#reblogging this again because I thought it was hilarious but no one cared

[thedawningofthehour]

I see Leo as Big Mama's true son, he's got her strategic brain and bitch era attitude.

Mikey is absolutely the odd one out, he's too precious for this world.

I actually like several AUs that take the exact opposite philosophy of what I’m about to say here but I really truly feel like in a world where Draxum kept some/all of the turtles he would consider Donnie his biggest success.

First of all I think it’s kind of weird when people act like Draxum would be surprised/disappointed by Donnie’s softshell. Like yeah I guess it’s funny to think he grabbed 4 random eggs without knowing what would hatch, but actually if your goal is to make a bunch of super soldier turtle tots it makes sense to get a softshell. They’re predators, they’re aggressive, they’re fast (for a turtle) on both land and in water, their soft shell affords them more agility and flexibility than other turtles, they can stay under water basically indefinitely, and they have strong chompers for chompin’.

Donnie himself is hyper intelligent, morally gray, indifferent to the plights of people he doesn’t personally care about, unafraid of physical confrontation (he gets right in Draxum’s face in episode 1 and he swings that bo like it’s a battle hammer half the time), and his love for his family is the only thing keeping him from his villain arc anyway. Add all that to his need for Parental Approval at All Costs and you have the perfect recipe for a little murder turtle tot all your own.

Sure, he’s not so good at mystic stuff, but lbr Draxum probably wasn’t expecting any of them to be and that would just come as a bonus.

tldr Donnie is Draxum’s truest son and everyone should be glad Splinter got him in the divorce

[gigidragonbbxxx]

regarding mental diet

discipline. consistency. THIS IS HOW YOU MANIFEST.

it is the discipline and consistency in acknowledging the things in your 3D that you want and ignoring the stuff that you do not identify with.

Yes Gigi, we know that why are you saying something EVERYONE says?

bc dear reader and loass community, i'm gonna say something that might be known but I don't see stated enough:

To be a master manifester, you break your old realities and create new ones - AND A LOT OF PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME GETTING ON THIS LEVEL BECAUSE THEY ARE UNWILLING TO LET GO OF HABITS THAT DO NOT SERVE THEM.

AKA = YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

You hear me???

YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

AND THIS IS WHAT MENTAL DIET IS: NOT GIVING IN TO EVERY TREND, EVERY LIL SONG, EVERY TV SHOW, ETC. IF IT DOES NOT HELP YOUR MIND BE SATURATED WITH BEING IN YOUR FAVOR.

I'll cite an example many of us go through: a friend who doesn't know the law and only wants to talk about how horrible men are. This friend is also addicted to complaining. What have so many loass practicing people have said? They've either 1) told that friend they don't want to talk about that stuff or 2) spent less time with that friend.

it's an experience so many in the community go through and many benefit from limiting their exposure to that type of person. because what is the point of spending time affirming lies like "life has to be hard" "life is unfair" "I always get treated like shit by men" "I'm never first choice" like EW!? guys, learn to get the ICK from this type of talk!!! there is no benefit from this energy.

YOU GET TO DECIDE WHAT YOU WANT TO EXPOSE YOURSELF TO. SO STOP MINGLING WITH ENERGY THAT DOES NOT SERVE YOU. IF YOU HAVE TIME TO THINK BADLY, YOU HAVE TIME TO THINK POSITIVELY!!!

Be willing to WALK AWAY. Be willing to be the one to say "This is not for me" if a convo is full of limited beliefs. Be willing to not participate in trends like making tiktoks about self deprecating jokes or tweet about toxic things. Be willing to say "Oh i never say those things about myself."

Let me explain what prompted me to write this:

I saw THE CUTEST lil key chains or cases made by a small business. I love to reblog cute things on my main account on twt (not my loass burner) and tbh I've manifested getting some of those cute things by making a lil placebo that whatever I retweet is mine/fact.

The first case/keychain thing was "Tummy Ache Survivor" which I thought was hilarious as I have a lot of Virgo energy in my life but the second image showcased another that said something along the lines of "Daily Dose of Dumb Baby Juice".

Guys.

Please.

Does a master manifester drink dumb baby juice? Or is she the operant power full of knowledge and wisdom leading a fulfilling life?

Now, I'm not a limiting typa gal okay? You can totally be "baby". You can totally live a soft live. Be a baby. Hell, I love being baby in a relationship. What I'm saying is even seemingly "harmless" things like that phrase...you have to have discernment in what could be unfavorable influences in your life.

Again, Gigi isn't telling you how to live your life. If you wanna declare "fuck off Gigi! I'm a dumb baby AND I manifest!" go ahead. If you wanna declare "fuck off Gigi! I can consume ANY CONTENT I want and manifest!" GO AHEAD.

BUT LETS DISCUSS SOME OBSERVATIONS IVE MADE ABOUT THE BIGGEST LOA COACHES/ACCOUNTS WITH THE MOST SUCCESS:

all of them. 100% of them. are careful about what they expose themselves to/say about themselves.

BECAUSE DOMINANT BELIEFS ARE WHAT MANIFESTS. SO WHY WASTE TIME CONSUMING CONTENT THAT GOES AGAINST WHAT YOU WANT YOUR DOMINANT THOUGHT PATTERN TO BE? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE!!!

and I get the resistance to cut off things you mightve enjoyed. But i said it before and I'll repeat it again.

YOU MUST BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO BE DIFFERENT.

things gigi had to cut off:

sad songs on daily playlists

reality tv glorifying toxicity in relationships

accounts on twt that leaned heavily on "men are trash" mindset

conversations that were self-deprecating

and more but those are a few examples.

and you know what I have more time to do now, reader?

I have more time to affirm, to listen to subs, to write on this blog.

Because Manifestion is a Lifestyle. It's not a quick fix bc the outcome depends on the SOLIDITY of your BELIEF to enact CHANGE on the 3D.

so pls don't drink dumb baby juice. drink pretty girl juice. drink intelligent master manifester juice. drink "in my favor" juice.

with laughs and love, xx, gigi

p.s. I do not believe that this is an excuse to remain ignorant about world events and news. I encourage you to remain informed, intelligent people who do not lack awareness and instead are fully immersed in the nuance of balancing high self-esteem and understanding the political climate.

[kaq3yma]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑 ft yamato endo

syn: could he a be a good judge of character after all?

⸻ contains: slight yandere tendencies, reader is mentioned to be a cashier, and languages.

qeena's brief note: yippieeeee finally wrapped up my endo fic AND slightly yandere endo (๑-﹏-๑) wowzwowzzz but honestly idk how i feel about this um whether i like it or not BUT i dont hate it rofl anyway no long note this time, im keeping it "brief" (๑>؂•̀๑) so lemme know what you guys think of this, thank you, i love you, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated and happy reading xoxo 🩷💚

It's that one time, that one time he walk around amidst of the night trying to find an open store to buy fireworks for Takiishi. He stop in his trance, gaze swept away by a solitary store stood out among the dimly light streets. His feet brought him almost leisurely to the front door and that's when he saw you, working through the racks to fill up stocks.

When he pushes the door open, the automatic bell chime and you turn around "Welcome..." The corner of his eyes crease as he smile at you "Hey, do you guys have any fireworks in 'ere?" Yeah, it's not everyday a weird looking guy with weird tattoos litter across his body come in the middle of the night asking for fireworks "Yeah, sure..." He follows you to the farthest corner of the store where you kept them "Is there anything else?" The man turn to you, shaking his head "That'll be all,"

You rushes back to the counter, patiently waiting for him to come back and pay "Y/n..." Your eyes widen, and as you look up, you're surprised to see him leaning down to your face very closely. His eyes concentrated on your tag. You ring every bit of his items as quickly as you could "That'll be 507¥." He huff, taking the bag from you and leave.

You really thought it'll be the last time you see him...

But no, the weird man keep coming back, not to buy fireworks or anything, just to loiter around and pester you with your works and because it's in the middle of the night, there's barely any customers in the store which leave you not to only listen to his constant yapping but to reluctantly accompany him as well "Don't you have anything else to do?" He point at the cup of noodle he site on the table "Besides eating?" You groaned, shaking your head "No. Besides bothering me." He snickers, taking a noisy slurp of his noodle "I do. Following Takiishi around."

You look at him, confused but you dismissed the thought straight away "Whatever, I'm going back to work, if you're finish eating, leave." He pout, putting down the utensils he's using "You're mean. I'm a customer, y'know?" You sway your head at him "You make me pay for you everytime, you fool." He breaks into a fit of laughter, watching you mad is so hilarious.

The next night, he strides to the familiar route of your shop, face bruised and nose trickled with stained blood. The prior incident flashes in his mind once again.

He was with Takiishi like usual, tailing behind the poker-faced male wherever he go without question. The duo browse a town with its street swarming with delinquents and thugs. Endo didn't mind and he's sure as hell Takiishi didn't mind it either but when one of the men purposefully pick a fight with Takiishi, Endo decided to step up for him instead and he got a harsh blow from Takiishi "Don't intervene." Another blow, his face spotted with sheepish smile and blood smearing out every cuts as Takiishi continue to beat the tattooed male.

"Why am I going to her, anyway?" He didn't understand why his feet brought him to you. He knew what you're like, indiffirent and without a doubt, he can guarantee you couldn't care less about the bruises on his face, so why is he here? In front of your work place, damaged face grinning without a thought. He opens the door, greeting you with that same crazed smile.

"Welcome...!" Your eyes widen upon seeing the state he's in "What the fuck happened to you?" He chortle, bringing one hand to touch a singular cut on his face which causes him to wince terribly "... That hurts." He couldn't properly registered what was happening until you pull him to a nearby table and sat him down "Of course, it hurts, you prick. You leave the wounds untended!" He watch you move around the store, going to the back room and came back with a first aid kit "You're so careless..." You sighed, lift the lid of the box and start tending him.

A deep gash across his cheek, several cuts and scratches covering his forehead and temple, nose trickled in crimson and eyes almost swollen "Just what the hell did you get yourself into..." You graze alcoholic pad across the wound to clean it, damping ointment gently over the cuts and scratches and finally, you put one last bandaid below his eye, on the apple of his cheek "All done."

Your eyes flutter forward to him, only then did you realized just how close you both are. Your eyes expanded and you almost fall back in shock but he caught you, rolling into laughter "Why are you red?" There's that, that hint of mockery lacing in his undertone "Shut up, asshole. You didn't even thank me for stitching you up." You look away from him, well, he wanted to tease you some more by how red and incredibly cute you look at this moment but uncharacteristically, he stayed quiet.

"Thanks," You look up, awkwardly coughed out fake coughs "D-Don't mention it, just buy me something next time." You pick up the first aid kit and leave back to the cashier.

He leave the store, heart pounding within its cage, he can feel himself shuddering to the bone at the slightest remembrance of you. Yes, he likes you, he think he wants to make you his, he think you are so perfect... Don't tell Takiishi but, now, you're his number one.

And yes, he indeed still is a bad judge of character.

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 is open. all rights reserved goes to @kaq3yma on tumblr.

[chaoticbardlady99]

Nobody's Fool (Astarion x GN! Reader) Part 4

Synopsis: Astarion kissed Shadowheart during Truth or Dare and then he kisses you in the heat of Battle. You and Astarion have a heart to heart after he refuses to give back your bedroll. Astarion realizes how much he needs you and wants you around.

CW: Dead dove, fighting violence (beating the heck out of Nere)

Author Note: Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for all the love and support!

Part 3 : Part 5 : Master list

“Hold it!” 

 “Easy now! Let’s not do anything hilarious!” He says all too quickly to the Deep Gnome.

“Shut your mouth hoon or I’ll shut you down.”

 He really hates Gnomes and this certainly isn’t helping. 

 Astarion could not be more horrified with the situation in front of them right now and you are in shock- the amount of ‘blow up dust’ as you so ungraciously called it, could quite literally destroy every single person in this room. 

 Gods, Astarion adores you. Only you would panic and yell, “GUYS THAT’S A LOT OF BLOW UP DUST!” 

 Karlach is laughing hysterically out of fear and Gale looks like he may actually shit himself. Astarion is somehow the calmest individual here and that doesn’t bode very well for him. He isn’t keen on planning and with you out of commission, Karlach on the verge of hysteria, and Gale, oh so usually fearless Gale, is having second thoughts about this adventure, it’s up to Astarion to keep you all from imploding. 

 “DO NOT TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” the Gnome roars, earning a roll of Astarion’s eyes, “state your business.”

“W-we are here because we really need some of that powered, “ you say awkwardly, “you are Philomeena? I presume?” 

“What’s to say?” Her thick accent grinds on his ear drums, “you’re Nere’s bootlicker- saw you sail in. A godsdamned True Soul.

“Better to die in this shit heap than moonrise. If you want me- come get me.”

 Astarion takes over the conversation from there and manages to talk her down and she retreats- leaving them just enough to free Nere and the Deep Gnomes trapped in the rock fall. 

“I suppose romance is dead,” Gale tsks, “that Gnome is heartless.” 

“Eh,” Astarion shrugs, “I’m not entirely surprised- that ‘lover’ of hers is rather annoying.” 

“Annoying?” You whirl around, looking very confused, “what in the hells do you mean by annoying?” 

 You are the emotional equivalent of a poofy cat right now and Astarion had a feeling something may eventually strike one of your nerves.

 The group had played a massive game of Truth or Dare the night before. Shadowheart, for whatever reason, dared Astarion to kiss her. He figured it was just in good fun- no big deal.

 He is beginning to think that he may have been sorely, sorely mistaken and so does Shadowheart- and coincidentally, Karlach.

 Their line of thought had been that you may finally make your move.

 It backfired miserably. 

 You talked to him throughout the night like you normally do, but you weren’t nearly as forthcoming with your own answers, and you told him you didn’t know if you were up for a cuddle. You said you just “had a bad dream the night before and I don’t want to wake you up from all my thrashing. It usually accompanies the second night.” 

 He knows it’s utter shit. He saw how heartbroken you looked and the way you seemed to indulge in far more wine than you usually do. You decided you were over the game after a few more rounds and decided to go to bed- he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t sure if you would want his comfort or not so he joined you a bit later- certainly space would be the best thing he could provide.

 It once again occurred to him that that was not the direction to go after Shadowheart and Karlach confronted him after everyone else went to sleep.

“Now they are going to think you don’t care at all!” 

“Fangs- if you want to fix this, I suggest you go sprinting that way sooner than later.” 

 “I merely meant that she seems a wee bit clingy, my Dear,” he says nonchalantly, “all that worrying over someone who doesn’t feel the same would be exhausting.”

“It is.” 

 You are turning around before anyone can even say a word. 

“I’m sorry, Fangs,” Karlach whispers before racing to catch up with you. 

 He sighs heavily- he should be next to you right now. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

 Astarion scowls, “I don’t need your advice, Gale, I have standards.” 

“Maybe, but I’m not the one who hurt Tav’s feelings by kissing my ex- fling,” he states matter of factly, “you know how much they care for you- you didn’t think to tell Shadowheart, ‘no’?” 

“I-“ Astarion goes to defend himself but then realizes that, unfortunately, Gale is right. Only he has no idea how to say no. It never occurred to him that he would be allowed to tell other people no- not just you.

“I don’t think less of you, Astarion,” Gale says promptly, “I am no stranger when it comes to the topic of love.

“You should do something meaningful for them.” 

“And whatever the hells can I do!?” He tries not to sound so whiny and desperate, “they despise me right now and why wouldn’t they!?” 

 And that is when Gale drops the bomb of all bombs.

