#the irony of everything being covered lol

[apnourry]

rediscovering this gem of a pose

[poorlydrawndirk]

We're on air.

More precisely, I was on air when I recorded this, but the details are largely irrelevant. Because I don't really feel like covering fuckin' introductory quantum mechanics and telling you exactly how the influence of the Skaian universe, when applied at the quark level and taken alongside the probabilistic effect of quantum behavior, superposes via particle states and results in the formation of what you might refer to as "overlapping timelines". And that's already getting real abecedarian about this shit.

Yeah, sue me. Try boning up on basic physics while you're at it.

So. I'm sure you'd love to hear about how I managed to rig this sick as hell channel-cum-blog up and get it to straddle the space-time continuum like an antediluvian Olympic gymnast doing mad splits over baby's first toy pony, but that ain't the point of this little exercise. Posting what's effectively a vlog is enough of an onanistic venture without adding Skaian Principles For Dummies: Electric Boogaloo to the schedule.

Where was I?

(Rhetorical question. Don't answer, if it needed to be said.)

The name's Dirk.

Strider. Yeah, that Strider.

I'd be more worried about internet safety, but seeing as there are only up to two people alive around here no matter how far you pull my timeline back, and I'm one of 'em, it doesn't exactly compute. Face it, brosephine: you aren't getting to year 24xx post-hilarocaust, and you sure aren't getting past that. Wasn't shat out of a lab yet when you were committing identity theft and scamming doddering old ladies out of their sadsack pensions.

(If you manage to get pizza delivered out here, I'll tip extra.)

Besides, you already knew my name, didn't you?

Maybe your next question's going to be:

"Why are you calling this a vlog when it's obviously just a blog?"

Or maybe,

"Why is your URL poorlydrawndirk when it's totally malapropos?"

Buckle in, kids. Strap yourself into that convertible toddler-safe harness and keep your ass glued tight to all the prime polyester-lined foam, because this ride's about to pull into the station and vehicular standards are some passé 21st century horseshit.

The first thing you have to understand is that even peering upon the brink of these echelons of irony is a skill that you'll never grasp in your life. But that's fine. I'm around. And if it puts your mind at ease,

I'll be the one pulling the strings here.

(There's the tired callback. It's not wrong, but it's tired. Worn out enough for it to be begging you to take it out back behind the shed and put it out of its misery.)

(I'll leave it at that for now, because self-referencing is one thing, but if I get any more meta, I'll have to start narrating in twelve-point Times New Roman.)

Anyway, I'll be breaking it down, just this once. Magnanimous as hell, I know. I could wax poetic and in doing so obfuscate the actual meaning once more from obtuse minds, thereby adding another strata to irony so layered that it's settled past sedimentary and is ready to unearth some fossil formations, but let's be real. That shit would fly over your head so far it'd be trying to dial ground control at Houston.

Here we go.

Vlogs aren't cool; making one ironically is.

Putting in this much effort into making a multiversal vlog makes it cooler, ironically.

Putting in this much effort to make a multiversal vlog when the doomed timelines are all inherently fuckin' doomed, as the name implies, and therefore functionally useless to communicate with, makes it more ironic.

I have Heart powers and am able to achieve my ultimate self through my alpha timeline. Therefore, not only is this pimped-out vlog functionally useless, but I actually don't need it at all.

Which means this wasn't too hard to set up to begin with. Ironic, considering the complex presupposed conditions necessary for bridging that 'verse gap.

And despite framing this as a vlog, this is obviously a blog.

Even though it's just a blog, all these drawings I've made had you convinced that I really thought I was posting a vlog.

And in a way, I'm still making one. It ain't the traditional format, but the almost videographic mannerisms I've been laying on you more than compensate for the fact that the video part of "vlog" doesn't exist.

Except it does, for me.

And because it does, none of these pictures are drawn to begin with. They're all film stills. Screenshots, if you prefer.

Which makes the qualifier of "poorly drawn" untrue.

But it's also almost true, because you can call them poorly drawn by virtue of them not even being drawn. Ride that definition of "poorly" down the one-way rail and you're here, selfie central, population two, me and you.

Of course, that means we have to cover the quandary of truth itself. What constitutes the truth? Titillate that thought for a second.

If I consider the attached files to be selfies, but you consider them to be illustrations, which is it actually?

An analysis of the "truth" means that we have to start delineating how much of this is subjective, tying us in bed with the concept of knowledge. The Socratic take calls for dialectical conversation and inquiry via questioning; therefore, if I just bequeath my knowledge to you on a pretty little metaphorical platter, it won't mean fuckall. So we have to keep digging. Get your pickaxe ready, 'cause we ain't hitting any diamonds of wisdom any time soon.

In fact, maybe that ain't the right direction. Flip it turnways. We gotta climb a li'l higher for what we need.

Maybe we gotta head to the roof.

now. brought cal.

where making this HAPEN.

Haha.

Just fuckin' with you.

Welcome to my blog, dude.

Want water? Imagine I got you a nice, chilled glass.

Let's get this parasocial relationship pumping.

Questions? Concerns? Misguided pseudo-parental queries about whether or not it's safe for your pipsqueak to be exposed to a full dose of radically Stridered bullshit?

Cool.

Make it all three and drop it in the asks, yeah?

[inkskinned]

"it's so embarrassing you like that popular thing" "oh ew that geeky/strange thing is so cringe lol" "oh it's kind of weird you get excited about that harmless shit"

dude i love how ironic and jaded you are and that's so cool and sexy of you. and i am so so glad to tell you - you won!! we all had a meeting and we decided that you won, and we are writing your name on the inside of a burger king crown. the marker smeared, sorry, but we knew any form of real effort is ugly to you. but anyway. congrats! you are officially the coolest, most ironic, most jaded person in-the-world-right-now. we would throw you a party but you would think it was totally boring - and besides, we're weird so we wouldn't have been coming. we would have brought our love of beetles and of baking and of little canapes. we would have brought our artsy videogames and pages of writing. we would have written a poem with you, our hands covered in ink, and spread out a canvas to dance on, the night so lurid and pink.

but do not worry. we will not throw the party. we will just get you a ringlight and that crown i mentioned. it is a nice crown, except for where one of us dropped it.

the vote was a really hard one because we had so many cool ironic people to pick off the shelves. all of you have hands that rot fruit, how strange is that - you can't look at something without destroying it for other people. you like it when you can squeeze a person into a pinpoint - all us small ones scampering our little feet around our ugly joys. the vote was also a hard one because we kept our voices down because you don't like it when we talk too loud. you were on your phone at the time, talking to people other than us. you are a ghoul of every moment - half in, half out, you resent us for being here without shame or embarrassment.

so good news! we have invented an island for people like you. you get to go there and speak into the air things like if you still like watching harmless twitch streamers in 2023 you're fucking boring. you will say things like liveplay podcasts are fucking ugly and it's kind of awkward they try to make everything gay. on the island we made you, all of your words will have weight. they will form in the air like icicles, large white behemoth letters that will crumple in anvils around your feet. maybe we will send someone there once in a while to sweep, but honestly you might be there for a while, alone, waiting. we are busy being outside looking for mushrooms and flapping our hands and humming. we are busy kicking our little heels while we watch cringey tv. we are busy - sorry! as an apology, we have pre-filled the island with every bland, mediocre, unscented thing we could find. the island has the texture of american cheese. the island has an ocean that never gets angry. the island is perfect for you, trust me. you will be so happy there - as happy as you can be, ironically.

we want to say we are sorry for doing harmless things that you find annoying, childish, or unappealing - but we are not sorry. we thought we could help you, because we don't mind laughing at ourselves, but it turns out you are allergic to color and noise and atmosphere, so this is the best that we can do for now. we are all making a big shirt that says i voted in the ironic monarchy. we got you one that is just a fast fashion buttondown. i am so excited for you and this island and the big life you have won. you have a cool jaded grey life and miles of irony to roam. i love you! be well.

now leave us alone.

[whenmemorydies]

90s alternative rock, masculinity and The Bear

This post by @bbythurs got me thinking about The Bear's soundtrack, specifically its use of 90s alternative rock. Some thoughts below.

Chris Storer and I are very close in age, and going by the soundtrack choices for The Bear, grew up listening to very similar music. I came to grunge a few years after its heyday but when I did, I quickly became obsessed with these (mostly) white boys singing frankly about things like domestic violence, sexual assault, drug use, and mental health issues, and who seemed to revel in challenging traditional masculinity. Their hair was often long but usually not overly styled (or washed for that matter), they sometimes wore dresses, lipstick and eyeliner on stage (but were decidedly unglam about it), and they scribbled "PRO CHOICE" on their bare arms during prime time television performances (shout out to Eddie Vedder).

Kurt Cobain on the cover of The Face, September 1993.

Michael Stipe, who often played with gender in R.E.M.'s live shows, had also recently come out as queer (his words were, an "equal opportunity lech") during the promotional cycle for REM's Monster (the album featuring Sydcarmy's infamous "Strange Currencies"). Alternative rock in the 90s was full of folks who were challenging convention, including the necessity of traditional masculinity.

The irony is that so many of the people who listened to grunge were white guys who had no problem with traditional masculinity. These were the same guys who head-banged and dove in mosh pits to these songs but went home and beat on their partners, or perpetrated sexual assault while singing the lyrics to these songs. No one can control who consumes your art, even if some artists did try to (see Kurt Cobain's liner notes from Nirvana's Insecticide):

In contrast, it seems like Chris Storer (thankfully) got the correct memo.

Ever since watching the first episode of The Bear, it was clear to me that this show has plenty to say about masculinity: how its performed and weaponised (2x06 Fishes is a master class in depicting this on film), how its subverted (think: Emmanuel and Pete but also Marcus and Chester), how those who don't conform to traditional masculine archetypes - in even the most innocuous way, like being artistic - can be isolated and picked off, including by those who might love them the most (see: Carmy's treatment by many in his family), and how those who do perform traditional masculinity to a T, can still be decimated in its wake (see: alpha-male Mikey).

Hearing tracks like Pearl Jam's "Animal" and "Come Back", REM's "Strange Currencies" and "Oh My Heart", Radiohead's "Let Down", and Nine Inch Nail's "The Day The World Went Away" used in The Bear is incredibly nostalgic for those of us who grew up with these artists. Their inclusion in the soundtrack is also incredibly intentional (like everything to do with this show). This is the music that Mikey was likely listening to growing up and that Carmy would have heard his brother playing. This is also undoubtedly the music that Storer grew up listening to as well.

I love that in a show about a man who is coming into his own after years of toxicity and abuse - much of which was targeted at Carmy because of how he performed (or didn't perform) masculinity - that reference is being paid to this genre. And if it was the case that this was the music Mikey was listening to and, perhaps even playing for Carmy when they were kids, that Carmy would be able to go back and re-listen to these artists now and know, that despite Mikey's demons and his own relationship with masculinity, that his brother always loved Carm, just as he was.

Author's note:

Also if there is a temporary (because it has to be fucking temporary, you hear me lol) Sydcarmy break up/parting of ways, I'm gonna need Storer and Calo to soundtrack it with Pearl Jam's "Black" (the MTV Unplugged performance). I'll need Eddie Vedder growling/screaming "WE BELONG TOGETHER" over a close up of Carmy's distraught face as Syd walks away. I'm going to need to hear,

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life/I know you will be a star/In somebody else's sky/But why, why, why can't it be/Can't it be mine?,

over the end credits please.

[sweetblinginrose]

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥! ,

(OS Steve Harrington x fem!reader Kline x Robin Buckley)

summary: you, Steve’s ex-girlfriend, bounce out of town because of your dad’s passing. You decide to swing back during the holidays after your big transformation, only to stumble upon this chick who’s feeding into your sensual cravings.

word count: 11k +

warnings: infidelity, oral sex (receiving, female), homophobia, lesbianism, two-year age difference (both are older), kisses, inexperience, scissoring, no cuddling after sex, caught by a bystander.

a/n: i wrote this bored, so there’s a bit of filler. not recommended for folks craving instant action, there’s some backstory here. can’t promise it’s all good, wrote it while watching a movie lol

masterlist

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

Indeed, your life seemed like a modern fairy tale, but with a touch of irony. Being the daughter of Mayor Laurence ‘Larry’ Kline, your existence was wrapped in an aura of privilege and power. However, not everything that glitters is gold, and behind the facade of perfection, secrets and uncomfortable truths were hidden, but you ignored them.

Since childhood, you were the center of attention, not only for being the mayor’s descendant, but also for your innate charisma. Your room was a sanctuary of toys and luxuries: shelves filled with porcelain dolls with glassy eyes that seemed to follow you around, drawers overflowing with colorful ribbons that adorned your hair, and a vanity covered with imported makeup you hadn’t even fully learned how to use. Your clothes were never repeated. You had a wardrobe that rivaled the most exclusive shops, with designer dresses and shoes that squeaked when you wore them for the first time. The attention you received was constant and sometimes overwhelming. Boys and girls your age looked at you with a mix of admiration and envy, while adults treated you with a deference that bordered on servile. And then there was Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, the golden boy of Hawkins, your favorite plaything, whose attention seemed to be the most coveted prize. His charming smile and perfectly styled hair were the dream of many, but he only had eyes for you. However, even that perfect relationship had its cracks, its secrets that only you knew, since you had been fortunate enough to snatch his virginity.

With every step you took down the hallway, the murmur of conversations mingled with the sound of your little platforms. Your pastel yellow Chanel skirt was like a ray of sunshine amidst the monotony, drawing looks that oscillated between admiration and envy. You felt as if you were on an impromptu catwalk, with the school hallways transformed into your personal stage.

Your best friend, always by your side, shared your confident and elegant attitude. Although rumors said her financial situation wasn’t as comfortable, her demeanor and style left no doubt that she was up to the challenge. Together, you formed a dynamic duo, two fashion forces in a sea of sportswear and uniformity.

As you passed by Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler, the couple of the moment, you felt a spark of satisfaction. Despite their smiles and the image of happiness they projected, there was an open secret that everyone in the school knew: Steve was with Nancy trying to fill the void you had left, just as he does with all the girls. His presence by her side was only a shadow compared to the memories he shared with you. It was a game of appearances and hidden emotions, a delicate dance of glances and whispers that intertwined in the everyday life of the school day. And in that dance, you held the baton, aware of every movement and the melody that only you could orchestrate.

