#in all honestly i kind of blank out when i look at price because all i need is a hug

[deargaz]

just realised i have not written for price at all

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

If He Wanted To, He Would

July Prompt: Any Song Lyrics | Word Count: 2000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Eddie POV, Modern Setting, Sports AU, Rockstar Eddie, Baseball Player Steve, Very Public Love Affair, Corroded Coffin, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

I've used lyrics from Take Me Out to the Ball Game & Blank Space.

Even the news is covering it. 

That's fucking ridiculous. There's an animated graphic, a live tracker of where his plane is, a moving dot over the Atlantic, like it's Christmas Eve and he's Santa Claus.

Eddie's gonna make it. He was always gonna make it, even as the press ran the numbers, the miles, and milked every ounce of drama out of it.

He made game one, and game four, and now he's racing back from playing Wembley in London to make it for game seven. The media has tried to sell the idea that Steve wanted the World Series to go to seven, just so Eddie would be able to attend.

Eddie's glad he's getting to see it, of course he is, but if they could have swept it in four, or locked it down in five or six, that would have been fucking awesome. Even if that meant Eddie missed seeing it live, and had to watch on television, in the middle of the night, across the world.

There are a shitton of tiktoks every week, dissecting their every move, looking for easter eggs. Eddie is just living his life, even if a million people are always watching him like a fucking hawk.

Goodie is walking back from the beer garden in the stadium, carrying his plastic cup in his mouth as he fiddles with something in his hands. Not spilling a goddamn drop. Eddie can only see this because he's being broadcast onto the stadium jumbotron.

When he climbs the stairs into the suite, Eddie asks, "Where's Gareth?"

"Got spotted. Now he's taking pictures. I just slipped away unnoticed. Sucker," Goodie says, putting his cup down on the table.

"Unnoticed, huh?" Eddie teases. He won't tell him. He'll just wait until Goodie sees it online for himself. "There's free beer back there you know?" Eddie asks. Neither one of them needed to venture out into the crowd.

Goodie shrugs, "I wanted this kind."

He could have had that kind, could have had any kind, if he'd just asked for it. But no, he wanted to be out among the people. 

None of them are particularly fond of baseball, but they are fond of Steve, so here they are. The whole band doesn't always come, but it's the championship game, so they did.

And the score has been 1-0 forever. 

Wayne is pacing. Unlike them, he loves baseball, even if he's been a little turncoat, switching teams like a lifetime of dedication meant nothing at all. He's gotten a little shit from his friends back home, but Eddie thinks it's honestly very sweet. Eddie loves that Wayne likes Steve enough to put him and his team as his number one with a bullet, now.

It helps that Steve's part of a fucking dynasty. It's fun to win, even Eddie gets that.

Wayne doesn't always hang out in suites. More often than not, he'd rather sit in the stands. Focus on the baseball, not the celebrity that's now surrounding it. But Wayne's been dragged into their highly publicized love affair, and now he's starting to get recognized all on his own, so Eddie worries. 

Plus, he'd rather have him right here, where they can spend time together.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. 

"3-2," Wayne answers.

Eddie's distracted, filling his plate with the various appetizers that came with the steep price of the private suite. Sliders, pigs in a blanket, and all kinds of other fancified versions of comfort food. He's just scooping some mac & cheese on his plate when he hears his main guitar riff from Buckwild. He puts down his plate, making his way to the big windows just in time to see Steve step towards the batter's box. 

Steve only changes his walk-up music to Corroded Coffin when Eddie's in attendance. He currently walks-up to Milkshake, which is fucking hilarious. He's one of the first openly out players, and he really leans into it, changing up his walk-up music, usually to something a little queer. Eddie knows it's partially to poke fun at himself first, before anyone else can. 

But tonight, it's his song. Eddie's sure he's being broadcast on the jumbotron from some camera he can't even see, and may even be on live television. Eddie watches as Steve briefly points his bat, and at first Eddie thinks Steve's calling his shot, but no. Not unless he's intending to hit a foul ball.

No, he gestured at Eddie. At least where he assumed Eddie would be.

Eddie fiddles with the rings on his hand, moving from finger to finger, twisting them around and around as Steve swings and misses for the second time. Eddie can hardly watch, it makes him so nervous.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. It's the only question he knows to ask.

"2-2," Wayne says from somewhere behind him. Wayne doesn't stand at the front when it's likely the camera is on them. Eddie gets it, he does, but he'd like him at his side. The windows are open tonight, and the fans in the seats in front of the suite have leaned up to talk to them, to get things signed, and Eddie has done it. They all have. Waving off security.

Nobody is being shitty, just excited, and Eddie's grateful he's been accepted by most of Steve's fans. There was always the fear that he'd be seen as a distraction, and sure, that's been a bit of the narrative, but Steve's in the goddamn World Series. His head is obviously still in the game.

Eddie signed a custom Corroded Coffin jersey with Steve's number on the back earlier, and if that wasn't fucking weird and delightful. And Harrington jerseys have been increasingly spotted at their gigs, from one in the crowd, to a dozen or more.

Steve takes the next ball, and Eddie was terrible at baseball as a kid. He swung at everything. He never had the self-control to wait for something good. 

He's glad he grew out of that, at least a little, because he waited, and now he has Steve. A goddamn home run in human form. 

Eddie's relieved when he hears the crack of the bat finally making contact with the ball, and he watches intently until Steve's safely on first, Eddie leaning out of the open box window, hanging onto the frame, screaming.

He rights himself, clapping hard as he spins in a circle, screaming some more.

Then, Eddie watches as Steve steals second on a wild pitch, and the stadium sound system blares to life with Gimme Three Steps.

Steve dusts himself off from his slide in, and Eddie is so fucking smitten. 

And his ass looks damn good in those pants. His milkshake did bring Eddie to the yard.

It's the seventh-inning stretch, and Eddie hears the familiar, "for it's one, two, three strikes, you're out," being sung by the entire stadium.

He's nervous now. More nervous than he ever is going on stage anymore.

They've made it this far, and he wants Steve to win the whole thing. 

They do win. Steve fielded a grounder, whipped it to first base, and with one last out, it was finally over. Gloves being thrown in the air, lots of hugs and jumping up and down.

Steve did it.

And Eddie smiles.

Steve isn't released, not yet. There'll be interviews, and a parade that Eddie unfortunately can't attend, so Eddie only gets a few minutes in the tunnel with him. Some stolen kisses and a silly groped handful, just giving Steve's cup a squeeze, to make him laugh. 

It's all too brief, but he'll see him soon. 

They go from the game straight back to the airport, Goodie and Gareth both pretty drunk after too many celebratory shots, leaving Jeff and him to babysit as they get wheels up, to head back across the pond. Their world tour, waiting.

They'll make it. 

Steve swears jet-lag is a choice, and Eddie's choosing to believe him.

Another city, and his turn on the big stage, as Eddie looks out towards the VIP tent. Steve waves with both hands over his head, making himself larger, more easily seen.

Steve attended a few Monday shows with Robin, when their schedules lined up enough to allow it. But now his season is over. He's a fucking world champion, and it's the offseason, which is Eddie's new favorite word.

If he'd known he'd fall in love with a sportsball guy, he would have made sure their tour had a lengthy break during this magical offseason.

Next year.

And Eddie is confident that next year is a given. That's how in he is with their relationship, with Steve. They both have their own lives, their own fame, their own increasingly busy schedules. But they make it work, because they want it to work.

The fans have dubbed all their crisscrossing travel as "if he wanted to, he would" and have been straight up swooning. 

Eddie likes that thought, because he does want to, and he knows Steve wants to, too.

He's committed to this thing, and so is Steve. And if that means flying for hours to be there for the important shit, even if you have to turn around and fly right back, well fuck, you do it. And you don't even think about it.

Eddie slips in a pop cover, mid-set, just being silly, because he wants to shout out Steve a little bit extra tonight. He sings and when he gets to "'cause you know I love the players, and you love the game" and the crowd gets behind it. Steve, too, if his hands in the air are any indication. 

He's a pop girlie at heart, and Eddie loves him for it.

Steve is comfortable in his own skin, and he likes what he likes. He's supportive of Eddie, of Corroded Coffin, and very demonstrative with his affection and admiration. The love is always free-flowing. But, heavy metal isn't his thing. Not really. And that's okay.

So, a little pop is injected for his benefit, Eddie saying 'I love you for who you are' right back.

Buckwild is last, is always last, and Steve's here, so that means a subtle lyric change. He only does it when Steve's in attendance, and it makes the crowd go wild. Changing one word is enough to send them into a frenzy, like they're part of something special and sacred.

They are.

When he approaches the lyric, Steve has moved closer, right at the stage, in front of the barricade, and puts his hand up to his ear, hyping the crowd, getting ready for it, and Eddie can hardly sing through his fucking smile.

When they exit the stage, the first face he sees is Steve's, and Steve opens his arms and Eddie hugs him, pulling back and kissing him, over and over.

He's the one. 

The one he loves.

The one he'll marry.

The one. Period.

Steve waves to the crowd that's gathered to watch, and then he puts his arm around Eddie's waist, ushering him away, one more show over.

In bed, Eddie rests his head against Steve's bare chest. These last few weeks have been different, brand new, and exciting. It's the first time they've really gotten to feel like they're coming home to each other. Getting to be in the same place for an extended period of time, Steve following the tour.

Steve brushes Eddie's bangs off his face, and kisses his forehead.

"You were amazing tonight," Steve whispers, and Eddie grins. 

"So were you, working the crowd," Eddie says.

Steve laughs, and Eddie loves it. Steve's not shy. He's had all the media training, probably more than Eddie, because he's got a brand, a team, to protect. Eddie just runs his mouth at-will, always has.

Steve doesn't hide backstage where Eddie can't see him, no, he always makes sure he's supporting Eddie out loud and with his whole goddamn chest.

So, because he wants to, he does.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: Obviously inspired by the very public relationship of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. Goodie carrying the beer in his teeth is straight up a shoutout to Jason Kelce doing that at the Eras tour. 🍺

This one was so hard to stop writing for at the 2k max word count, lol.

