#the sun layers were very fun but they don't

[ashes-in-a-jar]

I love layers

[enwoso]

grumpy r going to the beach with the arsenal girls

SANDY — alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

"wait a second missus!" mummy laughed as you tried to run out of her hold, as you were stood next to her as she rubbed a second layer of sun cream into your skin.

"but- krya is waitin' make a sandcastle!" you frowned at your mummy as she started to spray more sun cream onto your legs, your skin starting to feel really sticky.

"don't worry lovie, the sand isn't going to run away!" alessia pointed out as she grabbed your little sun hat from her bag beside her, listening to you mumble on about how the sand might run away.

while alessia fixed your hand on your head for what have may been the thousandth time today, you had been insisting all morning that you didn’t need it on but with the it being a pretty hot day in portugal alessia was taking no chances of you getting sun stroke.

“please lovie, keep your hat on! otherwise you’ll have to sit under here where there’s no fun!” alessia pointed to the shade where all the bags had been put while the rest of the arsenal girls were playing beach game.

“okay! bye mummy!” you yelled running along the sand to where kyra had already begun your huge sand castle which you wanted to be the size of you.

alessia watched amused as you ran off toward the young australian, your pink bucket and spade already being put to use as alessia finally got a second to breathe this morning after having you jumping off the walls about being excited to go to the beach with all the arsenal girls.

the day passed and the arsenal girls played on the beach in sunny portugal up until the evening, you happily creating a sandcastle of your dreams as each arsenal girl came over and helped adding there own little thing to it, as a smile never left your face the entire time.

“mummy! come look!” you yelled out, as alessia stopped her game of rounders spinning around to see where you were.

“duty calls!” katie called out as alessia laughed as you ran into your mummy’s leg grabbing her hand as you pulled her towards where you’d been making your sand castle there only being one thing alessia could find that was missing?

“lovie, where’s kyra gone?” alessia asked, considering she was the one that had been with you all day. the blonde being quite confused but also concerned about one how long you may have been on your own for and where had the australian gone as she wasn’t with the rest of the girls who were playing rounders.

“oh! kyra is-“ you began a giggle coming from you, a one alessia knew all too well.

“here!” you cheered as alessia’s eyes widened. the young australian was buried to her chest in sand as the blonde tried to stifle her laugh.

“how do you end up in these situations kyra?” alessia tried to stay serious as it maybe wasn’t the best thing that her three nearly four year old was going round burying her teammates in the sand but then again for once it wasn’t kyra who was the perpetrator she had fallen as the victim.

“well she asked me and i originally said no but then cute little pouty eyes got me and i couldn’t say no-” kyra explained as you were sat on the sand patting any sand that had came undone back into place.

“actually think she might of hypnotised me!” kyra mumbled rolling her eyes as you yelled out you were going to get the other girls to show them your castle and kyra who you deemed as your body guard for the castle — not a very good one though since kyra’s arms were trapped under the sand but nevertheless alessia didn’t want to dampen your imagination!

“kyra she three! she doesn’t even know what the word means!” alessia laughed as kyra began to plead with the blonde to help her out the sand before the rest of the girls come over.

“alessia! help me out of the sand now. otherwise i’m never going to live this down!” kyra pleaded bringing out the same puppy dog eyes you always try on the blonde.

“oh them eyes don’t work on me… i’m so going to enjoy this!” alessia paused as she moved to sit down next to kyra, patting her on the head who shot alessia a scowl as they both watched you drag all the arsenal girls over in the direction of the two.

[ronearoundblindly]

I have an idea for “how would…” !

It comes from a prank I’m seeing on tiktok lately of couples staying in a hotel room with 2 beds.

How would the guys react to reader saying they can sleep in separate beds tonight? 😆

Inspo: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP81dBS8k/

That's freaking hilarious, the link, but we've got lots of babes to cover! (Also...guess who realized Jake was missing from the banner? 😳👈 This doof.)

Warnings for, well, discussing couples and bed/bedtime activities but it's not real bad. MINORS DNI to be safe!

James Mace

You know what's tiny? A space bunk. He will starfish like a mothaf**ker on that queen size, and you gotta just give him that from time to time. If the stay in the hotel is just one night (and there's been no other time away from you recently), absolutely he will stretch out, pillows everywhere, each limb under a separate layer,--seriously though why are there nine layers of blankets and sheets? that's nuts--and no alarm if at all possible. However, if the stay is longer or the hotel is for a specific couple's vacation thing, then no, he would never spend a whole night outside of your bed. Maybe a nap after too much sun, or likely some space if he (or you) is feeling ill, but otherwise, Mace is very good at sharing resources with people he likes.

Curtis Everett

Oof. I really had to think about this guy. Some of Mace applies here, too, but Curtis likes the idea of having extra room far more than he likes using the room. I think he would try to fall asleep in the other bed for whatever reason, and then inevitably just crawl back in with you. He has never made it a whole night away, even if he falls asleep on the couch at home. He always has to be within arm's reach by the time you wake up.

Jimmy Dobyne

No. Nope. Not in the slightest.

He doesn't particularly like waste, so he might call down to see if there is a room with just one bed available, in case some other guests could use the two. Jimmy also hates the fuss of cleaning. He's acutely aware of how much effort would go into remaking the second bed (washing, etc) and won't even put things on top of the unused bed for the whole stay. Not your bag. Not your butt. Not a towel. Nada.

Johnny Storm

Few quick questions: this hotel is fireproof, right? The bedding, okay, but what about the carpet? The curtains? Are the headboards made of wood? Is the varnish flammable? You don't know? Shit, well, he needs to know.

I feel like Johnny has to have like a special tarp thing to lay over normal bed linens, but honestly, I can't really see how he's ever safe to sleep outside of his own customized bedroom. People do not have complete control while they are unconscious. That's super dangerous for folks like Johnny. Reed's fine because what's the worst that could happen, his foot actually hangs off the edge of the mattress? If we were talking about Ben, the weight-capacity would be a concern, too, so even if you are fine to sleep in the same bed as Johnny and sometimes get burned a bit...I...I'm just not convinced a hotel would want extraneous furniture in there.

That's not a sexy answer, but it's the one you're getting.

Jake Jensen

Dude can fall asleep any. where. any. time. However, if he is lucid enough to pick where he'll fall asleep, it will always be with you...

...after hysterically jumping around like a kid on the extra bed.

I'll just, yeah, leave you with that image. Have fun. Stay weird, Jake.

Lloyd Hansen

If you two are actively doing something--yes, of course, I mean sex or sexual acts or whatever nasty word Lloyd wants to call it--then you are in the same...general area. That's not limited to a bed.

For sleeping, real sleeping, separate beds are 99% of the time a must. There is one exception to this: if Lloyd has been worn out or injured badly on a job--which is so rare--and if it's not quite bad enough to be in a hospital hooked to machines to keep him alive, then he becomes a sort of energy leech and keeps you very close all the time. This is Lloyd's vampire phase. As you can probably deduce, it is not about you, but he will take whatever he can from you.

Ari Levinson

50/50. Ari is moody. He changes with the wind (not in a bad way but for all the small, subtle stuff), and he sometimes just fancies a bit of something different. Take that as you will--and by that I mean run with it because I am totally talking about all sorts of different things to do in bed. He's the type of man who does better with a bit of alone time, too. Never means any offense by it. Just has spells of needing socializing and needing quiet.

Ransom Drysdale

Literally, I feel like I always have the same answer for Ran: it depends on when this is in your relationship and what the hotel stay is for.

Early on in dating, he aires on the side of caution and goes by his mood and yours. If there's been frustration in the day--due to his family or work or anything--then maybe you need some space. When Ransom is in a relationship, for real, he's actually very attuned to the tone of sex--which, of course, will happen no matter the mood of the day--so a lot of connection and intimacy will tell him it's good to stay close while a simpler, transactional need to get off tells him the other bed might be best.

Ran, however, would not get--or enjoy--the 'prank' of this challenge, and stop goddamn filming him for tiktok!

Steve Rogers

Pardon my language, but are you fucking kidding? The look on Steve's face if you so much as hinted... His head would immediately be spinning with 'what did I do wrong?' and 'what romantic gesture can I make right here right now to fix it?'

He's a simple man, and that is a simple no.

Bucky Barnes

Trickier. Much trickier.

Hmm. How to explain...

This feels like a whole season of 'What If...?' but I'll try to simplify.

Are you an Avenger or agent? Are you two on a mission together? I think Bucky is hardcore about keeping sharp and professional during those times. Sleep shifts. Minimal touching. The whole nine yards because safety is paramount. Is there some reason there could be surveillance of you two and you're supposed to be a couple? Bucky can put on one hell of a show like that. Just saying. I doubt, however, that he would mix business and pleasure unless absolutely necessary.

Are you a civilian? Is he a civilian now? Then no, he's in that one bed holding you until the second (maybe third) snooze cycle rings on his alarm. He's notorious for giving himself cushions of time, so it's never him needing to rush out on the average day. It took a while to adjust, but Buck can now also vacation with the best of them. Takes advantage of all the bells and whistles: minibar, room service, and the 'do not disturb' sign. Champion vacationer, he is, of this I have no doubt.

Thank you for asking!

A/N: Mace is a sleeper fave of mine, and I would do anything for that man, I swear... Also, would someone like to tell me why Bucky gets soooo 🥵 in all of these. My god, what am I feeding that boi?

[Main Masterlist; Who Would...Asks; Ko-Fi]

[ghaniblue]

Reading List: August

Everything I finished and enjoyed in August that's not from HD Wireless fest see below. 99% Drarry, 1 Tom/Draco and 1 RWRB fic. ❤️ denotes favourites.

>> July recs <<

HP

❤️🙈 Alley Cat by papermonkey / @dracomort (Tom/Draco, M, 72k, WIP 13/?)

In which Draco attends Hogwarts with Tom Riddle and inadvertently saves the world.

What if Tom became Draco's best friend? I feel like the monkey emoji represents Draco in this fic: if I ignore it, it won't be real and I don't have to acknowledge it ladida. He amuses me to no end.

🏥 Nightingale by michi_thekiller (Drarry, E, 67k)

God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented cages. -Jacques Deval

This is canon-divergent since it was written before the books were finished. I enjoyed the dual timeline. At school they are antagonistic and fight-happy with punching turning into shagging, while the present timeline is just a little disturbing. Harry is not well in this. Draco isn't either but [spoiler].

❤️🩸 Harry Potter and the Inconvenient Condition by Mirabella (Drarry, M, 20k)

Harry comes back from vacation with an inconvenient case of vampirism and must learn to cope with blood, Malfoy, and recalcitrant secretaries. And if that doesn't tell you everything about the plot you need to know, you haven't read enough badfic.

Another oldschool fic. Vampire!Harry has a hankering for Draco's blood. This is such a fun, tropey romp. I was kicking my feet with glee.

🔮 Cassandraco by @jtimu (Drarry, T, 5k)

Harry Potter was going to die in six hours. As far as Draco was concerned, that wasn’t nearly soon enough.

This is fun. Beleaguered rescuer Draco and unwilling recuee Harry.

❤️🤒 the sun between us by @eleadore (Drarry, E, 7,5k)

Draco Malfoy, an omega. It was laughable until he was right in front of you, smelling like he was one shaky step from tripping into a heat. 

