#but still weird it's an issue to begin with ya feel

[zonkutonshorrifyingpeenie]

So my headphone cable is slowly turning to stone or something because for some strange reason AudioTechnica used a material that gradually hardens with contact to human skin oils??? Seems like a pretty gross oversight on a thing that costs 300-odd bucks but what do I know

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Yandere Ghost Smut

afab reader ; nsfw

“This house is totally perfect! You’ll love it,” is what your realtor told you when they finally found a house within your budget. You loved the aesthetics of historical homes, so when they discovered an older house that not only was in your price range, but had just minor damages, they called you immediately. 

You moved in within the month. It didn’t take long to settle into your new home. There was a room with shelves meant for books, and you spent most of your free time there, enjoying the books from your collection that could rival a library. Sometimes, you would feel a sudden chill in the air when reading, and grow pensive. It would feel like someone was watching you. But besides that, nothing was out of the ordinary. You just assumed you were too stressed out and growing paranoid as a result. Everything was fine.

Well, it was. Until you started waking up with strange markings on your body. You woke up one day in a cold sweat, waltzing into the bathroom to wash your face off, only to find what looked like hickeys on your neck and upper chest area. Weird. Did you have bugs in the bed? Was it an allergic reaction to the new detergent you bought for the sheets? You had no idea. 

You were never able to solve the issue because the markings disappeared within a few hours, and didn’t come back again. Once more, you shrugged it off and assumed nothing was amiss. 

Yet eventually, things got even stranger. Your panties started disappearing one-by-one, and you were sure you hadn’t misplaced them. Specifically, your already worn undergarments would disappear from the dirty laundry bin before you could wash them. What the fuck?

“I don’t know, Mary,” you call your best friend one afternoon, “I feel like this place is haunted. And what’s even weirder is I keep getting these wet dreams…like every night. I’m not even sexually frustrated so I don’t know why I wake up wet or with markings on myself.”

“Maybe you got a ghost fucking ya?” She jokes around and you both get a laugh out of that. But for some reason, the deepest part of your being can’t dismiss that thought. 

You begin to grow paranoid and start searching for any signs in your house that someone else is living with you. You decide to enter the dusty attic, and find rather antique furniture and a box containing a photo of a man and a woman. He was handsome, albeit a little creepy looking, but what struck you as odd was woman next to him. She looked eerily like you. You brought the photos downstairs to do some research on your computer, but alas, found no information on the man or the woman. The only thing you found out was that there was a fire that had damaged the property all too many years ago. You felt the creepy sensation of being watched again, and called it quits for the night, opting to get some much needed rest.

That night, you saw him.

————————————————————

It’s midnight when he appears in your room, watching your beautiful self slumber. You were so perfect, all those years ago when you left him, and even now. He loves the way the sheets drape your body, but slowly peels them off to reveal that you’re in nothing but a bra and panties. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your skin as your eyebrows furrow cutely in your sleep. 

His angel must be having a nightmare, but he can take care of that. Gently, he trails his cold fingers over your curves. He admires your beauty, so happy to see you once more. He can’t wait another minute.

While you’re still on your side, he unclasps your bra, relishing the way your tits fall free without the support. They look so beautiful and perfect, he can’t even begin to describe how enchanted you make him feel. 

You roll onto your back. He slides your underwear to the side, revealing your pretty cunt to his ghostly eyes. With a delicate touch, he rubs your clit in small circles, playing with you. 

You gasp at the touch and he smirks. Your shuffling does little to deter him from his objective.

He’s on the bed with you, intently staring at your lower half. He admires your folds and moves them open and closed with his fingers, revealing a leaking hole that was your wetness. With a gulp, he slides your underwear off you, wadding it into a ball, burying his face into it as he takes a whiff of your scent. He’d be tasting the real thing soon enough. Once satisfied, he pockets your undies for safe keeping. He tilts his head down to your lower body, shifting into a more comfortable position. With a breath of anticipation, he slithers his cold tongue over your vagina, moaning slightly at the sensation. 

He’s been doing this every night he could manifest, and it never got tiring.

This time, and he doesn’t know why, you wake up, staring down at the mysterious man in terror as he laps you up like a man thirsting in the desert. You mean to run but you can’t move. You feel something cold and wet tying your body to the bed. You try to close your legs from your violator, but his icu hands grip firmly on your thighs, keeping them wide open for him to shove his face between. 

Under the moonlight, the two of you make eye contact but he doesn’t stop, instead opting to send you a wicked smile. “Good morning, love,” he says gently from beneath you. “I missed you so, so much. You know that?”

You’re in a state of shock, words screaming in your head but not quite reaching your vocal chords. The only sound you can make is a whimper as he shoves his tongue further into you, his nose rubbing you causing further pleasurable friction. He sucks, licks, and rolls your clit with his tongue. 

Suddenly, he slides a cold finger into your hole and you gasp, arching your back only to be stuck back down again. “Don’t move, pretty thing,” he scolds you. 

“F-fuck,” you finally manage to whisper, heart racing, “Who are you?”

“Someone who’s been watching you for a very, very long time.” He’s stopped licking you, instead moving to pump another finger into your pretty cunt, thrusting in and out at a moderate pace. His eyes show so much love, desperation, and lust in them that you have no idea what to do or where to go. Then it clicks. The man from the photo. That’s who he was. How could that be possible? Was he an actual ghost?

“I’ve been so lonely without you, princess. When you left me to burn, do you know how heartbroken I was? But now you’re back, and we can finally be together again. I’m not letting you leave me another time.”

He now has three fingers inside of you, picking up the pace. The lewd sound of slick fingers sliding in and out of your cunt drives him wild. His face is back between your thighs again, lapping you up and suckling on you until you’re visibly shaking. 

“Aw, sweet girl. Gonna cum?”

You don’t want to, but you feel something hot and heavy coming.

“Shit. Cum in my mouth, sweetheart. Wanna taste everything you got.” He latches back onto you. 

Your stomach drops and you let go, mind very distressed but body obviously in heaven. Your pussy spazzes out on him and he moans as he licks up the mess you leave behind. With a wipe of his mouth he grins, eying you like a rare prize he had just one at the fair.

He grabs onto you, embracing you in a hug you can’t run away from. Seriously, why can’t you move? He notices your struggles and laughs, snuggling into your chest. 

“Ah ah ah, no running away, love. I’ve waited so long for you. You’re not going anywhere.”

He flips you to where you’re face down, ass up. Your vagina is dripping, juices sliding down your thigh. He licks his lips before biting his lower one, admiring the roundness of your ass and your now puffy and pink pussy. 

“Oh, love. You got no idea what you do to me…”

You feel something cold and hard tap the entrance of your walls, and you freeze. Oh god, was he going to fuck you? His hands are on the sides of your ass, but you feel another set of cold hands grabbing your arms, and even another pulling at your tits. You whimper at the overstimulation.

“Enjoy the hands. They’re all me.”

Before you can reply, he’s sliding his dick through your entrance. Your pussy quivers at the sensation and he laughs. “Did you just come from that, love?”

Once you take all of him, he leans forward to whisper in your ear. “I want to hear you moan, sweetheart. Go on, make some noise for me.”

As he’s taking you from behind, a hand shoves its fingers into your mouth, and you gag on it. The sets of hands on your breasts are now fondling them, pinching and squeezing. You’ve never felt so much at once before, and you eventually yield to the pleasure, moaning as he thrusts into you.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take it all. You’re fucking mine,” He snarls, and you whine at how hard he’s pounding into you, ferocity now evident in his demeanor. 

You slurp and suck on the fingers, only for it to pop out of your mouth and slide into your ass instead. You cry out at the sensation. A hand is sliding circles around your clit as he fucks you, sending waves of pleasure over your body you’ve never known before. 

“Too much!” You cry, sobbing with pleasure.

He gives you a kiss on the neck. “Almost done, love. Just keep taking it, okay? You’re doing so good for me. God, you’re fucking perfect.” His thrusts became sporadic, and you know he’s close. 

In the end, you come once more, and you feel he does too. When he pulls out, you collapse on the bed, blacking out. Morning eventually comes, and you feel someone is holding you from behind. A set of hands grope your body as you wake up. 

“Morning, love. Ready for round two?”

[leafnyx]

Whumptober Day 1: Race Against the Clock - Poolverine

Word count - 1.4k

Warnings: Major character death, needles, experimentation

Setting: Post-movie

A/n: This is my first time writing Wade and Logan, sorry if I made any mistakes!!

(Based on ‘the bucket list’ by mikaminato on A03)

It’s been a few months since Wade saved his universe and brought back with him Logan, aka the BEST Wolverine. A title that might not be accepted by most, but Wade knows is true.

Logan has settled shockingly well into the universe. He lives with Wade and Blind Al, which is a name Logan still thinks is weird, and he has taken to sleeping on the couch since he doesn’t want to share a bed with two people.

Wade has gotten back into the whole merc thing, since after falling onto a car with Logan he thinks he’s been permanently banned from the dealership. Logan joins him on some missions, but he also does some alone, like the one he’s currently doing.

Wade is walking through a wing of what looks like a normal hospital to people on the outside, but is actually an undercover mutant-making organization.

There have been a few popping up recently in the area around where Wade lives, but he’s denied every job, since he doesn’t think he could deal with going back to one of these torture facilities, that is until now. They’ve been running low on money recently, and rent is coming up soon, so he had no other choice.

Suddenly, a group of people enter from a room infront of Wade, attacking him.

“Oh hey! I was wondering when someone was gonna appear, ya know it’s boring reading a fanfic without some action. The issue is that the author isn’t very good at action.” Wade rambles on as he takes down the guards one by one.

He doesn’t notice when one final person comes out of a room behind him. They run towards him, stabbing Wade in the shoulder with some sort of needle. Wade quickly turns around and screwers them.

He pulls the needle out, throwing it to the side carelessly. After a few seconds he lets out a cough, then another. He begins to feel weaker, swaying slightly as he slows down his walk.

“… shit” He says, in a slightly worried tone that he never uses.

He pulls off a glove and looks down at his suddenly non-scarred hand. He quickly pulls off his mask aswell and runs a hand through the hair that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He repeatedly curses, “Fuck *cough*” He bursts into a coughing fit, calming down, and taking a few deep breaths once he’s done.

“Well where the hell was that cure during the first movie” He huffs out, in a sulky tone.

Wade continues walking through the lab, albeit way slower now, and he finds nothing else. There’s no more guards, nor patients.

He’s decidedly had enough of this job and begins to make his way back home.

Once he’s reached his house, he barges in like usual, announcing his return, but there’s no reply.

He lets out a relieved sigh, realizing that there’s no one else home, followed by a few coughs.

Wade makes his way to his room and changes out of his suit, putting on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, but he doesn’t take off his mask like he usually would.

He lays down on his bed and wallows in his misery, because there’s not much else that he can do at this point. He’s in his final stages of life, he can’t prolong it, and if he’s being honest he doesn’t really want to. He wants everything to end, the thought of it seems kind of peaceful.

After a few minutes he hears the front door opening and heavy footsteps enter, Logan.

The bedroom door opens and Marypuppins rushes in and jumps onto Wade.

“Oh my baby! And you said that you didn’t want her, now look at you, taking her out on walks and everything, like a good dad.”

Logan grunts and sits down on the bed before looking over at Wade.

“Why the hell do you still have that thing on, take it off” He looks at the mask still on Wades face.

“I don’t wanna, my body my choice peanut”

Logan rolls his eyes and reaches over to take the mask off of Wade, who tries to fight back and push Logan’s arm away, to no avail. Logan notices that Wade seems weaker than before but doesn’t have much time to think about it before he pulls the mask off and sees Wades face.

“What the fuck..” He says, as Wade looks at him, giving him an awkward smile.

“Surprise..? I’m not a walking ballsack anymore.” Wade says, obviously trying to joke but his tone doesn’t convey that.

Logan takes a moment to look over Wades face, finding it fairly attractive before his brain begins to properly work.

“How the fuck did this happen”

“Well, ya know that job I got, to check out that mutant facility. Some guy stabbed me with a needle that took away my abilities… so basically he made me hot again!” Wade tries to joke his way out of the seriousness of the situation.

“… it took away your healing” Logan says, his voice going lower than usual.

“Yeah… but think about it this way sweet cheeks, now you have a not-so-ugly roommate!” Wade promptly begins to cough loudly and violently again.

“Jesus fuck” Logan curses out, staring at Wade with a hopeless look on his face.

“Awh come on baby girl, don’t look so sad, you’re making me sad!”

“Wade you’re fucking dying…”

“Well.. yeah…” Wade attempts to find a joke or something to brighten the mood, but nothing comes to mind.

Everything goes quiet for a few moments before Logan quickly gets up, putting his jacket on, and begins to rush out of the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” Wade calls out.

“I’m gonna get your healing factor back” Logan calls out before running out of the front door, slamming the door shut.

Logan spends the next few days looking for the serum that Wade was previously injected with, hoping that if he injects him with it again, it’ll allow him to regain his healing factor.

While Logan is traveling around their world, looking for a fix to Wade dying, Wade is spending his days lying in bed, moping. His condition is very quickly deteriorating and there’s nothing that anyone can do about it.

Wades refused to get checked into a hospital, because he would rather die in his own house than in a random hospital room.

He’s spent most of his days out of it, barely realizing what’s happening around him. Most of the time Al is with him, but sometimes other people come to visit, Vanessa, Dophinder, Colossus, Negasonic and Yukio. Wades grateful that he actually has friends that care about the fact that he’s dying, but half of the time he doesn’t ever realize they’re there.

Overall he feels like shit, which is probably how you’re supposed to feel when you’re dying.

Logan continues to look for the injection, which is harder to find now since in the last few months there have been more efforts to get rid of them aswell as the facilities they’re used in. Finally, after what feels like forever but has only been around a week, Logan finds one.

One singular injection, in an abandoned building.

He then begins rushing back home, hoping that he isn’t too late.

Logan barges into the living room a day later.

“Holy fuck!” Al calls out from her spot on the couch, hearing the loud crash of the door.

“It’s me” Logan replies, rushing into the room to see Wade, who looks to be in his final moments of life.

“Logan..?” Wade calls out weakly, his usual joking tone completely gone.

“It’s me bub, I got it, I’m gonna give you your healing factor back.” Logan rushes towards Wade, ready to stick the needle in him before pausing to a second as Wade tries to sit up on the bed.

“I think I’m scared of dying..” Wade croaks out.

“Well you don’t have to die” Logan replies.

“Wait.. just give me a second..” Wade says, leaning onto Logan and closing his eyes for a moment. Logan gives him a few seconds, letting Wade relax.

“Wade” He says, quietly. But there’s no reply, not even a shift of Wade’s body.

“Wade?” Logan calls out, a bit louder. He then begins to panic, shoving the needle into Wades arm and injecting the serum into him.

After a few seconds, Logan checks Wades pulse. There’s nothing. He was too late.

[flower-boi16]

Top 5 Best & Worst Characters in Hellaverse

So, for the most part, Hellaverse has pretty meh to bad characters. Buuuuut, there are a few decent/good ones, so, just for fun, let's go over the top 5 best AND worst characters in Hellaverse (in my opinion).

5. (Worst) Stella

So Stella. Stella, Stella, Stella...you had so much potential to be interesting...but you just...aren't. Just for the record I don't think making Stella abusive is a retcon since it doesn't contradict any of her past behavior in season 1 minus like...one background painting.

That's not really my problem with Stella being abusive. My problem is that it makes her boring and the show does that as a way to woobify Stolas. Really not much to say, she's just...boring.

5. (Best) Octavia

It's pretty funny how Octavia is pretty much the most beloved character in the critical community. She's both decently likable and is a bit interesting when you look at her, as she's a girl who was negatively affected by her fathers' actions and is dealing with the negative changes that have happened to her due to her parents always arguing...

...also her father is Stolas so she is therefore the most sympathetic character by default. Really, there aren't that many good characters in either Hazbin or Helluva, and Octavia isn't an amazing character, she only appears in like, two episodes, but she's still fine by herself and is one of Viv's better characters.

4. (Worst) Charlie

I already made a full post about the issues with my problems with Charlie as a character so I won't once again go very deeply here. You're probably wondering why Charlie is even here to begin with since I stated that I don't exactly hate her.

...well, just because I don't hate a character doesn't really mean I like that character. A majority of Hazbin's characters have similar problems of not being that developed at all and the development they do have often feels rushed. The reason why I put Charlie as the 4th worst character in Hellaverse is because, well, out of every character in Hazbin's main cast...Charlie is just kind of the one with the biggest issues.

Again, I already talked about my issues with Charlie in my post about her but just to recap; Charlie suffers from being heavily underdeveloped, she isn't a very compelling protagonist and has 0 growth throughout the show. She learns absolutely nothing. Her mentality is never once challenged by the narrative and she is always portrayed as right and anyone who disagrees with her is automatically wrong, and she also feels heavily overshadowed by the rest of the cast despite being the main character.

Charlie is also not the best person at times like some people have pointed out (she KNOWS THAT ANGEL IS BEING ABUSED and she chooses not to do anything about it. Wow, what a great friend), and overall she kinda sucks as a protagonist.

4. (Best) Lucifer

I've seen Lucifer gain a lot of flak from people with them calling him a bad person and it's not entirely unjustified. I can definitely understand why it may be hard to sympathize with the guy who literally greenlit annual genocides of his own people because he thought that they deserved death.

Not to mention him calling Charlie a "failure" in the pilot which is just...never addressed here. Also it's fairly weird that despite Lucifer being the sin of pride...he isn't really prideful of anything...? So ya, there a few issues with Lucifer as a character.

In spite of that though, I don't think that Lucifer is a particularly bad character. If anything, he's actually one of the more well-developed of the main cast and he has an arc that's decently compelling...?

He initially started out as a dreamer, someone with many creative and imaginative ideas for Heaven, but his ideas were always rejected and he was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven.