[jd07201990]

So… Does anyone know how many bouquets of roses, or how many boxes of chocolates it’ll take to survive my new Wife’s wrath, when she see’s her adorable, creative, intelligent boy… after I accidentally shipped him off to the equivalent of Football Boot-camp, so we could have our honeymoon alone in Cancun. Honestly! We were all going over the options, the two last resorts being we don’t go on our honeymoon, or Jason would have to stay at his grandpa’s house in the middle of nowhere a few states away. Clearly, we were desperate, so when I found the pamphlets for what looked like a regular old summer camp out in the woods, with a lake, and a whole slew of other activities, I jumped on it, especially since the price for the entire summer was $2100 bucks! Where I really screwed up, was not reading the pamphlet I was filling out, which was absolutely not the super happy fun time in the woods experience… It was ROTC for Football Jocks. I learned this only when I drove out to pick him up, 3 months later, and well… you can see what trudged up to me from across the parking lot, huge battered old sneakers pounding the pavement as he absentmindedly gnawed on a protein bar in his meaty, calloused fist, while his other hand absentmindedly adjusted his shorts. Just like all the other bulked up brutes marching off to their dads and coaches, his chest was bare, and bouncing with every step. When he’d crossed the distance, he grinned this dim, dopey grin, and grunted, “Thanks for pickin’ me up Dude. Can we stop by Wendy’s? I’m fuckin’ starving!” He punctuated this by stuffing the last of the protein bar in his mouth and yanking the door to my car open, the fiberglass handle cracked in his hand. He looked at the two halves, chuckled with that deep, rumbling Jock tone, and got in, dumping the pieces on the seat next to him. It didn’t take long for the car to fill the distinct funk of athletic prowess, especially when he kicked off his size 14’s and put his feet up on the dash. I nearly gagged, and despite the heat outside, rolled down the windows to air out. As we pulled into the driveway, my wife was on the lawn, waiting with a little bag, excited to see her boy again. When the sweaty ape of a jock got out lumbered up to her, wrapping his beefy arms around her, she looked terrified… for a second… then her eyes narrowed on me. When Jason finally let go of her, he gave her that same, blank, dopey grin, all the intelligence gone from his big wide eyes, and held his fist out… she looked at it incredulously, and he chuckled, “You’re supposed to bump it, Ma… with your fist” Well, the last 6 months have been tough, but Jason, or, “Jay” as he reminds us often, has absolutely blossomed at school. Although his grades could be better. The shock of his summer “glo-up” or as his oafish, grunting new friends like to tease, “blow-up” hit a few of the teachers harder than others. Although the Coach of the football team had nearly offered me his ’69 Camero to have Jason on the team after seeing him plow through reps in the football team’s gym. ��I said it was tough, because our house is essentially a second Locker Room for Jay and his small army of sweating, smelly behemoths. There is a never-ending pile of laundry from countless practices, the gym, and just hanging out with his friends. My wife has somewhat gotten used to her little boy calling her, “Bro” accidentally… every other day… and despite the change, he’s still her boy, there’s just, a good bit more of him to love. I will say, he’s a great kid, kind of dumb, a bit crass, and stinks like a gym bag more often than not, but when you dig a bit deeper into those dim, wide eyes, there’s still that adorable boy, underneath a pile of muscle.

[will-pilled]

Montague

Possibly triggering stuff? Self harm, CA, SA.

Montague personality (summary, due to limited information):

Montague is controlling, as is evident. He comes off as very calm and collected, and seems like a rather calculating and "pulling the strings" sort of man. Can be very aggressive. Headcanons:

He/him cis man - Unlabled but prefers masculine leaning/androgynous individuals. (British cig) It's more aesthetics he's attracted to.

He is not a huge animal person, but Oscar was okay when he was around I guess..

Fashionista and artist, designs his outfits.

Fave colors are blue, white, black, blue-gray, and silver.

Knows a lot about rocks and crystals, keeps it to himself though because he doesn't want to look dorky.

He is very French, and swears in French often as well as muttering to himself and breaking into French speaking when flustered or overwhelmed.

Loves sweet and salty deserts as well as very savory food.

Really likes knives. They're neat.

He isn't a good man. He isn't even an anti hero. But he is very easy to feel bad for.

Not a fan of children, not at all.

Kind of a sarcastic ass hole. Not kind of, a huge one. Dry humor and sarcasm. *Blank stare* "Are you stupid?"

Skin care and hygiene freak, takes pride in how he looks.

The Society was the closest he had to friends, so when they all ditched each other he became bitter as FUCK.

He does want a romantic relationship BUT he also terrified of being close to someone. He doesn't want to risk someone being in control of him or being rejected or left. he has a VERY intense "leave people before they can leave me" mentality, but isn't really aware of it.

Borderline Personality Disorder - Is extremely convinced there is nothing wrong with him which leads him to be very "anti recovery," and makes him indulge a lot in unhealthy habits and actions. Has some narcissistic traits but not enough to have Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

He *appears* calm and collected, but the moment he is sure he is alone he may fall into a hole-in-wall-punching fit of rage. Him breaking things is not uncommon. He takes his anger out on objects the most. He wants to fill the hole in his heart with objects and power. He chases the temporary highs of stealing, the chase, being in control of someone, and even perhaps drugs if he is bored enough. He only smokes in front of others, as he avoids doing most others in front of people due to more noticeable effects. He feels rather empty.

Intense need for control over himself and others, and in turn hates losing his shit. He HATES when things don't go his way for this reason as well, and his stealing also goes into this as he wants to control items and where they are.

A bit of a stalker, but not too bad. Stalking socials is his biggest thing.

(Potentially triggering? Self harm.) He did the eye scar to himself. No cool backstory or funny accidents. He did it to himself to look the way HE wanted to look. To control how he looks and what happens to his body. He never talks about how he got it, but loves it. Likely has other scars as well in intricate patterns and pictures. Doesn't really do it anymore because he honestly got bored of it. Not because he got better in any sense of the phrase.

(!CA, SA!)

Montague grew up with a very emotionally abusive and controlling father (Montague is sadly repeating the cycle it seems). He wasn't hit much by his dad, but was often picked on by peers for his queerness and being "girly." which caused his aggressiveness, though since he can do "whatever he wants" he is more open about it now. Not really "price flags everywhere" kind of open (though ngl I could see Meowscles being like that fucking bi and transgender ass cat) but more of a "clear closet"/"Is he... Y'know?" kinda open. He doesn't care for either parent much, they were both distant and let money raise him so he doesn't have much of an attachment to either of them. He has no feelings for them and when he came to the island he felt little to no grief at losing his old life other than his money and power.

He was assaulted when he was a young adult for a period of time by an employer, who had a great deal of influence and control. This is also where Montague's "I want influence and power" mindset comes from as well, so he will NEVER be at someone else's mercy again. He feels anger over it. He is no "perfect victim."

[shinesurge]

your custom cassettes are really really cool! ive been thinking about making custom cassettes for a bit, would you be willing to share what kind of paper you used for the label stickers and j-cards? also where do you get blank cassettes from? ive been looking at cassettecomeback but i was wondering if there was a better option.

Thanks a lot! They're really fun to make hehe

So full disclosure: I run a merch shop for my webcomic and I make most of my stuff myself in my studio. I've been doing this for the better part of ten years and over that time I've accumulated quite a bit of specialized, expensive equipment like the photo printer and cutting machine I use to make my cassette ephemera. THAT SAID mixtapes don't necessarily need all that!! Unless you're running a bootleg business on etsy or somethin I don't think you and your friends gotta run out and spend a ton of money to make these (beyond tracking down a deck and a player, obviously).

Unfortunately most of these items are found on Amazon because I'm a professional artist trying to Live, but if that's something you'd rather avoid buying through I'm listing the brick and mortar places I can find them when I need to for whatever reason!

My j-cards are just the 8x10 glossy photo paper from Pen & Gear, it's usually less than ten bucks a pack at walmart lmao. I use it with an inkjet photo printer! There are plenty of laser printer options out there though, which is probably the type non-artists have access to. Honestly I think the look of black ink on colored copy paper is super cool for handmade tapes, especially between friends.

My sticker paper was a bitch to find and I'm not sure if it would be useful without my specific equipment, but it's this glossy adhesive photo paper from some rando company called LDProducts. Literally just called "Sticker Photo Paper" pf. It's more expensive but I get it in stacks of a hundred because I print tons of stickers for my shop. Again, glossy adhesive paper might not be useful without a big boy printer but MATTE sticker paper is everywhere, that's also pretty common to find at walmart or at the very least at an office supply store; you can print on it or even get out some markers (not sure i'd suggest anything besides ink tho, I'd be worried it could come off and damage the player). I design the labels in clip studio and then load them into cricut so it's super easy to get the right shape every time, but if you're Determined you could get out a measuring tape and an xacto knife and get similar results.

I've only found my tapes on amazon unfortunately, and it's been a while since I bought any because I sort of inherited a bunch of sealed ones when my dad died and i'm still going through them lol. Almost all my custom ones are 90 minute Sony High Fidelity, last I checked you could order them in packs of five or ten but I'm not sure what the prices are like rn. If you REALLY want to get fancy with colored shells/custom lengths i did find this cool site you can order from, Duplication.ca, but the shipping is kinda rough. One of these days I wanna make some cassettes for my webcomic and I'll drop some money on some pretty ones then, but for now the Sonys are treating me fine so I haven't dug too deep.

I hope something in here is useful! I'm always happy to share what I know but again, I'm very fortunate to have access to quite a bit of stuff most people don't and I try to be up front about it alskdjf. Cassettes are best when they're sorta janky and handmade tho, it's kind of the whole point, and if they're just for you or someone you care about then marking them with a sharpie and masking tape is just as cool in my opinion. probably cooler. everybody should put music on physical media and trade it i think.

[sewertour]

My Julian Sands Story

My first job in LA was as a Production Assistant on the low-budget horror film, Warlock: The Armageddon starring Julian Sands. Assigned to a second unit that didn’t want to spend money for body doubles, various parts of my body got valuable screen time. That's my hand over-enthusiastically pointing to druidic spells in an ancient tome and my skinny torso soaked in red karo syrup being whipped by rubber vines. And when a pulsing amniotic sac shoots from the nether regions of a bloody stuntwoman and blooms into a fully-formed naked Julian Sands, that's my nose bursting through the silicon gel-drenched latex womb. After "acting" in shots like these, I had to wipe myself off with paper towels and get the crew complicated coffee orders.

While I may have been Julian Sands's part-time body double, I’d never spoken directly to him. Then one day, after being hoisted around in a special effect flying harness until my inner thighs wanted to explode, I got my chance. The Assistant Director tasked me with getting Julian from his trailer. Why? No one else would do it because he was being an “asshole.” He pissed the crew off so much, the Wardrobe Assistant was showing off Polaroids of his dirty underpants.

Julian had a big black trailer with a satellite dish fit for a Warlock. I went up the steps a bit nervously and knocked at the door. Nothing. I knocked one more time, and heard him scream, “I SAID, COME IN!!!”

It's dark in the trailer. Julian’s lying down on the couch all the way in the back dressed in his black velvet suit and looks over the rim of a hardcover book. He silently stares at me.

“Uh. Hey, Julian. They, uh - need you for the flying stuff...”

He continues to look at me. Unmoving.

