#fuck yeah yellow wallpaper!

[aria-greenhoodie]

“This paper looks to me as if it knew what a vicious influence it had!”

Was reading The Yellow Wallpaper for a class a few weeks ago and thought “woah this is so Abigale Blackwing-core…” so I drew it :3

Click for Quality!

Wallpaper design alone under cut ↓ (see how many hidden Bill Ciphers you can find!)

[britneyshakespeare]

emily dickinson is gonna win bb25

[yovrnewromantic]

CULT OF DIONYSUS

billy loomis x reader x stu macher

Let’s get mischievous and polyamorous!

Or in which Stu Macher really wants to fuck Billy Loomis’ girlfriend, and he doesn’t feel the same

warnings: talk of smut but no real smut. billy and stu lowkey hate each other.

Dipshit: guess whos alone w your gf😊

               meeee 😩🍆💦

Billy’s phone pings in his back pocket. Frustratedly, he maneuvers the bagged groceries in his hand. Reaching to grab his phone, he expects a text from you, asking him to grab something you had forgotten to put on the list or a needy i love you text.

Instead, he frowns at the message on his homescreen. The IMS shadow covers one of his faces on the stack of black and white polaroids of you and him on his wallpaper. Quickly, he slides his phone open, typing furiously. 

What the fuck do you mean

Dipshit: 🤷🏼‍♂️

Stu.

Dipshit: srry gtg busy

“Shit,” Billy hisses, forcing a hand through his hair. It was no secret that Stu wanted to fuck you. Stu had practically begged him to just let him watch him fuck you— in person or on video—and he got on his knees attempting to somehow sway Billy to let him cuck you. 

Yeah, not going to happen.

The drive to your shared apartment feels agonizingly slow, an unrelenting doom gnawing in the back of Billy's mind. His knuckles turn white from their tight hold of the steering wheel.

Tires skirt as he swerves into the parking lot, heart racing much more than he would like to admit when he takes the keys out of the admission, front wheels diagonal on the yellow lines they're meant to be inside of.

His pulse is in his ears when he reaches the door, hands clumsy for the keys before he realizes the door isn't even locked. The acknowledgment sends a new sense of dread down his spine because ever since Woodsboro, you listened to him, and you always locked the doors.

With half the mind to grab the knife that he buried it in the potted plant in the hall to castrate Stu-- if he was even there and didn't just want Billy to kill him in his sleep.

The door creaks open deathly slow. Billy's boots are loud against the wooden floors as he steps inside, listening intently. His eyes are frantic, dancing to any open space for your presence. He doesn't see you.

"Y/N?" he calls, his voice steady despite his panic.

It's quiet.

What position does he have you in now? Tied up and gagged so you can't make a sound as Stu pounds into you. Billy swallows his own bile, hardly convinced to continue his search downstairs before heading to your bedroom. If he can get to the kitchen, he can grab a butcher knife and go Michael Myers on that motherfucker.

"Boo!"

He's genuinely startled when he turns the corner into the kitchen, taking a step back and staring at your beaming form with wide eyes. Standing in front of him, perfectly clothed may he add, you cackle, your entire body shaking as you struggle to point a finger at him, too consumed with pure unaltered joy. "I--" you wheeze. "I scared you. Finally, I actually did it."

Despite the small part of him that's a teensy bit pissed (any other day he's punching a wall) that you finally got the best of him, Billy smiles, hands seizing your waist to pull you into his chest so he can hold you after the stress of a lifetime. Your fingers slide across the back of his neck, and it feels like a glimpse of heaven: having you, his girl, and his girl only in his arms, grinning ear to ear.

His fingers find your chin and he makes you look into his eyes. "You got lucky, babe."

While you divulge into another laughing feet, burying your face in his neck, Billy closes his eyes in bliss, savoring the moment as he hugs you. Your bodies fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. You're okay. You're safe. You're his. Billy opens his eyes, sighing quietly. And Stu is nowhere in sight--

What the fuck.

Elbows propped onto the granite island; Stu is smirking like a dead man.

Arms locked around you, Billy stiffens. You pull back, and to your boyfriend's displeasure, out of his arms.

The kitchen is covered in white flour like winter had come early and a blizzard swept inside your windows. Stu's sweater is coated in the flour as well and now that he thinks of it, he can see the powder on your cheek.

"We tried to make cookies," you explain joyously, taking a half-glance between him and Stu. The latter saunters towards you and Billy smugly. "Stu's not very patient."

"Not at all," he purrs, throwing an arm over your shoulder at tugging you into him. You laugh, oblivious to the heated exchange that was happening just above your head.

Billy was going to kill Stu if he kept looking at you like that, his eyes flickering between Billy and peeping down your shirt. Goodbye to their sequel.

You break him from his reverie. "Billy, baby, where's the groceries?"

"Yeah, man. Where are they?" Stu tilts his head.

"In the car," he deadpans although he forgot about them in the first place, abandoning them accidentally. He grabs your wrist, tugging you away from Stu's grip, fuming. "Let's go get them."

THIS IS SO BAD. will def rewrite but seeing this in my drafts was giving me a headache

[mayolive-writes]

The Love Plaza | Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x AFAB Reader

Summary: Needing to take a break from the long trip to college, you and Jungkook are forced to stay at the only lodging available within 70 miles, a love motel. And much to Jungkook’s dismay, there’s only one bed.

Wordcount: 4102

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Smut, Best Friends to lovers, Oneshot(?)

Warnings: Dry humping, mild awkwardness (these poor virgins), no penetration (this time), They’re so cute and down bad

Minors DNI

A/N: thought this would be a fun writing prompt to exercise my humor muscle. I often feel that my writing lacks comedic relief, so this was good practice! I wanted this to be goofy as shit, because friends to lovers is just that much sweeter when it’s goofy. I do have a couple other WIPs with this couple though!! One that’s fluffy and another that is significantly spicier.

Enjoy!!

The Love Plaza | Moonlight Trampoline Adventure | Labret

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

You must be shitting me.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. Jungkook reads the sign in disbelief. The only lodging in 70 miles was a damned love motel. The bright red neon “18+” sign mocks him.

Unbelievable.

"Hell no, I can keep driving," Jungkook turns to you, there's no way you'd be okay with this.

"Jeon Jungkook, we've been driving on and off for 14 hours in a cramped truck with enough leg room for a toddler. We're both exhausted." You flash him a stern look, "we were honked at five times because we were going off the road!" With a light smack of his chest, you giggle, "besides, maybe they have a room with separate beds!" Your voice drips with sarcasm, calm about the entire situation.

Except you weren't.  Inside, you were screaming. A fucking love hotel in the middle of nowhere? This is a sick joke. But despite your inner turmoil, you keep a humored face.

"You're sure?" Jungkook asks again, just to make sure.

Cocking your eyebrow, you give him an incredulous look, "the other option is getting into a crash. I don’t think coffee and 5-hour-energy can't help us now, bun."

He sighs. With every passing second, he can feel his heart losing years of life. This definitely isn’t healthy.

A bell sounds as you and Jungkook enter, catching the eye of a desk clerk. The shabby motel is surprisingly chic inside, with modern hardwood tile, and wallpaper patterned with soft wisteria, giving the space a fresh feeling.

"Hey there! Do you have a reservation?" The smile on the clerk's face is practiced, but falters when he sees the both of you in sweatpants and t-shirts. 

He concludes on his own, no, you don't have a reservation.

As you both walk awkwardly up to the desk, the clerk continues, "just the two of you?"

Jungkook answers, "uh--yeah." You spot a basket on the counter and tap Jungkook on the shoulder, pointing.

It's full of different sized condoms in every bright color imaginable. Pink, blue, orange, yellow, purple, green.

You both hold back silly smiles, doing your utmost to keep cool. 

"And do you perhaps--" you pick up a condom out of the basket and Jungkook chokes. He takes a moment before looking at the smiley clerk again, "have a room with separate beds?"

The clerk simply stares at Jungkook. Separate beds? In a love motel?

There's been very few moments in Jungkook's life when he was truly Flustered.

1. Confessing to Sandy Morrison in second grade. 

2. His first kiss in 11th grade.

3. Figuring out that maybe he wasn’t totally straight.

4. Seeing you, his best friend and crush of at least 6 years,  pick up a large condom, neatly packed in bright neon orange wrapping, and pocketing it for some ungodly reason.

Shit.

What are you doing?

You yourself don't know what the hell you're doing. There’s zero intention in your mind of using the condom, of course--not that you wouldn't like to. But you're just trying to have fun. What else do you do in a love hotel? With this thought, you promptly lose your shit when you sight a shelf near the clerk desk that displays a variety of items.

Lube, lace garters (neatly packed in plastic packaging, fancy!), satin blindfolds, fuzzy handcuffs (red, pink, blue, black, and orange!), and the cherry on top--a brochure of "The Best Positions For A Night of Passion!"

The cackle you hold in makes you shake. You hop over to the shelf and ask the clerk, "how much for these?" Pointing to the handcuffs.

The clerk is now thoroughly confused at the contrasting interests in both you and Jungkook, who is flushed in the face--both from embarrassment and holding his laughter in. "Um... They're all a dollar, the pamphlet is free."

The clerk looks back to Jungkook, "and, sir, I'm sorry, but we don't have rooms with separate beds," leaning forward to whisper, he continues, "if you guys are fighting, take the couch." 

Well, it was worth a shot.

Once you're both checked in, Jungkook is about to walk away. That is, before he sees you go up to the desk clerk with one of each item that was displayed on the shelf. 

Oh. 

My.

God.

The clerk looks at Jungkook, his expression screaming, "dude, I can't believe you wanted separate beds!"

You happily stride beside Jungkook through the motel hallway, kinky bag in hand while he carries the luggage. You must be insane. Having finally reached room 40, you both realize that Jungkook’s hands are full of your bags. Awkwardly, you dig into his front pocket, feeling for the card.

"Um..." you look up when he speaks up, "it's in the other pocket.”

Oh. Oops.

You dig through his other pocket. 

why are these damn things so dee--

What. Was. That.

Jungkook gasps.

You gasp.

Realizing what you’ve just done, you flinch away, “Oh my god! I’m so fucking sorry--" Jungkook is utterly speechless. This night just keeps getting more and more inconceivable. He says nothing as you dig more cautiously and finally yank out the godforsaken key.

One minute later you're finally in the room, with yours and Jungkook’s cheeks throbbing red.

Nice one, y/n.

As you both walk further in, you gasp. All other thoughts vanish at the sight.

Jesus Christ, what a night.

"Oh my god, Koo!" You drag him in faster and he sees you fall into a burst of laughter, and once he sees it too, promptly loses his composure at the ridiculous sight.

The bed is obviously heart-shaped, the sheets are red satin, and the blankets are pink velvet. The mattress is adorned with frilly heart pillows and lacy detailing, with a black headboard screwed into the wall (which is probably for the best).

You both share gazes of utter astonishment, only to fall over yourselves once more. The sheer ridiculousness of it all hitting you full force. Jungkook’s laughter only falters when he notices that there isn't a couch.

This leaves him with two options. Share the bed with you and sacrifice a sleepless night resulting in another 10 hours of hell tomorrow, or sleep on the plush black carpeted floor and spend the next week with achy muscles and a crick in the neck.

