#like goddamn where is the contrast. I can’t see anything

[francy-sketches]

Look I love alicent she’s my meow meow but why are some of her stans so against her being compared to cersei they just objectively share similarities it’s not an insult to her I prommy. Like seeing them get upset at the comparison between the eye funni in hotd and the trident oopsie in got is just. Girl calm down nobody’s saying they’re the exact same but the pararell is so obvious lmao. Not everything is an attack on your fave hotd twitter is rotting your brain please go oustide we’re worried about you

[loveinhawkins]

Steve thinks he’s doing a good job at hiding it, but then Eddie catches his eye right as he’s limping out of the RV and… huh, maybe not.

Eddie, with panicked urgency—which, in Steve’s opinion, is admittedly sweet but unnecessary—asks if the bites are bothering him again.

“No, dude, it’s nothing,” Steve says. “It’s literally nothing.”

Eddie doesn’t look at all reassured.

Goddamn it, Steve thinks. Better rip off the band aid and hope it’s not too mortifying.

“It’s not the bites. It’s… um. My feet.”

Eddie glances down but there’s nothing to see; as soon he’d entered The War Zone, Steve had crammed his feet into the first pair of combat boots he could find.

“Oh,” Eddie says, the penny dropping. “Oh, shit. Yeah, hang on, just…”

He looks around, humming in thought, then grabs a bottle of water with decisiveness, and yeah, Steve thinks, this is gonna be incredibly mortifying.

But he can’t find a way to wriggle out of it without making the whole thing a way bigger deal than it needs to be—so he ends up sat in the grass, wincing as he pries off his boots.

It is, in a word, gross.

“Don’t know why they’re bugging me so damn much,” Steve says just to fill the silence. He huffs self-effacingly, goes to wiggle his toes before deciding ow, better not and ew, better not. “It’s, like, hardly anything compared to…”

He gestures to the bandage wrapped around him.

“Well, you weren’t walking on your stomach,” Eddie points out.

He pours out water onto some tissues he’s rustled up and gets to work.

Steve keeps waiting for the embarrassment to well and truly set in.

But… it doesn’t.

Eddie doesn’t once make a crack about how awful his feet look.

Instead he launches into a story of how, against his uncle’s sage advice, he’d gone to school in a new pair of boots (his birthday present) without breaking them in first.

It was freshman year, so Eddie’s whole look hadn’t been solidified yet. But he was determined to make it work—stomping around the school (“Were any lunch tables harmed?” Steve asks, and Eddie warmly tells him to shut up), steadfastly ignoring the growing discomfort.

At the end of the day, he’d taken his boots off and surveyed the damage with a melodramatic cry; “Kid, I really don’t know what to tell ya,” Wayne had huffed.

Eddie hams up his whiny, teenaged disgust so that he becomes the butt of the joke, and Steve suddenly feels like he’s watching a magician onstage—except he knows where to look, isn’t fooled by the sleight of hand: Eddie’s dramatics all serve as a distraction from the caked on dirt and blood he steadily cleans off Steve’s skin.

It’s quiet, unassuming. A hidden kindness.

Eddie doesn’t need to be doing this; Steve could quite easily take the bottled water and do it all himself—would probably get it over and done with in a matter of minutes, concealed around the other side of the RV, quick and perfunctory.

But you’re letting him, Steve thinks. Why are you letting him?

Eddie’s hands are cold, a pleasant contrast to the burning sensation all across his feet—honestly, he’d been hoping that so long as he just kept walking, he’d gradually become numb to it.

There’s a loud rip of plastic as a pack of baby wipes are opened. Eddie’s touch is light which soothes some of the sting, at least; he trails off into silence as he works, hissing sympathetically at whatever’s revealed.

“You’ve got a couple cracks,” he says, eyebrows drawn.

Steve gives an over exaggerated sigh. “Give it to me straight, doc. Am I gonna have to chop ‘em off?”

Eddie chuckles, but his concern doesn’t fade away.

“Just here,” he says, pointing, and the tip of his finger brushes against Steve’s heel—Steve tries not to, but he twitches reflexively, and Eddie flashes him an impish grin. “Ticklish?”

“Fuck off,” Steve says, smiling.

He kicks out, stops just short of actually hitting Eddie in the face.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Harrington,” Eddie says through laughter, pushing Steve’s foot away—gently. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

It’s a joke; Steve knows it’s a joke. But—

“You don’t need to do that, man. Robin already knows.”

Eddie stands up and stretches, gives Steve’s ankle a little pat.

“Think you’re all set—woah, wait,” he says as Steve reaches for the combat boots, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Uh, what’s it look like?”

“Harrington. You cannot put those on without socks again, you’re gonna summon my uncle; he’s got, like, a sixth sense about that kinda stuff.”

Eddie’s smile drops a little at that, a flash of melancholy breaking through.

God, you must really miss him, Steve thinks.

“I’m just making do. I don’t have any socks.”

“Yeah, you do.” Eddie’s smile returns in full force—puzzled, perhaps just a little fond. “You got me some, remember?”

Eddie retrieves a pair from the RV and, that’s right, Steve had forgotten: he’d bought a whole pack during their first grocery trip, after Eddie had made an offhand comment about feeling cold in the boathouse.

Poor guy, Steve had thought as they walked through The Upside Down. This is cold on a whole new level.

The socks are thick and warm. Steve pulls on the boots, relishing the fact that his toes no longer scream in protest as he does so.

He tightens the laces; Eddie’s sat down opposite him again.

“There. Ready for battle,” Steve says.

Eddie’s eyes flicker over the combat boots, then Steve’s whole get-up—and there’s nothing teasing in his gaze now, as if he’s seeing everything in another light. Like the gravity of it all has just hit him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Battle.”

“Hey, Eddie. Don’t worry.”

Eddie huffs with a wan smile. “Wow. And just like that, I won’t.”

Steve nudges him with his foot. Gentle. “M’not gonna ruin your handiwork.”

Eddie doesn’t reply.

Steve stands, tries a short walk in place. It’ll work. It has to.

“I’d just do it again,” Eddie says suddenly. “If… I—I wouldn’t mind.”

Steve pauses. Offers Eddie a hand and pulls him up.

“I wouldn’t mind either,” Steve says softly.

And then he lets go of Eddie’s hand.

Standing tall, he starts to round everyone up for the drive back—and wishes them all a future of simple fixes: of superficial cracks, easy to patch up.

[thefreakandthehair]

The thing about drinking at 31 years old is that it's different from drinking at 18 years old– or 21 years old, or even 25 years old. Each shot, each drink, is one sip away from a terrible night’s sleep and an equally terrible morning.

Eddie Munson’s figured this out. Steve Harrington though? Steve Harrington has not. 

That’s how Eddie finds himself corralling his husband onto the couch after stumbling into the house, the front door slamming loud enough to jolt their cat out of her otherwise peaceful slumber. She glares for a moment before stretching her paws and curling back into a neat little ball. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve repeats, an immediate tell that he’s definitely not making it any further than the couch anyways. “I’m good, I’m fine, this– this is a nice couch.” He punctuates his thought by slapping the cushion and laughing. 

Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Yep, it sure is. You picked it out, remember?” 

Steve gasps and laughs some more, falling back into the corner of the sectional. “I don’t but it’s comfy so if I did, I did a good fucking job.”

He watches with fond comfortability as Steve squirms around on the couch and lays back, arms over his head and dopey laugh still on his lips. It takes a lot of willpower and frankly, respect, not to climb on top of this giggly, flushed, disheveled man he loves so goddamn much and kiss him until he’s flushed for other reasons, but he digs deep and focuses on doing the next best thing: taking care of him. Eddie’s a little worse for the wear in his own right but a sliver of his iron constitution remains from his wild youth and he hangs on by a thread. 

Eddie gets Steve situated into a comfortable position, his back against one side of the cushions and his head propped up on a few pillows to make sure he doesn’t end up with his face smushed into the corner somehow. 

“I’m good, I’m fine– hey, hey, what are you doing?” Steve slurs and Eddie looks up from his position at the end of the couch, his fingers moving quickly as he unties Steve’s sneakers. 

“Taking your shoes off? You can’t sleep in your jeans, Stevie. You’ll thank me tomorrow.” 

Steve hums from somewhere high in his throat but doesn’t say anything else Eddie moves to unhook his belt. 

“Stop–stop it, hey, I’m married!” Steve smacks Eddie’s hand and Eddie barely suppresses a cackle. “You’re hot and all but I’m married and my husband’s hotter than you anyways.” 

With that, Eddie can’t stop himself. Warmth spreads through his chest as he laughs, from his heart all the way down to the tingling in his toes. Even drunk, even with his eyes closed, Steve would still choose him without a thought and sure, after all these years, it shouldn’t come as a surprise but it does. Because Steve is Steve, and Eddie is Eddie, and Eddie still hasn’t figured out what huge karmic debt he must’ve paid for them to have become SteveAndEddie.

He stares at Steve who’s nearly asleep but feebly muttering words like “hot,” and “perfect,” and “lucky.” 

“Hey, hey, Stevie, open your eyes for a second?” Eddie brushes the hair back from his forehead, gently shifting it away from his bloodshot, glossy eyes. He’s beautiful, even like this, what the fuck?

“Oh,” Steve’s eyebrow unfurrow and the right side of his mouth turns up into a small grin. “It’s you. Hi, Ed.” 

“Hi, Steve.” Eddie chuckles and kisses his forehead. “Gonna get your jeans off so you can sleep, okay?” 

“Mhm, yeah, that’s– thanks.” 

Eddie coaxes them off, tossing them onto a chair where they’ll remain until the next morning, and sets a glass of water down on the coffee table for when Steve inevitably wakes up with cottonmouth. One more soft kiss and an even softer blanket later, Steve is out and Eddie tip toes up the stairs to bed. 

The next morning, Eddie wakes to see Steve next to him. At some point, he must’ve woken up and gotten himself to bed which gives Eddie the opportunity to stare uninterrupted in the silence of their bedroom. It stands in stark contrast to the boisterous night before– the loud music and jumping bodies and Chrissy popping a bottle of champagne in celebration of Robin saying yes, as if there’d ever been a doubt. 

Steve’s on his back, the sun just starting to intrude on their tranquility. He takes in Steve’s features, the same ones he’s memorized time and time again but that never fail to stun him just the same. The moles, the freckles, the scars that make him ache and feel thankful simultaneously. The strong line of his jaw, the eyelashes that flutter as he sleeps, that one tendril of hair that insists on curling until Steve forces it into place. Eddie’s seen a lot of the world now, having traveled a bit with his band, and there’s nothing that compares to the man sleeping next to him. 

Even if he’s snoring. 

When Steve does eventually wake up, trudging downstairs with one eye open and asking why Long Island Iced Tea’s even exist, Eddie’s ready with the necessities– a black iced coffee, two sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches delivered to their doorstep, and a Gatorade for himself. 

“You’re the fucking best, you know that?” Steve smiles through the pounding headache as he sips his coffee and tears into the sandwich. 

“Eh, I try,” Eddie grins with a mouthful of egg and leans over to bump their shoulders together. 

Comfortable quiet drapes over them like the blanket from last night still over the back of the couch, and like the jeans hanging off the recliner– little reminders of the night before and of the domesticity of the life they’ve built together. 

Once Steve finishes his sandwich, their cat, Florence, hops up on the table and starts batting at the rolled up wrappers. 

“Think she wants to play,” Steve grumbles, sliding off the couch and laying on the carpet. “Listen, Florence, you know I love you but kid, I cannot play right now. I’m barely alive.” 

Eddie doubles over and nearly spits Gatorade all over the coffee table. Even their terrible, hungover, washed up mornings aren't all that bad.

[elen-tari2]

My Kastle Scene Wishlist

I’m not sure what Kastle content we might get in Daredevil Born Again, but there is also talk that they might make a new Punisher show. What are some scenes/parallels that you would like to see between Frank and Karen? Here’s a few of my musings

Reversed Hospital Scene! I would like to see Frank momentarily panic over Karen getting hurt and have a turn holding her hand in a hospital bed. I feel like we deserve this scene so bad. (Caveat: Frank CANNOT be the reason Karen got injured, even if it’s just she got shot in the arm or has a concussion; Karen is in dangerous situations regardless of Frank being near her or not and he needs a wake up call for that). Bonus points for the total opposite of telling her to walk way—this time HE GETS IN THE HOSPITAL BED and puts his arms around her and just holds her and Karen gets to feel completely safe for a few minutes. Just go all out with the hurt/comfort trope for these two. Anyway, I have a whole WIP fic devoted to this, so honestly it has become my top wish to see some parallels drawn with another hospital scene.