“Uh…”

I realize I’m at a loss for words - and I’m never at a loss for words. His expression remains blank. I don’t even know if he heard or understood what I was saying.

I did the only thing I could think of and started doing a little jig and shouted, “JULIAN SANDS! YOU'RE THE NEXT ACTOR ON STAGE 14! SO, COME ON DOWN!”

As I dance around and hum the theme to The Price Is Right, I hear him start to laugh, slowly at first. Not a human laugh, but a scary full-throated supervillain laugh that echoes from his trailer as I flew back to the sound stage - heart racing.

In an interview with Sands on Vestron Video's Warlock Collection Blu-ray (Recommended - The first film is a banger!) he kind of apologizes for being a dick on the set. Apparently, he was utilizing the “Method” to become the Son of Satan both inside and out, which extended to the crew, making a lot of people miserable. Honestly, the film needed more of the kind of sinister energy he brought to the screen, but hearing him say, decades later, that his working method should not come at the expense of those busting their asses for you was heartening. Now I feel lucky enough to fly in Julian Sands' harness for a short time and make him laugh, at least ONCE.

[poppypirate]

Oppenheimer. Folks, Oppenheimer. Wow. Just... wow. I saw the film last night, and I'm still reeling from the after-effects. It's going to be hard getting this out of my system, but I'm going to try.

1) The screen. I know the whole movie's shot in IMAX or whatever (I'm sorry I'm not good with the technical terms) and that the best cinematic experience would be in an IMAX theatre - but I know so many people who are waiting on IMAX 2D seats because of the exorbitant ticket prices. The price of an IMAX 2D ticket at cinema halls in my area are literally 3-4 times the price of an average ticket. It's kind of ridiculous. It's honestly okay to watch the film on any screen; in my opinion, in no way does it ruin the experience.

2) Cillian Murphy. I honestly don't know what to say. Just... him. His look and acting is absolutely phenomenal. He was perfect as the man. And not to mention,,, he's so hot. All the nude shots were a pleasure. <3

3) THE CINEMATOGRAPHY. Oppenheimer's most vulnerable shots, the most visceral imaginings of his mind, were shot in the most amazing ways possible. People blurring in Oppenheimer's gaze? The terrifying blank silences? Some shots of this kind gave a very very real impression of what anxiety feels like to me, and in this regard, the film made me feel very... seen. The screen trembling when he had to give uncomfortable answers? The rapid staccato beats when he got anxious? I'm not presuming what Oppenheimer's issues were, but for me, the projection of anxiety was very real, and made me almost tear up.

4) The writing, the "bigger picture" plotline, the dialogue and wordplay - it was all just pure, pure genius. It was a literal, breathtaking masterpiece.

5) I wish more people could understand the film. All of humankind deserves access to this kind of conversation, and it made me sad that so many people couldn't understand or relate to what was happening in the film, and retreated to their phones. It's such an important story to be told; it's a pity it isn't more approachable.

[missyourflight]

when i was on livejournal i used to review, like, everything i watched or read (bc i did not have a job). i kind of miss that so here are some notes about some of the things i read/watched in january!

the hour (s1 - rewatch): i feel like unless you were In It you can't understand the hold the hour had over us when it was airing. whishaw! romola! dominic west as a rake who wants to Learn! the looks! the fonts! jamie parker and anna chancellor and andrew scott and joshua mcguire!! the mechanics of how we bear witness!!!! nobody not even the rain has such small hands!!!! jesus christ. anyway here's 1k of space stuff from yuletide 2012

justified (s1&2 - rewatch): inspired by @love-leah's vital boyd/raylan fanfictions honestly, this whole show should be about boyd/raylan. i remember first time around i was very into the tim stuff because we were living that hbo war miniseries life and honestly the episode where he has to babysit raylan is still very good.

eyes wide shut: for some reason i watched this like new year's morning?? anyway i had fun with that one nicole kidman monologue and the like gaping chasm of blank panic under tom cruise's good guy mask. if you have seen barry lyndon should i watch barry lyndon?

mr malcolm's list: zawe ashton forever obviously!! very sweet for oliver jackson-cohen to be allowed to be funny for once, sope disiru can do literally anything. i rented this on amazon and i wish i had just bought it lol

white noise: obviously the supermarket dance sequence is the best part. idk i feel weird about don delillo ever since i had to read out a fisting scene from cosmopolis as a 17 year old virgin in english extension class 🙃

evil under the sun: my first ustinov poirot, worth the price of admission for the incredible diana rigg and maggie smith bitchfight energy (including an amazingly agressive performance of you're the top). i would like to go to an island please

emma (2020) (rewatch): i love it So much!! everything i said in this deranged letterboxd review still stands!!

aftersun: mescal and corio both wonderful, i can't get over calum's despair developing like a polaroid

the sting: good old-fashioned homoerotic fun etc. paul newman's eyes are So blue

best in show: i watched the christopher guest mockumentary trilogy thing with my sister and this was our favourite. the dogs!!! also there's a thing catherine o'hara does with her knee that killed me

babylon: i loved the parts that were about making films and didn't care for most of the rest of it! could really have done with less of a lecture about why cinema is important

the fabelmans: by contrast i loved the stuff here about why this one specific person is drawn to make films! paul dano has my heart forever and michelle williams' performance did not really work for me whoops

kate beaton, ducks: two years in the oil sands: hark a vagrant was such a touchstone for me, i read this all in one sitting and immediately wanted to give it to three of my friends - her anger is so palpable

[enneamage]

I agree with what you said about the Ash thing but I think there is also another layer to it. He said "I'm upset that you'd think so little of me". That sounds pretty parasocial since can he honestly say that any fans truly know him to the extent that they can infer his intentions on the people he follows? This is his first time in the public eye and it sucks that he had to go through a bit of baptism by fire, but maybe it is better now than later. I think it also means that all of the positivity that goes his way has a price tag of being held to a higher standard, and he is only finding that out now. It may have burned him enough to be a bit more guarded than he has been. To be fair, the bigger they get, the more likely something like this was going to happen eventually. Hopefully in the future he taps into the resource he has that has already been through some of this.

Or he could just pull a Mark and only post cat pics on his Insta... Cats + internet = nobody gets hurt

There’s a lot to unpack here, which is a disappointing thing to say about a situation that the majority of people agreed could have been either silent or a simple one tweet “whoopsie, problem solved.” That tweet/thread very quickly became The Problem Object as soon as it came into existence and made the issue way more weird and provocative than it needed to be. It accidentally revealed a lot more about his attitudes than the starting issue, and it’s even more damning because unlike the weird mystery twitter follow you can tell he meant it. That’s not easily undone.

The thread was unambiguously aggressive, even without the initial tweet. (Can anyone get me thread screenshots for posterity? Some of those one-liners have to be seen to be believed. The ‘unlike you losers I have a life’ overtones are wild.) Even the tweet that got to stay up is pretty bad. Never try to scold a crowd unless you are absolutely sure you have the moral highground. It was a bone-headed move to take a self-victimising tone in this situation and I think it’s going to leave a lasting scar on his reputation even if he deleted it all after.

I’ve mentioned Ash before as someone who has made a brand for himself as a loveable, jolly-looking mime. There’s something to be said for celebrity in general being a game of fill-in-the-blank using the glamorous context clues of their job and surroundings, easily moving into idealisation from there. It was perversely funny to watch people play the usual ”parasocial” card but backwards—“We don’t know you. We’ve never even heard you talk.” Some of his cartoonish celebrity mystique, the blank canvas that people were projecting benefit of the doubt onto, now has a massive awkward paint splotch on it that portrays him as someone who doesn’t know how to emotionally manage social justice/ social media issues. That’s a dangerous kind of person to be in the public eye, so something needs to change.

It's not just Ash’s own reputation that he’s playing with when things like this happen, it’s the things he’s attached to as well. This was irresponsible, and he’s probably going to get a slap on the wrist from a PR professional assuming Lovejoy has one. It’s something to adjust to but frankly he can’t back out of it now, you don’t get to speak in a large forum as a public figure and not get treated like a public figure.

[redvioletarts]

Story time: Etsy vs. Redbubble

This one's for the other artists out there who might be thinking about making a shop like mine.

I've been making print on demand stuff for about ten years, well before it was a Side Hustle TM that tech bros claimed would make you thousands of dollars a month if you just use AI to make your images and your mockups and your product descriptions. (Pass.)

But I didn't start on Etsy. I used to sell on Redbubble, which does a lot of work for you, but at the cost of not having the kind of control over product quality that you get from using Etsy with Printify integration and doing a lot of the work by hand. With my setup now, I can choose the brand of blank product I'm using, choose the printing companies I'm sending orders to, and even really simple things like only offering certain T-shirt colors for a given design.

(Redbubble offers EVERY color they have and you can't change it, so I was always putting white outlines on things to make sure that the design would at least show up on every color. You'd think that people just wouldn't order a black design on a black T-shirt, but I've made the mistake of ordering a purple shirt with black text from Redbubble and being surprised at how dark the color was. You can still see the white outlines on a few of my older designs, like the Wreaking Havoc for Fun and Profit cat. AI will not think about this for you, by the way.)

Redbubble's also been doing some weird desperate shit where new artists or anyone who doesn't sell frequently enough can get their commission yoinked by some kind of membership fee thing. I wasn't personally affected by this, because a) I'd already started moving to Etsy, and b) my Redbubble shop had already sold enough to not have to deal with those fees. I don't upload there any more, though. Not a fan of the thing they're doing. I don't recommend that anyone start there any more. Society6 has been doing basically the same thing but worse (some artists can't even set their own profit margin, and S6 sets it for them at a measly ten percent), so don't go there either.

Moving to Etsy was a lot of work and required some cash investment, but I think it's been worth it. I'm happier with the stuff I've been selling, I'm getting neat stuff in the hands of more people, and my shop looks a lot nicer when I'm in more control of it.

If you're starting out with a shop like this, some business advice:

Being in Redbubble's marketplace counts for a lot less than you think. Same with Etsy, honestly. You will be doing your own marketing.

Etsy's on-site ad program is unlikely to make you a profit, but it can get you a little bit of traction. Don't spend too much on Etsy ads. It's easy to make some pretty chunky losses hoping they'll pay off over time. If you use them, narrow it down to your products that are already selling pretty well (or have sold at all) and the ones that make the best profit margin. Don't use it to advertise stickers.