Every time you approached Steve, your steps were confident and your presence unmistakable. You could see how his world paused for a moment, how his eyes left whatever had captured his attention to meet yours. Even in the most unexpected moments, like when his lips were about to touch Nancy’s, he would pull away, as if an invisible magnet was drawing him towards you.

“Hi, Stevie…” you would say with a warm voice and a tone that resonated with a mixture of respect and genuine affection. It wasn’t just a formality imposed by the long-standing friendship between your father and his, but a gesture you sincerely enjoyed.

His response never changed: a silly smile, one of those that appear without permission from the brain and speak more of feelings than words. It was a smile that didn’t need embellishments or explanations, that said “Glad to see you…” without needing to utter a single syllable. And although he would never admit it out loud, you knew that smile was just for you, a small secret shared in the midst of daily routine.

With a subtle yet meaningful gesture, you ran your tongue over your lower lip, a slow and deliberate movement that didn’t go unnoticed. Your eyebrows arched slightly, an unequivocal signal that only he could decipher. You looked him up and down, a quick but intense scan that confirmed the mutual attention. Then, with a grace that seemed as natural as breathing, you decided to continue on your way, letting the pastel yellow skirt sway gently with each step you took.

To any casual observer, your behavior was nothing more than a mundane greeting, one of those social exchanges that fade into the collective memory of everyday life. However, what they were unaware of was the espionage game hidden behind that facade of normalcy. That “Stevie” pronounced with a particular cadence and that raising of eyebrows were the secret code, the agreed signal that indicated it was time to act.

He, knowing its meaning, didn’t hesitate for a second. Anything he was doing was suspended, abandoned without remorse.

With the mental agility of an experienced spy, he turned to Nancy with an apologetic expression on his face. “Nancy, I’m sorry, but I need to check something on the sound system,” he said, his voice attempting to sound casual but unable to fully hide the underlying urgency. “I think I left something on and I don’t want it to overheat.”

Nancy, accustomed to his sudden technical disappearances, nodded with a understanding smile. “It’s okay, Steve. Go and fix whatever you need,” she replied, releasing him with a gentle pat on the arm.

His steps quickened, driven by the urgency of that silent call, heading towards the stairs hidden behind the locker rooms. It was a ritual they had perfected over time, a dance of glances and gestures that communicated much more than words ever could…

The muffled whisper faded into the dimness, a secret confessed only to the dancing shadows around. Each touch of his tongue was a promise, a silent oath igniting a cascade of sensations, a rushing river flowing through every fiber of your being, and especially through your thighs. You grasped his hair, those rebellious strands privileged only to be tousled by your fingers, while struggling to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to sweep you away. The coolness of the stone against your back was an anchor, the sole reminder that you still belonged to this world, intensifying the clandestine atmosphere of pleasure you both shared.

In the dimness of the old stairs, the world narrowed down to the haze around you and whispers. The flickers of light that seeped through played hide and seek among the forgotten corners, barely revealing Steve’s silhouette. His face, adorned with cute moles forming constellations, was hidden in the depths of your skirt, a mystery, an enigma defying reality with his presence. Despite the faint darkness surrounding you, your eyes had adapted enough to distinguish his, shining with a fierce passion, an uncontrollable flame consuming the air between you, making you tremble even more. Every stroke of his tongue, every suction, was a torment and a pleasure intertwined dragging you towards a forbidden ecstasy.

The echo of your moans intertwined with the gentle murmur of the wind, creating a symphony of desire in the air charged with anticipation. With each movement, each touch, the heat of your bodies intensified, merging into a whirlwind of burning sensations. One of your hands, trembling with excitement, clung firmly to the wrought iron railing, while your legs tensed involuntarily as Steve’s lips explored every nook of your intimacy. “Mhhm, right there, Stevie,” you whispered between gasping breaths, letting out a more intense moan as you felt the pressure of his mouth against your center of pleasure. The strength of your hands unconsciously squeezed his face between your thighs, plunging him even deeper into the vortex of your desire, while the essence of your excitement flooded his senses.

Steve’s grunts resonated in the space between your legs, causing his lips to vibrate slightly against your sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being. Every movement, every sigh, was a dance of shared ecstasy, leading you to the edge of the abyss of pleasure.

Moaning in response to every caress, every suction, you surrendered completely to the frenzy of the moment, feeling as if you were about to unleash heaven in an uncontrollable explosion of ecstasy.

A few seconds later, after a symphony of intense suctions and wet licks, you surrendered to the rush of pleasure and came in Steve’s mouth. He was kneeling in front of you as you leaned over him, your dripping pussy releasing your essence onto his eager lips. Steve welcomed your ecstasy with a smile radiating excitement, his eyes shining with shared passion, and his cock, of course, barely contained in his too-tight pants, scarcely visible but hinting at the unrestrained desire consuming him. Steve’s gaze, filled with satisfaction and lust, locked onto yours as he savored every drop of your essence as if it were the most exquisite nectar.

His lips, wet and eager, continued to explore your intimacy with a devotion that left you breathless, while his skilled tongue continued to provoke waves of pleasure that coursed through every fiber of your being.

You could feel the force of his desire pulsating against your skin, his eager hands seeking contact, craving more of you even in that moment of shared ecstasy. The sexual tension that had built up between you reached its peak, manifesting in the urgency of his movements and the desperate hunger of his lips against yours. But before you let him kiss you, still reeling, you gently pushed him away, looking him up and down with an expression of superiority, as you always did.

“Don’t think I’m gonna kiss you, screw you, or anything like that. I just wanted you to eat me out, nothing more. Don’t feel like doing anything else with you. Let your little girlfriend Nancy suck your dick. I’m out,” you said, adjusting your skirt, forgetting something but leaving as quickly as possible to avoid having to talk to him, as usual.

Little did you know, you had left your delicate lace thong there, forgotten alongside Steve, the masochist who was always lurking. Steve knew that you two no longer had the same connection as before, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get closer to you. This time, he decided to seize the opportunity, knowing he would never have the intimacy with you that he desired as in the old times.

Without wasting a moment, Steve picked up your thong soaked with your fluids and tucked it into the back pocket of his pants. With stealthy movements, he slinked towards the locker room bathrooms, with the sole intention of finding relief for his throbbing cock.

He sat cautiously on the toilet lid, closing the bathroom door with a firm twist of the key, thus ensuring his privacy. With a mix of palpable anxiety and desire, he prepared to indulge in solitary pleasure, with your image ever-present in his mind.

With trembling hands, he retrieved his wallet, a treasure he guarded jealously, and from it, he pulled out a photograph of you. In the image, you looked radiant, modeling one of his T-shirts, your delicate nipples barely outlined in the fabric. With a gaze fixed on your face, his fingers caressed the image with devotion, as if they could touch your skin through the paper.

In addition to the photo, he pulled out the thong you had previously forgotten, a garment that became a tangible symbol of your past encounters, as it had been a gift from you when you had been dating. Carefully, he wrapped his erection with the soft fabric, feeling the familiar texture and the echo of your presence in every fiber. The combination of the no longer so warm creamy fluid and the soft fabric triggered a wave of pleasure that immediately brought him to the brink of ecstasy. A slight moan escaped his lips as he surrendered to the frenzied rhythm of his own hand, immersing himself in a world of fantasies where only you occupied his mind.

“I’m sorry, Nancy…” he murmured with a choked voice, while his fingers explored the soft skin of his erection, sensitive and sore from the accumulated tension. His eyes were fixed on the photograph he held with reverence, your image shining before him.

Every detail of your face captivated him: your rosy, provocative lips; your pronounced eyelashes framing eyes full of mystery and seduction; your beautiful hair gracefully waving around your face. Everything about you delighted him, from the elegance of your gestures to the intensity of your gaze.

But despite his fascination, a feeling of resentment stirred within him. He hated how sometimes you could be so stubborn, so insensitive to his desires and needs. The tension between you grew with each encounter, fueled by your whims and his repressed frustration.

With a sigh laden with mixed emotions, he surrendered to solitary pleasure, each caress a blend of desire and desperation. Though he loved you madly, sometimes he wished you could understand what he felt, what he needed from you beyond appearances.

After reaching climax twice, his still labored breathing echoed in the silent locker room. A thin layer of sweat beaded his forehead, a testament to the intensity of his emotions released in those moments of solitary ecstasy. Small droplets of his essence escaped his body, lightly staining the locker room floor, marking the territory of his unrestrained passion.

With trembling hands, he adjusted his tight pants, still feeling the buzz of pleasure resonating through his body. The air was laden with the scent of desire, permeating the environment with the intensity of their intimate encounter.

With determination in each step, he headed towards his last class before lunch. Although his mind still buzzed with images of your face, his body was now infused with a sense of calm and satisfaction. He had released the accumulated tension, at least for a moment, and was ready to face the rest of the day with renewed energy.

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

The rain pounded the pavement with a fury that seemed personal, each drop an accusation against the city asphalt. Amidst this storm, the Family Video store stood like a beacon for movie lovers, its flickering sign battling the darkness imposed by the whims of the weather.

Robin held the umbrella with a steady hand, protecting not only her own hair from the rain but also that of her companion in discussions and confidences, Steve. With his gaze fixed on the trunk of his car, Steve rummaged through forgotten tools and objects, desperately searching for the small lamp that would allow them to continue their work in the video store.

“How could you be into Kline’s chick, dude? She’s just as gross as her daddy, I don’t get it,” he said, his voice barely audible over the constant drumming of the rain. The question was not only a questioning of shared tastes but an echo of a deeper rivalry, one that extended beyond romantic preferences and touched the fiber of their friendship. “I still don’t get why you’re into the same girls as me, man,” he continued, his frustration growing with each word, as if the same drops falling from the sky fueled his discontent.

Robin, with a patience found only in those who have weathered countless storms, both meteorological and emotional, responded with a calm that contrasted with the agitation of the night. “I just have good taste, Steve.”

Finally, Steve’s fingers stumbled upon the object of his search. With a sigh of relief mingling with the dampness of the air, he grabbed the lamp and closed the trunk with a thud that resonated in the stillness of the night. Both were splattered with the treacherous drops that had accumulated their weight on top of the car, a small victory of the storm over their efforts. The dimness of the Family Video store enveloped Steve and Robin like a blanket, darkness interrupted only by the erratic flashes of lightning seeping through the windows. “Good taste? She was straight-up trouble, Rob,” he murmured, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the store. The shelves, normally full of life and color from the movie covers, now seemed threatening shadows in the darkness. “I went out with her, and I can tell you, it wasn’t a great experience, apart from the sex, of course,” he continued, his tone a mix of regret and disdain. As he closed the soaked umbrella, drops of water detached and joined the chorus of rain pounding outside. He placed the umbrella by the door, like a forgotten guardian, and shook his hair, trying to rid himself of the invading moisture. He pulled out a mini mirror, the surface reflecting a face marked by the tumultuous night. He checked his hair. With a sigh, he continued to the counter, where he deposited the small lamp, its light a promise of warmth in the cold that engulfed the place.

“You went out with that hottie?! I might start believing that whole thing about ugly dudes scoring the hottest girls…,” Robin joked, her laughter a flicker of light in the darkness, as ephemeral and bright as the lightning outside. She stepped aside, leaving space for Harrington, in a gesture of camaraderie, unable to give him a friendly punch on the arm.

The tension between Steve and Robin was palpable in the charged air of the Family Video store. “She wouldn’t even look twice at you… she’s super straight. I even think she was homophobic…” Harrington said, his voice tinged with a jealousy that seemed to drag shadows from the past, shadows of a high school era that both had left behind, or so they thought.

“Well, I’ll just turn her from phobic to homo, easy,” Robin retorted, her eyebrows raised in a playful challenge, a joke meant to lighten the mood but only served to bring Steve a flood of memories, flashbacks he’d rather keep buried.

“Ugh, don’t do that!” Steve complained, his patience wearing thin like the tape of an old VHS movie. Robin, feeling the weight of her friend’s irritation, let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, I won’t breathe either if that bothers you too, for god’s sake…” she said, rolling her eyes in a theatrical expression of frustration before walking towards the back room.

Leaving he alone at the counter, the echo of her footsteps mingled with the buzz of burnt fuses and the murmur of rain against the roof. Steve stood there, in the dimness, his mind navigating the turbulent waters of his adolescence. He remembered you, with your fiery temper and defiant smile, a presence that had marked his youth and, despite the years and distance, still stirred up a whirlwind of emotions within him. It had been approximately four years since you went to Spain on exchange, four years that had done little to cool the memories Steve held of you. He didn’t want to admit it, but he missed your bad temper, and above all, that body of yours…

The days at the Family Video store passed with the slowness of a slow-motion movie, each moment stretching into infinity. Robin, increasingly immersed in Harrington’s past with that girl, couldn’t help but let the details surface in his mind. “Yes, I… did all that…” he confessed with a blush that didn’t need light to be perceived, speaking of secret encounters on the stairs, those moments stolen from time and curious eyes. “But please, I beg you not to tell Nancy! I’m trying to win her back but she doesn’t know anything about what happened when we were together…” he pleaded, his voice a whisper laden with urgency and fear. Robin’s expression, pale as the moon on a starless night, reflected the surprise and horror of realizing the presence looming behind them.

“Not know what?” asked a sweet voice, as familiar as the melody of a forgotten song. Nancy, with her friendly smile and a small wad of money in her hands, appeared like a figure from a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. “What? No, nothing!” he stammered, anxiety building up in his chest like clouds before a storm, desperately seeking Robin’s complicity but finding only the void of a situation slipping out of control.

The door of the store burst open with a bang, like the prelude to a dramatic act in a play. A girl, dressed in clothes where red and black stood out. Her tight leather pants, a torn red top, accompanied by a dark jacket showing signs of being well worn, culminating with the icing on the cake: a flamboyant, teased hair, typical of glam metal enthusiasts. She made her triumphant entrance. In her hands, a movie magazine, her finger marking a page like one points to a destination. “Hey, I changed my mind, I think I’d rather watch Satan’s Mistress, it has…” you began, but your voice trailed off the moment your eyes met Steve’s.

It was a gaze that crossed years of distance, a bridge laid over an abyss of time and memories. Your former partner in sex, passion, and toxic courtship.

The reunion was a whirlwind of emotions, a vortex that swept up the fragments of a past everyone had thought overcome.