After he was cast down to Hell as punishment for accidentally letting evil seep into the world, he lost his will to dream and fell into depression, having a heavily cynical view of Heaven and Hell due to his past experiences. He closes himself off and doesn't stay in contact with his loved ones, mainly his daughter due to his depression. He tries convincing Charlie into his cynical views because he doesn't want his own daughter to face the same crushing rejection he faced.

However, he reconnects with his daughter and brings back a spark in him that was lost long ago, and he promises to support Charlie and her dreams, despite his depression not immediately disappearing.

Admittedly that part is pretty rushed, like Charlie just says "but dad...mah people!!!!" and he's just like "ok". Again, it's not perfect and has some small issues, but compared to most of Hazbin and Helluva's other characters, Lucifer's arc is far more well-developed and is interesting in it's own right. If anything, Lucifer thinking that his people deserve death simply shows his cynical mindset that he's had for years, and Charlie's able to bring back that dreamer that was crushed long ago.

So ya. Lucifer is not amazing, but I like him. He's neat.

3. (Worst) Chaz

Chaz sucks. Chaz is a character that only exists just to make a bunch of unfunny sex jokes and nothing else. He is completely one-dimensional and is nothing more than a walking sex joke. And his "jokes" aren't even remotely funny.

I really don't have much to even say about Chaz. He's just THAT one-note.

3. (Best) Velvvette

I've talked about my thoughts on Velvvette before so I won't go too in depth here again. Buuut needless to say I think she's probably my favorite character in hellaverse. She's one of the few antagonists Viv's made that's actually entertaining and fun to watch, with a well-developed and charismatic personality that's not just "asshole who swears a lot". She isn't the best character in hellaverse though, but she has far more depth as a character compared to most of the other antagonists.

2. (Worst) Adam

I've spoken about my thoughts on Adam before multiple times so at this point I don't know if I have anything left to say about him. Adam is a boring, one-dimensional character with very little depth or personality as a character. He only exists just to be a pure straw character so he can be proven wrong by Charlie.

He can't have any real depth as a character because he only exists just to be torn down by the story. Again, already talked about that in a previous post so I won't go too in-depth here, but needless to say...ya, Adam still sucks.

2. (Best) Alastor

Like Lucifer, I've seen Alastor gain a heavy amount of criticism but personally, like Lucifer, I think Alastor is one of the better characters in the main cast. The has a sense of mystery and intrigue to him that makes him pretty interesting as a character. You're left wondering what his whole deal is & what he's planning.

That combined with Alastor's charisma makes him an entertaining antagonist for the show. He's one of the few characters that I'm interested in to see what they do with in the next season. So ya, I like Alastor...

Now time to get to a character that makes me want to punch myself in the face.

1. (Worst) Stolas

.....Honeslty what can even be said about Stolas that hasn't already been said? I've made so many posts complaining about this stupid owl and you already know my opinion of him at this point. If you really want to know every single critique of Stolas I have, read every post I've made that's tagged "anti stolas". But...I'll just say this.

Stolas could have been a good character. Hell, he could have been the show's BEST character. He had all the potential to be super interesting and compelling character with a great arc...but instead, Viv decided to completely retcon everything season 1 established in order to try and make Stolas an UwU soft boy the show REALLY wants us to sympathize for, in spite of Stolas being a bad person.

I'm sorry if I can't sympathize with the guy who SA's an lower class imp for his own pleasure and frequently neglects his own daughter and pays more attention to st. imp. And, as an artificial way to make Stolas sympathetic, the narrative has to wipe away any actual flaws he has and demonize any character that even remotely gets upset at his actions (which I talk about here), because god forbid we hold Stolas accountable for ANYTHING right? We have to coddle and absolve him of ALL his mistakes despite his flaws being what made him interesting in the first place.

Stolas NEVER grows or develops as a character because of this and so he has basically no character arc. Not only is he a poorly written mess of a character...he's also just BORING now. There's nothing interesting about him anymore, he's just an UwU sad sack. He had so much potential to be interesting but that potential was completely wasted in favor of this bullshit.

And THAT's what makes Stolas SO FRUSTRATING. Really, he pretty much represents HB, and, to an extent, all of Hellaverse as a whole; it started out good with a lot of interesting ideas and potential but through bad writing, all of that potential got squandered and now we're just left with a completely disappointing mess.

Stolas is the worst character in the show because he's the only one who legitimately FRUSTERATES me. He's my least favorite character in all of fiction and a complete mess.

1. (Best) Sera

I already talked about Sera before in a previous post so I won’t go too in depth here, but Sera is one of hellaverse’ better antagonists for having more depth and nuance as a character. She’s the head seraphim of Heaven and greenlit exterminations in order to protect Heaven….and Emily.

In spite of that though, she clearly doesn’t want to do this and is only doing it because she wanted to try and protect her people, and Emily, who she clearly cares deeply for as her older sister. She’s a lot more compelling as a character that most of hellaverse’ antagonists, not being good or evil but rather morally grey, having nuances to her as a character.

To me, Sera is the best character in all of Hellaverse because she's the one with the most nuance and depth compared to 90% of Viv's other characters, especially her antagonists. She actually has REAL DEPTH and complexities to her that make her a lot more interesting compared to most of Viv's characters. Hell, most of the characters in the best list are put there BECAUSE they are just more developed than most of the other characters (which just shows how bad Viv is at character writing)

Like Alastor, she's one of the few characters that I am interested in seeing what they do next with season 2, as she is likely going to get a redemption there. Well just have to see. But for now, Sera is the best character in all of Hellaverse.

So...ya...that was my top 5 best and worst characters in Hellaverse...

....bye.

[hey-must-be-a-devilbetween-us]

okay so I've been just been thinking about Aziraphale and insecurities and the general census I've gotten from this webbed-site 'that he would never shut up that's stupid.' (in a non serious way lol)

Hear me out though, Aziraphale could change his corporeal form to whatever he liked but I think that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't feel self conscious sometimes.

He was issued this body from the beginning like a tool or a weapon and it has been effected noticeably by hedonism and enjoying earthly pleasures, so to other angels this is weird.

like even Gabriel commented and mocked him for being chubby in s1.

so! in general i think he really likes the idea of presenting himself being a cute round sweet little pooh bear (while in reality being a fucking killing machine, an absolute badass) which separates himself from the other angels, in a perceivably subtle way he likes to look different from them, not so severe, kind and approachable and comfy, like an old couch instead of a metal chair, but hes still obviously an angel.

but sometimes i think it wouldn't be too crazy for him to wonder if the way his body is now is something Crowley could ever find attractive (sexually or otherwise), and that's really the only place where the insecurity would stem from ya know?

(plot twist: every person Crowley's ever looked at twice is only because they looked like Aziraphale, but I'm sure you knew that.)

BUT i think the idea of changing himself to be something he thought Crowley would like would be so embarrassing and would seem wholly pathetic to him right?

and it would make him sad to think that Crowley is that shallow and really this is him, the curves and the marks and ruddy face and chubby thighs and round belly are all proof of how thoroughly he's enjoyed his time on earth, feasting and relaxing and reading.

and its ironic because all of those things have been facilitated by Crowley in some form or another because he likes to tend to him.

Anthony acts of service Crowley, i would go so far as to say that the physical evidence of Aziraphales pleasure and decadence and enjoyment are super gratifying, and obviously he thinks Aziraphale is as cute as a button (and if I'm being gross on main, imo Crowley thinks Aziraphales plump curvy loveliness is red burning hot, v relatable.)

so Aziraphale could change himself into something he might think Crowley would like, but god wouldn't that just be humiliatingly vulnerable, it would be admitting too much and really he wants Crowley to want him the way that he is, it wouldn't feel good otherwise.

I'm not saying he loathes his body, otherwise he would change it of course, (and he shouldn't he's lovely) I just think his feelings on the subject are probably pretty nuanced, two or more feelings can exist at once, ya feel me?

hahaha but yeah baby you're ALREADY THERE, peak form.

[riddle-me-ri]

prompt: arkham knight penguin and a f!reader's relationship is already on thin ice when things finally come to an explosive end. Can Oswald mend the relationship or was it always doomed to end this way?

a/n: phew!! finally after a weird anxious busy hectic couple of weeks I finally finished my other commission! It was interesting to get a commission for one of the pengys this time around! As always thanks so much again to the anonymous user that commissioned me and to anyone that commissions me. I'm still wrapping my head around the idea of people genuinely paying me to write about my favorite characters, it's so mind-boggling to me lol

Content Warning: angst, relationship conflict (arguing, fighting, break up/makeup), and strong language. 

Word Count: 4k

Arkham Knight Penguin x F!Reader - Come Back to Me

Oswald had his hands caged around his head as he leaned his elbows against his desk. 

A corded phone was rendered cordless along with its receiver after being beaten and thrown across the room. 

The fire burning on the end of his cigar was nothing compared to the fiery rage consuming his entire body. 

Before the phone was put out of commission. The last bit he heard was his men getting their asses beat and the undeniable sound of an explosion. 

There goes another fucking weapons cache. All thanks to the bloody Dark Knight and his lackey Nightwing–

Oswald’s grip tightened on his bald scalp. His teeth almost biting the nicotine stick in two in agitation. 

Sooner or later the old Dynamic Duo will be coming straight for him. 

Oswald began mapping out a game plan. Secure the last of the caches, finalize the two ongoing deals and begin making tracks to different locations for the remaining caches…

~

All the while, you were making your way to his office. 

As you walked down the long hallway, you tried to stay the course and not turn around. 

You’ve been working up the courage to go see Oswald, constantly conflicting with yourself to just leave him be or make something…anything happen. 

To say you have felt neglected lately was an understatement. 

Many date nights were canceled, phone calls gone ignored, dinners you made went cold…

You knew he was a busy man…and you knew what he did for a living is dangerous.

You stopped just a few feet before his office door. 

Maybe you were just being selfish and dramatic. You have heard rumors of Oswald’s weapons business being under attack by Batman. 

Batman, Batman, Batman…you groaned in frustration. Batman was always an issue. 

Sometimes it seemed Oswald paid more attention to him than you. 

Granted, Batman was a threat to your partner’s business and Oswald was more than likely just as annoyed with Batman as you are. Still if you could just get a fraction of that attention from Oswald. 

You sighed. No, you deserved better than this. 

You shouldn’t be waiting for weeks, almost months for someone you loved but they haven’t shown a fraction of that love in return. To put in all this effort and be ignored. 

You weren’t asking for much, just for him to be there! Call you back, come see you, or at least tell you that he loved you.

You shuddered when you realized you could not remember the last time he told you that he loved you. 

You instantly shook your head. Adamant to get the depressing thought out of your head. You were not going to cry when you confronted him. 

You were going to make one more effort. Ask him to come back to the penthouse for dinner, another dinner you made, and hope it can be the start back in the right direction. 

After taking in another determined sigh. You quickly walked across the remaining tiled floor to the front of his office door. 

You knocked on the door–

“Oh for fuck’s sake! Piss off will ya! I’m tryin’ to work!”

You could feel your eye ducts get heavy and your lips quivered.

No, you weren’t going to cry. He likely just thought you were just one of his incompetent henchmen. 

“Oz…it’s me.” You said softly but clearly enough to be heard as you opened the door. 

Oswald lifted his head out of his hands in an instant. Even hopped off his chair and made his way around his desk to greet you. 

“Oh-uh..sorry, love. Look–now is really not a good time.”

“Oswald, I just wanted to ask–”

Oswald shook his head and waved his hand dismissively at you. “Fucks’ sake, can’t we discuss this later-”

“No! Ozzie, please! Let me speak!” 

His eyes widened slightly as his brows raised, before he furrowed them again in agitation. 

“All right then! What the hell is so bloody important? I just lost another cache to that gobshite Dark Knight–but no, no, fuck me–”

You were distraught on your way to talk to him, but now that you are there. Oz spewed his venomous disregard for what you have to say–

You were furious now. You came to discuss the possibility of mending your relationship over dinner…but with your blood boiling from the way he yelled at you.

It didn’t matter anymore. You didn’t deserve this, you have done all you could. 

If he was just going to dismiss or berate you at your last attempt to salvage your relationship. 

Maybe it wasn’t worth saving anyway. 

“I’m done, Oswald.” You tried to turn around and leave it at that, but your feet seemed to be cemented to the floorboards. 

“Bloody hell is that s’pose to mean?” Oz barked as he walked closer to you. 

You gulped down the nervous lump that was building up in your throat. “I’m leaving. I’m packing my things and leaving.”

Maybe if you say enough times you can convince yourself of actually committing to it later. 

Oswald huffed and puffed as he paced in front of you. “Well, well, that’s just fuckin’ swell. Put salt in my fuckin’ wounds why don’tcha!” 

“I’ve tried to reach out! Make plans! Come see you!” You defended. “But you keep ignoring me! Brushing me off like you were doing just now!” 

Oswald rubbed his bandaged hand against his face. Frustrated, exhausted, and at his wits’ end. 

He thought you understood, that you would understand the stakes involved and how certain things have to take priority. 

After several years together, he thought you got it. That you were the one for him. 

Clearly, he was mistaken.

“Love, I told you from day one what it’ll be like, why is it causing issues, now?” 

You spread your arms out in exasperation. “Because you made an effort until now!” 

You continued. “You at least answered my calls! You may not be there when I go to bed, but at least you kissed me goodbye! And I haven’t heard you say I love you in a very, very long time.”

You hung your head and began rubbing the side of your arm with your hand. “I could at least count on that…I could rely on that to know you still cared…still loved me. But lately now, I-I don’t know.” 

Oswald sighed. His head was pounding, his blood pressure, no doubt, skyrocketed. 

Today was really not his day. 

“I don’t know what to tell ya, love. Business has been going down the shitter! Cause of that Bat-fuck! The very business payin’ for your home you want to just up and abandon, mind you. I’m so sorry that I’m too preoccupied with work, trying to make money to keep us a-fucking-float!” 

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful Oswald–”

“Sure sounds bloody like it!” 

You grit your teeth. Your grip on your arm tightening. “It’s not that! I just miss you! I want to be with you more! Isn’t that what you’d expect from someone that loves you?” 

Somehow your feet got lose from the floor and you began taking steps backwards toward the door. 

Whatever confidence and hope you had to mend this relationship was slowly dwindling. 

“I just came here to talk, to see you, I missed you…but now I’m wondering why I even bothered.” 

“I’m starting’ to think the same.” Oswald grumbled, completely checking out of the argument. 

“Fine. Then I won’t be a bother to you anymore.” You swallowed. 

“Fine! The sooner you leave, the sooner I can GET BACK TO FUCKING WORK!” Oswald growled as he raised his arms up in defeat, before turning around to go back to his desk. 

When he had his back turned, you took the chance to also dart out the door.

Before the tears finally poured over your eye ducts and you began hiccuping on your own breathing. 

It wasn’t until the elevator door finally shut that you collapsed. 

Your knees buckled before they hit the hard tile floor. Your hands going up to your face trying to dry up your fountain of tears. 

Even though a weight of uncertainty had been lifted. It felt like a ton of stone pillars just filled your heart causing it to crack in two under the pressure. 

The only thing to pull you from your sobbing is the ding signaling that you arrived at the first floor. 

You quickly stood up and began wiping the tears off your cheek. You didn’t want any of Oswald’s lackeys to see you in this upset state. 

Thankfully, when the metal doors slid open no one was there. 

You continued to try and mask the fact you had been crying as you called a cab to head to the luxurious penthouse apartment you shared with oswald. 

At least…you used to share with Oswald. 

Your body seemed to be running on autopilot as you went through the motions of packing your belongings. 

Meanwhile your mind was still reeling over the outcome of the argument. 

You kept replaying it in your head. Looking for any sign that it could have ended better…yet deep down a part of you knew that this was the only way it could end. 

As some last caring gesture or just a habit instilled in you to never waste food…you opted to stick the food you cooked in the fridge. Whatever appetite you had was long gone. 

You called up a friend that lived on the outskirts of the city. 

The constant bright lights made your head ache and you don’t know if you could stand to see Oswald again if he tried to come to the apartment. 

Five years down the drain and not an inkling of a clue of what the future has in store.

~

Oswald crushed another cigar into the small hill of burnt out cigar butts. The hill grew so tall that it was overflowing past the rim of the ash tray. 

It had been two weeks since Batman’s last assault on his weapons cache. The Penguin had been making fast strides to close current deals and get the remaining inventory moving. 

A part of him hoped that the business would keep him occupied…distracted from the falling out you two had. 

It did work for a moment. He even fooled himself to think that it’s what he needed. 

The Penguin didn’t need a girlfriend. Someone to wear him down, get in the way of his business endeavors. 

He laughed himself silly over several glasses of wine. What the fuck was he actually thinking? 

He supposed it was fun while it lasted. 

The Penguin was on to greener pastures now, especially while he was ahead of The Bat. 

At least that’s what he told himself some time last week.

In the second week, Oswald Cobblepot would nearly jump out of his seat when the phone would ring. 

Silently, he hoped it was you on the other line. He hoped you would reach out to consider getting back together. 

Yet, it was never you, usually just another henchman with an update. 

Which is fine…he figured. Everything was right as rain. 

Oswald leaned back in his plush office chair as he sighed out the last of his smoke. 

Now would have been a good evening to pick you up and treat you for a night on the town. 

There was a restaurant in between one of his main warehouses and the penthouse that you two frequently patroned. 

He always ordered for you, because no matter where the two of you went he always remembered what you wanted. 

Oz liked to show off that quality, that he could read your mind–that he knew you enough to be able to get you anything without the uttering of a word from you. 

All he ever wanted in return was to see your bright enchanting smile. To see your eyes crinkle when you smile wide. Your eyes would twinkle with love and amusement. 

For the first time in a long time, Oswald found a small semblance of a lop-sided smirk form on his face. 

Oswald reached across his desk for another cigar but cursed when he found the pack empty. 

He rocked back and forth on his chair. For once unsure of what to do. It was like he couldn’t think clearly. 