Consider going straight to Shopify instead of Etsy if you're really good at using social media to market. (I am not. Though I may end up there anyway.) Host it yourself so you're not paying too much; I use GreenGeeks for web hosting and they've always been good. Shopify and WordPress will take some Googling to install and use, but don't be intimidated; I have set up a Shopify store before and it's not that bad. This is because--

Etsy absolutely will nickel and dime you all over the place and they can end up taking (as of this writing, give or take) about a 15% cut depending on a whole bunch of complicated rules. This can kill products like stickers and pins, which are generally low-priced enough that the twenty cent listing renewal fee actually matters to your profit margin. However, people are willing to pay more for those than you'd expect if they like your designs, so don't set your prices too low.

Happy selling!

[rainey-staerie-daize]

You wanna know something I've realized?

This week is supposed to be my "birthday week" because I was sick on my actual birthday (and I still am, by the way), but almost nobody's been acting like it.

If I'm not counting the $100 bill in my birthday card from my mom, my only actual presents were from Kare, my seven-year-old sister. They were a painted rock and 15 signs with various nicknames taped around the house. Most of the nicknames are things I've never been called. And yes, 15. She just told me I missed one when I was taking them down.

For extra reference of why I'm kinda salty:

Xan had Mario-themed birthday decorations up for his birthday. On my day, his decorations were still up. Forget my own decorations. His were still up! They'd still be up if I didn't take them down the day after my birthday.

Mom never knows what to get me. Always blanks. (Wow, say you never got to know me and my interests without saying it.) So I made an Amazon wishlist. The original reason I made the list, actually. And she usually asks me for the link every year, because she always loses it. She never asked this year.

I was met with attitude when I asked if Mom bought the body wash I wanted when she got home from the store, but she bought Xan DLC for a game today.

Mom also sat and played that game with Xan today. On my actual birthday, she took a nap.

Mom spent around $200 on Xan's presents to my knowledge, while I got that $100 in a card. She was complaining about the price in a group chat actually, saying she doesn't want Xan to be disappointed. Meanwhile, this has been the most disappointing birthday I've ever had. More effort was made for my first, and I don't even remember it. And this year was my golden birthday, the one I've been looking forward to for a couple of years, actually.

The kicker? The reason that makes every previous bullet point infuriating? I forget to clean up sometimes. People also tend to find me annoying, even if I try not to be. My bad, I guess. But Xan's a legitimate asshole. Take yesterday, for example: he called me an idiot and a liar repeatedly. Screaming it. I'm neither of those things, mind you. And why? Because I was trying to get him to clean up (because Mom told me to have the littles pick up for our "Halloween party") and be kind. That's it. But I was met with screaming because I unplugged the Firestick, because, y'know, he wasn't listening. And at some point, he went to his room so he couldn't hear me try to talk sense into him (which I was honestly grateful for, because I didn't wanna hear him anymore), so Kare finally got a TV turn (because Xan was hogging it all day). And he later came out, stole the remote, and changed her movie (Nimona) back into his stupid YouTube videos. And even better: I was also met with Mom being angry at me for unplugging the Firestick when she got home from buying Halloween candy! What does she expect me to do if he doesn't listen to me? Nothing, like she does? Excuse me, but I'm not a doormat, and I'll never be sorry about that. Seriously, though, what was I supposed to do? I'm not allowed to smack him, and I can't think of anything besides taking away the screens. He's ten by the way, and I used to say he sounds two when he screams, but no, I change that comparison to "insane." Might legitimately be a narcissist, but I have no way of warning his therapist. (And I'm still salty he has a therapist, which I've wanted for years.) I've told Mom to bring up narcissism with his therapist, but I'm pretty sure she hasn't. She wants to make it seem like our household is "normal" to the public, which is bullshit.

For a few years now, I've felt like the joy my mother has had on my birthday has been fake. On the day of, she's always acted like I'm such a blessing, and will make a Facebook or Instagram post with old pictures, talking about how much she loves me. Meanwhile, she has had no problem yelling at me on the 22nd and 24th. I'm pretty sure she doesn't even like me.

I don't know whether to be glad or disappointed that she has finally decided to stop being so fake.

[dzpenumbra]

8/4/23

I took the day off today. Okay, that's a lie. I tried to take the day off today.

The only work I did was to string the beads, knot between them and add a nifty slipknot to the end so the necklace is length adjustable. I decided to go with black hemp, the beads are a very deep blue that goes almost black along the edges. They don't have a perfect mirror buff to them, some of it seemed to fade a bit, but not nearly as much as the red ones did. I'm not really sure... why that's happening... but it's a thing. Instead of letting the beads sit for a few days to see how time and atmosphere affect their finish, I just strung them. And the final product looks pretty damn cool.

I like these jewelry pieces so much that I would wear any of them, and often do just sorta cycle through whatever catches my eye that day. I don't really think I'd have too much of a problem parting with them... as long as they go to good people... The trouble I have is, as always... how to price my shit.

In fact, the majority of my therapy session today was dedicated to how to price my shit. Which I just clearly really fucking blow at. Because I have dedicated so much of my life to putting value on things other than money and material possessions - like relationships and experiences. I keep calling it a "monastic approach to life". Like... I want nothing more than to just give my shit to people who love it, so they can have something special. Then I'm left fucking penniless and dependent on my shitty family's financial support. It fucking sucks.

My therapist was one of the first to get it himself, to connect the dots and go "man, you really were born a few centuries too late, weren't you?" And I just laughed and nodded. The first time I've ever heard that said by another person where I didn't have to lead them there. Hopefully we can follow up on that, maybe he has some ideas... because honestly? I really feel like most of my life problems would go away if I joined some kind of art community. Like some weird art collective living in studios with like a group kitchen and shit. Or at very least working as an art teaching assistant (or even a professor or guest speaker or something) and having the school take care of my food and board. Like... that would be fucking ideal. Well... the teaching would be less ideal because I'd have to learn how to teach and all that, with the art collective idea I could just really focus on my craft 24/7. I'm curious to see where that idea goes.

But yeah, pricing my shit... I have no idea what to charge for this necklace. This was a second attempt at this process. The red ones were the first, they came out okay. This was a 2.0 with the tung oil and it came out much better. I think it's one of my better pieces. So... here's what I'm not sure about. Since this is entirely hand-crafted. No power tools at all, the raw beads and hemp were sourced, but the rest of the process was entirely by hand. So I dyed them with 15 year old ink, coated them in an organic plant-based sealant, and sanded, waxed and strung by hand. These ones took me over a month. That said... I did have them on the backburner for a bit, but like... the tung oil alone takes 3 days to dry each coat. I put a tremendous amount of time, energy and labor into this piece, especially with the sanding. I don't really know how to convey that in like... an Etsy shop... in a way that doesn't sound gimmicky. And I really don't know what to set as a price point. $40? $80? $120? Where does it get ridiculous? Where do I get greedy? I just don't know. When, with art, the real answer is always "however much the person who must have it is willing to pay".

All that business talk just makes my brain freeze up and draw a blank. I really, honestly, really wish I didn't have to ever worry about that. Which is so alien in America. Most people are consumed with getting attention or making money - fame/fortune/success. And my only real metric for success has been... is the piece happy? Is my muse content? Is the piece where it needs to be? Does it feel complete enough to enter society? And if it does, I celebrate, and attempt to present it to society... and they summarily nod off and change the channel because they have the attention span of gnats and need to see actual crimes being committed in order to keep their attention more than 5 seconds.

So... my big problem is... I'd absolutely love to just make new pieces all day every day. Just new art projects all day long. And that's pretty much my life right now, which honestly... I'm very very lucky. Our society is simply not designed for that. And the only reason I can actually do this is because my deeply unsupportive family are tolerating it until I can support myself. Which is a very odd way of saying "we don't want to support you." Their goal in our relationship is to no longer support me in any capacity. Red flags, anyone? XD So yeah, that's scary enough. Plus, my rent just went up. And the cost of living is... utterly terrifying. So we're living in this super weird version of reality where I try to get a billing issue figured out with Comcast (Xfinity, whatever) and it is literally impossible to speak to a human. They literally do not hire human beings anymore. And, at the same time... it's impossible to be an artist without having another job... So... somehow... society is simultaneously eliminating human resource jobs... while also demanding you work a second career or else you starve to death. Shit is so fucked.

I don't even wanna go down that rabbithole, I know we're all feeling it, I don't even need to say it. Young people? Like... people a generation or two before my Millennial ass... just please do know that this is not normal, it's not reasonable, and you should absolutely be vocal about the situation we're all in right now.

Okay, mini-rant over. I was talking about... how setting my prices and valuing my time monetarily is a requirement in this society. And I'm so fucking bored of talking about this that I'm literally falling asleep. Ugh. Good lord, I'm depressed and trying to live a fulfilling life, can some fucking art supporters out there just like... magically appear and save me from this commercial hellscape? I really don't ask for much...

Welp... therapy today helped. Most of it, at least. We had to go over how I kinda freaked out when my former friend contacted me. And he kinda confirmed that the former friend is definitely acting sketchy. But the part about like... who the fuck do I talk to when I'm freaking out, and how can I get some perspective and grounding on important decisions I'm making... That's a really tough one. I mean this, when I was younger and had "friends" (or so I thought...) I really "didn't want to bother them" with my problems. I would just sorta keep it to myself and avoid things that I was too insecure about. I rarely got second opinions and missed a TON of opportunities because of it. The lesson I thought I was supposed to learn was - get a second pair of eyes on important decisions, but keep in mind the bias of the source. Essentially that I should not let my insecurity or "not wanting to bother" prevent me from taking big leaps in order to accomplish great things in my life.

It turns out... my self-protective insecurity... was unfortunately correct. And now... my brain kinda flails and doesn't know what to do in those times... and then starts slide-showing all the horrific nightmarish ways people I trusted and thought were there to support me had treated me like human garbage when I went to them with like... every day shit.

I even had my therapist say the word today, and it's still echoing in my head even this many hours later. "Gaslighting". And not in the new colloquial way people have kinda been misusing it, as a way of sorta referring to all kinds of manipulative behaviors... I mean classic Gaslighting. Literally convincing a person in extreme isolation who is detoxing alone off of benzodiazepines that he is losing his mind... as a way to justify not being supportive. Both family and "friends", my entire support network at the time, did this to me. It's so fucking hard to process how they can sleep at night.

So... without getting too deep into that, because I can already feel the emotions flooding back and my chest tensing up... When I need a second opinion on something - like a "former friend" showing up out of the blue and wanting to commission work that's not in my field, when I'm suspicious he might be trying to take advantage of me and get free work out of me - I now... often have trauma responses to that. Just the experience of needing help is a PTSD flashback. Fucked, right?

Why? Because I don't have anyone left in my life. It's just me and my therapist. That's it. And our relationship is strictly professional. So I feel absolutely horrible sending messages at a time like that, that's not really what a client-therapist relationship is for. But in some ways it is? Ugh, it just gets so fucking messy.

