#tactical potato

[fluffyspaceshark]

Anyone else miss the old TacPot?

[demonboyhalo]

techno: self care is getting into fights with randoms in dark alleys

wilbur: no?? self care is like taking a bubble bath or putting on a lot of makeup if you like it or a nice warm nap-

techno: self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you. self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists. self care is the fear in your enemies eyes

[obesericewrites]

You know what, eggy-poo. Gremlins should be gremlins so let them run wild but if they cross the line... Well, give them to them 'Cause I'll give them a talk with my bat and put them in a white room for a week with mashed potatoes as their food three times a day.

Chaotic Anon with lots of pepper and cheesiness on their eggquisite heart

….we have a white room?

[esinahkabanjo]

💀

[weaselsmuses-aa]

“ I can do WAY better than that weak shit, watch this---”

     “AHEM---”

“ Did you know that the earth is covered in 1.3 billion cubic kilometers of water?”

      “ That deep oceans are considered no shallower than 5000 feet of water?”

“The average depth of the ocean is anywhere between 4000 feet and 10,000 feet?”

            “That the ocean is SO Deep that 85% of ocean life live in water shallower than 10,000 feet, and 25% of earths ocean life is confined to the shallows?”

 “That the challenger deep could crush the space station with its pressure and is considered one of the most inhospitable places in the solar system at 35,000 feet below the ocean? That you could fit all of the worlds  TALLEST sky scrapers and the TALLEST mountain on earth could fit in the challenger deep and it still would be hundreds of feet under water?”

[paledomain]

We have an addition by Tactical Potato:

Another Hot Take

All moa names have to include “moa” in them.

Observe:

Feel free to develop on this

[qinfen-qingshen]

[darkluigi394]

WARFRAME FANS, check this out. The voice actress for THE LOTUS, AKA SPACE MOM, joins potato in this video to talk about a weapon he didn't talk about in his top 10 sidearms video.

[came-out-of-the-coffin-desisted]

had such an absolutely batshit crazy day today. it went smth like:

1: woke up at 7:55

2: ate breakfast, went to class until 11:20

3: realized i was having a horrible allergy attack and my nose was full of pollen 🤢 then had to wash out my nose 😖

4: realized the only lunch food in my house was a sliced bar of cheese, decided to go to dunkin’ donuts while i was doing errands with my mom

5: started on errands, IMMEDIATELY got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic bc we went towards the dunkin’ donuts. sat in bumper to bumper traffic for half an hour

6: finally got on the highway, then got off later and went to a different dunkin’ donuts bc i live in new england and you literally can’t walk two blocks without finding another one

7: ate grilled cheese. went for a walk. started driving home, bird flew out into the road, my mom braked really hard so she wouldn’t kill the bird (❤️) and for whatever reason my seatbelt just didn’t work? like yeah i didn’t go through the windshield but i almost hit my head on the dashboard and i did get mild whiplash

8: went home in more bumper to bumper traffic. went to the hardware store/local business that sells lots of weird shit you wouldn’t expect them to. walked up to the checkout counter just in time to see this old, ugly cishet white guy (with no mask on 😡) trying to hit on the cashier by saying, and i quote, “what a voice on that girl,” clearly didn’t know who was on the radio, said it in a really, really weird tone of voice. the song? single ladies.

9: the cashier was very very pretty and clearly doesn’t get paid enough to deal with the weird customers who go into that store. in a very stupid move i chose to lift a 20lb bag of bird food one handed, then one 30lb bag of soil on each arm, and finally three 10lb bags of mulch. none of these were like hard for me to carry but i was in denial that i have mild whiplash and uh. certainly do not recommend doing any of what i did if you have a neck injury. ow (also don’t worry about the cashier, one of her coworkers brings her german shepherd to work and keeps him behind the counter bc we do live in a very fucked up town. he’s a very cute german shepherd and he’s very well behaved, but if anyone says something a little /too/ weird he’ll get up and stare them down through the glass of the check out box. obsessed with that store)

10: has a ptsd meltdown. cried for 20 minutes.

11: ate dinner. took some edibles and some advil. wrote a summary of 7 in depth articles in 2 pages over the course of like 5 hours.

12: finally went to bed to watch my customary hair washing asmr videos with a neck heating pad. lesson learned: don’t lift shit after you get hurt

[darkscorpiox]

Facts (as far as I know) about Yuu

First of all, I would like to say that you have every right to disagree with the list I will present and every Yuu-sona / opinion on Yuu is valid. I only request that you don’t throw hate at me. 

Thank you. Now here’s the list (asterisks (*) are for the info found on sites like TvTropes or those whose sources are debatable):

Easily adaptable

Very resilient

Not fussy about current living conditions

Not assertive, yet can be snarky / cheeky / cold / blunt / apathetic sometimes*

Not afraid to use threats on / yell at others when put in a very difficult situation (prologue and ch. 3)

Can fearlessly tease / annoy people they are comfortable with 

Sense of humour almost nonexisent*

Good tactical mind

Familiar with Western (especially American) and Japanese cultures (ch. 2 and Events like Happy Beans Day and Halloween)

Stomach aches when (very) stressed (in the first Halloween Event)

Knowledgeable in fighting / self-defence (ch. 3)

Can fight more than one person at the same time (ch. 3)

Average in throwing and running (in the first Happy Beans Day Event)

Skilled with a sword (according to Silver*)

Can wait at tables (ch. 3)

Taller than Epel (in Harveston's Kelkkarotu Event)

Supposedly very thin to the point of making the uniform look baggy (don’t remember, but I think it was from Vil*)

Introvert (according to Idia*)

Not very worried about presenting an impeccable image of themselves (ch. 2)

Very clever despite looking like their head is in the clouds (according to Malleus in ch. 3)

Nicknamed “Herbivore” by Leona, “Little shrimp” by Floyd, “Trickster” by Rook and “Child of man” by Malleus

Interviewer of NRC Campus News (newspaper club?) (Birthday Events)

Has experience with acne (ch. 6)

Can dance and play the flute well (in Harveston's Kelkkarotu Event)

I might add more as the story progresses.