Oswald should be celebrating, taking it easy. He’s managed to get his empire under control.

However, he was in no mood to celebrate. Oswald was more aggravated than anything. 

Aggravated that he couldn't seem to move on. You left him and you weren’t there. He was frustrated that no matter how hard he tried to deny it…he missed and needed you. 

Oswald sighed exhausted over the mental gymnastics going on in his head. Now that he finally came to terms with his emotions…just what was he going to do about them?

The Penguin was nothing if not tenacious, especially when it was something, or in this case, someone he wanted. 

~

You were picking at some take-out you grabbed on your way home from work. 

You got a job through your friend, and thankfully you had some money saved for an extended-stay hotel room until you can afford a proper apartment. 

Not that you didn’t mind bunking with your friend, but you just really needed your own space. 

You couldn’t believe it had already been two weeks since you left Oswald. 

A heavy weight still hung on your heart but you couldn’t deny the solace of having your mind clear of your anxieties, that had been brewing the last few months you were with Oswald. 

No longer were you drained from effort that went unappreciated. You didn’t have to sit there twiddling your thumbs wondering if the man you loved even loved you back. 

As you got up to throw away your trash, you couldn’t help but wonder what Oz was up to now. 

The phone rang on your dresser. You perked your eyebrow, confused to what the hotel could want. 

You picked up the phone. “Hello?” 

A man asked for your name. 

“Y-Yeah, this is her…what do you need?”

You could hear an audible gulp from the man on the other end. 

“Y-You have a visitor…a-uh-Mr. Cobblepot…he would like to see you-”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you sighed. 

A part of you really didn’t want to bother with him…he never heard you out so why should you?

Another part of you couldn’t deny your curiosity though…plus you felt bad for the guy at the front desk that was one more demand away from pissing his pants. 

“Tell him I’ll be right down. And don’t worry nothing is going to happen to you.” 

“T-Thank you, miss.”

The phone clicked back onto its base and you went to get ready to meet your ex.

~

The car ride to wherever you two were going was stifling. 

Oswald kept fidgeting in the seat next to you and you kept waiting for him to say something.

“Thanks, love…for coming along.” He finally spoke, in a soft voice you haven’t heard in a long time. 

“Don’t thank me yet, you’re lucky you scared the shit out of the concierge, I felt bad. The only reason I’m going through with it.” 

“Is it really the only reason?”

You stayed silent. 

Oswald sighed. “Look, love…I-shit-I don’t know what the fuck to say…I know sorry is no good.”

“You’re right there.” You scoffed. 

“But, just, I-I wanted–needed to see you…all I’m asking is to be with you for tonight.”

“Why did you need to see me? Got bored with the ladies from the Iceberg? Things were going fine for me until you showed up!” 

That wasn’t necessarily true, but you were trying to prove a point…to be as mad as he got at you when you two fought.

To ward off the small ball of excitement at the bottom of your chest that was happy to be in the same space as him.  

Oswald sighed heavily. He mulled over his words in his head before deciding the truth will likely be the best option. 

"I'm sorry for disturbing your night, love. Let me make it up to ya…just for tonight. And if not, I'll turn this car around and leave you be…"

Oswald's knuckles almost matched the white of his gloves as he held his umbrella with a vice grip. He wasn't exactly ready to give quite an ultimatum just yet, but he wanted this to be fair for you and if you truly were doing fine without him. 

It would be a tough pill to swallow, but he will swallow it. 

You sighed. You were already here…and while you tell yourself you just want to be the bigger person and hear him out–Deep down, once again, you knew that you really did miss him. 

However, you weren't going to admit that right away.

"Well, I'm already here aren't I?" You sat up straight in your seat. 

Oswald nodded. "That you are, love. And you won't regret it." 

After a few minutes of thick heavy silence the car finally pulled to a stop. 

Before you could even ask where you were, Oz had already gotten out of the car and limped over to your side to open the door. 

"Where did you take me?" You asked as you stepped out of the car and stood beside him. 

"Just an old trip down memory lane." Oz smiled as he looked up at you. 

He offered you a gloved hand before you two crossed the street. 

Your hand already reached out and took it before you could even try to put up a front. You blame it on your body just doing what came naturally and out of instinct. 

As you two approached the restaurant you couldn't help but warmly chuckle at the establishment sign. 

"I'm surprised this place is still open." You murmured. 

Oz chuckled. "You and I both."

The moment between sitting down and ordering drinks became a blur as the haze-like shift between reality and memory merged. 

All the date nights to this exact restaurant and the exact seat, in fact this was the location of your first date with him. 

Funny, back then you were kind of humoring him as you are now. No way back then you could have known that one night would lead to countless others with him. 

You propped your head up by cupping your chin into the palms of your hands. You tried to look anywhere but the pair of eyes staring at you.

“Oz…”

“Hmm…?” 

“You’re staring…” You pointed out. 

“Can you blame me? I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“You rarely saw me anyway.” You crossed your arms. 

“Look love, I-I want to talk….Properly this time…like I should have let you done before.” 

That made you perk up your head. At least it was a step in the right direction. 

You sighed as you collected your thoughts. 

Before you could talk, Oswald spoke up. “I know it won’t do much now, love, but I do apologize. I-I just didn’t want ya to see me failing, and it was looking grim. I just–I didn’t want ya to worry about anything…then, poor thing, you walked straight into the bloody thick of it.”

You nodded with a tight smile looking back at that tense moment in his office. 

“I brushed you off, I tried to get you to leave because I didn’t have an excuse ready to give you…because that’s all I’ve ever done, and it was foolish of me to think they’d keep workin’ as is.”

“It was the same old excuse. ‘You were busy’, ‘I don’t need to worry’, ‘I shouldn’t worry’…but Oz me not knowing made me worry even more. Had you just been honest and told me what was going on–I would understand…” You interjected. 

“I know, the one thing I adore most about you and I somehow, over time, completely underestimated it. Your level of compassion even to a sorry piece of shite like me. Somewhere somehow over time I made the terrible mistake of muddling you with the others. Others that wanted something outta me…weapons, money, notoriety…”

“I only ever wanted you, Oswald.” 

“And I want you, love.” 

Oswald put out his calloused hand palm out towards you on top of the table. 

“I’m by no means a perfect man, never claimed to be. But I swear, to you and for you, I’ll do better by you. No more excuses, delayed or canceled plans, if I do it’s cause I’m on my deathbed.”

You scoffed at that, but stared intently at his open palm, as you deliberated what you already knew he was going to say. 

“Come back to me love…it doesn’t have to be tonight or tomorrow, just…to know we’re not over…not just yet.” His fingers curled slightly as if to coax your own hand to hold his. 

Meanwhile you were wringing your hands in your lap under the table. Your throat was parched and you kept blinking rapidly, as if hot wiring your brain to come up with an answer. 

You didn’t want to say yes right away, while he identified the problems and spoke about doing better…it didn’t exactly mean it was going to happen just like that. In fact, you knew it wasn’t going to. 

Then another part of you, the part that loved him and missed him wanted to give in and just worry about what would happen later. 

Perhaps there was a way to meet him in the middle of the road. 

You were so lost in your own thoughts you didn’t even notice Oswald talking to the waiter and ordering your food for the both of you. 

“Why do you do that?” You asked, suddenly very curious. 

“What’s that, love?” 

“You always order for me.” 

Oz chuckled as he decided to turn his palm towards the table, but still open to your touch. “I enjoy spoilin’ ya, love…and although I don’t always seem like it but I pay attention…especially if it means things that you enjoy.” 

Then he began listing off your favorite, granted trivial, but sentimental things. Your favorite songs, foods, time of day, weather, all sorts. Things that you imagine have probably changed from time to time but he somehow remembered. 

“And yet, through all that, I somehow sabotaged the easiest thing that brought you more joy than anything.” He continued. 

You nodded. “Just to be with you…” 

Oswald nodded too in agreement. 

A small smile grew on your face as an answer that would suit the both of you for the time being came to the forefront of your mind. 

You reached out your hand and placed it gently on top of his. 

“I’ll come back, but not in a hurry. I want us to do this right. I don’t want it to ever get to where it did again.” 

Oswald sat up in his seat and put his hand over yours. “I agree, love. Whatever it takes to get you to come back, I’ll do it.” 

“Even if it means starting over? Little by little?” 

Oz guffawed. “The chance to fall in love with you all over again? I wouldn’t miss that for anything.” 

Your smile widened. “That’s one way to look at it. I guess I can’t argue with that.”

You two pulled your hands apart when your dishes arrived. For once you genuinely felt content in the moment. 

Pleased in the decision to slowly work back up to what you had before and hopefully make it even stronger than it was. 

You felt that familiar feeling of hopefulness for the future. You weren’t walking around half-hazardly in the dark trying to collect pieces of what once was or what can be with what remained. 

You had a new clean slate, even with pre-used material, you were still determined to produce something new and everlasting. 

Oz chuckled warmly at you. “I missed that.” 

“What?” 

“Your smile.” 

You lowered your head at a poor attempt to hide your flushing face. This only caused Oswald to chuckle some more. 

Oswald grabbed his glass and raised it up towards you. “To us, anew, starting with tonight.” 

“To us, tonight.” You smiled as you clinked your glass to Oswald’s.

[geekthefreakout]

The GaaNaru Letters (part 1 of ?)

AN: this might not be anything, but its been floating in my head. It's a tumblr post instead of going on Ao3 because it's lower commitment rn.

Dear Gaara,

Heh, it's weird calling you dear when we only kinda know each other. But Iruka-sensei said that's how letters are supposed to start. This is my first time writing to someone else- all my friends are in my village! Anyway, I just wanted to see how you are after that asswhooping I gave you! That's not me bragging, by the way. It's just. You seemed lonely. Like I told you back then, I know what that pain is like. I guess I want to help you with it. And I think you and me have something else in common, too. Do you know what I mean? Anyway, everyone knows that the Sand village only attacked the Leaf because Orochimaru-bastard was manipulating you, so I don't think we have to be enemies anymore. That snakey bastard killed the Third Hokage, but I heard he killed your Hokage too? I hope you get this and write back, maybe?

Love From, Uzumaki Naruto

Uzumaki Naruto,

I have been informed that honorifics are not required at the beginning of letters if one does not wish to include them. Unless this is one of the cultural differences between the Leaf and the Sand, you should not feel obliged to use "dear" for me. This is also my first time writing a letter to someone. I am not sure what to say, but I will answer your questions.

I think I do know what you mean, if you are referring to that red chakra that you summoned. Do you have a monster within you as well? It is difficult to imagine.

Orochimaru did indeed kill our kage, though the Sand Village has a Kazekage, rather than Hokage. Rather than in a great battle such as befell your leader, the Kazekage seems to have been murdered on the sly. That man was my father. I am told that most children mourn their fathers. I have not mourned anyone since Yas I was small, and I see no need to change that. Perhaps if my father did not try to assassinate me so often, I would feel differently. At any rate, my siblings are too afraid of me to press the issue.

You, however, are not afraid of me. Despite the damage I wrought on your friends and your village, you are still reaching out. I find myself wondering why? Perhaps we are not actively enemies, but we are not allies either. What use am I to you? Why should it matter to you that I am lonely?

Why did you weep for me, Uzumaki Naruto?

From,

Gaara of the Desert

Dear Gaara,

I already said- I know what your kind of loneliness is like, and I want to help! It's not some big complicated thing. You don't have to have a use to me, you know? Except maybe to talk about stuff.

Like the monster thing. This is kind of a secret so I probably shouldn't confirm or deny that I have a giant demon fox sealed inside me, but I want to tell you. I've never met anyone like me before, you know? Even if yours is different, with the sand and the crazy laughing and all. Mine doesn't laugh, he's just mean and grumpy and scary. When did you first know about yours? Have you always been able to use its power?

I'm sorry about your dad. Not that he's dead, but that he was an asshole! And I guess that he's dead too. I can see how that would be complicated. Did he try to kill you because of your demon? It's not how I would do things. I don't know who my parents are, or were, but I hope they wouldn't do that to me. I think parents are supposed to support their kids no matter what!

I guess it makes sense for your siblings to be scared of you when you do scary things, but I heard you apologize to them back then. So if you're trying to do better by them, they should give you a chance!

I'm going on a journey with Pervy Sage soon to look for our next Hokage-- whoever it is better meet my approval, because I'll be the next Hokage after that, believe it! And I want to get the job from someone awesome. Anyway, if I'm not in the village I'm not sure how to get mail so if I don't reply for a while it's cuz I'm out there being awesome!

Also- didn't forget what you did. You tried to hurt my friends, and that's not okay. But I kicked your ass about it already, so as far as I'm concerned it's all settled. So don't keep thinking there's something bad between us!

Sincerely (This is a new sign off I learned. It's nicer than From!), Uzumaki Naruto

PS: Iruka-sensei said you're right about the "dear" thing, but your name looked kinda naked if I didn't write it, so I'm gonna keep using it, OK?

Uzumaki Naruto,

Your answers leave me with more questions, but I will continue asking them as long as you are amenable.

My demon is the One-tail, Shukaku. He does laugh a lot, though it is not a pleasant sound. I have always known about him, for his voice has always been in the back of my mind. Furthermore, I was told outright when I had a strong enough grasp of language. Your question implies that you have not always known about yours. You called it a demon fox- could it be the Nine-tails? Is he truly so quiet that you could be unaware of him? As for tapping into Shukaku's abitilities, that has not always been conscious on my part. He is often eager to emerge and inflict is insanity upon others, so if I fall asleep he will take over on his own.

Needless to say, I am seldom allowed to sleep.

Shukaku is one reason my father tried to kill me. The other is that I killed my mother the day I was born. My existence has always been fueled by blood. I am not sure if I can change that. Can my siblings be blamed for resenting me?

Are genin often involved in the selection of political figures in the Leaf? Perhaps that is more efficient. In the Sand, it seems that the council just sits and talks in circles. My team's sensei, Baki, has taken a leadership position there, but has not assumed the title of Kazekage. I assume it is because the council wants him free to keep an eye on me. They are not sure what I will do. I am not sure either. For now, I have tried to appease them with silence. I do not wander at night, and I have not hurt anybody since our return from the Leaf. I have kept to myself. I can't say if it is doing any good. Temari and Kankuro speak gently to me, but I see the fear in their eyes if I move unexpectedly.

You keep saying that you "kicked my ass." No one has ever done that before. Yet I seem to recall you being unable to move at the end as well. Did I "kick your ass" too?

It is interesting that you view our fight as an instrument of peace between us two. Perhaps if I let Kankuro hit me, he will stop jumping whenever I speak.

I like your new sign off, so I will use it.

Sincerely,

Gaara of the Desert

TBC, possibly

PART 2

[rattymess]

sleep doesn't come easy (especially with an indestructible mug)

Genre: Fluff Pairing: Steven Grant x Short!Reader Summary: you just wanted to take your anger out on one of your neighbours in the middle of the night (who just happens to be Steven Grant) Word Count: 900-ish Warnings: Mentions of sex, cursing, mild anxiety (might be more but those are the main ones)

|||||

Honestly, if you have to be frank with yourself, if you could move out of this apartment flat, you would in a heartbeat. No, not even. You would move out right before the question was even popped. 

There was just a plethora of issues that came out of living in a flat that certainly had a relatively cheap rent compared to the rest of the buildings around it. For one, there’s that constant dripping sound that you hear out of that one pesky pipe that’s just barely above your reach (and how your landlord just keeps on postponing fixing that), and secondly, there's the giant family of rats that you are sure lives somewhere just beside your fridge (there are definite biscuit crumbs that are littered around there that you’re like..99% sure you didn’t devour). Also, your apartment temperature was always either a bit too cold or a bit too hot for your liking. But mostly, the thin walls were the thing that really ticked you off. 

All those issues didn’t even compare to your next-door neighbours. You’ve heard all kinds of sounds in all of your time spent in this flat, ranging from sex noises to screeching babies. But one particular neighbour really takes the cake on this one. Specifically, the one who lives across from you and comes home especially late at night, mumbling incoherent nonsense to himself. You have no idea how that even trumps the moans and groans from your other neighbours but it just…does. Maybe it’s because they’re not exactly quiet when they come home or maybe your patience levels have just reached its limits. You’ve seen him a few times when you’re going off to work, but you’ve never actually taken a good look at them as you’ve always had a tendency to rush out of the building.

Well, that is, until today. 

Standing in front of the aforementioned neighbour’s door at 4AM in the morning, clutching your phone one hand, you find yourself loudly pounding on their door. You honestly don’t remember what had even led you here. You just remember waking up from your restless sleep by a loud smash and wanting to scream your heart out at someone. Honestly, you’re not even sure if the noise even came from the guy across the hall. It might’ve been from the couple down to the right of the hall that accidentally broke a vase or something while they were doing their daily midnight…shenanigans. But before you can second guess your late-night decisions even more, a small click resonates from the other side of the door.

“H-Hiya love.” A man with giant doe-eyes that looked like he hadn’t slept in days and a slight pout glances down at you, looking like a young dishevelled schoolboy who knows that he’s about to be lectured. “Did I wake ya? I’m awfully sorry about that. I just came home you see, and my bloody arm accidentally knocked over my favourite mug. It’s still intact but still, I’m bloody sor– ”

You didn’t hear any of that. While the man was still spouting on about his mistake, you begin to feel your blood suddenly flow to your face. Your eyes trail down from the man’s messy dark curls (is it weird to imagine dragging your fingers through each strand?) to his bewildered wondering eyes that seemed to slowly trail down to the ground in shame, to his soft, breathless lips that finally seemed to stop moving. Oh. You abruptly look up, your anger quickly disbanding into anxiety. He’s so pretty.

“–I-I’m Steven, by the way. Steven Grant.”

The mention of his name brings you out of your thought train. Shit. Say something. ANYTHING.

