#do that shit again it is soul crushing

[joestarfucker420]

going from being ashton all week to being my legal name again is honestly one of the worst feelings in the world

[trujellyfish]

not to sound like a quitter, but.

[electricpurrs]

suddenly feeling really sad at 3 am after my birthday this blows

[faultlinescrew]

^ I can't do this with worm bc canon already does a good enough job so I'm just imagining them doing the most mundane of shit

[chiistarri]

imsoo normal about guys byw

[trans-leek-cookie]

Hm I'm not putting this in yhe main tags bc. Yeah but I'm blocking ppl who call the step mother hot

[orcelito]

New way to kill someone in a dream. Literally ripping their soul out of their body and crushing it in my fingers??? Like ok

[slvttyplum]

suguru had a crazy ex. they were still stuck on him like white on rice obsessing over him and lurking on his socials. 

at first, you understood, and you got where they were coming from. i mean come on, it’s suguru geto. you too would be fawning over this sex, strong, funny, sweet man for decades to come, but then it became excessive to the point it wasn’t funny anymore but annoying. 

a notification popping up on his phone every day from an anonymous account. suguru was done with it just as much as you were. 

when he and his ex broke up, they both made it extremely clear that this was an agreement both of their terms and that they both wanted to break up. 

so why the fuck is he up at 2am going pee getting phone calls and texts from them even after getting blocked. it was insane, he really thought he was going crazy and was thinking of what he actually wanted to say instead of actually telling them, but no.

they just wanted him back and hated to see him with you, saying that they were the only ones who deserved him.

suguru really thought he was at a loss here, not knowing what to do and contemplating just going to the police, but he thought of something better, something sweeter in pettiness. 

think of something that would make you really mad—your soul crushed, devastated to see the crush do. it’s fucking someone else, right? yeah, thought so. 

so that’s exactly what suguru did. he wasn’t going to have his ex sit up there and get you all irritated the moment the both of you woke up; it’s not happening. 

and then getting you mad? fuck no. he works way too hard to keep you happy, and it’s not going to get destroyed by them. 

so he set up his phone, positioned it just right so only his face was shown, and started recording. of course, you knew about this, so you let the pleasure suguru was giving you take over. 

your body squirming, the heat in your body rising, lumps in your throat getting caught over and over again, your whimpers and moans flowing into his mouth. 

the sex was still the same, amazing. the only thing was that he was recording himself giving you that good dick that they apparently still craved. 

and after an hour of sweating, cum and different fluids on the shit, wet noises, skin slapping, and moaning, he sent the video. 

it worked. there was no reply, no snarky remark, no crying over the phone, no begging, just the “read” under the video.

now that’s how you get rid of an ex. 

[star-sim]

boy's night ☆ riki nishimura

☆ summary: riki had no game, no rizz, which was why he employed the help of his six friends to text you. warning: having seven boys on the phone trying to text a girl does not give good results! ☆ genre: fluff, all enhypen members make an appearance, boys being boys, very stupid, it's getting rizzy in here but clearly i have negative game ☆ warning(s)? no just silliness :3 ☆ word count: 1.7k words

"Oh my god, she texted me!" was the sentence that completely destroyed Jake Sim's house.

Tonight, Riki was having a sleepover at Jake's house. It was supposed to be a chill night, a night in which Riki could bask in his friends' presence before they went off to college again.

There were many perks to being the youngest in his friend group. It seemed like Heeseung, Jay, and Jake forever saw him as their baby, after all, when they all met as children, Riki was a snotty little four year-old, constantly tattling on the older boys. Regardless, it was nearly impossible for them to not fuss over him, constantly asking if he ate yet or if he needed help. Sunghoon teased the ever-living shit out of Riki, sure, but the older boy never hesitated to take Riki's side whenever there was an argument. Sunoo and Jungwon were closest to Riki in age, but that didn't stop them from watching over him closely, like mother cats stalking their cubs.

Though, there was one thing that Riki had to admit that he hated about being the youngest: he was the most inexperienced.

Whenever his friends got their 'firsts,' he was always too young to care. It seemed like all his friends got to experience their first crushes and heartbreaks almost simultaneously, only for them to not be there when Riki had his.

Even when he was now a senior in high school, he had absolutely no idea how to talk to girls.

He'd heard all the stories about Heeseung and his antics at college, all the flirting tips that Jake liked to give out to Sunghoon and Jay, and all the crazed texts that Sunoo and Jungwon sent as they went through relationships.

Even so, Riki had never experienced teenage love for himself.

Enter: You.

You were the cute girl that sat in front of him in his Macroeconomics class. If it wasn't for the fact that Riki absolutely hated Macro, he would blame the fact that you were just so pretty that he couldn't bring himself to focus on the lecture about the New York Stock Exchange.

Initially, Riki had no intention of pursuing you.

You were cute, obviously, but hearing you talk to your partner in class was enough for him. Plus, it wasn't like Riki had any experience— even if he wanted to talk to you, he had no idea how to!

Except, thanks to his nosy friends, your name had been discussed what felt like a million times by the end of the week.

"So... [Name], eh?" was the first thing Sunghoon said as Riki's camera turned on during their weekly weekend FaceTime calls.

"This is so exciting, Riki," Heeseung said as he joined the call.

"Wait, how do you know her again?" Sunoo's voice cut in. "Sorry, my Wi-Fi is bad. You said you know her from Macro?"

With a little more prying, his friends managed to get a middle-school level confession out of Riki.

"I-I just think she's really pretty, and like, she's really smart," Riki huffed, "I don't think she likes me like that— I've never even spoken to her! Like, I can't talk to women, I straight up am a mess and the other day—oh my god— she looked at me and I think I almost passed out. What do I do? I actually cannot do thi—

".... But you think she's pretty, right?"

And that's how Riki managed to get your phone number. With the help of his friends (that felt more like them feeding into his delusions), he worked up the courage to stutter out a simple question.

And when you smiled, nodding enthusiastically as you typed your contact into his phone, Riki felt his soul leave his body.

So, it wasn’t hard to imagine the havoc that engulfed Jake Sim's house (the place of the sleepover) as Riki's phone pinged, your contact name showing up.

It was already late at night, so the boys were raiding Jake's pantry to get midnight snacks. 

The moment that Riki announced that you had just, in fact, texted him first, everyone stopped in their tracks.

"Oh shit!" Jay shouted as he jumped over Jake's sofa, bowl of cereal still in hand.

The sound of crashing as Heeseung knocked over the ramen cups, as well as cutlery dropping abruptly and cabinets slamming filled the house.

"Oi, don't mess up my kitchen!" Jake yelled as his feet pounded against his stairs, scrambling so fast that he practically glided downstairs. After Jungwon spilled milk on his shirt, he was half-way through putting on a new shirt as he clambered down.

"What did she—" Sunoo pushed Jay out of the way, knocking the older boy over as he plopped down next to Riki on the living room carpet and peeked over his shoulder— "What did she say?!"

Within seconds, all six of his friends were huddled around Riki, pushing each other out of the way to catch a glimpse of what you said.

"Move your fatass head!"

"I can't see!"

As his friends argued, Riki stared at his phone, chewing on his bottom lip. His heart was pounding in his chest. He only saw the notification, and didn't see what you said yet.

What if you said something crazy, like "I just found out about that one time in first grade when you peed yourself at the playground" even though Riki and all his friends agreed to never speak of that incident again?! Or, what if you confessed your everlasting love for him in a long paragraph?

His head was spinning.

"Wait, did you open the message yet?!" Jungwon abruptly yelled into Riki's ear.

"No..." Riki answered slowly, watching the way all of his friends' once tense faces soften with relief.

"Oh my god," Jake sighed in relief.

"Phhhhheeewww!" Heeseung said dramatically.

"Why?" Riki frowned. "What's wrong with opening the message?"

"[Name] can see if you read her message if you open it," Sunghoon said matter-of-factly. 

"Why is that a bad thing?"

All of his friends groaned.

They taught him a trick: swipe just enough so that he could see the message, but not enough that the system marks it as read.

Hey, was all you said, much to Riki's relief.

"What do I say?" Riki asked, clutching his phone. His eyes flickered to his friends as he sucked his bottom lip under his teeth pensively. "How do I respond to this?"

"Just say 'hey' back!" Jay blurted.

