#like in a gay way but not in the way you think

[kyri45]

A final letter

Hello Everyone!

The queue is paused and everything is scheduled, which means we are ready for the finale!

I know that, in the end, this was just a silly side project for me, with everything else going on in my life. But for this occasion, I wanted to drop some words here and hope they make sense.

I started watching LMK only because a friend told me there was a "Sonadow-coded" ship. I ended up consuming the entire thing in one sitting on July 10th, 2024. At the time, I was still recovering from a bike accident that had left me with a broken right forearm—unable to draw for a little over a month. (I did try drawing with my left finger, but it wasn't exactly fun.)

Not only that, but it was summer, and I couldn’t enjoy the season or practice my main sport, windsurfing. To say I was feeling the blues is an understatement. I remember being in physical pain just from not being able to draw my sillies. But then, watching LMK did something to my brain chemistry that my little undiagnosed autistic self had never experienced before. It hit so hard that I’ve been physically unable to rewatch the show SINCE that very first day. (And y’all still call me the CEO of this fandom. Bro, I just work here.)

A lot of you have asked what inspired me to start this comic or to draw LMK fan art in the first place. While my usual answer is, "I saw Shadowpeach and thought MK could be their lovechild, given his appearance," the moment that actually started it all was THIS ONE—

(I HAD TO REWATCH THIS SCENE TO MAKE THE GIF AND IT HURT ME ON A MOLECOLAR LEVEL)

I have… a thing for characters who discover their entire identity was something else all along. It consumes my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I live for identity crises, for characters who thought they knew who they were, only to be forced to rediscover themselves, their existence, and their place in the world. If you give me a story where a character has to go through that, I will like it—regardless of how bad the rest of the story is.

Pair that with loads of trauma, daddy issues, the pressure of a legacy, and world-ending stakes, and congrats! Now I’m obsessed, and I will not stop thinking about it for the rest of my days!

At first, my brain just wanted to release some of that energy with a small, four-panel post about the monkeys discovering that MK was technically their kid.

That was supposed to be it.

But since I never seem to learn my lesson, it didn’t stay like that. Because once I started drawing, I just... continued.

And

I

never

stopped.

A lot of you have also asked how I found the motivation to draw so much, to never take a break. Well, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it one last time: I am my number one fan. No matter how much you laughed, cried, screamed, or went feral over this story, I did all of that and more. Because I got to think about the chapters months before they released. I got to daydream about them. I got to watch them come to life—first through sketches, then line art, then dialogue. And finally, I got to witness your reactions and see the incredible creations you made, inspired by my story.

So yeah, in a way, it was almost an addiction. A good addiction. Because, for the first time in my life, I actually understood what loving art means.

I’ve been drawing for ten years, working professionally for five, but I never loved art before. I just liked it because I happened to be good at it. But creating this comic made me understand why artists say, "Oh, I’ve loved drawing since I was a child!" This was the first time I allowed myself to create purely for my own enjoyment. Something I hadn’t had the privilege to do for a long time.

Other than making me feel even more single than I already was, this story somehow also helped me a little with my own family relationships. So yeah. Crazy how the gay monkeys changed my life.

Of course, I never could have predicted how much traction my AU would gain. Man, y’all were really starving to latch onto something this silly. /j

But yeah—thank you. Thank you for sticking around until the end, for having the patience and trust to follow the story even when I made you rage with angst and cliffhangers. (The statement in my bio still stands: I am not responsible for any physical or emotional damage my art has caused.)

I’m absolutely shit at thanking people, or at writing, or at talking in general, honestly. I’m the furthest thing from being good with words, so I hope the final chapter will be enough to show you my gratitude.

Through this story, I met so many wonderful, talented people. I watched as fans across different platforms found each other through memes and fanart of the AU. I saw artists start their own AUs inspired by mine, growing their own communities. I witnessed an explosion of creativity and collaboration through our takeovers. And I laughed along with you all.

And yeah—at its core, this story has always been about love. Whether it’s platonic, sibling, parental, romantic, or whatever the hell Mac and Wukong had going on for millennia.

At its heart, it’s a story about family.

And maybe, in the end… the real family wasn’t just the one in the comic, but the one we’ve found together along the way. 💛

See you all at the finale.

Love you all, freaks /affectionate

Jade

[tucsonhorse]

I think a lot of activists, especially extremely left activists, fall into this pattern out of a misguided attempt to keep themselves and everyone they care about safe.

You see it a lot in rhetoric about how "real allies" aren't supposed to complain about or push back against being talked to in shitty ways or treated crappily by members of the marginalized group. The reason given is always that if someone will get mad at being treated badly by the marginalized group, then they won't actually stand up when members of that group are marginalized. And that can rapidly devolve into significant aggression being accepted towards potential new members to the group in the guise of "vetting" (abuse is not vetting folks).

It can be difficult to fight against this trend within spaces because the fear it is compensating for is entirely valid, and the base assumption is also valid. Members of marginalized groups have every reason to not trust some stranger or acquaintance who just says "I'm your ally and support you". Those words don't guarantee anything.

And there absolutely are people who will, for example, say that they are an LGBTQ+ ally, clearly believe that they are, do and say everything to indicate that they are, and then something happens like the baker who refused to make cakes for same gender couples and the "ally" responds with some junk about "personal freedom" and how gays have no right to expect other people to support them, so long as the other people aren't physically hurting them. That's painful as fuck and the kind of thing that makes it clear the supposed ally is only an ally when convenient.

It makes sense to want to keep people like that at bay for self protection, and no marginalized person is or should be obligated to accept someone like that into their personal circle. But when a group starts to use deliberate rudeness and viciousness to "weed out" that sort of person preemptively, that's the first step to being a high control group and it's toxic.

I've watched individuals do this and the group around them decide they're unwilling to participate. It sadly tends to lead to that person gradually isolating themselves, but that is not something that is genuinely helped by the whole group becoming a high control group with that person in charge.

So, you know how certain Christian missionaries are trained to act in a very obnoxious way, so that most people they preach to will reject them outright, so they feel like the world hates them for being Christian and they can only be friends with fellow Christians? You know that thing?

I think as activists, we sometimes need to stop and ask ourselves whether we're acting like those missionaries. I think this type of behavior is a little more ingrained into our society than some of us realize, and some of us have internalized it without realizing what it's actually meant to do.

[ckret2]

Chapter 89 of human Bill Cipher and his uneasy ceasefire with the Mystery Shack: Bill and Ford go to the museum to plant false clues that will fool Agent Powers into thinking Never mind all that, we're getting gay y'all

A turning point has been reached and none of them know it yet.

Also: Ford learns more about the Blind Eye than he's comfortable with, and Bill and Mabel have as much of a heart-to-heart as they can manage at like four in the morning.

####

The plan was simple. Break into the museum; watch a couple of videos, so that Ford could get a sense for how they sounded; record one of their own; strategically place it amongst the rest, along with the map that Mabel had made.

There was only one complication: the videos they'd be watching were the memories stolen by the Society of the Blind Eye.

Ford had been dying to know about them for thirty years. Back in the 80s, for a few days, the mysterious red-robed stalkers had probably done more to terrify Ford out of his sleep-deprived, paranoid mind than even Bill had. He'd realized they were the work of Fiddleford and his memory gun, but all the way up until last summer he'd never been sure whether they were Fiddleford's way of trying to forget Bill, or if Bill had infiltrated his mind and influenced him to ravage the town's minds.

Now? Ford still didn't know much more about them—just their founder, and the fact that they'd wielded Fiddleford's memory gun. He doubted even Fiddleford recalled what had inspired him to escalate from erasing his own trauma to forming a cult that literally brainwashed people; but, Ford had never asked.

There were things Ford and Fiddleford had tacitly agreed never to bring up. They didn't talk about the things they'd said to each other after the portal test. They didn't talk about the "demon" Ford had let haunt the halls the entire time Fiddleford had stayed in his house—at least, they didn't talk about the demon until he came back a few weeks ago. They didn't talk about their respective rapid mental breakdowns. They certainly didn't talk about Fiddleford's cult.

Under any other circumstances, Ford would have suspected Bill of deliberately choosing a plan that forced Ford to see Fiddleford's worst side again—except that Bill was so obviously miffed that Ford had been the only one qualified for this role. All the same, it felt like a betrayal to sneak behind Fiddleford's back and dig through his thirty-year-old dirty laundry. To go through all the things Fiddleford didn't want Ford to know and might not even remember himself.

He weighed up his desire to find out more about the cult against his loyalty to Fiddleford. As usual, Ford's curiosity won out over everything else. "Why are we using the Blind Eye?" Ford asked. "Were they one of your cults?"

Bill laughed shortly. It wasn't loud, but in the dark, silent car, it sounded like hammers on fine china. "You think the All-Seeing Eye ran the Blind Eye? Puh-leez. Your paranoia's slipped off its ball gag, Stanford." He pantomimed a pair of scissors with his hand. "If I wanted to erase anyone's memories, I'd snip 'em myself."

Ford didn't know whether or not that was a relief. Was it better to know Fiddleford had never been one of Bill's puppets, or would it have been better if Fiddleford hadn't been responsible for the Blind Eye? "Technically, you haven't said they weren't one of your—"

"No," Bill snapped. "They weren't."

Ford waited for Bill to elaborate—maybe explain why the Blind Eye had to be part of the plan? Boast about the cults he did have in the area? Insult Fiddleford's choice of mind-meddling techniques? But Bill just resumed the post he'd maintained since getting in the car: leaning against the passenger door as if trying to get as far away from Ford as possible, staring out the window at the passing night, and saying nothing. Bill had been a foul mood since leaving the house, and he was expressing it by ignoring Ford. It irked him, and he didn't know why he cared.

"All right," Ford said tiredly, "What in the world did I do to offend you today."

Bill didn't deign to reply.

"Tell me it's not because I used dollar coins."

"It's nothing you need to worry about," Bill said coldly. "Mabel just said I'm not allowed to be nice to you, that's all."

"Whatever she said, I'm sure it wasn't that," Ford said. "So you're giving me the silent treatment because you're mad at Mabel?"

"I'm not mad at Mabel and I'm not giving you the silent treatment. I don't have anything worth saying to you."

"You don't expect me to believe that. You could talk for a million years straight without pause."

"None of which you'd appreciate. Talking to you isn't worth the water vapor I'd exhale in the process."

"That's never stopped you before—"

"There's no winning," Bill snapped. "When I talk to you, you complain. When I don't, you complain. Either make up your mind or stop griping at me for existing!"

Ford shut his mouth. Yeah. All right. Fair enough.

He could only tolerate the silence for a few more seconds. "Here I thought you were the one who wanted to be friends again."

That was what made Bill explode. "Oh, that's what everyone thinks, isn't it! That I'm crawling on my hands and kneesbegging you to give me the time of day! Newsflash, Stanford: I'm over you. Ya blew it."

"Really." He would have assumed it was just another of Bill's attempts at manipulation—if Bill hadn't spent the last few days shooting down all of Ford's attempts to ask him basic questions. Now... it felt uncomfortably true.

 So, that was it? At last, Bill had given up on Ford? He should have been relieved. Instead, a part of him was disappointed.

He hadn't realized just how satisfying it was to repeatedly shoot Bill down. Satisfying to know that Bill still thought he was worth the pursuit. Ford had been so proud of himself for keeping Bill at arm's length—but did he actually want Bill any farther away than that? (After all this time, was he still just chasing Bill's approval?)

"What finally convinced you I'll never be one of your loyal little followers again?" Ford asked. "Was it the mac and cheese?"

"It didn't help," Bill said. "But no. It has a little bit more to do with the fact that you still want me dead."

Ford hit the breaks a little too soon at a stop sign so he could stare at Bill. "What in the world are you talking about? As Irecall, the last time we discussed the topic, I'd just spared your life!"

"Exactly!" Bill laughed bitterly. "Spared me because something I did gave you—" In the faint indirect glow of the streetlights, Ford could see Bill make sarcastic finger quotes, "'hope."

"Wh—That's it?! You're mad at me because I had the gall to have a little hope for you?!"

"Hope for me to what, Stanford Pines?" Bill had put on a sickeningly sweet sing-song voice, thick with venomous sarcasm. "Come on! We both know what you're hoping for, but I wanna hear you say it out loud!"

What? Ford's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. "Hope for you to change for the better?" Had Bill assumed he meant something else?

"Exactly," Bill hissed. "What you have is hope against me. You didn't spare me—you spared an imaginary person you invented! You think I'm worth letting live because I might turn into someone else you like more—well what does that say about me?"

The quiet click of a seat belt buckle was the only warning Ford got before Bill was in his face, a finger jabbing in his chest, a sharp knee digging into his thigh. "That I'm not worth it! You're just keeping me around as a human sacrifice to the Bill Cipher you wish existed! You still wanna watch me die, you just want it without the violence! You're trying to kill me in your mind right now!"

"Bill, get off—" Ford's foot slipped off the brake pedal.

The car only jerked forward a few inches before Bill shoved the gear stick into park, all without breaking eye contact. He went on, relentless: "I'm supposed to be so grateful that I'll let you just—erase everything that makes me me and magically reincarnate as some good person—"

"You're already a good person!" Ford snarled.

It took him a moment to register that Bill was no longer trying to out-shout him. He took the opportunity to shove Bill back to his own side of the car; and then silence fell over them.

Ford stared at the seat between them. He felt like, if he looked up, Bill's eyes would be glowing in the dark. "That—didn't come out the way I meant it."

"Oh, phew, here I was trying to remember when I'd switched your definitions for 'good' and 'depraved.'"

"You are depraved. But—there's—" it was so much harder to say a second time, "—a good person in you somewhere."

"Well sure, with all the souls I've swallowed, one or two of them were bound to be—"

"Can it, I'm being serious!" Ford sucked in a sharp shaky breath. "I've seen that side of you! You've saved little girls from certain death! You saved Dipper and me! You've driven more than one hostile supernatural entity out of the house. You've said the household's under your protection. You taught Mabel and her friends to summon demons—"

"��hold on, that's a point for me?"

"It was a very informative lesson with a large emphasis on proper warding techniques," Ford said angrily. "And it wasn't the only time! You've also taught Mabel about—about alien genetics and non-Euclidean geometry and who knows what else! And maybe this is all just another one of your schemes, maybe you've made a fool of me yet again for convincing me you'd ever do anything without an ulterior motive, but—" His voice caught in his throat. He cleared it roughly. "You were—so patient with her. You were kind." The way he'd seemed kind when he'd taught Ford. "I... want to believe it's more than just a trick."

And that was the problem, wasn't it. He wanted to. Maybe Bill wasn't even suckering Ford this time; maybe Ford had suckered himself.

Bill finally muttered, "Of course I had an ulterior motive."

Ford's heart and shoulders sank. "Of course you did," he said, hollow. "What was it."

"The kid thought I thought she's stupid. When you compare her against every brat in her school that shares her last name and her birthday and her mitochondria, her GPA's at the rock bottom of the list, and that's what she's used to snotty know-it-alls judging her by—and I just so happen to know it all." Bill shrugged expansively. (That shrug he did with his hands instead of his shoulders.) "And she doesn't trust anything I say that she doesn't already believe—so if I want to convince her I know she's got plenty of neurons sloshing around under her cranium, hey, what about tricking her into cramming a college semester's worth of interdimensional science and extraterrestrial history into one afternoon!"

Ford stared at him, waiting for the rest of it. "That was your—? What kind of ulterior motive is that, that's not selfish."

"What are you talking about? Of course it is," Bill said. "Do you think I did all that for her sake? No! I did it for mine! I only hang out with her for that thousand-watt personality she's got, I'm not about to put up with her moping around like a thirty-watt busted bulb. Plus it tricked her into listening to everything I said for the rest of the day!"

"You felt bad because she felt bad," Ford said, "so you spent the rest of your day making her feel better."

"Yes," Bill sighed, "now you're getting i—" He stopped. He squinted at Ford. "You think this is some kind of empathy thing?" He sounded mildly disgusted by the suggestion.

Ford laughed, and he wasn't quite sure if it was in amazement, hysteria, or fury. "Listen to yourself! There's a good person in you—a wonderful person—and it's buried underneath the worst person I will ever have the displeasure of meeting—but it's in you." The words came out like a damning accusation. He shoved his hand deep in a coat pocket, felt around for a piece of folded paper—he didn't even need to look at it to know what it was; he'd carried it in his pockets for a week, felt it so many times that he could recognize its creases by touch alone—and he flung it into Bill's lap.

He could hear Bill unfolding the paper. Ford wasn't able to see it in the dark, but he was sure Bill could: 

A drawing of Bill, in his natural triangular form, floating in the sky with blue flames in his upraised hands, over Mabel's handwriting: "I BELIEVE IN YOU. YOU CAN CHANGE!"

"I don't believe you've changed one bit since the start of summer," Ford said. "And that means, this has always been a part of you! Just as much as the lying and the backstabbing! Any time you want, you could choose to be the muse you've always pretended to be! You already are that muse! So why don't you do it? When you could be like that every single day of your life—why are you like this?"

He heard a quick, quiet inhale from Bill. But he didn't reply.

