#this is still not actually being on the picket line

[frankreynoldsstan69]

im deactivating it looks like he’s being held at gunpoint but still I’m deactivating

in my defense it doesn’t look so much like he’s actually at a picket line as it looks like he’s just holding this sign for a photo like when straight celebs go to pride and get thrown various flags to hold

On twitter and I just saw someone express surprise for RCG not showing up at picket lines like… expecting any of them to is funny but you seriously expected Sir Robert Back the Blue NFT McElhenny to picket… my internet comrade your deeply delulu parasocial relationship with a D list middle aged man is showing

[inkskinned]

nobody ever gets the mugshot of gluttony right. these days you think it has nothing to do with bodyweight. what a good trick: that gluttony could take a shape. no, there was never any fault in finishing a meal or in taking second helpings. it was always in taking from others that there was an issue - the oil baron's fingers steepled over dead bodies and stolen lands. gluttony - twin of greed, although most think greed and envy are the siblings - gluttony is pleased with the experience of gaining, is thrilled just-by-having. greed is the one that stays hungry, that has to move forever like a shark. gluttony likes it - "a glutton for punishment" is one who is seeking the harm, who loves the rush.

gluttony is a mother using her daughter's body for a diet testing ground, sharpening the bone angles. gluttony is saying why, well not! to the seventh and eighth mansion or yacht. it is not just wanting the six white horses, it is making sure that the horses came from your stables. it is not just bathing in milk - it is bathing in milk while others are starving.

oh, it's true that some sins still blaze in their bright floral prints. wrath in a white woman yelling at a person of color for even daring to be in her neighborhood. the red, incipient rage of a neck tightened at even the thought we would take the guns away. wrath has laurels, and she is good at her job, and works hard.

but sloth wasn't ever the sleepy morning of depression, the hours spent begging a clouded body to please move goddamn it; the protestant work ethic claiming even rest is somehow demonic. it was never chronic fatigue. sloth was subtle, a grey mist. she is watching you get bullied and she is deciding it is none of her business. she crosses the picket line because - what! it's just chicken, isn't it? she is closing her eyes and turning her head when the next anti-gay legislation passes. someone else will handle it. not the tense freeze of anxiety or a lack of preparation - she knows you're hurting and would rather you stay quiet about it. she tells other people i just don't see what the big deal is.

sloth is a father that doesn't do the dishes. sloth is your boyfriend's innocent shrug you're just better at household shit. sloth isn't the missed opportunity - it is the purposeful desire to just get-someone-else-to-do-it.

greed and envy are doing body shots in the back of a private jet. they are the way they always have been, but are lovers in the age of the internet. greed just finished union busting, is rolling a bitcoin over his knuckles, is about to start another MLM. envy is in a broadbrimmed hat, showing off her instagram life, grinning about how if you want it, work for it.

okay, it's true. you have a soft spot for lust, gathering dust in a corner. so tame in comparison to the others. but how funny lust is always painted as being a woman in tight clothes. you've met actually lustful women - the ones that purposefully climb into your partner's lap, the ones that say lesbians are gross but ask bisexual women into bed with their husbands. a lustful woman is not donned in lace and garters and red: that's how men think lust looks, painting their own sins into frame. this way, the sin displaces as fog and hovers above her: a woman in a dress is lust; what the man experiences is just the natural consequence.

here is the thing: lust is doing just fine, save your pity. lust is running more circles than any of them. lust is shutting down safe sexwork sites while also making teenagers in knee-high socks sex sensations. lust is CEO of an advertising network where women never pass 25 years old. all the bras lust makes are pretty to look at but, when worn, legitimately hurt. lust has a podcast, his fur coat looped around his shoulders, sells the idea that only certain people have value, that sex raises some and destroys others. lust is tilting his head and asking what did you expect when you dress like that? lust shuns you, sneers that everything you want is disgusting and taboo - right until he can figure out how to capitalize off of it. lust has the midas ability: everything he touches becomes an object.

people usually say wrath is the scary one. you agree with FMA here, though: the real dangerous one is pride, and the shit-eating grin. the white cloaks and the nationalism and the inability to apologize. it is every partner who threw a book at your head because you don't respect him. it is every mother who said my son doesn't deserve to have his life ruined over allegations. it is the teacher that fails you because you talked back.

you worry you have this one. you feel guilty when you need help but don't ask for it. prideful. ashamed when you complete something and feel good about it. too proud for your own good. but pride is not the reward of hard work or accomplishment: pride is a twitter feed. it is the thing that has to mask i didn't do anything with look at me.

pride is your father's raised hand, his raised voice. how he was never there when you needed him, but he is still "head of house." he ruins dinner and blames it on you: you're an embarrassment to this family. this is the glass you walk around, the cuts in your feet. how he says this isn't how i raised you and you have to bite back the retort: that's because you didn't actually fucking raise me.

[angelsdean]

thinking about young dean who dreamed of being a rock star. dean who wanted to go to college and have friends and stay in one place long enough to plant roots. dean who thrived at sonny's, who won the state wrestling championship. dean who when he was 12 wanted to play on the baseball team and then pretended not to care when john moved them around too much for him to be part of any teams. dean who loved being a P.A. because he liked to be part of a team. dean who wanted a normal job and a normal life. dean who got his GED quietly, secretly, despite not needing it for the life he led, but he wanted it. perhaps because he was still dreaming of an after. because john always said there would be an after. "after we kill this thing...after we avenge mary..." because despite all john's faults and failure, he was still, paradoxically, a dreamer. he was still mary's suburban dream. he still believed, despite everything, that the past 22 yrs could be overcome by simply killing the demon. that at the end of it, they'd go back to being a normal family. sam would go to college. dean would have a home. and i imagine him telling his kids this, that it all ends when they kill the thing that killed mary. that's the finish line. in lebanon, john is shocked to find that was not the finish line. shocked that there was no return to the Normal, no white picket fences. he doesn't understand that they were all irrevocably changed the night mary died and john chose to seek revenge. but anyway, i think of young dean, holding onto that belief, for a time, that there could be a life after hunting. so he gets his GED, just in case. because he's still dreaming, despite, despite. and i think of dean who outwardly scoffed at apple pie this and that, and whose favorite food is pie. dean who seeks home cooked meals and comforts. dean who wishes for food he doesn't have to buy at a mini mart. dean who nests when he finally has a static place to call home. dean who decorates his room with pride, who grins giddy at the thought of a mattress that remembers him. not an anonymous motel bed, but one that is his own, that will mold to the shape of him. dean who michael drowns in "contentment" and his contentment is simply...not hunting. his contentment is being the safe place to land for his family and having a normal job and serving others. his contentment is waiting for his family to come home and offering them a drink and some food. he doesn't want for much, but he wants his family to be safe and cared for. dean who pretends to be a horrible cook to comfort his mom, the actual horrible cook. dean who bakes his kid a lopsided cake (his first time baking!) out of love. dean who sees a married couple dancing together in their living room and thinks "i always thought i could do that (have that)." dean who earlier in that same episode takes pointers from garth on how to "dance", following along until he can do it himself and then dancing with LAMP. dean who, even after losing everything, after losing his best friend and his HEART, still tries, even if he is perhaps going through the motions, still tries to live some kind of normal, who picks up a job application, who still dreams of doing something other than hunting. because hunting was never the dream. because inside of him is still a little kid who wanted to be rockstar, or a mechanic, who wanted more, and thought maybe he could actually have it.

[arctic-hands]

Oh my high school would have absolutely believed this. My sophomore year, a very strict dress code went out two weeks before school started, when most kids had already bought their new clothes, with rules saying things like no stripes, plaid, patterns, mixed colors of any kind. All clothes must be solid color with no decoration of any kind. I was "lucky" to have been in summer school that year so I got advanced notice before I did my clothes shopping, and the experience was entirely frustrating (more than usual, seeing as I was a "tomboy"– i.e. trans–and clothes shopping with my grandmother who desperately wanted me to dress in feminine clothing like I did when I was eight), because my grandmother kept holding up clothes that were seemingly innocuous, like a blue shirt with slightly darker blue sleeves, and I had to keep telling her it would get me in trouble, and she didn't believe me and just thought I was being difficult.

Anyway, come to the start of the year where there was a one day "grace period" where it would be pointed out to students why their clothes were in violation but they wouldn't get in trouble the first day, as long as they wear appropriate clothes after. I must emphasize that most of the kids–in a public school with a sixty percent poverty rate–had already bought their clothes and couldn't afford to get new ones, especially within a day.

Come second day, where my high school suspended over two hundred students for dress code violations, some as small as having a tiny embroidered logo on your otherwise plain polo shirt, or having a jeans back pocket that had diagonal stitching going across it. I saw one kid walking out of school with a suspension slip wearing the exact same blue shirt with slightly darker sleeves that my grandmother tried to buy for me. Kids lost their scholarships after being suspended. The news got involved. Parents and suspended students picketed the school for the duration of the suspensions (I wanna say a week, maybe two). It was so bad the state launched an investigation and I think the school was fined (this was fifteen years ago so I don't remember all the details of what was going on with the admin side of things). It was awful and ridiculous.

And the school's rational for all of this? They truly believed, with all of their abundance of critical thinking skills, that drug deals were being conducted based on the pattern of shirts kids were wearing. That plaid meant they were looking for/selling cocaine, that a floral print meant marijuana, that this pattern meant that drug, and so on. They were completely convinced that all of us students were either looking for drugs or selling them, and they were willing to disrupt everyone's education, ruin scholarships (in many, many cases, the only way students in a very poor public school could have gone to college), be fined by the state, and have the administration blasted by not only the Indiana news media but by nearby Ohio too, than stop for a moment to consider that it's very unlikely that ninety-nine percent of the student body were dealing in drugs.

The kicker? The students that were actually known or suspected to be drug dealers started (jokingly, fueled by the irritation we were real feeling) spreading the rumors that the admins were the ones doing drugs themselves, because it was completely outlandish to think a floral print shirt meant any kind of drug use.

The school never apologized for this, even after the state investigation. The rules stayed in place for as long as I was in high school, which meant every year there were always freshmen being suspended because they didn't understand the very strict rules.

the brightly coloured skinny jeans that Teens wore in the late '00s and early '10s were meant to denote where you stood in gang hierarchy. salmon was the highest rank and meant you had killed someone.

I think the funniest part of this is that, if you'd floated this idea at the time, at least some parents would have believed you.

[sematarygirls]

The House On Peachtree Lane — Rafe Cameron.

pairing: serialkiller!rafe x fem!reader

summary: the abandoned house across the street had always given you the heebie jeebies, its crumbling foundation, and overgrown lawn looking like something straight out of a horror movie. however, when you began to notice a dark figure sneaking in and out of the house at odd hours of the night, you started to wonder if the house across the street was really abandoned at all.

warnings: very dark; viewer discretion adviced, male masturbation, sexual fantasies involving violence, icky rafe, stalking, mentions of murder, degradation, reader is a little freak, some manhandling

word count: 5.6k words !

a/n: starting off october right, yall. i have a strange fascination with writing characters that are actually batshit insane

The abandoned house on Peachtree Lane had a looming presence that seemed to overshadow the other houses on the residential street. Perfectly manicured lawns with each blade of grass a blindingly vibrant shade of green and cut to a perfect two and a half inches—never more, never less—lined the street of white picket fences and pristine white two story homes.

Peachtree Lane was the picturesque suburban neighborhood that you envisioned when you thought of that perfect, upper-middle class lifestyle. Each house was filled with a matriarch that had placed their entire self-worth into being perceived as the nuclear all-American family.

Then, there was that abandoned house. It threatened the image that had been so pristinely crafted to reflect the traditional values of suburban America. It was a blemish on the otherwise immaculate, postcard-worthy neighborhood. It stood tall and haunting in stature, casting a dark shadow over the neighborhood like a storm cloud foreshadowing the eventual fall of rain.

You, like the house across the street, were out of place among the families and elderly couples that lived on your block. You were a single woman in her twenties that had inherited the house after your grandmother passed away—a fact your mother nearly had a conniption over.

Your grass was a dull green, always too long or too short to fit neighborhood standards—both facts that you'd been reminded time and time again to remedy, but you didn't pay the PTA moms much mind. You knew they didn't have anything better to do than fuss over a strangers lawn, especially when they were so desperately trying to ignore the fact that most of their husbands were probably repressed homosexuals or fucking their secretaries.

You felt a sense of kinship with the abandoned house, an odd comfort with the fact that you both seemed to be peculiarly out of place. you often stared at it for hours, observing every detail.

It was a beautiful house with dark, Victorian architecture that stood out among the carbon copies surrounding it. The windows that weren't broken were boarded up, the tall, waist-length grass that surrounded the property and the animal carcasses hidden amongst it acting as a 'keep out' sign for potential trespassers. The roof looked like it was practically caving in on itself, and you couldn't help but wonder why the house was still standing. Why hadn't it been bulldozed and been replaced with another cookie-cutter American Dream Home? It was strange, intriguing even.

Even more strange was the fact that the house, at times, seemed to stare back at you.

Your fingers curled onto the edge of the windowsill, leaning forward and sticking your head out to feel the cool night breeze on your face. Almost instantly, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck perk up, bumps raising on the backs of your arms as the feeling of being watched crept up on you.

Your gaze immediately fell on the house across the street. The pit in your stomach that formed when your eyes darted from each shattered or dirtied window to the next seemed to confirm that your subconscious was almost positive that the pair of eyes on you was in that house.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as your eyes narrowed, trying to see past the darkeness and into the old house. You felt a strange vulnerability despite having checked and double-checked the locks on every door and window in your house atleast ten times that night.

Everyone knew of the serial killer that had been plaguing your town for months, brutally killing the fathers and occasional mother of the exact type of families that lined your street.

Knowing that you weren't his target demographic did little to ease your worry, though. There was always that nagging thought in the depths of your mind that you could be next, and that's what made this uneasy feeling of being watched all the more troubling.

Unbeknownst to you, the house on Peachtree Lane that everyone feared—whispers and rumors of monsters and decaying bodies inside keeping anyone from staring too long at the decrepit structure—was not abandoned at all.

Cameron Development owned the building, and when Rafe Cameron took over for his father, he made sure that the house stayed in his possession and that any attempts to renovate or demolish the property had fallen through.

The house, despite being an eyesore, had actually garnered significantly less attention than one may think. No bored, gossip-hungry housewives or nosey elderly couples with nothing better to do with their retirement than people watch would be intruding on his business and noting his presence if it was perceived as uninhabited.

Any spare glances at the house were brief and filled with distain. No one wanted to look at the rotting wood and trash-littered lawn for longer than they had to, which worked in the man's favor. No one would notice him entering and exiting at all odd hours of the night, nor would they think twice about the sharp, metallic smell that permeated the air around the house. It was the perfect cover.

He watched from one of the battered second story windows, sitting on a metal fold out chair with his legs spread wide, his presence hidden by the cover of night. A camera stood on a tripod in front of him, aimed strategically at your bedroom window.

He had been watching you since you moved in, and he knew that some deeply in tune facet of you was keenly aware of this fact. Subconsciously, like the way your eyes flickered to the 'abandoned' house when you felt your hair stand end, you knew someone was watching you, and he suspected that a part of you even liked it.

The way you pranced around your bedroom in your short nightgowns—fitted with a lace trim and small bows or flowers that made his dick twitch in his pants—and got changed carelessly with the windows open, blinds raised, and curtains parted for anyone to see. You were putting on a show for him; he was sure of it.

His bedside table was filled with pictures he had taken of you through your exposed window. In some of them, you were fully clothed—just having gotten back from work or the gym. In some of them, you were wearing those tempting, delicate little nightgowns that he was dying to rip off of you, and in the rest of them, you were completely naked—or naked adjacent. Pictures of you in nothing but a towel, in your underwear, and even completely nude with your tits or perfect ass on display made up most of his perverted little collection.

Nothing came close to the highs he felt when he came to your photos. He had tried, and failed, to find release in other women, fucking them hard and without reprieve to let out his pent up frustration. He even tried pretending they were you, pushing their heads into his pillows, so he didn't have to see their faces and be reminded that they weren't really you, but none of it worked. You were the only thing he wanted.

He watched your gaze dart from window to window, brows furrowing slightly as you searched for the source of that uneasy feeling that had settled deep within you. Strangely, you seemed more curious than you were afraid. He couldn't help himself as he ran his hand slowly up his thigh, fiddling with the button of his jeans and popping it open before pulling the zipper down.

He had a victim in his basement, probably screaming their head off and tugging at the restraints binding them to the chair, but he didn't care. His attention was fixed on you, and the way you seemed to search for him despite not really knowing that he was there.

He pulled his hard cock from his underwear, spreading his legs wider as he leaned back against the chair. His tip was flushed and leaking precum, just the sight of you working him into a frenzy. He swept his thumb over his aching head, smearing the evidence of his arousal across his hot skin. A sharp hiss tumbled from his mouth as he captured his bottom lip between his teeth, watching the way your gaze lingered on the very window he was in.

For a moment, as he dragged his hand down his throbbing length, the thought that you could see him flickered across his mind, and for that brief moment, he wished it was true. He wanted you to see him, to know that you had caused this.

But, then, just as quickly as your gaze had seemingly fallen on him, piercing into his soul in a way that had him groaning with animalistic need, it had retreated.

He watched with frustration, his movements speeding up, mimicking his inner strife for your actions, as you pulled back from the window and drew the curtains. You were teasing him, and he didn't like it.

Your curtains were sheer, so with the wind blowing in your window and the blinds still hiked up, they did little to actually disguise anything going on inside. This fact only fueled his annoyance because it meant that your act was out of defiance rather than self-preservation. If there was anything Rafe hated, it was when people defied him, especially when that person was you.

He tore his gaze from your house, head falling back and lips parting in pleasure as he continued to work his hand up and down his cock. He let his eyes flutter closed as he imagined all the things he'd like to do to you.

