#my writer's block is so bad

[amaranth-writing]

is your main blog amaranth?

no, lol 😭 i actually just saw that blog for the first time literally five minutes ago and thought about shooting them an ask about how similar our names are!

totally off-topic side note: my writing has been ABSENT lately. i'm still active, i read a lot, i've just had the most horrendous writer's block of my life for months now and i dunno how to get back into it. fingers crossed... y'all might get something by halloween. MAYBEEEE i'll respond to my other asks, if my lazy ass can get to it 😭 life has just been so hectic lately oml

[nowherebuthome]

*

[katsu2ji]

kitchen lights — s. todoroki

a/n: per request of one of my dear mutuals, @1234-emyyy, here's some short and sweet fluff for my pretty boy shoto <33 inspired by my own humming while writing this lol (I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!)

shoto did not think it was possible to love a person more than he loved you right now.

after a long day of patrol he finally returned home, tired and aching in places he didn't know he could ache. and there you were, singing softly along to the song that was playing throughout the house, unaware of his presence as you cleaned up the kitchen. he stopped where he was, quietly closing the door behind him before you noticed he had come in. you looked like an angel under the kitchen lights; he stood there, admiring you, as though this were the first time you'd two had ever crossed paths—with the look he had in his eyes, any unknowing onlooker wouldn't have thought otherwise.

it was always the little moments like this, when shoto fell harder than he thought he ever could. he felt like a schoolboy as his heart exploded in his chest; he wanted to frame this moment forever, watching you somehow manage to seep magic into a task so seemingly mundane. it was something only you could do, a power that he adored with everything in him.

as you looked up and smiled, closing the distance between the two of you to engulf him in a hug, he was reminded of what he was fighting for—a chance to come home to you everyday and be greeted with a smile. it was the promise he'd made to himself at the beginning, and one he intended to keep until the very end.

no one would stop him from returning to you when it was all said and done, no matter how much they attempted to. hell, he'd like to see them try.

katsu2ji © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[rodolfoparras]

I NEED Prices old man pussy on my face right now😩😩🤤🤤

- 🔪

It was a stupid idea but it was an idea nonetheless, having price sit on your face while fully clothed to prove he wouldn’t crush you with his weight.

It must’ve been one two or three too many drinks when you’d asked Price to sit on your face, which he’d only responded with a look as if you had killed someone right in front of him, which was ironic since that was what he did for living.

However he’d been quick to explain that he was too heavy, that he was bound to crush you with his weight and that you should just do things your usually way, with him spread out on your sheets and with you buried between his thighs.

Any other day you’d take him up on his offer but by that point you’d long forgotten about the act itself, too focused on the way he sees himself so being the person that you are with one too many drinks in your system you’d have him put his weight on your chest whilst the both of you were fully clothed just to prove that you could take it.

So here he is, with his weight pushing down on your chest, calves pressing at the side of your ribs and his hands fumbling around on your pecs to adjust himself

“See, told you that you had nothing to worry about,” you slurre out, bleary eyed and mindlessly caressing his thighs.

However he doesn’t respond, eyes looking anywhere else with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hands nervously fiddling on your chest.

“Hey, hey, we don’t have to do anything alright?” You say, snapping out of your drunken demeanor for a second “just wanted to show you I’m stronger than you think old man, you have nothing to worry about” you say, words coated in liquor as you flash him a reassuring smile.

“It’s not that” he croaks out, adam's Apple bobbing as he swallow hard, thighs squeezing the side of your ribs.

That’s when you finally get a whiff of his musky scent, eyes automatically falling to the spot between his legs, noticing the way the fabric outlines his cunt, with a small wet patch prominently showing on it.

“You- you aren’t wearing any underwear”

He doesn’t turn to meet your gaze but from where you lay you can see his face turn red, can hear the shaky breath escaping his lips, hands flailing in the air to explain himself. “I’m sorry I usually go commando -“

“Fuck it’s okay” you croak trying to ignore the way your cock twitches at the sight” it’s alright just - just relax yeah?” You say, your own hands shaking where they rest on his legs, as your pulse sounds through your ears. “Do you do you want to uh continue this? We don’t have-“

“I want to,” he says now meeting your gaze, and tone as firm as his words.

