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zaceouiswriting · 21 days

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Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.31

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

(Let me introduce you to Brandon. Please ignore his hair and eye color. It's almost impossible to find someone with sky-blue eyes and golden hair. Just imagine that he has both. Thank you.) (Also, before anyone asks: Yes, the Brandon (Who knows, knows) we saw in the Winx Saga is handsome, but in my opinion, he just doesn't fit.)

Eating at the cafeteria was quite awkward, as Sky and Brandon had sensed the awkwardness between Riven and me. However, I told them that I still thought he was a psychopath and hoped that this would help cover up what happened between us. When I looked over at him, he seemed relieved and even smiled cheekily, almost as if he liked that I thought he was crazy and kept our incident a secret.

Even though the situation with Riven happened over an hour ago, I can't get that stupid glint in his beautiful indigo eyes out of my head.

Upset, I thrust my sword down harder and accidentally split a tree in half. I move gracefully like snow slowly falling down the Bargener mountains. It almost feels like I'm dancing—moves I've never done before. Up until this point, I've always fought efficiently to kill. But now that none of that is around, I can finally let go.

I move like one of those dancers on the stages of clubs young nobles like to go to, where a story is told only through dancing. I never really liked it, though. It was boring, and even now that I'm doing something similar, I still don't like it, but the movements just feel right. Honestly? My body feels a lot more exhausted than usual. Normally I would have to train from morning to evening to get even a bit tired. But with so much movement, the sweat is dripping down my forehead after just an hour.

In the middle of a particularly long circular motion where I twist and turn several times, I initially press my sword between my eyes against my chest, but then let go and hold it in one hand while I go in the other direction with my free hand. However, I quickly pull back as I notice my turns becoming sloppier and hold it tightly to me instead. As a final act, I carefully move my free hand to my sword and snake my arm upward, holding the blade up, until I firmly grasp the handle with both hands. Suddenly I stop and thrust the sword forward.

Nothing happens for a second, until the tree I'm aiming the sword at gets a big hole in it, and many trees behind it look similar.

I feel oddly proud of it and smile mischievously. Especially since I know someone who can help me heal these trees, the picture of the girl from the forest flashes in my mind.

But suddenly something lands on my head, pulling me out of my prior thoughts. Soon after, I feel a sharp pain where this small animal stands. As I reach up, I can feel feathers. I grab it quickly, as one should when handling a small bird, immediately and effortlessly removing it from my scalp and moving it before my eyes.

"You little shit," I mutter under my breath, "how dare you peck at me?" As I stare at it, a strange sensation comes over me, almost as if its striking blue feathers are pulsing. I stroke it down to its front, just above the heart. Pressing my thumb onto it, I find what I expected. Lifting my gaze from his chest back to its eyes, I couldn't hold back a wide grin. All the while, its black eyes gleam fearfully back at me.

But I don't say anything else. Instead, I put the little bird in my pocket, careful not to hurt its wings. Since it is warmer now than recently, I walk briskly around the house.

As I rush through the front door, there are still many people milling around, talking and even giggling. Some of the girls even talk to the boys, something they've mostly avoided before, which makes me happy as I like the specialists and I know that many of them have their eye on some of the fairies. Of course, they would; they're fairies and therefore beautiful.

A couple of guys call me over the moment they see me from seats in the lounge. When I get there, one of them jumps up and puts me in a headlock, or at least tries to, but out of pure reflex, I do the same. Laughing, we start to wrestle, but I try to be mindful not to crush my new little friend in my pocket.

But suddenly I see a grin on his face, and before I know it, he drops to the ground, puts his feet on my stomach, and catapults me into the air. I can only watch all this with wide eyes, too stunned at the absurdity of the moment.

What the fuck just happened? I look around and find myself face down on the couch where the idiot had been sitting. When I find his eyes again, I think I see an apologetic glint in them, but he quickly stands up, swings himself over the arm of the sofa, right next to me, and even helps me sit up normally.

"Dude, what the fuck is going on?" I ask him quietly, trying not to seem too bothered in front of the girls.

"Sorry, bro," he whispers back, audibly apologetically, "but I really like this girl, and... well, you know me. I usually eat my own foot when I talk, and although they giggle a lot, they seem uncomfortable around me."

As I look from him to the girls, then back to him, and back to the girl he seems to like, I can only groan internally, but I smile at him anyway. I hope I've made it obvious that our conversation isn't over yet, but instead of talking it out right then and there, I turn to the girls.

"I'm sorry for the sudden... interruption, but you see, Vinok over here"—I put my arm around his shoulders, look at him briefly, and stroke his chest—"is a little impulsive." I let my words sink in for a moment and when the girl's expected uncomfortable expression becomes visible, I know that the moment has come. "Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy, kind, a problem solver, strong, fierce, and strong-willed; he can be a great protector and an excellent listener."

I ordered him to stand up to prove my last point, which he quickly did. For a second I feel my smile widen; a sick thought of ordering him to do lots of embarrassing things crosses my mind, but I quickly push it aside.

"As you can see, he is tall, maybe still a bit lanky, but with enough training that will change too but"- I pull up his shirt, showing the girls his flawless abs, and smack them lightly- "He is already well defined; he takes pride in his looks; just behold his sharp facial features and those light blue eyes. Once he goes on a mission in his second year, girls will be all over him. It would be best for all concerned to catch him as early as possible before he can build an ego, as he is still down to earth and a very humble, resourceful man."

As I watch the girls blush more and more (I may take advantage of the moment to stroke Vinok's abs more than necessary), I analyze the girl he seems to like: Nacterna, a fairy whose powers even scare me a little since she can manipulate the darkness. I wouldn't like to meet her in a dark alley.

She is the first to regain her composure. "So you're talking your friend up, aren't you?" she asks, although she obviously already knows the answer. I can only smile kindly at her. "Then please tell me all the bad things about him too."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vinok direct his confident gaze at me, but it completely disappears when he sees my playful grin.

"Alright then, please excuse my informal choice of words," I tell her without giving her a chance to say anything. "He's a bit of a dumbass, rather dull and oblivious; he doesn't understand most of the time when people don't want to talk to him or about the subjects he brings up, and his manners are also pretty much the worst I've ever seen." I feel like I'm getting off-topic and start to disparage his character instead, but when I see the dejected expression on his face, I can only sigh; after all, I like him. "Despite all of that, he has my full seal of approval, manners can be learned, and even though most of the subjects he's interested in are lame, he has an almost childlike fascination with them, and his brain is completely tuned to them. He could probably learn a lot, but I would honestly advise against it because he's a great guy either way. If I had the choice of who I wanted by my side in battle or just as a friend, he would be one of my first choices."

Nacterna looks at me in astonishment. Although we haven't spoken much, she knows as well as anyone how high my standards are, since for the past two months I have barely acknowledged my roommates, let alone the popular girls in our fairy class.

But after my rather long speech, it was quiet; even though it had been noisy a few seconds before, it now almost seemed we were the only people there.

I look around; everyone is staring at us, and then I avert my gaze back to Vinok. I immediately feel my cheeks burning. Quickly I pull my hand away from his abdominal muscles, which I seemingly have been mindlessly massaging the whole time. Although it doesn't seem to bother him much, the strange looks make me feel uncomfortable. Only when I stop does he look down, whereupon I immediately order him to sit down again. But the discomfort didn't go away after that.

I apologize and quickly leave the room, but it's not until I'm back in the foyer, standing in the middle of the mosaic, that I can breathe again. I can't even remember ever holding my breath. So I take a deep breath, not thinking about much other than the hope that I at least played a decent wingman. It was my first time, after all.

As I replay that last part in my head, an old image of him comes to mind—his smile as he looked down at me while he took my first breath. I couldn't control the tightening of my pants or the furious blush on my cheeks as a certain heat overwhelmed my entire body. It has been a while since I thought about what it feels like to make love.

Still, deep in my little world, I suddenly feel something hard against me. I am torn from this dream that only consists of love and memories.

I look around me with blurred vision, although it takes a while before I can focus again, but in the meantime, I feel my body crumbling. Somehow I knew that I would soon be lying on the floor.

Instead of just falling, I feel something massive falling with me, as if I'd just run into a dilapidating wall or large statue that I must have somehow run into. I still couldn't see anything concrete. But as I see the ground getting closer, I close my eyes, too mentally exhausted to do anything about it, certain that whatever may fall on me can never hurt me too much.

I wait and wait, but the pain never comes. There was a sharp jolt, but no pain. But somehow I still can't believe that's all, so I keep my eyes closed and my hands near my chest. At least I think it's my chest, but when I touch it and grip it a little harder, I don't feel anything. Have I hurt myself without realizing it? Have I lost feeling in most parts of my body? But then again, I can move my hands, fingers, and feet without a problem.

Daring to open one eye a slit, I see something... no, someone, below me. Even more confused than before, I open my other eye, but the surprise of what I see causes them to widen until I can clearly see the tight blue-gray uniform of the second-year students at Red Fountain Academy. Many frightening thoughts are running through my head; in the end, I can only hope this is not one of the ones I don't want to see. Very slowly, almost comically, I raise my gaze and soon find myself looking directly into the pure blue eyes of the golden-haired, handsome boy whom I try to avoid at every turn.

Why does fate have to be such a bitch? I can't believe that even though I try everything to avoid him, I still somehow run into him. Literally. What's going on?

"Are you okay?" Brandon's slightly distorted voice sent a chill down my spine; it sounded hoarse and deep, but somehow raspy too. By the old ones, how am I supposed to exist like this?

I quickly realize that it has been my mistake not to answer him, because the next moment I feel his fingers on my face and under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, probably so he can see me better.

So just a second later I can see everything about him, and there is not a single blemish on his skin, not a speck of dust, not even a birthmark—nothing; his skin is clean and soft, almost inviting me to gently poke it. For some reason, I believe his skin would feel like the washed and dried one of a newborn baby. I still vividly remember how soft Vivian's skin was when she was born; even though she was an ugly baby, her demeanor was so sweet. She looked at me with wide eyes, started to smile, and grabbed my hand. She was my shadow until Grandpa banished me to war.

I am suddenly painfully aware of his worried look, almost staring into my soul, making me uneasy. "It's fine," I barely managed to say, my voice uncertain. His gaze becomes suspicious, but he lets it go. Yet he didn't let go of my face. Our faces come closer; I almost feel like I'm falling into his beautiful sky-blue eyes, and I wish I could taste his lips just once. From this angle, they look reddish—though normally very pale pink—and moist, as if he had been preparing for a moment like this. They are slightly open, almost begging me to put my own on them.

I feel myself wanting it and moving into him, and then I'm right in front of his face. He also raises his head and comes closer to me, just like I do. It's almost like something magical is forcing us closer together. But when I finally feel his hot breath on my lips, my senses return.

I immediately push him back down, wild fear coursing through my veins. Did I almost really kiss him? And worse, I wanted it? I can't believe it! Enraged, I sit up, but feeling his rock-hard abs under my bottom only makes it worse. All I want to do is help him back onto his feet and take him to any empty room I can find. Damn, why do the biggest assholes have to be the hottest guys?

I sit there for a minute, desperately trying to get these dirty thoughts out of my head where they most definitely don't belong. Even though I'm engaged, I can't bring myself to care about my fiancé. I'd rather never get married than be forced to. On the other hand, finding a lover would not only be easy, but it wouldn't be outrageous; I wouldn't be the first King with lovers. It might shame me in the eyes of many to do so, but then again, I have no say in my marriage, so shouldn't I be allowed to fool around and find someone worthy of my love, even within the context of marriage or engagement?

While I am pondering about all these different thoughts, I suddenly feel two rough, warm hands on my legs. My gaze immediately jumps back to Brandon, whose face is even redder than before.

"Can you stop moving?" he whispers, almost too quiet to hear. It honestly takes a moment for his words to sink in, but the moment it finally happens, my head snaps in his direction. Once again, my cheeks flush; only this time I can feel my whole body burning.

Never in my life have I gotten up faster than at that moment. I must forget what I saw; nothing of it can stick in my memory. This guy... this madman can't be on my mind in my lonely moments when I dream about him and remember the naughty times we shared. No, that cannot happen; I would rather turn myself into an eunuch than dishonor the love I shared with him!

I inwardly curse myself and try desperately to get that image out of my head, but it seems impossible. I look around discreetly, but luckily I can't see anyone, so our encounter and the unfortunate direction it has taken might have gone unnoticed. At least there won't be any rumors. After all, I don't think my forced fiancé would be very pleased to learn that I nearly made out while I was engaged to him. But then again, why should I care? None of my offspring will come from him anyway; I'd rather end the existence of my world than have a child with someone I don't love or, for that matter, don't even really like.