"No!" Heeseung shook his head profusely. "Anything but that!"

"Why not? You want him to say haiiii instead?" Sunghoon nudged the older boy.

"No, no, no!" Jungwon reached across to smack Sunghoon's knee. "All of you are wrong."

Jungwon turned to Riki. "Just respond with an emoji."

They all groaned loudly.

"Okay, anything but a goddamn emoji!"

Riki ended up typing out a simple hey in response. He had to make Sunoo press send for him, squeezing his eyes shut. Riki immediately shut his phone off, placing it face down.

"I don't want to see if she responds or not!" Riki moaned. 

Within a minute or two, his phone pinged again.

"She responded!"

Even though you only asked, How was your day?, the entire house was once again invigorated. The boys shrieked, whooping and hitting Riki's shoulder, so loud that the house probably shook.

"Oh my god, it's happening!"

"Ouuuuu, she wants you, Riki!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up, it's time to lock in, oh my god it's actually happening—"

And just as everyone settled back down, ready to give Riki their mind-blowing advice, his phone dinged again.

[Attachment: 1 photo]. It was a silly picture of you, one of those cute ones that showed your eyes, clearly taken on the spot. 

"OHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Shewantsyousobadohmygo—"

According to Jake, if a girl sends you a picture of herself, no matter how silly or cute it is, she is head over heels for you.

"One message at a time!" Jay yelled over Jake's shoulder as they tried to figure out how to respond. "You need to answer her question first and then respond to the picture!"

"No! Don't respond to the picture!" Sunghoon, who was all the way in the guest bathroom, yelled from behind the bathroom door, his voice both booming and muffled. "She'll think you're weird!"

"I agree," Sunoo said.

"I agree," Jungwon mocked him in a nasally voice, earning a slap to the shoulder. "Just heart the picture!"

But their arguing fell upon deaf ears.

"Riki, what are you doing?!"

Riki was on his own, his heart beating at the tip of his fingers.

I hung out with my friends today and it was fun, how was yours? was his first response. Pressing on the picture, he responded, You look cute.

When Riki glanced over at his friends, they were sprawled across the floor, crying aloud dramatically.

"It's over."

"You're insane."

"Fumbled."

Riki threw a pillow at them. "I didn't fumble— Oh shoot, she's typing!"

The house was once again filled with screaming and crashing as they scampered to Riki's side.

You typed for a few moments. Everyone was at the edge of their seat, simply begging to see how you'd respond. But then, you stopped.

"Good game, guys."

"100% over."

Riki chewed on his thumb, his eyes glued to his phone screen. Did he creep you out? Was it weird for him to say that you looked cute? Did he fuck up?

But then you finally replied.

My day was just filled with homework, very boring, you replied. Maybe if I spent it with you it would have been more fun.

Oh.

My.

God.

Riki's hands shook as he typed back another response, completely ignoring the complete and utter disaster around him. He didn't know what came over him. He wouldn't say any of the things that he typed out loud, let alone to your face. It was like he was possessed by some spirit that gave him the courage to type. Without even noticing it, his heart was palpitating in his chest, his entire face, neck, and ears covered in a red shade.

I'm free tomorrow, he typed. 

"RIKI WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU—"

Okay, you simply responded. 12PM. The Block. Let's have fun.

"D-Did she just ask you out?"

Riki glanced at this phone, then at his friends, who stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers and their jaws dropped to the floor, then back at his phone. He blinked. "Yeah."

"Yes?!"

Riki blinked again. "Yeah."

.

.

.

And then it hit him.

"Oh my god, [Name] asked me out...!"

[luminiamore]

SOUL, PT.2

basketball player ony x black spiritual reader

first part here.

warnings: bomb dick, vibrating panties (idea came to me last minute)

masterlist

The day finally arrived. The man you had been crushing on for months— the man who sucked the soul out of pussy just two days ago— was taking you out on a date. Your nerves were racking up, your breathing heavy as you stared at yourself in your mirror. The scent of lavender and the burning blunt you just rolled are lingering in your nostrils. It was 5 p.m., 30 minutes before Ony told you he was coming with your outfit.  

You were stuck in the mirror, fixing the baby hairs on your ginger wig as you took another hit. Your head was being hit pretty hard by the effects of the marijuana. Your gold and stone bracelets jiggled around with every movement you made. Why were you so nervous? This is the same man that slobbered over your clit on your clit appallingly not too long ago. So, why were you so nervous? You jumped when you heard a ding coming from your phone. 

“omw mama.”

Another hit. You read the text without even clicking on the message, and if Ony was the type of nigga to go 50 on a 20 road, you had about 10 minutes before he came knocking on your door. You quickly wrap a pink silk robe from one of your hangers on your body, not putting on panties because you have a gut feeling. You already showered, already lathered your body in your strawberry body milk. Your light makeup sat perfectly against your skin, your lips brown and glossed.

The only thing left for you to do was to spray a bit of your Kayali Sugar Candy perfume, and after the final spritz, you heard a light knocking sound coming from outside your room. Your heart is beating ten times faster— he didn’t even tell you he was outside. Another hit, and you ash it out outside your window. 

Your feet could barely be heard on the ground as you rushed to open the door and shit. Seeing Ony outside of his usual attire was doing more to you than you cared to admit. He was in a white dress shirt and black suit pants— all dressed up for the date he was taking you on. His hair was freshly cut, the first two buttons on his shirt were loose, and he had a freshly ripened hibiscus bouquet in his right hand and a medium-sized bag on his left. How did he know those were my favorite flowers?

“Heard you tell that girl you always with that you really liked these.” He smirks a bit when your eyes widen in realization that you said your thoughts out loud. You grab the flowers from his grasp, fingers burning when you accidentally graze his hand, and mutter a small, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. Come in, Ony.”

His aura alone was so potent, so calm and safe, and inside, you knew your spirit guides were probably cheering you on. Your cat’s immediate approach to him, rubbing its head on his legs, was a sign that you made the right choice. Waiting for him to pet her, she plopped down on the floor, and unsurprisingly, Ony crouched down to honor her wishes.

You wanted him to take you now, but you knew Ony was a man of his word. He wouldn’t fuck you until after tonight. You just had to wait until after tonight. You glance up to where a regular clock is hanging above your door. 

5:25.

..Waiting until after tonight suddenly seemed like forever. 

“Not as beautiful as you. You smoking in here?” The smell of it was immediately detected when you opened the door. He smiled internally because he was waiting outside your apartment in his Hellcat while he texted you and lit his own joint. You really were meant for each other. 

Ony thought you looked good enough to eat. Again. Nothing but a thin robe on you, accentuating your curves and showing a slight peak of your voluptuous brown tits. Flashes of you moaning his name and bucking your hips wildly onto his tongue started slipping into his mind— would it really be wrong to taste you again?

Your pretty voice breaks him out his thoughts, “Yea, you want a hit? Or two?” You release a chuckle, the sound making the tall man shiver a bit. He takes a deep breath— patience. He has to have patience. You’ll be moaning his name soon enough.

“Nah, was smoking before I got here. Here, mama.” He hands you the bag he was holding after you got done putting the flowers on your kitchen counter. You were a bit.. skeptical when Ony asked if he could dress you for tonight, worried that he might choose an outfit that you wouldn’t like. 

What you didn’t know is that Ony observed you. Studied your peculiarities and the way you dressed when you walked up into Econ, he wouldn’t have asked such a question otherwise. He had precise knowledge of what to give you, and it was evident when you took the bag from him and found an exquisite crochet skirt set. 

The skirt ended with shades of light to a deep royal purple, and the top had no straps. Flower patterns were all over it. There was also a pair of shoes, white mini heels with thin straps. And when you reached the bottom of the bag, you saw panties, purple, and flower patterns all over it, too. 

“Ony, this is- It’s gorgeous. I-”

He kisses your cheek and gently pushes the items to your chest, “Go put ’em on. Reservation’s at 6:30.”

You giggle and nod, rushing to your room on your tiptoes. In your living room, Ony is waiting for you, lying down on your comfortable couch and petting your cat after she jumps onto his lap. He has reason to believe that you two wouldn’t make it outside if he came inside your room with you. 