He pictured you, bound to the chair in his basement that so many had met their demise in. He would run his knife along your soft, smooth skin and watch you shudder in a mix of fear and anticipation. He wanted you teetering on the edge of terror and desire, never knowing whether he was going to fuck you or kill you.

He let out a low moan, imagining the tip of his knife dipping into your plush thighs. The sight of thick, hot blood dripping down your flushed skin as he carved his initials into your perfect flesh.

He could practically hear your soft whimpers and cries, his hand moving faster as he felt his pleasure building within him. You would beg and plead for him to stop, looking up at him with teary eyes that would only encourage him to keep going, to see how far he could go before he lost all self-control.

He couldn't decide what he wanted more: to hurt you or to pleasure you? Just as easily as he could see you in the basement of his murder house, he could imagine you laying in his bed, blissfully unaware of his dark side and the hundreds of pictures of you just beside your head. He could mold you into whatever he wanted, filling your pretty head with lies that he knew you'd eat right up.

The combined images flickered back and forth between domestic and depraved finally sent him over the edge with a cry of your name—which he'd learned by looking through your mail—as hot spurts of cum covered his hand and jean-clad thighs.

He panted, picking his head back up to look at your bedroom window. You had turned the light out, your room engulfed in a darkness that signified you had settled in bed and would soon be drifting off to sleep, if you hadn't already.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he let out a deep sigh, his brows furrowing as he tucked his softening dick back into his pants and stood, stretching his limbs as he wiped the sticky, white substance coating his hand onto his jeans. He walked to the door, giving your window one last glance before leaving and making his way down to his awaiting victim.

You had eventually brushed off that intense feeling of being watched after carefully examining the house and coming up empty. You had chalked it up to your paranoia surrounding the serial killer running amuck in your little town and settled into bed, letting your unease be washed away by the comfort of sleep.

It was only a couple hours later when something jolted you awake, your heart racing as your peaceful state was torn from you, replaced by an indescribable panic of unknown origin.

Your eyes darted around your bedroom, searching for any potential threats that could have been the cause of such a violent awakening, but you were greeted with nothing of note. You exhaled in relief as you confirmed that you weren't in immediate danger, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed, toes brushing the soft fibers of your plush rug, which provided a sense of comfort that grounded you to reality as you pushed yourself off the bed and into a standing position. Curiosity gnawed away at you with each growing second that you didn't have an answer for what had stolen you away from such a blissful dreamstate.

For reasons unknown to you, you felt a pull inside you, urging you to tiptoe over to the window. You moved slowly, tentatively, as if any sudden movements would somehow put you in harms way.

When you reached the window, curtains blowing wildly with the force of the wind, you hesitantly reached out, pulling back the sheer pink fabric so you could get a good look at the dimly lit street below.

Goosebumps raised on your arms, a cold feeling creeping up your spine from the mix of the chilly night air and the anticipation of what you might find.

You didn't truly expect to see anything. You lived in a safe neighborhood where the greatest crime to be committed was bringing a gluten dish to one of the neighborhood potlucks, but still, in that same part of you that feared being the Kildare Killer's next victim and always knew to look across the street at the abandoned house when you felt a sense of being watched wash over you, you knew something would be waiting beyond those decorative curtains.

You squinted, eyes scanning the sidewalk for a moment for anything out of the ordinary when suddenly, movement in the tall grass beside the old Victorian home caught your attention.

A figure, clad in a dark jacket with the hood pulled over their head, was dragging something heavy toward the street where a large, dark-colored SUV was idling. Your head cocked to the side, brows furrowing in a mix of confusion and curiosity as you watched the person intently.

Even from this distance, you could tell they were tall and, judging by the size of the object they were lugging, strong, which led you to theorize that it was mostly likely a man. You couldn't help but notice how suspiciously human sized the trashbag seemed to be, your mind immediately jumping to the countless news stories detailing the crimes of the Kildare County Serial Killer you'd half-listened to while making dinner countless nights.

You were frozen in place, the rational part of you screaming at you to run to the phone and call the police, but again, that darker side of you prevailed, keeping you exactly where you were as you watched him load the person object into the SUV.

Your trance was only broken when the man lifted his head and looked directly at your window, almost as if he had known you were there. Your eyes widened as you quickly dropped to the floor, not even attempting to get a good look at his face as your self-preservation instincts finally kicked in, and you rushed out of view.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you sat there, waiting for something to happen. You half expected to hear glass breaking or knocking on your front door as the man tried to dispose of the only witness to his crime, but your house remained silent, eerily so now that you were thinking about it.

You stayed on the floor, your knees pressed to your chest, for what felt like hours as you mustered up the courage to peek out the window and see if the man was still outside. When you finally pushed yourself up, glancing down at the street below, you found it completely empty.

A relieved sigh fell from your lips as you braced yourself on the windowsill, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself as you tried to rationalize what you'd seen.

Maybe it was just someone cleaning out the old house. In the middle of the night? Your mind had nagged, despite your best efforts to push your doubts away. There was no way a serial killer was operating out of your neighborhood, and there was no way that you had just seen him. You wanted to remain blissfully ignorant as to what you'd witnessed, deciding against dwelling on it if you could help it.

The next day, around three in the afternoon, you were in your kitchen baking obsessively—your own little way of trying not to dwell on the possible murder aftermath you witnessed the night before—when a knock sounded at your front door.

You huffed, wiping your flour-coated hands on your jeans as you approached the door, expecting to see one of the mom's from the neighborhood that wanted to bitch at you about stuff you didn't care about or one of their children telling you that they accidentally threw a ball over your fence, and you had to retrieve it.

However, your eyes widened in surprise, a soft "oh" falling from your lips as you opened the door and came face to face with a tall, imposing man. He was incredibly handsome, clad in black dress pants and a white button up with the sleeves rolled back to reveal his forearms. His brown hair was fairly short and slightly tousled—a contrast to his otherwise put-together appearance.

"Um, can I help you?" You asked, your words laced with confusion. His smile seemed to widen as he took in your shocked expression, gaze darting to the white powder on your jeans before meeting your eyes again.

"I'm Rafe Cameron," he introduced himself, his blue eyes seeming to search yours for any sign of recognition.

"Nice to meet you, Rafe," you said, brows furrowing and tone uncertain. He found your confusion endearing in a pathetic sort of way, though, he was glad. This meant you didn't get a good look at him last night, and the lack of crime scene tape around the house across the street meant you hadn't called the police. Maybe you were more clueless than he thought.

You hesitantly introduced yourself because, even though you were completely unaware of who this man was or why he was at your door, it was the polite thing to do. You stared at him for a moment, cocking your head to the side as the name Cameron echoed in your mind.

"Do I know you?" You asked suddenly, crossing your arms as you pondered. The name was so familiar to you, but you couldn't quite place it. A flicker of darkness crossed Rafe's features at your question.

"No, I don't believe so. I'd remember a pretty little thing like you," he flashed a charming, disarming grin and suddenly, it came to you.

"Cameron Development," you said, demeanor brightening as you finally recalled where you'd heard his name. That smile he gave you was the same one you'd seen on signs in countless empty lots throughout town. "I've seen your signs."

"Right, yeah," he nodded, visibility relaxing a little bit. "I'm just in the neighborhood asking around about that old house across the street. We're interested in renovating it, but we need to do our due diligence."

"Well, what do you want to know?" You asked. There wasn't much to tell about the house. It was old, practically crumbling, but you could see that just from looking at it.

"Well, have you noticed anyone hanging around, maybe squatting inside the house or loitering?" He asked, watching you with an eerie intensity. "I only ask because it could make our job more difficult if we have to fight with any unwanted guests."

"Yeah, no, I, uh, I get that," you cleared your throat, shifting your weight uncomfortably. You didn't like to lie, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell the truth either. You were, undoubtedly, afraid, but overshadowed by that was this morbid fascination that you'd found yourself having for the house and the strange man you'd seen. "I mean, I haven't noticed anyone," you shrugged casually.

He smiled again, still regarding you intensely, but now, also with a glint of curiosity. He nodded, seeming satisfied by this answer. "Well, thank you for your time," he thanked you, your name rolling off his tongue in a way that made your stomach flutter. He said it so confidently, with a certain familiarity that put you strangely at ease for a reason you couldn't quite place.

"Of course," you smiled at him, your cheeks heating up as he stared at you for a few long seconds, taking in every dip and curve of your face, memorizing the way your lips quirked up and your eyes sparkled. He'd never seen you this close before, and it took every ounce of self control not to push his way inside.

"Have a nice day, ma'am," he nodded politely before hesitantly turning and heading back to his car, which was parked right in front of your house.

"You too," you called after him, leaning against the door and biting your lip as you watched him retreat. Once he reached the sidewalk, you reluctantly pulled back and pushed the door closed, not wanting to be caught staring and be perceived as some kind of creep.

Despite knowing where you'd seen his face, you couldn't shake this sense that you knew him from somewhere else, somewhere other than those advertisements posted around town. There was a strange nausea that settled in your throat as you watched him leave, a feeling of dread that perplexed you.

In the following weeks, that gnawing feeling only intensified as your paranoia did. Little things started to catch your attention, your perception of reality cracking with each slightly opened window or drawer, missing piece of clothing, and creaking noise that jolted you awake during the night.

You weren't sure if it was just your mind playing tricks on you or if something was really going on, but you felt like you were going crazy. You felt unnerved being in your own home, like you weren't safe. The feeling of watched had grown to something thick and suffocating, but for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

You should've called the police. You should've went to your mother's house or a hotel, anywhere to get away from the man across the street that you suspected was to blame for all the out of the ordinary occurrences, but you didn't. You stayed put, letting yourself be the mouse in whatever sick game he was playing because deep down, a part of you—that you wished desperately didn't exist—was enjoying the attention.

It was around two a.m., and you were tossing in bed, a restlessness settling over you. You'd been obsessing over that house, always staring and seeking signs of life now that you knew someone had been there, and it was starting to take over your life. You needed to know what was in there. You needed to know if it truly was a murder scene.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself up, leaning back on your arms as your eyes darted around the room. Were you really going to investigate a potential serial killer's house in the middle of the night? You pondered the question, briefly wondering if this would classify you as clinically insane.

Clearly, your survival instincts didn't fully develop as a child because you found yourself pushing the comforter from your body and getting to your feet.

You grabbed a plush throw blanket from your bed and wrapped it around your body for comfort and to keep warm as you traversed through your house, down the stairs, and to the front door. You steeled yourself for what you were about to do, slipping a pair of shoes on.

You sucked in one last breath before unlocking the door and pulling it open. Stepping outside, you found yourself pulling the blanket tighter around you as the chilly air brushed against your exposed skin.

The house looked even more imposing the closer you got to it. In the darkness, it seemed like it could come to life and eat you whole. It made you feel so small, so insignificant in a way as you looked up at the looming structure before you.

The wind whistled, echoing through the silent night, which set you even more on edge, but still, you didn't turn back. Your curiosity was stronger than your fear—an incredibly dangerous thing.

You seemed to shrink in on yourself as you stepped onto the pathway to the front door, the untamed grass reaching across the concrete to grab at you. Grimacing, you pushed the grass aside with one hand, the other keeping your blanket securely around you.

Stepping onto the porch, you were careful to step around the patches of collapsing, rotting wood. The front door stared back at you, daring you to open it and satisfy your gnawing curiosity, and you obliged, shaky hands reaching for the knob.

You turned it and pushed the door forward, a deafening squeak of the seldom used hinges reverberating off the ruined walls. The smell of rot immediately infiltrated your senses, making your face contort in disgust as you stepped into the house, eyes flickering from the delicate ground to the dusty furniture inside.

A deteriorated stone fireplace sat against the left wall, the mantle filled with dusty photos encompassed in cracked glass and broken frames. An old, red cabriole sofa—which looked more like a muted maroon color from all the dirt and grime coating it—sat facing the fireplace, a matching arm chair adjacent to it.

You could imagine how lively and warm the house likely once was, with children's feet pattering against the hardwood as they chased each other through the home, careful to avoid their parent's precious vases and other expensive decorative items.

It made you feel sad that such a beautiful home that once knew vibrance and love was now left to be forgotten to the unforgiving perils of time—all the priceless memories and moments that had happened within the walls obsolete when compared to the true vastness of the universe.

You continued your journey into the home, the scent of decay growing stronger with each step you took toward the unknown. You entered the kitchen, brows furrowing as you saw a small doll laying in the middle of the floor.

You crouched down, refraining from reaching out to it. It was a pale fabric doll with stringy, dirtied yellow hair and big blue eyes. What caught your eye, however, was the big splotch of dried blood on the front of her pink dress.

You shuddered, standing back up straight and letting your gaze wander the kitchen, taking in the beautiful antique architecture and color scheme. The cabinets were a rich brown with green accents, a chunk of remaining glass in one of them indicating that it was once a lovely diamond pattern.

Suddenly, a hand snaked around your waist, pulling you from behind into a hard chest. Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to scream, but the person behind you quickly clamped their other palm over your mouth.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said threateningly, his breath hot against your ear as he dipped his head down.

Your heart raced in your chest, breath quickening in shock and fear. Your fight or flight instincts took over, unfortunately deciding to freeze instead of doing anything helpful.

Through your panicked haze, you realized that you knew this voice. You had been replaying the short conversation you had with that handsome man since it happened, his deep, smooth voice that made your legs clench and your heart flutter echoing through your mind on repeat.

"What am I gonna do with you, hm?" he hummed, his fingers dancing from your mouth to your neck; meanwhile, his other hand stayed splayed on your stomach, keeping your body firmly pressed against his. His large palm wrapped around your neck, squeezing gently, which elicited a gasp from you.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" You could hear the amusement in his tone as he mocked you. "You're fuckin' sick, aren't you?"

In one fluid motion, he turned you around and shoved you back against the kitchen island. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth as your back collided with the edge of the counter.

You looked up at him, your eyes widened as your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. You knew you should've tried to run, but when your eyes locked onto his cold, blue ones, you found yourself glued in place.

Your compliance seemed to please him. A sadistic grin tugged at his lips as he looked down at you, reaching out to grab your jaw roughly, his grip bordering on painful. "You saw me the other night, didn't you?"

Your breath hitched, and after a beat of silence, you hesitantly nodded. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you.

"God, you're fucked up," he laughed cruelly, causing your brows to furrow. Was the serial killer who gutted people and staged their bodies for their families to find really calling you fucked up?

"Aw, I'm sorry," he cooed mockingly, leaning so close that you felt his breath fanning your face and could smell the faint scent of beer and a breath mint. "Did that upset you?"

"You killed them," you finally spoke, your voice quiet and shaking with fear and uncertainty.

"Uh huh," he grinned proudly, his voice dropping as he spoke again: "Does that scare you?"

It probably should. You should be shitting yourself right now, screaming and crying while trying to escape. Instead, you were curious—an emotion you couldn't seem to shake lately.

You wanted to know more about him. Why did he kill, and more importantly, why mostly family men and father figures? You wanted to dive deep into his psyche. And, truthfully, the feeling of his hands on your skin was addicting. Now that you'd felt it, you wanted more.

"I don't know," you practically whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up as he regarded you with that same intense stare. His thumb caressed your cheek, feeling the growing heat against the pad of his finger.

He grinned at your answer, his grip on your jaw tightening as he pulled your face forward, smashing his lips onto yours in an aggressive, sloppy kiss. You gasped softly in surprise, allowing him to deepen the kiss by sliding his tongue into your mouth.

Every inch of you was screaming at you to pull away, but you hadn't listened to the rational part of yourself at all thus far, and you weren't planning to start now. Your hands curled into the material of his grey t-shirt, pulling him closer as a small noise of pleasure bubbled up your throat.

His hand slid back into your hair from your jaw, gripping tightly as he tugged your head back a little. His other hand gripped your waist roughly, his fingers digging into your skin through your nightgown.

Rafe had been fantasizing about finally getting his hands on you for months, but never did he think that you'd walk right into his little murder house and practically serve yourself up to him on a silver platter. Something about you knowing what he truly was and fearing him but also desiring him made him want you more than he thought was possible.

When you finally pulled away, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, Rafe's grip didn't let up; in fact, he tightened it the slightest bit, as if he was afraid that you'd change your mind and try to run.

"You know I can never let you go now," he hummed, a hint of smile pulling at the lips. "Can't risk you exposing my little secret."

You looked up at him, your eyes widening slightly as you processed what he had just said. "What?" You asked, lips parting slightly and brows furrowing in confusion.

His gaze darkened as he imagined shoving his dick between your pretty parted lips. "You're mine now, doll," he clarified, leaving no room for argument. "If you're a good girl, I'll let you stay with me at home, but if you try to leave, I'll lock you in this very basement."

You swallowed hard, considering his threat carefully. You didn't want to know what was waiting for you in that basement if you decided to be difficult. "Okay," you conceeded, nodding as you sealed your fate and agreed to your new life under his surveillance 24/7.

As you watched his features soften slightly in satisfaction, you thought about all the barbaric things that had probably happened in this house, all the wonderful memories you'd imagined before now tainted by the sheer weight of what Rafe had done here. How had the once beautiful house on Peachtree Lane, filled with life and love, turned into a house of horrors?

tags .ᐟ @nemesyaaa

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part one)

+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O

+ What type of BF/GF they would be

Including John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist, the next part or cod content alone.

Taglist: @marshmallowinamess

A/n: Hi lovelies! Lia here, I'm back after a nerve-wracking week of school. This is a bit short but I hope you enjoy it otherwise. God I fucking hate school. I wrote all of this in a cold room, a heat pad on me (because period cramps) and at 3am so any mistakes will be edited out as soon as I'm aware of it.

This is divided into a multiple part thing (I think 2-3?) because God knows I can't fit them all in one post because of the limited amount of gifs and photos. I'll add more to these in the future, some are longer than others because I can't think. Also because I can't write them all at once, that's a lot to write okay 😭

Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.

Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.

John Price

ꕥ (OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIS SMILEEE) (He's such a quokka)

ꕥ Price who literally is such a father figure, doesn't matter whether the relationship between you two is romantic or platonic. He often takes the dominant caring role.

