#i just want to fucking live. can i please like ... have a life. that i can experience. without wishing i could die literally constantly

[darkestmetamorphosis]

THIS THIS THIS. It's just the perfect woman/incompetent man sitcom couple that's been the standard for literal decades, now with ukefication yay :|

Like can people just... write female characters as people it's not that hard! If you're trying to write a woman - whether that's an oc, or a canon character who probably already has a personality beyond what you're flattening her to - and all you can think of is either "girlboss" or "cringefail" with no middle ground; if you really cannot comprehend a woman being a normal three dimensional person, do some fucking introspection PLEASE. Stop taking inspiration from media and tropes and look at real live people

And the obsession with "queering" relationships is... ugh where do I even start. First of all that does not make it any more or less "pure" or whatever. Second of all if you have a straight man and a straight woman, they're still both straight no matter who's doing what in the bedroom

If one or both of the characters is queer though that's its own set of nasty stereotypes. If one or both of them are bi it's the "all bi men are feminine so they must also be (insert laundry list of infantilizing stereotype)"/"all bi women are badass girlbosses because they're Not Like Other Girls". If they're trans it's "penis=dom/vagina=sub" reducing them to their agab and parts they may not even want. Like it's misgendering with extra steps, in complete denial of things like bottom dysphoria, surgery, or the fact that maybe trans people might have more reason than most to be averse to the whole gender role reversal thing because having that expectation imposed on you your whole life really fucking sucks and it sucks even worse to be pushed back into the same box. Except the box now has a thin veneer of fake wokeness, repackaging the same old shit

And for all the people in the notes going "where are you seeing this" it's not even just on this webbed site, it happens irl too. ime it comes from the girls who say things like "all men are trash" and people who make nasty jokes/assumptions about me because they think I look like a ~smol uwu soft boi~

All the stereotyping aside, the vibe I get from these sort of dynamics is like... neither of the characters is even really into it? Like it's not about love, not even lust, it's just about power and dominance with no aftercare (because surprise surprise, they don't know how bdsm - including actual femdom - works) Like it's just there because the writer thinks it's the only way you can have a straight relationship without being sexist

can't vibe with the pathetic sopping wet generic sub boy man/pristine feminine perfect goddess woman dynamic people try to put onto every m/f pairing in existence. don't you want something more interesting? characters don't need to have perfect psychologist approved relationships in fiction obvs but it's just so boring. don't you want something in character? don't you want something more interesting?? oh she pegs him? and you write this in a way that implies penetration is about domination and power? wowee. never seen that one before.

[temporarywelcome]

Please? - Peter Maximoff

Word Count: 3.5k

REQUESTED!

The Ask: I humbly ask for a Peter Maximoff smut, I'm thinking y/n either a: distracts him while he is playing his arcade games, b: using whipped cream to give him a lil sweet treat while fucking, or c: literally any smut of this man, I need him. Preferably him being a little cocky/silly, but when you actually do anything he is a whimpering mess praising you. - @envy-of-greed

I give you... Option A.

WARNINGS: SMUT! oral (m recieve), handjob, mommy kink, praise, reader is a tease, reader is MEAN, sub!peter, dom!reader, Peter becomes a MESS, reader calls him "pup" and "puppy" like once, aftercare, alluding to punishment

A/N: gonna work on a Spencer Reid fluff/comedic fic next

_____

Peter was annoying as hell.

She loved him to bits, she would do absolutely anything for him, but she was allowed to admit her boyfriend was a complete terror?

Y/N was peacefully sitting in her room when her telephone had rang. Placing down her magazine, she reached for it, bringing it to her ear, “Hello?”

“Babeeee,”

What a surprise this was. Peter Maximoff, who usually would just show up unannounced with his super speed, decided to give her a phone call?

“Peter? What’s the occasion?” she asked with a smile, leaning back against her pillows, twirling the telephone’s wire in her newly manicured fingers. 

“Eh, I just remember you saying you like phone calls, the bonding or whatever. So i wanted to give you one.”

That made her heart melt. This little terror was sometimes a complete angel as well. “Yeah…” Y/N replied, “I love phone calls. Your voice sounds so nice on the phone, by the way,”

She could already picture him blushing. “I-It does? I mean, of course, yeah it does! I’m Peter freaking Maximoff, babe. Everything about me is top-tier,”

“You could work on your baking skills,” she mused, remembering literally every single time she would attempt to bake something with him. Flour everywhere. Remnants of cake or brownie batter on his face because he just had to eat some (a lot). Firealarm going off. Burnt baked goods. Every. Single. Time.

“Bitch! Every baking failure is your fault for always distracting me!” he whined in protest.

“How the hell do I distract you? I’m baking too!” 

“ ‘Cause you’re pretty,” Peter replied cheekily, and she knew he would have wiggled his eyebrows if she could see him, “How am I supposed to focus?”

“Stop making excuses for your terrible baking skills. Even if I wasn’t there, you would be a mess,”

“For different reasons,” Peter scoffed, “I can’t bake by myself, I need your guidance,”

“But you can’t bake with me either because you allegedly get distracted. Sounds like you just can’t bake,”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, making her laugh, “Let’s get to more important business: when can I pick you up?”

“I wasn’t aware of being picked up at all,”

“Yeah well I’m picking you up. I wanna spend some time with you!” she could hear his excited tone that was so uniquely Peter. Everything about him was unique. Everything about him was different and weird and strange and she loved every part of him. 

“Well…” Y/N sighed, “I was going to start on some homework…”

“Boooo! College student booooo!”

“Shit, excuse me for wanting an education. Better than planning on living in my mom’s basement for the rest of my life,” she teased.

“Ouch. Fine. Can’t you do your homework later?”

“I’ve been procrastinating on it,” Y/N set down her magazine, getting off of the bed and walking to her desk, stretching her body as far as she could with the limits of the phone cord. Fingertips brushing against her notebook, she was able to grab it, nestling back into her bed and opening it, “Shit, it’s a lot.”

“Who cares? Finish it tomorrow!”

“It’s due in the morning.”

She could already tell he was pouting, she knew him so well. “Can’t you do it at my place?”

“You mean your mom’s place?” Y/N decided to keep teasing him. Peter was pretty much a loser, not really having any plans in life other than to lounge in his mom’s basement playing video games and eating twinkies for eternity. He thought he was a loser, Y/N’s parents thought he was a loser (which is why they don’t like him much), even Y/N thought he was a loser when they had first met. 

Yet here she was, smiling like an idiot while babbling on the telephone with said loser. Said loser who always gives her (stolen) gifts. Said loser who comes over at random points in the day just to say he loves her (superspeed is pretty handy). Said loser who named his Dungeons and Dragons character after her (however, he was such a loser, he didn’t have many people to play it with). Said loser who would scoff and pout whenever she would tease him about being her future house husband (well, what else would he be, if he just plays video games and dotes on her all day?) Her favorite loser. 

“Yes,” Peter deadpanned, “My mom’s place. Now may I come over so I can escort you to my mom’s place?”

She pretended to think about it, hearing his soft breathing on the other line as he waited for her to answer, “Fine. No distractions though!” 

“Yes, ma’am,”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, jumping when she heard a harsh knock on her window. Whipping her head towards the source of the noise, she rolled her eyes with a laugh. Peter, waving at her with his usual happy dorky expression. Placing the phone back down onto its receiver, Y/N rushed towards the window, opening it. “Babe!”

“Missed me?” he asked with a smirk, zipping into her room and right past her, making her roll her eyes again. He picked up her notebook, examining the pages, “Ew ew ew. What the hell are you studying again?”

“Psychology,” Y/N sat on the bed, slipping her sneakers on and tying them. 

“Boring,” he sped off in a blur to her desk, grabbing a pencil, and rushing back to her notebook. 

She didn’t even notice, focused on her sneakers, but when she raised her head and saw him drawing on her notebook, her facial expression soured, “Pietro Maximoff!” she snatched the notebook back, flicking his forehead. 

“Hey!” he gasped dramatically, “Ain’t no way you used my real name.”

“You misbehave to the point I have to like a mom,” Y/n replied dryly, going off to her closet to grab her bag. Brows furrowing, she dug around a bit, “Shit… Dunno where my bag went-”

“Ahem,”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn to know what that meant. But she did, and, not to her surprise, Peter was holding her bag with a smirk on his face. 

“Asshole,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew him well. If she attempted to grab the bag, he would just zoom off somewhere else to tease her. 

“Aren’t you going to get it?” he asked with faux innocence, holding it out to her. 

“Fuck that, I know what you’re planning,” Y/N shook her head, raising her brow at him expectantly, “Drop the bag,”

“Um, am I a dog?” He placed a hand to his chest, jaw dropping like the drama king he was. He should have been in theatre when he was in school. 

“Do I have to treat you like one?” Y/N threatened boldly, “Come on, pup, drop the bag,”

Peter’s eyes widened and he dropped the bag, “You did not just say that,” 

“Well, it worked,” Y/N smirked, grabbing her bag and planting a kiss on his cheek, “Good boy,” She began throwing her supplies for her homework into her bag, unaware of the growing dent in his pants. 

“Bitch,” he mumbled to himself, too quiet for her to hear. 

“Alright, I’m ready to go,” she announced, slinging her bag over her shoulder. He just stood there, eyes glazed over. “Earth to Peter?” she snapped her fingers in his face twice before he blinked, coming back down to society. 

“Okayletsgetoutofhere,” he word vomited, grabbing her waist (with one hand on her neck, of course! Gotta prevent that whiplash!), and within seconds, they were in his room (the basement). 

“Shit, am I ever gonna get used to that?” Y/N laughed, flopping onto his unmade bed in dizziness. Before she could react, Peter dived in on top of her, making her let out a pained, “Oof!” and a “Peter!”

A childish giggle left him, arms going around her waist as he nuzzled into her neck, “Hm?”

“Can’t breathe,”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I apologize, my dainty little princess,” she deadpanned, arms going around him too. Yes, he was crushing her, but she honestly didn’t care, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. She then felt something on her thigh. Felt like something was poking-

Oh.

Oh.

She smirked, but didn’t say anything about what she just realized, casually stroking his hair, “My pretty puppy,”

He gasped, immediately dashing off. Poor thing was flustered, playing one of his (stolen) arcade games, back turned to her. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N immediately got to teasing him, “I thought we were cuddling?”

“Wanna game,” he replied simply, and his ears went red. Cutie pie. 

“You wanna game? But I thought you wanted to spend time with me?” she laughed.

“You said you wanted to do your homework,” 

“True true…” she opened up her notebook, glancing at his squirming figure, “You dancin’, love?”

“No, I’m not dancing,” was all he said. There were plenty of times he didn’t catch onto her teasing, which was always adorable. This seemed to be one of them.

“Then why are you moving like that?” 

“Like what?” Now he was playing dumb. He groaned as he died in the game, restarting it.

She slid off of the bed, walking to him and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she said, “You’re acting funny, darling,” she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, feeling him tense under her touch.

“N-No, I’m not,”

“Oh, really?” One hand reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before planting a kiss there, “You’ve been acting funny ever since I called you a good boy,” His breath hitched, making her smirk, “I didn’t know calling you that would have such an effect on you, baby. Maybe it’s because you’re so bratty, you don’t hear that often, huh?”

“Stoooop,” he whined, losing in his game again, “You made me lose,” Peter pouted. 

“Hm,” she let her hands drop lower, fiddling with the button of his pants absentmindedly, “You must be slacking, Peter! You should be able to game under any condition, right?”

“But-”

“Nuhuh,” she pressed a finger to his plush lips, “No ‘but’s from you. We gotta practice your concentration skills, my love. They’re lacking,” she unbuttoned his jeans, making him gasp. His hands were gripping the game’s controls tightly, however they were unmoving as she palmed him through his boxers. “Hey,” she roughly squeezed his length, making him squeak cutely. “Did I say you could stop? C’mon, time to practice.” 

“S-Sorry, Y/N,” he stuttered out, hitting restart again. She squeezed his cock through his boxers again, earning a whine from him. 

“Now what do you call me when I play with you?” Y/N asked tauntingly, running a single finger over his clothed length. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“Mommy,” he bit his bottom lip to keep himself from moaning. 

“That’s right, darling, I’m Mommy,” She stepped away, confusing him, until she got down on the floor, crawling right between him and the game. “Mommy’s going to take care of your pretty cock now, okay?” Her hands trailed towards the belt loops of his jeans as she spoke, “You are not allowed to stop playing your game. Each in-game death is two spanks. You’re not allowed to cum till you clear three levels, understood?”

Peter’s cheeks flared up and he nodded excitedly, “Yes, Mommy,” 

“Good boy,” she purred, pulling down his pants and letting them pool at his ankles. Fingers dipping into the waistband of his boxers, she cooed, already noticing a small wet patch, “So excited, huh?” she pulled down his boxers, letting them join his pants on the floor. Y/N stuck out her index finger, letting it run along his cock like before. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“-Mommy,” Peter whined, “Stop teasing me, please,”

“Oh? The bratty boy is using his manners?” she cooed, wrapping her fingers around his thick length and slooooowly stroking him, “Remember the rules and everything will feel amazing, yeah?”

He nodded, sucking in a breath, “Y-Yeah,” Peter tried to focus on his game, he really did, trying his best to get his character past the villainous NPCs. But as soon as Y/N began to stroke faster, he whimpered, his character being slain. 

