#drag racing germ

[mv1simp]

Based on darling 🍑 🛒 anon’s request: max x inexperienced best friend!reader who hears him complaining about how hard it is to find a girl who’ll match his freak in bed 😼

Birthday Sex ♥️

Max Verstappen x Best Friend!Reader

don’t need candles or cake, just need your body to make (birthday sex, it’s the best day of the year, girl)

As Max’s best friend since childhood, you know him better than anyone. You’re determined to find the best birthday gift after he’s outdone you the past three years. Just when you’ve given up all hope of beating him you overhear him complaining that none of his recent girlfriends let him hit it just the way he likes. Bingo - you’ve just thought of the perfect gift!

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom!max, inexperienced best friend!reader who gets railed lol, size kink, anal, creampie, sloppy drunk sex!!, WC 3.3k

You slump your head down on the table and groan, making your best friend Selena quirk as brow at you as she sips her strawberry iced matcha. Across the room, the elderly librarian scowls and points to the sign clearly labelled “University Library - Quiet Zone for Finals Study”. You roll your eyes and drag Selena away to some dusty bookshelf’s well away from the old crone. You still haven’t found a present for Max? Your friend muses as she noisily slurps her drink, eyeing the dubious titles on the ancient books. Shaking your head, you whine about how you’ve spent weeks thinking of what to gift the F1 driver. You and Max have been best friends since childhood, having grown up literally 2 doors down from one another. After getting over the initial boy/girl germs phase, you’d both connected over a like for video games which had turned into a loyal and supportive friendship into teens and adulthood. And of course, you both strongly believed in work hard, play hard, and frequently would be seen doing multiple shots together out in the Monaco clubs after a race weekend or post exam season.

Despite all the time you’d spend together, things had never crossed the line past friendship. It was always heavily speculated in the media, of course, as well as constant teasing from the other paddock members and your friends and family, but both you and Max dismissed it. He treated you like one of his guy friends, inviting you over to game or come onto his private jet with his other mates to fly out for a race weekend. And of course, being good friends with a millionaire driver meant being spoilt, especially on your birthday. Max always picked up on your hints and outdid himself every year. Last birthday you’d had not one but two custom made jewellery sets delivered from Cartier when you’d mentioned them in passing, and the year before that unlimited VIP box seats to your favourite soccer team and access to his private jet to get you there.

So that’s why you’re desperate to find Max the perfect present for his birthday this year. You want to spoil him just like he spoils you! But he’s been busy with his new girlfriend, a Spanish model he met in St Tropez, and you in the final semester of your English Lit degree and you haven’t had a chance to hear what’s he’s been interested in lately.

You’ve thought up countless ideas, but what do you get a man who literally can afford anything he wants? You’ve cycled through all of his likes, finding that he already owns everything you could possibly buy. Your friend Serena is useless as she watches you plead up at the ceiling (dramatic, sure, but desperate times call for desperate measures) asking for any Gods watching above to send you a sign of the right gift. You could always just get him a vibrator, she joked as she slurped her iced coffee. You know, like the one I got you? Have you been using it? Seriously, we need to end this dry spell and get you dicked down- At that point the old crone of a librarian had let out a scandalised gasp as she overheard and kicked the pair of you out.

You’ve almost given up completely and drop by his apartment a few days before his birthday, ready to just directly beg him to tell you what he wants and put you out of your misery. You let yourself in, already familiar with his spare key hiding location for years. And then you stumble across a conversation that’s not meant for your ears as Max’s deep voice carries around the corner. He’s on video chat with one of his mates playing an e-sim racing game, but they’re definitely not talking about racing strategy.

I don’t know mate, why is it so hard these days to find a chick who’ll let you hit it raw? one of his friends complain over the speakers. Your eyes widen, hand rushing up to stifle your gasp as you realise they’re talking about what they like in the bedroom. You and Max had never talked about something like this, and you’re about to turn and leave - when your best friend says something you’d never expected him to say. He snorts, murmuring that sure, getting to finish inside was good but the real challenge was convincing a girl to let you fuck her up the ass.

His friend laughs on the screen, wholeheartedly agreeing, saying Ah, I see even a F1 driver can’t find a girlfriend who’s into that freaky shit, huh? You miss Max’s reply because his cats, Sassy and Jimmy, have started to walk over to you curiously. You hightail it out of his apartment, desperate not to get caught eavesdropping with your blushing face and jumbled thoughts. You only let yourself calm down once you’re in the safety of your much smaller apartment, sinking into your sofa and recounting what you’d heard. You and Max had never ever talked about sex, even though he treated you like his guy friends, that was a line you’d just never crossed. You’d never have guessed he was into something so naughty like not using protection or…what had he said? Up the ass?

You’re not 100% sure on what he means, with your rather…limited sexual experiences. While Max regularly slept with multiple different flings and models, your hook ups could be counted on one hand. You’d lost your virginity, of course, to an awkward college boyfriend that Max had hated and eventually told you to break up with. But apart from a few sloppy handjobs or quick drunk blowjobs, you really hadn’t explored much else. You were jealous of how much more experienced Max was than you, having sometimes overheard him and his latest girlfriend celebrating a race win from a neighbouring hotel room. But it looked like despite all of the girls he’d been with, he wasn’t getting the satisfaction he wanted in bed. And apparently what satisfied the Dutch Lion was fucking girls who let him take the condom off or use their ass to his liking.

Determined to find out more about what exactly Max wanted, you open the private browser of your laptop and type in a porn site you’d looked at a couple times before. You navigate to the tags, scrolling until you see the category you wanted to research. As you wait for the top trending video in the #Anal section to load you bite your lip, suddenly nervous. Why did Max say he wanted that? It sounded dirty and painful and just wrong. Was there something you were missing?

Then the video started playing and within seconds you’d lost any inhibitions you had. Hypnotised, you watch the screen where a small, tan skinned girl is face down and ass up, with a much larger man running his tongue obscenely through her asscheeks. She’s moaning wantonly, clearly enjoying it, and then his sizeable dick is bouncing out against her bum, messily pounding her pussy first, and then - and then-

Your doe eyes widen, fixed on the laptop with a gasp as his tip slides past her pussy and into her other hole, the one you hadn’t even known could fit a guy’s dick inside it! You’re enraptured, not wanting to blink as you watch her asshole get completely ruined. Your lace thong is rapidly soaked by your wetness as you start panting, finding yourself turned on in a way you’d never ever been before. This is what your Maxie liked? It was so hot, you think sluttily, shamelessly slipping your tiny manicured fingers into your panties to finger yourself at the forbidden thought of you and Max acting out the activities in the video. You cum far too quickly, head tossed back in pleasure. Afterwards, you know you should feel embarrassed and guilty, but instead all you can think about is how badly you want to try having sex with your other tight hole.

And you know exactly what to gift your best friend. Max deserves to get exactly what he wants, after all.

Soon you’re watching dirty video after video every night, telling yourself you need to practise the positions and expressions yourself. But really you’re just addicted to the moaning of girls getting their asses abused by huge cocks, or having the coy smirks wiped off their faces and instead rolling their eyes back as their pussies are pumped full of cum. The bullet vibrator Serena had gifted you as a joke now finds itself making its way in between your dripping thighs, as you cum nightly to the fantasy of being able to provide Max with that pleasure. If his latest girlfriend of the month wasn’t willing to put out for him, you certainly had no problem helping your best friend out instead.

You make sure you’re ready by the time his birthday party rolls around, being celebrated in style aboard his yacht that’s docked in Ibiza tonight. You’ve chosen your outfit carefully, a tight red minidress that shows off your plump ass and tits, complete with strappy high heels. It highlights your ample curves, very different from his usual fling’s stick thin figures. And speaking off - you knew that he must have broken it off with his latest girlfriend judging by the fact that she wasn’t here tonight. Your suspicions are confirmed when a mutual friend tells you he dumped her just two days ago, citing a difference in personalities. More like a difference in kinky preferences, you thought deviously. You just needed to confirm that Max was willing to cross the line of no return in your friendship. Judging from the way his gaze had turned dark and hungry when he’d seen you step onto his boat, roaming over your figure, you were pretty confident that you’d be able to proceed in unveiling your gift.

As the party continues well into the night, you join everyone in dancing and drinking, using the tequila shots as an excuse to why you’re suddenly grinding your fat ass back into Max’s crotch amidst the crowded makeshift dancefloor. When you hear Max laugh in delight, strong hands possessively curling around your hips to keep you against him, you know he wanted you, too.

So when the last of the partygoers are heading off the yacht to join the others in the Ibiza clubs, you take Max’s hand in yours to tug him away, back onto the other side of the yacht where you’re well away from anyone’s eyes and facing the night ocean. He willingly goes, checking out your curvy ass from behind, his own face flushed from the drinks he’d had. You’re tipsily giggling that he had to open your present! as you gently push him onto the outdoor couch, plucking your cutely wrapped small gift box and offering it to him. As he opens it, you eagerly sit down by his side, pressing in close to his warm, toned chest with the excuse of its cold, Maxie.

You don’t miss how his gaze drops to your plush tits, which bounce with every movement and show off your hardened nipples as you’d chosen to only wear a skimpy lace bralette underneath. He easily plays along with your excuse, wrapping his thick arm around you to pull you onto his lap and settle against his broad figure. You giggle again when he finally opens the gift box, only to find it…empty? He looks up at you, laughing as he assumed you’d forgotten to pack your present in your drunk antics tonight.

But the plan in your mind is razor sharp as you breathily press kisses to his stubbled cheeks, making his lustful gaze flicker to your lips as the tension between you two grows. You whisper that you hadn’t forgotten, in fact, you’d gotten him the perfect gift, exactly what he’d been complaining to his gaming friends about not being able to find. The present was just inside you, was all!

Max is still adorably confused, not entirely sure what you were referring to as you slide off his lap after pressing a barely there kiss to his lips. He watches you curiously as you press your blushing cheeks into the sofa and stick your thick ass up in the air. Your already tiny minidress slides down your hips, exposing your soaked, lacey thong that barely covered the true surprise - a cute heart shaped butt plug. Max’s jaw drops and for a minute he thinks he must be dreaming, or had gotten super drunk, or this was some sick joke his friends had set him up for. Until you seductively jiggle your hips at him, fat ass bouncing, your sweet voice almost innocently asking if he likes his gift?

Oh, I fucking love it, sweetheart he assures you with a wicked grin, once he realises just what you were giving him. It’s so much better than anything I could have asked for. Your pleased giggle quickly turns into pleased moans as he plays with the toy, teasing you by slowly pulling it out a bit before sliding it back in. He pulls his raging erection out of his pants, telling you to come here and suck me off, getting his cock ready to fuck you. You obediently lick up and down his length, covering it with your messy drool and lip gloss, making sure it’s as wet as possible. His muscular neck is thrown back against the sofa as he moans above you, a strong hand tangled through your curls as he tries to control the pace but can't resist your talented mouth teasing his over sensitive tip. He almost cums from your enthusiasm, hips stuttering and he swears in dutch as he has to forcefully pull on your dark locks to move your plush lips off him. You cheekily grin up at him, winking, asking was that too much for him?

He tosses you around in half a second, making you giggle into the soft pillow as he raises your ass into the air, growling that he’d have done this a long time ago if he knew what a needy slut you secretly were. You shake your hips enticingly at him, ass bouncing, enjoying how his sexy voice got even deeper and accented when he was dirty talking. Swearing at your tempting display, he delivers a strong smack to your cheeks, and then a second one for good measure, before nudging his cockhead up against your dripping slit. He hushes your whines, telling you that he needed to get a taste of your pussy, the one he’d been dreaming about when you’d stay the night after a late movie and rub your ass into his erection in your sleep, edging him for hours. Did you even know how many times he had to go jerk off to the mental image of your ass in the shower?

You moan in pleasure as he fucks you sloppily, whispering about the time he hadn’t been able to resist and pulled your panties down in your sleep, wanting to jerk off to the real thing and leaving his cum all over your caramel skin. Th-that’s soo hot, Maxie you whine, already feeling fucked out of your mind. Go-go on, cum instead me, you say breathlessly. I started the pill just for your present tonight!

Groaning at your naughty confession, he pumps one last, deep thrust before he's tensing above you, a bruising grip on your hips as he holds you still to drain his load deep inside you. He's panting deeply as his head comes to rest on the back of your neck, the two of you enjoying your blissful comedown together for a few minutes. You can’t believe how heated things have gotten tonight after being friends for years. We could have been hooking up this whole time, it was so good Maxiee you whine against his lips as he presses his tongue into your pouting mouth.

Chuckling at your eagerness, he filthily whispers that you could start by giving him the next part of his birthday gift, hmm? You nod breathlessly, unable to say no to your precious Maxie. He palms your juicy asscheeks with his large palms, squeezing at your flesh greedily. Soon enough he’s fingering your tight, winking hole from above you, telling you to hold your asscheeks apart for him as he messily spits right over where he plans to fuck you. Just the tip, right, Maxie? You repeat again, feeling unsettled with not knowing what he was doing behind you, when he stopped to stare at your cute little hole for a few minutes. Your blushing face is still buried into the cushions as your nails dig into your bouncing ass and hold it apart for him. I've never had anything...inside there before, you say, cheeks warming. So you can't stretch it out, okay, I read that it-

Yeah, yeah baby Max says distractedly, hypnotised by your inviting tight hole that is filling him with a growing desire to ruin it every passing second. Whatever you say. Dousing himself in lube from the supply he keeps stashed in between the couch cushions, he approaches you from behind, his erect cock standing stiff as you jiggle your hips. His tip nudges against your back entrance, making you moan excitedly at foreign but tingly feeling. Then he’s thrusting his leaking cockhead in and out of your hole, and you’re babbling incoherently, your face turned to the side as you gasp mouthfuls of air. Oh, it feels sooo good, mmhhh, yes Maxie-

He growls approvingly at your desperate whining, smacking your red asscheeks again and again to make them bounce. Feels amazing, right baby? he hums into your ear, pressing his abs down against your back. The new position makes his cock accidentally slide in just a little more and you arch your back more when the tingly feeling gets stronger as he slips a large hand around to toy with your sensitive clit. You’ll let me put in just a little bit more, right baby? Max whispers huskily, his hungry eyes taking in your drooling, fucked out face. You were in so much bliss he doubts you’d be able to say no to anything he asked for. O-ok, a little bit more- Ohh!

You cry out as he doesn’t hesitate to slip inside you even further. It’s a good thing you can’t see the filthy mess behind you because Max has bullied an easy third of his rigid, veiny shaft inside your gummy walls. He groans against the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he praises how good you take his fat cock, better than any of his girlfriends. He knows just what to say to have you seeing stars as he continues to shove more and more of himself into your tight hole. Fuck schat, giving me the best birthday treat ever, I’m gonna be addicted.