“Okay fuck okay” you say, laughing in disbelief and out of excitement, blood pooling to the lower half of your body as you squeeze at his thighs in reassurance.

“You’ll uhm you’ll have to move a bit closer, can’t really reach “ you say feeling heat creep up your own neck, ears and cheeks as the words tumble past your lips.

He doesn’t respond, head ducking down as he shuffles further up your chest.

You reach out with your hands to help him adjust himself so that you now can feel his heat licking at your cheeks, can almost see the way his pubic hair pokes out through the sinfully thin fabric, can almost taste him on your lips.

“Tell - tell me to stop whenever ” you croak out, before you’re cranking your neck up to lick stripe along his clothed cunt.

The slight hitch in his breath and the squeak of the wooden board is all you get in response to your question.

So you deliver another broad stroke and this time you earn a verbal response but instead of telling you to stop, you hear the words “please god please” tumbling past his lips.

And who are you to deny such a sweet request, you think to yourself as you crank your neck, swiping your tongue over his clothed clit and watching the way the fabric darkens more from your spit.

“Fuck” he squeaks put, hips bucking into your touch as he clutches onto the headboard for dear life.

However quickly your neck starts to ache from the awkward angle and you prompt the older man to sit on your face.

That’s when he freezes up again, familiar words slipping past his lips, I’m too heavy, I’ll crush you, but you're quick to shut him down with a slap to his thigh.

“If you think this attests my strength then I’m a little worried for your intelligence captain” you say with a chuckle which only earns you a slap to the head.

“Ouch! Okay I’m sorry” you say through a pained laugh “but really I can handle it”

The last bit of doubt trickles out his eyes, teeth releasing his worried bottom lip as he starts to lower himself down but you stop him with a hand to his hips.

“Clothes” is all you say and you see the look of realization flash across his face before he turns red as he quickly shuffles off his sweats, his lower half completely bare before he’s back to hovering over your face.

He’s about to say something, probably to state his worries once again but before he can do so you’re pulling him down onto your face, with your eager tongue pushing past his slick folds and tonguing his hole.

He doesn’t get a moment to breathe, doesn’t even get a moment to think about the thoughts that worried him previously, complety lost in the sensation of you relentlessly fucking your tongue into him.

It’s almost too much, it becomes too much when your lips mercilessly latch onto his clit, sucking eagerly at the numb til Price is sobbing, sweat trickling down his spine and hips clumsily grinding down onto your tongue.

He doesn’t even comprehend when he had started riding your face, uncaring of anything except for the fact that he’s inching closer to his release.

“Cu-cumming” he manages to squeak out before he comes undone with a cry, body shaking and headboard threatening to break under his hands.

Later when he’s laying on your chest, you got a smug look on your face as you say the words.

“Told you that you had nothing to worry about”

[villain-enthusiast]

tw: very toxic/possessive relationship and behavior, captivity

“Would it hurt you to smile a little more?” the villain mused, eyes trained on the reflection of the hero in the vanity’s mirror.

“Hard to do when there’s nothing to smile about,” the hero muttered, shifting uncomfortably in their seat. The villain had given them—or rather forced them into—an intentionally revealing outfit for the night.

The hero hated the villain’s parties. They hated the false luxury of it, the wealthy spectacles, the self-conceited conversations of people whose money was bought through blood. They wouldn’t let themselves get swept away in any of it—not when they knew of the people suffering beyond the villain’s gilded walls.

But if they wanted to live, if they were ever going to have a chance of making it out of this hellhole, they had to tolerate it. They had to pretend they liked it all—the sheer shirts, fine wine, the penetrative gaze of the clamoring guests…

“I’ve given you so much to smile about.” The villain tilted their head in a similar way a snake does to analyze its prey. “Silk clothes, a warm bed, good food.” A corner of their lips tilted up seductively before they added, “My love.”

