#i just want to know if this bean dip is WHY MY ASSHOLE IS BLEEDING

[killbaned]

THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING I R ON Y 

of me making a post on r/assholedesign, a subreddit that LITERALLY SAYS it is for showcasing “profits before consumers”, being riddled with people bootlicking so hard they look like they’re out of a bukake manga, responding with “just pay money for the service?” is wild and a testament to how shittuly modded the subs on this website are oh my god i should not be this mad but i fucking am 

and i’m pissed because it’s FUCKING ALWAYS cishet white dudes that think women are evil and that if they suck elon musk off hard enough they’ll be the next ones making billion dollar cars based on their reddit karma that make these comments 

if your response to someone saying “this website to help with potentially life threatening hidden allergies in foods that LEGALLY DO NOT HAVE TO BE DISCLOSED ON THE F O O D LABELLING WONT TELL ME IF IT HAS ALLERGENS IN IT UNLESS I GIVE THEM MONEY  

is to respond with “give them money, it’s your fault for not giving them money” you’re a bootlicker, you miss the point of the sub and honestly i hope you get hit by a train you self centered piece of fucking dog shit 

[passivenovember]

“At my funeral, I want you to make sure they play Free Bird.”

Across the bolt of the quarry, Steve can see purple Bella Donna nodding fat in the breeze. Above them, stretching all around into the past and the future with lazy, diamond dusted fingers, stars dot the sky. 

It’s summer. 

Billy’s well into his tan, dipped in bronze and creamy milk chocolate, skin lassoing the sun to distract from whatever storm is brewing dark inside him.

Steve shifts. Tries to ignore the cool press of metal against his stomach, dread seeping through layers of cotton and denim to get at his heart, when he squirms in Billy’s grasp. “What?”

Steve tries to prop himself up. Have a look. 

Billy just holds him tighter, eyelashes stubbornly raking the constellations into neat little piles. That’s the affect he has. On the world. On Steve.

Permanent and lasting. Changed.

The wind blows, cooler than it was when the sun was setting, and suddenly it’s fall. Suddenly it’s dark. Summer’s on the wing, nearly over, they’ve got seconds left in each other’s arms and the solid, sure line of Billy’s jaw quivers, just a little, stubble rubbing sharp and sweet where Steve grabs his chin. 

Billy shrugs away. Says, “It’s not a big deal.”

But. “It is,” Steve accuses lightly. It’s summer, he doesn’t want this to turn into a fight, and yet. 

“Forget I said anything,” Billy mutters. 

But. “You can’t just ask me to play Free Bird at your funeral.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Steve squirms harder this time, managing to knock Billy’s arm away. He sits. Frowns. Wants to scratch his mosquito bites and scratch this away, too. Whatever’s come over them, but then it would seep under his nails and he’d carry it away. 

Billy’s eyes are wet. Not spilling over, not quite, but. Misty. Flooded. 

“Free Bird’s a fucking stupid song,” Steve decides. 

The lump in his throat won’t let him spill the beans. Won’t let him clear the air. 

Billy glares at him, a little lighter than before. “’S my funeral, pretty boy. I get to build the playlist.”

“You’re not going to die,” Steve says. Resolute. “Not now. Not soon. Not ever.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

“Even if you did know,” Billy counters, rising to his level so his jean pockets scrape a little on the hood of the Camaro. “It’s not true. No matter what you’ve got to say about it, I’ll die someday.”

“It is true,” Steve says. “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll live forever.”

Billy snorts. 

“Where’s this coming from, Blue?” Steve asks.

“Forget it.”

“C’mon, asshole. Talk to me.”

Billy turns away, eyes peering over the lip of the Quarry until they catch on something. The Bella Donna. “I dunno. Lately I’ve just been feeling, like. There’s a cloud hanging over me. And everything’s dim and gray and my shadow’s growing, a little. Covering more Earth. And it’s bleeding, y’know, past the hairline that separates me from him, and I just.”

Billy squeezes their fingers together. Says, “I don’t think things are gonna work out for me.”

He doesn’t believe it or maybe doesn’t want to live forever, with Steve, even though that sounds like Heaven. Feels like Saturday morning cartoons and homemade pancakes and sun-warmed linen, when they kiss.

Steve doesn’t understand why Billy would want to give it up so he takes his hand. Threads their fingers together, says, “You and me, we’ll. Buy a house on the beach--”

Billy’s eyes snap to him, wet spilling over now. “I wanna live in the mountains.”

Steve nods. Pulls him closer. “Then we’ll live in a mountain with a distant view of the ocean peaking between snow caps and we’ll have a vegetable garden and we’ll throw our T.V. in the garbage behind Melvalds before we skip town so we won’t have any distractions.”

Billy lets himself be pulled into the sling of Steve’s arm. Lowered onto the hood of the Camaro. “What would we need a distraction from?”

“From each other,” Steve says, kissing Billy’s temple. “I’m never gonna feel like I have enough time with you.”

In the distance, fireworks light up the sky.