“Oh?” Y/N smirked, pausing her movements and making him whine more, “Already lost? That’s two spanks, darling,”

“Sorry, Mommy…” He mumbled in embarrassment, restarting the game, “I won't do it again- fuck,” She started stroking him again, the delicious feeling going straight to his pretty little head. Any sort of sexual intimacy would immediately make his brain short-circuit, causing him to be complete putty in her hands.

“I know you won’t do it again, Peter, because you’re a good boy, right?” Y/N’s lips curled into a little smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his tip, continuing to stroke him. “You’re my good boy?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, bottom lip between his teeth as he attempted his game again, his avatar jumping through obstacles and avoiding approaching enemies, “I’m y-your good boy- ughhh,” she wrapped her pretty lips around his tip, teasingly sucking on it. He bit his bottom lip again, hard enough to draw blood. 

Peter couldn’t help it, he took a glance down at Y/N, mouth going dry seeing her sucking on his tip, stroking him in a steady rhythm with her own eyes looking dead at his. His eyes widened seeing her take him deeper into her mouth, eyes not leaving his for even a second.

Game over.

He looked up at the screen of his game, realizing his character died again. Fuck. 

Y/N pulled her mouth off of his dick with a pop, making him whimper, “Two more spanks, darling. That’s four now.”

This was going to suck. This was going to suck in the best way possible. 

“Didn’t you say you were going to be a good boy?” Y/N asked, pouting exageratively, “I remember you saying you were going to be a good boy,”

“I am your good boy!” Peter huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Y/N laughed, pressing a kiss to his thigh, “You’re so cute, baby. Now, c’mon, start the game again. You’ll never get to cum at this rate.”

Poor thing panics, starting the game up again. He began spamming the buttons desperately, wanting to clear those three levels so Y/N would allow him to cum. Overstimulation was hot as hell, but edging was terrible (which is why that was her usual punishment for him).  

Her lips were on him again, sucking hard, and poor guy was seeing fucking stars trying to focus on this damn fucking game. He was a good gamer, these levels should be easy to clear, but when Mommy is sucking his cock how is he able to focus on such a thing? He would rather abandon the game and fuck her like a bitch in heat, which is certainly what he felt like at that moment. 

It was torture. Spamming buttons desperately, not beating the level, the threat of edging and spanking in the air. He was going crazy.

“Thats ten spanks now, baby,” Y/N said after another failed level, “I thought you were good at games,”

“I-I am!” He exclaimed, “It's hard to fucking focus when you're sucking the soul out of me!” A pout formed on his pretty lips, brows furrowed as he attempted to play the level again. 

“Watch your tone, Peter,” Y/N glared at him, making him feel emotional. Whenever he was in a vulnerable place like this, it's embarrassingly easy for him to burst into tears. Especially because during any form of intimacy he was baby or darling or something cute, never Peter. Why would she call him by his name? Was he being bad?

“Sorry, Mama,” he mumbled.

Y/N couldn't help but smile softly, being reminded once again how much she adored him. Her pretty boy. Her favorite loser. Being called her titles by him always made her weak at the knees. “I know, baby,” she was a soft domme at heart, she can't be mad at him. Ever. He was her baby and he deserved the whole world. “Let's try this again, okay?”

She waited for him to nod before taking him into her mouth again. His pretty tip was red and hot in her mouth, dribbling pre-cum on her tongue as she swirled the muscle along. 

He finally beat the first level, moving on to the next excitedly. He was getting somewhere now! Soon he'll be allowed to cum and maybe Y/N will let him inside…

Yes, he really wanted to be inside her. 

Y/N began taking him deeper into her mouth, and fuck he felt his tip nudge the back of her throat so perfectly he wanted to cum. So bad. But he won't because he's a good boy and he's not going to cum until he's allowed to. 

That was the plan, at least.

But his name was Quicksilver for a reason and he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. His left hand was gripping the joystick painfully hard, knuckles white as he moved it around in an attempt to get his character across the map to the next level. 

He finally made it to the third level, sighing in relief. He was getting somewhere. Almost to the end. She was bobbing her head up and down, one hand gently rubbing his tender balls, bringing him closer and closer to release. 

“AhI’msoclosethatfeelssogoodthankyouthankyouI’msoclose” he babbled out, speaking practically a mile a minute. A wide grin appeared on his face once he cleared the third level, “IdiditcanIcomenowpleasecanIcumnow-”

She pulled off of his dick again, making him groan in both desperation and annoyance, “You cleared the level? Good job, sweetie. I guess I can let you cum now…” They both stared at each other, Peter panting and his chest rising with each labored breath, Y/N batting her eyelashes at him meanly, continuing to tease him. He was ready to just start fucking her face and go wild, but he told himself he was going to behave.

So he’s going to behave. 

Ugh, but why does she have to make it so hard? 

“Can you keep going?” he finally asked.

“Should I, though?”

“You… You promised!” he gasped, eyes widening in panic.

“Hmmm, I don’t remember promising anything,” she replied, trailing her finger along his shaft like she always did when she wanted to fucking tease him. Up and down up and down up and down-

“Please?” Was she really going to make him beg? She knew he hated begging, which is probably why she enjoyed making him do that so much. 

All she did was hum, continuing with that aggravating motion of her finger, fucking asshole. 

“Please, Mommy?” he grumbled, hands balling into fists at his sides to keep him from going crazy. Think with your head and not your dick, Peter.

Y/N gave him another mean smirk, “That’s my boy…” she went straight back to sucking him off, and he was back to being a fucking mess. 

“ThatfeelssogoodyoualwaysdosogoodfuckI’mgoingtocumcanIcumpleasepleaseplease-”

She nodded, not stopping her sucking motion for even a second. However, his eyes were screwed shut so he didn’t even notice, continuing to beg to cum till she released his dick from her mouth and said, “You can cum, baby,” with a little laugh before going right back to work. 

And within two seconds of being back inside her mouth, he was cumming hard, hands going to her hair for something to keep him grounded. When she pulled away from his cock once again, she swallowed without a second thought, rubbing his thigh soothingly, “You still there, baby?”

“Mhm,” Peter was a known chatterbox, everybody knew this. But every time after cumming, his desire to speak would vanish, the need to just be held and taken care of overpowering all else. 

So Y/N stood up, taking his hand, “Let’s lay down, yeah?” She knew Peter could not last long, however, he could bounce back extremely fast. Just some cuddles will do, and he’ll be back to either a) yapping her ear off, or b) being hard as a rock. Or both. Who knows? 

She laid down on his (unmade) bed, pulling him down beside her, “You need anything, baby?” He simply shrugged, arms going around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder, “Water?” He shook his head. “Snack?” Fast nod. Of course. “Alright,” she went to sit up, but he immediately tightened his grip on her. “Didn’t you want a snack?” she laughed.

He thought for a moment before hesitantly releasing her from his hold, allowing her to get up and go to his practical tower of Hostess treats, grabbing a box of Twinkies. His favorite. Sitting back down, she opened up the box, unwrapping a cakey treat while he leaned against her again. 

“Here you go,” she said softly, letting Peter pluck the dessert from her hand and eat it. It was silent as he ate, her hand going to his hair to gently stroke the silver strands. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled after he finished, looking up at her with a cute smile, “You always know just what I need,” he nuzzled his nose into her neck, inhaling her scent. “Love you,”

“Love you too, baby,” she kissed his head, sighing peacefully, “So… about that punishment…”

[hearts4werka]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Introducing… zombie!chris .ᐟ

Died in the 00’s, some ghost-hunting kids accidentally brought him back to live from the grave, family died many years ago, torn up clothes, scars and sew marks on his limbs, greenish-withered tint to his skin, a specific scar going down his eye he likes to make up stories about how he got it, quite flirty, charming, face card is at max, has a special rotten spot in his heart for innocent!reader, loves how delicate reader’s skin is, compares hand sizes but without a few fingers, even tho he may be undead he does know how to fuck well, doggy style enthusiast, loves classical music, quite a prankster, likes to scare reader whenever her nose is in a book too long, doesn’t want to dress up for Halloween even tho reader wants to match costumes, adores the fuck out of dogs, loves watching reader get flustered when he calls her ma’am darling or sweetheart “Oh cmon, darling, you have to watch your step next time than have your nose stuck in those books”

| ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - things I assume he would say |

🧟‍♂️ - “Do you need a hand, ma’am?” He asks while detaching his arm and waving it around.

🧟‍♂️ - “Fuck… um- could you sew my dick back onto me, please?” He gestured down to the place where his dick is now missing from.

🧟‍♂️ - “I don’t need new clothes, I’m fine with these, they add character to my person!” “But people think you’re dressed up as a zombie all year.” “Well they can go fuck themselves for all I care,”

🧟‍♂️ - “Now do I have to? I have no idea how to bakee…” He whines but you grab his hand and drag him into the kitchen, but try not to be too rough as his arm is pretty flimsy.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 introducing… innocent!reader .ᐟ

A big sweetheart, loving family, virgin, loves all small animals, pink bows, mostly pastel clothes, delicate skin, gentle with anyone & everyone, always wanting to help, books enthusiast, clueless, falls for Chris’s pranks, a scaredy-cat, very lovable, secretly is falling for zombie!chris even tho she shouldn’t, blames all of it on the books, very curious about zombie!chris & tends to ask a lot of questions, adores baking fresh pastry, wants to create her own bakery but is too scared too, soft spot for zombie!chris, feels bad for him, always tries to convince zombie!chris to do something new, forces him to bake with you knowing he secretly enjoys it, bit of a crybaby, hates being mean, cozy like a little cute grandma, very innocent on a lot of topics, “S-stop calling me that, it makes my face feel weird”

| ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - things I assume she would say |

🌸 - “You’re such a unique creature, sometimes I wonder how you’re even real” She cluelessly wonders while she runs a hand through his hair.

🌸 - “Let me just grab my sewing kit and you stay here, ‘mkay honey?” She reassured before getting up from her seat and going into her kitchen.

🌸 - “Can you tell me the story of how you got brought to life again?” She asks curiously, loving to hear how he tells the story each time.

🌸 - “Can we pleasee go bake some cookies? It’ll be great bonding time…” She pleads, giving him the sweet puppy eyes that always make him say yes.

-

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! : if anyone has any questions about these two, please ask me them, it can be any questions you have and I’ll gladly provide as much information about that topic as I can, I love talking to y’all and hope y’all have an amazing day wherever you are 💗

𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 🏷️ | - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - @sturniolosiphone - @sophand4n4 - |

[moonlightwonu]

권순영 // Kwon Soonyoung [Hoshi] Fic Recsᡣ𐭩

247 너의 기억은 내 삶이 멈출 때까지 끝나지 않아~

Main Recs Masterlist

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

“The Thing About Love” by @gyuswhore

Uni au, slow burn, fluff, angst, humor || W.C: 25.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The slap you sent across Kwon Soonyoung’s face sent a reverberating sound across the dance studio. He looks up, eyes bloodshot and swimming with fury. There’s a hint of a smile on his face for some reason, which you realize may be out of disbelief. You don’t register anything else other than the rage that accelerates down your own veins. There’s a part of you that wants to do it again when he utters his next words. “That was a bad fucking idea”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Bluff and Nonsense” by @thepixelelf

Gn!reader || Uni au, romance, angst, fluff || W.C: 17k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･“Soonyoung? Yeah I know him, you should too. He’s on the uni’s dance crew, and ever since he joined them, their popularity’s skyrocketed. I’ve met him a few times, great guy — got a tendency to run his mouth but hey, no one’s perfect. He’s smart anyways, probably knows how to deal with the consequences, right?” Or Soonyoung never thought one bluff could lead to so much nonsense.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Driving Lessons for Dummies” by @shuaflix

Fem!reader || College au, strangers to lovers, fluff, humor, smut || W.C: 16.8k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you've finally passed your written test and gotten your permit after six failed attempts. eager to get your license while attempting to avoid overpriced driving lessons, you enlist the help of kwon soonyoung, who only requires a STIIZY pod as payment.

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“What? Like It’s Hard?” by @starsstuddedsky

Gn!reader || Uni au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, opposites attract || W.C: 24.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･With the help of a little bit of bleach, Soonyoung is certified legally blonde–complete to last minute-dedication to scoring as high as Elle Woods on the LSAT. While he has no interest in law school, he’s notorious for never turning down a dare. So how does a frat bro in serious danger of failing his senior year get a 179? He asks the smartest person he knows.

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“Habit” by @number1mingyustan

Fem!reader || College au, friends with benefits, smut, angst || Parts: 4 || Total W.C: 14.7k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You're in desperate need of getting laid, whether you want to admit it or not. And it just so happens that the fuckboy from your Economics class comes knocking at your door. 

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“Let Me Try Again” by @papermatisse

Fem!reader || Angst, Fluff, Heavy plot+elements || W.C: 30k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Soonyoung had never wanted to live a restrained capitalistic life, forced to work a tiresome 9 to 5, paying taxes until the day he dies. Though in exchange to pursue the other option, that being devotion to a career, he had to pay an unfathomably large price—he had to abandon everything and everyone he's ever loved. can he fit himself back into his former life? one that's changed more than he can possibly imagine? could the ones he loved forgive him for his wrongdoings? could he get the second chance he wants so desperately?

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“Right? Right.” by @bluehoodiewoozi

Gn!reader || Soulmate au, angst, fluff, wholesome friendships || W.C: 13.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Your soulmate mark might be broken, but at least he will always be there for you.

