#the only thing i know about Dios up until now is that he (?) has a Really Cunty name DSKHDKFHJLF

[qrevo]

Hi sorry purgemarchlockdown on Main (you probably already know that? I just like to clarify) Hi your watching Utena???? Uh- first I hope you read the content warning list that show is amazing but desr christ is it a lot. Second YOUR WATCHING UTENA!!!!! Utena is one of my favorite shows (sorry for infecting milgramblr with it but the themes Cohered.)

I love episodes 11-12 a lot really excited to see what you think of it.

HII NOTT!!! YEEESSS i'm watching utena!! a while ago i asked for some queer media reccs, and someone suggested utena, so here we are now!!

yeah i skimmed a bit through a cw list, but usually i don't have much of a problem when it comes to disturbing content in fiction, so i think it's gonna be alright in that front ^^

i've started watching it like, a week ago maybe?? at first i thought it was going too slowly for my taste, but it's been growing on me!! all the characters are very well written!! i still don't really know what's up with the castle and the rose bride and the whole Dios thing, but i've been really liking it so far!! and YES OMG I WATCHED EP 11 AND 12 TODAY AND THEY HIT VERY HARD. I FELT THE THEMES LODGING THEMSELVES IN MY BRAIN IN REAL TIME

also the op and ed slap SO HARD. MISSING TRUTH AND FOREVER KISSING LOVE AND TRUE YOUR HEART DAKISHIMETE HONTO NO TE DE~

(and thank you for infecting the whole milgramblr with the utena brainrot it sparked so many good theories and character analysis fr 🙏)

[thebearer]

would you ever write something about protective baby daddy carmy, maybe it’s only a few weeks until the baby is born so super big belly and coming to family or making her spend all the time at the restaurant so he doesn’t miss the birth

"Make way, wide corner!" Richie bellowed, arms waving back and forth, guiding you through the kitchen like you were an airplane landing.

You glared at him, a snarl in your expression as you waddled around the corner. It was hot and you were so fucking pregnant, due any day now. "Shut the fuck up, Richie." You huffed, flinching at the heat of the kitchen, a wave of nausea coming over you.

"Richie, leave that poor woman alone. What's the matter with you, huh?" Tina snarled, glaring harshly at Richie. "How're you doin', Mama? How's the baby?" Her tone dropped to something sweeter, kinder for you, hand rubbing over your swollen abdomen. Normally, it bothered you when people touched your bump, but Tina was different. It was comforting with her.

"Miserable. Swollen. Hot." You muttered, looking down at your growing belly where baby girl was still jabbing at your ribs.

"I mean this in the nicest way, but... has the baby grew more since last week?" Sydney's eyes were skittish and wide, darting carefully from your stomach back to you.

You snorted lightly, running a hand over the swell of your abdomen. "She dropped a few days ago. Getting ready for launch." You muttered.

"Oh, that-that's, uh, terrifying." Sydney nodded, awkwardly. "Sorry, that's not what you want to hear, but, uh..."

"No, you're right. It is." You laughed, a little uneasy. It was fucking terrifying, all of it- pregnancy, birth, motherhood in general. It was scary.

"It also is so fucking painful because now everything is heavier and my back feels like it might snap." You gave a fake forced smile.

"Oh, poor Mama. That just means she's close. Only a few more days?" Tina beamed. "How much does she weigh?"

"They think eight pounds." You groaned, Sydney's eye bulging expression.

"Ay dios mio..." Tina muttered under her breath. "Well, you'll be so drugged up, honey, you won't even feel it."

"I'm praying for a C-section." You scoffed lightly. "Carmen's already said he's gonna be a wreck either way."

"Yeah, and he will be, won't you, Cousin?" Richie cackled, clapping his cousin on the back as he passed by.

"Be what?" Carmen muttered, too in the game to even see you there. "Chef, have you finished prep?"

"No, Jeff. Talking to your beautiful baby mama." Tina cooed, giving your arm a gentle squeeze.

Carmen's eyes lifted to you, brow furrowed when he looked at the time. "Hey, baby, I lost track of time." He muttered, lips brushing over yours in greeting, hand gliding down your growing stomach.

"We know you did, Cousin." Richie scoffed. "I went and got her."

"You drove with Richie?" Carmen's eyes flashed to you.

"C'mon, Carm. I'm a good fuckin' driver, alright? Quit busting my balls." Richie snorted, rolling his eyes at him.

"He drove safe, Carmy." You reassured, hand rubbing down his forearms sweetly.

Carmen hummed, rolling his eyes gently, but moved you through the kitchen after Sweeps almost hit you with a pan rounding the corner. "Here, come in my office."

"Is it cooler in there?" You moaned, lip jutting in a pout. "I'm about to stand in the freezer, Carmy, it's so fuckin' hot in here."

"I know." Carmen had learned, knew better now, than to do anything but agree with you. He'd been on the receiving end of your wild hormones too many times, your lashing tongue or worse- the fucking tears.

"I put the fan in here, and I have that neck thing in my little fridge, ok? You should be laying down anyways. Not supposed to be up." Carmen frowned lightly , pushing the door open to his office.

The couch was now used as your temporary napping place throughout the day. Carmen had put the bear in overbearing- a joke you told him that he did not find that humorous- when you became pregnant, and it only got more and more severe as months went on. When you got into your third trimester, put on bed rest the last few weeks, Carmen had taken it beyond serious. Insisting that you come stay with him at the restaurant. He was terrified at the thought of something happening or you going into labor when he wasn't around.

You'd agreed, reluctantly, really only because you wanted Carmen close and... because you were in a restaurant. Any type of craving would be satisfied easily for you.

"I think if I lay down, Carmy, I'm not making it back up for family." You yawned gently, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand.

Carmen grinned, reaching to turn on the fan besides the couch, pointing it at you so it would blow the cool air over you. "That's alright. I'll bring it here to you." He muttered, pulling the blinds closed for you.

You sat down, propped against the pillows, head lolling to the side to look at him. Carmen sat beside you, hand rubbing over your stomach. "Where's she at today?"

"Same place she was this morning. Right under my ribs." You grin, moving his hand under your left boob, pressing to the side when her fluttered kicks were.

Carmen beamed, eyes brightening as his hand ghosted over the spot there. "Talk to her, Bear." You muttered, eyes fluttering shut. This pregnancy fatigue was no fucking joke. "She likes your voice."

"Yeah?" Carmen grinned, perking at the compliment.

"Yeah." You nodded. "She likes to hear her Daddy's voice. Makes her kick like fucking crazy."

Carmen leaned down, cheek resting on your stomach gently. "Hi, baby. Are you bein' good?" He muttered, your body flushing with adoration at the gentleness of his words. "You ready to come out soon? We're ready for you to. I know your Mommy is."

You snorted, a breathy laugh cut short by a sharp kick to your ribs. "Keep talking." You muttered, moving his hand a little further to wear the kick was. "Bring out the cookbooks again."

"Yeah?" Carmen hummed, eyes crinkling with amusement. "Your Mommy thinks that's funny, but when you come out knowing how to make bruschetta, she's gonna be blown away. Won't she?" Carmen's voice lilted, a tone of baby talk that had you swooning. It was new, something he just recently started doing in the recent weeks. While you were nesting, so was he, in a different way. Getting used to the idea of being a dad, the anxieties he felt traded in for an excitement.

Carmen could feel it, tiny kicks pressing through your tight, stretched skin. His baby, kicking to the sound of his voice. His heart swelled. "See, she agrees with me."

You laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I know she does. Already got you already, hm, Berzatto?"

"Gets it from her, Mama." Carmen jested back, a playful twinkle in his eyes that had your heart soaring out of your chest, tears welling in the corners- damn pregnancy hormones. "Learnin' from you already."

You smiled wordlessly, a watery grin that had Carmen a little on edge until you reached out, pulling his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss into his palm. Carmen's hand cradling your cheek, free hand going back to where the baby had been kicking, soothing it gently while your eyes fluttered shut.

[hello-sweetheart]

You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.

Clumsy in Love part 4

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and presses the heels of his palm into his eyes.

Im such a piece of shit. God, how could I just do that.

He’s pissed at Steve for not saying something sooner, for waiting until Eddie had something good in his grasp. But he’s angry with himself too.

How stupid is he, really? Did he really not notice until it all came face to face?

He has Adiel’s number memorized, but he knows which of Steve’s beauty marks form constellations.

Mostly, hes confused. His feelings are a jumbled mess and he’s never been good at sorting them out. Naturally, he turns to music. Dio has serenaded him these past few days. Wayne has steered clear of his shit show.

How do you feel right now?

What do you see?

Where would you be right now?

Hey angel what about me?

Jesus fucking fuck. He attempts to run his hand through his hair only it doesn’t get too far, rings snagged in his tangled hair. He can feel the oil built up on the strands and knows it’s time to get his ass out of bed. He doesn’t.

“Angel, Angel, angel. You were my angel. Just not anymore.” He mutters to himself long after the track has finished and another song plays. He’s learning to let go still, even after he’s ended it.

You know what really makes him feel like a dickhead? That Adiel got hurt because of him. He didn’t deserve to get caught in Eddie’s bullshit.

Guilt eats him alive.

His conscious hurts and his heart trembles, tumbled in his chest, but he doesn’t feel the heartbreak the way he should. That world-on-fire and breath burning feeling. He can’t find it.

Like a masochist he wants for it, desires it, deserves it like sinner.

Those last few weeks were enough for his feelings to settle, for his heart to make a decision with or without his input. He tried—god fuck I tried—to feel that skipped-beat flutter when Adiel smiled his way. Could almost convince himself he could. That Adiel’s interlocked hand in his still felt an extension of himself instead of something foreign.

It used to feel like I belonged at his side. Why did it have to stop?

He’s wronged a friend who trusted him to keep his heart safe. A friend who had already been through so much. And Eddie added to that lifetime of hurt because he couldn’t figure it out himself.

Because he was too stupid to see and too stupid to know.

He thinks of Steve’s lips, like he has now for days. Weeks. His heart twists, rung out. That skipped-beat flutter that betrays him.

Fuck. Fuck, man.

He has to stop yanking at his hair like he can train himself out of feeling it.

Do your demons, do they ever let you go?

When you've tried, do they hide, deep inside

Is it someone that you know?

You're just a picture, you're an image caught in time

We're a lie, you and I.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he tells no one because he needs to say it until he can forgive himself a little. Until he can make himself believe that Adiel will forgive him, in time.

“I’m so sorry,” this time says it to himself, covers his face with his hands and finally cries.

Against his fucking will he cries, can’t hold onto it anymore. Ugly retching sobs that can only come from mourning an almost.

Finally, after days of like solitude, Wayne creeps in un-intrusive as a shadow. His hand on his shoulder may be the only thing that keeps Eddie from disappearing.

“I could’ve loved him, Wayne. I could’ve—I did. I think I fucking loved him and I didn’t know until—until I didn’t anymore. And then—and then I just couldn’t again.”

I wish he got to know that. That even for a short time, I had loved him.

Wayne, ever a man of few words, sits with him and lets him have his silence.

———

It’s a little over a month after that that Steve pays him a visit.

He’s smart enough to show up when Wayne isn’t home, looking sheepish as he shuffles on his front step. At least he has the gall to look him in the eyes.

All this is because of you, he thinks. His dark under eyes, his pallid skin. The rage in his blood. The almost that he had.

“Why are you here?” He looks taken aback, almost shrinks in on himself.

“I… the boys said that you, well.” Steve rubs the back of his neck, his hair longer than when Eddie last saw it. It slips through Steve’s fingers. “You never came by again and I wanted to see you. To talk? Can we talk? Can’t… can’t I come in?”

Having Steve in his home, in his space, is dangerous.

Those eyes are deep, soften by tired shadows.

“No,” his swallow is audible and steels himself, “Why should I want you in my home, Steve?”

Steve stands there lips parted and hands clenches at the bottom of his sweatshirt, eyes shined over. Eddie takes the chance to step forward. Everything inside him is too much.

“Don’t you understand what you did? I was happy. And you, fuck, you ruined it! Steve! You!” He out of the door way now and Steve steps back, back, back.

Steve’s face is red in shame. Eddie’s in anger. His pointed finger jabbed at his chest, accusing.

“You couldn’t just let me be happy? Why? Why did you kiss me, Steve? Why then? Was it because you couldn’t stand that I finally had someone? Say something!”

Steves eyes overflow, “Yes! I could stand it because I love you, asshole! I thought, I don’t know—I thought you loved me, too. Okay? Me. We both felt it—tell me you felt it too, Eddie? It wasn’t just me, right?

“You were everywhere and everything. You’d smile at me and it was the sun. So close, always right there and it was like we were—we were teetering on the edge of something amazing. And I was so happy, Eddie. So happy that day ‘cuz I thought, it was just us, right? Me and you. Just us. Together.