 He told Astarion your first date plans for him- sea shell hunting, a bottle of wine, and just getting to know each other. At the time it may have made him scoff and make fun of you- what a ridiculous concept, taking him to collect seashells. 

 Only now, he wants to do that more than anything, but you have already crossed the river and you all have yet to get Nere’s head in one of your bags for the Myconoid colony. He isn’t even entirely sure there are seashells down here!

 He stands firm in his resolve- he will continue to act as if nothing is different, maybe be more affectionate, and then when you all finally make it out of the Underdark and if there is a decent beach near the Crèche- he is going to take you on the date of the Century and you won’t have to question his affections ever again.

 It is bad for his plan- after all. 

  He follows you and Karlach as you make the trek back to the slaves and the slavers attempting to free Nere and the others trapped behind the rock wall. 

 You still avoid his gaze when you talk to the Deep Gnomes and the Duergar- informing them that you have the solution to all their problems and then some.

 Everything pops off instantly- you are rage filled and Nere being an ass earns him a thunder wave that sends him flying backwards.

 The fight is brutal and Astarion is keeping up with Nere in the mess of battle around them- you protect him with sanctuary and give him as many advantages as you are able while also making sure the others are equally as taken care of. 

 “ASTARION!” 

 Astarion ends Nere and turns just in time to see an enlarged Duergar come stumbling towards him- grabbing him by the head before flinging him towards the Lava. 

 If he’s being completely honest- it’s not the worst death he could experience and he isn’t all that upset about it.

 However, he never does get devoured by the lava below. You jumped in time to grab him and he forgot that you had consumed a potion of flying and elixir of giant strength before the battle. You were hyper worried about the lava and he supposes he is grateful for it as you both go rolling onto one of the rock platforms floating like a ship.

 Astarion begins to feel the impact of the situation he had been about to experience. He supposes it probably wouldn’t have been that pleasant of an experience, but still not the worst.

 You, on the other hand, risked your sanity and innocence for him- not even knowing if you would be able to get to him or not. 

 The battle continues to roar around both of you, but his attention is entirely on you. 

 You care for him- really care for him- and he has come to really care for you too. How can you not see how much he cares about you? How are you still clouded by his regretful rejection!?  

 “Are you okay?” You are a sweaty, horribly panicked mess, “are you hurt? Any scratches? What about-“

 You are cut off by his lips against yours and his hands cupping your face. 

  You look dazed when he finally stops and thankfully, he is able to recover somewhat and sends an arrow flying at the duergar that was about to shoot you. 

 You both re-engage in the battle- now using ranged attacks to cover each other and the others. 

 It feels like eons before it ends, but you never leave each other’s side and he could do this for as long as needed as long as you are nearby. If your safety and his safety are in question, he will not leave until both of you are safe. The idea of abandoning you, in spite of how afraid he is, makes him sick. 

 You give him a weak smile by the time it’s over- you are obviously overheated and feeble. Sweat drips down your face and neck- he supports you and Gale helps to teleport you both over. 

 Astarion beheads Nere like he promised he would and the trek back to camp feels like an eternity. He is even feeling overheated and that is saying something. 

  You go with the rest of the women to clean up and that leaves Astarion to wonder if he crossed the line. Maybe he misread all the signs and you have been over him for a while now. 

 A sigh of relief leaves his mouth when you enter the tent- you look torn by his presence and you sit crisscrossed with your hands folded across your chest.

“You have to choose.”

“I-I beg your pardon?” he scoffs.

“You either kiss me or you kiss Shadowheart, but I can’t keep feeling confused and heartbroken like this. I know you rejected me, but that still doesn’t mean you can play with my feelings.”

 Astarion feels a lump form in his own throat- he didn’t realize how much he had hurt you with his actions. He knew to some extent they hurt you, but he hadn’t realized that this had maybe been an ongoing issue for you and the majority of his actions have been kind of confusing. 

“I choose you,” he states quickly, “I’m surprised that is even a question at this point, Darling.”

“I- WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?” You sputter, “You rejected me!” 

“And I told you I regretted it!”

“When!?”

“That day on the beach!”

 You look dumbfounded and like you have no idea what he is even talking about. It takes you a few more moments until it seems to click, but then you just look even more annoyed.

“That was barely anything!”

“To you maybe!”

 You guffaw, an adorable pout on your face, “then why did you kiss her again?”

“It was for a game,” he rolls his eyes with exasperation, feeling agitated beyond belief, “if I knew this would be this much of a headache, I wouldn’t have come into your tent or kissed you today.” 

 He realizes what he says almost immediately after saying it. Your face is incredibly still and you look really, really hurt. 

 You get up and grab your bed roll- storming towards the entrance.

“Darling-“

 You swat his hand away, but he’s not about to give up that easily. He grabs for anything and you are fighting over your bedroll now.

“Give it back, Astarion!” 

“Absolutely not- not until you forgive me and agree to stay!” 

 “I’m not ready to!”

“Then I guess you won’t get your bedroll or sleep!” 

 The two of you stare at each other, neither party budging and when you do a test pull, he narrows his eyes at you and holds the sleeping bag even tighter. 

 Admittedly, the idea of you walking away from him while you are still upset makes him feel like he’s been flayed. He doesn’t want to sit agonizing about what his punishment may be if you decide you are never able to forgive him. His brain is going to extremes- you will either never speak to him again, kick him out, stake him, return him to Cazador, or you will serve Cazador level punishment. 

 He knows you wouldn’t do any of those things in his rational brain- you probably just need a moment to breathe-but his nervous system is alight with fear and worry. His brain is telling him he cannot let you walk out of your tent until this is resolved. 

 You pull on it again and his grip only tightens more- that’s when he becomes aware of the fact that he is shaking and he hasn’t blinked or breathed in a moment. Not a sound has escaped him- he oozes worry and fear. 

 He doesn’t want to go back to how things were before he gave you the Restoration Amulet- he doesn’t want to lose his cuddle time with you or your affection or gain your hatred.

 He doesn’t want you to realize what Cazador had so long ago- Astarion is a nuisance, a dumb ass, and a fool. He’s naive and ridiculous- unloveable at best. 

 He doesn’t want you to see him that way, but maybe it’s too late now. Maybe the damage is already done and this is only making it worse.

“Astarion?” Your voice is soft and your head is tilted, “it’s okay- I can be upset with your actions and vice versa without something bad happening. I just- well I guess I needed some time to cool off.” 

 He can’t speak- his body has shut down entirely. When did that happen? His body is disconnected from his brain and he is floating in space. He feels so far away from you and it makes him want to cry like a pathetic child who is afraid of a monster under the bed. 

 He needs you and he doesn’t want to admit it.

“Astarion?” 

 The way he let’s go of the bed roll is almost robotic.

“No worries, Darling,” his mask comes up again- something he hasn’t felt the need to do in a while, “go, cool off or whatever it is you need to do. I will find something else to preoccupy my time.” 

 He turns back towards his stuff in your tent- maybe he should pack it up? Give you a night to yourself? 

 Maybe he should start heading towards Baldur’s Gate and attempt to free himself from Cazador. It will likely end in his death, but maybe that is for the better. Nobody needs a broken piece of garbage hanging around. 

 A gentle hand on his shoulder makes him stiffen even more, but your scent and the sound of your heartbeat are enough to keep him from lashing out in fear. 

 “Astarion- please stand up and look at me- please.”

 He does as he’s told because what else can he do? You are mad at him and he can’t afford to lose you. 

 Astarion, in his haze, is confused by the sad look on your face. You should be elated- he is broken and ready to be used for whatever you need. Whatever you want- as long as it means you will come back to him by morning and you won’t think less of him than you probably already do. 

 Your hands gently move to his cheeks and your eyes are boring into his empty, unblinking, spacey ones. He can hear your heartbeat racing- your response to the monster in your tent. However, you could not be more gentle, caring, and brave.

“Come back to me, Star,” you whisper, “you’re safe here with me. I care about you so much.” 

“I am fine, Darling.”

“No, you aren’t,” you frown and your eyes begin to look watery, “I can see you, Astarion. You are panicking. I am so sorry. Everything is okay- I am not going to leave you or hurt you and I still think the world of you. It was just a… well I don’t know what it was, but it’s okay. I promise.”

 It’s like the first rays of sun through the tent in the morning- your voice calls to him as it does when he is having nightmares. 

 The person who hid away long ago, the 39 year old boy who had been tricked- is peering through the fog and at you. Astarion feels as desperate as he did the moment he was dying- he needs help and instead of Cazador looming over him, you are offering a healing hand. 

 The boy who needed someone like you is awakening within him as you continue to coax him back to life. His tears are falling, his heart is broken- he isn’t sure he wants to be experiencing the cathartic sensation of finally letting go of some of the pain that has been etched into his body- into his soul. 

 He also didn’t mean to make the situation about himself, but you don’t seem to mind. Of course you don’t- why would you? You are you.

“You are safe here with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you- I won’t ever hurt you. I promise. Just like I know you won’t let anyone hurt me.” 

 You trust him to keep you safe. You believe that he is capable of doing so.

 The entire dam breaks- he bursts into tears uncharacteristically and his sobs are broken and raw. Astarion holds onto you like Karlach does Clive. 

 He doesn’t remember when you hugged him back, but he is finally brought completely back after several moments of embracing each other. Your shoulder is drenched in tears and he is still shaking, but he is more aware now.

 Safe. It is safe here. 

 “I didn’t mean it,” he whispers.

“I know you didn’t.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I forgive you,” you say firmly, “I-I was upset and I know other people being displeased hasn’t been the best experience for you. I will try to communicate my frustrations and needs better next time.” 

“And I won’t do something as stupid as kiss Shadowheart again.”

“You are allowed to do whatever you please.”

“I know and I will actually tell her, ‘no’.”

 Your brows are furrowed, “what do you mean?”

“Gale made me realize that I am allowed to say no.”

 You blink a few times, a flash of guilt crosses your face, and then you press a quick kiss to his cheek- it’s your turn to wipe his tears away and you smile at him sadly.

“You are always allowed to say no and if someone has an issue with it, then they are going to have to answer to those fangs and my long sword.” 

 Your words are like music to his ears.

 He takes your bed roll from the ground, rolls his out as it should be and then covers it with yours. You both climb into the covers- your body heat is like an antidote to his poisoned mind. The fear continues to ebb away. 

 Astarion lays his head against your chest and you stroke his hair. He hums happily against your sweat sheened skin. Your tank top sticks to you, but the spots where he lays seem to be drying up a bit more. 

 He loves how fundamentally alive you are. Astarion has never been able to enjoy another person’s presence and cuddling is the only act that has never been ruined for him. He loves the ability to hear your heart thrumming through your chest and your blood in your veins. Every breath reminds him to breath and he seems to always follow your rhythm. His favorite is when you fall asleep.

 Your breathes are soft and slow- your heart is lazy and you are in a deep, deep sleep. You have a predator cuddling with you- one that you have given permission to drink from you at any point- and yet you sleep as sound as a babe. Your trust in him means more than words could ever say. 

 How many nights had he spent terrified and afraid in Cazador’s company? Or in the kennels? Sometimes even locked away in a crypt and once his own coffin!

 The night he would have a moment for a cuddle, he would lay against them or vice versa, but he knew their death was on the way and it felt wrong. It felt like he was lying to them and it bothered him more than he would ever openly admit to anyone- well, besides you maybe. 

 Now, he listens to the heartbeat of the ‘Hero’ in the grand scheme of things and he knows he will awaken to you tomorrow morning. You will have a smile on your face and lead this group to that Gods awful forge- bravery and confidence in your stance even though you are basically facing impossible odds. 

 And he trusts you. Astarion will be by your side with both of his daggers ready to strike at your word and he knows the same goes for you towards him. 

  For the first time in 200 years, Astarion lets himself believe that he may truly end up being free of Cazador. As long as you are by his side, anything is possible.

Taglist: Tag list: @preciouslittlebhaalbae @xxgrimripp3rxx @alice4wonderland2812 @therobishow @m1ster1e @tragicdruid @katsutoria @aristenfromwarsaw @avabjorna36 @frankie-mercury @golden-baby

[olderthannetfic]

Obvious Disclaimer that this is not about any specific anon in particular, not about OTNF themself, but that my following rant might *slightly* punch down on people who ARE, well, older than net fics are.

But my honest opinion is that I really don’t like it when us old heads tend to sorta…talk down to? “Adultsplain”, if that’s even a thing? To The Gen Zs, by being like “damn kids! back in my day we never used our real name or posted selfies or posted about our personal life at all!” Don’t get me wrong, I’m one of those people who never posted the real me — but not because I was anonymous and cared about online safety, because I was a liar 😂 That being said, there ARE older people who definitely over-shared or “doxxed” themselves and still do, and there’s younger people who don’t!

I also feel like being “ha, these stupid KIDS who post about their FANDOM LIFE on TIK TOCK under their REAL NAME AND FACE where IRLS CAN SEE THEM, how STUPID” is not doing anyone any favors. Is that, technically, a smart thing for kids to do? No. Has it become normalized? Yes. And does that suck for people who might be bullied or outed or whatever cuz they genuinely are dumb and don’t know better and then someone they don’t like sees their stuff? Yes.

We all talk about how there’s no more kids spaces on the internet and how that’s a shame, but then five seconds later we’ll reblog that one “At any time I’m at risk of seeing a 14 year olds opinion and that’s why I hate it here” post. There’s really so few kid spaces on the net now, that’s true. We should extend empathy and let the teens be obnoxious and pretentious in peace, rather than making it a point to “ratio” or “roast them.” Idk personally I’d be completely unbothered if some 14 year old insulted my fic or my ship or whatever. I’d just block and move on, no need to try to argue with them.

And also, not all kids are even pretentious or obnoxious! I’m not saying we all need to take the kids under our wings, but we should be careful about not hating them just for being in their teens years, you know?

Also… telling a teenager to not post PII or not get into discourse or not have social media or whatever will NOT work the way you want it to 😭 kids are by default a little bit oppositionally defiant so telling some rando teen to Get Off Your Lawn (blog) rather than just blocking them, will encourage said teen to Stay On Your Lawn.

I just hate how it’s become normal for adults to talk down to teens online. I was harassed by adults online as a kid, then years and years and years later i went through my own “Older Than You™️”phase where I myself was a shit to teenagers, and I truly regret that so much. To this day I still need to make an effort to be careful. I saw on Twitter where an adult posted a DM from a 13 year old, mocking them. The DM said “I’m 14 next year, can I follow you? Please don’t groom me.” And the adult OP was laughing at how stupid the dm was. A few years ago, I would’ve been one of the people retweeting that and rolling my eyes at the child. Now im disgusted by the people who WERE laughing at them.

And again I’m obviously not saying we should be “nice” to the teenagers who mock us for our ships or who virtue signal too hard. But we also don’t need to make fun of their CARRDS or call them Puri-teens or rag on them just for being 17 or younger, yk?

--

Teens aren't 'puriteens' just for being young, dude. They have to also be puritanical bullies.

I find the stuff about real names hilarious because, actually, if you're really Internet Old™, then you probably did use your real name... it was right there in your university e-mail address! Or your random early ISP address if your stepdad got it for you and thought the university format was the default. Thanks, stepdad.

I've done every single dumb thing from going to meet my internet pen pal at an Alice Cooper concert to flying to Ireland from Japan to stay with a fandom friend I'd never met without telling anyone where I was going and without a credit card or enough cash to flee if I had to. I remember sitting on the plane thinking "Man, this is such a CSI episode topic".

The really funny part was that despite what she'd said before I visited, we ran into each of her parents at different times and ended up going to a play courtesy of her uncle, and all of them were like "So how do you know each other?" and "But you'd met before, right? RIGHT?!"

