. 

“Have you ever been with another woman before?” Your stomach twists at the directness of your own question, but you really want to know. Need to know. A bar hookup might not be the best way for her to pop her cherry - or, at least, her gay cherry. 

Then again, it’s not exactly unheard of in the community.

“Yeah. I have,” Ellie says, her hand reaching out to grab your hip. 

You find yourself wanting to pry, dig deeper for more information, but there’s no real reason for it. She’s not entirely new to this. She wants you. That’s all that really matters, right?

So you take her to your bedroom, let her undress you with shaky, calloused hands, kiss her slow and sweet while she unbuttons her jeans and kicks them aside. You help each other undress until you’re both naked, and then you’re stumbling into bed, your legs straddling Ellie’s hips as you kiss down her neck, stopping to suck pretty purple bruises into the sensitive skin. Ellie makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, sending another white-hot jolt of arousal through you. Your cunt is spread over her pelvis, and you grind down against her like that, letting out a pleased sound of your own.

 “God, you’re so hot,” Ellie mutters, watching you roll your hips as you kiss down to her chest. She reaches for your tits, squeezes them in her palms. 

“Yeah?” You smile, sharp and wolfish, down at Ellie. She looks at you like she can’t believe this is happening - like she can’t believe you’re real. “Gonna let me fuck you, Ellie?”

She moans at the obscenity of the question, nodding quickly. “Yes, god, please fuck me.”

“Mm,” you hum, “need to get you ready first, baby.”

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her hips lifting, seeking friction. You climb down her body until you’re settled between her legs, pulling her knees apart to give yourself access to her center. She’s fucking soaked - you bite your lip at the sight of her, clit swollen and puffy, labia shining with arousal. 

You start with one finger, dipping into the wetness pooled at her entrance and spreading it up to her clit, drawing sharp breaths and staggering moans from Ellie’s kiss-bitten lips. Every sound she makes has you yearning to hear more, more. You slide your middle finger into her clenching hole and groan when you feel her walls open up smoothly around the digit. She pulses around you, hot and slick. When you begin pumping your finger in and out of that tight heat, Ellie’s noises become even more drawn-out, even more frantic - you look up at her and find her eyes already on you, dark with lust, a desperate, pleading expression etched onto her face. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you coo at her, revelling in the way her pussy tightens at your words. 

“I–nngh, fuck–I need…” She trails off, jaw clenching. 

You fake-pout at her, puff out your lower lip in faux sympathy. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Need more,” Ellie pants out.

“I can give you more, sweetheart,” you reassure her, “all you had to do was ask.”

So, you give her more. You slip another finger inside of her, press the heel of your hand against the sensitive nub of her clit; your fingers curl upwards in the warmth of her cunt, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that’ll make her see stars. She whines - actually fucking whines, high-pitched and desperate, as if to say yes, right there.

“Shit, oh my god…” Ellie’s hands are clutching the sheets, knuckles blanched. “‘M so close.”

You don’t let up, and it only takes a few more moments of your careful ministrations before Ellie’s falling apart, a mess of jolting hips, strangled gasps, and a rush of wetness. You watch her come undone, wishing you could committ the sight to memory. After, you lick your fingers clean.

While Ellie’s spent and recovering from the height of her orgasm, you shuffle to the side of the bed to reach for your nightstand. You roll open the drawer, rummage around, and return to Ellie’s side with a tiny bottle of lube and your strap, the harness made of powder pink fabric. The brunette sighs contentedly when you lean over to kiss her, swiping her sweat-damp bangs away from her forehead. 

“You taste so good, did you know that?” You press another kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips, feeling the way they twitch into a smile. 

“I really doubt it,” Ellie says.

You scoff. “Don’t doubt my taste.”

“Mm, okay. Fine. I believe you.”

Fighting your own smile, you move back to sit on your heels, cheeks heating when you notice Ellie’s eyes roaming over your naked body. 

“Need something?” 

Ellie nods, then sits up and pulls you in for another kiss, her hand on the back of your neck. “I want you to really fuck me now.” 

“Oh yeah?” You grin at her, your hands making their way to her tits and smoothing over her pebbled nipples. “Think you should learn some manners, Ellie. How about please?”

Her expression goes soft - eyes rounding, mouth pursing. 

“Please,” she says, and her voice is so sweet, it might rot your teeth. “Please fuck me.”

And who are you to deny her what she needs?

As it turns out, Ellie’s pussy was made to take strap. She’s leaned over, face down in one of your pillows, her ass propped up perfectly to give you access to her cunt. Still soaked from her last orgasm, she hardly needs any lube, the strap pushing into her all the way to the hilt without any resistance; she keens when you’re fully seated inside of her, a sound that makes your own pussy throb with need. Every noise she makes is pure heaven - you wish you could record them all, listen to them when you’re in bed at night with your hand between your thighs. 

“Fuuuuck,” Ellie cries out when you hit that sweet spot with the tip of the strap, her head shifting to lean on one side, allowing you to see the look on her face - the roll of her eyes, the way her lips part to let out each of her gasps and moans. 

“How’s that feel, princess?” You ask as you pound into her from behind; you admire the way her back arches deeper, like she’s encouraging you to fuck into her further and further. 

“S-so good,” Ellie stutters weakly. 

“Yeah? Doing so good for me, baby,” you pant. Every slam of your hips against Ellie’s ass makes her grunt, a pleased little sound, short and needy. 

That tiny grunt turns into an impatient whine when you pull out of her entirely, a lewd, wet noise accompanying the motion. 

“Why’d you stop?” Ellie asks, voice small. She cranes her neck to look back at you and the expression on her face is absolutely pathetic.

You give her ass a playful smack, admiring the way it recoils from the contact of your palm. “Want you to flip over. I need to see you come again, you looked so pretty the first time.” 

She does as instructed - she’s already so good at following directions, you’ve learned. When Ellie’s on her back, her face, neck, and chest tinged red with equal parts arousal and exertion, you lean in and whisper praises to her, lining the strap up to her entrance and pushing into her again. 

“Hold your legs up, sweetheart,” you instruct, pushing her thighs up until they’re folded against her body. She nods, panting, and lifts her hands up to hold her legs in place. You slip deeper into her like this; Ellie goes cross-eyed, lips pursed into a pretty “o” shape as you fuck her senseless. It doesn’t take much longer for her to get close again, and when her legs begin to shake with the effort of holding them up for you, you tell her to relax.

“Play with your clit, hm? I want you to come.” 

Ellie nods. “Y-yeah, I can do that. For you.”

“Just for me?” You grin.

“Mm, just for you.”

Her hand shakes as she brings it between her legs, drawing sloppy circles over her clit with her fingers. You keep fucking her, hips snapping restlessly, every lewd squelch of her cunt making you gush wetter and wetter. But as desperate as you are to come, you’re more focused on Ellie - the way she bites her lip, her entire body tense with her impending orgasm. She warns you before she finally tips over the edge: an endless chant of right there, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, oh my god…

You’re not sure how long you lie there on top of Ellie, still buried inside her, before her breathing finally rights itself again. You spend that time kissing all over her face and running your hands through her auburn hair, untangling a few knotted locks in the process. You’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat, bodies glistening, but neither of you seems to mind. Content to lie there together, you rest until Ellie pulls you in for a kiss - one that turns needy and sloppy not long after. 

“Can I taste you?” Ellie asks between kisses, her lips shiny with saliva. She says it with such hope, like she’s not sure what you’ll say. But you’re still drenched between your legs, inner thighs sticky with it. 

“There’s nothing I want more right now,” you confess. 

So Ellie finds a place between your legs, mouth latching to your clit like it’s muscle memory. You curl a fist into her hair and guide her every move, murmuring instructions, which she follows like the good girl she is. The night continues that way - all whispered pleas and tremoring orgasms, tangled limbs and slick-coated fingers, until the two of you finally doze off, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

And Ellie thinks she’s made a good decision, moving here. Trying something new.

[slutoru1207]

i NEED more viltrumite mark vs modern technology 🙏 like reader tries to teach him more about phones, games, computers, other tech stuff………… PLEASE 🙏

here ya gooo beautiful

Viltrumite Mark vs. Modern Technology

Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

You had just gotten back from another day of saving the world, your mind buzzing with all the things that had happened. You were ready to relax—maybe grab a snack, scroll through some memes, and catch up on a show. But, of course, Markwas already sitting on the couch, his eyes narrowed at the screen of your phone, looking completely lost.

"Uh… hey," you said, trying not to laugh at his confused frown. "You okay there?"

He looked up at you, blinking a few times, clearly frustrated but trying to hide it. "I just don’t get it," he said, his voice low and serious, like this was a matter of great importance. "What is the point of these... 'apps'? Why would anyone use this device for something other than its intended purpose?"

You raised an eyebrow, walking over to sit next to him. Mark was holding your phone like it was some kind of foreign object—completely out of his element. A small part of you found it endearing how this Viltrumite warrior, who could destroy entire cities with a single punch, was utterly flummoxed by something as simple as a smartphone.

"It's not just for 'calling people,' Mark," you explained, pointing at the screen. "Here, let me show you how it works." You swiped through the phone, opening your social media feed. "You can use it to talk to friends, watch videos, play games, or even read news. It’s like a small computer, in your hand."

His brow furrowed further, his eyes scanning the phone like he was trying to decode a complex alien artifact. "So… I can talk to anyone with this thing, no matter where they are?"

"Exactly!" you said with a grin. "See, that's a video call. You can talk and see each other at the same time. It's like magic, but it’s technology."

Mark squinted at the phone in your hand. "I still don’t understand. This tiny thing has more power than the communication systems I used to help the Viltrumites conquer planets… I guess I’ve been living under a rock."