A shudder ran down the hero’s spine and they looked away from the mirror, determined to avoid the villain’s possessive expression.

Fast as lighting, the villain’s hand shot out and grabbed the hero’s chin, forcing their face back towards their reflection. They squeezed their eyes shut. They didn’t want to look at themselves anymore, didn’t want to see how vulnerable they were, laid bare for the the hunger in the villain’s eyes—

“Darling,” the villain purred, the word dripping with venom. “By now you should know what the rules are.”

“We’re not at the party yet,” the hero retaliated. “I don’t need to follow any rules—,”

The villain’s fingers dug painfully into their jaw and the hero inhaled sharply, cracking their eyes back open.

They could do nothing as the villain tilted their head back ever so slightly, just enough to keep their eyes locked on the mirror while the villain leaned down to press feather-light kisses to their exposed throat.

Helpless. Just the way the villain liked it. The hero’s eyes burned with the embarrassment of it all.

“And here I’d thought we were past your disobedient stages,” the villain murmured against the hero’s skin, sending goosebumps skittering down their jugular. “Do I need to remind you who you belong to?”

I don’t belong to anyone, the hero wanted to snap, but they held their tongue, knowing better than to answer with such defiance.

The hand holding the hero’s chin trailed down to curl around their neck, the villain’s thumb fitting right over the hero’s racing pulse. Their free hand brushed slyly over the hero’s bare abdomen, tracing sensitive circles up and down their torso.

It was too much. Too overwhelming. The hero couldn’t stop the whimper that clawed up their throat, and at the way the villain’s eyes flashed with lust, the hero wanted to risk looking away all over again.

“I want you to say it, Hero.” The villain tilted their head in that predatory way again. “Who do you belong to?”

The hero swallowed. Their skin flushed with heat, even with the sparse amount of clothing they had on. They knew what game the villain was playing at, knew what part they had to act, but they still hesitated.

I don’t belong to anyone, I don’t belong to anyone…

The villain’s grasp on their throat tightened in warning, enough for the hero’s breath to hitch. “Say it,” they whispered, deadly.

“You,” the hero bit out. “I belong to you.” Their eyes shuttered as they fought the instinct to close their eyes and pretend that the shame gnawing through them was just as fake as their words.

The villain smirked. “Good.” They let go of the hero’s throat and ruffled their hair in a mocking show of playfulness, as if whatever just happened was all a joke. “I’ll be back in five to take you to the guests.” They made their way to the exit and paused at the doorway. “Oh, and do me a favor and smile a bit more when we get down there. You are mine, after all.”

Only when the door slammed shut behind the villain did the hero finally close their eyes, silent tears tracking down their cheeks as the villain’s words echoed incessantly through their head.

[varyathevillain]

no joke but what I really want for Buddy Daddies as a fandom is to make fanart and fanfic post present time ep12 where Rei wears an arm orthosis when working.

I think varied disability aids being represented would be fantastic, and personally would write Rei as someone being deeply proud of something he's done for his family, but also understanding with time that using an orthosis also helps him at work and in raising Miri. with a giant portion of mobility/motorics aids being represented by prosthetics, seeing more variety and exploring it in fiction would also help making a step in normalising disability treatments.

[pinacoladamatata]

If Solas doesn't have a satisfying ending I'm not even going to post about it. Like ever. I will simply cease to post all dragon age content and we will pivot to like, elder scrolls or Enderal or smthn

(to be clear;this is my worst timeline option)

[akicult]

contains ; domesticity. bf!suguru. suggestive themes. modern / college au. geto wants you to be his housewife basically. just a short drabble. mostly fluff.

just thinking about college bf!suguru that didn’t realize he was a domestic person until he met you.

he’s still young, only in his third year at university and he’s still deciding on what his near future will look like. he’s had his fair share of girlfriends, and little hookups, and to be quite frank—he didn’t think he was done either.

how was he supposed to know the first night he met you, bent over his backseat, was about to be the start of the most serious relationship he’d ever have.