The level of panopticon is horrifying now. Teens have my sympathy. That part really is worse, and I think it's driving an entire generation nuts and we're going to see even more shit about people wanting to run away and live in a cabin in the woods with no internet. But in general, I don't think we're so different.

[fortunatelyandrogynousheart]

Shadow Company Headcanons 4

-Phillip Graves does not tolerate bullies. Found out one of the Shadows was being bullied by a colleague and that colleague mysteriously resigned from Shadow Company.

-Graves is an avid Luke Brian fan. Gets drunk and starts dancing and singing along. Mostly to Country Girl (Shake It For Me.)

-Oddly good at mechanical bull riding. His hips barely budge. His record is a minute before he got bored and hopped off himself.

-Only drinks sparkling water and coffee. His Shadows don't know how he's alive and in such good shape.

-Takes good care of his skin, and encourages his Shadows to do the same. They need lotion? He has fourteen bottles for a reason. They need to relax and moisturize? He has a mask for that. Soft hands. No I will not explain.

-Wears a really woodsy, cowboy-esque cologne. I'm thinking pine or cedar mixed with a minty scent.

-Has the most rocking shower routine ever.

-Would probably enjoy forehead kisses. Will never admit it.

-Some of his Shadows hate it, but he blares country music whenever any foreign team comes to visit and feeds them burgers. Thinks it's hilarious to be aggressively American.

-Southern gentleman. Always holding doors, being polite (despite being the conniving little bastard he really is.)

-Makes fun of British people on TV. Tries to imitate them but ends up creating something that doesn't even sound like English.

-Favorite thing to do is to pretend like he straight-up is the Shadows father. Dropped one of his Shadows off at a volleyball game (it was for fun and old time's sake)

-Hates popcorn. No one knows why.

-Really likes expensive wines. Makes him feel fancy. And he thinks the bottles are pretty.

-Walks around in a shirt that's buttoned just a little too low on off days. Gets stares. Is very satisfied knowing he's still got it.

-Absolutely adores babies. You can't tell me he doesn't. He'll hold one of his Shadow's babies and be cooing at it all sweet.

"Hi there, darlin'... ain't you just the sweetest little thing?"

And his voice will get all soft if the baby falls asleep in his arms. Has babysat for his Shadows. Will do it again.

-One of the Shadows made Graves a godfather for their daughter and Graves went back to his room and cried.

-Sometimes, if it's a visit day, Graves will be swarmed with kids, ranging from just barely walking to college aged, greeting him with bright smiles and excited voices. They all grew up knowing who he was.

-Got extra cocky the day he spotted his first grey hair. "Damn, I look good even if I'm going silver." (He won't call them greys, uses silvers because he likes it better.)

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

I love, love, love when you guys add your thoughts under reblogs! It warms my heart to read them. Thank you for the love <33

[itsblasttothepast]

Random Checo Pérez Post

So, I've been a fan of Checo Pérez for years... since the beginning, actually. I'm mexican, I'm older than him (I'm in my 40's, if anyone was wondering) and I particularly follow mexicans in tough sports for our country (like my boy, Donovan Carrillo, killing it in ice skating).

It can be tiring seeing all the hate he gets for every little thing (without couting the racist/xenophobic comments), and I know he's controversial, but he's also human and makes mistakes. Anyway, that's no the point, as a Checo fan, I've been there seeing all the different teams and teammates, and honestly, I kind of want to go back when he was mostly ignored by the press and the media.

I hardly post anything personal in my blog, I mostly reblog and like posts of you awesome people, but now I'm in a ranty mood and want to share my my impressions of his career in F1.

Starting with Sauber, his very first team:

I call this: Baby Checo Era - Cursed Sauber Era

Look at him, he was so young, full of dreams and growing into those teeth. I think he was very lucky with his first teammate, the great Kamui Kobayashi (I secretly think this is why he's so fond of Yuki Tsunoda nowdays); he learned a lot with Kamui, Checo even admits that he knows about managing tires thanks to Kamui.

They seemed relaxed, and made a great team, and also we had Esteban Gutiérrez, another mexican, as the third driver for Sauber.

Anyway, this was his learning phase, and he was killing it, most of the press was nice/ambigous, some pilots on the paddock didn't like him, but we didn't care because Kamui was there, Esteban was there, and we as fans were there.

I called this 'cursed Sauber era' because it made us believe that life was good and we could be happy forever and ever.

Then it came the worst thing ever (actually, for me, the worst thing ever is Red Bull, but most Checo Fans don't agree on my take). My boy moves to McLaren because Ferrari was still thinking their options.

I call this the Lost Checo Era - Collective Amnesia Era

We thought the move to McLaren would put our Checo on the map, oh boy, we were SO WRONG. No points, no glory, no good car... not even good press. It was a hot mess.

Not even the suit was good, honestly.

His teammate was Jenson Button. He was polite, but we could see he didn't like Checo's driving style, and sometimes my boy made silly mistakes and tried to force his way into the laps rather aggressively (which most drivers did back then, but whatever).

Still, they were mostly nice to each other, but the team was shit back then, and Checo seemed lost and confused (and still wasn't growing into those teeth). When he changed teams, we as fans decided to forget all about McLaren and move on with him. Although I must say Checo has said that Jenson was one of his best teammates and learned a lot from him, so I guess their relation wasn't that bad.

Then it came Force India/Racing Point... oh, Force India, it was our time.

I call this the Hopeful Checo Era - Foce India Hope

Checo came and slayed, honestly. Everything seemed to click with that team, he looked comfortable, in his element, winning points again...

And he finally was growing into those teeth!!!

His first teammate here was Nico Hülkenberg, and they seemed to have a good relation, even friendly I might say.

It was an amazing time, as a fan, I can say I enjoyed all the races, even when he kept spinning out the track or hitting other drivers with his wheels. He and Nico were amazing, and had such a nice chemistry, it was a refreshing change and it made us nostalgic.

Then Nico moved to another team... and another Checo Era starts.

Nico Hülkenberg loggged out of Foce India, and Esteban Ocon logged in...

I call this the No Fucks Given Checo - Force India Breaking Point

We could see Esteban and Checo didn't like each other. It was obvious, and they tried so hard to show they could get along, with hilarious results like Esteban's tweet about Checo trying to kill him twice.

You could feel the tension even in pictures, honestly. As fans, we used to joke every race weekend, asking 'has Checo finally killed Esteban?'

Checo here was fearless and daring, and kept pushing everyone out of his way, including his teammate, which of course is a big no-no in F1... although Mercedes suffered the same with the whole Lewis/Nico thing (and RedBull to a lesser extent with Max/Daniel), but Force India was a mid-table team, so it wasn't a big deal (nobody cared, those were the good days).

I even remember when Massa complained about Checo's overtake on Lance, and my boy answered 'What are you? his father?'... I think even Kimi laughed at this, it was hilarious, and showed how many fucks he cared.

Unfortunately, Force India had a very questionable management (debatable, Vijay seemed like a nice person), and after stopping paying all the employees, Checo brought legal action against the team in hopes of looking for buyers capable of servicing the team's debts (this is why they like him so much on Aston Martin). This led to Force India to be bought by Lawrence Stroll, and rebranded as Racing Point.

I call this the Reborn Checo Era - Racing Point Pink Era

Honestly, I would fail as a mexican if I didn't put this picture, his first win in F1, we cried so much, starting at the last place, and winning, the fireworks, the tears... and the fact that he had been fired, and here he was, winning, showing everyone to never give up.

Anyway, Checo had a new teammate, Lance Stroll, and it even looked like we would get something similar to Nico, but then they fired him for Sebastian Vettel (no hate to Vettel, it was strategic, and we get it, but it felt like such a betrayal after what Checo did to save the team).

Still, my boy looked good in pink, and he and Lance got along, and gave us amazing moments. I even think that he improved his relation with Esteban Ocon because he was Lance's friend. It was nice.

But when he was fired of Racing Point, we as fans thought 'it's over... our boy is going to leave F1'. We even joked about funding our team so he could stay, it was bittersweet. He won, but he still lost.

Then it came the proposal of proposals... the big league (I wanted Checo to go to Mercedes and race with Lewis), Red Bull wanted him as second driver.

I personally didn't like it. Those teams are hardball, and the press is ruthless. But everyone was so happy for Checo, and I wanted to see him race, so I made peace with it.

And here we are now... I honestly don't know how to call this Checo Era. It has been a rollarcoaster since the beggining, and I wish he hadn't renew and moved to another team... but I'll stay here with him, like I've done since 2011, I just hope that the pressure and the harsh and unnecessary criticism doesn't end up breaking him.

Especially now that he looks so hot and finally has the Tom Cruise smile.

I actually like Max, I think he's a good person, and an even better driver. I think he and Checo have a good relation, friendly at times, frosty some others, but in the end, they reach a middle ground where they can be teammates and not enemies. I like them together, but I don't like Red Bull policies and the way the press seemed to want to make Checo feel like he's a failure just because he isn't Max.

Oh, and also, thanks to tumblr and FB, now I kind of ship RP, and I agree that Max and Checo have amazing chemistry, they look so good together! (but also deep down, I lowkey ship Lewis/Checo... and I still hope to see them together in a team).

So, if you made it this far, thank you very much for reading my weird ramblings. English is not my first language (again, mexican), so I apologize for the grammar mistakes.

I'm a Checo fan, and I'll be until he retires... I just wish that those who aren't, didn't create such a hostile and hateful enviroment.

I hope that when Pato O'ward joins F1, the enviroment is more welcoming and nice.

Checo aun tiene para luchar, y ni modo cabrones, así es la vida.

[scoops-aboy86]

I saw your wonderful reblog about sleepy fullness and I was wondering if you would consider this scenario.... Steve is so so stressed all the time he just walks around high strung and it freaks Eddie out and makes him sad but then he figures out Steve will chill out and sit the fuck down when he's full.... what's more is he'll even get a peaceful nap..... cue Eddie keeping Steve as fed as possible and the evidence becoming very obvious!!! thoughts?

Oh boy, I know this has been sitting in my inbox since May, but I have 11,007 words of thoughts for you!! Please enjoy Steve being both traumatized and supportive, platonic Stobin being weird, Jeff as Eddie's bisexual best friend, and demisexual Eddie's First Crush.

(Sleepy fullness post referenced above is here.)

Also on ao3.

~

The first time Eddie sits Steve down and makes him something to eat, it’s because Steve had jogged all the way over from Loch Nora. At half past midnight. In the freezing rain. And then was extremely cagey and reluctant to talk about why, until Eddie finally prodded him to admit he’d had a nightmare that Eddie had died again. 

“You could’ve called,” Eddie points out, nonplussed but trying not to sound like it, moving around the kitchen with a bowl and haphazardly dumping in ingredients from memory. “You could’ve come over in your car.”

Instead of responding Steve looks stubbornly away, which as far as Eddie’s concerned means he’d probably started running while still half asleep and just never stopped. It’s all very unexpected, because… they’re not really friends. They babysit the same group of gremlins so they see each other in passing quite a bit, and there have been a few get togethers at the Harrington house for the older kids in their exclusive little monster hunting club to which Eddie has been invited and even attended, but this is the first time they hang out one on one. 

Eddie makes him a whole stack of pancakes and a mug of hot chocolate, and Steve finishes all of it while looking increasingly exhausted. He finishes the last mouthful of pancakes with a dribble of syrup on his chin, washes it down with the last of his hot chocolate, and—

“Woah there, big boy,” Eddie says when Steve goes to stand up. “It’s late. I don’t want to drive right now and you’re swaying on your feet, so just bunk here for tonight. The couch is real comfy! No loose pokey springs like the last one, I promise.” Not that Steve had experienced that old thing before it was obliterated by an interdimensional rift, but still.

Steve sinks back down, looking like he wants to argue but ends up yawning instead. He looks so different in Eddie’s clothes, warm and dry after his impromptu run in the rain, and with his hair flat from towel drying. Softer, in a worn Iron Maiden shirt and black sweatpants, than he ever looks in the usual neat polos and painted on jeans. “Fine, but I’ll get up early. Be outta your hair before you know it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I'm fine with stuff in my hair, Harrington, thanks. Don’t leave if it’s still pissing rain, alright? I can give you a ride.”

All he gets is a grumble, but hey, he tried. Eddie grabs a pillow and stack of blankets from the linen closet (—a linen closet! In the trailer they hadn’t even had a second bedroom, but now the government’s gone and bought their silence with a two bed two bath house with a goddamn linen closet, it’s hilarious—) so he can set Steve up on the couch for the night. It’s almost cute the way Steve is out before he even hits the pillow. There’s still syrup on his face; Eddie wets a washcloth and takes care of that for him before he ends up sticking to things in his sleep. 

The next morning all the blankets are folded neatly and stacked with the pillow on top in the middle of the couch, but it’s not raining anymore so Eddie can’t say shit. 

~

After that, Eddie starts to notice that Steve is high strung pretty much all the time. There’s this not-quite-bruised look around his eyes that tells Eddie he doesn’t get a lot of sleep, and that’s no good.

Because, like. What if he nods off while driving the kids? 

Not that he thinks Steve is irresponsible or anything! What Eddie has come to realize since surviving Spring Break is that Steve cares a hell of a lot, and would never forgive himself for letting something like that happen—just like he can’t seem to forgive himself for Eddie’s near death experience for some reason. 

Which he obviously can’t, because a few weeks later it happens again, but in snow this time. 

They watch a movie that Eddie should have returned to Family Video days ago and Steve works his way through a stack and a half of pancakes and three hot chocolates. It softens that post-nightmare manic energy just like it did the last time, and Steve is actually still snoozing on the couch under his blankets when Eddie wakes up in the morning. 

Wayne takes the sudden addition to the breakfast table in stride; by the end of the meal he and Steve are slinging around sportsball facts that Eddie can’t even fathom. He catches himself smiling at it and has to school his expression back into something exhasperated and bored, because he has an image to maintain—but it's good to see Steve looking rested and enthusiastic about something. He deserves it, the goddamn unsung jock hero of the midwest.

That afternoon, Eddie swings by Family Video to return his late rental. Steve waives the late fee, with that same healthy color in his cheeks that he'd had getting into it with Wayne about something called a point guard, and invites him to his and Robin’s weekly movie night in practically the same breath. Casually, like it's nothing.

It's something alright. Now Eddie just… has to figure out what that something is.

~

Movie night is fun. They each pick something and rock-paper-scissors to decide what order to watch them in, and Eddie’s horror flick is last. Robin sleeps through it, because apparently her internal clock is set to a strict bedtime and she’s used to only watching two, but Steve carries her into one of the guest rooms and sits with Eddie through the third. 

It’s obviously not the guy’s favorite genre from the way he jolts at all the jump scares, even with Eddie trying to help by pointing out that the blood looks like ketchup and for half the special effects you can practically see the strings. At one point he actually grabs onto Eddie’s arm; Eddie lets him do it and Steve doesn’t let go until the credits start rolling. 

“Want pancakes?” Eddie offers casually, because, like. He feels kind of bad. Why didn’t Steve just ask to turn it off?

Oh, right. That self-sacrificial streak. 

“Sure, if you want,” Steve says, trying to sound just as casual. 

Right. And pride. Sometimes Eddie forgets that other people have that. 

He himself is shameless in asking Steve where to find things in the unfamiliar kitchen, insisting multiple times for Steve to stay where he’s settled at the breakfast bar. “I’m still making up for all the time I spent stuck in a hospital bed, man, just relax.”

“Not good at that,” Steve mumbles, but reluctantly stays put. It's okay now, under the pretence that he's doing Eddie a favor by letting him bounce around the room like a rubber ball.