ꕥ Doesn't smoke around you, doesn't matter if you insist he doesn't. He still won't and definitely will criticize you if you try or do smoke because he doesn't want you do end up like him.

ꕥ If there's a bit of an age gap between you, I'd say he's hesitant. Definitely afraid of what the rest of the task force thinks (He can't help it, they're basically his boys)

ꕥ John Price who wants to settle down with you, maybe have kids if you want but just a white picket fence life with you without the chaos that is war and his job.

ꕥ He only ever let's you have his hat, only when he gives it to you though. Most of the time it would be while you're out, he'd put it on your head from his. (Cowboy hat rule? I heard that in more respectful terms rather than sexual, it respectfully means that you are theirs)

ꕥ John Price who rests his chin at the top of your head no matter how much he needs to crouch down whenever hugging you from behind. Love doing it whenever you're busy doing something too. (Props for the effort because you cannot tell me he doesn't have back, neck and knee pains)

ꕥ Is constantly worried if you share the same line of work, like at first it was nothing but a tiny crush and slowly he finds himself caring about your well-being more and more over time.

ꕥ Can't help but think he's an acts of service type of guy, reaching up for things you need or better yet lifting you up so you can reach them and loves opening things for you like bottles or anything canned. (Girlies who get their nails done or wear press ons know this struggle ( I'm a press on girly)

ꕥ The kind of man who would turn on some oldies music and slow dance with you in the living room, your footsteps and breathing being the only other sounds as you smile at each other, foreheads against the other's.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

ꕥ Ghost who is such Doberman/Black cat boyfriend. Like have you seen this man? He's so tall and intimidating, one distasteful look from him and if it was physically possible that person would drop dead.

ꕥ Ghost whose a chubby chaser through and through, he just looks for something different from what he's used to.

ꕥ Is definitely a tits kinda guy, doesn't matter how big or how small they are. He'll definitely play with them in some way during doing the you know what.

ꕥ Feels like you can take him and his size better because of your plush body. Has a size kink and likes seeing it bulge a bit when he's inside you.

ꕥ You're just so soft and warm, he wants something away from what he usually feels doing his job. Not really that touchy but he gets quite clingy within closed doors.

ꕥ Likes to squeeze your thighs, his grip on them would not falter. Doesn't matter whether it's in a sexual or domestic way.

ꕥ Thinks you deserve better than what he can offer and needs constant reassurance, never says it out loud but you pick up on what he feels. (please be patient with him)

ꕥ More often than not, he thinks you're quite fragile. Even if you can protect yourself, one of his ways of showing you he loves you is through protecting you. Hence the Doberman boyfriend scenario.

ꕥ Doesn't like PDA but knows when it's necessary, him placing his arm around your shoulder is enough to keep perverts in their places. If that rando is really that bold then they'll most likely end up with a few broken bones depending on how pissed Simon is.

ꕥ If you work alongside him, he'd constantly worry about your well-being but at the same time is conflicted because he's confident that he can protect you.

ꕥ Only you and the TF141 can call him Simon, he still feels uneasy when he gets called that but when it's you saying it, it doesn't sound as daunting to him. Still dislikes in in certain tones of voice because his name reminds him of his past.

ꕥ You've seen his face, it took a long time but after that he trusted you enough to show him. The fact that you didn't find his face revolting and even kissed his scars while cupping his face was enough for him to want to marry you.

ꕥ Isn't fully insecure about his face but has his moments. (You know like the voice line where soap asks him to take off his mask and asked him if he was ugly and Ghost said "Negative")

ꕥ Takes a little while to get him to open up and little things like letting you hold him takes him a bit of time to get used to because it makes him feel vulnerable.

ꕥ God forbid something were to happen to you and he couldn't do anything to stop it, Simon would lose his fucking mind.

John "Soap" MacTavish

ꕥ Soap is a Golden Retriever boyfriend through and through. He's energetic, loyal and really affectionate.

ꕥ He's a lighthearted flirt at first because he doesn't wanna scare you off but damn does he gradually get bolder over time.

ꕥ Very hands on, touchy, and could be clingy at times unless you don't consent him, secretly always finding new ways to touch you.

ꕥ A sucker for cheek kisses, lips are his favorite but he can't help but break out a wide grin whenever you kiss his cheek. Can't help but feel kinda manly whenever you do.

ꕥ Adores making you laugh, no matter how stupid your sense of humor is he will absolutely say that joke if it gets a laugh out of you. Would be concerned if you had a dark sense of humor but will eventually get used to it. To describe it, hearing you laugh makes his heart feel full like in a content domestic way.

ꕥ Also, see the gif? You cannot tell me that he doesn't look at you that way because he absolutely would.

ꕥ Loves your weight against his body to the pint he's begging you to lay on him. You, him in the bed while he's shirtless with grey sweatpants on and you in your night clothes sharing each other's warmth with your head on his broad chest.

ꕥ Shows you silly and cute pet videos, especially the cat ones:

"[Name], look at this one!"

"Soap, we're not adopting a pet. Not right now at least"

ꕥ He was upset and gave you puppy eyes the whole time because the only time he had pet was when he was child, it was a hamster which was killed because it got sucked into the vacuum by his older sister.

ꕥ You're the only one allowed to tough his hair, he's very proud of his mohawk and will let you style it. Won't wear it out if you did something silly to it though.

ꕥ Soap who loves showing you off to everyone, loves light PDA but doesn't wanna potential put a target on your back.

ꕥ He definitely is the guy you want to take home to your family and friends (or found family <3), he's funny and easy to get along with. Very flirty with you but he'll straighten out because he's terrified on making a bad impression.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

ꕥ (HE'S SO FREAKING UNDERRATED WITHIN THIS FANDOM)

ꕥ He gives Labrador boyfriend vibes, you can't help but want to take care of him.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to do a double take when he first saw you, he turned to Soap with that "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" look in a good way.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to ask you out multiple times before you said yes thinking he's only doing it for a bet or a cruel joke.

ꕥ Constant reassurance from him because he doesn't want you to feel insecure about your looks because to him you are literally an angel.

ꕥ Loves to chill with you, cuddling and just relaxing. Maybe scrolling on TikTok occasionally and show you the funny ones he chuckled at.

ꕥ He has a sixth sense whenever you crave something, say you want chocolate or drink of some sort then he'd definitely being home whatever it is you we're craving without having to ask you.

ꕥ Kyle who has your Starbucks order memorized because he likes being the one to order things for you. Will playfully argue with you on who'll pay this time. (Don't even try anymore, he always wins anyway)

ꕥ Puts his hat on your head mostly when you're out, has done it the first time because it was hot out and the sun was in your eyes. He's picked it up from Price and once you smiled at him through the shade of his cap, he has not stopped doing it.

ꕥ Definitely a words of affirmation and acts of service kind of guy when it comes to love languages. Sometimes whenever he'd give you two thumbs up and a cheeky smile, you can't help but laugh a little.

ꕥ He's very thoughtful, so much so that he prides himself in knowing you better than anyone. Everytime you two go out to eat, when he gets something and know that you'll want to taste it (he knows damn well whether you'll like it or not when he tastes it) he'll bring it upon himself to order you one before you even say you want some.

ꕥ Soft snores when he sleeps, it's cute but you know damn well he's tired. Also I think he's very cuddly, like he just likes reminding himself that he's not alone and that his bed is warm because you're in it. Therefore at minimum always has an arm around you in bed.

ꕥ Dances in the rain with you and loves it when you pull him gently on his arm while your hands are intertwined. Takes note of how the the raindrops sometimes fall on your lashes while you look up at him smiling.

ꕥ Kyle Garrick who wants nothing more in the world to see you happy and smiling. His "this is the woman I'm going to marry" moment was when you baked his favorite cake for his birthday despite it being so hard, you nailed it perfectly. (Whether it's out of luck or skill is up to you)

Alejandro Vargas

ꕥ (idk how to write for this angry Mexican man but I'll try my best, love him and his megamind hairline though <3)

ꕥ Alejandro is definitely a flirt, a very bold on at that. He's quite forward when it comes to liking someone so yeah.

ꕥ He lives for it when you boss him around. That being said, he isn't picky about body type or any of the sort.

ꕥ Will teach you Spanish if you don't know any, definitely prioritizes the curse words and laughs whenever you jokingly call him pendejo.

ꕥ Wouldn't mind you teaching him your own culture and mother tongue. Bonus points if it's similar to his.

ꕥ Has Spanish nicknames for you because I imagine his own culture is important to him.

ꕥ Would hate it if you had the same line of work but will never take it out on you, it's just that it's so dangerous given the people he's involved with. (It's definitely Valeria)

ꕥ Speaking of El Sinombre, I don't think they had anything romantic going on. It's mainly platonic and the "betrayal" sucked on Alejandro's side. They definitely had some rivalry and the tension was through the roof. (Mainly because I headcanon Valeria as Lesbian)

ꕥ Can be so romantic when he tries, you can't tell me this mf ain't a smooth talker because he definitely is. Can be very blunt like in a forward way with his affection too.

ꕥ Likes kissing your wrist and feeling your pulse against his lips because it reminds him you're alive. (The amount of angst this scenario carries would be something I'm up for to write)

ꕥ Is sent on a fit of rage when something happens to you, say you got kidnapped then this man would tears off the walls of every building if he had to.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

ꕥ (ANOTHER UNDERATED CHARACTER)

ꕥ Another Golden Retriever boyfriend. This man is just loving and dotting, very husband material.

ꕥ Loves chubby women, has a soft spot for them and just likes holding them.

ꕥ He's definitely used to the insecurity that comes with the body, also doesn't get why such beauty standards are even in place. Has and would fuck the insecure out of you again if he had to. (It's in a very gentle and loving manner)

ꕥ If you hold him in your arms, he'd be absolutely living for it. He already has had a long day and being honest he hasn't had many lovers that went far so having you care in this way about him would have him wrapped around your finger.

ꕥ Worships the ground you walk on. That's it.

ꕥ Would take everything to heart whenever you teach him or mention something within your culture if you aren't of Spanish origins like he is. He just loves you so much that it makes him happy knowing more about you.

ꕥ Would adore slow dancing with you, brings him back to reality where he realizes that he has you and that you're there.

ꕥ Terrified that one day you'll end up leaving him so reassurance would be much appreciated by him.

ꕥ Definitely a sucker for receiving forehead kisses, as for giving he likes to kiss the back of your hand.

ꕥ If ever danger presents itself to you too closely, he would have a heart attack like full on crying but not in public though.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Babysitting Has Its Perks 🖤🐰 (Big Bro!Choso x Big Bro!Dabi x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Choso x Black!Fem!Reader x Touya “Dabi” Todoroki

Synopsis: You’ve been babysitting kids as a side hustle for a while now to get extra money. You have your regulars, one of them being a doctor’s cute little son Yuji. Though the pay is good, you admit that the main reason you come back to babysit the kid is because of his sexy older brother Choso. On Halloween, when Choso gets caught up in a pinch, he hits you up last minute to babysit Yuji and his bandmate’s little brother. You think this will be an easy night…until you meet Choso’s bandmate Dabi…and you decide to wear a bunny costume…and you realize just how much your secret crush and his hot friend love bunny girls.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Musician!Choso + Dabi; Big Bro/Family AU; Band AU; Nerdy!Reader; Highkey Flirting; Weed + Alcohol Consumption; High + Drunk Sex; Dubcon; R*pe; Threesome; Sex Tape; Facefucking; Cunnilingus; Fingering; Nipple Sucking; Double Deepthroat; Choso + Dabi Got Big Cocks; Degradation/Praise; Dom!Choso + Dabi/sub!Reader; Roleplay; Doggystyle; NO CONDOM; Reader Cums 2x; Facials; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I’ve had this nasty little idea for a hot minute now tee hee!! 🤭 Originally, it was supposed to be just a Choso one shot, but then I thought “Damn….it’d be so hot if Dabi did this too”. So I made a lil crossover one shot for spooky day. I hope y’all enjoy! -Jazz 💋💋

***********

“Are you my big bro’s girlfriend?”

This was the first thing little Yuji asked you the first time you showed up to babysit him. You stood on the steps of the white picket-fenced house belonging to Nanami Kento, a busy doctor who sought you out for your babysitting services on your LinkedIn.

It was September then and a mild night that only called for light layers. You were dressed in a cardigan that you paired with a clingy, white baby tee, hip-hugging jeggings, and flats. You wanted to be casual but still mild mannered since you were at a doctor’s home. You had giggled at the boy’s cuteness and replied, “Close. I’m your new babysitter!”

The little pink-haired boy with the rosy cheeks and a gap tooth had grinned happily at you before turning around and yelling, “CHOSO, YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS MY NEW BABYSITTER!”

“YUJI!” someone yelled back. You had giggled at Yuji’s antics until you actually saw Choso for the first time and started thinking that maybe being confused for his girlfriend wasn’t such a bad thing. As soon as he came to the door in his sweats and polo socks, your smile fell.

The man was fine. He had a face straight out of a dream with his black hair in two spiked ponytails that reminded you so much of Garu from your favorite cartoon ‘Pucca’. He was tall and big, much bigger than you thanks to your cursed short stack height, with broad shoulders and big arms roped in tattoo sleeves that started at his shoulders and cascaded down to his wrists. His thick fingers were coated in metal rings and his nails were painted black.

You thought briefly of what they’d feel like wrapped around your throat or…somewhere else.

The man was also shirtless. His porcelain skin looked soft to the touch, only touched by some tattoos here and there that added to his sexiness. There was one of Yuji’s name on his collarbone; a black heart with a knife jutting out of it on his right neck near his pierced nipple, a silver ball glinting back at you from both of the pebbled, pink peaks; a serpent slithering from his narrow left hip bone down, down, down under the waistband of his sweats that sat dangerously low on his hips, revealing his smooth, toned stomach and V-line.

You must’ve been standing there looking like a damn idiot because Yuji tugged on your hand. “Hellooo?” he sang. “Hey, are you okay?”

You blinked, suddenly back in your body after going up and beyond. Choso was also staring at you, his pierced brow raised in confusion.

“O-Oh, yeah!” you squeaked, wincing at your high-pitched voice. Quickly, you fixed your glasses and cleared your throat. “Yeah, sorry, m’fine. I-I’m—"

“The new babysitter,” Choso finished, his lips quirking into a small smile. His bottom lip looked so plump and soft, pierced with a silver ring you wanted to tug on. “Yeah, my dad told me about you. Sorry about…” He motioned down his bare upper torso, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

His blush was so attractive that you nearly melted at his feet. He was so endearing and so sexy. “I was changin’ and wanted to stop this rugrat from answerin’ the door when he’s not supposed to.” He tugged on Yuji’s ear, making the boy giggle and swat at his hand. “Y/N, right?”

Realizing he was asking you your name, your brain stopped short-cuiriting for a moment to answer. “Y-Yeah,” you stammered. “And you’re—“

“Choso,” a deep, firm voice said from inside, prompting Choso to roll his pretty, violet eyes. “What did I tell you about answering the door without a shirt on?”

The older brother turned to the even finer blonde who came to the door in a pristinely clean tailored suit. “I only did that one other time ‘cause of those stupid kids prankin’ us,” he scoffs. “Lock the doors next time so Yuji doesn’t answer.”

Nanami went to argue back, but realizing you were standing there awkwardly, he stopped. “Oh, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here this early.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” you replied as he and Choso let you into their tasteful, cozy home, Choso holding a giggling Yuji under his arm like a puppy. “I know you have a doctors’ dinner to go to, so I figured I’d come early.”

“Not at all,” Nanami sighs, sounding relieved. “I thank you for that. Please come in.” You did so and you were officially introduced to Nanami’s two boys, little Yuji and his big brother Choso before Nanami left for a doctors’ banquet.

Choso was in a rock band as a drummer and songwriter, so he had to leave too for a gig. Yuji had begged and pleaded to go with him to which Choso reminded him that kids aren’t allowed in 21+ spaces. As soon as you discovered that he was in a band, you were way more intrigued to know Yuji’s sexy, 6-foot-something brother.

No wonder he had such big arms! You’d glad let him wrap those guns around you and squeeze your head like a melon, giving it a personal bear hug. However, you kept your deviant thoughts to yourself.

You were professional. You were good. You were…kinda nerdy. You’d like to think your profile pic of you in your glasses was what gave Nanami the final impression to hire you as his personal babysitter. Since he is a busy doctor and Choso is a busier musician, someone had to look after little Yuji.

That night, you and Yuji played games, watched cartoons, and you ordered pizza and French fries for him that you both scarfed down with some orange soda (Yuji’s favorite). When Nanami came home, he paid you handsomely and thanked you again for watching his son.

Since that night a month ago, you’ve been Yuji’s personal babysitter. You watch him most weekdays when everyone is at work or on Saturday nights if no one else is around. Out of all of the kids you currently babysit, he’s your favorite. He is just too stinking cute!

You love babysitting that boy, plus the money is great. As a college girl, you need it. But there is also one more perk to your babysitting service that you refuse to admit. You feel like a pervert even thinking it, but getting an eyeful of Choso every time you walk into his house is more than enough for you to stay.

Your pathetic crush on the drummer has grown since the first night you met him. You can’t help it! Not only is he cute, but he’s also a great brother to Yuji. Seeing him goof around and tickle the tiny boy is enough to make you want to be bred by him and have his babies.

He fills your thoughts at night, prompting you to cum on your fingers and use your trusty rose until you’re sobbing his name into your pillow. You’ve thought so many times about asking him out or attending one of his shows. You want him bad like a habit…

But you won’t dare say anything. This is your job! You could fuck up some good money just because you want to fuck the kid you babysit’s big brother. And you won’t dare do that to yourself or Nanami who trusts you with his child. So you bite back your feelings and admire Choso from afar….until one night.