You’re on Cloud 9-, pink tongue poking out of your mouth and drooling all over the cushion, pretty doe eyes rolled all the way back as Max pounds into your all too willing body. You can barely reply coherently when he croons that he’s just gonna slide a bit more in, that’s right, just like that, you can take it for him, right?

His whole cock is buried inside your ass now, beads of sweat running own his toned abs. And soon you’re screaming his name as he greedily fucks you, grunting with pleasure at each thrust. You can only cross your fingers and hope none of your friends come back from the club early.

—————————————————————————

A/N: back to my old FILTHY ways after writing a 9.5K mafia fic just to give u all whiplash will finally be posting part 2 of earned it v soon with dedicated hot husband max hehehe 😝

[anniebeemine]

Spencer In The Bathroom- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of panic attacks, germs, cheating, underage Spencer, alcohol mention/consumption

It's the biggest party of the fall and Spencer, the somehow campus-renowned genius is still invisible in the middle of the room. He's not sure how he let himself be talked into it. His heart is racing, a tiny bit of sweat accumulating on his brow. He's never been to a party before, but the president of the frat, Carl, owed him one.

Spencer didn't care much about balancing the scales, but there was something about the insistence, the way the guy practically dragged him along, that made Spencer relent. Maybe it was curiosity or the nagging thought that, for once, he should try something out of his comfort zone.

But now, standing awkwardly in the crowded living room with the bass thumping through the walls and red Solo cups clutched in the hands of everyone around him, he feels completely out of place. His mind races with the amount of germs. He'd paused, instantly feeling absolutely disgusting.

His mind races, calculating the number of germs that must be on every surface he’s touched—the doorknob, the cup he was handed, even the air he's breathing. A wave of nausea sweeps over him as he realizes just how many hands have likely touched the same things.

His breath quickens, and he feels the beginnings of panic set in. His skin tingles with the creeping sensation of grime, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of his body. The sweat on his brow isn’t just from the heat of the room—it feels like a film of bacteria clinging to his skin. He pauses, frozen in place, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He can practically feel the germs crawling on him, multiplying with every second that passes.

He spots the bathroom on the first floor and quickly makes his way over, hoping for some relief. But when he opens the door, the sight inside sends him reeling. The floor is sticky beneath his shoes, each step making a squelching sound that makes his stomach churn. A dark, suspicious puddle near the toilet—vomit, he’s certain—sends a wave of nausea crashing over him. The sink is littered with crumpled paper towels, and the roll of toilet paper hangs pathetically empty. An overturned bottle of hand soap lies abandoned, the last drops smeared across the counter like a mockery.

Spencer’s vision blurs as he feels the color drain from his face. He’s never seen anything so filthy, so contaminated. His chest tightens, and he can’t catch his breath. Panic grips him fully, and he practically bolts from the bathroom, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from his chest.

Spencer stumbles up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. His heart is hammering in his chest, a wild, frantic beat that echoes in his ears and drowns out the music below. The hallway is dimly lit, and the walls seem to close in on him as he searches for some semblance of peace. Every door he passes is either locked or opens to the sound of more voices, more chaos, and he feels his panic rising with each failed attempt to find a quiet space.

Finally, at the end of the hall, he finds a bathroom that isn’t occupied. He practically lunges at the door, slamming it shut behind him and locking it with trembling fingers. The sound of the lock clicking into place is the only thing that brings him a small measure of relief. His breaths come in shallow, rapid gasps as he leans against the door, eyes squeezed shut.

The bass still reverberates through the floorboards, but it’s muted here, distant enough that he can almost pretend it’s not there. He turns to the sink and fumbles for the faucet, his hands shaking so violently that it takes him three tries to get the water running. When it does, he scrubs at his hands with a fervor bordering on desperation, the scalding water doing nothing to quell the deep-seated feeling of contamination that’s taken root in his mind.

He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. His fingers are raw and red from scrubbing, but the need to clean himself, to rid himself of the filth, is overwhelming. He only stops when his skin stings so sharply that it forces him to pull his hands away. He turns off the faucet and stumbles back, his legs giving out as he sinks to the floor beside the bathtub.

He draws his knees up to his chest, his body trembling uncontrollably. His nails dig into the grout between the tiles, picking at it mindlessly, needing to focus on something, anything, to keep himself grounded. But his thoughts are spiraling, a whirlwind of doubt and self-recrimination that he can’t seem to escape.

What am I doing here? The question echoes in his mind, relentless and unforgiving. I don’t belong here. I never should have come to college. This was a mistake—a huge, terrible mistake.

His heart pounds so hard he can feel it in his throat, and he’s certain he’s going to be sick. His mind races through every poor decision that led him to this moment: agreeing to tutor Carl, letting himself be dragged to this party, thinking he could somehow fit in with these people. It’s all wrong. He’s all wrong.

I should have aimed lower, he thinks bitterly. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not like them—I can’t be like them. Why did I think I could handle this?

He feels the tears sting at the corners of his eyes, but he blinks them back, refusing to let them fall. His body trembles harder as the weight of his choices presses down on him, suffocating him. The bass thuds through the floor, a steady reminder that the chaos is still there, just outside this small, suffocating room.

He picks at the grout with renewed intensity, his fingernails digging into the cracks until they ache. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts as he tries to calm himself, but nothing helps. The panic is too strong, too overwhelming.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts, but they just keep coming, a relentless tide of fear and self-doubt that threatens to pull him under.

He feels like he’s drowning, suffocating in his own skin, and there’s no way out. All he can do is sit there, trembling on the cold, dirty bathroom floor, and wait for the panic to release its grip on him. But it doesn’t. It just tightens, suffocating him as the world spins out of control around him.

He had come to the party with his only real friend on campus, another young genius named Jeremy. They were both sixteen, prodigies who had somehow ended up in the middle of a college campus filled with students much older than them. It wasn’t easy being the youngest, but having Jeremy around made it bearable. They stuck together, navigating the complexities of college life as a pair, and for the most part, it worked.

But tonight, everything changed.

Jeremy had ditched him within ten minutes of arriving, lured away by the promise of beer pong in the basement. Spencer had watched him disappear down the stairs with a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable without his friend by his side. Everything had felt fine when he was half of a pair—he could manage the awkward stares and the occasional condescending comment because Jeremy was there with him. They were a team. But now, standing alone in the middle of a loud, chaotic party, Spencer felt completely lost.

He tried to blend in, to stay inconspicuous as he moved through the crowded rooms, but every second felt like an eternity. People brushed past him without a second glance, engrossed in their own conversations, and he could feel the panic creeping up on him with every step. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hands trembled as he clutched the red Solo cup that Jeremy had handed him before disappearing.

Spencer’s throat tightened, and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He hated this feeling—the overwhelming sense of not belonging, of being so utterly out of place. His mind raced with thoughts of Jeremy, who had always been the more social of the two. Why did he leave me? Spencer wondered, feeling the hurt mix with the panic. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I can’t do this alone.

Before he knew it, tears were spilling down his cheeks, and he quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt, hoping no one would comment on the little bit of snot smeared on the fabric. The tears kept coming, and soon he was full-on crying, his chest heaving with quiet sobs. He used his sleeve to wipe his nose, the fabric already damp from his tears, and tried to stifle the sound of his crying, but it was no use. It's not like anyone would be able to hear him over the bass.

Spencer wasn’t sure how long he sat there on the bathroom floor, crying into his sleeve and trying to get a grip on his emotions. Time seemed to stretch on forever, each second feeling like an hour. The world outside the bathroom door continued to thump along to the heavy bass, but inside, Spencer was trapped in his own private hell, completely disconnected from the party raging on just a few feet away.

His mind had begun to slow down a little, the initial wave of panic starting to subside, when suddenly, three loud knocks echoed through the bathroom door. The sound startled him, each knock sending a jolt of fear through his already frazzled nerves. He jumped with each one, his heart rate skyrocketing again as he scrambled to pull himself together.

The knocks continued, insistent and demanding, as if the person on the other side was about to break down the door if he didn’t open it soon. Spencer’s body moved on autopilot as he forced himself to stand, his legs shaking beneath him. He stumbled over to the sink, desperately trying to regain some composure. He splashed cold water onto his face, hoping to wash away the evidence of his tears and the overwhelming fear that had gripped him.

The knocks pounded again, louder this time, making his heart leap into his throat. He glanced at the mirror, his reflection still pale and shaken, but there was no time to dwell on it. He had to open the door. What if it’s Jeremy? he thought, clinging to the hope that his friend had come back for him, that he wasn’t completely alone in this nightmare.

With a deep breath, Spencer’s hand hovered over the doorknob, his fingers trembling as they made contact with the cool metal. But just as he was about to turn it, the knocking stopped.

The sudden silence was deafening. Spencer stood frozen, his hand still on the knob, unsure of what to do. His mind raced with possibilities—had they given up? Were they waiting for him to open the door? He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or more afraid now that the knocking had ceased. He leaned in closer, trying to hear anything on the other side, but all he could make out was a female voice drunkenly slurring along to the song playing downstairs.

He regretted the half a beer he’d forced down earlier, hoping it might help him relax and fit in. Instead, it only made him feel queasier, his nerves amplifying the effects of the alcohol. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but the discomfort only worsened. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears as he tried to decide what to do.

Before he could make a choice, the door suddenly swung open. Spencer’s breath hitched as he took a step back, his eyes widening in surprise. Standing in the doorway was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. She had a calm, confident presence that immediately put him on edge, but in a different way than the rest of the party. He felt an overwhelming wave of self-consciousness wash over him as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror beside her.

Is there a sadder sight than this? he thought, his tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes a stark contrast to the polished appearance of the girl in front of him. He looked like a mess, completely out of place in this scenario.

The girl stepped into the bathroom, keys jingling around her neck, and without hesitation, she turned back to whoever was behind her, shoving them out of the room with a firm hand. Spencer watched, dumbfounded, as she closed the door behind her, shutting out the noise of the party. The quiet that followed felt almost surreal, like they were in a different world altogether.

She turned back to him, her expression softening as she looked at him. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly, her voice gentle and soothing. There was genuine concern in her eyes, and something about it made Spencer’s resolve crumble.

He shook his head, unable to find his voice. His arms wrapped around himself in a self-soothing gesture, trying to stop the shaking that had taken over his body. He felt so small, so out of place, like he was back in high school again, surrounded by older kids who didn’t understand him.

The girl, undeterred by his silence, gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Why don’t you sit on the edge of the tub?" she suggested, her tone kind but firm. Spencer hesitated for a moment, but something in her voice made him trust her. He nodded, moving to sit on the edge of the bathtub, his body still trembling slightly.

She walked over to the toilet, calmly shutting the lid before wrapping a generous amount of toilet paper around her hand. Spencer watched her movements, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened, but he found a strange sense of comfort in her calm demeanor. She sat down next to him, gently dabbing at his tear-streaked cheeks with the toilet paper. The touch was light and careful, and he found himself relaxing ever so slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit.

"Feeling a little better?" she asked softly, her eyes meeting his.

Spencer nodded, his voice still caught in his throat. He watched as she soaked another wad of toilet paper with cool water from the sink, then returned to his side, dabbing his cheeks with the damp paper. The coolness of the water was soothing against his flushed skin, and he felt a small wave of relief wash over him.

As she continued to help him, she introduced herself. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice warm and inviting, as if they were old friends instead of strangers meeting in a bathroom during a chaotic party.

“Spencer,” he finally managed to whisper, feeling a little more grounded with each passing moment.

Y/N smiled again, her kindness unwavering. “It’s nice to meet you, Spencer,” she said, her tone sincere. "I take it you're the kid Carl invited?"

Spencer nodded, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief wash over him. "Yeah, I guess that’s me," he replied softly, his voice still shaky. He felt a little silly being referred to as "the kid," but it wasn’t far from the truth. At sixteen, he was younger than everyone here, and it was painfully obvious.

Y/N’s expression softened further, her eyes filled with understanding. "Don’t worry," she said gently. "Carl has a habit of dragging people into things they’re not ready for." She tilted her head slightly, studying him with a look that was more empathetic than pitying. "It’s a lot to take in, especially when you’re not used to it."

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by her observation. He hadn’t expected her to notice—he’d been so wrapped up in his own anxiety that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might be going through something as well. He studied her face more closely, noticing the faint redness around her eyes and the slight puffiness that suggested she’d been crying too, though she’d done a good job of hiding it.

"You’ve been crying too," he said softly, his voice tinged with concern. It felt strange to point it out, but there was a part of him that wanted to understand, to know what had caused her to feel the same kind of sadness he was experiencing.

Y/N’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her gaze dropping to the floor before she looked back at him. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s been a rough night." She hesitated, as if unsure how much to share, but then she seemed to make a decision. "Carl's my boyfriend- well was." She thought for a second, a light huff falling from her lips. "Well, I don't really know."

Spencer’s heart ached at her admission, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of empathy for her. "Do you… want to talk about it?" he asked, his voice gentle but sincere.

Y/N let out a short, almost surprised laugh, her eyes widening slightly. "You’re serious?" she asked, searching his face as if trying to determine if he was really offering to listen.

Spencer nodded, his expression earnest. "Yeah, I am. Sometimes it helps to talk."

Her smile wavered, and she let out a deep sigh, as if she had been holding it in for too long. "I watched him go into a room with… her," she began, her voice trembling slightly as she recalled the painful memory. "When I tried the doorknob, it was locked." She paused, her voice cracking a little as she tried to keep her composure. She sighed again, this time more shakily, using it to mask the emotion threatening to spill over. "I didn’t need to see anything else to know what was happening."

Spencer felt a wave of anger on her behalf, his hands clenching slightly at the thought of what she’d gone through. "You shouldn’t put up with that," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt inside.

Y/N looked at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and then a small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You really are smart," she teased gently, her voice wavering between humor and sadness.

Spencer blushed slightly, but he didn’t back down. "I mean it," he said, his tone softening but still resolute. "You deserve better than that. No one should treat you that way."

Her smile faded, replaced by a look of deep contemplation as she absorbed his words. For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of their shared vulnerability hanging in the air. Finally, she nodded, as if coming to a decision. "You’re right," she said quietly, almost to herself. "I do deserve better."

Spencer felt a small sense of relief at her words, glad that she was beginning to see her own worth. "And you’ll find better," he added, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "It might take time, but you will."

Y/N looked at him, her eyes softening with a mix of gratitude and something else—something more profound. "Thank you, Spencer," she whispered, her voice full of emotion. "For listening… and for caring."

He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime," he replied, meaning it more than she could know.

They sat there for a few more moments, the silence between them no longer awkward but comforting. It was as if they had both found a brief respite from their own struggles in the presence of someone who understood. Finally, Y/N stood up, extending her hand to him.