The pancakes aren’t better that usual just because the Harrington kitchen is stocked with name brand products, but the fresh fruit he cooks down into a homemade compote is a big hit. 

~

They've had each other's numbers for a while now, but Eddie is surprised when Steve actually uses it. Luckily he's still awake, more of a night owl by default. He does know that Steve has an early shift tomorrow and probably went to bed early though.

"Bad night, big boy?"

"No," Steve says in a tone that screams yes.

Eddie hums in acknowledgement. "Want me to come over?"

"If you want."

"I'll make pancakes," he offers lightly.

"… Yes please."

“So polite.” Eddie chuckles. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Which he is, and promptly makes the promised pancakes. There's not as much fruit laying around this time, but he works with what he can find: a bag of M&Ms dumped into the batter and sliced bananas on top, drizzled over with smooth peanut butter blended with lots of maple syrup, the real stuff. He doesn't even have much of it himself, just sits and watches Steve eat with a funny feeling growing in his chest.

Because Steve had a nightmare and called him. Eddie would've bet money on Steve calling Robin, if given the choice—anxious feet carrying him straight to Eddie's trailer on more than one occasion notwithstanding. But no, his presence here seems like a lucid decision. Steve seemed tense when he first arrived, but something about each warm and sticky bite seems to loosen him up a little more, and a little more, and…

"Is there more?" Steve asks, and Eddie immediately jumps up to get the last quarter of batter into the pan. He'd doubled the recipe tonight, because Steve can't seem to get enough when he makes these.

There's that funny feeling again.

When all the pancakes are gone, instead of letting Eddie clean up Steve takes him by the wrist and leads him upstairs with a yawn. "Just stay here tonight, man. It's late."

To Eddie's shock, he's not led to a guest room but to Steve's bedroom in all its blue plaid glory. Steve looks half asleep, already comfy in his own pajama pants and worn-thin Hawkins Swim shirt, but he gets Eddie something similar to wear before crawling into bed, pointedly only taking up one side.

So, yeah, Eddie shucks his jeans and other layers to put the sleep clothes on, because what else is he supposed to do? Not take the offered hospitality? Give himself space to actually process the reality of butterflies susserating in his stomach all of the sudden?

Hell no.

Eddie crawls in and lays on his side, facing towards the open rest of the room rather than towards his friend, and settles in for a long wind-down of staring at shadowed plaid until he can relax enough to doze off.

~

It doesn't feel like he falls asleep, but he wakes up with Steve pressed against his back, which, okay.

Okay.

Eddie has known he's gay since he was six and devastated that none of the other boys wanted to hold his hand in the playground at school anymore. He has some raunchy zines and a Playgirl he picked up in Indy wedged behind his dresser. He's had about a million fantasies, albeit more about vibes than specific acts with any specific guys, and read some things in BDSM mags that sound enticing, thus the flagging in rural Indiana—safe enough because no one around here knows what it fucking means.

And he's made out with guys, a couple handful of times on a handful of trips out of town. It's a lot of fun and something he's gotten eagerly lost in in dark corners, but it's never progressed beyond that and somehow it's never felt anywhere near as thrilling as this.

This is a hyper-awareness of everywhere Steve is touching him. His side, part of his arm, his entire back, even the back of his neck where he can feel Steve's breath on each exhale. He can smell Steve's shampoo and a sweat-tinged, kind of vanilla-y scent that might be his skin. (Ormaybe just his body wash, Eddie doesn't know. He doesn't make a habit of smellingpeople.) And Steve is holding him and it's warm in a way that feels goddamn transcendent and electrifying, and Eddie is well on his way to half hard in his borrowed pajama pants and it's all just… very strong, and very Steve specific.

Eddie doesn't know what to do besides metaphorically cup the glow-speck of this feeling between his palms and observe, entranced, as it swirls and feeds into itself and grows.

He can't help himself; the urge is magnetic. As carefully as he can, he eases onto his back and looks at the other boy's sleeping face.

And wow. See, Eddie's never quite had a crush before—never understood the mindless obsession of his friend crushing on girls they barely even knew all through high school. Unable to focus on much beyond the single topic when they got going, whereas his own head is always buzzing with at least three things at any given time: DnD, music, and whatever book he's currently reading will always be a safe bet.

But, suddenly, he gets it. Steve looks angelic, his face relaxed in sleep and smushed against the pillow they're sharing, his hair an adorable mussed up halo. He could write songs, base countless NPCs on that soft countenance. Stare at him like a book he wants to read every word of over and over. All those things that usually spin around in Eddie's brain still there, just… shifted two inches to the left to make more space for whatever this is.

Oh god. He has a crush.

That's the funny feeling! That's why he's made more pancakes since the world almost ended last spring than he had the entire first nineteen years of his life!

Someone should have spotted it and just told him, because Eddie is suffering from this revelation. All those times he'd flirted with Steve without even registering he was doing it yet, Jesus H. Christ! Now that he's in Steve's bed, surrounded by him, held by him, the truth of the matter is inescapable.

And then the alarm on the bedside table goes off, nearly causing him to shit his borrowed sweatpants.

Steve's eyes don't even open at first, he just sort of lunges across Eddie to thump it into silence. The instant in which they're pressed together chest to chest also nearly makes Eddie shit himself, for a completely different reason—what if Steve notices his morning wood?

Also, Steve's cheek is right there, he could kiss it if he dared.

He doesn't. The moment passes and Steve flops back down at his side with a sleepy grumble, then his eyes flutter open and goddamn those lashes are long. Eddie gets a flash of a dopey little grin, and it feels like being plugged into an electrical socket. "Hey," Steve says, then yawns and smacks his lips. "Morning."

"Yep," Eddie whispers back. He's still in shock, trying to process everything, but at least Steve doesn't seem to have noticed anything amiss. "Sure is."

Hazel eyes drifting half closed but the rest of him unmoving and still holding Eddie as he murmurs, "Robin's coming over, 'cause we have to get to work. I'd say you should make us all pancakes for breakfast because they're so good, but you just made them last night…" A hint of color is rising in Steve's beauty-marked cheeks. "And I kinda… don't want to share them? Can that just be our thing, is that—" He bites his lip. "No, that's weird to ask, sorry. Never mind. There's cereal—"

"You know," Eddie blurts, "I can make more than just pancakes."

Steve's eyes open all the way again, and he smiles. At Eddie. Oh damn, the butterflies are having a field day with this. "Yeah?"

Eddie nods back with his breath caught in his throat. How is he going to survive this crush when it already feels like he's about to explode from just a smile, just two minutes after realizing? "Yeah, sure. Uh, how do you feel about French toast?"

~

"We need to make Eddie cook more," Robin announces. Just to Steve apparently, because Eddie is sitting on her other side and she's angled away from him. Her stack of French toast started almost as tall as Steve's, but it's disappearing faster. "Did you know about this? You did, didn't you! I saw the dirty dishes in the sink before Eddie even started, you slut."

"Rob," Steve complains.

"Ste!" Robin snarks back.

Strangely, Steve otherwise puts up zero fight against being called a slut in connection with Eddie. Who is currently gripping his own thigh under the table so hard he might lose circulation in something, trying to get his body to focus on that instead of on blushing.

A socked foot nudges his bare one. It's almost definitely Steve's. Probably an accident. What happens when Steve wakes all the way up and realize how gay all of this is?

Robin takes another bite and says through a full mouth, "Hey, I'm not judging. I wanna get with girls, you wanna get Eddie's skills all to yourself. Different strokes for different folks."

"Strokes? Is that really the word you want to use right now?" Steve asks, raising one eyebrow and flashing a dorky litte gotcha smirk. God, Eddie is going to—

Wait just a fucking minute.

He tears his gaze away from where it's been glued to Steve and realizes that Robin is staring at him, head tilted to one side like she's waiting. Because… she just came out to him. Just to Eddie apparently, because now she's angled away from Steve, who… who already knows.

"Holy shit," Eddie breathes, glancing back and fourth between them as it all clicks. "So that's what the platonic soulmate thing means."

"Yep," Robin agrees, popping the P.

"Well, that's." Eddie's thoughts are a hurricane, blowing a billion miles an hour. Robin's a lesbian and Steve knows and is cool with it, probably has been for a long time considering how close they'd already been when Eddie first met them properly. And Steve didn't seem weirded out to wake up with his arms around another man, asking if the pancakes could just be theirs, and.

Holy shit.

They're both watching him now, Robin still poker faced but Steve seemingly perfectly at ease, just kind of smiling at both of them like he's glad his two friends are getting along. Eddie shoots him a wide-eyed look and Steve has the nerve to just nod back, reassuring and encouraging.

Beautiful bastard. The utterly, utterly gorgeous asshole pretty man. This is an attempt on Eddie's life.

"I-I'm gay," Eddie blurts out, and for fuck's sake. "The, uh, the rumors scrawled on the bathroom walls are true, lady and gentleman. I'm cool with, with the lesbian thing, you can take my fair share of getting to see boobies and I'll happily accept yours of getting to see…" He trails off, desperately not looking across the breakfast table at Steve.

"Chest hair?" Robin suggests, just as Steve steps in boldly with "Weiners!" and starts cackling. "Ew, Steve, no!"

"Peepees?" Steve offers between laughs as he cuts more bites from his stack of french toast. It's infectious; Eddie, practically vibrating with addrenaline, is starting to chuckle in spite of himself. "Dingdongs? Meat?"

"Stop it, stop! I'm literally trying to eat breakfast right now!"

Eddie, now laughing so hard he has to gasp out the words, contributes, "Next time I-I'll make breakfast sausages!"

Steve beams at him and holds up his hand to high five, and Eddie is helpless not to give it to him.

~

Eddie is freaking the fuck out. So he does what he does best when his brain is spinning out: after waving the wonder twins off to work and leaving Steve's house, he clamps a lit joint between his lips and speeds directly to Jeff's, despite the early hour. Years of practice make scaling the drainpipe to his best friend's room easy; the reason Eddie failed gym class so many times was really because he refused to wear the damn shorts.

He taps on the window but makes no attempt to crawl inside, seeing as how if he stops smoking he'll probably explode.

As soon as the window opens and Jeff's head pops out with a distinctly explain yourself, dipshit look, Eddie blurts out, "I've got my first crush and it's on the straightest yet somehow most gay-affirming dude Hawkins has ever produced."

"… Huh," Jeff says, and climbs out the window. Plopping next to Eddie on the roof, he snags the joint briefly to take a hit and rolls his eyes when Eddie snatches it right back. "First crush ever? You know, that explains a lot about you, actually."

"Oh fuck off."

Jeff flips him off with a laugh. They've known about each other since Eddie was in fifth grade and Jeff in third; after doing spit-shake swears to always keep each other's secrets on pain of death, Jeff had whispered that, sometimes, he liked both girls and boys, and that his cousin in California had told him it was a real thing. Eddie had just been releaved he could admit to liking boys without getting punched.

"Okay," Jeff asks, "so who is this Mr. Affirming of yours?"

"… I almost don't want to tell you, man. You have every right to give me so much shit about this." Eddie lays back flat on the slope of the roof. It's uncomfortable. And kind of cold. The polar opposite of waking up in bed with Steve less than an hour ago. "It's Steve Harrington."

"Wait, really?" The laugh in Jeff's voice isn't technically there, but obvious all the same. "King of the jocks, house party keg king, super popular and icon of everything you hold conformist and profane, Steve The Hair Harrington?!"

"I will slide right off this roof," Eddie threatens flatly, and sets himself to sucking the rest of the smoke out of his joint.

Jeff snorts. "You probably should. Remember that thing with Doug and the cheerleaders?"

"That was different," Eddie groans. "That was wanting all of us to go to a fucking pep rally to watch cheerleaders put on socially condoned mating displays in short skirts." He gestures emphatically at the sky with the still cherry joint. "Now, clearly, I am the wrong audience for such a performance, and I wasn't at liberty to explain that at the time so that may have been an aggravating factor, but—"

"Dude." Snagging the nearly done joint back again, Jeff takes the final hit to kill it, stubbing it on the bottom of his shoe. "You don't have to do the soapbox thing. I know Harrington got you to the hospital after the earthquake, and Henderson's never been able to shut up about what a good guy he is now. Hell, I sorted donated stuff in the gym with him after all that shit went down, he's nothing like Jason and those guys."

Eddie scrubs both hands over his face, because that just reminds him that Gareth is probably going to be a harder sell. "Yeah, he's… he's really not."

And then sighs and tells Jeff everything.

Well… not everything. Not any of the stuff that Eddie's pretty sure would get the Feds crawling out of the woodwork, or about Robin being into girls. But he explains how Steve has crept steadily into his life. About how they'd shared a bed and the way they'd woken up together, and how pancakes are their thing.

Jeff listens, then takes a moment to stare off over his backyard. "So… he cuddled you."

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that. Yeah."

"And he's super accepting about the gay thing?"

"I'm pretty sure he was spiritually giving me a thumbs up the entire time I was coming out to him," Eddie admits. He can't help the probably goofy little smile on his face, so he draws a handful of hair across his mouth in an attempt to hide it. "Such a fucking dork."

"And during all of that, it never occurred to you to question his presumed straightness?"

Eddie blinks. "I… no?"

"Dude, he cuddled you, why the hell not?"

And the real reason is, it just… hadn’t occurred to Eddie that he might have a shot. All odds against anyone ending up with their first ever real crush aside, good things just don't happen to Eddie Munson.

But he says, "Uh, because he went out with like, most of the female population of our school?"

Jeff smirks and pats his shoulder. "Uh, I think you're forgetting about bisexuality? Which is kinda dumb considering who you're talking to."

In the end, Eddie doesn't feel high enough to stop freaking out entirely, but talking to his best friend has grounded him a little. Enough to drive home and put on loud music and luxuriate in the giddy memory of Steve's body pressing into his. Sure, it had happened stretching to turn off the damn alarm clock, but Eddie has always had a good imagination.

And if some of this imagining has Steve shirtless or, even more indulgent, Eddie's own very personal battle vest, it's to be expected. He's already seen both for real.

~

Now that he's paying attention, Eddie starts to realize just how much time he spends watching Steve. It's like his eyes are a compass needle and Steve is true north. Every time they're up late for midnight pancakes Eddie watches him dig in, sometimes sampling a few himself and sometimes simply resting his chin in his palm while he watches. Steve is too preoccupied with eating to comment, or more likely even notice.

And Eddie begins to notice some changes. Like the way Steve's jaw isn't such a strong line anymore, and how he asks for seconds more often than not, sometimes even thirds. Not just of 'their' pancakes, but at any meal. He's starting to fill out his clothes more—which, in Eddie opinion, makes his ass even more hypnotic. But that is by no means limited to just his ass.

Steve is… softer, now. All over. It happened slowly, but it's there; the bottom of his belly juts ever so slightly over the top of his waistband no matter what he's wearing, even when he hasn't eaten recently. And when he has, Eddie can't stop staring. It's a problem. He's going to get caught ogling his straight friend, by his straight friend—or, worse, by his straight friend's platonic lesbian soulmate, who seems like the type to roast him until the end of time over it.

But for fuck's sake, the way Steve looks when he's had his fill should be illegal. He sits back, eyes already heavy-lidded with impending sleep—Steve is so much more well-rested these days, and Eddie can't help but feel a tickle of pride at that, because hasn't he helped? Not Robin or Dustin or any of the other people who have known Steve longer, but him. It's his food that help Steve sleep through the night without bad dreams. Steve seems to know it too, sometimes inhaling his pancakes so eagerly that he ends up catching hiccups, drowsy little things that melt Eddie's heart to hear. A barely audible little groan as Steve lays a hand gently over his full stomach, sounding utterly content as he says, "That was great Eds, thanks. Gonna call it a night, you ready?"