Before I can sink too deeply into thought again, I remember Brandon. When I look down, I see him still lying on the floor, but the redness in his face and his heavy breathing have calmed down.

He doesn't react immediately when I hold out my hand. Only when I clear my throat does he turn his head in my direction, and when I catch his eye, I see only surprise.

“Come on, take my hand,” I murmur. “I don’t want to look like an idiot just because you have a problem controlling your body.”

Brandon blushes again, but luckily he finally takes my hand, and with a quick movement I pull him up. It must have shocked him because his eyes are wide, but he is so close again. Instead of just standing up, he comes closer to me. He's taller than me, more than I initially thought, which isn't difficult since we were never this close, or maybe I'm not as tall as I always believed. At least Sky, the brown-haired prince of Eraklyon is even taller than him.

The sky-blue eyes looking down at mine make me uneasy again, weakening my knees. Suddenly, I feel a hand at my side, the grip on my waist hard, not tight enough to hurt me but enough to make me even more nerveless. Does he care about me, or is this all just one long joke for him?

In this situation, I have to remind myself that he was the one who tortured me the most in that seedy dungeon; he was callous and cruel. It makes me remember the blood I've lost, the pieces of flesh he's cut out, and the many ways he's almost killed me. It finally frees me from this strange spell that Brandon seems to have cast over me. The butterflies in my stomach turn sour, and anger radiates from my heart. Suddenly my knees feel stable again.

With a raging fire burning in my heart, I finally push him away, turn around, and storm away, leaving the scattered books and papers he must have been busy with for him to pick up.

[Masterlist]

#x male reader #male reader #male reader imagine #winx club #winx saga #winx saga x male reader #brandon x male reader #winx club x male reader #winx saga imagine #winx club imagine #sky x male reader #sky imagine #sky #brandon imagine #brandon #riven x male reader #riven imagine #riven

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according2thelore · 5 months

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Ohmygod this was my askkkk!! I am so so happy with thiss, rolling around it like a kitten I am sooo fed!!! Tysm!! The twist with it being their intention all along for ES!winchesters to find out…..I am dead, absolutely dead. You are so good, soo creative. ES!Sam you are in for a ride, and ES!Dean, you better get over with your hangups soon and accept what it is.

My imagination is running wild now and because of this being intentional, I am imagining LS!Winchesters now fully staging this setup, lure ES!Sam in it because he would be easier to convince and LS!Sam knows that Dean *deserves* to be with a version of himself, pre cage, pre demon blood, all pure and innocent and fiery and angry and confident - something he is only rarely these days. This Sam will take what he wants. So LS!Sam arranges this thing for LS!Dean and ES!Sam, tells his Dean to enjoy! And my oh my does he. ES!Sam is his to claim first now???? This precious thing, eager to please but also has this arrogance in him that makes him so so so much Sam. Meanwhile ES!Dean is off to run some errand (by LS!Sam's design) but he returns early and sees his baby bro with that older version of himself and LOSES IT. HOW DARE DEAN NOT ONKY DEFILE HIS OWN LITTLE BROTHER BUT ALSO ES!DEAN'S!!!!! HE IS FURIOUS AND YEARNING AND HATES IT THAT HE WASNT THE ONE AND STARTS STRAIGHT UP MURDER BUT LS!SAM MAYBE CALMS HIM???? OHMYGOD

(also??? thank you so much for correcting the misread ask???? I would have taken with greedy grabby hands if you had completely misread it also!! I am OBSESSED with this verse! You are the nicestestestest)

HIHIHIHI!!!!!

GAH! this ask was so cute and nice i was kickin' my lil feet!

this idea is so great! your mind!

this falls into a similar category as one of my most recent posts, and i wrote it accordingly. do i think that LS!Dean would deprive ES!Dean of being LS!Sam's "first" dean? no, i don't think so. that bastard is so possessive i think he can respect the insane-brotherwife grind.

so this is just a delightful hypothetical based on your prompt!

without further ado, enjoy!

"plan b?" dean asks, and sammy lifts his head from his arms. his temples throb with a headache.

dean is sitting across from him at the dining table, nursing a glass of something sam can smell from here. sam snags the glass and takes a sip that curdles his nose hairs before passing it back.

"were we really this stupid? like this dumb?" sammy groans, rubbing a hand through his hair. "i mean, i believe you would be this obtuse, but me? i was just studying for the LSAT like a year ago!"

"oh here comes the big fancy college boy with his big triangle words. you're still gagging for me so hard you're getting an aneurysm." dean rolls his eyes. sammy rolls his eyes right back.

it hadn't worked. they had set those little fuckers up, and expected at least a conversation to happen. but sammy just walked in on their younger selves in the kitchen the other day and they didn't even break apart abashedly! no awkward explanations at all! there wasn't even anything to explain--they were standing on opposite sides of the room!

"did we make it worse?" sammy asks. dean considers this.

"nah. we can fuck it up at least three times as bad if we put our heads together."

so they put their heads together.

~~~

"you want me to what?" sam asks, and there's that blush. sammy tilts his head away so the kid can't see him smile. it's going to make this so much harder if he thinks he's being laughed at.

"pour some sugar on me," dean says, waggling his eyebrows.

sam's face sours.

yup. made it harder.

"not really," sammy is quick to correct. "just...make it look like something's happening."

sam's eyes narrow.

"why?"

and isn't that the crux of the whole damn thing. sammy's done some weird things in his life. he's been to the past. he's been to the future. he's been to hell, been to alternate dimensions, and killed just about every type of monster one can think of.

and yet, having to explain why he and dean want to "parent trap" their own younger selves to said younger self might rank high on that list of weird.

"guy's in love with you." dean says, before sammy can say anything. sammy clenches his jaw. way to just jump into this thing.

sam blanches. "no. he's not. you're--he's my brother. you don't know what you're talking about."

"i don't know dean?" dean asks, eyebrow raised. sam sputters.

"well, you know you. but my dean is different. he's not--" heat creeps onto sam's cheeks, as if remembering the compromising position he caught them in the other day. "you."

dean mhmms flatly.

"then what's the harm? he walks in on this, is not jealous, and it doesn't do anything." sammy posits.

"easy for you to say! you have--" sam gestures at dean, but doesn't look at him. "if my dean caught me like that, if he knew--he'd...he'd never talk to me again. he'd...he'd be disgusted."

sammy and dean share a look. after having been tested so often, so deeply, and reaffirming their...bond--as chick-flick and meaningless as it sounds--the distance they had gained from this depth of anxiety removed the sting from it.

sammy will always remember working himself literally ill over it. but when he feels like that, he has the comfort of walking up to dean and biting down on the place where his neck and shoulder meet. he has the comfort of dean putting sticky notes that read "kick me" on the back, and then holding his face like he's the only thing that's ever mattered.

their younger selves deserve this. sammy has no idea if this is going to change the past. he doesn't know if these two will leave here tomorrow or in a week or in a year and be completely wiped-clean, or if they'll keep it all. but they deserve that comfort, that confirmation, that reassurance, as long as they can have it.

and honestly, fuck it. sammy wants a younger dean to be with his younger self. he sees their insecurities and their weird dance around each other and kciks himself for ever being so blind.

not having dean as soon as it was possible to have him will always be one of his biggest regrets.

so, sammy says,

"okay, listen. if it doesn't work, we have a mirror in 219 that erases the viewer's memories from the last 24 hours. all of 'em. so if we try this, and it doesn't work, we can slip it under dean's pillow, and he won't even remember. a zero sum game. no harm, no foul, right?"

sammy can feel dean's eyes on the side of his face, but he maintains intense eye-contact with his younger self.

no, they don't. they absolutely do not have that.

but for the first time, he can see something like hope in the kid's eyes, and--again, fuck it. in for a penny.

"he won't remember?" sam repeats, slowly.

"not a thing." sammy says, wondering if this counts as lying or self-delusion. sam is quiet for a long moment. he looks between him and dean for a few times, suspicion melting.

"yeah. okay." he says finally, looking at dean with a strange hunger in his eyes that brings sammy up short. oh shit. should he-- "i'm in."

~~~

getting dean out of the bunker is embarrassingly easy.

"you know what i would kill for right now?" sammy asks, suddenly, while they're all sitting around a table in the library. sam jolts, even though he had been expecting it. "pringles. do we have any pringles left?"

"oh, man." sam says, his eyes widen. "me, too."

even though they planned this out ten minutes ago, sammy's dean perks up like he's going to say something decidedly not-on-script. sammy shoots him a warning look. he sighs.

"whoops. i think i ate them all." dean looks at the table, like he's a football player forced to be in the school play for extra credit.

"oh." younger dean says. he sits up straight. he looks back and forth between the sams. "i mean. yeah. if we need a grocery run, i could go get some."

his nonchalant tone is belied by the fact his almost trips over his own feet to get up.

"i'll be back!" he calls, already in the doorway.

"god, i'm so fucking transparent." older dean mutters directly into his own palms as he hides his face in his hands. sam pats him on the back comfortingly.

forty-five minutes later, it's all in motion.

sammy knocks against the door twice as he hears dean's footsteps shuffle down the hallway, and rushes away, rounding the corner so dean won't be able to see him.

sam and older dean are set up in the garage. dean had pulled up one of the cars right next to the door so younger dean could see everything.

they had laid out clear ground rules: no actual kissing, no touching "bathing suit territory" (dean had proposed that addendum solemnly, and sam's face had screwed up, like he was considering if he actually felt anything but annoyance for his brother.)

they had decided on signals: two knocks when dean was coming, one knock if things were going to plan, three knocks for "i'll go get the mirror" for sam, and "oh shit we gotta have a plan c" for dean.

sammy had made sure the door was perfectly cracked to give dean some assurance of anonymity, and they had figured that was the best strategy, since dean was known apparently to peep when he suspected his older self and sammy were getting close.

sammy hadn't expected being able to hear sam and older dean's voices from down the hallway, but he can. he can also hear younger dean's footsteps falter as he gets closer to the door.

"no, you're doing it--" an aggravated sigh. "c'mere." a shuffling of limbs. "you see how the drive belt comes this way? we need to loop it around the--"

a pause.

"what're you lookin' at?" dean's voice has lowered an octave, and sammy shifts, a pavlov reaction to hearing dean like that.

"i'm just--" sam peters into silence. a gasp. younger dean's gasp. did he think it was sammy in the garage this whole time? sammy stifles a smile against his hand.

"you lookin' at me, sammy baby?"

"baby?" sam repeats indignantly, but is cut off by a gasp as something in the room clatters to the ground.

"yeah, that's right. you're my baby brother, aren't you? my baby brother. you like seein' me like this? bigger than you? i know my sammy likes it when i throw him around a little. show him who takes care of him."

sam is breathless, and sammy can hear it, when he says, "dean."

sammy wonders how they're set up. does dean have him pressed to the front of the car? hiked onto a table, like he and sammy were set up that first time?

he realizes that it's killing him not to know.

a coo, from dean. "oh. look at you, sweetheart. you're so hard, and i haven't even touched you yet. you think i could make you come just by talkin' to you? hm? you like big brother tellin' you how much he loves takin' care of you that much?"

sammy realizes that he's started to chub up in his jeans. and he also realizes that younger dean hasn't said anything yet. sammy's torn between wanting to look around the corner and see if he's still there and staying put.

what if sam was right, and younger dean's just not ready for this yet? sammy's dean had reassured him in no uncertain terms that he had been lusting after sam since a truly concerning age.

but what if the jealousy is too much? what if seeing them like that carves an impossible chasm?

"dean, i--i" sam sounds much more unsure, like he's losing control fast. sammy bites down hard on his tongue.

he makes a split-second decision.

he rounds the corner.

and dean's got a fucking gun.

sammy starts in a dead sprint just as dean kicks open the door to the garage.

"you sick fuck!" he yells. sammy's behind him in a second, pulling his arms back. dean's starts kicking immediately, even as sammy is able to pull him mostly off the ground.

"he's a kid!" dean's still yelling. "we promised, fucker! we promised!"

sammy looks around dean's flailing body, and sees sam's horrified face. he looks like he's about to be sick. older dean's leaned him up against the side of the car, and he's not even touching him, just standing a few inches away. sammy's dean has visibly paled.

"hey, that's not--" he starts, but dean's already going off again,

"get your goddamn hands off of him!" sammy starts hauling him away, and manages to kick the garage door closed--but not before dean shouts a parting shot, "you think he wants those disgusting fucking hands on him?!"

sammy manages to wrestle dean a couple steps down the hallway before dean starts to go limp.

