#like is that good? am i winning therapy?

[verdantvain]

My therapist just told me, "If gender If was a flavour, you'd be a kitkat sold in Japan." What does that mean for me?

[queseraphita]

I'm thinking about nana anime still, constantly haunted and vexed by amazing stories on hiatus

[steampoweredskeleton]

.

Ignore

[gxlden-angels]

Following the shitshow that was Trump's inauguration, I wanna repeat this statement!

I don't give a fuck if you're rioting in the street, handing out clothes and food to the homeless, or getting coffee for your coworkers on a rough day, as long as you're doing it. I truly do not care what you are doing as long as you are doing it. And when you do it, take a friend. Don't do shit alone and don't fall over trying to do them

You are not immune to doomerism and you are not immune to propaganda. Remember other people are not immune either. This seems counterintuitive for this account but volunteer at a church too if you think you can manage it. I don't mean passing out Chick Tracts with them or some shit. I mean food and clothing drives. The last thing you want is to isolate church folk further into their own little cults. Make them see the world is kind if you let it be. Make them see their community for what it is: A Community

And again, do not do shit alone! I genuinely cannot express how important that is regardless of what you're doing. You are not Jesus H. Christ and you are not a martyr for everyone else's sins. Don't try to be one.

Do not let the Protestant Work Ethic Beast in your head win!

You are not alone! You are not the sole difference between death and life! You are a person who will at some point need to take a break!

That is why there is community! That is why there is organizing! Do not despair because you, alone, are not currently boots on the ground fixing things! Do something, but do not let that something be collapsing!

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[opiotes-thoughtvomit]

My life feels like a dream rn but I still low key wanna kill myself lol

[scientia-rex]

I feel like disappointment in Biden is baffling to me because he was always a disappointment. He was the asshole who got to ride to power on the coattails of a better man. He told bizarre and repeated lies (despite getting caught at it and his team telling him not to) about having a Welsh coal miner dad when he did not and he stole that story from actual Welsh people. I read a profile of him years back that pointed this out and told the story of the time he straight up ignored good advice from an expert not to plant a certain kind of tree too close together and flew a bunch of them out to plant, at night because he was just too fucking excited about it, and they all died. He’s not a smart man! He’s charismatic ish and lacks principles and as far as I can tell doesn’t really care about abortion rights or a lot of things we’d consider pretty critical to preserving freedom. I sincerely thought he couldn’t become President because there were so many obviously better candidates in the pool. I underestimated the sexism and antisemitism in American politics, and when he became the candidate in 2020 I gritted my teeth and voted for him because the alternative was a man who is not only an idiot but also profoundly dangerous. Trump is not ha-ha crazy, he’s Mussolini crazy. He is not dangerous because he’s stupid, although that doesn’t help; he’s dangerous because he does not care about anyone except himself under any circumstances and if that means he lets the far right push us straight into forced birth for white women and sterilization for women of color he’s going to do that. If that means conversion therapy for queers and death penalty for homosexual acts he’s going to do that. He has literally no limits. If he gets back into power, a whole lot of people are going to die, again. It’s not a hypothetical because it happened the first time and he’s only going to get worse.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a fan of Biden. To pretend that he and Trump are in any way equivalent is wrong at best and another goddamn Russian psy-op at worst. To pretend that a third party candidacy is viable in the US is to completely ignore every election of your lifetime and your parents’ lifetimes, and to further ignore the lesson of Ross Perot.

You cannot save Palestinians by not voting for Biden in November; the best you can do is chip away at his margin, and the worst you can do is see Trump elected so he can decide to do the worst possible thing in ever circumstance. Biden has Palestinian blood on his hands and watching this when we could have had Bernie or Elizabeth Warren instead is maddening. (I would have preferred Hillary to Trump, but I don’t think she’d be any different than Biden here. They’re both old-school politicians.)

I hate everything about this, and I hate that saying “maybe don’t put the man who literally said he would kill his political enemies in power” is seen as supporting genocide. It’s acknowledging reality. Joe Biden as a person can eat rocks for all I care. I was kind of hoping he’d die sooner in his term so we’d have time to get used to and then vote for President Harris. (Remember when the line was “she’s a cop, don’t vote for her”? Funny how there’s always a reason not to vote for a woman or a person of color or someone you just “don’t like” and can’t put a finger on why except she “seems angry.” Oh does she. How would she not? When Michelle fucking Obama, the picture of grace , STILL got called angry for having the nerve to be a Black woman with an opinion? When Hillary Clinton lost to a man with no political experience to her decades and who openly discussed sexually assaulting women? Would you have voted for President Harris? Or would you let Trump win again because you don’t LIKE her personally and she’s made decisions and statements you disagree with?)

Biden has both less power than his critics give him credit for and more power than his fans give him credit for. He needs to do more to pressure Israel and although it’s a delicate diplomatic situation I’d rather see us fuck up our diplomatic relationship with Israel than watch more Palestinians get murdered for things like “wanting to eat” and “existing.” The line has been crossed, and he doesn’t see it. Because he wasn’t the best person for the job. Because they didn’t get elected, because of sexism/antisemitism/racism. Hell, I have no idea what bootlicker Pete Buttegieg would have done here, but I’d have given him a try. But no. We got Biden and we’re stuck with this reality where you can be as leftist as you want and still have to look at the situation and decide whether you’re comfortable contributing to a Trump victory through inaction. I want socialism—I want every single person on Earth to have clean drinking water, enough safe food, shelter, medical care, and education—and I’m going to vote for Biden, pissy as it makes me, because the only actual alternative is so, so much worse, for me personally as both a woman and a queer, and for everyone in America and the rest of the world who Trump would find reasons to hurt. What do you think the man who openly and repeatedly praises dictators is going to do when those dictators massacre their own people? Yes, we need to care about this genocide now. We also need to care about all of the other people who are at real risk, both at home and abroad. Would a Trump government agree to fund military intervention in Haiti without insisting on it being a colonial exercise in power? Would a Trump government roll back the restrictions on discriminating against transgender patients in healthcare? How would Trump respond if Orban started dragging people into the streets and shooting them en masse? How would Trump respond if China finally went for it and invaded Taiwan? There are more lives at stake here than mine or yours or even those of the Palestinians, who have deserved better for literally decades and are being mass killed in ways that should result in immediate sanctions, a war crimes trial, and the execution of Netanyahu.

The world deserves better from you than complicity in a Trump victory.

[junewild]

just in time for the year of our lord kaiju 1

not lovers, not friends, but a secret third thing (drift compatible)

[figmentforms]

★ Art Auction for the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund ★

Auction has closed! The winning donation was $1,234!!!! Thank you, Jeff!!!