“But then you saw him and your weren’t even listening to me. You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? You only had eyes for him. You left me there and I didn’t know what to do with myself ‘cuz suddenly all you’d talk about was him. Every day and every minute we were together. After thinking, after thinking you loved me too.

That I had you.

So yes! Okay? I kissed you because I was selfish and I needed to know. I needed to know if any of it was real. If there really was nothing there.”

Steve’s breathing hard by the end of, words a wavering wet string of rawn vulnerable pulled out of his chest. He’s looking at the floor, hair covering his eyes, and shoulders trembling as he hiccups.

Then, everything feels still. Calm inside. For the first time in ages, Eddie feels like he can take a deep breath and not fall apart. He closes his eyes for a second and just breathes. The fight escapes him with the last breath.

“You ruined me, Steve. You ruined me in a way that even I didn’t understand. I didn’t know, not until that night, about how you felt. And I’m sorry if it was my fault, if I did and said things to make you feel that way, okay? But I didn’t… I didn’t feel that way about you. Not then. Not when you kissed me.”

“And now? Eddie? Do you… could you feel that way for me, now?”

“If it weren’t for you,” he begins, “Adiel and I… we could’ve had something great. But then you—and I— I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wondered so much on why you kissed me that night, replaying every moment together, to see what you saw. And ended up feeling… feeling what you felt.”

He takes the chance to move forward the last bit of space to reach to him, have him look him in the eyes. Both of them mirror images of despair.

“You ruined me, Stevie. Everything was different. It wasn’t perfect anymore, I couldn’t make it perfect again. And I couldn’t be who I had been with Adiel knowing that I couldn’t find in me what we had before. That maybe, this has the chance of being something amazing, too.

I stopped seeing you everyday, so I saw you in everything. I stopped speaking to you, and you became the voice inside my head. It was maddening.”

Eddie laughs and wipes away the tears from Steve’s eyes, they fall faster when he smiles a weak and small but real thing.

“Adiel and I, we fit together; we were good together. But despite that, I didn’t want him anymore. I didn’t know why, I think I still don’t, but… I don’t need to know. I just need feel it, Stevie. And I feel it. I want this. Me and you. You have throughly ruined me, for anybody else.”

This time the kiss is different. It’s shared elation, wet and salty on the tongue, and clumsy as they try to fit into each other. Disappear in one another.

“Are you still mad?”

Those brown eyes don’t resemble gems of green, but they’re filled with incredible warmth and Eddie sees home in them,

Sees a life with them,

It’s own kind of precious.

And he laughs.

“So much, Stevie. I’m mad and heartbroken and falling jn love and happy and so so sure of us. I think, I think I still need some time, I’m really fucked—no, no, shouldn’t cry anymore,” he says as Steve’s face scrunches and it’s so unbelievably cute if he wasn’t blaming himself for it all.

“I just want to make sure I do this right this time. And if I, if I invite you in… I won’t be able to.”

Steve rests his forehead against his, there is heat between them, “But I have you, right?”

“Yeah, took me a while to figure it out but… yeah. Yes. You have me, Steve. God, and I have you. And tomorrow, tomorrow you’re going to come over and pick me up at 6 in the evening so we can eat shitty pancakes at the diner.

And then we’ll figure this out together.”

Part 3 <💛 End, thank you for reading and for all the feedback!

[mcdynamite]

When everything settles down after Vecnapocalypse, Steve gets a call from the athletic director at Hawkins High School, and a day later, he accepts a part-time position as the assistant coach of the Hawkins High varsity basketball team.

Lucas is obviously stoked, and the other kids concede (after a few minutes of bemoaning Steve's return to the Dark Side) that it's a perfect job for him. Robin screeches with delight, and Nancy tells him she's proud of him, and Jonathan thumps him on the back with a quiet, "Congrats, man," and Eddie?

Well, Eddie just rolls his eyes and makes a joke about the Return of the King that goes right over Steve's head (but has the kids and, wouldn't ya know it, Nancy, grinning) and doesn't say much else.

It's probably stupid, but Eddie has actually (horrifyingly) grown to like hanging out with Steve. Sure, he knows next to nothing about D&D or Lord of the Rings or metal music, but that doesn't seem to matter all that much. He still listens to Eddie rant about all of those aforementioned interests and does his best to understand, even if he doesn't particularly care about the content of Eddie's latest campaign. He lets Eddie play Dio and Metallica and Black Sabbath for him, and even though Eddie can tell he's not really into most of their music, at the end of his "Musication" he gives Eddie a list of the songs he actually liked, so they have some stuff to listen to when they hang out that won't make one of them want to puncture their own eardrums.

He even looks genuinely apologetic (and, dare Eddie say, disappointed?) when he tells Eddie that it's not that he doesn't want to read Lord of the Rings. It's just that he can't, because reading is really fucking hard when the letters won't stop jumping all over the damn place.

The point is: Eddie likes Steve. He likes Steve's sarcastic quips and his attentiveness, and his hilarious but well-meaning and frighteningly successful mothering of the teenagers they apparently co-parent. Eddie likes Steve, and he likes being his friend, and he's afraid that this stupid Assistant Coach job will end up dragging Steve headfirst back into his King Steve days, and Steve will forget all about being friends with Eddie "The Freak" Munson.

It's so, so stupid, because while Eddie likes Steve, he also knows Steve, and he knows that Steve isn't the guy who used to hang around the Tommy Hagans of the world anymore. But the fear is there, and it's still there by the time the school year starts and Steve starts getting busy "prepping" for his new job, which... what? The basketball season doesn't start until January, so what the hell kind of prep would Steve be starting in August?

Eddie wonders, but he doesn't ask. He just anxiously waits to see if Steve will eventually decide to ditch him, and he continues to be quietly delighted when Steve always, always makes time for the two of them to hang out.

The thought of Steve going back into jock-mode still makes him kinda sick, but he'll never tell Steve that. Steve is way too excited for the start of the basketball season, and Eddie is gonna support him the same way Steve supports Eddie at his Corroded Coffin concerts: with begrudging interest and genuine pride, so help him God.

It goes on like this until one day, Eddie's begrudging interest suddenly becomes a little more genuine, when he accidentally stumbles upon what Steve meant for the last three months whenever he said he was "prepping for the season." 

He's got plans to hang out with Steve that afternoon, pulling up in his van fifteen minutes late because time management has never been one of his strong suits. Only, when he gets to Casa Harrington, he notices something strange. The garage is open.

The thing is, Steve always parks the Beemer in the driveway. He never uses the garage. Actually, Eddie didn't even realize Steve had a garage at all, until now, but he hears some clanging coming from inside and goes to investigate. He walks past the Beemer (parked in the driveway where it always is) and peers inside, expecting to maybe find Steve... repairing something? Reorganizing? Honestly, he has no clue what he thinks he'll find in there.

What he definitely doesn't expect to find is Steve Harrington in the middle of what appears to be a pretty fucking intense workout – hair and tank top damp with sweat, wearing frankly indecently short shorts, and breathing steadily as he does fucking pull-ups on the bar in his garage, which has apparently been converted into a whole goddamn home gym.

Eddie stops in his tracks and stares, affording himself a moment or two to have a teeny, tiny (enormous) crisis over it.

Steve hasn't noticed him yet, and Eddie can't tear his stupid eyes away from the way Steve's arms tremble from the exertion as he pulls himself up, face pinched into a concentrated frown. Eddie can see him gritting his teeth, can see the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining a little bit. Even worse, every time Steve lowers himself down, his stupid tank top rides up just enough to expose the (not at all soft, apparently) plains of his stomach, glistening with sweat, and God, Eddie wants to lick Steve fucking Harrington's abs like a-

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ, fucking shit, NO.

Listen... It's not like Eddie hasn't already known for years that he's gay. He's been fully aware of that since middle school. It's the reason his dad kicked him out and sent him to live with Wayne, for fuck's sake. It's just that Eddie has put a lot of effort into pretending his thoughts about Steve Harrington were totally, completely, 100% platonic up until this point, and now he can feel all of that hard work going down the metaphorical drain.

He stands there, stock still with his jaw hinged open, and stares while his brain melts out of his ears and his thoughts begin to race. God, those fucking arms. Eddie's not weak, but he's definitely weaker than Steve, which means Steve could definitely pin Eddie down if he wanted to. In a bed. Against the wall. On the hood of a car. Fuck, on the goddamn floor – Eddie's not picky! All he knows is that he wants Steve to leave the workout for later so Eddie can lick the sweat off of him, which... gross. But also hot. But also-

"Eddie?"

Oh, fuck. How does one talk to the sun?

Steve has noticed him standing there, obviously, which sort of makes Eddie wonder how long he's been staring. Time stopped in Eddie's world the moment a sweaty Steve Harrington entered his field of vision, so he truly has no idea how bad his staring got.

Christ, this is going to be so bad.

So, so bad.

"Eds?" Steve says, his face pinching into a frown. "You okay?"

Oh my god, you moron, say something! Eddie's brain screams at him.

"What?" Smooth. "Uh, yeah! Totally fine. Just, y'know, like, lost in thought, or whatever. Plotting my next demonic attempt at world domination. The usual."

Steve looks at him like he's grown a second head, which... is fair. But Eddie's fumbling attempt at speech is at least embarrassing enough to take precedence over the cacophonous sound of whatever Ode to Abs his mind was attempting to compose, and Eddie feels like he can think a little more clearly.

"Ah, fuck," Eddie mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs and looks at Steve apologetically. "I'm sorry, dude. I swear I'm fine. It's just been a weird day."

Steve cocks his head to the side like a particularly inquisitive puppy, and oh God, it's adorable. Eddie loathes how adorable it is. "Good weird?" Steve asks. "Or bad weird?"

Eddie ponders his answer for a moment, then replies with, "Weird weird."

That's enough to startle a laugh out of Steve, who shakes his head and wraps a towel around his neck. "Fair enough, man. Sorry about all of this, by the way." He gestures vaguely towards the home gym in his garage and shrugs sheepishly. "I was gonna be done before you got here but I sorta... lost track of time, I guess." He's got an unreadable look on his stupidly beautiful face, and Eddie doesn't like that at all. He doesn't like that one bit.

But he decides not to overthink it and brushes Steve's apology off with a wave of his hand. "It's whatever, dude. Might wanna shower, though." The ‘otherwise I might take it upon my gay little self to lick you clean’ is left blessedly unsaid.

Steve laughs again, and just like that, things start to feel a bit less earth-shattering. They banter for a bit longer, then Steve really does go to take a quick shower, and they spend the rest of the night lying on the floor of Steve's living room, listening to the metal mix tape they made together and bitching about their brood of teenagers.

Weirdly, though, after that day, Steve seems to be working out a lot more frequently. As in almost every single time he and Eddie have plans. Day after day, Eddie is treated to the sight of Steve Harrington looking like a goddamn Greek god, and day after day, Steve catches his eye and smiles before abandoning his equipment and acting like Eddie's world hasn't been completely turned on its head.

It's starting to drive him kind of insane, honestly, and his pining has gotten so bad that even Gareth and Jeff know.

"He's just so pretty!" Eddie whines for what feels like the thousandth time.

His band mates simply exchange a long-suffering look and let him ramble.

It all comes to a head in November, just before Thanksgiving, when Eddie shows up and once again finds Steve finishing a workout. Just like always, Steve shoots him a good-natured grin and greets him before heading inside for a quick shower, and just like always, Eddie waits downstairs.

NOT like always, however, this time Steve comes jogging down the stairs with wet hair, wearing a pair of joggers and... absolutely nothing else.

It's been a long time since Eddie last saw Steve without a shirt on (since the day at Lover's Lake when they found watergate, to be precise), and suddenly Eddie is remembering why he'd immediately pulled out a cigarette to calm down that day. Only this time it's even worse, because Steve has really been putting effort into these workouts, and it shows.

His chest is toned and covered in coarse hair that Eddie kind of wants to tug on, just to see what sort of sounds Steve would make if he did. He's got the makings of an honest-to-God six pack just barely visible on his abdomen, partially obscured by scars Eddie recognizes from looking at his own in the mirror. Steve's are slightly smaller and not as deep, but they clearly came from the same sets of tiny jaws, and Eddie finds them weirdly comforting, these matching scars that they share. Steve's look pale in contrast against his skin, and God, Eddie just wants to kiss them. He wants to worship them and every other inch of the man who bears them.

The man who definitely just said something Eddie didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to pass out from mere proximity to something so beautiful.

"Sorry, what?" Eddie asks, shaking his head violently in an attempt to dispel his traitorous thoughts.

Steve smirks, but Eddie can see the soft fondness in his eyes when he cocks his head to the side and repeats the words Eddie missed the first time. "I asked if you see something you like, Munson," Steve teases, one hand carding wet hair out of his face, and Eddie just blinks at him.

Play it off, play it off, play it off, his brain supplies helpfully. He can totally play this off. Dudes stare at their friends’ chests all the time, right?

"What?" he practically squeaks. "I- well... no, wait, um... ah, fuck."

So much for plausible deniability.

