#unedited rambling

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

It's wild because I have exactly one episode of Vampire Diaries left and I've been saving it since *checks blog* a little over a week ago (versus the six episodes a night I was watching back in season 1) and I keep telling myself I have to watch the ending if only so I know what I'm working with in fic but also I do want to see the return of Elena (and Katherine) but also I don't want to see Stefan die (or Damon and Elena in a flashforward apparently? How will they have time for all this, honestly?) but I do want to see how they manage to break the curse with Bonnie still alive (but maybe it wouldn't be so bad to write my fic without knowing) but I don't know. I'm notorious for not watching the last few episodes of shows I love (White Collar, Psych, Once Upon a Time, although that last I ragequit over many minor grievances with multiple seasons left so it's not really the same thing) but I keep telling myself that if you don't watch the end of a thing then you just have less of the thing that you love but like I turned the TV on to watch it just now and I'm actually so nervous? I both do and don't want to watch it so intensely, so I had to open up tumblr and blog about it. I could save it another week but I want to watch it before the intensity of my obsession starts to fade but I know this is going to hurt me, emotionally and profoundly. Maybe I can stretch it out to two episodes by stopping in the middle or something idk. But aaaaaaaaa I don't know I'm not ready but I feel like I have to watch it. Help me I don't know. I need some of you internet people to come over and watch this with me or something lol I don't know. I'm so nervous I'm not prepared but I don't want to put this off forever either. And once it's done I could start rewatching. But like, aaaaaaaaa!!

[fatnutswizard]

im starting to recover memories of stories my grandma told me i thought they were lost forever- died with her ;--; my great grandfather used to train horses.. he was irish and sac and fox.. his wife was danish.. she was conceived on the boat to america.. her parents marriage was arranged shortly before disembarking.. my great grandfather kept a log on a chain in his truck "because of the unions" he died in 1970 before my mom was born. my great grandma died when i was an infant.. old enough you use my great uncle oxygen tank like a drum my ggparents lived off the river for atleast the first part of their marriage she only said that they lived off the land during that time so i don't know exactly whats meant by that. my grandma was agoraphobic crashed a car into a barn as a teenager and never drove again she quit smoking in her 70s or 80s but never threw away the carton that was lying on her dresser..she loved the cubs...she sewed flour bags in a factory.. she hated my uncles long hair.. he cut it for her funeral. and never wore it long again. she wouldn't let my great uncle have more than one hard drink while in the house (ik my grandfather was an alcoholic too. i wonder what stories weren't told there.) i don't know how old she was when she quit the drink but she wouldn't be the last woman in my family to do so. drug and alcohol haunt all the houses in my family. she could be real cruel. my moms fat and hates herself for it. i know her grandmother taught her a lot of that.

i feel like im thinking around the hole my grandmother left- close enough to brush against her memory

we used to eat grapes in the van and throw them away. she taught me to be mindful of food waste, but this was the exception, we both knew he'd be angry if he saw them. so we ate them in the van. maybe theres a difrrent hole im avoiding.g hes dead tho. the dead cant throw stick and stones. words hurr tme worse than anything, but that doesn't mean i cant heal. its just hard. mostly just accepting that my mom "let" me be in that space. my feeelings arent fiar or maybe they are but my feelings dont have to fair. right? right. its how we respond to those feelings that matters. Unforgettably I have the Bad at Responding to Feelings disease. But it's not untreatable, maybe its incurable, but theirs relief to be found ITS JUST FUCKING HARD AND TEDIOUS UHSGJDGJHFBJKFKJF

i need to sleep. what do i need to do to get to sleep. its safe to sleep. the house is quiet. the furnace is running. the weird hertz music is on. if i foicus on it, will it soothe me? to know i must try. i must try to hear the music self hypnosis real challenge my head hurts focus breahthe in and out. don't worry about spelling thsi is niformal sleeo us the oriority no. focus ton the sould do not get lost in your head not till the dreams start you want the darkness you want to ckoes oyour eyeas you miss her and thats okay let the feeling slow do not try to control the feeling i miss her hmm draaft or post

yeah what ever

made you look

[orphicmusings]

“give me ten minutes and a pillow for his hips”

18+ | MDNI

its not that viktor didn’t want to devour you. take you in the almost impossible positions he’d widen his eyes at reading about when he got bored in the library, attempting to anatomically sketch it out on a napkin to visualize how it would work hastily before anyone came in and caught him flipping through an erotic novel. and he would, through the pain, it would be so worth it— if not for your gentle consideration. the one thing sexier than your dazed face looking up at him, all heated cheeks and hooded eyes, was how perceptive you were— how well you knew him, how well you saw him. you were attuned to him now, an invisible string between you. a phenomenon he could never sit down and wrap his big head around, just how connected the two of you had become that you barely needed words to communicate sometimes. like, for example, an abrupt whine sneakily covered by the clearing of his throat.

you were both excited and apprehensive when he brought up wanting to be on top tonight. you knew he would be putting pressure on his bad leg and of course you brought it up, but the way his voice dipped in velvet and wrapped around you, the lyrical lilt in his accent becoming hushed and deeper as he detailed how he wanted you under him, he wanted to take you, claim you, devour you with no inhibitions. his silver tongue won against your worried left brain, twice technically, until you heard it— the slightest change of rhythm in the strum of your little connective string.