You take your time, slowly putting each piece on to not stretch the crochet material. Your last step was the panties, and you couldn’t help but feel that they were slightly heavier than any of the panties you owned. You’re about to examine it a little more, but you stop short when you hear Ony’s voice: “You ready, mama?”

Any confusion about the panties was long gone after you put them on, following the heels. After spritzing your perfume one more time, you grab your keys and head out the door, Ony following closely behind you. 

It was a peaceful ride to wherever Ony was taking you, with only soft Brent Faiyaz music playing in the background and the light-burning sound of the half-finished joint he offered you. At every red light stop, you would let him take the hit until both of you finished it. 

He parked his car in front of a garden-like spot just before you ashed it out, just in time. You are about to reach your hand to open your door but fall short when you hear a click!

“You should know better.” Was all he said before he got out of the driver’s seat and got to your side. As he opens the door for you, he grabs your hand to guide you out and leads you to a person who is ready to seat you both. Hand in yours the entire time. “Reservation for Onyankopon, please.”

The man gives a smile and gestures for you both to follow him. It would be an understatement to describe how beautiful the area was when you surveyed it. It was like a restaurant in a garden of flowers. You are led by the person to a table surrounded by grass and daises, with occasional butterflies flying around you. 

“How did you even find this place?” You ask in complete awe. Ony spent a while trying to find a place he knew you would like. You didn’t seem like the type of person to like classy restaurants, and he definitely didn’t want to take you to some low-end place. He wanted to find something that resembled you. A place where you would feel completely comfortable. 

And well, when you sat down, and a white butterfly made its way onto your awaiting finger... Ony couldn’t help but think he made the right choice. You look like a goddess. An ethereal being that was all his. “I drove by it one time, and it reminded me of you. You like it?”

He hoped you did. The expression on your face wasn’t telling him enough. He wanted to hear the words come out of your mouth, or else he would drown in his anxiety. All he wanted to do was please you. 

“I love it, Ony.” A bright smile graced your face. You never looked more pretty— aside from when you made those gorgeous faces when he was pleasuring you. 

A server came to take your order, Ony ordering for himself before the woman turned to you, 

“And for you, miss?”

“Could I please have the-” The sensation of intense pressure vibrating on your clit causes you to stop your sentence with a faint gasp. Both of your hands are gripping the table to provide support.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“You good, mama?” You look up when Ony questions and catch the faux concern in his eyes, his lips twitching up a bit as he almost fails to contain his smile. This was his doing. You knew those panties were different. And you seriously should’ve questioned why he bought you a pair anyway. Fuck it felt so good.

You steady your voice so you don’t stutter when you speak up, “… I’m okay. Could... I have the-the Shrimp Fried Rice, p-please.”

You curse yourself internally when you stumble upon your words. You observe as she reluctantly nods and accepts your order. You would’ve flushed your head down in embarrassment, but in your defense, you had a vibrator going at full speed on your clit. Fuck whatever she was thinking about you right now. 

The minute she walks away from the table, you give Ony the meanest glare you could muster— which, to him, wasn’t doing much. In retaliation, he just turned the vibration up, causing you to yelp silently. 

“Ony! W-why?” You whimper out as quietly as you can so as not to raise attention from the people around you. He just shakes his head, amused at how weak he could get you. 

“You look so pretty like this, mama. Enjoy yourself, hm? You deserve it.” 

He couldn’t get his mind off the events that occurred when you came to his dorm. Could you even blame him? For wanting to see more of those pretty faces you make. For wanting to eat you whole again.

He realized he couldn’t outright finger you in a public setting, not here anyway. He didn’t want to wait to fuck you so he could witness you fall apart like you did last time. He longs for you with a strong desire. Even 72 hours later, the flavor of your juices is still lingering on his tongue. “But-”

“Shh. Just try not to get too loud, yeah? Don’t want anyone else seeing those gorgeous faces you make.”

Squeezing your thighs together, your head falls back against your chair. This goes on for a good while, Ony just staring at you, biting your lips to stop the moans bottling in your throat from getting too loud. He watches as your pretty lashes flutter open and close while your eyes roll in the back of your head.

You rub your lower hips against the chair subtly in quick, fast motions to stave off your impending orgasm. Light gasps released from your throat when you feel a burning sensation in your abdomen. Just when you start feeling like the dam is about to burst and ruin the only thing that holds you up right now, everything comes to an end. 

The vibration, your rubbing— nothing but your ears buzzing can be heard until you finally register what just happened. You don’t have time to dwell on it much because your waiter comes back with what you both ordered. 

“Would you like some water, miss?” And this time, Ony grants you the mercy of answering for you, ears still buzzing and clit still twitching because of your ruined orgasm. 

“She would, please.” When the waiter walks away from your table, Ony almost cracks under the pleading look you give him. He can’t believe it took him this long to ask you out. What if someone got to you before him? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

Your soft and crackling voice reaches his ears, “Please, Ony. Let me-”

“Eat your food, mama. I said enjoy yourself, never said you could cum.”

Giving him a pout is all you can do, and his tone indicates that this is not a subject for discussion. The rest of the night went surprisingly well. The conversation was full of rich details about both of you. Only told you many stories about him, how he got to be a basketball player, and how it was a dream of his since he was a toddler. In return, you told him how you even started your spiritual journey, spoke about your childhood even because you were just so comfortable around him. 

He didn’t turn back on the vibrator for the remainder of the evening, only listening to the sweet melody of your voice whenever you said something or laughed at something he said. It seemed like you hadn’t been here for that long when the bill came. You were truly in the present moment with Ony, so you lost all sense of time. But you caught a glance at your phone— 9:30.

Damn. It’s already been three hours? Ony takes out his wallet and pulls out some cash. He gently grabs your hand to pull you out of your chair so that you and he can leave together. Before you know it, you both are on your way back to your apartment. What catches you off guard is the intense vibration from the restaurant coming back, causing you to let out a loud moan in his passenger seat. Your passenger seat after tonight, if he was being honest. 

Your body thrashes against the seat belt, hips bucking wildly because you are still so horny after being left on the edge like that. “F-Fuck!”

He pretends to be unfazed, his eyes still focused on the road as you release the honey moans contained in his car.

“Can you hold it f’me? You’re almost home, mama. I’ll make you cum as much as you want when we get there.”

He must like torturing you. That’s the only explanation. At his words, you don’t think you ever worked harder to stave off an orgasm in your life. The pressure feels so good, your body bubbling with heat and the pleasure being felt in every corner. You wail when the vibrator hits a particular spot on your clit due to your hips rapidly shaking and moving.

Your breathing starts to become erratic as you release light hiccups. Your efforts to not cum are so intense that tears are falling from your brown eyes. Why was it taking so long to get home?

“I n-need to.. cum. Please!”

How do you do that? Look so divine while your pussy is being overstimulated? He almost wants to let you have cum because you look so pretty while trying to beg for him. But then he thinks about how he doesn’t want you finishing on anything other than the massive tent in his pants, and he figures— you can wait a bit. He’s pulling up in your garage anyway, and he wasn’t going to fuck you in his car for your first time together. 

Your heavy breathing and the sudden slam of Ony’s door are all that remains in the car when he puts it in park. He opens your door and swiftly holds you in a bridal style to your apartment number. He presses light kisses to your cheek, his tatted hand rubbing gently on your wide hips.   

He doesn’t wait a second to devour your lips once you open your door, your moans being muffled by the sheer force of the kiss. His lips were soft and sweet against yours, fitting perfectly as your lip gloss was smeared onto him. Still in his hold, you weakly point to the direction of your room, which he follows wordlessly. Heels are long gone, and been thrown in the hall amid your make-out session. 

He plops you down on your mattress, and you don’t hesitate to yank him down towards you into another brutal make-out session, your smooth legs encircling his waist. You gasp when he firmly squeezes the fat of your tits, allowing him to dip his tongue into yours, deepening the kiss.

Fuck, you wanted him so bad. Your skirt rises, and soon, there’s nothing but his pants and your panties separating the two of you. Ony was unusually big.. you knew this when you first saw his print at his dorm. And right now, as he was fumbling to take his belt off, your mind was scrambling, trying to figure out how you were going to fit all of him inside of you. 

All thoughts went out the window when he ripped your damp panties off in one go and immediately started playing with the obscene amount of slick that’s been gathering ever since he came to pick you up. Your cute sounds are heaven to him.