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“Double Trouble” by @bluehoodiewoozi

Hogwarts au, Platonic fluff, mystery, comedy || W.C: 6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Kwon Soonyoung might be too curious for his own good. He enlists the help of an equally enthusiastic and curious Ravenclaw to solve the mystery of the several odd disappearances of one Kim Mingyu.

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“Never Shall We Die” by @gyuswhore

Fem!reader || Pirate au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, smut, fluff || Parts: 3 || Total W.C: 48.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

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“Arranged Marriage” by @hoshifighting

Fem!reader || Arranged marriage au, Childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff || W.C: 10k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･In contrast to the tired old plots of arranged marriages where the couple can't stand each other, you and Soonyoung are childhood friends. It's not just like marrying a friend—no, no, actually, it is marrying a friend, no-frills and simple.

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"Lost And Found" by @kwanisms

Fem!reader || Soulmate au, fluff, slight angst || W.C: 6.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･All your life, items had been disappearing from your room only for strange items to appear. Items that didn’t belong to you. Your grandmother told you the items belonged to your soulmate and that your lost items were in his room. You didn’t believe her until you began noticing all the items that appeared in your room had the same initials on them: S.K.

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"Caller #17" by @beomcoups

Fem!reader || 90s au, fluff, angst || W.C: 8.8k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You could easily name 10 things that you hate about him. But when you bond over music and families, you realize there's more to him than meets the surface.

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"I Will Go To You Like The First Snow" by @viastro

[Series] || Gn!reader || Hotel Del Luna x Goblin au, reincarnation, angst, slowburn, fluff, humour || Parts: 25 +prologue, +epilogue || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you’ve waited a millennium as a grim reaper to take revenge on soonyoung, then came the day where he had finally reincarnated. with revenge on your mind, you don’t realize that him receiving a second chance at life might have you questioning your own promise.

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"Echoes of Summer" by @mr-cha-n

Fem!reader || Camp counsellors au, fluff, angst, sunshine x sunshine || W.C: 18.7k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Get ready for the most unforgettable summer yet at Camp Logan, where lifelong memories are made, friendships are strengthened, and old crushes make new appearances.

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[aimibeautytrend]

SYNOPSIS satoru gojo, one of the most popular boy in college, plays on the basketball team, has a large reputation of being a player and dismisses most girls, leaving them coming back for more dk why , and you; a depressing fashion designer major, looking towards being a model. one night at a frat party that your best friend, shoko dragged you to, you went to the bathroom to hide away from the party but…

PAIRING fratboy! gojo x reader

WARNINGS 18+ , lowercase intended , cursing , fluff + angst , strangers to situationship (unfortunately) to lovers(?) , badly written smut , fem! reader , slow burn-ish , drinking/smoking , idiots in love , opposite attract + fell first/fell harder trope , never proofread

11:22PM; you shouldn't be here at all. loud music, drinking, smoking, making out in the corner shamelessly. This is not your crowd. This wasn't your fun, it's your best friend fun.

"oh come on y/n! this will be so fun!" you recall your best friend, shoko, pleading with you for you come tag along with her to go to a frat party that she was invited to once again (for the nth time in the past three weeks) "no thanks shoko. i have work to do." you half lied, you don't really have any work but you have work in the morning since you have no classes tomorrow in the morning.

"just this one time please!" she clasped her hands together in front of your face. that's a lie, one time turns into two, then three, then so on and so forth. but you are so tired and bothered by this point that you don't care anymore. "fine, just this once, but i'm not dressing up for anything." You get up and heads intot he bathroom, through the muffled door you can hear shoko's little cheers of excitement.

And now you regret agreeing in the first place. as soon as you arrived, shoko already left to go to her party animal friend group and started heading towards to kitchen for drinks probably.

11:46PM; you’re felt like leaving, but you didn’t want to leave shoko here with no ride and no conscious to call herself a ride home. plan b; hiding the bathroom. you notice that there’s a basement and a unused bathroom down there. you sneak around people and start heading downstairs.

it quiet, if you exclude the muffled bassed music from upstairs, its clean and empty, the bathroom door is right there. so why do you feel a weird sensation throughout your body not to open the door, much less step closer to the door? you decide to ignore it and approach the door, you didn’t hear anything through the door, well barely at least. you grab the doorknob and open the door.

a random girl. bent over the sink base, a drunk dazed look in the mirror as she moans, a really tall guy, looking around six feet tall, really pretty white hair and white lashes, straight up eating her pussy. you let out a small shriek, the girl barely notices but the guy snaps his head around so fast, you could have sworn he almost broke his neck. you slam the door close and bolted out of the basement.

12:12AM; you’re driving home. fuck shoko, she’ll most likely end up sleeping in another guy’s bed in that house anyways, she’ll live. but you refuse to stay in that house any longer, especially not after what you witnessed. it’s not like you’re new to sex, you never done it but you know about it but also you refuse to actually get a front row seat to real life porn show.

you made it back to the apartment, driving your car into the underground parking lot and heads into the elevator. your mind was spiraling, that reoccurring memory infecting your mind like a parasite. the guy’s crystal blue eyes, shining in a bathroom light, particularly blinding you, filled with shock and panic. you unlock the apartment door and went inside; about ready to shut down for the night.

6:12AM; you wake up at your phone buzzing rapidly on the bedside table, alarming you in your slumber. you slap around the table until you yanked the phone off the charger to turn it on. just to be blinded by the brightness. “fuck…” you mumbled to yourself. adjusting your eyes while still squinting.

“hello?” voice hoarse and dehydrated, “hello? is this y/n?” a male deep voice on the other line. “yes it’s y/n, who is this?” small noises in the background, “this is gojo…satoru gojo, you’re shoko’s roommate, right?” you make a small ‘mhm’. “yea, can you come pick her up soon? she has no ride and is really hungover..” you run your temple in a growing headache.

“uh yea…i’ll be over soon.” you hung up before hearing gojo out. yea you’re already tired of today.

TAGLIST @luvsymai @gojodickbig @sad-darksoul @kaemaybae @yukii-1 @juneslove21 @loverzxi

any tags in blue and italic means your tags aren’t working or aren’t on

previous `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ masterlist `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ next

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi! New to your page but OBSESSED with your writing for ✨pookie✨(Criston Cole), you truly produce some magic! Was hoping you might be able to write something post start of war where OC (Alicents Daughter, maybe Aemonds twin) is absolutely miserable. Castle vibes are hell, family just busy and angry and any betrothal in the woodworks for her is now put on the back burner. Thinking Criston has a soft spot for her, and shows the curious maiden how to pleasure herself and keep entertained while they all are busy waging war. (Love me some religious guilt as well so maybe they both refuse to do full on PnV?)

Pretty please 🙏🏼

HELLO POOKIE LOVER!!! I HAVE A SHORT DEPRESSING SWEET AND SMUT FOR ✨YOU✨ I'm so glad you enjoy me works, mwah!!!!! Means sm❤️💋

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Foul Red Keep Energy, Criston’s inability to not be a slut syndrome, religious guilt, religious fanaticism, background alicole, manipulation and rationalization, age gap of modern Day legal standards thank you, frottage, pillow humping, plus sized reader, dirty talk, innocence kink

Taglist: @aemondfairy @elaratyrell @elfven-blog @fairysluna @gil-galadaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @samthegreenapologist @towriteloveontheirarms @urmomsgirlfriend1 @zaldritzosrose

WC: ~2k

He can’t fuck her, Criston reminded himself. He can strip himself raw and come all over that pretty pale skin and soft tummy of the little princess. He felt like a sick fuck afterward, the knight was positive he was doomed.

He would stand on guard— brooding whether he was just that fucked in the head or perhaps it was the ‘Dornish’ lust in his blood. Fucking the mother, defiling the maiden. His back was raw and scabbed from the flagellant. Begging and shedding tears on the kneeler as he bloodied his back to purge the sin in his fetid heart.

Yet seeing her whimper and come all over his fingers was a sight— a reprieve in the dismal Keep. The way she’d cling to Criston, crying and squirming on his lap as he massaged and suckled on her lovely tits might be worth his inevitable burning in the lowest layer of the seven hells. She was a sad little thing, fearful since Aegon was put upon the throne, how could he not comfort her?

He was expecting to leave soon, regrettably, Harrenhal and more fire and blood were on the horizon. Criston didn’t taste the ashes and choking miasma of death when he was kissing the lovely little princess. She tasted sweet and innocent, too soft for such circumstances. She had a fierce dragon, and Aemond would call her to arms.

He wanted to take her and run. Alas, he had a duty to live and die by the family he swore himself to. It was the only thing Criston cared for. A win, even if his life was the cost. Then his pretty girl could get married and live alright, with no threat of her head getting lopped or dying by dragon fire.

Criston had her in his lap now as he brooded, eyes scanning over documents he wasn’t meant to understand. He was a warrior, not nearly sharp enough to fill Otto Hightower’s shoes. He exhaled, rubbing the soft velvet of her dress. She was curled up, straddling him, soft blonde hair nestled under his jaw.

“Sweetling?” He rasped.

She mumbled sleepily, “Mhm Ser?”

Criston smiled a little, a faint curve of the corners of his lips. She was so precious to him. His little shadow when he was in the keep. Criston wasn’t complaining, he felt more alone than ever and for some reason, the Gods only knew, the young woman adored the knight.

He slipped his fingers through her platinum hair, hand sliding over to gently grip her chin. She looked like her mother and Aegon— big doe eyes, pouty lips. The princess had those purple eyes, they always tried to peer into him. It escaped Criston how his blackened insides didn’t run her off.

“Are you tired, princess?” He asked.

She shrugged, eyes searching his. Plump lips twitched before she asked if he was restless.

Criston’s hand caressed her soft cheek, lips curling up once again. He murmured, “You keep me restless, sweetling.” She made a soft noise, the sound going straight to Criston’s cock. He needed her, now, preferably before the guilt ate at him too much and he’d send the princess away with a guard.

He stood up, lifting her along with him, lips traveling along the pale column of her neck. The darling dressed like a damn septa, her chemise up to her chin. Criston had already untied it early so he could have access for times like now, pressing lush kisses and playful nips as she whimpered.

“You’re such a good girl, always reading, reciting your prayers,” he rambled, laying her down on his bed. The princess whined, arching into his heavier frame.

“I’m not being bad am I?”

Criston was about to open his mouth, hands pushing up her dress, stopping at her plush thighs. His dark eyes studied her lips as she spoke.

The blonde got on her elbows, achingly innocent, that little furrow between her brows tightening. She spoke softly and quietly as if spilling a secret. The princess murmured, “I- I was rereading the passages in the Seven Pointed Star. As long as my maidenhead is intact, I honor the father and maiden by being pure that I’d be safe. Y-you’re just comforting me, teaching me how to be a good wife, while respecting my maidenhead.”

He stared more.

“Right Ser Criston?”

Cole felt his heart ache worse than any wound physically inflicted. The poor thing was rationalizing and he wasn’t going to challenge it. Criston nodded, stroking her soft curls, his other hand up under the velvet of her green dress, stroking her hip, holding back from gripping the abundant flesh.

He spoke gently to the little lamb, lips ghosting her pout, “Yes, that’s it, in uncertain times like this, I wish to make you feel better. We’ll pass this war and you’ll be a sweet little wife. So good and pious, shush now princess.”

If he heard her speak of the faith again he might cry. So Criston flipped her over, undoing her dress. The thick layers, the kirtle— the Marcher could do it with his eyes closed. The Princess kept her chemise on, a farce, Criston would have it shoved up or unbuttoned.

She shivered as he leaned over her frame, pulling her against his clothed cock. Criston groaned, Gods, she was soft and plush. He nuzzled at the nape of her neck, calloused hands rubbing flared hips, whispering, “How you manage to be a light in this dark keep is a miracle.”

Yet here he was, dimming said light.

She squirmed against his hard cock, panting. Criston would play with her for hours if he could, alas, he didn’t like her to cry. He figured it was time to pose a lesson of sorts. The knight racked his brain, eyes landing on one of those stiff, rounded pillows.

“Sweetling, princess, grab that pillow, you see it don’t you?”

She grabbed it, lavender eyes casting over her shoulder as Criston chuckled nastily. So innocent, his dark heart said. He nosed at her silken shoulder, adjusting her into sitting on the pillow, making sure she was leaning forward a little.

“Criston,” she whined, looking at him again, lips trembling. He loved when the princess got all red, pallid skin blotching. He hummed, almost straddling her from behind, flush to her back and ass.

“This is for when your lord husband might be busy, or you need to relax. Probably good for when you’re with child and…not as spry. When I have to go, you can do this, it’s easy, take it at your pace right now.”

Criston grinned when she whimpered, hips jerking forward. He pressed closer, a hand undoing her chemise further, getting a handful of her ample tit. She moaned, always so sensitive, hips beginning to jerk forward and back. The brunette’s other hand steadied itself on her lower belly, kneading at the layer of flesh.

So fucking soft. Gods, gods, why?

His calloused hand massaged at her breast, the princess whimpering and moving quicker, grinding down onto the pillow, her ass rubbing Criston’s aching cock in the process. He panted against the crook of his shoulder and neck, mouth hanging open. Never did he get so undone without fucking pussy.

Except her.

“Does that feel good Princess?” Criston practically cooed, plucking at a stiff nipple, the Princess gasping wetly, her eyes shut tight. She reached back, one of her trembling hands lacing over Criston’s, mewling for him.

