#this was fun to write tho

[kissesandarsenic]

there's a girl I've been following around at my college campus, I follow her to her classes, I've followed her home, I watch her eat, I've seen her change, I love her, I need her, I just hope one day she figures out all of this, and beats the shit out of me, the calls me a pervert when it makes me hard

tw - stalking, violence, dub/noncon, extreme kink

So what you're telling me is you're a disgusting pervert following this poor girl around like a fucking animal that only thinks with what's between his legs? Jesus Christ, what's next? You gonna break into her home and steal her panties?

I hope when she does find out, she doesn't hold back from putting you in your place. You'd probably just lay at her feet grovelling while she kicks the ever loving shit out of you. Face all tear-stained, crying out for forgiveness, unable to hide what a pathetic little mutt you are in the face of her wrath.

You'd deserve every fucking bit of it.

Imagine if she found all the pictures you have of her? If I were in her position, I'd be making you strip down to nothing. I'd order you to pose in demeaning positions, ass up, cheeks pulled apart, exposing yourself for my amusement. Then, I'd take your phone and snap picture after picture as you burn with shame. I bet the humiliation will make that disgusting cock of yours hard. I wonder if you'd feel the same when they're plastered all over social media for your friends and family to see...

Btw, I don't think she's ever going to be with you, honey :( Not after you violated her trust like that. But maybe if she's kind, and you're very, very lucky, she'll keep you around as her own personal dildo.

You can live in her closet, the one you've probably spied on her from many times before. She'll take you out when she has use for you, degrading and riding you, treating you as nothing more than an object made for her pleasure. I bet she'd love slapping that pretty face of yours around too, it's so hot when dumb babies cry after all and this is much more than a creep like you deserves.

If you love her as much as you say, you should be grateful for whatever measly scraps of affection she'll give you.

[blackjackkent]

Having finished the arduous task of explaining her bloodline to the whole camp, Rakha drifts back towards Jaheira's side. Cautious, at first - as if expecting the Harper to push her away, knowing what she now knows - but Jaheira looks at her steadily and simply waits.

She knows, presumably, that when Rakha has questions, it is not long before they are heard.

"I need to know more about the Bhaalspawn. About myself." Rakha's words are just as sharp and clipped off as usual - but lower, softer. There's a struggle against shame in them now, where before was simply bewilderment.

Jaheira smiles ruefully. "I am no expert on the matter, despite all my experience," she says. "But... if anything I know can help you to resist your father... only ask it."

In truth, Rakha has so many questions that she isn't really sure where to begin. Her first question, though, is remarkably revealing - it's not really a strategic question or even a factual one. It's borne of fear.

"You've... never known a Bhaalspawn to go mad, have you?" she asks haltingly.

Jaheira's expression softens. "Not... mad, no," she says. "Take Sarevok, for example. For as much carnage as he caused, there was always a cold calculation to it. He craved power, and his bloodline was just another path to achieve it."

(She remembers - the wildness in Caden's eyes as the Slayer form faded out of him, rage giving way to terror. But she remembers, too, how even stripped of his soul he fought that monster down and did not let it take him, in the end.)

Her hand shifts, as if to reach out to touch Rakha's arm; then she seems to think better of it and withdraws. "I saw that same bloodline turned to better ends than Bhaal ever intended for it. It was Bhaalspawn who threatened the Coast, and Bhaalspawn who saved it. It is possible to go on to live a life outside your father's shadow."

"Was your camp bothered time and time again by a grotesque Butler?" Rakha asks. Her lip curls as she remembers Sceleritas's mocking voice whispering in her ear.

To her surprise, Jaheira smiles very faintly, only for a moment.

(She remembers - Cespenar, the strange little imp that haunted the pocket plane where she and Caden and the others spent their nights during the War of the Five. Yes - he called himself a butler, she remembers. Rakha has told them of Fel, though, and whatever he might be, it is something much darker.)