"i'm calm," dean says, and his gun hand does actually go limp, so sammy starts to let him go.

"what the hell happened back there?" sammy asks, heartbeat in his throat. play dumb! play dumb!

dean tucks his gun back into his pants. he's looking at the wall over sammy's shoulder.

"he shouldnta' been sayin' that." dean mutters. "not his place to. sam is...never mind."

not his place to.

"his place?" sammy prompts. despite the fact that he's pretty sure he had a heart attack back there, he tries really, really hard not to smile. he's taking this very seriously.

dean's phrase is dangerously close to the point of all this, and sam should not celebrate because he's positive older dean and sam are powering through some angst (that sammy will have to deal with later) in the next room right now.

sammy feels like one of those tv show therapists with big glasses, armchair, and ballpoint pen. and how did that make you feel?

"i don't--" dean's eyes fall to his. "i don't know why i said that." his brows furrow. "i gotta go. i need some fresh air."

and without another word, dean turns around and walks away.

operation: go convince your brother to kiss you, but also not you is a-go.

before he walks away, sammy remembers the knock code: once for success, two for dean's arrival, three for failure. and honestly?

sammy knocks on the door once. and he trails after dean, barely resisting the urge to whistle.

oh yeah. they got this in the bag.

~~~~

@aj-carryon au contraire! you are the nicest! i hope you enjoyed this little ficlet, aj! (i hope that's your name, if not, then i hope you enjoyed, friend!)

your asks always make me giggle and twirl my hair, lol! kissing u on both cheeks!

-lizzy

#ask box #lizzy answers #ES/LS verse #aj-carryon

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katyawriteswhump · 6 months

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power of love, part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Steve’s back in the loggers’ cabin. He’s kissing Eddie stupid, and he’s loving it.

They’re both done with drinking bad beer, and even more done with pretending this thing between them isn’t real. They’ve gotten their arms flung around each other. Steve’s tongue is happily exploring the depths of Eddie’s mouth.

Kissing Eddie is totally unlike any make-out session Steve’s ever known. The scratch of Eddie’s lightly stubbled jaw against his is… Gnnng, mindblowing! Steve slides his knee into Eddie’s lap, wishing Eddie would jump his bones already. When Eddie snags his fingers through Steve’s hair, it sends literal sparks down Steve’s spine. The insistent brush of their lips is actual fire, until…

… it’s all too much. Steve moans with something other than dumb teen passion, and it feels like his head’s gonna explode. That familiar crimson tide washes through his brain, and then…

“Steve?”

Robin’s voice wrenches Steve back to the present. Oh, yeah. They’re wading along some shitty little stream, hidden between high banks. Somehow, while getting lost in memories of that kiss, his feet shifted forward on autopilot.

She’s following behind. “I haven’t heard those woofy search dogs for a while,” she says. “You?”

I’ve not a clue, Robin. My head’s zoning in and out of Christ-knows-what-crazy-ass-shit, and I’ve gotten a boner from daydreaming about Eddie. Which is fading fast, because when I remember I might never get another shot at kissing him for real, I wanna stuff my fist in my mouth and bite down hard.

“Gonna trust you on that one,” he mumbles.

“We can get out of this disgusting drain then?” He shrugs, climbs up the bank to check all’s clear. “See anything we need to worry about?”

“Not sure.” Steve frowns, surveying a few dumped cars and a burned-out trailer. It’s a familiar patch of wasteland, a known hang-out for pretty much every teen in the area. “We’re back in Hawkins already.”

“You’re kidding?” She scrambles up to join him and visibly pales beneath her grime and freckles. “Oh my God. We must’ve travelled at least ten miles. In less than an hour and a half.” She glances at her watch and nods emphatically. “Any explanations, Steve? Any cryptic messages from your water-fairy-godparent?”

“Gimme a break! You’re the one who said we’re off to Magic Camp. At this stage—boom! Whatever! Crazy is to be expected.” He sounds chill. Despite the fear jostling him from every angle over what the hell is happening now? Their gazes lock, and… Jesus, he can read in her manic eyes how her last ragged nerve is about to snap.

“Okay, okay,” she says, “we won’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking."

“Well, I am! One plus side—there’s plenty of nice dry paths leading to Lover’s Lake in that direction.” She points to the wasteland. “Don’t you dare make me get back in the ditch. I am literally wearing duckweed for mascara.”

He considers her suggestion for a few seconds, before that stupid waterfall roars in his head. “Sorry.” He bounces back into the stream. “If we’re believing in this bullshit, then I gotta go the way I get told.”

With the biggest sigh ever, she skids down after him. They paddle onward, hand in hand. She’s shaking weirdly, gasping and gulping, like she’s giggling and crying all at once. Oh, and shivering too. He wants to check she’s okay, but he doesn’t dare speak. Sounds bombard them from every angle, including shouting, maybe a quad bike, and plenty of distant and not-so-distant sirens.

“Look, Robin,” he whispers, when it seems safe. “You’re not in deep shit, like me and Eddie. Maybe you should go home to your mom.”

“Nice thought. Mommy Dearest has probably rented out my room already.”

Steve hums sympathetically, while pausing to mindlessly kick off his trashed sneakers. “If it’s any consolation, when I was reported missing, nobody noticed my parents rushing back.” He’d asked Hopper, casually enough. “I’m guessing they didn’t bother."

“That sucks, though…means we could nip back to your place for a warm shower, clean clothes?”

“Trust me, I’d murder for that. You really should go, but—” The sound of way-too-close voices interrupts him. After a minute longer, shuffling forward, she wrings his fingers crushingly tight.

“Uh, Steve? Look.”

Up ahead, the waterway flows into a culvert. The entrance is barred with a metal grid.

“Oh, thanks a bunch, fairy-guardian-water-spirit-angel-parent,” says Steve. “Great short cut, just great!” A dog growls so close that they startle as one, resulting in a loud splash. He shoves Robin toward the opposite bank. “Go! I’ll try… something.”

“How’s that gonna help?” she hisses, letting him bundle her ahead. “It would be kinda sad if you lightning-fried the dog because it’s not the dog’s fault—"

“Scram, will you? I’ll give it a quick shot—mind the freakin’ dog—and be right behind.”

She scrambles into some bushes at the top, and he prays she keeps going. All he hears is goddamn barking. Christ, can it smell my blood? Still, he has to keep it together and come up with some damn heavy rain, and fast, to destroy her scent as she escapes.

He crouches down, conjures up their recent discussion about parents. Eleven told him to channel anger, so that’s a decent start…

Grrrrrr!

Steve jumps up, whirls about. A foam-flecked mouth snarls at him from the top of the bank. He’s faintly relieved to see the canine owner of this huge and scary mouth is on a leash. Unfortunately, the leash is held by a tall guy in khaki, a semi-automatic tucked at his side.

He shines a flashlight directly in Steve’s face. Steve meekly raises his hands. He’s too stunned for real fright.

“You shouldn’t be here,” says army guy. “Woah, you’re filthy! You got papers?”

“Huh?” Hopper hadn’t been kidding about the military dictatorship.

“Got a name, kid?”

He glances down at his Hellfire Club t-shirt, cringes back into the dazzling beam. “Eddie Munson?”

“Outta the ditch. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Steve doesn’t instantly obey. He’s still trying to figure out if this is really happening, and why exactly he said he was Eddie. To protect him, right? Then Eddie can get clean out of the state. Oh, and because he’s so obsessed with Eddie that he can’t stop thinking about him.

A second later, the dog-handler is in the stream with him. He grabs Steve by the arm, and snaps into a lapel radio: “This is MWD-handler 7. Inform O’Sullivan that fugitive 1 is apprehended.”

…

Eddie POV

The forces dragging Eddie home to Hawkins are suddenly spooking-him-the-hell out.

It’s not all about Steve anymore. He’s hearing water. Loud running water, which draws him toward what turns out to be a nonsensically pathetic-as-piss stream. He jumps in and follows, even as he starts to panic for real.

Steve said he was hearing water. Now I hear it too. What does this mean? Wtf does this BS mean!?!

He presses on anyhow, finding he simply can’t stop thinking about THAT KISS. He’s reliving it over-and-over. At least, the good parts, before Steve fainted on him. Did Eddie daydream the delicious twisty, flirty things that Steve did with his tongue?

Then he’s thinking about Steve’s butt.

You never gave THAT BUTT the squeeze it deserved. Holy shit, Munson, you’re such a loser.

Most torturous of all, the idea that it might be all over between them… Crap, it makes him feel physically ill. How can the idea of losing somebody he never really had hurt so much? Oh, and when the heck did he kick off his sneakers and start wading bare foot? He has absolutely zero memory of doing that. Still, the cold water doesn’t seem to bother him.

As darkness falls, he spots some familiar landmarks, and realises he’s only a mile or so out of Hawkins. Which is also totally cuckoo, because there’s no way he should’ve travelled back so fast. For the first time since he set off, he stops dead.

Reality check, Munson—pretty much everybody in this dump you call home believes you to be a freakshow-turned-serial-killer. And you’ve come storming back for some douchebag rich kid who dumped you.

There is, however, a single good side to his progress into Hell. He pulls out his walkie-talkie out of his pack, switches it on, and tunes into Dustin’s coded wavelength:

“Anybody there? This is a code-red. CODE RED!” Okay, being officially too ‘old’ for the Party, he’s not supposed to say that, but desperate times call for desperate—

“No way! Is that you? Over.”

At Dustin’s reply, some dam deep inside Eddie bursts. His face crumples, and he shamelessly, softly weeps. “Yeah, it’s me, buddy. It’s me.”

“Roger that. What the hell are you doing? This place is overrun with wannabe Nazis.” The hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand suddenly on end, and not because of Dustin’s news. “It’s a warzone. You should be in the next state by now!”

Eddie drops the walkie-talkie and shoves his hands in the air. Some military-fascist-knucklehead is pointing an assault rifle at him, though he’s weirdly numbed to the horror of it all. He honestly hadn’t expected it to feel this inevitable.

“Roger that?” says the walkie-talkie.

Eddie grins, so manically goofy that his face aches.

“Name or papers,” demands the son-of-a-bitch.

“Uuuuuh…” Okay, he’s blown this. Nobody with nothing to hide, blunders THAT answer. “Steve Harrington?”

He said that to protect Steve, right? If they think I’m him, they’ll… torture me instead. Oh shit. Oh Shiiiiiiit!

A big angry dude pummels into Eddie from the side, crushing him into the mud.

Part 16

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know. Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steddie fanfiction #stobin fanfic #platonic stobin #stobin

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maditalksmusic · 10 days

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"WE'RE BIKINI KILL AND WE WANT REVOLUTION!"

is the opening statement of feminist punk band Bikini Kill’s song “Double Dare Ya”, one of their most famous songs challenging girls to always be unabashedly themselves. It’s a line that resonates through every song they’ve ever put out and every show they’ve performed.

Last Sunday, after finishing a horrible calculus assignment, I needed to find something to do with myself before I lashed out at anyone who crossed my path, some sort of way to diffuse my anger at the stupidity of simplifying 42 useless radical inequalities and difference quotients. I saw an Instagram ad for a Bikini Kill show at the Brooklyn Paramount in three hours. I texted every one of my new, cool college Instagram mutuals who I’d maybe met once who I thought may be a fellow Riot Grrrl fan, but nobody could go. I knew going alone was risky, but the ticket was $30. It was too good of a deal to pass up. I went back to my apartment, changed into my plaid skirt and Docs, threw my hair into the coolest claw clip style I could pull off in 5 minutes, and got on the next train to New York City.

An hour and a half, one face-plant in Penn Station, an out of service Subway line, and a sprint through Manhattan in platforms to the next stop of the D train later, I made it to the venue. It was only 30 minutes before the opener, Sweeping Promises, came on, and I assumed there would be a line out the door. When I just walked right through security without waiting for a single second, I was shocked. I figured I would be squeezing into the middle of that standing-room-only space like a canned sardine, but I waltzed right up to the barricade. Watching people fill in behind me was fascinating. I was under the impression I’d be one of the youngest people there, until I started seeing waves of 13-16 year old girls coming in buzzing with excitement, followed closely by their fathers in vintage punk merch who probably played basement shows every weekend in their late teens and early twenties.

Kathi Wilcox on bass guitar during "Alien She", shot by me

I started listening to Bikini Kill when I was 13. They were one of the first bands that played “real music” (essentially anything that isn’t top 40 radio pop) that I started listening to. Hearing Kathleen Hanna singing, or more accurately melodically screaming, these songs about everything from feminism to political activism to standing up to sexual harassment over a gorgeously aggressive drum beat from Tobi Vail while Kathi Wilcox shreds on bass, made something in my brain click into place. Suddenly I realized that even at my age, I could be aware of what was going on in the world, and I could start to challenge these issues, even if it was only on a personal scale. Hearing “Double Dare Ya” live, standing five feet from the stage, hearing every girl in the room singing along, feeling the physical energy radiating from all of those people who felt the same, while making eye contact with Kathleen Hanna was possibly the most impactful moment of my life thus far. It’s easy to forget how important it is to let your frustrations out not only by yourself, but in a public space sometimes. In May, Hanna spoke with NPR on the subject. It’s healthy to cope with emotions on your own, but the experience of letting it all out with other people who are right there with you is unparalleled. This public release of anger is one of the things Bikini Kill prioritizes, and it’s highly evident in the electric energy of their shows.

