#evil red sneakers

[doobledabbadoo]

when you’re sent to cat hell but they let you keep your dope ass sneakers

based on this tweet

[skyrigel]

Simon's the guy who is nonchalant and a no-nonsense attitude, he's the man who doesn't care and absolute zero fucks and that's until missus comes along.

Now Simon's running around the house, bickering how you shouldn't skip breakfast and he's absolutely frowning when you side your greenies before he's holding your jaw and spooning them in, “Now be a good girl for me, won't ya' cupcake.” is all he says, tapping twice under your chin.

He's fussing over you, tucking you in scarves and caps and buttoning your coat because it's cold outside, “Can't see my pretty girl sick.” is all he says, bumping your nose.

John practically snorted when Simon pulled out your sneakers from your purse that he has been carrying, because he knew you're gonna whine about your pointy heels later, “Dance all you like babygirl” is all he says, bending down and removing those evil heels, then massaging your red ankle before he's sliding in your sneakers.

Oh, and yes he's gonna burn the whole fucking world if it meant to keep you warm, because he fucking cares only about missus.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[mikkomacko]

Him and I- Devil-ween

Nico Hischier x reader, Mob Boss!Nico

Warnings: None

A/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN FRIENDS!! Here’s a little something to give you an idea of Halloween in the mob universe. Hope you all love it and as always feel free to send me and questions or comments!

____________________________________________

The breeze blowing off the water is crisp and cool, not that you mind. Fall weather isn’t your favorite, always bouncing back and forth between hot and cold, but you prefer it over the sticky and humid summers. The sun is just a little too hot with your sweater on, so you welcome the cold wind.

You swipe away the strands of hair that have stuck to your lip gloss in the breeze, tucking them behind your ear before reaching for Nico’s hand again.

He’s holding his out for you, fingers widened so you can intertwine yours with his. Leaves crunch under your sneakers, the limbs of trees on the waterfront slowly turning to bare bones.

Nico likes the fall, likes the colors of the trees and being able to wear his beanies and cardigans. So he mosies as the two walk along the waterfront, the morning sun casting a funky shadow of your forms walking together.

“I was thinking,” he says after taking a sip of his to-go coffee, lightly squinting as he looks to you. “We should have a party at the house for Halloween, instead of doing the bar thing.”

In all the years you’ve known Nico (and the Devs), they’ve never not spent Halloween at the bar. Nico lets them go insane with it, fog machines and fake spider webs, elaborate costumes and way too much alcohol.

“You want to throw a party?” You question, and he shrugs. “And by you, you mean me? Because you’re a terrible decorator and cannot for the life of you match a menu to a theme.”

Nico opens his mouth, eyebrows scrunched together in defiance. He falters though, immediately closing his mouth and looking off towards the river. “Alright fine, I’m bad with parties,” he concedes and you giggle gleefully. “But I want this to be our party. We plan it all together.”

He stops walking, tugging you by the hand into his chest and then taking a hold of your waist. The wind and leaves blow around you, dog walkers and morning joggers keep moving down the waterfront path. But you and Nico stay still, everything moving around you two.

You fiddle with the top button of his cardigan, the one he always leaves open. “Together?” He nods, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your hip.

“Ok,” you agree, excited to finally have a holiday at the overly large house the two of you have built. You’ve had gatherings before, but nothing formal, nothing like this. Like it’s a family tradition in the making. “But we still have to put out candy for trick or treaters.”

Nico smiles, not at all deterred by your bargain. Trailing your hand up his shoulder and around his neck, you lightly urge him to lean down even more.

“But you’re wearing a costume.”

He kisses you before you can protest, gentle and sweet lips muffling the sound of indignation that squeaked out of you.

You can feel his evil little smirk against your mouth.

~~~~

“This is useless,” you groan, “I don’t even like Halloween.”

Nico tries really hard not to laugh at that, biting the inside of his cheek as he sorts through the hoards of decorations that have come in these past couple weeks. Moving the red string lights to the stack of outdoor decor, he glances over to see you fighting with the flame cutouts, trying to figure out how the different layers fit together to make it look like real fire.

Something on the cutouts snaps into place, and for a moment your frozen but relief glimmers in your gaze as you gently set them on the living room floor. Only for the flames to clatter onto the hardwood in pieces.

“That’s it, I’m not coming.” You say, furious and annoyed as you shove all decorations away from you. Nico’s never seen you like this, so frazzled over something that’s supposed to be fun. He thought you’d eat up any chance to have all the boys over, to host something for them.

Apparently he was wrong.

“Come on baby,” he tries sympathetically, standing over you. Holding his hands out, he helps you up from the floor. “Don’t be a grump.”

“Me?” You deadpan, blinking at him. “I’m the grump?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “a cute one, but still a grump.”

You roll your eyes at him, blowing the baby hairs off your face with a puff of annoyed air and Nico takes it upon himself to brush them away for you.

“I don’t even like Halloween Nico.” You whine.

“You said that already baby.”

“But it’s true. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

Nico smiles, bemused and cupping your pouting face in his large palms. “This is supposed to be the fun part. Decorating and costumes, fun foods and drinks. I even let you pick our costumes.”

You perk up at that, a wicked smile teasing the corner of your lips and Nico’s heart drops a bit. Why are you looking at him like the cat that got the canary?

~~~~

“Are you serious?”

Somehow you two pulled it off. The whole house and yard for decorated, fake Jack o’lanterns lining the drive with blood red lights in them. The cut outs around the outside of the house and mood lighting that make the whole place look like it’s on fire.

Fog machines and red light bulbs, neon blood that glows in the lights splattered on the windows and doors. The back yard foggy and pulsing with strobe lights and even more red and orange flames.

The Devils Den.

That was what you two had decided on. You’d make the house look like it rose straight up from hell. Not terrifying, but spooky and really cool.

Nico loved it. He thought it was a good theme for your first Halloween party together with the devs. Everything was perfect. Well…everything but the costumes.

“That is supposed to be mine!” Nico whines, pointing a finger at the top of your head. You giggle gleefully, twirling the bedazzled end of your pointed tail in your hand.

“No, you said devil and angel. You never said you wanted to be the devil.”

“But-“ he can’t even argue. You got him there. He had suggested to go with the theme that you and him and be a devil and an angel. Then he left you to order them, pick accessories and all that.

But he never clarified who would be who. He assumed you’d know and do that. Now he understands why you were so entertained by the costumes. You stole his and you knew it’d be hilarious.

“I think it’s cute Nico,” you say, dropping your tail to lay behind you as you press into his chest. The lights flash, glinting off your bedazzled devils horns and dark red lips. Your eyes look him up and down, a pleased sparkle shimmering in your dark pupils. He’s in all white, the robe slowly and flowy looking, a large pair of feathered wings stretched across his back and a sword to sit at his hip.

It is a cool costume. But Nico’s not much of an angel. And you’re not much of a devil.

Still, he doesn’t say anything, just pouting as you take the makeup from his hands that he’d brought from upstairs. You had left them hidden in his costume and even though he doesn’t know how to put on makeup, or particularly want to, he lets you dust glitter on his cheekbones and make them all rosy with blush. Because for the first time since he brought up Halloween, you actually look excited about something.

You had fun with the costumes, and he’ll go along with it like you went along with this whole shebang. Even if Timo and Jonas bust out laughing at the sight of him. And Jesper and Nicole swipe at his shimmering cheekbones and coo about him being whipped. And yes somehow he’s still fine even after Jack and Luke catch sight of you in your all black ensemble, shirt tight and tutu short and fluffy, and holler about you being hotter than Nico.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dress up,” Mercer says in greeting, tilting his red solo cup to his lips. The hood of his Clifford the Big Red Dog costume falls over his eyes, and you push it back for him.

“She doesn’t like Halloween,” Marino teases, hiding his smirk by stroking over his fake handlebar mustache. Nico internally cringes, knowing it’s true but that you won’t admit it to anyone. You never want to seem like a party pooper, especially not when Halloween is big to the rest of them, but you admitted to Nico before your first Halloween together that you hated it.

It was too much work for one night, too much expectation. Costumes never turned out right, they were too expensive, and you don’t like being scared.

All in all, you usually skipped the holiday.

“Is that why you always show up to the bar on Halloween in just black clothes?”

You scoff at Luke, offended. “I wore a witch hat a couple of times!” Which is true, Nico laughs to himself, tuning out of the conversation in favor of looking at you. Your hair is smooth and shiny, blown out elegantly so that your horns are the center of attention. You’ve sharpened the appearance of your cheekbones and nose, lined your eyes with black and a tiny bit of red.

Red wings that match his to a T lie on your back, the red devil tail clipped to the band of that tiny skirt you’re wearing. Nico knows if he were to take a step back and look you up and down he’d be able to see far more of your ass than he’d like to be looking at in public. He makes a mental note to walk behind you as much as possible tonight, especially when he sees the way the band of the your thigh high socks stretch around your curves, the silk bows on them cute and taunting.

Nico feels his mouth water, butterflies fluttering around his stomach and chest. He thinks the boys may be teasing you, but he can’t really tell because he’s not listening. But he can see the pout on your lips, smiling when you look at him expectantly.

“Hello, guardian angel,” you motion around, “beat them up please?”

Nico laughs, slinks an arm around your waist and presses in close to you. “Let’s a get drink first,” he compromises, pressing a kiss to your head. “Then I will,” he agrees. He’ll agree to anything you ask of him tonight, and not just because he’s your guardian angel.

But because at the end of night, he’s the one you’re feeding syringe Jell-O shots too and he’s the one that’s gonna head upstairs later with your lipstick smeared all around his mouth, and yeah he’s the one that’s gonna hike up that innocent little skirt and make you feel good.

Buzzed and messy, you pull the shot from his mouth and slip into your own, heavy eyes not straying from his as you empty the second half of it into your mouth, sucking at the tip for good measure. You’re hanging off his shoulders, packed between bodies of Devs and their dates, and whoever else they invited. And you’re playing with the ends of his hair, looking at him with such dark and loving eyes that he realizes maybe you are a bit of a devil.

[steveseddie]

shootin’ hoops

steddie | rated: t | cw: none | 4,6k | tags: eddie munson lives, but his clumsy ass gets hurt, worried steve, minor injuries, sharing clothes, first kiss

for my stficbingo prompt: “‘m just tired.”

click here to read on ao3

***

Eddie has always known basketball is evil. 

Over the years, he’s been smacked in the back of the head by plenty of basketballs, or smacked elsewhere by the dumb jocks that play the game. Only a few weeks ago, he was being chased by Jason Carver and his band of basketball-playing goons. 

So, basketball. Evil.

Eddie knew this, and somehow, he still agreed to “shoot hoops” with Steve Harrington.

Him! Eddie Munson! Agreeing to play the stupid game where you toss balls into laundry baskets! All because of his stupid crush on a boy.

If any of his friends could see him now, they would kick him out of the band and dethrone him as their Hellfire leader. 

Well, no. First, they would laugh at Eddie- currently starfished on the Harringtons’ basketball court having knocking himself out after the ball he threw missed the hoop completely, slammed against the board and bounced back straight into Eddie’s face.

Then and only then, after laughing themselves into a coughing fit at Eddie’s expense, would they kick him out and dethrone him. Can’t have your fearless leader succumbing to forced conformity or whatever. 

Luckily for Eddie, there’s no one here to witness how the mighty have fallen. 

Well. No one but Steve, the guy he’s pretty sure he’s in love with which is fucking great.

When he agreed to play, after Steve pleaded, pouted and hit Eddie with those deadly puppy eyes, he told himself it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d get to ogle Steve in his tiny little shorts, trick Steve into putting his hands on him to show him the right way to throw a ball and maybe even score a goal and shit and get a proud grin from Steve, maybe even a high five or a hug. 

But all Eddie has managed so far is to sweat through his clothes (Steve’s clothes actually- a pair of basketball shorts and an old Hawkins High swim meet shirt because the long sleeve and the ripped jeans Eddie showed up in weren’t basketball appropriate) and embarrass himself by getting hit square in the face by an evil basketball, probably giving himself a concussion in the process. 

Because- fucking ouch! His head is pounding right now.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears Steve’s sneakers squeak against the court as he jogs towards him. “Eddie, Jesus Christ!” He gasps, dropping to his knees next to him. “Fuck, man, are you okay?” 

Eddie groans when he hears the concern in Steve’s voice. Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Eddie knows he’s flushing bright red and it’s not because of the midday sun beating down on them. 

“Eddie, come on. Talk to me, man,” Steve urges, slightly shaking Eddie’s shoulder.

“Just leave me here to die,” Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes tightly shut, partly because moving his face hurts, but also because he doesn’t want to look at Steve right now. 

Steve huffs, shaking Eddie’s shoulder a little more insistently. “Nope, no way. I didn’t drag your ass back from the Upside Down to let you die here. Sit up, come on.” 

He tugs on Eddie’s arm, leaving him no choice but to sit up. Eddie hugs his knees against his chest, still not opening his eyes. He feels one of Steve’s hands settle on his back, holding him up in that position. 

“Good, that’s good,” Steve encourages, rubbing his hand up and down Eddie’s back. Because of that touch, Eddie can feel the flush spreading all the way up to his ears. He squeezes his eyes even tighter, even if it makes his face hurt, but Steve isn’t having it. “Now open your eyes for me.”