"You’ve been literally living under a rock," you teased. "Come on, let me show you something fun." You handed him the phone, unlocking it. "Let’s play a game."

"A game?" He looked at you like you had just suggested that he solve a galactic puzzle with no instructions. You swiped through the apps until you found a game that was simple but addicting: a puzzle game that involved matching colored blocks.

You handed the phone over to him, and for the next few minutes, Mark's intense focus was on the game. You watched as he tapped away, trying to make sense of the mechanics, his lips muttering to himself.

"This is… harder than I thought," he admitted after a while, his competitive side clearly coming out. "I don’t understand how anyone could be good at this. I’ve fought intergalactic armies, but this... this is a different kind of challenge."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "You’re doing fine, Mark. It’s just about strategy. Just think of it like a mission. You have to plan ahead."

Mark’s eyes glinted with determination. "I can do this," he said with a grin, leaning forward as he swiped the phone with more force. A few minutes later, he finally cleared a level, and his face lit up with victory. "I did it!" he exclaimed, making you giggle at how proud he looked.

You smiled. "See? It’s all about strategy, just like your battles."

Then, you decided it was time for something a bit more advanced. You pulled up your computer and opened a video editing program. "Alright, now this one’s gonna be tricky. It’s how I make some of my videos. I think you’ll find it interesting."

Mark looked at the screen, his eyes narrowing. "That’s a lot of buttons," he said, clearly overwhelmed. "How am I supposed to know what any of this does?"

You sat next to him, taking a deep breath. "Okay, let’s start with something simple. This is your timeline where you can add clips and sound. You can use this tool here to cut and arrange them." You showed him the basic steps, your hands guiding his, even though he didn’t quite get the concept of “editing” yet.

He paused, looking at you. "You create these videos yourself?"

"Yeah," you replied, “I like to make them when I have free time. It’s relaxing, you know?"

"I see..." Mark said quietly, his eyes watching you as you spoke. "It's incredible that you can create something like this with just a computer. I’ve never had to do anything like that before. All I’ve ever known is fighting... saving the world."

You chuckled, nudging him playfully. "Well, you might just be a hero in battle, but you’re definitely a rookie when it comes to this tech stuff." You paused, giving him a warm look. "But it’s okay. I’ll teach you all the cool stuff. Slowly."

Mark blinked, his cheeks flushing a little as he gave you a sheepish smile. "I guess I can’t be the hero in everything, huh?"

You reached over, lightly brushing your fingers against his. "Not if you’re busy being a nerd with me," you teased. "But don’t worry, you’re still my favorite superhero, even if you’re not exactly up to speed with every piece of technology in the world."

Mark chuckled, shaking his head as you both turned back to the screen. Maybe the Viltrumite warrior still had a lot to learn about Earth, but for now, he was happy to learn from you.

[cacoetheswriting]

what can i say after i'm sorry? | chapter four from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 6.3k

summary: The sentence comes out a little more flirty than intended, but then again, you stopped thinking about what you sound like when his hands made home on your waist, under your t-shirt, over the skirt. Eddie’s smile doesn’t falter. His eyes search yours as his digits trace along the denim waistband. He then loops his index fingers in the belt hoops of your garment and pulls you even closer; flush against him.

content warnings: forced proximity, friends to enemies to lovers, slow burn, angsty, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, emotional hurt / comfort, we're entering the realm of fluff, mutual pining, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love, & i'm sorry but chrissy is a bit of a bitch here — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Chrissy’s blue eyes are glistening in the afternoon sun. She’s smiling at Eddie, but the metal-head doesn’t seem to register her presence. He’s standing still as a rock, yet to address her, greet her, anything.

You’re frozen too. Unsure whether to intervene or make yourself scarce, although you’re leaning towards the latter because having a catch-up with the preppy blonde is frankly last on the list of things you’d like to do. Especially since her ex-boyfriend is right here and he’s your… exactly what is Eddie to you now?

Thankfully, Nancy appears. She comes looking for you and the brown-haired boy, reminding the two of you to be ready in twenty for the scheduled evening activities, then she halts when her eyes land on Chrissy. She glances between the three of you and you think how comical the scene in front of her must seem. Comically awkward, that is. Jesus, you think, if only the ground would swallow you whole.

“Wow, Chrissy, hi!” Nancy tries her best to appear cheerful. “We weren’t expecting you.”

The blonde shamelessly takes this as her queue to enter. She slides in past Eddie and gives Nancy a half-hug. She’s still to notice you standing in the corner, or if she already has, she’s yet to point you out. Eddie on the other hand, well, his attention is back solely on you. He looks apologetic. Brown eyes downcast, sad. As if Chrissy’s intrusion is the last thing he needed — and it is, if only he could tell you.

“I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been trying to get a hold of this one—” the blonde points behind her at the metal-head. “— but he’s been dogging my calls. I still had the details of this trip, so I thought I’d catch him here and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Finally, Eddie speaks.

“A little out of your way, no?” He asks, head snapping from you to the blonde.

She playfully rolls her eyes, but you can see her mouth twitch. She’s annoyed that he’s annoyed that she came. Clearly not the welcome she’s been expecting.

“Don’t be silly, Eds.” Chrissy chastises, trying to keep her tone easygoing. “You remember, I have a college meet one city over. That’s why I couldn’t come with you this weekend.”

“You couldn’t come because we broke up, Chris.” Eddie states coolly, hands on his hips. “Hence, you were uninvited.”

She waves him off. “Semantics.”

There’s a beat of silence. The two exes are having some sort of stare down and you think maybe this is a good chance to make your escape. As you take a step however, the floorboard creaks and Chrissy shifts to look where you’re standing.

“Hmm,” she muses, not even a measly hello, “Eds said you were invited. Frankly, I didn’t think you’d show, but here you are.”

“Here I am,” you say, plastering on a blanket smile. “It’s good to see you, Chrissy.”

And because you’re suddenly feeling territorial, not to mention petty, you turn to Eddie. The smile you give him, as opposed to his ex-girlfriend, is genuine. Edging on a tad bit flirty. 

“Find me after, okay?”

In a hushed whisper, Nancy later tells you that the look on Chrissy’s face was priceless. Clearly you missed it because you were too focused on the metal-head himself. The way his brow arched, surprised. The way his mouth parted and the tip of his tongue rested plush on his bottom lip. The way he cleared his throat, perhaps in an attempt to regain some composure.

Up in your bedroom, you exhale a breath you were holding for that entire interaction, then text your parents individually to check in.

Your head is spinning.

From previous light stalking, you knew Eddie and Chrissy were a thing, and you also knew they broke up. The first fact bothered you endlessly. The second selfishly made you quite happy. 

Eddie Munson is the guy. The one who knew how to make you laugh without even trying. The one who you could talk to for hours without getting bored. The one who always looked out for your best interest. The one who picked up the pieces until they shattered him. The one you still care about so much it physically hurts. 

Now he’s here with Chrissy. Even though he doesn’t seem too happy with her presence, the thought of them together under one roof — if only for a few hours — is bothering you endlessly.

Curious to learn more about their relationship, you decide to question the vault of knowledge concerning your friend group: Steve. Once you finish getting ready for the evening, you go to find Mr. Gossip and you do so outside, hanging around by the cars, a little stoned.

“I heard the big commotion, sweetheart.” He greets you, offering you his cigarette. “You alright?”

Bopping your head, you take the dart off him and place it between your lips, inhaling. You then lean against your red Jeep, next to the tall brunette.

“They seem to hate each other,” you point out, exhaling the smoke.

Steve snorts and lights another bum for himself. “Well, they didn’t exactly end on the best of circumstances.” He says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Someone’s feeling nosy,” Harrington teases, nudging your side with his elbow.

“Excuse me for caring,” you defend, taking another puff from the disease stick. “Guess I’ll go back to this morning when I didn’t give a shit about his stupid life.”

Steve laughs and throws an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in closer. Resting your head against his broad frame, you instantly relax. That’s the beauty of Steve Harrington. A walking meditation session.

“As if you never gave a shit,” he calls you out on your bullshit.

He then nuzzles his head closer to yours, until his mouth is at your ear. “You look hot, by the way.” Harrington admits, “And I know that’s not for me or any other guy who’ll look your way tonight.”

“Fuck off, Steve.” You mumble lightheartedly, after blowing out another puff of smoke.

He laughs again while leaning back, although his arm remains around you, hugging. The two of you finish off your retrospective cigarettes in this position, waiting for everyone else to gather outside.

One by one, they appear and walk down the gravel. Jonathan and Nancy are first, with Argyle on their heels. He says something about canoeing and Nancy has to remind him that was this morning, now you’re all supposed to be going to the local carnival ground. Robin is next. She’s wearing an outfit not too dissimilar to yours — an oversized vintage band tee and a denim skirt, though yours is shorter — and she squeals with excitement how this is just like high school.

“Is Eddie coming?” Buckley asks, sticking out a hand in Steve’s direction to bum a smoke. “Heard the hurricane is here.”

“He’s coming,” Nancy answers, then proceeds to look at you before adding, “Chrissy is coming too.”

“Jesus…” Steve groans, gently bumping his head into yours. You can’t help but giggle at his dramatic reaction and think how grateful you are he’s here. Especially now that the unwanted guest has inserted herself further into this group's plans.

A few more minutes pass before Eddie joins. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, palms clammy. He’s got his own stuck in the pockets of his leather jacket. His head hangs low, one would think he’s watching his step but you can instantly tell he’s upset. Steve senses you stiff in his arms and squeezes you reassuringly — just in time for the metal-head to look your way and witness it.

His jaw locks. Upset turns to something different, something darker. You notice the strain on the material of his pockets, as if his fingers turned into fists. Here he is, once again catching you in the arms of his best mate, Steve. Only this time, he can’t give you crap because a few steps behind him is his personal demon, Chrissy. She waves. Jonathan is the only one to wave back, and Robin mutters how the older Byers boy is always so fucking polite. 