EDITS

Acts as the photographer of the school (in the first Camp Vargas Event)

Can set up a tent (in Camp Vargas Events)

Can use a knife (carving pumpkins in the first Halloween Event and peeling potatoes in Port Fest Event)

Decent at basketball (in the second Halloween Event, Ace’s personal story)

Can cook (in ch. 7)

Can blow a bugle if they have the confidence to do so (in Queendom of Roses White Rabbit Festival)

Appears frail and effeminate (prologue)

Good photographer (in Port Fest Event, Rook’s personal story)

Their singing is below average at best and just plain bad at worst (implied by Azul’s School Uniform Lines)

[mrvlbimbo]

bimbo!reader in her pretty little pink slip dress on, dancing and singing along to madonna’s ‘like a virgin’ to eddie and straddling his lap making him weak on his knees. that man would be a goner

Idk why but I’m imagining this bfore they start officially dating bc I can totally see her using this as a tactic to try and seduce him

This is the dress I was thinking of btw!

<3 so it’s the first time he sleeps over at her place and he’s super super nervous bc he’s never been in a girl’s bedroom much less spent the night

<3 and then she opens the door and greets him and she’s wearing that

<3 he almost creams his jeans right then and there

<3 she ushers him in excitedly, grabbing his hand and in hers tugging him into the house.

<3 “where are your parents?”

<3 “they’re not home tonight.” She gives him a flirty look “so we can be as loud as we want,” she says in a breathy whisper, her hot breath fanning over the skin of his neck.

<3 she’s so innocent in his eyes, she must not realize the implication of what she’s saying so he just tries to brush it off “I uh… do you want to put some music on?”

<3 “ohhhkay silly,” she giggles, stepping closer so she’s pressed to his chest, hands clasping at his shirt.

<3 “I’m silly? You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m silly,” he teases, fingers digging into her waist and tickling her.

<3 “Edssss stoppit!” She laughs, smushing her face against his chest.

<3 he picks her up over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes and totes her around the (rather large) house, trying to find her bedroom so he can set her down and take the strain off his arms

<3 when he finally gets to the room he practically chucks her onto the bed, making quick work of crawling ontop of her and going back to his tickling

<3 “Eddie. Wait wait-“ she gasps, rolling off of the bed to get away from him.

<3 she doesn’t seem harmed, happily bouncing back up and going to turn on the radio

<3 “whatever’s on is fine,” he comments as she turns the dial to flick through the chanels, not bothering to be picky when he wants her back so bad

<3 she turns on the top 100 countdown and slips back into bed with him, sighing happily as she cuddles up to his chest

<3 “that doesn’t look comfy.” She pouts, toying with the belt loops on his jeans

<3 “you want me to take my pants off?“ he asks incredulously, already fumbling with the zipper as her hands try to assist him, brushing every once in a while and sending shivers up his spine

<3 “duh. It’s a sleepover. You’re not going to sleep in jeans are you?”

<3 “no I guess not.” He shrugs, taking off the jeans and his layers of jackets and tossing them on the floor.

<3 once he’s clad in only boxers and a T-shirt he lays back down.

<3 he tries to ignore the way her body feels pressed against him, nervously fiddling with his hands and trying to remember the chords to a song he was working on

<3 she notices his “disinterest” and calls him out on it “Eddddieeee. Cuddle meeee,” she whines, wrapping her arms and legs around him like a koala.

<3 “yeah ok.” His voice is muffled against the top of her head as she squirms around trying to her impossibly closer to him.

<3 after a few minutes of laying there Eddie starts to fall asleep. “Can we order a pizza?” She asks, effectively waking him from his nap.

<3 “mhm,” he mutters, reaching over her to grab the phone on her nightstand

<3 she types in the number for the pizza place and he makes the order, gravely voice slowly listing toppings.

<3 when he hangs up the phone he can tell something is on her mind. “What’s up?” He prompts.

<3 “Eddie don’t make fun of me, ok?”

<3 “never”

<3 “I love this song.” The song playing was Madonna’s Like a Virgin, not something typical to either of their music tastes but nevertheless it was a catchy song.

<3 he chuckles at the idea she thought he’d be mad about that. “Alright then, sing it for me,” he replies, standing up to grab a hairbrush off her dresser and hand it to her as a makeshift microphone.

<3 he sits on the bed and just watches her jump around the room enthusiastically singing along to the music

<3 until the chorus where she comes over and climbs onto the bed to straddle him, turning her little concert into a lap dance

<3 her forehead is pressed against his and her hips are practically grinding down on cock, covered only by thin boxers

<3 she looks back and forth between his eyes and lips, the breath from their open mouths mingling. just as she’s about to kiss him, the doorbell rings.

<3 “pizzas here!” He yelps, grabbing her hips and setting her back on the floor

[longlivefanfic-net]

I Wanna Dance With Somebody

Summary: Your boyfriend, Steve Harrington, has a party at your shared apartment and invites his ex, Nancy Wheeler. You get jealous and do your best to make Steve jealous too. Steve Harrington x reader

Content/Warnings: Marijuana use, drinking, also some light Eddie Munson x Reader

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: This fic does include mention of Steve, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, Dustin, and Argyle. The Duffer brothers may murder whomstsoever they wish on Friday but in my head they are all real and alive thanks! Also: this is just fluff. I wrote too much and had to break it up into two sections, so this can be a standalone fluff or you can wait a day for the next part (or read the first two parts) for some smut. PS if u want to tell me Steve wouldnt smoke weed, first of all its implied that he does in S3 and second of all argue with the wall babe this is my world ur just livin in it

When you first started dating Steve Harrington, you had no idea you would end up like this. You knew it would be different than your usual relationships, sure–you weren’t the type to date jocks or prom kings. You just hadn’t expected Steve to be so…normal once you got to know him. He had won you over with his charming smiles and goofy laugh (and the fact that you had nursed a sweet spot for him ever since he stopped in an empty hallway to help you pick up your books after your backpack ripped the first day of Freshman year didn’t hurt either), but the more you got to know him the more you saw past that layer of Harrington-ness that he would so expertly apply before going out into the world. Although, maybe it wasn’t so much that you could see past it as it was that he had started to relax, to lower that protective shield around you, the shield of charm and polite interest that made him the ideal boyfriend to bring home. 

