#sorry this is so long y'all

[hoperays-song]

Marcus Backstory (Headcannon)

Marcus was actually born into a pretty wealthy family of private insurance brokers in the Knightsbridge neighborhood in London. As a child, he was very rambunctious, a trait that his parents were not overly fond of. Because of this, he was constantly compared to his six-year-older brother Lucien (mostly with complaints that he wasn’t like him enough), and when he wasn’t, Marcus’s parents largely ignored him. Eventually, the constant comparison and dismissal started to grate on him, especially once his younger sister Bethany started receiving the same “Golden Child” treatment from their parents. 

He started rebelling against his very traditional parents when he was around 12 years old, with the first big thing he did being to pierce his own ears. Throughout his teenage years, he was in constant conflict with his parents, to the point of being kicked out of the house several times (the origin of his abandonment issues), with the only reason he kept coming back was for his little sister’s sake when she asked him to. Marcus was pretty much a stereotypical punk during this time, which lead to even more fights with his family. When he went to University, Marcus limited his contact with his family yet still studied what they wanted at Bethany’s urging. 

The relationship grew more and more strained, and even with Marcus going into a Master’s program of his parent’s choosing as well, they eventually stopped talking to him all together, sending Lucien to act as their messenger. During one of those visits from his brother, they two were fighting again, only this time in a public space, when Lucien insulted a person playing a piano not far from them, negatively implying a lot of things about her from her economic status to her abilities as she had a cane. The young woman responded by hitting him rather sharply over the head with said cane and yelling at him in Hindi til he ran walked away. Marcus apologized for his brother and began talking to the pianist, who later introduced herself as Jia Sutar, a student at another nearby University. She eventually agreed to meet with him again under better circumstances, as long as he promised to not bring his big brother along, a rule to which Marcus quite happily agreed. 

Jia and Marcus began dating, and were extremely happy for the first few months of their relationship. However, when Marcus’s family found out about it about a year later, they reacted quite violently, considering her too low for their family due to both her economic status and her chronic illness. This led to Marcus choosing her over his biological family during a huge fight where not even his sister, the only reason he’d put up with them all these years, refused to stand up for him or even see his side of the argument (her dismissal of him and refusal to try to keep some form of relationship did make Marcus’s abandonment issues worse). Marcus was immediately disowned and moved in with Jia. They got married only two years later, when Marcus was 28.

Jia was the one who encouraged Marcus to become a licensed mechanic as well and she took up a job as a Primary School music teacher and piano tutor. About two years into their marriage, Jia’s health started declining much faster than it had before. Johnny was born a few months later, mainly due to Jia wanting to have a kid before it became too dangerous for her to. However, that did not really somber the young family’s mood about it’s new addition and Johnny was absolutely doted on. Marcus was worried about messing up with Johnny like his parents had with him, however Jia reassured him that he was always going to be an amazing father, even if he messed up from time to time. 

They moved to the East End neighborhood of London to be closer to Johnny’s Nursery School and for four years the family was fine and happy. However, one day Jia collapsed at work, causing her to be sent to the hospital, where they received the news that her illness was now progressing at a much more aggressive rate. While they both had know that it would more than likely prove fatal sooner rather than later due to how fast it had killed her siblings, Marcus was horrified at the thought of losing his wife after only having her in his life for 8 years at that point. Not even a year later, Jia collapsed again, this time at home, and was found by Johnny who called 999 (their version of 911) at his dad’s instructions. This time however, Jia was placed in long term care as her heart and lungs were very very weak. She died a few months later, when Johnny was only 6 years old. 

Jia’s death definitely worsened both Marcus’s and now Johnny’s abandonment issues and Johnny even stopped playing his mom’s piano due to how much it hurt to be reminded of her. Marcus took up a new job at a garage closer to Johnny’s school so he’d have a place to go after school. It was at this job where Marcus met Stan, the very friendly probationary mechanic at the station next to his. Stan seemed to make it his personal mission to make sure that Marcus wasn’t the lonely new guy and talked to him every chance he could, eventually even inviting Marcus to have dinner with him and his “brother” Barry after their shift one day. Marcus hesitated on that, stating he had a young son and no one to watch him, but was told to bring him along, leading to both Johnny and Marcus meeting Barry. After that dinner, Stan and Barry became more and more stable fixtures in the two’s lives. Stan and Barry were Marcus’s only friends and the only ones he trusted with Johnny when he couldn’t be there. The two slid into an almost uncle like role and treated Marcus like their big brother, which both he and Johnny loved. 

However, while Johnny now had two supportive uncles in his life, he never fully seemed to recover from losing his mother, and as years went on, it became more and more obvious in his school work. While his son remained a decent student, Marcus was constantly called into schools by staff worried about the fact that the boy didn’t seem to have any friends and never really interacted with his classmates outside of their lessons. Eventually, when Johnny was around 10 year old, a school counselor recommended potentially moving somewhere completely new to give Johnny a fresh start since staying in London did not seem to be helping the issue. For his son’s sake, Marcus applied for the two of them to move to the states with Stan and Barry tagging along.

In the states, Marcus opened up the garage and ran it legitimately for around 2 or so years. Eventually however, it was not making anywhere near enough money to support them and the three adults turned to crime as a secondary source of income, never intending for it to be a long term solution. 

Around that point as well, Johnny’s resemblance to his mother became more and more glaringly obvious. Marcus, now harshly reminded of the pain he felt from losing her, began emotionally pulling away from his son. Johnny picked up on it and took it as a sign his father didn’t love him anymore, causing a tear in their relationship.

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

This continued up until the actions of the first movie. I can make a part two if anyone wants to hear my headcannons on what happened to my favourite boys in between Sing 1 and 2 and then afterwards. 

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 2

🤍🌷 read part 1 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie

This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window. 

It’s not happening. 

Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his. 

Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light. 

It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone. 

Who’s hurting you, Steve? 

Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.

He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and— 

“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.” 

“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will. 

He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again. 

He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so… 

So much like Eddie’s fucking problem. 

He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe. 

It’s just not tight. 

“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it. 

“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?” 

He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm. 

But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time. 

He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—

“I don’t know what.” 

It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again. 

Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small. 

“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.” 

Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks. 

Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about. 

God, he never did like blood. 

“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?” 

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.” 

“Her.” 

Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right? 

“What?” 

“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”

Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own. 

“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.” 

That's... really fucking endearing, actually. 

And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet. 

Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?

He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out. 

“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.

Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion. 

“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?” 