And thank you so much to everyone that placed bids and got the donation to be this high! You're all very much appreciated! <3

★ Winning Bid: $1,234 * Ended April 15th, 2024 at 8:22 am ★

Auction will go until April 15th, 2024 at 7pm, Eastern Standard Time

The Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF) is a non-political organization established in 1991 by concerned people in the U.S. to address the medical and humanitarian crisis facing Palestinian youth in the Middle East. The main objective of the PCRF is to identify and treat every child in the Middle East in need of specialized surgery not available to them locally. We locate, sponsor and run volunteer medical missions to the Middle East in adult and pediatric cardiac surgery, pediatric cardiology, plastic and reconstructive surgery, maxillofacial surgery, pediatric urology, ophthalmology, vascular surgery, pediatric orthopedic surgery, occupational therapy, and other specialties. They also have a fantastic 4-star rating on Charity Navigator ( https://www.pcrf.net/ )

★ Details About the Set of Paintings:

• Painted with acrylic on stretched canvas over wood triangle frames.

• Each of the three canvasses are 26 cm tall, 30 cm wide, 3.5 cm thick. (10 1/4 inches tall, 12 inches wide, and about 1 1/2 inches thick)

★ How to participate is below:

• To bid: email me at  figmentformsCharityArtAuction@gmail.com and let me know how much you want to bid.

• If the top bidder backs out, the paintings will go to the next highest bidder.

• The highest bid will be kept current at the top of this post (as best as I can keep up. I'm human).

• Bidding ends on April 15th, 2024 at 7pm, Eastern Standard Time.

• If you win, make your donation directly to Palestine Children’s Relief Fund ( https://www.pcrf.net/ ). Then email me a screenshot of your donation confirmation as proof. (feel free to blur out any personal info you would like.)

• Then let me know what address you would like your package shipped to. Free shipping within the United States. If outside that area, let me know and we can figure out something that works for us both.

Best wishes and hopefully this will do some good!

[mactiir]

The other day my girlfriend and I got to talking about our strategies for self talk especially re: hobbies and sports.

She was talking about how she has read study after study about the effects of positive talk. if you have a group engaging in negative self talk, one engaging in neutral or solutions-focused ralk, and one engaging in flatly positive self talk, and set them to complete a challenging task -- say, a climbing problem -- the positive talkers will come out leaps and bounds ahead. As a result she has adapted the Bob the Builder theme song into her rock climbing anthem, and she softly sings it to herself on difficult or frightening problems.

Meanwhile, I've been getting into fantasy lit again. As you might know, fantasy heroes occasionally encounter awful mind-warping psychic baddies, who always have some brain attack in their arsenal that tells the hero to give up! you're worthless! you could never win anyway! with the motivation behind the psychic attack being that actually, the heroes are a HUGE threat to the bad guys and will probably thwart all their plans, and that if they could shrug off the mind assault they would absolutely body the bad guy in a fair, non-psychic fight. So whenever I start to beat myself up I internally pretend I'm a Force for Good or like, an anime protagonist so I grit my teeth and go "No... you will not Corrupt me, Demon! I am destined to become the one to defeat you!!" and imagine the unkind words burning away and shrieking like, AIEEEE NOOO.

Anyway, all this to say that the end result of us both having Succeeded at Therapy is that when we run into a really difficult climbing problem she ends up breathy-singing Bob the Builder while I sit broodily on the mat with my brow furrowed doing my best impression of an anime protagonist with beads of sweat dripping down his temples from the psychic exhaustion. Yes, it works. No, we haven't made many friends at the climbing gym.

[godhandler]

[Martial arts coach! Sukuna x down bad!reader, huge age gap, couple of god-complex maniacs pining for each other, Sukuna being a tough coach]

“You won’t make it.” Sukuna spits carelessly, unwrapping his sweaty gloves post training. There are promising students he’s scouted in his gym, his favoured ones who’ll be the cash cows winning tournaments, buzzcut boys with tight abs who laugh mid-fight. Growing in his shoes. You’re not one of them. “You’re not good enough.” It’s a statement. 

No, you grit your teeth, it's a challenge. 

Sukuna the Ryomen: beastly calamity in the ring. Raw talent picked off the street, 80 international tournament wins over 25 years, bachelor villa bought with notoriety money. The Undisputed King of the Curses. 

Two-faced, he’d play by the rules as much as he wanted to– ran his tongue over the cheek of an opponent while choking him in a headlock, jammed his knees into countless shattered ribs, snapped spines into halves. He once bit a chunk out an opponent’s neck, goopy blood running down his chin and pecs as he laughed at the horrified screams of the audience, medics running, judges whistling, TV ratings shooting up like firecrackers.

He keeps that piece of chewed flesh, big as your fist, preserved in formaldehyde, on display in his office behind the locker room. It’s oddly captivating– you want to pull his lips up, matching his teeth to the canine marks on the chunk. 

Nutcase. Martial arts fiend. Often disqualified, but never for long: handsome money-maker was he. No one would turn up at a competition if not to watch the fiery Sukuna. His posters filled your childhood bedroom walls, unsupervised access to his gruesome fights on the internet, early 2000’s gossip columns of his many affairs with thin-thighed supermodels, little you copying his moves in front of the mirror. 

So yes, he could be as harsh to you as he wished, who gave a shit now when you’re lucky enough  to bask in his glow? You work just as hard as those boys, deserve his attention just as much, regardless of how cruel that attention comes. If you want to make it, Yuuji tells you, you callus your heart more than your achy knuckles. 

Sometimes at 3.45 am you wonder that if you had gotten more parental love and attention, you wouldn’t have attached yourself so deeply to this retired monster. Too late now, you suppose. 

A few days ago,  Megumi, one of Sukuna’s prize boys, said over a bowl of tteokbokki after practice, “Kamo Noritoshi likes you. So you can go after him and leave the elderly alone, okay?”

“I beat Kamo to a pulp, remember?” You pointed with poked tteok. “There’s only one of you losers I can’t beat and that’s who I’m fucking. Don’t go ruining my ambitions, Megumi-chan.”

The boy just sighed, ordering another bowl to go. Megumi, content being the sacrifice bunt, will never understand and it's not something you can explain. 

It’s that hunger that keeps you awake at night; you don’t want a trophy, you want the trophy– Ryomen Sukuna himself, the greatest one to be won. To be fucked, chewed, swallowed, surpassed. You want to have him, you want to be him. He’s you and you’re him and it’s written fate and oh god you need to go to therapy megumi was right you need to start taking your damn meds on time why is it 3 am again?

……. 

“Sup, coach!” 

You’re a cockroach. You arrive half an hour before session starts, practising kata moves by yourself, grappling dummy puppets double your weight to the ground, turning extravagant somersaults. Standing in front of the line. Every new move Sukuna demonstrates, you ask a billion questions, getting it right exactly as he does it. Running the extra lap, the extra sparring bout with your friends, the extra push-up. 

Sukuna peers inside Megumi's mouth, poking his finger into his gums, checking for any bleeding. Despite his actions, he’s not blind to you, the itchy teeth in your maw. 

It’s not just a sport for people like you and Sukuna. People a little fucked in the head. People whose names, announced out loud, get the audience jumping and cheering, the main attraction of the night. Hurricanes out to flatten the competition. 

See, it’s not about the points. Just the gold doesn’t satisfy: you want blood and broken teeth on the floor after you’re done. You want your opponents to refuse to fight you. You want them crawling, begging for time-outs, their coaches throwing the towel in to save their lives, their teary mothers cursing your very sight. Just like Sukuna.