"Bhaal had his minions, certainly," she answers. "But none that watched over their wards so diligently." The smile fades as quickly as it came. "I wonder if past experience has taught the great god to fear - that another of his children might turn against him."

Rakha nods, thinking this over. She is finding it eases her mind, just a little, to hear that there were others like her - that there was one whom Jaheira considered a friend - even if her situation is very different.

"Did your friend ever tell you of the dreams Bhaal sent them?" she asks, shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other.

Jaheira scowls, suddenly bitter. "Yes," she says tightly. "Your rancid father will try to twist your thoughts, as he did with all his children. The harder you resist, the darker your dreams become. Our camp was often roused by screams in the night, back then."

(She remembers - all the nights Caden thought his screams were muffled. All the dreams he described to them in the morning, blinking with bloodshot eyes. And of course, the night Irenicus turned one of those dreams to his purpose and sent Caden's dagger into Skie Silvershield's chest...)

There's a certain savageness in the smile that follows, and it does not reach her eyes. "We learned to take them as a marker of pride. Even gods can be resisted."

As Rakha absorbs this, her shoulders square slightly. She takes these words and files them away next to the others that give her the most strength. Even gods can be resisted.

"Did your friend live happily, once Bhaal was dealt with?" she asks quietly.

Jaheira chuckles. "Hah. Bhaal was just the beginning. Be warned - a godspawn draws trouble like iron to lodestone. There will be crusaders who wish to rid the world of your taint, or jealous minds who believe themselves more deserving of the power in your blood."

(She remembers - Sarevok and Argent and Irenicus and Amelyssan, face after face rising out of the dark to attempt to use Caden, or destroy him. In truth, his only real peace came when the solar sent from the gods finally stripped him of his heritage along with all the power Amelyssan had gathered. But there were happy times before that, too. She remembers the way he held Aerie, the way he joked with Imoen and Minsc and spoke of philosophy with Rasaad. She remembers her own conversations with him, long discussions of loss and hope in the shadows of Amn.)

"But happiness is not beyond a Bhaalspawn," she says firmly. "It simply comes at higher cost - constant vigilance."

Rakha's eyes flick almost imperceptibly past Jaheira's shoulder in the direction of another tent, where Wyll is playfully wrestling a ball from Scratch's mouth. "Did the Bhaalspawn have children?" she asks abruptly, before she's realized the words are coming out of her mouth. "Did they inherit his taint?"

Jaheira tilts her head thoughtfully. "A Bhaalspawn can sire children, certainly. Whether they *should*..." She hesitates.

(She remembers - Caden's son Quayle, a little half-Avariel with stubby wings, grinning up at her as a young boy, full of questions and imagination. And the man he has become since; she's seen him a handful of times and heard much more from Caden's letters - a lithe figure with steady hands, a woodworker and teller of tales in Faenya-Dail. A strange amalgam of his mother's gentleness and his father's mischief, with no sign of any of the darkness that plagued Caden's history. But he was born after the taint was gone. Who can say what he might have become, had Caden never been freed?

And she remembers her own daughter, too - Rion, who has grown all too much in Jaheira's own image, both for better and worse. Rion, who inherited her mother's reserve and fire by nature, perhaps - but who has also learned everything Jaheira knew how to teach, of protection and strength and resilience.)

"There are things in our nature we might unwittingly pass on, yes," she finally says slowly, visibly choosing her words with care. "But I do not believe them stronger than the things we *choose* to pass on."

She turns her head slightly, following Rakha's gaze in the direction of Wyll's tent. Then she smiles slowly. "If you are asking whether love and joy are beyond you, just because of the taint in your blood... No. They most certainly are not."

Rakha draws a slow breath and closes her eyes; when she exhales, it emerges just a little shaky. Jaheira's counsel is something she desperately needs at present, and it is reassuring, comforting... and yet at the same time she finds it tears something loose in her chest that makes her feel altogether too vulnerable for her liking.

"Bhaal frightens me," she admits in a low voice, almost too low to hear.