So... what I'm going to have to do is... just fucking Hail Mary all of those situations. Just sorta... live life without a second set of eyes on shit. Until I manage to make a good friend who is willing to fill that role. And here's the most fucked part.

The Hail Mary approach? That's what earned me the title of "crazy", "manic", "impulsive", "unstable", by my family and "friends". I'm really at the point where I might put family in quotes, too. Me "impulsively" reaching out to tons of people, trying to rebuild my life, coming up with tons of art plans... they viewed that as "crazy". So... they refused to offer me a second opinion based on their judgement that I was "crazy"... and their judgement that I was "crazy" was formed because I took leaps of faith and ambition without getting a second opinion! And they got so deep and hurt me so badly that I just turn into a fucking trembling leaf in the wind when I pull up a blank email to send to a former teacher to see if she is willing to mentor me, or needs an assistant, or if she could help me get integrated into the local art community.

My insecurity says I'm going to "overshare and overwhelm her with a novel, like I always do". My trauma says "you need to get a second opinion, but you'll get hurt if you get a second opinion. It's fire on both sides. You're fucked." All over a fucking cold-call email.

Have you ever stood on a skateboard? If you're brand new to it... the idea of rolling down a ramp on that thing seems like fucking suicide. Like, your knees are buckling and shaking and something inside you literally freezes you in your tracks and prevents you from going, because it thinks you're going to hurt yourself. I wrestle with that every time I skate, to varying degrees. Because, very often, that part of my brain is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

The more you gain experience (XP), the more reference material that part of your brain has access to in order to make that safety judgement. And a lot of consistent successes rolling down that ramp will build a sense of comfort and familiarity with it. The paralysis grip just sorta... vaporizes. And, eventually, it just becomes a natural part of what you do... to the point where you look at someone who is shaking and can't get themselves to roll down the bank... and you struggle to even remember what it was like to be in their shoes. What demon they're actively going up against.

Now... imagine you've conquered that. You can comfortably ride down that ramp, it's second nature to you now. And one summer... you run up and throw your board down and hop on and roll down the ramp and get shot with a fucking sniper rifle. And then when you recover, you go back and face that fear and do it again... and you get shot again. 5 times in a row, this happens. When it's not just hitting a pebble or slipping out... when it's like... losing half your front teeth or hitting your head and almost dying? (I used sniper rifle for dramatic effect, obviously) When it's something really traumatic... especially consistent repeated traumatic events... that shit fucking haunts you, man. It's next level. And I guess some people are just more susceptible to it than others? Idk.

That's a really tough nut for me to crack. The concept of "support". And the subsequent deep betrayal from those in a role that are supposed to have my back. That's a big part of where I'm stuck. And it leaves me in this fucked up place where I can't really get any perspective on big decisions I make in my life. And it leaves me feeling more alone than I've ever imagined I'd feel. Teenage-Loner-Me was a fucking joke compared to this.

It's scary. And it feels like... like it's always going to be like this? Like it's not okay for me to get a second opinion, or ask for help. And that message is... not coming from me, for once. It's coming from the outside. "Your goal is to get to the point where you don't depend on people for guidance in those moments". Really? Since when?

I guess the endgame is for me to be able to Hail Mary again. Like I used to back in college, when I was more emotionally detached and my anxiety was easier to manage. Like I did back in 2019, which spawned this wave of trauma in the first place. I guess the only way forward is to just... put my foot on the board and push, and trust that I know what I'm doing. That I'm not going to get hurt. That I'm not going to embarrass myself and alienate others and lose valuable opportunities that I desperately need.

I mean, when you put it that way... yeah. It kinda is the endgame. It would just be so much easier and less of a living nightmare if I just had one fucking person to like... be there for me to lessen the blow. In any capacity. Proofread a letter? Reassure me in the interim when they haven't immediately written back? -_-

Anyway, enough of that sad shit. Ugh.

I took the day off... ish... I mean this is clearly work. And therapy is work... analyzing this whole complex trauma thing was the very end of therapy, the rest was really good but was pretty overshadowed by this. I finished the necklace, it's awesome. I made a nice dinner and ate in my comfy chair and watched TV, I haven't done that in fucking ages. I watched a behind the scenes documentary from Star Wars Episode 1. It was really cool, I really liked it. And... it's been raining and thunderstorms all day so, yeah... that's about it. Just a quiet day full of nightmarish self-reflection, more labor than I was supposed to do, and a cool documentary.

But the day isn't quite over yet. So I think I'm gonna do some more yoga and take a bath or something. Spa day kinda deal. That could be nice. Maybe get to bed early.

I just wanna say this before I go, because I think it's really important. I often beat the shit out of myself and feel ashamed of my PTSD shit, and my anxiety problems. And that often takes the form of it being "my fault". Mea culpa. Like I just lack the willpower to push through that invisible force that cripples me. Like all of these things that haunt me, from years and years ago, it's "my fault" for holding on to them. I should just "let it go" and let the past be the past. And, in theory... yes... "let it go" is the answer, but... this is not the way. What I really need to keep reminding myself in those moments... is that... it's not my fault. Being a victim of other people, whatever the fuck logic they had to strike me at times when I was most vulnerable, and twist my own mind against me... being a victim was not my fault.

I've heard others refer to this as like... a form of self-forgiveness? But it's beyond that, right? Because... how can you forgive something that was never your fault? I guess we just don't have a word for that. So... it's easy to turn this into rage, or vengeance, or whatever... against the people who did do this. But that obviously doesn't fix anything, it just creates more problems, more suffering. And I think it's much healthier to just let the past be the past in that sense, and correctly allocate the fault off of my shoulders. So... to stop incorrectly blaming myself, to let their mistakes be theirs to learn from, and to try to move forward with that in mind.

I just say this because... I've started to notice that those moments where I flash back... when I try to push through it can often have a sorta chinese finger-trap effect. The more I push, the worse it gets. But if I just acknowledge that I'm feeling echoes from the past, and I decide to act like a fucking friend to myself and say "it wasn't your fault, they were assholes"... it can do really surprising things. Kinda like a yoga thing, where you struggle to get into a pose because you're gripping too hard without knowing you are... so the way to push further into the pose is to... counterintuitively... relax?! Supine Twist comes to mind, for me. I got quite a bit out of it at first, but once I cued in to the idea of getting in position and then on an exhale just letting my body go limp and have my body weight do the stretch for me? It was a game changer.

So yeah, I just thought that was important, since I've been talking PTSD a lot here tonight. On that note, off to do yoga before bed. XD

[yumikitten]

When they want to ask you to move in together.

Character(s): Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou

Genre: tooth-rotting fluff

Notes: really just had a thought and needed it written like yesterday

Bakugou

You lived separately because you'd only been together for about a year, and though you were at his place a lot or vice versa, the conversation hadn't come up yet. You were waiting for him to bring it up so as not to sound needy, and he was waiting for you because he sure as shit wouldn't want to make you feel like you had to. His way of words was still something he was working on, but it was high time that you lived together. You had your shit at his place, he had shit ar yours; at this point all of your collective shit should be in one area.

You were out walking with him in your neighborhood when he pulled you aside and asked, "Arent you fucking tired of this neighborhood yet?"

Taken aback, you asked, "What do you mean? I love this neighborhood!" And though he knee he could be wording this a hell of a lot better, he kept going with what was on his mind instead of thinking things through.

"You don't think you should maybe move, or something?" His tongue clicked, growing mildly frustrated with himself for not speaking properly when he knew what he wanted plain as day.

"To where? My apartment is reasonably priced, it's a fair distance from school..." You listed off numerous reasons as to why you still stayed where you were, but he was growing more heated with each mark on your list. "It's a good neighborhood, too. Super safe."

"I didn't hear not one thing on that damn list about me." He glared, hoping you'd see the error in your words and understand what he was saying. Fuck, he needed you to understand so he didn't keep feeling humiliated.

"What about you? You practically live with me! You're here all the time!" You retorted hotly, but that just gave him reason to explode.

"That's my fucking point, babe! I practically live with you. You don't maybe think that I should just be living with you?! Do I gotta spell it out for you?!" His hands raised above his head, realizing he was yelling in the middle of a park where kids were still playing at.

Your mind went blank for a second before you finally understood what he was talking about. "You...want to live together? Really?" The blush on his cheeks were enough to confirm an answer. "Why didn't you just ask like a normal person?"

"Why did it take you so damn long to get what I was saying? Besides that, do you not think we're ready for that step? You said it yourself, I practically live with you, babe. I think it's fucking time."

Honestly, he was being really cute right now, brows furrowed with his glance at anywhere but you. His outburst caused a few stares, and he was getting embarrassed. "Ask nicely and maybe we can look at places then."

"Fuck that shit. I'm making an executive decision. We're packing your shit up as soon as we get back." He scolded, though it wasn't in any kind of anger. You knew he was just as happy about it as you were without the normal human emotion to go along with it.

"Okay my love, that sounds perfect to me." Standing on your tip toes, you kissed him before he could cause another scene that would get you kicked out of the park.

Kirishima

You and Kiri had been together about eight months when he realized you were at his apartment more frequently than your own. His lease was coming up to and end, and though he'd loved the location and overall layout of it, he would much rather live with you than re-up. Which is why he had taken you to dinner so as to ask in a cute way.

"So, my lease is up in about a month. What do you think I should do?" He asked you as your eyes scanned the menu.

You set the menu down and thought about his question. "Well, the view from your balcony is really pretty, and you have some nice enough neighbors as long as you aren't loud or anything."

His shoulders slumped at your reply, but he wasn't about to lose hope. "All very good reasons to keep it, but you don't maybe think there's a good reason not to?" The red head prodded, looking into your eyes which were focused.

"Your kitchen is a bit small, but it isn't like you don't normally eat at my house anyway. But I don't really think there's a reason not to." Shrugging, the waiter came to take your orders, Kiri quick with his so he could continue his slew of questions.

"A really fair point to not keep it; really only one of these places is being used more." He paused, hoping you'd get it. When a light started shining in your eyes, he knew you got it quickly.

"Oh! Are you wanting to move in together?" When he nodded, you continued to blush profusely. "I mean, if that's the case, there really isn't any reason to re-up, is there? You can move in with me till mine is up, and then we can find a place of our own. How does that sound?" Now that he got you thinking, your mind was going over every detail of a plan that had hardly started forming. Honestly, he was just excited that you were as joyous as he was at the idea. You hadn't been together long, but you both felt that it was time to take that next step in your relationship.