Oh no. 

“Why’m I in y—“ 

“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?” 

Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer. 

Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too. 

Past all of it. 

Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house. 

But he can’t. So he breathes. 

At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people. 

But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers. 

“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?” 

“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.” 

And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now. 

He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel. 

He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view. 

The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice. 

It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe. 

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?” 

He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.

“Ed?” 

“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.” 

“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—

Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again. 

“Ed. Are you in trouble?” 

“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“ 

“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?” 

He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.  

“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.” 

“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?” 

Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”

“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.” 

It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole. 

He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side. 

“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door. 

It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this. 

“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much. 

He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on. 

Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now. 

Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?

“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask. 

Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me? 

Somehow, Eddie manages a smile. 

Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen. 

Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now. 

Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away. 

Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break. 

“Blue, you with me?”

Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.

“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?” 

“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest. 

Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder. 

“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady. 

“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know.” But maybe I will. 

“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.” 

Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.” 

Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.” 

Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is. 

Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.

“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.” 

It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home. 

This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible. 

And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie. 

He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.

Why not? You need a doctor—

Monsters. Only monsters there.

It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back. 

Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch. 

He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear. 

“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.” 

Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.

Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up. 

Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away. 

It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not… 

He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier. 

These things don’t happen. They don’t! 

“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.” 

Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately. 

In. Hold. Out. Hold. 

He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void. 

He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.

Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad. 

Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. 

Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue. 

He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. 

Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve. 

“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.” 

“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right. 

“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue. 

“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds. 

“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers. 

”I want my mom.“ 

”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?” 

Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away. 

He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama. 

”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.” 

And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”

Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared. 

And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted. 

And now… 

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?” 

Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this. 

“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…” 

“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”

And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment. 

He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that? 

But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk. 

“Thank you.” 

Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie. 

���For, uh. This.” 

“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.” 

Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.” 

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness. 

“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation. 

He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out. 

“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.

He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking. 

Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small. 

Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again. 

Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words. 

“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?” 

“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“ 

It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again. 

“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?” 

Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is. 

“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug. 

Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt. 

“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest. 

Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again. 

“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.

More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment. 

“Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.” 

The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them. 

“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”

It soothes the urge to scream.

Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth. 

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car. 

Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Later, Ed.” 

And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real. 

But it did. And it is. 

And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside. 

He has a phone call to make.

🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 (a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)

addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3

[possiblyreallyme]

Once a Beckman girl, always a Beckman girl

warning: very spicey/smutty but no actual penetration, toys (vibrator), size kink if you squint, big dick benn canon.

hello! i got this idea from one of my favorite one piece writer on tumbler, @innerfare!! everyone, go check them out!! thank you so much!!

"Come on, honey. Don't you wanna come back to my cabin?" Shanks asked drunkenly through his hiccups and wolfish grin, staggering over the countertop to hold onto the wood and wink at you.

You'd giggle, but you shook your head, cleaning the counter when he knocked over a glass of alcohol with his one elbow.

"I'm sorry, sir," You told him with that sweet smile, though you didn't seem very sorry. "I already have plans with your first mate."

Shanks backed off immediately, nodding his head and walking away before you could ask why. Even in his drunken state, he knew it was a complete waste of time to try and woo one of Benn's girls.

Plus, his first mate wasn't one to sleep around, so Shanks knew better than to interfere when he needed a night to relax. He was drunk, not heartless.

"Tough luck," Lucky Roux murmured through his mouthful of meat when Shanks told the table of pirates about the barmaid, not even looking up to console his captain. "No one gets one of Benn's girls."

"Yeah, no shit," The captain murmured with a hiccup, before slouching against the table with a few more, spinning a bottle cap around like a pouty child.

"I just wish we knew what he does to get girls so crazy," Yasopp replied under his breath, though he didn't necessarily care to keep his voice low. Anyone who knew Benn knew he was a charmer, even if he didn't go around flirting as much as his captain.

If only they knew. If only they knew how their Benn could drag his fingers across a lady's skin and make her feel like she was a work of art. How as much as Shanks told him one-night stands and hookups shouldn't last more than 30 minutes, he just can't leave a girl like that.

Was he not supposed to stretch her with his fingers? How was she supposed to fit him if he didn't— while you're at it, doesn't it feel better when you let her ride your face until she's squealing and pulling at your hair? And it would weight much too heavy on his conscious if he left a woman alone in bed when she's tired and sore and in need of some love, when he could put his left-over energy to use and make her a nice meal, maybe give her a massage to ease the ache he caused.

Of course a man like him was so popular with the ladies. He was practically made for women, with how he could memorize your body like the back of his hand, as if he's known you his whole life, but he only just learned your damn name.

He'll coo in that deep voice of his, say things a pirate most certainly shouldn't be saying to someone he'll never see again, with that charming smile on his face and slowly rolling his hips into yours, thumbing at your clit until you've coated the sheets in as much cum as you could give him.

And yet, he's never come across as a player. He isn't a womanizer; he isn't someone like Shanks who can't be trusted to remember his partners names after a week. He's tough as nails and brutal, but to the women whose hearts still throb for the first mate, he was a sweetheart. The type to empathize and sooth when he's just a little too big to fit all the way in your cunt, wiping your tears with kisses and assure you that you've taken more than enough for him to enjoy, so don't feel guilty.

"Benn," You're whining that night, just after you close and the Red Force was snickering when Beckman puts his hand on the small of your back, dwarfing you so intensely you felt your face go hot. You should have fucking guessed that a man with hands bigger than your head had a cock to match.

"Shh, I know, sweetheart. Just relax," He soothed, large fingers parting your labia and pulling up the hood of your clit, circling the little nerve with an ease that made you wonder if he'd done this before with you.

You knew good and damn well you'd remember if a man like this had ever been with you before, but he hadn't even taken his eyes off your face and yet he found your clit almost faster than you could.

You couldn't focus on that though, already fighting off delirium you only thought a cock could bring you, taken by surprise how he could get you so dumb when all he had done was fuck you with that big black vibrator. He kept you sat upright on his desk by letting you lay your head on his shoulder, fluttering kisses against your jaw and rubbing your back when you clenched around the toy and whined for more, soothing you with his whispers like a father soothing his baby in the dead of night.

"Not yet, little one." It had been not yet all damn night, and you were ready for more. Eyes locked on the tent in his pants, large and clearly thick enough to stretch you to your limit, but you couldn't find it in you to care how much it would hurt. He cared though, and thank God for that. He couldn't live with himself if one of his sweethearts got hurt when it was his job to make sure they were well taken care of and happy, even though Shanks tried to explain to him that his job was simply to get off and go.