"Then you are wise," Jaheira says bluntly. "I will not mince words. If what you told me is true, you are already further under Bhaal's power than my old friend ever was."

She hesitates - and this time she does reach out, just barely resting the tips of her fingers against Rakha's forearm. Her eyes stay fixed on Rakha's, steady, calm. Perhaps it is the experienced Harper leader who knows how to call up answering calm in her subordinates - or perhaps merely the woman seeing the echo of her friend's pain in this new face.

"But so long as you fear that power," she says firmly, "there is hope. Fear means you are not fully mad - not yet."

[markalwants-ass]

Put my OCs in situations

Was told about Sex Pollen and googled the definition and am unsure if this is exactly it? Anyway, whatever, here ya go @dilutedmayowater

[galaxynajma]

Now that we saw gojo on geto rainbow dragon in the op I would like you show you my hc on geto and gojo riding the dragon/manta ray late at night

Sometimes when Gojo couldn’t sleep he would knock on geto door to see if he wanted to go stargazing on the dragon/manta ray and geto being geto would always say yes

Gojo loved the feel of air on his hair when they flew looking up at the sky full of stars and bright moon

But his most favorite part was having geto sit next to him feeling his warmth

Sometimes gojo would fall asleep on geto shoulder he would always wake up to geto hugging him in his own bed

Geto loved stargazing with gojo seeing gojo with wonder in his eyes looking at the stars and the moon in his eyes

Geto did think the sky was pretty but to him gojo eyes were even more beautiful geto thinks he could get lost in them with so much light and joy in them

The clouds of the morning sky reminds him of gojo white hair and eyelashes he loves to see when he wakes up to seeing them when they cuddle together he would always hug gojo waist tighter putting his cheek on gojo hair hearing his breathing

Geto favorite color was actually blue it reminds him of these eyes that he loved so much it reminds him of his blue youth

These eyes were the last thing he ever saw before his life ended

[little-miss-raven]

Something short i wrote based on this, and a few ideas in the comments, such as her name. i hope you like it >:D

You might wonder, what does The Spider-Punk do on his day off? When he’s not saving people, battling fascists, or taking down a totalitarian government, what does he do? It changes day to day, no surprise there, but today he’s doing something very punk: Shopping at a few small local stores.

Hobie wanders the side streets, eyeing the various thrift stores and second hand shops in between the big brand companies. He doesn’t have any favorites, just whatever catches his eye or any places he hasn’t visited yet. Maybe he’ll stop by a friend’s stall and pick up some food while he’s out.

While pondering his next move, he spots someone familiar. Up ahead of him is a head of grey, coily hair with a pink wrap. She’s so short he would’ve missed her if it weren't for his own height. Well, maybe he would’ve heard the clacking of her thick jewelry pieces. Her granddaughter made them, as he’s been told a few times.

She’s carrying a bag almost as big as her, leaning back a bit to accommodate the weight of it. He scans around her. No one offers the old woman any help, of course. He scoffs. Hobie mumbles about disrespect and lack of basic kindness as he makes his way towards her.

“Mornin’, Miss June. Wanna hand with tha’?” He leans down a bit as he slows to her speed, stopping when she does. He takes his hands out of his vest pockets and offers them to her.

“Oh, ‘ello dear! Well, aren’t you just the swee’est thing,” she hands the bag over to him. He sweeps it up into one arm, putting the other hand back in the pocket. June pats his arm, “Such a strong boy. So kind too. Don’t see much of that today! ’S nice to see it’s still out there.”

Hobie shrugs, “Least I can do considerin’ all your hard work.”

She laughs, “My hard work?”

“Hard to hide all the yarn y’have to make those sweaters. Or the food y’buy to-”

“Alright, alright, you’ve made your point.” She swipes her bag at him but he only chuckles, “No need to yell it from the rooftops. I jus’ keep myself busy, that’s all.”