He's just beginning to feel vaguely panicky when Steve seems to catch on, and he's right in front of Eddie in an instant, concerned, hazel eyes gazing down at Eddie's grimacing face.

"Hey," Steve says, reaching out like he wants to touch Eddie but thinks better of it. "It's okay, man. You're okay. I'm just messing with you."

The impact of his words is instant, and Eddie can feel his face heating up. Of course Steve was joking. God, Eddie is such an idiot.

"Right," Eddie says, voice strained. He rubs his face with both hands, shaking his head lightly. "Duh. Obviously you were teasing." His voice sounds strange even to his own ears, and he's got a weird feeling of anticipation in his stomach that tells him that he's already shown too many of his cards.

"I mean, yeah..." Steve says, seeming nervous for the first time since Eddie got here. His hands flit from the back of his neck to his hair to his waist, like he doesn't know what to do with them. "Teasing is, like, flirting 101, so..."

Eddie freezes.

"Oh my God, wait..." he says slowly, finally daring to meet Steve's confused eyes. "Flirting?"

Steve looks utterly perplexed now, and he does that thing where he cocks his head to the side in confusion. 

It's still adorable. Fuck, why is it so adorable? 

"Um... yes?" He studies Eddie, seems to register the shock on his face, and then matches it with shock of his own. "Wait, you didn't know? I thought you knew!"

"I most certainly did not!" Eddie counters, feeling a bit like he's having an out-of-body experience.

"Oh my God," Steve says. "Oh my God, Eddie, I've been flirting with you for, like, months!"

"Months?!" Eddie's voice has officially reached the stratosphere.

"Yes!" Steve yelps. He looks torn between laughing and crying, though Eddie thinks it'll be mildly hilarious no matter what choice he makes. "Jesus, dude, I winked at you while I was doing pull-ups last week! What did you think that was?"

"A hallucination!" Eddie says immediately. "You're straight, Harrington!"

At that, Steve snorts, then shakes his head.

Eddie's pretty sure his brain is melting by now.

"Yeah, um, no," Steve says firmly. "I'm definitely not straight."

"You... I... What? Since when?"

"Well..." Steve begins, briefly glancing away. "Since forever, technically. Probably. But officially, since that time I made out with Tommy H. after we got wasted at a party sophomore year. And if that wasn't enough proof, I think the amount of time I’ve spent staring at your ass lately definitely is."

Eddie stares at him. "Am I dead?" he asks dumbly. "Is this Heaven? Am I having a fucking stroke?"

Steve's laughter is bright when it rings through his living room, and Eddie is grateful when Steve carefully raises a hand to cup his cheek, because the soft touch is grounding in the best way. 

"Definitely not dead, Eds," Steve says. "And shit, I hope you're not having a stroke. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Eddie just blinks at him, because Steve has one hand on Eddie's cheek and the other on Eddie's arm, and he's definitely not holding up any fingers. "Zero, Harrington, what the fuck?" he says weakly.

Steve laughs – no, scratch that, he giggles. He fucking giggles. 

If Eddie isn't dead yet, he's about to be. 

"Good. See?" Steve says. "Not having a stroke."

"I don't think that's how strokes work, dude," Eddie says weakly.

"No?" Steve asks, though he's still smiling, and he looks wholly unbothered by Eddie's doubting of his medical prowess.

Eddie shakes his head, eyes wide as Steve huffs out a laugh and slips an arm around his waist to pull him closer. They're practically chest to chest now, and Eddie is suddenly reminded of how very shirtless Steve currently is. He's mildly horrified by the way his hands tremble slightly when he rests them flat against the center of Steve's chest, but it's not like anyone can blame him! He's only ever kissed a couple of people before, and now he's somehow found himself in the arms of a half naked Steve Harrington. So, yeah, he's feeling a little jittery. Sue him.

If Steve notices the jitters, though, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he gives Eddie a soft, disarming smile that makes Eddie feel pathetically weak at the knees. "So..." Steve says, cheeks turning a pretty pink color. "Hi."

A slightly manic bark of laughter bursts from Eddie's lungs, but it only seems to make Steve smile wider. "Yeah, hi, Stevie," Eddie breathes. 

And then he nearly stops breathing completely when Steve's thumb drags gently across his cheek. It's such a sweet gesture that Eddie thinks he might melt right into the floorboards.

"So..." Steve murmurs again, gaze not leaving Eddie's. "It has recently been brought to my attention that you didn't realize I was flirting with you this whole time."

Eddie doesn't need a mirror to know that his face flushes bright red at Steve's words.

"But I have been," Steve continues. He bites his lip, almost like he's nervous, which is ridiculous because what the fuck is there about Eddie that could be making Steve Harrington nervous right now? "Like, I've been doing it constantly, because you're funny, and sweet, and sort of adorable, but also kinda hot? Y'know, because you have the tattoos and stuff, and you're all dramatic all the time, and it's hot, but then sometimes you do that thing where you hide your face behind your hair, and it's so fucking cute, Eddie, I mean..."

Steve trails off, cheeks growing even pinker after seemingly realizing that he's been rambling, and Eddie feels like he's going insane.

"Anyway," Steve says, clearing his throat. "I like you, Eddie. Like, a lot. And I've sort of been dying to kiss you for, like, months, so-"

Eddie never lets Steve finish his sentence, because the moment the word kiss leaves his mouth, Eddie is leaning forward and pressing their lips together in a soft, fleeting kiss that's over far too fast.

So fast, in fact, that it takes a moment for reality to catch up to Eddie afterwards. He's already pulling away by the time it hits him: he just kissed Steve Harrington.

He, Eddie fucking Munson, just kissed Steve fucking Harrington.

"Holy shit," Eddie mutters, gaze flitting back and forth between Steve's wide eyes. "Holy shit."

There's a brief pause, and then Steve starts to laugh.

It starts as a soft chuckle and slowly transforms into bright, elated laughter that echoes off the walls and bathes the whole room in sunlight, never mind the rainy day outside. It's light and happy and beautiful, and Eddie unfreezes after a moment to add his own laughter to the mix. He drops his head onto Steve's shoulder, a shiver running down his spine when Steve's arms come around him automatically, like they were made to fit together like this.

Eddie wonders if maybe they were.

When their laughter finally dies down, Steve carefully pulls back just enough to meet Eddie's eyes again, and Eddie smiles shyly up at him.

"Sorry," Eddie says without a hint of guilt in his voice. "You said the word kiss and I panicked."

Steve just shakes his head and grins. "See? Like I said - adorable." One of his hands raises to cradle Eddie's cheek again, and Eddie doesn't hesitate before leaning into the touch. "But if it's okay with you," Steve says softly, “I'd really like to give you a proper kiss, now."

And yep, it's official. Steve Harrington is going to be the death of him.

Eddie can't fucking wait.

He nods and lets his gaze flit down to Steve's lips for a fraction of a second before Steve is closing the distance between them, and oh... this is so much better than the quick, vaguely frantic press of lips they exchanged only a few moments ago. Eddie takes back every judgemental comment he's ever made about the girls who were obsessed with Steve Harrington in high school, because he gets it now.

Oh, God, he gets it.

Because Steve kisses him, soft and sure, like Eddie is the only thing that matters in all the world. It's gentle and sweet and perfect – not an ounce of hesitation in the way Steve slots their lips together. And then Steve just... stays there, like he's giving Eddie a moment to catch up, to process what's happening.

He's so goddamn patient – so fucking kind – and Christ, Eddie adores him for it.

Steve pulls back just enough to break the kiss, and Eddie doesn't whine. He doesn't. But it's okay, because Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long, threading his fingers through Eddie's curls and using them as leverage to tug him even closer into a kiss that turns Eddie's legs to jelly. Steve's tongue slides against Eddie's so beautifully, and his hands are so strong, and he smells like lemony soap and minty toothpaste (did Steve brush his teeth after showering? God, he's ridiculous. He’s perfect.) and Eddie can feel the muscles in Steve's chest shift whenever they move, and, and, and...

And yeah, this time when Steve pulls away, breath coming quicker and eyes shining with happiness, Eddie does whine. Or maybe it's a whimper. Maybe it's both. Christ, Eddie doesn't care. He'll keep making that noise forever if Steve keeps looking at him like this.

"Fuck," Eddie breathes. He knows he probably looks embarrassingly awestruck, but he can't find it in himself to care. "How are you so fucking hot, Steve? What the fuck?" His face is on fire, but Steve just laughs – nope, there's that giggle again – and kisses Eddie's forehead.

Eddie's pretty sure he's melting, but honestly? Worth it.

"I don't know if you've noticed," Steve teases, "but I've actually been working out a lot lately..."

Not even Eddie's lovesickness could protect Steve from the playful smack he gets for that.

"Did I notice?" Eddie huffs. "You're the worst, Harrington."

Steve just smiles and kisses him again.

[fuctacles]

Congrats on 800 followers!

For the request thing…I would love to see something (smutty and/or fluffy) about Transmasc Eddie being comforted by cis Steve. Maybe after being misgendered in regard to their relationship?

I love your writing so much!

Thank you so much <3 I hope this works :3 800 wc for 800 698 followers, M rating | Ao3

"You can't bring your girlfriend into the bathroom, man."

"Excuse me?"

Just this is enough to put Steve into attack mode. He can feel Eddie's hand tighten around his in warning.

"Yeah, we have a no-bathroom-fucking policy after the last incident." The guy that stopped them has the decency to at least look bashful, rubbing his cheek awkwardly. Steve can almost sympathize, if stopping horny couples is a task he's supposed to do on the daily.

Almost.

"I'm sure me and my boyfriend can find a better place to fuck," he says dryly.

The guy's eyes widen, then flicker to the side, where Eddie is hovering awkwardly.

"Shit, dude, I'm so sorry—"

"So do you stop only hetero couples?" Steve interrupts him with a quirk of an eyebrow, bitch mode in full swing. "Or did your management just forget queer people exist?"

He opens his mouth, but closes it, rendered speechless.

"Or are they actually heterophobic and want only gay sex to happen in their bathrooms?" Steve cocks his head to the side.

"I don't—"

"So can me and my boyfriend go pee or...? We'll hold our hands while doing so," he raises their joined palms. "But nothing more, I promise."

"Just go," the man says tiredly, his expression pained.

"Thanks," Steve nods to him. "And consider simple no-fucking signs."

Finally free from the bar worker, Eddie pulls Steve towards the bathroom. Once inside and away from the loud music, he falls against the door with a sigh.

"Sorry," he says, hands hiding his face.

"What for?" Steve asks, latching the door closed.

"I don't know," Eddie groans in frustration. "For not cutting my hair, maybe? Maybe then I'd look like a man," he scoffs.

"Do I have to list off all the guys with long hair again?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"Ozzy Osbourne, Dio, Slash..." he starts listing on his fingers anyway.

"Steve."

Steve drops his hand.

"Listen, if that guy assumes every person with long hair is a girl, then clearly he's not listening to enough metal."

Eddie lets out an involuntary snort, and Steve grins at the sound.

"And should we believe what an uncultured philistine without taste has to say?"

"No," Eddie admits with a fond roll of his eyes.

"Good," Steve smiles and leans down to kiss him. "Because I love your hair."

"I love it too," Eddie groans, his frustration still not gone. "I just wish it didn't make me feel this way."

"I know, Eds. But it's okay to feel like this, it's normal that it hurts," Steve reminds him, wrapping him in a hug. "You're a man to those who matter, who know what good music is."

Eddie's laughs gets muffled against his shoulder.

"That's true."

"And you're not going to change things you like about yourself because of a stranger's opinion."

"Hell no."

They stay quiet, just enjoying the warmth and comfort of their embrace, until Eddie speaks up again.

"Thank you."

"I'm just reminding you your own words."

"Still."

"Well, in that case, you're welcome, baby."

"Okay, but now I really have to pee."

They disentangle themselves to reach the urinals, but not before Steve lands another peck on his lips.

Eddie always takes longer in the bathroom, considering the time it takes him to disentangle and adjust his packer, but once he's free, he sees movement in his periphery. Steve is holding out his hand.

With a laugh, he grabs it, so they can pee hand in hand.

Once at they are at the sinks, they meet each other's eyes in the mirror.

"I kind of wanna fuck in the bathroom now," Steve admits.

Eddie makes a face and looks pointedly around. It's not the worst bathroom he's been in, but it's still a bar bathroom.

"You're not fucking me here," he says decisively. Steve hums.

"No, but you could fuck me."

Now that's a thought. One Eddie didn't plan in advance.

"Sorry, left my dick at home."

"Babe, you can make me come on just your fingers," Steve reminds him, leaning sideways against the sink to properly look at him.

Eddie pulls a strand of hair over his mouth at the reminder.

"Well..."

"Or we can always make a show and pretend just for kicks." His boyfriend suggests with a mischievous smile.

That, makes Eddie's eyes sparkle.

"We absolutely can," he quickly agrees.

Steve throws himself at the door with a rough slam, and moans in his best impression of a cheesy porn star.