He bit at her neck, lapping after, the sweet gesture of their interlaced fingers sending his possessive streak into overdrive. Criston growled under his breath, rutting now, driving the blonde to move in jerks, biting at her full lips to keep from squealing.

“That’s it, sweetling, keep it up, make yourself feel good,” he rasped, licking and nipping up a racing pulse. She shivered from head to toe, head leaning back onto the knight’s shoulder as she huffed and whined, fucking against the pillow, angling herself to grind against her clit.

“Close, m’close Criston, please,” came her needy pleading, eyes hazy with pleasure as Criston marked her neck up, squeezing her hand as a lifeline. His hips stuttered as he coaxed his baby, no- the princess along.

He rested his cheek against hers, using his hips to guide her along at a breakneck pace. Criston groaned lowly, rasping, “Here we go, can’t sit and grind on your pretty petals for hours, you’ll get too sensitive, y-you’ve got to push it, like this, yeah sweetness, fuck, fuck!”

Criston trailed off as his cock twitched in his breeches, full and swollen and ready to pop. He had half a mind to just take her right there and then. Yet her cries of ecstasy and mewling paralyzed Criston’s dark thoughts.

He’d do this every night, any time, anywhere to get another sick thrill.

“Yes! Yes! Like this- oh g- gods, Ser! Mm, I'm close Ser,” she cried out, a ragdoll for Criston’s delights now. The princess turned to kiss him, a rare gesture, plush lips smacking against his fervently as they grunted and rutted in a frenzy. The Marcher gasped into her wet mouth, feeling like a dog drooling over meat.

Criston needed her to come first, suckling on her fat bottom lip, pressing harder, mumbling desperately sweet things he wouldn’t remember. He begged, “Yes sweetling, I can feel you, let go for me, come on, I'm with you darling, my precious girl.”

It was a muffled shriek and Criston’s pitchy cry as they messily kissed, rutting like animals, the princess spurring Criston on into emptying into his pants with ragged breaths, cursing and shivering. She fared no better, coming apart as pretty as she always did, making sure Criston could almost feel it.

They kissed through the aftershocks, lips all swollen and wet, Criston pulling her atop his body as he laid back onto the bed, lazily stroking the maiden’s back. She was quiet for a moment longer, basking, cheeks adorably flushed. She nuzzled his jaw and cheek like a kitten, sleepily mumbling, “Don’t make me leave yet, please Ser Criston? That was…a lesson…I don't want to be alone.”

He kissed her forehead, muttering some nonsense about giving her some time. Criston couldn't say no. It was more time to spend in fantasy. He could feel that small iron altar of the seven-pointed star awaiting him anyway. What was a few hours more in sin?

“I won’t leave you, my dear,” he lied.

[book--wyrm]

Pengu Finale Liveblog ahhhhhh

Julian just absolutely brain blasting this old woman

Oh Rex is close enough to call her doll and make her breakfast he is not beating the deadbeat daddy allegation

OH NO DOES SHE KNOW OH MY GOD SHE KNOWS

NEVERMIND I WAS SO WRONG ABOUT EVERYTHING SHE HAS KNOWN ALL ALONG

holy shit holy shit holy shit

okay so they did find the bodies eventually holy fuck hooooooly fuck

oh my god rex literally teaching francis how to manipulate oz and use him oh my god ohhhhh my god this is so much more of a betrayal than if francis had just hated him for what he'd done

she knew all along she knew all along and she used him and she

she

oz was right ahahahahah every relationship in his life is fuckign transactional because he KILLED THE ONLY TWO BOYS WHO TRULY LOVED HIM, AND KILLED HIS MOTHER'S LOVE WITH THEM

dude he has to kill his mother now

this is a psychological nuke the likes of which i think sofia could not possibly have ever imagined.

Francis's FACE oh my god.

Julian baby boy maybe Sofia should stand out of sight to not break immersion

God this is absolutely not how hypnotism works is it

IT'LL BE EASIER NOW YOU LITTLE PSYCHO

"I see you in ways other people don't" while she is ACTIVELY USING HIM

dude. dude. I just. It's always the same with Oz, isn't it. Sofia, Eve, his mom. He's the biggest bullshitter in Gotham, and he's so full of it he doesn't have a clue how to sniff it out

God they are both so horrific to each other. Just his horrible cycle of selfishness and toxicity what a twisted family they are

HELLO VIC I MISSED YOU

Oh rip lmao I guess the gangs know the bliss is all gone

Vic baby he's saying all the same stuff oz does, only he believes it, so he can't bullshit people to his side

Oh hey that dude on the other side of the walkie talkie lived!!

Man Oz and Sofia haven't been face to face since ep 4 hahahaha

BERTO MENTION. she hasn't used that name in a hot second

Oh my god Sofia literally using that bird nest metaphor ahahahh whoever that anon was in my inbox you are a genius

Man. Sofia literally just laying out all their horrible family drama in the worlds worst family therapy oh my god

Dude I've been saying for weeks now that Sofia's superpower is to completely shatter people with the truth and. ohhhhhh my god ohhhhhh my god ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Wait. Is Sofia going to give that cigar cutter in her cleavage to Francis to use on Oz. I think she should give it to her.

Uh. Nevermind

Wow Sofia really is leaning into this evil therapy thing what the fuck. girl.

God i desperately want her to be the girl-jonkler running the aslume at the end of this show please please please

Also Sofia, I think it was the left. I mean I'm sure she knows just so she can do the other one next, but. man. she is fuckin sadistic. im love....

Julian so enthusiastic about all of this hahaahah

I love Sofia like, almost framing this to them or possibly herself as a gift she is giving to Francis. Is this cope? Is this something she sincerely believes? Or is she just being cruel?

I ALREADY FUCKIN KNOW

It's my finger you spineless prick hahahaahha but that doesn't matter to him because its your love he wants it's your adoration your pride and what actually happens to you? Doesn't fucking matter.

I NEVER STOPPED HATING YOU

Sofia's face right then like. damn dude. god i love her

She had enough love for all of them and he soured every last drop of it. For them, for him, for the world.

Sofia really does know the value of just letting a drama play out.

Francis saying Sofia is right this ep, Sofia saying Francis was right last ep, damn.

Oz really is... the only character in this show chronically incapable of learning

Damn mama cobb strong enough to smash a bottle. I don't think even i could do that.

Oh my god no wonder she said "they look at me like i'm not even theirs" because in her mind, she let their murderer go free

also is oz gonna hulk out that she's showing love to an imaginary jack and benny when oz has just seen her hate?

Oh is she just dying right now

Julian doing the get down mr president

MR DETECTIVE YOU DIPSHIT

Sofia baby you did great okay you already hurt Oz please just go to italy with your boy toy

Wow is he not getting this fucking stab looked at

EW EW EW EW

Yeah sure sure. Sofia stabbed you. Sure. Sure.

Oh noooo. Vic... baby.... he is such a believer in Oz's stupid self serving bullshit. He is so good. And pure. And he speaks from the heart and. And Oz acts like this is something Vic rehearsed

And they laugh about it but Vic doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that Oz isn't giving him advice on how to most effectively show people the fire you hold in your heart—he's teaching him the art of smoke and mirrors. how to con and grift and bullshit until even you don't know what's true and real

Christ. Vic is so fucking dead

She'd never look at me again unless i get this done.

Oz knowing now that this love is transactional. And fine. He'll make that transaction, he'll take down sofia and then maybe his mom will pretend again that she doesn't hate him, doesn't want him dead

it's not going to work, of course. it can't because this show is about him becoming the penguin. and it can't, because even that transaction was always a lie Francis told herself

I don't think she could ever have loved Oz even if he'd gotten her into a penthouse at age 20. I think she lied to herself to survive living with him, because what was the alternative? Losing all three of her boys?

AHAHAHAHAHAH SOFIA LITERALLY PICKING UP OZ'S GOLD SUMMIT MEMBERS i have to say. I did not anticipate this at ALL

damn girlie really is just gonna dip to go to italy or wherever

sofia really is just setting up the funniest game of capture the flag imaginable while cramming like seven olives in her mouth

i dont' say this often. i desire her carnally.

The gun in the glove compartment surely that will not come back later

Oz originally checking his image in the reflection of the car vs asking Vic now, treating this kid as his reflection

Damn. Is Link really going to fall for Oz's shit again after that truck of cigs thing? Or is this just a ploy to get Oz into the right place for Sofia to pick him up?

Actually maybe that's what loses Vic, that Link betrayed him, and Oz expected it. Idk we shall see

Penguin planning to run for mayor in a couple movies?

Oh Oz is totally gonna send sofia to arkham ahahaha poor baby

Oh my god I thought Sofia was gonna claim credit for Sal's death, not that Oz would give it up himself

I cannot tell you guys how fucking tempting it is to skip right to the end of this episode to see if i'm right you guys

Wow Oz really eyeing that Mayor's office

Is he going to kill Bella and frame Sofia. Is he gonna kill bella and THAT is what turns Vic on him.

oh my god LINK

HAHAHAH I WAS SO RIGHT SHE IS BURNING DOWN FALCONE MANOR

oh god that's the watch Sofia gave him for his birthday FUCK YOU CARMINE

Sofia really is gonna fucking screw over EVERYONE hahaha THREE CIGS BABY

oh god she is so hot i love her you self actualize through arson baybeeeeeeee

that shot of her throwing the cig like a dart is so much oh my god

babygirl i love you

you deserve the world

but yeah she is going into the cold according to the needle drop. definitely going back to arkham

... what's in the trunk. i don't think it's normal luggage. is it more bombs

there is still 20 mins left. i am afraid

This is clearly a trap for someone i just don't know who. Where is vic

I'm so afraid this is the last we get to see of Sofia.

She knows. She always has such a nose for bullshit lmao. Also fuck you Link you gotta know Oz is gonna stab you in the back.

I do think it's promising that Julian has not been seen all day tho. What is he doing.

I love this. I love that Oz and Sofia finally get this one moment to be truly honest with each other.

Well. At the very least, Oz gets to be honest with Sofia. idk that he knows how to be honest with himself anymore.

Why does this look like a chemical factory. I know it's not happening but it'd be so funny for Sofia to become the joker right now.

just dunk her in the goop

Man. Is he actually going to shoot her. Police pls come and save my girl. Cannot believe that's what I'm begging for now.

oh my god

yeah i called it but. Man. This is so painful to watch. also i think my julian prayers are not going to be answered it did not look like Sofia had planned any of this

okay i'm normal about sofia being arrested now.

Okay. I'm normal.

I'm back to not being normal francis and vic and oz all in one place this is all gonna blow up emotionally

Is francis in a coma. is she totally brain dead oh my god.

oh man she really is never going to say she loves him hahaha

she let jack and benny's murderer go and it never got her anything

is he gonna kill her now.

TELL ME YOU'RE PROUD OF ME oz you fuckin

he's so fucking delusional jesus putting her hand on his head

dude. is Vic actually gonna live through this episode

holy fuck

did not call that in the least

well. i was right about the pyrrhic victory for Oz

"All kinds of things" shut the fuck up.

God. I cannot believe Vic is living through this show. Admittedly as the kind of guy that his parents would have been ashamed of, but.

Wait. No no

don't

don't do it

no nondfonfodnfodnfodfn

please dont

pelase dont

oz don't you dare

nONONNNONONONONONONONONONONONO

PLEASE DOJNT DO IT NOW PLEAE

NO NO HE IS THEO NLY ONE WHO HAS SEEN THE WEAKNESS AND HUMAN IN YOU

OZ YOU

OZ

NO

WITH YOUR HANDS???? WITH YOUR FUCKIGN HANDS???? I THOUGHT HE WOUDL PULL A GUN AT LEAST YOU FUCKING

ODSOFANDFONSODNOSDAGNOGNIOAGDSASGJDISGNAGLNFGOSANFOSDO

SANO

NON NO NONONONO

VIC

vic. vic. vic barely lived a month longer than his family

all that good heart and he just. enabled a monster to rise to power. to make gotham worse

HE'S MUGGING HIM

YOU PIECE OF SHIT YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT YOU BASTARD YOU

i

i

and the water takes him too.

JULIAN

oH MY GOD I WAS RIGHT AHHAAHHAHAHA

JULIAN

I WAS RIGHT ABOUT SOFIA GETTING MARRIAGE PROPOSALS HAHAHAHAHAH

SELINA KYLE???????? HELLO??????????????

bro.... oh my god..... this is....