Throughout the show, the band took moments to reflect on their history, and to appreciate each other, their friends, their inspirations, the people who have supported them, and their fan base. Hanna told stories that have inspired songs and albums, from her experience trying to join church choir as a young girl to the realities of experiencing assault and harassment on the basis of sex to the ways that losing friends too soon has affected her. A moment that particularly stood out was when she spoke on her late friend Mikey, who both she and Tobi Vail had known since they were teenagers. They fondly reminisced on the times they had together, and the shenanigans Mikey often enjoyed causing. Hanna then produced a neon pink fanny pack, and revealed that when Mikey passed five years ago, his mother gave her some of his ashes. This fanny pack goes to every show that Bikini Kill plays and as it turns out, is the vessel for Mikey’s remains. At first, this seemed rather morbid, and was clearly disturbing to some people in the crowd. There were gasps and nervous, shocked laughs around the room. But as Hanna explained why it was that fanny pack, it turned into a heartwarming moment, realizing that this way of honoring Mikey’s legacy, bringing his ashes on tour and keeping him with them not only in spirit but physically, is exactly what would have brought him happiness. This is highly reflective of Bikini Kill’s philosophy as a band and serves as a reminder for why they continue to do what they do.

Over 30 years since their inception, Bikini Kill has stayed entirely true to their origins. Their sound and the messages they seek to convey haven’t changed since the 90s. Some might claim this is a sort of resistance to change, or a marker of being “behind the times”, but judging by the number of people under the age of 20 at that show, it couldn’t be further from the truth. This July, they made their television debut with a performance of “Rebel Girl”, one of their first songs, on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.

youtube

Authenticity is the defining characteristic of Bikini Kill. It’s their unbridled authenticity that makes it so powerful for them to play a song written in 1993 as their first televised performance 31 years later, because their style and their messages still ring true. It’s that authenticity that makes the environment of their shows so incredible. As an eighteen year old girl who was alone in New York, I had never felt safer than I did in that ~2500 person crowd. Bikini Kill continues to use their music to create spaces where women, queer people, or anyone else who goes against the status quo can come and be themself with utmost support. This is a band that has always catered to the youth with their punk-rock anthems of rebellion and empowerment, and in today’s political climate with reproductive rights and LGBTQ+ issues being at the top of the ballot, that’s more important than ever. They embody the true punk spirit, entirely unafraid to stand up for themselves and what they believe in, without regard to whether or not it’s deemed “socially acceptable”. Concerts like this are the reminders that all of us need to be the “rebel girl” in our community that refuses to be a bystander to social ills, remains honest to a fault, and is uncompromising in her values. These cathartic spaces are a necessity for everyone, and Bikini Kill’s commitment to ensuring their continued existence and the importance of expressing your anger is what fuels their ongoing success and solidifies their place in music history.

#bikini kill #riot grrrl #punk #90s rock #music #kathleen hanna #tobi vail #kathi wilcox #girl rock #Youtube

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cosmicbash · 6 months

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I saw this too late :’( but aren’t Em’s boobs in those pics just MWAH? Cant you imagine a very enthusiastic Kelly trying to convince Marshall to get a nipple piercing and mister grumpy grandpa Mathers just getting absolutely appalled and horrified by that request. Then maybe Colson finds him looking up online sex shops for nipple clamps.

(((I just found this sitting unposted in my drafts????? and its good?? so why didnt i ever hit post??))

Em's boobs just looked so squeezable 😩😩

I envy that guy who copped a feel after Em teased him over their neverending handshake.

If only that could be ME

Also you are NEVER TOO LATE to say ANYTHING about Ems tits in an ask. That IMMEDIATELY revives my artistic spirit. I need those tits like water bby and I know kells would too.

Also nipple piercing em is 😏🥴🥴

So. Ahem

TittyTitTittyTitTittyTitTransitionTit

They've been laying in Colson's bed bickering over it for at least a half hour. Their once content not!snuggling and casual body exploration falling apart completely in favor of an argument.

"Come on, just one little hoop-"

"Ha!"

"It doesn't even hurt that bad I swear babe-"

Marshall's next snort sounds almost gutteral with how hard he holds back another mocking fit of laughter. "Doesn't even hurt- yeah, cuz a literal needle jabbing through one of the most sensitive spots on my body to rip flesh out and make a hole is like playing patty cake-"

"Oh come on, when you word it all fucking extra like that of course it'll sound bad- look-" Colson knew feeling offended was a little stupid but he has never let being stupid stop him before. "If anyone between the two of us has a more accurate pain scale for piercings do you really think its the one that has a single set of pierced ears? Hm? Or maybe the dude with like a dozen-"

This time Marshall did laugh openly at him, tone shifting over to a properly annoyed one.

"Really? Your pain scale is super fucking skewed Colson! How many times this year did you smash literal bottles and shit over your head? Divebomb off a stage to bust your ribs? Sleep through nasty tattoo spots? Don't you dare try and act like I'm being a pussy over nothing."

It's out of Colson's mouth before he can stop himself. His childish selfish wants completely winning out in a "Pftt, well you totally are."

Regret wells up just as fast in him as the anger does in Marshall's eyes. His semi comfortable spot sat over the other man's lap rapidly upseated in a flurry of fast movement. "Fuck you."

"Fuck. Em, come on-" Colson knows when he's stuffed his foot in his mouth and this is definitely one of the worser times. He should have been more mindful of the tension already present, or of his partners ever denied sensitivity to such subject. But the match is lit under Marshall's fire now.

"Some of us don't have a pile of pills or gallons of alcohol to hide behind everytime we go out and fuck our body up some more you know-"

And there it is. The always accurate defensive jab off Marshall's sharp tongue.

It hurts more this time than Colson expects it to. Maybe because he knows he deserves it for pressing and trying to guilt trip the other rapper. And maybe because he knows by now he really should be getting his shit together so the other man doesn't have such an easy diss to throw his way.

To their credit though, he can see a flash of regret pass over Marshall's face too as soon as it comes out.

Not that it stops the brunette from getting dressed any further, or slows his obvious escape.

"I'm--" sorry. Colson can almost hear it. See the word curl and shape on Marshall's lips, but the anxiety further up in blue eyes prevents it. They both know it wont allow it to come out. So another exasperated noise does instead, hands flying up to rake through the rare hatless head before Marshall is moving again. Sweats yanked up and feet thankfully left bare.

"It's my fucking nipple you asshole."

And then he's gone. Out of Colson's room without another outburst. Off to lick his wounds or more so, allow Colson to lick his own.

A few months ago the blonde would have chased after, continued the shouting until it teetered on that scary ledge of physical, their fingers grabbing too tight at eachothers skin, fists shaking, anything to keep Marshall from leaving.

But now? He's learned enough to take note of the shoes in the corner of his room, the discarded kangol, wallet and keys neatly tucked away in the spare nightstand, and so many other little anchors locking Marshall down around the room. It's just space. Space needed to run and cool off somewhere else in the house, prevent a bigger fight. A smart skill Colson should really use more himself.

So he rolls himself over into the warm emptied spot on the bed and waits. Ego wounded and heart a little sore by his own fault.

It only takes an hour for Marshall to come back and even less time than that for Colson to file his horny nipple ring tugging dreams far far away in his mind. An argument decidely NOT for another day or at all if he knows whats best for them.

Keeping Marshall back curled in his bed is obviously whats best. It keeps that gnawing need to drink his sorrows away, and makes the world's edges feel less sharp.

He wants to apologize as soon as he hears the click of the bedroom door, but he manages to bite it back until sock padded feet are thumping softly across his carpet beneath the bed. A rough sounding "Sorry-" leaving his tongue before he even sees Marshall walk into his line of vision. It's the one thing he has on the other man, his ability to actually say the word first, without painful prodding. And he's not going to let go of it no matter how petty he wants to be.

"Don't." The older man is sighing, but in a soft way. It drags his eyes away from the wall finally. The relief he feels just seeing Marshall back standing there in his room quickly replaced by a blip of confusion.

He's got stuff clutched to his chest, a bottle of peroxide, wipes, some plastic packaging. And up further Colson can see how embarrassment is burning his cheeks pink above his dark beard. His expression twisted into one of discomfort.

"Well?"

"Well?" Colson feels even more confused. Marshall is acting like the little bottle in his hand might as well be a bouquet of apology roses and he can't for the life of him figure out why.

"You gonna fucking pierce me or not?" He's chewing the insides of his cheeks. Usually Colson finds this cute but his ears are still ringing from the question. Excitement racing through his veins like gasoline lit by a match.

It's not surprise he practically jumps off the bed. "For real?? For real, for real??" He has to be dreaming, he must've slipped right off into a depression nap at some point while Marshall was gone because there's no way the other man can be serious.

But he is. Hands discarding the clutter of alcohol wipes, peroxide, and clean packaged piercers needles on the bed like it's nothing. "If you're telling me you sat here running your mouth and can't put your money to it now then I'm seriously gonna smack you this time-" Marshall's huffing at him, hands a little shakey while he wrestles off his shirt. "I had to bullshit to your bassist that you were having a manic episode and wanted a new piercing to get all this shit so, don't think you're getting off scott free either. I'm not having those dudes speculate where I let you pierce me if they see you come down without a new one-"

"Oh my god-" Colson still can't grasp reality. He's never won an argument this hard against Em before. Usually his crazy ideas are just whacked back down with a bat. He almost feels like he should cry.

Marshall looks like he wants to as well, but for a different reason. His anxiety visible in the twitchy movements of his hands and the squint of his face. "Please don't tell me you toked your brains out while I was gone-"

"No!" That jerks Colson back to full functionality. His hands moving to grab at the items and heart racing like a horse in his chest. "I-- I just needed a minute to- fuck- to fuckin process that-- you're serious? You're really serious about doing this?"

"Getting less by the second."

God he wants to kiss him. And shit, he does, hand coming up to drag the older rapper down by his neck and seal their mouths together in a firm smooch. Grin breaking their lips apart when he just can't hold back his giggles anymore. "Holy shit, I'm so fucking excited-"

"Shut up." He can feel just how hard Marshall's own heart is galloping when he lets his hand drag down the man's chest after they part. Palm pausing over the hard punch against skin like a magnet. He's certain that's not excitement, which makes it even hotter.

The dudes terrified but still willing to go through with this to please him.

He's gonna suck his dick so hard after they're done. Hell, he'll shove him down on the bed and ride him until sunset. This is a bazillion times better than apology roses.

"You do, uh, know what you're doing right?"

Colson does NOT. But he grins and nods his head anyway. He knows how to give someone a piercing yeah, he's done tons of his own and other peoples. Through the nipple though? That's gonna be a first, but his other hand is already tapping away super fast and discreetly on his phone while he pushes Marshall down to sit in his emptied space on the bed. "I got you baby-" He's gonna wikihow his way through this before anyone changes their mind.

#bahahahahah #and then he jabs Em and Em full on slaps him in the face because it hurts so bad #emgk #asks #i love asks

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kenni-woodard · 9 days

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I just spent way too much time watching a Kenyan-American woman on Instagram talking about how...I'm trying to take my time with this because I'm struggling to articulate it since it goes against the very fabric of my identity -

cw politics, discussion of slavery, identity, oppression, palestine

She thinks that the oppression we face here is manufactured and the oppression people experience in Kenya is real. Specifically, she showed a couple of comparison videos. There was a video of a Kenyan person resisting some armed person - wasn't clear if that was the police or military personnel. Then she cut to a video of a person ripping up their diploma on the graduation stage to protest Palestine. Then she showed Kenyan people marching down a street the way many protestors do all over the world before cutting to a video of people laying in a street while a Black woman spoke into a bullhorn telling the police how she is worried they will kill her boy.

She thinks that descendants of slaves should be calling themselves plain old "American" instead of "African American". She also mentioned that there were more Black slave owners than White ones, and that Black slaves didn't build this country - apparently they only "tilled the fields" which "isn't a major contribution to society" - I'm admittedly conflating some of what she said with what some of the commenters said, and paraphrasing.

She took a bunch of photos with White cops to "disprove" that cops are racist in the United States.

And she thinks that people calling her names or saying things that they probably wouldn't say unprovoked means they lack intelligence and are unable to come up with a logical rebuttal to her remarks.

Now, given my traumatic history, I have a tendency to assume that people are right when they are speaking to me in a condescending or combative tone. Whenever someone denies my experience, I immediately jump to "you're right, how could I dare think that I am a valid person? I am just so stupid to think that it's OK to feel the way I do. I must just be spoiled and ignorant and unworthy of the air I breathe." I'm not being sarcastic. I literally feel that way and have those thoughts go through my head.

