#stop accusing me Neon!

[preciousmetaltimeofnight]

And I didn't kill my spouse!

[idesofrevolution]

Quality Time

*PING* Rocco looked down and smiles. He'd been wondering what Carlo and their father had been up to for the past week. Ever since their mother left a couple of years back, their father had been relatively distant- choosing to spend his hours away from the office at the gym instead of at home with his sons. To be fair, Rocco had left the house at 18, and now at 24 he wasn't home as often as he'd hoped. Nonetheless, it took both boys by shock when their relatively distant father decided to take a month off of work to spend some "quality time" with his sons. Carlo got the first two weeks, and Rocco would have the second. What they were in for, their father wouldn't say.

Hey, Roc. Dad wants us all to meet up tonight. We're at the gym on Broad Street, meet us there in 30 minutes.

The text was odd, definitely different than the normally chipper tone his brother is known for having. There wasn't even a single emoji... Rocco had hoped that everything would go well, but from the curtness of Carlo's message, it wasn't looking good. He sighed, walking his lanky ass over to the closet and throwing on some clothes, wasting no time making the 20 minute walk down to Broad street. The dim neon glow of the Planet Jacked sign illuminated the front of the strip mall; at 9PM on a Wednesday, the gym was the only business open compared to the vacant suites and GameStop next door.

Rocco pulled open the door, pulling out his phone to text Carlo that he'd arrived. The response was immediate:

In the kettlebell room. Hurry up.

Something did feel off, but Rocco had dismissed it as an irritated Carlo trying to pawn their gruff and macho dad off on him. Neither were "manly men" by their father's standards, not that he'd ever treated them poorly by any means. It just meant that they had little to nigh in common with eachother, and little to build a very "buddy buddy" relationship on. But, at least he was making an effort.

Rocco made his way through the gym floor, weaving through benches and weight machines to the double glass doors that houses the calisthenics room. He pushed open the door, and walked inside. Right off the bat, his suspicions that something was off were proven to be justified as he saw his brother flexing in the mirror. Or at least, he thought it was his brother. The man had Carlo's likeness: his short stature, his green eyes, the black and green headphones... but this was not his brother.

Carlo was easily 100 lbs of muscle heavier than when he'd left with their father on Monday morning. His hair was buzzed short, his formerly friendly face now scowled an aggressive smoulder, his arms and legs were bursting with hard muscle. Compared to the 5'2" skinny 19 year old Rocco had known, this man might as well have been a stranger.

"Get my bag over there, gotta shower and change." His voice was harsh, gruff... as if he'd smoked eight cigars before working out. He remained flexing in the mirror, as Rocco stood there gobsmacked. His eyes quickly shifted from his physique to his brother standing perplexed at the door. "You gonna sit and stare or are we gonna get going?" Rocco slowly walked over to Carlo's gym bag, picking it up and straining to shlep it over his shoulder. "Jesus, Roc. We've got to get you into the gym. C'mon, let's go." Carlo turned and walked out of the room, with Rocco hastening to meet his pace.

"Uh, Carlo... Did you... take something? I mean, I'm not accusing you of anything, but how did you..."

"Get this fuckin' jacked? Dad helped out a bit." Outside of Rocco's eyesight, Carlo smirked devilishly. He sneered, hocking a mouthful of spit onto the garbage can. Rocco nearly dropped the bag and bolted. This couldn't be the sweet, naive little brother he'd grown up with. If anything, he was acting more like their father than himself. As they entered the locker room, Carlo stopped at the mirror again, pinching his chin as if he were checking himself out in the mirror. "Yeah, Dad was saying he wanted me to try some pussy this week, and that girls liked a guy with guns. Heh, it worked." He flexed his massive arms, the putrid scent of heavy unwashed musk wafted from his pits as he did. Rocco pinched his nose, dropping the gym bag onto the bench.

"Since when have you been interested in girls?" Rocco spoke with genuine concern in his voice. Carlo had been an out and proud gay man for years now. Their father never understood it, but it never really bothered him any. To him, as long as his sons were 'getting some' then all was well. But this, combined with Carlo's inflated ego and body...

"Since I felt like it. Thought I'd give breedin' a try. After six girls this week, I'm tuckered out." Carlo sauntered toward the shower stalls, tossing his hat and headphones to his brother before turning to face him. "Dad will be here in a minute, just wait here." With that, he walked into the stall, and Rocco could hear the water starting to flow. He fell backward onto the bench, awestruck. Turning to the bag, Rocco imagined vials and vials of steroids and testosterone hiding within. It was the only logical explanation. Taking a deep breath, he slowly unzipped the bag, and ripped the top open to reveal:

Nothing. Carlos' normal street clothes, albeit a bit stretched out now, and an empty shaker bottle. No drugs, no syringes, nothing incriminating whatsoever. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn't due to roid rage.

"NNNNUGUUHHHH" Carlo's voice echoed in the empty locker room over the sound of the showerhead. Rocco stood up quickly, darting toward the shower stalls. Before he could ask if his brother was okay, the noises began. Wet noises- unaffiliated with the running shower. Rocco slowly crept closer, and the sounds had become clearer. Slimy schlorps and squelches combined with Carlo's moans of seeming pleasure. Was he fucking a pocket pussy? Surely not, he assumed, though in the back of his mind, the brother he'd seen was not the Carlo he knew. "uuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNAGHHHHHH!" One final moan and a rubbery slurp, and the room was silent again.

Rocco quickly rushed to the end stall, ready to rip the white curtain open, only for it to open on it's own: revealing the hulking figure of his father. The shock was palpable, as thick as the steam in the air. His father towered above him, as he always did, a massive slab of hard meat with a face. Sweat dripped from every part of his hulking body, and his face was already plastered with a surprised expression. As if he weren't expecting Rocco to see him yet.

"Dad... Is Carlo oka..." Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, he saw his brother slumped over on the shower seat, passed out under the hot streams of water: still in the shorts and running shoes he'd been wearing moments ago. His muscled body could barely bend at the waist, so his limp torso sat at a slight angle to the rest of his body. Rocco turned to his father, whose expression hadn't yet changed.

"I said I'd be there in a minute, Roc." The limber young man tried to rush to his passed out brother, only for the iron grip of his father to stop him in his tracks. "He'll be fine. He'll wake up just the way you know him, with a couple of extra pounds. Don't you worry."

"Dad, what the fuck is going on?" Rocco shouted at his father, whose brows began to furrow. The hulking man grabbed the white curtain, shutting it behind his son. Slowly the look of shock turned to one of seriousness, and a twinge of nervousness shot down Rocco's spine.

"I'm on vacation, Roc. With my boy. And now it's your turn to spend some time with your old man." Rocco took a step back, confused and anxious. "You're what, 24 now? Let me tell you something, Roc. When you hit 50, it doesn't matter if you're the sexiest god damn man alive- women just don't look at you the same. They take one look at you and see a stacked old man. They look at you like you're disgusting, Roc. I just wanted things to be the way they used to, when I was your age." Another step backward, and Rocco felt himself pinned against the wall. "It doesn't hurt. Carlo said it felt damn good. He'll wake up feelin' like a million bucks and go right back to sticking that greasy pole into some man ass. Might even be better than before. But you..." His father leaned in against the wall, the wafting stench of his BO encircling the two. "You swing both ways. So will you do your pop a favor, Roc?" Rocco swallowed his spit, as his father leaned in until they stood inches from eacother, eye to eye.

"W... What kind of favor?"

"Let me be young again. Just for a couple weeks. I'll hop back in Carlo if things get out of hand, he's already said he's good with it. Let your old man take you for a spin, show you how I used to do it back in the day. Then at the end of the month, I hop right out. Deal?" His father stuck his hand out, waiting for him to accept this insane deal. Rocco turned to his brother, slowly coming back to consciousness.

"... One week. And if you don't fuck things up, I'll think about the other two." His father smiled as Rocco shook his hand in agreement.

"Turn around, boy. And just take some deep breaths." Rocco did as he was told, slowly turning around and placing his hand onto the brown tiled wall. He could hear Carlo coming to, and hearing the wet clap of his father's hands rubbing together. "Alright, boy. It's gonna be tight, deep breath!" Rocco took a slow inhale, feeling a strange tingling sensation as he felt his father's hands on his bony shoulderblades. As he exhaled, he could feel the calloused hands slowly sink into his back. "Ohhhh, fuck." His father's gravelly bass voice growled in the cavernous room, soaring above the wet schlorps of his huge arms slowly sinking deeper into his son. Rocco watched as his father's hands appeared beneath the skin of his arms, the outline of his fingers sliding down his biceps and forearms was quickly followed by the sounds of rubbery creaks as his father's considerable muscles slid into his own. Bones cracked and skin stretched as powerful biceps and firm forearms swelled with the invasion, as his father's hands slipped into his own like two tight gloves. His meaty fingers cracked under their own volition, as his father flexed his new triceps.

"Da... Dad? Oh fuck, Roc! It's your turn now, huh, bro?" Carlo's chipper voice cut through the wet sloshing as his father stepped forward, shoving his huge sweaty feet forward into Rocco's heels, immediately swelling to fit his size 14 boats. His father's ripe foot sweat started to pour from his soles while his calves started to sink in as well. "Feels great, right? I mean look at me? Dad promised a rockin' bod, and I mean, fuck! What guy is gonna turn me down now?" Rocco continued his deep breaths, trying to ignore his brother's bizarrely normal demeanor.

"Boy, you remember what your dad taught you. Take control, and fuck hard. They'll be beggin' for that cock." As the words left his father's mouth, he thrust his groin against Rocco's rear, letting his son's skin wrap around his thick ass as he slid his beer can dick into the sheath of his boy's- quickly swelling thick and musky as his balls grew into the size of clementines.

"Roc, just wait. Dad's gonna take good care of you. We're closer than ever, right pop?" His father's hard, hairy torso sank quickly into Rocco, his back expanding as his body fully enveloped his father up to their necks. Massive, juicy pecs and washboard abs pressed against his taut skin, and sputterings of the old man's hair started to sprout across his legs, arms, and chest. Rocco looked down at his massive body, no longer under his control, inflated with his father's stature. He could feel the scratchy scruff of the old man's beard against the nape of his neck.

"Alright, boy. Let me just slide..." He felt his father's nose press against the back of his head, and as it sank in, his vision became fuzzy. "Right..." His neck bulged and stretched, his jaw clenched and sharpened. "On..." His hair grew thick and messy, his eyebrows fuller and lower. As the last of his head was swallowed by the back of Rocco's head, a final crack of his neck and a slow exhale signaled that Rocco had already sank into the recesses of his mind. Facial hair sprouted across his chiseled jawline, as he smiled his pearly white teeth. "In." His father's gravelly tone now bellowed deep from within. He pushed himself off the wall, stretching his now 6'3" body, dripping in his old man's fragrant sweat. Turning to Carlo, he raised his eyebrow.

"Alright, boy. Let's go get some ass."

---

"Yeah, this is my brother's place, we'll be alone here. Don't you worry!" Carlo led the couple into Rocco's apartment, the boyfriend ogling his juicy ass as they walked inside. "Yeah, he's in the other room. This way." Carlo smiled as he threw his arm around the duo, the woman blushing as she turned to him.

"You sure he's down for this?" Carlo only smirked as he opened the door to the bedroom, revealing 'Rocco' in all his glory, swiping through the endless supply of thirsty messages on his Taimi. The couple's jaws dropped at the very sight of him, fresh from the gym, smelling of a locker room right after a basketball tournament.

"Oh wow... Uh, Hi there... I'm Victoria and this is Ollie..." 'Rocco' barely looked up from his phone, picking up his ripe gym shoe and socks, and tossing them to Ollie.

"Sniff, boy. When you're done with that, you can do the same for my brother." The boyfriend eagerly started to huff the stinking sock, moaning in pleasure as he did. "And you..." He put his phone down onto the table, turning to Victoria with a wry smirk. "Come show daddy some love."

[grugruel]

Little Bit

Pairings: roommate!bucky x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Moving in with your bestfriend always seems like a great idea, until something inevitably breaks you apart. . .

He grabs my jaw, 'I fucking hate you.' He breathes, and I smile against his lips.

'No you don't.' I whisper, 'You love me.'

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: friends to enemies to lovers, forced proximity, angsty rom-com vibes, praise (reader calls bucky good boy once), I love you's, choking, creampie, rough sex, pinv sex, semi-public masturbation, swearing.

A soft blue light shone through the windows, the neon sign across from us coloring every reachable piece of the flat a hue of blue.

Sitting on our shared couch, moved in just a week ago. I lay my head in my hands, I too was colored blue.

'How do we fix this?' He asks, sitting in the armchair across from me.

'Us?' I move my hands from my face to look at him with a faint smile, that doesnt quite reach my eyes. The light hitting him somehow fusing into purple, I turned my attention outside, searching for any type of red light.

'How, do we get rid of the flat. . .' He corrects me, forcefully shoving his finger into the coffee table, punctuating the words.

A tinge of sadness sinks it's teeth in me, moving to gnaw on the edges of my mind. Just a few hours ago, he'd still been my best friend. Since childhood, in fact. And now?

'We can't, you know that. We already signed the contract.' I sigh, 'Besides, neither of us have anywhere else to go. Or do I have to remind you?' Crossing my legs, I lean against the back of the couch, Meticulously searching for that red. Perhaps it was just the anger swelling inside him, pushing outward, seeping into his skin and tinting it red. Mixing with the cool of the blue, however, unsuccesfull in calming him.

He clenches his jaw, 'You, don't have anywhere to go.' He points an accusing finger at me, 'I- On the other hand–'

'–Have nowhere to go.' I finish his sentence for him, exhaling it in a whisper, 'We only have eachother now, ironically enough.' I flash my eyebrows upward, the words tasting bittersweet on my tongue.