The two walk towards June’s home. On the way, she tells him all about what her plans are for those groceries, her book club and the book they're reading, her lovely grandchildren, things like that. Hobie listens all the while, occasionally piping up to answer a question or two.

It’s hard to miss her house. Small, homey, clearly built decades ago. What really makes it stand out, however, is its comparison to all the large apartment buildings surrounding it on all sides. Hobie always liked the look of her house more.

At the top of the creaky steps, June pulls out a big set of jangly keys and unlocks 3 locks. “Come in, come in!” She beckons him inside with a wave of her hand. He ducks under the doorway and follows after her.

He’s coaxed in by the scent of lavender and vanilla. Her house is covered in memories; faded photos on the wall, used books, vintage furniture, homemade nick nacks, either she made or gifts from her family. A few small plants sit next to picture frames on various tables.

He peers into her living room to the right and- yup- sees the mountain of yarn partially hidden behind her rocking chair. It could be excused as just the yarn collection every knitter has. But with how quickly she goes through it, that’s hard to defend. He smirks to himself.

“Where y’want this bag?” He calls out from the hallway.

“Just in the kitchen, dear!” She’s somewhere in the back of the house. He walks into the kitchen, filled with old appliances that have been repaired again and again, sometimes by himself. Hobie can’t help but check the fridge door he fixed up a month ago; yup, still opens evenly. Inside, there's a few cardboard boxes ready to be filled and donated. He closes it and puts the bag on the counter.

“Ok, here I am.” She joins him in the kitchen, her hands clasping around something. “I wanted to give you something for your help. Y’see, my grandson makes pins, very nice ones. He said this one should go to the Spider-Man if I ever met him but, well. He’s a busy man, I’m sure. Not like he’ll help an old lady carry some groceries home, hm?” She gives him a mirthful smile. 

Opening her hands, she reveals a pin about the size of her palm. The letters ‘F N S M’ are printed on it in comic lettering with different colored borders. She continues, “So, in case you see him any time soon, I’d like to give it to you.”

“I’ve heard Spider-Man’s a right prick. ‘M not sure he deserves somethin’ like tha’,” he says with a grin.

“Oh, but you do, honey.” His grin slowly fades, “Perhaps more than he does.”

Hobie… never really thought of that. Sure, Spider-Man does all sorts of good things to help people but Hobie Brown? Doing good just as himself? Doing enough good to get something in return?

“Doing small things to help others is just as important as saving the city, dear.” She pins the piece of tin to his vest, giving it a small pat. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in life, it’s that.”

He gives her a small but genuine smile this time. “Thank you, Miss June.”

She lightly smacks his arm, “How many times do I have to tell you to call me auntie?”

Hobie should have a little old lady who adores him

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[zan0tix]

ALPHA KIDS: Draw your best friends!

DIRK: I'd say I'm better at one on one character interaction work of the more intimate variety, but I think this piece came together nicely. DIRK: Fun for the whole family style wholesomeness, any motherfucker in the radius of a screen displaying this image will instantly get hit with a sore case of heartburn and their tear ducts will clock in overtime at the weeping factory.

ROXY: im so proud of these i think these are my best designs yet :3 but omg dirk callie and jake were SOOO peculiar about their damn designs over my shoulder. jake wanted me to clarify that even in pink pen form his little guy is BLUE. so there. sigh this is the one occasion they could take notes from janey.. JUST LET LE ARTIST WORK!

JANE: Boy! I don't draw often but I always was fond of calligraphy growing up. I was kind of inspired by all of the other's works, but especially Calliope's swirls she puts in her art. It's very fun to add!