Karen gets to help in a fight and shoots someone. I feel like since they never got to have the Wesley conversation, a way to show-not-tell would be for Karen to kill a bad guy and then Frank come check on her to be like, ‘hey are you okay?’and she’d be like, ‘yeah, I am.’ She’d be a bit shaken up but grimly holding it together because it’s not her first time killing someone. This would also work in contrast to the scene where Amy shoots the guy in the hall and then Frank infamously takes the gun from her and takes the responsibility of his death away from her. Sorry to make Karen suffer because I know she’ll feel bad about it, but I’d be okay with seeing her character go a little bit darker to save someone’s life. She’s been carrying that gun since DDs2, she deserves to take out a baddie on her own and it’d be a great segue into rehashing some of her past that Frank NEEDS to know about

Frank meets Paxton Page. Will the show make time for this? Probably not. But damn do I want to know what Frank would say if he knew that Karen’s dad cut off his only daughter, when Frank would do anything—anything—to spend one minute with Lisa again. I’d love to see Frank go to Fagan Corners with Karen to put flowers on her mom and brother’s graves. We spent three seasons of Frank being able to open up around Karen and talk about his family with her. Meanwhile she has never once said anything about the losses she’s suffered. Frank needs to know and I don’t want it all jammed into one big backstory dump where she tells him she killed her brother and Wesley in the same conversation. Another option would be for Frank to accidentally visit Karen on the anniversary of her mom/Kevin’s death and she is having a breakdown. If we can’t get into any of Karen’s past, have Frank find out Karen has his burner phone saved in her contacts listed as Home. I’ve seen that idea in several different fics and it just needs to be canon. They are Home to each other.

A scene where Frank holds Karen all night and they don’t have sex, but it’s profound. (Think like Spike holding Buffy). If they are nervous about comics fans being mad about Frank Castle finding love again, give us some physical intimacy and closeness where you know they mean everything to each other but can’t cross the line and make things real. Fan fic writers will know we won and then fill in the rest for those cowards.

If they’re willing to make Kastle real, give us a goddamn kiss. Actually, just let them have sex, because Karen Page has been forced to stay chaste for YEARS and she deserves to get laid. And Jon Bernthal seems to be more than comfortable doing sex scenes soooo please just make it the most beautiful thing ever filmed because they are so in love with each other. It has to be noticeably different in tone from the scene with Beth. And Karen cannot get shot the next day, don’t even start with any of that bull$hit trauma for Frank.

Kastle pillow talk scene. Since it’s Disney Marvel now, I don’t know how much we can hope for with a sex scene. So the pillow talk scene that follows had better be some life-altering confessions of love and cuddles. Do not even think about him sneaking out before she wakes up like he almost did with Beth. Karen deserves something good to happen to her for once, let her have a perfect night and a gentle, soft morning after. She deserves it even if Frank isn’t sure if he does.

Karen Page and Dinah Madani Friendship. I’m rewatching The Punisher s2 and one thing that pissed me off was the scenes of fake bonding between Dinah and Krista Dumont, drinking wine together and discussing men (Frank and Billy, who else). So. To make up for that, we need some genuine female friendships, like Karen and Dinah going to a shooting range together or gym or going out to a nice bar for girls night. Even if Frank has been keeping his distance, these ladies have struck up a friendship and Karen has someone to hang out with besides her lawyer coworkers.

Karen gets to meet Micro/The Lieberman family AND Curtis. David knows how Frank really feels about Karen. Curtis needs to find out Frank DOES still have something good holding him in this world. And Karen should meet Frank’s friends.

Okay those are some of the scenes I want to see for Frank and Karen! If someone could please get this list to the Punisher writers for the future of the show, it’s actually very important that we get some of this or I’m gonna have to come write for the show myself. 🙈

[shywhumpauthor]

Cheap

I started writing this with the intent of it being whump, but well- read it, you’ll see. Not really whump, but I’m still tagging it as such.

Cw: violence, manhandling.

A strangled gasp clawed its way from the hero’s throat, raking against their windpipe as pain exploded from their sternum. The force of the blow knocked them back, stumbling against the wall as the breath rushed to leave their lungs. Brick snagged at the back of their uniform, uneven edges of the stone trying to twist its hold on them by the threads.

Cheap shot. That’s what it was. That’s what Villain was. That cheap, petty, good-for-nothing, disreputable asshole. They fought dirty, like the fucking rat they were. Not an ounce of self-respect to their technique, they would fight tooth and nail. Hero had the scratches, weeping blood down their cheek from where Villain’s fucking claws caught them—when was the last time they cut their goddamn nails? Not to even talk about how much grime was certainly on their hands, Hero was appalled anyone, especially the street rat criminal who practically lived to scrounge around the disgusting alleys, would dare touch anything in the city without gloves on.

Tears welled in their eyes without will, Hero rapidly blinked them back as they pushed themself forwards. Their chest burned, breath lodging in their throat as they used the wall to brace themself in the moments preparation before they lunged back at Villain.

Hands caught their shoulders, but instead of the shove backwards they were anticipating and already planning for, they were tugged forwards, their momentum used in a cruel twist as a knee was brought up to meet their stomach. Hero choked out a gasp, a shock jolting back through their body ad they were manhandled back up and slammed against the bricks. Their head hit back against the wall, without any distance to try and ready themself. Specks of white buzzed in the corners of their eyes, pain like cracking cement ripping through their skull. It dazed them, for a moment too long. Villain’s hands ripped down their arms, calloused fingers wrapping around their wrists and steeling in place like iron. Twisting their arms up and shoving them against the red stones, pinned to either side of the hero’s head.

Then they could feel Villain’s breath against their cheek, warm and intrusive and wrong, their lips so close they almost brushed the shell of Hero’s ear as they leaned in-

“Oh my little Hero,” Villain whispered, their voice so quiet left a resounding echo humming through their mind. They slowly drew back, leaving a numb prickling spreading across their skin as a sudden cold replaced the unwanted heat. They stopped, eyes level with Hero’s. “When will you ever learn? You can’t win against me.”

On any other day, Hero would’ve fought back. They would’ve stomped down on Villain’s foot and returned the blows with the same graceless disorder Villain fought with. But they were tired. Their body hurt and their head buzzed with exhausted anger and what was certainly the forming of one hell of a headache.

But instead they just stood there, letting their head fall back an inch to rest against the brick. Let the criminal take on their weight as they pressed their body against theirs. If Villain was to step back, they’d crumple.

Then slowly, with a certain care to contrast the brutality of the blows they had dealt, Villain shifted Hero’s wrists to one hand, pinning them to the wall above their head while their free hand dipped down to brush along Hero’s jaw, the back of their finger tracing a swelling bruise on their jaw.

“I told you,” Hero murmured, their exhaustion seeping into their tone as Villain’s hand follow the outline of the scratches across their cheek, a nail brushing just outside the bleeding edge. A warmth of touch to battle the chill air. “Not- not the face,”

Villain’s fingers curled beneath their chin, a thumb smoothing softly over a spot on Hero’s wrist.

“Oh love, I’m sorry,” Villain’s eyes softened, tilting the hero’s head to the side as their eyes flicked over the shallow wounds. They leaned in, pressing their lips to Hero’s jaw carefully over the forming bruise. “But when have I ever listened to anything you’ve had to say?” A whisper of the taunt returned to their voice, visible in the spark behind their adoring gaze.

Hero only sighed, the night cold fading into a soothing warmth that bled across their skin as Villain’s hand slipped down to cup their neck, their eyes fluttering closed as the villain guided them in and brought their lips together.

Tomorrow, they’d fight back. Tomorrow they’d repay Villain everything they’d dealt and more.

But tonight- tonight Villain won.

And Hero was alright with that.

[passivenovember]

Sharing again!

--

mirrorball

--

“You’re irate,” Robin says. 

And Steve can’t pretend that he knows the definition or that somewhere, past the churning noise of the party, and the wafting heat from the dancefloor, Steve has the slightest clue what to say other than, “Probably.”

Because in all the months he’s known her, if Robin says he’s irate then he probably is.

Steve wants to go home. He’s been over this scene for a while now, holding an empty red cup so no one asks him if he’s up for seconds and thirds. His eyes sting from the smoke. He’s never liked that about parties that don’t rage under his jurisdiction. 

If they were home right now, cutting the night away at Steve’s house, he’d tell them to take it outside. Not everyone’s a smoker. Not everyone wants to die early from nicotine poison, at least not from something as insignificant as second-hand smoke. 

But these are Tommy’s digs. And apparently, anything goes, here. People smoke and drink and fuck right out in the open, probably depositing colonies of lost children on the shag carpet underfoot, and Steve’s had enough. 

“This is really bothering you, huh?” Robin asks. 

“What are you talking about?”

On the other side of the room, past a string of holographic flowers cut from cellophane that dangles in Steve’s line of sight, Billy’s got a kaleidoscope of color dancing on his eyelashes and he’s standing really close to a guy with pretty hair.

That’s all Steve can clock about him.

His hair is nice. Long and brown and curly. 

And Steve’s been told a million times by his grandma that he’s got more to offer than a head of thick, Italian locks but with only a red cup and Robin’s fifty-cent words tethering him to this basement, Steve isn’t so sure. 

Robin knocks their shoulders together. “Billy,” She says. 

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from Billy’s eyelashes. “Where?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Steve snaps. “I just don’t see him.”

As if on cue, Billy steps closer to the guy. Gets right in the crook of his neck 'cause either. He knows Steve is watching or he’s trapped in his own little world.

Steve can’t figure out which is worse. Serving as the gasoline that fuels Billy’s night and earning a front-row seat to whatever happens next or being locked out. Forgotten. 

A sliver of perfect, golden skin peek-a-boos between the hem of Billy’s slashed Metallica tank top and a pair of leather pants Steve’s never seen before. Not in this basement. Not in his entire life.

He knows instantly he wants to see them trapped around Billy’s thighs. And on his bedroom floor. And melting, coughing up smoke until they’re memory when brownie-locks tugs Billy closer by his belt loop.

Steve crumples his red cup. “Let’s go,” He says. 

Again, Steve’s legs don’t move. 

“You should talk to him,” Robin says. “You should do something before–”

“Billy’s not going to fuck him,” Steve tells the shag carpet. He looks at Robin, and peers into her red-rimmed, pitying green eyes, because. “Right?”

She’s probably worried.

She’s probably tearing her hair down from its edgy updo in fear that their very own ray of Californian sunshine is going home with a stranger tonight. 

Robin’s lips disappear between her teeth, “I don’t know,” She says honestly. 

Robin cherry-picks her words. It’s such a contrast to the way Steve bulldozes his way through grand statements and sweeping apologies. It’s comforting. He hangs on her every expression to know he’s not crazy. He tracks the way she stares past those goddamn cellophane flowers until her eyes get big.

Robin glances over, cheeks red as speeding firetrucks even in the shitty light of this shitty fucking basement.

“What?” Steve demands, and he stares at the horizon to find, that. 

Billy and his Motley Crue knockoff have disappeared.

Steve sucks in a sharp, desperate breath. 

“Steve,” Robin says. 

He can’t feel his toes. He knew this would happen. He should’ve told Billy he loved him when he had the chance, and now.

Robin rubs his knee. 

“Maybe they just. Got swallowed by the wallpaper, or something.” And Steve sounds almost believable. He almost believes it himself, you know? Because how could his entire sex life have gone up in smoke in the last thirty-six hours? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. He was inside Billy Hargrove thirty-eight hours ago, and now--

The room might as well be empty.

“This is such bullshit,” Steve shakes his head. “He better wear a condom.”

Robin snorts, “You really think Billy’s gonna top?” Her fingers snake around Steve’s shoulder blades, rubbing at the knot of muscles in the side of his neck. “You can’t let it get to you, Harrington.”

Steve has to swallow the immediate desire to protect his shoddy, half-assed fortress of Cool Guy that has been falling apart, brick by brick, since the first time Billy sported hickeys on his neck in the shape of Steve’s mouth and told him that this meant nothing.

Steve wants to bury his face in his hands. 

He wants to pull his hair out by the root and scream and scream and never stop screaming until finally Billy admits that this is love.

That they’re in love with each other.

Whatever that looks like. Forgetting the condom, maybe.