Sukuna who relishes in your eyes on him. The way your breathing quickens childlike when he wrestles your face to the dirty mat, arms twisted behind you, his heavy foot pinning you down. The way you linger a bit longer when he shrugs his gi off, thick biceps flexing against the overhead lights. What a nut, he thinks: bitten fingernails, daddy issues, all the wrong things that excite you. This one’s gonna kill.  

Your hunger he rears by starvation. The harder you fight for a scrap of his attention to prove yourself, the sweeter you get. He can almost see his own tattoos on your eager face. 

So narcissistic, the way his pants tighten when he watches you fight: it's his devilry that flashes in your young eyes. Too young for him, some noble nonsense of not fucking your student, like he gives a rat’s ass. A rising Alexander, he’ll pick you for himself the second you’re good enough.

He knows to wait for it. Latchkey kids like you, raised to fight for love, you’d never want something you could have. The unreachable glory of Sukuna was what made having him worth it. 

He also knew that once you had him, you’d dig your teeth into him so hard that you’d tear right through him. Maybe preserve him in formaldehyde too. 

Not that he’ll spoon-feed you chances for that. Not that he has to, when you do it for yourself.

“Coach, could you spar with me?”

He’s terribly pleased, but the frown he wears for you remains on his face. “Aiming too high, brat.”

“Sorry,” an apology that you don’t mean in the slightest. “But I think I can qualify for the next tournament, coach. I can start cutting weight tomorrow. Put me in this time, please, coach!” 

“You’re not good enough.”   “Let me convince you, coach.”

“Convince me?” He sounds so bored, as if you’re the greatest waste of his time.

I’ll change your mind, you promise.

I’d like to see you try– he’s amused.

“Oi, Todo! C’mere, beat this one for me. You–” he bends down to hold your chin, privately delighted at your blushing face. “– you score six points in sixty seconds against him, maybe I’ll think of putting you on the tournament roster.”

Right. Aoi Todo, brawler build, has the height and weight advantage on you, which means he’ll go for grappling techniques and try to pin you down to the ground. He’s not the type to go easy on anyone, and he likes to show off, so he’ll keep it short distance and try out some fancy kicks– he’ll waste time on performance and then you’ll get time to return attacks. Here’s the M.O. then: you keep light on your feet, dodge every single attack of his, and go for the head. Amen.

Todo squares up, entering the ring, dabbing you up in a show of good faith before assuming his fighting stance. Just as you predicted, his arms are open to take you down. 

You hold your ground. Todo, my friend, you grin at Sukuna, who for once has all his attention on you, I’m going to kill you. 

Sukuna blows the whistle, and immediately Todo lunges for you. A feint, for he changes tactics immediately and is punching you from the left. You have to jump over his shoulder to avoid it (Yuuji whoops), land behind his back, and before he can turn around, kick his spine so hard that he stumbles forward a bit. 

“2 points!” Sukuna checks the time: it’s been 6 seconds. 

Todo’s impressed too, you can tell. You’re distracted: Sukuna nodded at you! Both of you come back to your original positions, ready for the next point match. The whistle blows. 

He’s cautious this time– you kick his shins but he doesn’t yield an inch, so you attempt an upper-cut, but are caught unawares by his hook straight to your mouth. 

“Todo–1 point!” Your jaw feels dislocated, there’s tears threatening to brim in your eyes. Did you forget your meds again? Why can’t you stop giggling? 35 seconds gone.

Restart. You’re playing dirty now, tripping his ankle as he comes forward to attack. You pass through between his legs (using his height to your own advantage) to get behind him again. As if he was expecting it, you dodge his back kick, taking the moment where he’s off balance to land a 360 kick– right on his face. He groans in surprise, but you’re not done.

This isn’t about winning fair or showing sportsmanship spirit, you remind yourself as you pull Todo’s face into your knee, repeatedly, the sick sounds of his nose cartilage crunching. This is about you, Sukuna. 

He blows the whistle. 42 seconds, the match is over, Todo’s burst his sinuses open, bleeding too badly to avoid medical intervention. A K.O. you’re calling it. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you’ is Megumi’s opinion. 

“Decent.” Sukuna’s smiling. Buzzed giddy on adrenaline and sweat, you want to kill the both of you. “Fine. Start the diet tomorrow.” He’s already leaving, other students to tend to. You’re a tad disappointed: you thought it’d be him checking your bleeding jaw, not the medic. Still, you’re happy taking what you can. It doesn’t come by often. “Come by my office after practice.”

a/n: i wrote this while looping bread by anya nami, really elevated the experience

[freckliedan]

real question from my alt main. or just like when heavily triggered in general: instead of dissociating, what are ways to move through it and re-regulate my nervous system.

where do i find practical advice for what to do in the morning after having a ptsd nightmare

[acidinduceddaydreams]

First Real Love with Skz

Skz x reader who was in a toxic relationship before them

Synopsis: In which you experience love, the real kind, for the first time.

Warnings: major tw for trauma in terms of mental and physical violence done by a significant other. Please don’t read if this triggers you.

a/n : this fic was my baby for a long time. Now it’s yours, please look after it. I pray it brings some comfort to you!🫶🏼

Chan:

He feels honored that you choose him to be apart of your life.

Doesn’t pry too much when you bring up your past. If you want to tell him you will and he’s content with that.

He finds you so incredibly intoxicating. He can’t believe that someone would ever treat you badly. He would fight tooth and nail to make sure you’re always happy.

Literally so in love with your more childlike/ whimsical view of the world now that you two are together. Your personality definitely changed for the better once you met him and realized that being safe should be a prerequisite in a relationship.

Minho:

Doesn’t ask about your past relationship much. Mostly relies on you telling him about it when you feel comfortable enough.

Absolutely at your service!!! If you’re having particularly unpleasant or difficult feelings or are in your own head he’s at your beck and call. Whether that’s cooking for you, feeding you (which you won’t admit you like) or even leaving you alone for a bit.

The babies (his cats) are by your side 24/7 to ground you and get you out of your head because “ they wouldn’t want their mom to be sad.”

Changbin:

Cannot fathom the idea of someone hurting you in any way whatsoever without wanting to beat them up.

Unlike Minho, Changbin will not leave you alone if you’re having a particularly bad day. He thinks you’re so precious so he will never leave your side even in a particularly bad situation.

Binnie gives the best cuddles!!!! I am 100% convinced. Cuddling is a must! It’s like free therapy. (He, himself is free therapy but wbk) his hugs and cuddles make you forget about what’s going on in your head bc binnie’s cuddles make everything better.

Hyunjin:

He’s appalled that someone could treat another human with disrespect and violence let alone you!

He’s your number one fan in everything you do. Celebrates your small wins just as grandly as the big ones. Oh you ate breakfast today. Suddenly your name and “I’m so proud of you” is all he knows how to say.

Paints with you. Yk when you put the canvases parallel to each other and paint something for the other person. Yeah you guys do that all the time as a grounding technique but also just as a way to show love to one another.

Jisung:

He’s so good at reading body language!!!!!! He is absolutely crushed when things like holding your hand or stretching his hand out to touch your cheek make you flinch, not because he’s mad or angry at you but rather at the person who ever dared to treat you this way.