On a cool Halloween with autumn finally here and the leaves crunching under your feet, you leave a local cafe, your other part time job, and arrive at an empty house. Your mom is working overnight at the hospital as a nurse and has left you to your own devices. You know she’ll be late since it’s Halloween which means endless hours of greasy takeout, reading, spooky movies, and private time with your toy. No Halloween parties for you.

After changing out of your clothes, tying your kinky hair in a quick puff, and taking a hot shower with your cinnamon roll-scented body wash, you wrap yourself in a towel and head to your room to begin your quiet night in when your phone rings.

When you check your phone, you nearly drop it at the caller ID. Choso. He gave you his number along with Nanami for work purposes and to contact him if anything went wrong while you babysat Yuji. You take a deep breath to ease your vigorously pounding heart. ‘Just be cool, bitch. You know him. He’s just the older brother of the kid you babysit.’

After some seconds of mental preparations, you answer and clear your throat. “HHello?” you breathlessly stammer, very clearly affected by Choso’s call.

‘Fuck!’

“Hey, Y/N, it’s me, Choso,” he answers, his voice causing a warm feeling to curl in your core. He has such a sexy voice. “Of course, it’s me. You’ve got my number. Sorry, forget I said that.” He sighs, sounding like he’s fed up with himself the way you are with yourself.

He becomes even more endearing and much more boyfriend material-y right there. “It’s cool,” you giggle, lying back on your bed in your towel. “What’s goin’ on? Is Yuji okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” he replies with a chuckle. “He’s been askin’ about you. I swear the kid’s got a crush on you.” You laugh, taking your hair out of your scrunchie and running a hand through your kinks. “Well, he’s a wonderful kid.” And you mean it. Yuji is so goofy and sweet and listens to everything you say, probably because Nanami made him promise to. Either way, he’s a joy to take care of.

“Listen,” Choso begins, sounding uncertain, “I feel really bad for askin’ you this, but…are you doin’ anythin’ tonight?” Your brain suddenly short circuits and your cool bedroom feels stuffy and hot. “Uh….n-no,” you stammer. “Just at home watchin’ Halloween movies and stuff, but that’s it. I just got off from work at the cafe.” You hope that didn’t sound too lame.

“Oh, I forgot you had another job,” Choso tsks, sounding stressed out. “Shit, I’ll probably just have to cancel then.” You sit up now, concerned. “What? What’s goin’ on?”

Choso sighs once more and you feel bad for the guy. He sounds positively frustrated. “My dad is out of town until tomorrow for a doctor’s conference and I was put in charge of watchin’ Yuji, but I forgot I got a gig for a Halloween show at a bar tonight. One of my bandmates is already here and we need to leave in, like, two hours.”

“Oh, okay!” you immediately perk at the chance to see him and make more money. “I can be over there in, like, twenty minutes.”

He lightly laughs at your eagerness. ”Well, before you say yes, there’s a catch: my bandmate Dabi needs someone to watch his kid brother too. He’s the same age as Yuji but very quiet and chill, won’t give you any trouble. If you’re okay with watchin’ two kids at the same time, we’d really appreciate it and pay you double when we get home from the gig.”

You don’t even have to think it over. “I’ve watched five kids at once before. I can handle two. I’ll be over there in twenty.” Choso exhales in relief. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re a lifesaver,” he sighs. “I could fuckin’ kiss you right now. Oh, and Yuji and Dabi’s brother are goin’ trick-or-treating tonight if you wanna go with ‘em. See you over here soon and thank you!”

He hangs up before you can make a fool out of yourself over the ‘kiss you’ line. When you take the phone away from your ear, your face is flaming. Quickly, you hurry to brush your teeth, slather on some deodorant, and drown yourself in your favorite vanilla coco body mist that makes you smell like a baked goodie.

Then you dig into your closet for a costume for the kids. You find your costume from last year—fluffy, white bunny ears and a cotton tail. Basic, but it’ll do. You pair it with a white, body-con bodysuit, a skirt that stops mid-thigh, some stockings, and Mary Jane shoes. After applying some Fenty Gloss and mascara, you finally feel cute enough. Quickly, you grab your coat, phone, and bag before heading to your car.

Nanami’s house is only a ten-minute drive, so you get there by 7:45 PM. After parking, you hurry to the front door and ring the doorbell, mentally preparing yourself for another shirtless Choso (hopefully). But to your shock, it isn’t Choso who answers the door.

This man is fine if not finer than Choso. He is just as tall and slightly lanky but sinewy with muscle that is exposed underneath his loose-fitted tank top. He is all tattoos—roping up and down his arms, across his chest, on his thick neck.

Piercings, too. You can see two silver balls glinting through the exposed armholes of his tank puncturing his pink nipples. His left eyebrow and bottom lip are pierced too, giving him an almost dangerous look. The jet-black hair, ripped jeans, boots, and piercing blue eyes are the icing on the cake. He is the damn poster child for the guy good girls shouldn’t want.

His eyes lazily trail up and down your form as he leans against the doorframe. “So,” he says in a raspy drawl that nearly steals your panties, “you’re the little babysitter Choso’s been talkin’ ‘bout. Y/N, right?”

You struggle to find your voice. You feel so small and bug-like standing before such a man. You feel uncomfortable yet aroused, your panties tightening beneath your skirt. “Y-Yeah,” you stutter, gulping. “Dabi?”

He nods, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “The guitarist,” he explains. “Sorry to interrupt your night, but we’re in a pinch. Somebody had to watch our kid brothers and apparently, you fit the bill.” His eyes roam up to your ears before trailing down your body, checking out your outfit. “Clearly.” You don’t know if you should’ve worn your skirt or not now.

“Dabi, stop flirtin’ with my babysitter!” Choso yells from inside before showing himself. Just as you hoped, he is shirtless except for a mesh top that shows off his impressive upper torso and tatted skin, jeans, and boots. His spiked hair is down for tonight and his eyes are rimmed in black liner.

It’s like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you putting you here with two sexy guys despite your awkward ass. “Hey, Y/N,” Choso greets you, flashing those whites at you. “Come in. Yuji is changin’ into his costume and Shoto is right here.”

He practically yanks Dabi out of the way to let you inside. Sitting on the couch is a little boy with multi-colored red and white hair and blue eyes like Dabi dressed in a vampire costume. You nearly swoon from the cuteness. He stares at you mutely as you come into the house.

“Sho, this is Y/N,” Dabi says, nodding at you. “She’s your babysitter for tonight. You say hello?” The little boy mutely looks at you. “Hi,” he says in a soft, bland voice. You wave at him, keeping a bright smile on your face.

“He’s a lil’ shy, but he won’t give you no trouble,” Dabi whispers as Shoto eats some carrot sticks. “Thanks again for doin’ this. I would’ve asked my siblings, but my brother is a big-time athlete and my sis is an overnight nurse.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” you say, offering a kind smile. “I wasn’t doing much tonight anyways.” Dabi’s brows raise curiously and you immediately know that this was the wrong thing to say. “On Halloween? What, no parties or nothin’?”

You slowly shake your head, nervously smiling. “I just got off work earlier when Choso called…a-and I’m not much of a party person.” It’s so lame, but it’s true. You much prefer your books and solitude to sweaty bodies and drunk messes.

“Really?” Dabi asks, sounding humored. “Then that’s some outfit. You wear that for the kids?” His eyes, as blue as Arctic water, intensely stare at you like he’s attempting to turn you into a puddle.

Before you can think of an answer, footsteps thud down the stairs and you all turn to see Yuji in a Spider-Man costume. “Look, Y/N! I’m your friendly neighborhood Spidey!” He jumps down, lands on the bottom step, and hits a squatting pose.

You clap your hands at his superhero landing. “You look amazing, Yuji!” you squeal. “You and Shoto are gonna get sooo much candy!”

Choso walks up to Yuji with a backpack and a leather jacket, checking his water. “We’ve gotta go, squirt,” he says, ruffling Yuji’s pink hair. “Be good for Y/N and don’t eat all your candy unless you wanna be on the shitter, okay?”

Yuji giggles hysterically, slapping Choso’s arm. “You said a bad word, Chosi!” His big brother puts a finger to his lips before turning to you. “Thanks again for doin’ this. A couple of kids will be over soon to go trick-or-treatin’ with them around the block, so just let ‘em in.”

You nod, sending Choso and Dabi off with a wave from the door along with Yuji and Shoto. Five minutes later, four little kids come walking up to the door wearing costumes—a green-haired, freckle-faced ghost, a platinum-blonde werewolf, a brunette little girl dressed like Gwen Stacy, and a black-haired Venom.

“Well,” you coo, smiling at the group, “look what we have here! Are y’all Yuji and Shoto’s friends?” The ghost and Gwen Stacy nod. “Is Shoto here?” the ghost asks. “We’re here to go trick-or-treating with him!”

“Yuji too,” Gwen Stacy adds. “He’s trying to beat Megumi for the most candy bars.” She nudges Venom—Megumi—who rolls his eyes.

“Well, let me go get ‘em and we’ll go together,” you say before hurrying to scoop up your boys. Once everyone has their candy bags together, you lock the door with the key Choso left for you. “Now, let’s get some candy!” You shout, earning some cheers before Yuji and the werewolf—who you learn is Bakugou—race off to the first house.

For the next two ½ hours, you slowly walk behind the group from house to house, knocking on doors for candy, keeping the kids out of the street, and politely declining pervy men who take interest in your costume.

By the time you get home, you’re exhausted and trick-or-treating kids have long since gone home. Shoto’s brother Natsu comes to pick up Shoto to bring him home while you put Yuji to bed after too much candy. For the rest of your time there before Choso and Dabi return, you clean up wrappers, read your book, scrolling through Pinterest, and watch horror movies.

By midnight, you’ve fallen asleep on the couch in your costume, and the end credits to ‘Coraline’ on the TV. When you hear the door click open, you shoot up in surprise, your bunny ears falling off of your head and drool dripping down your chin.

The door cracks open, revealing Dabi smoking a cigarette. “Oops,” he chuckles, grinning at you. “Looks like we woke the bunny.”

Quickly, you wipe the spit off of your face and fix your bunny ears, blushing in embarrassment. You didn’t realize you fell asleep. Choso walks in the house with him, smelling of cigarette smoke and sweat. He gives you a warm smile as he shuts the door. “Hey, you. How were they?”

You smile and stand, smoothing out your skirt. “Like little angels. Yuji is asleep and Shoto was picked up by his brother.” Dabi rolls his eyes at the mention of Natsu as he stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray on the coffee table near your leg. “Yeah, the asshole called and told me to crash here tonight ‘cause he knows I’m fucked up.”

Now that he’s closer, you can see the slightly unfocused look in his blue eyes that can only be accomplished with alcohol. “I’m guessing the gig went well?” The guitarist nods, moving to sit on the couch where you just once were. “Well, we made a bunch of money and signed some titties, so yeah.”

Choso rolls his eyes, chucking a pillow at him. Dabi catches it with one hand. “Shut up. Speakin’ of money…”

He digs into his bag for his phone and clicks a couple buttons. Seconds later, your phone dings with a CashApp alert for $550. “From Dabi and me to you for your services,” he says, giving you a wink that makes your stomach flip.

“Oh, it was no problem, really!” you say with a reassuring smile, though your body sings with joy over the money.

Choso walks over to the couch and plops down with a tired huff, throwing his boots up on the table with Dabi’s. “So you goin’ home?” he curiously asks. “Y’know, you’re welcome to crash here tonight till tomorrow. The streets are packed tonight and those ears might attract the wrong crowd.”

He gives you a joking smirk, evident that he’s kidding. Dabi snickers as he rises from the couch, passing by you with a glint in his eye that makes you feel as if he isn’t joking. “Like we aren’t?” he asks, his voice causing chills to slither down your spine like a snake.

He walks to the kitchen, his walk lazy and slow like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Choso sits on the couch, arms slung over the back and his thighs pried open as if attempting to convince you to stay. “Thanks, but I couldn’t.” You pause, grabbing your bag. “I don’t wanna overstep or—“

“Please,” he scoffs, cutting you off. “You’ve been watchin’ my kid brother for a month! You’re practically family. Plus, we’ve got beer and some weed if you smoke.” Dabi comes back minutes later with three beer bottles, chilled and appetizing. “We’re celebratin’,” he announces with a crooked smirk as he sits down next to Choso.

“An hour then? Just to wait out the traffic?” Choso suggests as Dabi passes him a bottle. You watch the guitarist slip a baggie of marijuana out of his back pocket along with a pack of papers. “But only if you feel comfortable,” Choso adds as if sensing your apprehension.

The two make it a point to leave a space for you between them. You gnaw on your bottom lip, gripping the strap to your bag. You know if you say yes then a world of trouble could open up for you…but you also don’t want to say no. They haven’t done anything to make you feel uncomfortable or uneasy. “Just an hour,” you decide. “I’ll take a beer.”

You slowly place your bag within arm’s reach and sit between them, keeping your thighs clenched tight together and your hands in your lap. You sit rigidly, unsure of what to do. “I didn’t think you drank,” Dabi comments, sounding interested. “You don’t look the type.”

He pops the cap off of the bottle with his teeth before handing it to you. “Ignore him,” Choso says, smirking at his friend. “He teases, but he’s got a thing for the glasses.” You take a sip of the beer to calm your frazzled nerves, the different scents of the two men—cologne, cigarettes, some kind of spicy-smelling soap—mingling into one intoxicating mixture.

“You mean nerdy girls,” you correct him, cracking a smile. “It’s okay, I know I’m a nerd.” Choso laughs, taking a sip of his beer. “Nothin’ wrong with that. I think it’s cool.”

His cheeks glow with a slight blush that somehow turns you on. Dabi snorts from beside you, gently sprinkling crushed weed into one of the papers on the coffee table. “You mean hot. Don’t try to front.” Choso gives him the finger. “Shut the fuck up and roll the damn blunt, asshole.”

Dabi gives him the bird right back but continues to roll his blunt. You watch his fingers expertly work to pinch, roll, squeeze. You would think he’d be good with his hands since he’s a guitarist. They’d probably feel so good inside of you, curling up against that spot that would make you see stars.

“Wanna hit?” he suddenly asks. You blink, realizing that he’s talking to you. He holds the blunt between his forefinger and thumb, smoke billowing from between his lips. You grow hot suddenly, both out of embarrassment for fading out on him because of your dirty mind and uncertainty. “O-Oh, I’ve never…”

Dabi’s brows raise. “You never had weed before? Not even an eddy?”

It doesn’t take a village idiot to figure out that he means an edible. You slowly shake your head, glowing with embarrassment over your squareness. The guitarist breaks into a humored and interested smile like a wolf who realizes he’s got his prey. “Well, shit, aren’t you proper. We’ve gotta fix that.”

“Dabi, don’t corrupt her,” Choso barks. “She’s still our babysitter.”

The guitarist shoots him a bored look. “And she deserves some relaxation after a long, gruelin’ day.” He turns to you, his blue eyes a sea of sin and hot promises. “Don’t you, bunny?” he whispers before puffing on the blunt.

You watch him wrap his lips around the blunt and his cheeks hollow as he inhales. When he pulls away, he puckers his lips and sends an O-shaped smoke ring floating out from between them as well as releasing a steady stream out of his nostrils. He then turns and hands it to you.

With a gulp, you take it and hold it to your wavering lips. You look at Choso for help who is happy to assist with his words: “Inhale slow, hold, and then exhale.”

You do as he says and wrap your lips around the blunt before slowly inhaling. As soon as the smoke invades your lungs, you hold it and then slowly exhale. Though you cough a bit, making the bandmates laugh, the weed already takes effect and makes you feel light, fuzzy, and warm.

“Good girl,” Dabi draws, watching you with a rather predatory gaze. “So she listens, too.” Choso watches you too, creating a very uncomfortable feeling for you in your stomach that you stupidly try to squash with some more beer.

“S-So…uh, tell me about your show tonight,” you stammer, wanting desperately to change the subject and take this situation somewhere less risky.

They respect your decision and tell you about their night playing in a small, sweat-and-alcohol-soaked bar. They also talk about you, asking you about classes, work, your hobbies. You initially feel uncomfortable talking about yourself, but the more you drink and the more you puff on Dabi’s blunt, the less harder it becomes.

You should’ve stopped at one puff. You should’ve stopped after a few sips of beer too. But it’s too late for you now. The weed and the alcohol work their magic on you before you even realize it.

Everything around you feels fuzzy and your skin feels tingly. Choso and Dabi’s voices are thick in your eardrums which feel as if they are stuffed with cotton. You can’t quite comprehend everything they say because they sound so far away and your brain is processing everything at a glacial pace.

You slump against the couch, your eyes fluttering closed and your head feeling heavy. You want to sleep. You want to shut off the movie playing—some 90s slasher flick that Choso put on—, stick your head under the covers, and be plunged into darkness. “Y/N?” Choso asks. “Baby, you still here with us?” He is suddenly closer to you, his hand on your knee. It feels warm and makes your body tingle…especially one part in particular.

Dabi sounds closer too. He’s actually moved closer to you and you just didn’t realize it. When you open your eyes to stare into his piercing, blue ones, he smiles. “Ooooh, the weed’s got her,” he chuckles. “Look at those eyes. She’s gone.” Choso stares at you worriedly, keeping his hand on your knee.

In contrast, Dabi is more daring and lays his hand on your thigh. The surprise contact causes you to giggle, nervously and shyly. The weed has created a thick fog around you where everything feels good and nice. “You’re both so pretty,” you deliriously say. “So sexy.”

Despite your sluggish mind, you know you weren’t supposed to say that. Choso and Dabi share a look, one that you can’t identify. The guitarist smirks at you, his hand trailing farther up your thigh and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Oh, yeah, baby? We think you’re sexy too.” His other hand moves to cup your chin, emitting a small gasp from you. “And pretty…so goddamn pretty.”

His thumb gently pries your bottom lip down, showing him your teeth. He watches intently as the plump flesh pops back into place, his pupils dilating at the sight. He is so close…too close.