“H-Hhhi Steven…” You wheeze out. FUCK. You’re suddenly more aware of your surroundings than ever. Sleep is now fully dispersed from your mind as your eyes fully gauge out what you’re actually doing. Looking down between you and Steven, your eyes widen as you realize that you’re wearing the most embarrassing outfit choice of your life: a pastel pink Barbie tank top alongside your hot pink sweatpants that read “Justin Beeb 4 Ever” that you bought as a joke and never thought you’d ever be seen outside with. FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. I mean, hey, at least you didn’t bring your stuffed teddy—nope, it was just in your other hand. You groan into your bear, quickly alarming Steven.

“Hey, love? Y-You alright?” He stutters, not knowing what to do. “Do you want to come in?” 

You gradually raise your head from the bear to the man in front of you. This man...this man is an angel.

“I…I’m terribly sorry. I’m so embarrassed,” you anxiously say. “I couldn’t dare impose on you. I don’t even know what came over me. I just wanted to complain about the noise. I’m sorry. I..I’m just gonna go.” As you turn around and back towards your door, Steven grabs your hand into his. You swerve your head back up to meet his mesmerizing dark eyes. Huh? 

“No, love. I clearly disturbed you. Look, I’ll let you go back to your flat but please don’t hesitate ever comin’ to my door to knock some sense into me, yea?” Steven sweetly smiles at you before letting go of your now-shaking hands. If you weren’t flustered before, you certainly are now. Clearing away the lump that has now formed in your throat, you whisper, “I...actually do wanna come in.”

Steven grins. “Well…come in then, love.”

[throwingmelons]

I was watching a couple of video essays about Twilight the other day and I have a few opinions that I don't think many people have considered when it comes to YA media.

I think it's easy to assume that the preteens who were into Twilight during its peak were just kids too young and impressionable to understand why the relationships and aspects represented in Twilight were wrong and toxic, and while there is truth to that, I don't think many people understand the ways that children's priorities change over time and how that affects the media they consume.

In the case of Twilight, I think it's important to acknowledge not only who the characters are and what they represent, but what kinds of problems they face throughout the story. In Edward's situation, he was turned into a vampire against his will after almost dying from the Spanish flu at seventeen, only to be thrust into a life of vegetarianism while also not being able to cope without it. Of course there's also the added caveat of Edward's uncontrollable thirst for blood as well as the way his body and mind have been left in a frozen, stagnant state due to his vampirism. All of these things are beyond his line of control, essentially forcing him into a life with an extreme lack of free will.

Of course, the same can be said not only about the other vampires, but about the werewolves as well. Jacob couldn't choose the lifestyle that was thrown upon him as he was forced into an incredibly invasive pack where he had to put his life at risk every day to protect others. On top of that, there's also the uncontrollable anger, and the weird imprinting thing that more or less takes over his autonomy and privacy as an individual. I'd even go as far as to say that this lack of control can be applied to Bella as well. Sure she makes her own decisions, but in the end of the day, she usually gets what she wants and is happy with it. None of her choices really have as much weight as they should, and after enough time, the impression is left that if Bella asks for something, she will eventually get it successfully. This sometimes makes it feel like she's living less of a life with difficult, complicated decisions to make, and more like she's living a caricature of one where she already knows what she's supposed to want, and what the end result will be before the options are even laid out to her.

Now sure, I could go on for hours about how these hidden deterministic undertones allow for interesting story analysis, but I think it's more important to talk about why I think these qualities seem to appeal to preteens so much.

I feel like younger teenagers are generally in a very odd spot in their lives, as they are typically old enough to begin to understand many issues in the world, while also realizing that there isn't much they can do about it at the time. It's much easier for an average six year old to find themselves in a situation where they can casually consume media while remaining unaware of situations happening around them like say, for example, financial issues happening in the family. However, by the time you're a preteen, it becomes harder and harder to stay unknowledgable about real world events that are occurring and affecting you. When the lack of choice and say becomes more evident to people, it's no wonder those of this age group tend to feel more connected to these characters.

This is especially so when you remember how accepting and happy the characters ultimately are, despite their circumstances. Maybe an eleven year old out there who is worried about their parents getting evicted and can't do anything about it finds Twilight and doesn't see Edward's constant creepy behavior towards Bella against her will as any worse then their own uncontrollable situation. In fact, it might even be seen as comforting, because at least Bella gets a sexy mysterious vampire boyfriend out of it.

Of course it's easy for kids who can experience real world problems while still not having a say in any of them to feel drawn to the characters who not only learn to love and enjoy the fated life set out for them, but also get to be cool and have fun amped up powers. And why would someone who's old enough to understand how a new elected politician could potentially ruin their life while still not being allowed to vote have any fear over the things forcefully done to Bella by the shitty men around her? To them, being stuck under this reign of control really doesn't seem all too different from Bella's situation.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is don't think the answer to the question, "Why were so many young teenagers into Twilight?", can be answered by saying that kids were just dumb, and I think there's always more to it that people aren't willing to look into, and I think this might just be one of many reasons. I feel like we need to stop breeding excuses to make fun of preteen girls for liking cringy things and instead should look at things more realistically.

Tl;dr: I think many preteens who are into Twilight end up connecting to the characters in ways that are very different than other age groups. When you're left feeling like you're too young to control many of the things that happen to you, it's easier to see the lack of control that many of the Twilight characters face as normal and even sought after, rather than concerning.

[henreyettah]

why are they hiding their tits from each other after sex what are they americans

Afsjsjsj this is the funniest ask I’ve ever been sent😭

In all honesty tho when I drew this I imagined them still being in some weird pre-relationship place, like look. They both clearly have issues. They haven’t had a conversation in literal years. I don’t think the first thing they’re gonna do is get nasty, ya know?

So I think they’d have a period of just being unhealthily attached to each other. More than Cam and Pal even. Like these bitches go to the bathroom together. And not for fun reasons, they go together because they can’t stand not seeing the other for even just a few minutes. Always gotta be in range of touch or (preferrably “and”) sight, gotta make sure she’s there, gotta make sure. Cant risk it. You do not see one without the other, and they’re very seldom Not physically attached. They don’t hold hands (not at the beginning at least) but they hold each others sleeves/belt loops/robes. They stand arm to arm, sit leg to leg. They sleep in the same bed.

And at some point it’s like. Well. They’re already watching each other take shits. They shower together. Harrow takes her face paint off while Gideon picks at her pimples next to her. There’s no point in wearing clothes to bed, right? And besides, if there’s no pajama pants or shirts in the way, it’s easier to really make sure she’s there. There’s no mistaking skin for something else. Warm, living skin, with meat underneath and a pulse and little twitches and hairs and scars.

Uh so yeah they’ve seen each others tits but they’re not quite There yet and they’re both gay but they’ve seen each other’s tits, but it’s rude to stare so they don’t, and nudity and nakedness are two separate but linked experiences and they both have issues and like, they haven’t spoken outright about THIS other than to establish that they’re going to be Harrow-and-Gideon, Gideon-and-Harrow, permanently. And on top of that, the worry of the other feeling forced into any kind of situation. They’ve been forced into situations, by each other and by other people and by necessity. Neither of them want that. Especially not for her. Not again. So they cover their tits because then it’s a neutral situation still and no one is being made to do or think something that’s maybe against her will; just because one person wants something it does not mean she does, because why would she, after everything you’ve done and become? She lets this intimacy happen, and you’re not gonna push it, so ur tits go under the blanket even though she’s seen them.

Ya know?

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there! I hope you’re enjoying this story as much as I am! This chapter is semi Francesca focused, hope y’all like her! Quite a bit of backstory in this one, we uncover a family mystery and I’m so sorry for it.

Lmk what you think x

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: Smoking, swearing, general awkwardness, mentions of death/loss,

Tags: @malarkgirlypop , @panzershrike-pretz (let me know if you want to be added!)

Made of Glass

Chapter thirteen: Baby Birdie

Smoking had always been something Francesca took solace in, the earthy smell reminded her of the men in her family. Her father had smoked since before she was born, she always pictured him with a thin cylinder of fine tobacco in his hand. 

When her two older brothers had hit their early teens, they both took up the habit. At first, they had hidden it from the paternal figure but quickly came to realise he didn't care so they stopped sneaking out to puff cigarettes in the dark alleys of their neighbourhood. 

Francesca often thought of her brothers and how they were fairing. Both had enlisted in the US marine corps the second Europe had declared war within itself in 1939. Her oldest brother, Giovanni, was 23 and the younger, Niccolo, was 22, that was nearly three years ago, and she hadn't seen them since. She would receive one, maybe two letters from each of them yearly and that's how she knew they were both still alive. 

She turned her thoughts else where, inhaling and exhaling gray clouds. Rossi was perched on the steps of the barracks she lived in, enjoying the quiet dark. 

To her dismay, the quiet dark was disturbed by the rhythmic thump of Army issued boots and the dirt path that lead in her direction. 

Francesca saw the shadowy outline of two figures, two figures that were yet to notice her. 

As they came closer, she recognised Birdie but not the man she was with. The pair seemed uncomfortable, the girl fidgeted with her hands and the guy was looking every which way except towards the woman. 

Francesca cringed for them. Their weird energy reached out and touched her and she wanted to run off or hide her face in her hands. 

She didn’t. She sat and watched. 

It was like witnessing a car wreck, Rossi could not pull her attention away, morbidly curious to see what happens next. 

Nobody said anything, no words exchanged but the couple had stopped walking and both looked like they wanted to hang themselves. 

Rossi kept silent, hoping if she said nothing they wouldn't notice her and she could ignore this moment of her life. 

“Uh...” And, “Well...” Were spoken at the same time by each of the on edge….friends? Were they friends? Francesca couldn't tell. 

“Thanks... for ya know....” It was Birdie who bucked up and broke the bizarre tension that had formed in the strained hush between them. 

“Yeah...” The man turned to walk away, figuring he could leave the strange encounter and act like this interaction did not occur. 

“Liebgott?” The southern woman called out to him, pausing his steps, he looked over his shoulder at her. 

“Yeah?” There was a beat of nothing. Birdie fidgeted once again. To Francesca it looked like she was about to tell him something important, begin a speech or break some bad news to the poor fellow attempting to run away. But Birdie didn’t, she only uttered one word and it sounded forced. 

“Night.” It's not what she wanted to say but in all honesty she didn't know what she wanted to say. It was like she spoke his name but didn't remember why. 

“Night, Coldwell.” Then he was gone, Birdie couldn't help but feel something. Disappointment? Unfulfillment? She was conflicted and she didn't really know why. 

“That was weird.” 

“Jesus Christ!” Bernadette's hand flew to her chest and she whipped her head around faster than the speed of light. Though she calmed when she noticed Francesca sitting in the dark, huffing on the tail end of a cigarette. 

“Frankie! Announce yourself dammit! You scared me half to death....” Birdie let out a sigh, “How long have you been there?” 

“Long enough.” She answered, “Wanna smoke?” 

“God yes.” The younger girl accepted her offer and sat down next to her roommate, taking the tobacco stick between her fingers. Francesca took out a second one and placed it between her lips, then lit both. 

They sat side by side, huffing and puffing until there was nothing left to consume. 

“Frankie, huh? I earned myself a Birdie nickname.” The Italian woman commented lightheartedly. 

“Sure did.” A smile grew on her face, the nickname had slipped out accidentally but she was glad for it. This moment felt like a good one, one she'd look back on as the beginning of their blossoming friendship. 

“At least it's not a disease.” She had a smirk on her lips, word of Birdie’s STD riddled friend had gotten around.

“Was that… a joke? Did you just make a joke, Frankie?” A giggle escaped her lips. 

“Yeah, cherish it. I won't be making another.” The black haired woman spoke in a stoic tone but a smile crept onto her face and she bumped shoulders with Birdie, who laughed at the action. Francesca felt herself smiling wider at Birdies enjoyment, the noise was filled with a musical merriment and it was contagious. 

The women sat outside on the wooden steps and shared another cigarette, they passed this one between them. Bernadette began telling Frankie the childhood story of how she acquired her nickname: Birdie. As a toddler learning to speak, the full ‘Bernadette’ was a incoherent babble so one of her older sisters had shortened it for her to Bernie. But of course the two year old's pronunciation was still being perfected and it changed to Birdie and stuck. 

The image of a baby Bernadette, wobbling around on uncertain feet calling herself Birdie sparked a chuckle from the Italian girl. It prompted her to share her own tale from her youth and the two went back and forth, while one puffed on the smoke the other would share a memory. 

This is how Bernadette learnt of Frankie’s family. Her father worked as a mechanic as did she and her two older brothers before they all enlisted. She was surprised to hear they were both currently deployed in the Pacific theatre of war. 

Birdie shared the information of her own brother, the eldest: Victor, affectionately called Junior as Victor was also their fathers name. He signed up for the US Navy in 1939 and after training was stationed in Hawaii. He was aboard the SS Arizona when it was targeted by the Japanese. He died on December 7th, 1941 in Pearl Harbour. 

He was the reason Birdie and James had signed up. Originally, the southerner was going to put her name down as a nurse but she’d heard of the special program for women and how it would send her to the front lines and she was in, no questions. 

Francesca sympathised, she too had lost a family member. The New York Italian informed her new friend of her seldom talked about parent. Her mother had an incurable sickness and passed away when Frankie was young. Young enough that she barely remembered the woman, she could vaguely picture a face, a warm smile, an encompassing hug, a gentle voice or sweet smell but not much else. 

Most of what she knew of her mother was learnt from pictures or stories her brothers told her. She had asked her father about the woman once and he did not react well. He yelled and hissed at her and stomped off to his room to drink away the memories of his late wife. Frankie never asked him about her mother again.

Bernadette had hugged her after hearing the tragedy. She was incredibly close with her family, especially her mother and couldn’t imagine not having her in her life. Francesca didn’t mind much, she didn’t know anything different, but she accepted the hug anyway, Birdie was warm and the comfort she provided, was needed.

The pack of smokes had emptied over the course of time the two spent bonding, which was their signal to head inside and sleep. 

Which is exactly what they did, sharing a look from across the room as a silent ‘goodnight’. 

—————————— 

As the weeks phased into months Toccoa began to feel more like home. Bernadette had found her footing and slipped into a schedule she looked forward to. Lectures were a welcome break from vigorous PT and the friends she had made were becoming closer and closer everyday. 

Liebgott had gone back to dropping bad natured comments aimed at her the morning after whatever that night was. Although his tone had changed and his words seemed more like attempted jokes. She noticed his lips curling ever so slightly at the edges when he muttered the banter and his genuine distain for her felt fake and put on as if he wanted everyone (including himself) to believe he didn’t like her. She replied with her typical witty comebacks but hers too felt forced like a show for anyone listening. The shift unsettled her to her core but she didn’t really know why, she should be happy Liebgott was finally coming round and didn’t wish her dead… so why wasn’t she? 

On the third day after the entire Harriet debacle, all four men were apprehended. 

Nixon had told Birdie that someone outside of the attackers had confirmed the initial confession, which gave them absolute proof. The three men were dishonourably discharged and sent home in disgrace, while the fourth man was transferred out of the 506 and left Camp Toccoa effective immediately. 

Birdie was pleased to hear the news but couldn’t for the life of her figure out who had told Sink, maybe the men had blabbed to their friends and one of them felt bad? Who knows, it was anyone's guess. 

Birdie didn’t dwell on it too much, instead she had wrote to Harriet and explained the whole story. The ex-How company woman was still recovering weeks later with a broken pelvis and stitches in the back of her head but she had been allowed to move to her home state. She thanked Birdie for her part in finding and punishing her violators and had truly meant it, learning of the men being held accountable had eased her mind. It eased Bernadette’s guilt some but she figured the feeling she couldn’t get rid of would stay with her for the rest of her life, always wondering what might have been.

The two promised to keep in contact and Harriet even invited Birdie to come visit her in San Diego once the war was over. Of course, Bernadette had accepted and found herself picturing California, it became her fantasy, one she would carry with her throughout the years ahead of her. 

The entire regiment was being moved to Fort Benning, marching 137 miles to break some record the Japanese troops held. It took three and a bit days of marching plus a train ride but they reached their destination. 

Fort Benning was set up similarly to Camp Toccoa yet they were so different, it gave Birdie an eerie feeling of familiarity. 

A/N: That was a tad depressing, sorry folks! But Birdie and Frankie bonded over dead loved ones so yay!

Also, finally they’re in Fort Benning, goodbye Toccoa!

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter fourteen

[blood-mocha-latte]

happy post-holidays and part three to @ep6bastogne, the finale is here!! have a happy new year and whatever coms next :)

find part one HERE, and part two HERE

OR read on ao3 all in one go :)

iii.  turn on the laugh track we'll see if it changes the scene maybe this is just the funniest version of us that we've ever been

15 December

The longer that time stretches between what’s become present and when Gene had shown up at the apartment, the more certain Babe becomes that Gene’s avoiding him.

The longer that time stretches on, Babe thinks he might be avoiding Gene right back.

The TV is murmuring absently in the background, Babe thinks it might be Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. 

“‘M going out,” He says vaguely, fumbling with the buttons of his coat. He’s getting better, at wearing it. It no longer feels like it’s too heavy, like he needs to get it off before he starts to burn.

Bill doesn’t look up from the TV, dead-eyed in their singular sofa chair. Luz and Toye are out cold on the couch. 

“Aight.” Bill says. “Say hi to Doc, for me.”

Babe’s chest hurts.

“Me and Gene aren’t…” He says, and trails off. Bill drags his eyes away from the TV to look up, eyebrows raised. Babe shrugs, awkward. “Bye.” He says. Bill looks unsure of something. Babe doesn’t really care to know what.

“Okay.” Bill tells him back. “Be… careful, right?”

Babe pauses.

“Yeah.” He says. “I’ll see ya later, Bill.”

—

He doesn’t know what happened, which seems to be the root of all of Babe’s problems. 

He thinks, maybe, that he might not be friends with Gene anymore. He thinks, maybe, he’s fucked up.