that night started the first of many, slowly realizing he was only asking to hookup just because he wanted to see you. how he’d send a pickup text, with a frown on his cheeks because he thought you were only in it for that reason.

and when he finally swallowed his stubbornness, he was met with the most amazing two years of his life, stuck with you by his side.

college bf!suguru who, until he met you, hardly even dreamt about a future where the love of his life would carry his child in her arms, kissing his cheek and brewing a cup of coffee for the two of them to share in the morning.

he didn’t even care to imagine what that future would be like, what the woman would look like. it didn’t feel achievable, or even desirable until he fell in love with you.

and it was a random realization, but looking back on it—it was building. slowly.

weeks and weeks spent of you just pampering him, praising him, for even the most average things. like, getting an amazing score on an exam, and all you had to do was say, “aw! good job, baby!” before he was putty in your fingertips.

his room is all messy, deep dark circles under his eyes. it was procrastination’s fault—his fingers hurt from typing on his computer all day thanks to waiting until hours before a huge essay was due.

you offered to leave his apartment, to give him the concentration he needs to get it finished, but he was ushering a “no, no stay,” because he honestly didn’t want you to leave. so you stayed, situating yourself in the other room, occasionally popping in to check up on him—and eventually lay on his bed after he insists you to.

it’s only when he finally finishes—8 hours later and it’s already nighttime. his shoulders are slouched, his back is stiff and he’s walking out of his room with his closed computer weighing by his side.

and you’re still there.

not only are you still there, but you’re washing his dishes.

hair clipped back, sweatshirt engulfing your body and sweats tightly tied around your waist. you’re humming along to some music that plays over a speaker—quiet but loud enough to know what song is playing.

you look so utterly homey.

so…domestic.

like you’ve settled into your personal home after a long day at work, just blissfully scrubbing away on glossy white dishes that were previously eaten on. your clothes acknowledge that you’re comfortable, uncaring of what he sees you in.

although it’s not just the fact that you’re dressed like that—it’s the fact that you’re cleaning his things.

cleaning a mess you didn’t even make, just out of the kindness in your heart that’s making geto’s throat close and his palms sweaty. he’s in absolute awe that he doesn’t realize you’ve noticed his presence until you’re turning to face him.

“oh! did you finish?” you ask, turning the water off and rushing towards him.

he’s blinking, nodding slowly. “yeah—just submitted it.”

“yay! ‘m so proud of you!” you grin, lacing your fingers behind the back of his neck and pulling him in for a chaste kiss like you always do—but it feels so much different this time.

like you’re congratulating him on a big promotion, tugging on his work tie and kissing him until he’s forgetting his own name.

he feels like his ring finger is so cold, and there’s a missing heavy weight that’s never even been there in the first place.

like he’s an idiot for not tying you down on the spot—wrapping vows and vows around the two of you until you’re barely mobile.

and he wants to be your doting husband for the rest of his life. he wants to walk through his front door every evening with an awaiting kiss to his cheek, and a home-cooked meal fresh in his senses.

he wants to go to sleep with you in his arms every night, mumbling sweet ‘i love you’’s after flickering off the bedside lamp.

and maybe, just maybe one day, he wants to hear the gentle pitter patter of two little feet charging down the hallway.

this is accidentally freud coded (emphasis on accidentally)

[itwoodbeprefect]

the great thing about falling really deep into a new media niche is developing opinions on many new things. the terrible thing about falling really deep into a new media niche is developing opinions on many new things

[fruity-legos]

@wannabemasterofwindintraining here's the euphrasia edit >:3

This took me three hours idk about y'all timezones but it's currently 1 am for me I'm dying

If you don't like it I'm so sorry I give you permission to shoot me <//3

[mossyvil]

rook with a fae partner!