“viktor?” you lifted your head. “what was that?”

he took a deep breath and buried his head in the crook of your neck. “nothing, darling.” he punctuated his assurance was a distracting suckle on your skin. and god, you almost gave in again, almost, but you gently tilted his head up and looked into his darkened eyes. “didn’t sound like nothing.”

damn you and your perceptive skills. he loves them so much.

another deep breath leaves him, and before he could wave it off, you press him. “it’s your leg, isn’t it?” you ask, already knowing the answer, and he can’t lie to you.

“yes.” he breathed in surrender. “i’m sorry, my love i really wanted to-what are you doing?” he frowned, watching you roll out from under him and grab one of the pillows on his bed.

“armchair, now.” you pointed to the chair across the room, with the plush ottoman in front of it that you gifted him. he couldn’t help but let a smirk pull at the corners of his mouth.

“bossy.” yet, he obeyed and made his way over to you. you gave him the pillow, instructing him to put it under his hip as he sat down, making sure his leg was elevated on the ottoman. once you got him all situated, you didn’t even have time to ask if it felt better before he was grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you like a man starved. you melted into his touch, straddling him but careful not to apply too much pressure. “so fucking sweet.” he pants the praise huskily into your mouth. “too good to me.”

his hands traveled down your body to grip your hips, pulling you flush to him. you started grinding slowly, and he guided you, a shaky breath leaving your mouth before you even got to the main event. every noise from your mouth caused a shiver to run down his spine, striking him with irrational need— he didn’t care that the things he wanted to do to you would make him scream in pain, he felt that he would simply die if he couldn’t fuck you the way he pictured it in his head right now.

but then he looks at you, just as dazed and hungry on top of him as you were under him, and a smile creeps up on him. it doesn’t matter if he were to throw you down and ravage you like a love interest in those books, or if you were softly bouncing on his length, burying your little sighs and whimpers into the crook of his neck, he’s still pleasing you. he’s still enough for you. he exhaled a smirk.

“none of that, darling.” he lifted your jaw to meet his eyes. “wanna see you and hear you. can you do that for me?” you nodded, struggling to keep your head up in the throes of pleasure, but having no trouble letting your mouth run wild with curses and praises and whines and whimpers. and it was all music to his ears. “that’s it, sweet girl.” his voice came ragged as he reached his long fingers to press on your clit. you all but screamed, tugging gently on the curls of the nape of his neck. he whined and threw his head back.

“am i hurting you?” you asked hoarsely, your hand hovering over his hair. he shook his head adamantly, taking your hand and tangling it back in his hair himself. each thrust would earn a tug, and each tug would earn a pretty noise from him, causing another push to each of your edges.

“love you….” he whispered against the skin of your neck, pressing a kiss against it as you both reached your peaks, breathing heavily against each other. “love you so much.”

[tojisun]

hey what if golf dilf price met you at the club itself.

you're there as a bev cart girl and his friends were all like, "ah yes, the drinks here aren't really that good but there's that one sweet darling that makes them all so special which is why we keep buying them."

and john isn't like that. yeah he's old and divorced, and he's loaded as hell because he's got conglomerates and empires, but he's never been interested with women like that, especially those decades younger than him.

but then you came with your little cart and then john saw you in your pink and white cart uniform, and he realized he's just as bad as his friends.

so sure, whatever, give them six whiteclaws but—can you stay just a tad longer, sweetheart? can you give us a twirl? want to learn how to play?

[earthtooz]

ik ur in ur reo phase BUT HEAR ME OUT EARTH ONLY YOU CAN DO THIS

rin ACCIDENTALLY publicizing ur relationship bec mf got jealous as hell when ur face appeared in the kiss cam IN HIS GAME??????? WITH A RANDOM GUY AND WAS HE FUMING??? YOU AND I KNOW HE WAS THROWIN HANDS

thats all

I'M HEARING YOU OUT. warning for unrealistic scenario, i wrote this in like 20 minutes so it's unedited :p apologies for any mistakes.

imagine being rin's secret partner, the one he keeps behind closed doors because he values you too much to let the invasive eyes of the internet see. he values your relationship too much to let it get tarnished by social media, so he hides any affiliation with you like his life depends on it, only to come home and shower you with the adoration and affection he wishes he could show to the rest of the world.

in the spotlight, he is itoshi rin, japan's prized striker, their golden player, but when he's out of the spotlight, he is your lover. the man who drapes himself over you when things get too rough and he needs a breather. he is yours to cherish, where you have to change your phone wallpaper every other week because there's so many good photos of you two. he is yours to love, he is yours to go to when you feel too lonely, he is yours.

but also imagine, itoshi rin's jealousy and possessiveness no longer being able to rest at bay. it'd been accumulating for the past few weeks, this desire to show you off and boast that it's him who gets to know you like no other.

then the cup overfills, his jealousy tearing him by the seams that he loosely stitched together to withhold this carnal beast resting within him.

all because of a damn kiss cam.

you had been sitting in the vip section of the stadium- where special members are granted tickets, and even though you tell rin that it's fine for you to just sit in the general area, he refuses and tells you that he's bought you the ticket anyway. leaving you with no room for arguments. well. not that there was any to begin with.