His deep voice whispers in your ear, “You’re so wet, baby. Don’t need me to prep you, right?” 

His fingers are moving rapidly against your clit, as he is awestruck by how his hands keep slipping off out of rhythm due to your wetness. Or maybe he was already drunk on you, desperate to split your pussy apart on his cock. His pants aren’t even entirely off before he’s fisting his fat cock out of his boxers and slapping his brown tip right on your pussy lips, creating wet squelching sounds.

“Could just slip right in with how you’re leaking all over your sheets. You gonna take it, mama?”

And he was right. Your wetness was creating a dark stain on your bed, likely gonna start seeping into the mattress. You sneak a glance down at Ony’s ministrations, and you immediately try to move your hips away. This man was dead-ass walking around with a third leg. It was so big, it actually scared you. How the fuck was that supposed to fit inside of you? Even your last fling wasn’t this hung. 

He immediately pulled your hips back towards him, refusing to let you run away from the deep fucking he’s been craving to give you. “Don’t do that. Take it f’me, baby. Please?”

You whimper, his pleading tone getting you even more wetter. “O-Ony.. you’re too b-big! I can’t- Ooo fuck.”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence before he sank his length past your tight walls, making you feel every inch of him. Fuck, he was so deep, and he almost wanted to cum right there. He looks down at you and shit. 

You never looked more beautiful, as he said. Your mouth is constructed into a lovely “o” shape, and your eyes roll back so deep into your skull he can see your white eye sockets. You were drooling, the feeling of his dick inside of you simply too much for your tiny brain to handle. He wasn’t gonna last long.

Your wet cunt was so stretched out, and Ony didn’t even give you a second to relax before he started feeding you deep, harsh strokes. You could do nothing but let tears fall from your eyes and wail his name so loud you’re sure you’ll probably get a noise complaint from your neighbors. 

“Gorgeous. Such a good girl taking my dick like this, you love it baby? Talk to me, mama.” He pleads as his face is buried in the crook of your sweat-filled neck, the feeling of your pussy being better than he ever imagined. Than he ever dreamed of. The sounds you both were making were so lewd, so nasty. But it was bringing you much closer to splashing all over his disheveled dress shirt.

“So-so good, Ony! L-Love it s’much.” Your pretty cries make him groan loudly against you; you can feel it vibrating against your chest. Your mind is blanking, and the fire in your stomach that you felt twice today is coming back, only much stronger. Your already overstimulated clit is causing it to come much faster.

With every thrust he gives you, you give Ony a beautiful yelp. And he could only watch your face contort as you struggle to find something to hold on to, to ground you. You’re a bit dense if you think he would let you do anything other than feel every spec of what he gave you. He grasps both of your hands with only one of his hands and presses them above your head.

“Pussy’s so damn good, shit. M’gonna cum. Where you want it, mama?” 

And you respond to him so eagerly, choking on your spit when he presses down on your stomach, his bulge being prominently displayed every time he thrusts in and out of you. 

“Ahhh! M-me too! Inside, Ony. P-Please Ony, cum in m-me.” 

He can’t say no to you, not when you beg him to fill you up with tears like that. The final straw for you was when he forced his tongue into your panting mouth again, swallowing every gasp and moan that managed to fall past your lips. You make a sudden and unwarranted shriek against his mouth, and your pussy splashes all over him. 

He groans as you babble his name repeatedly, allowing salty tears to flow freely down your cheeks. Your body twitches as your pussy creams and squeezes tightly around him, and that’s enough for Ony to shiver as his cum spurts past your womb. He should have slowed down or stopped because now you both feel overstimulated. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thrusting his hips rapidly against you, the feeling of you squirting on his dick quickly becoming something he wanted more of. He needs you to do that again. He needs you to spray your sweet juices so hard it reaches his face. Your chest is heaving as you try to wriggle your hands out of Ony’s grasp to slow him down. Your attempt doesn’t do much but make him tighten his grip on you,

“Give me another one, mama. Come on, just one more, baby.” And by the look on his face, even you can tell it wasn’t just going to be one more. You were in for a long night.

[avocado-writing]

being the worst wolverine’s wife and one day you get zapped by the TVA for whatever reason, and it looks like you completely disappeared, this is what leads logan to become depressed, start drinking and ultimately ignore the x men when they die etc etc

he goes with wade purely bc he would if you were alive- he couldn’t give less of a shit about wade’s universe but he can feel you over his shoulder like an angel telling him he needs to do this (i imagine it’s like the jean hallucinations he had in the wolverine movie)

what if you’re in the void and he finds you with the rest of the group, like being unable to believe you’re really here?

hehe i love angst and ily avo <3

I already did a “Logan meets you in the void” fic here so I didn’t wanna make this too long or I’d just end up hitting the same beats!

1.4k. rated m for excessive use of the word “fuck”

The day you disappeared you took his fucking soul with him. 

You had been out shopping. Nothing weird about that, he wasn’t some overbearing husband who demanded to know your location every single hour. But then afternoon had turned into evening had turned into night and nobody had heard from you. The unfamiliar sensation of panic had risen, queasy, from his stomach into his chest. They sent out a search party and looked for days. Not a trace of you to be found. Logan couldn’t smell you. Fuck, he’d never not been able to smell you before.

He would hunt for you every day, hoping to find you alive but trying to level with the idea of you being cold and dead because at least then he’d have closure; he’d stay awake for hours on end until he collapsed from exhaustion… then he’d wake up and repeat the whole horrible affair. Nothing. After weeks of searching, Charles had laid a hand on his arm. Logan can still remember the look of pity on his face, like a bomb to the gut. 

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

They had to assume you were abducted and killed. Your body never turned up. And Logan just had to… keep going. How was he meant to keep going? You were his entire fucking life and then you were just…

Gone. 

To say he was left empty was the biggest understatement of his fucking life. He was a shell of the man he once was. He never laughed any more, never smiled, always trying to plug the hole your absence left in him with whatever alcohol he could get his hands on. Drink himself to a place where he could forget you.

It never really worked. At least it made him numb to the pain though. 

When he staggers home one evening, eyes bleary and head spinning, and finds the whole mansion torched? Everyone left that he loved fucking dead? Well, it takes the last vestiges of his existence and crushes them into dust. 

Oh, Logan, he hears in the back of his mind. Your voice. It breaks him. He falls to his knees, hands buried in the burning timbers, and wails. 

He survives. He does not live. Thinking about everyone he’s lost, with you haunting the corners of his consciousness, always reaching out to comfort him - but when he goes to nuzzle into the warmth of your palm he is overcome with rage and bitterness to find it’s just his own imagination playing tricks on him. 

Then a fucking idiot in red dragged him away from the shambles which was his life and forced him to be functional again, if only barely. He’s angry, so angry all of the goddamn time, even when in the back of his mind he can hear you speaking sweet, calming words to him. 

And then he hears your voice for real. 

Sees you standing across the base this pathetic resistance has made. You look older, sure, he does too - but there’s no mistaking the fire in those eyes. You’re even wearing the same fucking shirt you went missing in, he remembers it, it has a picture of your favourite band. 

His heart stops dead in his chest as you whisper his name. 

“Logan?”

“Oh shit!” says Wade, and Logan has never wanted to kill him more, “Oh shit! Is this your refrigeratored wife, coming back to throw in a third act character arc?”

Logan finishes the bourbon bottle and throws the empty at Wade’s head, where it shatters and knocks him flat. You wince at the violence and he feels like pure shit. 

“I’m fine,” Wade calls from the ground, sticking a thumbs-up into the air. 

“Logan, I…” you clearly want to say something, but you have not been met with the Logan you knew. That Logan would have spent no time running to pick you up and hold you in his arms. This one half-snarls at the man he bloodied on the floor. 

There is an agonising silence, both of you wanting to speak but not being sure how. You take a hesitant step forward. 

“I never thought I’d…”

“How do I know it’s you?”

You recoil like he’s stabbed you with his claws, confusion and hurt flooding your face. Goddamn. He is the worst man alive. He’s not sure if he’s saying it because he just wants to lash out at the nearest person, or…

… or if, because he gets his hopes up, it might just kill him to have them crash down again. 

“What?”

“All these fuckin’ timelines. How do I know? How can I be sure that you’re you?”