The more time you spent around Steve’s friends, the more sure you felt you finally knew the real Steve. You saw the dorky references he would make when he picked Dustin up and brought him over for Atari marathons, and you also saw the care on his face while he contemplated whether Dustin had had “more of a Doritos week or a Lays potato chips week.” When he spent time with Jonathan and Eddie, he came home smelling of weed with at least two new cassettes with songs he wanted to show you; the first time he came home reeking, you had basically developed a contact high because you were just so excited to see Steve stoned. On the nights Robin came over to your shared apartment, Steve would bring out clean blankets and extra pillows to strew across the couch, making it look as if they were always there, so she wouldn’t have to ask for them before making herself cozy on the floor to watch whatever VHS she or Steve had picked out. He would then spend the rest of the night bullying her for sitting “like a weirdo,” cross-legged alone on the floor and complain about having to reach down to her every time he wanted food (Steve, famously, was not allowed to hold the snack bowl anymore after Robin had pinched his leg during Nightmare on Elm Street) (Steve objected to this rule, saying that the only fair decision would be to outlaw Robin’s scare tactics). With you, Steve was quiet and gentle, and, in his sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes first thing in the morning, you saw how sensitive and delicate he was. That’s how you fell in love with him: seeing these different pieces of him come together into one man. He was beautiful, funny, charming Steve Harrington; he was also nerdy, soft, caring, “just Steve.”

That’s why you didn’t hesitate to say yes anytime he asked about inviting his friends over. You loved seeing Steve with his friends–and you had become pretty close with most of them as well, although you had caught Dustin asking Steve if he was “allowed to start getting attached” to you the first time you had said you would stay the night before Steve drove him home (you still didn’t know the answer, but the kid had grown on you so you hoped it was a yes). When Steve mentioned having “the guys” over this weekend to check the crackling noises the stereo had started making, you had assumed it would be Jonathan and Eddie. Then, at the grocery store, Steve had thrown two packs of M&M’s and Nerds into the shopping cart, a sure sign Robin would be over at some point. You had started to question what, exactly, you had agreed to when he put four twelve packs of beer into the cart–Steve, Eddie, and Jonathan could finish off a twelve pack, sure, but four? That seemed excessive. It wasn’t until you watched him grab a bottle of white zinfandel and two packs of wine coolers that you really started to grow suspicious of what you had gotten yourself into. 

But Steve had taken care of everything–as he so often did, always loading the dishwasher and wiping down the bathroom counter before bed–and so you decided to let him go on with whatever he had planned. If you were going to see Byers and Munson get shit-faced on wine coolers this weekend, that was fine by you. When the two of you had gone to bed last night, you had turned on your side and curled against him, wrapping one arm over his broad chest and scratching your nails back and forth over his rib cage. “Baby,” you had asked, “Who’s coming over tomorrow?” “Just the guys and some dudes from work,” he said, fingers lightly pulling through your hair. “And the guys drink white wine and wine coolers now?” You had asked, tone light while your eyebrows scrunched together out of his line of sight. “Well, the girls will, yeah, I think,” Steve spluttered, “Or do girls not drink that stuff?” “Depends on the girl.” There had been a moment of silence as you listened to his heartbeat under his skin. “Steve. What girls are coming to our home?” You had sighed, mildly exasperated that you had to break this down for him. “Oh! Robin, duh, a few girls from work, and Nance,” he laughed. “Is that what you’re mad about? You didn’t know who was coming over?” “I wasn’t mad,” you said, instantly flushing at how easily he had seen through your fake cool. “It’s just a few people,” Steve had said, fingers dancing along the taut skin of your neck. You murmured something that you hoped sounded casual and buried your face in the warm skin of his side, hoping to bury your concerns about Nancy with it. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Nancy. Back in high school, you had wanted to be her–picture perfect, straight A’s, Head Editor of the newspaper, and when she suddenly ditched Steve (back when he was “King Steve”), she had shown up somehow looking older, more mature than all the rest of you. But you couldn’t let go of her past with Steve, as ridiculous as it was. She had been his first love. He still kept one of her bras in a shoe box, for God’s sake–admittedly, it wasn’t because of Nancy, as he had explained to you, but it still made you feel a little sensitive. If Nancy was going to be there tonight, you were going to spend the entire evening trying to prove yourself to her, to Steve, that you weren’t just the girl he was with but the girl he was supposed to be with. 

Battle armor, you thought, staring into the closet you and Steve shared. Your clean work uniforms were hung up beside jeans, t-shirts (many stolen from Steve), and a few blouses your mom had bought you to wear to your classes at the community college. You also had a few dresses tucked away in the back–mostly things you hadn’t worn since high school, things you weren’t even sure would fit you any more. What would Nancy wear? You thought, chewing on your bottom lip. Except that’s not right, is it? You need to prove that you’re not Nancy, not that you can be her. When the black pleats caught your eye, you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over your face. Pulling the skirt from the back of the closet, you held it up against your body. It seemed like it would still fit, and the length came down just above your knees to show slightly more skin than Wheeler ever would. Flipping through the blouses your mom naively dreamed of you looking professional in, you grabbed a cropped black button down with a wide collar from where it was hidden between fluorescent tops. This–this would work. 

Emerging from the bedroom an hour later, you fidget nervously with your nails. You had painted them dark red as soon as you had picked your outfit, blowing on them to dry the shiny liquid before it could smudge. Steve had his back turned to you, digging in the refrigerator and making the glass bottles inside clink. “Hey babe,” he called loudly without turning around, “do you think I should go buy more ice? Will anyone want ice in their drinks?” “Yeah, probably,” you answered casually from behind him. Starting, Steve stood up hurriedly and whipped around. “Fuck,” he exclaimed, hand over his heart. “I didn’t realize you–whoa.” Steve’s eyes scanned down, then back up, then back down your body. “What’s with the outfit?” “You don’t like it?” You asked, tugging anxiously at the hemline of the skirt. You had paired the crop top and skirt with a pair of black shoes with a short heel, and you had finished the outfit with the chain necklaces Robin had given you and hoop earrings. The cherry on top, so to speak, was the red lipstick that perfectly matched the dark red satin of your nails. “Who the fuck said that?” Steve asked, eyes widening. “You look incredible.” You felt a light blush pulse its way into your cheeks and Steve fixed on the color as it spread. “You look good, too,” you said, returning the compliment. 