Thankfully, after a decade of therapy, I am able to give that response time to happen, and then come out of that response with some self-validation and reassessment.

I didn't want to automatically reject her claims because one of the things she also mentioned was that people are intolerant of opinions that differ from theirs. And she "gets a kick out of triggering Leftists." She also mentioned something about letting logic prevail over emotions, as though emotions have no place in logic. Which I personally disagree with.

Humans have emotions. So you cannot remove them from the equation. I would argue that emotions are what drive opinions. There's an emotion she is experiencing when she sees people shouting about being oppressed in ways that are different from what people in her country of origin are experiencing. I won't proclaim to know what that emotion is. But I think a person with no emotions operating purely off of logic (which, what does that even mean for real? I feel like logic requires a foundational purpose or motivation, and if humans didn't have feelings what would their motive even be for anything?) would probably not even care about what either group of people were experiencing because it doesn't affect them.

I admittedly know nothing about what's going on in Kenya. I do know there is a pattern here of police killing unarmed Black people, and a not-too-distant history of police actively participating in harming Black people and not getting any sort of punishment for it. Does that mean that all White police officers are racist? No. I don't know every White police officer. But what I do know is that I am afraid for my life every time I leave the house. What if I am speeding and don't notice it? If I get pulled over, will I make it home? I didn't make this fear up out of nowhere. It's from history and recent events. My dad is, in my opinion, undiagnosed autistic. He also has PTSD from being in Desert Storm. There was a time a few years ago when he got pulled over and for some reason his instinct was to immediately get out of the car. Knowing that he does stuff like that scares the shit out of me.

Racism isn't just "oh, this cop knows I'm black so no matter the context, they will shoot me". It's more like a deeply ingrained set of assumptions that influence a person's decision making under pressure. It's profiling that probably comes from experiencing or witnessing gang violence, gun violence, drug violence in primarily Black communities. But Black people end up in these communities because of poverty that is undoubtedly connected to a history of practices and policies that placed and kept them there.

What we're not going to do is pretend like Black people have been allowed to have wealth. White people - with government assistance, if not as the government itself - have taken land from Black land owners time and time again. White people have destroyed entire wealthy Black towns. Our ancestors can't leave us that which has been destroyed. Black people were red-lined out of home ownership in certain areas.

There's such a long history of things being done to the Black community to strip it of its ability to be anything other than impoverished for longer than a generation. Things do seem to be getting better, sure. But things will also take time to catch up. And it's so frustrating to hear people say "but that was so long ago." Segregation was legal up until 1964. Places are still being desegregated today. My mother was born in 1962. Lol that wasn't that long ago. It's not like the second something becomes illegal, everyone adopts the new practice and Black children and White children are holding hands and skipping along the sidewalk. No. The first to integrate were faced with so much hatred that they had to be escorted to school. The racist kids they went to school with grew up and some of them taught that same hatred to their own children. And that keeps going. Racism doesn't just magically go away. It might slowly dissolve, but it sure as hell isn't gone.

I could go on and on but my point is that oppression has roots that go so much deeper than what she implied with her video. And it doesn't always look the exact same. Sure, a person ripping up their diploma may seem asinine on the surface, but that's not what the oppression looks like. That's simply an expression of frustration very far removed from what the actual oppression looks like, which is decimated cities, displaced families, and people dying every day. People starving and not getting their basic needs met because their oppressors are denying them access to aid.

And of course, calling someone names is never OK. Being mean to another person is never OK. But it makes sense to me. I understand. Because she is being violent and mean to them by denying their experience with a smile on her face like it's funny or like it's a game. As though people aren't out here fighting for their lives all day every day. "Why don't you change your mindset and work," is what she asked. I work every day and I still don't see the world the way she does. I don't understand why it's assumed that a person who is aware of the many faces of oppression is also a person who doesn't want to work or contribute to society. I can lament the struggles of my ancestors (and feel the impact of those struggles) while still working and "contributing to society" (y'all know how I feel about my job lmfao). You can't be out here in these streets calling people LAZY and not expecting to be called out your own name a few times 🤷🏾‍♀️.

Regarding the whole "African-American" thing - me personally, I don't really give a damn if y'all call me Black or African-American. Neither name is a chosen one. We have been told that we are African-American, Coloured, Black, etc. If we are going based on technicality, sure, Elon Musk can call himself an "African-American". Does it look silly as fuck? ABSOLUTELY. I cannot say that I know the history of South Africa because as an ignorant American I barely know my own history (tbh they don't teach it). But I do believe that White people ended up down there because of colonization. While there may be aspects of their heritage that have evolved to be more inclusive / indicative of their geographical location, they are still there because their people decided to colonize that location.

Black people in the United States have a culture that has formed as a result of traditions passed down from our ancestors. Africa is in our hair. In our genes. In the way we talk. Our music. We are African. Unfortunately due to the actions of the colonizers, our tribal identities have been completely erased. And we did not come here by choice. Of course I'm not referring to folks who have in fact come here by choice. But my people, descendants of slaves. That's who I'm talking about.

I don't understand why she wants to spend her energy defending and claiming a man whose ancestors were colonizers and denying the experience and identity of people who were taken from their home, dehumanized, and had their cultural identities systematically erased. But go off sis, I guess?

This is why people just call you a name and keep it moving. Because we know that you're not going to hear what we have to say. I have written so much. And none of it is new. It has all been said and laid out before. And even still, you have either read it and decided not to find it valid for some reason, or you have chosen not to read it. And still make silly videos invalidating the experiences of others.

I just had to write all this out because my therapist has been talking a lot about how trauma is basically the product of not experiencing and processing emotions to completion. So I needed to complete this experience.

It's dawning on me that I probably feel traumatized by so much so easily because I have so many thoughts and feelings as an autistic person who thinks way too much about everything and uses way too many words and feels all the things that probably aren't even supposed to be felt but I am hyper-sensitive 🤦🏾‍♀️. So it takes me longer to process things because there's just so much information and my processor was built in 1989 and hasn't been upgraded since 😭. And everything in the world is so fast-paced. So there's no time to process. But I'm trying to make slowing down a habit 👍🏾.

#personal #not for discourse #me venting on my own blog #i will literally just block you if you offer anything other than support

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morganwrites12672 · 2 years

Note

Could you write a fic for Gareth Emerson (angst to fluff) with reader asking him out but he believes it's a dare (happy ending though and the reader is GN) thank you!<3

Yes, of course! Also, I used Chrissy as a bestie, she is the only popular person I think that would not judge and be a total snob .

Terms that are usually gender specific used, 'pretty'. It is not a gendered term.

Requests are open!

Gareth Emerson x GN!Reader

He didn't believe it. There was no way Y/N Y/L/N was asking him out. But they did, and he denied.

He assumed it was a dare. Why would they? They were pretty and popular. Friends with Chrissy Cunningham and some of the other jocks or cheerleaders.

It didn't make sense. Gareth was to confused to even notice the disappointment on their face as they walked off.

Y/N was very upset. They wanted to go out with him. Why wouldn't they? He was cute, and sweet. Absolutely adorable.

He was also in a band, cute, his hair was to die for. Y/N couldn't help themselves but to fall for the boy.

They were devastated. Gareth had rejected them. He gave them a weird look and scoffed 'no'. They didn't know why, they never thought about the fact that he might think it was a prank, or a dare.

Gareth made his way back to Hellfire. He was surprised with how disappointed he was. He thought Y/N was kind of attractive. But, why the hell would a popular person ask him out?

They wouldn't. Not unless it was a prank or a stupid dare. But, what was the chance Y/N liked him? He shoved that thought as far out of his brain as possible, and took a seat with the rest of the club.

"What happened to you?" Eddie asks with concern. He didn't like when people upset his little sheep. Even less when those people were asshole popular kids.

"Nothing, someone asked me out," he said and started to unwrap his lunch. The rest of the club was bewildered. Why was he upset he got asked out?

"I'm going to need some more context," Eddie states and folds his hands before deciding to shove a pretzel in his mouth.

"It was Y/N Y/L/N, and I had to say no. Why would they ask me out if it wasn't a dare?" Gareth says as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

Eddie has to think of what to say. He didn't want to upset Gareth, but the obvious needed to be said.

"What if they like you? If it was a prank or a dare, wouldn't they go after a bigger freak," Eddie states and motions to himself.

Gareth gets confused. And then upset. He goes through all five stages of grief, he just let his crush go because he was afraid of getting humiliated.

"Shit," he mutters and tosses a chip into his mouth. "I'm an idiot," he rests his head in his hands.

______________________________________________

Y/N sits at their table dejected. Gareth didn't just say no, he scoffed at them. Chrissy notices what's wrong.

Y/N had mentioned that they were asking out their crush. Chrissy knew. There was no way Y/N would be this upset if their crush had said yes.

Chrissy takes Y/N's shoulder and motions for them to follow her. Chrissy walks with Y/N down the hallway and into an empty classroom.

"He said no," Y/N blurted the second they were clear to not get caught, "Gareth didn't just say no, he scoffed," they give Chrissy a tearful look.

Chrissy doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around them. She gives them a big hug and whispers words of encouragement.

"Hey, you can have anybody in this school. Don't get your hopes up over one stupid boy," Chrissy finshes. She related them and they give her a small smile.

"But he's pretty. And in a band. And his hair," Y/N goes on and Chrissy listens, surprised; Y/N didn't seem to have just a crush.... They seemed to be in love.

"Um, you sound like you're in love," Chrissy states with a smile. They smile and reply while getting up.

"I think so to,"

Y/N runs into Gareth in the hallway.

"Y/N please I thought it was a dare," he begs and they give him a look of shock. He sounded upset?

"And?" They said. He wasn't going to get off that easy. He might be super cute, and kinda hot ... But they didn't believe in pretty privilege.

"I said no because I really liked you and thought the popular kids found out. I thought they had you ask me out as a stupid date," Gareth blurts with surprise.

"Fine," Y/N hands him a piece of paper with their address scribbled down, "Pick me up at 7," and with that Y/N leaves Gareth speechless.

He was going to have the time of his life. He smiled and had a skip to his step as he went to find the rest of Hellfire. Chrissy could be seen smiling from outside the classroom.

______________________________________________

Requests are open; check my pinned post for details!

#gareth emerson headcanons #Gareth x reader #gareth x reader #gareth stranger things #gareth emerson #gareth the great #gareth emerson smut #gareth emerson stranger things #corroded coffin #stranger things season four #stranger things season 4 #gareth emerson fluff #gareth emerson imagine #hellfire club

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tessiete · 2 years

Note

Darling, Verklempt (one of my favorite words). Can it be either Obitine adjacent or Satine and Korkie???

Ah, so it took me ages and ages but I DID IT! Huzzah!!!! For you, friend, a little bit of all of the above.

verklempt

Sometimes she looks at him and cannot speak. Her heart, a stupid, stupid thing she keeps pressed down beneath the cage of her fingers and her ribs like a little bird, flutters in her chest. It has soft wings, yes, but claws, and those tear at her throat, fighting to get out, but she locks her jaw and presses it down again.

“And so you must agree, Auntie-dearest, that it was quite an impossible situation to get out of and therefore it would be entirely unreasonable to punish me for the…unfortunate way the evening fell out. Yes?”

He is so like his father it is embarrassing. She half-turns to check her shoulder, afraid someone else has seen, someone else has heard and understood. But her Protectors stare straight ahead at the doors, and her companion continues beating out the wrinkles from her gown, and her advisor doesn’t lift his head from the datapad he holds, poring over the agenda for tonight’s event.

Korkie looks at her anxiously. She can see his hands twisting at the cuff of his sleeve, and she reaches out to put a stop to it. He stills.

“Do you agree?”

“No,” she says. And she says nothing else. Partly because Korkie launches into a speech so eloquent and well-argued that she wants to laugh, but so familiar that it makes her tongue ache with biting it.

At the end of it, seeing her unmoved, Korkie heaves a sigh that sends his entire bearing collapsing in upon itself as if weighed down by the burden of her stubborn ignorance.

“Fine,” he says. “I suppose in that case I shall simply have to languish in utter ignominy in the prison of my bedroom.”