Reality seems to set in as he too, leans backward and looks out through the window. Now seeming more lost than angry. Nonetheless, he blames me, for. . . what happened. I reach out for him, gracing his knee with the tips of my fingers–

But he pulls back, yanking his knee out of reach for my touch and faces away from me completley. Turning his head over his shoulder, I feel him retracting within himself, tugging all previous feelings and memories with him. He closes his eyes and exhales a shaky breath, 'Dont, I don't know you.' His voice was cold, 'You're nothing more than a roommate, a stranger im forced to share a home with.' Completley devoid of emotion.

My eyes stung with tears, and I hurry past him. Rushing upstairs to the loft, shutting myself in my bedroom.

That was a few weeks ago, the anger and sadness had settled. But in its wake, annoyance and spite had developed.

It felt very much like living with a sibling you hated dearly, a nemesis, your rival. Yet still loved, because of your ties.

'Just get out already!' I groan, stomping my foot into the floor from pure frustration. I felt like a child throwing a tantrum, but he just brought it out of me.

'I'm. Using. It.' He shouted, voice slightly muffled.

'For fu-' I stopped myself, but closed my eyes instead. Reminding myself to be the better person, 'I. Need. It.' I threw his punctuation back at him, 'I have to shower, youre making me late!' I shouted back through the door.

We both had a date, at the same time. Bucky was occupying the shower, it felt like he delayed just to make me late.

Eventually, the door opened and steam poured out of the opening. A cloud of buckys scents wafted in her face, and from it he emerged, with only a towel around his hips. With his bare upperbody on full display.

It's not like I hadn't seen him without a shirt before, but that had been as friends. Buy now that we weren't friends anymore. . . Well, I couldn't help but feel a little something.

He smiled smugly, 'Your turn.'

Oh how I wanted to scream at him, how could someone be so self-satisfied? I frantically gesture with my hands for him to move past me, and the second he did, I threw myself inside.

Finally, the water flooded down my body, every drop doing its duty in soothing an unwelcome ache. Stress and worry washing off of me, sliding into the drain, everything was perfect in this short, shielded time.

It would be over in a moment, when I rejoined the chaos that was my life.

But for now, my hand slipped downward. Quickly finding the source of my ache, and releaved it, rubbing it away in massaging circles. Doing my best to stifle my moans– When involuntarily, an image of Bucky popped up in my mind.

His towel around his hips, the low "V" on full display, his muscles rippling, torso stretching, showcasing his body and toned abs in all their glory. But what if those big hands had grabbed my waist, and pulled me close. What if he sank inside me, how heavenly it must feel. I bit my lip, my fingers moving faster. Realising too late that I was only spurring myself on, I came quickly, doing my best to stifle my moans. Toppling over, I leaned against the shower wall as I caught my breath. Praying I had been quiet enough.

When done, I hurried and dried myself off, then stepped out the shower a wrapped a towel around my torso. I took a quick look in the mirror, making sure that my actions were in no way visible on my face, then opened the door and re-entered the apartment.

The sun was just beginning to set, it was late in the day and the neon light had yet to come on. Golden light filled the apartment as–

Bucky fell onto the couch. . .

Almost looking like he'd jumped over the back of it.

I looked at him strangely, myself acting like I hadn't just touched myself to thoughts of him. 'You ok?' I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

He nodded, and grabbed a pillow, pressing it against his abdomen with an unreadable expression on his face, 'Mhm.' He hummed, 'Just fine, why would't I be?'

A violent urge to strangle him grabbed ahold of me, anger nipping at my skin, I was starting to tire of his passive-agressiveness. I inhaled through my nose, and exhaled through my mouth. Calming myself before I answered, 'You're right, how silly of me to ask. I don't even care.' and headed to my room.

What I did not see, was his eyes following me, lingering on my rosy cheeks and wet hair. Roaming over the bare parts of my skin, noting the way it was riddled with glistening water droplets. Nir had I seen, how he'd walked past the bathroom door earlier and somehow heard my moaning, or that he'd stayed and listened, intently. Sowly becoming more and more aroused. I did however, see a glimpse of him "smoothly" covering his tracks when I opened the door, the old run and jump maneuver. By some miracle, I didn't put the pieces together. Because I had not seen his erection either.

I put on my long, sleek, red satin dress.

It fell perfectly over my body, clinging to every curve. Paired with a pair of nude heels, my legs looked magnificent thorugh the slit too. I walked downstairs, expecting Bucky to make some snide remark, but he was nowhere to be found.

I figured I'd at least let him know im leaving. Presuming he was in his room, I approached it, and could indeed hear him inside.

But I wasnt to sure what to make of the sounds. My subconscious instics must've kicked in, because I reflexively took my heels off and snuck closer. Muffled grunts and slapping came from the other side of the door, they were, lewd almost, kind of like–

My jaw dropped. My name, I heard- I heard my name. He just moaned my name. Surely, this wasnt real, I scoffed internally. He was pranking me, right? Maybe it was an actress, or crush who shared my name? He was gonna open that door any second, jump out and tell me how stupid I was to think such a thing. Yet, something tightened inside me, a dull pulse flaring up.

There was a final groan, then the sound of a zipper. I blinked, frozen. Until I heard footsteps, and forced myself to snap out of it.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit! I quickly tiptoed over to the window, pretending to look outside. Realising I still had my heels in my hand, I had to alternate between putting them on and acting nonchalant.

The creaking sound of his door opening rang out behind me, and I yelped, my head whipping over my shoulder to look at him, taken completely off guard.

His eyes went wide as he met mine. His expression made it very clear that he'd expected me to be gone by now. 'Oh–' he clenched his jaw to keep it from falling. Rubbing the nape of his neck, he looked around nervously, 'Thought you'd gone.' He said, irritation lacing his tone, 'Since you were so stressed about being late and all.' He remarked, narrowing his eyes.

God, the gall on this man.

I put my other heel on, and turn around completley, 'Stress that you caused, you mean?' I pointed out, the final rays of sun warming my back as I looked at him, 'Dont worry, I'll leave you to it.' A giggle bubbled up in my throat. I had to suck on my bottom lip to stiffle it and hide my smile.

I turned on my heel and fled, not sticking around to see his reaction.

I couldn't keep him off my mind, surely it was not me he meant, I heard wrong. He hates me, for gods sake!

At that thought, my date picked me up, and the night was pretty uneventful from there. We had dinner and drinks, but something else was occupying my mind. I was just replaying the way my name sounded falling from Buckys lips, the way he breathed it, moaned it. My core ached at the memory.

My date no doubt thought me distant, but it couldnt be helped. I was desperate for the feeling of a man inside me, for bucky more specifically. So I laid my hand on top of my date's, 'How about we take this to my place?' I asked, smiling seductively.

Eagerly, he agrees.

Arriving back, we stumbled into the apartment. Kissing enthusiastically, as the colorful light had returned. Bathing us in a dark red light. Faintly, it illuminated our path upstairs as I grabbed his hand and pulled him to my room. We'd been too busy to notice Bucky, already standing in the kitchen.

Who hadn't had a very succesful date either, the only difference being that he did not bring her back to their place. He respected their home, but apparently she did not. A feeling of anger bubbled up inside him, but it felt different. Not like it had that first night of their fight, now, he almost felt threatened. He scoffed, surely not, noo–

The red switched to green, and his brain thought it before he himself came to the conclusion, was it. . . Jealousy? He furrowed his brows, disputing with his his mind. Never, he hates her gut. Hes been teasing and annoying her, because he hates her. Simple as that. Earlier, today was just a moment of weakness, a man doing his manly obligations. That was all, he told himself and looked outside, the green light poking fun at him. Calling him out in ways he did not appreciate, it was nauseating.

He had to talk to her, go up there and put a stop to it. This was his apartment too, he had a veto.

He marched firmly up the stairs, the green contrasting the red hot anger on his face as the sounds of laughing grew stronger. He reached for the door handle, when he heard their moaning.

Her moaning more specifially, the sound of skin against skin, of a creaking bed and the way it thumped against the wall. His mind blurred the sounds of the other guy, and instead focused on the sound of her, her labored breathing, her whimpering and mewling. Wishing he was that guy right now. He could've listened all day, but snapped out of it. Shaking his head as he realised the immorality of it. He couldnt just barge in on them, he'd tell the guy to fuck off the second they were done. He nodded, yeah. . . His hand fell to his side as he took a step back–

She moaned, so beautiful. Humming, 'Ooh, fuck, thats good bucky.' The words slipped from her lips befor she could stop them.

Buck froze, they all froze. Blinking, he did a dubbel take. Huh?. . . Huuuh?

'I'm, uhm–' She tried.

'What did you just call me?' The guy questioned, 'Is- is that your roommates name?' Dumnfounded, he pulled himself off of her.

Bucky couldnt believe what he was hearing, he snickered 'Holy f— shit.' Unable to controll himself, he burst into pure laughter as he ran down the stairs. Covering his mouth in the motion, spite pouring out of his ears. 'What a marvelous, marvelous day.' He declared openly, throwing himself on the couch, arms splayed over the back. Waiting for the next scene to unfold.

The man, clothes in hand came rushing down the stairs, and noticed Bucky watching him, 'You him?' He asked.

Nodding, 'Uh, huh.' Bucky hummed, confirming the mans suspicious as a cocky smile spread across his face.

'Fantastic.' The stranger hissed, and muttered under his breath. '. . .Some competition. . .' Then fled the apartment, throwing his clothes on in a hurry.

Bucky laughed, 'So good,' and sighed with content, shaking his head in disbelief.

A second later, I came bounding down the stairs, a sheet pulled around my body. 'Did he leave already?' I asked, sprinting to the door.

Grinning, he answered, 'That he did.' Slanting his head in observation as he took her disheveled appearance in.

I run my hands through my hair in frustration, 'Shit!' My head then snapping to Bucky as he's just sitting there, snickering and looking at me smugly. 'What?' I ask, but he only shrugs, smiling stupidly. 'Wipe that smile of your face, you big idiot.' I shout, 'Where's your date, huh?'

Flinching, hes taken aback 'I didn't bring her home! Its called common curtesy!' He shouts back. Both incredibly sucessfull in riling the other up, immediately getting kn eachothers nerves.

'You jealous or something?' I throw my hands in the air, laughing incredulously.

'I don't need to be, I heard you, you know.' He smirked, 'Up there.' Nodding to my bedroom. And my blood runs cold, embarrassment prickling my face. But I clear my throat, trying to control my emotions, 'You were listening?' I quirk an eyebrow, the corner of my lip tugging.

'Wha– of course not! He protests.

'No? Well, I did.' And now it's my turn to grin, 'I heard you, too. Earlier today.'

His veins freeze, 'I don't know, what you mean. . .' Bucky begins–

'Yes you do.' I saunter toward him, getting right in his face. 'Just admit it.' I hiss, humouring myself.

Grabbing my jaw, he breathes 'I fucking hate you.' But I smile against his lips. The neon sign turning pink, painting us both in its lovely rose colour.

'No, you don't.' I whisper, 'You love me.' And drop my sheet, stark naked underneath.

In a hurry, he crawls back on top of me, lining himself up with my core. Teasing, he slides his member up and down my folds, 'Fuck' I moan, and he slides in. Immidietly setting a gruesome pace, hitting my cervix with every thrust.

He looks at me with awe in his eyes, eyebrows furrowing. He lools teribbly pained, 'I do, I do love you.' He whimpers, as if the sight of me and the the truth he'd refused to accept hurt him.

In a clash, his lips met mine. Feverishly our mouths clash together, tongues waisting no time in tasting the other. His hands glide down my sides, until they grab my ass and he lifts me into his arms. I gasp and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling on his hair, making him grunt. He walks us into his bedroom, and throws me onto the bed with a yelp, then crawls on top of me. Kissing his way up my body until our mouths found their way back to eachother. I unbutton his shirt and unbuckle his belt, hastily pulling them both off of him. He sits back, and zips down his pants, kicking them off. His size was more than enough.

He groans in my ear, snaking his hand up to my throat and as he leans on the other. Nuzzling my face softly, his hand toghtens around my throat, lightly choking me as his hips slam into mine hard into mine.

My hands roam his back, sinking my nails into his skin whenever a particularly rough thrust sends a spirit breaking ache through my body. His lips trace their way down my jaw, specking it with kisses, whispering 'I love you.' In muffled moans against my skin.

I grin, and run my hands through his hair 'Good boy.' I whisper–

He whimpers, 'Fuck.'

The snap of his hips falter as the both of us are reaching our orgasm. He kisses his way down my throat, meanwhile adjusting his hold around it. 'I love you.' He mutters between every kiss, when he finally falls over the edge. His seed spilling inside of me as he does his best to keep thrusting, helping me to reach my own climax. With the chole of his hand, member inside me and his muffled I love you's. The knot tightens in my stumache, and I topple over too. How could I not?

'I love you too.' I whisper, and I feel him smile against my throat as he squeezes it one last time. 'Good, it was too hard to stay mad at you.'

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | check yes, juliet

a/n: poisoned mercury is officially over halfway finished! i'll be posting poisoned mercury playlists soon! pls continue to send me songs that remind you of this series. i'm running out of songs to use as titles. thank u for all the love on this fic <3

series masterlist | previous | next

vi. check yes, juliet by we the kings

“where are we going?” 

“are you going to ask that every two seconds?” 

“you kidnapped me, castellan.” 

luke stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at you. you were about a quarter mile away from camp now, and it seemed like every ten steps, you asked him the same question. if he didn’t find you so cute, he would turn around and walk straight back to camp. 