He was wearing the maroon sweater you had given him for Christmas last year, along with a pair of jeans that seemed almost too tight to be comfortable. You couldn’t help but notice that his bulge seemed tightly pressed against his pants, and you hoped he hadn’t chosen this pair of denim for anyone in particular tonight. “Hey,” Steve said, making your eyes meet his. The soft brown flickered for a moment, alight with wickedness. “What are you wearing under that outfit?” He asked, voice soft. You almost rolled your eyes–he was so predictable sometimes. When you had seen the outfit in the mirror, seen the slit of skin between the bottom of the shirt and the top of the skirt, you had known he would immediately begin thinking about getting you out of your clothes. You had changed from your everyday cotton briefs into something more…adventurous for this exact reason. A tiny smile hinted at the edge of your mouth. “How about,” you said, voice smoky, “you spend the rest of the night trying to find out? Without getting caught by your friends?” Steve’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “Really? We’re going to play games tonight?” He seemed incredulous, leaving you with only one possible response: “I’m going to play a game tonight. You’re going to try to play it with me.”

Jonathan had shown up first with Argyle, gently knocking on the frame of your open front door. “Nancy will be here later,” he had said quietly, gently nodding his head in greeting. He, Argyle, and Steve had gathered around the stereo system, making the occasional grunt as they spoke quietly about the crackling sounds coming out of the speakers. Steve clapped his hands enthusiastically, patting Jonathan on the back over-zealously, when he pressed play and crystal-clean sound came through. Eddie and Robin showed up at the same time, though Robin’s first words as she walked through the door were “We did not come together, just at the same time,” which made Eddie snort and shoot you conspiratorial looks. “Oh, gross, Munson,” Robin growled. “I brought beer and tunes,” Eddie said, holding up a six pack and a cassette. “Eddie, we’re not listening to your music at my apartment,” Steve said, “I don’t want my neighbors to think we’re sacrificing virgins in here.” “Who said anything about virgins?” Eddie joked, elbow tickling your ribs as he passed you on his way into the kitchen. You followed behind him to put the six pack he had brought into the fridge.

“Here,” you said, handing Eddie a bottle out of the ice-and-drink-filled sink, “a cold one for you.” You jumped up to sit on top of the kitchen counter, pulling from a brown bottle yourself. Jonathan flipped through the mishmash collection of vinyls next to the stereo while Robin and Steve joked about something stupid one of their coworkers had said that day. “Who’s is this?” Jonathan asked, holding up a bright pink album adorned with the image of Dolly Parton. You giggled, and Steve held up his hands, shooting daggers at you. “I plead the fifth,” he said, mock seriousness in his voice. Jonathan laughed, hard and loud, before pulling a random cassette out of the box next to the stereo system. He loaded it into the cassette player, pressing play, and quiet music began to fill the apartment, floating out the open doorway to invite your neighbors by. Eddie reached behind you, long arms brushing against yours, as he pushed the window over the sink open part way before clambering clumsily up onto the counter next to you. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a preroll and a lighter, and lit up. 

“So,” Eddie asked, turning his head towards the open window as he blew out a stream of smoke. “How’s life with the babysitter?” You tilt your head back to laugh, your grin stretching your face. “It’s good,” you answer, cocking your head to the side as you look at Eddie. “Living with a boy isn’t quite as disgusting as I thought it would be.” “Oh yeah?” Eddie questions, a look of pure delight crinkling the corner of his eyes. “Does Harrington clean every weekend? Maybe in a little maids uniform for you?” You splutter around the mouth of the beer bottle, choking on the cool malt beer at how close Eddie has come to guessing the truth. Steve doesn’t wear a maid’s outfit–not that you’d be opposed to seeing him in one, you think, making a mental note–but he does wear silk. And lace. And satin. Basically, if it’s women’s underwear in his size, Steve will wear it at least once for you. He’s gotten picky now, rejecting a few pieces here and there for being uncomfortable, but he wears everything you pick out together for at least one night. 

“Relax,” Eddie crows, slapping you on the back as you recover from the shot of malt up your nose, “I was kidding! Unless he does have a maid’s outfit, in which case I’ve got to see it.” You laugh as you regain your breath. “No, no maid’s outfits,” you giggle as Eddie pulls an over-the-top pout. He takes another pull from the joint in his fingers, holding it out to you. You take it from him, pulling the smoke down into your lungs where you hold it for a minute before turning to release it out the window. Munson looks borderline impressed, but he stops you when you go to take a second hit: “Strong shit. Maybe go slow for a minute,” he says, plucking the joint out of your fingers. “So,” you ask, forcing your tone to be light, “What has Steve said about living with me?” “Oh, he’s a big fan,” Eddie laughs. “Really?” You can’t help the slight blush that burns your face, and you hope the combination of makeup and low light will keep Eddie from seeing it. “Absolutely,” he says, “Every time I see him now, it’s ‘Did you know girls wash their towels’ and ‘Girls actually wash the sheets on their bed even when someone’s not coming over.’” “Ewwww,” you groan, shoving Munson’s shoulder, “That’s not true! Steve didn’t have to learn to wash his towels from me.” “Alright, maybe he was just trying to pass on some friendly advice,” Eddie laughs, rolling his eyes. 

Eddie leans towards you conspiratorially, placing his hand on your knee to steady him before he falls off the countertop. “Actually,” he half-whispers, “Steve’s made it pretty damn clear how he feels about you to me, Jonathan, and Argyle. We’re talking an Aragorn and Arwen level of crazy about you.” Your cheeks burn again, and you smile gently at Eddie, taking the joint he extends to you with a nod of approval. “Did Steve make that Lord of the Rings reference or did you have to teach it to him?” “The guy’s not dumb–maybe a little distracted, but not dumb.” You laugh again, smoke blowing out and lean closer to Eddie’s face, eyebrows raised. “Okay, okay,” Eddie laughs. “Maybe Steve would say it’s a Han and Leia type thing.” You start to lean back, laughing again. The friendship between Steve, Eddie, Argyle, and Jonathan never fails to surprise you; you wouldn’t have guessed Munson was a Tolkien fan, and his ability to recognize that Steve would prefer a Star Wars reference warms your heart. Suddenly, you’ve leaned too far–you almost lose your balance when Eddie reaches out, putting a hand on your waist to pull you closer to him and steady your balance. “You okay there?” He asks, eyebrows in his hairline and half a smile on his face. “I told you it was strong shit, didn’t I?” You blink slowly, the mixture of your second beer and Eddie’s weed making your brain feel smooth and slow. Eddie pulls his hand back from your waist, and you notice a familiar ring amidst the others on his fingers. “Hey!” You say, grabbing his hand with your own. “Steve has this same ring!” “Yeah,” Eddie says, “I got us guys all the same one last year. Brotherhood, blah blah blah,” he says, turning crimson. You peer up into his face, lips pressed together into a smile. “That’s actually very sweet, Eddie,” you say, placing his hand on your knee where you pat it gently. 