And then she does laugh.

“The prison of your bedroom ? Korkie, my love, you have the largest suite in the palace. Two balconies. All your holonovels. Your vid-projector. Your pad. Your com-stage. Your collections. Your clothes, your shimmer-sheets, your down pillows, your plush toys –”

“ –Auntie!”

“Access to the kitchens and the private grounds outside your rooms. In what way do you think this at all like a prison?”

“In that I am being confined to it!” he says, face flushed and indignant. “A prison is a prison no matter how narrow its bars. And truly, it wasn’t my fault.”

“You were caught racing through the quad wearing the helm of your professor’s beskar’gam.”

“Yes, but –”

“Wearing only the helm.”

“Yes, well but it was a dare.”

“Korkie –”

“Why do you call me that? I’m not a child!”

“You’re certainly not an adult.”

“Auntie–” His voice spins out in a wheedle that seems to come straight from infancy, and instead of being infuriated, Satine smiles.

She sets her hand upon his head, and strokes his hair. “I’m very old, my love. You must forgive me for forgetting.”

He shuts his mouth, eyeing her with something like suspicion. Then he inhales, and she sees that forbearance of his father come through. When he speaks, his voice is full of patience and sophistication that will one day suit him well – if he doesn’t tarnish it with the polishing before then.

“I accept your judgement,” he says, “And I shall cloister myself in solitude for the evening.”

“Thank you.”

“For you ,” he says. “Not because I am conceding guilt. Not because you’re right.”

“Alright.”

“I had to do it.”

“Of course.”

“It was my honour at stake.”

“Yes.”

“My honour, Auntie.”

“I understand. And you understand that you are not to leave your rooms under any circumstances. Not for your friends. Not for a quick trip to the plaza. Not to go check on something really, really quick. You are grounded for the evening.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” She kisses him on the brow. “I shall expect a good report from your Protectors when I get home.”

He clicks his tongue. “Babysitters,” he scoffs. --

She bites her tongue. She ought to be used to it by now, but though her words are law, and her tongue is made of flailing steel, it still bleeds between her teeth. She wants to say something, she wants to speak, but it has come upon her by surprise and nothing comes but hurt and useless anger.

“Theirs is no great loss, anyway,” says one, a prince of Tracyn. “The Jedi have only ever been leeches on the Republic at best, and conspirators and cowards at worst.”

“Conspirators?” laughs another. “They wear their treachery openly, consorting with enemies of their precious Republic in the name of diplomacy. If you ask me, diplomacy is only another word for weakness.”

“I’d like to see you challenge that weakness, Tom-Yamin.” Satine’s shoulders drop. Finally, someone speaking with sense. “Those witches would work such magick on you that not even your beskar would survive.”

“Pah! Hiding behind their lightswords! Cowards!” says the prince again. “Let them die in their war. Let them fall. Let them rot. My beskar will outlast their bones.”

They all laugh, and Satine says, “You know, there was a Mandalorian who was a Jedi, too, once.”

“What?”

“He was both. A Mandalorian and a Jedi.”

“Really? What was his name?”

“Tarre Vizsla,” she says.

“A Vizlsa!” exclaims Tom-Yamin. “There you go then. A traitor and a coward after all.”

Satine feels her cheeks flush. Tom-Yamin throws her a jovial nudge with his elbow, acknowledging her joke, and she bites her tongue again. It is not worth the fight, it is not worth the fight . She smiles, and the prince and the politicians watching her join in, relieved she is again on their side, relieved she is one of them. The prince stops a passing waiter and distributes glasses of frizz to the group, raising a toast to the Duchess.

“To our Lily!” he says. “Better than any Vizsla. Braver than any Jedi. Best of Mandalore.”

The rest lift their glasses, and Satine bites into her smile holding it in place even as it writhes and twists into a grimace. She thinks of the Republic, and the war, and those distant planets. She thinks of the dust, and the sweat, and a hand limp and empty, the hilt of a saber still burning uselessly. She thinks of the heat, and the smell of a body as it rots.

All at once, she wants to speak to Korkie.

“Excuse me,” she says, and she steps away.

The hallway outside the ballroom is populated only by service staff and couples hoping to find some discretion in the shadows. She lets one fall over her and pulls out her comlink.

The number rings through.

She dials again. And again, it rings through.

The chrono says it is only just past tay’rash, hours before Korkie usually goes to bed.

She rings, Boz, his Protector.

There is no answer there, either.

Somewhere, a platter hits the ground. The clamor of metal against stone sounds like an alarm, and her own heart stutters in her chest. A hush falls behind the ballroom doors. A cry goes up. She dials Korkie again.

Nothing.

“Ma’am.” An aide from her office is behind her. She recognises their face, but at the moment she can’t think of their name. She turns away, dialing again.

“One moment,” she says.

“Ma’am, the palace is under attack.” --

When he was two years old, a woman snatched Korkie from the arms of his nurse as she walked with him beneath the galek trees of Sundari’s Memorial Park. The nurse was distraught, weeping hysterically. Satine remembers the sound of her grief, but she hadn’t cried herself.

He’d been found a few hours later, more irritated than injured, but it was three days before the numbness disappeared. Then, she’d broken down in her room, crying until she threw up. But before that, she’d felt nothing. Only cold.

That numbness comes over her now, and all she can think is that she ought to have let him come with her tonight.

If he’d come, he would have been with her. If he’d come, he would have been safe.

But instead, they’d argued. She’d laughed. She’d left.

She leaps out of the speeder before it’s come to a stop, the city spinning out dizzyingly between the vehicle and the ledge of the platform. She doesn’t notice. It is all a blur.

Protectors follow behind her, more joining from the palace grounds. Security badges flash around the perimeter, and voices shout out orders and commands. People sit on benches crying. Her lady's maid. A cook. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know. She keeps running, racing up the steps, her dress tangling in her legs. It is woven with palladium, so it doesn’t tear. It only holds her back.

Peti, the head of her Home Guard, steps through the doors of the Grand Entrance Hall, his arms outstretched to catch her.

“My Lady!”

“Where is he?”

“My Lady –”

“Where is he!” she demands. She claws at his arms, and twists like a wild striil caught in a trap.

But Peti is built like a behr, and he shakes her hard enough that her teeth snap together.

“My Lady, he is safe. He is safe. Not even a bruise on him. He is safe.”

“Take me to him,” she says, still cold, still numb. She has to see. In her voice is the steel that took Mandalore like a blade pressed against a throat. “Take me to him now.”

He is sitting on top of one of the long counters that runs down the centre of the primary kitchens. He is wearing his pajamas. He is leaning back upon his hands. His feet are bare. A medic is holding him by the ankle. He is smiling.

Her son is smiling.

And like a river in springtime, the numbness thaws into a melt. She is filled with the currents of grief, and fear, and relief, and utterly overcome. He looks at her as if he can feel the springtime too, and she is filled with love.

“Auntie!”

He leaps to his feet and she sees nothing and no one else as she runs to him, and wraps him in her arms.

“Auntie,” he says, squirming away. “I can’t breathe.”

“Are you alright? My love, my love –” She kisses his reddened cheeks, her own tears running down his face.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I promise.”

“I thought I lost you. I could have lost you.”

“I was never really in much danger,” he says.

The medic speaks up from behind him. “An aborted kidnapping, Your Grace,” they say. “By all accounts, your nephew showed remarkable bravery in the face of a serious threat.”

She tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding like something newly drowned. “Not much danger!” she says, giving her boy a teasing slap on his shoulder. Then she soothes it, unable to bear the thought of even an invisible wound.

“Not much ,” he insists.

“Oh, kairkiyc, don’t do that to me, don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Well, of course I didn’t mean to,” he says. “It was hardly my fault.”

“What happened?” With one last kiss to his cheek, she pulls him in for another hug and turns to the medic for answers.

“Several intruders made it past the perimeter security. They killed one guard before they were detected. Most were detained by security, but one slipped through the gardens into the young master’s room. By the time his Protectors arrived, the situation was well in hand, and the man was arrested without any further injury.”

“He wanted to abduct me, Auntie,” says Korkie, with great indignation. “Can you believe it? I’m far too old for a kidnapping.”

“Are you indeed?” she asks. “I take it your would-be kidnapper disagreed.”

“He told me to keep quiet and not put up a fuss. He said I ought to behave, and if I did exactly as he said, he promised not to hurt me. Absolutely ridiculous.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Korkie lifts his chin. "I told him he was quite welcome to pass the evening with me, but it would be quite impossible that I should go anywhere with him as I was under strict instructions not to leave my bedroom."

#korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #satine kryze #fic fill #prompt

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softsnzstuff · 2 years

Text

Ok so I’ve seen so many posts floating around about opportunities for canon verse Steve to catch a cold and the one that has me in an absolute chokehold is in S3 where they’re spying on the Russians in the rain. I mean??? Come on….

Well. I’ve come to say look no further. @butyoumakemesohot and I are collabing on a two part “series”. I’m making a little something for S3 and she’s doing one for S4 😎

Also this was so hard to write because it’s before Steve and Robin really become close friends so at this point they’re more like coworkers who talk. ~KB

Steve flicked away some water from his eyes as Robin looked down from the roof with binoculars. Not that it made any difference - he, Robin and Dustin were thoroughly soaked to the bone.

It was pouring rain, the way only Hawkins could in the summer. When Robin had said she cracked the code earlier today, Steve was the first on board with their plan to scope out the mall that evening. But now, soaked and sniffly, he was regretting that decision.

“Snf how much longer do we have to be here?”

“Until we find what we’re looking for!” Robin said, not moving her eyes from the binoculars.

“Well… find it faster. It’s wet and snff cold SNF and I want to go home.”

“Stop complaining!” Dustin elbowed him.

“Ow! Hey! SnFF I have a cold and you dragged me out in the rain. You’re lucky if I don’t get pneumonia…”

Robin sighed, exasperated, “You don’t get sick from being wet, Dingus.”

“Gimme the binoculars.” Dustin made a grab for them, Robin taking them off her back and handing them to the boy.

Steve shook his head and lifted a hand to comb the hair out of his face. Robin looked at him, perplexed.

“Why do you have that stupid look on your face?”

“I’m snff gonna snehh sneeze…”

“Don’t you dare!” Robin hissed through her teeth.

Everyone was familiar with how loud Steve’s sneezes were, and on top of this echoing roof? There would be no hiding that. Their position would be compromised immediately.

“Just don’t sneeze!” Dustin said as if it were an obvious solution.

“I can’t just nehhh not .. sneeze, Henderson…”

His breath was already starting to hitch. Robins eyes widened as she did the only thing she could think to do. She took off her Scoops vest and lunged forward quietly.

Laying on top of his back like a hug from behind, she pressed the vest to her coworker’s face, trying to pinch his nose and cover his mouth at the same time.

“HIH-MPSSH! H’MPTSCH!!”

The three froze for a minute, making sure the guards didn’t see or hear them. It seemed they were in the clear.

“There!” Dustin stage whispered.

“Umb a bless you would be ndice.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“No dummy, those are the boxes. Right there!!” He pointed down so they could see right where they needed to go.

“Alright. So we’ll just have to figure out a way to get back there!” Robin exclaimed as if it would be easy.

“Figure it out tomorrow. I’b going home.”

***

Ding ding

The bell at the front of Scoops Ahoy rang. Steve wiped at his nose with his already damp tissue and shoved it back into his shorts pocket.

“Ahoy, sailor! How can I hehh help- HAESSSH! ISSSH! HAKSSHIEW!”

The two girls at the counter grimaced, “On second thought, we’ll go to Baskin Robbins…”

The window to the back room slid open, “Switch with me Dingus, you’re scaring away all our customers!”

“I ab ndot! … iKSHew! snlorff”

Steve slurped back congestion and Robin gagged as she shut the window and walked around to the front.

“Bless you. You really weren’t kidding about that cold.” She tried to make light of it, feeling slightly guilty her antics may have contributed to making it worse.

Steve shrugged, “Been happeni’g a lot m’bore since I started hanging out with the kids.”

Robin pulled a couple napkins from the dispenser on the counter.

“Blow your nose, moron. I can hardly understand you.” She chuckled.

She felt a panic in her chest as he did as he was told.

“Hey, why don’t you go home? I can finish up here.”

“I can’t ask you to do that Robin.”

“You aren’t asking. I’m offering.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked again.

“Yeah. It’s what friends are for.”

Steve thanked her as he grabbed his backpack and headed out. Robin couldn’t stop hearing that word echoing in her head.

‘That’s what friends are for.’

‘Friend’

Her new friend, Steve Harrington.

#collab fics are my faveeeeee #Kb and k #kkb??#s/tranger t/hings #Babygorl Steve #canonverse #s/teve h/arrington #r/obin b/uckley #platonic besties #snzblr #kb writes #snz kink #coldfucker

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praise-mammon-titties · 2 years

Text

A group session

TW: full on porn, degradation, double penetration and other things that could possibly be triggering. This is ALL consensual btw

An unknown demon was mad at Mammon. He was thousands of dollars in debt to him and also missing some very expensive earrings and everyone knows Mammon loves shiny stuff so it was obviously him who stole it. He needed his revenge. Pacing around the purple halls of his home. A sudden lustful sense of hate his mind comes up with a deed so evil, a deed so stupid, it would work.

Step 1: frame mammon for stealing

Step 2: anonymously post the old vids online

Step 3: make Solomon jealous

Step 4: convince Mammon to come with him to the strip club

An evil grin slips onto his lips.