JAKE: Im not quite the best with posing, but i find the head very fun to study! Especially skulls.. so good ole calliope makes for the perfect muse! (hehe)

CALLIOPE: i realized i hadn't ever made a piece with Us in the same place at once. u_u CALLIOPE: bUt since it's reality now here's all of Us together, United at last! ^u^

==->

[choccy-milky]

how seb and clora get together in my fic 💕bc what better time and place to confess and share your first kiss than around a bunch of inferi + the dead body of a man you just killed?? 🥰💖

[erinwantstowrite]

Dick and Tim would be REALLY good on reality tv,,, they're both charismatic (please do not forget that Tim makes friends/allies easily just like Dick can), handsome, CLEVER, and know how to play to a persona. i think they'd go on shows for fun and to de-stress. like one too many things piss them off in their daily lives and they could pretty much get a vacation from it just to go on these shows. no one in the family can talk to them and they get to annoy people, crack jokes, and get fun puzzles in the form of a literal puzzle or figuring out social dynamics of the other players.

sometimes they go on shows by themselves but mostly use it as a brotherly bonding activity. if it's a show where they can be a duo they're GOING to do it. and they're going in to play to a storyline, not to win. they don't need the money, they don't need the publicity, they just want to have fun. sometimes if they figure out that everyone on the show sucks and they get competitive, they'll win. but mostly their goal is "how can we make the funniest plot line look the most natural." or something like that. i know a producer LOVES to see them coming. i bet EVERYONE tunes in when they're on a show because they're fucking hilarious even if half of what they say are inside jokes. the rest of the family watches and they KNOW what those shits are pulling, they have betting pools where they guess what the two are gonna do next, they're the FIRST to make memes for both internet and for the family group chats.

one time they convinced Bruce to go (it's been many a years since he really had to play up the Brucie role, cause he's a dad now and the older he gets the more people expect him to mellow out, and even back when he was full Brucie, reality TV wasn't his thing). it was one of those survival based shows where you come is as a team and try to win together. Bruce got lost in the woods after going on a hike. The camera men literally lost him and Tim and Dick were playing it up for the camera. Dick cried and invited the other teams to a funeral. Tim had a speech that was basically "I think he's fine but this is my perfect opportunity to embarrass my dad with stories." The producers were like "we fucking killed Bruce Wayne oh my fucking god" and Bruce shows up at the funeral like "oh what a beautiful service my boys are so great." They won by pure luck and circumstances and they were actively TRYING to lose that game. They were gobsmacked at the end and everyone uses the moment they looked at each other in confusion and shock as reaction gifs

[sleepy-steve]

steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.5k // inspired by this post ♡

—

november 1983

It wasn’t a bad gig, as far as eternal work in the Underworld went. Eddie didn’t even have to row the boat. He was more of a figurehead. Someone for the souls to follow. Someone to guide them. Seemed like an odd thing to entrust to a dead eighteen year old from the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere USA, but Eddie wasn’t going to argue. Didn’t even know if he could. It had all gone very smoothly. All the souls doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. Until Steve appears.

Eddie spots him sitting on the riverbank, knees pulled up. Looking a little too casual, in Eddie’s opinion, but he didn’t know the guy’s life. Some souls were more prepared than others.

“Hey, man, time to uh, get moving,” Eddie says, and cringes at himself. He’d already been spoken to about his boat-side manner. But how were you supposed to talk to people that had just died? Eddie still hadn’t quite worked it out. Was supposed to find his own words, instead of working off a script.

“Hm?” The soul looks up in mild surprise. He looks to be about Eddie’s age, and has a black eye, a split lip, and a nasty cut across his nose. Jesus, wonder what happened to him. It wasn’t polite to ask, Eddie’d been taught.

Eddie gestures vaguely at the boat. “C’mon. I’m taking you to the next part.”

“What happened to the last guy?” The guy tilts his head to the side, hair flopping with the movement.

“What?”

“The last guy who was on the boat?” The soul asks, waving a hand in the general direction of the boat. Even from where he stands, Eddie can see the bruises on the guy’s knuckles. “It used to be an older guy, tallish, beard…?”

“I… I don’t know, man.” Eddie flounders. He’d had some chatty souls before, but none that asked questions he wasn’t trained to answer.

“Hm…” The guy hums thoughtfully, nodding to himself. Shifting slightly, he settles into a more comfortable position.