“i will throw you over my shoulder and carry you the rest of the way there, five star,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes teasingly. he wasn’t opposed to the idea, but by the look on your face, you certainly were. “don’t test me.” 

“and i will scream bloody murder if you do,” you narrowed your eyes at him in a challenging manner. 

“here i am, trying to do something nice for you and you accuse me of kidnapping you,” luke continued his steps, slowing down to let you catch up to him. he didn’t realize how much shorter you were than him. the top of your head just went past his shoulders, but your personality made up for the difference. “we’re almost there, keep up.” 

“not everyone has long legs, castellan,” you huffed, increasing your pace. “slow down.” 

“do you want to get there or not?” he asked, throwing you a teasing smile over his shoulder. you guys really needed to get there soon. the sun was beginning to set and he didn’t want you to have to walk in the dark, even if he was with you. your safety came first, above everything, and he wasn’t gonna put you in a potentially dangerous situation. 

you whined, tugging on the side of his t-shirt, “how much longer?” 

“that’s it,” luke declared, squatting down to throw you over his shoulder. you squealed, hitting his back with your balled up fists. he knew you didn’t do it to hurt him. he can feel you pulling your punches. 

you felt the vibrations from his laughter on his back. luke was enjoying this too much. he carried you over his shoulder like it was nothing. perhaps all those morning workouts were paying off. you twisted your neck to scold him, thankful that he couldn’t see the smile on your lips, “put me down, i swear to god.” 

“nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p.’ he tapped your calf with his fingers, “it’s just around the corner.” 

luke put you down in front of a building. there were five store fronts, three of which had faulty neon lights. you could barely make out the store names. the other two stores had signs up declaring vacancy. it was a little sketchy, but luke seemed to love it. he had his hands on his hips, staring up at the sign that seemed to say “achilles arcade.” 

“what is this place?” luke held the door open for you as you wandered inside the store. the place was dimly lit with old-school arcade games lining the walls. an old man was sitting on a stool behind the counter, reading the morning paper. 

“just wait,” luke grinned, pulling on your hand to lead you to get some tokens, “chiron! my man.” 

the man placed the newspaper on the surface, eyes lighting up at the sound of luke’s voice. he beamed, “luke castellan! i was afraid you weren’t gonna come back.” 

“you know i keep my promises,” luke let go of your hand, introducing you to chiron, “chiron, this is yn. she goes to camp with me.” 

“pleasure to meet you,” he tipped his head, reaching under the counter to dig out a bucket full of golden tokens. 

you took out your wallet, “how much do we owe you?” 

“on the house,” he waved off, “he donated a ridiculous sum of money to keep this place up and running. too generous, this one, so it wouldn’t be right for me to charge you when he’s keeping me in business.” 

luke shook his head, sliding a hundred across the counter anyway. he took your wallet and stuffed it in his back pocket, knowing that you’ll probably try to slip him some cash if he didn’t. you grumbled, but decided not to pick a fight. it didn’t seem like one you’d win. 

luke grabbed the bucket by the handle and turned to you, “where do you want to start, five star?” 

“you took me to an arcade?” 

“yeah,” luke said, sheepishly, “whenever i run out of cigs, i always go to an arcade to keep my mind off things. it’s childish, but it works. figured you could try it. plus, there’s a smoke shop across the street so we can go there when we’re done here.” 

“only one thing is better than the feeling of a new cherry ice vape,” you got close to him, nearly toe to toe. luke could smell the perfume on your skin, the scent of your shampoo, and his cologne that lingered on the hoodie of his that you wore. he reminded you that you always got cold and that you should bring a sweater, but you assured him that you wouldn’t. halfway to the arcade, you were shivering and luke knew that he made the right decision bringing his hoodie with him. 

you rolled your eyes, but accepted it. his hoodie stopped mid-thigh and engulfed you, but it looked better on you than it ever did on him. something about you wearing a hoodie that had his band name on it made his heart skip a beat. he had to listen to you make fun of him for tripping over air after he saw you in his clothes, but he didn’t expect anything less from you. 

he licked his lips, eyes darting to your own, “and what is that, five star?”

“beating your ass at galaga.” 

luke’s laughter echoed throughout the empty arcade as you ran from him with the tokens in your hand. you looked back at him with a mischievous smile on your face and he felt his heartstrings tug in his chest. you stuck your tongue out at him, starting the game as he stayed in his spot, admiring you. 

there weren’t many moments where he could be out in public like this, so when his mom reluctantly agreed to stop at this building on the way to camp due to a flat tire, luke and the boys were ecstatic to find that there was an empty arcade hidden in montauk. luke talked to chiron and learned his story while the boys played random games to kill the time. luke found out that the arcade wasn’t doing well financially with the increase in rent prices and that they would have to close down at the end of the summer if things don’t pick up again. chiron mentioned that he and his partner started this business twenty years ago, and he was sad to see it go. 

luke excused himself and snuck back into the tour bus to grab his checkbook. he wrote a check that covered rent and other expenses for the year and gave it to chiron. of course the man refused it, but luke wasn’t taking no for an answer, not after chiron shared that the arcade was the last living piece of his partner. luke castellan was a hopeless romantic, which not many people knew. he knew he was done for the minute he heard their love story. 

he stood there for a few moments, watching as you cheered, dodging the blasts of your enemies. you were so animated while you played, so expressive with your eyes and your voice. he’d only seen you like this a handful of times, talking to clarisse about god knows what, talking to the younger campers and asking them questions about their projects and interests, and when you asked him about his music. all of your monotoned replies and deadpan looks were all he got for the longest time, it seemed like your nonchalance was only for him, so it was nice to see you like this. it felt like you were warming up to him. 

he thought about the talk the two of you had in your room, how different you’d been then. after being iced out for weeks, luke was a little shocked at how soft you were with him earlier, playing with his rings, holding his hand, talking to him. it was a welcomed surprise, of course, but he expected you to kick him to the curb. he still didn’t understand what actually happened after the concert, but he figured you already had a tough day, so that conversation can wait. 

he made his way to you, leaning across the screen to slightly block your view, “you might be better than me at this game, but your ass is mine at guitar hero.” 

“not fair,” you were focused on the game, eyes glued on the screen in front of you. “you’re in a band. of course you’re gonna be better than me at that.” 

“life’s not fair, five star,” luke poked your side, making you squirm. you died in the game because of it. “my turn, yeah?” 

you shoved his chest, reluctantly moving over. “you cheated.” 

he looked over his shoulder, smirking, “how did i cheat?” 

“you distracted me!” 

“i did not!” he argued, chuckles escaping his lips. his tongue darted out the corner of his mouth. his concentration face was annoyingly attractive. 

“did too,” you mumbled, watching over his shoulder to see how he was doing. he was doing really well. damn teenage boys and their affinity for video games. your chin rested comfortably on his shoulder blade as you watched him play. 

luke’s breath hitched in his throat, suddenly too aware that you were so close to him. he could feel your breath against the nape of his neck, your lips dangerously close to where his tattoo was. he snuck a glance at you, noting how you were too focused on his score inching closer to your own. 

“ha!” you yelled, pulling away from him. you bumped his hip with yours, moving him out of the way, “my turn.” 

“okay, you cheated.” 

you hit pause on the game, placing your hands on your waist, “how?” 

“you were distracting me! putting your head on my shoulder and shit.” 

“awww,” you cooed, playfulness in your tone, “do i make you nervous?” 

luke’s face flushed. he shook his head, tilting his head down to hide the color on his face. he rubbed the back of his neck, “play your fucking game.” 

you said something about him being a sore loser and cheered loudly when you beat his score. when you both ran out of lives, luke led you to guitar hero and as expected, kicked your ass at the game. the two of you played in the arcade until there was one golden token left in the bottom of the bucket. as you wandered around the room, your eyes landed on a black and white photobooth tucked away in the corner. 

“let’s take some pictures,” you grabbed his hand, leading him over there before he could say no. you shoved him inside the photobooth, tapping his knee to make him stop manspreading on the small bench. 

it could barely fit two people so it was a tight squeeze. you were sitting so close to luke, thighs pressed together as you tapped on the small screen to begin the process. luke could feel the warmth of your skin against his and he was glad that there was no colored photos option because his cheeks were bright red. maybe he can blame the lights making him feel hot if you brought it up, but he wasn’t sure if his voice even worked enough to utter out his excuse. 

“you better smile, castellan,” you threatened, turning to look at him before you inserted the token in the slot. “not that little side smirk shit that you do in all your pictures.” 

“what side smirk?” 

“that thing you do in your pictures!” you shouted, “in every single instagram post, you always do it.” 

luke raised an eyebrow, a cocky smile appearing on his lips, “you’ve stalked my instagram?” 

“not the point,” you ducked, pretending to mess with the settings of the photobooth. luke can see your shy smile on the screen in front of him. “i’m just saying, smile normally.” 

“that’s how i smile, five star! what do you want me to do?” 

“that is not how you smile!” you argued. you took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you faced him. he was already looking at you, soft eyes and a hint of a smile on his features. a stray curl was out of place on his head and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching over to put it back in place. luke held his breath as your fingers grazed the side of his face, taking much longer than you needed to fix his hair. your thumb subconsciously rubbed against the scar on his cheek. luke let his eyes close at the feeling. 

“there,” you whispered, pulling your hand back to your side. “that’s how you smile.” 

he tried his best to keep that same expression on his face to see what you were talking about. he glanced at the screen and found himself stunned at what he found. you were right. this is not how he looked in his instagram pictures. he almost didn’t recognize himself as he stared. he looked different like this. 

there were no creases between his eyebrows or on his forehead, like there was no stress on his shoulders. his eyes looked brighter somehow as if he was at peace, exactly where he needed to be at that moment. his lips were quirked up in a tender smile, parts of his teeth showing between the gap of his top lip and bottom lip. did he always look like this when he was with you? awe-struck and enraptured by your presence? 

he should feel pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when you were looking at him like you enjoyed this clandestine look on his face, a look that he reserved only for you. he couldn’t feel pathetic when you were looking at him in the same way. a secret language between the two of you, that nobody else in the world could even begin to understand.

the countdown on the screen started and luke was pulled from his thoughts quickly when you pressed your cheek against his, grinning as the timer flashed across the screen. he let himself smile, teeth on full display before the flash went off. the second countdown began and luke watched you fumble around to pick the next pose. you settled on a silly pose, sticking your tongue out as you held up the ‘rock and roll’ sign with your hand. he followed your lead, letting a snicker leave his lips at how fitting the pose was. 

the final photo was uncoordinated. luke wasn’t ready for the flash to go off. you placed your hand on his shoulder, craning your neck to look up at him. if he leaned down an inch or two, his lips would touch yours. the realization had the wires in his brain crossed. when the machine took the picture, luke was staring lovingly into your eyes, a look of indecision on his face. his lips were curled into a bashful smile, the tip of his nose touching yours. 

“five star,” luke breathed out, his arm snaking around your waist. your leg was now placed on top of his own. 

you gulped, nudging his nose with yours, “luke…” 

he’d never heard his name leave your lips before other than when you were mocking the gossips you heard about him. he’d never heard your real voice call him by his name. now that he has, he was addicted to the sound of it. he never liked his name that much, but somehow, when you said it, it sounded like poetry. he never thought a single syllable could sound so beautiful, have his knees buckling at the utterance of it. but with you, he supposed there was always a first for everything. 

when the bright red words stating “your photos are ready!” illuminated the inside of the photobooth, the two of you jumped apart from each other, blushing wildly. luke took a moment for himself inside the photobooth, rubbing his face with his palms, as you walked out to retrieve the pictures. luke followed you after taking a few deep breaths. 

he saw you leaning against the wall, the two strips of pictures in your hand. you had a goofy grin on your face, admiring them. luke sauntered next to you, taking a look at the photos. 

he accepted the strip of photos you handed him, “we probably should’ve discussed our poses beforehand.” 

“i dunno,” you were still staring at the pictures, biting your bottom lip. “i like ‘em.”

luke hummed, taking out his wallet. he folded the strip in threes, slotting the last photo in the clear compartment of his wallet. it looked perfect against the black leather, like it was the last thing needed to make his wallet look complete. he slipped it back in his back pocket, taking yours out to return to you. 

“smoke shop?” he asked. 

“please,” you nodded, beginning to walk out of the arcade. you waved goodbye to chiron who moved onto doing the daily crossword. “bye chiron! great to meet you!” 

he bid the two of you goodbye, a knowing gaze on his face. you were already out the door when he sent luke a wink that had him shaking his head, face turning red at the man’s antics. luke shut the door behind him, ushering you over to the sidewalk towards the smoke shop, “i’m out of cigs too, so this is actually perfect timing.” 

you waited outside the smoke shop, sitting on the curb. luke had a fake id (for research purposes, of course. he was just curious to see what the kentucky ids looked like.) so he bought your vape and his cigarettes. when he emerged, he joined you on the curb, pulling out his phone to call an uber back to camp. 

the sun was long gone and he could hear the owls hooting in the distance. it was not a good idea to walk back to camp, even if it wasn’t even a mile away. he watched you unwrap your vape, taking a small hit from it. he lit his cigarette with the lighter he carried with him and smoked with you in silence. 

“uber is gonna take twenty minutes,” he said, placing his phone between the two of you, face up. “i’m guessing there’s not many people around here.” 

you glanced at his phone, giggling at his lockscreen. it was a picture of the entire band, wearing matching novelty sunglasses taken at a .5 angle. they looked ridiculously like the guys you’ve grown to adore. “i like your lockscreen.” 

luke tapped his phone to wake it up. he let out a laugh, “mom took it when we played vegas for the first time. we were too young to go out and we were too afraid to use our fakes so we went to m&m world and got wired on sugar.” 