anyways, you'd just so happen to sit next to someone who bought vip tickets with no affiliation with any blue lock members. you think he's just a die hard fan, so when he asks you if you like them, you lie and say that you won these tickets at a raffle.

the guy wasn't the most favourable person ever, in fact, you found yourself awkwardly responding to what he was saying, sometimes giving him short and succinct replies because of how... weird... he was. not to be disrespectful but you did not like his vibes. you just hope these 90 minutes can be over quickly.

yeah well, how funny is it that the kiss cam lands on you and the insufferable guy beside you?

you're mortified when you see it on the screen but the person beside you doesn't warrant the same reaction. immediately, he turns to face you, anticipation heavy on his features. in fact, he looks rather... excited...

"no, no, i have a boyfriend, i-" you begin abruptly as he leans in and you have no choice but to helplessly lean back, evading his lips and delaying it as much as you can. you even try rejecting him by frantically waving your hands, panicked and unsure of what to do.

until you hear him.

"back. the. fuck. off!" comes a shout from the pitch; the voice very familiar to your ears that you can't help but instantly relax from hearing it.

your seat was relatively close to the field which meant that those around you could hear the distinct voice of itoshi rin ripping through the air, fury evident and baring its fangs as he all but punches the barrier with each word.

however, everyone in the stadium could see itoshi rin as all cameras pan to him, witnessing his wrath as he shouts from the top of his voice. everyone around you is silent and you don't know whether you want to shrivel up into the ground or run to him and embrace him as tightly as you can. to find sanctuary in his warmth, away from the pushy guy who can't wrap his head around the idea that no means no.

itoshi rin decides for you, effortlessly jumping over the (considerably high???) barrier and making a beeline for you, skipping some stairs. thank goodness for a side seat because he comes to a stop before you, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he looks at you with heated passion, huffing and puffing.

"rin?" you whisper. he doesn't hear it, looking up at the various stadium screens to see if the kiss cams were still on you. smirking in satisfaction when he realises they are, rin all but pulls you up from your seat and kisses you with so much intensity and fervour that you feel lightheaded. very much so.

the stadium is cheering but you can't focus on it, not when rin's holding you to him so closely, practically trying to meld you to him. not even trying to push him away is enough to snap him out of whatever primal instinct has taken over him, so you grab his face and jerk away from him, not wanting to get too carried away.

before you can utter a word, rin looks behind you, and the coldness in his expression says everything you need to know.

he doesn’t care about dignity at this point. he just needed the world to know that you were his.

"you're dead if you try that again, you lukewarm fuckface," he then turns to you. you shiver from the intensity of his gaze. "i'll kill him next time," he promises before hugging you close to him once again, practically glaring at the cameras. "i'll kill anyone who tries to get to close."

THANK YOU FOR THIS ANON would u believe me if i said i'd been waiting for an opportunity like this? well i'm speaking the truth and i'm so glad u gave me the opportunity i've been waiting for AYEEEEEEE COME BACK ANY TIME YOU ARE SO WELCOME ON THE EARTHTOOZ BLOG, PRETTY <33

—

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[iatemyboyfriend3]

simon who started saying good girl innocently, just praising you because u really are his good girl- butttt then hes stuffing his fingers in your mouth and rubbing them all over your gums, teeth, and lips, making his thick digits soo wet and messy?? the other hand is rubbing and flicking your clit left to right and youre whining and hes just being a bastard laughing at you, saying good girl, good girl over and over like a mantra- his hand leaving your mouth and gripping your cheeks all roughly as he stares down at you like a predator

[luvrodite]

ok wait i need to say something about the dick grayson thought i've been turning over in my head for a bit.

i unfortunately do like readers that are a bit tragic and don't get a happy ending. it's like poking at a bruise idk it's cathartic in its own way. anyway. i know the age difference between dick and jason isn't really that big but i think it's big enough for this to work?

anyway i'm thinking about the relationship you have with dick when he moves out of the manor. you guys fuck, sure, and sometimes you go out, but you're not his girlfriend. not really. it's casual, except it isn't at the same time because dick comes with a plethora of his own issues and for some reason you can't quite fathom, he's decided you're the only one that gets to see that side of him.

you see him like nobody else does. you get the good, the bad and the ugly. you hold him through his nightmares. you brush his hair back from his forehead when he stares at his phone a little too long. you come by when it's been a few weeks and you haven't heard from him.

somehow you kind of end up playing intermediary between him and the kid brother his dad/guardian/mentor/older brother picked up along the way. jason is sweet. and you can tell he longs for a relationship with dick but he's got so much going on. it doesn't matter. jason takes what he can get.

you wonder when you started getting involved in your hookups' lives. but then it feels reductive to call it that. what the two of you have spans beyond that. it's so much more than that. dick touches the lives of all that he meets and you aren't special for it, but you feel it. maybe to the others he knows, in their weird, dysfunctional world, it's normal.