When he finally pulled the vibrator out and let you slump against hi desk, he kissed along the inside of your thighs and cleaned up the mess dripping to your knees, murmuring enough poetic praise to keep you high on orgasm for longer than your ego appreciated.

"Aw, baby doll," He chuckled faintly against your cunt, a smile stretching across his lips when you squirmed and whined when his stubble brushed along your sensitive thighs. "You still wanna take my cock, don't you?"

"Yes." Your mother would be ashamed at how fast you answered the pirate, who merely chuckled again and lifted you into his arms.

[limeshade]

What’s the matter with them? Why are they acting that way? Why, don’t you know? They’re “twitterpated.” Twitterpated? Yes. Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. For example—

BAMBI (1942) Directed by David D. Hand et al. Written by Perce Pearce, Larry Morey et al.

[empty-movement]

Bud of the White Rose: EVERYTHING

HEY. HI. VANNA HERE. Yes, I've seen the countless messages, mostly on Tumblr, begging for links to download the musical, a static accessible copy of the script, and lyrics in Japanese for the main banger, Absolute Darkness: The Rose Garden.

I've procrastinated on this for many reasons! The script was worked out live in the subtitles, making it...kinda hard to translate back into a normal format. Thanks Notepad++ as always for that one. Also, I've felt like I should make a website for this content, and I still think that, but it also has impeded my sharing the content, and that sucks. But you know what? WE HAVE A FORUM. And unlike Discord, this will be archived and permanent! (Yes, I will do the 2019 Black Rose one as well, gimmie time)

2018's Musical Utena ~ Bud of the White Rose: Script & Everything Else!

(Oh, did you want the 2019 Blooming Rose of Deepest Black? Made that post too!!)

Ok fine, I know most of you want the banger lyrics and are too lazy to click for the thread:

M6: Absolute Darkness: The Rose Garden (plays after Saionji loses the duel) (Note, the romanization is via google, though I did check that it sounded right! The Japanese is from the program book.)

WAKABA: Wrapped in a nostalgic fragrance…​ 懐かしい香りに包まれた​ Natsukashii kaori ni tsutsuma reta​ NANAMI: …sealed with the wax crest of a red rose, a formal invitation arrives.​ 赤い薔薇の刻印に 飾られた招待状​ Akai bara no kokuin ni kazara reta shoutaijou​ MIKI: A white rose is pinned to the chest, this becomes the target.​ 胸に差した白き 薔薇を目印にして​ Mune ni sashita shiroki bara wo mejirushi ni shite​ JURI: The desperate search for you, a pursuit that begins on the night of the ball.​ 君を探し求める 舞踏会の夜​ Kimi wo sagashimotomeru budoukai no yoru​ SAIONJI: A heavy gate opens… and then! The sharp point of a sword—​ 重い扉は開き 鋭き剣先は​ Omoi tobira ha hiraki surudoki kensaki ha​ TOUGA: …plucks at the strings of destiny, and the music swells…​ 運命の音楽つま弾く​ Unmei no ongaku tsumabiku​

EVERYONE: The two of you begin to dance, and before long hurt one another.​ 君と君を求む者が舞う やがて互いを傷つける​ Kimi to kimi wo motomu mono ga mau yagate tagai wo kizutsukeru​ EVERYONE: A dance turned to a duel. Just like puppets…​ 決闘と化し まるで人形のように​ Kettou to kashi marude ningyou no you ni​ EVERYONE: …at the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ ANTHY: When the rose petals are scattered…​ 輪のバラの散らされた (As in the program, but not accurate to the sung lyric, which I will use from here on.)​ 一輪の薔薇の散らされた (Accurate to the lyrics, credit to barafubuki's initial Japanese script)​ Ichirin no bara no chirasa reta ​ ANTHY: …you turn up your face to the heavens…​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenkuu wo miagereba​ UTENA: …and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshi no shiro itsuka mimoto ni maioriru​

EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…​

M25: Absolute Darkness: The Rose Garden ~ Reprise ​ NANAMI: Grasping for control…​ 狂わされた運命​ Kuruwasareta unmei ​ MIKI: …of a mad fate…​ 支配された​ shihai sareta​ NANAMI: …a spirit bound without hope…​ 魂縛り付けて​ Tamashii shibaritsukete ​ MIKI: …to a vast world of emptiness.​ 広がる虚無の世界​ hirogaru kyomu no sekai​ SAIONJI: There in the smoldering fire is an indelible portrait…​ 炎で燃やしつくしても 消えない肖像​ Honou de moyashi tsukushite mo kienai shouzou​ WAKABA: …rescued by a shadow from inside the frame.​ 絵の中から救ってくれる あの人の影​ E no naka kara sukutte kureru ano hito no kage ​ JURI: Countless illusions of who you are, overlapping each other…​ 無数のあなたの幻影が 重なり合ってかつての​ Musuu no anata no gen'ei ga kasanariatte katsute no​ EVERYONE: …and painting over the real you.​ 自分を塗りつぶしていく​ Jibun wo nuritsubushite iku​ ANTHY: Even in absolute darkness, I feel your warm hands pulling me forward…​ 漆黒の闇もあなたの手の温もり感じ前に進む​ Shikkoku no yami mo anata no te no nukumori kanji mae ni susumu​ ANTHY: …toward the sunlit garden that's surely ahead.​ 光の庭にたどり着く日は きっと来る​ Hikari no niwa ni tadoritsuku hi ha kittokuru​ ANTHY: Then, you'll let go of my hand, and it won’t even matter if we’re separated…​ その時にあなたが手を離して 去っていっても構わない​ Sonotoki ni anata ga te wo hanashite satte itte mo kamawanai​ ANTHY: …because your warmth will stay with me, for all eternity…​ 温もり忘れない きっと永遠（とわ）に…​ Nukumori wasurenai kitto eien (towa) ni…​ ​ (dialogue cut - note that there is also dialogue occurring over and between the lyrics from here, so I will only note large breaks)​ ​ NANAMI: Grasping for control…​ 狂わされた運命​ Kuruwasa reta unmei ​ MIKI: …of a mad fate…​ 支配された​ shihai sa reta​ NANAMI: …a spirit bound without hope…​ 魂縛り付けて​ Tamashiishibaritsukete ​ MIKI: …to a vast world of emptiness.​ 広がる虚無の世界​ hirogaru kyomu no sekai​ SAIONJI: There in the smoldering fire is an indelible portrait…​ 炎で燃やしつくしても 消えない肖像​ Honou de moyashi tsukushite mo kienai shouzou​ WAKABA: …rescued by a shadow from inside the frame.​ 絵の中から救ってくれる あの人の影​ E no naka kara sukutte kureru ano hito no kage ​ JURI: Countless illusions of who you are, overlapping each other…​ 無数のあなたの幻影が 重なり合ってかつての​ Musuu no anata no gen'ei ga kasanariatte katsute no​ EVERYONE: …and painting over the real you.​ 自分を塗りつぶしていく​ Jibun wo nuritsubushite iku​ ANTHY: Even in absolute darkness, I feel your warm hands pulling me forward…​ 漆黒の闇もあなたの手の 温もり感じ前に進む​ Shikkoku no yami mo anata no te no nukumori kanji mae ni susumu​ ANTHY: …toward the sunlit garden that's surely ahead.​ 光の庭にたどり着く日は きっと来る​ Hikari no niwa ni tadoritsuku hi ha kittokuru​ ANTHY: Then, you'll let go of my hand, and it won’t even matter if we’re separated…​ その時にあなたが手を離して 去っていっても構わない​ Sonotoki ni anata ga te wo hanashite satte itte mo kamawanai​ ANTHY: …because your warmth will stay with me, for all eternity…​ 温もり忘れない きっと永遠（とわ）に…​ Nukumori wasurenai kitto eien (towa) ni…​