You don’t know what to do. Your heart hammers rapidly against your ribcage as he leans in. Or do you lean in? You can’t remember quite well when his lips are on yours.

You squeak in surprise, your shoulders tensing. It’s the only movement you can make with his hands on you. You’re like a terrified rabbit frozen in place as his hand grips your jaw, keeping you still as his mouth envelops yours. His lips are soft yet rough and demanding, practically bruising your lips as he kisses the lipgloss off of them. His piercing is cool against your tongue which swirls against his, only because he demands it. You felt it swipe against your bottom lip at one point, forcing himself inside of your mouth.

You’ve never been kissed in such a way before. Dabi takes and takes and takes yet forces you to take what he gives you. His hands find your ass, trailing up underneath your skirt, drawing a soft moan out of you. “You like that, baby?” he murmurs against your lips. “I knew you wanted this. It was just a matter of time.”

“Mmm-mmm.” This is all you can say or even utter as his tongue dances with yours, giving you a taste of his piercing dug into the pink muscle. His hands squeeze your ass so hard that it hurts, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. You’re helpless to stop him.

You become even more helpless in the situation when you suddenly feel another set of hands on you caressing your body. “Don’t be fuckin’ greedy, Dabi,” Choso growls. “This is my house, remember?”

Dabi pulls away and gives his friend a cocky smirk just as Choso’s hand presses against your cheek. He turns you to face him and his eyes, hooded from the weed and lust. “C-Choso…”

All you can utter out is a soft exhale of his name before his lips covers yours, swooping you up in a hot, wanton kiss. His kiss is less rough than Dabi’s, but it’s just as sloppy, your tongues hotly swirling with each others. At one point, Choso sucks on your tongue and stares into your eyes as he does it, leaving you a panting, wet mess.

“You taste so good,” he whispers. “I’ve been wantin’ this for so long, baby. You have no idea.”

His hands cup your cheeks, bringing you in for more. You find yourself pressed against him and Dabi both, their bodies like brick walls trapping you between them. “I think she has too. Why else would she wear such a slutty lil’ outfit?” His hands trail up your bodysuit, cupping your tits over the fabric. “I bet you wore this just for us, didn’t you, slutty girl?”

He begins roughly massaging your breasts, causing goose pimples to explode over your skin as Choso kisses your neck. You whimper at Dabi’s degrading words. “I-I’m not a—“

You’re cut off with your own gasp as Dabi pinches each of your nipples through the bodysuit, sending sparks of pain throughout your nerve endings. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “That’s what they all fuckin’ say until they’ve got a cock in front of ‘em…and I bet that’s what you really want, ain’t it, bunny?” He leans in and trails his tongue down your neck, creating a line of his saliva on your skin.

A soft moan escapes you as Choso begins playing with your left ear, gently nibbling along your earlobe. Dabi follows suit and plays with your right until both of them are teasing your ears with kisses, licks, nibbles, and moans that have you squirming between them.

Your body feels like it’s overheating and your pussy…you’ve never been so wet before. Is it from the weed? The alcohol? Them?

Choso trails a hand between your thighs, prying them apart to get a feel of your panties. “You look so cute in this costume, baby…so fuckin’ cute.” His index and middle fingers press into your panties, making your toes curl. “Choso, please,” you whine.

He pulls away from your ear, staring deeply into your eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks. “What do you need? You want us to stop?”

You blink at him, overwhelmed and hornier than you’ve ever been in your life. “I….I….” You don’t know what you want or need. You want to leave, but you also don’t. It feels wrong, but also so right.

Dabi disagrees, yanking the straps to your bodysuit down. You yelp as your tits fall out and are exposed to the two musicians who ogle at them. “Her body ain’t sayin’ no,” he chuckles. “Check out these tits. Look at how hard these nipples are.” He begins to slurp your nipples, his tongue and teeth running over the sensitive peaks.

You gasp, biting your lip as Choso begins stroking you through your panties that continue to secrete moisture. “Fuck, babe, look at you,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You need attention, don’t you?”

Dabi bites your nipple, sending shocks of pain throughout your body. “Ah!” you cry out. “W-Wait! Yuji might hear us!” Choso chuckles, still stroking, “He won’t. That kid can sleep through a murder.” Dabi tears himself away from you, glaring. “Now shut the fuck up and open your legs for us.”

With your nerves frazzled, you slowly open your legs…with some help. Choso and Dabi’s big hands pry you open to reveal your soaked panties underneath your skirt. “Just as I thought,” the guitarist tuts. “Look at how wet she is for us, bro. She barely knows us and yet, here she is with a soaked fuckin’ pussy.”

He pries your panties to the side, revealing your puffy, pretty, wet cunt to them both. You gasp as the cold air hits your sensitive skin. “Wow, baby,” Choso says in awe, his eyes slightly wide. “You’re so, so wet for us. Good enough to taste.” He sucks on his index and middle fingers before proceeding to gently rub your clit.

Two other fingers do the same, rubbing up and down your slit. “Good enough to eat,” Dabi adds. “You’d love that wouldn’t you, bunny? You want the big, bad wolves to eat you right up, don’t you?” He sinks his fingers into your pussy, just stopping at his fingertips.

You moan, gripping the duo’s big, beefy arms for dear life as the two play with your gushing pussy. “Fuck!” you gasp. What else can you say?

Dabi tsks disappointedly, teasing you further by curling his fingers up. “That ain’t an answer, baby girl.” Combined with his fingers shallowly fucking you and Choso rubbing your clit, you can’t process anything but how good you feel. “Yes! Yes, please!” You whine, your toes curling in your Mary Jane’s.

Like a killer who has caught his next victim, Dabi grins. He slides his digits out of you, sucks your wetness off of them, and slinks off of the couch to kneel in front of you. “Keep these fuckin’ thighs open,” he demands, eyes glaring into Choso’s. “I don’t want her doin’ shit while I’ve got my tongue in her.”

Choso grips your left leg and pins it open while Dabi takes the right until you’re completely open and exposed to Dabi’s pierced tongue. “Look over here, baby. Look at what you’ve done to me.”

Choso turns your face to meet him where he is fumbling to unzip his pants with his other hand. You watch him peel down his briefs to reveal his happy trail and a very hard, very pretty, very much throbbing and dripping cock.

Dabi nips at your thigh, scowling at you. “Well, don’t just leave him like that,” he scolds. “Stroke that dick. Take some fuckin’ accountability.”

With a shaky hand, you wrap your hand around Choso’s cock and begin to stroke it while Dabi begins to sloppily eat your pussy.

You and Choso moan at the same time, both of you overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure you’re receiving. Dabi’s tongue is skilled, teasing your folds as he slides it along your slit and up to your clit. You stroke Choso’s cock in time with his bandmate’s tongue strokes, trying to focus on two things at the same time.

“Shit,” Choso groans. “You’re so good at this, baby girl, fuck…”

His cute face is etched with pleasure, his eyes hooded and his cheeks flushed as he stares at you pumping his cock. Dabi stares too, still slurping away at your cunt. When the silver ball in his tongue hits your clit, you jump and let out a squeak. “You like that tongue piercing, huh?” he cackles. “Such a little slut. You can’t get enough of this.”

As he dives back down and sucks on your clit, he gently begins to finger you, aiming upward as he strokes your walls. You toss your head back at the euphoric feeling, your brain growing fuzzy. “Watch Dabi eat that pussy, baby,” Choso coos. “But don’t get too distracted.”

You don’t know if you can help that. The way Dabi is sloppily eating you out and finger-fucking you is too much for you to not focus on.

You finally cannot take anymore and let every loud, bottled sound inside of you escape as Choso plays with your breasts and Dabi sucks on your clit. “O-Oh, my God!” you cry out. “Fuck, fuck yes!”

The guitarist flinches, scowling up at you. “Plug up that hole, would ya?” He asks Choso, annoyed. He then goes back to fingering you, a slight, wet sound leaving your pussy as he coats his digit in your juices.

You suddenly feel a hand on your head and Choso’s deep, soft eyes are staring into yours. “Open wide, bunny. I’ve gotta keep you quiet.” He gently pushes you down towards his hard dick standing at attention for you. “You wouldn’t want Yuji to come down and find you like this, right?”

Instinctively, you open your mouth and cover your teeth with your pillowy-soft lips to avoid scraping Choso as his cock sinks into your mouth. “No ‘cause you’re a good girl,” he pants. “You’re my good, sweet fuckin’ girl. Fuck, baby, your mouth is so good!”

He proceeds to fuck up into your mouth, using it as just a fleshlight. A toy. And you allow it. Drool drips from your mouth and down his balls as he continues to assault your mouth, soon sinking deeper and deeper into your throat. You gag a few times and nearly feel triggered to throw up, but you just remember to breathe through your nose. Breathe.

Soon, it becomes easier for you to take Choso’s hard cock down your throat. Dabi watches, still fingering you. “Ooooh, she’s good at that,” he chuckles. “Look at her workin’ that mouth.” He hums in arousal to himself, palming himself between your legs, unbeknown to you. “Fuckin’ little cockslut is gettin’ me rock hard.”

Choso chuckles, his laugh breathless as he fucks your mouth like the hole that it is. His hole. Dabi presses a kiss to your clit, emitting a whimper from you. “Does our little bunny need two big carrots tonight?” he smirkingly asks. Choso pulls his cock, wet with your spit, out of your mouth, allowing you to take a proper breath.

“Oh, I think you do,” Dabi answers for you, “and you’re gonna fuckin’ take ‘em.”

He suddenly stands up between your legs, looking down at you as if you’re nothing more than a cock sleeve for his own use. “Get on your knees and look up at us,” he demands. You look at Choso for help, but he looks too lustful and sex-drunk to even begin to think about rescuing you.

On wobbly legs, you get off of the couch and sit on the floor on your knees. You stare up at Choso and Dabi, suddenly staring at two different cocks. Different in length. Different in girth. But still hard and throbbing. In addition, Dabi’s cock is pierced just at the underside of the head which drips in pre-cum for you.

You bite your lip as you stare up at them, kneeling in just your skirt, stockings, and shoes with your tits out, your pussy wet, and your lips coated in spit. The duo look as if they have fallen in love with you. Dabi cocks his head to the side as he slides something out of his back pocket. “Now that’s a sight.”

You close your eyes, humiliated and embarrassed by this moment, but also by how aroused you are. Your pussy has never been wetter than now sitting in front of these two men that you barely know, letting them see you naked and use you like a—

Click!

You open your eyes as a flash goes off and realize in horror that Dabi has his cell phone out. And he’s taking photos of you. “N-No!” you gasp, covering your breasts. “Don’t!”

Click!

Dabi rolls his eyes at you, still keeping the camera on. “Relaaaax. Nobody is seein’ this beauty but me and your little boyfriend.” He nudges Choso who is busy stroking himself at the sight of you, looking like he wants to eat you the fuck up.

He and Dabi get closer to your face, holding their cocks for you. “Nuzzle ‘em,” Dabi orders. “Put those cute little lips on us.”

Feeling like you have no choice, you do as ordered and nuzzle, kiss, and lick up their cocks. You bump your nose against their bulbous heads, run your lips down their shafts, and gently suck on their balls. The two groan in encouragement at your ministrations, hypnotized.

“You look so cute like this, baby,” Choso moans. “I need to see my cock in your mouth.”

He grabs your hair and, without warning, sinks into your mouth to fuck it dumb. “Fuck!” He groans. “You’re so good at suckin’ my cock, baby.” You have no choice but to breathe and let him do as he wants, your eyes watering from the ache in your jaw and your that button in your throat being triggered.

Dabi watches you, his phone in your face and the blinding, white light of his camera in your eyes. “C’mooon, you can fuck her mouth harder than that, can’tcha?”

Choso glares into the lens as he grips your hair harder. “Fuck you,” he growls but ends up fucking your mouth a little rougher anyway. You gag and sloppily gurgle around his dick as he pounds your throat like it’s your pussy, gripping your hair for leverage.

Dabi grins at his bandmate, enjoying the scene before him. “No thanks,” he cackles. “You ain’t my type, but this little doll is.” He taps his cock against your cheek to get your attention. “Look into the camera, bunny. You love bein’ our little toy, don’t you?”

You squint into the blinding light as Choso pulls his cock out of your mouth, leaving a strand of saliva in his wake. “Slutty little thing,” Dabi whistles. “Now it’s my turn. Get it on camera, will ya?” He passes Choso his phone before roughly yanking you towards his cock by your hair.

With a gasp, your mouth falls onto his cock. He is just as rough, aggressive, and desperate as Choso as he fucks your throat, pulling you back and forth like he owns your entire head.

“Deeper,” he growls. “C’mon, slut, take me deeper.” He sinks himself in deeper, nearly touching the back of your throat. Unable to avoid possibly throwing up, you desperately push at his hips to make him stop.

With a sigh, he pulls himself out of you, allowing you to take a breath. You sputter and gulp down air, unable to get it in your lungs fast enough. Figuring you’ve had enough time, the guitarist grabs you again for more throat-fucking.

“D-Dabi, wait!” you cough. “I-I can’t breathe!” But he doesn’t listen to you, instead plunging his cock in balls deep until the heavy things hit your chin. “Bunnies don’t talk, stupid girl. C’mon, you’re embarrassin’ me on video.”

He turns and smirks into the light as Choso records him plowing your mouth, his cock moving in and out of your throat at a fast, rough pace that nearly knocks your brain out of your skull. “You’re doin’ so well, baby,” Choso coos, gently tapping his cock against your soft cheek. “Such a big girl takin’ those big dicks.” He taps it once against your nose too, chuckling to himself.

Dabi wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes, tossing some rough into the mixing pot of sugar that Choso gives you. “Look up at me. Show me your eyes.”

You do so, staring deep into those blue orbs as his cock strokes the walls of your throat. “That’s it, my little bunny. That’s what I like.”

“Just remember to share her, asshole,” Choso hisses. “She likes my dick more anyway.”

Dabi lazily stares at him, squinting at the camera flash. “Oh, really? Then maybe she’ll be able to choose once we’re inside her.” He pulls his cock out of your mouth, using it to slap your cheek. “Turn the fuck over,” he growls.

Nervously swallowing your spit and his pre, you slowly turn around on wobbly limbs only to be hiked into position by an impatient Dabi: all fours. You feel his big hands on your hips, drawing you toward him. When you feel his cock slide against your pussy, you feel immense fear make your stomach turn.

Then he starts to push the head in. “Dabi, wait,” you gasp. “Condom! You need a condom!”

Smack!

His hand comes down to smack you hard on the ass. You flinch at the stinging pain. “I don’t need that shit,” he scoffs. “Now shut up and take this dick, little bunny.”

And then in he goes, sliding his full length into your pussy one inch at a time. Your mouth falls open as you feel him stretching you out, making his place in your cunt one stroke after the other.

He groans, his hips slamming into your ass a little harder and a little faster until he is fucking you onto his cock like you’re his toy, pulling and pushing you by your hips. “Much better than money, right?” he cackles. He leans down to bite your ear, tugging on your earlobe. “Bet it feels good. Bet it’s everything you need, right, bunny?”

You can’t form even one coherent word. Moans and whimpers are all you can manage as his cock drills into your pussy, emitting wet sounds like a moist macaroni and cheese casserole from his dick repeatedly pounding your cunt. Your head feels like mush, your tits jiggle, and you can’t get a grip on yourself.

“Too much!” you sob. “P-Please, Dabi! Slow down!”

He doesn’t, instead gripping whatever he can of yours—your jiggling tits, your stomach, your ass. “Shut her up, Choso,” he irritably grunts. “She’s killin’ my fuckin’ buzz.”

Choso moves in front of you, pushing his erect cock against your plush lips. “Shhh, baby,” he whispers. “Yuji is sleepin’. Just suck on my cock, okay, good girl?”

Before you can answer, his dick is pushing inside of your mouth. With a moan, he begins to fuck the side of your mouth, his head rubbing against the soft, wet wall.

The two begin to fuck you at both ends, using your body for their pleasure. Dabi grips your skirt, nearly tearing the fabric with his aggressively tight hold. “Fuck!” He grunts. “She feels so fuckin’ good! Gonna shoot a load in her soon at this rate.”

Your eyes widen at the terrifying mention of a creampie. Sure, you’ve always had a kink for that and maybe eventually, you’ll want to experience it, but not now. You can’t get pregnant! Luckily, Choso becomes your savior. “Switch with me then. I need my turn.”

Dabi chuckles, the sound sending shivers down your spine. Moaning in unison, the duo pull their cocks out of you before switching spots. Dabi takes your front while Choso takes the back, his hands massaging your ass. He presses soft kisses on your back as he rubs his cock against your soft asscheeks, almost rutting against them.

You look back at him, unintentionally making him harder as you stare at him over your shoulder. “Choso—“

You can’t finish the rest of your sentence because the drummer is already sliding his cock deep inside of you, sinking himself down to the hilt. He begins to fuck you almost immediately, grabbing your ass for leverage. You moan and whine at the feeling, unable to think about anything but how good his cock feels.

Choso uses one hand to fondle your tits while the other stays on your ass, massaging both sensitive zones as his cock massages your walls. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he moans. “Wanted to fuck this pussy for so fuckin’ long. All you do is tease me.” He grips your body to his like it’s his prized position, his hips hammering against your ass again and again and again.

Every time he slams into you, you’re propelled deeper and deeper into a hole of molten pleasure that you can’t crawl out of…and you’re not sure if you want to.

“Choso!” You whine. “Oh, my God, Choso, fuck!” His stroke game draws the loudest, most pathetic sounds out of you, only muffled by Dabi’s cock.

He laughs as he slides into your mouth as you moan around it. “Damn, you’ve got some pipes, girl,” he chuckles, biting his lip as he watches you suck on it. “Might wanna look into bein’ a singer. We might have an opening for ya if you can make us nut.”

He takes his cock out once and taps it against your tongue before sliding back in, proceeding to fuck your throat. Choso laughingly moans, still massaging your insides with his cock. “That won’t be a problem…ssshhhit, her pussy is so tight!” He lets out a shuddery breath as he slows himself down, edging himself inside of you. You can feel him beginning to swell, his cock growing thicker.