"Come on," she said, her tone a little lighter now. "I'll give you a ride home."

They walked out of the bathroom together, leaving behind the noise and chaos of the party. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, and Spencer felt a sense of relief wash over him. Y/N led the way to her car, a simple but well-kept sedan parked a little ways down the street. They got in, the quiet hum of the engine a welcome contrast to the thumping bass they’d left behind.

As they drove through the darkened streets, the tension that had hung over them all night seemed to dissipate. Spencer felt more at ease than he had in a long time, the quiet companionship between them calming his racing thoughts.

At one point, Spencer glanced over at Y/N, catching her in a moment of peaceful reflection. "You know," he said, his voice soft but clear, "tonight didn’t turn out how I expected, but… I’m really glad I met you."

Y/N turned to look at him, a playful glint in her eyes. "Is that your way of flirting, Spencer?" she teased, her tone light and amused as she pulled up to the curb outside his dorm.

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, his face going pink as he realized how his words might have sounded. "N-no, I didn’t mean it like that," he stammered, his heart racing again but for a completely different reason. "I just meant… you were really kind, and I didn’t expect to meet someone like you tonight."

Y/N laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine, as she shifted the car into park. "Relax, I’m just teasing," she said with a smile, waving off his embarrassment. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, the brief contact sending a jolt of warmth through him. "You have a good night, Spencer."

Spencer froze for a moment, his hand instinctively moving to where her lips had brushed his skin. "Y-yeah, you too," he managed to say, still flustered but feeling a strange sense of happiness bubble up inside him.

He got out of the car, closing the door gently behind him. As he walked toward his dorm, he glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Y/N gave him a little wave before driving off into the night.

For the first time in a long while, Spencer found himself smiling as he walked up the steps to his building. Despite everything, the night hadn’t turned out so bad after all.

[momodita]

tidbits જ⁀➴ suo hayato.

TAGS / WARNINGS: little shit suo, male reader, aged up to third years WC: 500 NOTE: set in the same universe/timeline as this fic. i gotta eat bricks fr

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Here.”

You cast a critical eye at the bottle: half-empty, wet with condensation. Promising to relieve the tackiness in your throat.

Suo has a little smile: the one he wears when idling—letting Nirei and Sakura bicker amongst themselves. You don’t trust it. He looks too angelic and passive for how barbaric you’ve seen him be.

“That’s yours.”

“You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” he asks without missing a beat. “It would be terrible if you let yourself get dehydrated.”

Arguing with him is a Sisyphean task that only the stupid attempt: it’s endlessly entertaining when Sakura’s involved, but when you’re on the other end, all it’s good for is putting you on edge.

“Aren’t you worried about”—you choose the word carefully—“germs, or whatever?”

His smile widens. “Not at all. Are you?” He’s waiting for some stupid comment about indirect kissing. And he knows you know he’s waiting; the years have allowed you to adapt to his way of thinking—as unfortunate as it is—and if there’s anything you’re wont to do, it’s avoid playing into his hands.

You glare at the label, wishing it would burst into flames. It doesn’t, of course, despite the heavy crease between your eyebrows. You bite back snark in favor of accepting the bottle, instantly wetting your palm.

The conscious effort to avoid his gaze does not outweigh the misfortune for being in this situation to begin with. You just need one sip.

So you put your mouth on it. There’s nothing to be remotely embarrassed about, except that he’s watching in your periphery. And maybe that’s enough to be unsettling, because the bottle tips a touch too far—too fast—and dribbles down your chin.

Air catches in your esophagus in a choking cough as you rip it away, raising a hand to catch the spilling liquid.

“My, my, if I’d known you’d be so clumsy, I would’ve helped,” Suo muses brightly, reaching into his pockets.

“Shut up,” you snap wetly, nose stinging. He holds out a handkerchief, but doesn’t let go. His eyes are tracing over your mouth, where the tea is drying cold and sticky. There’s a droplet clinging to the dip of your bottom lip. “It’s ‘cause you were staring.”

“Is that so?” You flinch when Suo’s hand rises at face level. But all he does is drag a thumb along your chin. “Better not waste it,” he says quietly, pushing the flat of it up the curve of your lips to press against your teeth.

Dazed, you don’t register the slackening of your jaw—allowing the bare pressure on the jut of your canine—until his own mouth parts, sharing a quiet hiss of breath. A visible shudder—so violent you tremble—carves down your spine.

He lets you slap away his hand, watches with a careful, all-too predatory stillness as you stumble back, blood racing to your cheeks and throat.

“Bastard,” you bite out, slamming the bottle on the nearest desk and stalking out of the classroom.

[flyingwargle]

sakusa wants to hold atsumu’s hand.

it’s easy. they’re walking down the street, side by side, close enough that their shoulders could touch, far enough that they don’t. atsumu has a hand in his pocket, the other by his side. sakusa has a hand in his pocket, the other by his side. atsumu’s hand swings with every stride. sakusa’s remains still, stiff like a board, straight like it’s the border between him and his partner, crossings closed indefinitely.

atsumu’s love language is physical touch. sakusa knew this ever since their first youth training camp, observed how he high-fived his hitters after every spike, leaned on their shoulders when he chatted with the others, brushed their arms in passing. the first time he approached sakusa for a high-five, all he received was a scowl and turned back. he never attempted it again, not even when they reunited as professionals, not even when they started dating.

you’d think that dating would embolden him to make contact, but instead, atsumu adopted every other love language instead. he gives him small, useless trinkets that remind him of his partner; he wipes down public surfaces for him before sitting down himself; he goes over to his apartment twice a week for dinner, movies, drinks, video games. and although they continue to insult each other, it’s never with any heat, always with affection, much to their teammates’ bafflement.

he’s still physical with everyone else – sideways hugs, fist bumps, high-fives, the occasional slap on the ass when he’s excited. but when it comes to sakusa, it’s always a shared nod, a fond smile, a cocky grin.

is it selfish of him to want more? no. is it possible? yes. so, will he be able to do it? questionable. this is because, as he looks at atsumu’s hand, his mind races. what was the last surface he touched? how many doors did he have to open before reaching their rendezvous point to walk to practice? did he sanitize after touching every surface? even if he sanitizes them now, would it be enough to eliminate those layers upon layers of germs, to eradicate the possibility of illness that clung to some other commuter’s hand, who obviously does not use hand sanitizer, who could’ve touched another contaminated surface that could be cultivating disease, born from a sneeze, a cough a–

“omi?”

he jumps, startled. atsumu is half a step in front of him, turns toward him with concern on his face, lips pulled in a frown. “are ya okay?”

“y-yeah.” his breath stuttered. that’s all the evidence that atsumu needs.

“no, yer not. what’s wrong? ya can tell me.”

sakusa takes a deep breath. he’s learned a lot about atsumu since establishing their relationship, so he knows that something atsumu values as much as trust is honesty. “i want to hold your hand.”

he watches his intense expression slide off his face – eyes widening, mouth falling open, faint blush blossoming in his cheeks. “but,” sakusa says before atsumu can say something he’ll regret, “i don’t know how.”

the uninitiated might be screaming, just reach for his hand! how hard can it be? atsumu, however, is not one of them, seen by how his eyes flash, lips press together with a nod. “what can i do to make it easier?”

sakusa stares at their hands, mere centimeters away from each other, both pairs dangling by their sides. in an alternate universe, he’d grab one by the wrist and drag him all the way to practice. in this universe though, he just…stands there. “i don’t know.”

atsumu is undeterred. “i’ll sanitize my hands. would ya feel better if ya sanitized yers?”

“i- yeah. maybe.” sakusa didn’t touch anything, as his apartment lock uses a keypad, and the front entrance is automatic. he walks to the rendezvous point, fifteen minutes away. still, he lets atsumu squeeze some hand sanitizer on his palm, a brand that meets his cleanliness standards.

“okay.” atsumu puts the sanitizer away. “ya want me to reach fer ya, or do ya wanna do it?”

“i…i will.”

he nods, then offers him his hand. sakusa takes a moment to admire his lithe fingers, faded callouses, uniformed nails. these hands have delivered countless tosses and service aces. they have provided support, encouragement, security. they are his to take.

and he does. sakusa brushes the back of his hand against his, reaches until their palms are together. atsumu wraps his fingers around his hand, and sakusa does the same. atsumu gives a little squeeze. sakusa squeezes back. they stay like that for a moment, eyes on each other. then, atsumu gives a small smile. “ya good?”

sakusa nods, doesn’t trust himself to speak. he takes the first step, and atsumu follows. they continue down the sidewalk, hand in hand. they don’t talk, don’t let go until they reach the training center and enter the locker room, where they have to break away to reach their respective lockers.

after practice, they find themselves together again, so they can head home. sakusa doesn’t think, just reaches for atsumu’s hand. atsumu doesn’t comment, just asks what he wants for dinner. they talk the entire way, about the new drills that they have to do, the fitness goals they need to set, the upcoming interview for a talk show next week.

it’s only when they reach the safety of sakusa’s apartment that atsumu says, “i love ya.”

“i love you, too.” the reply is easy, quick. if he can say that without hesitation, surely he can hold his hand in the same way? it’ll be something to work toward, an instinct that he’ll hone, just as loving atsumu comes as easily as breathing.

[moonspirit]

I’m at a mud run so…

Aot ambassadors at a mud run!

Sjshsknsuwks anooooon that sounds like so much of fun omg!

You have Armin who's the only one serious about doing things by the book - and therefore the only one doing the mud run the way it should be done - and therefore ALSO barely getting through it 🥲

You have Jean expending buckets of sweat and hard work and doing REALLY well, he's doing GREAT, he's leading, he's fast, he's sprinting- but- oh wait no, hold on- what the FUCK, seriously?!?!

*insert suspense cliffhanger: what did Jean just see?!*

You have Connie who took this seriously for about 0.5 seconds before he decided: hey the mud's nice and cool... It's a nice sunny and breezy day... Why not just... lie down in the mud and watch the clouds... :3 Connie Boy knows how to have a good time, okay?

Annie's gone. Annie's gone. She's building a tunnel through the mud underground and taking that as a shortcut to escape the obstacles and also win the race.

(the prize is a bakery discount coupon, now it makes sense huh?)

Pieck... Works smart, not hard. She identified the fastest team taking part and latched onto them like a leech and now refuses to get off unless they win the race. (She's dangerous in the most unassuming way, so they don't dare shake her off)

Levi's a safe distance away because mud is dirty and full of germs and his wheels will get stuck and no fucking thank you.

Reiner's stuck. He's stuck in the mud. He's STUCK IN THE MUD, HEAD IN ASS OUT AND GABI AND FALCO ARE TRYING TO DRAG HIM OUT WITH A ROPE.

Cue: Jean, who was DOING REALLY GREAT BY HIMSELF, ditches his efforts and comes running: "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU GET YOURSELF STUCK IN THE MUD, WHY AREN'T YOU ANY FUCKING GOOD, DEAR YMIR AND MARIA FOR SOMEONE BUILT FOR ENDURANCE AND STRENGTH YOU'RE SO FUCKING USELESS, REMEMBER HOW I ALMOST KILLED YOU? YEAH? YOU REMEMBER YOU WERE BLOWN TO BITS? ARMOURED TITAN MY ASS-"

(spoiler: he gets rescued by Jean bridal-style)

(spoiler: half an hour later, Armin is only a quarter of the way across)

(spoiler: Annie pops up from the ground like Diglett and drags Armin into her tunnel)

(spoiler: 😏)

(spoiler: Connie lay in the mud too long now he's gone. Swallowed. One with the mud. We'll never see him again. Good bye...)

(spoiler: Pieck's winning

[somber-sapphic]

Stupid Lungs

Pneu-mo-nia; noun: lung inflammation caused by bacterial or viral infection, in which the air sacs fill with pus and may become solid. Inflammation may affect both lungs ( double pneumonia ), one lung ( single pneumonia ), or only certain lobes ( lobar pneumonia ). (wandanat x reader)

Word Count: 3513

(part two)

-----

“Y/n, you’re clearly too sick to be out of bed. I can hear your lungs crackling from here!” Tony exclaimed after what must’ve been your third coughing fit interrupted the meeting. He was standing in the corner opposite you, glaring. Unfortunately, the glare was undercut by the clear worry in his voice. 

Tony was right about your breathing, it wasn’t great. Every inhale felt like glass cutting your throat which eventually moved to sit heavily on top of your lungs. Each coughing fit was wet, but refused to do anything to help with the mucus which had made a home in your bronchi. 

“I’m fine.” You choked out, fighting to stifle a sneeze building in your sinuses. Sneezing would just make everything hurt worse. Naturally you lost, and aimed two unfortunately wet sneezes into your elbow. Instantly your cheeks flushed from embarrassment and you stared at the table as you wiped your drippy nose on your sleeve, wishing for a box of tissues. 

“Get out, germ face.” Tony’s voice cut through the thick fog of congestion that had settled in your ears and you shot him what you wanted to be a devastating look. It wasn’t very good though, because your eyes burned and you couldn’t stop sniffling. 

“Tony’s right, let’s go.” Natasha murmured, pulling you up by your arm. 

“No, I’m staying. We-we have to–” You sneezed aggressively into your hand, tears pricking your dull eyes. You hated having so little control over your stupid, useless body. 

“No, you’re not. FRIDAY, disinfect the whole room. Nothing that will kill us, just murder the germs. Y/n, I’m serious, I will drag you out of here by your hair if you don’t leave right the fuck now.” You knew that Tony wouldn’t go anywhere near you right now, but you wouldn't be surprised if Nat just threw you over her shoulder. Natasha’s hand had stayed glued to your back the entire time and she kept flashing you nervous looks. 

“On it boss,” A vent opened and the smell of disinfectant filled the room, just in time for you to start coughing again. 

“You need me to take you to bed?” Natasha asked, reaching out to take your hand. You pulled away, embarrassment flushing hot on your cheeks. You hated that Natasha had to see you like this. 

You’d fallen in love with the woman from the moment you laid eyes on her. Everything she did was breathtaking. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, that little crinkle in her forehead she got every time she worried, how her hair seemed to glow in the sunset. But she was with Wanda. Wanda was a whole different problem. Oh, gods, Wanda. 

You’d nearly died when you’d first seen her. Her auburn curls bounced when she walked, her brilliant smile that could light up a room, the way she was always so kind to you, especially when you’d first joined the team. You’d arrived five months ago riddled with uncontrollable social anxiety. These heroes saved you from yourself. You owed them everything, but your feelings for Wanda and Natasha were beyond anything you’d ever felt. And they were dating. So you got to watch their joy from the outside, wishing you could melt into their arms. 

“I’m fine Natasha, I’ll go myself. Just,” You stood and a wave of black spots danced in your vision. The hand that had brushed your fingers returned and you pulled away tearfully.