Eddie always agrees easily; the dirty dishes can wait in the sink until the morning. He offers his hand and Steve always takes it for the help up now. They head to bed with Steve increasingly holding a palm to his tummy as though cradling it, and Steve gets all pouty if Eddie tries to leave. So they keep sharing again and waking up cuddled together.

Neither of them directly acknowledge any of it, Eddie because he's terrified that it might not mean anything at all or that calling attention to it will bring everything crashing to a hault.

~

Ironically, Eddie has started having trouble sleeping alone lately. Either he stays awake missing Steve, worrying about all these things, trying to tell himself that it's nothing and he should be fine without… or he jerks off to thoughts of Steve's sleepy, sated smile, imagining what he'd look like in his vest now with that rounded swell of full belly, licking traces of sticky syrup from his skin with happy little moans. Another thing he should be fine without, because Steve is a friend and he's kind of ruining himself for looking at the man in any platonic kind of way, but it keeps happening. Sometimes more than once before he manages to drift off to sleep—all the uncontrollable horniness he'd managed to skip out on as an actual teenager finally rearing its ugly head, or something. He keeps telling himself he'll stop, that he'll be good and respectful and everything, but he has the approximate self control of Steve around his pancakes and that somehow makes it even hotter.

Anyway. Now Eddie is the tired one.

It's only a matter of time until Steve notices and nonchalantly says, when they're hanging out at the Harrington house on afternoon, "Hey, Eds? I'm kind of hungry. Think you could whip up a snack for us?"

It's the us that gets him. Like they're a unit, not Steve and Eddie but SteveandEddie. Eddie is helpless but to agree, and finds himself in the kitchen with several cans of tomato soup heating on the stovetop and a pan sizzling against the buttered outsides of a series of grilled cheese sandwiches next to it, Steve watching from his seat at the kitchen island. Not so much a snack as a second lunch, but he knows what Steve's capacity is like, knows he has room. Eddie does second guess that a little bit once the soup is ladeled into bowls and all of the sandwiches are sliced in half and stacked up on a plate, but the other man's eyes light up when he catches sight of everything.

Eddie has one grilled cheese sandwich with one bowl of soup, and Steve has the rest.

"That was really good," Steve says, not for the first time, as he sits back in his chair. "I think—" He breaks off abruptly to stifle an overfull burp, and there he goes stroking gently over his belly where it's pulling his polo tight, Jesus H. Christ. "Oops, heh. Sorry."

"No problem," Eddie replies in a miraculously level voice. He nearly melts from the smile Steve favors him with at the reassurance, while also feeling like he could run a three minute mile. (For the record, his personal best in Gym was more like. Thirteen.)

Is this always what having a crush feels like? Because it's the worst. Just making Steve happy makes his insides feel like they're crawling all over the place, doing fucking jumping jacks.

They're just friends. This level of investment in something as simple as Steve liking his food (which isn't even new, at this point!) is stupid and can only lead to heartbreak, because no matter what Jeff thinks, Steve is straight.

If he weren't, he would have said something when Robin and Eddie had come out to each other right in front of him.

"I think I could use a nap," Steve continues, as though nothing remarkable is happening—because of course, for him, it isn't. "Come with me to the couch?"

It… must be some sort of jock thing. They shower together in the locker room or slap each other's asses after a good same, maybe sometimes they nap together too? In piles, like puppies. That's the story Eddie tries to focus on as he trails Steve into the living room instead of his racing heartbeat.

"I'll take the inside," Steve volunteers, already plopping down with a yawn and tugging at the blanket he keeps folded over the back of the couch for occasions like this. It's a safe enough bet; they'd found out the hard way that if waking from a nightmare, Eddie doesn't react well to feeling like his entire body is trapped.

Steve lays down but doesn't quite get the blanket covering his feet. Eddie fixes it for him with a half terrified, half besotted, "Sure, Stevie." Then he follows Steve's lead, stretched out stiff as a board on the edge of the couch until an arm drapes gently over his chest and pulls him gently into Steve's soft front with a deep, settling sigh.

If Eddie ever gets lost in a blizzard, he'll be fine; all he'll need to do is remember this moment and it'll thaw the entire goddamn storm. Steve's belly is soft and warm against his lower back, arm firmly holding him from falling off the couch—he's not super close to the edge anymore but it's a good thing the Harringtons have weirdly deep furniture. Must be to accommodate all the extra throw pillows that rich suburbanites seem to favor.

"What about you?" he mumbles when he feels Steve settle again without grabbing a pillow for himself.

But Steve is already snoring gently against the back of his neck, sharing a pillow between the two of them and. And. And.

Eddie eventually drifts off while thinking way too hard about having this closeness in the middle of the goddamn day, just because. Un-fucking-precidented.

~

Eddie's been thinking, more than he wants to honestly, about exactly how this crush got started. How he'd started to feel something after that second time Steve had come to him after a nightmare, but, if he really boils that feeling down to the bare essentials… it had been there that first night, right off the bat.

He thinks it started with wiping syrup of Steve's sleeping, stupidly handsome face. Something about being close enough to touch, combined with Steve only being there in the first place because a nightmare had sparked a visceral, logic-overriding panic for his life. Him, Eddie The Freak Munson! That, and the trust Steve had shown in letting himself be cared for and tucked in, falling asleep on an unfamiliar couch without much resistance.

It's something that, had the tables been turned, Eddie would have chafed against. Not because of Steve, but because he's always been a terrible patient—Wayne and most of the staff on the third floor of Hawkins Memorial can attest to that. Something about all the thoughtful little things that he doesn't know how to say thank you for, adding up into one big insurmountable, overwhelming thing that he can't possibly deserve or repay.

So it means something, to Eddie. Even if Robin has told him since that she once watched Steve fall asleep sitting in front of the store computer on a slow day at Family Video. It still means something.

And it means something, too, when Eddie surprises them during a long shift with a homemade meal and Steve's immediate response is to lean over the counter and pull him into a hug.

"You're a lifesaver, man," Steve huffs into his shoulder, near his neck, and suddenly Eddie is tingly all over like he's been plugged into an electrical socket. Thank god he's not wearing his tight jeans today.

"Uh, yeah," he says in a totally normal voice (it's not, it's just a shade too high and he thinks Robin notices, shit). Swallowing hard, he remembers just in time to return the embrace, minus the one arm still laden with a tote bag full of food. "Takes one to know one, I guess."

Robin definitely notices the blush on his face when Steve lets him go, but luckily Steve is preoccupied with taking the bag and peering inside at the stacked Tupperware.

"Holy shit, is that chicken and waffles?!"

"What's the occasion?" Robin asks lightly, tipping her head to one side and studying Eddie like a bug under a magnifying glass—not in an unfriendly way, but he gets it. Steve is her straight best friend, and Eddie crushing on him could mess with the group dynamic not just between the three of them, but in the party at large. If anything comes to a head and Eddie has to go on the lam out of sheer humiliation and with baby's first heartbreak, how are Dustin and the kids going to take it? Poorly, that's how. At best. And Steve is a good guy, he'd probably feel bad about having to let Eddie down gently and then be in a guilty funk about it for a while after. Eddie has spent an uncomfortable amount of time thinking about all that too, okay? He knows.

He might have to talk to her privately later. Ask how to be more like her and resist the charms of Steve The Hair Harrington. Help me, Lesbian Kenobi, you're my only hope.

"No occasion," Eddie relies, meeting her gaze nervously only for her to roll her eyes at the transparent evasion. "I had some free time and the itch to cook. Still trying to figure out how to get the chicken as crispy as Wayne manages it—"

"S'plenty cripsy," Steve announces, mouth already full. "Mm, juicy too… Really good, Eds."

It's practically a moan, zinging through Eddie so powerfully his knees almost give out. Jesus H. Christ.

"The taste tester has spoken," Robin says, attention finally diverted. Then she reaches for some too. "Don't hog it all, Steve, gimme some." Steve hands her the Tupperware with one hand and a whole waffle wrapped around more chicken in the other, and she grimaces. "It's already sticky! How did you do that so fast?"

"Talent," Steve shoots immediately back.

"Wet wipes and napkins are in the bag," Eddie volunteers weakly. He knows that Robin hates sticky, a holdover from their Scoops Ahoy days, but Steve at least doesn't mind getting a little—

No, nope, not thinking about that right now. He's already going to have to do an about facr before moving away from the counter, otherwise he's going to get himsef in real trouble here.

"What else is—Oh, tapes." Steve holds up Eddie's returns, wiggling them in the air. "Do I need to work my employee magic on these?"

"Nope, they're not overdue for once." Despite his nerves, a grin pulls at Eddie's lips and the scar on his cheek. And Steve grins back, heedless of the mouthful chimpunked into one cheek as he does it, what little tension was still in his shoulders from a long day of retail since Eddie had entered the store loosening up even more.

It doesn't matter if it's because of Eddie or the food, because it's Eddie's food. And Eddie loves seeing how the latter is having an effect on Steve, softening his anxiety and his edges, both physical and the ones the Upside Down had carved into him. Steve's happy hum before complimenting his cooking prowess, the way Eddie had sunk into him during that brief hug… and that plump little curve that seems to be pushing out over Steve's belt more by the day. All of it is making Eddie's mouth water.

"I'll, uh, give you two a moment with that—" he nods hastily towards the bag, which still contains scalloped potatoes, a roasted vegetable medley, and fresh baked cookies "—and pick up some new stuff. Movie night tomorrow, gotta make sure I bring something good!"

With that, Eddie spins in place and marches off to the horror section. Doesn't get the update that Robin can't come, some family dinner that she couldn't weasel out of, until he comes back to check out. Which is just as well, because Steve of course says he's welcome to come over anyway, any time, in the afternoon even to spend some time by the pool—and if Eddie'd had to think about that much one on one time while trying to keep a lid on his rapidly worsening crush, he might have blown a fuse right there in the Family Video aisle.

As it is, he gets to save that for when he's back in his van, white-knuckling the steering wheel and screeching out of the parking lot headed for Jeff's again.

~

The next day, Eddie pulls into the Harrington driveway and idles there with his music blaring for a confidence boost. But even Slayer playing as loud as his poor old van can manage isn't enough to drown out his nerves for long, so eventually he makes the mistake of looking up from headbanging.

Steve is already standing in the front doorway, of course. Hands propped on his plush hips with his head tipped like a golden retriever to better hear the music with his better ear, an amused grin on his face. All of Eddie's nerves rise back up and knot hard in his throat but he can't exactly throw it in reverse now, so he turns the van off and tumbles out in the sudden, ringing silence.

"You've got to just talk to him, man," Jeff had told him yesterday. "You nap together, you cuddle, you have… mini cooking dates… Now he's inviting you over to hang out alone in his pool. It's gotta mean something, but even if it doesn't you need to know before you go any more crazy than you already are."

And considering at the time that Eddie had just pointed out a third cloud that reminded him of Steve's hair, he'd been forced to concede that, yeah, Jeff probably had a point. Walking up the driveway now, the fact that Steve's shirt is tucked into his shorts and his belly, hugged by the material, and still pours slightly over his waistband… Well, Eddie is sweating a little. He wants to touch that soft bulge, run his nails over the taut fabric, maybe tug the shirt out of the way and drop to his knees to bite it. How his virgin, first-crush horny brain just frog lept over kissing straight to biting he's not quite sure, but it's making his teeth ache, that's how sweet his self-sabotaging imagination pictures Steve would be if he did it.

Instead of answering, Steve turns to lead him inside with an eager wave, and Jesus H. Christ the way he fills out those shorts. They’ve become just a little too small on him, leaving the bottom of his round, luscious butt just visible with every bouncy step.

But he's just wearing them because they're comfortable, right? Steve isn't, like, doing this intentionally.

"You hungry?" Steve asks, and Eddie forces himself to snap out of it enough to shrug in response. "I might get some stuff, if you want to head outside. Grab you a towel, too?"

"Yeah, yes, good. Sounds like a plan, my liege," Eddie gabbles back. (He has a hold on his tone, but not his words. Clearly. Ugh.) "I'll just—" and holds up the plastic bag in his hand, bulky tape cases visible through the thin plastic and printed Family Video logo "—drop these off in the living room on my way, shall I?"

"You shall, Sir Eddie," Steve teases back, eyes twinkling. They've ended up in the kitchen while Eddie wasn't paying attention, like a reflex—seems like they're always in here together, these days. Here, or in the kitchen at the Munson's place. Occasionally the Buckley's kitchen, even. Steve is at the pantry, pulling out bags of chips and pretzels and an extra six-pack of Coke to swap with what's already chilled in the fridge. "See you there."

Eddie salutes and loops back out of the room, ignoring the ridiculous pang of jealousy at the prospect of Steve filling up on storebought crap instead of his food. He dumps the tapes on the Harrington's fashionable coffee table and heads out the back sliding door, shedding his shoes and shirt as he goes and not stopping until he walks off the pool edge and straight into the deep end. The water closes over his head and, unbidden, he remembers the first time Steve saw him enter the pool like this, back when the weather first turned warm enough, and immediately dove in to the rescue. You can take the lifeguard whistle off the paladin, but…

His head breaks the water ungracefully with a face full of wet curls, and Steve is just coming out with his collection of snacks and soda. Very quickly, Eddie ducks back under and makes a second, more sucessful try.

"Towel for you's right there," Steve calls helpfully, pointing to the neatly folded pile of fluffy white cotton on the lounger right next to his.

"Thanks, man. Are you coming in?"

Steve shakes his head as he stacks his food and drinks on a small poolside table. "Not yet. I had a big lunch, gotta digest it some before I can swim." And then he stretches, the hem of his t-shirt lifting and pulling free to reveal the lower curve of his belly, hairy and tan. The summer has clearly been good to him, Eddie thinks, sinking down so his blush is below the waterline for as long as he can hold his breath. Luckily, though, Steve doesn't notice because he's too busy shedding first his shirt, then his shorts to reveal—

Eddie pops back up, he can't help himself. His stomach is swooping like he's on a wild carnival ride. "Is that your old swim team speedo?!"

"Hmm?" Steve looks up at him, hands on his hips where they overflow over the stretched-tight material. The tiny swimsuit is Hawkins High green with vertical yellow stripes down the sides and, if he remembers correctly, HAWKINS printed across the ass in white. They leave nothing to the imagination. "Oh, yeah. They're a little tight, but I couldn't find my other ones."

"Right, okay. Looks good," Eddie says faintly, unable to pull his eyes away. Forget about biting Steve's tummy, right now he wants to start with those gorgeously meaty thighs that squish against each other a bit just standing there. He wants to climb out of this pool on his knees for just the chance.

Is this what people mean when they say someone looks sexy as opposed to just objectively attractive? Because goddamn. It's the difference between shades of gray and technicolor. He puts a little more effort into treading water so the ripples will further disguise the way the front of his swim trunks are starting to tent. Just from looking, Jesus H. Christ.

He knows Steve has multiple other swimsuits, though. They've been steadily rotated in the exact same order through an entire summer of pool parties held whenever the gremlins demanded one, because Steve is a pushover, and not once has he defaulted to these ones.

… So, wait. Does it mean something?

Steve spreads his own towel over the lounger and settles himself over it, the plastic straps that make up the surface of the chair creaking just loud enough for Eddie to hear. So much sumptuous body hair and golden skin on display, mottled here and there by old scars and burgeoning stretch marks. He cracks open a can of Coke and reaches for a bag of potato chips, resplendent in the sun and already looking a little drowsy just from the heat—the big lunch thing might be true, but if that were all it was Steve wouldn't be eating more right now.