"Fuck, I love you so much," Eddie attacks his mouth with no less enthusiasm. He starts moving his hips against his leg and groan to the rhythm, Steve rattling the door and whimpering along. "I can still fuck you after, right?"

Steve moans again, now more genuinely from the mere thought.

"You'd try not to."

I suck at tags: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

[cenittxnadir]

Lunch Box SingleDad!Miguel O´Hara x Reader

I think i'm going to make a small serie of SingleDad Miguel. Its going to have small fics, drabbles and headcanons. This is the second one I make, but is not a sequel so can read it any order you want.

You have been dating Miguel for awhile now and everything was perfect. Gaby and you got along quite fast, a little too fast. But she loves you and you love her.

Her favorite thing is the weekend, that means that you would stay at their house, so she has you and her dad for two whole days. She knows that Miguel has a time consuming job yours was a little more flexible but still.

Miguel loved how things were going, he was really happy but he couldn't help to feel a little bit jealous about the little bond you made with her daughter. Don't get him wrong, he loves you both, of course his type of love is different from one to another. He loves how you care for Gabriela and how she loves to spend time with you, but sometimes he feels that he's left outside. He just couldn't help it, he wants to have that communication that you have with her daughter, she tells you things that probably she would never tell him about, on the other side, he wants to have your full undivided attention only for him. There are days when he doesn't want to share his daughter and others when he doesn't want to share you.

You knew about it, he gets all grumpy when he hears you talking low in Gaby's room when you have your "girls night". He has tried to walk "by accident" in the middle of your chat only to get a "it's nothing" in response and then a few giggles when he leaves the room. Gaby and you use this to bother him.

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

It had just past one of those weekends, and now it was monday, your day off, so you didn´t left.

Miguel heard his alarm sound, he turn it off with a groan and turn his boby to reach you, but he felt your bed space empty he got up quickly from his place looking for you, you were nowhere in the bedroom, all lights where out except for the little light that came out under the door meaning someone was on the kitchen or living room.

Against his will he got up, he felt cold without your presence. He rubbed his sleepines off his face with his hands. He didn´t want to get up yet, he would dragg you back to bed and sleep late until he had to "call sick" so he can spend more time with you.

When he arrived to the kitchen he saw you there, looking for something in the freezer, you were still in pijamas wich was pretty much some shorts and a shirt courtesy of Miguel's closet. He can hear the sizzle of the pans on the stove and the smell of whatever you were cooking.

"What are you doing up? It´s 6:15 am" His voice was low and groggy.

You gave a little jump, you didn´t expected to see him awake you turn to see him with a hand in her chest. "Dios mío Miguel, give me a warning." He just kept looking at her waiting for an answer. "Oh, I´m making a lunch box for Gabriela"

"Why? She eats at school" He look at you more confused

"Oh, well hehe, she told me that last week there was an insect on her smash potatoes"

"Why I didn´t knew about this?" An insect on his daugther´s food!? That was unacceptable, he would definitely change her from school.

"Because she didn´t want to worry you, besides i´m more than happy to cook for her, its not the first time I make her a lunch box, I usually made them in my apartment and bring them to her school in my luch hour" You star packing everything in her lunch box - funny thing: it was from Spiderman-

His eyes never left you, he followed every movement you made until his stomach rumbled in the middle of the silences. You looked at him. "I´m going to start breakfast. Go get ready."

He gave one last look to the lunch box then he turn to you standing in the middle just like a small kid. "Hmmm... Love? Can i get..." he lower his voice.

You turn to see him "You can get what?"

"I said if I could get..." Again. He wisper

"Mi amor habla más fuerte, no te entiendo. ¿Qué necesitas?"

"Que si puedo tener una yo también" He exchange looks between the lunch box and you.

"A lunch box? You want me to make one for you?"

"Yes please"

You couldn't keep yourself from smiling "Claro que si mi amorcito, I can make you one" You grab his face "Go get ready for work"

Minutes later everyone had finished eating Gabi clean the table while Miguel was getting his stuff in the trunk once he was done he told Gabriela to get in the car and wait for him.

He ran back to the kitchen to grab his lunch box in the counter.

"Wait Miguel, you forgot your dessert" You handle him a small box similar to the bigger one which contains the main food only that this one was cold. "Keep it cold until dessert time my love, its a surprise"

"Gracias"

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

He can´t concentrate in work, he was constantly looking to the small freezer that he kept in his office, far from Hobie - he tend to stole his food- checking allmost every minute his watch hoping time moves faster so lunch time could arrive and finaly eat whatever you made him.

Finally lunch time arrived and he enjoy every single bite of his food, he felt like a kid again, eating home food in peace. Once hi finished his food he began to clean everything until he found the small box, he was full but he didn´t care it was his dessert, made by his lovly girlfirend, of course he´s going to eat it.

He opened the box, it took him a while to process what was happening, he grabbed what was inside lifting it up to get a better look. It was a strawberry, a blue one, with something red on it. Once he took a better look he almost let a squeal scape his lips, they were straberries covered in blue chocolate with some marks made with red chocoalte pretending to be his Spiderman mask.

He was definitely going to hide them from Hobie.

[mmhcs]

Miguel O'Hara x Tall!Reader

A/N: (I haven't seen many fics covering this topic so I thought that I'd throw my hat in the ring today). This is dedicated to all the tall girls out there! Y'all are beautiful and amazing!

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but mostly SFW focus on legs, reader is female(if you'd like to see a gender-neutral version, please let me know!), reader is described as having a curvier lower body (only at one point, though), Miguel is absolutely head-over-heels for reader (pun-intended!)

Okay, y'all. Look at this man. He is 6'9". Big. Very big. Often times, he's the biggest person in the room. Tall and intimidating. And while he likes that (he is the big, scary boss. Hear him roar!), there are times in which he wishes that there was somebody who could relate to him. Like, do you know how hard it is to find shoes at 6'9"?

Now, don't get him wrong, Miguel loves women of all shapes and sizes. Short, tall, average height, skinny, chubby - he doesn't care. But when he saw you? It was like he had a spiritual awakening. Seeing you walk down the hallways of the Spider Society, suit hugging your curves...It did something to him.

Especially when he saw the mold of your legs. For the first time in a long time, Miguel felt himself getting a little nervous. Never had he seen another Spider dominate the room like you did. During your first few days, people used to stare whenever you entered the room - not out of fear as they did with him - but out of awe. You were gorgeous but your height - it just took you over the top.

From your first day forward, all Miguel would hear about is you.

"Did you see the new Spider?" "Yeah, she's really tall! What do you think she does in her professional life? Model?" "Oh my gosh, look at her! She looks good in that suit!"

Whenever you and Miguel would have conversations, he found it hard to focus. First, you have a stunning face but those legs? Oh, he was a goner. Though he had only seen you with in your Spider-suit, Miguel couldn't help but take a liking to your legs. Your thighs, though comprised of muscle - jiggled when you walked, and your calves looked as firm as his demeanor on a bad morning. Miguel had never had a thing for legs before (or at least not to his knowledge) but now he found himself fascinated by your legs and their length and angles. He could spend days worshipping the curvature between your calves and thighs.

When Miguel finally does see you out of uniform? He needs to leave the room. Don't ask why, he just does.

When you two finally start dating, Miguel can't take his eyes off of you. All he can do is stare (mainly at your legs) and thank Padre Dios that he managed to pull you into his life.

But, while what initially made you stand out to Miguel was your height, it actually doesn't play that big of a role in your relationship. As time goes on and lust simmers into love, you and Miguel are just a regular couple.

Though he doesn't spend much time in his home (or didn't until you), Miguel's space is tailor-made for him. Meaning chairs, couches, tables, and shelves big and high enough to accommodate him and his height. While a small thing to note, he's glad that he finally has someone doesn't find issue with it all.

Miguel is aware of the of the stereotypes and jabs thrown at girls of your stature and so he does his best to constantly remind you that you are beautiful, attractive, feminine, etc.

If you're shorter than him (doesn't even matter if it's an inch), he likes to crack short jokes with you here and there.

"Bebita, come look at this!" Miguel yells from his in front of your bedroom's television. "What is it, Miguel?" you ask, peaking your head out of the bathroom. "They say it's going to be windy today," He juts his chin towards the TV screen before refocusing on tying his tie. "Take precaution." "Miguel," you scoff. "What? I don't want you getting swept up by the wind." "Okay, firstly, you know damn well-"

If you're taller than him, Miguel also has jokes for that.

"Bebita, could you please pass me that plate over there?" Miguel asks, pointing his chin at a cabinet shelf that is directly at eye level with him. "Miguel," you give him a pointed look. He shrugs at you, continuing to wash the dishes. "Hey, don't put things up so high if you don't want me to ask you to get them." (For the next week, you started putting all the dishes in the bottom drawer)

The jokes, however, are only reserved for him. If anyone else makes a joke about your height, Miguel gets upset. Just ask Hobie. One time, Hobie asked you how you couldn't tell him what the weather was like from up there (all in good fun) and Miguel, who had no context of the conversation and walked in at the wrong time almost crucified him.

Miguel secretly loves how you two look together. As the head of the Spider Society (again, he likes to be the big, scary boss man), he enjoys the presence that you two create together. Domineering, commanding. Whether you two are in uniform or formal clothing - when you two talk, people listen.

If you work out, Miguel loves to go to the gym with you. Not only because he likes to see you in workout gear (though trust him, that is a very, very, very big plus) but because he finally has somebody who understands the struggle of putting on (visible) muscle.

Miguel loves kisses with you. He's always been very big physical touch in relationships but never before has it been so easy to just steal a kiss. And so, it has been become his favorite pastime.

Miguel loves to see you in dresses and shorts and heels. Anything that accentuates your height. Sometimes when you come home, you see a dress or a new pair of shoes that you've been wanting. However, other times, you find an article of clothing or shoes from a brand that you didn't even know existed. But if it's jeans or a maxi dress, they always cover your legs, if it's a regular shirt, your stomach isn't exposed, and whatever it is always looks good on you.

Sometimes when cuddling, Miguel will just start tracing and/or kneading random parts of your body because there's just so much of you to love and he doesn't know where to start.

At the end of each and every day, no matter if you're taller or shorter than him, Miguel likes to make you feel safe and protected. He likes to play the role of protector/provider and makes you feel taken care of and comfortable.

Bonus: "Your children are going to be some stallions, ain't they?" Hobie says, looking between you and Miguel. You laugh but Miguel glares at him with a scowl that would make most start running for the hills. "Stallions, eh?" you repeat later that night, in bed with him. While not a fan of you slowly assimilating to Hobie's humor, Miguel chuckles dryly and pulls you closer to him. "Indeed," he says, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

akio and the coffin

it’s fascinating how akio both literally IS the coffin of ohtori academy and, simultaneously, is trapped by it. ohtori academy is in many ways a manifestation of the ugly side of adolescence, of clinging on to something in your past and refusing to move forward in your life. every character has something they continue to hold on to despite the fact that they ought to let it go for the sake of growing and maturing. for example, saionji has his inferiority complex regarding touga, his refusal to let go of the simplicity of their childhood together when he felt that they stood on the same ground, and that touga saw him as an equal. everything he does in the series is an attempt to make himself feel as though he is finally on equal grounds with touga. if he would only stop tying his self-image to the perception that touga is somehow above him, that touga looks down on him, then he would be able to let go of that sense of inferiority and move on. but he can’t. juri refuses to let go of the pain she feels regarding her past with shiori, and continues to see shiori as someone who is “innocent”, albeit cruelly - someone who is unknowing of the pain she causes juri through her actions when in fact, shiori in seducing the boy she thought juri loved was deliberately acting to hurt her. if juri would only realize and accept the true intentions behind shiori’s behavior, then she could get one step closer to understanding shiori, to being understood by her, and moving past the pain of shiori’s betrayal. but she can’t. 

most of the characters, except utena and anthy of course, remain in ohtori by the end of the show. while they’ve all made progress in “maturing” thanks to the events they experienced throughout the series - both saionji and touga’s as well as juri and shiori’s relationships have gotten visibly better, as shown in the final medley of scenes - they still have more growing to do, hence why they remain in ohtori academy until their time comes. one day, the show suggests, they might also revolutionize their own worlds - their own selves - and finally leave the coffin of ohtori behind as well. 