I'm so happy.........

sofia smiling... sofia finding a new family member....

nvm i am so glad my original theories were wrong this is way better than anything i could have hoped for

oh my god

ohhhhh my god he actually is keeping his mom in a vegetative state.... exactly what she begged him not to do.......

she knows.... she knows... some part of her is aware in there ahahahahah

you should have let Rex kill him all those years ago

oh my god EVE???? EVE GIRL GET OUT BEFORE HE KILLS YOU TOO

oh no please tell me he never learned what happened with sofia and eve

hes literally just calling her ma. fuck me. mayeb that means eve is safe for now

NOT THE BATSIGNAL

[hitlikehammers]

the light behind your eyes (steddie timeloop; pre-bat attack🦇)

feat. Eddie falling hard and fast when Steve's had innumerable loops to have already fallen ✨🖤✨

“Not that I am not, hmmmm,” and he can barely bite back a moan; “not that’s I’m not fucking ecstatic, Harrington,” Eddie mouths against the lips on his, and he means it, too, he is in fucking heaven right now because not only is the hottest guy Eddie’s ever seen in real life and probably also in, like, magazines and stuff too: that guy is kissing him, touching him, running hands up under his shit and teasing his waistband, rutting a little against his thigh but…he’s doing it almost like it’s routine, like it’s not quite desperate, or not just desperate, expect for the touch of it and so no, Eddie doesn’t have to understand it at all for him to not be fucking complaining in the slightest—

Save that pointing out that he isn’t complaining stops Harrington’s hands on his body cold, freezes the lips pressed against him mid-suck and then they pull back, and Eddie’s panting so hard it burns, and he wants to whine, he’s only just learned the taste of this man but he wants more, it’s like he’s addicted already but then kinda like he always has been, like the deepest cells of him, the mitochondria from the textbooks he didn’t fucking read: it’s like it all knows the shape of this body, the flavor, and—

And that’s fucking ridiculous, but when Harrington pulls away?

Eddie kinda feels like the world’s ending.

And it is ending, in a way. Interdimensional madmen serial killers and all that, but.

This is different.

“Steve.”

Eddie frowns and can’t help but reach, frame Steve’s face even as Steve tries to shy away but still leans into the touch, and Eddie doesn’t understand; not least how Steve sounds so fucking shattered around his own goddamn name—

“Can you,” and Steve’s breathing heaves, shudders: the kind that lives between sobs but Steve’s cheeks are dry under Eddie’s palms and that almost feels all the more heartbreaking:

“I know it feels like you barely know me but,” and Steve blinks so fast, then he’s scrunching his eyes so tight and that, that might be why his cheeks are dry and oh: this is it. He thought before but:

This is the heartbreaking thing.

“Could you call me Steve? Please?”

And god, good fucking god but he asks it so small. It’s pleading and kinda edged in something desperate but here, from this titan of a man Eddie’s seen anew just these past days, this warrior barbarian his sheepies sand the praises of, this paladin out of the shadows come to save them all: he’s so small.

Eddie’s hands don’t move from Steve’s face, just draw him closer, upward on instinct until their brows touch, until Eddie can breathe in every shaky exhale that spills forth.

“Steve,” and maybe Eddie doesn’t quite understand the why, here, but he sure as shit savors the shape of that name on his tongue anyway, fucking sue him; “not that every single fucking version of my gay little fantasies aren’t dancing like they’re at queer fucking prom,” and he pauses, because he expects Steve to snort, maybe, expects to lighten the moment so charged, and not just with the kind of tension that tightens Eddie’s jeans—and Steve does make a sound for Eddie’s stupid little not-quite-joke, but it’s not a chuckle.

It’s a moan—but not the good kind. The kind that means pain.

And it’s almost worrisome, how when Eddie pulls Steve closer, he doesn’t fight it one bit; leans in almost…not even greedy. Almost fucking anguished.

“But this is just because it’s the end of the world, right?” Eddie makes himself ask, because too many things don’t add up, not least how Steve doesn’t even try to pull away, barely moves at all save just to breathe, and just to press closer into the crook of Eddie’s neck to do it.

“It’s just because I’m a wanted man whether it’s the cops, or the feds, or that fucker with the clock and the music,” Eddie rambles; doesn’t move his hand where it’s slipped to the side of Steve’s neck like an intimacy, though, doesn’t even consider shifting a fucking centimeter away from the heavy pulse of life surging under his palm. “Like, I mean, whether it’s 20-to-life or an electric chair or the bats—“

It’s the way the chest against him shudders that trips him up; not least to realize how close they are, that they’ve gotten, that Steve’s heartbeat’s something he can tease out without effort at all there, too, and…

Eddie glances up a little further to see Steve staring at the ceiling of the trailer, eyes glistening, the effort not to fucking cry evident as anything and, just, like…

What the fuck?

“Steve?” Eddie hedges a little, gentles his voice further because even though he doesn’t let a single tear fall, just seeing this man so close to it, while staying so close to Eddie, it’s, he just…

He can’t even try to lighten the moment, can’t even push didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, fuck past his lips.

“Give me a minute,” Steve doesn’t even rasp, just says even but so so quiet, and again, just so so small. It’s…

It’s not even heartbreaking anymore. Eddie’s whole chest just fucking hurts.

“You okay?” Eddie ventures after what has to be more than a literal minute; when Steve stops staring at the ceiling but screws his eyes close tight again to pull creases at their corners, between his brows; and Eddie whispers the question when he even dares to speak at all because something in this moment feels…fragile. Sacred in some way, even if he can’t name how or why. He waits, and Steve doesn’t move, barely breathes for the longest time so much it starts to kindle real fear in Eddie’s chest, so it’s only once Steve half-gasps and gets back to his lungs working like Eddie wants them to, once that holds for a while and Eddie understands that the closest to an answer that he’s going to get—he lets Steve breathe, and lets the feeling of it calm Eddie down, too, before he does the stupidest, most selfish fucking thing and asks, again:

“What is this, though?”

The way Steve sucks in his breath at the words cuts Eddie sharp; he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have let this lie and just…enjoyed a little bit of impossibility at the end of the world that wasn’t a bad thing.

He thinks maybe that’s what pushed him over, though, and made his tongue move, to shape the question at all: it’s so fucking far from a bad thing that it’s…it makes too much lightness in Eddie that he’s never felt before. Even in the absolute shit of this entire situation, Eddie’s basically nonexistent future on the horizon if he manages somehow to make it out of the next 48 hours alive: this is something that makes him feel like he could hope.

Hope even for the most absolutely absurd fucking things.

And hope like that has to make anyone fucking selfish.

“This?” Steve glances indicatively between them, with a quirked brow that he pulls off perfectly but it can’t land like it should, not for Eddie who’s just watched this gorgeous human swallow the stages of grief whole where he’s…he’s pulled back, Eddie realizes, Eddie can’t feel him chest-to-chest anymore and the idea of it’s a crushing thing, but it’s got nothing on the reality—either way, though, he’s hovering over Eddie now, still close, likely has been for a while and…and shit: his arms hadn’t even given out.

What the fuck kind of…superhuman stuff is this man made of?

“Thought it was obvious,” Steve chuckles, and that part, that sound rings hollow: Eddie’s had enough of a latent-forever crush on this boy for enough years to maybe have never heard this kind of chuckle but, it’s off. Eddie knows it’s not…what it should be.

Steve laughing is some kind of sunshine, nearly always, like a rule. Eddie knows that much.

“Must have lost my charm,” Steve grimaces while he looks down, down, hides from...Eddie doesn’t know what from, exactly. Save that whatever it is, he wants to hide a little, too.

But hiding, now, means that he’ll turn from Steve. And Eddie…Eddie wants to hide from the nameless horrible thing that’s swelling up in the space around them.

But Eddie doesn’t want to miss a second of Steve. He’s kind of afraid of the very concept of it, missing any…part of Steve. He knows they’re on borrowed time. He’s also not entirely sure this isn’t all of fever dream, maybe he got scraped by one of the nasty-ass rusted nails in the boathouse and all of this is just tetanus or some shit. Maybe it’s the X-Men-knockoff wizard fucking with Eddie’s head by giving him the unthinkable sort of thing he’s always wanted.

Whatever it is: Eddie cannot miss a second of it.

“This, yeah,” Eddie reaches to brush Steve’s chest where his heart’s still pounding, even when it’s not presses flush to Eddie’s anymore, even when they’e stopped kissing too many minutes ago for an excuse; “you more that live up to the hype, big boy,” Eddie chuckles a little, tries to make it warm, fucking grateful; “exceed it even,” Eddie adds, can’t help but splay his fingers and stroke up and down a little over the street of Steve’s shirt.

“But,” because Eddie’s selfish. Because touching Steve slow like this, even as he’s so stiff and his pulse is so fucking scared: take out the frantic pace of what it means to feel him, and Eddie…the hope’s all the stronger, now. The wanting.

The selfishness.

“This,” and Eddie lets his hand move to the notch in Steve throat, like his body knew he’s feel the pulse there as much as the shiver, and the hard swallow after he asks, one more time:

“What is this.”

And Eddie forces his gaze from Steve’s skin to Steve’s face, where his eyes are blown and his color’s off, too pale even in the dark.

Where he’s fucking beautiful, even as he steels himself and takes a deep breath, less like a diver to the depths and more like a man facing an executioner. Jesus.

But his gaze is still so tender, like whatever hurt he comes to know for what he’s about to do is acceptable, so long as it doesn’t touch Eddie, doesn’t spill over. Like he’s…shielding Eddie from something worse than everything that’s already come, somehow, and that’s fucking terrifying in and of itself but—

But Steve—Steve who he barely knows but feels like he knows somewhere deep in his chest that feels knew and known somehow before these moments, like it was made only for the feelings and the certainties he holds in regard to Steve, Steve, Steve, like maybe that space inside of him was only made on some cosmic level not just for the person who made him feel this way against all odds, but maybe made only and specifically just for Steve—but Steve protecting Eddie, and hurting all the more for taking the hit?

It’s unacceptable. It’s sour in Eddie’s veins.

“If I fuck it up again, it won’t matter, I guess,” Steve seems to speak to himself, mutters low even for the soft quiet they’re holding between them. He doesn’t even know if he’s seeing Eddie for how far away he looks, sounds, like he’s reasoning with the universe.

That tips the sour feeling straight into full on sick.

But before Eddie can say anything, do anything, Steve’s sitting up, drawing back: Eddie can’t help the way he whimpers in the back of his throat for the loss; if the loss feels like more than just the closeness, the promise of it—if it feels like the moments to come are poised to change the world.

“Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” Steve asks, implores. Eddie’s powerless against it.

His throat’s already too dry to do anything but nod.

Steve looks, nearly studies him, wide-eyed and needy and…Eddie just wants to hold him.

He just wants to hold him, and keep him.

“‘Kay,” Steve exhales heavy, shaky, like his heartbeat’s knocking around his lungs so there’s no possible world where he could have breathed out steady, where no one could, no matter how strong.

“I’m in love with you.”

Eddie—for wholly other reasons he suspects—gets his own dose of his lungs getting knocked around for how his heart trips and stumbles around those wholly fucking impossible and insane and desperately wanted words echo through his head, his ribs.

“And it might not make and fuckin’ sense to you, but,” and Steve’s breath hitches as he reaches, as he pauses like he’s not sure he’s allowed; “Eds,” and that’s not a thing he’s called so often, and certainly not in that tone, gutted but so steeped in…he said it and it’s true, because that name, hisname on Steve’s lips is fucking saturated in love and how, sure, but the fact of its undeniable enough that the semantics, the mechanics of it: irrelevant.

Would have mattered in the face of something lesser, but.

This isn’t that other-lesser thing.

So Eddie grabs those questioning hands and brings them to his cheeks where they’d been looking to land, to frame his face: to let them both feelthis, however it came to be, whatever else it holds inside.

He looks Steve in the eyes as he holds Steve’s hands to frame his own face like he’s something dear: because it is love. Unmistakably. Steve isn’t lying, or exaggerating.

And Eddie’s halfway fucking there with him, just to look at it.

Save for the way it also looks devastated. Also looks…in the kind of pain that doesn’t end, but somehow doesn’t fade. The scab you rip off to start the process over and over, to hurt all over again.

“I’ve been trying to save you so many times,” and Steve’s voice hitches some more around it, and it should probably cause more question, those words; should definitely cause more questions for Eddie himself, given how he accepts it so fast—the fairly clear implication.

“I’ve held your body in my hands so many times,” and Steve sounds broken for it in ways that even he, Edward Munson, who has seen what he’s seen these past few days, didn’t know a body, or a soul, could withstand and survive.

Also: okay. Okay.

More than an implication, before. Yep. Okay. But—

“Times?” Eddie finds himself croaking because…he’d jumped straight to saving his life but, but: times?

How many fucking times has Steve scratched the scar off and started again? How hard, how deep is the scar tissue?

“I’ve broken your ribs trying to convince this,” and Steve’s hand’s sliding down from one side of Eddie’s face to settle over Eddie’s still fumbling heart, hand stretched wide like it wants to hold the thing whole and true and safe: “to come back, back to me—”

And Steve’s voice cleaves down the center then, just flat out fucking gives out. And Eddie…

Eddie’s an impulsive person. Eddie’s not what you’d call…circumspect, doesn’t pull his punches once he feel inclined to run, to or from or alongside anything in his life.

And even he has never felt so strongly about anything than then thing that spills form him in absolute earnest, with the whole of his mess of a chest and the entire weight of his wild frantic heart:

“Sweetheart,” Eddie takes the one hand that’s not holding Steve’s to his face anymore and reaches, strokes his thumb so gently over Steve bottom lip, and yeah he takes in the way Steve’s eyes widen for it, the way he shifts from shattered to shocked in a second: but it’s all peripheral.

But the whole of Eddie is invested in the one thing he needs to know. More than he needs air to fucking breathe:

“How can I stay with you?”

And he watches Steve’s jaw drop as he moves his hand from those lips to cover Steve’s own hand one more time, still on toppings chest and he doesn’t think twice before damn near close-on begging:

“What do I need to do?”

Steve stills. Blinks.

“What?”