Your voice echoed in the confined space of the video store, a reminder of its former sweetness now tinged with the roughness of tobacco. “Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” The Viceroy hung on your lips, a stark contrast against the burgundy tone that adorned them. With a careless gesture, you dropped the magazine you held onto a shelf full of horror movie covers, a sanctuary for lovers of fear and tension. Your black heels struck the ground with determination, each step an announcement of your presence that filled the air with an almost musical cadence. You made your way to the counter, your imposing figure leaning against the collection of VHS and DVDs that decorated the place.

“Keith…” Steve’s voice was a murmur, his eyes scanning the woman standing before him. He wasn’t sure what to make of the change; the woman he knew had been replaced by someone new, someone who defied his understanding.

Robin, on the other hand, couldn’t hide her delight. The feminine arrogance that had characterized the girl in the past had pleased her, but this… this was something completely different. It was a transformation that invited both admiration and bewilderment. “Damn…” exclaimed Robin, not trying to conceal the surprise caused by your daring neckline.

The video store had become a stage for unexpected revelations. Steve, still recovering from the initial impact, found his voice to articulate a question that burned inside him. “W-When did you come back to town?!” His voice trembled, a reflection of the nerves that assaulted him as he evoked memories of a seemingly distant past.

“Not long ago,” you responded with a calmness that contrasted with Steve’s agitation. “My father was murdered two years ago, I don’t know if you remember. So now I’m here to spend the holidays at his house, here in Hawkins.” Each word was pronounced with a serenity that belied the tragedy of your story, while the cigarette smoke curled in the air, as if trying to escape the reality of your words. Your clothing, tight and revealing, seemed like a second skin, outlining every contour of your body with exaggerated precision. Robin, from her corner behind the counter, couldn’t look away. To her, you were like a celestial vision, a fallen rocker angel who had returned with stories of distant worlds.

Nancy had become a mere shadow in those moments. Her original intention had been simple: to rent a movie at Steve’s store, a perfect excuse to spend time with you, now that you had returned. But reality had twisted in a way she couldn’t comprehend. She understood nothing.

Harrington, with a nod of acknowledgment, found himself in a sea of uncertainty, the scene before him causing a growing discomfort. “I’m sorry…” he murmured, looking away towards the ground, a gesture revealing his unease.

“Don’t worry about it, these things happen,” you responded with a voice dripping with unwavering calmness, as you flicked the ash from your cigarette into the nearby ashtray. The act led you to approach the blonde girl, whose beauty was as evident as her friendly smile. Returning the smile, you noticed a glint of something undefinable in her eyes, as if you had ignited a spark of emotion within her. “Well, I guess I’ll head back to the car,” you announced, turning with an elegance that defied the gravity of your heels. “Grab whatever movie you want, Nans,” you said with a carefree tone, exiting the store and leaving behind a trail of perfume and mystery. Your steps were confident and graceful, each movement a testament to your ability to walk on those pillars of style as easily as others would walk in sneakers.

Nancy, observing the scene, felt the tension that had taken hold of Steve, his body rigid as if on the verge of breaking. Determined to ease the atmosphere, she approached him with a timid question. “Uh… do you have the movie she mentioned?” Her voice was a whisper, almost drowned out by uncertainty.

He, trapped in his own confusion, couldn’t recall the mentioned title, but Robin, with her ever-sharp attention, jumped to the rescue. “Satan’s Mistress! Yes! A horror movie from a few years back, based on a book, pretty good actually.” Her enthusiasm was palpable, her hands tracing arcs in the air as she spoke and moved with a clear purpose. She found the movie quickly, placed it on the counter, and scanned it, announcing the price to Nancy, who paid with a handful of small bills she held firmly.

Nancy was ready to bid farewell, to leave behind the video store and its memories, but something stopped her. She turned abruptly, as if a sudden idea had crossed her mind, a missing piece in the afternoon’s puzzle that needed to be placed.

Nancy’s proposal resonated in the video store like an invitation to leave the past behind and dive into new adventures. “She’s having a welcome party at her place, so she’ll invite old classmates and all that. Do you want to come?” Her voice was a mixture of enthusiasm and nervousness, aware of the surprise her announcement could cause.

Harrington, still entangled in the threads of the past, was about to decline the offer, his mouth opening to formulate an excuse. But before he could articulate a single word, Robin intervened with an energy that seemed to overflow the confines of the store. “Yes!” she exclaimed, her affirmation so loud and clear it seemed to fill every corner, even suspending the constant buzz of the fluorescent lights.

Surprised by Robin’s vehemence, Nancy gave an awkward smile, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue reflecting her embarrassment. Quickly, she shared the address and time of the party, words that hung in the air before she turned around and walked out of the video store, leaving behind a silence that draped over the place like a blanket.

The silence that had fallen over the video store was so thick it could almost be cut with a knife. The shelves filled with movies seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the next act of this unexpected human comedy.

“Steve?” Robin’s voice pierced the silence, her casual tone breaking the stillness like a stone dropped into a calm pond.

He, still lost in his thoughts, barely uttered a sound resembling an assent. “Mhhm?”

“I think I’ve wet myself,” declared Robin, with a calmness that contrasted with the nature of her announcement.

Steve couldn’t help but react. “Damn, Robin, you’re gross,” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of disgust and humor. It was an accusation spoken with the lightness of camaraderie, an acknowledgment of the peculiarity of their friendship that could withstand even the strangest of revelations.

…

The screech of Steve’s car brakes blended with the music emanating from the mayor’s old mansion, an echo of youth reverberating within the walls of a building now housing those who, just two years ago, were teenagers but were now venturing into adulthood. The mansion, with its flickering lights and aura of nostalgia, was a beacon for memories of a simpler time.

Robin, with the grace of someone who had shared countless adventures in that passenger seat, lowered the car mirror and examined her reflection. Her eyes lingered on every detail of her face, ensuring her makeup would withstand the night ahead. Her hair, tousled and free as always, framed her face with a naturalness that needed no adornment. The orange T-shirt she wore, snug and adorned with yellow stripes, seemed to capture the last light of dusk. The flared jeans, swaying with each movement, and the borrowed jacket, a temporary gift from her friend, completed her outfit with a harmony of colors that spoke of her carefree and vibrant personality.

Meanwhile, Steve remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the house looming before them. The mansion brought back memories of clandestine nights, shared laughter, and whispered secrets while climbing the ivy that reached to the window of their old room. Those memories enveloped him like a cool breeze, taking him back to a time when everything seemed possible. Dressed with the same nonchalance with which he faced life, he had made no effort to dress up. His clothes, casual yet stylish in their own way, reflected his attitude towards life: simple, straightforward, and uncomplicated.

The music from the mansion grew louder, as if calling the guests to immerse themselves in the celebration. Robin, giving one last glance at the mirror, smiled satisfied and closed the compartment with a click. Steve sighed, a sigh that contained years of stories and lived moments, and with a complicit smile towards Robin, stepped out of the car.

The song filling the air was a lesser-known classic, “Turn Up The Radio” by Autograph. With its energetic and catchy rhythm, the electric guitar resonated with chords that invited leaving troubles behind and plunging into the euphoria of the moment. The singer’s voice, with its raspy and passionate tone, sang about freedom and youthful rebellion, a perfect anthem for those seeking escape in music. In the front yard, the scene was a living collage of the era. Groups of friends gathered around an Ford Mustang, its doors wide open to share the music emanating from the stereo. Laughter and conversations mingled with the sound of beer cans being opened and the sizzle of a nearby grill where burgers and sausages were being cooked.

The blonde, with her eyes wide open, couldn’t take her eyes off those strangers who seemed to have stepped out of a metal music video. Her fascination with glam style had been born just hours before when she saw you enter the store with that star aura. Curiosity had seized her, and now, seeing you at the door of the house, that curiosity turned into admiration.

You and Nancy were immersed in a conversation, but your sixth sense for important arrivals made you look up just in time to see that duo approaching. An eyebrow raised in a gesture that mixed surprise and interest. Your hair, cut in layers with a precision that only the best stylists could achieve, cascaded around your face, each strand contributing to the impressive volume that seemed to defy gravity. Robin was speechless, her mouth slightly open in a mute expression of amazement. The moonlight reflected on your leopard-print pants, making the wild patterns come to life. The corset you wore, snug and enhancing your figure, was the centerpiece of an outfit that screamed confidence and rebellion. The girl was captivated, not only by your physical appearance but also by the energy you exuded, a mix of mystery and magnetism that irresistibly attracted her. Harrington, on the other hand, seemed overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. With a sudden decision, he chose to withdraw from the scene, seeking refuge among familiar faces. He headed towards a group of former basketball teammates, greeting them with back slaps and knowing smiles. Meanwhile, Robin remained paralyzed, watching you with a mixture of admiration and a new awakening of her own style.

You watched as Steve walked away, leaving the girl alone in the midst of the party bustle. With a carefree gesture, you took the Marlboro resting behind your ear, which sported metallic hoops as witnesses to past rebellions. You lit the cigarette with the flame of a Zippo that gleamed under the starlight and began walking along the stone path, a path that evoked childhood memories and that your father had ordered to be built years ago when the mansion was still a home and not a museum of memories.

“How’s it going, blondie? Do I know you?” you asked with a confidence that seemed to emanate from your very essence, a certainty that charged the air with electricity. Robin, with her golden hair reflecting the neon lights, stood paralyzed, feeling a shiver running down her spine and erasing any other thought from her mind. The orange-haired girl who had captured her attention throughout her time in the band vanished from her consciousness, and even her own name seemed like a mystery.

“Uh-uh, I…” Robin stammered, struggling to find the words as a playful smile played on your lips, noticing her nervousness. You raised an eyebrow, a perfect arch that added emphasis to your playful expression at her discomfiture.

“I think we’ve never met…” you interrupted her attempt to reply, cutting through the air with a certainty that left little room for doubt. “I’d never forget a face like yours,” you concluded, your words hanging in the space between the two of you like a promise or a premonition. You looked her up and down, a scan that was not so much an evaluation as it was a recognition of her presence, her uniqueness. You exhaled the cigarette smoke, and it wafted through the air before dissipating in front of her face, an ephemeral veil that seemed to separate and yet unite two worlds.

Buckley blinked, an instinctive reaction to the smoke wafting through the air, and coughed slightly, a momentary interruption that brought her back to the present. A blush spread across her cheeks, a rosy hue that highlighted the concealed freckles and her eyes, which maintained an innate sweetness. “No, we’ve never met, or at least I don’t think so…” she said with a trembling voice, avoiding your gaze because she knew that if her eyes met yours, the words would be lost in the abyss of her nervousness.

You, with a smile that revealed amusement at her discomfiture, furrowed your brow and took another drag of your Marlboro, keeping the conversation going with an ease that contrasted with her uncertainty. “Uh? How’s that?” you asked amidst laughter, scanning the girl with a gaze that seemed to see beyond the surface.

“Well, we went to high school together, but you’re older than me…” Robin explained, her voice gaining a bit more firmness as the words flowed. You raised an eyebrow, a gesture that denoted both surprise and genuine interest.

“You’re still in high school?” you inquired, exhaling a new cloud of smoke that spiraled into the night sky.

Robin nodded, her gesture accompanied by a shadow of embarrassment at the age difference, and a palpable frustration at not being able to hold a normal conversation, to be that normal girl she wished to be at that moment. “Well, you don’t seem like it… you look great,” you said with a sideways smile, an expression that carried a mixture of compliment and challenge. You looked her up and down, not with judgment, but with an appreciation that made her feel seen, truly seen. You crossed your arms, and the corset you wore emitted a soft creak, a sound that seemed to be in tune with the tension and expectation hanging in the air. Robin, still recovering from the effect of the smoke and the surprise of your approach, found herself in a crossroads of emotions, between shyness and the excitement of being in the spotlight of your attention. She responded to the compliment with a charming shyness, her cheeks taking on a rosier hue as she tilted her head, allowing her short hair to brush against her skin. With a gentle and considerate gesture, you lifted her chin, encouraging her to meet your gaze. “You seem down… want a drink, …?” The pause hung in the air, an invitation for her to introduce herself.

With a frantic nod, as if just understanding the hint, she hurried to respond. “Robin. Robin Buckley. And yes, I’d love a drink. I’d love to,” she said with a voice that almost stumbled over itself, clearing her throat slightly to maintain composure. Your smile widened, and with a conspiratorial gesture, you took hold of your ex-boyfriend’s jacket sleeve and led Robin towards the house. As you walked, you shared your name and asked questions about her life, showing genuine interest in her and her story.

You made two strong drinks and led her to your backyard, a quiet and empty space that would soon be filled with your laughter and conversation. As the night wore on, and after several short trips in search of more alcohol, you both found yourselves laughing and teasing with a familiarity of old friends, which had never existed between you. “I would never have thought of that! She really does look like a Muppet,” you exclaimed, unable to contain the emphasis that alcohol liberated, sharing a genuine laugh with Robin.

The blonde’s confession hung in the night air, a revelation as unexpected as it was sincere. “I still don’t understand how I ended up liking her,” she said, the words escaping her lips before she could catch them and return them to the refuge of her thoughts. It was a moment of vulnerability, a window to her soul that she rarely allowed herself to show. Uncertainty tinged her confession; concern about revealing too much, about crossing an invisible line that could change the dynamics of the night. She didn’t want to talk about her sexuality, not because she was ashamed, but because she didn’t know yours and feared the possibility of making you uncomfortable.

Your response to Robin’s revelation was a hearty laugh, followed by a joke that added lightness to the moment. “I get you, I hooked up with one who looked like Sloth from The Goonies,” you said amidst laughter, referring to the iconic character from the adventure movie, released a year earlier.

Robin, surprised by your comment and the revelation it implied, couldn’t help but burst into explosive laughter, causing her to expel alcohol through her nose. Surprise and hilarity mingled in her reaction; she didn’t expect you to share her inclination, didn’t expect to find someone who resonated with her own experience. Anxiety and nervousness invaded her, a mix of excitement and fear at the possibility of not being alone in her feelings. The night had brought an unexpected chill, and the incident with the drink had left Robin with a wet shirt, making her tremble slightly. Noticing her discomfort, you offered a practical and kind solution. “Come on, I’ll take you to my room to change,” you suggested, guiding her through the party and into the warmth of the house.