“So…” Eddie stares at him with wide eyes, brows raised expectantly. “You gonna get on the boat or…?”

“Nah.”

“…What do you mean, nah?” Eddie asks incredulously. Was that even allowed? What would happen if a soul didn’t get on the boat? Would Eddie get in trouble for not collecting him?

“Not getting on the boat.” The guy smiles at him, a little crooked from the scar across his lip. “I won’t be here long, don’t worry.”

“What…?” Eddie trails off, before recognition drops into his mind. It was that smile, it reminded him of… “Steve? Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah?” Steve confirms, brows pulled together in confusion. “Wait… holy shit… Eddie, right?”

“Yeah!” Eddie leans over the edge of the boat, bringing him as close as he dares. Close enough to see the blues fade into purples in the bruises on his face. The trail of dry blood still under his nose.

“You died, like, not that long ago, right?” Steve asks, not making any moves to get closer.

“Yeah, yeah, house fire.” Eddie waves him off, not wanting to dwell on the memories of his shitty father and those last moments where Eddie tried to save the few good things he had left. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry you’re here though.” Professionalism is out the window in favour of familiarity.

“Ah, it’s okay,” Steve waves him off back. “Like I said, won’t be here long.”

Eddie knows what this is. Denial. He’d seen it many times since starting this job. “Steve…” He keeps his tone soft, just like he was taught. “I know it can be hard to accept, but you’re dead. That’s why you’re here. You have to get on the boat in order to move on.” Steve is giving him a bemused smile, and Eddie feels a twinge of irritation. He’s doing his best. “I’ll be with you the entire time, I promise.”

“That’s… nice, man,” Steve says, slight grin still on his lips. “But I’m not getting on the boat.”

“Steve. You have to get on the boat.” Eddie throws his hands down to gesture at said boat, exasperated.

“No, I don’t.” Steve gives a little shake of his head.

“Get…” Eddie loses steam for a second before gearing up again. “Get on the boat, man.”

Steve just blinks at him. “I don’t need to.”

“Get on the fucking boat, Steve!” Exasperation is in each word now, Eddie losing his patience. If it wasn’t completely against the rules, Eddie would have jumped off the boat and dragged him on by the collar of his stupid sweater. The souls had to choose to move on.

With a glint in his eye and a half smile, like they’re in on some joke together, Steve still doesn’t move. “No.”

“You’re dead, man,” Eddie snaps. Fuck, he’s losing his cool and is gonna get told off for it. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

“Woah, woah, Eddie.” Steve holds his hands up. Placating. Another ripple of annoyance runs through Eddie. “Okay, just—I know I’m dead. But I don’t stay dead. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

Oh, okay. So Harrington is delusional. Eddie briefly wonders just how hard he’d been hit, looking over Steve’s bruises. Was this what killed him? Eddie holds back a grimace. “Just… get on the fucking boat, man. I know it’s hard, but you have to move on. Also, I might get my ass handed to me if you don’t, so like, maybe do it for me?”

Steve laughs good-naturedly. Hopeful that he’s finally gotten through to him, Eddie can’t help but crack a smile at the sound. “So, s’that a yes?” he asks, keeping his tone light.

“Sorry, man,” Steve laughs. “Still a no.” Eddie slumps over the side of the boat dramatically, hair almost dipping into the black water. “But don’t worry. Last guy never got in trouble for not collecting me, so you should be fine.”

Pulling himself back up with an exaggerated sigh, Eddie settles with his forearms on the edge of the boat. “Okay, Harrington. I’m choosing to trust you,” he says, giving Steve a pointed look. “Can I ask…” Steve raises a brow. “What, uh… what happened? To you?” Eddie gestures vaguely at Steve’s overall appearance. The black eye, the cut across his nose, the split lip.