“I might not have had the pleasure just yet,” Eddie tries to sort the words out as he goes because his heart hurts so hard but at the same time it’s so full: “but I’m looking at you,” and he is, he’s looking at Steve and seeing so much, so many things, things that are there and things that could be there in the foreseeable future and things that Eddie can fantasize and dream of being his whole-ass future and just, just, just—

“You love me?”

Steve nods, lips still parted. No hesitation. Not a question.

Jesus.

And Eddie’s heart’s still racing, faster now, even but for…

Not just for fear, or shock, or lust, or…any of it.

Not for anything so simple as all that, now.

“And I die?” Eddie chides himself when Steve flinches ever so slightly, tries to find a gentler way to pitch the words when he speaks again because the point itself is thorny, he can’t make it soft:

“I’ve,” Eddie licks his lips; “I’ve died a lot of times?”

And he waits, and Steve’s blinks a lot of time really fucking fast, but then, again: he nods.

And Eddie’s heart hurts harder at the confirmation, and Steve’s clear bid not to shed a single fucking year—his heart hurts harder, but poundsharder for bigger reasons because fuck, fuck—

“And you’ve loved me enough to somehow bend time and space to try and undo it, to try and stop it?”

And if Steve’s got the trick to that magic, it stills the moment, stops time around them both as Eddie sees the words as they sink in for Steve, as they register and shift the shade of his gaze ever so slightly, brighter and deeper and magnetic and Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t need him to nod. Just looking him, just feeling everything that gaze is giving, solely for him, is all the answer he needs.

“So how do I get even the chance to stick around enough to deserve it?” Eddie asks, because he needs to know so that he can make sure he does it to the letter, and then fifty million times over to be sure. “To get to feel it full on,” because for as much as he’s already feeling, he can’t only imagine what it would be to feel it for an hour, a day, a week, a…a lifetime. He can only image.

And he fucking wants.

“What do I have to do to be able to feel this for more than a couple minutes,” and Steve’s eyes shift again, because he hears what Eddie’s saying, not hiding so much as trying to cram in: he feels this already, and at the same time knows it’s sample sized when what he craves, what he needs is something too big to measure; “to feel this, and return it twenty-fold and for the long haul,” and Steve’s still staring, still kinda gaping, so Eddie forces himself to pause, to ask even if everything points to a singular answer—he forces himself to wait and make super fucking sure:

“If you’ll have me?”

Steve blinks, frowns, then asks, voice hoarse:

“You believe me?” and he says it so slow, disbelieving himself. “Like, you get what I’m saying, and you, you,” he flounders, looks cast adrift and closer to tears now than he’s been yet and Eddie…

Eddie can’t let that just be.

“Of course I do.”

And maybe it’s not of course exactly, in the sense that Eddie doesn’t have questions, like a fuckton of questions but: he doesn’t have doubt, not in Steve. Somehow of all that he doesn’t know and that makes no sense, he does know that Steve is where his faith—if he was ever going to have any in anything—is meant to sit, whatever that means, whatever that demands accepting.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says with so much of himself he never knew was actually inside him to speak, to beg such truth. He didn’t know.

“So please, please tell me,” he fucking please it; “what do I do?”

Because he knows now. The breadth of what can, could, does, will live in his chest. And once he knows it?

He’s gonna fight like hell to have the whole of it. For always.

“To get to have this,” Eddie reaches, can’t help but brush some of Steve’s hair behind his ear and just…consider him. Marvel a little at the fact that the world is changing, Eddie can feel it, and it’s because this man loves him.

Him.

“This thing I’ve never even considered getting to know,” Eddie strokes Steve’s jaw and asks the only question left:

“What do I have to do to have the chance fall in love with you?”

Because Eddie doesn’t care if he has to lob off a fucking arm. He’ll do it. He’ll learn to play his guitar with his goddamn feet before he lets this chance go.

“Don’t be a hero.”

Eddie’s face must do something at the sorta sudden kind of outburst from Steve, because Steve ducks his head down a little and smiles almost apologetic, and still so fucking sad.

“I tell you not to be cute about it, and not to try to be a hero, but you are, you do, every time,” Steve tells him, explains, and that part at least tracks: he’s a contrarian to his detriment but…he doesn’t want to believe he’d do it when the stakes are this high. Not without a good reason and he can’t…imagine a good enough reason to leave this man so broken, and still fighting nonetheless.

He can’t imagine any reason in the whole fucking world good enough for that.

“Then I won’t,” Eddie says, because: well. It’s an easy fix in general, but like, he’s no fucking hero, so then it’s even easier.

“You will,” Steve smiles the saddest goddamn smile Eddie’s ever seen in his whole entire life., I too of the string of sad smiles he’s been treated to so far. “You always do,” and the resignation in stage a tone is only outweighed by the…pride, almost, for what he’s declaring against all odds to be true.

“Just, just,” Steve seems to debate with himself for a second, maybe whether he wants to fight the weight of established precedent one more time, wants to scratch off that scab in a whole knew way, because it felt like Steve was watching this play out different when Eddie believed him, and asked to work with him to make the wrongs right instead of aiding the process of his own ruin, and what looked like Steve’s own process of self-immolation in slow motion, over and again. Eddie gets why he pauses.

But it’s not even long enough to be called hesitation, really, before he’s diving in and giving Eddie the playbook, with no guarantee or even a whole lot of hope based on existing evidence to trust.

Eddie feels the magnitude of the living in a whole new way, on a whole new level, for that, as Steve speaks:

“When you do, when you’re a hero again because you always are, I need you to run when you’re done. We will be okay, I know what I’m dealing with now, I know how,” Steve says with. Steel creeping into his tone and Eddie wants more than anything to know what he’s planning to deal with, how Steve plans to stay safe because now Eddie’s heart’s tied up on the opposite end of the equation and he…he can’t survive and have it only flip the tables, have there still be a loss because Eddie’s not made of what Steve’s made of, and sure he’s only had a taste of this, but he…

He won’t survive losing it. Even just the taste.

“Don’t buy us more time,” Steve cuts back into Eddie’s headspace, the more important voice; the most important; “you do more than enough, I need you to trust me and I know you don’t have a reason to—“

“I trust you.”

And that’s unequivocal. Eddie trusts Steve. The end.

“How will I know when I’m done?” Because if Steve’s willing to go through this for him, he’s going to fucking take notes to make sure he does his part in turns, makes sure this is the last fucking time.

“Play the puppet master song,” which Steve doesn’t know, no way he’d fucking know on his own and Eddie didn’t doubt, but, like…

Jesus.

It takes a fucking second, just digesting what it means to be right for no doubting. It’s heady. Terrifying.

But also like stars in his stomach. He feels reborn in the simple reality of believing in this person who loves him this hard.

“Block the vents, don’t ignore the vents. When Dustin goes up the rope, you follow. Pull it up after you and block it off, hold them off in case any stragglers stick around,” Steve tells him, doesn’t sound skeptical, exactly, but just…maybe wary. Rightly so, given the…previous rounds of things. “We’ll need you to throw it back to us when we’re done.”

Eddie feels his face screw up a little because he wasn’t paying the most attention but he really thinks, like:

“Aren’t there closer gates—“

“I’ll need to,” Steve swallows hard, the bob in his throat almost painful to watch because Eddie can almost imagine the weight of it, the way the same motion’s been repeated so many times and yet he’s still at it, he’s still trying—

For Eddie. Jesus fuck.

“I’ll need to see.”

And if the hard-swallow wasn’t heartbreaking—again, every time Eddie thinks he’s been gutted entirely Steve goes and ups the fucking ante, good god, and he keeps doing this? He continues to say yes to this, these feelings, this, this…this, because if, for, for…

But regardless how you slice it: the way Steve’s voice cracks, on just those four words?

Holy fucking Christ—this has to be what’ll kill Eddie harder, deeper down than anything Steve’s trying to save him from.

“I won’t fail you this time, Steve.”

And Eddie means it, even if the words themselves spill from him automatic: they’re there to spill at all because Eddie means it, because Eddie’s heart’s never felt swollen like this before and he wants to give whatever it’s all fat and tender with to this man he barely knows but…maybe he knows more important things about him than he knows about most people in his life. Nearly all people in his life.

And that’s fucking has to count for something. For more than something.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, like he wants to argue some point but Eddie isn’t gonna have that, not now.

Not ever again, if he has anything to fucking say about it.

“No,” Eddie cuts him off and this time, this time, it’s Eddie who reaches and cradles Steve’s face, holds him like he’s precious, as much as he can because this man is precious beyond reason, but human hands are only capable of so much care: he gives what he can.

He knows it’s not enough, and hopes his heart in his words will make up the difference.

“No, this,” and he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath Steve’s eyes, because as gorgeous as they are, as he is: those eyes used to be bright. They were bright…before. When did they change, when did Steve from now like Eddie become Steve who’s tried to start Eddie’s heart with his own hands, and couldn’t?

Doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes aren’t supposed to be hollow behind the color; there’s only supposed to be the sunshine.

Not the endless dark.

“I’ve been taking it away, haven’t I?” Eddie breathes out in a level of horror at the realization that’s settling in the more he looks at Steve, and reads the toll he’s been paying, for Eddie. “I hate that, I hate that I—“

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the only shine in his eyes is tears and it’s wrong, it’s just wrong.

“It gets taken away because yours isn’t there anymore,” Steve reaches back, now, and holds Eddie’s face in his broad hands: “the light in you,” and his voice cracks and he blinks and one tear.

One tear falls.

Eddie’s sternum splits in two.

“I want to know what it is to fall in love with you,” Eddie says in a rush, demands on the whole fucking cosmos: “the whole way, because I think I’m already halfway there,” and it’s true, it’s true because he’d give his life for Steve already so he understands, of Steve’s in longer and deeper, why he’s fighting despite the hurt, but, but…

No more.

“And I want to earn it,” Eddie tells him. “I want you to fall for me not just because of, because of life and death stuff, or tied up in losing,” Eddie tries to fit the avalanche of feelings in him to words, prays it’s enough:

“I want it to be a,” he chokes, shakes his head and bites his tongue: “a good thing,” because he wants to be a good thing for this man. He wants to be only a good thing, as best he knows how.

“You are a good thing,” Steve counters, and fierce with it; “you’re the best thing.”

Eddie’s not strong enough to hold himself to just one tear when the floodgates break.

“I run when Henderson runs,” he breathes shakily. It’s a vow more than anything he knows how to give.

“You don’t run,” Steve tells him, so soothing, still so protective of Eddie, always protective of Eddie; “you’re so fucking brave, and you save our asses,” and he brings their foreheads to lean against each other as Eddie’s inhales trembles: “you’re just gonna fall back this time, so you don’t break my heart, too, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie would agree to anything, at this point; this is easy. This he can do, no problem.

This he will do, no question.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering, because…because he has to.

He is so fucking sorry.

“You’re…” Steve starts, uncomprehending as Eddie just shakes his head, almost like a compulsion.

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you so many times,” Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, tries not to descend into blubbering, tries to maintain something like, if not composure, the capacity to be heard and known when he promises with his whole heart:

“I won’t do it again, I swear.”

And Steve watches him, eyes red rimmed and still brimming but carefully, assessing.

Eddie can help, though. He can put him a little bit at ease, or damn well fucking try.

“I already feel something,” and he brings Steve’s hand to his chest again, reminds them both his heart’s still beating in this world, in this time. “And I’m too selfish Steve.”

Steve cocks his head in question; Eddie wants to watch this man’s quirks, learn the minutiae of his every expression.

Forever.

“I need the whole shebang.”

Steve smiles, watery and still strained but less sad, and that’s something.

It’s all they have time for, because he can hear everybody coming back with supplies, remembers they’d been prepping for war.

It’s all the have time for—for now.

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, a little watery, a little shaky, a little unconvinced but wholly filled with love, still, and all together isn’t only serves to harden Eddie’s resolve that much more.

“You flake on me again?” Steve flips his fingers backward against Eddie’s shoulder in a poor excuse for a smack: “I’m gonna tie you to the driver’s seat next time, and leave Nance with Dustin.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Eddie answers, dead serious; “except for one thing.”

There’s something molten, a glint that isn’t tears when Steve lifts a brow in askance; when Eddie leans in and kisses Steve hard, deep, quick because they have to but it doesn’t have to be anything else because he leaves his heart and soul in the exchange, willingly and willfully and all fucking in.

“There’s gonna be a next time for that. I swear to god,” Eddie murmurs against Steve slips when he pulls back; “we’re gonna have so many next times.”

And when the door to the RV bursts open and everyone else spills in, Steve’s lips are a little swollen if you’re looking.

And Steve’s eyes still have that light.

For @klausinamarink, who requested 'The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @sadisticaltarts

divider credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[pixeldolly]

The Sacrifice - Part 11 - The End

"How are they, Tess?"

"I've treated Roman's injuries and he's resting now. I've also given him antibiotics and painkillers, so he should be comfortable...as much as he can be, given the circumstances."

"As for Evelyn, I've done all I could for the moment, but we'll have to wait for the morning change before I can perform a full examination. Her wounds seem to be healing remarkably fast though."

"Is it because she's a werewolf?"

"Yes, although I do want to take a closer look at that bite, in case it's at risk of becoming infected. I admit I don't have any experience treating demon-inflicted wounds."

"They are prone to infection."

"I still can't wrap my head around the idea that anyone would do something like this! To their own child, no less!"

"It shocked me as well."

"You took such a risk in confronting her, Fiona! The inhabitants of the Hellplanes are not to be trifled with!"