Robin rocks their shoulders together. “Do you want another drink?”

Steve wants that, too. 

He hands his cup over, instead, “I’m going out for a smoke,” Steve mumbles, because even though Tommy’s parents have money and could replace it no-problem, he still pretends to respect the wallpaper he knows Mrs. Hagan chose special.

--

Billy only lets Eddie get his hands under his shirt because Steve’s watching. 

Only. Steve misses it, because he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. He’s too busy talking to Robin, and it’s fucked up that the cocktail of vodka and cheap dope has Billy jealous about that, too. 

Like it’s not enough that he's consumed by jealous hatred of Steve’s sweater for draping itself over him all day, but Billy’s gotta drag his favorite lesbian into this. 

Nothing is holy, anymore.

The angry, love-drunk, pissed-off part of himself whispers that Steve and Robin are going home with each other tonight, even though Billy knows that means hideous fleece pajamas and no grabby hands.

It doesn’t matter.

Eddie scrapes a nail over Billy’s nipple and Billy thinks he’s gotta get even. 

If Steve is going to sit on that fucking couch and uphold their agreement that this means nothing, Billy’s going to fuck this stranger.

Done deal.

So Steve looks away and Billy tugs Eddie’s hand to his waist to get his mind off the mole on Steve’s cheek. 

“Got a condom?” He slurs. He’s fucked up. Can’t even stand straight without the wall or this guy propping him up. 

Eddie detaches himself from Billy’s neck, and. “A condom?” He asks, not understanding.

Even in Tommy’s shitty basement, he’s got nice eyes. 

Big and brown and kind, like Steve’s, but. He’s not Steve. 

That could be good, right? Billy could work with that. “You don’t wanna fuck me?” He bitches. Hurt, maybe.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, I do it’s just,” He catches Billy when he stumbles and puts him back on the wall like Billy’s mom used to do with loose paintings when Neil pushed her into them. “Shit, darlin’, you’re drunk.”

It’s kind of hilarious. 

Billy snorts. Knows if Steve heard him he’d say Billy’s cute, and Billy wants to go home. Not to Cherry Lane, but to Steve. He wants to live there forever, and Max could come, too.

“I am drunk,” Billy admits. He leans forward, wetting his mouth and grinning when this poor country idiot can’t help but zero in on the shine. “I’m real easy when I’m sloshed.”

“I don’t know–”

“C’mon, Harrington says I open up nice when I’m blackout.”

Eddie blinks at him. Straightens his spine, all noble, so he can stare down his button-snout at Billy to demand, “He fucks you when you can’t stop him?”

Like he knows Steve.

Like he knows them like Billy’s his mom and he needs to be rescued.

It pisses him off. Gets his dick to lay flat, for once, and Billy’s fucking tired. “Oh, like you were about to?” Eddies cheeks flare. Billy waddles forward. Says, “I don’t even know you. Stop acting like you know shit about shit because you don’t.” Because. “I love him,” Billy adds, “I’m in love with him because he deserves it.”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “Oh yeah?”

“Maybe.”

“That him over there?” And Eddie jerks a thumb over his left shoulder. Steve’s watching them, cool as a fucking cucumber, and that does something to Billy. 

Makes him look at the situation from outside of it. 

Like, he just offered to fuck this guy, this random dude, and Steve doesn’t even care. And he’s not stupid. Likes to pretend he is, though, and that’s worse. He may be having a grand old time over there with Robs, lounging like a king on the same couch Tommy fucked Billy on last summer, but he knows.

He’s gotta know. 

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” He gasps. 

It’s not Eddie’s fault. 

He’s a nice guy. He’s been sweet all night, asking about music and movies and books and only touching when Billy begs him for it. 

Eddie’s baby browns get big. He says, “There’s nothing wrong with you, sugar, people act crazy when they’re in love.” He pushes the hair off Billy’s forehead, looking sweet and concerned, “Do you wanna go outside, maybe? Get some fresh air?”

Across the room, Steve isn’t even watching them, anymore. 

He’s lost interest.

Maybe he never had it in the first place. And it stings. 

Strangely, Billy doesn’t feel like drawing blood when Eddie leaks kindness. He offers his hand and Billy is too drunk to do anything other than take it.

--

Billy’s edges are sharp enough to cut. 

The truth, though, is that Steve likes it. Every drop of venom tastes like gin burning down his throat, hungry for more because it leads to Billy.

Truth is, Steve sees through it. He’s been close enough to that incendiary spirit on dark midnights to notice the fireflies that gather for warmth around the hearth of it all. And the reality that Billy would even let him get close enough for danger to  flash red against Steve’s skin in the first place--

Maybe that’s one of the things Steve likes most. Even if it hurts, sometimes, there will always be proof that Billy was there. And that for a moment, their edges had fit together like pieces of a puzzle. 

Maybe it’s just the beer talking, but Steve can’t let him go.

So Steve busts out of Tommy’s shitty basement, ready to tear springy brown curls from the scalp of that handsome, flirting stranger, when he steps into a puddle of rainwater, instead.

His skin is on fire. The shock of cold puts things into perspective, Steve’s chest opening like a summer tulip to the enormity of the universe.

There’s a calm spring mist, settling like diamonds across his skin. The Earth smells forgotten. Like for years and years, someone took the fabric of the city and rolled it up and stored it away, and now it’s free again. Resting, moth eaten and threadbare, against the backdrop of Steve’s shitty fucking night. Steve’s awful realization, that. 

He loves Billy. Earth-shattering.

And Billy’s going to fuck someone else. Apocalyptic. 

And even if Billy doesn’t make brownie-locks wear a condom, Steve will sit by his bedroom window all night just in case Billy decides that it means nothing, too. Just like them.

“Goddammit,” Steve hops out of the puddle a minute too late.

There’s water in his sock, squishing like fresh mud between his toes. He imagines being home. Warm and showered with a full belly, dozing in front of the fireplace. In Steve’s daydream, he’s naked from the waist down while Billy pushes and pulls his leg hair and calls him colonizer shit spawn for having a marble hearth in his living room. 

It doesn’t sting. Nothing hurts because in Steve’s fantasy, they belong to each other. Every impossible summit has been scaled and they’ve sidestepped waterlogged potholes to get to the truth. Their relationship means something. Everything.

Steve’s heart shudders, reality eclipsing the moon until everything's so bright he catches on fire. 

He stalks to the side-fence, peering into the watery darkness for a shock of American-made blue.

Billy’s car is nowhere to be found. 

And historic, champagne-pink revelations aside, Steve fishes around for his pack of smokes and refuses to admit that he’s out here to kill the guy who wants to get Billy’s mouth on him.

Steve would lose, probably. He’s fucked up. This probably isn’t healthy.

He wonders if Billy would plan his funeral. If he’d cry for him and swear off guys forever and visit Steve’s grave every morning with a hard on. 

Steve hopes so.

He’s embarrassed, to the very root of him. He needs a light.

So Steve bites the butt of his cigarette and pads around the yard, trying to find someone with a matchbox. The Earth is beautiful. Mrs. Hagan is an excellent gardener. All around, bushels of lilacs and marigolds are set to bloom. He studies the fullness of each blossom, eyes tracking the deep green of their clinging branches. 

It’s not even April yet and they’re thriving. That’s just the expert of Mrs. Hagan. She’s a smart girl, she knows how to nurture difficult saplings through hardships and winter months with careful hands, and--

Relationships are kind of like that, people have said.

Someone said that, once. Right?

Steve almost drops his cigarette. He yanks a handful of marigolds from the soil. They come up with their roots still attached.

That's gotta mean something. Bad poetry that feels like the ‘acknowledgements,’ page in one of those books his mom is always reading. Chicken Soup for the Soul. He imagines what Billy would say about this revelation after he’s chewed on it for a while.

Steve pets over the bleeding roots of his bouquet. He's never had gentle fingers. He tries to, with Billy and with everything else, but it always lands a little crooked. 

If Billy knew how hard Steve was trying, he’d probably call him an asshole. Chew on his thumbnail and ask how it is that Steve can read minds, all of a sudden, if Billy didn’t teach him. Because Billy taught him everything he knows, apparently. How to skateboard, how to bake pies from scratch, and how to fuck. 

Which flowers are his favorite.

--

Billy’s nails are sharp enough to pierce the skin. 

He’s never tried to do it on purpose, but he always manages, somehow. 

It’s raining. And Eddie’s hand is soft and warm and his fingertips are calloused just enough that when Billy nearly falls on his ass trying to side-step the tasteful rocks in Tommy’s side-yard, Eddie’s got traction to steady him.

“Nails are fucking sharp,” Eddie says. But he’s smiling.

There’s no shit, in that grin. He’s not aiming to eat Billy’s heart and soul or anything else. Nothing at all like Steve. Billy doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Not like I need to worry about keeping ‘em short,” Billy grins back, sighing in relief when Tommy’s parents had the good sense to invest in picnic furniture, “I’m not a top. I was, until Harrington--”

“I think if you say his name one more time he’ll appear,” Eddie teases, “Like Beetlejuice.”

Billy flops onto a sun lounger. “Think I’m gonna be sick,”

Overhead the stars vibrate, undulating until it feels like God is trying to hack and slash his way through the dark night sky to get at Hawkins. 

“Do you want me to run and grab--” Eddie pauses, staring around the yard with exaggerated care, “Harring--”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Told ya,” Eddie grins, “Beetlejuice.” 

And maybe it’s just the vodka talking, but Billy’s stomach is stuffed with butterfly hearts when this dumb, sweet, beautiful boy smiles at him.

Eddie perches at the base of the lounger. His boots plant themselves on the ground, nice and respectful, so if someone were to see them they might think Eddie was aiming to rescue Billy from alcohol poisoning right before he calls him a slur and takes off, cackling into the night.

He won’t, though. Eddie’s a nice person and even if he wasn’t, Billy knows when a guy’s caught.

Kid’s been watching him all night. Even now, Eddie peers through a curtain of springy curls, baby browns flitting all over Billy’s face and catching on the things Steve likes best about him, probably. His cum-gutter lashes and dick sucking lips--

“You eyes are really blue,” Eddie squints and slides closer, all, “Like, creepy blue.”

It’s written all over his face. Hook and line, blind with hope for things Billy could only ever give to Steve. "Creepy?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, full of wonder.

“Well fuck off, then,” Billy snaps. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“You’re not a baby, and I’m just sitting, alright?” Eddie's silver-lined fingers rise to pat around his vest. Billy squares his jaw when he pulls away with an unsheathed cigarette. “I’m smoking,” Eddie tells him, “Just sittin’ down until I can get the cherry sparked.”

“You’re a dumbass.”

“Probably.”

“It’s annoying,” Billy shakes his head, staring out at the trees that line the Hagan’s side-yard, a hop and a skip to the neighbor's place. “You’re a good guy. Why are you so good?”

“’M not good,” Eddie admits softly. “You’re just. You’re fucking gorgeous, alright? And if you don’t wanna go home with me, I gotta keep you safe until the Prince can get to you.”

Billy’s eyes snap, heated, to Eddie’s grinning face. “This isn’t a fairytale,” He says. Because it isn’t.

But Eddie looks so hopeful. 

His eyes melt like chocolate kisses. 

“No, but it could be,” Eddie scoots a little bit closer, hand falling to rest on Billy’s knee, fingers slipping along leather. “Can I ask you something, gorgeous?”

“I’m not gorgeous,” Billy snaps. When Eddie grins again, Billy’s face warms. Hot as the sun. “Spit it out, Munson.”

“Why are you in love with him?”

“I’m not in love--”

“Billy.”

He’s uncomfortable, like this. A bug under a microscope so he’s gotta show his stinger and scare kindness away.

But Eddie’s too dumb to notice.

A thousand words bubble and rise like champagne at the back of Billy’s throat, each one fizzing out before it can shuffle past his teeth. All of them will land like fists. Split skin and draw blood, so.

Billy shakes his head. Settles on, “He’s not what I expected.”

“Yeah, but why him? I could be different than what you expected. I mean--”  Eddie’s fingers dance along Billy’s thigh. Touching but not quite, at the same time. Making his skin dance. “I already am, right?”

Billy shivers. 

“Yeah,” He admits. It burns like alcohol on open wounds to say out loud.