Ford didn't even know whether he'd meant the question to be rhetorical. Part of him desperately wanted an answer.

"That's why I let you live," he said. "You're a piece of scum, Cipher. But, the chance that you might... might change, yes, but not into somebody new, just another version of who you already are... I think that—makes it worth it."

The dark almost swallowed Bill's voice: "Worth risking the universe for?"

Ford suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Bill's voice was oddly flat. Too self-controlled. "You know, coming from a guy that hates my guts, that means more to me than I can say."

"Just—shut up." Why had he ever imagined anything he said might get through to Bill.

They'd been parked at the stop sign for several minutes. Ford put the car in drive and pulled out. He heard Bill click his seat belt in place and shift to lean against the door again; and then an awkward silence fell over the car once more.

Why wasn't Bill saying anything? Privately gloating? Thinking about how he could turn this to his advantage? Congratulating himself on successfully using Mabel as a pawn to fool Ford into thinking he had a secret charitable side?

The silence was too much for Ford to bear.

Just as he was about to turn on the radio, Bill's hand shot out and snapped it on first.

A 90's R&B singer cooed, "Ohh baby, I'll give you one last try-iy-iy. Just promise, you won't break my hear-ar-art—"

Bill snapped off the radio.

They rode the rest of the way to the museum in silence.

####

Ford quietly sighed as they pulled up to the museum. Under any other circumstances, going to the museum, investigating a mind-wiping secret society, and roleplaying as a spy movie villain sounded like a great way to spend a night. He wantedto be able to enjoy it.

"Look, Bill. Neither of us wants to be here with each other, but we don't have to make each other miserable. Can we at least act..." He groped for a word.

"Friendly?"

Ford was sure he detected a hint of sarcasm. "I was thinking of something more like 'civil.'"

"Oh, of course! Let's not get unreasonable."

"Can you manage civility."

"Can you?"

"I can if you can."

"Ha! I could out-civil you in my sleep."

"Then fine."

"Fine."

"Fine." Off to a terrific start.

Ford got out and circled the car to open Bill's side.

As Bill got out, carrying the camcorder, he said, "You know, it was nice running around with that agent today! He held doors for me like he respected me. Instead of like a guard escorting a convict out of the prison bus."

Ford shut the door behind Bill. "You are a prisoner."

"Obviously!" He held up a wrist, showing off the bracelet chaining them together. "But do you think I like feeling like one?"

I don't care what you like, Ford nearly said—by reflex more than anything—then stopped himself. He wasn't about to be the first one not to be civil.

"You know, it would be really nice if I could open doors on my own—then I wouldn't have anything at all to complain about..."

"I won't compromise on the doors, but I'm willing to drop the bracelets."

That got Bill to look at him. "What?"

"You've had an opportunity to drown me, you escaped us for the weekend, and you spent an entire day seducing a government agent who would probably be thrilled to arrest everyone in the Mystery Shack if you told them you'd been kidnapped," Ford said. "If you were planning to run off, it wouldn't be here and now."

Bill's face was unreadable. But he slid off his bracelet and held it out dangling from one finger. Something in the atmosphere imperceptibly lightened as Ford took it.

Bill said, "Or maybe my grand plan is to go pound on his door at three in the morning, claim I just escaped a kidnapping, and have him catch the lot of you in the middle of drugging his agents and breaking into the police department."

"That would be just like you." Ford eyed the museum's double glass doors critically, then fished around in his pocket for his wallet. "Clever of you to admit your dastardly plan after I uncuff you."

"See, this is what makes me a real mastermind," Bill said. "I don't gloat about my brilliant plans until after it's too late for my enemies to stop 'em."

"Right, right." Ford pulled his miniature lockpicking kit from his wallet, selected a long stick with a hook on the end, and slid it into the gap between the two doors "Like when you only gloated about using me after I'd built your portal."

"Ye—"

"But before I let you through it."

Bill shot Ford an exasperated look. Ford smirked.  Bill rolled his eye. "And it was too late for you to stop me, because in the end, I got through! Checkmate."

Ford muttered, "You couldn't checkmate me if you tried."

Bill jabbed his arm with a finger. "Hey! Hey! Play me when I'm running on more than thirty minutes of nightmares and forty calories of mystery meat puree, we'll see who can checkmate who."

Ford nearly said he'd take him up that, before remembering who he was talking to. "That didn't feel like a very civil poke."

"You must be unfamiliar with poking etiquette!"

Bill was back up to his usual gregariousness. More than usual; Ford hadn't heard him this chatty in weeks. Not with him, anyway.

Just because of the bracelets? He couldn't imagine what else it might be.

He caught the hook around a hidden bar inside the door's lock, tugged it free, and unlocked the door. "Ha!" He swung the door open, beaming proudly—at Bill, who didn't look as though he'd registered that Ford had done anything interesting at all. "Oh. Right."

"'Oh right' what?" Bill walked past Ford into the museum.

"Nothing. It was just—an impressive bit of lock picking, that's all."

"Oh, I bet it was," Bill said sarcastically.

"It was!"

"And I'm supposed to just take your word for it because I can't prove you wrong? Sure."

"Why would I lie about that?!"

"To impress me!"

"I do not want to impress you!"

"That little smirk you did when you opened the door said otherwise!"

"That wasn't...!" Wait.

"So old even your body hair is gray, and you're still just a schoolboy so eager to impress your teacher that you're willing to lie!"

"I am not trying to impress you, I don't lie to teachers, and I am not lying now!"

Bill examined his nails casually. "Well if you want to convince me there's only one way! You have to give me the ability to understand what you just did!"

"Fine!" Ford reached for Bill—caught himself, and pulled his hand back. "Ah hah! Ahaha." He wagged a finger at Bill. "Nice try."

Bill grinned. He looked far too pleased with himself. "You almost fell for it."

"Not even close," Ford lied.

It was a relief to have Bill trying to get under his skin again.

While Ford dug in his pockets for a flashlight ("Didn't bring that useless Civil War lantern this time?" "I'm not lighting a kerosene lantern in a museum!"), Bill took the lead, wandering ahead into the dark. He informed Ford that they'd have to wait to visit the museum's subterranean ritual chamber until after they'd swung by the Hall of the Forgotten. This was the first Ford had ever heard of any subterranean ritual chamber beneath the museum. He would have been dying to see it first, if whatever "the Hall of the Forgotten" was didn't sound so cool.

And so, he followed Bill through the dark.

####

The Hall of the Forgotten had changed quite a bit since Bill had last seen it—mainly in terms of the quantity of memories cluttering it up.

Granted, he'd last seen it nearly twenty years ago—which was when they'd chiseled an X over the eye on the chest of the statue that watched over the room. Bill may have had billions of eyes upon Earth, but the Blind Eye had been rigorous about keeping them out of this room.

Not on purpose, he was sure—in spite of the fact that they'd taken over what had once been an Anti-Cipherite clubhouse, he was sure those idiots hadn't known a thing about him or how to counter him personally. It was simply a lingering relic of Specs's paranoia. But X-ing out any image of an eye they saw also meant X-ing out any eyes that just so happened to be intended to serve as one of his faces, and nobody was exactly flashing dollar bills around the room. He'd been frustratingly unable to keep up with the Blind Eye's movements for nigh on two decades now.

With, as it turned out, significant personal consequences.

The rebirthmark stretched across his chest itched.

As they entered the Hall and Bill didn't immediately see what he needed, he tried to peer above the third dimension to get a view past all those memory canisters piling up—and pain lanced his eye socket. He hissed, flipping up his eyepatch to press a hand over his eye. He'd more than overused his eyes today; he couldn't bend his eyes anymore until he'd gotten some rest. He'd have to look around like a normal person.

"Somewhere there should be a filing cabinet," Bill said. "Three drawers and painted a color so boring that looking at it makes you yawn. And a stock of unused canisters. Tell me if you find either of them." He started circling the room, peering around the piles, looking in the crates in hopes that he'd find one not full of old memories but fresh canisters. 

"What are all these?" Ford picked up a random canister. Bill glanced over at it; there was a label stuck to it with "ARNY WINN (TOURIST)" written on it in marker. Nobody important.

"Memories," Bill said.

Ford froze. He scanned the room, slowly making sense of what he saw—the mountains of canisters, some almost as tall as him. Bill fought back a smile, wishing that he could see the room through Ford's point of view: all these memories, people's memories, thrown in careless piles like they were nothing. There were more canisters than there were residents in Gravity Falls. It was a treasure trove of occult knowledge that Ford's precious college pal has robbed the town of—oh, that had to sting, didn't it. 

Horrified, Ford asked, "Every one of these is a memory?"

"Unfortunately, it looks like it," Bill grumbled. "Where the heck do they store the spare canisters!" He'd circled most of the room and dug at least a little into each of the crates, and hadn't found any blanks. He kicked the leg of one of a couple of heavy worktables in the room in frustration, then grunted in pain. He kicked the leg again a little harder. Oh, that was a nice. He'd do it again if he weren't worried about being able to walk without a limp the next few days. Had to be careful about doing permanent damage to this thing. He made a mental note about the work table for the next time he had the pleasure of driving a loaner body.

Ford asked, "Can we even use the canisters without the memory gun? I'd expected there to be a spare gun here."

"There'd better not be," Bill muttered, rubbing his chest. "But we don't need one! The packaging on these things is unusual to make 'em compatible with the gun—buuut at their core, they use the same tape you find in a standard video camera! If Specs was a little smarter maybe he would've designed his gun to work with the cassettes you already had in the house—but with a little jury-rigging," he lifted the camera they'd brought, "we can hook up one of the canisters to run through this baby, no prob."

Ah, there was the filing cabinet he'd been looking for: chest-high and beige, exactly where it had sat for twenty-five years, but now it was completely buried in canisters. Must not have been used for a while. Bill shoved an armful of memories off the filing cabinet, tapped twice on the top, and lifted it straight into the air as lightly as a balloon to free it from the memories burying it on every side. The pile slid in on itself and collapsed in the cabinet's wake.

Ford winced. "Careful with those! Don't break them."

"These tubes are made of plastic as thick as your incisor, they won't break." He settled it to the ground near the statue, tapped it once more to return its proper gravity, and started rummaging through its files. The Blind Eye used to keep meticulous records of all the victims they'd "helped"—name, time, date, circumstances under which they'd been brought in to have their memories erased, what they'd witnessed, who else might have witnessed it, the number of their unique memory canister—but it looked like they'd fallen behind some fifteen years ago. Probably as their memories of even their own secret society and its procedures became muddled and patchy. Bill might not have been able to watch their little club rooms from afar, but he'd certainly been able to check in on their dreams, and ohoho, were their minds a mess.

He found a well-worn folder with the memory gun's blueprints and their notes on its upkeep, and another folder with the society's membership list. He flipped through the memory gun file until he found Fiddleford's initial blueprints, and inserted Mabel's map with it, its corner peeking out of the folder like a tempting bookmark; then he emptied the top drawer's contents, plopped in the blueprint folder and the membership folder, and slammed the drawer shut.

"Is this what you're looking for?" Ford was examining the memory playback station. He had opened a drawer on one side of the console, revealing a couple dozen canisters neatly lined up.

"There they are! Finally!" Bill pulled out an empty canister. "All right, you get to researching—" He grabbed another canister off the shelf behind the robed statue, where the most important memories were stored, and plopped it down in front of Ford, "—while I set up the rest of the scene."

Ford glanced warily at the canister Bill had left for him—the one with Preston Northwest's name. "What exactly am I supposed to be researching?"

"Your character! You want to get his voice right, don't you?" Bill dug into another pile of memories, scanning the names. "Ah, this oughta be a good one." He set another in front of Ford.

"You expect me to watch these?"

Bill had already dug back into the memories, but he paused to glance at Ford. "You were planning not to?"

"I—of course I wasn't going to watch! These are records of—of people's psychic violations!"

Bill gave Ford what he hoped was an incredibly disbelieving stare.

"I mean..." Ford gestured helplessly at the memory canisters, "Sure, this is a treasure trove of Gravity Falls' lost and forgotten paranormal secrets. Of course I want to know what they contain. But finding out like this would be incrediblyunethical, since these are people's memories—and stolen memories at that—and none of them agreed for their memories to be taken, much less for me to watch them. No matter how much I'd like to—"

"Stanford Pines," Bill said. "If you'd stumbled on this room all by yourself, and if I weren't in the room inspiring you to second-guess the morality of everything you do—would you have stopped for a second before devouring these recordings as fast as you could?"

Ford thought that over. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched sheepishly. "Well."

He really was just like Bill in all the ways that mattered. He had the same appetites. If he weren't so stubbornly determined to reject everything Bill had ever taught him, by now he'd be regularly swimming in other humans' dreams just to comb through their memories—never mind watching stored memories at the museum. It was a pity for him he'd rejected all those gifts. Pity for them both.

"There's no one here for you to impress!" Bill gestured around the room, bereft of any human presence but Ford's. "But if you want to skip this part and risk getting the guy's accent a little wrong and tipping off the agents, fine! You're only risking your entire family's arrest—"

"I hate you." Ford reached for the canister with Preston's memory, then stopped and forced himself to take the other instead.

Bill turned away before the screen lit up. A woman's voice filled the room: "Where am I?! What do you think you're doing?! If you don't let me go, I swear I'll strangle you with your own stupid red bathrobes—"

Blind Ivan replied, "Be calm. Cooperate and this will all be over soon."

"Like hell am I cooperating! Let me go! HEEELP—"

"All we want is for you to tell us one thing: what is it that you have seen?"

Bill set another canister on the console. "You don't have to watch this one, Toot-Toot's not in it."

Ford had stood five feet back from the console to pretend he could literally distance himself from the violation he was participating in; but his eyes were already glued to the screen in fascination. He reluctantly dragged his gaze from the stolen memory. "If I don't need to watch it, then why are you adding it?"

"These aren't for you! I figure Agent Bermuda could use a little primer on the Blind Eye. These will show him everythinghe needs to know."

"None of them—implicate Fiddleford, do they?"

Oh, who cared if they did. Bill bit back several snide retorts. They were being civil. "No. They're all from the last five years."

Ford eyed the newest canister distrustfully.

Bill sighed heavily. "Fine! Don't take my word for it." He gestured at the playback station. "Watch it yourself, if you think we can afford to waste time!" He sat on the worktable, crossed his legs to cradle the camera in his lap, and pried it apart to get at the wires.

After the first memory ended, Ford grabbed the one Bill said he didn't need to watch. Bill had found another memory he wanted Powers to watch; but this one, he absolutely could not let Ford see. He took off his hoodie—he needed to be in his dress shirt for his part in their recording—and slipped the canister beneath it.

In between memory playbacks, Ford asked, "Does anything else in here implicate Fiddleford?"

Bill fought back another sigh. "Not directly. He took his own memory canister home when the kids brought him here." Bill would kill to find out what had happened in the museum that night. He'd been forced to stare in frustration at the hallways while agitated cultists and an entire half of Bill's zodiac ran back and forth between the Blind Eye's eye-free chambers. Spectacles recovering his full memories just days before Stanley was scheduled to reactivate the portal could have spelled disaster. "There might be a few memories in here that he recorded personally before Toot-Toot took over—but he was involved in the Blind Eye for under two years before he scrambled his own brains, anything he recorded is probably buried somewhere at the bottom of these mountains. Even I wouldn't know where they are."

Ford hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "Fine."

Why in the world did he want to protect that hick so much anyway? When Ford found out one friend was up to secret shady things, he swore a thirty-year revenge mission against him; when he found out the other one was, his biggest worry was making sure he didn't get arrested for it! Bill had done far more for Ford than that walking waste of potential ever had or ever could—and of the two of them, Bill might have invaded Ford's brain, but he never erased part of it. Not without putting almost all of it back later, anyway! Oh, no no no—when Ford confronted Bill about what he'd been doing behind Ford's back, he didn't destroy the mnemonic evidence and deny everything, he owned up to it! It was admirable, really! But who did Ford consider "trustworthy"? Why didn't Bill warrant that kind of loyalty?

It was unfair. It made Bill feel... sick. That was probably the emotion he was feeling. Sick, that Ford wanted so badly to patch things up with that cowardly, backstabbing, underachieving loser, while he'd written Bill off completely.

(Not completely, Bill reminded himself. And then he buried that thought as deep into his subconscious as he could.)

Ford watched a few more random memories while Bill attached the empty canister to the camera with electrical tape; Bill heard him mutter, "'What is it that you have seen?'" under his breath, trying to match Ivan's inflection. Eh, Ford wouldn't win anything at the Academy, but it was good enough for community theater.

When Bill glanced over, one of Ford's hands was twitching toward his coat pocket the way it did when he wanted to grab his pen and start taking notes. He gradually moved closer to the console with each playback; by the time he turned the screen off, he was leaning on the console with both hands. "I think I've got the hang of my role."

"Great. Stick that first memory you watched back in, I want Powers to see it first." Bill hopped off the table, holding up the camera. "Ready for your acting debut?"

####

Half an hour later, as they walked back from the Blind Eye's ritual chamber to the Hall of the Forgotten, Bill said, "That wasn't so bad, was it!" He was spinning the canister with their false memory on one finger. (He'd almost dropped it three times.)