Okay. Okay, Eddie has to do something about this. Jeff is right. And anyway, if he keeps staring like this, while Steve looks like that, the half chub he's sporting right now is going to go full boner and he'll have to stay in this pool until it transforms his entire body into a prune. Which, since prunes don't have limbs, means he would then fall to the bottom of the pool and drown with the sight of Steve's delicious body burned into his brain.

There are worse ways to go out, but.

He waits until the chips have Steve's full attention before scampering out of the pool and all but throwing himself under the provided towel for camoflauge. "Um… Hey."

Steve looks at him questioningly, chews, and swallows. "Hi." There are chip crumbs on his lip.

"Question," Eddie starts, then immediately stalls. He stares into those beautiful hazel eyes and his stomach is swooping again. All he wants in this moment is this sweet, loyal man with his stupidly pretty hair and knee-melting smile to be happy and full, humming in contentment and ready to be tucked in to sleep off everything he's eaten.

Blinking, Steve sits up a bit. His lounger creaks with the movement and his free hand settles against the side of his belly, idly scratching—another move that has Eddie wanting to swoon, just eyeing the dips of finger tips pressing into the yielding give of it. "Yeah?"

And he sounds… curious? There's something humming in the air suddenly, like right before a lightening storm, and Eddie doesn't think he's imagining it. Steve might even be leaning in a little, it's hard to tell from this angle.

Eddie fidgets with his towel. The nerves are, thankfully, starting to deflate the tent in his swim trunks, at least, so it doesn't need to be as bunched up as a minute ago. This is it; the big battle of the final campaign session. He chews at the inside of his cheek and thinks very, very hard about what he wants to say next.

And decides that he just has to ask what's in his heart.

"Do you," Eddie starts, and coughs. Adds for clarity, "Uh, Steve Harrington."

Steve quirks his eyebrows in a silent but amused, That's my name, don't wear it out. Eddie knows that's what it means, and wonders with a riot of demobat-sized butterflies since when had they reached SteveandRobin levels of wordless understanding.

"Do you… want me to make you some pancakes?" he asks breathlessly, bolstered by a hope that Steve will know that he means more than just their pancakes, that he means them. That maybe Steve is trying to show him that he wants this the same way Eddie—

"Yes," Steve replies instantly. He sits all the way up and turns to plant his feet in the narrow space between their loungers. The bag of chips lands on the end of the chair his legs just vacated and nearly falls to the ground, all but forgotten despite his previous focus on them. The smile on his face is as blindingly bright as a kid on Christmas morning. "Yeah, Eds, I really want that."

Now Eddie is leaning in, hoping he's not reading this wrong, hoping it's not too noticeable just in case. "To, um, to be clear, do you mean—"

Steve interupts him by gently taking both of Eddie's hands in his, wide palms dwarfing Eddie's calloused, bony musician's ones. And then, just as carefully, shifts to holding his wrists and guides them—and Eddie has to swing his legs down to either side of Steve's in the gap between chairs, turning into it—to his waistline. To his love handles, the warm skin butter-soft under Eddie's touch in a way that makes him want to just melt.

"I want you," Steve says earnestly. His smile goes a little sheepish. "And if you want to keep feeding me, I'd like that too. But no pressure, you know? A-about either. If you're not…"

"Interested?" Eddie guesses, openly incredulous that anyone with eyes or after spending five minutes with the dude wouldn't be interested in Steve. Let alone him, with how obvious he feels like he's been.

"Well… yeah." Steve gives a little shrug, one that's supposed to say it's nothing but in fact gives everything away. "I mean, I know you hated guys like me in high school, and I like music that makes you want to cut off your own ears—"

"I would not," Eddie protests. "I mean, that does sound metal, but—"

Steve just shakes his head with a laugh. "Of course you would say that. I'm literally quoting something you said once."

"I was just being dramatic, Stevie."

Steve's hands, still over his, give a light squeeze. "I know, but still. What I mean is, I know I'm probably not your type."

"I didn't even have a type until I got to know you better," Eddie admits. "But I didn't know that you… So wait, are you bisexual?"

"Yeah," Steve replies sheepishly, flushing. "Robin gave me so much shit for not saying anything when you told us you're gay, but I was… kind of freaking out over maybe having a chance? But then I didn't know how to bring it up without it being this big deal, because, like, it is a big deal because it's you, but if you knew how big then you'd realize why, because you're smart like that. I knew you'd figure it out if I said anything, and…"

"And it's scary," Eddie finishes gently, with something approaching awe. Their knees are practically overlapping now, they're so close, and he feels breathless with both the proximity and a dawning sense of holy shit, Steve Harrington wants me. "Feels safer to hold back than go out on a limb and risk being shot down, because it would hurt that much more coming from… me." He lets out a breathless little laugh. "God, you realize we've both been doing the same thing? We're both into each other, and we've both been so convinced we don't have a chance that neither of us dared bring it up."

Steve's gaze bores into his, searching. But he must trust what he sees, because he laughs again, this one much more genuine and happy. Bordering on positively giddy. "Well, I have it on good authority that we're both idiots, so… I guess that tracks. Holy shit."

"Holy shit," Eddie agrees solemnly, even while he's grinning like the world's greatest dope. "But don't you dare tell Robin she's a good authority. She could easily go mad with power."

"Oh, totally."

"So…" Tentatively, Eddie gives Steve's love handles a squeeze on his own. His soul nearly leaves his body at the way it makes Steve's breath catch, and he bites his lip. "Fuck."

"After pancakes," Steve replies with a heavy-lidded smirk. "You promised me pancakes, Eds."

"You're not full from all the chips?"

"Eddie, let me spell it out for you." And Steve leans in that final bit and kisses him, too quickly. It feels like it's over before it even began, and Eddie is hooked, sways forward to try and follow him. Already, he would do anything for more of Steve. "I love it when you make food for me, and not just because you're a good cook. When it comes to you, I'm never too full."

~

If their first kiss had been quick, those that follow are anything but. Steve's eyes light up where he drapes himself over Eddie's shoulders and clocks that Eddie was tripling the pancake recipe, steering him by the chin into a second kiss that goes straight from initial contact to mouths open and downright breath-stealing, knee-weakening, devouring. And Eddie is fucking weak for it, turning away from the mixing bowl and into Steve's arms, pressing unrepentantly against his hairy, sun-bronzed chest with a weak moan. He's never been kissed like this, never been wanted like this—never wanted anyone like this, for that matter, and it's making his insides go molten hot. A full body experience in an unfamiliar yet thrilling way.

"Easy baby," Steve murmurs with a low chuckle, one that Eddie feels in his chest they're pressed so close. That's mostly Eddie's doing, honestly, but he can't feel self-conscious given how Steve is holding him just as tightly back. "We've got plenty of time, don't forget those pancakes you promised me."

"You started it," Eddie mumbles back, but there's a dopey smile on his face and 'baby, baby, baby' reverberating between his ears. "Is that how this is gonna work, Stevie? You distract me with your masculine wiles and then scold me for getting distracted?"

Steve smirks and turns him bodily around back to his task. "Get it right, dude: I distracted you with my tongue. You want my 'masculine wilds,' you have to earn them."

A bubble of intense affection rises in Eddie's chest at both the sentiment and the way Steve gets the phrase wrong, and pops into a manic grin across his face. He's glad Steve isn't in a position to see it, because he wants so much right now that he doesn't know what to do with himself because… he's never done it before. Not with company. But he knows pancakes; pancakes he can do.

So he makes pancakes. With blueberries and bacon grease, because he's been saving it here whenever he cooks the less exclusive breakfasts in his repitore. Steve watches indulgently from the kitchen island and lets him babble about how using just a little will give you nice crispy edges, but not too much or the pancakes turn out greasy. Listens like he always listens whenever Eddie rambles about anything, with a look in his eyes that Eddie, amazed, is starting to recognize as open affection.

Steve goddamn Harrington has been looking at him with heart-eyes for months, and he's only just now noticing. Robin is definitely right; complete and total idiot.

And then, when the pancakes are done and stacked up on a big serving platter—silver, because the Harringtons don't do anything by fucking halves—Steve leads him with a come hither crook of his finger up the stairs to his bedroom. Eddie is helpless but to follow, heart in his throat and a jug of orange juice clutched awkwardly beneath the platter, too. He watches as Steve climbs on and settles against the headboard, belly hanging over that indecently tiny speedo as the most tantalizing muffin top he's ever seen in his life. Another finger crook and Eddie is setting the tray down to one side of him and the orange juice on the other, still unopened. He straddles Steve's thighs, urged on by hands massaging his ass through his still damp swim trunks.

Heady summer scents of sunscreen and chlorine underlaying the rich and sugary pancake spread as they sink into a third kiss that's even hungrier than the last. Wet, sloppy, and turning what's left of Eddie's brain into staticky soup.

"Feed me," Steve moans against his mouth, lips gone wet and tender in the best way. "All of it."

Frantically, Eddie pulls away to scoop up and deliver a first, huge forkful. Just jams it in there, but Steve takes it easily, closing his kiss-bruised lips around the fork with a low moan and a spasm in his iron grip on Eddie's ass. A jerk forward, and Eddie is more than happy to be guided into humping Steve's welcoming softness. Fleetingly wonders if lifting up a bit will trap the lip of Steve's gut between them so they can both rub off against his fat. He'll figure out the coordination to actually try it soon, after he gets the next few bites shoved in there, unable to look away or process much else at the moment.

And the next bite, and the next, and the next, interspersed with occasional breaks to crack open the orange juice and tip some of it down Steve's welcoming throat…

"When I said I'm never too full for you, that wasn't—hic—a challenge you know," Steve tells him a little over halfway through the platter, but his blown pupils suggest otherwise. The fact that he's clutching at Eddie's thighs where he's straddling Steve's lap, that tells a different story too. One of decadence, and how he seems downright insatiable for whatever Eddie wants to give him. The top of his belly is rounding out, stomach firming up as it fills, and he's let Eddie slide back just enough to give it some breathing room but no further. As if letting go might put Eddie in danger of being snatched away from him and he's too greedy to let that happen.

Eddie, for his part, feels like he's been hypnotized. It's almost an out of body experience, feeding forkful after forkful of syrup-laden pancakes past Steve's plump and sticky lips, and never once meeting resistance. He goes slower now, leaving Steve enough time to chew and swallow, watching the other man's eyelids droop a little more each time with every increase of internal pressure. Steve's breathing is labored, in tempo with the pulse of appreciation between Eddie's legs—which he knows Steve can feel too, the way they're plastered together.

"You're gonna make me pop," Steve adds with dreamy, almost-but-not-quite slurred quality to his voice. He squirms, not very much with everything (including Eddie) that's pinning him down but just enough to press and loosen a wet burp that trails off in a moan. "S'not the first time you've got me this far, d'ja know that? Used to—hic—be a lot less obvious's all. Didn't get this big. But you made me… full."

Eddie bites down hard on his own bottom lip to hold back a whine. Crit hit to all his fevered solo fantasies of fucking into tight wet heat and make his partner feel full. Only in the past few weeks has he started to realize it also gets him going in this sense; abruptly, he's realizing that both happening at the same time might send him shooting off just thinking about it. "Steve, ah—"

"And you didn't even know how good you kept making me feel," Steve coos, pulling Eddie into another syrupy kiss. There's still food in his mouth for Eddie to taste, share—which should be gross but Eddie takes it all in gratefully and feels blessed for the privilege. "How'd you not notice I w—hic—was hard whenever we cuddled?"

That… is a good question. Eddie gapes at him, though the effect is spoiled by Steve squirming again and sending his eyes rolling back in his head.

"More," Steve reminds him, an order that reverberates all the way down to Eddie's toes.

And then, after Eddie obeys, when there's only a few pancakes left,

"Wh—with your hands," Steve pants, eyelids dropping as though to conserve energy for chewing and digesting. He's full enough to be really struggling now, taking longer breaks between bites, drinking slower, mouth slack enough that there are sticky rivulets of juice mixed with syrup over his chin. He looks absolutely swollen with everything he's managed to stuff down, hands roaming over himself in big, soothing circles, the entirety of his exposed body blushing with the effort of digestion.

His words come most sparingly of all, like they have to travel from a great distance. Which Eddie, brain scrambled like a pan full of eggs, can understand. Even more scrambled when he does as he's told and after the very last bite feels Steve suck on his messy fingers, tongue lazily but constantly in motion. Eddie is boiling over, feels like he must be hot to the touch, hard and making an absolute mess of his swim trunks, throbbing all over with a want that's snowballed onto need. He gasps, sways with a brief loss of remembering which way is up and which is down, catches himself with a hand splayed across Steve belly—thumb pressed to the shallow dip of Steve's navel, not jabbing but there, and Steve moans helplessly around his fingers.

Eddie comes so hard he whites out and the world falls away for a second.

He comes back to himself on Steve’s messy chest, and reels up frantically. What the fuck, this finally happens for him and he can't even wait long enough to make it mutual? Or even get out of what little clothing he's in?! Way to come off as an inconsiderate freak! "Shit, Steve, sorry, I—"

"Shhhh," Steve soothes him breathlessly, face lax with an openmouthed smile. "Me too, baby. Feel, feel me."

Biting his lip self-consciously, Eddie runs his fingers gingerly along the underside of the other man's bloated belly—Steve's labored breathing hitches with the overstimulation of it—and between those thick, hairy thighs, until they encounter damp fabric, and oh. Oh.

"Can you," Steve groans. He trails off with a hiccupy burp and a faint wiggle, but it's enough that Eddie gets the idea and lifts out of his lap. With no little effort Eddie manages to wiggle a finger in on each side of the Speedo, gets a breathy "Yeah" of confirmation, and eases them off.

Again with no little effort, because Steve is too dazed to help in the slightest, but that's okay. Eddie drops them on the floor to deal with later and leans in to press a gentle kiss to Steve's cheek. "Gonna clean you up, alright? Then we can take that nap."

Steve's only response is a happy hum that just about makes Eddie's heart burst with affection and pride. He loves soft, sleepy, cuddly Steve. Loves all aspects of Steve, but this is special.

Something that's just theirs, that he treats as precious when he comes back with a damp towel to clean the drips and spills from Steve's skin. An extra towel to make sure he's dry and comfortable, even where he's been sweating. Eddie struggles to the bedspread from under him but finally manages it when Steve laboriously rolls over, eliciting a drowsy giggle at the sensation, and from there is able to get them both tucked in without much trouble.

"We're boyfriends now," Steve informs him, sleepy and smug, from his position as the little spoon. "You're stuck with me now, Eds."

Elated, Eddie finally gives into the urge to bite, though it's only Steve's shoulder. His hand settles on the lowest curve of Steve's belly. He gropes and fondles the malleable heaviness that he helped put there, gently dragging his short nails back and forth over the sensitive skin just to feel Steve shiver under his touch with a little sigh of appreciation. "Mm—likewise, sweetheart."

He's going to have to thank Jeff for the advice, and figure out what to say to Gareth and Doug at the next band practice, and get Robin something nice so she'll forget to make fun of him, and what the hell are they going to tell the kids, and did this count as fucking yet if he didn't get to touch Steve's dick until cleanup, because if there's more then holy shit—

"Shhhh," Steve sighs, pulling Eddie's arm tighter around him. Already asleep it sounds like, or as good as. He always sleeps so well after Eddie feeds him, it's adorable.