notes: gn reader, a teeeeeeeny bit of angst but mostly fluff

before you get together it’s obvious that rook has an interest in you, but no one knows he has feelings for you until he confesses. he stalks you like all the other non-human students, but it never gets to a point where anyone would suspect he has a heightened interest

he waits a while once he knows for sure he likes you romantically. he wants to make sure you also have feelings for him before he does anything, he would hate to make you uncomfortable! or to ruin his stalking chances

he considers asking lilia for his advice in wooing you, but decides to just wing it. he’s confident he knows you well enough to get on your good graces.

he decides to take you on a walk in the forest behind the school and shows you a beautiful clearing with wildflowers and a small pond that he found while exploring. it’s beautiful, and it’s enough to distract you while rook prepares himself to ask you on a date.

once your relationship is official, rook is like a loving shadow that follows you wherever it can. in the very beginning he reads up on fae courting traditions and implements any that he reasonably can. it’s kind of weird seeing him do some of them but his determination is very cute!

he does know some things about fae, he’s watched you and the other fae on campus from afar and has picked up on some things, but it’s very surface level. he really wants to understand where you’re coming from, so he asks about what it’s like back home and how it’s different than life at nrc.

rook hangs on to every word you say, it’s like he’s hypnotized by you. he just doesn’t want to miss anything you have to say to him because your voice is alluring to him.

he really likes any un-human traits you have like horns or wings. sometimes you can catch him just staring at them and when you ask he tells you he’s just thinking about how much they add to your beauty.

sometimes he does slip up and let the anxiety about you inevitably outliving him get past. it’s very rare, but every so often he’s a little more quiet than usual, and holds you just a tad bit tighter. he doesn’t tell you what’s wrong when you ask, he doesn’t want to upset you :(

he chooses to go with you during school breaks so he can get a glimpse of your home! no matter where you come from, he thinks the scenery is beautiful.

depending on how old you are, he wants to know about things you’ve experienced like historical events or people you’ve met. yes, part of it is just to hear you talk, but he is curious about the things you’ve experienced

assuming you have magic, he’s curious as to how it differs from that of humans. he won’t outright ask you to show him but he does have a very intense focus when he gets to see you use it

around the time of your first anniversary, he starts to think about plans to propose when you both graduate. it’s a good bit away, but he wants to be prepared and make sure it’s perfect. after all, he knows for certain he wants to spend the rest of his life with you <3

[hulknussen]

KEVIN MAGNUSSEN during the winner's interview after the final race of the 2013 formula renault 3.5 championship

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

[soulfullives]

“you’re beautiful,” sirius whispered, tucking a loose curl behind remus’ ear.

he huffed a laugh, bringing his legs to his chest.

he knew he wasn’t. his nose was too big for his face, and so were his mouth and eyes. his ears, too. his eyebrows were too thick, and there was a certain sadness to his eyes that he could not quite place. his face looked wrong, in a way, and he shied away from his mother whenever she called him handsome.

“thank you,” remus said, because that was what he was told to do when complimented. nod and thank, even though he knew it was a beautiful, beautiful lie.

“i mean it.” sirius cupped his face, warm brown eyes melting into metallic cold. his cigarette hung loosely between his fingers, but he didn’t seem to mind, ash falling on the floor. “you’re so fucking beautiful, remus.”

said sirius, with beautiful, raven curls and fair skin, plump lips, hooded eyes and long eyelashes. said sirius, with high cheekbones and long fingers, straight nose, a devil-like grin, and an elegance of royalty.

said sirius, to whom referring as beautiful was an understatement.

“you are, too,” remus smiled, ignoring the weird feeling in his stomach, pressing a chaste kiss to sirius’ lips.

[miniscule-meow]

Charlie and Felix: The Way I Am

Masterpost Wordcount: ~2.1k Warnings: Violence, Blood, Injury, Swears First Part | Last Part | Next Part

“My brothers go to Rosehill. Would they know you?”

Felix sits on his couch, staring up at his lofted ceiling mulling over Charlie’s comment. He huffs a sigh and reaches for his computer. The easiest way to figure out who she is would just be to see her last name on the paper they did together. He didn’t care to pay attention before. Honestly, he didn’t think it would be relevant, he just threw his portion of the work into the document and let her figure out the rest. But if her brothers went to school with him… They almost certainly know who he is. The question just becomes who are her brothers?