but you're a regular citizen. you go to work. you come home and do the dishes. you cook, you clean, you curse out your landlord when he puts off fixing the heating for the nth time. dysfunctional relationships are alien to you – the weight of all dick gives you, it has to mean something. fuck the forehead kisses, it stopped being casual when he held your hand through a doctor's visit and the fibers in your pillowcase swallowed his tears after a run in with bruce.

you play intermediary. jason sees more and more of you than you think he should, but he doesn't complain. you even grow used to the little bugger. you don't have much in the way of your own family, and he becomes something like the kid brother you never had. you grow used to the inappropriate humour that shocked you the first time it came out of his mouth, blue eyes shining up at you mischievously.

his height gives off the impression he's more youthful than he is and sometimes you end up babying him a little more for it. sometimes, he lets you. you brush a hand over his curls like you do his brother and keep a hand on his shoulder when you go to the corner store. you tell him to pick out whatever he wants, and that it's on you. he looks up at you like you got him the moon when you toss him a copy of his favourite book after a while of not seeing him – yours is all beat up, kid, pretty soon you won't be able to read it anymore.

you don't know how to deal with it when he dies, not long after you and dick break things off.

15. only a baby.

it's violent. you get the news from the papers and the picture of the blast zone makes you stop breathing. dick doesn't pick up the phone – why would he? and you're not even sure if you're allowed to reach out.

the last you'd heard, he'd been pretty cosied up with a new co-worker of some sort. red hair, pretty eyes. more than you'd ever gotten from him. sure, you'd known dick – you knew him. you were the closest he'd ever been to anyone, but it had simply been because there was nothing to lose with you.

you hold his grief, hold his heart in your hands, but you are nobody and you will not ask for more because he sleeps in your bed and sometimes, he holds your hand in public when you're walking through a crowded street. you guys have good days and it's something.

but he’ll is not yours – will never be yours, not fully, not like he belongs to bruce and gotham and the titans and his team. you’re a girl who he comes to because you’re safe.

but his brother dies and he's gone and you're left with not only the heartbreak of losing something never named, but the grief of a real tangible friendship, the death of a brother.

you are nobody and nothing – you're not the one that gets the guy and you are not the one that gets to mourn. you see him at his lowest and love him at his worst but he is not yours, and neither is the little boy that dies much too young, alone and scared.

you fall between the cracks. nobody stops to think about the girl who'd sometimes been mentioned in passing at the dinner table, on the rare occasion dick ventured back home to the manor. how can they? not when bruce is driven near mad with grief, not when dick is god knows where and it's all that alfred pennyworth can do to keep his charge and himself together.

i don't know. i just think about how it takes you months to muster up the energy and courage to visit your friend's grave – because jason was your friend, too. the baby brother you'd never had, a kid you'd felt responsible for, like he was your own. the visit leaves you exhausted and it's of course then, that on your way out, you bump into the second half of your troubles.

dick stares at you like he's seen a ghost and all that happened between you lingers in the air, the weight of it oppressive in the cold winter air. frost in the air, frost clinging to your lashes, heartbreak colouring you blue.

you look at him and think of it – how much you had put up with from him. how dearly you'd loved him. stupid, to catch feelings, but you'd gone ahead and done it. worst of all, he'd known it, too.

there'd been a time, not so long ago, when you would have let him do anything he pleased. lay me down, strike me, hurt me, i will bear it because it is at your hand. and he'd known.

he'd known it was wrong but he was hurting and it’d been easy with you because you didn't ask for more than he’d give but you did hope. and he could see it in your eyes that you hoped he’d give himself wholly over to you but he just wasn't there. perhaps he never would be. and you deserved better but he couldn't let you go. his regret, one amongst many, is that he had not done it sooner. shielded you from more pain at his hand.

once, dick had something of a god to you. now he stands before you and you see him as he is, a mere man. a tired, grief-stricken, man.

the only mercy he grants you now, is to let you walk away.

blank blogs dni. minors dni. have your age in your bio otherwise you will be blocked!

[claritys-silly-things]

Greaser gang hcs I have:

- (modern) The entire gang would SOOO watch South Park you can't convince me otherwise

- (sorta modern ig I don't remember the context to this) *scene kids your outsiders*

- Everyone has a stuffed animal or two or ten they just won't admit it (inspiration from kotlc)

- Ponyboy can't handle horror movies, Johnny LOVESSSS them. He just sits there like :D

- Soda Steve and dally get very squeamish during horror movies but try to hide it

- Darry likes horror movies

- Twobit could care less what's on (can handle horror movies, doesn't like them) (he wants to watch Mickey Mouse 😟😟)

[gaywarcriminals]

I am so obsessed with PIDW Bingning; they’re like if tragic yaoi could be hetero. Neither of them could give the other enough but they were still too important to each other not to try, not to keep reaching for the echoes of a relationship that effectively died when LBH was shoved into the abyss.

In SVSSS, the two people we see LBH truly love are his mother and SQQ: both are relationships characterized by protecting him to the point of putting their lives over Binghe’s. This interpretation was solidified for me by how quickly LBH switches from unsure of his shizun’s change of heart (though perhaps warily hopeful) to fully and unquestioningly devoted to SQQ. As miserable as LBH is each time SQQ dies or is grievously injured for his sake, it undeniably lights something up in his brain that makes him feel cared for.