Wdym personal space? Hannie’s never heard of it. He’s so good at getting you out of you head. He knows what triggers you and sometimes know when something will trigger you before you do.

He’s so attentive bc why wouldn’t he be when he has you to look after. This boy loves you so much and he shows it every day.

Felix:

Bakes for you!!!!!! Sometimes you two bake together but he usually does it in advance to you telling him you need a little extra love today.

So in love with you. Tries to show you the beauty that you are because you haven’t felt beautiful till you met him. “Oh baby you look even more gorgeous than you did yesterday, I didn’t even know that was possible.”

You remind him of sunshine and he reminds you of the sun. Clearly neither of you can exist without the other.

Seungmin:

He is super playful and witty naturally but he tones down the more mocking side for your particularly hard days. He loves you in ways that you didn’t know you could be loved.

On regular days though you two share a similar sense of humor. He loves that about you. Never lets it go too far though.

Absolutely a sucker for you. The boys tease him for being soft for you but he doesn’t care. You’re his baby and he doesn’t care who sees that.

Jeongin:

This boy is so whipped for you. He always listens to you even if what you have to say is something he has no idea about. It feels so amazing to have someone listen to you. To truly listen. He makes it look easy even though listening and not interrupting is quite hard.

He’s not a big fan of skinship but your hands are always within his and he loves it. He’s genuinely so feral for it but you don’t need to know that.

He’ll make sure to show you how someone treats someone they love every day. He’s so attentive and that makes going to him whether it’s with a problem or just to talk so easy because you know there’s no judgment from him.

[ivesambrose]

NOVEMBER 2024 MINI MESSAGES ❤️

1. 2. 3.

And we're in November and I feel everyone's a little overwhelmed, but I intend that you receive the guidance you need.

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com

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Picture 1

You feel like you're struggling to make it up hill and maybe you're point blank exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. The theme of this month for you to lighten the burden you've been carrying in hopes that someone will lighten it. That someone is you. This month also calls for physical rest. I will admit there might be moments you'll feel like you have a bunch of stuff to sort out that do leave you feeling tired but trust that yourself to prioritise you. Take care of your back health some of you. You may also feel a bit emotionally distant or just plain bored or even be deep in contemplation as though you're missing something. However, I see a burst of new ideas, insights or information or clarity that lets you leave that apathetic energy you had been previously feeling, behind. It's as though out of the blue, the path clears. This month brings a positive transition which means you have to leave something behind. But what you do leave behind, won't be a loss. November ends on a more emotionally fulfulling month than it started on. Now whatever fulfills you emotionally, is innately personal to you. Trust that you'll have it and even if you can't right now, know that things will fall in place anyway.

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Don't often say this, but it's truly your month if you're the 'I'll channel every emotion in me into getting everything done and becoming the best.' and even if you're someone who believes that slow and steady will win the race, it's still your month. You'll be working diligently into improving an aspect or multiple aspects of your life or just working hard towards your goals. By this I mean that you'll show up, you'll be consistent and you will improve. You've always been good at this now you'll be better and eventually great. Expect the rewards of your labour, especially financially. Be as ambitions as you wish to be instead of diluting yourself. If you can mentally the paint the picture then you can have it. Just make sure to not overwork and overwhelm yourself. You will be attracting influential individuals but also people who have an addictive or controlling personality, stay wary of those and keep your boundaries intact. Bit by bit, all your efforts, the dominant thoughts you have, what you say to yourself and others, what you share, what you consume etc all of it will add up. This month ends with you feeling like "A brand new person" and yes, I am referencing the Tame Impala song.

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Oh you're fired up this month to the point even you're amused by it. Either it's a sudden burst of energy you'll feel or an opportunity that will be presented to you. You'll also be feeling excited, eager, curious and creative. Lot of planning, lot of risk taking, like you've decided to put your foot down on regards to something and you will be rather defensive of it because I'm seeing maybe some people might want to project their own ideas or limitations onto you or downplay your enthusiasm and determination. Don't let that get to you. In fact, do not overwhelm yourself this month since there is a risk of feeling burnt out. Try not to be too hot headed either and also avoid shopping as therapy (not too much, you can treat yourself though!) I do see there will be someone warm, kind and empathetic towards you. Extremely loving and understanding. Have the same energy towards yourself and those who care for you. Keep your heart a little open too. This month will end on you over coming a rather low point of your life is what I'm sensing. There's a feeling of isolation and defeat that you'll be overcoming and stepping into a version of you that's passionate and wants to experience life to their fullest.

[boreal-sea]

Who is Tim Walz?

Kamala Harris has apparently picked Tim Walz as her running mate. He seems good, based on his record. He's also responsible for the widely spreading "Republicans are weird" meme I've seen quite a lot of.

He has a good record. Just like I did for Kamala Harris in a post that has become quite popular, I will do a simple review of things I like from Tim Walz' political history. Again, as with Harris, this is just from his Wikipedia page. Let's go!

House of Representatives

Opposed increasing troop numbers in Iraq

Co-sponsored a bill to raise Minnesota's minimum wage

Voted for stem cell research

Voted to allow Medicare to negotiate pharmaceutical prices

Voted against the act to Prohibit Federally Funded Abortion Services

Voted to advance the ACA

Has received a 100% rating from many progressive organizations like Planned Parenthood and the ACLU

Was a member of several caucuses, including the LGBT Equality Caucus

Governor of Minnesota

Signed into law police reforms after the murder of George Floyd

Had Minnesota join the National Popular Vote Interstate Compact, meaning that all of the state's electors will vote for whichever candidate wins the popular vote nation-wide.

Under his governance, Minnesota passed laws for requiring paid leave, banning non-compete agreements, cannabis legalization, abortion rights, universal free school meals,

Political stances

Pro cannabis

Against bailout bills that loan taxpayer money to large banks and auto manufacturers

Was a former teacher for many years, and is very pro-education and supporting public schools. He is against merit pay for teachers (this is a good thing), and supports lowering tuition costs

Used to be pro-gun, but after Parkland he changed his mind, and as Governor he signed a bill mandating universal background checks

Pro-LGBT - has voted for LGBT rights many times, including as Governor, where he signed bills banning conversion therapy and protecting gender-affirming care

Supports veterans rights and support

Supports abortion rights and women's rights

I am going to copy-paste the entire section for his views on the Israel-Hamas war, because I don't want people claiming I am taking anything out of context. Overall, he has views that echo my own in many ways:

Walz condemned Hamas's October 7 attacks in Israel and ordered flags to be lowered to half mast in the following days. After the 2024 Minnesota Democratic presidential primary, in which 19% of voters cast "uncommitted" ballots, Walz took a sympathetic view toward those doing so to protest President Biden's handling of the war in Gaza, calling them "civically engaged". Of the protests against U.S. funding of the war in Gaza, Walz said: "This issue is a humanitarian crisis. They have every right to be heard... These folks are asking for a change in course, they're asking for more pressure to be put on… You can hold competing things: that Israel has the right to defend itself, and the atrocities of October 7 are unacceptable, but Palestinian civilians being caught in this… has got to end." Walz also said he supports a ceasefire in Gaza.[100]

[steddieas-shegoes]

coming in clutch

@starrystevie asked two days ago for someone to write enemies to lovers Steddie on the same hockey team and one of them gives the other his stick from the bench and so I volunteered and yesterday afternoon started writing this and it got to almost 6000 words by this morning. Oops?