“Hey!” A voice jars across the kitchen. “What the fuck, Munson?” You turn your head slowly to see Steve standing in the kitchen, an empty beer bottle in his hand. Eddie barely even moves. “Calm down, Harrington,” he says, turning to him. “We were just sharing a joint and, you know, some feelings.” Steve’s face scrunches up in incredulous confusion. “You don’t have feelings,” he says, minutely shaking his head. “I know,” Eddie says, tapping the end of his nose, “We were talking about yours.” “Oh, fuck that,” Steve says. “Come on.” He pushes Eddie’s hand off your knee and grabs your hand, pulling you down off the counter where you sway slightly on your feet. Steve pulls another beer out of the ice pile in the sink and then turns, pulling you behind him to the living room. “Here. Sit,” he says, gently pushing your shoulders so you sit down on the couch. “Keep Robin entertained or something, you lightweight.” He’s joking, the little glint in his eye telling you how entertained he is by your inability to hold your substances, but the line of his mouth is hard. “Anything for you, my baby,” you say, doing your best to look like a soft, delicate version of yourself. “You need water,” Steve says, half laughing at your attempt to be fragile and disappearing from your line of vision. 

Robin is on the floor next to your legs, her usual place of honor, making quiet remarks about each person who comes through the doorway. “Oh, who the hell invited Tommy?” She mutters under her breath. Suddenly, a slender, petite frame appears in the doorway. “Wheeler!” Robin cries, jumping up a bit too quickly for you to track with your eyes. She darts to the door, throwing her arms around Nancy’s neck. Nancy hugs her back, tightly, and pulls back, smiling. “Buckley,” she says with affection. She drops her hands from Robin’s neck to her waist. “So,” she says, casting her eyes around the room. “This is Harrington’s infamous love den?” Her eyes alight on you, laying a bit too comfortably on the couch. You straighten up, trying to look more prim and proper than usual under Nancy’s eyes. Steve rounds the corner, glass of water and a napkin full of pretzels in hand. “Here you go, my lady love,” he says, simultaneously sarcastic and simpering, as he lowers himself to your height, placing the glass in your hands and the pretzels on the end table next to you. “Steve!” Nancy cries from the doorway. “Hey, Nance!” Steve crows. “My girl!” He moves swiftly to her side, pulling her out from under Robin’s hands to wrap her in a tight embrace. You try not to notice the sinking in your heart at the idea that anyone other than you might be “Steve’s girl.” 

People are milling around, creating small clumps of conversation throughout the apartment. Steve brought Nancy and Robin both back to the couch with him, where he sat in between you and Nancy while Robin took her spot on the floor, leaning up against Nancy’s legs. Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie had eventually made their way over to your small group, all three reeking of Eddie’s weed, and crowded close. Eddie was on the floor, leaning his back against the coffee table so he could watch the conversation; Argyle had sprawled out next to him, long legs blocking the space from anyone else’s attempts to come closer; Jonathan had pulled one of the chairs out of the kitchen to straddle backwards, beer bottle tapping lightly against the back of it in time to the music playing. The conversation had been flowing pretty smoothly without much help from you so far, but as it lulled you felt peace in the quiet. Good friends, you thought to yourself, although, at least half of these people have fucked. You snort quietly at the thought, and Steve turns to you. “More water, baby?” He looks at your mostly-empty glass and grabs it, standing up. You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’ll be right back,” he says before disappearing back into the kitchen. You can hear him greeting other friends who have showed up, the sound of back slaps and light laughter following him. 

“Who would have guessed Harrington was such a softie?” Eddie asked. Robin laughs. “He’s not a softie, he’s pussy-whipped,” she says, reaching over to pinch your legs. You blush a little, but this has become Robin’s favorite joke and you don’t pay it much mind. A quiet scoff makes you turn to Nancy. “Something to share with the group, Wheeler?” Eddie asks, a look of delight on his face. She blushes, and you hate that the crimson only makes her look prettier. “No!” She says, motions jerky as she recoils. “It’s just, well, Steve has always been a sweetheart.” Jonathan’s eye roll can be physically felt, and Nancy hurries to say “When he’s screwed up.” Robin cocks her head at Nancy. “I mean,” she says, starting to gesture with her petite hands, “He was a great boyfriend when we dated. But he was his best when he had pissed me off and was trying to get back on my good side. He’d bring flowers, help me study, whatever I wanted, if he thought he would get back into my good graces.” “And,” Argyle’s voice looms up from his position on the floor, “is Harrington out of your good graces?” He rolls his head to the side to look at you, and everyone else turns to look at you too. “No,” you say. “Definitely not.” You shake your head lightly and then giggle quietly at the sensation of your eyes shifting. “See,” says Argyle patiently, “She’s just wasted. Steve is taking care of her, like a true gentleman.” The sound of his voice makes it clear that Argyle approves of Steve’s actions–but the moment is ruined when Jonathan starts to laugh and everyone follows, including you. 

“What’s the joke?” Steve asks, returning with your water and more snacks. “You are,” Robin says, grinning at him from the floor. Steve groans, as he puts your water down and sits down next to you again. He swings his arm over your shoulders, casually, and you try not to pay attention as his warm fingertips begin to sweep, slowly, back and forth over the cool skin of your exposed arms. “Why am I the joke this time? Robin,” he says, eyes steely, “I did not have rabies, for the last time–” Steve is cut off by her laugh. He looks around in confusion. “We were talking about how particularly gentlemanly you’re being tonight,” Jonathan says, answering his searching look. “Oh,” Steve says. “Why is that funny?” “Well,” Robin says breathlessly, “Nance said that you’re only nice when you mess up, but she–” Robin points to you “ –said you didn’t do anything wrong, and then Argyle decided you’re a gentleman, but I mean, Argyle is never not high so it’s just hard to take him seriously, you know–” Robin is cut off by Steve’s shocked look. “I didn’t ‘mess up’ –I think,” he says, glancing back at you, and you nod empathetically. “I just love my girlfriend.” 