This could be just any other omegaverse PWP, but it's so dense with characterisation and layered emotion.

🏊‍♂️ Freely Given by InnerLilith + art by @kk1smet (Drarry, E, 18k + digital art)

As a young child, Harry Potter had always wanted swim lessons. He never got them. As an adult, he runs into Draco—an excellent swimmer and disconcertingly fit to boot—at a muggle pool. Naturally, he calls in his life debt for swim lessons (a totally normal thing to do, thank you very much). He gets more than he bargained for.

What a lovely @drarry-mini-bang story: hot, funny and sweet; and the art is delightful (you get built swimmer Draco and adorable chibis).

❤️👮‍♂️Rookie Moves by peu-a-peu (Drarry, E, 75k) + podfic by @sweatersinthesummer (~7h)

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Finally managed to read this; all the recs are justified. They are such disasters. Their characterisation is so funny and vibrant. They are both so deranged and combative. The podfic was completed half-way through my reading so I switched to listening. Such a good interpretation of this mad fic.

RWRB

❤️🥍 A Sporting Chance by clottedcreamfudge (Alex/Henry, E, 12,6k)

"Marry Henry - destination wedding. Combine all of our names so paperwork is a fucking nightmare." Henry stares at him and Pez rolls the dice, and-

"Congratulations to Alex and Henry Claremont-Diaz-Fox-Mountchristen," he says with a bright grin, and Alex punches the air and makes a 'whooping' noise. "Your wedding is attended by the Beckhams, the President, and several key members of congress. Henry is very gentle on your wedding night." Henry is going to fucking kill Pez.

"Fucking sweet," Alex says, because Henry is apparently the only one here trying not to have a coronary about all of this.

***

It had just been a party game, except now Henry is in way over his head.

Fuckbuddies/Idiots to lovers. This Alex is such a horny chaos demon, and Henry is so in love it's visible from space. Also, Pez is a gem. I often start scrolling through repeated sex scenes but not with this fic. This story made me happy.

[solomons-finest-rum]

Hello to one of my favourite Alfie fic writers! Since you're taking requests, I'd like to make one as well.

I don't know how it works but how about a scenario/imagine where Tommy gets in some kind of trouble (as always) and Alfie suggests that his lovely gangster wife could help and goes to introduce them but as it turns out it's none other than the Shelby's sister/cousin/relative/friend/or maybe even an ex? (Your call one this one) who they thought was dead or something?

Idk if it's even worth your time and effort but I just wanted to make a request ;) No pressure, of course!

Love you and your writing a lot!

“As The Crow Flies” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — PART 1

SUMMARY — By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you to @zablife for being the most gracious beta!💗💗💗💗💗 and thank you Anon for this request, because actually it inspired a full-blown multi-chapter idea! So this is set around... Season 5 I suppose? But I'm going to ignore everything in it and Season 6 too. Let's pretend none of it happened and just focus on the fun part! That is driving Tommy insane and making Alfie say outrageous lines.

WORD COUNT — 2,286

Masterlist

In retrospect, Tommy Shelby felt he should have known better. He should have fucking known that the moment, the moment, he came to Margate to sort the bloody situation out, exactly two things would happen.

One, he would have to sit and listen with a straight face to Alfie’s inspired monologue, the subject of which had swerved from elephants to bank robbery in about two and a half minutes, and then managed to touch upon just about everything else under the sun.

Tommy remained quite sure that the sense of Alfie’s rambling had been long lost to history and the point of it all was just to talk him to death, really. Put him out of his misery with nonsense alone.

“Now then, Tommy, as I said, right, I ain’t the vindictive type, I really ain’t, so I am gonna help ya out just this once, right, outta the goodness of my own heart.”

Tommy managed not to roll his eyes. Barely.

“‘Cause I am a changed man these days, Tommy, an’ it can be that the old man that I am, I’m goin’ soft on ya, right, an’ so tradition dictates, mate, to ask for more than ten thousand for my troubles.”

Tommy raised a brow.

“But as things currently stand with the medical bills, on the account of bein’ shot in the face by some cunt, right… Fifteen would sound proper fair, mate.”

Thank fuck for small mercies, Tommy thought, then lit another cigarette and promptly got up to leave. Alfie apparently managed to settle both sides of the conversation, negotiations included, and their American problem could very well sort itself out all on his own—thus proving to Tommy once more that the only thing he could really count on in this world had always been lunatics.

“Right, the fuck you’re doin’ now, sit down!”

Tommy frowned and remained standing, cigarette in the corner of his mouth and sheer outrage emanating from his entire person. The question of “what in fuck’s name do you want now, you crazy bastard?” overtook his face.

“Right, I need to make a bloody phone call,” Alfie said then, which explained exactly nothing.

Yes, that was the second thing Tommy had been so sure would happen. Alfie would first go on a tangent, then formulate a plan that involved three separate layers of deception, a bribe, and a crate of dynamite (probably).

Then Tommy would get caught in the middle as bloody always and Polly would have his head for going along with Alfie’s plan in the first place.

What he didn’t expect was for Alfie to change his tone of voice completely as soon as the person picked up on the other end:

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s me. Come to the house, alright? Right, ‘cause I need ya here for somethin’. No, not like the— Bloody hell, woman, just don’t fuckin’ argue with me for once, alright?”

Sometimes a rare occasion would present itself for Tommy Shelby to become fucking speechless. Truth be told, he remained rather surprised that two such occasions had also involved Alfie Solomons, undoubtedly purely for the Devil’s bloody amusement.

“Who was that then, Alfie?”

“None of ya fuckin’ business.”

Tommy had a sneaky feeling there wasn’t a clever enough question in existence that could have pushed Alfie to say anything more. He looked smug as hell for having pulled that stunt off so Tommy was willing to see it through.

For old time’s sake.

The sun was setting and they had another drink, then Tommy let Alfie go on another tangent about… Tea import. Perhaps. Who knew, he wasn’t really listening.

On drink three Tommy was alerted by a car pulling up to the house, followed by a door slam and a rhythmic clacking of high heels on the porch. Tommy looked to Alfie, but the man remained infuriatingly calm.

Just as Tommy was about to reach for his gun, the door to Alfie’s study opened unceremoniously and a scent of expensive perfume wafted across the room. Tommy turned around and tried his best to keep up the indifferent facade, but failed miserably. Nothing could have prepared him for you walking through that door, with a giant bodyguard no less, following you like a second shadow.

“Alright there, Billy?” Alfie greeted the bodyguard casually and the man grunted in response. “Right then, might ya wait in the car for us, mate? This whole bloody business will take a minute.”

Tommy then watched as Alfie approached you and planted an affectionate kiss to your cheek, at which point Tommy stood up abruptly.

For a moment he just stood there and stared; a state he didn’t find himself in too often these days. 

“Darling, are we having guests?” you asked Alfie in a tone so familiar to Tommy; so like your mother. Pleasant, on the verge of sarcastic. 

By God, either that Camden bastard was a magician or you had a twin sister that Polly never mentioned. Because it wasn’t possible… It couldn’t be you. Not according to the file he stole from the parish. By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies. 

“Right then, Tommy, might I present my lovely wife,” Alfie said. “Sweetie, this here is Tommy Shelby, right, all the way from the ungodly place they call Birmingham—”

“Tommy Shelby?” you interrupted and looked at Tommy with a smile so like Polly’s that Tommy nearly lost his composure again. “My, my… And there you went and promised you were done with the life, Alfie.”

“Right, an’ how could that—”

“Anna,” Tommy interrupted what he was sure was a budding monologue from Alfie. 

“Yes?” you asked. “You know my name?”

“I… Know your mother.”

“Know?” There it was again. That curious smirk of yours that could really mean anything. Tommy found it harder and harder to keep up the charade.

“But that’s not possible, Mr. Shelby.”

“What’s not possible?”

Your tone remained polite, but your dark eyes said it all. The expression of quiet resolve Tommy thought only one person capable of delivering with such resentment.

“I’m an orphan, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy said nothing to that, because what in hell could he even say? All of a sudden the American issue faded into nothingness, replaced solely by the phantom standing before him.

“So you did not lie, I see,” you turned to your husband with a quizzical expression, seeing as Tommy went quiet again. “He really is as strange as the papers make him. No matter, though, Mr. Shelby, I hope you like chicken? My husband insists I’m a terrible cook, but you must stay for dinner.”

Tommy nodded mechanically and put out his cigarette just to busy his hands with something. When he looked at Alfie, though, Tommy noticed how the man’s mouth twitched, clearly indicating the scheme was playing exactly how he wanted it to. Mad bastard, Tommy thought. There was no saying if he was being played or tricked or helped. Probably all at once, but solely for Alfie’s benefit of course.

“Right, curious as I am, luv, what delectable fuckin’ option you maimed and butchered for dinner, Tommy isn’t stayin’—” Alfie then stopped himself when two sets of identical Shelby scowls got directed his way.

Tommy did stay for dinner and made sure to clean his plate, too. He didn’t mind the food at all; it reminded him of Polly’s simple cooking back in the day when she would take care of Tommy and his siblings in Small Heath.

The more he listened to you talk and bicker with Alfie, the more of your mother he saw in you and the angrier he got at seeing you here of all places, as Alfie’s wife, unable to speak to you in plain terms. Tommy wasn’t exactly sure which made him angrier, though—the fact that you were Alfie’s wife or the fact that the sly bastard had kept you from your true family for who knows how many years. How did he even find you?

All the questions he had were still swirling around in Tommy’s head and he wasn’t particularly paying attention to anything else, besides staring daggers at Alfie. He was hoping there would be a moment to talk to you alone, but of course your husband would never allow it. He watched Tommy like a hawk the entire evening, sometimes with just a hint of a smile to suggest he was still three steps ahead of everyone else.

“See you never got accustomed to that fancy cookin’ they’re offerin’ ya at the mansion these days, Tommy,” Alfie said, undoubtedly truly enjoying the charade. “Tommy’s an MP, darlin’, right about two steps from gettin’ a knighthood I reckon. Yeah, a real prince he is.”

The way Alfie said the word was so clearly a jab at Tommy’s ancestry that he didn’t even flinch. What he was curious about was your reaction, but you remained perfectly pleasant: 

“Don’t tease, love, we haven’t had guests in ages and I’m not letting you drive this one away.”

When the maid took away the plates, you lit a cigarette in a swift overdone gesture and Tommy was once more taken aback with your resemblance to Polly. 

“Well, I’ll leave ya both to it,” you announced as you got up. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Shelby.” You extended your hand and Tommy shook it. “I know you tried your best with the chicken and I appreciate it,” you paused and tilted your head to the side as if sizing Tommy up.

“I rarely trust your husband’s judgement,” he replied.

The way you smiled reminded Tommy of a cat that got into the pantry. He decided not to think about it too much.

“I see. Goodnight then, Mr. Shelby.”

As soon as Tommy heard you got upstairs, he turned to Alfie who, unsurprisingly, already had a gun pointed at him. It was a casual way of it that was the most infuriating—Alfie’s hand was more so resting on the table and the gun just happened to be there, pointing at Tommy. 

“Now then, Tommy, let’s be reasonable about this, mate.”

Tommy clenched his jaw and remained silent, but his murderous glare said it all.