This is therapy for me, as a Bruins fan, who is suffering tremendously this season. I can't believe some people live like this all the time. I am so, so sorry. I promise you fixing it with Steddie helps ease the ache a little. It's bitch4bitch, what's not to love?

rated e, minors dni | 5801 words | also on ao3 | cw: mention of injury, hate making out for the drama | tags: modern au, hockey au, enemies to lovers, feelings realization, sorta love confessions, anal fingering, anal sex, handjob, life is a series of connections

🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒

If there’s one thing Eddie Munson knows, it’s that Steve Harrington will steal the show.

With less than two minutes left in the game that will determine if they clinch the wild card spot for the playoffs, it could still go either way. They need a goal to tie it, and the point will be enough to get in, even if they lose in overtime.

The Rangers don’t even get anything if they win this one except a pat on the back, yet they’ve pulled their goalie in hopes of ruining the only chance the Bruins have of getting into the playoffs. If Eddie wasn’t seething with rage about potentially starting his offseason much sooner than expected, he’d respect the hell out of them for it.

How they got into this much of a mess is beyond him…or really it isn’t. It’s well within reach.

He knows from the beginning shit was hitting the fan and then it just…kept hitting the fan.

They started bad and they don’t play well from behind in games, so how could they catch up when their entire season went to shit so early on?

It should never come down to one win, not for them.

But he knows that some of the issues are that Steve was handed this captaincy before he was ready, and Eddie’s done nothing to truly help him. He wears an A, but it’s more for Asshole or Annoyance than Assistant. He knows it, Steve knows it, the team knows it.

It’s making everything harder.

Coach already lit him up a few times over stupid shit this season, things he can’t get away with for much longer. His time will be cut short on this team if he can’t-

The whistle blows and there’s a penalty on Hargrove. Not surprising, but it’s enough to get Eddie out of his own head and focus. There’s barely a minute left and they’re facing a long offseason if they don’t get their shit together.

He won’t see more ice time today. He’s third line right now, a demotion from his usual first line after a string of shitty, stupid penalties. Coach will send the first line back out for the last minute to increase their chances of scoring.

The puck drops and they make the fastest line change they’ve managed the entire game.

Steve’s skating to the puck, eyes on the prize. He’s good at it, despite Eddie hating that he feels constant competition with him. They don’t even play the same position. Eddie’s a defenseman for fuck sake. Steve’s a center. The only competition is what’s made up in his own head.

Steve gets there first, manages to pass it to Sinclair, who passes it to Hagan. It’s beautiful, but it’s not enough.

The puck is cleared out and they have to rush to it to start setting up again.

They don’t have time.

And then Steve tries to shoot it to center ice and his stick breaks. It’s the worst timing. Eddie feels his heart sink in his chest at the realization that this is it. They’re done.

Steve’s skating to the bench, yelling about needing a replacement when he should just get off the ice, let someone else out there. They’re gonna lose anyway.

Eddie throws Steve his own stick. It’s not the right curve, and not the right length. It’s not even the same brand.

But if there’s one thing Eddie can respect about Steve, it’s that he’s a damn good player. He makes shit happen, even when no one else can. He’s been their saving grace this season, arguably the only reason they’ve managed to even have a shot at the wild card spot.

He may hate his guts, and he may be annoyed that he got picked as captain, and he may also find him impossible to be around most of the time, but he can see that he’s one of the best players in the league.

Steve’s never skated harder than in this moment, and Eddie can’t feel his face as Steve sneaks the puck between the legs of Wheeler, winds back, and shoots.

None of their players get to it in time.

It goes in their empty net.

The bench is so loud, Eddie can’t even hear himself think.

They’ve tied it up.

The clock says 24 seconds.

It’s as good as done.

They’ll have overtime, of course, but they squeaked in the playoffs. They get at least four more games.

Steve skates to the bench and hands Eddie his stick, but doesn’t say anything.

That irks Eddie a little.

“Not even a thank you for getting the assist on that one?” Eddie asks because if he’s one thing, it’s a shithead.

“Shut up, Munson. Could’ve scored an empty net from the locker room,” Steve replies with an eyeroll, his smile dropping in annoyance.

A for annoyance, after all.

“With a broken stick?” Eddie pushes because he loves to push and because Steve always pushes back.

It’s their game.

Steve sits on the bench, catches his breath for a moment while the arena celebrates his goal.

“How about a thank you for getting us to the playoffs?” Steve says back.

It’s unlike him to be self-centered like this. It throws Eddie off.

For once, he doesn’t have a damn thing to say.

The goalie gets back in the net and the Rangers finish off the regulation game with their tails tucked between their legs.

Eddie doesn’t get sent back out, but neither does Steve.

Coach leans down to say something in Steve’s ear and he grits his teeth together, jaw clenching painfully.

When they’re about to start overtime, Coach taps his back and tells him to go.

“But it’s first line?” Eddie asks.

“I said go, Munson!” Coach says, leaving no room for argument.

So Eddie goes. He’s not gonna argue with the coach, and he’s damn sure not gonna be the reason there’s a delay in starting.

He skates to the blue line and sees the focus on Steve’s eyes.

This game can end either way to him and he won’t care, but Steve wants this win. He wants the two points, not just one. He wants to say they overcame a shitty game to pull off a win.

He would never admit it, but his effort is for Steve. His speed and hits during the first shift are to give Steve every opportunity to pull off this win.

If Steve wins, they all win.

Eddie should have had that mindset for every game. Maybe they wouldn’t have had to fight for their lives just to get a shot at the playoffs.

It’s not a great shift, but they manage to shut the Rangers down a few times.

Steve is red-faced on the bench, watching the second line move with a fire they were lacking for much of the first 60 minutes. That’s been a pattern this season, something Eddie isn’t sure they’ll get over with this group.

It ends during the third line’s shift.

The Rangers get a breakaway and score.

It’s a loss, but they’ve still won something. They aren’t leaving completely empty-handed.

The walk down the tunnel is interrupted by the broadcast person yelling for Steve to stay back to do the post-game interview and accept third star of the game. It always sucks accepting a star away from home ice, but Steve’s used to it by now.

He’s the guy who comes in clutch. He’s always a star.

Eddie’s only a little jealous over it.

The rest of the team is pretty quiet despite their playoff spot.

Coach stands in the center of the room.

“We got lucky,” he says. His tone is calm, but there’s something hidden beneath it that Eddie can sense is anger. “We won’t get lucky in the first round. Get your shit together before next week or you might as well start scheduling your tropical vacations.”

He leaves the room.

No one says anything as they get undressed. No one speaks when Steve comes in the room and wordlessly undresses. No one utters a word when he’s the first to leave, even though that’s the first time that’s happened in the history of ever.

Eddie follows him.

He should give him space. Now isn’t the time to work him up more.