There’s a moment’s pause. Steve had never said this to you before–months of dating, living together for most of them, and he’s exposed even his most delicate and sensitive secrets to you, but he never said he loved you. You’ve known you loved him since about your second week of dating, but you’ve kept it to yourself; you’re not the type to say it first, even though you feel it, because you can’t handle the possibility of a stilted, awkward conversation instead of reciprocation. Before you can say anything back, Argyle’s voice comes from the floor again. “See? Gentleman shit,” and everyone dissolves into a fit of laughter again. You lean forward amidst your giggles, wrapping your hand around the nape of Steve’s neck, and press a soft kiss to his shoulder, holding his eyes with your own. Suddenly, the music changes and Robin screeches. 

“Oh, my God!” She yowls, jumping to her feet. “It’s our song!” She grabs Nancy’s hand, pulling her by the wrist to standing and pulls her out to the middle of the living room that has been avoided by all the other clumps of people. “Poor old Johnnie Ray,” Robin croons, grabbing Eddie’s hand and pulling him to standing despite his grumblings. She pushes him to the center of the room, turning back for Jonathan and Argyle, who is already wiggling his hips casually. “That’s the spirit,” Robin says, pointing to Argyle. She comes back for you and Steve now. “No one’s sitting this out,” she orders, pulling you to your feet. You’re much steadier than you were earlier, and the rush of blood to your legs provides you with more clarity. “Come on Eileen,” you sing, slightly behind Dexy’s Midnight Runners on the tape, as you turn and hold your hand out for Steve expectantly. The rest of your group has started dancing, Robin trying to force Jonathan to loosen up, Eddie shuffling his feet with Argyle, and Nancy, eyes closed, in a world of her own. Steve takes your hand, his rough palm sliding against yours, and stands up. You lead him to the impromptu dance floor, and he presses his broad chest and stomach against your back, wrapping his fingers around your hips as you sway. Other guests have started to join the dance as well, and Robin takes Nancy’s hands in hers as Tommy reaches out for her. You can feel Steve’s breath as he leans his head on your shoulder, the warm puffs blowing your free-floating strands of hair. Together, the two of you watch your friends drop the hardnesses they have wrapped around themselves, around their hearts, and simply laugh and dance together. Robin brings Eddie into her and Nancy’s dance circle, and he drags Jonathan with him. Argyle joins in quickly too, and you watch the four of them let go of whatever hurt and sadness they have carried with them and melt into radiance, into joy. 

The song switches over to rhythmic clapping as Whitney Houston “Whoos!” into the laughter and scattered voices in your apartment. Eddie and Jonathan beg out quickly, saying they’ve done their required dancing for Robin, but Argyle, Nancy, and Robin continue to dance among other people. “Hey,” Steve says, turning you around to face him. “Want to dance with me?” “Obviously,” you say. He wraps his arms around you, bringing your hips to press against his. “Steve,” you laugh, “this isn’t exactly a slow dance song.” “Whitney asked if we want to dance, and this is how I want to dance,” he replies, shaking his head at you like it’s obvious. You slide your hands up around his neck, interlocking your fingers at the base of his spine, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. Steve closes his eyes and sighs quietly, contently. You keep your eyes open, watching the soft glow of the lights in the room sway and dance over his sweater, catching in his hair, looming around his form so he looks like a painting of a fairy tale character, a brave hunter come to rescue the woman who’s been locked in a tower, alone for too long. He did save me, you think, the thought cutting through the rest of brain fog sharply, he rescued me from myself. Your fingers tighten slightly, digging your nails into his neck, and his eyes pop open. 

“You okay?” Steve asks. “Yeah,” you say, “Fine.” He looks searchingly at you for another second. “If it’s about earlier—what I said—it’s not like you have to say it back or anything. I didn’t say I love you to make you say it too; I said it because, well, I love you. That’s all.” He’s not looking at you now, eyes on the floor as his hips continue to sway pressed against yours. Something about this feels so middle school, so simple and innocent and exciting, that you feel bubbles bounce against your heart as you reply, “Okay.” He looks up at you, a small smile on his lips. “Okay,” he says, nodding his head in relief. “I do love you, though,” you say, completely casually. You’re not nervous to tell him this; it feels like answering the question “what’s your birthdate?” or “where did you grow up?” You don’t have to think about it at all. It just is the answer, simple and true. You love Steve Harrington, and, apparently, he loves you too. “You, um, you what?” He asks, blinking at you quickly. “I love you,” you say, head mocking his own surprised shake. “You’re stoned,” Steve says, eyebrows raised. “A little,” you answer, “but that’s not why I love you.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve says, a glimmer in his eyes. He leans in close to you, lips brushing your ear as he whispers “and why do you love me, baby girl?” One of your hands traces down his shoulder to his chest, pushing him lightly back so you can look in his eyes. “Because you’re kind. And you’re funny. And you think about others all the time, but you still tell me what you need so I can take care of you. And you ask to take a walk with me when I really piss you off and we just walk in silence. Also, you make me coffee every morning and you remembered exactly what I like in my coffee after the first night I spent here. And, you know, you’re actually kind of smart, Harrington, because you’ve chosen some really great people to surround yourself with.” Steve stares at you, unblinking, and you notice that his eyes have started to water gently. He cradles your face in his palm, tilting his head slightly to the side. “I haven’t found a single reason not to love you, Steve, so why wouldn’t I?” At these words, Steve leans down, brushing his lips gently over yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs over your skin. “I love you.” 

The song is still playing and the two of you continue to sway, revolving in the center of the room amidst your friends. You press your face to the side of Steve’s neck, breathing in his scent. “Steve?” “Yes, baby?” “Why do you love me?” He scoffs, the quick flex of his diaphragm echoing through your body. “I don’t have to outdo what you said, right?” He asks. “No,” you laugh. “Just say whatever you think.” “Okay, I love you because you made friends with my friends and you bought me panties to wear with you. And also you don’t think I’m Steve Harrington in the way other people do but you know me better than anyone else in the world. Also, you’re…kind of a badass and not in a scary way but in a cool way where you tell me what I’m going to do in, uh, certain moments.” He blushes, and you can feel the heat snaking up his neck where your face is pressed against it. “You’re kind of like…the Leia to my Han.” 