“There are four people at the house, right, includin’ you, me, my wife, then the maid… Then there’s Billy outside, right, who’s gonna be rightly worried once he doesn’t get my dismissal for the night. So I want ya to be real cold an’ calculated about it, Tommy, just like I know ya can be, ‘cause if ya decide to off me for no reason now…”

“No reason.”

“Right.”

“You’re old enough to be her father.”

“Yeah an’ fortunately I’m not, ‘cause that’d be right fuckin’ awkward at the temple, mate.”

“Temple?”

“What’d ya think, Tommy, that I smacked her over the head and dragged her into my cave?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Right, we’ll have to show ya the pictures then, she looked stunnin’.” Alfie leaned back in his chair. “Tell ya what, mate, why don’t ya come by for tea one day?”

“Tea.”

“Yeah. We have it, Tommy, we’re not animals.”

Tommy said nothing to that. He was still reviewing his options, but as he wasn’t a fan of spontaneous action, the patient approach seemed appropriate. The offer, though, just like everything else about the situation, was fucking infuriating.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Fuck you, Alfie.”

That finally made Alfie smile and for some reason he lowered the gun.

“Right, so seein’ as we’re family, Tommy, and what a happy coincidence this is, I must say, I feel like we should talk fuckin’ proper. None of that shit.” Alfie then gestured between them as if he hadn’t been responsible for “that shit” in the first place.

“We’ve been talking, Alfie,” Tommy deadpanned.

“Yeah, but then there’s still somethin’ ya haven’t told me about your American troubles, isn’t there, mate, so I’m expectin’ you’ll be more honest with me in the future. Now that I’ve brought the right arguments to the table…”

The hint of a threat in that statement almost made Tommy wish he still had his razor cap around.

“She’s Polly’s only daughter, Alfie.”

“Right, I’m aware of that.”

Tommy nodded, feigning understanding between them. As always, handling Alfie very much resembled handling a live grenade without a pin.

“This can’t be the way to end things.”

“Who’s endin’ things, Tommy?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, an’ I’m going to let this one slide, Tommy, ‘cause you just got a lot to process, mate, so I’m prepared to be understandin’.”

Tommy shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket, at which Alfie uncocked the gun. Tommy slowly pulled out his cigarette box, but Alfie never even flinched. It was gruesomely reassuring to still have been right, even in the position that Tommy currently found himself in. 

Alfie Solomons would always remain Alfie Solomons, even with the whole song and a dance about getting old and senile. He was still the same mad bastard Tommy came to know all those years ago, and as things stood, Tommy found himself wondering if this time he shouldn’t try poison instead of a bullet.

“Tommy,” Alfie sighed, “with three good eyes workin’ between us, mate, I really would greatly mind if I somehow acquired a fuckin’ tumour in my lungs, too.”

Tommy said nothing and he knew Alfie hated it.

“Which means put that shit out, mate, and listen to what I’m about to say, ‘cause I got a feeling you’ll really wanna hear it.”

[grimalkinmessor]

Aideku with blood (smut) 🙏❤️

Sorry this took so long, smut is hard 🥲How about a vamp AU? :3 Warnings in the tags ✨

Aideku/Smut/Blood

———

Izuku is nervous.

"Don't be such a pussy, Deku," Tsubasa jeers, shoving him forward. The mausoleum looms in front of them, haloed by the setting sun. "It's one night."

"Yeah, you can handle one night in an empty building, can't you?" Neiru laughs. "Or...mostly empty, anyway. Aside from a few corpses."

Izuku swallows. "I-I can do it! I just—"

"Good," Neiru interrupts, stepping up to open the big stone door. It opens with a grating moan, a vast expanse of black yawning beyond it. Neiru gives a mocking bow. "In you go then!"

Nails biting into his palms, Izuku sets his jaw. "...I do this, and you'll give me my picture back?"

Tsubasa throws an arm around Izuku's shoulders, leaning in close and making his skin crawl. "Aw c'mon, Deku, we're friends, right?"

They haven't been friends in years.

"It's just a little game. The picture's just insurance that you won't chicken out. We'll give it back if you make it the whole night without bailing."

Izuku doesn't believe him. But what choice does he have? If he refuses, he doubts they'll hand it over—it's more likely that they'll rip it up right in front of him. Besides, Izuku is less concerned about spending the night in a mausoleum than he is Tsubasa and Neiru letting him out in the morning.

But even if they don't, Izuku is crafty. He'll figure it out.

Tightening his hold on his backpack, Izuku strides forward into the tomb.

"Finally! Thought we'd have to throw you in," Tsubasa complains, and Neiru snickers as he begins to push the door shut.

"Have fun, Deku!"

Before Izuku can even reply, the door thuds shut, and the bar scrapes back into place over it from the outside. Izuku waits a moment before fumbling for his phone, turning on the flashlight to get a good look around. It's not that big of a space really, but it's full of cobwebs and coated in a thick layer of dust. It's clear that these ancestors haven't been visited in a very long time. There's about six plaques on either wall, some of them so old that the kanji has worn down so much he can't make out the names. They're so old that Izuku wouldn't be surprised if there were actual bodies behind those plaques rather than just urns full of ash.

And speaking of bodies—the biggest thing in the room is the long stone slab directly opposite the door. It has no plaque on it, but the seam between the heavy stone lid tells Izuku that it's likely a coffin, which means that he really is locked in here with a corpse.

Izuku gulps. It's fine. It's fine. He can handle this. There's nothing to be afraid of.

Shaking his head, Izuku finds a fairly clean spot in the middle of the room and sits down, shrugging off his backpack to rifle through it. First things first; he pulls out his actual flashlight, shutting his phone off to preserve the battery. He clicks his flashlight on and sets it on the floor like a tiny lamp, before tugging out one of his textbooks. Might as well get some work done while he's stuck here.

He's almost out of high school now, looking into nearby colleges so he can stay close to his mother—which makes it all the more pathetic that he's still getting pushed around by people like Tsubasa and Neiru. Granted, it's not as bad as it used to be, but it's still irritating.

Izuku tries to ignore his surroundings as he works his way through the next chapter, gnawing on his pen and occasionally jotting down notes in the margins. This works for a while; he manages to make his way through two whole chapters without much trouble. He loses track of time a bit, until—

—something skitters across his foot.

Izuku shrieks, throwing himself back on instinct, leg flailing as he tries to stand only to end up toppling harshly against the casket behind him. Yelping, Izuku crashes back to the ground, clutching his shoulder with a wince. It throbs when he touches it, and he hisses quietly. That's going to bruise.

Grabbing blindly for his flashlight, Izuku staggers back to his feet and looks around for whatever just tried to climb his pants leg. He sees a spider the size of his hand sprint into a crack in the wall, and Izuku shudders, making a soft 'blegh' sound.

Swinging the light around slowly, Izuku freezes when he realizes that his flailing has pushed the lid of the stone casket aside. "Sh-shit," Izuku whispers, anxiety spiking. He sets the flashlight down again, face up, the light dispersing throughout the tomb enough to give the place a dim glow. "Shit, shit, shit—"

Hands shaking, Izuku approaches the cracked casket and tentatively peers inside. He expects to see some withered husk of a thing, or maybe nothing but bones and dust given how old this tomb seems—he's very much not expecting what looks like the perfectly preserved corpse of a man who couldn't have died more than a year ago.

Izuku blinks, squinting. The flashlight glow is dim, but from what he can see it's a man with long, dark hair and a riot of stubble. The white and black yukata he's wearing is shockingly pristine, pale hands folded calmly over his stomach. There are no signs of decay at all, not beyond the ashen white of the corpse's skin. Unable to help himself, curiosity ad incredulity flaring, Izuku reaches forward and touches the man's cheek. The flesh is stone cold—not quite icy, but certainly not full of warmth. There's a bit of give there too, the flesh porcelain but still somehow soft.

Brow furrowing, Izuku slides his hand down to press two fingers to the corpse's white neck. He's no sure whether he's surprised or relieved to find no pulse.

Izuku barely has time to register this however, because mere seconds later a hand snaps out and fists in his uniform jacket, yanking him down and in to the coffin. Izuku yelps, panic spiking, as he crashes onto the cool body settled in the slab, mouth opening to scream as the stone lid of the casket slams back into place.

But no sound escapes his mouth, because in the sudden darkness he feels teeth slice into his throat—before pleasure overtakes him.

Izuku gapes at nothing as a solid arm latches around his waist, tight enough to bruise and yet somehow still seeming absentminded. The subtle rasp of stubble rubs against his neck, and Izuku smells the faint scent of blood as lips move and hum quietly against his pulse. The electrifying feeling of heat spiders out from the point of contact, spreading through Izuku's body and pooling in his gut. Izuku's eyes flutter, a weak noise escaping his mouth as his hands flex and paw at the chest of the-the thing beneath him. He's not sure whether he means to push it away, or draw it closer.

Izuku feels his blood spilling slowly down his neck, thick and hot, and the pieces slot together in his bewildered, fuzzy mind.

Vampire.

He is locked in a tomb—a coffin—with a monster of legends. It's feeding off of him, stealing his blood, likely killing him...

But Izuku can barely bring himself to care.

A ragged groan scrapes out of his throat as the vampire sucks out his lifeblood, ecstasy filling him in its place. He feels his cock stiffen, pressing tight against the seam of his pants as Izuku's eyes roll back in delirious elan. Through the haze, his ever analytical mind notes that the man's hands are skating up and down his sides, one fisting loosely in his hair to pin his head at a better angle. The chill of the corpse's skin is slowly being replaced by warmth, siphoning off Izuku's body heat as well as his blood.

Izuku gasps as a leg juts up beneath him, a muscled thigh slipping in between his legs and pressing against his erection. The pressure makes him tremble, little hiccups of sound lilting out of his mouth as he instinctively rocks his hips down in helpless little jerks, each movement giving him another jolt of pleasure.

A tongue swipes over his bloodied neck, the white-hot bliss of those teeth leaving him for a moment as the monster beneath him cleans him up. Izuku whines at the loss, a quiet desperation striking through him.

'No, no, come back, I'm almost...'

He moans shakily as he feels those fangs pierce the other side of his neck, drawing out his blood and sending him high once more.

"A virgin...?" a low voice purrs, sleepy and bemused and...in his head?

The hands on him tighten, and Izuku whimpers as it sends another spike of arousal through him. He has the vague sense of shame, of embarrassment, at the way he's humping the man's leg, rubbing the tent in his old jeans against the silky white fabric of the man's yukata—but it's a faint sensation. His anxiety is drowned out by the sheer amount of ecstasy coursing through him. Izuku feels it building in his stomach, coiling in his gut as his toes curl and his thighs clamp tight around the muscled thigh beneath him.

He's close, he so close, he—

Red glow fills the space, casting the figure beneath him in a crimson haze. His eyes are a brilliant, luminous scarlet, and the light of them makes the blood painting his mouth look black.

"Your lust..." the man rasps, hands skating up and down to fasten around Izuku's hips. His voice is low and wet, and Izuku can smell his own blood on his breath. "I can taste it."

Then the monster yanks Izuku's hips down, forcing him to grind up against the man's stomach. Izuku cries out, sobbing as the force, the crush, the smell sends him toppling over the edge of orgasm. He cums so hard his vision goes white, mouth open in a soundless wail as wave after wave of pleasure crests over him, shocking up his spine and curling in his scalp. He forgets to breathe for several precious moments, knocked breathless by it.