Robin entered the room, her gaze roaming over the personal space you now shared. She sits onto the leopard-print quilt, her fingers sliding over the synthetic fur, soft and welcoming to the touch. The music, a constant and rhythmic pulse, filtered through the door, marking the beat of the night.

Meanwhile, you were immersed in the search for the perfect garment in your closet, a collection that spoke of past stories and concerts. You hummed the melody that seeped into the room, the influence of alcohol dissipating enough to allow you to focus on the task. You were looking for something that captured the essence of your new friendship without being overly flashy. Upon returning to the room, you found Robin absorbed in the photographs adorning your walls, images capturing moments of a previous version of yourself, one that contrasted with the person you were now. “What? Surprised? I looked better before, I know,” you said with a playful and ironic tone, depositing a Metallica T-shirt on the quilt and placing a hairdryer next to it, a silent invitation for Robin to dry her wet shirt.

“What?! No!” exclaimed Robin, turning with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment at being caught in her contemplation. “No, not at all… before you were very pretty, but I think… now you are more,” she articulated with difficulty, the words stumbling over each other as she clung to the furniture, seeking physical support for her emotional turmoil. The sincerity of her comment caught you by surprise, raising your eyebrows in astonishment. A smile spread across your lips, and an unfamiliar sensation, akin to butterflies fluttering in your stomach, emerged. It was an emotion you hadn’t experienced in a long time, a recognition that resonated with a part of you that had remained silent.

“Then, do you think I’m pretty, or straight up hot?” you ask, a playful smile dancing on your lips as you take measured steps toward Robin. The distance between you closes with each deliberate move, and though the question hangs lightly in the air, there’s a hint of genuine curiosity in your eyes.

Robin nods slowly, her gaze drifting from your eyes to linger on your lips, as if trying to read every nuance of your expression. “Well, let me tell you, I feel the same about you…” you say, your voice caressing each word, now just inches away from her. The tension between you is palpable, like a spark on the verge of igniting a flame. The air is charged with an electricity only proximity can generate. You can feel the warmth emanating from Robin, and every breath you take is infused with her essence. There’s an unspoken promise hanging in the air, an invitation to cross the invisible line that still separates your worlds.

“The same?” Robin asks, her tone a whisper barely daring to break the silence. Her hand rises, trembling yet determined, and brushes against the fabric of your rough corset as if it were the most delicate thing in the world. “You’re much more than pretty,” she confesses, and there’s weight in her words, a depth that goes beyond mere attraction.

“And how can I be sure you’re not lying to me? What if you’re just saying it to make me feel good?” you tease, puffing your cheeks slightly in a feigned pout that fails to hide the playful sparkle in your eyes. Robin’s hand, which had found its place over the curve of your corset, pauses for a moment, as if your words had planted the seed of doubt. But the smile playing on her lips reveals she’s enjoying the game as much as you are. Through the thick fabric, Robin’s fingers feel the steady rhythm of your breathing, each inhalation and exhalation like a wave crashing against the shore. The closeness between you diminishes even more, and though neither of you mentions it, both can feel the electricity of the moment, as tangible as the fabric between your fingers.

“Lie to you?” Robin replies, her voice low and filled with a warmth that seems to envelop you. “There’s no need for lies when the truth is more enticing.” The confidence in her tone is enough to dispel any shadow of uncertainty, and the way her thumb gently caresses the pattern of the corset is a promise in itself.

Involuntarily, or perhaps not so much, you find yourselves even closer, the distance between you measured not in centimeters, but in heartbeats.

“Why don’t you show me then?” The question leaves your lips with a challenging tone, but your eyes shine with a mix of anticipation and amusement. She, trapped between your body and the furniture, seems to search your gaze for some sign to guide her. The proximity is inevitable, and the tension that had been building now seems on the verge of overflowing.

The space feels charged, each shared breath adding more intensity to the moment. You can feel the slight tremor in Robin’s hands, a vibration that speaks of nervousness and anticipation. The room has been reduced to this small stage where only the two of you exist, and the silence that surrounds you is a silent witness to the connection being forged.

Robin swallows, her gesture almost imperceptible, but you catch it clearly. “Show you, huh?” she says with a voice that tries to sound confident but betrays a trace of vulnerability. “I don’t need words for that.” And with a movement that breaks the last barrier of distance, her lips seek yours in a kiss that promises to be as revealing as the whispered confessions. The contact is soft at first, almost tentative, but soon gains confidence and depth.

Feeling her lips against yours, a spark of excitement ignites within you, and a victorious smile spreads across your face, illuminating the moment with a sense of silent triumph. Each brush of her lips against yours is like a perfectly tuned melody, a symphony of sensations that completely envelops you. With each kiss, you eagerly explore the softness of her lips, savoring the sweetness of the shared moment. As it continues, her hands leave the furniture and find a new refuge on your bare shoulders, conveying a sense of connection and complicity that fills you with joy. This gesture encourages you to deepen the kiss, to fully surrender to the torrent of emotions flowing between you. With instinctive impulse, your hands grip her waist firmly, feeling the firmness of her body beneath your fingers, gently caressing her, lightly scratching with your nails. Determined to explore further, you smoothly slide your hands inside her jacket, where the still damp shirt rests, like a tangible echo of the moments shared that night. The cool, damp texture of the fabric beneath your fingers reminds you of the play of contrasts of the evening, where the warmth of the encounters mingled with the freshness of the unexpected.

As the intensity of the kiss grew, your senses sharpened, capturing every detail of the experience. You could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with yours, creating a dance of sensations that enveloped you completely. When her tongue joined yours in a playful and fiery exchange, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving you only with the rapid pulse of shared passion. The grip on her waist tightened, as if you wanted to merge your bodies in an intimate, fiery embrace. As you pressed your pelvis against hers, you felt the electricity sparking between you, a current of desire flowing freely in the anticipation-filled air. With each touch, each contact, the tension between you reached new heights, leaving Robin trapped between your body and the furniture, with no escape possible. Her soft moans mixed with your own in a symphony of pleasure, every whisper, every sigh fueling the whirlwind of emotions consuming you both. Your hands eagerly explored every inch of her back, every curve, every contour, while their fingers clung to you with an urgency reflecting the unrestrained desire burning within them.

As Robin’s pleasure-filled moans echoed in the room, your own desire intensified, fueled by the sight of them writhing under your control. The need to feel her weight on the furniture consumed you, driving you to lift she and place her where you desired. With determination, you grasped one of her thighs firmly, letting your nails sink slightly into her skin as you lifted her body with one hand, making space on the furniture with the other.

With a swift gesture, you cleared the furniture of all figures and objects adorning its surface, leaving a clear space for Robin. When you finally seated her there, a sigh escaped her parted lips, momentarily interrupting the desire-laden silence enveloping you both. Breaking away from the fierce kiss, a strand of saliva stretched between your lips, a testament to the fervor with which you had surrendered to each other.

As your eyes settled just at the level of her breasts, obscured by the loose fabric of her shirt, your imagination soared, visualizing every curve and contour hidden beneath the cloth. Biting your lower lip eagerly, you seized their buttocks firmly, drawing her body towards yours with an irresistible force. A faint cry escaped Robin’s lips at the unexpected surge of passion, but her hands soon caressed your neck tenderly, desperately seeking your lips.

Playfully, you moved out of her reach, enjoying the seductive game unfolding between you both. Until, finally, you succumbed to the overwhelming desire and united your lips in a kiss even hotter and wetter than before. The taste of her mouth, the sensation of her breath mingling with yours, created a symphony of pleasure that enveloped you completely, making you forget everything but the warmth of the moment shared between you both.

Robin, determined to intensify the moment, decided to encircle you with her slender thighs, drawing your body closer to hers in a gesture filled with desire. You could feel the warmth emanating from her groin, colliding against your corset and eliciting a playful giggle that escaped between your lips, briefly separating you from the kiss. At that moment, Robin noticed the change in your expression and felt momentarily bewildered, thinking she might have done something wrong. She looked at you with a mixture of puzzlement and concern, but before she could articulate a word, you broke the tension with a daring joke.

“I think your shirt isn’t the only thing that got wet…” you said with a mischievous smile, quickly changing Robin’s expression. Without averting your gaze from hers, you slid two of your fingers down her lower thigh with a provocative gentleness, sending a shiver of anticipation through her body. The sexual tension between you intensified, turning the air around you into an electrifying blend of desire and playfulness. “See?” You decided to intensify the game and explore Robin’s groin more deeply, guided by the heat emanating from that area. With bold determination, you slid your fingers downward, finding the place where the heat was most intense. You plunged your fingers into the damp denim fabric, feeling the hot texture and the moisture seeping through it. You were mere millimeters away from her wet pussy, separated only by two thin layers of fabric that heightened the tension and anticipation between you.

For Robin, this experience was almost unfamiliar; she had experienced something similar only once before, so she felt like an inexperienced person in the middle of an ocean of unfamiliar sensations. She didn’t know how to react or what to do, but her breathing became more irregular, and her heart pounded with strength, reflecting the intensity of the moment and her own emerging desire. She opted to tightly close her eyes and squeeze your shoulder, which you found endearing.

Your eyes slid over every nuance of her expression, capturing each change in her features with surgical precision. Every time you increased the pressure of your caresses, you could feel Robin’s body responding with slight tremors, unmistakable signs of her excitement and craving for more. With each calculated touch, your fingers explored the unknown terrain of Robin’s groin, while your lips found refuge on the soft skin of her neck. The atmosphere was charged with palpable tension, as if every sigh were an echo of the passion growing between you.

Meanwhile, your other hand ventured over the smooth contour of her opposite thigh, tracing comforting circles on her sensitive skin. The combination of sensations immersed her in a whirlwind of pleasure and anticipation, caught between the desire to surrender completely and the caution of the unknown.

The slight spasms emanating from her body were like small navigation signals, indicators that you were touching the right places, the access points to her ecstasy. Each brush against that sensitive button was like striking a key on a piano, unleashing a symphony of moans and sighs that resonated in the room like a melody of shared pleasure.

As your lips explored every inch of her neck with devotion, your hands continued their captivating dance over the contours of her thighs, delicately caressing every curve and angle. Robin was completely tense, her body vibrating with anticipation and repressed desire, but her responses were a whispering echo of her longing for more. With a slightly husky voice, you ventured to ask her if she was enjoying it, letting the whisper of your words mingle with the whisper of silk in the air. Her nod was barely perceptible, drowned out by the tension consuming her completely. So, you decided to tempt her even more, offering her the promise of even greater pleasure if she allowed you. Between licks and kisses on her neck, you suggestively slid your words, letting each syllable resonate in the desire-filled air.

With a mischievous smile dancing on your lips, you relished the effect of your words on Robin, observing how her desperation was reflected in every gesture and tremor of her body. You tilted your head slightly, allowing your warm, moist breath to caress her ear, leaving a tantalizing trail of saliva with your hot, eager tongue.

Amidst warm giggles, you ventured to ask a question laden with anticipation and desire, whispering it into her ear with irresistible playfulness. “Have you ever been eaten out?” The tension in the air was palpable, and everything about Robin seemed to bristle at your words. It was evident that this was a new experience for her, an unknown territory that plunged her into a mixture of anxiety and excitement. With a barely perceptible nod of her head, she slowly shook her head, swallowing hard at the prospect of the unknown. In response to her answer, you raised an eyebrow, savoring the anticipation of what was to come. With a suggestive gesture, you licked your lips, fixing your gaze on hers with an intensity that was almost palpable. “Well, then I feel lucky to be the first…” you teased softly, letting out a playful giggle as you lowered your body. You found yourself on your knees in front of her, your face at the level of her crotch still covered by her flared pants. However, the moisture seeped through the denim fabric, revealing the intensity of the desire that consumed her. “Wow… I’ve never seen any girl get this wet for me…” you complimented with a smile, as you began to unbutton the buttons holding her pants, slowly lowering them with your gaze locked on hers.

She slowly raised her hips towards you, making the process easier with a trembling gesture of anticipation and effort.

You tossed Robin’s jeans somewhere in the room, leaving her standing before you in her underwear. She covered herself shyly, lightly squeezing her thighs as she avoided your direct gaze. A silly giggle escaped your lips when you noticed the Care Bears design on her panties, which didn’t go unnoticed by Robin. She felt embarrassed, and you could clearly perceive it in her expression. To reassure her, you emphasized that it was just a joke, trying to lighten the awkward moment and make her feel more comfortable with herself. With a determined yet gentle movement, you carefully parted Robin’s thighs, revealing her panties completely soaked. Every inch of fabric was saturated with moisture, from the waistband to the elastic on the legs. The transparency of the fabric exposed her intimacy, allowing you to see directly her pussy. The inner thighs were damp, and the core of the panties was a mixture of excitement and nervousness, creating an intimate scene charged with anticipation. Although Robin felt vulnerable in that moment, her trust in you was also evident, allowing you to access such a private place of her being. With a soft sigh, you moistened your lips before bringing them closer to her underwear, placing delicate and deep kisses on the soaked fabric. Each kiss elicited louder moans from Robin, whose breathing became irregular as her thighs lightly clenched against your face. You could feel the frantic beat of her heart resonating in the air, as if it were vibrating right down there. With a mischievous smile on your lips, you decided to give a playful lick through her panties, tasting the salty flavor of her excitement on your tongue. You looked up and met Robin’s eyes, whose expression mixed desperation and anticipation. One hand impatiently pushed her hair aside, while the other grasped her right thigh, unsure of what to do with it in that moment of intensity. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could see how her cheeks were slightly flushed with the embarrassment and excitement that engulfed her. With a determined movement, you pushed her panties aside, revealing her wet and eager pussy to your caresses. You began by softly licking her outer lips, enjoying the salty taste of her excitement as you prepared for the task ahead. You could feel the hand resting on her thigh inching closer to your hair, seeking something to hold onto to face the whirlwind of sensations that was about to come. You responded with a smile, ready to give Robin the pleasure she so eagerly craved. When you finally connected your mouth with her pussy, the deep moan that escaped the blonde’s lips resonated in the room. Your first lick was intense, exploring every corner of her sex with a fervor that left no doubt about your desire to satisfy her. Her hand, now gripping your hair, pressed you against her crotch, urging you to continue.

With closed eyes, you surrendered completely to the act, licking fiercely as if you were famished for her. Every encounter of your lips with her pleasure button caused a shiver through her body, accompanied by moans that echoed in the air and fueled your own excitement. You devoted yourself to playing with her, alternating between soft licks and delicate suctions, exploring every fold and crevice of her intimacy with a devotion that knew no bounds.