Dabi nods at him encouragingly, gripping your hair and forcing you to throat his dick. “Then beat that pussy up, man. Don’t fuckin’ slack—give her what she needs.”

And together, they do just that. They fuck and use your holes until you’re a gagging, whimpering mess, dripping from both ends. Your fake ears fall off and your skirt is ripped so tightly in Choso’s fists that you hear it rip. They fuck you as hard and as fast as they want to, taking you on a bumpy ride.

You feel your core begin to tighten into a knot and your clit swell the more Dabi teases it with his fingers. Your second orgasm is approaching quickly.

Choso must feel it because he focuses heavily on that spot inside of you, fucking it until you’re a puddle. “You gonna cum, bunny?” he whispers. “You gonna cum all over this cock?”

Your mind is blank, the pleasure too numbing. You can feel the urge to cum building, building, building. Choso pinches your nipples while Dabi swirls his fingers around your clit, the sensations getting you closer. “Mmmm!” You scream around Dabi’s cock. “Mmmm, pweeease!”

Dabi nods, pleased with your begging. He grips your hair tighter, forcing you to take his cock deeper. “Go ahead and cum with us, slut. We fuckin’ need it.” Choso nods encouragingly, still pounding your pussy with the intention of making you both cum your brains out. “Do it,” he begs. “Cum on that dick. Give it to me, bunny, please! Cum right fuckin’ now!”

His begging and pleading triggers something inside of you that immediately flips your O switch on. “Ohhh, fuuuuck!” you moan as you finally cum all over Choso’s cock. He keeps fucking you through each intense wave of your orgasm, extending it until you’re writhing and thrashing between him and Dabi.

“Oh, God,” Choso groans as your pussy clenches around him. “I’m ‘bout to cum too.” Dabi shakes his head, pumping his cock in your face. “Unless you want a baby, I suggest you follow my lead.”

Despite the feeling of disappointment as your heavenly cunt leaves him, Choso pulls out and takes his place next to Dabi. The two stand over you—little, pathetic, cum-drunk you—and jerk themselves off in your face.

“Not done yet,” Dabi hisses, damn near feral. “Look up at us, bunny. Show us that pretty face.”

Slowly, you do as he orders and stare at their cocks as they furiously chase their orgasms with their hands. Dabi cums first with a raspy groan that sends warm shivers throughout your body. His creamy, hot cum shoots all over your face and tongue that you slip out of your mouth to catch some droplets.

Choso comes next, his face flush red and looking oh-so pretty as his orgasm peaks. Finally, with a moan, he cums too. “Ohhh, fuck,” he groans as he sprays his load all over your tits. Some of the droplets also splash onto your tongue and on your stomach, coating your skin in the creamy substance.

Their muscles tense and their faces screw in pleasure until finally, the cloud of pleasure fades and they relax. Choso tilts his head back, eyes shut and looking winded. Meanwhile, Dabi takes his phone from the floor and once again puts the camera on you. You squint into the white light, wanting to cover yourself.

“That’s a pretty sight,” he sighs, getting up close and personal. “Now was that good, bunny? Did ya have fun?” He takes his thumb and wipes some cum away from your lips. “Y-Yes,” you softly reply.

The guitarist smirks, pleased with your answer. “Mmm, good girl. You look so nice with my cum all over you.” He makes sure to get all of you—your tits, your stomach, your pretty face all covered in his and Choso’s nut—on his phone. You have no choice but to sit in it…and your embarrassment.

You can’t believe you just got fucked by two men you barely know after babysitting their baby brothers…one of which is sound asleep upstairs.

Dabi finally turns off his phone, chuckling to himself. You don’t ask why. After fetching some tissues, Choso bends down on the floor to wrap his arms around you, using the tissues to dab the cum off of your body. “You did so well, baby,” he sighs. “You were so, so fuckin’ good.”

His big, strong, inked arms wrap around your middle as he drags you into his lap. He then picks you up and walks you over to the couch where he cuddles you, naked and satisfied. He gently strokes your back and kisses your forehead, almost making you forget all about your humiliation….almost.

And then you hear a knock. It is loud and it is abrupt. You gasp, jumping in fear. Someone’s at the door. Could it be Nanami? Is he home early?

Dabi, putting his undies and jeans back on, zips up his fly before sauntering over to the door. He peeks through the peephole and smirks at you. “Relax, girl,” he cackles. “It ain’t no trick-or-treaters.”

Despite the fact that you and Choso are still very naked, Dabi opens the door to reveal two more hot, tatted band members—one with long, wavy white hair and tired gray eyes and the other with spiked pink hair and vermillion eyes.

“Took you long enough,” Dabi scoffs, opening the door further. “Get your asses in here.”

The two strangers walk in, laughing to themselves. When their eyes lock with yours, they each smirk to themselves, menacingly. “Damn,” the pink-haired hottie laughs lightly. “Guess we missed the party.”

“Nah, you guys came just in time,” Dabi chuckles, tossing an arm around his white-haired friend. “We just finished up with her.”

The white-haired man tilts his head to the side, his eyes roaming over your body. “Tiny little thing. You two horn bags corrupt her already?”

Choso squeezes you to him, smiling at his friends. “Baby, this is Tomura and Sukuna, our bassist and one of our other guitarists.”

The two bandmates’ smirks grow wider, causing a twirl of fear and anxiety to appear in your gut.

Choso presses lips to your ear. You can tell he’s smiling. “They’ve got a thing for bunnies too,” he whispers.

THE END.

[d20-lesbian]

AFTER AN OVERWHELMING WAVE OF SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT, I'VE DECIDED TO POST THE WILL WOOD ESSAY!!!! it's below the break !!!!

I would like to really quickly state though that this essay is my property, I put a lot of time and effort into this, so please don't claim it as your own !!!! thank you <33

I will be analysing Will Wood’s song ‘Suburbia Overture / Greetings from Marybell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally’. which, for simplicity, most fans refer to as simply ‘Suburbia Overture’. This song is the first on his first solo album entitled ‘The Normal Album’, which came out in July 2020.

This song, in the most general possible terms, is a criticism of modern suburban life, how it is advertised as “the perfect life”, and how this advertising is incredibly false unless you fit the picture perfect standard that these facets of society seem to require.

The song itself is split up into 3 distinct sections, "Greetings from The Marybell Township!", “(Vampire) Culture” and “Love Me, Normally”. I'll be tackling each section one at a time in order to properly break down what each means, what different analogies they use, how they all relate to each other and the intended end result of the song and the message it intends to convey.

Let's begin with 'Greetings from The Marybell Township!'.

This section of the song uses a lot of analogies that compare suburban life to a warzone, the first line of this section being “white picket fences, barbed wire and trenches”. This section also focuses heavily on the concept of the nuclear family, and it often literalises the term and uses analogies based around radiation and nuclear warfare. Such analogies can be found in lines such as “the snap crackle pop of the Geiger, camouflage billboards for lead lined Brookes Brothers”. Now there's a couple of terms that require definitions in this line. The first of course being “the Geiger”. A Geiger counter, which is what this lyric is referring to, is a tool used to measure levels of harmful radiation. This, paired with the concept of billboards advertising “lead-lined Brookes Brothers” when lead is a material used to deflect radiation, and the knowledge that ‘Brookes Brothers’ is an American vintage style clothing brand, this line really paints a picture of a seemingly post apocalyptic/post nuclear war but still consumerist and capitalistic suburban society. The last line in that verse is “buy now or die”, which ties back to the concept of safety equipment being advertised on billboards, while residents of this town have no choice but to buy the products. This all relates back to the hyperconsumerism that plagues our society, and runs particularly rampant in middle to upper middle class neighbourhoods. The very same neighbourhoods that are often referred to as “suburban”

In the second verse of this section there are a lot of hard hitting lyrics that to me really show that this perfect idealised life is far from perfect or even good, so we will work through them one by one because I feel that they all deserve proper analysis.

The first line that i want to point out from that verse is the line “takes a village to fake a whole culture” which is clearly a rip off of the phrase “it takes a village [to raise a child]” but it also references the fact that usually suburban towns are incredibly monotonous in both residents and architecture, and so it takes the collective effort of the entire population of the town to pretend that there is an actual culture to it.

The next few lines I'll speak on all come in quick succession of one another, essentially blending them into one line.

“Your ear to the playground, your eye on the ball, your head in the gutter, your brains on the wall.”

So let's break these down. This line is easily split into 4 distinct phrases, and all of these phrases have a few things in common, which I will point out later.

“Your ear to the playground” is a play on the phrase “ear to the ground” which essentially means that the person with their ‘ear to the ground’ is attempting to carefully gather intel about something. Someone having their ear to the playground simply reinforces the idea of this suburban “paradise” being. Not as paradise-y as one would hope, seeing as the people who use playgrounds most of all are children, so this line is demonstrating that the picture perfect life that this suburban town offers is actually corrupting children so young that they are still on the playground.

The next phrase is “your eye on the ball” isn't a play on anything and is in fact in itself a common phrase. To have your eye on the ball means to be entirely focused in and paying attention to something, and not allowing anything to divert your attention. Given the last line this line very well could be another reference to the corruption of the youth and the idea that their every day play has already been tainted with the hostilities of modern life usually reserved for adults.

Following this is another well known saying “your head in the gutter” which, as most know, someone whos head is ‘in the gutter’ is someone who will see some sort of innuendo or otherwise vulgar/inappropriate meaning in something that was intended to be entirely innocent, leading to others in the interaction telling the perpetrator to ‘get [their] mind out of the gutter’

And finally, in my opinion the most hard hitting phrase in this set, “your brains on the wall” which is clearly in reference to the notion of ending your own life with a shot to the head, which would lead to, well, brains being on the wall. These last 2 phrases come in stark contrast to the seemingly picture perfect life that suburban towns offer and advertise, the concepts of suicide and perversion are not concepts one expects to see or hear when imagining this idealised form of life.

There is one main similarity in each of the 4 phrases, that being that each phrase has some body part being on something else, your ear to the playground, your eye on the ball, your head in the gutter, your brains on the wall. This similarity almost offers a body horror aspect to the song, which when paired with the concept that this is written about a seemingly post nuclear apocalyptic town presents an interesting idea of possible mutation, but i'll be the first to admit that may be a little far fetched. However that's not the only similarity that these 4 phrases share, another is the fact that they are all directly, or only slightly modified versions of already well known phrases, a similarity that is found in many lines over this entire song, through all 3 sections.

I want to analyse a few more lines before we move on to the second section of the song.

This next line comes directly after the previously analysed line, and it goes “home is where the heart is, you ain't homeless, but you’re heartless”

Sticking with the theme of using already existing and commonly used phrases, “home is where the heart is'' is once again a phrase that you could likely find as a cross stitch hung up on the wall of any of the homogenous houses you could likely find in this idealised suburbia. But what Wood is saying in this line is that home is where the heart is, and that while people in this town may not be homeless, they are certainly heartless, meaning that they in fact don't have homes. They have houses. Rows upon rows of houses that all look the exact same in the horrifying monotony that is suburban living.

Following this line is the lyric “it's the safest on the market, but you still gotta watch where you park it”. These lines seem to be in reference to buying a car. The car being the "safest on the market" is likely in reference to the fact that it may have a lot of safety features. But this is immediately negated by the fact that you “still gotta watch where you park it” meaning that the safety features could be a reason that the car gets stolen, rendering all the safety that those features offered useless because in the end it made the car and the owner less safe.

In the third verse of this section, you immediately hear the line “so give me your half-life crisis” which partially is a play on the term ‘mid life crisis’ wherein which one realises that they may have wasted their life up till that point and they're already halfway through, but the use of the term “half-life” instead of ‘mid-life’ is very intentional, as the term “half-life” can also be used to refer to the half-life of an isotope, which is the amount of time that isotope takes to lose half of its radiation, which ties back into the theme of radiation that we see mentioned a lot in this section.

Later in the same verse is the line “if it's true that a snowflake only matters in a blizzard”, which is interesting in a few ways, first, it brings up the idea of a singular individual means nothing on their own and that they only matter when they’re part of something larger or a larger group, but i also think that the use of the terms “snowflake” and “blizzard” instead of something like ‘raindrop’ and ‘storm’ is very intentional in the fact that snowflakes are known for being individual, none are alike, every single one is different. So saying that a snowflake doesn't matter unless it's in a blizzard is yet another hit at individuality, essentially implying that in this town individuality means nothing and is essentially rendered useless.

The final line in this verse is “everybody's all up in my-” repeated thrice, and on the third time the sentence is finished to say “everybody’s all up in my business” and before the word “business” can be finished its overlapped with the beginning of the chorus, the first word of which is a very loud “SUBURBIAAAA!”. I believe this is reminiscent of the fact that in towns like this, everyone cares so much about what everyone else is doing, they’re all so interested in everyone else's business, and i think that sentiment being stated and cut off by the word “Suburbia” is essentially saying that ‘this is the norm, this is just Suburbia, this is how it works around here.’

After the final chorus of this section, in the final verse, you'll find the line “chameleon peacocks are talk of the town” which particularly interests me because if you know anything about chameleons or peacocks you’d find that they seem incredibly different as animals. Chameleons blend into their environment in order to stay safe, whereas peacocks are known for parading around bright colours to make themselves look better, but if you think about it the term “chameleon peacock” actually makes a lot of sense, a person who blends into their surroundings in order to make themselves look good. This sentiment seems to perfectly describe the homogeneity of the people that live in these perfect towns, they're all the same, they blend in with one another in order to make themselves look good, or perfect.

Another line heard shortly afterwards is the phrase “he cums radiation”, rather vulgar, I grant you, but it's important because it is yet another literalisation of the phrase ‘nuclear family’. It could also be a reference to the general toxicity of this societal norm.

The final line in this section of the song is “the dog bites the postman, as basement eyes dream of a night at the drive-in, with an AR-15”. Which is another use of juxtaposition, intended to cause a kind of whiplash in the listener and reinforce the idea that while in this place there is scenarios that would happen in a hollywood movie esque picture perfect neighbourhood, like the dog biting the postman, there's also horrors that lurk below the surface. (although clearly not TOO far below.)

Now let’s move on to the second part, ‘(Vampire) Culture’.

If you listen to the song, you’ll immediately be able to recognise where 'Greetings from The Marybell Township!' ends and ‘(Vampire) Culture’ begins, due to the insane juxtaposition between the two. Where 'Greetings from The Marybell Township!' is soft and sort of reminiscent of the 1950’s, ‘(Vampire) Culture’ is loud, jarring and grotesque, complemented with much raspier and strained sounding vocals compared to 'Greetings from The Marybell Township!' ’s soft and melodic ones. The tone for this section of the song is immediately set with much more graphic lyrics, the very first line of this section (after the opening scream) is “i dropped my eyeballs in the bonfire, we fucked on a bed of nails” which absolutely sets the scene for how different this section will be to the previous.

This song immediately jumps into using cannibalism as a metaphor, with the first line after the jump start opener being “I caught kuru from your sister, and I'm laughing in jail”. While this line is written to sound like the concept of catching an STD from an act of adultery, Kuru is actually a disease only found in human brain tissue, meaning that you can only contract this disease by eating a human brain, and what's one of the symptoms for this disease? Uncontrollable laughter.

This use of cannibalism as a metaphor is used again immediately after in the line “smell those screaming teenage sweetbreads on that 4th of July grill”, ‘sweetbread’ is the term used to refer to the pancreas and thymus gland of an animal, usually a lamb, but in this particular case it is in reference to the human teenagers that supposedly lived in The Marybell Township, or a least they did before they were dissected, cooked and served at a neighbourhood 4th of July barbeque hosted by the same people that were once referred to as their neighbours.

This line adds an interesting level of patriotism to the song and criticism of how America utilises patriotism and their love for their country as means to justify harming the youth, however a 4th of July neighbourhood barbeque is also commonly associated with white picket fence gated community America, which ties us back to the base criticism of that style of life and how it is seen as the “proper” and “perfect” way to live.

These cannibalistic sentiments are followed up with the line “smile and wave boys, kiss the cook, live laugh and love, please pass the pills.” which brings us back to the repeated use of commonly known sayings being taken directly or modified only slightly to remind the listener of the setting were in, that being a seemingly 1950’s era tight knit neighbourhood.

Phrases like “live laugh [and] love” or “kiss the cook” are both phrases that could easily be seen in a setting like this, especially “kiss the cook”, as this is a phrase commonly associated with aprons worn by grillmasters at neighbourhood barbeques, not unlike the cannibalistic 4th of July barbeque that this particular neighbourhood seems to be hosting.

These phrases being immediately followed up with a sentiment such as “please pass the pills” serves to entirely undermine the pleasantries that, until a moment ago, seemed to be plastered all over the faces of the people living in this fictional town that Wood has created. I think that final phrase brings the listener back to the realisation that not all is right here, quite the opposite in fact, and drags them from their momentary paradise.

Circling back very quickly to the phrase “smile and wave”. I felt the need to point out that this phrase has been used for centuries as a way to say “stop talking and act normal” which once again reinforces that these people are pretending to be something they’re not in order to fit in.

We enter the next verse with the repeated phrase “it's only culture”, after that line is repeated three times we hear “sulfur, smoke and soot”, which could either be a reference to how dirty and disgusting the ‘culture’ is, or it could be a different way of saying that this culture and the people participating are going to hell, as per the common phrase ‘fire and brimstone’ and the fact that sulfur is another way of saying brimstone, and smoke and soot are both byproducts of fire.

The last line of this verse and the first line of the chorus blend into each other, so I’ll speak on them both.

First, the last line of the verse. It goes “you cocked and sucked your lack of empathy, pulled the trigger with your foot to prove you've got-”

Putting aside the clear innuendo, this line refers to the idea of ending one's own life with a long shotgun. According to the media, by the time the gun is cocked and the barrel is in your mouth, you're not able to pull the trigger with your hands due to the length of the barrel. This line instead presents the solution of pulling the trigger with your foot to end your life.