“you guys are really close, huh?” 

“got to be,” luke shrugged, “we’re together 24/7, but even before that… these guys are my brothers. love ‘em, even when they’re a pain in my ass. what’s your lockscreen?” 

you pulled out your phone, showing him the picture of you, clarisse, and silena flipping off the camera. it was taken during one of your (failed) attempts at studying at the library. you were all in sweatpants and large hoodies with the stress of midterms evident on your faces. “that’s silena, my other best friend from unc. her boyfriend, charlie, took this picture because he said we looked absolutely miserable. and we do, but it makes me happy looking back at it. we were struggling together and we somehow made it out together.” 

“i do not miss school at all,” luke blew out the smoke in his mouth, “i was a shit student.” 

“but now look at you,” you teased, “mr. rockstar.” 

“yeah, yeah,” luke copied your voice, “can’t complain.” 

you hummed, tucking your vape in the pocket of luke’s hoodie, “you can, especially with me. i’m the number one hater, so i enjoy complaining quite a bit.” 

“oh, i know.” 

you smacked his arm, rolling your eyes as he stumbled in his seat, laughing. you cleared your throat, voice turning serious, “seriously. i owe you for today, so complain to me all you want.” 

“you don’t owe me shit, five star,” luke put out his cigarette, standing up as his phone alerted him that the uber was coming soon. he held out his hand to help you up. “but i will take you up on that offer. of course, i can only do that if you don’t ignore me for weeks again.” 

you slapped his hand away, shaking your head, smiling, “shut the fuck up.” 

luke flagged down the uber, placing a hand on your lower back to lead you into the backseat. you entered, making polite conversations with the lady in the driver’s seat. 

“for chase?” 

luke nodded, “yup, thanks so much.” 

as the car drove off in the direction of camp, you turned to luke, mouthing, “chase?” 

he took out his wallet and handed you his fake id: chase reed, brown eyes, brown hair, 5’11. 

luke safely tucked the id back in its slot when you tossed it back at him, giggling at his alter-ego. he didn’t say anything when you moved closer to him, sitting in the middle seat, and held his hand the rest of the way back to camp.

[pinkbeanii]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝓓𝔂𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓗𝓪𝓲𝓻˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

-an unconventional date night w/ jongseob-

A/N: inspired by @soulseobie and their Soul one shot, also @kisseobie made the og prompt. This is my first time posting my writing to tumblr so please be nice!! Constructive criticism is welcomed!

Warnings: mentions of wandering hands but entirely sfw, pet names (baby, babe, beautiful, sweetheart), like two-ish kisses but no details, shirtless jongseob but no description

It doesn't matter if you have experience or not with hair, Jongseob trusts you implicitly.

He has so much confidence that even if you have no clue what you're doing it'll turn out okay, and if not then-

“it's just hair baby, it'll grow out eventually!”

Seobie is pretty laid back about the color, obviously he has opinions but yours are more important to him.

Definitely wants to go with you to get supplies, and he's attached to your hip the whole time. It's fun honestly, how involved he wants to be.

"what about this one babe? think I could pull off neon green?"

"oooo, they have rainbow bowls! we have to get some!"

"do you think we'll need a hair treatment for after?"

Very insistent on paying, saying that it's his hair you're doing and it's the least he can do. Tbh, hair stuff can be pretty expensive so you really aren't complaining.

Once you have all the supplies and your space is set up (covered in paper and plastic wrap as to not stain anything) Jongseob is practically bouncing in excitement.

He's gotten his hair done before, obviously, but it's his baby who's doing it this time, ofc he's excited!

Jongseob is dressed in some random old band tee of his, and forced you to wear one as well. It doesn't matter if you were wearing stuff you didn't mind getting dye on, he insists on his shirt.

"no, this is not just bc I like how you look in my clothes, I just don't want you to get dye on your pretty outfit!"

[It definitely is, and he is absolutely pouting when you accuse him of it]

Assuming his hair is already blonde (it is at the time of writing this) you guys start with color right away. He wants to be surprised, so he doesn't even look while you're mixing the color or applying it.

He's very chatty the whole time, still feeling excited and energetic. Which was cute and sweet at first, but he kept moving his head, causing you to mess up in certain areas and get dye places it really shouldn't be.

"babe, you gotta stop moving, I got dye on your neck again!"

"I'm sorry! I'll try not to."

He tries his best not to move too much, but as you finish up the back and move to the front, the moving becomes touching.

Seobie is normally pretty touchy with you, but as nice as his hands feel running up and down your thigh, it's also really distracting.

His hands don't wander too much, he really doesn't want to disturb you! But it's an unconscious thing, his hands just gravitate to your skin whenever they have a chance.

If you point it out he'll get kinda sheepish-

"oh, I didn't realize. your skin is just so soft and warm!"

When you're applying near the roots of his hair, towards his scalp, he gets shivers from the cool temperature. No matter how many times you get your hair dyed, it's always a weird feeling to have goopy dye on your scalp

As you get to his bangs and move in front of him, he gets an idea.

It's pretty obvious, at least to you, when Jongseob has a plan to do something, but being so immersed in applying the dye you didn't notice.

Just as you finish painting a stripe of dye, he pulls you fully onto his lap. Hands gripping your hips making sure you can't squirm out of his reach.

"JONGSEOB!"

"what? I want you here with me, isn't it easier than trying to stand?"

"you could have given me some warning, and what if I'd gotten dye on you? and I don't think that-"

*kiss*

"I want you here, please."

Not being able to say no to his pleas, and feeling quite comfortable in his lap, you stay seated.

Finishing up the front was easy. Using your gloved hand you massage any left over dye into his hair, making sure every strand is coated.

With your hands in his hair Jongseob relaxes even more, leaning into your touch and letting out a whine when you stop-

"felt good, keep going?"

Ofc you indulge him for a while longer, he's so sweet when he asks so it's only natural.

After finally pulling your hands out of his hair and removing your gloves, you hand him the neon orange shower cap he'd insisted on at the beauty store.

Seobie smiles when you turn around, the neon shower cap stretched over his head. He reaches for you again, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you between his legs.

"wanna play switch while this sets?"

After about 30 minutes the timer you'd set rings, signalling that it was time to wash out the hair dye.

You both got settled in the bathroom. Jongseob on the floor, upper body resting against the bathtub, neck stretched so his head was over the tub.

You tucked a rolled towel under his neck, hoping it would help lessen the uncomfortable feeling. Seobie gave you a thumbs up-

"thanks beautiful, feels fine don't worry."

You both thanked the universe that the shower head was detachable, and began the rinsing process.

Jongseob relaxed as your hands entered his hair again. He'd always had a soft spot for you playing with his hair, something you used to your advantage whenever you could.

As you worked to rinse his hair water splashed around, landing everywhere. No matter how hard you tried to minimize it, the water had a mind of its own.

By the time you were halfway done the floor outside the bathtub was damp and so was Jongseob, mostly his shirt. Which he promptly took off as soon as you gave him a break to sit up.

Seobie balled up the tshirt and tossed it up to the counter, turning to you shamelessly.

Ofc you'd seen him like this before, but it still left your face hot and needing to look away.

"what's got you so shy sweetheart, nothing you haven't seen before."

This boy... He's just... Cocky isn't the right word, but it was more than confidence. Maybe comfortable is a good word for it. He knew he was safe with you, so being shirtless didn't leave him feeling "exposed"

Once you got ahold of yourself it was time to continue rinsing.

It took quite a bit before the water ran clear, during which you took advantage of your position to occasionally glance at the shirtless boy under you. No matter how many times you'd seen him, it was still a very pretty sight.

When the dye had been fully rinsed out you pulled Seobie to sit up, plopping a dry towel over his head and drying his hair gently.

Neither of you felt like using a hair dryer, so once his hair was mostly dry, tho still slightly damp, you helped him stand.

"ready to show me babe?"

Covering his eyes you walked him in front of the mirror-

"3,2,1!"

Jongseob looked at his new hair with a wide smile, turning his head side to side, admiring it.

After a thorough appreciation of your hard work, he turned to you and gently held your face-

"it looks absolutely perfect baby, knew you could do it!"

His words left your face hot again, making him giggle at your sudden shyness. In turn, he peppered your face with kisses, light pecks scattered everywhere, ending with a sweet kiss to your lips.

An overall enjoyable experience, with a fun outcome. Seobie would definitely ask you to do it again next time he wanted a change.

Thanks for reading!! I hope this was enjoyable, the plot and idea kinda got away from me at times, but I had fun writing it!

Also, in my head the colour would be like a pinky orange, bc I love Seob's orange hair (let's be real, I love all his hair colors) and my favorite hair color on me is pink, so therefore: pinky orange lol

[ghostbsuter]

The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 3 )

> previous

.・゜-: ✧ :-

"Why are you avoiding me." Green eyes, sharp and unflinching, locked on Danny.

Startled, he turns to the younger boy, Damian? Bruce's only blood kid, he reminds himself.

"I'm not avoiding you." He denies, shaking his head, eyes trailing off.

But Damian knows, he learned and memorised the movements, signs, and behaviour of human kind.

"Do not lie to me, Nightingale."

The use of the name triggers something, and both Damian and Danny jump back, startled and cautious.

"What's the meaning of this!" The boy demanded, snatching his sword from the hilt.

The other raised his hands, pleading. "Look Damian– put the sword down and let me explain, please?"

They stood in tense silence, the sword pushed down reluctant and swiftly tugged back in.

"Explain."

Danny sighs in relief.

"You're more than aware of your parentage, yes?"

A nod, if not slightly confused. "Wayne?"

"No, al Ghul."

He keeps his facial expression and body language closed, obviously trained, and tilts his head to the Ghost. Listening, assessing.

Danny swallows as the air takes on sparks, dangerously close to one another.

If only Dick was in the mansion, maybe he'd cut the air with a knife followed by laughter and help him escape.

"The al Ghul line is in a delicate balance that can be toppled any time," he explains. "it's an old house, new compared to the houses of ancient, but powerful."

"You're saying," Damian drawls, carefully placing the words to form the sentence. "that the line of Al Ghul is... magic." He is studying the older, eyes narrowed and focused.

He knew such accusation would be called ridiculous by the younger. It would definitely earn him a few attempted kills.

"Not all dark houses are magic, just magic adjusted. The reason al Ghul is where it is today is that the founder, your grandfather, is still alive."

"You're aware such claims would have your head."

A wince.

"Fine." Damian scoffs. "We will go back to that after, tell me of the name triggering then."

"Names have power, but family names are more powerful, especially those of dark houses. If another dark house calls—"

"It registers as a warning and summoning." He finished, unfazed at the owlish blinks received.

"You were taught."

"I was, you're right, the al Ghuls are not magic. I haven't taken it seriously back then, I now see the error of my actions." The boy simply states, arms crossed.

"Calling another house of dark by name and immediately pulling a weapon is a declaration of challenge." Dannt adds after a moment of quiet. "I would rather not fight and make an enemy here."

"Not an enemy, but neither an ally?" Is quickly thrown back.

The Nightingale shrugs. "I'm not fond of your grandfather," he admits. "but it's known that every generation changes the house, I would not mind being the ally of the al Ghuls, if it meant you did the contract."

"Being an ally to my name only and to the al Ghul if asked." Green eyes, borderline neon, it reminds Danny of the zone. "Bold."

A grin cracks through, and Danny gestures to the door. "We can discuss the terms during snack time, if you wish, al Ghul."

A spark and Damian scowls harder. "Stop that." He says. "Let's do so, Father would be quite pleased knowing I've made more allies."

As he stomps to out, Danny follows with a jump in his steps, very pleased.

Nightingale 1, Constantine 0!

[discordantwritings]

Rock Hard (Rock Band! Cross Guild x Reader)

Part 2. The Vocalist

Prelude // The Vocalist // The Guitarist // The Drummer

Warnings: afab gn!reader, facesitting, PiV sex, slightly subby Buggy, I know the title says cross guild but this part is just Buggy

WC: 2.4k

Summary: You will not fall to the clown’s charms you will not fall to the clown’s charms you will not-

Oh shit you fell for the clown’s charms.

Notes: Finally found an excuse to write facesitting lets goooooo

You were less of a manager to Buggy and more of a babysitter. If you could get away with getting him one of those child backpack leashes you would. Within a week you got the passwords to all his social media so you could stop him from posting dumb shit like “I wish my dick could detach” and “I could fist fight The Rock and win, give me a date and time”. It was exhausting. Hilarious, but exhausting.

It would be worse if he wasn’t so damn charming. Ever time you find yourself getting mad at him he would grovel and bat his frustratingly perfect eyelashes at you and all the anger you have fizzles out. It was a game you played- Buggy tested your limits and then you reigned him in before he could do any lasting damage. You’d get mad, he’d get cute, and then you went back to the beginning.

It would be worse if he didn’t do such good work. Buggy was the only band member you could get to do any sort of press (Crocodile and Mihawk claimed that that was what Buggy was there for, so they didn’t have to talk to the public) so you had to lean on him heavily for public relations. It turned out not to be a problem though because he could charm just about anyone. Even the most cynical of interviewers would be at least softened by Buggy’s crazy stories and silly jokes by the end of their time.

And that’s what you’re watching now at The Cross Guild office. You got this interview on the the interviewers misguided thought that he could run into Crocodile or Mihawk. Jokes on him, you planned this for a day neither of them were in the office. Because of that the interviewer came into the set annoyed, and Buggy shot you a look from where he was sat. You shrug and give him a thumbs up as the cameras begin to roll.

Watching him turn on the charm was mesmerizing. The way he leans in towards the interviewer and smiles, the way he never backs down from a question or accusation, the silly physical gags he manages to weave into a normal conversation, it’s all so impressive. After about an hour the production finally wraps up and Buggy bounds over to you.