Vaguely, he feels the man's mouth on him again, trailing his tongue against the newest wound. Izuku's eyes flutter, and he collapses fully on top of him, lost in the afterglow. He's not sure whether the dizziness he feels is because of his orgasm or the blood loss, and he's not sure he particularly cares either. His limbs feel like jello.

"Mm, you're type O," that low voice muses, a hand trailing up and down Izuku's spine. "I thought it was merely that I hadn't fed in so long, but it's no wonder. Best way I've woken up in a long time." The hand pauses, and the red glow now saturating the inside of the coffin flickers. "Mind telling me what year it is?"

"It's..." Izuku begins, the question booting his brain back into gear. His thoughts begin to race as he blinks rapidly to clear his head, a myriad of questions and emotions and reactions flashing across his mind in quick succession. "I-It's 2237."

"A little over four hundred years this time," the man murmurs, brow furrowing in contemplation. "Odd. Someone usually wakes me up every turn of the century."

"U-Um, sir," Izuku tries after a moment, wriggling in mortification when he feels the mess he's made in his pants. "Can you, um, let me out now? If y-you're not going to finish me off?"

'Why would you ask that, WHY would you—'

"I would," the monster begins absently, licking a stray trail of Izuku's blood from the corner of his lips. He's looking at the faintest trickle of light that can be seen from the seam of the stone lid. "But it seems like it's still daylight out. The mausoleum must've collapsed..."

Izuku attempts to push himself up, but the idle hand on his back isn't as idle as he thought. Vampire strength, he realizes quickly. Biting his lip, he tries not to think of the bruises already blossoming on his hip. "No, that's just my flashlight! It's actually very late, so it's safe for you to let me out, I promise!"

Scarlet eyes narrow at him, grip tightening, and Izuku squeaks like a dog toy when those fangs scrape against his neck again. "You're not lying to me, are you? Little lust thrall?"

Izuku's face flushes brightly, and the man noses his cheek almost instinctively, as if following the blood flow. "I-I'm not! I'm not lying, I swear! Please, just—I don't want to die," he finishes weakly, hands fisting tightly in cloth pooling by the monster's sides.

The man's eyes soften slightly, and he sighs. The tang of warm iron feathers against Izuku's face. Reaching behind them both, the man swipes the lid to the side with one hand, the rough scrape of stone on stone making Izuku wince. Before Izuku can even move, he finds himself being hauled up and set outside the coffin on his feet. He staggers immediately, knees still weak, and nearly falls.

A calloused hand pushes against his back, keeping him upright. Izuku swallows and blinks away the spots crowding his vision, stumbling away to pick up his flashlight.

He turns again, cringing at the wet feeling between his legs. The man is sitting up in his box, peering at him curiously. Unable to help himself, Izuku tentatively asks, "So... you're n-not going to eat me?"

Tipping his head, the man gives him a hooded smile, dark hair shadowing his face as he answers, "Not anymore than I already have."

Izuku's face feels so hot he'd work well as a heat lamp.

The man steps smoothly out of his tomb and, to Izuku's surprise, folds into a bow. "Aizawa Shouta."

More habitually than anything, Izuku bows back. "Midoriya Izuku. It's, uh, nice to meet you?"

Aizawa smirks at him, the tips of his fangs flashing. "Well, Midoriya," he says, practically purring out the name. Izuku's breath catches. "Thank you for the meal. I hope you'll allow me the chance to taste you again. In a place where I can properly see you, this time."

With that, Aizawa rises from his bow and swirls into shadow, racing out of the doors of the mausoleum and leaving them banging open behind him. Moonlight spills into the tomb, and Izuku watches Aizawa's shadows zip through the cemetery and out into the night.

He has a feeling that he's just got himself into far more trouble than he knows.

[ughgoaway]

10,19 or 30 teacher!au 🥺 ps We’ve missed you!

- 🦑

omg hi, my love!!! I've missed YOU! very good choices, by the way, so I decided to include them all lol. I hope this is okay, I'm still a little rusty with writing, but I had fun writing this nonetheless :)

10- “You're so warm, and it turns me on so much”

19- character A holding character B’s hands as character B eats them out, fingers intertwined.

30- being ate out so good they can't stop the lewd noises coming from their mouth.

18+ below the cut please!! includes female receiving oral and general smut. 1.4k ish <3

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

The sun pours in the bedroom window, streaks of sunlight falling over the duvet and illuminating your face, the soft glow of the light heating your cheeks. You can't remember a time you've felt this good before, curled up with Matty under his thick duvet, buried under the layers to avoid the harsh chill of the concrete bunker.

You can feel Matty pressed against you, his chest against your bare back. His skin is that perfect level of warmth that makes your head spin.

You can feel his curls brushing the back of your neck as he wakes up, moving his head down to start pressing kisses to your neck.

“Mmm, morning baby,” he mumbles, his voice heavy with sleep.

You feel his hips press forward as he instinctively moves his body closer to yours, and soon, the unmistakable shape of his hard dick is pressed against your ass. He didn't mean it suggestively, his caveman brain just though "get closer to girlfriend," but, the combination of feeling how warm he was against you, his scratchy morning voice, and the feeling of his erection pressing into you were already riling you up.

so you start plotting.

You know Annie is at a sleepover, and you don't have to pick her up until 12. Quickly, you flick your eyes open and read the numbers on Matty’s digital clock. 09:00 blinks back at you.

more than enough time for a morning quickie.

Your lips work against each other, desperately pressing and pulling. Matty nips at your bottom lip, smirking at your needy whimpers. Your hips have a mind of their own, grinding against Matty’s, pulling more moans from the two of you. you can feeling him growing harder with each circle of your hips, and you can't deny the feeling of power it gives you.

You flip over in bed, and before Matty can process your movements, your mouth is pressed against his. Your tongue tracing the seam of his lips.

He can't help but giggle at your immediate horniness, which gives you the perfect opportunity to press your tongue into his mouth, licking in his mouth in a way that steals any laughter Matty had in his chest and replaces it with needy groans.

as if he can sense your ego growing, Matty soon moves his knee between your thighs, pulling away and watching your jaw drop as his thigh touches your overheated core. All he can see is the whites of your eyes as your eyes roll into the back of your head, your hips moving needily against his bare leg.

every movement is intoxicating, bulding up the inate need you have for him every second. You can feel the slick from your inner thighs spreading over his hot skin, just warm enough to have you sighing happily and throwing your head back, “fuck.”

A pink flush covers your chest, spreading up and colouring your cheeks, a ruby-woo red that has Matty itching to kiss every inch of your skin. The throb between your thighs was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and love filled the room and it made your head fuzzy.

“What's got you so worked up, hmm? Dreaming of me?” Matty teases, moving his head down to your neck. Soon enough, his lips are travelling over your chest and neck, sucking meanly and then kissing each spot better.

You don't answer for a few seconds, too distracted by the feeling of matty against you, but a short nip on the junction of your neck and shoulder brings you back to earth a little.

You shake your head as much as you can as Matty assaults your neck with hickies, “no, it's just-” you sigh breathily, trying to force the words stuck in your chest.

"You're so warm, and it turns me on so much,” you just manage to get out. Almost cutting yourself off with a moan as matty sucks a dark purple mark just behind your ear.

Matty pulls himself out from your neck, the same pretty pink of your cheeks covered his, and his curls were sticking on end from your hands desperately carding through them. You can see the glow of his skin in the gentle light of the sun, and all you want to do is trace every freckle on his skin with the tip of your tongue. but before you can he's dipping below the duvet and finding his place between your thighs (his favourite place, if hes honest).

You pull the blanket back to see Matty’s face, he leans his head on your thigh, looking up at you with blissed-out eyes. His once brown irises are almost black, blown out with lust.

“Yeah? You get turned on by me baby? Fuck, you're so hot. Lemme eat you out, make you feel good.” he asks, smirking at your reaction.

His calloused fingertips dip below the poor excuse for shorts you're wearing, pulling them down as fast as he can manage. The fabric once touching your skin is quickly replaced by his lips, moving over every inch of you, except the place you need him most.

Your head suddenly doesn't feel attached to your neck, but still, you manage a slack nod. A gasp falls from your chest as soon as you feel his overheated lips pressing kisses up your thighs.

Matty's fingers slide up your hips. When he reaches your waist, his thumbs press meanly into your skin, swirling and teasing you with every touch.

“Mattyyyy,” you whine, drawing out his name in an attempt to convince him to put his mouth on you. 

“Patience baby, why don't you hold my hand if you're so desperate for me? Good things come to girls who wait, you know,” Matty teases, moving one hand from your waist up to grip your own, your fingers sliding together and interlocking easily.

You squeeze his hands 3 times, a signal you two had created to say “I love you” without actually saying it. Matty continues his movements on your skin, but you still feel the same 3 squeezes back. Your eyes flick down to his, and you can see the love swimming in his eyes.

Thankfully, Matty soon gives you mercy, licking a flat stripe up your core and moaning at the musky taste of you overtaking his senses. He starts to eat you out like a man starved. Not giving you a moments ready before fucking you with his tongue, and smirking at the broken gasp that is ripped from your chest. You can’t help but squirm at the feeling, goosebumps erupting over your body.

He continues leaves you no time to breathe, using the hand thats unoccupied to slide down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves. Lewd noises fall from your lips, every movement from Matty pulls more whimpers and whines out of you, each one more desperate than the last.

You feel an electric current running through you, and as Matty drags his eyes up to meet yours and you feel like you've been shocked. You can see a mixture of your slick and his saliva on his chin, the filthy smirk covering his lips as his tongue works against you.

much to your dismay, his fingers slide down from your clit just as you were about to cum. A disgruntled whine falls from your lips, but it's soon replaced by a shuddering gasp as Matty slides the very same fingers inside you, stretching you out with two of his digits.

You feel him move his head up, but shifting your head from being thrown back feels like a herculean task right now. However, before you can even try to move, you're gasping and jolting your head up, looking down at Matty as he sucks your clit. He smiles as he starts teasing it with the tip of his tongue, sucking bundle of nerves harshly.

The hand holding Matty’s tightens and has a vice-like grip. Your eyes shoot open, and your jaw slack as every centimetre of his fingers enter you, finding places you couldn't dream of.

He curls his fingers cruelly, pumping them mercilessly, watching in awe as you writhe and moan above him. The heat spreading under your skin was becoming unbearable, the rubber band inside you being pulled tighter and tighter with every move Matty made.

Eventually Matty pulls away, resting his face on your shaking thigh as aftershocks rattle through you, the bottom half of his face is wet, and a sly smirk covers his cheeks.

You can't bare holding on any longer at the feeling, and you fall apart under him. Your hand gripping his becomes inexplicably tighter, and you're sure it's hurting like a bitch for Matty, but you honestly can't bring yourself to care right now.

Your hips move desperately against his face, grinding and circling as pleasure rattles through you. matty keeps working your clit and thrusting his fingers inside of you, studying the way you cry and crumble at his movements.

“Good morning,” he says cheekily, pecking your thigh as you giggle above him.

“Definitely a good morning, fucking hell,” you say breathlessly, closing your eyes in bliss as Matty sits between your thighs, looking up at you with enough love to make anyone completely lovesick.