You burst out laughing. “What?” He asks, “What the hell's funny?” “Nothing,” you choke out in between giggles. “Something Munson said.” “I’m going to kill him,” Steve says, whipping his head around behind him to look for Eddie. “Don’t,” you say, bracing a hand against his chest. “Will you walk me to the bathroom?” “You’re still that out of it?” Steve asks, laughing. “Just need some guidance, I think.” You smile up at him, willing him to believe the faux innocence you’ve plastered over your face. “Alright, baby girl, to the bathroom we go.” He wraps one arm around your waist, the other around your shoulders. You stumble a few times as you walk down the hallway, trying to sell the “drunk girl at a party” bit to any of your friends who might wonder where the two of you have gone in a few minutes. Outside the bathroom, he leans you against the door frame. “You okay, babe?” He asks, concern over his face. “I’m okay,” you say, stretching up on to your toes. You press your lips against his cheek, and he anticipates you, turning his head to try to meet your mouth. You end up pressing your lips against the corner of his mouth, which is turned up in a slight smile. “Let’s try that again,” he whispers, leaning down to your face where his lips meet yours. 

[furiousgoldfish]

When you have a history of abuse, you often somehow find yourself in a Situation, and the Situation is bad. It’s the stuff of nightmares, whether it’s being exploited, or taken advantage of, or bullied, or tricked/groomed into befriending/dating a predator, or being pressured into something you feel uncomfortable with, you will get yourself, or life will get you, in those Situations.

And we, we’re familiar with the Situations. We have lived thru the Situations. And now that we’re in the Situation again, we have things we want to try, ways to make it Work This Time. Because the last time, the Situation made us feel helpless, cornered, small, weak, ashamed, useless, incapable, stupid, wrong, not enough. And now, this time, we’re going to be good enough and endure whatever needs enduring in order to make it work; we’re going to change the situation into a good one! We figure this situation just needs more kindness, understanding, compliance, love and affection, and we have that! We’re going to force it to be good!

The stakes are extremely high for us. We don’t want to disappoint anyone again, we don’t want to be seen as a failure again, we don’t want to be seen as weak and damaged and give up, no! We have something to prove in this Situation and we will try and try again until we find a solution or run ourselves ragged trying to please everyone but ourselves thru this Situation.

Which then, allows the Situation to continue, and the Situation is so goddamn triggering that we’re enduring 300% the usual amount of stress. We’re not sleeping right, we’re not eating right, we’re having cold sweats, shaking, panicking, all that mess. But, we tell ourselves ‘This is because I’m weak. This is because I’m failing to be impervious to the abuse. This is because I’m in the wrong again, if only I did things different, if only I was more enduring. I’m feeling this just due to trauma, if only I could be normal I could do this’. And we do it until the situation is swarming us with red flags and triggers to the point where we’re endangered enough to have to leave. And again, we’ll doubt ourselves and need explicit proof that the Situation was, in fact, bad. That we were not wrong to leave it, that we weren’t weak and running away.

And the thing is, people who were not abused, will experience 1% of the Situation and go, B Y E because that is not a Situation a human person wants to be in for more than 1 second, the first time they’re uncomfortable they’re not looking for ways to get over that discomfort, they’re out there getting mad! Demanding what is this shit, excuse you, and why the fuck are they not getting what they want out of the Situation? They’ll question the Situation, get mad at it, and drop it like a hot potato. There’s nothing to prove, there’s no doubt in their self worth, the Situations are everywhere, and nobody needs to endure them or fight them, the Situations need to be told off!

This doesn’t necessarily apply to every case - sometimes, if the manipulation tactic is good and very long-winded, the non abused will fall for it for a while, and then stay out of embarrassment and unwillingness to admit that they were wrong, and some abused people have sharpened their senses for the Situation so they yeet themselves out before they even meet it.

But, we do tend to see the Situations more often as ‘proving ourselves, and fixing what we think we’ve done wrong in the past’ kind of deal. We feel familiar and safe in the Situation, because it’s what we know, what we think we deserve, and the environment we know how to function in, because it’s so similar to abuse, so alike all those things we consider normal. For us, it doesn’t look like a Situation, it just looks like another thing like the rest of them, something you have to grab because what if the opportunity slips away and you’ll be sorry. That’s how they present themselves too.

So next time you find doubting your own feelings in a Situation, please be reminded that a non-self-doubting person would not even try to endure a 1% of what you’re enduring. They would reject this stress right away and tell it to fuck off. You’re already enduring more than can reasonably be expected out of someone, you’re not supposed to endure more. If the Situation is bringing you pain, that’s because it’s a fucked up situation, it’s designed to cause harm to you, and how dare it! Get mad at it and tell it to fuck off! You’re made to do more in life than to suffer thru a stupid damn Situation!

[potatothots]

Good Morning

(Hydra AU)

Rating: M

Pairings: dark Winter Soldier x You/Reader

Warnings: canon-level typical violence allusions, mentions of a hard on, non-con drugging

Summary: Hydra won, but somehow you slept through it. The Winter Soldier goes to tell you the good news. 

Edited poorly by this potato.

You woke up with a startled, undignified noise. Your skin was crawling: the same sensation as when someone watches you. Your sleep filled eyes looked around the room before landing on him. 

James Buchannon Barnes. Bucky. The Winter Soldier. 

He stood at a relaxed sort of attention. As if he'd been there for hours and nothing had happened to the point he was bored. 

Except, he had his tactical gear on. The revelation startled you. You looked at the clock - 6:30am. You couldn’t recall him needing to be on a mission. 

"Why are …" 

As your attention went back to him your words caught in your throat. He was so close now. You hadn’t heard him move. You cursed your muddled brain. 

"Mission successful." 

His voice was low and gravely. You wondered when he last spoke. 

"There was no mission." You responded, still confused with the situation. 

His face was emotionless, but his eyes were invested in you. He trailed a flesh finger down your arm. Your white blanket was pulled with it until it tangled against your forearms as you moved to stop him. He let out a hum and simply trailed his finger back up to rest at your collarbone. The touch left goosebumps despite his ever high body temperature. 

He climbed on top of you. He was dirty with the smell of gunsmoke and blood. He settled, his weight causing your legs to shift to let him lay between them. You could see the grime left behind on your bedding. The overwhelming scent of his sweat and polluted air invaded your senses. 

You grunted, trying to shove him away. "Get off."

He wrapped his arms around your body like an octopus. It didn't matter he ignored your free arms. You couldn't hurt him enough without using your powers. You weren't looking to do that until you figured out what was going on. 

"Mission complete. Successful." He murmured against the skin of your neck. 

"What mission?"

There was a long pause. He kissed the skin under your ear. 