“Oh, this?” Steve points to the bruise. “This isn’t what killed me. Got into it with Byers. Not important, really, anymore…” He trails off before shaking himself. “This, though…” Lowering his knees, dropping his denim-clad legs to the grass, Steve reveals several deep wounds to his chest and stomach.

Eddie lets out a low whistle at them. “Christ, Harrington. You get attacked by a bear or something? We even have bears in Hawkins?”

Steve snorts. “Nah, I don’t know what this thing was. Some kind of alien-monster-creature. Face opened up all…” Steve holds his hands around his face, wiggling his fingers in a fan. “…creepy.”

Looking at him with furrowed brows, Eddie isn’t sure if Steve is messing with him, or genuinely believes that a monster killed him and that he’s not going to stay dead. Eddie stays silent, assessing him.

“Anyway,” Steve clears his throat, awkward under Eddie’s stare. “Nancy and Jonathan are probably freaking out right now, I’ll have to explain when I wake up.” He’s rambling, Eddie notices with slight amusement. “Which should be soon, though this might be the longest I’ve spent down here. Last time was quicker for sure.”

“Last time?” Eddie asks, unable to stop his curiosity.

“Yeah, the, uh, car accident,” Steve says. “Got t-boned at an intersection, died on the spot. Woke up with a broken arm, three broken ribs, and this crazy head wound.” He waves a hand around the side of his head. “Got lucky, all things considered.”

“Right…” Eddie vaguely recalls hearing about Harrington’s car wreck from last year. But surely he hadn’t died. It wasn’t impossible, but highly unlikely.

“You don’t believe me.” Steve grins at him, and Eddie feels his cheeks warm at it.

“Can you blame me?”

Steve considers him for a moment. “No, I guess not.” His head turns sharply, as though he hears something that Eddie doesn’t. “Time’s up.” Steve stands, brushing blades of dry grass off his jeans. He gives Eddie a two-finger wave. “Until next time, Munson.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie leans over the side of the boat again as Steve turns to walk away. “Where are you going?”

Throwing a thumb over his shoulder, Steve huffs a laugh. “Back.”

“Steve!” Leaning dangerously far over the edge of the boat, Eddie calls after his retreating form. He watches with wide eyes as Steve quite literally fades from view, figure growing more translucent until finally disappearing completely. Unable to pull his gaze away from the empty grass field where Steve stood just a moment ago, Eddie only has one thought in his mind:

What the fuck?

[ihatebrainstorm]

Batch 2 of commissions finished! They were all really fun to do :D Thank you again to those who comm'd me! o)-(

(Technically there were 3, but the third isn't a mech thingy so I'd rather just post the mech ones here)

[unicornpopcorn14]

Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt during the Lovecraft fight has always been so interesting to me...

Because it's the kind of worry you'd never expect from a character as gruff as Chuuya, who had displayed nothing but hostility towards Dazai so far. Usually, characters that are labelled as "angry" or "anger issues" (which Chuuya is much more complex than that but you get my point) act more as a tsundere type of way when the one they "don't care about" gets hurt. And show their care in very, very subtle ways (ex. their eyes widen, their mouth parts and closes again, etc) before putting up their front once more.

Chuuya, however, is open, and vocal about it. His worry is clear not only to us, but to Dazai himself, the one he shouldn't be displaying the concern to (as per the cliche). Shouldn't it be some sort of secret that Chuuya does care? Isn't that what skk's dynamic has been shaping up to be until now?

I'm telling you- the way my mind blanked when Chuuya just casually.... showed concern not once, but twice, was a sight to see.

Besides, the context makes it much more confusing, because Dazai isn't some rookie, and Chuuya knows that more than anybody. He was the youngest executive in Port Mafia's history, of course he can handle a hit or two. Of course he'd seen him handle a hit or two, sometimes without batting an eye.

Heck, Chuuya himself was hurling Dazai like a ragdoll in their reunion, which was their last meeting. And you could argue that he was going easy on him, but Dazai has mostly withstood the same damage (as far as I could see), and Chuuya was as bitter as ever.