“Please don’t touch.” You muttered, racing out of the room. 

You made it to the elevator without collapsing, but as soon as you reached it you fell against the wall, a sneezing fit overcoming your body. A quiet sob escaped from your painfully clenched lungs, but it turned into a bout of miserable sounding coughs. 

“Ms. Y/n, I believe that I should alert one of the Avengers. Ms. Maximoff is in the kitchen making something to eat, I will have her come to your aid.” FRIDAY informed, not really looking to give you a choice in the matter. You whimpered quietly, trying to get her to stop. 

“N-no, please…FRIDAY, I’m fine. Don-don’t tell Wanda. Don’t tell Wanda. Just unlock my room and set up a zoom call. I’m still going to the meeting, even if they kick me out of the meeting.” The last sentence was said with a lot more confidence than you felt, primarily because you were hoping to trick yourself into feeling more normal. 

“Ms., I do not believe that this is a wise decision. Ms. Maximoff would be happy to assist you

“I don’t care. As soon as I get off, sanitize the elevator.” You demanded, forcing yourself to regain your composure. You had a witch to fool. 

Getting past Wanda was easier than you’d expected. The woman was caught up in her cooking, humming along to a song playing softly in the background. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her work, sniffling quietly so as not to disturb her. 

“Hey Y/n/n, meeting go well?” She asked, not really bothering to look at you, she was too busy cooking. Whatever it was, it probably smelled amazing. 

“Hey Wanda,” You managed not to sound too congested, but it was notable enough that you sort of ran past her, not allowing the conversation to continue. You could feel her eyes on you as you left, the concern starting to build in her stomach. You always stopped to talk to her even if you were busy. Hell, you let her read your thoughts when you were on missions so that you could have a fucking conversation. 

She shook her head slightly, vowing to keep her mind open to your thoughts. She wouldn’t pry unless you allowed her too but this way she could hear you if you were in significant distress.

—

“FRI, connect me to the conference room.” You mumbled, sort of collapsing onto your bed. If you were in bed you might as well get comfortable. You’d just managed to wrap a blanket around your shoulders when the team appeared on the TV screen, in the middle of a heated discussion. 

“Hi guys,” You croaked, sniffling against the fabric of your well loved blanket. It was worn with years of love and had helped you through near countless nightmares. It was your most prized possession. 

“No! FRIDAY, get her off. Now.” Tony ordered, practically leaping out of his skin at your voice. You’d scared him, and he was a little embarrassed. 

“I-if you do that I’ll just come downstairs!” You burst out, wiping your nose on your blanket. There was a sneeze building in your sinuses and you were trying to keep it at bay. The Avengers were all staring at you from the other side of the screen, Natasha in open mouthed disbelief.

She couldn’t understand how you were still functioning. She’d half expected to hear FRI alerting everyone that you’d passed out in the elevator. You didn’t acknowledge her in fear that you’d just start crying. You wanted her to hold you. Well, you really just wanted to be held. But it would’ve been nice if she held you. 

“Look, she’s not going to listen to reason. Just let her listen until she falls asleep.” Clint reasoned, shrugging. He was obviously concerned but he was also right. You shrugged, acknowledging it. 

Deciding that all they could do was let you stay, they went back to the debrief, discussing how best to go about stealth tactics next time. A lot of it was centered around hiding better. For some reason Tony was really concerned with hiding. 

“Heh…hetchiw!” You stifled a sneeze into your shirt, trying your best not to interrupt. Natasha’s eyes flicked towards you and you forced a small smile, sniffling wetly. You wished that you had tissues, not grabbing them was probably a bit of an oversight. Natasha just shook her head, one eyebrow raised. She looked down quickly, and then back up at you.

Your phone buzzed by your side and you picked it up, blinking a couple of times as you tried to focus on the screen. The words were swimming in front of your eyes and it hurt to…well it hurt to see. Your eyes felt like they were on fire and you recognized that you probably should’ve checked your temperature earlier. 

My Assassin- You’re better than this x.

You- I’m fine, Tash, focus on the debrief or Tony will get mad. 

You saw Natasha smirk from the video feed and she rolled her brilliant green eyes. She almost looked happy for a second, but then a particularly harsh coughing fit tore from your lungs. A glob of mucus filled your mouth and you spat it out into the trash can, trying to ignore the greenish tint. That probably wasn’t a good thing, but you’d deal with it later. 

My Assassin- bullshit. your breathing is terrible, we might need to take you to see bruce. please go to sleep, i’ll record the whole damn meeting if it’ll get you to sleep.

“You’re done, Fri kick her off and lock her door. Sleep well Y/n/n.” Tony said, waving a hand at you. Before you could put in a legitimate protest the TV screen was off and your door clicked. Tears instantly filled your eyes, fear jamming its way down your throat. You couldn’t be locked in like this. You couldn’t do it again. No more. You needed to go.

“FRIDAY let me out! Let me out, please Fri let me out!” You ran to the door and pounded on it, jiggling the knob, desperation filling your actions. “Let. Me. Out! I need to get out, please, please out! Please!” You slid to the floor, banging your head against the hardwood. It was the only thing you could think of. There was nothing else left, this was the end. This was how you died. 

A soft click brought you out of your panic and the door opened, spilling you out of your room and into a warm body.

Tears flowed down your cheeks as you clung to the person, chest heaving. You didn’t care who it was. 

“Hey, hey I’ve got you,” Wanda's arms wrapped around your middle and you found yourself burying your head in her neck. The action was almost involuntary, as your touch starved brain melted into her, trying desperately to hold back sobs. 

You shook against her with unheard cries, clutching fistfulls of her shirt as if she would disappear if you loosened your grip.

“Okay honey, just breathe. I’m right here. Can you tell me what happened?” She crooned, very gently running her fingers over your scalp. The pet name wasn’t lost on you, although you were too miserable to acknowledge the fluttery feeling in your chest. 

“I don’t feel good…” You bawled, well aware that you sounded like a child. You were too tired to care anymore. This was the worst that you’d felt in a long time and your body craved the comfort that she brought. 

“Shh, shh, that’s alright, we can fix that. It’s all going to be okay Y/n/n.” You sobbed again, her kind words sounding like a lie to your fever muddled mind. 

“Why aren’t you in bed, baby girl?” She murmured, shifting so that she could stare into your dull, glass eyes. You looked away, biting your lip hard. Your face was streaked with tears and snot. You dragged your sleeve over your nose and sniffled wetly, trying to regain some dignity. The attempt failed epically, as it only served to make you look more pitiful. 

“I…” You hesitated, and shook your head. You couldn’t believe yourself. You were clinging to one of the women you were in love with, ready to tell her whatever she asked. Ready to tell her that you were scared to be vulnerable and alone. That you were scared to be trapped again.

Wanda gave you a sad little smile and leaned forward to kiss your forehead. You froze automatically, your heart racing in your chest. Her lips were soft and warm, the kiss more tender than anything you’d ever felt. No one had ever cared for you like this and you didn’t know what to do. 

You could still feel the pressure of the kiss on your heated skin when she pulled away and reached up to caress your cheek. 

“You’ve got a pretty high fever, hun. Can we get you into bed?” She asked, voice impossibly gentle. You shook your head, not quite ready to explain that you didn’t want her to go and fearing that she’d leave as soon as you were situated in your bedroom. 

“Hey, no, don’t cry, I’m not leaving. How about the couch? Would that be better? I’ll bring out your favorite blanket and get you some juice, or gatorade or whatever you want. Come on, I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright.” She soothed, swiping the tears away with her knuckles. 

“Please don’t go away,” You begged, pressing yourself back against her. “T-tony locked my door…’scared me…” You admitted, worried that she wouldn’t understand. Instead of the confusion you expected, you saw rage. Pure, untethered rage. Her eyes glowed slightly red and you almost flinched away, afraid that she was mad at you. 

“No, no. Not you, never you.” She pushed your hair away from your forehead, doing everything she could to fix her mistake. “Come on Y/n, let's get you settled on the couch.” She wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you against her side. 

You dropped your head onto her shoulder and leaned heavily on her as the two of you walked to the couch. You were out of energy and you were now satisfied that she was safe. She’d never hurt you. 

“Alright sweetheart, Natasha’s going to be done soon and she’s going to sit with you while I make some soup. Sit down for me, you’re swaying.” She took your shoulders and eased you onto the couch, stopping to stroke your hair. 

“I’m going to get you some medicine. Just sit tight.” The brunette started to walk away but you snagged her hand, clinging to it tightly. 

“Stay with me, please…please,” Your desperate pleas absolutely broke Wanda's heart. She knew that she should get medicine for you, but you were just so miserable she couldn’t bear to leave you alone. 

“Hey, hey don’t cry, I’m here. I’m right here.” The mesmerizing woman sat beside you and without a second (or really a first) thought you curled up in her lap, sniffling and whimpering your misery. “Fri, can you get me Y/n’s temp?” She murmured, brushing a thumb across your heated check. 

“Ms. Y/n is currently running a temperature of 102.7, I recommend hydration and medication. I am also detecting a buildup of fluid in her lungs, causing difficulty breathing. I believe that she has contracted pneumonia, seemingly from ignoring a previous illness. She will require antibiotics.” FRIDAY said, eliciting a curse from Wanda. She wasn’t thrilled that you’d ignored your health. 

“My god, Y/n you’re an idiot. FRIDAY, get Natty up here. Tell her to bring Bruce.” You shook your head weakly, sniffling exhaustedly. A chesty cough wracked your body Wanda rubbed your back, trying to soothe the spasms. Breaths rattled though your lungs, harsh wheezes kept you from getting a deep gulp of air. 

“Hey, hey I need you to calm down,” She soothed, pulling you up in an effort to help you breathe. 

“C-can’t…Wanda!” You sobbed, terror blooming in your eyes.

“Okay, alright, change of plans. FRIDAY we’re meeting them in the Medbay. Baby girl, I know it's hard for you to breathe, but I promise that it’s all going to be okay. Sit up for me, sweetheart.” She pulled you up against your will, the petnames streaming out of her lips. You imagined this is what asthma felt like. Your chest was so tight and your body was fighting to cough up everything in your lungs. 

“That’s it, that’s it, come on lean on me.” Wanda had pulled you against her hip, using magic to keep from dropping you. It wasn’t that she was weak or you were heavy, but dragging dead weight is a difficult feat no matter the circumstance. 

“...’m sorry…” You forced out, dropping your head against Wanda’s shoulder. She rubbed your back as you climbed onto the elevator. Said elevator basically dropped the few floors to get you to the Medbay, although you didn’t feel the change of altitude. You loved the AI. 

“You’re doing amazing. You’re doing so, so well. Just keep breathing for me. We’re going to get those lungs opened up in just a few more minutes.” Wanda murmured, scooping you up into her arms. You curled yourself against her, leaning into her warmth. 

Only moments later the warmth left you. The body that had kept you safe was gone. You reached out for her, but your vision was starting to fade. There wasn’t enough oxygen getting to your brain. You couldn’t stay awake. 

“Hey, hey no keep your eyes open. Keep your damn eyes open!” A harsh voice ordered, helping you focus on the real world. “That’s it, eyes open. Look at me, okay? Focus here. Bruce is going to put something over your nose, okay? It’s going to feel claustrophobic but I need you to keep it on.” Natasha, it was Natasha. When’d she get here? Did you fall asleep?

“Only for a second love, but now you’re going to take a breath okay?” Bruce's face swam into your eyeline and you didn’t fight it as the mask was slipped over your face. You knew logically that you were safe but the claustrophobia took over and you tried to pull it off, panic growing. 

Your arms were pressed to your side forcing you to give in to the medicated air. You sobbed terrified, but your lungs were opening up, breathing was becoming easier. 

“There you go baby, there you go. Deep breaths for me. It's all okay.” Natasha soothed, releasing her hold on your arm. As it became easier to breathe you calmed down, your body forcing your mind to relax. 

“You’re doing so good, beautiful. This is going to help so much. We’ll get you feeling better in no time.” Wanda was stroking your hair, running long fingers through your matted locks. Now that you could breathe, you were struggling to stay awake. You were so tired. 

“Bruce, can you fix her?” The brunette inquired, shifting to stroke your fever hot cheek. You reached out and grabbed her hand, wanting her to hold you. 

“Yes,” Bruce sighed, sounding relieved. “She’ll need IV antibiotics and after this breathing treatment I’ll switch her to pure oxygen. Her lungs don’t sound great, but that’s to be expected. Pneumonia is a little tricky, but she should be okay.” He smiled gently at you and you returned it, grateful. 

“Tired…” You mumbled through the mask, basically asking if you could finally take a nap. Natasha leaned down to kiss your forehead, and you nearly melted. Two pretty women had kissed you today. If you’d been feeling even half decent, you might’ve been able to enjoy it better.

“Go to sleep, we’ll be right here.” She promised, reaching out to grab Wanda’s hand. The other woman nodded, looking a little tired herself. You’d sort of stressed her out. 

“Sorry…” 

“Shush, no apologies from you. Just rest, okay? We’ll make sure that everythings okay. Bruce is going to put an IV in which will help with that fever and you should be feeling better in no time.”  She reassured, allowing you to slip off into a dreamless sleep.

—

After about an hour Bruce decided that you were well enough to be moved back to your room, provided that the IV stayed in, as well as the oxygen mask. You were still virtually unconscious, but the women were beyond happy to bring you to your room. 

Natasha scooped you up in her arms while Wanda rolled your IV poll along with you. 

The gorgeous redhead placed you gently in your bed, smiling at the way you attempted to curl around her as she let you go. The moment she pulled away completely you let out a pitiful whine, reaching out at the loss of warmth. You wanted her back. 

“Tasha!” You mumbled in your sleep, threatening to wake up in your effort to get to her. 

“Aw, little baby.” She slipped her shoes off and crawled into the bed beside you, wrapping her arms around your shaking body. “Get in her Wands, she needs hugs.” Nat said, waving her over. The brunette grinned and laid down on your other side, grabbing your hand. You smiled tiredly and nuzzled into her neck. 

“Think we can keep her?” Natasha murmured, sitting up slightly so that she could see her girlfriend. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Wanda replied, leaning over to kiss the spy. They'd talk about it tomorrow if you felt well enough to do so.

[nexus-my-beloved]

This isn't my usual content but I recently (four days ago) decided to read the actual book for IT so here's a couple of headcanons (specifically centred around 1990 IT, but I'll specify which years just in case):

-1990 Eddie likely had severe anxiety around showers and baths after the time he saw Pennywise in the gym locker room showers. He probably always had a fear of the clown stretching open the drain again and reaching to grab him and drag him into the sewers. Eddie is afraid of disease and germs, though, conditioned to it, so he still took showers and baths- but he probably scrubbed hard enough to make his skin red and raw and he did it fast before rushing out, always racing against an invisible clock that when the timer was up Pennywise would grab him. This fear probably carried over to adulthood, even when he forgot about Derry, and he likely got better with it but probably still was afraid for some unknown reason- he probably took ten minute showers, fifteen at most.