So this person “cocked and sucked” the gun (cocked the gun and put the barrel in their mouth) before pulling the trigger with their foot to prove they’ve got-

And here's where the verse blends into the chorus.

Because the first line only consists of one word.

“Blood”.

The person who was shooting themselves with a shotgun only to prove that they bleed. Which is where the title of this section comes in. “(Vampire) Culture”. This section seeks to portray either the people in this culture or, the more likely option, the culture itself, as metaphorical vampires, who aim to destroy those around them. This knowledge makes the next line “didn't they want your blood, so why apologise for being blue and cold” make a lot more sense. After all, if these culture vampires have drained you of your blood, is it not their fault that you’re now “blue and cold”, as bodies tend to be if they lack blood flow. However, if you look at synonyms for the words “blue” and “cold”, you could also interpret this phrase as meaning “sad and apathetic”.

A sad and apathetic person doesn't seem to be the kind of person this ‘culture’ seeks to enlist however, and so one who is “blue and cold” is shunned as an outsider.

What Wood is getting at is that if this culture is the one who made you sad and apathetic, then you should not apologise to it for being so.

The next verse is short, and like the previous one, also blends into the chorus in the same way, by having the last line of the verse cut off right where the chorus would finish the sentence with the word “blood”. However in this verse, there's an interesting line. “It's only culture and it's more afraid of you than you are of it”, which is a sentiment usually used by adults to attempt to subdue a child's fear of something, usually insects. However it's interesting in the fact that it brings up the idea that this culture that has caused so much damage and harm is actually incredibly fragile, and would, in theory be very afraid of the concept of the individual, because if this ‘culture’ is only being held together by the silent agreeance that everyone will simply pretend, then the idea that there is people who refuse throws the whole idea into jeopardy.

This line is followed up however, by the line that blends it into the chorus. “Go on drink that-”, clearly intended to be finished by the first line of the chorus, making the full line, “go on drink that blood”.

This line is in reference to the phrase “drink the kool-aid” which essentially means to pledge your undying loyalty to something, a concept, a person, a god, etc. and it derives from an infamous mass cult suicide where over 900 people drank poisoned Kool-Aid and subsequently died for the cult. It is not a far cry to believe that this event and this phrase is what the line is referring to, as it's something that Wood has referenced in other songs, so it only makes sense to believe that this is what he means here.

After that chorus we move on to the bridge, which begins by listing 3 pairs of names, all famous or semi famous, and each pair being similar in one right but opposite in another, the line goes as follows; “were you Nabokov to a Sallinger, were you Jung to Freud or Dass to a Leary”, so let's break down these pairs one by one.

First “Nabokov to a Sallinger”, these names belong to Vladimir Nabokov and J.D. Sallinger, both authors who wrote famous books that both surround the theme of innocence, but in very different ways. Nabokov’s book “Lolita” is a story told from the perspective of a grown man about his sexual obsession and attraction to a little girl, and his desire to ruin her innocence, exploring the theme of innocence in a grotesque and frankly horrifying way, which is in stark contrast to Sallinger’s book “The Catcher in the Rye”, which explores the topic of innocence through the main characters desire to preserve their little sisters innocence, and in that desire displays hesitancy at the idea of sex themself. Both books explore the topic of innocence, however while one seeks to preserve it, the other seeks to destroy it, two sides of the same coin.

The next pairing is “Jung to Freud”, meaning Carl Gustav Jung and his mentor Sigmund Freud, who once again are similar in one right, but opposite in another. Jung and Freud both had theories on the nature of the human mind, but where Jungs was all about the concept of spirituality and how that ties into the collective unconscious, Freud's approach was much more focused on the individual unconscious and the concept of sexuality.

The final pairing is “Dass to a Leary”. both psychologists, both at the forefront of the ‘Harvard Psilocybin Project’ (before they both got dismissed from harvard entirely following controversies around the project) Richard Alpert and Timothy Leary were both psychologists and eventually authors who studied the effects of psychedelic drugs on the human mind, and while they were co workers they ended up with pretty conflicting views. Dr. Richard Alpert, who apparently ‘died’ and was ‘reborn’ as spiritual guide Ram Dass, centred his teachings heavily around the concept of living in the moment, (in fact his best selling book, written in 1971 was titled ‘Be Here Now’) and he believed that psychedelic drugs were not needed and that a permanent version of the same effects could be achieved through meditation. Whereas Dr. Timothy Leary advocated heavily for the use of psychedelics, believing that LSD specifically had great potential for therapeutic psychiatric use.

All of these pairings and examples utilise the concept of duality and speak on how every coin has two sides, which can easily be tied back to the idea that the picture perfect suburban life is just one side of the coin. This idea is then reinforced by the next line, “were you mother, daughter, subject and author?”, The use of the word ‘and’ here shows that it's possible to be two sides of the same coin at once, just like how this town, which is perfect on one side of the coin, is still terrible on the other side of the coin. The line is stating that it's possible to be both at once.

The very last line in this section is; “you don't make the rules, you just write them down and do it by the book you throw around”. This line combines a few relatively well known phrases. The first being of course ‘i don’t make the rules’, which can have two distinct meanings. The first is to express a kind of sympathy for someone being punished, and the second is to absolve yourself of the blame for that person being punished, a sort of ‘don't shoot the messenger’ situation.

The ‘rules’ that are likely being referred to here are the societal norms and expectations forced upon people who reside in these towns, the standard for ‘perfection’.

However, following this sentiment up with the phrase “you just write them down” is essentially saying that while it's not the fault of the people in these towns, they didn't create the norms, they still enforce them. They expect everything to be in line and perfect at all times, they follow these ‘rules’ to a T, and they shun and punish anyone who doesn't fit the standard and/or refuses to follow these ‘rules’, which is where the line “do it by the book you throw around” comes in, doing something ‘by the book’ means to follow rules strictly and to the letter, nothing out of line, and to throw the book at someone means to punish them as severely as possible, usually used in the legal sense to mean punishing someone for their crime as severely as the law will allow. So in all, the lyric “you don't make the rules, you just write them down and do it by the book you throw around” ends up meaning ‘you didn't create these norms but you still enforce them by following them to an absolute T and punishing anyone who doesn't.’

With that we enter the third and final section of the song, entitled ‘Love Me, Normally’, a title it shares with another song on the album, but of course this song is partially meant to serve as an overture for the whole album, meaning it shares some similar lyrics with lyrics from other songs on the album, so sharing a title isn't all that surprising.

The first lyric in this section is “do you know the difference between blazing trails and slash and burn?” which is another instance of duality in this song. Trailblazing or being a trailblazer means doing something no one has done before, paving the way for other people to follow in your footsteps, it comes from the literal act of creating a trail in the woods for people to follow, usually by creating notches in trees or setting small fires, hence ‘blazer’, as blaze is another word for a fire. However “slash and burn” is a method of deforestation that involves cutting down and burning a section of forest to create a field. Both examples include using fire to change something, but where one is seen as progress and positive, the other is negative, and seen as a means of destruction. Once again, two sides of the same coin, innovation and destruction.

This is followed up with the line “going against the grain and catching splinters”, which is a line i particularly like because while it is something that literally can happen, if you run your hand along wood in the opposite direction to the grain, you're more likely to get a splinter because you're essentially pushing your hand against the chips of wood, but it also is another metaphor for the dangers of not being the same. Going against the grain in this instance means daring to be different, not going the same way everyone else is going but instead the opposite of that, and in this example splinters are the consequences one would face for being different, especially in a setting like this perfect town, where everyone is the exact same as everyone else.

A little bit later you hear the line “well Lot he had his lot in life, Job his job and i guess you’ll too, and die”.

Lot and Job are both figures found in the Bible, whose names both share spelling with common English words, but are pronounced slightly differently.

Job, from the Book of Job, was a man that was tested by God, made to suffer to test his loyalty, his ‘job’ was to believe unendingly in God and see Him as always correct no matter what.

Lot, from the Book of Genesis, was a man who went through a lot, and the phrase ‘my lot in life’ is a phrase commonly used by people to write off/explain why they don't have it as good as others, they say it's simply their ‘lot in life’.

The end of this line “i guess you’ll too, and die” i believe refers to the fact that everyone will have their own job and their own lot in life, and then everyone in the end will die.

This theory is solidified by the fact that the next line is “The Lord looked down and said ‘hey, you're only mortal’” which is a play off of the phrase ‘you're only human’. Wood himself said that the phrase ‘you're only human’ has always felt weird to him, he says, “cause like, of course I am, aren’t we all? How is that fact supposed to help? I still feel bad. What does being human mean to you?”. He follows this up by saying that the idea of God saying "hey, you're only mortal" offers the same kind of sentiment, but in a “cosmically condescending” sort of way.

The following line reads “giveth and taketh away, till things come out a certain way, leave you wondering when they might go back to normal… leave you wondering why they can't have just been normal”.

This line presents a sort of hopelessness in the realisation that things are constantly changing, nothing is any more ‘normal’ than anything else, there's no such thing as ‘normal’, which is an overarching theme found throughout the album. Once again bringing back the fact that for all intents and purposes this song is an overture for the rest of the album.

To conclude, ‘Suburbia Overture’ is, in my opinion, one of the greatest criticisms of suburban, middle class, gated community, nuclear family life i've ever seen, it highlights the problems in that life and showcases how this kind of lifestyle in its incredibly rigid and restrictive standards is incredibly harmful to the very concept of individuality, because the expectations and unspoken rules set in communities like this and the widespread idea of forced normality seeks to crush any individuality before it even has a chance to blossom.

The use of metaphors and phrases that are well known and are likely to be seen in settings such as this gated community suburban town that Wood has created really paint a subconscious picture of what this community looks like, the use of duality, how every story has another side, and how nothing that is seemingly perfect from the outside is actually perfect on the inside.

Will Wood is an incredible lyricist and the fact that he was able to cram so much symbolism and such a powerful message into a song just over 6 minutes long is genuinely incredible.

Thank you for listening to my/reading my autistic hyper fixated rambling, i hope i didn't melt your brain too badly <3

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz for seven sentence Sunday! Here’s uhhhhh more than that from a buddietommy vacation threesome fic-

The day is hot enough that Buck is curled up like a bug on the dock between them. He’d stayed in the water longer than Tommy or Eddie had, and had swum out further than either of them, so when he’d crawled back up onto the old wood planks he’d chugged an entire water bottle and promptly passed out. Eddie glances down at his bare torso, just starting to get a little pink.

“Should probably get sunscreen on him again.”

Tommy snorts as he leans backwards, stretching out to grab the spray can. “And you’re worried you’ve forgotten how to be a dad.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says as Buck, still asleep, makes a similar sound when Tommy mists him all over with cold sunscreen. “It’s been months, man, that’s so long for a kid, who knows what he’s even into now-”

“Minecraft, right?” Tommy says as he smooths his hand over a few places the sunscreen pooled on his boyfriend’s back. “Wasn’t he on a video call with you and Buck about it for like three hours on Friday? Something about- uh- command blocks?”

Eddie is mildly impressed Tommy remembers the word — maybe — because he certainly doesn’t. Buck had only been slightly better at following along than he had as they’d squinted at the probably impressive pixels on the laptop screen. “I don’t know, I just feel like…” Every morning, still, he wakes up and thinks he needs to get Chris’ breakfast started. Whole parts of his being are wired around taking care of his kid, but since he’s been gone Eddie has been trying — in fits and starts and most of the time guiltily — to figure out what the rest of him is for. It’s part of what got him into the whole mess in the first place, chasing after the dreams of a 19 year old who got those dreams from his parents. A nice wife (but they never liked her, did they) and a good job (but firefighting is too dangerous, isn’t it) and a picket fence (one closer to home, Eddie, you’ve gone too far away.) So he owed it to Chris, owed it to himself, to figure out what the fuck he actually wants, so he doesn’t keep twisting himself into knots and taking out everyone around him when the line breaks. He’s not sure he’s any closer to whatever that is — other than it’s unlikely to include a wife of any kind — but in the time he’s taken trying, what if other things got lost in the upheaval? “I keep thinking I’ll just- not remember to do something. Forget how field trip permissions slips work, or not know what shoe size he wears, or- I don’t know. Anything. I won’t pack his lunch and it won’t be the end of the world but he’ll be hungry that day.”

Tommy leans back on his palms and looks across at him, quiet and thoughtful for a few moments in that way he has, like he’s thinking through every possible response before he speaks. He is, maybe; he’d confessed to Eddie that he’d spoken too quickly when he was younger, is embarrassed about a lot of the dumb shit he’d said, so he tries to take his time with his words now. “Eddie. You took us up here this weekend to check and make sure this place is accessible to take your kid to this summer. And- I get that’s a big thing, a big gesture, and maybe you’re worried about messing up the small stuff, but… You’ve still got his favorite kind of jelly in the fridge that nobody else eats. You love him, and he knows that. You’re gonna do fine.” He shrugs. “And he’s almost fourteen, if you forget to hand him lunch he’s gonna let you know.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess he will.” He groans a little, shaking his head. “Fourteen years old, that’s fucking crazy. I don’t feel old enough for that to be true.”

Tommy rolls his neck so it audibly cracks. “Yeah, yeah, you whippersnapper.”

Eddie grins at him. “You feeling the exercise, old man? Need to go lay down?” He cackles and leans away as Tommy grabs the can and sprays a burst of sunscreen at him.

Between them Buck grunts at the commotion, and rolls towards Eddie. He presses his face into the meat of his bare side above his trunks, and wraps his long arms around his torso. Eddie glances up at Tommy, who just looks fondly amused. “Uh. Wrong guy, there, bud.”

Buck stills, and then pulls back a little to squint up at him. Eddie’s not particularly ticklish, but something like goosebump are shivering across the skin of his stomach where Buck’s forearm rests against him. He has to actively try not to shudder as Buck pulls back and rolls the other way, Eddie watching hypnotized as he gives Tommy the same treatment. Buck presses a little kiss onto Tommy’s hip, in the spot he had just been cuddled into on Eddie, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Tommy lets out a little breath, and Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be able to use the sun as an excuse for how pink he’s gotten as his eyes snap up to the other man’s face. Except- he’d been expecting a raised eyebrow, a flat mouth, some visual indicator of disapproval, that this is one step Buckandeddie too far, that all the rest of their codependent lives have been fine, a platonic kind of care built over years of being there for each other through the worst of the worst, but now the uncomfortable answer to what Eddie wants, the uncomfortable answer he’s been trying to avoid because it's something he cannot have, has been found out and the messy insides of him will have once again ruined something good. But what he finds is a tiny little smile and heavy eyes that-

Well, they don’t look disapproving in the slightest.

“You guys hungry?” Buck mutters, words muffled by Tommy’s skin. “We should go start the grill.”

Tommy’s little smile gets wide and lazy, eyes still stuck on Eddie. “I could eat,” he says.

Tagging @iinryer @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @chronicowboy @homerforsure @rewritetheending @bigfootsmom if you have anything you want to share!

[gracemarkss]

i really do think we lose out on a lot by cutting ethan from the pilot. so much of what we learn about scully in subsequent episodes and seasons - her relationships with her father, with jack, with daniel; her experiences in never again and how she describes her relationship to authority; the themes of normalcy and expectation, desire and fear, what you should want vs what you actually want, letting yourself want; about having a life and drawing lines and getting out of the car…once you learn about jack, ethan makes so much sense.

how much time passed between her time at the academy and dating jack and her assignment to the x files? months, a year at most maybe? with the revelations in lazarus, you start to wonder, what made her go from a superior decades older than her who’s intensity is his downfall to a regular run of the mill guy in her peer group? when she talks about other fathers in never again, taken with everything she’s said about wanting “a life”, it becomes a bit more clear - this was a course correction. it’s all the more clearly drawn in all things, another taboo relationship with a man she could never bring home. is it “normal” to date your teacher, have emotional affairs with married professors twice your age? is that what good catholic girls do? can you bring these men to sunday dinner with your parents’ pastor? so ethan is a conscious choice. an experiment in normalcy. an attempt at the clean cut boyfriend that you can bring home to dad, with an eye on the house in the suburbs, the picket fence, the 2.5 kids. she doesn’t not want it. she wants to want it. it’s what girls from her background are expected to do. missy certainly isn’t going to. so it’s up to her. and she’s already rebelled so much already, with her career choices. she can do this. she can want this. she can be a good daughter. she can make this work.

but then there’s the assignment. then there’s mulder. then there’s passion and intensity adventure and a fierce dedication to the truth, to helping people, to a dogged pursuit of justice (whatever form that might take). there’s the adrenaline rush over lost time beside empty graves in the rain. there’s this strange man you just met being so careful with your vulnerability, and handing his to you in kind. how can a weekend out of town with ethan compare to this? what’s the house and the fence and the sunday dinners compared to this?

so ethan is is out. the experiment in normalcy has failed. but the fear lingers. there are still expectations to meet. there are still parts of her that wants it. she could get it if she really tried. it’s something that she comes back to over and over again, fear vs desire, the contradictions in all the things she wants and needs, the heavy weight of expectation, both from others and her own. and i think it’s all communicated that much more clearly and powerfully when ethan’s presence is maintained in the pilot.

[bitchfitch]

Fewer women than men enlisted, then only a handful of those women made it through the gauntlet of machismo that stood between them and real valor. Of those that did, next to none of them got promoted up the ranks or into the jobs so specialized and classified that they didn't get official titles.

Zephyr had been aware of this aspect of his workplace, but had never really thought much of it because it simply did not concern him.

It meant he got the odd jobs that had him flying out to exotic places and talking pretty while draped in a moderate income's worth of jewelry and high end fashion, even though women were always the most effective in this sub-field of subtle swaying.

He liked the term "influencer" to describe their line of work, and that was what he told people his job was, but the official term was technically, less-sexily, "psyop."