He's gonna have to sleep on the fucking floor.

Quietly, Jungkook goes into the bathroom, leaving you to your own devices.

One bed. God, what a cliché. Jeon Jungkook will not be brought down by some fanfic writer’s wet dream.

Despite the inconvenience of the motel, Jungkook is relieved as the hot water spews from the showerhead. He’s needed this all day. Each muscle becomes looser, and Jungkook finds himself relaxing as the sound of water hitting the floor puddles in his mind.

6 long years.

Jungkook was twelve when he realized he had a big, fat, disgusting crush on you. But he knew it wasn’t a big deal. Crushes pass and fade. It’s impossible not to have a crush at that age.

Jungkook was 16 when he realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. The poor bastard was head over heels. Down for the count. Your smile made his heart burn—he’d do anything to see it. He’d pull up pictures of you on his phone on the rare occasion he couldn’t see you, just to make sure he could at least see your smile every day. He recalls feeling stupid for feeling so fuzzy about you all the time, but what’s shameful about wanting to see someone you love happy and smiling? Nothing.

At some point, it turned physical. Absolute hell. He felt complete and utter shame the first time he touched himself while thinking about you. It was deplorable how badly and how often he yearned for your lips on his body.  

Throughout high school, Jungkook could barely look at anyone else other than you. Others could tell, most didn’t even try making a move on him. Except for his first kiss, taking place after prom in the parking lot. He remembers apologizing profusely to his date the next day, admitting that he just didn’t feel that way about them.

During graduation, he almost slipped. Almost confessed that he wanted to give it a shot. The longing was becoming too much. But no matter how close he came to finally spitting it out he’d always chicken out. You meant too much. And it felt… wrong to spring it on you.

But this? He might break in two. He’s insane, he knows, but that millisecond where you accidentally touched him through his pants almost made him hydroplane, losing all traction on reality.

A knock on the door yanks Jungkook out of his murky thoughts. “If you use up all the hot water, I’ll personally annihilate you, Kookie.”

He can’t hold back a smirk, “yeah, yeah, I’m almost done.”

If hot showers were personified, you’d marry them. Specifically, the ones taken after your best friend, with his scent still lingering. This night has been one hell of a rollercoaster, and you take your time washing away the 14 hours of uncomfortable driving and cleanse your airways. Jungkook has always smelled like home to you. Years of friendship will do that to a person. Not even your own family can make you feel at ease like he does, with the way he shines. Bright enough to feel warm, but not so bright as to scare anyone away.

7 long years.

You were 11 when you realized you had a big, fat, disgusting crush on Jungkook. But you’d had countless meaningless crushes at that age, he was just a crush out of convenience, right?

Wrong.

You were 16 when you realized it wasn’t just a crush anymore. Something about Jungkook’s demeanor with you changed. He was always nice to you, but as Jungkook matured, his rough-and-tumble attitude crumbled away into something softer, cushier, and sweeter. It was unbearable. Whenever he put a secure arm around your shoulder, your heart would squeeze, and then release. First yearning, then comfort.

You wanted him. In more than one way. Never in a million years would you live down the shame from the first time you let him invade your thoughts alone at night. It wasn’t that long ago, really. Jungkook had turned 18, and He wasted little to no time in getting a lip piercing. You nonchalantly said it looked cool, but it kept you up that night.

It was becoming too much, but with graduation fast approaching you thought you’d finally have your out. You’d go off to college, and as much as you’d miss your best friend, you knew you needed to get away, and hopefully the love would fade with time.

Well, that was before you found out that Jungkook was going to the same college as you.

It was pure coincidence.

So here you are. Desperately trying to wash away your increasing desire on both fronts, romantically and sexually.

Regretfully, you step out of the shower into the cold bathroom air. In an instant you’re pulling Jungkook’s stolen hoodie over your head.

The room is dead silent when you leave the bathroom, and you spot Jungkook resting peacefully on the heart-shaped bed. His eyes are closed. It’s moments like these that make you want to give in and just tell him. So what if he doesn’t feel the same way? So what if he doesn’t fight back the urge to kiss you every day? So. Fucking. What.

He’s your best friend. That’s fucking what.

Losing him is not an option.

“Gook?” Jungkook is lightly startled, and you almost feel bad for waking him. “Hey, can you move over?”

“Huh?” He groggily looks around, then realizes, “Oh—yeah, yeah, just a sec.”

With sloth-like movements, Jungkook grabs a pillow and a blanket from the bed and lays them on the floor, but before he can slip down onto the carpet you stop him, “woah, woah, woah. What’re you doing?”

“Uhhh, going to sleep?”

“On the floor? We’ve shared a bed before, doofus.”

“yeah, when we were like, nine.” Jungkook retorts. Please, God. Don’t do this to him.

You know it’ll be hell sharing a bed with him, but you’d feel like shit making him sleep on the floor. “What’re you afraid of, catching cooties? Come on, bun, it’s not a big deal.” It is a big deal. It is such a stupidly big deal.

Jungkook takes a moment to read your eyes, only a feeling a twinge of awkwardness. With reluctance, he moves the blanket and pillow back onto the bed and climbs in first. He can do this.

You climb in behind him, settling in quickly. His back is to you, thank God, but warmth is radiating from his body. You can’t do this.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Focus.

Focus on the patter of the rain outside. Focus on the whirring of the ceiling fan above. Focus on the softness of the sheets. Focus on the warmth of the blankets. Focus on the smell of the detergent. Focus on the smell of Jungkook’s shampoo.

Wait, no. Don’t focus on that.

Hell freezes over in the time it takes for you to get comfortable.

It feels like infinity has passed by as Jungkook lays deathly still. One movement and he’ll shatter. The bed feels smaller than it looks. The proximity is too much. He can hear your deep breaths, can feel them in how your back lightly hits his with every intake of air. His body feels like it’ll start vibrating. His chest feels like it might implode. His thoughts are spiraling. He just wants you.

Eyes. Closed. Mouth. Closed. Mind. A work in progress. Sheep, count sheep.

1…

2…

3…

Just fall asleep. Please. You tell yourself.

Closing your eyes, you count the seconds as they pass by into minutes. You’re on minute 28 when a haze finally begins to ease you. But some prick outside of your room drops something heavy and you hear them giggling and walking away. You hope they have a terrible night’s sleep. Even if they weren’t planning on sleeping anyway.

Being conscious again, it’s impossible to ignore it. You can’t take it. You can’t. His warmth, his smell. His smile, his laugh.

Him.

Something possesses you. Chest aching painfully, heart beating mercilessly.

You whisper.

“Jungkook,”

“Yeah?” He curses the waver in his voice as your body shifts around to face his back. It takes him a moment before he has enough courage to turn around.

Your eyes.

Your eyes are big and wide, you look scared and excited all at once. “Jungkook, I…”

What are you doing?

You must be insane.

Just forget it.

But there’s no going back.

Do it.

Just say it.

Say it.

Fucking say it.

You like—

No.

He gently reaches for your hand beneath the blanket. The mingling of your fingers calms your mind, eases your breathing. “Thanks,” a whisper is sent across the small distance that separates the two of you. “How do you feel about me?”

Jungkook stares. Huh? That’s all? He chuckles, “We’ve been friends since we were like, four. It’s a good bet that I like you.”

You blink. What an absolute dunce. “No, you stupid asshat, how do you feel about me?” All this courage makes your mouth keep moving, “I mean… I feel something, and sometimes it seems like you feel something too. Can you like, tell me if it’s just me?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his warm hand slipping away.

Oh. You’ve made a huge mistake.

Or so you think before he’s crawling to hover over you, hands beside your head. “You like me?”

It’s your turn for your eyes to bulge, your face burning at the position, one that you’ve imagined at least a million times. Head turning away, you reiterate, “Unfortunately.”

His head falls to your shoulder, “Oh my god. Holy shit, oh my God. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this shit, holy fucking shit.” You patiently wait for his rambling to stop, but you’re confused now. He’s on top of you. This man is on top of you but hasn’t said anything about how he feels yet.

The only natural response is to flick his forehead, of course.

“Hey, ouch!”

You exaggerate the clearing of your throat, “’holy shit, I can’t believe this shit.’ Isn’t a super direct answer, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re mean?”

“Aww did I hurt you fee—” His lips touch yours softly, but it doesn’t last long enough before he falls back to his side of the bed.

“It’s not just you,” Your hands find each other again.

A thick silence rests over you, despite your staggering heart. You want him to kiss you again, desperately. You push yourself to ask, “kiss me again? Maybe longer this time?”

Jungkook obliges wordlessly, leaning over to press his lips against yours once more. It’s slow, cautious, unsure. Your body feels tense, making it difficult to feel excited. Not sure what to do, you pull him closer by his sweatshirt, forcing your bodies to touch.

It feels like he’s melting into you. His lips are still shaky, but he pushes forward, placing his hand on your hip as you wrap a leg over his body. Creating even less distance between you. There’s a heavy breath.

“Um… okay, pause.” Your eyes meet. He nods and his fingers brush through your hair, playing with it casually and awaiting your next request. In this wide expanse of time, the tingle of him playing with your hair lulls your mind and heart.  

“Again?”

Third time’s the charm, right?

With less hesitance than before, Jungkook finds your lips again, keeping his hand buried in your hair. This time, it’s more comfortable, and your lips tingle. Unsure of what to do with yourself, your hands grip his sweatshirt even tighter, and you find it in yourself to lean in closer, breath quickening less from nerves and more from pleasure.

How many times had you thought of this? Each scenario being different, passionate and fiery. And yet of the hundreds of daydreams, none of them were accurate. Despite the underlying awkwardness, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

All thoughts drift away when Jungkook’s lips leave your own, and before you can protest, they fall upon your neck. Far more astonishing is when he drags you on top of him, changing your positions.

A quiet gasp escapes. Woah, woah woah, buddy.

But your surprise doesn’t stop him from dragging his lips to the other side of your neck. You feel your legs go numb. With his stupid lips on your neck still, he asks, “Is this okay?”

There’s a lot of fumbling in your brain before you can answer, “mhm… I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Oh really? How much of it?” This stupid bitch.

“Shut up before you ruin it, just keep going.” You have no clue, but to Jungkook, the breathlessness in your voice feels like kryptonite.

Slipping a hand beneath your hoodie, you jolt at his touch. “How far do you want me to go?”

You squirm, “Um… I don’t know yet, is that okay?”

“Good, cuz’ I don’t know either. We can stop at any point.” Becoming impatient, you only give him a nod before you guide his hand to slip further into your hoodie. The trail of his touch his tingly, unpredictable, exciting. The gentle nature in the way he feels you causes your body to take on a mind of its own as your hips sink into Jungkook, forcing a groan from his lips. “Fuck, do that again.” You follow his instruction, and he lets out another noise of pleasure. It sends a spark coursing through you, leaning in to kiss him again. It’s messier this time, the caress of his hand on your skin making the simple task of breathing complicated. Your hips push down again, and the bulge you feel beneath you makes you gasp. In quick succession, Jungkook’s fingers brush over the tip of your breast, and to your utter shock a whine flows out of your lips. Your legs lose more strength, and you follow instinct. One hand slips beneath Jungkook’s shirt, and the jerk has the audacity to cup your breast in retaliation, dragging another whine out of you. Your head falls to his neck, partially because you feel like jelly, and partially because you want to leave a string of kisses to match what he so generously left on you prior.