But the thing is-- 

“Steve’s different than you. Than everyone. He’s sweeter and brighter than anyone I’ve ever met. Event though it took forever to get there. He’s got layers. He’s not what you’d expect, because. He’s got this big fucking house, right? And it’s full of shit. Name-brand poptarts and every vinyl you could imagine and all his blankets are soft enough that they’re probably lost clouds, or something. And even when I’m with him, like. Even after we fuck and Steve gets what he wants from me, he always asks if I’m hungry. And he doesn’t believe it when I say that I’m full. That I’ve gotta jet. He cooks really good pasta. He sings. He’s got a good voice, and he puts my name in the song, sometimes. He lets me eat in bed and he plays with my hair while I fall asleep, and. That’s the biggest thing for me, you know?”

Eddie’s fingers wrap, like warm summer vines, around his own.

“I don’t sleep good anywhere. I get cagey, ‘cause of my old man. I’m always on alert. There was a while, last summer, where I slept with my shoes on. ‘S why I’m such a bitch all the time, I’m fucking exhausted, but with Steve,” Billy’s shaking. He’s gonna vibrate out of his skin. “Steve is my home town. He’s home, on a Saturday morning. I’ve never felt safe with anyone else.”

Billy’s going to cry.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Eddie doesn’t notice. And if he does notice, Eddie refuses to care. His eyes are intent on Billy’s face when Billy admits--

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie tells him, “It’s alright.”

“Vodka turns me into a chatty bitch. I’ve never told anybody that, before,”

Eddie’s thumb strokes soft over Billy’s palm. “The stuff about Steve, or--”

“Any of it,” Billy looks up, caught in waves of warm, sweet brown. He sniffs, suddenly more nervous than he’s ever been in his entire life. “If you fuckin' yap to anybody about this, Munson--”

Eddie’s smile is like the setting sun. “Put your teeth away, baby, I’ll take it to my grave.”

Billy opens his mouth to say thank you. To admit that this night, for all the good and bad and embarrassing, has made everything feel easier. 

Eddie seems to hear it. To feel it in his bones.

He kisses the back of Billy’s hand, lips sliding warm and soft along Billy’s thumb, to the pad of each finger. 

Billy’s heart hammers, unsteadily in his chest, when those lips press lewd, against his palm.

“Eddie,” Billy mumbles, sounding frail even to his own ears. “Eddie, I--”

--

A bomb goes off. 

Steve thinks the sky might as well be full of mushroom clouds because war’s waged when brownie-locks takes all of Steve’s knuckles across the bridge of his nose.

Steve’s not left handed.

The punch, it’s. It’s awkward and more force than anything else, and it hurts like hell. Something’s probably broken.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses, same time Billy’s new boyfriend says, “Shit,” and Billy puts both of his calloused, strong, stocky, perfect fists on Steve’s chest to shove him back.

Steve goes easy, because he deserves it. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this. 

But. He’s seeing red, and he’s gotta know. “Billy--”

Billy looks like he wants to kill him, and he could. Steve would let it happen. He thinks about sinking to his knees right here, dropping the marigolds, begging to get his speech out before the light goes out in the sky forever.

Steve’s still got the unlit cigarette in his mouth. A bouquet in his hands. He takes it out. Drops the flowers. Steps closer and says, “Billy, did he kiss you?”

Because he has to know.

Billy stares at the marigold petals in fear. They're coiled snakes. They're the end of the world. “You’re drunk,” Billy says, same time his new boyfriend bolts upright and fucking cackles. 

“Harrington, huh?” Brownie-locks spits on the ground. It’s red. Steve tries not to feel proud. “Really are Beetlejuice, man.”

Steve ignores the boyfriend. He stares at Billy and tells the truth, “I am drunk. So are you.”

Billy doesn’t look at all like Steve imagined, now that his anger’s planted itself on brownie-lock’s face. 

Billy’s shaking. 

He’s got tears clinging to his lashes, and Steve knows everything’s his fault and he wants to die for that, but all the guilt in the world doesn’t stop him from turning on Billy’s new boyfriend and taking a step forward when brownie-locks says, “I wanted to fuck him until you came along.”

At least someone answers Steve’s question.

He feels a little bit like throwing up and a lot like going for round two. Turning this guy’s face to hamburger meat, but. 

Billy gets between them.

And he’s vibrating.

And no matter what they’re dealing with or how much they’re refusing to talk about, Steve never wants to be the reason Billy can’t hold still.

Regardless, Steve scoffs. “You’re seriously protecting this guy? From me?” 

He’s furious.

He’s so hurt and bleeding inside and angry--

“Go home, Steve,” Billy mutters. He’s not shaking anymore. He stands his ground, looking every bit like an avenging angel, and.

Steve loves him. He’s proud of him, but. “You don’t want me.” The words sound wrong. Garbled and stretched out.

The boyfriend stand ramrod straight all of a sudden, like, “Wait, that’s it?” And he looks so confused.

Hurt, even.

And that pisses Steve off, you know. Gets him feeling brave.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it,’” Steve paces forward, stopping only because Billy tacks a soft, warm hand to the center of his chest. “Are you really asking to get your dick knocked off, freak?”

Billy’s boyfriend laughs, “God, you’re so pretty and so, so fucking stupid.”

Steve knows. About the second part. So he rolls his neck and says, “Why are you still here?” Because--

Billy gets in front of him. He looks so beautiful, with moonlight painting his curls more bronze than gold. And his lashes are clumped together. “Why?” Steve asks again, because he has to know.

And suddenly it’s like everyone runs out of words.

They stare at him. Billy’s boyfriend rocks a little on each foot, eventually peering at the ground like there’s no place he’d rather be than nestled under it. "What's the with the flowers?" He asks.

The longer they ignore him, the more Steve’s set on digging the guy a hole in the ground. Burying him and leaving the marigolds there as a memory.

Steve’s losing his mind.

He’s going crazy, he--

“Why is this guy here with you, Billy?” Steve demands.

Billy stares at him, pretty pink mouth open. His palm is so warm on Steve’s chest, it’s like a sun spot. 

“Why do you want him here and not me?” Steve grabs that hand. Holds onto it, says, “Do you love him?” 

Billy bares his teeth. “Does it matter?”

“Billy,” Steve whispers. “Are you--of course. Of course it matters, you. You have to know, that--”

And he’s grateful to Billy’s boyfriend for not laughing at the way his voice, fucking. 

Cracks.

Bleeds.

Steve takes a deep breath. Tries again. “You’ve gotta know, right?”

And.

Apparently not.

Billy blinks at the stars, blue like the ocean set to spill. He takes his time. Gets his feet under him. Eventually, Billy bares his fangs and stares right through Steve’s skull. 

“Thought I meant nothing to you, Harrington,” Billy says.

And Steve dies.

He might as well not even exist. He might as well be a window. 

“Thought you just wanted me because I’m a warm place to slide into a night,” Billy rumbles, and. 

Steve. He’s never had teeth pulled when he could feel it. He’s never snapped a bone in half. He’s never seen God, either, but. 

He imagines it would all feel the same when he finally has the courage to say--

“I was just following your lead,” Steve’s so embarrassed. And ashamed. He can’t believe he made Billy feel like that, like a figment. 

It hurts worse than any pain he could conjure for himself, so.

"I. I mean, I picked marigolds for you, baby." Steve toes the edge of the cliff. “I love you," He tries, and. 

Falling feels a lot like flying, apparently.

Billy’s boyfriend disappears. Steve considers it a sign that even though Billy won’t look at him, he hasn’t pulled his hand away, yet.

[elendsessor]

@paraseleneblur you have no idea how many goddamn thoughts i’m having about this because like. honestly made me appreciate the contrasting relationship more and the tragedy.

i’ve mentioned this a few times before but if there’s one thing base 5 did right was illustrating different kinds of relationships using the two halves of the same being/soulmate concept not necessarily always being romance. we get some of that, yet it’s not the same for every pairing.

most important to this is koshimizu and atsuta’s since they’re more of a boss and trusted employee/sort of a father-son dynamic, but it’s definitely based in the need to protect tokyo and not anything that much more.

despite the interpretive nature, aogami and vkun’s relationship is based in a need to protect and understand each other. they communicate a ton more than we see of any of the other nahobino pairs—aogami makes it all the more clear with the newly added bench. he fused with the protag to protect him, and considering how vkun “commands” aogami, it’s ultimately up to him to also keep him safe.

while we don’t get much characterization, v is seen to be a bit of an outcast, or at least struggling socially (same here sis). we don’t see him with any friends—atsuta considers him a friend at the beginning of the game but it’s implied they likely haven’t actually hung out or talked much. he seems distant in a couple of the school cutscenes, basically disassociating himself from the rest of the world (again, same here sis). aogami definitely changed him as a person, and he gets into the nahobino role easily because there’s that connection there. this was a meant to be pairing.

they’re both entirely different dynamics with differing viewpoints.

comparing canon of creation along with canon of vengeance really elevates and recontextualizes both narratives but especially how devastating losing a nahobino partner is for both parties involved.

brought it up before but to me, it seems that entire dynamic is a suicide pact. we don’t see any of the pairs die at separate times in canon of creation, and there’s oddly something more peaceful about it. kinda not in sahori’s case bc that was actually a genuinely sad moment in the og and she wasn’t exactly herself (i can’t decide if her being mercy killed in the middle of a half-hug surrounded by people who care about her is better or worse than her dying alongside tao in a pretty brutal way only to be mocked by/seen as fodder by lilith) but for the throne stuff, there’s at least some form of content.

vengeance doesn’t have that during the main conflict, but it’s heavily implied that it’s straight up soulmates in every universe due to the law route. if it weren’t for the fact that they were all drawn together due to the circumstances, vkun and the gang wouldn’t be shown hanging out in that ending. hiromine not wearing the jouin high uniform despite being in the school is proof that shit still happened, plus da’at forming is proven to be inevitable (at least if luci is to be believed). we can assume there’s some memory of vengeance’s events, and since the gods are heavily implied to still be around, yeah safe to say if nothing else, they’re aware of who their partners are. tne is the only ending where all the gods are wiped from that universe but with how megaten’s franchise-wide world building is, it’s heavily implied every ending is canon or at least ends up occurring in one version of that universe, so that meeting is a canon event.

that being said, it does make the deaths all the more tragic because if they are destined to be together no matter what, being destined to die at the same time isn’t entirely guaranteed. only in the vengeance canon do we see partners die separately. hell, dazai and abdiel never become a nahobino in that canon regardless of route despite sticking together. this could be due to mastema’s influence since the power of a fused nahobino could likely shut down his stupid brainwashing bullshit. they at least interact with one another upon death in creation but not in vengeance. abdiel still does technically die first. regardless, both end up dying. this goes for nuwa and yakumo, and the same for koshimizu and atsuta. their fates are intertwined.

both koshimizu and vkun lose their other halves right in front of them and knowing that soulmate stuff, there might be an even stronger connection present, which probably fucks them both up beyond repair. this also shows that just because they’re compatible for fusion doesn’t mean everything is hunky dory. in some ways, this defies the laws of the universe. if it weren’t for aogami’s status as a proto-fiend of a similar type to tsukuyomi, there would be no fusion. they would’ve lost.

god that’s what i genuinely love. we only saw aogami care for the protag in base 5 but the protag not only caring to such a degree that he can’t even act like himself anymore and how defeated he looks when he’s separated is depressing. and there’s some obvious separation anxiety in general. vkun is seen relying on aogami’s input in some situations, or at least consulting with him to see if it’s okay to do certain things. naamah killing a bunch of people at the subway with her fucked up dog freaked the shit out of vkun, but he only stands up and tries to show he’s willing to take her on because he feels aogami would be there. as funny as the arm wave is, it’s clear he’s a much different person when he’s with aogami. also he doesn’t seem nearly as nervous in cutscenes with aogami there than without.

this doesn’t apply to koshimizu.

it’s not just the change in color or the fact that koshimizu is less dominant (his nahobino form with atsuta barely had any atsuta in him). heck, you could also argue the fact that his mouth being covered as the tsukuyomi nahobino could be symbolic of their lack of communication. his moveset also got more brutal. some of the flashier divinity is gone from some of the tsukuyomi-coded ones, or at least are considerably moodier. not just the battle end animation but his idles are a lot less lively. the battle music, too, isn’t as upbeat or cheery. it’s gothic. it’s dreary. it paints a clear picture of how uncomfortable the situation is.

koshimizu at least cares about aogami to a degree. enough to both consider him his brother (mainly due to aogami being modeled off of him) and care for vkun, but the dynamic is different. again, koshimizu and atsuta were bonded in an obligatory way. while aogami was programmed for a similar purpose, due to being susano-o, he would inevitably develop individuality. it was his decision to sacrifice himself, he did ultimately care for vkun as a person, and they were comfortable with one another. at the end of the day, the decision for koshimizu to fuse was because he not only knew vkun needed a partner, not only would aogami want someone to keep him safe, but there was going to be nobody left to stop the qadistu. atsuta is gone, so he only has one option. both of them only have one option.

all their decisions onwards are definitely to avenge their partners, and how they speak to one another proves a lot of it. vkun doesn’t seem comfortable but forces himself, meanwhile the same could be said for koshimizu.

i think about this smile a lot too

he fucking knows there was only so much he could do with vkun, especially with aogami explaining tiamat can’t be killed unless it’s at the hands of a godly dragon slayer. nice touch with murakumo being what finishes her off since if i recall correctly that’s the name of the sword susano-o gets after slaying orochi.

but koshimizu seems at peace here. the one destined to protect vkun is there, and though he could’ve definitely further stuck around in case something went wrong, he still sacrifices himself to revive tao/hiromine. i think that’s not just because he’s no longer needed, but because he could finally die and be reunited with atsuta. he was never meant to continue living, after all. he was never meant to fuse with vkun. he still seems to be grieving over his own loss. regardless of the ending, he does get to finally rest.

it’s so bittersweet and i fucking love it. actual amazing writing.