Eddie shakes his head, which is a terrible idea because it sends flashes of pain through his head, all the way down to his neck. 

“Come on, Eds, let me look at you,” Steve purrs in a sweet voice that settles deep in Eddie’s lower stomach. Then Steve’s other hand cups his cheek, gently turning his face towards him. “Please,” he says, stroking his thumb over Eddie’s cheek.

And if there’s one thing that today proved is that Eddie can’t say no to a pleading Steve. It’s what got him in this mess in the first place. 

So his eyes flutter open. He has to blink a few times to get rid of the blurriness at the edges of his vision but even then it’s hard to miss Steve’s big, worried eyes when they’re right in front of him. 

“There he is,” Steve exhales softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a relieved half-smile. “Hi.” 

“H-hey,” Eddie stammers out. His cheeks burn even brighter when he realizes how close their faces are. Steve’s hand rubbing Eddie’s back soothingly while the other one is still cupping his jaw certainly don’t help. 

“Are you okay?” 

Eddie scoffs. “Oh, I’m great! Just wishing the Upside Down would open up and swallow me whole so I can like, die of embarrassment there,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Steve makes an exasperated noise, either because he didn’t get a real answer to his question or because it’s too soon for Eddie to be joking about dying in the Upside Down. Eddie sighs, waving a hand through the air dismissively. “I’m fine, man, just hurt.” 

“Where does it hurt?” 

“My dignity.”

This time the joke does land and it makes Steve snicker. “Since when do you have any?” 

“Ouch. Kicking a man while he’s down, Harrington? Shame on you,” Eddie says with a laugh, which is quickly followed by a wince. “Shit, okay, maybe my dignity isn’t the only thing hurting. My whole head is fucking pounding, I think I hit it against the ground after the ball knocked me down.” 

Steve’s face pulls into a frown and the hand that was on Eddie’s back moves to the back of his head. “You’re not bleeding, thank God, but you could still have a concussion.”

“Of fucking course,” Eddie mutters, resting his head on his knees.

“We can get you something cold or I can drive you to the ER if you’d rather get checked out.”

Eddie starts to shake his head and gets dizzy so he aborts the movement, raising his hand to wave Steve off instead. “No, no ER. Some frozen peas will do the trick, good sir.”

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “Okay, but if you start talking nonsense, I’m taking you there. I don’t care if you don’t want me to or not.”

Eddie gives him a lazy smirk. “How will you know I’m talking nonsense because of the concussion and not because I’m, you know, me.” 

“I know your kind of nonsense, Munson,” he says with a snort. The words sound almost fond to Eddie’s ears. “Now, let’s get you inside. I’m gonna help you up. Slowly, okay? You might feel dizzy or even like you’re going to throw up so- careful.”

Eddie squints at Steve. “You sure know a shitload about concussions, Harrington.” 

Steve makes a face. “That’s because I’ve had like, three. And surprisingly enough only one of them was Upside Down related.”

“Damn, dude.”

“Yeah, but at least you know I’ll take good care of you.” Steve shrugs. “Okay, come on.”

He stands up in one swift movement and offers both of his hands to Eddie, who grabs them and lets himself be pulled to his feet. As soon as he stands, his vision goes black and he sways forward. He would’ve face-planted if Steve didn’t catch him by his elbows.

“Woah, I got you,” he tells him, breath ghosting over Eddie’s face.

“Just need a minute,” Eddie mumbles, squeezing his eyes, waiting for the world to stop spinning. 

“Take your time,” Steve says, rubbing his thumbs over Eddie’s forearms, which only makes him feel more dizzy. 

When he opens his eyes, Steve’s face is right there again and he gets lost in his hazel eyes for a few more seconds before he feels ready to move. “Okay, I’m good.”

Steve nods, letting go of his arms but staying close to Eddie as he starts walking towards the house, just in case. They walk past the evil basketball and Eddie glares at it. He thinks about kicking it, just to give it a taste of its own medicine, but knowing his luck, the ball would probably bounce against the wall and hit Eddie again, so he just ignores it. 

In the kitchen, Steve heads for the freezer while Eddie flops down on a chair and folds his arms over the table, letting his head rest over them.

He jumps when he suddenly feels something cold press against the back of his head. “Motherfucker!” When he looks up, Steve is giving him a sheepish smile and holding a bag of frozen peas in his hand. “Dick,” Eddie says, snatching the peas from his hand and pressing them against the back of his head. He still flinches, but at least he’s prepared this time. 

“Is that better?” 

Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. The cold helps with the throbbing, but his head still feels like it was put through the wringer.

“Do you think you’ll be okay if I take a quick shower?” Steve asks. Eddie glances at him, who’s eyeing him back warily and biting his lip, probably worried about leaving him unsupervised. 

“I think I’ll live, man,” Eddie says with a snort.  

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He stands up to leave but hesitates. “Call if you need anything.” 

Eddie can’t help it, he smirks up at him. “You’re gonna come to my rescue dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel? I might call you just to see that.” 

Steve’s cheeks flare the brightest Eddie’s ever seen. “Never mind, you can die,” he says with no heat at all before turning around and leaving Eddie alone in the kitchen. 

This time when Eddie laughs it doesn’t make his head hurt nearly as much, which means that the frozen peas might be helping. He presses the bag against his face next, trying to dull the throbbing there as well. He sits there at the kitchen table, moving the frozen peas back and forth from his face to the back of his head until he starts getting tired and his eyelids start feeling a little heavy. 

He drops his head on his arms again and instantly starts to doze off. Eddie knows he shouldn’t, not if he has a concussion, but he’s tired, and taking a nap right now sounds so good-

But just as he’s about to, Steve’s voice drags him away from the brink of sleep. “Eddie, hey, Eds.” 

Eddie burrows further into his arms, trying to ignore Steve who shakes his shoulder a little frantically. “Eddie?” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie mutters, twisting his head to the side, towards Steve, but keeping his eyes closed. “‘m just tired. Want to take a nap.”

“Uh, yeah, no. No sleeping while concussed,” Steve says in that bitchy tone of his. “Eds, come on.” When Eddie doesn’t respond, Steve nearly growls. “Eddie Munson, I will drag your ass to the ER if you don’t open your eyes right now.” 

“Fuck, you’re bossy,” Eddie huffs, but he opens his eyes, giving Steve a look that’s supposed to say happy?

Steve’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, sorry for not wanting you to die on me again.”

It’s probably not Steve’s intention, but Eddie immediately feels bad. He might not remember a lot of what happened after the hell bats attacked him, but he knows that at some point his heart stopped beating from all the blood he lost and Steve had to perform CPR on him to bring him back. And unlike Eddie, he probably remembers everything about it. It’s not fair that Eddie is making him relive that kind of worry right now. 

So he forces his head up, blinking his eyes a few times so they adjust and apologizes. “Sorry.”

Steve’s face softens almost immediately and he waves Eddie off with a shake of his head. Droplets of water hit Eddie’s face and he notices that Steve’s hair is wet, water steadily dripping to the floor from the few strands that hang over his eyes. Eddie has seen Steve after a shower before but he always dries and styles his hair before coming out of the bathroom which means he skipped his hair routine today, probably so he wouldn’t have to leave Eddie alone longer than necessary. 

“How’s the head?” Steve asks, brushing his hair back with a hand. 

“Hurts but the peas are helping. Or they were. I don’t know where they are now.” Eddie frowns when he realizes he can no longer feel them against the back of his head, they must have fallen to the floor when he started to doze off. Oh well. “How was the shower?” 

Steve snorts. “Quick,” he says. “Do you wanna take one?” 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “I want to but there’s a big chance that I will fall in the shower and crack my head open if I do.” 

He almost wants to risk it just to get rid of some of the sweat, but then he thinks about falling in the shower and Steve barging in to help him while he’s naked on the floor and quickly changes his mind. There’s only so much embarrassment he can take in a day. 

Steve nods in understanding. “Maybe later then.” He jerks his head toward the door that leads to the living room. “Do you want to move to the couch? Just because you can’t take a nap doesn’t mean you can’t be comfortable.” 

“Sure, man.” 

When Steve stands up, Eddie’s eyes end up at the same level as his shirt. Which, thanks to the familiar Black Sabbath logo, Eddie realizes is actually his.

“Is that my shirt?” Eddie asks even if he knows the answer. Steve would never own a Black Sabbath shirt, not to mention Eddie remembers turning his room upside down looking for his the other day only to give up when he couldn’t find it- because it was at Steve’s house apparently. 

Steve looks down at himself and his eyes widen like he’s only realizing now that he’s wearing it. 

“Oh, um, yeah, you left it here the other day. I washed it and left it in my closet to like, give it back to you, but I guess I accidentally grabbed it just now,” Steve explains, running his hand through his hair a few times. 

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, big eyes staring up at Steve in his goddamned shirt. 

“Do you- do you want it back?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, man. It looks better on you.” And it’s true- Steve looks good in Eddie’s clothes. “Besides, it’s only fair,” he adds, gesturing down at himself, still wearing Steve’s swim meet shirt and old basketball shorts. 

Steve chuckles, ducking his head and saying a little shyly, “Well, those look good on you too.” 

Eddie twirls some hair around his finger and tugs it in front of his face to hide his blush. He’s ridiculously bad at accepting compliments, especially when they come from Steve.“

“Okay,” Steve says, remembering why he stood up in the first place. “Come on, to the couch.” 

Standing up doesn’t make Eddie as dizzy this time and he manages to stay on his feet without Steve’s help. Slowly, he drags his feet to the living room and then flops down on the couch, tilting sideways until his head comes in contact with the cushions. 

“No sleeping,” Steve grumbles when he sees Eddie’s eyes start to slip shut. 

“I’m not!” Eddie says, his eyes flying open and finding Steve raising an eyebrow at him. “Okay, maybe I am, but you gotta help me stay awake, man. Put on a movie or something.” 

With a frown, Steve says, “I don’t think you should be staring at screens or any bright lights right now.” Then he perks up. “Wait, I have an idea!” 

And then, without explaining any further, he leaves. 

In his absence, Eddie sighs and burrows his head deeper into the cushions, but before he can even think of taking a nap, Steve comes back. 

“I think I might be having like a concussion-induced hallucination because there’s no way that you, Steve Harrington, actually own a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring,” Eddie says when he sees the worn paperback that Steve is holding in his hand. 

Steve glances down at it. “It’s actually Dustin’s, man. Kid gave it to me forever ago, but I never read it. It’s not really my thing, but it’s yours.”

“It most definitely is, Stevie boy,” Eddie says, “but I don’t think reading will help my head any more than staring into a screen.”

“You won’t be reading, Eds. I’ll read to you,” Steve says with a shrug. “Now, lift your head.” 

Eddie pushes himself from his lying down position so Steve can sit next to him, but before he can sit upright, Steve tsks and pushes his head back down so it’s resting on his lap, the right side of his face coming in contact with the fabric of Steve’s sweatpants. 

Eddie is too stunned to protest or move, but he does subtly pinch himself, a little suspicious that he might’ve slipped into some kind of concussion dream.

With one of his hands, Steve holds the book open and the other finds its way to Eddie’s hair. He’d tied it up in a bun when they started playing, but it’s mostly undone by now. Steve carefully tugs on his hair tie, freeing the rest, so he can run his fingers through the curls.

It sends shivers down Eddie’s spine, makes him feel like he’s going to melt through the couch and into a puddle on the floor. He can’t stop the whiny noise that slips through his lips. 

Steve’s hand freezes. “Did I hurt you?

Embarrassed, Eddie just shakes his head no.

“So this is okay?” Steve asks, scratching his scalp. Eddie just nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth some other embarrassing noise will slip out.

Eddie can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Good.”

After that, Steve clears his throat and starts reading. 

Eddie quickly realizes that Steve didn’t think his plan through- he heavily underestimated how soothing his voice is, how comfortable his thigh is and how good his hand feels in Eddie’s hair. 

Within minutes, Eddie feels himself starting to doze off again, but before he can, Steve jostles his thigh, the movement waking Eddie up.

“Hey, talk to me so I know you didn’t die.”

Eddie groans, pinching Steve’s leg. “I hate you.”

Steve chuckles softly. “That’ll do.” 

After that Eddie starts to focus on the words that Steve is reading and it makes it a little easier to stay awake, mostly because he can’t help but correct Steve when he starts butchering the names of the characters and locations in ways that Eddie can’t begin to comprehend. It’s not until a snigger slips past Steve’s lips when Eddie tells him that it’s “Bilbo, Steve! Not Bobbin!” that Eddie realizes he must be doing it on purpose so that Eddie will talk to him. 

After a while, Eddie stops feeling sleepy and his head stops hurting as much so, instead of just correcting Steve’s pronunciation, he offers commentary about the book here and there and quotes the book as Steve reads it, which earns him a fond nerd and a playful tug on his hair.

After a few chapters, Steve complains about his voice getting tired, but Eddie isn’t having it, he wants to listen to Steve read some more. 

“You owe me, man,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts. “Me? I’m nursing you back to health, why do I owe you?” 

“Because you made me play with you!”

Eddie can hear Steve’s eye roll. “I didn’t, you could’ve easily said no, Eddie.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort because the idea of him saying no to Steve is completely ridiculous. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he blurts out, “Nothing easy about saying no to the guy you have a crush on.” 