With each kiss your hands keep exploring his torso and chest. If he can play dirty, so can you.

Or so you thought.

He pulls the neckline of your hoodie down to gain access to your collarbone before leaning up and licking a bold stripe from your clavicle up to your neck, dragging your body closer all the while. And when he latches on to the crook of your neck, sucking hard and meeting your hips as they subconsciously grind into him, you release a moan.

“There you go.”

You see through hazy vision the smirk on his face. Different from any that you’ve seen in your countless years of friendship.

He does it again, latching onto a spot along your collarbone and sucking, harsh but loving. Easing the sting with another swipe of his tongue.

The room is soon a quiet orchestra of heavy breaths and stifled groans, whines, and moans.

Time feels nonexistent.

“I think I want you to touch me, koo--”

“You think?”

You whine, “God, I don’t know—I just need more.”

He groans, “Fuck, babe.”

His hands securely grip your hips, and guide them to grind down onto him, hard. His sweatpants barely getting in the way.

You gasp at first, but as he keeps guiding your hips you let out a moan, louder than the one before. You cover your lips, not wanting to be heard by anyone outside.

“shit babe, please don’t be quiet, please—”

As the rhythm of your hips continue, you lean down, resting your head beside Jungkook’s ear, hoping that the muffle of the pillows will prevent anyone other than Jungkook hearing you. You let go, letting your moans flow, as his hips meet yours. Each sound you let out into his ear brings Jungkook closer to his breaking point.

“Keep going Koo, I’m close.” You whisper, and the sounds Jungkook lets out sound almost painful.

“Fuck, I love you.” He whines. And with barley another thrust of his hips, he comes undone beneath you. He keeps his grip on your hips, continuing to bring your hips down onto him.

You can barely manage “I love you too, Koo” before you find release.

The butterflies haven’t subsided yet. You’re clean and warm in bed again with Jungkook, hands and hearts intertwined. This time sleep feels more possible, but you can’t help but want to talk.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“some of that felt awkward, right?”

“Well, I don’t think anything is more awkward than when we were forced to take a bath together when we were toddlers just cuz’ we got all muddy in the rain.”

You giggle as Jungkook pulls you in closer against his chest. “Yeah, sex ain’t shit compared to that.”

The warmth lulled you into a comfortable silence. You can’t remember the last time you felt this content, and you never want it to end. Every night this is what you want. Hands fit together loosely, blanket tangled between your bodies.

Jungkook will process with time that this is his new reality. His new reality in which you fall asleep in his arms, in which he can pull you closer, hold you tighter, and play with your fingers as he drifts off into a dreamland that couldn’t possibly match what he has with you. No one knows what the future holds, but Jungkook sure as hell hopes that you’re a part of it.

This shaggy love motel did more good than he thought it would.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[thelastwalkingsoul]

Inspired by this tweet and a conversation with Cass (@henderdads) and Liam (@withacapitalp) about puzzles.

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

Steve hovers over Robin's shoulder, standing together at his dining table. There's newspaper spread out to protect said table with a completed puzzle lying on top. Robin unscrews a fresh bottle of Mod Podge as Steve waits for an answer.

"Nope," she replies, popping the 'p'. And with that, she pours the glue all over the front of the puzzle.

"Wha- Robin!"

She laughs. "There's only one way to find out, dingus."

This had been all Robin's idea. Her constant teasing about his ugly plaid wallpaper had finally worn away at Steve, and he'd caved, agreeing to rip it all down. She'd celebrated as soon as the words had left Steve's mouth, grabbing his hands and spinning him around in a weird, oh-so-Robin dance.

It'd taken them a few days to ask around to learn how and what they needed, then strip the wallpaper and paint Steve's room. It had been tedious but vastly more therapeutic than Steve had expected. Stripping the plaid had felt like stripping away the final part of Steve tied to his 'King Steve' era, the growing pile a final 'fuck you' to his parents.

He'd gone for yellow on the walls, needing a colour that didn't viscerally remind him of the Upside Down that wasn't a dull grey or white. It was a lot at first, a significant change to a space that had been the same for as long as Steve could remember. But it finally felt like his.

"What if it ruins the puzzle?" He can't help but ask. It wasn't one of his favourites for that exact reason, but he didn't want to have to throw it out.

"Then we'll have learnt something." Robin pauses her paintbrush strokes, turning to look at him. "It's going to be fine Steve."

He can't help but soften at the care in her eyes. Robin can read him like a book. He smiles. "I know."

"Good."

The next day they're standing in Steve's room, the colours of the puzzle contrasting nicely with the yellow wall it's now situated on. Steve couldn't believe it stuck together when he'd picked it up. It was solid, like a piece of cardboard, which had made it all too easy to put on the wall.

It feels like a reminder of good times, like so many of the photos scattered around Steve's room. A reminder that he did that with Robin, that he was no longer alone in his love of puzzles. Robin had given Steve the opportunity to share the calm that the activity had brought him. He'd always enjoyed them, especially as a kid, but post-demogorgon, they'd meant a lot more. Working on a puzzle became a way for Steve to settle his thoughts and distract him from his constant paranoia. For Steve, nothing was better than curling up with a mug of hot chocolate or sitting in the sun and basking in the warmth like a cat, doing a puzzle.

Robin had found out in the aftermath of Starcourt. She'd found him at the table, searching through puzzle pieces at an ungodly hour of the night, unable to sleep. Wordlessly, she'd joined him, which had slowly become a tradition. Late-night puzzling turned into lunchtime puzzling, which made way for nights when they would get wine-drunk and puzzle. Robin called them middle ages moms once and threw them both into fits of laughter. It's perfect, and Steve wouldn't have it any other way.

Robin bumps his shoulder. "So, you like it?"

Steve looks at her, a smile on his face. He slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a rough side hug. "I love it, babe."

"Wanna go start another?"

"Absolutely."

"I like how it looks when we just glue the back."

"Hmm. You're right, you can see the individual pieces better."

"Yeah. It's not as weirdly shiny either."

It's been months. Steve's bedroom walls are covered in puzzles of all sizes. Each and every one worked on with Robin by his side. Steve's not alone anymore. He feels safe. He feels loved. He feels at home.

Steve pulls his other half into a crushing hug. "Thank you, Robbie."

She makes a confused noise against his shoulder. "For what."

"This. Being here," he squeezes her a little harder. "For everything."

"No need to thank me, dingus. It's an honor."

"I mean it, Robs."

"Yeah. So do I."

[manwrre]

This is my contribution to the harringrove relay race!

Title: 💫 heaven at your fingertips 💫

Rating: explicit content

Word Count: 3,055

Tags include: trans male character billy, alternate universe - college/university, domestic boyfriends and afab language while describing genitalia.

•

Despite what anyone with working eyes and a brain might think, Steve doesn’t actually hate his job.

It’s not out of the ordinary for him to entertain the thought— everyday at a campus coffee shop is rough— but he doesn’t dislike it. His hours are pretty flexible and his coworkers are all great. There’s an endless amount of staff drinks allowed on a single shift and Steve’s allowed to bring home as many leftover doughnuts as he wants. His boss and the owner of Bean’d, Todd, isn’t really around to micromanage them but whenever he does pop in, Steve feels lucky enough to be there despite the minimum wage paycheck.

So hate it, he does not.

Not even on the worst days when he’s spread thin and exhausted. Not even on a brutal day like today. The shittiest day that he’s had in a while, he thinks, stepping out of the rundown elevator and unto his floor. The fact that he’s practically home doesn’t even seem to help. If anything, the distance between the elevator and his front door seems longer than usual as he walks. His shoulders are heavyset with eight hours of tension and his feet ache so deeply that the dusty, burgundy of the hallway’s carpets look comfortable. Perfect for a seat. Or a nap.

He doubts his neighbors would mind if he just settled there for the night. Mr Stewart might pretend to be pissed but Mrs Maulkin, who lives next door, is just about the sweetest, little lady. She pinches his cheeks and always goes on and on about him getting more sleep. Once, she’d even watered their plants when he and Billy visited the kids back in Hawkins on break so yeah, she’s pretty neat.

Ideally, she would probably prefer if he didn’t get said rest on her welcome mat but he wasn’t going to be picky. His shift had just about driven all of the pickiness out of him. Whacked it out of him with a broom sometime between the morning rush and the midday rush or maybe, it was between the evening rush and clean up? Point is, it’s been beaten out of him.

Above his head, the yellow bulbs blink almost lazily and he reaches for his keys. He swings the lanyard around his finger almost idly and eyes the peeling, black paint of the apartment numbers.

505……506…….507…….508……509…….Ah.

He unlocks the door, shuffles inside with a sigh and for a second, just stands there. The scent of home surrounds him immediately and some of the day’s weight falls at his feet as he flicks the lights on in the small walkway. He hangs his backpack unto the hook shaped like a little guitar that Billy seems to like so much. Grabs the brown, greasy bag of donuts that Billy also seems to like so much and toes his shoes off.

“Bee, I’m home!” He nudges the pair of kicks out of sight with socked toes and blindly tosses his keys into the nearby bowl. Catches a whiff of himself. Pauses. Almost keels over. All in that order.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he gags aloud.

Beneath the cloying scent of artificial syrups, powdered sugar and dozens of iced matchas with oat milk and brown sugar foam, is the usual sweat and grime of a long day. He doesn’t have to look in the mirror either, to know that his hair is all flat and ugly beneath his cap. too.

He needs a shower and a nap and some food and really, just his fucking boyfriend. Again, all in that order but it’s been a long week of barely seeing each other with finals and the usual shifts so he knows that he’s only gonna cover number five on that list before passing out.

“Billy?” he calls again, flipping the main lights on.

The action casts a soft glow across their little, one bedroom apartment.

Fully furnished and equipped with a couple of leaky faucets and chipped wallpaper but theirstheirstheirs. A year ago, she was all they could afford on their meager savings in California but now, she’s home. Steve studies his social work on the bedroom floor and Billy stocks their shelves with books about anatomy. They cook dinner together on most nights in their dingy, little kitchen, watch trashy horror in the living room and spend every night wrapped around each other.

“I brought donuts again. We were outta the pistachio ones so I got glazed and no, Sam didn’t make them this time.”

He pads across the living room, not a trace of his boyfriend in sight and dumps the paper bag on the counter. He’s convinced that Billy might be asleep— it’s been a long week of exams and Steve cracks the door to their bedroom open, fully expecting the room to be shrouded in darkness,

only to pause.

To take it all in.

Because oh.

Steve can’t help it— he’s drawn to the sight of too naked legs and too smooth thighs. Can’t focus on anything but the way that Billy’s hand disappears between them. Can’t wrap his mind around anything other than the fact that Billy is very much awake and very much touching himself in front of him. In the flesh.

There’s a lot to take in.