Okay, all that other stuff can be dealt with later. For now, Eddie settles into the happy, sated glow and goes to sleep cuddling his boyfriend for the first time.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@hotluncheddie @sofadofax @victorclays @wheneverfeasible @yesdangerpls

@hiei-harringtonmunson @oatmilk-vampire @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @theseaofdespair

@ape31

[chibitacolord]

Common things people wonder about their ocs.

(Using my yiga trio for now. )

Question 1: what animal would they be if they got turned into one?

Lynk would easily be a mouse. Even though he has a phobia of rats and mice. It suits him.

Keon would either be a ferret or siamese cat.

Auki would be a badger, because he's strong and the colors somewhat match.

Question 2: if you're character was in pokemon, which ones would they have?

I've thought of this stupid thing for ages now.

But for Lynk, it would be swablu.

Why swablu? It starts out small and unassuming, but give it enough care, and it'll be a fearsome dragon. Just like the boyo can be strong again.

For Keon easily a full team of dark types but I think his main would be liepard. Maybe shiny because the red matches better? But I can't see Keon being that lucky.

For Auki, being the big tough guy... it's hilarious to give him baby pokemon so easily togepi

Imagine him holding this tiny thing in his big hands.

Feel free to reblog with questions or even little tidbits about your own ocs.

[annoyinglyhardsong]

Codywan Week 2024 Day 2: Beating Rival Suitors off with a Stick

Author Note: Hello again lovelies! Here we are with day 2! This was I believe one of the art prompts for @codywanweek but I am not a talented enough artist yet to do this prompt any justice past some awkward stick figure creatures. So to writing it goes. I had planned on going full crack fic with this because the idea of Obi-Wan literally beating people away from Cody seemed so hilarious, and maybe I'll get around to actually doing that, but for now this was the closest I could get to it. As always, likes, reblogs, comments, are all very much welcomed and appreciated! Happy Codywan Week! Divider by @saradika-graphics, if you are looking for any cute graphics or dividers they have tons of amazing ones!

Tags/Warnings: Mostly SFW, a few suggestive themes, protective Obi-Wan, jealous Obi-Wan, clueless Cody, a highly amused Rex, alcohol.

Mando’a translations: 

Cyare- beloved

Jetii- Jedi

Kriff - fuck

Dank farrik- some kind of curse 

This was supposed to be a nice relaxing night out with friends, but was slowly becoming anything but that. As the night went on Obi-Wan could feel his eye starting to twitch more, and his blood pressure rising. He tried to hide his scowl behind the rim of his glass as another woman slid up next to Cody and Rex and started flirting with his partner.

This woman was a beautiful golden skinned Twi-lek with striking orange freckles, and was the fifth woman who had tried to flirt with the Commander. There had been some men too, and Obi-Wan couldn’t blame them. Cody was a striking man even out of uniform. He was tall and broad, with kind brown eyes and a soothing voice and demeanor. 

He couldn’t hide the self satisfied smirk that spread across his features when the woman slunk away after a few minutes of conversation with Cody. A few had tried to flirt with Rex when they realized they quickly weren’t going to get anywhere with Cody, but Rex could be prickly on the best of days and I guess this woman decided not to press her luck too much and cut her losses. 

But still the almost never ending string of suitors was starting to get to Obi-Wan. Noticing his glass was empty he ordered something a little stronger. A double of Corellian whiskey on the rocks. 

He and Cody had been together for a year and a half at this point. They were stable and happy in what they had for each other. Obi-Wan surely had never felt like this towards anyone else before and he tried to make sure that Cody knew just how much he meant to Obi-Wan. He would worship the ground that man walked on if able to. And he always felt complete and confident knowing Cody was his loyal commander and right hand man when it came to strategizing and charging into battle. 

In fact Obi-Wan would probably say this was the most secure and confident about himself he had ever felt. There was almost always a little bit of doubt lingering in the back of Obi-Wan’s mind that he wasn’t good enough. That he wasn’t dedicated to the Code enough, that he needed to meditate more, that his ‘saber techniques weren’t sharp enough, his battle plans not thorough enough, that if he had even an ounce of time for himself that he needed to be using it to help others and support the Order. He never felt selfless enough, even though he gave almost everything he had and was able to, to those around him. 

But with Cody those nagging thoughts stopped. Almost completely. Cody was able to calm the storm inside his mind with a glance or a touch of the hand. Cody helped inspire a confidence in him that he so rarely actually felt, and on the days when his anxiety started to eat at him or he felt like he had failed his men after a particularly rough mission, Cody was there to catch him and remind him of how much he did right. Of how many men he was able to save, of how he is able to fix almost any negotiation and find some common ground, of how his troops look up to him and trust him, and of how much care he shows them when most other nat-borns treat them like nothing more than flesh droids. 

He was confident in his relationship. So why was this stream of suitors making him so uneasy? Surely he wasn’t one to stoop so low as to be frazzled by possessive jealousy like a hormone addled padawan. 

But as another suitor sidled up to Rex and Cody, nothing hiding the lust in their gaze as they eyed both men, possibly in the hopes of taking both of them home tonight, something in the older man snapped. 

Cody was his, dank farrik. How dare others think they could flirt with his cyare? That was his beloved, and he was going to make sure everyone in the galaxy knew it. 

He knocked back the rest of his drink in one go, wincing momentarily at the burn. He threw down an amount that he thought was enough credits to close out their tab for the evening and purposefully walked up to the trio. 

Sauntering up behind Cody, he slunk an arm around the trim waist of his boyfriend, placing a kiss on the back of his neck mischievously, before propping his chin on the slightly taller man’s shoulder and fixing the interloper with an icy glare that would scare shinies out of their boots. 

Cody brought his free hand up to loosely clasp around Obi-Wan’s. “Hello love, is everything alright?” Cody greeted gently. 

“Perfectly fine darling. Just missed you is all.” Obi-Wan responded keeping his eyes leveled at the interloper.

The housewrecker squinted his eyes at Obi-Wan slightly, gauging what type of threat Obi-Wan was going to make to his evening’s prospects. But little did he know he had just come toe to toe with a durasteel wall that would not be intimidated. He had stared down sith and other nightmares on an almost daily basis his whole life. This was a training exercise. 

“I believe I was just about to buy you boys a drink,” the challenger tried to draw Cody’s attention back to himself.

 Rex had backed away slightly from the stand off that was happening in front of him, not wanting to get any more involved than he already was and with a look on his face that made him appear to be in pain, when in reality he was minutes away from busting out in a peal of laughter at the entire thing. 

Cody went to answer for himself but Obi-Wan beat him to it. Hand tightening further around Cody’s waist as he answered, “Oh really? I thought you had mentioned you wanted to leave soon dear.” A slight edge to his tone. 

Cody’s face had started to flush from the blatant display Obi-Wan was putting on. He was never this forward or possessive, usually allowing Cody to handle himself, while watching from a safe distance in case anything were to go awry. But tonight something had ignited a fire in his other half that he had never seen before and he would be the first to admit he thought it was sexy as hell. 

Flustered he tried to respond calmly, “Oh? Is it getting late already? It really isn’t much of a bother if you wanted to stay longer. Rex and I were just catching up since we haven’t been deployed together in a while.” Cody realized he was rambling and wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to placate at this point. 

Obi-Wan hummed and started kissing and nibbling up Cody’s neck to the sensitive spot just behind his ear. “Hmm. I would agree with you dear, but I believe we had additional plans for the evening that I am very eager to get to.”

Cody’s blush had deepened to a shade of maroon and stretched from the tips of his ears to where his neck disappeared beneath his blacks. His brain was not working anymore, too distracted by Obi-Wan’s ministrations to his neck trailing fire that seemed to zip down his spine and pool low in his belly. “O-Other..plans?” he almost squeaked out. 

“Oh yes. I believed it involved getting you out of this armor and seeing how quickly I can get you screaming my name.” Obi-Wan stated, voice pitched low and husky, still attacking Cody’s neck and giving a small bite and a tug to his earlobe. 

If the interloper had had any hope left to woo and sway Cody and Rex to coming home with him for the evening it almost immediately evaporated at the display in front of him. One trooper he had targeted, a deep blush coloring his skin nicely, eyes blown wide with lust and desire, sending small smiles at the man wrapped around him. The other trooper he had hoped to woo, was far too entertained by the entire situation, and he had more self respect than to embarrass himself by still trying to entice him to bed. Given the strong reaction of the ginger man to the trooper in orange, he would rather assume that the blonde in blue was spoken for in a similar manner. 

The interloper decided to cut his losses, at this point the ginger might actually bed the trooper he was wrapped around with the entire bar as witnesses, and well after this display he had lost his desire to try and find someone to bring home. Clearing his throat awkwardly and bowing in a quick apology he walked away from the trio and disappeared into the crowd. 

As soon as Obi-Wan lost sight of the person who had been trying to make a move on his cyare, he relaxed just a little and stopped the intense assault on Cody’s neck, but remained wrapped around his boyfriend. Enjoying the presence and warmth of the other man. 

Cody, recovering a little from the onslaught of attention, whipped his head around to glare at Obi-Wan unsuccessfully. No matter what he couldn’t really be mad at the man, at least in this situation. “What. Was that all about?!” Cody asked Obi-Wan incredulously. He really had never seen the man react like that, and bringing up their bedroom activities was a new level of public openness that neither of them ever really breached. They both preferred to keep their private affairs private and sacred between the two of them. 

Rex, seeing the hungry look in Obi-Wan’s eye, decided to silently slip away, giving the two a bit more privacy, and feeling awkward as a third wheel. “I got tired of people flirting with you and trying to make a move on you. You’re my cyare and kriff it, I’m going to make sure everyone knows it,” Obi-Wan practically growled. 

Cody was starting to put the pieces together now. Obi-Wan could be insecure and he couldn’t have his Jetii feeling that way about their relationship. “Obi-Wan. I love you. No matter how many people try to flirt with me or make a move, you’re the one who has my heart. Always,” Cody said seriously. Obi-Wan looked ashamed for a few seconds before Cody continued, interrupting whatever train of thought the ginger had picked up, “But I will say I do like this side of you. It’s kinda hot,” he finished softly.

“Oh yeah?” Obi-Wan started, mischievous glint back in his eye, “Well I guess I better get you home then and follow through with those plans,” before closing the gap between the two for a quick kiss on the lips as he whisked his commander back to his rooms in the Temple. 

[tirsynni]

First off, thank you again to everyone who helped with Calypso's final medical bill. Even if she couldn't be saved, the pet ER was fantastic with her, and by the end of it, I was confident that there were no other options, she was comfortable, and she was in no pain.

Secondly, please no reblogging. This post is in dedication to my kitty and a reaction to too many insensitive responses I've received since her passing. I'm hoping this post will help people know her beyond a stranger's kitty who has since traveled over the Rainbow Bridge.

Last pictures of Calypso.

She was the grandkitten of my kitty, Missy, aka, Demon Spawn. She didn't inherit her grandmother's demonic tendencies or screech, but she inherited her flea allergies. That was how I ended up claiming her.

My sister found her and her siblings outside when they were tiny kittens, still with their mother. My sister adopted Calypso and Calypso's sister, and she adored them both. Unfortunately, my sister realized later that she wasn't able to care for Calypso because of the flea allergies, so when Cal was two or so, I snuck her into my apartment in a cardboard box.

She was always a quiet kitty unless she had a specific complaint. That quietness made it easy to underestimate her insane stubbornness. When she didn't want to do something or disliked something, it was like moving a mountain. She was sweet and overall a submissive baby until something pushed her too far or she felt the need to enforce her boundaries. She once slammed my big male cat to the ground in a move that wouldn't have been out of place in wrestling.

Out of all the cats, she enjoyed her quiet time the most. She was my introvert. She enjoyed cuddling at bedtime and lap-time, and when her social battery ran out, she would leave and find one of her quiet places to recharge her battery. Cuddle, cuddle, grab your hand and direct it to exactly where she wanted it, and then done! She would return later once her battery was recharged.

She was great with using her paws to direct you. Grab your hand with her paws and drag it back to use it as a pillow or pull it to where she wanted pets and scratches. Used those paws to defend her boundaries. She only smacked and clawed if you kept pushing (or tried to open her mouth). She would just push your hands away, like "No. No, thank you." Very quiet and very deliberate. It was hilarious when she did it to the vet when the vet tried to check her over.

Calypso was a big kitty with a soft trill which fit a tiny kitten more. I used to joke that she still thought she was kitten-sized because she sometimes tried to go places where kitten!her could have gone but adult!her knocked things over. The vet tried monitoring her food and changing her diet before giving up: some bodies were just like that, apparently.

For all her size, though, she was quiet. When she wanted to hide, no one could find her. She absolutely vanished. She could be in the same room with her and still struggle to find her. She hid every inch of herself when she wanted private time or was frightened. She was always the easiest to hide when it came to my lease. Other people tried to find her at various times and completely failed, only to be startled when she emerged from her hiding spot.

Calypso enjoyed catnip and once took a giant bite out of a donut I was holding. Last time I let my pets sniff what I was eating. Loved cuddling against my stomach or lower back at bedtime. Demanded fresh, cold water, uncaring that her drinking habits were the main reasons the water dirtied so quickly. Would just sit and stare and wait for you to fix things which displeased her.

Calypso was a sweet, quiet, stubborn, amazing baby. She was a member of my household for fifteen years and was my sister's baby for two years prior to that. She wasn't an ornament that I broke and I now miss. She wasn't a laptop someone stole one day. She was a living, breathing member of my household for fifteen years. The people who dismiss that and minimize that enrage me, and I'm happy to cut those people out of my life. She was a far better part of my life for those fifteen years than many of those people who come and go so easily.

Calypso was an amazing kitty, and she was loved, and she is missed.

[whoishotteranimepolls]

My observations part 2 there's been some developments

There have been some new developments in fandom behaviors and trends that have changed since my last post about this and since a lot of people have liked it, I'll give the curious people an update before I forget

I have noticed something about the Trigun fandom. I thought you all were just ride or die loyal however, if it's wolfwood holy crap! You guys give the unhinged trio a run for their money. Do you know how many times I've seen unhinged comments about his Catholic titties. And why is the Catholic part so important that it must be emphasized every time? Otherwise you all are still ride or die no matter the character. But I have found a streak of unhinged crazy that I apparently missed the first time around.

I know someone mentioned they wanted to see the Fairy Tail fandom mentioned so I will mention you. So are you alive Fairy Tail Fandom are you okay? Your characters do get requested with some frequency and some of them are pretty iconic but you guys just don't do anything except if it's Gildarts v Shanks. Because how many rematches are we on now because people like that specific matchup just so they can post the meme about Gildarts being Shanks from Temu. Otherwise characters don't do all that well. But I will say one thing. You guys are giving one piece a run for its money when it comes to cursed matchups. However, I'm sure it's a good thing. Remember people are very annoyed with that fandom on my blog

Soul Eater. What has gotten into you guys? If it's Stein the fandom is worse than the unhinged trio. Any other character? I never know what you guys will do

Fullmetal Alchemist you guys have finally exposed you're crazy! Her name is Olivier Mira Armstrong and the unhinged things said on those polls. She is now one of those characters I now question should I mark this as mature content because apparently some of you want to be stepped on by her amongst other things. Remember people I read basically everything that is put in the tags. And for those who doubt her power, as of me writing this, she's tied with Senshi in their poll.