Now is the time to be a good teammate, a good alternate captain. Behave and follow the rules and be a good example off the ice. Leadership saw something in him to give him the A in the first place, now’s his chance to prove he respects them for it.

“Since when do you walk out without a speech?” Eddie calls after him when they’ve exited the building. This arena is relatively normal, but there’s a lower level of parking just for VIP. He doesn’t see anyone else yet, but that’s not surprising. Their bus is parked a few rows away, doors up to start loading equipment for the haul to the airport.

“Since there isn’t a damn thing I can say to get this team motivated and I’m done trying!” Steve yells back without turning. “If you’d like to try, go right ahead.”

“Doesn’t seem like something a captain would do.”

Steve freezes, turns.

His face is bright red and Eddie knows immediately he pushed too far.

“Maybe you should be the captain if you know so much about what it takes, hm? Maybe instead of passing me your stick to score you could score one once in a fucking while. Maybe,” Steve takes a shaky breath, exhales it right into Eddie’s face. He didn’t even notice how close he was before. “You could start acting like a leader and less like a fuckin’ nuisance.”

Eddie scoffs.

“I’m sorry I helped? Was I supposed to let the opportunity to score go? Would you rather have not tied the game? Do you wish we were going home for the summer instead of just the next few days?”

Steve’s chest is brushing against Eddie’s.

Neither of them showered, so there’s a faint scent of sweat clinging to his nostrils, but Steve must’ve freshened up with deodorant and cologne before getting changed. Cedar and pine overtakes the locker room smell as Eddie’s eyes dart down to Steve’s lips.

“Did you want me to do all the work for you?” Eddie grins.

It’s painful, when their lips crash together. Eddie doesn’t care.

Steve’s mad, he’s loud, and he tastes like victory. It has nothing to do with their game.

“C’mon,” Steve says against his lips, and Eddie isn’t sure exactly what he wants. They’re kissing in public, in a place that could be filled with their teammates any second. Steve’s hands are against his chest, pulling him impossibly closer by his shirt. “More. You want more out of me, take it.”

Eddie’s not always the smartest guy in the room. He’s, like, smart, but sometimes he misses some obvious shit. Unobservant, his uncle calls him.

But he can read people pretty well if he has a second to really see them and he thinks he’s seeing something Steve didn’t mean to show. He knows what Steve’s really asking and he knows he can give that to him.

“No.”

Steve stills. He pulls away, hurt clear on his face before he manages to school his features. It’s eery how quickly he was able to do it.

“Knew you weren’t up for it, anyways,” Steve mutters, but Eddie doesn’t let him walk away.

His grip on Steve’s wrist is tight enough to cut off circulation, tight enough to bruise. Steve doesn’t react at all.

“I’m not taking anything from you. You’re gonna take what you need from me.”

Steve’s brows furrow, and Eddie allows himself a moment— just one— to think that he’s cute like this. If they weren’t teammates, and if Eddie could stand him for more than a few minutes at a time, maybe they could do something.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“No? Like how you didn’t need my stick to score earlier?”

Steve’s mouth snaps closed, but Eddie doesn’t feel as smug as he normally would. He can hear voices coming and he knows that if they leave here now without something worked out, it’ll be like none of this ever happened.

“When we get back, come to my place,” Eddie orders.

“And if I don’t?”

Eddie laughs.

Steve likes to win. He’s gonna come just to see what his prize will be.

He boards the bus and ignores his half-hard dick in his slacks.