"Hydra won." 

The short statement made you freeze. He trailed sloppy kisses down your neck, stopping at the top of your sleep shirt. With the way he was laying you could feel his cock harden.

"Are you not happy?" His voice was softer than before. Almost as if there was a fear of rejection under the gravelly sound. 

"No. No, I'm not!" Your voice got louder each time you said "no," until you were screaming.

Your body caught up with your mind. Your power licked at your skin. The Soldier let out an annoyed huff. He pulled a small syringe from his pocket. Sitting up, he jabbed it into the fleshy part of your upper arm. 

It happened so fast. He was faster than you on a normal day, but you should have been able to defend yourself quicker than this. 

Had you been drugged last night? 

He caught your struggling arms by the wrists. "Shh. Sleep." 

Your chest felt like it was pushing up a brick every time you sucked in air. Your eyelids grew heavy. You mumbled a few more "no's." Tears streamed from the corners of your eyes. 

He let go of your arms, laying them by your sides. He cradled your face in his large hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears. 

"Sleep now." The soldier leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips. 

It was delicate despite his chapped lips and your stale breaths. It was a kiss you could have cherished if the situation was different. 

You fought sleep. He didn't seem to mind anymore as he settled back down. This time against your side. As he held you he hummed a song you couldn't quite make out as the tiredness won out.

[butterbabyflapjack]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the one and only @gaeadene 💗

I'm still working on Brat ch.4, but for this week I'm wrapping up a commission featuring Ghost x woc!reader (brat taming, dom/sub, all the good stuff💕)

You haven’t even fully regained your footing before Ghost is stepping toward you – so tall it only takes that single step to reach you – and then his giant arm’s encircling around your waist, hoisting you up into the air with ease as you’re forced to bite back a shriek.

He tosses you up and over his barrelled shoulder in one smooth motion before you can even think to wriggle away or protest; though the wriggling and protesting is soon to follow.

“What–Ghost!” you practically shout at him, blinking rapid and wide, before all at once squirming to somehow free yourself from how he’s folded you belly-down, ass-up over his shoulder; writhing like your life depends on it. “Put me down–ah! Put me down!”

“I admire the tough girl act,” he says, unaffected by your struggles. His strong arm tightening like a python around your middle as he turns in the heavy snow, carrying your struggling form along with him like you’re some unruly, ill-behaved sack of potatoes he’s carting along with him. Otherwise completely ignoring your efforts. “But I’ll only cater to it for so long.”

Your ears burn with embarrassment, being forced into feeling like some toddler he must lug away from the playground – and it certainly doesn’t help you feel any better that, for all your kicking and writhing, he keeps you easily held across the breadth of one dense shoulder. 

“Ghost!”

“You’re wounded, Mamba,” he says more sternly, and with enough conviction that it actually stalls your desperate thrashing, leaves you momentarily limp against him. “I let you walk here because you were hellbent to. But until I assess the damage, you’re not taking another step.”

Your nostrils flare with rising indignation. “You let me?!”

“Everything you do on this mission,” he smoothly, firmly replies, “is because I’ve let you.”

You bite back against arguing on that particular point, seeing as how – with him being your superior – it may or may not be true. 

“I–” you stammer, changing tactics on a dime, “Well… even so, I’m perfectly capable of–!”

You’re abruptly jostled as he strategically shifts your weight.

“I know what you’re perfectly capable of, sweetheart,” he says over you, and the sobriquet makes your stomach twist, makes you flustered and simultaneously see red.

Your struggles increase tenfold, your fists raining judgement on the broadness of his back. Your face bumping up against his coat with each towering step he takes through the misty snowbanks, your voice muffled by the fabric.

“Put me down!”

“I will,” he easily replies. “When I’m good and ready to. Why don’t you settle down… try behaving for once?”

That only has your hands curling into tighter fists.

“Behaving?!” you bark, ready to go on fighting – only to go abruptly still, instead, so suddenly it leaves your mind reeling, as his other hand reaches up to grab the back of one of your thighs to better steady you, firm fingers so large they nearly encircle your leg entirely, imagined warmth somehow seeping through those many winter layers that separate you.

It almost seems like he’d been about to say something, but at your startled, stilled reaction to his touch, he’s left instead in lingering silence. 

“You’re not going anywhere unless I want you to,” he murmurs at length, his voice a growl above the snow crunching beneath his boots. 

You grimace in protest, though your body remains limp, dangled over his shoulder in new-found, stubborn obedience; all the fight slowly fleeing from you. 

“Bastard,” you mutter against his muscled back, and hear his amused huff.

“Maybe,” he gruffly agrees. “But I’m the bastard you’re going to listen to whether you’d like to or not.”

Tagging (only if you want to!! <3) @shintin @samsaurwrites @whimsyvixen @flaggermuser @tawus @lilkrissmuffet @guilty-pleasure-writings @vaya-writes @l0sercat @h-cake @yoce-chan @athanasius-symposium-of-writings @brimbrimbrimbrim

[ihatebnha]

barbarian bakugou carries you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes EVERYWHERE. like pro hero bkg probably does this every now & then but barbarian bkg does it even if you guys only have to take a few steps forward. he’s just ten times more menace that pro hero bakugou…. he probably smacks your butt & grunts something about pretty things should be taken care of if you start saying you can walk on your own…. sigh (also hi how are you i love you mwah)

-oc anon

NO, PLEASEeEekjahdfjakds, why am I so 😵‍💫😵‍💫 over this!!! 

Menace is right, too... because he not only does it cuz he thinks you shouldn’t have to dirty your feet, but he does it when you’re not listening to him, too. And when he wants to show off to the other men in your village. 

All three of these times being... MOST OF THE TIME LMFAO. If you’re at the market and it’s particular busy or muddy, GRAB. Sack of potatoes. If you don’t want to follow him out into the yard, WHUP. Sack of potatoes. If your neighbors are out watching him hunt or they see you together and make comments, YEP. SACK OF POTATOES. 

Maybe it’s just because pro!Bakugo (barely) has more modern-day communication skills that he doesn’t have to rely on tactics like this, but... Barbarian!Bakugo? You’re never stopping him lmfaoooo. Love, tho. 

(AND HI, I LOVE U TOO AND MISSED U BB!!! I’m actually doing pretty good, thank you! Wbu??? Let’s talk about you and your OCs sometime soon, okay? Okay <333)