so where does that leave akio? i think he can be said to literally be the coffin of ohtori in that he is explicitly shown to try to manipulate others into remaining stagnant, to clinging on to whatever toxic things they are struggling to process and come to terms with, though this is of course only shown via the characters he most directly interacts with. naturally it comes across most clearly with anthy, although i think utena and to a less direct extent, touga, are the other two people who are the most straightforwardly influenced by him. when it comes to anthy, she clings to her love for the person her brother used to be, the older brother who, at least as she perceived, was kind and caring and wanted to protect people. to protect that older brother, she willingly took on the hatred of the world, and continues to endure the pain of it to this day for what is implied to be centuries. but akio has shown time and time again, through the repeating dueling cycles, that if he was ever kindhearted and genuinely caring, those parts of him are gone now. i do believe he cares about anthy to an extent even now, but whatever affection he has for her is paltry in comparison to his desire to reclaim his power as prince dios. it’s for that purpose that he set up the entire dueling system, for which he freely allows duelists to treat anthy like a prize and an object. and additionally, because anthy is so integral to the power he has now in ohtori, he uses emotional, psychological, physical, and sexual abuse to keep her tied to him. he’s willing to not just let her wellbeing come last, but puts it at the bottom of the list of priorities, and actively tears it down himself for his own benefit. anthy knows all this - but because she still holds onto that love that she had for who he used to be, she stays with him and does his bidding. and that’s what akio wants. he is the coffin, wishing to keep people in their states of despair, conflict, and pain, therefore ensuring that they are compliant and vulnerable to his manipulation. 

at the same time, akio is trapped by the coffin like everyone else. he, like all the other characters, has something that he ought to move on from for his own sake as well as the sake of the people around him: his goal to reclaim his powers as prince dios. akio has failed in this goal every single dueling cycle that happened before the show’s events, and as displayed in the final episode, he definitively fails the one that takes place during the show as well. he can attempt the cycle over and over and over again, redo and tweak and modify the dueling system however many times and in whatever ways he wants - it’s all useless. there is no sword that can break open the rose gate. there is no way to reclaim his powers. they’re gone, that part of his life is over, and if he accepted that fact, it would allow him to move on and heal from what he experienced. but he can’t. at the very end of the series, right before anthy leaves ohtori for good, he’s typing away just as diligently as he ever did and, completely oblivious, tells anthy that he’s rewriting the rules of the rose crest, that he’ll be counting on her again. and i didn’t pick up on this until rewatching the episode, but it really just hits you then how utterly stupid he looks, working so hard and speaking so confidently about the upcoming dueling cycles as if any of them are ever going to matter in the slightest. i love anthy’s response to him too; i love the subtle but at the same time so blatant scorn in her words: “you really don’t know what’s happened, do you?” because once again, throughout all this, akio has learned nothing. he hasn’t realized it’s useless, what he’s trying to do; he hasn’t realized all the effort and pain and anguish he’ll cause in people for yet another dueling cycle will never make any difference. he is unable to come to terms with the reality that he will never have his powers as prince dios back. he refuses to move on. 

akio is the coffin of ohtori, wanting to keep others in stagnation and regret. he’s also trapped by the coffin, incapable of maturing past his own stagnation and regret. and it really, really says something that all of the other major characters of the show, who have been in ohtori for far shorter a time than he has, have been able to make visible strides in their growth. anthy, who is the only one comparable to akio in terms of duration at ohtori, revolutionizes her world and leaves. meanwhile akio, as deluded and self-unaware as he is, hasn’t made a single step of progress in all this time. the only thing he does is call in bewildered desperation after anthy as she finally leaves him behind, still totally clueless as to what has happened. 

tldr; i once saw an author say one of her characters represents inertia, in fact he is inertia. i think that’s a spot-on explanation of akio, at least in terms of what he symbolizes in the story. i want to beat him in the dick with a cactus

[spdrvyn]

parched P2 — MIGUEL O'HARA

(( here's the part 2 that i mentioned in the last one !! this isn't explicit, however it is steamy, legally i shouldn't be writing explicit stuff anyway so sorry to the horny horny miguel fans out there. spoiler-free as usual ))

READ PART 1 HERE.

Whatever Miguel couldn't say in words, he'd express in actions.

He's always been like that, when you first met him, when you first started falling in love with him, when you first started dating him. Right now, it was when he was on top of you. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear, kissing every inch of you.

You were well aware of the fact that he's lacked such a gentle, loving touch for most if not all of his life. After all, he didn't seem like the biggest sap when you two were only knew each other as acquaintances.

He kept to himself most of the time when he was with you, he didn't normally engage in it unless you initiated it first. A hand at his bicep, his shoulder, his cheek.

Oh, how badly he wanted to hide that he needed it. Needed you.

Slowly but surely, he started feeling comfortable laying more than a single finger on you. Whenever he walked you home, a hand at the small of your back. Wiping stray bits of food on your mouth whenever you ate lunch together. The little things, it drove you crazy.

Your chest swelled with pride at the thoght of how far he's come, letting his guard down around you.

Not forgetting that ever since he finished 'getting fixed up', he was all over you. Smothering you with kisses, letting you sink further and further into the sheets and pillows.

"Missed this, missed you so much, amor." He uttered, his hand tangled in your hair. Tugging on it occasionally to pull you closer and closer to him, as if you weren't already. "Don't even want to think about what it was like out there. Dios, se sentía como el infierno."

At this point, you had a hard time telling if something really bad happened at work or if this is just him being needy. However, you didn't want to pry. It was clear that he was enjoying himself.

Really enjoying himself from how, once again, you felt something sharp sink into the crook between your shoulder and neck. Wincing, you whine at him. He revels in it.

"Not even one hour has passed of coming home to me and you're already trying to leave a mark." You pout, as to which he responds with a wolfish grin. "Sorry, sorry. Just can't help it sometimes. You're delectable."

Fangs really weren't something that you thought that you'd be into. Not like you've really encountered anyone with fangs in your life, Miguel was the first one. The first time you cracked a joke with him, he laughed. You got a glimpse of the canines that peeked through his gums, yet it didn't terrify you. As shameful as he used to be of them when he revealed his occupation to you.

Now, it felt like he used them daily, on you to be more specific. Like you were a staple and he was a stapler remover, which was silly but an accurate description of what it was like.

As he normally does, he decides to rub it in.

"But at the same time, don't act like you don't enjoy them. I can basically see the look on your face whenever I leave one. On your neck."

He punctured the skin, a little to draw blood. Which made you gasp, moving to scold him until he holds your arm down. Cutting you off.

"Your shoulder."

He moves down, kissing you as he does so. Before he bites down again, a little harder. Rougher this time.

"Your thighs."

The thumping of your heart is drumming in your ears as he hooks your thighs over his shoulders, massaging the soft flesh with his fingers before leaving two very prominent bite marks on them now.

He licks the blood clean off of his lips, coming back up to you with a smirk. His thumb caresses your chin as you stare at him. "Ah, that face. That's the one I'm talking about, mi vida."

You still have no idea what he's saying, before you could even delve deeper into it. He captures your lips with a soft chuckle.

Guess you'll never know.

[vividwritinglove]

Mile High Club - Carlos Sainz

I was inspired by Carlos' Instagram story 😂 enjoy!

pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader

warning: smut

word count: 1.5K

____________________________________________

"What are you doing?" you ask Carlos as he busily types away on his cell phone. You see that he's composing a text and wonder what he's so meticulously writing down.

"I'm giving my followers on Instagram, some tips on how to prevent a jet lag."

You and Carlos are currently on a flight from Madrid to Dubai, then transferring to another plane to Melbourne. You usually accompany Carlos to race weekends in Europe, as the short distances are clearly more pleasant to travel. You've only flown long-haul twice before, and that never in First Class. The comfort or rather luxury made the long flight a lot more pleasant.

"Which would be?" you inquire with interest, putting your book aside and leaning in further towards him. You two share a cabin. Somehow, it's disconcerting that despite the number of passengers on board, you were able to be so private and secluded. On top of that, your little compartment was very cozy.

"You can read all about it in my story..." he mumbles as he continues typing.

You pull a pout. All you wanted was some attention and affection from your boyfriend. Carlos has always been very reserved and especially in public. He loves you, more than anything in the world, but physical touch is not his love language compared to yours. He loves spending time with you, but hugging, caressing and kissing you in front of everyone is just not his thing. He is loving and caring, but only ever in your private togetherness.

"I want you to explain it to me though..." you continue to pout and start a new attempt to get Carlos' undivided attention. He looks up at you from his phone and sees you leaning in close, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Oi, cariño! Don't look at me like that..."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Please just don't..."

You fall dramatically back in your seat and cross your arms in front of your chest. Again, there's that pout and this time it's justified.

Carlos groans a little annoyed, but then relents. "So..." he begins, explaining his stay-awake method for the first flight. You watch him closely. In everything he does, he is always so passionate. Even if it's just about a simple Instagram post. When Carlos talks, it's always with his hands. His long and talented fingers which he knows exactly how to use. Your gaze wanders to his face and gets stuck on his lips. His full and beautiful lips.

He is such a good kisser. You'd love to fall around his neck right now and nibble on that plump lower lip. Just as he's telling you about the importance of light conditions, you're done. You put your hand on his thigh and it completely throws him off his game. He looks at your hand and then back at you. He knows this look all too well and has to swallow hard, "Mi amor, please...".

Innocently you look at him and have that smug grin on your lips, "Go ahead!".

Nervously, he shifts in his seat, making sure no one can look into your separate compartment. He clears his throat and tries to remember the last point on his list. Which is getting harder and harder as your hand continues to move up until it's on his crotch. Carlos puts his head in the back of his neck and moans a little excited. Within a few seconds he is hard, this can be clearly felt under the fabric of his jeans. You take your other hand to it and open his pants with skillful grips, "I know another method to keep you awake.".

"Ay, Dios mio..." he moans out as you finally reach into his boxers, freeing his hard cock and gently taking it in your hand. With an animalistic look, he looks at you. His pupils so dilated that barely any of his amber iris can be seen. His hands grip the armrests of his seat even tighter and his hips jerk eagerly towards your hand. Now he is addicted to your touch and wants you to intensify your movements.

"Please don't stall me like this..." he literally begs you, whispering so that the passengers around you don't notice anything, or at least as little as possible. You smile triumphantly and slide off your seat to kneel between his legs. The sight of his cock excites you too and without hesitation you take him in your mouth.

Carlos bites his lower lip at this contact to prevent a loud groan. A rumble escapes his throat, this only sports you further on.

Carlos is big, too big to take him completely into your mouth. You struggle until you feel him deep in your throat. Tears shoot into your eyes as Carlos rhythmically thrusts his hips forward. He holds your open hair together in a ponytail with his fist and now sets the rhythm. You give yourself to him and let him fuck your mouth. As loving as he is to you, he could also be dominant and you would be lying if you said you didn't like it at all.

Carlos is getting closer to an orgasm, but he doesn't want to cum in your mouth. "Come here." he prompts you and pulls your mouth from his cock. Now you look at him a bit surprised. Neither he nor you are people who are quiet during sex, but Carlos is so driven by lust that he doesn't care about anything around him now. Hesitating slightly, you climb onto his lap and lean down to kiss him. Luckily you opted for a long wrap dress today with the springy temperatures in Madrid, so Carlos quickly pushes the skirt of the dress aside to get to your underwear.

"Already so wet for me?" he asks bluntly with his strong Spanish accent, which sounds as sexy as never before and grins cheekily. His fingers roam over the top of your thong, feeling how damp the fabric already is.

"You're rude." you admonish him in a whisper and kiss him greedily again to prevent a groan. Carlos immediately takes this chance and pushes your thong aside to enter you with his index and middle finger. His other hand fumbles with the bow of your wrap dress and opens it. In front of him the sight of your slightly transparent lace bra. Then he puts his hand on the back of your head, so you don't have the chance to pull your head away from another kiss. You moan into his mouth during the kiss, fortunately this muffles all sounds from both of you.

Carlos barely gives you time to get used to his fingers and already withdraws them from you. Only to place his cock in front of your entrance. You want to feel him, you want him to fill you. Quickly you settle on him and take him inside you almost effortlessly. A familiar feeling for both of you, which you can never get enough of. You let your eyes roll back and begin to grind your hips. Carlo's hands linger on your hips to keep them as low as possible, so that he is deep inside you. Again he sets the rhythm and you bury, your face in the crook of his neck. The desire for each other and also joining the Mile High Club now, makes your adrenaline level rise higher.

"Carlos, I'm about to cum." you moan barely audible into his ear.

"A little more..." he murmurs back and you feel his hard grips on your hips. You increase your pace and feel the knot in your abdomen tighten. Your legs are already shaking and your breathing is also completely uncontrolled. Carlos watches you struggle with yourself, as you try to delay your orgasm. This only turns him on more. You both exchange intense glances, trying to admonish each other to not make any telltale sounds.

"Okay." he nods at you, out of breath.

"Okay?" you assure yourself and again Carlos nods at you in confirmation.

Carlos has already given you several breathtaking orgasms, but you can never remember one as intense as this one. You ride your high out on him completely and Carlos watches as you do. You look so damn sexy while doing it. This memory will stay with him forever. After your climax, you smile at each other. Carlos puts his hand lovingly in your neck and pulls you down to kiss you again. You are only too happy to return this tender kiss.

"I don't think anyone heard anything." you whisper against his lips after breaking away from the kiss.

"Even if they did..." grins Carlos mischievously and you slide off his lap, back into your seat. You both get dressed again and fix your hairstyles, in the small mirror in front of you.