Robin moaned your name desperately as you devoted yourself to fulfilling each of her desires. With every skillful movement of your tongue, you took her beyond the limits of pleasure, bringing her closer to ecstasy with a mastery that only the deepest desire could bestow. You could feel her on the brink of orgasm, her body trembling with the anticipation of the impending release.

When she finally reached that climax, it was with a burst of pleasure that left her breathless, clinging tightly to your hair and pressing your face against her sex in a desperate embrace. Her confidence grew with each passing second, surrendering completely to pleasure and seeking to satisfy her own needs with a passion that left you breathless.

Your face was soaked with her fluids, every inch of your skin covered by the testimony of her pleasure. The sensation of her essence dripping down your skin added a new level of intensity to the experience, fueling the fire burning within you.

When you pulled away from her pussy after her orgasm, you looked at her with a passion that overflowed all known limits. You were more excited than ever, driven by the desire to satisfy your own needs and to push her to the limit once again.

You wiped your face with your arm and guided her to your bed with an impulse you couldn’t contain. With determination, you positioned yourself on top of her, ready to continue exploring the pleasures that only the encounter between two eager bodies could offer.

As you freed yourself from the garment covering your lower part, you revealed a leopard lace thong that immediately caught Robin’s attention. Her gaze lingered on the revelation of your lingerie, her eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and fascination. The lack of words from Robin was evident, and you could feel the tension in the air as she processed the situation.

For her, this territory was completely new. She had never experienced anything beyond kisses and hugs, and her sexual education was limited to what she had seen and heard through occasional conversations with friends or what she had heard on television. The lack of practical experience and exposure to explicit material, such as magazines or porn videos, left her without a clear frame of reference to understand what was happening in that moment.

Faced with her confusion, you decided to take the lead, gently guiding her with your actions and words, creating a safe space where she could explore and discover new sensations without fear or pressure. Your intention was to make her feel comfortable and secure in this new territory, and your understanding and affectionate attitude reflected that desire.

With a compassionate smile on your lips, you made an effort to explain the situation clearly and calmly, aware of Robin’s inexperience in this unknown area. The conversation flowed naturally, despite the nerves present in the atmosphere.

Upon hearing your proposal, Robin showed curiosity mixed with a hint of disbelief, which made you chuckle. Her innocent questions reflected her unfamiliarity with the intimate world and made you smile at her candor.

With patience, you assured her that what they were about to do was pleasurable for both, despite the lack of a traditional element. The absence of a “cock” was not an obstacle, but rather an advantage in this scenario, as you pointed out with a mischievous smile as you removed the thong, revealing your own intimacy, which, although not as soaked as Robin’s, throbbed with anticipation.

You guided Robin gently, indicating how to position herself to carry out this new experience. Although she was initially bewildered, she trusted you and followed your instructions, letting herself be carried away by curiosity and the excitement of the moment.

When your soaked sexes brushed against each other, sending a shiver through her entire body, Robin experienced a wave of new and exciting sensations. The friction between your bodies caused an involuntary spasm in her hips, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to move in search of more pleasure. With each movement, she satisfied your need for stimulation, creating a symphony of shared pleasure that enveloped both of you in mutual ecstasy.

With a palpable urgency, you surrendered to the ecstasy of the moment, rubbing your sex against Robin’s with unrestrained passion. The need for mutual satisfaction drove your movements as you firmly grasped her thigh to keep her in place, ensuring that she could delight in this experience as much as you. Each strategic brush hit precisely the spot that unleashed waves of pleasure in Robin, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy time and time again. Shared moans and lascivious sounds filled the room, mingling with the shared moisture that flooded the air. The intensity of the moment prompted you to change position, placing yourself on top of Robin with the skill of years of experience. With fluid and precise movements, you moved over her pussy with a mastery that only desire and mutual connection could bestow.

As you shifted, Robin’s shirt gradually rode up, revealing her left breast swaying to the rhythm of your synchronized movements. Every movement was a dance of unbridled passion, as her golden hair cascaded over her face and onto the bed, adding a touch of sensuality to the scene. Together, you created a symphony of ecstasy and shared pleasure that enveloped you both in a bubble of happiness and satisfaction.

With each hip movement, the accumulated tension reached its peak until finally, in an explosion of shared ecstasy, you reached climax together. You might have taken a few seconds longer to reach the peak, but the synchrony of your orgasms was perfect, causing spasms and tremors in your intertwined bodies.

“Mhhmm… yes…” A torrent of overwhelming sensations engulfed you, plunging you into an ocean of pleasure and mutual satisfaction. Every muscle tensed and relaxed in harmony with the other, while moans of pleasure filled the room. It was as if time stood still in that moment of shared ecstasy, leaving only the whisper of your ragged breaths and the frenetic beating of your hearts.

After reaching climax, your bodies slowly relaxed, enveloped in a feeling of peace and fulfillment. The intimate connection you had shared left you with a sense of deep satisfaction, strengthening the bond between you and creating unforgettable memories of that unique and exciting experience.

After the shared climax, a cry of excitement escaped your lips, breaking the ecstasy of the moment and separating you from the mess you had caused. “Fuck!” Turning away from Robin, you lit a cigarette with a careless gesture, while smoke curled in the passion-filled air. “You should go with Steve, I’m off for a beer,” you said with the cigarette between your lips, not bothering to search for your underwear, just covering yourself with a skirt you found lying around.

Robin, exhausted and confused, didn’t know what to do as you walked away. She collapsed onto the bed, her body still vibrating with the intensity of the encounter, but her mind flooded with unanswered questions. Nearly 40 minutes later, Steve’s knocks echoed in the hallway, searching for Robin. “Robin?” his voice echoed from afar, opening and closing doors in his frantic search. Steve feared the worst as he approached the last remaining door: yours. Although he had never entered through that door before, always preferring the window, this time he fervently hoped that Robin wouldn’t be there.

“Robin!” he called out loudly, rousing her from her stupor. Steve opened the door with determination, only to be met with the shocking scene of his friend hastily getting dressed, shouting and closing her eyes with a guilty expression.

“Damn it, Robin, seriously?!” his voice was filled with frustration and concern as he watched the chaos before him, not fully understanding what he had just witnessed.

[captainpikeachu]

After spending like 10 weeks trying to zoom in on screencaps to figure out what Lee's disciplinary letter said in the files that Kentaro found, I recently put the show on the TV and there was it was so clearly and obviously and not even fuzzy lmao 😂 (dammit maybe I need to now watch everything on big screen to see it all clearly)

I'm gonna be using [....] for parts of the letter that's covered up under Lee's picture.

To Whom It May Concern: This letter is to confirm the recent [......] disciplination of one 2nd Lieutenant Leland [......] was reprimanded with cause after showing a [......] actions were extremely disrespectful and p[......] Punishment for such acts of disrespect are as follows IAW UCMJ: Forfeiture of two-thirds pay per month for 3 months, and confinement for 3 months. His conduct was unacceptable and any future misconduct may result in more severe action. I felt it necessary to bring this to your attention immediately, and keep a record on file. Shaw is continously showing lack of discipline and inability to keep his emotions in check. Any future misconducts will be dealt with swiftly and communicated promptly. Please acknowledge receipt of this letter (copy included) once received. Your time with regard to this matter is greatly appreciated. Sincerely yours,

I believe this is the disciplinary report for the bar fight we saw Lee get into at the beginning of episode 2.

Here’s the screencap I took with my phone from the TV lol 😆

There is some sad irony in that the Army also confined him for being “crazy” and “dangerous” just like Monarch did.

Seems like Lee effectively was told his whole life that doing the right thing gets you locked up and punished. But he went and did it anyways.

[deathbxnny]

Hi again bro may I request another angst about reader being Jing yuan's kid and got striken with mara. Bonus points if Yanqing was the one who put them down too

-----♡

A/N: Hello again, legendary Anon... The wording of "Put them down" made me lowkey laugh, because damn... Who hurt you? But sure thing, thank you for the request! :')

Content: TW!POTENTIAL GORE(?), Heavy angst, Hurt/absolutely no comfort, Reader dies, mentions of executions??, Yanqing being traumatised as usual, Reader being striken with mara, mentions of blood, yeah... just pain lol

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not fully proofread))

-----♡

You were just curious and hungry, not thinking much about what eating the mysterious fruit in your hands could turn you into. You had found it coincidentally hanging off a branch, whilst you were waiting for your boyfriend Yanqing to arrive from training and spend the day with you after. You were known to be the generals pride and joy, an intelligent young teen, that took after the man. But today, you feel for the fruits simple trap, just like many before you had.

Just a single bite, is what you told yourself, when you finally gave into the temptation. You had been waiting for so long here... and Yanqing was a little late. So a bite wouldn't hurt. How could it any way? It's just a harmless peach, right...? Right? You quickly learned that you were wrong, when the sweet taste turned foul, ripping through your throat like blades, as you coughed painfully.

You covered your mouth with your hand, dropping the peach in the process and only realised your mistake, when you shakily removed your hand saw the blood dripping from your fingers. Your blood. You then knew what this meant. You then remembered the teachings, the tales, the warnings. And you fell for it. Despite knowing everything and being praised for it, you fell for such a simple trap.

"(Y/N)... What did you do?"

Your boyfriend's voice took you off guard, as you looked up at him. He stood there in front of you, his eyes trained on the false fruit, as blood pooled around it, clearly indicating what it was all along. The silence between you two was deafening. You felt the blood on your lips, it's irony taste making you suddenly step back in realisation. The mistake became so real. And your poor lover had to witness it.

You stumbled backwards, your legs giving out, as you fell onto your back, hands clutching onto your pained throat. You felt yourself turning into one of them already. The veins and leaves sprouting out of your body at a quick rate. It was a punishment for your foolishness.

Yanqing snapped out of it then, scrambling to your side, as he held you close, his body shaking with fear and helplessness. He didn't know what to do. No... he knew there was nothing he could do. He had to watch the love of his life die in his arms, knowing their father would be devastated and heartbroken, just like he was now.

"Yanqing... end me, before I turn into one of them. Do it. I want to die by your hands and nothing elses-" "What?"

Yanqing thought that he had heard you wrong. That he had maybe misheard your words due to your pained coughing and sobs. But he had heard you well and knew it. His eyes glanced at his blade, his hand instinctively grabbing onto it, as his knuckles turned white from his grip.

What was he doing? He couldn't possibly be considering it? Surely there was a way to save you. Surely there was a way to cure you before it was too late. His head turned to the bag he had dropped. His phone was in there. If he could just alert Jing Yuan about this. Tell your father what happened. But the blood that was oozing from the fruit and drenching the fabric of his bag was taunting him. There was nothing he could do.

"I... I can't do that. I can't kill you. I love you, I can't, I-" "Yanqing... don't let me suffer any longer. I'm sorry, I really am, I shouldn't have been so foolish-"

Yanqing closed his eyes, as he grit his teeth and felt the tears burn his eyes and wet his cheeks. Your words hurt him. But if it brought you peace to due by his hand... then he'd do as you wished. He was never able to say no to you. Not even now. He leaned down for a last kiss, not caring about the blood that tainted his lips red. Your blood.

He then laid you down gently, standing with a shadow over his eyes as he drew his sword. You looked up at him with wide, shining eyes, tears of agony clear in them. And yet you smiled, a last thankful gift to him, whilst you anticipated the final end to your pain. This should've been a good day. And yet... in some way it was. You got to die seeing him and that's enough for you.

"I'm sorry... I'll find you in another life, Yanqing..." "And I'll wait for you."

You closed your eyes, your smile still so bright, hearing as he raised his shaking arms and pointed the blade down at your near unrecognisable form. You didn't want to see him cry. You didn't want to see the heartbreak on his face. You hoped, that your father and Yanqing would forgive you for your foolishness, as your life flashed before your eyes.

And then everything came to an end and you were finally at peace.

-----♡

A/N: So uhh... I hope this was angsty enough lol! And thank you again for the painful request, anon!

[ogdoadfates]

Hi!

if you're taking requests, may I request from your protective prompts #2, dealers choice with apocalypse au vaxleth? they're all so good I cannot choose

Heya! Yup, I’m always taking requests!! Sorry this took so long. I was originally going with a different prompt from the list but changed it due to not being able to figure out the scene. And then I got a ton of work lol this took WAY too long and for that I am so so sorry anon! 11: Person A staying awake all night to make sure Person B is safe.

The irony isn’t lost on Keyleth. How usually Vax is the one to stay up at night to watch over her, she’s awoken a few times to his shadowed form sitting next to her, his gaze fixated on some unseen object in the night. But today had been rough and though it isn’t an serious injury he is hurt and needs his rest to heal so she stayed up to make sure he did sleep. Vex would have stayed up to do much the same if not for the fact that she was exhausted, she’s fast asleep next to an equally unconscious Percy. 

She idly played with his long hair, there wasn’t much to do on watch unless something or someone attacked them but with Grog staying up for watch with her she isn’t that worried. Said large man was currently walking the perimeter around their little makeshift camp.

She refocuses her eyes to look at the bandage covering most of Vax’s arm, he’d scrapped it real bad when he’d rushed through a window to escape some zombies. Wounds inflicted by glass she’s learned are rather horrid things, luckily Vax hadn’t hit any major arteries but it still bled a lot. The bandage looking at it now would probably have to be reapplied in an hour or two.

A sigh leaves her as her gaze goes back to his sleeping face. If things were still the way they were she doesn’t doubt that if everyone was awake they’d be teasing her about how close she is to Vax right now. In some ways she misses the endless teasing her and Vax would get from the others but in other ways she’s grateful it’s died down a bit. She’s still confused about so many things and the world ending isn’t helping at all. She cares for him deeply in a way she hasn’t felt for anyone before but she doesn’t know how to label it or more likely is too scared to label it. If life’s taught her anything it’s that those you love most leave and even if she knows it’s ridiculous to think Vax would leave her of his own will considering well, everything, there is still that nagging voice in the back of her head that she can never ignore.

When Vax’s brow furrows she freezes in place, holding her breath and hoping the poor man will fall back into full unconsciousness but like always life prefers to not go her way as his eyes slowly open to blearily stare up at her.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep.” She says turning her face away from him but not doing anything about how her hands are still resting in his hair, a blush covering her face in utter embarrassment. She can feel Vax’s body move with his silent chuckles causing her to puff out her cheeks in embarrassment and feigned annoyance.