[luveline]

yess would love to see some roan content

yk roans imaginary (i mean totally real) dalmation, maybe one day reader, eddie and roan are walking around at the park or something and she see a dalmation and just wants to run up and pet the dog. i just think it’d be a cute little moment

thank you for your request! a summer afternoon for the munson family <3 eddie and roan ♥︎ fem!reader 1.3k

You have Eddie's hand in one hand, Roan's in the other. It's a rare occasion that you get to be the one in the middle. Roan usually insists on it so that she can be swung over the sidewalk curbs. You aren't sure how you've gotten to be the lucky one, but you won't look a gift horse in the face. 

"I'm gon-da climb to the top of the climbing tower–" 

"'Gon-da'," Eddie whispers in your ear, "what is she, five?" 

She is very much five. 

"How dare you," you say. 

He laughs evilly and then remembers he has to be a dad as well as an idiot. "Roan, if you get stuck at the top again I can't come and get you, I'm a scaredy-cat." 

"I'll save you, princess," you say. 

Roan pulls away from your hand. "Thank you!" she calls, sprinting across a stretch of brilliant green grass. The field surrounding the playground is thick and lush and expansive. A group of teenagers throw a Frisbee at one end, while a great golden labrador chases a tennis ball at the other. You walk past babies and the elderly, all manner of Hawkins residents out in swing to enjoy the amazing summer weather. 

"Roan! Stay close!" Eddie shouts. 

She slows to a run. You and Eddie fast walk to keep pace, interlocked fingers swinging with every step.

"It's so nice out today, sure you aren't gonna melt into a leather puddle?" you tease. 

"I reject summer," Eddie says, in all black. 

You laugh. It's the kind of laugh you can only make when it's warm and you're content, the sound rumbly and indulgent. Since meeting Eddie, pretty much ever one of your laughs sound this way when the weather's nice. He smiles at you and bumps his shoulder into yours, his eyebrows, hidden by his bangs, making a rare appearance as he squints against the sun. 

Roan thankfully stops before she gets to the playground, a mass of hot plastic on wood chips that you can smell half a mile away. She rocks back and forth on her heels, feet covered by small white sneakers. Eddie had originally dressed her in a sweet pink dress with flowers on the chest, but you'd peeped up to say she should probably wear pants if she's gonna be climbing things. He'd nodded, said, "Right! Right, what would I do without you, baby?" 

It felt nice to get to amend what she wears, and his easy acceptance of your suggestion. 

"Go on, babe!" he calls. "We're gonna stay right here on the grass and watch you!" 

Roan beams and races to the climbing tower, a plastic and rope contraption that scares the fuck out of you. It's designed to catch a child if they fall, ropes intermingling between layers and reaching a narrow point at the top. You worry she'll fall backwards, but what can you do to stop her? She wants to tackle it, you want her to be brave and have fun, and you're a little unsure if you'd even be allowed to say No, you can't go on there. 

You and Eddie lay out a blanket and sit under the summer heat. He admits defeat and peels out of his thick jacket, exposing the amazing lengths of his arms. They're almost enough to drag your gaze from his climbing daughter. 

"She's gonna be fine," he says. 

"I know." You put your hand on his thigh. "What if she isn't, though?" 

"She will be. They wouldn't build that thing if kids weren't meant to climb it. I've climbed it." 

"You've climbed it?" 

He leans back, lips taking to an open-mouthed smile. "You don't believe me?" 

"How old were you?" 

"Probably not as young as Ro, but– seven? Eight?" 

"Eddie, that's fifteen years ago. You're telling me she's climbing ten feet on a climbing frame that's fifteen years old?" You groan and close your eyes. "You better watch her. I'm gonna have a heart attack."

Eddie covers your hand with his, chuckling. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll watch her." 

You squeeze your eyes closed but take little glances when you can manage it. The higher she gets the worse you feel, anxiety churning your guts. You know she won't fall but your body doesn't. A cold sweat pricks your neck despite the sunshine beating down. 

Eddie plays with your fingers absentmindedly. 

"I think your ring finger is my favourite. And not because of what you're thinking," he says nonchalantly, "but it's cute. You have a little tiny mark, what is that?" 

"Maybe a papercut scar?" you ask. "Wait! Aren't you watching Roan?"

"I am, but I can do both. Plus, even if she falls, what'm I gonna do? The net will catch her, sweetheart, I promise." 

He places his thumb on either side of your finger and presses down to the tip. It's a strange gesture, thoughtless, and your anxiety numbs. You watch Roan climb to another layer. She looks about as nervous as you feel, taking careful steps, pulling herself up with heaving motions. 

Eddie pulls the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses it quickly. "Hey, she's almost at the top."

Roan climbs to the summit. You tilt your head toward Eddie's and wait for her to get down, only she doesn't, climbing to the other side with tense movements. Her front comes into view, and when she spots you and Eddie looking there's a huge smile on her face.

"Look, I'm at the top!" she shouts proudly. 

"You are! You're so fast, and so tall!" Eddie waves at her. 

She waves back. 

"Oh, holy shit, I'm gonna throw up," you say. "I'm gonna go get her down." 

You stand up and almost fall to your knees when Roan shouts, "Oh my god! Oh my god!" 

You don't care who's watching or listening to you, you shout, "What, baby?" 

"A damnation!" 

You get to the bottom of the tower in record time. "Are you stuck?" 

She wags her head. Her every movement makes the tower ropes shake. "Y/N, it's a damnation, look!" she says, pointing behind you. 

You reluctantly turn, heart in your throat, and are greeted by the sight of a full grown dalmatian, white with black spots. You're head rushes. 

Eddie comes to meet you with the blanket and tote bag hastily thrown over his arm. Roan flies down the tower in record time, stops to hug your leg, and then looks up at Eddie and says, "Can I hug it? Please? Please, can I go pet the dog?" 

Eddie takes her hand. "Let's go ask, baby." 

They fast walk to the dalmation before the owner can walk too far away and ask to pet the dog. The dalmation's name is Sammy, and he loves kisses and hugs. He links stripes up Roan's face until she's roaring with giggles, her arms around his skinny neck. 

"Good puppy!" she says, squealing when Sammy licks her nose.

"How's your heart?" Eddie asks. 

"Definitely feeling better." You put his hand against your chest so he can feel the slowed pulse. 

He slides it to your shoulder, throwing the other behind so he can hug you and tug you in for a forehead kiss at the same time. 

"You're pretty when you worry," he says. 

Roan giggles some more, cotton candy sweet. "Daddy, we need a Sammy, please please please!" 

A little bit of his pleased, carefree attitude dissipates. 

"Baby, where would we put him?" 

"He could sleep in my bed!" She rubs Sammy behind the ears. "Do you have a brother, mister Sammy?" 

You tip your head to his ear. "She wants a puppy? What is she, five?" 

Roan beams at you both. Mister Sammy licks a gross line of spit from her chin to her temple.

[augustjustice]

I Wanna Be The One To Walk In The Sun

AO3

@stevieweek day 1: stobin | prompts: sapphic, the party

rating: T | wc: 2.5k | cw: homophobia and transphobia mentioned but with no real bearing on the story | tags: sapphic stobin, background elmax, transfem steve harrington, get together, established relationship, futurefic, tooth-rotting fluff

Notes: I went in a slightly different direction with the prompt. This fic centers on sapphic Stobin entering into a romantic relationship after Stevie comes out as a trans girl. If that's not your cup of tea, please skip this one! Don't like, don't read as always.

Title from "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper.

It was amazing what a difference a year made. 

June of 1987 saw Stevie Harrington returning to Hawkins, fully out to everyone who mattered and with her girlfriend at her side.

When Robin had headed off to Purdue the previous fall, Stevie had followed. She knew, deep in her heart, that she would follow Robin anywhere. 

And though Stevie hadn’t enrolled for any college classes herself, leaving their hometown had felt like gulping down the first breath of fresh air after her lungs had started to burn from holding it underwater. She’d spent so long treading along, just trying to survive the many perils that Hawkins had thrown her ways, it had been years since she got to just be.

Being in a new place, though, with the exploratory air that college afforded available at every turn, opened up a whole new world of possibilities. Stevie had learned a lot about herself in the intervening months. 

Starting, of course, with just who she was, once you peeled back all the layers of high school reputations, smalltown expectations, and societal roles. Robin, of course, had helped her enormously when it came to navigating that last one, introducing Stevie to ideas that Robin was rapidly learning from her classes and dipping her toe into queer culture for the first time. 

Things that Stevie had never even considered before. 

Robin never judged her, when she started borrowing more and more clothes directly from Robin’s closet, in the tiny off-campus apartment they shared. And when Stevie speculated one night, when the pair of them were cross-faded from home mixed margaritas and the joint Eddie had gifted them as a housewarming present, what it might be like to wear a skirt, Robin had simply said, “Well, I mean…you can, you know. If you want to. Boy’s can wear skirts.” 

She’d been right by Stevie’s side the next weekend when they journeyed to the mall, and she picked out a skirt of her very own, for the very first time. Knee-length and flowing, the pale pink fabric was perfect, made her feel pretty and delicate as soon as she put it on. 

And Robin was there, holding her hand as they sat cross-legged in her bedroom, when Stevie quietly confessed that she thought maybe she wasn’t a boy at all later that night.

When Stevie had glanced over at her best friend–biting at her bottom lip nervously, afraid of what she might see shining back at her in Robin’s expression–she hadn’t expected to find the other girl blushing.

“Well–that’s great, Stevie! I mean, that’s really great–amazing, even! And I’m so, so happy–and proud! Did I mention proud?–that you told me. I was starting to think–well, what I mean is, I knew something was different. With the skirt, of course, but also because you’ve been growing out your hair? And started styling it differently–pretty! Like, really, really pretty. I mean, I know they called you the Hair back in school, but these days, it’s just, it looks–”

As the words spilled from Robin’s mouth in a steady stream, Stevie blinked, realization hitting her. Robin was rambling, the way she always did in front of pretty girls.

There was no way in hell that could mean–could it?

Reaching out, Stevie cupped her face, pressing a finger to her lips to shush her, the same as she always would have. “Robbie?”

“Yeah?” Robin gulped nervously.

When she smiled, fond and sweet, the corner of Stevie’s eyes crinkled with the force of it.

“It’s just me.”

But as Robin’s gaze dropped down to her lips, Stevie’s heart started to rabbit in her chest with the same frenetic pace as Robin’s rambling.

It was Robin who closed the distance between them. That first brush of their lips had quieted all the anxious thoughts racing in Stevie’s head, every fear draining out of her. 

Because this was them–Stevie and Robin, intertwined together the same as they’d always been. Just, now, in a whole new, exciting way. 

It felt good. It felt right.

Several deep, giddy kisses later, the pair of them laid side by side in Stevie’s bed, Robin’s head pillowed on her chest, right over her heart.

When Robin chose to break the silence, her words weren’t at all what Stevie had expected. 

“You wore chapstick that summer at Scoops, didn’t you?”

Stevie furrowed her brow, nose crinkling with her confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“It was confusing,” Robin admitted.

“Rob, are you saying I gave you a sexuality crisis?” Stevie asked, delighted.

Robin nudged her shoulder, huffing out a sigh.

“I’m saying that sometimes you’d swing your hips while you walked away in those tiny little sailor shorts, and I had to remind myself that I liked girls.” 

Stevie cackled. 