“He was an ass.” He whispers to you and you nudge him on the shoulder.

“Can’t you wait a few minutes.” You eye the interviewer who is still in the room.

“Can we just go back to my office and debrief or whatever so I can go home?” Buggy says in almost a whine.

“Yeah, yeah.” You follow behind him through the hallways until you get to his office.

Gaudy is the best word to describe his office, right next to messy and a fire hazard. No piece of furniture is the same color and various rugs and discarded clothes cover the floor. You’re bound to trip over something before you leave but for now you find your way safely to a chair to go over the events of today and what’s on the schedule for tomorrow.

“So we did three interviews today, tomorrow we have a meet and greet and then a radio show. And then-“ You look up to see Buggy on his neon green couch and on his phone. “You’re not listening to me.”

“No I am!” He says, not looking up from his phone.

“Then what’s on the docket tomorrow?”

“… more talking.” He clicks his phone off, knowing he’s been caught.

“Look, seriously I just need five more minutes of your attention and then you can do whatever. You’ve knocked it out of the park today, so I just need to keep that going until this press wave is over.”

Buggy pauses and smiles wide. “I knocked it out of the park?”

You sigh. It was hard giving Buggy any kind of praise, the way it went straight to his head. But you felt bad for the way his fellow band members treated him- like he had no redeeming qualities. “You did good today Buggy.”

He stands up and walks over to you holding out a hand, indicating for you to stand up. Confused but curious you do, and are pulled up close to him. “Now see, if you just kept telling me how good of a job I’ve been doing I’d pay attention all the time.”

You did your best not to react at how close you are to him- keeping your breath even and hoping there was no flush to your cheeks. “But then it would all get to your head and I might have to knock you down a few pegs.”

“I don’t know about you- but that sounds like fun to me.” One of Buggy’s hands skirts over your hip while he gets somehow impossibly closer to you.

“Buggy.” You say sternly, a warning.

“What?” He stops moving, one eyebrow raised.

“I know playing around is fun for you, and you’re not serious, but nothing even close to this can happen.”

“And what is this?” He’s clearly feigning ignorance and you put your hand on his chest and push.

“Nothing.” The word comes out a bit more hurt than you would have liked it to sound. Of course Buggy picks up on it.

“It doesn’t have to be nothing. I know you say I’m not serious but-“ He opens his arms. “I like you.”

“You like a lot of people.” You fire back, jabbing your pointer finger into his chest.

“Maybe that’s true. But c’mon we could have so much fun together.” He steps back closer, your finger digging deeper. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Embarrassment quickly colors your features as he hits the truth right on the head. Of course you’ve thought about it. The way he looks at you, the charm he has, his voice, the way you quickly counted him as your friend here. You really wondered what that stupid mouth could do but admitting that you fantasized about him? “No.”

“You’re an awful liar.” Buggy calls you out, brushing an errant hair behind your ear. “Now c’mon, I’ll even let you knock me down a few pegs.”

It was an awful idea. The worst idea you’ve even considered. You could tell Buggy no one more time and you know he’d respect your choice. But both of you know your heart isn’t in your reflections. Kissing him, doing anything with him as a bad idea.

So of course you grab him by his shirt collar and pull him in for a kiss. He’s shocked for a second- like he can’t believe all that stuff he said actually worked- but quickly melts into the kiss. His hands find your hips and he pulls you flush to him as he tries to take control. But you’re not going to let him win that easy.

You walk forward, forcing him to take steps back until his legs hit the couch. You finally break away from the kiss, panting and grinning wide. Placing your hand on his chest you lightly push and Buggy gets the message, sitting down and letting you crawl onto his lap. He looks up at you, eyes wide and pupils dilated and you want to ruin him.

You kiss him again, aggressive and greedy as your hands hold onto his shoulders for balance. Buggy’s hands, still at your hips, pull you down so he can grind up into you. You gasp as you feel Buggy’s hardness against you through layers of clothing. Bringing your mouth down you kiss along his neck as he continues to grind up into you, small whines leaving his chest.

You lose yourself for a while, switching between his neck and mouth while you grind against each other like horny teenagers. But it’s not enough and you’re starting to get a bit frustrated.

“Hey Bug.” You bite at his earlobe.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Wanna be knocked down a peg still?” Your hands travel his chest as he nods furiously. You stand up and Buggy is clearly disappointed but you motion to the floor. “Lay on your back for me?” You ask sweetly, undoing the buttons on your pants.

You barely finish your sentence before he’s eagerly sliding off the couch and onto the ground exactly like you asked. He props himself up by his elbows though to watch you, and you decide to give him a good show. You face him as you unzip your zipper and grab at your waistband but then turn around and bend over slightly as you drag them down over your ass and legs. You can’t see Buggy’s face but you can hear him groan as your pants and panties are taken down in one motion. Turning back you step out of your pants and get on your knees over him, straddling his chest.

“Can I sit on your face?” You ask sweetly, smiling down at him.

Buggy’s pupils are blown out, almost none of that bright sea green remain. He doesn’t say anything, he just grabs your thighs and pulls you up closer to his face. You can’t help but chuckle as you help him out, sitting up on your knees as you position yourself right over him.

“Fuck- I mean- goddamn-“ Buggy curses and you wish you could still see his face. “Please cmon just sit baby-“

Not wanting to wait either you lower yourself and the second you so Buggy dives in. There’s nothing neat or slow or thought out about the way Buggy eats you out but fuck if it isn’t good. His tongue works its way inside you quickly as his hands dig into your thighs. As he haphazardly goes between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit you have to lean forward and use the couch for balance. You start to get dizzy with pleasure and end up focusing a lot of your energy on staying up and not actually sitting on Buggy, which he seems to notice.

He breaks away from you and you whine but hear his voice. “Just sit on me baby- I’ll be fine please cmon-“

He sounds just as dazed as you and the lust and whine in his voice make you relent, fully relaxing and focusing on the pleasure he was giving you. As his tongue finds your entrance again you grind down, rubbing your clit against his nose. Your moans fills the room as you chase your pleasure and use his face to get yourself off. While one hand stays on the couch to keep you balanced the other goes to Buggy’s head, gripping his hair and tugging.

“‘M close Bug-“ You manage through gasps.

Buggy doesn’t let up- one of his hands comes down to join his tongue inside you, filling you up more while you grind on him. The edges of your vision go white as your orgasm flood over you, slick gushing onto Buggy’s face as you ride it out. When the high is over you slide yourself off of his face and lay down next to him. As you do you see that Buggy’s hand is shoved down his pants and he’s grinding up into his palm.

“Fuck- you been getting off on eating me out?” Your voice is breathy and needy.

“Fucking of course.” He says and you finally get a good look at his face- slick from your juices and completely fucked out. You can’t help but capture his lips in another needy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. Snaking your own hand down you grab his wrist, gently pulling it out of his pants. He whines but you quickly shush him.

“Need you inside me- now.” You plead and Buggy wastes no time.

He sits up and shoves his pants down while you get on all fours in front of him. He growls when he sees you presented for him like this, one hand going to your hip while the other grabs his length so he can line himself up. He drags his tip through your folds, gagging up your wetness and teasing you.

“Buggy-“ You tried to be annoyed but your voice just comes out like a whine.

“Alright, alright.” Buggy finally presses into you, stretching you out as you both groan.

He takes his time, letting you adjust as he sinks into you and holds himself still for a few seconds when he bottoms out, waiting for your breathing to level out. But after that all of his patience ends. His hands grip your hips tight as he repeatedly slams into you, hitting you deep every time. You try to meet him half way, thrusting your own hips but one of Buggy’s hands leaves you hips and goes to the small of your back and pushes down- he starts hitting spots you didn’t know existed and you give into him.

You know he’s not going to last long from the way his thrusts are already stuttering- but you’re not far behind, already sensitive from the orgasm he gave you not minutes ago. He must know you’re close too, the hand on your hip leaves and travels downwards towards your clit.

“C’mon I want to feel you come all over my cock please baby-“ He babbles as his fingers work on your clit driving you closer and closer.

With one final thrust and his pleads in your ear you cum again, walls contracting around his cock and squeezing him tight. You let your front half fall to the ground as Buggy pulls out just in time to paint your folds and ass with his cum. You both sit breathless for a few moments, regaining the ability to think.

“I can’t say I feel knocked down in any sense.” Buggy comments from behind you and you whip around and hit him on the shoulder.

“Really that’s what you’re going to say?” You want to sound angry but you can’t help but laugh at his stupid grin.

“It could have been a lot worse?” Buggy offers and you just roll your eyes and loop your arms around his shoulders.

“Look- that was-“ You almost give him a compliment but think better of it. “You cannot tell anyone. Seriously.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Buggy’s arms wrap around your midsection and he pulls you in. “Seriously, I think Crocodile and Mihawk would actually literally kill me.”

Yeah.

He’s probably right.

[sailtomarina]

Right Foul Git

Fury pulsed through your veins as you stormed through the Burrow, chasing after the fleeing Weasley who’d ruined your day.

”Ronald! You are a right foul git!!”

”I said I was sorry! It wasn’t supposed to be you!” he yelled over his shoulder, not slowing in the slightest. 

You passed a mirror and stopped to glare at the reflection. Your usual tresses had been transformed into a violent shade of neon green. The colour seemed to glow from within, and no spell you tried would change it back—not finite incantatem, nor colovaria.

You hadn’t even intended to take a shower here, but, after a rushed morning getting out of your house to meet up with Ginny for an early run of flying drills, you later found yourself soaked from an unexpected downpour. She’d insisted you stay for lunch anyway and pushed you towards the washroom.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t showered there before; you’d stayed overnight for plenty of sleepovers in the past. Most of the time, you were there for Ginny, to giggle over boys and dream about joining the Holyhead Harpies. But sometimes, sometimes, you were there hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Ron hovered in the doorway to the garden, breathing heavily and eyeing you in anticipation of your next move.

”If not me, then who were you trying to prank?” you asked, settling down on the back of the sofa and putting the wizard at ease. Your fury had turned to exhaustion. Chasing after Ron wouldn’t help your situation, even if hexing him would probably make you feel better.

He opened his mouth to reply, but it was another voice that answered your question.

”I believe I was the target.”

Your heart stopped at the familiar voice, one you’d missed ever since the twins left Hogwarts in a burst of fireworks.

Fred leaned against the fireplace, brushing off soot and Floo powder, while George raised his eyebrows at the sight of you before running up the stairs. You leapt to your feet to do the same. After all this time pining after Fred Weasley, and this was how you finally saw him?

”How was I supposed to know she was going to shower here, much less wash her hair?” Ron grumbled, his complaint verifying the truth of Fred’s claim.

You froze in place as Fred approached, his eyes appraising the damage. “You used our product, but messed with it, didn’t you?”

”What of it?” Ron replied.

”Is this all you, or did Hermione help?”

Ron’s nostrils flared as he held Fred’s accusing look for a handful of beats. You thought he might try and take credit for the obviously impressive spellwork out of protection for his best friend. Who else could have weaved together such ironclad charmwork other than the twins?

Then Ron deflated. “Hermione might have helped,” he admitted. “How could you tell?”

“Other than the fact that none of the obvious spells work? The colour.”

This time it was you who spoke up, confused at the reasoning. “The colour?”

Fred nodded. “Green’s an obvious choice, but the vibrancy of it reminds me of those highlighters she’s so fond of using.”

You giggled at the reminder of how Hermione did adore marking up her notes with neon shades of yellow, pink, and, yes, green.

“Lucky for you,” the twin continued, “I have an idea of how to fix it.”

Two sighs sounded–yours from relief that you wouldn’t be a beacon everywhere you walked, and Ron with the foolish thought that he’d be let off the hook. You could bide your time, however. Revenge was best saved for after the target let down their guard.

“C’mon, you,” Fred murmured. He placed his hand along the curve of your spine, a gentle pressure that had you involuntarily clenching as you stepped away from the sofa.

George was nowhere to be seen as you both made your way up the stairs and down the hall. You’d thought Fred would steer you towards the washroom, but to your surprise you instead found yourself guided into the twins’ room. 

“Why not–”

“Shhh.”

You sucked in a deep breath against the finger he held to your lips as he shushed you. He left it there, using his free hand to shut the door, the lock sliding into place with a foreboding click.

“As much as I’m sure you want to go back to normal, I must say that the green looks quite good on you.” Fred smirked, pulling his fingers away to thread them through the loose strands framing your face. He tugged at them lightly. “Almost seems a shame. I wonder…”

He leaned in, then, brushing his cheek along yours, to inhale deeply. You nearly stopped breathing, the idea that Fred Weasley standing this close to you, breathing you in, as good as a full body-bind curse.

“Mmm, I like the fragrance. It’s very pleasant.”

Now this you agreed with. You’d noticed the sweet florals when lathering your hair, notes of bergamot threaded through the jasmine. “What does it usually smell like?”

Fred pulled back only slightly, enough to look you in the eyes with a small smile on his lips. “Vanilla. Boring, I know, but universally liked.”

“I like vanilla,” you breathed out.

His immediate smirk sent a rush of heat through your body. You knew without even looking that you’d probably flushed bright red. Why did you always have to speak your mind?

“Is that so?” he mused, tucking the lock of hair behind your ear. “What else do you like?”

Part of you wanted the door to burst open, for either George or Ron to make general nuisances of themselves and save you from this moment. Despite the way Fred hovered near, how his fingers trailed as they released the neon strands and brushed across your shoulder, you couldn’t believe he’d actually be interested in the way you hoped. He was a natural flirt, using his words as much as his body language to play with those stuck in his web.