[animesugar]

ur obsessed

NSFW// under 18 and ageless DNI

college au, asshole!jean, fem bodied reader

cw// unprotected sex, creampie, power play (but everybody's into it) hatefucking kind of, there's nothing crazy in here but pls lmk if i missed anything

i am down bad for this man and also a good enemies to lovers arc. also this is my first one of these so pls enjoy, it's a little slow angst in the beginning but she picks up don't you worry.

what a stupid smirk. you hated the motherfucker staring at you from across the quad that was doing his best to get a rise out of you, and you had ever since his stupid undercut walked into your freshman dorm as a mid semester transfer 3 years ago. He was a prick through and through, but the kind that a less perceptive person would dismiss as charming, so he got away with it. Always 3 stops past the cutoff between funny and mean, he jaunted around campus like a king, surrounded by a mostly constant gaggle of equally-dickish (but admittedly not as clever) boys and a few token brunettes. You weren’t really sure what had made him single you out that first day to get picked on, and it wasn’t really anything obnoxious. Maybe you just weren’t in the mood to be toyed with. Maybe you didn’t want him to think you were buying into the bit. Either way, rolling your eyes and shoving his bigass head out of your face before he even got a chance to bug you at point blank range had made you antagonist number one in his eyes ever since. For three years, Kirstein comma Jean had been like a single fruit fly that just wouldn't die, buzzing around just enough to never anticipate it but to always be infuriated when it came. Sometimes, it was holding the door just long enough for you to be hit with it when he let go. Sometimes, he would spill your drink at the bar under the auspice of grinding on the girl next to you. Sometimes, it was making sure you never got to keep the same seat in any of the classes you had together, taking whatever desk you seemed to have claimed. Your only form of communication with the enemy was a morse code of eye rolls and scoffs, because you weren't even sure if the ashy-blonde beast could understand human language, so why bother. But this strategy backfired because why would anyone believe that someone who you never talk to is actually antagonizing you on purpose. He’s just popular, your friends would say, so he’s kind of in everyone’s way. He’s just everywhere all the time, it’s not personal. And honestly, they would jeer, you’ve made it clear to him to leave well enough alone. And that was true. Jean certainly wasn’t in any shortage of willing victims for his games. Most girls knew that they had a 6 in 10 shot of the taunting turning into something a little more satisfying, and the rumor was that his after hours performances were worth the price of admission. Anyway, Jean’s grating presence had been a constant in the campus ecology since that fucker stepped foot in your freshmen hall, and while you definitely thought about it a lot, your conclusion was that he was just a cocky, conceited, always-cons-his-way, asshole, and so you had long since squashed any ember of desire to be one of the stupid girls in his bed that played the game.

But then, a few weeks ago, some friends asked you if the rumor was true. You watched their faces twist into a smirk as they interpreted your confused look for feigned innocence. Oh c.mon, Jean!! they drew that little fuck’s name out in a mocking tone, I heard you two fucked in the middle of the quad last night. huh?? Wait, I thought it was the quad last saturday and the back hallway of the student center last night!! What?? Your friends are howling laughing, thinking its just toooo good that you finally broke what they saw as obvious sexual tension. Flustered and beet red, you dart your head around, worried someone else heard these accusations. But then again, after a second you thought your friends were just fucking with you. They had long since decided that the running joke would be you and Jean ever getting together, so you started to relax and felt the blood leave your flushed cheeks as you waited for them to get to the punchline.

Except there wasn’t one.

Well, not for you, anyway. 

Your friends watched the look on your face settle and in turn their eyes widened. Wait, so it’s true? they ask, taking your trust in their comedic timing as a proud guilty plea. “What, no,” you say, “of course not! You guys are just fucking around right? Thats hilarious, me fucking somebody out in the open, let alone him.” You laugh through your sentence and your friends' faces grow apprehensive. uhh, no, we actually heard that from Jean...

“What. what do you mean”

They eyed each other then looked back to you.

“What do you mean Jean told you that”

I mean...  he’s been bragging to everyone about it.

Your head whips back around to the little fuck across the quad that is now starting to walk towards you, raking four lanky fingers through his hair. Goddamn it. holy fuck you hate him. He’s so so just........

What’s a matter?? ask him yourself! They all laughed and started to gather their things, a gesture that on the surface was polite but really they just wanted to watch you confront him with no out. 

As he strode up to the blanket you’d been sunbathing on all afternoon, you finally allowed him the satisfaction of a glance, trying desperately to telepathically tell him that you know his little game and he won’t get his way with you.  You wont get bothered, in fact he can say whatever he likes. You are not stupid enough to be so smitten by an idiot. But, when he dropped down to eye level with you, meeting your glare with a cutting pull at the corner of his mouth, the realization that none of those thoughts had actually reached him hits you.

You roll your eyes, an expected next step in your litany of attempted communication with the enemy, and as you started to get, Jean grabs your forearm with a big hand.

“What, now you’re embarrassed to be here with me? From what I hear it should take a lot more than some spectators to pry you away from me.”

He breaks into a full grin and chuckles to himself, so so pleased with his little joke. 

“Fuck right off, Jean, it’s so embarrassing for you that you’re trying to tell people that.” His face softens a bit but the bite is still there, “Anyway, I would never even dream of fucking you, let alone with potential witnesses.” You yank your arm out of his grasp and stand up, gathering your bag and laptop in a swift motion. Turning, you bend down to grab a fistful of the blanket he’s still pinning down, “Get off my fucking blanket, asshole” you hiss. He chuckles and obliges, standing up and cocking his head to the side, “oh, you’re angrier than I thought you’d be. Well, remember, the number one rule to not getting caught is never return to the scene of the crime, but unfortunately for us,” he looks around and spreads his arms in a sweeping gesture, “we’ve just incriminated ourselves and our actions last saturday.” His grin creeps back full-force as he drops his arms back to his sides. You can only scoff and turn away, making your way back home to the dorms. God, you hate him, you think to yourself. You also hate that his voice is stuck in your head now, and you’re kicking yourself for lingering a little too long on the thought that actually, this is the first time you’ve had a conversation with him.

Over the next week or so the rumors still swirled, but since he had been such a predictable prick to you that day in the quad, you decide to fight fire with fire. Protesting and denying will only make things worse, you reason. Jean was such a manwhore that it was universally and absolutely less likely that he hadn’t slept with someone than that he had, so denying this would be working against the current. No, you think to yourself, I’ll use some leverage. 

Which is how you had decided to start telling anyone who would lend an ear that yes, in fact, you had fucked Jean. And he was terrible. My god, he was the worst fuck you’d had in your life. Was it small they’d ask? And not one to give into the cheap shot, you would assure them that no, it was worse than that. It was long enough, but skinny, and he had no idea how to use it. He fucked like the only porn he watches is women taping hairbrushes to broken washing machines, you told them.

Finally feeling like you had gotten the one up on this little fuck, you spent the next few days happily applying all of the worst hook-up stories you or your friends had to Mr. Kirstein, relishing even more that the risk of vulnerability you had taken was paying off. 

Finishing up a group project in class the next day, you start to pack your things as you put the final details on a new tidbit of Jean’s apparent failings for your group partners.

"Oh yeah," you said, "he was biting at my leg for 10 minutes, apparently he thought I was telling him to stop and move because i was cumming. That motherfucker couldn’t find a clit if it took him by the hand."

Laughing to themselves, your group partners shuffled out with the rest of the class. You had stayed back for a minute to finish an email to the TA, and as you look up to shut your laptop, you see a large, lanky hand shutting it for you.

“So, this is the game we’re playing?” a voice questions from above.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’ve just been hearing rumors,” You say in a coy taunt. “Anyway, I need to go, so if you’d please unhand my things I’d really appreciate it.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re in on it now, let’s workshop some stories together,” Jean says through a shit-eating grin as he replaces your computer with his ass on your desk, “I think we would make a better team than you seem to suggest.”

“Hmm..” you muse, pantomiming deep thought, then turning to him with a glare “Thanks, this actually has given me some ideas. I think i’ll start telling them that you begged like a dog for it. Yeah, I think thats the cherry on top. I can hear the gossip now, ‘Jean Kirstein begs to disappoint.’ Oh yeah, I think thats great.’ You chuckle to yourself as you go to zip your backpack when you feel his hand grab your shoulder.

“Do you really think I’d beg?”

It catches you off guard. the motion, the tone, everything about what Jean just did was loaded. Was this a trick to get you to look like the beggar? Was he actually mad? No, you thought, this felt.....

no, you shook the thought. It didn't matter if it was genuine. It didn't matter if he really wanted to beg you, here and now, to let him fuck you. He was awful, you knew that. You could never forgive yourself for succumbing to him. So you wouldn’t.

“Yeah, actually. I think you’re such a pathetic shell of a man that you would beg. And why wouldn’t I think that? You beg for every scrap of attention anyone gives you.”

He pushes you back, squaring your shoulders off to him as he situates himself on the desk sitting directly in front of you. Your shoulders between his knees, he leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs, long fingers dangling loosely and grazing your chest.

“I do? You think I beg?’ he asks softly.

Fuck. You sat as still as you could, focusing on steadying your breath and not showing the flush that had just swelled through your cheeks. Staring straight ahead into his abdomen to avoid eye contact, you feel fingertips gently but firmly pushing your forehead back, forcing you to look up at him. Fuck, he’s not letting me hide you think. Goddamnit, this was hot.

But you can’t give up the game. You can’t let him think he’s won.

“God, you fuckin perv. Of course you have to beg. Who would fuck you of their own accord?”

His fingertips fall back down between his knees. He hums then sucks his teeth, “Oh c’mon baby, dont be so mean-”

“Baby?? who the fuck are you calling baby you pretentious little fuck?” you bark at him. The rage you felt towards him had suddenly reappeared in you kind, clearing the fog that his soft touch had created. “Goddamn, I literally can’t even believe you’re trying this right now. Do you really think this is a tease game or something? God, you’re not only horrible in theory, you’re pathetic in person, And that's fucking worse.”

You bite your tongue at that last word. Damn, you really hated him but you didn’t want to stoop to his level and just be fuckin’ mean. The way his face was draining of color made you think you took it too far, and your posture softened, bracing to apologize-

“Say it again”

what? you're speechless for a beat.

“What?”

His pupils start to dilate just enough to notice, and his breath is a little shakey when he asks, “Call me pathetic again, y/n, and maybe i will beg you for it, is that what you want?”

You aren’t sure if he's teasing or begging, but that confusion is allowing the wall that you had pent up any and all desire for him behind to come crashing down. God, he’s terrible, but... You decide to play along like he’s begging, refusing to give him the win of being in control here. Well, thats what you tell yourself, you're honestly so confused about the dynamics in play that your head is spinning. Which is how you got into this situation anyway.

“Yeah, beg for it you pathetic, disgusting fuck. Look at you, panting and pale just from the thought that maybe you’ll cop a feel.”