Billy’s naked from the waist down and facing the doorway; his legs spread to reveal the pink of his pussy as he thumbs across his clit. Steve’s gaze lifts then, up his bare, little waist and to the thinning material of Billy’s tee shirt, which is the only piece of clothing he’s wearing. He zones in on where the worn, blue material fits snugly across his boyfriends chest,

swallows,

and then meets the amused blues of Billy’s eyes.

Billy, who doesn’t dare hide the heat in them or the intent behind his smirk.

“Hi, Stevie.” he purrs, predatory. Like a shark that’s just smelled blood. “Crazy day?”

The lowness of his voice sends a jolt of heat down Steve’s abdomen; one that settles at the base of his cock all hot and heavy. And in response, Steve’s shoulders drop, his body relaxes and the day’s toll leaks out of him. Sludging. Lethargic.

God, he’s easy.

“Uh huh,” he mutters, unintelligibly, at first. Then, snaps out of it enough to flash Billy a smile.

“Funnily enough, I actually think it’s about to get crazier.” He shuts the door behind him and steps closer. His gaze only stray for a matter of seconds to catalog everything about Billy in this moment. The navy blue of their sheets beneath the blonde. The handful of books on their bedside table. Billy’s hair all tied up into a loose bun. His pebbling nipples. His wet, hot cunt and the fact that he hasn’t stopped touching himself.

“Yeah? I wonder why.” the blonde drawls, quirking a brow.

“Dunno, think I’m about to get laid or something.” He’s teasing and Steve loves it.

“Or something,” Billy mocks, rolling his eyes but Steve’s words have him biting his lip.

He’s trying to come off as unaffected but Steve knows he’s anything but. The soft curls sticking to Billy’s forehead, damp with sweat and all, let him know that this has been an ongoing endeavor. God knows how long Billy’s been pleasuring himself— dripping like this; his cheeks flushed a pretty scarlet, eyes dark and lips an almost mottled red. Bitten plump. Half-parted in pleasure for a beat too long whenever he speaks.

Steve doesn’t have to pretend. He doesn’t want to hide the urgency that he feels or the effect that Billy has on him, so he tugs his shirt up over his head before tossing it aside.

He crosses the distance between them in no time and crawls into the alcove between Billy’s thighs oh so easily. Steve thinks, yes and finally and this is exactly where he belongs when he’s got Billy under him. He thinks holy shit, you’re lovely when his boyfriend stares up at him with wide, dark eyes and pulls him closer by the loops of his belt. Simultaneously, Steve lifts one of Billy’s golden thighs upupup around his waist and lessens the oxygen between them with a kiss so hot that the air around them feels supercharged.

He loses himself in the soft give of Billy’s lips and nips at his cupid’s bow with an impatient noise. Beneath him, Billy opens up like a black hole; this consuming, taking thing and Steve licks into his mouth all too eagerly. The blonde’s answering moan is breathy and high and Steve laps at every slick crook with his tongue—to taste, to feel, to map out and to claim. Beneath him, Billy’s hips jerk to life just as Steve becomes breathless with desire and blindly, he seeks purchase in the rough material of Steve’s jeans. The soppy, wet heat of his cunt seeps through to Steve’s skin as Billy rides his thigh.

“Stevie— please, I need you to fuck me.” Billy gasps into his mouth.

Steve takes advantage of this and busies himself by stamping kisses across the curve of Billy’s jaw and throat and neck. He sucks pretty, purpling bruises into the golden skin there and ruts down against his pliant, waiting body. A taste so distinctly Billy explodes on his tongue; clean and citrusy and tangy and Steve loves it.

Steve groans deeply, “Yea, sweetheart? You missed me?”

“You try being celibate in an apartment with your hot ass– ah, boyfriend for two weeks. A perfectly timed breeze could’ve had to creaming my fucking pants at the quad today,” Billy hisses and Steve can’t help it, he laughs.

“A breeze, baby? Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch,” the amusement is palpable in his voice. He knows that Billy must sense it, even with his eyes closed because then, they aren’t. They aren’t and Steve is forced to meet those dark, dark eyes and trace the expanse of Billy’s flush from his cheeks, all the way down his chest. And without another word, he’s undoing his belt; his fly coming undone and everything. He shucks off his jeans and underwear in one swoop and wounds a hand around his chubbing cock.

It’s hot and thick in his too dry palm but the contact sends a surge of crackling heat up his spine.

He sees Billy’s attention shift. Feels his cock throb as he does that thing; the one where he tongues at his lower lip and his gaze flits between Steve’s and his cock almost thoughtfully. And his mouth is suddenly dry as he follows the subtle quivers of Billy’s stomach. Watches it dip and swell and hears his intake of breath because all the while, the blonde’s hips never exactly cease. They just slow into deep, core aching figure eights until he can’t take it and he’s reaching between their bodies for Steve’s cock.

Billy’s touch is warm but callous-rough and feels like heaven around him. In thanks, Steve winds his fingers into the blonde’s curls to steady himself, while Billy uses the precum at the head of his cock to jerk him off hard and fast. The pace has him fucking into the tight ring of fingers with a choked off moan, “Fuck– oh.”

Billy’s smug. He knows this because the demanding slide of his fist slows and well, he says as much. “Don’t act like you’re not gonna bust a nut the minute I get my mouth on you. That’s gonna make it even more embarrassing,”

“Brat.” Steve spits but he’s smiling and scooting up so that his thighs bracket Billy’s head.

“Pushover.” Billy laughs, genuinely pleased and swallows Steve’s cock into his mouth with a wet noise.

The sudden too hot, too wet of it punches an aggressive exhale out through his nose,“Holy shit, fuck” and he grabs unto the headboard while Billy makes easy work of him.

Billy sucks the head into his mouth with a practiced ease that makes Steve weak in the knees and melts all of the fight right out of him. It’s all familiar but Steve will never get used to this. Will never fail to be amazed at how well Billy takes him; unyielding as he tongues at the sensitive underside of Steve’s cock and groans around him in a way that liquifies his fucking mind. It takes everything in him not to shout when Billy hollows his cheeks and instead, his grip grows tighter in the mess of blonde curls until he’s sure it hurts.

“You’re so fucking good at this, baby. So pretty,” He cradles Billy’s cheek, only to be rewarded by a hint of teeth across the thick vein that Steve favors, near the crown.

Billy moans around the cock in his mouth and Steve’s brain collapses in on itself like a dying star. When he speaks, his voice is a low, warbled thing, “Waited all day just to suck me off, I bet. Just to put that mouth to use, huh, sweetheart?” And then, Billy pulls away to slap the leaking, ruddied head against his tongue for Steve to see. He lets it sit there. Lets the precum pool sluggishly on the pink of it and stares up at him in a way that makes Steve feel like coming home. God, he’s so close.

“C’mon, baby. I wanna cum but I’m gonna do it inside of you,” Steve grabs at his jaw affectionately before shifting sideways and falling onto his back invitingly. It takes everything in him to stay there.

He swats at the curve of Billy’s ass as he moves and swings a leg over to bracket Steve’s hips, ignoring his grumbled complaint of ‘being too lazy’. The next part comes easily, however. Billy doesn’t waste any time before he’s sinking down on his cock in a swift, decisive motion; his pussy opening up around Steve with the tiniest bit of give.

And then everything clicks into place.

Billy’s cunt is slick and he makes the prettiest sight on top of him but Steve doesn’t move. He’s trying his damndest not to and ignoring the flex of his thighs as his pelvis seems to ache with need to just do something. But he doesn’t move because Billy loves this. Billy needs this moment, so he waits. He watches as Billy holds himself tightly and he adjusts to the sheer girth of Steve— his palms lying flat against his bare chest and his hips moving in shallow bursts.

“Oh,” Billy breathes out before sitting up and slamming himself down on Steve’s cock.

“Fuck, there you go,” Steve growls and plants his heels deeper in the mattress with every thrust. He grabs at Billy’s hips and at his thighs, brushing his fingers across the curve of his ass where stretch marks color the skin liquid-gold against bronze. Rivulets like the rings of Saturn. Like Billy’s his entire world and here lies the proof of it.

The thought sends a possessive thrill through him and his grip on Billy’s ass turns bruising. Tomorrow, Steve will nip and suck more galaxies into it but for now, he tries to mold a place inside of him with his cock; deep and hard until he finds the place that makes Billy howl and stiffen.

“Steve— right there, right there, right there. Don’t stop fucking me, please,” He cries, shifting until Steve swears his cockhead nudges against the damn near opening of Billy’s womb. And he knows that Billy feels it too because he flinches, as if surprised, as if the pleasure is tinged with pain but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

“C’mon, baby. You can take it, don’t run.” he croons, forcing Billy to do some of the work; to rut back against his cock and envelope it whole and that’s exactly what he does. The blonde’s thighs flex with the strain of working himself open but he takes it so fucking well and Steve loses himself in the suctioning grip of Billy’s cunt. Closes his eyes and swears there are universes being created behind his eyelids. Star by star. Space dust by space dust.

“You were waiting for it, right? Wanted it so badly, gorgeous boy,” he chokes out, needing to let Billy know just how badly he’s got him.

The sound Billy makes in response is winded, all the same and then oh so pleased as he drops his hips into a slow, dirty downward grind. It’s miasmic and Steve feels the sloppy mess of Billy’s pussy against his abdomen and pulsating around him.

“Oh my god— Stevie, I’m gonna cum. Oh please, I’m gonna cum,” he ruts against Steve’s cock in these half aborted, little circles and Steve is equally as devastated by the constant bursts of pleasure and pressure.

The heat in his gut is building just as quickly. It’s a dangerous, tumultuous thing that expands past his groin and into his gut. He feels it in his hips, in his chest, at the back of his mouth and behind his teeth. It’s so close that he can taste it and he meets Billy halfway with the next few thrusts, plunging deeper into him, as if to say, ‘you feel it too, right?’

He’s whispering a mantra of, “Yea, baby? Right there?” and these desperate, half chewed off variations of Billy’s name.

And so many things happen within the next second that Steve can barely keep track of them. Billy muffles a moan between his teeth, whining all high at the back of his throat as he nods. He fucks himself on Steve’s cock with a restless abandon that comes from chasing his own orgasm. And Steve thinks, his womb. Billy’s fucking womb. He must be in it. He wants to knock him up so bad that it’s dizzying. So bad that it’s earth shattering and gravity defying. There’s the build up of white, blinding pleasure and then— the string snaps. Billy’s cumming around him with a shout and Steve’s fucking his cock into him without reprieve; thrusts long and drawn out as they ride the wave together.

He cums for so long and so hard, that Steve thinks he might have passed out a little. When he comes to, Billy’s cunt is still milking him dry and the blonde is plastered to his chest in his own, little world. Boneless but sated.

At that moment, the weariness in his bones hits him all at once and he winces. Shifts a little beneath Billy’s full weight but stamps a kiss to his forehead nonetheless. Billy grumbles into his sweat slick chest before pressing his lips there in return and brushing his mess of hair out of his eyes.

“So… donuts?” And Steve snorts.

“Yeah, donuts. I can’t believe we just screwed and that’s what you’re worried about.”

Billy’s answering smile is wicked and travels straight to Steve’s heart, “You knew who I was before you dated me so now you’re stuck,” and he’s smug about the fact.