"No," Ford admitted grudgingly. "It was... a bit like Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons."

"Ugh."

"Except more immersive than pen-and-paper roleplay," Ford mused. "Maybe I was overly hasty when I dismissed Soos's invitation to FCLORP."

"Ugh. You're already nerdy enough, stay away from that slippery slope," Bill said. "Marker-and-cardboard isn't the step up from pen-and-paper you think it is. You wanna know why this is more immersive? Because you believe in the game you're playing now. Sure, you're only pretending to be the Blind Eye's boss—but you're actually part of a conspiracy to bamboozle a federal investigation."

Bill politely (smugly) pretended not to notice the gleam in Ford's eye—mainly because, if he dared point it out, Ford would immediately try to convince them both he wasn't enjoying this. "I suppose that's true," Ford said. "Fantasy can't measure up to reality. Pretending to battle undead sorcerers to plunder their dungeons has never been as thrilling as actually battling undead sorcerers to plunder their dungeons."

"Exac—hey, when did you ever battle undead sorcerers?"

"I needed a thousand-carat blessed antiprism to focus the beam of the Quantum Destabilizer, so I went to Dimension 777.7—"

Bill laughed in delighted surprise. "Hold on, you found the lost treasure of the Undying Sentinels of the Sacred Mines? Aww, you shouldn't have," he cooed. "I prefer gold, but I'm flattered you went so far just to get such an expensive diamond for me!"

Ford pretended not to hear him. "DD&MD still has its advantages, though," Ford said. "In real life, I don't get to do as much math in the middle of combat."

"And there he goes, tripping down the slope into the Gorge of Geekery."

Back in the Hall of the Forgotten, Bill wrote "GOLDIE LOCKE (VISITOR)" on their false memory's label and planted it prominently on the memory playback station with the other memory canisters he'd chosen for Powers. "Ta-da! Trap set." He added a date in 2009 to one of the canisters, and loaded it into the station so Powers would watch it first; then scooped up his hoodie. "Wanna watch another couple before we go?"

Ford looked longingly around at the room full of free information; then shook his head. "No! No. I watched what I had to for this plan of yours work, and that's it. You won't make a voyeur out of me."

"I don't have to! You're already a voyeur—and you've got the gnome mating ball photos to prove it!"

"That was for scientific research and the answer is still no."

Bill tucked his hoodie under one arm so he could pick up a memory canister, casually switch it out with the one currently loaded in the memory playback station, and click it down into place. "Oops!"

"Nope! Nope!" Ford marched determinedly toward the door, hands covering his ears. "I am not watching any more! I'm an ethical scientific researcher!"

"No you aren't!"

"Let me pretend!" Ford veered around a pile of memory canisters.

And he locked his eyes onto one canister, immediately did a U-turn back to the pile, picked it up, marched right back to the memory playback station, removed the one Bill had started, plugged the new one in, and crossed his arms.

The recording opened up on a shot of Mayor Befufftlefumpter, sitting in his wheelchair looking around placidly.

"What is it that you have seen?" "Speak!"

"Well, uh..." The major tapped his chin. "My vision isn't quite what it used to be..."

"Just describe it as best you can," Ivan said.

"Alrighty. Welp! I was visiting my office in Town Hall for the first time in ten years, looking for some coupons I think I left at my desk, when this bear walked through the wall—"

Ford smacked the console. "I knew he knew something about the ghost bears!"

He didn't look at Bill. "Stop smiling like that."

When the former mayor had finished recounting his tale of ursine phantoms, Ford stomped toward the door, red in the face, without looking at Bill.

Before Bill followed, he switched out the canisters again for the one he wanted Powers to see first—and took out the canister hidden in his hoodie to balance it carefully on the right corner of the console.

####

Bill diverged from their path into the museum to pluck an out-of-date calendar for the museum's May events from a corkboard, and around the corner a new addition to the museum caught Bill's eye: a heavy black curtain had been hung over one wing, and it was surrounded by signs reading "NO PHOTOGRAPHY" "NO CAMERAS" "🚫📷" That was intriguing. He'd just love to find out what was behind that curtain.

But Ford wouldn't slow down just to go sightseeing; and as badly as Bill's eyes were throbbing, he shouldn't try to peer through the curtain that way.

That was fine. He could wait to see what was in that wing. If everything worked out, he'd be back here tomorrow.

####

As they approached the exit, Ford mumbled in nobody's particular direction, "I'm sorry."

Bill gave him a suspicious look. "What?"

"For the mac and cheese," he told the floor. He stuffed his hands self-consciously in his pockets and felt like an idiot. "And giving you burnt eggs instead. It was... petty."

Bill didn't answer. When he stopped walking, it took Ford a moment to remember that he had to get the door. He pushed it open. 

Bill walked past Ford without looking at him. He said lightly, "Were they burned? I didn't notice. I didn't eat them."

Apology not accepted, apparently. "Well. I'm sorry anyway."

Bill scoffed. "I'd kill to be able to take a peek under your skull." (Ford suspected that wasn't a hyperbole.) "One day you're laughing in my face for thinking you worshiped me, a week later you're saving my life. All your multiverse-hopping must've scrambled your brain. Tragic, since that's the only thing you had going for you."

Ford re-locked the museum's doors behind them. "You don't think there are any options in between worshiping you or wanting you dead?"

"I'm not the kind of person who inspires indifference."

"That's true."

Bill stretched as they walked to the car—fingers laced together, palms turned out, arms lifted over his head. It was a muggy night, and Ford could feel the layers of his sweater and trench coat cling damply to his back; but when Bill's baggie hoodie sleeves fell down to his shoulders, he lowered his hands, shook out the sleeves, and hooked his thumbs in the cuffs so the sleeves wouldn't fall again when he repeated the stretch. "Just get me back to the tomb. This body needs a little sleep before Romeo comes looking for me tomorrow."

"'Romeo'? Are you planning to trick him into drinking poison?"

Bill flashed him a wicked grin. Sometimes Ford was still hit by how incorrect Bill's human face looked—a mouth too low, teeth shaped like tombstones instead of arrowheads—and it was usually at moments like this, when the gleeful curve of his eyes was so familiar. "Hmm, now that's a thought! Not yet; but you should know better than to give me fun ideas."

####

"How was it?" Mabel asked anxiously, the moment the back door unlatched.

She was answered with a piece of paper shoved over her face. "The good news is I got something for your last project," Bill said. "The bad news is Ford's considering taking up FCLORP. Talk him out of it."

"I'll make all his cardboard armor."

"When I get access to my gang's group chat again, I'm inviting you just so I can ban you."

"It was fine," Ford told Mabel. "We had no trouble getting in and out and I think our recording was convincing."

"Did you... get along?"

Ford paused. "We were—civil."

"Ha!" Bill crowed. "And you thought I couldn't do it!"

"I did not. I thought you wouldn't do it."

Mabel inspected the calendar page Bill had given her. Aww, the last weekend in May they'd decorated straw hats with live bird nests and she'd missed it.

Bill trudged into the living room, flopped into Abuelita's chair, and said, "Wake me up if anyone needs orders." He pulled his hood down over his face and retracted his arms from his sleeves. 

"Is there anything else I have to do?" Ford asked.

"Uhhh..." It took Bill a long moment to summon up an answer. "No. Go sleep. Up here, in case I change my mind."

"Fine," Ford said, sighing in relief.

Mabel waited until he'd headed upstairs to get ready for bed; then crept into the living room. "Hey, Bill?"

"Hmm?" He tilted his head just enough for one tired eye to peer out from the shadows beneath his hood. "Aren't you supposed to be writing a threatening anonymous letter?"

"It's fine, Grunkle Stan isn't back yet." She sat in Stan's chair by Bill. "So..." She sheepishly tried to dodge around having to apologize. "Are... we cool?"

"I dunno. Are you cool?" Bill asked. "You're not going to turn lame on me, are you?"

"What! Why would I turn lame? I'm literally the coolest."

"Well, I thought you were cool," Bill said. "But if you were only being cool until you thought we were close enough you could start nagging me about everything—"

"No! No. It was just a one-time thing, promise. Because you and Grunkle Ford have a history, and I had to make sure he's safe—"

"Safe from all that flirting I've never done with him?"

"I got worried, okay!"

Bill crossed his arms under his hoodie. "Find another way to worry. Maybe one that doesn't involve scolding me for something I never did," he said. "If I had been trying to sweep your uncle off his unexpectedly five-toed feet, that'd be one thing—"

"(I didn't need to know how many toes he has.)"

"—but when I wasn't and you keep treating me like I'm already guilty—" He stopped, and said suddenly, as if he were changing topics, with a slight sharp tilt to his head like an old-fashioned TV dial being turned to another station, "Didja know it's way less annoying to be called a liar when you are lying? If you weren't lying but no one believes you, it kinda makes you wonder—why are you wasting your breath telling the truth in the first place!" How much Bill had just offered her about himself?

She sank back in her chair, trying to figure out how to reply. I'm sorry didn't seem to cut it. She suspected Bill really had offered her something; she wanted Bill to know she got it. "One of my teachers thought I copied Dipper on a book report. Because she thought mine was too good."

Bill considered that. "Fifth grade?"

"You already knew about it."

"Not this time," Bill said. "Buuut I know that's the year you started skipping the assigned reading. And I don't blame ya! If you're gonna get a worse grade for working harder, you can save a lot of precious time by phoning it in."

"Yeah." Unexpected relief flooded over Mabel. "Yeah, that's—that's it." She'd never been able to put it into words. Her parents had been worried, Dipper had been exasperated with her. Bill had hit the nail on the head in one sentence.

"Been there. I had a teacher who thought I was using my eye to cheat," Bill said. "So you know what? I did!" He laughed, absolutely no shame.

Being called a cheater had been the most humiliating thing to ever happen in Mabel's seemingly never-ending academic career; Bill's apathy was almost enviable. "Okay. So. There's no emotional stuff going on with you and Grunkle Ford." Just to clear the air. They could agree on it and move on.

But even though Bill had denied it immediately the first time, now, his eyes flickered uncertainly before he said, "Right. None."

That had been less definitive than she'd hoped. "None?"

"No romantic emotional stuff," Bill said. "I think we've cycled through just about every other emotional cocktail that human neurotransmitters can mix up, but desire isn't one of them."

Mabel decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Then what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Bill said. "My brain's empty. Four pounds of inert meat with no neurons firing."

"Oh, come on." She jabbed a finger into his cheek. "I can see it on your face! What's bothering you?"

He scrunched a shoulder to guard his cheek. "Nothing bothers me."

Mabel hissed, "Yes it doesssss." She leaned across the gap between their seats to jab Bill's shoulder with both hands. "I can sssmell it."

"Retune your sniffer, Miss Nose-y!" He flipped one of his empty sleeves to wave away her hands like a couple of mosquitos; but something in his eyes had shifted, something in the tilt of his pupils. He was caving. "I was just thinking about what you'd said about the—the goofy little 'be yourself' moral the critters are so fond of."

She had to think back to their conversation yesterday: where she'd tried (and failed) to explain that be yourself didn't mean be a jerk, even if you were really good at being a jerk. "You were?" Even now, Mabel was surprised whenever she found out that Bill had been actually thinking about Color Critters when they weren't watching it. It was good that he was thinking about it—she was trying to use the cartoon to teach him morals, after all—but she kept assuming that Bill treated Color Critters the way she treated pre-algebra. "You'd better not try to use it as an excuse to be a jerk again..."

"No, not that. I—figured out what you meant," he said. "It's 'be yourself,' but—not sink down to your worst self. Rise up to meet your best potential. Be the..." he made a vague gesture ceilingward. "The best version of yourself."

"I... Yeah. I guess so. Yeah." Where the heck had that come from?

"This is supposed to be a cartoon for kindergarteners," Bill said wryly. "Their target audience can't even read yet, and they're expecting these kids to read between the lines?"

"Aww, was the kindergarten show's moral too complicated for you?"

"Shut your face. I figured out what it meant, didn't I?" Bill's eyes turned toward the doorway a moment before Mabel heard Ford's bootsteps coming downstairs. He pushed his arms back into his hoodie sleeves properly and timed his exit of the room so he was swooping onto the stairs the moment Ford stepped off. "I can't catch a nap down here," he griped. "Somebody thinks she's more important than this tyrannical body's need for R&REM."

"Sorryyy!"

"You are more important," Bill called down the stairs. "But that's the thing about tyrants! You can't reason with them."

Mabel should be getting to work on her next art assignment, anyway. But before she did, she followed Ford to his room and grabbed his sleeve. "Grunkle Ford, what'd you say to Bill while you guys were gone?"

"What?" He gave her a puzzled look. "Say to him about what?"

"I dunno! But you must've said something to him. He's been thinking thoughts."

Bewildered, Ford shrugged. "Whatever I said, it was the wrong thing. He gave me the silent treatment most of the way to the museum. I suspect he's even more irritated with me now."

Somehow, Mabel didn't think he was. She hugged Ford. "Well, whatever you said? Thank you."

####

Bill dug out his burner phone and plugged it into the extension cord Soos had strung into the room. He considered sneaking out his stolen journal to slide Mabel's crayon portrait in it, then elected to just hide it beneath the couch cushions. So that it would be within arm's reach, in case he ever needed it. For some reason.

And then Bill slept.

Or—tried to.

This stupid body needed it; he'd been up almost 22 hours, burning the psychological oil as he tried to pull together this scheme—and he'd had an hour or two of very vigorous exercise in the midst of all the scheming. By all rights, he should be out like a rock that vividly hallucinated 3-5 times a night.

But instead, he kept thrashing in his thin sheet, twisting and trying to get comfortable. He couldn't quiet his mind. Too restless. The thoughts he'd tried to drown in his subconscious had bobbed back to the surface. Hearing over and over in his head, there's a good person in you. A wonderful person. A wonderful person. A person worth risking a universe for.

Him.

Any time you want, you could choose to be the muse you've always pretended to be.

You already are that muse.

Dr. Stanford "Six-Fingers" Filbrick Pines had said that about him. The one and only Bill Mischief Cipher. Ford knew exactly who and what Bill was—and he'd said that about him.

He couldn't sleep. He could feel his heart fluttering in its cage. He could feel his lungs struggling to grasp at the thin air. He felt dizzy. His brain burned.

By the time Bill's mind finally quieted, he'd squirmed and clawed his way halfway across the orange couch. As his consciousness blinked out, he dully registered the scent in the cushion: the comforting scent of the Nightmare Realm. The smell of burning hair.

######

(Post-TBOB changes! Inserted one or two sentences saying the Anti-Cipherites originally used the Blind Eye's meeting places—I'd already decided the Blind Eye got the place due to a connection with the Northwests (and had already written a scene expanding on that), and Abigale Northwest née Blackwing is the only person with both the motivation and resources to build weird culty ritual chambers beneath the museum, so thanks TBOB.

Added some subtle Theraprism allusions to the wording of Bill's "you don't wanna save me, you wanna save some person you've imagined me to be" speech; he's always been indignant & defensive in this fic at the idea of people trying to "benevolently" "fix" him, TBOB just backs that up. Added a couple mentions of Bill's death scar. Since we were already talking about Bill & Mabel's slipshod school careers, I slipped in a light allusion to Bill's disdain for assigned reading.

Everything else is the same. One of the most common post-TBOB questions I've been asked is "are you gonna make it gay[er] in the wake of TBOB?" and my answer is always: no, I'm going to make it exactly as gay as I'd planned to since 2023, on the same schedule I've always had planned. This chapter very much included.)

[ladsbible]

BAD DECISIONS ― Caleb

What should have never been an option became a routine over the years. This year is different though. It’s time to face what’s been done and put an end to it for good…except your step-brother Caleb isn’t ready to face it, and your little boyfriend isn’t going to stand in the way of getting what he wants either.  or the one where you made a bad decision in fooling around with your step-brother during your early college days and he refuses to let you put an end to it. 

leave feedback and reblog to support me please! 

minors do not interact. 

WORDCOUNT― 8.9k

PAIRING― step-brother caleb x afab reader (ft. college boyfriend zayne)

WARNINGS ― step cest, dub-con/non-con (she wants it but tries to convince herself that she doesn’t), blackmail, nonconsensual phone sex 

NOTE― MIND. THE. WARNINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALSO, if you’ve read this before for a kpop boi named jake sim on simpjaes, thats bc i wrote it and both accounts are me :3 

smut tags―  normal size dick caleb and mentions of bigger dick zayne, implications from caleb that zayne is actually gay [borderline homophobia], camera use, fisting, degradation, manipulation, non con/dub con, phone sex-ish, soft sex before rough sex, hair pulling, slapping, choking, suffocation, breeding, cum stuffing, cream pie, unprotected sex, forced blowjob, crying, break-up

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re being ridiculous.” Caleb scoffs, leaning against your bedroom dresser with his arms crossed. “We did it last summer, why is this year any different? We always do it.” 

You roll your eyes at him in an attempt to hide the guilt you feel, holding the blanket tightly to your chest in case he tries to pull them off of you again. Caleb knows damn well why. Not only should it not have happened last year, or the year before that, or the year before that, but to actively and truly believe it’s something that can continue is something only a mad man would think. 