“Turns out my gay girl radar was just even better than I thought it was.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’d go that far. You didn’t clock Vickie for ages even though I kept telling you—”

“Well, I guess it all worked out alright for you, didn’t it, Harrington?” Robin sniped back, the twinkle in her eyes gentling things down to mere teasing. “Gave you plenty of time to swoop in and make your move.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.” Cupping Robin’s jaw, Stevie leaned in and kissed her again. “Maybe I should send Vickie a fruit basket, or something.”

“Stephanie Harrington, don’t you dare!” Robin squawked, already giggling.

That night, Stevie got a new name and a girlfriend, all wrapped up together in the same single, perfect moment.

—

The months that followed had brought them back here–exchanging sticky kisses at the Family Video counter, the sweltering heat outside so intense it cast a shimmer over the entire parking lot. 

With Purdue dismissed for the break, Stevie and Robin had come back to visit her parents and the kids. They’d decided to pick up their old jobs again to make a little extra money during the long, hot summer months. 

Hawkins was still as close-minded as it had always been, but both Stevie and Robin had a pretty good handle on how to navigate it. 

Since Stevie had started to transition, she got away with being pretty stealth–even though she and Robin still went everywhere together, most people didn’t put two and two together of just who she was. That included Keith, whose constant stammering in Stevie’s presence had sent both the girls into giggling fits immediately after their rehire interview, not a trace of his former Harrington hatred to be found.

Though it still wasn’t safe to be openly together most places, they took advantage of the closeness between two girls that most of the town just dismissed as gals being pals. And, of course, any and every spare moment they had alone. 

Like now, the store quiet around them, falling into that slow Tuesday morning lull.

Stevie had just barely finished applying her chapstick before Robin pulled her into another, eager kiss. She giggled into the space between her and Robin’s lips.

“You know, if you keep doing that, I’m just gonna have to keep putting it back on again.”

“Okay, well,” Robin sighed, as though extremely put upon, purposefully dramatic. “They shouldn’t make it taste so good, then.”

She punctuated her point by brushing her mouth over Stevie’s bottom lip once more. 

Since Stevie knew now that Robin had a thing for her chapstick, she couldn’t resist teasing her with it, just a little. So she uncapped the tube slowly once they pulled apart, making a show of liberally reapplying the coat Robin had just kissed off. 

But when Robin darted her head forward again, Stevie ducked her, releasing a soft laugh at the offended squawk her girlfriend let out.

“Hey, how about…how about this. We make a game out of it,” Stevie suggested. 

Robin’s eyebrows drew down, a look of concentration crossing her face that Stevie couldn’t help but find adorable.

“What kind of game?” 

“Well, I was thinking–you kiss me, and then you have to guess what flavor I grabbed when I left the house this morning. Winner gets a prize.”

Robin thought this over for a moment. Then, she stuck her hand out to shake, like they’d brokered some kind of actual bet. 

“Deal.” 

When she pulled back from the first soft, lingering kiss to Stevie’s lips, Robin offered her first guess. 

“Uh…cherry?”

“Nope,” Stevie replied, popping the ‘p’ in her mouth. “Guess again.”

Robin’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she leaned in, pressing her lips more firmly to Stevie’s for a long, probing kiss. She even went so far as to suck her girlfriend’s bottom lip into her mouth, nibbling at it gently before pulling back.

“Strawberry?”

“Correct!” Stevie crowed triumphantly, smiling as Robin held her arms over her head in victory. “And for your prize, Robbie, you’ve scored yourself–another kiss.”

“My favorite,” Robin replied, eyes sparkling like this wouldn’t probably be the millionth kiss they’d exchanged that morning. 

As she dived back in eagerly, their mouths meeting again, Stevie couldn’t help but smile into it.

Stevie loved kissing. She always had.

With Nancy, it had always been a little bit too much. The other girl had been the one to pull away first, every time, embarrassed with Stevie’s over-the-top displays of affection.

Robin, though, was totally different. They could kiss for hours without stopping, their only breaks in the moments they pulled back long enough to giggle or tease or exchange some silly inside joke of theirs. 

If she was being honest, Stevie found Robin’s lips irresistible, whether she was wearing the bright red lipstick she often sported at Scoops, or her mouth was bare and pink, leaning more and more into the butch aesthetic she had cultivated after high school. Stevie was always leaning in to steal kisses, press her mouth against the bow of Robin’s smile or pout or even her cute little frown. 

But Robin always met her, never shrugging Stevie away, just kissing her back like it was as easy as breathing, familiar and warm and second-nature.

It made something bright and content and loved glow in Stevie’s chest, each and every time. 

Only the sound of the bell at the front of the store ringing, announcing the arrival of a customer, could burst the insulated bubble they had created for themselves. 

When the sound suddenly chimed, Stevie and Robin immediately sprang apart. But, when they turned as one to see a familiar cap and flash of red hair among the group tromping into the store, they cozied up once more.

By the time the kids made it up to the counter, they were exchanging teasing kisses again, giggling in-between them with their foreheads pressed together.

“Hello?” Dustin called out, obnoxiously loud as he banged on the front desk’s bell. “Can I get a little help here?”

Stevie pulled slightly away, hands still on Robin’s cheeks as they exchanged an eyeroll.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, don’t lose your shirt. What is it?”

“You guys are so cute together, it’s giving me a toothache,” Max complained, but the words were totally lacking in their usual bite.

And as Max ignored the boys animated yapping and disappeared into the shelves, Stevie caught the way she kept sneakily stealing glances at where Stevie had dropped her hand over Robin’s, interlacing their fingers together on the counter. 

The truth was, Stevie–well. She knew her kids, always had. It hadn’t taken long being back in Hawkins before she put two-and-two together, about the long, wistful looks Max kept shooting El’s way, whenever she thought the other girl wasn’t looking.

She knew Max prided herself on being worldly, people savvy…but Stevie was still pretty sure she hadn’t realized that El looked back at her the exact same way. 

“The plight of baby lesbians everywhere,” Robin had observed wryly when Stevie pointed it out to her later that afternoon, once the munchkins were long gone. “It’s a wonder, honestly, that we got it together as quickly as we did.”

Stevie cocked her head to one side, thinking it over. With a nod, she felt something within herself resolve. 

—

After that, she made a little bit of a show of it. Always holding Robin’s hand on the center console where the girls could see when she drove them over to the Wheeler’s basement for D&D nights. Peppering Robin’s cheek in doting kisses whenever the kids stumbled into Family Video for a rental. Generally upping her usual displays of public affection just a little more whenever Max or El was around. 

It wasn’t exactly like it was a hardship. Her girlfriend was hot, and she and Robin were already touchy as all hell when they were together. 

She just…you know. Made more of a point of it when the girls of the group were around to see.

—

It wasn’t until the Fourth of July barbecue that Robin finally called her on it. 

After the ‘earthquake,’ Stevie’s parents had all but abandoned their property in Hawkins. Before leaving for Purdue, she’d paid some local people out of the trust she’d gotten from her grandfather for upkeep. Which meant…she had an immaculately clean and available pool up for grabs by the time summer rolled around. Naturally, Stevie found herself playing hostess to the party and co. by the time Independence Day arrived.

She didn’t mind it. Having them–the kids, the older not-so-teens anymore, the parents in the know–all there, laughing and splashing and chasing each other through the grass. It went a long way towards exorcizing the haunted feeling that had crept over the place, in the aftermath of everything that happened with the Upside Down. 

When Robin settled down beside her at the shallow end of the pool, dipping her legs in, Stevie caught El glancing back in their direction, over Max’s shoulder where the girls had been twirling lazily around each other in the water. 

She held the hand Robin offered her a little tighter, curling close to press a kiss against her temple. And when El sent a shy, pleased smile her way, Stevie could only answer with one in return. 

“What was that for?” Robin asked.

“Cuz you’re cute,” Stevie said, utterly sincere, which made Robin snort and jostle her shoulder lightly, though she didn’t let go of her hand. “What, can’t a girl kiss her girlfriend just because she wants to?”

“She can, but I sense some ulterior motivation, Stephanie Harrington.”

Stevie shrugged, tucking a bit of hair behind Robin’s ear.

“I don’t know, just for…being you, I guess.”

“Something tells me this has way more to do with your little babysitter’s club sitting over there then you’re letting on,” Robin leaned over and gave Stevie a quick peck on the lips, “but, for the record? You’re kinda cute yourself.”

“Only kinda?”

“Yeah, you know, a little bit,” Robin held up her fingers and pinched them together to demonstrate, voice going silly.

Stevie giggled, and she was still giggling softly when Robin captured her lips with her own in a lingering, proper kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, she caught Robin’s blink of surprise, a light suddenly shining in her eyes. 

“Oh, shit. Well, will you look at that?” she jerked her chin towards the deep end of the pool. 

Stevie turned just in time to see it. Between one breath and the next, El and Max intertwined their fingers, going from playfully pressing their palms together–with all the plausible deniability that entailed–to properly holding hands. 

And the happiness she saw blooming across both their faces when they did–Stevie felt it, too, bursting like sunlight inside her own chest. 

“Guess our good influence paid off,” Robin said. Though the words could have been teasing, her voice sounded every bit as awed as Stevie felt. 

Leaning her head on Stevie’s shoulder, Robin pulled her hand up to her mouth and kissed the back of it.

“Face it, Stevie. We’re totally, like…a pair of lesbian moms at this point.”

Bubbly, pleasant warmth spread through Stevie at the thought. The truth was…that sounded pretty damn near perfect to her. 

So she pictured it, for a moment, a future–Robin hers forever, a chubby-legged baby toddling between them. 

And when she leaned in and kissed her girlfriend again, the taste of happiness as always on her lips…Stevie Harrington let herself hope.

[bellaxgiornata]

hiya! i’m asking both you and @pastafossa this question (because you’re my favorite daredevil writers). as someone who was very sunburnt today, july 4th, do you think matt can feel himself get a sunburn? and would he wear sunscreen to counteract it? when we were young, my sister had bad sensory issues and wouldn’t wear sunscreen. so i’m just wondering what matt’s reaction to all that would be. hope you had a great 4th of july!!

First off thank you so much!! 😭❤ There are so many wonderful DD writers so hearing that means a lot!! And @pastafossa is amazing (TRT is the reason I even started writing for Matt)!

I'm so sorry this took me so long to respond to, I've had the answer in my brain since I first read this, but finding a moment uninterrupted by children to sit and respond has been hard to do! (Also sorry to hear about your sunburn that day, that sounds awful!)

As usual I answered below the cut because this got long!

To answer your first question, I absolutely believe Matt can feel a sunburn. I mean, when I've had bad sunburns I can feel them aching and burning throughout the day on my own skin and I don't remotely have the senses that Matt does. And showering with a sunburn? I'm sure you know how much that sucks 😆 To Matt I imagine a sunburn would be constantly irritating and painful, but considering how injured he probably often is just walking around day to day, I'm sure the pain would be nothing new to him. He'd probably try to just suck it up or consider it something he deserved to suffer through. But yes, I absolutely think he could feel it and that it would be nonstop miserable for him--especially a really, really bad sunburn.