His amusement is short lived as Steve’s softening cock slips out of him, alongside the mess of cum and Steve rolls them unto their sides. “Only because rent is killer in California but as soon as I make it big?”

Steve pats his cheek and yawns, “You’re outta here, hot stuff.”

Billy doesn’t fight him, though. Doesn’t argue that they can afford somewhere a little bigger now or that he’s pulling in more money than Steve is at the mechanic’s shop. He doesn’t point out that Steve’s been saying that almost everyday for a year and yet, still brings home his favorite donuts and will cuddle Billy for as long as he’d like after his shift because he misses him.

He doesn’t say it but Steve knows. He feels it in his chest the same way, too and thanks God and the universe for giving him a little bit of the sun and stars to hold; to keep with him forever.

minor technical difficulties meant that this was a little delayed!! so sorry everyone. i had so much fun working on this!! please look forward to the lovely upcoming work from our next contributor, @racketti and many thanks to @harringrove-relay-race for being such an amazing host 💗

[its-a-pain-having-a-name]

So we don’t know we just had this little character in our head which made a fucked up little art project and we need to remember it. Gonna post it because why not, they are kind tma so yeah. (These descriptions are bad and rudimentary at best be warned)

The twisting halls-

Long halls of doors which branch off into spirals it has striped blue/white pink/yellow wallpaper

The dark room-

Painted with the blackest black with red coloured lantern and figures in the room

The moon pool-

Liminal space with repeating columns with snaking pools of glass and cyan light.

The room of isolation-

It is cold just a chair and glass all around however behind the glass is translucent white glass and the appearance of talking figures in the distance

Immensity-

Below is lit blue glass which goes continuously down, the surface of which looks like the ripples of the sea. Over head is wide and open, full of titan statues, forced perspective and orbiting planets.

The moon chamber-

Mirrors used to reflect any moon light down to a grasping stone hand

Impossible stairs-

A room of Escher like staircases most defying gravity and leading nowhere. Separate but similar to is large barely climbable blocks making the wanderer feel small

The liminal section-

A mash between different corridors with blue sky painted behind windows, massive arch ways and staircases

The watched library-

A place filled with bookcases which arch to the ceiling packed with books of gibberish. Like the library of babble however some parts of the books have diagrams, strange number systems, characters from made up languages and short spouts of paranoia, ideas about being so close to knowing and endlessly being watched. There is a throne of green in there and the walls are littered with all kinds of eyes.

The trinket room-

Filled with all kinds of curious and impossible mathematical objects

The fractal rooms-

A collection of rooms where the floor is large detailed carving of such things as trionskies triangle, the lichen berg pattern and the Mandelbrot set.

The decay room-

Looks dusty old beige, fungi blooming. There is a withered looking sofa

The proximal room-

You climb up through a trap door, which when put down is almost unnoticeable. It is like a classroom, the clock does not tick, the computers time does not change and where all doors and windows should be there is a recession but the wall is smoothed over.

The static room-

An animatronic model slums across a desk sluggishly moving. A coffee cup filled with a psychedelic looking pattern sits before the figure. In front of the figure the only light comes from many old tv screens which are filled with colourful static, bars of colour or neon smiling face with spiralling eyes.

The meat shop-

A butcher’s shop where you see candy coloured gore, a selection of goods sit on plates on display they are caked in resin made piles representing dripping colourful gore. Some are pink others neon blue. a model stands massive cleverer mid-swing the model of the muscular butcher who has too many muscles and extra parts.

The neglected mall-

A series of ruined shops situated in a concreted looking space devoid of customers

The puppets room-

With a massive chessboard floor , chess pieces, two large marionette figures playing while being controlled by a gargantuan spider puppet. Smaller model spiders and webs are scattered about the room as well.

The faceless auditorium-

A theatre stage with rows of seats slanting up and around. Model of performers’ on the stage mid act, audience members everywhere even up in the gods.

Most if not all audiences members have smooth blankness where a face should be, some may or maybe only some performers only have mouths. All performers have masks. The clothing is fancy in style.

The altar-

It’s hard to say how or why you’d believe so but this place was obviously of worship specifically for the spiral. The only room that seems to have directly worship in this place the others all seem like art installations or appreciation of the other factors of fear it was strange to see.

[ineffableigh]

Thinking a lot about some memory parallels in season two...

About how everyone in Soho is dressed VERY ANACHRONISTICALLY, but not at all coordinated with each other. Clothes look pristine, brand new, unsullied, unworn. Caricatures of humans from the 40s, 70s, 90s, 2000s. Like an oversimplified idea of what Normal Humans look like.

Like uhhh excuse you white fur coat, leopard print skirt and platform shoes? Weird BRIGHT FUCKING YELLOW shirt, a flowy vest and leather pants? 70s crochet sweater with brown pants, crimped hair and chunky heels?

Rosie the Riveter This lady (Rosie is a different extra!) over here is either wearing big flowy skirts or actual mechanic's overalls like the war posters. She's EVERYWHERE throughout the season:

Rainbow tie dye, big hat, overcoat with pinback buttons? Like the guys in the cemetery?

Lady why are you fully lurking behind a pillar and staring at the Hamm Hams

What's my point? Point is... point is...

Gabriel's memories are the same.

RUSSIA - big hammer and sickle neon sign outside, two guys in back playing chess, one with a big bushy beard and the other a flat cap. Background music sounds like traditional/folk Russian music played on a balalaika, but playback on a ratty old stereo.

USA - Route 66 sign, hubcaps, money wallpaper, budweiser neon sign, bar/pool table/pool cues, American flags fluttering in the wind outside, 50s style radio on the shelf, SAME TWO GUYS IN BACK but now playing cards, and the one on the right has a baseball cap instead. And I don't wanna be like "what modern bar would be playing Buddy Holly on the radio" but... after hearing the background music in the Russian cafe, that is a CHOICE.

Hell, check out Not-Billie-Piper back here and her GIANT 50s up-do:

SAME THING AT THE RESURRECTIONIST, YEAH? ALL THE SONGS ON THE JUKEBOX ARE SCOTTISH OR PERTAINING TO SCOTLAND. "Letter from america" by the PRoclaimers starts playing but it was released in fucking 1987

And of course we know this pub is COVERED in Pressburger references, which we know carry way more meaning than simple fun cameos or whatever. Barring that, this is the Scottishest-Pub-est-looking-pub I've ever fucking seen, and it's SO CLEAN.

A fly IN the movie playing on the screen while we watch Gabriel's memories being returned to him from the fly he receives in this memory? More likely than you think (I can't find the movie name! Not in the X-Ray apparently)...

Anyway all that to say I think the show is trying to tell us SOMETHING is wrong the entire season. There's evidence shit's out of order, everything is WEIRD and high saturation, even people's makeup (Crowley's bloody orange half the time), and it all feels Extremely Set up...

OR poorly remembered.

[crazyexdirkfriend]

Hi Tony i want to ask something of you. In fanon more often than not i see Jake becoming slightly more unhinged and unnerving as he gets older. Do you think this would hpapen canonically? Or are all these fanartsits and writers just projecting what they want from jake on jake

This isn't a hate on it by the way, I just realised the other day I see more often the idea of Jake becoming more unnerving as he gets older alongside Dirk and that i'd accepted it and I'm unsure if its canonically viable or not.

I actually think the nature of Jake is that people project what they want on to him-- be you an author, an audience, or a character within the text. It's an interesting concept because Jake is a character who is never afforded free will and even in fanfiction and transformative works made to give Jake free will, he's still a character doing an author's bidding ultimately.

There's a bit in Meat that discusses this with Calliope and Dirk iirc. Calliope wants Jake to have free will, but Dirk argues that Jake is incapable of free will. And truly, even on a metatextual level, the existence of a narrative voice renders basically everyone, but especially Jake, incapable of free will within a narrative.

I don't know if you've seen Revolutionary Girl Utena, but there's an exchange in Utena that I believe they're referencing intertextually here between Utena and Touga about Anthy. Utena insists that Anthy does not want to be the rose bride, and Anthy confirms this. But when Touga defeats Utena and takes Anthy as the rose bride himself, Anthy claims being the rose bride is all she's ever wanted. Touga then says Anthy is incapable of free will and her expressions of "wanting to be a normal girl" when with Utena were just Utena projecting her own wants on to Anthy and claiming them to be free will.

(pinch of salt, I haven't rewatched Utena in a few years, but this is how I remember the scene)

In many ways, this is what Calliope, and us as authors, do to Jake, and what in text Dirk is criticising as a concept. He's like, well I'm projecting my desires and wants on to Jake and you say that's bad but at least I'm being honest about it. I'm treating Jake like a puppet, but that's all he's ever going to be anyway.

Er. I think I've got wildly off topic from your actual question.

I think getting older in many ways is realising that being 14 is a state of mind and that's just who you occasionally are for the rest of your life. So yeah, I think ageing does come with this element of derangement. I have a lot of thoughts about Jake as effectively this ageing child star, put on a pedestal on Earth-C at 16 and it becoming insidious, exploitative.

Jake is self aware of his lack of agency on a literal level within the narrative, perhaps even of the narrative itself-- like a gilded bird cage of his own making and he probably could slip out between the bars but then who would he be, where would he go, would everyone hate him and abandon him? He'll just stay trapped, stay pretty on display, stay hurt until everyone probably leaves anyway because an audience is a very very fickle thing.

And I think that does sort of lead to an angle for me of Sunset Boulevard, tearing the yellow wallpaper, the starlet breakdown. Which is the depressing, almost Swift approach to it. And then you have the Ultimate Jake approach to it, the Snap. And yeah, I think historically Jake takes and takes and takes and bends and bends and bends and is called selfish for that and eventually that would snap anyone. If on top of that, he's aware of Dirk's actions and of the narrative, of being on display constantly even if he escapes that little bird cage, if the only way to ensure people stop fucking looking at him is to destroy the audience itself-- yes, I would accept that story as viable for his character.

[visceravalentines]

desperately asking dumbification w bo … “daddy’s braindead bitch” RAHHH IM MENTALLY ILL!!!

This has been sitting in my inbox forever just waiting for the spark well tadaaaaa

TW: drug use, dubcon??, daddy kink, degradation & dumbification (so many D's wtf)

He's been fucking you for what may as well be hours.

He got you high, so high, before he coaxed your clothes off. High enough that the curdled yellow wallpaper has taken on an ethereal golden hue. High enough your nerves just hum when he reaches around and fumbles at your clit.

"God, baby, you're so fuckin' wet."

You'll take his word for it. If you focus in you can hear the squelch of him pumping in and out of you. If you try a little harder you can feel the ridge around the head of his cock as it rubs back and forth inside you.

You almost cum again, feel the swell and squeeze of it, hear him groan and curse under his breath as he feels it too. But your senses are too dull to see it through and you're left gasping, unsatisfied yet so overwhelmed with bliss, the stretch of him inside you, his chest damp with sweat pressed against your back.

You keep doing that, keep almost cumming, can't quite make it over the finish line. It's reducing you to a tingling glittering nothing, less of a person and more of a sensation.

"This fuckin' pussy...." He laughs, breathless, determined to keep up his rhythm. "I could live in there, girl." He squeezes the meat of your ass. "Fuck you forever."

You wish he would. You remember he is. You're so high. He feels so good.