He opens the project now and finds her name at the top of the page, next to his own. He’s attempting to convince himself that whoever her family is, it couldn’t possibly be that bad.

Charlotte Beauregard.

Well, shit.

…almost two years ago…

Rosehill University is the ultimate training ground for the next generation of Supers, and Felix, against all odds, has found himself amidst the students here. He sits in the cafeteria, hunched over the table in a fruitless attempt to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. His ranking here is, frankly, quite pathetic. He can only really use his size-changing ability to shift up to ten or fifteen feet tall, this makes his ability one of the worst in the entire school. He knows he can get bigger than that, he’s done it once before, he’s just struggling to get consistent results. For almost a full year now, that's what it's been, "struggling to get consistent results." That’s all.

“Hey Short-stack, I heard the mundanes are really looking forward to utilizing your ability. They need people that can reach those top shelves in grocery stores,” Beckett huffs a cruel laugh as he swipes an apple from Felix’s plate.

“Just ignore him, man,” the super sitting next to him, Jeremey Beauregard, mutters under his breath.

“I’ve been getting better,” Felix grumbles loudly.

This happens far too often, someone, usually Beckett, picking on him for his ability. He shouldn't have to hide in the bathroom to eat. He shouldn't have to cower through the halls, it's bullshit. He thought this kind of drama stopped after high school, he was wrong.

Thankfully, Jeremey has stuck with him the past several months. His ability comes in handy when you're just trying to avoid a fight. The upper level supers love to spar and fight, always challenging one another to secure their place in the hierarchy at the school. Challenges like that are common, healthy, and even encouraged for developing supers. The faculty usually just prefers for challenges to happen in the sanctioned zones, but it doesn't always shake out like that. Honestly, for as many times as Felix has been sent to the infirmary, it seems like the faculty really don't care about most of the finer details.

Supers fight to prove their worth, and according to his current track record, Felix is not worth much. Now, why someone as strong as Beckett feels the need to pester him of all people...? He doesn't really have an answer for that.

“It isn’t worth it,” Jeremey says again with a small shake of his head.

“Improvement is the whole point of coming to—” Felix begins.

“You really think you belong here?” Beckett cuts in. “Really? Even Jeremey has a more exciting ability than you do,” at the mention of his name, Jeremey raises an eyebrow but sticks to his own advice and ignores the insult for the both of them. “You’ve got nothing. You’re nothing. All you’re doing is hurting the reputation of the school by being here.”

Felix stands quickly, his chair scraping back against the floor, “That’s not true.” He raises his chin to look Beckett in the eyes, pretending not to hear Jeremey’s disappointed sigh.

“Do you want to prove it?” Beckett asks in a low taunt, standing a full head taller than Felix, for now. He’s one of the strongest supers in the school. Fighting him would almost certainly mean a trip to the infirmary… again. But Felix can’t help it, this desire to prove himself is too strong. He needs this. He knows his ability can be really cool. He knows it. He just needs it to work for once. He squares his shoulders, staring Beckett down, refusing to back down from his challenge.

The air around them grows still and quiet as the others in the cafeteria can sense the growing tension, heads start turning their way.

“What are you gonna do then? Stand on your tip toes?” Beckett jeers loudly, ready to give a good show, some of the onlookers chuckle. Felix, pushed past his boiling point, throws the first punch. Beckett doges easily, and returns the blow, landing a solid hit right to Felix’s gut. Felix stumbles backwards, Beckett wastes no time advancing, activating his ability as he strides forward. His face set in a smug grin, knowing there’s no way he’ll lose. He flicks his hand, using his ability to send a spray of molten sparks to Felix’s feet. Felix jumps back and is met with more laughter.  “You should really invest in some dance lessons, you’re not very good at this,” He says, tossing more fire to the ground in front of him, just toying with him.