(dialogue cut)​ ​ EVERYONE: When the rose petals are scattered…​ 一輪の薔薇の散らされた​ Ichirin no bara no chirasareta ​ EVERYONE: …you turn up your face to the heavens…​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenkuu wo miagereba​ EVERYONE: …and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshi no shiro itsuka mimoto ni maioriru​ EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows are suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…​ ​ (credits/cast walk-on)​ ​ UTENA: When the rose petals are scattered…​ 一輪の薔薇の散らされた​ Ichirin no bara no chirasa reta ​ UTENA: …you turn up your face to the heavens…​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenku wo miagereba​ UTENA: …and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshi no shiro itsuka mimoto ni maioriru​ EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows are suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrou sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden… And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…​

(credits/cast walk-on)​

UTENA: When the rose petals are scattered...​ 輪の薔薇の散らされた​ Ichirin no bara no chirasa reta ​ UTENA: ...you turn up your face to the heavens...​ 天空を見上げれば​ tenkū o miagereba​ UTENA: ...and there you see the illusory castle that will descend, someday.​ 幻の城いつか御許に 舞い降りる​ Maboroshino-jō itsuka omoto ni maioriru​

EVERYONE: At the mercy of a god’s rhythm, two shadows are suspended in absolute darkness.​ 神のリズムに翻弄される 漆黒に浮かぶ 二人の影​ Kami no rizumu ni honrō sareru shikkoku ni ukabu futari no kage​ EVERYONE: The rose garden... And you — the Bride.​ 薔薇の花園 花嫁の君​ Bara no Hanazono hanayome no kimi​ EVERYONE: We’ll never be separated again!​ 二度と離さない…​ Nidoto hanasanai…

[mattodore]

birthday boy 🎂

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

i'll melt your heart into two @jkvjimin ♡

[hyakunana]

✨💕 The winner of the DGP is———! 💕✨

.✨

.✨

.✨

[floating-goblin-art]

*crawls out of your carpet*

I come in peace! I wish to discuss the one called

✨Aether✨

- Big... Big lad.

- So big and strong. Will carry you if you ask.

- Gives the best hugs that are just so healing and magical.

- Sings for you. Will learn your favorite song.

- Stuck in the infirmary? He'll read to you, play Uno, etc.!

- Can absolutely cook and bake like the King he is.

- Has a frilly apron that says Kiss The Cook.

- Opens doors for you.

Until next time!

*crawls back into your carpet*

made it himself!

[blkkizzat]

ꨄ︎『Sneaky Links』ꨄ︎ (PART 1)

Sukuna x Reader (Mentions of Yuji x Reader)

18+ Minors - DNI

PART 1 of 2

Summary: Y/N is a dickmatized manipulative brat. Sukuna is Sukuna. Poor sweet Yuji is collateral damage. CW: cheating, rough play, unprotected sex, spit play, brat taming, spanking, pussy slapping, manipulation, fingering, anal play, edging, tit job, blow job, slight dubcon, sukuna being toxic, y/n thinking with her pussy not her brain (but it’s hard not to when you got that wet wet). WK: 3.1k of 8.5k Slightly Black female coded but no descriptors.

A/N: All I do is eat hot chip and bump Spotify so nearly everything I write has song(s) that goes with it.

Sukuna POV: I Mean It - G-Eazy (this mv is so unsrs but I'm criiiine imagining Sukuna as G-Eazy in this video lmfao) Reader POV: You Right - Doja Cat (not like Sukuna couldn't be The Weeknd POV here but he's so much more of an asshole than that)

Enjoy!

‘2:37 AM’. Fuck.

You had to stop looking at the clock, it was only making you more restless. Usually sleep came to you easily as the peaceful dark of your room and light snores coming from your boyfriend Yuji would lull you into a comforting slumber each night.

You sighed.

Your head lay on Yuji’s chest and his arm was loosely draped around your waist. This has become your typical sleeping position since moving in with each other. You have only been living together for over a little over a month now. But living with Yuji was great, even if your apartment was smaller than you would have liked. 

Despite the both of you being full fledged sorcerers and risking your lives constantly, exorcizing curses didn’t pay the best salary. You wanted something bigger but it was cheap enough to allow the both of you to save for something much better down the line. 

It was Yuji who had mentioned that fact to you, to both console your protests and to hint at more promises for the future. That had been enough to make you giddy and you would have agreed to live in a closet if it meant you could be together.

Sure, Yuji could be a little clueless at times but he always tried his best to make you happy. The two of you rarely had any disagreements even when you were being a stubborn brat. His easy going nature took your faults in stride, meeting your needs without complaint. 

Yuji was always doing sweet things for you like waking up a bit earlier so you could drink your coffee (that he always burnt) in bed. He would shower you with soft kisses to coax you awake with a wide grin and a whispered ‘good morning’ that made you feel warm just remembering it.

You really couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.

You were happy with Yuji.

You love him and are very happy with Yuji. 

Sigh.