[lookismaddict]

Lookism Chapter 429 Memes/Thoughts I Have:

(SPOILERS !!! I don’t own any of the Lookism panels and the translations. Only the memes that I made.)

THIS IS SO ADORABLE, LIKE LOOK AT JAMES BEING ALL PROUD OF DANIEL LIKE A BIG BROTHER. 😌💖

Every James Lee simp when they saw this panel:

Oh LAWD. IT’S THE SOUND OF THE POLICE! 🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔🚔

NOOOOOOOO!!!JUST LET BIG DEAL GO!!!!! 😫

Bro, if you don’t get your polka dotted boxers out of my FACE…

JAKE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???

SOMEONE SMACK SOME SENSE INTO THIS MAN! I DON’T WANT HIM TO GET CAUGHT AGAIN!!

OMG JASON, TALK SOME SENSE INTO HIIMMMMM.

BRO, WHY DOES THIS CHAPTER GOT ME UGLY CRYING???

Daniel coming in with the CLUTCH. BUT NO PLS, BABY BOY, DON’T GET ARRESTED!! Your mom won’t be happy if you do… 😭

Daniel got Eugene sweating bruh. 😰

Or so you thought...

AYOOOOOOOO???? 👀

Oh boohoo bro, you won’t get what you want this time. 😑

AYOOOOOOOOOOO X2 ????

OMG YES, FINALLY. STEVE HONG GETS TO HELP DANIEL!!!! 

This is really nice but where’s your son at? We’ve all been missing him. Like PTJ, pls give us a peek at Jay Hong now. We’re basically all DYING to see what he looks like now. 

This bubblegum haired k-pop dude is so attractive. Not even gonna deny it. 

UUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! 😩😩😩😩 THIS PANEL, RIGHT HERE!!!!!!! GODDAMN BRUH, LOOK AT HIM FLEX AND THOSE MUSCLES. THIS MAN IS LITERALLY EYE CANDY FOR ALL OF US.  LIKE HOW CAN BE SO FINE LIKE THAT??? 

Baby, I’d risk it all just for you. Say less. I’d even go out on a journey to try and find out what’s Victoria’s Secret, if you want me to. I can be your little detective, and anything you want bruv. So pleeeeeaaaaassseee sir.🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

I’m still in love with this contrast. I was hoping that we would get to see them fight, but I guess PTJ will be saving that sweet scenario for another day. 😔

Wouldn’t you like to know, Eugene?

H U H...? 👁👄👁

OMGGGGG, BIG BOOBY MAN IS BACK!!!!! HE LOOKS SO HOT EVEN WHEN HE’S INJURED BADLYYYY. 

I’M SORRY SAMUEL ASDHFASJDFHASDFHDFJKAS. WE ALWAYS THINK ABOUT YOUR BOOBS FIRST BEFORE YOUR OWN WELL-BEING. (I stg, this is what the Lookism fandom think about first right when they see Samuel Seo.) 

OH SHIT, THE MOMENT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR...

WOOOOOOOO HERE WE GO. NEXT CHAPTER, LET’S HEAR ALL ABOUT THE JUICY DEETS JAMES LEE. WE GET TO FINALLY KNOW WHAT IS WITH THE TWO BODIES THING!! AHHHHHHHH I CAN’T WAIT. FINALLY!!!!!! 😱😱😱😱

[gremoria411]

Alright then. So we have another Witch from Mercury episode that hits like a goddamn truck.

Heavy spoilers follow for Witch from Mercury Episode 14 (and 13). Sorta a mix of feelings and predictions.

Not gonna lie, really loving the new season so far, basically because both episodes have been pretty jam-packed. Like, there’s a lot going on with expansion and character development to a lotta people. Standouts include Chuchu, Nika and Lady Prospera.

I did absolutely love how Lauda has this big dramatic speech and genuinely guns it for Suletta, but then gets absolutely stomped. I feel like things are probably gonna end badly for him, if only because Guel’s more interesting. Still, watching Pettra and Chuchu defend him was nice, everyone has someone that cares about them.

There was also a small bit of development for Elan…… five? (I really should’ve rewatched this prior, oh well). Like, he doesn’t step in to ruin Shaddiq’s plans, and he expresses fear when faced with dire odds. Like, I guess Elan Four was about necessity, whereas Elan Five is about cowardice? Its a neat contrast, or perhaps how Elan Four influences Elan Five?

I love how we’re finally getting some insight into Lady Prospera’s actions though. I mean, episode 14 confirms a lotta theories some people have been having, which is rad, but I’m honestly just here to see what the heck she’s up to. So, Quiet Zero, I’m guessing it’s some sort of shutdown weapon? GUND-ARM System suits are shown to be able to totally overpower any non-Gundam suit (“only a Gundam can defeat a Gundam” thanks, Elan Four), so presumably their only threat would be another GUND-ARM system suit, which quiet zero focuses on taking over/shutting down? Though having written that down, it sounds like something too small-scale for what Prospera’s talking about.

EDIT: I have remembered that the Gundam Schwarzette is a thing. Given that that mobile suit literally has a zero on its face design, it’s possible that it mounts the “Quiet Zero” system in question. It’s also possible that the quiet zero is somehow connected to the ms-style GUND-bits that the Lfrith’s were using.

It’s also entirely plausible that every word she says to Miorine is a lie. I don’t think she’s lying when she talks with Belmeria, that sounds like what she actually believes. But there she’s with an old friend who she holds a lot of power over. Miorine is different, so I’m less inclined to trust anything she says to her. It is interesting that while talking with Miorine, she steps out of the darkness and into the light, so it’s possible that these are her original, noble goals, that have slowly been twisted into things she’d go to terrible lengths over? Things to ponder.

Shaddiq’s been…. Interesting, to say the least. Since I just spent a whole two paragraphs talking about Prospera’s possible goals (and honestly, I might write more later), it’s good to see the show’s other resident Char Clone stepping up to the plate (The Elan’s have too much other baggage for me to weigh in on them, and we don’t really know what’s going on with Guel yet). Shaddiq’s essentially plotting a coup from under his own father, and is straight up financing terrorist operations. It’s unclear how this is going to end for him, since it’s being repeatedly proven that he isn’t quite as smart as he thinks he is, so I feel like he’s going to go down a couple pegs at some point. I honestly don’t have a clue on where he’s going from here, so I’m very much looking forward to it. Grassley defence systems seems to have a monopoly on non-aerial Gundam tech, so I’m betting that they’ve been supplying Dawn of Fold with the Lfrith’s and GUND-bits.

Alright, guess I can’t really avoid talking about it any more can I?

Sophie Pulone gets a really nice focus episode, then dies attempting to take down Suletta in the Aerial. I genuinely wasn’t expecting her to bite it so soon, and it’s only made me more interested in seeing what the whole deal is with her and Norea du Noc. It’s quite interesting because Sophie is essentially a Gender-swapped (and perhaps slightly more childish) Mikazuki Augus, from Gundam Iron-Blooded Orphans. She fights because that is her choice, for the things she wants in life, because that is what she is good at. I just find it really neat how she’s basically a takedown of the protagonist from the last show, showing what would happen were they actually overpowered. It also loops back to earlier, her death being the thing that breaks Norea’s emotionless composure and shows how these Gundam pilots view Suletta - as a terrifying monster.

It has greater implications too, since for all Sophie’s combat ability and credentials as a mobile suit pilot, she dies fairly quickly, as a pawn in someone else’s (in this case Shaddiq’s) plan. It sends the message that it isn’t the characters with raw power and deadly mobile suits that are dangerous, but the movers and shakers behind the scenes. Like Shaddiq. Like Prospera.

[gasha40k]

Recently I’ve been trying to focus on getting through my incomprehensibly massive amount of unpainted models, so here’s another quick little painting update.

Missile launcher bro thinks he’s part of the team meanwhile it’s a completely illegal model

Our first little squad of Berzerkers is coming into shape! I’ve got a bit more painting to do before this squad is done, but everyone’s got their trim, at the very least. Most of them also have red, which, when combined with the brass trim and the black primer, technically counts as battle-ready, since it is 3 different colors. Does this mean I can put them on the tabletop and play with them? Not without feeling ashamed of myself for never painting, no!

Brother Kardon the Eternal, veteran of the Long War, possibly over 10,000 years old. So old and presumably powerful that he could easily be a Chaos Lord if he wanted to, but is so dedicated to killing at all times that he can’t be fucked to actually lead anything

Wally is one of my better minis, I think. He’s a tame but distinct kitbash and a fun way to pay homage to the ugly ass past of the World Eaters. He’s also one of the better painted models that I own. This, I think, is for two reasons: I changed how I use washes, and I started thinning my paints more.

Firstly, I finally ditched the fucking Nuln Oil. The new formula is garbage and doesn’t look good on anything except for metal. Deeply disappointing! But being left with no go-to wash left me wanting, so I’ve made the switch to Agrax Earthshade. Agrax Earthshade is magic. With almost every one of my models, I’ve been finishing their base colors and then promptly slathering them in mildly thinned Agrax Earthshade. Once it dries and stains the mini, I take a small amount of the base color and fill in the broader surfaces, brightening them and cleaning up messier spots where the wash had dried. This makes the recesses a lot darker while maintaining the cleaner look on the armor panels, and that contrast generates a very serviceable illusion of depth without having to bother with highlights.

You can also experience a glow up like this, all you need is a cape, trust me

Color-wise, I tried to paint Kardon as close as close possible to the original Wally model. For example, his Mark of Khorne belt buckle (that’s cute) is brass and his belt is red, just like the old model. His backpack is mostly red, with the… wing-connector thingies being brass. And while it’s hard to see in the reference image, Wally’s right kneepad has a silver Mark of Khorne on it. Kardon noticeably lacks kneepads, having a MK6 torso and legs. To maintain that cool little splash of silver, I moved it onto the Khornate emblem that Kardon uses to pin his cloak to his shoulders. Most of that shit is meaningless, I just felt like talking about my decisions because I thought they were cool if I’m real.

The Raijin’s targets rarely foresee the Interceptor’s attacks as it stalks its prey from low orbit before diving from the highest heavens to strike. Once its locked in, it moves so swiftly that quarry aware enough to catch a glimpse of the plane see nothing more than a few red falling stars before they’re annihilated.

Anyways, enough about Kardon and his friends. Here’s an update on my Interceptor. This thing has taken so much goddamn paint and, frankly, doesn’t look super great, but once I’m done brightening and highlighting the panels, I think it’ll look great. I think the golden guns are really good and funny, because that’s so unnecessary, they’re fucking aircraft guns. It feels very 40k, like, of course they’d make their plane guns golden. I’m really satisfied with the Raijin, as well, and I wish aircraft were better so I could actually use it.

As a closing thought, I’d love to, one day, do a big ass 4000pts game with a full aircraft layer transpiring. Multiple gunships and Interceptors dogfighting, occasionally dipping from the chaos in the sky to raze the surface with earthshaking strafing runs. Would be cool.

[bbraefairy]

ONLY FOR YOU ( 𝙗𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙘 )

where rachel and garfield are neighbors

WARNINGS: 18+ characters, smut, profanity, toxic relationships, light angst !