“Girly pop over here doesn’t deserve it for making us late.” Robin adds. She’s talking to her shoes, kicking the small stones around, but everyone in her close vicinity can hear.

This makes Steve snicker into the side of your head and you nudge him to stop, having to also bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from having the same reaction.

“Be nice,” Nancy says, shooting Eddie an apologetic glance. 

The metal-head just shrugs and you’re instantly filled with regret. If it wasn’t for Steve’s hold on you, you’d cross the path and take Eddie’s hand in yours because fuck Chrissy and her sudden appearance that’s dampened the mood. Tensions were high, but now they’re plain depressing and you hate to blame one person, except it seems like everyone else is doing the same.

Jonathan is designated driver number one. He calls out Nancy, Eddie, and Chrissy. You’re designated driver number two and the older Byers orders Robin, Steve, and Argyle to jump into your Jeep. 

You share a look with Eddie as he holds the car door open for his ex-girlfriend. Something between longing and regret, or an imperfect mix of both. 

You don’t have to guess what he’s thinking. It’s written all over his face. Sorrow. For his encounter with Billy, for not trying hard enough to tell you, for not trying hard enough to help you through your grief, for pushing you when you weren’t ready to be pushed, for solely blaming you when it came to the breakdown of this friendship, for not trying to contact you when you left, for the last three years, for how he reacted when he saw you yesterday, for Chrissy and not getting to finish your earlier conversation, for everything. The whole thing, visible on his facial features.

The brunette can read you too. The facade of the last few days has fallen. Drowned under that canoe earlier. You’re exactly who he knew back in high school, matured but otherwise unchanged, and he can get inside your head without trying.

What you’re telling him with your eyes, because you couldn’t say it with words earlier, is: forgiven. There’s no blame to be held over Billy’s last night and the fact Eddie didn’t tell you when it happened. Fresh start, that’s what you’re after. You told him so on the canoe and now you’re confirming it with your honest stare.

When the metal-head reluctantly breaks eye contact and slides into Jonathan’s car, you shudder, close to tears. 

Argyle asks if he can light up in your car. Buckley answers for you with an, “Only if you stick your head out the window.”. He does. Steve follows suit and the two of them pass the joint back and forth in the backseat, giggling into the dusking air.

Watching them, through the rear view mirror, you’re reminded of high school with Eddie. Of sitting in the back of his beat up van, essentially hotboxing the thing, always giggling. A smile circles your lips at the memory. You’ve shoved the good times deep down. Afraid to think of him in such a light because of what happened in the end. One hand on the steering wheel, the other creeps up slowly to the chain around your neck and the small red guitar pick. You squeeze your fingers around it and think, now you’re moving forward. Your therapist would be proud.

“She’s such a bitch to him,” Robin breaks the silence.

You drop your hand. Reposition it on the wheel.

“Who?”

“Chrissy,” she says, obviously. “All sweet and charming? That changed sometime after graduation and a little into their relationship. She chastised him for every little thing he did that she didn’t agree with. She mocked his hobbies and sometimes even his dreams, to the point he even left the band—”

“But that band meant everything to him.”

“—She hated how he decided not to go to college, even though she’s the one that shat all over his application. She pushed him into that local radio station job and then envied him for becoming so popular around Hawkins.”

“I didn’t know he worked at WSQK,” you say, although how could you know since you’re the one who cut all contact with the group. You didn’t even know he left Corroded Coffin.

Robin nods. “Yeah. He’s damn good at it too!” She says excitedly, “Does their midnight call-in thing and boy, do people call in. He’s especially popular with middle-aged ladies. That deep sultry voice he puts on, they eat it up.”

You laugh. An image of Eddie getting approached around town by women old enough to be your mom, fawning over him and asking for his autograph like he’s some sort of playmate. Eddie loves attention, so you know he’ll play along. Take a couple of pictures and sign whatever receipt they have on hand. If you were there, you’d egg them on then tease him endlessly about his new-found fanbase. Seems Chrissy was the opposite and it makes your heart ache just a little bit more for the metal-head.

“Why did they break up?” You ask, hoping to not come off as desperate as earlier, when you were fishing for information from Steve.

Robin doesn't seem to care if you are. In fact, she seems as though she’d been waiting to give this information up.

“Well,” she begins, “what Miss Priss hated most of all is Eddie’s inability to get over you.”

You scoff because you don’t believe her. “Oh please, Rob. That’s ludicrous.”

She shrugs in the passenger seat then looks behind at the boys, who are still lost in their own little world, before focusing her attention on you.

“She asked him numerous times to move to Indianapolis with her. Each time, he said no. He’d rather be long distance than miss an opportunity to bump into you; if you ever came back to Hawkins. Then, Nancy decided to plan this getaway - I think she was just sick of seeing him so miserable - and the first thing she told us was her guest list, which of course included you. The next day, Eddie and Chrissy were finished.” Robin explains, “Wild coincidence, if you ask me.”

You open your mouth to refute her reasoning, but you close it just as quickly. There’s no such thing as coincidence, is what you want to tell her, but that only seems to prove her point. So the conversation ends there and moments later, the carnival grounds come into view.

Jonathan’s car in front. You follow him through the parking area and pull the break next to him. Before jumping out, Robin ensures the two boys in the back have rolled closed their retrospective windows. Argyle says, “Yes, mom.”, which makes Steve smirk, then your own laugh follows. Next, the four of you hit the ground in fits of giggles and smirks — while the other four seem downright depressed.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but before I can hop on any rides, I need water.” Steve says, holding onto your arm for support as the joint works its magic. “A lot of it. I’m pretty sure Argyle just tried to poison me.”

“Hey, man!” The other guy drawls. “All consensual, my friend. I have witnesses.”

Robin snorts, sneaking her arm through your free one and you find yourself in a Harrington-Buckley sandwich. No hope of speaking to Eddie alone with these two attached to your hip, but maybe that’s the whole point with Chrissy here. Maybe, considering everything you just learned from your blonde friend, you’re supposed to pass like ships in the night for a couple more hours.

Eddie on the other hand wishes the two of them would fuck off for a moment. Three, if you count his clingy ex-girlfriend. While your ride over seemed to be smooth sailing — he assumes — his was one from hell.

Chrissy wouldn’t stop questioning Nancy and Jonathan about your arrival to the lakehouse. Fishing for information to corroborate what she’s thinking: that Eddie cheated. Emotionally maybe, but never physically. He tried to tell her that on numerous occasions. You two never reconnected over the last three years. Chrissy however, doesn’t seem to buy it. “What kind of loser pines over a girl that blatantly rejected him?”, her words.

She says she’s here because she learned their dog is sick. Her dog. Eddie just walked it a couple of times and suddenly it’s their baby or some shit. The real reason is far more sinister. She’s here to make his life hell by cutting you out of it once and for all. He just hasn’t figured out how exactly she plans on doing that in such a short amount of time, aside from not leaving his side which will make it impossible to catch you alone.

“I could get a drink too,” he announces and of course, Chrissy says the same a split-second later.

“Alright.” Jonathan nods. “The three of us will get some tokens and we can meet by the Ferris Wheel in fifteen.”

Robin leads, arm still linked with yours, while you drag Steve along as he babbles about how nice you smell. Eddie and Chrissy are a few steps behind.

Everything inside of you screams to turn around because you can feel a pair of chocolate-button eyes stuck firmly to your frame, but you don’t, afraid of also catching daggers from a certain blonde.

They take it upon themselves to go and order. Rather Eddie does and Chrissy sticks to him like a leech. Considering this is a place you bring your family, water and soda are the only items on the menu — and it’s a bottle of still for Harrington while you and Robin opt for a Diet Coke.

Soon enough, Chrissy wanders back with your drinks. She says Eddie is paying and lifts her own soft drink to cheer. Politely, you do just that and proceed to bring the plastic cup to your lips. Your movements halt when you sniff the liquid beneath.

“Is there alcohol in this?”

“Why? Do you want there to be?” Her eyes full of mischief.

Before you can answer her, Robin takes the soda from your grasp and takes a sip. You watch her make a face and your suspicions quickly prove correct.

“Chrissy, this is laced with vodka.” Robin exclaims which gets Harrington’s attention, who up until this point was walking around in circles, staring at the darkening sky. He motions for Robin to put the cup to his mouth. Rolling her eyes, she does just that and he spits the dark liquid out just as fast as he sipped it.

“Jesus, Chrissy!” He wipes his mouth. “Are you trying to poison her?”

The blonde’s gaze narrows, albeit momentarily, as she looks between the three of you. The accusation hangs unspoken, although you’re all thinking it and Chrissy knows she’s been caught: especially since Robin tries her own drink next and it turns out to be exactly what she ordered, a Diet Coke. Un-spiked.

To make matters worse, as you continue to stare at her in somewhat of a disbelief, Steve’s slightly sobered up (thanks to his magical water and an appetite for vengeance). He’s raising his voice, trying to get her to admit what she’s done, but she’s adamant that she handed you the drink exactly as it was handed to her. To an outsider, the picture paints itself. A guy shouting at a girl. The crowd begins to point and murmur. You hear someone question, “why are her friends just standing there?”.

“What the fuck is going on?” Eddie slides in between Chrissy and Steve.

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?” Harrington says in an accusatory tone, pointing towards the blonde with his now half-drank bottle of water. “Then again, she won’t tell you the truth, so why don’t you try this drink here and tell me what you think.”

Despite Chrissy saying his name, Eddie does exactly what Harrington’s requested and instantly his eyes snap to you. You, who’s still staring at his ex-girlfriend, unable to move, while Robin rubs your shoulders and repeats for the hundredth time that it’s all fine, you never took a sip so everything is okay.