So that kind of contradicts both what we knew of Chuuya so far, and how their dynamic was shaped to be. I mean, that just makes Chuuya a hypocrite, yeah? What makes him care now, all of a sudden? What makes him care at all?

Well, to me, this backasswards reaction implies one (or more) of the following:

- Dazai rarely got physically hurt during their partnership and thus this is an unexpected thing for him to see (during a mission).

- The four years of separation made Chuuya unsure of how much Dazai can withstand physically now. Also the fact that he isn't in the mafia anymore, aka fighting enemy organizations on the weekly, would naturally make Dazai lose his touch in a way, what prompts Chuuya's reaction.

- Dazai getting taken off guard took him off guard which led to panic. Especially since the situation was (momentarily) out of their depth. Seriously wtf even was Lovecraft?

- During the dungeon scene Dazai was an enemy, while in the Lovecraft fight he was as an ally. The difference might be significant to Chuuya.

- This has always been Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt regardless of the situation.

- "Only I can hurt him like that" ahh logic

- Asagiri was still experimenting with their dynamic and thus there are some inconsistencies.

This scenario didn't play out again (after their reunion) for me to exactly determine which one is more plausible, but it is 100% canon for Chuuya to shamelessly show his concern and run to Dazai to check on him before properly dealing with their opponent, which I find to be such an appealing layer to their dynamic, and a good spin on the type of character he gets stereotyped as.

Bonus: Dazai also becomes a softy when Chuuya's hurt, especially post corruption. Dead Apple alone displays that multiple times.

All in all, Skk are doing a terrible job at maintaining their 'hostile' and 'antagonistic' relationship post their reunion. Freaks.

[a-memory-a-distant-echo]

i feel like people forget that sometimes characters in fic are written like that because it's a reflection of real life.

people have sex without setting boundaries. people have unprotected sex without talking about their sexual histories or producing recent sti tests. people play with kink without discussing it ahead of time or establishing a safeword. they have anal without 'enough' prep or lube—they may even prefer it like that.

and none of this is really a fantasy. it's all pretty normal. you can feel that it's inappropriately normalised, and you'd probably be right! but it is normalised: one study found that 58% of female undergraduate students on the campus studied had been choked during sex. 20% of those students said that they'd never been asked if it was ok; another 30% said they'd only sometimes been asked if they consented. fully half! (non-paywalled journal article on choking during sex here, including these numbers.) despite a rise in stis of all sorts, condom use is declining. (pdf link to the full text of this study about declining condom use in the us; aidsmap article about an australian study with similar results.)

even when people do talk about things—sex or anything else—they communicate imperfectly. 'yeah, but don't go too far' is consenting and setting a boundary, and also relying that the person you're talking to has the same metric for 'too far' that you do. for some people, 'the trash needs to go out' is a neutral, factual observation; for others, it's a request that the person they're speaking to take out the trash.

even when people understand each other perfectly, people react unpredictably to things sometimes! we behave irrationally! people laugh uncontrollably at funerals, or get angry at the straw that broke their back rather than the enormous load they were already carrying. they get scared and lash out at people trying to help them. when hurt, most people do not instinctively reach for therapy-approved grounding exercises and 'i feel' statements.

pretty much any bad choice that characters could conceivably make is a choice that people make in real life, on purpose, all the time. people do things that can have catastrophic, life-changing effects because it felt like a good idea at the time, or they're leaning into the vibe, or they just didn't think about it all that much, or an infinite number of other reasons.

fiction isn't intended as a guide on the best, safest, and most responsible ways to live your life, and fanfic isn't any different. it's not a narrative flaw to let characters do things that are messy or harmful or downright stupid—it's a reflection of what people are actually like, and not something that authors should feel they have to apologise for.

[lewkwoodnco]

a week in the life of London's youngest agency head (insp.)

[rendevok]

“Take my hand” a comic for NaruMitsu Week 2023

day 1 - lies & secrets - 2 - 3 - 4