The ingredients for maque-choux are in the back of his fridge, still, and he hasn’t texted Gene. Gene hasn’t texted him, either.

Babe’s not sure what the taboo is that seems to be so prevalent to him. Why he can't seem to text Gene if Gene doesn't text him, and why it makes him so miserable. He wonders who has more issues than him, and if they'd be open to giving advice.

“Babe!”

He hears a voice bounce off of the buildings and streets, and almost swears. 

It's like he's summoned him.

“Hey, Web.” He says, after a brief moment of wondering if he should just begin running away at full speed. He turns around and waves awkwardly. “How's it going?”

David Webster, who crosses the street quickly, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a car, waves at him brightly. He’s wearing black gloves, and Babe would make fun of him if he wasn’t certain that Web had already been bullied mercilessly about them and had decided to wear them, anyways.

“Hi.” Web greets him as soon as he hops up onto the pavement. He sounds a bit breathless, weighed down by approximately forty shopping bags, all in one hand as he reaches out his free one to Babe, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since, uh…” 

Web trails off, waving a hand absently before shifting the bags more evenly. He blinks at Babe, as if willing him to get what he’s saying, so Babe just nods, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “It’s been busy, lately.”

“Uh huh.” Web says. He looks rather distracted, and starts walking side by side with Babe almost absently. “Did Joe say anything to you, recently?” He asks, out of pocket, then pauses. “Uh, when… when you saw him. He said something about going shopping…?” Babe wonders, vaguely, if this is a trap.

“About what?” He asks. The pavement is scraped pretty clean of snow, but there’s a build-up of slush against the curve and he kind of wants to step in it. “We mostly just talked about, like, hockey.” Web huffs through his nose.

“He’s being weird,” He tells Babe, and Babe in turn regrets his choice to not run away. “He’s like… asking about my family, and stuff. It’s weird. He’s being weird.” 

“You’re saying weird too much,” Babe informs him, and thinks about Liebgott’s thing with the present. “And I dunno. Maybe you should just, like. Talk to him.”

He’s not really one to talk, though. He thinks about Gene and his chest hurts. Web just huffs.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “We don’t really do that, though.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah.” Web says again. He scrubs the back of his hand across his mouth. “Hey, I need to go to a bookshop. Do you, uh—”

“Sure.” Babe says, before he can think about it. “Do you need help with your whole…?” He gestures vaguely to the shopping bags, which look heavy, and Web blinks at him like he doesn’t realise that he’s holding all of them, and blinks a second time after a split second, eyes lighting up.

“Oh! Yes, please, could you actually—” He pauses, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the pavement, and Babe quickly ducks out of foot traffic to lean against the closest building. Web follows absently after him, searching through the bags. He offers one up to Babe without looking at the contents, busy rooting through a silver paper bag.

“I don’t know if I’ll see you again before Christmas, so I’ll just…” Web keeps muttering about something or the other, so Babe shifts the bag that he’d collected to his other hand distractedly. “Ha!” Web exclaims, straightening back up triumphantly.

He holds out a small box to Babe, eyes bright, and Babe blinks at him, taking it. “I — thanks?” Babe says, still rather confused, and Web nods, straightening back up and gesturing for Babe to give him back the bag. 

“Merry Christmas.” He says, and Babe stares at him. Web stares back, eyes pinned to Babe, which is a bit uncomfortable. “It, uh. I’m trying to get presents for everyone, this year. New thing.”

Babe would ask questions, but he’s learned it’s best not to. Webster’s sort of a wild card, in his books. “Uh,” He says again, patting down his jeans with his free hand. He unearths a stick of gum from his back pocket, cringing slightly, and holds it out to Web. “Yeah. Happy Christmas?” 

Web laughs and takes it, shifting all of his bags once more. “Thanks,” He says, and it sounds genuine. Babe wonders where Liebgott is and, if on the offhand, he would be willing to come and drag Webster to wherever it is they both are when they’re not bothering Babe.

Vaguely worried that the streets are getting more crowded, Babe turns on his heel and starts walking again, trying to remember where the bookstore is. There's roughly eight of them in the general area, but Bill made him go to one two days ago to find a book he’d found for Fran on their website because apparently Bill’s too good to order it online like a normal person, but also didn’t want to leave the apartment.

“Anyways,” Web says casually, and Babe blinks at him blankly. “He’s being weird. Joe is, I mean. Insanely weird. He asked me what my favourite colour was yesterday.” He wrinkles his nose, and Babe shrugs. That seems normal, to him, but what does he know. Maybe Liebgott’s secretly dying. Or it’s still about the present thing.

Oh.

“Wait,” Babe says, “Did you get something for Liebgott, too?” 

“Well, yeah.” Webster tells him. He shifts his grip on the bags, and something in one of them jingles. “But at the beginning of the month. When Hanukkah started.”

Babe laughs. “You’re an idiot.” He says, and Web’s mouth drops open, affronted.

“Well, I—” He starts to say, and Babe turns a corner. He can see the sign to the bookstore, now, and exhales, relieved.

“He’s trying to find you a present,” He tells Web, turning the box over in his hands. “‘Cause he feels bad. Because apparently, he’s only ninety-nine percent an asshole, and the other one percent is reserved for making me look through shops for shit you’d like.”

He’d figured that Liebgott would have been fine with the copy of Moby Dick he’d finally found, but Babe guesses that Liebgott was probably just as sick with Babe as Babe was with him and decided to go it solo, instead. Next to him, Web’s mouth is still open.

“Oh.” Web says. “I… that makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Babe says. Web sighs. 

“Well, at least I know why he’s acting so strange now,” He says, shifting his bags again. Finally upon the bookstore, Babe opens the door and lets Web go in first. A bell at the top of the door jingles. “I mean, I’ll just tell him to tie me up or something—”

“Too much information, Web,” Babe says over him, probably too loudly. A woman at the cash register raises an eyebrow at them. Web waves at her. “Too much information.”

“Do you need a book?” Web asks him, rather absently, shifting his bags again. Babe turns the box over in his hands again.

“Nah.” He says. He’s not a big reader. “Hey, should I—?” He begins to ask, holding up the box.

“Oh, yeah.” Web says, waving a hand dismissively. “Open it whenever. I’m not great with stuff like this, so I got Perco to help me. The note’s from me, though, but I don’t remember what I wrote. Excuse me, ma’am—” He turns on his heel, asking an employee for directions to a section on something about art history.

Babe turns the box over in his hands one more time, wandering absently over to an empty armchair in the corner of the shop and dropping into it.

The box is small, and black, and he tugs it open and blinks.

It’s a watch, and the thin notecard inside has Web’s handwriting on it, neatly scratched in pen. 

Dear Babe,

This is a brew metric, and I got the retro version because of the colours. I don’t know if you’re a watch person, but Joe made the mistake of saying that he doesn’t care, so I had to buy it so here you go.

Merry Christmas!

Babe blinks. The note takes on a rather aggressive tone towards the end of it, but he guesses it’s rather nice. 

He looks up, and Web is in the art history section, so he takes the watch out of the box, puts it on, and is wondering if he should throw away the box or not when—

“Babe?”

Babe jolts, startled, and looks over his shoulder. He almost doesn’t recognise the girl that blinks back at them, but he clears his throat and shifts to see her better.

“Renée.” He says, sticking up two fingers in an awkward wave. “Uh. Hey. How are you?”

Renée Lemaire’s hair is tied back on top of her head, her coat a light blue. She has her hands tucked into the pockets of it, and walks around the chair that Babe’s sitting in to perch in the one opposite him. Her eyes are doing… something, that Babe can’t read, and Babe wonders what Gene told her.

“How are you doing?” She asks him, maybe politely, hands clasped together in her lap. Babe blinks. Whatever he was expecting her to say, that wasn’t it.

“Uh.” He says. “Good?” He’s not sure if this is a trap or not. He doesn’t think it is, because he doesn’t think that Renée is the type of person to do something like that, but, well. He’s not sure if he’s thinking right. Renée nods.

She’s freaking him out, a little bit — Babe wonders if she’s looking for something, the way she stares at him. He shifts in the chair.

“Hey, do you—” He starts to say.

“How much do you—” Renée says at the same time, and they both lapse back into silence. 

Renée speaks up again before Babe can say anything. “How much do you read?” She asks him. Babe blinks. 

“Uh.” He says. He’d expected her to ask about Gene, or something else. Small talk… rather unexpected. Renée shifts in her own seat.

“I think that reading can help us figure out things in our life that have nothing to do with books.” She says, leaning forward in her own chair. She brushes her hands against her knees as she does. “Do you have your phone?” Babe blinks again.

“Yeah.” He says.

“Could I recommend some things for you to read?” Renée asks him, and Babe thinks that this is Web’s fault. He’s walked right out of normal and right into the world of strange people he’s met maybe three times in bookshops.

“I don’t, uh.” He says. “I don’t really read, you know? Books just aren’t…” Renée waves her hand.

“Books are fine, but I was thinking more of poems. Shorter things.” She says. “You know?”

“No.” Babe tells her, but shifts in his seat to fish his phone out of his pocket. He’s not sure why he does, but. She hasn’t mentioned Eugene and Webster is taking forever and Babe doesn’t want to leave him in the bookstore because he thinks that Web will emerge with too many things and might die immediately without any assistance.

He unlocks his phone and gestures with it, clearing his throat. “Where do I, uh…?” Renée shrugs. 

“Write them in your notes.” She says, matter-of-fact. Babe huffs.

“Right.” He mutters. 

—

Franz Kafka, Haruki Murakami, and Hanif Abdurraqib.

Babe stares at the names, and doesn't think he knows how to pronounce any of them.

“Hey,” Web says, and Babe jolts slightly, turning off his phone and looking up. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” Babe says back, shoving his phone into his pocket and standing up at the same time. “Get what you were looking for?”

“Yeah.” Web tells him, but looks slightly lost. He holds up his new bag, which is accompanied by another five bags, so Babe steps forward to take a few before calamity strikes. “Uh, a book, for an old college friend. He lives…” Webster gestures vaguely, which could mean on the moon for all Babe knows. “...and I haven’t talked to him in forever, but. Might as well, you know?”

“Sure.” Babe says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He slides a few bags onto his arm and up to his elbow like he’s sliding coat hangers onto a rack. Noticing Web’s gaze, down at Babe’s pocket, he wonders if Webster saw the list and scrambles to say something else before he does something Babe doesn’t want him to do, like ask about it. “What’s that guy doing now, anyways?”

Web waves his hand again. The bags more evenly distributed between the two of them (Babe’s arms may just fall off), he has the freedom to sweep an arm out airily, an absent Webster-ism. “Oh, you know.” He says, because Babe doesn’t. “Things. I think he writes for a sports journal, now.” Web wrinkles his nose.

Webster writes for a literary journal, which could be the same thing as a sports journal in Babe’s book, except for Babe would actually read a sports journal, but he doesn’t say that, mainly because he doesn’t want to accidentally step on a mine and blow up the entirety of Pennsylvania.

He can’t do that, yet, anyways. 

He wonders where Gene is. His head is starting to hurt.

Webster, thank god, ends up not accompanying Babe all the way back to his apartment or needing Babe’s help to get back to his own; Web had apparently texted Liebgott whilst they were still in the store about picking him up.

“I’ll tell him that he doesn’t need to go through the guilt spiral of doom when we get back to his place,” Web tells him, fidgeting with the wrists of his gloves, “But I figure that one last favour, first, helps more than it hurts.”

Babe, who doesn’t want to have to carry the sixty million bags that Web had given him to the other side of the city, just nods. He could have always just left Web at any time, but with this much shit weighing Webster down, he thinks that there may be more than a fifty percent chance that he would just immediately be killed on his own.

“Wait,” He says, after a moment, thoughts slightly delayed by the amusing ponderings of how, exactly, Webster could die in a fatal shopping accident. “You mean you and Liebgott aren’t living together?” Web shrugs.

“No.” He says. “I mean, we’re ‘living together’ but we’re not actually living together.”

Babe just blinks at him. Web shrugs again, as if to clarify.

“We’re living together, but not actually living together, because I still have my place, and I don’t want to move out, but Lieb still has his place, which is nicer, so he doesn’t want to move out, and if we were gonna live together, we’re gonna live at his place, so we’re ‘living together’, but, again, we’re not actually living together.” He says.

Babe’s starting to think that he should maybe just buy a treadmill to go on walks.

—

16 December

Babe unearths his laptop from underneath his dresser. It has dust on the cover of it and the ‘R’ key doesn’t work, but it functions well enough and he drags it out to the living room, dropping down into the sofa chair with a huff.

Bill’s sitting on the couch, and he raises an eyebrow at Babe, but doesn’t say anything.

“What.” Babe says, anyways, because when Bill’s not saying anything he’s saying more than he does when he won’t shut up.

“Uh.” Bill says, like he’s trying to think. “You seen the Doc, recently?”

“Nope.” Babe says, not thinking about Gene. Gene’s probably at work, anyways, so he’s not thinking of Babe, so why would Babe be thinking of Gene? “Why would I?”

He can feel Bill staring at him.

“Well.” Bill says, shifting against the couch. He’s wearing his knee brace, again, because his leg had started to bother him enough for him to give in to wearing it. He holds up a hand, counting off on his fingers. “He came over here, was upset, you two went into your room, and this place has thin fucking walls, Babe, so I’m very well aware that—”

“Oh my God,” Interrupts Babe, because he can. The back of his neck feels hot. Bill waves a hand impatiently.

“And then he’s gone before anyone else wakes up and you’re sulking and that’s weird. Henceforth, have you seen the Doc, recently?”

Babe powers on his laptop. He’s trying to ignore Bill, or, at the very least, appear haughtily indignant. He’s thinking he’s falling somewhat short of that. “We didn’t fight.” He says, rather defensively, because they didn’t. “We talked about Eugene going down to Louisiana and everyone from Pittsburgh maybe going down there sometime and that’s it. We’re friends, Bill, friends sometimes don’t see each other recently, When was the last time you saw Bull?”

He can feel Bill still staring at him, but he seems to relent when Babe just hikes the laptop up closer to his face and keeps not looking at him.

“Alright, Babe.” Bill says, after a moment, and sounds resigned. “Sounds like you’ve got it sorted.”

Babe wonders if Gene’s still wearing the yellow scarf.

—

Babe starts with Hanif Abdurraqib, because that’s the name he can’t figure out how to spell for the first few go-arounds, and he finds a poem on a poetry website that he hesitantly bookmarks.

He chooses one titled I Was Told the Sunlight Was a Cure, because the cure part makes him think of Gene, and then he remembers he’s not thinking about Gene at all.

—

—  I declare on the days I want to be alive I might drag

my drummer & my singer to your doorstep & ask you to dance

yes, you, who also survived the groaning machinery of darkness

you who, despite this, do not want to be perceived in an empire

awash with light in the sinning hours & we will dance — 

Babe blinks at that part for a moment, shifting against the sofa chair when he feels his leg start to fall asleep. Maybe the machinery of darkness could be like the Mustang.

He wonders if Gene dances. He wonders if Gene would agree to dance if Babe asked him to.

—

December 17

Babe finds another poem by Hanif Abdurraqib called The Prestige before dawn has even broken through the sky and clicks on it for no reason whatsoever. He tries to remember to print out the other poem when he has the time. He’d like to keep it for a while.

—

— No one will bury their kin when desire becomes a fugitive between us. — 

Babe blinks and has to look away from the words because his eyes are starting to hurt. He’s laying on his back, on his bed, with his hoodie pulled up over his forehead.

He wonders what fugitive means in this. Then he wonders if it means rotten.

He misses Gene.

—

He reads more and more Abdurraqib until his eyes start to burn and then he takes a break to eat and get some fresh air.

It’s cold, outside the apartment, and snow turned to sludge kicks up under his feet as he walks, walks. He’s not sure where he’s going.

—

He ends up at the bookstore, again (Renée isn’t there, but Babe didn’t think she would be. His chair is unoccupied and he drops into it gracelessly, tugging his phone out of his pocket.)

—

He looks up Haruki Murakumi but can’t find any poems, like Abdurraqib had, but he finds quotes, instead, and wonders if that’s the same thing. He slouches down in the chair in the bookstore.

—

— Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart. — 

It’s from something called Norwegian Wood, or so it says, and Babe blinks at it and looks up from his phone and looks up at the ceiling and wonders why Gene left, after he’d gotten stuck.

Babe had had a nightmare, after that. He’d torn everything off of his bed.

He wonders if maybe he should have asked Gene why. They never even talked about it.

—

— And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about. — 

Is the storm when he got trapped under the Mustang? 

Or would the storm be not sleeping with blankets, or going on walks everyday, or whatever else?

Babe has to leave the bookstore because Bill starts lighting up his phone about getting back to the apartment so everyone else can watch a movie.

The quote is from something called Kafka on the Shore, and Babe realises that Kafka is on the list in his notes app, too.

—

Kafka doesn’t really have poems, either, and Babe’s beginning to feel lied to, but he finds more quotes, and he begins to wonder if there’s any true difference.

His roommates are bickering happily again, and Babe sits on the floor where the recliner used to be, bent over his laptop. 

Toye swings around him on the crutches and drops down onto the couch next to Luz, kissing his temple absently, offering up a slice of pizza in one hand and throwing the other one around his waist. Bill groans, like the entire interaction had killed him.

Babe has a whole page of bookmarks, now, and a list of things he wants to print off because the one in his head was getting too big.

—

— Don't feel sorry for yourself. Only assholes do that. —

That’s another Murakami one, and Babe snorts so hard his throat kind of hurts, and Toye looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. They’re still all out in the living room, but it’s dark outside, and Bill is engrossed in a rerun of Elf and Luz is out cold, face squished against Toye’s shoulder, legs thrown over his lap.

“Nothing.” Babe murmurs, and Toye goes back to doing whatever on his phone, resting his own cheek absently on top of Luz’s head. Bill lets out a bleating laugh at whatever gimmick Will Ferrell prances through.