-1990 Reddie headcanon: when they were kids, Richie probably had a small crush on Eddie, but he likely had more feelings for Stanley (1990 Stozier truther here but also universal Reddie enjoyer). When they were adults, though, Richie probably grew out of his feelings for Stanley and I like to think he had more feelings for Eddie that resurfaced the moment he saw him. Eddie probably liked Richie a lot when they were adults, but probably wasn't very big on him when they were kids.

-1990 Stenbrough headcanon: for years after Derry, Bill probably would say random bird species when he was anxious. He wouldn't remember who this was from or realize it was from one of his best friends until he got back to Derry, and that friend was dead. Bill likely held on hope that Stan would come, and probably felt his heart bleed a bit when he realized Stan had killed himself. He never got to fess up to the little crush he used to have.

-2019 Reddie headcanon: based on the fact that Eddie yelled "I knew it! I fucking knew it!" when they were leaving the restaurant after Richie admitted to not writing his own material, I like to think that Eddie probably watched this comedian he recognized but didn't know from where on TV and swore up and down the material was scripted from someone other than him. He didn't recognize the Tozier standup guy until he got the phone call from Mike and realized it was Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier from when he was a kid. Eddie probably kept tabs and watched Richie for years without ever realizing that used to be his best friend.

-2017 Bill Denbrough headcanon: I like to think that Bill particularly stuttered on s-words. Which means he probably stuttered like hell whenever he'd have to say Stan/Stanley sometimes. Imagine how he'd have to use nicknames instead, silly or not, and how much more important it'd be when he said just Stanley, even if it was hard.

-All Media Bill Denbrough: there's no way he could've looked at paper boats without feeling like crying. Even as an adult he probably couldn't explain it. He'd just cry.

I probably have more but I think this is a big enough post for tonight. Have these I found on Pinterest!

The sillies <3

Bowers Gang Slander but it gets progressively worse/better (depends how you see it)

Abso-fuckin-lutely it is them. I can imagine little 2017 Eddie running after Finn Wolfhard Richie with inhaler in hand and trying to keep up while Richie laughs his ass off and promptly smacks his face into an open locker and eats shit

Twink Eddie <3

In all fairness though I love adult 1990 Eddie. He looks like the embodiment of if kindness were a human being and he just makes me so happy I would hug this man and love him forever I want to keep him in my pocket

[aswallowssong]

Sicktember #3: Campus Crud

The HOO AU College AU is back at it again folks, ft. everyone's favorite Boy Toys. @starstwinkleplanetsshine let's name this AU lol

This is so stupid.

“This is so stupid!”

“You’re going to make your throat worse, stop it,” Cadence scolded, giving one Leo Valdez a look that said, if you don’t cut it out, I might kill you.

“But–”

“No, no buts, Leo. Seriously, can’t you just rest? Look at Jason and Percy? Are either one of them making me want to rip my hair out?”

In Leo’s defense, Jason and Percy had gone down before he had, and were in a pile of limbs on the floor, both listlessly watching what Cadence thought was a rerun of RuPaul’s Drag Race. As she looked, she realized that at one point she’d given both boys a damp washcloth for the fevers they were running, but now Jason didn’t have one, and Percy had two.

“Percy–”

“I already know what you’re gonna say, Cades, and he gave it to me. I didn’t steal it.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t–”

“You were. Shh, Ru is talking.”

Cadence rolled her eyes, turning back to Leo. Leo was looking at her like he’d been betrayed.

“Okay, one of them is making me want to rip my hair out.”

“Mhm.”

“Please lay down and stop talking.”

Leo looked like he wanted to revolt, but he played nice, laying back down on the couch and snuggling under the ugly orange blanket he loved so much.

Cadence took a breath. Most of their friends had been down with what Ros, a friend of theirs that was a Sophomore, called “Campus Crud.” Leo’s half-brother, Evan, had already had it, and so had she, so they’d said that it was basically inevitable.

Cadence would have preferred to call it “The Most Annoying Thing To Happen This Semester.” And that was saying a lot, considering they’d seemed to miss it first semester. They weren’t as lucky now, in mid-January, when everyone was bringing germs back from home, or holiday, or wherever they might have been for New Year’s.

She wished Angie was there. It would have been nice to have another set of hands, but it hadn’t taken too long to figure out that as soon as someone was sick, she might as well have been in the wind. Cadence didn’t understand it at all, but then again, her dad was a doctor, her two older brothers were in medical school, and she’d already been accepted into the nursing program, as soon as her Gen Eds were out of the way. For her, illness was a natural part of life.

A natural part of life that was currently driving her insane.

“Hey, Cady?”

She had no idea when the Jackson twins, Jason, and Leo had started calling her that, but it was still weird to hear it from someone that wasn’t at least partly related to her.

“Yeah, Perce?”

“I’m cold.”

“No,” she said simply, “you’re not. Your body is too warm, so it feels more cold around you.”

There was a pause, and she peered over the couch to see him looking at her with an absolutely pathetic pout. “But I’m cold.”

She closed her eyes for a second, knowing that if they were open, there’d be nothing to stop her from rolling them.

He’s sick. Be kind.

“I know,” she said, almost surprised by how calm her voice was. How even. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to give you another blanket if we want your body temperature to cool down.”

“What happened to ‘sweat it out?’ I feel like my dad used to say that.”

“People did used to say that,” Cadence said simply, losing the fight, and rolling her eyes. “But it’s a myth.”

“I like myths.”

“Me too,” Jason croaked. He’d been hit first, and was still very much in the deep end of the nasty cold making its rounds.

“I like myths,” Leo agreed, poking out from his bright orange cocoon. “Especially if they let me be warm.”

“No one is feeling warm,” Cadence said, taking a deep breath to even herself back out. “You can’t sweat out the cold virus that’s making you sick. That’s not how it works. The fever is an effect of your immune system working properly to fight the virus. You’re going to feel cold. You’ll start feeling better when your white blood cells win and your fever breaks.”

“What about the fact that all my muscles feel like they’re made of pain?” Percy said, Jason and Leo humming in agreement, and Cadence pinched at her nose bridge.

“Haven’t any of you been sick before? Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve literally done this with all three of you already this year. Why are we even having this conversation?”

“Well, when Jason was really sick, he was basically incoherent,” Leo pointed out. Jason tried to throw a water bottle at him, but it missed wide.

“Good one, Jay,” she said dryly, and Percy gave a congested chuckle.

“Well, Percy showed up at their doorstep and threw up on Cady’s shoes,” Jason said, and Percy reached out and slapped his arm, betrayal on his face. 

“Hey!”

“Boys–”

“At least I didn’t give myself food poisoning!”

“Ay! The caf gave me food poisoning, sonso, don’t put that on me!”

“Boys!” Cadence yelled, and all three winced, Jason going as far as covering his ears a little. She knew all three of them had wicked headaches, and it was sort of a low blow to yell, but she didn’t need them riling each other up.

She lowered her voice again. “I was just trying to make a point that none of these things I’m saying should be surprising to you three. You’re going to be cold, and achy, and feel bad, because you’re sick. And I’m trying to make this as painless as possible, but I’m also trying to do what I think is best, based on everything I know. I’m also eighteen, and I’m very tired, so just…” she gestured to the screen of Leo’s computer, where they’d been streaming old shows, mostly legally. “Watch RuPaul.”

The boys were all staring at her with varying levels of embarrassment, directly based on how sick they were really feeling. Jason was mostly listless, while Leo looked truly embarrassed, and Percy at least had the gumption to look sheepish.

“Sorry Cady,” they chorused, and she rubbed her temples, exasperated, but she couldn’t stay mad for long. She loved the boys, even when they made her want to freak out.

She sighed. “I forgive you guys.” 

The three of them turned back to the screen, and just as RuPaul announced which queens would have to Lip-Sync for their Lives, her phone rang. The boys booed her, and she rolled her eyes, again, stepping into the hallway.

She let it vibrate another time, taking in the quiet of Leo and Percy’s dorm outside of their room. No boys whining. Noone coughing or sniffling. No RuPaul’s voice through Leo’s shitty speakers. Not, of course, that she had anything against RuPaul. She would have sat down to watch with them happily if she wasn’t about to rip her hair out.

When Cadence felt like she could breathe again, she answered Angie’s call.

“Hello?”

“Cady! How are– are you okay? You sound… defeated?”

Cadence sighed, slumping with her back against the wall. She tilted her head back so it could rest on the wall as well, and closed her eyes. 

“I’m… trying not to be. It’s not usually all three of them, you know? And it’s easier to take care of my own siblings when they’re sick, because I’m their big sister.”

And I’m not doing it alone.

“You’re basically their big sister, aren’t you the oldest?”

“Yeah, which is insane. I’m not nineteen until February. You guys are babies.”

Cadence heard Angie shifting on the other line, presumably laying in her bed, watching something insane or listening to music as loud as it could go. “Whatever. Back to the defeat, if they’re being assholes, tell them that.”

“No,” Cadence said quickly, sliding down to sit, her knees tucked to her chest. “No, they’re not. They’re being whiney, sick, eighteen year old boys. I’ve got one of those back home, too, it’s not like they’re being unreasonable or anything. It’s just easier with one. Or two. Or if they weren’t trying to razz one another.”

“Do I need to come over there?” Angie was obviously trying to keep hesitance and worry out of her voice, but it didn’t quite sell the way she’d obviously wanted it to. 

Cadence couldn’t ask her to come over and be freaked out the entire time, especially when there was a strong chance she’d get sick, too. She was worried about herself at this point, and even though she had a pretty rock-solid system, it wouldn’t have surprised her if she ended up sick by the end of the week, what with the “Campus Crud,” or whatever, running rampant.

“No, that’s okay. Would you mind making a run to the store for me, though? There’s a gold amex in my wallet, you can use that.”

“There’s a gold amex in your wallet?!”

“Mhm,” Cadence said simply, now distracted by trying to think through what she needed Angie to get. “Make sure you have your license on you, because if I have you get cold medicine, they card for that.”

“I– okay but we’re talking about that at some point!”

“Sure,” Cadence said. “I’ll text you a list in a few minutes. None of them have had much of an appetite, but they need to eat something, so maybe I’ll have you grab some soup I can put in the microwave.”

“Microwave soup,” Angie said sagely. “Good for the Campus Crud.”

Cadence laughed, surprising herself. The whole thing was ridiculous. The boys, her position of caretaker, Angie’s fear of illness, and the fact that she was hiding in the hallway. But, as Angie said that, Cadence knew that was exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to microwave soup, and give medicine, and damp cloths for fevers. 

She wanted to take care of her friends while they were sick, because she loved them, and that was showing them that love the best way she knew how. 

“Can you also maybe get me a sandwich or something? Cadence found herself saying, straightening and squaring her shoulders. “I’m starving.”

“Anything for our nurse. I’ll leave now.”

“Thanks, Angie.”

“Sure, Cady. Thank you. Love you.”

Cadence smiled, turning the knob of the door to let herself back into the fray. Ru told someone to sashay away, and all three boys erupted into raspy shouts, sniffles, and grumbles of protest.

“Love you too.”

[haggishlyhagging]

“In the eighteen seventies and eighties, when the ideas of the new biology began to circulate in the American middle class, they were greeted with a suspicion which often bordered on moral revulsion. Darwin's theory of evolution—the most brilliant synthetic breakthrough of nineteenth- and perhaps twentieth-century biological science—‘shattered the Christian cosmos.’ It was not only that the theory violated the letter of the Old Testament; Darwinism went further and asserted that the world of living creatures could have gotten the way it is without the intervention of God, in fact, without conscious effort on anybody's part. What was left, in the view of leading American Christians, was a godless universe, a moral desert—

Life without meaning; death without meaning; the universe without meaning. A race tortured to no purpose, and with no hope but annihilation. The dead only blessed; the living standing like beasts at bay, and shrieking half in defiance and half in fright.

The spiritual implications of the new biological truth were, as one minister put it, ‘brutalizing.’

In a lesser way, biology's second great contribution to popular culture—the Germ Theory of Disease—further undercut the religious foundations of morality. Traditional religion saw individual disease as the price of moral failings, epidemics as acts of a vengeful God. In the mid-nineteenth century, Albert Barnes, a leading Presbyterian minister, declared cholera to be a punishment for the ‘vanities of natural science,’ especially Darwinism. But, through the lenses of the new high power microscopes available in the mid-eighteen hundreds, disease began to look like a natural event which depended less on God than on the growth rates of what appeared to be fairly amoral species of microbes. If diseases were dispensed in some sort of microbial lottery, rather than by moral plan, then indeed this was a ‘race tortured to no purpose.’

In order to become a moral force in society, biological science had had to undergo a kind of moral transformation itself. For example, Darwin's popularizers managed to identify ‘evolution’ with ‘progress,’ as if natural history were a long uphill moral pilgrimage. This stratagem excused some of the more savage aspects of natural selection and—even more important—it left room for a divine Plan. The laws which science was uncovering would turn out to be the expression of the will of God—revelations of the divine Plan. Thus science could provide moral guidelines for living: for example, that one had an ‘evolutionary duty’ to ‘advance the race’ through proper selection of a mate, good health habits, etc. By the eighteen eighties it is difficult to find a popular tract or article on any subject—education, suffrage, immigration, foreign relations—which is not embellished with Darwinian metaphors. Charlotte Perkins Gilman's classic Women and Economics, the theoretical breakthrough for a whole generation of feminists, appealed not to right or morality but to evolutionary theory. Women's confinement to domestic activities had made them more ‘primitive’ and undeveloped than men. If women were not emancipated, the whole race would be dragged down, she argued (with the naïve racism which was typical of her time):

In keeping her on this primitive basis of economic life, we have kept half humanity tied to the starting-post, while the other half ran. We have trained and bred one kind of qualities into one-half the species, and another kind into the other half. And then we wonder at the contradictions of human nature! . . . We have bred a race of psychic hybrids, and the moral qualities of hybrids are well known.

Germ Theory went through a similar moral transformation. If it was germs and not sin that were the immediate cause of disease, then sin could be still retained as an ultimate cause. Germ Theory was transformed into a doctrine of individual guilt not at all out of tune with old-fashioned Protestantism. Anyone who transgressed ‘the laws of hygiene’ deserved to get sick, and anyone who got sick had probably broken those laws. The English physician Elizabeth Chesser, in her book Perfect Health for Women and Children, warned that ‘the time has nearly arrived when we shall not be permitted to be unhealthy.’”

-Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women

[mwebber]

41, 51, 2, 8, 34 for Martian :))

hiyaa thanks for sending this along! gonna try post-retirement martian..