Bingge never gets that. As an adult, I think that Bingge is doomed to remain eternally ignorant of this desire, because how could the emperor of the three realms need protecting? He’s no longer a little boy who has to hide behind a woman’s skirts.  In his discipleship, NYY is in a strange grey area with that where she does want to take care of him, but just is a child herself and does so clumsily, incompletely, and often makes things worse. She is the in it person who cares for him while he’s an abused disicple on QJP, and for that he loves her, but she does nothing— can do nothing— to change his circumstances, while sitting in the seat of favor herself, and for that I think he also resent her a bit. He would feel guilty and ungrateful for such and emotion, but burying it only lets it take seed for the future and grow a further wedge between their adult selves.

For Ning Yingying’s part, she fell in love with a sweet, hardworking, and yet to be fully blackened young man. The Binghe who leaves the abyss no longer resembles her childhood sweetheart. He uproots her entire life, kills people she grew up with and burns the place she’s called home longer than any other, and she can’t even truly begrudge him for it because she’s no longer a naive child and hindsight gives the past clarity. How can she listen to Binghe’s stories and claim he is not owed justice? He is not the cute boy who would’ve tried to devote himself to her as her husband, but she still sees parts of him peeking through. Is it wrong to want to care for him now that it’s too late? Now that she’s just one of many?

[rainyrambles-overcod]

Question: Out of the 141, who would be most likely to indulge a reader with a karaoke night?

My heart says Kyle (ough, I will die on the hill that says he’s secretly a good singer) but I want to also imagine Johnny (zero talent but makes up for it with enthusiasm) tryna get behind the mic.

Maybe Simon, who tries his best, good rythym and decent voice, but sounds more like he’s talking through words instead of singing.

Or Price, who only gets talked into it after a heavy drink or two and sounds surprisingly good (Barry Sloane THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 😮‍💨😮‍💨)

Thoughts?

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Thinking of a modern frat Harringroveson au with chubby!Billy, because he’s my favorite, and a scenario that’s similar to that one tumblr(?) post about the girl who lost her keys at a frat party, if anyone knows what I’m talking about.

Specifically the part where she wanders around the house looking the morning after, and no one is particularly helpful until she runs into a guy who sends a text to the group chat with a description of the keys, and suddenly like twenty of them spring into action like soldiers and find her keys in less than a minute?

It’s peak boys will be boys and I love it so much.

So I’m thinking about Billy, Eddie, and Steve being in a frat. Particularly one of the larger ones, so the house is roomy and kind of daunting when first stepping into the foyer.

Steve is taking an exam and he, very miserably, let it be known that he would be gone for most of the afternoon, seeing as his next couple classes were nearly back to back after his test. So, he’s out of the house all day, and Eddie takes the opportunity to have a scary movie marathon with Billy.

Because they might as well do something other than sit around and wait for him to come home, and why not watch something creepy? Steve hates scary movies, so it only makes sense.

The house isn’t buzzing with activity at two in the afternoon on a weekday, so the couple settle into the living room. Have some popcorn, get comfy on the sofa, light a fall-scented candle to match the cooling temperature outside, and it’s perfect.

Until Tommy (I’m picking on him this time, sorry) meanders in about halfway through The Fly.

Maybe it’s a running bit in the house, something born of affection, that it’s acceptable to poke fun at Billy for his size. He’s one of the bigger guys, in every sense, and he gets easily flustered, so he’s teased a lot. They chant his name when he does keg chugs at parties, and they even call him The Tank.

Partly because he can put a lot away, and partly because he’ll do some serious damage if he decides to throw down.

Maybe Tommy takes the joke too far. Instead of giving Billy a pat on the back and calling him big guy, be calls him lardass. Maybe he comments a little too much on Billy’s eating habits, trying to get some kind of rise out of him.

While Billy used to get pissed, used to get in his face and promise to kick his ass before someone intervened, he just gets… uncomfortable now. Usually whenever Tommy enters a room, before he even opens his mouth.

Like right now.

Eddie has his arm around Billy’s shoulders, cradling him against his side, fingers tip-tapping against the blond’s bicep as he noses a kiss into his hair.

“This sweater’s real cute on you,” he murmurs. Billy hums appreciatively, and Eddie smiles as he digs his hand into the bowl of popcorn in his lap. “My cute little muncher.”

A door closes in the close distance, and suddenly Billy goes a bit rigid where he leans against Eddie’s shoulder.

Tommy pads into the room, hands on his hips as he glances between the tv and the couple sitting on the couch. Spreads an amused little smirk, eyes tracing up and down the scene.

“No Steve today?” he wonders. Eddie shakes his head and turns his focus back to the movie. “And did you just call him little?”

The freckled brunet snorts, and Eddie huffs a groan and lolls his head back.

“Can you leave, please? Crawl back into whatever hole you spawned from?”

“Hey, this is the communal living room, I can come in here if I want.” Tommy plops down in the recliner and cocks his head to the side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Eddie lifts his head again, brows drawn together as he shifts to fish his phone out of his pocket after he pauses the movie. He rubs up and down Billy’s arm where his hand is still resting, and taps on his screen.