So then why exactly is your mind torturing you with thoughts of the cursed object inside your boyfriend taking control of his body and fucking you dumb into the mattress?  

You caught yourself unconsciously chewing your lip in nervous anticipation. 

Your mind couldn’t allow you to sleep because it was filled with Sukuna, The King of Curses and every jujutsu sorcerer’s sworn enemy. 

Your enemy.

How could you let it come to this? 

You felt guilty but it’s not like you had asked for this to start happening. That said, you made no real attempts to stop Sukuna thus far from showing up to fuck you before disappearing again like a thief in the night. 

Rode hard and put away wet, he used you on his whims and it had been happening more frequently ever since the first week after you and Yuji moved-in together. 

The fateful night it started was the night of your housewarming party, ironically enough.

You honestly didn't even want a damned housewarming, you recalled looking back. You thought it was impractical and a bit embarrassing to throw a housewarming for such a small flat. 

Everyone would be on top of each other the entire night. 

But Gojo had insisted, promising to supply the drinks and food which automatically had Yuji on board, so you just gave in. Anything to get Gojo out of your hair and seeing Yuji so excited made you smile.

The housewarming itself went well until the six eyed sorcerer had suggested a ‘friendly’ drinking game. All which would have been fine if Gojo hadn’t brought over what he called Reggae Punch.

However, it wasn’t the standard recipe of peach liqueur and oolong tea you could find in any Tokyo bar. The dark orange drink Gojo concocted was a heavy mixture of actual punch and different liquors that you couldn’t identify until you were already 2 cups in.

The son of a bitch. He had literally tricked y’all into drinking Jungle Juice.

You were already faded as hell by the time the game started so you eliminated yourself early on purpose. 

Yuji, who was a good boy and never even took a sip of alcohol until he was legal earlier this year, actually thought he stood a chance at winning against his seniors. He foolishly joined-in with earnestness.

Rolling your eyes at the memory, the night ended as expected. Yuji was beyond shitfaced. 

His head hung heavy and was barely still on the low chabudai table by the time Nanami (the winner) had dragged a drunken Gojo out of your apartment, who was still singing songs from the pricey digital karaoke machine he had gifted the both of you earlier in the night. 

Maki and Yuta, sensible enough to stop drinking early like you, had already left.

Meaning Nobara, Inumaki and Megumi, all pretty lit themselves, had the near impossible task of dragging Panda home which you did not envy. 

With everyone gone, getting Yuji into bed proved a far easier feat than expected. 

You had left him some ibuprofen and pedialyte on the nightstand and a small bin next to the bed just in case he woke up and felt sick. You really didn’t mind taking care of your boyfriend who always took such good care of you. 

You just wished it didn’t have to be this night. This night when you realized for the first time that mixing that much alcohol in large quantities just went straight to your pussy.  

Pleasing yourself usually wasn’t an issue but after you pulled the second yet still unsatisfying orgasm from yourself is when Sukuna had made his appearance chuckling at your failed attempts. 

Admittedly, you were terrified at first.

You had been dating Yuji for two years but Sukuna didn’t often show himself and he had never even addressed you directly before. It was dangerously easy to forget the most powerful evil sorcerer in existence was residing rent free inside your bf’s soul. 

Nevertheless, you were hard up for a real release at that moment. A cloud of lust fogged your brain and it didn’t take much goading at all for your legs to spread like a warm jelly for The Curse King.

And he did not disappoint. 

Sukuna’s sharp tongue flooded your ears with degrading praises sending electricity through your body that settled in your core where the even sharper strokes of his hips corrupted you from the inside out. 

All your senses utterly stupefied, you came hard. You made a mess on him, yourself and your sheets.

And that was only round one.

Sukuna had near limitless stamina. 

The next morning, achy and sore, you could barely look Yuji in the eye. You were preparing to beg for his forgiveness but you quickly realized he barely remembered the party, let alone what happened after. 

In fact, it made you feel even more guilty that Yuji apologized to you. He was mad at himself for being so rough with you when he noticed the bites, bruises and marks that decorated your body thinking you both actually had sex the previous night. 

You were the worst. 

You really were the worst as truthfully, if you told him in that moment, he likely would have forgiven you then without question. 

It’s not like you alone could stop Sukuna from doing anything he wanted to you while Yuji was unaware. You were a semi-grade 1 sorcerer, strong enough for most curses, but you would be kidding yourself to think you could take on Sukuna in a fight. 

In fact wouldn’t the issue of Sukuna being able to take over Yuji’s body freely while he was unconscious be a much more pressing concern rather than how many times the curse king had made you squirt? 

Yet in spite of the danger, the logic and your better judgment, you were too ashamed to tell Yuji what really happened. 

That was because subconsciously a part of you knew it could happen again.

And it did. 

Many times.

Except for tonight. 

Sukuna had yet to make his appearance tonight. 

In fact, he hadn’t shown up in the last 5 nights in a row. The longest you had gone without his dick since he started toying with you. 

You recalled you had snapped at him after his last visit when his insults had started swaying from you to Yuji and his inability to please you. You told him never to visit you again and threatened to tell Yuji if he did. 

Honestly you didn’t expect your threats to do much. They hadn’t previously. 

As much as you wanted to be relieved that maybe Sukuna had finally grown sick of dealing with ‘Yuji’s bratty pillow princess’, a name he often called you while digging deep in your guts, you weren’t relieved at all. 

If anything it annoyed you. 

He hadn’t listened when you told him to leave you alone the first, second or third time so why now?

Why now after your cunt has started craving the burn of being stretched out by Sukuna? 

You shiver, thinking of his heavy grip on the fat of your hips. His claws would be so dangerously close to breaking your delicate skin. 

He constantly reminded you how easily he could rip you apart if he wanted to while he relentlessly clapped your cheeks from behind. 

Near salivating, you snapped your head up a little too eagerly for your own liking when you felt Yuji stir beneath you thinking it was Sukuna and more than a little disappointed when it wasn’t.  

You knew Yuji’s tender caresses should have made you melt, and it still did in a way. You were still in love with him. 

But it wasn’t until Sukuna tainted you did you realize you didn’t want to be treated like a delicate princess. 

You wanted to be manhandled. 

You wanted to be made a mess of. 

You wanted to be called names like the filthy cheating whore you were currently proving yourself to be. But Yuji was too tenderhearted to ever fuck you like you needed.

Squeezing your eyes shut as if you could block out all thoughts, you knew the reason you couldn't get to sleep was because you were horny for Sukuna. 