Not to mention, you have a boyfriend now. A real boyfriend, one who matters in your life.

“Zayne have anything to do with this?” He questions you now, reaching for the blanket and tugging. “Come on, playing around isn’t gonna hurt anything. It’s not like anyone is going to know anyway–” 

You huff, yanking your blanket up a bit to pull it from his grasp again. You get why he’s asking and why he’s confused because, well, last summer you were all over the idea like usual. You knew he would expect the same this summer, but honestly, it has to stop. Things have changed. Things needed to change. 

“Caleb, we can’t be doing that stuff anymore.” You say as if it’s fine, a bite to your voice that hits him right in the gut. 

In all honesty though, you really do feel guilty. Like you’ve led him on all these years with his sweet, borderline boyfriendly words. You lived in the fantasy with him for a while, like it could work out despite the family ties. There’s a reality though, one that you found yourself living in upon meeting Zayne, and there’s a fantasy that you need to pull Caleb out of. You feel awful, especially knowing there’s a part of you that would if you could. But…you can’t, nor can he.

Never again. 

Caleb feels singled out at this moment. Like he’s the weird one for even asking when you were the one who came onto him when it happened the very first time. All those talks of “we aren’t blood related, it’s not that bad.” and “If our parents divorce, maybe someday we can go on a date or something–”

Do they mean nothing now? You’re going to blame him for expecting it?

“Why the fuck not?” He narrows his eyes at you. “Gonna act like you weren’t the one who tried to fuck me at that party last summer? Acting all high and mighty now, like suddenly it’s so wrong?” 

You look away from him, feeling worse because he’s right. Given, the guilt should have hit you after the first time, but it didn’t. You had your fun pushing boundaries but now that graduation is coming up it’s like..it doesn’t feel right. Did he really just expect the two of you to keep fucking well into adulthood?  Did he expect you to get married to someone else and still get on your knees during family Christmas parties? 

Did he expect to be the one marrying you?

“We have to grow up.” You finally say, shifting your eyes back to him. “This is starting to feel really—gross.” 

“Hey–” He looks at you now, almost pleading. “It’s not gross, we aren’t gross.” He takes two steps towards the bed in a fit of desperation, leaning with his hands now palm-down on your mattress. But…when he tries to follow up on his words, he knows you’re serious.

Realistically, despite having been your step-brother since the beginning of high-school…actively choosing to fuck each other as soon as college started was maybe not the best idea. Hormones were high, the freedom to fuck was blatant, and well…it’s not his fault you’d walk around in all those slutty little pajama shorts and try to jump his bones every time you found yourself alone with him. If anything, you’re the one who pulled him into this. He really did think it was gross at first, but thinking with his dick outweighed that, and then his heart decided to play a part in all of it too. 

He really does think there could be something here if the two of you worked for it. After all, you’re entirely his type, despite marriage ruining it. The breaking of morals eventually became the best part for him, having what his father wishes he could have solely because you’re just a younger, hotter, version of your own mother.

You even said it yourself all that time ago when it first happened. “It’s ok Caleb, you’re a guy. guys have needs.” 

Well, what about his needs now?! He was so happy to be able to come home and see you again. He misses you  so much when you’re both away at your respective colleges, and he thinks about you all the time. He should have known that something was changing all those months ago when you stopped texting him back as much as you usually would. Now what? He just has to accept that you’re done?

“You’re seriously not going to give it up?” He pushes his hands under the bottom of your blankets, quickly running his fingers up your legs just to try and encourage a giggle, or a smile from you.

That’s when he notes how you haven’t even shaved your legs. Which, it’s not like he gives two fucks on whether you do or not but like…you always shave. Your skin was always so smooth, plump, soft, and moisturized when you knew you’d be wanting to play around with him. And clearly, you don’t expect to be getting fucked this summer.

Ah, he’s starting to resent you.

“Does that boyfriend of yours know about us?” He finally says, standing tall at the end of your bed and looming much darker than his usual, bright persona. 

You stare at him, eyes widening. 

“Excuse me?” You furrow your brows. “Caleb, what the fuck are you sayi–”

Before you can even finish or get a response from him, he’s leaving your bedroom and slamming the door behind him. 

Already you know this is going to be a long fucking summer. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Caleb knew you were a smart girl. You always believe everything he says, but never once has he used that against you until now. That little mention of Zayne seems to have made you panic, and he can’t help but find it endearing that you took his threat so easily. Each time he comes home now, from hanging out with your boyfriend, you’re always sitting on the couch like a cute little puppy greeting him with a wagging tail.

If at all, he knows you’re doing it to try and butter him up. To distract him from what you’re taking away from him. Dangling yourself like nothing has changed but denying him time and time again of it. You’re nice, but never this nice. Offering to hang out, watch movies, go out. You’re promising just about everything to him except for the one thing he needs from you. 

He’s thankful though, with all circumstances considered, that the good ol’ parents don’t notice a shift in how you’re acting solely because the two of you have always been close. Even before the sex stuff. You were his best friend. He protected you from high school bullies, potential assholes trying to steal your first kiss, virginity, and even the first experience of sneaking out. 

Back then, it’s not like Caleb ever wanted to be your first kiss, the one to take said virginity, or sneak you out to parties you shouldn’t be at. Truly, he just wanted to protect you. It wasn’t until the two of you were away from each other for the first time as freshmen in college that he felt some type of way towards you. Which, again, was entirely your fault.

Ah, he still remembers that first summer back home walking into the house and being smacked in the face with a sensual, fruity scent radiating off of you. After not seeing you for three and a half months, he was entirely shocked at how much you had changed. You looked…confident in yourself. Like you’d been growing internally and learning what you want in life. He found it very attractive of you, believing that once you get a boyfriend, they’d be very lucky to have you in their life. 

Then of course, you’d bend over in those shorts and look back at him smirking. Like you only saw him as a man now, and not your protective step brother. You’d whine to him about ruined hook-ups, about the frat parties, about all the guys trying to touch you and wishing he was there to keep them off of you. All while…doing that. All while waltzing around like you’d invite him to do the same. 

And you did invite him. That first night has been burned into his memory. The fear, the guilt, the disgust, the love he felt for you. So quiet in his bedroom, giggling to each other with all the lights off in the silence of his room, trying to pretend it was only a one-time thing to satiate a specific need. There was nothing kinky, nothing weird outside of the dynamic of who you were supposed to be to each other.

It kept happening after that, and each time the guilt would wash away with the sweat that always dripped onto you from his temple. You could even say it was shy at first, both of you were very generous to each other. It only started getting dirty as the summers at home continued. 

And now…nothing? After all of that, nothing?! 

If you think you can change so drastically over a single semester, so be it. Caleb can change too, and he already has. Both of you now, entirely different compared to that first summer together. You, all jittery and freaked out, him, with all the power. 

You though, truly you’re fucking panicking. If your boyfriend found out about all of this, he’d think you’re a freak. Or a slut. Or a piece of trash. Maybe all three of those things and then some. And you know, you’d think Caleb is bluffing…really. Except you got a text from Zayne the same night Caleb tried to get in your pants. You remember reading those words, the pit in your stomach digging deep. “Your bro is gonna come hang out with me for a bit, you’re coming too right?”

Never mind the fact that Zayne lives an hour away from your hometown, where the two of you get to meet in the middle when you're off campus. What about the fact that Caleb barely fucking knows him?! Through mutual friends all three of you were aware of each other, but you’re the one who got the closest to Zayne. 

You’re his girlfriend now. Which, apparently demoted Caleb from popular-porn-trope to actual step-brother. 

And that pisses him off. 

So, is it weird for Zayne to get a sudden hang out text from a guy he assumed is just wanting to get to know him? No. After all, he knows Caleb is your “brother.” What he doesn’t and hopefully will never know is that you’ve fucked said step-brother.

 Is it weird that you don’t go with Caleb to see your own boyfriend? Yes. Unfortunately, Caleb basically demanded you “stay in your fucking place. if you wanna get fucked so bad, I’ll be home after.” 

Even Zayne doesn’t find it weird and texts you everyday as usual. It sucks actually, that he’s so willing to let you do as you please and trusts you to an extent that he doesn’t even ask why you don’t come with Caleb. Instead, he’s too busy saying you should definitely join next time, that Caleb is super cool and seems to like him a lot. 

The good news: Zayne offers no mention of knowing, so…it seems you really do have to stay at home. Empty. Wanting to be next to Zayne so bad but forced to deal with any oncoming feelings alone. 

Since when was Caleb even capable of being so awful? Since when did he hate you so much?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Caleb–please.” You beg quietly, shaking his arm gently in the soft light of the morning. Everyone is sound asleep, which must be fucking nice.

It’s been two weeks now of such loneliness, such lack of sleep, such intense need to just let yourself spiral and drown in anxiety. Caleb is barely talking to you now, only giving you sarcastic and evil little smiles from time to time. As if to remind you of what’s at risk. Zayne is normal, too normal. So normal, in fact, that he tried to jerk off on facetime last night for you and you ended up crying and apologizing because you couldn’t even get turned on. 

Even if Caleb hasn’t told him anything, your relationship is already starting to fall apart because of him. He fucking knows it too. 

“Please,”

“Please, what?” Your step-brother's sleepy voice croaks out, turning himself on the bed towards you with a single half opened eye. 

“I’m losing sleep, please stop doing this to me.”

“No.” He says now, closing his eyes again and turning away from you, nuzzling against his pillow without a care in the world. 

“Please.” 

“Fuck off–” He complains, throwing his arm behind himself to shove you away and surprised to find that you’ve crawled up on the bed with him.

Just like that night so long ago, the first time the two of you broke past any boundaries. 

“I’ll do anything.” You nearly cry, so sleepy, so anxiety ridden, so out of your mind at this point that you genuinely would do anything to feel normal again. 

“Anything?” 

You feel slight relief in his interest, nodding your head aggressively with a broken voice. “Yes! I promise. I swear, anything you want. Please, just–”

“Then get the fuck out of my room.” 

You know better than to disobey at this point. All you can do is sulk back to your room and hope that sleep overtakes you this time. If anything, maybe he will consider your plea in the morning.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s surprising, honestly. Caleb didn’t even know he was into seeing you suffer like this, let alone having power over you. He spent so much time protecting you that he never realized how attractive it is to see you fear him. The joy that runs through him now, the orgasms he gets out of it, fuck. Who cares if it’s his own hand doing the work right now? With the thoughts of you doing “anything” like you said, being disgusting, begging, pleading, crying. He might be a little insane for you now, if he wasn’t already. 

And still even today, you look so desperate for any amount of relief. Caleb finds joy in the fact that you can’t even go to your boyfriend about it. 

He’s never felt so powerful, truly. Especially now, watching you try to seduce him as if you didn’t deny him of it before. The slutty shorts are back. You’re not wearing bras anymore. You’ll leave the bathroom stark fucking naked if it happens to just be you and him at home.

Ah, heaven on earth. Honestly, his days are so fun now. Save for when he has to hang out with that fucking idiot of a man Zayne. What a loser, honestly. Openly sharing all the stuff you’ve done in bed with him like Caleb isn’t your step-brother? If anyone is weird, it’s Zayne. Hell, Caleb isn’t even sure now if the dude would care if he found out that you’ve ridden some related-by-marriage cock before. 

He hates hanging out with him. Always having to hold back the scoffs when Zayne is drunkenly slurring out more sex acts you’ve performed on him followed by a love confession and a whine of how much he misses you. As if you didn’t do all of that for Caleb first. Ugh, he genuinely can’t believe that you’re even with Zayne at all. 

After a little while longer though, with the great days and the annoying hang outs, a nice month into summer vacation– Caleb’s been ready to take what he needs. You’ve been begging for it, after all. He loves looking and seeing you so desperate for him to stop the mind games but goddamn it’s getting hard to think straight himself by now.

Thankfully, he’s thinking clearly enough whether it’s through his cock rather than his brain to come up with how he’ll go about it. He waits a little more, cock throbbing in his pants due to not allowing himself to get off in the past two days in preparation for this. 

Every night when everyone goes to bed, you call Zayne. And every night, Caleb has listened. Tonight though? Zayne will be the one listening.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Like clockwork, the parents have gone to bed and Caleb hears the hushed muttering just a room over. He’s already standing to his feet, shooting a hand directly to his bulge to adjust it with a silent groan in his throat. Before he can even leave his room he’s rolling his eyes back with another grope of his sensitive cock, almost unable to stop touching himself after denying himself of it.

He’s practically drooling at the image of having you all to himself again. The anticipation he feels inside right now is insane. He feels his skin prickle and his eyes are barely able to focus on his own bedroom door out of sheer arousal of what he’s about to do to you.

He composes himself shortly after, as best he can anyway, tiptoeing to your room and chuckling at the way your eyes light up when you see him. He’s ignored you for too long. Not a single response to anything you’ve said to him, hell, he even stopped letting you see him look at you. 

Of course your eyes light up, it means he’s going to stop. It means he’s going to tell you what he wants. 

And you’re happy, even with Zayne on the line sweet talking to you about his day like usual. 

“Zaynie, can I call you back?” You ask quickly into the phone, only to see Caleb take a seat next to you on your bed and shake his head at you. 

You tilt your head in question, feeling your heart thump in your ears to the point you barely even hear Zayne at all. 

“Keep talking to him.” He whispers to you now, nearly just mouthing it. 

You never knew you were so good at reading lips, but you listen to him. Furrowing your brows in question and adjusting your phone against your ear.

“Never mind, we’re good.” You say in a voice too calm for Caleb’s liking. 

And it’s like that for a few minutes as Caleb lets you get into the groove of conversing with your boyfriend again before he makes a move. The move he makes? Leaning against you, pressing you back against your pillows, and licking your neck.

He smiles against your skin when he feels it prickle and lets out a whispered chuckle at how much he’s missed the taste of your skin. So warm, so soft. The fact that you’re letting him tells him all he needs to know, despite the way your shoulders stiffen, he knows you’re going to give him anything.

“Gonna let me fuck it again, yeah?” Caleb whispers as he moves up against your ear, pinning your arms to your chest, forcing your phone closer to his mouth compared to yours. “Gonna let him hear it too.”

Ah, there she is. You, in all your glory, are already tearing up at the very idea of it. 

“Caleb, no.” You say, holding your hand over the speaker and body language trying to twist away from him. 

“You said anything.” Caleb corrects you quietly, slapping your hand off of the speaker and quickly thrusting his own hand between your legs.

He chooses not to be gentle with you this time. He’s not going to be what you’re used to, not after that shit you tried to pull with him. His finger pushes in dry, and he smiles at the way you hold your breath and try to squeeze your legs shut to stop him. Zayne on the other end is muffled, but still heard by both of you. 

You stay silent throughout his ministrations, pissing him off further, only making him move his hand faster, forcing a reaction, daring you to stop him. 

“Phone.” Caleb instructs, loosening his other grip on your hands as a means to let you raise the phone back up to your ear. “Talk.”

You stare at him, feeling the burning between your legs of where your body has yet to do anything more than tighten around his fingers. Still, they drag painfully due to your body feeling no pleasure in this. In fact, you’re afraid. 

You’re afraid Zayne will find out, afraid of Caleb, afraid of showing that you like what he’s doing, afraid of realizing you’ll always like this, afraid of losing either of them solely because you can only love, fuck, and be with one of them.

And it’s obvious who the one has to be because…the other isn’t possible. It’s just not. 

So, you try. You try to talk, try to relax, try to do everything Caleb asks of you solely to prolong the situation enough to where you can find a way to put a proper, healthy end to it. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” You finally croak into the phone, having not heard a single word from Zayne this entire time and trying not to focus on that same drag Caleb only pushes harder into you with that terrifying smirk. 

“I asked if that was Caleb I just heard–” Zayne responded as brightly as always, bless him. 

“Speaker.” Caleb mouths to you, and of course you listen. Reluctantly, but you still do it, shaking fingers hitting the speaker-phone button so Caleb can hear what’s being said.

“What are you guys doing? Let me hear what?” Zayne continues. 

Caleb flashes a full grin at you and wiggles his eyebrows before he’s pulling his fingers out, sucking them into his mouth, then moving back down with three before shoving them back in with even more force. 

“Yeah– Tell him.” Caleb says as casually as ever. “Go on, let him in on the secret we’ve been keeping from him.” 

Zayne hears Caleb all too well, but doesn’t question that it’s anything weird. If at all, he wonders if maybe you two have been planning something behind his back considering you never come over when Caleb does. Which is actually weird, but he tried not to question it. He and you are practically attached at the hip during the semesters, so, this would make sense. 

Of course there is a secret surprise for him! 

“I–” You yelp both out of pain and unintentional pleasure, cutting yourself off in a gasp. 

You can feel the pit in your stomach dig deeper and deeper, arousing you when it’s the last thing you could ever want at this moment. You know Caleb feels it though, with the slide of his fingers becoming easier, and that permanent smile on his face. 

Zayne feels so far away right now…Like, who are you kidding? He can’t get you out of this and you doubt he’d even want to if you were to ever even consider explaining it to him. 

“I–I miss you a lot.” You try to come up with words, missing him being all that you can muster up right now. 