"Hey, y'alright there?" His thrusts falter as he leans forward to peer at your face. "You forget how to talk or somethin'?"

You respond, or you think you do. He taps your cheek with his fingers and you moan. You're drooling on the comforter, you realize.

"Goddamn," he chuckles. "Daddy's gone and fucked your brains right out, huh?" His fingertip worries at the plump swell of your lips and you open your mouth for him, suck obediently. "That's it," he smiles. "Nothin' but a hole, baby." He takes up thrusting again, the slap of his hips against your ass driving the pulse in your chest.

"Little slut," he groans. "Fuckin' needy. You need this, huh? 'S all you're good for, yeah?"

He's pounding you into the mattress, slowly pushing the bed off its frame inch by inch. Your cheek is wet. You remember you're drooling. He adjusts his angle and hits a new spot inside you and there it is again--the seize, the clutch, the almost-ecstasy that makes you whine with greed and bunch the sheets in your fist.

"Fuck," Bo snarls, his hands like a vice on your hips as you edge him on accident. "Goddamn tease."

It's not my fault, you'd like to say. It's not your fault his cock fits inside you like you were made for him. It's not your fault all your nerves are swimming, swaying, surfacing just long enough to give you a taste over and over again. You whimper.

There's a soft sugary heat creeping up your body from the place he fills inside you, creeping so slow through your blood. All your muscles want to clench at once. You can feel him in the cup of your hips, in your stomach, in your chest, and it's too much to hold in your meager body but it feels too good to let go.

"Wanna feel that pussy grippin' me, baby. Wanna fill you up...."

His fingers catch on your clit and he works them in frenzied circles. "Y'think you can cum for me, baby?" he coos. "Can you do that for Daddy?"

You let out a broken whine because you can feel it rushing up on you like a stormfront. You cling to the sheets, legs shaking, tiny pleas for mercy dropping wordless off your lips.

He fists the hair at the base of your skull and pulls hard. "Do as I say, girl, cum on this fuckin' cock."

A wavering cry bubbles from your throat. You buck against him as it starts to hit, as it washes over you and sucks you under and fills your lungs, fills your guts, fills that gaping, gasping mouth.

You come utterly undone. You are incapacitated, what little brain you had left cupped carefully in your skull now buzzing into vapor. Your body is throbbing, wracked with bliss, pleasure escaping its confines in strangled little moans against the mattress.

Bo yelps his release through gritted teeth as you milk his cock with incidental fervor. His nails rake across the soft flesh of your sides, marking you his. His head falls back and he chuckles, running his hand down your spine as you twitch below him.

"Yeah," he groans. "Yeah, that's my girl. That's my dumb fuckin' girl."

[sehtoast]

In the quiet moments before bed, Homelander and Ben share their hopes and dreams for the future, finding solace in the knowledge that they'll face whatever comes together.

Either a small fic or a HC format if this is something you are interested to write about.🙏

I just wanna see more cute moments with one of my fav couples. 🥹

asdfghjkl thank you for this ❤️😭 on this episode of domestic benlander bliss...

"Well, we can’t just move to the cabin.  What would you swing from?”

These were the moments that make everything so special.  The soft times, the after, when the world was quiet and it was just them.  No obligations, no wailing sirens (yet), and no assistants pestering them about their next daily task.

“I could attach a web to you.” Ben says.  “Have you fly around a bit.  Course you’d be doing all the work, but…” 

The bug lays on his side, palm supporting his head as he stares down at Homelander.  A faint glow from the TV illuminates them both, long forgotten as they’d wandered into their favorite bedtime subject.

The future.

“Nope.  No free rides.  Well, except on my–”  Homelander raises his brows suggestively.  

“Oh my god,”  Ben groans through a laugh.  “Later.”

A brief pause.

“Some nice houses in Queens, and I could still swing around.” He says.  “Christ, never thought I’d be able to afford something like that, let alone entertain the thought, y’know?”

“Oh please, it’s just a house.” Homelander says as though it really wasn’t that big of a deal.  “How much could it be, like two hundred thousand?”

“Uh… times four and then some.”  Ben replies, reaching for his phone.  He taps away, pulling up a real estate website and snuggles in to make it easier for both to view the screen.  “Man, check these out.”

Homelander scoffs at the most plain looking house he’s ever seen.  “Boring.” He says, swiping his finger along the screen to scroll through.  “Ugly– no way– not happening.  This one doesn’t even have a fence!”

“Oh the horror,” Ben teases.  “Life’s more than a white picket fence, y’know.  Besides, I prefer a nice stained wood approach myself.” 

“Of course you do.”  Homelander scoffs.  “Eeew, this one has a pink toilet!  God, look at the tile color–”

“There’s a reason some of these don’t show the interior.  Did you see the green kitchen cabinets earlier?”

“Yuck,” John groans.  “I don’t know about Queens, babe.  They seem like psychopaths.”

“Blame the seventies.”  Ben says, scrolling to the next one. “Oh my god is that fucking–”

“Leopard print wallpaper! What the fuck is wrong with people...” John chortles.  “Oh, hey, this one’s nice.”

“What would we do with four thousand square feet?”  Ben asks, head tilted back to catch whatever expression his love must be wearing.  “I mean, we’d have Ryan running around too.  Could make him a dedicated Lego room– ooh, and a little studio for his home movies.”

“Now you’re talkin’.”  John says. “Wait, wait.  Yellow walls– no way, babe.”

“We could always just paint– holy shit, is that stained glass in the foyer?”  Ben’s brows raise.  "But yeah... We could paint it. We could make it anything we want, y'know?"

Homelander’s arm wraps tighter around Ben’s shoulder, drawing him closer.  One day they’ll settle somewhere that’s wholly their own.  No hustle and bustle of the tower.  No PA’s to terrorize them. No more circus acts.

Just them, Ryan, and a slice of peace that was all theirs.

One day.

For now, though, they can dream.

[ebongawk]

part one | part two

He fucked up. He fucked up so bad.

Bad enough that when he'd told Wayne how he'd fucked up, Wayne had let out a long, slow sigh, wrapped a comforting hand around his shoulder and squeezed, and then smacked the back of his head like he did when Eddie was acting foolish as a child.

"Jesus, kid," Wayne grumbled as he led Eddie downstairs. "You really like the taste of your own feet, huh?"

"What?"

"Because you keep putting your damn foot in your damn mouth," Wayne shot, smacking him in the head again. Eddie didn't even voice his complaint at the pain. "Didn't I raise you with a modicum of sense?"

"At least one," Eddie sighed, sitting heavily on the kitchen chair – and only then noticing that it, too, was different. Same chairs they'd picked up at a flea market, but obviously refurbished and restained in a way lighter color. The gaudy orange cushions had been replaced with a way mellower off-white that was run through with patterns of ivy. Chrissy had taken down the wallpaper in here, too, and repainted it in a soft chick-feather yellow. And all of the walls were decorated with paintings of sunflowers, bringing her design together so fucking fantastically.

Eddie'd been so up in his own fucking head that he didn't see any of the signs Chrissy had cast up in neon shapes for his arrival. Now that he noticed, he was suddenly seeing dozens of little touches she'd put through the house. Some new furniture to add and replace the secondhand shit they'd scrounged together before he left; new paint on practically every wall; rugs across the wood floors that definitely hadn't been there before; photos and art hung up in practically every room.

Normally, the gross feelings in Eddie's gut were vindicated. People almost always proved to be the goddamn worst.

But Chrissy had never done anything in the entire eighteen months they'd been together to give Eddie a reason to doubt her. He was just... He was just so goddamn used to being disappointed that he'd braced himself for impact without giving her a chance to prove him wrong.

And wrong he fucking was.

So wrong, in fact, that he was convinced he'd ruined the life they had been building together and she was going to leave him.

He didn't even know if he had the strength to stop her.

All of this was voiced to Wayne, who sat across from him at the kitchen table and gave a weary sigh as Eddie wrapped up his pity party.

"Really?" his uncle asked. "One misunderstanding and you're gonna throw in the towel?"

"I accused her of cheating––"

"Yeah, and that was stupid as hell," Wayne interrupted. "But that girl's been with you for well over a year now. I'm sure she expects stupid as hell from you at this point."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Not my fault you've unscrewed a few too many up top," Wayne shrugged. "And I know you've been cheated on––"

"I didn't give a shit about any of that when it happened," Eddie grumbled, waving his hand through the air like he could dismiss Wayne's rumblings.

His uncle blinked at him, head tilted to one side and a strange look on his face.

"Kid, I know you got some shit to work through, but are you honestly trying to convince me you didn't care when Regina messed around behind your back? Or when Leslie did?"

"Pops––"

"You ain't made o' steel, Ed," Wayne finished before Eddie could disagree again. "No matter how you try and convince the world. Anyone with a heart tender as yours would be wounded by that kinda bullshit, alright? But it wasn't you. It was them. And now you've got a girl that wants to go to Hell and back for you. So you better not let her get away."

Wayne stood then before Eddie could compose any sort of retort. Leaving Eddie alone to stew in his own idiocy.

Prior to Chrissy, Eddie didn't really do relationships. He'd had all of a half dozen rushed bar bathroom trysts before the band moved to Cali, and the girls he met in the scene while Corroded Coffin struggled to make a name for themselves weren't all that into being tied down. Which Eddie was fine with. His only stipulation was that they be exclusive so he could avoid catching anything.

They'd both agreed. And they'd both broken that stipulation. He and Leslie had only been seeing each other for a couple months, but Regina was an entire year of his life down the goddamn drain.

It wasn't like he was expecting her to suddenly want to commit. But, fuck, dude, she could've just left when she wasn't feeling it anymore instead of trying to lie. Trying to pretend like she wasn't waiting for the band to make it big so she could snatch him up, then and getting frustrated when it kept not happening. So she fucked other guys to make up for Eddie's extended list of shortcomings, which she presented to him when he confronted her about cheating.

Which was fine. Because he re-met Chrissy a month later and everything worked out for the best.

Except the part where Eddie fucked it all up again.

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Eddie stood up from the kitchen chair in hopes of tracking Chrissy down. He needed to explain shit to her, tell her that it wasn't her fault. That he assumed the worst because he was the worst.

He checked the small back patio first, but she wasn't there. Nowhere else on the first floor, either. Upstairs, Wayne and Jonathan were putting up the finishing touches on his recording studio, but Nancy was nowhere to be found.

"Can't imagine you'd be willing to tell me where your fiancée wandered off to?" Eddie asked as Jonathan carefully placed Eddie's acoustic This Guitar Slays Dragons on the wall.

"And find myself in the doghouse?" Jonathan asked with a quirked brow. "I don't have a death wish, Munson. Sorry."

That was fair. Nancy could be utterly terrifying.

Not as terrifying as Chrissy. But close.

The third guest bed – which had also seen some changes, and which was very obviously being occupied by his uncle during his stay – was also empty, so Eddie made his way back into their bedroom, praying she hadn't already made an exit somehow.

She was there, throwing a few things into an overnight bag.

"Chrissy––"

"Not right now," she said, her eyes trained resolutely on her task. The joy of his unexpected arrival turned to ash on his tongue as she avoided him completely. As she packed away a small portion of his life so she could leave him, however temporarily.