Silence falls over them. Steve drops the book on the couch. His other hand freezes in Eddie’s hair. 

“What?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie realizes what he just said and his whole body goes rigid. Oh shit, oh fuck.

“Nothing,” he says meekly. 

“No, you said-”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did, Eddie,” Steve says, annoyed. Annoyed at him. Eddie bites down on a whimper- this is his worst nightmare, the thing that stopped him in his tracks every time he so much as considered telling Steve how he felt. Suddenly, he can’t keep his head on Steve’s thigh, he can’t bear to have his fingers in his hair. Eddie sits up abruptly, his vision swims, he feels sick. 

“I, I have a concussion, I don’t know what I’m saying,” Eddie mutters, sitting on the far end of the couch, away from Steve.

“Eddie-”

“Steve, please just- Ignore it, please,” Eddie pleads, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands coming up to cover his face. 

“I can’t ignore it-”

Of course he can’t. Your friend having a crush on you isn’t something you can just ignore. God, Eddie really fucked up. 

“Fuck.” He squeezes his palms against his eyes until they hurt. 

The couch dips as Steve moves- is he leaving? Eddie’s heart falls as he wonders, but a moment later, Steve is sitting right next to him, their thighs touching and their arms brushing.

“Eddie, I don’t want to ignore it,” Steve says, and his voice is unbearably soft. He doesn’t sound annoyed anymore, maybe he wasn’t annoyed at all, maybe there’s some truth to what people say about Eddie being dramatic.

“Why?” Eddie asks warily, but God help him, also slightly hopeful. 

Steve scoots even closer, bumping their shoulders together. “The guy I’ve liked for weeks just said he has a crush on me, why would I want to ignore that?”

The words have Eddie whipping his head back to stare at Steve so fast that he goes dizzy. His face pulls into a grimace. “Shit.” 

“You okay?”

Eddie waves him off. “Did you just say you like me? Because if you didn’t, maybe I do need to go to the ER because I’m hearing things,” he says, his wide eyes blinking at Steve.

He gives Eddie a sweet smile. “I did say that. I do like you.”

His eyes go even wider. “Holy shit.”

“Do you like me?” Steve asks, a little shy. “Or was that just the concussion talking?”

A nearly hysterical laugh tumbles over Eddie’s lips. “No, nope, definitely me. Maybe the concussion made me say it, and for a moment there I thought I fucked up, but I meant it, Steve, I like you so much that I ignored everything I stand for to fucking shoot hoops with you. I don’t even care that I got a concussion because of it!”

Instead of smiling like Eddie expects him to, Steve seems troubled. Eddie wonders if maybe he said too much. “What?”

“I know I probably shouldn’t kiss you while you have a concussion,” Steve says, biting his bottom lip and having the nerve to glance at Eddie’s mouth. “But I really want to.”

Eddie’s stomach flip flops and he needs a few seconds to remember how to form words because Steve wants to kiss him! “Ever heard of the expression kiss it better?” He asks, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.

Steve chuckles. “I don’t think it applies here,” he says, but Eddie can’t help but notice how he’s started leaning in.

“We can still try,” Eddie says, leaning in too, knowing that Steve is about to break. He thinks back on the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lips he gave Eddie when he asked him to play basketball with him and decides to give it a try, batting his eyelashes at Steve and sticking his bottom lip out. “I really want you to kiss me, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and his breath leaves him in a whoosh, Eddie can feel it against his face. “Fuck, you were right.”

“About?”

“Nothing easy about saying no to the guy you have a crush on,” Steve says, echoing Eddie’s words. 

Eddie starts to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat when Steve cups his cheeks and closes the distance between them, pressing their mouths together. Eddie whines instead, low in his throat, his arms wrapping around Steve’s shoulders and sinking them both back onto the couch. They’re touching in so many places, but Eddie wants more, so he opens his mouth and hopes that Steve takes the invitation. 

And he does- licking the roof of Eddie’s mouth, and angling his head to kiss him deeper. And it’s so good, it’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt, and for a moment, he actually worries that he knocked himself out on the court earlier and this is just some elaborate coma dream. 

But Steve feels so real- his lips against his, his shoulders under Eddie’s hands, the sinful noises that he keeps making. 

Eddie swings his leg over Steve’s lap, straddling him and breaking the kiss for the first time so that he can grin down at him. 

“I think we found another way to make sure I don’t fall asleep,” he says, eyes roaming over Steve- his red bitten lips stretched into a dopey grin, his hooded eyes that keep darting to Eddie’s mouth, the rise and fall of his chest, the exposed collarbone thanks to how worn the collar of Eddie’s shirt is, the mole-covered skin there that’s just begging to be kissed, bitten, marked up. 

“I changed my mind,” Eddie says, picturing what a love bite on Steve’s chest would look like and wanting to get on with it.

Steve’s hands freeze where they came to rest on Eddie’s thighs, his pinkie brushing against the bare skin after his shorts rode up. 

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? Are you dizzy?” He asks, earnest eyes darting over Eddie’s face, looking for any sign that he’s in pain. 

“Not about this,” Eddie says with a little shake of his head that makes his bangs fall over his eyes. He tugs the collar of Steve’s shirt down- his shirt. “I changed my mind about wanting my shirt back.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, his lips tugging up in a smirk. “Well,” he says, voice dropping low, his fingers teasing the hem of the shorts that Eddie is wearing. “As long as you give me my clothes back too.”

Eddie’s heart stutters, warmth pooling low in his stomach. “It’s only fair.” Then he remembers something else. “You know, I could use that shower that I passed on earlier.” 

Steve raises his eyebrow. 

“But I still feel a little dizzy,” Eddie says, putting the back of his hand against his forehead like a fainting maid, waggling his eyebrows at the same time. “Think you can give me a hand?” 

Steve grins. “Yeah, I can do that.”

They both try to stand up at the same time, and Steve almost sends Eddie toppling to the floor but luckily manages to catch him before Eddie ends up with another concussion. 

After that, they make their way upstairs, to Steve’s bathroom, kissing and touching and leaving a trail of clothes behind them. 

Right before Steve closes the bathroom door, Eddie’s eyes catch the basketball shorts Steve just took off of him, discarded on the hallway floor and he thinks- 

Maybe basketball isn’t so evil after all. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Logical Fallacies

A logical fallacy occurs when an argument is not adequately supported.

This can be the result of errors in reasoning, a lack of evidence, the author’s use of irrelevant points, or other reasoning moves that do not logically support the argument.

Advertisers, salespeople, politicians, and others might use logical fallacies to manipulate you.

Argument to the People (Appealing to Stirring Symbols)

Involves using a visual symbol (the American flag, pictures of babies, “Support the Troops” bumper sticker, etc.) of something that much of the public finds hard to reject but that has little relevance to the argument.

Example: Political candidates often use the American flag and other patriotic symbols in TV ads to appeal to and persuade citizens to vote for them.

Appeal to Pity (Ad misericordiam)

A verbal version of Argument to the People.

Example: A political candidate may tell stories about their life that are not connected to their platforms.

Like Arguments to the People, Appeals to Pity are fallacious if they are irrelevant to the argument in question; pity for the candidate should not be a reason why citizens vote for them.

In some cases—for example, when soliciting money for people whose incomes are below the federal poverty threshold or for the Humane Society—appeals to pity may be legitimately used.

Erroneous Appeal to Authority

Example: Years ago, a commercial for Bufferin Aspirin used Erroneous Appeal to Authority by featuring people on the street lining up to ask Angela Lansbury, a popular actress at the time with no medical authority whatsoever, questions about the pain reliever.

Ad Hominem (“to the person”)

Involves a personal attack on the character of the opponent rather than on the argument itself.

Example: Criticizing a restaurant because the chef is “too skinny,” rather than focusing on the merits of the restaurant’s food, service, atmosphere, or other relevant aspect is an ad hominem attack.

However, an ad hominem argument that is relevant to the issue (“Rinalda Gooch will not make a good President because she faints every time she tries to make a speech”) is not a logical fallacy.

Shifting the Issue (Red Herring)

Refers to the arguer’s changing the subject to avoid dealing with an unpleasant aspect of the argument.

Example: When a reporter questioned candidate Stone about her past marijuana use, she responded, “Why haven’t you asked my opponent about his drinking?”

Hasty Generalization

Means to argue on the assumption that an entire group shares the same traits as one or two examples of that group.

Example: “Women should not be considered for high political office because they’re too emotional to make thoughtful decisions.”

Appeal to Popularity (Bandwagon)

An argument based on the premise that an idea or product has merit just because it is popular.

Example: “All the cool kids are wearing Stinko sneakers this season,” the saleswoman told the boy. “You don’t want to be left out, do you?”

Begging the Question

Involves “supporting” an argument by stating the argument in different words.

Example: “We need to bomb evildoers because they are guilty of horrendous acts,” basically restates the claim (evildoers are people who do evil) instead of stating a reason why bombing the “evildoers” is a good thing to do.

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc

An argument that uses Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc (“after this, therefore because of this”) illogically suggests that because one event followed another, the first event caused the second to occur.

Example: “The fact that students cut their hair over the weekend and their test scores were higher on Monday shows that shorter hair leads to good grades.”

False Dilemma or Dichotomy (Either/Or)

This argument attempts to sway opinion by making it seem as if the only alternative to a proposed argument is one that is obviously unacceptable.

Example: “We must fight the enemy in their land so they don’t follow us to ours” suggests -- but does not attempt to show -- that one country’s aggression is the only way to decrease another country’s aggression.

The Slippery Slope

This argument attempts to dissuade people from taking or allowing a specific action because it might cause a particular condition to spiral out of control – no matter how far-fetched.

Example: “Legalizing same-sex marriage could lead to legalizing marriage between people and their pets!”

If these notes are helpful in your writing, do tag me, or send me a link to your work. I would love to read it!

Writing Notes & References

[steviewashere]

Make a Home Out of Hurt

Rating: General CW: Death of a Grandparent, Mourning Tags: Post-Season 4, Post Canon, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe — Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington Mom is Okay, Steve Harrington's Dad is an Asshole, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Moving in Together

Had an evil little thought. Also, all these Fenton bunnies I mention are real! My nana collects Fenton. (She's alive, don't worry, but I thought about her the other day and it spiraled into this.)

🏡—————🏡 We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie thinks, but won’t say.

Even though they have. They’ve driven by the same three houses. Yellow, pastel pink, and navy blue. White door, white door, brown door. Bushes and bushes and a bushel of red roses. One garage, no garage, no garage but large driveway. He’s seen them. Over and over and over.

And each time they pass the last one, the leather of the steering wheel squeaks. And each time, Steve makes a muffled sort of noise. And each time, Eddie wonders if resting his hand on Steve’s shaking shoulders would anger him or mellow him. And each time, the car gets just a little slower as Steve loses his control more and more.

We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie continues to think, but knows he’ll sit here with those words. He’ll sit in the passenger seat. Window cranked as far down as it’ll go—half-way since Dustin busted the actual mechanism. Beemer’s been through a lot, so it’ll be here for Steve’s end all breakdown, too. With the radio volume low, playing the same double-sided tape on repeat, flipped by Eddie because Steve’s hands have been shaking: The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra. Because it was her favorite. Nana’s favorite. Nana Harrington’s favorite.

On the fifth drive through, Steve finally parks the car. At the end of the long, slow winding driveway. He looks out the windshield, hollowed and not quite here. With limp hands in his lap. Messy, greasy hair he couldn’t bother to style. Eye bags so heavy, Eddie barely believes he can hold them on his face.

Eddie can follow his line of sight. To the edge of the white picket fence, worn down a little with age, scratched up from the curled nails of an old brown dog, carved with her son and daughter-in-law’s initials, and eventually stained with yellow handprints from baby Steve. Yellow because, as Steve has echoed, “Lello, Nana. Lello like your dress. Your favorite!” Well, Steve’s favorite too, he just won’t acknowledge it’s because of his nana. Eddie knows that the paint has faded a bit since then, given that it’s been fifteen years since Steve’s had hands that small, but Eddie can see him. In his little white and red striped t-shirt, hidden by a pair of nicely pressed denim overalls, white sneakers, and his mom’s bobby pins in his hair—something she did because it just wouldn’t stop growing so fast and thick. Or so Eddie’s been told.

He’s been told a lot in the last week. Since the call came through the landline of their apartment. Since Steve had gone silent and collapsed to his knees and wailed, screamed even. Since he dressed himself in a suit that fit well, but looked out of place on his curled in body. Since…since the obituary was finally in his hands at the funeral, and he got so sick in the church’s restroom, Eddie had to drive them home in a daze—a quarter worried, a quarter tired, and half hanging by a thread. He thinks he’s heard everything, but what is love if not more than everything? If not all the words in every language, all known objects and unknown, every species and race and sexuality and identities combined?

He’ll hear everything. Until their old and grey and forgetting everything.

“There used to be a tire swing on that tree,” Steve states flatly, pointing at the weeping oak in his nana’s front yard. It’s crooked like it’s been kissed by the wind. A lot withering because the weather’s been harsh on her. Grey against the navy blue of the house’s siding.