The lack of women in his immediate circle of coworkers never really stuck out as a failure of the system, it benefited him just fine, until he was stood outside a modest suburban home in the exurbs of Iowa.

The first wave of super soldiers were begining to be retired, and someone miles further up the command chain than Zephyr seemed to have finally had to face the consequences of making a weapon no one could destroy. That, or, this had always been the plan.

Once the things were obsolete, put them behind a white picket fence in ass-nowhere and stick an operative with the job of teaching the murder machines how to live that apple pie life.

It was a stupid enough idea for it to have always been the plan.

The only evidence that it wasn't always the plan was that when the day finally came for the first Andromeda Class Soldier to go home, there was not a Single woman with the right clearances, temperament, availability, lack of a family or friends that would notice her disappearance, and who had a willingness to be spayed, to take up the mantle of Faux-Bride of Frankenstein

Instead there was just Zephyr, who, in the words of his handler, "Was close enough."

He was supposed to be in Bali, but instead He's In Fucking Iowa, because the actual U.S. government didn't think to neuter their science experiment before making it bomb proof.

"Seething" was the only word to describe his mood as he walked down the stepping stone path to a porch that looked like something out of a stock photo.

Perfectly painted with two rocking chairs and a potted ivy, it would be cute were Zephyr's handler were not staining it with his presence.

Elton stood from one of the rockers and demonstrated his one impressive talent as he greeted Zephyr: His ability to look down his nose at someone nearly a full head taller than him.

"Zephyr."

"Elton," he responded coolly. They had ranks, technically, but neither of them typically cared to cast that kind of respect on the other. Especially not when they weren't even using their real names. "I'm looking for someone. Big guy, fugly. Seen it?"

"Your beautiful bride is just inside," Elton held out a cartoonish looking journal to him. "Here's everything you need to know for its care and keeping."

Zephyr took the book in hand, he didn't bother to ask who decided it should be pink and furry with ugly sequins and glitter that was already making Zephyr itch. He knew Elton had probably taken great pride in designing this "diary" himself.

"Hm hm, Give me the TLDR," he dropped it into the small backpack of personal belongings he was being allowed to bring into this mess.

"It's got super soldier dementia. Sad really. It's still in prime physical condition but something went wrong with a reprogramming and now it's bunk. According to the file, it gets confused. Old programs come back online or it's current one breaks so badly it has to revert to those shreds to stop itself going catatonic.

"There's no helping it and no putting it down, so it's your problem. The lab guys stripped out every memory and scrap of programming they could, so it should be a sponge of a blank slate for you to do your manipulations on."

"Everything?" Zephyr quirked a brow. He didn't know if he should be made eager by the limitless potential in making a man from nothing, or intimidated by the vast number of ways he could fuck this up.

"Everything. The higher powers want to see if you can make it into anything useful, and if you can't, then if it's able to adapt to being it's own person."

"Understood," he slung his backpack over his shoulder, "Last question - What are my off hours?"

"It's a temporary and highly sensitive post. You don't get any."

"Elton."

"Don't whine. You'll survive at least a year."

"No I won't. If I'm still 24/7 in three months time I'm killing us both," Zephyr shoulders pass him, not because Elton was in the way, but because Zephyr was hoping it'd knock him down the steps.

"It's a fucking super soldier- You're not killing it," he watches down his nose as Zephyr grabs the keys that are in the lock and opens the door to his new prison.

"Oh," he sneers as he backs through the door "I was Not talking about We as in it and I."

Closing the door in Elton's face was almost satisfying enough to make this situation worth it.

[loving-n0t-heyting]

Finished the megan phelps roper autobio a few days ago. Left me with some thoughts.

The first thing to say is that it was very well written and interesting, especially earlier on pre-exodus, in its portrayal of the wbc. There was smth especially captivating about how she described what was essentially a soft coup within the church transforming it from a consensus-run collective to a formalised patriarchal gerontocracy—its worth reading if for no other reason than to get an insiders visceral feeling of what its like to live in that kind of an activist/religious community from birth

There is this tone the book adopts, tho, especially towards the end, which is obviously absolutely integral to its appeal but nevertheless offputting to me. Its a sort of contrite attitude, portraying her decision to leave and denounce the church as an act of penance for the vile crime against humanity of living a life of Hate. Again, clearly the book wouldnt sell without that line, its the essence of her entire personal brand as an author and speaker (the high market value of which—tho she ofc does not say this in print—must have featured at least somewhat in her decision to leave, if by no other means than relieving certain anxieties about her ability to sustain herself afterward). So its not surprising she would put it so front and centre.

But approaching this penitence objectively it just seems... kind of misplaced? Not that i have anything against public acts of apology and grovelling! But, frankly, its hard to read the account and not conclude she is much more of a victim than anyone she protested or besmirched into hurt feelings. Partly by her family in the form of the inevitable abuse attendant upon being raised in that kind of insular fortress community—tho she does a good job not lazily smearing them as some kind of sadistic cult, part of why i thought her description was so interesting and insightful. But also by counterprotesters and others riled up by her churchs activism: she describes their having faced sexual harassment, physical intimidation and violence, even arson in the face of what were clearly and pointedly constitutionally protected exercises of free speech. All of the former manifestly worse than the latter. Often with cops looking the other way! In a just world these targets of her "hate" would have a lot more apologising to do to her than the other way around

The book even caused me to reconsider the degree of my disgust with their most notorious practice: funeral picketing. Not having followed the pickets at the time super closely, i had interpreted them reflexively as incursions (perhaps constitutionally protected, but still unwarranted) on private family grief, turning what would be a personal act of mourning into a spectacle of vitriol and political grandstanding both ways. So i was surprised to hear the familys official statement on the matter:

So long as the families, military, media, veterans groups, and community-at-large, use funerals or memorial services of dead soldiers as platforms for political patriotic pep rallies, we will continue to picket those pep rallies. If they put the flags down and go home, we’ll go home. Not before then.

This seems basically entirely levelheaded, aside from my disagreement with the object level views they were voicing at these events. Privacy is a two-way street: if you are going to turn yr sons funeral into a patriotic circus, you cant fairly complain about ppl returning fire with a concurrent anti-patriotic circus. No heat, no kitchen. I suspect the actual operative principle in many ppls minds is that it doesnt alter the sacrosanct private character of the funeral to engage in socially normative politicising, but socially abnormal politicising crosses the line. Which is just clearly a grotesque and inherently conservative (derogatory) unprincipled distinction to draw

Speaking of which: its sort of tricky to place the church as conservative/rightwing or liberal/leftwing at all. Even setting aside fred phelps earlier and very laudable struggle against institutional racism. In some sense they were part of the rightwing backlash to gains in gay rights, but not in a way that dovetailed with any serious rightwing political projects on that front. They were the paradigmatic doomers: there was no point engaging in legal efforts to stem the marriage tide, say, bc the american experiment as a whole had incurred gods wrath and was living on borrowed time. To the extent they did have any significant legal impact, it was overwhelmingly positive: they were the ones that brought us snyder v phelps, a heroic win for freedom of speech. They remind me as much as anything of a certain kind of maoist sect, like revcom, not just in style but in content (fervent anti-americanism, racial equality, confidence that The End Is Nigh and the only serious question is how to respond to this imminent demise of the existing order, free speech fundsmentalism clearly for instrumental reasons joined with strict internal censorship, even a version of "no investigation, no right to speak!" inculcated from early childhood)

I think one of my first ever posts on my old blog was on this topic with a nascent, less informed version of the views im expressing here. Some forms of freezepeach contrarianism are just part of my unchanging core ig

[prince-liest]

asdfGH STOP alastor was SO fucking mean in the last 666 installment lol. that ruined orgasm had me cringe in sympathy... however the fact that vox left this one absolutely unsatisfied in some ways (and completely fulfilled in others!! A-plus for effort on the aftercare alastor sadfg good job) makes it stand out all the more that at NO point is there the suggestion that alastor "owes" him something (like finishing him off properly--"I'm not having sex with you again."). like idk, something about vox bitching and sulking without ever actually implying that what alastor is offering isn't good enough and that he's being lead on or whatever? making my aroace heart sing <3 - ✨

Congrats, sparkle emoji anon, you've earned enough investment points from me that I'm willing to publish this ask despite my usual allergy to posting outright explicit words on my blog. Yes, I'm aware that sounds insane considering [gestures the actual fic you're referencing]. Still putting it under a cut, though.

It is so fucking funny to me every time people comment on how mean Alastor is because fundamentally it is me. It's me, I'm mean! That person having a bit of a sadist awakening in my comments in one of the earlier episodes of this series? You're welcome, that came from the heart. The folks that are gently but enthusiastically surprised that Alastor followed through on his threat? Alastor and I are in fact shaking hands about "suffering inspires not mercy but more cruelty." The "set up to fail" tag on AO3 has three fics in it and they're all mine. I'm on the front picket lines for Team "There Is A Fucking Difference Between Delay And Denial Actually!"

That said, I think it's a fun way to write Alastor and Vox specifically because Vox is consistently delighted to be the subject of Alastor's sadistic appetites. While Alastor is certainly projecting a little when he mocks Vox for enjoying being made to suffer through things he's not fundamentally that into (since "forcibly cross my boundaries, thanks" is also an Alastor kink in this series), he's also not wrong. Vox is out here hitting home runs for team Holy Shit Alastor Likes Doing Things To Me. The psychosexual obsession tag is not being retired any time soon.

And I'm glad that it lands well with the subject of Alastor's aroaceness! I'm actually going to tackle that a leeetle bit more in the next episode because despite their dynamic on this subject often including Vox begging specifically because they both like it when Alastor tells him 'no,' it's still, like, a thing that most of the time they've been spending together has been contingent on either sex or grievous injury. Vox is fairly well managing being pushy to vent his frustration without actually being entitled, both as a kink thing and wrt actual hard line 'no' boundaries! Unfortunately, Alastor starting to care about the time they spend together means he's still picking things up that haven't, like, 100% been put down. They continue to be better at rugby-tackling heavy topics than talking like normal people.

Anyway! Thank you very much, hahaha, I'm glad you enjoyed both the sexy bits and the hints of feels!

[hyperactivewhore]

I love your opinions on tvdu characters so... here we go...

I don't see Klaus as someone who would fall in love at first sight — he is way too paranoid for that. But I definitely think he would be enchanted by someone at the first sight and just decide he needs to have this person. Think about him and Cami: they talked once and he was obsessed with her.

I'm writing a history with a very introspective character and I'm thinking... How would he approach someone who is so isolated?

Btw this is one of the things I like the most on writing him. Thinking with myself "what he would do?" "what would he think?" It's like drowning in the character.

And I would love to hear your takes about it!

Thanks, darling!

I went on a rant, I hope it doesn't bother you, I didn't even realize your question, but it is answered regardless.

I definitely agree, Klaus is the kind of person who sees a woman with a pretty face who challenges him and becomes immediately smitten: his affections may vary depending on the woman, going from toxic and borderline obsessive infatuation, like what happened to him with Caroline, or love, like his situation with Camille, and a mix of complicated feelings that toy with the line between platonic and physical, like what happened with Hayley and him at the beginning.

I won't disagree with you about the second part, falling in love at first sight is something so out of character for Klaus, but he quickly becomes obsessed with any woman who talks back to him, and we can see this with all his love interests. His judgment often clouds whenever the new object of his attention is around: he allowed Caroline to say awful things about his relationship with his father and himself, throwing the gifts he gave her in his face, when he would have killed anyone else for it, he was more focused on sleeping with Hayley than he was with getting the cure, knowing it was dangerous for his family to do so, because he liked her and was attracted to her boldness, he kneeled for Camille within weeks of meeting her and was the only love interest of his he actually considered family, and Hayley does not count, as she was never his love interest but obviously still his family.

He prioritizes women he doesn't even know over his own family, this is undeniable and a big part of his character. I'm torn about what I think of this trait of his, as I think it's very out of character for the kind of person he's supposed to be. Do I believe he would chose them over his siblings? No, obviously not, not unless the feelings are love and not infatuation, and this depends greatly on what that person means to him. This is so away from the point, but Klaus is always pushed or forced to care for things, the biggest example of this is Hope: I personally believe he wouldn't have cared about her so much if Elijah hadn't made him.

But what if it had been his lover from a long time the one who had been pregnant? Klaus was a viking, he was raised as one and was expected to take a wife: they ran the household, the farm, took care of the children, but the men were still "the lords", and is no surprise Klaus is a sexist man: he would love the idea of being able to have all of that. And once he got over the shock of being able to reproduce as a hybrid, I honestly can see him becoming more involved because in his mind, he finally got everything he wanted: the wife, the child, practically the whole white picket fence. At his core, Klaus is a character who craves unconditional love and for him, a lover and a child would give it to him without question. This, of course, would require another better post for it to actually make sense.

But dropping this topic and approaching your question, I honestly think it depends greatly on your character, the kind of person they are and how isolated they actually are - emotionally, physically or both.

As we've seen in canon, he's not the kind of person who drops his interest in a person just because they feel uncomfortable or want him to stop. Klaus is very, very intense, and I don't think that would set a very good first impression with your character, especially because he always makes his interest in someone - especially if it's romantic - painfully clear. He also has trouble picking up some social clues, which is hilarious, and would perhaps make his relationship with your oc more antagonistic at first.

However, if he actually frightens her/him, I can see him choosing to change his approach. How he met Davina is a really good example of this, in my opinion. She was very much isolated from the world and he just made it so much worse: he tried to use her as a weapon, tried to poison her and actually got her high-school sweetheart killed, and in general, their relationship was awful, all because of Klaus and how he decided to subject her into his side.

This was a whole mess, and it did not come out the way I expected it to. Regardless, I hope it satisfied you!

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

A loose pebble under his feet nearly sent Scott careening into the wall as he darted around the building and through the alley, but his old training kicked in and he found his balance with ease. At least on tightropes he never had to worry about being fucking shot at, he thought with a grimace.

It wouldn't take his two pursuers long to realize he'd cut across to the next street. Scott's eyes scanned his surroundings, calculating where he was and where to go next. The Eversea was in town, but it wasn't leaving until morning, and he couldn't risk leading them to Shelby. They only wanted to shoot him, but her they would be more interested in dragging back with them. The docks were out of the question, then, and the hotel too.

Another shot rang out, splintering the wood next to Scott's shoulder, and he took off again like a startled jackrabbit. He was on the southeast edge of town. If he went further in, it would only get people hurt. But there weren't near as many trees on this side of Stratos, not until the other side of the meadow. Could he outrun them that far, on foot? He was already flagging, and it wouldn't be long until they acquired horses one way or another. If only he had a -

"Smajor!"

Hoofbeats overtook him, a rider galloping just past him before coming to a halt in front to cut him off. Scott's heart was in his throat and his feet were ready to dart off to the side again when he recognized the distinctive bullseye pattern on the horse's flank.

Relief flooded through him as Jimmy held out an arm. "Get on."

He grabbed the offered hand without hesitation and hauled himself up behind the sheriff, not stopping to think about how this was probably going to end with him in jail. Another shot sounded, Jimmy wheeled Bullseye around and nudged him into a full run, and they were out of town and halfway across the meadow before Scott could even catch his breath.

Jimmy didn't slow down until they neared the treeline, twisting to peek behind them before entering the woods. "I don't see them, but we shouldn't stop yet."

"Mm. They won't give up for a while." Scott's arms were aching from clinging to Jimmy so tightly, but he didn't loosen his hold. He probably should; he wasn't going to fall off at this slower pace, and Jimmy might notice the way his arms were beginning to tremble. He should really let go.

He rested his face against Jimmy's back instead, relaxing into the soft leather of his vest. The warmth of the afternoon sun soaked into his hair and shoulders from behind, scattered as it was through the leaves. Every once in a while Jimmy lifted a hand to push a low branch out of the way, careful to let it pass over Scott's head too before letting go.

"You gonna tell me why a couple of robe-wearing weirdos were using you for target practice?"

Scott blinked the drowsiness from his eyes. "They don't like me," he mumbled tiredly. "Happens more than you might think."

Jimmy snorted. "I don't like you either, but you don't see me taking potshots at you in the middle of town."

Actually, Jimmy had never shot at him once, now that Scott thought about it, not even when he was actively fleeing custody. He smiled and closed his eyes again. Should probably consider raising his standards if that was all it took to make his heart flutter these days.

"Hey. We should make camp here."

Scott jolted, pouting at the chuckle his jump elicited, and looked around. When did it get dark? He let go of Jimmy with more reluctance than he should and slid off of Bullseye. Jimmy dismounted too, pulling the reins over the gelding's head and handing them to Scott.

"Hold him while I get the picket line set up, would you?" He didn't wait for Scott's answer before getting a rope and stretching it between two trees. Scott handed the reins back as soon as it was secure, and Jimmy tied Bullseye before setting up camp.

"Is a fire a good idea?" Scott glanced around them, still tense even though all he could hear was Jimmy moving around and the whirr of crickets.

"Depends. You like cold beans?"

Scott made a face and took a seat, and Jimmy chuckled. Nothing more was said until their short meal was over. Cold or warm, Scott wasn't particularly satisfied with half a can of cheap beans, but it wasn't so bad sitting shoulder to shoulder with Jimmy. At least there were two spoons.

"We made it onto the Garrido ranch, I think," said Jimmy as he unpacked a bedroll, and Scott perked up at that. "We'll make our way to the main house in the morning, hope they're feeling generous, and figure out what to do from there."

"Oh, Sausage will definitely help us," said Scott with confidence. "Ángel Garrido," he clarified when Jimmy gave him a strange look. "It's, uh. A nickname his friends call him."

"Right," said Jimmy slowly. "Huh. Why am I not surprised you're somehow that friendly with the richest cattle baron in the country?"

He shook his head when Scott only smiled in his secretive way. "You know what, it's only one more item on the very long list of questions I have about you. Questions that I know you'll never answer, so I won't even ask." He settled against a tree with his gun in his lap, jerking his head toward the empty bedroll. "Get some rest. I'll wake you in the morning."

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