Temporary could become permanent so quickly.

"Please, can we talk?" he tried again, his voice cracking on the question. Splintering like cracked ice that would shatter completely if he put any more weight on it, plunging him into the frigid depths of her absence.

"Talk about what?" Chrissy asked, her voice hard. Like if she didn't keep it level, it would crash into the depths with him. "About how I was cheating?"

"Chrissy––"

"You didn't come home early to surprise me," she said, stilling the movements of her hands but still refusing to look at him, "did you?"

All Eddie wanted was to see that anger. That betrayal on her face. Because at least, if she looked at him, he'd have the opportunity to gauge whether he could fix this.

"No," he admitted, voice half caught in his throat.

Even from across the room, he could hear the ragged intake of her breath.

"I'm, um." She paused, taking another wavering breath. Shoving the last of her belongings into the bag and zipping it shut. "I'm going to stay at Nancy's tonight."

"Chrissy––"

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to talk." She pushed past him, into the hallway and down the stairs before Eddie could breathe.

And he just... watched her go. Staring after the bouncing of her hair until it disappeared.

When the front door slammed shut, Eddie dropped to his knees, staring after the space she'd occupied like he could will her to come back.

Everything in him was rioting. Screaming. Warring with him to go after her, to fix his stupid mistakes, to get her to understand that she was it for him. That he was an idiot, but fuck, he was an idiot who loved her.

Everything, that was, except his heart.

He wondered, distantly, over the roaring of blood in his ears, whether or not she even realized she packed it before she left.

(to be continued)

[boasamishipper]

my personal favorite highlights from the official top gun: maverick script:

meek engineer's name is simon and is dating someone at the pentagon which is how they found out about the drone ranger coming to shut the darkstar project down

"That's...blue sky up there, Mav." "Yeah, but dark blue. Ominous."

mav also called darkstar 'angel' and 'girl' which i'm glad they cut otherwise i would have died in the theater then and there

"Hondo stares at his monitor. He knows his friend well." 🥺🥺🥺

"y'all built one hell of a plane" oh mav ❤️

"For anyone unfamiliar, it’s obvious there is story here - Glory and ghosts." g o d

admiral's aide do you MIND he's having a MOMENT

warlock is described as "an affable, brilliant two-star" hell yeah

i personally think it's hilarious that cyclone was apparently top of his class in '88 but in the script he's in his forties?? even if he's 49 the film takes place in 2019?? that would make him 18 in 1988?? mr mcquarrie sir the math ain't mathing

"Maverick has had about enough of this shit" if that doesn't just sum up both movies

as a macheresin shipper the fact that hangman and coyote were planned as besties from the get-go,,,,,,,my heart is Full

"sorry i couldn't be there" oh ice 🥺🥺🥺

mcq's love for casablanca continues to shine through

penny's dad is alive and retired and still hates mav

"Keepin’ it tight, I see, Phoenix" hangman is such an ASSHOLE i HATE him (affectionate)

bob's description is "human wallpaper" i am DYING

"shit, that's fritz" i DEMAND to know why fritz's arrival elicited that reaction from fanboy!! show me the fritz&b-team daggers cut!!

"Maverick sees a ghost. From this angle, the kid is a dead ringer for Goose, just as gawky and gangly, loving life." and what if i Bawled

MAVERICK REQUESTED HONDO SPECIFICALLY

HONDO WAS GONNA MEET UP WITH A LADY IN RENO WHO IS 'AN ACROBAT' AND 'VERY FLEXIBLE'

"I need at least one person on my side here" MAV

"I'll stand somewhere else" HONDO

mav originally ran the entire class through the contents of the F-18 NATOPS 👀👀👀

in the original script rooster gave hangman his callsign...personally gonna stick with the headcanon that phoenix (if it had to be one of the daggers) was the one who gave it to him, but Very Interesting nonetheless.

rooster calls phoenix 'fee' brb peppering this into All my fics

PHOENIX IS THE MAV OF THE MOVIE CONFIRMED

I DEMAND TO KNOW IF THERE IS FOOTAGE OF GLEN POWELL SINGING 'HOT FOR TEACHER'

genuinely cannot believe mcq wrote this. he is on galaxy tier levels of thinking i could never even hope to reach.

rooster being protective of phoenix you know that's right

theo the yellow lab was originally named "t" in the script,,,,,,,,t for tony scott,,,,,,,,,

"You're a warrior, Ice. A fighter." bury me ALIVE

"(Note: Important we include PILOT POV establishing gray-out in the lead up to G-LOCK)" this script is tighter than a snare drum

"Kinda like your ass depended on it" GET HIS ASS MAV

phoenix and bob refuse to even IMPLY that mav was in any way at fault for them having to eject,,,,,,,,they are Ride Or Die

as a warlock/hondo shipper i am also Delighted they actually got some screentime together

MAV WAS SUPPOSED TO GIVE THE EULOGY AT ICE'S FUNERAL 😭😭😭😭😭

mav and hangman were apparently supposed to talk after mav chose hangman as his wingman but i'm glad that scene got cut because a) showing vs telling and b) hangman is Not emotionally aware or mature enough to say what he says here out loud and you can't convince me otherwise

"Hondo stares at him. Maverick stares back. Something unspoken passes between the two men." and mavhondo shippers everywhere rejoiced

"HONDO squeezes his fist tightly, feeling something crack. He opens his hand to see the crystal of his stopwatch is crushed, the second hand frozen. An omen." HEY MCQ WHAT THE FUCK

"CLOSE ON Hondo, reflecting on his last moment with Mav." see above

"How we gonna get this bag’a ass in the air?" "Just hang on. Cause this bag‘a ass is about to go ballistic."

"Rough Rider, this is, uh...Ghost Rider" *cries in callbacks*

"The minute Hangman touches down, pull the trip wires and have the barricade stanchions ready." (silence) "HE DOESN'T HAVE A GODDAMN TAILHOOK." (OH SHIT FUCK OKAY RUNNING NOW)

lowkey like the parallel between cyclone nodding at mav and hangman and rooster shaking hands. they still don't like each other, but they respect each other a little more now. as the script says, that's enough.

"Among the pictures is one of Goose and Maverick in the bloom of their youth - their whole lives ahead of them." 😭😭😭😭😭

WE WERE ROBBED OF PHOENIX JOINING ROOSTER AND PENNY AND AMELIA AND MAV AT THE HANGAR I REPEAT WE WERE R O B B E D

"TIME CUT as Phoenix holds two model planes, demonstrating air to-air combat to a very interested Amelia." ooooh amelia has a cruuuuuush

"Rooster turns, looks at the make-shift family taking shape in this makeshift home…And he smiles." 😭😭😭😭😭

[hurricane-heatt]

post break up sebmark drabble blehhhh have at it (v brief mentions of animal death + general violence)

~~

So it was important for me to just enjoy home

enjoy the things that are waiting there.

some stuff that, you know, you had no time during the season to fix.

Enjoyed, uh, being in my own bed,

I think it's always

you always want what you don't,

what you don't have.

2013

~~

“Don’t you ever just give it a rest?”

Sebastian doesn’t look at him, carries on staring at the engineers below them. The car looks good from far away. These are the first words Mark has said to him since December 31st, 11:59pm.

“You wouldn’t like me if I did.”

“Don’t know where you got the impression that I like you, mate.”

He just laughs bitterly, turning from the balcony to face Mark. Everyone is far enough for this to happen. There’s offices with thin enough glass that could overhear but they’re empty, just shells. The noise echoes off desks and papers and contracts.

“Think they call that leading someone on, mate.”

Mark holds the eye roll for now.

“Just get a grip, yeah? I’ll play nice if you do, that’s how this works.”

“It’s never been how this works.”

This is the factory and this is the race and this is the championship and this is them, just shadows on blue and red and yellow walls. It’s always been this way. These are not fresh wounds. The blood is drying beneath their feet and back at the house and in those damned hotel rooms.

Maybe Sebastian just hates what he left behind. What he can’t have.

“Fuck off, Seb.”

~~

Thank god he’s home. Mark scrapes 6th after the starting chaos and he thinks about his back covered in scarlet overalls the entire time he claws his way up to points.

He gets out of the car at the end, sees the cars as skeletons, and forgets the bleeding red thoughts entirely.

~~

“Won't you come?”

Mark sits in his childhood bedroom and listens to Sebastian on the phone.

“Thought you hated it.”

He doesn’t say me, he won’t say me. Nails in the coffin, or something like that.

“I couldn’t. You know that.”

happy new year, love

“Fucking hell, Sebastian.”

“Please. You know how this is going to end and I just want- I just want.”

He doesn’t have a fucking clue how it’s going to end, Mark thinks, as he looks at the same piece of wallpaper that’s been tearing for 30 years. He’s looking at the wall while the room speaks to him and it has the voice of the man he loved and it says his name.

“Mark.”

The worst part is he says his name like he’s always said it. That truly is the worst part of it all, not New Year’s, not Turkey or Silverstone or all their other meaningless moments that the journalists attribute to them. Oh, will they ever care beyond that? Will Mark? Will Sebastian?

“Please.”

Monaco. They’ve got matching cars on opposite sides of the world and they’ve got matching scars on old liveries from each other’s sharp edges. They’ve got enough bruises in the same places underneath their skin that won’t ever heal and they’ll sting when they bump into each other in 5, 10 years.

“I can’t, Sebastian.”

There’s a long crackle of silence, the static flooding the room.

“Are you sorry about it?”

And if he willed himself, Mark could go off on a spiel of what do I need to be sorry for? He could start with all the useless conversations that never ended nicely but at least they did end. He’s run out of bandages and he’s no longer dressing his wounds, neither of them are. It’s just that Sebastian is more willing to poke at one until it’s infected all over again.

Maybe Sebastian still wants to hurt. Mark won’t grant him that, whether it be in the form of an argument or his appearance at his hotel room door. That’s his punishment.

“Goodnight, Seb.”

happy new year.

~~

“Can I call you? Please, Mark, can I call you?”

Everything is in motion, still. It’s not the adrenaline, long dead in his bones, but it’s something different, something much worse. He feels nauseous when Sebastian looks at him the way he does. Mark can’t hear himself talk but he knows he’s let go.

Fingers release the cliff-edge and he’s finally in free fall.

The second step feels even lower when the guy on the top looks down at you with big blue eyes that are conflicted and flitting from the sky to your cap that has 2 on it so boldly no one could mistake it. He could read Seb’s mind, if he really wanted to. They’ve always been too good at doing that to one another.

He thinks about bulls and prancing horses and roadkill as someone else’s words wash over him and black oil spills from his mouth.

~~

You’ve got to understand my point of view, here.

I don’t know how the fuck you think you’ve got a point of view.

Stop shouting

Seb, I’m not- Right. Go on then.

I’m telling you that I think I’ll always respect you. As a driver. You know that.

But you’ve entirely- I can’t believe you, I can’t respect you as a person, not after that.

Then our relationship is in trouble. That’s it.

Yeah, that’s it.

~~

Mark bows out but not before he feels the wind in his hair. It feels a bit like freedom but it feels a lot more like relief.