I know, sweetheart, Eddie wants to say, so soft it gets lost between them. Instead, “Yeah? Bet it was a good tire, too,” he coaxes, still soft, all sweet. Even if he’s heard it each time they’ve passed by.

Steve nods once in his peripheral. Sniffs. “Yeah,” he states wetly, “one of the expensive ones. She didn’t want it to pop under me. Didn’t…She didn’t want me to stop using it.” His head dips down, looking at his fingers, where they’ve begun to absently trace the seams of his jeans. “I stopped,” he whispers shamefully. “You think she got mad because I stopped?”

“No, baby,” Eddie answers honestly. “I think that she was happy you used it at all. Think she was always just happy to see you, Steve.”

A sharp intake of breath next to him. “I used to come over here when my parents were gone. Or when they’d scream at each other. Or when…when they’d forget I existed,” he relays, quiet as a mouse. “When they’d forget, Nana would open the door and kiss my cheek and make me something to eat. I was always too skinny. So she made me casseroles,” he explains, a wisp of a smile. Gone in the blink of an eye. “She’ll never make ‘em again, though. She won’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie calls gently, a small warning. A siren before the tsunami. 

“—Love me again,” Steve sobs, “Nana won’t love me again.”

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. Eddie steps out of the car, rounds over to the driver’s side, and yanks the door open. Carefully, he unbuckles Steve, scoots him so that his legs dangle over the side, and pulls him down into a gentle hug. “Baby,” he coos. “Just get it out, honey. I’m right here. We’re right here. I’ve got you.”

And Steve cries. Again; though Eddie’s lost count. He squirms against Eddie’s chest. Head nestled to his neck. Crying big sounds that sound too large, even for his adult body. Sounds that carry boats, that poison with oil spills, that home orcas. He slobbers onto Eddie’s skin, grand globs of hot spit that gargle in his throat before launching from his mouth. His unshaved stubble scratching at the side of Eddie’s face—where his skin is sensitive and smooth and will most definitely be raw with Steve’s aching.

He sobs until there’s no more tears. Until he’s a whimpering, shivering mess on Eddie’s chest. Bunched up and small and fisting Eddie’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Squeezing the fabric in his hands like two lemons.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve’s spine. From the small of his back to his hunched shoulders, squishing him. He sways them ever so gently like the rustle of the old oak tree. Hums something incoherent and unrecognizable. If only to get Steve to stop shaking.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

He takes a long, slow breath. Breathes out, “Why’d she give me the house?”

Eddie pulls them apart. One hand on the middle of Steve’s back, the other cupping his left cheek. Swiping at the tacky tracks from his tears. “I’m not sure, baby. Maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to have it? To always be safe there?”

“Shouldn’t she have given it to my dad? I don’t…” Steve’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, his mouth frowning. “I don’t deserve her house?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sighs. “She chose you for a reason. You, Stevie. Not anybody else. Just you. If she wanted to give it to her son, she would’ve. But she didn’t. She thought of you, put you in the will, and now it’s yours.” When Steve doesn’t respond, Eddie gives him his moment of silence. Running his palm up to Steve’s shoulders. Pressing his thumb into his supple skin. “You may never know her intent, but she probably had a reason. It was a home you came running to, where you felt safest, where you felt…loved. Grandmothers always have this air to them, like they just know things about you before you say ‘em. Maybe she just knew you needed her and her space before you even realized.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes are still wet. Bloodshot and tired. Rumpled all the way around, exhausted and quiet. “She used to play with me in the yard.”

I know, Eddie thinks once more. He goes with the topic change though, if that’s what Steve needs.

“And when we played hide and seek, she always made sure to look until I was found. Because she didn’t want me to feel forgotten, her words.” Steve’s fingers are fidgeting with one another again. Picking at his fingernails, peeling at hangnails. Eddie moves down and takes them, rubbing soothing circles into their backs, just so Steve doesn’t harm himself on top of everything. Steve continues, hushed, “When I’d stay the night, she would sleep with me. Hold me close to her. Scratch my back and scalp and tell me stories…all the way until I fell asleep.”

“Kinda like I do, huh?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Think that’s why I feel so loved and safe with you.”

And Eddie hasn’t cried, not really, not yet. But this may be it. Because he knows, beyond everything, that Nana was special to Steve—so special that just one negative comment, one complaint, one little fuss about her was enough to get you shunned by him. He’s seen it play out with Dustin, he’d been banned from coming over for two weeks. And with El, who didn’t understand quite yet, but had lost conversational abilities with Steve for two whole days—ergo, the Silent Treatment.

This means something. It means everything. Eddie kind of wants to cry about it.

But he reigns himself in for now. Because Steve needs him like water. For somebody to just be there and be present and be patient. Through it all.

“You wanna head inside,” Eddie offers, “I’ve got the key in my pocket.” He gestures loosely to the inside of his vest, the safest pocket near his heart. When Steve nods, Eddie leads them inside silently. Opens the door first, per request made by Steve days prior. Sets his shoes by the front door—not told to, but just out of respect. Hangs up his jacket, his vest. Takes Steve’s jacket, too. Unties his Nike sneakers. Smacks a quick kiss to his cheek. And then he waits by the front door for Steve to say or do something.

The first thing he does is gasp. Eyes roaming the hallway, the living room, and the fireplace that connects the kitchen and living space together. He takes a few tentative steps before stopping in front of a tall, full China cabinet.

“Her Fenton bunnies,” Steve breathes.

Eddie slowly approaches behind him. Wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him into his side a little. “Are these the ones your mom was talking about on the phone?”

“Yeah. I just…Didn’t think my mom was telling the truth,” Steve murmurs. “She told me Dad didn’t want these. Takes up room or whatever. But they’re so pretty here, how could you not want these?” His left hand reaches for the knob of the cabinet. Twisting it gently as to not rattle the glass shelves. With the doors swung open, the bunnies under the cabinet’s lighting are free to touch. And so Steve picks one up, carefully in his hands like it’s alive. Maybe it is, Eddie thinks for a moment, alive with her spirit.

He breathes silently by Steve as he investigates the glass item in his hand. Running his thumbs over the ears. Down the smooth back.

“Satin glass,” Steve states, “It’s like touching the fabric, which is so weird. Nana used to talk about it all the time, but I never believed her. She never let me touch. You wanna?” He holds the bunny up to Eddie’s face. In offering, for him to pet. So he runs a slow thumb down its back. And sure enough, soft as silk, cold to the touch. “All of them are here.” He replaces the silk, purple bunny on the shelf. Picking up a chromatic shifting one next. “Carnival glass,” Steve explains, “it’s heavier than the other one, feels like. But so shiny. Think Nana used to say it was amethyst or something, but that might be what the color shift is called?”

“You sure listened to her well,” Eddie murmurs, “know a lot about this.”

Steve chuckles, a little choked to Eddie’s ears but he makes no comment. “Yeah, I guess I did. Mom used to say that I had selective hearing. That I listened when it was something I cared about.”

“And you cared a lot about Nana,” Eddie concludes.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “cared a lot about Nana.” He sets the carnival glass bunny back on the shelf. Standing idle in front of it all, taking it all in. “She has one upstairs, in a different glass cabinet. It glows green under the special blacklight upstairs. Said it was radioactive.” He chuckles again. “I gave her that one. As a gift for Mother’s Day in…I think ’77? Mom helped me pick it out—she was nice about the bunnies, about finding this stuff. She loved Nana, too. And she…” He laughs low in his chest and Eddie blossoms a little at the sound, unheard in so long. “Mom would pull out the long box of tissue paper and gift bags from the crawlspace. She’d unfold the prettiest gift bag—this one was a little brown one, covered in peach colored peonies. Stuffed some off-white tissue paper in that one. Wrapped the little yellow—well, it was supposed to be yellow—Fenton bunny in bubble wrap, covered it up with a bunch of caramels. Gave it to Nana, and she squealed! Apparently, she already knew it was radioactive? Thought it was the best gift ever. Which, ouch Nana, I gave you other bunnies for Mother’s Day, c’mon.”

Eddie snorts. “Maybe that’s what earned you the house? That radioactive bunny was probably the key to her heart,” he jokes. Though his stomach turns at the possibility it wasn’t appropriate to make.

Steve laughs loudly, though. Shaking his entire body with it. He slips his hand into Eddie’s back right pocket, sighs, and leans against him relaxed. “Dad should’a tried harder if he wanted Nana’s heart,” he comments, “all it took was a damn bunny.”

“Among other things, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” Steve sighs. “I think she was just excited to have a grandkid. She had a weird relationship with my dad. They didn’t get along very well. So maybe she was sorta…trying again?”

“Stevie, I think she just loved you. There doesn’t have to be some grand, deep meaning behind it. I think she just loved your company. How your laugh fills a room and your smile is seen from across the yard. And how you’re always polite, despite having reasons to not be. Maybe because of your terrible puns and how awful you are at quoting Shakespeare? You charm everybody, Steve,” Eddie monologues. “There’s not a reason to not love you.”

For a moment, the room falls completely silent. Distantly, there’s the slow tick of a wall clock. A few birds singing out in the backyard, where the bird bath probably is—only known through Steve’s memories. A slight hum from the radiator. The cars passing by on the main road just around the corner. Hawkins is quiet when there’s mourning; maybe it’s felt through the whole town, through the soles of Steve’s socked feet, from the beating of his ever love absorbent heart.

She died November 7th, 1993. Just a few days ago. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Will Byers going missing that Hawkins is feeling. Maybe it’s just tragedy. It’s love persevering—even in the most dire of situations. Where Joyce Byers was screaming about where her son may be, all those mismatched theories, and the ways in which the town thought she was crazy—even when they believed her and cried over her son’s body being pulled from the water. Where Will is actually thriving now. Where Sandra Harrington no longer is, though she was a fixture in several communities and families, Steve’s own being included.

“How’s your boy doing?” Wayne asked the day after her funeral. Eddie had shrugged, admitting he wasn’t sure because Steve had gone terribly quiet and sick. “Tell him I’m sorry. That he has a home with us. That he can come over and cry and I’ll make him hot cocoa. Alright, Ed?”

God, even Wayne knew. And there was silence after his condolences.

There is so much silence.

Until, finally, Steve asks, “Will you live with me here?”

“Wh—What?” Because surely he didn’t hear that right.

“Live with me here,” Steve repeats, a little more urgent. “I don’t think I can handle this place alone. And…I know how to use her gas stove. I can make you the spaghetti dish she used to make. And the casseroles she used to bake. We can open up her recipe box and I’ll teach you how to make her apple pie—the one she gave me for your birthday two years ago?

“And we can read your Lord of The Rings books on the porch on the bench she has out there? Grill in the backyard when we have everybody over. Robin can have the room that used to be my nursery. We can…We can live our lives here.”

Stunned, Eddie gapes momentarily. Before gripping harder at Steve’s waist, drawing him closer even when there’s no more room. Two solid bodies connected from shoulder to foot. “Are you sure, Steve? You don’t wanna—“

“You’re my family, Eds. I have loved you since that bullshit in ’86. We have seen each other through our absolute worst. Of course I’m sure. Of course I want you here,” Steve swears. “I know what I’m getting into. Even if it hurts to look around here right now. But you’ve been here by me through one of the worst heartbreaks I’ve ever experienced. I want you here—preferably always.”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. He reaches out with his free hand and cups the right side of Steve’s face. Swipes over his glistening cheekbone. Under his shadow beaten eye. The tickling brush of Steve’s bottom eyelashes on the tip of his thumb. And he kisses him tenderly, with every word he could ever imagine to say, all emotion he could ever feel, with an intensity seen in atomic bombs. He pulls back to see Steve’s eyes closed. Flushed and bright in the cabinet’s full white lighting, doors still open, and fragile glass bunnies as witnesses. Promises, “I want to, Steve. I want to be here with you. Through it. All of it. As long as I get to love you.”

And on his thumb there are fresh tears, gone cold but skin scalding. Steve’s lips trembling with silent cries. His eyelashes fluttering. Him and him and him. Beautiful and raw and open. Gentle like flowers and strong like wind. Aching and romantic and with a heart the size of the universe itself. Because Steve Harrington is everything—

Or so his nana has said. But Steve doesn’t know. And that’s Eddie’s own secret.

“Okay,” Steve mutters, “make a home with me, Ed.”

🏡—————🏡

[yellowjestertfs]

The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone. 

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say. 

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.” 

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.” 

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.” 

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away. 

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.” 

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile. 

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.”

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him. 

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

[wheels-of-despair]

Brawl in Hallway B Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: You mess with the Dungeon Master, you get the Hellfire Horns… or something. Or: Eddie, Evil Woman & Co. have had enough. Contains: Jocks saying awful things, Hellfire retaliating, lots of violence, brief appearances by lesser-seen Hellfire Parents. Words: 1.7k

"This is your final reminder to have your parent/teacher conference slips filled out and returned by tomorrow," Higgins drones during a special post-bell announcement that nobody cares about.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Eddie mumbles, dumping his books into his locker.

"You should show up as your own guardian," you joke. "Not as Student Eddie, but as Guardian Eddie. Do not acknowledge that you're the same person. Demand to know how young Edward is doing in class."

"Higgins," he says in his deep Dungeon Master voice, "Your treatment of Edward Munson is despicable. In fact, the bias you show toward every non-bootlicker in this school is downright disgusting. If you do not issue a formal apology and resign before the end of the week, you will be hearing from my lawyers."