𝐂𝐇 𝟏: 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑

✩.

“Oh, so you’re finally picking up my call.” a voice over the phone snarled.

“What could you possibly want me for, now, Ace?” Rachel receives her call.

Rachel is sitting on her bed. The shade of evening dismissed the brilliance of the day, and Rachel was preparing to go out. The summer dusk contrasted with her light skin and the outlines of her physique.

“Don’t give me attitude, you’re the one that missed two of my calls.”

“I was in the shower. You shouldn’t be talking, I barely hear from you for about three days if I am not the first one to text you.”

“The problem is you’re too goddamn insecure, and I don’t have the time to deal with that.” Ace responds sourly.

“How is me checking in on you being insecure? If anything, it’s you lacking communication.”

“I told you, I’m busy with work.”

“You’re always busy. Out of the twenty four hours of the day, you can’t take two seconds to say something? Not even a “hi”? A busy man you are. You’re not the only one with a personal life, I hope you realize that.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I’m gonna send you about four hundred dollars in a second. And, maybe we can meet up in about an hour?”

“Babe, I don’t care about the money, I want you. You’re always sending me money, or buying me things, but you’re what matters to me most.  It’s really nice that you do these things, but you’re what I want. What I need.”

“Damn, at least be grateful I’m giving you something.”

Rachel closes her eyes, lets out a deep sigh.

“Ace, I can’t do this with you right now. I have somewhere to be in about five minutes.” the girl states.

“Where are you going?”

“My neighbor’s. They’re inviting us over for dinner.”

“I see. You jus’ be doing your own fuckin’ thing.”

“I’m so tired of you!” Rachel shouted, a film of heat entering her cheeks. “You only want me around when it’s beneficial to you. I’m getting sick of all of the phases you are putting me through of wanting me whenever you feel like it. But when I make up my mind that I can’t put up with your crap anymore, and revolve my life around your half-assed plans, that’s a problem!? You can miss me with that shit, to be honest.” Rachel ends the call with a click of her finger.

She exhales again, walking over to her mirror which was lit from her night lamp. 

Rachel sports a grey, bodycon dress, under a black, leather jacket that stops right above her knees. She has on fishnet stockings, and black combat boots.

She tucks her short, violet hair behind her ear, right behind her bar piercing. She applies a few strokes of mascara to her lush eyelashes. Rachel finishes her natural makeup look, and hopes that will be a decent facade to hide the hell she’s living through.

Within a short while, Rachel and her parents arrived next door.

The house had a dark green door, one that was unique in the complex. The door opens, and a young man appears. 

His complexion is tanned, and his eyes were a tealish-green. His long, brown hair, which had dark green highlights, was coiled back into a man bun. A thick-jagged scar runs from the middle of his forehead, to the top of his left eyebrow. His muscles tone through the fabric of his graphic t-shirt, and to follow are dark jeans and a pair of Vans. Additionally, a few tattoos were etched on his arms.

His mouth is bent into a kind smile, “Good Evenin’, name’s Garfield. Garfield Logan. Nice to meet ya.” 

“Hello, I’m Mrs. Roth, but you can call me Arella. A pleasure to meet you.” Rachel’s purple-eyed, gentle mother shook Garfield’s hand.

“Mista Roth, I go by Tony.” the ravenette, hearty father addressed with a handshake.

“And I’m their daughter, Rachel.” her amethyst gaze scrapes against his teal. 

He feels tension as Rachel greets him, but doesn’t mind it much at first. Maybe she was just shy.

The Roth’s greet the other residents of the household, who are Marie, Garfield’s mother, and Graham, Garfield’s older brother.

Marie has blonde hair, warm, blue eyes, and was average height. Graham, was about six feet tall, with a close resemblance to his brother.

“Here, have a seat and make yourselves at home. Thank you for spending the evening with us.” Marie’s mouth angles into a charmed smile as she escorts the guests to the dining area.

The Logan’s interior was comfortable, yet elegant. Chandeliers, paintings on the walls, freshly mopped wooden floors, marble counters, delicately expensive furniture.

On the dining area table were portions of appetizers, the main courses, desserts, and drinks.

“No, thank you,” Arella grins, sitting down. “Thank you for having us.”

“A pleasure.” Marie responds.

Everyone starts to put food on their desired plate, eat, and a discussion begins.

“So, how do you guys like Jump City so far? I know it’s only been a couple of days, but hopefully you all have found something nice about it.” Mrs. Logan laughs lightly.

“Over here is a lot better than the last town we lived in. Big space for a small sales price.” Mr. Roth asserts.

“That’s how we like it.” Mrs. Roth chimed in. “The last place we had, we had hostile landlords, always had to hustle for parking, the houses were so packed on top of each other. Plus, the neighborhood wasn’t all that friendly, so it was a tough place to like. But, this, we’ve liked a lot more so far. We’re gonna love it here.”

Marie states, “I am so sorry to hear about that experience you all had. I really hope you do enjoy your new home and what the town has to offer. If you need any help with anything, like finding stores and things like that, we are more than glad to help.”

“What she said.” Graham lazily joins.

Rachel and Garfield happened to be sitting next to each other. Rachel was left handed, and Garfield was right handed. He accidentally nudged his hand against hers while gathering a forkful.  

“I’m sorry.” he whispered shyly. 

“It’s fine.” came Rachel’s bothered reply.

He sighed.

“Do you mind passing me the lemonade?” Rachel asked.

“Sure thing,” he stretches to the jar, hands it over to Rachel.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” he pauses before continuing, “I’m not a big fan of lemonade, so knock yourself out. Even if I was, it’s only etiquette for you to have as much as you want.”

“How come you don’t like lemonade? It’s sweet and refreshing, and perfect for the summer.”

“I don’t really like juices with pulp in them. Lemonade, orange juice. Well, if I drink orange juice, it’ll be pulp free.” he declares.

“Fair enough.” 

“Mhm. So, what’s got you all the way on this side of town?”

“We needed bigger, and better. Plus, my dad got a new job, and this area was suitable for the distance.”

“Gotchya,” Garfield’s tone was friendly.

“Hope you have a blast. Don’t be like me and get tired of everyone on the block. I mean, I’ve been here for years, so it’s only fair, right?” 

The corner of Rachel’s mouth arches up, “Give or take.”

“Got any plans for the summer?” he questions, gulping down some iced fruit punch.

“Settling in. I applied for a job, which I am starting next week. Hopefully I can find a library to hang out in on occasion. Nothing much besides that. How about you?”

Slowly but surely, Rachel was becoming less tense.

“Ah, I’m chillin’. Just knocked out another year of college, fixin’ up cars and motorcycles per usual.”

“Oh, so you’re a mechanic?”

“Not quite. I just kinda have it as a hobby, but I’m hopin’ to turn it into a career.”

“That’s valid.”

After several more minutes, the families finish their meal. They all engaged in a hearty conversation with one another while having a scrumptious meal. 

The Roth’s get ready to leave, having a fond sensation for their new neighbors.

“It was a pleasure having you all, and you are always welcome to come back if you’d like.” Marie opened the green front door for the Roth’s.

“Please, Marie, thank you for dinner, the advice, and the hospitality. Your sons are sweethearts, too.” Mrs. Roth says.

“That apple crumb pie was delicious, you have a strong baker’s hand, Marie.” Tony states with a bellowed chuckle.

“Oh, it’s no biggie.”

“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Logan, Graham, and Garfield.” Rachel waves.

“No prob, Rachel. It was nice havin’ ya over, you’re good company.” Garfield’s face softens, and he smiles faintly at the girl.

Rachel tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her shy eyes trace away from his.

“You, too. Have a good night.” Rachel begins to walk away.

“Wait, Rachel.” Garfield calls to her.

“Mom, Dad, I’ll be behind you in a second.” Rachel says to her parents, who are already next door.

The other Logan’s retreated back into the house.

It was just Garfield and Rachel at the door.

Garfield pulls out his phone, then glances at Rachel.

“Can I have your number?”

Rachel is thrown completely off guard by the question, and tries to hide her hesitation.

“Just to keep in touch, is all. I promise I’m not a freak or anything.” Garfield gently reassures.

The compassionate twinkle in his smile suggests to Rachel, that maybe, she should take his word for it. He didn’t seem to mean any harm.

Rachel takes out her phone, and they begin to exchange.

In mid-transfer, Rachel’s phone rings in Garfield’s hand.

“I’m sorry, hold on.” Rachel takes the phone in her hand, answers the call.

“Ace?” her disposition changes, she melts into a vulnerable, almost terrified state.

“It’s been an hour, and I’m ready to go out.” Ace abrasively snarls.

“I told you that I can’t tonight, my neighbor’s invited me out to dinner.”

“I don’t care. I want you, and I want you now, you understand?! Tell me your address so I can pick you up.”

Rachel shakes her head, highly irritated, and ends the call again.

“I’ve gotta go.”

She gives Garfield his phone back, and when she leaves with hers, she only has half of his number.

✩.

hi, bbrae babes ! i hope you liked this read 💌 thank you for reading. i will post more chapters soon.

this story is also available on ao3 & ff.net !!

[jasper-dracona]

Yeah here’s the thing, it just changes your voice. Which. For many people seeking HRT, is exactly what we asked for. Cue this @sweatermuppet post

And look, like with any change there’s gonna be an awkward middle stage where your voice isn’t that deep yet but sometimes it is and sometimes it’s higher and you can’t hit that middle ground you used to be able to and and and. But that isn’t forever.

And on top of those things, singing is a SKILL. You will likely have to relearn some stuff, and re-train your muscles for how to do everything right for it’s new sorta situation, but it can be learned!

In contrast to OP’s experience, I was told growing up that I had my dad’s singing voice. This was intended as a light jab, and honestly mostly at my dad, but my family failed to realize that it sounded like a deep insult to both of us. I honestly still think it was deeply unkind to both of us, but anyway, suffices to say I was convinced I was incapable of singing well for a very long time.

When I was a teenager, some coaxing from my Auntie taught me that you should sing poorly, it’s good for you, and some stuff about how to get better if I wanted to. This helped change my mindset and let me sing in the car again, but didn’t really convince me I was much better. I was still utterly petrified of the fact that I didn’t sound how I did in my head, and therefore, how could I ever be confident I actually sounded good? Because to me, what I heard when I recorded my voice and played it back made me so viscerally uncomfortable I felt like no one would ever want to hear that make any more noise than it had to. So I almost never sang in front of anyone, definitely not in front of anyone I didn’t trust deeply.

It was only when, in university, I met this lovely trans girl who loves music, and prog rock in particular, that I would start to feel better about singing for real. I started trying to sing lower, I started practicing regularly, she helped me to catch subtleties I couldn’t yet hear. Oh, and she also helped me figure out I was a trans guy!

I’ve been on T for 6 months now, and I’ve done a tiny bit of voice training, and this is the best I’ve ever felt about my voice in my entire goddamn life. I can’t wait to see how deep my voice gets and how much better my singing becomes as I continue. Testosterone gave me a singing voice I am willing to show to other people. I mean fuck, I went to karaoke and sang a fucking QUEEN SONG a little while back (obv I didn’t have the full range because holy fuck, but I did damn well considering what range I do have).

…

So, with both ends of the pre-transition singing experience now given examples in this post, let’s take another look at the initial fear-mongering we’re talking about.

“Testosterone will ruin your singing voice”

Well now, where else have I heard that word “ruin” used in this context before, it feels very familiar… oh that’s right! Every transphobe’s argument against gender-affirming-anything I’ve ever heard! “Testosterone will ruin your chest,” “Estrogen will ruin your ability to get hard,” “why would you ruin your body by getting top surgery?,” “Testosterone will ruin your skin,” etc.

Transphobes think everything we do to our bodies to make them our own is ruining them, it’s all mutilation and irreversible butchering to their eyes. To them, change is ruin, regardless of how positive the outcome of that change is, or how much it is desired.

So yeah, ask yourself: Is this person speaking from a place of actual concern for your current or future wellbeing? If yes, then there are some misconceptions to be cleared up and some serious conversations to be had, but it’ll be alright. If no, then don’t fucking listen to them. Someone else can clutch their pearls as much as they want about the changes you desire for yourself, but don’t let them scare you, and don’t let them change your mind.