Unfortunately, Caleb’s scary smile is less terrifying compared to his face now, where he narrows his eyes and glares straight through you for saying such a thing in front of him. He’s trying to crowd four fingers into you now, making you squirm and squeeze your legs together again. He is quick to disallow you though, forcing one of your legs open with his shoulder and spitting directly on your stretched and pulsing hole. 

“I miss you too baby–” Zayne says in a slightly confused voice. “What else?”

You pause, taking a moment to feel Caleb between your legs and how much it…god, it feels so good. But– you’re unsure of how to balance speaking with Zayne and dealing with Caleb right now. If you have to deal with them both at the same time…this isn’t what you’d prefer. 

“I wish you were here right now.” 

Zayne smiles on his end, assuming Caleb has now left your room due to the silence and lack of hearing him now. 

“Is Caleb still around?” He mutters to you through the speaker, because based on your tone of voice, he knows what mood you’re in.

Caleb shakes his head at you, encouraging that you lie before focusing back on watching the hole he’s missed so much. The one Zayne’s probably played with before, that fucking loser. 

“Nope–J–Just me!” You find yourself forcing a smile as you say it, just to hope your voice comes out in a way that sounds brighter than it feels. 

“You wish I was there?” Zayne says now, his own voice growing deeper. “Why’s that?” He spreads his legs out wide against his bed, assuming it’s about to be a regular session of facetime fucking. 

“Mhm,” You accidentally moan, a bit too obvious. “Just feel safe with you when I’m feeling like this.”

Caleb rolls his eyes, slowly forcing his thumb in beside the rest of his fingers, growing more angry, more aroused, and more insatiable towards you. 

“How are you feeling right now baby?” 

“Empty.” 

“Wish you were full of something?” Zayne smiles, a cheeky voice calling out to you. “Of me?”

You groan at that moment, all of Caleb’s fingers stretch you open until you feel knuckles trying to force past the boundary. Your hands shake at the feeling as your eyes cross momentarily, tears prickle from the pain but it feels so…good. And only a moment goes by before you, quite literally, kick Caleb away. 

The sudden emptiness you get from that feels so much better, but Caleb is too quick to get back up. Fire in his dark eyes as he grabs you by the ankles and pulls you roughly down the bed. There is a small sound that escapes your lips at the action, almost a giggle. You’re quick to tighten your lips though, trying to will your body to stop liking the way Caleb is being with you right now. You don’t want this, you don’t like it. You never should have in the first place, and to be honest, you’re trying to force yourself to believe you’re making the right choice in continuing to deny him of this.

It’s only natural that your body wants it, just like it was natural to kick him off of you from the pain, right? And then, Caleb reminds you of just how much you regret denying him the first night back home, because he's leaning over you so fast, hugging your waist and forcing all five fingers back into you. 

You kick, squirm, whine, and ultimately shout out a “No, no, no!” despite your hips chasing up to let him, almost to invite him. And–oh, fuck. You forgot Zayne can hear all of this. 

“Baby?” Zayne’s voice rings back in your ears. “Are you okay? You’re already touching yourself? Why do you sound so–” 

Caleb’s own ears are ringing watching your body fight your brain. You still want him. He can tell by the way you look at him with those tear-filled eyes, with the way your pussy is dripping for this, the way your hips beg him to keep abusing you. Who is he to deny you? He has never denied you pleasure. So, he tries to force more, more, more into you. There’s a boundary here, your pussy clenched so tight around his fingers already, but you want him to keep pushing until he breaks the boundary. You want to feel the pain of it and…finally, he does get it in. His entire hand being gripped so tightly that even he seethes out a pained moan for you.

“Fuck–” He holds his fist in place, removing himself from your waist to look at you. “You really took it all.”

There’s tears in your eyes by this point and you can’t tell if it’s from realizing how much you need Caleb, or the fact that Zayne definitely knows something is up. No words are coming out though, you’re more afraid to speak what you feel than you are of Caleb right now.

“Caleb?” Zayne questions, confused. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Caleb responds with a smile instantly, staring right at you as he begins to fuck a size far too big into you, watching you bite your tongue to keep from showing him how much you love it. 

“Wait–” Zayne continues with a pause. “What’s going on?” 

“I couldn’t help myself.” Caleb smiles at you, wiggling his eyebrows again. “After all those things you told me about her, I guess I needed to see for myself.” 

And then, you moan. That searing pain inside of you somehow subsides, shaking legs and hands are gripping onto Caleb in his entirety now, you’re practically drooling for it.

“I guess you were right.” Caleb continues. “She really can take a lot, huh? Bet your dick didn’t feel this good for her though.”

You’re truly unable to comprehend most of what’s happening right now, even the phone vibrating in your hand as Zayne goes silent and instead, hangs up before instantly facetiming you. You’re so hyper-fixated on the feeling of knuckles dragging against your tightly clenched walls, choking back every sound or word you want to scream out. 

Caleb watches as you cry a bit harder now, probably a bit too overwhelmed with the situation. Like the good step-brother he is though, He’ll take care of it for you, of course he will. 

“What’s the hold up?” Caleb laughs, halting his hand as he reaches for the phone and instantly answers it. He stares down as you continue to fuck yourself on it, smiling at your brief whine before he speaks into the receiver with a confident voice. “Cat’s outta the bag.”

Zayne is there on the screen, witnessing the way Caleb angles the phone more at himself and your hole than your face. His entire fist has disappeared inside of you, glistening with a sticky mess that spills out of you. 

Nothing else is said as Zayne stares at it. Caleb being a cocky bastard and sticking his tongue out like some idiot frat boy, and then? He hears you.

“Caleb, stop!” You cry out. 

He doesn’t stop, in fact, he fucks his fist into you quickly making damn sure Zayne can not only see how your wet spurts out around his wrist, but hear it too. 

“Stop what? Showing your boyfriend what you really want?” 

“Hang up the phone!” You cry out again, showing Zayne that perhaps…you don’t miss him at all.

Caleb isn’t doing anything you don’t want. You just don’t want your boyfriend to witness you be so honest with yourself. 

“Awh,” Caleb pouts now, angling the phone back at himself and feeling proud of the way Zayne appears to be entirely shocked, mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed. “But he needed to know, baby, didn’t he?” He adds now, lying the phone down briefly to pull his cock out. 

“Come on now, don’t be shy.” Caleb continues with his confidence, picking the phone back up and angling it towards you. 

He intentionally drags his fist in and out of you a few more times before gently pulling it out, moaning at the way it sounds, obsessing over it really. Zayne watches in horror at the way you squeeze your eyes shut, sadly wondering what Caleb must be doing off screen for you to look so fucking guilty. The horror only grows when he has to watch Caleb’s cock come on screen, pussy soaked hand jerking himself off before shoving the head right against your lips.

God, you know Zayne hates you now. 

Caleb knows it too, and doesn’t care as he uses that same soaked hand and pries your lips apart before pushing it into your mouth. He thrusts forward too quick for you to take a breath, and you feel the leaking tip hit the back of your throat in a way that makes you choke and gag around him. 

Your eyes shoot open, looking up at him and barely able to comprehend the camera just inches from your face. 

Zayne has seen you look up at him like this too. Why aren’t you fighting Caleb though? Why are you willingly gagging, choking, and drooling all over yourself with such a forceful fuck to your face? You always pull off of him when he tries to thrust even a little bit…but you’re..

“I–” Zayne goes to say, still staring at you and the way you’re shamefully getting your mouth fucked open. “That is fucking disgusting.” He finally lets out, but he can’t look away. He doesn’t want to see this but…he can’t bring himself to hang up. 

“Yeah, that’s what she thinks too.” Caleb chuckles with a heaved breath, enjoying himself, now angling the phone at his face. “I think she likes it though– wouldn’t you agree?”

There goes the camera again, pointing right at your choking mouth. Caleb pushes all the way in too, letting your nose rest against his pelvis and moaning loudly for Zayne to hear.

“Shit, see? She’s not even fighting it.”

Zayne can’t tell only because Caleb doesn’t let him. You’re gripping Caleb’s hips and trying to push him out of your mouth, but he stays in place, enjoying the way your choking and suffocating throat jerks him off better than his own hand ever could. 

The best part? He knows you’re only pushing him away to breathe because you weren’t fighting at all at first. In fact, he felt you silently hum against him like you want his cock so bad. So, he’s not actually lying. He just thinks it’s polite to not let Zayne know how you’re suffocating right now. 

Oh well. 

Only after your eyes start to fog over and roll back does Caleb pull out, relishing in that wet gasp you lend. He looks down at the phone now, wanting to make sure Zayne witnessed all of that before realizing he fucking hung up.

Who the fuck hangs up on imagery like that? Fucking idiot, is what Zayne is. 

To be fair though, Zayne hung up shortly before Caleb pulled out. He had to force himself to do it, because he didn’t quite enjoy the way his cock jumped at the image of his girlfriend letting her step-brother fuck her mouth like that. He’s entirely blindsided. Like, not only are you cheating on him, but he had to see it like that?! In 4k?! God, his stomach would be in knots to catch you like this with anyone, but the fact that it’s with…Caleb. Of all people.

You’re fucking your own brother. 

None of that matters to Caleb though, nor does it matter to you at this moment as the tears continue to pour from your eyes knowing that Caleb did this on purpose and for a reason. It’s insane how kind he is to you now that Zayne isn’t watching, actually. Lending you a deep, meaningful kiss before sinking back down the bed and resuming his previous position. 

“You liked this.” He comments, seeing if his hand will still fit, and moaning when it does. “You’re so fucking wet it’s insane.”

God, you know he’s punishing you yet you can’t bring yourself to be mad about it because already you can feel the bubbles in your stomach threaten an orgasm. Proving to both Caleb and yourself that…you do like it. Never have you even imagined wanting a whole goddamn fist in you before now but–you more than like it. You love it. 

In fact, feeling his hand dragging in and out of you now makes you forget about the way you nearly just died with a cock in your throat. You’re already moaning again, actually. 

And fuck, you promised you’d do anything to keep this a secret, and while doing that anything for him, no matter how willing, he still fucking told. He fucking showed the dirty acts to the last person on earth you’d ever want to see, hear, or know. The crying is a given, from both the anxiety, the fear, and the pleasure because you can’t stop the oncoming orgasm or the love you have for the man giving it to you either. 

The way he holds you through it should disgust you, with his fist buried so deep your orgasm comes in long, drawn out and painful waves. He grips onto you though, whispering more to himself against your thigh than to you, “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you, it’s okay.” 

You don’t want to melt for him, but you do. Even through your ringing ears it’s like your body instinctively hears his whispers when you shouldn’t. The words bring comfort, reminding you that he’ll still protect you even from Zayne and what he feels about this situation. Even from your parents, from outsiders, from everything. 

The orgasm feels like it bruises your brain, a throbbing headache coming shortly after when Caleb takes on a more gentle persona and pulls his hand from you. He inspects your open cunt for a moment, seeing how wet it is inside for him before it pulses closed and he averts his gaze to his hand. 

Glistening, so wet. You needed that, he thinks. The reminder that he’s the only one who can love you in more ways than you truly need. 

“You did so well.” He compliments, crawling up and over you to wipe those tears with the same hand. 

You don’t move away, if anything you need this comfort now more than anything because you simply don’t know what to feel, or think, or admit right now. You think Caleb already knows, he wouldn’t need you to say it simply because he’s always read you like a book. 

“No more pretending you don’t want this.” He says now, in a darker voice. “Even with Zayne listening, you moaned my name. I don’t think you remember doing that, do you?”

You cry more, closing your eyes tightly and pretending like Caleb’s hand is Zayne’s. You really liked Zayne, genuinely thought you could have a future with him. Even so, pretending that Caleb is him doesn’t bring safety because you almost would prefer it be Caleb. A hand you’re so familiar with. 

He had been so awful to you recently, and only now do you realize that…maybe it really was for your own good.

“You don’t need him.” Caleb says now, adjusting himself between your legs.“Not when you have me. You know I’ll take care of you.” He continues, slipping his cock deep into your already loosened hole. 

He’s shocked that you still manage to be tight after all of that, but he guesses that’s just how pussies work. Or how yours works, anyway. He knows it more than he knows his own cock at this point, which is insane. 

Feeling him inside of you, so familiar, slightly smaller than Zayne– it’s…comforting. The tears that spill from you now are more for missing him than anything. You can’t help it when you wrap your legs around him or throw your arms around his shoulders, shivering and clinging to him like he’s your last line of sanity despite everything about this being entirely insane. 

“Caleb–” You moan at how he fucks you, so much softer than with his hand but…normal. Like the first time you ever did this with him. “I really want you but,”

Caleb pauses, feeling that same pit in his stomach at how you say those words.

“What you just did to me could ruin my life.” You finally say, still clinging, not at all asking him to stop. “What you’re doing right now, will ruin my life.”

“Don’t be silly. Your life will be ruined without me, baby, you know that, right?” He says, reminding you of who has the power by quickening his hips and pointing his cock directly at your already sensitive g-spot. “You can’t say no to me, you tried and still you want me.”

You nod your head in agreement despite wishing he was wrong. 

“We can’t.” You say to him in a half-groaned whisper. “I’m begging you to stop.” 

If at all, you’re just begging him to stop being what you want. To stop being able to have a hold over you like this. To stop being everything that Zayne isn’t and still being the most desirable man in your life. To stop being your step-brother. To stop being a taboo in your life, if only to become someone you’re allowed to need like this. 

“No.” Caleb says, unknowing of what you’re actually asking of him. “I’ll never stop.”

With those words, you moan. He’s promising something that neither of you should feel or need, but you accept it. Shocked at the way you feel him inside of you like always, no pain, or lack of feeling from the previous size fucked into you. It’s just…Caleb. Intentionally fucking you harder to punish you for words that are actually fighting more for him than against him. 

“Okay.” You whimper, falling silent with your broken voice fading into nothing but cries of the inevitable. 

For all Caleb knows, you’re asking him to stop this. What he’s doing to you right now, not for anything else that you meant it for. For your own sake, because you know that after this, you truly may not be able to pull yourself from this fantasy with him. Technically, he’s showing you that he’s willing to hurt you to keep you. To take it from you if that’s what it takes to get what he wants. And that hurts a lot to know, a pain deep within you making you spiral a little more than you ever thought you could.

He’d really go as far as to keep going when you’re crying for him to stop? If just to show you that he…loves you? No, maybe just that he wants this, he wants you. 

You want this, but it’s the fact that he just knows. Even if you say no, even if you beg or plead for him to stop, he’ll just keep going because he knows better than you that you’ll always want him in return. Even if you’re lying to yourself, even if you were able to truly convince yourself that this isn’t at all what you want. Even if it feels like Caleb is committing atrocities right now, he knows he’s not. He’s not, even if you say he is. 

And at the end of the day, right now. He truly isn’t. 

You can feel your heart rotting at all that’s lost now. A life with someone normal. A life where you’re normal and can be seen hand in hand with the love of your life as you grocery shop, or get ice cream, or even just take the future dog on a walk. Your dreams are dying, and you can’t stop them. 

You feel a burning pain throughout your body at the force of him now, seemingly trying to fuck your concern away from you. Only now do you open your eyes to look at him, he’s just shapes now. Your tears are messing up the normal clear view you’d have, but you can tell he’s smiling lovingly. 

He doesn’t care that he just ruined your relationship, he doesn’t care that you’re his step-sister, he doesn’t care nor think of how the future could work if he were to keep trying to follow this path, and continue to make you realize you’ll willingly walk down it with him….not when he’s getting this from you. 

Not when he knows that, now at least, he’ll always get what he wants.

You cling harder to him now, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you lift to his shoulder and tuck your face there, replacing your lip with his warm and pulsing skin. Caleb is pleasantly surprised by this, after all that he did to you, he really thought he’d have to work harder to get these lips to willingly suck on his skin again without him puppeteering you. 

“Yeah?” He turns his face against your forehead as you suck, still crying and tasting the salt from your tears mixed with the saliva you’re drooling onto him. “Zayne can’t make you feel this good?” He continues to talk himself up. 

You remain silent as you try to drown out your thoughts with the pleasure he gives instead, feeling the way his normally gentle hands are rough holding you up, feeling the way your body shifts with each thrust up, hearing the way he breathes for you, speaks for you, and moans for you. 

You hate to say you love it right now. Hate that you let your dream of a normal life die so easily. Hate you love him enough to let him do this to you, really. 

“Caleb–” You hiccup, exhausted. “I can’t believe you’d go this far.” 

Only in those words do you realize how taboo and…erotic it is. To have a man willing to not only claim you as his own through forcing jealousy on your boyfriend and pain on you, but you guess the borderline sexual assault is another thing. 

It’s not that you’re into it. In fact, you’re terrified of that. But it’s just…the way he knows you is attractive. The way he will protect you from any situation he caused…turns you on, even if he’s the one you need protecting from. God, the way he’ll fuck you through all the lies you tell yourself. 

Shit.

“I’d go further.” He chuckles, out of breath as he chases the expanse of your clenched walls. “Would’ve brought you to his house and fucked you right there at his front door. Let everyone know.”

You shake your head out of fear of that situation at first, and then suddenly find yourself smiling and losing your mind a bit. God, that would be hot if it were like, you know, not something that would get you disowned by not only family, but literally everyone aside from Caleb. 