The unhinged trio is still just as bad as ever for those who are not aware, that's the nickname I gave to Jujutsu Kaisen, Dorohedoro and Black Butler because those three fandoms collectively are just nuts. However, the unhinged trio may get a lineup change soon. So I'm going to break down the three of them since I've noticed some specific things about you guys so let's get into that

Jujutsu Kaisen I will give you one thing. You guys are creative when it comes to slutty nicknames I think that's the best way to put it. They're hilarious! I'll give you that. However, I think some of them have scarred me for life. So if you want to know why some of these slutty nicknames are getting shared in the poll reblogs it's because of you guys. But the nicknames some of them are unhinged. However, never change. Jujutsu Kaisen fandom your entertaining. If not, terrifying sometimes. However, without a doubt, this fandom belongs in the unhinged trio. You are the gold standard of the unhinged trio. Your feral unhinged madness cannot be matched by any other fandom.

Dorohedoro I'm wondering if you truly belong in the unhinged trio because I think your craziness only applies to Noi and not to the other characters. So I'm curious to see how this plays out over the next few weeks because as far as I'm aware there's only Three maybe four characters in that show Noi a blonde chick a blonde dude and a lizard. So we're going to see over the next few weeks if you all truly belong in the unhinged trio because there are some other fandoms that definitely are gunning for your position

Black Butler I also wonder if your craziness is fandom wide because you guys don't seem to care if Sebastian is in a poll, but if it's Undertaker or Grell holy crap the levels of insanity. So again, I will be testing to see if you truly are worthy of your spot in the unhinged trio

And I think the Senshi polls meme/trend has kind of died down. I haven't found a request in the inbox for a while and he has officially lost to Noi from Dorohedoro by a large margin and may lose but it'll be close to Olivier Mira Armstrong from Fullmetal Alchemist apparently we found his weakness strong, powerful women.

I hope everyone has enjoyed my second entry into my poll analysis series You can find part one here

[pretzlforpresident]

What are your thoughts on the sonic manga?(I know you’ve made and reblogged art for it so you like it to some degree) but I’d still like to hear what you have to say on it. Is there anything that interests you in particular about it? Do you have any headcanons or ideas around it?

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!!

I really like the sonic mangas and think they are a corner of the sonic canon that needs to be discussed more. I think I find myself drawn to them partly because of their obscurity and that there are some interesting ideas in them that you don't see much of anywhere else in the franchise.

I've got some ideas spinning around in my brain for general ideas, things I've noticed, and headcanons, so here are a few!

I think that Nicky would be fun to fit into Sonic's arc growing up and becoming a hero! I have an idea I am currently working on that I need to organize my thoughts for, but Nicky being unaware that he is a hero, eventually realizing that he is, and growing because of it is something I want to explore possibly in a future au of sorts. From what I understand by reading as much of the manga as I could find around, Sonic has been around for a while, sort of as a literal force of good. When Nicky turns into him, I think it's interesting how even though he's doing good and being a hero, he still is basically possessing the body of some kid who is unaware of these actions. The main character of a superhero story being unaware that they are a hero is a concept that I don't think is very common(at least not that I've seen), so there's a tricky balance of morality at play here that could be interesting to see!

Tania/Anita is one of my favorite characters probably in the whole franchise. Remember, it’s Tania’s world. You’re just living in it. Tania or die.

Paulie, being a pilot, taught Nicky about planes when he was young and how to care for them as a bonding thing. I think it would be cute if Sonic eventually passed on this information to Tails as a Parallel. I’ve been seeing a lot of people recently drawing sonic older, and one thing that I absolutely love is when they give him some scruff on his chin because I think subconsciously “omg he looks like Paulie…"

I think Shadow and Tania should be friends. Like, Tania trying to keep up to shadow in his air shoes while she roller blades, then Shadow giving her skating lessons. Making fun of Sonic together(playfully). Maybe that’s just me though

Sonic was classically trained on violin and now plays the guitar? Hilarious. I need him to have gifted kid burnout.

That's all I can think of right now! once again thank you for asking :D

[lily-orchard-gossip-blog]

Hello hello again! It's good to have you back for a little while! Unfortunately there is a lot of infighting in the critical sphere right now and it's not very fun to follow. And worse still Lily is as smug as ever. People are too invested in who ripped off what, who's disrespecting this or that, they should just be having fun at Lily's expense. That's what Saiscribbles has done, and you can tell how effective it is because Lily has tried every strategy in the book to prove how not mad she is.

You know what?

I think I would like to poke fun at the whole thing. I mean, it's sounds like she's gotten a bit ridiculous since I've been gone. (Ridiculous sounds like an understatement, thought.)

I've done serious and it's exhausting. You can only take her serious for so long before you realize she doesn't really even know or believe what she's saying.

As for the fighting, well... It's a shame, but let's try to focus on what's at the core of this blog: Gossiping about Lily.

...But I do have one thing I want to get off my chest, so I will mention it here and then move on. It is under the read bar just so those who don't care can ignore it.

I do have one thing to say about the drama, and that's about Ethel.

They are a liar liar pants on fire.

Seriously, I watched Evangeline Skovs video, which was one of the better coverages on the subject and there was no plagiarism. Not even of me, and I was a source!

Never mind that fact that Ethel legit lied about my blog in their rebuttal, claiming that Levi couldn't find anything on my blog about their video, or glade, so Evangeline was lying.

Their proof? Levi used the search bar, used the word minor and glade, and nothing came up except one post...

Fun fact: I'm bad at tagging things, and my search bar is kind of useless because of that.

(Side note: why would I use glade's name? Why would I want to draw attention to someone who I assumed wanted to be left alone? I'm pretty sure that was made clear in the video.)

Anyway, if you used my archive you could easily find TONES of posts from me talking about the video in question with details.

Here's one that Ethel conveniently left out:

And you know what's hilarious about that? They reblogged this take to try and rebuke it on their tumblr. (That they have long since abandoned.)

I decided to ignore it, because obviously I'm not going to try and get in a fight with them, and Ethel was so mad by that they messaged me directly to try and threaten me with legal jargon.

So I blocked them.

But hey, since I'll probably never bother with this again, here are the messages. Enjoy old drama from like...2 years ago:

Image text here:

[Okay, I've put this off for as long as possible, but please, read this case study as right now you are parroting harmful legal advice. Victim testimony not only constitutes evidence, but can be sufficient evidence to convict, a fact that was tested in Commonwealth v Gustavo Gonzalez Santos in Massachusetts.

I’ll highlight two relevant sections in case you don’t have the time to read the entire thing: “The defendant's sole argument on appeal is that the evidence was not sufficient to support his convictions. The defendant asserts that "there were no witnesses to the alleged assaults," "no physical evidence," "no medical or forensic evidence," and "no expert testimony." He argues that "there was absolutely no conclusive evidence presented at trial that suggested the [d]efendant's guilt beyond a reasonable doubt."” And: “Here, the victim testified to facts that constituted each element of the charged offenses. Her testimony, which the jury found to be credible, was sufficient, standing alone, to support a finding beyond a reasonable doubt as to each of the convictions. See, e.g., Commonwealth v. Lawrence, 68 Mass. App. Ct. 103, 104 (2007)

("The victim's testimony was sufficient evidence of [indecent assault and battery on a child under age fourteen]"); Commonwealth v. Gonsalves, 23 Mass. App. Ct. 184, 185 (1986) ("The victim's account of what the defendant did to him in the apartment was sufficient to overcome the defendant's motion for a required finding of not guilty of rape"). The idea that long infected our legal system that the victim's testimony in sexual assault and rape cases is less credible than the testimony of victims in cases involving other types of crimes -- an idea that reflected nothing more than sexism and an unwillingness on the part of our courts to treat sexual crimes as the gravely serious matter that they are -- has been rejected both by statute and by common law.”

When you and others continue to parrot the myth that victim testimony does not constitute as valid evidence, you are harming victims of rape and abuse. This is straight up rape culture and, since I’m pushing back any video coverage on the matter until I’ve finished dealing with Lily because I don’t want to muddle things, I need you to stop promoting falsehoods. We have legal members on our team who have passed the bar, Patchie does not, Opal does not, and neither does You Can Eat Hearts. You are causing unnecessary harm to victims by breathing life into myths constructed by rape culture. To be clear, I am not asking for your denouncement of certain people, just for you to please, stop publishing bad legal takes.

This is also the case in Canada, if you're wondering - https://www.accused.ca/evidence.htm

Sorry, I just realized I didn't give you the US case study. Here it is - http://masscases.com/cases/app/100/100massappct1.html#:~:text=The%20jury%20found%20the%20defendant,We%20affirm. ]

Oct 30, 2022 9:16 AM

Whew, you have no idea how long I wanted to spill this tea.

Alright, I've said what I've wanted to say on this topic. I'm now going to focus on laughing at Lily and her horrible incest stories.

[metatronhateblog]

All Boxed Up

Okay, this one is going to be way quicker than my last one. I just got to thinking.

So recently I came across a lovely post made by @insanity-is-just-a-state-of-mind questioning the sheer bullshit power Crowley and Aziraphale have when performing their 'surreptitious half a miracle' on Gabriel. And I highly recommend the post because it really is a thought process with endless possibilities to get stumped by.

But actually I'm not here to talk about the contents of the post. I'm here to talk about the comments and reblogs made on that post. It seems in the spirit of trying to figure out just how our loveable idiots performed such a powerful miracle, people have come up with the most intriguing idea about how it's a possibility Gabriel had the Book of Life inside that cardboard box and how it could've effected the strength of the miracle (Here's the little addition from @drconstellation)

And all of this got me thinking about...how fucking weird that box is, and come to think of it this isn't even a fully thought out idea, more of a surreptitious half an idea, but like....the box was originally empty. Minus the fly.

Like the box was so empty Aziraphale was confused and tried to take a closer look. Nothing in there but that little fly with Gabriel's memories in it that we see hints of flying around the whole season.

Okay, I recall originally thinking that was weird but promptly forgot about it. An empty box? Who cares clearly it's not important.

And then we don't see that box again until later as the series goes on and threads start to unravel, when the box falls out of the sky into Gabriel's arms after mentioning needing to clean out his desk (to which Michael is hilariously baffled/jealous.)

It just falls down and lands into his arms. Obviously empty cause he's yet to put anything into it.

But then we see Gabriel putting something into the box (we soon find out it's the matchbox with the fly.) But we never actually see him put anything else in it.

He just picks it up, writes his message on the bottom and leaves.

(Don't get me started on all these little symbols yet in heaven. If it's an actual language then something tells me there's a smidge of a cypher for us to uncover. But honestly I don't know because it could just be random symbols meant to look like words that aren't actually.)

So we see him kinda...toss the matchbox out of the box before entering the elevator, also the only item we presumably watched him put in. So by all means that box is just empty right? Should just be carrying a fly and some sharpie on the bottom (all weirdly human and materialistic of the him compared to the sleek minimal items we see of the angels through the show, not to mention Michael's pure disgust at touching the match box, a human object.)

So then. This is where I get stumped.

Crowley and crew head back down to Earth (thanks to Aziraphale doing the little halo bit) and we see both angels and demons entering the bookshop, where we reveal to them finally that Jim is Gabriel.

But first Crowley asks Aziraphale where the box is...the boring little box that was empty when he opened it. This time, Crowley opens the box...and it's filled with stuff??? Hello?

I'm not sure if any of the stuff in this box is important or should be looked into too deeply, but...there wasn't stuff in this box before. And I don't know about anyone else, but I had completely forgotten the box was empty up until @drconstellation pointed out that the Book of Life could very well be in that box. And suddenly I was like...wait a minute the box was empty???

So why is there suddenly stuff in it when Crowley opens it? He promptly dumps it all out and turns the box upside down to see what Gabriel wrote on the bottom. And we see Aziraphale observing something on the floor, presumably from the box. But we never see the contents on the floor or what Aziraphale is looking at. He's certainly not looking at the writing on the box that Crowley is looking at.

So I have two thoughts here.

My first one being. What the fuck the box was empty why was there suddenly stuff in it? Why did I forget the box was empty, and why didn't Aziraphale seem to remember it'd been empty either??

Second.

Could this box possibly be related to the scene we just saw? Our dear little murder Hornet in Heaven opening a document that you have to be a Throne, Dominion or higher to view?

Maybe I'm just reaching. Maybe it's not relevant at all. Maybe it doesn't matter that the box was empty and suddenly it wasn't. Or maybe this is another one of those little 'slight of hands' people have been discussing from this season. Or maybe I'm just going crazy and looking for every scrap of anything I can get my teeth on.

This season has me absolutely feral. But anyways I needed to share this. I'll go back to my little hole now until I have more ideas to dump upon you people.

[hungermakesmonsters]

*Night of Heavy Questions*

(You don't have to answer if you don't want to)

What made you start writing for Billy? Especially since from what I remember the series ended long before your first fanfic? And what motivates you to keep writing?

Have a great day, I can't wait to read the next chapter on Friday! 💜 P.S. That little thing you honoured us from a "Catch me if you can" universe is amazing 😆😍

Oooooh boy, this might get long so apologies in advance.

I think I've mentioned a few times before that CMiYC started life as an original story that I started during NaNo (I think in 2017, but it might have been 2018). Long story short, before then, I never used to write romance but I decided to give it a go as a bit of a fuck-you to 50 Shades of Grey. I sometimes enjoy reading 'trashy' (affectionate) romance novels, but a lot of things about 50 Shades annoyed me (if you like it, then great, just personally for me, it caused a lot of eye rolling).

I like the whole 'rich guy meets normal girl' set up, but some of the tropes used fell flat for me - like I hate the whole 'the girl has to change/put up with shitty behaviour in order to ultimately bag the guy' trope. (Again, this is a personal annoyance, I 100% believe that people should read what they like, so don't take this as me saying what you shouldn't read.) But it made me think I wanted to try and write something where both the guy and the girl have to grow in order to be together. Basically that old thing of 'writing what I want to read'.

So I started on the original work but, like most of my other NaNo attempts, at the end of it I had 50k of unedited story that had so many plotholes that I couldn't bring myself to fix it. But the idea for the story stuck with me and I kept wanting to do something with it.

Until early last year, I was a rper on a couple of jcink forums but the last few years have been pretty awful (anyone from the jcink rpc, probably knows about all the dumb toxicity from gossip/vent blogs). A few months before then, I started slowly stepping away from rp, which gave me time to work on other writing projects. And, around that time, me and a friend had been binge watching Ben Barnes stuff.

I realised that I could either use Logan Delos or Billy Russo for the story as my rich guy stand-in, and it just spiralled from there and I was finally able to tell the story that I wanted to tell. (FYI I settled with Billy because I just loved him and Madani, I thought Ben and Amber we great together.) And, because of all that, CMiYC means so much to me, even now.

As for what motivates me...

It probably sounds cheesy and I know it probably sounds like begging for notes when I mention it at the end of each chapter but, honestly, it's just the fact that people actually read what I'm writing. I have 'consumption is the highest honour' as the tag line for this blog because it's from House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson (honestly if you read one sapphic horror this year, I cannot recommend this enough) but also to remind me that even if just one person likes something that I've created, that's one whole-ass person who's taken 10-40 minutes out of their day to care about a story that I'm trying to tell, and it genuinely means so much. I know I'm slow with comments and I don't really do the reblog thing, but I do read every comment/reblog and all the often hilarious tags you all put on my stuff.

So, really, it's the support that I get that motivates me. I love seeing the same people week after week, even if it's just a like (listen, I'm someone who never knows what to say, so even just clicking like means a lot to me and while, I understand and fully support other writes/artists who want more engagement on there work, a like will always be enough for me.)

But, yeah, I love telling these stories because you all make this feel fun and rewarding for me, and once I started writing Billy and I carved out this little corner in the Billy Russo fandom, I guess I got comfortable enough to keep coming up with ideas for Billy, instead of starting from scratch in new/bigger fandoms.

So, I guess what I'm also trying to say here, is just thank you to everyone who chooses to spend their time checking out my stories. 🥰🥰