He feels the weight of Sebastian’s words on him once more, the feeling of his palm in his in a firm handshake, and he finally retires as a Formula One racing driver. Sebastian takes his last world championship and they both cry at 11pm that night but they won’t ever know the other did too.

The phone line remains uncalled and the hotel room doors stay shut.

~~

“Were you happy to see me go?”

There’s red wine and too much of it. Sebastian looks older already but it’s only been two years. He looks better for a Ferrari racesuit. Mark looks better for doing whatever he wants. They’re still working out how all of this goes but they’re doing it gently.

Mark hopes they are, anyway. It’s not been fucking easy, but at least it’s been gentle.

“Happy isn’t quite right.”

Mark doesn’t push, something else he’s learning, and just looks out onto the garden and sips from his glass. The night air sings with creatures and is lit by the stars that are so clear here.

“I just watched you go. I felt nothing.”

“And was that good or bad?”

Sebastian smiles, knowing Mark always wants a clear answer.

“Well, it’s got me here. Got you here too. So I think it’s good.”

Mark never thought it any good to feel nothing, but he looks at Sebastian’s face now and doesn’t see numbness.

It’s the wine and it’s their shadows together.

Maybe one day, it’ll be them again.

2015

~~

[sadhours]

Sixteen months have passed. Billy is an angry kind of bitter. ‘Cause he didn’t ever really open himself up to anyone. In preparation for moments like this, where he gave himself entirely to someone and loved them more than he loved himself. Which was kind of easy for him to, since Billy didn’t even like himself. The thing is, he resisted Steve. Yeah, maybe he started it back in basketball practice. But then Steve figured it out and Billy stayed away. Wouldn’t allow them to be alone together.

Steve grew persistent. So much so that Billy couldn’t ignore it and really, he was human. The second he saw those big, down turned puppy dog eyes and floppy hair he was certainly smitten. But those words his dad liked to call him flooded his mind whenever he looked at Steve ‘cause it was like Neil knew before Billy did. He smelled the queer on Billy before he could even figure it out for himself.

He remembers it down to the fucking socks Steve wore, how it finally happened. They were argyle, ugly pink and pale yellow. Golf socks probably. Steve’s mom definitely bought them. Billy laughed at them, in his dumb room with his ugly plaid wallpaper and his baseball trophies that can’t be hard to earn in a sweat stain of a city like Hawkins. Some semblance of a truce when Steve invited him over that night. Steve offered weed that’s laughable compared to what he was used to in San Diego but he still smoked it. Tried to fucking impress him with smoke tricks but Steve could do them all too. Cheap beers went down easy and then they talked. Steve complained about his parents and Billy was just barely intoxicated enough to admit the horror movie his own home life was like. Steve seemed concerned and Billy pushed it away, felt sober when Steve touched him. He confronted him, and Steve came clean.

“The hell did you even invite me here for? Soap opera bullshit?”

“I think you like me,” Steve had blurted out, “Or at least, maybe there’s a different reason you smashed my face up.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Billy got all aggressive which looking back, he feels ridiculous about because Steve wanted him just as much.

“There’s like this look in your eye, it’s like, at first, I don't know,” Steve had exhaled, “You scared me at first, or annoyed me at least but then you almost killed me and after that, you looked at me different. Like you felt guilty. And I wracked my brain for why. Thought it was just like, you know, normal guilt but you didn’t apologize. Or like acknowledge it, and maybe… I figured maybe it’s because you were picturing your own face when you were punching mine.”

A beat of silence. Billy had no fucking clue what to say. But Steve said, “Then I realized you felt mad about it because you’d really rather kiss me than punch me and that scares you more than anything. And like, listen, I’m not gay. But I look at you and I find myself being attracted to you and I don’t question it. Must be natural if I’m feeling it.”

Billy stared at the stars after that but when Steve reached for his hand he didn’t recoil. He let him. And then Steve went inside, and Billy followed him.

So yeah, when Steve told him he didn’t feel that way anymore, it ripped his heart out. ‘Cause the reason they even got to where they were is because Steve’s stupid, pretty mouth got ‘em there.

Billy hadn’t liked anyone like he liked Steve. Hadn’t ever gone to bed, holding himself and imaging it was someone else. He was so used to being the only one there for him. And it became where he wasn’t home ever and it wasn’t because he was trying to get away from Neil. It was because he didn’t feel like himself if Steve wasn’t in arms reach. It was because Billy felt like he couldn’t breathe if he wasn’t in Steve’s company.

Like, yeah. It wasn’t healthy. Billy allowed himself to become utterly codependent on Steve. It was only a matter of time before Steve felt suffocated. Billy was up his ass, literally and figuratively.

For the dumbest shit. Steve said he missed women. And that just doesn’t make any sense to Billy. How can you miss something you don’t even have? Well, fuck, okay… he doesn’t have Steve and he misses him. Doesn’t have his mom and misses her. Fine, okay, it makes sense but Billy’s still mad. He didn’t even accept he liked men before Steve forced it on him, but he doesn’t miss women. Just misses the way Steve would play with his hair and the way his eyes crinkled and that little dimple in his cheek.

Billy discovers Nancy Wheeler is the reason for their break up. Jonathan’s out in California and well, Steve isn’t. Steve’s here. And Nancy’s still in school. Billy hopes she isn’t like her mom. That she won’t fold to the first love telling her he wants a family. Because Steve wouldn’t shut up about a family. Told Billy he wanted like, a fuckton of kids. Which like, Billy can’t physically give him. Maybe he’s cursing biology to this day for it, that’s his own business.

So Nancy and Steve pick up where they left off. Billy avoids them like the plague, can’t even fathom seeing Steve but Heather tells him all the gritty details. But he can’t avoid Steve forever. Because Maxine needs to rent a movie, and Billy’s still her designated chauffeur while he’s living under Neil’s roof. The BMW is parked outside so Billy insists he’ll wait in his car. It goes smoothly. He doesn’t see Steve. He stares at the fucking dumb car his daddy bought for him and thinks about all the times he spent in the backseat. A seething anger takes over him and he’s cruel to Max when she climbs back inside the Camaro.

But she keeps asking. And two nights he’s staring at the car under the horrible neon lights of Family Video.

Max takes a loooong time one night. Like thirty minutes. Billy chainsmokes until he can’t take it, too impatient as he storms through the doors. And then those puppy dog eyes meet his and it’s like a fucking freight train runs through him. His heart literally breaks again as his eyes catch the glimmer of a ring on Steve’s finger. Heather hasn’t told him this. There’s no common courtesy left in him as he grabs a hold of Max’s hood and drags her out of the store. Ignores the look on Steve’s face as he manhandles his step sister out of the fluorescent lit shop. Max doesn’t say a single word on the way home.

He’s having lunch with Heather when he sees the happy couple. He manages to keep calm. Mostly for Heather’s sake. Because Billy’s seeing red, wants to turn into a little tornado of destruction and Steve’s a pathetic trailer in his path. He lights a cigarette instead, tells Heather the most embarrassing things about Steve he can think of.

And then it’s calm for a while. Billy works an excruciating amount of overtime to distract himself. His dad finally tells him he’s proud. And Billy breaks then. Gets in his car and drives the familiar roads until he’s in Loch Nora. The BMW is parked where it always is, alone. He doesn’t even knock. Flies into the house with the anger he’s been bottling up for months.

Steve’s on the couch, stands upright and panicked when the front door smacks against the wall. Looks terrified. And Billy wants to be violent, wants to punch Steve’s lights out but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at him and cries, “Why?”

He’s cried in front of Steve before. It’s not new, but they haven’t talked in so long.

“Billy,” Steve’s voice is firm, like Billy’s a fucking dog and he just has to scold him.

“No! Fuck you!” he shoves Steve, but the taller man doesn’t budge. Grabs onto Billy’s biceps. “I loved you!” Billy cries, “You made me love you!”

“Hey, hey… woah,” Steve looks so alarmed, his eyebrows knit together and fuck, he still loves him.

“Why did you do this?” Billy blubbers, punching weakly against Steve’s chest.

Steve wraps his arms around Billy, pulls him flush and he can’t fight back. He’s where he’s wanted to be this whole time, in Steve’s arms. He cries, shoving his face in Steve’s neck as the sobs wrack through his body.

“I hate you!” Billy cries and cries, clutching onto Steve. He rubs soothing circles into Billy’s back. Still knows how to calm him down. “I can’t— I can’t— Steve!” he sobs, welcoming the tight embrace. “I love you…”

“I know,” Steve comforts him, squeezing hold of Billy. It’s wrong but it helps. Just being close like this again with him. He feels whole again.

“Why?” he cries a little softer this time.

Steve sighs, pulls back but starts petting Billy’s head, “Because... the way you feel about me… it’s how I feel about Nancy.”

Billy’s heart twists, Steve might as well reached inside his chest and wrung it out himself.

“No… Steve…” Billy hiccups, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, “I… what about me?”

Steve sighs, “Listen… I do love you, still. There’s always gonna be this place in my heart for you but it’s done. I’ve moved on, Billy.”

He sniffles, looks up at the man he loves but decides he’s embarrassed himself enough. He pulls back and straightens himself out, “Yeah. No. I’m… fuck, okay. Yeah, that’s fine. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be what you wanted. But you’re right. It’s done.”

—

“Heather,” Billy laughs, reaching for her hand. “C’mere.”

She laces their fingers as she leans into him. Okay, so he never saw this coming. And yeah, he sees Steve around. Sees Nancy and her huge belly. Sure it still hurts. But he’s got Heather. He thinks that’s all he needs.

[losttoliterature]

quotes from clover and i's call from the point when we actually started studying (allegedly):

'oh i think i cooked - have i cooked? oh fuck i have not cooked'

'oooh it is [crush]'s mum's birthday today'

*both on mute, staring at each other silently and unblinkingly for a minute straight*

'i HaVe AcQuIrEd SnAcKs'

'good on you for focusing and actually doing your work' *me, looking up from typing on this list that she doesn't know im writing* yep mhm definitely doing that

*drops brioche*

eeeEEEEEEEeeeeEEeeeeeEeEeEeee

why are you staring at the screen like that? 'im on pinterest' *noises of betrayal* 'NO I CAN EXPLAIN' followed by lots of unworthy excuses

'is that a flattering angle? no hang on, turn it this way, thats okay, kind of flattering, oh hang on no here we go thats flattering, yeah thats flattering.... oh shit i thought i was on mute'

*swearing, fire, lots of important paper*

more worthless excuses about being on pinterest, you traitor

'you can't see it but every time i said a word i turned a page of my sketchbook and it was very dramatic if i do say so myself'

would you like to see a feather? 'i would love to see a feather. oh wow. yeah i would eat that feather'

'im therapisting right now'

*outrage at finding out my focus was tumblr-based and not biology-based* *seeing it* oh wait that's kind of iconic

that's ok, you don't really need context for me to just scream at you

*focused* *yapping* are you even listening? *more yapping* ask [friend], they already know, they can tell you 'WAIT WHAT DID YOU SPILL TEA WHILE I WASN'T LISTENING?!!'

'im just going to stare broodingly out the window'

i gotta hang up 'aw no... i can still talk to myself i guess... ooh look at that wallpaper' (getting a little too close to 'the yellow wallpaper')