Babe feels… okay. 

He closes the computer when the back of his mind starts to get rather cloudy, and even manages to get invested in Elf. 

—

Elf ends and Luz is still asleep, and Babe is cleaning out everything piled up in the sink and trying not to grin as Toye tries to get him off the couch.

“Can’t carry you, right now, doll, you gotta get up,” He’s muttering, absently, as Luz groans, overly dramatic, arms around his neck. 

Babe goes back to drying out cups, shaking his head. Bill’s leaning against the counter next to him, doing absolutely nothing helpful, but he lets out another stupid bleating laugh. Babe kind of wants to laugh, too.

—

20 December

He goes to the corner shop he went to to get the maque-choux ingredients — they’d eaten most of the vegetables, because Babe thinks that him and Gene might not make the recipe, anymore — because they actually have pretty good food.

He runs into Eugene in the food aisle.

Gene doesn’t see him, because Babe had come up almost behind him, and Babe’s plan is to make a quick getaway so Gene won’t see him but when he turns on his heel the corner of his basket catches on one of the cans on the lower shelves of the aisle and clatters to the floor like a gunshot.

Gene turns around, and sees Babe, and Babe sees him, and Babe wonders what fancy words he could use to describe the expression on Eugene’s face. 

“Hey,” Gene says, accent drawing out the word. His shopping basket is tucked underneath his elbow, Babe catches sight of catfish and wonders if he’s making courtbouillon. 

“Hi.” Babe says back, and hopes he sounds like a normal person. Gene’s hair is the same black shock it always is, eyes just as dark as ever, and Babe doesn’t know what he wants to do but he knows it isn’t enough.

They’re friends, and they haven’t seen each other in days, and that’s why it’s awkward. Babe crosses his arms over his sternum – basket sticking out from his own elbow awkwardly – and lets himself believe that.

“How are you?” Gene asks him, and Babe responds with good and asks the same question in kind.

Crackly Mariah Carey plays over the speakers of the shop because of course it does, and Babe blinks at Gene and Gene blinks back and then Gene says “I’m leaving, to go to Louisiana. On the twenty-second.” 

It’s like a hole opens in Babe’s chest, and it’s not painful, and it’s not surprising, but it’s there and Babe wonders if Gene can hear the wind whistling through it.

“Oh.” Babe says. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Gene says back. “I think I’ll stay for as long as they’ll let me.”

“I’m happy for you.” Babe says, and Gene nods, eyes dark. He’s twisting his lower lip through his teeth, like he’s thinking, and Babe still doesn’t know what the expression on his face is. “Uh, I’ll… see you later?”

“Yeah—” Gene starts to say, and stops to pick up the can that Babe had knocked over what seemed like heartbeats ago. “Yes. Yeah, I’ll, uh. I’ll see you, Edward.”

Babe’s chest hurts, again.

“Yeah.” He says. “Bye, Gene.”

—

So Gene is leaving Philadelphia. And will stay away for as long as he can.

—

Babe starts reading Kafka quotes more.

—

— Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old. —

Babe lays on his back in his bed with the blinds open to midnight. He thinks of Gene’s eyes and his chapped lips and his hair.

—

21 December

— I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly. —

Eugene Roe is the only friend that Babe has ever had whose lack of presence makes the hole in his heart seem bigger.

—

22 December

“‘Lo?”

“Hey, it’s Spina.”

“Ugh, fuck, man, it’s, like, seven thirty in the morning, why are you—”

“Shut up, that’s plenty early.” Ralph Spina seems to be in a good mood. Babe wonders what Gene is doing. If Spina can see him. “Hey, Gene has this present for you, that he got, like, at the beginning of the month, I was wondering if you want to drop by and grab it?”

Huh. So Babe guesses Gene’s not wherever Spina is, then.

“Uh.” Babe says. “He got me something?”

“Yeah,” Spina says, oblivious to the complicated whatever of emotions that Babe’s going through. “A book, I guess. Something about Kafka?”

The hole in Babe’s chest whistles. “Huh.” He says. “Like, something he wrote, or—”

“No, it’s by someone else… I think a Japanese guy? Ah, here it is. Kafka on the Shore.” 

Babe’s been in his room, getting ready, and he drops down heavily at the corner of his bed. “Oh.” He says. Spina huffs.

“Yeah.” He says. “Something about you liking it, or something. He got it on, like, the third, man.”

“Oh.” Babe says again, not really listening. Spina hums his vague agreement and keeps talking, and Babe tunes him out, staring at his comforter in the corner of the room. (He’d tugged the other sheets back onto his bed. He was too cold at night.)

He thinks about Eugene, and then thinks about thinking about Eugene, and then blinks.

They go days without seeing each other, without texting each other, but Babe thinks that he makes up for that time, possibly every minute that fills the gap since he was born and since he met Eugene, with thinking about him.

He thinks about Gene’s chapped lips, and his dark hair, and his eyes, and his smile, and everything else, and suddenly feels very, very warm.

“—’sides, it could be worse, because—”

“Spina?” Babe interrupts him, pushing himself up off his bed. He can feel his heart in his chest, and it almost hurts. “Where’s Gene?”

“Uh.” Spina says, and it’s enough hesitation for Babe’s blood to start to go cold with realisation. He pulls his phone away from his year to check the time and date. “He’s packing. He’s leaving in, like, ten minutes, man. Already ordered an Uber and everything.”

Something that isn’t panic but a close relative to it lights up the inside of Babe’s head all sorts of warning colours, and he swears and almost hangs up, stumbling over his carpet in his haste to get out to the living room. 

“Spina, I gotta go.” He says, almost jogging over to the front door, jamming his shoes into his feet. Bill’s sitting on the couch, because of course he is, and he looks up from his phone with a raised eyebrow. “Just… don’t let Gene leave early, okay?”

He doesn’t hear Spina’s reply, too busy shoving his phone into his pocket and wrestling the door open. 

“Gene, huh?” Bill starts to ask, but Babe’s already out the hall and slamming the apartment door shut behind him.

He skips down the steps of their apartment quickly, careful not to slip, and realises as the cold bites into his arms that he forgot his coat.

He elects it unimportant, stares down the street as soon as his feet hit it, and starts running.

—

14 November

“No, see, it’s—”

Babe interrupts himself, grinning too hard to see Gene’s trembling hand properly. “You’re not taking this seriously!” He accuses Gene, turning his cheek against the pillow to nose at Gene’s temple, the others hand still tight between both of his. “I’m doing you a huge favour, reading your future for free, and you’re not taking it seriously!”

Gene laughs again, as quiet and warm as he ever is, and turns his lips against the shell of Babe’s ear. “I’m takin’ this seriously,” He says, “but there’s not a lotta ways of me responding seriously when you tell me I have ‘attractive palms’.”

He says the last two words like he’s making fun of Babe, but Babe knows he isn’t and huffs, affronted, anyways.

“I said that you have the most aesthetically-pleasing hands I’ve ever had the honour of staring at.” He says, matter-of-fact, and Gene hums like he doesn’t believe him. “‘Course, you’re just a very aesthetically-pleasing person.”

The hand not at Babe’s face is running over his bare hip, fingers tapping out absent melodies against the skin there, and Babe leans into the touch as Gene regards him, eyes serious and lips chapped and quirked up in a smile. “Not so much as you are.” He says, so close to Babe that he’s slightly blurry.

Babe hums and gives up on reading his palm to roll over on top of him.

—

22 December

Almost a month ago he got trapped under a car, almost a month ago he nearly died, almost a month ago Gene kissed him and promised he wouldn’t get lost and then left him alone in the dark and a week ago Babe fucked up and he just realised how.

He’d grabbed his sneakers, because they were the first things he saw, and they’re filled with ice water and heavy and soggy and he’s sure he’s running like an idiot and it’s fucking freezing outside and he doesn’t care because Gene is only a few blocks away and Babe has to tell him this in person, has to get to him before he gets out into the Uber.

His heart both soars and crashes into the pavement when he sees carefully Eugene pulling a suitcase down the staircase; wound through with twinkling lights and burnt out bulbs.

“Gene!” Babe shouts, chest burning. 

Gene looks up, eyes wide, and when he sees Babe, his face does the same exact thing that it’s done the last few times that Babe’s seen him.

“Gene!” He yells again, and speeds up.

Gene leaves his suitcase on the stairs and moves down the rest of the way, and his feet hit the pavement at the same time that Babe starts slowing down, icy sludge spraying from under his feet as he slides to a dragging stop in front of the staircase, staggering against it. He looks up, and is finally close enough to see Gene, and Gene looks radiant and… well. 

“What the fuck.” Gene says, and Babe realises he’s in a t-shirt and sneakers and sweatpants in 30 degree weather and waves it off to stand up straight, taking a deep breath.

“I have to tell you some stuff,” He says, “and it’s not gonna make a lot of sense, and I need you to stick with me, here.”

Gene shifts away from him, like he’s going to grab his suitcase. “Edward,” he says, and the frustration that bolts through Babe at his given name almost warms him up. “I’ve got a car coming any minute now—”

“It won’t take long—” Babe promises over him, and realises, maybe for the first time, that the aching in his chest is something desperate. “I, just. I need to do this, and I didn’t realise that I did, and now I’m—”

“Babe.” Gene says, and Babe blinks at him and then blinks again and then suddenly can’t stop from opening his mouth.

“I’m my own drummer and my own singer and I’m asking you to dance with me, I think.” Is what comes out of it, and Gene stares at him like he’s insane so Babe shakes his head and clears his throat and tries again.

“I mean, I like you.” He says, and thinks of storms and memories and words and poems and quotes and people and the shore. “Like, not as a friend. And I thought as a friend, but you’re the only friend I have that I think about everyday, and that I go crazy for, and I like you like I want to be more than your friend, and it’s—”

“Babe—” Gene starts to say again, and Babe shakes his head, holds up a hand, because the hurting in his chest is desperation and he needs to get it out, needs to tell Gene, needs to shake it into him because it’s going to burn him alive.

“No, I just, I need to—” He says, and has to stop and huff through his nose. He tries to collect his thoughts, and takes a deep breath. “You asked me to go down to Louisiana and I thought just as friends because I thought we were just friends, but we aren’t, are we?”

Gene blinks at him. The twist of his lips looks almost imploring. “Babe,” he says, a third time. “I thought that you didn’t want to be anything but—”

“I didn’t know anything!” Babe exclaims, which is a little loud, so he winces slightly and tries again. “I didn’t know that we were friends, I didn’t know that we were more, I thought… I thought that it was just… whatever we were doing and didn’t think.”

“I thought we were just friends, too.” Gene interrupts him this time, and Babe wants to touch his jaw. “I thought we were, and then we were changing, and it scared me in November and I left, but it didn’t scare me anymore but you—”

“You left again.” Babe says, and doesn’t mean it as an accusation. “You left again, after November, and I was confused, and I thought we were friends, but we’re not, because we’re more, or — or at least I want to be more, because I like you—”

Gene’s watching him with wide eyes, wide and dark and bright and light and the tip of his nose is read and so are the shells of his ears and Babe’s chest hurts and he knows why and he opens his mouth again and doesn’t even try to stop himself from rambling.

“I like how red your nose gets when it’s cold outside.” He says, and Gene blinks and steps back half a pace, as if surprised. “I like how you refuse to call me by my goddamn name, no matter how many times I tell you that only the nuns call me Edward.” He says, even though Gene’s called him Babe now almost as much as Edward in this single conversation.

“I like how you make food that’s fully capable of killing me.” He says, and thinks of the spice in the courtbouillon and how Gene had grinned his soft, gentle grin when Babe had felt his face heating up from the spice. “I like that you always forget to bring gloves outside.” He says, and thinks of Gene’s red knuckles. 

“I like how your lips are almost always chapped, no matter what you do.” He says. “I like the colour of your eyes. I like how cold your hands are. I like that I can never stop thinking about you, no matter what, because you’re all I ever want to think about, Eugene, even before November, even before everything that happened, because you’re you and I like you.”

He takes a deep breath, and realises for the first time just how cold his feet are. He ignores it, because Gene’s staring at him again and Babe’s distracted by everything from his hair to his eyes to the way he has his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, elbows held out high, for some reason.

“Babe.” Gene says, and Babe staggers slightly against the fairy light staircase and then Gene is kissing him, and his hands are freezing and on either side of Babe’s face.

It’s a chaste kiss, as far as kisses go, because Babe’s maybe freezing to death and also so high on adrenaline he thinks he could bench press Bull, and his own hands fly up to Gene’s face and kiss him again, and again, and pull back enough to kiss the corner of his mouth, and his cheek, and back to his mouth, and—

“Uh, excuse me, are you Roe?” 

Gene pulls away from him, eyes wide and lips chapped and Babe’s chest still hurts and Gene turns to the Uber driver, hands leaving Babe to pat down his pockets, talking faster than Babe thinks he’s ever heard him talk.

“Yes, yeah, sorry about that,” He’s saying, and he sounds almost breathless, and Babe would be almost proud if he wasn’t so cold and also wanting Gene to come back over right now before he actually dies. “I, uh, could you wait, a moment? I have, like, ten dollars, if you could give me a moment to…” He trails off, and the driver takes the money and shrugs.

Babe misses the rest of the transaction because he’s shifting his feet back and forth and hoping he doesn’t lose a toe. Then Gene’s back near him again, and it’s significantly weirder because there’s an Uber driver waiting on them. But Gene kisses him again and Babe kisses back and then kisses the corner of his mouth and his cheek again and pulls back just enough to rest his freezing forehead against Gene’s, and he can’t stop smiling.

Gene is so close to him that Babe’s eyes are slightly blurry, and his smile is as gentle and as soft as it ever is and when he asks, “did Renée do the thing with the poems?” Babe’s laugh bursts out of him so warmly it’s like sunlight.

He runs his thumbs over Gene’s cheekbones and closes his eyes, their foreheads still pressed together, to say, “I’m gonna write you poems, now. She’s opened me up to a whole world of possibilities.”

Gene smiles and it seems tired, so Babe pulls back and kisses him again, and then says, hole still in his chest, “don’t stay in Louisiana until they want you to leave. I want — I want you to come back and take time off. I want to do that, like you said earlier.”

It’s Gene that pushes forward to kiss him, this time, and his breath is warm and puffs against Babe’s cheek and Babe has missed him so, so much and somehow never even realised that he did. “Yeah,” He says. “Yeah, of course—”

“And we can make the… the maque-choux—” Babe says, starting to ramble, a little bit, and Gene huffs a laugh.

“You remember that?” He asks.

Babe nods, rests his forehead against Gene’s and says, “I couldn’t forget. I couldn’t forget, the ingredients were in the fridge, I bought them the next day you texted me,” And Gene laughs and kisses him again.

“We’re gonna fuck up again.” Gene says, after that, which would be out of pocket if it wasn’t Gene and if Babe didn’t know exactly what he meant.

“I don’t care.” He said, and shifted from having his hands on either sides of Gene’s face to lock his wrists behind Gene’s neck, watching his eyes and thinking a mile a minute and saying, “I don’t care, I don’t give a shit, and we’ll fuck up and it’ll be fine and we’ll talk about it and it will be worth it because it’s you—”

“And you’re you.” Gene reminds him, his own hands having migrated to either side of Babe’s neck, and Babe laughs and bumps his nose against Gene’s.

“Yeah, and we’ll figure it out.” He says, and it suddenly feels more serious. He watches Gene’s eyes some more and lets himself feel warm. “We — it won’t be perfect, and we’ll have issues, and it won’t always be good and we’ll figure it out and it’ll be us.”

And Gene is quieter, too, like he’s also realising the solemnity, and then he’s nodding and kissing Babe again and he says, “I won’t leave again.” And it makes Babe laugh and maybe it’s a little wet because there’s an Uber driver, like, five feet away from them waiting to help Gene do just that.

“Yeah, you will.” Babe says, and wonders what poems and quotes and words there are about that. “You will, but it’s okay, ‘cause I’ll understand why, and I’ll have to leave, sometimes, but we’ll both be back and it won’t be perfect but it’ll be us and we’ll figure it out.”

Gene’s watching him, again, and the corner of his mouth is quirked up and Babe watches him and is warm, warm. “Yeah?” He asks, almost like a joke, and from behind them, the Uber driver clears his throat so Babe just nods and runs a thumb over Gene’s chapped lips and lets himself smile before kissing them.

“Yeah.” He says back, and Gene steps away and drags his suitcase off of the stairs and Gene kisses him again and then is moving towards the Uber. “Yeah, we’re gonna figure it out.” He says, and says it more to himself. He watches Gene shove his luggage into the car and turn back once more and Babe almost stumbles in his move to meet him and Gene’s hands are cold on either side of his face.

Gene pulls back and regards him seriously, face solemn, eyes warm. “I like you, too.” He says, and Babe’s laugh almost startles him.

“Oh, thank God.” He says, and Gene kisses him again. “I was a little worried.”

—

Gene eventually has to get into the Uber, and Babe eventually has to kiss him one last time, but the hurting in his chest isn’t so bad anymore and he wonders if the crushing he’d been feeling since the Mustang could maybe slowly become less. Everything is always less, when it needs to be, with Gene.

Babe scrubs a hand down his face and wonders if he can use the printer at work to print off the Harif Abdurraqib poem and turns on his heel and heads back to his own apartment.

Fuck, his feet are cold.

And… oh.

Well, he still has to find Eugene a Christmas present.

[celltheory]

summer books!!!

june/july/august all together because i read one (1) book in july

The Courage to be Disliked (Fumitake Koga, Ichiro Kishimi): Read this because my friend who is studying to be a therapist told me I should (rip). It was fine? Interesting enough that I finished it, but I fundamentally disagree with some of the main arguments. It didn't ~change me or how I think and hasn't been that memorable since.

The Winner (Teddy Wayne): Technically a thriller. I read this in one night and expected a completely different book, but it was a really easy read and I mostly enjoyed it. The class discussions felt very simplistic and were made Obvious and I don't think I was as charmed by the main guy at the beginning as I was meant to be, but it was a good time.