“Should’ve seen his face, baby–” Caleb moans just thinking about it, loving that he has what no one else can have. “Said he was disgusted but…I think he was turned on. Really, couldn’t look away from you sucking my dick like that– God,” He cuts himself off by grabbing at you, shoving you back down and into your pillows, both hands running up your shirt and pushing it up to your collarbone. He gropes and pinches at your tits, half of his plush bottom lip caught between his teeth as sweat drips into his eyelashes. 

“Couldn’t tell if he wished he was me–” A sarcastic laugh. “or maybe even you.” His moans continue to mesh with his laughter, now moving one hand to your neck and leaning down to lick against your lips with another pointed thrust. “I’d never fuck anyone better than I’ll fuck you though.”

“Gotta say, if he wanted it bad enough, he’d look pretty choking on it too. Never as pretty as you.” He continues talking, and talking, and talking. 

You don’t really process his words though, or recognize if he’s being truthful or just making shit up, nor do you care. To be fair, there isn’t anything in this world left to care about aside from him now. Not yourself, not Zayne, your parents, or anyone out wandering the world right now. 

“Stop–” You moan at the way he rubs his pelvis against your clit with his now, deeper thrusts. “Stop fucking talking about him.”

He smiles wide against your lips in victory, feeling his muscle tense up at you asking to forget about Zayne. And so, he listens to you for the first time since you’ve been home, he fucking listens. 

Caleb says nothing now, instead he focuses his hips and notes how now, your pussy feels too used. Or maybe his cock is just numb and oversensitive, he’s not sure. It’s not hard really, to reach down and shove three fingers into you alongside his cock, offering extra sensation to both his balls and the underside of his length as he continues to fuck into you with what he can only assume to be a painful stretch. 

His body shivers with an embarrassing moan at that, rolling his eyes back. 

“You hate him?” Caleb says, but it sounds more like a plea for you to agree as he chases an orgasm far too fucking close. 

You don’t respond because at this point his words are just there as fluff in your head. You’re more focused on the insecure feeling inside of you at how he’s had to use his hand to help him get off. It...feels so bad knowing that you can’t give him what he wants after all this. After you promised. And, so, you build up the courage to lift quickly, catching him off guard, and hug him around his neck. 

There, his fingers skew slightly, to the point it’s painful for him to keep them in place and he’s forced to pull them back and instead, hold you up in his own hug as he spirals. God, he missed you so much. Look at you now, after trying to deny him, deny yourself of wanting this. You’re bouncing on him like you always have, frantically moving your hips with no rhyme or reason, solely to get him off. 

He lets out a loud moan, not caring if your parents wake up to it. Not caring about anything but the pussy choking his cock out now. The change in position offered a new form of tightness, and he doesn’t need an extra boost of pleasure anymore. Not with you breathing against his mouth like this, still crying, except now it’s like you’re crying because he hasn’t gotten off yet. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” He nods his head, lips playing with yours with each nod of his head as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, you always know what I like it.”

Just like that, all of your insecurity is washed away. You feel him twitch inside of you, and the way his hands nearly bruise you in this hug feels…right. It’s what you need, what you want. 

“He ever cum in you?” Caleb pants out, noting the way you aggressively shake your head in an answer. 

And normally, he’d pull out. Normally, there’s a condom involved in this. Not today though, even as you note the familiar sound choking from his throat, and that even more familiar twitch of his cock. You try to pry yourself away from him, palms pressing on his chest as you argue. 

“Caleb! Pull out, Let me up!” 

He doesn’t let you though. Instead, he grabs both of your wrists and presses you right back down on the bed, overpowering you through his orgasm and fucking all of that cum right into you. Intentionally, with purpose. 

“No,” He croaks out in a breath, still lost in his orgasm. “I won’t.” 

You try to wiggle away from him still, despite knowing he’s already started cumming. What’s the point now if not just to still have some type of control over your own body? He, again, doesn’t let you, pressing your wrists painfully into your own stomach, forcing you to feel each pulse and spurt of him for the first time through the pressure of his hold.

He’s never done this to you before, then again, This isn’t the same Caleb you’re used to no matter how much you try to relate the feelings and love to the Caleb you were with last summer. And…you need to lie to yourself right now at how good it feels to have him fuck his cum into you well past his orgasm, because admitting it would be the last thing you could do tonight to really throw you off the deep end. 

He makes you admit it though, still fucking his cock into you regardless of how it’s growing softer and softer by the second. Doing it solely because he knows more cum will drip out as he shrinks back down. He wants to feel each second of your walls clenching, trying to push him out and knowing it never can. 

He holds you down harder now, wincing at his own sensitivity as he plays with himself inside of you, lending pained chuckles and eye rolls with each sound of disgust you make towards him for it. And only after he slips out and can’t manage to fold it back into you does he really look at you. 

Tilting his head with an innocent smile on his face, he releases your hands and shoots his own up to your face, cupping both cheeks before leaning down and kissing you as hard as he can with what little breath he has left. 

“I deserved that.” He says between kisses. “You deserved it.” He sounds slightly irritated saying that part, but his kiss stays gentle and sweet. “You owed me this.”

You’re not sure if he meant any of that, but you find yourself agreeing.

[alphajocklover]

I loved the story you did the other day about making a deal with a devil. Could I make a deal with him? You see I’m a huge fan of Zeb Atlas and I want to be just like him. A huge muscular alpha gay male porn star. You think he’d be interested in doing that for me?

Oh thank god. I don’t want to be unprofessional but I’m really glad someone asked about this. Since my last post with Nick, the one where he helped me turn one guy into five by splitting his soul, Nick has been in a bit of trouble. Technically speaking a lot of what Nick does, hanging out with mortals, dating my Uncle, helping me with my work, is kind of frowned upon by the forces of Hell. Hell is not as strict as you might think, since their entire thing is sin and doing what they’re not supposed to, but there are some things that a devil isn’t supposed to do, and using their powers during anything but a deal is a big one. I think making another deal could definitely help smooth things over, especially since he's been so busy with helping me and has kind of neglected his work lately. There is a little problem with your request though. I, personally, try to avoid anything with celebrities in them, not because they don’t use magic or tf stuff, but since reporting on them can draw a little too much attention. However, you said you want to be LIKE Zeb Atlas, not that you wanted to be him or transform him in some way. Plus he is extremely hot, and he isn’t a super big mainstream celebrity, so I think I can get away with it. Let's turn you into a Zeb Atlas look alike!

See, my friend Nick isn’t just going to turn you into someone kind of like Zeb Atlas. For the price you’re paying, you’re going to be turned into an exact copy of Zeb Atlas. From the manly jawline and cocky smirk, to the huge biceps and sexy, almost shockingly wide shoulders, you’re going to practically be his twin. To be clear, you aren’t actually going to be his twin, you’re going to be his doppelganger. I know that sounds weird, but it’s actually weirdly common. A lot of people have doppelgangers, and while both doppelgangers being bodybuilding pornstars is a little unlikely, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen. You won’t have a tattoo like he does, so you’ll have a few differences, but besides that the two of you are going to be almost identical. Even your personalities will be similar, and the same cocky, confident swagger he has will be in every move you make. The best part? You’ll actually get to meet Zeb! Two alpha males who work in porn, it only makes sense for you guys to do some scenes together. People love the ‘getting fucked by twins’ fantasy afterall. Even more, because of your similar personalities, you’ll spend time together outside of work. Soon Zeb Atlas and Zack Titan (thats your porn name) will be fucking inseparable. 

Of course there is a price to pay, and in this case it's going to be a pretty hefty one. You won’t have to give up your soul or anything, since Nick usually gets his souls indirectly, but you will still have to give him something. Two things actually. The first thing Nick wants is your original selves apartment. I can’t be sure why, but I assume it has to do with some sort of long game he’s playing. The second thing he wants? Your and Zeb’s autographs. It’s not everyday you meet the two greatest porn stars of all time.

**I don't usually do TFs that involve real people, even slightly, but I couldn't resist something this hot. Hope you guys like it (and that I dont have to take it down lol)**

[ghostgirl-22]

artrick camping🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

GAY THOUGHTS?!!!!!!!!!

Very gay thoughts indeed!!

This time Pats getting all the attention. Art might be too jealous to share though

CW: 18+ NSFW Exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, not proofread

—-

It’s kinda perfect for a midsummer night. The kids are out on a two day trek to the big lake and waterfall with Adam, Cassidy and Ryan. Everyone calls them the real adults because they’re 25 and 26 and can handle all sixty kids between the ages of 10 and 13. That leaves the rest of the counselors with an evening to themselves.

Art is happy for the break, he’s half tipsy already. Lounging against a log shaped bench while the campfire he and Patrick lit, murmurs to life working its way up to full strength. The air is heavy, mildly humid with an occasional cool breeze. Fireflies are sparking in and out of existence while cicadas buzz loudly, their song making it feel like the trees have come alive.

Art is pretending to stare at the way the sunset has turned the sky a hazy brilliant shade of navypurple. Acting like the distant quarter moon is so interesting but really he can’t stop staring at Patrick’s body. Spread out in front of him, head resting on Art’s shoulder. He’s in short purple shorts, and a t-shirt, muscular thighs falling open shamelessly as he lights a cigarette. Art’s all tangled up in knots. It was only a kiss. One little three way kiss a few months ago and he can’t stop thinking about it. Who knew one a kiss could ruin his life?

“Fucking pretty out here,” Patrick says, after taking a huff. Oblivious to Art’s internal struggles.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” Art asks, not sure if he’s hiding it well but he’s really trying. 

“Yeah. Easy money. The kids are cool as shit. The other counselors are funny and fucking hot and I get to teach tennis all day. I shoulda come last year.” Patrick grunts. 

A couple of their fellow counselors, Chase and Ronnie are sitting across from them. Ronnie’s sipping his beer while Chase seems to be distracted for the same reason Art is. Mouth open gazing at Patrick’s thighs.  

“Yeah,” Art says. He sits up as Patrick holds out the cigarette so Art can take a puff. But yanks it out of reach just before Art can grab it. Chase giggles as Patrick does it twice more with a shit eating grin on his lips before Art gives up feeling too tipsy and slow to ever grab it. “Dick,” Art mutters.

That’s when Patrick chuckles and puts it straight to Art’s lips watching Art inhale as Patrick moves to lean on the bench next to him.

As Art takes a drag, two other counselors, Cameron and Dustin approach. Art swallows. He didn’t mind them last year but this year they’re kind of on his nerves. Especially Cameron. 

Sure they aren’t the only counselors that find Art’s best friend hot. Hell Art is used to that. Everyone thinks he's hot. Patrick’s all swagger and sex; firm and thick all over. Handsome and tall. So tall. He could be one of those underwear models if he felt like it. Art knows it. Everyone knows it. Even some of the campers long for him, little 12 year old crushes on the hot camp counselor they can’t have.

Of the other counselors, Cameron and Dustin are probably the worst and most ridiculous with their crushes. Hanging all over Patrick like he’s this meal they can’t wait to devour. And of course, Patrick loves the attention. Art is used to him showing off for girls, for Tashi. This summer he’s been leaving the girls alone probably because of her, but he doesn’t hesitate to do it for boys.    

Walking around half naked after sweating too much on the court. Letting some of his fellow counselors touch his waist as they lean in to ask him a question. Taking his time to pull his shirt back on if he ever pulls it back on. Walking with Art back to their shared cabin when training is done, his shirt draped over his shoulder, shorts sitting low. Leaving Art fixated on the curve of his back, the swell of his ass, his perfect abs or the dark trail leading down into his shorts. God. Art needs a break. He shoulda taken the summer to detox. Especially given everything that’s happened between them. But at least he knows Patrick won’t be at Stanford this year.

“What are you guys up to tonight, Zweig?” Cameron asks, he kneels down near Patrick and starts rubbing his thigh. Patrick just fucking lets him. Art glares at his hand, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“I don’t know, maybe we’ll tell a few scary stories by the campfire,” Patrick says, playfully.  

“I’d be scared if you lost your shorts Zweig,” Dustin laughs and Patrick smiles.

“Scared you’d all fucking cream yourselves,” Patrick teases back.

“You should tell us a scary story about that, Patty,” Ronnie chimes in. “Like size and shape and everything.”

“You’re so fucking horny,” Patrick says, with a sly smile.

Cameron, who’s still sitting too close, leans in closer. Stupid huge grin on his face. “It’s fucking big, isn’t it?”

Patrick shrugs, gesturing down and Cameron slides his hands up his thigh, till he grazes it.

“Oh…fuck, lemme have a turn,” Cameron says softly. Art is just holding the cigarette, biting his cheek. So pent up with irritation and other things.

“Is it circumcised?” Chase asks.

”Come on guys, we’re just… hanging out,” Art interrupts, anxiously.

”But that’s so boring,” Dustin says.

“How bout truth or dare?” Cameron offers, sitting back on his knees.

”That sounds fun,” Chase says giddily from the other side. 

Patrick shrugs, he takes the cigarette back from Arts waiting hand. “Sure.” He says before placing it back to his mouth. Cameron licks his lips, slowly dragging his gaze off Patrick, he looks to Art.  

“You wanna play, Art?” 

Art doesn’t really support what Cameron is up to but he sighs and nods his head anyway. 

“Then you can start, truth or dare?”

”Truth,” Art says defiantly. 

“Boo,” Dustin says, settling on the soft ground on the other side of Cameron and the others laugh which makes Art feel the warm prickle of embarrassment. 

“Okay truth, you guys ever fool around?” Cameron asks. 

Art bites his lip. And Patrick turns to grin at him. It’s like Tashi in the hotel room all over again. Thankfully Patrick doesn’t go back to the jerking off story. “What do you think?” Is what he offers instead, his expression mildly amused. 

“Well,” Cameron starts. They all exchange glances.

“Everyone thinks you go back in the cabin and fuck all night,” Dustin finally says, his voice soft. 

Art feels his skin heating up and it has nothing to do with summer or the campfire. 

Patrick chuckles. “Mm you’re mistaking porn and real life. Come on, he’s my best friend, man…. We only kiss a little bit.” 

“Oh wow,” it comes from either Ronnie or Chase. Art isn’t sure because Patrick is looking at him, grinning. Art forces himself to smile but his insides feel all weird and there’s this twisted feeling of arousal settling low at the base of his stomach. He picks up his half empty beer can and takes another drink. Everyone thinks they fuck. Everyone thinks they fuck.

”Oh? Well. Truth or Dare Patrick,” Cameron says. He scoots closer, takes the cigarette out of Patricks mouth and takes a huff. Art doesn’t like him. Really.

”Dare,” Patrick says, of course. 

“I dare you… to show us how you kiss him.” 

Patrick rests his head on his shoulder. It’s darker outside now. The fires gotten stronger. Shadows dancing all around them, and it feels a little more feral. A little frenzied.

Patrick, never one to lose a dare, slides his fingers into Art’s hair, easily. Art’s drawn to him like a fucking magnet once his parted lips come close enough. He tastes like tobacco and mint, Patrick’s strong hot tongue licking into his mouth makes Art lightheaded immediately. 

God. And he’s hard, fuck. it happens so fast, he can feel his cock straining instantly, starting to leak just a bit.  

“Ohh…fuck,” someone whispers and Art feels even hotter. Of course Patrick would do this in front of everyone. He loves an audience.

He doesn’t stop it there. Patrick takes hold of Art’s face with both hands, thick fingers caressing his jawline, sitting up on his knees as he breathes in through his nose, deepening the kiss. 

Art can hear a whispered, “holy shit” as Patrick moves to straddle him.  

Their lips never separate. Art getting off to the feel of Patrick’s tongue thrusting in deep, licking all around. Art, too dizzy from drink and sex to do anything other than chase the sensation. Pawing helplessly at Patrick’s t-shirt, trying to get access to the heated skin beneath. Feeling up his hard body, muscular waist.  

It’s all fucked up in his head now. Patrick, his best friend. Patrick, the really fucking pretty boy he has wet dreams about. He can hear the sound of moaning over the crackling of the campfire and realizes distractedly it’s his own desperate voice. When the weight of Patrick’s body settles on his lap Art loses his mind a little bit. He can’t help hitching his hips up, gripping at Patrick’s thighs, heavy and solid. Hands sliding up too high he feels what Cameron felt, the full thickness of Patrick’s big hardened cock and he needs to moan. 

Patrick’s not much better, making these soft little growly noises against his lips. his big hands all over Art. gripping his waist. tugging his shirt up, pinching his nipples, dragging through the curls of his hair. The kiss feels like sex, Art’s head resting against the bench while Patrick thrusts his tongue in and out and in and out, and Patrick’s grinding and oh… oh fuck. Art won’t last for the solid weight of him, the slide of fabric against fabric, his perfect ass grinding up against Art’s cock, barely anything between them. 

Art is rubbing, rubbing all along the length of Patrick’s dick just to feel it… just to hear Patrick say his name, this strangled sound pressed between their lips. Each utterance building and building on the heat twisting and blooming all low in Art’s gut. “Mm, mm, yes.” He gasps. “Gonna… gonna…Oh my fucking god,” He groans, deep and guttural and then he’s coming so hard and so suddenly that his vision goes all black for just a moment.