“Come on, do something about it,” Beckett calls, sounding bored. “If you’re going to act like a mundane, maybe you should just transfer to a mundane school.” Beckett says before lunging forward. Felix is barely able to doge his flaming fist. Felix hears the laughter from the crowd. He grits his teeth and shifts, growing taller than Beckett. “Okay, now, have you considered trying out for our basketball team?” With a wave of his hand, he sends another spray of fire out towards Felix. It connects with his arm, brushing up against the bottom of his chin. He winces at the burn and he quickly slaps the flame out as it begins to catch on his sleeve. The growing crowd is getting louder now, laughing at him, mocking him alongside Beckett.

“Shut up!” He shouts, and something breaks inside of him. His blood roars in his ears, his face red from embarrassment, part of his sleeve still smoldering from Beckett’s last attack. Without thinking about it, without trying to force it, he grows. He grows fast, and he grows huge. In an instant, he’s bigger than he’s ever been before. Part of him aches from the rapid growth, but most of him doesn’t care. He doesn’t even think. “Is this what you wanted?” He shouts, dropping to his knees and reaching forward, he slaps Beckett down against the floor with his hand.

The crowd isn’t laughing anymore, they cover their ears to brace against the sound of his voice. He looks down at the super pinned beneath his palm. He looks like a little doll now, but there’s no fear in his eyes.

“Alright,” he grunts, straining under the weight of Felix’s hand, “Now you might be worth fighting.” Beckett’s lip curls into a predatory smile. He activates his full ability, both of his arms igniting to a vibrant inferno from fingertip to shoulder. Felix jolts, jerking his hand away quickly. He knows he just needs to act fast. He gasps against the sharp bite of flame in his hands as he reaches down and swipes Beckett up into the air, he slams him down with enough force to stun him. Then he balls his blistering hand into a fist and strikes down, pounding him into the ground again, and again and again.

Until his fist is blocked. It hits the air above Beckett with a hollow ‘thunk.’ He pauses long enough to see the iridescent glint of a barrier.

Jeremey. His head snaps away from Beckett, searching for his friend.

“He’s had enough, dude,” Jeremey says warily, having backed away from their table.

“You’re defending him?” He asks incredulously.

“You’ve already won! You don’t need to kill him,” Jeremey returns, holding his hands out like he’s trying to calm some kind of wild animal.

“Who’s fucking side are you on? You didn’t use a barrier when he was trying to set me on fire.”

“It’s not about sides, I just—”

“Drop your barrier,” Felix says. Done listening, he's ready to settle this. He turns his gaze back to Beckett, scowling down at him as he starts to push himself up on unsteady limbs.

“No.” Jeremey asserts firmly.

Felix scoffs, He thought they were friends, but it turns out he’s just like the rest of them. Beckett was right, he probably only liked hanging out with Felix so that he could feel better about his own ability. Now that Felix is actually strong, he doesn’t want to help him out anymore? It has to be jealousy.

Felix balls his hand into a fist, and smashes down against Jeremey’s pathetic little barrier. After three hits, he sees Jeremey stumble under the strain of bracing against his attacks, and the barrier begins to splinter. One more punch and the barrier shatters completely, Jeremey drops to a knee, breathing heavily. He tries to throw up another shield, but it flickers weakly.

“Hey. Is there a problem?” A new voice breaks through, giving Felix pause. Marshall Beauregard pushes through the crowd, looking from Beckett and Felix, over to his brother, Jeremey. The commotion building up between the gathered students is stopped instantly. Marshall is considered to be THE top dog at their school right now. Unlike Beckett, he isn’t antagonistic. In fact, he rarely uses his abilities at all. Felix looks him over, a new challenge sparking in his eyes.

“How about we all power down, and maybe just try to talk this one out?” Marshall says calmly.

If he can beat Beckett and Marshall, both in one go, he’d rocket up the ranks at the school. No one would ever say he doesn’t belong here. He’d run this school.   

He knows he can take him.