Was that such a bad thing, though? You liked to play, too. You liked vanilla, but you also liked lavender, olive oil, honeysuckle, and rosemary.

“I like you,” you said, before doubt could kick in, holding his gaze and daring him to make the next move.

His lips twitched, but rather than speak, his eyes held your own before drifting across your hair and then down to your mouth. “It just so happens that this particular cocktail of charms requires a very specific trigger.”

Why was he talking about your hair, of all things, right now? You’d just confessed your feelings, and here he was returning to the reason he’d brought you up here in the first place.

Fred chuckled as he met your eyes once more. “Hermione is such a meddlesome brat.”

“Why are we talking about Hermione right now?” you asked, unable to keep your annoyance from creeping into the tone.

“Because even though you were an unfortunate victim, the end result remains the same.”

You wanted to shake him for his continued vagueness. “How so?”

“Whether it was me or you, she knew that once I figured out the formula that I would have no choice but to take the same course of action. She’s known how I felt far longer than even I knew myself.”

“Fred.” You were fed up with the mystery. “What course of action? How do you undo the magic?”

“It’s simple, really.”

You jumped in place as his hand brushed you again, only this time he kept the pressure firm against your waist to pull you even closer to him. He used his other hand to tilt your head up, at the perfect angle for a kiss.

The sensation of his soft lips on yours erased all concerns from your mind. All you could feel, taste, and smell was Fred–the warmth enveloping you, the slip of a tongue asking for entry that you gave, the hint of chocolate he must have eaten earlier, a slightly smoky but not unpleasant aroma that always clung to him. His hold on you tightened as he leaned deeper into the kiss.

It wasn’t until a tingling sensation washed over you that he pulled away, the motion almost reluctant in how he kept both hands in place. You struggled to gather your bearings in the aftermath, drugged in the lingering daze.

“Good as new,” Fred said, only he sounded hoarse like he, too, was in need of recovery.

Your eyes focused gradually on the ringlet of hair he held up between you, the once neon green once again a familiar shade. You breathed out a sigh of relief, then focused on the blue eyes still gazing intently down at you.

“Why did you lock the door, Fred?”

The movement hadn’t escaped you. It had, in fact, nagged at you without pause.

“I didn’t want to be interrupted.” He didn’t say anything more, continuing to stare.

You decided to push. Now that you’d gotten a taste, you wanted the whole damn meal. “It was just one kiss. No different than mistletoe.”

He frowned at the comparison. You could barely hold back your smirk. Now who was the playful one? “Is that really all you thought it was?” he asked, obviously perturbed.

This time you were the one to take hold of him, fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him with you as you let gravity guide you onto your back. His indignation transformed at a comical speed into an excitement that lit up all of his features.

“This is George’s bed, you know.”

Rather than revenge, you thought you might treat Hermione and Ron to whatever their hearts desired. Books, broom polish, anything. They’d given you the push you’d needed to speak your heart, and you couldn’t thank them enough.

“I don’t care. Just kiss me, you git.”

His laugh sounded bright as you yanked him down into you. Nothing more was said, but, then again, your actions spoke more than enough for both of you.

Written for the FB Weasleys, Witches, & Writers Humpday 7/17 prompt, “Right foul git!”

1675 WC

Cross-posted on FB, Tumblr, & AO3

I just re-upped my violet lowlights, which is how I came up with this premise! Much of the story was written while I sat under the dryer with my head all wrapped up in toner.

[metal-berry]

RWBY die-hards are so funny tbh. They spent the past five years deliberately and vehemently gatekeeping the fndm to a ridiculously high degree, doing things like gloating that they were "purging" the fndm of all but the show's most ardent worshipers, launching vicious smear campaigns against anyone and everyone who said even the mildest bit of criticism and slinging baseless accusations of "sexism" and "homophobia" against them (even though an overwhelming majority of their targets have been queer or women or both, while an overwhelming majority of RWBY's creative team have been straight men with histories of open misogyny and queerphobia) they've bullied fan-artists off every platform, they've sent hate mail, death threats, rape threats, slurs, they've literally posted long lists of "rules" they expect fans to follow "or else" (and the rules include things like "you must fiercely advocate for my favorite ship" and "you must love my favorite characters and hate my least favorites" and "No AU's or Fix-it fics allowed" and then if anyone is caught breaking these "rules" they get labeled as "the HTDM" and viciously smeared and bullied out of the fndm, they've deliberately sought out popular fanworks and started viciously smearing and harassing the fan creators while gloating "if you criticize the product sold by a corporation, we get to coordinate cyberbullying campaigns against you as an individual artist who makes fanart for free, because those are totally the same thing in our minds so you deserve it!!!" They've swarmed YouTubers like penguinz0 or Hbomberguy and harassed them with death threats and accused them of "trying to kill rwby" (as if it couldn't possibly have anything to do with 1. Rooster Teeth being a horrifically abusive and bigoted company that every decent person decided to stop supporting, 2. "CRWBY" being comprised of and run by Rooster Teeth bigwigs including four of the five founding fathers of the company and several department heads, many of whom have open histories of extreme bigotry themselves, which bled into the show and caused extreme bigotry to be baked into the writing itself, and 3. *this exact fandom*, all of which together are enough of a poison itself, to the point where having a couple of youtubers say "so this isn't a good mix" was never going to actually affect viewership NEARLY as much as the Corporation and Fandom were already doing) and also can we talk about the horrific amounts of biphobia that gets leveled against the people who ship Blake with literally ANYONE other than Yang and ship Yang with literally ANYONE other than Yang?? Because my god the biphobia that exists within the Die-Hards in this fandom is off the fucking charts. The amount of specifically bisexual fans who have been viciously attacked because they did not list bumblby among all the queer ships they liked. The amount of times I've seen people say things like "the only reason anyone likes BlackSun is if they're homophobic" when a lot of BlackSun shippers are openly bi and ship them as a bi-for-bi ship. The amount of times I've seen people say things like "the only reason anyone PRETENDS to like Freezerburn is if they're trying to shove Yang with a random girl so they can force Blake to date a stinky MAN while using Yang and Weiss as shields to protect themselves from being caught as the homophobes they really are." The amount of times I've seen people attack fans who ship Blake with Ilia or Ruby or Nora, or fans who ship Yang with Pyrrha or Neon or Nora, because it *does not matter* if you actively ship a hundred queer rwby ships and write hundreds of fics about it and draw endless fanart of it, if you say "eh I personally just don’t care for Blake X Yang" or even if you say "I used to be a hard-core bumblby shipper but the way the writers chose to execute it left a lot to be desired and turned me off the ship" you get labeled a "Sexist Homophobe" and violently abused and bullied. It's fucking disgraceful, it's NO WONDER this fandom is fucking dead

When a fandom: a) posts strict rules detailing exactly which interpretations, headcanons, character opinions, and ships are REQUIRED in order to be considered "not a hater," b) viciously attacks and harasses every single person on the internet who does not follow those strict rules and labels them a "hater" because of it, c) slings baseless and despicable accusations of "sexism" and "homophobia" against these so-called "haters," because apparently they're too ignorant to pick up a dictionary and learn that "criticizing rwby" is not included in the definition of those words, while also completely ignoring or even *denying* the fact that most of their targets are queer women and most of our complaints are that *rwby is textbook sexist and homophobic and RACIST AND ABLEIST and was created and almost entirely written by openly sexist and homophobic and racist and ableist men, and you actually kind of have to have failed Progressivism 101 in order to not see it,* d) engages in open bigotry themselves by attacking marginalized people to punish them for condemning bigotry while using bigoted slurs and dogwhistles against them, and e) deliberately "purges" the fandom of every single fanartist, fanfic writer, theorist, meta analyst poster, or even shit-poster who DARED to express an opinion that didn't conform to the "rules" and therefore got labeled a "bigoted hater" who "laid down with the dogs" and was "guilty by association..."

The fandom dwindles away to nothing, and dies

And then the last remaining Die-Hards who got their wish and "purged" the fandom of everybody whose opinions did not 100% align with theirs, get all pissy whenever they see somebody like you acknowledge the empty void left behind

The fandom got so militant and zealous with their gatekeeping that there's just nobody left anymore, except for the few who turned Worshiping RWBY into a cult and violently kicked out everyone who didn't conform - but they consider that to be a "victory" so they attack every new straggler who walks into the vast empty field and says "there used to be a fandom here."

That post that was made five years ago about how it was time for the mega-stans to "purge the fndm" of everyone who didn't conform to THEIR view of the show? Yeah lol well they succeeded and I hope they're happy with their echo-chamber of circle-jerking Yes-Men who have been throwing all their hard-earned money at bigots and abusers while crying about the uncertain future of the show they turned into their identity, and I hope one day they realize that THEY contributed to Rooster Teeth's downfall far more than the critics ever did

Because fandom has historically thrived on diversity of opinion, including the allowance of criticism and the celebration of fanworks

So when a culty subsection of the fandom decrees that freedom of expression is WRONG and differing opinions are WRONG and writing fanfiction they don't like is WRONG and drawing fanart they don't like is WRONG and shipping ships they don't like is WRONG and not shipping the ships they do like is WRONG and liking characters they dislike is WRONG and disliking the characters they do like is WRONG and criticizing the corporation behind the product is WRONG and holding the product creators accountable for their hateful and ignorant beliefs is WRONG and choosing to withhold our money from those who have been proven to be abusive bigots is WRONG and therefore demanding change instead of letting them keep getting away with everything is WRONG, and so they are so totally justified in their efforts to deliberately cyberstalk, harass, and bully the "Arrogant, Entitled, Ungrateful" non-conformists until they've driven everybody away...

The fandom dies

And there's nobody left to BUY THE PRODUCT

*shocked Pikachu face* that RT went belly-up???

The Die-Hard Mega-Stans are the ones that killed RWBY. That's why they're so desperate to point fingers and bitterly curse the names of all the fans they deliberately ORDERED to "Stop Watching," "Stop Posting," "Stop talking," "Stop Writing," "Stop Drawing," "Stop BUYING," and that's why they're so fucking ANGRY every time they see proof that their mass gatekeeping, mass cyberbullying, mass smearing campaigns WORKED.

The fandom is dead because they fucking drowned it on purpose, and they refuse to admit that fact to themselves

What else can they do but lash out?

What else is there to say? You nailed it. I was there in the very beginning when the fandom was thriving and I watched the wasps slowly kill it. I remember all the creative au’s and how even rarepairs got content. It’s not even a husk of its former self, it’s crumbled dust.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Cod Men at a Slumber Party

Requested: God himself told me that this was what I needed to write, but otherwise no

Warnings: Pillow Violence

A/N: Rudyyyyyyy

Ghost - The one who stays up and pulls pranks

Soap’s hand is going in some warm water. Alejandro is getting whip cream on his hand and tickled with a feather. Rudy has cocks and balls drawn all over his face in neon glitter permanent marker, and König is covered in clown makeup (complete with the rainbow wig which he cannot get off thanks to Ghost using some pretty expensive wig adhesive). They wake up and instantly everyone is yelling at each other, accusing each other despite the fact that they are all victims of these heinous pranks. No one looks at Ghost who is quietly watching on, hiding a look that was very much “cat who caught the canary”, self satisfied as he video taped the fight that ensued between the others.

Soap - The Pillow Fort Builder

The minute Soap steps through the door he’s scavenging for each and every pillow within the house, as if he doesn’t have a wagon full of them dragging behind him. Doesn’t matter how lumpt or old or stuff they are, he’s making this pillow fort and it will be the most comfy place you’ve ever slept in your whole life. Seriously, man deserves some type of reward for being able to make such an amazing pillow fort. Not to mention that it just looks cool from the outside as well, almost like a castle of some kind. Soap takes great pride in his pillow forts and if anyone (including himself) is ever dissatisfied with one then he’s tearing it apart and rebuilding it from the ground up til he feels like he’s gotten it perfect.

König - The one who falls asleep first

König is always so excited to have a sleepover, talking about all the different movies you all could watch and games you could play. He comes in in his softest pajamas and with his favorite pillow and blanket, arms full of board games and dvds and vhs tapes, only to fall asleep the second he finishes setting up his makeshift bed on the floor. It’s kinda cute in a way, snoring and drooling in his sleep, splayed out like some sort of giant starfish, his pillow clutched to his chest like some sort of plushie. And he’ll always feel guilty about it when he wakes up, feeling like he missed out on something important or like he was rude.

Alejandro - The Pillow Fighter

Alejandro will 100% be trying to carefully thief some of Soap’s pillows so that he can sneak up behind someone else, smack them HARD AS FUCK with one of the pillows, and shout at the top of his lungs “*PREPÁRATE A MORIR!!!”. Literally hits people so hard with these pillows that its a wonder that no one has actually died (though some people HAVE lost teeth, which was unfortunate to say the least). Yes he will do this at every slumber party. No, you will not be able to successfully hide the pillows from him. Doesn’t matter where you put them, he’ll find them. And then you’ll be the first to be hit with one of the pillows, just because you tried to stop it from happening.

Rudy - The Snack Bringer/Maker

Rudy arrives to the slumber party carrying about 80 different boxes and bags of popcorn, cookies, chips, drinks, and so much more. He also has a lot of homemade stuff as well, though that’s primarily for him since he doesn’t like a lot of sugar. That doesn't mean he won’t share though! He’s more than happy to, and will bring more homemade stuff than store bought if it’s demanded by more than just one other person. And not to brag but that man is SO good at cooking. Absolute house spouse material. (I’d wife him anyways)

*PREPÁRATE A MORIR!!! = PREPARE TO DIE!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 8

Warnings: namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Jazzercise in the park sounded like a great idea when you signed-up. You didn't put much thought to the demographic until you showed up. Amid the grannies dressed in their most neon oranges and hottest of pinks, you stick out like a sore thumb. Still, you don't mind the excuse for some fresh air and to make some friends.