Patrick’s not far behind, hand down his shorts now. Rocking against Art’s already spent and sticky cock, slippery wet and overstimulated. Wet spot spreading fast, all along the thin purple fabric of his shorts all while moaning and panting, hot heavy breaths in Art’s ear. Probably the hottest thing Art’s ever experienced. 

The other boys seem to agree. Cheeks flushed, heavy breathing, desire so naked on all of their faces. Art can’t help the distant hint of arousal that floods his tummy, knowing he’s part of the reason they’re all so eager. Ronnie’s got a palm down his shorts, rubbing idly. Chase is sitting cross legged, his thigh bouncing. Dustin takes a breath and adjusts himself. While Cameron is leaning forward, he’s put out the cigarette in the dirt, palms sliding eagerly over his thighs. “Oh Fuck… what’s a little kiss between friends,” Cameron whispers, softly.      

“Exactly,” Patrick hums as he finally catches his breath, rubbing his slick cum stained thumb along Art’s bottom lip. Art opens up without thinking about it. Sucking his thumb in barely realizing he’s doing it. 

Patrick watches him, grinning as he slowly pulls out and then puts it in his own mouth, biting down on it. Art stares at him as Patrick gazes at the rest of the group. All of them fixated on him. Wanting him. “So, truth or dare,” Patrick says smirking, “who’s next?”  

(Blah idk either lol 🤷🏿‍♀️)

[thechy-fychannel]

do you think Wilson cries after his first time having sex with House because:

a) it all catches up to him at once that he's spent his entire life not feeling right but now he's finally figured it out, and imagine how his life would've gone if he knew about this part earlier, or

b) big gay freakout and shame and guilt at feeling good through gay sex and catastrophising so hard, freaking out about how he's meant to exist in the world as a boy-kisser now etc etc etc

(somehow I don't see him not crying after fucking House for the first time. or at least in the morning or in his car to work the next day where House can't see/make fun of him for it)

Ooooohhhhh WHAT a beautiful question!!!! And such a hard one to answer because I can see all possibilities equally!

In a canon compliant-ish universe, I'm going to go with B bc both of those guys are unable to keep themselves from self destructing. Wilson tries very hard to keep it together and is all like "yeah. yeah that was great. totally. yeah." and then sneaks off to the bathroom while house is still enjoying his post-orgasmic bliss so he can pace and cry and mutter to himself about how fucked this all is. He feels deeply ashamed that he enjoyed it so much, ashamed that it felt so right after so many years of sex feeling wrong. Ashamed about what this means for him as a man, as a person, as a role model.

He's not homophobic per say, he has no problem with other people being gay, but he's still a "straight" man who grew up surrounded by certain predispositions that are hard to let go of. He's never viewed himself as queer and now he's been given explicit, unadulterated, undeniable proof that he is in fact very queer and it feels like he knows even less about who he is when he already had no fucking clue who he is.

And then he has to grapple with what this means for them, for their relationship. And that's a whole other bull for him to wrestle. Even if it felt right to him, who knows how house actually feels? What if this fucked everything up? What if House doesn't feel the way he feels? What if he does??? He's definitely in the middle of this freak out, tears streaming down his face, rocking himself back and forth on the toilet, when there's a knock on the door and House telling him that he needs to piss. Wilson tells him to use the kitchen sink, he's busy, but house immediately can tell that he's been crying and now he feels like he's fucked it all. Cue house having his own meltdown about the whole situation and neither of them having a healthy conversation about it.

I feel like option A comes later, after he's grappled with the facts of himself, that he's queer and in love with House and there's nothing he can do about it except accept it and either take a chance at being happy or attempt to return to the status quo. Maybe it's after they have sex a second time, after they've spent a couple of weeks being stupid and evasive and awkward around each other, ultimately leading to house picking until wilson explodes and they finally have a conversation about it all. Only then, after all of that and after they've spent a long time in bed about it, do the tears return and house thinks they're taking four steps backwards, until wilson tells him that it just hit him all at once, how he spent his entire life feeling wrong and now he feels right and he wishes they could've had this all along. It's not fair and it's stupid and even if he's happy, he's so mad that he's been missing out on something so wonderful. There's shame there too about the fact that he's allowed himself to be so repressed for so long that he feels like he's missed out on the best years of his life that he could've spent loving house. I think no matter the outcome, there's going to be a certain level of shame and resentment towards himself that will take a long time to let go of, if he ever does.

But in Wilson's defense, house can only make fun of him so much when he canonically cries during sex!! Which he totally did when he had sex with Wilson!!

[thebeetleguy]

This flag disgusts me to my core. Validating pedophilia in any way is horrifying, but especially with a pride flag. Pride is an event that takes place to bring attention to a repressed community full of diverse, individual people that join as one to support each other and making a pride flag to celebrate being a FUCKING PEDOPHILE is the most disgusting, horrendous thing I’ve ever seen anybody do in my LIFE.

Labeling yourself as a “minor attracted person” isn’t going to make anyone hate you less and using that as your “LGBTQ identity” is literally just giving queer people a worse reputation than we already have among conservatives who think these freaks are part of the community. I’ve literally been in conversations where people say things like “minor attracted people are the reason we should stop the gay community from celebrating pride” like these fucking people have ANYTHING to do with queer people.

I usually don’t like to talk about these subjects but this needs more attention drawn to it. The label of “minor attracted person” is NOT real, NOT valid, and VERY disgusting. If not for your own children, get rid of these freaks for other people’s children. They are vulnerable, now more than ever as child predators try to force their way into the LGTBQ community circle to make their ATTRACTION TO CHILDREN a valid, acceptable thing.

Stop defending these people, stop pretending they’re valid, stop “letting them live”. They deserve to be shamed. It’s so easy to “leave them alone” because it’s “not worth the drama” until someone’s children are being preyed on. STOP. LETTING. THIS. HAPPEN.

The tags are everything I know. I am sharing this with every single one to try and spread the word.

[badexe]

re: everyone is sucking and fucking but the gay men, i think everyone who is upset that burt and irving did not kiss in the most recent episode are severely missing the point.

yeah, you could make an argument that it could point to a internal aversion to depicting men kissing on the writers part, but burt and irving’s story is and always has been so rich. this isn’t like the 2000/10s style of queerbaiting we’ve been subjected to for the longest time. they were first to develop an explicit relationship on screen,they describe their feelings as romantic, they want to kiss but they can’t, they can’t. turturro and walken play them with the primary motivation being their insatiable attraction towards one another. burt’s absence ripped irving apart. i’d draw one every day i couldn’t see him. a kiss really shouldn’t be the metric for adequate representation.

each and every relationship on this show is complex and rife with tension. it’s not like they’re all getting a happy ending. we don’t know how or if the mark/gemma/helly/helena quadrilateral is going to resolve. gretchen falls for dylan’s innie and dylan threatens to end it because his wife can’t love him for who he is today - how you used to be. just because they’ve kissed or had sex doesn’t make their relationships simpler, fuller, more meaningful or successful. the narrative explores everything that could go wrong when you try to separate yourself. how do you contend with yourself. who are you. who has the right to you, your body, to love you. autonomy, consent, love, fate, the self.

i doubt this is the last we’ll see of burt and irving. while there’s one episode left in the season, the show is far from over. i’m in the camp of believing the only way forward is through reintegration, that to advance the story towards any resolution within the characters they need to see it, remember it, feel it all. and when that happens, what will burt and irving do? when they finally feel it? i want to feel it.

burving is tragic and star-crossed, but they’re also the ones in the happiest position right now. it hurts to say goodbye. to not know. but i know that i loved you. i think i love you now. it’s too dangerous for us. but with the final choice i have, i can save you.

what matters is that the love was there.

[consultingfujoshi]

everyone else is giving their take on this so I feel as if I should too. I am angry about burt and irving now having two almost-kisses and them still finding a reason for them to never close that gap. like, yea it makes narrative sense that neither of those scenes contained a kiss, it's compelling even, if I view it objectively I actually love that because I care deeply about these characters and want them to be written realistically and with nuance.

but I am not gonna sit here and pretend that I'm fine with how this compares to the straight couples that have had so much more this season. if burt and irving's story existed in a bubble where markhelly and all the rest didn't serve as points of comparison I don't think I'd be half as upset at the way this ended. I'd be able to appreciate the impact of their being unable to kiss TWICE now in different universes because of forces outside of their control without looking across at every. single. other. couple. who are all straight. and going. why do they get that and we don't. why is it only the gay couple that have to be written "realistically" where they're still not ready to kiss. why can allowances and indulgences be made for dramatic effect for EVERYONE except them. I don't know if it's intentional homophobia, or queerbait, or if they're really just that squeamish about the idea of two old men kissing each other, but the double standard is there no matter the motivation behind it. and when you combine that with irving's innie being effectively killed off four episodes into the second season, and now his outie potentially written out of the show too, all I'm saying is it becomes hard to give them the benefit of the doubt.

we're all aware john turturro may not return for another season and that's why they felt the need to wrap up irving's two storylines somehow so they weren't left on a loose end should he decide not to come back, and I get that, and I'm glad there was some sense of finality to it, but then why not allow us just this one thing. just one moment of indulgence. because it might actually be our, and their, last chance. would it have killed them to just let them kiss this one time if there was a chance we'd never see them again, a chance they'd never see each other again. the truth is, no, it wouldn't have been hard at all. but they still made the decision to withhold that. because they can't allow us or them even the most basic kindness whilst handing the straight couples everything on a silver platter.

I'm not gonna get into the pacing issues of their relationship this season, how we jumped from them shyly asking each other out on another date to burt carrying out the hit on irving, how there feels like a missing scene in between those two events, because that relates to a wider problem with the structure of the show itself that is beyond the scope of this criticism. but i think it's telling that rather than giving us that extra time with them, they took a whole episode away from our main cast where even cobel got to kiss a one off male character that we will never hear from or see of again, and the supposed flagship romance of season 1 can't even get that. at what point am I allowed to call that thing in the corner that looks, acts, and talks like a duck a fucking duck?

if it sounds like I'm bitter, and jealous, it's because I am. because whether or not the double standard is intentional or not, it's still there. and I really did think a show that was able to present such special, compelling, meaningful queer characters would be a little more self aware about the message they're sending. and it fucking sucks that this has become just another show where I have to swallow my frustration and accept that they're not writing this for me. I and my fellow queer audience will never be the priority. even now we are still begging for scraps

[nekropsii]

hey, question. Ive been out of homestuck fandom for a while- where does kankri say he’s aro? Ive checked in the openbound transcripts and havent seen anything and the homestuck site itself suuuucks rn so im just wonderin. ty if you know!

Easy. He explicitly puts himself on the spectrum here, no Alloromantic/Allosexual (especially at the time) would be apologizing for perpetuating Amatonormativity, and the "celibacy" thing was a common Aphobic joke at the time. The Alpha Troll segment also came out during a point in Tumblr's history where AroAce people were massive targets, and we were made into total jokes by Allos who refused to understand us or take us seriously. Kankri's existence is an example of this.

He's an Aphobic Caricature, with all of his ties to Aro/Aceness being made into a joke. Considering this, I think it's only fair to make him actually, fully AroAce, especially given the fact if this was a parody of literally any other marginalized group - especially one within the LGBT community - people would be accepting him as being wholly a part of that group, and taking his orientation seriously. I am 100% of the belief that any argument to the contrary is just blatant Aphobia.

Homophobic caricatures are common. They are, within fandoms, accepted as fully gay, and their gayness is taken seriously. Transphobic caricatures are common. They are, within fandoms, accepted as fully trans, and their transness is taken seriously. So on and so forth. The fact that Aros/Aces are seemingly excluded from this ruling of reclamation is entirely unfair, and reflective of the fact that fandoms are loudly, objectively hostile to the existence of Aros/Aces. Fandom's main interaction with Aro/Ace existence is total erasure - the most common response to the idea of a character being Aro is "Aros can date just like normal people, too!", and Aces get "Asexuals can have sex just like normal people, too!".

Kankri being AroAce is explicit. His existence as someone on that spectrum is canon and textual. He identifies that way, and his writing is very obviously intended to make a mockery of - for lack of a better term - total AroAces. Ergo: Kankri is AroAce, and denial of this is Aphobic.

Hopefully this helps! Have a nice day. o7

[incognito-insomniac]

It's a lack of empathy. It's the focus on individualism and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps (the American Dream). It's the inability to look beyond the self and only consider things that effect me and my immediate community (which sometimes is literally just their home/family). It is the same reason we are loosing women and gay rights left and right. It's the same reason racism is on the rise. It's the same reason so-called Christians are foaming at the mouth for social aid rollbacks.

It is honestly heartbreaking to watch my own country cannabilize itself. And to those watching thinking that suddenly all Americans are okay with these actions. That we're fine leaving NATO, USAID, Ukraine, etc. We're fucking not! But this oligarchical regime is also gutting our internal departments. Postal, FAA, Social Security, the Treasury, and so many more. They are rolling back many regulatory laws in support of industries and against all health and safety reason. They are literally robbing and killing us. There are so many actions happening at once. And we cannot fight all of them.

So yeah we're mad about all of it. But sorry I'm going to prioritize getting mail and making sure aircraft don't fly into each other and pollution isn't getting dumped into my drinking water and any insane laws in my own state don't get passed to further restrict my freedoms.

Because also remember that we aren't just dealing with Federal corruption. All 50 states are also passing laws in reaction to this. Some have sane leaders and are fighting back. Some like my state have been corrupt for years and are now trying to take advantage of the chaos to pass even crazier laws.

I'm sorry if it looks like all Americans don't care about the rest of the world. I'm sorry we are even in this scenario. I wish that people had voted differently or even fucking voted at all. But I do think that Americans have to focus on fighting the interior battles right now. Because if the orange cheeto gets his way we won't have an economy. What do you think will happen to foreign aid when the US falls? Seriously? That money comes from the American taxpayers. If the US economy implodes on itself there wouldn't be any aid anyway.

Do I think what Trump is proposing for Ukraine is insane? Yes, very much so. I want America to continue to support Ukraine. But I also didn't agree with how Biden was dealing with Palestine. I still voted for Harris. Because Harris wouldn't have pulled out of NATO. She wouldn't have been pissing off Canada and Mexico. She wouldn't be making land grabs for the Panama Canal and Greenland. 30% of Americans voted for her. It is disingenuous to lump those people together with neo fascist conservatives who are getting a hard on over all the "money" Musk and his teenage idiots are "saving" by cutting programs that aren't even federally funded!

Like if America had a fraction of the influence globally that it has now would any of you fucking care what's happening here? Genuinely. I have been on Tumblr for a decade and I hear people complain constantly how American culture is seeping into all the online spaces and moving into their physical spaces as well. How y'all are tired of hearing about our politics. I didn't love that for y'all then. I wish America had less impact on the world than it did. But with that visibility you must be seeing all the other shit we're dealing with beyond foreign aid cutbacks and pulling out of alliances. You can't not. But you don't seem to care about that. Our trans youth are under attack. Our industrial workers are under attack. Our economy is under attack. But sure let's continue thinking Americans are self-centered pricks who only care about themselves. This is what they wanted to happen right?

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

His Trembling Heart

He has been stalling. For days, weeks, months even, but he doesn’t know how to move forward. Time is running out. If he doesn’t come clean, if he doesn’t tell John tonight, before the pathetic bachelor party, with only two participants is over, he will never be able to do it. He can’t wait until the last minute as he first had thought. Before today, his deadline had been when the vicar would ask if anyone had any objections to why he shouldn’t marry the couple standing before him. But Sherlock couldn’t do that to John. It would be a selfish act. A bit not good wouldn’t cover it. Not by a longshot. It had to be tonight, or he would forever hold his peace.

***

Ever since John had come to terms with why Sherlock had to fake his death, Sherlock has seen something change in John. In many ways, he’s still the same, but the looks he gives Sherlock when he thinks Sherlock’s not aware, are new. Perhaps not new either, but Sherlock’s been away for two years, so he might have forgotten, or perhaps John was hiding it better back then.

He blushes a bit when he thinks of the little experiments he has conducted over the last months. How he’s watched John out of the corner of his eye when he’s stretched languidly, showing off a sliver of his stomach, letting his fingers stroke his lips contemplatively, messing up his hair, moaning slightly when he takes a first bite of a dumpling or a spoon of ice cream. John’s eyes have never left Sherlock but followed every move he’s made, licked his lips, widened his eyes by Sherlock’s sounds.

From this, Sherlock draws the conclusion that John is enticed, and apparently not as gay as he’s let on. Sherlock knows that John doesn’t like labels and he’s probably still in denial about his sexuality; his bisexuality at that.

So, it must be tonight. He has to test the waters more persistently. Just to be sure. Just so he won’t regret it when it’s too late.

***

They made it home to 221B. John skilfully lit the fire, while Sherlock found the whisky Mycroft gifted him for Christmas or was it his birthday? 

He’s already had too much to drink, which should terrify him. He might lose his chance. What if he forgets or falls asleep?

“Sherlock. You alright?”