You snort.

"I guess the freak doesn't have to worry about parent/teacher conferences," a loud voice calls from down the hallway. You and Eddie slowly turn to see a crew of goons in letterman jackets approaching. "Since he's the same age as the teachers."

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns back his locker. Yet another pathetic attempt to provoke Eddie into getting himself in trouble and prevent him from graduating. He's used to it. He knows better.

"I thought it was because his parents are dead," one of them smirks.

Eddie freezes.

"Just the old lady," someone corrects him. "I heard his old man beat her to death. Too bad the cops came before he had a chance to finish the job."

Steam begins to pour out of Eddie's ears.

"But no, the freak survived, and his creepy old uncle took him in. Wonder what was in it for him?"

Eddie's fists clench. You can feel your own blood pressure rising. Graduation. Think of graduation.

"I heard they share a bed in their shitty little trailer," one of them laughs. "Maybe that's why the freak's hair is so long. Closest thing to a woman the old man can get."

"Nah," another guy cuts in. "Why do you think Munson keeps making friends with the underclassmen? He's bringing home new holes!"

You and Eddie both snap at the same time, dropping your shit on the floor and advancing with balled fists.

Your eyes lock on the one doing most of the talking, but before you can reach him, a red blur tackles him to the floor. It takes you a second to realize that it's Gareth. Gareth threw the first punch. Er, executed the first tackle. Jeff and Grant rush in, too. Eddie's locked in combat with someone twice his size. You pick another target and fling yourself at him, fist first.

You know in cartoon fights, where it's just a cloud of limbs and someone sticking their head out to gasp for breath every once in a while? That's how it felt. You bite, you scratch, you claw, you think you might've heard a bone crack. You definitely caused a black eye. And got one, too.

Next thing you know, someone has a death grip on your upper arms and is dragging you backwards through the hallway. The rubber of your sneakers catches and squeaks on the floor. You watch them in a daze, feeling them pull at your legs when they stick on the over-polished floor.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" Eddie roars. You twist, trying to locate him in the chaos. A teacher has Eddie shoved against a locker; one of his meaty hands holds the back of Eddie's neck and squishes his face into the metal, and the other holds his twisted arm behind his back.

You start to fight again, trying to lose your own captor and get to Eddie.

"Young lady, you stop that!" You sink your teeth into a hairy wrist, and he yowls and lets go. You scramble off the floor and run toward Eddie, hunching over and letting your shoulder do the work; you catch the teacher holding him in the side, and he stumbles out of the way.

You and Eddie hold onto each other and survey the carnage. The jocks are standing together, like good little boys, across the hallway. Nobody's trying to restrain them.

Jeff, Grant and Gareth are out of breath and leaning against the lockers near you, two teachers standing in front of them with hands at the ready in case they try anything. They all have bloody noses, blooming bruises, and look like total bad-asses.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Higgins roars, skidding into the hallway in his cheap loafers.

"Those freaks attacked us for no reason!" one of the jocks cries.

Gareth spits, and - from across the fucking hallway - lands his bloody glob of saliva on the H of a Hawkins High letterman jacket.

You don't even have time to be proud of him; it's back on. The freaks and the jocks take another run at each other, and by the time your bruises have bruises, the coach is blowing his whistle and you're being shoved face-first against a locker by what you assume is a teacher who tells you to "calm down, young lady." You respond with a stomp to his foot that makes him grunt.

When you're all separated again, the groups are escorted in opposite directions. Well, the jocks are escorted. The freaks are hauled to the front office by shirt collars and too-tight grips on arms. You hope it fucking bruises so your mother can threaten to press charges.

You're dumped in a conference room, told to "sit down and shut up," and left there to rot. Higgins is probably getting the jocks' side of the story first.

Nobody sits in the chairs.

Grant hovers by the door and glares out the tiny window pane. Jeff and Gareth lie back on the table, resting their feet on the chairs. You sit on the edge of the table, letting your legs swing back and forth. Eddie paces.

"C'mere," you mumble when he starts to drive you crazy. Eddie comes to stand between your legs, resting his hands on your knees. You wince, and he slides his palms to your hips instead. You reach up and brush his hair out of his face, revealing a bloody cut near his hairline and a blooming black eye. He cradles your face, fingers tracing your split lip.

"You okay?" you whisper. He nods.

"You?"

"Be a lot better if I knew there was at least one jock casualty," you wink. With the eye that's swelling. "Ow."

Eddie grins, stretching his own split lip. "Ow."

You're both hit with a tragic case of the giggles, and he wraps his arms around you so you can lean your head on his shoulder and shake together.

"Alright," you sigh when you pull it together, "You're an expert in this field. What happens next?"

Eddie blows out a long, slow breath.

"You're all getting calls home and probably suspensions. I'm history."

"Like hell, you are," you grumble.

"It's okay," he says quietly.

"No, the fuck it's not," you argue.

"I had a good run," he shrugs and winces. "Ow. Your mom's gonna hate me for getting you guys in trouble."

"No, she's not," Gareth grunts, sitting up. "You protected us, like always. She's gonna rip Higgins a new one if he tries to expel you."

"He's right," you smile at Eddie, straightening the crooked battle vest he'd been dragged here by. "For once."

Grant backs away from the door, and the vice principal steps inside. You all cross your arms and glare in his direction.

"Your parents are in the process of being notified," he informs you. "You'll be called in one at a time as they arrive to discuss the repercussions of your behavior." And then he walks out and closes the door.

"Kay, guess we'll just wait here, then!" Eddie yells.

The room is filled with cackling.

After half an hour, you start guessing whose parent is going to spring them first. Which is no fun, because the answer is obviously Grant's mom. After forty-five minutes, you start to wonder what's taking so long. An hour into your detainment, Gareth's contemplating peeing on a fake plant. As soon as he reaches for his zipper, the door opens.

"You're all free to go," Higgins says tensely. "Your parents are waiting for you in the lobby."

"What's the damage, Hig-Man?" Eddie asks.

"One week of detention, and you'll all be helping out at the school carnival."

"…that's it?" you ask.

Higgins eyes land on you and narrow.

"Yes," he says bitterly. "Get out."

You don't have to be told twice. You all rush toward the door, down the hallway, through the front office, and into the lobby. Everyone's parental units, minus Uncle Wayne, are waiting. You all cautiously approach your parents. Eddie comes with you.

"What just happened?" you ask your mom quietly.

"Oh, nothing," she shrugs. "Just fumed all the way over here and happened to catch everyone's parents before they went in. We presented a united front. Mentioned how shitty a job that snotty little man has been doing at disciplining the athletes for their constant harassment. Did you know that Grant's mother keeps an actual log of things those pricks do to you guys? Those little assholes' reign of terror really adds up on paper. No wonder you guys finally snapped."

You and Eddie and Gareth stand there in shock.

"What do you say we grab a pizza or two on the way home?" she asks.

"Uh…" the three of you glance at each other, still processing.

"I'll take that as a yes." She turns to the rest of the group. "Since the bulk of the delinquents belong to me, I'm buying. Anyone else want to come along for pizza at our place?"

"I should get my son to the doctor," Grant's mother says worriedly, reaching out to touch his bruised face.

"Mom!" he huffs, embarrassed, shooting her a warning look with his eyes. The rest of you try to hide your smiles, for Grant's sake.

"Well…" Jeff's parents look at each other and consider it. "Sure, why not?" his dad laughs. "We'll stop by the grocery store on the way and grab salad fixings."

"Come on, Gertie," your mom smiles at Grant's mom. "I've heard that pizza with your friends can really expedite the healing process."

She caves.

And that's how you kicked ass, ate pizza, and… had to work the school carnival?!

[hmslusitania]

Ted Lasso is a portal fantasy

I know, I know it's not in any way a speculative fiction show. I know. Bear with me for a second. Ted Lasso is a portal fantasy, but the real question is whether this is the story we know from the Wizard of Oz, or Mary Poppins. Ted himself is at once Dorothy and Mary, and I think my reaction to the end of Ted's story, specifically, depends on whether you take the show at it’s title, that it’s about Ted Lasso (Dorothy) or take the show at Ted’s word that it was never about him (Mary Poppins).

To Ted, he is very literally Dorothy.

He’s away from Kansas, he’s surrounded by the reminder that “there’s no place like home”, and he spent the finale wearing honest to god ruby red sneakers. The evil wizard stalked down from his curtained owners box and was removed from power. The lion got her courage, the tin man for his heart, and the scarecrow got his brain, and Dorothy went back to Kansas (leaving Toto behind). But unlike Dorothy, we didn't really get the build up that Ted had to go back to Kansas to get what he wanted -- Henry back in his life. Rebecca even offered him the choice to stay, and the means to bring Henry and even Michelle back to London with him. Exactly zero compelling reason was offered to explain why Ted wouldn't take that offer. But he's Dorothy, in a portal fantasy, and that's what Dorothy does -- she goes home. It is the ending of the vast majority of portal fantasies, no matter how much it will fuck up the protagonist (there's a whole series detailing that damage and undoing it by tumblr's own Seanan McGuire which I highly recommend btw). To me, this is an unsatisfying ending for Ted himself, since no reason was given for him to turn down Rebecca's offer.

However.

To the Richmond family, Ted is Mary Poppins.

One of the complaints I’ve seen about this season is that we don’t know where Ted is, emotionally. Much like Mary Poppins, whose internality as a character is, at best, an afterthought. Mary Poppins is not the point of Mary Poppins. The children she helps are the point of Mary Poppins, and when she leaves at the end, although you’re sad to see her go, you know the kids she left there have grown as people and will continue to grow by her example and her benevolent Julie Andrews ways. And by and large, you don’t really worry about the place Mary Poppins goes to. She’s Mary Poppins and she’ll do what she does and ours is not to question etc. ("Mary Poppins isn't a portal fantasy" yeah, I know, technically, but it's kind of an inside out portal fantasy since there's a character who came from another kind of realm, who swept in to be the answer to some problem, and then went home {or, wherever}; it's just we're seeing it from the pov of the locals rather than the person from the other realm.)

The Richmond Team have all grown as people under Ted's stewardship. As we’ve seen in the character progressions particularly of Roy, of Nate, of Rebecca, they will continue in the Richmond way that they’ve developed. Forever changed by Ted sailing in on his parasol, missing him certainly, but able to continue. More narrative weight is given to the Mary Poppins side of the story, and in this scenario, I take much, much less issue with Ted's the character's ending.

In conclusion, Ted Lasso is the story of Mary Poppins staring Dorothy Gale in the titular role.

[whats-9plus10]

Venture Bros.: Radiant is the Blood of the Baboon Heart commentary and extras.

This is what I gathered during my first watch. Hopefully, I'll be able to upload the audio bits like I did for seasons 1-7 eventually! I'll catch all the little details then 💛

Let me get this out of the way. They did not answer the most important question of all.

In the past, Doc and Jackson have said that what they say in the commentary isn't necessarily canon. What is canon is what's in the actual show, not what they explore outside of the show because they're always changing their minds. Sometimes they disagreed while answering questions. Take that as you'd like.

Jonas didn’t abandon The Monarch after the plane crash intentionally. He assumed he died or he ran away before he got there. They hinted that Jonas downed the plane himself.

When asked if Jonas loved Rusty they say he’s a bad person, the villain of the show, and a monster. Jackson thinks he might have been a boy adventurer himself. They compare him to baby boomers forcing their children to live the lives they wanted themselves.

Does Rusty have the other twin killed when only one dies? Jackson says only when they witness the death. He referenced Ice Station Impossible. Brock has done it before.

Ritchie Valens refused to join The Guild and Red Mantle and Dragoon’s (Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper) initiation was to kill him so he wouldn’t tattle.

Doc says the second sons are the ones who succeed in The Guild, not the first sons, because they’re most likely to become evil and that’s why Dean was chosen as The Guild’s successor.

Doc described two episodes he would like to do: 1. "Heads in the water." Which is the heads of characters bobbing in the water after a crash for the entire episode. An all dialog bottle episode. 2. An episode that starts off like a regular Venture Bros episode. Then a henchman dies and everything pivots. 21 calls his wife and says “Real sorry but your husband died in service” (Doc put on his 21 voice here). We then see the wife and daughter (from another marriage) and follow them in their lives.

What is The Monarch's favorite ABBA song? Doc thinks Waterloo and Jackson thinks Take a Chance. They riff as Monarch and Dr. Girlfriend for a few seconds.

Gary's a big Sneaker Pimps fan.

Rusty doesn't have a middle name. If you ask Rusty he'll say the S stands for sexy or science or SUPER science. Rusty’s favorite musical is Starlight Express or RENT (Jackson disagreed). He's never actually watched them but he likes the advertisements.

Brock Frog is the guy that "brings in bagels". A 3rd generation Italian American from "bricklayer stock." He fell out with his dad because he wanted to bring bricks into the future. He teamed up with Professor Vigo Dale, who screwed him out of half of the company after Brick Frog gave him all of his brick ideas.

Mantilla has the ability to make things invisible by touching them but claimed it was teleportation. “It’s all bullshit…and she had money from her past”

Mantilla has been "garbage picking" from The Monarch’s trash, such as Dr. Mrs.'s costume ideas in season 3 that she had thrown away and their wedding invitation.