Anger bubbles inside of the metal-head. He faces Chrissy, fully blocking her from your view, and practically shoves the cup into her grasp, spilling some of the fizzy liquid in the process, all over Chrissy’s white Converse.

“What the fuck, Chris?” Eddie grits through his teeth, “And don’t you dare deny this shit with me. Nancy just told you that she—” He points to you. “—is sober and suddenly there’s a drink in her hand, provided by you.”

“It’s just some harmless fun,” she defends, “You’re all being overly dramatic.”

Eddie’s fingers are at the bridge of his nose. He exhales before dropping his hand and glancing at you from over his shoulder. You blink then meet his gaze and immediately his expression softens. He mouths, ‘are you okay’, to which you nod because what else are you supposed to do? His fucking ex-girlfriend, who appears to be quite psycho when it comes to you, just tried to knowingly end your sobriety streak. This is nuts, even for your standards.

“Why don’t you apologise, so we can go have some actual fun.” Eddie orders, addressing her head on. He then steps aside, although he makes a point by standing closer to you than the blonde.

Chrissy rolls her eyes, but obliges. “I’m sorry.”

And you’re about to say something stupid like, ‘No harm, no foul.’, when a smirk spreads across her otherwise perfect lips and she continues with, “I just remember how much fun you used to be when you drank. At my graduation party, for instance. No one's going to forget that girl.”

“Oh for fuck sake, Chrissy.” Robin’s the one to jump to your defence before the other girl can say any more. 

You don’t stick around to hear the rest. You don’t want to. Hastily, you excuse yourself and before anyone can stop you, you leave them behind in search for Nancy and Jonathan — who appear to be the only sane people in this group.

Although, when you hear that stupid moniker being called out, you stop immediately and turn on your heel. Eddie’s right behind and the way he’s looking at you as he approaches, stopping just as his toes touch yours, might make you burst.

“I’m sorry about her,” he says.

You shake your head. “She’s a grown woman. You shouldn’t have to apologise for her actions.”

“Well, it’s my fault she’s acting this way,” he reasons.

“Eddie, I think we both know that it’s me.” You counter but don’t elaborate because this doesn’t feel like the right time to unpack all of… that. “Robin told me you work at WSQK. Congratulations. Sounds like a fun gig.”

He smiles, seemingly unbothered by the change of topic, and as the light dimples form at the bottom of his cheekbones, you wish you could be the reason he smiles forever — like the good old days.

“It pays the bills,” he says.

“I think you’re being modest. Robin made it sound like half the town’s eligible bachelorettes want to be the next Mrs. Munson.”

This gets him to laugh. The sound is music to your ears and fuel for your beating heart. The organ swells inside your chest and skips a beat or two, but who’s really counting. Definitely not you since, instead, you return his happy expression.

“So, can anyone call into this show of yours or is the requirement to be over the age of forty with a mortgage and three kids?”

“Married or divorced?” He counters.

“Depends how scandalous you’re feeling.” 

The sentence comes out a little more flirty than intended, but then again, you stopped thinking about what you sound like when his hands made home on your waist, under your t-shirt, over the skirt. Eddie’s smile doesn’t falter. His eyes search yours as his digits trace along the denim waistband. He then loops his index fingers in the belt hoops of your garment and pulls you even closer; flush against him.

“Definitely scandalous,” the metal-head replies in a hushed tone.

Seconds pass and neither of you makes any attempt to move. The rest of the carnival fades into nothingness.

“To answer your question,” he continues, “Anyone in the great state of Indiana can call in.”

You smack your lips together, pondering his answer. “I’ll keep that in mind, hot shot.”

He raises a brow. “Hot shot, huh?” Tasting the new nickname on his lips, Eddie lets go of your skirt and therefore, of you. However, you don’t get a chance to miss his touch as he delicately twirls you around and throws one arm over your shoulders. “I think I like that.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as he leads you through the crowd, towards the Ferris Wheel. 

A thought crosses your mind, that perhaps whatever this is, is too soon into rebuilding the foundations of your friendship. You’re all for moving forward, but perhaps step-by-step would be better than jumping in head first. Then again, haven’t you regretted not jumping for the last three years?

“Where’s everyone else?” Jonathan questions as the two of you approach. 

“They’ll catch up,” Eddie says plainly and fishes out a handful of tokens from the older Byers. “See you from up there!” He shouts while walking away, with you still under his arm.

On top of the big wheel, Eddie catches you by further surprise when he retrieves his phone and snaps a picture of the two of you together. He doesn’t comment on it, so you don’t either. Instead, you enjoy the moment.

Afterwards, he leads you to the bumper cars, then the carousel. He holds your hand on the Freefall and the Scrambler. He pulls you through the Haunted House, keeping you close — by your waist, your arm, ring-clad fingers stretched on your lower back. You’re floating. Unable to process exactly what’s happening, but loving it nonetheless. Every damn second.

Soon Eddie’s feeling competitive and decides to try some games. In balloon darts, he wins his first prize: a small pink plushy that kind of looks like a rabbit, but also not really. The two of you laugh at the deformed animal in his grasp, until he gives it to you and it’s no longer funny.

“He belongs to you,” Eddie says simply and suddenly, the little toy holds a lot of weight.

The rest of the night, you spend as a group. You’re sharing a portion of fries with Robin, she’s across from you at the picnic table. Steve’s on your right, Eddie on your left — and you can’t help but chuckle at the irony of this sandwich. A few years ago, you know it would have sent the metal-head into a spiral. Hell, a mere twenty-four hours ago he flipped a lid when he walked in on you hugging Harrington. Now, the rugged brunette’s hand is on your thigh, his leather jacket is draped over your shoulders, and he’s yapping away to Steve (best buds).

On the other end of the table, Jonathan and Nancy are talking about being in the final stages of buying a house. To which Argyle says he’ll take over the lease of their current apartment and Robin jokes he first needs to hold down a job. He throws a rolled up napkin at her head, she catches it with ease and chucks it back at him.

“You’ll have a room,” Nancy addresses you, “If you ever decide to step foot back in Hawkins.”

You smile at her, though your focus is on Eddie’s fingers tightening against your bare thigh. He continues his conversation with Steve, but one ear is perked to what you’re going to say to Nancy’s offer. And the words that slip disappoint him slightly.

“Thanks, Nance. I’ll think about it.”

Even Chrissy is playing nice, though every time you look her way, she’s not too pleased. She probably didn’t think you’d spend the whole evening with her ex-boyfriend, being forced to watch the two of you have the fun she thought she was entitled to. Well, she ruined it for herself, you think, she shouldn’t have spiked your drink.

Later, back at the house, Chrissy exacts her frustration. It’s suddenly too late for her to drive anywhere and she weasels her way into Eddie’s bedroom, not giving him a chance to protest. The metal-head doesn’t have time for anger because his gaze finds yours and his heart sinks. The sadness in your eyes is palpable. You’re doing your best to hide it by offering him a timid smile, clutching the pink plushy in your arms, but he knows better. You’d hoped she’d leave and frankly, he did too.

Eddie was hoping to talk about Nancy’s comment from earlier. He’s a rational man. Obviously he didn’t think you’d suddenly move home. There’s a whole life you’ve built for yourself in Las Vegas. One he wasn’t a part of and even now that the two of you were somewhat back on track, he’s unsure how he fits into that part of you — if at all.

Chrissy’s continuous lingering presence is making the whole thing more excruciating.

“She’s never going to go for you,” the blonde states matter-of-factly. “You’re once again getting your hopes up and she is going to hurt you. That’s what she’s good at.”

Eddie closes his bedroom door and instantly regrets it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Chris.” He grumbles and spins on his heel to look at his ex-girlfriend. 

“I want you to realise that she’s not the girl for you,” she states, approaching him. “I am. I’ve been in your corner since our graduation party, if not longer. I’ve supported you, I’ve loved you. A-and you don’t even have the decency to be honest with me when you break things off.”

“I was honest, Chris.” Eddie replies. “Not my fault you don’t believe me.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes. “Oh give me a break! You’ve never stopped loving her, that’s the part you haven’t been honest about. You just hoped I’d be stupid enough to not care and settle!” She yells, arms thrown to the wind. “And I would have, Eddie. I really, really would have. But then she had to make an appearance and fuck me does she have you by the balls. It’s pathetic.”

Never in his wildest dreams did the metal-head think you’d come back into his life. Sure, he hoped, but daydreaming never got him anywhere. And despite what Chrissy might think, Eddie didn’t end his relationship for you. That would be insane considering you’ve turned him down once before, plus he held this ridiculous grudge…

“So what? I don’t love you like you want to be loved and it’s my fault for ending things? You deserve better than someone like me, Chris.”

She scoffs. “Right.”

A beat of silence passes by.

The staredown evolves from one of animosity to inexplicable sadness. Chrissy’s eyes fill with tears and Eddie hates himself for not realising sooner how much he actually hurt this poor girl. He didn’t think he led her on. Truthfully, he really thought they’d be together forever, or whatever the phrase kids use these days.

Eddie broke up with Chrissy because he realised he’d rather be alone and miserable than with anyone else other than you.

“I hope you find someone worthy, Chris.” Eddie means it.

“I’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

He slowly bops his head and without saying anything else, he slides out of the room.

Guilt bubbles and Chrissy’s words start to haunt him. “She’s never going to go for you.”. Doesn’t matter if the blonde said it out of spite, she still put it out into the universe. Of course he’s not delusional. It’s barely been twenty-four hours, that’s hardly enough to warrant any… feelings. But when you smile at him or cuddle into him like you did all evening, you don’t pull away when he takes your hand or hugs you. There’s familiarity in these actions. Shit, there’s feelings. Logic goes out the window.