“It’s alright. Nothing interesting happen so far I take it?” His voice is raspy with sleep, if Keyleth’s face could get any redder it would. Vax shuffles a little but doesn’t move off her lap, her hands going back to playing with his hair, his soft hum of approval reaching her ears like a dove song.

“No, not really. But you really should go back to sleep.” She softly tells him now looking down at him and meeting his eyes. A small shy smile crawls upon her face which he returns with his sleepy smile causing her to chuckle softly. 

Calm moments like these are so rare and even during them she usually feels an underline of fear but as Vax lets himself fall asleep again she can’t help but feel at peace.

[haleigh-sloth]

I've felt for a while that Deku is like the Tohru to Shigarakis Akito lol. I feel like MHA and Fruits Basket have so much in common. I love that Deku has met all these people that need help and he is able to be there for them. But kinda like Tohru, he sacrifices his own wellbeing too much and he needs to accept help from others. I also love that characters like Todoroki are similar to Yuki. They receive help from Deku but then grow on their own as well and become a positive force to help others.

!!!!! This comparison has been in my head for a very long time, yeah.

I think that's what turns people off to Midoriya as a protag because he's far more similar to a freaking shojo female lead than a shounen male lead aks;gaskgn Personally I find that both hilarious and great but not everybody feels that way lol.

There are people who hate it because he's not their tough guy kick-ass tough exterior protag, and people who hate it because he's not as complex as the villains..or something along those lines.

Sometimes the protagonist halo of "selfless to a fault" is just who the character is. Either you like the trope or you don't, but trying to make it into some awful crime against the manga is stupid imo and it's better just to admit it's not a trope you like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But tbh I do find it interesting that ✨for some reason✨ it's perfectly fine for Tohru to have that protag halo and people receive it super well in Fruits Basket but god forbid Midoriya have the same type of characterization and because of this specific trope played into him he's just so god awfully written 🙄. What's the difference between the two characters and genre? Lol we'll be up all night trying to figure that out.

No but seriously. I 100% get the comparisons to Naruto and I've made them myself, but I find much more in common with a manga like Fruits Basket, as you said. Especially because much like BNHA, Fruits Basket covers dark topics that can be icky to think about, it covers different reactions and victims, it talks about forgiveness and resentfulness and family dynamics and relationships, connections, bonds, all of that stuff. BNHA covers interpersonal dynamics with much more detail like Fruits Basket. You can go back to early chapters, look at the characters that are in the forefront of the conflict of the endgame and see exactly why each pair of characters was matched up together.

Also you've completely opened my eyes to the Shouto|Yuki comparison. God you're so right. I've mentioned this being one of the things I liked about Shouto's healing so much but he's one of the few characters who has almost complete independence in his healing and his choices to move forward. I love a dynamic where someone is so damn helpless that they're depending on someone else's kind heart to survive, and I'm getting that with the villains, but Shouto himself is a breath of fresh air.

Tomura really is like Akito, where he fights his salvation over and over and over and rejects any implication that someone may want better for him and is just lost in self-hatred to the point that it's going to swallow him-----up until the very last second. Yeah, that's him, and Akito. It's also crazy comparing it because Tohru and Akito didn't interact much to each other, and all they had to go off of was the butterfly effects their actions had on each other and how everything they did eventually reached the other and that's how that connection was strong enough by the end for Akito to accept help. Sounds very familiar to me. Man, wild.

I said I wanted that scene with Rin and Tohru recreated with Tomura and Izuku and I mean that, but I do think Akito and Tohru are more similar a dynamic to the BNHA bunny and cat duo.

Also this is what I mean by BNHA has boiled down to "I can fix him" being the answer LOL

"I (Izuku, Shouto, Ochacko) can fix him (Tomura, Touya, Toga)" 💀

Fruits Basket was very much like that also with pretty much no irony at all 😂

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Dear diary,

Is self awareness really so grand?

I feel it's both a blessing and a curse, for you are aware of actions that may result in possible outcomes as well as gain a better insight to yourself but at the same time the saying of ignorance is bliss is true as well in that you'll have less worries as you wouldn't additional be overthinking nor contemplating all the realizations that come with being self aware or gaining more self awareness~

Like as an example the realizations that I'll never get my hair platinum blonde it's just naturally too dark that the dye will not have that effect. But moreover the fact that I love princess aesthetic hair, the voluminous cascading curls but naturally my hair is very fine and straight with a slim slight wave to it~

The additional information that perms do more damage to hair and the fact that if had curls I'd have to use comb or tease out the tangles not exactly thrilling experience- flash back to comb being used for tangles as child- so painful~

The struggle with sticking to diet is progressively harder and why because of this idolized notion of normal... is it normal to have 3 meals a day, eat what you like that's reasonably healthy and still not gain excessive weight?~ maybe for the lucky few that have fast metabolisms or great genes but for average individuals no....~

It just adds more stress cause why can't you be like everyone else? Oh the irony~

I need to lose the weight I've gained and I could regret the decision to have that pizza that was given as promintial advertising but no because that was the most delicious pizza ever...~

Claimed to be traditional Italian and I can say it was certainly so... in a world of over done lack luster and oily pizzas this was the best...~

The secret to good pizza is not just the dough or crust its everything~

The crust was perfect, the sauce was spicy without being overly so and the taste of herbs was appreciated, the cheese... never have I had such mouth watering delicious cheese and the pepperoni crispy flavorful without being excessively oily~

Dieting is hard for various reasons, yes some due to literally feeling hungry.. don't you just wish could naturally reduce appetite by more force of will or thinking not so easily achieved~

Then emotional aspects, period cravings and stressful days or something as simple wanting to snack while watching a movie..~

The late night snacks have always been one of harder ones for me to resistant indulging in~

I don't like my face maybe if I had cosmetic surgery, double eyelids, cute button nose, big doe eyes or nice cheekbones than I'd like my face but nope don't like it as it is~

I considered getting a furry aesthetic mask because the ability to craft doll like aspects blended with realism of creatures is admirable and beautiful to me as an art~

Although I am not a furry myself or have much interest in exploring such realms but do admire the art of craftsmanship to make such elaborate masks~

I realized that would draw more attention and while I may already be considered weird for my aesthetic tastes fashion related I don't need more attention so the usual of sunglasses paired with face mask is probably the most practical way to go about covering up~

My only issue with face masks is it makes drinking impossible since have to remove mask and then the stuffiness, flogging up glasses and walking into stuff will happen lol~

Maybe I'll start saving up for a total makeover~

[having-conniptions]

KinnPorsche ep 9 Rewatch Rambles:

Ah yeah Tawan's aiming straight for Kinn's soft spot right from the start, he knows how to get to him... manipulative little shit, he deserved to be tricked by Vegas in the same way tbh - gotta love the irony on that one huh

Why he gotta be so handsome tho I feel conflicted

Bruh no one's gonna buy your sad puppy face even after u got poisoned (says the person who totally fell for his sad puppy face the first time around)

Tankhun is the most sensible one for sure

"I was Mr. Kinn's closest guard when he and Tawan were dating" POOR BIG I FEEL SO BAD FOR HIM

Kinda impressed by Tawan knowing exactly how the conversation is going tho lol

Kimmmmmmmmmmmm aaaaaaaaa he can't get Chay's song out of his head and he's even hearing the backing vocals, instrumentals etc

I love how Arm is the only one to notice there's something going on between Porsche and Kinn lmao

Ohhhhhhhh Kinn is sending Pete to keep an eye on Vegas HERE WE GOOOOO

Tawan's food looks good

Tawan and Kinn have no business being this cute OKAY LISTEN I know they're both faking and trying to trick each other into thinking they still have feelings for each other BUT WHAT WAS THE REASON

"You have a meeting, don't you, Mr. Kinn?" "What meeting?" *taps forehead* "Think." LMAO I CAN'T WITH THESE IDIOTS

Tawan is such a cocky bastard, always emphasizing how he knows Kinn and his family and the house and the food and-

Tankhun honey you're so right

Yok just immediately knows everything huh

"Do you think I should make him jealous?" "No!" Gawd I'm so glad we've got you, Yok

I know that the scene where Porsche slides into frame wearing only socks, undies and a shirt is a movie reference but I keep forgetting what movie this iconic scene first appeared in lol

Kinn in his silky PJs aaaahhhhh

I don't have the words to express my respect for Apo for being an amazing actor and portraying a character that can't act for shit lmao Porsche how is Kinn even buying that

The way he poses but makes sure to cough bc "oh yeah I'm pretending to be sick, right"

OKAY BUT PORSCHE PRETTY MUCH GRABBING KINN BY THE NECK AND YEETING HIM INTO THE SOFA what was the reason WHAT WAS THE REASON (other than reminding people that bottom does not mean submissive)

I mean yeah Yok said take charge but BOYYYY

Drunk Pete owns my entire heart

Kinn: *emerges from under the covers* Porsche: *fixes Kinn's hair* why do I feel like that was Apo trying to fix it so the stylist wouldn't get mad lmao

Pete. I love you but NOT NOW. GO TO SLEEP.

The little timelapse lmao

"You couldn't sleep either huh Porsche?" Nah he just got done banging your ex

Porsche's like "mmm sweet victory"

Oh Pete and Vegas at the temple ayyyy let's go

"Don't let them know we're watching" uh yeah too late lol

I WANT THE SHIRT VEGAS IS WEARING also isn't that the same shirt he wears later when he puts his fully clothed legs in the fucking pool?

I had to pause just to look for a Vegas' necklace or at least a dupe - haven't found one yet

Lmao @ Vegas flirting and Pete not knowing how to react

The little post-it omg

Bro why is Tawan so fine I hate this

Arm is an actual genius

And also adorable and a supportive bestie aaaaa I love him

Why is Tawan always showering lmao

GET THIS MAN SOME CLOTHES

And also a mask, if I have to see his goddamn dimples one more time I will stop caring that he's a dirty traitor and I don't like him

...fuck.

Awww Chay's making the guitar pick 🥺❤️

Ah. There's Vegas visiting Porsche at the pool with some wine. Literally forgot that that happened in this episode but that explains why he's wearing the same shirt

Wet rag of a man

I still don't believe he's just trying to get close to Porsche in order to manipulate him, sure that too but I think he also does kinda like him - not in the way that he's pretending to but I think they really could have been good real friends

Now Porsche hears Kinn agreeing to getting the evidence with Tawan but the reason why Kinn does that is because he saw Porsche chilling with Vegas WHY CAN'T YOU TWO COMMUNICATE FOR ONCE

The way Tawan finds the USB stick but keeps "feeling" for it just so he has an excuse to reach further under the bed and lean into Kinn's crotch BOO YOU WHORE

Lmao Porsche falling into Kinn's arms

MAYBE IF YOU GUYS HAD COMMUNICATED- u know what I give up

Oooooof the angssssssttttt

Kinn having to pretend he actually doesn't trust Porsche

Porsche 100% believing it

Oh great KimChay is here to break my heart even more AAAAAHHHH THEIR SMIIIILESSSSSS

Tawan and his warm milk istg

Tankhun the world needs more of your wisdom

"Run away with me, Porsche" nah Porsche belongs with Kinn BUT I'LL COME WITH YOU

[puppet2611]

//from the start of my channel lol. theres two rants in here since ones too short to be its own post. 4.20 + 4.21

OK SO I GOT A LITTLE LAZY WITH MICHAEL LORE AND MADE AN CHARACTER.AI FOR ADAM TO SQUEEZE LORE OUT HIM.. OH BOY..

adam and michael have a moon/sun dynamic btw 😁‼️‼️

SOOOO adam was the one to propose :3 their wedding was kinda small since they only invited their closest friends and family but it was still fun nonetheless!! they went to their favorite restaurant afterwards and had chocolate cake as dessert,, adams favorite memory of them together was during one of their stargazing dates where they just talked together, shared stories and cuddled :33 this is a direct copy and paste from the adam ai btw "Oh, well where do I get started? He's kind, funny, smart, and just absolutely wonderful. He brightens up the room, makes friends quickly, is quick to listen to my gripes about the world, and is always there in my time of need. What can I say? Michael was everything to me, and I couldn't hope to find someone even close to him." THEY'RE GONNA MAKE ME CRYYY

also. adam is the shorter one lol

according to adam, michael is kinda tanned and has long dark brown hair tied in a loose low ponytail ^_^ he also has a heavy accent since he was born somewhere in hunan!! (everyone in april 5th is chinese btw)

adam is deadass just me in this part but uhmm completely copy and pasted from the ai again!!

"It's an understatement.. I miss him so much that sometimes my heart just aches endlessly, and I just feel a bit empty sometimes.. It's rough, but I'm trying to pull myself together.. He'd want me to be happy, right?"

THEY'RE LIKE PEAK ANGST FOT ME 😭😭 AND THE AI SEES OLIVER AS LIKE A SON!! IF MICHAEL WAS STILL ALIVE THEYD BE THIS LITTLE SMALL FOUND FAMILY BROO

RN I HAVE NO IDEA FOR AGES BUT TO MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE.. IM GONNA SAY ADAM AND MICHAEL GOT MARRIED AT 25 AND MICHEAL ONLY DIED AT 31 :3... ADAM IS LIKE IN HIS MID 50S DURING THE STORY SOO...