A sheen of sweat breaks out on your forehead and you feel the fitness flowing through you. You look over at Gladys as she nearly puts you to shame with her spry lunges. You sigh and look to your other side, wishing Hottie was there. Too bad she has work.

You follow the instructor, a woman in her late fifties, Sonya. She hops and bops to the vibes of Wham as she hollers at you to get moving. You find yourself bouncing all over the place, the pedestrians along the path and the sitters on the benches watching at all angles. You might look ridiculous but it feels great.

You jump a bit too far back and crash into another body. You expect Meredith and her tight spirals flowing over a sweatband, but instead find yourself on the path, nearly stampeded by the large body heaving and sweating. You get your balance and untangle yourself from the stranger. Not a stranger at all.

August's curls are slightly dampened with his sweat, his skin glistening, as he wears a sleeveless black muscles shirt and even drabber shorts. A little colour wouldn't hurt.

"You," he snarls as he steps back.

"You!" You cheep brightly, "are you here for Jazzercise too?"

"What? I'm running--- Typical. I just can't seem to shake you. Like a bad cold."

"Hm, is there a such thing as a good cold?" You tap your lip, "maybe if it helps you build immunity--"

"Enough," he checks his watch and sighs, looking down the winding paved path, "I don't have time for this."

"I don't either," you put on a scowl, "you know, I'm out here tryna get in shape and you're running into people--"

"You jumped in my way," he accuses.

"My bad," you put your hands up and step off the pavement, "as you were."

You spin and dismiss him. You come join Gladys as she runs in place and you focus on Meredith's barking demands. Whew, this is awesome but you're gonna be in bed for at least a day recovering.

🧸

You walk home alone, enjoying the sunshine and the song birds flying around the statues. You follow the trail to the gates and onto the street. It's not very far from home, a couple blocks if that. You feel the adrenaline fading and the nip of fatigue that underlies it. You can't wait to chill, and maybe take a shower.

You pull at your shirt, trying to air out your sweaty torso. As you turn onto the next avenue, you hear a step out of rhythm. You look over your shoulder but only find a Ford Fiesta driving down the road. You shrug and carry on.

As you come to your house, you see the drive way is empty. It's not surprising. Your mom and dad are social people, more so since you aged into college. Hottie says it's a midlife crisis, but you expect they just feel free now that you're and adult. Well, you do your best.

You hop up the steps and take out your keys. You leave it unlocked as you stop to take off your shoes. The only thing on your mind is a tall refreshing glass of water. You don't think orange pop is a great post-work out refresher, as bubbly as it is.

You go into the kitchen and fill a glass. You head out to the deck, leaving the sliding door open as you sit in the shade. You drain almost half the glass before setting it aside on the patio table. You lean forward and undo your fanny pack, putting it next to the water.

You lean back and close your eyes. You really should get washed up. You're a little smelly. Oh, maybe Hottie's done. You can't remember when she said she worked until.

You drag yourself to your feet and finish the water. You leave the empty glass in the kitchen and stop to look at the crooked whiteboard on the fridge. You fix it and turn your attention to your phone.

Your mom texted you during the class. Her and your dad drove up to your aunt's for their big summer blowout. The same one they seem to have every week or so.

You go upstairs and to your room. You undress a piece at a time. The body suit wasn't a great choice as you peel it away from your skin and the leggings catch around your ankle. Ew, you feel nasty.

You wrap yourself in a fresh towel and walk down the hall to the bathroom as you message Hottie to check in. It's a perfect night for a sleepover. Your dad always drinks too much when he's around your uncle.

You put your phone on the counter and swing the door behind you, not caring that it doesn't clasp. You put the towel over the bar and slide back the frosted door. You bend to crank on the faucet letting the water heat before stepping under it.

You bask in the steam and wash away the residue of your workout. You take your time, a rare chance to do so. You step out and find the whole room foggy. Jeez, like a sauna or whatever.

You grab your towel and pat yourself dry, swathing yourself in the cotton before letting the steam out into the hall. You hum that George Michael diddy as you come down to your room and hit the high note just as you find an unexpected figure on the foot of your bed. It's not your teddy bear.

Your heart drops and you barely keep the towel from doing the same.

"August?" You gape in confusion, has the steam made you delirious?

He smirks, the first time you've seen anything but fury in his features. You gulp loudly and clutch the knot of the towel. You don't like that little light in his eyes, like a wolf about to feast.

[velvetvexations]

But they still use the n-word, anon. They still use the n-word. Yet you think that years and years ago they were so worried about being "challenged" on grounds of transphobia ("transmisogyny" was not in widespread use at the time) that they felt the need to change their language? Even though they still, to this day, use the n-word.

You're an idiot.

And yes, actually, GNC boys who present in a feminine matter does affect things! You can't seriously pretend that every single depiction of an AMAB person wearing women's clothing could only ever possibly be a trans woman or based on trans women. That's not only ahistorical and erases real people right in front of you, but it also gets fucking racist as hell when you start imposing that view on other countries. Did you know, for instance, that "kathoey", the term "ladyboy" is a translation of, is generally used by people who self-identify as men? Because I'm guessing the answer is "no."

Femboys are and have always been a thing, stop fucking erasing them and appropriating their language just because you desperately want the world to revolve around you.

So many young trans girls are going to come out of this traumatized from the dooming, isolated and potentially trapped in abusive relationships because they'd been indoctrinated into the belief that only other trans women will ever love and support them.

The problem is that it has "fab" in there, so they can't do it like they're trying to do with femboy because it inherently points to "TMEs."

(2/2 ana mardoll) i really dont mind when trans women genuinely criticize specific terrible shit that a trans man has actually done, and mardoll has always been a fucking loser who does all the stereotypical negative shit that people tend to act like trans men do. i just wish people would not act like its standard behavior to be like that and judge us all on the basis of the worst of our community lmao. this is behavior that goes both ways tho, trans men judge trans women like this too. idk lol

The person I've seen most accused of being a ringleader was Neon Yang, who was definitely not that even though they contributed. The one I most remember was the trans woman who said something to the effect of "yeah well it didn't sound like the author was trans so I was completely justified actually" and that drives me up a wall because the transradfem girlies are going to lose their mind when I post the first chapter of Nursed with Kerosine.

I have to answer them mostly in batches, with a few exceptions, because I get so many.

@ratbastarddotfuck

Imagine if everyone just decided to start saying a PoC who votes Republican is white.

It's going to be difficult for them to ever actually make a callout post for me because they can screenshot my takes but there will never be a single piece of evidence that I've ever harassed anyone and they know it.

It's not just about taking it seriously, but it's extremely repellent just as content and can be severely triggering, which it would have been for me if I hadn't watched it when I was a teenager before The Deeplore Trauma settled into my bones. I don't think I can even get into the later stuff now because of the association.

But fuck me gently with a chainsaw, everything else about it should be immensely cool and it sucks it's not in something that isn't weighed down by that.

Explicitly using dysphoria as a plot point like that is interesting and does sound like good fuel for a transfem headcanon.

No, it isn't, the only thing being discussed is whether he fits the criteria for "TMA" or not, and he does.

Buffalo Bill is not a stereotype of trans women, and in fact I applaud and deeply appreciate the author for making that crystal clear and treating trans people with great respect and sympathy for the time in which it was written, but he became the model for a stereotype of trans women that transphobes have taken and ran with since the day the the movie came out.

[sunnebeam]

neon lights.

A 'CITY OF LIGHTS' DRABBLE.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

warnings: gangster squad au, cheating (kinda, please read the previous drabbles for better context), toxic relationship, mentions of mafia shit

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: no smut? in a sunnebeam drabble?? who is she???? 😭 lol but here's the next col drabble. the plot is plotting, if i might say so myself :> let me know ur thoughts! and as always, feedback & reviews are my sustenance

— prev – backstreet buildings. | next – thunder & rain.

Things weren't always like this.

Believe it or not, there was a time when you liked Kim Taehyung. Heck, you could even say there was a short minute when you thought you could actually love him. But that was back when he was younger. Back when he was warmer.

Back when he was safer.

"Hey, baby."

The words from a normal person's mouth would sound welcoming and romantic. But when they come from Taehyung, they only sound calculated and dangerous.

Nevertheless, you put on a smile as if you didn't just come from Jungkook's apartment. Nevertheless, you place a kiss on his cheek as if you aren't caught off guard by his presence.

He's early. His flight was supposed to be at noon, which is why you took your sweet time back at Jungkook's. You didn't expect him to be home three hours too early.

"Welcome home," you say to him in what you hope to be a welcoming tone. "You hungry?"

"Mhm. But not for breakfast."

He pulls you in and kisses you deeply, not satisfied with your chaste peck on his cheek. You try to return his eagerness as much as you could, but he seems to sense your hesitation.

He pulls back and looks at you curiously, his dark eyes inspecting every inch of your face intensely. You stare back innocently, hoping he mistakes your frantic heartbeat as excitement from his kiss instead of fear from being found out.

"Where were you, baby?" he asks, his voice egging you as if daring you to lie. "You weren't here when I came home."

"Cafe. Down the block." You hope your words don't sound clipped. "They serve breakfast waffles."

His eyes flicker from your face to the earrings he gave you.

"You didn't bring me some?"

"I'm sorry. I thought you wouldn't be home until noon."

His eyes move downward, inspecting your entire body.

"Oh, I bet you hoped that would be the case," he says after a few seconds, his voice taunting, his smile sinister.

You gulp. "What are you talking about, Tae?" you ask in between chuckles. "Of course I wasn't hoping for—"

You're cut off by another kiss. You're grateful for the distraction, welcoming the kiss and deepening it yourself for good measure. You think you're off the hook but then he bites your lower lip aggressively, pulling away when he hears you hiss.

"Just joking, baby," he says when he pulls back, smirking when he sees your swollen lips. "I know you couldn't wait for me to come home."

Your heart becomes even more frantic and your fingertips are cold with nerves. But you just smile back and nod in agreement.

You almost let out a big sigh of relief when he turns to walk away, but then he stops mid-walk and looks at you over his shoulder.

"I think you were a little too excited for me to come home, baby," he tuts condescendingly. "You put your blouse on backwards."

He leaves you standing in the middle of the room, with your eyes staring down at your blouse in horror and your mind cursing your own carelessness in disbelief.

Luckily, over the next couple of days, Taehyung chooses not to bring up the incident again. Whether to give you the benefit of the doubt or to toy with you, you can't tell but you'll take it anyway. After all, his nonchalance is better than his fury.

Sadly, over the next couple of days, you experience the same nonchalance from Jungkook as well. Whether his radio silence is to give you time or to confirm your accusations about your place in his life, you don't know but you won't try and find out. After all, Taehyung is already on to you and you can't afford to play with trouble again.

Unfortunately for you, however, trouble always seems to find you.

"Where are you going?"

You just arrived home after going to another fancy dinner with one of Taehyung's potential clients. Taehyung asks you the question when he sees you walk to the direction opposite your shared bedroom.

"My skin care is in the other bathroom," you explain to him. "I'm just gonna do my routine there."

He stares at you for a moment before he says, "Don't take too long," and enters the master bedroom.

It's when you just finished with your night routine and you're exiting the bathroom that you see a troubling sight.

"Jungkook?"

"Shhh," he shushes you, his index fingers upright and against his lips.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, caught off guard.

"Baby? Is that you?" Taehyung's voice echoes across the hallway.

Jungkook quickly ushers the two of you back inside the bathroom you just exited, and locks the door. When Taehyung doesn't follow up in calling for you after several minutes and you both hear the door to the master bedroom close, you both sigh in relief.

"Jungkook, what the fuck are you doing here?" you demand angrily.

"The guys and I were just raiding Taehyung's office," he tells you honestly. "We thought you wouldn't be back from that dinner until another hour."

"Tae wanted to come home all of a sudden so we left early." You sigh. "Look, Jungkook. You won't find anything in Tae's office, or in this whole house, for that matter. Trust me."

"Yeah, we figured that ourselves when we couldn't find anything useful. Thanks," he says sarcastically.

"Drop that attitude with me," you say, jabbing a finger against his chest. "Just get out of here. Taehyung already suspects me, and god knows what would happen if he sees you here—"

"Wait, wait," Jungkook cuts you off. "He suspects you? How?"

"I don't know. But please, for my sake, you need to get out now." You open the bathroom door slowly and see that the coast is clear. "Follow me. There are men stationed around the house, but I know a way you could get out."

As quietly and stealthily as you could, you lead Jungkook out the house using the blind spots you figured out when you were still sneaking out to see him. It's when you're hurriedly ushering him out of the property when he gently grabs your wrist.

"Wait a second."

"What is it now?" you groan.

Jungkook knows he only has a few seconds to say what he wants to say. He wants to tell you he's sorry for not telling you he's a cop. He wants to tell you that what you have is real. He wants to tell you that the nights you shared are precious to him.

But he can't. Yet.

So instead, he kisses you, long and deep. When he pulls away, he whispers, "I'll get you out of here, I promise," before running out of the property.

You're left with your fingers touching your lips, completely unaware of the pair of eyes witnessing everything that had just occured.