41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?

maybe when he was younger, seb was more absentminded regarding the care and keeping of Himself--the invincibility of youth, etc, you know how it is. but as he's gotten older, he's also gotten better about preparing for unexpected weather. it's mark, surprisingly, that'll get distracted by the outdoors, and in his hubris, think he can get beat the rain home. seb's lost count of the number of times he's dragged mark under an awning and shrugged off his coat, reaching up to pull it over mark's shoulders with a scowl. why don't you ever check the weather before we leave the house, he'll say. to his annoyance, mark will simply settle the coat more securely over himself, and beam at him. i've got you to handle it, don't i? and, well. seb can't argue with that.

51. What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

it's like a dissonant, suspended chord from their red bull days, their unwillingness to be entirely vulnerable. that they care strongly for one another is never in doubt--it's impossible to go through what they did and not have an intimate understanding of the other--but sometimes, they finds themselves having to pay closer attention to their actions to understand the true extent. when mark walks close enough to seb that their hands bump, and his pinkie finger hooks around seb's; when seb isn't on dish duty, but he steps in to help anyway; when mark tucks seb's curls behind his ear, and his thumb lingers; when seb offers to help fix mark's bike; it's almost as though they're broadcasting their affection for each other. they only ever need to tune into the right frequency to listen.

2. What would they do if the other woke in a manic state after a nightmare?

seb gets stress dreams, sometimes. he's not one-track minded, per se, it's just that when something unresolved is on his mind, it'll stay there until he resolves it. he never remembers his dreams, once he opens his eyes; just the impression of fear, some phantom shadow curling at the edges of his vision. thus, in the early hours, it's not a manic state he wakes up in after a nightmare so much as an unsettled one. fortunately, mark can clock his mood like he's got a radar for seb's happiness installed in his brain, and he usually stirs awake too. it's helpful in moments like this, because he also knows exactly what to do: he'll pull seb closer, and hold seb's hand even if it's still clammy with sweat, and tangle their legs together, or do whatever's most convenient to remind seb that he's there, like a guard dog. or, seb thinks, as he breathes in the warmth and the lingering smell of detergent and something certifiably mark, more like a teddy bear that chases the darkness away from under the bed. when he closes his eyes again, he's on a rowboat under the stars, lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ocean's swells beneath him, and anchored to shore with a rope tied carefully by mark's hand.

8. What happens if one of them gets sick?

naturally, they both get sick. mark's the one who's away from home more (and more, because the race seasons just keep getting longer), so when he gets that familiar feeling of dryness in his throat, it feels like an inevitability. at first, he tries to quarantine himself, because someone's gotta take care of the animals and keep the place running. but seb insists on taking care of him instead, uncaring of the germs. it works out, in the end: when seb gets too sick to crawl out of bed, mark's well enough to feed the chickens. they take it easy for a week, or at least until they can spend a day without hacking a lung out. life goes on.

34. Who's more likely to tell a dirty joke or story to make the other blush?

if seb is anything, he's a little shit-eating gremlin who knows precisely what he's doing at all times, or at least in the times that are most inconvenient to mark. case in point, right before he's about to go on tv. seb's innuendos and double entendres aren't even subtle, as though he's stopped trying to flirt entirely, and instead taken it for granted that he has mark wrapped around the cute little index finger he sticks up in victory sometimes. the problem is, he's not wrong. mark steps in front of the camera with his cheeks tinged pink--from the heat, obviously--and a smile that twitches at the corner of his lips, like he can't help himself. viewers everywhere wonder what's so funny, especially since neither dc nor steve jones are being particularly interesting. it remains a mystery to everyone but seb, who takes a quick, suggestive picture of himself, and sends it to mark. none of the microphones pick up the notifying buzz.

ask me about martian / nobody asks you questions!

[chicanoartmovement]

CHICANO ART MOVEMENT: End of Year Review 2022

For CHICANO ART MOVEMENT, the year of 2022 contained different cultural and artistic expeditions across Southern California. We traveled to various locations to partake in events that were safe and fun to do within the parameters of the on-going pandemic. 

(Detail of show poster for Robert Williams exhibition at the OCCCA.)

When it came across the CAM desk that artist & cultural icon Robert Williams was exhibiting in Southern California, our team agreed to attend due to the artist, his subject matter, and our previous positive experiences at Williams’ other exhibition shows in the Los Angeles area of past years. On a weekend in late January 2022 to see the exhibition “The Visual Adventures of Robert Williams: Arts, Prints, Skateboards, etc.” at the Orange County Center for Contemporary Art (OCCCA) in downtown Santa Ana. Robert Williams is an acclaimed lowbrow artist who has impacted lowbrow art, pop surrealism, hot rod car culture, and pop art with his juxtaposition of tangible items and original characters.

Through the main doors of OCCCA and in the front portion of the space, Williams’ pop surrealism artworks welcomed patrons to look closer at the subject matter and details. For example in his giclée print titled “Kachina,” Williams depicts in mid-air a devoted Hopi tribe member creating & filling kachina dolls with knowledge from the ancestors.

Following the flow, we then entered the largest space: the center room. Here arranged were the many pieces by the artist that displayed his relationship with the hot rod culture and lowbrow art. Within this community, Robert Williams is also known as Mr. Bitchin’ and is applauded for his work in the hot rod scene & for working alongside the greats such as: Ed “Big Daddy” Roth & Kenny “Von Dutch” Howard. This section contained a prime example entitled “Deuces Wild” in which Williams re-created & stylized the 1932 Ford Company original vehicle advertisements into vignette renditions of different hot rod culture activities, such as: jalopy racing, dry lakes (racing), early stock car racing, sports car racing, drags (racing), street rodding, shadetree mechanics, and auto shows. In conjunction as a centerpiece within the works of Robert Williams was the 1932 Ford Roadster nicknamed “Prickly Heat” that he customized and painted in a deep purple & lime green scheme with many creative details. Anita noticed the race number 397 in gold leaf embossing repeated three times on the vehicle, the hotrod’s nickname above the “Pickly Heat” logo, and the flashy lime green wheel rims. 

(Piece by Casey Weldon entitled “The Undermarker.”)

After taking a last look at the car, we proceed to the back space for a small group show filled with pop surrealist artists influenced by Robert Williams trajectory. He “puts in the ‘pop’ in pop surrealism, incorporating the aesthetics of hot rod and surf culture, graffiti, tattoos, cartoons, and comic books to produce artwork more in touch with the sensibilities of the masses. This assemblage highlights the influence his work has had on multiple generations of artists.” Looking through the captivating pieces in a clockwise fashion, Anita was intrigued by the artist Casey Weldon and her piece titled “The Undermaker” which vividly displayed a fierce woman with a unique pet creature that shoots fire from their eyes. Weldon’s use of purple and pink color variants as well as the creation of magical creatures is relatable to Williams and his style. Some of the other artists included in the presentation were: Jaime “GERMS” Zacarias, Isabel Samaras, and Greg “CRAOLA” Simkins.

(View of Chola Orange performance at 1st Annual Cito de Mayo Street Festival.)

In early May 2022, CAM ventured to Santa Ana’s Downtown District for their evening programming of music and art. We walked to the corner of 4th Street and Birch Street to attend the first edition of Cerveza Cito presents Cito de Mayo Street Festival. We took in all the vendors and community displays along the festival area before heading over to the stage for the entertainment. Via social media research, we learned that Chola Orange band was part of the line up. This was a superb opportunity to see a live, outdoor performance from this funk jazz ensemble who we had not seen in quite some time. After a brief sound and instrumental warm up, Chola Orange went into their set with full force. Within their song list, we heard new hits such as “Hot Cheeto Stains” & “Ugly like Pugsly” from their Tokyo Sunset album recently released. Another new element to us was the band’s addition of a fifth member as a second guitarist. The group and its combination of music, atmosphere, and funky vibes rang throughout Birch Street and had the people enjoying their sound. Post-performance we walked over to their merch booth to greet and chat with the bandmates plus stocked up on band t-shirts & a copy of their 2018 vinyl release of “Soul Blazer.”

(View of artist at his opening reception for “Estevan Oriol Photography at OCCCA.)

After the musical set, we walked a few blocks east to our second destination: the Orange County Center for Contemporary Art (OCCCA). This month’s art installation was entitled “Estevan Oriol Photography - An Exhibition by Estevan Oriol” that encompassed his portfolio as a talented photographer documenting his Los Angeles community through a unique photographic perspective and black & white photo productions. OCCCA states that Oriol “is known for capturing images of the dangerous gangsters, Lowriders, musicians, celebrities, L.A. lifestyle and the alluring beauty of women. All of these are shot in his uniquely provocative and raw style. He is the author of several books including LA Women, L.A. Protraits, and This is Los Angeles.” On the front wall sapce of OCCCA, Estevan Oriol displayed his large photoset that included: celebrity portraits of Danny Trejo and Ice Cube; witty subjects expressing their inner emotions, such as “Monkey taxidermy unmarked” and “Bones;” and a few editions of Oriol’s noted “LA Fingers'' photograph.

As the space opened up, we saw a classic Chevy dropped low to the ground with a multifaceted paint job in earth tones with flakes detailings covered with a glossy finish. The vehicle’s placement projected an outdoor escapism which led the patron to visually look through the open & very large doorway (on the left side) that broke down the artiscal fourth wall and challenged the audience to set into the exhibition’s outdoor extension into a collection of opulent classic lowrider cars in different polished paint jobs. In conjunction with Oriol’s photographic works, the opening reception festivities included this car show on the OCCCA parking grounds in which patrons walked around to take in all the fine details. Even the artist himself, Estevan Oriol, took photographs to document all his moments at OCCCA: from the car collection to exhibit attendees & their expressions.

(Artist GERMS at Muzeo’s Carnegie Galleries.)

In June 2022, our street team member la reportera Anita provided on-site coverage in downtown Anaheim of artist Jaime “GERMS” Zacarias at his art residency with Muzeo Museum and Cultural Center. Through online platforms, we learned about this type of initiative, how GERMS was the inaugural artist-in-resident at Muzeo, and the schedule of drop-in viewing hours throughout the month of June.  Through its Makers @ Muzeo literature, the museum states that this contemporary painter “is a Chicano artist and South L.A. native who has captured the essence of Los Angeles and Chicano history through a myriad of futuristic and three-dimensional characters.” Following the directional signage at Muzeo, Anita walked into the Carnegie Galleries’ lower level to see GERMS, the artist at work. After a brief introduction, he invited one to look around and ask questions. During her observations of the in-progress collection, GERMS explained his artistic process of maximizing his own potential and production via time blocking strategies that allowed him to focus on painting canvases until his momentum slowed down to then switch his attention & efforts to another canvas set to be filled with his own unique characters.

Laid throughout the Carnegie Galleries’ wide and large space were the in-progress pieces that GERMS was rotating between. One canvas set on the back wall displayed paintings in mid-stage which allowed one to see the details within the layering of colors and symbolism. From left to right, Zacarias’ images of his squid-like creatures in vibrant pigments with stylized, tinted tentacles were in distinct phases of production that gave insight to the artistic progression of his subject matter. In contrast, on the front wall was a set in the beginning stages of creation. It was clearly visible that GERMS’ application of background colors, overlapping stenciling, and drip paint techniques had dried completely and was ready for his iconic squid-creatures to be painted on the center as the main figure on each canvas. Afterwards, Anita stepped back to see the artist at work who with an acrylic paint palette in hand stated that he will repeat his process of painting in sets until completing 12 pieces in total by the end of the month for the conclusion of his time with Makers @ Muzeo artist in residence programming.

(Live performance by Very Be Careful at the Garden Amphitheater.) 

Taking advantage of open-air programming and in mid June 2022, we danced the time away at two concerts. On Friday the 17th, we traveled to the Garden Amp (a small outdoor amphitheater located in Garden Grove, California) for a night filled with pachanga music thanks to the concert produced by Acropolis Music Group with performances by Azul Quetzal, Raskahuele, and headliner Very Be Careful, one of our favorite vallenato cumbia groups hailing from nearby Los Angeles.  We checked in with our digital tickets at the entrance, got drinks at the bar, and toured the pop-up shops on location. At the Very Be Careful merchandise table, Anita purchased one of the 20th Anniversary t-shirt series that highlighted each band member in a sports action pose. She got the shirt featuring Peabody (Craig Martin) in full football attire with his percussion instrument el guiro in hand.

Next we took our seats in the amphitheater to enjoy the last of the musical performance by the ska reggae group Raskahuele. Afterwards, the cumbia sonidera sounds by the DJ collective of Ritmo Santanero got some couples on the dancefloor during this interlude. At a quarter after nine, the headliner Very Be Careful took the stage with the crowd cheering in anticipation. VBC’s own cowbell percussionist & hype man, Dante, welcomed fans to this Friday night performance and had the crowd participating in a humors call-back routine between him and the concert goers. Their performance was filled with energia alegre, rhythmic songs that got loyal and new fans to the dancefloor. From start to finish, Very Be Careful created a backyard party atmosphere that had couples & parents with their little ones in arms dancing untill the very last song.

(Posters at the Juneteenth Festival in Santa Ana, California.) 

The next day on a sunny Saturday afternoon, we readied ourselves for Santa Ana’s Juneteenth Festival at Centennial Regional Park hosted by the Orange County Heritage Council and the City of Santa Ana. This outdoor festival welcomed all to “learn about African-American Culture and the significance of Junetheen, enjoy musical performances, food and more.” The listed performers for the celebration were artists such as: Slum Village, Knoc-Turn’al, and headlining, The Delfonics.

On the festival's social media content, it stated: “Juneteenth is the oldest known annual observance commemorating the abolishment of slavery in the United States of America. The Juneteenth Independence celebration dates back to June 19, 1865. It was there in Galveston, Texas that Union soldiers delivered news that the Civil War had ended and enslaved African Americans within any state were free.”

Upon our arrival to Centennial Regional Park, event staff greeted community guests to this first edition of the annual Juneteenth Festival celebration. A large welcome arch of balloons and banners created a guided pathway filled with informational posters highlighting the African-American community, history, and contributions to the city of Santa Ana. First we learned that Miss Helen Shipp, founder of The OC Black History Parade, was immortalized in a community mural; and secondly, we were informed how the city’s little league baseball organization was named after MLB player Gary Templeton, who was a three time All Star Player & National Baseball League Hall of Famer.

(Music artist Knoc-Turn’al at the Juneteenth Festival.)

Past the welcome arch, we walked towards the entertainment area for the acts. The first artist to take the stage was L.A.’s own Knoc-Turn’al with his hits “Bang Bang” and “LA Confidential;” rapper Knoc-Turn’al has a career spanning twenty years and has worked alongside multi-platinum creators:  Snoop Dogg and Dr Dre.