The sadness in your face melts away into anger. When you step forward this time, you’re on the warpath. He sees the others in the room cringe, trapped now in this caustic reunion. 

“How can you be sure it’s me? Fuck, Logan, I knew it was you, didn’t I? What do you want? You want me to show you the shitty tattoo I got after we first started dating and we were both drunk?” You lift your sleeve to reveal a little design on your shoulder. “Want me to tell you how an eighteen-year-old Marie was my bridesmaid and she cried because she didn’t think anyone would ever be that kind to her after living as a mutant again? Want me to fucking remind you that in my vows I said I would be by your side, for fucking ever, no matter what - and how when that TVA agent zapped me when I was out for the day and I ended up here, it was only the thought of fulfilling those vows which kept me going? How about all that, or do I fucking need to humiliate myself more?” At this, you gesture to the others who have lined up at the side of the room, trying to look scarce but utterly failing. 

Your shoulders are heaving with emotions, tears hot and heavy in your eyes but not yet spilling over. Logan grits his jaw. Yeah. It’s you. 

“I…” he starts, but trails off when he realises there’s nothing he can say. You shake your head, numb. 

“Fuck you, Logan Howlett,” you spit, words you’ve never ever thrown his way before, and run out of the room. 

“Wow. Aced that one, peanut,” says Wade, and Logan rips off one of his legs. 

He finds you several hours later at a campfire outside the rundown building which makes up headquarters. LeBeau has clearly been kind enough to part with some of his liquor, because you’re gulping down whiskey like it’s air. You stare at him, embers dancing in bitter eyes. 

“What do you want?” you snap. He grunts as he sits down opposite you, either from age or exertion. Stares into the flames. 

“I never stopped looking,” he manages. 

You blink. 

“What?”

“I never…” he shifts uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since he bared this much of his soul. “I never stopped. Even when the others told me to give up, that I would only make it worse for myself, I’d still search. Couldn’t face the idea you weren’t there any more.”

It’s true. If he was twelve bottles deep he’d be looking, if he was hungover as a dog he’d be looking. When the rest of the X-Men were still there and even after they weren’t. If he wasn’t sitting at a bar he was on the streets, ever a bloodhound trying to catch your scent again. 

For the first time you soften. 

“Oh.”

“So… when I asked if it was you… ah, fuck. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. Just couldn’t live with it if it wasn't true. Wasn’t real.”

When you stand he expects a slap. He deserves it. What he doesn’t count on is you sitting down - not on the log next to him, but in his lap. He hasn’t felt you do that for so long, and it’s so good. Your warmth on his thigh. You grab one of his hands, still larger than yours, and press it to your chest so he can feel your beating heart. 

“I’m real, Logan. I’m right here, baby,” you whisper, eyes dewy. Fuck. His are as well; he can’t help it. He’s overwhelmed by you, your feel, your gaze, your smell. He’d forgotten how much he loved it. 

Logan noses upwards against you, searching for your lips, and you let him find them. When you stroke his hair he can feel the wedding ring on your left hand. The kiss is desperate, longing, and the best one he’s ever had. 

“Right here,” you repeat, forehead against his. He grips you so tightly that it’s possible he’ll never let go again. 

[goldsbitch]

Four times I bumped into you and the one time I fell

There is no such thing as right time, wrong place. Once the timing is right, the world will spin on its axis to bring two souls together.

fluff, no warnings

Running late to the airport was an absolute no go for you - well, that was until you met Lando, with whom you somehow lost all the travel anxiety. But this was good twelve years before you'd officially meet. While neither of you were aware, it was him who quite literally crashed into you, as he was rushing to catch a flight he was characteristically late for.

This was your first long trip alone, so to say you were anxious would be an understatement. Airports were designed to be understood quite easily, but there you were, unsure where you were suppose to go after the security check. With head turned up to all those signs, you tried to make out where in hell did this place wanted you to go to. Just like a thunder, unexpected and attention-grabbing, Lando bumped into you from behind, full force. He wasn't expecting someone to be just standing there in the middle of the busy pathway.

"Shit," he cussed, already being late to his gate. He quickly checked whether you were ok, mad at you for standing there like a post and a bit angry with himself, for being unable to follow a normal timetable. Your left shoulder received quite a big blow, so after your squirted with pain, you looked at your left arm, before you sought the culprit. When your eyes met, you forgot about all of the pain. In front of you stood an absolutely gorgeous boy. He must have been around your age, boyish looks lacing his face. That sort of cheeky innocence late teenagers have. He was taken back, just like you were, and immediately forgot why he was angry in the first place. Both of you were shy as could be in that moment. The only thing he managed to get out of himself was a little sorry. You smiled and then looked down at your feet. Not knowing what to do, he just uttered another quick apology and set on to continue with his journey to the gate.

"Wait, sorry," you managed to get out of yourself, just as he was about to disappear into the distance. He stopped and turned.

"Yes?" he answered, sheepishly.

You swallowed and tried to speak without getting your tongue twisted. "Can you please show me which way I'm suppose to go?"

You had a true desperate look on you, one that a boy raised like him could never resist. A shot of guilt went though him once he saw you holding your shoulder, probably still bit in pain.

"Sure," he said and proceeded to look at your flight ticket. As he leaned over you, your heart stopped. His proximity was making you almost shiver. Strong perfume, or possibly deodorant given his age, hit your nose. But it wasn't like when other boys were wearing it in school. You wanted to soak yourself in it and drown. He told you some words, explaining where you're suppose to go, but you didn't get any of that. Full on panic from being attracted to him overtook your brain. You nodded, as if you'd understood, and looked him in the eyes again. Both of you held on longer than what would be considered appropriate.

"I gotta go," he muttered and made his exit once again. Didn't turn back, because just like you, he was panicking just a bit.

Once he left your eyesight, you looked at the board again, confused, perhaps more than you were before asking him for directions.

//

"Still nothing?" your friend asked, having no choice but becoming fully invested in your newest crush, guy you shared one lecture last semester. You checked your phone once again, but both of you knew what your answer would be.

"Nothing," you replied after not seeing his name on the list of people who watched your story on Instagram.

Funny, how you can go on an amazing backpacking trip with your bestie, live life to the fullest - and none of it matters if he doesn't give a fuck. In fact, it was infuriating. You were sitting nearby a lovely canal somewhere in Amsterdam, meeting new people every day, having the time of your life. All while checking your phone every five minutes.

Your bestie could tell you were more than annoyed. She herself found it pretty exhausting, because sometimes, it felt like this guy was on the trip with both of you.

"I gotta get him out of my head," you said finally after few minutes of silence.

"Yup. You do realize he is a loser, do you?" your friend said and you laughed because at that time, you just did not see where she was coming from. Years later, you'd be laughing about it.

"I do, yeah. I mean, fuck it, I'm in Amsterdam. This is so cool!" you said, trying to pump yourself up to some enthusiasm.

"That's more like it," your friend replied, more than ready to start talking about anything else than that guy. "Let's just, you know, look around and get inspired. We might find someone for you tonight!"

You laughed. "What, like on the street?"

She just shrugged her shoulders. "You never know..."

You observed the people walking on the other side of the canal. "What about that one?" you pointed to a guy smoking on a bridge, hoping he didn't see you.

"Could work...but there is better material around."

Few moments passed. "Uh, what about that one?" your friend pointed to nice looking guy, who was casually jogging around.

You tried to zoom in, not really sure what to make of him. "Yeah, maybe..."

And then, Lando decided to check his phone, while running, and immediately found himself on the ground, as he managed to miss a hole in the street.

Both of you people-watchers couldn't help but laugh out loud. He couldn't hear you and nobody else apart from didn't seem to notice his fall.

"Ok, maybe not that one," your friend jokes, not knowing she just marked off your future husband.

//

The immigration office. Dreaded place where no one is ever happy. It's also the one place where you can't send someone to just "do it for you". Lando would pay anything to be able to get out of this.

He was sat there for a good half an hour, even though he had a pre-booked appointment. He couldn't recall last time he was this bored. His recent success run had many perks, the best of them being the fact he could often jump lines and get many shortcuts. Not the immigration office. These people just don't care.

It stopped being important the moment you walked though the door and sat across from him, failing to pay any attention to your surroundings. The moment you were sat, you started frantically going through your papers, most likely worried you forgot half of the information these people wanted from you.