The higher the heat in your belly rises the more sleep becomes impossible. Your clit burned in response to the heat in your belly which made your pussy flutter as it desperately clenched around nothing and pushed some of Yuji’s cum from earlier in the night out onto your thighs.

In that moment, all your resolve was lost.

Yuji was simply the appetizer and you were a famished woman. Still left starving for the main course.

Sukuna. 

You swallow, unsure of yourself as you attempt to steel your resolve. You had already resigned yourself to the hell Sukuna put you in.

You turn your head deeper into Yuji’s chest and whisper softly against his pectorals, fingers lightly tracing his lower abs under the blankets.

“Yo…um.. Hey…Hey Sukuna… c-can you hear me?” 

Silence. 

You tried again. Nothing.

You huff, your patience waning. 

“Damnit, Sukuna!” you whisper harshly, your voice rising slightly with irritation. 

You waited more. 

The only reply you received was the rise and fall of Yuji’s chest. 

You were seeing red. 

This lame ass motherfucker. 

Was that it? Was he really done with you now after all this? 

Slowly rising off of Yuji’s chest you glare down at your boyfriend as if you could somehow scowl past his body and into his soul at Sukuna.

You quietly mutter to yourself about ‘the headass lord king of body snatching curses who gots more dick in his personality than pants’ while you shuffle over to the night stand on the side of the bed. 

You turn on the small light and dig deep into the drawers to pull out a toy you saved for nights you were particularly hard up and Yuji was out on a mission. 

Sukuna may have been ignoring you but you could no longer ignore the throbbing screaming at you between your legs. 

Maybe if you rubbed one out you could calm yourself down enough just enough to cease your anger at least. 

You needed to make an attempt to relieve yourself before you really lost your mind and did something insane like knocking the mario coins out of your sweet unsuspecting boyfriend in frustration at the curse inside of him. 

He didn’t deserve that. 

Not like he deserved any of this, the curse inside of him nor a girlfriend like you who would spread her legs so easily for a cocky smirk and a big dick.

You closed your eyes and pushed that thought aside for now. You were sweating and near shaking in need of release. 

Making yourself comfortable on the bed, you turn your vibrator on its lowest setting, so as not to disturb Yuji. 

Dragging it across your skin, you snake a path for it down past your breasts, across your belly and lower still relishing the sensations across your body. 

Licking your lips you barely ghosted your vibrator across your clit before a hand grabbed your wrist and another flung your toy across the room instantly smashing it into pieces.

“You really are a bratty fucking whore, you know that?”

The voice you immediately recognized as belonging to Sukuna. 

And how could it not be? 

It was more sultry than Yuji’s. The deep bass in his voice both teased and admonished you causing your aching clit pulsate to the rhythm of every syllable.

“As your King, I don’t recall giving you permission to touch that nasty little cunt, bitch.” 

You whined in protest and attempted to pull away but it was futile in Sukuna's grip. You could feel the fire from his touch on your wrist alone beginning to spread and torch your entire body. 

Exceeding the levels of any sexual frustration you ever knew in your life, his further denial to let you touch yourself threatened to spill the tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. 

“I don’t recall asking you, my lord,” you spat his words back at him without thinking, “I’d ask you if you knew you were a trifling asshole but we-”

And in an instant he was on top of you.

His tattooed hands now hold both of your wrists, placing them up over your head effectively caging you in and shutting you up before you could even finish your sentence. 

Your eyes widen in response to the hot snarl of his breath and the red of his glowing eyes burrowing into you. 

The reality of who exactly you just decided to sass sunk in.

Sukuna on the other hand revels in your dismay.

“‘Eh? Triflin’” he said, mocking your tone and slang. “Me? Not the filthy slut who is begging me to use her boyfriend’s body to dick her down while he is sleeping? Then you have the fucking nerve to throw temper tantrums when I don’t.”

Fuck, he had heard your insults from earlier after all.

“You think a bratty bitch like you can summon me on your whims and so address me so casually at that? I’ve killed many for far less.”

He was close now, too close. 

However, although hovering over you Sukuna still wasn’t touching you with the exception of the bruising grip on your wrists. 

Despite the lack of contact your body still responded to the suffocating amount of heat and cursed energy radiating off his own. The intense primal instincts of your fear and arousal brewing together in your body was creating a toxic reaction, one which threatened to tear you apart if Sukuna didn’t first. 

Your lip was quivering and your body was squirming beneath him. 

You are completely at his mercy once again.

“And Yuji?” Sukuna continued mockingly. 

His face dipped closer to yours and you let out the shaky breath you weren’t even aware you were holding.

“You’re so needy after he already gave you this dick tonight too? Tsk tsk, you really are a brazen n’ greedy whore.” 

He was wrong. 

Not about you being a whore, of course.  You couldn’t deny that fact even if you wanted to at the moment. 

But he was wrong by implying it was the same as if you were with Yuji.

When Sukuna took over, except for facial similarities, he was all but a different person. 

Sukuna was taller, more muscular and thicker in all areas, his cock not being excluded from that. The tattoos that decorated his body and bound his dangerous muscles caused him to look more intimidating than Yuji ever could. 

Even his scent was different. It was almost as threatening as his presence and was intoxicatingly masculine, more alpha.  

You knew fighting him further was a losing battle. But you were still mad at him for ignoring you.

Nevertheless, he was here in front of you now. 

You were so close to getting what you wanted. If you had to give up more of your dignity at this point then so be it, you didn’t have much left to covet anyway. 

Completely surrendering yourself to him like the little bitch in heat that you were, you appeal to his ego in hopes he would fuck you.

“If you know I’m a whore then just fuck me like one already Sukuna. My King… please? Pretty please? I-I need you. Make me cum please.”, your saccharine tone contrasted with your depraved pleas coming out like a twisted prayer. 

You humbled yourself and hated it. It broke the tears of frustration that had built in your eyes. 

Moisture spilled down the sides of your face, yet you blinked through them in order to maintain eye contact with him. 

The desperation that called to him from every fiber of your being was apparent to Sukuna, his smirk widening at your distress. 

Releasing your hands in favor of your neck, a hand enclosed it applying pressure as he licked a tear trail down the side of your face.

“Tch, Even when desperate and begging you still can’t help but to be an insolent brat”, he whispered, blowing warm air into you that made you tingle.

That’s when you felt his tongue salaciously lick into your ear before pulling back to bite and suck at your lobe and neck, leaving more marks for you to try to cover in the morning.