(Musical act Slum Village rapping at the Juneteenth Festival.)

The performance by Slum Village had an enthusiastic introduction by Santa Ana Councilman Johnathan Hernandez which led one to infer that Hernandez indeed was a big fan of this early 2000s hip-hop rap duo from Detroit, Michigan. Slum Village members T3 and Young RJ rocked the mic with their underground hits and have collaborated with the likes of Kayne West, J. Dilla, and MC Breed.

(Juneteenth Festival headlining performance by The Delfonics.)

In between musical sets, we ventured to support the vendors and local communities initiatives while eating a tasty ice cream treat in anticipation for the Grammy Award-winning artists: The Delfonics. The mainstage was now filled with attendees and we decided to choose a key location for easy front-row access for documentation and enjoyment purposes. Once the famous Delfonic Theme song began, the crowd got excited. In matching blue sequin jackets & black captain hats, each member was individually introduced and welcomed by the cheers of new & old fans. We were mesmerized by their amazing musical talents and perfectly choreographed dance routines to their hits of “Didn’t I,” “Hey! Love,” and “Somebody Loves You,” all notable songs of their music catalogue. Unfortunately, their show was impacted by the earlier artists and resulted in The Delfonics not being able to perform their complete song list.  To close the still very enjoyable show, The Delfonics performed their soulful 1968 US Billboard love song hit “La-La (Means I Love You)” which ended with members singing the last lines a la a cappella that left the crowd cheering for an encore.

Less than a month after their performance in Santa Ana, we learned that we lost the lead singer & founding member of The Delfonics, mister William “Poogie” Hart passed away on July 17th at the age of 77. Rest In Power William Hart and thank you for all your music and memories.

Throughout the 2022 year, CHICANO ART MOVEMENT was a patron of the arts by buying fine art prints. Anita added two to her collection. First was the collaboration piece between Shephard Fairey & photographer Melanie Nissen titled “Alice Bag,” a portrait of L.A. based, punk rock artist Alicia Armendariz who was also the co-founder of 1970s punk band “Alice & The Bags” and a great Chicana musical trailblazer. The second artwork purchased by Anita was a Star Wars: The Mandalorian glow-in-the-dark, timed edition print titled “I will teach you to protect yourself” by Mark Englert and Bottleneck Art Gallery; this artwork is a companion piece to the 2021 print released by the same artist.

Our adventurous expeditions in 2022 ranged from various contemporary art exhibits and numerous musical concerts of diverse genres in which we learned more about the fine arts and its processes plus had great opportunities to reconnect with our musicians and artists compañeros y compañeras. For the upcoming year, CHICANO ART MOVEMENT looks forward to being part of the community that supports the arts in all its shapes, forms, and distinctive manifestations.

[sciencestyled]

Symbiotic Slapstick: How Microbes and Art Have Turned My Body Into a Comedy Show

Alright, buckle up, my microbial-loving students, because we’re about to take a one-way ticket to the microbial underworld you never knew was living rent-free inside your gut. Yeah, I’m talking about the human microbiome, that wild party going on beneath your skin where trillions of microbes—like some kind of microscopic rave—are getting lit while managing your health. And spoiler alert: you didn’t even get an invite! Oh, don't worry though, they’re benevolent gatecrashers, unlike your ex showing up to your birthday with that weird friend from spin class.

Now, let’s talk about symbiosis—an intimidating word that basically translates to, "Microbes are in charge, and you’re just along for the ride." Seriously, your microbiome is like the uncredited producer behind your entire health saga, dictating digestion, immunity, and even mood swings, like some twisted reality TV show host who controls your fate based on how much yogurt you eat. It's as if "Survivor" meets "Big Brother," but instead of dramatic tribal councils, we’ve got microbes pulling the strings in your stomach.

But here’s where it gets even weirder, and let me tell you, the future’s gotten downright funky—artists have discovered that the microbiome is the ultimate muse. Yep, turns out that all those tiny hitchhikers in your body have been busy inspiring painters, sculptors, and probably even TikTok influencers to turn microbial life into the next breakout art trend. Move over, oil on canvas! Here comes E. coli on agar plates, baby! Forget the Louvre; we’re talking about art pieces that could double as a petri dish with a side of penicillin, and honestly, I’m ready to sign up for the first ever science and art gallery featuring nothing but microbial murals. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s break it down, in the most manic, meme-fueled way possible.

Now picture this: You're walking down the street. Casual. But inside you? It's like a crowded "Mario Kart" track in your intestines, with bacteria zooming around, dodging each other like it's Rainbow Road out here, and they're somehow keeping you alive while doing it. That’s the microbiome at work—saving the day, even when you’ve eaten nothing but instant ramen for a week straight because, let’s face it, cooking is for those with their lives together. These microbes are the unsung heroes of your health, protecting you from disease while simultaneously controlling the amount of cheese you can safely consume without needing a nap (spoiler: it’s never enough).

But not all heroes wear capes. Some of them are invisible, tiny germ overlords living between your molars. The world of microbes is like a microscopic "Game of Thrones"—alliances forming, houses fighting for dominance, bacteria overthrowing empires, fungi giving side-eye to parasites like they're competing in "RuPaul's Drag Race." And as chaotic as it sounds, these minuscule creatures actually work in perfect symbiosis with your body. It’s the ultimate power couple situation—your human cells play the slightly clueless but well-meaning host, while the microbiome is that brilliant, eccentric partner who shows up in designer bacteria and just takes over the whole party, fixing your immune system and throwing a snarky look at any invaders who try to crash.

And what’s even crazier? Artists have decided that this microbial soap opera is their next big thing. You know that art’s taken a weird turn when you find yourself in a gallery staring at what looks like a Jackson Pollock painting but is actually a colony of bacteria spreading across a petri dish like it’s competing in "America’s Next Top Germ." Yeah, that’s a thing. There are artists out there who’ve ditched the brushes and canvases for a sterile lab coat and some Lactobacillus, creating living masterpieces that grow, change, and probably smell like your high school biology lab after a week-long forgotten science project. You know, the one where some kid forgot to close the jar of yeast? Yeah, that smell.

Imagine walking into an art exhibit and finding a canvas that’s—brace yourselves—alive. I’m talking about art pieces that are less "Mona Lisa" and more "Mona Listeria." You’ve got paintings made from bacteria that form intricate patterns as they grow, evolving before your very eyes, like the world’s slowest time-lapse that eventually just turns into a biology professor's nightmare. These microbial masterpieces put Bob Ross to shame. Forget happy little trees; we’ve got happy little microbes forming artistic colonies like they’re auditioning for the next Marvel movie: Captain Gut Flora—Defender of Digestive Tracts!

Now, let me introduce you to the mad scientists behind these microbial masterpieces. First up, we have artists like Anna Dumitriu, whose work includes creating quilts out of hand-dyed bacteria. I mean, who even thinks of that? Somewhere, your grandma is crocheting angrily because she can’t compete with staphylococcus as an art medium. And then there’s the BioArt duo, Jennifer Willet and Shawn Bailey, who treat petri dishes like their personal sketchbooks. These microbiologists-turned-artists are out here painting with germs like they’re the next Picasso, except with way more sanitation rules and probably a lot of Purell. Imagine showing up to their studio with a cold. It's like sneezing in front of a Rembrandt. Unforgivable.

And let’s not forget about living bacterial art! Some artists are creating works that literally grow, change color, and even morph into something new based on environmental conditions. It’s like a real-life version of those mood rings from the '90s, except instead of telling you how you feel, it’s showing you how that yogurt you had last week is coming back for revenge. These microbial masterpieces evolve over time, meaning your wall art might have a better personality than your last Tinder date. Can you imagine buying art that might sprout another arm, grow fur, or even release an odor? It’s like the IKEA of the future: "Some assembly required, caution: May cause outbreaks."

But what’s the deeper meaning here, besides the fact that you’ll never look at yogurt the same way again? The human body is a walking ecosystem, a carnival of interconnected microbes with the power to affect everything from our metabolism to our mood. And when you bring art into the picture, it transforms the way we see ourselves—not as individual beings, but as bustling, bustling microbe cities, each one a Times Square for bacteria. Science and art are bridging the gap between hard data and creative imagination, allowing us to literally see the connections we couldn’t before. A microbial mural? It’s not just gross—it’s a reminder that you’re never alone. You’ve got a whole team of bacteria ready to defend your honor like some kind of microscopic "Avengers" squad, led by Captain Probiotic and Iron Gut.

So next time you’re watching science videos or doomscrolling through the latest art trends, remember that your gut might be home to the next big creative movement. And hey, if you ever find yourself staring at a bacterial mural in a gallery and wondering whether it’s abstract or just needs antibiotics, remember that microbes are the original artists. Picasso could never.

In conclusion, the microbiome is a tiny art gallery in and of itself, full of bacterial da Vincis, symbiotic sculptors, and fungal Jackson Pollocks, working together in perfect, disgusting harmony to keep you alive. And now, thanks to artists who have decided that your gut flora is their next canvas, we can all appreciate the beauty of what’s happening beneath our skin—even if it’s a little… germy. But hey, that’s art, right?

[dragonmasterhiccup]

With amber eyes narrowed, Freya recoiled slightly at his offer. Holding onto what little dignity she had left in that moment, she muttered "Mm, probably has your germs all over it." A triumphant smirk formed on her lips as she swiftly took it out his hands, her fingers barely grazing over his before she hastily brought out her small homemade notebook, the parchment paper showing signs of old age as she hurriedly flipped through it to find the next blank page.

She glanced at the land before them once again, writing down whichever details she found necessary as she struggled to say something. "Er.. thanks, I guess." Freya snapped the notebook closed the minute she finished writing, vigorously holding out Hiccup's pen as she stood as tall as she could - although he was still slightly taller. "I only said that because I have manners."

The sand wraith behind her took the time to shuffle closer to them both, sniffing at Hiccups wing suit he had folded in. Freya frantically swung her arms around her dragon's neck, slowly backing him away. "No, no, no, no, Blaze! Don't let him fool you with his dragon... technique.. things.."

She lightly glared at the future chief, still having her arms wrapped around Blaze's neck, "Just because you've got every dragon wrapped around your fingers, doesn't mean you get a free pass with mine." Freya acknowledged in her mind that she probably overreacted - just a bit - but she stood her ground and meant every word she said.

"Shouldn't you be happy enough that you've got a night fury as your best friend?" She calmly glided her hands across Blaze's neck, inspecting Hiccup as Toothless nudged his rider. She was told that her gaze could be intimidating, so she used that to her advantage as she continued to watch him.

"It's not everyday that you find someone on the back of a dragon like Toothless, and somehow you still attract much more like him." She weakly kicked the ground, a glint in her eyes that was unfamiliar to most. "Anyway, wasn't there a race today or something? I'm sure everyone would've loved to see you there." She mockingly hummed, turning to stare at the trees that surround them. "What a shame you didn't go. Is tumbling down rocks more fun for you?"

He scoffed. "Germs? Really? I figured you'd be past using insults like that."

Reaching over to pet Toothless, he waited patiently for her to finish.

"What, you think I don't?" Taking his pencil back, he pulled his dagger out to sharpen it before returning both to their hidden compartments within his armor.

"I do have manners, mind you. Sorry I didn't check to make sure the island was unoccupied first before we crash landed on it," he retorted sarcastically. "I'll make sure to be more careful next time, give you a wide berth."

As Blaze sniffed at him, Hiccup turned towards the dragon, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a lopsided grin. "Hey there, you like my suit?" His brows furrowed together as Freya dragged her dragon away from him.

Shaking his head at her comment, he placed his hands on his hips, head tilted to the side. "Really? Oh, come on, I don't have every dragon at my neck and call!" How much did she hate him, to not even want him to interact with her dragon.

You know what? He didn't care. Raising his hands in mock surrender, he took a step back from the sand wraith. "Happy?"

Toothless sat beside him, and at Freya's question, he grinned at Toothless, wrapping his arms around the Night Fury's face. "Of course I am, but I can still be nice to other dragons." Toothless warbled, leaning into Hiccup's touch. "What would I do without you, bud?"

His voice took a sad tone. "That's because Toothless is one of a kind, at least until we find another Night Fury." He knew Toothless wanted to be reunited with his species, at least in some way. There had to be others out there, somewhere...

Shrugging it off, he made himself busy folding his map back up. "Ah, I doubt they notice I'm gone. Besides, they don't need me at the races..." And he certainly didn't need to face his dad right now.

Letting out a sarcastic laugh, he rolled his eyes. "Very funny. You come up with that all by yourself?"

[xtrafluffyteddy]

Beach day with steddie!!!

Pairings: Eddie munson x reader x Steve Harrington

Mentions: fun beach vibes, mild sunburn, shenanigans,

We’re in a good mood today ladies theybies and germs Ill do a part two if y’all like it

When Steve suggested taking you and Eddie down to California for a much needed get away from Hawkins after everything happened you were jumping at the idea

Eddie not so much that man has never set foot out of Hawkins and doesn’t know what sand will do to that hair of his

You and Steve finally convince him after bribing him with taking him to any music stores he wanted to go to

So you all pack up Steve’s car for a week long trip you over packing, Steve packing just enough, and Eddie under packing

You all pile in the car you sitting up front while eddie sat in the back and Steve the every trusting driver behind the wheel

You grinned putting in a cassette tape into the radio a mix you asked Jonathan to make just for this trip it has everything from Motley Crue to Kate bush

You and Eddie were jamming out to the music playing over the speakers while Steve paid attention the road a soft goofy grin on his face seeing his two favorite people having the times of their lives

You stop at some stupid dinosaur statues on the way grinning as you all take Polaroids of each other standing next to the poorly painted Dino’s

When you get back in Eddie is in the front now and your sitting in the back wrapped in Steve’s favorite yellow sweater staring out at the passing scenery while Eddie and Steve talk about who knows what

When you finally make it to California you check into your safari themed hotel with cheesy cheetah print sheets and fake palm trees every and set everything in your room

You change into a comfortable black bikini and one of Eddie’s corroded coffin shirts, Eddie in some black swim trunks your pretty sure he bought just for this trip and Steve in his swim trunks covered in anchors

Once you grab your beach bag and make sure you have everything It’s a race down to the beach then into the water you and Steve beating Eddie by a long shot

You lay out a huge beach blanket keeping it from flying away by setting down the cooler of cold beers and sodas then setting yourself down in the center

You call out for Eddie to help you put on sunscreen knowing the California sun is brutal

You giggle as you watch Steve drag Eddie towards the ocean waving as Eddie calls you a traitor and how could youuuu

Eddie’s hair is so much longer than you thought your a little jealous honestly even if it does look like a wet mop now that Steve has thrown him in which resulted in playing fighting and dunking

You snap a picture of the two in the ways wondering what you did to deserve such great boyfriends

[m-jelly]

Request by @camilo-stuff <3 Sick reader and Levi

@carlos-stuffs Y'all asked for Sick reader and Levi <3 So, I got ya <3

I'm going to put this in a modern setting, hope you don't mind.