"First time?" Lando was not usually chatty with strangers unless they addressed him first, which had been happening a lot lately. But there was something about .you Something in the way you shuffled so nervously.

His voice was thick with British accent, which was usually the thing that made you swoon. When you first looked at him, it overcame you a bit. He was undeniably gorgeous. One of those a bit out of reach. God, he could be a model. Knowing this city, he probably was.

"Yes, first time. There was a mistake done at my embassy, so now I have to try to fix it so that I can come home."

He nodded and you wondered why a guy like that would even care to speak to you. "Home, where is that?" he asked, cheeky look burning holes into you.

You chuckled. He knew where to aim to make it count. "Funny question...I'm currently on crossroads. If I say yes to a job offer, it could pretty much be on a different continent." Lando sensed you were avoiding specific answers and found it smart actually, many creepy people everywhere.

"Well, good luck with your decision. I'm sure that what is meant to be will come to you in the right time."

"Thank you...So what do you call home?" you returned the question.

"Huh. Probably my car," he said, surprising himself in the same way you got. "Yeah, that'll be it."

A nervous laugh escaped your lips. "Are you like homeless or something?" Wave of awkwardness rushed through you, but left as soon as he chuckled at your question.

"No, not really. Just on the road a lot," he said and leaned back in a relaxed way.

"Interesting. Never thought that people on road have to deal with visa."

"More than you'd think."

His number was called in from the office shortly after that. You glanced at him a gave him a small smile. He debated for a moment whether or not he should ask for your number. In the end, he didn't. The interaction was too brief. He was on the move constantly and found everything a little too overwhelming. Hadn't learned yet how to deal with it all. Took him two weeks to stop beating himself over chickening out. But then again, it would be another eight years before he learned your name.

//

Flashing lights, body on body, light smoke that helped to cover the tracks and the latest electronic track to cut through it all. You were in Ibiza, on a bachelorette party for one of your friends. Truth be told, you were not keen on tagging along. You weren't exactly besties with the bride to be, more a friend of a friend. But your big break up was almost seven months ago and the fact you were counting only proved you were not doing well. In fact, it was absolute torture. A trip to Ibiza seemed like a decent distraction from the emptiness that haunted you back home.

You'd separated from the group, perhaps the shots were little stronger than what you were used to. In the middle of the packed dance floor, you found peace. People swaying back and forth, heavy air making sure you all stayed intoxicated. The world was spinning when a pair of hands found you. You could only wonder whether he was as drunk as you were or more. But at that moment, you didn't. Your body reacted to his arms holding you and it was nice to actually feel another person so closely. Perhaps that's what you came for to this island, to find the inner passion for other people again. You weren't searching for love. And of course, you hadn't found it. Because, just when you finally turned around to lock your lips with the handsome, toned guy, Lando had just walked past you, trying to push through the crowd. While he searched for his friends, you searched for the anything that random guy might have had left unspoken on the tip of his tongue.

The headache that followed was more bearable than the heartbreak that pained you before. It's probably for the best you hadn't found Lando that night. You were not ready, not for another three years.

//

It's been quite some time since you loved someone with the kind of intensity that makes dancing in the rain sound like the best idea ever. The kind of love that people write albums about. There was still a glimmer of hope, but with every failed situationship, the hope was harder to search for. Maybe it was just not meant to be - and truth be told, life was actually pretty good. You had great friends, fun job and late twenties were looking great on you. You lost yourself in your thoughts for longer than was probably socially acceptable when one is at a wedding so prestigious as this one was. How you got there was also such a random coincidence, but suddenly you found yourself around a celebrity wedding, where there could have been around five hundred people.

It was a lot to handle in one evening and if you were completely honest, you did feel a little out of place. To regain some peace of mind and avoid a panic attack, you snuck out into the depths of the garden adjacent to the venue.

You walked for minutes, peace and solitude uninterrupted. That was until he spoke to you "for the first time". Neither of you remembering your previous encounters.

"Look, I know this is gonna sound cheesy, but hear me out," said the voice of a person, who at that time had no idea they would go on a disturb your peace for the rest of your life. You turned around, bit surprised someone also made it this far away from the rest of the attendees.

Lando took a quick breath and spoke again. "This is a really good light you have on right now, can I take a quick photo of you?" he said and waved around with his analogue camera. You examined the guy standing in front of you. One would have a hard time looking for someone more handsome than him. He stood there, giving off rather impatient vibe.

"Photo of me?" you asked, not believing you heard him correctly.

"Yes, please. The light is perfect and it'll soon be gone."

He was right about one thing, the sunset was making the sky and the whole garden shimmer with tones of pink one rarely sees in real life. You locked eyes with this strange person and saw a demanding look, begging you to allow him to capture the moment.

"Okey," you said in a low, unconfident tone. He smiled and it was like he just had a shot of espresso, energy flew right through him. His arms shot up and he started looking for the perfect frame.

"Wait, I don't know what to do..." you protested, not being used to getting photographed. For Lando, the occurance of a camera was so common, he didn't even think about it. He found your hesistance refreshing. He quickly snapped a picture, hoping it would capture your unease. Then he looked up from his camera to you again.

"You're perfect like that, don't worry," he assured you and looked for another angle. He was quickly becoming obsessed with the way how the light made your hair shine and a shadow highlighted the contour of your face. There was something he saw in you that night, something he would spend years trying to get into a picture and never getting it fully, at least in his opinion.

Lando found his perfect angle, but by that time your face became stiff, showing you really were not used to modeling. Once again, he looked up from his camera to courage you.

He smiled at you and the two of you locked eyes for longer than strangers usually do. "I'd love to see your smile," he said, hoping he'd loosen you up.

You were beyond nervous. Whatever you were was far apart from normal heart rate.

"Well then you're gonna have to tell me a joke," you said, not knowing where it came from.

"Don't worry, we can talk about my love life after the sunset," he said jokingly and to surprise of anyone who might have overheard, you laughed.

From that moment on, history wrote itself pretty quickly.

[mooooonnnzz]

holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.

Word/Insured Part 2

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!

☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it

☆ 4,5k words

☆ gender-neutral reader

☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst

☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops

☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!

☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3

✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same. 

✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.

✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford. 

✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes. 

✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears. 

✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved. 

✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands. 

✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.

✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!” 

✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.

✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!” 

✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?” 

✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”

✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”

✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford,  buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on. 

✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.” 

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[inkskinned]

we were drunk off mezcal and my dog had his paws crossed like he was fancy and we were giggling about it and i told you that with the sun coming back i can feel my fingers again and you grabbed my wrist and jokingly shook my limp hands while saying i have you i got you and i wanted to tell you i love you in that moment but it's actually just that it's spring and love actually seems like something that i can afford once in a while so long as i'm not overwhelmed by the crushing weight of having to do my laundry

i don't get so sad on sundays anymore and part of that is you but also part of it is that i've been watching a bird melodrama in the tree outside my window - first the robins had the run of it, then the doves. most recently a family of sparrows came through. the sky was pink today like a kiss, and i felt the pastel wrap in a warm piebald snake around my chest and hum herself into my bones

thank god for every person that forgives me for the depressive spirals i go on every winter without-fail like i swear there are absolutes in this world and it's stuff like. stoats go white in winter. the sun comes over the east. when it gets cold all parts of my soul go numb and the light can't pass through my iris without a tattoo gun. how many times can i tell a friend i'm sorry i wasn't talking to you, i truly wasn't talking to anyone

thank god i can feel my skin right now and you hold my weak little hand in your hand and then you flip it over so you can read my palm and you're smiling while you run fingertips over lines and read out my fate like it says here you like a good grillcheese sandwich and admit it you make salads by buying the pre-made spring mix and i have all your astrology shit memorized and i read your horoscope first when i'm checking my own even-though-i-don't-believe-in-it (but just in case) and i want to kiss you just to watch the blush spread in a tulip from under your freckles in that way it does, how you pull back and wrinkle your nose in laughter

thank god but today for the first time in a month i finally texted my friends back and actually made plans to hang out (how's that! barring disaster!) and i let my dog put his big muddy paws on my nice sweater and yeah actually when it's bad i always think i can't do that again. i can't crawl back up that mountain

but the sun touched me on the face this morning and we had a nice long talk about it and i said i gotta go the long way again huh and she nodded and shook back her solarflare hair and looked over to her moon girlfriend and she said you can do it. better things on the horizon.