He leans one arm on the fridge door and stifles through the contents. The kitchen is dark aside from a light bulb above the cooker. The house is deadly still too. Seems everyone has gone to sleep and that’s what Eddie intends to do after he drowns his anxieties in a couple of beers — might also make the couch more comfortable considering Chrissy has probably already locked his bedroom door.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His fingers tighten around the glass bottle at the sound of your voice and after he straightens, closing the fridge, his eyes catch yours like magnets.

He lifts his beer. “Tea time.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you cross the kitchen towards him, only to stop at the kettle. With a flick, the vessel begins heating up water and you reach for a mug.

“I like tea.”

Eddie can’t help but smile. Even more when you add, “I had a good time tonight.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Me too, angel.”

Dropping a tea bag into your cup, you also drop your gaze and clear your throat. Immediately, the metal-head stiffens in his spot, although neither of you have any reason to be nervous about what happens next.

“We do have to talk about some stuff though.”

And you do. All night. 

High school, Billy, that godforsaken graduation party, to you leaving without a goodbye, finally life that happened in between now and then. Thoughts, feelings, all explained and out on the table. Wounds reopened and poked until dried blood is fresh again. Tears fall. More apologies. Endless forgiveness. Then laughter. So much laughter.

By the time two o’clock in the morning comes around, you’re lighter. Almost… free. You also feel closer to the metal-head in an unexpected way. Sure, the two of you were best friends back in school, but this, right now, seems different. Stronger.

He’s matured. Changed for the wiser and you’re not quite sure what to do with his mind. He’s not the act-don’t-think Eddie you remember. Yes, even he admits there are times his mouth works before his brain can, but that’s just down to his heart doing the deciding. He appears more relaxed, confident. Not the facade he used to present to hide his true self, but actually confident. Kinda hot, you think. Although, that’s one thing that hasn’t changed about the metal-head.

You’re admiring the way his light locks frame his face, adding to the charm of his dotted freckles and timid frown lines. Dimples present themselves when he smiles because he knows you’re watching him from the other end of the sofa, observing, analysing. The shadows created by candlelight only make him more alluring. You don’t feel ashamed for staring. He’s really quite picturesque. Crafted by something of divine nature.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie repeats your earlier question, only with a little more flare. He lifts his head from his phone and meets your wandering eyes.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you smile.

“Thinking about all the ladies who are missing you on the radio tonight, hot shot.” You tease, nudging his calf with the ball of your foot.

He laughs all velvety and fine — music to your ears.

“I’m sure they’ll survive.” He says, hesitantly wrapping his fingers around your painted toes. “Plus, I have a good second-hand man. He’ll keep them entertained.”

You arch a brow.

Eddie elaborates, “Henderson.”

Now, it’s your turn to laugh. You drop your head in a fit of giggles, captivating him in the process. He grows consumed by the melodic sound and the light in your eyes as your perfect smile grows wider. He fixates on the curve of your jawline, and the curve of something else as his gaze wanders downwards. He swallows, pulse increasing. The feel of your bare skin under his grasp isn’t helping.

“Angel?”

Your gaze lands on the brunette once more. “Hot shot?”

There’s a beat of silence. You’re grinning at one another, giddy, like a couple of kids who had too much sugar. Except, Eddie’s also wondering if he should tell you how beautiful you look (since that’s why he called for your attention in the first place), and you’re suddenly thinking that returning to Hawkins — even if only temporary — might not be such a bad idea.

“I had a really good day today. With you.” The metal-head admits.

The smile on your face shifts slightly to something more sweet. You reach for the coffee table. Rather for the mug atop of it, previously filled with tea and now filled with water, and lift the ceramic in his direction.

“Here’s to many more, I hope.” You say earnestly and decide then that since second chances are hard to come by, you’re not about to ruin this one by disappearing from him again. “Maybe even back home.”

Eddie’s gaze widens at your words, but he doesn’t ask exactly what you mean by them because he knows better than to count his blessings — especially when it comes to you.

Instead, he pulls you closer by your ankles while you pathetically contain a squeak. He drapes your legs over his lap and slides one hand under your t-shirt, around your waist, and up your spine. A shiver runs through your entire being. Then again when he removes the cup from your grasp, fingers zapping yours. He sets it aside once again, not breaking eye contact, and riding the high of bravery, Eddie holds your jaw.

“Sounds good to me.” Voice dark, eyes darker.

And throwing caution to the wind, he dips his head forward.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

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[no-144444]

you could do something where the reader is an Alpine driver, and being a woman she gets a lot of criticism about not deserving that position or things like that. It would be something with Paul Aron, who has a little bit of angst and comfort

push it away, it keeps coming back- p.aron

summary: paul notices how differently you'd been acting

pairing: paul aron x alpinedriver! fem! reader

a/n: thank you for requesting :)

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You’d been pushing him away for weeks and he had to get to the bottom of it. No calls, no texts, no talking, nothing. You just showed up to circuits, raced, and disappeared again until the next weekend. Paul was your closest friend (also, the guy who was in love with you), and he knew you. He prided himself in being the person who knew you best. He grew up with you in karting. You were both screwed by the Mercedes driver program. You knew each other. 

So why were you acting like this? 

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He rushed through the garage as he desperately tried to follow you. Mechanic after mechanic getting in his way, but he soldiered on. “Y/n!” he called after you. “Wait up!” 

You didn’t. You didn’t look back. You didn’t acknowledge him. Nothing. 

You turned the corner and walked into your driver’s room, closing the door behind you. Paul didn’t wait to knock, he walked right in, and locked the door behind him, leaning against it. 

“Paul, I’m changin-” you argued. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” he hissed. “I've been trying to get a hold of you for a month, Y/n. Seriously! What the fuck is your problem? You just forgot about me since the season started, is that it? Am I not relevant enough for you anymore?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, turning your back but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to face him, faces just inches apart. “Paul, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“Am I?” he questioned, his voice lower, more dangerous. “Talk to me. I’m here for you,” he gritted out. 

You stared back at him for a second. Not blinking, not moving, just staring. 

“Anything, baby. I’m going crazy without you,” he admitted, and you didn’t miss the nickname. Another moment of silence. “Please,” he begged. 

And you broke. The tears you’d been fighting for weeks all came rushing to the surface. The feelings you’d fought so hard to forget came right back in a painful flash. You dropped your head to his chest, curling into him as you sobbed. 

And he didn’t push you off. He didn’t mind that you were probably ruining his shirt. He just held you tighter, his arms wrapping around you. 

Of course he didn’t. It was Paul. Your sweet, funny, kind, Paul. The kind of guy who never cared what people thought of you, he saw your potential and pushed you every step of the way. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m right here.”

He didn’t demand an answer or a reason. He didn’t tell you to stop crying. He just held you until you calmed down, got you to sit down as he grabbed you some water, then sat next to you, giving you space to tell your story. 

“It’s just… I’m under so much pressure. The car is shit, I’m the first female F1 driver in modern F1, and every little girl is counting on me to score points every race so that I stay in the car and it doesn’t go to Franco,” you hiccuped as he rubbed your back soothingly. “And the media,” your voice broke again. “They’re so mean,” you whispered. “They just… want me to fail. Alpine wants me to fail. Everyone wants me to fail.”

“I don’t,” he said, pulling you closer to him as you started crying. 

“Why?” you cried into his shoulder. “I’ve been pushing you away for weeks! I’m so awful to you-!” 

“You’re not awful,” he cooed. “You’ve been stressed and dealing with it on your own,” he shook his head. “I’d never be mad at you.”

You sniffled. “You should be.”

“I’m not,” he chuckled as you looked up at him again, wiping your tears. “I can’t be. It’s physically impossible.” 

You cracked a soft smile, cringing at him. He smiled brightly, making you laugh. There’s my girl, he thought. “You’re so weird.”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “I just love you.”

“I love you too,” you smiled. “You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”

Yeah. Of course.

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navigation for my blog :)

alpine masterlist

[moonstruckme]

Hi! My inbox is being evil again (it's trying to keep us apart!) and temporarily deleting the exact requests I want to find, so here's a copy+paste of the request I got and thank you so much anon :)

could you do a james x fem!reader where he helps her through a particularly bad panic attack and then just cuddles her and grounds her again? i get them all the time and the thought of the comfort just makes me feel better :,)

cw: modern au, panic attack

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 730 words

James knows it’d be no help to tell you how scared these attacks make him, but they do make him very scared. He imagines it’s not too different from your reasoning right now; he knows, ultimately, that you’ll be alright, but the thought doesn’t provide as much comfort as it should when he’s watching you with your breaths coming quick and short and your nails digging into your own palm like you can hurt yourself worse on the surface that whatever’s doing this to you. 

He starts there. Takes your hand and uncurls your fingers, threading them through his. 

“You’re okay,” he tells you, sitting on the coffee table with his knees touching yours. He shuts the computer on your lap, easing it out of your grip to move it away. “Take a breath, sweetheart.” 

If you can still hear him you show no sign of it. A tear forms in the corner of your eye, falling when you blink. He can feel your heartbeat jumping where the base of his palm rests over your wrist. 

“Can I give you a hug?” 

There, a slight nod. James curls towards you eagerly, if a bit awkwardly, his knees on either side of your thighs and sitting a bit taller than you while he rubs your back. He makes big, sweeping circles, hoping to lull you with the slow pattern. Tears slug down your cheeks in curved lines, his shirt collecting their damp masses. 

“It’ll pass, angel. It always does, yeah? I know it feels like it’s not going to get better, but it will. You’re doing so good. So, so good, my love.” 

Your breath wheezes slightly on the way in, evidence of your diligent efforts, and when it comes out a low, pained sound comes with it. James feels it deep in his throat. He increases his pressure on your back. 