As for Matt wearing sunscreen, I could absolutely see him wearing it, BUT I will add that I don't really picture Matt as the type of individual that goes out in the sun long enough to get burnt in the city. I'm sure he did as a kid on occasion though, but not so much as an adult. He doesn't seem to have a lot of recreational hobbies or leisure time for lengthy outdoor daytime activities because he's too busy with the firm or too busy being the Devil or too busy being half dead in his apartment. Though if he did go out for a day in the sun, he'd probably be dragged by someone else (like a significant other or Fog) and they would most likely force him to wear some. And yes, most definitely I could see sunscreen absolutely bothering him, but I believe some might be more bearable to him than others.

I think it was last month that I was researching different types of sunscreens (don't ask, weird thing to research, I know) and there are literally so many different types nowadays that I imagine he'd be able to find one that wasn't too awful for him to wear. It currently eludes me whether it was the mineral or chemical ones that are less irritating on skin--especially if you sweat and it gets in your eyes--but I imagine there'd be a go-to type he'd use. Something that didn't have too much of a strong scent and that absorbed fairly well into his skin. Because anything that left a sort of greasy layer on him I'm sure would be distracting and feel disgusting to him. And having to reapply it would certainly just add to that gross feeling. More than likely he'd still end up taking a long shower after his outdoor activities to try to get it all off of his skin as soon as he could, too.

This was such a fun question though, so thank you!! I don't know if you read FFTD but in a waaaaay later installment in the future I plan to look at Matt sitting on a beach in a somewhat realistic view of him (from how I picture things) dealing with the situation with his senses. So basically having to wear sunscreen, dealing with sand on his skin (OMG he'd so hate sand 🤣😭) and possibly some other things. It's just always so fun to explore how he'd react to things with his senses!

[blackout-crypt]

Killjoy design masterpost (see reblogs for more)

I've been thinking for a while that it may be hard to come up with ideas for your Killjoy and you might need some inspiration! So I've been compiling a long list of designers and people to look at for help with you designs. Before you continue reading, THIS IS A LONG POST. It's also PART 1 because I can only have 30 images on one post. (If you want alt text on the images, reblog and I'll add it later, it been a Long Week)

1) Vivienne Westwood/Malcolm McLaren

Vivienne Westwood is often credited as the Godmother of punk. She ran a shop in London with Malcolm McLaren called "Sex" and their designs influenced punk as we know it today. If you want outrageous anti-fascist designs, look towards her and Sex Pistols' manager Malcolm McLaren.

2) Disco

That's right, I see your disco OC's, and I ADORE THEM. The Disco has a few distinct styles and pictured here we have a mix of the more casual style that you'll see dotted around and the outrageous designs that we know and love. (Yes, that's a screenshot from Mamma Mia, fight me. Also if you take inspiration from that movie I love you)

3) David Bowie

How do you even begin to define someone so incredibly iconic as David Bowie? His extreme makeup and style has wowed and wooed the world throughout his life and since his death. He's inspired countless artists, including Gerard Way, in both musical style and outfit choices, so he is the perfect person to model your OCs after.

4) Marc Bolan

Often referred to as the man who invented glamrock, Marc Bolan has a style that Killjoys would absolutely adore. He blended a sexy mix of feather boas, androgyny and mismatched fabrics that he made work. In fact, while we're at it, look at all of glamrock! It's like a Killjoy haven.

5) Hot pants

Hot pants were a brief 70s fashion piece characterised by being VERY SHORT SHORTS. They were seen both with layers underneath and without (although I think our dear Killjoys would appreaciate the sun protection and the style offered by the layers).

6) Psychedelia

I know, I know, it doesn't exactly scream Danger Days, but I feel like some Killjoys would find some of these dresses and cut them up and make them their own. They're bright, they're fun, and they're certainly weird.

7) Betsey Johnson

Betsey Johnson's designs seems to emulate this mismatched style that's often perpetuated by other Killjoys. Fabrics, colours, and themes that aren't typically seen together with an overall fun atmosphere, it's perfect - especially to a young Killjoy.

8) Madonna

You're trying to tell me that there AREN'T any Killjoys that took a few fashion tips from Madonna? Be for real. Madonna's regular use of lace, fishnets and a general edgy vibe make her more unique take on fashion would most definitely be seen somewhere down in a Killjoy's closet.

9) Tunnel Vision

Tunnel Vision is an alternative fashion brand that is all about the weird and wacky. Their website spans from more normal outerwear to more extreme styles, some of which is the more mis-matched style you see often in OCs.

10) Biker style

It's honestly so goshdarn hard to find decent pictures of biker gear online, but here's a couple. There are a large number of OCs who have motorbikes, but !! they don't have appropriate gear !! Please dress them well my babies do not want to die in a motorcycle accident!!

[according2thelore]

i am super curious if you are interested in how the younger sam & dean handle conflict between the older two? are they picking sides or avoiding the room? i just feel like the later seasons sam&dean fight DIFFERENT and it would be jarring and strange and uncomfortable for the early seasons to see.

ooh that's a great question!

i mentioned this super briefly at the VERY beginning, but i completely agree--LS!Sam&Dean fight differently. for them, almost every fight is a drag-down all-out, tears-in-my-eyes, or i can't lose you, why don't you believe in us too, or if you want to hunt, let's hunt but we can't be brothers.

the emotional stakes--while less grounded in relatable things to the audience (S1 arguing over a parent's perceived neglect/heroism vs S9 you let an angel possess me and i can't forgive you for that)--appear much more intense in the later seasons because there's so much more baggage there. (despite my personal preference for sam & dean arguing about sam being put down like a dog in s2 but i digress)

for ES!Sam&Dean i'm sure it's super confusing and frightening and strange, because these are the things they don't say out loud. they talk around a lot of the big stuff (i'm thinking "be my brother again because...just because") whereas in the later seasons they call each other out specifically on how much they care for each other ("what about me? would you trade me?").

LS!Sam says, "after everything that we've seen, after all the shit i've done, and the shit that i've had to live through--" ES!Sam&Dean can fucking feel it like a detonation. there are depths here that they cannot understand, layers and layers of sediment and fear and love and forgiveness and grudges that have shaped them into completely different people.

ES!Sam&Dean argue and it's mostly petulant and earnest--stop treating me like a kid! let me look out for you, too! be my brother again! dad was a dick, and he didn't take care of us like he should've!

LS!Sam&Dean argue and it's bloody and hurtful--you killed my friend, after i asked you not to and i can't look at you right now. you didn't look for me when you thought i was dead. i can't trust you.

as for how the ES!boys would handle it, i think they would be flabbergasted. it's like watching your parents fight (which of course only dean knows). it's very personal, but alien at the same time. they feel blows land, but don't know where they come from. they would avoid that room at all costs if they can.

but at the same time, some strange force keeps pulling them back until they're standing at the doorway, because it kind of feels like someone's talking about you when you're not there. the curiosity of knowing what they think about you is too great.

at the end of it, it's the magnitude of the fight. if they're snippy at each other, they would immediately abandon all alliances and join with their older selves, because it feels good and fun and familiar to snap back and forth.

but if it's serious--it hurts to look at them. it hurts more to hear.

honestly, if LS!Sam&Dean have a fight and storm off, ES!Dean is slinking into LS!Sam's room later that night like "🥺 i'm sorry man 🥺 you know i love you right 🥺 are you mad at me?" because he can't help but flinch hard whenever LS!Sam shouts dean! come on! in his grown-up voice during the fight.

but ES!Sam is kind of inconsolable, honestly. he's not used to being on the outs with dean. there was stanford, for sure, but that was more sam's choice than anything. phones work two ways, and sam has never really been confronted with a dean that's that doesn't want to see him. they had fights for sure when they were younger, and hit and bit and screamed at each other, but LS!Dean's anger is different. it's consuming, it's massive, it blots out the sun. i'm sure ES!Sam has to talk to ES!Dean for a little bit about unimportant shit to function again after he sees the rage in LS!Dean's eyes as they slid off of LS!Sam and onto ES!Sam.

this was long! but i have so many thoughts about fighting between Sam&Dean and how that changes so much throughout the show, and how ES!Sam&Dean would react! this ask was delicious!!! nom nom nom.

thank you, anon! <3 brilliant!

-lizzy

[satancopilotsmytardis]

⭐️✨🌟⭐️✨I want to hear about something you’ve been dying to talk about😊

🥺👉👈 I want to talk about chapter 2 of Prince's Consort, pls

I love this chapter so much, and I love this story so much. I have really been getting into the weeds of worldbuilding for this one as much if not more than when I started Changing Currents.

One of my favorite things to think about when designing a culture is what the fashion would look like and why people would be dressed like that, so in chapter two I really got to start showcasing that with their clothing and how it changes for festivals. In Ennonata, and specifically in Shigaraki's kingdom, fashion is modeled after armor and fighting, but it's not meant to be functional. In demonic society, the average person, and even the average warrior doesn't wear armor to protect themselves from being hurt because if they die, they will come back, so what's the point? And if non-fatal wounds can be healed in a matter of seconds with magic, why bother at all? It creates a sharp distinction between how demons consider the world and combat over mortals. I also had fun then showcasing that attitude in concert with the fact that the guards do wear real, functional armor, with the implication behind that being their conflicts could be more drawn out and they may not have access to healers during them, making it more important for them over everyone else, including their Prince, to be able to endure more.

And the fabric!!! Oh, I love the fabric so much. So in most hot environments, especially deserts, clothes are made to cover up the body to keep sun exposer lower, but the clothing is made with lighter materials and fibers that can wick away sweat and promote its evaporation to help keep people cool. But in Ennonata, because it is just ambiently warm from the temperature of the burning souls, there is no sun, and demons don't sweat nearly as much as mortals do, their clothing is designed to be decorative and flowy. It is open so that they can be cooler from any breeze, and it reflects a culture that has a very limited concept of modesty.

And the way that clothing and jewelry are used to denote occupation makes me fucking insane!!!! Pets get piercings on their genitals! Outside of just blatantly having them wearing cuffs or chains which could be mistaken as the marks of a slave, this makes it impossible for them to ever escape because they are as good as branded (slaves are the ones who actually get branded in this society), because anyone who ever sees them naked will know what they were supposed to be! The Prince barely bothers with jewelry, but all of the other higher up demons drape themselves in symbols of wealth and luxury to showcase how much power they have. This decadence from those kinds of demons is meant to parallel how "new money" people tend to go for flash while "old money" people go for more classic designs of an extremely high quality. But!! There's another layer of it for Shigaraki because he is on the "new money" side of this equation! He started off enslaved as a gladiator, and rose to the position of Prince! He should be, more than anyone, trying to showcase how powerful and wealthy he is now, but he doesn't!! What does that say about him as a character? I can't wait to get into it!!!

Uh, yeah, I have a lot of feelings about Prince's Consort, sorry for exploding about them

[28mindgames]

What were the highlights of the show last night for you?