~~~~

Barbatos entered the castle treasury, worried for he felt as if someone had been in here, someone that was not meant to be here. It annoyed him to a great degrees and whoever had the balls to invade this room must surely want a world of pain. oh wait he knew. The butler picked up the distinctive white hair. "Well well Well...old habits surely die hard"

~~~~

Coming across porn videos made by Mammon was something Mephistopheles never imagined in his long lifetime. Never thought that that would have ever existed ever. Never considered the possibility of that existing. But here he was, Dick in hand, watching one with a very strong desire. Man he wished he was the person fucking his brains out, he wished the greed demon was handcuffed to HIS bed, with HIS Dick in that tight asshole. Fuck...

But his little session had been ruined when he recived a call from Barbatos, the sneaky little bitch barbie, with an idea so evil it will complete his desire. "I'm in" he says right before hanging up, then cleaning up with a strong sense of enthusiasm.

~~~~

Getting a call from Asmodeus this late into the night never was his plan. Actually he wanted to sleep early but here he was on the phone with his her close friend and pact demon, discussing some meters like nails makeup and other boring this he never paid any mind to. "MC and mammon have been getting very close lately, actually he's been eating their cooking. Even saying it's good so weird. Oh and they got him a charm, a ruby, and they've been doing tarot readings for an hour. sure it's a joke and all but really- it's saying something when he does it with them and not you." you could hear the smugness and oh was Solomon jealous. He was fuming jealous! How dare that human try to take away HIS Mammon! This was unacceptable and he needed to remember who he had belonged to. Damnit Solomon knew he should have made a pact with him. "Anyway I'll be taking him to the local strip club tomorrow. don't come" Then he recived a call from Barbatos.

~~~~

"Please mammon come to the strip club with me it'll be fun" "but asmo buddy those places are filled with horny men and women who want nothing to do but get a quick fuck outta someone like you, or another demon. Sure I've gone before and all but it's not all that fun. Besides I wanna go gambling" "if you come with me I'll convince Diavolo and Lucifer to give you their credit cards. + goldie" "Fine you gotta deal"

~~~~

Mammon didn't know how it had gotten to this point. Finding himself on that stage showing off his sexy body while men and women threw countless amounts of money at him cheering for more. Pole dancing removing his articles of clothing watching as the crowd grew more and more horny and feeling so much pride. But then...Then he spots them. His boyfriend, it's hard to miss. Not when it consisted of he demon prince, his butler, the immortal human wizard, and the prince's childhood best friend that's hated by his older brother. Oh the embarrassment he felt at this moment. He dare not look at them while he's still on stage until his shift was over, where he tries to sneak out through the back only to be stopped. "Hello dear, we were looking allover for you" says Barbatos with a voice a little too sweet. "Oh heeyyy uh.....didn't think I'd find all of you here haha..see I'm here with asmo and he ditched me so I gotta go look for him-" get cut off. "Nono it's alright deary. Actually we've been meaning to have a little chat"Mammon finds himself being pulled into one of the private rooms with a massive bed just for customers who paid extra just to yknow do the dead with a worker. "Look guys- I know it might seem like I show off all the time, really I don't even work here- that was like a one time thing honestly-" his protests go ignored, instead mammon finds himself being handcuffed then pushed onto the bed. Considering how mammon was pratcally naked at this point all they had to wonder remove Mammon's boxers to reveal his hard he had been. Of course he is the man's a masochist. "Aww he's already so hard" gushes diavolo, joining mammon on the bed holding him by the waist then roceding to kissing his neck allover before finding s good spot an bitting into it. This leaves a bitemark s deep it causes bleeding. Not a shit ton but yknow.

meanwhile the others had begun to remove their clothes, with mammon being made to watch every second of it. He gulps. They were all rock fucking solid which things the realization he's probably wousknt be able to walk for a while, a week? Maybe a month of 2? Considering this wasn't with just Barbatos or diavolo it's likely be longer than that! Diavolo would then proceed to bend Mammon over his lap. Rubbing his are gently at first before giving it a loud slap. "Dia whyyy" he whined. "Well Mammon. You see, we're punishing you for your crimes dear" explains the prince. continuing to spank the demon over and over, leading to mammon whining every time, for it hurt but in such a good way. "really Mammon. Stealing from the castle, I thought we trained you out of that," he chuckles, placing a kiss on the speedy masochist's shoulder.

After a while, Dia would finally stop. Instead choosing to remove his own clothes then have the boy suck on his own solid cock. And God was Mammon good at it. Sucking, bobbing his head, and deep throating that thing like a professional gay porn star. Mephi grew a slight bit jealous "Hey don't to get bout me now" he says, leading to Mammon giving him and in turn Solomon a hand job all while Barbatos watched on. Turned on like the sadist he was. eventually, Barbs chose to enter the smaller demon, not even bothering with lube cuz tbh mammon doesn't need it.

"Look at you" he grunts. "Sucking on cock while your slutty ass is being fucked hard." Another hard thrust. "You truly are made to be fucked" comments Solomon. Who was now the one getting sucked off. After a while Barbatos would cum inside whilst com gushed down Mr greedy's throat and splurged onto his face/hair. "Gee guys that was ho- woah wait wait-! Nghhhh~ holy hell~" meph was next to push into Mammon, using his hands to spread his legs wide and hold them up, just as Diavolo enters with him. Both men would proceed to thrust in and out of him, at different intervals but with the same strength and speed. "Mmm~ fuckkk. I can't believe you'd rip me open like that" whined mammon, tears now filled his face. "Oh don't worry little crow we'll pay for your medical bill" oh how mammon wanted to slap the shit outta Solomon right there.

Keeping their boyfriend quiet was hard. Especially with him getting his brains fucked out by 2 dicks recently bullying his prostate but somehow they do. Likely having to do with the fact he's been sucking on dicks the whole find but yknow. when the pair finally pull out after both cumming into his ass Solomon would enter. Holding the demon by the neck, tight enough to the point it chokes but gentle enough so it couldn't cause any injury of any kind. his brain hazy and focused on one thing and one thing only as he hit all the sweet parts that could make even someone so used to getting fucked over howl. The way Mammon's beautiful body moved in ways once thought impossible, just because it could. Was he really that fucking flexible? beautiful absolutely beautiful.

Eventually like everyone else Solomon would cum inside. This left a mix of cum from litterally all of them inside of mammon, and being the selfish male he was, he'd grab a butt plugs and unplug up the speed demon.solomon would the now exhausted demon close and all of them would cuddle. WELL after yknow cleaning the mess they had made. Barbatos would chuckle a little.

~~~~

"My we seemed to have made a mess outta him" said the ever sadistic butler, kissing Mammon's head. "Mm..you owe me ur credit cards otherwise I'm kicking all ur damned asses!" "Yes of course honey, do whatever you want with them" replied Diavolo kissing his head.

~~~~

A/N: normally I wouldn't write something like this but yknow I was fucking possessed with something while writing this. Sorry if anyone got triggered when reading, and also I promise I'll post part 2 of pure fluff later. just at this very moment I'm tired and working on another smut fix that should be released some point this week. Also btw Asmo wasn't apart of the unknown demon's plans ;-;

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crystallizedkingdoms · 2 years

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Crescendo

day 4 of @johann-appreciation-week! today is a Little Fang fic. to those who may not know, Little Fang is a goth rock band au. the band, Little Fang, consists of Lup as lead singer, Kravitz as main guitar, Johann as bassist, Sloane as the keyboardist, and Ren as the drums. Avi is a gaming streamer who moves into the Fangs' house unknowing of their popularity.

you can also read this on ao3 <3

“I can’t go on there, Sloane.”

The cracks in the concrete steps outside the venue could swallow Johann up if they wanted to. Staring right into the mysterious, dark depths, he hopes that they do.

“You don’t have to. I’ll cover for you,” Sloane says. She is sitting right next to Johann, long legs bent awkwardly on those concrete steps. She knows she sounds stupid when she says something like that, but it doesn’t stop her from saying it.

Johann hangs his head down and runs his fingers through his scalp. He wants to pull out his curls and disappear right there. “I’m almost desperate enough to believe you can do something like that.”

“Wow, you didn’t even call me an asshole this time. You must be really stressed.”

“I am!! I am and I hate it,” Johann stomps the heel of his boot against a small pebble on one of the concrete steps. He realizes immediately how ugly and childish it must look to see a grown man stomping against the ground like that. He crosses his arms over his chest and growls to himself. “I feel like, fuck, I feel the same way I did on our first show. That’s fucked up, isn’t it?”

The sharp features of Sloane’s face soften under the warm, incessantly buzzing light bulb from above the venue’s doorway. Johann thinks he might just claw her face off for daring to give him that look. Which is dumb, of course, Sloane’s his friend. That fact is so apparent when she hands him a braided, leather necklace cord. It’s a ritual the two of them started, way back in their beginning years. When Johann had these fits more openly.

Sloane fiddles with the buttons of her fingerless gloves, saying, “Johann, if you’re feeling that bad, we can delay the show. No one’s going to shoot you for it.”

“No, no, we can’t,” Johann shakes his head and bites on the cord, shaking and biting it real hard in hopes that it’ll get all the anxious energy out of him, “I can’t delay the show because I’m… acting up, or whatever.”

“What’s bothering you this time, then?”

Explaining it would feel like needles being jabbed through his tongue. The light above them beats down on Johann’s skin and exposes him to the dark, lively night waiting to tear him apart. Still, he has to say something. Has to explain himself and be vulnerable again. Isn't that just the best part of having bandmates?

“It’s… everything,” Johann hisses out. “It’s the buzzing of electricity, the smell of alcohol and weed mixed with sweaty leather, bright lights and the taste of my own mouth and the sound of my own bass and it’s— it's him. I know, it’s stupid, I haven’t had these issues with our venues in, like, forever, but— something about the stress and everything about it is killing me and making me even more sensitive—”

“Wait a minute,” Sloane says. Her voice is stern and curt. “Who’s ‘him’?”

Oh, great. Johann stares at the cracks in the concrete steps even more intensely than before. “It’s nothing. I don’t know why I said that. Let’s go on stage.”

“No, now you have to tell me. Who the hell can make you act like this?”

“It’s not just him! I’m not that pathetic. It really is the whole sensory thing, but it’s— it’s also, ugh, the idea that this is the first time he’s going to what we are and what I’m singing about and he’s gonna act so different around me I can tell he will and I don’t want Avi to do that— wait, fuck.”

“Oh. This is about Avi, huh?”

There it is.

Johann throws himself up onto his feet, almost falling off the stairs. He can almost imagine the scene: Little Fangs’ Rockport show cancelled after the bassist eats absolute shit on concrete and completely smashes his teeth to bits while freaking out over his roommate who wears cat-ear headphones finding out they actually were, in fact, a popular band and not some garage project anymore. Yeah, that would make headlines.