"Maybe I should add the Mile High Club to my stay-awake-list." Carlos mumbles with another cheeky grin on his lips.

"And the company should better wear a dress..." you add, joining in his laughter.

[antimonyandthyme]

carcar the last of us au snippet

warnings: past character death, descriptions of the infected, descriptions of use of weapons and violence

What Carlos wants to say, in a way fashioned entirely after his father: That grave is about as deep as it needs to be. No one has the luxury to mourn. Stop fucking around and move on or die standing still.

What he actually says: “Do you need help?”

“No,” Oscar says, curt. “I should be the one to lay him to rest.”

“Okay,” Carlos says.

Maybe it’ll help Oscar, and Carlos shouldn’t begrudge him that. Help him avoid the scenario in which every infected thereafter shared facial characteristics with Charles. Max. A pretty mouth, a strong jaw. It’s his fault, after all. Carlos should have taken the time to bury all of that under the dirt. But all he could do was run.

There’s an almost relaxing rhythmic sound to the ground being hacked up, and a different kind of tanginess to the smell of fresh earth that lets him forget about blood for a moment.

He could be kind, sit at the foot of the grave and listen to Oscar talk about Logan. Why he thought coming back to where they grew up was a good idea. All these good ideas crumbling to dust, at every town they've witnessed that has eaten itself from the inside out.

Carlos closes his eyes. He doesn’t quite know what to do with another faceless loss, can’t add another number to his collection.

And anyway, Oscar's seen his fair share. He’s too good with the shovel for this to be his first.

Carlos clears his throat, when Oscar's finally done placing some leafy branch at the head of the grave. Flowers. On a grave. That’s some doe-eyed rose-tinted bullshit. There’s a strangled bird, caged somewhere to the left of Carlos’ chest. He doesn’t allow that bird any food or warmth or hope, for fear of softness. Can’t be soft if you want to survive.  

“We should move,” he says.

“We?” Oscar reels his head up. The loss carving its way down his cheeks haven’t fully dried, but he looks hopeful, almost like a lost dog. With how Carlos acts, he probably hadn't expected an offer like this. It should've been cut and dry. Getting you to your city, in exchange for a car battery.

“It’s a simple question,” Carlos says. “Are you coming?”

If he wasn’t already fucked all ways to Sunday, making his way along this forsaken earth with two rounds of ammunition and less than a quart tank of gas left, he’s definitely fucked now, adding a bleeding heart to their journey. But Carlos imagines Charles’ face if he were to leave a kid behind and—damn him for that. For being a ghost and still demanding good of him.

“Yes,” Oscar says.

Arguments and energy spent on arguments should be saved for the important things. Carlos throws what’s left of their shit into the back of the trunk, and wordlessly, gets into the driver’s seat.

--

“I’m just saying.” Oscar’s insistent. He’s spent the first half an hour of the journey staring vacantly out the window, but apparently, country music’s where he draws the line. “If for some reason this car caught on fire—”

“Don’t you even dare,” Carlos says. The thought of losing the Sienna makes him want to shrivel up and die. With luck, they managed to jack a vehicle with a working CD player. Tunes are a necessity in what is essentially a never-ending road trip. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“If it did,” Oscar says, “and I only had time to save one album—”

“Zach Bryan,” Carlos says.

“No,” Oscar says flatly.

“Dios mio. I should have left you back there.”

“You nearly did,” Oscar points out, but it doesn’t sound accusing. At Carlos’ furtive glance, he shrugs. “No hard feelings. I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that, gets his back all up. Ten and two on the wheel, lest he reaches for Oscar’s shirt to shake him until his teeth rattle. “What am I doing?”

“Self-defense,” Oscar says.

“I really should have left you.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Seemingly chastised, Oscar digs his teeth into his lower lip. Charles used to do that too, before he acquired the ability to unhinge his jaw and take larger bites. “You look out for your own, right?”

Carlos wonders if Oscar can see his trauma for what it is. The way Carlos has been tuned toward Oscar in the passenger seat, as if an infected would crash through the windscreen at any second. The way he’d swerve right, driver’s seat to the road, without a second thought, if it meant his neck would be exposed instead of Oscar’s.

He’s got nothing to offer but his own body.

“I’m doing such a great job of it.”

“Mate,” Oscar says warily. If he could hedgehog his way any further into the car’s upholstery, he would be so far back he’d be invisible by now. Zach croons in the staticky background, There ain’t no world in which I am good for you. Ain’t no world, now or ever. “I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”

“No, really,” Carlos says, a little hysterically, “I’m doing such a great job—”

--

There were things in the world that should not have applied to Charles. Spend upwards of two months to four years with him and you’d start to imagine that his fingernails never got dirty, or that his smile never got ugly, or that his face never got bloodied.

But he turned like everyone else.

His skin bleached itself until every single vein was visible, and his eyes lost all recognition. He could still speak, for the first bit. Said their names in what was almost a parody. Cahlos. Cahhhlos.

“We have to,” Max couldn’t finish his sentence, though he kept trying. “We have to—”

Charles lunged for them like a rabid animal. They cringed, but the tire chains wound around Charles hold fast, and he shrunk back. Before lunging again, and again. If Carlos were a better man, he’d put Charles out of his misery. Too bad he was a big fucking coward.

“Don’t,” Carlos hissed, absolutely feral, when Max squared his shoulders and took a step forward. “Don’t touch him.”

Max’s chest rose and fall in rapid succession. His eyes were glassy and hollow. Max, who Carlos had never seen shed a tear once, who they all joked would survive them all. He looked a gentle tap away from breaking. “This isn’t about our stupid feelings, it’s about what Charles would have wanted.”

“Fuck you,” Carlos said, to nobody in particular. To maybe himself. Charles was his responsibility when they went on the raid for food, and Charles was still his responsibility now. Till the end. He’d shown Carlos the bite on his calf, almost guiltily, and remained docile and quiet when Carlos wrapped him in chains, while Carlos breathed through what was most definitely a panic attack.

Easy, Carlos. You’ve got to care of Max now. Easy, come on, breathe Carlos. It doesn’t hurt much, not now anyway. Just. Do me a favour. Make it quick, alright?

Cahhhhlos.

“I’ll take care of it,” Carlos said, because all of this was his fault. In the chaos at the grocery store, he got separated from Charles for a harrowing two and half minutes. That was all it took. “Just. Just give me a moment. Just give me a second, alright?”

Charles snarled, snapping his teeth against the metal biting into his skin. This couldn’t be how Carlos remembered him.

“I’ll do it in the morning,”Carlos promised. I’ll do it after sunrise, so he gets to see it one last time.

In the morning, this is what he found:

Charles, chest cavity open, lying still like he was peacefully asleep.

And Max, bleeding out from a bite wound in his forearm, the gun used to lay Charles to rest tucked at his feet. His skin was paper white, but his eyes were still bright.

“I fucked up,” Max said. It was the way he said it. Completely accepting and calm. It made Carlos drop to his knees and hack out the nothing he had left in his stomach. Bile burned his throat raw. “I thought I could do it, so you wouldn’t have to. Sorry.”

Carlos trembled, pushed his forehead into the ground. The entire world was bearing down on him like a magnifying glass on an ant. He didn’t want to look up. If he didn’t look up, then this didn’t have to be real.

“Carlos,” Max said, more gently than Carlos had ever heard him. By some magnetic, supernatural force, it lifted Carlos’ head from the dirt. Max had enough in him to kick the gun over to Carlos, and life in him yet for the corner of his mouth to twitch up. “You can do it.”

Carlos shook his head mutely.

The expression on Max’s face morphed into something unfamiliar. Pleading. It would carry itself into Carlos’ nightmares and every single infected running after him after. “You can. Just don’t fuck it up this time.”

--

“I’m,” Oscar says. He sounds heartbroken for people he doesn’t even know. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

“You didn’t know,” Carlos says. He never should have said anything. Maybe it’s the kid, snapping, I should be the one to do it. Mirrors are a relic of the past, but Carlos looks at Oscar and sees the same jagged stubbornness lining all his edges. “I’m sorry about Logan.”

They pass the rest of the drive in silence.

[goodolddumbbanana]

I know why Dark Sun keeps getting unharmed from all the crap he pulls and how he can just sneak up wherever he wants.

He is Dio reincarnation./jk

Anyway, it is so interesting how Dark Sun thinks so highly of Moon while still being little shit to him.

Unlike with Nexus, Dark Sun treats Nexus like he treats a spoiled baby, he seems kinda calmer when he is with Moon. And also, seemingly like Moon more than Nexus.

Like he even admitted he was wrong about Moon, of this new Moon.

Some lines he says are really interesting.

About 'Sun is not okay....'

'Sun hates magic...'

And how when Moon said that Moon needs Sun and doesn't want Sun to be alone, Dark Sun doesn't look in Moon's eyes and just focuses on the computer.

Which means, his words also affected Dark Sun. Which means, Dark Sun still loves and cares about Moon, or his Moon, and just never received the love and care he needs until too late.

Dark Sun also seems so obsessed with making Moon and Nexus admit they need Sun, and they are nothing without their intelligence. Which makes me wonder if his Moon decided to leave him alone or they also care about each other but because of miscommunication and Moon becomes too much And Dark Sun couldn't take it anymore and just snapped.

Sidenote: maybe the term when Dark Sun called Nexus the first time, the dead one, is not to imply that he is different from Moon, but to say he always has fated to be dead, to be forever disposed of.

Which keeps my theory floating that Dark Sun is just a different branch's timeline of Sun which went wrong. Maybe, the reason why Dark Sun can get in Moon's lab is this easily, not only because of Neptor, but also because he is Sun, and his Moon also gives him the same password to unlock the door.

Then maybe, the Moon that we saw in his dimension is actually not the Moon, but his Nexus.

Also... The "he" Dark Sun mentioned... I feel like it is the new enemy. Dark Sun could work with someone related to Rez or ... Another creator... Because I don't believe The one Dark Sun implies is the Old Moon.

Sun or Dark Sun, still for now, I believe he is not working independently. Because Sun or Dark Sun even if they become sick of everything, could never be this active of everything and do things alone.

Sidenote #2: love the way the whole topic is totally related to Sun, the person we didn't see for like 2 weeks related to serious lore.

[didishawn]

pedri with a breeding kink?

Thoughts about the future (Pedri x Reader) smut

Warnings: breeding kink, Pedri becomes feral, smut, lots of Spanish

Masterlist

If Pedri was honest, the idea of spending what should have been your date night taking care of your nephew wasn't something he looked forward to, but he couldn't say no to you when you asked him if he wanted to come with after your sister emergency called you.

Your nephew was pretty cute he must admit, a bit of a troublemaker like his aunt, but cute, also like her.

He had fun running after him with you, he enjoyed watching cartoons with the two of you, had fun playing with him, even learning how to cook for such a young child was interesting.

The one thing he enjoyed the most, was watching you with the kid, how nurturing and sweet you were with him, how well you understood each other, and just the view, had him dreaming about the future. The future with you.

You taking your kids to his matches, all wearing his name and number on your backs, having a mini you or a mini him running around causing chaos but being unavailable to get mad at them.

You with a pregnant belly, walking around, all pretty for him, full of his kids.

That's how Pedri ends up like this, fucking you with a purpose.

He knows you are not about to have a kid right now, even if his mother would surely love that, but in his hazed with pleasure mind he already sees your belly big and round.

"¿Tu también lo quieres, no? Que te llene de mis hijos, tener unas mini versiones de nosotros correteando por aquí. Dios, no sabes como quiero verte con tu barriga de embarazada, dejando en claro de quién eres" (you want it too, right? Want me to fill you up, having mini versions of ourselves running around. God, you have no idea how much I want to see you with a pregnant belly, making it clear for everyone who you belong to)

His hips are rutting into yours, you have lost count of how many orgasms you have given each other, your belly full of his cum, but he doesn't get tired, he has decided to fuck a baby into you -in his gone mind, he has probably forgotten you are still on, birth control.

His fingers play with your bundle of nerves, making you tighten around him once more and cum around him, his head pushing back as he lets out a guttural moan and once again cums, breathing deeply, giving a few shallow thrusts.

"Joder, amor, no tienes ni idea de lo bien que me haces sentir" (damm, love, you have no idea how good you make me feel)

You absently nod, your visión is blurred, and you are far too sensitive. Your body is painted with marks from his kisses, his mouth sucking another one on your neck, then placing a sweet kiss on your cheek, hand playing with your hair.

You realise he is trying to calm you down when you once again feel him moving inside you, hands on your hips moving you alone.

It's only the beginning.

You don't stop until hours pass, laying breathless together on the bed, he hugging you against his chest, he looks down at you.

"Se que ahora no te vas a quedar embarazada" he says, his eyes are full of love "Pero no sabes lo mucho que espero el momento en el que tengamos a nuestros hijos. Ojalá tener una niña, una igual a ti, sería el chico más suertudo del mundo" (I know you are not going to get pregnant now. But you don't know how much I am waiting for the time we have our own kids. I wish we have a girl, one like you, I would be the luckiest man on Earth)

You smile, but decide to not tell him yet how you wish to have a mini him.