Hope you had the best night 🩷

for context: it was one of the worst weeks of my entire life because on wednesday my grandfather had a heart attack and i had to travel urgently to my hometown and then to another city where he was in intensive care. so when i got the call in my mind the posibility of going to the show was cancelled and obviously that make me very sad but at the same time i felt guilty for wanting to go. however, my family insisted that i had to go but i waited until the last visit on friday to decide because i'm an only daughter, i'm his only granddaughter and my family consists of him, my uncle and my mother so it's not easy and he's my whole life but that same night i returned to rosario and very early on saturday i was able to travel to buenos aires, i arrived there around noon. the line was soo long but there was a beautiful autumn sun.

i met 5 other girls and i was really surprised not to see or talk to anyone underage, we entered at 5:30 in the afternoon and i unbuttoned my jeans and sat in the pit to eat an alfajor (jajsjs). the chaos begun with pacífica and continued with giant rooks (INCREDIBLE!!!). before the show started i was on the verge of losing a shoe and even though it was hot from so many people, i had 4 layers of clothes and felt very cold. at this point my throat hurt A LOT

i realized that liam was in the vip but in the part where i was (next to the catwalk) no one made much of a fuss and liam's "newness" lasted at most 40 seconds, which is why i'm surprised to see so much talk about him online when in my experience it meant nothing and the people around me said "uh it's liam, that's great" and after 2 minutes they were already focused on louis coming out on stage (no olé olé olé liam in my area)

about the show: i don't know if i have the words to describe it but it made me feel so much HAPPINESS, i think about it and smile at the screen, louis was beautiful (that color is great for him and i loved the outfit !!!) the feeling of the music in your chest in a live show is incomparable and the introduction of the greatest 10/10, there were things that surprised me like songs that i didn't think the audience would sing that louder as coacoac or face the music. megamix live is a religious experience, my eyes filled with tears during we made it (how good it sounds!!! god was it possible to beat ltwt? yes). the band? excellent, louis' voice? sweet and clear

my phone doesn't take nice photos at night and the videos are dubious and never do it justice, so for me it was great to focus on enjoying the show and not so much on recording every second or trying to get the best photo. i wish i could name one song in particular but i enjoyed them all, of the 1d covers, i felt more energy and it was louder wtbhg and i'm not going to lie i enjoyed it a lot (fun fact: that song was recorded in buenos aires during wwat - yes! overwork! yasss!)

the ooms fp was AMAZING AAAAAAAA !!!!!! AAAAA !!! !!!! SO MUCH FUN. i have watched the video that inspired it millions of times (rolling stones in buenos aires 2006 - around 5:30) dreaming of living something like that and it was better: there was pogo, energy and argentinidad. the saturdays fp made me cry. A LOT. you could feel the adoration and love of the public for him and every time louis spoke it felt special <3

after ooms i went behind the front pit to have a more panoramic view and i saw how chris (i had him next to me because he started taking photos during wtbhg and i 👀 🤔👽🚶‍♂️) and matt were toasting with the technical team. silver tongues is the perfect ending for the show and the fireworks were like the cherry in top of a cake aaaaand that's when it really hit me HOW COLD IT WAS (6°) and i wished for the next tour happens in spring when buenos aires is completely purple with the jacarandás and it's my birthday, the funny part is that now it's not even winter here. anyways I LOVED EVERY SECOND AND I ENJOYED IT SO MUCH <3 i love louis with my whole heart I WILL NEVER FORGET THAT NIGHT ♥️🇦🇷

[hidefdoritos]

I did more to the solarpunk shorts today!

I've had the sun and moon fabric for a while, and I knew when I touched it that it was made to become epic shorts of Theseus. (There's a post somewhere about the sun as the first patch.) Then, in a recent tote of donated fabric, I found lighter scraps of a fabric with moons and stars.

The circular moon was the first patch I added today. The fabric has the symbols of the zodiac around the rim of the circle, but as someone who doesn't subscribe to the zodiac, I think it's disingenuous and disrespectful to use it for decoration, so that's folded under. I used an embroidery hoop to try to make it sit flat and round.

The two small patches were pocket corner reinforcements, and also just for fun. I tried attaching those with basically a ladder stitch, and I gotta say, I really like it! I don't have to worry about stitches being uneven up top.

This patch was just practice for sewing through only one layer of fabric. Thankfully it turned out fine!

These additions just spawned naturally from the fabric shapes I had. I wanted to feature this scrappy moon/star fabric, so I made the longest strip into a stripe.

Then I had an awkward curved piece from cutting out the moon circle. I sort of squared it out and then threw it on the pocket flap. That ladder stitch was super helpful on a thick pocket flap!

Anyway, here they are in their current glory! I have so much work to do yet. I need to add a lot of patches to the back, very carefully so they don't look awkward. My sewing machine is also going to the shop next weekend, so right now it's all by hand. But I have something very fun and pleasing to wear to work tomorrow!

[possibilistfanfiction]

ava teasing bea about her short haircut growing too long

[turned out silly! god bless]

//

beatrice wanders out of your bedroom around 11, hums in thanks when you get up from the couch where you had been reading to fix her a cup of coffee. she had been up early to surf, like usual, then back to sleep after you had laughed at her drooping eyelids and kissed her soundly after she'd showered. it's not new, not really, but the war is finally over and it feels like a series of small miracles: to sit on the couch as the day warms; to watch the sun float to the middle of the sky after the marine layer burns off; for beatrice to sleep without nightmares, to curl up into your side with her cup of coffee and kiss your shoulder. things are quiet, quieter than they've ever been since you'd had a piece of metal shoved in your back and life roaring through your veins; since you had kissed beatrice, sure you were going to die; since she had kissed you through tears when you finally made it back.

it's normal, these days, for her to nap: even though she won't fully admit it, she's catching up on, like, a whole lifetime's worth of rest, you're pretty sure. and a whole lifetime's worth of pleasure too, which you are all too eager to experience with her: the smell of peonies in the spring, the burst of taste from the plucots from the farmer's market, the feel of her hand buried deep inside you. and then rest — a pleasure borne of safety, of comfort, of finally, finally, not feeling like she's going to die. like, in some way, she deserves to.

she sighs into your neck and you kiss the top of her head, settle your fingers there. 'your hair is getting long.'

she huffs, quietly and mostly for show, which makes you smile. she sits up and rearranges her limbs, still casual, still soft and unassuming in her boxers and her favorite hoodie. 'i know.'

'you growing it out?' she's actively pouting about it, but fun to ask anyway, just to see her frown sharpen.

'ugh. no.'

'so you're just... vibing with this? it's, like, very 2010 justin bieber. i'm into it, though, don't worry.'

it adds a blush to her pout, which is delightful. 'horrible.'

'mmm. harry styles, original the x factor audition? more british, just for you.'

'ava.'

you laugh.

'you think you're very funny, don't you?'

'i'm, like, the funniest person i know.'

'that's okay,' beatrice says, a little smile sneaking its way into the corners of her mouth — delighted enough to make you suspicious. you narrow your eyes just in time for her to say, completely seriously, 'because, you know, looks aren't everything.'

'wow.' you clutch a hand to your chest. 'this is a worse pain than any injury i've ever had. a blow to my soul, beatrice. my very soul.'

it's worth it all, just for her silly laugh, for the terrible wink she offers you, for her apology in the form of a forehead kiss, gentle and reverent. 'i don't think that's true.'

'obviously not,' you say. 'and, also, i know it's a lie. i'm hot as hell. actually, hotter. i would know.'

she sighs, exasperated and overwhelmingly fond.

you brush back bangs that fall into her eyes. 'what's up, then?'

'i —' she pauses, fiddles with the chain around her neck, picks at her fingernails until you take her hand and squeeze. 'i don't know. ptsd and executive dysfunction?'

'ahh. so, super fun in your head lately, huh?'

'i—i've told you,' she says, a little hesitant.

'oh, babe,' you say, scoot closer to her and offer your hands. 'i know. and i'm sorry. you know i understand.'

she nods.

'can i help? i can schedule an appointment with your barber; we can make a little evening of it, if you want. or we can totally just come back here after. you know i'm, like, a sucker for a fresh fade.'

she grants you a gentle smile, a real one, a little indulgent and just for you. 'i do know that.' she squeezes your hand. 'our sisters asked if they might come over later, actually. so, if you could help me make the appointment for late afternoon, then maybe we can have a pizza night afterward, or something.'

never in your wildest dreams a few years ago would you have dreamt of having a pizza night with a bunch of nuns, or ex-nuns — one of whom is your hot butch partner, the rest of whom are your family — but, 'fuck yeah. that sounds awesome.'

beatrice nods, straightening and focusing seriously. you hide a smile. 'okay, i can do it. make the appointment.'

'you can.' you rub her back. 'or i can.'

she gets out her phone, opens her texts. there are... a lot of unopened messages, and you make a mental note to go through them with her tomorrow, but she scrolls to her barber's contact and sends off an extremely polite and perfectly punctuated text, and, like, god, you love her.

'okay, well, can we, like, make a music video or something with this hair before we go or something?'

'no.'

you scramble to follow when she stands up — lithe and graceful and powerful; you're still undeterred. 'what about a video in the car? taylor swift gay love interest?'

'oh, and you're taylor swift in this scenario?'

'you love her. i know it. speak now is like your favorite album of all time.'

'it certainly isn't.'

you follow her into your bedroom, just for fun, and nod when she tells you that her barber is available in an hour.

'hmm. 1989?'

she gives you a muffled sigh from the closet as you flop back onto the bed, and you smile up at the ceiling. her favorite taylor swift album is red, and you know it for a fact, but that's okay; you'll let her keep her silly secrets for now.

she emerges in a men's sage green linen co-ord set, slouchy and perfect, and pristine white sneakers, and holds out her hand. 'lunch?'

you pop up and lace your fingers with hers.

/

beatrice orders six pizzas, all different kinds from the sourdough pizzeria nearby, which you try to tell her is too many, but she's still a little anxious about things so you let her have it; you can eat leftovers and force camila and yasmine to bring some back to mother superion anyway. beatrice also sets the table outside, which is one hundred percent ridiculous, but it's cute so you just tell her it looks nice and put the whole stack of pizza boxes in the middle. there's a whoosh and sulfur and then mary, lilith, camila, and yasmin are dusting themselves off in your living room. you hug them all tight, compliment mary's freshly done braids and camila's t-shirt, yasmine's new earrings. you make it a point to annoy lilith with as many pick up lines as possible until she just walks away from you to skulk around on the patio while you get everyone wine or beer, but she takes the glass of a beautiful chardonnay she and beatrice like with a small, genuine smile.

'your hair looks nice, beatrice,' camila says, digging into her slice of pizza once you're all sitting around the table.

beatrice steels herself for a moment, and you all know she's still working through everything: a lifetime of trauma, from her parents, the church, a holy war. 'thank you,' she says, soft and sure, and you share a smile with camila.

'yes,' lilith says, and beatrice is mid-eyeroll when lilith contines: 'very love island boy.'

there's a brief pause and then mary is delightedly and loudly laughing, beatrice is blushing up to her ears, and it doesn't take long until the entire table dissolves into giggles.

'oh my god,' camila says, 'let's have a love island party!'

'it is summer,' yasmine agrees.

'i'm ordering you a waterbottle, right now,' mary says, phone in hand.

beatrice groans and looks to you, exasperated and adorable. 'better than justin bieber, at least.'

you grin, put your hand on the back of her neck, run your fingers along the grain of her buzzed hair until it fades neatly into the short top, where it's always inevitably, and fashionably, a little messy. 'i'd crack on and then couple up with you every trip to the firepit, if that's what you're asking.'

'i'm leaving,' she says. 'i'm on a journey of self-discovery, and you're all the worst,' but it's all posturing: she laughs and eats her pizza and is apparently swayed into actually having a love island party next weekend by your promise of wearing your tiniest bikini for it.

a few days later, a package does arrive on your front porch, and you almost snort seltzer through your nose laughing so hard when beatrice opens it to find a water bottle with her name on it in bright pink, curly font.