Steve always finds a way into his brain. And now he’s found a way into his bed.

~~~~~

The bus ride is quiet, but most of the guys are busy texting significant others and coming down from the adrenaline of the game. The flight is silent, everyone taking a power nap before they have to get back home. They’ll have a day off tomorrow, but most of these guys are married and have kids, or fiancées who haven’t quite figured out that a day off is needed for recovery, not for filling the calendar with other events.

Steve is far away from Eddie, barely even visible unless Eddie leans into the aisle and squints.

He doesn’t do that more than once, doesn’t wanna draw attention to whatever it is that’s happening between them.

Eddie is the first off the plane, but he walks slow enough to his car that a few teammates catch up and tell him his quick reaction saved their asses. He laughs and thanks them, tells them they’ve got some work to do if they’re gonna win the first round, and gets in his car.

Somehow, Steve’s already at his door when he gets home.

“Eager?” Eddie asks.

“You tell me,” Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and places it over his crotch. He’s already hard.

“Did you touch yourself on the way here?” Eddie feels like he’s been struck by lightning, energy zapping through him at the speed of light. Realizing Steve’s into this is rewiring his brain.

“Obviously,” Steve rolls his eyes.

Eddie unlocks his door and pushes Steve inside. He pushes him down the hall and right onto the bed. He pushes until Steve pushes back.

“I thought I was taking from you,” Steve says as he sits up, taking his shirt off and throwing it to the ground.

“You are. But only when I’m ready to give. I need a second,” Eddie says as he strips his own shirt off. He walks to his bathroom to throw some water on his face and pretend for a second that the sweat dripping down his spine isn’t a ridiculous reaction to Steve.

“It’s been a second!” Steve calls to him.

Eddie smirks at himself in the mirror before heading back to the bed.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I assume you’ve got something specific in mind?”

Steve eyes him up and down. “Take everything off.”

Eddie does as he says. Steve’s surprise that he didn’t argue is obvious.

“Get lube and condoms.”

Eddie reaches into his bedside drawer and gets out his unopened bottle of lube and the only three condoms he has that may or may not be expired. He doesn’t have time to fuck around much, and most of the time he does, it never gets far enough to need a condom.

His traitorous stomach swoops at the thought of Steve being inside him.

Steve looks at him like he’s starving and Eddie’s a five course meal on a table in front of him, and Eddie likes it. He likes that Steve wants to devour him.

He’s pulled into a bruising kiss, can taste blood on his tongue when he swallows spit that’s just as much Steve’s as his own. Eddie knows if they kiss like this for long enough, Steve will barely have to touch him at all to get him there.

As if reading his mind, Steve’s hand is on his dick, stroking it slow enough to drive him insane. Eddie blushes, but doesn’t let it hold him back from pushing Steve more.

“You gonna take your clothes off or are the lube and condoms just for decoration?”

Any hand is better than his own, but Steve’s hand might be the death of him. He tightens his grip around him, leaning in to bite Eddie’s collarbone.

He’s sensitive there and somehow Steve knows it, and Eddie might die tonight, but he can’t let Steve know he’s making him feel this fucking good. He wants Steve to take what he wants, but he doesn’t wanna give it easily.

“You like this with everyone or am I special?” Steve asks before he licks a stripe up Eddie’s neck.

It’s gross. It’s hot as fuck. Eddie’s lightheaded.

“Just you, sugar. Or should I call you Captain here, too?”

Steve pulls back like he’s been burned.

“I’m not your captain right now.” He’s glaring at Eddie, making him wish he could shrink into the mattress, down through the floor. “I’m Steve. Got it?”

“Got it,” Eddie’s nodding along, but he feels like he’s teetering into uncharted territory, some kind of rough terrain that most people don’t get past the fence to explore.

Steve starts taking and Eddie lets him.

First, it’s rough hands pushing him around until he’s in the position Steve wants him: face down, arms under the pillows, legs spread so Steve can see him.

Then, it’s teasing touches, laughing when Eddie gasps and moans, nipping at his skin after a soft brush of his fingers.

It’s hot and cold, it’s hard and soft, it’s push and pull.

It’s the first time Eddie feels like he understands who Steve is.

The lube is cold as Steve spreads it around his entrance, more teasing, more taking. Eddie doesn’t mind. He’s always loved the build-up as much as the finale.

Steve’s quiet, focused, as he works his fingers into him. He’s meticulous about it, looking for the best reactions.

When Eddie whines into the pillow, spreading his legs further apart to make more room for whatever Steve wants from him, he realizes that this will change everything. He should’ve realized it sooner. He may regret it tomorrow. He may not.

“You ready?” Steve asks.

Eddie feels empty. Steve’s fingers aren’t there anymore, aren’t stretching him and prodding every sensitive part of him. He whimpers pitifully at the loss.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve’s cock is pushing against his entrance, and Eddie thinks he was severely mistaken about Steve before.

Because why is Steve being gentle? Why is his hand rubbing Eddie’s spine as he pushes into him slowly? Why are his lips against Eddie’s shoulder, not kissing so much as resting there, his hot breath a comfort that he’s right there paying attention to everything Eddie’s doing?

Why is this the best Eddie’s ever been fucked and why does it feel less like getting fucked and more like making love with every passing moment?

Steve’s big, which Eddie knew already. There’s just a difference between seeing it and feeling it. He fills him up, makes him wonder if he’ll be sore tomorrow.

Kind of hopes he will be.

“Take it,” Eddie mumbles against the pillow.

Steve grabs his hair, strong grip, but gently pulling. “What?”

“Take me.”

Eddie’s not sure where those words come from, but he feels the way Steve responds. His cock twitches inside him, his hands grip his waist harder, and Steve moans against his shoulder.

His own cock is trapped against the sheets, but it’s fine. He’s in no rush. Steve will take what he wants and Eddie will wait. He’ll wait all night if he has to.

He feels good like this, at Steve’s mercy.

He didn’t think he’d be able to relax under him. He thought the fight he always has to assert his own dominance with Steve would carry over here, too.

But it’s easy to let Steve have this.

He knows that Steve needs this just as much as Eddie needs to be used.

“You’re quiet. Everything okay?” Steve whispers against his skin. A check-in to make sure Eddie doesn’t need to stop.

“I’m good. Feels good. Keep going.”

The softness never goes away, but Steve’s moving faster, breathing heavier, putting more weight on Eddie’s back. It’s almost too much, the pressure inside him, surrounding him. The scent of Steve, the scent of both of them mingling together and staining his bedsheets.

He’ll have to wash them tomorrow. He won’t.

“God,” Eddie says as he fists the pillow under his head. “Right there.”

Steve’s nailing his prostate, almost more than he can handle. It feels like when they reach their groove on the ice, like despite their disagreements and different styles of play, they’ve meshed together for this moment to make something happen.

“Yeah? You like letting me have you like this?” Steve asks.

It feels out of place here, but Eddie’s allowing it all. If this is what Steve needs, if this will help, then he’ll let Steve have everything.

“Mhm. C’mon, want you to come,” Eddie begs.

He doesn’t want this to be over, though. He finds it shocking how much he wants Steve to keep fucking into him for hours, finding new positions and ways to make Eddie question his existence. He wishes Steve wasn’t wearing a condom, wishes he could fill him up with his cum, plug him up so he stays filled until morning.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking these things. He’s never wanted that with anyone, let alone Steve.

Steve’s hand covers the back of his neck, applies just enough pressure that Eddie knows it would be hard to move.

He’s coming before he even realizes the tug in his belly is there, moaning into the pillow as Steve’s hips meet his ass with every thrust. It’s too much, but Eddie’s giving himself.

That’s all this is.

It’s everything now, but tomorrow it’ll be nothing.

And the day after that, when they have team meetings to review tape for their first round matchup, it’ll be even less than nothing. It’ll be like nothing ever happened and Eddie never let Steve fuck him into his mattress. It’ll be back to tolerating each other for their job, and Eddie poking at him until Steve is riled up and the coach is yelling at both of them to get their shit together.

And then when they inevitably lose in the first round, they’ll go all summer without speaking and Eddie may get traded to a team that will put up with his antics.

Eddie sniffles.

“Eddie? Shit.” Steve pulls out, which is wrong and terrible and not at all what he wants. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it too much?”

“No,” Eddie’s voice is shaking and he feels stupid. How did this happen? How did he get to this point? Over Steve Harrington? “Sorry, I’m okay.”

“You’re clearly not okay.” Steve turns him over so he’s on his back and that makes everything so much worse.

His release is sticky across his stomach and the head of his cock, and he’s flush from his cheeks to his toes. Tears have fallen, leaving tracks down his face.

He doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

“What’s this about?”

“I didn’t expect this,” Eddie admits.

It can’t hurt. Honesty is only a small vulnerability compared to letting a man fuck you.

“Expect what?”

“This. You to be soft and caring. You don’t even fucking like me. I thought you’d be quick, come on my back, and then find a reason to leave,” Eddie says, covering his face with his hands. It sounds even dumber out loud. Jesus.