“I’m trying to watch a movie with my boyfriend, Hagan. He’s never seen The Fly, and we’re on kind of a schedule ‘cause we have to finish both movies before Stevie gets home,” Eddie says. “I’d say I wouldn’t mind if you watched and just kept your trap shut, but I’d really rather you just leave.”

“So you’re saying I can’t come into the living room in my own house? What would El Presidente think of that?”

Tommy clicks his tongue. Billy shifts when his eyes fix on him.

“I’m saying you make my boyfriend uncomfortable, and I’m saying you should fuck off about it.”

“I make him uncomfortable? I can hardly go anywhere in this place without seeing some kind of perverse display.”

Eddie quirks a brow.

“Perverse display?”

“Well, yeah.” Tommy crosses his arms, and it’s remarkably bratty. “You guys are always feeling him up, or sucking face, and he’s always pigging out. You don’t see how that could be disturbing?”

There’s a beat of silence. Eddie’s mouth pinches into a line when he notices the tinge of red in Billy’s expression. Notices how he leans closer, making himself smaller, and how out of character that is.

Eddie wants to rattle off an insult about how Tommy’s hair is always a mess, his room is filthy, and point out that his girlfriend has been cheating on him since the dawn of time. He wants to tell him how fragile he is if he thinks that two people sharing a kiss is obscene, or that snacking on popcorn is pigging out.

Eddie wants to say all of it so bad, but instead, he types briefly, and hits send.

Instantly, both Billy and Tommy’s phones buzz, and they both pull them out of their pockets. To Tommy’s horror, it’s a notification from the group chat. A voice note with a text attached to it.

Trying to watch a movie and this fuckhead Hagan can’t decide between being fatphobic or homophobic. I think we’ll start looking for an apartment so we can watch movies in peace.

It takes merely seconds for messages to start rolling in. Everything varying from what the fuck to hell no to questioning if the text is genuine, and if Eddie is serious about moving out. Eddie grins, and briefly hopes that Steve remembered to silence his phone before his exam.

Then, Tommy’s phone starts vibrating with a call. His eyes go wide, and he swallows before answering.

Eddie bites back on a laugh, knowing that only one person besides Steve has yet to have texted back.

“Hello?” Tommy answers.

He cringes briefly, and nods to himself as he pulls his phone away from his ear, and taps the screen.

“Am I on speaker, dipshit?” Jason asks.

“Yes.”

Tommy’s voice is suddenly timid, face hot with shame, and Eddie presses his lips together when a laugh threatens to sputter out.

Over the phone, Jason sighs.

“Hey, Bill? Edd? Can you guys hear me?”

Eddie clears his throat and exhales a calming sigh.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Good.” There’s some static and some shuffling over the line. “You okay, Billy?”

For a moment, the blond is quiet, but he relaxes a bit when Eddie gives him a soft squeeze.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says.

“Cool. I’m kinda caught between classes right now or I’d deal with it myself, but I promise it’ll still be handled. I’m really sorry you guys had to put up with this, so I’ll have a couple pizzas sent to the house.”

Eddie nods in approval.

“We appreciate you, boss man,” he says.

“Alright, I’ll let you guys get back to your movie. Hagan, I hope you have street clothes on.”

Then, Jason hangs up. Things are quiet for a moment. Anticipation is thick in the air, and then there’s a new message in the group chat from El Presidente.

Hagan is excommunicado, effective immediately.

Eddie snorts when not a single text rolls through after that, but there’s the sound of movement upstairs.

“John Wick,” Billy murmurs, nodding. “Nice.”

There’s footsteps. Heavy scraping. Tommy stands up from his seat, ready to bolt upstairs to see what the commotion is, but he doesn’t make it further than the base of the stairs before the noise and voices get louder.

Then, things come flying down the steps, and Tommy barely jumps out of the way.

Armfuls of clothes, shoes, a backpack. Tommy’s eyes blow so wide Eddie thinks they might pop out of his head.

The mattress is next, with the sheets still on, and then figures come into view. Argyle and Jonathan carrying a dresser down the stairs in nothing but their socks and underwear, full drawers threatening to slide out and spill clothes everywhere. Patrick is right behind them with a nightstand in his grasp, alarm clock and bong still resting on top. More voices follow, and more and more comes tumbling down the stairs.

Nothing is moved carefully. Wooden legs are skidded across the floor, corners are banged against the guard rail and doorframe, and Tommy’s laptop is thrown like a frisbee out onto the concrete walkway.

It’s beautiful, Eddie thinks, how fast the pile of trash and other belongings accumulates, and how he counts probably fifteen heads as the guys dump everything out into the front yard. They wail at Tommy as they pass, booing and poking and some even pinching him before the guys all disperse like roaches when the light flicks on.

A few pass by the sofa, offering condolences like they’re at a funeral, and Argyle even tousles Billy’s hair before he disappears.

Tommy is left standing there, staring through the open doorway at his entire existence spread out on the ground in front of him. Eddie snorts when he sees the tiny Tommy Hagan has been removed from group notice appear in the bottom of the chat, followed by a plethora of saluting emojis.

He ropes Billy closer into his side and kisses his hair, shutting his phone off.

“You gonna be hungry for pizza?” he murmurs.

Billy tilts his head up to look at him, eyes glassy, and chews his lip.