The full weight of Sukuna’s naked body was now pressed upon yours. You whimpered as he had finally granted you the contact you craved for.  

You could feel his heavy cock begin to twitch on your belly. You panted as you arched up into him, rubbing against his form creating beautiful friction between you both sending you into euphoria. 

But as quickly as the contact was given, it was taken away.

“You should know by now, Y/N.... Disobedient brats need to be punished.”

Part 2

This was originally supposed to be a one-shot but it got a little out of control with writing the lewd scenes. Part 2 is almost done and is FILTHY omg. I will try to post by tomorrow night or Saturday. (updated as of 9/12).

Lol also for anyone who doesn't know Reggae Punch is actually a popular drink in Japan. I did not make that up. It really doesn't have much alcohol content in it at all. But I LOL'd at Gojo tricking them into drinking Jungle Juice cause its literally night and day.

Also imo, Nanami and his salaryman vibe you know would win a drinking contest out of any JJK man so thats canon to me (excluding Toji as according to official fanbook alcohol has zero effect on him so he doesn't even drink it).

Any mistakes please DM, no rude or criticizing comments please.

P.S. I promise I don't hate Yuji.

Reblogs, likes, comments appreciated!!

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

[schneiderenjoyer]

[Attention! UTTU Magazine is holding a special limited run "Live Letter Interview" issue with featured guests, Vertin & Schneider!]

Grab yourself a copy and submit your inquiry through the arcane skill embedded within this edition's magazine. The message will be received in real time and you'll have your answer by way of exclusive UTTU cards!

Remember, this is a limited run, so don't miss the chance to ask all you want to know from the arcanist themself before the incantation wears off!

[etapereine]

"On the Beach" by Mary Oliver + Brothers, Teammates, Rivals & Friends

"On the Beach" by Mary Oliver (x) | Matej Mohorič & Fred Wright, 2023 Tour de France, Stage 19 (x) | Jonas Vingegaard, Sepp Kuss, Christophe Laporte & Tiesj Benoot, 2022 Tour de France, Stage 20 (x) | Mathieu van der Poel & Jasper Philipsen, 2023 Paris-Roubaix (x) | Ivo Oliveira & Rui Oliveira, 2023 Portuguese National Championships (x) | Marc Soler & Tadej Pogačar, 2023 Tour de France, Stage 17 (x) | Jonas Vingegaard & Tadej Pogačar, 2022 Tour de France Podium Ceremony (x) | Wout van Aert & Mathieu van der Poel, 2023 UCI Cyclocross World Championships (x) | Mark Cavendish & Geraint Thomas, 2023 Giro d'Italia, Stage 21 (x) | Felix Gall & Ben O'Connor, 2023 Tour de France, Stage 17 (x) | Richard Carapaz & Michał Kwiatkowski, 2020 Tour de France, Stage 18 (x) | Ilan van Wilder & Remco Evenepoel, 2022 Vuelta a España, Stage 21 (x) | Mark Cavendish & Julian Alaphilippe, 2021 Tour de France, Stage 6 (x) | Primož Roglič & Tadej Pogačar, 2020 Tour de France, Stage 21 (x) | Julian Alaphilippe & Mirco Maestri, 2024 Giro d'Italia, Stage 12 (x) | Valentin Paret-Peintre & Aurélien Paret-Peintre, 2024 Giro d'Italia, Stage 10 (x) | Juan Sebastián Molano & Rui Oliveira, 2023 Vuelta a España, Stage 12 (x) | Jonas Vingegaard & Wout van Aert, 2022 Tour de France, Stage 11 (x)

Thank you @arriere-du-peloton for answering the call when I asked for cycleblr's favorite hugging photos!

[snail-migraine]

ooooh! Could you do something for Elliott from Stardew Valley? Or perhaps Mr. Qi? Elliott’s my favourite character, but Mr. Qi has that “omnipotent stalker with a weird sense of humour” vibe that would fit perfectly.

Thanks in advance!

Ooh, okay! As much as I think Mr. Qi is the most likely out of everyone in the cast to become a yandere, I can't help but that I just wanna cuddle a delusional yandere Eliott. Thanks for the Ask btw!

-

Anon Yan 💌‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Yandere Elliott

I feel like Elliott is the delusional stalker type.

Like when he and the farmer (aka you) first meet it's love at first sight for him.

He's been in a creative rut for so long, bored out of his mind and replaying the same words over and over again in his mind.

He heard about the new farmer coming into town from Leah, and thought nothing of it really. It wouldn't effect him and his work.

Oh how wrong he was. From the moment Elliott met you the man became a simp.

He watched you run around town foraging for anything good to sell, he always admired how keen your eye was for the little berries that'd grow in the bushes and the flowers nobody thought to pick.

He looks at you like you hung the stars and the moon in the sky. Like you've moved the heavens and the earth to make space just for him and his little whimsical fantasies. And in a sense you kinda did.

After all, it was you who brought him out of the bored gloom he'd had been living in for the past months.

So it'd only make sense that you'd become his one and only muse.

The man could write thousands of sonnets and haiku's in your name. He hasn't gotten that far yet, but he's getting closer everyday.

He's sickly sweet, that lovey-dovey puppy-dog expression crosses his face whenever he so much as thinks about you. [Which is all the time btw]

He is totally and completely enamored with you, fallen for you like a fish falls for the bait. Which is unfortunate for him as you don't seem to have fallen for him.

But it's fine! Maybe you're just shy, that's okay, he'll just need to be a little more forceful in his affections.

"Darling! There you are. I have been looking all over for you. Come along now, I have made another poem for you to read. It'll be wonderful."

Which doesn't work...in fact it seems to make you even more reserved.

But thats okay to! You guys will work on that together.

He just keeps on pushing and pushing and pushing, and it never seems to stop.

It isn't until you blow up on him, calling him a creep, that he backs off. But only for a little bit.

He see's this as just a small argument between you guys, it'll pass over in a few days once you cool down.

But then he see's you talking to Sebastion in the saloon. You twirling your hair between your fingers, laughing at his jokes, blushing when he gets a little too close for comfort, and looking up at him with sweetest expression he's ever seen from you.

For the first time in a long time, Elliott feels rage. And not the normal kind, oh no no no, I mean blinding rage.

The kind that makes you act on your violent thoughts. Which is exactly what Elliott ended up doing.

In a flash he's on Sebastion, beating the poor boy within an inch of his life.