John stands so close; he can feel the warmth radiating from him. Sherlock is so tempted to lean back, to let John catch him, to embrace him. Too early, he decides.

“Fine,” he says and waves a hand dramatically, which makes John giggle.

Sherlock loves that sound.

He finally manages to seat himself in his chair and leaves it to John to pour the amber liquid into the crystal tumblers.

“You’re quiet tonight,” John comments. “Tired, or mind palace?”

“Neither,” Sherlock replies.

He is mesmerised by the flames and loses himself for quite some time. John is used to that, but then he remembers; time is running out.

“John,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

“Are you happy?

It’s not at all what he’d wanted to ask. Sherlock can’t remember the initial question. His brain is filled with alcohol and love. It almost makes him giggle, but he’s asked John a serious question. He needs to focus on John’s answer.

“Do you mean right now?”

Not the reply Sherlock expected. John always surprises him.

“In general,” Sherlock elaborates.

“Oh.”

John’s face deflates in front of him. What does that mean?

“Any regrets?”

He did not mean to ask that!

Is John blushing or is it the heat from the fire that puts that pink colour on John’s neck? Sherlock loses himself entirely, fantasising about how it might feel to put his lips to that blush. He feels quite warm himself now.

“Yes.”

A whisper, almost inaudible, but Sherlock’s hearing is above average, even in his inebriated state.

Carefully, Sherlock places his glass on the side table. He looks over at John, who has his eyes focused on the skull on the mantle.

“Look at me, John,” Sherlock says softly.

His heart is trembling when their eyes meet, because what Sherlock sees there, is the answer, the truth, the exact thing he has hoped to see for years.

John loves Sherlock just as much as he loves John.

Sherlock moves graciously, much to his astonishment. He is after all quite dizzy.

Drunk with love.

He’s sure he’s read that somewhere.

Sherlock looks up at John. He’s kneeling in front of John’s chair; his palms are placed on John’s knees.

“Sherlock,” he whispers.

A burning sensation on his shoulders makes Sherlock inhale sharply. John’s hands. So warm. He closes his eyes, concentrates on remembering this feeling.

“Don’t marry her. Come back home. To me. Please.”

There, he’s said it. He’s asked, or was it pleading?

No matter, because John, his steady, wonderful, beautiful John, just answered him. And he’s used the same two words he used the day Sherlock asked him to come to a crime scene with him.

“God, yes!”

***

After that, it is a bit of a blur, but Sherlock is sure that there were lots and lots of kisses, hugs, touches, endearments, and vows. The most important one being: “The two of us against the rest of the world,” said in unison, sealed with a kiss.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely @jolieblack

@221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@peanitbear @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982 @meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl

@missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch

@acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020 @mydogwatson @redmondcollege

@thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood @xmengal03 @riversong912

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @couldbecannibal @2old2b-fangirl @dw91165 @jonkwatson

@binx72 @macgyvershe @raina-at @dragoonthegreatest @kholkate

@fookincarrotsandpotatoes28 @talkativeanxiousturtle @aloeverawrites @ch0s0lvr @desi-yearning

(Let me know if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[nutsackx]

Is there a specific reason you dont like shipping in the outsiders ? Ive seen people give a few diff reasons and im curious

This is gonna be a yap sesh but I’m hoping this will make people stop asking me. I’ve never been super into shipping as a whole, but here’s a few reasons:

One, I don’t think a lot of people recognize that the character are based off of SE Hintons real friends and that she’s expressed discomfort with it several times. I know people don’t often care about that kinda thing, but idk I think we should give that woman some peace

Two, it’s just the fact that 99% of ships in the fandom don’t sit right with me. I don’t hate them all, I like Cherrycake, Marbit, Parry, etc. but a lot of ships have either an age gap I don’t agree with or a vague toxicity surrounding them. I know some people don’t mind that in certain situations, but it makes me uncomfortable.

Three, and this one is pretty big to me, I feel like a lot of the shipping has people completely ignoring the character or the whole message of the story. I don’t care that it’s the 60s, gay people were alive and well and I think that’s a shit reason to hate on a ship, but the idea that two guys can’t be close without wanting to kiss is so sad to me?? I especially see this is Johnnyboy and Jally fans, but the idea that they can’t be loyal/devoted to each other without it being overly sexualized is just…weird.

And that brings me to my fourth and final point. Almost every single character in the franchise is a MINOR!!! Obviously shipping isn’t inherently a sexual thing, but the amount of nsfw content of these guys is sickening. I will never hate on someone for liking a ship in a sweet puppy love kind of way, but if you’re making that kind of content about characters who are under the age of 18 I do think you’re a creep and I do not want to be associated with you.

and I’ll say this again, if you ship something I disagree with, I don’t hate you!! Shipping is a huge part of fandom culture, I am fully aware of that!! I think leaving hate comments about ships you don’t agree with is rude, which is why if I see too much content for one I disagree with I just block and move on. post whatever and whoever you want! The only times I’ve even expressed my opinion of these types of things is when someone asked me.

I’m fully aware that my opinion isn’t widely agreed with, that doesn’t bother me. But just know leaving hate comments about a ship I like BECAUSE I don’t agree with one you like is a little hypocritical!

[ladykailitha]

Cyrano de Munson

So hear me out. Cyrano de Bergerac with a happy ending and make it Steddie!

We coooouuullld have it set in the time of the original play, but let's take it up to show canon time instead.

So we have the King of Hawkins High as our Roxanne. The one everyone one wants to be with. He's sweet and charming, all the girls want to be with him and all the boys want to be him.

And then we have our Cyrano who has been writing poems and songs about Steve since he arrived in Hawkins and he pines from afar because he knows the king is straight (cough cough he's bi cough).

Then you have Nancy as Christian. She knows the only way to raise her status in school is to date Steve Harrington. But she doesn't know how to woo a guy and has all the romantic bones of a shark.

Then she accidentally bumps into Eddie in the halls and she knocks all his papers to the floor. She picks one up and it's a poem about hazel eyes, honey colored hair, and sun-kissed skin. She instantly knows who it's about.

She does feel a little guilty at the blackmail, but only a little. She needs to woo Steve and Eddie is her gateway. And it's not as though Eddie is even the right gender to bag Steve anyway, plus she's totally going to pay him for every letter. But as she doesn't want Steve to learn about her having help, she calmly tells Eddie if he tells, she'll out him in the school newspaper.

She does feel some guilt over that.

Some.

Steve gets these absolutely romantic letters from Nancy in his locker and just falls in love with the poetry and the way she just seems to understand him.

And after they start dating the letters don't stop. Nancy knows better than that. But they do peter off. She just tells Steve she has a hard time speaking the words off the cuff, but can write heartbreakingly beautiful poetry in addition to her skills with prose. (She had tried the whole Eddie feeding her words while she called up to Steve's bedroom window, but it was way too stressful.)

Everything thing that happens in canon still happens and Steve gets broken up with. He keeps the letters even though he knows he should throw them away.

Flash forward to season 4 and as Eddie and Steve are walking in the Dark Forest in the Upside Down and Eddie says something that sounds familiar.

The world is ending again and he really doesn't have time to think about it.

But later with Eddie in the hospital in a coma, Steve is reading the letters again. Mainly because both Eddie and Robin seemed to be trying to hint that Nancy was in love with him again, so he goes looking for proof of her feelings for him.

Then he catches on the phrase that was bothering him in the Upside Down. "Unambiguous sign of true love."

So Steve does the honorable and asks Nancy first, but she tells him it's all in his head because it's such a vague phrase. Anyone could have gotten it from anywhere.

But it doesn't sit right with him. There was the way Eddie said it that made Steve question every thing.

One day while he's reading to Eddie in the hospital while he's still in the coma a page flutters out of the book and he picks it up. It is almost word for word one of the letters Nancy gave him but in Eddie's handwriting.

Steve asks Wayne about it and Wayne tells him that Nancy girl used to come over to the trailer all the time and pay Eddie to write love letters to some fella she was wooing.

That sits like lead in his stomach, but lets it go. Nancy's with Jonathan now, and Eddie might not make it out of the coma. So it wouldn't do to dig up the past.

Then Eddie wakes up and just spills everything. He doesn't care if all of Hawkins knows he's gay, they're gonna hate him regardless. So he just pours his heart out to Steve.

Which Steve answers by kissing him senseless. Eddie is confused. Steve tells him he's known he'd like both for awhile, and he fell in love with the writer of the letter, not Nancy. And if that's him, then Steve loves him.

When Nancy finds out that Eddie spilled his guts, she really upset. Just furious he told.

Jonathan is confused, why would she care that a guy she's no longer dating knows the letters aren't from her.

That's when Eddie drops the final truth bomb. Steve isn't the only person Eddie's written letters for. All the letters that Nancy wrote to Jonathan while he was in California were written by Eddie and that's why she didn't come with Mike because she couldn't look him in the eye that she only vaguely knows what's in the letters because she didn't write them.

Jonathan blows up about how it had been eating him up inside that they didn't want the same things, but that they were in love. And were they even that?

Nancy doesn't have answer, because she doesn't know herself.

So Jonathan grabs Argyle by the face and kisses him. Argyle is positively beaming and Nancy is stunned.

Jonathan goes back to Cali with Argyle, Eddie and Steve get together and Nancy ends up with no one because of her lies.

At the end, Murray just shakes his head and comments that she fucked up so bad she turned both her boyfriends gay. He knows that's not how it works, but it's funny as hell and he stands by that!

[wei-ying-kexing-apologist]

Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

For those of you who don’t know, I decided to run the gauntlet of @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus, which is comprised of 9 units. I have completed four of the units (here is my queer cinema syllabus round up post with all the films I’ve watched and written about so far). It is time for me to make my way through Unit 6- Gems, which includes the following films: Big Eden, Shelter, Weekend, Private Romeo, Were the World Mine, The Birdcage, Make the Yuletide Gay, The Sum of Us, Boy Erased, Boys, Summer Storm, C.R.A.Z.Y., North Sea Texas, Saturday Church, Boy Meets Girl, The Adventers of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Too Wong Foo Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar.

Today I will be watching:

Big Eden (2000) dir. Thomas Bezucha

[Run Time: 1h 58m, Language: English]

Summary: A thirty-something gay guy, Henry Hart, returns to his childhood Montana home to confront his unrequited passion for his high school best friend.

Cast: - Arye Gross as Henry Hart - Eric Schweig as Pike Dexter - Tim DeKay as Dean Stewart - George Coe as Sam "Sampa" Hart

IT WAS BIG EDEN DAY Y’ALL!!!!! DON'T LET THE STARS GET IN YOUR EYES, DON'T LET THE MOON BREAK YOUR HEART!!!!

When I saw this was on Ben’s syllabus I was so fucking excited because this is one of my favorite movies of all time. Listen, I have watched plenty of movies plenty of times, but this is one of the few films that I have seen where I legitimately watched it back to back. Like, fully the first time that I watched it I immediately started it back over because this film is a drug to me. 

Simply put this is a kind film that is just packed full of love and I am so grateful that we have some stories set in a very small town where homophobia is not a concern. We talk about the bubble in BL a lot and this film is kinda like a bubble show, but Henry’s very clear hesitation to tell Sampa that he is queer is a good way to still hint at the fact that homophobia does exist in this world and that Big Eden just doesn’t really do that. In this day and age with the current political climate being what it is, it is just comforting to be able to see a bunch of older cishet white men get thoroughly invested in helping Pike get his man. 

I LOVE THIS FILM. 

gif by @ballumville

It is really hard to talk about this film because every time I think about it legitimately I just get heart eyes and cease to put on an analytical brain about it. But now that I have to write about it, I gotta try to get some level of coherent thought out of it. 

The dichotomy between Dean and Pike is such a fascinating part of this film for me because Dean is straight and thus more openly affectionate with Henry and Pike is queer and therefore ready to run away every chance he gets when the boy he likes is in the room. I love this exploration Dean has around his own sexuality insofar as it is clear that he deeply loves Henry, but that that love is at the end of the day platonic and familial. But Dean kisses Henry in this movie. Like he tries so hard to give Henry what he wants because he knows how much Henry has been suffering from the two-decade crush Henry has had on him. It is one of my favorite aspects of this film. Whenever I sit down to watch it, I never feel like Dean is queer and just scared to pursue it, I feel like he is straight and is trying to pursue queerness because of how much he cares for Henry.

gif by @ober-affen-geil

But he just can’t. And that is heartbreaking to watch because Henry and Dean both know it from the start, but Dean is trying desperately to do whatever he can to keep Henry in his life, and to give him comfort. Thinking of this film in the context of this syllabus which is a lead up to BL, so many BLs have the general trope of “straight except for you” and though this film is not BL it could have very easily fallen in to that same category of Dean actually being queer by the end of the film, and I am really glad that they still allowed his straightness to exist.

Pike on the other hand, is very aware that he is queer, and he also deeply loves Henry, but in the romantic sense. And Pike is just a generally quiet and shy person compared to Dean. But whenever he and Henry are in the same room it looks like he is in physical pain being there, and that is so fucking fun to watch. This man is down bad. This man learns to cook and doesn’t tell Henry about it because he is just 6’2” of unadulterated devotion. I love whenever a story employs the concept of “food as love” and to see Pike work on continuously more complex dishes as his love for Henry continues to escalate just makes me want to scream. I love this man so much. I love him so much and I am so glad that he gets the guy at the end, because though I am not the biggest fan of Henry myself, all I could ever hope for in the history of the world is Pike’s happiness. 

gif by @ballumville

God there are just so many incredible relationship dynamics in this film. The way that Sampa knows that Henry is queer and is just waiting for him to tell him, the way that Sampa tries on multiple occasions to open the door and allow Henry space to come out. As someone whose parent confronted me about my own queerness and forced a conversation that neither of us was ready to have, I have such intense respect for the way that Sampa handled the last conversation he and Henry had about it. The way that he let Henry know that he knows and he is okay with it without coming right out to say it, without forcing the conversation, and honestly in my opinion, absolving Henry of the need to come out to him if he was too scared to do so. I know Henry still regrets not telling Sampa he is gay before Sam passed, but I also know at that point he didn’t have to. 

And I just have to give a shout out to Jim. Jim really is just sitting there holding Pike’s hand the whole way through trying to nudge him along until he gets what he wants. He knows that Pike is shy and he knows that Pike is scared, and is going to do whatever he can to get Pike to take the bigger risks. All the beloved old farts that park themselves in front of the general store every day are not so subtly, subtly push these two together. 

And of course, I just have to give a shout out to Widow Thayer for how she lets Henry know that she knows that he’s gay by inviting a fuck ton of gay men in to Henry’s home for a social gathering. The look on Henry’s face when he realizes what is happening is absolutely priceless.

All this to say, the film is a warm hug and everyone should watch it.

Favorite Moment 

Okay so the thing is there are a ton of great moments in the film, and before I talk about my absolute favorite one, I need to shout out the Thanksgiving fight between Dean and Henry because it is so good and so devastating “Screw you Henry Hart, I do know what love is. You. You are my family.” HELLO???????????????? Stabbing me in the chest would hurt less. 

gif by @tvandfilm

BUT. I think the award of WYKA’s favorite Big Eden scene is Jim’s conversation with Pike. The way he already bodied Pike in the “I’m just cooking food here.” “If only that were true.” conversation was excellent. But this is fundamentally a film about loving and being loved, and so my favorite scene is the one where Jim is trying to get Pike to stop delivering his love to Henry anonymously. The conversation Jim and Pike have where Pike is still vehemently trying to deny that he has feelings for Henry by telling Jim “I just want things to be nice for him,” Which? DEVASTATING. THAT LINE IS A GUT PUNCH EVERY FUCKING TIME I HEAR IT. To have Jim’s response be “The thing is Pike, we want things to be nice for you too, buddy.” It is so clear to me how important Pike is to the community, but to Jim and the rest of his posse especially. I just love that Jim takes the time to try to remind Pike that taking care of Henry quietly from the sidelines is just going to leave Pike continuously hurt, because how is Henry supposed to know that Pike cares about him when he is constantly fleeing the room whenever they are in the same space and when he lets Henry think that Widow Thayer is the one that is making all that food for him. 

Have I mentioned that I love Pike Dexter?

Favorite Quote

“Did I teach you shame? Did I teach you that? Cause it would break my heart if I had.” 

Sampa loves Henry and he wants Henry to know that he is a safe person to talk to, that he knows Henry is queer and keeping it from him, and that he wants Henry to tell him. This line also makes me so sad all the time because I know that it’s not true. That Sampa did not teach Henry shame, and I feel so badly that Henry’s (very reasonable) fear of coming out to the only living family member that he has left has placed Sampa in a position where he is worried that he has failed to make Henry feel safe and secure in who he is. 

gif by @thegirlbehindthegasmask

Score 

10/10

Is this actually a perfect movie? Fuck no. There are plenty of things I could nitpick with it, including the fact that I genuinely do not like Henry all that much as far as characters go. BUT. Every single time I watch this movie I am just overflowing with joy, and thus I will not be objective about the quality of the film. 

THIS FILM IS PERFECT BECAUSE PIKE DEXTER IS IN IT AND YOU WILL NEVER CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE!!

gif by @fred-erick-frankenstein