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[trans-androgyne]

Ok as a trans girl I thought I'd throw out some opinions on egg jokes cause I've seen you post some things from one perspective and I'd like you to hear mine. What I'm gonna say is NOT MEANT TO ACCUSE YOU OF SAYING THIS STUFF !! It is just some observations I've noted from various communities

I've noticed a lot of the backlash surrounding egg jokes has been specifically about the concept of someone being a trans woman being inherently perverse and sexual, as compared to, say, gay jokes. Both of these sorts of jokes come from the same place (ex "I see myself/friends in this person, haha they're just like me/them") but one is much more socially acceptable than the other. If I see a man in a crop top with neon pink booty shorts and say "lol he's so gay" , nobody really cares other than the occasional "you can never assume anything about anyone" person. If I see a guy with long hair awkwardly looking at feminine deodorant and say "lol he's such an egg", that gets a stronger reaction from all sides of the community than the previous situation. There's a lot of people saying things like "let me be feminine" which,I agree! Men should be allowed to be feminine! But if a trans woman sees her pre-transition self in the way a man acts and jokes about it, that isn't something that should be as heavily policed as it is now.

There is a very large stereotype that trans women run 'feminizing cults' that recruit men and manipulate them to start estrogen and such, this is a transmisogynist conspiracy and what a *lot* of backlash from egg jokes leans into. Obviously, if you yourself aren't comfortable being called an egg or anything like that, then by all means tell anyone who tries to make that joke with you. If they're a good person they'll just go "oh, ok, thanks for telling me" and stop joking about that with you. Block the tags, curate your online experience, but I think a lot of people expect trans woman to fully stop making these jokes because of some disgust they feel from it, and attributing that disgust to mean there's some inherent moral stance on egg jokes, which there isn't

Also for context I am a trans girl whose egg was cracked via egg jokes lolll

Thank you for sharing your perspective. I think a lot of discomfort at egg jokes is in fact coming from a place of transmisogyny. I do not care about the vast majority of egg jokes. I think they can sometimes be reinforcing the gender binary, but honestly so can other popular trans jokes. I personally get uncomfortable when people are publicly speculating on the activities and gender of a specific stranger just going about their day because I would hate if that was me. I don’t care if people make those jokes with their friends. But enough people have passed around this deodorant example that if the deodorant person is a cis guy they’d probably feel pretty uncomfortable about it! Same with other cis guys who already feel insecure about expressing femininity for fear people will think they’re less of a man. As a trans guy I already get nervous people will see me pick out feminine deodorant (it just smells better) in the grocery store aisle and misgender me about it. People thinking it would be okay to speculate about me online as a result if they mistook me for a cis guy would be awful to me. I think we should have a genuine conversation about what constitutes violating a stranger’s privacy. But we desperately need to watch the transmisogyny in these conversations because a lot of people’s takes sound suspiciously like “trans women are groomers” rhetoric.

[p1nk-matter]

(hxh) PHANTOM TROUPE // KURTA CLAN theory

...debunking PT did it

So let me preface this by saying this was 100% inspired by a tiktok comment in a hxh phantom troupe's religious symbolism video back in 2021 (:/). The person who commented made such an impact I screenshotted their comments which unfortunately are not in correct order and messaged them this year (i just know they think im weird) but they never responded. I'd give their @ but its their government name (I take it) so msg me for deets. All credit goes to them as I'm just polishing and tidying these thoughts.

First op talks about Meteor City, a junkyard city inhabited by outcasts. People who live there do not exist on any official records and are treated horribly from the outside, people are taken from Meteor City for crimes, prostitution, slavery and no one's doing a thing to stop it. People go outside and face racism, like the one guy accused of a crime he didnt commit and when the truth is shown no one does anything (think op meant The Bum Incident, vol 11, Chapter 102). These people get no justice, they're just used and this is where the duality of Chrollo comes in, he is a demon to the outside world because he is challenging the gods but also a Jesus figure for the underprivileged Meteor City. Even his reverse St Peters Cross on his jacket means that he feels unworthy to be crucified in the same manner as Jesus. Thats his way of saying he doesnt see himself as worthy of savior. His priority is the Troupe so they can together be seen to the outside world, they are literally a troupe of phantoms, trying to be recognized. This is why when he asks Neon if she believes in ghosts and she says no, she is the oppressor that doesn't understand the one hurt.

If you read the story with this idea in mind you start to observe that the Troupe only attacks people hazardous for the City (mafia, ants) or when they want revenge for one of them killed so its weird they are presented in a positive almost heroic light. Only exception that sticks out to the story? Kurta massacre.

The og commenter wondered why it was that the Troupe was always presented in a positive light. We've known the Phantom Troupe does acts of good alongside the bad but we also haven't seen anything entirely "evil" commited by any of them yet. Most of the legends surrounding them are hearsay. And though they could have easily killed Gon and Killua, they don't, twice. Also, Uvogin when taken by mafia/Kurapika says if freed, they wouldn't hurt them as they are not the target.

Op comments on how narrative should be filtered as its being commented via Gon- a non objective source, they claim that the 1st arc feels like a kid show whereas chimera arc feels dark, thats not to say it is actually like that but as Gon's perspective changes so does the narration. At first when innocent people die, he doesnt really care but in chimera we need a narrator to explain as Gon is too biased at that point. Regarding the massacre we only have Kurapika's word but what we are being told/shown about the Troupe is different. The characters talk about the Kurta massacre, how horrible and brutal it was but the narrative is keen and favors the Troupe, it paints them in a favorable light and why should the narrative do that, they don't become better people like the Ants after all.

From the moment they appear on screen, the narrative wants us to see them as underprivileged, both in York New and in the ship, even when they're fighting in Meteor City, they're fighting for injustice or when somebody hurts them. Then why justify their actions everytime they appear on screen if they massacred the Kurta Clan? If they are responsible for this why make them the underprivileged representation? Both Kurta and Troupe says the op are ostracized by the outside and seen less from people.

Say they did it. 3 ideas were proposed as to why.

1. for the eyes (Chrollo likes the eyes, like Hisoka said but Hisoka is a liar and also Chrollo has never shown interest in the show for them. For someone who steals things he likes, why make an exception and murder here?)

2. for money (that's not correct, we are told multiple times they don't care about it, neither money nor fame, they want to be recognized by the world but how would that work by killing a clan that's been hidden for 100 years, they dont get anything out of it.)

3. for revenge: Revenge for what? Kurta are a peaceful clan that hide for years. We know the Troupe left a note that is the motto of Meteor City (I'm adding here what op referred to: "we reject no one so take nothing from us"). Op says note means they serve justice to their city, when someone takes things away from them so what did Kurta take? From the thematic and narrative point they are not set up to have done it, op thinks thats 100% intentional.

Like said above, BOTH have the thematic of oppression from the outside world, they are a commodity for the rich and powerful (gods) but why is Phantom Troupe put in the light of both, the oppressor and the oppressed? Why would an oppressed group oppress another one for NO good reason? The Troupe doesn't kill innocent people if not necessary, they do NOT care about money or fame and the revenge aspect doesnt work because the Kurta were isolated from the outside.

If we look back at the York New Arc they never state the massacre, they simply suggest it and of course from a Kurapika POV they are guilty but if you look again you have to ask..are they really?

☆

this took ages for me to coherently formulate and ik it goes back and forth but bless op's heart because it changed my perspective completely (more than any yt analysis found online) !

[ebongawk]

part one | part two

He fucked up. He fucked up so bad.

Bad enough that when he'd told Wayne how he'd fucked up, Wayne had let out a long, slow sigh, wrapped a comforting hand around his shoulder and squeezed, and then smacked the back of his head like he did when Eddie was acting foolish as a child.

"Jesus, kid," Wayne grumbled as he led Eddie downstairs. "You really like the taste of your own feet, huh?"

"What?"

"Because you keep putting your damn foot in your damn mouth," Wayne shot, smacking him in the head again. Eddie didn't even voice his complaint at the pain. "Didn't I raise you with a modicum of sense?"

"At least one," Eddie sighed, sitting heavily on the kitchen chair – and only then noticing that it, too, was different. Same chairs they'd picked up at a flea market, but obviously refurbished and restained in a way lighter color. The gaudy orange cushions had been replaced with a way mellower off-white that was run through with patterns of ivy. Chrissy had taken down the wallpaper in here, too, and repainted it in a soft chick-feather yellow. And all of the walls were decorated with paintings of sunflowers, bringing her design together so fucking fantastically.

Eddie'd been so up in his own fucking head that he didn't see any of the signs Chrissy had cast up in neon shapes for his arrival. Now that he noticed, he was suddenly seeing dozens of little touches she'd put through the house. Some new furniture to add and replace the secondhand shit they'd scrounged together before he left; new paint on practically every wall; rugs across the wood floors that definitely hadn't been there before; photos and art hung up in practically every room.

Normally, the gross feelings in Eddie's gut were vindicated. People almost always proved to be the goddamn worst.

But Chrissy had never done anything in the entire eighteen months they'd been together to give Eddie a reason to doubt her. He was just... He was just so goddamn used to being disappointed that he'd braced himself for impact without giving her a chance to prove him wrong.

And wrong he fucking was.

So wrong, in fact, that he was convinced he'd ruined the life they had been building together and she was going to leave him.

He didn't even know if he had the strength to stop her.

All of this was voiced to Wayne, who sat across from him at the kitchen table and gave a weary sigh as Eddie wrapped up his pity party.

"Really?" his uncle asked. "One misunderstanding and you're gonna throw in the towel?"

"I accused her of cheating––"

"Yeah, and that was stupid as hell," Wayne interrupted. "But that girl's been with you for well over a year now. I'm sure she expects stupid as hell from you at this point."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Not my fault you've unscrewed a few too many up top," Wayne shrugged. "And I know you've been cheated on––"

"I didn't give a shit about any of that when it happened," Eddie grumbled, waving his hand through the air like he could dismiss Wayne's rumblings.

His uncle blinked at him, head tilted to one side and a strange look on his face.

"Kid, I know you got some shit to work through, but are you honestly trying to convince me you didn't care when Regina messed around behind your back? Or when Leslie did?"

"Pops––"

"You ain't made o' steel, Ed," Wayne finished before Eddie could disagree again. "No matter how you try and convince the world. Anyone with a heart tender as yours would be wounded by that kinda bullshit, alright? But it wasn't you. It was them. And now you've got a girl that wants to go to Hell and back for you. So you better not let her get away."

Wayne stood then before Eddie could compose any sort of retort. Leaving Eddie alone to stew in his own idiocy.

Prior to Chrissy, Eddie didn't really do relationships. He'd had all of a half dozen rushed bar bathroom trysts before the band moved to Cali, and the girls he met in the scene while Corroded Coffin struggled to make a name for themselves weren't all that into being tied down. Which Eddie was fine with. His only stipulation was that they be exclusive so he could avoid catching anything.

They'd both agreed. And they'd both broken that stipulation. He and Leslie had only been seeing each other for a couple months, but Regina was an entire year of his life down the goddamn drain.

It wasn't like he was expecting her to suddenly want to commit. But, fuck, dude, she could've just left when she wasn't feeling it anymore instead of trying to lie. Trying to pretend like she wasn't waiting for the band to make it big so she could snatch him up, then and getting frustrated when it kept not happening. So she fucked other guys to make up for Eddie's extended list of shortcomings, which she presented to him when he confronted her about cheating.

Which was fine. Because he re-met Chrissy a month later and everything worked out for the best.

Except the part where Eddie fucked it all up again.

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Eddie stood up from the kitchen chair in hopes of tracking Chrissy down. He needed to explain shit to her, tell her that it wasn't her fault. That he assumed the worst because he was the worst.

He checked the small back patio first, but she wasn't there. Nowhere else on the first floor, either. Upstairs, Wayne and Jonathan were putting up the finishing touches on his recording studio, but Nancy was nowhere to be found.

"Can't imagine you'd be willing to tell me where your fiancée wandered off to?" Eddie asked as Jonathan carefully placed Eddie's acoustic This Guitar Slays Dragons on the wall.

"And find myself in the doghouse?" Jonathan asked with a quirked brow. "I don't have a death wish, Munson. Sorry."

That was fair. Nancy could be utterly terrifying.

Not as terrifying as Chrissy. But close.

The third guest bed – which had also seen some changes, and which was very obviously being occupied by his uncle during his stay – was also empty, so Eddie made his way back into their bedroom, praying she hadn't already made an exit somehow.

She was there, throwing a few things into an overnight bag.

"Chrissy––"

"Not right now," she said, her eyes trained resolutely on her task. The joy of his unexpected arrival turned to ash on his tongue as she avoided him completely. As she packed away a small portion of his life so she could leave him, however temporarily.

Temporary could become permanent so quickly.

"Please, can we talk?" he tried again, his voice cracking on the question. Splintering like cracked ice that would shatter completely if he put any more weight on it, plunging him into the frigid depths of her absence.

"Talk about what?" Chrissy asked, her voice hard. Like if she didn't keep it level, it would crash into the depths with him. "About how I was cheating?"

"Chrissy––"

"You didn't come home early to surprise me," she said, stilling the movements of her hands but still refusing to look at him, "did you?"

All Eddie wanted was to see that anger. That betrayal on her face. Because at least, if she looked at him, he'd have the opportunity to gauge whether he could fix this.

"No," he admitted, voice half caught in his throat.

Even from across the room, he could hear the ragged intake of her breath.

"I'm, um." She paused, taking another wavering breath. Shoving the last of her belongings into the bag and zipping it shut. "I'm going to stay at Nancy's tonight."

"Chrissy––"

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to talk." She pushed past him, into the hallway and down the stairs before Eddie could breathe.

And he just... watched her go. Staring after the bouncing of her hair until it disappeared.

When the front door slammed shut, Eddie dropped to his knees, staring after the space she'd occupied like he could will her to come back.

Everything in him was rioting. Screaming. Warring with him to go after her, to fix his stupid mistakes, to get her to understand that she was it for him. That he was an idiot, but fuck, he was an idiot who loved her.

Everything, that was, except his heart.

He wondered, distantly, over the roaring of blood in his ears, whether or not she even realized she packed it before she left.

(to be continued)