Never let someone else’s idea of you or your future, or their projected desires for themselves, hold you hostage.

i am SO sick of the fearmongering around T and how it will affect your singing voice. i have been singing since i was a kid. i mean i have been singing as long as i could talk, i was once in an all girls choir, i was the youngest person in my churches choir when i was, like, 8. i never had much confidence in my voice because i sounded like a girl, which led me to singing less, which led me to sounding worse. before i started T i was SO worried that it would ruin my beautiful feminine singing voice.

but the difference is like night and day. i sound SO much better than i did pre-T. i can sing without hating myself. i sound like a man and i can sing

and yea maybe i’m no longer and 8 year old soprano. but i can sing and listen to myself and not want to die and isn’t that fucking wonderful?

[soul-dwelling]

Do you think any readings of black blood as some metaphor for STD's could have been intended by Ohkubo or it's just all in the heads of fans that want to make childrens media "dark and mature" and or edgy trolls that just want to be abrasive for the sake of it

Oh, I’m going to go off the rails towards the end of this post. 

Let’s start with the actual answer to your question before my rant kicks in. 

I can’t remember encountering this reading, or having made that interpretation (although it wouldn’t surprise me, after 10 years with this fan blog, with thousands of reblogs and original posts, that there isn’t a post where I or someone else didn’t bring it up). 

I think what mitigates that reading for me is that the Black Blood, while passing along the same condition from Crona to Soul, is presented as passing along a more mental condition of “madness” (admittedly, Ohkubo’s portrayal of madness in his fiction is not directly aligned with how it works in our world--seeing as he is writing magical fiction, not something strictly realistic). 

So, I’m too distracted by “shared mental condition due to an ‘infection’” before I think, “Um, is this tapping into something problematic where Ohkubo is not portraying STIs well?”

I can’t figure out an author’s intention (even though enough of my replies today are trying to do that). But what I see from Ohkubo, I don’t see enough other context clues to make me think he intended for the Black Blood to be read as a metaphor about STIs. Given how the manga wraps up with the entire world under a form of madness, I don’t see how that speaks to anything about STIs. 

And now, the rants--and neither one is in response to your question, they are just tangential and on my mind given *waves hands at how fucked up everything is right now in this real world we’re stuck in*. 

(And before anyone says, “Ohkubo’s Chapter 113 predicted COVID,” no, he fucking didn’t. If anything, at best, I could say, between how Soul Eater ends with everyone just tolerating the Madness of Boobs, and how Fire Force ends with Shinra forcing onto everyone else a lack of concern about dying, this is more like Ohkubo darkly anticipating, by logic or cynicism, how humans would create to something: they would just accept the problem and, rather than avoid it or try to fix it, just normalize it, because they are too lazy and heartless to give a shit about the problems they are putting onto other people and would rather go without a vaccine or a mask or social distancing--and yes, I am ranting now, because goddamn it, this shit has gone on for years and has compromised the health and livelihood of so many people who can’t afford the financial, mental, emotional, and physical costs.)

I don’t think it’s only that fans want to make it dark or mature or want to be edgy trolls--that’s all part of it. But some fans just want dark humor to let the tension out, to work through their fears or traumas. I would not tell someone dealing with an STI that they can’t crack this kind of a dark joke--they’re dealing with this problem, I’m not, let them speak about their own experience, even if I don’t agree with the interpretation or find the experience to be in such contrast with the tone of the original work. Same if someone did indeed want to read this as similar to COVID (even as my rant above, more so in anger at the “___ predicted ___” memes that just piss me off, shows I’m not a fan of that reading, either). 

And I would quibble over whether we can put Soul Eater into children’s media--but that’s a discussion about how much of the series can definitely be handled by children, how norms and demographics differ between Japanese audiences and audiences in other settings, how there are children who can handle something thought not to be for their age group and some children can’t, so the entire demarcation of something as “children’s media” and something as “adult’s media” has more to do with reception and engagement that varies person to person rather than a necessarily blanket category. 

(...Almost like why book bans going on in my fucking country are fucking tiresome: you can leave a book in a library, you can guide a kid to check out that book or not to check out that book, but removing the book from the shelves is the fucking wrong move because now a kid who can handle that book or even adults who also are at that library now can’t get it. It’s also why it's foolish to ban books that are LGBTQA+, or perceived or promoted as such--first of all for the reasons I said above about leaving books there to find their audience, but also because you’re acting as if “LGBTQA+” is synonymous with “adult” when no it fucking is not and when you’re acting like a child can’t be LGBTQA+ when we have seen repeatedly yes they fucking can.)

[lexivass]

How could you think we wouldn't want to read this??? This was insanely good, I loved learning about how everything began!

I really enjoy reading from Steve's perspective: it's a mix of being like "What's wrong with you?" = genuinely trying to understand him; and "What's wrong with you?" = wanting to hit him in the face. 😃

It was very interesting to see how he manipulated the guys and started to mess up with reader’s mind. His mindset of having a traditional family but slowly falling for her even if he doesn't realize makes me a bit insane: the stalking, the drawing!!!!!, the admiration from afar that he tries to snap out of, the thing with the money. Also a few details like him using condoms with Sharon (loved reading about how he felt for her) and smelling reader when no else could (Idk if this is an indication that they belong to each other, but I liked it).

I also feel like this gave us more insight on reader before Steve. You always told us how smart she was, but it was good to actually see it. It surprised me how she stood up for herself at the beginning and tried to make peace with her bullies (I cried at the scene with the brownies, just wanted to shove the plastic/glass/whatever of the Tupperware down Steve's throat, fucking asshole), and the contrast with how she was at the beginning (hopeful in making friends and not flinching like a little mouse bc of those assholes) to how she was before she first slept with Steve is insane. My sweet baby :((

- Some of my fav parts about the romance:

"You still look morose and deflated by the time the lecture ends, taking ages to slowly pack your book bag. Sam and Bucky leave, but Steve hangs back. Talk to her! The voice in his head urges him. Tell her you mistook her for someone else, tell her you didn’t mean it! Ask her out! And he lets himself imagine it for a second, asking you out on a date. Picking you up and presenting you with yellow roses, taking you to a restaurant that’s way too fancy for you, and you’d probably be wearing that goddamn hoodie, too."

(...)

"And it’s kind of fun observing you. At one point, you stop in front of a rose bush to smell the delicate flowers. Steve thinks back to how he’d imagined asking you out and giving you a bouquet of yellow roses. He lets himself imagine some more: you bringing the bouquet up to your nose and inhaling gently, a pretty smile on your face as you stand up on your tiptoes to kiss him and tell him thank you."

(...)

"The picture sits pretty in his mind for a good ten seconds, a smile touching his lips before he aggressively wipes it off. Stop being a sappy fucking loser, he tells himself, before refocusing on his omega. You’re making your way into your dorm building now – it’s one of the cheaper ones on campus. The dorms in there are about the size of postage stamps, and it makes him think of everything he could provide for you: money, clothes, gifts – anything you asked for."

(...)

"Back in his own room, Steve stares at your number on his phone. He could easily call you right this instant, or text you. He could thank you for doing his report and offer to take you out. And then he’d show up at your doorstep with a bouquet of yellow roses, take you to the most expensive restaurant in town and then he’d drive up to a great spot he knows, where the two of you could stargaze and then he’d kiss you for the first time before taking you to the backseat of his car and making love to you, all soft and sweet – because you’re soft and sweet."

(...)

"And once he starts drawing, it’s like he can’t stop. It comes so naturally to him, like he’s known your face for years and committed it to his memory. He draws you sitting front row during the lecture, trying his hardest to capture that look of concentration on your face, the furrow of your brow, the way you bite your lip. He even draws you in your ridiculously oversized hoodie, how it practically swallows you whole. And he finds himself smiling at how cute you look in it – despite the fact that omegas aren’t supposed to wear things like that."

HE DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE HOW HOOKED HE ALREADY IS!!! God, to think we could've had it all if Steve wasn't fucked in the head.

(...)

"(...) He wants you to be his, yet at the same time he can’t believe that he’s fallen for some random scholarship omega. Fallen? No, he hasn’t fallen for you. It’s just lust. Just lust. Just. Lust."

(...)

Steve watches you blink and take a deep breath before you speak. “H-Hello, Steve. Sam. Bucky.” (...) “I th-think we – uh – I think we all got off on the wrong foot last time, (...) I kn-know you guys were probably joking but, I – uh…” You swallow, and Steve has to admire your guts. He can tell you’re practically shitting yourself with how nervous you look. You shake your head and smile softly, “I made these. For you. I mean, all three of you. As a kind of peace offering.” You open the Tupperware container and hold it out towards him. Inside, there are about a dozen brownies, cut into neat little squares. (....) “I baked them this morning,” You say proudly, “A friend of mine told me that there’s nothing a batch of brownies can’t solve. So, these are for you, and maybe now we could be friends?” 😭😭😭😭

(...)

"Which is why it makes little sense when he slaps his hand upwards, knocking the container out of your hand and sending the brownies flying everywhere, landing on the floor in a sorry heap by your feet." You're right, Steve, it makes no fucking sense.

(...)

“Th-That’s not my name.” You try and stand your ground but really, it’s not like you’re any match for him. “Don’t call me that – p-please.”

“Why not? That’s what you are, after all. Your name doesn’t matter to me – whatever it is.” (He knows exactly what your name is, because he’s spent the past few days thinking about how great it would sound if you put his last name next to it, but that’s beside the point)."

Look at this fucking idiot. Jesus 🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️

(...)

"But he also wants to gather you in his arms, hold you in his lap and comfort you. Tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he doesn’t know why he’s doing all this. Well, he does know why – but sometimes he isn’t convinced by his own rationale. Control you. Comfort you. Control you. Comfort you. Control you–" Bitch, you need to go to therapy.

(...)

"Which is why it doesn’t make much sense when, in one fluid motion, he steps down hard on your juice-box, the liquid spurting out and splattering all over your top, and the open book too, immediately leaving large, blotchy stains on both." Steve, you're not 10. Stop that.

(...)

"He also thinks about what you’re going to do with the money he gave you. Replacing the library book wouldn’t cost that much, and he hopes you spend the rest of the hundred on clothes or jewellery for yourself. That way, it would be like he bought something for you, he bought it for you and now you’re wearing it on your skin. Something he bought. Because you belong to Steve. And then he cums hard, slapping the bathroom wall so hard that one of the tiles chips.

Then, he cleans off and gets his sketchbook out. He draws you sitting under the tree with your little juice-box. He makes sure to make the drawing as detailed as possible, down to the top you were wearing and the way you looked so engrossed in your book. At the last second, he adds one more detail. A jagged mark on the side of your neck. His mark. Then he slams his sketchbook shut and buries it under his bed."

Honestly, I just want to dissect his brain and put it under a microscope at this point bc like, Jesus. Also, I don't smoke, but Steve always makes me want to! Every single time, ever since the first chapter I feel like I could only handle Steve properly if I was under something. He messes WAY TOO MUCH with my emotions ksksksk

(...)

"Steve opens the report to scan through it, and the hundred-dollar bill flutters out from where it was tucked in the first page. Huh. You’d returned the money." IT SERVES YOU RIGHT!!!

(...)

"He stares at you a lot, too. And sometimes, he finds you staring back at him before you quickly look away. She has a crush on me, too! He thinks to himself before shaking his head and trying to focus on something else. But he can’t. You’re everywhere. Even when he hooks up with other girls now, he picks ones out who have the same features as you. Same hair colour, same skin-tone. That way, it’s easier to pretend it’s you when he’s fucking them from behind." That's not just lust, my man (the "She has a crush on me, too!" was really cute, ngl 🤭🤭)

(...)

"Steve gets an A+ on his report, and when he glances at you holding your own paper, he sees you got an A+ too. Which means you submitted two top tier research papers. (...) He watches you smile and clasp your hands together, clearly happy with your grade." My smart baby! 🥰🥰🥰 💜💜💜💜💜

(...)

"Maybe then I’ll get her out of my system once and for all. " Oh, Steve, you're so screwed. You don't even know how much yet.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 (𝐏𝐎𝐘𝐓 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark Steve, heavy misogyny, a/b/o dynamics, stalking, smut, daddy!kink, swearing, 18+, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You walk into the lecture hall and Steve doesn’t know how to act.

𝐀/𝐍: Well, it’s finally here! This is a prequel of my fic Preying on You Tonight, completely in the point of view of everyone’s favourite toxic king, Steve! This is around 11k words. Please enjoy!