It isn't until a couple of years later that you have your own kids, one like you, one like him, and you bet your boyfriend -husband, is the best father out there.

[eddiestightywhities]

if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound? | T | 2,860

[check the link above for tags]

.

SUMMARY:

“So, you two were…”

“We were on a date. Yes.” Buck is smiling, and Eddie wants to hug him for how damn happy he looks about the whole thing, just as much as he wants to grab his friend's face in both hands and irrationally scream what is happening to us? until his voice is hoarse.

Whatever an out of body experience feels like, Eddie reckons it might be something akin to this. And he knows how dramatic he's being, he does, but he can't seem to stop—even if he is at a complete loss as to why.

OR

Buck's coming out scene from Eddie's POV, where Eddie realises it's not his girlfriend that he's in love with.

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read below the cut or on ao3 HERE

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Eddie can't tell himself he's never thought about it. He has, it's just he's never—weighed any of it up, exactly. Hasn't openly considered it, or let himself examine the idea there could've been anything else. That there could still be something else. There's only how things were, the way it'd gone a certain way for him when it came to romantic relationships.

Him and a girl. Him and a wife. Him and women. That's just the way it's always been. The way things are for Eddie.

Until Buck is metaphorically punching him in the face with so many huge revelations in the space of a few stark truths that Eddie apparently couldn't, or wouldn't allow himself to look at.

He thinks of that saying; something about not being able to see the wood for all the trees. The forest surrounding Eddie's life has always been frighteningly dense, with no room at all for his branches to grow any taller or wider than his allotted space. Now Eddie is being forced to think about that fully, for the first time in sort of ever, but doesn't have time to process what the hell any of it might mean. A little ruefully, he thinks he'd prefer a literal punch to the face than having to deal with his own neurosis. At once, he's remembering Buck barrelling into him on the basketball court, which—dios, kind of makes sense to him now.

Buck and Tommy went on a date, that's what Buck just told him. When he and Marisol saw them together at the restaurant the other day, they were on a date. With each other.

His brain goes into overdrive.

“Wait, Tommy's gay?”

All of his and Tommy's previous interactions are now running through his head as a flickering montage; some janky film reel spliced together in non-linear fashion. It makes him feel really shitty, re-assessing Tommy's behaviour just because of the guy's sexuality, but it's just—again, certain things are making sense now Eddie's brain has been supplied with this new information. Those bits and pieces of broken thoughts and half-notions he hadn't been able to make fit anywhere in his mind's eye, they're fusing together. Becoming viable. Stuff he'd willed himself not to ponder over now slotting into place.

“Uh, that never came up while you guys were hanging out?” Buck asks.

He tells Buck no, because it very much hadn't, and that it wouldn't have mattered to him anyway. Which of course it wouldn't, obviously, he just feels like his brain—or no, his body, maybe, had been trying to tell him something, tell him this, only Eddie hadn't listened.

Why hadn't he listened?

Then it hits him—kind of like a large shot of tequila hitting your stomach when you haven't put any food inside it for a while—that he is not at all surprised by the fact Buck went on a date with a man. Secondary is the thought that he doesn't know why he isn't taken aback by this lack of surprise.

“Sure. I—I don't think he volunteers it, but, uh, he doesn't hide it.”

He doesn't hide it.

Why does Eddie's chest feel tight?

Like an idiot, he attempts to confirm what Buck has already told him.

“So, you two were…”

“We were on a date. Yes.” Buck is smiling, and Eddie wants to hug him for how damn happy he looks about the whole thing, just as much as he wants to grab his friend's face in both hands and irrationally scream what is happening to us? until his voice is hoarse.

Whatever an out of body experience feels like, Eddie reckons it might be something akin to this. And he knows how dramatic he's being, he does, but he can't seem to stop—even if he is at a complete loss as to why.

“Okay.”

Eddie's nodding, only he doesn't really know what he's nodding at.

Buck asks, “Is that weird?”

At once, he insists, “No. Absolutely not,” even though he feels it is, for some reason, weird. Not because being queer is weird, because no, fuck no, of fucking course it isn't. Maybe it's just because of…

Because?

Why, exactly, Eddie has no clue.

He feels so, so lost.

The forest is a deep dark place, something hiding behind his ribcage mumbles before scuttling off to bury itself some place even further inside of his chest.

Is it Tommy specifically, he wonders, because he's Eddie's new sparring pal, and maybe now he won't be? He digs for a reason as to why that would bother him, but comes up empty handed.

And Tommy, he seems like a good guy.

Which is why Eddie is fairly perturbed when he pictures Tommy's face and it makes him wish he had the power of materialisation, to get the LAFD air support pilot to appear, here and now in Buck's kitchen, so he can sock the fucker in his stupid chiseled jaw with his best right hook, right in front of Buck.

Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him?

“I mean, I like him too.” He says, because he does. At least he did up until a minute ago. He weighs up his words as he's about to speak them, deciding to change his tone a little and aim for a more banter-ish vibe. “I mean, just not the same way you do, evidently.”

Buck wants to kiss Tommy. Maybe wants to fuck Tommy.

Eddie's mouth goes dry.

He simultaneously searches his mind and Buck's face, promising, “This doesn't change a thing between us. Okay?” And Eddie Diaz is a lying liar who lies, because for some reason he can't yet fathom, this changes everything.

Buck has this look, then. Almost something like—disappointment? 

Eddie doesn't know what that could mean. 

“Good. That's, uh, a relief,” Buck says, and he's nodding, just like Eddie was a moment ago. Eddie can't figure out the reason for that, either, nor why Buck doesn't seem to actually look relieved. 

Then he's going on to tell Eddie about how Tommy dumped him.

“Wow,” Eddie says, because what the fuck? Why would anybody let Evan Buckley slip though their fingers? It's honestly always been a mystery to him, how the women Buck has dated in the past have all dropped him at the first hurdle. Buck is kind of the perfect catch. Realising he doesn't quite know how to explain that to Buck, or himself, and knowing he has to come up with something, he finds himself making a joke of it with, “That's fast, even for you.”

Buck doesn't react to that at all, just says it doesn't matter anyway, seeing as he and Tommy weren't actually together, telling Eddie Tommy doesn't think Buck is ready.

Momentarily, Buck looks sort of broken. Shattered into a million pieces that Eddie wants to painstakingly pick up, one by one, so he can lovingly glue his friend back together and make him whole again. Maybe with gold paint, just like kintsugi. They'd seen and learned all about that at a Japanese exhibition over at the LACMA museum with Christopher a couple of years back, and Buck's wondrous awe at the practice—the way the blue of his eyes had reflected the jagged gold lines in the pottery, making them look like tiny planets in his head—had kind of really stuck with Eddie.

He has another fiercely protective desire to kick Kinard's perfectly muscled ass. The guy doesn't even know Buck. Not like Eddie does.

Another millisecond passes, and Eddie clocks that he's actually the asshole here, for making this all about him, even if he's not voicing any of his self-centred bullshit.

All at once, he desperately needs to know what Buck thinks about Tommy's assessment.

““Hmm,” he hedges. “What do you think?”

Buck is smiling again. Nothing like the sun, though, like the beaming smile Eddie knows he can pull from Buck's chest, the one that always makes Eddie think of that time he saw dawn breaking over Abalone Cove, just after he'd moved to L.A.

He shifts his weight a little on his stool.

Is that a weird thing to think?

Eddie's really fucking glad he has a beer in his hand, although he doesn't take a sip. He just grips the bottle a little tighter.

He's not ready to hear it when Buck answers, “I kinda can't stop thinking about him.”

He can't work out why his friend saying those words crushes him the way it does. Why he suddenly feels like punching more than just Kinard. Why he wants to burn the fucking world.

Is it maybe a similar thing to whatever Buck was feeling, after Eddie first started hanging out with Tommy?

Jealousy.

Eddie's a shitty friend sometimes, and has to constantly remind himself to do better. He sucks a breath in through his teeth, trying his damndest not to make it the huge gulp of air his lungs are, for some reason, craving.

“Well, you know what I think?” Eddie forces himself to look up at Buck to say something he really doesn't want to, because he knows it's the right thing to do. “You should call him.”

“Really?” Buck's still smiling, but his eyes are somehow telling Eddie he doesn't believe a single word Eddie is saying.

“Heck yeah. He doesn't know you're an idiot.” You're my idiot. “Once he gets to know you,”—I don't fucking want him to get to know you—“and know that you're an idiot, he'll love you, like we all do.” Like I do.

Santa mierda.

Buck smiles again and asks, a little sheepishly, “What if he says no?”

“Then he's an idiot,” Eddie answers with complete conviction, fiercely, meaning every word of it as much as he meant it when he told Buck you act like you are expendable, but you’re wrong; when he told Buck I forgive you; when he told Buck there's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you. Eddie fixes him with a look he hopes conveys all of this, even though he knows it probably falls short. Then he adds—again, because he knows he should—“But don't walk away from something before you even know what it is,” and feels sick to his stomach as soon as the words have left his mouth.

Buck gives him a wry, knowing sort of smirk, points at Eddie and says, “That sounds like some good advice.”

It takes absolutely everything Eddie has to turn his train of thought around and force himself back into performance mode, feeling the phantom press of the towering trees that surround him and gasping with a suffocation that comes from being completely trapped in the thick of the forest he doesn't think he'll ever make his way out of.

He rolls his eyes, fake-sighs, and says, “Yeah,” adding a scoff for good measure. He tries hating on the smile Buck gifts him, the one which, honestly, looks a little forced, as Eddie lies some more and says, “I gotta talk to Marisol,” because he knows he doesn't have to; he's choosing to. He then pushes himself up and off Buck's kitchen stool even though it's the very last thing he wants to do.

Walking over to Buck's door with his heart inexplicably breaking, he hears Buck do this sort of laugh-sigh combination that Eddie's heard before. It's something Eddie does himself, a strange mix of self-consolation and for show, all rolled up into nervous release.

Eddie stops himself in his tracks, looks down at his phone, at Marisol's dozen-ish texts from the last twelve-or-so hours, and admonishes himself yet again for turning this huge moment of Buck's into something about himself. Only he can't seem to help but perpetuate the issue, because this somehow also feels very much about them; him and Buck.

Eddie is a selfish man, something his mother is still on a mission to make him acutely aware of, and he can't bear to leave without taking the thing he's wanted, he now recognises, since he walked into Buck's apartment around a half-hour back. After he'd gotten into his truck to escape the girlfriend he doesn't really want to be with and drove directly to the safest place he knows of on earth.

He feels only marginally better at being sure the closeness he craves is something Buck also wants.

As Eddie turns around, Buck's eyes shoot up at him with something threaded through his irises that looks a little like hope. Then it blooms over every brilliant feature of his face, and Eddie is overcome by two thoughts: The Abalone Cove-like knowledge that he thinks Buck is sort of beautiful, and a pressing desire to elicit this same look on Buck's face every single day for the rest of however many Eddie has left on this planet.

Fuck, he thinks retrospectively, walking towards the thing he now realises he wants more than anything he's ever wanted.

Buck.

Sliding his phone inside the back pocket of his jeans because he wants both hands for this, Eddie says, “C’mere,” beckoning his best friend over to him while thinking of Neodymium magnets Buck told him and Chris about a while back when Chris was working on that science project about gravity and other natural forces.

Buck is laughing as Eddie reiterates, saying, “Come here,” and Eddie takes and takes and takes, claiming another gift from Buck, one of much needed joviality, as he wills himself to double-down on the best buddy of it all because, yet again, he knows it's the right thing to do.

He reaches for Buck like a dying plant strains its leaves towards the sun, pulling Buck into him just as Buck reaches right back.

Eddie doesn't want to hug Buck. He wants to hold him. He knows he can't do that though, so reluctantly gives Buck's back a manly pat instead as he angles his head away from his friend in a move that feels entirely fucking wrong in each and every fibre of his being.

Cristo, Eddie is fucked.

What has happened here tonight?

Despite feeling like he's losing his mind, Eddie can't let go of Buck just yet. Forcing his body back, his hand moves of its own volition and finds its way home to the curve of Buck's shoulder, thumb being sucked into the dip beneath Buck's collar bone, and Eddie thinks of Neodymium magnets again.

He grins at Buck, and Buck smiles back with that same look of hope in his blue, blue eyes again, albeit a bit more distant now. And Eddie aches to give that hope to him, and more, because it somehow feels like it'd be the most natural thing in the world to do. Except he can't give Buck anything more than this. Not when Tommy presumably kissed Buck and Buck must've kissed Tommy back. Not when Eddie doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

Despite what his mother tells him, some of which he knows to be true, Eddie isn't that selfish.

He pulls back to a safer distance, regardless of how it feels like the exact opposite, the reason he can't drag his hand away from Buck's person entirely, and swallows everything back down.