Thankfully, Johann catches himself, and swiftly tosses that thought away to head towards the door. “Forget I said anything. I’m not thinking straight. Let’s just go out there and pretend nothing happened, okay?”

Sloane doesn’t get up. She just sits there and cranes her neck to the side to stare at him with furrowed brows and a knowing look in her eye. “If you want that, that’s fine by me, but that just means you’re gonna have to confront this fear of yours head on without any good advice,” she says.

Johann could say something terribly mean about the quality of Sloane’s advice. He almost does. Like a cornered cat, ready to scratch and bite at the one offering safety. He does manage to keep his mouth shut and forces himself to stay put and listen to Sloane.

“Finally. Look, I don’t entirely get what your relationship is with Avi right now. I think it’s obvious, though, that our last few rehearsals have had a new song with lyrics that are so infuriatingly clear it’s about him that it’s been driving me insane that no one else in the band has mentioned it! The fact that it’s taken him this long to recognize it means he might not even realize it now.” Sloane stresses her words very carefully, saying her assurances in a way that don’t necessarily mock anyone, but clearly voices her frustration. Johann’s a little envious of her ability to do that.

“But if he does manage to get the meaning through his skull in this performance, well, what’s the problem? He gets it and he asks you about it after the show. You two talk it out, make out, whatever,” Sloane says, smirking at that last part. “What’s the big deal?”

“Well, um… Avi’s just been a little afraid of what would happen if this whole thing got out, y’know? If that’s gonna change how people interact with us. If it’ll change our relationship.” Johann’s hands are trembling and he runs the toe of his black boots against the cracks of the stairs, but a weight is lifted off his shoulders when he says this. “He barely listens to our rehearsals, you know that. He’s gonna listen when we’re up there, though. That’s always how it’s been with him.”

Sloane sighs and kicks herself up onto her feet. Her long hair sways gently in spring’s night breeze. “If this is such an issue for you guys, then why did you write that song? Why did you pitch it to the band? Why did you go through all of this if this is freaking both of you out?” she asks.

“I didn’t know this was an issue for him when I did it. He brought it up when I had already written it all. He assumed I felt the same, when it’s barely an issue for me! I’ve already had my share of dating drama with Kravitz and Brian—” Johann stops himself to raise his hands to his head and take a few deep breaths. “And… and I can’t just give up that song. I can’t give up the things I write anymore. I’m done with doing that. Isn’t that what you guys begged for me to start doing last year?”

“Not if you think it’ll stress your boyfriend out so badly,” Sloane groans and rubs the bridge of her nose. Johann has to try and stifle the immediate, instinctual refusal he’s had towards the word ‘boyfriend’ for quite some time, because really, what else could they possibly be at this point? “But I guess you got a point. It’s not even a guarantee anyone other than people who are in our circle will figure it out. I shouldn’t beat you up over that.”

Johann doesn’t smoke much anymore, but suddenly he finds himself craving one. “I think it’s less the idea of random crowds figuring out our relationship and more just the whole idea of me… making this whole thing real. By immortalizing my feelings in song. Sending it out into the world. I can’t take that back, you know?” he says. His voice grows a little louder as he throws his head back for some more air, “Our relationship is here now and I’m shoving it out there! Nothing can fall through the cracks once I get on that damn stage.”

As he says that, both Johann and Sloane’s phones buzz in their pockets. Few minutes left ‘til the show starts. Lup’s probably freaking out. Johann thinks he might collapse then and there. “It’s too late to be quiet now, huh?” Johann mutters to himself. “Just gotta suck it up and get up there.”

Sloane bites the inside of her cheek, nice and hard. The two stand next to each other in silence, only the drone of the light bulb above them, and their ragged breaths. Eventually, she says, “You’re right, dude, it might be too late to be quiet now. You might’ve backed yourself into a corner this time.”

“Haha, very comforting.”

Sloane ignores the sarcasm and places her hand on Johann’s shoulder. It’s light enough on his body that it doesn’t make all his senses go haywire, like they usually do when someone touches him in this state. “That just means you gotta get it together and play louder. Get onstage and really put your heart out for him. Show him that you’re not afraid to put the truth of you two out there. Someone’s got to be brave. Be brave for him.”

Johann doesn’t feel brave. Not when the world feels like it’s attacking him, not when there’s a restless energy filling him to the brim and waiting to burst out in some ugly fashion. Not when he’s so scared of Avi’s reaction.

But… oh, how powerful Johann feels when he’s onstage. Where the noises and voices of the plenty drown under his own loud music. Johann can be brave there, if nowhere else.

“Or, um, whatever. I don’t know. I’m not built for this kind of talk,” Sloane says, playing with the ends of her hair.

“No, you’re right,” Johann says with a shaky breath. His heart is pounding in his ears, the light bulb is audibly flickering, and the cracks on the ground seem so much larger. “You’re right, Sloane. So, let's tear that stage up.”

Everything is so loud, but Johann can get louder.

#johann appreciation week #taz balance #taz johann #taz sloane #johavi #little fang au #my writing

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maythearo · 2 years

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I'm back my queen 👑 How was your day? Are you feeling well?

Firstly, I loved all your HCs for the boys in Brazil! (And I really liked the Azul's one, my gatinho capitalista) and I don't know what else to say just *chef kiss* they are perfect.

I'm not here with Jamil News, but hey, my crush had wrote something romantic and don't want to show me (My expectations aren't high and I still cant take it out of my mind, but that's not the point here!). So I was thinking, what are your HCs for Jamil falling in love? Do you think he will hide it for as long as possible or, depending on the situation, say it naturally? And what about your OCs? How they are while falling in love? If you already receive this question or already have some post about it, sorry!

Beijos da Anita!

- The BR Jamil Simp Anon

It's always such a joy to have you here in my inbox anon AKSBSKDJSJ I'm doing great and currently covered in cat fur! Hope you are doing great too but without the car fur part! (I can't wear black clothes anymore)

And for real, your crush wrote you something?? That's so cute!!!!! I hope it's something lovely 🙏 your expectations may not be high but I'm crossing my fingers here!

Now that's a good question, if I have hcs of Jamil in love 🤔

Maybe he would have a hard time realizing he's in love, and even admitting to himself so. That guy is busy as busy can be, so I imagine finding a proper time to sit down and and think about feelings must be SO difficult to find. And in his mind, would it even be worth it? Or even necessary to delve into it? I mean, ignoring his own feelings is also an option. Not allowing such things to become another nuisance for him to bear... but yeah, we know it's not that simple is it

But he is not stupid, sooner or later he will admit it to himself. He needs time, maybe things might not happen right away, but they will sort out eventually. Honestly I get the feeling it's more of a challenge for Jamil himself to go through those first stages of acceptance than it would be to actually confess lollll

Kinda makes me sad he would probably have to think about work and all his duties before even dare to try to think of his love life. There's already so much responsibility on his back but come on, he deserves love! There shouldn't be any difficulties in trying to achieve it, it's his life after all!! AAHH!!!

Even after all of that, if he ever decides to confess his feelings for someone, I think he would be direct, straight to the point, now or never. And would not set his expectations too high since, 1. If it went wrong it would hurt less and 2. ""There are better people than him for his crush to have feelings for"". It's a possibility he internalized some of his struggles with never being allowed to shine brighter than, *AHEM* a certain someone, but dude they didn't even say anything yet, quit putting yourself in second place before even knowing the truth!! >>:(

But anyway, for him, patience is key. It would be wonderful for Jamil to have someone he can lower his guard around. Even have fun with. He deserves some rest, peace and quiet with someone he loves, and to feel loved more than anything! More lighthearted moments for this boy's life please

OH and for my OCs? Idk let's see..

For the little meow meow, who by the way, I'm pretty sure her name is going to be Lu/Luci, well I think she considers herself too young to think of such things, and that's fine! She's quite ambitious, and anything that doesn't contribute to her current plans she simply shoves them aside. Not forcefully though, she just can't bring herself to care enough.

Crushes are something that never crossed her mind. Those silly questionnaires about school crushes that everyone seems to enjoy teasing her about are always met with a short but effective reply. Something along the lines of "no, too busy trying to overthrow the government" and I think that's completely valid.

But we can totally talk about other forms of love. Like, love from family and friends is honestly all she needs in the present moment! For most of her life, Lu didn't exactly got much of other people's attention to listen to her feelings or problems, so now having a small group of people she can rely on is all that she needs, even if she doesn't realize it herself so

First of all help I need a name for that pink creature, second of all they act weird and awkward about love. They are weird. They are going to make this weird. It's tough.

They invented denial. It's incredible. It's very obvious for anyone to notice when they are in love, there is literally no point in trying to hide it idk why they even try.

Everything about the person they love is nearly perfect in their eyes, so much so, they won't even try to make a move! No, no, this person deserves someone better, just as amazing as he is, someone who can give him the world, everything he deserves and more... wait did I just say 'he'?.. Oh no I hope this isn't a give away to who this person could possibly be, let's all pretent to be shocked

But regardless, just watching from a distance or being there for this person is enough for this pink haired fool. No need to try anything else, no, why would they? Just the mere fact they met someone so special is fine. It stings a little but oh well! Love can be scary, but there's nothing better than running away from your fears, as they say. Wait, what do you mean that's not what they say?

Thank you for listening to my ted talk, and we will be closing off with an Anitta meme, visual representation of me to myself atm, cause I have once again rambled too much 🏃🏃

#the BR Jamil simp anon #ask #twst oc #take a guess who the yume ship is #boy oh boy wouldn't it be a challenge for 2 creatures in denial such as jamil and pink ditto to be in love with each other #could you imagine that. these two? these two together? oh man! a shame it's impossible! 🏃 anyway!

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lark-lomond · 1 year

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I really do enjoy going through utterly rancid posts to use them as a blocklist. But it's a shame that the blogs I need to fear the most are not just TERFs, but other trans women. The "how dare you say we piss on the poor" types, who jump at every chance to tear down another trans woman for the crime of being on their dash. I don't even need to name the women who've been attacked like this, because I'm sure you can think of at least five off the top of your head.

The trend on these blocklist blogs is unmistakable: either early in transition or unable/unwilling to go further, reliant on uwu nya speak and egg_irl memes, using niche flags and Picrew icons as the foundation of their identity, and PISSED THE FUCK OFF. I have a lot of empathy for that, because I've been there. That was me for most of 2019-2021, Picrew icons and everything. And it sucks! It sucks so fucking bad. You feel so pathetically vulnerable, physically disgusted with yourself, societally beaten down, and hopeless that you'll ever see any success from transition. I've been there, for years, and that was the worst my mental health has ever been.

All of which makes it very difficult to condemn the people in these horrible little mobs, because they are children to me. Doesn't matter how old they are - although many are minors - those early stages, from egg to early transition (or even beyond), are an intense and exaggerated childhood. That's especially true if you're on HRT and undergoing a second puberty. I was such a fucking mess in those years, I'm genuinely astonished (and incredibly grateful) that my friends stood by me and supported me.

Not all of them did, of course. I'm no longer friends with some of the people I talked to most during that era, and that's no coincidence. I was essentially reset to being a teenager. Do you still talk to your high school friends?

And that's what it really reminds me of, in the end. This stupid fucking high school bullying. You can't win. Teenagers will bully you for being fat, being thin, being poor, being a nerd, being a geek, being a weeb, being a dork, and especially being anything that they can call a "creep." They're learning the patterns of society, its vicious judgments, and trying desperately to eke out a role for themselves that shelters them from its worst. And so many of us trans people are temporary (or perpetual) teenagers.

In my experience, high schoolers don't tend to bully you for being rich, or talented, or popular, or pretty. They recognize the power in that. But they sure as hell will resent you, and say vile things behind your back. Nowadays, having put a lot of work into passing and femininity (though I still feel like I'm always falling short), I find the Picrew teens tend to sort me with the "privileged" chicks. If I had any kind of influence or success, they'd see me, and they'd resent me. And once they saw an opening - once they had a bucket of pig's blood to fill at the prom, once they had a bottle of drain cleaner to feed the hungover alpha bitch - they'd pounce.

I see a great irony in how being transgender is so often policed by the people who have the least experience being trans.

We're a minority group politically joined by our shared experience with something that is INTENSELY personal. On some level, it's no surprise it gets this vicious. But it gouges me horribly to see it. There are organized hate groups out there who dedicate their day jobs to eradicating us, and all the while, we do their work for them. Crabs in the bucket, etc. Behind every successful trans woman is a thousand seething teenagers who want to see her stripped to the bloody bone.

God forbid any of us have anything to be proud of.

#probably should delete this imminently

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