The guys in the warehouse with Jefferson were all roommates in the 90s.

We would have had a full episode of Force Majeure and Jonas Venture's rivalry.

We would have had another episode of Billy and Colonel Gentleman "John Wicking" after Mischa was found dead right before a doggy costume contest.

Matt Berry was supposed to voice Force Majeure.

Why does The Monarch hate Doc so much? Jackson says “Obviously it (the thought that Debra left him for Rusty) bothers him a little more than he said.”

They called Gary's hair “the popular millennial cut” and made him "half Glen Danzig half Wolverine."

Doc has drunk his own urine multiple times because they pee in bottles in the Astrobase. "Recently".

During the last scene in the movie when everyone is talking, Gary and Hatred were talking about a loofah. Hatred asked Gary "Ah...you use a loofah?". Dr. O was talking about intermittent fasting.

24 made a guest appearance in the "Fan Questions" extra for a few seconds.

They refused to answer the questions about Scare Bear and what Rusty and Billy were doing in the time machine in case they're able to continue the story.

They made a joke about telling people just enough in the commentary to get them excited and want more. (A “joke” haha)

During Prom, Pete and Billy would have studied the Push It video extensively. Pete would’ve entered the dance floor and “boxed it out” to make space. Billy would’ve walked in the circle nonchalantly. Then they would have recreated the entire dance.

[door430]

Finally, after hours of designing and drawing and coloring, here is a full lineup of my humanoid designs of the AVA/AVM stick figures! Below the cut is just me rambling about each design.

victim: For victim, I wanted their design to be very business-esque to reflect both their position at Rocket Corp and their apparent preference for manipulation over violence. I gave them two gold necklaces and a gold belt to highlight their current high status in Rocket Corp. I chose yellow accents because of their intelligence and lack of fighting skill, which is similar in some ways to Yellow.

Chosen: I wanted to go for something a little more casual for Chosen, as I feel like they would want to settle down into a more normal life after the fiasco with Dark. The baby blue of their sweater also emphasizes their calm attitude. I put them in leggings to make their legs appear thinner, because Chosen is just an awkward baby deer with skinny little legs that can barely hold up their body to me.

Dark: The design of Dark's outfit is very much the stereotypical punk look. I also like the idea that Dark is shorter than everyone else but wears platform boots to appear taller. Their hair is a bit unkempt to give them a bit of a 'mad scientist' look, and the two curls on top look like devil horns as a reference to their evil nature.

Second: Since Second is the youngest of the sticks, I wanted to give them a somewhat childish look with the curly hair, striped shirt, shorts, and sneakers. They still have a collar though, as they seem to be the most sensible of the Color Gang. The green of the shoes is a reference to their powers in AVA 5 being green.

Red: Since Red loves animals and is the most childish, I wanted their outfit to be something plain and comfy that they could afford to get mud or fur on. Their hair is unkempt as a reference to their childish and impulsive nature.

Yellow: Yellow's design is pretty simple, as I just went for a nerdy/scholarly look. I debated over giving them glasses or goggles, but in the end I thought the glasses fit better with the rest of the design.

Green: I'm going to be entirely honest, Green's whole design is based on the 'Faces' short where they get an anime-style face. I thought a karate outfit would suit them, as karate is a very mobile martial art, and Green has a very mobile fighting style.

Blue: I designed Blue's outfit after a hippie fashion style because of their love for plants and friendship. If you look on their wrists and ankles, you'll see they have one friendship bracelet for each member of the Color Gang.

Purple: Purple's outfit is a mix of comfortable and easy to fight in. Their elytra are based on dragonfly wings because I thought it looked cool. I made their outfit similar to Mango's , as I feel like Mango's influence on them might also extend to their fashion.

Mango: I gave Mango a very royal look to match their crown and kingly manner. Their outfit is very flowy and probably not good for fighting in because of their tendency to make Purple do the hard work for them. Their cloak is blue to show their similarities to Purple's parent, and the lining is gold as a reference to their child, Gold. They have very little of their actual orange color in their design to show them slowly losing themself. The Galactic along the lining is a reference to their knowledge about Minecraft's more obscure mechanics and their use of 'magic' with the staff. Fun fact: it translates to 'no cost too great', because I like the way the phrase's meaning turns more sinister as Mango's plan goes on and they do worse and worse things in the name of avenging Gold.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Smile of Misfortune

Alone by the lake, the girl watches the moon. It glitters against the rippling water, swaying in a grand waltz. The night is cool, wind ruffling the trees, cicadas and fireflies abuzz. 

Cold water laps at her sneakers. If there had been light, the water would have been stained. But it is not, and so the truth is hidden. How fortunate for the girl. 

Her fingers dig into fluffed up soil, dirt and worse caked beneath her nails. It is almost the witching hour, she thinks to herself. What magic shall she see then? Centaurs? Fairies darting between the trees? Some ancient god of the forest meandering down a deer track?

She lies back, staring up at the stars. How unfortunate of them to be trapped up there, she thinks. How unfortunate of her to be trapped down here. She smiles a secret smile, thinking of misfortunes.

They say there is a star for each person who has died. The girl searches and searches, but she cannot find a new twinkle in the sky. They lie, but she does not mind that. She rather likes lies, as a matter of fact.

Her clothes are a mess, encrusted with filth. When she returns to her little cabin, no amount of scrubbing will save them. She shall have to burn it all. The girl thinks that is a shame.

Oh, but what does it matter? She laughs, a deep bubbling sound that rushes through her chest and escapes her mouth like a pistol's bullets, splashing into the air like blood's fine splatter, soaking into the very earth and staining it blood red. The sound reflects what the light will not, the girl thinks to herself.

She gets up from her seat. The upturned soil is flattened there. Regrettable that she had not thought to preserve the grass, but no one could be perfect. At least, not by telling the truth.

The girl does not look behind as she walks away, skipping through the meadow. If she had, she might have seen the fairies, red and blue against the darkness of the trees, and the siren that was no fairy at all.

She hums cheerfully to herself, trailing her fingers against the weathered bark of the trees. The fireflies dart out of her way as she passes, ever-wary of the great beast that brings death. It only serves to make her spring more boisterous.

She stops by her fateful clearing. It's her favourite, always flowering and fruitful. The trees still slightly wet from her previous fun, and the girl makes a note to bring a bucket. Darkness only lasted so long, after all, and she had no wish to go out with the dawn like a vampire. 

Her cabin is deep in the woods, isolated and lonely. It is no place for a girl to live, and she considers moving out. It would be fun to see more of the world, she thinks. Perhaps she could sail a boat out upon the deep blue sea, where secrets sunk like corpses, never to be seen again. Perhaps she could stay in the suburbs, the home of a thousand prosaic serial killers. Perhaps-

The sirens finally reach her ears, and the girl startles. The witching hour is over, she thinks. It is no longer evil's time.

She runs.

Behind her, she can hear the pounding of feet against the forest floor. There is a chopper overhead, cutting the air up with the same ease of a butcher preparing a hunk of meat. The girl thinks that perhaps she might make it, though her breath comes in great shuddering gasps. The girl wonders if this is how the pigeons feel when she chases them through the forest, if this is how the ants cry out as she crushes them. The girl knows she will not make it.

And so she turns around and raises her hands in the air. She knows how to deal with the Fae. Do not give them her true name, do not take what is offered, do not meet their gaze. She smiles the smile of the misfortunate, and curses the flashlights they brought with them.

They scan the clearing, light betraying her precious secrets with the red of sin. Cold iron burns her skin in clinking cuffs, and the sirens wail their song all the while. 

She bemoans the cold water that has lapped at her sneakers, for it has stained her to the bone,  and the truth is unhidden.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

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(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[rottenpumpkin13]

Out of Context Shit Heard on the SOLDIER floor #4

A portion of these were sent in/inspired by an ask sent by @strawberrysnortshake

Zack: Ironically this isn't the first time I've accidentally eaten chalk.

Angeal: Attention everyone we're now taking votes. Raise your hand if you would sleep with Sephi—I DIDN'T FINISH SAYING HIS NAME PUT YOUR HANDS DOWN.

Kunsel: We're all out of duct tape. Angeal used the last of it to tape Genesis to the ceiling.

Sephiroth: Are you satisfied with your fish sticks, Zackary?

Genesis: Why does it smell like mommy issues in here—oh hi, Sephiroth.

Zack: I'm officially 23% goat milk.

Genesis: Well well well if it isn't my old nemesis, Heterosexuality.

Zack: Aww! 🥰 You're the antichrist!

Cloud: Yeah you're a SOLDIER alright, a sold your ass.

Zack: Where are we supposed to put this giant clown statue?

Lazard: WHY do you have a giant clown statue?

Sephiroth walking towards Genesis's office with a flamethrower: The goddess has had it good for far too long.

Essai: If we all chip in, we can finally buy Kunsel a face.

Genesis: I guess this means that the box labeled used illegal knick-knacks is off limits?

Roche: let's all dance maniacally and pretend we're gay!

Lazard: ANGEAL THAT ELEVATOR IS COMING OUT OF YOUR PAYCHECK!

Sephiroth: Are you, as the kids say, flexing on 'em?

Zack: Does anyone know what happened to my Sephiroth scented candle?

Sephiroth: I'll add murder supplies and can of whipped cream to the shopping list.

Luxiere: Let me guess, nobody cared about your light up sneakers?

Zack: 🎶 We take the pain out of paint 🎶

Roche: Have a slutty, slutty evening, director.

Angeal: Gen, can you let me have a cup of coffee before you start divulging your theories on why Cloud Strife is a time traveler?

Zack: I am going to default dance my way through hell!

Cloud: Cool trick! I'm a wizard now.

Genesis: I will start rumors about your sex life.

Lazard: Sephiroth I can't fire you, but I can mysteriously make sure you go bald.

Kunsel: This is a cave. Nothing really matters.

Sephiroth: how does one acquire a leprechaun? Can you order one online?

Roche: Commander Rhapsodos is so pretty. He reminds me of a prostitute.

Sephiroth: Genesis got me a journal for my birthday. I think I'm supposed to write down my feelings but I don't have enough pages for that.

Kunsel: when will we be free from the chains of foot pictures?

Genesis: If I find drugs in this office I'm confiscating it for my own personal use.

Lazard: Would anyone care to explain why there was a condom filled with grape jelly in the break room?

Zack(drunk): Good evening, my esteemed bastards.

Angeal: Bullying is only allowed on the SOLDIER floor if it makes Genesis cry.

Sephiroth: Mental healthn't.

Kunsel: is anyone here familiar with the concept of witchcraft? we're hexing Commander Rhapsodos at dawn.

Luxiere: Here kitty kitt—Oh that is a huuuge cat—OH IT'S GENERAL SEPHIROTH.

Angeal: Why did you spell salmonella as Sal Minella???? Who's Sal???

Sephiroth, while walking towards his office with an entire pie and a fork: Do not presume to question my actions.

Lazard: If we suffer any more budget cuts we're going to use Zack's hair as a broom.

Sephiroth: Which one of you locked Director Lazard in the Janitor's closet?

Cloud, watching Genesis recite LOVELESS: The evil gay red man is at it again.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 21 Chapter 21 | frozen tunnel vision⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The first rays of the morning sun crested over the horizon, bathing the world in a soft, golden light.

You stood at the edge of the park, panting heavily, your hands resting on your knees. Sweat dripped down the side of your face, trickling past your jaw and neck before disappearing into the collar of your workout shirt.

You wiped your brow with the back of your hand, taking a moment to catch your breath.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew-soaked grass and blooming flowers. Despite the early hour, the park was already coming to life.

Birds chirped cheerfully from the treetops, their songs creating a harmonious backdrop to your labored breathing.

You straightened up, stretching your arms above your head and rolling your shoulders to ease the tension from your muscles.

As you began your cool-down walk back home, your thoughts drifted to the upcoming Sports Festival. The competition was only hours away, and the stakes had never been higher... well, for others, that is.

The pressure to perform, to prove your worth, weighed as light as a feather on your mind because, frankly, there wasn't a single person alive you thought you had to impress.

If anything, the upcoming Sports Festival was merely entertainment up close and personal.

And if your puppy was serious about winning, it was up to you as a good pet owner to be right behind him, keeping him motivated.

You could almost picture the determination in his fiery eyes—the competitive spirit that drove him to be the best. It was amusing to think that your presence alone could spur him on, pushing him to reach new heights.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Yes, this would be quite entertaining indeed.

By the time you reached home, the sun had fully risen, casting long shadows across the street. You took the stairs two at a time, eager to change out of your sweaty clothes and prepare for the day ahead.

As you approached your front door, the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling food greeted you, wafting through the small gap in the doorway.

You pushed the door open, stepping inside to find your mother bustling around the kitchen. The familiar clatter of pots and pans filled the air, accompanied by the sound of something sizzling on the stovetop.

Mei glanced up as you entered, her eyes lighting up with a warm smile. "Good morning, sweetie~!" she called out cheerfully. "I made an early breakfast for you since I know you're heading out soon. Go freshen up; it'll be ready in just a minute."

You nodded before heading upstairs, the comforting weight of the morning routine settling over you.

In the bathroom, the cool water splashing against your face helped wash away the remnants of sleep and the sweat from your early workout. You took a moment to savor the feeling, the cold invigorating your senses.