He points at Buck and says, “Call Tommy,” in a voice that sounds worryingly insincere to his ears.

After that, there is no way on earth, nor in heaven or hell, that he can look at Buck for longer than the single second he dares to allow himself, so he hightails it out of there before anything else can transpire in his chest, like the coward that he is.

He wonders for the entirety of the drive home about the sigh he heard leave Buck's lips as Eddie opened the loft door and left with the wish of a kiss on his own.

.

Later on, with Marisol, after mutually agreeing to dial their relationship back to the start, he fucks her in his bed.

Eddie has another one of those imaginary out of body experiences as her thin, cold fingers roam his body and he tries not to think about circuit boards from high school science classes.

Set to zero. Forced-response.

Far from enjoyable, it doesn't feel a bit like the first couple of times they had sex, and he has to envisage boxes as he breathes his way through every excruciating part of it, his face a plastic mask of a smile wherever appropriate, making all the right sounds and all the right moves at what are hopefully all the right times and places.

Afterwards, with Marisol delicately snoring away and Eddie using the sound to keep time for his wrestled-down heartbeat, he looks away from the mass of dark hair piled on his chest to watch hers rise and fall; slowly, easily; the epitome of calm in her dreams.

He hopes, then, to fall asleep and dream of buying an axe so he can start chopping down trees and get himself the fuck out of the deep, dark forest he's only just noticed he's been living in his entire fucking life.

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to come leave me some kudos and maybe even a comment ❤️

.

[spiderman2-99]

✨:guilty-Gabriella

[5.20.2022, TRN-1042]

Gabriella had been… unusually sullen in the car ride after school today. Today was PTA meeting day, and one of the discussions was about some C’s in certain classes. The teacher told Miguel how he could help, that otherwise his daughter was a treat to have in class, etc etc., sometimes kids just struggle with some subjects. Miguel understood just fine, promised that he'd help, reassured that it was just a monetary setback, all that.

But Gabriella had been sulking in the passenger’s seat the whole ride home. At best, she’d give monosyllabic answers to Miguel if he asked anything— a far cry from the usual ball of energy he'd come to know and love over the last couple months.

She curls up a little in the seat, her forehead leaning on the glass of the window, arms crossed. She looks… disappointed in herself. Or apprehensive, maybe? Miguel won’t claim to be emotionally intelligent, as much as he tried to be for Gabriella’s sake. He never had to be until Gabiella. Shock. He still has so much to learn. Too much to learn.

He swallows thickly before finally breaking the heavy silence that descended upon the car ride.

“Gabi,” he begins, his voice gentle yet firm, "something's clearly bothering you. You've been silent since we left school. Is everything okay?"

Well. That was a lame start that, as expected, didn't get an answer beyond a half-hearted shrug. Dios en el cielo. He really doesn't want to pull teeth.

"Is it... about the C’s in your report card?"

The last sentence makes her wince slightly. So that was a yes.

(Miguel can't stop the awful thought of what if the other Miguel yelled at her about grades? He has to physically shake his head slightly to clear it.)

She shifts a moment in her seat. “I know, I’ll study harder…” she murmurs like she’s preparing herself for the gallows.

Miguel lets out a sigh through his nose. He isn't entirely an idiot, he figures it's more than just the report card— or maybe something so pressing that it's causing the slip. The problem is trying to get to it delicately; which is much more difficult than it should be for him. Being... soft, gentle, paternal just doesn't come naturally for him. He never had that sort of role model, and now he's flying blind in a life he stole, at any moment about to ruin it, and the sweet little girl that came with it-

Okay, no, no. Breathe. Get your head on straight, O'Hara. You're better than that.

“It’s not just about the grades, is it?” he urges. “There’s something else bothering you, and I want to know what it is."

He risks a sidelong glance. She has to know he's serious. "I’m here to listen, Gabi. I promise."

“I dunno… it’s kinda dumb, but…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Miguel can see Gabriella sit up straight, hesitating, trying to collect her thoughts. He won’t rush her.

“You’ve been forgetting a lot lately. Like… remember when I told you about Emily’s birthday? I’ve been friends with her forever, but you had to use a GPS to find her house. And sometimes I’ll tell you about something we did a year ago, and I can tell you’re trying to act like you remember but you don’t. And when we visited Abuela, you acted weird around her, like you didn't know her at all.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. His daughter, his beautiful, wonderful, smart daughter, noticed the discrepancies between him and the man he’d replaced; the gaps in his cover. It was only a matter of time before she put the pieces together.

"You've been forgetting events for school, and getting lost in our own city, and when tío Gabriel visited, you couldn't even keep up with the conversation he was making 'cause he was bringing up things you didn't remember..."

Then, Gabriella turns to him and gives him a look with those big, watery hazel eyes that makes him want to throw himself off a cliff. “Did you get hurt at work, Papa?”

...

Well. Maybe a little more time.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his fingers clenching the steering wheel tighter. "No, sweetheart, I didn't hurt myself at work," he reassures, but the lie tastes bitter on his tongue. "It's just..."

“Something complicated again?” She interjects, going back to looking out the window.

Miguel grumbles in frustration. He should’ve realized his daughter would be just as much of a smart-ass as him. "Yes, mija, it's something complicated. But I promise, I'm handling it."

'Complicated' is an understatement. It’s a whole paradox, a breach in reality, a cosmic crime against nature. He hates not being honest with her, but how the hell is he supposed to say ‘your real father is dead and I replaced him’?

God, he's a coward.

Miguel would give everything, anything, to make sure she’s okay through all of this. But the more time passed, the more he knew he didn’t deserve to be her father. He isn't her papa. He could never be.

"It’s nothing you need to worry about, okay?” he continues through the lump in his throat. “It’s something... something only adults have to deal with.”

"Everyone always says that; it's always something 'only adults deal about'," she retorts, glowering at her father. "It's affecting me too, but anytime I ask—"

"I can't tell you, okay?" he snaps, his voice strained; the tension rising between them as foreboding as storm clouds in the horizon. He has to take a deep breath before he continues, forcing a calmness in his voice. "I can't. Please, you have to trust me. It’s- it's for your own good, mija."

"And that's another thing they tell me; it's aaaalways 'for my own good'-"

"Gabi..."

"-but how can I trust you when you don't trust me, huh?"

"Gabi."

"When you're acting all weird and not telling me anything anymore and-"

"Gabriella Angela O'Hara."

She winces and shrinks back into her seat. Christ in Heaven, this is going all wrong, and it feels like all Miguel can do is watch it happen.

"You think I don’t want to tell you?" He continues, grinding his jaw to keep the rising anger out of his voice. The last thing she needs is his anger. He can't act like George O'Hara. "You think I want to keep you in the dark? Do you think I like hiding things from you? I’m doing this to protect you, because..."

Miguel's words trail off. He can’t say ‘because I’m not your real father.’

Baffled, hurt, she presses on. "Because what? You- you think I'm too stupid or something? I can't handle it?"

Christ, isn't that a wonderful, ice cold jolt to his already frayed nerves? "No! No, it's not that! You're not stupid, you're the most brilliant, amazing child I've ever met."

He swallows hard. The lump in his throat feels like a brick.

"It’s not that I think you can’t handle it, it's that you're still just a kid! And you shouldn't have to handle it!"

Gabi lets out a long groan, slumping her head against the headrest, but seems to drop the subject.

Momentarily.

Long enough to lull Miguel into a false sense of security. Long enough for him to pull in their driveway before he hears--

"Still get to feel it all go to shit though," grumbled under her breath; only audible due to Miguel's enhanced hearing.

He kills the engine and just... sits there a moment; the silence thick and oppressive, thoroughly killing any semblance of energy he had left. The language suddenly doesn't even feel worth reprimanding.

Slowly, he turns to look at her. His daughter. His sweet, beautiful, brilliant baby girl. The only thing left in the world that is truly good.

I'm ruining her.

Then again, he ruined her the second he inserted himself into a life that wasn't his. He should've known this charade would blow up in his face. God knows he can never have anything nice without having to fight for it; tearing into it with his teeth and shocking it all up from his own desperation.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, pained.

"Gabi," he begins, his tone heavy with a mix of guilt and frustration. "I... I'm doing the best I can. I'm trying."

She doesn't even look at him. "Not trying good enough."

Shocking hell. Out of all the things she could inherit from her father, did it have to be his bull-headedness and the ability to cut where it hurts? It's bad enough on him, but when it's someone else? When it's the truth?

He has to fight the urge to snap back, to say something he’ll regret, to prove his own inadequacy correct. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a breath in an attempt to collect himself.

Operating word being 'attempt'.

Bile still leaks into Miguel's voice as he grates out, "Get out and go to your room."

"What-" So now she decides to spare me a glance.

"Get out," he repeats, low and deliberate, "and go to your room. I don't- I can't be with you right now."

The pause that follows as his words sink in isn't just pregnant; it's straight-up post-due with a necrotic placenta and a calcified fetus.

The words are already out; no taking back even if he felt they deserved to be. Gabriella's expression morphs from horrified to disgusted to a sort of passive anger.

Finally, the silence is broken by the sound of her seatbelt clicking. Then, "fine. I don't wanna be with you either," followed by the car door slamming.

There's no parting barb, no further vitriol thrown at him. Maybe there should've been; there'd at least be some sort of outlet for Miguel to let out his metric shitton of pent-up frustration and sheer, utter rage. They'd both deserve it then.

But there is nothing.

Just a broken, run-down, irreparably shocked up man trying to pretend to be a father; the role fitting him as good as if he'd skinned his alternate's face and wore it on top of his own. Why did he bother? Gabriella doesn't deserve her life being ruined by a genetic abomination from another world deluding himself to be something capable of loving.

He slumps his head against the steering wheel and screams.

[lo-shouldve-been-an-email]

Why Dionysus was actually clever but got botched.

Okay,this is my first big LO essay so please don’t mind a bit of awkwardness.

The thing with Dionysus is that on paper it’s actually really smart.

Let me explain-

To understand why Dionysus in particular was chosen we need to understand the original myth of his birth,or welll,the original myths.there’s technically two of them but I’ll explain it later-

Let’s start off with the simpler one,aka:

Semele is the mother.

The myth goes like this:

Zeus falls in love with a mortal named semele,and tells her he’s Zeus.

Semele gets pregnant and Hera gets jealous.

Hera turns into an old lady and implants the idea that Zeus might be lying to her about being Zeus,so she must ask him to show her his divine form.

Semele does this and is-unsurprisingly- burnt to ashes,but Zeus saves baby dio and puts him in his thigh until he’s born,by then being upgraded from demigod to straight up god.

Who raises him afterwards depends on the story,sometimes it’s Hermes,sometimes it’s nymphs,and sometimes it’s-you guessed it-Persephone.

So you already have some inkling on why Persephone is raising dio,but oh wait there’s more.

So let’s gets into another version:

Persephone is the mother(?)

Okay,so have any of you played hades?go play it.

But,there’s a character that has an story tied to Dionysus,and people who’ve done a certain side quest might already have an inkling:

Zagreus,the prince of the underworld.

Now,you may be wondering wtf zag has to do with this but I can explain.

Basically here’s the ancient Orphic version of the myth:

Persephone and Zeus have a son named Zagreus.(it’s important to note that hades didn’t really exist at this point or at least he was merged with Zeus,hence why it’s Zeus and Persephone and not hades and Persephone,since yes Persephone actually predates hades)

Zagreus is the golden boy of Olympus and Hera gets jealous.

Hera RELEASES TITANS FROM TARTARUS and they tear Zagreus apart,the part remaining being his heart.

And dio is made with that.

There’s more to the general ancient Orphic origins of Dionysus but that’s just the basics.

I highly recommend overly sarcastic productions video of Dionysus if you want an in depth look at this explaining his origins to his cult.so yeah.check it out.

Why it fails within LO.

I admit,dio is a good reference.

He’s a good nod and a fun idea,it’s just the execution that leads it to having as many positives as a house fire.

First of all,it definitely wasn’t planned from the start.

Other have talked about this but RS has a habit of bullshitting things into the story to reference a real world date.

In this case,dio was supposed to be a Mother’s Day thing,but when matched up to the timeline?well…I don’t know why it’s such a bad decision on Persephone’s part…may be it’s because HER AND HADES HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR LESS THAN A DAY.

Also the whole thing comes out of nowhere.

Zeus just bust into persie’s house,says he’s giving birth and instead of going to a doctor(Asclepius isn’t the only one,zeus)

Then,Persephone straight up refuses to give him to Zeus AFTER HE GAVE BIRTH and takes the baby for herself because “he looks like hades”.

Never mind the fact he’s literally purple-

After that Persephone realised she’s fucked up and ignores hades,but he bursts in and she explain how she basically kidnapped a child.

And it’s supposed to be romantic.

Anyways,I’m probably gonna make another of these rants soon,just with Apollo,but this is why the dio plot point…frustrates me.

On paper it’s an interesting reference but in the end it just ends up being stupid.