"I'm aware of that, Dad. Would you rather I'd let Jacob and Evelyn go in there alone?"

"Of course not - what you did was very brave - but we can't help worrying. The whole thing could've gone so much worse."

"Well, it worked out fine, so you can let it go now."

It was Abby who brought the conversation back on track.

"Is Roman going to be all right?"

"Physically? Probably. He had a number of deep gashes that needed stitches, several broken bones including two ribs, a bruised lung, plus the...runes carved into his back, which will be uncomfortable for a while. Assuming there are no complications, these should heal in time."

"Mentally, it's a different matter. I'm not an expert, but I don't think the kind of trauma he's been through is something he'll be able to just shrug off. Speaking to therapist might help him."

"May we go in and see them?"

"You may, but just for a little while. Jacob is with Roman already; he hasn't left his bedside since I brought him back to the ward."

"Mr Stigfinnare is with his wife as well. He's been worried sick about her, prowling around the waiting room like a caged wolf."

"I'm surprised he didn't kick the door down."

"He might've done, if I hadn't let him in."

The trio - together with Ulf, who refused to be parted from Evelyn - gathered around Roman's bed.

Roman was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget, but he forced a smile on his face as he looked at each of the people who had risked their lives to save him.

In truth, he could hardly believe it.

"I don't know what to say. I owe you my life - no, more than my life. My soul. 'Thank you' doesn't seem like enough..."

"This is the second time I had to help save your ass, Turner! You'd better not make a habit out of it!"

Evelyn's cheerful tone helped defuse some of the tension, although Ulf kept his arm wrapped protectively around his wife. She was putting up a brave front, but he could tell she was hurting more than she was letting on. He hated it!

"It's over now."

"Maybe...maybe not."

"Fiona...? What do you mean?"

"The ritual circle carved into his back. The Nameless One may be have been banished, but those runes are magic. He's tied to the Hellplanes now."

"WHAT?!"

Roman sat up so fast that white stars burst before his eyes and his injuries flared painfully despite the medication keeping the worst of it at bay. He felt the cold panic rising like a tide.

"Are you saying it can come back?"

"Fuck. You're not, are you?"

"There are many doors between the planes, and things have a way of slipping through the cracks. That sigil is one such door; closed for the moment, but not locked."

"But you can remove it, right?! Or...render it inert, or something?"

"I...I'll do some research. Ask around."

Roman looked so crestfallen, Jacob's heart twinged in sympathy.

"Guys? Can you give us a moment, please?"

"Please try not to think about it, all right? If anything happens, my whole family are witches; they'll help. You need to focus on getting better."

Roman smiled humorlessly; it was hard not to think about the interdimensional door to Hell itself he carried around on his back, but he was so very tired. Sleep beckoned, demons or no demons.

But first, there was something he needed to say to Jacob.

"I have to admit, I didn't expect you to come to my rescue. Considering how things are between us..."

"Look, just because we broke up doesn't mean I don't still lo- care about you. Besides, I didn't actually do much, it was mostly Evelyn and Fiona."

"Still. Facing down demons and witches when you're just a regular person with no special powers took guts."

"I did have an axe."

Something happened then that Roman did not expect: he burst into laughter. Which hurt, but it was worth it, and his heart felt lighter for it.

"I think I'd like to sleep now..."

"Yes, you should. I'll be back to see you in the morning."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

As Roman sank into the cottonwool depths of drug-induced sleep, a smile fluttered on his lips.

The End!

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story!

[themadauthorshatter]

Lucky through out Finding Frankie:

"Yeah, I'll play this game, I earned it."

"HOLY SHIT! ... Okay, BYE, BITCHES, I'M OUT!"

"The other contestants mysteriously died! Not sure how that happened! Oh well, at least you're still here!"

"Yaaaay, I love being surrounded by CORPSES."

"How many circuit breakers does one trampoline and water park NEED? If it's this many, can't I just WORK HERE? You guys get any new employees or are they also rabbit food?"

"(Hiding) please don't see through mesh. Please don't see through mesh. (Frankie leaves) Okay, so the floor is lava. Or just a no-go unless I want to die slowly and painfully."

"Made it! And no- WHAT THE SHIT!?(As Frankie crawls by) ... I'm getting that 5 mil. I'm buying this place, and setting it on fire with that abracadabra looking asshole inside."

"GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY FROM ME! WHO PUTS LOGS ON THIS STEEP OF A SLOPE AND HAS A MAN EATING RABBIT CHASE YOU!? I THOUGHT THIS PLACE WAS ALSO DESIGNED FOR KIDS!?"

"Aw, ducky. (Gets pecked) FUCK YOU TOO. Gonna play nice or do I need to throw you again?"

(Encounters Henry)

"... Do I still want that 5 million? We'll, I can't have if I'm dead. ... Alright, away we go."

"WHY IS THERE NO LIGHT IN YOUR AREA!? WHY ARE YOU FRIENDS WITH A CARNIVOROUS RABBIT!? ... (Inhale) Okay. I can handle the giant man eating rabbit. I can handle Talking Telephone man that keeps trying to strangle me. I can handle the fucking duck. I can handle this stupid costume and the fact that I'm surrounding by decaying bodies in this hellhole. But I DRAW THE LINE AT FUCKING BUZZSAWS! WHO'S IDEA WAS THIS!?"

"... Really? You guys have an incinerator? So what's paying this place? All the circuit breakers or this incinerator?"

(Encounters Real Frankie)

"... what... What the fuck?"

(Sees Henry die)

"WHAT THE FUCK!?"

(Gets help from Real Frankie)

"Thanks. Please don't tell me this will come back to bite me later."

"Again with the buzzsaws! In a WATER PARK! ... At least the circuit breaker won't get wet."

"Aw, noob noobs. (Explosions) Sorry, got a game to win and money to collect."

"Oh, hey, a chat board. ...'Boring?' I resent that. Raise the 10k to 30. I'm living and I'm going to buy this place and turn it into a hotel. Frankie's broke ass won't be able to stop me. ... Wait, did someone bring up lava?"

"Frankie's Frosted peak. Just get to the top. Easy. (Slime gets released). SCRATCH THAT! CHANGED MY MIND! I'M BURNING THIS PLACE!"

"I'm never using a buzzsaw again in my life."

"Hey, uh, Frankie, can you help me out? I'm... I'm stuck. (Gets shut it) ... Thanks a lot. Dick."

"STOP MESSING UP MY F*CKING GAME SHOW!"

"SO TRYING TO KILL ME WHEN I'VE ALREADY WON, BITCH!"

"NOOB NOOBS! Wait. OH, SHIT! NO!"

"Surprise, mother fucker. Give me my five million in cash."

"... (Sigh) Fine. *One more season.* But no buzzsaws, no slime, and no fucking corpses scattered all over the place like the Black Plague hit this place. We have an incinerator to play with."

[1toreyouapart]

What It Cost

****THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY BASED ON REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THE PEOPLE OR MUSIC MENTIONED IN THIS STORY OUTSIDE OF LILITH AND SADIE AND MAYBE A COUPLE OTHERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE NOT UP FOR FANFIC INVOLVING REAL PEOPLE***

Terrible summary: Five years since she last spoke to him. Since she last saw him. Now his face and his voice is everywhere. She can't escape him.

Five years ago Noah destroyed her and the life they had built. Now he’s back and seeking to make amends. As much as she wants to say that it's too little too late, is it?

CW/TW: Angst, mention of addiction, cheating. Mention of character death. Language. Smut (later on). PinV, unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it, friends), oral (f&m receiving). All smutty warnings happen later on, so I’ll update TW/CW warning labels as those parts are written and posted. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can fix it! Thank you!

Part 6 - Lilith

Noah had text her two hours ago, asking if they could talk. Again. Since then she'd been an anxious mess. Part of her was shocked he hadn't just shown up like the last time. Everything in her told him to tell him no. That there was nothing to talk about anymore. He had said he was sorry and they could go about their lives. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Couldn't bring herself to tell him to leave her alone. What the fuck was wrong with her? She should hate him. So why couldn't she?

Sadie joined her on the back porch, handing her a takeout container and a fork. Lilly couldn't help the smile at the small gesture. She'd sort of started the tradition back when the two of them had just met, always giving Sadie food from her and Noah's dates. Now it was her doing it after hers and Jolly's.

"He wants to talk."

"So, no stomach for food at the moment?" Sadie took the food back, knowing too well what happened if she ate while nervous. It wouldn't stay down long.

"I don't know what to say." Lilly sighed, her stomach starting to churn more forcefully.

"Listen," Sadie began. "I know we all know I'm still pissed at him. But, maybe hear him out? He at least seems like he's trying."

Lilly huffed out a laugh, dropping her head into her hands, elbows resting on her knees. She had expected Sadie to tell her to ignore him or to tell him to fuck off. Which almost would have guaranteed she agree to talk to him. Probably something Sadie had counted on, actually.

"I don't know-"

"Lilly, I heard him, too. He's never sounded like that. Jolly said he's been locked up in his room since." She sighed. "Maybe talk to him. If you don't want to hear what he has to say, that's fine, but at least give him a chance to do what he should have done years ago."

Sadie had a point. Never had she seen Noah like that. Sure, she had seen him close a few times when things weren't going right, but never to the point that he was on his knees, clutching his chest like that. The way he had sounded, like he was breaking. Shattering right in front of her. How unfocused his eyes had been. He hadn't been there in the present. Noah had been somewhere else in his mind.

Chewing on her bottom lip she picked up her phone, debating between texting him back and just calling him. Suddenly Sadie reached over, taking her phone from her.

"Hey!"

"Jesus. You both need to learn how to just get on with it." Sadie laughed, typing out a response for her and hitting send. "He'll probably be here soon. I'll make myself scarce."

***

Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched him pull up, her hands beginning to shake. Fuck. Right now seemed like a real good time to start smoking. Maybe she should have had some wine or something first. Either way she needed something to calm the nerves. Yet here she was empty handed, watching as he climbed out of his car, a tall iced coffee in hand. No hoodie this time. Just a pair of shorts and a plain white shirt.

She watched, helpless, as he climbed the steps onto the porch. Watched as he walked over to her, holding out the iced coffee for her. Her stomach flipped at the realization that he had brought her some kind of peace offering.

"Iced spiced chai, double shot, with a pump of pumpkin, right?" He asked, his voice soft.

"You remember my order." It wasn't a question, more of an observation than anything. Carefully, she reached out, taking the coffee from him, grateful to have something to hold. "Thank you."

Noah nodded, sitting in the chair opposite her. She had to admit to herself she was shocked that after all this time he had remembered something so small. Then again, she clearly hadn't changed much in five years if she still got the same coffee every day. Nervous, she took a sip, not daring to look up at him.

"Sorry about the other night," he started.

"I don't know. I think that's the most honest I've ever seen you, Noah," she quipped, wincing at her own harshness. "Sorry."

"No," he chuckled. "That's fair. That's really fucking fair."

"I'm not sorry that I finally was honest with you. I am, however, sorry that I started having a fucking panic attack, though."

"You're okay, though?" She asked, finally looking up at him.

Now that she looked at him she could see just how tired he was. Like he had barely slept. And deep down she felt bad for him. And maybe a little guilty. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hard on him the other night.

"Honestly? Been better. But, comes with the territory, I suppose."

The two of them sat there, a heavy silence falling between them. There he was, being honest again. The Noah she had known would have said he was fine. He would have skirted around the issue entirely and made a stupid joke.

"Listen, Bambi. I fucked up. Royally. You didn't deserve any of the shit that I did. Even the stuff you overlooked from the start." He grimaced, remembering some of the shit he had done.

"Noah-"

"Nope. Not done. You are also the first person I should have reached out to once I got sober. Instead I've been too chicken shit, as Nicholas loves to point out, to face you because the shit I put you through at the end? That was beyond fucked up. Like, way beyond. I was doing shit just to hurt you. And you deserved better. You still deserve better."

Lilith sat there, gripping the coffee he had brought her, feeling like she was going to vomit. Tears blurred her vision, her mind racing. Here he was, giving her more of an apology than she had ever thought she would get. And as much as she wanted to be angry, she just couldn't anymore. She wanted to scream and yell and call him an asshole, but the anger and the words just wouldn't come. Where did she go from here?