As you dried your face, you caught your reflection in the mirror, your brown skin glowing with the healthy sheen of your morning exertion.

Moving to your room, you began to change into your Sports Festival attire. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjusted the snug fit of your U.A. sports uniform.

The dark blue and white jumpsuit clung to your form, accentuating your figure while providing flexibility and comfort. The high collar and short sleeves left your arms and neck free, and the bold red stripes on your shoulders added a splash of color and authority.

Your fluffy, curly twists were pulled back into a low ponytail, keeping your hair out of your face and giving you a focused look. As you tugged on the zipper, you could feel the smoothness of the material against your skin, a subtle reminder of the importance of the day ahead. You completed the look with a pair of sturdy white sneakers, laced up tight and ready for action.

Heading back downstairs, the smell of sizzling food grew stronger, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. As you entered the kitchen, you saw your father, Wino, already seated at the table. He was eating quietly, his expression unreadable as his eyes were fixed on his plate, ignoring Mei as she excitedly chatted about some random gossip she had learned while shopping with other stay-at-home moms.

Mei's voice trailed off as she noticed you entering the room. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears quickly filled her eyes, spilling over and streaming down her cheeks. "My baby..." she whimpered, her voice trembling with emotion before she burst into tears.

Ignoring the emotional display, you took your seat at the table and began plating your food. The familiar routine of filling your plate and eating provided a welcome distraction from the outburst.

Silence filled the space as you and Wino ate; the only sounds were the soft clinking of utensils and your mother's dramatic cries of happiness in the background.

Finally composed, Mei looked at you with teary eyes and a mixture of pride and excitement. "I'm so excited for you, sweetie," she said, her voice still trembling slightly from her earlier tears. She then turned towards your father, her expression expectant. "Aren't you excited, Winnie? Our baby girl is participating in the Sports Festival?" 

Wino grunted in response, stuffing his mouth with another forkful of eggs. He chewed slowly, taking his time before swallowing. "Yeah," he muttered, not looking up from his plate. "Excited."

Your mother frowned slightly at his lackluster response but didn't press the issue. She turned back to you, her smile returning. "You'll do great, honey. I know you will," she said, her voice full of encouragement.

You nodded, appreciating her support even if it was a bit overwhelming at times. "Thank you, Mother," you replied, your tone neutral as you continued eating.

The rest of breakfast passed in relative silence, the atmosphere a mix of lingering tension and quiet anticipation. As you finished your meal and stood up to gather your things, your mother came over and gave you a quick, tight hug. "Take care, ____," she said softly, pulling back to look at you with a mixture of pride and worry. "And remember, no matter what happens, I'm proud of you."

With that, you turned and walked out the door, the morning sun casting a warm glow over your path. Arriving at school, you noticed that only a few students were milling around, indicating you were still early.

You made your way to a nearby bench at the entrance and sat down, allowing your focus to waver and your mind to wander. You stared at the familiar surroundings, the architecture of the school that had become a part of your daily life.

As you observed the morning routine of the few students present, you couldn't help but let your thoughts drift to deeper, more existential questions.

What was your purpose for ending up in this world?

The question lingered in your mind, heavy and unanswered. You mulled over how your existence here was still unexplainable. When devils are killed, they respawn in Hell or reincarnate on Earth eventually, but you—Makima, the Control Devil—had ended up somewhere else entirely.

The events that led to your current life as ____ were a tangled web of fate and mystery.

You remembered your final moments in your previous life—the confrontation with Denji, the pain and confusion of your defeat.

Instead of reincarnating again, you had awoken in this world, with a new identity and a fresh start. But why? And for what purpose?

You felt a surge of frustration at the lack of answers. The tranquil morning around you contrasted sharply with the turmoil in your mind. The mystery of your existence here gnawed at you, a constant reminder of the unresolved past and the uncertain future.

Despite the unanswered questions and the lingering doubts, you knew you had a role to play here. Whether it was fate, chance, or some higher power's design, you were determined to make the most of it.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone calling your name. "Akuma-san! Hey, Akuma-san!" Tetsutetsu's voice rang out across the courtyard. You looked up to see him waving energetically in your direction, a broad grin on his face.

Shaking off the remnants of your deep thoughts, you stood up and made your way over to him. As you walked, you noticed that a lot more people had arrived while you were lost in contemplation.

The school grounds were now bustling with students, all buzzing with excitement and nerves about the upcoming Sports Festival.

"Good morning, Tetsu-kun," you greeted him as you approached.

"Good Morning, Akuma-san! Just wanted to let you know that we're getting ready to head to the bus. You wanna sit with us?" he asked, his enthusiasm infectious.

Your face froze a bit in it's factory-smile. You'd hoped you'd at least get the bus ride to the stadium to yourself before having to face the boring task ahead; alas, that's what you get for hoping.

Blinking, you close your eyes to hide the murder brewing behind them and instead pull your lips up into a warm smile. "Of course, Tetsu-kun! You're so sweet for thinking of me~."

Together, you joined the rest of your class, who were already gathering and preparing to board the bus. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, and you could feel the energy building as everyone chatted excitedly about the day's events.

As you all settled onto the bus, the ride to the arena began. The conversations were lively, with students discussing strategies, potential matchups, and their hopes for the competition.

You found a seat near the window, allowing you a moment of quiet amidst the excitement.

A few minutes into the ride, Tsunotori leaned over from the seat in front of you. "Hey, Akuma-san, I've been wondering about something," she began, her tone curious. "Why don't you ever call us by our first names? A lot of us have given you permission, ya' know."

You hummed thoughtfully, giving her a polite smile. "I just prefer using last names." The truth, of course, was that you didn't see them as equals, and using their first names felt too familiar—too intimate for your liking. It didn't seem necessary to give them the satisfaction of that familiarity.

But there was no need to share that particular truth.

Tsunotori seemed to accept your answer, nodding thoughtfully. "Hm, I guess that makes sense. It's just that we're all in this together, and first names make it feel more personal."

You maintained your neutral expression but decided to flip the conversation back on her. Hooding your eyes slightly, you tilted your head and leaned forward, creating a sense of intimacy and curiosity. "If anything, Tsunotori, why do you all call me Akuma-san despite giving me permission to call many of you by your first names? Shouldn't I receive the same friendliness?"

Tsunotori blushed a bit at your words, taken aback by your question. "Y-you...I, we, us, uh..." She stammered for a moment, looking for the right words. Other classmates nearby, who had been listening to the exchange, also blushed slightly, their attention now fully on you.

Kendo, next to Tsunotori, cleared her throat, her face slightly pink as she decided to answer for everyone. "B-because you're so... so mature and perfect, Akuma-san. I know it may sound a little forward, but it almost feels as if we're talking to a highly respected adult or a famous star when interacting with you. I-it's so jittery to even want to call you by your first name," she muttered, embarrassed.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of your lips. "Oh?" You knew there was something about you that made them all almost covet and respect you, but not to this degree.

It was intriguing to realize you didn't even have to use your powers to elicit such a response.

Suddenly, Monoma shouted, popping up from the seat behind you, his own face with a slight blush. "Hey! Speak for yourselves! I'm just waiting for Akuma-san to give me direct permission!" he scoffed, trying to maintain his usual bravado.

You turned your head slowly, making the both of you a nose width away. Curling up your lip into a teasing smile, you said in a low purr, "I give you permission to call me ____, Monoma-kun~."

Monoma's eyes widened like saucers, his face turning beet red. For a moment, it was like he was frozen in place, unable to process your words.

Tetsutetsu, sitting on the right of the blonde, nudged him playfully. "I think you broke him, Akuma-san," he chuckled.

The rest of the class laughed, the tension easing as the playful exchange broke the ice. Monoma, still stunned, managed to nod slowly, his blush deepening as he avoided your gaze.

The bus then arrived at the stadium, the excitement building once more. Filing out in an orderly fashion, you all were ushered through a series of security checkpoints and into a sort of secret tunnel that led to the waiting room and locker area.

You remained at the back, observing and hearing the excitement and nerves of your classmates. Once inside the waiting room designated for Class 1-B, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation.

Students stretched and warmed up, engaging in hushed conversations about strategies and expectations. You found a spot to sit and began mentally preparing yourself for the challenges ahead.

Monoma, having settled in, finally shook off his embarrassment from earlier and began boasting loudly. "I'm ready to win this whole thing! With my Copy Quirk, I can use anyone's ability better than they can! Class 1-A won't know what hit them."

Tetsutetsu, sitting nearby, chimed in with palpable enthusiasm. "Yeah! I'm pumped too! With my Steel Quirk, I'm gonna be unstoppable! Let's show them what Class 1-B is made of!"

Kodai added quietly but confidently, "We've trained hard for this. Let's give it our best shot."

Amidst their chatter, you maintained your aloof and detached demeanor, focusing on the competition ahead. Your thoughts drifted to your puppy.

You wondered how he would play out in the festival, whether he would achieve his goal of making it to number one. The image of his fiery determination brought a faint, almost imperceptible smile to your lips.

The intercom in the waiting room crackled to life, announcing, "All students, please exit through the door on the left and proceed to the arena."

Everyone in the room got up, the air buzzing with excitement and anticipation. You followed the flow of students through the door, entering a dark hallway that led to a large tunnel. The dim lighting and the echo of footsteps created an atmosphere charged with nervous energy.

As you walked, you could hear the murmurs and whispers of students from other courses. The tunnel was filled with first-year students from the Hero Course, General Studies, Support Course, and Business Course.

The air was electric with the collective energy of hundreds of students converging into a shuffling mob, moving as one toward the same challenge. Class 1-B joined the other first-year courses in the tunnel.

As you walked, you caught glimpses of familiar faces through the crowd. Ashido's distinct pink skin stood out, and you spotted Shinso's purple hair bobbing through the sea of students.

The tunnel opened up into a vast space, where the opening speech and ceremony instructions would be held. The excitement was palpable, a mix of nerves and determination coursing through the gathered students. The bright lights of the stadium flooded your vision as you stepped out of the tunnel, and the roar of the crowd hit you like a wave.

"[Hey! Hey! Pay attention, audience! Swarm, mass media! This year's high school rodeo of adolescence that you all love, the U.A. Sports Festival, is about to begin! Everybody, are you ready?!]" Present Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, riling up the crowd even further.

As the introductions continued, Present Mic's enthusiasm was infectious."[It's time for the students to enter the first-year stage! The U.A. Sports Festival! The huge battle where fledgling heroes sharpen their swords once a year! Anyway, these are the guys, right? The miraculous new stars who overcame enemy attacks with their hearts of steel! Hero course, Class 1-A, right?!]"

The crowd erupted into cheers as Class 1-A was introduced, the students stepping into the stadium with confident strides.

"[They haven't been getting as much airtime, but this class is also full of talent! Hero course, Class 1-B!]" Present Mic continued, and you felt a surge of energy from your classmates as they stepped forward, ready to make their mark.

You could feel the energy shift among your classmates as well as other students—a mix of resentment and determination taking hold. The praise lavished on Class 1-A grated on their nerves, a reminder of the constant comparisons and the perceived favoritism.

A pale-skinned young man with angular eyes, mid-length spiked hair of a beige color, a flat nose, and small eyebrows scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. His most unusual feature was his teeth, which sat outside his skin. "Typical," Honenuki muttered. "They always get the spotlight. Just because they were in the middle of the attack doesn't mean they're better than us."

Nearby, Tsuburaba muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he watched Class 1-A bask in the crowd's adoration. "We're just here to make those guys look better, huh? Plus, Akuma-san was also there at the attack."

You remained silent, your expression calm and composed. The words of your classmates echoed the simmering frustration you knew many of them felt. The attack on U.A. had put Class 1-A in the spotlight, but you knew better than anyone that strength and talent weren't limited to a single class.

"[Next up, general studies Classes C, D, and E! Support course, Classes F, G, and H are here, too! And business course, Classes I, J, and K! All of U.A.'s first years are here now!]"

The stadium lights shone brightly, almost blindingly, as you all filed into the arena. The noise was deafening—a mix of cheers, shouts, and the hum of excitement—but you kept your composure, scanning the sea of faces and cameras with a calm detachment.

"[Time for the player pledge!]" Present Mic announced. "[Oh, this year's chief umpire for the first years is the R-Rated Hero, Midnight? What about the principal? The principal is at the third-year stage every year. Oh, well. I just work here, moving on!]"

As Midnight took the stage, the reactions from the students were immediate and varied. "What is Ms. Midnight wearing?" one student exclaimed, their voice filled with shock.

You raised an eyebrow at Midnight's outfit, a scandalous and revealing ensemble that left little to the imagination. She wore a breastless, black leather leotard—similar in style to a corset—over a thin, skin-tight, flesh-colored bodysuit, which accentuated her voluptuous figure. The leotard plunged low in the front, dipping nearly to her navel, and the high cut of the legs showcased the entirety of her toned thighs.

You looked but weren't particularly moved. She was who she was, and it was part of her persona.

"That's an R-Rated Hero for you," another muttered, trying to hide their blush.

"I-is it okay for her to be at a high school even though she's R-Rated?" a third student asked, voicing the question on many minds.

Present Mic's voice brought everyone back to the moment. "[Quiet, everyone! Representing the students is Bakugo Katsuki from Class 1-A!]"