Something in your mind flips again and all of the rage and annoyances from the last three years flood back to your brain. You hated him. You hated him so so much. He was so mean to you and so obnoxious and everybody loved him and you didn’t get it. And now, you're face to face with your enemy, hurling insults like a firing squad and he's just... taking it.

“y/n, do you really hate me?”

“Yes”

“Fuck” he groans, leaning back on his hands. Now that he wasn’t hunched over, you get a better view of the raging hard on barely contained under his sweats. “You really think about me that much, baby? Enough to hate me?” He stares at the ceiling in deep thought for a moment, then leans back in. “Well I guess that means I was doing something right.” He comes closer to your face and traces your jaw with his thumb, pushing your head slightly to the side. Feeling his hot breath on your ear he whispers, “I guess I will have to beg then, since you hate me so much. Will you let me do that, y/n, will you let me beg?”

Your face is hot and tingling from his touch. It would be so easy to just get up and leave him bothered and embarrassed, and isn’t that what you wanted? It was, you mused, but right now? In this moment, all you want is for him to beg you to let him fuck your brains out. You hate yourself for it, too, are you really that horny that even Jean is making the cut? Or, more horrifyingly, is he actually turning you on? Your internal struggle is cut short by the soft feeling of his teeth grazing your earlobe, and with that your fate is sealed.

“Yes, yes you can beg me for it, Jean” You utter.

With those words, his thumb falls from your jaw down your throat, his fingers following suit and delicately draping themselves on the other side of your neck. He takes a sharp breath, "Please y/n, can i kiss you right here? Please let me, y/n I can barely stand it"

Shuddering and resenting the goosebumps that have trailed his touch, you nod, stifling a whimper. You know that the second you vocalize a response, your lust will be betrayed and he'll know he's won. So you sit there stoically as he runs his lips down your neck, taking in your scent and groaning to himself before he steadies the gentle grip on your neck and lands a soft kiss just below your ear. He continues these little flutters, just the soft touch of his lips and tongue, all the way to your collarbone, where he realizes he's reached the boundary of his request. He drags his lips back up to your ear, and between kisses begs again.

"Please, can I please use my hands y/n? I gotta know if you feel as good as i think, i'm begging you."

The begging is driving you crazy. He looks up at you with half lidded eyes that plead even more desperately than his words.

"Where do you want to use your hands, Jean? Surely you don't think you've begged enough to get anywhere near my cunt, right?" you sneer down at him, putting on your best front and trying to sell that you aren't also aching for him at this point.

He gives you a pathetic look, almost like he's about to cry, and starts to kiss your neck again. "i just need to feel your tits, y/n, i need to taste them, ple-"

you grab a fistful of his hair and make him face you. "Oh, taste? you need to need to be more specific about your requests Jean, you only asked me to use your hands. Why do you deserve to use your mouth anymore, asshole?" The pounding heat growing between your legs is giving you newfound confidence in your harsh words. Fuck, this is so hot, he is so, so hot groveling for you. Was this really the payback for years of torment? No, he's clearly getting off on this too. You saw his dick twitch under the sweats when you grabbed his hair. No this isn't payback this is... this is some sort of sick hatefuck. At least for you. Probably.

"Fuck, baby you're right i don't. I won't push my luck again y/n I can't risk it. Can i just touch them, please?" He whimpers. Releasing the grip on his hair you say yes, and with that he moves from the desk he's been sitting on down to his knees. He pulls you the the edge of your seat by your waist with strong arms. Slipping his hands underneath your shirt you feel that the trail of goosebumps continues to follow his touch down your back then up your stomach. He stops kissing the crook of your neck and lets his breath collect where his lips once were as he unhooks the fasten of your bra, letting it fall slack gently and pulling his hands back to your now exposed chest.

He runs his thumbs over your painfully hard nipples with a look of ecstasy on his face. You can feel that you’ve already soaked through your underwear and he’s barely touched you, Fool, you scolded yourself. I'm a fool for him right now. Your hands instinctively run up his arms, then neck, then through his hair, anchoring themselves there as you pull him closer. “Please” he whimpers, “Please can i kiss them”

“Ye- yes” You breath out, lifting your arms for him as he guides your shirt over your head. With one in his hand and the other in his mouth, he takes your nipple in his teeth and sucks. He circles the other with his thumb, keeping it just as hard as the one he’s moaning into. You cradle his head close to your body, lost in the warm bliss you had been denying yourself all these years. 

“Fuck, baby, they’re so much better than I even imagined” he switches his hand and mouth

“oh, so you’ve imagined this, Jean?”

“mhm” he mumbles into a facefull of tit. He comes up for air, “Fuck, I have imagined taking you every way possible. I need to, baby, please. You’re the only one who makes me beg for you. For your attention, your time, your body. Fuck baby please let me, please.” He’s whining now, looking up at you with pleading eyes and running his hands all down your sides and up your back. That last ‘please’ makes your eyes roll back into your head as your knees spread involuntarily. But you couldn’t give up just yet.

“what exactly are you begging for Jean? You need to- to use your words” You choke out, stifling a moan from his big hands coming back up to your tits like they belonged there.

“Your pussy, baby, fuck I can see how soaked you are through your clothes. I need to play with it, to taste it, worship it, fill it. Fuck y/n please” He really looks like he might cry if you deny him, and the ache in your cunt is driving you to grind your hips against your chair. “please, baby, can I lick it for you? I know you wanna cum, I wanna make you cum baby. Can I please?”

All you can do is nod

He kisses down from your sternum to your stomach and finally the waistband of your pants. “I need you to stand up for me baby. I’m sorry to even ask more of you, but I just need you to help me so I can make you feel good.” He lifts your hips up like he’s helping you to your feet, and once upright he starts fingering the button of your jeans. As he undoes it and pulls down the zipper, a little whimper leaves your lips and draws a breathy chuckle out of him. Fuck, if this is a game, he’s winning you think. Shit.

But you can’t know how close to heaven this is for Jean. God, the thrill of a three year chase, culminating in this. You’re so perfect, so soft to the touch, and so mean when you want to be. He just wanted to prove to you that those things you said about him being a bad fuck weren’t true. He needed you to know that no one could make you feel like he could. And how could they? No one else has been able to keep your attention for as long as he has. He didn’t know why you still let him get a rise out of you, but he was constantly chasing that little rush he got whenever you would spare him a cutting look, eyes like daggers tracing down his skin. You were tantalizing, and you made it so much worse by never playing along. He had to earn your cooperation in his game. And he intended to do just that, fuck, he needed to.

He looks right in front of him to your now naked pussy, having taken off your soaked-through panties with your jeans. Big hands on your ass, he tilts his head up to you, “Thank you, baby, you’re too good to me. Please sit down now y/n, let me make you cum.”

You oblige, knees spread while you lean back into the chair, letting your dripping cunt hang from the edge, ready for Jean’s touch. With one hand on your inner thigh and the other gripping your waist he brought his mouth to your pussy, licking up and down, sprinkling kisses in between to keep you on edge. Dragging his tongue from your ass to your clit, he starts to suck on it and elicits a sharp whine out of you. Already starting to get close, you gasp again when you feel two long, rough fingers tease your hole. 

“Can I please feel it, y/n?” He mutters, basically inaudible because he’s kind of just asking your cunt. 

“Fuck, yes, Jean, just put them in. You taunt me enough anyway, you don’t need to be such a tease,” you huff, rolling your eyes in mock annoyance, a last ditch effort to convince him you need him to beg.

With that, He looks up at you with an evil glint in his eye and buries his fingers in your pussy, curling them up once he’s as deep as he can get to find the spot that will make you yelp. Hearing that he found it, he starts finger fucking you, stroking that little spot every few thrusts. God, he’s gonna make me cum, you think to yourself. But you don’t wanna just cum on his fingers. You wanna cum on his cock. You need to have it in you, especially if it’s anything like you’ve been imagining since you saw the dick print earlier. 

“Please cum for me, y/n, im begging you. I really need to feel you cum on my fingers, fuck.” He pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in.

“Fuck, you’re so so tight."

Out and back in.

“I just need you to cum for me please.”

Out and back in.

“Could you do that? Because I need to fuck you and I need to get you ready for my cock.” He’s whining his pleads over the lewd sound of your wet cunt, and as he’s begging to bury his dick in you he pushes you over the edge. Feeling that you’ve given in to his request as your walls push his fingers out, he stands over you and lifts you up by the waist.

“Fuck, baby, your pussy’s so good and i haven’t even put my dick in yet,” he moans into your ear. “Can I, please? I know I can make you feel even better than you do right now if I can use it. Can I use my cock, y/k?”

“Yes, yes Jean fuck you can use your cock. You can use it however you want” you say, panting. With that, he leans down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself and also letting you realize you haven’t actually kissed him yet. He guides you to the wall, pinning your back against it with his hips and pressing his forearm next to your head. Greedy kisses travel from your mouth and down your neck, interrupted only for him to mutter, “Y/n? can you please pull it out? I wanna feel you hold it.”

“Mhm,” you nod shakily, still recovering from the orgasm. You trace your fingers down his toned stomach to his waistband. Hooking a finger underneath, you pull the elastic out and down, grazing his hard cock as you guide the sweats down his hips. holy shit, he’s big, you realize as you take it in your hand, squeezing a little. 

“Fuck, y/n” he pushed his hips back into you. “Fuck can i put it in?”

“Mhm” you squeak.

He takes his dick out of your hand and into his, guiding it along your soaked pussy before he lines up the tip with your still throbbing hole. Holding it there, he hooks his other arm under your knee, lifting your leg and giving him unobstructed access to the cunt that he's been drunk on the thought of since he sat down on your desk.

You gasp when he pushes in, only the tip at first but, fuck, its enough to make you scream. 

“please, Jean, please all the way” 

“Shh,” he coos from the crook of your neck, “Pussy’s so good and tight, I gotta work my way in.” He says, rolling his hips into you one, two, three, more times until finally you feel his full length. Your hands tangled in his hair, all you can think about is how fucking good he’s stretching you out with his fat cock. Just like he did with his fingers, he pulls his dick all the way out of you before rewarding your soaked hole with a hard thrust back in. Over and over and over. You start to grind your hips into his, greedy for more as you let him wash over your senses.

“Please jean, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum again” you cry.

“Oh, now you’re the one begging, huh?” he’s fucking you like he’s made for you, every thrust more intoxicating than the last as he holds you up against the wall. You’re basically a ragdoll at this point, putty in his hands and he knows it, but he’s just so, so high off your fucked out face, blubbering his name while he strokes your starving pussy.

God, you’re even better than he ever imagined. He could keep this up for hours, a constant back and forth of his begging for you and your begging for him. He keeps his dick deep inside and flexes it, resting his face back in the crook of your neck and feeling you shiver at that little move. 