The other people at the Saloon try to stop the raging Elloitt, but all of the get knocked on their ass and get to scared to do anything.

Once Elliott was done with Sebastion, he turned to look at you. No longer did he look at with that sweet puppy-dog face, no instead his eyes were filled with nothing but apathy as he grabbed your chin with his bloody thumb and directed you to look at the dead body of your best friend.

"Look at what you've caused dear. This is what happens when you try to make me jealous."

[silusvesuius]

from the back i bash all nite i lastttt t

[svtskneecaps]

lukewarm take of the evening: y'all care too much about being ""outdated"". fellas this smp moves inhumanly fast. it is ok to CHILL holy shit CHILL. y'all are like "(posts BANGER ART) super late guys sorry" friend i am hitting you with a blanket i am snapping you with my metaphorical towel WHAT DO YOU MEAN SORRY. "(posts BANGER FIC) rip this is outdated now" WHO CARES???? I LOVE YOU, OK. ohhhh woe is us as the fandom at large for having MORE HAPPY PILLS ARC CONTENT oh no how outdated!! how could you be writing speculative fiction about how forever felt during happy pills :( slash SARCASM!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!!!! THERE ARE SO MANY BANGER ARCS, WHAT, YOU THINK WE'RE COMPLAINING????? FOR GETTING MORE OF THE CONTENT WE LOVED????? oh no we're past the period where everyone thought green gay ninjas were like Dead Dead, my work is now outdated and noncanon :( WDYM. GIMME. A BANGER IS A BANGER IDC IF IT TAKES THREE MONTHS. you think rome was built in a day?? fuck you, baltimore, GIMME. my ass has been cooking a goddamn backflipo family fic since july when it was ALREADY outdated do you think i fear god??? "oh no, you're making an edit of slime's (attempted) egg murdering spree?? how could you, that was months ago it's irrelevant" SAID NO ONE EVER.

save your wrists kidlings ok carpal tunnel is no joke. CHILL!!!!! CHILL!!!!!!!! TAKE YOUR TIME SHEEEEEESH OK LOVE YOU <3

[lactoseintolerentswag]

when they've got interpreting spiderman noir under a specific cultural lens at the function [picture of me going insane]

I cant help myself.. what can i say. And since you've mentioned some research going on behind the scenes.. do you have any fun interpretations? Or even anything fun about the 1800s!

OH HI

Hm. I don't have anything as fun as historical dancing, but I suppose this does give me the excuse (thabk u) to blab about Noir's childishness.

(wow putting this under the cut bc it got longer than I thought it would LMAO)

I think what a lot of people (including Noir's contemporary writers and yes even the spiderverse interpretation) fall for when trying to read Noir's character is the imitation of his idea of what an adult is, that he hides behind. Like Noir's persona is incredibly exaggerated. He's playing pretend. Look here, he's practicing.

A lot of his persona as Noir is imitation! Imitation of his uncle, of Urich, of the violence he's been exposed to. He's running around in his uncle's old uniform. Fundamentally misunderstanding WHY his uncle had been ashamed of it and his role in the war.

And then he goes ahead and steals Urich's alias because it sounds Cool (which is such a teenage thing to do jesus christ).

But like that imitation of The Adult isn't something that's limited to that exaggerated persona that Noir encapsulates. Peter himself is trying So Hard to be grown up and tough and responsible that it loops back around to him being a brat who would try the three guys in a trench coat trick. He even gets beat up for it when trying to defend his aunt. And I mean I've posted about him being a brat.

About how he looks at Urich as a Prime Example of what a strong and knowledgeable adult is (which is part of why he reacts so volatile in response to Urich showing he's not exactly as morally righteous as himself, he's wounded and let down). Whiskey? Whiskey sounds like someone Mature and Cool would drink, I'll have it too. And then proceeds to throw his drink at Osborn and laugh about it. The illusion was broken for me then.

But well it's not broken for everyone. I mean like obviously I poked at the contemporary writers, but I'm more talking about the other characters in the narrative. Mainly Urich and Felicia.

Urich taking Peter under his wing isn't entirely under the motivation to nurture Peter. I think it Becomes that, but he's really envious of that kid. He wants to see him lose that hope that he once had (ruh roh the opposite thing happened, being around the kid made YOU more hopeful Ben. Guess you gotta be good. Hope you don't die now).

Urich really is exposing him to an extremely harsh reality, and taking him places where adults are typically only allowed. He's letting Peter get a glimpse into what it's like, which will eventually enable Noir's tool of violence. All these tests will accumulate into what Peter thinks someone powerful and strong can be and do.

Then his problematic relationship with Felicia (writers I'm malleting you for this). He's clinging to her adulthood and the safety she represents, and he's young but she sees some adult strength in him. I mean she trusts him with the blackmail Urich gave her, which she really. Shouldn't, even if that's what Urich wanted.

Anyway, strength is something she's been consistently drawn to her in her partners. Strength to feel as her own. Even if it's to hers and others' detriment. There's also a part of Peter that's drawn to Felicia because Urich was. He's still honing in the good parts of Urich he wants to be.

I think the one person in the narrative who doesn't fall for it? Is Aunt May. You could argue it's just her being naturally motherly, but for someone who was about to be eaten alive she's pretty frank with Noir. I think she can see that that violence and exaggerated grittiness comes from someone inexperienced and young. Even if she can't consciously recognize the similarities between Noir's persona and Peter's protectiveness of her. I don't think she wants to see that. I actually have a short comic script about that, but it probably will never see the light of day.

Ugh he's like a cat puffing up to scare away a predator. It's fake!!!!! It's all fake!!!!!! He gets intimidated by JJ, he never ties his shoes, gets powers and then immediately guns to beat the shit out of Osborn, sings about the sandman when he's getting his face bashed in, crawls to Felicia all pathetic and sad, and he made a costume to run over roofs at night in.

And it's funny how he's forcing himself to grow up, but also really sad because all the things he's being exposed to is already forcing him to grow up. He's witnessing things no kid should ever see or experience.

Then there's the time period to consider. The aftermath of WWI, being in the midst of the Great Depression, and WWII just around the corner. He's faced incredible hardship and is going to continue to face so much hardship, and he's going to mature faster than he ever should have. It should have made him crash and burn Hard when he became an adult, and to me he still does because I'm ignoring everyone after ewaof LMAO.

As for my research on the 1800s NY that's for my own spider iteration run I'm working on, so not too related to Noir until I reach the 30's :3

Hope that was satisfying!!