“Is this okay?” he worries, then feels shitty. You’re hardly up for questioning right now. He tries to sound certain. “Focus on my hand, angel. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Take a big breath for me.” 

He feels you try, your little sob when it doesn’t go as deep as either of you want. 

“I can’t—” 

“You can, it’s alright. You’re already doing so much better, see? It’s going away.” 

This one is worse than some of the others James has sat through with you. It seems to take ages for your breathing to slow down, and a while after that until he feels your heart find a somewhat normal rhythm under his palm. 

He knows you’re with him, more present, when you move your legs to give him easier access to you. James adjusts eagerly, giving you a proper hug. Your crying is less stilted now. He never thought he’d be so relieved to hear you sniffle and weep on his shoulder. 

“There you are,” he sighs, holding you tight. “You did it, sweetheart.” 

“James,” you whimper. 

“I know, but you’re okay. Keep breathing nice and deep,” he reminds you, worried another one will start up. “You made it. Now all you have to do is take it easy for a while.” 

“Thank you.” Your voice is a soft, small thing. It encourages James back from you, though only far enough to see your face. One tear hangs from your bottom lashes like a dewdrop from a petal. When he kisses beneath your eye it transfers to his skin. 

“No thanks necessary.” He kisses you on your other cheek, just to make it even. “You did all the hard work yourself.” 

“Still,” you say, a bit wobbly, “thanks.” 

James frowns. He allows himself to stop rubbing that same endless circle on your back, brushes a piece of hair away from your face. “Anytime,” he tells you sincerely. 

The worst of your crying seems over, but the look you give him suggests you might start again. James likes to think of himself as a man unafraid of tears and strong emotions; he’ll let you cry all night if that’s what you need. Still, he’d prefer to avoid it. 

“How do you feel?” he asks quickly. “Do you want some water? We could go for a walk, it might help to be outside.” 

You don’t want to do either of those, but you do consent to another hug. Which, really, is a better outcome than he’d dared to hope for. 

[jinwoosungs]

01/16/25; 08:08pm

vi(olet) x fem.reader | modern au

notes: no joke, i’ve been having dreams of writing for vi, with @shouyuus as my hype woman 😭 so i might as well make my dreams come true.

warnings: unedited; drunk men being men; potentially ooc since i’ve never written for vi before 🙂‍↕️ vi and reader are both in their early twenties.

also, just in case if my more… intrusive thoughts win…

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

what does a girl need to do to get some peace and quiet at her favorite bar? you think to yourself while tending to your rum and coke, feeling those men’s eyes leering at you.

their hushed whispers about how fine your ass looked beneath that dress and how you needed a man like him to show you a good time made a shudder of disgust run down your spine.

your mood already ruined by the tense atmosphere, you down the rest of your drink in a few gulps, smoothing out the skirt of your dress while slamming a few bills down as payment for your lone drink. ignoring the footsteps that linger from behind you, your hands were outreached toward the door when a harsh whistle pierces through your ear.

“now hold on a minute, babygirl. what’s the rush?” the powerful scent of vodka fills your nostrils, making you nearly gag as the asshole seemed to wear the hard liquor as his signature cologne. “the night’s still young, and i’ve been eyeing your ass since the moment you walked in.”

grimy hands grip at your waist, making you face forward as your gaze burned with hatred for the bastard settled before you. his hair was slicked back with copious amounts of gel, as his chapped lips were cracked wide open in a shit-eating grin. “now, you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?”

red hot fury blossoms across your veins as you lift a hand, ready to slap the drunkard when the sensation of your wrist being tugged backwards makes you gasp in response. your eyes go wide, seeing what had to be the fucker’s lackey restrain you. “let go of me!”

“and why should we, princess?” with you now restrained, he leans forward while inhaling your scent, pressing the tip of his nose against your neck as you could feel the bile rising up against your throat.

“she’s not interested.” a low, feminine voice was heard speaking from just a mere few feet away from you. your eyes land on the owner of that voice, seeing an attractive woman with layered, magenta hair and clear blue eyes looking down at her glass of whiskey. you swallow thickly, wondering what she was planning as you tried to pull your arm away from the man’s grip.

“what’s this? ah, i see. maybe you were needing to get some good dick as well.” he removes himself from you, sauntering toward the strangely alluring woman while pulling up his pants, “would you like to ride this as well?”

the woman finishes her whiskey in one swift gulp-

and the next moment she was on him. before he could even lay a hand on her, she had him pinned beneath the sole of her boots. annoyance was seen in her gaze as she brought down a hard punch against his face, busting his lip open as a painful crunching sound was heard, making you wince at the sight.

“boss!”

finally, the asshole relinquished his hold on you, letting you go to help the fallen man only to receive the same type of treatment from your savior. her combat boots met with his abdomen, making him keel over in pain as she tossed him aside and into one of the tables, making him crash unceremoniously into it.

“goddamnit vi! you just wrecked another table!” the bartender scolds the pink haired woman (vi, her name was vi), yet she ignored him. “just put it on my tab, jake!”

ignoring the men and the bartender, vi steps closer to you, giving you a better view of her face. her layered hair fell across her face, and you saw that it had subtle hues of pink from beneath the lighting. full lips were tilted up in a smile, and you felt warmth against your skin upon realizing that she had freckles dotted across her cheeks along with a tattoo that had vi settled just below her eyelid, “you alright sweetie?”

for some reason, when she called you sweetie, it didn’t sound condescending, but rather filled with concern as she knew just how uncomfortable it was for women to be in such a position. after taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you manage to give her smile and nod, “yes, but it was all thanks to you, really.”

vi’s eyes widen momentarily before pressing herself against you, running a hand down the expanse of your legs, “what’s your name?” your breathing hitches at the sensation of her hand traveling down your thighs, yet you manage to tell her the syllables that make up your name.

she repeats it, (as if tasting it on her tongue), before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “would you like to come home with me?”

and who were you to deny such a delectable request?

{ … }

the ride back to vi’s apartment was a blur, yet you could feel the tension. she expertly weaves through the road driving her stick-shift car (looking hot as hell each time she changed gears) with you clinging to her throughout it all.

you were barely aware of how she quickly parked her car in the lot, with you tossing open the door while allowing vi to interlock her fingertips with yours. they felt calloused against yours, and you briefly wondered if she was a mechanic or engineer of some sort, your mind painting you fantasies of vi working beneath a car with grease staining at the palm of her hands.

the sound of a door unlocking breaks you out of your reveries, with vi practically pulling you inside of her apartment before slamming the door shut. she pins you against her now locked door, hands pushing up the skirt of your dress as her eyes darkened at the sight. “you have now idea how pissed i was when those assholes dared to touch you.”

she presses herself against your front, easily picking you up by the back of your thighs before hoisting you up against her. she captures your lips in a searing kiss, forcing your legs to wrap around her waist. you moan against her lips, allowing her tongue to delve inside of your awaiting mouth. you could taste the lingering whiskey along with something slightly sweeter (was it cherries?) against vi’s lips, making you crave her even more.

while vi takes you to what you assumed was her bedroom, you remained tight in a lip lock with her, letting out a soft gasp when you felt your back meet the plushness of her mattress. pulling away from the kiss first, vi looks down at you, tracing at your lips made swollen by her kisses as she smirks in response. a wave of heat was felt shooting throughout your veins as a familiar ache was settled between your legs. you swallow thickly while clamping your knees together in hopes of assuaging the ache-

and your movements did not go unnoticed by vi.

“do you want it, princess?” her once true blue eyes were eclipsed by darkness, evidence of her pure desire for you when you felt her hands slowly gripping at the straps of your dress. with a hum of her name, you slowly wrap your arms around her neck, “of course i want it… i want you, vi.”

that was all the urging vi needed to continue, with her hands swiftly removing your dress as she left you in your undergarments. admiring the pretty lace that covers your breasts and keeps your center hidden, she traces along the fabric in a reverent manner before moving her hand toward your back, “as much as i enjoy seeing you in such pretty lace, these need to come off.”

expert hands remove your bra in one swift motion, making you gasp as vi tosses it to the side. when you were only left in your panties, you felt your throat turn dry as vi crawls down your form, settling herself between your legs as she grips at the underside of your panties with her teeth, sliding it off of your body in a far too sinful manner while allowing the flimsy fabric to hang precariously on your ankle.

with you utterly bare for the powerful woman settled above you, vi admires the sight of your aching cunt for a few moments, dipping a slender finger inside of you as she collects at your honeyed arousal. “you smell so sweet for me, princess. you won’t mind if i have a little taste, right?”

you shake your head, practically begging for her lips on your slick heat as your hands automatically delve themselves into her hair. she presses her full lips against your cunt, pumping a finger in and out of your heat while using her tongue to fully taste you. despite only meeting her a mere few hours ago, she played your body like an instrument, drawing out breathy moans and sighs with each lingering touch. and when you felt her gently pinch at your swollen clit-

you let out a broken sob, back arched against the bed as you spilled yourself into vi’s awaiting mouth. she swallows everything you had to offer with a shudder, letting out a string of curses in the process, “you taste so fucking good, princess.”

with your mind in a pleasured daze, you felt the pinpricks of pleasure still coursing through you even when vi removes herself from between your legs. vi places a hand on your knee, keeping your legs spread open for her as she rummages through her drawer for something.

“hang tight for me, princess.” vi quickly sheds her tank top and shorts while tossing them to the side, stepping out of her combat boots as they fell haphazardly against the hardwood floor of her bedroom. her back was facing you, and that was when you realized the true extent of her gorgeous physique as you admired the muscles that ran down her back. you didn’t know what she was doing until she faces you once more, making your mouth water at the sight of her beautifully sculpted body with a strap-on settled between her legs.