Tag: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

[shaunashipman]

gods, shut the fuck up. you keep trying to make it about the fictional character instead of the real life biphobia that the show and actor used, so yeah, you are a fuck-head. idgaf that the relationship ended, i care that they made tommy spew biphobic bullshit for a break-up that made no sense. i care that oliver has put basically zero support into this ship after the initial buzz, and you can say buck is still bisexual without being in a relationship with tommy, i agree with that, but the show doesn't acknowledge buck's bisexuality outside of tommy, and in fact hasn't even let him use the word bisexual. and now that the show has broken them up in an extremely biphobic manner that also told gay men they don't get a happy ever after, instead of being sensitive to the ending of that relationship and that representation, oliver is saying he wants the character to act out a biphobic stereotype that does not fit with his characterization and growth over the last 7 seasons, explicitly because the character is now bisexual.

take your fucking fandom goggles off and please finally fucking understand that these are real live human being making the decisions to be biphobic, to use biphobia in their writing, to make characters say biphobic and homophobic things like "turning men gay".

it is not about fandom, it is not about fiction. we've been saying this for months when it came to the homophobia and biphobia in fandom, and now we have to say it about the homophobia and biphobia in writers room, and in the actor's fucking mouths.

i swear if one more person comes into my inbox and tries to make the biphobia surrounding the last episode about the character and not the very real people doing it, i'm gonna develop techno powers just to jump through your screen and slap you all

[patolemus]

Wip Monday

Tagged by @gege-wondering-around @dontcallpanic and probably @novasillies at some point (yes I know I'm the literal worst please forgive me). Because I can never do anything like I'm supposed to, I'm not posting on Wednesday. This is a little thing I've been toying with per @superfluffycam-blog's request, nothing concrete yet but the idea is slowly coming together. With my track record, I'll either write the whole thing in one sitting sometime soon or it'll take ages (speaking of ages the Time Travel fic Is Coming I fucking promise!! It's been a very busy month but I'm done with my classes in like two weeks and then I just have to get through finals. I'll be back to post deranged shit about sterek after that)

The house is quiet. It’s always quiet these days, his dad away at the station for what feels like one long infinite shift, and Stiles running around town with a bunch of supernaturally inclined creatures at odd hours. On the nights he’s not running from certain death, Stiles keeps to his bedroom, headphones on and blaring music loud enough his eardrums hurt because at least that way he can pretend that’s the reason he doesn’t hear any noise around the house.

It wasn’t always like this. Stiles remembers a time when the house was full of noise, all the time. The low tunes playing on the radio in the kitchen, the occasional clang of pans against wooden spoons, the buzz of the television broadcasting the latest baseball game. Small giggles and loud shrieks of laughter, soft humming in the living room as his parents slow danced in the evening.

No one hums or slow dances anymore.

Stiles’ footsteps sound way too loud in the otherwise silent house. He drops his backpack by the stairs to pick up on his way to his room later, and beelines for the kitchen. There is a lone plate sitting on the drying rack, the only sign that his dad has come home sometime during the day while he was away at school. Stiles is not naive enough to believe that to be a coincidence. He and his dad haven’t crossed paths since… ah, Stiles doesn’t even know anymore. Between the werewolves and the hunters and the kanimas and the fucking crazy that has become his life, the days seem to be going by way too fast to keep count of them. These days, Stiles only has space in his head for the dates of the full moons.

He gets started on dinner before working on his homework. Stiles makes food for two, even though he knows his dad probably won’t come home to eat it in favor of getting something from the diner—a salad, most likely, because he has all of his dad’s usual haunts bribed and monitored, as well as all of his deputies, to make sure they don’t sell his dad anything that might make his health go sideways. Stiles knows most of them merely indulge him because of their own affection towards him, but Stiles isn’t above using that to make his dad stays as healthy as possible.

On the off chance the Sheriff does come home tonight, though—a slim, slim chance, Stiles wants there to be food for him to eat. He doesn't want to give his dad another reason to be disappointed, another reason to be mistrustful. Stiles still feels cold all over when he remembers the resignation on his dad's eyes, how he'd said he didn't know who Stiles was anymore.

It’s... it's been a tough year.

And I'm afraid that's all I've got for you. I've always loved the stories that explore Stiles and the Sheriff's complex relationship, how Claudia's death altered their dynamic to the point where it was hard to figure out who was the parent and who was the child, how Stiles became this autonomous, independent character we see in canon at the age of 10 years old. This is, in theory, meant to be a character study centered on that topic. Will I succeed? Who knows!! Not me. Gently tagging @dontcallpanic @salty-fryingpan @endwersed @novasillies @hedwig221b and @gege-wondering-around

[amazingmsme]

Won’t You Stay? (Just a Little Bit Longer)

AN: FINALLY finished the last fic for tickletober! Sorry for the wait, I wanted to finish the other fics first & been pretty busy. This one was a blast to write, & I got to really dive into their relationship dynamic! Mark & Karen def picked Ted up at a bar lmaooo. Anyway, without further ado, here’s day 31!

No warnings, but things are insinuated. Nothing explicit, just some light bondage.

In Hatchetfield, the strange quickly becomes mundane. Having lived there all his life, Ted was not easily phased. He saw weird shit all the time and brushed it off with ease. Yet he was still taken aback when the notoriously prude-y, picture perfect couple that was Karen and Mark Chasity walked up to him at the bar of all places. He didn't even think they went to bars.  He thought uptight christian nut jobs like that fainted at the smell of booze, but apparently he was wrong. He was wrong about a lot of things, lately.

"So, what's the score?" Mark asked as he slid up to the bar, pointing at one of the numerous flat screens above shelves of liquor. "21 to six," he answered with a smirk, taking a swig of his beer. Mark let out a low whistle.

"Geez, they're getting creamed." Ted scoffed in amusement, looking him up and down.

"Don't tell me you're a fuckin' Cowboys fan," he taunted. He chuckled shyly, ducking his head.

"What can I say? I like to root for the underdogs."

Was he hallucinating, or did Mark just fucking wink at him? Wasn't his wife right there? Wait, where did she go? He could've sworn she had been clinging to his arm just a second ago-

"A piña colada please," Karen spoke up on his left. He nearly jumped out of his skin because when the hell did she sit down? And shouldn't she have at least sat on his other side? Maybe, I don't know, next to her husband?

Apparently, she wasn't done with her order, feeling the need to specify, "And make it dirty." She was looking directly at him when she said that, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she bit her lip.

Ted was extremely confused. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were coming onto him. But that was impossible! There's no way in hell that they would be looking for a third, and especially not someone like him.

They were nothing but pure vanilla, as pristine as the driven snow. He was like a muddy puddle. This was just a coincidence. A really, really weird coincidence.

"I'll have a Jim Beam, on the rocks. Actually, make that two."

Okay, maybe they were trying to take him home.

"That's okay, I'm fine with a beer," he tried to decline, but Mark insisted.

"We all deserve a taste of the finer things in life."

Ted felt a blush creep to his cheeks, and not just from the alcohol. He couldn't remember the last time a sexual advancement had made him this flustered.

"Don't you agree?" Mark prompted when Ted didn't answer. He shook himself out of it and nodded vigorously.

"It's what separates us from the animals," he said, trying to sound smart.

"Well I couldn't agree more," Karen added, looking past Ted to her husband. And just like that, they found their third.

~~~

Things were admittedly a little awkward and stiff at first, but they quickly found their groove. They both were surprisingly kinky, not that Ted was complaining. It was just... so unexpected coming from them.

It felt nice being in on their dirty little secret. Or was he the secret in question?

Oh well. He supposed it didn't matter. Not when things were this good.

Ted flopped back on the bed, lying between the pair with a relaxed smile on his face. Karen snuggled closer to his right side, Mark lacing their fingers together on his left.

"That was really fun," Karen purred, walking her fingers up his chest.

"I'll say," Mark chimed in, offering a quick peck to Ted's cheek. He leaned across him so he could reach Karen, kissing her cheek.

"Yeah, you guys are amazing," he said, still breathless and dazed. "Same time again next week?" he asked, only half joking.

"Hey, there's no need to rush off again," Mark assured.

"Yeah, who are you? Cinderella?" she teased, the wine making her giggle at her own joke. Tipsy Karen was absolutely adorable. "Stay for a while," she insisted softly.

"That's okay, I don't wanna overstay my welcome," he shot back playfully. But what was meant as a lighthearted joke clearly struck a chord with each of them.

"After everything, you don't think you're welcome to just relax in our home? You're not just our lover, you're our guest. Stay; have a snack, watch some TV, whatever you wanna do." And didn't that sound nice...

But Ted Spankoffski never really had nice things. Or if he did, they didn't stick around for long.

"You sure? 'Cause if you're busy, I can get outta your hair," he offered, nervous butterflies fluttering about in the pit of his stomach. He's used to being the bootycall; to showing up on a whim for some casual sex, and getting kicked back out on the streets once they were done with him. But they actually wanted him to stay, which was why it was too good to be true.

"Oh I can be busy, if that's what you want," Mark growled, rolling over to straddle Ted's waist. He leaned down to plant a kiss to his lips, lingering with a gentle bite. Ted hummed, melting into the bed.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Chasity," Ted smirked.

"I try," he shot him a wink, allowing his hand to roam Ted's chest.

"So why don't you ever want to stay?" Karen asked, with an exaggerated pout. The question caught him off guard, so he answered honestly.

"I want to stay, just... still not really used to the idea of you guys wanting that too," he admitted. Normally, he's never allow himself to be so vulnerable and bold with his emotions. But Mark and Karen were different. They didn't judge people, even people like him who should be judged, and they were nice. Like, genuinely nice. When he was with them, he felt seen and heard. He had spent nearly his whole life trying to run away from his emotions, but with them, he could finally relax.

"Oh Ted... Of course we want that," Karen spoke barely above a whisper, carding her fingers through his hair. Ted looked between them hopefully.

"Really?"

She offered a sweet, radiant smile. "Really."

"You're not just saying that to cheer me up?" he asked playfully.

"No, if we wanted to cheer you up, we'd do this!" Without warning, Mark began scribbling over his sides, drawing out a surprised giggly shriek.

"Hehehey wahahahait! D-dohon't!" he whined, flopping around uselessly on the bed.

"Why not? Is someone a little bit tiiiiiicklish?" Karen chimed in, using her long nails to flutter under his chin. He snorted and slammed his neck against his shoulder for protection.

"Noho!" he denied, a giddy, nervous grin plastered to his face.

"Uh oh honey, looks like we've got ourselves a liar," Mark taunted from above. His hands continued to knead the slight pudge around his middle, drawing out a few deeper laughs.

"Oh no, what should we do?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"I think..." Mark trailed off for dramatic effect, smirking when he heard Ted whine. "We should get the cuffs." The way Ted's eyes snapped open to look at them was priceless.

"What?" he screeched, excitement bubbling up inside him.

"That's the punishment for dirty rotten liars," Karen purred,  leaning over the side of the bed to rummage through their box of toys. She popped back up, showing off a pair of fuzzy, leopard print cuffs.

"Ihihi wasn't-" he began to protest, but Mark shushed him by placing a finger to his smiling lips.

"Don't try to back out now," Mark said, cocking his head to the side. "Arms up, tough guy."

"Why don't you make mehehe!" his defiant protest melted away into giggles. He didn't bother holding back his laughter; he doubted he could even if he wanted to.

Even through his delirium, he knew they were doing this for him. To make him relax, to show him they really cared... And to tease the living hell out of him.

God, they knew him so well.

He didn't resist when Mark slowly raised his arms above his head, snapping the cuffs into place, looping the short chain around the headboard. Ted gave his arms a weak tug, just for show. He squirmed in anticipation, a giddy smile plastered on his face from the threat of what was to come.

"You're gonna stay right there until we decide you can go. Got that?" Karen asked, cocking her head expectantly. Her tone was halfway between stern and caring.

"Yehes ma'am!" he agreed, arching his back when she slowly scribbled along his bare waistline.

"And we won't stop until you admit to yourself that we want you around for more than just sex," Mark added pointedly. Ted couldn't help but smirk at the new caveat.

"Well in that case, we'd be here ahahall nihihight! Ihihit was just ahaha joke!"

"Our love is no laughing matter!" Karen chastised through her own giggles, the fucking hypocrite.

“Oh, I got a joke for ya! What’s a pirate’s favorite letter of the alphabet?” Mark asked, barely able to finish his sentence before Ted answered.

“Ihihit’s R!”

“Ooo, close, but no.”

“What?” he screeched in shock before it took on a higher pitch as Mark dug into his ribs. Apparently, answering wrong had consequences.

“A pirate’s favorite letter is C! Get it? ‘Cause they sail the seas!”

“Thahat fuckin’ suhuhucks! No no wahahait, I’m sohohorry!” Ted apologized the moment he began vibrating his clawed hands against his ribcage.

“Language! You’re lucky I don’t wash your mouth out with soap instead,” Karen teased, kneading into his soft tummy. He snorted and bucked his hips, unable to dislodge the hands attacking his torso.

“Ihihi’m aha grown ass mahahan, I-I cahan say whatehehever I wahahant!”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me with that laugh of yours,” Mark taunted, enjoying the blush spreading across Ted’s cheeks.

“Hehehey!” he whined exaggeratedly.

“Oh Mark, be nice,” she mock scolded her husband, shooting him a contradictory wink. He smirked back.

“I am being nice. He’s not even screaming yet.”

“Mark!” Ted yelped at the playful threat.

“What? I’m just kidding!” he chuckled, crawling his fingers higher to scratch inside his exposed pits. He leaned in close to growl directly in Ted’s ear, ensuring he could be heard over his hysterics. “Or am I?”

Ted didn’t know what he did to deserve this. He didn’t know what he did to deserve them. They were kind, and cruel, and everything Ted could ever ask for, and he was grateful they chose him.

[uncanny-tranny]

I think it would really benefit people to internalize that mental illnesses are often chronic and not acute. Some of us will never be able to jump the hurdle of managing illness, much less sustaining a sense of normalcy. Many of us will never "recover," will never manage symptoms, will never even come close to appearing normal - and this is for any condition, even the ones labeled as "simple" disorders or "easy-to-manage" disorders.

It isn't a failure if you cannot manage your symptoms. It isn't a moral failure, and you aren't an awful person. You are human. There's only so much you can do before recognizing that you cannot lift the world. Give yourself the space to be ill because, functionally, you are.

[caeslxys]

Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.

Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.

Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.

So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.

I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.

I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.

Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?

I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?

I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.