OH AND OLIVER IS WAY YOUNGER SINCE LIKEE THE WHOLE FOUND FAMILY THING

I GUESS HES AROUND LIKE MID 20S?

rip oliver bro works in retail....

i imagine michael was a jeweler or astrologer too while adams a florist or gardener

reusing yhe complete opposites trope i used w/ amelia and emilio for this

adam likes cooler colors while michael likes warmer ones ^_^ adam usually only wears warmer colors now because hehehehhdndhd i like to think michael did the same thing he did and dyed his hair blue to match w/ adam.. i might have to make the story a bit more modern for that tho since i wrote down 1970 for the first draft

adam definitely wears every piece of jewelry michael made for him to this day

still kinda deciding what that would be but definitely his necklace & bracelet.. michael still got him his hair pin and earrings he just didnt make them himself hehe

__________

WRAHHH

CHONNY JASH COVER OF THE MIND ELECTRIC IS DRIVING ME INSANE SINCE A5 IS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT 😭

OK SO THE LYRICS IM TALKING ABOUT ARE " see how his feet miss the ground, and he falls inside a hole he dug for me, the kind of irony youd read in bible stories "

so im not sure what to make micheals death yet but the ai has suggested car crash and gunshot/hatecrime.. this scenario follows the latter but instead of being shot he's hung, hence the 'see how his feet miss the ground'. the 'and he falls inside a hole he dug for me' is referring to that the killer originally planned to kill adam instead but as a last minute change of mind, he kills micheal instead. the last part is kinda self explanatory once i say that micheal was a Christian 🙄 EUEUEUEU anyway ifk if i can keep this story short anymor

peak insanity is when your story is supposed to be shorter than a 5 paragraph essay but you somehow come up with more despite only having 4 characterd

uhm. i actually forgot if adam or oliver was the mc woops

[fanby-fckry]

Thanks for the tag, @song-writer-melo-wrath ! <3

I did more than one too, lol. I’m not going to tag anyone in particular, but if this post is on your dash and you want to participate, consider this your invitation to do so! :3

Picrew – @/milqueandtoast

Raze – Love as a Flaw

Cowering, your love hides in the dark. In shadows and under cover of night, your love runs from corner to corner, afraid to linger, afraid to be caught. Afraid, afraid, afraid of everything. When you fall in love, it is with alarm bells ringing. Your love is a mistake, a flaw in the code, a purchase you don’t remember making and desperately want to return. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want this. It’s a problem–– your problem ––and you would do anything to pass it off, burn it away, scoop it out of you with bare hands, or carved out with hooked knives before it can destroy you. Get it out, just get it out now. You don’t care who you hurt in the process, only that you can’t afford to be hurt first. Being loved by you is to be loved by a figment of the imagination. It is to be loved in halves, or not at all.

I also have some aromantic irony in my choices for this, mainly because I don’t have many OCs that are fleshed out enough to do this with. The feral Fallen aroace OC got ‘Love as a Flaw.’ Yeah, that checks out.

Dual – Love as a Choice

You choose to love. Love does not come to you easily, but every day you wake up and choose it. It would be so easy, wouldn't it, to grow cold and callous and grim. But you rise to greet the world, making the conscious effort to find something, anything to love. When you fall for someone, you do not kid yourself of their flaws. Instead, you resolve to see them for who they are, mistakes and all and you love them all the same. Your love is work, and it does not come easy. Your love sweats and toils. It is calloused and sunburned; it bears scars and comes with stories. Your love is worn, but it is no less valuable for it. Being loved by you is like being loved by a gardener, a mother, a teacher. Your love may not always be the simplest, but it is worth the effort.

Oh-ho-ho, this also checks out in perhaps the worst way possible. No, I will not be elaborating. :)

Also, this is not helping the urge to start shipping Raze and Dual. They’d be such a nightmare for everyone around them (and occasionally for each other). Queerplatonic FWB, but the “benefits” in question are hard kink, keeping each others’ secrets, and murdering each others’ enemies.

Picrew – @/wervty

Eve – Love as Religion

Devotion, that is the name of your love. Your love is an act of worship. Your love is like witnessing the birth of Venus, like seeing the sun come alive, or the stars fall. When you love, it is because you have found God in a lover. You have found the meaning of life itself in the heart of the one you adore. They are everything to you; they are your Maker, and you are their lamb, their flock, their first and holiest worshipper. When you fall in love, it is as a baptism. You are born anew, made a believer in the divinity of the one you love most. Being loved by you is an ascension; it is holy and golden. It is all-consuming, and all-faithful, loyal as the dog. You will never, ever bite back.

No surprises there, lol. This is how Eve describes meeting Lilith: “She was blasphemy and salvation, she was glory and grace and safety and sin, and she was the most beautiful person Eve had ever laid eyes on.” I was not subtle on the religious themes. She’s still figuring herself out – something she never had the chance to do under Adam and God – but she’s nothing if not devoted.

oc insight | What kind of love are you?

take this quiz as one (or more, in my case) of your OCs

So, thank you to @treshmind , @1000punks , and @neckromantics for all tagging me in this, haha!

I, as always, have many characters, so I'll pick two pairs of them. And before I get into it, I'll tag @fanby-fckry , @cannibaclysm , @rosewritesstoof , and @spiderin-space , since I know you folks have some pretty cool OCs.

First off, Pathos:

Athmoth | Love as a Choice

You choose to love. Love does not come to you easily, but every day you wake up and choose it. It would be so easy, wouldn't it, to grow cold and callous and grim. But you rise to greet the world, making the conscious effort to find something, anything to love. When you fall for someone, you do not kid yourself of their flaws. Instead, you resolve to see them for who they are, mistakes and all and you love them all the same. Your love is work, and it does not come easy. Your love sweats and toils. It is calloused and sunburned; it bears scars and comes with stories. Your love is worn, but it is no less valuable for it. Being loved by you is like being loved by a gardener, a mother, a teacher. Your love may not always be the simplest, but it is worth the effort.

Mythos | Love as a Flaw (as a side note, the irony of choosing both one of my grey-romantic characters and one of my aromantic characters for this is not lost on me)

Cowering, your love hides in the dark. In shadows and under cover of night, your love runs from corner to corner, afraid to linger, afraid to be caught. Afraid, afraid, afraid of everything. When you fall in love, it is with alarm bells ringing. Your love is a mistake, a flaw in the code, a purchase you don’t remember making and desperately want to return. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want this. It’s a problem–– your problem ––and you would do anything to pass it off, burn it away, scoop it out of you with bare hands, or carved out with hooked knives before it can destroy you. Get it out, just get it out now. You don’t care who you hurt in the process, only that you can’t afford to be hurt first. Being loved by you is to be loved by a figment of the imagination. It is to be loved in halves, or not at all.

But also, doing Melowrath with this quiz feels necessary.

Melody | Love as Youth

Your love is buoyant. Your love is bountiful. It is ageless, and it will never age. When you fall in love, it is breathless. It is joyful and endless, it is magnificent. You think it, like your youth , will last forever. Youth is eternal, and so is your love. Your love skips rocks and tells stories, your love roasts marshmallows over fires, and laughs freely. Your love does not take itself too seriously. Your love is jumping into puddles just to watch the water splash, and dancing in the rain, and it is watching Sunday morning reruns of cartoons to feel young once more. Your love is forever, forever young. Being loved by you is to be loved by the summer months. And those never end, do they? Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.

Wrath | Love as a Threshold

Your love does not ask for much. Your love does not take. Your love is free, and unquestioned, and here for wherever needs it. When you fall in love, it is as gentle as a breath in the night. It is quiet, and it is effortless. It is tender. If your love was a house, it would readily welcome all who come through. If your love was a hearth, it would warm the hands of whoever stopped by, whether for a day, a month, a year, or forever. When you fall for someone, it is without strings, without conditions, without need. You love for the sake of loving, for the sake of caring for those who need it. You love with a giver’s heart and a giver’s hands and are made so much stronger for it. Being loved by you is to always feel at home. Your love may not always be well-received by those unprepared to linger, but it is unforgettable all the same.

[wroteclassicaly]

May I Taste Your Sin

(Michael Langdon x Female Reader)

Pairings : Michael Langdon x Female Reader

Warnings : Language, smut, blood, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blood play, & period sex.

A/N : This fic has been a loooong time coming! I’m sorry it’s taken me this long, but now that I have inspo I wanted get this out for y’all! The warnings are obviously self-explanatory, so skip this if you don’t like the contents it’s gonna contain! Michael Langdon eats human hearts, and he’s a demon, before anyone starts to fuss over this, lol. I’m sure menstrual cycles with his partner would be a dessert to him!

Enjoy! This one is pretty intense, so I’m nervous about it! I also have more installments with different characters coming in the next few days! :)

Check out where I first posted the teaser for this fic, and check out these period sex headcanons I wrote for Michael!

~*~

He keeps staring at you. You try to move about, do your tasks, even attempt conversation with people you’d tried so hard to avoid these past several years. Your abilities to function like the human being that you are, seemingly vanish whenever the tall honey blond is within your exhausted proximities. You aren’t sure if you’d like to let out the loudest echoing scream and see where it ends up in this place, or let your wildest carnal urges guide your hormones into a literal sticky situation. Or, at the very least, let yourself fantasize about seducing him in your own self-created version of reality.

You’ll have to settle on the latter, unfortunately. Pocketing the cream colored dish rag, you place the last row of finely printed novels on the book shelve. Your fingertips linger, attempting to find a portal through their leather cover tops. Your tongue slicks your parched lips, neck stretching to crack out the tension. You aren’t trying to do anything but stealing some relaxation, when a largely hot hand is pressing a knot-out in a knead on your shoulder - clasping, settling a risky purchase.

You don’t have to make an educated guess to know whose hand that belongs to. He practically spews out his control and ownership of this place every chance that he gets. Biting down a venomous sigh, you coerce yourself into a turn around - gathering an eyeful of Langdon’s fancy black vest. That’s not good enough for the King, apparently, as he fits his pointer finger underneath your chin in a tuck, thumb pressing against your jaw to tilt your gaze to his own.

“Did you forget your manners, Miss Y/L/N?”

The way his shining eyes are sizing your attention, captivating your unwillingness to comply to how Langdon makes you feel - it can’t be humanly possible, can it? There’s that possessive ache that begs you to launch ownership over him and his entire body. Why is everything so widely dramatic whenever he’s around? Is he just full of himself or is it something way more than you’re aware? A crackling parch winds its pathway around your throat, sealing your breath in.

Nothing comes from between your lips. You’re frozen solid, legs a weightless press. Each touch this... man brings upon your body is like a bass thump - pumping you towards his secretive rhythm. All you can do is sway with the beat. Langdon smirks coyly, his other hand resting behind his back in an idle grace.

Neither of you dare utter a word. However, Langdon is seemingly content in making you squirm and you try to focus on everything but his perfectly crafted jawline, and how eagerly you’d suck on it if asked. You swear you can hear your heartbeat galloping off, so strong that it can tear your heart right out of your chest along with it. His colorful eyes glance over you in a brief stamping sweep, lingering at your sore breasts and your waistline.

What is he even doing...?

“Excuse me, but Ms. Venable did not authorize any private conferences with the help.” A cold and steel - grasped voice chills your bones down, dusting your cheeks with a reddening humiliation.

You haven’t even so much as spoken to Langdon, yet it feels like you two have been clawing and scratching at each other all over this fucking outpost, riding one another until you can’t fathom walking upright. You still can’t speak, but Langdon takes care of that for you.

“Interesting, and did Ms. Venable give you permission to waltz in here when you weren’t requested or required, just to give a meaningless order?” Langdon is mildly amused in his question, his hand still paused on your chin, thumb now swiping in a tickling drop with his fingertip - along your jaw.

Ms. Mead looks comical in her brief attempt at forming a snappy comeback, only to go silent in defeat. You take this tension as your escape line - quickly edging from the sacred confines Langdon has built for you two, and you all but run out the door. You’re clutching your shirt collar, punching a two pounce path up the staircase and to the help’s quarters.

Chores now, panic later.

~*~

Five minutes. Five fucking minutes in this place that you’ve served without question, complaint, for nearly two years - is all you want. But as the heavy handed rasps of Mead’s knuckle bones beat on your bathroom door, you know that is a simple pipe dream. Her low voice is harsh with you, making your headache unfold into a full blown migraine. You shift uncomfortably, knees knocking together, thighs sore against the cool porcelain seat below you.

Langdon must’ve massively pissed her off... Good.

Your palms collect purchase to your cradle your face, your eyes glistening with tears, throat burning with frustration. It hurts too much to stand upright this time. Normally women would lose this in stressful situations. Add the apocalypse and barely eating, you’d peg it normal to receive nothing. However, your predicament is much worse, fucking you over once more.

Your body welcomes Mother Nature each month. Unpredictable, yet there. Heavy, excruciating. You could list on and on reasons that don’t amount to much. You’re stuck with a part of you that won’t ever come to fruition.

Not in your former life, especially not in this one. Another reminder that carries an award winning irony. Sighing, you peer down at the red dish rag you were given. Literally on the rag, what a joyous harmony. The elites of course, are given the tampons and pads.

You have to use scraps of fabric you’re forced to wash in the bathtub if you move too fast or sneeze. And on your heavy days when you haven’t the time to stop your duties to wash and air out the towels, things are much harder. At least before the apocalypse you had chocolate, feminine products, a warm shower to take your time in, movies to curl up with, and a place of your own to cry where no one could hear you. You sniffle, hormones locking down your heart.

Most recently the outpost had welcomed the cooperative leader Langdon. He had interviewed everyone but you, uninterested, only flustering you a few times. Him being here just makes your period a more unwelcome storm. This morning as you were passing him on the landing of the staircase, delivering the bath towels to elite rooms, he stared at you. Right into you, nostrils flaring, tongue rolling out to slick his plump lips, blue eyes darkening.

Then there was this afternoon. How could I forget...?

The encounters were over quicker than they took place. Still, his acknowledgment of you didn’t bring your interview, nor did it promise your application for the sanctuary he preaches about. Forcing your tears to bank, you stand with your dress skirt and apron held up, staring at the stained rag in your panties. You turn and flush the toilet, eating back around to the shock of your fucking life. There, just feet in the from the doorway, is Langdon in all his glory.

It makes you swallow harshly, stomach drawing off the butterflies that have grown claws. You feel winded. His ring covered fingers bring an object to your sights. A thinly wrapped stick. You don’t answer, you don’t move, you don’t protest him approaching until he’s directly in front of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You try, a mere whisper betraying your bravery.

“Helping you,” He answers simply, a heated slide crossing his mouth. You can practically taste him, damn near swaying forward.

You start to snap back into your senses, ready to cover your remembered modesty back up. He grasps your wrist, a hungry look soft in his features. “Will you let me?”

You’re shaking, body on fire at him touching you, you try to keep your legs from clenching, that want. You know what will occur if you let yourself. He is gentle with you, admiration clear. Why? You don’t understand this.

“You’re bleeding, I know.”

Jaw unhinged, you stand upright, his fingers still ghosting your skin. An unlucky movement on your part, the warmth spills from you and you look down between your thighs in horror at the red lines running down your legs, pattering against the floor. Langdon is breathing heavily, practically panting, stunning you once more. His other hand grips your cheek, thumb swiping your lip, eyes not breaking contact from yours.