“God, I could fuck this pussy all day, y/n. Did you know how good you feel? You knew what you were keeping from me, huh? Goddamn” His tone isn’t begging anymore, you notice. It’s dominant and in control, but still just as infatuated with you. Which is just as well, because you don’t have the sense anymore to keep up the facade of needing him to beg. God, all you wanted was for him to use you like this for hours. You had already won, he had to beg to get here. You were just fine to surrender now, and fuck did surrender feel good.

“I want you to fuck me however you want, Jean,” you barely string the sentence together. At that, the evil little glint returns. He lifts you off his cock and bends you over a desk. Expecting his dick again you gasp when its his tongue, stroking the length of your cunt then fucking it. His fingers find your finally-recovered clit and coax another orgasm out of you. Hearing your desperate panting, he grabs your hips and shoves himself back inside.

"I know, baby, it hits all the right places huh?" he groans, "Fuck" He propped his knee on the desk you were sprawled over for better leverage, getting deeper than you thought anyone could. You feel a bite behind your ear and hear him pant through another sting of profanities. He's definitely getting close- his hips start to go crazy thrusting into you wild wild abandon. "oh fuck, jean please, please cum right there!" you beg as he rams into you over and over.

His pace slows as his words start to regain a hint of whine. "yeah?" he says "you gonna let me fill you up, y/n? i fucked you good enough that you'll let me do that?"

"y-yes, ill let you, Jean, you can fill me, you e-earned it" His dick was taking such soft strokes in and out of your sensitive pussy, and you feel him flex inside you again. "ah, fuck, jean-" you couldn't even finish your exclamation as two fingers suddenly found their way into your mouth while you felt your cunt get filled.

"you like getting two holes full? hmm? maybe next time ill fill all three for you" He slides out of your stretched hole and pulls you back to sit on his lap. Looking up at him, feeling his cum leak out of you, you can't believe you ever denied yourself this. But, you were glad that you made the man who was giving you a stupid, pussy drunk smirk beg for it.

[waddlebouncefloof]

Leviathantale Mermay 2022 Days 8-9: Leviathan, Seafoam

Summary: As an impossible being made from seafoam, Reaper never knew that he would be capable of creating life.

Unlike his mate, Reaper never tumbled out of a womb. Nor did he hatch from an egg. His beginning came when his creators spun him into existence from seafoam. Though he was the second to be created - that honor was Ink’s - Reaper was the first to be created with a soul. 

His creation went against all nature. Honestly, all of the Leviathans were impossibilities turned into the possible. But hey, Sans and Papyrus had always been miracle-workers. All mer and selkie kind exists because of them. 

But miracles always had a price and Reaper thought the price was that, as a Leviathan, he would never be able to have children. 

He was wrong.

The appearance of Tenpatch and Palette Roller completely flipped Reaper’s beliefs on its head. And then, suddenly, creating children - on his own - became a possibility. As a being who spread ice, decomposition, and death, the ability to make life was something Reaper secretly envied about mortals.

After talking about it with Geno in length, they decided that it was time to give Blank a little sibling. They started to try conceiving. While a little disappointed that the first attempt didn’t work, Reaper knew that things like this took time and luck and stayed hopeful. After the fourth attempt, he grew worried. After the sixth, he was distraught. 

“Well, that’s that,” Geno had sighed after the seventh failed attempt. “It might be you. It might be me. It might be both of us. It might be because there isn’t some ancient mage performing a fertility ritual.”

At this point, Reaper was resigned, so he agreed. Eventually, the sting of disappointment and grief was pushed back in favor of focusing on Blank. Perhaps they could look to adopt other orphaned selkies and mers after the thought of children didn’t sting so much. 

Then, on Blank’s twelfth birthday adventure, Geno got injured. Thankfully, it wasn’t life-threatening and Blank was able to heal the worst of it with healing magic. They might’ve overcompensated a little in their panic, but Geno was safe.

Not even a month later, the couple discovered that Geno was pregnant.

When the disbelief wore off, Reaper was over the moon. He doted on his mate as Geno grew rounder and rounder and made plans for the new baby. He broke out some of Blank’s baby clothes and prepared new space for the baby. 

“I can’t wait to meet our Blubber baby~!” Reaper sings happily as he feels Geno’s baby bump for the thousandth time. 

“Reaper, don’t call the baby that.”

“Blubber baby!” Blank chimes in with a mischievous grin. “Poofy baby! Roly-Poly baby!”

Geno gives them both an unamused look. He doesn’t stay grumpy with Blank, of course, but Reaper would later have to give him two freshly-caught penguins to gain forgiveness. 

The baby is due soon and Reaper just can’t wait.

“Do you ever think that new baby is going to be loved more than you?”

And then Chara asks the question over a video call with Blank that sends Reaper reeling after accidentally overhearing. It’s a concern he’d never thought to address since he was confident Blank knew how much they’re loved. 

They seem happy about the baby. They adore Palette Roller and Tenpatch and they’ve been begging for a younger sibling for forever, but what if they changed their mind? What if they felt neglected and replaced?

“Of course the baby’s going to be loved more than me.” Reaper’s breath catches at the matter-of-fact tone that Blank uses. No. No. That isn’t true at all! Before he could intervene, however, Blank continues to speak. “Because I’m going to give the baby a lot of love too! That makes one more person! Silly Chara.”

For a moment, both Reaper and Chara are stunned into silence before the young selkie bursts into laughter. “Yeah, I am pretty silly.”

Reaper sags with relief and smiles at himself as he hears Blank chatter about the baby and the things they plan to share with the pup. 

“It’s going to be great!” They conclude with so much confidence that it must be true.

And it is. 

When Reaper finally meets his son, he chokes up, completely overwhelmed, as he holds the wiggling selkie pup. It - he - barks and bites him. Just like his Mama. 

“Hi baby,” Reaper says softly, cradling the baby and kissing his nose. “Hi, Goth. You’re finally here. We’ve been waiting for you.”

---------------------------------------------

Notes:

As promised, Goth is here! Blank is happily an older sibling to an adorable brother! While he’s born as a Leopard Seal selkie like his Mama, Goth’s parentage makes his pelt…unique. He can pretty much turn it inside-out and become an orca mer like his Papa. Shape-shifting siblings! Goth plays a lot with Palette Roller and Tenpatch when he grows big enough.

Blank, holding a baby Goth: I’m going to teach you how to play fun games and how to swim on your own and how to properly beg milk off of Mama and -

Geno: Now wait a minute.

Reaper, to Goth: I will make sure that you won’t fall in love too early like your sibling did. Deciding your life partner at the tender age of two is too young. But you’ll be fine.

Palette Roller: (exists)

Goth when an orca tries to eat him: Hold up. (Turns his pelt inside-out and becomes an orca mer)

Orca: shooketh

Blank: (leading a conga line of babies as they babysit their siblings/cousins)

[platoniclokiimagines]

i love your blog so much! i’ve been thinking, what kind of things do you think loki would do with his bestie?? like would they paint, maybe shop? (if you have smth that’s similar to this then feel free to ignore it LMAO)

honestly what Wouldn’t you do once you and Loki are close?

granted, it does take a While to get to that level of trust

and to really be able to just Relax around each other and let your guards down

but once you do get to that point?

hoo boy

you two would do almost Everything together

mornings? you’re both drinking tea and judging everyone’s outfits as they come in to get breakfast

“I see the spiderling is wearing the same kitten pajama pants yet again.” “To be fair, I think Tony got them for him. But I concur, doesn’t he have literally anything else to wear?” “And here comes Thor, hair a rat’s nest, as per the norm.” “We live with the most powerful beings on the planet and there’s hardly a lick of fashion sense between any of them. Shame.” “Y/N, I completely agree.”

in fact, pretty much all of your time at the compound is spent together

reading, sparring, going over game plans for missions, all of it you do together

even the mundane things such as chores like doing the dishes or laundry duty, you both end up working on it together

mostly because the two of you are inseparable anyway

and also a little bit because everyone else on the team is a little Too intimidated by Loki to actually try to separate the two of you

your free time away from the compound is also spent together

you go on “outings,” as you like to call them

since Loki’s still pretty new to Earth culture, you’ve taken it upon yourself to introduce them to all your favorite places and things

sometimes you set aside days to be complete tourists

seeing the Statue of Liberty, riding the ferry, getting pizza in Times Square

you even convince them to go see Wicked on Broadway

after which, Loki was adamant about seeing as many plays and musicals as they could get to, dramatic theatre kid that they are

and the sight of them completely enthralled by the shows always makes you smile, anyway, so how could you ever say no?

you take them to all your favorite little hidden gems

the coffee place on seventh street that you adore because it’s always empty in the evenings

the corner of Central Park where there are no joggers or scammers selling photocopies of artwork at outrageous prices

you even take them to the ironically-named Valhalla Bar, which you frequented long before you ever knew any of the Asgardians

you’ll never forget the one time they got absolutely shit-faced on a single pint of beer

“Isn’t Asgardian liquor supposed to be, like... really strong?” “Yes, well, I’m not Asgardian, so.” “...doesn’t that mean Asgardian liquor should have made you this shit-faced, too, if not more?” “................I don’t know right now.”

you also end up with Loki participating in a lot of your personal hobbies, as well

your photography, your drawing, your painting, whatever it is that you do for fun, Loki ends up at least trying

you let them hold your Good(tm) camera and show them how to aim and how to use the grid to center photos

most of them come out a little blurry and off-centered, but you had fun doing goofy poses from them anyway

you get Loki a blank canvas to work with while you’re doing your own painting, and try not to get jealous that painting comes so naturally to them

“How are you so good at that? Have you painted before?” “No. Just lucky, I guess.” “Mm.” “Why, are you jealous?” “No.” “Y/N.” “I’m not.” “Y/N.” “I’m not.” “...” “...okay maybe just a little bit. Look at how you blended those colors together so perfectly. It took me months to perfect that.”

errands? also done together

when it’s your turn to buy groceries for the compound, Loki always tags along

and throws things in the carts that absolutely No One in the compound wants or needs

“Loki, nobody even has a cat at the compound, why would we need catnip?” “I mean, we could put some around T’Challa and see what happens.” “...” “Don’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious.” “...maybe just a little.”

all in all, the two of you are absolutely inseparable

practically joined at the hip

when one of you is sad, the other is doing everything in their power to help you feel better

bringing tea or a favorite book or queuing up dumb TikTok compilations on YouTube

your each other’s wingmen

gassing each other up when you have dates, making sure you’ve got everything you need for when you’re going out

waiting up at night to make sure that the other got home safe

even though you’re both Literal Avengers and know how to handle yourselves

it’s just what you Do

and you wouldn’t have it any other way