Midoriya's shocked voice cut through the murmurs. "What? It's Kacchan?"

Kaminari hummed, "I mean he did finish first in the entrance exam."

Kendo spoke up, correcting the blond with a scoff, "In the hero portion, Akuma-san came first in the written exam."

Kaminari sweatdropped. "R-Right, must have forgot, ha ha ha," he nervously chuckled before shifting closer to his classmates. "By the Gods above, it's obvious everyone here hates us," he hissed, turning away from all of the disapproving glares and looks being sent by other students.

Ashido's voice was filled with exasperation as she watched Bakugo saunter up the stage. "Yeah and it's all Bakugo's fault," she moaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Watch, I bet he does something dumb like call everyone extras or something."

Bakugo stepped up to the microphone, his expression fierce. He scanned the crowd, his eyes filled with determination, until they locked onto yours. His gaze held for a moment, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. "I pledge..." he began, his voice strong and unwavering. "That I'll be number one."

Immediately, the stadium erupted with noise. Excited cheers from the crowd mixed with boos from the students participating. The atmosphere was electric, the energy almost tangible as everyone reacted to Bakugo's bold declaration.

"Wow, look at that, Mina! You were right!" Kirishima laughed, his jovial attitude the complete opposite of the majority surrounding them.

"What the heck! Stop messing around!"

"Don't be so full of yourselves, Class A!"

"You sludge bastard!"

"Why are you so damn disgraceful?!"

Despite all this, Bakugo's confidence was unshaken. After all, he had a goal to reach. Scoffing, he leaned down to the mike with a nasty snarl, a grin spreading across his face. "At least become a nice bouncy step for me to jump off of," he sneered, before throwing a thumbs down.

Midnight took over, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Now, let's get started right away. The first game is what you'd call a qualifier! U.A. does everything 'right away,' huh? Every year, many drink their tears here! Now, here is the fateful first game! This year, it's this! An obstacle course race. All 11 classes will participate in this race."

The screen behind her lit up with the course details. "Full Participation. The course will be the outer circumference of this stadium—about four kilometers! Our school's selling point is freedom! As long as you stay on the course, it doesn't matter what you do! Now, take your places, everyone!"

The excitement was palpable as the students moved into position. Your classmates were buzzing with anticipation, the tension and determination almost tangible in the air.

"Get seady...Get set...Go!"

As the signal to start blared, you and your classmates surged forward, the tunnel opening up into the vast stadium. Suddenly, you both heard and felt a draft of cold air sweeping through the tunnel. Before you could even think, your instincts kicked in.

With a graceful leap, you threw yourself into the air, landing in a perfect handstand on a nearby student's shoulder. The young man let out a startled yelp, his eyes wide with surprise.

Seconds later, ice trickled back from the front, encasing the unfortunate students' feet in ice and trapping them in place. The tunnel echoed with the sound of frustrated shouts and panicked exclamations as students found themselves immobilized.

"What the heck?!" "Seriously?! Ice already?!" "I can't move my feet!"

With narrowed eyes, you knew exactly who was responsible: Todoroki. The ice part from his dual ice and fire Quirk was unmistakable.

Pushing yourself off the boy's shoulder, you flexibly used the remaining students' heads and shoulders as stepping stones. Your movements were fluid and precise; each leap and flip executed with the grace of a gymnast. The frozen students below could only watch in a mix of awe and frustration as you effortlessly propelled yourself forward.

"How is she doing that?!"

"She's so fast!"

"Man! I need to get out of this ice!"

You barely registered their reactions; your focus solely on reaching the end of the tunnel.

With one final flip, you landed gracefully at the tunnel's opening, the roar of the crowd swelling around you. The bright lights, the sheer number of spectators, and the intensity of the atmosphere all hit you at once, but you remained composed, ready for the challenge ahead.

The Sports Festival had officially begun.

A/N: God DAMN! Y'ALL BLEW THIS BOOK UP! I left for 3 days and came back to 500+ notifications, not y'all out here giving my lil book love 🥹❤️❤️ but seriously 100+ reads is insane, thank you guys MWAH! Anywho here's an update, kicking off with the SFA; cant wait to attempt my hand at action scenes, hopefully i don't butcher them lolol. see you guys soon!

[sserajeans]

you are in love | 4. sob sesh? (written)

hanni was outside y/n's house by 6:30 on the dot. the shorter sent a text instead of honking the horn and potentially disturbing the household's dinner, but the windows in the living room made the car's headlights visible to hyein who was on her phone inside the house.

hyein was familiar with hanni's car and took a deep inhale before yelling, her voice echoing throughout every corner of the house.

"Y/N-UNNIE! HANNI-UNNIE'S OUTSIDE!"

"I KNOW!"

y/n ran down the stairs in a crop top and loose jeans, stuffing her phone and wallet in her pockets while shoving her feet in her sneakers.

"wow... what's the rush?"

"it's bad to keep people waiting, hyein." y/n replied back in a snarky tone, referencing a time a few months ago where the younger lee made y/n wait in the car for a solid 30 minutes, causing the two to receive tardy slips in school.

"well move on unnie omg?” hyein shrugged and headed to the kitchen. "you'll be gone for dinner?"

"yeah. are there leftovers in the fridge or do you want me to bring home takeout?" y/n opened the front door, one foot in and the other out as she waited for her sister's response. "i'll be back in like 2 hours though."

"i can probably cook something don’t worry."

"you're cooking? okay, yeah no, now i'm worried."

"shut up?"

"lock the front!" y/n chuckled as she skipped down the three steps connected to the house’s porch.

she hopped in the passenger seat of hanni’s car, reaching for the seatbelt before finally greeting her friend. "look at you reaching the pedals and all!”

"i could just drop you in the middle of the road.”

"nevermind… don’t do that..”

a comfortable silence filled the car, only the soft music from the radio playing as the two passed by the familiar houses in their neighborhood.

“hey… do you know where you’re going for university?

"no not really.. but kaist is on top for me. i’ve gotten a few recruitment offers as well but i haven’t thought much about them... i’m kinda more focused on the aquatic games so my rank gets a good chance to try out for the national team."

"the national team? that's huge y/n! don't forget me when you get an olympic gold."

"hm.. maybe i might.. never know how bu- OUCH?" hanni swiftly delivered a sharp pinch on y/n’s side, causing the latter to bend over with her arms around her waist.

"deserved.” hanni let out an evil laugh before braking at the red traffic light.

"but yeah even if i move to the national training center i'll still be attending whatever university, but for minimum attendance and whatnot.”

"i see... isn’t the NTC far from here?"

"5 hour plane, yeah. we’re still thinking about who’s gonna be staying with hyein while my parents and i are away.” y/n turned to her right, noticing the lit logo of the diner meters away. “what about you? any plans?”

"probably knua for music? still trying to convince my dad it's a good idea and that i won't starve with a music degree."

“that's very in-character for mr. pham... you’ll have zuha around too though, right?"

"yeah!” hanni sighed as she pulled the car over to one of the diner’s diagonal parking spaces. she switched off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt before looking over in y/n's direction. "we’re getting old.”

"well if you call 19 old.." the two shared a quick laugh, hanni playfully punching y/n’s shoulder, y/n muttering a quick “ow there goes my career.”

"you know what i mean. it's like it was yesterday when i moved down the street, now we're all going off?" hanni took a deep breath before opening the car door on her side. “okay we can’t sit here all night.”

y/n spoke nothing of the glistening that formed in hanni's eyes, and instead followed the shorter out of the car.

hanni was right, things will be different this year. kazuha's getting busier and the 04ers have college to worry about. it saddened y/n to imagine what jiwoo could possibly be feeling on that note.

the two entered the diner, hanni first with y/n poking her shoulders right behind.

"there they are!"

"took you guys long enough."

"there wasn't even any traffic on the way!"

y/n slid in one of the booth's couches beside jiwoo and minji, kazuha and hanni across her. "sorry guys, hanni was having a sob session."

"I WAS NOT!"

y/n started giggling as she gave minji a high five, kazuha on the other hand, was busy holding hanni back from beating the lee up.

"my god how did you guys not kill each other in the car?" jiwoo shook her head as she reached passed down menus that sat on her side of the table. hanni and kazuha shared one, minji and y/n shared another, and jiwoo had the last for herself.

y/n and minji frowned at the sight of a large vegetable dish on the front page and immediately flipped the menu to the next page. "like i said, sob sesh."

minji chuckled, taking note of a burger set she was thinking of ordering.

"what's so funny, kim?"

jiwoo, unfazed (knowing it wasn't her anyways), showed kazuha the menu page and pointed at an appetizer platter, to which the eldest nodded in agreement.

"nothing..." minji softly elbowed the girl on her right as they flipped through another page of the menu. "maybe you should tone it down y/n, our pham hanni is seeing red."

y/n rolled her eyes as they reached the end of the menu and closed it, placing it down on the table. "we all ready to order?"

a chorus of "yeah" and "yup" was heard from the girls as kazuha waved down a waiter. the eldest of the five accurately dictated each one's order before jiwoo brought up her latest piece of gossip.

"so the new student, i think his name was sungjin..."

the girls shared laughter and stories they experienced during the summer when the others weren't present. an irreplaceable warmth surrounds their booth, and if it had a color, perhaps it'd be golden.

things will be different this year.

masterlist. next.

taglist: @yyeonmis @lostamoeba @jisooftme @yoontoonwhs @awkwardtoafault @kvnii @lcv3lies @limbforalimb @spritin @kaypanaq @i06kkura @manooffline @kimsgayness @justme-idle @jenaissantex @mightymyo @sewiouslyz @txtbrainrot @li0ilthecxnt @captivq @paranoxic @sofakingwoso @daniellobers @pandafuriosa60 @haerinkisser @staryujinnie @wowowowcake @lesleepyyy @haechansbbg

[chrislaplante]

BRONTE'S COMFORT LIST

comfort food(s): pizza, tortas “ahoga perros”, corn “at-home-street-style”, nachos, chicken nuggets, beef taquitos, lentils, etc.

comfort drink(s): honestly? water. lol horchata and coca cola.

comfort movie(s): the exorcist, the terminator, the exorcism of emily rose, split, drive, foxfire, brainscan, constantine, candyman, the rocky films, the ip man films, the star wars (eps 1-6 & rogue one) films, school of rock, donnie darko, 8 mile, the crow, gus van sant’s last days, jeepers creepers, awake, secret window, pet sematary (1&2), rosemary’s baby, my soul to take, child’s play, psycho, the texas chainsaw massacre (remake), jaws, scream, the craft, the lost boys, edward scissorhands, beetlejuice, the matrix, american werewolf in london, the cabinet of dr caligari, zodiac, red dragon, rambo/first blood, insidious (1,2&5), the Halloween franchise, the Friday the 13th franchise, the a nightmare on elm street franchise (with remake), the evil dead (& remake), gremlins, ghostbusters (1&2), silent night deadly night, the amityville horror, my friend dahmer, murder by numbers, sinister, twister, twisted nerve, natural born killers, behind the mask, the sixth sense, Alice in wonderland, peter pan, dumbo, bambi, the land before time, the sword in the stone, the aristocats, the beauty and the beast, etc.

comfort show(s): bob’s burgers, dexter, sons of anarchy, 21 jump street, renegade, stephen king’s rose red, salem’s lot, american horror story (first two seasons), tales from the crypt, daria, catfish, the twilight zone, criminal minds, the x files, the green hornet, etc.

comfort clothing: ripped jeans, baggy (oversized) tees, baggy (oversized) hoodies, cargo pants and shorts, plaid button-ups, sweatpants (joggers), overall pants, long socks, sneakers, combat boots, trench coats, “grandpa” or “80s dad” sweaters, bunny slippers, sandals with socks, the occasional dress or romper, etc.

comfort song(s): what’s up (4 non blondes), stan (eminem), vampires will never hurt you (mcr), darkside (bring me the horizon), disgusting semla (morbid), one (metallica), the hunger (distillers), burn (the cure), oye mi amor (mana), afuera (caifanes), jeremy (pearl jam), numb (linkin park), nightcall (kavinsky), etc.

comfort book(s): red dragon, the wasp factory, frankenstein, damien echols’ autobiography, darkly dreaming dexter, joyland (sk), into the wild, the jedi quest book series, the i am not a serial killer book series, the crow (comic), the exorcist, salem’s lot, drive, constantine (film novelization), hellblazer (comics), per yngve ohlin (clem petit-huguenin), lots of old dh darth vader comic runs, etc.

comfort game(s): battleship, guess who, perfection, operation, ouija, “baseball” (card game), checkers, chinese checkers, puzzles, dark lore, the golden ticket, duck hunt, hog.warts legacy, etc.

stolen from: @walkeddeath. framing: @k4rlsson, @freakarus, @strigoix / @miercolaes, @morb1dg1rl, @wastrels, @liraspins, @likeorpheus, @stringmastery, @hangtenn, @nuks, @andtheylive, @absentpublic, @00sgoth, @punkzombie, @popularmxnster, @mrdelroy, @allevils, @getslashed, @bloodykneestm, @helvehte, @helltoraise, @facepeeled, @cheekypriest, @v011d, @roznrot, @poisonedfire, @butscrewmefirst, @notimminent, @sweets1n, @daensuse, @horrorface, + you.