Private Rites (Julia Armfield): Julia...I am so sorry. Her writing is still so good but I think I just do not enjoy the same things she enjoys at all and I do not really care for horror or whatever this was. Our Wives had a stronger undertone of ~romance which made me like it a lot more than this one. Maybe my issue is that I have a brother and no sisters but I don't know. The concept itself was interesting and I mostly have petty complaints about it (I could not tell the two sisters with names that started with i apart for the life of me, the king lear marketing really threw me off because it admittedly had NOTHING to do with the story) so it is definitely a Not For Me but Good Book kind of thing.

Hot Summer (Elle Everhart): I loved this one a LOT more than I expected. I liked the side characters a lot more than I normally do in romance novels and the main romance was cute. The idea summer read.

Any Person Is The Only Self (Elisa Gabbert): The first half of this was really interesting and I loved the essays that were about books/writing but the end just fell off for me. It really did feel like reading a slightly edited diary.

Wish You Weren't Here (Erin Baldlwin): I normally hate YA but this was so cute. Even the epilogue worked for me which is unheard of.

Summer Romance (Annabel Monaghan): The writing annoyed me for the first 50 pages until I got used to it. Very much a brain-off, cheesy romance which is exactly what I wanted to read to distract me from exams. Weirdly had SO much about hamburgers? I swear it's what they ate for at least 75% of their meals. And this quote was so baffling to me, "Theo always smells like cheeseburgers, which I think is the only way to improve the smell of a baby." Ok tbh this charmed me. It is still funny to me to read books where the male love interest is basically perfect but it's chill. Found it kind of weird that she dates her best friend's younger brother but it's a weird non-issue that's also an issue? Like I guess...it's chill because everyone is like damn...get married 5 minutes into their relationship but the sister felt so underutilized even though I understand the reason for the set up.

Same Time Next Summer (Annabel Monaghan): Third book of hers I've read and I'm now convinced that every character is the same. Definitely my least favourite one but mostly because I really don't like then/now timelines and going back and forth. I have no interest in reading about teenagers in love at this point. A very mind-numbing read which is what I wanted in between exams and I probably will still read whatever she publishes because it takes two days and is fun enough to keep going. The pacing was really weird and felt rushed but dragging so I don't know about that.

The Neighbor Favor (Kristina Forest): Email romance!!! Overall cute but felt very chaotic timeline wise. The intentions/feelings of both main characters were soooo neatly explained and a lot of it felt repetitive. I read the first 70% on the plane and then finished last night and felt like I skimmed a lot of the end.

—Currently Reading:

Stag Dance (Torrey Peters): Not...vibing with this at all so far but because it's somehow novellas and a novel, I am really hoping this first big is a novella and is over soon

We Could Be Rats (Emily Austin): Also scared to read this but I do think her writing style makes it so easy to get lost in it so I'm hoping to get through a decent amount of it on the plane tomorrow

12 Bytes (Jeanette Winterson): I really like the way she writes and I am worried that the book is going to misunderstand or not go into enough depth of AI etc but it's been interesting so far.

I am mostly looking forward to the new Sally Rooney and am still trying to find any romance novels I like because the new semester + back to full time work is going to stress me out too much to think properly.

[warriorofdragons]

Got The Touch

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Language, NSFW(18+ Only) Oral, Vaginal Fingering, Cowgirl Position

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” Cole asks. “It was my idea remember?” you ask tugging playfully on his lapels. Cole chuckles, “Just makin’ sure seein’ as well…You can’t see me,” he says with sideways a tilt of his hat and goggles. His hands reach up to cup your face and you lean forwards and he meets you halfway and you can feel his lips press to yours. “Do you remember the safeword?” Cole asks. “Spurs,” you answer. “Good,” he replies with a nod. You stare at his floating goggles and hat where his face should be, “This is weird that I can’t see your face.” Cole chuckles, “If’n ya change yer mind…” You reach out and lightly tap his goggles and then trace the band to his hairline and then trail your fingers down to find his cheeks, “I know the safeword,” you say cupping his face. You stroke his cheeks with your thumbs and can feel his beard and his soft skin. He feels the same as he always does, it’s just a little disconcerting not being able to see well….him. You release his face and lower your hands to smooth over his torso, he Definitely still feels like your boyfriend. “What was this disguise even for?” you ask unzipping his jacket slowly. Cole shakes his hat, “Eh, just some fancy, schmancy upper class shindig I had to blend into to find our target,” Cole explains. “Oh, you mean the ones you hate?” you ask running your hands back up his chest to push it off his shoulders. Cole effortlessly rolls his shoulders and shrugs off the material down to his elbows, and you help him remove his left sleeve like you always do. He laughs again, a deep chuckle, the sound of which always brings a smile to his face and yours. “And the goggles were part of the disguise, strange I didn’t think goggles were the latest fashion craze,” you tease. “Well, no,” Cole begins, pausing to adjust his goggles up and down on the invisible bridge of his nose, “These are actually Night-vision Goggles. Old standard issue Blackwatch.” “Oh…” you say with a raise of your brows, “Riigght, Blackwatch,” you draw out, “The Secret Black Ops Division and Shadow of Overwatch, where the team colors are black and emergency glowing red.” Cole snorts, “I didn’t pick the team colors, Sweetheart, I just rocked them,” he says holding out his gloved hands. You laugh, “What’s next? Construction Yellow?” This time Cole laughs too, “I’ll give the designers your notes.” Then Cole leans in towards you and you instinctively close your eyes and turn your face away when the light from his goggles catches you at the wrong angle. Cole’s lips miss and hit your cheek, “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. You blink hard in the attempt to clear the sudden spots from your vision, “Those bright, glowing goggles just blinded me,” you say rubbing your eyes now. “Oh, I’m sorry, Honeysuckle,” Cole says softly, “Here let me take ‘em off.” Cole’s hat lifts up in one of his gloved hands and then the goggles tilt downwards and are tugged upward after meeting unseen resistance and then finally dangle freely in his left hand. Cole then crosses the room to deposit them in his lower nightstand drawer. Then he turns around and holds out his gloved hands in front of him, one of which is still holding onto his hat and says, “Hold on, now My eyes need to adjust.” You giggle and cover your mouth, “Do you have any idea how funny it is to watch an invisible man try to feel his way around the room?” Cole chuckles, “Well, actually I can see myself just fine, I’m only invisible to you.” “Really?” you ask. “Yup,” he says putting his hat back on to which you feel a little relieved because without the hat and goggles on he looked like he was headless even though you can still hear him talking. Cole steps back over to you and stands in front of you, “To me, you and I look exactly like we always do, I could almost forget that you can’t see me,” Cole says placing his right palm on your cheek. You place a hand over top his and the other on his chest, and trail your fingers down toward his sleeve and feel the delicate skin greet your fingertips. You turn your gaze to the space between his glove and sleeve and softly stroke the inside of his wrist. You hear a soft exhale and know from the sound that Cole is smiling. You lean towards his hand and kiss his wrist. Cole’s thumb brushes your cheek gently in appreciation.

You move your fingers up his sleeve, trailing his muscle through his clothes and when you get to his elbow you get an idea. Removing your hand from his arm you ask, “Can you roll up your sleeves for me?” His hat pulls back and then his hands withdraw and you can see them busy themselves with his sleeves. He carefully and meticulously rolls up his sleeves so that the new cuffs sit comfortably just under his elbows. You bite your lip as you stare at his arms, Cole crosses his arms and you bite your finger next as you stare at his fingers gripping his bicep. “I thought you said you like my sleeves rolled up, because you like how strong my forearms look?” he questions. “I do, but this is doing things for me too,” you say covering your mouth with your hand. “Oh?” Cole asks with a lilt of his voice and what you imagine to be a quirk of his brow, ”Do tell.” You giggle under your breath, “Like it’s not just what I can’t see, like…” you stop to exhale, “Like I never noticed how it accentuated your shoulders too?” Cole begins to flex in a couple of generic strongman poses and you almost double over with laughter. Cole chuckles and grabs a hold of your waist and tugs you towards him. You’re still laughing as he kisses your cheek and then kisses towards the corner of your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him and delight in the feeling of his hair between your fingers as you card through it. As you pull back you tug on his scarf and pull it loose from around his neck and make an elaborate show of dropping it to the floor. You feel across Cole’s shoulders and squeeze his upper arms before trailing down them. When you reach the exposed portion of his arms you take the time to rub up and down them multiple times, earning you a pleased hum from Cole. You then finally trail back up his arms as he runs his hands along your back and start to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. You can’t help the twinge of disappointment you feel when you’re reminded once again that you can’t see your boyfriend, and as his shirt falls open…there’s obviously nothing for you to look at. “What’s wrong, Pumpkin?” Cole asks. Of course Cole would have noticed your slight frown, so you try to shrug it off by smiling up at him and shaking your head, “Nothing’s wrong.” His hat tilts sideways at you, “Oh, Honey,” he says sweetly stroking your sides. His hat then tips downwards as he glances down at himself for a moment. “You know what I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you lie on the bed for me?” he asks his hat tipping back up. You nod, “Okay.” He releases you and you glance back at the bed behind you and then start to sit down on the edge of it. Cole finishes removing the shirt himself and lets it fall onto the floor behind him. With the exception of Cole’s gloves and hat, he’s now just a floating pair of pants as he walks back over to you. You watch him bend his knee as his dress shoes scuff the carpet and he kneels down in front of you. You’re slightly surprised when you feel his hands on your sides again, because without being able to see his arms, you hadn’t noticed them. “Sorry,” Cole huffs. “It’s okay,” you say. You feel Cole’s fingers ghost under your sweater, “May I?” You nod, “Yeah.” You then lift your arms up as Cole lifts your sweater up and over your head. He throws it to the side and then you feel the push of his right hand on your stomach nudging your backwards. You lay back down on the bed and Cole’s hands splay across your stomach and then smooth up your body. You cover your mouth with your hands and giggle as you watch his gloved hands rub over your skin sensually. Cole leans down over you and you can feel how close he is from the heat radiating from his body and you smile from the proximity. His hat bows down and you feel the hairs of his beard tickle your skin first before his lips gently meet your stomach. “Cole…” you moan softly. His lips curl up in a smile and he continues to slowly kiss up your body. You look for his hands and place yours overtop and then follow by touch all the way up to his shoulders. You can feel Cole pause slightly in his ascent as he ponders your next move. You trail your fingers back towards his neck and you find his hair and bury your fingers in it and tug. Cole brushes his nose back and forth against your sternum before going to where you’re directing him and his hat almost gets brushed off of his head by the bed beneath you both as he starts to kiss your neck. You close your eyes and enjoy his kisses. Cole presses his chest to yours and you sigh at the contact and scratch his scalp lightly. He then nips at your neck and you groan lightly. You move your hands back down his neck and across his back and his shoulders flex as he props himself up on the bed. Like this he feels exactly like how he normally does as he kisses back down your collarbone. You open your eyes slowly as he drifts between your breasts. He palms one of your breasts in his right hand through your bra for a few moments and then slides his hand underneath you. You take this as your cue, and lift your chest up off the mattress and he slips his hand between your shoulder blades and feels for your band before unclasping your bra. You watch as his gloved hand removes your bra and throws it off the bed. Cole then palms both of your breasts in his gloved hands and you gasp. You watch his hands work for a moment or two before letting your head roll back onto the bed. Cole nudges one of his legs in between your knees and you part your legs for him. You gasp and moan as Cole pinches one of your nipples and then rolls it between his fingers. Then his left hand suddenly withdraws from you and you see his hat dip down towards your body and you’re unprepared for when his lips find your nipple. You bite your lip and groan again when he swirls his tongue around it. He pinches your left nipple as he sucks on the right. “Cole…” you moan. You feel the hint of a smile and then Cole groans against you as he sucks harder. “Fuck…” you whine. Cole then releases your nipple and nips and sucks another part of your breast and you just know that he has the intention of leaving hickies. He nips and sucks in at least two more places and it’s becoming too much. “The other one…please…” you beg. Cole does as you ask and switches to your left breast and takes that nipple into his mouth next. You moan loudly and Cole’s left hand comes up to massage the breast he littered with hickies. You hum contentedly and rub between his shoulders blades. Cole’s mouth finally leaves your skin in a heavy exhale and you can make out his soft panting above you. You stare up at his floating hat and then catch the movement of one of his gloves out of the corner of your eye and focus on that instead. His fingers deftly undo the button of your jeans and then slowly drag the zipper down. You lift up your hips and Cole pulls your jeans off of you and down your legs. You try to reach out for Cole’s belt to undo it, but his hands stops you. “Not yet,” he laughs, “Got somethin’ else in mind, Darlin’.” His fingers dip under the waistband of your underwear next and he slowly pulls them off of you. Cole lets out a low whistle and you feel your face grow hot and cover your face with your hands. Cole’s hands lightly tear yours away from your face, “Can’t help it, Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous.” Your face grows even warmer as you smile wide, “You’re such a flirt, I’m literally already naked.” “I know,” he says happily. You laugh. “Now do me a favor and keep your legs spread apart,” Cole says pulling your knees apart. “Okay,” you say excitedly, adjusting your legs so that you’re more comfortable.

A couple of moment pass where Cole just keeps his gloved hands on the inside of your knees and then he lets go and…you watch as he tugs off his left glove and then the right. Your eyes widen as now all you can see from your vantage point  is the floating hat on his head. You startle when you feel his fingers on the inside of your right thigh. And then you relax and even giggle when your realize that he’s walking his index and middle fingers down your thigh. He inches closer and closer to your core and then…he withdraws his hand. “Oh, you’re a tease too,” you say. Cole chuckles and suddenly both of his hands are gripping your inner thighs and kneading them. “OH! Ohhh!” you moan out as you melt under his touch. He massages you thoroughly and then withdraws his hands once again. “Oh-Cole!” you gasp out as his index finger slides up through your folds unexpectedly. “Still think I’m a tease?” Cole asks while now circling your clit. “Yes, even more so now,” you sigh. “Hmm…then maybe I should…” he hums, his fingers stopping their enticing movements. “No! Please, please, Cole,” you beg. He starts rubbing your clit again and this time you can feel his left hand gripping your right thigh, “I like it when you beg.” You roll your head back as you prop yourself up on your elbows and moan in response. Cole then moves his finger through your folds again and coats his finger in your fluids and spreads it over you before returning to circle your clit. You moan softly and start to breathe a little heavily. “That feel good?” Cole asks lowly. “Yes, God it feels so good, Cole,” you moan. He hums deeply and you can feel his metal thumb rubbing circles on the inside of your right knee now. Cole’s finger swiftly begins to stroke up and down your vulva and you moan lowly again. All that can be heard in the quiet of your bedroom is the slick sound of Cole’s fingers swiping through your folds and your soft pants. Cole circles once more and your eyelids flutter as you bite your lip, and then you feel his fingers delve back between your folds, but this time he presses his index finger into you slowly. “Oh yesss…” you moan. He positions his hand so that his thumb can rub your clit slowly while he lightly pushes his index finger in and out of you. You feel Cole’s metal hand splay itself across your thigh and he palms it firmly. He withdraws his finger after a handful more strokes and when he pushes in again you can feel two fingers enter you. Cole fingers you more deeply and your thighs start to squeeze together as your legs begin to shake. His left hand pulls your right leg back away from your left, “Keep your legs apart, Sweetheart, want to see you bare to me,” Cole growls. “Okay….’m trying…” you mumble caught up in the sensation of Cole’s fingers curling inside of you. “Heh,” Cole chuckles. Your eyelids flutter again as Cole removes his left hand from your thigh and then you see his hat lift off of his head and watch it be set down beside you on the bed. You lift yourself up higher on your elbows as though that would help you see what he’s about to do next. You can still feel him slowly fingering you, but you do notice the sudden absence of his thumb after he removed his hat. “Oh please, oh please…” you plead. You feel his hot mouth slant abasing your clit and your entire body jolts as you arch your back and cry out. Cole licks and circles your clit with his tongue as his fingers thrust faster into you. You squeeze your eyes shut and instinctively throw your right hand out and find his hair as you wiggle your hips against his face. Cole sucks hard on your clit, even just the sound of it causes you to moan and clench hard around his fingers. You bite your lip furiously and whine as Cole shows you no mercy. You can feel his left hand lifting your leg to sit on top of his shoulder and you lay back fully on the bed, and bump your knee into his right shoulder as you lift it up to rest your feet on his back. You reach your left hand down next to tangle it in his hair too, “Oh, Cole!” you whine loudly. Cole groans against your core and you feel like you could cum just from the sound of his voice. You can feel Cole adding a third finger and he slows his thrusting just long enough to make sure you’ve acclimated, your sudden chants of, “Yes, Cole!” certainly encouraging. He swirls his tongue rapidly and you tug harder on his hair and he groans again and you can feel his chest heaving under your calves. “Fuck! Oh COLE, YES!” you cry. You cry out one final time as you cum hard onto his fingers as they continue to thrust in and out of you. Your whole body trembles and then goes slack and Cole slows his fingers down and gives one final suck to your clit before coming up for air. But he doesn’t go far as you can still feel his hot breaths as he pants against you. You struggle to catch your own breath as you stare up at the ceiling, your heart pounding in your chest and in your ears. You feel Cole extend his tongue towards you again and you tug upwards on his hair, “Baby, nooo it’s too soon!” you whine. “I just want to lick you clean,” he breathes. You loose your grip on his hair and shiver a little as he gently laps at your release. You continue to catch your breath as Cole licks a stripe up you, he touches your still-sensitive clit and you yank on his hair again and he lifts his head finally. You hear him swallow and smacking his lips and are overcome with your urge to kiss him. You sit up quickly, sliding your legs off of his shoulders and reach out to him with your right hand and manage to find one shoulder and trace it swiftly back to find his face and slap him in the cheek. “Oof!” Cole exclaims, the smack resounding throughout your bedroom. Your hands shoot to your mouth, “Ohh, Honey, I’m SO SORRY!” Cole blows out a puff of air and you can hear him rub his cheek by the scratching of his beard against his metal hand, “Well, that smarts.” “Cole, I’m so so sorry,” you apologize profusely trying to gingerly reach out to find him. His hands find both of your wrists and guide them to his face where you rub the cheek gingerly that you had offended. “I’m fine, a little surprised more than anythin’,” he says. You lean forward to try to kiss him, but he turns his head at the last moment and you kiss the tip of his nose. “Oh!” he mutters in surprise. “Ah! I’m sorry,” you apologize again shaking your head. Cole snorts and then you feel his right hand gently cup your chin, “Here…” And then he tilts your chin a little and you feel his warm lips press to yours, and as you taste yourself on his tongue you pull him in closer between your legs. Cole hums happily and you stroke his bearded cheeks. When he pulls back he then presses a light kiss to the tip of your nose and you giggle. “I’m still sorry about your face,” you say quietly. “Shh, I know you didn’t mean it, ‘sides you can’t see me,” he reminds you. And you hear a whooshing sound through the air and you lean back and look in the general direction, but you can’t see his arm at all, But you Assume he waved it at himself? “See?” he says and you look back up between your hands at the sound of his voice. “Well, I don’t but…yeah,” you laugh. Cole chuckles and then pecks your lips again. You hear the shifting of fabric and glance behind you as he retrieves his hat and places it back on his head, “Maybe it’d be best if I keep this on.” “You say that as though you don’t always wear it during,” you laugh. “That’s not true,” Cole points out, “Sometimes you wear it.” You giggle some more and bite your lip.