Felix reaches out to grab him up in a fist, But Marshall is faster. Vines burst from the floor. Wrapping over Felix’s hand, they thread between his fingers and tether him down to the ground. Before he can pull away, the vines layer thicker and thicker over his hand, and up over his wrist. The mass of plants constricts, growing tighter around his hand, solidifying with a thick bark over the top. Felix attempts to pull away, and thorns pierce into his skin. The poison barbs make his veins feel like they’re on fire.

Not like this.

Felix grits his teeth and focuses. Moving quickly, he grows smaller, just enough to give himself some room. He rips his hand free and explodes larger, even larger than before. The vines burst under the strain, sending out a shower of bark. He mauls his hand in the process, but he’s free now. He’s never been able to pull off any sort of dexterous size shifting before now, but he doesn’t have time to be impressed with himself.

Despite his hands burning from both Beckett’s fire and the poisonous thorns, he slaps his palm down on Marshall’s standing form. Once again, Marshall moves with a surprising amount of speed. He encases himself in a sharp cocoon. As Felix slams his hand down, Marshall’s defense pierces fully through the palm of his hand. He cries out as the bud opens into a massive flower, and out steps Marshall, entirely unscathed.

Felix rips the bloom from his hand, unimpaling his hand from the thick stalk. His hand oozes from its gaping wound. If he took the time to observe it, he could peer straight through his hand. He notes that both Marshall and Beckett had really good close range defense, it’s important that he touches them as little as possible when he’s attacking. He can’t take many more injuries if Marshall is going to spear entirely through him like that.

His stomach twists at the sight of the viscera, but the pain only makes his rage burn hotter.

“Do you yield?” Marshall asks simply.

Felix, breathing heavily, squints down at Marshall. He maintains his composure alright, but that was a lot of power he just exerted. He’s used to growing vines, sure. But against Felix, at this size, his plants rival the size of trees. His vines are more like branches. He has to be tired. It's a gamble, but Felix needs this victory. He can't give up.

He allows his shoulders to slump, as if resigning, but as Marshall’s guard drops at his sign of submission, he lashes out again. Feinting in one direction, tossing a cafeteria table his way. Then, acting quickly he reaches out with his other hand, this time he successfully snags him by the leg. Before he has a chance to retaliate, Felix flips his opponent up into the air and flings him down to the ground. The arc of his descent is swift and entirely unforgiving as he crashes into the ground. Marshall's attempt to conjure more vines to break his fall was rendered mostly unsuccessful, he hit the ground hard, certainly much harder than he would have liked. Without allowing him any more time to get his bearings, Felix’s fist comes smashing down after him. Felix watches as he tries to shamble back onto his feet, his vines forming a thorny barricade around him. But his plants are growing much slower than they were at the start. He was right, Marshall is running out of stamina. A wicked grin spreads across Felix’s face. This fight just turned in his favor.

Using his bloodied hand, he rips the vines from the ground, as simple as uprooting some weeds. Tossing them aside, he comes crashing down into Marshall again, grounding him into the floor and shattering the tile beneath him. Again, and again, and again. Until the rage coursing through him burns out, Until Marshall's mangled form is left twitching in a shallow crater.

Until he feels a sharp sting hits the side of his neck, followed by several more near his shoulder.

Felix turns his head sharply, searching for his next opponent. Instead, he sees a group of security officers lowering their weapons. They tranquilized him, he realizes with a start. He feels his limbs rapidly growing heavy. He sits back on his heels, noticing for the first time how silent the cafeteria is. His breathing grows deeper, and his vision becomes hazy. As his eyes sweep across the crowd, no one dares to meet his gaze. His head is swimming now, he wavers, his ability shutting down, taking his whole body with it.

As he shrinks back to normal, feeling his consciousness slip into darkness, his last thought is spent marveling at how he just managed to take down two of the school’s strongest supers, back-to-back.

No one will dare to mess with him, not now, not ever again.

…

Felix closes his laptop, numbly blinking away the memory of what he had previously considered to be one of his most impressive achievements.

She’s definitely never talking to me again.

[incorrectskywalkers]

oh the fallen angel imagery of it all