“Mhmm,” he hums. “You think Stevie’s gonna be stressed when he checks his phone?”

He closes his eyes when Eddie squeezes him and presses a kiss to his forehead. Relaxes into the embrace when the front door shuts.

“I’ll send him a picture when the pizza gets here so he knows you’re okay.”

“Why wait ‘til the pizza gets here?” Billy muses.

He hums a laugh and turns further into Eddie, tucking his face in the crook of his neck and smoothing his hand over his chest. The brunet sighs comfortably as he feels around his lap for the remote, and traces shapes against Billy’s bicep with his free hand.

“‘Cause the only thing cuter than you in your comfy sweater is you having a snack in your comfy sweater.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. Don’t want him to miss out on it.”

Eddie smiles as he presses play, and Billy chuckles into his neck.

“Me neither.”

[mothiir]

LMFAO all i can imagine now is lion so lost in the sauce eating her out hes reverted mentally to an actual lion on an antelope carcass, bro growling n shit when she tries to like shift away like NO this is mine DONT YOU FUCKING MOVE

this is beautiful and totally true. please enjoy the following fic snippet, which occurs the same night as the first one, because the lion does not fuck around.

cw: slight dubcon, size kink, slight gore.

Even when ensconced between your thighs, his tongue buried inside your cunt, the Lion is terrifying.

It starts out promisingly enough. He licks into you, sloppy and eager, enthusiasm winning out where his skill lacks (the fact that his tongue is large enough to lash across your clit each time by sheer chance helps), and before you have quite registered what is happening he’s wrung an orgasm from you. Your body convulses, your breath quickens, and you mewl helplessly. You swear you feel the Lion smirk against your soft flesh — but you cannot imagine the Primarch doing something so human, so petty.

Maybe you’re delirious. Maybe this is all a fever dream.

The problem is that he keeps going. He sucks and licks and when you — quite against your better judgement — start rocking your hips against his face, he purrs. “That’s it,” he rumbles approvingly, his grasp on your hips tightening. “Like that. Open yourself for me, little whore.”

Whore — oh the fucking nerve of it. The cheek! You had a respectable job and a decent life, and actual wages, and then he stole you and if anything you are less than a whore because you are about to get fucked for free —

He sucks on your clit — more accurately, he sucks on the upper half of your cunt — but semantics don’t matter because holy fucking hell — the world shatters, you shatter, everything is warm and visceral and your cunt is one twitching nerve, pulsing in time with the Lion’s relentless lapping.

“Stop — wait — stop — “ you slur, trying to squirm away; the Lion growls, a truly bestial sound that has your stomach curdling, and you freeze. He pulls you back onto his face.

“Mine,” he snaps. “Stay.”

“My lord —“

The Lion’s snarl echoes up your spine, distracting you enough that you don’t see his teeth close on the meat of your thigh until it is too late. Not that you could have stopped him biting you, of course. You might just have got a bit of warning. You stare as his fangs sink in, as blood bubbles, and for one icy moment time slows to a syrupy crawl. His eyes meet yours. His pupils are swollen black and huge, like a cat about to strike.

And then, all at once, time returns to its usual pace, and your body shrills in pain. You choke down the warm scream filling your throat, staring wild-eyed at the Lion/

He’s really switching from eating pussy to eating pussy, isn’t he? A dry, hysterical giggle escapes your lips at your own stupid joke. The Lion’s eyes drift half closed, and he releases your thigh, licking at the blood spilling from the wound. Not as much as you feared — a trickle, not a flood — but still more than you would like.

The Lion utters that strange rumbling sound again, nuzzling his blood-sticky maw against your thigh; his expression is dreamy, almost peaceful. “Delicious,” he sighs, and licks again. “Tasty tasty mortal, and all mine…”

Another lick. Then he freezes, and it is like the gears turn in his skull. You swear you hear them grind. He clears his throat, and mops his face on the back of his hand, trying to gather some dignity.

“…anyway. Right. That aside — where were we?”

[kinda-indecisive]

Zayne Rant lol

Look, I’m always thinking about Zayne. So...

Beware of a TON of SPOILERS in this rant. Like, the entire thing is spoilers.

I'm thinking about how, if Caleb has always been as possessive of MC as he seems in his trailer, then that probably didn’t help younger Zayne’s awkwardness when he spent time with the two of them.

Even if Caleb’s possessiveness comes from a more confident place than Xavier’s (I’ve seen some people analyzing the differences and it's super interesting lol), I’m sure there were still times when he intentionally put himself between Zayne and MC to limit their interactions. And maybe that combined with Zayne's social awkwardness is the reason why MC thought Zayne never liked her.

Which just reinforces how alone young Zayne was. Like, even among his friends at the time (Caleb and MC), he was clearly the odd one out. Then the incident happens where he hurts MC and I'm sure Caleb probably brushed it off and told him everything was 'just fine'. But as observant and intelligent as he is, I wonder if Zayne could still feel the resentment Caleb had toward him afterward at a time when his own guilt was probably eating at him. Not to mention the pretty new nightmares he was dealing with.

Then he moves away and skips all these grades where he misses out on socializing with children his own age. He’s basically a child who is already focusing on his future career.