Cole stands and you come face to face with his erection that’s undoubtedly throbbing painfully in his pants. “Want me to do the honors?” you ask. “Please,” Cole says a little strained. You undo his belt buckle and then drag his zipper down before pushing his pants down. Cole exhales with relief, “You won’t believe how tight these fancy types wear their pants.” “Well, they’re no Wrangler,” you joke. “I’ll say,” Cole says. You palm his erection though his bright red, plaid boxers and can hear Cole’s breathing hitch. You look up at him and see the underside of his hat as he tilts it backwards. You then trail your eyes down his invisible body to his underwear and another twinge of disappointment fills you at the thought of being unable to see him. Shame, and this is one of the best parts, the unveiling. So you reach your hand into his underwear and trail down through his pubic hair until you find his shaft and firmly grip him in your hand. You hear Cole’s breathing  grow labored above you and smile. You stroke him and pull down his underwear with your left hand. “Mmm…shit…feels so good…” Cole moans out. “Yeah?” you question looking up at him with your best bedroom eyes. Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean he can’t get a good view of you. “Mmhmm…” he moans again. You rest your left hand on his thigh and trail your hand up to his stomach, relishing in the way his muscles tense and he becomes putty in your hands. Cole’s right hand suddenly grabs your wrist and you stop. “You okay?” you ask looking up at him. “Yeah…yeah…it’s just as nice as that’d be, I Really want you to ride me instead,” Cole says his voice becoming gravelly. You let go of him and smile, “Your penis?” Cole laughs, “Oh, I see what you did there, Tempting. But yes.” Cole releases your wrist and you release him and he toes off his shoes and steps backwards out of his pants and underwear before pulling off his socks in a hurry. You immediately miss his warmth and tuck your legs up onto the bed and crawl back to your side. You see Cole’s top nightstand drawer open up and his hat floating above it and listen to the sound of him rifling around before a floating condom packet removes itself from the drawer. You cover your mouth with your hand and stifle your laugh as it rips open, but then you watch in curiosity as he rolls it down his penis. As he finishes you stare down at his erection now prominently covered in a red condom. “Wait,” Cole says his erection bouncing slightly as he steps back, “Can you see?” “Yes!” you exclaim happily. Cole starts laughing and you join him. “What Are The Odds?!” he laughs hysterically. “Talk about a Bullseye!” you laugh. Cole’s hat nearly falls off as he doubles over in laughter. “Oh my God,” he begins trying to catch his breath. “Come on,” you say getting up on your knees. “Right,”  he says climbing into bed next to you. You wait for him to finish getting comfortable and then smile lightly at the Cowboy shaped indent in the mattress and sheets. You can actually tell from the way the pillows are misshapen that he has his hands folded under his head as he waits for you to climb on. You can see his erection plain as day which is incredibly helpful and makes you bite your lip at the sight, but the rest of him… You slide your hand across the bed and find his outer thigh, and gripping it with both hands you then feel along his inner thigh and carefully swing your leg over and straddle his thigh. You hear the sound of fabric shifting and then feel Cole’s right hand on your hip, as he helps guide you over his right leg next and then you inch forward until you’re over his penis. Cole releases you and tucks his hand back under his head. You gingerly place your left palm down on his pelvic area next to his penis and from there slide it up to his stomach. And then you take a hold of his erection in your right hand and guide him up to your entrance. You push his tip inside of you and exhale quietly. You can feel Cole’s stomach go taut as he holds his breath and you slowly push him deeper inside of you and start to sink down. You place your other palm on his abdomen as well and close your eyes as you guide yourself down. Cole tenses again and moans a little the further down you sink and you bend forward as you finally take all of him in. You pause to take a breath and to adjust and you can feel Cole’s stomach rising and falling normally again. You open your eyes and look down to where you’re both connected and it’s a little disconcerting to see yourself sitting on seemingly nothing. “And with my final trick I’ve made your penis disappear,” you joke quietly. Cole snorts and then after another moment of silence from you, he asks, “You doin’ good, Baby?” “Yeah,” you say and you straighten your back out and start to circle your hips. Cole groans lightly in approval, and you close your eyes again. You rub your hands over his abdomen and like this it feels exactly like it always does. You circle him a few more times just to make sure you’ve properly adjusted before rocking your hips against his. He grunts in response and you roll your hips a little more firmly. The pace you set is nice and slow, but meticulous and you listen eagerly for Cole’s breaths and gasp yourself when he finally decides to roll his hips up against yours. You lean back and place your right hand on his thigh so that when he thrusts up he can hit you at the right angle. You moan and roll your head back. “You’re so Fuckin’ Beautiful, Darlin’,” Cole groans his accent getting thicker. You smile and bite your lip, “You’re sweet.” You can feel yourself beaming from the praise and you move just a little bit faster. Opening your eyes, you look down at Cole and can still see the imprint of his hands tucked under his head. You start to close your eyes again and then you hear him shift and suddenly feel his hands on your hips. You lean forward so that he can thrust up into you harder, and you come down to meet him and he hums out, “Darlin’.” You fumble around with your hands trying to find his chest and when you do you plant them there and ride him faster. Cole’s labored breathing greets your ears and you can feel the sweat forming under your palms. “Mm, Fuck! Oh that’s it, Baby,” Cole moans. You moan with him and then lean forward all the way and press a kiss to his chest and you can feel his fingers dig into your hips. The sound of your bodies slapping together and the bed creaking underneath you combined with the feeling of him buried deep inside you, quickly builds you to a second orgasm. But you want to make him cum first, so you desperately bounce in his lap and bite your lip to continue stifling your own moans so you can catch each and every one of his new moans and groans as the result of the rolling of your hips. “Fuck, I’m gonna-“ he chokes out. “Cum for me, Baby, cum for me, Cole,” you beg. Cole pants heavily and then you feel his right hand slide between you and stroke your clit, “Want you to cum too, Pumpkin, need you to cum around my cock!” You moan loudly at his words and his touch and squeeze harder around him and he almost loses it, his hat even almost falling off in the process and crumpling when he throws his head back into the pillows. But he rubs your clit faster and you frantically try to ride him until finally you cry out and cum and your walls flutter around his cock. Cole cries out next, his voice joining yours as you pull him along with you and his hips slam up into yours hard and then stutter as he tries to draw out his orgasm. As his cries taper off into a low groan you collapse face first onto his chest and gasp for breath.

Cole’s chest rises and falls in rapid, short breaths beneath you. You open and close your eyes as you try to breathe and Cole drapes his arms over your back, and you smile happily and try to slow your breathing. When you both have caught your breath again Cole gently rubs his hands down your back. “Roll off me, Darlin’, so’s I can get up,” Cole says. You tiredly pick up your head and sit up and gripping the bottom of the condom in your hand, you gingerly lift yourself off of him hissing slightly at the sting from him stretching you, and he slips out of you. You then let yourself fall back down onto the mattress beside him and roll onto your side. The bed dips down beside you and you close your eyes and shift to your back as you bask in the afterglow while Cole removes the condom. You hear his footsteps in the adjacent bathroom and then the water from the faucet, and realize he’s probably also cleaning himself up. You lift your head and open your eyes to stare in his direction just as the bathroom light turns off and when you don’t see him at all you panic. You quickly glance around the room and notice that his hat is now hanging from the top of his bedpost. “Cole?!” you call. “Hey! It’s alright, Honey, I’m right here. I didn’t go nowhere,” Cole shushes you his footsteps approaching you. The bed dips down beside you and you reach out for him and don’t relax until your fingers trail over his left arm and to his shoulder and back. Cole leans over to you and presses a kiss to your temple. And it’s only now that you even notice the red washcloth in his right hand. He shifts again and you keep your hand on him as he kisses your knee, “Lay back,” he says. You do as he says and you feel the warm, wet washcloth glide through your folds. Cole rubs his bearded chin against your knee and you release the tension in your muscles finally. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say. “Yes, I did,” he says softly. When he gets back up to toss the washcloth in the hamper, you whine at his loss. “I’m comin’ back, Sweetheart,” he assures you as he climbs back into bed with you and kisses your thigh and then all the way up to your chest. You find his face again with your hands and pull him close to you. Cole kisses you, long and slowly and you melt under him. When his lips part from yours you hear a smile in his breath and then he scoops an arm under you and rolls backwards and pulls you ontop of him. You chuckle and adjust carefully and slip one of your legs in between his. You glance down at him and it still looks like you’re floating over the bed and you snort. Cole reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp finally and the room is now enveloped in darkness. You roam your hands over his chest and he feels the way he should and not a smidge different. You then let your head rest overtop his heart, in a way relieved that you can’t see him for normal reasons. Cole’s fingertips trail up and down your spine before he wraps them around you and keeps you caged to his body. “Now, I guess we both can’t see each other,” he says letting out a low chuckle. “I wish I could, I miss your smile,” you whisper. Cole feels around for one of your hands and brings it to his lips, “It’ll wear off soon, Pumpkin, and then everythin’ll be back to normal. Doc said so.” “I hope so,” you say softly. Cole rests his chin on the top of your head, “You know, I miss the way you look at me.” You shift your head up and then he presses his lips to your forehead, “Really?” He hums in affirmation, “I know, I know, you’re still lookin’ AT ME, but you’re not really seein’ me. It’s different when you can see my face, I guess.” “I do miss your eyes the most of all, the way you look at me always gives me butterflies,” you say. Cole cups your face, “I promise you, Darlin’, I absolutely looked at you That way tonight.” You tap your finger to his chin and trace it up to his lips and then lean towards him and gently press your lips to his in their stead.

[lesbianspeedy]

Connor has called Ollie solely "dad" since Quiver why is he calling him "Ollie" now 😭😭😭

This is mean but I laughed out loud when Connor said Tim was the first person he talked about when he was figuring out being ace years ago. Lol. Lmao even. Tumblr really gaslit that poor writer into thinking Connor and Tim had an actual friendship with all their clamoring about him being with the wrong Bat huh. "Where were you?" GEE I didn't know you had to give daily updates to that one kid you teamed up a few times and had some friendly banter with. I love queer solidarity and the whole thing about us finding each other before we even know we're queer but. NO Connor would not have talks about his sexuality with Tim. Cmooooon you're telling me the first person he'd talk to about being ace wouldn't be Kyle "you can tell me if you're gay, Connor" Rayner?

At least that "this is just another thing me and Ollie don't have in common" anxiety is something already established. Like, that's basically the same thing he says to Roy when Roy takes him to that strip club even if it's an issue by Winick (do you ever stop to think about how unintentionally well laid out Connor being ace is and lose your mind a little bit?)

I'm just. Really sad about how Ollie and Connor's relationship is being presented to this new generation of readers. It's like we regressed to the time Ollie was dead, ya know? And I don't like Connor solely for his relationship with his dad, I want him to be a character on his own. But I can't help but being saddened by how he is losing his relationship with everyone that matters. For better or for worse, at least the new GA series is gonna have him interacting with his family (but what about Kyle, Eddie, Jansen and Moonday, ya know?)

The thing is that the story is good and I like its message. It just... Could be with any other character

im tempted to post this without an "answer" because its really well laid out and deserves to be a post on it's own. but i just rlly like ur points and want to interact with them so.

i think there were a few times between quiver and now where he interchangebly used dad and ollie but i get what you're saying, referring to him like hes estranged still was odd.

i totally agree, the idea of queer solidarity is important and should be shown, but i think this was a weird choice to go with. i think the most intimate (from my memory, i havent reread connor's run in a while) question connor ever asked tim was whether batman was his dad (at that time the answer was still no, as jack hadn't been killed yet). and that was only asked because connor was still his charmingly-awful-at-secret-identities-self. the part of their limited friendship that was interesting was the dynamic of new-sidekick-legacy meets new-main-legacy (for lack of a better descriptor), both struggling to uphold what they thought was expected of them. they never got to really advance from that stage of knowing each other to being at a place where they are friends out of costume, let alone discuss their SEXUALITIES.

i agree that the not being in common thing was a nice nod to past character complexities, though it felt slightly like it was the writer genuinely believing that to be true, and not just a rehash of connor's complicated feelings.

i know, its a weird stage we're at now, the resistence to fully accepting the connor that came from the end of his green arrow run, not just the beginning of it. by the end he had come to peace with being green arrow, and not being his father but that being okay. and that's not to say this is all the current writers fault (though williamson has done absolutely no favours with his writing), as winick and krul absolutely demolished any character connor had for their angst and whatever. (remember when connor aggressively yelled at mia for complaining about being stalked by zatanna without being told? or when after being turned into plastic and losing his memories he then decided he hated buddhism and oliver?). (not to mention the seperation from eddie jansen moonday kyle and. despite all of this complaining. tim cass and steph. winick set this precident and i will never forgive him)

i agree, it had good framework, and it couldve been a much more cohesive story if they. had just not used this friendship.

[femmmie]

"Wha- what's happening?"

Cold sweat trickled down Ian's temples. He stood in the Smosh office but the lights were somehow off.

"I'm sorry, Ian," Courtney said with an apologetic half-smile. "But we had to do it to ya."

"You're not..." Shayne began, "welcome, anymore."

Jacky waived at Ian silently, but her smile was spiteful.

"You're fired from Smosh!" Damian spat.

They all stood there in the dark.

"Where's Anthony?" Ian cried out, desperate for an answer to this madness.

A terrible laughter filled the room. Starting softly but cackling, thundering louder and louder.

All Smosh cast and crew stepped aside to reveal him, standing there, dressed in all black. Anthony. His slender yet strong figure, his jewelry shimmering in the little light there was, and his eyes too.. Anthony looked maniacly at Ian, as he laughed. His perfect curls shaking from the laughter and falling over his face.

Anthony slowly walked up to Ian. Closer and closer. He'd stopped laughing now. Noses almost touching, Anthony said with an evil grin: "the old SWITCHEROO!" And he pushed Ian really hard. Ian felt himself falling, falling, falling...

He woke up.

"Wow, that sure was something," he chuckled to himself. Sure, Ian still had some issues to talk about in therapy. But he'd rather this nightmare scenario played out than talk to a therapist who was a Disney adult, ugh! Luckily, he had a normal one now.

He took a short shower and put on a black sweater and blue jeans. He felt fly as fuck; watching two and a half youtube tutorials on dressing fashionably had really propelled his style to the next level. And with his golden glasses, he saw every minute detail of himself in the mirror. He was really feeling himself today.

He went to the garage and got into his classic Corvette C4 and drove up to Anthony's house. Anthony greeted him at the gate, and as soon as Ian got out of the car, Anthony gave him a hug.

"Thank you for coming, wow you look really good!"

"Thanks, I have got my mojo back, baby," Ian joked.

"Oh, behave!" Anthony joked back and laughed. It was a sunny Californian morning but Anthony's laughter made it that much brighter.

Ian had come to Anthony's today to hang out.

"By the way, it's absolutely okay that you won't come to the office to film tomorrow," Ian said. They had decided at the beginning of their renewed business relationship that Anthony participating in the side channels would be completely optional, but Ian wanted him to feel zero pressure to show up anyway.

"Thank you," Anthony smiled, "I just really want to hang out with you as much as possible this week, but not necessarily with other people present as well."

Ian understood that. They had been reveling so much in the humor they shared, but it was like a language of their own and didn't always translate well to the other people at Smosh. But they were perfectly happy in their own little world.

They got into Anthony's house, which was very clean and clear. Only a few pieces of dark wood furniture, a couch, and some art pieces decorated the living room. The rest was all white. They sat down on the couch and talked.

"You know I had a weird ass dream tonight," Ian said.

Anthony loved when Ian told him personal stuff that he didn't know yet . He sat up, turned to Ian and looked at him with those mischievous eyes Ian had known and loved since sixth grade. "Tell me dude! What was it about?

"Well," Ian began but he had to laugh. Anthony laughed with him.

"What?"

"I dreamed that you fired me from Smosh, and everyone just stood there dissing me, it was dark and then you appeared, and you screamed "the old SWITCHEROO." Ian laughed, and Anthony lay in absolute stitches.

When he'd recovered from laughing so much, he said "you know you can't get fired from Smosh, right. You're the co-owner dude."

"I know," Ian said, smiling. "Apparently I still have some things to work through in my mind.

"Yeah, me too. But that's okay. I'm glad we can talk about it with each other."

"I am, too."