“i’m going to treat you well tonight.” she adds the needed lubrication down the shaft of her strap-on before rejoining you on the bed. anticipation courses through your veins the moment you felt vi tracing the tip of it against your slick folds while teasing your swollen clit with it, “after tonight, i don’t think i’m letting you go anytime soon, princess.”

and when she fully sheathes her toy cock within your soaked walls, you lost all of your senses while eagerly bouncing yourself on her strap-on, not minding the thought of solely belonging to vi one bit.

end notes: i’ve been referencing a little bit of rain’s own fics in this story, and im sorry if it’s bad 😭 if this is awful and no one likes it, then i promise i won’t write for vi anymore !!

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[hurt-comfort-lover]

The Snow White Remake Could Have Been Good

This is pretty much what I would change/what I would've done for the Snow White Remake. If you want to write a fanfiction inspired by this please send the link to me so I can read it and if you could credit that would be appreciated. Please let me know your thoughts on my interpretation <3

Have the prince and Snow white be childhood best friends

Probably like neighboring kingdoms were close and the intentions were that the prince was eventually going to marry snow white when they were adults

I still want Snow White to be shy at first, but as the prince gets to know her he sees how passionate and kind she is and he admires it.

Snow white admires how strong and confident the prince is in himself. It’s sort of a mutual respect kind of thing. 

As they got older Snow white and the prince would spar occasionally for fun, he would always win but he respected the effort she put in. She would show him books that she enjoyed etc. Like I want really cute cut-scenes of them together

I like having the dad, but I want to see more scenes with him and snow white. 

Like him mourning his wife's death, and struggling while still doing his best to care of his daughter would be so fucking cute and sad.

Also seeing him be a good king, prioritizing his people by giving out free food, or building new houses and buildings, Training with the knights, and prioritizing his employees health and wellbeing. 

Would love to see him teaching his daughter to be kind and compassionate to everyone including the servants and knights, etc.

I want a more menacing evil queen. 

I want her to first, actually be pretty, but in a menacing way. Like Ursula in the little mermaid vibes when she pretended to be human.

I would like to actually see the queen kill the king, specifically poison him, assuming she has some sort of experience with that which is why she later tries to poison Snow White. Even if it’s implied and we don’t see him physically die.

I want some banter between the mirror and the evil queen. Like maybe the mirror is sick of being stuck in the same room, and being asked the same stupid questions

Maybe she asks who’s the fairest of them all and he’s like ‘As I’ve said a million times it’s- oh.. It’s not you.’ and he’ll like smirk or hold back laughter.

And yes I said he because the mirror has a man's voice and if he has more of a personality then I will personify him.

When she becomes queen after killing off the king I want to see her doing shitty things. Like stopping the food giveaways to make the castle more extravagant. Hiring an excessive amount of servants that do everything for her. Fancy clothes and money for her private personal hobby (collecting poisons or like dark magical items) 

I want the king to die pretty early compared to where the story starts

I’d say around when Snow White is a pre-teen, doesn’t need to be exact. I prefer for the actual story to start when she’s an adult, or almost an adult so it’s more modern standards but we don’t need an exact age

When the king died the changes were sudden, the queen show’s her true colors immediately, having snow white work as a maid.

Snow White tried arguing with the queen but it resulted in her being locked in the dungeon for days. I want a scene where she crawls out of the dungeon and she looks completely defeated, somehow more pale than usual, bags under her eyes, shaking from hunger and pain. 

The maids from when the king was in charge are very protective of Snow White and still call her princess despite the changes.

Snow White works as a maid, doing her best to take care of her people from the sidelines despite her position. She helps the other servants and knights if they get hurt, and gives the little food she has away if someone is starving. 

Pretty much she’s very close to the other servants and knights. 

When the king died the prince and her lost contact. His family tried to contact Snow White’s kingdom multiple times with no response after hearing of the king's death.

The prince is conflicted because he can imagine the pain Snow White is going through but doesn’t understand why she won’t reach out for help. Why is she ignoring him? 

When the story actually starts it’ll be very similar to the original Snow White movie

The queen finds out Snow White is the fairest of them all despite working as a ‘filthy servant’

She doesn’t want to get her hands dirty again and with her plentiful resources why should she? She hires a huntsman to kill Snow White.

One of the servants overhear and warns Snow White right away, all of the servants help her by giving her a small amount of food and clothes and help her run away to the forest.

Despite getting out of the castle the huntsman still finds her anyway. She stumbles back, trying to scramble away, backed against a tree. 

He stands over her, suddenly drawing his blade and going to strike. His hands shake as he goes for the stab, only to stab the tree beside her instead, only inches away from her face.

He apologizes, saying that he can’t live with the guilt of killing her. He tells her to run away, deep into the forest where the queen can never find her. She forgives him, hugging him gratefully for sparing her life and runs off into the forest.

I don’t want to go too much in depth with her relationship with the animals. It’s not super significant to the plot itself other than maybe like the animals lead her to the Seven Dwarfs cottage. 

When she finds the random cottage deep in the woods she feels grateful but guilty for breaking into someone’s home. But she’s desperate, she needs somewhere to stay before it gets dark.

When she enters the cottage she immediately shudders at the mess, as someone who lived in a very clean castle she was immediately uncomfortable with the mess. 

She gets to work cleaning the ridiculous mess. I guess technically in the original the animals helped which I feel like doesn’t change the story significantly so it’s fine either way

The beds are made, the kitchen is clean, the sink is empty, dishes are put away, floors are swept, laundry is done, and she made soup and bread. (this is basically like the original)

Pretty much the same as the original except for it takes a little longer for the dwarfs to initially accept her, where they were pretty quick in the original. Like they are literally storing a fugitive and risking their lives. The queen is evil and everyone knows it.

Also I want the dwarfs to have separate beds, idk why but that’s important to me. 

I want lots of banter between the dwarfs, each other, and snow white. I want the dwarves to gradually enjoy Snow White’s company, and appreciate what she does.

I also want a bit of lecturing from Snow White about making sure dirty dishes go in the sink, or that dirty clothes need to go in the hamper, not on the floor.

Meanwhile: Over the years the prince and his kingdom (which neighbors Snow White’s kingdom) finds out about the conditions of her kingdom.

He’s conflicted, angry because the conditions of the kingdom are exactly the opposite of what he expected, This is not what her father would have wanted. 

At the same time he’s worried for Snow White because those who have come as a refugee to his kingdom have no idea what happened to Snow White.

Now that he’s officially an adult he decides he’s going to visit Snow White’s kingdom, to confront the queen and Snow White, to see what’s going on.

His parents were against it not wanting to cause a war, but eventually decided to let him go as more and more refugees were coming to their kingdom. Something wasn’t right.

The Evil Queen obviously finds out that Snow White is not dead.

The mirror tells her reluctantly and she orders the huntsman to be thrown in the dungeon for treason. 

The rest is like the original where she decides to do it herself. She goes through her collection finding the odorless and tasteless poison and pours it on the red apple, knowing the red apples are Snow White’s favorite. (Have a previous scene that establishes that)

Uses her magical items that she’s collected to pretend to be an old lady, comes to Snow white (the mirror tells her where Snow White is) and offers her the apple, begging her to buy something because she’s poor and old and you know the drill.

Snow White eats the apple and immediately falls asleep. The Dwarves find her and she looks dead so they are pretty pissed. Chase sequence ensues, but in this version the evil queen gets away.

I want the colors to be slightly duller than before, slightly darker.

I want a scene where they each desperately try to wake her up to no avail, it’s super fucking sad and angsty and I will eat that shit up.

The dwarves are devastated, surrounding her in flowers like the original. I think they would put her in like a wooden coffin without a lid because the glass case just doesn’t fit the vibes I’m going for but again weird unimportant detail.

I can’t figure out a good reason as to why the prince happens to run into the dwarves and dead-ish snow white. 

I guess I could say that he was coming from that direction, and that the dwarves' cottage is near the border, but it feels a bit forced because I need to move the story along so any suggestions would be great.

When the prince sees Snow White laying there lifeless he immediately draws his sword, jumping off of his horse.

He would’ve attacked the dwarves, but it was so obvious that they were depressed, barely acknowledging him. 

I want a million different emotions flashing through the prince's face, the biggest one being guilt. If he had just come sooner- maybe he could’ve saved her.

Might be creepy to the modern viewer but idc, he decides to give her a kiss to wish her bye.  

I want the colors to slowly fade back to be warm and vibrant as snow white’s eyes flutter open. 

Everyone is crying except for Snow White including the prince and so when they suddenly hear her voice, which by the way she is really confused, the tears become of joy and relief instead of sadness. 

As she sits up in the coffin the dwarves jump in excitement and cheer as the prince pulls her into an embrace immediately.

I want a really dorky scene where the prince is awkwardly like Hi and Snow white says hi back with a really sweet smile or something omg I’m kicking my feet that would be so cute.

Ok now for revenge pretty much and Evil Queen suffering

Snow White promises to return to the dwarfs as she and the prince get on his horse. (No it’s not horse abuse Snow White is light due to being malnourished)

Definitely want her clinging to the prince, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Would be so cute if he was a bit flushed ngl

They return to the castle where the queen is raging, she had been mildly hurt when she got chased by the dwarves.

The Prince and Snow White come in, the prince is pissed and threatens the Queen's life, calling her out for trying to kill Snow white. 

The Queen orders the knights to kill Snow White and the prince, she's screeching in anger, and her hair is a mess and she just looks crazy.

The knight look at the Queen and Snow White reluctantly, one takes a step forward, but still hesitates. Snow White calls him out by name, telling him she understands his position, it’s ok. He can’t do it. None of the knights can. One by one they all switch sides, standing behind the Snow White and the prince. 