“The thought did occur to me,” Steve says.

Eddie peeks through his fingers to see Steve smiling with an eyebrow raised.

“What the fuck is happening.”

Steve snorts. “You threw me your stick during the play so I could score the goal that sealed us a shot at the Cup. I’ve been hard for, like, six hours now, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude while you’re staring at my dick!” Eddie argues.

“You annoy the shit out of me,” Steve rolls his eyes. “More than anyone else I’ve ever played with.”

“Okay. My dick’s already soft, you don’t have to talk me down, Steve,” Eddie groans, covering his face again.

Steve pulls his hands away, laces their fingers together, squeezes. Eddie’s stomach flutters.

“But you’re good. And you know you’re good. That’s why you’re as frustrated as I am about how this season’s been. It has fuck all to do with me being captain, and everything to do with nothing going right for us.”

Steve’s right. He’s always right, even though Eddie rarely acknowledges it.

“Does this kind of talk get you off or should I do something for you?” Eddie tries to joke, to push.

But Steve doesn’t push back this time.

He cups Eddie’s jaw and leans in, kisses him soft, so gentle it feels like a whisper of something Eddie’s absolutely terrified to name.

“Let me take a little more,” Steve says against his lips.

He lifts Eddie’s legs and slides back into him, and Eddie moans at the overstimulation. He’s definitely gonna be sore when he wakes up, but he doesn’t mind so much right now.

“That’s it,” Steve groans as he moves in and out, holding Eddie’s legs apart so he can make sure he gets as deep as possible. “Let me have it.”

Eddie’s never come twice like this, without his cock even being touched properly. But here he is, barely even hard again, and cum is leaking onto his stomach as he whimpers his way through another orgasm.

“Fuck, so good.” Steve’s hips stutter as he tenses his hands around Eddie’s thighs. “That’s it, baby. Let me fill you up.”

It’s not real, but for a second Eddie can picture it. He pretends he can feel it inside him, and his cock twitches, but otherwise doesn’t act like it can do anything else tonight.

Steve lets his legs drop as he pulls out, and Eddie winces at the feeling of emptiness it brings.

Eddie closes his eyes, tries to figure out how he’s gonna ask Steve to stay.

“Is it okay if I stick around?” Steve asks before he can think of something.

“Yeah, of course. Shower’s all yours if you want it,” Eddie offers, sounding breathless still. His heart is pounding in his chest and he feels like the world around him is spinning.

“You wanna join?” Steve asks him, seriously.

“Showering together doesn’t seem like a teammate thing to do,” Eddie replies.

“Neither is watching a teammate come twice.”

“Point made.” Eddie groans as he turns on his side, reaching a hand out until he makes contact with skin. He thinks it’s Steve's thigh, but he can’t be sure with his eyes closed. “Go on without me. I can’t feel my legs or my…anything.”

Steve doesn’t get up, and he doesn’t say anything. After at least a minute of silence, Eddie blinks his eyes open to see Steve staring at him.

“Are you gonna be fucking creepy all night? I rescind my permission to stay if you are.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s just. I’ve seen you mostly naked so many times, but I never noticed this scar.”

Steve gently brushes a finger across the scar on Eddie’s abdomen. It’s barely an inch in length, and you can’t even see it unless the light hits it just right.

Eddie looks down at it, at the way Steve’s fingertips graze the outer edges. He doesn’t think about it much anymore, but he remembers when it happened.

“Junior hockey. Kid’s skate got me just as I was falling. My chestie rose up too high and didn’t protect the spot,” Eddie shrugs. It could’ve been a lot worse. He was back on the ice within three days. “Accidents happen.”

Eddie watches Steve’s face morph from curious to confused and then shocked.

“That was you?” Steve asks.

“What do you mean?” Eddie leans up on an elbow, looks back at Steve as if he’s lost his mind.

“I…holy shit. They never told me the player’s name. Just said he was getting stitches in the locker room and would be fine,” Steve is rambling, gesturing wildly and shaking his head. “They wouldn’t let me check on you. I tried as soon as the game was over.”

“I’m still confused.”

“It was my skate. I tripped over a player’s stick as you were falling. I didn’t even realize it actually hit you until I saw the blood on the ice.” Steve scoots down so he’s eye level with the scar and then he does something that changes Eddie’s DNA.

He presses his mouth to the scar, his lips parting just enough for his hot breath to cause goosebumps to break out across Eddie’s skin.

“Why did you give me your stick?” Steve whispers.

Eddie swallows. He feels heavy, weighed down by whatever this is.

“You had a chance. You just needed a stick,” he whispers back.

“Eddie. You would rather lose than help me any other time.” Steve tilts his head to look up at Eddie. “Why did you pass me your stick?”

“I-” Eddie breathes in. “I wanted to do something right. I wanted you to look at me and not see someone failing for once. I wanted to be good enough to wear the A.”

Steve’s forehead drops to his hip, and it takes a moment for Eddie to realize he’s laughing.

“What’s funny about that?” Eddie’s ready to pull away, kind of wants to make Steve leave now that he’s feeling like he’s being made fun of.

“I just cannot believe that you would think you aren’t good enough.” Steve looks back up at him, grinning, eyes shining with amusement. “Who do you think chose you for the A?”

Eddie thinks about it. He always assumed that the coaches just picked the guy with the most NHL experience out of the few options they had. He never thought he’d be A or C material professionally, so he accepted the offer, grateful to be given the chance.

He felt like an idiot for wasting the opportunity this season.

He didn’t produce the way he knows he can, and he let his stupid jealousy of Steve get in the way of everything. It’s not like he wanted the responsibility of being captain. He knows now he probably isn’t cut out for any type of leadership role with the team.

“I thought the coaches?” Eddie frames it as a question because now he isn’t sure.

“They wanted to name Hagan. I suggested you instead.”

Eddie’s breath catches. “You suggested me? Why? You fucking hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Steve raises a brow and gestures at their current state. “I don’t sleep with people I hate.”

“I thought it was spur of the moment! Like you were so mad at me that the only thing you could do to get it out of your system was fuck me!”

Eddie’s head is spinning.

“I mean, it was spur of the moment. I never had any intentions of acting on anything I felt for you.”

Eddie’s head is going to explode.

“Harrington. You’re really making my head hurt. Like, I have never felt this confused after getting fucked.”

Steve laughs, which doesn’t help anything. It almost makes it worse.

He crawls back up so he’s only inches from kissing Eddie.

“I chose you. They said I had to pick someone who would compliment me on and off the ice and you were the first and only choice I could make. You’re an incredible player and the only defenseman I trust on this fucking roster,” Steve leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Eddie’s. “If I’m annoyed with you, it’s because I’m annoyed at myself. I’m making your job harder by losing the room. I don’t even know how it happened.”

“You haven’t lost the room,” Eddie interrupts, placing his hand on Steve’s hip. “They love you. You’re the hero.”

“I don’t wanna be the only guy who comes through, though. I want everyone to succeed.”

“They will. It’s just not our year. It happens. We started off bad and we never got back on track.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “It’s my job to make it work.”

“It’s everyone’s job to make it work. You can’t do it by yourself. They don’t hand Stanley Cups to a player, they hand them to a team.”

Steve smirks. “They do hand them to a player first, though.”

Eddie smacks him. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve had my brains fucked out of my head.”

They stare at each other, both of them smiling fondly.

It’s such a stark difference to everything they’ve been this whole season. Eddie doesn’t know how to handle the electricity between them. He thought it would fade once they were done, once Steve cleaned up and they got dressed. In the morning, he’d leave, and they’d go back to being a mediocre team and he’d probably end up traded or losing the A.

But now, he’s looking at Steve with something he’s pretty sure is affection, maybe even love. It’s ridiculous, which is why he isn’t gonna say anything.

“So, are we good?” Steve asks.

It’s such a jock thing to say. It throws Eddie off yet again.

“Um. Yeah.” He pulls away slightly, considers turning around and getting under the blankets. “We’re good. Hit the showers or whatever.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

Eddie has got to figure out how to get a read on this guy. Seriously, the whiplash he’s getting from Steve’s words and actions might break his neck.

“You want to?”

“I don’t kiss people I don’t want to kiss.”

“Alright, then.”

It’s so soft, it practically melts what little brain Eddie has left. He’s not sure he’s ever been kissed like this, like he’s precious and like this moment needs to be cherished.

“Are you still gonna be a bitch?” Eddie ruins it.

Or, he thinks he does. But Steve is just smiling at him, amused, like he wants nothing more than Eddie’s attitude.

“Depends on if you’re gonna keep giving me problems.”

“Oh, so this is like a thing for you.”

“What?”

“You like disciplining me. Oh, this will be so fun.”

Steve shakes his head and falls against the pillows. Eddie turns his own head to smile at him.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says after a minute of just watching Steve exist in his bed.

“You answered yourself.”

“You’re irritating.”

“So are you.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Everything is a competition,” Steve turns his head to look at Eddie, smirking. “And I’m winning.”

“We’ll see about that.”