Only I can make you better.

Pairing: Levi x Reader

Genre and tags: romance, cute Levi, Levi trying to help, Levi looks after you, Levi is adorable, couple things, modern AU.

Concept: Levi always wakes up before you, so he lies there and waits for you to wake up. However, one morning he finds you not in bed making him panic. He finds you in the bathroom trying to cool down and feeling very unwell. Levi calls up work and declares he's not coming in because you are his priority. So, he spends the whole day looking after you, even though you protest against it.

Peace, warmth and happiness. Levi loved waking up next to you. You were the most beautiful thing to wake up to. When he'd wake, he'd gaze at you for a bit, then drag you into his arms and snuggle with you until he had to get up for the day. Most mornings Levi would cut it very close with getting into work because he was too busy cuddling you.

He inhaled deeply and smiled when he could smell you. He opened his eyes ready to see your sleeping face, only to be met with an empty bed. He stared, then blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes as if they were playing up. He looked over again, but you were still missing.

Levi sat up quickly, then looked around the room for you. He jumped out of bed and looked for a note, but there was nothing. He grabbed his phone and looked through messages, but there was nothing new from you. The last message he had from you was a selfie of you in lace underwear asking him to come home soon, so he raced home and ravaged you against the wall.

He paced as his mind raced. "Think Levi, think." He ruffled his hair and could only remember your sweet moans last night. He frowned a little when he remembered you were a little warm to the touch. He called out your name. "Where are you!?"

You coughed hard as you sat on the bathroom floor. "In here!"

Levi opened the door to see you were pale and looked tired. "What happened!? Was it something I did?"

You giggled and shook your head. "You've done nothing wrong, I'm just unwell. I have the flu, I think. I'm trying to stay cool by sitting on the bathroom tiled floor." You coughed a bit, then sighed. "It's not working well."

Levi knelt in front of you, then placed the back of his hand on your forehead. "Tch, damn it brat. You're red hot."

"It's nothing. I'll sleep it off and then go to work tomorrow."

Levi lifted you up into his arms making you gasp. "I'm the only one who can take care of you. Only I can make you better." He lay you in bed. "Sit tight."

You coughed into the back of your elbow. "Levi, I'm full of germs."

"It's okay. I'll be right back."

Levi left you in bed and checked the house. He made sure the house was fully kitted out with all things medical so he could take good care of you. He pulled on a mask, then cleaned his hands with antibacterial. He grabbed a nice drink for you, along with some food that you could manage to eat. He returned to you, then placed a cool pack on your head. He gave you meds and made sure you took everything.

You sighed and put your hand up. "No more, please." You coughed into the back of your elbow. "I can't take any more meds."

Levi wiped your tears away. "I'm sorry. I went a little overboard. I just want you to get better."

You smiled at him. "I'd kiss you if I weren't so ill."

"I miss kissing you."

You coughed a little. "You should call work."

"I will." He cleaned your face, then took his food and the tray away. "Go to sleep."

"But."

"Now."

You slipped down into the bed and sighed. "Fine."

He left you and cleaned up your things. He called Erwin and told him that you and he would not be at work due to you being sick and Levi wanted to look after you. Erwin was fine with it, in fact, he told Levi to not come back in until you were better. Levi told him that it was his plan.

He ended the call, then checked on you to see you'd passed out from exhaustion. He felt a little bad that he had filled you with so many meds. He was just worried about you. Levi had lost his mother to an illness, so you getting sick was terrifying to him. He couldn't lose the love of his life. You were his world, his love, his life and his soul.

He brought in more drinks for you and snacks, then lay on the bed next to you and just watched you sleep. He changed the cold packs on your head when the ones you had stopped being cold. He checked your temperature now and then to see the meds were working. He was so thankful that you were getting a bit better.

You inhaled and woke up, then looked over at Levi and smiled. "Hi."

Levi smiled as he gazed at you. He reached over and moved the hair from your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. You were right about the sleeping and meds." You rubbed your eyes. "Sorry I cried."

"Don't be sorry. You're really sick." He pulled you against you and held you against his chest. "I wish I could fix this."

You hummed a laugh. "I'll get better because you are an amazing boyfriend and you are taking great care of me. I know by tomorrow that I will be all better."

Levi whined, then pulled his mask down and kissed you. "Sorry, I had to."

You gasped as you stared at a masked covered Levi. "You removed the mask to kiss a sick person. Who are you and what have you done with my Levi?"

"Tch, shut up."

You giggled and hugged him. "You're so cute."

He kissed your forehead a few times. "You need a bath."

"I'm okay."

Levi jumped out of bed. "Bath for the brat."

You sighed. "I should just accept my fate."

Levi ran a perfect bath for you with loads of nice things and even put in a rubber duck. He came back for you, then picked you up like a bride and carried you into the bathroom. He took your clothes off, then sat you in the bath. "Okay, now it's time to clean the cute brat."

You smiled as Levi scrubbed your skin, then he wet your hair and started massaging shampoo into your hair. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Levi hummed a little song to himself. "Yes."

You leaned your head back when he rinsed your hair. "This won't be a regular thing." You coughed a little. "I know you like it, but I love sharing a bath with you."

Levi sighed. "I love tending to you like this, but sharing a bath is nicer."

You yawned, then coughed for a while. You gasped, then sighed. "Damn."

Levi rubbed your back. "I might have something for that cough. It does mean more medicine though."

You hummed. "That's okay. I won't cry this time."

Levi helped you out of the bath, then dried you off and helped you change. He picked you up, then put you back into bed. "I'll be right back."

You nodded, then relaxed in your bed and sighed. You were exhausted and so thankful for Levi. He was taking such wonderful care of you and it warmed your heart. You smiled when he returned to you with soup and cough medicine. "You have a lot of meds."

"I wanted to be prepared when you got sick." He sat on the bed and placed the tray on your lap. "Medicine first, then soup."

You did as he told you, then smiled at him. "The soup was perfect. Thank you."

He cleaned you up. "You're welcome."

You smiled, then frowned a little. "Levi, are you scared?"

He blushed a little. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because of your mum."

He gulped. "I am. You know me too well."

You cupped the side of his face and ran your thumb over his cheek. "I'll be okay. I swear to you."

Levi pulled his mask down and kissed you. "I love you so much brat."

"I love you too."

He pulled his mask back up. "Sleep."

You nodded and wiggled back down into your bed. "Levi? Are you coming back?"

"Yes!"

You hummed a laugh and rolled onto your side and stared at Levi's side of the bed. You smiled when Levi got into bed. "Hi."

Levi pulled his mask off and smiled. "Hi. No coughing on me, okay?"

You nodded. "I'm so tired anyway."

Levi kissed your forehead. "Get some sleep. I'll be right here for you."

You closed your eyes and hummed. "Night Levi. I love you."

He held your hand in his. "Love you so much brat."

You fell asleep and passed out right away. You went into a very deep sleep. You woke up feeling refreshed and much better with just a little cough. You looked over to Levi to see he was sweating and panting in his sleep. You touched his forehead and felt he was on fire. You ran around the house and got meds, tea and a cool patch. You placed the patch on his head and smiled at him.

Levi opened his eyes and groaned. "Holy shit I feel like a train has hit me."

You hummed a laugh. "My poor handsome boyfriend." You sat on your legs and rubbed his chest. "Looks like I'll have to take care of you."

Levi shifted over and used your lap as a pillow. "What a shame."

You laughed as you played with his hair. "You know, you probably got sick from kissing me."

He hummed and smiled. "Worth it."

[august-anon]

Fresh and New

Here is your ancient backlog fic! I don’t even remember writing this one lol, but before i just did the barest edit of it, the last time I had touched it had been August 18, 2021. I need to stop stuffing these fics in the backlog for so long sdkjfhdsf

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Fandom: It (movies)

Ship(s): Reddie (pre-relationship)

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Eddie/Ler!Richie

Word Count: 1327 words

Summary: Eddie's cast is finally off. Richie is delighted to learn that the newly revealed skin is horribly ticklish.

[ao3 link]

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Richie’s bike was in the bushes when they got back from the hospital. It wasn’t hidden for shit, but thankfully, his mom somehow missed it while ushering Eddie inside.

It took forever for him to escape her and head upstairs, her overbearing worries at all time high with the cast freshly off his arm. She was convinced he would break it again, that it wasn’t fully healed, that he was in pain. She shoved prescriptions in his direction, bottle after bottle, and he was shocked she didn’t insist on watching him take them. Instead, he gathered the medications up in his arms and raced up the stairs.

The moment he was inside, he dumped the bottles in the trashcan right inside his door. Then he whipped around and pushed the door shut, locking it with the multiple locks Mike, Ben, and Richie had come over to help him install a few weeks ago (well, Mike and Ben had helped, Richie stood around making jokes and “supervising,” whatever the hell that meant) when his mom was actually out of the house for once.

Then he turned around and scowled at Richie, who was sprawled across Eddie’s bed reading a comic, his shoes still on. Eddie kicked his own shoes off as he marched toward the bed, chopping with his hand as he whisper-shouted.

“What the fuck are you doing here? My mom could’ve seen, you dick! And get your fucking shoes off the bed, do you know how many germs are on them?! You’re getting those germs all over where I sleep!”

Richie grinned at him, carelessly tossing the comic onto the bedside table. He spread his arms, sprawling even further across the bed.

“Eds, come on! I had to make sure they didn’t have to chop your arm off!”

Eddie scowled at him, holding up his completely intact, finally uncasted arm. It had an odd-looking tan line, having been hidden from the sun the last half of the summer, but other than that it was nearly back to normal.

“My arm’s fine, fucknut,” Eddie said, making sure to keep his voice low so that his mom wouldn’t hear. “The doctor said it would take a little while to build my strength back up, but it’s fine.”

Richie opened his mouth and spewed some other stupid joke that Eddie didn’t wind up catching, but his eyes were filled with relief. He couldn’t hide that, not from Eddie, and something relaxed in him when he realized that Richie had actually been worried, despite all his obnoxious teasing. When his mom worried, it was suffocating and sickening, it made him want to run away and never see her again, never let her touch him again. But when Richie and the other Losers worried, Eddie felt nothing but warmth, even if tried to bury it down and pretend to be annoyed.

So, instead of rising to the bait of Richie’s teasing, Eddie climbed onto the bed with him. Richie kicked his shoes off and curled up facing Eddie, staring at his arm.

“Does it hurt?” He asked quietly.

Eddie shook his head. “No. Feels kinda weird, though, since it’s been covered for so long.”

Richie reached out for Eddie’s arm and Eddie let him, relaxing back into the pillows and headboard as Richie took his arm to examine it for himself. He dragged two gentle fingers down the underside of Eddie’s forearm, and Eddie couldn’t help squirming as goosebumps spread across his arms and legs.

“Careful,” he mumbled. “Tickles.”

Richie grinned. “Oh it does, does it?”

Eddie realized his mistake all too late, his eyes widening. He half-heartedly tugged at his arm, but Richie could probably tell he didn’t mean it. He always could, somehow, only tickling Eddie when his fighting back was clearly just for show.

His fingers skittered gently up and down the sensitive skin on the underside of Eddie’s forearm, being mindful of Eddie’s mom without even having to be asked. It kept Eddie in fits of giggles, but nothing loud enough for his mom to be able to hear from down the stairs, especially if she had the TV on. Eddie squirmed and bit his lip and buried his face in Richie’s shoulder, but he never told Richie to stop. If he was being honest, it felt kind of nice. And it helped remind him that he was okay.

“Aw, Spagheds!” Richie cooed quietly into his ear. “If this isn’t the most precious thing I’ve ever fucking seen. Still cute, cute cute as ever!”

Eddie muffled a squeal into Richie’s hideous shirt when Richie focused his fingernails on the thin skin of Eddie’s wrist.

“Shut the fuck up, dickwad!” He hissed through his giggling. “Don’t fucking call me that!”

Richie hummed. “Which one? Spagheds? Or cute?”

Eddie tugged on his arm, but Richie didn’t let it go. If anything, his skittering fingers just got more ticklish. Eddie could feel his face going red, both from Richie’s teasing and from his own laughter, and he was glad Richie wouldn’t be able to see it, with his face buried in Richie’s shoulder and neck.

“Both, you asshole!”

Richie let out a hum. “Hey, maybe don’t call the guy tickling you silly names.”

Eddie barely had time to gasp before one of Richie’s hands was tickling gently at his waist, the other still spidering away at the tingling skin of his uncasted arm. Much to his own disgust, he had to shove some of Richie’s shirt into his mouth and bite down to keep his laughter muffled enough that it wouldn’t carry down the stairs. He squirmed against Richie’s grip, finally pulling his arm away and trying to roll out of range of Richie’s touch.

Unfortunately, Richie’s arms were freakishly long, and Eddie started to slide off the bed before he even got close to escaping Richie’s torment. They were probably getting a bit too big to be tussling in a twin bed (well, Richie was. Eddie was still desperately awaiting his own growth spurt. He would be taller than Richie someday, he knew it, he had to be).

Before he could fully fall over the side of the bed, Richie’s arms wrapped around his waist and tugged him back up, protecting them both from the thump it would’ve caused to alert Eddie’s mom. Richie pulled Eddie across the rest of the bed so they were curled up together like they did in the hammock sometimes when no one else was in the clubhouse, pressed together instead of sitting at opposite ends.

“Wanna read my comic with me?” Richie asked quietly. “It's new, just got it.”

Eddie twisted around in Richie’s hold as Richie reached over to grab the comic, not waiting for an answer. He didn’t need to, though, he knew Eddie well enough that the answer would be yes.

“Only if you don’t do the Voices so loud that my mom hears, again,” Eddie said.

Richie chuckled under his breath. This seemed to be the only time Richie was able to keep quiet. The rest of the time he was brash and unhinged and as loud as he could possibly be, but when it was just the two of them, curled together in hiding from Sonia Kaspbrack’s wrath, Richie quieted, became softer, less jagged around the edges. It felt nice, that Eddie was the only one to see this.

“No promises,” Richie replied. Despite that, as they read and Richie assigned Voices to each character, his volume stayed respectfully quiet.

Eddie relaxed into Richie’s hold, reading along with him and turning the page when Richie reached the end of it. Richie’s free hand, the one that should have been turning the pages, was busy tracing nonsense shapes into Eddie’s newly freed, wildly sensitive forearm, leaving Eddie giggling quietly into Richie’s shoulder every few moments when it tickled just a little too much. Not that Eddie was complaining.

It was the safest he’d ever felt after a hospital visit.