Queen is even more mad, screaming and trying to use a cursed magical item she carried on her. A ring that could burn anything instantly. She slipped on her finger and tried to use it, before she could she suddenly felt burning on her skin. She desperately tries to take off the ring but is unable to. Or if you want to be child friendly she turns into dust.

I get my Happily Ever After where the Huntsman is freed, Snow White becomes Queen and marries the prince.

 Also the dwarfs get rewarded with an honorable badge for courage, bravery, or kindness something along those lines. 

We get to see the kingdom begin to heal, Snow White getting rid of the extravagant things of the Evil Queen, and giving food to the poor. 

Probably the ending scene would be the wedding of the Prince and Snow White. Maybe like all the dwarfs are the ring bearers except for Dopey who is the flower dwarf or something idk lol. The maids that helped Snow White, the huntsman, and the prince's parents would be there. Lots and lots of fluff. 

[lightning-mcquinn]

I love Tim and Dick’s relationship in canon and I really wish it was explored more in fanfic. But it feels like it gets thrown aside in favor of making Tim and Jason besties, often to the point where fics will villainize Dick and it makes me so sad. This being said, there’s a similar problem with modern comics as well, where Dick and Tim are thrown aside for Dick and Damian. Don’t get me wrong I do love them, I just wish DC could highlight their relationship without forgetting the bond between Dick and Tim. This is a problem I’ve seen a lot with DC. They want to forge a bond between two characters but by doing so they kinda ignore the previous bonds they had. They sorta did the same thing with Jason and Roy.

In my opinion, Dick and Tim have the best relationship of siblings in the batfamily. Tim drops in after Jason’s death. Dick is harboring all this guilt from not really being there a lot. Don’t get me wrong, he tried his hardest, he gave Jason his number, gave him some solid advice, but he was always busy with the Titans. Then Jason died and Dick felt guilty and Tim showed up and Dick wanted to do better for Tim. In a lot of ways, Tim showed Dick what it means to be a big brother. AUGH they’re just so important to me, the way Dick unconditionally supports Tim and the way Tim looks up to Dick is just so MWAH 🤌

[h-sleepingirl]

You Are A Wizard, So Pour Over The Tomes

Hypnosis is magic. It is not just “the closest we can get to magic.” Trance practices in all kinds of forms have served as the basis for mysticism across cultures and human history -- thousands of years. It is not new. It is not western. It did not start with Franz Mesmer or James Braid or Milton Erickson or Wiseguy.

Modern hypnosis stems from a rich human history of fascination and spiritual veneration of the mind’s power. We are practitioners of a comparably new discipline where we can literally change the way that other people experience the world. Their innermost selves are as leverage to us -- putty to us, when we know what we are doing. We can transform others freely. We can give pleasure or pain. We can facilitate experiences that seem to defy reality.

People talk a big game about respecting that power. What they usually mean by that is respecting EACH OTHER. That’s crucial, obviously -- not manipulating, not harming, being a good person.

But what about respecting the discipline itself?

It’s tempting to see what we do as disconnected from the “historical” and “outdated” methods of hypnosis. But we are a part of that history. We are likely hilariously wrong about a lot of things related to trance, hypnosis, the human mind -- what will hypnosis and psychology look like in 100 years? And even as we innovate, we are always building on the techniques and ideas that came before us -- in ways we are often not even aware of. We reinvent; we use ideas from the past unknowingly.

We have a right -- and a responsibility -- to OWN our magic. I am not here to gatekeep and say that this magic is not yours. It IS yours; it’s unequivocally yours. But as a whole we could do more to respect it.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” And hypnosis is not even a technology that we UNDERSTAND. The only real reason we DON’T see ourselves as wizards is because there is a huge motivation to legitimize hypnosis as a scientific discipline -- and non-rationalist perspectives are looked down upon in our culture. I’m not anti-science (maybe a little -- tongue in cheek) but I do think that labeling hypnosis as “just psychology” is dishonest about how much we actually objectively know about it -- and does a disservice to the phenomenon itself.

I’m not saying hypnosis is literally metaphysical. But I am saying we practice something very powerful without knowing its nature. There are secrets we have tried to suss out about this magic through history that we have written down -- past and present. We actually have tomes of knowledge, records of past experiments and modern inventors.

In the last couple of years, I’ve started teaching/facilitating “text studies” -- classes where we sit down with an excerpt from a hypnosis book and parse through it as a collaborative group. I desperately want to show people that there is value in just critically reading the resources available to us. The clinical texts -- especially older ones -- are hard to read, like they are almost in a different language. But it is amazing the insights we have come to by tackling them together.

These old texts are not pure truths -- there is a lot we’ve improved on over time. But we can learn a lot by learning what hypnosis was like historically. The entire discipline of hypnosis is extremely susceptible to change -- it is defined SO MUCH by how we view it culturally. I just recently was amazed at re-reading some Erickson where he talks about making his subjects daydream autonomously -- as a primary mode and result of inducing hypnosis. Contrast that with today, where if someone’s mind wanders for even a moment, they feel like they’ve failed. There’s something really important here -- a technique from 50 years ago that tells us something we’ve lost in modern practice.

And there are countless examples of this, of people losing and reinventing methods over and over. As I’ve watched our kinky niche grow over just the past 13 years, I’ve watched ideas phase in, out, and in again -- there is both growth and regression of our collective body of knowledge. That’s the nature of things, especially when we operate partially disconnected from the resources that are available to us.

We CAN be connected to the rich human history of trying to unravel the secrets about our minds, and about this thing that gives us enormous transformative powers -- powers that we take for granted.

You are a wizard -- so pour over the tomes.

Read a book. Read an article. Set aside some time and view yourself with the respect of being someone who can study and suss out a magical text. Take notes, look up words and concepts you don’t know. Or just absorb what you can on a first pass and go back later. Read a chapter or just master a single page. Romanticize the aesthetic of sitting with the scent of paper, or as the technomancer with words appearing on a screen.

Read. Own this art. And bring that respect of this art to the people you share it with. I promise you can do things with hypnosis that you have never thought possible.

------------------

This is a little motivational piece (for you and me!) as I gear up to teach "Analyzing Erickson" at Charmed. It's something I feel really passionately about, and I wanted to share it.

Permanently linked/free on Patreon.

[cindol]

Hm.. masc!mikasa and her pink gf.

Mikasa Ackerman x black fem reader

tagging: @liuhko @hoesluvshanti

tw: modern au, written in the hc format, fluff, small suggestive-ness, y/n is a lil dumb,

a/n: I’ve had this in my drafts since May yall …. 😭 I just re-wrote it up a bit . srry if it’s a bit short !!

masc!mikasa who’s a total babe magnet to pink fem girls a lot. Her roster and ex’s are mostly just feminine pinky pink girls so it’s a surprise to nobody when she shows her new girlfriend y/n off to her friend group.

masc!mikasa was the yin to her pink hello kitty girlfriend’s yang, they were polar opposites but definitely worked. Y/n could handle mikasa’s calm and collected attitude always speaking for her sometimes at restaurants while mikasa could handle y/n’s excited extrovert personality, knowing just the right way to calm her down and listen to her.

Mikasa loved whenever y/n would coming running to show her new hello kitty charmed nails while mikasa sat on their couch with her legs spread. She gave a warm smile just touching the one hand looking at the new nails and kissing her hand saying a simple,”love them baby.” Her small compliments had a way of just making y/n melt, no matter how small.

Another way she could calm y/n down also is just listening to her and her rants. When y/n was pent up and just angry she’d listen and give her small opinions on it.

masc!mikasa matched y/n’s style perfectly also, she was the masc to y/n’s fem style. While mikasa wore nike socks and slides, tank tops with shorts and her hair tied up occasionally y/n always was wearing some pink mini skirt, a pink cami top or anything hello kitty inspired to match.

masc!mikasa loved to feed into her girlfriends pda especially with the funny cute TikTok’s she’d do with her. Letting y/n give her pink lipstick kisses all on her face and neck while she had her legs spread then the camera turning to y/n with a lipstick tube in her hand applying more lipstick.

masc!mikasa never makes y/n feel that she’s too clingy, even when she comes to mikasa asking. Mikasa just scoffs at what she says.”bullshit, don’t know what idiot made you feel like that but you’re never clingy. You’re just a lover girl baby.” That warms y/n’s heart.

masc!mikasa gets protective when she has y/n around certain men. She knows how some men can be perverted weirdos, especially when it came to sapphic women. She always made sure to watch them when they tried taking a peak under her skirt.

masc!mikasa likes teaching her girl self defense. Mikasa was proud in her ability to protect y/n but what would happen if she was never around? She feared for when y/n got in the hospital somehow or mugged so she was teaching her self defense.

“Cmon baby be serious, what if I was some burglar trying to mug you?” It just made y/n giggle at her girlfriend with a cheap mask on trying to steal the small purse she was holding.”if you were some burglar trying to mug me in a alleyway I’d just kiss ya to let me go baby!” She joked making mikasa just give into her antics and tackle her.

if y/n and masc!mikasa had an argument it wouldn’t last long. Y/n’s a huge crybaby, if mikasa even had a slightly mad tone she would get sad. Mikasa may not show it but she was exactly the same, as soon as y/n seemed hurt by her actions she was immediately trying to cheer her up or show how sorry she is.

masc!mikasa is the one who made y/n realize how toxic her family is in the first place and actually drop them. When y/n vented to her about her mother’s homophobia mikasa just had a sympathetic look.”you don’t deserve that baby, nobody deserves that.” She rubbed a hand on her arm to comfort her more.”if anything, my family will always be here when yours can’t. Levi always considers you family anyways”

[cheswirls]

short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

-

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no.  You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience. 

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!”