During his time as a medic in the Arctic, he meets an old mentor and acquaintance and soon he's got someone to talk to again. Someone who worries about him and tries to get him to take care of himself. And as soon as he thinks the worst has come and gone, he loses this friend in a horrible way.

And so he dedicates his life even more so to saving people, to helping them and healing them. And he really is making a difference for so many people, but he still feels like it isn't enough. And all the while, he's focused and he's moving, moving, moving.

And, still, whenever MC asks, he insists that, though he has been alone, he never felt lonely.

And then he bumps into MC again, but this time he has a responsibility toward her. And she’s happy to see him. And he's suddenly not alone. And for some reason, Josephine has given him (not Caleb) these documents for MC because she's sick. And he's puzzled, but dutifully expects to hold onto them for a while. But then he is shaken to the core when he hears the news about what happened to Josephine and Caleb. And so he gives MC her space to grieve and mourn, he's there to listen when she needs him. And he waits for the moment he can fulfill Josephine's request. And, when he does, he has to contain his worry as MC throws herself into this search into the unknown.

All the while, he's still trying to do his very best for his patients and his research with Dr. Noah (and Pie hehe ❤️). And he's fighting off the scavengers of Xander science and Ever??? Yet he still manages to keep his head straight????

IDK man... I think I'd have lost my mind ten times already if I were Zayne Li lol. I wanna be like him when I grow up.

[horsemeatluvr23]

the juppet !! i just realised he is jerma posing i swear that was unintentional...... i spent so long digging thru muppet concept art and looking at old puppet designs just to end up doing a rly simple drawing but. i love joehills!! i have only been watching them for like 4 years but their videos r so special to me :3

[extra-joker-mush]

​see cabaret 1993 subverts the narrative established by the first production (1966+the movie in 1972) in which the emcee is clearly an embodiment of nazism.. in both, the first rendition of 'tomorrow belongs to me'--in which he finishes the last line instead of the singing child--is unsettling, because it portends what is to come. then the reprise later in the play is equally disturbing, to see a crowd of people stand to sing the ominous warning, like the spread of nazism through berlin has been a virus lying dormant until the first woman starts singing, and they all rise. meanwhile in cabaret 1993, the perspective of a jewish emcee changes the meaning.. the first rendition shows an emcee who is instead desperate and clinging to a sense of control-- 'to me' . the first time the song is used in the play it acts as a symbol of hope for the jews and queers (whom the emcee embodies)--acknowledging not just their futility against the nazi party, which at that point had engulfed berlin, but the hope that one day they will be overthrown-- in this way, the formerly ominous lines have become bittersweet and hopeful -- "But gather together to greet the storm. Tomorrow belongs to me. / But somewhere a glory awaits unseen. Tomorrow belongs to me. / Now Fatherland, Fatherland, show us the sign Your children have waited to see The morning will come When the world is mine Tomorrow belongs to me" i.e., today might not belong to me, but one day. then the second rendition is made all the more horrifying, in which the song is twisted into a nationalist anthem. the singers literally stand in a circle as though in prayer, while the jews and the queers in the room stand silently, looking around into the audience, because tomorrow will not belong to them

[brighteststar707]

To enter Saeyoung's study is like getting the smallest peek at the inside of his mind. He has never been one to try to put everything in his mind down on paper - it's too vulnerable, you see. It's not as messy as you had expected it to be at first (though it's by no means tidy, though).

Even in its tidiest state, you can spot little details that give you some more insight into his mind and habits: the little cross indentations on the surface of his desk where he absentmindedly dug his nails into the soft give of the wood. The chips in the paint where his box cutter nicked the desk. The overlapping marks of hot mugs placed down without a coaster. The tiniest little mark of your initial on the far corner (that he blushed at the first time you pointed out - a momento from the CCTV days).

This changes the second he takes on a project, especially one of those good ones that you know is going to be a marvel. That's where the corkboard comes in. And the whiteboard. And the wall.

At some point, he seems to have given up on having a dedicated space for his ideas and allowed them to encroach on his space.

When he's in one of these frenzies, you step into the study and find the walls covered in different sticky notes and papers with equations, find the whiteboard covered in diagrams you can't make sense of (and strange annotations to boot). The desk is strewn with more bits of paper and the beginnings of whatever he's trying to build.

Then, once it's all done, the study is restored. The blueprint is made, the doodles and calculations aren't needed anymore. Everything gets tidied and the wall reappears.

You used to spend the early days in there with him most of the time. Either curled up in Vanderwood's chair next to him or tucked up close to him on his lap. You can't count the amount of times you fell asleep to the sounds of him tapping on his computer keys and the soft humming under his breath. They're some of your best memories from that difficult time.

Then, later on, you found yourself bringing your work into the room with you just so you could be busy next to each other. He'd clear a corner of the desk for you and leave you little sticky note messages when you weren't looking.

This habit of yours was what led to him surprising you with your very own desk on the opposite wall of his study - an anniversary present. He still leaves you sticky note love letters and little origami creatures to keep you company. Then, sometimes, for posterity's sake, he'll pull your chair up to his desk so you can relive the old days.

While the room is still mainly his, knowing that he has made space for you in what once used to be his hideout from the world has been one of the best gifts he has given you so far (and he has given you so many).