[tainbocuailnge]

this is a final fantasy fourteen dawntrail post. it speaks incredibly for the desperation of the people of alexandria in its decline that they both couldn't bear to remember the dead and couldn't bear the thought of the dead no longer being remembered, and thus created this contradictory system where the dead are only remembered by something other than those to whom that memory is meaningful. so crushed by collective trauma and grief that they directed every effort to eradicating awareness of mortality altogether and it's resulted in a paradise where everyone is incredibly blasé about dying because the dead live forever in the cloud until they run out of spare souls and are completely paralyzed with fear of their own mortality.

but even more than desperation it speaks of a naive sincerity that the scientists and officials behind the project just actually genuinely built and maintained this giant memory database to preserve the deceased at increasingly large cost, rather than just lie that they totally did that to a populace who won't remember those deceased anyway. they're not harvesting souls to power the war effort while using a recreation of the beloved princess as puppet figurehead, they completely sincerely recreate the dead from their memories and simulate them living happily ever after, started by a sincere desire to not lose their beloved princess. living memory is an eternal theme park that actively goes out of its way to facilitate letting people who remember each other fondly meet again. it's the manifestation of a childish wish for a world where there are no partings, only reunions. it's a theme park rather than an actual city with a dmv and shit like amaurot was precisely Because it's a childish dream. it's fundamentally an artificial experience, but one which sole motive is to bring joy and relief from everyday sadness.

and sphene is the first and most prominent victim of that naive sincerity. she's the mascot of this theme park, and because she's the mascot in charge of providing this artificial but kind experience she can't ever break character. the people of alexandria couldn't bear the thought of her being forgotten, so they created a memory of her that would last forever, but they also couldn't bear to actually remember sphene, so she's a mascot instead of a person. she loves her people, and they love her, but none of them can possibly understand the weight that love puts on her shoulders. the sphene we meet is fundamentally trapped by other people's deeply limited understanding of her.

it's so so so important to her character that she's a small dainty feminine woman that exists to take care of everyone emotionally and be loved by them for being so nice and sweet and loving, and when she tries to arrange some kind of secure future she ends up with an abusive husband who ignores her wants and needs for his own ambitions, and she is fundamentally unable to act outside this highly gendered framework. sphene reads like the commonplace tragedy of the straight woman to me to the point where making her in lesbians with wuk lamat is like. I can certainly understand wanting to grant sphene the sense of liberation and comfort that many lesbians themselves feel at the realisation that they don't have to marry men, so far be it from me to say anyone is wrong to do so. but it's kinda ignoring part of what her deal is for the sake of that comfort I think.

not that lesbians have never ended up in abusive marriages with men but sphene very explicitly does not have other options, part of the tragedy is that you fundamentally cannot actually grant her that liberation and comfort. cahciua explicitly says there's no way to know what the real living sphene would have done because this sphene is a recreated memory of the beloved princess whose job is to sustain living memory. their darling sphene who will always listen to all their troubles and is always nice to them and will always take care of them. she's literally trapped by the role society assigned her, and that role is essentially to be their tradwife mother. the living sphene may have been into women, but the people who recorded her to create the sphene we meet never even considered the option.

do you guys know that tweet thread where OP describes going to a funeral for a woman they didn't know who'd died young of a heart attack, and the husband spent most of the eulogy talking about himself instead of his recently deceased wife, and by the end of the ceremony OP had learned nothing at all about what this woman was like beyond being a wife and mother? everyone fondly remembers the princess and queen of alexandria, but nobody remembers sphene. and just like all OP could still do for this woman was go to her casket and acknowledge that she too had been a full person in her own right before the stress of swallowing everything about herself killed her, all wuk lamat can really still do for sphene is think of her as the full person she must have been.

we're not told anything about what sphene was like as a leader, what her policies were, how she actually did her work, her vision for the future of her country before she died and was reconstructed. they only tell us everyone loved her so dearly because she was so kind to them. we're shown her dying moments and it's her using her airship to shield a civilian, so we can assume her love for her people was indeed true. but none of sphene's history that we're shown and nothing of how otis (who knew the living sphene) talks about her tells us anything about what she was like outside her role as beloved princess. her memories from after her "revival" are dissonant and corrupted and possibly not even real, and her policy of preserving living memory no matter what is a wish implanted in her by the people who reconstructed her. we don't even get to see what she looked like when alive. the only sphene the people know is the theme park mascot of living memory.

cahciua was exactly as erenville knew her and was true enough to herself to be able to turn against the system, so we're not given reason to believe any of the endless were tampered with. but sphene was already dead by the time they even tried to figure out how to preserve her memory, her actual soul and memories definitely long gone by the time the technology worked. we're explicitly told that nobody in everkeep really cared who or what sphene was as long as she adequately fulfilled this role of loving them all so much. she can't even tell you her favourite food, none of the people who labored so intensely and sincerely to bring her back bothered to write down even her most basic personal preferences when they reconstructed her. she has to deflect the question with "when I think of the people who make the food I can't pick just one" because the only preference she's allowed is loving all her people equally. she's completely thrown off that wuk lamat would even ask.

and it's precisely because she is remembered only as this kind loving woman who gave everything for her people that she is weak and powerless to actually do whatever it takes to keep them safe. she does not have the freedom to assert herself, let alone to be cruel or violent or take extreme actions. society does not give her that freedom, because she is a small dainty woman and (therefore) the only role allowed to her is to be their tradwife mother. so while her desire to protect her people is as real and true as it can be part of her plan to lobotomise herself in order to become someone capable of violence and cruelty also reads to me as that specific female frustration of wanting to destroy the sweet babygirl image of yourself by doing something extreme. like britney spears shaving her head. but in sphene's case destroying the babygirl image amounts to destroying herself completely, because the babygirl image of her is all that comprises her. and so when all is said and done the only fragment of sphene that is restored and lingers just a bit longer after that image is destroyed is the sphene that wuk lamat sincerely wanted to get to know.

[3minsover]

Steddie who keep missing each other. Who aren't in love at the same time. It's neither of their faults; they're just not quite in touch, in tune with each other.

Sure, Eddie had a stupid huge embarrassing crush on Steve throughout junior year, senior year and senior year 2.0. Sure, it was made so much worse when in Steve's first and only senior year, Eddie found himself sat in math class diagonally behind the fallen king. He'd watch the way his hair moved when he ran his hands through it in frustration. He'd see the shift of muscle under his shirt when he bent down to pick up a dropped pencil. And every time Steve would smile, flutter his lashes and pinch his eyebrows, say; "I'm sorry sir, I just don't know", Eddie would find himself shifting in his seat, nipping at the skin on the side of his finger, knee bouncing under the desk. They didn't really talk beyond 'hey's in the corridor, beyond 'did you do the homework?'s - to which Eddie would without fail stutter out an 'Uh- so, no. I meant to- Just, uh. No.' and Steve would without fail flash a soft smile, bump his shoulder into Eddie's and whisper 'Me neither.'

It got easier, after Steve graduated. Eddie still saw him around, still recognised his car in the lot when he was giving Robin Buckley from band a ride to school. But it wasn't so immediate, wasn't so raw. And after a while, the butterflies would fade. He'd be able to meet Steve's eye across the Family Video counter without feeling his mouth go dusty and his heart leap into his throat.

Steve hadn't realised his feelings for Eddie were anything more than friendly, until he graduated high school. Without the daily glances across the classroom, the moments he'd always take to make conversation, it felt emptier. It gave him time to think about the way his chest would tighten at Eddie's shy smile whenever they talked. Steve hadn't realised he might be allowed to feel something softer than 'dudely bro-ship'.

That is, until it fades so the only time Steve sees him is when he drops Robin off at school, or when he comes in to family video to rent Halloween again. Steve's heart prickles at the sight of him, but after a while, Eddie's visits drop off.

Steve tries to keep himself busy, grateful for some time without inter-dimensional battles or Russian agents trying to kill him. Thoughts of Eddie drift to the back of his mind, for almost six months. And then in the spring of '86, Steve finds himself thrown against the splintered wall of a nondescript boathouse on the outskirts of town. And it's Eddie Munson from Math that has a shaking, jagged bottle held up to his throat. It absolutely doesn't awaken things in him that he never knew he could want, absolutely not.