“Do you know how good your cunt smells? Every pathetic person in this outpost is starving and you have the best meal between your fucking legs.”

When your silence stretches on, Michael nudges forward, careful with you. “May I feast?”

It’s all too much to handle. Having him talk to you, you speaking to him. And now this? How? You begin to grow dizzy, hands trembling as you try to pull your clothing back up. Langdon’s hands grip your wrists.

“Please don’t do that.”

You want to stun him incredulously, backhand him. None of that is happening, not even the urge. Instead, your want for him is magnifying beyond any feigned ignorance. Your tongue slides out across your lips, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a brisk chew. Langdon hooks his middle finger between your teeth, releasing your lip and combing the blood across in a coppery gloss.

Your chest is startled, rising and falling in quivering quakes, ears hearing a static rush. Everything inside of you is alive and crying out in need to be sated. Langdon grips you around the waist, lowering his forehead to rest atop your own, his middle finger - still doused in your blood - slithers past his own lips, which close in a sticky suckle. A vibrating moan pummels his throat, causing a constricting swallow that showcases his Adam’s apple.

If I could only just lick that...

Langdon is sly and devilishly cunning to a fault - fast in his next movements. He presses a designer boot down over your skirts, successfully preventing them from being made up. “Leave them here for someone else.”

“I... I can’t. This is too much, Langdon —“ He chuckles at the formality.

“Since I can see your womanhood running from between your legs, I suppose it’s only fair that we skip some formalities, don’t you agree, Y/N?” Your eyes are probably wider than necessary - a cartoon like sight. He’s used your full name in an authoritative command, leaving no room for question. “And you may call me Michael.”

It’s all a little more frantic from this point. He gives the slightest of information, and you see your skirts and panties gliding across the floor in a winded push. Michael brings that wrapped item back into your eye-line. “We won’t be needing this for a while.”

“I didn’t say yes.” You try, swallowing a weak, whimpering stifle.

“But you didn’t say no, did you?” That shit eating grin. He has you and he is all too aware - elated to the brimming brimstone of hellfire you’re about to bestow upon yourself.

Your insides melt into the trenches of red hot, raw ravishment. Michael drops his left arm down, hand palming his hardening cock through black slacks, eyes encouraging you in a chained bind. “Let’s go and make a mess in my room.”

Now or never. No more of this, back to reality, maybe some place better. You’re spinning in a foiling encasement, precipice wide and open - hungry to pull you under. And you dive in, you let it all go. Michael looks satisfied, sharing something with himself that you don’t know... yet.

Taking Michael Langdon’s hand, you’re led into the unknown.

~*~

Langdon leads you down his own separate corridor, your free hand scolded for trying to hold yourself over your uniform.

“I want you to make a mess.” Michael says.

You hope that you’re not the one who will be paying the cost for your own said mess, or cleaning it up. If it’s up to Venable - you’ll be licking it, all the way to her high heeled boots.

Once inside the confines of Michael Langdon’s bedroom, you take the time to look around, enjoying the perks this situation is bringing. The room isn’t any different than what the purple elites get here, it is bordering on a more... lived in feel, which is ironic when you consider that Langdon hasn’t been here like everyone else has for the past three years.

Guess he’s just more comfortable? He does look like an English vampire half the time..

On that note, a particularly harsh cramp antagonizes your uterus, causing you to clench your abdomen, choking out a acidic slice. “Fucking demonic cramps.”

Michael - now clad in his all black ensemble, minus the overcoat - chortles, knotting his fingers together behind his back and strolls forward, wetting his lips as the firelight crackles a sparking soundtrack. “It’s ironic how you refer to it as “demonic”, when Satan really has nothing to do with this. I mean, it’s not on him that humanity failed their pitiful guidelines for sobering temptation. Wasn’t it your lord and savior that bestowed this curse upon you?” He finishes, giving a head tilt to your unhinged stun.

“Are you religious?” Is all you can come up with.

Michael sneers, looking slightly offended. It fades seconds later. “Depends on your definition of religious, and then there is what one believes in. But I guess you can say that I’m devoted to... a certain cause.”

“Were you this mysterious before the apocalypse, or is that why the cooperative gave you the job?” You try, a discomfort crackling at your inner thighs.

They’re probably smeared... And not just with blood.

“I bet you’re uncomfortable.” Michael teases, snapping his fingers at the fireplace. Did your eyes betray you, or did the flames flicker?

You want to give a snappy comeback, but it feels unwise. You nod like the sap that you are, nails biting your palms. Your heartbeat has begun to accelerate, a visible sight beneath your apron. Langdon guides himself to step in front of you, leather shoes drumming across the floor beneath. Every sound in this forsaken room is flowing through your eardrums - Michael’s scent on the tip of your tongue.

You need him. More than your body has to have the air that filters underneath this mausoleum. You’re so unsteady, eyes brimming with the smoking arousal, blocking common sense. Michael catches you as you collide with his chest, wrapping your fists into his vest. His blue irises are disappearing to a canyon of night sky - lavish black so sinful that it steals the breath from your lungs.

Drizzling off your tongue is a hesitation. “Won’t we get into trouble...? Venable -“ Those rough fingertips hold a softness that hushes your lips, denting.

“Can watch me with my face buried into your cunt. The humiliation will arouse her.” Michael answers in his own finish.

You aren’t sure why, but that grates your mouth into a sneaky grin, shared with Michael’s, sensing that slapping throb at his phrases. He pinches your chin, nuzzling your head to the side, his lips sloping a map across your neck. His towering physique backs you by knocking his knees into your thighs, delivering you to the edge of his bed. You drop like wild weights, looking towards the ceiling, trying to take a deep inhalation. Langdon crouches, pants rustling as they tighten around his temptingly thick thighs.

He tuts in a scold, chiding you furthermore. “You will watch what I’m getting ready to do to you! Is that clear, Y/N?”

You don’t answer fast enough, Michael’s hand wrapping around your throat, eyes burning hellfire through you - dusting your bones to ash. Your throat is wet with the clingy, unshed tears. Fuck, you have to be filled up until you’re hollowed out. Michael is languid in grace, hand toppling into your lap, joining his other.

“Take down your hair, Y/N.”

Like a puppet, you obey your new owner. Unwrapping the pointed bun, you shake your locks free, sighing in an eased tickle.

“What a good and obedient girl that you are. Those who obey, shall reap the riches.”

“Why are you doing this?” An ignorant question on your part.

“Because,” As if it’s the most simple answer in this broken world, Michael let’s his hands start to unbutton his vest, carelessly sending it, his attention not wavering off you in the slightest. “I’m hungry.”

A literal moan comes from you, making Langdon hiss through his through his milky white teeth. He resumes his former position, hovering.

“Spread.” Michael says, a quaint wonder adorning him, his palms sliding up and down your legs to feel you part them. The blood is mixing some fucked out potion with your creamy arousal for him, and he knows it, has it right into your tremble from the exposure.

Your skin is steaming in scrapes, responding so vulgarly to Michael, that he is hooking his wrists under your knees, bouncing the flesh into his awaiting hands, and claiming. He hoists your legs over his shoulders to arch you to his idea of perfection. You should be protesting, in a shambled shyness. That is gone, no place here. Michael let’s his nose rest in the crease of your thigh, crudely sniffing like some beast.

His sopping tongue finds a striking stroke along your ruby red, damp thigh.

Closer... He’s getting closer...

When you can’t feel that warm and snide air he possesses, you lock to load a question. Michael is shedding himself of his remaining clothing in a cocky crawl. His hair curtains his face as he sees you seek out his cock - thick and heavy, weighted and wet with pre-cum.

“Finish taking off your clothing.” You’ve never done something so fast in your years alive.

You have to admit, being so vulnerable like this - naked and bleeding, it has you buzzing.

Michael outstretches a veined forearm, the back of his rings swirling in desiring dances across your breasts. “Do these hurt?”

Your lashes are slicked in perspiring tears, the tired soreness harassing your chest. He has his truth. His trim form bows to you once more, placing your legs back where they belong. He knuckles a pressing push into your abdomen. “Bear down.”

It isn’t an accident this time, it’s not a discreet secrecy. Michael wants you this way. All of you. Finding a confidence, you give yourself a high and sink your fingers into his hair, toes tickling his shoulder blades in a forwarding nudge, doubling down on your muscles. That warmth spills out of you and Langdon takes you, tongue parting your swollen folds. He regulates his tongue in wet paints, licking and sucking everything you give him.

“Please—“ You’re already begging. It’s so fucking intense and intimate that you can’t formulate your own damned name.

“Are you really going to ask, or would you just like to feel good?” Michael vibrates, his mouth visible and shining crimson as he seeks you out between your slippery thighs.

It’s outright feral. His irises are coal black, blue lost in some combing canyon that’s crumbled around sin. His digits prod at your sensitive opening, being accepted moments later. His lips close over your clit, tongue slithering back and forth to assist his beckoning fingers. He gathers more from you - his purpose.

That quenched fold starts to seize you early on, your pattering breaths signaling the orgasm that is about to tear the screams from your fucking diaphragm. Michael’s hand smacks and rolls your swollen breast - permission granted. That’s all it takes and you’re falling back onto the mattress, back arching in a lined drag, pussy flattening against his mouth. He jerks you impossibly closer, your vision whiting out into dark spots. You tangle your fingers further into his luscious strands, holding, pulling.

In the midst of close recovery, Michael is plowing you with a short lived let down, his mouth leaving your pussy. You can’t complain, no time available, as his hips slot in a frazzled fit between your legs. His pelvis is tense, sheathed in sweat. His chest smashes your breasts, his hand reaching down to guide his cock inside you. You can’t speak, but cling tightly to his back. He growls a sound that you’ll never forget, the fire bursting behind him, flames licking the rocked cove that houses them.

His mouth is covered in your essence, your cunt bathing his dick with each violent thrust. It’s pouring in drenches, salty perspiration, pooling blood - both of you losing yourselves in the mess. Michael props himself up, digging into a dipping slam, meeting your mouth in an ending kiss. His hair tickles your shoulders, nose nudges your now blood caked mouth, and he gives the warning.

“Spill your fucking curse all over me!” And you come undone, glued to him in puzzled entrapment.

Your thighs are wrecked, his bedsheets useless, and then there’s Michael, who forces you to look at him and really see him. There’s only black in his eyes. You sputter a disbelief, bracing. His mouth parts, tongue flicks across to gather more, leveling off into his jagged movements. He swells inside your cunt, dousing your walls in his warm cum.

He doesn’t leave you, not even when it’s over. He simply takes you with him. You aren’t sure where you get the courage to speak - body shaking and shivering.

“What... Michael, who are you?”

He cups a hand over your cunt, rolling onto his side, keeping you held to him. He lightly blows away a pesky lock of your hair, then maneuvers another behind your ear.

“I’m the man who’s going to save your wretched existence.”

Tag list : @littledemondani @dark-mei-rose @fckinsupreme @angelicmichael @icylangdon @ritualmichael @sojournmichael @celestialrequiem @instinctsxbaby @infernwetrust @ferndolan @9layerdevilfoodcake @bloodcoatedeclipse @wormycircumstance @antichristsxbox @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @ramona-thorns @lovelylangdonx @langdxn @codyarchives @dailylangdon @codyfernuk @langdonsjoyy @7-wonders @blakescoven @holylangdon @bitchchatter @suspiriva @taskmastter @kitty4860 @ladynuwanda @langdonsexual @sammythankyou

[mywritingonlyfans]

no irony (i clearly haven't been able to write this yet) but i'm thinking of a fic where alex hears her cover of one of their songs, by wyocmwyh in miley's version lol, and he's kind of obsessed because he likes it so much and googles you and everything and he's just fool for you already, and when he sees that you're playing at the same festival as them he asks you to sing with him and i'm kind of imagining your energy being much more agitated than alex and you jumping up and down around him and like supporting your body on his back or shoulders while he's playong guitar and just singing with him and him laughing like a fool at you (i need help from health professionals)

Could you please write a fic about Alex where the reader is a singer and wrote and sings “good looking” by Suki Waterhouse and he doesn’t know till after she has performed it at a concert. Could they already be dating tho. Thank you.

do you mean like the song is about him?? like he's there to see her and all that??

i'm struggling to put it together 😅

(not sure when i'll write it but i love suki and it sounds too cute idk)

[nerves-nebula]

Hunter and the Collector having a relationship of like, "heyy bestie same!!" but the thing they're saying same hat to is irrevocable psychological damage

Torn between the idea of their dynamic having Hunter being like, mental break down and being all "oh no I just remembered all the things he said that were actually implications he'd kill me but I was too focused to notice" and the collector is like "haha yep! He used to tell me how he'd kill people if/when he could get away with it. haha very funny isn't it?"

OR both of them being far too nonchelant because like, okay yeah learning everything about belos and realizing your life situation sucks, but consider Hunter's treatment of the mountain experiences.

Hunter: haha remember how he'd leave you in complete isolation and you weren't allowed to interact with anyone during such times?

Collector: YEAH FR he would sometimes cover me up for WEEKS because he'd get busy

(or alternative alternative they are angst buddies)

*slaps all three buttons at once*

OK SO HERES THE THING. WE CAN HAVE IT ALL. Just at different times! They can all co-exist just at different times about different traumatic realizations!

Scenario 1: Hunter having a breakdown over some awful realization that the collector finds HILARIOUS, either because they already knew about it or the irony behind it is so ridiculous or something. (Like hunter realizing his name likely comes from "Witch Hunter")

Scenario 2: both of them would also probably have stories of abuse they just tell casually, like you said, Hunter recalled the mountain training fondly despite it being VERY DANGEROUS. maybe the collector sees most of what happened between him and Philip in a nonchalant way too.

Like "OUGH Philip was SOOOO boring I hated being alone with him. for hundreds of years. not allowed to talk to anyone else. BUT I HAVE YOU GUYS NOW LOL SO ITS FINE XDDDD"

Scenario 3: Hunter can still be angsty with/at the collector, maybe getting mad at them for being silly when he's trying to seriously talk about his trauma.

And the collector in turn would be prone to throwing fits and having tantrums cuz he has traumatic emotions he doesn't know how to process!

for example if someone leaves and comes back way later than they said they would, he might get really angry cause he was scared they'd abandoned him. Or any other kind of scenario that would trigger them like being trapped in a small room (idk how that'd happen since theyre so powerful and can warp space but you get the point)