The first time Steve sees you, it’s like he suddenly can’t breathe. And the funniest thing is, he doesn’t even see you at first – he senses you, as ridiculous as that sounds. He’s just sitting there in the middle of the lecture hall, prodding the back of Bucky’s head as his friend lays slumped over on his desk, looking comically hungover – dark eyebags, rumpled clothes, red eyes – the works.

And then Steve feels this strange sensation, this prickling feeling at the back of his neck that makes his heart beat faster too. Almost like he’s nervous or anxious – which is stupid because Steve is never nervous or anxious. Even during the biggest football games of the season, with hordes of people in the crowd and even NFL recruiters watching, Steve still doesn’t break a sweat.

So, why does it suddenly feel like all the air’s been forced out of his lungs?

Continuar lendo

[passivenovember]

mirrorball (pt. 1?)

--

“You’re irate,” Robin says. 

And Steve can’t pretend that he knows the definition or that somewhere, past the churning noise of the party, and the wafting heat from the dancefloor, Steve has the slightest clue what to say other than, “Probably.”

Because in all the months he’s known her, if Robin says he’s irate then he probably is.

Steve wants to go home. He’s been over this scene for a while now, holding an empty red cup so no one asks him if he’s up for seconds and thirds. His eyes sting from the smoke. He’s never liked that about parties that don’t rage under his jurisdiction. 

If they were home right now, cutting the night away at Steve’s house, he’d tell them to take it outside. Not everyone’s a smoker. Not everyone wants to die early from nicotine poison, at least not from something as insignificant as second-hand smoke. 

But these are Tommy’s digs. 

And apparently, anything goes, here. People smoke and drink and fuck right out in the open, probably depositing colonies of lost children on the shag carpet underfoot, and Steve’s had enough. 

“This is really bothering you, huh?” Robin asks. 

“What are you talking about?”

On the other side of the room, past a string of holographic flowers cut from cellophane that dangles in Steve’s line of sight, Billy’s got a kaleidoscope of color dancing on his eyelashes and he’s standing really close to a guy with pretty hair.

That’s all Steve can clock about him.

His hair is nice. Long and brown and curly. 

And Steve’s been told a million times by his grandma that he’s got more to offer than a head of thick, Italian locks but with only a red cup and Robin’s fifty-cent words tethering him to this basement, Steve isn’t so sure. 

Robin knocks their shoulders together. “Billy,” She says. 

Steve can’t tear his eyes away from Billy’s eyelashes. “Where?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” Steve snaps. “I just don’t see him.”

As if on cue, Billy steps closer to the guy because he either knows Steve is watching or he’s trapped in his own little world.

Steve can’t figure out which is worse. Serving as the gasoline that fuels Billy’s night and earning a front row seat to whatever happens next or being locked out of that world. 

Forgotten. 

A sliver of perfect, golden skin peeking between the hem of Billy’s slashed Metallica tank top and a pair of leather pants Steve’s never seen before. 

Not in this basement. Not in his entire life.

He knows instantly he wants to see them trapped around Billy’s thighs. And on his bedroom floor. And melting, coughing up smoke until they’re memory when brownie-locks tugs Billy closer by his belt loop.

Steve crumples his red cup. “Let’s go,” He says. 

Again, Steve’s legs don’t move. 

“You should talk to him,” Robin says. “You should do something before–”

“Billy’s not going to fuck him,” Steve tells the shag carpet. He looks at Robin, and peers into her red-rimmed, pitying green eyes, because. “Right?”

She’s probably worried.

She’s probably tearing her hair down from its edgy updo in fear that their very own ray of Californian sunshine is going home with a stranger tonight. 

Robin’s lips disappear between her teeth, “I don’t know,” She says honestly. 

Robin cherry-picks her words. It’s such a contrast to the way Steve bulldozes his way through grand statements and sweeping apologies. It’s comforting. He hangs on her every expression to know he’s not crazy. He tracks the way she stares past those goddamn cellophane flowers until her eyes get big.

Robin glances over, cheeks red as speeding firetrucks even in the shitty light of this shitty fucking basement.

“What?” Steve demands, and he stares at the horizon to find, that. 

Billy and his Motley Crue knockoff have disappeared.

Steve sucks in a sharp, desperate breath. 

“Steve,” Robin says. 

He can’t feel his toes. He knew this would happen. He should’ve told Billy he loved him when he had the chance, and now.

Robin rubs his knee. 

“Maybe they just. Got swallowed by the wallpaper, or something.” And Steve sounds almost believable. He almost believes it himself, you know? Because how could his entire sex life have gone up in smoke in the last thirty-six hours? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. He was inside Billy Hargrove thirty-eight hours ago, and now--

The room might as well be empty.

“This is such bullshit,” Steve shakes his head. “He better wear a condom.”

Robin snorts, “You really think Billy’s gonna top?” Her fingers snake around Steve’s shoulder blades, rubbing at the knot of muscles in the side of his neck. “You can’t let it get to you, Harrington.”

Steve has to swallow the immediate desire to protect his shoddy, half-assed fortress of Cool Guy that has been falling apart, brick by brick, since the first time Billy had hickeys on his neck in the shape of Steve’s mouth and told him that this meant nothing.

Steve wants to bury his face in his hands. 

He wants to pull his hair out by the root and scream and scream and never stop screaming until finally Billy admits that this is love.

That they’re in love with each other.

Whatever that looks like. Forgetting the condom, maybe.

Robin rocks their shoulders together. “Do you want another drink?”

Steve wants that, too. 

He hands his cup over, instead, “I’m going out for a smoke,” Steve mumbles, because even though Tommy’s parents have money and could replace it no-problem, he still pretends to respect the wallpaper he knows Mrs. Hagan chose special.

--

Billy only lets Eddie get his hands under his shirt because Steve’s watching. 

Only. 

Steve misses it, because he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. He’s too busy talking to Robin, and it’s fucked up that the cocktail of vodka and cheap dope has Billy jealous about that, too. 

Like it’s not enough that he hates Steve’s sweater for draping itself over him all day, but Billy’s gotta drag his favorite lesbian into this. 

Nothing is holy, anymore.

The angry, love-drunk, pissed-off part of himself whispers that Steve and Robin are going home with each other tonight, even though Billy knows that means hideous fleece pajamas and no grabby hands.

It doesn’t matter.

Eddie scrapes a nail over Billy’s nipple and Billy thinks he’s gotta get even. 

If Steve is going to sit on that fucking couch and uphold their agreement that this means nothing, Billy’s going to fuck this stranger.

Done deal.

So Steve looks away and Billy tugs Eddie’s hand to his waist to get his mind off the mole on Steve’s cheek. 

“Got a condom?” He slurs. He’s fucked up. Can’t even stand straight without the wall or this guy propping him up. 

Eddie detaches himself from Billy’s neck, and. “A condom?” He asks, not understanding.

Even in Tommy’s shitty basement, he’s got nice eyes. 

Big and brown and kind, like Steve’s, but. He’s not Steve. 

That could be good, right? Billy could work with that. “You don’t wanna fuck me?” He snaps.

Hurt, maybe.

Eddie shakes his head, “No, I do it’s just,” He catches Billy when he stumbles and puts him back on the wall like Billy’s mom used to do with loose paintings when Neil pushed her into them. “Shit, darlin’, you’re drunk.”

It’s kind of hilarious. 

Billy snorts. Knows if Steve heard him he’d say Billy’s cute, and Billy wants to go home. Not to Cherry Lane, but to Steve. He wants to live there forever and Max could come, too.

“I am drunk,” Billy admits. He leans forward, wetting his mouth and grinning when this poor country idiot can’t help but zero in on its shine. “I’m real easy when I’m sloshed.”

“I don’t know–”

“C’mon, Harrington says I open up nice when I’m blackout.”

Eddie blinks at him. Straightens his spine, all noble, so he can stare down his button-snout at Billy to demand, “He fucks you when you can’t stop him?”

Like he knows Steve.

Like he knows them like Billy’s his mom and he needs to be rescued.

It pisses him off. Gets his dick to lay flat, for once, and Billy’s fucking tired.

“Oh, like you were about to?” Eddies cheeks flare red. Billy waddles forward. Says, “I don’t even know you. Stop acting like you know shit about shit because you don’t.” Because. “I love him,” Billy adds, “I’m in love with him because he deserves it.”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “Oh yeah?”

“Maybe.”

“That him over there?” And Eddie jerks a thumb over his left shoulder. Steve’s watching them, cool as a fucking cucumber, and that does something to Billy. 

Makes him look at the situation from outside of it. 

Like, he just offered to fuck this guy, this random dude, and Steve doesn’t even care. And he’s not stupid. Likes to pretend he is, though, and that’s worse. He may be having a grand old time over there with Robs, lounging like a king on the same couch Tommy fucked Billy on last summer, but he knows.

He’s gotta know. 

Billy shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” He gasps. 

It’s not Eddie’s fault. 

He’s a nice guy. He’s been sweet all night, asking about music and movies and books and only touching when Billy begs him for it. 

Eddie’s baby browns get big. He says, “There’s nothing wrong with you, baby, people act crazy when they’re in love.” He pushes the hair off Billy’s forehead, looking sweet and concerned, “Do you wanna go outside, maybe? Get some fresh air?”

Across the room, Steve isn’t even watching them, anymore. 

He’s lost interest.

Maybe he never had it in the first place. And it stings. 

Strangely, Billy doesn’t feel like drawing blood when Eddie leaks kindness. He offers his hand and Billy is too drunk to do anything other than take it.

[hanji-is-life]

Bakugou who aggressively flirts with the black interviewer throughout the entire ordeal and doesn’t let up on her because he likes seeing her stutter and get all flustered. You’re trying to ask him about his hero stats, but all he can do is counteract the questions with shit directed toward you instead.

“Dynamight, I’m here to ask and learn more about you! This isn’t about me! Nobody wants to know anything about me.” You say through a laugh, but Bakugou frowns at the words before he leans forward with a grin.

“Fuck everybody else. I wanna know everything about you, sweetheart.” The words fluster you to your core. Every question is shaky after that, your hands fumbling and sweaty from how he’s been eyeing you, biting his lip whenever you roll your eyes at another one of his attempts to flirt.

His PR manager keeps pausing the interview to get him back on track, but he’s trying to get on your track instead. After more hounding, he starts answering the questions instead of blatantly flirting, but he’s eye fucking the hell out of you. The black boots that come up to your knee, the skirt and fishnets that frame your thighs and hips, the view of your exposed cleavage, even your pretty ass face and soft looking lips.

He wants to both kiss them and stick his dick in between them.

“‘Like your boots.” He blurts out, cutting you off mid sentence. You stammer for a second, tripping over your words as you try not to combust in your seat.

“Your fishnets, too.” This time it’s said with a lecherous grin as he leans back in his chair and spreads his legs. The cameraman quickly panels to your face, mainly to avoid the obvious bulge that’s now swelling in Bakugou’s ripped black jeans.

Your mouth is gaping open, in shock that this fucker was so damn bold and had absolutely no shame! Bakugou just imagined you getting his pubes sticky from that soft clear lipgloss and brown lipliner on your lips.

“Behave.” You say through a smile, eyes cast low as you try your best to school your expression. You can’t afford to get fired for flirting on the job, but he’s making it so goddamn hard. Bakugou likes the way you try to calm yourself, how chills slither up your exposed chest and arms from being so damn flustered by him. He can’t help himself.

When the interview is over, he’s looking at you to give his thanks and goodbyes instead of the camera, even shooting you a wink that the camera catches. He doesn’t let you get far when it’s finished though, ignoring the people telling him it’s time for another interview at another station, instead opting to convince you into letting him inside of your own dressing room.

He hikes your skirt up in no time, bending you over the vanity, leaves on the heels he wants you to step on him with, rips a hole in your fishnets and pushes your panties to the side. He wastes no time in shoving his face into your cunt, huffing against the pretty brown lips that are already wet with your slick. He licks you clean in seconds, sloppily opens you up with two fingers, before he’s pushing himself inside of you. He doesn’t care about the rattling noises from the falling makeup and jewelry, just pounds into you harder, glances from where your skin contrasts with his own, up to your panting face in the mirror.

It’s a sight he’ll never forget. Especially not the face you make when you cum all over his cock and squeakily ask him to fill you up so you can still feel his cum dribbling out of you during your next interview with Deku. And of course, he happily supplies your demands.

ps: the interview goes viral and everyone loses their shit bc Dynamight was so obviously into you. now you’re being harassed into answering whether or not you guys fucked afterwards. your reply is always a stuttered, “no comment.”