But regardless, he's staring half-terrified into the dark, watery brown eyes of Eddie Munson from Math, and all he wants is to reach out and smooth a palm over his cheek. He wants to curl his hand around those trembling fingers and tell him it's all gonna be okay. Of course, it isn't. Steve doesn't get much of a chance to talk to Eddie over the next week, what with some vampire soul-sucker guy terrorizing the town, and Max getting possessed and the whole thing going entirely to shit. But he finds himself drawn inexplicably into Eddie's space, splits off with Eddie and has the girls pair up and then Eddie calls him 'big boy'. And his entire world stops spinning for a moment. For just a second, it's just the two of them, and Eddie's face is so close to his, his smile so wild and beautiful.

The whole world stops, before it rockets back into thrilling, terrifying motion.

In the fear and the panic of the final Vecna showdown, Steve has to thrust his feelings back down deep. He can't let shit like a crush get in the way when the lives of the people he loves most are at stake.

It all happens so fast, and before he knows it, Max is in a coma, Eddie's been torn up to within an inch of his life, there's no certainty that Vecna's even gone, and he doesn't know what to do.

For days, Steve sits by Eddie's bedside when he can - when he's not with Max - only sleeps when he does. He silently begs for Eddie to be alright, feels guilty for every thought he has that isn't about Max. He begins to resent how desperately he pines for the moments when Eddie's awake, and after a week, once it's clear that Eddie's going to recover, Steve doesn't visit him anymore.

With all the feelings that are getting jumbled amongst the multitude of all the other horrible nasty fragile things that are writhing around inside, Steve forces himself to shove any thoughts of Eddie down, to get over him. And before he realises, it's been weeks. He's still worried for Eddie, of course he is. The guy almost died in Henderson's arms. But now the world's not actively ending, now he has a moment to breathe, he wonders whether the sparking, shimmering thing that had his mouth going dusty and his heart leaping into his throat was the same thing that had him saying all that shit to Nancy in the upside down.

He can't trust that it's not just a trauma response.

After Eddie recovers, slowly and with more help than he'd ever admit he needed, he sees Steve again. But he's distant. Friendly, but impersonal. An acquaintance. Things are as they were before. It hurts, but he knows all too well that any of the flirtation, the playful teasing and longing looks can only be chalked up to the fear of the end of the world.

It's a couple months before Steve tells Eddie he's going to college out of state. He's leaving in a week. And everything that had been laying dormant for so long comes bubbling up to the surface.

"Shit, I wish you'd given me a little more notice, Harrington," Eddie says, trying desperately to keep the heartbreak out of his voice.

"I'm sorry man, I just. It all happened pretty fast and like if I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen, yknow?" Steve shrugs awkwardly, runs a hand through his hair.

If I didn't do it now, it wasn't gonna happen.

"It's gonna be a damn sight harder to like you this much when you're that far away," Eddie's mouth says before his mind can catch up.

"I like you too, man, but hey, I'll be home for Christmas. You can catch me up on everything I miss, huh?" Steve bumps Eddie's shoulder, just as he used to when they were leaning against the lockers back at school.

"No, Steve. I- You're, I mean. I like you. In a- Like I have, I totally have feelings for you, dude," Eddie forces out, watching his sneaker as he kicks at the ground.

"Eddie..." Steve says softly, and it just breaks Eddie's heart even more. Because that's a let-him-down-gently 'Eddie'.

"No, no it's- Don't sweat it man, just sorta had to tell you before you- Anyway. Have fun at college. I'll- I'll be here when you come home."

"Eddie, wait. I'm sorry. I just..." Steve begins, looks so pained, reaches to take hold of Eddie's shoulder. He avoids it, ducks out the way. And then Eddie leaves, before Steve can try to do something awful like making him feel better or tell him it's okay.

Eddie doesn't see Steve again before he goes to college. Hears from Henderson over the next few months how he's getting on, all the babes he's dating, the assignments he's trying to actually do before the deadline, and Eddie forces himself to smile, crack a joke, whatever.

Slowly, he extricates himself from conversations about Steve. Doesn't want to hear it, but can't tell anyone why. So he finds excuses; he has to take a leak, just remembered he promised Wayne he'd pick up groceries, got band practice, whatever he can come up with. He doesn't even hear Steve's name, tries desperately not to think about him (and fails), until December.

Until the evening of December 24th, when there's knock at the trailer door. With Wayne already asleep, Eddie drags himself from the couch to pull the front door open.

Eddie's met with a coat-wrapped, scarf-muffled, bobble-hatted Steve Harrington standing on his doorstep. He’s rocking back and forth on his toes, arms crossed tight around his chest, hands tucked under his arms. His cheeks are pink, the tip of his nose pinker still, nibbled by the cold. He’s just as beautiful as the last time Eddie saw him, and it jerks his heart into frantic motion against his ribs.

He’d thought he was over Steve, that seeing him again would be just like what it is; welcoming home an old friend. Except all Eddie wants to do is take hold of Steve’s frostbitten cheeks, pull his face towards him and kiss him like it’ll erase all the months of pining that had gone before.

Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he just balks, says "Steve? What are you-?"

"I had to see you. I’m sorry if this is like inappropriate or if you don’t wanna see me- Dustin said you seemed like, mad at me or something. And honestly I can’t blame you, really. I shouldn’t have- it’s not that I didn’t, that I wasn’t. What I’m trying to say, Eddie, is that I know it’s too late. I know I missed my shot. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you for the last four months."

"Steve-"

"I know I have no right to do this to you. But it was killing me, man. Because I think I might have- I think I might be-"

"Me too," Eddie interrupts. His mind’s whirring and tumbling, trying to gather up the pieces of Steve’s fragmented confession. Steve’s jaw hangs open just a little, paused halfway through a word. "I thought it’d gone away. Thought I’d gotten over Steve Harrington," Eddie continues with a sardonic little shimmy of his hands, "but uh, seems you’re a little harder to shake than I thought."

"D'you, d'you want to shake me? Off, I mean," Steve asks, dipping his chin and looking up through thick lashes, a shy, self-conscious suggestion of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"No. no I don’t."

"Oh thank god. 'Cause I don’t know if I’d survive that," Steve exhales, his small smile spreading into a grin. He rocks forward onto the balls of his feet again, and Eddie finds himself pulled into Steve’s orbit. It doesn’t matter that he’s just in his socks and the doorstep is damp with cold. Eddie crosses the threshold and curls his fingers gently around the lapels of Steve’s coat. Eddie’s struggling to breathe, little puffs bursting forth from his lips and clashing in the air, mixing with Steve’s own.

"Can I-?" Eddie asks, doesn’t dare say the word aloud in case Steve’s not on the same page; gives himself an out if Steve’s not where Eddie’s at. Where he’s always been at, really. It just wasn’t quite at the right time.

"Yes. Please," Steve breathes, sweet frosty breath swirling gray-white around in the thin, chilly air between their faces. Slowly, giving Steve plenty of time to back away, change his mind, Eddie draws Steve towards him, tips his chin until their noses brush. the very peaks of their lips touch, and Steve’s breath hitches at the contact. It’s the prettiest sound Eddie’s ever heard. Eddie sips in a breath, hardly daring to move, and lets Steve nudge their mouths together.

Finally.

Their lips press softly together, and Eddie feels Steve’s hands come to grip at the sides of his sweater, bunching it at his waist. He pulls Eddie towards him, moans softly, just the tiniest hint of voice slipping out and into Eddie’s mouth. A new prettiest sound.

Suddenly aware of their very public, very chilly location, Eddie stumbles backwards, pulls Steve inside with him. Steve follows enthusiastically, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel, lips never leaving Eddie’s for even a moment. They’re entirely wrapped up in each other, even as Eddie frantically unwraps Steve’s cold-proof clothing, lost completely in the feeling of their bodies pressing together.

They took their time, to get here. But now that they are, here is where they’ll stay. It won’t be easy, being apart for long stretches while Steve’s away at college, but now they’ll have a little something of each other’s to keep hold of until they’re together again.

They’ll have the promises they made each other that night, the words whispered against skin, the kisses pressed and breath shared. They’ll have the silent, precious exchange of one heart for another. And that will see them through.